'Twas Two Nights Before Christmas

'Twas two nights before Christmas
And all through the house
Every creature was stirring.
We even woke up the mouse.

The children were tucked in their beds
With great care,
And with my foolish hope
That they just might stay there.

When the midnight bell tolled
I heard a voice, small and sweet
That was slightly distressed.
Time for baby to eat.

So he nursed and he nursed
And I kissed his warm head
As he drifted to sleep,
Then I headed for bed.

I pray I don't jinx it,
But could I be quite done
With my tired nightly duties?
I might sleep 'till the sun!

But fate was not kind.
I was dealt a poor hand
For in less than two hours
I was summoned again.

"MommaDadda!" I heard
Then a small pitter-patter
So I got out of bed
To see what was the matter

"I want juice!" The girl cried,
Her voice tiny and bright.
"I'm awake!" Then she smiled
"I'm all done night-night!"

No you're not! My voice Grinch-ish
Or perhaps rather Scrooge-y
My frequent awakenings
Now making me moody

I got her some juice
And tucked her in tight
Then I looked in her eyes
And I pleaded "Good night"

But not even thirty minutes
Had yet dared to pass
When I heard more loud cries
From that two year old lass.

"I sleep in YOUR bed!"
As she opened the door
I looked at my bedmate and asked,
"What's one more?"

He nodded agreement
So she snuggled inside
Our modest-sized bed,
Now three people wide.

So cramped up and cozy
And drifting to sleep
For a full thirty seconds
No one made a peep!

I looked at the monitor
When I heard his first cry.
And what did I see there
But two wide, glowing eyes

I knew in that moment
This was not just a feed
He was wide, wide awake
Hi Mom! Play with me!!

So, To all of the mamas
Up feeding their young
And to all of the dads
Rising long 'fore the sun

Take heart, for one day
You will sleep till sun's light.
Merry Christmas to all!
And to us a good night.

I can do hard things.

Here's what I used to do to go shopping.

-Put shoes on. Grab bag (wallet, keys, chapstick, phone). Go.

Here's what I do now. I wish I was exaggerating.

First, I make sure the bag is packed:
- two juice cups
- one bottle of milk
- two bags of snacks
- one bottle of water
- two extra snacks
- four size 4 diapers
- four size 2 diapers
- extra pair of pants for the girls
- extra outfit for the baby
- hand wipes
- butt wipes
- baby's pacifier
- extra pacifiers
- ergo baby carrier
- wallet, keys, chapstick, phone

"Ok! We can go!"
 Oh wait, now I need to:
- put socks and shoes on Toddler One
- put socks and shoes on Toddler Two
- start warming up the bottle
- reapply socks and shoes to Toddler One
- close all of the doors so Trapper can't sneak onto our beds
- reapply shoes to Toddler Two
- locate and refill the previously packed juice cups that were stolen and drained of their contents by, guess who, Toddlers One and Two

"Ok! We're really ready!"
Wait...The bottle!!! I forgot! It's scalding!
- get steaming bottle. Be sad that I probably just nuked the nutrients from my hard earned bottle of breastmilk.
- get over it. Grab backpack. Grab baby. Time to go!

"Ok girls! We're ready for real this time! Let's go!"
silence. They are nowhere to be found.
"Children!! Come here please, it's time to go!"
Here they come. Ahh, the pitter patter of little feet.
Crap... feet.
- reapply socks and shoes to Toddlers One and Two

- quickly usher them out the door before they have time to de-shoe themselves again
"Ok girls. I want you to walk straight to the car. It's not time to play, it's time to go to the store. Please obey and walk straight to the car right now."
- watch as Toddlers One and Two run in opposite directions
"Come to the car! RIGHT NOW!"
"No! Come get me, Mama!!"  Laughs maniacally.
"I can't! I'm holding baby brother! Please my dear, sweet children. I'm two seconds away from a meltdown, so why don't you just obey me for once in your short little lives. I'm begging you, come to the car!"
- they finally come. they climb into van. they get into their chairs.

- Ok. attempt to buckle toddlers in
"NO! MY DO IT!!!!"
- you know how this goes. eventually after (two seconds of) me being an AMAZING mom and being SO patient while letting them struggle to buckle themselves in while holding a fussing baby...I take over. Buckled. Done.
- buckle baby in.
- baby starts to cry. Is he hungry? I'll give him some milk. I sit and give him his bottle. Man, he's a slow drinker. He is just lingering, smiling, savoring this moment. You think you're going somewhere, mom? You're not. I'm keeping us in this driveway for as loooooong as possible. I'm just going to take a tiny sip...smile...one more sip...aren't I cute? And on and on. FINALLY he finishes.

