Things I’ve Been Loving

1. David’s new job. Ahhhh. It’s so refreshing to not have so much job-related stress.

2. Cloth diapering. I do. I love it. Seven months in and not looking back. Though we just installed a diaper sprayer to our toilet tonight so we’re officially entering the Rinsing Of Poop stage. I’ll keep you posted.

3. My iPhone. I’ve said it already, but it’s TRUUUUUUUE.

4. Instagram. You can look at all my instagramed photos here. OH WAIT. No you can’t because I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to link to my instagram page. In fact, I can only FIND my instagram photos via my phone. Does someone reading this have any tips for me? My lands, it should not be this hard! However, if I go to the Instagram website… there’s NOTHING. No log in, no way to navigate looking at ANYONE’S photos. It’s late, and I’m tired. I’ll try again tomorrow.

5. Sleeping through the night.

Ah, ha, ha, I WISH. Oh man, Olive is about as FAR from sleeping all night as a baby can get. The most annoying part is that after we put her to bed, she wakes up every 15 minutes or so for the first part of the night. You know, the part where we could otherwise be having kid-free, zoning-out-to-Netflix time? Grah. Stupid baby.

6. My new Bravado nursing tanks [not sponsored]. I mean, WOW. They are not messing around with the built-in bra in those tanks. My girls have returned home from the underwater world of my flabby belly and are now resting properly in the promise land of my chest region where they belong.

7. Anne Lamott’s new book Some Assembly Required. I’m one of her most devoted fans, though, so it’s no surprise that I’m loving it. I’ve been choked up twice already and I’m only on page 50.

8. Zutano. You say “Au pair made that dress from curtains a la Sound of Music”…. I say ADORABLE.

9. My friends. They really are my favorite part of life.

Smelly Nine-year-olds Mystery: SOLVED

Oh hi! I’m sorry what’s that? I should get off of my new phone once in awhile and actually sit in front of a REAL SCREEN with those little clickly typy keys? OH FINE.

So first up is Easter. It happened. It was low-key and lovely. (Palm Sunday was not low-key as there were over 30 people in my house, but it was also lovely.)

My girls:

Baby’s first Easter:

I know, totally adorable, these babies of mine. Not always so adorable to live with 24/7, but they clean up pretty well.

ANYWAY. Back to the topic at hand, which is stinky stinky kids.

I’ll just get right out with it. The twins are starting to smell. Where once we had to remind ourselves to usher them through the bathing process a couple of times per week– you know, squirt them with some water and get a little soap on them once in awhile– NOW after a day or two they have…. an odor.  Also, their hair starts to look a bit not-clean. Not greasy really, just not shiny either.

No big deal, right? These things happen as children become tweens (<–stupid word). We’ll just have them shower more often. They take care of that process completely on their own, so it’s just a matter of reminding them.

So they started showering every other day. And yet they still smelled.

So then they started showering every day.

And they still smelled.

I bought them deodorant. I inquired about their hair-washing technique. I washed their jackets and sweatshirts and bathrobes and anything else I could find that perhaps hadn’t made it into the regular laundry.

But they still smelled.

One night Kate was reading on my bed and when I entered the room, a strong fetid odor nearly made me gag. I figured it couldn’t POSSIBLY be HER, so I was smelling all around. The area near our dirty cloth diapers smelled BETTER than the area near my daughter. I finally sat next to her and took a big whiff…. and sure enough it WAS her.

It was to the point where I simply couldn’t stand to cuddle with them anymore. It was just awful. And not like regular BO, which I don’t really mind the smell of, but a sharp, sour, pungent, dirty feet smell. It was bad. Baaaaaaaad.

The other day after school, Joan came over to give me a hug. She had showered THAT MORNING (not even the night before, as she does sometimes) and my LANDS the SMELL. I was totally flummoxed. HOW could it be so bad, so quickly? How could a child that bathed less than 9 hours previous AND applied deodorant while I WATCHED HER DO IT, reek like that? Certainly that can’t be normal, right? Was my sense of smell extra-heightened for some reason? Was it something they were eating? Was there a medical problem? Why did my sweet 9 year olds smell like awful, dirty, sour feet?

I think what happened was, was that I solved the problem in my sleep. Because this morning, I absent-mindedly picked up one of their Ugg-type boots and smelled it, and them proceeded to DIE from the gasses. I didn’t even REALIZE I was looking for the solution to the smell problem, but OH MY GOD DID I FIND IT. I took much too big of a whiff. Lordy.

So, it turns out they have been wearing their Ugg-type boots all winter, which I knew, but they’ve been wearing them without socks, which I DIDN’T know, and coming home and kicking off the boots and coming over for a hug and BINGO. Let’s just say there was no saving those boots. David threw them out today. They were very worn out, anyway, and not in condition to wear next winter or save for Marin.

And now, I am SO RELIEVED that my children don’t SMELL. I mean, I think they still need to bathe every day or every-other day, but I can cuddle them again without gagging. I am happier about this than you can imagine. Truly.

It’s really the little things in life. Ya know?

