Pregnancy sacrifices

The things we give up when pregnant…margaritas, beer, cocaine…OK, some don’t give up any of those things, and I’ve never done cocaine, so that’s not really a problem for me. It’s always nice to never have to start something; then you don’t have to give it up at any point. For the first year of my daughters lives, I wished they would take pacifiers and bottles, but they never did. And though I would try as hard as I could, at the age of two years, I was so happy they didn’t have to go through the pain of giving them up. So cocaine is not the best example. Caffeine….there’s one! I totally, well, not totally because I do like chocolate, give up caffeine while pregnant and breast feeding. That means no green tea anymore….I miss that. Almost as much as I miss margaritas; actually maybe even more. No coffee or decaf coffee which I always say tastes just fine, but lately has sucked coffee ass. Did I mention beer? So, beer, margaritas or really anything else containing tequila and other alcoholic joys, caffeine that includes delicious green teas and coffees with rich flavor. I also give up peanuts and other nuts because my first daughter has a nut allergy and her allergist recommended I give up all nuts when pregnant and nursing any future children. So peanut butter cookies..mmmmm, my mouth is watering, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, raw almonds, which are good for headaches, peanut butter and celery, peanut butter on a bagel, Snickers bars, peanut M&Ms, Reeses Pieces, my favorite candy, peanut butter on a spoon just because…..I think of all the things I’ve given up, I miss peanuts the most. And I’m amazed at myself of giving up so much! On top of all the food items, we pregnant women give up comfort, sleep, backs that don’t hurt, boobs that don’t hurt, hips that don’t spread too far, ankles, waistlines, the joy of sex, dreams that make sense, the ability to balance on one foot while holding the other foot steady against the shower wall while shaving (man, I’m so grateful for the built in seat in my shower!) and on many days, we give up all rationale! So if I’m moody or bitchy in anyway, my husband will be happy to remind you that I am pregnant. I’ll be the one to remind you it’s because I am living without peanut butter!

tornaodes to penes

Tornado one week, growing a penis the next. I am one busy person, let me tell you! The week I grew a penis was a hectic week. It started with a hail filled rainy holiday two days after Zoe flipped head first out of the top of her crib. I knew on Saturday when I awoke to the big boom and instant screaming it was time to graduate to a big girl bed. The next morning I walked into the nursery to find my little baby that was instantly a big girl standing on the top of her crib….ready to topple out. Sometimes life just gets in the way. We made a good effort to get a toddler bed, but ran out of time and out of luck, so it she was left to one more night in the crib.

Tornado

The excitement of a few tornadoes in an area where tornadoes don’t usually form was almost too much for me to handle Thursday, but after a day of being Mommy on a safety mission and a small meltdown when Jeff returned home safely from Ohio where he had to undergo tornado safety training before working in the plant for a few days, I am fine but still looking at our vast skies from the eyes of a four year old. Arwen spent the night in my bed and now says over and over that if a tornado comes, we need to go to the basement. That has evolved to if a spider comes we should go to the basement and if the cat bites us, he should go to the basement.
I think as a parent, I did pretty well explaining to my almost but not quite four year old daughter, and her baby sister, Zoe, who was just along for the ride and follows Arwen around like a little puppy dog.
The call from my frantic mother came over my cell phone around 11:15 am. I was on my way to pick Arwen up from school, which by the way is in temporary trailers while the school is being built. I answer the phone only to find out Mom has been looking for me for a long time. I don’t know, two minutes, maybe three?? She tells me to get Arwen then go home and get in the basement. Ummm, aren’t there spiders down there? But since we will be finishing it soon, I guess going down there to get it organized and cleaned up would hurt anyone a bit. And now knowing we are a mere thirty minutes closer to Kansas and one mile wide tornado closer to Oz, I think finishing the basement just moved to a higher priority. I think if it were finished, with wet bar, TV room, bedroom and bathroom and more, we could be down there all day and never miss a beat! If I ever have to go through another day like Thurday, May 22, 2008 again, the wet bar will definitely be in order.
So I get to the trailers to get Arwen, talk to the few parents that are lingering, the staff and head home. Before getting to the school, I stopped at a park and tell a friend to come over. She is so relaxed where I am so high strung, so she stayed and played and then drove home while I was calling her and telling her to come to my house and my basement. It was after two in the afternoon when I finally let my children go upstairs to nap or play in their rooms. There was no way I was letting them take naps on opposite ends of the house two floors from safety - just in case we needed to head downstairs.

