Happy Thanksgiving! I haven't really gotten my blogging groove back yet since having Gregor, but I have not forgotten about this little spot I have here. I often think of writing about some crazy ideas that I have been mulling over in my mind, or throwing together a photo post full of my messy studio and my ragamuffin kids, but by the end of the day there is little time, and with the holidays approaching, or well, with them being here, I am finding myself spending the late hours of the night and wee hours of the morning in my studio sewing away. 

Chloe's first Thanksgiving Day Parade

But Thanksgiving, yes, Thanksgiving Day. It's tomorrow! We are going to be heading to the parade in the morning, and by "we" I mean myself and my sister and our kids. This will be my third year attending the parade, and I have learned a few things about toting kids to a parade in the cold. So, I thought I would kill a few birds with one stone: I would break my blogging silence, procrastinate prepping my thanksgiving foods, and share my tips on toting your littles in the cold to parades, or whatever holiday events you may have lined up for you. These are things I have learned from experience, and like all these types of posts, it all depends on you and your kids, and your event, and what will work for you... this is what has worked for us:

1- Set out your clothes the night before. We are going to be leaving the house a lot earlier than usual, and catching the train, so being able to get everyone ready quickly is key. Having everything set aside and ready helps to avoid scrambling to find her gloves, or his hat. Also, having the diaper bag ready to go will cut down on last minute chaos as you run out the door, and give you a little peace of mind.

2. Everyone potty before you leave. Chlo hates public rest rooms... I don't like them either, but she freaks out in them, even if she is not using them and just going along for the trip. So, I always make sure I try to limit her fluids before we leave, and see that she uses the toilet right before we walk out the door. While we are out, I try to save snacks and drinks for later in our travels if I can. Anything to avoid needing to use a public rest-room. 

3. When it comes to food, try to bring something quick and easy. Think granola bar, apples, pretzel sticks in a little container... something that is easy, portable, and not very messy.  One year I made and brought white chocolate cranberry scones. They were bomb - sooo delicious! But they got crumbs everywhere! Another year I brought my own coffee, which wound up spilling all over the floor of the train. I learned that there just are not enough hands to manage a toddler, a stroller, diaper bag, and my coffee on a train. But, there is always someone selling coffee somewhere. Yeah, it might cost a bit more, and it might not be as good as your own, but I found it more enjoyable to buy a cup on the go, once we are off the train, instead of needing to worry about spilling it all over. If you are really set on using a certain travel mug, you could always bring it along empty and stop when you are off the train to have it filled.

4. Take public transportation, if you can. Chloe loooooves going on the train, and looks forward to this trip for weeks, just because of the train. Taking the train gets us right where we need to be without worrying about finding a parking spot, feeding a meter, and needing to walk however many blocks. Plus, in my humble opinion, taking the train adds to the whole parade going experience. It is really quite fun to sit with your kids on the train and not need to worry about driving.

5. Bring a stroller, even if you kid hasn't used a stroller for like a year. My niece who is six, and has not used a stroller for many years, still appreciates being able to take a sit in the stroller with a warm blanket wrapped around her, while we are at the parade. If the kid will fit in a stroller, take it along. I plan on bringing my Maclaren because it is light enough to carry up and down stairs in the train station. Gregor will be in the baby carrier during the parade in order to keep him warm, and keep me from needing to drag along the double stroller. 

My niece Mackenzie, and Chloe, in their strollers, keeping warm.

6. Dress warm! Dress in layers, bring a blanket, or two, for your little one in the stroller. Buy some hand-warmers to keep in your pockets, and in theirs. It might not seem too cold out, but once you are on the street for a couple hours you will appreciate any warmth that you can get. 

7. Bring a buddy. My sister has gone with me the past two years. We keep each other company, have a great time making some memories, and help with each other's kids. This allows for us to take turns using the bathroom , or grab a cup of coffee without needing to drag a kid with us. I have a feeling we will look back on these trips together, despite them being a bit crazy and cold some years, as warm memories - and in the end, that is what these holiday traditions are all about.

Are you heading to the parade this year? Will you be watching on the television from the comfort of your living room? Will you be traveling? I hope wherever you are, that you have a very happy thanksgiving holiday!



one of my online dating profile photos. circa 2007.

