The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

I have been hearing this song in my head over and over again for the past week. The song is an 80′s hit from the band Europe called It’s the Final Countdown. I can hear their screeching voices and the electric keyboard loud and clear….. Duh-na-na-na….. duh-nuh-nuh- nuh. You get the picture. Anyway…. I figured this song was fitting for June as a teacher and especially for this year since I had the grand idea of switching jobs after I was about to come back from maternity leave. The job interview fell into my lap. I was tired of the commute and wanted to teach closer to where my boys were. A huge bonus would be to work in the same system that my son would be starting next year. Needless to say just coming off maternity leave and packing up 12 years of kindergarten crap, while trying to prepare for a third grade position and getting use to a family of four was quite the challenge. One minor detail that I left out…. I HATE change. I will do whatever I can to avoid it.

Finally it hit me as I was sitting at my desk during lunch one day. I was only singing this song as I pumped. The final countdown was celebrating the fact that I have one week in counting till I am done with this pump…..forever ~which is bitter sweet. But I gotta admit way more sweet. I started thinking of things I won’t miss about my pump. Although I gotta give the ole’ pump in style some props it has been a faithful companion going on two school years. It has been a love hate relationship. My friend who happens to be a lactation consultant suggested a pump going away party should be in order. That sounded fun! But since I am my mom’s daughter I went with writing a formal thank you card to my pump.

Dear Pump in Style,

I sure appreciate our relationship. You have seen me through a lot. You have hummed away while I went from a nervous inexperienced new mom to a mom that has traveled a tretorous yet magical journey. You unclogged countless clogged milk ducts while I sat crying in a kindergarten bathroom with rock solid breasts. You had a special pocket (before I was crazy addicted to my iPhone) that held a picture of my little ones so I could get an easier let down( which I often felt was the equivalent to a teenager hiding in their room with a dirty magazine). We have been through embarrassing times as a sub or co-worker has walked in on us. You helped me fall back asleep when I needed a little relief since the baby did not get up to cluster feed like the night before. I can’t forget the obvious which is make it possible for me to accomplish a personal goal and feed my boys breast milk while I was away from them at work. As much as I have cursed you up and down. I appreciate what you have done for me but….. off to the milk bank you go.

Sincerely,
Megan Savage

A few months ago, my husband and I had very clearly decided on two names for this baby. But over the last couple of weeks, the allure of both of those names has faded and we’re back to the drawing board. We’ve been through this exercise of picking both a boy’s name and girl’s name twice before, so you’d think we’d still have that very first girl’s name at the top of the pink list. Yet, these names seem to have expiration dates for us. Each time, we have scrapped the girl’s name and decided on a new and improved version. There are so many beautiful names for girls. This should be a cinch. Boy names, on the other hand, seem far more difficult to pick.

Perfectly good names get scratched from our lists for seemingly silly reasons; names of kids that crossed in grammar school, far gone sweethearts of our spouses, distant relatives that have done wrong. And then there are nicknames and monograms to consider. It’s quite a production!
Friends and family are chiming in with their picks and this time we’ve had a lot of fun consulting with a select few. (You have to be careful about who you consult on this.) Last week, my step-mom sent me an email with a list of names she has been compiling for weeks, which was a lot of fun and a great help. Our own pick for a girl’s name was at the top of her list! Even friends without kids are calling with a few choices, and careful logic about the strengths and weaknesses of each name. We’ve also consulted a dizzying array of lists (50,000 baby names, and not one solid boy name to show for it)!

Why is this so difficult? Because we’re choosing a name for a whole person, who will wear this name as a cute little baby, through awkward adolescence and into a successful adulthood. I don’t want to screw it up for the kid! So, the search continues for a strong name with a classic sound. And then, we will have to choose the middle names. Oh, boy…

My son and one of his friends were having a playdate at the park. Poshy was wearing his favorite red, robot t-shirt. His friend was wearing a superhero costume, one with bulging biceps and six-pack abs. The robot and superhero stood side by side and scanned the park trying to decide where to play first. I scanned the park as well and knew exactly where they would choose. And I was right. They ran toward the lone, large mud puddle situated right in the middle of the grassy field.

