My Son, Jack

I feel compelled to write about my son, Jack.

A few days ago, I bought him an Optimus Prime costume for Halloween.

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The 21st of September, Again

Last year, I was inspired by Jill over at Baby Rabies to record "a day in the life" - an hourly journal of our typical day, in pictures.

I had so much fun that first time - which was the 21st of September, 2011 - that I decided to record one day each month for an entire year to see how things would (or would not) change over the course of the year.

As I look back through some of the posts, a few things have definitely changed.  My kids are a year older (and at this stage in their lives, a year is a Really Big Deal).  Claire, while still nursing, is no longer nursing.all.day.long.  Jack, while still throwing me into a complete tizzy every now and then with his meltdowns and general three-year-old behavior, is settling down (I think?).

And then, a few things have *not* changed.  I'm still a stay-at-home-mom, who mostly sucks at her "job."  The kids still don't sleep, and this still drives me batshit crazy (seriously, kids...SLEEP, already).  And our house is still a mess that I just cannot keep up with, no matter how hard I try.

I was hoping to get really creative for this last "21st of..." post.  I thought I'd break out the fancy camera and actually schlepp it around with me all day, maybe...or do a compare and contrast of today's pictures versus the pictures I took on September 21st of last year.

I got off to a good start.

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9/11 and Kids

Today is a big day.

It's September 11, 2012.  9/11.  Eleven years after those airplanes flew into the World Trade Center buildings, the Pentagon, and a random Pennsylvania field.

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My Kid is Sick, and I Know What Will Make Me Feel Better!

You know what I'd *love* to be doing right now?  Sitting on the couch, catching up on The Real Housewives of Orange County (because I still haven't watched part two of the reunion and I somehow feel as if my life won't be complete until I see it), sipping a glass of wine, and leisurely finishing up a blog post during commercials.

Instead, I'm in my dark bedroom, propped up in bed with Claire sprawled out next to me, listening to Jack protest bedtime over the sound of my white noise machine as I try to remember if the shower I just took was my third - or my fourth - of the evening.  Because Claire has been throwing up, and in between vomit baths and adding another load of laundry to the washing machine, I've been taking showers (you should see how much vomit this little baby can produce - and every.single.ounce has found it way onto me).

This little lady finally fell asleep on me after what was, I hope, her last time puking tonight.

We were all sick with The Pukes a few months ago, and it was way (WAY) worse than this has been.  This has been relatively easy.  Claire is her normal happy self and then randomly defiles me with regurgitated turkey bits or breast milk.  I seem to be suffering more than she is.

I don't think I ever thought parenting would be easy, but I never realized how hard it would be, either.

The thing is, I wouldn't trade even the sick days for a whole herd of magical miniature unicorns, and I really like miniature animals, and I love unicorns (who doesn't??).

Sure, I'd much rather be watching trashy television than picking bile-soaked bites of turkey out of my bra (why didn't anyone tell me how glamorous motherhood was going to be?).  But Claire needs me.  And The Real Housewives don't.

But you know what I need??

A TV in this bedroom!  Think of the multi-tasking I could do - catching up on reality shows, blogging, and being next to my sick and sleeping child all at the same time.  Seriously. That would be awesome.

Do you have a TV in your bedroom?  I wonder if it would be as awesome as I remember it (I don't think I've had one in the bedroom for seven years, at least) or if I'm just really jonesing for some lame TV right now.

Out With the Ladies, In with the Babies

Last night, I went out with actual adults.

I left the kids in the capable hands of Charles and we headed to the newest, trendiest restaurant in town.  Where we waited an hour and a half to be seated (which was almost an hour longer than we expected the wait to be, and which they tried to make right with a free round of drinks - which of course we did not waste!).

Yum.  And the bar kept changing colors, so that was cool, too.

It was great fun.  A much-needed diversion from my nightly routine (which mostly includes cranky kids, a nursing baby, a chaotic bath time and other standard nighttime parenting drama).

I looked around the bar and saw lots of "old" people - adults who clearly weren't wondering if their babies were at home missing them, because their babies were no doubt grown-up and living their own lives (or at least old enough to stay home without a sitter).  I wondered, "what's that like?" as if I hadn't been able to stay out as long as I wanted just a few short years ago (it's amazing how perspective changes once you have kids - I literally had years and years of "me" time, years of staying out until the wee hours of the morning and not having to answer to anyone...but after just 3.5 years of parenting, I can barely remember those days!).