I once signed up for a rather popular online dating service. I was twenty-five years old and had recently split from my husband, ending a five year marriage that had felt doomed from the beginning. I had married young at the age of nineteen, and early on recognized that I may not have made the best decision. Still, I trudged through and kept on with it for a while, trying every healthy marriage trick in the book, then counseling, and finally making my exit. Through it all I never really thought about how unhappy I was. In hindsight I can now see how I mourned my disintegrating marriage long before I pulled the plug on it.

So when the dust kind of settled, and I was left spending my days either alone at my apartment, at work in the hospital, or at nursing school, and  after I had decided that I didn’t want to date either of the two available men in my nursing classes, or anyone at the hospital even if they were a doctor, or would be one day, I came to the conclusion that I needed to figure out a way to meet men.  An easy enough conclusion to come to as a newly single twenty-five year old, but for someone who never really dated, and had been married for just about her entire adult life, it seemed crazy to just go out and meet men.  After hearing me complain and rant about how impossible it would be to ever meet anyone, my good friend recommended that I try an online dating service. I was skeptical at first, but she convinced me, assuring me that many people meet online. And it made sense: as long as I was careful, I might be able to meet someone that I really liked, or maybe just go on a few nice dates with random okay-ish men, and if things didn't go well, they were far enough removed from my social circle that I wouldn't need to encounter them again. Also, I needed some dating experience, and the service was free.

So one night I uploaded a few photos and made a profile. If you like to blog, then making a dating profile is possibly one of the most enjoyable things to write. I took the opportunity to explain all the silly little things I like, and list bands and movies I love, and write about how I want to have fun, but not too much fun. I wanted to sound likable, but quirky… so in case I wasn’t actually likable, I had an excuse. I channeled my inner Holly Golightly, Amelie, and Kathleen Kelly, and edited and re-wrote for hours before submitting the profile and turning off the computer for the night. I woke up the next morning to see that I had like twenty “winks” and a few e-mails. I was shocked.

I began going on dates. Sometimes I would talk to the guy on the phone before going on the date, other times I would just agree to meet (somewhere very public and safe) before talking on the phone. I would often drive to wherever I was going to meet, park somewhere a few blocks away, and then show up at the restaurant or bar we had decided on. This way I could walk away from the date, and disappear, and they wouldn't know my license plate number. Because, God forbid they know my license plate number. Still, this felt safer to me.

I met John at a popular place down on South Street. I knew that the restaurant would be crowded even on a week-day evening. I had been on a few dates before this, and was feeling okay about this one. His profile sounded a bit generic, and in his photos he looked pretty average - medium height and build with dark hair and eyes, often wearing a polo shirt and jeans with a belt. The shirt was tucked in - you could see the belt… ugh. Still, he sounded nice, even on the phone. He was from South Philadelphia, and you could hear it in his voice. He seemed polite and maybe even a little boring, but one of my goals was to meet nice people. Even if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life, or even another date, with them.

When I walked into the restaurant he was sitting at the bar. He stood up to greet me, and despite the tucked in polo, and jeans buckled with a belt, I was surprised to find him more attractive than his photos. He had nice eyes, and a good smile. We sat at the bar and began to talk. He asked me many questions, told me about himself, his work (jeweler), his apartment (Art Museum Area-ish?), and really won me over when he started telling me how he got over being shy. He explained to me that he used to be cripplingly shy and very awkward, but decided one day that he was going to be like Carry Grant, instead of being shy.  Just like that! How hilarious! How awesome! This guy had just gone up a few notches. We continued to talk, and my interest in him continued to grow. I imagined where we might go on our next date…and entertained the thought of  watching old movies together and ordering pizza. He was not only better-looking than I had hoped, but more interesting, and funny. Downright hilarious, and he seemed to like me too.

Before I knew it we had spent just about two hours talking. I was having a great time talking to him, and everything was going so well. This was certainly one of the best first dates I had been on, and I wanted to let him know that I was as into him as a girl could be for a first date. So, I leaned towards him flirtatiously, smiled, and said, “You are really funny. You make me laugh.”