I had but a moment to decide whether to stop them. I always let my kids get dirty and messy and wet, but I was watching one of Poshy’s friends too. Would his mom mind if I let him become a mud soaked superhero? I decided to err on the side of fun and hoped for the  best. I figured I could always launder the costume. And hose down the kids. Life is washable.

I watched as Poshy’s curls bounced behind him, the wind blowing through his hair, the sun shining on his face, joy beaming from his happy soul. His playful friend ran faster and reached the puddle first. As he landed his first jump, a huge splash of mud hit Poshy right in the face. The glee was instant. Their laughter growing more feverish by the millisecond. “Do it again!” Poshy yelled. His friend happily obliged. Then they began taking turns trying to make the biggest splash.

When the boys shoes were throughly caked with mud, and the water from the puddle absorbed inside, they kicked them off and began sliding barefoot across what was now a mud slick. They bent over and rubbed their hands around as if they were finger painting. That was when their greatest moment of brilliance struck. “Let’s play piggies!” Poshy suggested with big, bright eyes, and a grin so large he almost couldn’t be understood. “Yeah! Piggies roll around in the mud, so WE have to roll around in the mud!” his friend yelled back, his grin mirroring Poshy’s.

Other friends of ours were at the park as well and were watching both the boys’ play unfold, and my reaction to it. I was taking photos. “Jenny, you are such a great mom.” a friend said to me. A few moments later another friend tells me, “I could learn from you. I mean it is just mud.”  And the comments and compliments kept coming. Yet no one else was letting their kids play in the mud. When concerns about how I was going to get these mud caked boys into my car, and whether I had extra clothes with me (I always do!), and what Poshy’s friend’s mom was going to say about the muddy super hero costume started to be expressed, it hit me. I need to put a disclaimer out into the ether. I don’t want to make a habit of shocking my friends when they come to pick up their children after a playdate with us.

So here it is:

Dear Friends (present and future),

I hope you join us for a fun, messy, muddy, wet, fabulous playdate at the park. Or at our house (we often get just as messy at home). I can promise that your kids will be safe and have a ton of fun. But I can’t promise to keep them neat and clean, or to keep them from doing this:

 And I hope, as Poshy’s friend’s mom did, you think it wonderful that the kids got to play with absolute and reckless abandon.

Today has been one of those marathon days. You know, the kind that lags on and on and on – and on….where you find that your lower back is aching from doing the limbo somewhere between laughter and tears. Bitzy was up all night with a fever. Well, let me rephrase – she had a fever and was up all night nursing. Seriously, I played the role of pacifier. Which, of course, means that I was also up all night. Did I mention all night?

This morning started off way too early and with DJ’s favorite soundtrack on full blast. What’s her favorite soundtrack, you ask? VeggieTales? Princess Theme Songs? Rockabye Baby? Oh no, all good guesess of course – but to rescue you from the suspense…her favorite soundtrack is that of her own whining, crying, tantrum’ing voice. So that was fun. For an hour.

Anyhow, we eventually made our way to the doctor’s office for Bitzy to get checked out since she’s been exposed to strep. Luckily, by the time we got to the waiting room, the girls were BFF’s again, and DJ had been forgiven of her very loud transgressions.

Awww.

The honeymoon ended at about the same second Bitzy’s doctor swabbed her red and blistered throat with that gigantic q-tip. So, naturally, the girls got milkshakes for lunch.

This was an awesome plan considering it was just noon by the time we got home from In N Out. They’d drink their milkshakes, and with satisfied bellies and numb throats – they’d get into bed nice and early in the afternoon and take solid naps.  Me too.  Yep, awesome plan. In theory. Had there not been sugar in the milkshakes.

