2 is infinitely harder

Both children are sleeping. At. The. Same. Time.

I feel like a deer in the headlights. Afraid to breathe, afraid to move, for I might alert them to my presence and interrupt this perfect peacefulness.

How did I ever think that having one was hard?

A little perspective

I recently heard this for the first time and it is exactly what I needed to hear.

I went to a bookstore and asked the sales woman, “Where’s the self-help section?” She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.

George Carlin

time....

Wishing I had the time and the head space to write the Christmas birth story.

If only G would sleep past 4 am............

One day at a time.

Here!

At 10:46am on Christmas morning I pushed E, our second son, into the world.

I got the natural vaginal birth that I wanted and it was all so surreal.

Details to follow........

Excerpt from Momma Zen's new book

The truth and sincere beauty of her words just made me cry. If this book is anything like her previous one, it should be worth it. Her new book, which is not actually out yet, is called Hand Wash Cold: Care Instructions for an ordinary life.

You really should listen to this.

No sleep......

Wow. Another night of being jolted awake at all hours of the night by our "adorable" 2 1/2 year old.

Transitioning to the big boy bed has been hard on all of us.

NOW, off to Target, to buy a padlock.........

Any advice on how to make this go a little smoother?

Pregnant

Anish Kapoor's 1992 sculpture titled, When I am Pregnant, aptly illustrates how I feel right now.

• all belly
• full with anticipation
• eager to see the face and know the sex of this little being
• that is still only such a blur
• i AM pregnant
• probably for the last time
• and, although i am excited for it to be over.....the aches, and largeness
• it is such an amazing and wonderful experience
• to be pregnant

small victories

I ran upstairs to go to the bathroom while G watched Word World on the couch downstairs, by himself. Rather abruptly, I heard him running back and forth.

From upstairs I yelled: "G, what are you doing?"

G: "Eating a cookie. That's what I'm doing."

Me: "Well, I hope you're sitting at the table, at least."

I walked downstairs to find him sitting at the table with crumbs all around. At least he followed the "no eating anywhere but the table" rule.........

Addendum to the weeks highlights

#1.....Showing up for the Lobster Newburg, Veteran's Day luncheon at my parents house to find my 82 year old, balding Uncle in a wig. He was dressed normally, except for the well-made, grey ladies wig he wore on his head.

I initially thought he didn't realize that his new "toupe" was a ladies wig. But I quickly found out that it was a joke and part of a larger costume that involved a black t-shirt, shades, a white glove and a homemade washtub base for group sing time after dinner.

My family has definitely loosened up since the days when we could not even giggle at the dinner table.

How was your Veteran's Day?

A few highlights from the week so far......

1. Hysterical laughter from G while reading Amy Krouse Rosenthal's, Little Pea. If you love hearing your toddler laugh uncontrollably, I highly recommend this book.

2. Reading this months Sculpture magazine and in it, the interview with Rachel Perry Welty. These two quotes made me stop and think.

-"they are not representational. I hope that they merely suggest."

-"the world belongs to the articulate."

Conversations I'd rather not have, #1

G: IS that a COOKIE?

Me: NO. No, G. THAT is not a cookie. Now get out of the bath tub so I can clean it.

Lesson learned: Never make your son laugh hysterically while taking a bath. Save the good jokes for before or after, when they've got a diaper on.

Chivalry is not dead

Me: G, will you be a big help and pick up that Cheerio and put it in the trash, please?

G (staring at the Cheerio): What Cheerio?

Me: The one, right in front of you, on the floor. Please pick it up and throw it in the trash.

G: Okay. Sure. I'd love. (stammering a bit) I'd love to help you Mama.

No joke. That is what he said.

I had a dream that baby #2 was a boy. I wonder if I am destined to be surrounded by men.

Pigs and pregnancy

The past few weeks my belly has really begun to grow and my choice of pants to wear has dwindled from MANY to five. I had to buy a few longer shirts to accomodate the growth as well. At 27 weeks along, most people tell me, "Oh, you look so petite or small." But I feel quite big and cumbersome.

