A Day In the Life

I cannot conceive how I was ever busy before kids.  I'm sure I felt busy.  I'm sure I felt like there was never enough hours in a day.  But... how?  Sometimes I laugh at this life.  Like--how am I supposed to do all of this?  But they're good days.  And today was a perfectly typical Sunday. 

7:00 a.m. Jason rolled out of bed.
7:30 a.m. Ezra started testing his vocal range, which came through the baby monitor.
7.50 a.m. Jason went into the kid's room.  I listened to him wake the kids.  He left them briefly to take out the diaper trash and I listened to Ezra talk to Broccoli Rob.  "Hello, Rob.  Rob.  Rob.  Rob.  Rob.  Rob, it's a trash."  I could see him clearly in my mind holding up the toy trash bin that goes to his recycling truck.  "It's a trash, Rob.  Rob.  Rob.  Hi, Rob."
8:00 a.m. Jason and the kids were wrestling, and I turned off the baby monitor.  I get to "sleep in" on weekends.
9:30 a.m. I meandered downstairs with my mind on a cup of coffee and was met with Elliot on her floor mat and Ezra watching trash trucks on YouTube.  I chased him into the kitchen, where Jason was making breakfast.  I gave him a peck on the cheek and turned on the Keurig.  We talked about how we slept and how Jason was feeling particularly tired.  He filled me in on Ellie's bottles and diapers while I stirred creamer into my coffee. 
9:45 a.m. I snuggled Elliot.  Jason and Ezra ate breakfast while we talked about some unexpected bills and how our grocery bill is extremely slim this week.  We talked about Christmas and what we wanted to do for Christmas next year.
10:00 a.m. Ezra threw a fit because I wouldn't read him a book about mice making pizza.  Jason laughed because I said, "Ezra, mommy gets autonomy, too.  I'm talking to dada, so I don't want to read that book."  Ezra melted.  He was finally soothed with a hug.  We both commented on how he seemed tired.
10:10 a.m. Jason went upstairs for his designated work time.
10:15 a.m. I started feeding Elliot, who seemed incredibly tired.  She fell asleep in my arms and I had to convince Ezra not to scream about the trash truck he couldn't get onto the ottoman, promising to help him in just a minute.
10:20 a.m. I put Elliot in the Rock n' Play in the bathroom, refilled my cup, and convinced Ezra to bring the trash truck upstairs. 
10:30 a.m. I planned to play on the iPad and sip my coffee while Ezra played, but the kids' room was a mess so I ended up organizing bins of clothes, and too small diapers, and little piles of things that build up everywhere.  Ezra opened and shut the closet door for a half hour, read books, played in his cozy coupe, pushed his train, rolled his garbage truck, and finally melted when he couldn't find his cup of milk.
12:34 p.m. I looked at the time, commented to Ezra that it was 1234, and shut off two lamps.  Ezra jumped in my lap and we read two books and then cuddled.
12:45 p.m. Ezra was in his crib, asleep.  I quietly exited and saw that Jason was napping (unusual!).  I leaned against the bathroom vanity and looked in the mirror long enough to notice I still had yesterday's make up smeared under my eyes, before I heard Elliot cry downstairs.  Big exhale. 
12:47 p.m. I made a bottle, retrieved Elliot, plopped on the couch, and read a news article about a surrogate case in Wisconsin.
12:55 p.m. Jason came downstairs and we talked about our grocery bill again.  We made faces at Elliot and took turns making her laugh.  I tossed her into Jason's arms so I could go upstairs and get dressed.
1:05 p.m. I threw on a pair of skinny jeans and a maternity shirt and threw my hair into a bun.  Mom-style.  I put Elliot into her car seat and Jason had his head under the hood of his car while we drove off.
1:20 p.m. We arrived at Publix.  It was crowded and I had to park far away and lug that giant ass car seat.  I debated whether or not Ellie is old enough to sit on her own in the cart, but decided against it.
1:30 p.m.  Grocery list.

• Strawberries
• Celery
• Bananas 
• Apples
• Carrots (julienned)
• Cherry tomatoes
• Granola bars
• Dinner rolls
• Shredded cheese
• Tomato sauce
• Soup
• Juice
• Sliced cheese
• Milk
• Yogurt
• Ricotta
• Spaghetti sauce

2:10 p.m. Elliot was unfazed by the trip.  $50.  $10 over budget.   I open the carrots and ate some on my way home.
2:25 p.m. I get Elliot out of the car and into the house, wondering to myself if I could ever possibly forget her in the car.  I literally wave to stop my imagination and bring the groceries into the house.  I shut the door behind me just as Jason and Ezra come downstairs.  We each ate a few of the carrots while I put the groceries away.
2:40 p.m. I fed Ellie a bottle and asked Jason if he wanted to go on a walk.
2:50 p.m. Ezra was excited to get into his little car rider and Ellie sat sleepily in her umbrella stroller.  We walked up the road and I told Jason about how much I hate Sam's Club.  We both talked about work.
3:30 p.m. We arrived back home--the four of us sweaty and hot.  I put Ellie in a bouncer, Ezra played with his trash truck, and I started frying up some grilled cheese sandwiches and put a pot of potato soup on the stove.  Jason eventually came downstairs and fed Elliot again.
3:50 p.m. Everyone sat down for dinner.  Ezra promptly poured his soup over his grilled cheese and proceeded to eat nothing.  Jason and I chatted and joked about our children's future political affiliations.
4:30 p.m.  It was clear that Elliot needed a nap, but she refused.  I took a break from trying to make her and clipped her nails while Jason cleaned the kitchen.  I tried to bribe Ezra into letting me clip his nails.  The popsicle was not motivating enough, apparently. 
5:00 p.m. I cornered Ezra on the stairs and he agreed to let me cut his nails if I gave him a popsicle.  Finally.  He enjoyed his white cherry flavored mini popsicle and didn't care when I pretended to cry because he wouldn't give me a taste.
5:15 p.m. Jason asked Ezra if he wanted to take a shower with him.  Ezra threw his popsicle in the trash and jumped into the shower.
5:30 p.m. I set Ezra up with the iPad and some trash truck videos and then bathed Elliot.  I rocked her and fed her and put her to bed.
6:00 p.m. I read Ezra two books in my room and then told him to tell Jason goodnight.  He cried and ran to him and gave him a long hug.  Jason listed all of the things we did this weekend and asked him if he enjoyed it.  He replied "yeah" to each one.
6:20 p.m. I held Ezra, rocking him in his dark room, his sister sleeping nearby.  I thought about motherhood and how I hadn't done a single thing for myself all day--except coffee.  I thought about how I didn't even care--like I didn't even feel like I was missing out and how many years ago, I might have looked at a daily agenda of my current life and felt selfishly guarded of my time.  But now, I just don't care.  I love my life and I loved my day.  And I rocked my baby and wondered if I remembered to put shorts with his outfit for tomorrow.  And I wondered where I put the bug repellent.
6:55 p.m. I closed their bedroom door behind me and breathed a sigh of accomplishment.
7:01 p.m. Ben and Jerry's and a Real Housewives of New Jersey rerun.
7:30 p.m. I started making a list of all of the things I needed to do before bed.  Dishes.  Bottles.  Launder the tablecloth and place mats.  Make my lunch. 
10:00 p.m. Still on the couch.  Not at all productive.  I hope to be in bed in approximately 15 minutes. 

This is the day.  This is a day with an infant and a toddler.  I cannot conceive of how I ever thought I was busy.  And I can't even recall what the hell I used to do with my weekends.  I think I slept a lot more. 

Moms I Don't Know

There were a lot of things I didn't know about newborns.  Like that they eat every two hours.  Or that their umbilical cord stump takes approximately six decades to fall off.
There were  also a lot of things I didn't know about toddlers.  Like how they possess the strength of 20 grown men when you are trying to put them into a car seat they don't want to be in.  Or that WW3 will probably be started over the chicken nuggets you made for dinner (he wanted rice--didn't you know?).

However, I think the most shocking thing I didn't know is how every cell in your body changes when you have children.  Maybe people say that and you hear it, but the level of understanding is incomprehensible.

