Lucy is sick.
Tissues everywhere; they are her arch nemesis. Nose wiping is the new water boarding. She’s never been a naughty child, but boy, is she a snotty child.
Night time is no longer for sleeping. It’s for tossing, turning, whining and snoring. It’s also for keeping Mama awake.
A trip to the store is in order…vapor-rub, special nose-friendly wipes, anything that might make her feel better.
Nothing is getting done today. Why not? It’s not like I have things to do…oh, wait. I do.
*sigh*
Oh, well. I just hope she gets well soon.
Sick babies = heartsick mamas.

I own two strollers: an umbrella stroller that lies folded in the back of my station wagon "just in case" and a monstrosity that spends the vast majority of its time folded and stuffed into a closet as the Beco baby carrier that hangs above it is taken out and used again and again and again. Poor strollers. They must be lonely. Tough luck Mr. and Mrs. Stroller, but Ms. Beco is the one pulling her weight in this family instead of weighing us down.

We have been fans of babywearing since the first day we tried it. When my baby girl was smaller we'd tie her on in a stretchy wrap. The wrap was wonderful! Our daughter loved the perpetual hug that babywearing provides and we loved having our hands free to do dishes play video games. But before traveling several thousand miles to visit Grandma and Grandpa we invested in a Beco from Parenting By Nature. We felt that a carrier that could be easily gotten on and easily adjusted would be more convenient going through airport security and since our little girl was getting less and less little, it would be practical to have a structured carrier that would better support her weight.

'Practical' does not even begin to describe how we feel about babywearing with a structured carrier; 'cozy,' 'easy,' and 'fun' come to mind. When traveling? I'd go with 'absolutely necessary' and 'miraculously helpful.' There's no plane-side checking of a baby carrier. You either continue wearing your babe on the plane, or you can roll up the carrier and stash it in your diaper bag. Wearing our baby during our flight helped keep her happy and secure versus cranky and wiggly (which kept us parents from being cranky too)! But the real benefit came when an unforeseen landing problem landed us in the emergency room.

Upon descent my body freaked out a bit. I had some blood pressure and hyperventilation issues that left me weak, sick, and fuzzy-brained (well, more fuzzy-brained than usual) and before you could say "please return your tray table to its upright position" the flight attendants had called for help. I found myself being wheeled through the Toronto airport on a stretcher so I could take my first (and hopefully last) ambulance ride to the emergency room while my worried husband raced behind carrying every. last. piece. of our carry-on luggage. The one thing he wasn't struggling to hold onto? Our daughter.

We ended up spending hours at the hospital. We waited quite a while in the emergency room before being told I was fine and that it was nothing serious. Then we spent more time trying to figure out where we would stay for the night, how we would get there, when we could fly again, informing family members of what had happened. It was, to put it mildly, stressful. But the one thing we weren’t stressing about? Our daughter. The whole time she was happily worn by her daddy.

All three of us love babywearing. We use our Beco regularly, around the house when our daughter is fussy, at the grocery, at the park, at the mall, everywhere! But the convenience and emotional benefits of babywearing really shine when life gets complicated. Wearing your baby is like wearing a life jacket…a life jacket for your sanity. So our strollers stay folded and stashed away, rarely seeing light of day, not really earning their keep. Which leads me to ask...anybody want to buy a stroller? Barely used, great condition. Going cheap!





This post was written for the "Blog to Inspire" contest hosted by Parenting By Nature. I'd love to hear your comments! Tell me what you thought! Tell me if you baby wear. What's your favorite aspect of babywearing? What's your favorite carrier? Has babywearing ever saved your sanity in a tough situation? Do you have questions about babywearing? Lay it on me! I love hearing from my readers!

So, according to some people {hi, Mom!} I have what you would call an “easy baby.” And those people would be right. Lucy is a very happy little gal. Sure, teething, illness, or tiredness can put her in a foul mood. But all in all we’re very lucky to have such a low maintenance daughter.

But…{and isn’t there always a but?}…will it last? Or are we using up all our “easy” now and come age 16 our sweet little angel will be calling us from the local police station asking us to come bail her out amidst streams of “I swear it isn’t mine! I was just holding it for a friend!” and “well, Spike’s parents already came and bailed him out!” and “but that’s not faaaaaaaaair!” and “I’m never speaking to you again! I HATE YOU!”

Meh. Who knows?

I’m just going to do my best to enjoy this for as long as it lasts.

Did you have an easy baby or a high needs baby? How’d they turn out?

Bio Blurb and Blog Summary: Meet Sarah! She a twenty something mom, wife, student, sister, daughter, pharmacy technician, blogger, amongst other things. She's a pure bred Egyptian (be jealous) who was born in Ohio (GO BUCKS!) and has lived there her whole life and continues to raise her family there. Sarah is a clean freak and can't function without her planner. She loves art, books, photography, knitting and cooking. Her blog is her thoughts and opinions of everything she encounters in the topsy turby adventures of life. She likes to tell it how it is whether people particularly like it or not.

Its true, as mothers we are concerned about what our children eat. It really starts before they are even born when deciding if we will breast feed or not (boobies rock don’t deny it!) and just escalates on from there. Organic jar foods, homemade baby food, the best of the best for our little munchkins no questions asked!

It makes sense too. I mean, what you put in is what you will get out. If you feed your child crap he/she will produce nothing but crap. However if you feed your child well they will be perfect, smart, healthy, rulers of the world. Right? So why stop there?

I grew up in a very unique Egyptian household and after leaving home there is one specific thing that’s takes me back to my childhood: my mother’s cooking. It doesn’t matter where I am in my life or how hectic things get – the second I smell her homemade grape leaves or béchamel, I’m six years old again.

I want my daughter to leave home (in a million years) with all that she loves tucked into a safe spot. That is why when I was pregnant – and loving food even more so – I started a cookbook for her. My intentions are to put every recipe we make up, fall in love with, make on holidays, or mess up together in that book so that when she moves out for good she can always have a little piece of her childhood with her. I found a too cute for words must have cookbook at Borders. It’s nice and when she’s 28 and pulls it off the shelf to cook something it’s not remotely childish or embarrassing. And in it I’ve been putting every recipe we cook here at our house from green bean casserole and homemade pumpkin chocolate chip cookies to pina coladas and Thanksgiving turkey and stuffing. I’m working on family recipes that come from my great great great grandmother to include (after translated) because no matter what anyone else says store bought hummus is not okay once you’ve have the made from scratch stuff!

