Monday, April 26, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Playground
When I tire of watching Ben slide down the slide for the forty sixth time my attention inevitably turns to my fellow park moms. Over the last two years I have noticed they can be split into distinct groups.
Pedometer Packin' Parent
These Mothers hover on the path itching to get back to their power walk. She is wearing $300.00 runners and sports a hair do above the shoulders. She snacks on LARA bars in her LU LU Lemons and drinks distilled water from a stainless steel bottle. Her children are transported in a PHIL and TED's jogging stroller, with a well behaved Goldendoodle pooch leashed to the handle. The offspring are snacking on organic granola and wearing firm arch support shoes.
Crackberry Mom
These Mothers are here...but not HERE. Blackberry is firmly in hand and multitasking is no stranger to this mom while she pushes the swing between phone calls...between emails...between pages...between tweets...between status updates...between sips from her starbucks cup. This mother is still wearing her power suit and is on her way home from the babysitter. She wears conflicted guilt on her face as she yells "Just a minute honey!" for the seventh time and pauses to order in dinner before following her youngster awkwardly in her pumps through the sand. She is snacking on half a protein bar dug out from her mother's Coach bag between calls.
The helicopter mom
This is the mom who hovers over her child. Calling out "That's too high!" "Be careful!" "Don't fall!" "Don't touch that dog!" "Don't put that in your mouth!" She begins visibly hyperventilating when she loses her preschooler for a moment from eye sight. There is a 4 second until panic timeline while she scans the play structure and clutches her heart in relief with her child emerges unscathed from behind the slide. On goes her leash, cleverly disguised as a bear on her back...with a long rope attached. She is snacking on applesauce...less of a choking risk, and rides safely in a peg per ego pram, reassured by superior European safety standards.
Perfect mom
This mom looks like she has never missed an hours sleep, despite her three little ones running around. Her home perpetually smells like apple pie and her toilets are cleaner than my dinner plates. Incredibly the sand doesn't seem to stick to her children's clothes and they continue to look scrubbed despite their active play. They remember their manners and don't even attempt to climb up the slide. One sideways glance from Mrs clever is enough of a reminder to share their buckets and shovels. They eat homemade oatmeal cookies and soy milk for snack and wear matching knit sweaters...complete with "made with love" tags in the back.
Earth Mom
She carries her infant and toddler in double mai tai carrier fashion, which she manages to do all the while tandem breastfeeding. No shoes for these tots, the baby is happy to hang out on mom's lap in little else than his "monkey bum" cloth hiney.
She smiles affectionately as her toddler eats the grass in his PETA shirt.
Trendy mom
This is the mom who is reminding the rest of us that crocks were only currant in 2008. I don't care if you ARE wearing the new mary jane version....Puh-leeeeese!
She is wearing her stone washed sevens, sports proudly, purple highlights and has a child, currently wearing an H&M polo and designer cutoffs who prefers to sit on the bench with his nintendo DS and stone slab ice cream than play tag. He is wearing vintage converse on his feet and rides home in a motorized jeep.
Trailer Mom
This is the mom in her husbands sweatpants and Garfield shirt that could fit a woman three times her size. She makes no excuses for the cigarette in one hand and the mutt on the end of a leash who nips at the ankles of anyone who walks by in the other. Her toddler sits in a Winnie the pooh umbrella stroller with the remains of her lunch adorning her face. Her hair was brushed last Wednesday. She alternates a handful of Cheetos with a sip of MacDonald's milkshake from her bottle. She wears Dora the Explorer sandals on her feet with half the straps missing.
Funny enough, the kids are oblivious as they run after one another and take no note of one another's shoes.
And where do I fit in??? I think I am little of everyone...
Pedometer Packin' Parent
These Mothers hover on the path itching to get back to their power walk. She is wearing $300.00 runners and sports a hair do above the shoulders. She snacks on LARA bars in her LU LU Lemons and drinks distilled water from a stainless steel bottle. Her children are transported in a PHIL and TED's jogging stroller, with a well behaved Goldendoodle pooch leashed to the handle. The offspring are snacking on organic granola and wearing firm arch support shoes.
