The response I got to yesterday’s post truly shocked me.  I haven’t mentioned this before, but before I hit *publish* on a post, I like to guess the number of comments I’ll receive for it.  I guessed yesterday’s post to be a 34 and thought that it wouldn’t really be a post people felt compelled to comment about.   Apparently I underestimated people’s feeling about children’s bedtimes.   

Most comments were positive, but I got the feeling from a few comments that you felt very defensive about my opinion of early bedtimes, pointing out when I already had, that I was being judgmental (paraphrasing).  When I thought about it, I certainly cannot blame anyone for feeling defensive since I’ve read many others’ posts that have left me feeling that same way and wanting to defend my parenting decisions.   In fact, yesterday there were a few comments where I felt judged for judging.  How’s that for irony? 

I suspect, though, that each and every one of us has tsk tsked someone else’s parenting decisions.  If you were to say you’ve NEVER judged someone else, I’d probably call you a liar (under my breath).  Oh yeah, I said it, a LIAR. Liar, liar pants on fire.

There are many issues that I think, for me,  I can safely say are truly off limits for judging.  Choosing how to feed your infant, choosing whether to stay home with the kids or work, choosing how to birth your children, these are all things that I strive to never, ever judge or criticize.  In fact I cringe whenever I read a post about why breastfeeding is the best for everyone and that everyone MUST try it and that there is no reason not to.   Or when someone says that it’s okay for a mom to work when the family needs the money, but otherwise, no.  Or when people feel like they must educate people about a VBAC after they’ve already chosen to have a repeat C-section.

These are the type of things that literally make my heart all racy and my stomach flutter to read.  I get very nervous when people judge these sorts of things.

We all do the best we can do for our kids.

Conversely, though, I fully admit that I’ve judged for lots of other things.  A mom putting sweet tea in her kid’s sippy cup?  A little girl that I think is dressed like a tramp?  A mom not watching her brat kid at Chick-Fil-A?  Oh, I’ve judged.  

I think that through blogging, though, I’ve learned to be less judgmental about how others parent their kids.  There are millions of us mommy and daddy bloggers out there that come from different backgrounds with a wide-range of experiences and beliefs.   I’m continually learning and expanding my point of view through reading about lives that are not a part of my own reality.  So all the while, as I sit back and occasionally judge, I’m trying not to.  I’m attempting to be more understanding and accepting.

I’m not perfect and won’t ever be.  Neither will you.

We all do the best we can do for our kids.

Now! Moving right along!  *claps hands*  On a completely unrelated note, have any of you tried the Strawberry Banana V8 Fusion?  Oh.  Mah.  Gah.  DELICIOUS.   Just like a smoothie, no blender needed.  You’re welcome!

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Sunday’s paper was filled with all sorts of advertisements spotlighting the best Mother’s Day Gifts.  For the photography buff, a camera!  Music Lover? An iPod!  Purses!  Perfumes!  Digital Photo Frames!  Jewelry!

As lovely as all of these gifts are, and they truly are wonderful things, I don’t think that these are what many mothers of young children truly want.   The gift that we do want?  Hint:  It’s completely free!

What we want is a day off, a true day off.  Not a day off that has to be prepared for days in advance, complete with schedules and instructions, lists and pre-made casseroles so everyone survives.  Not a day that will mean more work later, putting everything back where it belongs and catching up on the dishes and laundry.

A day where someone else is the decision maker, schedule maker, naptime enforcer, bad guy, and the nag.

A day where someone else remembers to buy the wedding gift for an unknown co-worker, the birthday gifts for a two-year-old boy, a four-year-old girl, and five-year-old boy/girl twins, to mail the check, to call about the insurance, to make the kid’s doctors appointments.

This day off should be given without a hint of irritation.  It should be given selflessly and without expectation for repayment or thanks.  

That’s all I want.  Just one day off.

What do YOU want for Mother’s Day?

************
Head on over to Blissfully Domestic today for our baby shower!  You can win stuff!

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I had made up my mind that we were finished having babies, while driving and enjoying the sweet, sweet deliciousness known as being ALONE.  Something about the first warm day of the spring, an open sunroof, and thumping music made me certain that we were out of the business of making babies.  Of course, twenty minutes prior, I had been trying on baby girl names for possible future daughters like Avery,  or Leah, and Emeline, remembering only the good parts of pregnancy, childbirth, and life with a newborn…ahhh, the joys of selective memory.

But anyway, right at this moment, I was sure.  No more kids.  I felt the freedom that only comes as your children are old enough to be left for more than 2 hour segments. 

“I’m almost free,”  I thought to myself.  “In just a few short months, I’ll have my body back all to myself!  I’ll finally get to throw those nursing bras away!  I won’t have to carry the enormous diaper bag, I’ll actually be able to carry a purse!”  The decision, for the time being, was made. 

I got to my destination, Tar-zhay, and began my much anticipated solo quest for nothing.  I was simply going to wander around the store, with no need to worry about the possibility of having to change a diaper or rushing to get home to save the precious nap.  Not two minutes into my aimless stroll, I saw the first baby, a newborn baby, being held by her very exhausted looking mother.  This baby had to be fresh out of the womb, she was impossibly tiny, with wrinkled feet and ankles.