So my question to you is – what are you leaving behind for your child to pass down to their children and so on? What are you giving them to be proud of and share with the people they will grow to love and call family?

I know I want my baby girl to have a well fed future – no matter what! (As all Egyptian mothers want)

Bio Blurb and Blog Summary: Sarah lives in the mid-west with her husband of four-and-a-half-years and their five-month old baby girl Lucia (Loo-sha) Chamberlin. She has spent the past five months home with her daughter and in one week will return to work as an American Literature teacher to high school juniors. She has been blogging since 2005, but with the introduction of motherhood also came the mommy blog transformation. Joyfullygray captures snipits of everyday life with her family.

Ready or not: Working Mommy it is

In the beginning the days were of sweat pants, breast pads, chills, nursing, more nursing and of shock that the conclusion of my birth story had been written. Yes, just like that, the chapter of my first pregnancy closed. My pregnancy, like the build up to Christmas morning, was gone in a flash. Excitement abound! And then it was over.
In the beginning there were some raging hormones, some baby blues, some highs and lows, some tears and joy. And more chills. Brrr! I was freezing during those early days, and the milk spilling from my chest, while briefly tepid, quickly turned sub-zero, only to make matters far wintrier.

In the beginning there was a constant reality check: my baby was out of my body—my body where she had been safely tucked for the last 41 weeks. Now she was on the outside. On the outside where I had to keep her safe, where I was responsible for her well being, where any diaper rash was a reflection of my poor mothering skills and where scabs on my bleeding nipples and bright red stretch marks were my badge of honor.

In the beginning there was finally a sense of calm, of amazement, shear awe, even bliss. Oh yeah, and that one thing: True Love.

This true love that I encountered brought on occasional thoughts of maternity leave: that it would someday end, that I would someday return to my teaching gig. Admittedly, there were some break downs. Oh yes! Blubbering-cry-like-a-sobbing-lunatic-break-downs.
Breakdowns where I would call my [then] pregnant best friend and scare her to death, making her swear to her husband that she would not be a post-pregnancy mess like me.
And there were more breakdowns where I would call my mother and sob, making her promise me that it would be okay, that everything would be okay.
And more breakdowns where I would make my husband feel like absolute shit because I could not quite yet be a stay at home mom. Where I would make him feel guilt and sorrow about something he could not control. And it was unfair, unfair because he is a good man, a good provider, a smart, hard-working, will-bust-my-ass-for-this-family-kind-of-man.
And one day it ended. It had to end. Self-pity and loathing is no way to live. It was no way to experience life with my new child. The people around me just weren't having it anymore. My mother put her foot down, told me to stop fretting over the future and start enjoying the now.

Enjoying the now, what a novel idea.
And then I put on my big-girl pants and sucked it the hell up.
Thoughts of maternity leave left my brain. I was just living life—an oath to live day by day, enjoying the now, with my little bundle of joy.

The days were of long naps, gazing into each others' eyes, talking and sharing, learning about each other. Good days, full days, the best days—the best days of my life.

That was March—that was March, April, May, June, and July.

March made August feel like a century away.
At least five months away. And that was supposed to be enough time.
But now, as I write, it is August—August and 14 days away from going back to work. And guess what? It was not enough time. But it was our time, our gift that I am ever-so-grateful to have been given.
And, as we mothers know, all sidewalks end, all chapters close and new ones begin.

And so mine is.

After five-months of maternity leave, again, I will be putting on my big girl pants. I will be sucking it up and heading back—back to work. And I consider myself one of the lucky ones—one of the lucky mothers to have had five whole months. No, no more will I have entire days, entire twenty-four hour periods with my child, but I will take what I can get, I will be grateful and I will make every second count.
Lucia and I have had many talks about the impending change. I've told her, with tears rolling down my cheeks, about the things we will be doing differently. I’ve promised her that we will still nap and nurse, still cuddle and giggle—we will make time for our favorite things. I've explained to her that it has to happen because it is what works best for our family financially, it is what helps give her her daily breast milk, it is what helps put money away for her college education, future piano lessons, ballet classes, or whatever her flavor may be. It is what is—and sometimes what is might be a hard pill to swallow.

I tell her these things and she giggles and coos at me, somehow letting me know that she will be all right—somehow telling me that it is me that will hurt and ache inside.
But remember, I am sucking it up. I am putting on my big girl pants and I will rise to the occasion. I will because, like my mother says, I always do.
It helps that my husband is so supportive. He knows what a difficult task lays in front of me. He knows and he cares. He has also told me that I am different now—that I am stronger since pregnancy and child birth, that he knows I can do anything.
He is right.
I am a strong mommy. And I am about to be a strong working mommy. Fortunately for me, I do not work the typical eight to five; and, I have the cushion of autumn, winter, spring and summer breaks. I can enjoy the best of both worlds: work long enough that I yearn to stay at home with my daughter, and be home long enough that I need to get out a bit. Lucia too will have the best of both worlds: some socialization with other young children and lots of mommy time as well.
I plan to continue breastfeeding when I return to the grind. The pump and I are not yet too great of friends, but we are working on our relationship. I try to spend time with her once a day, providing bottles of thick goodness for daddy to give Lucia from time to time. I’ll admit, it has been difficult working the pump into my full-time nursing schedule, but I've felt the need to stock-pile my milk. I know when I am away from baby, pumping will be more of a necessity, so I am hoping my relationship with the good old Medela will flourish. I am sure it will, because just like myself, my boobs will too rise to the occasion.
I’ve also come to realize that with my return to work, the house may not always be perfect, which is something my OCD self will have to face. Saturdays will not be entirely dedicated to cleaning because it will not be the most important thing. Full days at home with Lucia will be a luxury and thou shall not waste. Organization will be of the essence, the completion of small-tasks a miracle. And, then, fortunately for our household, my husband has been doing our laundry since day one, so there will always be clean skivvies and fresh towels. He also likes to cook, lucky us! We will be a unit. Our chores completed with a tag-team effort. I take on the toilet; he’ll take on the dog hair. Scratch that. We will go for a walk with our family, venture to the park or read a story together. Because life won't wait, it will fly by like these months already have. We will rise to the occasion and meet life face to face! Forgo the scrubbing mandates!
Another something that has helped ease my aching working mommy heart is that I found a wonderful caregiver. I interviewed many home daycare providers and visited many centers as well. Nothing floated my boat. Until one day, I saw her, I met the children she cared for, I watched her work all morning, and I knew—I just knew she was the one. It was that gut feeling, my maternal instinct rising to the occasion.
Learning the ropes of being a working mom will not be easy, but at this time it is necessary. And we, my family and I, will make it work—we will rise to the occasion.

