Goodbye, Milky Way Lady. Goodbye.

49 posts later and more hours than I can count spent with my shirt up by my chin, the Milky Way has finally come to an end.

While I have mixed feelings about the entire 18-month breastfeeding experience, I'm glad I did it.
Through breastfeeding, I created this incredible bond with my baby and demolished any chance I may ever have for a good rack.

You take the good with the bad, I guess.

When something huge happens, you never realize at the time that it's huge. It just happens.
I didn't set a date for C to stop nursing, he just did. One day he did and the next he didn't.
He and I were both getting tired of it.
When he would nurse, he squirmed around more than anything and I waited until I could distract him long enough to put my boobs up.
So one day, he tried and I said no, and that was it.
It was over.

There wasn't anything grand or traumatic about it.
It just stopped.

I think I will keep my blog though. It's fun when I get the chance to write in it and I hope people have fun reading it. Maybe I will just make a few changes and call it a day. I don't know yet.

When I spend every day typing others' stories and staring at a computer, I'm not really down with writing on my off time. Plus, when C finally goes to sleep, I'm usually not far behind.

Our little family is making big changes and, at times, it can be overwhelming. Of course the big moments, the ones that matter, are the ones we trudge through and don't think about until it's over.
Now that Connor has passed most of his milestones, I find new things to worry about:
Is he eating enough?
Is he talking enough?
Is he saying, "Shit?"
Is he going to say it at daycare?
Why doesn't he run to me when I come get him from daycare?
Am I a terrible mother for working full-time?
Would I be a terrible mother if he didn't interact with other kids?
Are we going to have more kids?

It's like I have a thousand tabs open in my brain at once and I'm not able to exit out of them.
I'm constantly worried that something isn't quite right or that even though every other kid in the world is in a front-facing car seat, Connor should still be rear-facing.
There's also this tragic realization that I'm no longer able to eat like a 5-year-old because I can't gorge on sugar without feeling like I may die.
...and my metabolism seems to be like high school friendships that suddenly stop.
At the end of the day, I simultaneously want to be alone and with my family, I want a hot shower and a relaxing bath, I want to lose 20 pounds and eat the entire package of cookies in the kitchen, I want Connor to sleep in his crib and snuggle with me in bed.
When it all comes down to it, I want time with my husband and to never lose a moment with my little boy. I want a career and I want to be the best mother possible. I want to sleep and I want to get the rest of my to-do list done. There's just no winning.
So I keep running, metaphorically speaking.
Welcome to parenthood.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

I only remember watching the news once as a child.
I was laying in the bed with my mother and we were about to go to sleep.
The 10 p.m. news was on TV and I remember watching it, really watching it and understanding it.
I remember crying and asking my mom why there were so many bad things in the world.
I remember thinking that I never wanted to watch the news again.

So here I am 20-plus years later working in the news. I write stories about great, wonderful things that make people smile.
But I also cover tragic, heartbreaking things that are beyond imaginable.

As I was drinking my second cup of coffee on my front porch, scrolling through Facebook, I got an email tipping me off as to what I would walk into today at work.
A woman held her adult child as he died from injuries sustained in a hit and run accident.

My stomach knotted up and my heart fell below it as the lady described holding her son, just as she had when he was born, as he died.

I thought of Connor asleep in his crib for his nap.
I thought of him as an adult.
He will forever be my baby.
Those first seconds of his life beginning on my stomach, then in my arms. His first gasp of breath and cry...I cried and laughed at the same time.

I thought about the first time I watched the news and how much I hated it. I thought about how I swore I would never watch it again.
I wondered why I'm in this business.

Why do I subject myself to such hurt and pain? Is there something else I can do? Is there another profession in the world that would give me joy and happiness?

And that's when I realized: If I want to leave my footprints in this world. there's nothing out there that doesn't involve hurt, pain and tears.

In those few moments of contemplation, I understood that although I can't save the world, I can't stop these terrible things happening in society, I can still help.
I can do what I have to in order for people to find comfort or closure.
I can pray for them and I can do my part to help find the bad guys.

At the end of the day, that's all anyone can do.
We have to stop sitting back and feeling sorry for people, wishing bad things wouldn't happen.
We have to offer what we have to others and hope we are doing the right thing.

Maybe if society started thinking that way, dark nights would turn into bright days.