I know those days will be here again before I know it.  The days when my kids are grown and I'm out with friends checking my phone constantly not to see if Charles is texting me with some emergency at home that he absolutely cannot handle without me (which never happens) but to see if one of my kids might have sent me a text to check in and say hello.  The days when I will be able to wait for an hour and a half for a table at a trendy restaurant and not once think about how this is cutting into the rest of the night and how the baby probably needs to nurse soon.  Just a few short years ago, no one needed me - and now, they do.

Already, things are getting easier.  Jack is fine without me, and Claire is getting older and the intensity of her needs is lessening.

I both long for the time when I can skip out of the house unnoticed and go about my business and fear it, as well.  As I snuggled in to bed last night against Claire, who's already a year old, I realized - again - that these days are fleeting.

Nights out with friends are rejuvenating and an important piece to keeping "me" intact. I need to get out of the house without having to pack a diaper bag every now and then, you know?  But pretty soon, I won't be packing diaper bags.  I'll be throwing back packs into the car as we head off to school, then loading up sports equipment as we head to another game, and then before I know it, packing up the car to drive my babies off to college.  And then I'll have nothing but time on my hands.

I guess I'm not sure where I am going with this.  I started this post with a lighthearted topic in mind, to be sure - I was going to tell you all that for my big girls' night out I wore a shirt Charles bought me at Costco (because that's something I am pretty sure I would have laughed at a few years ago).  But instead, this turned into a rambling post about how fast my kids are growing up (which seems to be a common theme on this blog, lately) and how before I know it, I'll be an "old" person sitting at the bar in a trendy restaurant waiting for my kids to text me and tell me they love me.  How depressing is that?!?!  Okay, maybe that's a little bit extreme!  Ha.

The moral of this story is, in some convoluted way, to get out and enjoy your "me" time - as moms, we really need that - but don't wish away these early and intense years with your babies.

I am pretty sure it's going to be harder when they're teenagers.

Am I the only one who gets all sad and weepy thinking about how fast her kids are growing up?

And if you want to read another post just like this one, in which I lament on how my kids are growing up before my very eyes and then try to encourage myself to brave another day of kids who do not sleep, I have one for you right here.

If I Were the Parent of an Olympian

Today I watched a video of Olympic gymnast Aly Raisman's parents as they watched her perform her bar routine in the 2012 Olympics.

Now, I've been living under a rock and even I've seen this, but in case you haven't...here it is:

Yeah, they look like crazy people. But as I've watched the Olympics this time around, I've noticed something about myself. I find myself identifying more with the parents and less with the athletes.  I mean, not like I identify with the athletes in a hey-I-like-to-ride-horses-and-could-totally-be-an-Olympic-athlete kinda way.  More in the we're-about-the-same-age kinda way. But I feel a shift taking place.  I feel like I can relate more to the parents than to the athletes.  I see the gymnasts take the stage and no longer think, "Thanks for nothing, mom -  this could have been ME if you'd just let me stay in gymnastics a little longer!" (and for the record, I took six weeks of gymnastics when I was four years old). Instead I think, "OMG they're so YOUNG and they have all this pressure on them and their mothers must be absolutely dying of nerves watching their babies compete in the freaking Olympics!" And I feel my stomach turn a bit on behalf of nervous moms-of-Olympians everywhere.

Because if that were my kid?  I would be fuh-REAKING out.  No, seriously.  My poor little nerves couldn't handle it.  In fact, I feel a little anxiety creeping in just *thinking* about it!

So, when Claire's competing in the Olympic Games (showjumping, no doubt) in 2028, look for me in the stands.  Because that will be some video footage you won't want to miss.

Why I Think the "Mommy Wars" Are Ridiculous

Every once in awhile, I get an itch to write about something "real" - a controversial topic that people actually care about, something that incites real feelings and debate.  

But then, as I sit down in my chair and stare at the blank screen in front of me, my legs growing warmer and warmer as the laptop heats up, I realize that this actually requires brain cells.  And sometimes research.  And probably even logic, and clearly-formed sentences.  So, I just go about my business and post a picture of my horse instead of firing up the old brain and putting my speedy typing skills to good use.  