Crackberry Mom
These Mothers are here...but not HERE. Blackberry is firmly in hand and multitasking is no stranger to this mom while she pushes the swing between phone calls...between emails...between pages...between tweets...between status updates...between sips from her starbucks cup. This mother is still wearing her power suit and is on her way home from the babysitter. She wears conflicted guilt on her face as she yells "Just a minute honey!" for the seventh time and pauses to order in dinner before following her youngster awkwardly in her pumps through the sand. She is snacking on half a protein bar dug out from her mother's Coach bag between calls.
The helicopter mom
This is the mom who hovers over her child. Calling out "That's too high!" "Be careful!" "Don't fall!" "Don't touch that dog!" "Don't put that in your mouth!" She begins visibly hyperventilating when she loses her preschooler for a moment from eye sight. There is a 4 second until panic timeline while she scans the play structure and clutches her heart in relief with her child emerges unscathed from behind the slide. On goes her leash, cleverly disguised as a bear on her back...with a long rope attached. She is snacking on applesauce...less of a choking risk, and rides safely in a peg per ego pram, reassured by superior European safety standards.
Perfect mom
This mom looks like she has never missed an hours sleep, despite her three little ones running around. Her home perpetually smells like apple pie and her toilets are cleaner than my dinner plates. Incredibly the sand doesn't seem to stick to her children's clothes and they continue to look scrubbed despite their active play. They remember their manners and don't even attempt to climb up the slide. One sideways glance from Mrs clever is enough of a reminder to share their buckets and shovels. They eat homemade oatmeal cookies and soy milk for snack and wear matching knit sweaters...complete with "made with love" tags in the back.
Earth Mom
She carries her infant and toddler in double mai tai carrier fashion, which she manages to do all the while tandem breastfeeding. No shoes for these tots, the baby is happy to hang out on mom's lap in little else than his "monkey bum" cloth hiney.
She smiles affectionately as her toddler eats the grass in his PETA shirt.
Trendy mom
This is the mom who is reminding the rest of us that crocks were only currant in 2008. I don't care if you ARE wearing the new mary jane version....Puh-leeeeese!
She is wearing her stone washed sevens, sports proudly, purple highlights and has a child, currently wearing an H&M polo and designer cutoffs who prefers to sit on the bench with his nintendo DS and stone slab ice cream than play tag. He is wearing vintage converse on his feet and rides home in a motorized jeep.
Trailer Mom
This is the mom in her husbands sweatpants and Garfield shirt that could fit a woman three times her size. She makes no excuses for the cigarette in one hand and the mutt on the end of a leash who nips at the ankles of anyone who walks by in the other. Her toddler sits in a Winnie the pooh umbrella stroller with the remains of her lunch adorning her face. Her hair was brushed last Wednesday. She alternates a handful of Cheetos with a sip of MacDonald's milkshake from her bottle. She wears Dora the Explorer sandals on her feet with half the straps missing.
Funny enough, the kids are oblivious as they run after one another and take no note of one another's shoes.
And where do I fit in??? I think I am little of everyone...
Three Months!
Jacob is three months old. No more newborn...we have a certifiable infant now!
1- Jacob is very active now when he is awake. He loves to kick his legs and bat around anything put in front of him.
2- Jacob is quick to smile and has just started laughing, mostly at silly noises and raspberry kisses. He thinks his brother is hilarious!(so do we).
3- Jacob is starting to mimic facial expressions which is endlessly entertaining. He tries to stick his tongue out, squint his eyes and wiggle his nose.
bonus fact...he is still stinkin' cute!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
There is a Baby in my Bed!
Ben fell into the extreme end of poor sleeper as a young baby. My anxiety about his breathing aggravated this to the point that if he was sleeping I was convinced his unconsciousness could only have resulted from lack of oxygen. I would have to drag myself out of bed to check on him. Additionally I woke multiple times in a panic throwing the bedding on the floor terrified that I had rolled over on Ben, who was not then, or ever in bed with us.
