Photo Extravaganza!

I've been trying for a month now to sort through all of our photos and print them. It takes forever!

My goal is always to print photos about 4 times a year. We use Snapfish, and there's usually some kind of deal going on. Penny prints (only one cent per print, up to 300) just ended, and now there's free shipping on orders over $30. We're happy with Snapfish's prices and service, so the final ordering part is easy.

What's hard is deciding which photos to print. I often think that I couldn't imagine having kids before digital cameras, where you actually had to pay for film and getting pictures developed. It's astonishing how many pictures we take and never even use. For every one picture that we print, there's probably another 4 or 5 that we took at the same time, so we could make sure to get a good, usable shot.

In contrast, I often find myself drawn to the not very good pictures. We splurged for a nice camera with a few good lenses, which means that we have some gorgeous pictures of our kids that we'll treasure forever. But I also kind of like the blurry and off-center shots. Like the one above: I really like that one because I feel like it better conveys what our lives are like right now. The living room looks like an exploded toy bin, everyone is moving in different directions, and Gomez serenely watches over all. We also have some really grainy, awful low-light shots that Eleanor took on my iPod. They are of Keith and Declan, in Declan's room, in the early days after his birth. I like those shots because have that sense of late-night desperation and sleep deprevation that are the true hallmarks of having a newborn. All those beautiful close-ups of a peacefully sleeping baby? They are beautiful, but far removed from real life.

Of course, I'm not going to enlarge and frame those blurry bad photos. I don't show them to anyone. (Except, of course, on my blog!) But I like to print them and quietly put them away in albums, tucked in-between the beautiful shots, to remind myself not of how living with a baby looks, but how it feels.

Minivan-Driving Soccer Mom

We're thinking about buying a minivan. We've always been compact car people, but Declan's arrival, occurring at the same time as Eleanor being old enough for playdates without needing the other parent, means we would really like to be able to fit three carseats into our vehicle. That's not going to happen with either our Matrix or the Cavalier. An SUV is definitely too big, but I can deal with a minivan.

I was discussing this issue with a friend who is in the same situation. I scoffed at the fact that so many people refuse to buy minivans because they are unwilling to admit that they are now Those People: parents with several kids who value functionality more than appearance or speed. Neither Keith nor I have ever been car people, and I've never had a "cool" car.

I told my friend that I was totally okay with being a "minivan-driving soccer mom." She pointed out that it's not really the literal fact of actually being a mom who drives a minivan and whose kids play soccer that people detest. It's the image of the stereotypical soccer mom that drives people crazy.

After this conversation, I started wondering: What do I think of, when I hear the term "soccer mom?" Keith supplied another moniker of "helicopter parent." We decided that it indicates a parent who's generally overaggressive. She's very involved in her kids' lives, even when they should be starting to branch off on their own. I also think that she doesn't have many interests of her own. The stereotypical soccer mom spends all of her time going to, from, or at her kids' activities. She doesn't work outside the home, and she only gets the opportunity to interact with other, like-minded soccer moms.

According to Wikipedia:

The phrase soccer mom generally refers to a married middle-class woman who lives in the suburbs and has school age children. She is sometimes portrayed in the media as busy or overburdened and driving a minivan. She is also portrayed as putting the interests of her family, and most importantly her children, ahead of her own.

It seems like my concept of soccer mom is a little more in-depth, but not too far off the general view. What do you think of, when you think "soccer mom?"

A little less paranoia, a little more calm

I'm sad to say that I'm already starting to wean Declan. I made it 8 months with Eleanor, and I was hoping to make it that long with Declan. Even to make it to six months would have been great, but it's just not working out. (FYI: If you are of a certain gender or age where a discussion of breastfeeding weirds you out, you might want to stop reading right now.)

For the first four months, I had been supplementing him only about 6 ounces of formula per day. Since babies that age are getting over 20 ounces per day, I felt pretty good about that. I usually made it through the first half of the day without any bottles, and then had to give him more formula further into the evening as my supply ran low. But suddenly, right around the 4-month mark, in just a few days, I went from giving him 6 oz of formula to 12 and then 18 .... I was very frustrated, angry, and upset.

Why did this happen? I have no idea. But I do know that I promised myself I wouldn't be all crazy about breastfeeding like I was with Eleanor. With baby #1, I felt like that was the ONLY thing I could give her that no one else could, and if I wasn't nursing then I might as well be some automaton instead of a mother. Is this crazy? Yes. And I'm sure some part of my rational brain knew that, but it was vastly overruled by the crazy, post-partum, new-mom hormonal part of my brain. So with Eleanor, I pumped and pumped to try and increase (or at least keep) my supply. I'm pretty sure I pumped at least once a day, if not more, for her first six months. For the first 4 months I never missed a feeding; of this I'm absolutely certain, because she refused to take a bottle. From months 4-6, I probably only missed a few, because I was paranoid that any time I missed a feeding, my supply would drop.

I've tried very hard not to worry about it so much this time. Declan's weight has never been an issue, and with a toddler as well, I simply don't have the time to devote to breastfeeding like I did last time. And I've seen with my own eyes that I'm still Eleanor's Mom, irreplaceable in her eyes (God help her), even though we've been done with breastfeeding for nearly 3 years and counting.

So when I had this inexplicable, dramatic drop in my milk supply, I didn't fight it as hard as I would have the first time around. I had a week of trying to convince myself it was temporary and I could go back to how it was before, but it wasn't to be. So I shrugged my shoulders and started dropping nursings. Last week, I stopped nursing for the last feeding of the day. This week, the last two feedings will be with a bottle. That's how I did it with Eleanor--I gave myself a lot of time to come to grips with the fact that it was actually happening. Like everything else, however, I'm not sure if it will play out the same way.

