Family of 4

So now I have 2 kids.  2 sons.  2 boys.  2.  It's hilarious how it feels so natural to say that, yet so new.  Elliott Jude was born Oct. 7, as scheduled.

And that's as far as I got with my writing.  Elliott is now 17 months old.  We've had our ups, we've had some downs, but mostly we've had so much less time.  Less time for this blog, less time for going out without children, less time to exercise, less time to clean, to create, to craft...  My children have become my number 1 priority, perhaps to a fault.  Is that possible?

Of course, I love my children to the point of tears and exhaustion at any given moment.  However, I know it's important for them to realize they are not the center of everyone's universe.  So is being at the center of mine doing them a disservice?  I mean, they hear no, they are disciplined, they are taught personal responsibility and given consequences.  They are placed in the care of others so Dave and I can occasionally go out together, so they know Mommy and Daddy exist as a couple (barely, but we try) and not just as their parents.  But I still worry.

I know I will always worry.  But sometimes the fact that we get one chance not screw these kids up for life is unbearably overwhelming.  Especially now that Max has reached an age where he will remember things when he is older.  I know we influence our children from the womb, from birth, but no one *really* remembers that one time Mommy left you in the crib so she could finish her show or that time Daddy ate your Halloween candy when you were 2, even though you threw quite the memorable tantrum.  But now, at a week shy of 5 years old, events are memorable for Max.  So if we screw it up, not only will he remember, he will remind us for years to come.  I know, I've done this to my own poor parents.  What if, in an effort to do right by them, we only give their future therapists material to keep them on the couch?

In the "If I knew then what I knew now" department.... this parenting gig only gets more difficult.  We registered Max for Kindergarten(!).  He could tell everyone our deepest, darkest parenting fails.  He will begin to be influenced by others.  He will have to be more independent than ever.  He won't have me to help him find whatever he loses on a daily basis or remind him to put things back where they belong so he can keep his work space neat.  I know the reward will be there when I get to watch him learn and grow into the young man I know is inside.  I will have more time to spend with Elliott without Max dominating every conversation and interaction.  But the beginning of letting go has begun.

Pee is the Worst, or Why I Feel Like a Terrible Mom

Max has been coming into our bed in the middle of the night now for what seems like months, maybe 2.  Which on one hand isn't that long, but as a mama in late pregnancy whose sleep dwindles by the night, it seems like forever.  He usually will let us cary him back to bed, he will be awake enough to pee then goes back to sleep as if nothing happened.  But the more tired I got, the less aware I even was that he came in and nestled between me and Dave in our King sized bed.
Then Grammie died and he was really resistant to sleep.  He took forever to fall asleep and was easily awoken and solved that by sleeping soundly in our bed.  In the past when we've dealt with bedtime problems, sticker charts and incentives have saved the day.  So about 2 weeks ago I started a new sticker chart.  He was excited, it was hit or miss at first, but then as he tried to collect 14 stickers so he could get a present from his Enna, he was back to doing well.  And so was I.  He was still visiting once a night, but I was aware and reminded him of the sticker and took him back to his room to sleep until the sun came up without incident.
Earlier this week, he got those 14 stickers and got his coloring book from Enna.  He was excited to have accomplished this.  We kept the sticker chart going but I decided to up the ante and explained now he had to stay in his bed all night, and not come in our bed at all if he wanted to get the sticker.  This is harder for me too, because boy can that kid snuggle and whisper the sweetest nothings in my ear.  The more sleep deprived I am, the easier I am to win over.
Cue tonight.  Dave is in the busiest part of his rehearsal period, tech week.  This means that it's just me and Max, all day and all night.  Dave doesn't have time to come home for dinner at this point, nor does he necessarily have time to even meet us for dinner.  It comes with the territory and I am used to this, but I underestimated how that might feel at 38-1/2 weeks pregnant.  It feels overwhelming.  It feels like sometimes I just want to pee in peace.  It feels like I am sick of answering "why?" all day and all night, particularly when I am also sick of answering "No baby yet?  You think you'll go early? Are you excited?"  It feels like I have a very short fuse with my adorable, sweet, loving son just because the kid wants me to play baseball with him and I just don't have it in me.  Which leads to feeling like a big old pile of crap.  Because he deserves me and can't understand why it sucks to get off the couch sometimes, let alone run bases.  He doesn't understand why I have to cart him around to 3 appointments every week and leave him with Dave's students, all because "the doctor needs to check on the baby."  He's regressing by peeing his pants 3 times in the last 2 days, and yelling at me (which is very atypical of him) anytime I tell him "no" or otherwise say something he doesn't want to hear.  He doesn't understand why we flip out every time he wants to pretend our bed is a pool that he's jumping into and lands precariously close to my giant belly.  He just wants to be his 3 year old self, and that comes with boundless energy that I just can't match these days.  That's just the back story.  (I may be trying to rationalize my reaction to the reason for this post.)
I finally fell asleep around 2:15 this morning, feeling ok about being almost caught up on laundry.  Around 4:15, I wake up to realize Max has just crawled into bed with us.  After yet another day with no nap that he still does need, he was exhausted.  I try to wake him to entice him with a sticker, to try to carry him back to his bed, to rouse him enough to realize what he's done.  He's not biting.  He is out cold.  The exhausted part of me ignores the logical/disciplinarian part of me and just lets him go.  He has to learn consequences, right?  He just won't get a sticker in the morning.  And I get to stay in my cozy bed uninterrupted.  At about 4:20, 4:30, Max wakes me and says clear as day, "Mommy I want to go change."  "What?  Did you pee?"  "Yes, I'm so sorry."  And boy did he pee.  Not just a warning trickle to wake him enough to go potty.  That would warrant a change of undies and pants, but not the worst thing.   This, though.  This felt like the worst thing, even though rational me knows it wasn't.  He peed through his pajamas, on me so I had to change my pants, shirt and underwear, obviously on my sheets, but also on my pillow, and through to our fibertop mattress topper, which by the way, is the only thing that makes our bed comfortable.  I was furious.
I was able to realize that yelling or even letting him know directly I was mad would be fruitless.  So I huffed and puffed while I started ripping sheets and pillowcases off the bed, and clothes off of my body.  And naturally got mad at myself for reacting this way.  Thankfully, Dave woke up and took Max to his room to get cleaned up and changed.  This way, Max didn't see me cry hysterically while I took my rage out on the linens.  I can't explain this reaction...I was still crying when Dave returned to the room and asked (as he so often has to these days) "What's wrong?"  I knew it didn't make sense and I was way overreacting, but that doesn't mean I could stop.  I was thinking about how I didn't want Max to think I was mad at him (even though I was) and how I literally had one clean fitted sheet left and how I JUST changed the sheets not long ago and how I don't even know how to wash the mattress topper and how much the bed is going to suck without it and when the eff am I ever going to truly get caught up on laundry if he keeps pissing everywhere and why didn't I just get over my lazy self and carry him back to his bed so he would have been roused enough to realize he had to pee in the TOILET and who likes changing the sheets at 4:30 am anyway and obviously he's going through something that is creating these behaviors so why can't I just be patient with him and hug him and fix it rather than stomping and crying like a child and when will I ever get sleep again and why can't I stop crying and why can't Dave just understand why I'm crying without me having to say it???
I tried to pull it together enough to not let on to Max that I was as upset as I was.  I was being somewhat successful and even gave him the biggest hug when he told me he wanted one.  That's where we were at when Dave entered and asked what's wrong, which made me cry more, which made him ask more and then I got mad he asked because then I was crying in front of Max and this snowball of emotion was gaining momentum.  I was afraid of the avalanche, so I said good night to Max and Dave put him back to bed.  I tried to just lay down hoping it would dissipate and I could just fall asleep.  But then Dave came back and God love him he wanted to help but also wanted to sleep and for some reason his wanting to sleep shone brighter.  So I grabbed the quilt and headed downstairs to start this never ending laundry train.  Then I lay on the couch so I could sob without the guilt of keeping Dave awake.  I haven't been able to cry myself to sleep so here I am documenting this wretched event.
I have been pretty good at expressing my frustration with situations involving Max without taking it out on him.  When we potty trained, it SUCKED when he had an accident.  I was able to tell him though that I didn't like changing his clothes or sheets, but I was still able to be encouraging and remind him "accidents happen, you'll do better."  These days I feel at a loss for the encouraging part and it breaks my heart.  I second guess my parenting all the time but I also feel confident in my choices (as if that makes sense).  I know I'm not perfect but I feel like Max is a polite, patient, smart, skilled, well-mannered, well-behaved child that everyone seems to enjoy, so I feel like I must be doing something right.  But this feels so wrong.  Not wrong like when I lie that we're out of ice cream because I don't want to share the last bowl or not like when I tell him the park is closed when I just don't have time to make that stop.  This feels wrong like unnatural to me.  It's going against my instincts as a mom, but at the same time I can't fight it.  I was so angry that Max peed the bed tonight.  Kids pee the bed!  He's freaking out about his brother coming soon!  He's very aware of it because it's all anyone who sees us can talk about!  And God love him, he peed the bed and apologized instantly!  Not out of fear, he was genuine.  People screw up, as I am right now, and I still was so focused on the damn sheets and laundry that I couldn't take the time to comfort him or even be around him to change his wet clothes.  I feel like a horrible mom.  I know one incident does not a terrible parent make.  But the fact that I can't control these feelings even though I know they're wrong is what makes me feel terrible.  This isn't a bad choice I made that I will learn from and do better.  If he has an accident tomorrow, I may lose my shit.  I don't want to, but timing is everything and if his timing sucks, it could all compound and then what??  (Max is not in any physical danger and I would never hurt him.  I know I have that self control.)  My worry is that I make him feel bad about something he probably can't help either.  And that is completely hypocritical of me and the beginnings of another feelings snowball rolling downhill.
I hope I can eventually sleep, but now it's 6:07 am and my alarm is set for 8:30 so we can take Max out to do something fun.  (Ironic.)  I hope I can sleep a bit and wake to tomorrow being better.  Because I don't really want to feel like crap and I definitely don't want Max to feel like crap because of me.

