Two-word stories

Matthew's been telling a lot of two-word stories lately, recounting super-exciting events in his life.

It all began with a one-word story, actually. One day he had dirt in his hair when we were at the playground. I brushed it out of his hair. He spent weeks reliving the excitement, saying "dirt" and grabbing his hair.

Then Jeff's parents visited, probably two months ago now. There was a wasp in our livingroom, and his dad swatted it with a broom. This is one of Matt's very favorite stories: "Grandpa. Bee!"

At Thanksgiving, Matthew's most memorable moment, apparently, was eating ham. And Jeff's dad was there. He tells this story a lot: "Ham. Grandpa." Over and over again with the ham.

Sometimes Matt wants to look at pictures of my dad on Facebook, and one of his favorites is of him on the ground with Murray the dog. Matt will go over to the computer, point to it, and say, "Grandpa! Boom!" Sometimes he throws in his dog-barking noise for good measure.

Matt has a shirt that says "Big Brother" in iron-on letters, and the second B fell off. It was a big event! It's one of his newer stories: "Uh-oh! B! Uh-oh! B!" Usually it's followed by out-of-control laughter.

Another good one is when we walk in the neighborhood, Matt reminds me of how things used to be but aren't anymore. For example, a house near ours has a small fountain in the yard that hasn't had water in it for months. But don't worry! Matt will remind you that there used to be water there! And how exciting it will be for him when it's turned back on in the spring. Another house has a chair under a tree, and the chair used to be tipped over. Now it's not, but don't worry! Matthew will remind you, "Chair! Boom!"

How many fun times in your life can you recount with just two words and some enthusiastic gesturing?

So, so tired...

Wowsers, am I tired! This first-trimester tiredness is not kidding around. I was tired the first time, but my routine was something like this:
4 or 5 a.m. - Wake up and not be able to go back to sleep. Get up and edit.
7 a.m. - Go back to bed until 9.
10 a.m. - Go to work at office job.
2 p.m. - Come home. Collapse into napping or just lounge around.
4 p.m. - Try to rally and eat something.
5 p.m. - Edit.
8 p.m. - Relax with Jeff, read, etc.
9 p.m. - Go to bed.

This time, it's something like this:
4 or 5 a.m. - Wake up and not be able to go back to sleep. Think about how I wish I were sleeping.
6 a.m. - Fall asleep and just lay in bed listening to Matt shouting about different things while he's hanging out with Jeff.
7 a.m. - Get woken up by Jeff. Struggle to get to kitchen table for breakfast.
7:30 a.m. - Say bye to Jeff with tears in my eyes.
7:30-8:30 a.m. - Play with extremely energetic toddler.
9 a.m. - Go to gym for hour-long water aerobics. Pretend to flail around in the water for the second half but really conserve as much energy as possible.
10 a.m. - Hang out with extremely energetic toddler.
11:30 a.m. - Put Matthew down for nap. Wander aimlessly in house after eating lunch. Try to nap. Sleep 10-15 minutes before waking up and not being able to fall back asleep. Edit.
1:30 p.m. - Entertain extremely energetic toddler.
2 p.m. - Cry a little on the inside at how tired I am.
3 p.m. - Play outside.
4 p.m. - Lay on living room floor and try to keep Matt entertained without having to move very much.
5 p.m. - Cry tears of joy when Jeff gets home! Make supper.
6 p.m. - Wash dishes.
7 p.m. - Put Matt to bed. Use what little energy is left to mope around and try to do little household tasks. Ask Jeff if it's too early to go to bed.
8 p.m. - Relax with Jeff, read, etc.
9 p.m. - Collapse into puddle of tiredness or edit or go to bed.

I kind of feel like I'm not going to make it.

Dinda

Matthew does a million cute and adorable things every day, but he's bound to outgrow one of my favorites any day now. And I will be so sad.

One day he woke up and just started saying "danidna." Throughout the day he said what sounded like "danidna," and then he shortened it to "dinda." For weeks he was saying "dinda" enthusiastically in all different situations, and we could not figure out what it meant.

Then one day it hit me: Matt was trying to say "ing" but it was coming out "dinda." He says it for rings, string, buildings, anything that ends with -ing, and now also for the sound that bells make.

Adorable.

Gluten free: Three-month update

It's been three months of no gluten for me now! My reflections:

• Definitely my stomach problems are much, much better. I've had a couple days in the past three months where I was kind of sick, but it seems like each time it was from eating potatoes (odd since that food has usually agreed with me) or undercooked rice. Once it was from eating peanuts that were labeled as being processed with wheat products.
• I finally only weigh 6 or 7 pounds more than I did before becoming pregnant. I can't definitely attribute this to being gluten free, but it may have helped. Partly it's probably also that I can exercise again, whereas a lot of the year was spent recovering from the ankle surgery and the hernia surgery and before that the awful, awful joint pain.
• It's super easy to not eat gluten. 
• Biggest change: I'm not hungry all the time. It seems like it used to take way more food for me to not feel hungry anymore. Now it feels like I need way less bulk to feel full. Here's my typical daily menu: Breakfast of Chex cereal and coffee. Optional midmorning snack of a banana. Lunch of two small cheese quesadillas on corn tortillas with milk. Maybe a yogurt if I'm super hungry. Supper of some type of meat and vegetables and milk. Nighttime snack of popcorn. 

I keep thinking that what I need to do now is eat something glutenous and see how it works out before determining whether to stick with it. The problem is, I can't think of any food that I really, really miss. What's your favorite glutenous food?

Toddler hilarity

Matthew is doing a million things that make us giggle nowadays.

One day, I was doing something in the kitchen while Matt was playing in the living room after his nap, and it suddenly got quiet. I went to look for him and found him on the guest bed under a blanket, pretending to sleep. He giggled hysterically when I found him.

When we see friendly animals––recently a ferret and a small dog––Matthew has been putting his cheek right next to their mouths, like he's saying, "Okay, you can kiss me now!" He does this with stuffed animals at home, too.

I was eating breakfast one day when Jeff and Matthew came out of the back room. Jeff said to Matt, "Say 'boo' to Mom!" (a game we often play). Matt looked at him with derision then ran to hide behind the wall before saying boo! I guess you can't just say it when you're not sneaking up on someone.

This one makes all of our excursions more fun––when we go places, Matthew almost always points at guys and calls them Dad or Grandpa depending on how old he thinks they are. It really makes some guys nervous, which I find hilarious.

Climbing! Matt climbs something, and it's like the most exciting thing he's ever done! He's all like, "Pshhh, that was nothing! Look at me on top of this really high thing!"

Everything is a hat or a drum. Cars are hats. Books are hats. Cups are hats. The floor is a drum. The elephant is a drum. Blankets are drums. It's funny when Matthew manages to balance, say, his stuffed dog on his head and insists it's a hat.

Matthew's also a little mimic now. It's a funny age. He's super excited when he helps with laundry or mopping up spills or carrying his stuff to his room or putting toys away or flushing the toilet or, really, anything he's seen us do. If only he had a tiny, working vacuum... We'd be all set.

A new week

This week is a new week. Last week was one of the most challenging ever for me in regards to the daytime. It was pretty much the only time I've looked back on Matthew's newborn days and reminisced how easy that was in comparison (but so much less interesting). And I spent a lot of time thinking about how glad I am that at that time I realized how easy it was. But anyway. Last week, apart from sickness, was made up of a lot of random crying from Matt, lots of having my hair pulled, lots of being climbed on, lots of having to pick up and put down a toddler over and over because of his indecisiveness, and lots of complete exhaustion at the end of the day where I wanted hours (but settled for minutes) of not being touched or loudly jibber-jabbered at. Ugh.

The hardest thing for me about hanging out with this particular toddler all day is how very talkative and loud he is. It's pretty much nonstop. And not ignorable. I've never been a fan of lots of noise, and add that on top of the needs a kid has for near-constant physical contact and assistance, and it's overwhelming. Especially when I'm not feeling well. Especially when this toddler has been grabbing my neck really hard and those sore-throat lumps are taking the brunt of it.

But today has been pretty good. Matthew seems in better spirits. He's been less clingy, has had zero bouts of unexplainable/frustration crying, and is already taking a long nap. I'm still feeling kind of sick, but there's nothing to be done about that.

In other news, I've finally reached a weight loss goal I've been eyeing for a while. Whether it's a result of diet and exercise or sickness lack of appetite, I'm not sure, but either way... I'm also in a challenge at the gym to lose 8 pounds in 8 weeks. Weigh-in is after Thanksgiving. Everyone paid $10, and everyone who loses at least 8 pounds splits the money. So that's motivating. I think I only have like 2 pounds left to lose.

Insert spectacular conclusion here. 

A discerning palate

Matthew has, apparently, decided to expand his range of foods today. He has quite the discerning palate. This morning he ate most of a sticker of a train. Then he kept saying "boo boo" (his version of "choo choo").

Later, I handed him part of a leaf and said, "Trash," which usually would make him get really excited and throw the object into the trash can. Today––in the mouth. He chewed it up pretty good before I fished out the pieces. It didn't appear to be delicious, just nice and crunchy.

At lunch, I was eating uncooked spinach while Matt was eating chicken, one of his favorites. He started lunging at my plate from his high chair, so I gave him a piece of spinach. It was gone in a fraction of a second, and he was still lunging and fussing and grabbing! He chowed down like half my salad, just plain spinach, before returning to delicious chicken.