With Eleanor, I was supplementing her while she was nursing, so adding more formula didn't decrease the time she nursed. By the end, I was giving her a full amount of formula while she nursed, and I would just tell myself that she was also getting a little breastmilk too, although I had no way of knowing for sure. (You know, if this is too much talk about my breasts, feel free to stop reading right now. Just saying.) But with Declan, because he does take a bottle, I usually nurse him and then give him a bottle. He's getting to where, other than the first feeding of the day, he doesn't really think the nursing is worth his time and he'd rather just go straight to the bottle.

At this point, I'm just hoping we can make it a couple more weeks. I want to make it past the 5-month mark (3/17), a bit into the sixth month, so I can round up and tell people (mostly myself) that we made it 6 months. Is this logical? I doubt it. But sometimes it's just easier to accept the crazy and go with the flow.

I guess that's my new point of view. When the crazy makes me frustrated and pushes me over the edge, I need to resist. But sometimes, when the crazy is relatively mild, it's easier to just accept it.

Right now, I'm trying to remind myself of all the good aspects of being done with nursing:

• My body, saggy and out-of-shape as it is, will finally be my own again.
• No more nursing bras.
• We'll be so much more free to go and do things doing the day, since I'm not worried about getting home for feedings.
• I won't be worried about Declan's weight and how much he's eating, since there's an endless supply of formula. Not cheap, but endless!
• I won't be so worried about missing feedings, since I won't have to worry about my supply. So I will be able to go do things with a clear conscience and actually enjoy them.

If any other moms have any suggestions to cheer me up, benefits to weaning, feel free to share! The not-crazy side of me would like a bit more encouragement.

Happy 4 Months, Declan!

Today Declan turned 4 months old. His well visit to the doctor went ... well! He did get a few shots, but only cried for a moment. We got a pamphlet about starting him on solid foods, and stopped by Target on the way home to pick up some rice cereal.

Most importantly, the doctor said that now is the time for sleep training (cry-it-out), if we want to. He recommended doing it between 4-6 months, because after that those babies are too crafty, and much too manipulative. It becomes exponentially harder to get your way ....

I'm very excited and apprehensive and a mite sad to start sleep training. I know it's going to be hard to listen to him cry, even though I do believe that it's the healthiest for everyone in the long run. He'll sleep better and we'll sleep better.

I have to confess, I've held him (or sometimes Keith or Grandma Karen) every night since he's been born. He doesn't like sleeping on his own. In the past month, he's slowly transitioned to taking all of his naps in a bouncy seat. (Keep in mind, what that means is, for the first 2 months, he was pretty much being held 24/7.) In the past week, we've put him down in the bouncy seat when we go to bed until he wakes up (usually around 1 o'clock). I feed him, and then take him to bed with me. It's possible he could go back into the bouncy seat and sleep, but I'm too tired to risk him deciding NOT to sleep at that point, so I'd rather just sleep with him.

I'm very excited at the thought of returning to some kind of schedule. I long to have something of an assurance (although never an iron-clan guarantee) of getting 7 or 8 hours of sleep per night, without holding a baby, on a pretty regular basis. It will be a huge step towards returning to Normal Life, although I am sure Normal Life with 2 kids will still be somewhat uncharted territory.

At the same time, I'm sad to give up sleeping with him. I've gotten so used to it over the past 4 months that it doesn't bother me nearly as much as you'd think. In Normal Life, if I had to sleep for hours without rolling over, that would be torture. But now, it's just what I do. The best part after a middle of the night feeding, when he goes right back to sleep and we climb back into bed. I lay down with him on my chest. He snuggles in, often reaching a hand up to curl around my neck or on my shoulder. I will miss those moments very much. Suddenly he'll be sleeping on his own, and those moments will be few and far between. And then I'll blink, and he'll be too big to lay comfortably on me anymore. Or too squirmy, or both.

Infancy is such a short time. I'm actively trying to do a better job, this time around, of understanding that fact, and appreciating my beautiful baby boy while he's still a baby. When Declan wakes up from his nap (because, of course, naps are the only reason I ever get anything done during the day!) I'm hoping he's still a little sleepy so I can pick him up and cuddle him and marvel at his pudgy little baby perfection.

February Update

Still here! We're all settling into our post-holidays routine. Well, some of us are. Declan hasn't been very good about sleeping through the night. I'm not saying he has to sleep 10 hours straight (although that would be nice ...), but after about a week of only waking up once in 7 hours, he's now gone back to waking up and eating every 2 hours at night. Not cool! Like many facets of baby behavior, I'll just keep my fingers crossed and hope that this development fades away soon.

Something I never got around to mentioning earlier is that I am teaching this semester. I was on the fence about whether I was ready to go back or not. I told my department coordinator it would only make sense for me, fiscally, if I had an evening or online class so we didn't have to pay for childcare. At first there wasn't anything like that available, and I was equal parts disappointed and relieved. But then an evening class opened up, so now on Tuesdays and Thursdays I give Keith a quick kiss when he gets home from work, hand over the kids, and run out the door. I've really been enjoying it! They're a good class and it's a nice change of pace from being a SAHM. It's gratifying to do something that isn't undone a few hours later (changing diapers, washing laundry, cleaning the kitchen, making meals). I think it's a lot harder on Keith, though, to come home after being at work/commuting for 10 hours, to then be charge of the kids for nearly 3 hours. It wouldn't be that bad, except Declan has made it clear that he doesn't approve of this arrangement. We're both keeping our fingers crossed that he changes his mind soon, or at least stops protesting so vociferously, because if he keeps this up I think Keith might need a hearing aid by the end of the semester.

