From Minnesota to Colorado

Call us crazy, but we are going on a grand adventure next month. Never mind that we have a newborn in the house and a toddler who is still adjusting to said newborn and his toddler bed. Don't worry about the two dogs either, or Ben's final semester of grad school, my first semester back after having Baby No. 2 OR the upcoming track season. I mean, it's not like we're that busy, right? We have time to go from Minnesota to Colorado, don't you think?

So is this some sort of crazy road trip, you ask? No, my friends, we are moving one block over and half a block up - from Minnesota Avenue to Colorado Avenue in good, old Hastings! When we tried to buy and sell a house last spring we had horrible luck all around and never got one offer on our place even though we had multiple showings. After our supposed-to-be-ours new house went out from under us to another buyer, we decided the timing wasn't right and spent the next several months doing some rather large projects around the house for "someday". Well, Wednesday was that day; we signed papers to not only sell our place but also buy a new house. Technically we weren't even still on the market, but our realtor had an interested party who came to see the house and they liked it. And it just so happens that we managed to find one that we liked, too - just around the corner!

We are thrilled because we will have so much more space (can you say PLAYROOM?!) and we're still in a neighborhood that we like close to the park. Plus it is an older home that has all the charm, character and quirks that we love (and a much, much better kitchen!). So yes, we are crazy to be planning a move - in January, with a new baby, in Nebraska! - but in the end this is going to be such a good thing for our growing little family. So, if you have some empty boxes to spare or a truck bed to fill, or if you want to entertain a toddler or hold a baby, let us know. It's going to be a crazy start to 2012 and I'm guessing we'll need a few extra hands here and there!

A Rare Snuggle

Here is a question of nature vs. nurture...My son does not snuggle. Is this just who he is or because we never had him crawl into bed with us when he was teeny tiny for an afternoon nap or early morning snooze? I can't quite figure it out, but I'm leaning toward nature because, quite honestly, the child has rarely ever been able to sit still, even from Day One (and before, if my ribs remember correctly!). Even when he is going to sleep, he is moving. With Moo Cow and Monkey at his side, he reaches one arm up so he can twirl the hair on the top of his head and he chews/rolls his tongue around in his mouth; at least that is what he has been doing lately when I put him down for his daily afternoon nap (attempt). He also wants to be way, way covered up with his Thomas comforter, so much so that I worry he'll pull the blanket completely over his head when I turn to leave! But with all of these little routines, the closest thing I ever get to a snuggle is having him sit in my lap to read books before bed. Granted, I do get lots of smooches, especially when he's stalling, but HD has just never been a big hugger.

You can imagine my surprise today, then, when he reached up to wrap both arms around my neck as I sang our goodnight song to him prior to nap. "Mama, Mama," he kept saying, and he just wanted to sit there with his arms holding me close. It was so very sweet. At one point I closed my eyes and just held on back, trying to let the moment wash over me. These are the moments that I need to remember when I'm ready to tear my hair out because he's not listening or just threw something at me (again). These are the moments that demonstrate just how much he does care. These are the moments that make the struggles and sacrifices worthwhile, because honestly, I'm not sure if there is any better feeling than having your child pull you close just because they don't want to let you go.

When we have our bad days, I tell myself, "He won't be two forever." But today, I had the same thought run my head and it made me a little sad becuase he won't always want to wrap his arms around my neck and hold me tight. So I'm doing my best to relish in this snuggle because I know just how precious it is on so very many levels.

Owl Eyes

Normally I love my daughter's eyes. They are the most beautiful combination of dark and light blue and I hope that they retain that color forever. What I don't love, however, is when her beautiful blue eyes take on the spooked, perfect circle look that I have dubbed "Owl Eyes"; truly, they are alarmingly large and largely alarming. When we see these eyes, we know we are in for the long, long haul...like last night when Miss Raegan decided that she would snooze for about 20 minutes starting shortly after 7 p.m. and then would not close her eyes again to sleep until after 2 a.m. Seriously?! I swear I am not pumping her full of caffeine, so where do these evenings/nights come from? And it wasn't just that she wouldn't sleep. She wouldn't stop crying/screaming unless one of us was holding her. Did I mention that this weekend was Ben's turn with the stomach flu and both of us were exhausted from a long day with him totally out of commission? So yeah, not good timing for one of "those" nights. At least Harrison was visiting his grandparents for one more night so we didn't have to worry about all of the commotion waking him as well.

I should have tried to take a picture of Raegan's Owl Eyes last night. I mean, it's not like I could have made the situation any worse by doing so, and really, they are a sight to behold. I picked "owl" because "crazy" seemed mean and they really do resemble the large round eyes you might find on Harry Potter's favorite bird. Now that I think about it, though, the name is even more clever than I intended because of how these eyes are associated with her night owl moments. And just how is being clever working out for me (asks Tyler Durden)? Well, I'm still sleep deprived, but at least I'm finding some humor in it all.

Obviously, as I'm free to type and Ben is grading papers, Owl Eyes have not made an appearance yet tonight. Hopefully this means we're in the clear and will get some actual sleep later. If I don't, I know some other circles just below my eyes that will be growing and darkening even more than they already have.

First Outing with Two

I gave it just shy of four weeks, but today I took my first adventure with both kids and no Ben. I mean, we've been in the car just the three of us before, but this was a real honest-to-goodness event - a MOPS meeting. And guess what? We all survived! And we even enjoyed ourselves!

Raegan was the easiest. Not only did she sleep through the first half of it, she's also stinkin' adorable, so it was no problem finding willing arms to hold her when I needed help. Of course, she did decide to grace me with her worst diaper blowout to date and needed to nurse before we left, but I learned a thing or two from the last time I had a newborn so I had both an extra outfit (or two) in the diaper bag and with my nursing cover.

Harrison handled things really well considering it has been over a month since we've been to a meeting. Actually, I think it's been closer to six weeks, so that he remembered the routine & just went with it today was fantastic. Once upon a meeting we had tears at the goodbye when I would take him to the 2-yr-old room. Today I had to ask him - twice - to give me a smooch before I scooted out the door. The only issue was that I spent a little too much time chatting as the meeting wrapped up and he got freaked out when other moms started coming to get their kids. When I got there - still right at 11:00, which is end time - he was sitting on the lap of one of the childcare providers, sobbing. I hate to see him upset like that but it did melt my heart when he jumped up and ran over to see me saying, "Mama! Mama! Mama!" I gave him lots of hugs and kisses and told him that I missed him too. He seemed happy to know that and was also happy to see his baby sister which is always nice. He even stayed by my side as we walked back out to the van without even hanging on to my hand!

For me it was a challenge to get up and ready and there on time, but I am so glad that I did. It was so nice to see friendly and familiar faces and have some much needed adult time. The other thing I appreciate about MOPS meetings is that I can sound off about what issues we are struggling with and there is always someone there to listen, relate to, and help. Sometimes it really just means the most to know that you are not alone and your child is not the only child to do __________(fill in the blank with your misbehavior of choice). Not only did I get to vent about the struggles, but I also got to bask in the joy of being a "new" mom again and that is a positive boost that I really needed this week.

We continue to have highs and lows each day it seems and unfortunately some days this week have been more down than up. But I'm doing my best to keep my chin up and at least start each day fresh even if the previous one didn't go or end so well. Perhaps one of these days we'll just go up from start to finish. And even if we don't, at least I know I've got my family and friends and fellow moms to support me.

Could It Be? Celery?!

Twice this week I had a meal that included a LOT of celery. Normally I am not a fan and so I avoid it, but this meal was prepared by someone else and brought to us and it sure tasted good, so twice this week I had a LOT of celery. The other "twice" we experience this week involved a certain little baby who would not (could not?) sleep at night. She was nursing like crazy but not drifting off like normal and was basically just WIDE EYED for hours on end in the middle of the night (morning?). Twice. The second time was even worse because we could hear Harrison just across the hall also not sleeping, making noise any time someone in our room made a sound. Needless to say, my Thanksgiving included a much needed coffee to recover from the long and exhausting nights that, of course, were followed by much too early mornings.

So what do you think? Could there be a connection? I would much rather like to think that it was just a food aversion and not a sign of things to come. Yesterday was a day without celery and our night was back to "normal" where at least Raegan would go back to sleep, even if she didn't stay that way for as long as we would like (or as long as she does during the day). This makes me hopeful that the dreaded C-word isn't the culprit. I am not sure I could survive if I had to handle a high energy toddler (and his baby sister) all day and then go all night too with a colicky baby.  Again - fingers crossed for the celery!