What will be next?

Chatty Matty, potty fun, tough times hopefully ending

Chatty Matty

Chatty Matty is a pretty funny guy. He's learning words like crazy; he can probably identify a hundred things or more by name (we test this all the time by saying, "Where's the flag? Where's the attic? Where's the basket?" You get the point). I'm constantly amused by how quickly he learns new words, which words he thinks are hilarious, and which words he thinks are different words.

For example, the other day I told someone that I hoped something wouldn't collapse. Matt started clapping. I was so confused. Then I thought, "Oh, right. Claps." Yesterday, I told him he could "go ahead and play with the blocks" and he started hitting himself in the head. I thought, "Huh, must not want to play with blocks." Then later I said he could go ahead and play outside. He started hitting his head again. Yeah, that time I figured it out.

The other thing that's so entertaining to me is how Matthew makes connections between things. For example, he makes a noise with his tongue when he sees a clock, like a clock-ticking noise. He tries to make a buzzing noise when he sees flying insects, or when he's apparently thinking about them (complete with spastic arm motions; I may have accidentally taught him that). Today Matt was playing with a kazoo and making noise through it, so I said, “Hey, play me a song with your kazoo.” Matthew got all excited, ran into the living room, and started using the kazoo to play notes on the piano. That’s one way to play a song with a kazoo, I suppose.

Some words cause Mattoddler to ROFL when he first hears them. It usually lasts a couple days before they just become regular, non-hilarious words, but it's so funny when he falls over laughing at them at first. If you're feeling a little sad, just say these words out loud, and soon you'll be rolling around laughing: pony, ponytail, tickle, mohawk, fauxhawk, zipper, peaches, buzz, kazoo. Hee hee hee. 

The one thing I'm not loving all the time is how Matthew is so very, very talkative. But not only talkative––aggressively talkative. How did we get such a loud guy? It doesn't make sense. I watched some videos of Matt when he was a baby, and, sure enough, he was still making noise all the time. When he says a word, he will keep saying a word until I confirm that I know what he's saying. Which is fine and all, but my goodness, the talking never stops. Must take after Jeff.

Potty fun

We've been having potty fun here this week! One of my friends posted on Facebook that her daughter has been using the potty a lot, and she's only a couple months older than Matt, so I thought, "Hmm, Matthew loves toilets. Maybe he'd like to use his potty now." Success so far! He's good at using it for solids, but I'm not sure he quite understands peeing right now. As much as changing diapers doesn't bother me, having Matthew use the potty is still way better.

In the past, I haven't had any views on potty training, but I've been reading some stuff and thinking about some stuff, and we're pretty much going to continue on with it. It's crazy how in other countries kids are potty trained way, way earlier than in the US, like by a year or 18 months. And that's how it used to be here, I guess, before 1950, when disposable diapers got popular. It makes sense to potty train younger, though, before the headstrong "terrible twos" get started. And one thing that really made sense to me is the comparison between teaching a toddler what's expected at mealtime or in social settings and what's expected for toilet hygiene. But in spite of how much sense it makes for us to be potty training now, I don't really have expectations for Matthew to be totally out of diapers by a certain point. We'll just see how it goes.

Tough times hopefully ending

It's been a challenging two years for me, physically. Here's the rough rundown: 

·      pregnancy (felt pretty good throughout)

·      terrible, terrible postpartum joint pain (and accompanying lack of weight loss)

·      umbilical hernia requiring surgery

·      joint pain subsiding and weight loss beginning as apparent result of stopping breastfeeding

·      working out more, playing roller derby, feeling good again

·      broken ankle requiring surgery

·      rapid weight loss as result of my broken-ankle workout plan (hopping and crawling everywhere)

And now, two full years later, I'm finally starting to feel good again. I'm almost my normal weight, and I can do some amount of exercise without being in terrible pain (though my ankle does still ache quite a bit). It's crazy how much I've taken for granted my formidable physical fitness and health my whole life until I didn't have it anymore. And it's crazy that I've had to have two surgeries this year for bad things that happened as a result of working out. Ugh. I have high hopes that now I can just be my normal self again, but we'll see what God's plans are.

Gluten free: One-month update

I've been avoiding gluten for a whole month already! I've found that it hasn't been that difficult to cut out gluten-containing foods.

The main challenge was when we were in Wyoming visiting my sister; the ranch kitchen cooked all our food and they did a great job of letting me know what was supposed to not have gluten in it, but some days I wasn't feeling so great, so who knows if I ate some crouton dust or soup thickened with flour or whatever.

The biggest lifestyle change was not eating Shredded Wheat for breakfast, which I've had nearly every day for probably five years or so (with the idea that eating more fiber would cure my stomach problems. Oops). I DO NOT like trying to cook something in the morning, especially since Matt's at this stage where he acts like I must pick him up or he will just die every time I go in the kitchen, sit at the table, or have a piece of food or a cup in my hand. Thankfully Jeff's cooked me Cream of Rice (just like Cream of Wheat - mmm!) some days, or I've had scrambled eggs or a banana and yogurt and milk.

The biggest physical change is a tie: 1) I've had only two incidents of immediate, terrible sickness, and I think that was from eating peanuts. Usually we get Planters or Emerald, but we have Kroger brand right now, and Jeff later saw that the label said it may contain wheat. So overall my stomach has been experiencing at least moderate improvement. I find gradual improvement difficult to measure. 2) The other thing is that I am sleeping way, way better. I've only been waking up about twice per night, when usually I've woken up many more times than that for years. And when I wake up, I've been falling back asleep much easier. Now that I think about it, my trouble sleeping started at about the same time as the stomach problems. I was a pro sleeper my whole life through college; when I moved to Auburn was when both my sleeping habits and digestive health declined rapidly.

The biggest surprise is how easy it has been to make changes. I don't miss bread products at all. Jeff and I used to eat muffins as snacks sometimes at night, but other than the first week, I haven't eyed the muffins with jealousy at all. Suppers have remained the same. The only real change is that now if I make something in the crockpot, I can't dump cream-of-whatever soup in there. I've gone out to eat twice and didn't feel limited at all by the selection (though I will probably cry if I go to Cracker Barrel again - biscuits and gravy is my favorite thing there).

So we'll see. Two more months to go before I decide whether to stick with the gluten-free way of eating.

Brigitte says it's really weird to talk in third person

Through all my eavesdropping at playgrounds and stores and anywhere else Matthew and I run into other moms and kids, I've noticed something that both perplexes and inexplicably annoys me.

Wait, let Brigitte Mommy start over: Through all her eavesdropping at playgrounds and stores and anywhere else Matthew and Mommy run into other moms and kids, Mommy has noticed something that both perplexes and inexplicably annoys her.

Yeesh. Even in writing it's weird.

I've noticed that a lot of moms refer to themselves in third person when talking to their kids. A few examples:

"Joe, you know Mommy said we'd only be at the playground for a little while. It's time to go home."
"Get over here! Mommy told you no! Get off the picnic table!"
"Mommy's thirsty. Are you thirsty? Mommy's going to have a drink now."
"Mommy is busy. Please stop trying to bite her leg."

In each of these cases, the lady is clearly the mom of the kids. So... she's not some babysitter or friend or relative passing on instructions from the mom. Also, it strikes me every time that the person referring to herself in third person is always "mommy," not "mom" or "mama" or any other name by which moms are commonly called.

I just don't get it. People almost never use third person with their actual names, and when they do, other people find it odd and cause for mockery. I'm guessing these same ladies don't use third person with their husband or other acquaintances. So why do so many "mommies" do it?

Possible guesses:

• It sounds less authoritative to tell your kids "Mommy said" instead of "I said." It may make the mom feel less like she's bossing with that slight linguistic separation. (Though here, I'm the boss. I make the decisions. I'm in charge. I don't mind being bossy.) (Though here, Mommy's the boss. Mommy makes the decisions. Mommy's in charge. Mommy doesn't mind being bossy.)
• It's a holdover from when the kids were babies, e.g., "Mommy loves you so much!" *smooch, smooch, smooch baby face*, when the kid probably didn't yet know what to call that nice cuddly lady because the verbal skills hadn't developed yet.

That's all I've got. If you call yourself Mommy, and you call yourself Mommy TO your kids––why? Please solve this mystery for me!

Postscript: I am NOT a "mommy." I am definitely a "mom." And "mama" is only okay from Matthew, and only for probably another year.

Day three of gluten-free

Today is my third day of my attempt to not be sick anymore! I have high hopes. I've had stomach problems off and on since the summer of 2007, and I just don't want to be sick for the rest of my life.

It happened suddenly. Jeff was co-oping in Birmingham for the summer, and we went to eat at Pizza Hut. On the way to his apartment, I was suddenly and violently ill. And then all kinds of things started making me instantly sick––oatmeal, tomatoes, coffee, corn, carrots, spaghetti––things that apparently have nothing in common. I tracked every single thing I ate from December 2007 to August 2008 (if that kind of tedium doesn't show a commitment to figuring out what's wrong so it can be fixed, I don't know what would). There weren't really any patterns, though. Some things that always made me sick would suddenly not make me sick anymore.  

Armed with all this info, I thought I'd be able to show a doctor that there was definitely a problem. The first one I saw didn't listen to the info, wouldn't refer me to a specialist, and wrote me a prescription for some sort of extra-strength Imodium. (Which I didn't take. It seems like a terrible idea to blindly treat the symptoms in this case.) I barely remember the next doctor's visit, though I think he or she said it was "probably just stress." Finally, in Huntsville, I saw a gastroenterologist, who did a colonoscopy and pretty much pronounced, "There's nothing wrong with you! Eat more fiber!"