Fast forward an hour, and they are doing WWF reenactments on the bed. For reals. Jumping, flipping, bouncing and grunting from physical exhaustion. I sent them both to their respective corners, doused them with water (figuratively, of course) and ordered them to chill out. That didn’t work. Weird.

So I strapped them into the Double BOB, and set out on a walk. It was my fool-proof plan. They always fall asleep on walks when they’re tired. And, being their super wise and attune mother, I was right. Bitzy fell asleep – for all of 7 minutes. Considering that we walked for a sweaty 40 minutes, the sleep to exercise ratio didn’t exactly scream “SUCCESS!” Although, my glutes were stoked in a frenemy sorta way.

Back to bed with two deliriously overtired girls I go. And….back to the drawing board, too. Restless kids, making a wrestling comeback.  Ok, “Into the car. Now.” A good ol’ drive would surely do the trick. We headed North on Highway 280, and once we hit Black Mountain Rd, Bitzy was finally asleep. And once we passed Black Mountain Road, someone from the backseat piped out, “Mommy, I have to poop.” Seriously?

So, my apologies Dear Residents of Hillsborough, but this is where we pulled over.

But don’t worry, I cleaned up afterwards.

And you’re welcome for that, because the aroma of Preschool Poop surely enhanced the charm of such a delightful afternoon. It was about the time that I slammed my thumb in my car door that Bitzy woke up. Which was, of course, immediately after cleaning up the poop. So, that was a long nap.

With both girls awake, we headed home. Once home, and an Acetaminophen suppository later (because Bitzy pukes up oral medication), we plopped on the couch and I willingly obliged to bending all of my rules. A movie before bed, and dinner at the coffee table. Sometimes, when rules are made, survival isn’t taken into account.

Is it bedtime yet?

Play is such an underestimated word. It is a pretty common word right? Let’s go out and play! Do you want to play with me? Can D come out and play? Never did I think while hearing that word a million times growing up exactly how one little concept could transform a kid. Before having kids I majored in early childhood and taught at a developmental ‘play’ based pre-school. I believe whole heartedly in learning through play. We often take it for granted and don’t recognize it’s amazing super powers.

After having D, I would watch him play and it was one of my ‘pink’ flags. He did not know how to play with toys in a typical manner. He had to be taught how to use them. After he was diagnosed we entered the amazing world of Occupational Therapy which basically teaches daily living and work skills to patients with physical or developmental conditions. I remember my extremely supportive Dad who was trying to wrap his brain around this really foreign concept. He said to me ” Why does someone need to teach him how to play?” My reply was it is a child’s job to play. That is how their brain makes connections and grows. I explained he was not doing his job because he did not know how. He needed to be trained. I developed a motto after doing private OT before D was accepted into early intervention. That motto was…….we played for a purpose in our house. I would take extensive notes in OT with what D’s needs were and we had a little checklist at home. We would play our little hearts out.

After watching a documentary called Autistic Like by Erik Linthorst , I learned that we were in a sense doing a form of therapy that already existed called Floortime…..a play based developmental approach to therapy created by child psychiatrist, Stanley Greenspan. After reading one of Greenspan’s book I was able to really hone in on our goals and run with it. As a result…..play saved my child and he now can play on his own and not in repetitive and rigid way. We have used play to teach him concepts, correct use of toys and learn how to socialize with other children. We would meet his therapist at the park and learn how to play and socialize. If that was not enough we even use it to catch a tantrum before it comes or redirect a negative behavior. I don’t want to paint too pretty of a picture there are many times either it flat out does not work or I just don’t have the energy or brain cells to come up with some brilliant deterrent that he will buy into.

