On Kids and Technology

Confession: I let the TV and tablet and my phone babysit my toddler for a little while. And now she's addicted. And I hate myself for it. I'm working on breaking her addiction, but as with all things Toddler, it's easier said than done.

We don't have cable TV anymore. We got rid of it when Carys was maybe six months old and she constantly was trying to crane her head around to watch TV, and I decided that I needed to stop watching it, even in the background, when she was around. From that point until she was around one and a half, we didn't really let her watch much TV, and life was good. She wasn't really interested in it, and we kept busy outside and doing other things.

But I got pregnant with Emmeline right around that time and first trimester exhaustion just completely wiped me out, so I went the easy way out and let her watch a ton of Netflix on TV while I laid on the couch and napped.

BAD idea.

When I eventually got some energy back, trying to wean her of constant TV watching was painful...for both of us. Her because I was removing access to her precious shows, and me because I had to listen to the whining and screaming.

Her whole personality changed on days when she was allowed to watch so much TV. She was meaner and whinier and not nearly as pleasant - and this was with watching "good" shows like Daniel Tiger and Sesame Street. We didn't even watch Calliou because I've heard horror stories about whiny kids stemming from it, so the change in personality was honestly pretty shocking.

Look at that grump face.

She is also obsessed with "her" tablet (actually mine) and will throw a fit if she isn't allowed to use it - which is terrifying, because I don't let her use it that often. We're talking 10-15 minutes here and there. Yet if she isn't allowed it, she has a meltdown. And if she's allowed to use it unchecked, she could literally go three hours straight using it and watching "eggs" on YouTube (people opening KinderSurprise Eggs. It's a thing. Apparently?) without blinking. I know this, because when I was passing kidney stones about a month ago and in agony one day*, I let her use it without a time limit and she didn't set it down for a moment. Like some teenage dude, she even watched it while she was peeing.  The same personality shifts occur when she uses the tablet; going from pleasant and easy-going and a good listener to cranky and whiny and even lashing out more.

*Oh, did I forget to blog about that? Because yeah, I passed a couple kidney stones and had an ambulance ride and hospital negligence and then a different hospital and ER visit and all that. But the fuckers came out and if I ever get them again I think I'll just carve my kidneys out with a plastic spoon, because that would be less painful.

I instituted a system of "TV Tickets" (actually for any screen, but TV tickets flows better than "screen time tickets") where she got four tickets each day. She can use any one ticket for 30 minutes of screen time or all four to watch a movie (this was later cut to 15 minutes, though she could still use all four for a movie). That actually works well - she will even tell us to turn off the TV if we are watching it after her bedtime and she comes out for a glass of water. I stopped letting her watch it within an hour of waking  up, as it seems that screen time in the morning completely throws off her mood the rest of the day. She was still constantly asking for the phone or tablet, so I had to further institute a "one screen at a time" rule (i.e. tablet OR phone OR television), which makes me want to punch myself in the face, because how did I let it get to that point? There were actually times when she was watching TV *and* playing on my phone? WTFFFFFFFFFFF, self???

I know that she wasn't watching that much TV compared to national averages, but it was way more than what a "good" mom - the mom I wanted and want to be - would allow. And I needed to limit it for my personal parenting goals, also - our activities and walks and trips had greatly decreased during that time, too. I was so tired and sick when I was giving into her and using it as a crutch, but it was a hard habit to break even when I started to feel better.

The idea that she's so easily engrossed in my phone and my tablet and the TV, even when only getting to use them briefly, is horribly sad to me.  And Emmeline is beginning already - she reaches for my phone whenever she sees it. I know part of that is because she's a baby and the lights are engrossing to her, but I want to do for her from the start what I did for Carys - only without the backwards slide.

When I look around at my husband and myself, and I can absolutely see from where it comes. I was one my phone and computer all the time. I've gotten a lot better once I was honest with myself and once I made the commitment to cut back. I've made a huge effort to be on my phone or computer only when she's sleeping. But it's stupidly hard. I feel like I'm missing out on some urgent news if I'm not checking Facebook or Instagram throughout the day, and like events aren't happening unless they're documented or shared.

WHICH IS DUMB. My childhood was absolutely amazing, and it only fills like four physical photo albums. It wasn't blogged about (irony/pot/kettle) or posted to social media or shared on Instagram.

I love those connections, though. I love reaching out and connecting with other people, especially other moms of small kids. I don't want to give it all up.  (Sometimes those fifteen minutes on Facebook are the only adult interactions I get all day.) But I can do that during select moments, rather than al day long. So I'm trying so hard to be present and phone-free in my daily interactions with the kids, but I sometimes feel so addicted to my phone and social media. I feel my fingers inching towards the phone or computer and telling myself, "I'll just check it quickly and then log right back off."

I also know we're not a "no TV" or "no tablet" or "no phone" family. We'll always have them around. Realistically, she will get screen time. There will be some times that I need to make dinner and she's nagging me, or some days when I don't feel good, or some days when she doesn't feel good.  There's a time and place for screens, and I need to be better about limiting viewing to those times. I can't and shouldn't and won't beat myself up for the odd show here or tablet time there.  I will be mad at myself, though, if she comes to me and I tell her to "Wait a minute, honey," while I check Twitter one more time.

I'm working on it.

I've stopped taking pictures and immediately uploading them to Instagram - instead, I snap some pics, put the phone away, and upload them to Instagram later, when the kids are sleeping or, let's be honest, when I'm peeing. I love taking pictures of the girls, and I doubt I'll ever cut back on that, but I don't need to take additional time to post the pictures online within seconds. That can wait.

I limit myself to a few minutes of Facebook a day, after I've tucked the girls into bed or, let's be honest again, when I'm peeing. Facebook can wait.

I don't watch television until they're in bed  (which is good, since I doubt the lesbian scenes in Orange is the New Black would be considered toddler-friendly).  Television can wait. (No, I don't watch TV while peeing.)