And then, there's the fact that I'm as non-controversial as they come.  Live and let live.  

And maybe it's from this - live and let live - that this post was born.

I am so freaking tired of hearing about the "Mommy Wars."  

I am tired of hearing about how women are pitted against each other, how women feel they have to justify their parenting choices, how women feel "judged" by other mothers.

Ladies!  GET. OVER. IT.  Put an end to this madness.  It starts with YOU (and me, and our friends..you get the idea).

When the media uses fighting words like, "Are you mom enough?" - IGNORE.  If you don't like it, if it doesn't sit well with you...don't buy it (figuratively or literally).  Sure, tell them you're unhappy...but don't let it cause you any physical distress.  They are words, strung together to invoke strong feelings and fuel one thing - profit.  TIME magazine doesn't care about you, they don't care about me...they care about all this buzz they've generated by firing up moms everywhere, moms who have jumped to the front lines to defend their decisions to breastfeed a toddler, or to formula feed from birth.  All of these moms somehow feel like this cover is pointing a finger at them, calling them out as failures because they either fed their child with a bottle or nursed their child for too long (I know this firsthand because I saw the cover and thought, "Oh great, they are going to make us breastfeeding moms look like a bunch of weirdos" and a friend saw the same cover and thought, "I don't appreciate being made to feel like less of a mother because I formula fed my children" - two different moms, relating the cover to two different experiences, and both taking something negative from it - yeah, I would say that cover stirred the pot).  

You can't win.  So don't try.

The media is not in charge of motherhood, and they cannot tell us what is right and what is wrong.  We, the mothers, are in charge of motherhood.  

Motherhood is not a battle - it's not Good Moms vs Bad Moms.  And even if it was a battle, with two clearly divided teams, it's still not worth it to fight because you will never be on the winning team all the time.  I imagine that if there would two teams, I'd shuffle back and forth between each one depending on how the day has gone.

No one else should have the power to make you feel like a bad mom.  Yeah, I know...it sucks to be on the receiving end of another mom's stink eye or worse, the subject of her whispers to another mother...but let it end there.  You don't have to justify yourself to her.  You only answer to YOU (we are our own worst critics, but that's another post).

I'm not saying we all have to get along.  I'm not saying we should all like each other or agree with each other.  I'm not saying we're all good moms, and I'm not saying we're all bad moms.  We're just moms.  There doesn't need to be a war.  

If we could stop worrying about what everyone else is doing and focus some of that energy on our own family, I think we'd find that it really doesn't matter what so-and-so is doing, after all.  If we could look at a picture of someone else feeding her own child and think, "Oh look, that lady's feeding her kid the way she chooses to feed her kid and it has nothing to do with me and the way I feed my own kid," I think we'd be a step closer to ending these so-called Mommy Wars.  

And here is where I offer the only parenting advice I ever offer anyone - parent from the heart.  Do what feels right, and you'll never go wrong.  

Your Kids Don't Sleep? Neither Do Mine!

Hey, have you heard?  My kids don't sleep.

Yeah, I know...you already know.  Because I talk about it ALL THE TIME.  Because it consumes my days and dominates my nights.  It causes me ridiculous amounts of stress and grumpiness and, well, sleeplessness.

OK, it's not that they actually won't sleep - more like, they refuse to fall asleep, won't even dream of staying asleep, and make it VERY CLEAR to me that they would prefer to stay up all day and be miserable than enjoy a peaceful nap in a cool, darkened room with the whir of a fan lulling them to sleep (seriously, what is the deal - who wouldn't want to take a nap like that!).

A rare moment that, even in the haze of the newborn days and moving, I was coherent enough to capture because I knew it would probably never happen again.  And I was mostly right.

When Jack was a baby, sleeping fitfully and waking frequently, I remember thinking, "It will be better soon!"  Surely, he would be sleeping through the night by the time he was a year old, right?  No?  OK then, by eighteen months...there was no way he'd still be waking up at eighteen months.  No?  OK, two?  Three?  FOUR???

Because he's three and a half now and still wakes up at night and wants his daddy to lay with him while he falls back to sleep.  And we oblige.