Thank goodness that on such a tiring week Ben only had school two days. And thank goodness that we have wonderful families who agreed to our invitation to come celebrate the holiday with us even if we weren't going to do a big traditional meal. Yesterday's soups, breads, and munchies with Ben's family turned out great. Tomorrow my parents will help us with (OK - they will probably do most of) a turkey meal. And because we didn't have to do any traveling, we can focus on the two most important things in our lives - Harrison and Raegan - and getting them the rest and attention they both need as we continue to learn what life together is like. Yeppers. There is much to be thankful for, even in the midst of (possibly driven by celery) sleep deprivation.

Observations

I've been wanting to write this post for a while now, but it's funny how life with a newborn and a toddler can fill up your days (and nights) and not leave much time for blogging. But now I have a couple days with just the newborn as the toddler is off to stay with grandparents, and magically it seems like I have so much more time to do a few things for myself (like be online and more importantly - sleep!). Rather than write a big long narrative, I wanted to make a list of sorts of observations from the last 12 days just so I can look back and remember what this time was like.

*Raegan is a doll. She has me up a couple times each night to nurse & usually each session takes an hour. Sometimes this makes me incredibly cranky because I don't want to leave the cozy bed to sit in the rocking chair. But then she sleep grins at me and I melt into a pile of mama mush, so happy and so proud to have her in my life.

*She is a sleepy nurser. We have to strip her down and change diapers throughout every feeding because she only stays on so long before drifting off and no amount of burping or chin/cheek tickling can seem to wake her.

*She doesn't cry much (she does more a short squawk/squeak when she wants attention), but when she does, holy wow, the girl has lungs! 

*For the first 9 days, Harrison was enthralled with his sister. While he still says, "She's cute" in a high squeaky baby talk voice and still wants to give her kisses on the top of her head all day long, he is no longer being gentle with her. In fact, at times, he is the exact opposite which has been quite stressful for me. I try to keep telling myself that his world has been rocked completely and that I need to be patient with him, but that isn't easy when he suddenly unloads and lashes out at her (or me). I can only hope this is a phase that passes quickly or I may not make it on my own with the two of them, day in and day out.

*I thought HD would cling to me after I got home from the hospital, but for the first week or so he was pretty much snubbing me. He wanted anyone else - Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa...but not Mama. There were a few hormonal days where that really hurt and made me a weepy mess, but now he seems excited to see me again when he returns to the house after an outing.

*I keep wondering what I thought I was so stressed about when I just had one baby. What did I do with all that time when the baby was sleeping?! Now it seems that Raegan gets me up for an early morning feeding and just as she finishes up and I could crawl back into bed, Harrison is stirring in the next room and so the day begins. & then, thanks to the crib-to-bed switching debacle, afternoon naps haven't been happening, so I am tired, tired, tired all the time. I know, I know. I should be sleeping now. But again - I know I have all day tomorrow to nurse and snooze with Little Girl, so I will catch up then.

*I went to Walmart the other night (after Harrison had gone to bed and Raegan had just nursed) to get groceries and other various baby items. I felt like I had lost a limb as I walked around in public by myself. I guess I'm just not used to doing that anymore because I almost always had HD with me in the past. I even flipped out the little child seat on the cart one my way into the store - twice!  I can't imagine how long it will be before I'm brave (or naive) enough to take both kids shopping...years perhaps?

*It really is fun to shop for little girl clothing.

*Somehow we have made it 12 days with no spit up. I shouldn't even say that out loud & you can guarantee that I just knocked on wood after typing that, but it's true. Raegan has yet to urp on me. Unbelievable & yes, probably TMI for some of you. :)

I know I had better details and more specific moments that I wanted to record, but many of those thoughts are escaping my fuzzy, sleepy brain at the moment. I'll try to keep writing about what life is like as a family of four. For now I know that it is beautiful, challenging, overwhelming, and such a blessing.

Missing Our Sleep

One thing that sends our happy little home into a tailspin is lack of sleep. Ben and I can function at an OK level on less sleep, but what we have noticed with Harrison is that sleep is crucial. If he doesn't get enough sleep, we all feel it in his behavior and actions. And while HD has been a great night sleeper since the age of 7 months or so, naps have always been a challenge. Now that we have switched from a crib to a toddler bed, the magnitude and impact of that challenge are astounding.

We toyed with the idea of changing his bed back in September. Now I'm wishing we had, but instead we opted to keep the crib for the sake of keeping at least one place in the house where he could be contained. Well, containment goes right out the window when your two-year-old learns to instantly, silently, and constantly escape from his crib. Then the crib rails just become a hazard.

Ben is taking two days off this week to be home with us and I was so looking forward to our little four day weekend as a family of four. While some parts of the weekend have been great and others just fine, the afternoons have been beyond trying and exhausting. We all need sleep. I'm tired from being up nursing during the night and Ben is feeling this too as Raegan is in our room and he helps with the diaper changes that are required to keep her awake and nursing. We would both love an afternoon nap. But Harrison has had other ideas and on Saturday Ben had to spend an hour putting HD back in his crib every 30 seconds because that is how fast he was flipping out. Once he stayed put he never did sleep. Later that day we converted the crib to the toddler bed and thought we were in good shape when Harrison went to bed and stayed put right out of the gate.

Actually, the last two nights of going to bed have been fine. He has woken up once each night and started crying, sounding very scared in his room, so Ben has gone in (both times I've been nursing) and put him back down for the rest of the night. I worry a little bit that this will turn into a game or ploy to get one of us in there for mid-night attention, but for now I feel like he needs that reassurance and comfort. The real issue, at this point, is the total lack of naps.

Yesterday Harrison spent his entire "nap" time banging on the door to his room and hollering. Today started much the same and just when we thought the quiet and sleep had come, he started making noise and crying because he had a dirty diaper. So here we sit, again, listening to him bang around in his room.

Nap cannot disappear. It just can't. That used to be my only time during the day for myself and now it is my only time during the day to focus on just one kiddo. Plus Harrison's behavior and attitude are way better when his day includes some day sleep. We have done more time outs in the lat 48 hrs. than you might think possible and I know lack of sleep is a big part of this. So what do we do? Our tired and foggy brains are at a loss. Everyone keeps telling me that this too shall pass, but right now I'm not so sure that my sanity won't just go with it.

A Tale of Two Labors (Part Two)

And I quote: "Today has been pretty calm and while I'm having some regular pain as I type this, I am not even going to bother calling them contractions or waste my time thinking I might be in labor because clearly I do not know what is going on with my body right now." I don't know if I have ever uttered words more true than these last I wrote Thursday evening. Not 15 minutes after posting my last blog entry, my "regular pains" jumped from every 15 minutes down to 12, 8, 7, and 6 minutes, just like that. By 9:00 we had our standbys at the house/on the road and we were once again pulling up to the hospital. What a difference 24 hours can make!

I will admit, I was a little gun shy when we got there. In the short car ride from our house, I didn't really feel too bad and I couldn't help but think, OH. NO. Not again! So I actually made Ben sit in the car with me in the parking lot until another contraction came because I was NOT about to go into the ER for the second night in a row only to be turned away for another labor false alarm. When that crucial contraction came, though, and hurt like crazy, I knew we were in business.

For the sake of discretion and those of you who would rather not know the whole truth, I won't go into all the lovely details of what transpired over the next four hours. I'll give the edited version instead, but be warned....if you don't like birth stories, the following may be too much for you!

In some ways, our time in the labor and delivery room went very quickly. They had me do a little walking, but mostly that was leaning against the railings in the hall, rocking and swaying my way through each contraction. Thankfully I had a good team working with me and they respected my wishes not to have an IV and let me try various positions as I worked my way to being fully dilated. Unfortunately, that process seemed to take a bit longer than I would have liked. I spent a good 2.5 hours going from 6 to 8 to 9 and then to 9.75 cm, all without my water breaking. Around midnight or so, I started telling the nurse that I wanted the doctor called because I wanted to push, but she wanted to wait until I was a full 10 or my water broke. As much as I loved my L&D nurse, I wish she would have listened to me!

