The Milestone

C reached a milestone this week.  It was very exciting.  For weeks, we have been watching as he has hoisted himself up on his hands and knees only to flop back down of his belly from the exertion.  And then he starting rocking back and forth on his hands and knees, not really going anywhere.  Well, except that one morning when he nose planted into the hardwood floor.  He was cranky the entire rest of the day.  He must have actually hurt himself.  Or just been angry and frustrated for not being able to do it yet.  I have NO idea where he would get that trait from.

The hubs and I often joke that M is his child, from his looks to his sleeping patterns to his personality, and C is mine for all the same reasons.  It should be noted that I get extremely angry and frustrated when I am unable to do something that I think I should be able to do.  A very good friend can attest to an adult temper tantrum when she once suggested that perhaps I wait for a man to help me assemble a barbecue grill.  She beat a hasty retreat up the stairs to our apartment.  We did laugh about it later that night but I think I scared her a little at the time.  And, as an aside, yes, I did assemble the grill...all by myself.

Back to C.  It was playtime after dinner for him and before bath.  M was eating animals crackers from his snack cup and he thinks its funny to try to feed C things he cannot yet have.  M had dropped his cup and was playing on the other side of his room.  I was composing a text to the hubs complaining about M and his habit of feeding C when something caught my eye.  I looked over and there he was, crawling!  Actual across the room crawling.  I screeched and pointed, "He's doing it!! He's doing it!! M he's crawling!"  It wasn't very fast and sadly, I had to take his motivator away from him when he reached it-M's cup of animal crackers, but he did it.  And he was so proud of himself.  I was lucky enough to have the cell phone in hand so I quickly switched it from text to video and captured that moment.  I was so proud of myself!

I love to watch my boys accomplish what they set out to do.  I stand back and watch, resisting the urge to reach over and help them, knowing that it is more important that they do it themselves vs. doing it "right".  And when they do succeed, its cause for celebration for them and for me.  I am in the middle of a reading The Optimistic Child by Martin E. Seligman, Ph.D.  The good doctor cautions against helping too much, allowing your child to rise to a challenge.  In doing so, you are teaching a valuable lesson in failure, perseverance and self-esteem.  I agree with this point of view.  Without a failure or two, C would not have known the exhilaration of success after hard work.  I am so proud.   :)

A Lesson or Two in Slowing Down

All my work life I was forced to constantly be looking toward the next thing.  As an activity director in a nursing home, where I started my career, it was always, "what are we doing next?" as soon as one activity was wrapping up.  When I moved on to marketing, I was always looking to the next deposit, the next move in and the next sales call.  And then, when I made the move into administration, it was going from one crisis to another, never having time to sit back and relax and enjoy the seniors, who were the reason I pursue that line of work to begin with.  

Then I had children.  And my mind is never quiet, always thinking about what needs to be done; the dishes sitting on the counter, that next load of never-ending needing washing, the list goes on and on.  But I was recently given two very valuable lessons in slowing down and enjoying my children's childhoods.  And the lessons were given to me by the very children I was staying home with so I wouldn't miss the little things.  

One of the things you hear over and over and over again when your child is born is "enjoy it.  It goes by so quickly".  "Sure it does," I thought.  How could changing diapers and sleepless nights possibly go by quickly.  How right everyone else was and how wrong I was!! Here is M, almost two years old somehow, yet I swear he was just born yesterday.  He's sleeping in a toddler bed.  He's had his first sleepover with Nanny and Pop-pop.  He's growing up so fast.  And C.  He can now be set on the floor and he can sit up by himself, and propel himself all around to get to the toys he wants.  How on earth did this happen?  I KNOW he was just born.

I have found myself saying to the hubs at least weekly (but probably more frequently) "I don't want them to grow up too fast but it will be nice when..."  And it's true.  It will be nice when there are no bottles to wash.  But I don’t want them to grow up too fast.  I don’t want to miss anything.  And I still have so much to learn from them.  Which brings me back to these valuable lessons in slowing down. 

I decided one gorgeous day to take the boys for a walk outside.  We have a long driveway and, when taken at a good clip can be a bit of a workout.  A quarter mile long one-way, you have an uphill way and a downhill way.  I was barely able to walk back up one day when I was pregnant.  Thinking this would be a god way to get a little exercise and get the boys some fresh air after lots of rain, we set off…at not such a fast clip.  The first stop was about three feet into our walk to examine a stick.  The stick came with us.  The next stop was to see an acorn.  The acorn was given to me as a gift.  The next stop was a yellow leaf.  Treasure of all treasures!!  Also given to Mommy for safe-keeping.  Our quarter mile walk continued this way all the way down the drive.  I got very little exercise, but I rediscovered many of the wonders of nature.  Although I do see that I am going to need to brush up on my knowledge of nature in order to continue our excursions.  The total tally from our walk was 2 sticks, 4 acorns, 1 yellow leaf, a few red leaves and a red berry I was afraid to let him touch, not knowing what it was.  Also multiple answers to questions regarding “wotta noise” and identifying various nuts, leaves and sticks.

My second lesson came a few days later.  C, a notoriously poor napper dozed off on my lap for his morning nap.  I usually take morning nap time to do various minor projects around the house; fold the load of laundry from last night, sweep under the sofa, answer emails, etc.  It was so nice holding my usually restless baby while he slept soundly and peacefully for a change.  I decided to let him stay there.  After all, he would only be asleep 30 minutes or so.  Well, he slept.  And he slept and he slept and he slept.  Two hours later, he stretched, rolled over in my arms and grinned up at me.  A grin that only comes from a rest inducing nap.  But something else happened too.  I slept.  I dozed on and off while C slept in my arms.  Not the twitchy dozing of a mother who is holding an uncomfortable newborn, which is the role I assumed early in C’s life.  But real power naps with a quick check on my quiet, contented child.  And I felt peace.  And refreshed myself after nap-time.

