The answer is: You're totally screwed.
What is...do I have any hope for having a good weekend?.
My husband had this great idea around Monday of this week: we should go camping as a family and invite your parents and sister.
Fabulous.
What this translates to is: I'd like to sit by the fire and read and sleep in until noon while you plan everything and cook everything and run after our son.
Okay, fine.
So I plan out the whole weekend from start to finish- purchase the "Double Take Deal" I find online for the campground- make the reservation- make the lists of everything to bring- begin the "camping line up" in the living room...pillows, blankets, food stuff, baby stuff...
We are sitting around the table, coming up with the final plans for the next day, and my sister drops the bomb, "Well, when will we pick up my boyfriend?"
If I could slow motion this moment, in a "The Matrix" style scene, and grab my sister's words and just shove them BACK into her mouth, I totally would. It was like the phrase that started the war- the shot heard 'round the world.
Andy doesn't have a problem with April's boyfriend...he just doesn't want to go camping with him. He's not "family." Andy doesn't feel comfy in his gym shorts around the fire with him. Not to mention, the campground has rules, and BF would make adult #6 at the campsite. No room in the tent- rules say only one tent per site... etc, etc.
Mom had originally said "no" to the BF, and then turned around and said "yes" which she KNEW would make my husband unhappy. So when my husband became unhappy, she got right up in his face and let him know what was up.
You can only imagine how well this went over.
So the moral of the story- I've got an angry husband, and no weekend plans.
He said I could go camping if I wanted. He just wouldn't be going. That and he was looking into daycare for our son. My GOODNESS, the drama here is just so intense. So of course I feel caught in the middle. But I can't go camping!
Can you even IMAGINE?
Me and Liam, my parents, my sister and the BF, and no husband. Again I ask- can you EVEN imagine? No way, it's not worth it.
Do you remember on "The Office" when Pam decides to go with Michael to start the new paper company and Jim just lets her go and supports her? Do you remember on "Jerry Maguire" where Jerry goes all ape doo doo and Dorthy gets up and follows him? And we supported Dorothy, didn't we? We were like, YES, Renee Zelwegger! Go follow Tom Cruise!
And in the same respect, I will follow my husband- even though I think he's off his rocker. I do feel this is one of those "for better or worse" moments, that will eventually pass over. Both parties are in the wrong, my mom a little more so. But in order to keep the peace at home, I need to stay put.
--------
Why would I blog about this?
Because it's one of life's little unexpected moments and it's for real, and that's what I'm about here- being real. When you get married, you are essentially bringing a stranger into a family who is already, (for the most part) cohesive. And you know your family's idiosyncrasies and you know your husband's. For the most part, it's almost like your "job" to be the bridge between the two families. This means you get stepped on and walked on, unfortunately, but it IS the way it is. When you're the oldest, and the first to be married, it's not like you can ask your older sibling any questions about how THEY got through it. So you pave the way, one argument at a time.
So I have to go pick up my son now- from my mom- and deliver all my camping stuff to them so they can try to have a good weekend.
Any advice? I'd welcome it.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Unsettled
You know as I'm going through things, I try to share them, to see if there's someone out "there" who will say, "Yes, I know what you're going through."
Marriage after baby is ten times harder than marriage before baby.
That should be the end of the post, but it's not.
So many of my friends are going through this transition phase between married, and married with children, and it hasn't been easy for ANY of them. One of my friends has just gotten divorced- two little ones under the age of three. It's a scary time in life for many people.
Next week, Liam will be nine months old. If you can comprehend this, you'll see that this sentence is loaded. Liam. Nine months. We have a son, and there went nine months of our lives. As he ages, we age too. It's a passing of time. A coming of age. We have a son, and we're all getting older.
We have many things going on for us right now- my husband has a new job, for instance. It's a job he's more than suited for, in a field he knows nothing about. The men at this new employment are a good deal "manlier" than his past job. Cigars, Scotch, and Skoal. Andy isn't into any of that, but he DID come back from his last manager meeting smelling like a gentleman's club. Gag.
I'm plagued with the fact that I work 40 hours a week, teach two nights a week, take care of Liam and try to make our house function in a way that doesn't have neighbors calling the authorities on us. I struggle with "me" time, with the added guilt of "I never see my son and want to spend every waking moment with him." Not to mention that I'm really, really insecure at the moment.