I love to read, but instead of picking up my Kindle or reading on my phone, I'm picking up real books. I want the girls to read (and thank god they both love books despite their screen love), but they aren't going to pick up good reading habits watching me stare at a screen. They need to see me reading real books, and reading often. (Also, sidenote: If you saw a parent at a park reading a physical book while their child was playing, you probably wouldn't think twice. But if you saw them staring at their phone - even if they were reading War and Peace - you would totally judge. Because you wouldn't know they were reading War and Peace. So. Deep thoughts there.)

It's a work in progress, which seriously makes me heartsick to type. It shouldn't be a work in progress to be completely present to your children. That doesn't mean I need to entertain them every minute. I want them to learn to play independently, and Carys is actually really good at it. But I don't want to be a zoned-out, "hang on a minute," phone-checking zombie when they're playing by themselves, completely engrossed in my computer.  There are so many better things I could be doing with that time.

I know it's only by seeing me (and their dad, but getting him on board is another story) put down our phones that her screen addiction will truly break. Every time I sneak a glance at my phone when Carys is trying to engage me in play, I'm breaking her a little bit.

I need to fix myself before I can fix her.

Screens can wait. Their childhood can't.

Isolation

Did I ever mention here that "Elsa" was one of our top names for Emmeline? Way before the movie came out, obviously. One of the reasons we discarded it was because it was the name of one of my grandmother's cats, but I remember after taking Carys to see Frozen at the beginning of December wondering if having the character in the movie named Elsa meant it would soon be ubiquitous and known primarily for that character. I also remember kind of dismissing that thought because, "...how big could that movie really get?"

Little did I know that it would become Carys's favorite movie and that she would be all Elsa (and Anna) all the time. And that Frozen-branded stuff would be everywhere, and that Elsa would be everyone's favorite character. And that had I used the name Elsa, I'm sure I would have gotten, "Like the movie?" every time I said her name. 

To force a segue that only kind of works, I've been kind of feeling isolated lately. (It works, okay, because I can't hear the word "isolation" without immediately breaking out into song: "A kingdom of isolation...and it looks like I'm the queen.") (I KNOW I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE!) 

My mom moved to a small city (for work) about a six hour drive from me the year Carys was born. If you know me or my mom, she's my rock and a very real part of my soul. It has been incredibly hard having her away. Incredibly hard, as in I'm tearing up just writing it out. And it hasn't gotten any easier 2.5 years later. When I think of her permanently moving, which I know is always a possibility, my heart just shatters. At least now, she can come home whenever since my dad is here in their local house, and at least now I know I have every summer with her. But if she moves, I can't imagine being in a hotel for three months straight to visit for the entire summer. 

And now my youngest sister is gearing up to move to California, which is literally halfway across the country. She's leaving in August. She was my little tag-along sister who drove me batshit insane because she constantly wanted to copy everything I did, but now she's the one I want to copy. She's one of my very best friends now, and generally my default answer to "Who can I hang out with tonight? I'm bored." Carys absolutely adores her and I've been so excited to see her and Emmeline develop that special bond as well - and now that she's moving when Em is so young, it won't be the same. Sure, she'll come back a couple times a year, and there's video chat, but it's not the same as seeing someone in person every week. And Carys is so little that their special bond won't be maintained either - she won't remember what it's like to have Kimber in her weekly (if not daily) life. 

And now I'm crying about it. Again. Sigh. I'm such a wuss. GET IT TOGETHER, GIRL.

It feels like my entire support system is crumbling around me.

Don't you love how I can take major events in other people's lives and make it ALL ABOUT ME?

I always thought I was pretty flexible and change didn't affect me much, but these two events have proven me way wrong and it's really thrown me for a loop.

I don't want to discount the friends and family I do have locally - another sister, who is wonderful, and a brother, who is also wonderful. I just don't see them as much as I did Kimberly, unfortunately. And my dad is fantastic and always available, but he'd be the first to admit he's no mom. No one can nurture quite like my mom can.  And most of my closest friends are away, too: one of my very best mom friends moved about four hours away, another is two hours away, and another four hours away. In our large group of local friends, most aren't married and don't have kids. I have a few good friends left in the area, though, and I'll need to make a concerted effort to see them more often in order to combat the loneliness I know is going to hit me once Kimber's outta here. And I'll need to make an effort to expand my horizons and ugh, make new friends, which is always awkward and weird when you're an adult. Anyone want to be my new best friend? Applications accepted. 

The Terrible Almost-Threes

Oh, my god.

OH, MY GOD.

Did one of you happen to see my sweet little girl? The one who is kind and loving and nice and a good listener?

Because hot damn, I want her back.

Today, at a playdate, my best friend and I were getting ready to leave. We did all the "right" things: we gave warnings, we gave choices, we were loving but firm. And for our troubles, I got a handful of dirt thrown at me and she got an epic tantrum.  And I truly believe we are both good moms. Really good moms. We've read the books (I freaking worship Love & Logic*) and gone to the seminars and followed our instincts. And pre-kid me would have judged the shit out of these two moms who couldn't get their two-year-olds to sweetly and obediently leave the park. Because through eight thousand hours of baby-sitting, I never had to live with one of these tiny terrorists.

If I'm being totally honest, I probably would have judged those moms just six months ago, too. I, somewhere deep inside, thought we had gotten off easy, because we had almost none of the "terrible" in terrible twos. There were tantrums here and there but parenting was still easy. Maybe I was just that awesome of a parent? Maybe she was just that awesome of a kid? But as we've gotten closer and closer to three, these glimpses of a child I don't know and at some points don't WANT to know keep appearing.

This age is hard, ya'll. It's like she's suddenly discovered that in her mind, she has all the power. And the problem is, SHE DOES. Because this girl does not give a shit about your discipline techniques. Take toys away? "PSH. I HAVE OTHERS," she says. Time out? "HILARIOUS." Physically forcing her to cooperate? "JUST TRY."  She knows all of the exact right things to say to break my heart, all of the exact right things to do (or not do) to test my limits, and all of the exact right attitudes to throw out to make me want to scream. And drink a glass of wine. A big glass.