And let us all learn this important lesson: If it smells like dirty feet…. IT’S PROBABLY DIRTY FEET.

Oh, and hey, as an afterthought, I remembered that we had a <GASP!!> family photo from Palm Sunday. Behold, all six of us in one frame!

Hey! Happy weekend!

Ho-hum

*First of all, thank you all so much for your thoughtful comments and suggestions re: The Cat Situation (or maybe a more apropos title would be The Neighbor Situation?). I’m trying many of your suggestions and will update on that front soon.

*We took Marin to Kindergarten registration the other night. It was so alike and so different from when we took Joan and Kate to their registration night. Now their elementary school is familiar, comfortable, known. Back then it was all new, all unknown and overwhelming. Marin, too, was so different, because she’s been going to that school with me for various things since she can remember (to volunteer with me, to eat lunch with the girls, to drop something off for them, etc). She marches in there like she owns the place, which is basically how she marches through life anyway, but at the school she has an extra confidence. She knows where she’s going.

However, the talk was the same, in the same gym with the same stack of institutional papers to fill out with the same pens that barely work. It’s mostly the same teachers, with the same type of photo montage of A Kindergartener’s Day set to a Disney song. So it was a bit odd, being in such a different place as parents, but back in the exact same place, ya know? Also, it’s all very sunrise-sunset because Marin will be going to that school next year, just in time for Kate and Joan to be moving on to the next school.

*Kate was going through an anxious spell a few weeks ago, but she seems to have come through it. I’m not putting her to bed in tears every night now, and she’s happy in the morning and eager to go off to school. She is still seeing the Family Coordinator Not Counselor But Sorta Lady, and she really enjoys seeing her. I’m not quite sure what they talk about or whatever, but perhaps having a PLACE to put her worries helps her to be more calm the rest of the time?

I will admit to be a little… skittish around the fact that she is talking to this (very super duper nice) woman every week. I guess it boils down to me being a bit afraid that Kate will tell her some small detail and from that detail the woman/school/teachers will make some kind of not-quite-accurate judgement about our family that I’ll never be able to correct. Being misunderstood is one of my biggest fears/pet peeves, so you can see why this is a bothersome worry. It’s definitely not something I DWELL on, or plan to DO anything about, but it’s there, lurking. Luckily, I feel like most people at the school know our family and even know me and my girls personally, so that helps ease this worry.

*Olive has, for the past 3 days, pooped herself awake from her nap prematurely. Like, 30-45 minutes into a 2-3 hour nap, she poops awake. And then by the time I change her, she’s AWAKE-awake, and not at all able to go back to sleep. AND if I don’t change her (which happened one day accidentally when I didn’t REALIZE she was poopy), she can’t sleep EITHER, as she doses and wakes, doses and wakes. She then spends the rest of our afternoon in indignant rage over the fact that she’s TIRED. I’ve been able to get her back down for a little while most days, but it’s just not the SAME as a real, 2-3 hour nap, and BOY OH BOY does she let me KNOW THIS. I’M SORRY, KID, IT’S NOT *ME* POOPING YOU AWAKE… IT’S YOU!

(MAKE IT STOP!)

She also has been up all night (does anyone else remember the TNT “^Up^ All Night” lady? Just me?). And you know, I’ll nurse her whenever, all night, blah blah, but the deal is? She in turn has to let me SLEEP through the nursings. But lately, she’s been about as fun as sleep with a deranged weasel. I haven’t slept more than an hour or two at a time for many nights now, and it’s starting to wear me thin. This baby is the most violent baby I know; she’s constantly pinching and scratching me to the point where she’s actually drawn blood and caused bruises…. MULTIPLE TIMES. In fact, the tops of my breasts and my underarms (both places she enjoys pinching while nursing) are constantly a pretty array of blues and purples and yellows; different stages of healing bruises. I also have a smattering of little scabs healing from her scritchy little fingernails, which I SWEAR I clip about every… 15 minutes or so. She, of course, doesn’t MEAN to hurt me, but it doesn’t make her flailing little body any more pleasant to be with, knowing it’s not intentional.

Her daytime hours are spent frustrated and tired, the latter for obvious reasons and the former because she want to MOVE… but can’t really. Her primary mode of locomotion is arbitrarily flailing her body around until she gets across the floor. She’s not in control of which direction she goes, or even how she gets there. She simply rolls and kicks and planks and jerks around, and it moves her places. She can easily get up on her hands and TOES and hold the position for a respectful amount of time, and she SOMETIMES gets on her knees and rocks until accidentally dive-bombing her face into the floor. She can sit for a long time now, until she decides to try getting on her hands and knees from the sitting position, which always ends in wails of distress, and her new trick is shakily pulling herself up on things, only to realize OH SHIT I DON’T REALLY KNOW HOW TO STAND AND/OR HOW TO SIT BACK DOWN HELLLLLLP MEEEEEE.

Good times!