I think those are the only major developments. Our winter has been very mild, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it continues! When I need to get out of the house, I usually take Beckett on walks around the block (a mile). I've been much more prone to that since the snow melted and hasn't really come back. Plus, Eleanor has ridden her tricycle with us the past two times. I've been so impressed with her, riding for a whole mile! She's so motivated; not once has she asked me to carry her or push her along. Sometimes she needs one or two pushes to get over cracks, uphill, etc, but just for a few seconds and then she's off again. Watching her race ahead of me, it's almost like I see her growing up before my very eyes.

Yesterday she wanted something with her lunch. "After all," she reminded me, "I'm almost 4 years old."

I know, sweetheart. It will be here before we know it! And then, suddenly, you'll be 33 and living in a purple house and a professional ballet dancer, just like you're planning. Life changes so fast!

Missed Moments: Halloween

You can tell when Eleanor started picking her own Halloween costumes. Her first two Halloweens she was a pirate and a sushi chef. Then last year she was a (pink) ballerina and this year she was a (pink) fairy princess. She had told me she was just going to pick out something from her regular dress-up clothes to wear, which was fine with me.

But then we were shopping at a discount store and I found a pink fairy costume for only $5. It looked like $5 was a fair price for the flimsy dress, plastic wings, and bent crown. But it also only had to last one night, right? We bought it, I let her try it on once at home, and then we put it away to heighten the anticipation (and keep it intact) until Halloween.

What struck me most about Halloween, and about the first few weeks following Declan's birth, was that life continued on pretty normally. After Eleanor was born our world was turned upside-down, inside-out, and any other phrase indicating a complete and total break from life before baby. I know it was partly because she was our first born, and going from married couple to parents is a big change. Even if you have pets; sorry, it just doesn't compare.

But another reason life with Eleanor had been so challenging is that we had a lot of problems with feeding her. She didn't want to eat and she wasn't reliably gaining weight. (Sometimes she would do fine, and then sometimes she plateaued, which little babies are not supposed to do.) All she really wanted to do was sleep, which her doctors told us was not allowed. So we would spend hours trying to wake her up and night and get her to eat, with very little success. On top of that, I was also pumping to try and increase my milk supply, and her feedings could easily take an hour at least. I think it would not be an exaggeration to say that, for the first few weeks, I was spending nearly 20 hours a day trying to feed her or in feeding-related activities. It was awful.

After a while we calmed down and things got better. We started letting her sleep through the night (rather than go against medical advice, we just assumed she was old enough and stopped asking the doctors if it was okay) and that improved everyone's disposition a LOT. We figured out a feeding system that worked for us, and I stopped relying on the scale to tell me if I was succeeding or failing as a parent. Eleanor was old enough that she could tell us how things were going, and she was a very happy, smiley baby.

This time around, I've done a much better job of ignoring the scale from day one. We went in for a few lactation consultations, and I specifically requested they NOT weigh him, so I couldn't obsess over the numbers (nor could they). I'm not perfect, and I nearly had a breakdown at his two-month appointment a few days ago because I thought he hadn't gained enough weight. The 15 minutes between getting him weighed and hearing the doctor say he was fine were self-imposed torture. But I NEVER voluntarily weigh him, and I'm doing a much better job of letting Declan tell me if he's hungry.

So anyway, this relates to Halloween because it was a mere two weeks after Declan was born and instead of being lost in some weird baby vortex, separated physically and mentally from the normal world, we were just getting on with things. Making and eating dinner at a reasonable hour, getting Eleanor to preschool, and enjoying her first Halloween where she trick-or-treated with friends.

Of course, her friends live down the block, and we still didn't even make it off the block before she called it quits. But we got to walk around with the other parents and watch the kids run eagerly up to every house. I felt like part of the regular world, even if I was getting up two times a night to feed the baby. At least this baby wakes up and cries, eats, and goes back to sleep. How amazing!

Said baby stayed at home during trick-or-treating, cuddled in Grandma Karen's arms while she handed out candy. But next year! Next year he will be a sushi chef or race car driver ... just preferably something not pink.

Missed Moments: The Birth (of Declan)

So my birth experience with Eleanor was, overall, even better than I had hoped for. It was very quick, I made it through without pain meds, and I woke up already in labor so I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about false contractions. The second time around, I hoped for more of the same.

Ha! First of all, as I have already extensively complained about, Declan was a week late. A week! That's like a whole other 9 months to a hugely pregnant woman. The waiting is excruciating. Plus, I had serious false contractions on 2 or 3 separate occasions. I woke up in the middle of the night with a tingle of anticipation, sure that it was happening just like Eleanor ... and then nothing.

I tried very hard to wait patiently and go into labor naturally. As we waited for Declan (or "Little Sibling" as we called the baby before it was born) to decide to make an appearance, I had several non-stress tests and an ultrasound to make sure the baby was still safe and happy in the womb. The ultrasound estimated the baby's weight at 8 lbs, 13 oz, and my doctor strongly encouraged me to think seriously about inducing.

I was adamant about waiting, though. I would let this baby come when it was ready; I wasn't going to be induced just because it was more convenient and easier for me. Plus, if I were induced that labor would probably take longer, and I would probably be more likely to need the epidural .... I felt like inducing would start a domino effect of many choices taking me further and further from the natural birth I had experienced with Eleanor, and wanted again.