Last time, my doctor had to break my water and from there things went fast, fast, fast. Well, this time, my water broke on its own just as I was fully dilating and once again, things wanted to go fast, fast, fast. But, since the doctor hadn't been called in yet, they told me not to push. WHAT?! Are you kidding me?! Thank God I live in a small city because it only took, according to Ben, 10 minutes for the doctor to arrive and join us. To me, though, those 10 minutes felt like 60 and I kept yelling at people telling them that I just wanted to push. They kept yelling back at me (OK, they were not yelling, but they were very, very insistent) that I needed to blow through them. With my breath. Like a puffer fish. If you like, and if you knew me way back when I didn't have kids but had a great big potty mouth instead, you can insert your expletive of choice at this point in the story!

But I did it. I listened and I held on to Ben's hand and the railing of the bed for dear life until the doctor got there, threw on her garb and gave me the green light to push. Actually, I wanted to start the minute she walked in the door, but instead I had to keep puffing like the @*#$ blow fish just a little bit longer.

The good thing about being determined and stubborn and very, very aware of my body thanks to not having an epidural is that when she said go, I did. 10 minutes later I had my reward - Raegan Leigh Welsch was placed on my tummy at 1:11 a.m. and I was beyond shocked and elated to have my girl. She is a miracle in so many ways. And we are lucky in so many ways because she held on to her home  in my tummy as much as she could on her way out. Her cord was looped around her so I had to push not only the head and the shoulders but also the torso and even her legs and feet to get her all the way out. Thankfully she showed absolutely no signs of detriment from this and was deemed "perfect" by her doctor during our stay in the hospital. We would have to agree.

A Tale of Two Labors (Part One)

Let me begin by clarifying that this is called Part One because I know, without a doubt, that there will be a Part Two. At some point this baby in my belly will quit teasing all of us which will mean that I have to finish his/her birth story. But for now, I am stuck in labor limbo where all I can do is scratch my head and wonder how on earth my children can already be so different.

With Harrison, I did not even know I was in labor, in part because I was still 12 days out from my due date. I thought I had the stomach flu most of that morning, but by the afternoon we realized something BIG was happening. From there things went super fast; so fast that I had people tell me I was lucky I didn't deliver at home. And so fast that my doctor even made a comment in the delivery room that when I had my next one, I would have to get to the hospital right away because it would come even faster. There were no false starts whatsoever. Based on all of this, not only did I believe Baby No.2 would be earlier than HD, but I also thought labor and delivery would be nothing more than a few hours.

At this point, I feel like we're going on weeks of being in labor! I've now had one false alarm afternoon of contractions a couple weeks ago that caused me to call the doctor and one full day of contractions that resulted in us actually going to the hospital last night, only to be sent home 3.5 hours later because they weren't going anywhere. Seriously? How does that even happen?! They called my contractions "irritable" which, at 40 weeks and 3 days pregnant, I found oddly funny in a very twisted humor sort of way. Today has been pretty calm and while I'm having some regular pain as I type this, I am not even going to bother calling them contractions or waste my time thinking I might be in labor because clearly I do not know what is going on with my body right now.

The wonderful news (besides the RN who predicted that I would have another 7 lber!!), in all of this, is that the baby is doing really, really well. The monitor feed from last night showed a very active kiddo who also appears to be quite content in Mama's belly. The other good news is that my doctor is not rushing me to induce. She is letting me go as long as I want, so long as the baby continues to show no signs of stress. If need be, we'll do an ultrasound Monday and then go from there with the waiting game. Of course I hope labor kicks in again before then, but it is a huge blessing to have some of that "hurry up & have that baby!!" pressure removed.

Now I understand why parenting books say you shouldn't compare your children to one another. Every pregnancy, every birth, and every child are completely different. It seems that even from the womb, this baby has declared an independent approach than that of big brother Harrison. And while I'd very much like to be done with labor and delivery, I can appreciate the fact that this baby has its own timeline and agenda. All I can do is sit back and do my best to be patient as I wait to meet this unique little love.

I Wish

You would think by the sudden influx of phone calls, text messages, and facebook wall posts/messages, that something big was about to happen. You know, like a baby or something. But here I sit, at 9:30 on a Friday night, and all I can say is: Nothing. Is. Happening. The baby just rolled a bit in my belly, but that is hardly a good sign that we are on our way to labor and delivery any time soon. Oh, how I wish I could tell each inquirer that I was in labor, but as of right now, that seems very unlikely to happen any time soon.

In a way, it is nice to know I'm not the only one wondering what is taking this kiddo so long to join us. Along with all of the questions as to how I am doing, are a number of theories as to why he/she isn't here yet. The list includes the idea that the little bambino is declaring a first act of independence/stubbornness/defiance by just staying put. Others claim that this must be a girl because she is A) taking forever to get ready, B) totally different from her brother, C) some combination of the two. Many have said that be it boy or girl, this one is going to be more laid back than Harrison who came crashing into the world 12 days early and has hardly slowed down since. I say, just get here already and end the speculation, would you? Pretty please? For Mama???

Frankly, I am out of preparations to make around the house to entice baby's arrival AND I've tried almost every home remedy (that I feel comfortable trying, that is) to self-induce labor, all to no avail. An hour an a half of contractions last Saturday seemed promising, but then quit cold turkey and have yet to return. Two weeks in a row at the doctor have had me at 3 cm with the head down, but still - nothing! The due date is this Sunday. Sunday! And our last conversation with the doctor centered on just how far beyond Sunday we'll go (the 7th, in case you're wondering, is what she'll let me do). I really hope BWNo.2 comes on his/her own before then. My goal is to have another natural birth and that involves the baby coming on his/her own, natural terms. But wow, kid. Work with me just a little, would ya? I promise - everyone here is very excited about your pending arrival. Very!

And to those of you keeping tabs on me and the belly, thank you for your thoughts, prayers, and good vibes. I promise we'll keep you posted and will do our best to spread the good news as soon as we can, which will hopefully be sooner than later. Until then, I guess I'll just keep waking up every morning thinking, "Today? Today could be the day?!" One of these days I have to be right!

Release the Toddler??

A month or so ago, a friend posted a link to a video by the band Release the Sunbird on facebook for a song called "Running Away from Me." Although we have spent very little face time together, she is one of my favorite people in part because her musical tastes are impeccable and I love that she continues to introduce me to excellent groups and songs such as this. Take the three minutes to watch this and you'll see why I love it so:

I let Harrison watch the video with me a couple times several weeks ago and he too adores it (yet another reason why I love my Little Man - his own impeccable taste in music!). If he hears me humming the tune, he'll point to the computer and tell me, "That's the song I want to hear!" and won't relent until we listen to it. Twice. His infatuation with the song has become terribly ironic, however, and if you watched the video and listened to the lyrics, you might know by now where I'm going with this. If I remember correctly, my video/music-sharing friend dedicated her post to another friend, who, I believe, was experiencing the same parenting problem that we are currently facing - a fearless and fleeing toddler.

For the last couple weeks we've been struggling when we are at the park or on walks in the neighborhood because HD keeps taking off at a relentless, nonstop pace. A few times he's gotten far enough out in front that I have to start jogging (yes, at nine months pregnant) to catch up to him and for the life of me, he will not listen when I tell him (yell at him) to stop and wait for me. In fact, when he takes off like this, he tends to look back over his shoulder, squeal in delight when he sees me following, and then runs even faster down the sidewalk. Thankfully he has stayed on the sidewalk or bike path during these incidents. But seriously. He almost gives me heart failure every time this happens, not to mention the frustration levels that shoot through the roof when he fails to listen or stop on his own.

So my love affair with Release the Sunbird is a conflicted one. I haven't even purchased the album - or song - on iTunes yet because, much as I love it, I feel like I have somehow given my son the message through the music that it is funny/OK that he's running away from me. Is that even possible? Why can't he hear the lyrics that really matter - the "wait, oh, wait for me"s? That is what I really wish he'd do!

Guess Again

Months ago I predicted that today would be the day. I was basing my choice - October 16 - off the fact that Harrison was born at 38 1/2 weeks and that this baby would surely come even earlier than he did. Seeing as it is almost 7 p.m. and I'm not having regular contractions - or any contractions, for that matter - I guess I was wrong.

I almost thought yesterday was going to be the day. My in-laws were visiting and as we sat chatting in the living room while HD napped, I started having my most real pain and discomfort to date. Turned out, though, that when I got up and moved around the house, they stopped. Classic Braxton Hicks, I guess, even though it got all of us wondering. I know Ben was hoping that the baby would come over the weekend just for the sake of not having to have the big event happen on a school day or in the middle of the night before a school day. He said he's pretty sure I'm not going to let him leave the hospital while I'm in labor to go do sub plans; I said that maybe he should come up with a "Jenni's having a baby/Activity for any day/Sub plan" that he can just leave on his desk.