Her main saving grace is that she IS getting to the point where she understands us, which is gratifying. I’ve been doing a few baby signs with her (mostly “milk” and “change” as in: diaper), and if I ask her if she wants some milk while signing it, she does that pathetic laugh/cry thing that babies do in times of anticipation. She also really REALLY enjoys “So BIG!”, and she’ll make eye contact with someone in public and fling her arms joyfully above her head, all while locking eyes with them, as if to say “I am a one-trick pony and So Big is my one trick and you will watch me and ENJOY IT,” which of course they usually do. Such eye contact on such a young baby! they say. (Her good eye contact is what helps me realize she’s not, say, autistic, because if you heard the weird, loud, ear-piercing howler-monkey/pterodactyl noises this kid makes you’d wonder too.)

*I got a new iPhone, my first iAnything, and I know am a parishioner in the house of iThings. I… I LOVE it, you guys. Seeing as how my last phone no longer rang or notified me of text messages, and send me week-old voicemails, pretty much ANYTHING would be better. Smoke-signals, even. But I did not expect to love a… PHONE so much. But I do. I DOOOOOOO. I chose the iPhone, in case you’re curious, because of the camera, and it has not disappointed. I’ve only downloaded two apps (Draw Something and Instagram), and I can’t imagine getting any more… there are not enough hours in the day!

*I also have been part of founding a new childbirth collective in our area, a resource that our area needs badly. It’s been a very fun, time-consuming, inspiring group to be a part of. We had our first even last weekend when we screened the movie Doula! (exclamation point the film’s, not mine). It was a really fun night with a great turn-out and so many interesting, like-minded people to talk to. My doula-spirit has been dormant lately, but I feel it waking up and being reborn.

*We are hosting David’s side for Easter here this Sunday. All THIRTY FIVE OF THEM OMG. I like my in-laws, I really do, and hand-to-god would choose to be friends with some of them even if we weren’t related, but having ALL THIRTY FIVE OF THEM in my house at once is stressing me out, I’ll be honest. I’m thinking that starting off the day with several mimosas to get myself to a nice, safe, don’t-give-a-shit state right away might be a good strategy. However, it’s a strategy I might need to start employing, like, NOW. I don’t know about you, but my house never feels so dirty and gross as when I’m expecting a large number of in-laws (as in, not MY family) over. SIGH.

 

Reader Help Needed: A Tricky Neighbor Situation

Ok, readers, I’m going to need your help on this one. It has to do with our neighbors directly across the street. A little back story:

Last fall, maybe 3-4 days after Olive was born (at home, remember, so we were HERE), I was home alone with her when someone started pounding the SHIT out of my front door. Now, it was an angry, unfriendly “knock” from the first knock, so my inclination would have been NOT to answer it anyway, but since I was alone, half-dressed, and nursing a newborn (and also had maybe been downstairs 1-2 times since her birth), I obviously ignored it.

Well, I didn’t exactly ignore it. My bedroom window is above and kiddie-corner from our front door, so of course I was carefully trying to see who the hell it was. The “knocking” (because, really, it was more like pounding) went on for a long time. It FELT like 20 minutes, but it was actually probably more like 5-7 minutes. POUND POUND POUND. Brief pause. POUND POUND POUND. It went on MUCH LONGER than a person would normally knock and wait for an answer.

From my perch, I finally saw my across-the-street neighbor, arms folded across her chest, as she stormed around to the BACK door to do more pounding. We’ve lived in this house for almost 7 years, and we’ve never had problems with this neighbor. But we never (ever, ever) SEE them. In all those years, I’ve never even seen their black-out shades open. Not ONCE. Nope. They live in that house with ALL the shades pulled 24/7/365. They have a 7th-ish grade daughter that I see coming and going, but that’s the only sign of life over there.

Anyway, I didn’t answer the door, and a few days later she caught up with David and aired her grievance, which is basically that our cat is sometimes in her yard, and she’s “actively trying to trap it” and turn her in. She insists that she WILL turn it in (which would cost us headache and $$), even though she knows it’s OURS, because it’s “illegal” for our cat to be in her yard. She cites leash laws, which are probably true; I haven’t fact-checked.

She also BAITS her traps with fish oil and has turned in, according to her, FIVE neighborhood cats SO FAR. (That was as of last fall; who know what the count is now.)

Ok, so yes. Our cat is an indoor cat that quite frequently gets outside. You guys, she is SO FAST. She gets past David and me… the kids don’t stand a chance, and don’t even THINK a visitor to our home can stop her from getting out. (We have visitors in and out of here pretty frequently; friends dropping stuff off, neighbor kids, etc.) Late last summer, we (read: *I*) got really lazy about chasing her down every time she escaped. I was mongo pregnant AND contracting at every move, and the more she got out the more wily she became… and yes, we basically gave up.

It should also be stated that, while I’m sure the cat goes in her yard at times, she mostly sticks around our yard, hiding in our bushes. She’s pretty timid. (But pretty hard to catch, as well.)

Anyway, after the neighbor was here, we reset our game and stepped up our efforts to keep her in. In fact, it became very stressful, especially for the kids, when she got out. They’d be sobbing “the neighbor is going to TRAP HER” and frantically trying to catch her. GOOD TIMES.