But, of course, there is something wrong. It goes in cycles where I'll feel fine for a while and then I'll be really really sick almost every day for a while. I felt like I was cured when I went to the chiropractor regularly, though he said adjustments weren't likely to affect my digestion. (I saw a very strong correlation, though. I'm guessing he's just not allowed to make claims like that.) And during pregnancy, I felt like a normal person, my stomach barely ever hurting.

Every time I'm in the part of the cycle where I feel more sick than not, I think, "Man, there has got to be something I can do." Someone mentioned quitting wheat products and anything containing gluten, and I considered it for a while, maybe a month. I kept thinking in circles about it. Plus with the broken ankle and not being able to do the grocery shopping, it kind of seemed impossible.

I had a lot of uncertainty about it. I kept thinking:

• It's going to be too difficult.
• It's really easy to be lazy. And that means making all the same things we've always eaten.
• I don't want to be "that person" who needs to not eat certain things.

But then I also kept thinking:

• It's difficult already! It's hard to be so worried all the time about not being able to go places if I don't know the locations of bathrooms. I almost never will ride in a car with someone other than Jeff or immediate family.
• I don't love any of the things we've always eaten. I could easily give up pretty much any supper we eat (breakfast and lunch foods seem easy still––eggs, salad, tuna).
• I don't want to be "that person" who doesn't do things because I'm nervous.

Then I was driving by a park in town where kids were playing organized soccer, and I thought, "If I'm still having these problems when Matt's older, I'm not going to be able to drive his friends to stuff. I'm not going to be able to watch sports all day if the bathrooms are a long walk from the fields."

I read something online that said, "If you're sick but you get used to living with it, are you still sick?" I thought yes. And it said, "If you don't know you're sick, would you seek a cure?" I thought I would like to seek a cure for better health even if I'm not sick so much as used to a lifestyle that includes sickness.

It also drives me crazy when people complain about some problem in their lives, usually physical, to which there is a clear solution, like, you know, eating healthier and exercising more to lose weight, or exercising regularly to improve symptoms of arthritis, or sleeping/resting more to not be constantly tired. After reading about people who've seen dramatic improvements in digestive health after quitting gluten, I realized that for me, not at least giving it a try would be doing the same thing––talk, talk, talking about it but not taking action.

Though as a side note, I have to say that eating less and exercising more has not been the key to weight loss for me this year. I eat a reasonable amount and was working out at least 5 days a week for months, minus the hernia and ankle surgery repair time periods, and I've still got about 10 pounds to lose.

The other thing is that I actually know people who haven't eaten anything with gluten in it for years, and they say they feel great. It's convincing to know it's not just a fad––it's an easily sustainable menu of foods. Finally, and most convincing to me, is that people who haven't eaten gluten in a while and then do eat it, even a little, say they get really sick from it. I can't help but think how unnatural and scary that is––what IS it, that it can make people so sick in small doses after they've "recovered" from it? What else would do that?

Of course, there's no guarantee that quitting gluten-containing foods will help my particular stomach problem. I'll give it three months and then decide. But there's still that chance!

After three days, I've been able to eat salad and raw carrots without incident, which is kind of a big deal. I love carrots so very much and haven't been able to eat them in years. If quitting traditional bread products is the trade-off for being able to eat delicious raw vegetables again, that's no hardship at all.

What are your experiences with not eating gluten? What are your delicious recipes? (We've had a rice-and-vegetable casserole, pot roast, and spaghetti squash (which tastes uncannily like noodles) so far.) What's your encouragement so I can read it when I'm really craving Little Debbie snack cakes?

Stereotypes for the election year

Usually when I meet someone and the conversation turns to politics, people assume I'm a Democrat, or at least liberal. Even people I've known well for years often think this, now that I think back on past conversations. But why?

I'm an evangelical Christian housewife who lives in Alabama.

I'd think those labels alone would make a person think I'm a Republican, or at least conservative. Must be that I'm just not a victim of stereotyping in this area.

But what is it that makes people think I lean left, anyway? The topic has come up too many times for it to just be coincidence, I would think.

Chatty Matty

I've been meaning to write this post for months. Mattoddler (as Jeff once called him) knows a bunch of words. He can't say many things, but he has known the meanings to what we consider an alarming number of words for a month or two now.

Airplane! Matt started making his airplane sign in April, mainly when he was starting to walk better and Donna took him for walks around the block. He also learned "kitty" a long time ago and would go find a stuffed kitty in our house if we said it.

Then came the food words. Of course he would learn these! If I say, "Do you want a snack?" or "Are you hungry?" or "Time for lunch!" Matt runs to the fridge and tries to open the door. One of my favorites is to tell him to get a banana; he can grab them off our low counter and bring them to the table.

Another one of his earlier words to understand was "carrier." He loves to grab the baby carrier from under the end table and drag it over to Jeff to signal he wants to go for a walk. That led into Matthew also taking Jeff's shoes to him since every time he had the carrier, he also put his shoes on.

We were amazed at all the things Matt could understand a while ago, then it seems like one day he learned about fifty words at once. He knows balloon, truck, teddy bear, boot, crutches, ball, spatula, fork, laundry basket... it seems like most things now he can learn the word once we say it a couple times.

But Chatty Matty isn't chatting with words very much yet. He says "boo" for boot (the one on my ankle, sadly), "bir" for bird, "nana" for banana (though not very often), "beep beep" for truck, "uhn-uh" for airplane, and "tuh" for out or outside. He said "cat" one time when we saw one outside, but I haven't heard that since.

I'm not in a rush for Matthew to start really talking since he'll probably never shut up, but it IS pretty exciting to see him learning so much so fast!

Staples!

Five days after surgery.

Hard times

Yesterday and today have been some of the hardest days I can remember. On Sunday, we got home around 7 p.m. Our house was really hot because we turned the air conditioner warmer while we were gone (like 100+ degrees hot), even though it was running when we walked in the door. So Matt didn't fall asleep until 9 p.m. instead of his usual 6:30-7 p.m.

So yesterday he was exhausted since he wakes up around 6 a.m. no matter what time he goes to bed. The first part of the day was okay. Jeff always does everything in the morning before he goes to work, which is the best thing ever. I was on my own with Matthew in the morning then one of my friends drove me to the doctor and another friend watched Matt at the house.

My ankle is looking great, apparently. The nurse was incredulous that I had surgery so recently due to the level of swelling; she kept asking me if I was sure of the surgery date. The doctor agreed that it looks great. They took the huge scary metal staples out, x-rayed it, said not to put any weight on it for four weeks and keep icing and elevating, and sent me to make a physical therapy appointment.

Back home, Matt ate lunch and took a nap. I was so, so tired when he was sleeping, but there are so many things to do. I also hate napping because I usually feel a lot worse when I wake up. So I called about some bills because the hospital didn't apply our insurance, accepted an editing assignment, replied to a million emails, then lounged on the couch for a few minutes. My ankle was hurting more than usual since I don't want to take painkillers while I'm the only adult here, and I just felt sick, sick, sick. And hungry, but with no appetite.

Then Matthew woke up. He was okay for maybe an hour. Around 2:30, he started fussing and crying nonstop. I knew he wouldn't nap again, but I also couldn't distract him with books, food, toys, cuddles, anything. He was just so exhausted. Jeff came home around 4:30, about half an hour into my and Matthew's "laying on the livingroom floor and crying" jag. Normally, we'd go outside and play or go for a walk, but I just can't do that right now. It's not possible.

When Jeff got home, I took some painkillers, propped my foot up on the couch, and slept for an hour. It was ridiculous, considering I rarely nap, especially in the evening. Jeff took care of Matthew until he went to bed at 6 p.m. I had high hopes that today would be easier since Matt was catching up on sleep again. Tiredness is the thing that makes him most unhappy for sure.

This morning when I woke up, I could barely stand the thought of getting out of bed. I just kept crying and crying. I had a headache and felt vaguely sick. I made it to the couch and then thought I'd never be able to move again. I really wanted Jeff to be able to go to work since he's had to take so many days off already, but it was a big relief when he said he would stay home. I got back in bed at 8 and didn't wake up until 11. Also ridiculous. I rarely sleep 3 hours at a stretch even at night, just because I'm bad at sleeping.

I ate a couple bites for lunch then told Jeff he could go to work for the rest of the day. I still feel kind of awful, but I just can't stand to be such a liability around here, not being able to do anything. But I also just feel so bad physically that I don't know how we'll make it through the afternoon. I need to do my crying while the baby is sleeping and somehow try to make it through.

The worst thing is that I'm just so tired, and I can't do anything, and, really, I just feel like this is the hardest time I can remember. I need for someone else to be in charge, but there is no one else. I know it's a situation where we just need to wait for time to pass and know that God is in control, but right now it seems so unmanageable and impossible.

Terrible, horrible doctor's visit...

...for me. Not for Matt. He was fine.

Toddler Matthew, formerly known as Baby Matthew, had his one-year checkup and immunizations today. I didn't anticipate it being too bad, since he's barely cried at getting his other shots, and I've also felt surprisingly not too bad through them.