I am seriously at a loss sometimes as to what to do to combat this...this...toddler.  She's just a two-year-old, how is she possibly besting me?!?!?! Theoretically I'm stronger and smarter with better self control. Sometimes I worry I'm raising a little psychopath, until I talk to another toddler parent and am assure that yes, their child too is a violent, whiney little f*ker. I had to use the edited version of that word because I feel bad calling my kid a f*ker, but seriously. Some days.

Carys, if you're 18 and reading this, be assured that I still loved you to freaking bits every single millisecond, you just made me work for it.  You're such an amazing kid, truly. You're so smart and funny and strong and such an incredible little girl. And most of the time you are just the sweetest little ball of curly-haired awesomeness and you totally amaze me with the depth of your love.

But.

BUT.

But then I tell you that you can't have ice cream for breakfast and you lose your ever-loving mind. Or I need you to get out of the swing so I can lay baby sister down to sleep and you refuse and you hit me when I pick you up. Or I have the audacity to be sleeping in my own bed when you crawl into it at 6:30 in the morning and MY BLANKET TOUCHES YOU AND YOU ONLY WANT YOUR BLANKET OH THE HORRORS OH THE HUMANITY and you start kicking.

I was just listening to a story on NPR (yes, I'm one of those, sigh) about "Bad Babies" and a Yale researcher said that two is the most violent age and that the only reason the families of two-year-olds survive is because they aren't strong enough and don't have access to lethal weapons.  And when I watch this small child flailing on the floor because I picked out the wrong pair of jeans, I kind of think that he's right.

Lucky for her, she also wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me in nose to nose and whispers, "I love you, Mommy." And lucky for her, she randomly tells me, "You're my favorite Mommy." And lucky for her, if I get the tiniest owie, she runs to the freezer to get me an ice pack and smother me in kisses and tell me it will be okay.

Lucky for her, I love the shit out of her for all those reasons and a million more.

(But you're on my list, kid....watch it.)

UPDATE: Hm. I just realized that this post and the "no naps" post go hand-in-hand. Did I just have a parenting breakthrough? I wonder how much of this is caused by being overtired. Probably a lot. Maybe I need to push naps harder or try to get her down to bed earlier. Experiment time!


*Regarding  the "Love and Logic" series - not a paid advertisement or anything; it's truly one of my favorite parenting concepts. Big on real-life consequences and acting with empathy and love. I don't agree with every word on the page, but overall one of my favorite parenting books (and I seriously doubt there is any parenting philosophy or book out there that I'd agree with 100% - all kids and all parents and all families are different, obviously, and one book won't cover everything, duh). I have both "Love and Logic for Early Childhood" and the regular "Love and Logic" book, but they cover mostly the same information.  I also just got their book about entitlement but haven't read it yet. Seriously, such a great concept. 

Yes, it's "another" girl. No, we aren't disappointed. REALLY PEOPLE?

Apparently, when you find out you're having a second child the same sex as the first child, it's a free for all for people to comment on how 'that's too bad,' and ask 'will you be trying for a third to get that [opposite sex child]?', and say 'tsk, tsk, I feel sorry for you/your husband [depending on if you are having two boys or two girls]'.  (Minor aside and biology lesson for people who bring up the "is Chris disappointed?" line: it's his sperm that are determining this, so...) I know people with two boys get the same response and they are equally frustrated.

It's a bit shameful to reflect upon, but when I was pregnant with Carys, I talked about how I had hoped she would be a boy before I found out she was a she.  I admit it, and I regret it now. I had my reasons, as shallow as they might be: I wanted any girls I had to have a big brother (something I'd ALWAYS wanted growing up), and I wanted a boy because of my history with loss.  In an oft-used analogy, I'd been on the boy train with Caleb, and that train got derailed so suddenly and unexpectedly that there were still fantasies of the life I would have had with a boy swimming in my head: the nursery I would have designed, the little plaid shirts, the post-bath faux-hawks.  I somehow felt like the spirit of the boy we'd lost would come back in the next, living boy and that I'd be able to get right back on that train and continue the journey I'd been on previously. 

Of course, life doesn't work like that, and we didn't have a boy. We had a girl. And when I found out while pregnant that we were indeed having a girl, I quickly adjusted to the idea and never looked back.  In reality, having a girl was probably the best thing that could have happened: she was a completely separate child from Caleb and not a replacement or reincarnation.  It was unfair to the baby I was carrying to expect it to be a new Caleb, and it probably would have taken a while to get over that idea had it indeed been a boy. I could never imagine Carys not being Carys: she was exactly what we needed, the exact perfect first baby for us, the best child I could ever have hoped for, boy or girl. And she's a rough-and-tumble little girl who is obsessed with golf, loves mud, dirt, dinos, zombies, farts, and motorcycles AND love babies, dresses, nail polish, and helping me cook, so (not to brag) (totally bragging) but we completely got the best of both worlds.

[Super Side Note: this is why those "#allboy and #allgirl tags all over Instagram drive me nuts, even though I know they're meant innocently. Loving to play in the dirt isn't "all boy" - it's "all toddler."  Climbing and running and jumping and being daring isn't reserved for just little boys. Dressing up or playing with a doll isn't something just little girls do - I know plenty of little boys who enjoy a good tiara now and then. I don't want Carys to ever stop enjoying the things she loves because she thinks they're for boys, and on the flip side would never want to insinuate a boy shouldn't love something typically considered girly.]

Though I thought I had a sex preference with Carys, with Baby Squish, I truly did not care. There are incredible things to be had either way. So when I found out it was a girl, I was ecstatic. I was (and am) absolutely in love with the idea of sisters, and think that the bond between two sisters can be like nothing else in the world.  My sisters are some of my best friends, and my mom has the same bond with her sisters.  And, you know, BONUS: I'd get to re-use all Carys's clothes. And damnit, she has cute clothes!  Plus, I love saying "my girls" and "the girls."  I truly could not be more excited to have welcomed our second little girl into the world. Although it'd be JUST LOVELY if the comments expressing disappointment on Chris's and sometimes my behalf would stop, since, you know, we're not disappointed. A family is not a perfect family only if it contains two parents and at least one child of each gender.

