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.

Thoughts and thoughts

The Timehop app is a cruel thing if you think about it.

It shows me pictures from January of this year, and my baby is so tiny wrapped up snug in a blanket. He's still colicky in the pictures and I am just beginning a journey of exhaustion that will never end. Oh how I reminisce.

Fast forward (very fast) to an approaching new year and he's so different. He's grown so much, and I'm thankful for that. I'm so thankful that he's growing and healthy, but where did the time go? In the midst of studying, working and crying, I lost those sweet tiny baby times. I didn't appreciate them enough.

I'm really trying to stop worrying so much about Connor sleeping with us and still nursing. I don't want to look back and these times be so far gone that I can only access them through a silly app.

I watch him sleeping, his mouth cracked open and this complete peace on his face, and my heart just keeps growing. It never stops.

He's becoming his own person now and developing his own mischievous personality. It makes me laugh, cry and want to pull my hair, all within a few seconds of each other.

I wonder about when he gets older, when he won't need me, let's be real, or want me all the time, and I'm just not sure how I can deal with that.

Freedom will be nice, won't it? I think it will.
But it's nice having this little person think so much of you that he just wants to touch you and be at your side all the time.

I think parenthood is this constant conflict of emotions. It's like your mind just goes back and forth constantly between wanting to have a minute to yourself and then loving those random break-ins while you're showering.

It's playing peek-a-boo for a split second of him hiding, but loving that adorable smile and belly laugh when he comes back up to see you.

Loving this much isn't something that can be written. It isn't something that can be told. It's just felt and that's it. You can't even compare it to someone, because your mind doesn't know how to put it into words.

It's funny how that works. There are beautiful and magnificent novels written, full of words and ideas, but something so common is inexplicable.

I've heard that it's not instinctual for mothers to love their young. I guess that's true when you think about it, because how can you really love someone you don't even know?

But then again, when this tiny, tiny human looks up at you with eyes full of curiosity and confusion, and you are the only person in the entire world who can make him feel like everything is OK, how can you not love him?

I think people probably get tired of me gushing about how much I love this kid, but every day it changes. Every hour, something new happens and my heart isn't the same as it was the previous hour, or even minute.

So Lauren, what's the point in this post?
I have no idea.

Just like I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no clue how to be a mother. But Connor doesn't care. All he wants is to know that when everything is changing and he's constantly learning new things, he can look for me and I'll be there, cheering him on.

What I've learned so far...again.

As I'm sitting here, listening to the monotony of a Continuing Education course on urinary tract infections, I can't help but want to blog.

Well that's great, Lauren. What do you want to blog about?
Great question.

So much has happened since I last posted, I don't even know where to begin.

Having a toddler is the hardest thing yet, I think. It's nice that we are somewhat better able to communicate with one another, but the kid has SO MUCH energy.

Like, who ARE you?

He goes and goes until he just can't anymore, and I'm over here all, "Can we nap yet?"

I'm shaking my head right now.

He is also learning a little bit more about his anatomy, which is...interesting. I have added a bullet point to my parenting pamphlet that basically says, "Do what you want, it's yours, but don't let anyone else."

I'm hoping he takes that idea through college.

I can't even think about college.
I can't think about preschool.

I am the worst Mrs. Clause EVER. I thought since Baby C was only a year old, I could just throw his gifts in his room and let them be. I mean he never goes in there anyway.

Except now.

He goes in there now.

He loves to play in his room.

He loves to play with his Christmas gifts that are in his room.

Josh finally wrapped them because I'm incapable of wrapping presents, and they are now under the tree. Connor went from trying to ride his gift to trying to unwrap it so he can ride it.

What is wrong with us?
We're so bad at this.
I really hope I don't burn the cookies again this year.

Weaning:

It's not going to happen, ever. I have tried giving him whole milk and he doesn't like it. He likes everything else in the world, but he doesn't like whole milk. He only wants to nurse when he's tired, which isn't often and isn't so bad except for when I want to turn over in the bed. I read this article about weaning a teenager (it was showing how ridiculous the notion is), and I had a mini panic attack. If there is a child who is going to breastfeed in college, it's Connor.

Oh no, there's that college thought again.
I just want to keep him out of jail and off of drugs.
I will not judge him if he chooses not to go to college.
....or if he chooses to major in Philosophy.

Walking:
Why walk when you can crawl really fast?
I don't know, Connor. I just don't know.
He likes to hang on to things and walk, but he doesn't want to walk on his own unless he has a reward in the form of food.

Maybe he does need to be in preschool. Is he spending too much time with Apollo? He is eating dog food...

I'm not too worried about the walking thing. I really think that he will just wake up one day and do it. That's what he did with sitting up, crawling and pulling up.