All right, folks! We can go!!!

And we do. And while the car ride is not always calm and happy and enjoyable, it's blissful for three reasons.
No one can move.
I can listen to NPR.
I can honestly say "I'm sorry I cant get your juice that you intentionally threw down. I'm driving."

Then we arrive.
I sit for a moment, revving myself up for the next set of tasks.
Ok, here we go.
- get double stroller out of trunk
- get Toddler One out of carseat
- buckle Toddler One into stroller
- get Toddler Two out of carseat
- buckle Toddler Two into stroller
- push them around to the other side of the car to get baby Brother
- get baby carrier on
- insert baby
- strap backpack to the stroller (I have this ENORMOUS carabiner called "The Mommy Hook" that I can hook onto the stroller and then hook stuff to it like bags. Its frightful and embarassing and oh, so useful)
- stop halfway into store to dole out snacks
- walk inside store
- receive pitying looks
- shop. victoriously.
Because I can do hard things.

So, in sum, if you get a Christmas present from me this year, you better at least pretend to be pretty damn excited about it.

Taking the "Bad" with the Good

If you're around new parents and you are not one, you probably think they all secretly hate their kids because we are ALWAYS trying to put our children to bed. "He only slept for 30 minutes!!" may sound to you like we didn't get enough time away from them to put on makeup and watch the six thousand shows on our DVRs. While this is sometimes true (be honest), what we know and you don't is that bad baby sleep has a snowball effect. A bad morning nap almost always means a bad second nap, and a bad third nap, and maybe a 5 minute fourth nap, and two hours of rocking and feeding and fervent praying to get the baby to go to sleep.

And then they will wake up 36 times throughout the night.

And the next morning we will get down on our knees before it's time for the baby's first nap. We will set down our coffee cup that we have now refilled three times, and we will plead with the LORD to bless this nap. Please Jesus, you made this baby's body and you know that he NEEDS TO SLEEP FOR AT LEAST AN HOUR. Absolutely Needs To. Bless him, God. Hallelujah Amen.

Believe me folks, I know ALL about troubled sleepers. My girls were awful daytime sleepers and it took absolutely forever to get their overtired little selves to bed. Baby Jude is now three months old, and I'm remembering what it took to get the girls to bed when they were three months old:
Tandem breastfeed babies, usually accompanied by lots of fussing
Give them a supplement bottle
Each person takes a baby in a different room to rock and sing to them
Pray that they fall asleep
When they do, put them in crib (they shared one)
Go back in two minutes later when they wake up
Shove pacifiers back in
Pat their backs, shush them, sing to them
Pick them up, rock them again
Repeat Repeat Repeat
Cry, try not to look at the clock ("It's been two hours!")
Repeat Repeat Repeat

Tonight I left my brother's birthday party early so that I could get Jude to bed. I will NEVER complain about his early bedtime, even if it makes me miss out on some things. Anyway I get home, snuggle with my little guy, offer him a bottle, and he drifts off to sleep (mostly) in my arms. I put him in his crib. The End.

As I write this I am terrified that somehow I'm jinxing it.

Now, don't get the wrong impression. Does he sometimes wake up at 5:45 for the day? Yes. Does he sometimes take super short naps? Sure. Does he ocassionally wake up 4 times at night to eat? Yes. But you know what I realized this time around that I'm not sure I fully understood when the girls were little? Babies are people. They are little tiny people, and you cannot make them do anything. You can help them, you can listen to them and pay attention to what relaxes them and what doesn't, you can watch for sleep signs, but you absolutely cannot make them do anything. You can't make them go to sleep, you can't make them stay asleep, and that's just life. If your baby only takes 30 minute naps for a while, that's just life. It's frustrating as hell, but it's not always something that can be fixed. It's just something that is, and it will pass.

You know what else?

MAJOR Toddler disobedience- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
Pumping 6 times a day- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
Babies keeping me from sleep- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
All of my housecleaning being undone in 15 minutes- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
Doling out time-out after time-out- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
Saying "BE QUIET." 600 times a day- It's just something that is, and it will pass.

