Love and Marriage

This week we learned how to brush our teeth.

Also, guess who was born?  Emerson Sophie!!!!! 

Welcome, baby girl!  She is SOOO precious!  I haven't met her in person just yet, but those eyes are huge and beautiful, and her button nose just gets me every time!  Isn't she so alert??  Can't wait to watch you grow, Sweet One!

 

Of my five friends who were pregnant as of the beginning of the year, we've welcomed three BEAUTIFUL children into the world.  Brynn, Jack, and now Emerson.  The other two sweet babies will remain in our hearts as their parents try again. 

Life is sometimes very hard.  But we rejoice in the good and reflect in the bad.

 

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As I sit here and type in November, I realize I am not the person I was last November when I was typing, which seems light years difference from when I was typing TWO Novembers ago.  What a year.  What a life.

 

My husband and I struggle to find time for each other.  Between his new job and the new child and the new schedule, and the new "us"... To say it's been a long haul is an understatement.  He said to me in the car the other night, "What happened to this year?"

 

"We had a son."  I replied.

 

I asked my parents to watch Liam for a night just so we could find each other again.  We hadn't been on a date in MONTHS.   A few nights before, I had tried to create a "mood" (hair, makeup, lotions, lingerie) and instead Andy had gotten ill and so nothing happened.  A few nights before that, we had tried to create a mood, and the baby woke up.  A few nights before that we tried to create a mood and both fell asleep before anything could even happen.  We try and try and try, and we are just always thwarted.

 

Sex is everywhere in our culture.  Magazines boast columns on how to have more with better technique.  Every ounce of spam on my computer is trying to get you to enlarge something, cheat on someone, or to find a local (mostly hot and horny) single.  The TV.  Don't get me started on the TV.  You used to have to wait to see the hot and steamy stuff until you watch the show.  Now you can catch it on the commercial.  As can your husband and (you're quickly realizing), so can your son.

 

So you're immediately lead to believe that you're doing it wrong.  And you yourself can become obsessed with it.  (I started writing it on my calendar...true story).  I think somewhere deep down you just want to "keep up" with everyone else, even though you really don't know what everyone else is doing.  (Ever notice how they only interview hot, young, singles in those mags?)

 

We're sitting at the restaurant on our cozy little date night- I had no makeup on.  I didn't do my hair.  I had on leggins and a sweater.  We sat there and made up life stories for the three ladies at the adjacent table- you know the game- creating back stories, pretending we knew what they were saying, giving them audible thoughts...  We began a rousing rendition of: Is he gay or are they related??  Then we started criticising the band (it was really, really bad....) We sat and shared our meals with each other and for the first time in a really really long time, I remembered something:

 

I like my husband.

 

It suddenly became so clear to me.  I not only love my husband, I LIKE him too.  I was working so intently on the love part, the marriage part, the making it all work part.  The being sexy part.  The doing-it-the-right-way part.  And I totally forgot- I like my husband...and I don't even have to try it.

 

Immediately I was thrown back into the days of college where we'd go to concerts together at LVC and sit there and criticize the musicians.  How we'd have pet names for people behind their backs when we didn't really know their names.  How we'd nap together on a Sunday afternoon.  How we'd load into the car at midnight and go to Sheetz for food (thanks college, also, for making me fat).  I started mentally reliving those moments that we SO took for granted- sitting in our empty house, doing our homework, just so we could be in our house.  Sitting up until midnight, talking on the phone and just busting up laughing for no reason.  Waiting weeks and weeks to board a train just to see him again...

 

Why do we TRY so hard?  Maybe we need to stop trying and just...be.  Not to say the occasional dress up and go out night isn't great, but what if we toned it down once or twice?  Date nights, me time, you time, family time, it's all important.  But what if we lived those moments under the umbrella of, "Hey, I kinda like this.  And I kinda like you.  And you used to give me goosebumps when you touched me..."  Don't try to "recreate" it- just allow it to happen naturally. 

 

It did before, it can again.

Don't Fence Me In!

