Happy Anniversary WTSD!

On August 21, 2010, I wrote my first blog. One year later so much has changed, but one thing remains the same… I love writing it.

When I first starting writing it, it was merely a way to be creative, keep my brain moving to avoid mental atrophy and to share my stories with others. What I found is that not only did other people like reading my blog, but they could relate to it and then would tell me their stories. In the end, I think we all feel better knowing we’re not alone on this crazy ride called parenthood.

When I look back on the last year and read some of my previous blogs, a few things cross my mind. The first is that I should really do a better job editing. I have found so many typos and errors in grammar, but in my defense I usually write them at 5 a.m., during nap time when I am trying to accomplish several other things and in situations like what just happened…

Picture this, Lake In The Hills, July 2011.  Tom is away on a camping trip...drunken debotchery known as Country Thunder.  The kids are playing nicely while I try jot some ideas down. Suddenly Colin walks up to me and I realize he has his second dirty diaper in 20 minutes. As I try to finish my thought and then change him when Maddie proclaims she has wet her pants because she was concentrating too hard on making her Barbies talk to each other. Luckily it was a leak and not a flood. I got her to the bathroom before any major cleanup was in order and grabbed her wet underwear and wet shorts and threw them in the laundry room and they landed behind the dryer. I got a kids hanger that was in there, crawled on top of the washer and dryer and tried to fish the articles of clothing out. I determined I needed a larger hanger and then proceeded to drop that behind the washer. I used the kids hanger to fish out the larger hanger and then was finally able to save the shorts and underwear from becoming a laundry casualty. Keep in mind the whole time I am doing this maneuver, Colin is behind me kicking my feet and pushing my head and neck that is already lodged in a precarious position between a shelf and the dryer. I hopped off and at that point he had moved on to playing in the dog’s water bowl. I grabbed him to change his diaper and unbeknownst to me, he had the diaper cream and by the time I noticed, he had smeared it all over himself.

Ok, so now that we have established why I lack technical writing skills, I’d like to take this opportunity to do a “Year In Review.”

1) Maddie is now 4 and Colin is 2.

2) I still hate grocery shopping and despite my vow to never use the cartoon cart EVER again, I occasionally cave and 99.9% of the time regret it.

3) I still do all the “dirty work.”

4) I can’t wait until November when I can bring “Bubble Pop” our "Elf On A Shelf” out so I can start using him to threaten my children again.

5) Maddie has taken dance class consistently since last fall and does not try to kick a soccer ball during dance class like she did pirouettes during soccer.

6) We have not had any major stomach bugs (knock on wood) since February.

7) Maddie has expanded her eating repertoire by adding cheeseburgers and the occasional raw broccoli. The good news is that whatever she doesn’t eat, Colin moves over to her plate and finishes.

8) I continue to be late for everything, but received vindication when my mother-in-law came to pick us up to go to American Girl and saw Maddie freak out over wanting to change outfits while I was trying to get Colin to our neighbor’s. When I returned, Maddie had on a pair of pants that were two inches too short, a shirt where her belly was hanging out, socks and sandals. By the time we got her in suitable outfit that wasn’t out of the Goodwill bag, we missed our train.

9) Colin’s incidents of getting kicked out of the daycare for biting have decreased, but he did just get kicked out for pushing a baby to the ground on Wednesday.

10) I am dreading when the bees, wasps and hornets come out in full force.

11) Cowpants only comes up every so often now.

12) Colin is doing great in his big boy bed while Maddie continues to struggle with her transition into “No Naps.” She still needs the light on every night, door open just a crack and her Cinderella CD on repeat all night. We have developed a very unique system where she gets two quarters when she goes to bed; one to use to pay for a question, a drink of water or whatever excuse she has to leave her bed once we put her down. The other is for the middle of the night. If she can avoid sleeping in our bed, she gets to keep the quarter in the morning. The first night she came into my room at 3 a.m. crying, threw the money on my night stand and said, “I don’t want your money!” Thankfully things have improved since.

13) Maddie is still the boss of me.

14) Colin still licks inappropriate things and has even been known to put a handful of dirt in his mouth in the yard and then proceed to throw it up all over himself.

15) I still haven’t found that magic wand I’ve been hoping for, but have become better at realizing my house is just a perpetual mess and that I have little, saggy boobs.

16) I have not gotten on a plane since February and I plan on selling my Sit ‘n Stand stroller in an upcoming garage sale.

17) I am down a dog because Taz bit Colin. There is a blog about it that I never finished and never posted. Maybe someday I will. I can tell you Colin still asks about him to this day and Maddie has been the strongest of all of us through the whole experience.

18) I’ve discovered a few other things I don’t like playing with my kids and they involve sitting in a kiddy pool talking like Little Mermaid’s mom and pushing the kids on the swings with the sprinkler on.

19) I have received my Group Fitness Certification despite trying to study in the yard while the kids played and was asked 415 times if I could talk like Little Mermaid’s mom, 244 times to push them in the swing and had my name called 4,531 times. And I thought college provided a lot of distractions.

20) I now post a weekly blog on a local community website, but it is called "Write This Stuff Down."

21) I write a monthly column for Kane County Magazine.

22) I've been told I'm too vulgar and to that I say, "Tough shit."

23) I now own the URL www.writethishitdown.com, .org, .net. etc. But they are under construction until I can cut the apron strings from blogspot.com.

24) I have written 34 blogs and have only posted 32. One is the aforementioned blog about losing Taz and the other is about Sex and Marriage that I couldn’t get approval to post (from Tom). Maybe someday I can edit it to make it suitable for posting.

25) Just when I think I have nothing else to write about, these two knuckleheads provide me with inspiration. They are a bottomless pit of blog fodder and enjoyment.