The visit started out fine. Matt weighed in at a tiny 21.5 pounds. He was 17 pounds at 5 months! I guess it's the fact that he's pretty much running every minute of every day. I think he went from 75th percentile in weight to about 10th. His head size has evened out with his height and weight; before it was way bigger. He's pretty tall compared to other kids his age, I think still about 75th percentile for that. The doctor said he looks great. His development is excellent, still way ahead for his age. I always have to circle yes or no on a list of skills for what he can already do, and he can do everything on the 12- to 24-month sheet except for "speaking x number of words" (different questions start at 2 words, 3 words, etc, up to 6 words).

Then it was time for shots! Yay! First, the nurse had to draw blood from Matt's finger while I was holding him on my lap. I was explaining that I sometimes feel faint around needles, so she might need to get another nurse to hold him down for the actual shots. For those, he has to lay on the table instead of being held. So, anyway, the finger prick was fine. Matthew just watched the nurse stick him and looked at the blood with interest. I was watching his face, and he didn't seem affected at all other than looking curious at what was going on. I glanced at his finger, and it was bleeding kind of a lot. But not a big deal. I told the nurse I was feeling fine after all, but I'd still prefer if she got someone else to hold him down on the table. She left the room.

Matt looked around, looked at his bandaged finger, held his hand right up in my face and waved it around, smiling, and yanked off the two Band-Aids! Blood everywhere! Matthew giggled. And then waved his bleeding finger right in my face, with the super-bloody cotton-balled Band-Aid hanging half off of it. I instantly broke out in a cold sweat and started getting that blurry-on-the-edges vision that precedes passing out. I kept thinking, "Don't drop him. Don't drop him. Don't pass out. They'll be right back." I tried to put the Band-Aids back on, but Matthew kept ripping them back off. Such a fun game, right, Mom? At least he found it hilarious.

Finally, the nurses got back. One of them immediately took Matthew from me, and the other one helped me up and took me out of the room and started putting wet paper towels on me. And this was before I even said anything! My face is such a traitor. I tried to tell them I was fine, but they pretty much forced me to stay in this other room. I think I'd said about a hundred sentences in two minutes, and I'm pretty sure I wasn't making any sense.

Then Matt got his shots, and I went back in when I heard him crying. He cried about 15 seconds and even smiled at the nurses and made some happy babbling noises at them before we left. No hard feelings.

Who's the baby around here now?

One!

Happy birthday, little ball of energy (aka Matthew)! A year ago at this moment, I was wondering if this baby would ever be born! And then he was, 30 minutes from now. And suddenly we had a baby! Yay!

Usually on birthdays, I think people write sappy letters about how great the past year was or how much their lives have changed for the better or how things will never be the same, and the original birthday was the best day of their lives, blah blah blah... But I'm not feeling very reflective, and it's pretty obvious how we feel about Chatty Matty, and all those letters end up sounding the same anyway, so...

I'm going to write about some of the stuff that was so helpful to us getting through the first year. And by first year, I primarily mean the first couple of months.

Fisher-Price Rock 'n Play Sleeper: Matt slept in this next to our bed for about 3 months, maybe 4. He also lounged around in it a lot when we were eating supper or watching tv and he was napping or just looking around. It was great to be able to ferry him around the house in it when he was asleep. Also great that I could just lean out of bed to look at his little face in the middle of the night and make sure he was still breathing. Ha ha.

SO worth the $50, even though its useful life wasn't that long, timewise. We bought this from Kohl's with a gift card from all my coworkers at Origin Technologies. (Side note: This is a game I like to play, to feel thankful for things and people: "Oh, now I'm going to use the Chris Hightower tea kettle to heat some water. Then I'm going to use the Christa Slaton vacuum cleaner. Matthew's wearing the Stephenie Walker reindeer outfit now, but he'll need to change into the Debbie Schott sleepsack later.")

Boppy: Matthew and I used the Boppy every single day for 11.5 months for breastfeeding, except when we were on vacation. Talk about indispensable. When he was tiny, it wasn't so great because I'm all tall and stuff, but after the first two months or so, so convenient. He also took some naps in it and had fun crawling over it when he first started crawling. Thanks for this, Lisa!

Philips Avent Manual Breast Pump: Also a great help in the early days. I got to leave the house by myself sometimes! Very easy to use and clean. Great for easing my oversupply discomfort when Matthew started sleeping 7- to 9-hour stretches at 2.5 months old.

 

Receiving blankets: Great for swaddling, spit-up, warmth, fun... Still keep one in the diaper bag now to use for messes or as a towel, since Matt goes full speed ahead into any source of water he sees. We have 4 (from the Burn City Rollers!) but could have used about 10 in the early days.

Cloth diapers: I am pretty much lazy and hate shopping. Also, I dislike spending money. Voila! Cloth diapers! No need to leave the house for more diapers. No worries about getting low on them and needing to run to the store. Cheap! Contrary to many people's claims that the cost of washing more loads of laundry with cloth diapers outweighs or equals the cost of buying diapers, our utility bills have not increased at all in the past year. So, cheap and convenient. (Diaper sprayer is nice, too, but wouldn't be quite as hard to live without.)

I think that's about it for my most useful baby things list. Some other stuff we use a lot are a hand-me-down stroller, Infantino baby carrier, changing pad, and high chair, but I'd probably rank them on a secondary list. What's been your most used and most useful baby items?

Trash talk

Sometimes at practice we talk about trash talk––how to not let it bother us, the appropriate ways to say things back (not with profanity the refs can hear), that sort of thing.

I've always found trash talk ridiculous. Especially during games. Some girl is in my face telling me she's going to take me down? I usually giggle. Because she probably will take me down at some point, but I'm going to take her down more, and harder, and laugh while doing it, and get back up a lot quicker a lot more times.

Plus, I think I'm better than you.

It doesn't matter who you are. I almost definitely think I'm better than you. Not a better person––everyone is equal in importance at personhood––not a better athlete, necessarily, either, but just in general better. Maybe you're faster and stronger. But I'm going to be watching you for the time you don't look to the left and then I'll hit you so the jammer can fly by. Or I'm watching to see if you're the type to get flustered by trash talk. And then when you kind-of hit me, but not well, I'm going to laugh at you. And if you're the type who gets flustered by trash talk or someone laughing at hit you give, you're probably also the type who gets flustered by having someone bump you repeatedly. So I'll do that until you're so angry with me that you completely forget to watch the jammer at all.

I'm not sure where this attitude came from. Sometime in middle school, maybe, I decided to just be myself? Maybe ninth grade, when I was tired of being so painfully shy? And "myself" turned out to be someone confident in most situations and determined to take charge because there are always better ways of doing the same ol' things.

But trash talk. I just can't get on board. There's this one cross-country meet I remember so clearly. (High school girls' cross-country is a vicious, vicious sport. Much more vicious in my experience than either rugby or roller derby. But I won't get into the details of cleating, pushing in the trees, spitting...) We were down to the last half mile or so. I'm pretty sure I wasn't one of the first couple girls, but I was probably in the top five. A girl was right on my heels. Some friends of hers were standing along the course yelling something like, "You got that Prep girl! You got her! You can beat her!" She was breathing hard, I was breathing hard, we were both going all-out. The friends yelled, "You got it! You can beat her!" I still don't know why, except that it was just reflex, but I half-turned my head and said, "No, you can't." The girl immediately––dramatically––dropped back and finished way after me, possibly even got passed by someone else. I'll never forget it, and I felt terrible. I hadn't even intended to say anything. I was going to beat her anyway, but not with cheap tricks or cleats to the shin. Some may say it's best to take every advantage. But I wouldn't feel good about it. I like a level playing field.

So really, it just comes down to this: If you trash talk me, I will laugh at you. Because it makes you look ridiculous, and clearly I'm better than you. Mind games aren't going to work on me. And I'm watching you. Who knows where this cockiness came from, but it's pretty much great on the track (and in school, strangely. Thanks, MTPC program, for making me even more overconfident than I need to be).

Secret beauty regimen

I read a lot of blogs, and it seems like a popular topic is to discuss different face/hair/makeup tips and tricks. And I'm sure you're all dying to know how I manage to stay so beautiful and fresh-faced day after day. So I'll tell you here, recorded for posterity.

Okay, if you're done snickering now, keep reading.

1. Shampoo hair with whatever was last on sale. Currently, I think, Dove.
2. Condition hair with whatever was last on sale. Or use leftovers from hotel.
3. Pay special attention to skin. Must use something moisturizing, but light, but also aromatic. Or, just grab Kroger-brand body wash.
4. After shower, brush hair straight back and air dry. Once dry, put in ponytail.
5. If it's winter, put lotion on face. Just regular body lotion, nothing fancy.
6. Makeup: Nope. Skip it! This will save you like eleven billion steps later on when you don't have to wash it off.
7. At night, splash water on face and dry with hand towel. This step is optional.

That's it!

Such a complainer

Man, I was such a complainer in my old roller derby blog posts! Ha ha. A conversation amongst friends at church today, in which I tried to briefly outline the reasons there are two local teams who aren't going to play each other (this season, at least), reminded me of my former self in roller derby. Which, of course, made me want to reminisce about the "good ol' days" by reading old blog posts. Which made me want to laugh at their passive complainy-ness. Like this one. Or this one. Or this one. I'm so much happier now! But have so much less to blog about. It's always easier to write about conflicts than happiness, it seems.

End of an era

Today is Matthew's first ever day of not breastfeeding! Yay for me! And I don't think he's noticed at all.