Will we ever have a third (or fourth or tenth)? I have no idea. I mean, holy cow, let me see how I do with two first. I might fall apart completely; who knows? Two might be my limit.  But if I can handle two like I picture myself handling two (please let me handle two?!?!), then I could see trying to convince Chris to go for a third. Right now he's good with two, but maybe with enough, ahem, spirited debate I could get another one out of him. But right now? Two is perfect.

If we do go for three, I cannot even begin to imagine the comments that would happen should we find out that we were having another girl.  I don't know yet if I'll have a preference, though I'm sure there would be some external pressure for a boy.  But I wouldn't be having a third child to try for a boy, I'd be having a third child to have a third child.  Novel idea, right??  If it was a girl, my first thought, I think, would be OMG THREE SISTERS HOW FUN!  There might be a twinge of disappointment in realizing that I'd never get to raise a boy and that the door would be closed on that opportunity since I sincerely doubt we'd ever have four kids.  So I would be sad at first about that, perhaps.  And that's okay, I think - it's okay to mourn the closing of any door, as long as you don't do it at the expense of the other door behind you that DID open.  It's complicated for me, I think, because I buried a son, but have never raised one.  A re-do there, with a chance to finish what I once started, would be nice.  But importantly, I understand now that it doesn't matter - your kid is going to be absolutely perfect either way and you'll love them completely. So if we decide to have a third, wayyyyyy into the future, we wouldn't be trying to have a boy; it'd be to have a third kid regardless of the sex. It's a 50/50 shot, after all.

But yeah. Don't feel the need to express sympathy that we have two amazing, gorgeous girls and are thrilled beyond belief with our family. We're pretty fricking happy. (Note: no one has done that on this blog, since blog readers are a sophisticated bunch, right? It's only happened in real life, to my face - which is almost worse!)

Baby Squish : 30 Weeks. And also Carrots.

Other than the gestational diabetes diagnosis, not much has been happening still.* Getting bigger, still feeling really good, had a totally freaky experience when I could basically feel her entire foot through my belly button. Things are juuuuuust starting to get a bit squished in there. I feel huge, but I know there is SO MUCH MORE HUGENESS to come, so I'm focusing on feeling small.

*So I totally jinxed myself by starting this post on Sunday morning, because then Sunday afternoon I had a bit of a bleeding scare.  Had to go into L&D for some monitoring, but all seems to be fine and just taking it easy. 

Helloooooooo belly button.

With ten weeks and just over two months left, we still have no name and no nursery. But I'm less freaked out about either of those things now then I was earlier. Whatever, right? I assume she'll eventually have a name and we have a good six months to get her a room assuming all goes well and she sleeps okay in the Rock 'n Play like her big sister did.

Soooo I cheated and loved this outfit with the yellow sweater, but it's really like 29 weeks 3 days.  I was going to just fudge it but for unknown reasons felt guilty so I took a real 30 week picture today.

Speaking of her big sister...what I AM freaking out about is losing my one-on-one time with her.  Like to the point I start to cry when thinking about it. I know it's not gone forever, and I know that a sister is an amazing, amazing gift (please let them love each other!), but our quiet mornings where just the two of us snuggle and watch Sesame Street will not be the same after Squish arrives.  Nor will I be able to drop everything and read a book to her, or take a last-minute trip to the park, or even think about just her. Everything from December 17th on will need to take two kids into consideration.

(photo courtesy Darbi G Photography - this is just a screenshot of her screen, so excuse the quality)

I'm petrified of looking back at these last two months and feeling like I wasted them. I want to take off work for the next two months and fill our days with nothing but laughter and finger paint and cuddles. I want to quit all social media and break our TV and live in a world of books and wonder.  I want to take her to the zoo and the children's museum and Disneyworld and the moon.  I want to have her permanently attached to my side in a mom-first daughter love cocoon for ten weeks where I can just live in the pure joy and bliss* that is Carys.  She's such a unique, smart, silly, amazing little kid and I don't want to miss any of her, and I'm worried that splitting my attention between two kids will mean that happens. I know that will happen. I know there will be times when I have to sacrifice Carys time for Squish, and Squish time for Carys. I know that having two kids means that neither one will get my full attention as much as Carys did her first two years. I worry that I'll miss getting to know Squish like I did Carys, with two years of solid one-on-one time to get to know and love every little thing about her.

Seriously. THIS KID. 

AHHHH MOM GUILT EXPLOSION.

I need a brownie and a glass of wine. TWO THINGS WHICH I CANNOT HAVE, DAMMIT.

*Pure joy and bliss not guaranteed. She is two, after all.

Baby Squish Has Stolen My Ice Cream

So apparently, Squish is trying to ruin my life. Well, not Squish so much, but her (my?) placenta.

Like with Carys, I failed my one-hour gestational diabetes test by just a few points. Having been down that road once before, I wasn't entirely surprised to have failed it. However, I expected it to go similarly as it did last time: pass the three hour, no problem.   I actually felt BETTER this time, so I was sure I'd pass. Last time I felt faint and gross; this time I felt totally fine. Also, last time, Carys was measuring large the entire pregnancy; this time, the baby has been pretty average (I think 56th at the last growth scan?).  I think overall I've been eating healthier, too. I don't follow the BEST diet, by far, but it's not completely terrible.

But this time I didn't pass the three-hour. I failed. I FAILED AT A TEST THAT ALLOWS ME TO EAT ICE CREAM.  I FAILED A TEST THAT TAKES AWAY ALL THE GOODNESS JUST BEFORE HALLOWEEN AND THANKSGIVING. I am not a happy camper. Come Halloween, you'll be able to find me hiding from snack-size Reese's and M&Ms and Snickers under the bed. When Thanksgiving rolls around, I'll be spending the day in Canada, away from all the pumpkin and apple pies and, sob, whipped cream.

Of all the times to discover you have gestational diabetes, just before the holidays has to be the worst.

