Life With Two

Whenever someone asks me how I'm adjusting to life with two kids, my go-to response is that it's hard, sometimes impossibly hard, and that while everyone says the transition from one child to two is much harder than when you add a third or fourth child, I cannot possibly imagine why anyone ever bothered to find out.
I knew it would be challenging. I knew the round-the-clock feedings would get in the way of me playing with my three-year-old. I knew there would be fatigue, hurt feelings, tantrums, colic, maybe even a bout of mastitis thrown in for good measure.

Even though things like Charlotte loving the baby right away and breastfeeding being much easier to establish, or Desmond just being an easier baby in general pleasantly surprised me, the obstacles have been significant. Physically, mentally, emotionally, having this baby has challenged me in every imaginable way. Sure, I’m up for it, but holy hell.

I mentioned in my last post how well Charlotte was adjusting to having a baby brother, how much she loved him, and how happy we were with her reaction. This remains true. But, as Desmond gets older and more aware of his surroundings, the more attention he requires. I was worried about the marathon newborn nursing sessions, but at least in those days I could read a book to her, supervise a puzzle completion, or even watch a movie if it came to that (and it came to that A LOT in those early days.) But now, I can scarcely have a conversation with Charlotte if I’m nursing Des. He’s so easily distracted and will try to watch whatever’s on the TV or butt into a conversation with his baby squeals. And it kills me, because he’s so damn cute, and I’m loathe to ignore any of his wide-eyed, wiggly, tongue-sticking-out grins, but I also need to give Charlotte my undivided attention. And, really, who am I kidding? When we’re all together, NO ONE gets my undivided attention, and even though that’s necessary, it still bums me out to have a story time or game interrupted because the baby is up from his twenty minute catnap or because he’s tired of being alone on the floor mat. The guilt I have for both children in these scenarios is mind-boggling. Guilt has always been one of the top three emotions in my arsenal, and I’m still surprised at how much of it I can muster.

Getting our one on one time at a tea shop


Charlotte acts out rather passive aggressively. She “hugs” the baby by squeezing him hard enough to make his eyes pop. Or she tries to lie on top of him. Sometimes she leans in to kiss him and then bonks him with her head. Obviously, I stop her as soon as I realize what’s happening, so there is never time for her to really hurt him, but needless to say it has put my blood pressure on the rise. And it makes something as simple as running down the hallway to grab a onesie more complicated than it needs to be. Do I risk leaving her alone with him even for a second? Obviously the answer should be “no,” but she lulls me into a false sense of security. Whenever I take the chance and sprint to and from my bathroom, I find her exactly where I left her, nowhere near him, apparently unaware that I had ever even left. For all I know she’s already administered the Five-Fingered Death Punch on him and is nonchalantly pretending to watch Finding Nemo while she waits for it to take effect.

She even punches him in her sleep. Yes, she still sleeps with a binky. Self-righteous judging be damned, she sleeps twelve hours, bitches. Not messing with that right now. But, no, I'm not defensive.


Honestly, I’m still flabbergasted by how well Charlotte is handling the whole thing. She can be very understanding when we have to go rock Desmond back to sleep for the third time in an hour and will happily play by herself while she waits. And, she does still genuinely like him when he isn’t “gooping” on something that belongs to her. Really the issue is that she’s three, and she’s trying to assert her independence from us by challenging our authority. And maybe because she’s all maxed out on adapting to a new brother, she can be particularly trying when her comfort zone is being threatened in any other way. So, there are many tantrums and LOTS of screaming. Last night, I kid you not, she screamed for half an hour, kicked her legs, writhed on the floor, and dramatically ran down the hall into her bedroom shrieking because SIX MONTHS AGO we gave some princess pens from a set purchased at the Dollar Tree to her cousins in their goody bags from her birthday. They never belonged to her. They were purchased for the sole purpose of giving them away. She helped me pick them. She got to choose the pen she wanted to keep, and she happily discussed which pen would be given to whom. That was the last I heard of it. Until last night when she happened upon her Belle pen, inquired on the whereabouts of the other pens in the set, and proceeded to freak the hell out when I told her.

See, she looks calm enough, but you never know when she's about to snap...