Fly away home

DIA Gate C40, the blond in front of me is on her cell phone discussing how the speeding ticket she got on airport property is her father’s fault. Evidently speeding to an airport terminal is the same as speeding to a ER with an injured friend in your car. Traveling for her is obviously an emergency situation. National Security is at level Orange. Someone tried to blow up…or blew up….a military recruiting center. Or something like that. Men read newspapers around, a young man texts his girl friend assuring her he will be returning to her soon. The women behind the check in counter talk of missing pink tags for gate checked items. A woman needs one for her stroller. Her little red headed toddler is wandering away. I sit here wondering if a trip home for a few days is worth a trip away from my girls. Having been a business traveler for years and married to a man that works 1500 miles away, you’d think I’d be quite used to flying or the act of flying. Because of the 28 pound three year old I left crying in my car and the 18 pound toddler that refused to give me a hug because I wouldn’t take her out of the car when we arrived at the airport, I am feeling incredibly nervous. This break with my family will be so good for me, but it’s amazing how such little people can affect me so much. There was a man in front of me checking in that had what looked like brand new ski boots and a brand new ski bag for some really long skis. To profile him, I’d first say he didn’t appear to be a Colorado skier. Baggy pants with frayed cuffs and an expensive phone/PDA that kept beeping in his pocket. Every few seconds he brought it out, looked at it, every so often he’d text something back to whomever was so eager on the other end. Something told me it wasn’t a girlfriend that needed reassurance. Nor do I believe it was a ski bunny he met on the slops that felt the need to say good-bye, it was great getting to know you, several times. He doesn’t appear to me on my flight….at least I don’t see him near by texting the unknown. So I sit here nerves hitting a place in my heart that is reserved for my children. It’s a place where we sit and play circus games with Zoe’s Little People. A place where we read special books and cuddle after a long day. I don’t want these nerves in that special place. I want to be with my children. Cuddling because it’s not a special time, but because we can.

There is a toddler crying nearby. Unlike the other passengers in the waiting area, I hope she sits near me. I’d like to tell her that I have two very special little girls at home waiting for Monday to return when Mommy comes home from Virginia. Arwen asked me today where I work. One can only assume she is asking because she thinks I am going to work like Daddy does each week. I told her I work at home. I do dishes. I clean, I take her to school, I wash her laundry and make sure she’s not sleeping with too many dust bunnies or bed bugs, though she thinks it might be fun to sleep with a dust bunny. Goon Goon, is a dirty bunny, after all, do a dust bunny can’t be too different. And bed bugs sound kind of fun if you are three. They are probably like the little bugs on the show “World Word” with bright colors and the word BUG spelled out across their little bug bodies. After I explained all the work I do from home, I told her I am going to Virginia. She knows Grandpop lives in Virginia, but I’m not sure she knows I am going to Grandpop’s house in Virginia. I’m not sure can put those two together and I didn’t want her to think I was visiting Grandpop without her. But I am!

I know once I get to VA, I will feel so much better and I will miss my family when I leave, but I think I will not be as nervous to fly again because I will be coming home. It’s only a break for a few days, but it’s the first time I’ll be away from my kids for more that a few hours. They have been left in great hands; my husbands’s. I can understand in moment like this why so many reach to a high power. I’ve not felt nerves like this in years. The beautiful Italian woman near me is holding a beautiful rosary. I’m not Catholic. Nor is that a church I could ever affiliate myself with, however, it’s a beautiful rosary. And she is finding some comfort in holding it. Maybe it’s not the rosary itself, but the silent prayer she is saying while gently moving her mouth; speaking to someone at the other end of the rosary. Maybe it’s the same person on the other end of ski-man’s texts. Who knows. Me, I find comfort in writing this. In letting you know I am fearful. Of ski-man. Of not seeing my girls again. Of seeing change in a place I found comfort in for many years; because life changes everything. Trees grow, weeds overgrow, and life moves in place.