To my person

The last time we will see each other has come and gone, and you're on your way home now. I'm still here packing and cleaning, and even though I've stopped crying (for now), I know there are more tears to come.

See you aren't just my best friend, you are my person. I know people think we are just Grey's fanatics, but that's not it. When I heard about "the person," I knew it was you. I knew it was you because I could see one of us cutting a wedding dress off the other, and I remembered talks about our own McDreamy's.

When we first met at K-Mart, it wasn't anything extraordinary. I didn't think that you would be my person. I didn't think that you would be the person I called and told my worst secrets to. I didn't think that you would be the one I called when I didn't want to talk to anyone else.

But you were. You are.

Our dry personalities worked together, and we both love naps. We have each cried to each other over boys who didn't deserve our tears.

"Look, if you need me I'm here, but I can't keep listening to you when you just keep going back over and over. When you leave him, I'll be here but until then..." That's what you said to me in a text message one night. I was at work and you sent that.

I cut all ties with him shortly after.

You're my person.

I told you I was pregnant and you knew everything about it. You knew my choices, my thoughts and ultimately my decision. Then when I miscarried, it was you who came over with chocolate chip cookie dough and the movie "Bridesmaids."

You were so mad at me the day before my wedding because you said I was driving crazy and because we were late. The next day, you went with me to get ready and to make sure I was on time to the ceremony. You curled your hair so much that day that I'm surprised it didn't burn off, but the curls wouldn't stay.

You were there when I found out I was pregnant with Connor. You said you weren't coming to the hospital, that you would wait until we got home so you could spend more time with us.

But you came that night.

When the darkness fell over me and I couldn't figure my way out, you were there. It was you who knew I needed sleep.

You kept saying, "I knew I should have come last night."

It didn't matter because the damage was done, but you helped bandage me up.

We have prayed together.

We have drank together.

Now we're here. My life has started and yours is about to.

I know our dreams are different, but ultimately we want the same thing--to be happy.

So here's what I expect from you:

1) You're going to graduate, so stop worrying about it. Start applying for jobs, but don't freak out if you can't find one. You will.

2) Don't settle for anything mediocre. It doesn't matter if it's love, a career, friendships, whatever. If it doesn't take your breath away and consume your mind, body and heart, then move on.

3) Come see me in the summer so I can show you how perfect my life is, but tell you about the shadows when no one is around.

4) Stay JUST A LITTLE dark and twisty, because I can't do it on my own.

You're my person. You're the person I would call if I murdered someone and needed help dragging the corpse across the floor.

You're the person I would call when I am ready to jump.

You will always be that person.

We'll see each other again later than we hope, but sooner than we think. It will be OK.

I love you.

Mama don't preach

I think as a mother it's easy to constantly worry if your baby is on track developmentally. I have searched and looked and researched articles and journals a thousand times over with each due milestone. I've checked for warning signs and red flags.

 But the more I look, the more confused and upset I am. I'm constantly plagued with fears about Connor. Why isn't he walking, why isn't he saying more words, why is he screaming constantly? I worry nonstop. I worry about the things he picks up in the house, I worry about him watching too much television, I worry about everything.

Then when I finally sit down and really think about it, I have this split second of sanity where I realize there's no way an article on the internet (or 20) is going to define my son. If he does have a problem, there's no point in worrying about it. I can't change it and it wouldn't make me love him any less.

As mothers, we compare ourselves to one another far too much. More than that, we judge each other in a terrible way. Whether it's comparing how old a child does what, whether the mother breastfeeds or formula feeds, whether she had a vaginal birth or a c-section, or if she used an epidural or no pain medicine.

The fact is, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if a mother sleeps in the bed with her child or if her child sleeps in a crib. It doesn't matter if the crib is inside or outside the room. None of this matters.

None of this matters because it's no one's business except for that mother's. Just as you love your child and want the best care for him/her, so does that mother.

That mother loves her baby more than she loves herself. That mother wants a happy baby and a healthy baby just as much as you do.

That mother wants her child to grow up to be amazing and extraordinary, just like you do.

So just stop.

We've got to stop criticizing one another. It's not sharpening our parenting skills and we're not going to change each other's minds.

We're only going to reinforce that doubt that we all have anyway.

Here's a secret:
None of us think we are doing it right.
Every single one of us is sure that we're screwing our child up in some way.
We all have at least one thought a day that our child is not where he/she needs to be.

Why do we make this harder on each other?

