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.  :)

I don't want your advice

My mom took Liam out this morning after she picked him up.  They went to the market for milk and other things, so when she got home- she could just be home without having to go out again.  He was dressed in his jammies and socks and his little fleece jacket, and he was generally very happy.

Evidently a lady had the AUDACITY to say to my mother, "I'm wondering why you have a baby of his age out at this time of morning." 

Mom was of course taken aback.  When she told me about the interaction, I too was left speechless.  What right does that woman have to question my mom, of all people?

Why do people think they have the right to give their opinion to everyone?

A friend of mine was shopping for cold medicine (she's being induced next week).  A woman literally came up to her in the medicine aisle, slapped her on the rear end, and said, "Take care of yourself.  You're pregnant." 

Really?  This isn't just gas?

Come on people, really.

It's no secret that Liam doesn't sleep.  He barely naps.  He's very sporadic.  I'm exhausted.

EVERYONE, and I mean, EVERYONE has advice on what we're probably doing wrong.  Hear that?  What we're doing WRONG.

"Well, you're probably training him to wake up."

"Well, you're probably not dressing him warm enough."

"Well, you're probably putting him down wrong in the first place."

Really?  Really people?  People who do not even have kids HAVE to give their opinion.  "Well, my SISTER did this with HER kids..."

Now let me just stop for a second.  There is a correct way to give advice, and I will tell you a story to describe it.

I have two cousins who are older than me, but not SO much older that they're "irrelevant"- do you understand what I'm saying there?  Their children are K-garden and older.  I mentioned on FB that Liam had a diaper rash.  Within minutes, Cousin #1 posted a cure, within hours Cousin #2 was at my door with said cure. 

See how that worked?  There was action behind the advice.

See the "been there done that" attitude?

OH, then there was this one:

Did you see an inquiry for advice there in the post?

No, no you didn't.

See how I shot her down?

Yes, yes you did.

And I IMPLORE you- please shoot me down as well if I start giving you advice.  Unsolicited, of course.  We all know I'm a WEALTH of info ;)  But seriously- sometimes a sister needs to keep her mouth shut.

With that?  Rant is over.

Livin' on Love

 

This is Brynn.  Brynn sleeps with her mouth open (but not in this picture).  Brynn has stolen my heart.  Jackson and Emerson are on their way (each respectively to different mommies).  What a blessing to share so many pregnancies with so many ladies- girls I've grown up with, who I'm now going to stand beside as we watch our kiddos grow up together.

 

When I was sitting with Brynn's mommy, she asked if I wanted to hold the baby (um, duh?) and she started to pick her up to give her to me and then was like, "Oh, I guess you already know how to do this..."  and I was like, oh, I guess I do.  Because it's funny, but you're so busy LIVING, you don't realize that you're also LEARNING.  You're acquiring knowledge and more importantly, you're becoming WISE. 

 

You're learning when to call the doctor and when to "keep an eye on it."

You're learning what each cry and whimper means.

You learn what's important and what can wait.

 

When I put Brynn down, her bunting had come undone (okay, maybe I went and peeked at her feet.  But it's only natural...)  I swaddled her back up without even thinking about it.  I was like one of the nurses at the hospital- wham, bam, thank you ma'am.  Swaddled.  And then I was increasingly thankful that my son is almost one, and for a moment I wondered if we'd have another one, and then I left.  It was a wonderful experience.

 

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And then THIS guy!!!!  Look at him getting a hair cut.  He say really still, and then asked for more when she was done!  What a Little Love.  He didn't want to take off the drape either- he toddled around in it for a bit until I took it off of him (for fear he'd gag himself!)

 

It was our fourth anniversary on September 12th.  My handsome husband has been working on this massive project and we have had little to no time to do anything for ourselves.  Our priorities are Liam, Work, and then Ourselves.  It shouldn't be this way- but guess what?  It is.  I told Andy- I will be here when you get back.  I'm not going anywhere and I'm not neglected.  You've been given an opportunity and you need to take it.  I'll see you when it's over.

 

So we decided to go out to eat on the 12th, but there was one problem: There was only 42 cents in our checking account.  A card from Andy's parents had come in with $25, so there was our budget!  Andy took this personally.  "Some day we'll be lounging in the Carribbean on our anniversary..." he dreamed aloud.

 

In reality, we went to a little local chain called "Twin Kiss."  They're well known because they used to be drive-ins; waiters on roller skates, big finned cars with large white walled tires, girls in poodle skirts, men with their shirts tucked in and their hair greased back.  Today, you go in and sit down, you always order a root beer, and you always order the same thing.  Liam was excited because he got a hot dog.  I was excited because I got my husband's pure, unadulterated attention for more than 5 minutes.  Who needs the Carribbean when you've got a handsome husband and a beautiful son?

 

Would it be nice?  Probably?  But for now, I'll take livin' on love ANY DAY over feeling entitled to extravagant trips and a lavish lifestyle.  Maybe next year, after all we've been through this year, we'll renew our vows for year number five.  But for now...I'll take french fries and burgers and living within our means.

 

 

Exciting times!

Meet Baby Brynn!  She's a little peach!  Clocking in at 7 lbs, 4 oz., she's healthy and beautiful, and judging by the picture, slightly confused.  Where am I and who are these people?  Don't worry, Brynn.  We're all confused.