Most of our arguments contain the phrase, "What do you want from me?" Or, "I don't know what you want from me." I know for a fact this stems from the fact- we don't know how to do this. What's expected of us? What do we do now? Who are we in relation to our son, to our families, to each other?
I find myself calling my husband the pet names for our son. I find my husband taking offense to everything I say, even when I don't mean it that way. We find ourselves kissing our son first when we walk in the door, and forgetting about each other.
Fuses are short.
Tempers run high.
And at the center of it all is this perfect, little being. Who needs EVERYTHING from us.
So I start to blog, like I did yesterday, and it's this portrait of this lazy husband and this overworked wife who are grasping at straws to keep things together. Who are desperately treading the waters of life to not only find the new normal, but to succeed at it.
Don't kid yourselves, folks. No marriage is infallible. I don't care if you married the "sweetest man on earth." I don't care if you are the most chill woman that ever graced this planet. You're going to struggle. And if you're not struggling, someone isn't being truthful. Because at the bottom of it all, we're all HUMAN, and people will fail us every time.
So as I learn, I will teach. As I understand, I will pass along. In the meantime, I pray and ask God to restore and develop this beautiful thing called marriage, day by day.
Marriage after baby is ten times harder than marriage before baby.
That should be the end of the post, but it's not.
So many of my friends are going through this transition phase between married, and married with children, and it hasn't been easy for ANY of them. One of my friends has just gotten divorced- two little ones under the age of three. It's a scary time in life for many people.
Next week, Liam will be nine months old. If you can comprehend this, you'll see that this sentence is loaded. Liam. Nine months. We have a son, and there went nine months of our lives. As he ages, we age too. It's a passing of time. A coming of age. We have a son, and we're all getting older.
We have many things going on for us right now- my husband has a new job, for instance. It's a job he's more than suited for, in a field he knows nothing about. The men at this new employment are a good deal "manlier" than his past job. Cigars, Scotch, and Skoal. Andy isn't into any of that, but he DID come back from his last manager meeting smelling like a gentleman's club. Gag.
I'm plagued with the fact that I work 40 hours a week, teach two nights a week, take care of Liam and try to make our house function in a way that doesn't have neighbors calling the authorities on us. I struggle with "me" time, with the added guilt of "I never see my son and want to spend every waking moment with him." Not to mention that I'm really, really insecure at the moment.
Most of our arguments contain the phrase, "What do you want from me?" Or, "I don't know what you want from me." I know for a fact this stems from the fact- we don't know how to do this. What's expected of us? What do we do now? Who are we in relation to our son, to our families, to each other?
I find myself calling my husband the pet names for our son. I find my husband taking offense to everything I say, even when I don't mean it that way. We find ourselves kissing our son first when we walk in the door, and forgetting about each other.
Fuses are short.
Tempers run high.
And at the center of it all is this perfect, little being. Who needs EVERYTHING from us.
So I start to blog, like I did yesterday, and it's this portrait of this lazy husband and this overworked wife who are grasping at straws to keep things together. Who are desperately treading the waters of life to not only find the new normal, but to succeed at it.
Don't kid yourselves, folks. No marriage is infallible. I don't care if you married the "sweetest man on earth." I don't care if you are the most chill woman that ever graced this planet. You're going to struggle. And if you're not struggling, someone isn't being truthful. Because at the bottom of it all, we're all HUMAN, and people will fail us every time.
So as I learn, I will teach. As I understand, I will pass along. In the meantime, I pray and ask God to restore and develop this beautiful thing called marriage, day by day.
Monday, June 24, 2013
You haven't WRITTEN! You haven't CALLED! I'm beginning to think you don't CARE!
Sorry I haven't written in a while. It's not you, it's me. Being a mommy means no more time for yourself- roughly speaking. You DO get some time off, after bed time. But for me, this means you work from 8-4:30 and during THAT time, you do your work, but also your HOME paperwork (coupon clipping, meal planning, sending thank you notes, arranging and planning events and vacations, etc. Along with any kind of church work, lesson planning, fundraisers, etc.)
