Back in the (Blogging) Game

Or trying, at least.

I won't even try to explain where I've been since September. I don't know. But here I am now. Aren't you so glad to see me?

I like being domestic.Maybe my more liberal-minded friends will roll their eyes at this, but I love being a stay-at-home mom. I wish I was better at it. The past few days have been remarkably productive. I'm always so proud of myself when I'm organized and busy around the home. I've planned menus for two weeks - and actually cooked them. I've baked cookies (oatmeal chocolate chip - spectacular!) instead of stocking up on store brands. I've organized closets and basement storage. I've done what feels like a billion loads of laundry. I've written thank-you cards. I've been working on stuff for our young moms' ministry at church. I feel like the Proverbs 31 woman - "she considers a field and she buys it". I'm not buying any fields, of course, but you know if there were any available around here, I might have considered one this week.

Seriously, you should be proud of me.  It's not always that way. There are many days I just want to stop and take a nap when Abigail does. And since I'm 22 weeks pregnant, I usually do. But the energy I've had the past few days has been nice. It makes me wish that I had more of those domestic skills. Like sewing, for example. The panel in my maternity jeans tore the other day, and I realized we had NO needles or thread in our house. How is that possible? I had to go to the store and search out one of those little sewing kits, just so I could mend that hole. Now I need to figure out how to actually do it. I don't really know how. The tear is on the stretchy part, right by the seam. So, really - how do you sew it closed? Any suggestions?

Long Time No Blog

All five of you who actually read my blog will most likely already have seen this photo on Facebook, but my first child's first birthday merits a blog post and a photo, don't you think? And she looks so cute. Who would know that only seconds beforehand she'd been crying (and would be again)? Alas, it's true - Birthday Number 1 (or two, really) was rather too overwhelming for the Babblegail. Mommy and Daddy were glad for the leftover cupcakes, though.

I can't believe we have a one year old. An 18 lb., 2 oz, 30 inch tall, 7 word speaking, almost walking one year old. Her newest word is "balah" which means "balloon". She is fascinated by her birthday balloons that are still floating around the house. (Thanks for those, Oma.) She's learning how to drink out of a sippy cup. She'll walk holding someone's hand, but isn't brave enough to stand or take a step on her own.

This time last year she'd only been home from the hospital a day (remember that she spent a week in the NICU - I remember leaving for the hospital to visit her while our 4th of July block party was in full swing) and we were learning how to nurse. She was all of 7 lbs. We slept on the couch (with her on my chest) those first few nights home together. And now she's a pro at nursing - and while I look forward tothe freedom of her being weaned, the thought of it also makes me cry.


We figure our next kid will be chubby, sedentary, and snuggly - everything Abigail wasn't (and isn't). It's funny - I'm ready to start trying for number two, but every time I think about adding another one to the family, I get a little sad knowing it means Abigail won't be the center of attention any more. I know it sounds silly, but does it make sense? I think Vid kind of understands what I mean, but it has a different nuance for him. He wondered aloud the other day if Abigail would be his favorite, even after her siblings come along. I think she might be.

I'm Sure She Was Trying to Be Nice...

My child is being kind to mommy today and is taking a marathon nap, so I'm grabbing my opportunity to have some "me" time. I haven't blogged in a while - so now's my chance. How far can I get before she wakes up?

Illinois is sitting under, what, another foot of snow? Next year, when I hint that I'm looking foward to the first snowfall, someone remind me that I hate February. And early this morning we had an earthquake. How weird is that? (Woken up out of a sound sleep and rather befuddled and terrified, I first thought there had been a tornado, and then maybe that our house was sitting atop a sinkhole that was finally threatening to swallow us.)

Anyway.

Mostly I want to talk today about the woman who was behind me in line at Aldi on Monday. I didn't like her very much, which makes me feel like a terrible person. Here's the story, as fast as I can tell it in my remaining free time:

I had to go grocery shopping. We also had to visit the pediatrician at 2:00. After the doctor, Abigail is shot, so running errands afterward is not an option. So I tried to plan out my day. The Abster and I were up at our normal time, but she chose to nap for only 20 minutes that morning. So after her lunchtime-ish feeding, I decided I better pack her into the car and get to the grocery store before it was time to go to the doctor. I bundled her into her puffy white Ralphie suit and stuffed her (screaming) into the car. Off to Aldi we went, only an hour to go before we needed to be at the doctor's office.

Once there, I discovered that Aldi (as far as I could tell) had not a single grocery cart with a working buckle on the child seat. So I stuffed her in the seat, tied her down with my enormous scarf, and held onto her with one hand. We raced around the store stuffing this week's groceries into the cart. At the front, I discovered only ONE register was open - and that I had left my wallet in the car. Untying A, I left my cart and raced outside to get my money.

