A La Sass

The Magic of Santa Clause

2009-11-02T07:50:00.000-08:00

As I prepared to set off on my weekly Sunday errands, I decided to invite my 3.5 year old to tag along. O and I zipped around town returning movies, picking up some household necessities, and dropping by our local food co-op. After the must-dos were done, we ducked into our local toy store for some time at the train table and a little holiday wish list browsing.

We raced trains, selected Christmas must-haves, and picked out a few toy ideas for the little brother. We then headed over to the attached deli to grab a hot chocolate.

As we made our way down the hall from the toy store to the deli, we approached a man dressed in layers and a heavy overcoat. He was hunched over with his head down on one of the cafe-style tables that line the hallway outside the store. His face was covered with an overgrown grey-white beard, and lines and creases etched its surface in an almost map-like story of struggle.

He has, for as long as I remember, been part of the landscape of my hometown. During the winters of my childhood, I recall sitting in the back seat of our family car, layered in the warmth of a turtleneck, a wool sweater and a coat. I would see him, this large, soft man. He too was layered, and yet his layers were tattered and exposed. He huddled in the corner of the drafty city parking garage.

He is quiet and introverted, while simultaneously friendly and reassuring. The local businesses know him well, and often allow him to grab a warm drink and an empty seat for some time off the streets. He is even welcome in the local cop shop, where he occasionally grabs a few hours of shut-eye.

As we approached his table, I kept a firm glance on O. I could see his gaze locked on the old, soft man. I anticipated the inquisition that was to come. "Mommy," he whispered, not realizing he already had my attention. "Why is he sleeping?". "What," I replied, attempting to buy myself some time to form the best response. "Why is Santa Clause sleeping," O whispered.

In that moment, my oldest son's innocent heart made my own swell with love. A man that too many see as merely a vagrant, my babe sees as Santa Clause, the creator of magical moments and wonderful gifts.

"Well sweetie, he must be tired from going over every one's wish list and gathering all the goodies he plans to pass out" I uttered.

"He needs his rest so he'll be ready for Christmas," he reassured.

Return

2009-10-02T11:39:00.000-07:00

So, I'm heading back. Back to this space that I created for myself. Back with the renewed knowledge that this space is for myself. And my babies. And ahh, I'm back because of those babies who are growing and changing and driving me intermittently to the depths of joy and the throes of insanity at any given moment.

More to come, soon, but for now, I'm committed to getting back at it.

Blessings Abound

2008-09-26T09:20:00.000-07:00

This has been a hard week on too many levels to articulate.

However, this morning, I was standing at my two-year-old's changing table, going through the motions, distracted by my thoughts of how all the hard stuff would turn out, and something pulled me away.

"Mama, I not just wet, I poopy?" My boy said inquisitively.

"Yes, O, you are poopy." I replied.

"Stinky poopy yucky," He said, again, in a questioning manner.

"Yes, honey, the poopy is stinky, but it's o.k."

"Love you mama." O uttered, this time with a definite and assuring tone.

"I love you too, baby," I replied, completely caught off guard, and irresistably pulled into connecting with my boy, rather than swirling around with the thoughts consuming my head.

In that moment, over a stinky diaper, I was brought back to all I have to be thankful for.

It didn't have to be this way.

I didn't have to have two healthy thriving little boys.

I don't come from a place where such blessings are unappreciated.

I am the only healthy child of three in my family.

One of only two surviving children.

I never thought it was possible for me to have healthy children. It's not that the health struggles my siblings have had to deal with are genetic, they are not. It's just that when one family is dealt such a challenging deck, you learn to play in the world of challenges, and that becomes your norm.

It took me a long time to get pregnant with the O, and I took it as a sign that it wasn't intended to be so. But then, three years after the trying began when we weren't even looking, we learned that I was pregnant with the O.

After the joy of discovering that I had a little being, my son, growing in my belly, I became consumed with waiting for the other shoe to fall. First it was waiting to miscarry. Then it was waiting for the level two ultrasound to reveal a fatal abnormality. Then it was waiting for a difficult emergency induction to result in life-altering changes.

And yet some how, some way, after all the waiting, we were graced with a healthy child. From the moment I first gazed upon my first-born, my baby boy, pink and howling with a strong, healthy cry, all that defined my past was put into perspective. All of the challenges of living a childhood filled with the constant uncertainty as to whether my siblings would share my tomorrows, and the frequent loneliness necessitated by more pressing needs, fell into its proper place in that moment.