After work you go get your son, which is really the highlight of the entire day. You stand and chat with your mom for a bit while your son finishes his "afternoon routine" with his Grandpa (riding around in his little car and swinging on the swing). And around the third time of, "We REALLY have to go!" You load 'em up and head 'em out.
You come home from work at 5:30, son in tow, and two nights a week you jump right back into working mode so you can teach violin for another few hours. Monday nights are your more advanced students, Wednesday nights are your...less advanced.
You starting thinking about supper. Sure, you got your meat out ahead of time, but to actually make it, baby on your hip, usually requires a trip to the store either on your way or on your husband's way home. But usually it's just easier to drop what you're doing and go than to listen to the grumbling on the other line. Have you ever tried to cook with a wee one with you? Everything takes twice as long.
Your husband comes in from work, and you try desperately to hand the baby off to him. "Please, honey, I JUST have to dump the potatoes in the strainer, please hold him." He mentions about how much he has to poop and goes off to take care of business. The baby gets placed on the floor. The baby screams. You try putting the baby in another room and then running away so that it takes JUST long enough for him to get to you that you can finish pouring out the potatoes, dumping the sauce, taking the veggies off the stove and plating everything before you feel his little vice grip on your pants.
We eat supper in front of the TV. So shoot me. Out table is usually too full of stuff to eat at it, and I sometimes like to have my feet up. Is it the way I'd like it? No. Will it be this way when Liam is older? No. But for now, it's how we do things. I will be taking no further questions.
Husband is done with his business and you hold out the baby to him, inquiring, "Daddy, my panties are dirty. Can you change them?" To which daddy replies, "Daddy's beat, Liam, have mommy change them for you."
Being the mom automatically makes you the responsible one. Instantly, you're the designated driver, the grocery shopper, the meal planner, the packer, the planner, the appointment maker. If it were not for you, literally NOTHING would get done. As soon as my husband's bottom hits his chair, his off switch is starting to engage. I bring him his food, most nights, and he has already started to scold Liam for getting into the DVD collection. I put Liam in his high chair and get him HIS food, and then I sit down to pick at my food. Of course it's disgusting because I just played in it for 30 minutes, and so I want nothing to do with it. Cereal looks better. I'll have that.
Supper dishes, wash, making beds, cleaning the cat box. Husband says he is woozy, he's going to go back to sitting down. Maybe he'll tackle the banking later.
Scrubbing the bathroom, picking up socks, watering the flowers I planted. Husband is snoring in his chair. What a long day he must have had.
Cleaning Liam up, new diaper, full bottle, clean onsie for night time, kiss daddy. Off to bed. Husband thinks he'll start banking in a little bit.
Pick up Kix off the floor, pick up Liam's toys, turn off the lights, sit on the sofa with my crocheting and check the time. Exhausted. Head up to bed. I think the husband really is going to start the banking now.
Play a few games on my phone, fall asleep, receive text that he's going to do the banking another night. Fall back to sleep again. Barely hear husband coming up the steps and getting into bed. No sex tonight, folks. That's the thing- if you want some lovin' you've got to come to bed. I can't be expected to stay up until you decide to mosey on in.
And THIS is why I haven't written. Too many irons in the fire, too many responsibilities, too much to do and no time to do it in. I just left out this extreme yawn as I was typing.
I had a doe-eyed, newly wedded, fitness trainer friend inquire how I was doing "Since having the baby." I knew what she was getting at. "I'm busy." I told her. "My life is non stop right now. I'm busy being a mommy and a wife and working and I'm exhausted." She cheerfully replied, "But, but what about exercise...?" But what about SHUT YOUR FACE? No, I didn't write that back- but I was tempted. But then I think I fell asleep.
After work you go get your son, which is really the highlight of the entire day. You stand and chat with your mom for a bit while your son finishes his "afternoon routine" with his Grandpa (riding around in his little car and swinging on the swing). And around the third time of, "We REALLY have to go!" You load 'em up and head 'em out.
You come home from work at 5:30, son in tow, and two nights a week you jump right back into working mode so you can teach violin for another few hours. Monday nights are your more advanced students, Wednesday nights are your...less advanced.