Back inside the line was gowing longer, and A had had enough of this errand stuff. I stuffed her back into the child seat, but she was having none of it. She looked up at me, arched her back, and started to scream. The lady behind me (who looked exactly like Liza Minelli in her older years) stuck her face in front of Abigail's and said, "Oooh, baby girl, what's wrong? Are you spoiled? Are you spoiled?"

Um, excuse me?

I smiled sweetly and said, "No, it's just been a long morning." She was still arching, and I was afraid she would wiggle out of the seat, so I picked her up.

Silence. She looked at me, doe-eyed.

"Ooooh, you are spoiled!" squeals the Liza-Lady. "Look at that! Mommy picks you up and you stop crying right away! Spoiled! So bad!"

I took a deep breath. I had to focus on getting my cart full of groceries onto the belt with one hand. Liza-Lady decided to help me (I murmured my thanks) as she continued talking.


"My son was the same way. Still is the same way. So spoiled.  Wants everything his way. And now he's 46. He just called me and told me he's going to motorcycle across the country. 'What motorcycle?' I ask. 'The one I built,' he says. Eesh. 46. Motorcycling. So spoiled. So awful."


I kept stacking groceries on the belt. "I think she just needs a nap," I protested.


"Ooh, but you should look out, Mama. You're gonna spoil her."


Then the lady behind Liza-lady pipes up. "Oh, I don't know. I always picked up my kids when they were crying. They want you, they want you. They're kids. And they're okay."


I flashed her a grateful look, smiled close-lipped at the Liza-lady, zipped my card though the scanner, and got the heck out of there. I bagged my groceries in the car, with Abigail sitting in her carseat, where, thankfully, she fell asleep immediately.


Why, oh why, do strangers give out mothering advice?

My Tuesdays

 

And sometimes my Wednesdays, too. Abigail and Benjamin hang out in our living room. As you can see, they have a grand good time together. 

Benjamin chewed Abigail's clippy butterfly toy the entire time he was here today - an hour and a half. Hey, whatever floats his boat, I guess.

The Animal Kingdom

Well, Thanksgiving came and went, and I have yet to take and post pictures of what was in the mystery package from Oma. Basically, it was great. It was Christmas in a box. Soon, I will post pictures - and hopefully a video - of some of the fun.

In other news, one of Abigail's favorite books is Sandra Boynton's Moo, Baa, La, La La.  I am proud to say it is the first little-kid book I have memorized.

"A cow says moo.
A sheep says baa.
Three singing pigs say, "La la la!"
"No, no!" you say. "That isn't right!"
The pigs say "oink!" all day and night.
Rhinocerouses snort and snuff.
And little dogs go ruff ruff ruff.
Some other dogs go bow wow wow
and cats and kittens say meow.
Quack says the duck.
A horse says neigh.
It's quiet now. What do YOU say?"

Mommy and Abigail have been battling bad colds since Friday night. We're sneezing and sniffling and huffing and puffing, and we're generally plain old fussy. (Lucky David.) So guess which line keeps running though my head?

Yup. Pretty much.

A Bit of Gloating

So, I haven't blogged for a while because... well, I haven't had much to say. I could bore you with the small details of Abigail's development, or gush about how she is probably the perfect child... but I know better. I know all new moms probably feel that way at some point. And frankly, though David and I might be enthralled with the fact that she is now blowing raspberries (who knew "phptps" was a linguistically developmental milestone?), you don't necessarily care.

I will, however, post a photo. This was taken a few weeks ago when David and I visited Wisconsin with a few friends. I was snapping pictures of the group, when Abigail caught sight of me.

Ah, the benefits of being at home! It's abundantly clear these days that she prefers Mom to Dad. So I found it immensely gratifying to see her crane her little body around her father's shoulder in order to keep me in view.

My friend A tells me not to let it get to my head. She claims, "Enh, as soon as Abigail's a sentient being, she'll prefer her father over you. That's just the way it is."

And I know she's right. But I'm reveling in my moments of Mom-glory for now.

I Am That Mom

I will never be as cool - or artistic - or chill - as I would like to be. I am realizing this.

Several factors are working against me.