The challenges of my yesterdays have undoubtedly defined who I am today. I don't take the dawn of any new day for granted, as I realize that for any one of us this day could be our last.
My siblings' struggles have taught me that a person is defined by their soul, not their abilities. I have learned that life is defined by relationships, not accomplishments.

The lessons of my history, and the blessings of my present, lend so much to be thankful for.

I just have to remember what my focus should be as I muddle through the hard times ahead.

Captured Memories

2008-09-09T20:44:00.000-07:00

When Baby E was six weeks old we packed up our new family of four and headed out for family pictures.

While such an undertaking is typically crazy and stressful, Stacey Rainer, who is a mother of (six, I think) and a wonderful photographer in the Chambana area, made the experience an amazing one. She captured beautiful shots of our family in its natural state. Rather than trying to force us to pose, she shot away as I rocked and nursed Baby E, Mr. O munched on cookies she provided, and the Hubs read a story to Mr. O. It was a wonderful experience, and I'll treasure the pictures forever.

I invested the majority of our photo budget on prints for around the house, but I decided to shell out a few extra dollars for a disc of photos that I can use in a montage of Baby E's first year.

I thought I would share a few of those photos here. Stacey deserves the advertising, as limited as it may be on my humble blog. So if you're in the area and looking for an amazing photographer, consider her among your options.

Smiley Goose

2008-09-05T20:35:00.000-07:00

We just returned from a wonderful family vacation to Colorado.

We had an amazing time, and yet I'm struggling to recover from the exhaustion that defines traveling with children.

Until I'm able to articulate some degree of insightful thought, I'll ask you to indulge me and agree that I truly have one of the happiest (and cutest) four-month-olds on record.

That smile, it melts me.

My first born from baby to little boy . . .

2008-08-24T11:10:00.000-07:00

I just finished creating Owen's second year montage (i.e. my excuse for a baby book).

I think if you click on this link, you should be able to preview it. You can also compare it to his first year to see just how much my first baby has changed: http://www.onetruemedia.com/my_shared?z=f25131b2b721c5ba9cb6e&utm_source=otm&utm_medium=text_url

While a part of my heart aches at the thought of how quickly the last two plus years with Owen have flown by, the boy he has become makes that same heart swell beyond measure. He can now express his love for me vocally, and through the most amazing hugs and kisses on earth. He is an incredibly affectionate and sensitive little boy, with one heck of a zest for life.

Kinda makes ya feel like maybe you are doing a little something right after all.

I'll post the start of Baby E's montage when it's complete.

Edited to add-at the same link you can find the start of Emmett's montage as well. Being that we're only at month 4 of his first year, there's still quite a bit of work to be done, but at least I'm not completely neglecting the poor second child.

New Day, New Do

2008-08-24T09:14:00.000-07:00

We've had a busy weekend at Casa a la Sass. A trip to the Sweetcorn Festival, a trip to the Farmers Market to stock up on the waning summer produce, a return to Little Gym class, swimming, and dinner out with friends. We're trying to soak up the last of summer, while at the same time welcoming fall with open arms.

This morning the Hubs has taken Mr. O to a model airplane air show, Baby E is peacefully sleeping in his swing, and I am trying to remember what to do with moments of free time.

As promised, the above is a picture of the new do. I decided to hack my hair after concluding that I looked old. This decision was briefly reconsidered after a couple sitting next to us at Milo's told me I looked just like the U.S. Olympic gold-winning gymnast Nastia Leukin (ya know the tall willowy blond that is more than a decade younger than myself). I then glanced at their cocktails and decided not to flatter myself.

I completely love the cut--I can make it look messy, professional, or fun all in a few minutes time. I will ask you to show me some grace and ignore the bags under the eyes . . . still searching for the potential surgery-free answer to that problem.

I am in the midst of working on photo montages for the boys . . . it's my last-ditch effort to appear competent in recording at least snippits of their childhood, because Lord knows, they won't have baby books to look back on.

Easing Back In . . .

2008-08-22T19:03:00.000-07:00

So the wonderful Quigs78 has allowed me to take a deep breath and slowly ease back into this blog thing via my first meme (Quigs you too stole my meme virginity, you lucky one).

So, here goes nothing.

5 Things About Meme

First, the foreplay-
1. Post the rules of the game at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
3. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they've been tagged and asking them to read the player's blog.
4. Let the person who tagged you know when you've posted your answer.