A friend told me today to try eating fresh pineapple and going for a long walk. I had never heard of the connection between that fruit and going into labor before, but a little Google magic and viola - I see now that it's a theory! So I did both as she recommended. The pineapple was tasty (although I ate so much it made my mouth sore) and the walk was lovely (except for Harrison getting too far ahead on the bike path - a story for another post, perhaps), but still no sign of Baby coming tonight. Ah, well. I guess there are worse things I could do for myself right now than eat fresh fruit and exercise!

Calm (and Cleaning)

Somehow, over the weekend, I managed to find a little peace. Perhaps because it was our first slow weekend since....since....since....well, I honestly don't remember when we had a slow weekend last. But, with just the three of us together from Friday night through Sunday night, my load lightened a bit. It was a rainy weekend and not without a time out here and there, but we got some down time with each other and with friends, and we even managed to make a few more arrangements around the house for whenever BWNo.2 decides to arrive. (By the way - I believe I heard Harrison try to put the dogs in time out this morning as we got ready to leave the house. Not sure what Ozzie and Mara did to deserve this, but I can only imagine that they are 10x worse at sitting in one spot for one minute than HD is!)

Part of my peace came from my weekly belly picture post on facebook which received some lovely comments and some great advice this Sunday. First, a note about the compliments. You all have no idea how much it means to a girl (woman/mom/etc.), who is 9 months pregnant, to hear something nice about how she looks. It is especially nice on a subsequent pregnancy because you show sooooo much earlier and feel sooooo much more pregnant (or perhaps you just feel pregnant for sooooo much longer). I had students last spring who said, "Yeah, we kind of wondered" when I announced (at just shy of 12 weeks!) that I expecting - not exactly the kind of comment to boost one's spirits, you know? But now, as I near the end, I am flattered by and grateful for the belly love I am receiving from others. And really, as long as I don't look at myself in profile too much, I don't even feel too big. It's just nice to know that other people can appreciate this body and what it is doing, too. So thank you for your kind words and love.

Second, a note about the advice from a very wise mom (and grandma to toddlers) that I received telling me to enjoy these last few weeks with Harrison. I have been so consumed with making the adjustment to life with two little ones that I haven't really taken time to consider that this is my last month with just one little one. I vowed that I would make the most of this special Mama and Harrison time, and while everything may not be 100% sunshine and roses, the last two days have been different. It is not that our activities have been all the different, but there has been an attitude shift - in the right direction - for sure. I don't want to make the transition all the more shocking for him when "normal" soon changes for good in our lives, but I do want him to feel my love right now with the hope that he'll understand in the future that his place in my heart will never change or belong to anyone else.

So here I am. Waiting as patiently as I can and feeling much more relaxed about, well, everything. I must admit, however, that my house is shockingly clean for a Tuesday evening. Not that everything is polished and perfectly in place, but it occurred to me that if I do, by chance, go into labor, I don't want to leave behind a whole mess of chaos here at the house. So yes, I am more at peace with waiting, but you can sure bet I'll find things to fill the time as I do it!

Expectations

When I was 37 weeks pregnant with Harrison, I had no expectations. I mean, I was obviously anxiously awaiting the arrival of my first child and I was getting to that very pregnant, very uncomfortable stage, but I was clueless. So clueless that when I did in fact go into labor at 38 weeks and 3 days, I thought I had the stomach flu. As a result, no one was called in time to make it to the hospital for his delivery. And actually, Ben's grandma (an OB nurse for many years) later told us that we were lucky WE made it to the hospital for his delivery! What can I say? We just didn't know and I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up in case it was false labor. (Side note: I do remember thinking that day that if it was "false" labor, there was no way I'd ever survive real labor without drugs as was my intention.)

Now, at 37 weeks pregnant with BWNo.2, I have expectations and my hopes are up. Because Harrison was early, I expect this baby to be the same. Last time I didn't have a hospital bag ready until five seconds before we flew out to the door to go deliver the baby. This time my bag has been packed and in the closet for weeks. Because I am ready, my hopes are up that today (which begins anew each morning) is The Day. Part of this is physical. My back and hips are hanging in there, but I want to get rid of this extra 24 lbs. I'm carrying out front and hold 7 or 8 in my arms instead. Part of it is dealing with the unknown. I want to know if the baby is a boy or a girl. I want to know if I'm looking at three weeks or three days until I get to meet her/him. All of the uncertainty surrounding Baby's arrival is too much for my big belly, my big hormones, and my big Type A personality right now. Yet, goodness knows, I am well aware that there is little I can do to spur on the process. 

And really, there is irony in my anxiety and rush, for as much as I feel ready to have this baby, I am also a bit terrified of what the adjustment will be like After. I know it will be easy to love another child (I think of it like the Grinch's heart growing and growing), but the thought of chasing a toddler while nursing and caring for a newborn is a tad daunting. I know there will be sleepless nights and fits of crying (for all of us!), but really, that's already happening thanks to my inability to get comfortable at night and, again, those darn big hormones. So what is actually going to change? Um, everything? And what is there actually to fear? Probably everything. And nothing. All at the same time. Such is the paradox of parenting as I've come to know it. Why would I expect anything else?

Following Through

I may have made an error. A large one. I just messed with Harrison's pre-nap routine - something I never, never do because sleep is such a precious commodity in this household. But here's the deal...I warned him that if he didn't listen, if he didn't let me change his diaper, then there would be no books before bed. And by golly (sorry, when did I turn 85?), he didn't listen. So I had to do it. I had to stand firm on my threat of a consequence. Didn't I? Ah, the joys of forever questioning each new parenting decision....

Normally, pre-sleep, we change his diaper, climb into the rocker to read 3-5 books, and then we switch off the light so we can sing the "Goodnight" song where we insert the names of various people/items with each new verse. Much of the time we include family members, but there have been days when animals and even table condiments (yes, ketchup and mustard) have been included. While we did still sing a couple verses today, HD was clearly upset because we skipped a vital step - the reading. He started crying, calling out for, "My books! My books!" which nearly broke my heart as both his mama and an English teacher, but I am learning with him that boundaries and limits are everything and he is constantly pushing to see how far he can bend us.

Apparently, today, my patience broke. I didn't snap and I didn't get mad. I just decided to follow through even though I knew it might cost me. I don't mess with the pre-nap routine because I don't want to risk messing with nap. Ever. And while it was no fun to leave him crying in the dark room and then hear him still calling for his books as I came in here to type, I must say, I think this might have worked. He's been quiet for a few minutes now, so really, with only five minutes of fussing, we are hopefully right back on track for our afternoon downtime. Because let's face it; it's not just his rest time that concerns me here. Clearly this time is vital for me as well.

As for what happens after nap today? I think we'll take some time to read as many books as Harrison wants.

First Oreo?

Grandma Joyce came to visit for the weekend and to keep us company while Ben was gone today to his grad seminar. While grocery shopping this morning (yes, more meals cooking right now that will go in the freezer!), she had the brilliant idea of going for a picnic lunch.

It is a gorgeous day. Lots of sun, temps in the mid-70's, and a nice little breeze moving the air and leaves. We picked the playground by Lake Hastings that was built last year and is perfect for kids of many ages, including toddlers. Harrison is quite fond of the place and today he had a great time climbing ladders (for the first time, ever; heaven help me!), playing in the wood chips, and making numerous trips down the slide. After half an hour or so of playing, he came over to where I was resting on a bench (thanks, Grandma!) and told me he was ready for his picnic. His version of "picnic" doesn't quite roll of the tongue properly, but is therefore all the better because it has that lovely toddler-take on the English language that can be so endearing (and confusing). I think the closest word it resembles is piggies.

Harrison was a perfect little picnic-goer, eating his Lunchable (we all had them, in honor of the picnic idea) and drinking his juice box with gusto. Included in HD's extra special Lunchable, however, were two Double Stuf (and yes, I happen to know that is the correct spelling of said cookie because I am a fan of such, pregnant or not) Oreos. To my knowledge, he has never before been given an Oreo. Now, if you are reading this and you have given my child an Oreo, please tell me because otherwise I am flabbergasted at what happened when I handed over the first one. He took it from me, twisted one side off, licked it, and then proceeded to devour the whole darn thing. Seriously! Are kids today born knowing how to eat Oreos?! It was like he was an old pro - if only he'd had a cup of milk for dunking! I promise, if you were the one who taught him how to do this, I won't be mad. I just want to know if Oreo eating is an innate skill or something he learned while Mama wasn't watching. 