So yes, I am looking forward to my boys being older.  Some things will be easier, and some things definitely will not, but that's OK.  And I am so excited for when we can lie on our backs and gaze up at the clouds and talk about all that we see up there. 

For now, I am learning to slow down and cherish every moment of joy and wonder they bring me, and they experience.  I adore this time with them, even though it is the most difficult job I have ever and will ever have.  

Surviving a Natural Disaster

This week, we encountered an unpredicted and unprecedented earthquake on the east coast and a Category 1 hurricane.  Prior to children, my earthquake response would have been, "WTF was THAT!?!? Cool, an earthquake!"  After kids, it went more like this: "WTF is THAT?!?!  Where are the boys!!??  M GET IN HERE NOOOOWWWW!!! Stay close to Mommy."  Dialing the hubs.  Can't get through.  Minor panic.  Dialing the hubs.  Can't get through.  Minor but growing panic.  Dialing the hubs.  Whew! Got through. "Did you feel that earthquake?  Scared the crap out of me! No we're fine.  I kept the boys near me.  Something fell in the other room but I haven't gone in yet to see what it was. OK. 'Bye"  Calling the landlady because I NEED to talk to someone who just felt was I felt.  Finally wandered into living room to see what fell; my laptop on top of my glasses.  Uh oh.  Earthquake damage.  Well, we did have actual earthquake damage to the well that has rendered our water unfit to drink still.  But everyone is safe although not quite as secure as we were before 5.9 hit the east coast.

Enter Irene.  Now, please don't get me wrong.  I know some areas had actual flooding, major damage, outages and even some deaths, but the media coverage of this storm in our area was complete hype and overkill.  But, since we have small children, we prepared.  Normally, hurricane preparedness for me would involve finding out where the party is, wine, snacks, maybe a new sexy nightie for the hubs and I in case we can't get out and maybe some board games.  About 2 hours total time of getting ourselves in order.  OK, yes, the computers and cell phones would also get fully charged.  But for Hurricane Irene things were very different.  Our most recent hurricane in this area was Isabel and her impact to my life was pretty significant.  But as a single person, easy enough to deal with.  So, with this experience in the forefront of my mind, we began preparations for the impending doom that would be Hurricane Irene.  Having worked my entire career in senior healthcare, especially after the disaster of Hurricane Katrina, emergency/disaster preparedness is something I know well.  We filled the bathtub with water.  We filled ziploc bags with water and stuffed our freezer full.  We took full inventory of our candles and flashlights.  We purchased lots of non-perishables.  We already had plenty of bottled water since Tuesday's earthquake.  Both cars were gassed and ready to go if necessary.  Both cell phones, the iPad and both laptops were fully charged.

With preparations finally completed, we waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  Then it started raining.  And that was about it.  Until 10:00 pm when we finally heard wind blowing.  But up until that point, Irene had shown us little more than a normal rainy day.  We kept the TV on The Weather Channel, alternating with a local channel, to get the latest developments.  Of course, we missed the mooner on The Weather Channel.  That was the most exciting thing that would have happened here during the storm.  We did hear a tree or two come down in the night but by morning light, we were no worse for the little bit of wear and tear we encountered.  We didn't even lose power which is significant in and of itself as in this house, we lose power if someone sneezes too hard.

But a week of natural potential disasters made me think hard about how ready are we really in the event we have to leave and leave quickly.  No quick exit can be made from our apartment.  We live in a third floor walk up; 5 flights.  Add two small children, one of whom can walk the steps if you hold his hand, and things get slowed way down.  In the event of a quick evacuation, we are screwed.  Enter (dah dah dah dah!) Zombie Mom!!  In my undead little brain, I am devising an exit strategy that will be much quicker than President Obama's from Afghanistan.  A back pack full of diapers and other bare essentials so I can grab it from the closet and slap it on my back, while keeping both arms free, one for each little boy.  Unfortunately, there is a major flaw in this plan (which I will execute before week's end).  M's duck.  Duck duck is a 7 inch stuffed duck security blanket.  He can do without any of his other animals.  But not Duck duck.  Duck duck was missing for 45 minutes one day at nap time.  No nap was taken until he was recovered in the pantry behind several baskets.  The hubs made the mistake of putting Duck duck in the wash too close to bedtime.  No other animal would do.  Even the other regulars that share his sleeping space.  It had to be Duck duck or it was clear there would be no sleep for anyone that night.  After that evening, we began the search for a second Duck duck, just in case the unspeakable was to happen. Well, apparently Duck duck is a one of a kind.  We have looked EVERYWHERE they carry Carter's products.  And there is no duck to be found.  So, should we ever have to leave for fire, earthquake or tornado, a fully stocked back pack is a great idea.  But I will still need to take the time to locate a certain feathered friend.  Or M may never sleep again.

Did you know...?

Did you know that they make countertop dishwashers?!  It’s amazing to discover what you don’t know and I am constantly reminded of these things now that I have children.  Did you know that the volume of a toddler’s voice is directly connected to the sleep cycle of the infant in the crib?  Did you know that even though a toddler has a limited vocabulary, they can still manage to talk all.day.long.?  Did you know that a second c-section heals quicker than the first?  Maybe out of necessity so you can care for both children.  It doesn’t matter why.  It just does and that’s a good thing.  Did you know that a colicky baby will eventually grow out of it and the smile that you discover afterward is so much more precious than you ever thought it could be?  Did you know that you can teach a child to sleep better? 

