Drama King

Will has a flair for the dramatics. (Disclaimer: he did NOT inherit this from me.) Allow me to demonstrate.

Will: (in the whiniest voice possible) Mommy, Sis wants my Explorer.

Me: Well, it would be nice if you could share it with your sister. You've been playing with it for a while now.

Will: (cranks whine up an octave) But, she'll just EAT it! Is that what you want!? Do you want her to eat it!?

Me: Will, she doesn't even know how to play. She just wants to pretend, she'll be over it in a minute, and you can have it back.

Will: (indignantly hands Explorer to his sister) FINE! I won't play with anything then! I just won't ever play with anything ever, ever again!! (Huffs and crosses arms across chest)

Me: (stares blankly)

Will: You don't want me to play with anything, do you!? You don't even like me, do you!?

Me: You're being silly, Will. Of course I like you, but you need to share with your sister.

Will: (pouting) You want a new son, don't you??

Me: Don't say that, Bud. No, I don't want a new son.

Avery bores of Explorer, drops it on the ground, and moves on to the next thing.

Will: (smiling as if nothing happened) My turn!

I am left wondering silently what on earth just happened and how long this "I Must Have Every Toy He/She Has" stage will last.

If you know the answer to that question, please don't tell me.

L

The Birds and The Bees and a Three Year Old

It was just an ordinary weeknight in the Milner house. Rob cooked dinner, I nursed Sis while trying to simultaneously fold laundry, and Will took every single toy he owns out and scattered them throughout the house. Things were going like clockwork.

After I got Will's jammies on and read him a couple of books, I asked, as I always do, what story he would like for me to tell him tonight. You see, reading 2 books at bedtime just isn't enough for this kid. He expects an off the cuff story from a topic of his choosing each night. It's pretty amazing what random subjects he manages to dream up.

And then this happened.

Will: (Deep in thought) Hmmmmmm....tell me the story about......ummm....(light bulb goes off in 3 year old brain) how Sis got in your belly. (smiles, thoroughly satisfied with his choice)

Me: (Chokes on water) Really? You want to hear that story? What about the one about the DRAGON? (scary eyes and emphasis on "dragon" to promote my alternative story)

Will: No, I don't want the one about the dragon. Tell me the one about Sis in your belly.

LET THE FUN BEGIN.

Me: Well, one day, Mommy and Daddy talked for a really long time about what it would be like to have another baby. We wanted you to have a little brother or sister to play with and since we love each other very much, we decided that another baby would be awesome.

Will: (Puzzled) But how did she get in there?

Oh my gosh, this is not happening right now. Seriously, this story isn't suppose to come up for another few years at least, right!?

Me: Well, Daddy put her in there when she was very, very small.

Will: How?

What is this an interrogation!?!?

Me: Well, there's a special hug that mommies and daddies give to each other to make babies. (Thank you, Momversation!)

Will: Oh. (shakes his head seemingly satisfied)

Me: And Sis was just this big (holds thumb and forefinger together closely for visual) when she went in Mommy's belly. She was so little, she didn't have eyes or ears or even arms and legs yet. She lived in Mommy's belly in a little sac filled with warm water. She just floated around in there, and as time went on, she grew and grew. When Mommy ate, some of my food went to feed her and help her get bigger. She got bigger and bigger until she was ready to come out of Mommy's belly and meet us. Then Mommy went to the hospital and she came out.

Will: How did she get outta there?

AGH, not this part!

Me: Well.....she came out of Mommy's privates.

Will: YOUR PRIVATES???? (falls back on the bed laughing hysterically) How did she get out of your privates? (still in stitches)

Me: There is an area on mommies' privates where babies come out of when they are ready to be born.

Will: (still giggling) I didn't come out of your privates. I came out of Daddy's.

Me: (joining Will's laughter) Uh, no Bud, you were in Mommy's belly too, you didn't live in Daddy's belly. Daddies can't have babies in their bellies, only mommies.

Will: (now serious and in deep thought) Oh. Well, that's not fair. (long thoughtful pause)........
Now, tell me the story about the DRAGON.

And there you have it ladies and gentlemen. My first official bird and bees talk. I'm sure I have much more explaining to do in the future. Next time, I'll pour a glass of wine first.

Cheers,
L

Team Milner

I'm not going to go in to how insanely busy I have been. I'm sure my absence here speaks for itself. I could give you a play by play of how jam packed my days have become, but it's nothing you haven't heard before. I think we all have those periods in our lives when we overextend, put our heads down, and push forward as best we can. We all experience times when we seriously question why days can't be longer than 24 hours.