It's been such a journey.

The plan when Matt was born was for me to breastfeed at least 3 months. Then the second goal was 6 months, and the ultimate goal was a year. I felt pretty sure I would not want to breastfeed past a year, though I was willing to concede another month or two depending on how well the weaning process was going. At 11.5 months, we pretty much made it.

I feel pretty proud of myself for this, especially since I haven't liked and still don't like breastfeeding, really. Sure, I feel strongly about it and that people should do it if they possibly can, but apart from feeling satisfied with achieving my convictions, it's kind of been a hassle. I like being just my own person. Well, it's complicated. It IS nice getting baby cuddles every single day no matter what. So, ambivalence.

Overall, weaning has gone spectacularly well. Matt really doesn't seem attached (hee hee), so dropping feedings has been no problem for him other than the first week, about 5 weeks ago, when he was slightly fussier. He seems to love drinking regular milk out of a cup, making cute slurping sounds (and dribbling milk all over everything).

But, weaning is also going spectacularly poorly for me in some moments. I was worried about getting some type of postpartum depression since depression runs in the family, but thankfully that didn't happen. But, man!, these hormone changes from weaning are killing me. It's ridiculous. I feel like a high schooler all over again, crying for no reason. Really. The other day I was writing an email and just started crying uncontrollably. It took me probably 10 minutes to get it together. And NOTHING triggered the crying jag. I wasn't even really thinking about anything, just typing about something boring and not baby related. So... hopefully things will even out quickly.

Also, I can't sleep. It has to be related. I'm tired, not caffeinated, not stressed, not hungry, haven't exercised too close to bedtime, then just lay there all awake and stuff. It's terrible, especially since Matt wakes up around 5 or 5:15 every day. And then I just feel like crying. Or sleeping all day. Or alternating between crying and sleeping. But instead we go about the usual routine, playing, laughing, strolling, going to the gym, romping around the yard. Ugh.

So that's not so great.

But yay! again. I can leave Matthew whenever I want (not that I have anywhere to go) and not have to worry about my boobs feeling like exploding! And now he's really like a kid instead of a baby! We made it!

Delusions of victory

When someone comments on my random bruises or gives me a second look at the gym because they recognize me from the roller derby recruitment poster I hung up there, I think, "Hmm, sure is nice to finally be on a winning team." And then I think, "Wait! We lost! We lost that game!" And then I think, "Well, kind of, I guess."

The bout on Saturday was great. It was the most fun I've ever had playing roller derby, though, apparently, we lost, 160 to 180. But there were so many great things!

1. The teams were pretty evenly matched. The other team definitely had us beat in sheer size and in experience playing together, but we were faster, more athletic, and more teamworky.
2. I got to play, like, the whole game. I think I sat out about five jams total. And one of those was because I got hit in the face and thought my lip was bleeding (it wasn't). This made me super happy because I've always wanted more playing time. Every game, probably, I've thought, "Man, I sure wish I could have played more. I'm not even tired." I know everyone says that they want to play more, but in the past, I've really felt that I got less playing time than people who were less-good players, who had much, much worse practice attendance, or who had racked up penalties and cost our team many points because of it.
3. Our team completely outplayed the other team. Usually outplaying the other team results in a win, which is probably why I keep thinking we won.
4. I did a lot more hitting than getting hit.
5. Our bench was calm. I've almost forgot what it's like to have an orderly, cordial, calm bench during a game. There was no fighting and no arguing. The coach told us what to do, the bench coach told us when to go in and sit out, and everyone just did it! So sportsmanlike. Yay.

And... Matthew says, "I'm awake, Mom! Come get me! No more blogging!"

But quickly, things that were awful about the bout:

1. Ten million official timeouts. Come on, officials. Get it together! (I'm a professed lover of refereeing, but this was ridiculous.)
2. Other team playing slow game. So, so boring. Also, all that start-line kneeling made my leg tired. But only one leg.
3. Bogus track-cut call at the end of the game that cost us the game.

Fat update

Back when I joined the gym, I had a fitness assessment done. Part of it was getting weighed and hooked up to the fat-measuring machine. (I can't remember the name of it. And when you ask the front-desk people if you can use the fat measurer again, it really makes them snicker. But nonetheless, that's what it does.)

Original assessment was February 1. Reassessment was May 22. In between, I did pretty much nothing for almost two months because of the surgery and recovery. So it's looking pretty good.

BMI went from 27.3 to 26.3 (Still mildly obese. Eek.)
% fat went from 33.9 to 31.3
Lost 6.4 pounds "fat weight"
Gained 1.5 pounds "lean weight"

Not bad for the small amount of aerobic exercise I've been doing. I've only really been lifting for two months and playing roller derby for a month and a half or less. All this to say...

I'm about to start the Ross Demasi fitness extravaganza! Free weights! (Gah, gotta hang out by the mirrors with all the meatheads now.) I told Ross my goal is to get more-buff arms and lose 5 pounds. He made me a 12-week plan, and I'm starting it next week (because I don't want to be immobile with soreness for our FIRST HOME BOUT on Saturday).

So, soon I shall no longer be overweight. And I will be more buff than you, if I'm not already.

Secret roller derby life

I like to call going to practice my secret life. Because I spend all day with Matthew, almost all of his waking hours, he probably thinks he knows me. I'm Mom, Mom, Mom. But ha ha! I tricked him! When he goes to sleep, I go to roller derby practice! It's my secret life, and he knows nothing about it.

Tonight's practice. And I'm so excited every practice day. I used to be like, "Eh, practice tonight. Should be fun." Now I'm like, "Woohoo! Practice!"

I didn't think I would play roller derby again. It seemed like a lot of work. At least once a week, I was like, "Ugh, Jeff, should I quit? I love skating, but I'm so tired of everything else. I just don't want to do it anymore. But I really like hitting people. But I hate having to do a bunch of other stuff. And some of the people are so annoying, always trying to cause drama or complaining about other people." (At least I did my complaining to Jeff, right, not at the rink? Ha ha.)

But now! Skate, skate, skate! No work! No fundraisers! No monthly dues! Just skating, skating, skating, hitting, hitting, hitting, and my favorite - getting to scrimmage for, literally, hours and going in every single jam. It's a roller-Brigitte's dream come true. And no one's dropping out and saying they're too tired. I think nearly everyone who plays roller derby has cried during or after practice at some point. Notably, my practice-induced crying happened after a scrimmage one time. I sat in my car sobbing hysterically. Another girl knocked on the window and asked me if I was okay and what the problem was. I said something like, "I'm fiiinnne... I'm just crying because of people being such wusses. We never ppppracctttticce haarrdd enough. Boo hoo."

The other thing I love about RAD (Rolling Arsenal of Derby, my new team, for those of you unfamiliar) is that everyone is more serious. Not serious in a not-fun kind of way, but serious in a we're-here-to-play kind of way. Practice is very focused, and it's fun because we don't waste a bunch of time talking about extraneous events or our feelings or our personal lives. (That's what before practice is for.) And it makes me so happy to be there. (Of course, when I'm getting ready to leave my house at quarter to seven, I'm always like, "Oh, Jeff, I should skip practice so we can hang out more..." And he's always like, "No, you should go to practice. You'll have so much fun." And I'm like, "Okay. I guess so." He's always right. If only I could spend more time with Jeff AND more time at practice. But I always want more time regardless.)

I'm also pretty enthused about the friendliness of my teammates. I've always had friendly teammates, but a couple girls I'm just always happy to see. Like Marley. We're kind of alike, I think, wanting to smile and wave and laugh and whatnot instead of doing aggressive things for warm-up. Or Taki, who is just so nice, but in a funny way, not a boring way. And Annie, my new friend from MOMS Club, who mentioned she wanted to play, met with the coach, got skates, and carpools with me. I like a friendly rollergirl, it's true.

My first bout in ages, nearly two years I guess, is this Saturday. We're playing a team I've never played before, and we've got some girls injured so we'll be short on players, and I'm still not fast and sometimes nagged by that old, awful joint pain, but I'm still SO excited. I don't care whether we win or lose (sorry, teammates, if you're reading this, of course I want to win, oh-so-badly); I'm just so excited to be skating again and hitting people every week and subtly displaying my arm bruises at moms' club events and 100% loving roller derby instead of 50% loving/50% thinking, "Hmm, should I quit? Maybe I should quit. No, maybe it will get better." It has gotten better. I've found my team!

Some conversations about hair

Me: I'm thinking about getting my hair cut short again. It kind of seems straggly.
Jeff: What about putting it in a ponytail?
Me: I try that, but the ends are still all, like, straggly. It doesn't fall right.
Jeff: What if you got the front part cut shorter... and maybe the back is still longer?
Me: Oh, yeah, I see what you're saying. "Party in the front, business..."
Jeff: Not what I was getting at, but that would work, too.


Me: I'm sure glad that Matthew's past that stage where he sucks on my hair every time I'm holding him. It was kind of gross always having a wet patch on the side.
Jeff: Yeah, now you're not like that weird girl in fifth grade who always sucked on her hair.
Me: Hey! I was that weird girl!
Jeff: It's okay. I used to suck on my arm hair.
Me: WHAT? Really?
Jeff: No.

A small annoyance

So this is one of those things that sounds so stupid when you say it out loud, but it is so annoying to me!

Children's books.

Let me explain. I like to read. I firmly believe that reading is a great way to learn and grow and develop academic skills you'll need for the rest of your life. But I also think, mainly, that reading should be fun. Fun! We all love fun, right?