But the biggest “did you know” I have discovered is something that my OB should have discussed with me well before I delivered my second child.  Did you know that when you get your tubes tied, it’s not as easy as you think it will be?

Allow me to explain in the most delicate way possible without being way too personal or gross.  I became pregnant with C when M was between 4 and 5 months old.  I barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief that I was no longer pregnant.  My regular cycle had resumed just long enough to know when I was late.  In my many prenatal visits to the OB, we began discussing birth control options for the future.  The hubs and I knew we only wanted two children and we knew that we had to act quickly given I was over 40 when I got pregnant with M.  Since we were pregnant with our second child now, we decided to go with a permanent birth control option.  As I spoke with my doctor, he thought a tubal ligation was the way to go.  I was in agreement.  When I asked about how things would be affected, he told me that my cycle would resume just as it always had.  A man should never be the one consulting with a woman on this procedure. 

The day of delivery arrived and because of the sensitivity I had with the first pregnancy's spinal block, I was given an extra sedative this time which knocked me out nearly completely, although I hear from the hubs that I would start talking and end up snoring mid-sentence.  I was also in surgery much longer with C than with M, mainly because of the tubal.  I had some other minor complications recovering from the surgery including my temperature dropping and not going back up on its own, vomiting from the anesthesia (again) and a spinal headache (brutal).  But they were not that terrible.  I was discharged home with my new son and began the task of settling into my new life.  I had the usual recovery from childbirth and my body began the task of settling back into its monthly routine.

But did you know that when your cycle starts up again, it comes back with a vengeance?  I mean PMS like nobody’s business.  Cramps like I haven’t suffered from since college.  And the duration?  Holy cow!!  I had never EVER been incapacitated, for lack of a better word, for so long.  Never.  Having been on the Pill for many years prior to meeting the hubs, my cycle had shortened to 2 days tops.  Even after I stopped taking the pill, it stayed that delightful length.  Cramps were minimal and PMS nonexistent.  But about 2 weeks prior to my second regular period, I felt myself coming unglued.  My anxiety level was at such a height that I couldn’t handle both my boys crying at one time.  When one would start, I could barely take that but then the other would start and I found myself pointing at the second offender and saying in not such a quiet voice, “And don’t you start too!  I can’t take it!”  After two weeks of not recognizing or even being able to stand myself, there was one final incident where I found myself in front of the medicine cabinet questioning myself.  I immediately grabbed my cell phone and sent a message to my counselor requesting the earliest appointment she had.  I also called my doctor and reported feeling out of control.  I got an almost immediate appointment with both.

Here’s what I have learned:  it is common, yes common, to have this happen after a tubal.  Really!?  Don’t you think that is something a doctor should tell his or her patient who may be considering such a procedure?  I had chosen a tubal ligation because it is permanent and non-hormonal.  Being guilty of self-diagnosis, I had decided I was suffering from post-partum depression.  The Internet can be a dangerous thing because you can find enough information on any infliction to diagnose yourself with it.  I was sure I needed an anti-depressant.  After meeting with my shrink and telling her what had happened, she recommended an anti-anxiety.  Then I had my consultation with my doctor. This time I got to speak with a woman.  She is the one who said that the tubal is the root of all evil.  At least mine.  She recommended that I go back on the birth control pill.  Her thought is that leveling out my hormones would help with my anxiety and depression.

Well, she was right.  I have been taking the Pill again for one month.  It is amazing the difference in what I feel and how I handle everything.  I am no longer feeling out of control.  On a scale of 1 to 10, before the Pill, I was daily a 7 in the anxiety range and 10+ when things escalated.  Now, a 7 is my highest point.  I am relieved to be feeling so much better and when I feel the time is right, I will share my PPD journey here.  But for now, I will just caution women, that while I am sure the tubal is a beneficial procedure in that it is a permanent form of birth control so there is no worrying about unexpected news, please ask way more questions than I did.  Be specific.  And don’t accept a man saying, “Things will go on just as they always have.”  The woman doc in my doctor’s office says that your period will come back stronger and meaner than ever, every time.

Isn't it funny that I opted for the tubal ligation to avoid a hormonal form of birth control and I am now taking birth control pills anyway.  

The Post Baby Work Out

Finding time to exercise since C's birth has been a bit of a challenge.  I was a terrible pregnant woman and considered a trip up and down the stairs exercise.  Well, multiply that by 2 years and you have the length of my exercise hiatus.  Two years of no ab work.  Two years of no running, no Buns of Steel, no horseback riding-he is also way out of shape-and no lifting heavy objects like bags of horse feed.  So my fitness level and my shape have suffered.  My size used to be a perfect little 4 petite, although at the time, I was hard on myself and how I looked anyway.  Now my once 6 pack abs are shaped more like a bowl of jello.  My buns of steel are more like buns of jello.  My once strong arms can only lift jello. And I have underarm wings!  No kidding!  I waved at my son the other day and felt something flapping back at me.  When did this happen?!?  How did this happen?!?  Oh yeah, those two years straight I was ginormous with child.  M loves it when I pull my shirt up and pat my flab for his entertainment.  The hubs tells me he thinks I am sexier than ever.  I, however look in the mirror with a more critical eye.  That's a muffin top.  And a dimple is not cute on that cheek.  And the dress I was planning to wear for our upcoming fall wedding season?  Let's just say if you can picture Mrs. Wiggins from the Carol Burnett Show, you have a very accurate image.  Not pretty.