Thursday night B was out playing basketball for the evening. As I squatted down to wipe G's face after dinner he immediately ran behind me, threw his arms around my neck and climbed up on my back saying,

"Mama, I want to ride you like a pig."

Now, I don't usually think of myself as being sensitive about the weight gain, but I've gotta admit my first thought was, "My 2 year old is calling me fat."

My second thought was, "What is he talking about, people don't ride PIGS."

I had to share this with someone and B was out for the night, so I called my sister.

It was only in the retelling of the story that I realized what G was talking about.

He wanted a piggy back ride........

Wishing.......

I had the answer. Or even just a relatively strong gut feeling.

For the past two months I have been consumed with the pursuit of natural childbirth after a C-Section. I am determined to push this little human growing inside of me out of my body by myself, without the aide of pitocin, a vaccum, forceps or a knife. It has become my latest obsession. I have read incessantly, talked with everyone I can think of and read numerous blogs and mothering forums.

We interviewed four doulas and chose the best one for us. She has been wonderful so far with advice on books, finding the right care provider and just plain supportive of any random question I might have.

I've decided to leave the midwife practice I've been seeing ever since I was pregnant with G because they feel much more medical minded than I am comfortable with. They think like OB's and deliver at the hospital with the highest c-section rate in Rhode Island.

In the pursuit of a new health care provider, I have interviewed another midwife practice that delivers at a different hospital, a homebirth midwife and a family physician/OB. The OB has been ruled out.

My gut says my best chances for a natural birth are at home but my brain is worried about the one trillionth chance of complications and the fact that I won't technically have any connection to a liscenced health care professional. The homebirth midwife IS a professional, and in my opinion has more experience (27 years) than anyone I've interviewed, BUT she is a CPM (not a CNM) and RI does not recognize them, so she can not write perscriptions or even legally deliver a baby in the state.

I am so torn and eager to make the decision. I would like to go back to focusing on other topics in my life, such as making some art before #2 arrives or maybe just planning dinner.

I have given myself until tomorrow to decide. It's just getting that ridiculous and I am 26 weeks along now so I feel the urge to have this nailed down.

What do I do about the fact that neither option feels perfect?

Awesome Stuff!

I stumbled upon this book during a late night (9pm) trip to Urban Outfitters with two of my gal pals, after a lovely evening of dinner and an art show.

After briefly flipping through the illustrations in the store, I sensed there was something special about the book, but decided not to buy it because I have a constant and at times debilitating fear of buyers remorse. But anyways.

When I got home from Urban Outfitters, that night, I did a search for it on the web , found the website and decided I had to buy it.

This book really is awesome! The first time I read it to G, I teared up.

You should check it out.

Not knowing

We have decided not to find out whether we are having a girl or a boy.

On some days however, I really want to know. People always ask, "Do you know what you're having?" And when I say, "NO, we're waiting", they say, "Oh you must really want a girl." And you know what? I don't REALLY want a girl. Actually, I want a boy so G can have a brother and I want a girl so B and I can have the experience of knowing what it is like to be the parents of a girl.

Either way we will be thrilled. And all we really care about is if this little human is healthy. That is all that truly matters.

But some days, I just wish I knew.

And then again, there is something fun about NOT knowing.

Prenatal Yoga

Phone conversation with my NOT pregnant sister, C.

Me: When does that Yoga class, you said you signed up for, start?
C: Next Tuesday.
Me: (apparently mumbling) I should sign up for one. A prenatal course.
C: NO!
Me: What do you mean? Why not?
C: I'm beyond the beginner level.
C: And, I will not be the one NOT pregnant girl.

She thought I was trying to insinuate that she needed to take the prenatal course because it would be easier for her.

What girls are good for......

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of preparations and getting back into our Fall routine. Oh, and the evenings have been filled with scrounging up every last episode of the not yet officially released MAD MEN, Season Three. B has a way of just finding them on the internet, albeit cruddy copies but copies none-the-less. You could say that we are addicted. The last episode we were able to watch, all but the last 10 minutes, was the one where Betty gives birth. As a woman who is about to head down that road in 17 weeks or so, if you haven't seen it yet, all I'll say is, it was horrifying. Just further motivation for me to take control of those things that I do have control over and make the process as natural as it can be, within reason of course.