26) I have received so many comments, compliments, words of encouragement and general sympathy for my blog that I cannot even express how thankful I am that people are actually reading my writing and enjoying it.

So, who knows where this writing thing will take me. I never in a million years thought I would run into a guy at my college homecoming, who I haven’t seen in 12 years, and have him tell me he and his wife read my blog all the time and love it. For all of you who have given me encouragement and positive feedback, I cannot even tell you how much it means to me. Putting your writing and your life out there puts you in an extremely vulnerable position. It is all this support that keeps me writing and sharing my little world of Madelyn and Colin. All this for a bunch of stories about my crazy life and my crazy kids who are likely just like your kids. Oh, and my mom wants everyone to know that she never said “shit,” but I have to tell you my first word was “shit” and I will give you one guess who I learned it from.

Ode To My Minivan

Oh minivan, how I love thee. I know what you are thinking... I’ve completely lost it. You should know, I wrote my high school graduation speech about my 1986 Dodge2.2 Charger, so paying homage to my vehicles is nothing new for me.

I took the time to wash my beloved minivan yesterday, and I started to feel a little sentimental about my old pal Odessa the Odyssey. (I just came up with that name, what do you think?) I really took the time to vacuum out all the crumbs, sucker sticks, stickers from the doctor’s office, ponytail holders and stray M&Ms that have collected over the last several months. I scrubbed the floor mats and every other sticky surface with Clorox bleach wipes and then suds up the outside of the van, hosed it down and dried it carefully as to not leave any streaks. With every crispy, sticky and crunchy “discovery” I found myself feeling like a guy tinkering with this classic car remembering all the “good old days” and time spent with his vehicle.

Classic car the Odyssey is not, but it is part of my identity. I know many women who refuse to drive minivans for fear they will fall into the stereotype of a “soccer mom” or suburban housewife. Before I had kids I saw many a woman with a hat, a pony tail and no makeup, driving her minivan and I vowed I would never become “one of them.” I admit I had a bit of a hard time when we bought our van right before Maddie was born. After all, I was 8 months pregnant, turned 30 and became the owner of a minivan all within a week. I knew deep down that this was the most practical thing we could buy. But me, in a minivan? Ugh! I even went so far as to pick out a black one thinking it made it slightly cooler. Once we bought it, I realized how snazzy it was. It came equipped with a DVD player, GPS, satellite radio and leather seats that also had seat warmers. I mean this thing was sweet…for a family truckster.

Once I had Maddie, I really began to appreciate how great this thing was when I would lug the carseat carrier to the car and all I had to do was hit a button on the remote and the door would open up. I didn’t have to hoist her up into an SUV or crouch down into a car with the 45 pound thing either. I realized that if I was out and she needed to eat I could nurse her in the third row of the van, watch a DVD and no one would see me! I could even plug my pump in the back as long as I had an adapter so I could take the kids to Disney On Ice and give Colin a fresh bottle of breast milk inside Allstate Arena.

I knew that the van would not stay clean forever. There are usually fingerprints and smiley faces drawn on the outside of the car. There are a million toys sliding around the floor in the second row. There are often crushed up Goldfish, melted cereal bars and the above mentioned things I scrubbed out of the car yesterday. But that is why I got this thing, so I could transport my kids who happen to make a mess because they are kids.

Of course, now I am often “that mom” with my hair pulled up in a messy pony tail, no makeup and wearing a t-shirt stained with spaghetti sauce driving around town. I certainly am not anywhere near Christy Brinkley in “National Lampoons Summer Vacation” driving her Ferrari. I do not turn any heads and I rarely feel sexy or powerful in my car the way we all know a cool car can make us feel. I suppose if I closed my eyes and tried real hard I could muster up some inner Christy Brinkley, but closing your eyes while driving is completely unsafe and crashing your car is completely unsexy.

There have been times when I am driving my van and a tune from my college days comes on and I feel like I am thrown back to being 21; carefree and without a worry in the world except what party I was going to that night and what I was going to wear. Then, I catch a glimpse of my car seats in the rearview mirror and I am thrown back into reality. Next thing you know Maddie asks if we can listen to “her songs” and I am forced to turn off Rusted Root “Send Me On My Way” and turn on a collection of Disney Princess songs.

But let’s cut to the chase, while I understand the power of cars and how they can make you feel, I have to be realistic. Yes, it would be nice to drive a car that makes me feel like a super model, but I am certainly NOT a super model, so why pretend? I could buy a car that probably costs as much as my minivan that would make people think we are well off, but then I could never actually let my kids in the car for fear they would mess it up. I could drive a less “mom-like” vehicle, like an SUV or cross-over, but I’d rather give up my qualms about driving a minivan and enjoy the extra room, convenience and practicality.

When I stop and think about the stigma surrounding minivans I am reminded of a few things. First of all, before I drove a minivan, I drove a Honda Civic. It wasn’t like I gave up a Mustang or a BMW or some sort of fancy schmancy car. Second, I’ve never been particularly cool so why try pretending I’m cool now. Finally, let’s face it, cars are a status symbol and my status is a mom. Granted, when we purchased the minivan, I still worked, so I hadn’t completely crossed over to total momdom, but I knew before long I would have another kid and be at home and well, the minivan just seemed to fit. Now, there have been times where I feel like I am not accomplishing enough as a stay-at-home-mom, but then I remember what my dreams and aspirations were as a child. I pretended to wear a wedding gown. I played with dolls, dressing them up, feeding them and burping them. I wanted to get married and have babies. I wanted to be and knew I was destined to be a mommy. There was a point in my life when I was single that I actually feared that I would be the work-a-holic, well-off aunt who pulled up in her Jaguar up on Christmas with annoying and expensive toys for my nieces and nephews. Then went home to my lonely penthouse in the city and drank dirty martinis alone.