Like, how I will never read a news story and not think, "What if that had been my kid?"  How I would recall every mean thing I've ever said to anyone and think about how I had no idea that while I was being a jerk, his mom was worrying endlessly about her baby.  How I could read stories about moms lifting cars or thwarting kidnappers or fighting off wild animals without hesitation and know that I'd do the same.  That I'd carve out whole parts of my day to pray for moms I don't know.  That I'd see a mom cry for her baby (which is very frequent in the mom community!) and instantly know.  Just know.  In a way that other people wouldn't know.  That the minute my phone buzzes with an Amber Alert, my first thought is always of the mom.  How politics mean more because it's not about me--it's really, truly about the world I want for my kid.

I didn't know motherhood would be so emotionally taxing.  I didn't realize the weight of the worry would feel like cinderblocks on my shoulders.  I just didn't know.

So at night, when I hold my son, I pay special attention to his head on my shoulder, his chest on my collar, his legs wrapped around my waist, and his fingers twirling my hair.  I memorize how he feels in my arms and whisper that I love him, I love him, I love him, and kiss soft cheeks.  And I unload the weight with prayers for moms I don't know.

Thoughts on Thirty

Do you play the Sims?  If you don't, it's a computer game where you control a household of "sims".  Your sim won't do anything without you saying so. You make her go to the bathroom, go to bed, eat, pick a job, get to work on time.  The goal of the game is to fulfill your sim's wishes and aspirations.  In version three, Lifetime wishes are things like become a chess legend, or become a heart breaker, become president, or an epic gardener.  And you fulfill smaller goals to reach that particular wish for you sim, ideally before they die.  So if you're aiming to become president, you'll have to reach the highest level of the politics career path.  Or if you want to be fabulously wealthy, you need to have a net worth of $100,000.  My sim?  She always went with the life wish of being surrounded by family (have 5 kids and raise them from infants to teens).  Granted, she got there with some serious cheat codes (motherlode!).  Unfortunately, there are no life cheats.

I'm a big fan of five year plans.  I started making them when I was 10.  I imagined myself in high school, clutching my binder, wearing stylish clothes, and having a boyfriend and a locker (oou!).  When I was 15, I imagined myself in college.  I bought my own groceries and always remembered to bring my purse which had adult things like car keys and a cell phone (!!!).  I studied on a very green lawn and dated mature guys who bought me flowers and took me to nice restaurants.

As an adult, my five year plans matured a little more.  It was less about an image of myself in a "cool" situation, and more about concrete plans and goals.  Every birthday, I measured the success of the previous year by how near I was to meeting my image of my 5 year milestone. 

25 was a hard year and I didn't celebrate my birthday gracefully.  I was married, but Jason was no where near completing his Ph.D. and we were no where near ready to start a family.  We had no money, a too small apartment, and no end in sight.  I spent the week begging everyone to forget and spent that evening in the tub, sobbing and consoling myself with two bottles of wine.  It wasn't my finest moment.

But 30?  30 was good.  Understated in the celebration, but such a monumental year for meeting my 5 year goal.  In 5 years, so much had happened.  Jason and I weighed starting a family.  Then we spent two years unsuccessfully trying.  And then two pink lines.  Two beautifully, hard sought pink lines.  Then Ezra.  Beautiful, perfect, amazing Ezra--who has brought more love and more joy and more laughter into our lives.  And then... THEN!  Two more pink lines.  So I ushered 30 in with a pedicure, sesame chicken, and a 38 week pregnant belly.  And 30 felt good. 

The Birth of Elliot Elizabeth Grey

On Thursday, March 3rd, I ended the second day of my maternity leave with plans to visit the midwives' office and then to head to the Kindermarket consignment sale to pick up some summer clothes for Ezra.

I always wear the worst shoes on rainy days.  I had just bought these new leopard flats to replace the other leopard flats that survived one too many storms, and of course, a monsoon rolls in right as I pull into the office park behind the hospital.  There is only one parking spot, and the occupants on either side parked way too close to the line.  I tried anyway.  I wedged my way in, opened my car door, and the keys dropped to the ground.  It was that exact moment that I realized I was way too planet-like to wedge myself out of the car--and with my keys on the ground, I couldn't back out and try again.  The passenger side looked just as close and I couldn't crawl out the back because the two car seats were blocking the way.  I thought about calling for help, but didn't know who to call.  I managed to crawl my giant ass over to passenger side and with a lot of effort, and probably thanks to the lubrication from the rain, I managed to push myself out with only minimal damage to the Honda Pilot next to me.  And now, I was ten minutes late for my appointment, my shoes were soaked, and my keys were still under my car.

The appointment was uneventful.  I was approaching 42 weeks, so I had an ultrasound to make sure baby was doing alright.  She moved here and there, but mostly slept.  The tech commented that she had lots of little fuzzy hair and gave me two pictures that didn't look like anything to me.

Tanya, who was my centering coach with Ezra, was my midwife of the day and we hugged when she walked in.  She demanded I have the baby on Saturday, because that's when she would be on call at the hospital and I gave her my word that I'd try.  She checked my cervix and I measured 6cm.  Before I left, I was hooked up to some monitors for a non-stress test to make sure the jackfruit was doing okay.  She was.  So I left with the on call schedule of the midwives and instructions to call Tanya if the baby wasn't born and I wanted an induction.

I rushed out of the office at 5:05, late for Kindermarket (pregnant ladies get in free at 5).  Luckily, I was the only car in the lot, so I snatched up my keys, tossed my wet shoes under the heater, and headed up the street.  It was then that I noticed the contractions.  As I pulled into the lot, and had to park a football field away, the contractions were in full swing.  I walked, stopping here and there to breathe, determined to get my baby some shorts before my water broke.  It was crowded and the prices weren't awesome, and people seemed largely unaware that I was about to have an effing baby as they bumped into me or watched me kneel and squat over bins of baby shoes and linens.  $27 later, I was out the door.  I grimaced the whole way to the car and was relieved when I could finally sit.

Jason and Ezra were waiting for me with a DiGiorno pizza when I got home.  Jason could instantly see that I was in pain--probably because of my heavy panting.  But we were already well into Ezra's bedtime hours, so I told him I had no intentions of going into labor.  He told me he was going to skip his sleeping pills, and I told him I planned on sleeping in.  I took two Tylenol and a hot shower, but the contractions were still going strong when I climbed into bed.  My rest was fitful and interrupted by contractions that made me moan in pain--none of which woke Jason.  At 7:30, Jason brought Ezra in to say goodbye and they left for the day.

I hate watched Kelly and Michael, and texted Jason to see if he wanted to meet for lunch, before throwing in a load of laundry--all while occasionally bending over to scream in pain.  When I picked him up, I said, "Okay, I don't want to worry you, but we're having a baby today."  He promised he wasn't worried, but anyone who knows my husband knows that you can't tell him it's go time without him freaking out.  But we went to Sonny's BBQ anyway.  He commented that he couldn't enjoy his burger with me wincing and moaning like I was.  We had an enjoyable lunch all the same.  When we left, Jason let his coworkers know he was done for the day and we headed home.  I gave Jason a list of things to gather while I washed some dishes and folded some laundry.  He ran around the house, anxious and nervous.  And he was still anxious and nervous as we headed to the hospital (quick pit stop at Ezra's school to drop off a car seat and his favorite book).  Jason took corners way too fast and became everything he hates about Georgia drivers.  We made it to the hospital in one piece and headed up to the maternity ward at about 2:30.

We checked in, however there weren't enough beds so I had to wait in the waiting room while one was cleaned.  My contractions were about 2-3 minutes apart, and people stopped and stared, mortifying Jason, every time I screamed out in pain.  One well meaning worker stopped in the middle of a minute long contraction to ask if I was okay.  No, lady.  I'm not okay.  Jason successfully made me laugh by showing me videos of people flying off playground spinners propelled by motorcycles.