To which he replied, “Thanks. You are really pretty. You make me want to cut your head off”

WHAT THE HELL? I straightened up in my barstool, smiled, now sheepishly, and jokingly pushed his beer a few inches away from him. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond… but I figured I would give him a chance to redeem himself. I mean, maybe he was nervous… but then,

“Yeah, I could totally chop your head off and put it in the freezer, you are so pretty.”

I am not quite sure what happened after that point. The date kind of ended there for me. I think I might have agreed to meet him again soon, or told him I would call him once I got home… I thought it might be best to just seem as agreeable as possible, and that my life may depend on it. I declined his offer to walk me to my car, and gave him a small, forced, hug before I left. The hug felt so awkward to me, but I told myself I needed to, for my safety. It was better to keep a psychopath happy than to upset them, right?

On my drive home I tried to rationalize it all. I mean, he was trying to be funny, right? He might have been nervous and unsure of what to say. Maybe he has a weird sense of humor. Some of my favorite people have weird, and sometimes sick senses of humor. But the fact that he paired a compliment with a threat to cut off my head…. and that he said it twice. The fact that he felt comfortable enough to say this on a first date. I just couldn’t bring myself to terms with it. But then I felt so torn, because I had been having such a nice time, and he was really funny, and maybe I would give him one more chance. But then I thought, what if the situation was reversed? What if he had been me, and I him? If I had told him he was so handsome that I wanted to mame him and keep him in my basement? No, I don't think it would have gone over half as well as I allowed it to.

I told friends about the date, and they totally agreed with my decision. I told my mom and she thought I should give him another chance... which also validated my decision.

I ignored his phone calls, and left his e-mails unanswered. I blocked him on the dating website so he could no longer see my profile. He called me six months later and I answered not recognizing the number. He called twice, first calling and telling me he had the wrong number, and then calling back a few minutes later to ask me what had happened. I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, but I simply told him that I had met someone, and wished him the best in meeting someone as well…

you know, like no hard feelings... just want to keep my head on my body. that's all.


alright, so it's time to play catch-up. however, instead of a lengthy post detailing all the boring day to day stuff we have been doing (read: nursing a newborn, doing laundry, and taking walks), I thought I would just share some stories over a few posts to let you in on some of the highlights.

This first one is just about the funny things that Chlo has said and done over the past couple weeks. It has been funny to see her grow up and start to figure out the world around her. She is curious, and her reasoning for the things she says and does can be very entertaining, and sometimes even enlightening.

The other night I was making dinner and she had taken my mesh strainer. She started walking around the dining room table holding it in front of her. I asked her what she was doing and she replied, "I'm going to catch some hard noodles! I am going to catch them and cook them!"

you had better watch out hard noodles!

If I leave the bathroom she will now ask me if I peed. If I tell her I did, she will clap her hands and cheer, or just say "Good job mommy. You did really great."

She has developed a fascination with teeth. With people losing them, and the tooth-fairy, and the whole bit. She loves it. When we brought home Gregor she very quickly assessed his tooth situation and let me know that his teeth already fallen out, and asked if the tooth-fairy would come for him.

She is also fascinated with the sun. At the end of the day it is not unusual for her to say her good-nights to the setting sun, or for her to insist that the sun wants to eat almonds, or for her to talk about how she, with her own hands, "turns the sun around and around"... I have no idea where she gets these things. 

 what it looks like to "turn the sun"

There was an afternoon a few weeks ago when her and I went blue-berry picking together. We brought the blueberries home, and we were sitting at the table eating them. I noticed that they were the same color blue as her eyes. I held one up to the side of her face and told her she had "blueberry eyes". She looked at me and quickly replied "and you have broccoli eyes!"

my dirty-faced, blueberry-eyed love.

sidenote: after I told Christian about the whole blueberry/broccoli eyes thing, he showed me this (skip and start it at about 1:10):

and back to Chlo...
These days her favorite toys to carry around are her collection of stuffed "angry birds". These are her most prized possessions. She plays with them the way other children may play with baby-dolls or action figures. She takes them to the doctors, puts them to bed, does their hair, and feeds them. What do the birds eat? They eat eggs, of course!