That’s not to say that I thought my entire purpose in life was to be a mom and wife and that everything else I did was worthless. But if I want people to see what I have accomplished in my life, pulling my minivan up to the valet is fitting. I love being a mom. I love my minivan.

This Is Your Brain On Motherhood

This is your brain. (Holding up one large uncooked egg)

This is your brain on motherhood. (Egg cracked into hot frying pan.) Popping and sizzling ensues.

Any questions?


This Is Your Brain On Motherhood...overeasy and scrambled all at the same time.

 

Yeah, I have a question. How much more can women take? As if they don’t leech enough off of you, turns out they steal your smarts too.

People told me that when I got pregnant I would get stupid. While I certainly have my “blond moments,” I have always thought of myself as a relatively intelligent person, so on one hand I figured losing a few brain cells was no big deal since I had some to spare. Plus, I have always had a great memory. I could tell you what I was wearing on my first day of school each year of high school. I remember details of my childhood and I am fantastic and remembering faces. On the other hand, I had visions of me waddling through the Target parking lot frantically hitting the buttons on my car remote until my I could hear my horn honking because I forgot where I parked my car 20 minutes earlier.

I was working at the time and my biggest concern was that I would start screwing up at work. My job required remembering contract rates, deadlines and at the very least customer’s names. I had also just taken on extra work and had to learn a new part of my job. I was worried I had lost my capacity to learn. Turns out, I managed not to get fired over my inability to think.

I will say that there were certain things that I did that, whether they were because I was pregnant or not, made me think I was losing it. For example, letting the dog out in the morning before I left for work and leaving him out there in the rain all day. I came home to him barking at the back door, wet, muddy and ready to ring my neck if he had arms and hands.

When I decided to quit my job and stay home people said I would get stupid. They said that I would forget how to have adult conversations and when I did, I would fall into baby talk. They said my mind would turn to mush and I would go crazy.

Fast forward three years and I can still carry on a coherent conversation, even though it is usually about my kids. I am not big on baby talk to begin with, so I think I am in the clear on that one. I think it is pretty apparent that I was already crazy before I had kids and as far as my mind being mush? Well, more like a well ripened banana at this point. It seems as though my memory is the real casualty. I sometimes think I need to pin notes to the front of my shirt that say, “Dear Checkout person at Jewel, Please, tell me I need to buy stamps…and don’t let me walk away without them after I buy them.” Of course, this would also require remembering to buy the birthday card for my brother that actually reminded me I needed stamps. I should also include a note that asks them to remind me to use my coupons and did you get ricotta cheese so you can make lasagna tonight? Because most times I go to the store for 3 things and I walk out with a cart full of things I didn’t intend on buying and forget the three things I went there for.

I constantly forget where my car keys and cell phone are. I’ve found the only thing positive about getting a home phone line again is that I can call my cell phone when it is missing and chase the ringing around my house or out to my car. I often stand in front of the pantry knowing I went to get something and simply cannot remember what. The upshot is sometimes while I am staring aimlessly at my pantry trying to figure out what I went there for, I realize I put the milk in there instead of the fridge.

So, what causes this mind-suck? "There is 15 to 40 times more progesterone and estrogen marinating the brain during pregnancy, and these hormones affect all kinds of neurons in the brain," says Louann Brizendine, MD, director of the Women's Mood and Hormone Clinic at the University of California. In addition to the progesterone and estrogen surges, there is the lack of sleep and the shift in priorities. The lack of sleep and shift in priorities certainly carries over once the baby is born and the surge in oxytocin that occurs can also short-circuit the brain.

Unfortunately, I’m not battling pregnancy or post-partum hormones and I am still a little dense so I guess the multi-tasking and lack of sleep is really what has kept me in a fog for the last 4-plus years. I usually have a hard time falling asleep if I wake up in the middle of the night, because that is the only time it is quiet enough to think about everything else that I couldn’t focus on during the day.

I also have noticed that there are a lot of things from my pregnancies and the kids’ milestones during their first year that I simply just cannot recall. My friends ask me questions and try as I may, I just can’t remember. You would think I would, but the brain protects us from remembering otherwise no one would ever have more than one child. There have been numerous studies regarding forgetting the pain of childbirth, but I seemed to have blocked out my entire pregnancy and the first year of my kids’ lives! Although if you ask me, both pregnancy and the first year are pretty traumatic, so I guess it falls in the “painful” category. Of course, I also just mentioned that I forget to essential items at the grocery store and have also been known to go a whole day without realizing I have my underwear on sideways, so I guess it isn’t all that hard to believe after all.

Let’s not forget to mention who our company is all day. When you surround yourself with children whose focus is how to get a treat without eating their grilled cheese and grapes, twirling around in a princess dress while singing to herself or ramming matchbox cars into each other, you tend to get a little batty. Then there is the incessant calling of your name, usually for no reason. Finally, I think I could probably complete a task or remember to send a birthday card if I wasn’t always on high alert waiting for something to break, someone to get hit or bit or for Colin to open the back door and run out to the swing set and start climbing up the slide. Of course, this usually happens when it is raining, I have a white tank top with no bra on or both, so I am hoping that me screaming “Colin get back here!” does not prompt the neighbors to look out their window.

