Proof Is More Than Pee On A Stick

The reasons I know I am pregnant…

~ I barfed daily.  Without medicine, I would have barfed way more than daily.

~ Some of my pants are held up and together with rubber bands. (For those of you who don’t know, loop around the button, loop through the button hole, loop back around the button.  Wah-La!)  Others are held up with maternity waist lines.

~ I am asleep on the couch or in bed by 9:00 each night.  Sometimes earlier.

~ I ate 12 packages of fruit snacks in 3 days.

~ I have unsuccessfully “sucked in” for the past 10 weeks.

~ Only one room of the house is clean at any given time.  Usually, no rooms are clean at any given time.

~ I want food and half way through eating it I really don’t want it anymore.  Or I decide I want something else entirely.

~ My husband has to run to the grocery store while I make dinner because I have forgotten at least 2 main ingredients necessary RIGHT NOW.

~ I peed 3 times between 8 and 12 today.

~ I haven’t slept through the night in 16 weeks.

~ I must eat every 2 hours or I gag.

~ The smell of your chili you are eating for lunch makes me gag.  Sometimes it also makes me want to eat your chili.

~ My sciatic nerve is killing me.  And I’ve only gained 6 pounds.

~ My doctor told me I was pregnant, and I have to see her every month.  We talk about pregnancy.  I assume this is a sure sign.

~ I saw a baby wiggling around.

~ My insurance company did not cover the one above.  (Thank you crappy health insurance.)

~ I’ve been told I’m due mid-April.

Yes, we are expecting an addition to our family.  It is extremely exciting and joyous, while nerve-wracking at the same time.  We are blessed beyond belief.

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The Itsy Bitsy Spider Will Ruin My Driving Record

PO: License and registration please ma’am.

Me: Yes sir, just a moment.

PO: Where you headed in such a hurry?

Me: We are going home.

PO: Ma’am, do you realize you were going 15 over the posted speed limit?

Me: I’m so sorry officer.  I really don’t usually speed.

PO: Why are you in such a hurry?

Me: Um… do you really want the truth?

PO: Ma’am.

Me: I’m trying to see if I can make it home with singing only 20 rounds of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” instead of 30 like yesterday.

PO: Give me a minute while I write up your ticket.

Buggy: It Bit Pider Mommy.  Pider MOMMY!  PIDER!

Me: “The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout….”

PO: Your court date is December 12 or you can pay over the phone.

Me: Thank you.  Sorry sir.

PO: And ma’am, 30 times is safer than 80 mph.


{I’m predicting this may be a conversation I have one afternoon in the very near future.}

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My Naked Truth (About Love): Linky

The fabulous Ryan of The Woven Moments has done it again with another “The Naked Truth” Link party.  This time the theme is love.  I couldn’t resist.  So after you read this, head on over to her place and read her Naked Truth About Love, too!

I’m sure she was terrified.  I’m sure it might not have been her decision.  Not 100% at least. Parents still control much of a 17-year-old’s world, even if her sex life wasn’t within their grasp.

The single, typewritten page tucked neatly in the file cabinet noted that she wanted to go to college.  Government Administration.  One of the only specific pieces of information shared.

Maybe it was the vast potential her life still held.  Mostly it was probably being 17 – barely an adult, still a child in her parents’ eyes.

– – – – –

Two people consumed by love, marriage, a toddler, and infertility.  They examined the far corners of their heart.  There was plenty of room.  They needed more children to love.

More children needed their love.

They applied, they prayed, they cleaned, they presented, they prayed some more, but mostly they waited.

Four years officially.  Six years technically.

It was a Wednesday afternoon.  The phone call came.  “We have a little girl for you.  You can pick her up tomorrow morning.”

Neighbors and friends swarmed to piece together baby essentials.  After all, it had been 6 years since they had prepared for a baby’s arrival.

Thursday morning came.  So did their second little girl.  Exactly one month old.

They loved her before they knew her.  They loved her even more now that they had her.

She slept through her first night in her new home, with her new family.  Mom knew it was a sign that she was where she belonged.  Dad went to the crib every hour through the night, just to admire in awe that she was finally their daughter.

– – – – – –

My naked truth about love:

Love is selfless.  Never selfish.

I am the very product of two families, strangers to each other still, both giving of themselves to the very fullest.

One giving up a child.  One giving of their family to make room for another, not their blood, but theirs all the same.

I was adopted into the most amazing family God could ever have given to me.  I more often forget than remember, or even realize, that I don’t share their blood.

Their gift, my life, my family, my opportunities, my everything, is the epitome of a selfless gift born only from love.

While we may be selfish towards those we love, the selfish act is never love itself.  Selfless acts only come from love.  They are love.

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The Dwarfs Were Too Optimistic

You know those 7 little dwarfs that let the beautiful princess live with them?  Even helped to save her life?  They are not glass half full dwarfs.

They are glass always completely full, overflowing, flooding dwarfs.  Their little song about loving work.  In a coal mine of all jobs.  Ridiculous if you ask me.

I’d like to see how cheery that song would be when you throw in kids, no pretty princess to cook and clean, and actual bills waiting for you in the mailbox – not birds and squirrels sitting around smiling at you.

It’s August.  Back to school season.  Work starts VERY soon for me.  My summer break is nearing an end.  And each school year gets harder and harder to return to.

There was a time when I was excited and ready to start work again.  Eager to try out the new ideas I had gathered, pondered, and toyed with throughout the summer.  Chomping at the bit to work with new kids, new teachers, new opportunities.

Then I had Buggy.  And I really want to be a stay at home mom.  So going to work is hard.

Then last year I did the job that two people had done.  It was stressful and overwhelming.  It didn’t help.

Now there is a little more to loathe.