We all have one thing in common and that's the fact that we are all scared to death.

So just stop. Stop being so MEAN to one another. If a mother makes a decision you wouldn't, try thinking about WHY.

Try putting yourself in her shoes for just a minute, just 60 seconds.

I can guarantee that if you just THINK about it, you will see all different scenarios as to what that mother has been going through.

We're all just trying to do this right, and at the end of the day, we all just want to throw our hands in the air and give up.

Or maybe we want to throw our hands in the air and scream, "Thank you, God for letting me make it out alive today!"

...or maybe we are finally getting that one good night where we drag our bodies into bed and fall into the most satisfying sleep...

HA! Just kidding, that's never going to happen again.

Love it, enjoy it and do your absolute best to build another woman up.

You'll need it too one day.

I just miss you

When a woman loses her child, she loses a piece of herself. I don't know what it's like to have a late-term miscarriage or a still born child. As thankful as I am for that, I do know the pain associated with a miscarriage.

I carried this tiny, tiny person in me for nine weeks. It was only alive for six. I've been told that my baby wasn't a baby, but rather a clump of cells. I have been told that it's stupid for me to be sad over my pregnancy loss. I've even been told I use my loss as an excuse to be sad.

None of these are true.

That little clump of cells made my breast so tender, I couldn't stand to wear a bra. That clump of cells loved when I ate anything blueberry flavored, and hated when I ate anything fried. My baby loved all things Sonic (the only fried stuff I could eat).

Every February around the middle of the month, my body aches. I don't hurt like I'm getting sick or have the flu. My body longs. 

My womb aches. Maybe it's because it knows that three times over I should have delivered. Maybe it's a mind things. I'm not sure.

My heart hurts. My heart aches and my arms strain to hold someone who isn't here.

Then I feel guilty because I have this amazing little boy asleep in his bed down the hall. He loves me so much. He wants me all the time. He's perfect. Why aren't I satisfied?

The truth is, I am. I am happy with motherhood, I love my son. I know that if I had delivered Harper alive, I wouldn't have Connor. I wouldn't take anything in the world for him.

Can I love them both?

I think so. I hurt and ache and long for my sweet Harper, but I rejoice and praise God for my son. The more I ponder it, the more natural it all seems. My first child was taken from me, and that hurts. It hurts that I got so little time with that baby. But in that loss, I gained a son.

There will always be that desire to hold her. I will always believe I see her in my dreams. I will always go to bed and pray that God lets her come see me.

So tonight, just like last night, I will hope that I see this strange, yet eerily familiar girl in my sleep. Since Connor has been here, she keeps him in the dream too.

And for those few, fleeting minutes, I am able to hold, love and kiss both of my babies.

And I wake up with a little bit of peace.

Here we go again

Here we go again. We're going to try sleep training.

I know this is going to be hard and probably as much fun as pulling teeth.

But it has to happen.

Connor has not been sleeping while he's in the bed with us. He's been up and about, hitting, pulling hair, screaming and everything in between. Something has to give, so we put the crib up again tonight.

The look on his face when he saw the crib go up was that of pure dismay. He looked like a man betrayed. It was sad and hilarious.

I did the bath thing and I read to him before I put him in the crib. I let him play for a bit while I sat on my bed (his crib is right next to our bed), and now I am sitting in the dark listening to lullabies while he stands up in his crib totally pissed off.

I have read and read and reread articles on the internet about sleep training and none of them sound particularly appealing. Like I don't want him to just scream and have psychological problems and trust issues, because he's probably going to have those regardless. But I don't want to sit here in the dark either. I really just want him to chill out while I go eat ice cream.

I just don't see this going well at all.

The song "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake keeps playing in my head.

He's screaming while I'm in here so what's he going to do when I leave? He's definitely not going to just lay down. I am never going to make it through this.

I am inserting my head through the dry wall right now. That's happening.

Oh, yes, how could I forget? Apollo will also begin sleeping in his crate now. I am so tired of my rug smelling like pee. Seriously, we have ceramic tile all over this apartment and you have to piss on the one square of carpet? Thanks, Apollo.

So he will start sleeping in his crate, Connor in his bed, and Josh and I will have the bed to ourselves. I can't even imagine the luxury that's sure to accompany this. I will be able to sleep in more than just one position. I will have covers. I will not be on the edge of the bed. I can sleep without my shirt up to my chin!