I’ve gotta say, TV tops the list as main cause of brain degeneration. I really appreciate some of these shows for their creativity, ability to teach my children and give me a chance to make dinner, like WordWorld, but some of the other ones just rot the brain...both the kids’ and mine. For example, Yo Gabba Gabba, Wow Wow Wubzy (the names alone indicates you will get stupider after watching them) and Backyardigans. The worst is listening to these movies or shows in your car when all you can hear is their voices. I’m worried that I might crash my car if I hear Barbie Princess and the Pauper one more time.

I knew I was in trouble when I started doing character analysis on the gang from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. You know, Mickey is the happy-go-lucky optimist. Donald is a self-centered, stubborn S.O.B. who is always complaining. Minnie is the doting maternal type who is also a bit of a worry wart. Daisy is a confident, no-nonsense kind of gal and as far as I can tell is trying to edge out Minnie for Mickey’s attention. Pete is greedy and gluttonous and usually uses deceptive measures to get what he wants. He does have some redeeming qualities, especially when it entails dressing like a bumble bee or a princess, but I’m pretty sure there is a deeper psychological issue there.

Then, there is the issue of children’s books. They say to turn off the television and make your kids read, but based on some of these ridiculous excuses for literature, I’d rather read them US Weekly. I am fairly certain that most of these authors sit around and smoke weed, drop acid or hit the crack pipe when they write these things. Especially Barbie books, most of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse books and anything Disney for that matter. And when you read these books over and over and over and over again, sometimes 15 times in a 30 minute span, you might as well smoke some crack yourself. I even try to make it more exciting by acting out the characters’ voices, but then I have to do it EVERY TIME and I my critics are merciless. Apparently, my Mater needs some work.

Whatever the cause of my ditziness may be, at the end of the day I am “fried.” (see 1980’s Say No to Drugs commercial reference above). It took me awhile to write this blog because I couldn’t remember all the things I forget on a regular basis. Of course, I am sure it doesn’t help that my coping mechanism for the insanity is drinking wine after the kids go to bed. But hey, what are a few more brain cells, right? I’ll just blame it on the hormones.

Happy Father's Day

I have decided to put  by blogging on hold to start writing greeting cards. I am going to start writing cards for Father's Day for the dad  who we once had a restraining order against, who I didn't have any contact with for 15 years of my life and is now in a mental institution.

To say that my relationship with my dad is atypical is a gross understatement.  My parents split up when I was 10 years old after several years of inappropriate behavior on my dad's part.  He acted recklessly, was abusive, unreliable and down-right crazy.  I could go into greater detail, but once I complete my greeting card line, I plan on writing a memoir chronicling my childhood and I certainly wouldn't want to spoil that.  For a long time, I didn't realize my dad wasn't like all the other dad's.  I thought his behavior was normal until I got older and got to know some of my friend's dads.  They all had jobs, dressed nicely, didn't take them to homes for the mentally retarded and nursing homes "for fun." 

My mom worked weekends, so we spent a large portion of our time with him.  Not everything we did was bizarre.  He worked for a travel agency for awhile and was responsible for delivering airline tickets at the airport back before e-Tickets and computerized check-in.  It was also at a time when we could go to the terminals without having to be frisked by the TSA.  We spent hours looking at planes and I used to pretend that I was taking a flight somewhere fun like Disney World.  Of course after our field trip my dad would claim his blood pressure was really high and as most professionals will tell you, the best remedy for that is to go have a beer.  I spent many a Saturday afternoon at a bar with my dad while he treated his acute blood pressure problem.

Due to my dad's lack of "focus," he had a hard time holding down a steady job, which meant we had to live with my grandparents from the time I was 2-years old.  My mom's parents were a godsend and made sure we were taken care of.  It was my grandpa's ultimate way of taking care of us when he told my mom that my dad needed to move out.  We had suffered through so much turbulence between my dad's crazy antics and the fighting that went on, it was almost a relief when he left. However, just because he didn't physically live with us, the abuse and erratic behavior continued.  When my parents first divorced my middle brother Mark and I had a choice of whether or not we wanted to continue to see my dad, but it always had to be in the presence of my mom.  These meetings were usually torture and ended in someone crying.  We finally decided that it wasn't worth it to see him anymore.

My dad made several efforts to try and "track us down," but that usually involved stalking us and had laws been stronger then, we would have had a real case against him.  As time went on, we never saw him unless he showed up somewhere uninvited.

Like I said, I could go on and on with the details of what we went through growing up, but it literally will take a book to accomplish this.  The bottom line is that it took me a really long time and for my dad to be officially put into a facility for both his physical and mental illness where I could forgive him and have some sort of relationship with him.  I decided to finally see him when I was 25-years old and working through a lot in my life.  Seeing him made me realize that regardless of his past, he was ill and was still my dad.

 I continue to struggle with my relationship with him and at have visited him about half a dozen times over the last several years.  I feel guilty when  don't visit him more or call him more, but I can only feel so much for him especially after having my own children.  I also think about how much my mom took on and how much she struggled to make a good life for us.  It is hard to make my dad a priority when I have so many other people in my life who have given me so much more than he has.

I also try to explain him to Maddie, who now understands that her grandparents are her parents' mommy and daddy. She sometimes gets confused about my dad as to whether or not he is heaven or not.  She has never met him and I honestly don't know when that day will come.  He is not exactly grandpa material in his current state and seeing as how she is scared of pretty much everything right now, I don't think taking her to a coo-coo's nest of crazy people is the best idea.

Father's Day is a tough day for me.  I'm not gonna lie.  I see people posting pictures of their dad's on Facebook and I know full well I could never do that.  I still send my dad a Father's Day card, but it is hard to read all the cards with jokes about all the things kids learned from their dad or pictures of a dad lifting his little girl in the air, etc., etc.  I have to find a non-discript, sometimes the one's labeled "For Anyone" or "Simply Stated," because I can't thank him for being a good role model or always being there when I needed him.  I can't say he supported us or laugh about funny jokes.  What I did learn was to be a stronger person.  I learned that every family is not perfect and there are a lot of people out there who don't fit the Hallmark vision of a family.