And yet. I had another follow-up appointment on a Monday, exactly a week after the original due date. Sunday night, Keith and I discussed it and I was still firm in waiting as long as possible before being induced. My doctor had told me he was willing to wait until Wednesday, and that's how long I would give it. But as I stood in the shower Monday morning before my appointment, I suddenly had this feeling that this baby was NEVER going to choose on its own to come it. It was digging in its heels (quite literally, it seemed like I could feel them poking my ribs) and would not be coming out unless forced. I finished my shower, got dressed, and came downstairs.

"I want to be induced," I announced to a very surprised Keith.

We were still surprised, however, when we got to the appointment and I told the doctor I wanted to be induced. I figured he'd tell me to check into the hospital that night to be put on a Pitocin drip, and the baby would be born in the morning. Instead, he told us he's not at the hospital on Tuesdays, so I could either check into the hospital in a couple hours and the baby would be born that very night, or I could wait and check in late night Tuesday, so the baby was born Wednesday morning.

Well, since I had decided I was done waiting, hanging around for another day and a half before checking into the hospital for an inducement wasn't really an option. If I was going to be induced, I wanted to just go ahead and do it!

So we went home, made sure our bags were packed and made arrangements for Eleanor's care, and headed to the hospital. It felt so surreal, to be casually driving to the hospital on a beautiful, sunny afternoon, knowing that next time I drove home, it would be with a baby.

As I had feared, choosing the induction changed the whole progression of labor. We were at the hospital for nearly two hours before the paperwork and initial assessments were done, and I was put on the low level Pitocin drip. Then I was on that for about 3 hours with very minor cramping--definitely nothing strong enough to feel like I was in labor.

We'd asked my parents and Keith's mom to bring Eleanor up to the labor and delivery room during this low-key phase of the process. When we'd said good-bye to her before preschool that morning, we had been expecting to pick her up a few hours later and continue on with life as normal. Instead, we went to the hospital and she went to a friend's house, and it made me sad to think that it had been our last moment as a family of three and we'd missed it.

Unfortunately, with Eleanor's nap the timing worked out that they arrived mere moments after the doctor broke my water. That meant it wasn't low-key and casual anymore, but getting to serious labor very quickly. I wanted so much to enjoy some time with Eleanor and our families, but immediately the contractions were very intense. Keith saw the look on my face as I tried to refrain from showing Eleanor that I was in any sort of discomfort and he quickly shooed everyone else out of the room.

The doctor stopped by again not long after that and told me that everything was progressing quickly; if I wanted an epidural, it would have to be soon. This time around, I didn't really even try to resist the lure of a nearly pain-free labor and delivery. I'd had too much time sitting in the hospital, thinking about what was coming. Add to that the fact that the real contractions started when Eleanor was visiting, and I felt completely unprepared, mentally, to handle a natural birth.

In retrospect, I don't think the pain was any worse than it had been the first time around, but my reaction to it was the polar opposite. Instead of breathing through it and focusing on something else, I focused 100% on the pain and kept telling myself just how painful and terrible it really was. That's not really a good pain management strategy.

So, shortly after that, I got the epidural and Keith and I settled back into the low-key waiting phase. We watched Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy!. By this point I was starting to feel more pressure, so I figured the epidural was wearing off.

The doctor reappeared (what do they do in-between?) and announced that the increased pressure actually meant that I was ready to start pushing. Which also meant I'd been ready to start pushing for some time, but hadn't realized it. Whoops! "That happens all the time," the nurse assured me. Well then, why didn't anymore warn me that increased pressure did NOT mean the epidural was wearing off, and I should call for the doctor?!?

But I digress. One minute we were watching Final Jeopardy in a comfortable hotel room with low lighting. The next minute, the end of the bed was ripped away, people in surgical gloves and masks surrounded me, and intensely bright surgical lamps were shining in my face. It only took a few pushes, maybe 15 minutes if that, before Declan was born.

I was honestly surprised Declan was a "he." I was surprised when Eleanor turned out to be a girl, because for some reason Keith and I both thought she would be a boy. And I guess there was a part of me expecting Baby #2 to be a girl just because that's what happened the first time, even though I know logically that there's a 50/50 chance of either sex.

But a "he" it was. Keith and I immediately started crying and smiling as I held the baby in my arms. Eleanor was now officially a big sister, and we could finally meet and hold our new baby.

Missed Moments: The Birth (of Eleanor)

Alright, so this post is 10 weeks after the big event. You may all be over this and ready to move on. But since Declan's birth, I've tried to remember with more precision what the early days were like with Eleanor, and I have no record of that, which saddens me. I'd like to better know what I was thinking and feeling in the moment, and be cognizant of how it's changed this time around.

So, with that in mind, this is really a story of two very, very different births. To review, Eleanor was born 3 days after her due date. I woke up in the wee hours of the morning already experiencing some pretty intense contractions. I got a quick shower (Why? Because people had said to, and it was stuck in my head.) By the time I got out of the shower, my contractions were more intense. Still erratic, but wavering between 4 and 7 minutes apart.

After all my worry about what we'd do with the dog, we did nothing. It was the middle of the night, and he rolled over and went back to sleep. By the time he was ready to wake up in the morning, my in-laws were at the house to let him out.

The precise times are a bit fuzzy, but I think I woke up a little before 4am, checked into the hospital by 5ish ... and Eleanor was born at 9:14am. When we got to the hospital, I was experiencing a lot of lower back pain. I told Keith through gritted teeth that I wasn't sure I could go through with a natural birth. Bless him, he tried so hard to say the right thing.