A bed finally became available and it was the same room where Ezra was born!  My nurses were lovely and my midwife, Angela, was one I had never met.  She measured my cervix and I was at 7cm.  I labored on my own for a about an hour and a half while I received two bags of fluids so I could get my epidural, which arrived at 4:15.  The anesthesiologist was nice and made a few jokes.  He explained what would happen and all of the risks, and then he answered all of our questions.  Jason held my hands as I hunched over.  The numbing shots hurt a bit, and I had to get some extra when I felt the epidural needle.  It only took a few minutes before he said, "Done!  It practically inserted itself."  I repositioned myself in the bed as he left.  The nurse stayed in the room watching the monitors and taking my blood pressure while Jason read out loud from his astrology book.

Jason was laughing about something he read and started to point it out to me as the nurse hmmed.  He was telling me about some potential trait Elliot would have as I asked the nurse what my blood pressure was. "70/40.  Are you feeling okay?"  My vision started to dull as Jason finally noticed what was happening and said, "That's a bit low, isn't it?"  The nurse hovered over me and said, "Stay with me!  Okay?  I'm going to give you some Epinephrine," as she pressed the syringe into my IV.  Jason looked worried and grabbed my hand.  I started to feel panicky and nauseous.  My vision came back almost instantly after the Epinephrine, but then dulled a few minutes later.  More Epinephrine, a barf bag, and Zofran, while Jason put his book away and held my hand.  I received Epinephrine a few more times, while my blood pressure slowly rose and the epidural kicked in fully.  Soon, everyone's worry dripped away and I felt okay again.  I had minimal movement in my left leg, and none in my right.  I was feeling pretty great when my parents arrived.  We joked and I endured political conversations way longer than I would have under any other circumstance.  The nurses asked me what my birth plan was, and Jason emphatically didn't want to cut the cord, so I offered it to my mom who jumped at the idea.  We waffled on whether or not my dad should be in the room, and ultimately decided that he should, because of anyone, he'd find it the most fascinating.

At 7:00, I was measuring 9cm, and was given some Pitocin and broke my water to get things going.  After breaking my water, Angela informed us in her calmest voice that there was meconium in my water, which, she explained, was common enough in late term babies, however there is a concern that the baby could swallow some and create some respiratory issues, so they were going to call in a respiratory therapist, who would be present during my birth and will check the baby. Also, my mom wouldn't be allowed to cut the cord, which would cause the baby to take her first breath and possibly swallow. We had lots of questions, which she answered calmly and matter of factly. Angela came in and out of the room, but the nurse stayed and slowly upped my Pitocin. At about 9:00, Angela began camping out in the room while nurses came in and out preparing the room. My legs were propped up high in stirrups and half the bed dropped down and everyone got into position.  Jason stood by my head and my mom next to him holding up one of my legs.  My dad sat in a rocking chair in the corner behind my head, out of the line of sight of anything compromising and one nurse held up my other leg, while the midwife positioned herself in the middle, ready to instruct and catch.

Everything seemed dramatically different than my birth with Ezra. Everyone was calm, fewer people were in the room, and there was no pressure. Angela asked, "Do you want to push? Okay, then push." With Ezra, it was a hard count of 10 and "PUUUUUUUSH!" I started pushing at 10:00 and Jason held my hand and patted my head and told me how much he loved me. And in under 20 minutes and maybe 8 good pushes, Elliot was out! She let out a very loud cry seconds after arriving and emotions overcame me. I just birthed a baby! There were lots of tears. Jason followed her to the clear cradle where she was wiped down and the respiratory therapist gave her a look over and then left without any of us noticing ("She's fine! Bye!"). I watched from the bed as she wrapped her little hand around Jason's fingers and he smiled at her and told her how loved she is. He came back to my side as I was being stitched up and told me how lovely she was. He pointed to her in the cradle and I noticed her chubby, rolly thighs. She was quiet and compliant and lovely and I couldn't wait to hold her. Jason snapped some photos while my mom trimmed down her umbillical cord. The nurse took her to the weighing station and Jason announced to me, "8 lbs, 1 ounce! Almost exactly like Ezra!"

And soon, everyone was out of the room and it was quiet and peaceful and she stared at us and we stared at her, mesmerized by this beautiful, amazing, chubby, tomatoey baby girl.

Elliot Elizabeth Grey was born Friday, March 4th at 10:19 p.m. She weighed 8lbs, 1oz, and measured 20 inches long.
As I write this, she is 2 whole weeks old. She sleeps like a dream, has gained all of her birth weight back, plus some extra, and has such a calm, easy disposition. We already can't remember what life was like before her.

Welcome to the world, Elliot!

Goodbye 2015, Hello New Life

So much has happened since my last post (7 months ago!).  So much.  This year, has been a whirlwind. 

Jason spent much of the summer unemployed, the stress of which was hard on the whole family.  In September, he started a job that he really enjoys. We are still a one car family, and getting us both to work takes some acrobatics and a lot of driving across town, but we're making it work.  Ultimately, we're just so thankful that Jason has a good job.

Ezra is huge! A whopping 15 months! He started walking in August and hasn't slowed down.  This is such an amazing age, and I could just cry thinking about how much my baby has grown.  He is long, and spills over my arms when I hold him.  He has a personality and interests and likes and dislikes.  He's social and plays and finds things funny.  His first word was "uh-oh" at about 8 months and now he has a whole list of things he can say: mama, dada, hi, bye, oh no, more, and as of this weekend, gentle (as a result of beating my face in).  He loves cars and trucks, and especially when his daddy makes the sound effects for them.  Speaking of which, Jason must feel like a celebrity whenever he enters a room.  Ezra thinks his daddy is the coolest guy ever, and rightfully so.  Jason is an excellent dad.  He's always on the floor with him, wrestling, playing cars, hiding, chasing.  He will be 37 soon, but for Ezra, he has the energy of a 12 year old. I always knew I was lucky to marry such a great guy, but seeing his relationship with our son is all the visual proof I will ever need.

The other big news is!! I'm pregnant.  Not a little pregnant.  A lot pregnant.  8 months pregnant.  I was probably pregnant while writing my last post.  It's a girl and we expect her arrival in early February.  We are shooting for an Aquarius.  It's funny how your second pregnancy is so different.  There are no bump pictures, no counting weeks, no constant journaling, no appointment anticipation.  It's just so busy when there's a toddler in tow.  The aches seem worse, I'm infinitely more tired (without the luxury of naps whenever I want them and sleeping in all weekend), and the pregnancy seems never ending.  I think I've been telling people I'm 8 months pregnant for the last 5 months, but I hardly know for sure.

I'm so excited to grow our family, but if I'm being honest, I'm incredibly anxious.

Tonight, as I came up the stairs, I heard Ezra crying.  Normally I'd ignore it and let him settle himself as he always does within a few seconds, but I couldn't tonight.  I opened his door and turned on the light and he was standing, smiling at me.  Just as relieved to see me as I was to see him.  I held him and rocked him and in seconds, he was asleep on my shoulder.  But I held him extra long, cherishing these last weeks together.  I even got a little teary thinking that it won't be like it is for long.  I'm not worried about loving her, or loving Ezra less.  Of course I'll love them both.  I'm worried about those early days.  I'm worried about Ezra not needing me or wanting me as much.  I'm worried that I won't be mom enough for him--even if it's only temporary.  I'm worried about my first nights away from him while we're in the hospital.  I'm worried I'll forget this time, like he will, and that I'm robbing us both of this beautiful time we are having.  I'm worried that Jason has no idea how much I'll need him, and how much I'll need him to help Ezra to still love me. I'm worried I'm not mom enough, not wife enough, not strong enough for another baby. 

But I also know it will all be temporary.  Just a few weeks until baby is sleeping, and we have a routine, and a new life.  

Even though it makes me anxious and scared, I have to remind myself of the brevity and how millions of mamas are doing the same thing, and I'm not alone.

So far I have very few plans for this baby. I plan to breast feed/pump for at least a month, and then formula feed.  I think.  I plan to sleep train early, but I have no idea how that will work in our two bedroom home. I plan to take 4 months maternity leave, but maybe 5 or 6 if money will stretch.  I plan to have an epidural and there is no wiggle room there.  We have a name and some diapers and a few outfits.  But the rest is up in the air.  