35 Weeks

So according to my earlier due date (Oct. 8), I am 35 weeks today.  According to my later due date, I will hit 35 weeks on Thursday.  Having to switch OB practices just 2 weeks ago, I have no idea which date my new doctor, who I haven't even met yet, will go by.  Nor do I know when he will be scheduling my C-section.  I keep telling myself this is how most pregnancies go; parents are rarely given the date and time of delivery and just have a ballpark date to go by.  However, having had a date that we lost seems to make this more difficult.
There's lots that's been more difficult this time around.  Or just different.  Both, maybe?  This time feels like it's the first time in so many ways.  I never felt Max kick or flip or move like this guy.  I feel like I'm carrying much differently this time.  Opposite seasons mean more swelling than I experienced with my first pregnancy.  Plus there's the whole "I already have a kid" thing which makes being pregnant all the more difficult.  I thought that would be counteracted by the whole "I don't have a job outside the home" thing, but it turns out my previous boss was much more understanding and patient than Max.  
My patience is running thin these days.  I feel bad about it.  I can't predict when I will have the patience of a saint that I feel I should have, especially with Max, or when I will blow a gasket because I can't find the Bactine or because I spilled the sugar or because the dog left pawprints on my freshly swept floor.  I know when I am acting irrationally even as it's happening but I can't stop it.  I'm whole heartedly sorry when it's happening, but I still don't stop.  Which is equally maddening and causes a whole snowball effect.  
Then there's the fact my Grammie died.  Last week.  We've known it's been coming for a while. Years, even.  And in recent months and weeks, we've known it was coming sooner than later.  She stopped being Grammie a while ago.  I began mourning when that happened, when Max stopped being a source of happiness for her.  When she didn't seem to care about our new addition to the family.  When she stopped using words to communicate regularly.  I was sad every time I went to visit her.  I visited her less frequently because I couldn't handle the emotional wringer it put me through.  But she had her ups every once in a while too, and I wanted to be there for those too.  It's been a long few months and I felt prepared for her death whenever it should come.  Even when we got the call a week and half before she died that she was "officially dying" (aren't we all?), I went to see her and we had a fleeting moment when I said goodbye.  She woke up briefly and put her hand on my cheek and smiled.  She spoke something that was either Polish or nonsensical words; either way, I will never know what she said.  But it was such a moment that I felt it was "our goodbye." I cried and thought that was it.  But it wasn't.  It felt odd to visit her after that moment, but I thought it was the right thing to do.  I cried when my mom called to tell me she was gone, but at the wake, I was as fine as could be expected.  A manageable sadness, but no tears.  (I was probably distracted by having to explain everything to Max, who is smart enough at 3-1/2 to not be satisfied by euphemisms.)  The funeral, not so much.  The next day, not so much.  When I finished a jar of jelly we had made together last summer, not so much.  Seemingly normal reactions to a grieving granddaughter, but my emotions make me feel so out of control sometimes.  
I love being pregnant, despite the tiredness, the difficulty in dressing, the swollen feet, the tiredness, the discomfort, the insanity of a zillion doctor appointments, the tiredness....Yes, despite all these inconveniences, I love feeling the kicks, I love reading everything I can with each passing week, I love planning for a newborn, I love the idea of growing new life inside me, I love the anticipation of meeting a new person to add to our family.  So all these loves outweigh the negatives in my mind.  I am just not sure about my emotional instability.  I feel pretty borderline much of the time when my hormones are in check.  Now the tears come way too easily, as does the rage and impatience.  Thankfully I have a very understanding and patient husband and a forgiving son.  I just get nervous thinking about if this is our last child or if we (I) have it in us (me) to do this again.
Then I think to myself, Let's just see how this goes.  We don't have to sign any contracts right now.  It took us (me) a while to be ready to have #2 and so far that's challenging but working out fine.  If we decide to go for 3, we obviously can't do it right away anyway, so why worry about it now?  
Right?  
Except I also happen to do a lot of worrying typically and even more when I am pregnant.  So like so much else, I probably will continue to do so.

This was the last time they saw each other.  He's going to miss his buddy, but I know she's watching over him and his little brother. 

This is a Grammie quote.  She put it in her autobiography that was published a few years ago through Hospice.  It's a gift we're all grateful to have.

This is when Grammie proudly gave us our completed wedding quilt.  We had been married for about 5 years at this time, but that obviously didn't matter.  We are grateful to have the beautiful handiwork of Grammie forever.  

Where does the time go?

So there have been countless moments in the time since I last wrote that I thought, "I should write this down" or "Remember when you wanted to better document this pregnancy?  You can do that by writing in your blog."  But, typical for me, I had no follow through.  Yes, life with my family plus baby-sitting another little is crazy hectic and full of times when I was actually living them rather than documenting them, which I can't regret obviously.  But still.  There were also plenty of times I got sucked into Netflix binge watching a series I've already seen.  So, guilt sets in and here I am.
I am writing today because I'm already not going to make it to church, which I've been trying really hard to do.  Max is wise enough now to recognize church is supposed to be a weekly thing and it's only a matter of time before he protests "Why do we have to go to church?" and my response of "Because God is good to us and it's a nice thing to do to go for a short time every week to say thank you for all the good we have in our life." is met with "But we didn't got last week."  And I will have nothing to say.  Because he's right.  We didn't go last week.  Why?  Because we took too long in getting ready and we would have been late.  Because we had a show and a cookout afterwards and we needed to get ready.  Because I got sucked into checking my Facebook.  Because Dave didn't get up and help get Max ready.  Because Max was too tired to get a bath last night so he needed one this morning and that takes forever.  Because because because excuse excuse excuse.   <sigh>
I've been so conflicted on this whole religion thing for so many years; I could start my own religion called the Questionable Catholic.  (But I guess that already exists without the label.)  I was raised Catholic by two unrelenting Catholic parents, and going back in generations, the faith only got stronger.  I went to public school off and on throughout my education and learned early on that other people had different faiths, beliefs and practices.  Which was cool with me.  (My poor mother didn't know there were other religions until she went off to college, which should be a sin itself.)  But as I grew up in my family, I practiced as I was taught.  I went to church every weekend, even participating in some capacity, usually musically.  I sang for mass in high school, or played an instrument.  But it became less cool to be Catholic, mostly because I became a rebellious liberal and couldn't understand how a church that teaches us to love one another as God has loved us could be against homosexuality, women in leadership in the church,

Weeks ago I got pulled away and never finished this post.  It's quite symbolic of my life, so I'm leaving it as is.