But also...

My children hanging onto my every word- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
Snuggling with my sweet, soft baby- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
Playing pretend "baby tiger!" with my toddlers- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
Being the one to introduce three open minds to just about everything- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
My little ones crying "Momma!" and running to hug me when they first see me in the morning- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
Fighting over who gets to sit in my lap- It's just something that is, and it will pass.
That goofy grin Jude gives me 600 times a day- It's just something that is, and it will pass.

I'm learning to embrace the bad with the good, and I'm realizing that it isn't even bad. It just is. I no longer expect my kids to be like the books say they should be, to sleep the "right" amounts or to be developmentally on par. They are people too, and we are all so wonderfully different. I want to get to know them better, discover more about who they are, and learn more firmly how to respect their preferences, differences, and eccentricities.

And I'm telling myself a hundred times a day, with the wonderful and the "bad" that this, all of this, is something that is, and something that will pass.

Savor it.

Hey, Jude! The day I met my son.

I was facebooking today and came upon a birth story recently written by a friend of mine. Her story was incredible and told of her three day un-pain-medicated labor and all that she went through to usher her son into the world. It reminded me that I should write down Jude's birth story before I forget, and that I am a total wimp in comparison.

Here's my story.

I do not like being pregnant. There was one day during this last pregnancy, only one day, where I felt really super amazing and thought, "This is actually pretty cool". I had so much energy I felt like I was on drugs. I stayed up all night painting the inside of a playhouse in my backyard, even though there were tons of beetles sneaking up on me and totally getting in the way of my art project. But seriously, it lasted one day. The rest of the time I felt tired, big, and generally annoyed. For me pregnancy is a means to an end, and I mostly wanted it to go by quickly and get on with my life.

Besides feeling blah while taking care of two toddlers, I was carrying baby J veeeery low. Right away he made his nest on my bladder and stayed there the entire time. Many of my maternity clothes didn't fit because the waistline (or, more appropriately, the "girthline" since there was no waist to speak of) couldn't stretch far enough and low enough to accomodate the baby that was doing his best to hang out with my knees. By about 30 weeks my Braxton Hicks contractions were strong and frequent. By 35 weeks I had them nearly every three steps that I took. I wish I were exaggerating. My belly was constantly hard and uncomfortable. By 38 weeks I was in full "barter with God" mode. "Dear Jesus, if you make the baby come today I will dedicate him to the church, full-on Hannah style. I'll even name him Samuel, pleeeeeeease?"  I begged and pleaded with the baby to just come out already. I was so tired, so exhausted, and so uncomfortable that I almost wanted them to say "Oh! We have to induce you. Right now." Sounds silly. It's how I felt.

Thank God for the Olympics on tv 24 hours a day. I needed distraction.

My BH contractions got stronger every day, and since I didn't know what contractions felt like I was always wondering if my labor was starting. With the girls my water broke and I was having a c-section a few hours later. I had maybe three mild contractions. This was all new to me.

Friday August 24th- I wake up in my usual TOTAL GRUMP state. This morning though, I am not having it. I'm not dealing with toddlers, I'm not making everyone food, I'm not cleaning up, I'm not doing anything. Deal with it. Chad took the girls out. I rested. And was grumpy.

I had an OB appointment at 1:00. At this point I am 5 days overdue and ready to kill everyone. I stopped by Whole Foods on the way and noticed that my usual contractions were pretty strong and starting to develop a pattern, about every 10 minutes. I had experienced this probably fifty times before in the past four weeks, so I brushed it off. It was clear that the baby was never coming out and I was going to be enormously pregnant for life. I was coming to terms.

At the appointment my midwife once again pointed out how low the baby was. His head was so low that it was in the way of her getting to my cervix to check it. Like, she had to physically push it out of the way from the inside (NEAT-O). I was only 1-2 cm. Sigh. But my contractions were still pretty regular and she noticed that I broke out into a sweat with each one. She guessed that I would be in labor within 24 hours, and I nodded and smiled to make her feel good even though I knew he was going to stay in there indefinitely. I went home.

Per her suggestion, I took a bath. I was still not entertaining the idea that "today's the day!" but my contractions were so darn regular! I knew they were tricking me. I sat down with Chad and the kiddos and watched Ellen for an hour. Man, I love Ellen. Anyway I called out "write it down" every time I felt one start, and Chad would then obediently check the time and write it down. Throughout the whole show they were five minutes apart. Eh, not that painful, can't be real. I'm going to sit here, watch Ellen, laugh at her wit, and they will stop. See? It's been 5 minutes and...oh. Write it down.