Made it to Cincinnati. Rode with a man that is at least five hundred pounds. At least he had to buy two seats, so there was a little room between us. I fell asleep on the runway while we taxied before take off. He coughed and cleared his throat. It was the sound that could only come from a man five hundred pounds. My book flew up in the air, the woman behind me laughed at me and I said, “Man, I can’t believe I was asleep already.” Note to self. When sleep deprived and sleep is elusive, Tylenol Pm is your friend at home, but an easier though expensive solution would be to get on an airplane. The drone of the engines will knock my ass out in a second or two.

Made it to Colorado. Sat next to a German man that was coming into Richmond for “Beezznuss.” He wanted to talk the whole flight, but didn’t know English very well. After telling my sister this, her idea was to start clucking at him like I am from some weird tribe. Wish I had thought of that while on the flight. But here I am in Virginia. It’s raining and about forty fie degrees. I miss my girls….

Bugs, bugs, and shit more bugs

I am done hosting the bugs of Firestone. You are no longer welcome here. I understand when we moved in here, we were moving in on your territory. However, we did not build this comfortable warm house for you. It is our house and you’ve have several months to relocate. Now please leave. According to Wiki, houseflies live from fifteen to thirty days. We’ve been here almost sixty days now and we are down to one super fly that refuses to go to fly eternity or wherever the little fly souls are that were once attached to the millions of fly bodies that litter my basement floor. Oh, yes…little dead flies everywhere…that’s why you’ve never been in my basement. They will be gone soon…as soon as my husband decided to sweep them up for me.

We went through this cycle of bugs. When we moved in, it was the month of the spiders. I was capturing…yes, capturing…and flushing, but not squishing, spiders all day long. Each time I would go into the garage for a box to unpack, I’d have to battle a black widow. Yes, I capture and flush and I battle black widows. It’s all true. Spiders really bother me. I’ve mentioned the little eight year old girl that still lives somewhere inside me and hordes this memory of a giant black widow coming to get her while she sleeps. That’s a memory I have from childhood. No, I can’t remember too much from back then, but that huge black widow trying to get to my room is so vivid it’s like it really happened. It was just a dream, and I was so lucky that she was so large she couldn’t fit down the hall to get to my room, otherwise, that little eight year old girl may have become spider food instead of the mom and wife she is today. So battle…yes, that’s what they are; battles. If you were to witness them, you may call them stare downs or anxiety attacks that force me to freeze and say out loud and over and over, ’what do I do, what do I do, what do I do?’
But to me, they are intense battles. I usually win because I have to and because somewhere inside I know I am the bigger and smarter species. It’s that small child that is dwarfed by the red spot on the spider’s belly that can’t seem to remember this fact.

So the black widow invasion ensued. But they seemed contained to the garage. After a few days, I just didn’t go out there any more. Jeff was instructed to check every box before bringing it into the house and I stayed away from any open box because I just knew I’d peer down inside only to find my shoes have been eaten by a new colony of red spotted spiders whose mission was to take over my belongings and my home. I know now that’s not a rational thing to think, but to keep those thoughts at bay, I just stayed away from it all.

Then the big freeze hit. Days of freezing weather, snow and ice. Our house was cozy and warm. Our garage was still full of boxes and bitter cold. Jeff told me he was finding little frozen bodies out in the garage. The black widows had lost the battle and I didn’t have to fight anymore. The weather got them. I win!! Right?

In the middle of the garage spider invasion, the flies begun taking over my house. I was thinking about pitching a tent on the back yard for a bug free haven in which to sleep. I learned quickly the flies liked hanging out in the kitchen. I think I threw more food away in that month that I have in the year prior. If it didn’t get eaten or wrapped quickly, the flies would swarm then hover over it and I’d have to toss it. They slowly met the end of their fifteen to thirty day lifecycle and many succumbed to the suction of my vacuum cleaner.