No Nap Monday

Today, I didn't take a nap.  I know that may not seem like a feat of any worth, but as I embrace the beginning of my second trimester, I noticed that today I didn't take a nap.  I can't remember how I functioned when I was pregnant with Max, working 10 hour shifts with no nap option.  It has to be that I was just busy and I crashed when I got home.  I remember going to bed VERY early in that first trimester.  I also remember not having to be "on" 24-7 because Max didn't yet exist outside of the womb.  So if I did want to go to bed at 8pm, Dave was the only one who was affected.  However, I also recall distinctly the night I was hanging out with friends at our picnic table outside, enjoying the beautiful early fall weather and suddenly realizing "Holy shit!! It's 10:00 pm and I am still awake!! And I'm ok with it!"  I experienced that same feeling today.  Holy shit, I didn't take a nap.
Granted, I haven't been fortunate enough to take a nap every day since I got pregnant, trust me.  But when baby I am sitting AND Max nap at the same time, chances are good that the dishes sat in the sink while I took a little snooze.  And I admit that there have been occasions when I've felt so wiped, that I employed the good old boob tube to occupy Max so I could just feel a little rested.  I'm not proud of it and it's not a habit I want to continue, but he loves Yellow Submarine, and I love a catnap.  Everyone wins, right?
I am hopeful this is my turn around.  During my first pregnancy, it was like a switch.  One day I was dead tired, the next I felt back to my old self, able to be awake after dark and still able to get up for work in the morning.  If this is the switch for this pregnancy, it would be perfect timing.  We are finally seeing sunshine and today I was outside with Max in a t shirt and no sweater.  Hopefully the 13.5 week mark coupled with some good old Vitamin D/sunshine will make me feel human again.  I like to be lazy once in a while, but I hate to FEEL lazy.  Doesn't make much sense to me either.  Relaxing is great, but I want it on my terms,  not because my body isn't cooperating and my eyes literally can't stay open.  I will be positive and think that this is it and then maybe there will be no turning back.
We have to return to the Maternal Fetal Medical Center for the sequential screen my OB recommended.  Mostly because I'm old, I think.  Not old in a lot of ways, but in baby-making ways, I'm avoiding the dreaded 3-5 by a narrow 2.5 months.  Apparently, at 35 your chances for carrying a healthy baby successfully drop tremendously.  Or so they scare you into thinking.  (I was also offered the chance to have the doc tie my tubes while he's in there getting this baby out.  That put me into such a state of shock, I don't think I could even answer him.)  We went to the MFMC last week to get this screening done and I had instant regrets for agreeing to it.  I (and Dave) talked myself off the ledge by realizing, this is just another photo op for this babe and we don't have to make any decisions today.  Well, then babe wouldn't cooperate and face the right way for them to see what they needed to see, so we go back tomorrow.  At this point, I'm just annoyed that we have to yet again make arrangements for Max and infant I babysit, plus drive all the way up there (30 minutes without traffic).... I'm not concerned for the safety of my baby.  Maybe it's naiveté or ignorance, but I have faith that we have a healthy baby and if we don't, we will handle it together.  I'm not that old.  I haven't taken the greatest care of myself over the last year or so, that's true.  But now I am for this baby and the rest of my family.  And I am hopeful that's enough.  Hopeful with a tiny bit of nervousness....TINY!!  But seeing the baby at this stage, moving around and waving arms and kicking legs is amazing.  Seeing those things won't change the health of the baby so I'm just ready to see what he or she is up to!
Remember when I said I had no nap today?  I lasted pretty darn long.  I'm still up at 10:49pm finishing this, I still have groceries to put away and my whole bedtime ritual.  But I'm up and I had no nap.  I feel good about trimester 2.  Bring it on!

Ups, Downs, and Loopty Loops

I am approaching my 12 week mark of my pregnancy.  Thankfully, that also means approaching my second trimester.  I thought the emotional turmoil during my first pregnancy was rough...I didn't have a child that can perpetually make me want to weep and scream all throughout every day.
Once minute I can't believe how big Max has gotten and all he's learned and how I see him growing and changing every single day.  The next minute, his whining is as irritating as nails on a chalkboard and I want to grab him and shake him and scream at him to cut the shit.  I don't actually do that (well, I do weep occasionally.  Define occasionally.) but I really feel strongly that he could do me a favor and be a little less of a baby and deal with the fact that he may not get something right the first time or he can't always have a treat or most of his shirts actually DO HAVE TO GO OVER HIS HEAD AND THIS SHOULD NOT SEND HIM INTO A TANTRUM WORTHY OF A TARANTULA CRAWLING ON HIM.
This is hard.  Dave's job is causing enormous stress on him and it trickles into our home.  Besides the new and unusual circumstances of late that are bringing the additional anxiety home, Dave's job has always been demanding of his time.  This has always been difficult, especially since buying our first house.  I don't mind being the house wife and taking care of the cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc.  But it would admittedly be nice to have some more help with some of the bigger projects and things like the yard, painting, etc.  But Dave certainly does more than his fair share when he can and I can't ask him to do those things knowing how much he works at his job.  I mean, I can, but I try not to.  But looking out for Dave's best interest is taxing on me.  I don't even like to admit that; we've managed for so long with both of us working full time, and now all of a sudden I can't handle it and I'm not even working outside the home?  And how will it be once this little one arrives?
My great-uncle passed away last week.  The night before that happened, I was talking with his granddaughter, my cousin, to see what what happening.  I was prepared, but still sad.  Then I got a phone call from Dave updating me on his work fiasco.  Then I got a call from Dave's cousin about his uncle being diagnosed with cancer and needing surgery the next morning.  Max was in bed, Dave was still at work and I had a sink full of dishes.  So what did I do?  I cried.  I wept.  I felt like I was being tested as to how much I could handle and I was willing to wave the white flag right then and there.  I've been broken and no more shit is necessary to prove it.  Then the next morning, Uncle Jim died.
He was a great man that I've always remembered fondly.  He always made me smile and had a kind heart that he shared openly.  The Reinert boys and their families have always been some of my favorite people to visit and I credit their parents, Aunt Margaret and Uncle Jim.  It's sort of awkward, or it was anyway, because of our ages.  The Reinert boys are younger than my dad and his siblings; the youngest, Matt, was the ring bearer in my dad's wedding.  But I still always felt warmly welcomed at any age by all of them.  They all have their dad's sense of humor and good will, both of which are important.  I wish I was closer to their children, my cousins, but again, the age difference is significant.  They are all in or recently out of college, a time I haven't seen in quite some time.  Hopefully as time passes the gap will close.  But until then, we will bond over our love of my Uncle Jim, their grandfather, important to us all for different reasons.
End Note:  This post is a significant peek into my soul these days.  Scattered, sad, frustrated, happy, thankful....all within one little block of internet.

Mixed Feelings, I Think?

So we've been to the doctor, everything is confirmed and we are officially pregnant, due October 10.  It's strange to go through this a second time.  I'm already comparing this pregnancy with my last; this poor kid doesn't have a chance.
The first time, especially with an unplanned pregnancy, if full of so many emotions.  I was SO excited, surprised, overwhelmed, excited, full of anticipation, trepidation....so many things.  I was excited about having a baby, but I was so excited to go though a pregnancy.  I read everything I could get my hands on.  I wanted to know what to expect, what was normal, what would happen next...I felt fairly prepared for the very uneventful and pleasant pregnancy I had.  This time, although I'm sure it will continue to be at least a little different, I already know what to expect.  I know I will take advantage of every spare minute to sleep until just after my second trimester begins.  I know how to eat.  I know what will happen at our doctor appointments.  I know when we will find out the sex.  It's all still exciting to go through, of course, but there's not the anticipation of unknown territory.  I'm even having a scheduled c-section, for crying out loud.  Which is great for planning, but feels a very business-like way to bring a child into the world.
Then there's the whole situation of not having many spare seconds to sleep due to having been pregnant before, leading me to already have a child.  While I was a FT working person during my first pregnancy, now I am a stay at home mom who also babysits another baby.  I will have the whole balancing Max with an infant part down, but boy, it was nice to be self-centered during my pregnancy. I was not a person who wanted to be waited on, and like I said, I worked FT and still cooked dinners, did laundry, cleaned the house, etc.  But I also went to bed at 9 if I wanted.  Right now, I am opting to type this knowing my laundry will not get done today because I will now go make dinner, play with Max, eat, give him a bath put him to bed and then go to bed.  It's really hard to be annoyed that I want to give Max my time.  But I am.  I want him to snuggle (aka nap) on the couch with me so I can catch a few zzzzs.  But he's almost 3.  He doesn't stay still very long.  He also watches way more tv than I want him to, but sometimes mama needs a break.  Or to pee or make dinner or feed the baby.
I'm glad Max likes having the little baby here every day.  I hope he is as excited about the one who doesn't go home at 4:00.  His jealousy is very mild if it does rear its head.  And he's actually very helpful.  But this doesn't stop me from freaking out about the fact that we've now made this a permanent situation.  I feel like my house will never be clean again, my laundry will never be done again, I will never not feel tired again.  That's the selfish stuff.  Then there's the fact that I adore Max.  I mean, this kid is the bomb.  He's smart as can be, charming, easy on the eyes, polite (and nothing gets me like a kid with manners), so imaginative, kind... I love spending time with him!  I know I just had a rant of how I miss being able to sleep pre-Max, but even still, if anything is going to keep me awake, I'd rather it be him.  And now there's going to be someone else who will cause me to miss out on Max time.  I don't know this new person yet, so I don't know if I'll enjoy his company as much as Max.  I mean, I'll love him, obviously, but I can't imagine anyone coming close to the coolness of the kid I already have.
Which leads me to my next irrational thought.  How on earth will we be lucky enough to have 2 kickass kids?  I mean, we got so lucky with Max.  Great sleeper, great eater, nice kid, all the aforementioned qualities...I just am so afraid that the new baby will be colicky, bad eater, bad sleeper, so needy.....and I might lose my mind.  I seriously have over 7 months to deal with this before meeting unknown child.  And I'm already stressing.  Which is probably in turn affecting baby's development.  Which will make this a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Great.  Yet I am super excited to meet newest tiny human.
I am super hopeful that the sudden surge of hormones is making me into this slightly more miserable and slightly more neurotic version of me and that it will level out in a few weeks.  I want to be a happy pregnant mama.  And just a happy regular mama.  And I absolutely do not want to drag either of my children down my spiral of insanity.  And secondarily, my husband shouldn't really hang out there either.
Maybe I just need a nap.  Soon..