So that's that.  Big changes in 2016.  We are anxious and excited and uncertain, but feeling so blessed.  How are we so lucky?

Fatherhood

Jason and I have changed a lot in the ten years that we've been together.  I was still a teen, then, and interested in teenager things: boys, and college, and gossip, and friends.  And Jason was in his mid 20s, scrawny and anxious--floating like a feather through college.  We started living on opposite ends of the continent--me, a college freshman in North Carolina, and him, a student in Southern California.  Thousands of miles apart, and mentally on different planets.  At the time, it seemed like decades, but soon we were together, in the same state, in the same city, and eventually married and in the same tiny apartment, seething over the other's way of squeezing the toothpaste.  There are a lot of things I'd do over in our relationship if I could.  I look back on a lot of our life together and laugh at my naivety or cringe at my immaturity.  There are arguments I shouldn't have had, decisions I shouldn't have made, quirks I should have lived with.  We thought we knew what we were doing, but we definitely did not.  Now, at least, we know that we have no idea what we're doing.

And now, ten years later, and almost six years deep into our marriage, I'd say we're doing pretty well.  We're so, so, so different, but in all the right ways.

The summer after he turned 31, Jason started swimming,  And that was the summer he transitioned to manhood.  His shoulders widened, he walked more confidently, and he got laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.  He was less gullible and harder for my dad to prank and we had muddled through those difficult parts of marriage and had matured.  Truly, I've loved watching the change.  He's always be an wonderful guy, but the transition to manhood was a lovely thing to watch.

And now I see my husband, my partner, my best friend as a father and it's beautiful.

Sometimes it's easy for me to take Ezra into the shower with me.  If time is short, he'll just sit in the tub while I shower off and then I'll pick him up and scrub his slippery little body and it feels fun and natural and easy.  So when Jason mentioned that he was going to shower just before Ezra's bed time, I asked if he wouldn't mind taking Ezra with him.  I fully expected him to say no, but he surprised me.  I explained the details--like how he should sit him on a towel in the shower so he doesn't slip, and how I usually shower first, then shampoo him and hold him to my chest while I rinse his hair.  And I helped him get the bottle of baby soap and a few bath toys and then I left them to it while I washed some bottles and laid out jammies.

As I was coming up the stairs, I listened as they both giggled uncontrollably in the shower.  And I thought, "This is it.  This is fatherhood."  This is Jason as I've never known him.  He's attentive and gentle and frustrated but in love and so, so, so tender.  He is awed when Ezra discovers new things, like when I opened the container of puffs and showed Ezra that they were inside.  We both watched his gears turning, slowly reaching inside to get them.  And Jason looked pleased and proud.  Jason is joyful and young, yet more patient and cautious.  He's a father.  And that's the best way I've ever known him. 

I often hold Ezra and beg time to slow down.  He's getting so big and full and smart and I feel like there's never enough time to savor him as he currently is.  I look at him and kiss his soft cheeks, and magically, he's older and my heart aches.  But tonight my heart aches for Jason.  He's growing, too, and I'm not savoring it enough.  He's no longer a scrawny 20-something, naive new husband, or new father.  He's a man, a seasoned father and I'm missing it.   He's currently covering his face with our duvet, annoyed at the light from the laptop--and I want to fling off his cover and kiss his laugh lines before he's magically older and I've missed it.  So I will.  Goodnight.

7 Months

I went back to work in January.  It's now mid-April and I've only written three blog posts since then.  I'm sure you can imagine that working five days a week and then catering to every need of a baby in my "off time" keeps me pretty busy.  In the moments between Ezra's bedtime and my bedtime, I find myself engrossed in Orange is the New Black (I'm only on episode 5, so don't ruin it for me!), washing bottles, and scrubbing mashed avocado off of the edge of the bath tub.

Motherhood can sometimes feel all consuming.  It can feel like you're holding your entire office's coffee order, while you desperately have to pee, in an elevator that won't ever come to the right floor, in broken heels--and then someone hands you a baby and his 80lb car seat and 20lb diaper bag.  Confession--I've peed my pants more times than I'd like to admit since having a baby.  But I don't love motherhood in spite of what it has done to me.  I love it because of what it has done to me.  I love Ezra and his cute little cheeks, and his smile when he sees me across the room.  I love it when Jason holds him and how he can so easily make Ezra laugh.  I love to hear him sing to Ezra in the morning, through the crackly baby monitor.  I love how motherhood has made me chronically on time and prepared for every emergency imaginable.  I love how motherhood has made me more compassionate and forgiving.  I love that I treat my time as sacred--because every day is the youngest he'll ever be again and I have to love it and notice how small his fingers and toes are, and even at the worst, most disorganized, most frazzled moments, I know I'm lucky to be here and I'm happy to have the worst moments.

So yeah, I'd say I'm pretty good.

And Ez is great!  He's 7 months (today!) and he's just a joy to be around.  He let's us know he's awake by shouting.  I imagine if he had words, he'd say, "Hey mom!  Hey dad!  I'm awake now!  Come get me!"  And when we turn on his bedroom lights, he's usually on his tummy, propped up on his arms, smiling at us.  This morning, I scooped him up and tickled his sides and shared a giggle.  Then I changed his diaper, propped him on my hip and headed downstairs.  He played with his rubber giraffe in his high chair while I let the dogs into the rainy backyard and made him a bottle.  Then we cuddled on the couch and watched the animated version of Robin Hood (dad's favorite!) while he had his breakfast.  Then Jason came downstairs and Ezra's smile stretched from ear to ear and he kicked and danced in celebration.  The three of us cuddled and watched until we decided that the adults needed some Waffle House.  Ezra is always the star of the show wherever he goes, but he's quite the ham at Waffle House.  He's sitting now, so he gets to clap and bang on the table from his high chair these days.  He loved watching all of the commotion in the kitchen while gnawing on a waffle and Jason and I took a moment to talk about his classes and remember when his parents joined us for breakfast at Waffle House, when Ez was just a month and a half old.  I sipped my coffee while the waitresses took turns coming over to coo at Ez and Jason picked some CCR to blast on the jukebox.  I'd call it a good morning.  A good, and typical morning.  Ezra fell asleep on the way to Starbucks (because Waffle House makes good eggs, but their coffee is like water and dirt) and I turned around frequently to stare at his chubby little cheeks in the mirror.


We were working on some small upgrades around the house, but put them on hold when Jason got an interview in Redding, California.  When the possibility of moving seemed heavy on us, a new coffee table didn't seem as important.  However, Jason didn't get the job.  I think we both feel a mixture of disappointment and relief.  Disappointment because we're both ready to move our lives forward, but relief because moving across the country this summer seems a little two forward.  And now that it's looking more like we'll be here for another year, we're back to work looking for coffee tables.

Anyway, the holidays are behind us and we hope that this summer will be cool and slow.  I hope yours is too!

 -xo-

Things to say to people who are grieving...

My cousin passed away last week.  I plan on posting something about it later but the whole experience is very fresh and I want to mull over what I want to say a bit longer.  In short and for the sole purpose of this blog post, she died unexpectedly while delivering her fourth child.  Upon hearing the news, I was understandably extremely upset and wanted to teleport to south Florida to comfort my aunt and uncle and cousins who were undoubtedly in the worst situation of their lives.  The next day, I could barely speak about it, and the subsequent days could only speak through tears about it.  I appreciate that dealing with grief is individual to the person experiencing it.  And I can also appreciate that witnessing a grieving person can be very uncomfortable.  This is my first real experience with being the recipient of condolences and I have to say that I am shocked and awed at how some people offer their condolences so gracefully and know just what to say.  And yet, I'm equally shocked and awed at how some people seem to fumble over their words and vomit the first thoughts in their head.  It is quite fortunate that I don't need to reconcile my feelings with condolences or words of wisdom, and that I'm not easily offended.  But in the interest of preserving others from the word vomit, please allow me to help you find the words.

This baby is sick of your insensitive word vomit.