Functioning normally during a state of constant sleep deprivation is not one of my strong points. When exhaustion compounds my IQ decreases as my mood instability increases. I was, justifiably worried about a repeat of this scenario. I have been amazed then at what I found the most simple of solutions to be.
When I fell asleep with Jacob beside me the first time it was accidental, when I woke up with him stirring beside me five hours later I was shocked. This was it? I had talked to so many people about infant sleep issues I was shocked that no one had given me this simple advice. Just put him in bed with you! Jacob has slept in our bed, beside me now every night of his life. He wakes 1-3 times a night, eats quickly enough that I barely wake up and best of all I am greeted by happy coos in the early morning and a grin from a baby who never has to cry to have his needs met, he simply has to move around and I am instantly awakened enough to see what he may need. Often only the light touch of my hand is enough to reassure him back to sleep. Did I mention...I love it! I feel like a light bulb has gone off. No wonder Ben cried all night...he needed me. He was alone and afraid down the hall behind bars. Hmmmm. Sadly the light bulb did not go off then.
I thought the anxious episodes of baby smothering I would awaken to frequently would leave me unable to relax in the bed. I think however it was my subconscious overreacting when I did roll over in bed during the night in a babyless bed because he was SUPPOSE to be there and I shouldn't be rolling around. I am amazed at the connection between a sleeping mother and her baby. Dr. Sears has multiple studies and observations of this...and I have been lucky enough to experience this in the times when he holds his breath and I immediately awaken in time to hear him gasp and exhale.
In addition to the coos and smiles I wake up beside in the early morning I think that a Japanese physians anwer when asked about the high rate of co sleeping in asia sums up my feelings "A baby is too precious to ever be left alone".
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The Bath Strike is Over!
I am proud to say that Ben is over the bath strike FINALLY!
There is also a second new bath lover in our house...
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
An Interview With My Favorite Two Year Old
Benjamin, 32 months old.
Hi Ben. Can I ask you some questions?
Sure.
How old are you?
Five.
Are you five, or are you TWO?
No, I am five.
What is your favorite colour?
Blue. And red...and yellow. Actually ALL the colours!Oh and Bulldozers.
Where is Daddy?
He's at work.
What does Daddy do at work?
He plays with Racecars.
Does Mommy work?
Um...no. (Oh really? So your conveniently clean clothes just magically put themselves on you and your breakfast just appeared in front of you...good to know.)
What does Mommy do?
Um. I don't know. (Really? I could give you 10000 suggestions?)
What is your favorite song?
Tick Tock and Twinkle Twinkle.
INTERMISSION (while Ben sings every song he knows...)
What is your favorite food?
Meatballs and kiwi
Together?
Sure. (I'll keep that in mind)
What toys do you like to play with?
I like to play with KIDS!
Okay, with kids. What toys do you like to play with kids?
Garage and run and chase and "tiger"
Do you play these games at preschool?
Sure.
What do you want to do for a job when you are big like Daddy?
I will drive a dump truck and a bulldozer.
Do you want to be a doctor? (He is wearing the stethoscope from his Dr. kit during the interview).
Um. No.
Why are you wearing a stethoscope then?
I just like it.
What is your favorite animal?
He names every animal he can think of, starting with sheep and ending with ladybugs.
Wow. You really like animals.
Yes. I do.
Maybe you want to be a doctor for animals? That is called a veterinarian.
Um. No thanks.
What do you like to watch on TV?
Max and ruby and little bear, then I have my bottle?
Yes, after little bear you have your nap.
What we will do after my nap? (Hey...I thought I was asking the questions?!)
What do you want to do ? (I learned that from Oprah...)
Go to the tractor store.
When daddy comes home (from playing with his race cars...) we can.
Hey Ben?
Yes?
Thanks for the interview.
Your welcome.
Can I have a hug?
No.
Friday, April 9, 2010
A Day At The Park
The Easter Bunny brought Ben (and Daddy) a kite. Saturday was the perfect day to fly it. It was refreshing to see no matter the game consoles, 3d movies, IPADS or other impressive technologies available that a kite in a clear blue sky will still draw a crowd of all ages.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Coming Back
To say I have struggled with my weight for most of my life would be an understatement. I have been at war with it. There is a a discrepancy between the person I want to be and the person who keeps a little more junk in the truck than I would like.