So I have devised a way to sneak exercise in throughout my busy zombie mom day.  I am only about 15 pounds from my pre-M weight but I am miles form my pre-baby shape.  Here are a few of the exercises I have incorporated through my day:
The Baby Bicep Curl:  Pretty self explanatory.  Take the baby (the toddler protests this move too much) under each armpit and curl him up to your face and back down again. You can give him a smooch on the forehead for extra fun.
Infant Ab Roll: Lie on your back on either a large bed or on the floor with your knees drawn up, shins parallel to the flat surface you are on.  Place said infant on your shins, carefully of course, with his head and arms above your knees.  Hold onto his hands and curl your knees toward your chest and, at the same time, raise your head and shoulders off the floor, pulling them toward your knees.  To keep baby entertained, make faces at him as your faces draw closer together.  Funny noises also work.  Depending on how long your legs are, the toddler enjoys this move.  We have trouble with this one.
Tiny Tot Tummy Trimmer:  Take either child and hold in a cradle hold and twist at the waist as far as you can go to both sides.  For added intensity, hold the child away from your body and get an arm workout as well.  Faster gives the child a better ride and you a better workout.
The Rock-A-Bye Baby Sumo Squat:  Another endurance move performed by holding baby on either shoulder and rocking side to side to get the little darling down for a nap.  This move is repeated at least 2 times a day.  Intensity can be added by bending your legs into a squat with each rock of the baby.  The lower the squat the higher the intensity.  And by holding baby, it becomes a weight bearing exercise.

Peek-a-Boo Calf Raises:  This move will require some of you taller moms to raise the mirrors in your house.  Fortunately for me, I have the stature that requires no redecorating.  Choose a mirror anywhere in the house and make sure the baby is facing it.  Standing, raise yourself up on your toes so that baby can see his reflection in the mirror.  After he sees himself and reacts, lower yourself back to the floor.  Repeat until you your baby stops reacting to his reflection or your calves are burning.  Your calves will probably give out before your baby does.  I have found saying, "Baby!" "No baby!" pumps up the fun factor and making baby laugh will increase your ability to keep going long after the burn starts.
Son Shoulder Press:  This also works with a daughter.  It can be done standing, sitting or lying down.  Hold child securely around upper body and under his arms and raise above your head and down again.  Again, a great opportunity for funny faces, smooches and goofy noises.  A word of warning from experience, whatever you do, do it with a closed mouth, especially if your child has just eaten or is teething.  Otherwise, you may get rehydrated in a most unpleasant way courtesy of your loving child.
The Toddler Trot:  Not to be confused with The Diaper Dash, The Toddler Trot is performed by running around with and after your toddler as he plays.  This exercise is an endurance move, happening all day long at different speeds.

The Diaper Dash:  Unlike The Toddler Trot, The Diaper Dash is a sprint.  Think intervals occurring several times throughout the day but not continuously.  Its a quick dash to catch an active toddler long enough to get his diaper changed.  This move requires not just quickness but agility and timing.  This is an all over body workout that will improve lung capacity, fine motor skills and will aid you in learning those quick turns and twists used in football.
The Diaper Derby:  This move happens daily too.  It is when both boys need a diaper change and you have them lined up.  Its more like a pro-wrestling move when you are tag-teamed by the bad guys, you will find yourself flipping the child over, trying to catch flailing feet while staying out of range and doing a 180 to perform that trick all over agin.

And of course, with the proper amount of training, you will soon be ready for the Obstacle Course:  Basically, this involves navigating your child's chosen place of play while carrying your second child and trying to prepare a meal for at least one person.  This move will require agility, endurance and an amazing amount of self control to not say something a well versed toddler should not hear or repeat as you slide on one of the hundred tupperware lids strewn across your kitchen floor, balancing a child in one arm and a plate in the other hand, and usually a bottle in the baby hand, while remaining upright.  When you can successfully master this move without uttering a single word of profanity, you are a fit Zombie Mom.

While having incorporated all these moves into my daily routine, I am still mourning the loss of my pre-baby body.  I adore my children and given the choice between them and that unscarred, stretch mark free pre-baby body, I would choose them every time without hesitation.  But I would really like to fit into that awesome dress again.  And my teeny tiny pre-baby bikini that mocks me from my dresser. Sigh.  I guess I should be satisfied that I am a mom of two beautiful boys, 43 years-old and still able to pass the pencil test.

The Stray Dog Philosophy

Years ago, when I was living with my grandmother, a big old dog showed up in our side yard.  It was October and the weatherman had forecast a hard frost for that evening.  Being the crackerjack gardener I am (kidding), I was putting plastic bags over the plants I had outside that I had not yet transplanted into pots to move indoors for the winter.  Feeling like I was being watched, I turned and was literally nose to nose with a dog that was quite obviously part German shepherd.  Now I love dogs, all animals for that matter.  But this dog was a stranger to me.  Even though I was startled by presence, I remained calm and offered my hand to see what he would do.  Fortunately, he was a friendly dog.  Very friendly.  And I was smitten.  There was however one small problem in the form of a spunky old lady who wasn't exactly a dog fan. They were okay of they lived with someone else.  And she had already given in to having two indoor/outdoor cats.