Single parents, especially those with more than one job, have officially become my new heroes. Simply because I don't know how I would make it through, emotionally or logistically, without the help of my husband right now. I would say that having someone by my side fighting the good fight is what is most important. But that's not true. Because having just any "someone" wouldn't do. It's having Rob there with me that makes it all worthwhile. He isn't just my husband or my best friend. He is, in every sense of the word, my partner. We work together for the good of our little family. He cooks dinner, I clean the kitchen. I teach Zumba, he hangs with the kids while I'm at class. I read books, he tells bedtime stories. I change diapers, he changes diapers. You get the point. He has never made me feel as though I'm in this marriage or parenting thing on my own. His heart is in this game just as much as mine is. Knowing that makes all the little sacrifices not seem like sacrifices at all. And looking in the faces of those little ones that we love so desperately, I know that all this "hard work" is actually a blessing and a privilege. Thank you, God for trusting us with the lives of these children. We're doing the best we can.

L

4am

I wake and watch you sleep.
The tiny glimmer of street lights outside make the night in our bed more gray than black.
I study your features as best I can in the haze.
Yours is a face that I've come to know, so my memory fills in what the darkness leaves out.
Our baby girl sleeps sweetly between us.
Her face somehow even more precious than in her wakefulness.
She stirs and nurses quietly on my breast.
Her tiny hand grips my night gown.
Her little toes press gently against my stomach.
Her eyes never open.
After a few moments, her latch loosens and releases me as she suckles the air desperately before succumbing to sleep.
I slip quietly and carefully from bed to go look at our boy.
The dim light from his fish tank gives me a view of his face.
He sleeps upside down in his bed with his pillow at the foot.
His sandy blond curls contrast bluntly against the red pillowcase.
I stare at him for longer than I can recall, losing all concept of time.
He is the ultimate culmination of the two of us,
So much you and so much me, all at the same time.
I can't fathom a more perfect boy.
I bend to tuck the covers around his skinny body.
His eyes blink sleepily as he wakens just for a moment, somewhere between dreams and reality.
"Daddy?" he asks.
"No Buddy, it's Mommy."
"I want my Daddy."
"Okay Bud. Go back to sleep, and I'll get Daddy."
I smile recalling the many times he asks for you, his best friend.
He is, of course though, dreaming again before I can leave his room.
I slide back under our covers gently, nuzzling next to our girl again.
I close my eyes and listen to the stillness of our home as we all breathe softly in unison.
I reflect again on our little family as I drift back to sleep, imagining our four hearts beating in time.
Even my best dreams don't compare to this.

Cinderella

Will and I went shopping this past weekend, and I told him that if he was very good while in Target, he could pick out a $5 toy. He was excellent. He didn't get out of the cart once, played quietly with his monster truck he brought along, and no whining the entire time. (Shocking, I know!)

So, just as I promised, we ventured over to the toy section for him to pick a reward. We looked at Buzz Lightyear stuff, water guns, bubbles, balls and super heroes. We spent a solid 15 minutes scanning the aisles as he looked for that perfect toy. As we rounded one of the aisles, he looked on the end cap and saw it. His mind was made up immediately. This is what he wanted.



I reminded him of the other things that we looked at, and asked if he was sure this is the toy that he wants. (Not because I wanted to change his mind. I just wanted to be sure he knew he wouldn't be getting any of the other toys that moments earlier, he was freaking out over.) "Yes, I want Cinderella. She's pretty." So, that's what we bought. Will has gotten several funny looks since then. Even the cashier in Target did a double take to make sure that he wasn't a girl, and then commented, "A Barbie? Okay, then," like it was the most bizarre thing she'd ever seen. Call me crazy, but I just don't buy into this whole, "these toys are for girls/these are for boys" idea where everything is so gender specific. I'm not going to limit my kids on what toys they can play with because of this crazy notion that there are girl-only toys or boy-only toys. I bought Will the Barbie because that is what he wanted. And if Avery asked for a GI Joe or a race car, I'd buy her one without hesitation. Believe me, she already chews on her fair share of trucks since she just so happens to live with an older brother.

Will is really proud of his Cinderella, and has been sleeping with her at night and taking her to his friends' houses. He does however also crash her into his cars and knock things over with her head. I give Cinderella about 2 weeks before she loses an extremity.

Wednesday's Wish List coming this afternoon...

Cheers,
L

Friday's Photo (Brothers & Sisters Edition)

At first glance, my kiddos don't look that much alike sitting side by side. Will was born with little to no hair and has always been thin as a rail. Avery, however, came out with a head full of jet black hair and is a chunky little monkey. Since Will is 3 & 1/2 now, and has that "boy"look to him instead of the "baby" look, it's hard to see them in each other.

But when you compare their baby pictures, something crazy happens. They look like the same kid! Same mouth, same round cheeks, same blue eyes and the same "What'chu talkin' bout Willis" (RIP Gary Coleman) look on their face.

See for yourself.