Do give yourself time to gather your thoughts.  Death is shocking.  It is okay to not know what to say when someone tells you what has happened.  I'm a little more removed from the deceased and I really didn't want condolences as much as I just wanted people to know.  I wanted them to know that I was hurting, and if I needed to excuse myself for a minute, I didn't want people to follow me and ask me why.  I just wanted them to know.  So if you have nothing to say right then, it's okay.  You can say, "I am so sorry to hear that.  Nothing I want to say feels right, so instead just know that I'm thinking of you."

Don't tell the grieving person not to cry or be sad or to think positively.  Death is terrible.  There's a time to move on and beyond and start rebuilding, but immediately following the death of a loved one is not that time.  There are seven stages of grief.  Can I get through stages 1-5, first? 

Do listen.  Part of the word vomit stems from being a fixer.  You can't fix it.  Stop trying to fix it.  Just listen.  Hear them.  The person grieving may want to tell you why this death is particularly tragic or what this person meant in their lives.  They may want to tell you how much they'll miss them or when they last saw the deceased.  It's okay to not have the answers or fix it.

Don't ask the gory details.  This is to entertain your own selfish, morbid curiosity and not for the betterment of the person suffering.  You don't need to know.  And God forbid it was a painful death, the grieving does not want to relive it.  He died of cancer.  You don't need to know that it was testicular or prostate cancer.  It's personal.  She died in a car wreck.  You don't need to know that her chest was crushed into the steering wheel.  Child birth.  You don't need to know that she hemorrhaged.  There will eventually be a time when it's alright to inquire.  While the person is still grieving is not that time.  So keep your curiosity to yourself.

Do let them know you're thinking of them and their family.  Often just hearing that you're sharing their grief helps take a little bit away.  Hearing that even those who didn't know the dead are mourning their loss can be comforting.  Tell them that they've been in your thoughts.  If you're the praying type, it's okay to say that you've prayed for the family.  Tell them you're hoping they find peace and comfort.

Don't suggest that the dead is somehow at fault for their death.  Sensitivity is not some people's strong suit. Even so, I think this one should be common sense.  He shouldn't have smoke so much, and maybe he wouldn't have died.  If she would have laid off the butter and sugar, maybe she wouldn't have had that heart attack.  If he would have not tried to drive such a long distance, maybe he wouldn't have fallen asleep at the wheel.  It's incredibly insensitive.  Even if it was their fault, that provides no comfort.  So shut up.

Do write a letter or a card with your condolences if you don't trust yourself to not be an insensitive jerk.  You might say something like, "I am so saddened to hear the news of John's passing.  You and your family are in my constant thoughts and prayers."  or "My heart aches at the thought of your loss.  I'm so sorry.  Wishing you and your family well."

Don't be a sage.  No one wants to hear your ancient Mayan proverb about how their dead mom is in a better place.  What you say/write should be heartfelt, honest, and with love.  You don't need to come down from the mountain and show us the way to grieve or tell us how much better off our dead loved one is.  You know what doesn't feel good?  Knowing you won't see your deceased aunt again.

Do ask how you can help or purchase a small token.  Is there a fund for the bereaved family?  Can you bake a mean tuna casserole?  Or do you have time to stop by Kroger and pick up some manager special flowers?  Maybe a small tree to plant in the loved ones honor, or frame a particularly special photo?  Those are all appropriate tokens to show you care.

Don't compare your grief. Things that are not comforting: knowing that your grandmother died of breast cancer, too.  Knowing that you had the same labor complication, too, and almost didn't survive but thank God, you did.  Knowing that you daughter got into a car wreck last week but only broke her leg, but sorry your dad died when he was ejected from the car!  Stop comparing. No one needs an anecdote.

If nothing else, offer a hug.  This is great if you can't find the words.  Just a hug.  Hugs feel good.  Hugs allow the grieving to blow snot into your shirt, which also feels good.  Hugs don't say something stupid, offensive, and rude, but let the grieving know that you're sorry for their loss.


Based on my limited experience, if you've ever grieved the loss of someone, chances are people have said some pretty atrocious things to you.  It is my hope that you're able to laugh it off and find the comedy in the word vomit.  I have made a list to remember and chuckle at when the timing feels better.  Ultimately, we should know that intentions are good even if the words don't come out right.
 Still.  Fix your words, people. 

Babies and Marriage

I had a lot to worry about while pregnant with Ezra.  The last four months of my pregnancy were ruled by lists.  Things to do, things to buy, things to put together, things to make Jason do, recipes to make and freeze, classes to take, appointment dates.  Sometimes I felt so overwhelmed looking at my giant yellow legal pad, that I'd write things I already did just to cross them off my list:  Drink water.  Pee.  Take the dogs to the dog park.  Put gas in the car.  Eat bacon.  Pee. Often times, people would make suggestions for what to put on my list.  Get a pedicure when you're 39 weeks pregnant, a friend suggested.  Read a book about breast feeding and get a really long iPhone charger, another friend added to the list.  "Sleep now! Because you won't be sleeping again for a long time," came out of the mouth of every jackass and her sister.  And a few times, "Guard your marriage, because a baby is really going to do a number on it."

I admit, I didn't add that last one to the list.

My husband and I dated for five years.  We moved in together only after we were married and spent the first year learning how to live together and be patient with one another in our 5 square foot apartment.  The next four years were lots of love and laughter, joy, and a solid foundation for a family.  Soul mates, best friends, husband and wife.  What's more, Jason and I spent almost two years trying to make our little turnip, and leaned on one another through what was one of the hardest times of our lives.  If we could get through that, we could get through anything.  I was worried about a lot of things, but my marriage wasn't one.

At 38 weeks pregnant, I had several moments of anxiety where I changed my mind.  I love my husband so much, I didn't want that phase of our lives to end.  I didn't want to bring someone else in the mix when what we had was so perfect.  I didn't want to give up weekends sleeping in and cuddling, movie night on the couch, and lunch dates at La Parilla.  I tried to savor those moments right up to the end--even when I was hot and uncomfortable and wanted that little hot box of a baby out of me.

And then he arrived and as any new mother will tell you: chaos.  Just pure chaos.  I've mentioned those first two weeks with a newborn--but it cannot be overstated.  Chaos.  You don't know who you are, you don't know who your husband is.  You look in the mirror and you think, "WHAT THE HELL?" and you wonder aloud "What have I become?" and "What have I done?"  The only thing you can do is survive.  You're doing everything and nothing all at once, just trying to survive.  And after two weeks, you take your first breath of air since you pushed that baby out, and you think, "Okay.  I can do this."  But even then--it's just survival.  Nothing else.  Just survival.  You're doing what you can to keep yourself and your baby alive and that's it.  I should note here that this is why freezer meals are a God send.  If you're pregnant or know someone who is pregnant, make them something they can throw in the crock pot.  Because crock pots are how new moms and dads survive.

My day consisted of bottles, diapers, crying (from me), crying (from him), attempting to nurse, laundry, washing bottles, maybe 5 non-consecutive hours of sleep, eating a dry Eggo waffle over the sink like a rat, rinse, repeat, all day every day.  Every third day, I'd thrust Ezra into Jason's arms so I could have five minutes to hose off the important parts in the shower and roll some deodorant under my arms.  The other two days, I kept a stack of clean underwear next to the toilet and some body mist on the tank.  I'd place Ezra in the bouncer in front of me and sang a little song that went like this: "Spritz, spritz, good enough.  Clean underwear, good enough."  I never thought I'd get here, but I can actually look back and laugh about those early days.  I can laugh about the things I worried about, the stupid things I did in my sleep deprived, delirious state. 

Okay, five paragraphs in, and I still haven't gotten to the point.  The point is that I forgot about my husband and my marriage.  I didn't have time to mourn our old lives and certainly didn't have time to ask Jason how his day went.  Before Ezra, I didn't understand what people meant when they said a baby will do a number on your marriage.  It is, yet isn't an overnight thing.  It's a gradual chipping away at your ability to care and love.  It's how you used to casually, absentmindedly scratch him behind the ears, but now, when you're not holding a baby, you just want to sit on your side of the couch and enjoy not soothing someone.  It's how you feel so unlike yourself, so unsure of every decision you're making that you can't bring yourself to ask and listen and care about how your spouse is feeling.  It's your husband, watching his wife, who has only had eyes for him for the past decade, suddenly feel out loved and cast aside in place of a tiny person who he loves, too, and can't begrudge.