Unfortunately Ellen came to an end and NOTHING comes on tv at 5:00 if you don't have cable. I was not about to count contractions to Judge Judy so we went on a walk.The contractions were still coming but I could walk through them, and gosh darn it if they weren't about every three minutes. By the time I waddled back to the house I was thinking, "Ok, self. It might be time to entertain the idea that you may, possibly, push a baby out tonight. Just give that thought a test-run in your brain and see what happens. No freaking out." And I immediately started freaking out.

I spent the next hour on the toilet. I was timing my contractions and they were two minutes apart. I was noticing that they were getting longer and starting timing that too. They were two minutes apart lasting a full minute each, some longer, for an hour. I came out of the bathroom and went into the kitchen where Chad was attempting to get our girls to eat dinner and said, "So, they're two minutes apart. How much longer should we wait?" How about NO MUCH LONGER YOU IDIOT! Oh self, how in denial you were. We did call my parents and told them to lazily make their way over to our house to watch the girls, no rush. We pulled out the suitcase. And then things got bad.

The next few contractions had me on the floor. I literally was crawling around my room trying to pack stuff into the suitcase while Chad was gathering power cords and batteries and tripods for various electronic devices that were absolutely necessary to bring with us to the hospital. Each contraction was stronger than the last, and eventually I was on my knees by the front door waiting to see my parents car drive up so Chad and I could leave. I was making crazy animal noises. I was crying. I was one enormous hot mess.

Listen, folks. I read all the books. I fully expected to have a long, drawn out labor with candles and massages where I knew what was happening and could center myself and connect with my baby and blah blah blah. It would be 18 hours and I would have relaxing music playing amd it would be awesome and spiritual and calm. Natural childbirth! I can do this! I'm a strong woman!

But this was not awesome. The ride to the hospital was nearly unbearable. I cried a lot. I had three contractions walking from the car to the front door, and we had a good parking spot. Are you LITERALLY going to make me sit in this lobby chair and sign this form right now? I SOUND LIKE A DYING ANIMAL, HELP ME! They finally got the hint and wheeled me to the room. Contraction after contraction was barrelling me over. I was loud. I kept apologizing. I was embarrassed. I was confused. Why is my body not giving me a break? Why won't it stop? Can I just have one full minute to gather myself? I know what you're all thinking. It's because she's in transition! She's 10 centimeters and the baby is crowning! The baby was halfway out and she didn't know it! No, my friends. I was not ready to push. I wasn't even close.

The miwdife checked me. I was three centimeters.

And in that moment, "epidural" went from a no to a YESSSSSSS!!!!! in my brain.

Why, why, why was I having so many very close contractions and was still only 3 cm? I will never know. I had practiced my "please don't offer us pain medication" speech in my head so many times, but now I was saying "YES!" every time she offered me anything. I couldn't imagine doing this for potentially hours to come. How long will it take to go from 3cm to 10cm? I did not want to find out unless I had something to help me. I felt totally and completely out of control, and here my midwife is telling me it could be a while. I agreed to the epidural, no second thoughts.

After forty minutes and twenty contractions, the epidural man came. He was beautiful. He was an angel. I had many, many contractions while he was giving me the epidural. It was absolutely terrible trying to sit still, but 15 minutes later I was in a land of bliss. I smiled, chatted with Chad, and watched Jimmy Kimmel. By this point they had broken my water. In not too long I was feeling a lot of pressure with each contraction. I knew it couldn't possibly be that I was ready to push, (I was 3 cm like an hour ago!) but I told the nurse anyway. She looked at me like I was an idiot and told me that it's just the epidural wearing off and to push my little button for a little extra surge of meds. I did. I still felt like I was going to poop all over everywhere with each contraction, and I told her so. She agreed to get the midwife to check me, and glory of glories I was 10cm! I was expecting the epidural to slow things down but no, when Jude finally decided it was time to come he came hard and fast.