You starting thinking about supper. Sure, you got your meat out ahead of time, but to actually make it, baby on your hip, usually requires a trip to the store either on your way or on your husband's way home. But usually it's just easier to drop what you're doing and go than to listen to the grumbling on the other line. Have you ever tried to cook with a wee one with you? Everything takes twice as long.
Your husband comes in from work, and you try desperately to hand the baby off to him. "Please, honey, I JUST have to dump the potatoes in the strainer, please hold him." He mentions about how much he has to poop and goes off to take care of business. The baby gets placed on the floor. The baby screams. You try putting the baby in another room and then running away so that it takes JUST long enough for him to get to you that you can finish pouring out the potatoes, dumping the sauce, taking the veggies off the stove and plating everything before you feel his little vice grip on your pants.
We eat supper in front of the TV. So shoot me. Out table is usually too full of stuff to eat at it, and I sometimes like to have my feet up. Is it the way I'd like it? No. Will it be this way when Liam is older? No. But for now, it's how we do things. I will be taking no further questions.
Husband is done with his business and you hold out the baby to him, inquiring, "Daddy, my panties are dirty. Can you change them?" To which daddy replies, "Daddy's beat, Liam, have mommy change them for you."
Being the mom automatically makes you the responsible one. Instantly, you're the designated driver, the grocery shopper, the meal planner, the packer, the planner, the appointment maker. If it were not for you, literally NOTHING would get done. As soon as my husband's bottom hits his chair, his off switch is starting to engage. I bring him his food, most nights, and he has already started to scold Liam for getting into the DVD collection. I put Liam in his high chair and get him HIS food, and then I sit down to pick at my food. Of course it's disgusting because I just played in it for 30 minutes, and so I want nothing to do with it. Cereal looks better. I'll have that.
Supper dishes, wash, making beds, cleaning the cat box. Husband says he is woozy, he's going to go back to sitting down. Maybe he'll tackle the banking later.
Scrubbing the bathroom, picking up socks, watering the flowers I planted. Husband is snoring in his chair. What a long day he must have had.
Cleaning Liam up, new diaper, full bottle, clean onsie for night time, kiss daddy. Off to bed. Husband thinks he'll start banking in a little bit.
Pick up Kix off the floor, pick up Liam's toys, turn off the lights, sit on the sofa with my crocheting and check the time. Exhausted. Head up to bed. I think the husband really is going to start the banking now.
Play a few games on my phone, fall asleep, receive text that he's going to do the banking another night. Fall back to sleep again. Barely hear husband coming up the steps and getting into bed. No sex tonight, folks. That's the thing- if you want some lovin' you've got to come to bed. I can't be expected to stay up until you decide to mosey on in.
And THIS is why I haven't written. Too many irons in the fire, too many responsibilities, too much to do and no time to do it in. I just left out this extreme yawn as I was typing.
I had a doe-eyed, newly wedded, fitness trainer friend inquire how I was doing "Since having the baby." I knew what she was getting at. "I'm busy." I told her. "My life is non stop right now. I'm busy being a mommy and a wife and working and I'm exhausted." She cheerfully replied, "But, but what about exercise...?" But what about SHUT YOUR FACE? No, I didn't write that back- but I was tempted. But then I think I fell asleep.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Stop the Mommy Bus, I want to get off
Not permanantly. Just for a day.
This weekend was Memorial Day Weekend, and the unofficial start to the Summer. Except it was chilly, and we spent the length of the parade wrapped up with the baby...who promptly fell asleep.
We went to a million garage sales and of course Liam got loaded up with a ton of stuff he TOTALLY needed. Like this car:
And this Diego pusher thingy:
Along with a Sesame Street train yard, some new clothing, two windbreaker jackets, a diaper genie for Nana's house, an umbrella stroller, a pack and play for camping, a rolling baseball backpack for trips to RI...not to mention all the things we actually got for ourselves. You end up looking like this:
...sitting three across in the back set of the van so everything fits. After this picture was taken, we actually ended up going to MORE garage sales. There was no portion of our van that wasn't just stuffed to the brim with paraphernalia. (Try spelling THAT word without spell check. I DARE you.)