Om, the Irony

In March, Ben's cousin Ember gave me a piece from her ceramics class that she (rightly) thought I might appreciate. This July, after a successful transplant from the back to front yard, I placed my Om plate on the rocks surrounding our rose bush. Today, as I sat reading the paper on the front porch while Harrison played on the steps and grass nearby, I suddenly heard a rustling from the rock/rose bed. I looked up just in time to see him carrying the plate, headed straight for the sidewalk where he promptly, after looking at me over his shoulder first, dropped it.

"Broken? Broken!" is what he said. Somehow, I managed not to say much, even though some choice words went through my mind. I guess the power of the Om was with me as I calmly collected the pieces and hauled HD's troublesomeness back in the house. I will say, however, I was less than pleased with him for the remainder of the morning. As much as I'd like to think that it was an accident, and perhaps it was just a lesson in cause and effect, my feelings were hurt by his actions. During this trying week with him, the irony of this broken symbol is not lost on me. Good thing I still have the one on my wrist to remind me to breathe....

The Bad Stuff

Last night, in a rare moment of "me" time, I got to go out for supper with friends. Ben stayed home to feed, bathe, and put Harrison to bed. It turned out to be perfect timing as Little Man and I had an especially trying day yesterday. I know my lack of sleep this week was part of crawl-in-the-cave morning, but I also have a sinking suspicion that HD is not only feeding off the energy of my late-stage-pregnancy-hormone-mood swings, but also sensing that a big change is coming soon.

Among other subjects discussed during dinner, my friends and I recalled a time two years ago when three of the four of us had had babies within the year (two of us within the last three months) and one was about to have hers within the next few weeks. We were all a bit shell-shocked. There was an evening we rallied for take-out dinner from our favorite local pub and all of the ladies ended up in the nursery talking openly and honestly about just how hard this parenting gig was at times. The newest mom, who had felt like she was the only struggling, looked around with a mouth wide open and asked, "Why don't we talk about this stuff? We have to talk about the bad stuff, too!" As we relived that conversation last night, I thought, how fitting for the day Harrison and I had just experienced. My default, when talking to other people about our bad days, is to crack jokes and smile - the grin and bare it approach, I guess, to parenting. But some days, I can't help but wonder why don't we just talk about the bad stuff? Why do we try to smile and pretend like everything is sunshine and roses?


Even though my dinner out (away, alone, as an adult/individual) was lovely, my spirit was still feeling defeated when I got home. I considered blogging last night but knew that doing so would come off as whiny and self-indulgent. Even at my worst, I can still recognize and appreciate that so many other parents out there have situations far more difficult than my own. Single parent homes...military homes...parents of children who are ill or suffering....all of these people pass through my mind when I am feeling particularly sorry for myself and I know that I am so fortunate, so blessed to have the life I do. But (there is always a but), I have come to learn that parenting is difficult no matter what your situation may be and that anything can feel so much worse when you assume that you are alone & the only one who has ever felt this way.  

I know I am not the first tired pregnant lady. I know I am not the first mother to struggle with handling an energetic toddler (hello, the "terrible twos" was a phrase invented long before Harrison came into this world!). & I know I'm not the first parent to wonder if they are royally screwing up their kid for life at each new turn. I need to remember these things when it feels like I am all alone in The Bad Stuff. Because like it or not, every day is not going to perfect. Boundaries and patience levels will be tested. Buttons (literal and figurative) will be pushed. The Bad Stuff will happen. But (there is always a but), the choice I need to make, for myself and for how I approach my children, is to know that The Good Stuff will come again. Always. It may need to be prompted by good friends, chocolate, coffee, wine, etc. but surely, if we face The Bad Stuff head on - talk about it instead of ignoring it - we will get there. Always.

35 1/2 Weeks Pregnant. Or, How I Became an Insomniac.

Seriously. I am tired. I really, really am. But for the second night in a row, I find myself wide eyed in the middle of the night, totally unable to shut off my mind. Monday into Tuesday, I woke up at 4:00 and didn't get back to "sleep" until after 6:00; even then, all I did was have crazy dreams about changing diapers - how fun. & this was all after it took until almost midnight to fall asleep! Last night into this morning, it was 3:00. & what am I thinking about? Grocery shopping, mostly. Really? What is wrong with my head?

Both mid-night wakings were, of course, initiated by an it's-almost-the-ninth-month-pregnant-bladder, but why I can't then just go back to bed is beyond me. I know when I will be tired...in approx. 6 hours when Harrison is running around with his mid-morning spurt of energy. That is when I will want to be curled up on the couch, or better yet, in my bed. But since it's the All Mama, All the Time show during the day, and no caffeine in sight until after this baby comes, we shall hope and pray that I at least make it through until he goes down for his nap and then I too can, mercifully, crash into a heap.

4 Days, 12 Meals

If you do the math, 12 meals in 4 days makes perfect sense. But clearly I am either very, very pregnant or just plain crazy, because in the last 4 days (starting Thursday evening and lasting until this morning), I made 12 extra meals, which clearly does not make sense. And these were not just any old meals. These were casseroles and marinades and sides that, to some extent, involved a heck of a lot more cooking/prep than I normally do. And did I mention the number of loads of dishes? Probably close to 12 as well!

Here is what I looked like Friday evening, three meals in:

Notice the slightly exasperated expression, but decent clothes and make up to boot.

There are no pictures of me from yesterday or this morning. There is only this:

This is, perhaps, the most beautiful sight I have seen in days. This is my completed list of freezer-ready dishes made, minus the Sloppy Joes that I did Thursday night, giving this whole crazy project its kick start. I did not go in the order I planned, nor I did go this adventure alone. Ben was an excellent chef's assistant, especially when my pregnant back and belly could not take one more minute of standing at the stove, whisking butter, flour, and various seasonings to make a white sauce or base for a cheese dish. He was supposed to be working on homework all weekend, but he is not only helpful but also kind; he told me that family stuff just has to come first sometimes.

And really, that is what this whirlwind of weekend work was all about....getting ready to expand our little family. I meant to do something like this before Harrison was born but never did. This time around, the idea of cooking ahead was again rolling around in my brain, but like so much else, kept getting forgotten or overlooked in the day-to-day chaos. But this weekend HD was off to the farm with Grandma and Grandpa Welsch, so I took full advantage of my 56 free hours and went to town in my teeny, tiny kitchen. If you know my relationship with my house, you know that I consider my kitchen to be the structure's Achilles' heel for its lack of storage and counter space. Without a toddler around to disturb the work in process, though, my kitchen and I managed to pull off a tremendous feat. Did I mention that I also made a slow cook roast for supper last night and fresh rolls to make said roast into BBQ sandwiches? And that I'm making meatballs tonight? Surely this must be some form of nesting!

Friday morning, as I pushed my very full, very heavy shopping cart around the grocery store, I thought I must have lost my mind. I mean, I was even buying onions to saute and put in dishes - something I never do. But here I am, Sunday afternoon, with a freezer chest full of what I hope are tasty dishes that we will get to enjoy in the coming months after BWNo.2 arrives. That is perhaps the funniest and the looniest part of this whole venture. With the exception of the mashed potatoes, we have never tried any of these specific recipes. But, as my very wise father pointed out, they will taste just fine simply because they will mean that we don't have to cook on the days when we are dragging our tired bodies from one diaper change to the next. Works for me!

And now, on to that final load of dishes...

This is Not Moppy Bams

As part of my day "job" requires, I listen to a LOT of kid music. I am OK with that. I have embraced the fact that the high, sing-songy children's albums out there will be my norm for the foreseeable future. But every now and then, this mama and music lover needs a break.

Apparently, Harrison needs breaks, too. Lately, when he's in the middle of a complete meltdown, and I have no idea what else to do, I go the iPod, search out some of my music to turn on and then go about my business (while keeping him in eyesight, of course) until the storm passes. I don't think that my music is the key, but it certainly helps me from joining him in the tears and kicking on the floor, so maybe it is helping more than I realize.

Seeing as our morning started before 7:00 today, when he's been sleeping in past 7:30 all week, it is no surprise that today brought out the need for Mama's music. You wouldn't think that extra 30 minutes would mean so much, but with my child, it is all in the (sleep) details. In the midst of trying to warm up lunch and get HD into his chair, he decided the world had ended and nothing I could do or say was going to fix it. So I let him work it out on his own and sat down by myself at the table to eat until he was calm enough to join me. To give us something else to listen to besides the wailing, I turned on a live album from Guster.