Will at 4 months

Avery at 4 months

So much the same on the outside, yet so different on the in. Both perfect in their own way. I adore those kids.

Happy weekend,
L

Friday's Photo

Trying out a new section on my blog. Go with me on this one. Every Friday, I'll blog a photo that I want to share. Forgive me, but 99% of them will probably be of my children. They're just too cute, so I can't help myself.




My aunt took this photo of Will, and I just love it. It nails his personality, and also captures the essence of how I feel about a few things too.

1. The feeling I get when my alarm goes off in the morning
2. My sentiments about baby corn
3. The look on my face when Will says, "Look Mommy, I got a booger for you!"
4. TRAFFIC
5. The face I give crazy women who try and humiliate me for nursing in public

Hope your weekend is filled with happy faces.
L

A Tale of Two Births

There has been much chatter and debate in the blogosphere over the past week when this article came out about a study that was published in regards to breastfeeding. It's research indicates that breastfeeding saves thousands of lives and billions of dollars, yet shows that only 14% of women are still exclusively breastfeeding their babies at 6 months old . Many mothers who stopped breastfeeding and switched to formula (for a variety of different reasons) came out in full force claiming this was just another thing designed to make mothers feel guilty. I have read so many different opinions on the issue, and finally decided I should throw mine out there as well. After all, I am very passionate about breastfeeding and the impact it has on babies and their mothers.

First of all, I don't feel as though The World Health Organization, The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, the American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Academy of Family Physicians and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention all got together and said, "Let's put our heads together and see how we can make new moms who formula feed their babies feel guilty. I know, we'll publish reports that show that breastfeeding is the optimal form of nutrition for infants. That should guilt them into nursing." I believe that the research is what it is, scientific evidence, and the article was written as a matter of fact, and was not coming from a place of opinions or bias toward either side. I know how trying breastfeeding can be. I know the trials and tribulations that a new mother can go through. I know how hard it is to hear your baby scream into your boob because he's hungry and you can't figure out proper latching. I know what it feels like to pump your cracked nipples for half an hour in a tiny bathroom at work only to produce two ounces. Believe me, I KNOW. So, when I read this follow up piece this morning, I wanted to stand from my seat and cheer. Because we shouldn't feel guilty if we "failed" at breastfeeding, we should feel slighted. To me, the bottom line is that we need more support, encouragement and resources available to us when it comes to breastfeeding.

Here are my two very different birth experiences which impacted my nursing relationships. They so closely resembled what Melissa is talking about in her piece that I couldn't deny it. Read her follow up article first, then read my stories and tell me, are all of the similarities just coincidence? I think not.

My 1st birth and breastfeeding experience with my son, Will
I visited a traditional OB throughout my pregnancy, and was told in my 37th week that I was going to have a big baby. I began having some very mild contractions when I was 38 weeks and 1 day pregnant, and rushed to the hospital, because I was a first time mother who was completely naive and thought that's what you do when you feel the first contraction. That's what they do on TV, right? I arrived at the hospital, was told that I was only dilated to 2 centimeters and my contractions were 8 minutes apart. The nurses on staff called my OB and he told them to keep me since it looked as though I was going to have a big baby anyway, and they would "help to get things moving along." They immediately started me on Pitocin, broke my water, and about 3 hours later, I requested an epidural because I had heard that was the thing to do when the pain was too intense. The Pitocin sent my baby's heart into distress, the epidural bottomed my BP out. I was a mess. After several hours and only dilating to 5, the OB came in to give me the bad news, I would need a c-section to get the baby out. He was worried about the decels in his heart rate and we needed to do this for the safety of the baby. I cried as they wheeled me down to the OR. I vomited when they administered more meds in my IV to help me relax. When my son was delivered, I heard him cry and they rushed him to the warmer, rubbed him off and bundled him up in a tight swaddle. Despite being told the previous week that I was going to have a big baby, Will weighed 7 pounds and 4 ounces at birth.

This was the first time I saw him

They let me have one free hand to touch him (the other was still strapped to the table) and then they rushed him off to the NICU because he had some fluid left in his lungs since he didn't pass through the birth canal. I told my husband to go with our son to make sure he was okay, and I was taken to my postpartum room alone. I sat there, reflecting back on everything that had just happened. I was sad. I was disappointed. I wanted to see my baby. Even though I was numb from the epidural, my body ached for my child. That, I could feel. Minutes turned into an hour, and I still hadn't held my baby. I started to get anxious and emotional. I kept asking the nurses to see him, but they said the NICU was getting him cleaned up and clearing out his lungs and that he would be in my room as soon as they finished with him. I asked if I could go down to see him, but since I had a c-section and epidural, they wouldn't let me stand up for a while. Time kept passing and by the time that one hour had turned into two and I still didn't have my baby, I was bawling my eyes out begging for him. The nurses reminded me again that they were still working on him and offered to give me a sedative since I was so upset. I refused.

