There is a brand of children's toys called Sassy that makes the cutest stuff. Several weeks ago, while at Target, I stumbled across a baby cell phone. I bought it. And yesterday, I found that they have a laptop for babies, too. So...Scotty now has an office. Now he just needs a job.
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The Laptop is back! Rejoice!
I feel like I've reported on a lot of housing stuff lately, but very little Bear info. Long story short: the Bear is fabulous. As in, most awesome baby ever. He's adorable, he coos, he eats his nummy-solid foods with zeal and best of all, he is sleeping like a champ. I cover his little cheeks daily with thousands of kisses and he and I just can't get enough of each other. I am also starting to feel a little like a celebrity in my own community. I have trouble going places without people stopping to coo at him. Seriously, I'm not trying to brag (and I hope it doesn't come off that way; perhaps this is how the world responds to a chubby baby? Not sure.) Especially in his forward-facing stroller, everyone has a great angle to glance at him and whether we are at the grocery store, the local mall or out for a walk, I would say 90% of the people that pass by look at him and smile, and then smile at me. 70% of these people vocalize something to him, and about 50% actually stop and squeal. (these are rough estimates, fyi). There is the small 20-30% that actually tries to hug me or attempt to touch my child (which results quickly in me running in the other direction), but I have to admit, all of this attention is really kind of fun. And terrible for my already-inflated ego. I'm the mom with the really cute baby. And Scotty is such a ham, I swear everyday is like a parade for him. He just sits in his stroller in his one-float parade, smiling and waving (not really) at everyone. It's great that things have finally settled out. This cuteness, combined with the fact I'm only pumping 2x per day, is making things almost...easy. Scotty is only taking 5 bottles per day (6oz each) so our dirty dishes are practically nil. I'm only donning the pink rubber gloves twice daily which means I have so much more time for the important things, like blogging. :-) And thinking crazy, crazy thoughts. Like...let's have another baby. The other day, during our final walk-through of our house, I found myself standing in one of the bedrooms. We have already assigned rooms for different purposes: guest room, our room, Scotty's room, etc. The first loft will be my writing area (!!) and the second loft will be the kids' playroom. There are still two open bedrooms, which made me start thinking (and yes, you read that correctly...kidS' playroom - as in multiple...)...maybe we should think about expanding the family? I mean, we have all this room...and a really adorable, well-behaved, sweet little boy...I'm staying at home, I've done the newborn circuit once so I have some real hands-on experience...you know, why not? I'm not getting any younger. Mind you, just weeks ago, I was bemoaning the idea of being pregnant to a friend. "We're adopting!" I trilled shrilly to her. "I'm NEVER going through that again!" But now, with a content baby, a quiet pump, and a huge house in front of us, I have to admit, it's tempting. Mom-nesia is a powerful sedative... Brian dismissed my musings as crazy talk. "We could do it," I pressed him. "Maybe not in the next few months, but after Scotty's first birthday..." Even I couldn't believe what I was saying, but it sounded right. After all, once you get through the newness of the first baby, the second one just kinds of folds in, right? Like doubling a batch of cookies. Fast forward to today. In my glowing fog of Motherhood, I've forgotten about a few things. One - when not at home, I am mostly likely in an environment that is somewhat child-friendly. After all, it seems like everyone I know either has babies or toddlers, is pregnant, or trying to get pregnant. As a result, I've developed a false sense of confidence about not only my mothering abilities, but also my child's behavior. (after all, when you are surrounded by toddlers, it's easy to feel like you are the best mother ever. Your child doesn't run, break stuff, or beat up other children. You just sit back and gamely think, "My screaming child is SO much better behaved that that kid that is drawing on the walls. Bad, bad kid. Good baby. Bad kid, good baby.") And Two - Scotty is bound to have some tough days. He's on the edge of teething, after all, and he has a right to have a grumpy day every once and a while. So today, I *ahem* attempted to have lunch today with a few friends (former co-workers) that have older kids. Kids that attend school and were not present and are old enough to not try to eat the napkin at the restaurant. Or scream at the top of their lungs or flip around like a little fish when they want to be released from the shoulder harness in the stroller. Or vomit on you - twice - because you overfed them, since you confused their crying with hunger when it was really about teething. Or cause you to run out of the restaurant, tail between your legs, clutching your baby, diaper bag, to-go food and keys, just praying to get home before the Meltdown launches into Stage 5 (the point of no-return). Needless to say, it was the shortest lunch ever. But it was also a very healthy dose of