In part, because it's just easier than fighting it.

When we moved, we set up Jack's new room and made a big fuss about him having his own bed, in his own room.  He never slept in it alone though, because we were moving to a new house.  And he had a new sister.  All within a just a few days, his little world was turned upside down.  And that just didn't seem like the time to suddenly institute the "Sleep On Your Own, Kid" law that I always imagined we'd enforce.

And then there's Claire.  She sleeps with me.  Oh yes, she might take the occasional catnap in the crib.  But  for the most part, it's just easier to tuck her in next to me when I'm ready for bed.  Most nights, she wakes up several times to nurse.  Some nights, she's up so frequently I'm not even sure I slept when she decides to waken for the day (always bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, no less!).

And naps?  Ha!  Naps are...rough.

But for all the complaining I do about sleep (specifically, *lack* of sleep), I know this is temporary.  Jack waking up at night and needing some cuddles to fall back asleep is nothing compared to the frantic night-wakings and non-stop night-nursing of his babyhood.  And Claire, for all the stress her napping issues cause me, is far easier than Jack was - and for this I am grateful.

When Jack was a small baby (maybe six months), I had this dream.

I dreamt that I had nursed Jack to sleep and was sitting on the couch watching a show when all of a sudden I realized I'd been watching TV for over an hour and I didn't have the baby monitor with me (in real life, I carried the baby monitor with me everywhere I went if the baby was asleep).  I panicked - practically having a panic-attack in my dream - and ran back to my room, where I had left him sleeping peacefully in the middle of the mattress, surrounded by pillows.


But my baby wasn't there.  


In his place was a ten-year-old boy, my own baby grown up, crashed out in his parents' bed after a long day of doing whatever it is ten-year-old boys do.  And I felt my heart slow down and thought to myself, "Wow...he grew up fast."

And I think of this dream often.  But even then...even though I *know* they're growing up faster than I can blink, and that someday I really will miss these days (probably when I'm too old to remember how tired I was, but still!)...I still get cranky and stressed out over sleep.  Sometimes, I need a reminder from someone other than myself that this is just a flash in the pan compared to the rest of this Parenting Journey.

A few days ago I was reading "How Yoga Works," when I came across this passage:

And as I read this verse about yoga while I rocked my sleeping baby, I thought, "Oh!" and these words spoke to me.

I always whine to Charles that I just want these kids to sleep, already! - but the reality is, they will.  I won't always be rocking this sweet baby girl to sleep, and before I know it Jack will be a teenager and I'll be begging him to get out of bed so he can mow the lawn (yes!).  As my days run together and I wile away the hours tucked in bed next to my darling girl thinking about how this feels like it will never end, it's already happening.

It's not lasting.  It's hard to see it while we are living it, but the kids are growing.  Every day, Jack is one day closer to teenager Jack (and I'm guessing he won't want his parents sleeping with him when he's a teenager) and one day farther away from baby Jack.

And I guess that is the whole point of this post.  To remember that this is temporary.  The exhaustion, the crankiness, the kids who don't sleep - before I know it, the kids will grow into some opposite versions of themselves I barely recognize and I'll be reminiscing about the days when all I had to worry about was who needed a nap.

So for now, I'll keep complaining (I'm not gonna lie), but I'll also keep this little nugget of wisdom in my back pocket for those days when I am really, really down - Things that cannot last, seem to us as if they will.  And hopefully, these words can see me through the next three years - SURELY Claire will be sleeping by then...right?!

In Which I Recount the Horrors of This Morning's Very Disturbing Revelation

I think all women are changed by motherhood, and often in unexpected ways.

{This is where I wanted to insert a meaningful quote about how motherhood changes us in unexpected and often frightening ways, but after about four minutes of half-heartedly googling "motherhood changes us quote" while Jack hovered over me with snot running down his face and onto my keyboard while he kept repeating, "Show me a picture of a jellyfish!  Show me a picture of a jellyfish!  Show me a picture of a jellyfish!" - I gave up.}

For some of us, the changes motherhood brings might be drastic...quitting a job to spend the days snuggling with a new baby, shelving a beloved hobby for the future because there just aren't enough hours in the day once kids are added to the mix, or buying an entire new wardrobe because you can't drop the last 15 pounds of stubborn baby weight (they lied when they told you you'd lose it all breastfeeding!).  For others, the changes might be subtle, but are still obvious reminders that you HAVE A KID NOW...things like a previously spotless home that no longer sparkles, grumpy mornings because you're tired from being up all night with baby, or bottles of foundation that you bought on sale and stored in a box with some other makeup you picked up cheap but have never even opened because who the heck cares if you are wearing makeup anymore, anyway?