The first time I remember feeling "fat" was at the age of ten. I was running down the soccer field and could feel my once knobby knees, now fleshier, rubbing together. I consciously thought "huh. This must mean I am fat".
The kids on the bus noticed this around the same time.
Through middle and high school my weight fluctuated from dangerously low to equally high. I was either gaunt and sickly looking in my yearbook pictures or drowning in so much excess I am barely recognizable.
I thought I found health in university when I finally was able to maintain a healthy weight. this was achieved through exercise. This is where the war begins. I needed to be down and dirty, in the trenches to be there. It was a fight. A six day a week, two hour a day fight to maintain. But holly minestrone I felt awesome and dare I say didn't look half bad either. I felt, for the first time like myself. I developed a degree of confidence I didn't have previously, a sense of worth and general feeling of wellness, SUPER wellness even. I was happy. And I was in love. Life was pretty near perfect.
The day before my wedding I stepped on to the elliptical machine to do my daily 2 hour work out. I left glowing, sipping my protein drink and jogged to the car, adrenaline still flowing.
I never went back.
Jon and I got married, moved into together, went on a two week honeymoon, I started a new job and then within months I was pregnant. Somewhere in there my routine was lost and with that I lost that person.
I miss her.
I am still happy, still in love and life is still pretty near perfect. But to say that a woman's quality of life isn't just a little bit tied to the size of her jeans would be a lie.
This week I signed back up at that same gym. It is time to get it back, get me back.
I hit rock bottom when I had to go to a specialty plus size store to buy work out clothes. I admit, I hesitated to open the door.
The cashier smiled at me as she folded my purchases.
"Do you have your store card?"
"No."
"oh, here. Sign up today and you can save 10% on today's purchase". She tried to hand me the forms to sign.
"Oh no thank you".
"Are you sure? It's a good savings, you just have to sign here..."
"-No. Really, but thank you".
I had to bite my lip from explaining...
"you see I don't really belong here. This is simply an unfortunate TEMPORARY condition. This is a glitch, not in the plan. What you see in front of you? This is not me. I don't hesitate to play with my son on the floor because it will be a struggle to jump up again. I am not exhausted by 4 in the afternoon. I don't eat kit kats while watching The Biggest Loser. I don't avoid going out to my favorite places in fear of running into someone I know who has to hide the flicker of surprise when they see how i have let myself go. I don't have to lock the bathroom door when I shower in fear that J may open the door and discover back boobs that I otherwise hope to have hidden successfully if only with my own denial of such hellaciousness. I don't wear maternity clothes until my baby is walking. I don't have headaches and backaches and feel perpetually cranky at this state. This was a mistake. So you see, I won't be needing your card."
Then I went to the gym.
The last time I was there I ran for 30 minutes on the treadmill, did 30 minutes of weight training and topped it off with an easy 45 on the elliptical.
Last night I did fifteen minutes on the eliptical...while dripping sweat I did fifteen more minutes of weights and then came home to do floor work because I was too ashamed to struggle through it with an audience. I was able to do two of Jon's kung fu sit ups (which I believe were invented in a torture camp). Yes. Two.
It was a wake up call. I needed it. And I can do this.
I have three pretty darn good reasons to suck it up and do it, even though I can't move most of my upper body today, it s hard, and I don't want to go through the motions of the process right now, they are reason enough. And more.
My boys deserve a mother. They deserve a mother who loves them enough to love herself; to take care of herself like she takes care of them. They deserve a mother who is energetic, fit, healthy and living what she teaches them.
My husband deserves a wife who is happy, enthusiastic, without complaint, able to keep up with him, and without back boobs. Darnit.
So here I go.
The first time I remember feeling "fat" was at the age of ten. I was running down the soccer field and could feel my once knobby knees, now fleshier, rubbing together. I consciously thought "huh. This must mean I am fat".
The kids on the bus noticed this around the same time.