Is Connor sucking his thumb right now? He hasn't done that in at least a month. I've made him regress to sucking his thumb again.

I have got to be the worst mother in the world.

Scuba diving, pirate ship riding, basketball playing toddler

In case none of you loyal readers have figured it out yet, I'm a "mom blogger." Basically this just means I blog about and post pictures of my son in hopes that someone will find my life as entertaining as I do.

I hope I've accomplished something.

As I type this I'm sitting on the toilet (lid down) while my 1-year-old contently plays in the bath tub. Let me just set the scene for you:

A toddler, diaper and shirt on, sitting in a bath tub with no water playing with a Christmas ornament and plastic bracelet.

The reason I feel so compelled to write about this is because I didn't put him in there. I'm standing in front of the sink brushing my teeth when the child throws said Christmas ornament into the tub and stares at it. Then he pushes down the thing on the faucet that turns the shower on and watches left over water come out.

Where has this place been all his life?

He hiked a leg up and fell in. I braced myself for the shrieking cry that was inevitable, but to my surprise, he just sat up and went after his intended target.

I did what all good mothers do. I kept brushing my teeth and went to get the laptop so I could blog about it.

After a failed attempt at peek-a-boo with the shower curtain, I think he's ready to get out.

I'll slide the rug over there so he doesn't hit his face on the way down.

Oh please don't call the Department on me.

Really. My house is a disaster and I have too much going on to clean it.

Before this incident, he climbed into the laundry basket so that he could play with all the dirty clothes.

So here's my big realization:
There's no way to put him in his bed now.

If we put the bed up again, he's just going to figure out how to climb over it and then he'll fall on the floor and hit his head, and I really will be a terrible mother.

(At this point in the story, we have relocated to his room because he tried to get back in the tub after I got him out and it didn't go as smoothly as the first time.)

Here I am now, sitting in a glider watching my son play in his ball pit that looks like a pirate ship.

Well the ship has capsized. It's propped on its side against his dresser and he is in no way worried about drowning.

My second realization in the last 20 minutes:
We're not going to sleep any time soon.

The thing about this entire post is that the incidents described above are not unusual. In fact, this is a typical night.

Of course people change after they become parents--that's a given. But no one really expects to spend a Friday night watching his/her child put random objects through a basketball hoop while sitting in a pirate ship. You just can't think that stuff up.

Maybe I can convince him to count blocks with me (which I do to try to teach him numbers and colors, but I'm not getting far) and wind down.

Most likely, it will take another hour or so of playing at full force before I can coerce him into slumber. Then and only then will I be able to read the book I've started.

Of course after nonstop playing followed by a fight that consist of me holding him down in order to change his diaper and put cream and powder on his "pee-pee," I will be entirely too tired to do anything but listen to reruns of "Lockup" while I drift off.

The thing about it is, there's nowhere else I'd rather spend a Friday night. This kid is entirely too soft and too cuddly. He sleeps with his mouth open and the scent of caramel flavored varnish (for his chipped tooth) drifts into my nose. I can smell his sweat and skin, and the feeling I have is inexplicable. It makes the screeching sounds, gut twisting smells and really gross sites disappear.

And then if I'm lucky, he'll flop his little arm over me, like he's subconsciously saying, "I'll take care of you too, Mommy."

Then when the sun rises in the morning, I will wake up to him sitting over me mumbling in his own language, smiling with all eight teeth and I'll start this whole thing over again.

Happy New Year.

April 17, 2014 was just like any other day. Isn't that how it goes though? The worst days of your life and the best days of your life never start out extraordinary. I think we've already learned this from Dr. Izzy Stephens on "Grey's Anatomy."

I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and put my pants on one leg at a time. I changed Connor and made coffee. I watched the Today show. 

And then I fell asleep.

My phone kept ringing, but I thought it was my step-mother calling to make sure she was keeping C for me to go to class at 12:30. I ignored it. I knew I had time to call her back.

It rang again. I ignored it.

It kept ringing.

I woke up close to 11 and checked my phone. There was a call from Marion, my step-mother, a call from Josh and a call from a number I didn't know. I called Josh back but no answer. I was just about to get in the shower when I decided to check in to that number I didn't know, just in case it was something important.

The automatic voice came on and said the name of Josh's work place. In my head, I thought something bad had happened, but I dismissed the thought because it's not unusual for me to jump to the worst conclusion. The receptionist answered and I told her my name and that I was Josh Tobin's wife. She immediately sent me to the manager.