“Look away.  Just look away,”  I told myself.  “We’re DONE, remember???  Done!”

A good three minutes passed before I saw the next one.  Another newborn baby, that also looked to have come straight to Target from it’s birth at the hospital.  The parents were fussing over the baby, who was so tiny and completely enveloped by it’s carseat.  The baby had that unfixed stare and googly eyes that only newborns have and appeared to be drifting off to sleep.

I realized I had been staring with my head cocked to the side and my mouth slightly open in the shape of “aaah.”  But I couldn’t help myself.  I closed my eyes and shook my head, getting the image of that darling baby out of my head.  “Keep walking.  You’ve seen plenty of newborn babies, including TWO of your own.  Now skedaddle,”  I silently thought to myself.

Luckily I got a good twenty minutes of browsing in before I spotted the last newborn.    During those glorious twenty minutes, I had purposely browsed in the lingerie section at pretty, non-nursing bras and dreamed of that day when I could where them again. 

“Yes, I’m certain.  No more children.”  I smiled contently as I left the lingerie section.

Of course, though, as I left the lingerie section, I saw the baby.    Her daddy was cradling her in his arms as she slept.  He gazed upon her face and appeared to study her every feature.  His free hand gently touched his daughter’s wee fingers as he bent over to kiss her tiny face.  After the kiss, he paused and sniffed her wee newborn smell.

Right then and there, I ovulated.  I simply cannot resist a daddy sniffing his baby. 

As I finished my shopping trip, I imagined a future baby boy and tried on a few names for him…Keegan?  Chase?  Sean?  Ryan? 

Then I arrived home to this face.  Ella, my eleven month old daughter, who charms me with nothing more than her soft cheeks and her gummy, slobbery grin.

[picture removed]
It’s no wonder I can’t help but fantasize about all of my unborn children.

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I have this little fantasy built up in my head about the new city to where I’m traveling across the country with two very small children and setting up residence.

My fantasy includes a mommy-utopia complete with neighbors who actually say hello, access to babysitters, and best of all I’m suddenly very toned.

Poor New Town, IN has a lot to live up to.

There are only nine days left in which I’ll be a resident of the state of Alabama.  It hasn’t been all bad living here, it also hasn’t been all good. 

I won’t miss our neighbors…

Or the black bears…

(Why yes that IS a black bear in my backyard at 2:54 PM, the middle of the day!)

I definitely won’t miss boarding up for hurricanes either. This is when we boarded up for that little bitch known as Katrina…

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But even with all the hiccups here in Shitty Town, AL, there have been some good things, too…

I became a mommy.

(Early evidence of my quest to become Le Binky Bitch with Carson, age 2 weeks)

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(Ella at 2 weeks old.)

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I also met some great friends.

With these last few days ticking away, the air feels thick and I can hardly breathe.  I’m teetering on the edge of panic.  I feel sad, euphoric, and overwhelmed all at the same time.  We’re leaving the house where we brought our babies home, the only home they’ve ever known.  I worry how will Carson handle the move.  I fear having to start all over in making friends.   All of the little tasks are starting to eat away at me.  I just want this move to get over with so that we can get back to “real life.”

I’m dreading that when we get there and finally get settled in, life will still be, well, life.  It won’t be any easier, or better, friendlier, or more prosperous.   The only difference will be that it’s not Alabama.

New Town, IN can’t be all it’s cracked up to be.

Also, I’ve heard that there are lots of Cubs fans there.  And THAT scares me more than anything.

(post # 6 about moving)

********

psst…check out whose photo made Photo of the Day at Photrade…..

http://blog.photrade.com/?p=95

And speaking of Photrade, I have 3 invites if anyone is interested…email me.

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Ella is at what *I think* is my favorite age right now.  She is eight months old (how??) and just makes us laugh with her squeals and slobber and smiles.  

She has recently begun rolling everywhere she wants to go, hitting her head on everything in her path.  Oh how she’ll cry, but a little pep talk (”ooh, you’re okay!) and she’s back on her merry way.

I’m her favorite person right now and I relish every time her smile lights up just by my presence.   I know the time will probably come when my frumpy/mom hairdo/I don’t know anything about anything self will be the black spot in her teenage existence.  So right now, I bask in the glory of being the greatest mom on Earth.

I should probably mention that when Carson was around eight months old, we decided that we needed another baby.  With Ella being so charming, I vividly remember why I had that urge. 

And the two of them together!  Oh!  My!  Ovaries!

Speaking of Carson, two is treating him well and has it’s endearing moments.  I love how he has started singing along to his favorite songs, a few words behind like a drunken karaoke singer.  “John Deere!  Made a better plow, John Deere!  Made famous now, John Deere!…”  Every morning when he gets out of bed, he goes directly to the box of his Thomas trains and names every one with great enthusiasm.  “James!  James’ coal tender!  Thomas!  Annie!  Clarabel!  Henry!  Henry coal tender!…” 

He has begun to fart at the dinner table.  When asked what he should say when he toots out his bottom, he shouts, “Sank sou!”  (thank you) causing me to hide my obvious chuckling.  