It seems that when I need to cool myself down because Harrison needs to cool himself down, I turn to some of my oldie by goodie music. Not true oldies, mind you...just the bands that have been my favorites for well over a decade even though their albums have been sorely neglected in recent years. It seems that I almost always need the mellow moods and gorgeous guitars of Dave Matthews and Guster when the tantrums strike.

When Harrison is feeling mellow, one of his favorite questions is, "What's this called?" We have not entered the Phase of Why yet, but I figure this is the first stepping stone to getting us there because this question is asked, on average, dozens of times each day. When I first started play DMB during our meals a few weeks ago, Harrison pointed to the stereo and of course asked, "What's this called?" So I told him we were listening to the Dave Matthews Band. Somehow this became translated, in Harrison-speak, to Moppy Bams. No idea how or why, but when he first said it back to me, I couldn't help but laugh which instantly cemented the name in his brain because my child loves to get reactions (good and bad) from people. But really - Moppy Bams?! How comical is that?

This week, our band of choice has been Guster. Today, when I told him what "this" was called, he repeated the band's name several times before grinning and saying, "This is Moppy Bams? No! This is Guster!" And then the grin and the phrase were on repeat because clearly he was pleased with his little joke. I have to say, it made me smile, too, which is great because having the two of us both smiling was a big improvement from where we were 15 minutes prior in our day.

Thank goodness for unexpected discoveries. I never would have guessed that my old jam bands would be soothing to my son's soul, but it's nice to know that he goes on smiling, even after the world has ended for the third time in one day.

Small Grapes

If you are unfamiliar with Patti Digh's blog, 37 Days, you should really take a few minutes to explore it. There is also a book called Life is a Verb if you have the time and trust me, it is worth the reading, writing, and creating involved. I started the book a year about a year ago and one of my favorite entries is about Carrying a Small Grape. The gist of the story is how Patti's young daughter finds extreme wonder and joy in carrying around a small grape and in the book Patti challenges her readers to find or create something small that will do the same for them. Some small token that will bring them happiness or even just help them crack a smile when they need it most. Here are pictures of the two sides of my own "small grape" that I made last fall. It is about the size of a business card, meant to fit easily in my wallet.

As you can see, I included a few of my favorite things: words, autumn leaves, pancakes, funky socks and my little HD. I am looking back at my own small grape right now because it seems that Harrison himself has some small grapes and I wonder if I'll always be able to remember them, even though right now they seem impossible to forget.

Small Grape #1 isn't small. In fact, it is huge and yellow. Harrison loves seeing school buses and will spot them from a mile away when we're driving in the van. Just this morning, on our way to run some errands, he called out, "Oh my goodness! A school bus coming!" I love that can get so excited about something as simple as a bus and I also love that I have taught him to say "Oh my goodness" instead of some of the more, ahem - colorful - expressions that I have used in my lifetime.

Small Grape #2 isn't small either. And in fact, it too comes in the form of a large vehicle (hmmm, I see a pattern forming here!). On Mondays and Thursdays, trash (yard, then waste, respectively) is collected in our neighborhood. Again, the delight and joy that HD finds in watching these early morning events unfold is unbelievable. He can actually hear the trucks working their gears as they lumber up the block and will go running for the nearest window to watch them approach, yelling, "Garbage truck coming! Oh boy! Garbage truck!" He also is very appreciative of their work as they move past our house and has been known to wave to the garbage men and their trucks, telling them thank you and that they worked hard. This one, I have in picture form, although I wish I could have captured his face as well:

Small Grapes are amazing, even when they aren't small at all. Harrison's tastes and preferences will change so much in the months and years to come. I just hope and pray that no matter what brings him joy, he'll always be able to keep some of those pleasures simple and pure like they are now in his two-year-old world. And if the child grows up and someday operates large vehicles in some capacity or another, his mama won't be surprised at all.

Here We Go, Go, Go, Go...

Our day together began at 7:15 this morning. Daddy was already gone, off to a conference that lasts today and tomorrow. Mind you, this is the start of our second six-day week. In a row. These weeks are challenging for Harrison and I because, by the Thursday or Friday of it, we've honestly had enough of just the two of us time. Not to say we don't still adore each other (will have to say more about HD's sudden separation anxiety another time), because that love still comes out in small moments, even on the worst days. The lizard days. Days like last Friday.

Perhaps my worst parenting moment to date occurred Friday morning when it took 45 minutes to get Harrison to sit for 1 minute in time out. On facebook, I equated this, at 8 months pregnant, to running 5 miles. Physically, it was that exhausting. Emotionally, it was even worse. At least after a run, I always felt a warmth, a sense of accomplishment. After that epic battle I felt spent, like I wanted to curl up in a cave and hand this whole parenting gig over to someone far more patient and qualified. But then, you get the small moments. The little hand resting on your leg as you read a story together. The intoxicating smell of baby lotion after a bath. Some days, these small moments are the only thing getting me through the ups and down of toddlerhood.

Today we took a different approach to the start of our second long week. I walked in at 7:15 and asked Harrison, straight off, if he'd like to go on an adventure. (Sidebar: we are big PBS fans, which means The Cat in the Hat is a favorite. Hence the show's theme song and one of our favorite ditties to sing: "Here we go, go, go go on an adventure!") It is a good thing, in retrospect, that he agreed immediately and wholeheartedly, because we were going either way, but I figure it is always nice to give the kiddo some buy in power when I can. When he found out that said adventure meant we were headed to his see his three-month-old baby cousin, Trevin, be baptized, he was thrilled. The whole way through breakfast and into the van and down the highway, all I heard was how we were going to see Baby Trevin. Of course, seeing the rest of Ben's family was a big bonus incentive as Harrison loves, loves, loves his cousin and his grandparents and their farm.

Normally I am not so brave. I do not travel long distances (anything over 20 minutes) with Harrison and without Ben, mainly because my back hates me a lot at times which makes travel (alone) with a toddler difficult. Seeing as we were headed to a family-filled event and then to Ben's parent's house for the rest of the day, though, I decided it was worth the experience, the time together, and just the plain old factor of getting out of the house to see other people.

Turns out I was right. Harrison had a great time seeing Trevin this morning. He even lasted the entire church service in the pew with us. Granted, he bounced from my lap, then to Grandpa's, and then to Grandma's about 50 times, and ate a lot of Kix and a bag of fruit snacks, but still - no crying and no tantrums. I'll take that any day! And with extra eyes to watch and arms to lift, we sailed through the morning like we are old pros at this. Amazing. Is my back sore after the long day? Yes. Is the baby moving in ways that make me both uncomfortable and anxious as I check the calendar to see just what date it is? Yes. But wouldn't this have been the case if we had just stayed home today and done the same old, same old? I'd have to guess, Yes!

Perhaps I need to propose more adventure days. Maybe we don't even need to go anywhere outside of city limits to have these adventures. Perhaps just starting the days off right - with a little fun, a little excitement, a little mystery - would set us down the path of having more adventures and discoveries and less crawl-in-the-cave moments. One could only hope, right?

Hair Crumbs

In the last year or so, Harrison has had a handful of haircuts. There have never been major tears or tantrums, but some appointments have gone better than others. Yesterday's appointment was a dream!

First of all, HD sat beautifully in his daddy's lap the whole time and entertained himself by making faces in the mirror and at Mama. He followed directions by looking down at his shoes when asked and even said, "Again?" for the spray bottle of water to be spritzed on his head. But the best part? The hair crumbs.

As the hair dresser (a temporary new one for our family, as ours is out for her own maternity leave) trimmed away the little blond curls and wisps, lots of hair fell down, naturally, on Harrison's lap and smock. He loves the smock, by the way, because it is covered in colorful "fishies." Apparently, though, he does not like the fishies to be covered by his hair because he kept trying to shake, blow, and wipe away the strays. And then, all of the sudden, he surprised all three of us by proclaiming that he was getting rid of the "hair crumbs" - a true example of the power of words when applied to a toddler's train of thought. The hair dresser said she'd never heard that one before, and we all laughed as he continued to point them out to us throughout the rest of the cut.

I love HD's hair after a trim, just as I love it when it is longer and curly. He looks more like a little man with it short, but clearly that fits because that's exactly what he is, what with his knowledge of hair crumbs and all.