Liam is active.  I mean, REALLY active.  And we've realized that he throws his tantrums mostly when he cannot do things himself.  Say, if you want to put something in his mouth instead of him feeding it to himself?  Instant hunger strike.  It's like a baby sized "sit-in."  Now, lest you think my son is a super brat, we do not let him get away with such things.  I am not blind to the fact that my husband and I are both stubborn, we're both first borns, and we both have similar tempers.  It's only time before our child displays these qualities as well.

Liam in Time Out

 

 

So in an effort to give my son the freedom he so desires, while keeping my sanity in public, I purchased this adorable little monkey backpack...that is also a harness.

 

Don't judge me just yet.

 

My husband works.  A lot.  And so it's me a good amount of the time- just me.  And sometimes you're putting groceries on the belt, or loading things into the car, or trying to find the best price on something, and you need both your hands, and your son throws himself on the floor OR wriggles his way out of the stroller OR stiffens up to the point where you nearly drop him OR runs away in the blink of an eye......  You need an extra hand.

 

I had to fight tooth and nail to get it.  "People will look at us."  Andy proclaimed.  "Do you know how many times I'm looked at as I'm leaving my purse and my cart to go run after my child?"  I replied.  "If you don't like it, I won't use it around you."

 

This weekend I might actually get to use my little monkey harness- I haven't used it as of yet.  After I stated my case, my husband got crazy involved with the shopping process (perhaps to save my son from certain humiliation of the "leash").  But I can tell you, this thing is going to save us from an Amber Alert some day.  When I was younger, I had the wrist strap; one on me, one on my mom or dad.  Saved this little runner from many escapes.

 

"I had one!"  My friend Alyssa confided in me.  "That's how my mom kept track of me at Roots!"  (Roots is our local farmers market, for those who aren't from Lancaster County.)  In my humble opinion, Alyssa turned out JUST fine.  She's a capable adult with a real job and a husband and family.  Was it because of the leash?  Well I have been out with her in public, and she's never run off so.  Possibly.

 

So harness toting mothers of the world, unite!  Do what it takes, ladies.  Haters gonna hate, but at least I know where my kid is.

Ahh to be 1 again...

 

It's no secret that my kid is cute.  Like, not just "kinda" cute, like, THE REAL DEAL cute.  (This picture was taken on his first birthday- he wouldn't look at the camera, so he kind of looks like a little blind boy :-/  )

 

He knows how to do all sorts of cute stuff.  Like when you say, "Give momma a cheeky smile!"  He does the above.  Or we'll say, "Do tiny feet!"  And he does this little dance where he tip-toes around.

 

But looks are deceiving.  Inside that sweet little angel baby is a toddler just screaming to get out. 

Liam has always been ahead of his time as far as milestones are concerned.  He started cutting teeth at 5 months and walking at 10.  And here we are at 13 months, throwing tantrums like a child twice his age. 

 

When it's time to leave Nana and Grandpa's in the evenings, he screams and runs off with his jacket.  He thinks he's moving at the speed of sound as you're calmly walking after him.  He runs to the stairs, as if his baby brain tells him to take the higher ground.  When you finally overtake him, he stiffens his body like a little baby board and SCREAMS.  He doesn't know the "n-o" word yet, so he just spouts gibberish.  You put him down, so his flailing arms and legs do not hurt anyone (those little sneakers are HARD!) and he throws himself on the floor and stares at the ceiling, eyes wide.  You try to buckle him in his seat and once again he stiffens his little body, clenches his eyes shut and screams.  At this point, you're thankful that you're in the confines of your parent's driveway and not the grocery store parking lot. 

 

A few minutes in the dark car and you suspect after that performance, he'd be asleep.

"Liam?"

"Yeah."

Tantrum over.

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Last night he was into EVERYTHING and Andy was trying to do the banking, (something which makes Daddys cranky to begin with) so I was trying to oblige and keep Liam happy.  He didn't want to be happy, he wanted to be eating the kitty food and sweeping things with his new broom.  He wanted to be in with daddy.  He didn't want to be on my lap.

 

So he did what comes logically, when you're one; he threw my iPhone across the floor and then he bit my cheek.

