It's only poop.

I love him.  I could fill up this page with reasons I love him, but I'll spare you.  Because you already know all of them just by looking at him.

This is my new project:

 

 

Thanks to Pinterest, I too can hang pictures going up my stairs.  Those are his infant pics on the left, and then his 3 months on the right.  There is room for little pictures in between.  So I'm excited :)  It's hard not to wish him to 6 months just so I can get his next set of pictures up there.

 

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So for people who don't know, I paint and decorate.  I just recently started taking on jobs again, because I had to stop while I was pregnant after I became a tipping hazard.  However, I don't intend to leave Liam at home while I go earn money.  I do enough of that during the week. 

 

I took him to bid a job last week.  They had a huge German Shepherd and Liam was instantly in love with her.  He of course was giggling and hugging the puppy and petting the puppy, and the dog was LOVING it.  She brought him little toys to "play" with and laid them at Liam's feet.  It was just too adorable.

 

And of course the clients (a husband and a wife, I'm imagining a year younger or older than myself) were like, "Aww, he's sweet."  While maintaining a reasonable distance from my son at all times.  So when Liam puked on my shoulder, I laughed it off quipping, "You guys thinking of having kids?"  She handed me and ENTIRE ROLL of paper towels to clean it up.  A tablespoon of puke...whole roll of Bounty.  AND she brought the trash can over so I could throw the offensive material away.  Immediately, I could see where this was going.

So I tried not to seem like I wash rushing, but I really wanted to get out of there.  I threw my old stand-by neutrals out there, ("We're thinking about going for something bold...how about this beige, honey?") And that's when Liam's face started turning beet red.  And he started grunting.  And then he began to AUDIBLY fill his pants.  I looked at him and he forced a smile- I think the little guy was truly sorry he was doing #2- and then went back to bearing down and pushing out. 

At this point, the dog took an interest.  She came over to sniff, as if to inquire, "You mean they let you do this INSIDE?" and proceeded to stick her nose right in Liam's crotch.  It was then the client, up to this point just staring in sheer horror, pointed at Liam's back and mumbled, "Um, he's like, coming, um, up his, um..."  And then I saw the poop seeping through his shirt above his diaper line.

NO, I didn't bring his diaper bag in with me.  Of course not.  He was changed and fed and happy when I brought him in.  So they wrangled the dog and I went outside, baby in tow, and got the diaper bag and brought it in.  They so generously offered their kitchen floor to me so I could clean him up.  I opened my changing mat and proceeded to strip Liam down to his skivvies and clean him up with an army of wipes.  The clients sat in the living room, probably holding their collective breath to make sure they didn't catch a waft of the poop.

Meanwhile, Liam was THRILLED to be naked, and the dog was equally as happy.  She now brought Liam the rest of her toys for him to approve and then rummaged the diaper bag to catch a whif of whatever she could.  The clients were yelling at the dog to leave us alone, but that's about as far as it went.  They couldn't get too close.

I changed Liam's entire outfit, cleaned up my area- my changing station was now FULL of dog hair from the kitchen floor- and stashed the offensive diaper deep in the diaper bag.  As I'm writing this, I wonder if I remembered to fish it out again...  The clients cautiously came from the living room and came back to the table.  "Thinking of having kids?"  I quipped again.  They laughed politely.  The husband shot the wife a look that said, "We are NEVER having SEX again."

Surprisingly, they booked me for April. 

Welcome Back

The long and short of it is: I got my period.

It started out with a pregnancy test.  Any normal woman would have taken one.  Especially with our "not 100% effective" birth control.  My boobs hurt.  I was swelling up.  I was teary.  I lost my appetite.  I couldn't stay awake.  On and on.

Do you know what it's like to tell your husband you're taking a pregnancy test?  Especially when you have a three month old infant and you're not "trying"?  I tried to sugar coat it as much as possible- "You know, I'm nervous about this whole period thing.  I'm thinking of taking a test.  I have one.  It's not like I have to go buy one...  But I think I might take it just out of, you know, curiosity."

My hands were shaking more than on the original pregnancy test.  You know, the one I actually WANTED to come out positive.  My brain kept rushing from one thought to the next.  Was I or wasn't I?  Were we ready for child number two?  Was my body healed enough to carry another baby full term?  Where would we put him or her?  Would I need to quit my job?  Could my mom handle two kids under the age of two?  Would that even be fair to her to ask?  Can you breast feed while pregnant?  Would that mean I'd be breastfeeding through two solid years?  How much weight would I gain?  I haven't lost the last weight yet!  What were we thinking?  Why didn't I just get the IUD??

Negative.

I nonchalantly threw away the test and walked downstairs.  "I took that test.  It was negative.  I figured it would be."

Not.