His love of the Wonder Pets has made him very interested in eating celery.  He asks for celery at every meal, sometimes even for a snack.  “Celry?  Pease Mommy?  Wonder Pets celry?”

Conversely, there are some not so endearing things about age two.  He has (and has had for a long time) an affinity for all things Daddy.  Every morning when I go to get him up, he demands Daddy and throws a tantrum the size of Canada when I groggily explain that Daddy is at work.  “No Daddy go work!  No Mommy.  Daaaaaadddddyyyyy!”

Come to think of it, he can throw a tantrum the size of Canada about most anything.

Meal time has become a spit-fest.  Since I’m still learning as a parent, I made a big deal how WE DO NOT SPIT at the dinner table!  NO WE DO NOT!  So now spitting is ultra-cool and I’m trying to be ultra-cool about it, hoping that no reaction on my part will eventually make spitting so January 2008.

Remember how he asks for celery at every meal?  Yeah, well he doesn’t actually eat it.  Noooooo!  He chews it then spits it out and when he can get all the little pieces out by spitting, he wipes his tongue with the palm of his hand.

Another trait that is less than endearing? 

Carson farts at the dinner table. 

So what is your favorite age (so far) with your kids?

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Swistle asked us how we found out we were pregnant.  And what Swistle’s asks, Jennifer answers.

Tate and I decided that it was time to make a baby.  I don’t leave a lot to chance, I’m a planner, see.  I decided to start charting and charting I did.  Obsessively.  When I wasn’t pregnant the first two months, I made an appointment with my OB/Gyn.  (There are some known fertility issues between Tate and myself that I really cannot discuss here.) I took in my meticulously completed charts.  Tate had even made one up on an Excel spreadsheet because he’s a D.O.R.K..  I showed my chart to my doctor and told him how concerned I was that I STILL WASN’T PREGNANT AFTER TWO WHOLE MONTHS OF TRYING. WAAH, WAAH!

The doctor was probably trying to keep himself from rolling his eyes or shooing me directly out the door, but he was very kind and let me know that I had nothing to worry about.  “It’s completely normal for perfectly healthy couples to take up to a year to get pregnant.  You’re fine.  And really, you don’t need to chart to get pregnant.”

But I wanted to be pregnant RIGHT NOW.  I was ready RIGHT NOW.  And the charting book said it shouldn’t take longer than four months if we were healthy??  What was this crazy talk about taking a year??? 

I got pregnant the next month.

It was day 30 or 31 of my cycle and I decided to take a test.  I waited until morning since I am a direction follower, especially when it comes to being pregnant or not pregnant.  The directions also said to wait five minutes before reading the results.  Five minutes when you want to be pregnant feels very much like five decades, but since I was afraid that if I didn’t follow the directions, I wouldn’t be pregnant, I waited five minutes.  After the brutal wait, I carefully took the test out of my drawer where I’d hidden it (so that I couldn’t peek) and saw two barely visible pink lines.  I had to squint to even see them.

Surely this was a defective test?  Barely visible=Defective test OR not pregnant, right?   I knew from having obsessively read the test’s directions, but both Tate and I were very skeptical, certain that there was an error. 

I had to go to out of town that day for a friend’s birthday party.  Since I wasn’t sure if I was pregnant, I didn’t drink or eat lunch meat or feta or breathe that evening.  When I got home the next day, Tate was waiting for me at the front door holding a pregnancy test.   We decided to be crazy rule breakers and I went and took the test right then (at 12:00 in the afternoon) and watched the little window as the test did it’s magic.  Within seconds, there were two VERY visible pink lines.  To be sure, we stared, dumbfounded for the full five minutes just to make sure the second pink line didn’t disappear.  It didn’t. 

We sat on our bed together, hugging and laughing and crying.  It was one of the best and scariest moments of my life.

For Ella, we charted also, but I was much less obsessive with charting.  We got pregnant the second month of trying.  I secretly took the test one morning (around day 33 of my cycle) since I had a been a raving lunatic the previous week and suspected I was pregnant.  It was about 5:40am, Tate was in the shower.  The test was immediately positive.  I started pacing back and forth in front of the shower, scared, but less so than last time, ecstatic, amazed, and impatient for Tate to finish showering.  Finally he got out of the shower and asked what I was doing walking around the bathroom.  I showed him the test and….I don’t really remember his reaction.  That makes me sad. 

I love that feeling, right after finding out that you are pregnant, when you can’t believe that you’re really pregnant and there is a tiny, wee human growing inside.   The feeling is best before you tell anyone, it’s your little secret.  Before we told anyone, I would look around me and wonder if anyone could just tell I was with child by my “glow.”

So tell me, or go tell Swistle, how did you find out?

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It’s 5:30.  Really
Ella? Why are you awake?
Don’t you grin at me

You can’t charm me.  Noooooo.
Chubby cheeks, dimples, blue eyes
Okay.  I forgive

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