Finally, after about 3 hours since his birth, my son was brought to me. He had been bathed, was sleeping and swaddled in a blanket. I tried to nurse him, but he wouldn't wake up. He was exhausted from all that he had been through and slept for a while. When he did wake up, he was really hungry, but we had latching issues. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get him to latch on. He was crying, I was crying, and my husband was watching on not knowing what to do for either of us. The nurses said they would call lactation to come and help me, but by the time they got there, he was so frustrated, we didn't make any headway. They said we would try later, but in the meantime they gave him some formula from a special needs bottle, because that, he would take.

By the time we left the hospital 3 days later, he still hadn't nursed and was drinking formula. He was also quite attached to a pacifier. He was a little bit jaundice as well, and we were sent home with instructions to keep trying to get him to latch on and nurse and put him in sunlight to help with his color. After a few days at home with him drinking formula, and my continuous attempts to nurse him, he finally got the hang of it and latched on to my breast. I was so relieved! I nursed him exclusively from that moment forward until I went back to work at 10 weeks, and then I pumped upon returning to work and he got my milk from a bottle. We never even considered co-sleeping and weren't aware of the benefits of it, so Will slept in his crib from the night we brought him home from the hospital. Especially after returning to work, I found myself exhausted from getting up to go nurse in the middle of the night. Also, soon after I started back to work, I saw my milk production go down. I called lactation consultants for advice and was given some great tips to boost my supply. When Will started sleeping through the night and not waking to nurse, I was still getting up every 2 hours to pump so that I could increase my supply. By the time he was 8 months old, he weaned and that was the end of our breastfeeding relationship. I was sad for it to end.

My 2nd birth and breastfeeding experience with my daughter, Avery
After educating myself as much as I could, I was dead set on attempting an unmedicated, VBAC. I fired my OB and went with a midwife practice and a doula for my next pregnancy and delivery. The pregnancy was uncomplicated, just as my previous one had been. I took a home study course on Hypnobirthing and practiced daily with affirmations and scripts to prepare myself. Two days before my expected due date, I was lying in bed when my water broke. We took our time and went to the hospital and I finally got the VBAC that I had been dreaming of. Since I just recently posted her birth story, I won't repeat it all again now, but you can find it here.

My experience was so much different than my first. The moment I pushed Avery out, they placed her on my chest skin to skin. She cried loudly, then snuggled in and nuzzled me, moving her tiny body up with a push of her little legs and feet. We waited for the cord to stop pulsating and Rob cut it free. Within moments, she was latched onto my breast and was nursing calmly. She stayed there for a good 45 minutes suckling as the midwife and nurses quietly cleaned up and allowed my husband and I time with our baby. They told us to let them know when we were ready and they would weigh her and do her Apgar tests. They never attempted to take her from me, nor did they wipe my smell from her body. She and I just lay there together, chest to chest. She stared at me. I stared at her. Rob watched us together and hugged and kissed us.

Finally I had to get up to go to the restroom, so we allowed them to take her to weigh her and do her Apgar screening. They did it all in the room right there with Rob, my mom and I watching on, and when they were finished, they handed her back to me and she fell asleep in my arms. I held her as they wheeled me down to my postpartum room and she stayed with me there for the majority of the hospital visit. She was never bathed at the hospital as we didn't feel it was necessary, and the nurses never pushed or even suggested it. She continued to nurse just as well as she had during the first moments of her life, though she was really sleepy those first few days and I would have a little trouble waking her up sometimes.

We have been co-sleeping since we brought her home from the hospital and she and I both sleep very well at night. I never got the quality of rest I do now when I was getting out of my bed each night to go nurse Will. I actually get a full night's sleep and wake up feeling rested, which is something that a lot of new moms only hope for. Avery is still nursing like a champ, and since I started back to work 3 weeks ago, I have an oversupply of milk when I pump. Each day, I pump enough milk at work to supply her for the next day and store several bags in the freezer. After only being back for 3 weeks, I have almost a 3 weeks supply stored should she go through a growth spurt or I have a dip in production. I look forward to continuing our breastfeeding relationship. It is one of the most precious things that I shared with Will when he was a baby, and I am again loving the connection I find while nursing Avery.

Both of my experiences, though total opposites of each other, have been beautiful in their own ways. Will was my first child. I had no idea what I was in store for. I was uneducated and naive, but I fought hard to nurse him and overcome the obstacles that were handed to us. I'm so glad I did, and am proud of how he and I worked together to form that relationship. With Avery, things have been easy when it comes to nursing, and she is really attached to me as a result, just as she has been from the moment she left my body. I hope that more women out there will take my stories, educate themselves, stand up and demand more support as nursing mothers. After caring and nurturing our babies for 9 to 10 months inside our wombs, we need the support and encouragement that will make it easier for us to care for and nurture them outside the womb. We deserve that. Our babies deserve it.