"You can do it ... if you want to ... but if you don't it's okay .... but if you do, then I'm sure that you can...."

I settled in and decided to try and use breathing and visualization techniques to at least get me through the next few contractions. Then I could always re-evaluate.

What followed next seemed very independent of time or outside influence. When I felt a contraction coming on, I started my deep breathing and focused on my calming image: Beckett and I taking a nap on the living room couch on a hot, sunny, quiet afternoon. I kept my eyes closed during and between the contractions, and even fell asleep sometimes.

"Can I do anything?" Keith anxiously inquired. "Do you want a back massage?" Unbeknownst to me, he was worried because I was acting like the contractions were very intense, but they were barely even registering on the monitor ... until the nurse adjusted the monitoring belt, and then the next contraction was through the roof. Keith breathed a sigh of relief.

A nurse (on-call doctor maybe?) came to check and see how far along I was, to see when they should call the Ob-Gyn from my practice to come in and deliver. I think at that point I was already at an 8, or at least definitely further along than they were expecting.

When the doctor arrived and checked me, he was surprised (as we all were!) to find out that I was fully dilated and ready to push. Keith tells me I pushed for about 45 minutes (I had no clue about the time throughout the entire process). Finally, Eleanor was born.

to be continued

Baby Projects: Blankets

In early October I had several blog entries about baby projects (which were really about Eleanor's new room and sewing her curtains, since getting Eleanor out of the baby's room was the most extensive part of our preparations). This was meant to the final baby project post, but we never took any pictures of the blanket until there was actually a baby in it, ergo I'm just now posting.

I made the exact same baby blanket I've made about ten times before--I'm definitely a creature of habit when it comes to knitting projects. If it ain't broke, and you're making the same blanket for a new baby, why change?

I was disappointed, though, because this baby blanket is seriously tiny. It barely covers Declan now, and he's only 2 months old! Although I used the same pattern, I did use smaller needles and smaller yarn, and that had a much bigger effect than I was anticipating.

While knitting Declan's blanket, I was also working on a second blanket for Eleanor. Her first is getting old and worn and is a little small for her. But my primary motivation for making her a new blanket was that she's incredibly attached to the first one. She calls it her "Mommy Blanket" because she knows I made it for her when she was still a baby in my belly. She always sleeps with it--not covering her, but cuddled in her arms. It is amazing to me that it means so much to her, and I turn into a puddle of goo whenever I check on her in bed and see it in her tight grasp. But I also worry about the serious meltdown prospects if something happens to it.

I let her pick the yarn (baby pink, of course!) and for this I did use a new pattern, but a really simple one. Knit 7 rows with really big needles. Then knit 7 rows with small needles. Repeat. It's amazingly simple, but looks very nice.

Unfortunately, Mommy Blanket #2 runs a far distant second to the first, and I'm not at all convinced that she would be consoled by its presence if disaster struck Mommy Blanket #1. Knowing this, and seeing how small Declan's blanket is, I should probably start on his second blanket now. Maybe I'll be more successful in getting him to adopt it and love it equally with the first.

A Great Escape

My wonderful mother-in-law is visiting for a few days this week. She always tells me that I should do whatever I want to while she's here; she just wants to spend time with the kids and help out. Oh, and she always brings a bottle of wine.Who wouldn't like a mother-in-law like that?!?

I did feel a bit guilty today, as I handed her the baby and dashed out of the house into the sweet, cold free air, that I always run out the door when she's in town. I take the opportunity to walk the dog or run errands without lugging a 30-pound baby and carseat and oftentimes unruly toddler with me. I relish the opportunity to go somewhere, anywhere, all by myself during the day, because it so rarely happens.

I hope she realizes how much I appreciate the opportunity to get out. I'm not running away from her, I promise! I'm running toward peace and quiet.

"My Baby's Got ... What?!?"

For a long time now, we've been playing a white noise CD in Eleanor's room during the night because we have squeaky old wooden floors and a dog who sometimes barks in his sleep. Now that Declan's around, the white noise is even more important.

A few weeks ago, however, she figured out how to change her iPod nano from the white noise to actual songs. Overall, I'm not sure how I feel about this. Will this keep her awake longer? There's still the benefit of background noise, but with lyrics and key changes, etc. As with so many other discipline issues of late, it comes down to the fact that I don't have enough energy to argue with her about it, so we chose a playlist of pretty mellow songs and left it at that.

I don't know if it keeps her up (any more than anything else), but I have discovered that she does listen to the lyrics. At naptime one day last week, Ben Folds's cover of "Golden Slumbers" was playing when Eleanor asked me, "Did he say 'Once there was a wedding'?"

I said, "No, he said, 'Once there was a way ... to get back homeward,'" and we then discussed the meaning of the lyrics before reading her princess stories and turning out the light.

So tonight she was all tucked up in bed, and the rest of us were downstairs in the living room. Suddenly, we heard her music start blasting and a pitter patter of feet as she hopped back into bed. Keith went up to check out the situation, and when he came back down he was laughing so hard he could barely talk.

Apparently, Eleanor turned up the music because she likes G. Love's "My Baby's Got Sauce." However, she told Keith he sang "My baby's got sores" and she liked that part. I'm guessing "sores" isn't really a part of her vocabulary yet, and I feel no need to enlighten her. We are going to have to listen to our music a little more closely, however, for profanity and the like before it makes it on her iPod and she starts singing it at school.