My parents and my sister are both in the Donegal Alumni Band so they marched in all three parades on Saturday and Monday. My dad plays the sousaphone, and so we snapped a few pics of Liam with it:
Isn't he a little doll baby? So proud of my little boy. That's what he is now- a little boy. I don't tell people I have a baby anymore. Just a little boy. I think I watched him grow up before my very eyes this weekend. For a mommy who doesn't see her little boy except for in the evenings and on weekends, it was eye opening.
The thing about vacations, and I've heard this, but I'm only now coming to terms with it, is that mommy NEVER gets a vacation. Andy took a sleeping pill, which I encouraged him to do, and he didn't wake up until 11am on Sunday morning. Liam was up at 6:45. Mommy was up at 6:45. Mommy laid down for an afternoon nap. Daddy asked her what she was doing.
We went out for supper. I made sure Liam had something to eat first. "Where's your food?" Andy asked, "I'll get it as soon as you guys are fed." I replied. Liam ended up throwing a fit and Andy paid the bill and took him outside. I didn't even get to finish eating.
The other night we got home. Work was awful. I was glad to be home, and I had a list of things to do. "I'm exhausted," Andy declared, handing me the baby and promptly plopped on the recliner. "You get him for the rest of the night. Can you make sure the clean sheets are on the bed?" What was I to do? Liam is now WAY too big for the front carrier while I'm doing chores. I had to put him to sleep first, and then get all my chores done. He goes down between 9 and 9:30. Who wants to start doing chores at 9:30? So I changed the sheets and went to bed- the rebel that I am. "Are you in bed already??" Was the text I received. "Are you kidding me?" Was the text I shot back.
I've been trying to read "The Great Gatsby" for a week now. I paid real cash money for it- as in, I didn't download it for free. So I get all ready for bed. Brush my teeth. Get in between the sheets. Prop myself up. Adjust the lighting. Zzzzzzzz. Andy has removed it from my hands every night. I haven't even turned on the Kindle.
But I wouldn't trade it. I promise. For all the griping, it's my lot in life and I LOVE it. Look at that baby doll face!! I get to keep that! Look at that strapping husband! I get to sleep with him every night! I'm blessed. So unless the Mommy Bus is making stops at Nap-land or The Land of Peace and Quiet, you'll find me on it, rolling along. :)
This weekend was Memorial Day Weekend, and the unofficial start to the Summer. Except it was chilly, and we spent the length of the parade wrapped up with the baby...who promptly fell asleep.
We went to a million garage sales and of course Liam got loaded up with a ton of stuff he TOTALLY needed. Like this car:
And this Diego pusher thingy:
(oh, and that hat he's wearing...)
Along with a Sesame Street train yard, some new clothing, two windbreaker jackets, a diaper genie for Nana's house, an umbrella stroller, a pack and play for camping, a rolling baseball backpack for trips to RI...not to mention all the things we actually got for ourselves. You end up looking like this:
...sitting three across in the back set of the van so everything fits. After this picture was taken, we actually ended up going to MORE garage sales. There was no portion of our van that wasn't just stuffed to the brim with paraphernalia. (Try spelling THAT word without spell check. I DARE you.)
My parents and my sister are both in the Donegal Alumni Band so they marched in all three parades on Saturday and Monday. My dad plays the sousaphone, and so we snapped a few pics of Liam with it:
Isn't he a little doll baby? So proud of my little boy. That's what he is now- a little boy. I don't tell people I have a baby anymore. Just a little boy. I think I watched him grow up before my very eyes this weekend. For a mommy who doesn't see her little boy except for in the evenings and on weekends, it was eye opening.
The thing about vacations, and I've heard this, but I'm only now coming to terms with it, is that mommy NEVER gets a vacation. Andy took a sleeping pill, which I encouraged him to do, and he didn't wake up until 11am on Sunday morning. Liam was up at 6:45. Mommy was up at 6:45. Mommy laid down for an afternoon nap. Daddy asked her what she was doing.
We went out for supper. I made sure Liam had something to eat first. "Where's your food?" Andy asked, "I'll get it as soon as you guys are fed." I replied. Liam ended up throwing a fit and Andy paid the bill and took him outside. I didn't even get to finish eating.
