10 Reasons to appreciate your husband (or significant other, I don't judge)

There's something that bugs me, and it has for a while now. I really don't like how people constantly put dads down in the family unit. Like I'm all the time seeing memes that talk about how useless dads are or how kids only want their moms.

I get it. Sometimes dads are a-holes. Sometimes they are totally useless. Sometimes kids do want their moms.

But sometimes dads are really cool. Sometimes they help moms out. Sometimes moms don't appreciate dads enough.

So this is about appreciating your husband, or significant other, whatever. I don't judge.

10 Reasons to appreciate your husband (or significant other, I don't judge)

1) He's seen you get an enema and/or poop on the delivery table and he doesn't think you're totally disgusting.
Do you think it was pleasant watching a nurse stick a hose up your behind? No. Do you think it was a great sight watching a human AND poop emerge from your body? No. It's all natural, I get it, but it's still gross. Yet when it was all said and done, he hugged you and told you how much he loved you.

2) He WANTS to kiss you in the morning, even though your breath is enough to kill Dracula, True Blood and Twilight characters at the same time.Real talk. Girl, your breath stinks. It doesn't matter how pretty you are, you still have horrible morning breath. Yet, this guy loves you so much that he is willing to risk the hair in his nostrils just to get a peck from you. 

3) He just knows when it's time to take the kids and give you a minute (or 10).Guys can be clueless sometimes for sure, but there are other times when your man just knows you need a minute to yourself. Even if he just gives you time to take a shower by yourself, that's a big deal. As a father, he has a responsibility to your child or children just as big as you do, so let him take it. Don't feel guilty, just let him take however long he will and go poop alone.

4) He never mentions anything about your way too long, chipped toenails.OK so this one is kind of silly, but give it some thought. You pay $25 on a basic pedicure so that your toes look fab. Guys don't care about your polish or the design and sparkles that come from it. Guys do care, however, when you lacerate them with your bear claws. Even though they may wake up in the middle of the night and need stitches, rarely are they going to be like, "Hey, go trim those down." 

5) He doesn't complain when you watch AT LEAST one of your shows.For whatever reason, guys just don't care to watch Grey's Anatomy or Days of Our Lives. I'm not really sure why, but I think it's a mutation. Either way, on Thursday nights or during the weekday afternoons, he doesn't change the channel when he sees that it's on and you're watching it. He might WANT to change the channel, and he might complain about it being on, but it stays on. Why does he do this? Because he loves you and you love your shows.

6) He never says anything about the lack of seasonings and/or salt and pepper in your cooking.This is for newlyweds or just bad cooks in general. Sometimes it's easy to forget to give your boiled chicken some flavoring or that salt and pepper are gifts from our great God and are meant to be used. That's OK! What's even more OK is that your smokin' hot guy eats what's on his plate and doesn't complain. He might add said seasonings himself, but he knows it would break you heart if he said anything about it, so he doesn't.

7) He's there when you cry, no matter how stupid the reason.Are you in hysterics because Cristina Yang left Grey-Sloan Memorial? Do the tears just not stop when you think about that terrible thing you said to that random lady 10 years ago? Do the Google commercials make you tear up? That's totally fine, because no matter how stupid it is, your love LOVES YOU. He's going to be there for you and hold you or kiss you until you're better. After that, he will make fun of you, maybe for years, but I mean did you really expect anything different?

8) He overlooks your dumb questions/comments. Sometimes you say things that are just dumb. A thought pops into your head and you don't think it all the way through before it comes out of your mouth, and then you realize how ridiculous you just sounded. The man you love might tell you that's a dumb question, but he's going to give you an answer either way. Most likely, he realizes that you are mentally beating yourself up, and he lets it go. Otherwise, refer to the last line of the above.

9) He has seen you pick your nose and/or fart and thinks nothing about it. Look we all do it so don't even try to lie. And worse than that, he's seen you do it...a few times now. He doesn't care. He's probably thrilled that he can do the same around you. When the time comes, take comfort in the fact that you have someone by your side to shine a light up your nose and tell you if it's a booger or a sore. 

10) He loves you. This should be pretty obvious. Despite all of your weird quirks and antics, the man still wants to be with you. He still wants to sleep beside you, wake up to you and spend his life with you. So stop being so mean to him. He can't help it...most of the time.

Makin' it through

Wow. We made it through the first fever of Connor's life.

I like to think that the reason he has gone almost an entire year without getting sick is because I have all powerful breast milk, full of antioxidants and anti-sick germs. Whatever the reason, it all came to an end Tuesday afternoon.

Tuesday began like every other morning. C woke up in a great mood, rambling and tapping me on the face. We got up, he played, I did laundry. Then when Josh got home that evening, I was hugging C up next to me and felt that he was warm. OK so I'm not the "natural mother" who can feel when her child has a fever. I'm more of the "wing it" type.

Anyway, the kid's head was hot.

He had a 100 fever, so I did what most mothers do: I Facebook-d it so I didn't have to make phone call after phone call to our thousand relatives.