 

I just sat there, stunned.  The tears welled up in my eyes as I felt for blood.  Those little teeth are SO SHARP!  "What do I do!!!??" I called to Andy.  "Smack his lips."  Andy replied.  Impulsively I whacked my son right on the mouth.  NOT hard, mind you, but it got his attention.  His little face contorted and his lips started to quiver.  He looked at me like I betrayed him.  For the first time, I felt like a real parent.  Discipline will do that to you.  Because nobody wants a brat for a kid, but no normal minded parent LIKES to discipline their kids.  Nobody wants to be the bad guy.

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I took him upstairs and immediately put him to bed.  Within moments, he was fast asleep.  I help him a little longer than normal, and when he woke up in the middle of the night (three times) he still called for me.

 

Parenting is not for the faint hearted.  Last night as I was reprimanded my son for throwing all his carrots on the floor at supper, it occurred to me that is has begun.  The training, the discipline, the rebuking, so that in 17 years you're not bailing your child out of jail. 

 

 

Eh, we'll keep him.

 

And on the really bad days, I'll send him to his Nana.

 

;-)

Everything. Is. Fine.

You know when people ask, "How are you!?"  And you'd like to give them more of an update than "Oh, fine."  But you can't think of anything positive to say?

It starts out like, "How are you!?  How's Liam?"

Oh, I'm fine.  Liam cut six teeth this weekend, so he screamed throughout WalMart and had to be changed only like, a million times.  This means more money spent on diapers.  Not to mention, my husband got bent out of shape because Liam was "THAT" screaming kid in the store, so we rushed out without half the things I needed for suppers.  My husband didn't quit HIS hissy fit all night, and then accused me of not making him supper.  Only, when I offered he didn't want anything I had to offer (going back to the "I didn't finish grocery shopping" story).

(No, no, that seems harsh...)

"How are you?  How's your family?"

Well, my husband works non stop, I work non stop, but we still have no money and no savings account.  He went hunting for the first time the other weekend and got a buck, which was great, but then told me when he got home that he couldn't wait to go back because he had no pressure and no stress when he was down there but he could feel it all coming back when he was on the ride home.  It made me feel great inside.  My child doesn't sleep, so he sleeps between us because I'm at my wits end and so is my husband and every time I ask my husband what I should do he goes, "Well, how should I know?  The LAST time I was a parent..." 

(Too honest?  How about this...)

"How are you?  How are you feeling?"

The weight of the world is on my shoulders.  I feel like my marriage is collapsing, but we had to stop counseling because it's either go to counseling or go to my doctor's appointments (neurologist, PCP and endocrinologist) and pay for the shots I give myself every night.  Oh yeah, the shots, the ones that I insert into my belly, butt, thighs and arms and it feels like someone is burning me with a cigarette as it goes through my body.  But at least it's not cancer, huh?  I'm sure it will be better once I sleep.  OR have sex.  Want to know how your love life suffers when you have a one year old in your bed?  I fall asleep at my desk no less than twice a day and that's the truth.

(Seems a bit drastic...)

So you know what I say? 

I'm.  Fine.  (Which is secret code for, "please let's talk about you and not about me.")

I realize that my husband and I are going through stuff, but it's temporary.  I realize money isn't everything.  And I realize my MS is not progressing, and that's a very very good thing.  I realize these are the best years of my life- livin' on love.  But I struggle to motor through this time because it's HARD and it's PAINFUL and I want OUT; and I struggle to take my son's infanthood slooowly, because I don't get a second chance at this.  It's a paradox, and I'm caught in the middle.

Nobody tells you that being a mommy is easy, it's being all the other labels on top that makes it hard.  I confessed to a friend this weekend, "I love being a mommy about 88% of the time."  She said, "You know what?  Sometimes I'm only at 10%."  A wife and mother of three, who on Facebook looks like she's got it all made...is 90% struggling.  She didn't ask me any more, just gave me the most sincere look and smiled.  I DID feel better.  I imagined her 10 years younger, no kids, no big house in the suburbs, no successful marriage...and I felt better.

I LOVE MY FAMILY.  I never want it to be said or heard that I'm done or I'm leaving or I'm giving up.  My husband is my best friend and the love of my life.  I can't wait to find new ways of making him happy every single day.  And my son is the light of my life.  Every morning I wake up and see him cuddled into his daddy and I have PEACE- the knowledge that God is good and so is my life.  Some day I want to be the seasoned mother staring in the face of the 20something saying, "You know what...sometimes, I'm only at 10%.  But I'm living proof that it's going to get better."