It’s stuff like this that obviously tries my patience. I’ve developed a sort of mental shield I put up at times like these to prevent me from yelling right back at her (most of the time.) But, it would be significantly easier if there wasn’t a baby involved. A baby who is sometimes sleeping during and is subsequently awakened by one of these outbursts. A baby who might also be crying because he is sleepy or hungry while his sister is crying about the color of her toothbrush or something equally ridiculous.

I know that this is just the beginning. Soon, Charlotte will outgrow this stage. Someday Desmond will be big enough that I don’t have to worry about her breaking him all the time. Someday they will play together nicely. And then they won’t. And then Des will be three. And then they’ll be teenagers, and all hell will REALLY break loose. So, I’m just taking it one day at a time.

When Charlotte was about Desmond’s age I was starting to watch what I ate. I started working out. And by the time she was six months old I was in pretty great shape. Well, according to my low standards, but still. Now? Ha! I’m still in survival mode. And I survive the day by sneaking handfuls of M&Ms from the freezer and downing sugary iced coffees. Exercise? Hardly. Sure, I run through the sprinklers, panting, of course. And I’m up and down all day on and off the floor changing diapers and playing with the baby on his mat. Sometimes a vigorous cleaning of the house, however rare, will make me feel like I’ve gotten a workout. But, even if it helped me burn a few calories, my nightly beer takes care of that. So, I am truly boggled when women who have babies Desmond’s age are tweeting about Weight Watchers and fitting into pre-pregnancy jeans. Especially since a few of them have three-year-olds to boot! I guess I’m just weak.

I could always take some exercise tips from this guy.


So, I’m busy. And tired. And frustrated. But, the hardest thing about all of this has nothing to do with changing a diaper while soothing a tantrum or cheerfully pouring a bowl of cereal for Charlotte after a sleeples night with the baby. What has completely knocked the wind out of me is simply how many emotions I have to contain these days. They say that you don’t need to worry about having enough love to give a second child when it seems that your heart is about to burst with love for your first, because your heart will make room. This is undeniably true. What they don’t tell you is how much it will hurt. Because loving a child isn’t like loving anyone else. It’s magical and exhilarating. There is so much pride and admiration in a parent’s love. But there is fear. And guilt. And worry. And doubt. And some more guilt. And even more fear. Am I doing my best? Is she happy? Will he get hurt? Could I go on living if I lost them? Did I handle that right? Will they know how much I love them? All of these feelings, all of this love, it’s so much to handle sometimes. It’s terrifying at others. And, of course, it’s absolute bliss the rest of the time.

Surely, some of this is hormones. And some of it is the knowledge that comes with knowing I am done having babies. It’s a sort of ridiculous nostalgia for a life I am still currently living. It’s a constant struggle for me to stop worrying about how much I will miss this time and just enjoy it.

I’m turning thirty tomorrow, and the big plans I had to celebrate this milestone have been hilariously deflating as it draws nearer. I don’t really get grand birthday celebrations usually, so I wanted to do something special. It went from an overnight trip away from the kids (Ha!) to a night out doing karaoke, and has comfortably settled into dinner with a few friends and then home to the kids. I’m not upset. I’m barely disappointed. This is my life. A life I have wanted SO badly since I can remember. I won’t always have small kids. I won’t even always have kids who WANT to spend my birthday with me. And there will be plenty of opportunities for kick-ass celebrations.

I go to bed every night exhausted. I stay up way too late because I value my “me time” more than sleep, so by the time I get in bed, every ounce of me is tired. But, I am happy. Satisfied. I watch my children breathe, and I take them in (It’s a cliché because it HAPPENS, people) and I know that I am lucky enough to have everything I always wanted out of life. There is so much to look forward to, not just with my children, but for me and also my marriage. We have great things in store for us. But, right now, life is exactly what I want it to be.

For the Children

Why, hello there. Do you want to know what I’m doing right now? I’m glossing over the fact that it’s been roughly six months since my last blog.

*Gloss Gloss*

Okay, now that’s out of the way. How have you been? Me? Well, I had a baby. His name is Desmond, and he’s ridiculously cute. He’s just over three-months-old, and he’s sort of why I feel the need to start blogging again. His big sister Charlotte has two years worth of posts mostly dedicated to her, and it just didn’t seem right not to properly embarrass honor him in the same way.

See what I mean about the cute?