Brynn is the brand new daughter of one of my FAITHFUL readers and friends.  The lady can quote my blog better than I can- and I lived it!  I'll start telling her something that happened to me, and she'll finish my story.  It makes me feel good!  I'm glad I'm so interesting!  Moreover, I'm glad someone can get something out of all these ramblings.

So for those who are keeping score, out of my five pregnant friends, three have had viable pregnancies and this is the first birth.  Two more to go!  What an exciting time.  They're all huge and uncomfy, and I just smile, because it's a right of passage.  They're all going to make great mothers.

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Meanwhile, we're planning a first birthday party.

Why is this so important?

He doesn't care.  Liam's oblivious.

But this is some huge deal for us as parents!  What is it about this day that makes it so essential to throw this huge bash?  We've chosen a theme, we've bought the cake (a small cake...) from the most exclusive bakery in Dauphin County.  (Why?  We have no money.  Why was that important?)  And tonight I am penning tiny invitations to send to his tiny friends.  Friends?  More like Mommy and Daddy's friends, who happen to have kids at or around his age.

This is probably more of a celebration of us as parents- look!  We put our mind to it and we made a baby and had a baby and kept that baby, for a WHOLE YEAR!  Look what we did!  Pay no attention to the drool coming from our mouths from months and months of multiple mid-night awakenings.  Please do not pull back the curtain and reveal the fights and arguments we've had on multiple occasions.  Look not in the closet and betray the stack of unpaid bills as we've tried to make ends meet week after week, month after month.  Just eat our cake and look at our adorable son!

But as I make the guest list and hand out food responsibilities and put together the little details that make a party great, I look at my little Liam and think- nah, it really is all about you.  Your birthday stands as an example of all the lives you've touched, just by being the wonderful you that you are.  People are genuinely excited to see you grow.  People love YOU.  And this first birthday party is a celebration of your accomplishments and a celebration of one year of sharing in a miracle.

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A lady came up to me at church- I sadly did not know this lady, but BOY did she sure know me.  She said to me, "You were JUST pregnant, and now he's WALKING."  And she was totally right.  IF you want to know how fast life moves, have a child.  Brynn will teach her mommy and daddy this, starting with her first breath at 2:04 yesterday afternoon. 

Discipline

Now that we have a walker, life has gotten a TON more complicated.  It's funny because he looks to little to walk!  I guess that's what happens when you're an over-achiever.  Today Liam turns 11 months.  Can you believe it?  When I think to where I was last year; huge belly, buying new maternity clothing so I could cover said belly, waddling around like a momma duck...  it all seems like it never happened.  I see myself in pictures.  Obviously I have a son to show for it.  But I largely forget my pregnancy.

I hinted at this in my last blog post.  How your brain forgets things because there's too much going on NOW, and it crowds out the other thoughts.  Some call this "baby brain" and I largely agree!  Like when you're standing there, trying to carry on an adult conversation and the word you want to say just isn't coming to you.  And you stand there and you blabber like a fool until you finally just say, "I'm thinking the word I want is 'exhibitionist' but I'm really not sure..."

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Liam has started walking and talking (he says the word 'keys,' among others.  Who says 'keys' and not 'momma'???) and that means he's started to getting into trouble.  As we all know, when our kids start to get into trouble, we as parents have to start disciplining. 

Blah.

Liam's a biter.  If you're not giving him 100% of your attention, and he feels he NEEDS 100% of your attention?  Bite.  We've taken to pinching his cheeks and counting to three, stating, "No biting!"  But most of the time he thinks it's funny, so it hasn't really worked.

The other night he pulled down a ceramic picture frame after we had told him and removed him from the area three times.  Of course the frame smashed into many smaller pieces and is now unable to be salvaged.  Andy raised his voice with him and we told him that what he did was bad.  He put his little head down on the floor.  My heart broke.  It occurred to me at that moment that we make or break our children through discipline.  Too much of it, and they become hard and callused.  Too little of it and they become bratty and bold.

We tried to describe what we were doing while I was cleaning it up.  "Mommy has to clean up this mess because Liam didn't listen and this broke."  "See Daddy's face?  It's sad because Liam didn't listen."  I scooped him up and put him to bed early. 

Andy immediately text me from downstairs.  "I yelled at our son."  I assured him it was okay, "I don't think you yelled at him.  I think you used a stern voice."  "But I got upset with him."  "And we don't want a brat, so it's okay."

There's this line that you walk when you discipline an infant.  You want the punishment to fit the crime, and they technically don't know what they're doing.  So you have to describe to them why what they did was wrong and how you're feeling about it.  Why don't we do that as adults?

"Honey, I am angry because you did not take the trash out.  Do you see my face?  My eyebrows are furrowed.  I have a frowny face.  Can you watch me take the trash out first thing in the morning, making me late for work?  When we don't do what we're told, there are consequences.  You will go to bed half an hour earlier tonight."

Oh, and there would NEVER be a text typed in a million YEARS, "I yelled at my wife. :(  "  "I  raised my voice to my husband.  :-/  "  No way!  We'd text, "Another fight."  "He raised his voice with me again."  So why is it so different with our kids?

Maybe it's because they're so tiny and vulnerable.  Maybe it's because we are in the business of teaching our kids to behave, where with our spouses we feel they should already just KNOW.  There really aren't any answers I can give here without the appropriate degree.  I answer phones for a living, not solve people's problems. 

Discipline is HARD but it's NECESSARY.  I'm sure over the years there will be many more stories where this one came from.