Stay tuned.

Bio Blurb and Blog Summary: Rita spent five years battling infertility, which - once conquered - has led to the rather frenzied output of three sons in four years. Now she can't decide whether she's richly blessed or stone-cold crazy. But Rita does know this much: her household is overrun with testosterone, and she spends far too much time schlepping around in her pajamas. She has vowed to someday bring sexy back and get a life. Until then, she blogs about her lack of both sexiness and social engagements - and, despite it all, her love for the little boys that have bestowed upon her the coveted title of Mommy.

I don’t care if it IS my third pregnancy: like most expectant mothers, I’m obsessed with knowing what’s going on with the impending fetus – and that means religiously Googling every week to find out about each exciting new development. (That first poop may not be pleasant in a diaper, but I sure am proud to hear that my baby boy now has the ability to manufacture it.) Lucky for me, and for every other mommy-to-be on the Internet, there’s no shortage of websites designed to keep us up-to-date on baby’s development (and what to expect ourselves – which, for me, is back fat that looks like boobs and varicose veins in oddly uncomfortable places).

Today, though, I couldn’t help but be a little irritated by something I read on one of those websites. Right under “34 weeks pregnant,” it said, “… if all goes well, you'll be waiting for another six weeks. So don't drive yourself crazy, use this time to enjoy being alone, with friends and with your partner.”

That’s all fine and dandy if it’s your first pregnancy – if you CAN be “alone, with friends and with your partner.” But what about those of us who already have children, and thus have nearly forgotten what it’s like to pee without an audience, let alone spend a substantial amount of time doing whatever the heck we want? Did you forget about us, O Internet Oracle? What are we supposed to do with the last six weeks?

Oh yeah: drive ourselves (and everybody else) crazy. Wake up a bajillion times a night because we’re uncomfortable and have to pee, only to be summoned from the bed at the crack of dawn by the demands of the offspring outside the uterus. Waddle awkwardly after a child when “No. No. I SAID NOOOO!” doesn’t work from a sitting position. Fantasize about giving birth just for the downtime and pampering (even if it does mean wearing a pad the size of a pillow). Pray that the last six weeks hurtle by quicker than a preschooler on a sugar binge.

If I could spend my last six weeks of pregnancy enjoying romantic dinners with my husband, laughing with girlfriends over a virgin daiquiri or an entire a hunk of chocolate cake, or lounging around with a stack of books, I totally would. But I have two little boys to look after – so for the most part, these last six weeks are going to be much like the weeks before them: busy, hectic, and filled with filling everyone else’s needs.

When it’s all said and done, though, I’ll miss being pregnant … just a little bit. And when the fruits of my labor are all grown up and involved in their own lives – which I’m told happens all too quickly – I’ll have more than enough “me time” to make up for what these last six (long, miserable) weeks are going to lack.

… I hope.

Bio Blurb: Slee is the kinda-crunchy mom of Snapdragon, her sustainable baby, and Mongoosine, her eco-chid. She's the babywearing, breastfeeding, attachment parenting, lactivist, intactiivist type. Although she doesn't fight crime by night, she does think that sounds like a pretty sweet gig.

Blog Summary: Paisley&Pretties, a midwestern mom's creatively sustainable approach to life, the universe, and making everything just that much more fantabulous.

I remember quite clearly the day I went into the hospital to have Mongoosine. Both of them, rather. I had wretched pre-eclampsia and had been on bedrest for what felt like longer than I was pregnant. Yes, I know it's mathematically impossible, but if you've ever been on strict, lights-out, lay-on-your-left-side, only-get-up-to-pee-no-more-than-FOUR-times-a-day bedrest, you know what I mean about how long it felt.

I remember how my parents drove me to the hospital that fine Tuesday morning. I remember being checked in, putting on the hospital gown, being hooked up to monitors, having every intern and nurse in the building come look at my hooha, and being told to go home so everyone could focus on a higher risk woman in active labor. Bummer. This isn't about that time.

I also remember how two days later, on a bright Thursday morning, I packed my hugely bloated self into the car and headed tentatively back to the hospital. Well, this time they hooked me up, started a pitocin drip, ruptured my amniotic sac, and by 4:42 in the afternoon, (I'll spare you the gory details) I first met my Mongoosine. Up until that moment, I didn't understand what all of the mothers out there always said about how they never knew they coul feel so much for another human being. How they wanted to somehow magically make the world a better place for this perfect and precious little creature. How they were filled with this overwhelming and radiating love and a desire to teach that little creature all the good things in the world. I very distinctly remember wanting to teach her how to look at the world with a creative eye.

I remember watching them ink her foot and create her very first piece of artwork. A footprint on a piece of parchment.

When she was about a month old, my mother and I got it into our heads that it would be a great idea to repeat the process. You know, so that we could send out announcements with original footprints. Of course, we were much too cool to use any nasty chemical laden ink that might be hard to wash off without abrasive chemicals, so we started with ketchup on the baby's foot. Mongoosine thought it was squishy, but proceeded to be a little too squishy footed for the paper.

Mustard was too gloopy. Didn't even leave a discernable footprint. Chocolate sauce was a little too runny, but did do a nice job of inking her foot, so to speak. Barbeque sauce, well, it may have left the best of the footprints, but she was so upset at the whole cold wet stuff on her foot thing by that point that it was pretty hopeless. That, and we were all getting hungry. Mmm, baby feet never looked so yummy!

Suffice it to say, there would be no clear original footprints of Mongoosine to be had by anyone. Well, no one but me, because I had the one the professional footprint printers, er, nurses did.

Fastforward three-quarters of a decade, well 7/10ths.