Namely, the minivan. I should have known it when we bought it - I did know it when we bought it. Minivan=Nerdliness. I am so that mom driving around. When all I had was my Nissan, I used to sneer at slow minivans, lumbering away from stoplights, filling all the spaces in the parking lot at Danada. Now I am one of those. I can't park the dang thing, I can't back it up, and I certainly can't keep the thing going the speed limit. Now everyone passes me on the road. Last night I tried to go to a friend's house for dinner, and I accidentally drove the thing up onto the curb and parked partly on the grass. I didn't realize it until I got out to take Abigail out of the back seat, but I was too frustrated (lazy) to move it. I crossed my fingers and prayed no one would see me, but alas - a woman pulled right up behind me. She got out of her tiny little car, stood there and just watched me curiously, with a bit of knowing judgment in her eyes, as I wrestled the car seat out of the van and limped up to my friend's front door.

My entertainment choices are fighting me, too. Sci-fi is out to get me. I've been tricked into watching a lot more since David came around, and I find myself liking it. (It's like predestination - this inexorable call upon my life. I will be a sci-fi fan... I will...) However, sometimes I rebel. My husband is currently making me watch (sigh) Battlestar Gallactica. (My family probably has no idea the TV show even exists, and I am sure my friends are mocking me right now.) I never thought I'd watch it. Once upon a time, D and I were watching The Office, and Dwight made a comment about Battlestar. Until then, I had never heard of it - but Vid had. He finished Dwight's comment before Dwight did. (I was more than a little concerned that my husband and Dwight had anything at all in common.) However, Battlestar has been recommended to us by more than a few friends - all of whom I respect and trust. We are currently watching Season 2.5 (I think). Edward James Olmos (from Stand and Deliver) is cast as the Admiral. He's a good actor. But so far, I am not impressed. If I didn't think my friends were brilliant and wonderful, and if I didn't trust them as much as I do, I would have abandoned it a season ago. And I am aware of my nerdliness factor increasing.

Finally, biology is working against me. As in (let's be honest, folks), I have very little talent. Only a few things interest me artistically - writing and photography. (I used to sing, but then I married David. I'm more than happy to let that delusion of a hobby go.) Writing creatively doesn't happen as often as I'd like, and really, is rather a disappointment when I do attempt it. I don't honestly have much of an eye for photography - though I'm convinced I could learn, if I had some time - or motivation - or money for a class. And I'm just not one of those Audrey Hepburn types - you know - one of those people with natural style or presence.

I don't say this because I want you to join me in a pity party. Please don't. (And please, Ma, no comments!) Nor do I need encouraging comments from my 5 or 6 readers. Really, that's not what I'm going for. I'm just being honest. Hasn't any one of you ever realized you're not the kind of person you admire? I'm realizing who I am. I know hip, artistic, chill people. I am not one. I'm just a wanna-be. And I think I might be okay with that.

First Day Without Daddy

On Thursday evening Abigail rolled over (back-to-tummy) for the first time. Her accomplishment was met with cheers and applause all around. She was 11.5 weeks old.

This morning, David got up and went to work for the first time in 12 weeks. Yup. Today marks my first "real" day of being a stay-at-home-Mom.

I can't believe how quickly the time went. It's been such a blessing to have David at home, experiencing the first three months of Abigail's life with me. He's been such a help to me. As we've moved from two to one income and started the journey of parenting, we've seen God provide in good ways. We discovered we can happily spend 24 hours a day together (despite the initial weeks of new-parent stress), and we've praised God as he's provided extra income and help from friends to meet our needs. David has been busy with paying gigs, and has received a great deal of encouragement about his music and songwriting efforts.

It's 12:46 PM. I have a big long list of stuff I'd like to do this week (laundry, coffee with a friend, catching up on emails, studying for Bible Study at church, reorganizing some closets, running errands, cooking, etc.). That list in and of itself is sort of a wonder to me. This is my new stage in life: being "busy at home". I'm excited about it. I'm enamored with my little girl, and excited that this new stage means I get to focus on building relationships with people at my church, finding new ways to serve, and of course, caring for and teaching Abigail.

That said, I thought I might mention how today has gone in actuality. For starters, I am still in sweats - spit up covered sweats, to be exact. Abigail has wet through one outfit and is currently asleep in the second (also spit up covered).

(An aside: Remember how I said I liked my cloth diapers? I'm starting to second guess that. I've got the diapers cinched as tightly as they go, and they still leak, despite the fact that they leave little red marks on Abigail's legs. When I put in extra stuffing it seems to help, but then I worry I'm going to give the kid back problems because when she lays down, she's on an incline, with her little butt above her head. That can't be good for bone development. I pinched her leg in the snaps accidentally today and she screamed, which made me feel awful. And I can't even count how many times I've done laundry in the past few weeks. I don't know if it's worth the effort. Maybe I'm not as green as I thought I could be...)