Somehow at the start of what we would think of as winter, the mosquitoes took over our house. The flies were dying off, the spiders were about to freeze, and the mosquitoes were discovering the bright yellow house on the corner of two country roads in Firestone. It was like a big mosquito trap. Only they were trapped in the house suddenly. The morning after Thanksgiving, I walked into the kitchen to see the few dishes we didn’t bother cleaning the night before. On the counter was a water pitcher and inside the pitcher was a bit of water and about seven mosquitoes. A new bug invasion. In the weeks since, I have managed to captured and flush about one a day. Yesterday I saw one sitting on a wall. I can only hope that one can’t reproduce alone like some oddities in the animal kingdom. I don’t know the lifespan of a mosquito, but if I can catch him, I can only say it won’t be much longer.

So we were swimming in flies that were literally dropping, dodging mosquitoes that are thinking this is their new home and quite certain the spiders are gone. Until Jeff goes into the basement to set up our exercise equipment. He came upstairs to tell me he killed two black widow spiders in the basement. I guess the dead flies were probably good food, but since they no longer fly, the red bellied spiders had to go find them. Now I’m freaking out again. My first time on the treadmill was exhausting, but not only because it was a great workout, but because I kept searching the walls and ceiling for black creatures with eight legs. Way too many if you ask me. Maybe that’s my problem. Four legs I can deal with, when you have six or eight, you need to stay away from me. Later that week, I asked Jeff to show me where the spiders were in the basement. Turns out one was not in the basement, but nesting on the staircase. She was coming to get me. I just know it. Only she was small. It a matter of weeks, she could have made her way up the other staircase and down the hall into my bedroom. But my husband got her! My husband is a great man indeed. Spider killer and garage fairy. Well, I don’t think he’ll like being called a fairy. But during Christmas, I kept throwing wrapping paper and boxes and adult proof toy packaging out into garage and magically it was all cleaned up. I kept calling it the garage fairy, but like Santa Claus, I know it’s really my husband that cleaned my huge mess. He also cleaned the rest of the garage. Enough so that we could put both my van and his truck in the garage…along with Arwen’s jeep, Zoe’s car, countless tools, strollers, yard tools and Jeff monster motorcycle. While he was doing that enormous job, Jeff told me he found and squished three black widows. He said one was a fat one.

I’m back to not wanting to spend any time out in the garage. It would seem the freeze didn’t get them after all. They just got smart and stored food and hid from the warrior. No, I’m not really a warrior. Let just call me box slammer. That’s the only way I could deal with them. Drop a big box of books on them. Now what will I do since all the boxes are gone?

Spring is on it’s way. Let the battle begin!

Home Staging - really?

We are moving. We are building a new house. It's not our dream house, but it's a beautiful house on a big lot with all the upgrades....well, a lot of upgrades, like granite counters, all wood cabinets, iron balusters, nice stuff. Great, huh, only this house has not sold. We are practically giving it away at this price and still not selling...not only not selling, but not even any showings. Some of you have been here...it's a nice house. Over 4300 Sq. Ft., huge family room huge kitchen...what the hell is wrong with people? I know what it is. It's HGTV. That's what's wrong with people. HGTV has trained us that everything has to be perfect. We have to totally flip this house before it will sell. HGTV has told us sellers that we need to put in all the upgrades before we have a buyer because they will expect to see granite counters and travertine floors and pretty artwork everywhere. What they have failed to do is remind people that many times when people upgrade a house, they do it for themselves; they don't plan to pour money into houses to sell. Sure some people do, they are the flippers. I'm not a flipping flipper! I'm a mom trying to move my family into a new house.