And then when Ezra was 8 weeks, we sat on the floor of our bedroom and took turns holding him and coaxing him to laugh and coo at us.  As Ezra enjoyed the view of the ceiling fan above us, Jason said, "I didn't think it would be like this.  People told me, and maybe I kind of knew, but I didn't know.  I feel so distant from you, like you don't even look at me anymore.  I'll talk to you sometimes, and you don't even respond.  I'll walk into a room and you don't see me.  You don't touch me, we don't talk anymore, you're just so consumed by Ezra.  I knew you would be, but I didn't know."  And I didn't really respond.   In fact, I didn't actually hear what he said, until I replayed it in my head before bed.  And my first response was anger.  Duh, I'm not listening to you!  I'm so tired and I cry all the time and I'm barely keeping myself alive.  I don't even know who I am.  I haven't known who I am for a while, now.  I can't worry about you.  I'm trying to keep myself from falling to pieces.  I'm putting my own oxygen mask on, and when I get it on, then I'll assist you with yours.

"Guard your marriage, because a baby is really going to do a number on it."

In the morning, I softened.  How would I feel with the roles reversed?  And we can't live like this.  We can't have a house, where 1/3 of the family is feeling unappreciated, left out, and ignored.  Me ignoring him wasn't going to be the new us.  I never thought we were going to be one of those couples who struggled once baby arrived.  Hearing him say we had problems was tough, but a needed reality check.  We can't (and don't want to!) undo the new person in our lives.  So how do we create a new normal?

I function by lists.  So I pulled out that yellow legal pad (which now had eat, wake, sleep schedules for Ezra on about 20 of the pages).  Here's the actual list:

-Notice one thing he's done to help with the baby, and tell him.
-Ask him, and listen, about his day.
-Do something nice for him (buy him new pens at the store, buy him M&Ms, make him chicken tortilla soup).
-Plan an at home date.
-Hug him, every morning and every night.  A good hug.
-Thank him for doing the a.m. feeding and emptying the dishwasher.


It probably sounds so stupid that I had to make a list or that I forgot to love my husband, but I did.  And at first, it was hard.  I was tired and I didn't want to do any of the the things on the list.  If I had a rare free moment, I wanted to shower or sleep or just sit and be.  But as I checked the items off my list each day, they became a part of my routine and I remembered that I love him and it magically became easier to ask him to hold the baby so I could actually shave my legs.  And we laughed hard like we used to in bed reading textsfromyourex and yourshittyfamily and his favorite posts of the day on Reddit.  We risked dates, because they were important, with our unpredictable baby (that's not true--he's pretty predictably awesome all the time).  I was genuinely excited when he came home from work and so appreciative when he folded all the laundry in the dryer and put the bottles on the drying rack. 

Our new normal isn't much like our old normal.  Babies do change everything.  And it turns out that anxiety I felt while pregnant was valid and the need to mourn our old lives was important.  But once we got over that hump, the new normal is actually better.  Granted, we're only 16 weeks out from turning our whole lives upside down and we're still learning to adapt and put the pieces back together.  But if we don't guard our marriage, take stock, and reconnect, we could easily find ourselves downstream. 

Back to Work

The end of the year also brought the end of my maternity leave.  As January 5th approached, I tried not to think about it, but it kept creeping closer and closer until it was the night before I went back to work and I was shaking with anxiety, overpacking my car with all the things Ezra would need in my office.

I cried the whole five minute drive to my school.  I spent the day trying to juggle Ezra and the emails I needed to answer, and it didn't work, so I cried some more.  I tried to be okay with leaving Ezra in the classroom, but within the first few minutes, an overly excited child tossed a foam block into the air and nailed my sweet baby in the head--which caused tears for the both of us.  My sweet Emma came by to ask me how it was going, and I cried some more while choking out, "It's so hard."  And being a mom, and one of my best friends, and the most empathetic person I know, she knew exactly what to say.  I still cried.  All of that is because crying is what I do now.  Now that I have a baby, the waterworks just won't shut off.

I've done this a thousand times with other moms.  I've seen them struggle to drop their babies off on that first and second and third day, week, month.  I've seen them cry while peeking through the observation window at their giggling babies.  I've answered their emails and phone calls, "just checking in!" and talked them down from the ledge.  I heard them when they said, "I can't do this.  Maybe this isn't for me.  Maybe I should quit my job.  I can't quit my job!  I don't know what to do!"  And I said the right things and gave them big hugs, and called to let them know it was going well--and took pictures of their babies so they'd know that it was all smiles.  So I thought it would be different for me, especially since I could have him any time I wanted, visit him, kiss him, see him, even wear him all day.  And maybe it was easier than most, but still not easy.  I spent the last 15 weeks holding Ezra to my chest, instinct telling me exactly what he needed at any moment.  I spent my whole days devoting 100% of my attention to the tiny extension of my heart.  And now the thought of relinquishing one. single. minute. to anyone, even teachers I know, and hired, and trust is enough to make me vomit.  The dull ache in my chest still feels heavy and achy.  Tonight, I think, worst of all.

Ezra's first nap without mom.  :(

We're four days into this new adventure, and tonight was the hardest night.  We had a total of 15 minutes to cuddle before Ezra became exhausted and cranky and extremely ready for bed.  We didn't get cuddle time on the couch.  We didn't get bath time where we sing at each other.  We didn't get before bed baby massage.  And we only got about 45 seconds of cuddle time in the rocker before He was out like a light.  I miss him.  It's hard to believe this time last week, I was unshowered and exhausted from running the daily baby care marathon.  And without that daily marathon, there is a hole in my heart.  So I held my sleeping baby and tried to stop my chin from quivering before bursting into huge, ugly, heaving mom-tears.  Cathartic. 

Being a mom is so hard sometimes.  It's so beautiful and rewarding and soul warming, but it comes with endless guilt, large emotions, and that ache.

I'm told all of this will get easier.  Maybe it will.
There are some joys.

I let Jason read Ezra's daily report from his teachers and he said, "Ezra did circle time!?  That's so funny!  What is circle time?"  When I explained that he probably sat in a teacher's lap and sang songs and watched a lot of one year olds dance around, Jason clapped his hands and laughed and seemed so genuinely excited for Ezra.

When I walk into his classroom (every hour!) and see my smiling baby, who is so entertained watching all the big kids and cuddling my friends/his teachers, my heart warms.

And if I'm being honest, it's nice to remember what alone time and personal space feels like.  It feels good to know I've accomplished something at the end of the day.  If I had the financial choice, I'd choose to stay home and watch The View.  But the alternative, working at my sweet school, isn't so bad and I'm so lucky to work five feet away from my sweet coconut.

Still, there's an ache, a hurt, a heart flutter that even illegally obtained Xanax cannot fix.

Grace

If you asked my closest family and friends to describe me, they'd come up with a whole slew of adjectives.  I imagine ones like boisterous, abrasive at times, funny, judgmental, harsh, giving, unemotional, biting, loyal.  But graceful?  No.  Graceful would never be uttered when describing me.  In fact, if you asked me a year ago, I probably couldn't even give you an accurate description of what grace is.  And surely, it showed. 

On New Year's Eve 2013, a cup of urine changed my life.  As I sat on the edge of the tub, watching that second pink line appear, I felt such an overwhelming feeling of divine grace.  For two years, I wanted that second pink line.  Every night, for two years, I prayed for that line.  And as my shaking hands held that white stick, I couldn't help but thank God for His grace.  And then, of course, the whirlwind began.  I flung our bedroom door open and showed my husband the line and a nine month celebration began and our sweet son was born and everything we've ever wanted was ours.  But in the back of my mind there was an echo.  Grace.