What I have learned is that while I lost the presence of one dad, I gained a bunch more.  So, today I am thankful for all the "stand-in dads" that I had in my life.  First and foremost is my grandfather.  He was my rock.  He supported us.  He was strict, but loving and kind.  He taught us about hard work and discipline.  The second person is my mom.  I try to remember to wish her a "Happy Father's Day" each year because she was both mom and dad to my brothers and I.  Then there are my brothers who were the one's who walked me down the isle at my wedding.  They were my protectors and my friends.  They explained what life was about and made me suck it up and not be weak.  They made sure I was O.K. no matter what.

Then there are the countless men in my life who have taken me under their wing when they knew I needed a father figure.  Those people know who they are and I am eternally grateful for them.  And finally, last but certainly not least is my husband.  He is the dad to my kids that I never had.  He truly is was Hallmark cards are made of.  They say that women marry men just like their dad's.  Well, in this case this couldn't be farther from the case unless Tom snaps and contracts a nasty case of Schizophrenia.  All joking aside, he is rock and support that I always longed for.  He is the person who holds a mirror up to me and shows me who I truly am.  When I really think about it, he is most like my grandpa.  I guess I took the closest thing to my dad and found a guy just like him.  For that, I can truly say, "Happy Father's Day."

What's Up, Doc?

I have a really funny joke for you.  A mother with two small children walks into a doctors office.  Get it?  A mother with two small children? Oh, no punch line you say? Well let me explain.

I took Maddie to her four-year old checkup earlier this week.  I always get a little anxious when I have take the kids to the doctor because we have to be in enclosed room for a considerable amount of time.  I also get a little nervous because taking the kids to the doctor is like being put on the proverbial parenting hot seat.  I guess you could say I have White coat Syndrome by proxy.  I don't only fear the shots, but the questioning, especially when it comes to how they are eating and sleeping.  As you may have learned from my previous posts on these subjects, you know that my kids have issues in these areas and I don't always follow the rules.  I get worried that I will get a slap on the hand for my lack of parenting skills.

First step is for the nurse to come in and weight and measure Maddie.  For all my worrying about her eating habits, she has gained four pounds and grown four inches.  Then the nurse instructs her to strip down to her underwear and put on an ill-fitting paper hospital gown.  This does not sit well with Maddie because she has never had to do this and because she has an ounce of fashion sense.  The gown also immediately reminds her that she could be getting shots.  She asks for the first of several times if she can go home.  While I am waiting for the doctor to come in, I have to fill out a questionnaire asking some basic questions about Maddie since her last visit.  Any questions and concerns?  Just her sleeping habits and some bouts of constipation.  How many hours a day does she watch television, under two hours, 2-3 hours or 3 or more hours.  It says under two is recommended, so of course that is what I circle.  Then asks how many servings of fruits and vegetable, and recommends 5 combined. Yeah, sure on a good day that is true.  I circle 5.  I finish up the paperwork answering as honestly as possible.

In the meantime, Colin is spinning the doctor's school around, crawling under the desk, climbing up and down the examining room table, playing with the scale, opening cabinets and pulling out supplies.  I had brought in a toy from the waiting room, but he had already grown bored of the garage sale bus that probably would have been more entertaining if it actually had batteries in it.  He is ready to escape out of the examining room and he opens the door to the pediatrician walking in.

I purposely have started seeing the doctor in the group that has three boys of his own because I figure he has the highest tolerance for psycho children.  He starts in with the usual round of questions, some to me and some to Maddie.  I get even more nervous when Maddie is asked to sing her ABC's.  She gets a little stage fright and while she is saying them perfectly, you can barely hear her.  I assure him she know them and we move on.  He asks about eating and I mention she is "improving" on her variety of food choices.  He brings up sleeping habits and I mention she is starting to drop her nap and it has caused some other sleeping issues like showing up in our room in the middle of the night.  I don't divulge any information on how I've been handling it, but he tells me I just need to get up and walk her directly back to her bed and do not let her in bed with us.  "Yes, sir," I reply.

I am trying to have a very serious conversation with the doctor about Maddie's constipation and at this point, the kids are literally climbing the walls.  Colin is trying to crawl on his lap and type on his laptop and as I promptly remove him, the doctor just says, "That's OK."  Then, Colin starts turning the lights on and off and Maddie begins charging after him to turn the lights back on.  With the strobe light effect that they are creating, I am concerned someone is going to have a seizure.   I finally locate a Lightning McQueen car in my purse and hope to occupy him long enough finish the poop conversation.  Maddie tries stealing the car from Colin and he promptly bites her.  Luckily I had already discussed Colin's biting issue with the doctor at Colin's two year old checkup a few weeks prior.  This was my chance to show I could handle the situation as I was instructed.  I took the car away from Colin (as to not reward him for biting) and then remove him from the situation.  Since I couldn't make him leave the room, I could only put him in another part of the examining room.  He began to scream and cry and promptly walked over to my purse and get his car back.  I let him have the car, but made sure I noted out loud that what I was doing was not the appropriate way of handling the situation, but in the interest of moving on, I was breaking the rules.  

The doctor always remains stoic as the chaos swirls around him and I have to wonder what is going through his mind.  Is he thinking, "Holy, shit the inmates are really running the asylum at the Stien

The doctor continues the exam and then went through the shots she needed.  I could feel Maddie's anxiety reaching a fever pitch and soon the nurse was on her way in to give her three shots and take some blood.  Before this could happen, the doctor said I needed to have her provide a urine sample.  Maddie was able to do this last year without any issues, but I think she was just clueless enough and I was lucky she had to go at that time and I could just slip the cup in there before she knew what was going on.

