At Least I Have A Passion For Sleep.

Sixteen weeks, this week. Two weeks into the second trimester and I was hopeful the exhaustion would begin to lift. I am not a stranger to fatigue, however, which is perhaps why my body still struggles to keep up with growing this baby AND living the other part of my life. I find myself disappointed that things I used to derive so much pleasure from (writing and photography) have been pushed aside, even if it has been for the greater good of this family (ie. me getting naps so I'm not a bear in the afternoons or evenings).

I had a discussion at length with a dear friend about how I view myself and my attitude about hobbies and interests. At first I am extremely excited and eager and ready to learn, learn, learn anything and everything I can. But as soon as I hit a spot where more work might be done, or run into even a minor challenge, I tend to give up. I find my inner dialogue reassuring myself that I wasn't that interested in the hobby to being with. I wasn't that good at it. I seem to lack a certain (and necessary) mental puzzle piece that motivates me to continue, that keeps me from giving up.

I used to think that my tendency to give up so easily had more to do with the hobby/activity not being my passion, but I've come to wonder if it has more to do with me just not having the drive within myself to push through, take risks, and keep going. (I mean, what if I fail?)

But today, right now, I use this poor baby as my excuse. I use my pregnancy as my crutch to reassure myself that I'll pick that camera up again soon. Or even take another class. That I'll start blogging more regularly, and even start writing short pieces to exchange with a friend. And who knows? Maybe I actually will. But I suppose right now is not the time to beat myself up, or push myself too hard.

In fact, right now feels like the perfect moment for a quick (or not-so-quick) nap.

xoxo,
Christine

An Update and News

Today is May Day. I have visions of little blond girls in Easter dresses running from door-to-door with giggles and hands grasping elaborate weaved baskets overflowing with homemade candy. Peeking behind bushes, covering their mouths with pink painted fingernails, squealing and laughing as they run away from the chasing recipient.

Of course, my May Days were never quite this romanticized, and we most certainly did not participate in any May Basket deliveries this year, but maybe some day. If my visions come to fruition.

***

This spring has been difficult, as evidenced by my blogging... or lack thereof. It has been difficult and yet, it has been a good spring. A wonderful spring, in fact, if only because we found out Hope and Paige will be big sisters. And oh, this is something I've been wanting for a very long time so of course I am thrilled and excited and dancing for joy.

Except that I wasn't. Because all I feared was that I'd go to the bathroom and see some blood. Or that we'd see the doctor and there'd be no heartbeat. But slowly I've allowed myself to feel the excitement, even if the entire pregnancy there is a component of fear that hovers over me. So yes, we are having a baby and I am excited. I am thrilled. I am dancing for joy.

The weather and fatigue have been the hardest part of this year. We had a tease of spring over the weekend and of course are back in the forties. And the fatigue, it pretty much makes me want to lay on the couch all day and drift in and out of sleep.

But there are moments. If I really focus on it, there are a lot of moments. Good moments. Moments I am a motivated mom, moments I have a burst of energy and fold some clothes, make some dinner, straighten the house. Moments that are happy and silly and not filled with irritation or grouchiness (mine, not theirs). Moments that remind me that I am doing things right, that even if we go a few days with too much TV or snacks for lunch, my kids are happy, they know they are loved.

So I give myself permission to have raging hormones, to have less patience, to need more breaks. And I give myself permission to let it go, to apologize, to try again tomorrow. We are doing well, even if some days I'm not so sure we are.

And I'm hopeful that as the summer arrives (if it ever arrives) those bursts of energy will be more frequent and last longer so that the girls and I can enjoy the sun, and maybe I can even get back to this blogging thing.

Enjoying one nice day last weekend

xoxo,
Christine

Goodbye Weekend, Goodbye Spring

Update on the pacifier: I decided to give it Paige only at night, a decision that I know many probably do not agree with, but I feel most comfortable with. It's what we decided, for now. And we'll see what happens. (You know, aside from the three mornings she's thrown a fit asking for it after getting out of bed.)

In other news, it's spring here, evidence by the fresh snowfall we got this past week. Snow the second week in April really shouldn't shock me, but, oh my goodness, gross. I am currently one of many complaining about the weather, constantly. And I still really wouldn't mind moving to San Diego.

The girls don't seem too concerned, except that they had to go back to wearing their "puffy coats" again. But they're hearty Minnesotans with their no-socks and sleeveless dressing choices. Hope even ran from the car to the house in bare feet on Friday. Yes, bare feet through the snow.