Talking:
I'm pretty sure he says "damn." I'm pretty sure I'm a horrible parent because of it. I keep hoping he's saying "down" or "dog" or anything with a "da-" sound. He can say "gone" when he drops things, which is adorable, and I think he says "stop" because he hears it so often. But of course my favorite
word is "Mamamamama."


So after all of these brilliant observations, I lie in bed with him at the end of the day and he snuggles up next to me, and I realize how much he's actually grown. Then I hold him a little tighter, kiss him a little longer and thank God for giving me a thriving, absolutely perfect baby boy.

Houston, we have a toddler

My son has been a toddler for...three days now. 72 hours. I am convinced that I will die when we hit the "terrible two's." I just know I am going to die then. The last three days have been so whiny, clingy and hair-pulling that I will never make it through the "terrible two's" alive.

C hangs to my pants which are usually only held up by loose elastic. My child pants-es me on a daily basis.

"Oh hey Mom, doing your makeup? Not anymore."

"Oh hey Mom, cooking food? Here, let me help by pulling your pants down."

I've known for a while now that I will never again go to the bathroom alone. That's a given. What no one felt the need to mention was what happens in that bathroom. Connor plays with my panties. How freaking awkward is that? Like, I grab his hands and tell him "No," but it doesn't work. I pull my pants a little higher so they're hidden, but he doesn't care. My child fishes for my panties.

"Hey Mom, thanks a lot for letting me come in here with you. I mean, I would have just stayed outside and cried anyway."

"Oh cool Mom, your diaper is stretchy. I can really pull your diaper. Mine doesn't do that."

"Mom, why don't you just pee your pants like I do?"

"Mom, how come you don't ever have to lay down to change your diaper?"

My eyes no longer belong to me. My eyes now belong to C. He likes for them to stay on him all the time. In fact, any time I look at, say, a laptop, phone, book or television, Connor has a come apart. He gets up in my face or pulls at whatever is stealing his much deserved attention.

"Mom, look at me. I'm standing here doing nothing."

"Hey mom, I am going to cry until you pick me up, OK?" "NOOOO, put me down!" "PICK ME UP!"

If it's not Connor, it's Apollo.

"Mom, um, that thing isn't up here...so I will be." Then he growls at C.

"Mom, I see that your lap is already occupied with that noise-maker, but can I come too?" Then he climbs on Connor and me....and growls at C.

Do we even want to talk about my breasts?

Ha, of course we do.

My boobs, ta-tas, knockers, jugs, fun bags--what ever you choose to call them, they are no longer mine. They are Connor's and only Connor's. He has full control over them. I've considered weaning him, and I may try harder since I've just been casual about it, but he has claimed them. If I take my shirt of in front of him, he starts his milk laugh (which sounds oddly like a younger version of a creepy old man laugh).
If we are in the shower, he tries to nurse. Then he gets mad at me when I tell him "No" so that I can WASH him, and he starts screaming.
If we are in bed, he has to have a nipple in his mouth.

"Mom, since you have those out, can I get some milk?"

"Mom, why won't you just let me have some milk?"

"Mom, I am sleepy. You should let me have some milk so I won't cry."

"Mom. Milk."

"Look, you can give me milk, or I can scream until you give me milk."

So this toddler thing is going really well so far. It's going great. I'm going to be OK.

12 things I've learned over the last year

What a year it has been. This time last year, I was at ECM getting prepped for Connor's big day. Over the last 12 months, I've gotten to know this little person. Here's what I've gathered so far:

1) He is stubborn. He's so determined, he knows what he wants and never stops until he gets it. I hope he carries this throughout his life and uses this drive to achieve all his dreams.

2) He loves commercials, especially the lawyer ones. I have to take credit for this because of all the hours he listened to lectures in my tummy. I don't know if he will become an advertising executive or a lawyer, but I'm behind him 100 percent.

3) Colic is not cool. The first three months of life were difficult for everyone. He was trying to figure out why he wasn't in his warm, snuggly home anymore and why his stomach hurt so bad. I was trying to figure out how to live on no sleep and just what I got myself into.

4) He does things only when he's good and ready. Connor has no problem being a little behind in the physical department. I was worried to death when he didn't sit up, crawl or pull up in accordance with what everything online said. Then he would just wake up one morning and decide he was going to do it, and he did. I hope he continues to take his time with things and only act when he's sure he's ready. This will help him a lot in life.

5) #TeamNoSleep. This has been and always will be us. Connor is not a sleeper, especially by himself. He slept beside my bed for three months before he started sleeping IN my bed. He is so cuddly and I love it, but as soon as I put him in his bed, it's over. He can stay awake for hours with no problem.