reality and a good wake-up call to my crazy talk - baby? Another one? Really? Hellll no. At least, not until Scotty can walk, talk, type, and possibly, make his own sandwich. And then make one for his Momma. :-) We're only two days into six months, but I have to say, this age has been great so far. It's almost like something magical happened on the night of February 17th. The little fairies that sprinkle sleepy-dust on babies must have visited our house, because by the morning of the 18th, Scotty went down for a lovely morning nap at 9am on the dot. He proceeded to sleep for the next two GLORIOUS hours. He then woke up happy and smiley, and promptly went back to sleep around 1:30pm and slept for another two hours. He was in bed no later than 6:30pm. Repeat that entire day on the 19th, but add in a FULL TWELVE HOURS of sleeping at night, and you can imagine why I am whistling this morning. Really? Is it this easy? After fighting and fighting and fighting with this child to sleep during the day, did I actually win? Please go knock on a piece of wood right now for me, to continue our good fortune. Maybe it's a phase (I'm slowly learning there is no such thing as a 'pattern' in Motherhood; just random variations on the same theme), maybe it's not, but whatever it is, it's heavenly. The Bear had his six-month visit with Dr. Awesome yesterday who commented, "Really? It's only been six months? I feel like it's been so much longer..." I agreed with her. After all, I feel like I'm in her office weekly, but again, it's better to be safe than sorry. After our whole NICU experience, I will never again just 'assume' anything about Motherhood. The little fellow weighed in at 21lb, 8oz, is 28.25 inches long, and his head is 18.5 inches around. That places him above the 95%ile on all three charts, making me very pleased. What is really interesting, however, is that he is eating significanly less during the day, and this has continued for the last two weeks. He went from about 28 -35oz of milk per day to only 21-25oz per day. This drop, per Dr. Awesome, is likely due to teething and is nothing to worry about. He certainly is not losing weight, and she assured us that his weight gain will start to slow down over the next six months. Fine with us. The little tyke is bursting out of his 9 mo pajamas, so I'm happy to know he won't be in 2T in the next like, four minutes. Bear on his six-month birthday: (the white onesie is for Jen, mom to Rowan. She loves nothing more than a baby in an all-white onesie.) On the feeding front, there are two big changes happening... Scotty starts real food today! (yes, salads or solids, depending on your accent and regional dialect). We've been practicing with rice cereal all week and he's done a great job. I am really loving lunch time these days; Scotty sits in his high chair, I sit at the table eating my turkey sandwich, and he looks at my sandwich longingly. One day, he'll get a bite. But not quite yet. So I've been deep in thought for the past two weeks as to what would be the right first food...lots of discussion, reading, and researching, and we finally have a winner. Drumroll please....please give a warm round of applause to....THE AVOCADO! Yes, everyone's favorite fruit/vegatable, chock full of vitamins and healthy fat (gotta mylinate those neural pathways) is the winner. I love this on two levels: 1.) it's healthy and super easy to prepare (I plan to mash it to within an inch of its life, then mix in a little breastmilk to thin it) and 2.) it just screams West Coast. Despite Brian's and my Midwestern roots, I have to keep reminding myself that we are raising a little West Coast baby. I'm happy to offer him something that has wonderful childhood memories for me (eating avocados on bread during dinner - 'sailor's butter' - was always such a treat in our household) as well as it somewhat local (grown just next door in California). Dr. Awesome also strongly encouraged us to start with green food (avocado, sweet peas, zucchini), move to orange foods (carrots, yams, winter quash) and then introduce sweeter, white food (apples, pears, bananas). I love this logic (color-coded!). I've been frequenting Whole Foods quite a bit lately, trying to scope out some lovely produce and I can't wait to get Scotty started. Pictures to follow! And then the other big news is that I'm weaning. I'm not sure if I'm weaning Scotty or myself from my breast pump, but whatever it is, it's great. This decision was made several weeks ago when it looked like we were going to be moving soon. I feel like I talk about this all the freaking time, but I AM SO SICK OF PUMPING. Hate it, hate it, hate it. But I believe in the properties and benefits of breastmilk, so it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. Well, I made it and I hit my goal of six months and now I'm ready to pack up the breast pump for good. Every time I tell someone about this (another mother), they always make the sound of the pump - shoo-ah-shoo-ah-shoo - at me. Too funny. Thank you. That noise will be stuck in my head for the rest of my life. I'm down to pumping only three times per day and it is WONDERFUL. More time with the Bear, less time pumping, and less time washing bottles. I literally went from washing bottles six times a day to only washing two to three times per day. I feel like I have a life again. What is really interesting, too, is