And, the real action-
What were you doing five years ago?
Five years ago almost to the day I was starting law school. I had just convinced my husband to move back to Champaign-Urbana from beautiful Denver, Colorado. We bought our first house (the same one we live in now, and the same one that remains one hell of a fixer-upper) in July of 2003, and I spent the entire month of July scraping wallpaper out of every room in the house, and painting every room as soon as the wallpaper was gone.

What are five things on your to-do list for today?
Well the day is nearly over, but on my to-do list was:
1. An early morning pro-bono court appearance on behalf of a juvenile delinquent's mother.
2. Drafting a dissolution (divorce) petition for a very sweet client who has found herself in a very unfortunate situation.
3. Negotiations on behalf of two different clients with two very complicated family law cases.
and switching gears
4. Purchasing a new Baby Bjorn with lumbar support (my 4-month-old is now a back-breaking 16 pounds) in preparation for our family vacation to Denver next weekend .
5. A trip to the Chambana Sweet Corn festival to introduce Mr. O to his first bounce house experience, and to indulge in some carney-food goodies (we went to the sweet corn festival and left without eating corn).

What are five snacks you enjoy?
1. pretzels (pretty much any kind)
2. popcorn (particularly Smart Pop Kettle Corn)
3. cheese-its
4. Kashi Go Lean Crunch
5. graham cracker sticks

What are five things you would do if you were a billionaire?
1. move the hell out of this fixer upper
2. establish a foundation to fund research for Huntington's Disease
3. hire a personal chef
4. ensure my children had a secure future
5. travel around the world

What are five of your bad habits?
1. worrying about things that are beyond my control
2. being extremely critical of myself
3. my tendency to cuss like a sailor
4. raising my voice at my husband when I'm angry
5. refusing to delegate/ask for help when needed

What are five places where you have lived?
1. Urbana, Illinois
2. Normal, Illinois
3. St. Louis, Missouri
4. Boulder, Colorado
5. Denver, Colorado

What are five jobs you've had?
1. lifeguard
2. waitress
3. nanny
4. newspaper reporter
5. attorney

Five people I tag:
Yeah, so being new to the blog thing (and an incredible loser), I don't know bloggers, so I don't know how this will go over, but here goes-
A Few Local Blogs I Enjoy Reading
1. Mrs. Chicken-http://www.mychickencheese.com/
2. LBOTP-http://lbotp.wordpress.com/
3. Larkin's Place-http://www.larkinsplace.com/
4. Pammiecakes-http://pammiecakes.blogspot.com/
5. And my fiend Angela (God bless her she has two sets of twins, 2 2-year-olds and 2 2-month-olds)-http://betterthanwedreamed.blogspot.com/

That was a lot of work. TO further the cause of easing back in after the trauma that was my blogging beginnings, tomorrow there shall be a plethora of pictures posted because I've neglected to take more than a handful of my poor new second child, and I just hacked all my hair off and I'm kind of digging it.

Gossip and the Lives It Destroys

2008-08-14T16:40:00.000-07:00

I started this blog as an outlet, as writing has always been for me.

I hoped to be able to write what I could not eloquently speak, connect as my time has yet to permit, and relate in a way my mind and soul crave.

Just weeks after starting this blog, an entry regarding my very personal and intimate family struggles with my mom has apparently culminated in destruction beyond my wildest imaginations.

Apparently a few individuals assumed my struggles with my mother extended beyond my immediate family and that personal boundary that defines us . . . instead they assumed that such struggles permeated every aspect of her life.

In fact, that couldn't be further from the truth.

The reason I wrote that blog entry is that I felt so alone in my dance with my mom because her struggles are something very well confined to our private family space.

The struggles I shared were a personal reflection of what we as a family have had to deal with alone in that space where families struggle and hide . . . personal space.

But assumptions were made and then accusations, gossip was spread, and now my mom's job is on the line for being some sort of drunk or drug addict (never seen her do an illegal drug in my life) . . . and addiction is now rumored to affect her work life.

I can assure you that my mother's struggles at home have never permeated her work life. I speak with her at work on a near daily basis. We go to lunch frequently. My mom's work time is among the safe times when I know that I can always call on her.

All of this fallout is so ironic and overwhelming, and because this is an outlet (albeit now clearly a very public one), I'll take the opportunity to capitalize on my audience and address a few people.

To My Mom's Employer (you know who you all are)--
Since the day my mom decided to be candid and honest with you about her illness, you have been fighting for a way to get rid of her. Americans with Disabilities Act be damned, you have struggled to created problems where there were none, failed to document crucial communications that supported my mom's frustrations and points of view within the organization, denied her the staffing and administrative support necessary to run a growing and thriving medical practice, and forced her to take test after test to prove to you that she isn't a liability.