OK, maybe those are just my experiences.  

But, if you have kids, you will know that some things in your life have changed and no doubt, that includes your priorities and you idea of a good time.

Which brings me to this morning and the little light bulb that went off above my head during a very quick encounter with another mom in (where else?) the Target parking lot.  

But first, you need to know this: I am not a "minivan mom."  

Charles and I have had this conversation, and more than once.  He "jokes" about wanting a minivan and I cut him off before he even gets started and tell it like it is:  HELL TO THE NO.  *I* am not a minivan kinda gal.  I'm a big truck girl.  Or maybe an SUV girl.  But a minivan?  Not a chance.  

Never mind that I have never actually owned a big truck, and that the bumper sticker I bought for my future truck when I was 18 years old that says "Geld 'Em!" still sits in a box somewhere, waiting for said truck.  Never mind that I owned an SUV once, and it was ridiculously expensive to keep running if I actually wanted to put gas in it and, you know, go places.  Never mind that we OWN A HONDA ACCORD.  I. Am. Not. A. Minivan. Mom.

"I will not drive a minivan until we have either three kids or I am at least 37 years old" I tell Charles.  

So, that brings me (again) to this morning.  

It went a little something like this.

I go to Target to buy detergent.  This is the only item I need.  But first, I have to return the fabric softener that Charles bought because he can't read a label and bought fabric softener instead of detergent and that just won't help me at all with the giant towers of laundry invading my closet and laundry room.  As much as I love Target, there is really nothing fun about loading up both kids to go there and return fabric softener and buy detergent.  

I reach back and unbuckle Jack's buckles, get out of the car, put the Ergo on, climb into the back seat and pull out Claire (careful not to bump her head on the low ceiling while the door keeps closing on me), stick her in the Ergo, go to Jack's side of the car and help him out (with him deciding it would be fun to just sit on the floorboard for a bit before I literally pull him out into the RAIN).  It rains on us as we run into the store (Claire in the Ergo, Jack holding my hand as I help/drag him across the parking lot).  We enter Target.  Jack is loose.  This is going surprisingly well, and I quickly and easily return the fabric softener.  I start to walk towards the detergent, Jack telling me how good he's going to be and how he's going to "follow directions" - which he does, until he spies a conveniently-placed (i.e., right in the line of this three-year-old's vision) light-up spinning propeller lollipop.  Things quickly take a turn for the worse.  Jack tries to make a run for it.  I grab him by his shirt (baby is in the Ergo, remember) and then by the hand and drag him to a shopping cart, which I lift him into (baby still in the Ergo!).  We buy the damn detergent and I start pushing the cart (with a wily three-year-old and one bottle of detergent as it's only occupants) towards the car.  It has, thankfully, stopped raining.

I pop the trunk and as I'm doing so, see a woman with her kid getting into a minivan next to us.  I notice, as I toss the detergent into the trunk, that the back of her van is open and behind the third row of seats there is a nice little flat spot with plenty of room to change a diaper on!   I look at the detergent...in the trunk...and think of what a pain in the ass it is to change a diaper in the TRUNK.  But I've done it.  More than once.

I take the baby out of the Ergo and crawl into the back seat of the car with her, bumping my head and maneuvering the baby so she doesn't bump hers, too, as I stuff her into her seat (she likes to straighten up and turn into Stiff Baby whenever it's time to get in her seat).  I buckle her in, the car door half-closed on my leg and Jack in the cart right outside the door.  Then, I get to wrestle Jack into his seat (and he makes a big show out of it because one time he may or may not have hit his head kind of hard on the car as I was lifting him into the seat).  I push the cart into the little cart-area (which I have learned to always park next to for lots of reasons).  