I run with his particular interests~ currently we are obsessed with transformers. I will set the scene. I am trying to shuffle two kids off to daycare/pre-school to make a before school meeting. We woke up late and bubba had an unexpected blowout after changing him once already. If I rush D it back fires on me so I quickly use an interest of his to connect, get down on his level and get him to buy into the behavior I need him to do. Basically I don’t have time for a tantrum. I need him to get his sharing and get into the car A-fricken -SAP. I start to make a loud CH-CH-CH ……CH-CH-CH sound and bust into full autobot mode. In a deep voice I say “transform to truck mode and get into the vehicle. ” There is a twinkle in his eye at this point….. It is like he has been hypnotized and would follow anything I say. He gladly excepts my invitation and we are off to school without a fight (at least for the time being).

I had not explained to my husband this strategy but he saw the power of it. I watched him use it in the kitchen the other night. D was about to throw a fit about something and my husband quickly transforms into autobot mode…… D had completely forgotten about the tantrum he was going to have. It was a pretty proud moment for me. One less tantrum and my husband added another tool to his toolbox that night.

Do me a favor roll up your sleeves and get down on the floor today and play with your child today. You will not regret seeing the same twinkle in your child’s eye. It is pretty powerful stuff!

I have never been a big fan of maternity clothes. Big prints? Horizontal stripes? I look big enough, thank you very much. And don’t even get me started on the horror of bathing suit shopping in a maternity store. Argh! Partly out of avoiding disappointment in the offerings, and mostly because I just don’t have the time or energy this pregnancy to torture myself in a dressing room with a big mirror and a strap-on faux belly, I have sought alternatives. And I actually did find options that have made me feel much more confident in my pregnancy wardrobe to date.

First, the things you really can’t get away without. Pants. Unless you want to wear athletic pants – and possibly become “that lady” with her belly sticking out of them, you will need to go ahead and get some maternity slacks or jeans. I invested in a couple of pairs of black and gray casual pants and jeans and made those the center of my wardrobe.

Forget the empire waist I-look-ready-to-pop-from-a-mile-away tops. The best maternity shirts, for me, were not maternity at all. In fact, I came across great shirts at Nordstrom that are a little longer in length and featured side ruching. I wore them from the second trimester on, and plan to wear them post-baby. My friend, Martha, also found tank tops for me to layer under otherwise too short shirts. It was an ingenious idea. Just going up a size in these long tanks helped create a smooth line and the color added a little something special without going overboard.

Perhaps the most important discovery I made (this one saved me a lot of hassle), was that of the humble bra extender. This little doodad allowed me to wear the bras I already had all the way through to the ninth month. I can’t tell you how many maternity bras I tried on, and even purchased, only to toss aside. And let’s face it, trying to figure out your correct bra size “once your milk comes in” is a frustrating endeavor indeed. This time, I’m waiting it out until the very end.

So look beyond the maternity wear when supplementing your wardrobe throughout pregnancy. There are gems out there to be found that will actually have a somewhat slimming silhouette – that is of course, until you turn that big ol’ belly to the side!

P.S. You can also skip the prenatal underwear. A maternity thong? Come on, really?!

I am writing this morning sitting in the Santa Cruz mountains as bubba is down for his first nap at 8:00 in the morning. There is nothing that is more relaxing knowing that my kids are peacefully sleeping and their brain is organizing and processing this amazing world. It is also heaven being on the coast and amongst the Redwoods.

I am going to switch back and forth with hats for this post. Parenting and teacher hat. I really do value the two and feel that both hats help each other out on a daily basis. I use to tell people before I had kids if people asked….How many kids do you have? I would say 20-30. That was the naive bk~before kid side of me. I have completely transformed as a teacher after becoming a parent. I often wonder how I taught without my parent goggles on? Being responsible for children 24/7 and being their advocate in life does not compare to being responsible for their safety and education from 8-3.

I have a student in my classroom who I suspect is on the spectrum for autism. I immediately started modifying curriculum and a behavior system as if he had a diagnosis. Fortunately thanks to D this kid got a teacher who can totally crawl inside his brain and give him what he needs to the best of my ability. At one point he even asked me “how do you know what my brain needs so well?” I would like to see him get a formal diagnosis. It will help future educators understand where he is coming from and what he needs.