Well, then it was winter and the cat didn’t want out.

But now it’s not winter again, and the cat sneaks out.

And my neighbor was over here again the other day and WOW. She’s PISSED.

She told me my cat “sprays” on her porch (she’s a spayed female so NO) and uses her garden as “a potty” and that my husband and I were now responsible for coming over and cleaning out. She also said the cops are getting mad at HER for turning in so many cats (which she BAITS, remember, which is possibly why she has this problem to BEGIN WITH), so she’s going to have to come up with “other methods” of dealing with it. (I took this as a death threat.)

I tried to explain to her that our cat isn’t MEANT to be outside, but that we have a houseful of little kids and that she simply escapes. (This cat is SO FAST, you guys. Honestly.) I told her we were sorry, that I didn’t actually WANT the cat out because we live on a fairly busy road. She told me to get a leash. I responded that we’re not LETTING her out, that a leash isn’t going to fix anything because she darts. She claims that “cats don’t just dart out.” She says she has 5 of them and they never EVER get out. I told her we’ve had cats in the past that didn’t escape as well, but this one DOES. She repeated her “cops are getting mad/death threat” explanation.

This all happened while ALL FOUR of my small children looked on. I asked her “So, even if you KNOW it’s our cat, if you catch her in your trap, you’ll turn her in.” Without missing a beat, she said YES. She was FURIOUS, you guys. Almost looked like she was going to cry. Kept saying my cat uses her garden as “a potty.” I mean, my cat had, at that point, escaped the house 3-4 times in 6 months, so I hardly doubt we’re talking about MOUNDS of cat poop here (especially since her cat box is still… USED.)

I finally got pissed and mouthed off a tiny bit. I thanked her for doing the neighborly thing (yep, I said those words. “Thanks for being so neighborly…”) of baiting our cat to her yard and turning it in, and I ended the conversation. She STOMPED away.

So. What do I even DO? Our cat continues to get out. She got out probably 8-10 times today. We caught her every time, but we were all home, so there were plenty of us to do it. Often, if it’s just me and the baby (or even if Marin is around), I simply can’t chase her for 20 minutes, leaving Olive unsupervised.

Our kids are pretty gaga over our cat, so they would be devastated if something happened to her.

Plus, the whole thing feels so GROSS. I HATE having bad blood with people who live so close. It’s like the big black rain cloud over our otherwise happy existence here. It’s STRESSFUL, because as I said, the cat is FAST and she’s MOTIVATED to get out, now that it’s so nice outside. Ever since the neighbor was here, there’s TENSION in our house, as we’re all so afraid of the cat getting out. It really sucks.

Last fall, I had the idea of making them some cookies and adding a fun, lighthearted little note apologizing for our cat going in their yard, being sincere and kind and trying to smooth things over. Now that I’ve spoken to her about it myself, though? I’m nearly positive that a gesture like that wouldn’t help. I’ve talked to her other neighbor (who lives behind her and has for 15 years), and he agrees. He ALSO has a cat, and he says she’s crazy and won’t budge. (He also, hilariously, goes over and sets off her traps whenever he sees them. But his yard is up against hers, so he can do this easier than we could.)

(I’ve seen her “traps”. They look like basically pet taxis that must slam shut when the cat goes in. BECAUSE SHE USES FISH OIL TO BAIT THEM OMG.)

So, my question has two parts:

1. What would you do about the neighbor? My natural inclination would be to… do NOTHING. And yet, there’s that whole “the cops are mad so I need a new method of dealing with the problem/death threat” aspect.

2. What can I do to keep the stupid cat from escaping? We have a water bottle by the door and have tried squirting her when she’s near it… but we also have like 5 doors, so it’s hard to train her from going near ALL of them.

HALP.

[Edited to add 3 4 things:

1. I just remembered I HAVE had another negative interaction with this neighbor. Once, when Marin was maybe 18 months, he (the man that lives there) was out in their yard with their dogs. (Another weird thing: they have several dogs, which I also never EVER see.) Marin saw the “puppy” and started tugging on my hand to walk over there. So we did. As we approached their front lawn (he was on the side of the house) I called out “Hi! We’re here to say hi to the doggies.” And he WHIPPED AROUND and shouted at me “Please leave! My dogs will attack you! Please leave!” and just then his dogs came TEARING at us, teeth bared, and he did some sort of whistle/call and they stopped immediately. I was PISSED (we retreated immediately). I kept thinking YOU HAVE ATTACK DOGS AND YOU LIVE ACROSS THE STREET FROM THREE SMALL GIRLS????? But only one of the dogs is big and “attack-like”, and like I said, I see those dogs MAYBE 2x per year. Also, I don’t think he even KNEW we were the neighbors from across the street, as it all happened too fast. Weird.