Through middle and high school my weight fluctuated from dangerously low to equally high. I was either gaunt and sickly looking in my yearbook pictures or drowning in so much excess I am barely recognizable.
I thought I found health in university when I finally was able to maintain a healthy weight. this was achieved through exercise. This is where the war begins. I needed to be down and dirty, in the trenches to be there. It was a fight. A six day a week, two hour a day fight to maintain. But holly minestrone I felt awesome and dare I say didn't look half bad either. I felt, for the first time like myself. I developed a degree of confidence I didn't have previously, a sense of worth and general feeling of wellness, SUPER wellness even. I was happy. And I was in love. Life was pretty near perfect.
The day before my wedding I stepped on to the elliptical machine to do my daily 2 hour work out. I left glowing, sipping my protein drink and jogged to the car, adrenaline still flowing.
I never went back.
Jon and I got married, moved into together, went on a two week honeymoon, I started a new job and then within months I was pregnant. Somewhere in there my routine was lost and with that I lost that person.
I miss her.
I am still happy, still in love and life is still pretty near perfect. But to say that a woman's quality of life isn't just a little bit tied to the size of her jeans would be a lie.
This week I signed back up at that same gym. It is time to get it back, get me back.
I hit rock bottom when I had to go to a specialty plus size store to buy work out clothes. I admit, I hesitated to open the door.
The cashier smiled at me as she folded my purchases.
"Do you have your store card?"
"No."
"oh, here. Sign up today and you can save 10% on today's purchase". She tried to hand me the forms to sign.
"Oh no thank you".
"Are you sure? It's a good savings, you just have to sign here..."
"-No. Really, but thank you".
I had to bite my lip from explaining...
"you see I don't really belong here. This is simply an unfortunate TEMPORARY condition. This is a glitch, not in the plan. What you see in front of you? This is not me. I don't hesitate to play with my son on the floor because it will be a struggle to jump up again. I am not exhausted by 4 in the afternoon. I don't eat kit kats while watching The Biggest Loser. I don't avoid going out to my favorite places in fear of running into someone I know who has to hide the flicker of surprise when they see how i have let myself go. I don't have to lock the bathroom door when I shower in fear that J may open the door and discover back boobs that I otherwise hope to have hidden successfully if only with my own denial of such hellaciousness. I don't wear maternity clothes until my baby is walking. I don't have headaches and backaches and feel perpetually cranky at this state. This was a mistake. So you see, I won't be needing your card."
Then I went to the gym.
The last time I was there I ran for 30 minutes on the treadmill, did 30 minutes of weight training and topped it off with an easy 45 on the elliptical.
Last night I did fifteen minutes on the eliptical...while dripping sweat I did fifteen more minutes of weights and then came home to do floor work because I was too ashamed to struggle through it with an audience. I was able to do two of Jon's kung fu sit ups (which I believe were invented in a torture camp). Yes. Two.
It was a wake up call. I needed it. And I can do this.
I have three pretty darn good reasons to suck it up and do it, even though I can't move most of my upper body today, it s hard, and I don't want to go through the motions of the process right now, they are reason enough. And more.
My boys deserve a mother. They deserve a mother who loves them enough to love herself; to take care of herself like she takes care of them. They deserve a mother who is energetic, fit, healthy and living what she teaches them.
My husband deserves a wife who is happy, enthusiastic, without complaint, able to keep up with him, and without back boobs. Darnit.
So here I go.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Happy Easter
It was a full weekend!
We ate. We saw family. We hunted. We indulged. We remembered. We rejoiced.
The Plea- Post Edit.
Thank you to all who commented, through the comments section, email and facebook. It is true I keep this blog for me. It is treasured, as I can look back at any month in my son's lives and see what they were doing. My memory couldn't hold all of these precious and fleeting moments and I am grateful for my computer that is more proficient in that way. It would be less than truthful however to say I don't put myself and my family "out there" for others too see and read about because obviously my blog remains "public" and is available to anyone. In this I had to think that other must have thoughts, opinions or ideas about what I write about just as I do when I read others (and, I'll have you know...I always comment...because everyone wants to know what I am thinking, right???) and I am curious to know... that is all. I love the feedback, thank you!