Also, since Des was born I have developed this paralyzing fear of my children growing up too fast. I was never really like that the first time around. I welcomed each new milestone with excitement without ever really looking back too often. I might let out a plaintive sigh as I packed away a favorite outfit that Charlotte’s chubby frame had outgrown, but I never really lamented that my baby was gone. I was has having way too much fun watching her grow. The difference, though, is that with Charlotte I assumed I would be having another baby. I would get to do all that baby stuff again. Now that we’re done (so very done) having babies, things are different. All of a sudden I’m collapsing in sobs because Des has outgrown his newborn onesies or while watching Charlotte’s lithe body running through the sprinklers, looking like a CHILD, with hardly a trace of my first baby left.

I will entertain the slightest possibility that hormones may have been involved in all that weeping. But, in any case, I have an intense need to remember everything about them the way they are now. And a month from now. And, so on. But, of course, that isn’t possible. Just like certain details of Charlotte’s infancy have faded from my mind, so will some of my favorite habits of my children disappear some day. I could cry just thinking about it. Instead, I will do my best to memorialize their childhoods here. So that I can always come back and be reminded of the way my sweet baby clasps his hands together while nursing. Or how my daughter’s silky hand feels when she sleepily strokes my arm.

No time like the present I say! Okay, I don’t really say that; I’m a huge procrastinator.

Charlotte,

It’s been a long time since I’ve written to you. And, we’ve had some big changes since my last letter. We lived with your grandparents for a while, and though it wasn’t easy for everyone involved, and you certainly didn’t always seem to appreciate so many adults in your face, you adjusted very well. In fact, considering I was pregnant with your little brother, AND we were getting ready to move again to our new house, I’d say you handled it amazingly well. Speaking of your brother, you were a tad skeptical at first. You spent most of my second trimester telling us that you didn’t want the baby to come out. And, who could blame you? You are a smart kid. You knew that your three-year streak of getting all the attention was ending. But, then, all of a sudden, you got on board in a big way. You started talking about how much you loved the baby, you proudly called yourself a big sister, and you even hugged my massive belly to “give the baby a hug.” We started getting hopeful that maybe this baby wouldn’t be as devastating to you as previously thought. But, everyone liked to remind us that it would probably be a different story once he was here, and I tried to prepare for that very real possibility. But, your daddy kept saying that you were constantly surprising us, and to not give up hope. And, sweetie, you exceeded all our expectations. You are a brilliant big sister. When I left for the hospital to deliver your brother, you cried. You didn’t want me to leave. So, when it was time for you to come visit, I made sure the baby was in the bassinet so that you wouldn’t get jealous and so my arms would be free to hug you. I imagined that you had missed me so much you would come flying into my arms. But, you came into that hospital room on a mission. You wanted to see your baby brother.

And from that moment on, you have been in love. You hug him, kiss him, talk to him, teach him things, share with him, and miss him when you’re apart. Sure, sometimes you cover your ears when he cries and suggest that maybe he could be left in another room while we play. But, other times you admonish me for leaving him playing happily on the floor while we sit at the table. You don’t like him to be alone, and you request I bring him to the table with us. And, there was the one time where he pulled your hair so hard it made you cry. That time you yelled at him to “go far away.” But, still other times you excuse his hair pulling and kicking by saying that he is pulling your hair “for play.” You’ve even gone so far as to place your hair in his hands so he can pull it. We do try to convince you that this isn’t necessary, but you are a strong-willed girl. I know there is a lifetime of fighting over toys, bickering, and hitting in your future, but that will never change the fact that you love your brother. And on those dark days, when I’m wondering why I deliberately gave birth to someone for you to fight with, I will try to remember you telling me that you love him “too much” and the time you leaned in close to his face and said softly, “Desmond, I will always protect you.” No, I am not making that up. See how awesome you are?