As the night and Connor's Tylenol intake progressed, so did his fever. I called the answering service at the doctor's office and was told to try giving him Ibuprofen. So Mom watched Connor while Josh and I loaded up in the mini. We get back, I take Connor's temp and it's 104 under his arm.

I'm freaking out.

Mom said to put him in a cool bath. After arguing with my husband (who insists on taking C to the hospital), I get Connor stripped down and into the bath. The fever went down (yay Mom!)

We made it through that night with no sleep and moderate fever, went to the doctor the next day, found out it was a virus and continued to stay up all night with a screaming baby for the next three nights.

Last night was the first time since LAST WEEK that C slept without waking up screaming.

...here is where my husband and I have got to be the worst parents ever.

For a week or so, C has been waking up in the middle of the night screaming. This whole time we thought it was his teeth, but no. It was the multiple blisters that had accumulated on the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. Big. White. Blisters.

These last few days have been awful. They have been full of screaming and empty of sleep.

But we made it.

I didn't think I would. I didn't know how I would. How could I get through another day with no sleep? How could I get through another hour of not putting this child down unless I wanted to him to scream? How could I deal with my child being so sick and feverish and looking so pitiful?

I just did.

I got through it just like I got through the three months of colic.

So I to thinking. Is this life? Is this what we do on a daily basis and never really think about it? You know, like horrible stuff happens and we just deal with it. We just get through it.

Those awful days come and we have heartbreaks and mistakes and we have nothing to do except for make it through.

And then we're surprised when we do make it.

Am I late on this epiphany? Probably.

I'm late for everything.

Which reminds me that I think I may be late for my period.

Oh no.

No, no no.

99.9 percent better be spot on Paraguard. That's a threat.

Harper Tobin: my first baby.

Today is the day. October 15: a day for awareness and remembrance for the babies who were carried but never delivered, or delivered but never brought home.

I didn't even realize it until this evening and then I got overwhelmingly sad. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment, maybe I just like being sad.

Whatever.

I lost a baby.

I had that baby taken out of me on July 13, 2012, and to this day I'm still not sure if it's acceptable to call it a baby.

I was nine weeks along when I had my D&C, but I was six and a half weeks when I found out there was no heartbeat. There are no words to describe what kind of pain accompanies that news.

I had a choice when I got pregnant and I chose life. I chose my baby.

And then it was taken from me.

I chose to have my entire life changed, flipped upside down. I chose to change my dreams, goals, time frames for this person, only to have it taken from me.

I remember that day. July 13. I cried as soon as I woke up. I cried while I showered. I tried putting my clothes on, but I couldn't. I sat down, naked, on my bed and cried.

I cried all the way to the hospital.

I cried when I woke up from surgery.

I asked the nurse where my baby was. I wanted to see the little clump of cells that was taken out of me. But I couldn't because they were so small. What was supposed to turn in to a human being was thrown away in a bio-hazard bin, the same way used needles or band-aids are.

Every time I felt a gush of blood rush out of me, I cried. My body heaved with sobs, so much that my eyes didn't even have tears anymore. I hurt. That was it, I just HURT. Each and every time I felt myself bleed, my heart felt like it was in one of those vices that squeezes cans until they're all the way flat. IT HURT.

When I got up to leave the hospital, I looked behind me at the bed. It was covered in bright red blood. I wasn't surprised though. The doctor told me that I would bleed, maybe even before the surgery. That if I saw red blood, I needed to go to the emergency room.

I saw a lot of red blood that day and the following weeks.

I don't remember a lot about the months afterwards.

I got married.

Josh was there every minute. He was there through each and every tear and every scream. He listened to my heaving cries and the moans that came from deep within my stomach. He knew it hurt because it was his loss too.

As I type this, my healthy baby boy is behind me playing with what sounds like a plastic bottle. He will smile when I call his name and he will laugh when I ask if he wants some milk. I am so thankful for that child. I thank God every day for him, and every day I beg God to let him live. I beg God to please let my son grow and thrive and be safe.

I love both of my babies.

I love the one who I hold every day and every night. I love the one who drives me absolutely crazy and then makes me laugh hysterically. I love the one who begs for baths at every opportunity and gives me sloppy kisses when he's not quite ready to take a nap.

I love the one who I only see in my dreams. I love the one who, despite never knowing, I wholeheartedly believe would have been a girl. I love the one who was "just a clump of cells." I love the one who never had a heartbeat, or only had one for a short period of time. I love the one who "would have been sick if it were born." I love the one who "might have had something wrong with it." I love that baby. It was a baby to me. It was my baby.

On February 13, 2013, Harper Tobin was supposed to enter this world. Instead, I had a dream about the baby I was supposed to be delivering.

I was in my bed with my husband in our apartment. Everything was exactly the same as in real life, even the clothes I'd left on the floor from the previous night. But I kept hearing this sound like air squishing out of something, it sounded like my slippers. I cracked open my eyes and watched this little girl with long brown hair stomping along the foot of my bed. She had my neon pink push-up bra draped over her pajamas and my bunny Stompeez were on her feet. I didn't know it then, but she had the same eyes Connor has now, mine. She walked over to me and was eye level with me lying down. For whatever reason, I guess she was a toddler's age, even though she was only supposed to be born that day.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" I asked her in a half-awake tone.
She nodded her head, those eyes staring into mine, her long hair by her shoulders.
"OK, just give me a minute," I said and closed my eyes.