Will moments after his birth, getting wiped down under the heat lamps

Avery moments after her birth, meeting us face to face and warming herself on mommy's body

I could say so much more...
L

Opposites

I fell off the face of the Earth for a while. Also known as, I had a baby and my whole life turned upside down. I've said it before, but Will was a very simple, laid back, and easy child. He slept, he nursed every 3 hours or so, he smiled, and he rarely cried. He and his baby sis are the complete opposite in every sense of the word. She loves to be held, and gets rather upset if you dare to put her down. She also loves to nurse. If she had it her way, she would stay attached to my boob for about 20 out of every 24 hours. She had a penchant for crying as well. She cried A LOT the first 6 weeks of her life. The Dr. said colic was to blame, and it felt nice to have a label or a reason to place upon the 2 hours of screaming that would take place in our house every night, but it didn't give us a solution for it. "Just wait it out, that's all you can do." So, we did. We walked, and bounced, and shushed, and rocked, and swaddled, and burped, and swung, and sang to her. There were nights when I looked at her and begged, "Please, just tell me what I can do." "Please, go to sleep." "Please, stop crying." Of course, my pleas were not answered, so we just kept doing what we knew to do until one day, she stopped crying, started smiling, and started sleeping. She sleeps next to me, always has, nuzzled in the crook of my arm each night. She loves it there. She loves my smell. She loves to sleep nurse ever so quietly. She loves me. She needs me. And I'm there for her. Nothing is more fulfilling than that.

Avery is a high need baby and I love her for that more than anything. I don't fault her for "quirks", I embrace her because of them. I love that she's emotional and passionate. I love that she's serious and clingy. I love her because she is so different from Will, not in spite of it. And I love him more now for the child that he is, because of the child that she is. I never suspected that motherhood would give me this gift. It's been the biggest surprise of this journey so far. Two children who are so opposite from each other, yet still a part of me. Still a part of Rob. Two children who I love more than life itself, for all their many differences.


I'm back,
L

Christmas 2009

After a brief set back with our memory card, I finally got all of our Christmas photos uploaded. Then I looked through them all and realized, "Hey, not too many good pictures from Christmas this year." This is good and bad, I guess. Bad because, not too many good pictures from Christmas this year. Good because, well, we were having too much fun together and enjoying our time with each other to take good pictures. Here are a some that I managed to round up though. Enjoy!

Making Christmas cookies at GrandMomma and GrandDaddy's

There was A LOT of gift opening involved

Christmas Morning...more gifts

And let's not forget about the stocking. Because if you ask Will what he got for Christmas, out of all those expensive presents, the thing he remembers most is "CANDY CANES!!"

Discovering the fish tank that Daddy got him, nicely hid away in Mommy's messy closet

One of his favorite gifts, a real train! Thanks, Grandma!

And, of course, the good ol' clothes handoff. Every kid does it. Rip into present, see clothes, throw them in Mommy's direction.

Hope your Christmas was as memorable as ours was!
L

More Love

I laid across from him in his big boy bed. It was so dark, I couldn't see him, but I could feel his tiny little hand as he stroked my arm trying to get to sleep. It was still and quiet, the only sound was the soothing hum of the fish tank that Daddy bought him for Christmas. Then he broke the silence.

"I love you, Mommy" out of the blue. There is no feeling better than that one. None. My heart immediately melted into a million pieces just like it does every other time he says those words.

"I love you too, buddy."

Silence again.

We don't make a habit out of laying with him to get him to sleep, but he had been really sick that night and he needed me there. And as sad as it made me that he wasn't feeling good, I really needed him at that moment too. I started thinking about how he would only be my "only" for a while longer. How that very soon there would be someone else to lay across from and care for when she's sick.

"How will I ever love another one as much as I do you?" I said it so loud inside my head that it might as well have been out loud. This is something that I have struggled with since finding out I was pregnant again. It has grown lately since I'm so close to holding another baby. Then almost as though he sensed it, Will said "Sis can come out now, Mommy. She's bigger."

Tears burned my eyes wondering how on earth my heart will ever hold enough love for the both of them.

I still don't know, but I hope to find out soon.

The Magic of Christmas

We all have memories that are permanently embedded in our minds from our childhood, and I am very blessed that the majority of my memories very pleasant and happy ones. Some of my best and favorite memories are from Christmas. I'll never forget how excited I would feel as I lay in bed on Christmas Eve listening as hard as I could for the sound of Santa's sleigh landing on our roof, anticipating what the next morning would bring. Or how thrilled I would feel the next morning when I awoke and realized Christmas was finally here, and I'd rush down our stairs to find what Santa had left for me. I know it sounds like a cliche, but it was truly such a magical time.