And she is still all about bugs. Today we went for a walk to the local produce shop nearby our house. She has been talking about crickets and grasshoppers all summer, but has yet to actually see one. I noticed a small dead grasshopper on the sidewalk and stooped down to show it to chloe. I figured it might be as close as she gets to seeing one this year. She loved it... but didn't grasp that it was dead despite me explaining it to her quite a few times. She is at a very magical age, and doesn't understand "dead" yet. So she talked to her new friend... about it's friends, and it's family... and she talked to the grasshopper for a good while. Dead grasshoppers are real good listeners. I finally told her the grasshopper needed to leave, picked it up, and put it back into the grass. She said goodbye and told me she could hear it talking.

Oh Chlo...

my chlo, on a typical day, dirty and eating an apple.


The night before Gregor arrived I sat in my bed with a young adult fiction book ("Looking for Alaska" by John Green, if you must know), and my laptop open, with facebook pulled up. I smiled and "wrote" on my facebook:

"Sometimes I feel like I am going to be pregnant forever, and then I go to bed."

I couldn't help but to laugh at it, because I did feel like I was going to be pregnant, forever... or like I had already been pregnant forever. I didn't remember what my body felt or looked like, not pregnant. I had become really comfortable with my belly - maybe too comfortable. I frequently walked around my home in nothing more than underwear and tee-shirts.

In some ways, I loved being pregnant, and while this pregnancy had not been as easy as my first, I was still very happy. Even if I didn't always let on that I was, or seem overtly enthusiastic about it all. I had aches, and swelling, and I kept finding tiny stretch marks hiding where they thought I would never look (I shouldn't have!). But, I loved how this baby felt different than Chloe had felt inside me. I loved nesting. I loved seeing my belly grow and I loved how ridiculous it looked and felt to me. So while I was tired, and growing more uncomfortable each day, I was trying my hardest to be patient and trying to savor my last days of pregnancy. 

But, yeah, there was part of me that just wanted this baby to be out.

That night though, I felt pretty okay about being pregnant for a few more days. Maybe even a week or two more. I had passed the thirty-eight week mark, and while I thought I was ready, I knew that I had it in me to wait a bit longer, if I needed to. I had come this far, and I could make it. I was in a good mood.

I read that book until I reached the back cover, turned the light off, and went to bed. I slept the entire night without waking up even once to pee. When I did wake up, it was still early. I remembered that it was trash day and threw on some pants so that I could drag the trash-can and recycle bins to the curb. It was beautiful outside. August had been pretty hot and muggy, but on this morning it was the perfect combination of cool and sunny. I thought about taking Chloe to pick peaches. She had been asking to, and because of the weather, and how uncomfortable I had become, with contractions coming and going each day, I hadn't been able to take her. I stood on the front porch and decided when she got up I would take her to the orchard and pick peaches.

I thought about the name "Peach" as a middle name for a girl, if we had a girl. We had two girl names picked out, but coming up with a middle name for either one was a struggle. If I were to go into labor on the full moon (which had already passed by that time), and we had a girl, her name would have been "Audrey Moon". I really liked the name "Holland" though, and I let the name "Holland Peach" roll around my mind for a bit.

I went back up to bed and called Christian, who had worked overnight and would be coming home shortly. I let him know that I took out the trash, and mentioned the name "Holland Peach", and asked him if he could bring me home something for breakfast - a bagel or something. He said he would be home shortly and we hung up. I laid in bed for a bit longer, until I heard Chloe call me from her room, announcing that she was up. I sat up in bed and my body began to leak.

The water trickled out of me slowly. I froze for a second, still trying to figure out what was going on, and then I waddled as quickly as I could to the closet to get a towel, and then to the bathroom. I cleaned up quickly, as Chloe was still calling for me from her room, threw a hand-towel in my underwear and waddled in to get her. We both went to my room to call Christian and let him know my water had broke. Then I started to strip the bed and clean up. Chloe asked me if I peed the bed. I told her I hadn't, but that my water broke. She replied "Oh, you got to fix it!". I laughed, and more fluid trickled out.

It was about eight in the morning, and my water had broke around seven. But there were no real good contractions happening, and nothing good enough or frequent enough to get me counting them.  So I walked around the house cleaning up, then grabbed some pads I had bought from out of the car, and replaced the hand-towel. By the time Christian came home, I had called my midwife, Pat. I decided I wanted to hang out at home since my contractions weren't very regular or painful. Pat told me to let her know when I felt the need to head to the hospital, and that she would call them now and let them know to expect me at some point that day.