that because Scotty is eating less, he is still getting almost all breast milk, still, despite my fewer pumps. I could make a "Jesus and the fish and loaves" analogy, but I don't want to offend any readers, but that's really how I feel. I'm pumping less, yet every time I go to the fridge to heat up more milk, there are several bags in there. Like magic. I haven't even touched my frozen supply, so I'm hopeful Scotty will be getting the good stuff well into his seventh month. So yeah, we're all feeling pretty good these days. Brian even came home early on Thursday for Scotty's half-birthday, and getting him out of the office early is nothing short of a miracle. He had gone to Toys-R-Us during lunchtime and came home with all kinds of goodies for the little Birthday Bear; a turtle for the bath tub, a ball that rolls around and sings, and a little fuzzy blue puppy blanket. I don't know who was more excited, Brian or the Bear, but it was awfully cute to watch. Brian and Scotty have some kind of special bond that I can't touch; the Bear lights up when Brian walks in the room, and Brian does the same. They are like two little peas in a pod. So, so cute. I'm just like the assistant or something. (that's fine...) As you can probably glean from the content of my posts, everyone's mood had just been great lately. I think a lot of this has to do with the weather in Vegas, too. When it is 70 and sunny, it's hard to be in a bad mood. Here are some pictures from a recent park visit: Finally, I just want to end on a story that I like to call 'Good Therapuetic Skills Die Hard.' I guess once a therapist, always a therapist.
I was at the car wash on Thursday when one of the attendants informed me that I had a crack in my windshield. It was one of those teeny-tiny ones that they can fix on the spot but they need to call your insurance first. I consented and gave them my insurance card and they asked me to step into the back office. The woman in charge had to call our insurance, and it turns out the insurance rep wanted to just verify some details with me before she submitted the claim to be processed. I picked up the phone and we chatted for a few moments. She then launched into her questions. Could I verify my birthday and zip code, please? When did the accident happen? What was the chip from? Then she asked me, "What state were you in?" I paused for a second. Really? What an interesting question, I thought. "Well," I started, "I was alert. Tired, probably, since my child doesn't sleep that much, but I was awake." There was this long silence on her end. "No, ma'am," she said. "What STATE were you in when the accident happened? California? Nevada?" Doh. We both had a good laugh. Needless to say, she wasn't looking for my mental state, just my state of residence. Old habits die hard. :-) So much to discuss! This will be a long post, so pull up a seat, pour yourself some coffee, and settle in, dear friend.
It all started with the simple task of cleaning out the closets... As you know, we are in the throes of Baby House. As of today, the sellers accepted the appraisal price (!!!) AND they completed all of the necessary repairs, minus one big one. The Whippersnapper is on it and is assuring us that the house will be ready by this weekend. The lender has all of our finances in order and we have transferred all necessary monies to complete the deal...in other words, our bags are packed, we know where the hospital is, we are just waiting for those first few contractions to really kick in (or our housing 'water' to break, so to speak) and then WE ARE BUYING A HOUSE!!!!!!!!!! ::squeal:: I've only felt this level of excitement during several other moments in my life...leaving for Ireland caused this feeling of butterflies. When Brian proposed. The weeks before our wedding (not the actual week of the wedding; no, that was a trainwreck-filled disaster of seven days that started with a broken water heater and ended with...well, you know what.) The weekend before Scotty's arrival, I had this feeling. And now, my toes are a little tingly, my stomach is a little queasy, and I'm probably talking faster than normal. I've been quizzing the Whippersnapper about our closing date much in the same manner I quizzed George for my due date. "Do you think it will happen soon?" "What else needs to happen?" "What can we do to make this happen sooner?" "Does everything look okay?" I actually told the Whippersnapper about my ob/realtor analogy, and she loved it. I'm really starting to like her -- she is amazingly good at her job and is just a really nice, fun person. I feel like we've entrusted her with a job so important (and essential to our physical and mental well-being) and she has just been a super star. I think she is definitely making the list for Christmas cards this year. So, with our move just weeks away, I started to clean out our cabinets. My goal was to use up - not throw out - all of the stuff we've collected over the years. Do I really need 4 different kinds of shampoo? Why do I keep buying more? Ditto for body lotion, bath soap, etc. Even our kitchen cabinets are packed to the gills with cans of food, coffee, tuna. We would likely survive nuclear war based on my preparations. Anyways, this has spurred my creativity to figure out how to use up all of this before we move. And, as we know, thinking about new uses for old things (just