I can't remember where I heard it--but I once listened to a speech, or a sermon, or read a blog where someone said all his life, he wanted God to help him control his temper.  He would drive down the road, someone would cut him off, and he'd yell obscenities and carry the anger with him all day--so at night he asked God to take that anger away from him.  But does God just cure you, or does He give you the opportunity to control your temper?

For me, it's grace.

It started with that second pink line, but all year, I had the opportunity to experience grace--though I didn't quite know it.

When a friend let me down, I had the opportunity to be kind, when I didn't want to be.
When an acquaintance made some strange and unkind observations about the possibility of miscarrying, I had the opportunity to be forgiving, when I wanted to be sarcastic and ugly.
When I watched a family members argue, I had the opportunity to speak love where contributing would have been easy.
When my husband expressed neglect after our new baby, I had the opportunity to be empathetic and self reflective, when complaining about tiredness and preoccupation seemed valid.

So that's what grace has meant for me.  It means being generous to those who don't deserve it.  It means showing kindness when you want to bite.  It means forgiving and bringing love to the table.  Above all, it means loving as God has loved us.

As I grow older, I'm more and more convinced that you earn the gifts God gives you.

So tonight, we toast to the opportunities.

A Toast to 2014

I'm a little behind on my blogging.  I decided that I needed to spend the last month of my maternity leave savoring every moment with my little cupcake and celebrating the holidays with my family.

But now, here I am on New Year's Eve.  I put Ezra to bed two hours ago, made some cookie dough for my husband, and started another load of laundry.  I'm currently sipping a Coke Zero, trying to warm my feet under a fat Chihuahua, and reflecting on what an amazing year it has been.  Tonight marks one year since I sat on the edge of the bath tub, holding two pink lines in my shaky hands.  Rejoicing.  Forgetting to breathe.  Finally.  I cried, I held the test to my chest, I jumped up and down, and then I cried some more.  I felt my pulse in my wrists and my ankles, and heard my heart beating in my ears.  Finally.  It feels like just last week.  But a whole year? 

What a year.  I have been the happiest I've ever been in my entire life.  Incandescently happy, a la Mr. Darcy. 

My pregnancy was wonderful.  I grew fat and swollen, but felt the most beautiful I've ever felt in my life, even as I dripped chocolate ice cream on my bare belly.  I loved every minute of being pregnant and feeling the little guy kick.  And then he was born and my whole life changed.  I used to roll my eyes when people said things like, "You'll understand when you're a parent," or "Just wait..."  And I make a conscious effort not to say that to my childless friends.  But OH MY GOD.  It's really the most undeniably life changing thing.  There's a whole part of your heart that you don't even know is there.  It's unreal.  

I'm have so much to be thankful for.  I thank God every night, every morning, every sixth minute...  My favorite moment of the day is when Jason, who has been up with Ezra for two hours, quietly tip toes into the bedroom and places a snuggly baby on my chest.  What a way to wake up in the morning!  A smiling, giggling, happy Ezra.  And I thank God. 

Now I promise--I'm going to stop gushing about how happy I am to have gotten pregnant and to have had a baby.  Officially.  This is it.  But I'm not going to stop gushing about Ezra, though, because he's so damn cute.

Speaking of Ezra, he's kind of the best baby ever.  He's officially 16 weeks on Friday.  He smiles all the time, sleeps through the night, and amazes us every day with his new games, expressions, and abilities.  He recently learned to grab onto things, specifically his Captain Calamari legs, and pull them into his mouth.  He can entertain himself for longer periods--at least 15 minutes at a time, but on a good day 30-45 minutes!  He likes to pull his feet up to his face and has definitely discovered his voice, and boy is it loud!

So what's in store for 2015?

Well, Ezra and I will be counting down the last four days of my maternity leave before we head back to work.  I'm so fortunate to work at a preschool and have the most amazing friend and employer, who has been so accommodating--with both a 20 week maternity leave and allowing Ezra to chill out in my office while I warm up to the idea of relinquishing any moment with him.  I plan on bringing my Ergo and a bouncer and his play mat, and sweet Ezra will get to hang out with me all day.  But he also has a very coveted spot in our Infant classroom--with teachers (and friends!) that I adore.  All in all, it's a really great set up.  I shouldn't be sad or sick at all about going back to work, but I can't help but feel a pang of both.  I'm going to miss hate-watching The View, drinking a pot of coffee, and snuggling the best baby all day.  I'm going to miss being a staircase away from my husband, who I can kiss and love-pinch whenever.  I'm definitely going to miss sweat pants, slippers, and messy buns.  So, there's a pang.  But I know it's going to be okay.

On the home front, I'm really going to make an effort to beautify our little townhouse, Number 8.  Our furniture is dated and too big for our space, never mind not very pretty or comfortable or functional.  I've been pinning and pinning and have some great ideas.  Jason and I plan to make a few small updates each month and I'll be sure to update our progress when I can. 

The big projects I want to tackle first are our living room.  I'd like to get rid of our sofa, and coffee table, and end tables--which are metal and glass, and huge and just not our st
yle (and I can just see Ezra cracking his head on them when he becomes more mobile).  I like a light blue, grey, silver color scheme and plan on bringing in lighter and brighter accents.  In the spring, I'd like to beautify our front yard.  It's small, but definitely needs some love.  I picture flower pots and a new light fixture and a fun welcome mat.  If I'm feeling frisky, maybe a wind chime!

Anyway, it's time for me to push the laundry through, fill up the sink to wash some bottles, get under my heating blanket.  Happy New Year!  I hope 2014 was amazing for you and your family, and that 2015 brings you health, wealth, and happiness. 

Dog Guilt and Sleeping Through the Night

Ezra Grey is 2 months old.  The idea of that is unreal to me.  That my little man has been in this world for two whole months.  It feels like he's only been here a few days.  But he is wonderful and lovely and perfect.  Yesterday, he gave me the gift of sleep, by going 11.5 hours straight.  What more could a new mom ask for?

In other news, Ezra has also survived his first cold and his first round of immunizations.  The cold was passed around and we thought Ez would make it out unscathed, but just when we started to let out our sigh of relief, his nose started dripping and his voice turned raspy and my happy baby turned into an inconsolable mess who just couldn't get comfy.  As luck would have it, the doctor's office called to confirm his appointment later in the week and made room for him in their schedule when I mentioned his cold.  They gave me the go-ahead to give him Tylenol, which as it turns out, is a miracle drug for babies.  It turned my frowny, drippy baby back into the smiley, lovey, sleepy baby I once knew.  That, coupled with his new humidifier and baby Vicks made him fresh as a daisy.

By Friday, he was well enough for his immunizations.  I stood over him and held his little hand and we were playing a little cooing game.  He had a huge smile on his face when they stuck him with that awful, long needle and his sweet little smile slowly transformed into a scowl.  His little lip came out and he looked at me like I had betrayed him.  He totally thought I stuck him!  And he got two more in the other leg, which he screamed through, and they were covered with Bugs Bunny band aids.  I held him and rocked him and he arched his back as if to say, "Get off me, you mean woman!"  :(

A bottle later, he forgave me enough to let me hold him, but not enough for squeezes and kisses.  The next day, he mostly forgot about the whole thing.  Little peanut.  A friend advised that next time I turn away and after it's all done, go and pick him up--because then I'll be the savior.  Not the jerk who held him down.  Little buddy!  Lesson learned.

In other news... poor Bev.  Jason remarked the other day, "You used to tell Bev that she was an angel from God.  Now you don't even look at her."  Prior to Ezra, I worried about the introduction of a baby into the family for Bev's sake.  The books and blogs I read suggested that I prepare her by practicing ignoring her.  So sometimes I'd leave the house without saying goodbye to her.  Or I'd sit on the couch next to her without acknowledging her for a few minutes.  I laugh at myself now, thinking that's what ignoring her was. 

She used to be the apple of my eye, the love of my life.  Now I go whole days without even talking to her, weeks without touching her.  Ezra has replaced her in every way and the hardest part is that she knows it.  Sometimes I'll catch her looking at me longingly.  But then the baby will cry or the laundry will need to be put in the dryer and another day passes without giving her any love or attention.  Jason tries to fill in.  He makes a point to play with her and hug her, but it isn't enough. 