I continued to clean up around the house and watch a bit of television with Chlo. We took turns bounding on my birthing ball. Christian tried to nap in the basement, since he had worked all night and was most likely going to be up most of the day and evening. My contractions continued to be pretty far apart and be completely unimpressive to me. Pat called me around noon to ask how I was doing. I told her that nothing had changed, and we decided that I would continue to hang out at home. While I was very content to be laboring at home, if you could call it that, I knew that my clock had started at seven that morning. I knew that if my labor didn't pick up on it's own that I would need pitocin to make it happen... and I wasn't too keen on going that route.

I decided to take a shower and see if that would help get things going. I knew the whole rationale behind the shower is that it helps you to relax. Maybe watching Chloe was keeping my body from relaxing and progressing like it should. I woke up Christian and asked him to watch Chlo while I took a warm shower. Chloe is used to taking showers with me, and so she was kind of ticked that I was locking the door and kicking her out, but I knew I needed time alone. Christian handled her tantrum, and I stood under the hot water. Hot showers during pregnancy are just pretty great, even when you are not in labor. They are just really, really, great.

And it did the trick. Once I got out of the shower I felt my contractions start to pick up and become time-able. I got myself dressed. I was still able to move during my contractions, but they had undoubtedly picked up and were coming about every four to five minutes apart. I called Pat to let her know and she told me if I wanted to head over to the hospital that she would meet me there. So Christian and I got ourselves together, and my mother-in-law headed over to watch Chlo. While my mother-in-law and I talked before we left for the hospital I started to feel my contractions become stronger. They were demanding me to stop doing whatever I was doing at the minute, and when they did I took the time to sway my hips a bit and breathe. I said goodbye to Chloe and started to cry. I have never been away from her overnight, and knew that this was the end of something good... and the end is rough, even if it means that something else, a whole different something good, is going to begin.

Chris and I drove to the hospital together. Since we had Chloe we rarely went out without her... we joked about how it felt like a date. We got to the hospital around five and made our way up to labor and delivery. I had started to feel more and more fluid leaking out with each contraction, and when I changed into the gown in my delivery room I noticed some bloody show. One nurse hooked me up to a monitor, while another asked if she could start an IV, and a third asked me a bunch of intake questions.  As a nurse it felt awkward to be on the other end of everything... as if I could better relate to the tasks of the nurses surrounding me, than the role of the patient.

They got me all set up with wires and tubes; my contractions were about three to five minutes apart. Pat arrived very shortly after and checked me. I was three centimeters and 100% effaced. Pat reminded me that getting to five centimeters is the toughest part, and told me and the nurses that I could drink plenty of fluids, have my IV caped off, and walk around, being monitored only intermittently. I was thrilled about this. Chloe's labor had kept me confined to bed, unable to move from a side-lying position, and I had needed pitocin to keep things moving along. I knew that walking and moving would only help everything progress.

Christian and I walked the hallways. I drank water and chewed ice chips, and I knew he was exhausted. Just one week before he had been in a hospital with a close friend who he lost the following day to cancer. He was a very brilliant and sweet person, and Christian often refereed to him as being "lovable". We talked about baby names and Christian mentioned naming our baby after him... but while I thought the world of his friend, if our baby were a boy, he was Gregor, just like Christian had named him before we knew for certain I was even pregnant with Chloe. Our boy name had been chosen almost four year before our baby would arrive. We spent time talking about his friend, and I thought about how people leave and enter this world so quickly... they are here, and then they are not, and then they weren't here and suddenly they are. I asked him what his friend's middle name had been, but Christian said he never heard him use it, and in all the years of knowing him, never found out. We talked about how his friend's birthday would have been the following day, and how odd it was that our baby would possibly share the birthday.

We were able to walk around for forty-five minutes at a time, and then needed to go back to the room so I could be monitored for fifteen. Each time we came back it seemed that my contractions had grown more forceful, and would last longer than before. It must have been around seven-thirty or so that I felt my labor has started to get rough. We had been walking the hallways and watching Jeopardy on the television in the small lobby outside the elevators. Christian told me it was about time to go back and be monitored. I went back to the room and decided to try to use the bathroom. Once I was on the toilet I felt like I had to push, and every time a contraction came I felt my body pushing without me ever intending to. I had the hardest time getting up and out of the bathroom because the contractions came so quickly and frequently while I was there. Part of me wished I could just stay there... damn hospital birth.