2. One of the only details I know of these people is that he’s some sort of retired military. Now, my dad is retired military, so normally this wouldn’t phase me AT ALL, but there’s just something off/dark about these people. I feel like he’s probably got a bunker in his basement or he’s training his dogs to kill zombies or something. We went trick-or-treating there only ONCE, and I’m not sure what it was, but the place gave me the MAJOR CREEPS. However, it’s easy to forget that they’re creepy since we NEVER see them, ya know?

3. They have one daughter, a child they fostered-to-adopt. They also sometimes have other foster kids, high-school-aged only. I don’t think they get many placements, as there’s only been a few times when I’ve seen other (again, older) kids over there, or a teen’s car parked out front (like a teen friend visiting the teen foster kid). Also, this is a small county, and I know several of the social workers in town (and used to be bff with the human services supervisor, before she moved), so…. I’m not TOO worried about Mr. and Mrs. Creepy being foster parents. But STILL.

4. We had a cat disappear several years ago. NOW I’m wondering if they did something to our cat… or if our cat is ALIVE and in that house. HRRRMPH.

I’m adding these three things for context, because it might make a difference in your response. Basically, in a nutshell? I’m a bit afraid of these people. I’m pretty sure my upper limit of asshole-ish things I might do to handle the situation (call the cops, call a lawyer, etc) and THEIR upper limit of asshole-ish things (KILL MY CAT) are very different upper limits. They would out-do me in a SECOND, I fear. SIGH.

Side Effect of Baby

My baby just barfed ALL over me. Yet again. This time she got it in my hair too. I can tell you one thing for sure: I am SO SICK of getting barfed on by a baby all day long. At least I haven’t taken a shower yet today.

It’s better though, the barfing. She manages to (usually) wear one outfit for the whole day, so that’s an indication that she’s soaking herself less. Oh, I’m SO READY for her to be DONE with it. We’re closer all the time. Right? RIGHT???

It’s absolutely BEAUTIFUL here lately. This is not a “normal” March. It’ll be 75 here this afternoon. Honest to pete, if it were THIS NICE here every spring, I’d be much more mentally healthy. It was a short, mild winter and now an early, beautiful spring. Minnesota is clearly winning. And the baby? She approves of being outside.

Stroller rides, man, have you guys tried them? Totally a gas.

I’m finding it hard to get much blogging done with this baby under my care. I feel like every minute of our day is a carefully calculated dance, and her naps are the Mama-version of  ”shower shit and shave”, which basically consists of doing breakfast dishes, folding clothes, trying to shower, pump, or start dinner. Each minute of each nap is accounted for, and there are never enough minutes OR naps. When she’s awake I am interrupted so often by rescuing her from herself (she rolled under a chair! now she tipped over from sitting and is mad! who left that lego so near her reach! oops, she’s tipped again AND rolled up against the table and can’t figure out how to roll back the other way!) that I can’t seem to form a regular thought, neither in writing nor in person. I’m constantly lost for words, or unable to get out what I’m trying to say, etc.

Also? My MEMORY. Man. I don’t even KNOW. I forgot the girls’ piano lessons… um… MORE THAN ONCE. Since February. Meaning, I simply did not take them because when the time rolled around I… FORGOT. Only to remember hours or days later. That’s been my most glaring memory lapse, but there are so many others.

Oh, and my poor kitchen floor. It is disgusting! Olive is firmly of the belief that she needs FOOD, as I’ve said before. We’re doing the whole “baby-led weaning” thing, which basically means we give her real food instead of purees. So, I’ll give her a slice of apple, a carrot stick, a cucumber slice, toast, noodles, and she’ll suck merrily on it anywhere from .02 seconds to 10 minutes, at which point she tosses it to the floor (bonus lesson about gravity!). Since I’ll be only about 1/3 of the way through making dinner/washing dishes/whatever, I’ll either retrieve it or find her something else, and the whole process starts again. The only thing she hasn’t tossed to the floor was the piece of bacon we gave her on Sunday, but she was so greasy after that I had to give her a bath, so it’s “success” is a wash (ah, ha, ha!).

(Plotting what she will fling to the floor next.)

The floor in my kitchen is so gross, but you know what? I’ve started a system of having the girls take turns sweeping it. Yep, I’m delegating that shiznit BECAUSE I CAN. Being the one in charge around here DOES have its perks, at times. Minions, man. Worth every penny. May I suggest getting yourself a couple? (Which reminds of Michelle Duggar, when speaking about having a big family, said something like “well, the first six are the hardest.” Ah, ha, ha! Funny thing is, I’m beginning to see exactly what she means.) (We’re not having six kids to test the theory.)

I’m thirsty. Always. Especially at night.

I addicted to kissing chubby cheeks. Like, I kinda mean it. Honestly, truly addicted. Sometimes, when she’s asleep, I even miss snuggling her and smootching on her softness.

I’m also not afraid to tell you that she’s totally in love with my thighs. Mothers are weird.

Baby, baby, baby O(live)

Olive is about to turn six months old, a fact I can barely comprehend. I mean, I KNOW, way to start off this post with a tired, tired cliché, but it’s TRUUUUUUUE. How is the first half of her first year almost overrrrrrrrrr?