This time was a little different.  She was already stressed about getting shots and had stage fright when I ordered her to pee on command.  I also had knuckle head running in and out of the bathroom.  Every time I would run out to catch him, Maddie would follow me with her drawers dropped to the ground.  I finally bribed her with chocolate and she was able to provide me with a sample.  Just when she thought she was in the clear, she had to endure her shots.  I told the nurse to hold on a second while I slipped Maddie a Hershey Kiss. I got her up on the table and she was ready to jump off  in a single bound, but between the nurse and I, we were able to pin her down and she got her shots.  Needles don't usually make me queasy as long as I don't look at them, but when all was said and done I was ready to throw up.  I showered her with stickers and we were on our way.

I decided that this doctor's visit warranted going out to lunch.  I asked Maddie where she wanted to go and she immediately said, "Red Robin."  This is normally not where we would go for lunch unless it was a special occasion or I need to seriously bribe her, but I figured the fact that we all survived this doctor's visit, was special occasion enough for me.

We've Come A Long Way Since Baby

Last week I went to visit my best friend from college who had her first baby and was quickly reminded of what those first few days and weeks after having a baby looked and felt like. DISCLAIMER: FOR THE DUDES AND THOSE WHO HAVE NO DESIRE TO HEAR DETAILS ABOUT "WOMANLY THINGS," DON'T READ THIS BLOG. (But I highly recommend it so you have more respect for women!)

I had gotten an "SOS" text from her the day before double checking what time I would be there. We agreed that I would come to see her the first day her husband went back to work. Of course, I had forgotten to follow up with her once I secured plans to have my mother-in-law watch the kids because I only have 3 working brain cells at this point; One to dress and feed my children, one to dress and feed my husband and one to write this blog.

I dropped my kids off at my in-laws and headed to the city where my friend lives. Yeah, I know I'm a little crazy spending a day without kids helping take care of someone elses. However, I also think of going to the gynecologist, wakes and getting my taxes done as "days out," so it's cool.

First stop, Starbucks. She and I are infamous for our Starbucks rendezvous and that was what she brought me right after I had Maddie. I got her a Skinny Dolce de Leche, decadent but decaf and made with skim milk. Then I headed to Subway to get her a foot long turkey without any gas producing veggies and had them include packets of mustard and mayo so my friend could decide if she wanted them on her sandwich or not. Details, details, details. Here's why.

1) After nine months of pregnancy and long stretches without any sleep, you long for caffeine. If you are lucky, you were able to drink coffee (decaf with the occasional regular) without vomiting or getting severe heartburn. However, if you are nursing, you learn quickly that caffeine can affect your milk and the last thing you want is a wired baby.
2) While nursing requires you to eat enough to produce milk, you still have an extra 20+ lbs. weight you gained during pregnancy to compete with, hence the skim milk and avoiding mayo on your sandwich.
3) Since lunch meat is a no-no during pregnancy, having a turkey sandwich is like "eating lobster" as my friend put it.

I also brought her a bottle of Cuervo Gold Margarita Mix. I remember my friend saying that she never missed drinking during her pregnancy, but towards the end she was at a Mexican Restaurant on a warm spring day and a Margarita actually sounded good. I figured once she got a good nursing schedule down, some milk on reserve and could function properly without being under the influence of alcohol let alone under the influence, she could probably use a drink.

I got to her place and when she opened the door, I saw "the look." It was a look I knew well. I had seen it so many times when I looked in the mirror after having both my kids, but especially after having Maddie. It is that look where every bit of color is drained from your face and only makes the dark circles under your eyes look that much darker. Your eyes are sunken and there is a blank stare that indicates that there is a good chance if someone asked you your name, you wouldn't be able to answer.

I know very well, that the right thing to do when you see a woman who has just had a baby is to greet her and pay attention to her before you rush off to see the baby. NEVER brush past the mommy like she was merely an oven baking the cake to be enjoyed on the baby’s birthday. Despite her haggard and exhausted look she has a sense of peace and tranquility about her. You tell her she looks wonderful. In my friend's case, all things considered, she really did.

My job while I was there was to listen to her tell her story of how her labor and delivery was, answer her questions that she may have now that the baby is home and most importantly allow her to take a shower. Once she had the opportunity to feel human again, I stole the baby and took her for a walk. I hoped my friend would take a nap, but when I returned an hour later she had been on the phone since I left. She was dealing with all the "business" of having a baby including FMLA paperwork, follow up doctor's appointments, talking to the lactation consultant and general life issues like getting her laptop fixed.

I remember very well all the times people would send me to take a nap, and despite the fact I was running on 2 hours of sleep over a 24 hour period, I chose to do things that didn't involve sleeping. I did laundry, I made phone calls, I showered, cleaned the kitchen and went to Target. I learned that somehow mommies are able to muster up this super human energy right after they have a baby. Like me, my friend had a long labor so even before the baby was born, she lost a whole night of sleep.

Despite this super human energy to keep going, it also comes with super crazy hormone flux. You think pregnancy is a roller coaster ride, but it is nothing compared to post partum emotions. As happy as you are that you have this wonderful, beautiful new baby, you are shell-shocked. I can't speak for women who had c-sections, but when you give birth vaginally, (sorry, can't write a posting about giving birth and not use the "v" word.) most of your post traumatic stress syndrome is based on the trauma your who-ha went through and the pain you feel afterwards. If you had it really rough and tore or had an episiotomy, you walk around with a crotch Popsicle for several days. Then, you bleed like a stuffed pig for several weeks after you give birth. And when I say bleed, I mean worst period in the world time 100. You need to wear SUPER DUPER ULTRA absorbent pads and despite all the advances in medical technology, the pads they give you in the hospital are classic "Are You There God It's Me, Margaret" pillows circa 1970.