I had a two-year-old yelling in my ear when the doctor's office called with the results, but the gist of it appears to be that my pre-drink (fasting) blood sugar was fine. After the drink, they test your blood again at the 1 hour, 2 hour, and 3 hour mark. The blood sugar levels were too high the first two draws, but back to fine for the last draw.  It sounded like they were just barely too high, but I didn't get the numbers (see: screaming toddler). It didn't matter, though, failing two of the three blood draws equals a big, fat FAIL.

Now I'm waiting for the diabetes center to call me so I can take a class...or something...again the toddler distracted me with her urgent desire to "talk to doctor on the phone!" (she was very upset I went to the doctor without her that morning, so the fact that I was now TALKING to the doctor without her was just a complete backstab) so I didn't catch it all. Google/friends tell me that I will have to follow a special diet and test my blood sugars multiple times a day.  SO FUCKING AWESOME.

Not.

I know this is by far pretty much the least complicated of the myriad of complications you can have in pregnancy (as I well, well know) and tons of people fail and have to do all this, but it still bloody sucks.

A Bump Manifesto

I hear and see it over and over again:

"I'm huge! I feel enormous."

"I'm barely showing; is something wrong?"

"I love your bump, I wish mine looked like that."

"My bump is shaped so weird."

Here's the deal: As long as you're eating relatively healthy, your bump is fine. Your bump is normal. Your bump is perfect.*

Love your bump. Embrace your bump.

Those who show early wish they were smaller. Those who have flat stomachs well into their second trimester long for a cute little bump to show off. Most of us are just average, but because of the rampant comparisons, feel like we're too big or too little.

We all have different bodies, different uteruses (uterii?), different amounts of amniotic fluid, different stomach muscles, different babies, different genetics, different starting points. The way these factors are coming together during your pregnancy are what determine your bump shape and size, along with your current diet and, to some extent, your level of activity. Here's the thing: as long as you're putting forth some effort to eat healthy and putting forth even a minor effort to be active, there's nothing you can do about the other components. Your bump is your bump. It's not anyone else's bump. You should not compare it to the girl next door who is a foot taller or shorter than you and who weighs 50 pounds more or less than you do.  Her bump is hers alone. She probably wishes it were bigger/smaller/rounder/higher/lower, too. So stop comparing it to hers!

Some of us are Kate Middleton, athletic and slim throughout our pregnancy. Some of us are Kim Kardashian, curvy and voluptuous. Most of us are somewhere in the middle.

A few of us will gain all over, and you'll know that we're pregnant just by glimpsing an ankle alone. Our cheeks will expand right along with our bellies. Some of us will gain just in the belly, and truly look like we're smuggling a basketball in our shirt. Some of us will hardly show through the entire pregnancy, and people will be unsure whether they are pregnant even as they are walking into the delivery room ready to give birth.   Some will grow straight out and be able to balance a cup of water on their abdomen. Some will grow up and down and be sticking out from boobs to crotch.  Some will grow wide, and you'll be able to see their bump from behind. Some will have pointy bellies, some round bellies, some square bellies. Some won't show at all from the back. Some won't show at all from the front. Some will show from all angles.  Some will carry so high you wonder how they can breath; some will carry so low you wonder how the kid hasn't fallen out yet.

Some of us will gain the majority of weight in the first trimester, when scarfing down carbs and crackers are the only things that keep us from puking into our breakfast. Some of us won't gain a pound until close to the third trimester.

A few women will start showing the day before the pregnancy test turns positive. A few women will still have flat stomachs halfway or even two-thirds of the way through their nine months. Some will have strangers asking if they're due any day - at 4 months pregnant. A few people will go through their through pregnancy never having stepped foot in the maternity section of the store or having to even employ the hair tie trick.

Heck, Google "Pregnant Celebrities," where the images in this post came from, and look at the variety of baby bump and body shapes during pregnancies - and these are people who are in peak physical condition with trainers and nutritionists caring for them their entire pregnancy.

The bottom line is that you are not anyone else. You are not your mom, your best friend, or that internet stranger. Don't be jealous of her bump. Don't worry abut whether your bump is normal or whether it should be bigger or smaller or rounder or flatter. Appreciate your bump - it's growing your baby, and that is the ONLY thing that matters. Anything else is just superficial noise.

*Note: there are ALWAYS exceptions. Someone might be huge because they have a giant tumor growing in their abdomen; some might be tiny because they have low amniotic fluid levels. I'm not talking medical situations here. Those are unusual, unlikely, and rare scenarios. This manifesto is for the other 99% of pregnancies. 

Baby Squish : Scary News (That will be okay?)

Last Friday, I had my 16-week appointment (where, by the way, Squish did NOT cooperate to allow the sonographer to confirm the sex guess from the 12-week appointment!).  I always love seeing Squish and how he or she has grown since the last appointment, and I got wonderful confirmation that my trans-abdominal cerclage is holding the cervix nice and closed.

However, as she was scanning the baby and hit the lateral (I think?) view of the brain, I immediately noticed the large, dark spot.  It looked much like this (except only on one hemisphere of the brain):

(not my picture)

She spent a lot of time measuring it, and I spent the entire time debating on whether I should ask about it. I sometimes thought I saw a similar spot on the other side (I didn't; it's only on one side), which made me think maybe it was normal and I just didn't remember it from Carys, and didn't want to ask a stupid question about a normal part of the brain.  

After the ultrasound ended, the doctor came in to do the debriefing. He first assured me that the baby looked wonderful and that everything looked perfect, then commiserated that they couldn't confirm his sex guess, and finally told me not to freak out, but that they saw something on the ultrasound of which they wanted me to be aware. 

A cyst. A cyst on our baby's brain.

The second those words left his lips, I disconnected.  Inside, I was panicking and wanted to scream, but outside, I just kept smiling and nodding. He explained that it was a choroid plexus cyst, and that they occur in 1-3% of pregnancies.  He said that they can be markers of something worse - like Trisomy 13 or 18, which are often fatal.  However, he quickly reassured me that with a completely normal NT scan and completely normal blood test results, as well as zero other markers seen on the ultrasound, he has no reason to believe that there are any issues with the baby, and that the cyst should completely disappear by the time Squish is 24 weeks old.  He further explained that he sees these in about one in forty pregnancies, but probably only sees trisomy in one in a thousand pregnancies, so that the odds were highly in my favor, particularly because of the lack of any other conerns. 