It turns out that I'm one of those mommies. The type of mom who still has it stuck in her head that she is going to create a creative genius, no matter what. By this point I've had Mongoosine's artwork displayed in a museum, and am constantly on the lookout for new artistic techniques to expose her to. Broken crayons? Lets melt them onto paper and carve in the wax. What? Your ribbon broke? Looks like the perfect piece for a colage to me! What? You want to design a quilt? Sure, let's do that. You have an idea for a story? Dictate and draw some pictures, I'll print it out and we'll make covers, bind it, and give it away, complete with author bio. Want to wear stripes with polkadots and a sequined headband with furry poncho? Sure. Sounds like a plan.

Create, create, create.

Yes, one of those moms. The one who tells people who call and ask what she wants for her birthday that more than anything she'd like art supplies or something else creatively stimulating. Toys? Pish posh. A canvas. The latest Disney musical DVD? No, clay.

I went out of my way to be encouraging of the little budding Kahlo or Degas. What I wasn't ready for was the Sunday after her birthday coming down the steps into the family room with the off-white carpet to find that she'd taken the lovely paints she'd recieved for her birthday, painted the bottoms of her feet purple and blue, and proceeded to dance around the room.

Paint. Feet. Carpet. Dancing.

Breathe.

That's right. Perfect purple and blue footprints, the kind I tried so hard to print when she was a baby, "decorated" the formerly off-white carpet.

In retrospect, I should have seen it coming.

Lessons learned: Embrace your child's creative exuberence for creating, despite the effects on the carpet.

White vinegar can help get an off-white carpet looking off-whiter after removing the bulk of the paint with regular old carpet scrubbing goodness.

We still did art projects that week, and I treasure those memories deeply.

When we went to move, some two years after said footprint fiasco, finally scrubbing the last of the paint out of the carpet, I was sad to see them go. Sure, I was less than pleased at the time, but now, I woudln't trade having the girl who is creative enough to get into that kind of trouble for anything.

Now I need to repeat this to myself before I go out into the family room. I didn't look twice for fear of spoiling my mood, but I think the wall might know where my red lipstick went...

Bio Blurb: She is a first time mommy. She loves to write. She loves to mommy naturally. She is a homemade baby food enthusiast. She is a former teacher. She loves fresh organic produce. Put all of these together and you get, Mama Milieu, an enthusiastic blogger of natural mommying and organic homemade baby food making!

Blog Summary: She has two blogs--one about the fun, the frustrating, the giggles, the angst, the beauty, the poop, and the whimsical of mommying--and the other, a resource for parents who wish to prepare their very own homemade babyfood.

You know you're a mom when you begin to obsess about poop--that's right, the color, the texture, the frequency, the smell, the consistency.

Bringing your wee bundle home from the hospital means that you, as a freshly squeezed parent, must begin the many tasks of your baby's care--bathing, feeding, soothing and, of course, changing. And, interestingly enough, it's the changing part--the poop part--that often gets the most attention from pediatricians and therefore, moms too.

Why all of this poop quandary? Well, because changes in your baby's poop can be an important signal, not to be missed, that something has gone awry with your baby's well being.

So, the parental poop-i-scope focuses it's lens on every diaper removed from your baby's buns throughout infancy . . . and then the feeding of solid food begins and everything changes. Radically. Every sign of hazard you had been trained to spot becomes the new norm--green poop, speckled poop, stiff poop, dry poop, and the most worrisome . . . no poop.

My little Noah Finn was a regular pooper--he pooped three to four times a day when he was strictly breast feeding. But the recent introduction of solids has given his digestive system a run for it's a money, a kink in the cords, a cog in it's wheel. And the result? Poop has once again become a household fascination and dinnertime talk topic as my husband and I frequently ask one another, "Has Noah pooped today?", "What did it look like?", and so on.

Now, the poor little guy has harrowing three and sometimes four day lapses between those blessed movements of the bowels. And when those moments of relief finally come, it aint' pretty. It's a day full of grunting, straining and red-faced pushing that results in many, many dirty diapers. Needless to say, on those days we are scrubbing diapers until sunrise.

We have increased his water intake and have introduced plum and prune puree and flax seed oil into his diet--just until his plumbing acclimates. It seems to help so far, and so has feeding solids with regularity--the more solids he eats, the more "regular" he becomes.

So the lesson here is, beware new parents and parents who are slated to soon be experimenting with solids. They're lots of fun going in, it's just the coming out part that really stinks.

{my baby}

{my baby? seriously?!}

Kid, you need to slooooooooow dooooooown! You’re giving your mother heart palpitations.

Dear A/C Installation Man,

I’m super glad you and your colleague came to my house today and installed our new central air conditioning unit {figures it would be on the coolest, rainiest day we’ve had in ages}. I no longer fear hot weather. Now I don’t have to worry about having a grumpy baby {or a grumpy me} because the heat made it impossible to get a decent night’s rest.

However…it it really necessary for you to drop your heavy crap on the floor {with a big, huge BANG!} thereby waking my daughter who had just gotten to sleep after being very moody for a very long time? Most people don’t just drop their stuff, they place it. It’d be really neat if you could do likewise.

Also, just because I’m a SAHM does not mean I’m an idiot. You don’t need to talk to me like I won’t understand what you’re telling me. I may have “Mommy brain” but it hasn’t affected my IQ thankyouverymuch.

But, other than that it’s been super!

I’m confident that my mom is waaaay cooler than your mom. Really. She’s awesome! I love her more than I love thunderstorms, chocolate, and permanent markers {and trust me when I tell you that I LOVE permanent markers*}. And guess what. She loves me too. That’s probably why she reads my blog. {Hi, Mom!} And that’s cool. Because, seriously, if your own mother doesn’t want to read you blog that’s pretty sad.

My mom has always enjoyed my writing, at least, she’s always said I’m a good writer. And I believe her because A: she’s not the type to lie to me about it and B: it feeds my ego. So I enjoy knowing she’s reading my writing here on this blog. Except {and you know there had to be an “except”} there are certain things I feel weird writing about knowing she’s going to see it.

What kinds of thing, Holly?

Well, um, for one.

And that’s really, really stupid. I’m an adult now. My mom is an adult. And I’m fairly certain she doesn’t think Lucy came from the cabbage patch if you know what I’m saying. And I didn’t come from a cabbage patch either. So clearly, sex is something we’re both familiar with.

And yet…

I’m still embarrassed to write about it.