She passed all your fucking tests and instead of celebrating the competency and devotion of an amazing physician dedicated to medicine over money, you hung your heads and went back to the drawing board to go at her again.

You as an organization, and in particular a number of egotistical, sexist, and self-centered fucks have caused more pain and destruction than you will ever realize. You have caused my mom to shake with tears and sadness. You have brought her to the point of illness from the sheer exhaustion of constantly trying to battle back against your attacks. And yet, through it all, because of the love of her job, and the dedication to her patients, she still shows up every God damn day to work ready to give her all to the work that has defined her life. Ready to see the Medicaid patients that you have ordered her to turn away, because she knows that she is their only resource, and she refuses to put money in front of people (something you may occasionally consider yourselves).

How the individuals that hold the power in that organization are able to sleep at night defies reason.

To the Individuals Who Thought It Their Duty To Forward My Blog To Said Employer:

You may have cost my mom her job, and such a cost was completely unfounded.

You may have cost this community an incredibly valuable medical resource . . . God help you if such a unique illness befalls your own family and there is no one in place to come to your aid.

You may have cost me my relationship with my mother because now I admittedly am the source of struggles she deserves no part of.

You certainly have cost yourself a lot of dignity and credibility by fueling a sick game of "telephone," where the message you spread becomes so convoluted and unintelligible that it resembles nothing of its original form.

In closing . . .

I have read so many blogs from people out there in need . . . blogs in which the community comes together to rally around a little girl with Downs Syndrome, a woman who is struggling with infertility, or a couple who has lost their child.

Such support is what I sought in getting into all of this blogging bullshit.

Well my mom, she is in need. She has a terminal illness. It has not yet manifested its debilitating symptoms, thank God, but can you imagine knowing you were going to die and not being able to do a fucking thing about it? Can you imagine the distress that causes? The tendency to feel anxious and let your mind wander to the worst? Can you even conceptualize how you would react?

My mom has reacted by continuing to help others for as long as that is possible.

Sure, in her family time, in the sanctity of her own home, she sometimes gives into the struggles and distress. But those are our family struggles. Not yours.

To you, my mom gives her all.

From you, she deserves the same.

Summer Bliss

2008-07-20T16:03:00.000-07:00

The first half of my weekend left much to be desired. The Hubs was working, after being out of town most of the week, and while he estimated that he would be home just after lunch time on Saturday, he ended up getting home around 4 p.m.

Despite being bone tired from a hectic and stressful week at work, mornings and evenings solo with the boys, and a Saturday that reflected much of the same, we forced ourselves out of the house for some quality family time. We ended up strolling around Prairie Farms where we watched the animals much on their dinner, watched The O slide down the tractor slide with delight, and encouraged The O to trudge up a big hill with his daddy, and then experience the childhood glee of running down while trying to avoid falling over with momentum.

After our Farm adventures we tried out a new local Vietnamese place, stuffing our bellies with chilled fresh summer rolls, Pho, and a banana smoothie . We drove home through the country as the sun was setting. The boys happily drifted off to sleep as quickly as we slipped them into their jammies and into bed. The Hubs and I were able to catch up over a nice glass of chilled wine. And we were all fast asleep by 9:30 p.m. . . . bliss I tell you.

Today the boys slept in until 7:30 a.m. (a total treat for us). We then made whole wheat blueberry pancakes with fresh local blueberries, and a fritata stuffed full of fresh local spinach, yellow squash and zucchini. We sang a quick Happy Birthday to Baby E upon The O's insistence because it is his 3-month birthday today. Then we set out into the back yard to construct The O's new play gym. My dad came by to help out, and later to instruct The O on how to slide down his new slide on his belly. Despite the rough start, the weekend turned out to be epitome of a perfect summer family weekend. A few pictures of the good times . . .

Random Thoughs On A Saturday Afternoon

2008-07-19T11:57:00.001-07:00

* My son will stay in his bed all night, every night, and he does not dare get out. In fact, if he drops an essential item (i.e. the damn paci we are fighting to get rid of) out of his bed, he will call for us to retrieve it rather than getting out of bed and grabbing it himself. But naps, oh they are a different story. We typically spend most of Saturday afternoon trying to coax Mr. O away from his toys/books/animals/window perch, and back into his bed to sleep. Often after a few hours I'll peek in to find him sitting in bed surrounded by at least 50 books completely awake. This afternoon I had a stroke of genius and decided to break out the pack n' play for nap time. He was completely out in 5 minutes. We may be onto something here folks.