I went to work the next day looking for a home for this wonderful dog.  There were no immediate takers.  My mother's friend brought by a huge bag of dog food for him that morning after I called her for help finding him a home.  I went about my daily life as if I had a dog.  I fed him each morning.  He had a comfortable bed in the barn.  When I would feed the horses, he would stand outside each stall and wait for me.  We played together and we cuddled each night on a pile of hay before I retired for the evening myself.  Each morning, he was waiting for me on the front porch.  But I never gave him a name.  Nothing I could think of seemed to fit him.  Almost two weeks passed and I returned home from work to find my new friend had moved on.  It was as if he had needed a place to rest for a little while before continuing on his way-wherever that was.

I think M may be employing the "no name no stay" philosophy to C.  He plays with C.   Laughs at him. Interacts with him which is wonderful to see.  He excitedly runs to his room when C wakes up and exclaims, "Baby wake up!!"  When we are trying to get C to sleep, he whispers not so quietly, "Baby seeping".  He peeks through the slats in the crib to play peek-a-boo with him.  He points out when he makes "wotta noise".  He stands at the side of the tub when C gets a bath and giggles uncontrollably at C's attempts to sit up by himself.  He will even share the occasional toy with him.  He cries when C can't be consoled.  He performs to make C laugh.  He watches Elmo with him.  He reluctantly let's C sit in the Bumbo chair even though it belongs to the baby.  He will lay down next to him on our bed or on a blanket on the floor.  He has tried to feed him Cheerios.  He has even apologized to him after a well deserved time out received form head-butting his baby brother.

He has done all of these things.  But he refuses to call him by name.  M is good with names.  He knows Mommy, Daddy, Nanny and Pop-pop (and that they go together), AJ, Aunt Mindy, Uncle Pat, Heidi, the name of my former boss, Logan, Aunt Robin, Lisa, Joy, Emily and Baby Ellie (pronounced Elwee).  But he will not call C anything but Baby.  When I correct him and tell him the baby's name, he laughs at me.  When I ask him "who is the baby?", he points to him and says "Baby!"I am trying hard to use C's name more throughout the day hoping it will catch on but I have to wonder if this refusal to put a name to the baby isn't a subconscious way of keeping detached?  Maybe if he doesn't use C's name, he will go away?  As with stray animals, if you feed them and name them, they are yours forever.  Since M has no control over us feeding C, maybe he is keeping from getting attached by not using his name.  Or, maybe he just hasn't made the connection enough because Mommy is not using C's name enough day in and day out, instead calling him "the baby".  It is, after all, only a theory.

Word of the Day

Some people enjoy word of the day toilet paper, I have toddler word of the day.  And I love it.  Its so entertaining hearing him latch onto a word and practice it all day long.  His words of the day have also forever changed the names of common everyday items.  For example, my hair dryer will forever be known as "wotta noise" and my flip flops will be affectionately known as "be-bops" for the rest of my life.  And that's OK because be-bops are a lot more fun to wear!  "I'm wearing my cute new be-bops when I get my pedicure today."

Word of the day really started several weeks ago when C was very young and M realized he could say "yellow", his favorite color.  That day, everything was yellow.  A couple of weeks ago, the word of the day was "running", to be said as loud as possible as one is racing at break neck speed up and down the hallway.

Word of the day has made me clean up my language.  One morning I went in search of M to find him sitting on his toy train saying "dammit".  There's only one place that came from.  Stifling a laugh, I explained how that isn't a nice word and that even Mommy shouldn't say it and we should change it to driving instead.  Fortunately, that word has gone from his rather extensive toddler vocabulary.

Today, the word of the day was "sorry", pronounced "thorry".  This happened after a particularly well deserved time out for head butting his four month old brother.  Knowing I was angrier than the one minute time out the Supernanny method allows for (and despite being so angry, I stuck to Supernanny's method because I am in awe of what this woman has done with far worse children than mine), M apologized over and over to me the rest of the day, even long after I was over it.  Of course he never did apologize to C.  He laughed at me when I suggested that.

I look forward each day with anticipation to the word of the day.

Having Kids in the 1970's?

I grew up in the 1970's and 80's in an 100 year old farmhouse with well water and no air conditioning.

When we decided to make the leap to have children, we failed to look at the basic conveniences that were lacking in our day to day lives.  Conveniences that are nearly essential when you have kids.  I rented a beautiful apartment in a private home for several years before meeting and marrying my husband.  The apartment is located in the attic of a mansion, 5 flights up, 5 flights down.  We made the decision that the hubs should move in with me since my space was much larger than his efficiency rental.  Comparatively, my apartment had 2 bedrooms, a den, a HUGE bathroom and an eat in kitchen.  Two weeks before the wedding, the hubs moved in with me.  My big apartment was now a little smaller, but still comfortable and charming.

Then M was due in 2 weeks.  As I stood at the kitchen sink washing baby bottles, I was struck by what a daunting task we had just begun.  Bottles as you know are multi-pieced equipment.  The ones we have chosen to use have 7 parts.  7 parts to be washed and sterilized between each use.  Big deal right?  Let's now talk hand wash.  You see in our charming third floor walk up (5 flights up=43 steps), there is no dishwasher.  And no room for one.  And if there was one, who the heck is going to get it up those stairs?  Thus begins an endless stream of dirty bottles, dishes and flatware.  Gone were the days of not washing dishes all week and still not filling the sink.  Now dishes had become a daily chore.