J xo
J xo
Thursday, April 1, 2010
A Sad Narcissist
There are two kinds of people; those who keep a blog and those who do not.
I obviously am the first. To fall into this category, that is to keep a public blog specifically means you also identify with a higher than average degree of narcissistic tendencies. You must feel the need to not only record your every thought but to also assume that others are hanging off your every word and think you are as witty as you do.
But then....there is a day of reckoning for every blogger. A sad day where the blinders come off and you have to accept a reality that you have tried to fight, change and deny. It is like that pair of jeans you thought your butt looked super hot in only to later see pictures of Aunt Rose's 80th birthday and have to accept that the woman in the saggy Mom jeans is you...
I feel that time has come with the ol blog.
for three years I have written on average three posts a week so as not to disappoint a (soon to be) loyal fan base...when they begin to flock in droves to the witty, insightful and creative zone known as JJandB (what is the B for you may ask? It started as Bayley...then became Ben...now it stands for Boys!). But I fear my popularity level is not nearly what I had hoped. There are two signs you are a popular blogger...one- your "followers" are overflowing and your "comments" section requires you to book time in the afternoon just to be able to get through them all.
Some popular blogs I read have followers in the thousands and comments in the hundreds. Sob.
I have ten followers.
I get virtually no comments.
ARE YOU OUT THERE????
Please if you are...let me know.
If I don't know you... that would make me even happier...it would mean someone told you about me or that you stumbled across this site accidentally and...stayed!!!
it would make my day...add a little skip to my step...
If I write something that makes you think, or feel or laugh, tell me! Did I say something way out of left field...too many cliches? My grammar is atrocious... I know, but would love to be reminded. Did you totally disagree with something I said? Did I potentially offend you mistakenly...please click on comment and tell me where to go, it will make my day, seriously.
Am I like an American Idol hopeful, who practiced for weeks, dreamed the dream for years and then got blasted on national television and made a fool of with horrible off key writing and tone deaf prose? Are people wondering, like I am as I watch these people humiliate themselves with their perceived talent where on earth their loved ones were to tell them before appearing on the show..."remember when we told you you were awesome? Well really we meant in every other way but this one!". Say it ain't so!
Jon says this post was pathetic.
yup.
please follow... please comment...
I obviously am the first. To fall into this category, that is to keep a public blog specifically means you also identify with a higher than average degree of narcissistic tendencies. You must feel the need to not only record your every thought but to also assume that others are hanging off your every word and think you are as witty as you do.
But then....there is a day of reckoning for every blogger. A sad day where the blinders come off and you have to accept a reality that you have tried to fight, change and deny. It is like that pair of jeans you thought your butt looked super hot in only to later see pictures of Aunt Rose's 80th birthday and have to accept that the woman in the saggy Mom jeans is you...
I feel that time has come with the ol blog.
for three years I have written on average three posts a week so as not to disappoint a (soon to be) loyal fan base...when they begin to flock in droves to the witty, insightful and creative zone known as JJandB (what is the B for you may ask? It started as Bayley...then became Ben...now it stands for Boys!). But I fear my popularity level is not nearly what I had hoped. There are two signs you are a popular blogger...one- your "followers" are overflowing and your "comments" section requires you to book time in the afternoon just to be able to get through them all.
Some popular blogs I read have followers in the thousands and comments in the hundreds. Sob.
I have ten followers.
I get virtually no comments.
ARE YOU OUT THERE????
Please if you are...let me know.
If I don't know you... that would make me even happier...it would mean someone told you about me or that you stumbled across this site accidentally and...stayed!!!
it would make my day...add a little skip to my step...
If I write something that makes you think, or feel or laugh, tell me! Did I say something way out of left field...too many cliches? My grammar is atrocious... I know, but would love to be reminded. Did you totally disagree with something I said? Did I potentially offend you mistakenly...please click on comment and tell me where to go, it will make my day, seriously.