HGTV has also trained us into believing we have to have a model home staged for our potential buyers' viewing pleasure. I try to stage underwear on the floor for viewing pleasure, but it's not working. What the hell do you mean I have to rent furniture to make my living room look like a living room? My couch and huge TV don't scream "TV Viewing area?" You need some shiny elephant on an art deco table sitting next to some fancy fake tropical tree before anyone realizes it's a living room? Pack up my kids toys? Are home buyers not aware that children are still allowed to be seen and heard and in my house they are also allowed to play with toys! Well, OK, I'll confine the toys to the playroom and their bedrooms. That's not really too much to ask. But the bitch stager that came to my house and turned it on its roof with nothing sticking to the ceiling before she left, told me that my playroom loft would be better served as a sitting room because you want to potential buyers to imagine they are in a sitting room. Well, grab a fucking chair from the doll house, pick up Green Eggs and Ham and fucking sit, why don't you? Why don't you imagine an office here, or a spa, or a salon, or a place where you fucking stuff dead animals because you see when you live here and I no longer live here, my shit won't be here anymore so you can make this room whatever the hell you want. Imagine buying this house and filling it with whatever you want. You see if it's a doll house or a big TV and couch or even a pretty purple elephant sitting on an art deco coffee table with a coffee table book about pretty purple elephants sitting in staged homes with beautiful fake tropical trees, it doesn't matter because unless you own the same stuff, I am certain it will appear just a little different after you move in.

Do we not have an imagination anymore? You see when I bought the house, the previous owners were in the process of moving out. But I was so lucky I am married to a professor. Between the two of us, we figured out that the room with the two sinks and the stove was the kitchen and for the past four years we've used it as such. And we figured out that the room with the two sinks and the tub was the bathroom and we've used it as such. It's worked out great for us. I did get confused for about a year or so there. I had Arwen in the room on the right, but I later realized that her room was the one the left and Zoe's room was the one on the right. But it didn't all click for me until I became pregnant with Zoe. You see, the previous owners had it set up as a guest room on the left, so of course we did that too, and the room on the right was sewing room when we first looked at the house, but since I don't sew, we couldn't do that. I did buy a sewing machine, but I just couldn't make it look like the older retired woman that lived here before me. And being pregnant with Arwen and all really confused us because there was no nursery here. So we had to improvise and hmmm, think outside the box. After nine long months, we came to the conclusion that that room on the right didn't have to be a sitting room; it could be a nursery after all. It took a lot of talking out loud and personal growth, but we did it. Fuck! Do you really believe that we are that stupid as a society that we have to be shown that same cool headboard we see Cater Oosterhouse making in the bedroom before we know a certain room is actually a bedroom?

So back to the bitching. I think I am the only one that understands what this whole thing is doing to me and my kids. And frankly, I am so tired of it. Our house has been on the market for six months. Many times this summer I was late to things, yep I know you had to wait for me several times, because I had to stop and clean the house before leaving it in case someone wanted to come look at it. No one came. No one ever comes. So my house sat for six months, always clean…OK, well mostly clean. And it has not sold. Now about three weeks from the end of our contract and the end of any possibility of any commission, our realtor has had our house staged at her expense and tomorrow she is having our house cleaned at her expense. This is all fine and dandy, but as I stated above, the stager was great until she tore the house apart and then left. It took me days to get breakables off the floor and away from my small children. It will take us days to move the furniture she wants us to move. And guess what? We move in about thirty days. So someone please tell me what the point is in making it all look pretty when soon we will have boxes everywhere. Maybe I'll leave the boxes in the room where they are packed with a big note that says the name of the room, so people that and come a look aren't confused. "well, I thought this was the garage, but that box there says kitchen, so let me know when you find the dishwasher, Myrtle." I can hear it now. "I was sure it had a kitchen, but I'll be damned if I can find any boxes in here pointing the way to a kitchen. We best go look somewhere else, there's bound to be a house with a kitchen somewhere in Longmont. Let's go back to that one with the purple elephant, I liked that purple elephant. It'll look so good with this little purple Easter Eggs I put out in the Spring time."

So cleaning lady comes tomorrow. I know I am not alone in wanting to "clean before the cleaner". You know…you have to remove your toothbrush from the bathroom counter (that's the room with the tub) or else she may take it for the toilet brush. You have to remove the toys from the bathtub because, well, you don't want to have to admit to wanting to sink the battleship in real water every now and then. You have to remove all the toys from the floor so she has a surface to actually clean. This whole process takes hours to do and I'm starting to think it's not worth it….wanna know why? Because I'm moving in less than thirty days!! Come clean my new house after I've been there two weeks. Now that would help!