9/11 + 10 =

In the grand scheme of things, my experiences on 9/11 were nothing grand. Yet, today, on the 10th anniversary, I feel compelled to remember the day and what it was to me, for me. A friend posted on facebook about how kids under the age of 16 really have no concept of the attack, unless, of course, they lost a loved one. While that makes sense, it amazes me because I can't imagine not knowing, not feeling the weight of this day. I feel it all the time, am reminded all of the time of that day and its impact on our nation - our world.

When I really sit down and think, I don't remember much from the actual morning of 9/11. While I remember very clearly about first learning of the towers falling, the rest of the day is blur. I was a sophomore at Doane that year and had gotten up to do to a Taebo workout in my dormroom before heading to class. & yes, I remember that detail specifically. I also remember that prior to starting the tape (yes, vhs), my TV was set to CMT. When I finished the routine and switched back to the normal television screen, I did not see a country music video. In fact, what I did see confused me so much, I thought something had gone wrong with my cable. I was watching a war zone; at least, that is it what the smoke filled streets and running people made me think of as I tried to piece together what on earth was going on. After that, I don't know how it all came together. I'm sure I spent a lot of the day talking with my dormmates and calling my family. I'm guessing I went to class and lunch and supper. I do remember, vaguely, attending a candle-lit vigil that night but somehow it didn't mend the hole that had been ripped in my sense of America or my sense of security as an American.

A week later I remember going shopping with my roommate, thinking the whole time - we are at war (even though, technically, that hadn't happened yet)...how important is it that I buy new clothes? But life carries on and so did we, in every small way we could. If my grandparents could come through WWII and go on to have families and lives, I figured we too would find a way to grow up and grow old, even though I also knew that something in the world had changed.

Perhaps the biggest direct impact 9/11 had on my college life came through the sudden spike in fear that my family had about my plans for the following school year, the fall of 2002, when I was set to travel to Africa for an entire semester. They balked at the idea of me traveling abroad, and really, those of us in the Africa semester group did wonder for some time if we'd be allowed to go. My argument to my parents? There are no guarantees, not even here, so why not explore and learn in every way possible? While I can't say they were ever 100% behind the idea, they let me go.

On the one year anniversary of 9/11, I was in Arusha, Tanzania. I remember sitting in a tiny cafe eating supper that night, listening to the radio broadcasting the news, and all of the sudden, there was W.'s voice, snippets of his speech from the memorial that was taking place halfway around the world. It was surreal to be so far away from home and yet so connected to a day I know I'll never fully understand.

Ten years later and I feel the same way. I still don't get it. I don't know why people hate or why they mistrust and take out their own fears and frustrations on others who have done them no harm. I also don't know how we can still be fighting wars over this, but that's not to say that I think those lives lost weren't worth defending. I do know that I am grateful. Grateful for the brave men and women in our armed services who tackle the most difficult tasks each day - something I would never have the strength or courage to do. Grateful for the education, travel, and experiences I've had in the last ten years that have taught me much about the world as well as tolerance and acceptance. Grateful for my loving family, kind husband, beautiful son, and the sweet little one about to join us. For all of these reasons, I am so glad that we have found a way to carry on beyond the terror and fear of that day ten years ago. All that being said, I hope we never forget and never let that gratitude go. We cannot live this life alone. But perhaps we can find a way to live it together with more joy and more peace.

How Does He Know?

Today I have to take HD w/ me to an appointment in Grand Island. Silly mommy-brain...I didn't leave enough time for Ben to make it home so I could make the trek alone like I normally do. This is OK; he's gone with me to this same place before and handled it just fine. What I thought we would do though, for kicks, was hit up Khol's for a little shopping prior to my appointment. Remember my restlessness and desire to shop? Yeah, still dealing with that. But all I'm looking to buy is a cardigan - something that will work post-baby-body as well as in the present time, promise.

So. Here I sit, waiting almost, for Harrison to wake up from his nap. How does he do this? When I want to take advantage of nap time by also sleeping (which has been happening a lot since I entered my third trimester of pregnancy), he barely sleeps an hour and fifteen minutes. Today, when I would like to hit the road sooner than later, he snoozes and snoozes and snoozes. I would like to think that if I just pretended each day that I had some really important (OK, Khol's is not that important, but still), maybe I could lure him into napping for these long, glorious chunks of time. Chunks of time that would allow me to decompress, too.

But I know my son and he is so much smarter than that (and me). He would know, without fail, that I was trying to trick him. And he would, no doubt, be awake in no time.

Give to Mama

Small wonders today....such as having a babysitter for an hour this morning so Mama could do some yoga and take a relaxing shower....such as Harrison still getting to go to the park to see the ducks without his own Mama having to waddle to get there....such as a gardener noticing HD's interest in smelling the flowers and then cutting two pink buds and telling him he should take them home to his mommy....such as a delighted two-year-old running in the house, a flower in each hand, hollering, "Give to Mama! Give to Mama!"

Restless

It started yesterday afternoon and has yet to cease. I have no idea what I want or want to do but I cannot shake this feeling - this urge - to want and to want to do. But with no answers or even ideas (other than shopping, and really, at 8 months pregnant? What is the point?), I sit here feeling stuck.

My darling husband suggested last night that maybe I should clean. Did he not get the memo about being 8 months pregnant? When I gave him the raised, incredulous eyebrow look, he quickly recanted and said that he meant, "you know - nesting stuff." OK. Nesting I could probably get behind, but I've kind of already done a lot of that with the whole painting the basement, organizing the kitchen cupboards, and going through the storage containers to find newborn gear. And really, after getting through the first two weeks of Ben being back to teaching, I'm a little bit sick of the house. Even now he is at the high school football game while Harrison sleeps soundly in the room next to me, which is quiet and peaceful, but the fact remains that it's just me and the dogs and the house and this extreme sense of not knowing what to do.

I haven't hit the ready-to-be-done-with-being-pregnant wall quite yet and that is a good thing seeing as I have 7ish weeks left to go. So if I know it isn't that, then perhaps it has a bit to do with knowing that we've hit the so close, yet so far away stage of the pregnancy. I cannot begin to fathom what life will be like when BWNo.2 arrives, but I seem to be itching to get there (don't worry, Mom. I'm not actually itching!). That, or I just really want to go shopping.

Coming Back

Today, for the very first time, Harrison and I tried out a MOPS meeting. We hadn't gone previously because the meeting time conflicted with HD's morning nap, and if you know anything about us, you know we are crazy about honoring the almighty nap. (Side note: wonder what BWNo.2's naps will be like. How will we ever be as good at getting those in as we were for Harrison?)

The overall impression was a good one. It was amazing to see just how many women were there and really nice to hear that I'm not the only one who has ups and downs with parenting. But I'll say more about that another time. For now, my mind is on just how heartbreaking it was to leave Harrison with the childcare providers and walk myself up to the meeting room to start the morning.

Honestly, I don't know how moms (and dads) do this every day at daycare. I guess it must get easier, but this was our first experience of leaving Harrison in a strange, new place with strange, new people and it was a tad bit dramatic (and traumatic!). When we first walked into the 2-3 yr. old's room, it was just fine. There were crafts, colors, and some young girls floating about looking over the growing herd. One little girl, though, was whimpering. And soon another one started. And then another. And then I tried to focus Harrison's attention on his football coloring sheet so I could scoot out the door and wouldn't you know it - he joined the chorus of criers! The big fat tears, the clinging to my neck - it was all just too much for me. So I sat. & I colored. & I looked at the other moms coming and going and wondered if I'd even make it to the darn meeting.

Soon a mom I know came in with her son and I decided it was a now or never moment. Along with another new mom who was struggling to detach, we more or less just bolted. Of course I gave HD a kiss and told him I'd be back, and then I left him with the teenager who was standing there ready and willing to distract. Now, in my defense, I can blame what happened next on the fact that I'm pregnant and that, as I've come to learn, makes a girl a bit emotional. But just like my little man, I started crying! OK, maybe not full on crying, but I got totally teared up as I walked (ran) from that Sunday school classroom with the other moms. It was so hard to leave him feeling so confused and because I'm with him ALL the time, we just have no experience at how to handle this. Knowing that a little social interaction would be good for both of us, though, I did my best to hold back the waterworks. & seeing as no one ever came to get me to say that my child was a total basketcase, I guess he calmed down as well. Full disclosure? I have a feeling this scene (tears for both) would have played out even if I wasn't full of pregnancy hormones.