It doesn’t help that she’s cycling through milestones like gang busters. Baby development is so fun to watch because everything changes so QUICKLY. When we left for South Dakota last Thursday night, Olive could sit up for a very short time, and only by supporting herself with her hands. By the time we left South Dakota on Monday, she was sitting, unassisted by her hands, for quite long stretches. She still tips over (stick straight, like a log… TIMBERRRRR) on a regular basis, so I can’t set her on our tile kitchen floor, for example, without risking a goose-egg. But, she no longer needs to use her hands to stay sitting.

(Back when she had to use her hands as support. You know, a whole week ago.)

Also: rolling. Olive started rolling  back-to-front AND front-to-back a long time ago… first week in January, I think? Anyway, she’s been ABLE to roll for weeks, and yet… she doesn’t really. Not all that often, and especially on a softer surface, like our bed. Again, when we left for SD, I was able to put her on a blanket on the floor and she would stay there. By our 2nd day at my mom’s house, she was rolling herself all the way across the living room floor. Something must have clicked (Oh, hey, rolling will get me places!!), and now I can’t put her down without quickly scanning the floor for anything she might shove in her mouth. Walking into the room to check on her, only to find an EMPTY BLANKET is a little unnerving, I’ll admit. Luckily, I’m a fast learner, so it’s only happened a few times.

[So then, last night, I was braiding Kate's hair into a million little braids so she can have wavy hair the next day, and Olive was laying on the living room floor. As I braided, I watched in sheer HORROR as she raised herself, over and over, onto her toes and fingertips, and inched around. Sometimes she would scootch forward, sometimes backward, and she didn't really seem to have CONTROL over which direction she went, and sometimes she would end up on her hands-and-knees for a few seconds. Maybe I should be "proud" that my FIVE MONTH OLD is getting close to crawling, but? No. No, no, no. I've been to this rodeo before, and the only thing early mobility means is 1) baby-proofing (UGGG) and 2) more bruises on the baby.]

Speaking of losing her, I’ve also started putting her in her crib for the first stretch of sleep at night. This is how we’ve done it with all our babies: co-sleep exclusively in the early months, then slowly start using the crib for naps and “first sleeps” of the night. As they start to sleep longer stretches at night, they also start to sleep longer stretches in THEIR CRIB, thus slowly transitioning out of our bed. By age 2, they are no longer co-sleeping with us at all, except for maybe if they are sick or something.

ANYWAY.

I started putting her in her bed for the first stretch of sleep of night. The first night I did this, I fell asleep, forgetting to listen for her to wake up (I’m not trained to do this as she’s usually right next to me). Suddenly, I was tapped awake by an almost-tearful Marin saying “Mommy! I can’t handle her! I’ve tried everything! She doesn’t even want me to read her a story!” AW, poor kid! Apparently, Marin thought that since the baby was asleep in HER ROOM, she was in charge of her. Oh, Marin.

Anyway-anyway, I was telling you about losing the baby: it seems like I am bound to wake up about once a night in a PANIC because I forget that the baby is in her crib and I CAN’T FIND HER. This usually happens when I’m not fully awake, and leads to frantic patting of the bed all around me, increasingly racing heart, muttered “WHAT THE FUCK”…. and then remembered location.

And EATING. Oh my. I’m a big fan of delaying solids. I am. You should know that about me. I see no rush to start; it’s just a big mess; none of my babies ever really ATE anything off of a spoon anyway, HATING having me aiming something at their face and batting the spoon away is it got close to their mouthes (resulting in even MORE mess), etc. However. This baby? Is obsessed with eating. Starting around 4 months, she has been lunging and grabbing for our spoons, plates, cups, whatever we’re eating. And she’s getting GOOD. I mean, my arms ACHE after holding her while trying to eat, restraining her so she doesn’t fling my meal to the floor.

So.

We’ve started giving her food. Cucumber slices, apple slices, carrots. She just sucks on them. She doesn’t have any teeth yet, so she’s not really GETTING much. But she’s SO DELIGHTED to have something to gnaw on. Meals are SO MUCH more pleasant now. I can sit her in her high chair, give her something to suck on, and she’s QUIET for, like, 15 minutes.

(Where’s my carrot, bishes??)

The other thing that’s mind-blowing about this age is that, since she’s exclusively breastfed (minus the juice she sucks out of carrots etc), every calorie that she’s consumed, every ounce that she’s gained has been from me. I mean, I grew her in utero, yes, but I’m still growing her, and she’s much bigger NOW than she was THEN, you know what I mean? How is my body able to… produce an entire HUMAN is beyond me, and how it continues to support said human is even cooler. I love watching her (chubby for her body, but petite still) little thigh rolls grow, watching her cheeks get heavy with chub.

(And I absolutely CANNOT stop kissing on her.) (OBVS.)

View From Here

A few weeks ago, Seester had a baby, her first. I have been DYING to meet my new niece, but you know, four kids, long drive, nursing baby ETC has delayed my trip for a few weeks. (A few very long, very sad weeks– it must be mentioned– because seriously. My sister had her first baby. I NEEDED TO BE HERE.)