As a result of some parent concerns and the principals observations we will be having an SST tomorrow which is a student study team made up of parents, teachers and principal to discuss strengths and weaknesses with academics and behavior. Basically the first step which might lead way to an IEP( individualized Educational Plan). I am as nervous as can be because I am very much an open book with my son being on the spectrum and sensory issues. I feel like I eat, breath and sleep it sometimes. But I have to tread lightly when dealing with parents of my students. I can not hand out formal diagnosis’ let alone suggest autism. All I can do is express the behaviors and concerns I have observed. I have become quite familiar with the DSM( Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) , the manual is published by the American Psychiatric Association and covers all mental health disorders for both children and adults. I am becoming familiar with the new DSM-5 that has been recently updated with new disorders and wording. Just when you think you have it down and somewhat try and be PC( personally compassionate) about it….. they change it on ya. Just like our kids do…..right?

I have a ton of empathy for the parents and how they are feeling leading up to the meeting. I have been there as a parent. It is hard to sit through a meeting and listen to professionals be the expert about your child. I am nervous about keeping that teacher hat on and not spewing out anything and everything autism.

I sent the parents an e-mail to hopefully calm their nerves stating…. I could not wait to brag about strategies that their child has embraced and conquered I bought a curriculum for my son who…. mainly struggles with self-regulation. I knew I could use it in class as well. It is called: The Zones of Regulation. It is great stuff!

Wish me luck. I love these tough experiences in life it just gives you what you need to survive the next one.

A few weeks ago, two little storage sheds arrived at my door; nearly fifty pounds of relics from kindergarten through college that my father had kept for thirty years. Holding them in my hands brought back memories from decades before. A macaroni picture, a little worse for the wear, lingered with the scent of homemade paste and put me square in a tiny red chair next to my best friend, Patrick. A photo book about my family reminded me about the long-lost family dog. And little origami folded notes, a precursor to the text message (I’m dating myself now), revealed the simple goings on of high school friends and their crushes. There were pictures of birthday parties, academic awards, even the candle favor from my high school prom. I laid them all out across the floor and read through musty schoolwork for hours. I let a few dried up roses move on to the compost bin and reorganized the first 22 years of my life into sturdy plastic boxes.

Fast forward to these last weeks of school and I am up to my chin in artwork, worksheets and mementos. I’ll admit, I tend to toss a great deal of my children’s artwork. But, now I am rethinking my approach to all this paper. How can I hold on to the school years for my children while preserving my sanity; doing this for three children will be quite a feat. Luckily, technology is on my side.

I will surely be saving some of the standouts this year. I plan to get a box for each child to hold on to the keepers, so they can hold them in their hot little hands thirty years from now and have the same experience I had. I will take photos of other works and do my best to keep those organized enough to make it into the yearly photo books we make for the family. And we’ve decided that a few pieces really deserve higher reverence than the refrigerator door; we’ve framed one from each child and will rotate them over the years.

Take a look at the things your kids are holding dear, or projects that might evoke a memory of a great teacher or time spent together as a family. I am always amazed when a little souvenir is unearthed from the depths of the junk drawer, and one of my children remembers where they were, who they were with and sometimes even details I can’t recall. My son once retold the story of having a snow cone while watching fruit sing near a waterfall. He was talking about a trip to Gilroy Gardens when he was barely three years old. I know he probably won’t hold on to that memory for much longer, but maybe the sight of that Garlic hat will remind him, just for a moment, of the fun times we’ve spent together.

What will you do with your children’s keepsakes?

Last week, DJ and I went out on a lunch date.  We went to Lisa’s Tea Treasures in Menlo Park.  It was our first time there, and while the service left a little something to be desired, the experience was so awesome that we’ll for sure make it our special spot.