The other night we got home. Work was awful. I was glad to be home, and I had a list of things to do. "I'm exhausted," Andy declared, handing me the baby and promptly plopped on the recliner. "You get him for the rest of the night. Can you make sure the clean sheets are on the bed?" What was I to do? Liam is now WAY too big for the front carrier while I'm doing chores. I had to put him to sleep first, and then get all my chores done. He goes down between 9 and 9:30. Who wants to start doing chores at 9:30? So I changed the sheets and went to bed- the rebel that I am. "Are you in bed already??" Was the text I received. "Are you kidding me?" Was the text I shot back.
I've been trying to read "The Great Gatsby" for a week now. I paid real cash money for it- as in, I didn't download it for free. So I get all ready for bed. Brush my teeth. Get in between the sheets. Prop myself up. Adjust the lighting. Zzzzzzzz. Andy has removed it from my hands every night. I haven't even turned on the Kindle.
But I wouldn't trade it. I promise. For all the griping, it's my lot in life and I LOVE it. Look at that baby doll face!! I get to keep that! Look at that strapping husband! I get to sleep with him every night! I'm blessed. So unless the Mommy Bus is making stops at Nap-land or The Land of Peace and Quiet, you'll find me on it, rolling along. :)
Friday, May 24, 2013
You can tune a piano...
But you can't tuna fish! HAHAHAH! That was hilarious, in my mind.
One women, who I knew from other things, whom a cannot stand, whose son I graduated with, when plays the cello, came up to me afterwards with eyes peering over her glasses. "Couldn't find a SITTER?" She said. I wanted to say, "Couldn't find a PERSONALITY?!" But instead I said- well, I had a sitter, and Liam didn't like them. So. I'm a mommy first." "My children never would have sat still for that." Well. Maybe you're a bad mother. OH I SHOULD HAVE SAID IT! Life is too short not to whip out comebacks.
--
So this weekend is Memorial Day Weekend and I may be the happiest girl in the world. My husband and I BOTH have off for possibly the first time EVER. And it's Liam's first. So we're doing parades and just having an all around great time. More pics to follow, I'm sure.
So I'm in love with this picture. Liam's grandpa, my dad, plays the tuba. When I saw one, just randomly sitting in the orchestra room at Etown Area High School, I knew we had to snap a pic.
So last night was a concert my student invited me to play in at EAHS. Teachers and family and friends were invited a few months back to play for this one selection- Mars from "The Planets" by Holtz, if you're keeping track.
My student's mom was supposed to watch Liam for me while we were practicing and playing in the concert. Well, she was late so Liam was just sitting on the floor at my feet while we rehearsed. I brought a little bag of toys for him and his sippy cup of water. He was happy and all the high schoolers were like- AWWW!! Because he had his little hat on, of course, so he was adorable.
Well Karen came and took him, which was fine, and she took him outside and he started SCREAMING. I didn't know this, so I'm practicing and then we're done, and then I go to find him and the poor kid is just hysterical. So 10 minutes later I finally get him calmed down, and he's sniffing and looking all sad, and I'm like, I can't put this woman or my son through this. And Karen and Mike are the best people, seriously. But Liam's just going through this phase!
So I went to the director and said- um...can my son sit on stage with us? And he's like, "Sure. As long as it's fine with you." And I'm like "No, I'm a guest on your stage" and he's like, "Sure, he can sit on the stage." So I brought him up and sat him at my feet with his water and toys, and he sat there THE WHOLE TIME and I'm told he was just bobbing his little head to the music. Right through the piece. When we were done, I picked Liam up, and his water and his toy bag, and we walked off the stage! LOL!
He sat through the rest of the concert in the audience in my lap, happy as a little clam. Munching on Kix and waving his arms around. And afterwards he was the talk of the town, oh my goodness, it was crazy. People told me they were taking video and pictures and were just staring at him the whole time! It was HILARIOUS! What a special little guy I have :) I need to get him a onsie that says, "All I want to do is direct."
One women, who I knew from other things, whom a cannot stand, whose son I graduated with, when plays the cello, came up to me afterwards with eyes peering over her glasses. "Couldn't find a SITTER?" She said. I wanted to say, "Couldn't find a PERSONALITY?!" But instead I said- well, I had a sitter, and Liam didn't like them. So. I'm a mommy first." "My children never would have sat still for that." Well. Maybe you're a bad mother. OH I SHOULD HAVE SAID IT! Life is too short not to whip out comebacks.