Now that Will is getting a little older, he is really into Christmas as well. He loves Santa, and says his name with so much excitement that it melts my heart. He's anxious to open his presents that are underneath the tree, and he's more than happy to tell you what he would like for Christmas. "Cars, trucks and chocolate, please." We have been having a lot of fun this season riding around looking at the Christmas lights on all the houses, hearing Will shout, "WOW, look at that one, Mommy!" and "Daddy, did you see that one!?"


We've been drinking hot chocolate, trimming our tree, decorating the house, watching every Christmas movie and special imaginable, and doing fun little Christmas crafts. Will has been eating up every moment of it. He really loved hanging the ornaments on the tree, and still enjoys moving them around when we're not looking. Last week, I looked at the tree to find about 10 bulbs on one drooping branch.


But as much as Will has enjoyed participating in all the Christmas preparations, by far the most fun he has had this season was going to visit Santa. We talked about it all day, all weekend really, and when the time finally arrived to go sit in Santa's lap, he could have burst with excitement. As we stood in line, he peered over the tops of everyone's head as Rob held him. He just wanted to get a glimpse of Santa, and once he did, he wouldn't take his eyes off of him. When we finally reached the front of the line and it was Will's turn, Rob sat him down, and whispered "Your turn, buddy," and he ran and jumped in Santa's lap like he was an old friend. It was one of the sweetest things I've ever seen, and though I know I'm a bit biased when it comes to my child, I don't think there has ever been a more precious Santa picture than the one I took of he and Will this year. It sums up how amazed he is by all of this Christmas business, and I hope that wonderment sticks around for a long time to come.


Merry Christmas,
L

Father and Son

When I married Rob, I had a sneaking suspicion that he would be a great dad. I really had no idea just how great though. I didn't know that he would lay with him every night before bed, make up silly songs, and do alligator shapes on the wall. I didn't know that he would miss him while he slept. I didn't foresee how huge and deep their relationship would become. I knew he would love his son, and I knew Will would love him, but I had no idea how completely and utterly smitten they would be with each other. Then little moments like this happen and I'm reminded of how blessed I am to have them both, and how lucky they are to have each other.





Have a happy week,
L

Boo!

Last weekend was Halloween, and Will has reached the age where he was actually excited and anxious about it. It probably helped that we had been jazzing him all week about going trick or treating. Come Saturday, he was ready to bust. He wanted to be a race car driver this year, because well, the kid loves race cars. He dreams about racing, and will inform me in the morning, "I beat you, Mommy," after he awakes from his race car dreams in which he always emerges the winner. When he grows up he wants to "go real fast," so naturally we couldn't deny the kid his race car costume.

He really thought he was something in it too. He wouldn't smile when Rob took his picture, because this is no joking matter.

The Fast and the Serious

Once or twice, he couldn't help it and cracked a grin though. After all, he was about to go get a butt load of candy from a bunch of complete strangers. Who wouldn't be happy about that?






When the time finally arrived, he and Ripley ran from house to house like they had been training for this since birth. They stuck their little buckets out, exclaimed TRICK OR TREAT, and got so much candy, they could hardly carry it by the end of the night. When got home, Will dumped his bucket and I finally understood the meaning of the saying, "Like a kid in a candy store."



Bedtime that night was.....interesting.

Happy weekend,
L

Doubt

We all have those mornings in which absolutely everything goes wrong. The ones that slap you out of sleep and declare, "Hello there, I'm just here to make your day miserable. Now let's get this party started." The mornings when you step out of bed and immediately stub your toe on the nightstand. Then you slip and fall in the shower, your hair dryer stops working and all of your clothes shrunk a size hanging in your closet overnight. You know those mornings, right? We've all been cursed by them, and unfortunately there is no way to escape them. Having those mornings from time to time is just the sacrifice that we make for being granted another day.

I had one on Wednesday. It was so bad, in fact, it's taken me two days to gain the strength to write about it. I woke up 10 minutes late with a splitting headache. Strike one. When Will woke up, he apparently had decided that this was a day to just rage. He whined and cried about everything. EVERY.SINGLE.THING. He had a full blown meltdown when I told him it was time to get in the shower. Screaming, sobbing, thrashing around on the carpet while I attempted to remove his pajamas. Let me just tell you, trying to get a kid's pajamas off of their body while they are convulsing all over the floor is no easy task. I finally got him undressed and in the shower, but he cried "I CAN'T TAKE A SHOWER!!!" the entire time. Strike two. Getting him dried off and getting his clothes on after the shower was an equally daunting task. By this point, he was so mad that he was fighting everything. He decided between sobs that he wanted toaster muffins for breakfast. I threw them in the toaster and went to get myself dressed. My black shirt had lint all over it, and I couldn't find the lint roller. In between looking high and low for it, I grabbed the muffins out of the toaster, threw them on a plate and took them to Will. Found the lint roller, but realized while rolling that my shirt, (one that I had bought about 2 weeks ago and wore one other time), now had a hole in it. I took some deep breaths and found another shirt. Meanwhile, I could still hear Will whining in the other room. Something about "MY MUFFIN!" and "FIX IT!" Apparently, when I removed his muffins from the toaster, a tiny piece of one of the muffins tore off.