I started building up the date about a week in advance.  I was super excited about it because I was sure DJ was going to love it – and she did.  She couldn’t believe there were real tea cups on our table, and that they were adorned with delicate porcelain flowers and rims of gold.  She was smitten with the sugar cubes and the dainty tongs that came along with them.  And, there was even a cookie jar on our table – with cookies inside! It was an almost-four-year-old’s dream come true.

Upon taking our order, the server asked DJ if she’d like hot cocoa or lemonade, to which she confidently replied, “I’d like tea.”  It was one of my favorite moments.  Watching her from across the table as she sipped her tea, and laid her napkin across her lap, made me beam with pride.  And, you know what? I wasn’t the only one beaming – DJ was looking at me with a sparkle in her eye that I rarely see.  She was enamored with me.  Me.

Leading up to our special date, DJ had one request – and that was for me to wear a dress.  As a stay-at-home mom of two, I most usually wear jeans and a t-shirt, which is a step up from the yoga pants I lived in just 6 months ago. “Dressing for the job,” has been my motto for about four years now.  But really, it’s been less about the occupational hazards, and more about my own level of confidence.  It’s hard to put together a cute outfit when you’ve become a stranger to your post partum body.  But, I held up my end of the bargain. I wore a dress.

The night before our date, I took three dresses out of my closet and let DJ choose which she’d like to see me in.  Naturally, she chose the pink one.  I had anticipated this, and had washed her favorite long pink dress assuming she’d want us to look alike.  Right again.  On the morning of our date, she eagerly put on her dress, and stormed into my bedroom wondering if I had gotten dressed yet.  I explained to her that I was going to drop her off at school and then come home and get ready.  I told her that I’d pick her up in my special outfit.  She was satisfied with that plan.

I didn’t just wear the dress.  I wore heels, makeup, and even figured out how the heck to use one of those donut bun-maker things in my hair.  With bobby pins, hairspray and perfume – I was set.  As I entered DJ’s school, I was met with comment after comment about how lovely it was to see me all dolled up.  I began feeling very self conscious, and heard myself saying, “DJ asked me to wear this.”  It was as if I felt the need to apologize for making such an effort to look nice.  I was beginning to feel totally uncomfortable in my own skin – until my little girl spotted me.

She was coming down the slide, happily skipping around the bottom of it.  She was twirling and laughing, and then stopped. A complete standstill.  Her eyes fixed upon me, wide with wonder.  Her smile grew from big to huge.  Her entire face lit up, and in slow motion, she approached me, wrapped her arms tightly around my legs and said, “Mommy, you look beautiful.”  She couldn’t take her eyes off of me – not then at school, and not for the rest of our date.

I can’t explain what it felt like to be the recipient of my daughter’s pride.  It was one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life.  To have this little three foot tall person whom I love with all of my heart looking at me with such adoration was beyond special.  It made me realize that I might need to retire some of my t-shirts and continue putting forth the effort to look polished a little more consistently.

It’s a strange thing, though – I’m not gonna lie.  In a way, it feels very conflicting.  I’m a grown woman who never spent much time doing girly things. I was more into soccer than cheerleading, couldn’t dance to save my life, would wash off the eye shadow that I paid to have applied before school formals, and didn’t care for getting my nails done.  I’ve never been into fashion, or labels, or even Nordstrom’s. I cried when my husband tried to buy me a Coach purse because I thought he was “trying to change me” (true story).  These things just haven’t been important to me, and as a result, I’ve slumped into being the opposite of a statement.  I’ve shrunken away, into the shadows of the pretty people.  And, for the most part, I’ve been fairly content there.

But now, now I have two little girls who are looking to me for how to be a woman.  For what it means to celebrate our femininity, along with our strength.  They are Princess-obsessed (a seed I sure didn’t plant!) and wondering how to apply the fairy tales to real life.  I struggle with how much value I influence them to place on looks.  I struggle with raising them to think that pink dresses are what makes a woman beautiful.  I struggle with allowing them to watch me put on my makeup everyday because I don’t want them to think that that’s a prerequisite for tackling the day.