Trick...or treat...or trick...

In my old age- you know, 29?  I've become somewhat of a homebody.  When I was younger, you couldn't even FIND me on a Friday night.  I remember just always having plan or always working or SOMETHING.

Now, I look forward to nights at home, yoga pants and my husband's t-shirts.  I'm tired.  It's been months since Liam has slept through the night.  Andy has spent the month of September just working non stop and then he went away last week for 5 days to hunt.  I won't lie- there are moments I feel like a single mom.  I've come to accept this, because I don't know what I thought this point of life would be like.

The thought of leaving Liam if I don't absolutely HAVE to, just tears me up inside.  At the moment, I'd like to go on a date with my husband.  I'd like to sleep un-interrupted.  But the thought of leaving Liam with my parents for ONE more moment, just seems unfair.

When Andy was away last week, a friend invited me to a Halloween party at a local bar.  Want to hear how stupid I am?  Yeah, when her text came through, I started to cry.  Like, actual, roll down the face tears.  There's no way I was going.  I text my husband- there's this party.  I'm not going though.

He encouraged me (from his tree stand in North Carolina) to get up and get moving.  He wanted me to go to this party.  More tears.  Thank goodness we were chatting over text, because I was a hot mess.  Over a text.  About a party.  My anxiety was SO HIGH, I could barely contain my emotions.

A few deep breaths later, and I was making phone calls to procure a costume.  I borrowed a wig:

 

 I bought some false eyelashes and some red lipstick- for a *cough cough* NATURAL blond to make a black wig work, I had to change my whole facial color scheme. I came up with this:

 

And then this happened:

I sent a picture of myself to the Man in the Tree Stand, and he was like, "WOW, you look INCREDIBLE."  I did, didn't I?  Like an awkward middle schooler, I tried posing in the mirror.  I practiced smiling (not too big, not to small).  I put on high heels for the first time since June, since the MS came to town (my leg was SCREAMING at me, but I told it to shut up.)

My son wouldn't come to me!  Liam was so freaked out, he hid his face in my mom's knee.  Normal people didn't recognize me- I was THAT convincing.

I get to my friend's house- she's a slutty gangster.  Her friend shows up- she's a slutty cat woman (whip and all).  And you know what they said to me? 

"You.  Look.  ADORABLE!!!!"

Adorable.  Nobody told slutty catwoman that she was adorable, I'm sure.  But me, Libbie, who had to completely reinvent herself and also try to mask a right leg limp, well I'm adorable.

I drove myself to the party- no need to wait for someone to sober up to take me home.  Plus it was already 10 when we got there.  I turn into a pumpkin at like, 8.  The party boasted everything you NEVER wanted to see in spandex.  And apparently you can show a little cleavage and make ANYTHING into a costume.  I saw "Slutty Dorothy," "Slutty Farmer,"  "Slutty 80's Gal," "Slutty Super Woman"...  Should I go on?  The club has two floors, one being a loft type setup, and so everyone on the floor could look up, and everyone on the loft could look down...

A group of 40 somethings had checked their inhibitions along with their coats, and were making fools of themselves against a wall to my left.  A male dressed as Barney on my right was enjoying the twerking of his tail by EVERY woman past 3 drinks.  It was attractive.  And then there was this guy dressed as a farmer (Amishman?) And he had NO RHYTHM (did you know every time I type the word "rhythm" I say "Rhythm Helps Your Tired Hips Move"?  It's the only way I can remember how to spell it...)  He was sort of swaying, sort of, over to the "Slutty Mermaid" with the blue hair who was evidently part of our group.

I knew nobody, so I swayed to the music and gawked at people and thought about how I would blog about this experience.  The DJ asked me what I'd like to hear, "Anything!  Just name it!"  I requested "September" by Earth, Wind, and Fire.  (My small family always dances to that in the living room at home.)  "Are you kidding me?"  The DJ asked, "How does anyone dance to that?"  And then proceeded to play something else that I didn't know.  Why did he ask if he didn't want to know?