The next luxury most people take for granted that we have come to appreciate and talk about frequently is central air conditioning.  We do not have it.  Three window units act as our window treatments to effectively cool our space.  Big deal right?  Normally it wouldn't be except we now live with a very active, very nosy, very helpful 18 month old.  So the ac units have to be removed from the crawl space after he has gone to bed.  The crawl space door has been screwed shut to keep Mr. Nosy from wandering into spaces he shouldn't go.  So, after working all day and getting M fed, bathed and to bed, the hubs is now having to drag the ac out of the crawl space (so named for a reason) quietly (good luck there) while he is exhausted, only to discover we do not have all we need to install them correctly which then results in a 9:30 pm run to Home Depot.  Air conditioning was finally installed and running around 10:30.  Our apartment is now comfortable but wouldn't it have been so much easier to flip a switch?  And once it cools down in the fall, out comes the ac, back into the crawl space until yet another cooling system.

The 3rd modern convenience I will no longer take for granted is water.  We do not pay for water.  We have well water.  I kind of like the taste of it.  But, with infants, we have to filter the water.  And we had to sterilize bottles for an additional month.  We also have to add fluoride to their daily routine.  Filtering the water is no biggie.  Even sterilizing the bottles for 4 months vs 3 is not that terrible.  What is however is wind, storms, accidents, anything that might possibly disrupt our electricity.  No electricity, no well pump.  No well pump, no water.  We keep bottled on reserve for drinking and tooth brushing, but at each thunderstorm warning, high wind alert, even winter storms, we are filling the bathtub so we can flush.  Hurricane Isabel taught me a VERY valuable lesson about electricity.  I couldn't imagine WHY I would need to fill the tub.  Seriously.  I'm certainly not going to bathe in cold, dirty water so what good is it going to do me?  The the lights went out.  Two hours later, there's still no power.  I visit the little girl's room.  I flush.  Oh.  THAT's why you fill the tub with water.  Duh.  Even worse than the threat of losing water for an act of God, though is the random loss of water whenever someone else is doing laundry or running a dishwasher.  Way to rub it in!  Filing the tub to bathe M and we run out of water.  Grabbing a quick shower at 10:30 after both boys finally nap at the same time and midway through a rushed shower there's not even a drop to rinse with.  On more than one occasion, soapy,  I have stomped down from the attic to the basement to turn the washing machine off.  Stomping on hardwood stairs with soapy feet is no easy feat and even a little dangerous.  At the third landing, I can hear the urgent cries of C.  So much for that.

And finally the bane of my existence: laundry.  Oh do I hate the laundry situation here.  We have access to laundry.  And its free.  But its a hassle.  Laundry is never done.  Ever.  As you are finishing the last load, you realize the clothes on your back are creating more work.  The hubs's aunt told me once about having to change her kids' clothes 3 times a day because of the food they would get on them.  I thought, but kept it to myself, what on earth is she doing that she needs to change them so frequently?  After all, I'm super mom and I have the perfect children.  Ha!  All that has changed.  There are at least 3 costume changes each day, multiplying the laundry workload.  That's to be expected.  So, let's decide to do laundry.  The first trip down to the basement (add a flight-6 flights down, 6 flights back up) has a toddler perched on the left hip and a laundry basket perched on the right.  The first trip down is really to do no more than get our place in line for the washing machine.  If both washer and dryer are empty, it's like a holiday.  If both are in use, just leave your basket.  Maybe you can do some wash this evening.  Late this evening.  Being the furthest from the laundry rooms has distinct disadvantages.  There are also some advantages if you can see through the crap to the silver lining.  Its a great workout-climbing a ridiculous number of stairs is a cardio workout and carrying the toddler along makes it weight bearing exercise.  Ah, but here's the rub...the happiness of finally getting to wash clothes is dampened by the sudden loss of water while doing dishes because I running the washer.  I do believe this is what they call irony.

A Woman's Obsession

My entire career, before becoming a zombie mom, was spent in nursing homes, assisted living facilities and retirement communities (yes, there are distinct differences distinguishing the three).  One odd and funny commonality I noticed at each place I worked was the obsession older women have with poop.  Poop, bowel movements, BMs, kaka, feces, defecation, whatever you wish to call it.  I never understood why.  Why are older women obsessed with bowel movements?  There is the resident of my first facility who literally sat on the toilet all day until she was successful in moving her bowels for fear she might die otherwise.  She would sit there patiently planning her funeral until that moment.  She told my co-worker one day, through the bathroom door of course, that she wanted her and me to attend the memorial following her impending demise.  She chose to decline activities that day as she sat patiently awaiting the inevitable, a successful BM or death.  In the same facility, there was also the prim and proper Southern woman who could not bring herself to say the words "bowel movement" and was furious with me when she referred to it simply as a BM and I did not know what she meant.  Seriously, I didn't.  This was my first real job out of college, and my first experience with seniors and my first exposure to this odd obsession.

Fast forward 21 years and I totally get where this obsession originates.  I'm not proud of this fact.  But I get it.  The one thing all of these poop-obsessed women had in common was motherhood.  Until you are a mother, you really could not possibly care less about poo, especially someone else's.  But then you have that first baby.  And you find yourself at your first social gathering after his birth discussing the frequency, smell and God help us, the effort put forth into his BMs.  After your dinner guests leave, you are happy to have had a conversation with an adult other than your spouse but mortified that you spent the whole evening talking about baby poop to a childless couple who, guess what, could not care less about your child's shit.  And it continued to get worse for me.  M was easy.  Regular.  Pooped at 4:00 pm daily.  You could set your clock by that little guy.  But then along came C.