* This morning I nursed Baby E (something I'm still doing occasionally) because he was super fussy and nothing was calming him down. A few hours later he had a poopy that was distinctly recognizable as breast-milk poop. In the midst of changing his poopy diaper I realized that while I may not be able to pull off exclusively breastfeeding him, I love knowing and seeing that he is still getting some of my milk, and the benefits therefrom. Perhaps we can find a balance amidst all the extremes.

* I have decided to run a 1/2 marathon in January in Key West. My body has spent almost two of the last three years nurturing and growing two amazing little boys, but I need to use that same body to nurture myself. I figure the training will force me to spend some time on me, something I'm finding nearly impossible to do. Of course, the fact that I found a scenic run in Key West where I can also carve out a few vacation days, and enjoy a few fruity cocktails beach-side doesn't hurt the motivation.

Mayhem in Mayberry

2008-07-17T19:32:00.000-07:00

I'm playing single mama this week as the Hubs is out of town (again). I just learned that he may have to work on Saturday too (yippee).

So far this week we've had viruses all around--Mr. O started running a fever on Tuesday which was quickly accompanied by yucky poops, Baby E followed suit beginning Wednesday evening, and I, while having not completely succumb to sickness, have felt generally yuck all day.

We have also had two lovely tantrums compliments of Mr. O on our way home from work/daycare in the last few days. Both occurred at two (different) local stores we had to swing by for necessities. Both wonderful displays of behavior were generated by Mr. O's demand for snacks, and my insistence that he would receive nothing unless his demands were accompanied by a "please" (classic power battle in our home). In both instances I stood there in my work clothes, sweaty and exhausted, Baby E strapped to my chest in the Bjorn, and tried everything in my power to redirect The O and talk him through his feelings. Such a rational approach was wholly unappreciated by The O, and instead resulted in my son attempting to hit both me and his 2-month-old little brother. While I know everyone in the respective stores was thinking, lady, just give him a damn snack, mama is a hard ass about demanding pleases, and I don't care who gets pissed off in the process.

Baby E has also initiated his own version of the tantrum as he is almost 3 months and has entered the lovely phase of hating life between 6:30 p.m. and 7:45 p.m. (like clockwork, every night). While I can't blame him as that is generally the time I wish the world would go away as well, unfortunately it is also the time I am struggling to throw together dinner for The O, do bath time with The O, read books to The O, etc. So basically, memo to infant son: pick a more convenient time to have your melt-downs.

In addition to the chaos that is young children, my two batshit crazy dogs have decided to reenact Animal Planet safari expeditions in our backyard this week, and kill not one, but two baby possums, which were then deposited on our porch for my viewing pleasure. They will stay on said porch until the Hubs brings his workin' butt home and redeposits them elsewhere.

So basically, I'm flying solo and I feel like we may be approaching engine failure. Please send help.

Guilt of the Pleasureless Variety

2008-07-12T05:18:00.000-07:00

When I had my first son two years ago, I was hell-bent on doing everything *right*. Among the necessaries on my list for being the perfect mom was the importance of breastfeeding O for the first year of his life. However, O made his appearance 3 weeks early which placed him on the small side, and when the numbers on the scale kept inching downward despite around the clock feedings, even the lactation consultants were encouraging us to supplement with evil formula.

As I sat in the hospital holding a syringe of formula in my child's mouth, tears streamed down my face and I was consumed with the feeling that I had already failed as a mother. I was convinced that it was my fault that my milk took forever to come in, as if I had control over such innate bodily functions.

In order to counter my guilt in the face of formula-induced failure, I was resolute that once my milk came in, I would do everything in my power to compensate for my initial failure by exclusively breastfeeding.

After my milk finally arrived with O, he settled into a miserable schedule of hour-long around the clock feedings every two hours for five months, at which point we transitioned to around the clock feedings every three hours through his sixth month. During these feedings I constantly struggled to keep O awake and eating at the breast. After each and every feeding I spent 30 minutes pumping in an attempt to sustain my supply, which typically only garnered a few measly ounces.

Despite being so sleep deprived that I couldn't think or see straight, guilt drove me to continue exclusively breastfeeding, because that is what I was *supposed* to do if I really cared at all about what was best for my baby.

I became a slave to my son's feeding schedule. I couldn't go anywhere because by the time I finished our hour-long feeding sessions and packed us both up to head out, it was time to feed again. I truly felt imprisoned and I began to resent O, which of course brought on even more guilt.