To continue: There are dirty dishes in the kitchen, and a pile of unpaid bills sitting on our coffee table. I haven't written any of the emails I meant to, and the dirty laundry is still sitting in the corner, staring at me. I know I'm not cooking dinner - won't make it to the store today - so we're eating Mac & Cheese tonight. Food of the gods, that.

So David's going to come home and ask me what I did all day. And I'll say,"Fed her, changed her, cleaned her, fed her, changed her, cleaned her, cleaned me, fed her, changed her, made the bed." And he'll just sort of look at me a little dubiously. But that's okay.

PS Diaper Update

Some of you have asked what happened with the cloth diapers. Here's the skinny:

I like them. They are soft and cuddly, and Abigail doesn't seem to mind the extra fabric between her legs, or the ghetto-bootie they give her. (The diapers make her look like she's wearing a bustle beneath her onesie.) I have not encountered any blowouts, and she isn't getting diaper rash like she was with the disposables.

It was a little hard to find the right fit - I'm still experimenting - and consequently, there are occasionally leaks out the legs. (But I'll take a little tinkle down the leg over poop up the back any day.) I think I've got the legs finally cinched to the correct size. And at night, when she wears them longer, I stuff a microfiber rag (a car wash rag - bought at Target) in the diaper, under the normal insert. It works really well - it's super absorbent.

That's all I got, for now. It's time to go change the Poop-meister, anyway.

The Great Diaper Experiment

The Great Diaper Experiment starts today.

Before Abigail was born, I decided that I wanted to use cloth diapers. My reasons were twofold. One, I wanted to save money. Two, I thought it might be better than throwing away thousands of diapers over the next two years.

I talked to my sister-in-law, R, and decided to purchase some Fuzzibunz. I liked their name, and I thought they looked fairly easy to use.

But here's the thing. You can't start a newborn on cloth diapers. They're too small. Those little legs aren't chubby enough for the elastic. And who, pray tell, wants to do extra laundry in those first 6 weeks postpartum? Not I.

So we started off with disposable diapers. As we hit the two month/10 lb mark, I found myself saying at each diaper change, "I really ought to start using the cloth diapers." Only, I never did.
I never knew how dependent I was on disposable diapers. They're so great in so many ways. They start out small and puff up when they're full, so you know, without having to smell (a huge plus with my faulty nose) or stick a finger in a leg hole to check. Heck, the swanky disposable diapers even have a little yellow stripe down the front that turns green when the diaper is wet. Wow! What's not to love? I couldn't let them go.

Until today. I bit the bullet. I cinched and snapped a VERY large cloth diaper on my VERY skinny kid, and am awaiting the results. There are gaps and puckers, despite my attempt to make it as small as possible. I am expecting leaks. And mess. Not due to the diaper, perhaps, but to how skinny my kid is. I would really LIKE to be able to use the diapers. Who doesn't like saving money? And I have to admit, I really will feel better about myself as a human being if I am not creating so much waste. But if she's too skinny, disposables it will be.

And it sounds like Abigail is filling her diaper right now. So I guess I'll have my answer momentarily.

Being Old

Our next door neighbor, Andy, is a frail old man we thought was close to 90. He leaves his house daily, backing slowly out of his driveway in a dark blue minivan. (He goes somewhere for part of the day - somewhere like a local Legion or something - for a midday meal.) Every time we see the van leave, we cringe. Yesterday, on his way, out he stopped to talk to David... and mentioned that he was on his way to MICHIGAN to visit his MOTHER-IN-LAW who was 105. Apparently she still lives on her own. Aside from being completely terrified at the thought of Andy out on the expressway, and wondering what in the heck they do to pass the time, we decided he must not be quite as old as we thought - maybe mid eighties at the latest. But still. His mother-in-law. 105. Sheesh.

And speaking of age, David and I decided to officially declare ourselves no longer young. 30 is just 17 days away for me. We have a house, a kid... and as of Thursday afternoon, we now own a minivan. I really see it as the Lord's provision for us - we found one in excellent condition, fairly low mileage, and at a much lower cost than we were expecting to have to pay. Our mechanic examined it, gave it his stamp of approval, and now it's ours. Despite the fact that I'm nervous about driving it (I mean, come on, I'm used to a Sentra), and that it's not a new new car, I'm excited to have it. Finally, enough space for whatever we need to do.

Even for a minivan, you have to think it's pretty. Right?

(And don't worry - we're not totally admitting defeat about our ages. David is holding onto his youth... He has an Atari and Batman toys. He sings silly songs and talks in cartoon voices. He doesn't clean his bedroom. And me? Well, I've got David.)