You guys look like you're plotting against me already

I couldn’t possibly sum up everything that makes you Charlotte in one letter. I think the mantra you made for yourself is a good start, though: you like to say that you are “Strong and brave and smart and tough.” You are indeed all of those things, and more. You have a wild imagination. You like to make up the rules of your own games. You love to learn things. You love even more to teach us. Especially about dragons. You are a cat. Usually an evil cat named “Black Cat,” but sometimes you are a “regular cat.” And sometimes you are an ice dragon. You can fly. Just yesterday you were practicing different methods of flying. You have magic, and you can use your magic to turn people “into stuff.” You love water. The siren song of running sprinklers is too much for you to resist, and you will be drenched within a matter of minutes, usually in all your clothes. Your clothes are almost always seasonally inappropriate. Since it is summer, you want to wear long sleeves and sweatpants. You wear a Spiderman shirt very often, and while your dad and I would love to see such a beautiful girl wearing more flattering clothes, we think it’s pretty bad ass that you like superheroes. And I am proud of you every time you wear that shirt because one day a little girl made fun of you for wearing a “boy’s shirt.” You ran to me crying that day and asked to leave the playground. But, the very next day, you picked that shirt to wear all on your own. You are a wonder, Charlotte. You drive me absolutely bananas, but I love you. Just the way you are.

Desmond,

Hey, little buddy. You’ve been with us for three months now, and I’m starting to forget that you were ever not here. You were cute from the moment you were born, and I mean that sincerely. Not all babies are cute as newborns, including your sister (Sorry, Lotte!) but you were. I thought perhaps you were going to be my dream baby. The one that never cries and sleeps through the night at five weeks. Instead you got a mild case of colic, and I wanted to send you back every night around 6:00 P.M. for a month or so.You still don’t sleep well, but now that the incessant crying is a thing of the past, I think you’re pretty damn close to a dream baby. You smile constantly. You let people hold you. You sleep in the car almost every time. You’re pretty cool.

Sometimes I feel guilty that you don’t get the complete attention your sister got when she was a baby. We had nothing else to do besides read her books, talk to her, play with her, and just generally obsess over her. We do those things with you sometimes, but more often than not, you are getting schlepped around the house while we take your sister to the potty, brush her teeth, or play in her room. I worry that you aren’t getting the same stimulation. But, then I realize that while you may not get the same undivided attention she got, you get something pretty great. You get a big sister who loves you. Charlotte can make you smile instantly. You love to look at her, and you can’t help but grin whenever she talks to you. You actually get three people to dote on you, which hopefully makes up for the time you spend squawking at us from the floor mat when we don’t come pick you up as soon as you would like.

I went through a lot to have you, Buddy, and you more than made up for my troubles. You can keep spitting up on me and growing out of your clothes too quickly. I don’t mind. Just keep smiling and being chubby, and you’re alright in my book.

Love,

Mom

Oh, hi there!

So, this is awkward.

Yes, it has been nearly three months since my last blog, and honestly, I couldn't tell you why. I could blame the pregnancy, the nearly-three-year-old, or even the seasons of Breaking Bad I just HAD to watch as quickly as possible. But, the truth is, if I had wanted to blog I would have. I can't really explain my lack of enthusiasm for sharing my thoughts and my life on this blog these last few months. I've thought about it many times. I thought about blogging when I found out the baby I'm carrying is a boy. I thought about blogging about Charlotte's feelings on the baby, how she was struggling with it, but slowly seems to be coming to terms with her impending role as big sister. I thought about blogging lots of times, but when it came down to it, I just didn't feel like I had anything to say, even if I had lots to say.

I don't want to dwell on it, really. I don't even know why I'm blogging now, really. Maybe only because I'm not ready for this blog to die, even if I'm unsure of its future. Ambivalence is a tough obstacle to overcome, and I can't guarantee that this will turn back into a regular thing. But, here I go anyway, fumbling my way back into the whole "forming coherent sentences in a cohesive paragraph" game. It may not be pretty.

Let's start with a small update: the baby is due in about two months. We are in escrow for a house that will close roughly two weeks after our son is born. At first, I was really bummed about the timing. I mean, who wants to move with a newborn? But, I have come to accept and even embrace the idea. Chris will only get a couple days off work at best, and it might be nice to not be alone with two kids right off the bat. And, as eager as I am to be in our own home with our new family, two weeks is really not that long to wait. Especially for a home that is so utterly perfect for us. A home that is worth the wait.

Meanwhile, I am trying my best to start "nesting" in the space we have. I'm cleaning up our room, clearing space for the baby's stuff, organizing what I have, and acquiring what I need. It feels good to finally be preparing for this little boy's arrival. For so much of this pregnancy, before I knew what our living situation would be when he came, I just couldn't bring myself to start any preparations. It made me sad not to be buying onesies and folding tiny socks, but it also made me feel guilty. At this time with my pregnancy with Charlotte, I was hanging little dresses in her freshly painted nursery, having maternity photos taken, and gluing one of those slightly creepy 3D ultrasound pictures into my thoroughly filled-out pregnancy journal. It felt unfair to this baby that I was just sitting around basically ignoring the fact that I'm pregnant, unless it was to complain about a particular pregnancy ailment.