--
So this weekend is Memorial Day Weekend and I may be the happiest girl in the world. My husband and I BOTH have off for possibly the first time EVER. And it's Liam's first. So we're doing parades and just having an all around great time. More pics to follow, I'm sure.
Monday, May 20, 2013
SHAMELESS POST! VOTE FOR LIAM!
So I entered my son in this little competition, and because I am a proud mommy, I'm shamelessly promoting my son through my blog. So if you read, and if you want to, please vote.
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Thanks!
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Thanks!
Baby Yoga
I'm proud to announce that my son now continues to sleep through the night. Not only does he STILL sleep through the night, he also will put himself BACK to sleep after he wakes up in bed. Something, huh? I'm not boasting. I know it may change at any moment, but for now, I will rest in the fact that even though I may not be sleeping through the night, it's not because of my son.
---
Andy worked on Saturday morning, so Liam and I had the whole day to ourselves. It was like a dream. No painting, no plans to be anywhere. Just. Us. So I decided to take him to Mommy and Baby Yoga at a studio in Camp Hill (about 35 minutes away, for those who care). So I dressed him in a little comfy outfit, put on my yoga gear, grabbed my mat (never been to a yoga class, yet I own a mat. Go fig.) and out the door we went.
When I was imagining baby yoga, I was expecting a few twenty-something moms, driving in their Volvos and other five-star safety test rated cars, toting immaculate GAP-wearing babes with perfectly organized Coach diaper bags. I pictured perfect bodies and perfect pony tails and perfect nails. Essentially just a photoshoot for Fit Pregnancy Magazine.
When we got there, we were early and they weren't open yet. The teacher wasn't even there. Liam and I sat and watched the cars until a VW mini bus pulled up, the bumper sticker on the side pondering, "Got Autoharp?" Since I had forgotten my autoharp, I was interested to see who was getting out of the hippy van, and if she in fact had remembered hers.
If I had to make a guess, I'd say the girl was younger than me, her name was Katie and her baby's name was Rose. She was about four months old. (Liam immediately tried to rip off her face. I intervened with a quiet "gentle, Liam" and he decided to hold her hand instead.) We started talking about breastfeeding and I proudly announced that I had made it to five months (just about) and Liam was healthy and happy. She had plans to breast feed until Rose was graduating high school. Oops. But she was friendly and I liked her.
The teach arrived and opened the class room, and we went in. The teacher was a low talker and slightly vague about where we should sit and what we should do. In the front of the yoga area there was a little boutique which was filled with organic products, baby wearing apparatus, and breast feeding paraphernalia. A huge sign stated, "We welcome breast feeding here." Katie immediately whipped one of hers out and Rose obliged.
A third mom came in toting a PJ wearing baby named Zade who was a few weeks older than Liam. He had curly hair and his skin was like milk chocolate. He was busy chewing on his fingers, which lead me to believe he too was getting teeth. HE was no where as active Liam, but I've often noticed that Liam is far more active than other babies.
Which is probably why he wouldn't lay still when we were doing yoga over him, and why every time I tried to do the baby stretches and massages that Low Talker was instructing us to do, he would laugh and flip over and try to crawl away. Zade ended up falling asleep. Rose was breast fed again and changed. Her brightly colored cloth diapers intrigued me, but not enough to go out and buy a bunch.
Liam was enjoying it for the most part, mostly gawking to see exactly what Rose was doing, but he enjoyed the ups and downs and he giggled with all the massages we were instructed to do. He wanted to stand and flip over and crawl and basically just take Low Talker's place at the head of the class. I finally popped in a pacifier so he'd calm down a little. Every mother gasped.
She didn't just put that dreaded piece of plastic in her child's mouth...did she?
Oh yes, she did.
At the end of the class, the teacher turned out the lights and we were supposed to fold our children's hands in ours and repeat this mantra type thing and then say three "oms" and say "Namaste" to our babies. Yeah, as you can imagine, Liam was like, "You said we'd go for breakfast." And wanted nothing to do with the class finale.