Then this happened.

I started babysitting for my sister's friend when she returned to work after maternity leave last week.  So now I have a taste for having a preschooler and an infant.  Little lady is 3 months tiny.  And Max has been home with me by himself for 8 months.  So it has been an adventure.  Luckily, she is good and Max likes her.  Plus, she's still young enough that she pretty much still just eats, sleeps and pees.  (She only poops at night so far - lucky me!)  So it's not too bad.  Her schedule isn't consistent so sometimes I have time to myself when they both nap at the same time and sometimes I don't stop all day because when one gets settled the other needs something.  But that's what it's like with two, I guess.

Which I will soon find out. :)

So remember when I took that test in February and it was negative?  Well, a week later I still hadn't begun my next cycle, so to speak, so I secretly took another test.  (I'm a bit obsessive about the tests.  I took 3 with Max and demanded a blood test with my GP when my OB didn't wan't to see me for 2 weeks.)  It clearly came out with a plus sign - I'd switched to reliable EPT for peace of mind.  I pulled out the leaflet that comes in the box and compared it incessantly before I thought of telling Dave.  I compared it to the label on the box.  I read it inside out and backwards so I was certain I wasn't screwing it up again.  I felt confident it was positive.
Turns out Dave was out way late that night.  I woke at 5 when he was coming to bed because he woke Max (grrrrr).  He gallantly said he would lay with Max to get him back to sleep.  Well, I was up so I had to pee; might as well pee on a stick, right?  Dave in the meantime got in the shower to wash off his night at the casino.  Weirdly, I didn't even care.  I was sitting on the couch when he came out.  We chatted lightly, then I asked him to read the test and tell me if he thought it was positive.  We agreed it was and that this was really happening.  We're having another baby.  We asked the normal questions: When is it due?  Do you think it's a boy or girl?  Where will it sleep?  What names do you like?  Should  I direct show 1 or show 2 next semester?  Ok, that last one isn't normal for everyone, but it is for us.  Dave's job is super time consuming so I was super nervous about doing this again times two.  I still am nervous, but we'll make it work.  Eesh.

So we've had fun telling immediate family.  It's so great to involve Max in the surprise.  He gets it but not the whole it, if that makes sense.  Duh, he's only going to be 3 in a few weeks.  We'll make the big announcement after we get to the doctor next week for that lovely 3 hour initial visit.  I don't know why, but I'm cautiously optimistic.  Maybe because we had to try harder for this one, or try at all, rather.   Maybe it's because my grandmother, in one of her morphine-induced delusions, asked if I was having twins before I even knew I was pregnant.  Maybe it's because I'm older now and as exciting as it is, we have done this before so the novelty isn't there (for the announcing, not the baby).  Who knows?  I know this seems crazy that I haven't even told some members of my family, and here I am putting it on this blog for the interwebs to see, but my readership is far from extensive so I don't expect that suddenly people I know will start reading.  Plus, just like with bad news, it's good to get it off my chest.  And I am really excited to document this pregnancy.  Max's went so fast and I had so many ideas, but I was also working full time so many didn't get accomplished.  I hope I do better this time.  With everything!

So this happened!

So a few months back, Dave and I (mostly I; Dave had decided about 2 years ago!) decided we were ready for another baby.  I was so scared to admit that; I'm not sure why.  I LOVE being Max's mommy and perhaps that is in fact why.  I can't imagine being a mom to anyone else, having this much love for anyone else.  I truly wasn't ready until then.  I knew I I wanted more, but I was just loving the heck out of Max and I figured if I was meant to have another sooner, it would happen.  Even if I was on the pill. Just like with Max.  I hadn't happened, so we decided we would actively try.  I didn't tell anyone this information because 1.) I was already dealing with the "So when are you having another?" and I didn't want the additional pressure, and 2.) Telling people we were trying was not really anyone's business and them knowing would mean they might take the leap and think about us having sex.  I know it's crazy.  But I have never been really forthright about the "intimate" details of my life; it's my cross to bear.
I also didn't think I would have to let people know since I was convinced we were such fertile fellows.  I mean, we got pregnant on the pill when Dave was in for a weekend from his 8 week job in Missouri.  I mean, the stars really had to be aligned for Max to be with us here today, yet here he is.  So when we actually intended on getting pregnant, it should be a piece of cake, no?
No.
I don't mean to diminish the anguish of couples who go through months and years of infertility.  I can't imagine being in that situation.  But I just know I thought we would be able to conceive in 1 month, maybe 2 and when we didn't, I was devastated.  I spent lots of money on pregnancy tests, convinced that was the problem.  The ones I bought were too cheap, too old, not digital, etc.  So I took 2-3 tests every month.  Again, I recognize I am a crazy person.
Then in December, I felt it.  I knew we did it.  I timed it out on the calendar, I had sore boobs, I was exhausted, I even convinced myself I was peeing more frequently.  And most importantly I was late.  So I waited until I was officially 2 days late so as not to get disappointed again.  I peed in a cup, dipped the stick and waited.  Since we were in the post Christmas debt, I had gotten a box of non-digital store brand.  I was having a moment of rationalism after extensive research that says they are essentially all the same so why waste the money.  I brushed my teeth and put in my contacts waiting for that line to come up in the second window.  I knew I was looking for a vertical line, give me a vertical line.  Holy shit, it was a vertical line!!  We had done it.  3 "short" months and we were going to have a baby.  Baby would be exactly 3-1/2 years younger than Max.  That exact half year was appealing to me for some reason.  Would they share a room?  Would I lose the guest room?  Would it be a boy or a girl?  Chinese gender charts said it would be a girl.  I was really happy about that.  All these thoughts ran through my head before I even walked into the bedroom to tell Dave.  I walked into our room and woke him gently.  We chatted a bit and he said, "What's on the docket for today?"  I said, "Maybe we should talk baby names?" :)  He was so excited and so was I; non stop grinning.  We decided to wait to tell anyone, except maybe Max.  Maybe.  We lay in bed just basking in the glow of our news.  Max woke up and joined us; it was a freakin' ABCFamily episode.  I got up to go to the bathroom again and - what I'm about to admit is possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life - and decided to look at the test again before I threw it out.  I looked again and it was odd.  I just felt like I should look at the pamphlet.  And I felt nausea that I knew was not morning sickness.  I'd read the test wrong.  I looked at the control window, which did in fact have that vertical line.  Duh, it's the control window.  The other window held a giant horizontal line.  Like a big old minus.  Negative.  A flashing sign of "You are too dumb and fat to get pregnant."  And then I had to tell Dave.
I walked into the room in complete shock and devastated I had to burst the cloud 9 he was riding.  All because I was so convinced I was pregnant/wanted to be pregnant so badly, I saw what I wanted to see on that stick.  And I burst into incoherent sobs.  I think I wailed that I made a mistake and shoved the test and pamphlet under his nose, and God love him, he tried to turn that test and pamphlet every which way to make it say what we wanted it to say.  And he consoled me even though he was clearly disappointed too.  And Max gave me a hug, not having any idea what was happening.
I was so annoyed at myself, I obsessively Googled "misreading pregnancy tests" to try to read some other poor soul's similar story.  I found none.  I felt like such an idiot.  Who misreads a pregnancy test?? That's joke on some bad sitcom.  And now it was a bad joke in my life.  I was so sad.  I felt like I lost a child I never had.  I'd only thought I had one for an hour!  But the feeling of loss was real.  And you can't deal with loss alone.  So I ended up spilling the beans to one of my sisters.  The one I was doing a show with at the time.  I pulled her into the bathroom, reluctant since she was a very vocal member of Team More Babies.  But I broke down and told her, feeling like a silent weight was lifted finally just by speaking it out loud.  She didn't quite realize where the story was going at first and probably thought I was telling her I was pregnant, so she let out an expression of joy, followed by sympathy.  She was kind and encouraging, which was especially nice since she was also obviously uncomfortable.
I think just getting it out helped.  It was a lot to carry inside, and it was like a miracle.  I immediately felt a weight lifted.  I wasn't less sad, but I didn't feel burdened and I was able to focus on other things in my life, which was helpful since I was in the midst of directing a show.
Flash forward to early February.  Time to test again.  I felt really confident about it this month.  I was more relaxed and aware of the timing of things, so I thought if it's going to happen, this is it.  Everything was by the book.  I was only late by a day and since I'm not like clockwork, it could have been nothing or it could mean I was knocked up.  I told Dave I was debating whether to take the test or just wait a little longer.  We agreed I should take it but hold little expectation (HA!) and if it was negative we'd keep trying.  And if keeping trying doesn't work, we'll look into other options.  Not ready to explore other options, I held my breath as I waited for the digital message to arrive.  After I washed my hands, brushed my teeth, and put my contacts in, I saw the test stop flashing and words on the screen.  One word too many: Not Pregnant.  I sighed, shook it off and went in the bedroom to enjoy my existing family.  We laughed, wrestled, giggled and had fun.  I didn't cry.  Oddly, I didn't have to try not to.  When we finally got around to getting up for the day, Dave said "Hey, did you..."  I nonchalantly said "Yeah, nope, not this time.  It was negative."  He was obviously disappointed, but it was okay.  He said next time could be the time and I agree.