C started out with problems, only increasing my obsession with baby poop.  He didn't for the first several days after he was born.  Odd since M pooped within his first 8 hours of life and he was my only basis of comparison.  Then C developed an intolerance to his milk based formula.  He spent a weekend sharting bloody stool.  I called the doctor on Sunday and she said to give it a few more days.  Um, no.  By Monday when the bloody sharts seemed worse, I wrapped a freshly sharted diaper in a ziploc bag and bundled up my little pooper and carted him off to the pediatrician at 1 and 1/2 weeks old.  He was put on a special formula that made his pooping issues only get worse.  When he wasn't eating, he was crying, mainly for 2 reasons.  The special formula never filled him up so he was always hungry, and he couldn't poop or pass gas.  It was horrible.  Imagine eating every 2 hours and not having a BM for 52 hours.  He would sleep only in my arms the first 3 to 4 weeks of life.  I was constantly on the phone with his doctor trying to solve his pooping difficulties.  She said, "Give him 2 ounces of straight prune juice."  That worked.  No, really, it did.  Pure liquid oozed out of the diaper and all over the place.   The hubs and I decided to instead add prune juice to his formula so that he would get a constant more diluted dose.  By this time, the doctor had recommended infant suppositories.  First off, do you have any idea how hard these things are to find?  I finally located them at the 3rd pharmacy I checked.  Once, visiting my in-laws, it took 7 stops before finding the holy grail of laxatives.  C was only happy having pooped daily.  If he went beyond 36 hours, he screamed as if he was being murdered until he was able to express his bowels.  My instructions were clear, a daily suppository.  Now, while I have an older child, M was super easy in every way.  I never had to shove anything up his butt to make him produce.  So I arrive home that first day with my prize, ready to give it a go, imagining instant relief for my ailing infant.  Upon opening the jar, I was shocked at the size of these things.  I was supposed to put this where!?!  My poor baby!  So thinking I know what's best for C, I cut it in 1/2.  First mistake.  They are specially shaped for ease of entry apparently and cutting them changes that shape.  Now, for the faint of heart or childless reader,  you may want to stop reading.  While funny if you can get the visual, this story is about to get even more graphic.  Our babysitter was at the house, having watched the boys while I was on my hunt for the coveted glycerin plug.  After several attempts at inserting that maimed suppository, I gave up and used a whole one.  My sitter, noticing my troubles offered to help.  Being childless, she is even more novice than I am.   So she held C's feet out of the way with one hand, and after I inserted, she would try to hold his butt cheeks closed before he could squeeze things shut and pop the plug back out.  We went through this drill several times.  I was practically dripping in sweat and close to tears, saying out loud I'm afraid, "I'm a terrible mother.  I can't do this!"  One last attempt at insertion resulted in C offering a violent fart that blew the suppository across the changing table and a gust of wind across my hand as I screamed and jumped back about 3 feet, sure I was about to be covered in baby poop.  Nope.  Just a good strong fart.  Retrieve the plug and try again.  Poor kid.  This time there was some grunting.  I looked at the sitter and said, "It's working!!"  It was like striking gold!!  C had been crying the entire 45 minutes this comedy of errors lasted.  The sitter was a calm and quiet helper, and M, being very new to the big brother role was standing by in stunned silence, probably hoping he wouldn't be next.  And I was vacillating between despair and determination to help my child relieve himself.  The days went by and we continued this ritual, although I have to say, it got much easier.  I could usually have success the first try and C didn't cry.  We had some projectiles that were shot over the changing table, over the diaper pail, landing dangerously close to my fleece slippers.  I am very thankful for hardwood floors.  And that M, who always hovered nearby during these days, was never directly in the line of fire.  C started pooping on his own as his digestive system matured.  The first day, M and I actually cheered, "Yay!! C's pooping!!"

I was unaware of the damage my obsession with C's BMs was doing to M until one evening at supper when M randomly cheered, "Yay!! C poop!!" and clapped enthusiastically.  The next morning, when C pooped, I asked M, "What do we say when C poops?"  M replied matter-of-factly, "Peeuuw!"

I am happy to say that our bad pooper, C is having daily BMs and is happier than ever.  Our good pooper?  He goes several times a day.  Today was 7, the final one dropped on the bathroom floor right before getting in the tub.  Nice.  Well, at least it wasn't in the tub.

Cleanliness is next to Godliness

Before kids, I showered daily.  Not just daily but sometimes twice a day.  I shaved my legs daily and my hair was always shampooed and blown dry.  I've never thought of myself as pretty so I figured I needed as much help as I could get.  If 24 hours had passed and I was not showered, you can bet death was knocking on my door.  After M was born, my routine hardly changed.  M has always been a great napper so I could languish in the shower during maternity leave.  Once I returned to work, I had to abbreviate my showers somewhat but I never gave up the daily shave.  I have been shaving my legs daily since high school because I can't stand stubble.  Hate it!!  On me anyway.  On the hubs, a little stubble is a good thing sometimes.  But mornings settled into a routine with M, although I was usually just getting dressed as the sitter arrived.  Thank you, Employer, for the flexible work schedule allowing me to get there a little after 9 each day.

But then C came along and everything changed.  Everything.  When the proverbial "they" say no two kids are alike, they aren't kidding.  C doesn't nap.  Oh, he cat naps here and there throughout the day but for the first 3 months of his life 20 minutes was considered a good nap for him.  Showering became a challenge.  I thought I had it down the day I successfully showered while both were awake.  C was 6 weeks old, M was just over 15 months.  I let M play and had C insecurely seated in his car seat which is how I toted him around those first 2 months.  While drying my hair, I heard a most blood curdling scream from the bathroom floor and turned to see C face down on the ceramic tile while M stood nearby saying, "Uh oh."  Um, yeah.  that is definitely an uh oh.  M was apparently "rocking" C in the car seat and got a little too enthusiastic.  Well, this isn't going to work.