So, we’re here. We realized earlier in the week that our kids had a long weekend. David did some fancy footwork at his j-o-b, and we set off. I’m sitting in my mom’s living room right now! Hi from South Dakota!

It was so worth the drive, you guys. SO WORTH IT.

Seester is a mama now! And Olive has a new cousin only a few months younger than she.

And you guys? This baby? HAS HAIR. I’ve never birthed that type of creature myself, so I might just steal this one when it’s time to leave. Or offer my sister a 4-to-1 trade? Or buy Olive a wig?

I’m in love.

You know what’s weird? This baby looks a) EXACTLY how I pictured my sister’s baby would look, b) familiar to me somehow and c) also how I always thought MY OWN babies would look. And yet my own babies? Looked NOTHING like I imagined and did NOT look familiar to me at all when they were born. Odd, huh?

Full

Life has been very full here lately. In the literal sense, my arms are full much of the time, with an ever-squirming, ever trying to aim her piehole at my laptop and barf, five month old. Our schedule is full with dance class and gymnastics and piano lessons and seeing our friends. Our brains are full of keeping track of it all, of helping Kate with her most recent anxious spell, with reorganizing our finances now that David has started his new job. Our house if full….. FUUUUUULLLLLL of too much stuff. I need to declutter in the shit out of this place, I’m telling ya. Then there’s my belly, which I’m always trying (and often failing) to keep full enough of water so as not to have constant cotton mouth and/or raging headaches. Nursing: thirst-inducing to the MAX.

My internetting these days has been reduced to one handedly pecking out tweets while trying to Keep Olive’s Face Pointed Away From The Computer, a task that was important enough to need a Title, and then watching Downton Abbey online after all the kids are in bed. (Downton Abbey you guys. DOWNTON ABBBEEEEEEYYYYY!) (I watched half of S2 E5 & 6  the other night and Oh Em GEEEEEEEEE. I… I gasped out loud over a few things.)

So anyway, that about sums up our existence these days. How about you?

This baby you guys. THIS BABY. It’s been well documented that she started off quite fussy. I’m happy to report that that particular phase seems to have passed. She’s a very happy baby now, if not also a very intense baby. She holds her body RIGID most of the time, and she notices EVERYTHING. She startles easily; I can’t tell you how many times per day that something routine (like a sneeze) scares the crap out of her and reduces her to tears. She’s always fiercely holding onto something with one hand, while wildly flapping her other hand around. She pinches me hard enough to cause tears to spring to my eyes, usually on the back of my arm while nursing. I have bruises to prove it. While she nurses, she is also banging whichever hand is free and kicking her legs. She’s… kinetic or something,  always vibrating with energy, never stopping. But she’s happy. She easily grins. Her whole body smiles with glee when you talk to her.

I was holding her in church on Sunday during what is usually her morning nap time. My arms were aching from restraining her as she writhed and reached and tried to grab EVERYTHING. Finally she gave into to exhaustion and lay her head on my chest, and I thought about how, other than while nursing herself to sleep, I rarely hold her while she’s completely relaxed like that. It took her awhile to fall asleep (there’s MUCH TO SEE AT CHURCH doncha know), and I so enjoyed holding her while she calmly looked around, almost dozing.

I think about that stuff all the time. There will never be another February in my lifetime that I have an infant in my arms, creating a damp spot on my chest from our combined body heat. It feels so special to have this longed-for baby right there, under my chin. I’ll never have a five month old again!

And while I’m at it, may I recommend having a baby when you also have a 9 year old (or two 9 year olds, in my case) in the house? Last Saturday, Kate heard Olive wake up, came into our bedroom, took Olive from my arms, and carried her downstairs, where she held and entertained her for the next HOUR while David and I slept. You guys! Did you even read that and let it sink in? I mean, COME ON. They also are helpful when I’m trying to make dinner or do the dishes or go to the bathroom or, well, pretty much any other time that Olive needs something (besides nursing) and I’m busy doing other things. Too bad they are gone most of the day! (This summer is going to RULE!)

Finally, Marin brought home an adorable craft from preschool that said “Thumbbody loves you!” and had her thumbprints made into little flowers. As David and I were ooohhhing and aaahhhing over it she said to us, totally deadpan “Um, guys? I don’t make up the projects at school. They’re actually the TEACHER’S idea?” I don’t know why, but that totally killed me. Oh, Marin.

Love

We don’t do a whole lot for Black Tuesday Valentine’s Day around here, but if you do, I hope you had a day full of love. I know our house is full of lots of things, love included.

Darkness

We were trying to watch a movie.

We were trying to watch a movie, just the two of us, after the kids were in bed. David had brought home a projector from the office and set it up in our (finished) attic for the girls’ sleepover, so we thought we’d take advantage of having a “movie theater” in our home and watch a movie.

We were trying to watch a movie. Just the two of us. But Olive kept waking up. And waking up. And waking up.