Stop right there. To any normal person, this isn't a huge deal. Who cares that a little piece of the muffin broke off, right? Let me tell you who cares...Will cares! This kid has an abnormal aversion to food that breaks in any way. Granola bars should be banned from our house because of the way they tend to crumble. It's just too much for his little mind to comprehend. He simply can't take it.

I gently tried explaining to him that I couldn't reattach the torn piece back onto the muffin. You would have thought that I had said to him, "All of the toys in the world will be destroyed and you will never again be allowed to play," because another meltdown of gargantuan proportions ensued. He decides that he doesn't want the muffins at all then. I take them away and go to put on my shoes. OKAY, WHERE ARE MY SHOES?? I search and can't find them while listening to Will whine, "I want my muffins!" I ignored him. I remembered that the shoes I was looking for were in the car.

I threw our lunch into a bag and told Will it was time to go. (At this point, we're already 5 minutes late leaving the house.) He cries that he wants me to carry him out to the car. I grab Will up, snap at Rob and he snaps back.

Strike 3.

Tears. Tears and tears and more tears. I cried for torn muffins, and new shirts with holes in them, and headaches that wake you up in the morning, and kids that don't want to take showers. I cried for couples who snap at each other when things don't go right. Mostly though, I cried because of doubt. Doubt in my ability to be a mom to two kids, when look at me, I can't even do it with one! All these feelings of inadequacy just came washing over me, and I started to question if I can really make it work when I have two kids screaming instead of one. I found myself saying out loud, "I can't do this," which made me cry harder. Now, I thought, I'm a mom who can't hold it together and is crying in front of her kid. Will was silent and concerned as I strapped him into his car seat, and let the tears just roll down my cheeks. I got in the car, dried my face, and told myself that I am going to be a wonderful mother to both of my children. I told myself that people do it every single day, and make it work, and I'll be no exception. I told myself that it's normal to have these days and tomorrow would be better. I told myself all of that, but deep down, I thought I was lying. But you know what, the next day was better. Will was an angel, my shirt didn't have a hole in it, my shoes were in my closet, and there were no broken muffins. These are the kinds of days that make all the other ones worthwhile.

Happy weekend,
L

Strike a Pose

Will is a fairly agreeable guy. 97% of the time, he does what he is being asked and doesn't put up too much of a fight. The other 3%, he's a raving maniac also known as "toddler." That being said, he's never been much of a fan of getting his picture taken. I pull out my camera and he's all "NO, Mommy! STOP!" So, I have a lot of pictures of the kid's hand up in front of his face. Thank God for digital technology, so that I can delete the 27 terrible pictures of him frowning and keep that one good one that he wasn't aware I was snapping.

Knowing all of this, when his preschool sent home a note saying that they would be getting their pictures taken, I kind of giggled under my breath and thought, "Yeah, good luck with that." Imagine my surprise when we got the pictures back and not only is he smiling, he's posing like he's been doing this for years.

This one is the most (read: only) normal one of the bunch. He's smiling. He's happy. He's just a kid at preschool getting his picture taken.


This next one had me laughing so hard, I was crying. So natural. HA!


Oh, and this last one. What can I say. It's a crisp, fall day, and he's sitting outside leaned against a park bench just pondering the meaning of life. You know, because he sits just like this ALL the time at home with his hands in the grandma clasped position.


Disclaimer: If you are my family and would like any of these lovely glamour shots, let me know. I will have to order them directly from the company, so that they won't hunt me down and jail me for reproduction infringement. Thank you for your cooperation.

L

My Little Bruiser

When we arrived to pick Will up at school yesterday, we noticed right away that he had several scratches on his face. It appeared as though maybe he and a cat had a little run in, but they don't have pets at daycare, so I ruled that out pretty quickly. We asked his teacher, and she said that she didn't see what happened, but assumed he had scratched himself. Okay, since I'm a mom, I realize that strange and bizarre things can happen when toddlers are involved. Kids stick marbles up their noses and cut all their hair off with scissors when you aren't looking. But knowing all of this, I just couldn't picture Will accidentally or purposely scratching his face several times. I maybe would go with that story if it was one scratch, because that he could have done accidentally, but to have several scratches spread out on different places of that sweet little face just didn't quite jive.