So I readjusted my thinking and started taking quick showers during C's cat naps.  I usually have to forgo the blow dry which has created complications of its own.  As in the showers sometimes just don't take.  Kind of like George Costanza from Seinfeld the day he showered at the gym and went directly to a work meeting.  The hubs will come home and ask if I have had a rough day or if I didn't get a chance to shower.  Yep, I am the George Costanza of motherhood.

Or I get lucky and the rare but coveted double synchronized nap happens.  Ah what a piece of heaven that is.  My quiet time.  My me time.  My shower and blow dry time.  

Sometimes I have to go 36 hours between showers now, but the legs continue to get shaved daily.

Cats and Dogs

I am frequently reminded by friends of how my life has changed over the past two years.  My most common response is that it has been harder to adjust to marriage than it has to being a mother.  After all, I have never lived with a man other than my father and that was years ago, and I have lived alone, if you don't count cats, for the better part of 15 years.  The kids have been easy-relatively speaking.  Having had pets all my life, I was surprisingly well prepared for motherhood, well, except for that whole diaper thing.   Allow me to stray from the topic at hand to tell you about M's first poo the day he was born.  My sister-in-law was holding him and I was still way doped up in bed and not allowed out without assistance.  She looked at me in horror and said, "What do we do?"  Like I knew!  I hadn't changed but one diaper in my entire life.  And she never had (still hasn't).  So we rang for the nurse who was clearly annoyed by our ineptness.

Having been a pet owner and raising multiple cats form kittendom, there really isn't much difference between cats and babies.  I know some people are cringing here but bear with me.  Babies cry when they need something but they can't say, "Hey Mom!  Gettin' a little hungry over here."  Cats do the same thing.  They cry when they want something; whether it is bathroom facilities, food, sleep or a snuggle.  You just need to learn to read the accompanying cues.  For example, when M cried and rubbed his nose, he was hungry.  With C, he cries and pulls at his hair (yeah, I don't know why).  The cats cry and go to their food bowls.  Wet diapers? M used to and now C does it, cries like its the end of the world to be wet.  Granted most cats cry when they're wet too but not the same kind of wet.  But when the cats were tiny, they would cry and head to the corner of the room.  I simply put them in the litter box at these times and they took care of business.  When M is in need of a cuddle, he reaches for me and says "Peas", C cries and stops when picked up.  The cats? Cry until they receive a verbal invitation to hop up next to me.  You just have to learn how to read the nonverbal cues and respond appropriately.  See?  Not that different after all.  Now if someone could help me out with the other adult in the house....

The Purpose of my Ramblings

I decided to start a blog because I always feel like I have something to say and sometimes I think its funny or useful to other people.  That's what I like to think anyway.  This blog is intended to offer tips and tricks I have gleaned as a new older mother, provide me with a creative outlet, and relay some of the lighter sides of motherhood that only other parents understand.  There are times when something happens and I think to myself, if I were a bystander here, I would be laughing my ass off.  And there are other times when I do just laugh my ass off because its too comical, and its now my reality.  I have gone in 2 years from being a career woman, running an assisted living facility, to being a stay at home mom for 2 boys under 18 months old.  I hardly recognize myself let alone my life.  The moments are priceless and even if no one else cares to read what I have to say, one day my boys will enjoy hearing the stories and I may not be able to remember them all unless they are documented (see definition of zombie mom, previous post).  I hope you enjoy.

Why I am a Zombie Mom?

Although my husband has a small obsession with zombies, I am not actually a brain eating walking dead zombie mom.  There are several reasons however why I feel like a zombie mom.  The first, which all moms probably are, is that I am sleep deprived.  But my sleep deprivation is different than that of most moms of young babies.  Mine is self imposed.  After both the boys are in bed sleeping and the hubs has retired for the night, I usually get my first few alone moments of the day.  It is the rare day that both boys take synchronized naps of any duration so my me time is in the we hours.  I take advantage too, to paint toenails, do my own facials, or surf Facebook. It is an exciting life I lead.

The second reason I consider myself a zombie mom is because I am wandering through this new, unchartered territory for me in somewhat of a trance.  In the past 25 months, my life has been turned on its axis.  I waited until I was 40 to meet the man of my dreams.  We married when I was 41.  Two days before our wedding, we learned I was pregnant with our oldest son, M, now 17.5 months old.  No sooner did I feel great about not being pregnant than I found myself with child once again.  C was born 3.5 months ago.  As easy a baby M was, C has been that difficult.  Prior to my 40th birthday, I was a single woman living it up.  I had my mid-life crisis at 38 and was happier than I ever thought I could be at 40.  I was comfortable in my skin and carefree.  Now, I am trying on new skin, and while its definitely different, I am happier than I was then.

And lastly, as any mother knows, by virtue of carrying a child, your brain just isn't what it used to be.  I used to laugh at the woman at work who was pregnant and couldn't remember how to do her job.  Until I turned into that woman and I had to constantly remind those around me that I was suffering from gestational dementia.  Three and a half months after C's birth, I do find that I am recovering from this affliction although it does flare up at the most inopportune moments.  Like today when we went to the park so M could play.  I packed diapers, a "dab-dab", rattles for C, hats for both boys, sunscreen, water, snacks for M, formula and water for C, and something to mix his formula in.  What didn't I pack?  A bottle.  Something for the baby to drink from.  Sadly, this is the second time that has happened.

Residual  gestational dementia = Zombie Mom