Well, apparently a big selling point of children's books is that they're educational. I've come to this conclusion by reading the covers of the books we have in our living room (don't want to look at the ones in Matthew's room - sure it's more of the same).

Just a quick sample of some book blurbs from the books I have within reach:

• ...there are all kinds of textures for baby to explore in this safe, sturdy book that encourages early learning.
• The best-selling preschool learning program that develops your child's vocabulary and pre-reading skills.
• Parenting Tips: This book will help your baby explore and learn language!
• The Flip Flap series is a fun and exciting way for children to develop their reading skills...
• Books for Brainy Babies from Newborn to Six Months
• Dear Parents, Babies aren't just irresistibly adorable. They have amazing brains that soak up knowledge, doubling in size during the first twelve months... What's important is for your baby to hear language––as many words as he or she will sit still for.
• Parental Guidance: Promotes hand-eye coordination. Encourages interaction.
• A bright and colorful introduction to the world of numbers for young children. Open-ended questions help children work out basic mathematical concepts.   

RAWR. Some of these things, what do they even mean? Pre-reading skills? What's that? Early learning? How is that different from later learning?

I really appreciate Sandra Boynton, "Serious silliness for all ages," and Dr. Suess, "Simple, Silly, Sturdy Books for Babies of All Ages." (Not sure why they both have "all ages" on their board books, but whatev.)

Let's just save all of this worry about achievement and learning and getting ahead and studying for later on in life. I'm pretty sure if all kids learned to read for fun, they'd simply learn better through reading in the long run, because they'd keep reading!

Toddler updates

Here are some things the toddler has been up to (we still call him The Baby around here a lot, though this kid is definitely toddling now).

Matthew is afraid of these things: shredder, printer, when the Staples button says "that was easy," being unexpectedly not able to see me.
But he is not afraid of these things: balloons popping, other sudden loud noises, dogs, dunking himself completely in the bathtub or kiddie pool by accident, falling directly on his face.

Also, he's not walking like a zombie anymore. He moves his arms like a grownup person. A wobbly grownup person, yes, but still, no more toddly zombie arms.

Matt's success of the week is that he has finally stopped crying when we go to the gym and I leave him in playcare. He loved it in January, but then I had to take a break for surgery, and he cried every time I walked out of the room for three weeks after rejoining. We went almost every weekday for all of April, and finally he likes it again! Three days of no crying now. And yesterday, he didn't want to leave when I went to get him!

New fascination: Airplanes. Matthew will hear an airplane and get really excited. He makes a particular happy sound when he hears them. If we're inside, he'll walk or crawl over to the window, look out, and point at the sky. If we're outside, he'll whip his head around trying to find it in the sky, holding his arm out toward it and making his happy noise. Yesterday we saw probably six planes. Jackpot!

New hobby: Walking, walking, walking. Walking in circles while holding toys. Walking around the house to check on everyone, especially if we're in different rooms.

But... when we're outside, my definition and Matt's definition of going for a walk are very different. Mine: One foot in front of the other, moderate pace, destination in mind.
Matthew's: Step, step, sit down. Look at ants. Poke with finger. Get up. Step. Sit down. Pick grass and put in mouth. Get up. Step, step, step, step. Point at neighbors and screech loudly. Try to walk up hill. Fall on face. Giggle. Get up. Step, step. Grab leaves on shrubbery. Smoosh in grubby little fist. Drop on sidewalk. Sit down. Grab leaf again and pull apart. Poke with finger. Get up. Look for airplanes. Sit down. Try to pull hat off. Get up. Step, step, step. Turn around. Walk really fast all the way back to where we started. Pick up stick. Put in mouth. Wave stick wildly... You get the point.

Some climate-related crying

Yesterday we had some crying around here. It's just now starting to be summer. Matthew is the easiest baby ever to take care of, I'm sure, but yesterday afternoon was rough. He was screechy in the car then cry-y and fussy at home. He didn't want to be held or not held, he didn't want to be inside or outside, he didn't want to eat or sleep or quietly rest or walk around.

And, of course, it happened to be the day that Jeff went straight from work to softball, so he wasn't even going to be home before Matt went to bed for the night. So after trying all those things to cheer up Mr. Cry/Fuss Baby, unsuccessfully, of course, Matt just sat in his high chair and screeched at his spoon and refused to eat, and I just sat in the chair next to him and cried for a little bit. You'd think I was crying because he was unhappy and oh-so-loud, but no...

Because it's hot! It's SO HOT HERE! I HATE it. I've never been one to hate weather. As a kid, I always felt tricked when people asked me my favorite season - because I like them all! I love them all equally! Why should I choose between fun snow and fun sunshine and fun raking and fun mud puddles? They're all great.

But now, oh, how I hate the "seasons" in Alabama. I think I have that seasonal affective disorder (is that the name?) but for summer instead of winter. Last year, I think we were trapped in the house for like 3 weeks straight because it was just too hot for a newborn outside. And when we did go out, one day one of our neighbors made some mean comment about how you shouldn't take a tiny baby out when it's 100 degrees. But, you know, the alternative was NOT MAKING IT THROUGH THE DAY. I'm trying to not let it get me down, but it's difficult. I really, really hate how hot it is here. And summer's just beginning. And if I think ahead to all the years we're probably going to live here and all the days it's going to be hot, hot, hot, and all the other climates we could be living in but aren't, I kind of get overwhelmed and just want to cry.

But today, thankfully, it's raining, so we'll make it through a little longer.

Kind of pathetic post about love

Every Monday, I'm a little bit sad that the weekend's over and Jeff has to go back to work. Actually, I'm a lot sad. It seems like we just never have enough time together!

I was thinking about this a lot a couple weekends ago when Jeff was in Birmingham to take his two-day engineering test. He was gone for two nights, and it just wasn't the same around here. I know a ton of people spend a lot of time apart, to travel for their jobs, to get away, to visit friends or family separately, or to just change things up a little. I could only come up with a couple times that Jeff and I have spent the night apart in the almost-three years that we've been married: I was away for two roller derby bouts and once to visit my mom, and Jeff was away for a baseball game and a golf outing. There might be a couple other times in there, but I can't remember. But we're not those people who need time away. We spend all our time together, but still we don't get tired of each other. (Even on vacation. You know that's love, when you can spend almost every minute of a whole week together––and like it.)

Back when I was in college, my roommate and I always talked about how we thought we'd know it when we met the guys we would marry. We thought a pretty good indication would be to date guys we liked more than they liked us. It seems true. Before meeting Jeff, I definitely didn't date anyone I was just crazy about; their affection for me seemed unreal in its intensity, since I could never quite return it. It all kind of seemed silly (easier to say in retrospect, of course, but still true). I feel pretty certain that the depth of my love and appreciation for Jeff exceeds anything I'd previously imagined or thought possible.

When we were engaged, all the time people were telling me how Jeff and I would have all these horrible, epic newlywed fights that would bring us closer together. Ha ha ha! We've maybe had a couple times where we've had some annoying miscommunication resulting in both of us being ticked off...but still waiting on those fights. (Tip: Don't try to talk to each other when you're in different rooms. It's hard to hear and easy to not catch all the words. Tip, part two: Don't try to talk to each other when the baby is screeching loudly. Wait till he's a little quieter.)

Once we were married, all the time we said, "Ha ha! We're married! How great is that! We're such grownups!" It was great eating supper together and then not having to have one of us drive home. We were already home!

Now we say, "Ha ha! We're married! We have a baby! A baaay-bee! Best baby in the world! We're such grownups!" And what a great excuse to hang out together at home even more. It makes me think of that Alabama song: "She and I live in our own little world, don't worry about the world outside. She and I agree, she and I lead a perfectly normal life. Ah, but just because we aren't often seen socially, people think we've got something to hide. But all our friends know we're just a little old-fashioned. Oh, ain't it great, ain't it fine to have a love, someone that others can't find. Ain't it wonderful to know all we ever need is just the two of us, she and I."

One of the things that I like best about Jeff is that he's always the same. Every day, I know I can count on him. Plus, he says witty things. And knows what I'm talking about even if it wouldn't make sense to anyone else. And he's not overly emotional. Some people might like their men to be more emotive, but stoic works well, too. Yay for manly men. Also, he's good at grammar, so grammar jokes are usually not lost on him. (These are important points.) His faith is strong. But so, so important is that Jeff is the same as when we met; he's always there and always dependable.

I'm so thankful that God has given us each other and kept strengthening and deepening our love for each other. But I'd really like extra weekends, too!

Easter weekend

Last weekend was great, and it felt like it lasted a week. Friday I got to go to the Good Friday church service, thanks to Matt's bedtime of 6:30 p.m. and church start time of 7. This was a good follow-up to Maundy Thursday church, which I also got to attend.

On Saturday, we went to an egg hunt for babies and toddlers at someone's house. Matthew "found" two eggs with Jeff's help, and I drank delicious iced coffee. That's saying something, since I usually dislike cold coffee, even if it's intentional. We admired all the other babies and tried to keep them from pulling each others' hair and whatnot while chatting with some other parents. Then Matt napped, Jeff studied, and I had some lawnmowing fun. Mowing the lawn is pretty much the best chore ever, other than raking leaves, but we don't have many leaves, so...

Then Sunday was Easter! Best holiday ever! Jesus has saved us! What could be better? (Nothing! That's the answer. Nothing can be better.)