6) Breastfeeding is hard, but worth it. When I first started breastfeeding, I cried a lot. I was worried about milk supply and his latch. But I kept at it and I'm so happy I did. A year later and I know I can comfort him whenever needed. When he's sick, I know I can keep him hydrated. There was a time when I wanted my milk to dry up, but now I think I'll cry when it finally does. Breastfeeding has made us closer and that's something I needed.

7) I've never been more scared about anything in my life. I have this constant fear because I know how big and cruel the world is. I'm terrified for Connor to go out in it. He's so happy and innocent, I don't ever want to see that go away. But it will. Life will deal him rough hands at times, but I hope he keeps the light in his eyes and pushes forward. There's always an opening at the end of the tunnel.

8) Baby food stains. I was really surprised about this because normal people food usually doesn't stain clothes like baby food does. But then I remembered that babies aren't normal people. Babies are these little creatures who make noise and steal your sleep. They also steal your attention and your heart. I have made best friends with stain remover over the last few months.

9) Friends come and friends go. Connor has helped me figure out who my real friends are, and I'm so thankful for that. The ones who have stuck with me, answered my calls, listened to me cry and helped me through this last year are few, but they are so cherished. I hope Connor will learn that it's better to have a few great people in your life than a ton of mediocre. I hope he applies that to life in general.

10) Everyone has an opinion, but in the end you have to do what works for you. Throughout this last year, I've had a lot of helpful and not so helpful advice given to me about being a parent. In the end, we are all different and things work differently for each one of us. Do what works for you, don't worry about everyone else.

11) True love endures. Josh Tobin has been my rock. He has been my teammate, my punching bag, my resting place and the one person I can fully rely on. A child puts a strain on marriage and adjusting is hard. I'm so thankful to have someone who loves me and stands with me no matter how hard things get.

12) I would do every bit of this all over again. The sleepless nights, the many tears shed and the pounds that won't go away are all more than worth it. This child has challenged me to be my best. He has pushed me to my breaking point and then pulled me back in with a kiss. I know I can make it through even the worst things because he needs me. There's nothing I would change about the last year and as I hold my baby, I am so overwhelmed with love and joy.

Happy Birthday to Baby Connor Tobin. I love you more than life itself. Grow strong, my love.

My child the terrorist

Yesterday my child decided he didn't want to sleep at 3 a.m.

That's cool.

Everyone in the house got up, including Apollo. Josh is on vacation this week so he didn't have to worry about getting ready for work which was great for me. Anyway, we all get out of bed and come to the living room, turn the TV and lights on, and get ready to start the day (at least until we can get the babes back to sleep). 

When we all exited the bedroom, Connor was on the floor playing with the nightstand. Josh and I both told him to come with us. He didn't listen.

He never does.

So Josh goes outside and I was doing something but I don't remember what because it was 3 in the morning. I didn't see Connor.

I went to the bedroom, flipped the light on, no Connor.

I went into his room, flipped the light on, looked around the abundance of boxes that has taken permanent residence, but still no Connor.

I looked in the laundry room. 

I looked in the living room.

I looked in the kitchen. 

I looked under the dining room table. 

No Connor.

I called his name.

Nothing.

I opened the door to the patio and said, "Josh. I lost Connor."

"What?"

"I lost Connor. I can't find him."

"How did you lose him? He has to be in the house." Josh got up and came in the house with me and we started the search over. After us both calling for Connor and starting to get a little frantic, C crawls out of his room like nothing had happened. He gave us this look like we were idiots, which I guess we kind of are since we lost our child in a two-bedroom apartment.

My child is a terrorist. He should be placed on the no-fly list. 

Between eating dog food, breaking into the shower, climbing the glass door, chewing on wires and the occasional play date with the toilet, the kid is one of a kind.

 Come at me, Bro.

Change of heart

Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. I've always loved getting dressed up and going out for a night of fun. When I was little, I loved trick or treating, then as I got older, I loved parties and haunted houses. So it was not surprise that I was super excited for Connor's first Halloween.

Except...

I think I'm more excited about Christmas.

It's weird, you know?

I just can't wait to decorate the house and see his reaction to all the lights. I really can't wait for him to see the Christmas tree because he loves things that shine. I can't wait to take him to see Christmas lights and bake cookies for Santa.

When you have kids, things in your life change that you never thought about before. My favorite holiday is one of them. Rather than watching horror movies every day in October (which I tried to do this year, but wasn't successful), I am ready to watch "The Santa Clause" and "Christmas with the Kranks."

I am more excited for my house to smell like sugar cookies and Christmas trees than I pumpkin spice. I am more excited to play with new toys than to eat candy (although I LOVE candy).

Don't even get me started on how excited I am to make Christmas cards.