Then I woke up.

Everything was exactly the same as in the dream, except there was no baby in my house. There was no baby in my womb. But I had peace.

I had peace because I knew that my little girl was not sick, but beautiful. She was sassy. Most importantly, she was OK. She is OK. I live with the faith that I will see her again. I live with the faith that I will go to Heaven and she will meet me at the gates, take my hand and I will get to love her for eternity.

I love my son. I love every day with him.

I love my daughter. There is not a day that goes by that she doesn't enter my mind.

A quote I saw tonight is so true:

"A miscarriage is a natural and common event. All told, probably more women have lost a child from this world than haven't. Most don't mention it, and they go on from day to day as if it hadn't happened, so people imagine a woman in this situation never really knew or loved what she had.
But ask her sometime, 'how old would your child be now?'
and she'll know." -Barbara Kingsolver

Harper Tobin would be a year and a half old. She would be celebrating her second birthday on February 13, 2015. I will never know if she would have wanted a crown cake or a car one. I know that because of her, my husband and I have a bond that is amazingly strong. I know that because of her, I love Connor more than I ever thought possible and I am so THANKFUL for him.

Harper changed my life.

On November 15, 2014 I will be celebrating my son's first birthday with a Mickey Mouse cake and primary color plates, surrounded by family and friends. We will sing to him and he will open presents. If you ask me, Harper will be with us that day celebrating her brother's first year on the earth that she never got to see.

Please don't even tell a woman that her child wasn't a baby. Don't tell her when she's scared to death of pregnancy that it probably won't happen this time. Don't tell her to get over it.

That embryo was a baby to her. She's scared because she doesn't want to go through that unimaginable pain ever again, just comfort her. She will NEVER get over the loss of a pregnancy or child, period.

For those of you who have experienced this horror, you are not alone. It's OK to hurt and it's OK to mourn. There's no time limit to grief.

Your babies will always be with you.

4 Reasons Why My Head is POUNDING...and then some

As I sit here with a miserable headache, I am thinking about all of the things that caused it.

Shall I go through the list?

Yes, yes I shall.

1) Connor's constant, nonstop fussing.
Apparently this is totally normal for his age and it will be over soon, just like the colic. Which then leads me to feel guilty because I was so stressed out and sleep deprived when he had colic that I didn't appreciate how sweet and precious he was. In a few months when he's running around, or in a few years when I'm not his favorite anymore, I'm going to look back on this night and cry. Then I'll get another headache.

2) The lack of money in our bank account.
"It's tha first of tha month," as my homies Bone, Thugs and Harmony would say, which means bills are due. Bills that require money to pay, which we don't have. Yes, yes, I know it's my fault. I should have never quit work. But the thing is, even had I not quit, then by the time we paid for daycare, we would still have zero money.
Why not get another job, Lauren?
Well that's just the million dollar question, now isn't it.
The answer is pretty simple actually: Unless I'm making enough to pay for daycare and still make a profit, then I am paying for time away from my son, and despite my pounding head, I don't want that.

3) "Et tu Brute?"
For those of you who aren't familiar with "Othello," this is what Caesar asks his best friend Brutus when Brutus stabs him in the back (literally). I'm not saying this to my best friend though. I'm saying this to my body. Two weeks ago, it betrayed me by forcing it's biological cycle onto my uterus. And today again. Two freaking weeks apart. Two weeks. 14 days. I can't catch a break here.

4) Lack of chocolate.
I just want some damn chocolate! I get some, and then it's gone. By me, of course. But then I want more. OK, I have a problem. Like, I snuck out last night after everyone was in bed and got some miniature peppermint patties. Ugh, is that rock bottom?

I think that's about it. Those four things. Really just one and two.
He is in his bed, screaming right now actually. I'm terrible for letting him scream, but I'm even more terrible because he knows I'm going to come in there and get him. He knows I'm going to cave because I always do.

Like how am I supposed to do this?

Yesterday, he refused to eat his baby food so I told him that I was going to sit there in front of him all day until he ate.
He just looked at me, straight face, leaned forward in his seat like, "Your move, Mommy."
So I leaned forward in my seat and propped my head on my hands and stared right back.
Then he leans in and kisses me!

Why would he do that?!
Why would he lean forward and kiss me with those carrot-covered lips, and totally melt my heart?

Because as soon as he did it, I let him out of his seat.

I'm such a pushover.

What if I'm a pushover when he gets older and I let him smoke meth or rob banks?
"Oh it's OK baby. Mommy knows you didn't mean to."

OH MY GOODNESS!
MY SON IS GOING TO BE A FELON!

And now, as I take a deep breath, my head throbs a little more and gives me a whole new set of things that haven't happened yet to worry about.

If you need me, I will be curled up in a ball, in a corner. A soundproof corner. With leaky boobs.

Goodnight all.