Missed Moments: Quiet Weekend

Several events happened in the past few weeks that I'd meant to blog about, but never got around to. There's no point in going back and trying to recapture everything since October 17, but I do want to mention a few of the most memorable moments.

We got home from the hospital on a Wednesday afternoon, and Keith's family visited in waves for pretty much the next week. It was nice to spend one-on-one time with each individual family, but it was also very busy. The visits ended the following Thursday, when Keith's parents left for a family wedding in New York City ... and took Eleanor with them.

When my mother-in-law first proposed taking Eleanor with them, on this 4-day trip, our first reaction was "No way!" It seemed crazy. How could she possibly survive without her mother and father for 4 days?!?

But the idea of getting a long weekend with just Keith and the baby and no distractions (Sorry Eleanor, but you are very distracting.) grew on me. Part of the sleep deprivation this time around is due to the fact that, no matter what time Declan falls asleep or how many times he wakes up, Eleanor will still be up by 7 or 7:30am. This is particularly offensive on the weekends. So we could get a long weekend of really, actually sleeping when the baby sleeps, instead of playing dress up and reading princess stories? I'M IN.

We gratefully took up Karen's kind offer, and it seemed like a wonderful idea ... until the car was loaded up on Thursday morning, Eleanor gave me a hug and kiss good-bye, and then she eagerly hopped into her carseat and was ready for the trip. Then I wanted to cry and grab her out of the car and run back inside with her. Keith held me back though, and they drove off.

Once they'd been gone for about 5 minutes, it seemed like a good idea again. The house was so quiet and peaceful. That day, we picked up the blocks and dress-up clothes and books ... and everything stayed put away. For days!

Even better, we had lots of time to watch Declan sleep, and talk about how adorably perfect his fingers and toes and nose are. We exclaimed over every facial expression he made, and picked him up immediately when he started crying--if we'd even put him down at all, which is doubtful. We got so much quality baby bonding time, which I would imagine is usually very rare for a second child.

To end this story happily ever after, the New York crew had a great time, too. Apparently Eleanor was on her best behavior for her grandparents, so they didn't get to enjoy the tantrums and meltdowns Keith and I are privy to on a regular basis. Ergo, everyone loved her and doted on her. Ergo, she also had a fabulous time and barely even missed us at all.

Yet, when she returned, I was never so happy to see her dress-up basket had exploded all over the living room floor. When I told her it was naptime and she shouted "No!" and stomped her feet and Declan started crying, I wanted to give her a big hug and a kiss. It was a wonderful weekend, but I was glad to have both my kids in the house again.

P.S. The picture is of Eleanor "dressing up" Declan while he sleeps in his carseat, by laying a dress on him and putting dress-up shoes next to his feet. It was the first time, but I'm sure it won't be the last!

Posting Post Baby

Remember the pre-baby days, when I was so diligent about posting regularly? Ah, seems like so long ago!

Since October 13, I've posted one time, just to officially announce to the world that the baby had indeed been born. So 8 posts over two weeks, and 1 post in the following two weeks.

What is interesting to me, however, is why I haven't been posting. It's not the sleep deprivation or general business of taking care of a newborn and toddler. I've actually had a lot of help since coming home from the hospital. First, Keith was off for two weeks. As an added bonus, Keith's parents swung by and picked up Eleanor on their way to a family wedding in New York City the weekend after Declan was born, so from Thursday mid-morning through Sunday evening, it was just Keith, Declan, and me. I think we got dressed about 2 o'clock in the afternoon and put our pajamas back on again by 7 o'clock at night.

Since Keith went back to work yesterday, Keith's mom has been my significant other:) I think she's spent more time watching both kids at one time than I have! We've had people bringing us food, offering play dates for Eleanor, and buying us diapers. I had forgotten how helpful everyone is when a new baby arrives.

Of course, even with all the help in the world, it is still a lot of work. I'm breastfeeding, so right there that's several hours a day (and night) that no one can really help with. And Eleanor wants Mommy to read her stories and tuck her in and help her in the bathroom and just generally to pay attention to her. And I need to get some sleep and brush my hair every once in a while.

And yet, even though I've spent all this time talking about how time-consuming it is, I've realized over the past two weeks that lack of time isn't what's keeping me from posting. I've had many, many different ideas for blog posts in my mind, and I've started composing one or two .... but I never get past a sentence or so. We've sat and watched TV and movies for hours over the past two weeks, but I haven't written a blog post because I can't concentrate enough to actually write.

Maybe this shouldn't be such a surprise, but it has been to me. I assumed that, last time, I didn't blog because I didn't have the time. Eleanor and I had so many problems with breastfeeding that I was probably spending literally 19-20 hours a day trying to feed her or wake her up to feed her or pumping to increase my milk supply. Blogging was the last thing on my mind. Make that next-to-last; there was nothing happening in the bedroom except exhausted sleep and a crying baby.

So this time, with all of the help and easier breastfeeding, I thought that I would pick up blogging again with no problem. But I can't stay focused long enough to start and finish a blog post. Even this post, which is pretty long for me, seems to take a long time to get to the point. I find myself wondering, "Do I even need everything at the beginning? Shouldn't I revise it? Tighten it up? Get rid of unneeded material and craft a better intro?"

But there's no time or mental energy for the craft of composing. I am writing, and I am going to post this, but I'm afraid that it's not going to be my best post ever. Maybe I need to work on just posting something for now, and get back to the whole entire process of writing and revising and polishing later, as I start to settle into a routine and get more sleep.

It always comes back to more sleep.

It's a Boy!