On the plus side, I was encouraged to pull out the last of the frozen cookie dough in my freezer so that we could have warm cookies after dinner tonight. And then I was sad that we each only got one cookie (okay, I might've snuck the fifth cookie myself), so the girls and I made some modified monster cookies before bed. I might as well embrace the fact that the snow reminds me of winter and triggers my biology to bake and eat and put on fat. Nothing like cookies to help fatten me up.

On the list this week: more cookies (perhaps chocolate peanut butter) and homemade granola. Even my husband caught the spirit, or rather I caught the spirit from him, as he made homemade bread this afternoon. Bring it on winter! (Okay, not really, but I've gotta act tough otherwise I'll just curl up in a ball and cry in bed all day. Snow in April? Sheesh.)

And now I'm going to go check out in front of the television and enjoy the last of my weekend. My five-year-old told me that her favorite day is Monday. I'm pretty sure she must've been switched at birth.

xoxo,
Christine

The Pacifier Is Killing My Confidence

Why didn't any one tell me about how in motherhood it will be hard to tell when an issue is your child's and when that issue is actually yours? Like, this particular pain of parenthood, is it because I hurt for my daughter or just that I don't want to admit she's growing up? Or maybe someone did tell me that but I didn't listen. I was all, Sure. Sure. I hear what you're saying and I'm so totally not going to be like that. I will never be one of those parents that gives in because I can't be strong. It's all about the tough love, yo.

Okay, so maybe I didn't think that exactly but, you know, something like that.

If you read either of my previous posts (or am my friend on Facebook), you probably know what problem I am referring to. The pacifier. The wonderfully silencing, magically soothing, achingly horrible to get rid of, pacifier.

Paige turned three this weekend and we decided to take it away. The problem is, I'm not exactly sure why we decided that. I mean, I know that somewhere I heard that age three is the magic number. Like, any child that has a pacifier after three is doomed to a life of, well, I don't know what. Crooked teeth? Excessive drooling? Being made fun of? I don't know.

To be honest, I'm sure there were already people judging me for letting Paige have a pacifier that long anyway. But it didn't bother me. The pressure of potential judgements was pretty easy to brush off, or laugh off, or say, yup, she still has a pacifier and I don't care. So I guess I'm not sure why I felt so much pressure over stopping at a certain age.

The dentist. The illusive and imaginary dentist, because I did not actually talk to a dentist about it I just feel like that's what I had heard dentists supposedly say.

So, we warned her leading up to her birthday, knowing full well that it was going to be horribly hard, and the day after she turned three we took it away. Just like that. Cold turkey.

I knew that it would be horrible. For her and myself. And on Sunday when she whined on and off all day for her 'nuki' my heart broke into a million pieces. Yes, because I didn't want to admit she's not a baby, but actually mostly because I felt like it was wrong. I felt like if her security item was a blanket we would've never felt the 'need' (was it ever a need?) to take it away, so why with the pacifier? Especially because we didn't actually do any research (ie talking to a dentist) beforehand.

My husband assured me she was 'fine', but our definitions of fine are different because although she was not devastated and throwing herself on the floor, I had to sing her to sleep at nap (otherwise she was crying) and at night she whined for it until she fell asleep.

I went to bed last night and cried. Taking away her pacifier just made me want to baby her even more. I wanted to scoop her up out of her crib (even after she was sleeping) and bring her into bed with me and comfort her and tell her I love her and un-traumatize her from taking her security item away from her.

I know that makes it sound like I'm just having a hard time admitting that she's growing up, but I assure you, that is not it. I am afraid that by taking away her security item before she was ready we are hurting her emotionally or psychologically. Maybe she won't think, My parents took my pacifier away when I was three and it totally messed me up! but it is possible that it affects her. I really believe that.

So as I'm crying in bed last night, my husband told me when can give it to her at night if that's what I wanted to do. And that's what I wanted to do. Except, I also am second guessing myself. (Because somehow that seems to be my nature when it comes to motherhood.) Do I think we took it away too quickly? Yes. Do I think we should've let her keep it at night and taken our time with giving it up? Yes. Do I think we should've tried to let her give up nights herself? Yes. Do I feel like it's too late to change our minds? Kind of. Because as much as I hate to admit it, my husband was right, sort of. While I disagree that she was 'fine' she also wasn't as bad as I thought she'd be. And today she asked for it only twice.

My husband thinks we should give it another day or two. I'm on the fence. I told him tonight that if she asked for it at bedtime I was going to give it to her. She asked for it at bedtime and I didn't. I feel like a shithead. (Sorry, that's the best way I can describe it.)