Word Evolution

I can remember those days when Arwen first started to talk. It's funny that even now she says some really cute things. She started Gymnastics a few weeks ago and every time she talks about it, she says, "Mash Sticks" or "Mashed Kiss Class"

I was moving some old things I wrote around (from an old blog to my PC) and found this....funny that two years later, I am still giggling and how words evolve from a little one.

Words should be taught by children
Why bother teaching children the proper way of saying a word. Personally, I'd prefer to wake up in the morning and have a big cup of "fawkey" to wake me up before I start the day. Arwen is starting to put real words into sentences now, but I miss the days, you know last month, when potatoes were "Toe Pees" and coffee was "fawkey".

She still says down-da when she no longer wants to be in her highchair and she says climb me when she wants me to pick her up, but lately her cutest thing is saying
"Ein tine" when you draw a picture of a face with hair sticking straight up. This of course is from the Baby Einstein videos. I wonder if she will be disappointed when she discovers Einstein was not just a stick figure's face on a children's video.

So I say grab a cup of fawkey and learn a few things from your children for a change.

I can't wait for Zoe to say more than "Hi Key" - even with her, I'm not sure if she is saying "Hi, Kitty" or if she thinks that animal's name is Hikey....who knows. But it's damn cute!

It ate my words

• I hate the internet. I hate Al Gore and everything he "invented"! Republicans are rolling; democrats, scratching their heads. So I had this great blog typed up and internet ate it. Someone please create the site of lost words. So many times I tell myself I need to type something in word and copy and paste it into the page on the web because nine times out of ten, my words disappear. This happens here, this happens on different message boards. There has to be a place where these words go. It must be the same place where lost socks go after entering the dryer but never come out. Somewhere out there in the World Wide Web or the third dimension three feet from you, are millions of socks and words that belong elsewhere. There are enough socks to clothe Africa or free all the elves of the wizarding community and enough words to teach every child to read. Let's ban together to fight this. We can't waste words like this. Bill Gates needs to stop his charity work and come back to Microsoft, create the magic white box for word imputation that won't take and take and take and then swallow before you can hit post. It can't be that hard to do. I trust MS Word. It has never failed me. And because everything today has the look and feel of Windows, we trust these little white boxes that in reality should come with a warning that says: I am probably made in China, be forewarned. I will probably spit lead paint down your children's throats or strangle them while they are sleeping. Or if you are lucky, when you are done typing, I will make you think I'm going to post your words for the world to see, but in fact I am going to eat them myself and then shit them into the third dimension to live with all the lost socks of the land. Sure, you will feel the need to use MS Word for everything you write for a while, but like Americans do, you will become lax again and put your little cursor in my box. I will oblige for a while, but one day when you are least expecting it, I will take your words again. But that's such a long warning. We can't keep our children safe; then I can't expect us to be able to keep our words safe either. So I will use the internet because it's here. But I still say if Al Gore hadn't bothered inventing this little evil, our planet wouldn't be dying the slow death he is claiming. Al, you could have spent your time saving the world. Or do you have the save the cheerleader to do that? Shit I am confused!

My little blue pill

• Oh, the things Tylenol PM does to me. Not the same as old boyfriends, but still it puts me in a haze and makes me wonder if I'm addicted since I seem to have to take it every night in order to sleep and since I only have headaches when I am breathing, the Tylenol part helps too! Much like old boyfriends...see the connection? Haze, addiction and headahces. Ahh, now it's all coming together. Or maybe you should take some too and it will all make more sense. Take some and come back in an hour to finish reading this blog.
Are you back? OK, I'll wait.
Since becoming a mom twice now, I can't sleep. Or maybe it has nothing to do with being a mom twice but more to do with having to wake up to help one to the potty twice a night and nurse the other about three times a night. By the third time I am up, my body is convinced the sun is up and it's time to run. And I'm not even sure why it's thinking that because it doesn't remember how to run, only faint memories of what running might feel like and that just makes me nauseous, so I try not to even think of it. So here's where the PM part of the Tylenol come in handy. Not only does it stop crazy thoughts like running at 3am, but I can help a small child to the potty, stop to pee myself, nurse and put everyone back to bed in my sleep! And when I get back into bed, my soft pillow just grabs at my head and pulls me down in the Alice's hole....or was it the rabbit's hole, shit better put that in the kid movie list. Note to self, better take different drugs while watching that movie.