Once I finally got out of the bathroom and into the bed to be monitored I let my new nurse know that I felt like I was pushing without trying to. She suggested that Pat check me again. My contractions were about two to three minutes apart, and I was four centimeters. I had more work to do. Once I was able to get out of bed again I decided I would walk around the room. The contractions were pretty strong and frequent, and I didn't want to be seen out in the hallways of the hospital like this. Chris was exhausted and sitting in a chair in the room watching television with me between contractions. Whenever I would have a contraction he would look at me, ask if I was okay, and do whatever he could do to help. I would often sway my hips during contractions and whisper "f-ck, f-ck, f-ck...." or just groan. Sometimes I would squat down, and when I did that I could feel the baby move lower and my body begin to push. My back began to hurt and I made Chris push on my lower back with his fist during my contractions. I stood and walked in that room until I felt like I couldn't stand much more. I could feel that my legs were starting to shake and thought they might give out of me... So then I went back into the bathroom.

In the bathroom, I felt like I could have the baby right there, and I think Christian and my nurse both feared this, because they knocked on the door what felt like every ten seconds, and attempted to coax me out. The small space of the bathroom felt oddly comforting to me. While I didn't really want to leave, I eventually came out and managed to get back into the bed to be monitored. Pat came in to check how I was doing, and talked with us for a while as a labored. She reminded me that she had written for some pain medicine for me if I wanted it. I told her I was going to ride it out. I had reached five centimeters. The contractions were ridiculous, and while I had every intention of getting back out of that bed when I had gotten in it, once it was okay for me to leave the bed again I realized that I wouldn't be able to get myself out. The contractions had become too forceful and hard, and I didn't think I would be able to get out of the bed quick enough to do it between contractions. So, I breathed, and groaned, and squirmed in the bed.

At about nine, I decided to take the pain medicine. It would be a bit of nubain and phenergan, two medications I knew about and had even read up on.. and that I knew would make me feel a bit drunk. It was the same medicine that I had been given when I was in labor with Chloe, but I knew this time that none of this was going to slow down. Labor was progressing so quickly (yet, it felt not quickly enough), that nothing would slow this down. And nothing slowed down. Right after I got the pain medicine I felt a little bit tipsy, and told Chris to go get something to eat while he could. He hadn't slept of eaten most of the day, and I knew I was going to be alright without him there for a few minutes at that point. I didn't fall asleep, but time kind of blurred during the next hour or so while I labored. I felt all the contractions, but I just felt that they all blended together into one huge contraction. I remember resting my head against the rail of the bed after each one, which seemed like the only thing that differentiated having a contraction from not having one.

Labor grew more and more intense and I felt like the time between contractions lessened and lessened even more. Pat had checked me at about ten, and I was seven centimeters. I don't remember being checked after that. I just remember that as I started to feel that I was going to start pushing, I noticed that a couple more nurses had shown up, and that Pat was getting all set to catch the baby. I  don't remember talking about pushing, or announcing that I was going to push, or even Pat saying much about it... but I knew what my body was doing, and what it was about to do. My body and mind recognized all this, and there stood Pat at the end of the bed, and my husband at my side, assuring me that I knew what was happening, and whenever I felt ready,  to go ahead. 

With the next contraction I began to push. Slowly, but forcefully. I groaned and remember feeling frustrated that the baby had not come out with that one push. (Looking back now I feel like I can just count that first one as a practice push... right?) During the next one I pushed again, and I could feel that the baby was starting to come, but had not yet. Nobody said anything as I pushed, and I only remember my nurse encouraging Christian, who was standing by my side and holding my hand silently, to give me some ice chips because I looked dry. I remember him looking around quickly for ice-chips, and then putting them up to my lips as another contraction came. Nobody was saying anything, and I could only head myself groan as I pushed. I pushed during the next contraction and on the following one I felt the head. One more push and the body came as well.