Christmas is such a happy time for children. It's the season of joy and innocence. The reds, greens, and golden sounds of music are all things that make people happy, whether they want to be or not.
But more than anything, I just can't wait to see the wonderment on the face of my own miracle. The thought of his smile and that mind working to figure new things out makes me feel infinitely happier than I have ever been about Halloween.

Once again, my heart has changed and it's all due to a chunky, loud and smiling little boy.

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.

If you want to feel like a failure...

I got on LinkedIn and that was a bad idea.

There was no better way to make me feel like a failure than that social media/networking site. I saw all these people I graduated with who had jobs (like real ones) in the field that we all worked so hard in.

And I just wanted to change my occupation to "Professional..." what even am I?

A stay at home mom? What kind of respectable job title is that?

LET ME TELL YOU.

I spent five wonderful, stressful, amazing years in college and I wouldn't take them back for the world. For three of those years I studied what I loved, which is writing and writing the news. I have always known that was what I wanted to do and I never thought that anything, or anyone, could overpower my desire to succeed.

Then Little C came along.

Suddenly all of it just went away. I still wanted to be a reporter, I still loved the news and I still loved to write.

But I loved him more.

I applied for jobs, went on interviews, but in the end...here I am. At home. Every day. With him.

I complain about it.

Sometimes I even think that I hate it.

I think that quitting my job was the worst thing I could have done, but then he goes from calling me "Nene" to "Mama," and I just can't stop the butterflies in my tummy.

Learning has always been fun to me and it's something I can never get enough of. I love to learn. I love to find out new things and new ways. I just love knowledge. Quitting the workforce or not pursuing my Master's degree seemed like intellectual suicide, but that's not true.

Connor has taught me that what I love more than learning is watching him learn. I love to see him grow and thrive. He just wakes up one day and DOES SOMETHING that he couldn't do the previous day.

Do you know how amazing that is? Until you've watched those eyes light up as he surprises himself by standing up for a second on his own, you have no idea.

There is no degree in the world, no job in the country, no salary in existence that can give you that pride, that satisfaction, or make your heart melt.

So no. I don't have a job title that someone should or could be envious of. I'm a mother and I am a wife. That's it.

All I do every day is watch my son grow and learn while I clean house and (occasionally) cook a meal.

That's not much to most people and it's nothing to those connections I have on LinkedIn.

But it's my world.

More importantly, it's Connor's world.

And in Connor's world,

my job title is

Mommy.

When my daddy called me ugly

When I was in my early teen years, I was eating a steak house with my daddy. Our server was a lady who wasn't completely with it.

I don't remember exactly what she had done wrong, but I will never forget what my daddy told me.

"She ain't never got through life on anything but her looks," my daddy said.

"Do you think I could get through life on my looks?" I asked him, half jokingly.

My daddy looked at me with complete seriousness, and in a low voice said, "You better study real hard."

I guess my feelings should have been hurt, and maybe they were. I don't remember. But that statement stuck with me from then on and I'm so glad it did.

From that second, I knew I had to devote myself to my work. I knew that if I wanted something, I wasn't going to be able to simply bat my eyelashes and get it--I just didn't have the face for that.

So I worked and I worked hard. Don't get me wrong, I screwed around in high school (literally and figuratively if we're being honest), but I managed to graduate with decent grades. When I got into college my Freshman year, I put effort into my work and it paid off. My sophomore year went even better and I landed a spot on the Dean's List. When I transferred to a university, that strong work ethic transferred with me. I pushed through an easy year, I managed through a difficult year, achieving again a spot on the Dean's List, and in one of the most challenging parts of my life, I persevered and graduated with a BS degree in Communications.

It was the statement above, probably meant as a joke, that stayed in the back of my mind. Whenever I heard someone say, "It doesn't matter how I do on my finals, it matters how my future husband is doing on his," I laughed but could never relate.

Who cares how he's doing on his finals? Because when it comes down to it, I have to be the one who can take care of me. 

And I did.

I don't think my daddy meant for me to take his statement so seriously, or maybe he did. Maybe he knew that's what I needed to hear in order to push myself to be the best that I could. Maybe that was his way of encouraging me, if only because it pissed me off enough to try harder.

Maybe he knew that's what it would take. 

Maybe he was a little bit drunk.

I don't know. I don't really care at this point either.

Those words are words that I want to send to my son, maybe just in a different way. I want Connor to know that if he wants something in life, it's up to him to get it. I want Connor to go into this harsh world with the knowledge and the strength to put down what's not important and pick up what is. 

Do I get a little jealous whenever I see a stunning girl out in public, while average me is at the side of my husband? 

Well yeah.

But as looks fade, hard work doesn't. As hair becomes thin and hips become thick, people forget how pretty someone once was. 

People don't forget about how smart she was. 

And people will never forget how smart she could have been.