So a few days later Aunt Flow packed her bags and headed in for a visit.  There's something very...surreal...about getting your period after you fully comprehend what your body is doing.  That could have been a baby.  That's the makings of a baby.  I've been getting my period since fourth grade.  (Go ahead and gasp.  The perks of PCOS before they knew what it was...)  So that's 19 years of periods, and yet this was different. 

First off, it smelled different.  There was an "amniotic" smell that I can't describe.  Second of all, there was no pain from cramps (or if there was pain, I didn't recognize it).  Thirdly, it was HEAVY.  Yikers.

But that's it.  It's over.  I'm back on the pill again.  Trying to find the new normal.  Yadda yadda.  More on this later.

PS: Answer to a FAQ

This mini post is brought to you by those who have been asking me a simple question:

Did you poo during labor?

The answer is yes and no.  Yes I did poo during labor.  No I did not poo during pushing.

When you're in labor, the baby is pushing down on all your internal organs, and you really have no choice but to poop.  In a toilet, of course.  You don't just lose all your bodily functions at once like I think my "Followers" are expecting to.  And if you poop, in the toilet, during labor, you're not going to push the baby out.  Although they are the same muscles.

When I started pushing, I felt this extreme "release" which I thought was poo, but it wasn't.  It was just amniotic fluid and blood and whatever else.  And I cannot stress enough- you're NOT going to care.  There are so many bodily fluids, one more is not going to matter.

So there is your answer.

Any other questions?  You know I'll answer them!

Parting is such sweet sorrow

Sweet little Liam man is just getting more adorable by the day.  It's freezing here in Central PA, and our house is no exception.  With heating oil at almost $4 a gallon, we can't afford to heat our house.  So we have space heaters running and the curtains pulled tight and blankets up over the door ways.  It's really no place to have an infant, but I don't know what else to do.  So we turn on the electric blanket and cuddle together and live in the bedroom mostly.  My husband feels bad enough about it as it is.  I feel we need to move, but that isn't happening at the moment.

So Liam and I cuddle up under the heated blanket and fall asleep every night.  I can't put him in his bassinet knowing that Andy and I have each other to cuddle with and he's in the little plastic box beside us.  We tried putting the snuggle nest between us, but he would crawl out of it and find me any way.  So we ditched the nest and now just cuddle as a family.  Some day he'll appreciate his mother.  I just know it.

And don't judge me for sleeping with my son.  I realize that there are horror stories about people rolling on their kids and blanket suffocation and whatever.  But it's the exception, not the rule.  We are always very certain his head is out from under the blankets.  I lay on my back with him in the crook of my arm or on my chest.  He's not going anywhere, I swear it.  I would never do ANYTHING to compromise the health or welfare of my son.

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I had 18 days off with Liam after he was born.  Roughly 3 weeks of work.  And I've been working ever since.  And I need to say that it's not getting any easier. 

My mom is a great care taker for him, and she does tummy time and reads to him and is a pro at all those things, and I know he's going to grow to be a fine little boy because she's spending so much one on one time with him.  She reading to him every day, and she's going to teach him to read and write, and 'rithmetic...all those things.  But by golly I miss my little boy during the day.  I want to be the one to teach him all that stuff.  I want to see all his firsts and I want to be the one who is the hero for him.

I have to take heart that he's not in day care.  And all his first moments will not be missed by someone who loves him.  And when I rush to disclose some fabulous thing that Liam has done, my mom just smiles and nods- because chances are she's seen it before from him.  I am the first one he sees when he wakes up and the last thing he sees before he goes to bed.  And it's MY arms he falls asleep in.

But.  That doesn't make it any easier.

You're so vain...

I hate my body.

There.  It's out there.

When I was pregnant, there was this glowing picture of this woman's stomach post twins.  It looked like a road map of stretch marks.  And there were these words over the picture that said something to the effect of being PROUD of the stretch marks because they were the remnants of a pregnancy that gave her the two best things a woman could have.  They reminded her of every breath the baby took and how with every mark the babies grew more and more every day and how she loved her belly because that's the belly that housed her babies before her arms could....

WHO comes up with this stuff?

When I look at my stomach, I don't think about how much I love my son, I think about how many crunches I'm going to have to do to get this stomach to not topple over the waistband of my jeans?  I don't think about birth or labor or pregnancy or any of that, I just feel overwhelmed with how much work I'm going to have to do to get back to the point where I love myself again.

I'm vain.  I know.

And I will say to my handsome husband, "I feel fat and ugly and I hate my body."  And he will say, "You just had a baby three months ago!  Give yourself time."

Am I the ONLY one that thinks that's a terrible answer?  Why isn't HE saying, "But that's the body that housed our son before our arms could!"  I think both answers would get him to the Motel 8.  Don't bother leaving the light on.