With G at daycare two days a week, B's new school year in full swing, and me teaching two courses this semester, the lazy days of summer are over. I'm officially 23 weeks pregnant, physically feeling good and eager to meet this new human growing inside of me. But not too eager. I am soaking up these last few months with G and appreciating what I assume to be the ease of "just having one."

He recently made this funny yet potentially troublesome observation on gender roles.

*******************************************
My friend's daughter, M, born 8 days after G, is his best friend.

Last weekend, we had a small gathering at our house in which M attended. G and M played together all night. The next day at lunch B, G and I were sitting at the table when G told us:

"M fed me with her spoon yesterday. That was really nice."

After which, he proceeded to say:

"That's what girls are good for."
******************************

Maybe it's because I'm one of three girls, maybe it's that I'm 23 weeks pregnant, but if he wasn't only two years old, that would have been cause for a bit of a talking to.

Reunited

Yesterday my parents, aka Nonni and Grampi, brought G home from a three day hiatus at their house. It was so good to have some time away, alone, but so much better to see him again. He looked older, taller, thinner and his hair looked longer. It's amazing how much you miss or just take for granted when you are with them all day, every day.

Turns out they had a great time together. G was a good guest and kept my parents laughing and on their toes.

Patience

Lately I seem to be questioning much of what goes on with G. If he cries when we put him down to sleep, after numerous books and the normal routine, I wonder what is wrong. What am I not giving him that he needs.

If he is overly fussy I wonder why is he doing this to me. But deep down I know he is not doing it to me. He is just doing it because tantrums and testing and stretching the limits are all developmentally appropriate right now. It is still hard to take, but talking about it helps. I know that I have to work through this stage with him as a patient, loving, consistent parental figure who gives him room to be and gently guides him toward appropriate behavior, however long it takes. Not easy.

I just finished an amazing book called Momma Zen: Walking the crooked path of Motherhood, by Karen Maezen Miller. It was just what I needed, when I needed it. She talked about the tantrums and suggested looking at yourself for clues as to why they might be happening in the moment that they are happening. See what you might be doing or not doing to contribute. Give yourself a timeout by going into another room (if it is safe to leave the child, of course) and let them know when they are calm, they should come get you. I love that idea.

It already worked once, maybe just at calming me down, but hey, that counts.

This parenting thing is a constant exercise in being open and patient.

Of note, this week

A few things of note, that occurred over the past week; a bulleted list.

• Came, THIS, close to getting a black eye from the reverse head-butt my two year old landed on my left cheek, while I tried to put him to sleep, during our first night of camping last weekend.
• Discovering the Fantastic Umbrella Factory in Charlestown, RI. It's like a little piece of San Francisco in Rhode Island. Haight Street meets Armistead Maupin's, Tales of the City.
• Watching my two year old son "breastfeed" his beloved "Kitty." Overheard: "What's that? You want some milk, Kitty? Okay. Here you go. (as he lifts Kitty's mouth to his bare nipple)

It's been an interesting week.

We're off to Crane's Beach in Ipswich, MA this weekend. Should be another story-filled two days.

Doulas and Jesus

In an attempt to better my chances of having a VBAC (G was born via emergency c-section) B and I have decided to hire a doula. We've met three of the four women that I have scheduled interviews with and Man is this difficult. They each seem great in their own ways.

I can't seem to separate my feelings about them as people in order to discern whether or not I think I'll feel comfortable being naked and totally vulnerable in front of them. I like them all. How can I know who I will want there to comfort and support me when I am actually in labor? It's almost like I'm searching for the right religion. Maybe I'm putting too much on this.

Speaking of religion. Two nights ago we began the night time routine of wrestling G into his pj's. Trying to empower G to take part in the process, I said, "G it's time for your pajamas. Can you take your shirt off?"

When he did not respond, I said, "Okay, let me take your shirt off. Arms up."

To which he responded by raising his arms and saying, "Arms up for Jesus!"

B and I have never said this to him. My sister said it the first time she heard us ask G to put his "arms up," and she has said it, maybe, four or five times since, over the course of a year and a half.

Here's to hoping that one of us finds him.