So I'm trying to be confident and really have no reason not to be....

....but a cyst.

On my baby's brain. 

That is some scary shit! I just see that big black hole on the ultrasound and wonder whether the brain can possibly develop normally around it for the eight or so weeks it takes to develop and then go away - Dr. Google and Dr. Real Doctor said yes, it's absolutely possible and there aren't any long-term effects, but still. A CYST ON THE BRAIN. No matter how harmless the doctor hopes it is, that's still a terrifying thing to hear.

I keep thinking that this pregnancy has been SO easy that of course something had to be wrong, and then I keep thinking that this pregnancy has been so easy that a most-likely-to-disappear-cyst surely can't be the last of it. 

I'm just hoping the next seven weeks - until our 24 week appointment - absolutely FLY by so that I can go back and get the great news that the cyst is gone (fingers crossed/knock on wood/consult witch doctor). I asked if they'd be able to tell us anything at the 20 week ultrasound, and he said probably not - they cyst will (hopefully) appear smaller because the baby's head is bigger, but it usually takes until 24 weeks for it to resolve.

I know we have absolutely zero reason to worry and that chances are fantastic it will be totally fine and go away just like the doctor predicts, but there's always that little bit of doubt and worry in the back of your head - and I'm sure it will be there until they give us the all clear.  Fingers crossed so hard that we get an all clear.  I know people that have gotten much worse news and have had much worse diagnoses, so I completely recognize how lucky I am that the issue with our baby is comparatively small and likely self-resolving, but.....it's still something wrong with my baby. And no mother ever likes to hear anything other than "perfect."

That Boob Post

Somehow I wrote this post months ago and never published it, 

but it's got some good information, so I'm publishing it now. Whoops!
**Since writing this, we've weaned, so I added weaning info to the end.**

15 months and 10 days. That's how long I've nursed Carys, as of today.  It was a hard (let me emphasize: HARD) journey at first, but the last year plus has been amazing.  Our nursing relationship is slowing - we're down to a few times a day - and I can't lie; I'm going to miss it like crazy when we're done.

When I look back, I'm mostly just so grateful that it worked for us and grateful for this time with her. I know far too many people who struggled hard and had to make the gut-wrenching (but baby saving!) decision to stop, and we were so close to being there.  I'm eternally grateful for whatever tiny graces allowed me to continue. Now, Carys is a busy little girl, and nursing gives us time to reconnect and be still together. Well. Kind of. Nursing a toddler is more gymnursetics than quiet stillness, but it's still a moment to stop together.

Nursing in the Hospital
I had hoped so much when she was born that I'd get to nurse her immediately, but the logistics of it at the time made it impractical (I had a c-section). I have some plans in place for next time and hopefully the next kiddo will get the benefit of my experience. Though I wasn't able to do immediate skin to skin contact with her, we were never apart. She was in the operating room with us as they finished, and we all went to the recovery room together. Once there, they tested her glucose level, because she was 9 pounds. She failed. (I did not have gestational diabetes.) Without really asking for permission, they gave her a bottle of sugar formula. I was and still am thrilled that Chris got to bond with her so quickly and feed her (and he loved it), but next time that will not happen. I knew at the time that I didn't want that (and had read what a nursing mother "should" do in that situation), but didn't know how to advocate for myself. Hearing one of the nurses say that she would never give her baby that disgusting formula solidified it for me.  Next time, I will ask to nurse first and then have her re-tested before consenting to the formula. She failed her next one and received another bottle as well, but passed the third. In the end, it was okay - she was a hungry baby, and latched on immediately after finishing the first bottle. We were nursing and doing skin to skin within an hour of her birth, which is great for a c-section baby.

The remainder of the stay in the hospital was a blur. I wasn't super confident in my nursing ability and I wasn't sure it was happening correctly, but none of the lactation consultants that we talked to seemed to see any issues. At this point, it wasn't painful, but it just didn't feel right. I actually stayed in the hospital an extra day (taking the full four days allowed for a c-section) in the hopes that I would be able to leave feeling confident.  I do remember that she wanted to nurse all. the. time. Which, you know, newborn. That's what they do.

Newborn Nursing (aka The Worst Days of Our Lives)
For the most part, the first month or two of her life, I wouldn't even wear a top. I was always taking it off to nurse, anyway, why bother? Plus the feeling of clothing against my skin was torture. I'm sure that the UPS guy really appreciated it when I answered the door topless on accident one morning! (It was not a pretty sight; poor guy!).  She was nursing every two hours, night and day, and would usually pass out right after nursing. She would also usually pass out WHILE nursing, so it took quite a bit of effort to get her to stay awake long enough to finish a meal. She was what they call a lazy nurser. 

Sometime in the first eleven days of her life, it went from not feeling right to being painful. Incredibly, incredibly painful. More painful than anything I'd ever experienced - and I'd just had major surgery! I would put off nursing her as long as I could in order to prolong feeling that pain. Toe curling, foot stomping, sobbing pain. I would cry through our nursing sessions, especially at night.  One of my friends came to do our newborn shoot, and she was totally alarmed at how much pain I was in because of it.  Once she was latched on, it wasn't bad, but the process of getting her latched on was quite literally torture.

Because of the pain (or maybe the pain was because of this) I got clogged ducts and mastitis.  Because of the antibiotics for the mastitis, I got thrush.  Thrush felt like a million needles being stuck in my nipples each time I nursed. Mastitis made me feel run down and like I had the flu - just overall sick.  I went through the mastitis-thrush cycle at least twice (I have tips and tricks for beating those now if you need any!).

I went to a La Leche League meeting and finally was able to get someone to agree that her latch wasn't right. She would open wide, but then as she latched on, close her bottom jaw.  They gave me some tips to work on it, which helped to some degree.  However, it was there that someone mentioned tongue tie, and, as I was desperate to blame SOMETHING for the issues we were having, I called the doctor they mentioned who specialized in nursing issues.