Despite the fact that I’m too wigged out to discuss it with my own mother I am convinced that when Lu gets old enough to ask me the question I am going to be the epitome of calm, cool, and collected. I will casually, and matter-of-factly explain it to her in an age-appropriate but accurate manner. And she’ll understand and be relaxed about it. And I’ll be relaxed about it. And I won’t be afraid to call it by it’s real name.

Or maybe I’ll stop deluding myself and instead start preparing her for life as a nun.

You don’t have to be Catholic to be a nun, right?

*Really, I love all office supplies. If you can buy it at Staples I pretty much want it.

It’s not secret that I’m a bit of an internet junkie. What can I say? I love having so much access to knowledge, humor, social networking, and so on. I have so many bookmarks that I’ve had to create folders within folders within folders to organize them. And over the next few days I’m sharing some of my favorites from each category. Get your clicking finger ready! And here we go…

Family & Friends

Adam (these are pages bookmarked for Mr. Dork):

• http://www.freeworldgroup.com/ Lots and lots of free Flash games. Warning: You may find yourself wasting a lot of time on this site!

Mama Resources:

• http://www.kellymom.com/ My favorite breast feeding resource.
• http://promom.org/ Another great breast feeding site.

Sky Academy (learning at home resources):

• http://cp.c-ij.com/en/contents/2024/list_15_1.html Amazing paper crafts to print such as a scientific model of the sun!
• http://michellesjournalcorner.blogspot.com/2009/07/sound-bingo.html A fun audio version of the game Bingo.

Crafts:

• http://www.ohdeedoh.com/ohdeedoh/how-to/how-to-be-thankful-fall-garland-070293 A fun decoration to make for the Thanksgiving season. Be sure to browse the site for even more crafts and project inspiration!
• http://giverslog.com/?p=1146 A really easy, fun, DIY gift perfect for teachers, grandparents, or to keep for yourself!
• http://www.allfreecrafts.com/homemade-gifts/canning-jar-lamp.shtml A lamp I’ve been dying to make!

Shopping:

• http://www.theorganizedparent.com/servlet/StoreFront Products to help you be an organized mom.
• http://www.passionspice.com/ Nursing bras that are actually CUTE!

$$$:

• http://www.getrichslowly.org/blog/ A great personal finance blog.
• http://www.stretcher.com/index.cfm More money-saving tips than you’ll know what to do with!

Brain in a Binder (pages for my home management binder):

• http://www.diyplanner.com/ User submitted printables to use in your planner (such as a Franklin Covey planner).
• http://notebook.organizedhome.com/printable Binder-sized printable.

Bitchen’ Kitchen (recipes and more):

• http://www.motherearthnews.com/Real-Food/Artisan-Bread-In-Five-Minutes-A-Day.aspx Our favorite bread recipe (no-knead)!
• http://www.mothering.com/recipes/nori-wrapped-salmon We make this with tilapia because it’s cheaper. But we still love it!

Blogs

Groups:

• http://www.momblognetwork.com/welcome-new-user A network for Mommy bloggers.
• http://www.thesitsgirls.com/ One of my favorite blog networking sites.

Memes:

• http://fridayfillins.blogspot.com/ Fill in the blank prompts every Friday.
• http://www.wearethatfamily.com/2008/03/hi-yall.html Tips to make life easier.

Writing:

• http://www.problogger.net/ Probably one of the very best blogs about blogging on the internet. Don’t miss the “31 Days to a Better Blog” program!
• http://www.copyblogger.com/5-simple-ways-to-open-your-blog-post-with-a-bang/ Ideas for how to write the opening section of a blog post.

Design Tutorials/Tools:

• You can find some of my favorite blog design links in the post about my blog makeover.

More to come tomorrow!

What are some of your favorite websites? Leave me their urls in the comments!

1 husband + 2 jobs (temporary) = 11 hours per day

1 mama + 11 hours of baby duty x fussy baby = 0 time for posting

0 time for posting + 11 hours of baby duty = 0 sanity

1 mama x 0 sanity = 0 brain left for posting

0 brain left for posting + 0 time for posting = 0 posts

1 mama + 1 blog/0 posts = 1 very sorry blogger

Them’s the breaks folks! {I’ll try to do better tomorrow and I’ll try posting on Friday to make up for missed posts!} If you really want something to read check out my {updated} about page and tell me what you think in the comments on this post.

Are you a mom?

Yes?

Then you know all about “Mommy Brain.” It begins in pregnancy. Brain gets fuzzier, memory takes a vacation. It doesn’t improve much after giving birth because your mental resources are depleted by sleep deprivation and (if you’re a SAHM like me) having a person whose vocabulary consists of “AAAAAAAAH” as your only conversation partner for the majority of your day.

You know what’s even more fun than “Mommy Brain?”

“Mommy Brain” and ADD.

I have always been forgetful. When I was a little kid my mom used to pin notes for my teachers onto my clothes. It was the only way the teachers would get said notes. In fifth grade I got detention {twice} for forgetting to do my homework.* And the distractibility! Let me tell you about the distractibility! Lets say I ask a question. By the time the answer is given I’ve been distracted and totally miss it. Then, like an idiot, I have to ask again. Seriously. It can happen at any moment. I can be mid-sentence and…Oh! Did I tell you we are picking up our digital photo disk from the photographer tomorrow morning?

I’m really happy with how this last photo session went. I’ll be sure to post some pictures over the weekend! I can’t wait to get them printed and in frames so we can hang them all over the house.

Anyway, have a great weekend! We’re headed to Calgary tomorrow to get passports for Bear and Lu. I’ll be back and posting again Saturday!

*Don’t even get me started on what I think of teachers who dish out the same punishment for innocent forgetfulness that they do for fighting/stealing/other rule breaking activities.

I know that lately I’ve only taken Fridays off. However:

Teething baby + a million things to do + only ever having time to myself without baby once or twice since her birth + Bear having today off instead of tomorrow = MAMA NEEDS A MENTAL HEALTH DAY

So, please, see my latest posts or visit the “best of” section.

What is one of the single most divisive parenting issues you can think of?

The World Health Organization (WHO) recommends infants be exclusively breastfed for the first 6 months of life and continue to be breastfed while being offered complementary foods to two years of age and beyond. But in 2003 in the US only 14.2% of 6 month olds were still being exclusively breastfed. Naturally lactivists cite these recommendations and statistics quite often in the quest to increase those numbers.