Around 11:30, and two beers later (oh, I didn't drink them, they were spilled on me) my leg was screaming and so were my feet.  I motioned to the gal I came with, "I need to leave.  I'm exhausted."  And I was.  Exhausted and adorable, with apparently bad taste in music.  (?)

When I got to my car there was silence.  My ear drums were bursting from the club.  I got home in time to hear my son awaken for the first time...and then the second time.  And the third time.  But secretly I was proud of myself.  I went out with "the girls" and stayed for more than 30 minutes, and I dressed up and I wore heels.  There were many personal battles fought and won that night that nobody even knew about.  Maybe I'll go back next year with my OWN group of friends.

Maybe I'll keep the wig until my husband comes home... ;)

I really, REALLY do not want your advice.

Last night we had something fairly terrifying happen- scary enough that we called the doctor at 11:46 to find out what to do.

I put Liam down like I always do.  We kiss daddy, blow out the candle, go upstairs and climb into the "big bed" (i.e. Mommy and Daddy's bed).  There we either watch or read a book (normally watch a book, since the room can remain dark while doing so, and he doesn't normally make it the four minutes through "Pete the Cat" anyway.)  I hold him, I pray over him, I breathe in his youth and his innocence, and then I put him to bed.

It is by FAR my favorite time of the day.  Not because I put my son to bed, but because for about 30 minutes, my day stops and nothing else matters.  He remains an infant in my arms because he's not moving or running or throwing tantrums or eating kitty food...  For a moment it's as if he's back in my belly where I can keep my arms around him and nothing can get to him.

Normally Liam wakes up in the middle of the night.  It's normally around 4am.  In the past I tried to rock him and then put him back.  And then the rocker broke.  So now I bring him into bed with us.  Sorry, it's out.  We co-sleep. 

Last night it was around 11:30 and the cry was completely different.  Instead of a whiny, I-need-security cry, it was a brutal, heart stopping scream.  Andy and I both shot up in our bed- I ran over to Liam.  He was sitting in his bed and he wouldn't come to me.  I picked him up and he made his body stiff.  "Daddy, daddy daddy!"  He screamed over and over again.  I got Andy's t-shirt out of the crib, thinking that's what he wanted.  He kept screaming.  "Okay!  I'll take you to daddy!"  He made himself so stiff I nearly dropped him. 

Andy took over.  "Honey, Daddy's right here.  Shhh, what's wrong???"  Liam stopped and looked at him, eyes glassy, and then stiffened his body out again, letting out another crazy scream.  That's when Andy checked out on me and started to panic.  "Call the doctor!!!  I don't know what to do for him!!"  I started to dial while unzipping Liam's PJ's and feeling around his belly for signs of gas, leg cramps, whatever I could think of.

He stiffened his body out over and over again, the phone rang forever.  I tried to explain to the on call service what was happening- she patched me through to our doctor.

"This is Hannah."

"This is Liam George's mommy."  Almost immediately I felt power in that statement.  I'm the mommy.  I'm Liam's mommy.  I'm in control here.

I explained to her what happened and with every word, Liam started to relax.  By the end of the conversation he was sucking on his pacifier, fast asleep on my chest.  Hannah spoke a phrase we hadn't heard in relation to our child before; night terror.  "Sounds to me like he had a bad dream or you caught him in the middle of a night terror.  Try to put him back to sleep gently and he should be fine."

Andy and I laid with our arms around our son and around each other.  Our sweet baby boy, asleep again.  I gently took him back to his bed and laid him down.  Andy and I sat awake for another 30 minutes, almost waiting for it to happen again.  Andy was furiously Googling everything he could about the "night terror" phenomenon, which by definition sounded just like what we had experienced.

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For whatever reason, Andy felt he needed to post about it on FB.  Maybe he was caught up in the emotion of it all?  But BOY, did the feedback come in from everywhere.  Some wanted to know how much he napped.  Some wanted to know what our bedtime routine was.  Some wanted to know what he slept with/on/in.  And then came the posts I KNEW were coming:

I think you're doing it wrong.

Here's what the book said to do.

Here's what worked for ME.