So when she was about five weeks old, we saw the special doctor. She confirmed that Carys had a slight case of posterior tongue tie. She could clip it, but warned me that clipping it doesn't always work for that type of tie, and since Carys was older, her latch was already well established so it was even less likely to work. I made the decision to clip it out of desperation (it wasn't too bad!).

They also weighed Carys, and I discovered she'd lost three ounces since her doctor appointment two weeks prior. She clearly was not getting enough from me - the mastitis and my avoidance of nursing on that side (I'd pump instead) had drastically affected my supply. The doctor had me start a nurse/bottle/pump routine. I would nurse Carys, she would have a bottle of pumped milk, and then I would pump. I quickly ran out of pumped milk doing that, so she did get some bottles that were a mix of breastmilk and formula, but I am lucky that we never had to do straight formula. This routine continued for two or so weeks, and it was miserable. I was *always* nursing, feeding her a bottle, or pumping. As soon as I would finish pumping, she'd be ready to nurse again. And I was pumping at least twice in the middle of the night as well. But then! She started taking less and less of the bottle after nursing, and eventually she'd refuse it altogether. At that point, we stopped offering the bottle and I nursed her exclusively.

At the meeting, the doctor also discovered I had vasospasms, and the soothies I'd been using to try to help the pain were actually making it worse.  I started taking vitamin E and using a heating pad after each nursing session, and putting a wool breast pad in my bra, and that helped to some extent.

We did have one more scary setback when she was around six weeks. I found a bottle that had been left out, and it had turned pink. Literally highlighter pink! And her diapers were turning pink too - after she'd poop, the wetness that would leech out from the solids would turn pink after a day (I noticed it as I was washing diapers). I finally found some information about a scary infection that could cause milk to turn pink (from, of all places, an episode of "Mystery Diagnosis"), so at a well baby visit, the family doctor we see decided to do a milk culture and see what she found.  Well, she found the bacteria that causes that scary infection (serretia marcesens). And clearly it was in Carys's system, too, since her poop was turning pink.  This was terrifying, but also confusing, since neither of us had symptoms of being sick. I had to go see an infectious disease doctor (two of them!) to see what was going on and get more information. In the long run, since we never got sick, they decided to let it run the course without drugs (treatment is a very aggressive course of antibiotics that would have required me to stop nursing). 

When I was first having so many difficulties, I kept reading that it would improve at around six weeks. That's what really got me through the difficult parts. I'd think, "Okay, I can do one more day. I just need to make it two weeks nursing, and then if I need to stop, I can." When she turned two weeks old, I thought, "Ok, one month. I can do this one month." At a month, I looked forward to that magic turning point of six weeks. Once we hit it, there was no improvement. It was still awful and painful and I was devastated. But I kept telling myself that any day it would get better, and then suddenly....it was.  When she was eight or nine weeks old, it just stopped hurting. I don't know what changed. I don't know if she (and therefore her mouth) got bigger so she was able to take more of the breast in while nursing, or if my nipples finally gave up and turned off their nerve endings, or what.

Besides the pain and issues, I remember most how she would pass out every time she nursed. I remember when she stopped doing that (I don't even know how old she was) I had no idea what to do with her...before, she'd pretty much be eating or sleeping. Now she was awake? And wanted to be entertained?

Why didn't I stop during any of that? I honestly don't know. It's the hardest thing I've overcome with parenting yet, and I know that she would have been fine not nursing and having formula instead. But it was important to me, and I really wanted to do it - and, other than the pain, I really, really liked it. I loved sitting with her and cuddling her and comforting her and being able to provide that for her. I wanted to continue. I REALLY wanted to continue. So I did.

Infant Nursing
Around three to six months, we hit our nursing prime. She was fast and efficient, I didn't have to carry around a million nursing accessories, and we had really hit our groove. Carys nursed every two hours during the day and 2-3 times at night at this stage.  And I was fine with that. She was actively eating, so she was clearly hungry, and she was still sleeping in our room (using the Rock N Play sleeper), so I didn't have to get out of bed to feed her.

I went back to work full time in October, when she was 12 weeks old. I pumped 3-4 times a day at work, and she had bottles while I was there.  No issues there.  That, however, didn't last long. After about a month, I realized that working full time away from her was not what I wanted and it was not what would make me happy. I stepped down from my management position and started working part-time - two four-hour days and one eight-hour day. I pumped once during my four hour days and twice during my eight-hour days. My employer let me use (and still lets me use) an intermittent FMLA, which allowed me to pump off the clock without penalty.

At around six moths, she went down to waking up just once during the night. She also was rolling over at night and escaping her swaddle. We decided to transition her to her crib at that point. She did wonderfully, and slept from about 9 p.m. to 8 a.m., and once a night I would go in and nurse.  We also introduced solid foods at this age (using BLW), but that didn't have any effect on her nursing schedule.  When I was home, she'd still nurse every two or three hours. It was also about this age that she learned the sign for "milk."

That pattern continued until she was about eight or nine months old, when she suddenly started sleeping through the night on her own.  (Don't get me wrong - there were a couple of REALLY rough nights! It wasn't all puppies and rainbows!) She also started eating a lot more during the day. I could see my supply had dropped a bit, and she started dropping a session or two during the day.

Toddler Nursing
We now nurse in the morning, before nap, and before bed when I'm home. The nap and bedtimes ones are cursory and just part of the routine; she really doesn't take in much. Depending on the day, she may want to nurse once or twice more or not at all. The morning is where she really nurses. We joke it's her morning coffee. We lay in bed together after she wakes up for an hour some days nursing (which, YAY, because I can sleep!) and then once she is awake awake, she might want to nurse once or twice more before she's ready to face the day. It's like her coffee.

Nursing now is fast and kinetic. She doesn't usually hold still except for when she's going to sleep, and she will move around and look around and kick and stand up and flip over and sometimes try to walk away with a nipple in her mouth.