like brushing your teeth with your non-dominant hand) actually strengthens your brain. Poor Brian has had to endure all kinds of creative meals in the last few weeks, but it has made my mood brighten and dinner time has become a fun challenge, not the boring task it has been in months past. Also, in my cleaning frenzy, I stumbled across a small sample of face tanner. I had likely ripped this out of a magazine in months past, threw it under the bathroom cabinet and promptly forgot about it. Now, you also have to know that I stopped tanning cold turkey about three years ago. I'm not sure if I fit the definition of a tan-o-rexic, but I certainly loved indoor tanning (and outdoor!). I felt better when I was tan. I gave it when we started trying to have a baby, not because it is nearly toxic for your health. It was a hard thing to give up, but I'm glad I did it. I had a bad experience with self-tanner about eight years ago (that prompted Brian to hold up an orange near my leg, and declare my leg to be the winner) so I felt resigned to just figure out how to embrace my fleshy white self. Cue the facial tanner. In my mission to use up everything in our house, I decided to slather a little on. My face brightened! It was tan...kind of. It was tan enough for me, at least, and I did it in a safe manner. I was so excited I ran out to buy body lotion with self-tanner. I guess things have really improved in eight years. Looking at my lovely bronzed legs inspired me to think about what is underneath that skin...which lead me to the gym. I'm happy to report that since February started, I've managed to hit the treadmill, elliptical several times AND attend one (horribly painful) body pump class. I don't think I've lost any weight, but I cannot state how wonderful it feels to actually use my body again and to use it for non-incubator purposes. I feel like me again. I think I might have underestimated the extent that bed rest took on my body; not only could I not do a lunge with weight, I could barely do the damn lunge at all. Wow. I hadn't lifted a weight since 2008. I'm fairly certain my abs haven't even come together yet, since if you poke me in the middle of my tummy, it's still really squishy. So yes, I have a lot of work to do but I feel so excited to be able to run, walk, lunge (kind of) and break a sweat without worrying about how I'm affecting my baby. Hooray! (also, this gym commitment was spurred on by a recent wardrobe reduction. I was collecting clothing to give to charity when I stumbled upon several old skirts and shirts. "Look at how teeny-tiny this skirt is!" I cried to Brian one night. He nodded appreciatively. "I wore this to Jen's bachelorette party! That was only four years ago!" Brian nodded again. "I was a saucy little thing, wasn't I?" I asked him. He agreed again. (poor guy. He could only nod at this point. We were headed into dangerous territory.) "Now, I'm not saucy; I'm just sauce," I told him. "Gravy. I'm like gravy." And at this point, he started snickering. At least he thinks I'm funny, despite the current size of my waist.) I have just had tons of energy since my recent gym visits (minus the few days after Body Pump; I can barely walk up and down the stairs). Scotty and I have gone to the park (facing forward in the stroller!) to enjoy the lovely Vegas weather. We attended a Valentine's Day party last Saturday and on Friday night, I sat at our kitchen table, happily cutting out paper hearts for cards that we planned to distribute to the other children. My oatmeal cookies were cooling on the counter and I thought to myself, "Is this motherhood? Because if it is, this rocks." THIS is how I picture motherhood - sunny days in the park, crafts, cookies, happy baby babbling in the high chair. I know that I've vacillated between staying at home and possibly going back to work, but I am so happy I chose to stay home. This lifestyle is really fun, not to mention incredibly rewarding. We have finally moved past sleep-deprivation and SwaddleGate and are really hitting our stride. So yeah, after all of that, I am feeling great. Cleaning out the closets lead to me using my brain in new and creative ways. Which then prompted me to tan safely, hit the gym, start some craft projects and actually enjoy my choices. It only took us six months, but we got there. We got there. There has been all kinds of news in our household lately... including: Solids! Well, rice cereal mixed with a healthy amount of breastmilk. Scotty did a great job and ate literally every little morsel on his (turtle-decorated) plate. I was worried we might have swallowing issues or just general fussiness, but the Bear took to the high chair and to the task of eating like well, a duck to water. Such a big boy! Here's more Bear at Lunch pictures: We were having so much fun hitting these major moments in a baby's life that we decided to take things one step further and try out our stroller...facing forward. Literally, a whole new world opened to Scott. And finally, since Scotty now has the ability to sit in a chair, eat mushy food spooned gently into his mouth, and sit in a forward-facing stroller, we decided it was time for him to get a job. So he did. (ha ha, just joking. In reality, we had to make a trip to see Dad at the Pig Farm to get some papers signed. Scotty had a great time meeting all of the secretaries, attorneys, and staff.)