Mommy's milk

• As of next month I will have been pregnant or breastfeeding for four years now. Tonight as I was nursing my walking and talking (well if you count "Hiiiiii" and "MomMommeeee", which I do because I am MomMomeeee and I like to be greeted) almost 12 month old, I started thinking about when I will stop nursing. I'm not sure. If she is my last baby, I'd like to continue for a while. If she is not my last baby, I may get to go on this joyous ride again. Or maybe I will line up twenty bottles a day and let Daddy be the sole source of food for a good year. He hasn't known the joy of waking up twenty minutes after you've fallen asleep by a baby screaming in your ear or waking up five times a night to care for someone that doesn't even know your name. All this because he doesn't lactate. And really, it would never be the same unless he had a baby attached to his nipples all night long and the only way he could get some sleep was with his right arm up above his head long asleep before the rest of his body and little suckling here and there with a huge tug as the baby tries to roll over with said nipple still in mouth.
Anyway, these thoughts were really about lessons, not bitching that I am the only one that lactates in this house. I am all for nursing. But here are some things I have learned. Not only will your body never be the same after pregnancy, your boobs become totally separate beings. Sure they are still attached to you and people will stare because your cute little Bs are now huge Ds, but they are not Pam Anderson Ds. They are Grandma May's Ds. Mine rest comfortably on my stomach, which will also never be the same, but I'm sure if I had another baby and nursed instead of forcing my husband to lactate, they would be down to my knees. When you first start nursing, people all over recommend a nursing pillow. I bought a Boppy. I loved it, it's was soft, it was comfortable, and I took it everywhere we went. When I had Zoe I couldn't wait to use it again. I put it in my lap, wrapped it around my belly, put Zoe on it and tried to nurse. This worked for about a week. Then it became incredibly uncomfortable. For some reason it was just easier to nurse her without the Boppy Pillow. For a while I just assumed it was because I was now a pro at this nursing thing since I nursed Arwen for fifteen months. But no, I soon realized it's because my boobs sit so much lower than they did after my first pregnancy, so Zoe could just lay down low in my lap and still reach my boobs. Boob texture is also something to think about before diving into the joys of nursing. Those cute and firm Bs I had when my husband first married me have turned into soft, sagging, lumpy sacks of milk. Before when I would lay on my back they would point to the ceiling screaming touch me touch me! Now they look left and right and if you were to come near them, you may just get sprayed in the face. My husband can attest to that. And today when I dared to put on a bathing suit, I noticed they have started to gently wrap around to my side and are nestled comfortably in my armpit. Not the whole of them, but a nice boob tire, if you will.
So if I were to meet a new mother today I would advocate breastfeeding, it really is a wonderful experience, really because most if it is done when you are half asleep and you don't remember much of it because you're in that Mommy haze anyway. Much like childbirth, which is why so many women keep doing it; they forget how bad it really is until they go into labor and oh shit, it's too late now! But I would also warn moms that you will never be the same. Your husband's mouth on your nipples is never quite the same because you just fed a small child just moments ago and it seems large enough to feed a small village. Or your husband is afraid to play anymore because he doesn't like his coffee that sweet even though he says he does. But most of all, it's really expensive to put them back into place. I do have a paypal account, and I'm willing to set up a Put Stephanie's Boobs Back In Place fund. This is probably my last child, unless I can talk my husband into putting up with me pregnant again and another year of no sleep. I guess I'm a bit of a bitch when I am pregnant, but I wouldn't remember, because like many mothers, I only hold onto the joys of motherhood. Such as cuddling with my babies all night long when everyone else is asleep; are you familiar with Art Bells' radio show, yea thought not because it's on from 1am to 5am! Oh, and being MomMomeeee!