At this point, the Minivan Lady asks me if I can help her with something...she can't find her phone, so she asks me to call it from my phone so she can hear it ringing and hopefully locate it.  I have so been there.  I oblige (I should note here that this same lady has randomly approached me and talked to me now on THREE SEPARATE OCCASIONS...once at the gym, once at the library, and now at Target...I don't think she recognizes me though...how weird is that??).  Anyway, I call the phone and we don't hear it ring.  Apparently she gave it to her son to play with in Target so he would behave and she must have left it there.  She says, "Oh, this is so my life right now!" and I hear her loud and clear.  

With a magical push of a button, the door to her minivan slides open.  She unbuckles her son - not fighting with a door, not crawling half into the car, and not all scrunched over so she doesn't bump her head - removes him from his seat, pushes a button and walks away as the door closes behind her.  

And all of a sudden, the light bulb turns on.

Oh!  So *that's* why people drive minivans.

I get into the Honda and the whole way home, find myself thinking about...minivans.  I start thinking about all the reasons I have to justify trading in Hondy (yeah, we call it Hondy) for a van.  I'm 34 and have been married for 11 years, who the heck do I need to impress with my car, right?  If we have another kid we'll need another car, so why not just get one now and save myself all the trouble of loading up the kids into the Honda every time I need to leave the house?  Surely it has a DVD player for those long drives...OMG, the justifications are endless.  And...more than a little disturbing.

When did I become such a "mom" - one who thinks that not only are minivans OK, but also kind of...cool?  When did a flat, temperature-controlled spot to change a diaper become more desirable than trunk space?  When did the thought of being way too embarrassed to drive a minivan around town get replaced with the thought "no one cares what I'm driving anyway!"

When did this happen??


We're not looking for another car right now, and even if we were, I still have my reservations.  But, it's safe to say that when we are ready to look for our next car, we'll have to broaden our search to include a few minivans.

The lesson here?  Same old, same old...never say never.

:::Vroom Vroom!!::: (that's me speeding away in my minivan).

My Kids Don't Nap

A couple of years ago I wrote this post about sleep.  Jack was 11 months old and I was trying to put a positive spin on the whole terrible-sleeper-who-does-not-even-kind-of-come-close-to-sleeping-through-the-night thing.  Of course, when I wrote it there was a little part of me deep inside that thought, "this isn't going to last forever, I'm sure he'll be sleeping through the night by the time he's a two-year-old!"  

Well let me just fast forward almost two years from that post and tell you this...the kid still isn't a "good" sleeper.  His second birthday came and went, and although by that age I was usually able to get a few hours of "me" time after putting him down, I never did get a full night's sleep.  Up until the day Claire was born, I was up with him at least once a night (granted, most nights he would just climb into bed with me...but there were some real doozies involving growing pains, tummy trouble, etc.).  Charles would help...I was not alone...but it was still trying.

Once Claire was born, I shifted to nighttime newborn duty and Charles took over nighttime toddler duty.  And guess what? 

Jack is STILL up at least once a night.  He'll be three in six weeks.  

But I write this not to whine about how "terrible" of a sleeper Jack is...oh, no.  Compared to the early days, one to two waking a night is a piece of cake. 

And the baby?  I would not dare complain about her nighttime sleep habits.  She is (no pun intended!) a dream.  Truly.  I mean, she is in bed right now...her own bed...as I write this!  And has been for over two hours!  How could I complain about that?  

I would just like to take this time to say this: 

Mom, I am sorry I did not nap as a child.  It is my only regret as a baby.  My children are making sure that I pay the price.  

That's right.  My kids won't nap.

Jack is not even three yet, and he has, for the most part, left his napping days behind.  He gets grumpy, he gets tired, and I feel he still needs his nap...but there's no telling him that.  If I could make him sleep, I would...but I can't.  He has fallen asleep a few times late in the evening...once on the wood floors, his pennies (which he calls "coinies") in hand, and another time in his highchair, half of a chicken nugget in his greasy little palm.  Unfortunately, no nap doesn't equate to an early bedtime, either.  Tonight he made it up to 10:00 PM (it was movie night, three cheers for Toy Story 2!).  

A side note: Charles took over baby duty so I could put Jack down...and OMG is there anything sweeter than your little two-year-old saying "I love you soooooo much mommy, don't leave!" as you lay in bed next to him?  I think not.