Some People....

***WARNING - the below is a collection of incoherent, nonsensical ramblings...a stream of consciousness, if you will...spawned by the fact that I do not want my son to be lonely.  Nor do I wish to be lonely.  If you have trouble focusing, it may be best to skip this post.***

I am totally and completely grateful that I am able to be a SAHM.  I am unbelievably fortunate to have such a supportive husband who encourages me every day in this role.  There are ups and downs to not working outside the home, they have been talked to death, usually in a one-sided fashion.  (Yes, it's completely terrific that I don't have to get out of my pajamas and I get to play with my son all day.  It is, however, not easy.  Just like, it's terrific that working parents have adult conversations, a little more financial stability and don't dread rainy days because it means they are stuck inside, but that doesn't mean it's easy for them either.  But I digress.)
Having been a work-outside-the-home mom and a stay-at-home-mom, I feel like I have a realistic, rational view of my situation.  Max was in daycare for 2 years before I stayed home with him.  I worked there for the first year and half, so I didn't have to deal with the separation component of working until much later, when we were both more ready.  That part was great, but I feel I did it backwards.  Of course, it's non-traditional, but that's not what bothers me.  When he was an infant, he received great care, but he didn't care what he did. He just needed to be fed, changed, warm and he was happy.  As he got older his needs changed, obviously.  When we decided I would stay home with him, he was 3 months into being 2 years old.  We had a lot going on, like moving into our new house, so it was exciting for him.  We were also potty training, which was SO much better, I can only imagine, since I was home with him.  But once we got settled and the new-ness wore off, he began to ask if he was going to school and about his friends that he played with.  I knew Max wouldn't be worse off with me in "academic" areas, but I was concerned about his social skills.  He has always been so pleasant and sociable, friendly and caring, patient and kind....I didn't want him to lose those qualities just because he doesn't have to wait in line anymore, or that he is the only one asking my attention.  Plus, I just felt bad for him.  I mean, we have a blast together.  I pretty sure it's mutual.  We laugh, we dance, we sing, we play football.  It's helpful to know about high quality day care, so I don't forget that it is important to be outside an hour every day, even if I don't feel like it.  It provides a certain loose structure to our days that I'm sure is familiar to him.  But he has no buddies.
I have very few friends with children, and of those that do, most don't live close by.  And the ones that do live close may not have children the right age.  Or they work out of the home.  Or they're allergic/scared of our dog.  So you would think it would be awesome that my cousin has a little boy born 1 year and 1 day after Max.  Last year, it was irrelevant because though Max was playing with toys and running around, the little one (LO) was still too little.  However, as they get older, the gap narrows and an almost 2 year old and an almost 3 year old can play really nicely.  But I wouldn't know from experience because I never see them.
I tried really hard to put myself out there to my cousin and his wife.  I was nothing but supportive of them throughout their pregnancy, giving them anything we had they might possibly need in that first year.  Our kids were a year apart, almost to the day; how could I not want to establish a relationship right off the bat.  My cousin (the dad) and I are only 2 months apart and we were very close growing up.  We loved having each other at holidays and at school.  Since my sisters are nowhere close to having children of their own, I wanted Max to have a someone to fill that role.  But apparently LO's momma doesn't feel it's necessary.  She knows I don't work.  I even offered to watch LO whenever his grandma needed a break or just to have a playdate with Max once in a while.  I got one morning for 2 hours at their house when my cousin was off from work.  It's hard to keep offering/asking without feeling lonely and desperate.
I just realized this doesn't make much sense without going into gory details I'd rather not put out into the interwebs for anyone to stumble across.  Let's suffice it to say my very close family can't quite close the gap between us and my cousin and his immediate family.  And I think it's sad.  And offensive when she blatantly puts out on a public forum like Facebook that she's having a playdate with her son and my son hasn't been included.  I don't really care to see her ever.  But I love LO and I know Max would love to have some peer time.  I would love for him to have it.
It's interesting that this is a problem I am having, because I feel like it's partially due to my community and my generation.  Back in the day, I remember all my friends' parents were approximately the same age.  But now, people have kids at 16, 26, 36, 46 and all ages in between.  So my friends, who are my age or close, either have older children that don't want anything to do with my 2 year old or aren't even in relationships, let alone having children.  It would be really nice to have other SAHM to bond with, hang out with, while our kids take turns destroying each others' houses.  But I do feel badly for Max.  I don't think he's on the road to being anti-social yet, and he will be going to school, as scary as that is for me, so it's a temporary situation.  But seriously, who doesn't like hanging out with people your own age?

Time for Me?

So, as has been the case for the last 20 years, maybe longer, I just can't remember specifics, I am taking issue with how I look.  I am frustrated by my lack of self control with there is ice cream or blueberry anything in the house.  I am annoyed that despite the fact that I am a smart person, I can't learn from my mistakes.  Or basic science.  And I'm jealous of all the fools out there who don't have to worry about this.
I am totally on board with the whole "I'm a mom, I grew a human inside me for 9 months, I breast fed for 9 more months, my body will never recover completely from that."  I would totally ride that out if I was happy with myself prior to motherhood.  However, I feel it's not fair to say that because it's like using a crutch when I have two working legs.  And it's not fair to the poor women who actually do have a fracture or two.
I read a blog a few weeks back that someone shared on Facebook, Ten Rules for Fat Girls.  It was written by 300 lb woman who was hating the haters, so to speak.  She was preaching about how society expects women to be small, delicate flowers and that's not fair and how it's reinforced every time a fat girl goes shopping and can't find anything that makes her feel as beautiful as she thinks the skinny girls look.  People were commenting all over it about how wonderful it is to have such a beautiful self image and if only everyone could believe in themselves and love themselves like this; inspirational! Her first rule was "You are not obligated to be thin, healthy or pretty."  I strongly disagree.  I am the first to say I have and always have had an unhealthy body image.  I was never thin, but I always saw myself as hugely obese.  Looking back at pictures from high school and college, I WISH I was that hugely obese now, meaning, I wasn't.  I support self-confidence 1000% and I hope Max and any other future children are completely happy with themselves as long as they are doing their best.  But I do feel you do have an obligation to be healthy.  That may not mean thin OR pretty, but healthy is different.  I feel an obligation to Max to be healthy.  I may eat a lot, but I eat good nutritious stuff!  And he is my biggest motivator to even try to get in shape and drop the pounds.  I can't bear the fact that my selfish habits could cause him to lose his mother at a young age or that he will pick up bad habits and carry it on.  I think we are obligated to be the best person we can for our children, and that includes being healthy.  I was very tempted to comment on the blog and say so, but I feel it may have fallen on deaf ears.
So, I started Weight Watchers almost 2 years ago.  It was touch and go for a while, as I figured out the system and a routine.  I really do thrive on routines.  I had finally lost 30+ pounds and was excited because that was more than Max weighed (weighs, actually.  Don't know where he got his good genes from.) and that was a tangible amount for me.  Then school was over, I was not working and was home.  Despite the fact that I was home with a 2 year old, we bought a house, I cleaned and painted it in preparation to move, I managed to find a way to be sedentary most of the time.  Before I knew it, it was fall and I gained it all back.  How is that possible or fair that it's so fucking hard to take it off, and there's not even a reward of making it hard to put back on?
You would think, "Oh, SAHM, yes you have kids, but you must have time to exercise.  People who have jobs and kids still have time to work."  This may be true.  Actually, I am finding out it is true.  I have to go back to waking at 7 or earlier to do an at home work out and shower before Max needs me to attend to his needs.  Which is not the worst thing; I woke at 5:30 or 6:00 to go to work for years, so I know I can do it.  I just have to adjust my life again.  I had come to enjoy the fact that I didn't need to do that.  I could stay in PJs all morning if I wanted to, I could take my time snuggling with Max in bed, I could wait until Max's naptime to shower.  Typing this out makes me feel like a lazy person, but I know I always had good conversation and constructive playtime with Max, which is the purpose of me staying home.  I know there's a whole camp of people who don't think that is a valuable use of time when others could be doing that for me and I could have a job.  I won't engage in that debate.  I'm just saying I definitely enjoyed the flexibility that came with staying at home.
However, I have no flexibility in my body.  I want to have more children, but as I approach my mid thirties, it becomes more high risk.  When I am clinically obese, it's even riskier.  Plus, I really really really hated that I didn't get the typical pregnant belly, because my belly was already so round.  I tried to look the part, but I just looked fat.  So I am trying to up my game.  I am doing 3 miles every morning.  For 2 mornings, so far, but that's 2 consecutive days.  I am hoping to see change by the end of this week.  I know that's not possible, but it would be so much more motivating if I could go down a size by Saturday.  But I won't.  So my goals are:

1. Continue my daily workout.  Daily.  Every morning.  Even when it hurts.
2. Stop seeing my days as grazing times and naptime as gorge fest.  
3. Read this post as often as necessary to attain #1 and #2.

I want to set an example of healthy living for Max.  I want to be attractive to my husband.  And in general.  I want people to say, "Wow!  You look great!" when they see me after a long period of time.  I want to be comfortable in my own skin.  I want to come to terms with the fact I will never ever be the itty bitty chickie I want to be so badly.  But I can be a healthy, happy mom for Max and be around to dance at his wedding, and hold my own grandchildren.

PS I am totally plugging The Laurie Berkner Band's concert in Glenside, PA.  Quality music, wholesome entertainment, danceable tunes....what more could you ask for in a family night out??

Today is Better...

So since yesterday's post, things got worse with Max.  But today they got better.
There's not enough interweb to go into the details of the emotional turmoil yesterday took on me.  I felt frustration, sadness, despair, anger.  I tried so hard not to let that show for Max's sake.  I didn't want him to know he was putting me in this place I've never been.  I also didn't want to give him the upper hand, if I'm being completely honest.  By evening time, his blatant refusal had escalated to the type of scene you see in ridiculous movies about problem children.  When I calmly put him on the steps to relax (our time-out), he screamed "NO!" at me and ran away.  I calmly returned him to the step, and again and again, until I sat with him and held him there.  I hate the way that even looks in print.  I was there and I know exactly what happened, yet I am picturing myself sitting on him or throwing him down on the step.  This did not happen.  I just sat with him.  He screamed and cried.  He tried to lean in for a hug and as I fought back the tears (unsuccessfully) as I had to decide whether to give him a hug or not.
I realize how awful that sounds.  Why would a mother not give her crying son a hug??  I wanted to, hence the tears.  I was just so caught up in my frustration that I didn't know if hugging him in that moment, after he fought with me all day, or even if I work within his own short term memory, those last 15 minutes, if that would reinforce the idea in his mind that all he has to do is cry and all would be okay.  All will be okay, but I was so afraid of developing a pattern that was similar to his behavior that day...I didn't know how I would last if that was our new life together.
Admittedly, I was snowballing.  One bad day doesn't mean a bad kid.  But it was a really, really bad day.  I told Dave that as difficult as being a parent is, up until this point, I felt confident I was doing right by Max.  I knew even when it wasn't easy, it was for the best.  Now it's not easy AND I am not confident in my parenting to know I am acting for the best possible outcome.  I know what I do now could have lasting effects on Max and establish precedents that we will all have to deal with forever.
I needed today to happen.  I needed a good night's sleep and some support from Dave to reassess and see Max for the beautiful little boy he is, a good kid with bad days, who still deserves a hug, even and especially in our darkest moments.  I needed to forgive myself for feeling frustrated with him and for the mistakes I may have made and will make in the future.  I needed my skills and tools that I carefully choose to work with Max and to be effective.  Today that happened.
I took a day to put Max first, not just juggle him in with a bunch of other tasks (he's napping now, so this doesn't count).  I listened to him and answered him the first time he spoke to me, just as I am asking him to do.  I recognized why he might not do what I ask, why he might be so angry he has to yell at me, and told him I recognize these things.  I valued his feelings and gave him acceptable outlets for them.  I recognize it won't always work and we will have awful days again.  But I needed today to be a good day, and it was.  And for that I am maternally grateful. (wokka wokka.)

My Kid is a Jerk

Or shall I say, he CAN be a jerk.  As we all can at times, of course.  It just seems that Max's jerkiness is in concentrated form lately.  And on a related note, I've not blogged in 2 months.  How is that related, you might ask?  Well, it's because my life has been crazy since November until a few weeks ago.  Therefore, Max's life has been crazy.  Therefore, he's a jerk.  I took critical thinking in college, I think that's how it works.
So let's reflect.  Several months ago, we decided I could make my return to theatre by directing the January production for Gaslight.  It was a show near and dear to my heart, so leaving Max almost nightly for several weeks would be made easier.  Plus, I "rationalized" it to myself by telling myself that it's important for Max to see me as a person, not exclusively his mom.  A person who not only is capable of things outside our home, but pursues them.  That while balance is very important, so is variety.  Daddy is not the only one who has evening obligations.  I am passionate about people and projects in addition to my family and home.  I do believe these things are important for Max to see and for me to do so I too can see those things in myself.
However, it was hard.  For so many reasons.  I haven't done any theatre since I was pregnant, and I hadn't directed a show since a year prior to that.  Being out of the game that long definitely brings self-doubt and anxiety about every choice.  So now, I'm "abandoning" Max for a project that I'm not sure will even be good.
Dave's schedule hadn't worked out exactly as I had thought it would, meaning Max was spending a lot of nights with my parents.  Trust me, I am so eternally grateful we have them and that they are so close.  Max loves spending time with them and he brings them such joy.  I trust them to make wise decisions with Max and that he will be well fed and taken care of.  However, there are naturally discrepancies in our child-rearing styles, such as bedtime, activities, TV...  Once in a while, these differences are minor and don't have much impact; they're even seen as a treat for Max by him and us.  However, when Max spends so much time with them and then has to return to the rigorous structure of his actual home, there's naturally going to be dissension in the ranks.  And Max didn't disappoint.
Throw Christmas in the mix, especially when Max is the only (young) grandchild on both Dave's and my sides of the family, and you have the makings for a bratty kid.
Now, it's January 23 and Max's behavior has not only not resolved itself, but seems to have gotten worse.  Bedtime takes an hour at minimum, just from the time we first say good night to when he finally settles quietly.  He is waking in the night and wandering into our room, just to ask us (me) to put him back in his own bed.  He's back to not eating well, replacing it with goofy obnoxious table behavior.  And the mouth...I always knew I would have a mouthy kid to deal with as penance for what I put my mom through.  However, I didn't anticipate dealing with it at almost 3; I thought I'd have until 13 at least!  He yells at me, screams "No!" when asked to do something, is so defiant, and downright bratty.  Where did this boy come from??  I am concerned that this isn't just a phase, or worse, that my lack of patience for this behavior will make it irreparable.
I am so proud of the good things I've taught Max.  He (typically) has good manners, saying May I and Thank You.  He (typically) is so sweet and encouraging, frequently telling people he is playing with Good Job! and Nice Try!  He tells us spontaneously that he loves us and willingly gives hugs and kisses.  He has always been a good listener, following directions and shown appropriate responsibility for his age, if not more.  This turnaround is not only infuriating for the obvious reasons, but because it's such a shift from the well-behaved and admittedly "easy" kid I've had for almost 3 years.
I am researching as much as possible to get various perspectives in dealing with a newly difficult child. I understand the developmental psychology of it all.  He is torn between yearning for independence and the inability to accept it.  He feels all the feelings we do, without the strength to handle them.  And I'm sure it just pisses him off when he has to do anything like clean up, stop playing, wash hands, etc.  But I don't know how to react appropriately without ruining his innate spirit.  Plus, half the time, I feel he doesn't give a crap about his consequences, no matter how cruel I fear they may be.
I guess I'm learning that all those people who were jealous of us when Max slept through the night at 2 weeks, was always so happy and pleasant, was so well behaved in church and pretty much everywhere, always was a good eater....they have the last laugh.  Because just when we thought we were ready to have another baby, Max gives us the ride of his life.