I felt the warm hefty weight of the baby on me. I heard Pat chuckle, telling me that there was no denying he is a boy! I looked at Christian, and we both looked at our Gregor. I held him on my chest and breathed. The nurses were scurrying around the room, and eventually they turned down the lights and Gregor looked at me.

I delivered the placenta, and Pat apologized for not needing to give me any stitches this time around (yay!) While Pat and I talked and laughed and hugged, Christian did a little texting to our families to let them know that Gregor was here and well, and found the middle name of his friend who had passed was "Ian". We named our baby boy Gregor Ian.

MOM x 2

It's been almost two weeks since I gave birth to Gregor (which explains my lack of attention to this poor little blog). These first days of being a mom-of-two have pretty much been the stuff that motherhood dreams are made of. My husband has been able to be home, and life has been kept calm and quiet for all of us. There have been some naps, decent homemade meals, and lots of cuddling between all members of the family. Now, there have been some moments where things have gotten a little hairy. Moments that I knew would happen, and that I was dreading, like when I desperately needed to use the bathroom, but the baby was screaming, and the toddler was acting up, and the husband had ran out to the grocery store, and I just didn't want to leave the baby and the toddler unattended in order to use the bathroom - but we have survived those moments, and it's all been okay. Funny how that happens, right? Somehow living through those little moments allows you to breathe a tiny bit easier when they are over. 

Sigh, a deep breath, and Yes, we made it through that. You got this. We got this.

Today is my first day at home with two, by myself. My husband went back to work this morning. Last night I had told him to wake me up when he woke up for work, a little after six, if I wasn't already awake. My plan was to get myself together before the kids woke up: make a cup of coffee, wash my face, put on deodorant, and maybe some clean clothes. I wanted to get a head-start and be ready to do this. I was half-awake when he kissed me goodbye and told me to go back to sleep. I rolled over and slept until the babes were both calling for me: a sing-song "MAAAAAH-MEEEEEEE!", and a breathy "AGGGHHH-AHH-AHHH-AGGHHHH!". 

Now I have fed them, and fed myself, and so I thought I would maybe start to write Gregor's birth story. It is a good story, and I am looking forward to sharing it, but it might take me longer to write than I had supposed. 

I used to be a bartender while I was in nursing school. I worked at a smallish bar that served a good selection of micro-brews, along with bottles of miller, bud, and coors.  The location of the pub, the beer selection, and the more-than-decent pub food were all factors that played well with one another in ensuring that there was a very diverse and interesting client mix. Despite the diversity, one of the strangest constants I found among the male patrons was their ability to talk about child-birth. Yes. Sports, the weather, work, and child-birth. And the stories that I heard were often told with such fervor, you would have thought these men had given birth themselves.

"She was in labor for just about ten hours - and not just panting - No! she was working hard the whole time! Most incredible thing I ever saw".

"Oh there was so much blood! I thought I was going to pass out!"

"That baby came out in one push! Just all of the sudden, like in those TV shows where the baby flies across the room!"

Birth is very amazing. No-matter how you do it, or where you do it. If you are the one giving birth, or you are the partner of the one giving birth, if you are adopting the one being birthed, or if you are assisting in the birth. The act of bringing a new life into this world is one of life's wonders. I plan to take time in writing my birth story. I want to tell it well. It was a good story - too good to sell-short due to time constraints. It is worth spending an entire night, and then some, writing. It is the story of me becoming a mom, all over again. Of learning from the past, of trusting my body and my instincts, of knowing that it is going to be okay.

Much like today. Although I haven't physically given birth to any children today, I continue to do the same as I did when I gave birth: learn from my past, trust myself, and know it is going to be okay. 

Sigh. Deep breath. Yes, we are going to make it through this. We got this. You got this.


"a portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2014."

sometimes i watch her and feel that juvenile kind of infatuation... where she can eat her fries in the weirdest, or grossest of ways, and it's just going to make me like her more.

joining in with jodi this week.

....and by the way - where is the time going this summer?!?!?


" a portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2014."

this week i set up the bassinet in our room, where the new babe will sleep until her or she is ready to share a bedroom with his or her big sister. chloe helped me put together the "baby's bed" (she loves handling tools and screws), and then spent a good amount of time exploring the "new" fixture in our bedroom. 

a few of my favorites from this past week:

joining in with jodi this week.


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