Imagine having this information, knowing all the amazing benefits of breastfeeding (for babies and mamas), and making plans to breastfeed only to have those plans completely fall apart. Now imagine trying to deal with the frustration and disappointment that would cause all the while wondering if other moms are criticising you behind your back for “giving up when the going got tough.”

I’m one of those lucky moms who have a relatively easy time breastfeeding. There were some horribly painful latch issues in the early days. But we worked through them and things are smooth sailing now. I’m also a big advocate of exclusive breastfeeding. But lately I’ve found myself frustrated by the way breastfeeding moms and formula feeding moms interact. It seems some nursing moms think the formula moms gave up too easily. They blame the moms for breastfeeding failure and harbor feelings of superiority. While some of the formula moms think the nursing moms are “breastfeeding Nazis” {an extremely offensive term}, or that they’re simply making too big a deal about the whole issue.

This has got to stop.

It’s my belief that most moms who don’t succeed in nursing their babes are not to blame. Are there moms who never even try, or who give up for really selfish reasons? Well, sure. There probably are. But there are also moms who don’t use car seats or who leave their babies in hot cars. That doesn’t mean they’re the norm. So if the moms aren’t to blame, who is?

Society.

What do I mean? Or, rather, who do I mean when I say society? I mean doctors, nurses, businesses, even lactation consultants! I mean everybody {yes you, and yes me}! See, here’s the thing. Breastfeeding is natural. But that doesn’t mean it comes naturally. It has to be learned. Moms (and sometimes babies) need help figuring out the mechanics of it as well as needing the right information and support.

I’ve discussed the factors leading to breastfeeding failure with a lot of moms. And I’m horrified by the accounts of doctors, nurses, and lactation consultants who dish out information that it just plain wrong, information that contributes to problems instead of solving them. How many of us mothers have been told we need to feed our babes for a certain amount of time on one breast then switch to the other? The nurses at the hospital tried to tell me to do that. Trying to follow their instructions nearly drove our family crazy. But I was lucky enough to read the right materials and learn otherwise. Babes should be given an opportunity to empty one side and get all the rich, fat hind milk. Then, if they’re still hungry, they should be given the other side. Babes who are limited in time on each side may not gain weight at the expected rate, leading moms and doctors to the false conclusion that mom’s milk isn’t rich enough which leads to the go-to advice to supplement with formula. Some hospitals and doctor’s offices even dispense formula samples to new moms when they’d be better served by a free copy of The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding.

But misinformation isn’t the only hurdle moms face, lack of support can be just as detrimental. There are two forms of support I think every mom needs, practical and emotional. Practical support comes from dads, family and friends. It can be anything from fetching a glass of water while mom is nursing to loaning out your best breastfeeding book to a new mom or sharing your favorite web resources. Emotional support comes largely from friends and family but really needs to come from everybody. Nursing moms, especially those who are struggling, need encouragement (even a thumbs up from a stranger can lift a mom’s spirits) and acceptance. In other words we need to stop bickering about whether moms should cover or not cover when in public and focus on supporting them now matter how they choose to breastfeed.

So why are we divided? I think part of it is that sometimes we lactivists (myself included) forget that breastfeeding moms face a lot of hurdles aside from the physical setbacks (such as inverted nipples, thrush, etc.). I’m here to ask that we keep that in mind and refrain from harsh judgements. But I might also ask moms who did not have success and switched to formula to keep in mind that when lactivists proclaim the benefits of nursing we aren’t trying to make you feel bad. We’re just trying to convince future moms to give breastfeeding a go, a goal I think we can all get behind. But as long as both sides view breastfeeding as an issue that divides us instead of an issue we can face together we will be too busy fighting in the mommy wars to ever make a positive change. Love certainly isn’t all we need to increase the number of breastfeeding successes but it’s certainly something we can’t do without.

As always, feel free to share how you feel in the comments!

So you have a happy, healthy baby but you’re still feeling disappointed in your labor and birth experience? Do you feel ashamed for not feeling more grateful for what you have? Don’t. Recently I wrote about my disappointment with my birth experience. That post received a lot of feedback, most of which entailed “yeah, me too!” You are not alone. And you need not feel shame.

Since writing that post I had an experience that really helped me move on and I wanted to share what I learned. I was reading a story (sorry, the link is now dead) about a woman who lost her little girl to cancer and how she managed to survive that terrible loss. Within the comments on that story someone made a comment (and I’m paraphrasing) that acceptance is not approval.

Suddenly everything clicked into place for me. Accepting what happened during Lucy’s birth does not mean I am also approving of the way the doctors treated me. Sometimes things go badly. And sometimes it is because another person did something wrong. We can’t control chance nor other people. Bad things are simply a part of living. It is the price we pay for getting a chance to enjoy the good things. It is a price I’m willing to pay.

What I am not willing to do is let those doctors continue to bring bad into my life by dwelling on their inexcusable behavior. And it’s a great relief to know that choosing to let go and move on has nothing to do with condoning their actions and everything to do with my freedom and taking back the power they took from me. Nor does accepting that I didn’t get the birth I planned mean that I no longer think my wishes were worthwhile.

If you’re unhappy with your birth experience I hope the idea that acceptance is not approval will help you move on. If your experience was more traumatic (c-section or other birth trauma) I hope that some of the following resources will help you.

• Birth Trauma Canada: “Birth Trauma Canada is an organization of mothers traumatized by childbirth. Traumatic stress disorders and depression are normal reactions to severe physical and/or psychological stress.”
• Birth Stars: “Birth Stress, Trauma, and Recover Support: Helping people traumatised by childbirth.”
• The Birth Trauma Association: “The Birth Trauma Association (BTA) supports all women who have had a traumatic birth experience. It is estimated that, in the UK alone, this may result in 10,000 women a year developing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).”
• Healing Birth Trauma: A forum for women dealing with birth trauma of various kinds.
• More Than a Traumatic Birth: A short article (among many) on the topic of “birth rape.”
• Recovering from a Cesarean: A short guide to the physical healing required after a c-section.
• Healing the Trauma: An article on PTSD as it relates to birth.
• Solace For Mothers: "An organization designed for the sole purpose of providing and creating support for women who have experienced childbirth as traumatic." {Thanks to Mama Blogess for the link!}
  
• ICAN: The International Cesarean Awareness Network
  

Yours truly has been interviewed on Mama Notes. I answer questions about motherhood and share a bit of trivia so check it out!