We were trying to watch a movie so I finally brought her up to the attic, thinking I could hold her, but she was then WIDE AWAKE and squirmy and fussing and not going back to sleep.

We were trying to watch a movie, but we couldn’t hear it over the baby.

I put her back to sleep 3, 4, 6 times. I put her back to bed, crept up the attic stairs, turned the movie back on… and BAM. Fussing again.

We were trying to watch a movie, but after about two hours, we’d only seen twenty minutes of the movie.

Finally I just laid down with Olive. She refused to nurse. She just wanted to squirm and fuss and flail around. I tried swaddling her. I tried unswaddling her, thinking it was pissing her off to be wrapped up. I tried shushing her, rocking her, rubbing her little cheek. I tried nursing her again. Singing to her. Patting her butt, just the way that usually soothes her.

Meanwhile, David was waiting for me. Because, you see, we were trying to watch a movie.

But she wouldn’t just settle down. She was fed. Warm. Dry. Being cuddled, for Christ’s sake! She wasn’t sick. She USUALLY was asleep at that time of night. But she WOULDN’T SLEEP. We were trying to watch a movie, just one single little movie, and she wouldn’t let us.

And that’s when it happened. I got so frustrated and angry that for a brief moment, I really wanted to hurt my baby. I want to hit her. Or push her off the side of the bed. Or throw her.

I’ve had plenty of those bizzar-o mothering thoughts; you know, like not wanting to stand on a balcony for fear that you might just suddenly drop your baby over the edge. Or being near a body of water and thinking calmly “…if I just dropped her… would she… float?” Those thoughts are troublesome and weird and (thankfully) very, very fleeting. But they also come to me in moments of calm. Like, they just pop into my head. And they are rare. RARE. I think with each of my babies, I’ve had them only a couple of times. They just happen. And then they are gone.

But this? This was anger. This was temper. This was why they teach you over and OVER “Don’t shake your baby!” Because? I wanted to shake my baby. We were trying to watch a movie, see, and we were trying and trying and TRYING, and she kept interrupting us.

Is it so much to ask to have less than two hours, just my husband and me, in a different room from the baby, to watch a movie? TWO EFFING HOURS. That’s all. I’ll nurse you all goddamn night, and HAVE– every night of your life, for the past 4.5 months– but I just want TWO HOURS. I felt myself, teetering there, on the edge, deciding should I or shouldn’t I. I felt myself WANTING to hurt my baby, wanting the satisfaction of giving in to the impulse. I imagined myself doing it, and in that dark, dark moment… IT FELT GOOD, imagining it.

I didn’t hurt my baby. I did pull out her paci and yell/growl at her “What do you WANT, Olive?” and I did sigh a ton, and I did feel very, very sorry for myself. But the moment of wanting to hurt her passed quickly, and David came in and took her and rocked her in a different room.

I didn’t hurt her because I know better. Or because I have a husband who was there, who was willing to help in any way I needed. Or because God stepped in and put his hand on my shoulder and whispered peace across my body. I don’t know why I didn’t hurt her, honestly. But I didn’t.

I didn’t hurt her. But I wanted to. I’m a good mother. I am an educated person. I have an excellent support system. I live in an emotionally healthy household, with an emotionally healthy relationship with my husband. I am not depressed or anxious or suffering from any kind of mental illness. We have the financial means to seek help (babysitting, therapy or drugs if needed, etc) and provide for ourselves (plenty of food, clothing, entertainment, a nice place to live etc). I am very bonded with my baby. I have resources I can rely on to help me in times of need. And yet, I wanted to hurt my baby. Briefly. In passing. A flash, a flare, then it was over. But still. I felt it.

I wanted to hurt my baby because she was interrupting me. She was interrupting my MOVIE. She wasn’t screaming for hours on end. She wasn’t doing anything all that “hard” to parent, really. There was only ONE of her, unlike when her twin sisters were this age. But I still wanted to hurt her for ruining my plans for the evening.

The next morning. The sun streaming in the windows. The baby awake in the crook of my arm. Wiggling with smiles. Squirming with glee at the sight of me. Hi! Hi, hi, hi Mommy! I’m awake! You’re awake! HI! Hi, hi, hi, hi! I’m so happy to see you! We’re both awake! Hi!

The emotions of the night before seems so silly, in the sunshine. Seem so silly with this impossibly cute, impossibly happy, double-chinned little cherub. How could I have wanted to hurt her?

The sunlight that comes into our bedroom in the morning is all-illuminating, filling all the space, leaving no corner unlit. My baby’s smiles are the same way; when she looks at you and grins, it fills all the cells of your body with its light and joy.

In the morning, in the sunlight, darkness seems impossible. Cuddling my cooing baby, kissing her squishy cheeks, I can barely remember wanting to hurt her. Was it a dream? A vision? Something I made up?

No.

No.

It was darkness. Because no matter how much light is coming in the window now, no matter how much I have to blink my eyes because of its brightness, no matter how warm it is on my skin, there is still darkness in motherhood.

There is darkness in motherhood. But thankfully, there is also so, so, so much light.