It’s such a fine line, right? Showing my girls what to value in themselves by demonstrating what I value in myself.  I don’t want to overemphasize anything with regard to appearance, and yet, I don’t want to dismiss it either.  I want my daughters to grow up seeing me take pride in myself, because I do want them to realize the joy in being a woman. I just want to present them with a healthy balance – celebrating who we are is quite different than finding our value in what we see.  It’s not an act that I’ve figured out quite yet – but one that I am suddenly aware exists.

I want my daughters to be proud of me.  I have no doubt that they’ll grow to think I’m fairly cool.  I mean, I’m pretty creative and I lean toward saying “yes” more often than “no.”  We talk openly about almost anything, and we laugh a whole lot.  They see me extend kindness to others, and they come along when I donate to those in need.  We pray together, sing together and dance together. I have no doubt that they are learning the diversity and depth of my heart.  But, what about the outside?  The more superficial stuff?  I am learning that they should also know that if a dress and a little lipstick helps them own who they are – then they should totally work it.

We waited a good amount of time to have our second child. D was not exactly the easiest baby. It seemed as though he fought everything this world had to offer. I remember people saying it goes by so fast……you will blink and it is over. Still looking back it was like slow motion for us. At times it even felt like we were on pause. It was not till around his third birthday where the pace started to pick up. The hard baby was all I knew……crying in the car, sleep issues( who doesn’t have those right????) and screaming the majority of the day. We had a saying that I had gotten from a friend…. don’t try and make a happy baby happier. Which, basically meant if my kid is happy don’t lay a finger on him let alone make eye contact.

Adjusting to a first baby in addition to a baby with developmental delays was pretty tough. Although I was loving and hating at times devoting all my energy and attention towards D. I was wanting to start the next chapter in my life and the next leg of D’s therapy which was a BIG fat reality check that he was not the only kid that existed in this world. Trying to convince my husband to have another is a whole other blog in itself or maybe even a novel.

I had two things I wanted to do in life which was be a teacher and a mom of two. I could not imagine growing up without a sibling. I have an older sister and life would have a big hole in it without her. I wanted that for D. It was such a strong force and I worked extremely hard to convince my husband.

D( still hoping a more original nickname than ‘D’ will unfold after a few posts was 4 1/2 when we had Bubba. I was so nervous about how it would play out and how D would do. We prepared him like he was taking the Bar exam. Social/sensory stories, big sibling classes at kaiser, involved him in a lot of the decision making with Bubba’s room. D did great! He totally is rocking the heck out of this big brother thing! We all had more than a few WTF moments getting use to our new normal of family of four.

As corny as this may sound. I have never felt this content in my whole life. As hard as heck as it is to teach 30 and raise 2 day in and day out I am in love with having 2 kids. I love watching how D has transformed during his short time of having a sibling. I love that I have had this corrective experience form of therapy with raising an easier baby. I have felt the Eeyore side of me slowly turning into a Tigger in regards to enjoying the baby stage….i.e~ I don’t want to bite someone’s head off when they mention what a happy baby Bubba is.

This time with Bubba is going by at lightning speed. Since he is a pretty mellow baby and I never knew what that was like. I am literally drinking this experience up. I look at Bubba in such a different light. I remember one afternoon we were just finishing up nursing and I told him how elated I was that my wish came true and how hard I worked for him. He stared at me with that adorable gummy smile and I know he understood me.

Don’t get me wrong I love and appreciate both polar opposite experiences that each child has presented me so far. I am big on inspirational sayings and one of my all time favs since having D is from Maya Angelou: ” I wouldn’t take nothing for this journey now.” D has taught me so much. I have become a more understanding teacher because of him and really appreciate and celebrate nuero-diversity. I might even change my career one day and become an occupational therapist. I love to play!

The universe works in mysterious ways….I am thankful it threw me some ying to go with my yang for the moment at least.