So, when we got in the car, I decided to go straight to the source and question him about it. The conversation went like this.

Me: Will, what happened to your face, buddy?
Him: I got a boo boo.
Me: How did you get all of those scratches on your face? Did someone at school scratch you?
Him: (nods head) Zachary scratched me.
Me: I see. Did you do something to Zachary?
Him: I hit him.
Me: Did Zachary scratch you first or did you hit him first?
Him: He scratched me and I hit him. I got in a fight!

Uh, wow. Not only is my child already scrapping with kids in his class at age
2 & 1/2, but he knows the terminology, "I got in a fight"?? How long was I at work exactly?

Sigh,
L

Q&A with Will

Driving home after picking Will up from "school" on Wednesday, I decided to do a little Q&A session with him. It went a little something like this...

Me: What did you have for lunch today?
Him: Apples in the morning
Me: I don't think you had apples today. Your sheet says chicken and noodles.
Him: Okay.

Me: Who is your favorite, Lightning McQueen or Thomas?
Him: Light-king McKing!

Me: What's your favorite color?
Him: Crayon

Me: Who is your favorite stuffed animal, Rabbit or Flip?
Him: Rabbit. I like Flip.

Me: What do you want to be when you grow up?
Him: I wanna go fast.

Me: What did you dream about last night?
Him: Gavin
Me: What were you doing with Gavin?
Him: Wrestling
(We have Tyrone to thank for that one.)

Me: Did you know Mommy has a baby in my belly?
Him: I got my baby in my belly too.
Me: Really? What's he doing in there?
Him: He's crying. He wants to get out.

Me: What are you going to do when Mommy's baby gets bigger and starts moving around and kicking inside Mommy's belly?
Him: I'm gonna kick em.
Me: No, we can't kick the baby, bud. We have to be nice to the baby.
Him: I'm gonna kick em.
Me: And so it begins.



Happy weekend,
L

Growing Up

Will is going to be two and a half years old this month. TWO AND A HALF YEARS OLD. Just typing it, just saying it in my head, realizing the truth and weight of it all, makes my throat close up a little and my eyes start to burn. He is and will always be my baby. Not time, or new babies, or any force of nature will ever change that. Having a new one on the way, makes me yearn to cement that into his little head somehow. Now that there is going to be another person in our family, I want to insure that Will knows without a shadow of a doubt that my love for him will only get bigger as our lives get longer.




I'm watching him grow up and turn into this actual person with his own thoughts and opinions, and it makes me happy and sad simultaneously. He can say to me, "I'm happy," which fills my heart so full, I can almost feel it bursting out of my chest. At the same time, I recall the days when he could only make those sweet little baby sounds, when even the smallest peep or coo from his mouth would make me run to get Rob and be all, "Listen honey, he made noise!" I want to hold on to that feeling. I want to have the same excitement about every thing he says and does now, and I'd be lying if I said it doesn't bum me out somewhat that it's becoming more commonplace these days.

The beauty of it all, is that I still marvel in him. Every day, he surprises me. Every day, he makes me smile. Every day, I look at him and am amazed and humbled that I had something to do with this extraordinary person. I already have enough wonderful memories with him to last a lifetime. And looking back at his life, at our life together as a family, reaffirms that being a mom is what I was meant for. Yes, my life was lovely before, but this, this right here, is why I am. It may sound cliche, and it may sound all sentimental and wishy washy, but it is what it is. And it's the truth.




Happy Monday.

L

I Want My Daddy!

This is Will's new favorite thing to say. It comes out of his mouth at least 57 times a day. If he needs a diaper change, "I want my daddy!" Someone to open his granola bar, "I want my daddy!" Put his shoes on, "I want my daddy!" Get him out of bed in the morning, "I want my daddy!" The list goes on. He's been doing this for a few days now, and as much as I'd love to just take advantage of not having to change dirty diapers or get out of bed in the morning to go get him from his crib, the truth is, it hurts my feelings a bit.

Don't get me wrong, I am overjoyed that Will loves his daddy. I love that they have a close bond and that he is so attached to him. He has fun with Rob. He knows that he can depend on him. His daddy is capable of helping him with whatever he needs. That makes me happy. That makes me proud. However, the mom in me just wants to say him, "Hey kid, I pushed you out of my vagina! I think I can put your sock on!" Okay, so maybe that's not entirely accurate since I had a c-section, but still, he was there, in my stomach, kicking around like a kangaroo. Maybe something like, "Hey kid, I had you pulled from a big gaping hole in my stomach!" would be more appropriate? Though, that might give him terrible nightmares, at which point he would wake up screaming, "I WANT MY DADDY!!" And I'd only have myself to blame.

Happy weekend!
L