You think that is the extent of the ridiculous amount of pain and agony your body can endure until you realize you now are one of the millions suffering from hemorrhoids. Then, you get constipated which is always a nice addition to all of the above mentioned details of your nether region. You take something to alleviate this problem only to have the opposite problem. At some point all you can do is stop and think, "WTF!" How and why does this have to be the way children are brought into this world? So, when you start crying and your husband looks at you like you have seven heads and you tell him you don't know why, and he can't understand why; well, there's your answer. Did I mention that you will still look 4 months pregnant, your feet will STILL be swollen, your not supposed to be lifting or driving or going up and down stairs and they expect you to rest while taking care of a very needy newborn all on NO sleep? Can you say overwhelming? And your husband will get frustrated because there really isn't a whole lot he can do. Even if there is something he can do, you don't even know enough to ask him what he can do to help. He will feel guilty, get frustrated with himself and you and the best you can do is send him to get Buffalo Wild Wings where he can drink a beer at the bar while waiting for carryout. At least he will come back refreshed, maybe a little buzzed and most importantly with food in-hand since making dinner is out of the question.

As much as you wish he could get up in the middle of the night and feed the baby, if you are nursing this isn't much of an option. You might be able to if you pump and hand the bottle to your husband and go back to bed. But then you have pump parts and bottles to clean up and then both of you and maybe even the baby are up and then everyone is tired and everyone is crabby. The only thing worse than one sleepless and crabby parent is two sleepless and crabby parents. Tell your husband to sleep, especially when he has to go back to work. Throw all your feminist views out the window. That is what maternity leave is for. I will say that if you hit your wits end in the middle of the night and you are at the point where the baby won't go back to sleep and the baby won't stop crying and you think, "One of the two of us is going to go in the shed to sleep," and your first vote is for the baby to be that person, that the point you should get your husband to take over.

In addition to the physical aspect of giving birth, like I said, there is the emotional aspect. For me, I suffered from depression long before I had children and take medication for it. I weaned off of it to get pregnant and didn't go back on it until right after I gave birth. It was just another loop-d-loop in my emotional roller coaster. I knew I was a high risk for post-partum depression, and even after starting on my medication right after giving birth, I flunked my post partum depression questionnaire at my 6 week doctor's appointment. In my case, I was glad I was already riding the crazy train, because it made me more aware and proactive when it came to my post-partum depression. For other women who experience it, they don't know what hit them. While most women experience "the blues" after they have a baby, there are still a good number who need treatment. Unfortunately, the stigma surrounding depression and taking medication prevents people from taking anything or even admitting that they aren't in baby bliss. It is easy to beat yourself up for not being over-the-moon happy about your new bundle of joy, and that denial that something is wrong can set you back even further.

I made sure I told my doctor immediately that I didn't feel right and requested that I go back to my full dose of antidepressants that I had taken prior to getting pregnant. Once I did that, it didn't make me totally sane, but I was able to cope with things much easier and knew that happy mommy is the best for happy baby and happy daddy.

As I held my friend's baby and for a brief moment considered having my husband go and get his vasectomy reversed, I was quickly reminded that as cute and wonderful as this baby was, I arrived with a full night of sleep, I didn't have to feed her, wake up with her, sooth her, bath her, etc. Then I remembered I already had two kids waiting for me at home and promptly handed the baby back to my friend. I worry about my friend, but I know she is a strong, capable woman. I know that she has the love and support of her husband and family and she will eventually get a good night's sleep and she and the baby will fall into a routine making life more manageable.

I left there feeling proud. Proud thinking back at what I have accomplished over the last 4 years of being a mom. Proud of how mature, strong and centered I’d become. I felt confident giving my friend advice. I felt a sense of accomplishment for overcoming all the pain, agony, depression and uncertainty. I felt proud of how selfless I have become and that my priorities are mainly focused on my family. I was happy that my husband and I, despite the challenges becoming a parent presents you with as a couple, were able to communicate with each other in order to make it through the early days, weeks and months. I also know that we have a long road of parenting yet to travel and know we already have the necessary tools to take whatever life throws at us. I felt blessed to have a partner who understands me and when he doesn't understand me he know to just take a step back or simply give me a hug.

Whenever I feel sorry for myself as if I am the only woman on earth who has had to go through what I've gone through and continue to go through as a mother. I remind myself that millions of women give birth and millions of women have to raise children. If they can do it, so can I. However, I am also reminded that despite this, women really do deserve respect and to be put on a pedestal for their responsibilities as mothers, if not from men, then at least from each other.

I watch all of these "Housewives" reality shows and see these women behaving badly and treating each other like crap, and I think these women should be supporting each other, not tearing each other down. I think about my own life and how I've wasted too much time comparing myself to other people and worrying about what people think of me.  It reminds me that none of that matters. Women should really band together and make each other feel good and confident about themselves for what they have accomplished whether they are mothers or not. We should wear our stretch marks, momma pooches, varicose veins and saggy boobs from nursing like badges of honor.

So, my gift to my friend, besides a bottle of Cuervo Gold Margarita, is love, support, respect and the ability to sneak off and take a shower. A few days after I visited my friend, she sent me a text thanking me for helping her and then apologizing for not being there when I had my kids. I told her she should not apologize. There are probably plenty of my friends or family who had kids before me that I didn't help out as much as I probably should have because until you have your own, you just cannot fathom how hard it is. I told her all she can do is pay it forward.  I know that every minute she'll learn something new and with that comes confidence so that someday she can help another mommy out and share her experiences.