Right, so I know I stopped posting over a week ago ... but the baby hadn't come yet. I was just tired of saying "no baby yet" over and over again.

Declan actually arrived on Monday, Oct. 17, at 8:13pm. He was 9lbs and 21.5 inches long. He is also emphatically Eleanor approved, despite his status as a boy.

Of course, there's plenty more to say but I'm going to stop there and get ready for bed. The details, like many other things, are not nearly as important as sleep right now.

This Is a Post about Nothing

Today is the due date, but nothing is happening. I've cleaned the house, we've stocked up on food, Keith mowed the grass, we bought Eleanor's pumpkin .... of course, there's always other tasks that could be done. But the truth is, I have no concentration or willpower to do them. I am a little tempted to make myself clean to try and fake the nesting instinct, but the couch is comfy and I really don't think it works that way.

So I'm just waiting. But I felt the need to post this, so no one takes my lack of posting as evidence of some great and wonderful events keeping me from the blog. None of that going on here! Gomez is sleeping on the back of the couch next to me, while Beckett insists on licking his legs, curled up in the armchair.

I'm not very good at waiting. I know I should be doing more to keep my mind occupied, but all of my attention is focused on what's NOT HAPPENING yet. Grrr .... If anyone has any good suggestions for how to stop driving myself crazy, I'd like to hear them!

Baby Projects: Sewing

In conjunction with Eleanor's room and baby preparations, I've had a lot of sewing projects going on. Most time-consuming, and most fun, were Eleanor's new curtains. She requested purple. She wanted light purple, actually, but I'm a big fan of blackout-type curtains for babies and toddlers, so I made dark purple curtains with purple and pink felt flowers.

This is the same way I made the nursery curtains, which are dark brown with green felt leaves. (Why felt? Why, no hemming of course!) I then used spray adhesive to attach the leaves to the curtains.

In the intervening three years, almost half of the leaves have fallen off or been ripped off by tiny fingers, so I did realize this time around that just spray adhesive wouldn't be enough. When making the new curtains, I did use spray adhesive to position the flowers, but this time also stitched around the edges of the flowers to make sure they're not going anywhere. Because, of course, after all of this work Eleanor will never be allowed to redecorate or change her room in any way. These curtains will last until college!

After finishing her new curtains, I went back and reattached or attached anew the green leaves on the nursery curtains, then sewed around the edges of those, as well.

Also learning from past experience, we had made cloth diaper wipes from cut-up receiving blankets for Eleanor. These did require hemming, but just a quick zigzag stitch around the edges. For diaper wipes, it doesn't have to look pretty--just get the job done! I hemmed a few more of these that we had never finished off before, because we can never have too many wipes!

Finally, completely unrelated to the kids, Beckett has twice chewed holes in our one sleeping bag, for no apparent reason other than he's a dog. I sewed up the holes when possible, or made patches when necessary.

You might think that I felt a sense of accomplishment after all this, right? Except that, as I was making progress on all of these projects, Beckett was at loose ends one day and occupied himself by puking on, and then eating, one of the dining room curtains. So a sewing project that had been finished five years ago is now back on the to-do list.

Just like so many aspects of life, the sewing tasks never end!

Continued Preschool Skirmishes

It's not an outright war anymore, and no more tears (thank God for that), but Eleanor is still not totally on board with the whole "Preschool" concept.

For the past week, I have had to wake her up and spend the 20 minutes before school arguing/discussing/cajoling why preschool is a good thing. She doesn't want to get dressed. She doesn't want to go. She doesn't want me to drop her off at the door; she wants me to come in to the classroom. (Which is a terrible idea, and will happen over my dead body.)

Yet I know she has fun while she's there. When I pick her up, she talks a mile a minute about story time and her friends and all the activities. But as time passes, she seems to convince herself that it's all terrible. She missed me and thinks I shouldn't make her go. So by the next morning, the first words out of her mouth are again, "I don't want to go to preschool!"

Why are we still having this conversation?!? I don't know what it's going to take to get her fully convinced that preschool is not the enemy, but I hope it happens soon.

Photo Challenge: Technology

Poor Keith. He was really hoping that the prompt "silhouette" would be assigned for the Shutterboo Weekly Photo Challenge before the baby is born. But this week's "technology" and next week will be "traffic." So much for that!

Luckily for Keith, even though it was a last-minute photo, he's the kind of guy who knows how to--and feels comfortable--opening up a computer and pulling out a piece of it for pictures.



Like everything else in our lives, I wonder what will happen next week with the Photo Challenge. Everything feels so up in the air, as we wait for the baby to decide when he/she is ready to arrive. Keith has managed to submit a picture, on time, for the first 40 weeks of the 52-week challenge. Keeping in mind anything from life upheavals like illness or car breakdowns to good distractions such as vacation or even the garden variety lack of inspiration, I think this is a very impressive record. Will he be able to keep it up, or will next week be the one that finally breaks him?

Keith "joked" about how lucky it would be if we hit lots of traffic on the way to the hospital while I'm in labor. I put the word in quotation marks because of how utterly humorless his remarks are.

Will he do what I would do in his situation: Make sure to take a picture and have it all processed, possibly even posted, by Sunday night? Or will he live dangerously and see what happens early next week?!?

My Expiration Date

It's hard to believe, but my due date is less than a week away.

With large life events that are on the calendar for ages, it's always somehow surprising when they've actually arrived. Sure, I've known since January that my due date is October 10. But that's, like, a real day. Um, this is really going to happen. We're having a baby!