But, I'm feeling inspired these days, and I even have this baby's very own creepy ultrasound scheduled for next week. Things are looking up. Especially now that Charlotte seems a little more positive about her little brother's arrival. She even kissed my stomach the other day and said she was giving the baby a kiss! And, today I showed her a onesie with a little monster on it and asked if she thought it would fit her. She said she thought it would fit the baby, then said, "I will give it to him." These are both HUGE developments from the kid who repeatedly told me she didn't want the baby to come out and who recently informed me the baby should not live with us in our new house. Of course, it goes back and forth. Yesterday she told me she was going to smack the baby with her butt. Today she told me she would give him a big hug. She even said she loved him. I'm still expecting a lot of BIG feelings as his arrival draws closer and especially after he's here, but I am very encouraged by these little victories.

Okay, that seems like enough for now. I ought to ease back into it, after all. Don't want to overdo it my first time out. Thanks for reading, if anyone still is at this point. So, I'll leave you with a recent picture of me and the big-sister-to-be.

Christmas Junkie

It in now officially December which means I can come out of the Christmas closet. See, while the rest of the country has been complaining about how the stores are ALREADY playing Christmas music, I have been humming along, my excitement for the holiday planted firmly in my chest. And, as the trees and garlands were hauled out of storage, dusted off, and put on display, my excitement began to grow. Now that it is socially acceptable to admit it, I am loving the hell out of being bombarded by Christmas.

I will admit that October is a bit early to begin the festivities. I don't like to think about a holiday nearly two months away while I'm still trying to get into the spirit of another. But, I will say that I have been listening to Christmas music since before Thanksgiving. As far as I'm concerned, Thanksgiving is just an extension of Christmas, anyway. It's nice that people tend to express the things they are grateful for during that time, but otherwise, it's just a day where we eat a big meal, and maybe some crazies plan their shopping strategy for the next day (or later that day, apparently. For shame, retail stores of America.) Be honest, you haven't thought about a pilgrim breaking bread with a Native American since you were in school. Thanksgiving is actually a bit of a bullshit holiday, but since there is pie and family involved, I'll take it.

Christmas has always been my favorite. I know it isn't cool to say that. It's cool to love Halloween, and believe me, I've tried. I mean, I like Halloween, but I've just never been very good at it. I never know what costume to wear, I never have anywhere to go, and as much as I try to drum up excitement for it, I usually find myself grudgingly dragged from the house when I'd be just as content to watch scary movies and hand out candy. It's better now that I have a kid. There's no pressure to have a wild night I hardly remember with some zombies and stumble home in my slutty devil costume at 4 A.M. I just put my kid in a cute costume, take her trick-or-treating, and snap lots of pictures. Then watch in horror as she becomes obsessed with candy. No big.

But, Christmas! Christmas has a whole "feeling" attached to it, and that starts about a month before. And in order to maintain the feeling, there is a list of Christmas traditions that need to be completed. There are Christmas movies to watch, cookies to bake, lights to see, eggnog to drink, and of course a tree to pick out and decorate. As kids, my sister and I were sticklers for the Christmas rules. My mom says our mantra was "But, it's tradition!" The tree was only to be decorated with the television off, with eggnog in hand, and with the Time Life Christmas collection on the turntable. We had favorite ornaments, and we took turns hanging them up, alternating each year. We nagged my dad to hang up the lights as soon as we knew we could get away with it. And, we made sure we were chauffeured around town to see all the Christmas lights, preferably with some hot chocolate in our demanding little hands.

Christmas circa 1994

It was the best. Of course, we also wanted certain things for gifts. We wrote wish lists to Santa and had innumerable toy commercials for inspiration. We were excited Christmas eve to open our presents in the morning. But, the season was so much more to us than that, and it has continued to be ever since. Before I wax poetic about how completely magical Christmas is with my own kid, let me just say that I have never stopped doing my favorite Christmas activities in the many years between my childhood and my parenthood. I have never gone one year without a Christmas tree, I bake cookies with my grandma every year, and I have always gone on long drives looking for Christmas lights, only now I have a Starbucks holiday drink in my hand.