How Do You Know?

So Max has been extraordinarily difficult lately.  I've heard that 3 is worse than 2 behaviorally speaking, so I'm thinking that since Max is so advanced, he's creeping into the terrible 3s a bit early. (hahahaha - I have to find a silver lining!)
So I obviously love him unconditionally.  And I truly believe that I am not blinded by that love and I can see his imperfections.  I am not one of those 'not my kid' parents.  I understand while Max is capable of being a sweet, loving, mannerly child, he is equally capable of being a giant jerk.  He is typically the former, but when the latter rears its ugly head, it's, well, ugly.
The ugly head has been reared more frequently lately.  Just when I thought we were blessed in the tantrum department, he is proving me wrong.  How was I supposed to know that it was so important that he open the door for Daddy when he comes home, or that he turn on the faucet even though he can't reach it or that he never ever pick up his toys?  I consider myself educated in early childhood development, so I pull out all the stops.  I try planned ignoring, changing the subject, laughing it off, zero tolerance, all while maintaining consistent expectations.  At least I think I am doing this the best I can.
My frustration now lies in choosing between picking my battles with him and making it clear his behavior will not be tolerated.  I obviously don't want to be a tyrant mom.  Where's the fun in that?  I am all too aware that Max is capable of retaining memories now.  I want him to feel lucky to have had a stay at home mom, not oppressed by it.  I also want to do what's best for him in the long run, not just the moments we have now.   For example, will a piece of Halloween candy first thing in the morning literally give him rotten teeth and diabetes?  Probably not.  Isolated it's not that big of a deal unless it becomes a habit or recurring behavior.  Which is why I don't want to give it to him.  But he doesn't like to hear no and he really likes his chocolate.  So a tantrum commences.  And then I am stuck.  Do I "pick my battles" and let him have a small piece of candy, maybe even compromising by giving him a piece of my choosing?  This will obviously make him happy, make for a smoother morning, maybe even earn me some cooperation later in the day.  But am I setting myself up for failure in the long run by giving him what wants?  Does it matter if he gets what he wants before he tantrums or after?  Is consistency the better choice, even if it means a consistent fight?  The candy is just an example...there are many things we can do battle over: eating on the couch, screaming at me, getting his coat on...the list goes on.  I know that it doesn't matter that he doesn't want to wear a coat when it's 30 degrees outside; I will win that battle for his health and safety.  But when it's time for his nap and he just doesn't want to clean up his toys, even with my help, how important is it that he listen to me and put everything away? I need for him to respect (eventually) his mom and dad - adults in general - but how much is too much for a 2-1/2 year old, even the brightest?

Thievery

I was violated last week.  Someone walked onto my porch, right up to my front door and walked away with Max's stroller.  I was out of the house for about 3-4 hours.  That stroller had sat on the porch, inconspicuously mind you, for weeks.  Max and I enjoyed regular walks.  He loved climbing into it himself and riding around while I tried to raise my heart rate, we loved listening to music on my phone while we walked to Super Babcia's (his great grandma) house.  We would get ready to go somewhere, anywhere, and he always asked if he could ride in his stroller.  And some asshole (sorry) has taken these little joys away.  I am livid.  It's not about the stroller itself.  Yes, it cost money and that's a shame.  We certainly don't have money to leave on our porch for people to take as they please.  But truthfully, Max will be 3 in March, so how much time did we have left with that stroller anyway? Not enough for us to even consider replacing it right now.  But someone took that decision away from us.
I had my car broken into last year because I (stupidly) left my purse on the front seat and locked the door.  I was devastated.  I felt stupid, robbed on so many levels, angry, sad (I loved that bag!) frustrated at all the work that had to follow to get a new driver's license, new bank accounts, etc.  I was angry that I had photos of Max in my wallet and God knows where they were. My baby's pictures were in a dumpster somewhere or in a puddle being walked on my strangers or wherever.  In the digital age, I didn't lack for more copies.  But the idea that someone saw his little face and continued to rob his mommy with no regard that she might be so in love with her child that she would even want his photos to be safe, well it is reprehensible.
And now someone has stolen FROM my baby.
My little guy has to learn about the bad in this world at way too young of an age.  He has asked where his stroller is and he did so before I had decided how to handle it.  So I was honest with him and decided to use it as a teachable moment.  I left his stroller on the porch where I thought it would be safe.  But someone saw it there and really liked and made a bad choice and took it from us.  He knows it's not nice to take from others, so I was hoping this was relatable.  Thankfully, he wasn't as upset as I thought he might be.  I was still heartbroken to have this conversation with him.  At 2-1/2 years old.
The plot thickens...
On a whim, I decided to check craigslist.com to see if the idiot who stole the stroller was dumb enough to put it up.  Two days after it was taken, the exact same brand, line, and color stroller was listed on there.  However, it was listed by a consignment shop who uses the online classifieds to advertise what they've acquired.  I'd like to think that people from the consignment shop aren't trolling neighborhoods looking for items to sell at their shop.  So I'm pretty sure that whoever took it, sold it to the shop.  The timeline works.  Unfortunately, our stroller has no distinguishing marks that would help me identify it even if I walked into the store.  I am debating if I should call them and ask them when it was brought in.  I don't expect to get it back; like I said, it's not about the stroller itself.
I am trying not to get in my head and second-guess our decision to buy a house here.  Dave keeps saying to change it rather than run.  But what could I have done differently?  Get to know our neighbors to become part of the community?  Done.  Make our house look lived in and that we care about where we live?  Done.  Lock my doors, have motion lights, be aware of my surroundings?  Always.  Not leave my stroller on my porch?  I suppose.  Not the most convenient way to live.  Not leave my house unattended?  Not going to happen.  I won't live in fear.  But I will probably live in frustration for a while.
Two 911 calls in 2 weeks...hopefully this week is quiet.

***UPDATE***
So, I told Dave I saw the stroller on craigslist.  He was less than thrilled, obviously.  On Monday, he was getting fitted for a tux for a college event, and the tux place happened to be next door to the consignment shop selling what was likely our stroller.  He (bravely) went in and found the stroller, which still had my iPod arm band in the console so he knew it was in fact ours.  He spoke to the woman working (the owner) and explained the situation.  Apparently the woman was mortified and very upset that this had happened.  After noting she would take a loss, she told Dave he could take the stroller back.  He asked if she knew who sold it to her; she said she did, but she wasn't comfortable sharing it with him.  Which was fine by me.  She, however, knows who sold it to her (if it's not a fake name and address) and she won't buy anything from him again.  I called the cops to follow up on my report and explain what happened, hoping they would interview her and nab the guy.  (Yeah I just said nab.)  But the lovely officer never returned my call.  Which is really more unfortunate for the consignment shop lady, since she's the one taking a loss.  We got our stroller back.  It doesn't erase the fact that I had to explain to Max that there are bad people in the world and that those bad people may hurt him.  But it did give him a chance to see his Daddy as a hero, which I have a feeling, will be the first of many times.

Little Man

I don't know when this happened, but I don't have a baby anymore.  I know I've been warned, and I guess on a certain level I was prepared, even excited.  But now that he's gone, I'm mourning him a little.  Fortunately, the little boy that has replaced him is so fun and wonderful and exciting that I am too busy to fall into a depression over my loss.  But sometimes when I watch with amazement all he is capable of and realize he doesn't need me in the same ways as he used to, I feel sad.  Sometimes I even get a little teary.  And then I scold myself because how can I possibly be sad when I have so much joy right in front of me and if I waste my time being sad about what's over, I will miss out on truly amazing things right now.
These crazy thoughts are the things no one tells you about when you become a parent.  I've been told to "treasure every moment", "it goes so fast"....as if I can possibly do anything to slow down time.  But those cliches helped me prioritize my life for sure.   I haven't done theatre since I was pregnant.  2 and a half years.  That's a HUGE leap for someone who did some form of theatre continuously since 1991.  I helped out with directing a one-act this summer and I am diving in head first to directing a musical next month.  I am incredibly nervous about this commitment and the time away from Max, but I am comforted that at least I am home with him now during the day so I won't be in a scenario of never seeing him for 2 months.  But still.  I love putting him to bed.  I love our nighttime routine.  He has just started to want to help make dinner.  Who knows how these things will change by the time my show closes?  And that is when I will mourn the precious hours lost and celebrate the shining star his Daddy helped him become in my absence.  It's an emotional roller coaster, folks.  But it's even crazier than they tell you.