The midwife came in, the lights were dim, and everything was really calm. I was glad to not fight the urge to push and very happy that this all was almost over. Jude's heart rate was more stable when I was on my side, so I pushed from that position. In about 40 minutes (I was an awesome pusher, for real! At least I didn't suck at everything), my little man came into this world. They laid him on my chest and I felt his little wet and warm body for the first time. That moment was the whole reason I fought for this VBAC instead of a repeat cesarean. I will never forget the feeling of his skin under my fingers or his 7lb 8oz weight on my chest. He was calm but very alert. He was perfect. He was mine.

Just like everything else in life, this labor and delivery did not go as planned. I had wanted a homebirth, but no midwives were taking VBAC clients. I had hoped to not be overdue and I was. I thought I was going to be in control of my labor and would have a while to warm up to the idea and to the pain, but in an hour my contractions went from bearable to incredibly intense and one after another. I had wanted it to be drug-free but choosing an epidural was the right thing for me in that moment. I had hoped I wouldn't tear or need stitches and I did. But really, none of that matters anymore. Now, it's just a story. It's the first chapter in Jude's story, and now we're onto chapter two. Chapter two is where the cutest baby in the world has an obsessive mommy who watches him sleep and cries when he smiles at her. Stay tuned for chapter three :)

Milking It

This blog is not intended to be solely about breastfeeding, but that's what is happening in my life right now so that's what I'm going to talk about. If you're not interested in the goings on of my boobs, I would skip to the next blog post.

Guys, you won't believe what I'm doing right now. It's something that I said I would NEVER EVER EVER  do again, no matter what. I swore up and down that it wasn't going to happen, no way no how. But here I sit, in this chair....pumping (the boobs, not iron). For a little background, I started pumping the day after the girls were born. I pumped every single day, many times a day, for eleven months.

Eleven.


Months.



I'm just giving that a minute to sink in.


In the beginning I would feed both of them, then pump for 20 minutes. Do you know how often you feed newborns? Like 10 times a day. So that means I fed each baby ten times a day, and then pumped. Ten times a day. The lactation consultants terrified me about not having enough milk for two babies, and I was NOT going to fail on this one. So I pumped. A few months down the road we figured out that the girls both had a tongue tie and my supply was going down, so eventually I pumped and fed the milk to them in bottles. It was terribly time consuming and often very inconvenient. My few minutes of rest time were spent hooked up to a machine that makes my nipples look like turtle heads poking in and out of their shells. Many, many times a baby cried out for me and I had to unhook myself and run down the hall leaving a milk trail behind me. It was terribly not fun, but it's what I had to do. What I chose to do.

And here I am again. I'm looking at Medela Pump In Style, and I'm realizing that it is no longer my enemy. It never was really, but I loathed it completely. That stupid little black bag that all zipped up looks pretty harmless. A tote bag? What are you toting around? Library books? Your groceries? Some fresh scones? 

Oh, this? No. It's a torture device that sucks the milk out of me.

Medela Pump In Style, you are, more accurately, my frenemy. You help me to feed my baby, how helpful! You help to keep my milk supply up, what a delight! But I wish I didn't have to use you, ever. I wish I wasn't going to see you 5 times a day for the next few months (possibly ten...). You remind me of what I wanted to do, so badly, and couldn't. You remind me that once again, feeding my baby isn't going as planned. But Medela Pump In Style, it's not your fault. You're just here to help. And I appreciate that.  I'm going to make a real effort to not hate you so much.

You see folks, feeding Baby Jude has been a struggle. At first it was awesome, but from allergies to reflux to my overactive letdown which literally drowns the kid in milk, it's been one struggle after another. Jude has, quite frankly, had enough. My lactation consultants and doctors visits have basically confirmed the fact that it's not Jude, it's me. It just comes out too fast and he can't handle it. It hurts his tummy, gives him gas, aggravates his reflux, and makes him upset. There is nothing worse than a baby crying and pushing away from your breast. Absolutely nothing worse. But I know that he isn't rejecting me, he is just rejecting the raging river of milk forcing its way down his throat. He would prefer a bottle please, preferably something a little less...aggressive. And that's okay, because he is my baby and I am going to listen carefully to what he needs, not to what I want.

So Medela Pump In Style, I'm sorry for wanting to throw you off of a building or for saying that I was going to break you apart with a sledgehammer. The truth is, I need you. I needed you two years ago and I need you now.

Truce?

If I Cannot Fly...