When we got home a couple hours later, and I was helping Harrison from the carseat, he told me, "Mama came back!" This, along with big, hiccupy hug that I got when I went to pick him up, made my day. By some sort of divine intervention, we checked out Llama Llama Misses Mama last week from the library and have been reading it a lot ever since. In the story, Little Llama misses his mama when he goes to school for the first time, but they ultimately have a happy reunion ("Mama Llama! You came back!!!") at the end of the day. How fantastic to know that my son is not only learning from the books we read together, but also to see that he knows his own mama loves him to pieces and will always come back. Too bad I won't always have the excuse of the baby bump when his growing up makes me choke up in the future.

Diaper Disputes

Harrison hates diaper changes. This has not always been the case, but for the last week or two, they have become his Public Enemy No. 1 (& 2). He would rather walk around in a soggy or dirty diaper for half an hour or more than risk the torture of the changing table; at least, it appears to be torture based on his reaction every time I go to change him. There is always wiggling and whining and sometimes even kicking and crying involved. Just this morning, when he'd had his diaper on for over twelve hours and even my snuffy nose could clearly sense that he needed to be changed, he fought me on it, telling me, "I don't want! I don't want!" Why?

What is it that makes a two-year-old not want his diaper changed? Is this is a sign of wanting to potty train? Seems like an odd one to me. I would be happy to move him from diapers to the potty but haven't even bothered with it because of BWNo2's quickly approaching arrival. Anticipating a backslide and taking into consideration HD's age, I figured we just weren't ready. But why the diaper battles? It's not even that he just doesn't want to wear one - it's that he doesn't even want the soiled one taken off!

For my pregnant back, diaper changes have become the least favorite part of the day. I have enough challenges maneuvering my belly around without having to wrestle Harrison out of and into diapers all day long. The stress, not to mention the physical strain of it all, is, well - a big, fat stinker.

Baby Legs (or maybe elbows)

Baby Welsch No. 2, as we've so affectionately been referring to my growing belly, is moving a LOT. For comparison's sake, I remember Harrison being an active baby. In fact, I remember that near the end of that pregnancy, when he was in his head down position with bum and legs up by my ribs, he would push so hard with his feet that I literally would push back with my own hand just to relieve the pressure! So far BWNo.2 isn't that stuck or that stubborn. I have a feeling, however, that we may be headed down that same path because this is once again a very active baby. Did I mention I gave up caffeine when I got pregnant? Well, mostly. But I gave it up entirely a least a couple of months ago, but you wouldn't know it by the way my belly wiggles and jiggles all day and all night.

In no way am I complaining about feeling the baby move. I know it is a good thing - a great thing - and it is actually one of my favorite things about pregnancy. The bond between mama and baby starts with those kicks, I think. Mom is the only one who knows Babe is moving unless she decides to share the experience by grabbing someone else's hand and putting it on the stomach to feel the next blow; but even then, I just don't think it is the same thing as feeling that movement inside your own body. There is something about that connection that is just magical. Like a preview to a film that you know you are going to adore, these kicks are the first sign (after the growing belly, of course) that you really are creating something - someone - here that is going to steal your heart forever.


While I was trying to fall asleep last night, BWNo2. was really on a roll. I mean, really! S/he was rolling around, tap dancing on my bladder and belly, moving more than I think I've felt to date. I almost had to laugh because somehow I missed the memo that my uterus had been transformed into a nightclub. But so as to not disturb my sleeping husband (who has been driven out of our bedroom twice already this week by my coughing), I kept my laughter in and put my hand on my tummy instead - all the better to feel the dance party (and the love) from the inside out.

Maiasaura Whozit? Whatzit?

As an English major, I put pressure on words. Not all words - just the ones I choose to use when I either speak or write. I have always felt the weight of words and the scrutiny of my audience on how I use those words. As if having two degrees in English means I must be perfect! But I'm not. I break conventions and start sentences with "but" and other conjunctions. I misspell. I even write in - gasp! - fragments from time to time! Mostly, though, I try to speak and write in the way I see the world and my world gets a little rambly and longwinded at times and it definitely includes words that I make up (one of the perks of those degrees, you see). So how does a longwinded, rambly writer like me transform those Faulkneresq sentences and thoughts into a blog with readable prose? I take the pressure of words and work it as best as I know how.

All of this rambling leads me back to the main point here. You all know what it means to muse over something or someone. How many of you, though, have ever encountered the word "maiasaura" before this blog? My Mac wants me to change it to "samuri" so even Apple is confused by this strange scientific word. I'm not big on scientific names, but I have a feeling the next few years of my life might be overrun by them if Harrison's current interests hold strong. You see, he is a big fan of trains. He is also a big fan of dinosaurs. So imagine our delight when we stumbled upon Jim Hensen's Dinosaur Train on PBS's kiddo programming! An instant favorite (and something my own brother would have adored as a kid), I (and, I would imagine, my son) have learned a lot from watching the Pteranodon family and their friends explore the Mesozoic Era.

One new dinosaur friend that caught my attention was the Maiasaura, a creature whose name literally means "good mother lizard." I found it fascinating that fossils could convey parental tendencies, but apparently it's possible! In thinking about my own herd/brood/nest/what-have-you when I was setting up this blog, I kept coming back to my attempts (successful and some not) at being a good mom; this in turn led me back to the good old DT and Maiasaura. I especially like that the word "lizard" is a part of the name's meaning because, well honestly - don't we all have lizard days from time to time? I figure I can work on finding balance between the good, the mother, and the lizard. Doing this might just help me live up to the Maiasaura's example.

So there you have it. The pressure of words, the pressure of naming a blog, and the pressure of being a parent...all of these are contributors to what awaits you here on the screen as you read this. Have I gone off the deep end, even for an English major? Perhaps. But at least I used alliteration to get me there!

Sleeping Beauty

In an odd and rare turn of events, Harrison slept later than I did this morning. Usually it is his squawking and rambling that pulls me out of bed and into the day. This morning, however, it was my own chest constricting cough that had me up and around the house, waiting and wondering why I hadn't heard a peep yet from his room.

Like any good mom, I took advantage of the "extra" minutes and did little chores like filling his milk cup for breakfast and making my bed; I even snuck in a quick look at facebook just for kicks.. Then I got curious. 25 minutes of me banging around the house & he was still quiet. Was he OK? Was he breathing? I can't even number how many times I've asked myself that question in his two short years, but it always seems to be my go-to worry.

Opening the door to his bedroom, turning on no lights, I found my little man curled up in his crib, surrounded by the ever-growing number of animals that accompany him to sleep each night. He didn't wake up, so after the mandatory "Is his chest moving?" assessment, I just stopped to watch - something I don't get to do often because Harrison is hardly ever still during the day and does not need us to help him fall asleep at night.

Am I biased to say he was beautiful? Probably. What struck me most, though, was how much his sleeping position mirrored my own. Curled up on his right side, that poor right arm shmushed somewhere below, he had his left hand tucked up by his face, just under his chin - just as I do every night. His legs bent, he had not a pillow between them like his mama, but instead a teddy bear giving him that ever helpful spinal alignment that would make our chiropractor proud. I was amazed to see this sweet little mini me, so calm and so peaceful. I could have watched for hours.

In reality, the quiet lasted about five minutes, but you know that alone is impressive if you have ever met my active little boy. When he finally stirred, he first rolled his body back and assumed a little child's pose, rolled up like a ball in the middle of the crib. He then put his hand up to his hair, twirling it for a little while, just as he does during his bedtime routine when we are reading stories and he is clearly ready for a lullaby and lights out.

When he turned to look out into his dark room, he saw me sitting there beside the crib and instantly jumped up, grabbed Cow, and exclaimed, "Mama!" as he reached out to hug me (and get an assist in climbing out of the crib). I doubt there could be a better way to start any day.

Throwing it out there

Why I haven't done this before is beyond me. I love to write. But perhaps I am too late to this game of blogging. Isn't it a bit overdone at this point? Will anyone stumble upon this and care to read? Respond? Does it matter if they do? Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps this shall be just for me - to see what I can create. To get my thoughts out of my head and down in text. To create a register of sorts to record my experiences as both a mother and a woman. Funny; I turn 30 next year and still have a hard time reconciling the word "woman" with myself. It sounds too stuffy or perhaps just too adult for how I view myself and my life, even though I am one of the most responsible people you'll ever meet. As it stands, I am just two months or so from adding to that responsibility level by having my second baby. I guess what I really want to do here is write about who I am because of my kids, but also to stay in conversation with who I am because of me. & maybe somewhere along the way, I'll find a way to live up to the maiasaura's example while being both Mama and Me.