All of that is to say that I feel tremendously guilty.  I still love her but I just don't have time to love her.  I was her best friend, and I abandoned her.  I'm trying to be better, but this is definitely one part of motherhood that hasn't gotten easier with time.  I'm hoping it will in time.  And I'm hoping that as Ezra becomes more mobile and can flick food off his plate to her, they'll become best friends too.  Being a dog mom and a baby mom is a hard thing to juggle.

That's what's going on around the Vacuza homestead.  We're preparing for Thanksgiving and getting our home Christmas ready.  Hoping all of you have a lovely holiday!

Love,
Ashley

The Californian Fishes in the Athens Pond

My mother and father in law recently made their visit to Athens to meet baby Ezra.  They've been to Athens twice before, but it was so long ago, we were tourists ourselves.  Now with 6 years of Athens under our belts, we made it our mission to show these Californians what Athens is all about.  Before they came, Jason and I made mental lists (and iPhone notes) of places we knew we wanted to take them and then narrowed what would be feasible during their visit.  Most locals would probably scoff at our list, as Jason and I rarely venture downtown.  We don't like the traffic or the parking, so everywhere we planned to visit barely grazed downtown.  So Athenians--don't bark at me! 

They arrived late Thursday night via Groome transportation and due to Ezra's strict bedtime routine and a delayed airplane taxi, we didn't get a chance to see them.  But Jason went early Friday morning and met them for breakfast at their hotel.  Then they got the full UGA student experience: they hopped on the Family and Graduate Housing bus and headed to campus where they sat in on Jason's lecture.  Five years ago, Jason would have never let this happen because his nerves would be shot--but as a seasoned professor, guests are no big thing for him.  I heard he got a round of applause, too. 

Finally, they arrived to our house to meet baby Ezra.  Our parents are very different from one another and Jason and I always dreamed that Ezra would learn to laugh and cuddle from my family and learn good manners and the value of hard work from Jason's.  But when he was in their arms, both of our parents loved him the same way.  They gushed over his little toes and cooed over his beautiful eye lashes.  They both commented on what a lovely baby he was and told us how lucky we were to have such an easy going baby.  They both wanted to hold him and feed him.  And truly, they both loved him the moment they laid eyes on him.

We celebrated that love with lunch at our favorite little Mexican restaurant, La Parilla.  If there's one thing I know about the Vacuza side of the family, it's that if they could eat refried beans and tacos for every meal for the rest of their lives, they absolutely would.  So naturally, La Parilla was a hit.  In our opinion, it's the best Mexican restaurant in Athens.  We've yet to have a single poor experience.  It's quiet enough, has nice ambiance, the service is always wonderful, the lunch specials are great, and it's kid/baby friendly (a hard quality to find in a lot of Athens restaurants).  Jason always enjoys their quesadilla (he rants and raves about their gooey, melty cheese) and I usually get their lunch fajitas.  This visit did not disappoint.


My inlaws have a lovely little farm where they grow pistachios and apples and pomegranates and grapes which they sell at their local farmer's market.  So when I tried to think of experiences I'd like for them to have during their visit, the Athens Farmer's Market at Bishop Park was on the list.  Saturday was a chilly and Ezra is so hot natured, I thought it would be a good day to try out our Ergo for the first time.  So like a true Athenian, I strapped my baby to my chest and marched into the little market of local produce and wares.  We bought delicious focaccia bread and a hunk of cheese.  And for breakfast I picked up some yummy pastries.  My mother in law got to meet a local celebrity when she spotted the 3 Porch Farm folks at their booth.  She had followed their blog prior to her visit and was excited to meet them and talk farmer au farmer.  And Ezra just slept on my chest like a sweet little personal heater.  Success.


On Sunday, Jason insisted his parents get the Waffle House experience.  This greasy spoon of a restaurant is not a California find.  Which is funny, as there is one on every corner in Georgia, so we have plenty to spare.  And even though I can think of 7 Waffle Houses in a ten mile radius (no exaggeration), a new one just opened up on our side of town.  But it being Sunday, we couldn't get a seat so we had to go to a less popular one.  The experience is the same, I imagine.  Fast service from women who appear to have had very hard lives, while country music blares on the jukebox.  Greasy hash browns piled next to bacon and eggs which were cooked on the same unsanitized flat top as the eggs prepared five years ago.  You know, about what you'd expect.  Don't think about it and gobble it down. 




On Monday, we enjoyed an Athens favorite: Mama's Boy.  I'm proud to say that at one point, we were considered "regulars" by the waiters.  To even get a seat at Mama's Boy is a feat.  To be a regular is a major accomplishment.  Ezra enjoyed the geometric wallpaper and mason jar chandelier, while those with fully functioning digestive tracks enjoyed biscuits with jam and eggs and pineapple bread with caramel rum sauce and never ending cups of coffee. When we left, our bellies were full of a true taste of Athens and our fists were full of York peppermint patties. 

Jason and his dad had a few fix it projects around the house, so his mom and I took Ezra and the dogs to the dog park at Memorial Park.  I've been a few times before, but it was never as busy as it was at this visit.  There must have been 25 different dogs.  There were three giant Great Danes and an adorable little Chihuahua named Calvin.  Tammy and Beverly had a wonderful time sniffing and socializing and chasing one another.  The park is so lush and expansive with wooded area and a central mostly dusty dirty area where dogs like to chase and dig.  The best part is that the whole acre and a half fenced in so everyone stays put and dog owners can socialize instead of giving chase. 

  
For dinner, we went ate by candlelight at Big City Bread.  Known for their delicious pastries and twinkle light garden dining, Big City Bread was also voted one of the most child friendly restuarants in Athens, which is a fact I like to tell all non-locals as it seems rather surprising when you look at it.  But in the day, there are buckets of chalk and adorable elementary school art on the walls and sidewalks.  Whenever I've dined at Big City Bread for lunch on a weekend, I will almost always spot a family from my school.  Anyway!  The food was delicious and the restaurant was quiet and peaceful. 






On Tuesday, we started our morning by heading to the Georgia Museum of Art.  The feature exhibit was Emilio Pucci's fashions from the 50s and 60s.  Mannequins sported bright patterns and orbish hats and girdles with butt padding were displayed in glass showcases.  We all agreed that my sister in law, Jason's sister, would have enjoyed the exhibit.  Jason and his mom seemed to really enjoy the portraits, while his dad enjoyed the landscapes.  I've never cared for landscapes, and I like the portraits just fine, but my favorite is the collection of silver dishes.  I like the filigree and all the different place settings.  I get that from my mom, I think.

 

Bear Hollow Zoo at Memorial Park.  It was the perfect time to go.  All of the leaves were perfect shades of orange and gold and we mostly had the park to ourselves.  We saw the bears taking their naps and Dill Pickle, the alligator basking in the sun.  I didn't see my favorite little owl, Radar, but we did see a vulture, some tortoises, and the deer.  I have always felt so conflicted about zoos.  Caged animals, solely for the purpose of human entertainment doesn't sit well with me.  So I took my first tour at Bear Hollow with trepidation.  I was comforted by a guide who told me that all of the animals were rescues--that they were injured or kept illegally by residents and were unable to be released back into the wild.  That, coupled with the care and beautiful habitats make me feel good about spending my time on the trail.

My mother in law celebrated her birthday during our trip and just like her son, the perfect night consisted of pizza at home.  So we ordered pizza in and had salad and wine by candlelight, followed by a game of rummy with rules that consistently change in favor of my father in law who cleaned the floor with us. 


On Wednesday, we met for breakfast at the hotel and to say our goodbyes.  We had a lovely, packed visit and I think they got a true taste for Athens and got to spend a lot of quality time with their new grandson.  But even with the good times, it's always hard to say goodbye.  Being 2,000 miles away and months from our next visit makes the goodbyes even harder.  So we'll be counting the days until we can be together again but will be satisfied with our good memories for now.  :)