The Heart

In the last few months, Andy and I have begun to reinvent our marriage.  I've fallen in love with him all over again, and in that regard, I've learned to love MYSELF again as well.  As I've watched the baby weight come off, I've also regained the feeling in my right leg and foot (my knee is still tight, but I can move.)  The year is coming to a close, and I wonder to myself if I will remember anything that happened in the past 12 months, or if it will be one of those things my brain will shut out.

No matter who preps you, what kind of advice you are given, or how many books and magazines you read- nothing can prepare you for parenthood.  It's like going to college, taking a class with no set curriculum, and then being tested daily.  All the professor does is scream and throw food at you and make the sign for "more" while pointing at inanimate objects.

The other week Liam started to break out all over his belly and back.  I thought it was dry skin.  Babies get dry skin, right?  I figured it was from a lotion I was using, and immediately went out and bought the dye-free, alcohol-free, everything-free lotion and started rubbing him daily.  The was to no avail.  The bumps and spots were still there.  He wasn't eating.  He was still active as ever, but he wasn't "himself."
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I need to stop for a second and talk about an intricacy in my relationship with my husband; he feeds off of my emotion.  If I seem uptight, he gets uptight.  If I'm in pain, he gets uptight.  If I'm angry, he gets uptight.  If I'm depressed, he gets uptight.  So in order to run our lives in a smooth, orderly manner, I know I need to keep calm and carry on.  OR, in the very least, give my husband warning when I'm going to lose control.

This is also true of your child.  Children and babies can smell fear.  So even when your world is crashing down around you, your eyebrows need to stay up and your voice needs to stay perky.  I agree that you need to teach your children that it's okay to have emotions and how to deal with life's issues.  But children are also on a "need to know" basis.  Sometimes?  They just don't need to know.
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Andy encouraged me to take him to the doctor, which I refused.  "He's fine!" I assured him.  "I know my child!"  But after two weeks, his rash wasn't going away and he still wasn't eating.  So into the doctor we went. 

Did you know strep sometimes presents itself in rash form?  Evidently I was the only one on the planet (besides my mom, who also did not know) that in small children, strep will present itself in little red bumps all over the belly and back.  How was I supposed to know?  She prescribed a Z-pak in liquid form and $50 later, my son was on the mend.  (Yeah, $50.  That's WITH insurance.)

As of last night, Liam hasn't eaten for a few days.  For supper we convinced him to eat five grape tomatoes.   Last night, Liam started wheezing.  And then he started barking like a seal.  I brought him into bed with us and listened to his chest.  "Mommy is nervous about that cough, Little Bug!"  I said in a cheerful voice.  Right away Andy got uptight.  "Call the doctor.  What should we do?  Call her right now.  Give him something.  What should we do?  Will you call the doctor?"

I sighed.  "No, I'm not going to call the doctor.  I'm going to set up the humidifier and hold him while he sleeps."

"You know I get uptight when I feel helpless."

And there it was.  The proof that the woman is really the heart of the household.  Why is that?  Is it that inborn sense?  That "motherly intuition" with which we supposedly leave the hospital?  Why do children run to daddy when they want to play, but sulk to mommy when they're sick or hurt?  What is it that even as an adult, I will call my mom and talk for hours, but when it comes to my dad (whom I love desperately) my regular phone conversation with him is, "Can I talk to mom?"

More often than not, I feel I'm not giving my husband the attention he needs.  I need to do better on that.  We have this phrase we use when we feel out of control: I need centered.  That's usually a clue that we need a hug, or some quiet, or some time to sit and be a veggie for a while.  In the same respect, my husband needs a wife- not a mom.  So here I am with all this "motherly instinct" and for a moment I have to turn it off and be a wife again. 

Confession:  I called my husband "Liam" during an intimate moment the other night.  I had hoped he didn't notice, but he probably did.  But how many times during a day do I say my son's name?  How tired was I at that very moment?  It happens.  This is why, if you have siblings, your parents probably went through a slew of names before they got to yours.  I just now realized this.  It's because they were drained- and now, so are you.

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A friend of mine is the daughter of a colonial in the US Army.  For most of her formative years, her mother was in Afghanistan.  She and her father are very, very close because he was Mr. Mom for a good portion of her adolescence.  My friend recently got married.  During this time she sent a text to her mom: There are no colonials invited to this wedding, only moms.

It's hard to turn off ALL those other things you're used to doing and focus on one job.  Women are so used to multi-tasking.  Why?  Because we have no other choice.  My husband took our son to the mall to do some Christmas shopping and repeatedly text me through the trip: I don't know how single parents do it.  Single Parents?!  I do it every day!  But I don't say that- I only say: you are an AMAZING dad.  Because he is.  How many dads do you see at the mall with a 14 month old child?

Next time you're pressed from every angle, remember that you are the heart.  You can live without many of your organs.  Even your brain can fail, but if your heart is still beating, you're still technically living.  Feeling like you're having cardiac arrest?  Check yourself first.  What's going on with you?  Fix it, and then start to beat again.

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.