Buggy is old enough to realize, understand, and not like the fact that I am going to work, dropping him off with someone else, and leaving him for 8 hours.

“No mama, no” starts when familiar landmarks become clear to him on the drive to the sitter’s.  Actually, it often starts when he sees me pick up my purse, computer bag, lunch bag and enter the garage to load them in the car.

He has a great new sitter, that he loves to be with.  He’s been a few times and hasn’t wimpered a bit as he is distracted by dinosaurs and fish tanks as I pull out of the driveway.

But it’s still hard to hear the recognition in his voice that I am leaving him and he doesn’t like it.

Old sitter is going back to school.  (To be a teacher – NOBLEST of choices)  She was literally 2 minutes from our house.  On the way to and also from BOTH Hubby and my work routes.  She could only be more convenient by living next door (which I frequently made her aware of houses for sale on the street) or living in our guest room (but I’d have to take her husband and son in as well and I can’t afford that many mouths to feed.)

New sitter is conveniently located off the interstate exit just by my schools.  20 minutes from home.

At the end of last school year, I thought about how this coming year I would be the one to drop off Buggy, and Hubby could pick him up so I could have about 30 minutes to myself at home to clean, cook, be productive sans child (or veg on the couch – let’s be honest here).  Now I am the only one that is conveniently close to pick him up.

It doesn’t make sense/cents for Hubby to partake in the daycare drop off and pick-up duties.

Another convenience of this new location?  The 20-30 minutes of solitude between home and work, work and home, within which I could think, daydream, listen to the radio, and prepare myself for the destination I was driving towards, is gone.

I have anywhere from 5-10 minutes of solitude.  Then I have a babbling, singing, screaming, crying (pick a mood, any mood) two-year-old to fill my previous zen time.

Striking a few errands off the to-do list before picking up Buggy and heading home, also a thing of the past.  I will actually have to remember everything I need for the week while at the grocery store on Saturday.  Eeek!

I know the whole “I want to be a SAHM – – – I can’t believe I have to spend an extra 20 minutes with my kid in the car” thing is a bit opposite and topsy-turvy.

Here’s the thing.  I love my son more than life itself.  But working full time and trying to be the best mom and wife I can be (cooking, cleaning, playing, reading, loving, pleasing, soothing, caring) is an enormously unfair load to carry.  There has to be time in between to divide the two and try not to take the frustration or failures of one into the other.

I no longer have that ability.  I must find another way to divide, to separate, to calm, to breathe.  In 5 minutes.

Though my glass is not always overflowing like those insane dwarves, my mantra is that I am always half full.

What fills my cup half way about all of this?  My son is in a place that he is comfortable and loved even if it isn’t created by me.  For 10 months a year I love, care for, and help educate 900 children I did not birth and I do not raise, yet I impact.  My dreams of being a SAHM are not impossible and are almost within my reach.

I’d say that’s a pretty great glass to drink from.

Posted in Job, Parenthood | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

It’s Not Magic, But It’s Doing Something

I recently shared some discipline issues with my 2 year old.

After writing that post, some advice from friends and family shoved me led me to the realization that I needed to be looking at Buggy’s discipline as a whole, not just the hitting.

And I needed to look at how I reacted to his behaviors – all of his behaviors.

I read the book the pediatrician recommended.  It was good and we are using it.

The problem with parenting books is the constant need for the psychologist, psychiatrist, pediatrician, child expert to put the parent readers in a category.  The sleep book I read when Buggy was a mere sapling pretty much said that parents either formula-fed and had their babies sleeping in distant bedrooms or breastfed and co-slept with the child right in between.  I fell into neither of those categories but found helpful advice in spite of the near-sighted author.

The latest book I read pretty much puts parents in only one corner.  We all yell at our children, and then eventually beat them.

While I’ll admit that I have raised my voice more than I cared to.  I have no urge to beat my child.

Putting the author’s asinine (wow, I did not know how to spell that word) stereotypes aside, I do like the “1-2-3 Magic” system.  {1-2-3 Magic: Effective Discipline for Children 2-12, Revised 4th Edition, Thomas W. Phelan, Ph.D.}

Annoying behaviors (whining, pouting, anger, tantrums) get a directive (“stop blah-blah-blahing) and a “that’s 1”.  Wait a few seconds, behavior gets a “that’s 2”.  Wait a few seconds, behavior gets a “that’s a 3, time out”.

(Just so you know, the hitting is an automatic 3.  He doesn’t get chances to try and hit me or not.  Wanted to clarify that my new discipline trick does not in fact allow my son to beat me – or anyone else for that matter – to a bloody pulp before heading to time out.)

No yelling, no parental anger, no discussing the child’s behavior.  Just counting and time out.

I love it!  If Buggy wants to throw a tantrum, I don’t have to spend however long it takes to try and calm him down, appease him, or distract him (which completely defeats any attempt at correcting the behavior).  I count, he doesn’t stop, he goes to his room for 2 minutes.

Best of all, that 2 minute time out is usually the ticket.  He stops, he gives up, he forgets.  I calm down, I finish what I was trying to do, I breathe.  And we go about the day.

The positive behaviors get a lot more attention – which you’d think would be easy but is not.  It’s like it’s natural to point out the flaws in other human beings rather than congratulate them on a job well done.

Is he a perfect angel now?  No.  Does he ever stop at “that’s 2”?  Goodness no.  Has he stopped hitting his mother?  Sadly, no.

However, I feel like I am in control of the situation, instead of him.  We have the power back, right where it needs to be.

Don’t get me wrong.  My child is a great kid.  He is normally very happy, very nice, very kind.  But he is two, he is normal, and I am his mother.  If you think he is a terror and I am a horrible mother, kindly move along.  To the nearest library.  To read the book I’m describing.  Because secretly you know you need it too.

I swear that's a happy face.

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