Being a parent to young children is an adventure, it is thrilling, it is hard work, it is hilarious it is...so many things. But there is one characteristic of young children that is incredibly intense, and the younger they are the more intense it is: neediness. Babies are one tiny ball of need- they can do absolutely nothing on their own. They need to be fed, changed, bathed, put to sleep, comforted, snuggled, and held for hours on end. Toddlers need some of these things too, but less intensely. They also need emotional support, guidance, boundaries, encouragement, and play. Besides all of this are their basic needs: a suitable home, healthy food to eat, and someone to keep them from killing themselves. So, who does all of this for these needy little creatures?

Me.

To be fair, my husband is incredibly helpful and I am blessed beyond measure at how much he does. But for much of the day I am the one providing for my needy ones. There is not a moment in the day that does not have a need to be fulfilled by me. I am, very truthfully, constantly needed. Maybe when they're all asleep it is the laundry that needs me, the floors, the dishes. But I am always in demand.

To be so intensely needed is at times incredibly rewarding. I know what my children need, meet their need before they ask for it, and keep the day going smoothly. I am in control, one step ahead, and creating a happy home for these three people that I love so much.

But sometimes, it is a cage.

I can almost see the bars on the windows keeping me close. They all need me, and I can't leave. I maybe can escape for an hour or two here and there, but especially as a breastfeeding mama I know that I need to be available and physically present. Sometimes, when I realize the extent to which I am indispensable, I feel a heavy weight on my chest instead of feeling valuable. Sure, if I really wanted to arrange some time to get away, I could...but truthfully, for now, I am a bird in a cage.

In the show Sweeney Todd, the character Joanna sings an iconic song to her birds, asking them how they can sing in their cages because she, too, feels like she is living her life in a cage.

 

Green finch and linnet bird,
Nightingale, blackbird,
How is it you sing?
How can you jubilate,
Sitting in cages,
Never taking wing.

Outside the sky waits,
Beckoning, beckoning,
Just beyond the bars.
How can you remain,
Staring at the rain,
Maddened by the stars?
How is it you sing
Anything?





In Joanna's case, someone else was keeping her closed up and away from the world. In my case, my choices to have children, stay home with them, and to be always present are keeping me at home. Having a baby can inspire a deep feeling of wanderlust, and I think it's because our human instinct is to flee from restriction. Babies keep us at home, and they can tie our tethers tightly. So for me, the challenge is to look at my cage not as a place of restriction, but as a necessary and precious space. A place that my husband and I have created that is full of love, little voices, laughter, and imagination. It is without a doubt the perfect place for my children to dream, it just maybe feels a little small for all of mine.

Even though Joanna's birds are caged, they sing. Even though my dreams are on hold, and the need for me at home is so great, I can sing. Because really, I have so much to sing about.

Green finch and linnet bird,
Nightingale, blackbird,
Teach me how to sing.
If I cannot fly,
Let me sing.

What I did for love....

Bread. Just typing the word is making me cry.

Please dear Lord, grant that my child will not remain sensitive to wheat. Because if I ever walk by a bakery and smell a whiff of rising, yeasted glory then I will burst through the window (the door is nowhere near dramatic enough) and push my face into whatever bread is around and I. WILL. EAT IT.

Food sensitives in newborns are apparently "uncommon", but lucky me, my kids have them. My girls were highly sensitive to dairy so for eleven long months while I was breastfeeding and pumping I avoided anything with even a hint of butter, whey, casein, and obvious cow's milk products. It was tough but I had been a vegan for nearly two years, so going dairy-free was nothing new. This time around, however, I have been on a journey to figure out why my little guy was gassy, reflux-y, and green poop...y. First I eliminated dairy and saw improvement, but I knew there was more. After doing some research online (do new parents do anything else besides take care of babies and look crap up on the internet?), I realized that I needed to do a type of elimination diet to figure out the real problems here. So, as recommended by the ever-awesome Dr. Sears, for a few days I ate only turkey, rice, potatoes, and squash. ONLY that. Seasoned with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Water to drink. Done.

By day two I was dying.

No coffee? Not even tea? You're talking to a mama of two toddlers and a newborn. Sleep is a luxury, a rare occurence, a sweet and precious gift from Jesus that only comes every once in a while. Mama needs caffeine and she needs it to pass her lips roughly thirty seconds after awakening.

Coffee reentered my life on day three.