And now that I have a kid? The holiday just became exponentially more exciting. When she was a baby, she didn't add too much to the experience. I had her picture taken with Santa (Thankfully, she isn't and has never been afraid of him,) and we bought her one, small gift. The rest of our family, however, doubled her wardrobe and toy collection that year. Last year was better, She sort of understood the concept a bit, she enjoyed looking at lights, and she REALLY enjoyed opening presents.

Charlotte's first Christmas

I can already tell that this year is going to RULE. She "gets" Santa now. She asked me if she could go see Santa while we were in the mall one day, and I asked the adolescent elves if she could just say "Hi" since we weren't exactly picture ready. They had no sooner approved our request and Charlotte was running over to Santa and climbing into his lap. He asked her a few questions, one of them being what she wanted for Christmas. And, it was hilariously awkward because she didn't know how to answer that question. She might see something in a toy aisle and ask me for it, but unless she is looking right at it, she doesn't know that she wants it. So, she looked at him, her smile fading, and started muttering "Um, um..." when Santa jumped in with, "Maybe a baby doll?" He couldn't have known that she has no time for baby dolls, and that this might not be the best time to bring up babies, since Charlotte tells me almost daily that she doesn't want the baby in my tummy to come out. But, she must have been so relieved to be out of the hot seat because she cheerfully agreed that a baby doll would be most good. But, after we left, she looked up at me and said, "Mommy, I want a princess doll."

After a trip to the Disney store where she discovered the princess doll she would like is a "big Rapunzel doll. The soft one." we headed back to Santa for pictures a few days later. This time she was prepared. He asked, she answered. But, it turns out she is a little fuzzy on the Christmas timeline here, because as we walked away the poor child looked genuinely confused as she shrugged her little shoulders, threw up her hands, and asked "Where's my Rapunzel doll?" She seemed satisfied with having to wait until Christmas, but then again, I don't think she realizes how many more Rapunzel-free days are in her future. I may have jumped the gun a little this time. Charlotte with Santa circa now

So, it's been fun. Charlotte knows most of the words to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," and we sing that together multiple times a day. She loves Christmas lights, so last night I took the first of what will become many detours on our way home to hunt for lights. She likes the white lights, but when she sees even the simplest strand of multicolored lights, she gasps, "Look, Mom! COLORS!" At a particularly ornate house, she wistfully sighed, "I wish I had a house like that." And it was so freaking cute, that I have now resolved to empty our bank account buying gaudy, light-up Christmas decorations for the lawn so that next year she will indeed have a house like that.

The one thing that I want to work on with our Christmas experience this year and all the years forward is to instill the spirit of generosity in her. I told her yesterday that we were going to buy a toy to give to a kid whose family can't afford to buy him or her any presents, and wouldn't that be nice? "No," was her response. Oh, I'm not worried about it. She's two and therefore necessarily self-centered and incapable of thinking of such broad topics. But, that won't stop me from talking about it with her and getting her involved this year and onward. Eventually, it will sink in, and I hope that giving to the less fortunate will be something she is excited to do each Christmas and throughout the rest of the year. Of course, to ensure that this happens, I have to start walking the walk. Admittedly, I am usually too busy stressing over Christmas presents and trying to cram in all of my Christmas activities to bother with any kind of altruism. But, I guess that's how kids have the ability to make you a better person. When you imagine the kind of person you want them to be, and you realize that YOU are not the kind of person you want them to be, you have to make some changes. So, starting this year, my family and I will participate in a food drive and a toy drive. And, in our future, I envision adding some volunteer work to that, as well.

So, there you have it. I'm a giant nerd who loves Christmas. And, now if you will excuse me, there is some eggnog I need to pour into my coffee. Happy Holidays!

Because Cheetos Aren't Dinner

Tomorrow I will be sixteen weeks pregnant, and so far I haven't fully emerged from some of the more unpleasant first trimester symptoms. I still get nauseous in the evenings, and I still need naps most days due to the fatigue. These symptoms are annoying enough, but what is most distressing to me is that they have caused me to completely lose my cooking mojo.