Puppy Love

Or rather...puppy guilt?
I don't like my dog very much.  I love her and I would never give her away; at 9-1/2 years old, she'd never get adopted anyway and I could never hand her a death sentence.  Not literally.  I have threatened her with death on several occasions.
I used to like her.  A lot.  I chose her from the litter of puppies that had been abandoned in a dumpster.  Apparently, being left behind to fend for yourself at a few (3?) weeks old has lasting effects because Roxie is just not right.  She is sooo needy, it feels unmanageable most of the time.  She has to be with us all the time.  Even as I type this, I recognize that it sounds endearing, that she just loves us that much.  I truly don't think it's that.  If she is dismissed to another room while we eat because she is constantly underfoot, she barks.  Incessantly.  To the point that we weigh our options: which is worse, barking or hovering?  We can't sit on our porch and leave her inside because the barking doesn't quit.  Same with leaving her in the backyard while we are in the front of the house.  No one can walk down the street, particularly with a dog, without there being a major disruption in our house.  She insists on laying on our brand new furniture when we aren't home.  She's eluded the barriers I've put up.  She began chewing up (used) diapers on the floor and on our bed, taking them right out of the can.  Recall that Max is now 2-1/2 and this habit began only about 5 months ago.  She pooped and peed in our old house.   This is not unusual for a dog, which I get.  What was frustrating was that she ONLY did so in Max's room.  Which happened to have white carpet.  Just a few days ago, she brazenly ate a cupcake that Max was so proud to have made and so excited to eat.  She ate it.  Right off the bench I was sitting on as I fixed my shoe.  I felt rage and Max's tears broke my heart.
She won't stay off our bed.  This is our fault, admittedly.  When Dave was in grad school, it was nice to snuggle with Roxie and have her keep my feet warm.  But now, I don't need her to do that anymore.  And she makes my sheets smell and sheds so much I want to change my sheets daily.  This is the selfish part, I know.  Those things didn't matter as much when I was lonely and cold but now my priorities have changed.  That's my fault, not Roxie's.  Which is why I dig deep and find some patience.
Priorities might have everything to do with this shift.  Max entered and our world changed.  Roxie's included.  We honestly tried to include Roxie in our new family.  We paid attention to her, petted her while we held Max, prepped Roxie while I was still pregnant, gave her extra attention when Max did come home.  Roxie never took to Max.  Max has always loved Roxie.  The first time Max approached Roxie without her growling and moving away is disgust occurred at Christmas last year.  Max was about 3 months shy of his 2nd birthday.  21 months of fearing Roxie would snap at our baby, of trying and failing to see our dream of a happy family with kids and dogs come true, of rising tension in the house due to these frustrations.  Then praising the hell out of Roxie when she allowed Max to touch her.  That praise, nor the praise that followed did not help it grow into a Hallmark dog-boy relationship.  Not yet anyway.  But Max is trying like hell.  He just loves that dog.
Our vet told us that when you have a dog, you love that dog and she is your baby.  Then when you have a baby, your dog becomes just your dog.  A canine member of your family, but a dog nonetheless.  Your baby is your baby and your dog is your dog.  It was very comforting to hear that from her, as I know she is obviously a dog lover, and also and dog owner and a mom herself. But it doesn't help me solve my problems.  I am running out of patience with Roxie.  I love her dearly.  I will be devastated when she dies.  (Years ago, I vowed she would live forever.)  But there is a dark and twisty part of me that will feel relief.  Like that family member who is so old and needs so much care it's exhausting.  You don't stop loving that family member and you don't want them to die but part of you will be able to breathe again.
I can rationalize it all I want.  But I still feel the guilt.
And I'm not sure I want another dog.

Help You?

The following is an entry that was to be prior to "Multitasking" made the cut.  "Multitasking" exists because I didn't realize a draft was saved when the plug was pulled.  But Max grows and earns more and more "lasts" - last time he said "sawwy?"  I don't know; last time he said "help you?" no clue.  I'd forgotten he'd ever said it, which now that I recall it, is devastating.  So I will publish this belated blog entry.  If for nothing else, but to help me remember.
One of the things I'd like Max to learn is manners.  It may seem trivial, or even meaningless at this point in his life.  Sometimes I wonder myself, but I also feel that it's never to early to start good habits.
Max's language is developing at an awesome pace.  I just marvel at what he can say.  I think back to those developmental checkpoints Dave and I felt obligated to check to make sure we weren't missing any red flags in Max's formative months.  A few months back, one stated that he should be able to say 10 words in context.  There Dave and I sat, counting, thinking, "Hi, Mommy, Daddy, more, eat, etc.", feeling confident that he had mastered the minimum requirement for his age, if not surpassing the goal.  Now, I could probably sit for 10 straight minutes and not be able to list every word he can say.  And he knows meanings for them and can even string several together to make a beautiful statement (of sorts).  Some of the words he knows now, and uses regularly, even without prompting are "Please (peece, in a hushed whisper),  thank you, sorry (the typical sawwee), and hi."  I feel an enormous pride when someone gives him something and he says thank you all on his own.

I'm Back...

Reading my last entry, I realized it's entirely possible that I actually was pregnant and had possible child since then.  Fact is:  I wasn't with child other than the little boy that was put in my arms March 10, 2010.  However, much as happened since then.
In short, I got a job, made friends with my colleagues, saw my husband's inspiring return to Musical Theatre, took Max to his first Sesame Street show, saw him turn 2, began house-hunting, threw a baby shower, lost my job, got it back (those 2 were all in the same day), saw 3 friends have babies, directed a one-act play, finished school (my job), bought a house, became a SAHM, got elected president of Gaslight Theatre Company, took Max to a water park for the first time, moved, went to family reunion (where Max jumped off the diving board into the deep end!), took Max to the beach for the first time, saw Evita in NYC (with Ricky Martin), decided to stay a SAHM, went broke, embraced a cleaning schedule and made 3 types of jam.  I've been busy.
I've had a really hard time adjusting to being a SAHM, and this blog would have been really useful in venting some of my crazy feelings during that time.  Again, in summary, I was feeling (in no particular order) guilty, giddy, excited, afraid, nervous, guilty again, so happy, so afraid and so so happy.  I've worked through most of these feelings, leaving only so happy and a little nervous, both of which are manageable.  I've embraced that my new job is keeping our home happy and clean, warm and inviting, full of love and memories.  I've accepted that I don't get vacation days, but I am appreciative of my family who affords me a night off once in a while.  I've learned that there are so many countless wonderful things that happen between me and Max and that recalling them to others is not nearly as effective and experiencing them first hand.  I've become proud of my teaching skills and how I hone them for my tiny class of one person; seeing him learn and knowing I taught him has become so much more concrete.  I've become resourceful, knowing that someone who works outside the home might see my situation as completely open and flexible, and that knowing my son, it's not as flexible as you might think.  I've come to appreciate a schedule, even imposing one on my own daytime life.  I applaud working parents, because even if you really love your job, it is still a sacrifice to walk out that door and leave your child behind every day.  I applaud SAHP, because having done it for several months now, it is every bit exhausting as it is fun.  There are no mandatory breaks every 4 hours of work, no sick days, no Christmas bonuses, and when Dave works all day and all night, well that's just a whole lot of Max.
And I wouldn't trade those minutes for anything now that I have them.

At Least I'm Predictable

Here it is, the last day in January and my blogging experience is already past due.  I think what happened was the Gaslight show went up and I immediately went back to work, which means little to no time for anything but the necessities.  And, unfortunately, blog, you are unnecessary.  But it's nice to be back for some venting.
I am so tired all the time.  I am tired ALMOST like I was when I was pregnant.  But I am not pregnant.  I am a working mom, yes, but a working mom of one.  One very good, very pleasant toddler.  And I have a supportive husband who contributes to the household.  What is the reasoning behind this?  I am not sure, though I think I have to go back to the dr. for bloodwork.  It's time to check my thyroid levels anyway; maybe my dosage needs adjustment.  If that's not the case, I will have to make an appointment.  Because I am not a fan of this.  I have NO energy.  I can barely get my work done on a good day, I never exercise and my sex drive is caput.  I am managing, but not managing well enough to stay happy.  I am trying to monitor my evening carb intake as well.  Sometimes it feels like a crash and burn kind of tired, so I wonder if I am overloading on carbs when I eat dinner with my starch-loving family.  That's no good for a variety of reasons, but it's also an easy-ish fix.  I do love carbs...but it's not worth it to feel like this.  I could close my eyes right now and I haven't even opened my bag to do work tonight.  This is not the example I want to set for my son, nor the wife I want to be for my husband.  For now, I have to fight it; hopefully, in the future, I can fix it.