(Why do we call it the Pig Farm? Because Dad is the pig farmer...he brings home the bacon!) With Scotty's six month birthday almost upon us, I took time today to put together his high chair and his snazzy chocolate-and-blue Maclaren Triumph umbrella stroller.
Aside from feeling as though I need a PhD in baby gear to put this stuff together (and breaking two thumbnails in the process), I was met by the shock of my life when I plopped our 22+ lb child in the high chair. He looked tiny. Like a little, itty-bitty baby. Sitting in a big boy chair. I need to preface this by saying that for the most part, I've been 100% okay with milestones and growth. In fact, I feel as though I'm looking forward to future milestones (table food, crawling, etc) and haven't really mourned any major moments of his growth. Probably the most emotional I've been is when I was packing up his 0-3 mo. clothing and it hit me that he would never, ever wear these little clothes again. I teared up for a moment, then promptly closed the lid on the tupperware container and shoved it under a bed, not spending another minute thinking about it. But this - seeing our little bear in his chair - seriously made me grab him out of the high chair and squeeze him as tightly as I could. He's getting so big! He's like a real boy now. Where did my little snuggle bear go? It seems like just yesterday that we were deep into the throes of SwaddleGate or his refusal (inability?) to poop. It's such a surreal moment to see my child, the same one that entered this world at 8lbs, 6oz, sitting upright, ready to eat real food. And yet while he looks so old, he looked so tiny and little and fragile. I feel like I've really been torn between feeling lucky that I get to stay home and absolutely detesting my current lifestyle, but seeing him sitting there, blue eyes huge and surprised, made me realize how lucky I am that I get to witness these moments. He's never going to do this kind of stuff again; just like those 0-3 mo. outfits, these moments are here but for an instant. And I feel so honored to get to experience them with my little guy. Again, I feel like I mention this a lot, but my whole frame of reference before becoming a parent was being a cat owner...and as much as we loved Emma (and the challenges she presented), she also never changed. Her life was static; she never grew (except to lose a pound or two), never met milestones, and was ferociously independent. I guess I (very naively and very stupidly) thought being a Mom would be similar...and while it's 1000x harder than being a catMom, being the Mom to the Bear is about 1,000,000x more rewarding. So yeah, I'll stop bemoaning my decision to become a stay-at-home-mom. Although there are challenging days, I'm starting to realize that the benefits of staying home isn't because your life is easier, but because your life is richer. I'll take richer over easier any day. So we've had some issues with Scotty sleeping through the night (he's totally teething...it has to be teething, b/c my goodness, he is a fussy bear these days).
Anyways, for the last few weeks, our glorious streak of 'bed at 7pm and sleep 'til 7am' has been replaced with several craptastic wake-up times, such as 2:30am...3:30am...and there was even a 12:30am wake-up thrown in there for good measure. I think he wants to make sure I don't get too comfortable; gotta keep Mom on her toes at all times. So on Friday night, I woke up not to baby coos or Scotty's rustling, but to the sound of the microwave. Had my five month old finally figured out how to heat up his own milk? Could I be so lucky? Considering he cannot yet roll from back to belly, that would be a resounding...no. Instead, I found my husband in the kitchen. Brian, current owner of a fairly miserable head cold, had woken up to heat up more Thera-Flu. Poor guy. I headed upstairs, slightly irritated that my pleasant night of sleep was yet again disturbed. If one of my boys was sleeping, it seemed like the other one was not...and if Scotty slept through the night, Brian did not. I was cataloging these thoughts as I lay in bed, trying desperately to fall back asleep when I heard another familiar sound: Scotty was up. The clock read 3:25am. I am never going to get to sleep for more than 6 hours, am I? Let me begin by framing my post like this:
It's Friday night. Brian went out with some work friends. I encouraged him to do this; we all need a night off. In fact, I told him to stay past dinner. Have dessert. Have an after-dinner cocktail. Or two. Have a GOOD time that doesn't involve me crying or the Bear fussing. Am I the best wife ever? Sadly, no. Secretly, I had my own agenda: read my recently purchased books. No husband = no TV, no conversation, and once the baby goes to bed, a luxurious amount of time I can spend stretched out on the couch, drinking wine and reading. Ahhh......(imagine me stretching my arms over my head, grinning)....heaven. And only one book was cut out for a night as special as this: yes, 'Committed,' by Elizabeth Gilbert. Actually, let me clarify this and say, one specific chapter in her book: Marriage and Women. I have been enjoying the book all week, but I knew this chapter was going to need some serious TLC; reading paragraphs between Scotty's naps while the Today Show blared on the TV was not going to cut it. No, this chapter insisted on a quiet house, some candlelight, a nice glass of Zin, and my favorite couch blanket. And it has not disappointed. I am about 1/2 through the chapter and I finally - FINALLY - feel like someone has put my disorganized thoughts and convoluted feelings into coherent sentences. Let's just say the quote at the beginning of the chapter reads, " Today the problem that has no name is how to juggle work, love, home and children." Betty Friedan, The Second Stage. Oh, you've got my interest, right there. See, all of this started about six weeks ago. After watching an episode of Oprah about the treatment of women ("Half the Sky") in other parts of the women, Brian came home to find me crying and pissed off. At him. (poor guy. I once had a scary dream during my pregnancy that he was cheating on me with Playboy bunnies and I didn't talk to him for three days. He kept saying, "But it didn't even happen! It was a DREAM!" and I just ignored him and scowled.) During this particular time, Brian found me angrily cooking dinner, muttering under my breath about the recipe entailed to oppress a woman: marry her and get her pregnant. Easy as pie. Because if a woman has to take care of someone else, she cannot and will not take care of herself. Again, I want to point out: yes, I got married on my own volition and we quite rightly had Scotty out of choice and deep desire. However, the numerous changes in my life - closing my practice, going on bed rest, having a gigantic child that refused to latch on and yet still believing in the benefits of breast milk that forces me to pump six to eight times a day, and subsequently staying at home - left me feeling unappreciated and vaguely angry. But I couldn't quite pinpoint why or how - after all, I "get" to stay home, I should be happy - even lucky! But I was feeling so bummed. On top of that, I was feeling guilty for not counting my blessings. All of those icky feelings wouldn't go away. Enter the lovely Ms. Gilbert. She, in the fifty pages of this chapter I've managed to read so far - has pretty much validated my feelings and taken it one step farther: she recognizes that the sacrifices of mothers may benefit the family as a whole, but rarely benefit the individual (i.e. the mother). Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don't know why, but just seeing that in print - it's not like anything is changing in my life - made me feel better. I've really been wrestling with the whole "Where does 'the family' end and Kim begin?" question and have not come up with many answers. I do not want to be one of those women who sacrifice their entire identities to raise children, only to one day wake up and be 55 with no children at home and absolutely no clue who I am or what I want out life. Yet, I also don't want to miss out of my child's life, thus bringing me (and countless other women) to the greatest conundrum our gender will ever face: how do you maintain a healthy family life and raise happy, well-adjusted children without losing yourself in the process? And I don't think I can answer that. At least, not yet (or maybe ever). She also goes on to highlight that a woman's, more so than a man's, sense of integrity is entwined with \the ethic of care. This explains why women will turn up their noses at other women whom they believe to be inferior mothers. This certainly helps to explain the pressure to breastfeed in our society (and the shame that results when breast feeding is not successful.) This probably also explains why, six to eight times a day, I put plastic cups on my poor, sad boobs and suck out yet another three or four ounces. My self-worth is wrapped up in my child's care. If he suffers, I suffer. Brian doesn't but I do. Argh! Is this making sense? It's late, I'm tired, and my wine glass is looking strangely empty. All I know is that this whole 'motherhood' thing is a lot more complicated that previously anticipated. I mean, prior to Scotty's conception and arrival, I was all USWeekly about it. Cute clothes! Green nursery! Trendy stroller! No, folks, it much more serious than that. It's like, all emotional and stuff. More to come. Must think and process. |
About Me
Think of this as the epilogue to Bridget Jones' story. Well, mostly. Bridget marries the handsome lawyer, starts a blog while on bedrest, and decides marathon running sounds like fun. Bridget goes through a divorce but keeps running. Hilarity ensues. Archives
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