The church service was great, as always. Matthew was less screechy than usual, which was nice for us. After church, he roamed free, crawling around. Unfortunately, his pants and diaper also fell down, so a bunch of people saw baby butt in church. Oops. That's what happens, I suppose, when we put him in a disposable diaper instead of the bulkier cloth but still dress him in his usual size pants.

After church, I wanted to go for a bike ride while Jeff was studying and Matt napping. But, of course, argh! My nemesis - bike maintenance - struck again! For some reason, my bike's back tire was flat, though I'd just fixed it not too long ago and hadn't even ridden it since then. AND, the bike trailer had a flat tire, too. Changing bike tubes is my least favorite thing ever. It's really the worst. I know what to do, and I know how to do it, I'm just really, really terrible at the execution of it. It takes me forever and hurts my fingers and generally is frustrating. Also, I snapped one of those little plastic prying tool thingies. So with tears in my eyes, I told Jeff I was giving up on biking and never going again and feeling pretty sure that it would be worth it to give up biking to never have to do any type of bike repair again. But...

Jeff to the rescue! He doesn't really like biking, and he hasn't really done any bike things, but he still saved the day. He's the new bike maintenance guy in our household. He fixed my tire by the time I got home with a new tube for the bike trailer, then fixed that. All while Matthew was still asleep. Success! So the three of us got to go for a spin around the neighborhood before finishing off the day with a delicious Easter feaster of ham and potatoes and green bean casserole, etc, that I whipped up pretty much at the last minute.

Roller derby!

Woohoo! I can't wait for practice tonight! So I rejoined roller derby last week after getting the all-clear from the surgeon, and I'm so excited about it. I practiced last Sunday and Monday. Sunday was an easy outdoor skate. Monday––scrimmage! What? I know! I went through my basic skills successfully, then right into scrimmage! First time hitting people since September 2010, by my best guess.

Some things I learned:
I am not afraid of getting hit. Or hitting. You'd think this is something that a person would fear after so much time away. I was a little nervous at first, but it all came back quickly.

I am super slow. Keeping up with the pack is tough after months of inactivity.

Taking a year and a half off scrimmaging made me feel like I'd never played before in the sense that it's so fast! All the action is happening at once! So many places to look!

Oh, how I love my teammates. Practice was so focused. It felt very goal-oriented and "team-y."

New skates don't break themselves in.

Only five more hours!

Not going to work, miscellaneous

I feel like I have some more to say on the topic of not going to work that doesn't fit nicely with the last post.

When Jeff and I were engaged, we weren't sure yet where we'd live or work. We decided that whoever got the higher-paying job would probably be the one to keep the job if we had kids. The other one would stay home. And he got a job first, so...

I do still work. Having a job that pays me for what I do rather than for the hours I put in and that I can do at home on my own schedule, within deadlines of course, is ideal. I like it a lot. So in that sense, we're doubly blessed because I still have something to do that's just for me, that keeps me from getting super bored when Matt's sleeping, and I get paid.

But... I would definitely give that up if it required me to make other arrangements for Matthew during the day. It would be worth it to not work at all. Even without a second income, I keep thinking about all the money we're saving by not having to pay for: childcare, transportation to work for me, work clothes for me, formula and associated supplies, and disposable diapers (apparently most childcare places insist on that).

I'm not sure it would be worth it to spend more to make more. Money is so overrated. I've had a couple people (chiropractor, acquaintance, random other person I met) tell me that I should get someone to watch Matthew or put him in daycare for a day or two a week so I can work more. I just politely smile and thank them for their suggestion, then feel thankful that we don't have to do that. I'd rather cut back on buying some stuff or increase the number of years we'll be paying our mortgage than cut back on the time I get to spend with my baby.

A saying that's alternately inspiring and infuriating comes to mind: "You always have time for the things you put first."

Not going to work is great

I've been thinking about how last year at this time, I was getting ready to quit my part-time quality control testing/technical writing job. I feel like I'm finally settling in to the fact that I'll probably not be going to an office to do work for a long time. And it's finally starting to not feel weird. A year ago, I was typing up lists of all my job duties and descriptions of how to do them for whoever replaced me. My boss was forwarding resumes for me to sort through and almost daily bemoaning how they'd never be able to find someone to take my place and do as good a job. And as much as I liked to hear that, it really also made things a lot more difficult later on. And from the state of those job applications and the unintelligible phone calls I answered (though the ad said No Phone Calls), I could believe it. And I sure liked my coworkers. It was probably my favorite job just because everyone was so great: efficient, polite, friendly, and funny! So I was sad to be leaving.

But a few months later, Matthew was born! Yay! And then how I wished so hard I could just go to work some days. It would have been so much easier, so much more restful, than staying home with a tiny baby with mysterious wants and needs and erratic behaviors, including all types of crying and little noises and naptimes and diaper messes. And it was just so boring being at home. Boring + exhausting. I wished so much I could just not have to be in charge. Someone else could do such a better job! And they neeeeeddded me at work! They did! I'm so good at tasks! Give me a list, and I can do all the things! I can do them all better than you! But taking care of a baby... ugh. No lists there. I think I made some lists, actually, that said things like, Feed Matthew. Change Matthew. Cuddle Matthew. Wash diapers. Eat lunch.

Really, I thought all the time how I was failing at taking care of Matt––not physically, not failing him in any way, but just failing at being a mom in general because it was so boring and I wanted to be somewhere else. I don't think I spent a single hour gazing at him adoringly or counting his tiny fingers and toes or dressing him up in one cute outfit after another––you know, all the things that new moms are allegedly supposed to do because they are just so in love with their tiny baby and enjoying every minute. (Ha ha. That phrase is a joke in itself.) But of course, I did love staying home with him every day at least part of the time. Who can resist hanging out with a baby all day? And how great it was when Jeff got home at the end of the day or when people came over to visit!

But still, it was hard to feel any type of satisfaction since my whole life I've been evaluated, and to some extent validated, by the quality of my professional work. I mean, I went to school for a reason, right? People just don't put the same value on the work that parents who stay home with their kids do as that produced in the workplace, and if they do, I've certainly not heard about it myself that often. Especially before having a baby. Measures of success in our society, as widely discussed, are generally work related. (Brief example: A lot of female students at Auburn in the freshman composition classes that I and other grad students taught openly stated that they were at college to meet a guy, settle down, and start a family. Oh, the scoffing that ensued from the grad students on this topic. To be fair, if a guy said he aspired to start a family and settle down rather than excel in whatever profession he chose, he'd probably be scoffed at, too, possibly as sexist––or lauded for being so honest and caring, I suppose.)

So all that to say that I struggled so hard to think that the "work" I was doing at home taking care of Matthew was equal to the work I could be doing writing technical documents and mailing packages and editing user manuals and testing laser equipment. But now! Gah! What was I thinking?! (Double punctuation: you know it's serious.) My old company didn't nnnneeeeeddd me, no matter how much they said so, no matter how good of work I produced. My replacement may not be great, or may be much, much better, but certainly I'm replaceable either way. It's not going to matter at all if the next user manual goes out with bunches of typos or a ridiculous numbering system. If quality control doesn't catch something, the customer will just have to send the system back in for repair. No big deal.

But Matthew. He's a whole different story. I'm not replaceable to him. He could, of course, get used to having someone else take care of him all day, or for parts of days, or at least for a couple hours sometimes during the week. And since kids are so adaptable, he'd be fine. But now I realize––and fully accept––that no one else will do as good a job as I am (or as Jeff would do) since he's our baby! He's ours! Yay! And I get to hang out with him and teach him things and try to think of games that will make him giggle. (Of course, it's much easier to say this now that he's fun and not just a cute, immobile baby lump who eats, sleeps, pees, and cries.)

I'm glad I've made it past those first couple months where it seemed so much easier to go back to work and get someone else to do this hard work taking care of a baby. It's so rewarding now, even when it isn't. Even when it's boring or difficult or maddening, I'm still happy to be here, at home, to keep making it through to the rolling-on-the-floor-laughing-at-nothing moments.

Not guilty

So I like to read a variety of blogs by people I barely know or don't know at all. It's mainly a way to pass the time when the baby's settling down to sleep and I'm trying to transition into editing mode. Rarely do I think about the posts a second time, but occasionally I like to comment. Almost never do I even remember what I've remarked. But, oh man, I'm feeling pretty fired up this morning! (Note: Well, and this afternoon. Didn't get this all written during morning nap.)

One of my favorite bloggers recently wrote about how she sometimes feels "mommy guilt." From what I gather, this is the feeling that people get when they *gasp* sometimes put their own needs or wants above those of their kids. Or when they have to go to work instead of staying home with kids. Or when there's just not enough time in the day to spend as much time with the kids as desired. Or any other combination of things in which they perceive they are slighting their kids in some way.

I can understand how a person would feel that way. I know a lot of people who put pressure on themselves in various ways and whose unrealistic expectations, once unfulfilled, could morph into guilt. And most of them are, admittedly, female with children. In fact, Jeff would tell you, and I would usually agree, that I am definitely a person who expects too much of herself and gets into slumps when not able to accomplish everything I want to. My disappointments don't translate into guilt, though, so much as into actual disappointment, sadness, and discouragement.