Taking away her pacifier makes my heart break. Seeing her upset and not have her item that comforts her breaks my heart even more. But today was better than yesterday. So maybe she really doesn't need it? I don't know. I just can't seem to make up my mind. It's like I want someone to be able to tell me the right thing to do.

I want to just give it back to her at night, but I feel like I'm being a bad parent by second guessing myself, especially if she isn't as devastated about it as I thought she'd be. Especially if she's getting less and less upset about it.

And that is why parenthood is hard. It isn't because I have a hard time doing the right thing. It's because I don't know what the right thing is. And I just want to do right by my daughter. I want her to know that she is safe and loved and that I will comfort her any way I know how and that I will never do anything to hurt her, even if sometimes it feels like I am.

I just don't want her to hurt. I don't want to be the cause of her hurt.

(And I really want to giver her back the pacifier.)

xoxo,
Christine

Today She is Three

Yesterday, she was two.

Two is still a toddler.

Two is giggles and snuggles and running away squealing.

Two is figuring out that she doesn't want to wear certain things and only wants to wear dresses. It is learning to ride a tricycle if even that only means pushing with her feet. Two is watching our every move and wanting to be 'just like Mommy'.

Two is deciding she wants to sit on the potty and then deciding she just wants to wear undies. It is looking in the mirror and telling herself she's beautiful. Two is twirling in a dress while declaring, I'm a princess!

Two is the sparkle in her eyes with every new experience and every new moment in her life. It is the excitement of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and getting candy at Halloween. Two is jumping up and down to show off just how high she can get.

Two is declaring she can do it herself and then a moment later asking for help. It is a lot of reminders of Please and Thank You, and lot of her remembering to say them on her own. Two is learning to play pretend with her older sister.

Two is testing the limits time and time again. It is crying and sighing and pouting and yelling. It is hugs and kisses and an infinite number of I Love Yous. Two is cuddling in bed and falling back asleep on early mornings.

Two is demanding a bedtime story only to walk away and play and then return to hear the very end. It is wanting to sit on a specific side of the car, every time we go somewhere. Two is pointing out the letter P every place she sees it (and even when it isn't actually a P).

Two is more adventurous in her eating than her older sister ever was. It is telling knock knock jokes that don't make any sense and laughing hysterically anyway. Two is constantly changing who she likes and dislikes even though her parents encourage her to always like her friends.

Two is covering her mouth to giggle and throwing back her head for a belly laugh. It is asking for water and teddy and potty and and and at bedtime to delay the door closing. Two is asking for her pacifier and then lifting her shirt to touch her belly whenever she is tired/sad/hungry/in the car/pretty much she just feels like.

Two is her first ride on an airplane (and her second). It is figuring out how to play games on the iPad without anyone teaching her. It is running to her daddy and telling him, Dad, I like your purple shirt, when he walks through the door after work.

Two is wanting to play outside but not get muddy. It is despising having her nose wiped. Two is loving to play in the bath but hating to be scrubbed.

Two is asking for a napkin to wipe up a dot of oatmeal on the table. It is delighting in every bird, squirrel, and puppy we see out the window. Two is running away screaming when Mommy tries to comb her hair.

Two is the joy of toddlerhood and the agony of toddlerhood. It is lots of hugs for no reason at all and throwing herself on the floor and crying for no reason at all. Two is a year full of love and wonder and memories made.

Yesterday she was two.

Today she is three.

Three is saying goodbye to the pacifier. It is transitioning to a big girl bed. Three is starting gymnastics this spring and preschool this fall. Three will be many wonderful things.

Happy Birthday to my Sweet P, Paige. May this year overflow with your love and laughter.

xoxo,
Momma

PS. I am devastated to be saying goodbye to the pacifier. And it's not because I'm worried about how she'll sleep (although I am worried about how she'll sleep). I just hate to take away something she uses as comfort. And I don't like admitting she's not a baby anymore.

Saying Goodbye to Two (and a Pacifier)

Tomorrow, she is three. Three. Three.

And while I know she is growing into a beautiful little girl, she is still my baby. My sweet little baby.

I'm going to admit that, although she is turning three, she still uses as pacifier. Yes, yes, I know, I know. She's THREE (well, one day away from three) and still using a pacifier. I have no excuse, other than my oldest never had one, so I never had to worry about taking it away, and since Paige has always seemed like my baby, it just never was a big priority.

So the big day is this weekend, and we have been prepping her that after her birthday tomorrow, the pacifier is going bye-bye. (This momma thought it was too much to take it away on her actual birthday, because birthdays are for happy and celebrating, not for adjusting to losing a security item.) My husband is confident that it won't be horrible, simply because she also uses her belly as a security item too. But I've noticed the past few days that it goes nuki (what we call the pacifier) in first, touch belly next. I'm a little nervous that without the nuki she won't find her belly as comforting.