Here's what you're doing wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

And that's when I started to sob at my desk.  How do they know my child?  They don't.  They made it sound like he's a restless sleeper just throwing a tantrum.  He wasn't.  This one was my favorite:

 

Catch that?  Be tough with your one year old.  I've never been in your home at bedtime,  I met your son once when he was a few weeks old.  But I certainly know best.

 

I don't want your advice.  If it is constuctive, caring, and spoken in love?  Bring it on.  IF you have had a significant impact on my life, my pregnancy, and my child- sure, I'll lend an ear.  But this is CRAP.

 

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Don't ask advice on FB.  End of post.

Confession:

 

This is how I feel I look on a regular basis.

 

In my small mind, my makeup is always perfectly applied, my hair looks highlighted and my breasts are voluptuous.  There's no under-arm fat for as far as the eyes can see, and having a double chin is laughable.  My eyebrows are perfectly arched and my teeth are as white as tiny Chiclets, straight out of the wrapper.  My eyelashes are long and flirtatious, and my lips are rosy and perfectly pouted.

 

In my small mind.

 

The truth is, this picture is a better indication of what my life is really all about:

 

 

My husband has been working, quite literally, around the clock to get the new store open and the old store closed.  Moving a million dollar retail store to a new venue is no small feat.  I'm so proud of him!

 

Does anyone else ever feel this way?  I go through this every day, and the guilt is just overwhelming.  I work from 8-4:30 every day, and on Monday and Wednesday nights I teach violin.  Because Liam is at the point where teaching and watching him are virtually impossible, my mom watches him a little extra on Wednesday nights.  On Tuesday and Thursday (and sometimes Fridays) I will go to the gym for 30 solid minutes after work.  Then I go get Liam, and we start our evenings together.

 

Except this week, I didn't go to the gym at all.  Tuesday night we were supposed to have friends over, which didn't pan out, and then Thursday (last night) I had so much to do at home before the sun went down that I ended up mowing the lawn with Liam in the Mobi. 

 

Last week I also had good intentions of getting to the gym, except on Tuesday night, Andy and I had an appointment at 7.  Thursday I was running around like crazy trying to get things together for the wedding.  And Friday was, of course, the rehearsal and whatever else.

 

Confession:  The week prior to that, I did go to the gym.  However, on Tuesday I came home, laid down in bed, set my alarm for 30 minutes, and promptly fell asleep.  When I awoke, I put on my gym clothing, messed up my hair, and went to pick up Liam.  I made little comments about, "Do I look skinny yet?"  And "I must be the only one there on Tuesday afternoons..." and on and on.  But I couldn't help it.  I was just so tired.

 

The way I look at it, people like fat, jovial, well rested people.  But NOBODY likes a skinny, snarky, sleepy person.  There are names for women like that.

 

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Today I will go walking with a friend after work.  We're bringing our babies and walking around the park, so I'm looking forward to that.  Except last night, in a last minute load of laundry containing work clothing exclusively, I accidentally washed my husband's notebook in his pocket of his jeans.  You know, the notebook with all the notes about the big move?  Yeah, completely annihilated.  Not to mention, all this work clothing is BLACK and made out of this STUPID material. 

 

Can you even IMAGINE how upset he was with me?  Can you even CONCEIVE of how upset I was?  I rinsed everything again, amidst angry text messages from the bedroom three floors above, and hung it to dry.  At 11:45, I came upstairs to a crying baby.  Normally he awakens twice.  The second time he woke up, I brought him into bed with us and cuddled him.

 

Confession:  I could have put him back to sleep easily, right there in his crib.  He was still pretty groggy, and I think he just wanted his paci back.  But I just wanted to hold him and breathe in his little head.  In a few days, he'll no longer be a baby...he'll be a toddler.  There will soon be pull ups and big boy beds and training wheels.  Also, he loves me unconditionally.  Who wouldn't want to just hold on to that innocence?

 

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Confession:  I may be the girl in that first picture, but it's all a hoax.  The boobs are courtesy of Victoria's Secret.  The makeup took me almost 30 minutes.  The eyelashes are glued on.  And there's no double chin because I was looking UP into the camera (and I could see myself while I was snapping.)

 

But that second picture?  That's ALL me :)  Love it or hate it, that's what you got.  :)