As you know I’ve been working on my post-baby body lately. And I’m not going to lie, I love that the weight is coming off. I think just about every woman likes to feel fit and lean. And I’m getting more fit and lean every day. But I want to address the issue of “body image.” I have noticed, as I’ve been working my butt off doing my exercises, that the more I take care of my body, the more I appreciate her.* I still have a saggy tummy. I’m still in the “overweight” category according to my BMI. And I have stretch marks on my tummy, thighs, breasts and arms. But you know what? When I treat my body like I love her (by exercising and eating real food**) I find that I really do love her. She’s pretty amazing. Not only can she run, jump, swim and dance she made my daughter and continues to be the one and only source of nourishment my daughter needs! That’s pretty freaking awesome!

Of course, I have those moments days when all I can focus on are the imperfections. It seems supremely unfair. I would never zero in on all of Bear’s faults, or my best friend’s faults and ignore all their awesomeness. So why is it acceptable for me to treat my body that way? It’s not. That’s why I’m making a change.

Caitlin over at Healthy Tipping Point wrote this really great post about “fat talk.” She’s given me permission to share it here.

PART 1

If you're a long-time reader, you know the issue of Fat Talk is something I take very seriously. As Jillian Michaels said, "Fat talk is transcending.... It affects your reality and damages you professionally, personally, and physically."

I've posted this video about Fat Talk a few times before, but not recently. If you haven't watched this before, please do! It's so powerful and I cry every time:

Here are a few tips for ending Fat Talk:

• Don't compare your body to others.
• Appreciate your body for what it can do.
• Turn a negative into a positive. Instead of "I'm stocky," try "I'm strong!"
• Never Fat Talk in front of your kids or friends

PART 2

This section of the Fat Talk discussion is dedicated to the statement, "I feel so fat."

How many times have you eaten something and then said, "Ugh. I feel so fat"? This is completely hyperbolic reaction to overindulging. First of all, even skinny women who aren't "fat' say it. Secondly, there's no way one meal or one dessert can suddenly make you "fat."

So, what do we really mean when we say, "I'm so fat"? We actually mean that we are FULL WITH AN EMOTION. Oftentimes, it's shame. Or sadness. Or fear. Why do we express our inner turmoil by hating our bodies? Because that's what Fat Talk and society tells us to do. Don't admit you're scared, just feel fat! Don't admit you're lonely or depressed, you're just fat! We can deal with ugliness, we cannot deal with weakness.

The next time you feel the urge to say, "I'm so fat," think about what you REALLY mean. By berating your body, you aren't doing any favors. But by honoring your emotions, you're living a happier, more honest life.

PART 3

If only one thing about this discussion about Fat Talk resonates with you, remember this: When you feel guilty about food, you are experiencing distorted thinking.

I'm not saying that means you have an eating disorder. I'm just saying that feeling guilty -- raw, consuming, upsetting GUILT -- is not a normal, healthy reaction to eating and is thus distorted. I think it's important to recognize when our thinking is distorted, as the way we view ourselves has a big impact on our lot in life.

All women experience guilt with food to some degree. I know I used to feel a really guilty if I drank two beers and ate a few slices of pizza. Or a big dessert. Sometimes, it didn't even have to be a calorie-heavy meal to trigger the guilt. I'd have a bigger breakfast than normal, and I would fret that I'd "blown it" for the day or that I'd "given into temptation."

Guilt is internal Fat Talk. It is shaming yourself for not meeting a perfectionist ideal that is unattainable and determined by the rigid standards our society has created! If you wouldn't say it out loud to a friend, why would you say it to yourself?

Maybe right now you're thinking: "But a little guilt can be a GOOD thing!" or "Guilt is a normal reaction to indulging!" But, if guilt was healthy or "normal," it would be PRODUCTIVE and it would make you HAPPY.

Do you find yourself feeling guilty over food a lot? Well, then -- you're repeating the same actions over and over again, and clearly... Guilt isn't productive, it doesn't work, and it only serves to lower your self -esteem. Guilt is a waste of time and takes away from productive things you could be doing with your time -- meditating, studying, sleeping, calling your friends on the phone, and more.

You aren't going to gain weight from one dessert.

You aren't a bad person for enjoying dinner.

You aren't weak because you were hungrier than normal.

How do you stop guilt? It's so much harder to stop than Fat Talk -- after all, we verbalize Fat Talk to others and it's easier to "catch" ourselves in conversation. Guilt, on the other hand, is this weird, creeping feeling that takes over you, ruins your day, and triggers the blues.

I would say I cut down on my guilt thinking by about 90%, which I consider to be a big accomplishment. I stopped guilting myself by really thinking about my eating in the grand scheme of life. Did that pizza make me gain weight? No. Did it actually hurt my health in any measurable way that I ate a bunch of French fries? No. Am I an awesome friend and hardworker who is so much more than the food she eats? Of course!

If there is something about your lifestyle that you want to change, be proactive and CHANGE IT. Guilting yourself about it does not work. Taking action to move onwards and upwards does. Every setback is an opportunity to learn, grow, and improve.

Join me on the quest to eliminate Fat Talk in all its nasty and evil forms from our lives! Remember, it starts now... and it starts with you.

And now she has started Operation Beautiful. All you need is post-it notes and a pen. Leave an anonymous message in a a public place (or leave one for yourself at home) to tell somebody that they are beautiful! As women we seem to spend so much time judging ourselves and each other based on how we look. Why not build each other up instead of tearing each other down? Be sure to check out Caitlin’s blog and send in any photos you take of your Operation Beautiful notes! I’ve started by doing something a little different:

I’ve also left one for myself. I’ve put it on the mirror in my awesome, wall-mounted vanity. I figure what better place to have a reminder?

ETA:

Now that I’m a mom it’s more important than ever for me to end fat talk. The last thing I want to do is find, a few years down the road, that my hang ups have been passed on to my precious Lucy. It would break my heart and be incredibly unjust. Lucy will be bombarded by false ideals of beauty. I refuse to be responsible for adding to those bad influences. I will lead her by example and my example had better be a good one!