For example, say I do about 99% of washing dishes and laundry. And I take care of Matthew all day. (I can't really include that in the "work" category, since we play most of the time, but it is still difficult at times.) When he's awake, he gets at least 80% of my attention at all times. As much as I'd like to just stick him in the doorway bouncer thingy or the exersaucer for a while and do something else, it's not going to happen (maybe I avoid that type of "mommy guilt" triggers unconsciously?) And say I also try to put in time for my paying job and for writing letters to my relatives I don't get to see very often. Occasionally I do some of the cooking. Most of the time this is all very doable. Sometimes not. And if I'm really tired and haven't gotten everything done I want to, sure, I'll feel some sort of negative emotion. But again, not guilt.

The original blogger wrote: "I wrote a post this week at CafeMom to discuss my parenting philosophy of experiences/education vs. stuff and to talk about how that soothes my Mommy Guilt and .. and I was genuinely surprised at the responses. The OVERWHELMING MAJORITY of commenters 1) have no guilt whatsoever, 2) didn’t quite grasp the concept of Mommy Guilt being self-imposed and 3) made the assertion that it’s brought on by my working outside of the home.


HOW INCREDIBLY FREEING, TO FEEL NO ACCOUNTABILITY! I CANNOT FATHOM."

I fall into the first category, scoff at the readers who fall into #2 (reading comprehension amongst commenters, apparently not so good), and feel it's a bit presumptuous for people to assert #3 when that's not their experience.

But then, I begin to feel a little angry. That last quoted sentence, all caps in the original, seems just reactionary. I know this is the internet and all, and people blog precisely to say how they feel––as I'm doing now––but it strikes me as unfair to assume that all people who do not share a common experience with you are immediately wrong. Or irresponsible. Or unaccountable for their actions.

Not feeling guilty ≠ no accountability.

Not feeling guilty ≠ "freedom" per se.

We each make our choices. Here's where the post gets boring and philosophical. I think a lot. I had a hard time as a teenager. My mom is an alcoholic. It was rough. But in the end, I'm a lot more "me" for having had that experience. Let me explain.

I've learned a lot: We can't choose how other people are. We can only choose how we are. This relates to "mommy guilt" being self-imposed. I went to Al-Anon for a couple years, where I mainly napped and ate cookies while old ladies talked about their husbands' drinking problems. But a good thing was reading the "The Twelve Steps of Al-Anon," (into which, incidentally, I don't place much stock. But I find them good to think about). Step 4 is "Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves." I think people should do this regularly. Then follow it up with Steps 5-9. (You'll have to Google here if you're actually that interested.) And then, presto! What's there to feel guilty about?

Another thing: Some other time that I found difficult, I was reading the Bible. I got to Matthew 22:39: "Love your neighbor as yourself." And I thought, Oh, that's so difficult. How can I love my neighbor as myself if I don't love myself? It was the proverbial lightbulb over the head, and I realized I had to take care of myself first, to be able to love others.

So this is what I try to do. Take care of myself (with Jeff's reminders, because really I do have a hard time just relaxing and not doing something every single minute). Then take care of Matthew and Jeff. Then do other stuff.

But we still haven't gotten to the part that makes me angry! (It's like politics. All these people take the narrow view that everyone who disagrees is an idiot for whatever reason. We all have different experiences! Different priorities! Different struggles!)

The original blog states at the end, summarizing the writer's struggle between staying with her sick kid and meeting her running group, "So .. according to most of those readers, I should’ve shoved my kid off and gone off to run without thinking a second thought about it. Yeah. Sorry, I’m just not that mom."

THAT'S THE THING! We AREN'T all saying that! Some people may be. I am just asking for my experience to be validated. Not agreed with necessarily but just accepted for as it is. I, personally, would not choose exercise over sick kid. Some people might. And that's their prerogative. They may need that run to be able to continue. When Matthew was a newborn, I often chose hot, sound-muffling shower over trying to comfort fussy (not-hungry, I should clarify) Matt in the late evening when Jeff was home. (Incidentally, is there "daddy guilt"?)

And then I get really angry. First let me preface it by saying that I know blog commenters often write things to make the person posting feel better about him or herself or to feel a sense of support. But still. Here are the lowlights of the comments:

• Oh lord. LIARS. Seriously. I don’t know ONE mother who hasn’t at ONE point broken down because they felt the mommy guilt (whether it be go to work, go exercise, go – heaven forbid – take time for themselves…what have you). [...anecdote about commenter's own guilt...] Again I say, Liars. If your child is your world (which for most moms is the case) then you’ve felt at least SOME mommy guilt at some point.
• I honestly believe that Mom Guilt is simply Us Wanting To Always Be Better. If people like you and I – who want to always be better – are SAHMs we would feel guilty. Working Moms: Guiltly. Millionaire Moms with Perfect Children: GUILTY. Because no matter how perfect we may be living our lives, we always want to be BETTER. And the side effect of that is guilt. And I think it’s an okay trade off. If you’re not trying to be better…then you’re stagnant and I’m glad our children grow up with role models like us who never accept things as they are and always want them to be better. Even if sometimes that leaves us with irrational guilt.
• There are plenty of moms who live without the burden of mommie guilt. They leave their kids in the car in 100+ degree heat and think it is fine because the locked the doors and rolled the windows up to prevent anyone from kidnapping their babies. They lock their kids in the closet while they go have a drink and watch a movie and feel good because their children can’t get hurt with anything inside the closet. I could tell hundreds of true stories of how guilt-free parents “take care” of their kids, but most of them haven’t been to court yet and can’t be discussed. 

I firmly believe people should feel free to embrace, discuss, and empathize. But I draw the line when that tangentially attacks me, and what choices I am constantly making, especially in regard to motherhood.

My summary of quasi-personal attacks for not feeling "mommy guilt," based just on the comments above (the worst of the worst, admittedly):

• You're a liar. Your child is not your world.
• You must not want to improve your life. You're not such a good role model. 
• You think it's okay to threaten your kid's life and emotional well-being to do whatever you want (back to the not-guilty ≠ lack of accountability).  

If you know me, you know that's not true. We all have different struggles. We all need to take care of ourselves to take care of others. And we all have different priorities. Why spend so much time attacking others to make ourselves feel better?

Now I've written and I'm over it. What's your experience? What are your thoughts? And, if you're a dad, how's that the same or different?

Boundaries

This baby is testing his boundaries. I think he thinks he's going to outlast me. Little does he know that I have about, oh, 28 years of practice in stubbornness. I won't be worn down.

Specifically, Matthew really really wants to chew on the toilet seat. Also pull down the DVD player and anything else attached to cords near the tv. And there's one other table he's not allowed to touch, too, with a bunch of stuff on it. So we've entered that years-long phase where he has to learn the meaning of no.

It's funny because he'll just be playing in the livingroom when he gets this look in his eye. Then he crawls at top speed (which is remarkably fast) toward one of the three things he's just not allowed to put his grubby little hands (or teeth) on. He stops, looks around for me, and reaches out his hand (or face). Sometimes after the first "no" and removal from the area, he decides it's not worth it. But sometimes he just has this little defiant look on his face, like, "Hmm, is she going to stop me this time? I think I can get to it. Going for it!" So we repeat the whole thing. After about four times of me moving him away and saying no, Matt will start crying––what I think as his exasperated crying––and then still keep doing the same thing! Eventually he gives up, once he realizes he should bide his time for a better opportunity, I suppose, and crawls away to do something else.

Babies are so transparent. I can practically see Matthew thinking, "Maybe I can get it this time. Or this time. Or this time. Ahh, fine, maybe not."

When I read things on the internet, it just makes me laugh and cry. I'm going to go ahead and judge other people now: It drives me crazy when on message boards people say things like how you should never tell your kids no, and babies can't learn things or understand anything, and you should babyproof your entire house so your kids can have the run of the place. After all, they're just babies. They're only little once. Let them do whatever they want, because they're just curious and don't know right from wrong.  

Because that's our job! That's what parents are for! As far as I know, there's not some magic age where babies suddenly begin to understand everything, know what they can and can't touch, and just simply learn appropriate behavior in different circumstances. We have to help them learn! Right now!

I mean, if Matthew can remember that there are patches of sunlight in the guest room that he likes to play in and crawls in there to see them, though he hardly ever goes in that room, he can certainly remember that the toilet is off limits. If he can remember that there are fun doorstops behind the doors, which are normally out of sight, he can remember that he's not supposed to touch the DVD player.

And babyproofing is good, to a point. Sure, we have outlet covers in all the outlets, and I wrapped a blanket around one sharp-edged piano leg, where Matthew is particularly prone to falling, but not everything can be made 100% safe or 100% accessible. And I don't think it should be. The world isn't babyproofed. I don't want Matt to grow up thinking that he can and should be able to touch every single thing that he wants to.

I'm not suggesting that rigidity in teaching correct behavior is the best option, either. We played with some junk mail for a long time the other day, crinkling it and throwing it. I let Matthew take risks appropriate to his age and development. He can touch the grass if he wants to, even if it's a little intimidating. He can climb on his little playhouse, though if he falls, it probably will hurt. He can open and close drawers, and even though he might pinch his fingers sometimes, I'm going to let him do it so he can learn (though not when he's tired because then he does pinch his fingers and cries, and it's sad). I let him stand outside of the exersaucer and play with the things, even though the base is wobbly when he pulls it with all his strength.

But I'm not going to back down and let him be in charge of everything. It would be easy to move the stuff off the end table or put the DVD player and other electronics where a baby can't reach them, but that's not really the point.

I think we've struck a good balance.