Thank you Jesus it did not seem to affect J's reflux. I had one of my vices back and it felt so good. I did one week on the diet and then since his poop was normal, I decided to try and reintroduce foods and see what happens. I thought to myself, "I bet he's really only allergic to dairy and it's just not out of my system yet. I'll be able to eat everything else." I probably said that to myself as I was eating an enormous bowl of popcorn for dinner while watching The Voice. And definitely that next morning my baby had mucousy green poop with blood in it...
Hold the phone. CORN? He can't tolerate corn?? Does this include corn tortillas, corn syrup, cornstarch, and my beloved near-nightly bowl of popcorn? How will I live without eating a whole bowl of corn chips when I go to a Mexican restaurant? Corn is in everything!! But alas, the corn I ate was wreaking havoc on his sensitive little intestines and thus, I am now corn-free.

That HAS to be all. Dairy and corn, done. I can handle this.

And then I had a delicious soy latte one afternoon. The brisk fall air coupled with the warm drink in my hands while I listened to my children scream and complain about everything made me feel like Life Was Great. Sure I have really tough days with my three monsters but hey, I can get a pumpkin soy latte from down the street and caffeinate my troubles away. And exactly 24 hours later the green poo monster returned, and my poor baby felt the negative affects from my soy latte. SOY?? No way. Soy, like corn, is in everything. How can I do this? I can't eat anything!! Sigh....Another one bites the dust.

And so the next of my tests is wheat. There is a history of wheat and gluten sensitivities in my family, and I fear the worst. I did a mini-test the other day which was basically me eating my children's leftover toast out of sheer starvation, and there was a bad poop reaction but I'm not 100% sure it was from the wheat. In a few days I'm going to THROW IT DOWN with bread of all types and see if my carbo-loading has an affect on Baby J's system. If it does, you're looking at a dairy-soy-corn-wheat-free mama who adores her baby so much that she's willing to eat pretty much fruits and vegetables until he is weaned. Breastfeeding is so special to me this time around (with the girls it was one problem after another) and there is a 0% chance that I'm going to stop and switch him to formula because of his food sensitivities. Plus, formula is pretty much made of dairy, corn, and soy. The only kind of formula he would likely be able to tolerate is a hypoallergenic type that I've heard costs, wait for it, $200 PER. CAN. I did not type that wrong. Boobies it is.

We all have made crazy sacrifices for our kids, whether it be with food, sleep, money, but in the end we never regret it...what have you done for love?

Welcome to the New Blog

Welcome friends (i.e. myself and no one). I've thought so many times about starting a blog to tell funny stories, air my dirty laundry, and express the joys and frustrations of being a parent to young children. It can be isolating to be at home all day with three littles, so I wanted to reach out to people like me and remind us all that while this life can be so incredibly difficult, isn't it great?? Even if it's hard to remember sometimes, it is.

Allow me to introduce myself. I have three kids under three years old. I know, right? What in the crap was I thinking? Well, the first two were a surprise and came barrelling into this world together, and they have changed my life more than I ever knew children could. They are identical twins Evangeline (henceforth known as E) and Hazel (henceforth known as H, you get it) who are currently two years old. And "cute", they would have you know.

The third addition was totally planned, my sweet little two month old named Jude. I have always been one to choose the more painful but also quicker approach, as opposed to a long and drawn out but less intense option...hence my decision to have my children close together in age and just get it done already. Though painful it sometimes is, I know that I will be happy to have them all close in age...eventually. For now it is CRAZYPANTS. And I love it.

As a young mom I find that I have a lot of friends who are still unmarried and childless, doing things that seem incredibly glamorous and fun. Like showering. Wearing skinny jeans. And not driving minivans (just kidding I feel bad for them that they aren't driving minivans, because minivans are awesome). It's hard to relate to someone who can go shopping by themselves for HOURS at a time and not have to stick their boob in someone's mouth. Parenting is such a unique and, let's face it, insane thing that some of us are doing that it can separate us almost totally from everything else. It also completely changes our mindset about life in general. For example, I attempted to suck snot out of my baby's nose yesterday WITH MY MOUTH. I hardly thought twice about it. No bulb syringe? No problem. Lung power to the rescue! I can imagine the look on my childless friends faces if I told them this. Actually, I think my friends with children may feel strongly about this one, too...

My point is, being a parent is a gamechanger and the more we can laugh about all of the crazy stuff that we do to make our kids happy (and the stuff that they do to make us crazy) the more we can try to not sweat the small stuff and enjoy the journey.