That is why I’m changing my language and my focus. I’m not exercising to be thin. I’m exercising to be strong! I’m not eating right to lose weight. I’m eating right to feel healthy!

I’m also trying to accept and honor the changes in my body that have come from being pregnant and giving birth. My body is not bad now. She is just different.

Speaking of different. My body isn’t just different from the way she used to be. She is different from everybody else’s. My body is not like your body. Your body is not like your neighbour's body. And her body is not like Kate Moss’s body.

We may feel like our bodies are abnormal because so often the only other bodyies we take note of are those plastered on billboards or displayed in magazines. But, as the video above pointed out, most fashion models are thinner than 98% of American woman! 98%!!! Next time you’re tempted to compare your body to that of a model stop. Don’t. Why not check out these sites instead?

The Shape of a Mother: A “website where women of all ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities can share images of their bodies so it will no longer be secret. So we can finally see what women really look like sans airbrushes and plastic surgery.”

007 Breasts: A gallery of normal breasts “in all kinds of sizes and shapes. These breast pictures are here to let you see normal breasts - big, small, sagging, asymmetrical; big areolas or nipples.” NSFW***

Or, better yet, next time you’re tempted to compare your body stop. Don’t. Don’t compare her at all. Your body is one of your best friends. Treat her right and she’ll treat you right too.

Do you fat talk? Are you trying to change? Will you be doing Operation Beautiful? Tell me all about your thoughts on body image. And spread the word!

*I choose to call my body “her” rather than “it” because it’s too easy to criticize an “it.”

**Real food (like fruits and veggies) as opposed to processed junk.

***Not safe for work

ETA: This post now has a sequel.

This morning I woke up at about four in the morning for reasons unknown. For a while I could not fall back asleep. My mind would not quiet. I was thinking about birth.

I had so many plans for Lucy's birth. I knew a home birth was not going to be an option no matter how badly I wanted one because, at the time, midwives were not covered by Alberta health care and Adam and I didn't feel that an unassisted childbirth was right for us. But I was still aiming for a natural birth. I had read about the risks of having an epidural, and devoured books about natural childbirth. I was in love with the magic of birth and was so excited for my own birthing experience. By the last bit of my pregnancy I had even moved beyond the fear that plagues so many first time moms. I had so many dreams and even predictions:

from my online due date club {click for larger version}

But life happens.

I've written about this before, sort of. But I haven't told the whole story, not really. See, as much as I like putting my life out there for all the Internet to see I don't actually tell you, my readers, too much about my feelings. When I do, I freshen them up with a nice coat of humor. And I don't write about my biggest fears, or my deep seated angers, or the things by which I'm embarrassed. Today I've decided that needs to change. My real stories need to be told because they're the ones worth telling. If, nearly six months after the fact, Lucy's birth is still able to keep me from sleeping, I think that means something. I think it has affected me in ways other than those I've mentioned. And I think other women could benefit from my being open and honest about the whole thing.

So I write.

When I talk about my birth experience I never just say I got an epidural. I say "I got an epidural after about thirty hours because I hadn't gotten any real sleep in nearly three days and I wasn't making any progress so they insisted on using pit and that hurts so much more than regular labor and I just wanted to be able to enjoy my birth again because I wasn't" (said in one big rush). To who am I defending myself? I know very few women in real life as gung-ho about natural child birth as me. None of my friends or family care that I got pain relief. Yet, I have to explain myself every time. Why?

I'm defending myself from me.

A part of me feels like I failed. And that's the part of me that can't let go. It's the part that keeps me up at night asking:

What if you had been in better shape, could you have had the strength to progress faster? Why didn't you at least try to go natural after they augmented your labor? It might not have been so bad. What if you and Adam hadn't tried to encourage Lucy to come? Would she have engaged better? What if...

I try to comfort myself by replying:

Well, the nurses were surprised they hadn't already c-sectioned me. It could have been so much worse. I went longer without the epidural than a lot of women spend in labor. So it's like I did it natural, right? That third degree tear probably would have hurt really bad if I hadn't had the epidural. I just wanted to be able to enjoy myself and I was so tired...it's hard to make decisions in those circumstances.

But it only helps a little. I still can't shake that feeling of failure. At the time I took for granted the idea that next time I could do things differently. But now I realize there may never be a next time. You see, Adam and I have been spending a lot of time discussing the size of our family. The dynamic of three feels so right to us. I've been reading up on what parents of only children, grown only children, and researchers have to say about families with one child. Add my ADD, the environment, and my hope to home school into the mix and there's a strong case for letting Lucy be our one and only. For now nothing is set in stone. We're moving forward with the plan for a family of three while allowing ourselves permission to change our minds and readdress the issue if needed.

That means, as I mentioned, that there may never be a next time.

No second chance to have a midwife attended home birth. No second chance to go natural all the way and finally get to see what birth (as opposed to just labor) feels like. No second chance to have a water birth. No second chance to catch my baby myself or have Adam catch him or her. No second chances because wanting a second chance is not the same as wanting a second child. Every child deserves to be wanted because he or she is, in fact, wanted. It would be supremely unfair to have a child because I want a second chance at birth.

Before, I could brush off all that went wrong with my birth; the failure to progress past four centimeters, the use of drugs, even the doctor who performed a very painful internal exam without permission and the other doctor who shamed me for standing up for myself. I could brush it all off by saying "well, things will be better next time." I used "next time" as an excuse not to face my sadness. But now it's caught up to me.

I have a beautiful, healthy daughter. I didn't die in childbirth. I didn't have a c-section. All in all things went well. And some times I feel ashamed for feeling grief for what I missed out on because I know so many women face much worse. But I do feel grief. I'm mourning the loss of something I had looked forward to with so much excitement and joy. I'm mourning the (possibly) one chance I had, the once in a lifetime opportunity to birth naturally.

Hopefully, by sharing this, I can begin to truly heal and move on instead of masking the pain with "next time." And hopefully someone can benefit from reading this by knowing they are not alone in feeling frustration, anger, shame, and sadness over a birth that didn't happen how it was planned. The truth, the raw truth, is that I regret my decision to get an epidural. I regret how my birthing experience panned out. I know I'm not the only woman who feels regret. But if we all stay silent about it, if I stay silent about it, then we all suffer alone.


How do you feel about your birth experience?