He came on the phone and explained to me that Josh had been in a wreck and even though he was OK, he was being flown to UAB hospital. 

My stomach sank. I asked him what to do, what I was supposed to do. I was standing in the hallway of our too expensive apartment that we hadn't even lived in a month, holding my five-month-old son. 

I called Josh again but he didn't answer. I found yet another number I didn't know, and I called it. 

No answer. 

I called my mom. I told her what happened and waited on her to come. I called my step-mother and told her. I called everyone.

I called my best friend, Krysti, but she didn't answer. I knew she was at work, so I just kept calling back to back. 

When she called me back, the first thing she said was, "What's wrong?" 

I told her and she said she was leaving work to come to my house so she could go to the hospital with me. She lived an hour away.

I called my Tara and told her. 

"Shut the hell up," she said. "OK let me check the kids out of school and we'll be there."

She lived three hours away.

I walked around outside, holding my baby who had no idea what was going on. He didn't know that his mother was wondering if she was going to be a widow at 23. He didn't know his mother was sick at the thought of paying for the newly-leased apartment alone. He didn't know that his mother was falling apart.

When my mom got to the house, she got Connor. I went into the bathroom to throw up. 

That's when the unknown number called back. It was the paramedic who worked the wreck. He told me that my husband was OK, but because of the nature of the accident, he had to be flown to receive further care. 

"The nature of the accident" didn't register with me. 

By this time, my step-mother was at my house to get Connor and take him home with her. 

My mother asked me if I knew about the other people involved in the wreck. I was ashamed because I hadn't even thought of them. 

"I don't know, " I said. "I hope they're not bad hurt though. Josh can't handle it if they're hurt."

A three hour drive from my house to the hospital was Hell. My mother told someone on the phone that Josh was in trauma. 

Why was he in trauma if he was OK?

Everyone I talked to, including the nurse who was helping him, told me he was fine. Why hadn't anyone seen him? Why couldn't I talk to him?

Josh's family lives in Birmingham so they were at the hospital. But they hadn't been able to see him. 

WHY IN THE HELL HADN'T ANYONE SEEN MY HUSBAND?

I walked into the hospital, and upon entering the waiting room, was taken back to where Josh was being held. 

I looked at my husband, laying flat on the gurney, hooked up to IVs and in a neck immobilizer. He had small splats of blood on him from where he was cut. He told me what happened.

I was sick. I was sick because my husband would never be the same. I was sick because the grief that the families of the people in the other car were going through. 

There was such a flurry of emotions that I couldn't distinguish them. I didn't cry because I couldn't. I could only hold my husband's hand and tell him how much I loved him, while simultaneously thanking God for protecting Josh. I prayed for the families and I prayed for the people. 

Just two days before this, I had one of many meltdowns. I was so scared that Josh was going to get tired of me and leave. 

"I will never leave you." He said. 

As I held his hand, I wrinkled my brow and in a hushed whisper, yelled at him, "You said you would never leave me. You told me that two days ago. You told me you would never leave me."

"And I didn't," he said. 

That was the worst day of 2014 and I don't want to know what could have beat it. It made waking up to a flooding apartment seem minuscule. It made living with my parents for three weeks while we found somewhere else to live, seem like a vacation. 

After that day, when I got to be in bed with him again, I held on to him tighter than I ever have. I buried my head in him and breathed him in. I thanked God over and over for allowing him to stay with me. I praised God for protecting my husband, and keeping Connor from growing up without a dad. 

It was two months before Josh could go back to work. In the days that followed, he had to sit in our apartment while I went to work and school. He had nothing to do except think about the wreck and the people in it. He was in his own personal Hell...and I'm not sure that he'll ever be completely out of it. 

2014 was hard for us. 2014 was a year that challenged us as a couple and a family. 2014 challenged our faith.

But 2014 showed us that we are strong. 2014 showed us that we love each other, even when we don't like one another. 2014 showed us that God is powerful, and even though we don't understand Him sometimes, He doesn't leave us and he doesn't fail. 

So although 2014 was a storm that we successfully weathered, I don't want even the slightest drizzle of it brought into this next year.

Here's to 2015 being a better year, bringing with it joy, peace and happiness. Now that the clouds have parted, I am ready to look into the sun and see the beauty that has been brought because of the rain.