Child's Play

I have a confession to make.  It is really rather shameful and I am embarrassed to admit it, but in the interest of full disclosure and honesty, I feel I must share my secret.

I do not like to play with my kids.

There.  I said it.  In some ways I feel better, but I still feel like I am betraying them and completely neglecting my children and their needs.

Now, I shouldn't say I hate to play with them ALL the time.  There are several activities I do enjoy like playing with Barbies, coloring, painting with watercolors, reading books to the kids and going to the park.  I enjoy giving horse back rides and doing Superman on knees, but I secretly know these two games also provide a good core workout.  Hey, they used my body for 9 months each, I think I am entitled to use their weight as resistance for my benefit!

I do not, however, enjoy talking like a princess or a queen or a mean witch for a half-hour and getting scolded when I break character.  I hate playing board games, match games and puzzles with more than 10 pieces.  Part of this is because I am competitive and lack patience and the other half is because I have to battle Colin who usually has a gingerbread man from Candyland in his mouth.

Hide-and-go-seek has got to be the most painful.  Maddie still hasn't quite grasped the finer details of this game and will go hide and before I can even count to ten, she runs out and says, "Here I am!"  Then she actually expects me to get up and go hide for her, which wouldn't be a big deal except she usually asks me to play this game two seconds after I plop down on the couch to relax. 

The swing set is another one of my least favorite activities.  I long for the day when I can use it as a way to unleash the kids on the backyard for my own sanity rather than having to stand and push two swings at a time or climb up and down the stairs to pretend I am in Rapunzel's tower or watch intently to make sure Colin doesn't walk directly off the back of the playhouse that is 6 feet off the ground. I keep trying to convince Maddie to recruit Colin as her playmate instead of me, and inform her that we purposely had him so she would have someone to play with.

I know that this all sounds selfish, but let's be clear, I've never been good at playing.  I am fairly certain I came out of my mother's womb as a 35-year old, well at least with the soul of one. Because I had two older brothers who were eight and 5 years older than me, I spent a lot of time playing by myself.  I did a lot of talking to myself or to my dolls or to a tape recorder.  Once I got into school and was thrust into the world of groups and clicks, I was a fish out of water.  I hated trying to "fit in" and was fortunate that I had some innate skills that carried me through. Believe it or not, at one time I was shy.

I also lacked coordination which made sports a major disappointment.  I played softball in grade school and junior high and spent most of my time kicking dandelions in right field.  I did enjoy some success as a catcher, but once I got to high school, I found out I was the most worthless left-hander known to man because I couldn't play first base and I was a right-handed batter.  Someone should have told my Little League coach that lefties aren't supposed to be catchers and was ruining my chances of ever making the team in high school.

At the park, I couldn't do the monkey bars, the swings made me nauseous and that merry-go-round thing mad me dizzy and want to puke.  I didn't do much climbing because I was, and still am, afraid of heights.  I could never do a cartwheel and could also barely swim to save my life.

That is not to say I didn't have fun as a child, but it was limited to riding my bike, reading, playing with Barbies and pretending I was someone and somewhere else.  While I certainly have honed my social skills and love talking to people, I have always been a loner and kind of prefer it that way.

I watch Maddie at the park and she longs to find a "swiend" to play with.  I encourage her to approach other kids and introduce herself like I was never able to do as a kid.  I am pained to see her get ignored by a couple girls who are all there together and aren't willing to let an "outsider" in to their click.  Usually, Maddie finds someone just as eager as her to find a playmate and they skip off to play tag or princess or whatever tickles their fancy.  That allows me to focus on Colin who is usually stealing some one's ball or eating dirt.

I try to muster up all my energy and break free from my inability to play, but sometimes I just have to realize that my role as the mom is different.  I am jealous of my husband who seems to really have the patience for child's play, but have to realize he is a kid at heart.  That is why I love him so much.  Even before kids, he has taught me how to have fun.  He encourages me to play with the kids, but is also there to pick up the slack when I am just too tired and bored to push the swing another second. I am also the "cuddler" and the kids need to have their "Momma Time" with me on the couch before they head up to bed. 

I think my other issue lies in the fact that while I am "playing" I know there are 50 other things that need to be done.  When I take the kids out front to play with the neighbors, I know that at some point I will have to drag them in kicking and screaming so I can make dinner.  When I am lining up stuffed animals so they can wait their turn to see Dr. Maddie, Pet Vet, that there is a sink of dirty dishes that need to be cleaned.  When I am putting together a hologram puzzle that makes me see double and get a little queasy, I know that there is a load of laundry that needs to be switched to the dryer and three laundry baskets that need to be folded.

I can say with the utmost certainty that motherhood has taught me a lot about myself and most of it has been humbling to say the least. Therefore, I can admit that I suck at being a kid.  For the sake of my children, I am working on it.  I have learned to rearrange my dinner menu to make quicker meals if it means staying outside an extra half hour.  I take the kids swimming despite my fear of water and wearing a bathing suit. I have learned to enjoy swinging on the swing without getting motion sickness and will climb up and down the slide at least a few times upon request.  I am really thankful that Colin, despite his ability to seek out trouble, can sit and play with his train table for hours on end.  I am also thankful Maddie is now starting to get into Barbies because she loves to sit in her room and make them talk to each other.  Barbies are also something that I actually enjoy playing with Maddie and I could truly can sit and do (with or without her) for hours.  Now, if I could just do a cartwheel and learn to swim, my life would be complete.