But it stems from this insecurity that the weight will never come off.  That somehow my husband will forget about what I used to look like and be appalled with what I look like now.  Or maybe even find someone new.  I've gotten to the point where I've become like a big, green, jealous monster.  I ask him stupid questions that go beyond the normal "Do I look good in this?" 

None of this is attractive, and I know this.  But it's real, and that's what this blog is about- the real stuff.

So I go to the gym two times a week and sometimes on Saturday mornings.  I got a heavy bag for Christmas and hoping to have it hung in the garage sooner rather than later.  I don't want my son to think of me as someone who is obsessed with her looks, but as someone who never quits.  As someone who always keeps her chin up. 

Good thing he's only 3 months old and I have time to work on all that, huh?

You are what you eat

Well, I did it.  I drank a beer.

I'm not proud of it.  I'm not sharing the experience with people.  It's not going to make the Christmas card next year.

It tasted like old men and cigars.

But the long and short of it, is that I'm DESPERATE to make this breast feeding thing happen.  I'm eating my oatmeal, drinking my mother milk tea, taking my supplements.  And I bought ALL the ingredients for those lactation cookies.  They are literally in my house right now, just yearning to be made.

Before, I mentioned that I was not sold on the whole breastfeeding thing.  This isn't because I didn't believe in its power, but just that I felt awkward.  Well.  Forget all that.  I now take great JOY in breast feeding my son if for no other reason that I CAN'T DO IT! 

I put on my Rambo head band and scream like a banshee when you tell me I can't do something.  I smear my war paint and work at it harder and longer.  Oh, you say I can't have a baby because of my PCOS?  One month to get pregnant.  NAILED IT.  Oh, I'm sorry, you say I can't breast feed because my pump is faulty and my supply is low?  Yeah well, I'm taking my fenugreek like a boss.  This is happening.

A friend of mine is a regular milk fountain.  I watched her pump the other night.  It was like one of those punch fountains you see at classy weddings.  TWO, eight ounce bottles in 15 minutes.  I wouldn't have believed it if I wouldn't have seen it with my own eyes.  She's actually able to give some of her milk AWAY, she's making so much.  It's a very cool thing.

The pediatrician is talking about putting Liam on some cereal next month.  Now, let me tell you something.  Every mom does something different when it comes to starting food with their babies.  And every mom is completely correct and every OTHER mom is completely wrong.  And they're not shy about telling you about it.

This is true for lots of things.

Don't get me wrong- I'm not offended.  But every baby is different.  And every mom is the same: they don't want to be told they're doing it wrong.  We're all terrified of messing up these little humans we've been entrusted with.  So I will sip my tea and strongly consider making those cookies tonight, and trust that my strapping, healthy son will some day send me a Mother's Day card thanking me for drinking beer on his behalf.

A New Sensation

My precious Baby Bug turned 3 months on Sunday.  We had his pictures taken at The Picture People, and he was such a love about it.  The pictures turned out beautifully!  He smiled and he laughed and he was a little trooper.  I'd like to share them here, but the picture loader thingy isn't working on blogspot.  Thanks for nothing, blogspot.

Later that night we went to a family function where for the first time I felt like the grownup.  This time I was the mom.  Andy was the dad.  We came together- late- but we came.  And we left together- early- but we left together.  There's this sense of maturity that comes when for so long you were the youngest and you were looking up to all your cousins and playing with their kids on family occasions.  And now they're playing with your child and suddenly you feel important.  Like, like you've moved to the grownups table finally.  Even though you've been sitting among them all along.

I started an herb for my milk supply, and so far so good.  I do feel more full in the breast (lol, that statement made me chuckle) and Liam seems to be way happier.  He's even pooping more.  Now THERE is an accomplishment.  And because he's pooping more, he's a happier baby.  And I'm a happier mommy.  I'm getting the warranty for my stupid stupid Tommee Tippee breast pump, and getting an Ameda double breast pump.  This is an attempt to get my milk supply up again and to buy less formula.

I've mentioned before that breastfeeding means no period.  At least it does for me.  I've mentioned before that this is NOT birth control, it's just...let's call it a luxury.  Because of the diminished milk supply, I have not gone back on birth control because I fear it would reduce my supply even more and then I'd have nothing.  So we tried condoms and then I got a yeast infection.  So we resorted to the good, old fashioned pull out method.  Probably the least effective form of birth control.  It ranks up there with just TALKING to my husband's man parts, "Now, don't you get me pregnant, ya hear?"  But it's where we are at this point, and it is NERVE WRACKING.  The good thing is, it hurts less than with the condom, so I feel like we're on our way in that respect, but it's still something that worries me.  I've contemplated taking a pregnancy test every month, just to make sure.  But that's expensive.

Another one of my VERY good friends is now pregnant and due in September.  I don't mind saying that I'm living my pregnancy vicariously through her a second time- feeling all the excitement and nervousness for her.  I feel like it's my calling.

More later!