But here's the thing.  Claire doesn't want to nap either!  

My mom told me that I never napped as a baby.  She would put me in the car and drive around just to get a break because that's the only time I would sleep. I would sleep for twenty minutes and wake up...wide awake...ready to play.

Claire is twelve weeks old...and she will pretty much only sleep on me, in the Ergo.  She will occasionally sleep in her bed...for twenty minutes at the most.  She will sleep in her swing...again, for twenty minutes.  She rarely nurses to sleep, except for bedtime.  Today, she slept for about 30 minutes in the car on the way to the Arboretum, about 10 minutes on the way home, and about 20 minutes on me as I watched "Up" with Jack.  She then napped another 20 minutes or so right before bath time.  

I spend all day feeding/cleaning/entertaining someone (for a few short weeks, I had a blissful break when Jack would nap and Claire would fall asleep on me while I caught up on trashy TV...those days have, sadly, ended).  24/7, I am on duty. 

I am not complaining about this.  It could be a lot worse - Jack is an engaging companion, and Claire is a joy.  But I am wondering...WHAT THE HECK DID I DO ALL DAY BEFORE I HAD KIDS??  And why didn't I, like, save the planet, or end world hunger, or just do something great with all of my free time??  

Because you should see what I can do now when I have 20 free minutes...there's nothing quite like kids who don't nap to teach you some serious time management skills.  

And because I want to remember that Claire does occasionally take a little nap...here is a picture of me and Jack on the couch watching "Up" while Claire sleeps.  

Not for the Faint of Poop

There are some things about parenting that you just absolutely, positively, 100% CANNOT avoid.  No matter what.  Like, for example...poop.

I would consider myself a poopaphobe (I imagine there is a real word for that, but I am afraid to google it...there is all kinds of weird stuff out there I *do not* want to know about but imagine I would learn about if I googled "poop phobia" or something along those lines).

In our house, Charles handles all matter fecal.  The littler box needs cleaning? The poop-filled toilet overflowed onto the floor and saturated the carpet?  The cat had an "accident" in the dirty clothes?  Charles is the man.  He knows I won't even try to handle it.

But with your own kid, it's a different.  I can't just call in Charles every time Jack has a poopy diaper (and Lord knows, in the beginning almost every diaper was a poopy diaper!).  To be honest, when it's your own child, it's not nearly as traumatizing as you would expect.  I don't think there's anything that Jack could produce that would completely gross me out (not saying I WANT puke and pee and poop and boogers on me, but it is certainly not as bad as I had imagined it would be).

So this brings me to today's Poop Event.

After Jack's nap, I was changing his diaper.  I was surprised to find a nice little "shart" in his diaper.  And it had been there awhile, which means it was now the consistency of play-doh after it's been left out for a couple of hours, only sticker.  It took way more wipes than it should have to remove this small amount of poop, and the more I wiped, the more it just sort of balled up and got pushed around.  Yeah, realllllllly, reallllllllllly fun (let me just take this moment  to recognize the fact that never in a million years did I think I would be writing about this kind of thing on the Internet).  I finally had it all - except one. little. poop ball.  And wouldn't you know, the damn thing rolled onto the floor when I was trying to wipe it up, and wouldn't you know, that new carpet we bought that is textured and hides stains so well worked just perfectly and that little ball of poop disappeared into the carpet.  Ugh.

So, I started searching around for it, meanwhile holding Jack's legs in my left hand because I didn't want it to get stuck on him somewhere.  So I grabbed a wipe and started dabbing it around the carpet, hoping it would pick it up (it didn't). I finished diapering Jack and the next thing I knew, he was up and running and I was after him and I am embarrassed to admit, I forgot all about the lone piece of poop (which, by the way, was LITTLE...like, the size of a pinhead maybe...don't think I left a big log on the floor, please).

So the poop was forgotten and may have never been thought about again.  But we know that is not the case.

Not long after all this went down, we were back on the floor for another diaper change.  I finished snapping the diaper on (it was cloth) and sent Jack on his way.  I stood up and moved towards the kitchen to wash my hands.  Right before I turned the water on, I noticed something...small, brown, sticky and stinky...on the palm of my hand.

Yep.  You guessed it.  I found the poop.  

Maybe it's time for potty training...