I made a lasagna a few weeks ago, and some pork chops about a week later. And, that's pretty much it for the last three months. I've either been too tired to even fathom chopping and mixing, sauteing and baking, or I've been so nauseous, I can't face the smell of the food I need to prepare. Additionally, I have that stereotypical pregnant woman's relationship to junk food. Maybe it's all in my head, but more often than not, I have to choke down my vegetables in order to earn a spicy chicken sandwich or a metric ton of pork.

This is all a far cry from where I was a year ago. I spent my Saturdays poring over cookbooks, looking up recipes on the internet, hunting down unfamiliar ingredients at Whole Foods, and trying a new recipe at least once a week. Admittedly, my enthusiasm had tapered off a bit by this past summer, right before I got pregnant, but I was chugging along, continuing to provide nutritious meals for my family and still taking pleasure in trying out the occasional new recipe.

I am making a lot of excuses, but truth be told, I could be cooking a lot more than I do. I'm still adjusting to living with my in-laws and trying to figure out how to shop and cook in a two-family home, but I can't blame that learning curve forever. My energy level is not great, but it is a vast improvement over how I was feeling a month ago. And, my nausea and food aversions, while not gone, have abated enough that I can be around most food without gagging.

So, what's my problem? This might sound silly, or even crazy, but it's like I've completely forgotten how to cook. I used to be able to make up a dish based on the sundry ingredients I had lying around the house. Or, I had an idea of what I wanted to make, so I found a recipe. Or, I had the motivation to scour recipes until I found one I wanted to try. But, now? I got nuthin'. I wander around the grocery store aimlessly, buy some yogurt for Charlotte, then go home with nothing that will help me make a meal. I have damaged or misplaced the part of my brain that tells me what the hell to do with rosemary or a shallot.

Here's where you come in. A year ago, maybe? I told you all what ingredients I had in my kitchen and asked for recipes. It was a roaring success. For me, that is. You got nothing out of it, I expect. But, if you would be so kind as to give me some of your favorite recipes, or even just dishes (I can hunt down a recipe)you will be saving my family a lot of money in meals eaten out and sparing my husband from taking a can of soup to work with him for his dinner. I'd like to start out sort of easy, since I've regressed so much, and recipes for things that feed a whole family, like casseroles and stews would be great for our current situation. I also love anything I can throw in a crock pot in the morning and forget about for a few hours.

So, ready? Set? Go!

I promise to return the favor if necessary, just as soon as I get my kitchen legs back.

Second Trimester Limbo

Last Wednesday marked the first day of my second trimester. I knew I should be happy. And, I was. But, the arrival of that day didn't bring the relief I thought it might. Sure, the odds of a miscarriage are significantly lower than they were even a few weeks ago, but I just can't shake the feeling that something either has, or is about to go, terribly wrong.

My last doctor's appointment was exactly a week ago. I waited for that appointment for what seemed like a lifetime. I was in desperate need of some reassurance that the baby was still there, waving and wiggling like the time before. The appointment came and went, and I felt great. For like a day. But, the anxiety came creeping back, and soon enough I was ordering a Doppler to listen to the baby's heartbeat at home. We also used one when I was pregnant with Charlotte, and especially in those few weeks between the disappearance of morning sickness and the beginning of feeling flutters and kicks, it was very reassuring. It is scheduled to arrive Wednesday, and the wait is killing me.

The funny thing is, I still feel like crap. I still get horribly nauseous in the evenings and sometimes during the day. I am still fatigued as hell, and I still live in fear of anything even brushing up against my breasts, causing me to wince in pain. All the symptoms that I tolerated because they let my paranoid brain know I was still pregnant, are still here. But, they just aren't doing it for me anymore. I need more.

It's exhausting, all this stress and worry. I sometimes sit very still, willing myself to be able to feel some fluttering from within. I check the progress of the Doppler using my tracking number about twenty times a day, even though I signed up for alerts to be sent to my phone. Incidentally, it went NOWHERE all day yesterday, and I am very displeased. I count down the days until my next appointment. I analyze my symptoms and check on Twitter if anyone thinks I am hurting my baby by sleeping on my stomach, even though I already asked my doctor, and she assured me I was fine until twenty weeks. I obsess.

I hope this will get better when I'm further along, but I know myself, and I know that I will probably find something to worry about until the baby is here. And then I'll worry about different stuff.

In the meantime, I will do my best to get through this second trimester limbo.