Am I like an American Idol hopeful, who practiced for weeks, dreamed the dream for years and then got blasted on national television and made a fool of with horrible off key writing and tone deaf prose? Are people wondering, like I am as I watch these people humiliate themselves with their perceived talent where on earth their loved ones were to tell them before appearing on the show..."remember when we told you you were awesome? Well really we meant in every other way but this one!". Say it ain't so!
Jon says this post was pathetic.
yup.
please follow... please comment...
It's Raining Babies
I had a dream last week. Then I had it again last night.
A baby was handed to me after what seemed to be a pleasant labor experience (I even had a fresh pedicure...you must have one before delivery...your feet are the only things that will look pretty when your done so it is important, I am glad my subconscious remembered).
"It's a boy!" The midwife handed him to Jon. He looked like Ben...and Jake...big surprise.
"Joshua!" Jon said, and passed him to me.
"I was waiting". He squeaked at me (the baby, not Jon).
And then I kissed him, even though he was still slimy. (You don't think that is gross when it is your baby...)
I woke again, to the newborn I ALREADY have and silently argued with God, angels, the universe, my biological urge to procreate and my subconscious for producing this recurring dream and having me awake to arms that ache for a baby, as I was holding one.
Okay Okay! I surrender...I want more babies! Stop giving me dreams of future talking newborns!
I don't think we are done... I maybe briefly entertained the thought of two children completing me last week...thus triggering this retaliation of the aforementioned forces. It was simply out of ease I was fantasizing about the completion of our family. I wouldn't have to gain any more weight...I have two arms, hands and knees to plunk children on, there is one child for each parent which makes trips to the zoo easier...meat pies come in boxes of four. Um. That was about all I came up with.
There are more compelling reasons to have more, and it makes me feel sad for those who say to me after they have asked me the "how many" question,
"You'll stop after you have a girl though right?"
"I think you'll change your mind...just wait for (insert any of the following)
terrible two's, school, teenagers, teething, driving, expenses..."
"Wow, wouldn't that be expensive"?
"you're braver than me"!
"Good luck to you!"
"What does your husband think?"
"Why on earth would you want to have that many children"?
So in response...
I would love a girl, I would love her like I love my boys...only she would wear pink and have a bow in her hair, a big one...always. I may love her so much I would want another...so no perhaps I would not stop after I had a girl.
I think "this too shall pass" many times, and more frequently as we have found ourselves smack in the middle of those infamous "two's". they are terrific more so than they are terrible however so I have to imagine that the other "risks" of parenting will be much the same.
Children are as expensive as you make them. For example I only feed mine twice a day and they seem to do alright. Kidding... I feed them once.
Okay seriously, I would rival someone who claims they could stretch a dollar further than me...I have great good deal karma. It is a talent...that I use for good...I would spent less money on ten children than most spend on two and the talent part is that you would never know it...because I still want my ninth child to wear Gymboree clothes, will still insist on organic, free range chicken on our dinner table and will still change our interior accent colour every season...Yup, I am good I tell ya!
I would not be brave to have a home busting with children...I would be blessed (I could not write that in a way that didn't ooze with eye rolling corniness..I tried).
I would not need luck to have more children. I need confidence, otherwise I wouldn't do it. I think raising children (as I may have mentioned a time or two before) is the most rewarding, challenging, exciting and important job there is and I take it seriously. Jon and I are committed to raising confident, tolerant, capable, charitable, intelligent, educated, secure, productive and happy adults. This is no small job description. I wouldn't jump on board each time without the assurance that we are once again offering the best we have to offer (so hats off to you Michelle Duggar, the saint that you are...we won't be going there!).
My husband thinks we have the most incredible, brilliant, beautiful children God has put on this earth. He thinks we must have done something right to have received both of them! He says the more the merrier... but puts his foot down at buying one of those 9 passenger vans with Christian family camp bumper stickers all over the back... you know the ones I am talking about...to that I agree.
And my favorite...