I'm still grateful for our nursing relationship for many reasons, but one is because I don't have to worry as much about what or how much she eats, since she's still getting my milk, and that gives her a perfect mix of nutrients.

Nursing in Public
Ugh, yes, I'm one of THOSE. I nurse her in public, without a cover. I know, I know. I try to do it somewhat discreetly, but come on, I have big boobs, so that's a relative term. She will not abide use of a cover. And I'm not about to sequester myself away every time she needs to eat, so that equals nursing in public. Lots and lots of nursing in public.  Anyway, in my mind, if it's an appropriate situation to give a baby a bottle, it's an appropriate situation to give a baby a boob. And I won't nurse in a bathroom. Come on, that's just gross.

So yes, it's been quite the journey, and I'll be quite sad when we're done with it. I'm hoping that the knowledge I gained with Carys will help the next time go more smoothly and more pain-free, and I hope that some day Carys looks back at this, and after puking in her mouth a bit reading about my nipples, will appreciate how special this time was to both of us. Even if she can't remember...I always will.

Night Weaning  and Full Weaning
Since originally writing this post, we've weaned, so I thought I'd add a bit about that process.

She slowly started dropping nursing sessions and was down to 4-6 times a day, always including first thing in the morning, nap, and last thing at night (unless I wasn't home to put her to bed).  I was still nursing her to nap and to bed.

We were struggling to conceive and I wasn't getting pregnant, and I knew that nursing could be impacting that, so I knew that I wanted to start weaning her. I initially did “don’t offer, don’t refuse”, then moved on to offering her a snack, a glass of milk, a book to read, or anything I could think of to distract her from nursing. That worked maybe 30-40% of the time.  To push it further, I started limiting her sessions by singing a song she was familiar with (we used the ABC song). I'd let her nurse for a bit, then say, "Ok, I’m going to sing the ABCs, and when the song is all over, we’re done with milk.” I’d sing the song, then break her latch and let her repeat this (complete with the song again) on the other side. Soon enough, she’d anticipate the end of the song and finish on her own.  After a little bit of that, I moved to a shorter song, or would sing faster. This helped cut us down to just the three “big” sessions – morning, nap, and night. I think at some point she realized that she was nursing for such a short time that it wasn’t worth it to stop playing for such little gain.

The nap and night sessions were the next to be cut, and they both came at the same time. We went on a trip to Des Moines to meet my mom (who lives in Dubuque, IA during the school year). Because I had other plans the evening that everyone else was going up, my dad and sister took Carys and drove her up to the hotel. She was awake when they took her (right at the start of nap time) and fell asleep in the car – so she didn’t nurse to nap. Then, they put her down to bed in the pack-n-play at the hotel, so she didn’t nurse to bed that night. Now, that’s not entirely unusual – she wasn’t nursing to nap or bed with sitters or daycare or Chris, just with me. However, I was the one that usually put her to bed, and she insisted on nursing if I was the one to do it. So she didn’t nurse to nap or bed that day. I arrived later that night, stayed the night, and then nursed her in the morning as usual.  That day, she again fell asleep in the car during her nap, and I transferred her to the pack-n-play to finish her nap, so she skipped that nap session also. That night, we were out late, and she again fell asleep in the car, and I again transferred her to the pack-n-play without nursing. That marked two days in a row that she didn’t nurse to nap or bed. The next day, I nursed her in the morning, and in the afternoon we left to drive home. We again left at naptime so she’d sleep in the car (nap number three in a row she didn’t nurse). However, I was nervous about that evening. She’d be back in a familiar place and, I assumed, she’d want her familiar bedtime routine back. To avoid that, I had Chris put her to bed (I actually pretended to leave the house). Night number three without nursing. The next day, I continued to nurse her in the morning as usual, but when it came time to nap, I tried laying her down without nursing (since Chris was at work). And…holy crap. She did it. She asked, I said, “no milk!” and she just went to nap without it. That night, I again had Chris put her down to bed. The next day would be the REAL challenge – Chris had school in the evening so wouldn’t be home until after bedtime.  I nursed her in the morning, said no milk again at night (again no fight), and then….said no milk at bedtime, and that was it. She was fine with it.  

If you don’t have the ability to pack up your life and go out of town, I highly recommend having your partner (or even mom or sister or sitter) put them to bed and/or nap as you’re cutting the bedtime session. It definitely helps. That, and disrupting the routine.  If you can’t stand crying or begging, I also highly recommend actually leaving the house. I swear to god the kids know we are there and turn it up to 150% just to make us feel more guilty and break down and give in!!!

The morning session was the hardest to break, for personal reasons. Namely, I got to lay in bed for an extra hour each morning and sleep while she nursed. We called it her morning coffee, because she’d be grumpy and tired, and then after the morning session, she’d be bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to go.  For this session, I just had to really suck it up, meaning instead of going and laying down in bed with her, I got up and got fully dressed (to make the boobs harder to see/access) before getting her, then immediately started the day as soon as I got her.  The first couple days, I actually took her out of the house after changing her diaper and clothes – she was so distracted she didn’t even realize we’d skipped nursing. After that, when she woke up, I’d get her a glass of milk, we’d eat, we’d play, we’d go outside…anything to get her moving and take her mind off nursing.  

We officially weaned about four months ago, but even now, she occasionally asks to nurse (instead of “milk”, she now calls it “mommy’s milk…ADORABLE).  Probably about 90% of the time, she accepts a glass of water or milk in exchange, although there are a few rare times she tries to nurse. She gets nothing, but it’s still clearly a comfort to her. However, I’m definitely hoping to have it completely cut out at least six months before the new baby arrives, to try to avoid any jealousy or issues between her and the new baby. I’m also trying to prepare her, by calling her a big girl and reminding her that mommy’s milk is for little babies.   Because we went so slowly, I never had any problems with engorgement or pain with weaning (although I did have that after my milk came in with Caleb – TIGHT sports bras 24/7, even in the shower, no hot showers or water on them, no stimulation, cabbage leaves!).

If you’re in the process of weaning – good luck! It’s not easy, and I miss it, but it’s nice to have your body back to yourself. For a little while, at least.