I can't tell you how many days I fantasized about whipping open a can of Similac, handing the baby over to the Hubs, and leaving the house for a couple of hours. In my post-partum haze, however, I convinced myself that such an indulgence was selfish, which in turn made me a bad mom, which of course left me wracked with guilt rather than basking in much-needed relaxation.

Around and around I went with this destructive thought pattern fighting to get through each day of the first six months of my son's life. All the while I became more and more depressed, isolated and overwhelmed. The destruction finally came to an end when I started working six months after my son's birth. My inability to efficiently pump any meaningful amount of milk forced me to admit defeat and bust open the formula.

While you would think the end of my breastfeeding days would have brought a relief from the craziness that defined those days, instead I felt like a failure for not being able to continue breastfeeding through my son's first year of life. The insane part is that I didn't want to breastfeed for a year, I was convinced I was supposed to do so to be adequate as a mother.

Eventually I got over myself and focused my efforts on other ridiculous guilt-inducing activities, like attempting to make all of O's baby food from scratch . . . which HA, apparently fresh, local, organic homemade baby food isn't all that important if your baby is so intent on not eating it that he would rather let himself starve to death.

Anywho, when I became pregnant with #2 I promised myself that I would take a more relaxed approach to breastfeeding this go-around. While I have succeeded at being more relaxed at breastfeeding, I'm now left with guilt over my approach.

Things have been very different with Baby E. In addition to taking care of a newborn, I also have a two-year-old, a demanding job, and a husband that works 75-hour weeks with frequent nights out of town, which often leaves me playing pseudo-single-mom.

Breastfeeding with Baby E started out fine--he was a full two pounds bigger than O at birth, and as such we were all much less concerned about his weight. While a case of jaundice did force us to initially supplement, this time around I truly wasn't bothered by it. However, from the get-go I have had to contend with an energetic two-year-old's constant requests for drinks, snacks, puzzles, crayons and mainly mommy's attention, all immediately needed as soon as mommy starts feeding his little brother.

In response to the need for attention-splitting, and the guilt brought on by not being able to give my all to either child, I started occasionally supplementing bottles with Baby E after a month or so. After throwing in an occasional daytime bottle, I decided I could also accept the idea of feeding Baby E bottles at night, rather than offering him the breast. After all, I couldn't afford to be as sleep deprived as I was with the O because I have so much more on my plate. This nighttime bottle-feeding plan was firmly put in place after its trial run resulted in E regularly sleeping for NINE hours straight at six weeks old.

At eight weeks old I handed Baby E off to our amazing daycare provider, and trudged back to work. The first week back I fed Baby E from the breast first thing in the morning, pumped twice during the day, and fed Baby E from the breast immediately upon picking him up from daycare. It quickly became apparent that the morning feeding wasn't going to work. I am solo every morning and getting myself and two boys ready and out the door by 7:45 isn't feasible when you throw in a 30-40 minute feeding. Then there was the pumping, which occasionally had to be sacrificed or pushed back because of long court appearances or client consults.

As I have allowed obligations to trump milk-production, that production has dwindled to a trickle, and my son has reacted by becoming frustrated and impatient at the breast. I briefly decided to try and amp up my supply with Mothers Milk Tea, Fenugreek supplements, and more water than the Hudson River, but that lasted all of a day and a half.

So here I stand at almost 12 weeks post-partum, and I think we're officially done breastfeeding. While I want to say I'm o.k. with this early weaning, I'm fighting back the guilt once again. I feel guilty that Baby E isn't getting as much breast milk as his brother received. I feel guilty that I can't give him the same time and attention as I had with O. I know much of this is beyond my control, but I feel guilty that I allowed myself to have such a relaxed (healthy?) attitude about breastfeeding this time around.

I am trying to look at Baby E and admit that he's growing like a weed, he's healthy, and most of all he's happy. He smiles and coos more than most babies double his age, and he sleeps through the night EVERY NIGHT. I know I should count my blessings, and give myself credit for the almost 12-weeks of breastfeeding I was able to give Baby E, and so why am I left trying to push away the guilt?

Jumping Off

2008-07-11T19:49:00.000-07:00

So I guess I'm jumping into the blogging world, even though I feel a little like a college freshman staggering around campus without any idea of where the hell I'm going or why the hell I'm here.

Truth be told this I'm starting this blog mostly because I need an outlet to express my thoughts and reconnect with the writer that for so long defined me, and also because I'm too busy and too cheap for therapy.

So, we'll give this a whirl and see how it goes.