Oh and I've already admitted to letting my baby have a pacifier longer than recommended, and now I'm going to admit that I'm sad about taking it away. I am sad to say goodbye to the pacifier, and not because I'm worried about how she'll take it, it's purely because it means she's growing up (and I'm afraid she won't touch her belly as much and that is just so darn cute).

One day away from three. Three! And while that means so many wonderful and happy and fabulous things, it also feels so bittersweet. That bittersweetness of motherhood and babies growing up, which is what you want them to do, but is sometimes so hard too.

xoxo,
Christine

Good-bye Twenty, May You Stop Mocking Me

This week is Spring Break for our preschooler. It's a little anticlimactic, I think, when school is not an every day/full day type of thing, but it still means that we're all home together every minute of the days this week, which I think is sometimes hardest on me. I mean, I love having them home, and the thought of sending Hope off to school next year (even if it is only half-day Kindergarten) makes me a little teary, but sometimes I am just not a very good keep-the-kids-entertained-while-at-home kind of mom. Thus, making some days long.

So, in a burst of inspiration today I decided that after a quick jaunt to Target we'd go out for lunch. But not the typical Jimmy Johns/Noodles/Potbelly (read: kid friendly and quick) place we'd usually head to, I wanted to go somewhere a little different. Still child friendly, of course, but my mind fluttered around the idea of walking the streets of Manhattan and coming across a little cozy cafe to leisurely take in a light lunch.

Of course, we're far from Manhattan and any cafe is a quick drive away, but still we went somewhere less typical of our family to indulge in my fantasy of a Spring Break 'special lunch' with the girls.

The lunch, let me just cut to the chase, was pretty much a bust.

The light part of the lunch was no problem considering the girls were crunching away on Goldfish we picked up at Target. So, thinking I was being all smart I ordered only one macaroni and cheese for the girls to share. And nobody touched it. Not one bite from either of them. Yes, they were hopped up on Goldfish, but to be fair, it really didn't look that appetizing even to me.

The side of french fries went a little farther, but even with the full doggy bag I don't regret those simply because they came as a french fry cornet and I pretended to be French while I nibbled and dipped between the ketchup and mayo.

I left our lunch annoyed, mostly with myself for spending twenty-dollars on a lunch that nobody really seemed to enjoy. Pretty much all my fault. Even I made a poor choice with my tomato soup what with tomatoes and I not always agreeing with each other ever since my pregnancy with Paige. Of course, today was one of the times that ingesting tomatoes isn't making my stomach too happy.

On the plus side, girls were fairly well behaved. There was an episode of both kids under the table which was where I felt my irritation start to prickle, but luckily it did not explode as it usually does, mostly because I got us out of the restaurant before all patience disappeared; but overall the singing and crumbs on the floor and staring at the table next to us didn't ruin the lunch.

To be honest, mostly the lunch felt like a bust because I spent twenty-dollars (TWENTY-DOLLARS!) on food that no one really ate. Twenty-dollars may not sound like a lot to some, but to me it's a precious amount. We could've gotten by just fine with our five dollar french fries. But no, even thinking I was ordering light I wasted twenty-dollars. That's five coffees I could've enjoyed myself. Or five pints of Ben & Jerry's. Or a movie and popcorn. All of which seem like a better option than this lunch was.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that. ::grumble, grumble, grumble::

(Ha! And I just realized, 'hindsight twenty-twenty, I spent 'twenty' dollars. Oh, the irony. Is that even irony? I never was good with that. I need a quick English lesson... But I digress.)

I should know by now, that mostly my expectations of things, especially when those expectations take on an air of lightness and the hazy glow of a movie scene, that I'm pretty much destined for failure. I had this romanticized idea in my head of a mom and her daughters nibbling on salad and bread through the window of a quaint cafe. (Which should've been my first red-flag as neither of my girls would go within ten feet of anything green and crunchy.)

I'm trying not to dwell on the negative (I could've fooled you, right?), but it's hard with a pile of mediocre mac and cheese and a heap of leftover french fries staring me in the face. They taunt me with their, Twenty-dollars. TWENTY-DOLLARS. TWENTY-DOLLARS! I'll get over it eventually, I hope. Maybe after a few weeks when I've recovered financially.

And next time I have a vision of cafe eating? We're going for dessert. (I'm not giving up completely, people. A girl's gotta have some dreams.)

xoxo,
Christine