It all "becomes real" to me, for some strange reason, when I buy milk and the expiration date is further out than whatever big event I've been looking forward to. If the event happens before the milk will expire, that means it is now happening very soon. By the time someone opens this carton of milk and wrinkles her nose at it, I will have graduated/moved to England/gotten married/had a baby/etc. It's when Big Life meets everyday life, and it weirds me out a little, every time.

I remember first experiencing this when I went grocery shopping the week before college graduation. I'm pretty sure I stood in the dairy aisle for a few minutes, trying to process the fact that this skim milk had a longer shelf life than the rest of my college career. I would be drinking this milk as a college graduate, maybe on the morning of graduation, or maybe even on the morning of moving out and leaving campus for the last time. I was so not ready for college to end, but there it was, written on the side of the milk carton. I had to move on.

Of course, my feelings about the event are a little different this time. I was very sad to be done with college, and a tad bit overwhelmed about figuring out the rest of my life. I did have some beer/pizza/pop college weight gain that made my clothes a little tight around the middle, but nothing like the tightness of a pregnant belly that has been stretched about as far as it goes. My skin itches all the time.

It takes me about three different positions to actually get myself rolled from one side to the other in bed at night. And a whole lot of grunting (although some of that is just to wake Keith up a bit and make sure he knows how uncomfortable I am). Physically, I am so done being pregnant. And emotionally, I'm ready to. I'm getting so excited to meet this new baby. Is it a boy or a girl? Will it cry for the first day, like Eleanor did? Or will he/she be calm and curious?

I bought milk today; it expires nine days after my due date. There had BETTER be a baby in my arms before that milk goes off, or I .... I don't even know what. I can't consider the alternative.

I've warned Keith that I am aware that having a due date of October 10 is no guarantee a baby will be born on that day. However, I am guaranteeing that my patience in dealing with the physical difficulties of pregnancy will expire on that day. I'm not particularly patient right now, but I am quite certain it can--and will--get worse if the due date comes and goes without any sign of labor.

I've been telling myself all along that this baby won't be early. Eleanor was a few days late, and I'm just going to go ahead and assume Baby #2 will be the same. I do have my bag packed, although I keep reading the novels I borrowed from the library, which are specifically supposed to be for the hospital. I keep trying to picture what my life will be like next week. Will I be taking Eleanor to Preschool on Monday? Picking her up on Tuesday? Meeting friends at a tearoom for our tentatively planned outing on Wednesday? Going to Parent/Teacher conferences on Friday ... with a new baby?

I'm trying to think of a good, solid conclusion to this blog entry, but I think I'm just going to have to accept that this is one situation that is all about questions and no answers. I don't know how or when labor is going to happen. I do know that I'll be constantly thinking about it until it does.

I'm also pretty certain that, the rate I'm going, I will have used up all the milk in my nightly chocolate milkshakes before we get anywhere near the expiration date. Maybe they can help my patience last a little longer, if needed.

Blogging Overload

When Keith trains for races, he ends up with a few different goal times in mind. There's the ultimate goal: a ridiculously amazing time that would require perfect training and an unblemished race. There's the mid-range goal: a pretty good time, usually a PR, that falls a bit short of his wildest dreams but that he would still be satisfied with. Finally, he has a bottom "goal" time in mind. It's the lowest possible time that he might find acceptable. If he falls below this minimum threshold, his legs must be severely broken or falling off or else he will be very, very disappointed.

For me, this 3-tiered goal system is somewhat relevant to blogging. (It is not at all relevant to my running; I'm much more of a "just get across the finish line" mentality.) And truthfully, I guess I really have 2 goals. I don't have the ultimate goal. I think that would probably be something insanely consistent, like writing 5 days per week for 52 weeks a year. I said good-bye to that type of goal a long time ago. Instead, my high goal is to post at least 3 times a week, every week, which would amount to at least 12 posts a month. My minimum goal is to post at least 10 times a month on average, so I get to 120 posts by the end of the year.

You may have noticed that I've been a blogging machine for August and September. Instead of the bare minimum 10 posts, I had 15 August posts and 17 September posts. I just want to warn you, particularly new readers: don't get used to it!

I started the blog in November 2005. From 2006 through 2010, the only year I did not have at least 120 posts was 2008, when Eleanor was born. She was born at the end of July. That August, I had one sad, token post on the very last day of the month so I didn't miss out a month completely. Every month after that had fewer than 10 posts, and I didn't even make it to 100 for the entire year.

This time around, my goal was to pad my post count in the months before the baby arrives, so I can be a sleep-deprived slacker for October through November and still get to 120 posts for 2011. At this point, I can write 5-6 posts for those last 3 months and still be in the clear. Looking good so far!

Of course, the question is: why does it matter? Does anyone count posts other than me? I seriously doubt it.

But it's important to me that I'm at least somewhat reliable in my posting. I don't expect all of my readers to be constantly refreshing the home page, awaiting my latest musings with bated breath. But I do like to keep the readers I have, and I think that part of that is being around. I do think that it helps; the image above is a screen capture of my Site Meter stats. You can definitely tell that I started posting links to blog entries on Facebook in January (first tall column). There was a crazy busy month in April when I got a ton of random hits, but otherwise the traffic has been consistent.

So I guess I want to warn you in advance. I probably won't be posting as much in October/November. But I haven't forgotten about my readers or the blog! I'll probably be composing many, many posts in my head as I'm feeding the baby, changing diapers, chasing after Eleanor, and all of the other endless tasks of a Mother of Two. Maybe a small percentage of those will actually make it onto the blog, but I'll do my best to make it to 120 posts for the year.