The Princess Prerogative

Last week was Halloween,and this year my mom was able to resume her tradition of making Charlotte's costume. Last year my mom got married the month of Halloween, and we all begged her to not try and sew a costume whilst planning a wedding and commuting to her teaching jobs at three different colleges. She grudgingly acquiesced, and instead bought a little fairy princess dress for Charlotte.

As a kid, I knew summer was coming to an end when my mom took my sister and me to the fabric store to pour over Halloween costume pattern books so we could choose a costume. It was exciting seeing our costumes come together, and they were always expertly crafted. My mom is an incredible seamstress. She even made my wedding dress! During my early school years I went through the Disney repertoire, choosing such costumes as Tinkerbell, Cinderella, and Aurora. Later I branched out into other arenas, but I remember my princess and fairy costumes fondly.

See, I LOVE Disney. I love Disneyland, Disney movies, and Disney...well, anything! It is something that connects me to my childhood in a huge way. And, when I found out I was having a little girl, I couldn't wait to share the Disney princess experience with her. I know that this makes me the opposite of progressive and enlightened in the eyes of many, but I really don't care. I have wonderful memories of playing "The Little Mermaid" with my sister any time we were in a pool. I loved my Ariel pencil box and my Belle nightgown. I played dress-up for hours. I imagined fairy tale weddings. And, I swear to god, one day my sister and I put on dresses and fancy hairbands and went outside to sing to some birds, convinced that they would come perch on our shoulders if we just looked beautiful and sang prettily enough. My sister may deny this, but I assure you, it happened.


But you know what? We also drove a tractor at my grandparents' house. We played war games in the desert next to our house with the neighbor boys. We went on archaeological digs in our backyard. We may have played with Barbies (not something I'm dying for Charlotte to find out about, but that's just my personal preference) but we were never limited by them. We were raised to do well in school because we would need our education to make our way in this world. We were taught to respect ourselves. I'm proud of the women my sister and I turned out to be. And, I see no reason why I can't share a part of my childhood with my daughter, a part that we both happen to enjoy together, without fear of pigeonholing her or taking away her power as an individual.

I can teach my daughter that it's okay to twirl around in her nightgown and ask "Do I look so pwetty?" as long as she knows that that won't be enough or all that is expected of her. I do tell Charlotte that she is pretty. I tell her she's beautiful. But, whenever she asks me why I love her or why I wanted her to be my daughter (the "Why?" stage can bite me, by the way) I tell her it's because she is smart and funny and nice. And, we encourage all her interests. Truth be told, she is way more interested in bunnies and cats than she is in princesses. She loves to wear her dragon costume and growl at everyone who passes by. She loves to help her daddy fix stuff around the house. Sure, it'd be great if she saw Mommy fixing stuff around the house, too, but that is unfortunately not my strong suit.

Happily, some of the modern princesses offer a more balanced and stronger role model for little girls. Tiana from "The Princess and the Frog" is fiercely independent, clever, and hardworking. Rapunzel from "Tangled" is admittedly, naive, but also brave and struggling to find her independence. That doesn't mean I will shield Charlotte from the older princesses, like Snow White, who is just AWFUL. Seriously, that chick is useless. But, we can enjoy those movies with a little supplemental education. Long story short, I don't expect Charlotte to spend too much time waiting around for her prince to come, baking pies and sweeping floors to kill time until he rides up on his horse.

So, when my mom offered to make Charlotte's costume this year, we gave her a few choices (though I don't remember what they were,) and in the end she chose her favorite princess, Belle. I kind of love that Belle is her favorite. I guess as a Lit major, I have to appreciate a book lover in a princess. We had a few bumps in the road, such as when she informed us that she would rather be Aurora or that she would like to just wear her dragon costume for Halloween. But, I explained to her that because her grandmother was working really hard on her dress, there was just no alternative. In the end, she loved it. She twirled and practiced her curtsy, and I was in heaven. She also rocked her light-up Belle shoes until her feet started to hurt, and then we changed her into her tennis shoes, which was maybe even more adorable.

Mid twirl

Mid curtsy


Who knows what she will choose next year? Maybe another princess, maybe not. We will, of course, follow her lead and let her choose whatever she wants. But, in case she goes an entirely different direction, I'm just glad I got my princess fix this year. It was definitely everything I hoped for.