So much to Low Talker's chagrin, we will not be going back to Baby Yoga. As much as I had high hopes, it just wasn't a good fit. I don't think I was the kind of mother they were looking for there. Katie and Rose bought the punch card, and then started an in depth discussion on cloth diapering. We snuck out. She had mentioned starting a baby dance class, which is more up Liam's alley, but we will start baby swim class in July and try that.
And then we went for breakfast. And Liam got a pancake in the shape of Mickey, and he was in heaven.
---
Andy worked on Saturday morning, so Liam and I had the whole day to ourselves. It was like a dream. No painting, no plans to be anywhere. Just. Us. So I decided to take him to Mommy and Baby Yoga at a studio in Camp Hill (about 35 minutes away, for those who care). So I dressed him in a little comfy outfit, put on my yoga gear, grabbed my mat (never been to a yoga class, yet I own a mat. Go fig.) and out the door we went.
When I was imagining baby yoga, I was expecting a few twenty-something moms, driving in their Volvos and other five-star safety test rated cars, toting immaculate GAP-wearing babes with perfectly organized Coach diaper bags. I pictured perfect bodies and perfect pony tails and perfect nails. Essentially just a photoshoot for Fit Pregnancy Magazine.
When we got there, we were early and they weren't open yet. The teacher wasn't even there. Liam and I sat and watched the cars until a VW mini bus pulled up, the bumper sticker on the side pondering, "Got Autoharp?" Since I had forgotten my autoharp, I was interested to see who was getting out of the hippy van, and if she in fact had remembered hers.
If I had to make a guess, I'd say the girl was younger than me, her name was Katie and her baby's name was Rose. She was about four months old. (Liam immediately tried to rip off her face. I intervened with a quiet "gentle, Liam" and he decided to hold her hand instead.) We started talking about breastfeeding and I proudly announced that I had made it to five months (just about) and Liam was healthy and happy. She had plans to breast feed until Rose was graduating high school. Oops. But she was friendly and I liked her.
The teach arrived and opened the class room, and we went in. The teacher was a low talker and slightly vague about where we should sit and what we should do. In the front of the yoga area there was a little boutique which was filled with organic products, baby wearing apparatus, and breast feeding paraphernalia. A huge sign stated, "We welcome breast feeding here." Katie immediately whipped one of hers out and Rose obliged.
A third mom came in toting a PJ wearing baby named Zade who was a few weeks older than Liam. He had curly hair and his skin was like milk chocolate. He was busy chewing on his fingers, which lead me to believe he too was getting teeth. HE was no where as active Liam, but I've often noticed that Liam is far more active than other babies.
Which is probably why he wouldn't lay still when we were doing yoga over him, and why every time I tried to do the baby stretches and massages that Low Talker was instructing us to do, he would laugh and flip over and try to crawl away. Zade ended up falling asleep. Rose was breast fed again and changed. Her brightly colored cloth diapers intrigued me, but not enough to go out and buy a bunch.
Liam was enjoying it for the most part, mostly gawking to see exactly what Rose was doing, but he enjoyed the ups and downs and he giggled with all the massages we were instructed to do. He wanted to stand and flip over and crawl and basically just take Low Talker's place at the head of the class. I finally popped in a pacifier so he'd calm down a little. Every mother gasped.
She didn't just put that dreaded piece of plastic in her child's mouth...did she?
Oh yes, she did.
At the end of the class, the teacher turned out the lights and we were supposed to fold our children's hands in ours and repeat this mantra type thing and then say three "oms" and say "Namaste" to our babies. Yeah, as you can imagine, Liam was like, "You said we'd go for breakfast." And wanted nothing to do with the class finale.
So much to Low Talker's chagrin, we will not be going back to Baby Yoga. As much as I had high hopes, it just wasn't a good fit. I don't think I was the kind of mother they were looking for there. Katie and Rose bought the punch card, and then started an in depth discussion on cloth diapering. We snuck out. She had mentioned starting a baby dance class, which is more up Liam's alley, but we will start baby swim class in July and try that.
And then we went for breakfast. And Liam got a pancake in the shape of Mickey, and he was in heaven.
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