Why would I want more children? Well, obviously to have asked in the first place you have not been the lucky recipient of a conversation with the endlessly charming Benjamin or had the pleasure of feeling the soft weight of Jacob's wrinkly baby bum in the palm of your hand while his head rests firmly on your chest, close enough to you that you can feel his heartbeat against yours. These are moments life was made for. So in short, why wouldn't I?
PS... I am not pregnant...
A baby was handed to me after what seemed to be a pleasant labor experience (I even had a fresh pedicure...you must have one before delivery...your feet are the only things that will look pretty when your done so it is important, I am glad my subconscious remembered).
"It's a boy!" The midwife handed him to Jon. He looked like Ben...and Jake...big surprise.
"Joshua!" Jon said, and passed him to me.
"I was waiting". He squeaked at me (the baby, not Jon).
And then I kissed him, even though he was still slimy. (You don't think that is gross when it is your baby...)
I woke again, to the newborn I ALREADY have and silently argued with God, angels, the universe, my biological urge to procreate and my subconscious for producing this recurring dream and having me awake to arms that ache for a baby, as I was holding one.
Okay Okay! I surrender...I want more babies! Stop giving me dreams of future talking newborns!
I don't think we are done... I maybe briefly entertained the thought of two children completing me last week...thus triggering this retaliation of the aforementioned forces. It was simply out of ease I was fantasizing about the completion of our family. I wouldn't have to gain any more weight...I have two arms, hands and knees to plunk children on, there is one child for each parent which makes trips to the zoo easier...meat pies come in boxes of four. Um. That was about all I came up with.
There are more compelling reasons to have more, and it makes me feel sad for those who say to me after they have asked me the "how many" question,
"You'll stop after you have a girl though right?"
"I think you'll change your mind...just wait for (insert any of the following)
terrible two's, school, teenagers, teething, driving, expenses..."
"Wow, wouldn't that be expensive"?
"you're braver than me"!
"Good luck to you!"
"What does your husband think?"
"Why on earth would you want to have that many children"?
So in response...
I would love a girl, I would love her like I love my boys...only she would wear pink and have a bow in her hair, a big one...always. I may love her so much I would want another...so no perhaps I would not stop after I had a girl.
I think "this too shall pass" many times, and more frequently as we have found ourselves smack in the middle of those infamous "two's". they are terrific more so than they are terrible however so I have to imagine that the other "risks" of parenting will be much the same.
Children are as expensive as you make them. For example I only feed mine twice a day and they seem to do alright. Kidding... I feed them once.
Okay seriously, I would rival someone who claims they could stretch a dollar further than me...I have great good deal karma. It is a talent...that I use for good...I would spent less money on ten children than most spend on two and the talent part is that you would never know it...because I still want my ninth child to wear Gymboree clothes, will still insist on organic, free range chicken on our dinner table and will still change our interior accent colour every season...Yup, I am good I tell ya!
I would not be brave to have a home busting with children...I would be blessed (I could not write that in a way that didn't ooze with eye rolling corniness..I tried).
I would not need luck to have more children. I need confidence, otherwise I wouldn't do it. I think raising children (as I may have mentioned a time or two before) is the most rewarding, challenging, exciting and important job there is and I take it seriously. Jon and I are committed to raising confident, tolerant, capable, charitable, intelligent, educated, secure, productive and happy adults. This is no small job description. I wouldn't jump on board each time without the assurance that we are once again offering the best we have to offer (so hats off to you Michelle Duggar, the saint that you are...we won't be going there!).
My husband thinks we have the most incredible, brilliant, beautiful children God has put on this earth. He thinks we must have done something right to have received both of them! He says the more the merrier... but puts his foot down at buying one of those 9 passenger vans with Christian family camp bumper stickers all over the back... you know the ones I am talking about...to that I agree.
And my favorite...
Why would I want more children? Well, obviously to have asked in the first place you have not been the lucky recipient of a conversation with the endlessly charming Benjamin or had the pleasure of feeling the soft weight of Jacob's wrinkly baby bum in the palm of your hand while his head rests firmly on your chest, close enough to you that you can feel his heartbeat against yours. These are moments life was made for. So in short, why wouldn't I?
PS... I am not pregnant...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
