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.

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.

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.

Acrobats, motor boaters, all on a typical Wednesday morning

It's 6:00 a.m. and my child is an acrobat.

A heat butting acrobat.

I'm in that state where I'm not quite asleep, but not even remotely awake. I don't feel my hair being pulled as usual, but I do feel a soft-skinned, sweet-smelling, entirely too happy 20 pound mass on my face. This tiny little person I've created is laying on my face, only after he tried to flip over my body.

Is that how base jumping occurred? One night or early morning a child had the wild idea to flip off a queen-sized bed for the thrill of living.

I don't even speak.

I just hang on to his body, on my face, so that he does not injure himself the next time he attempts to imitate Tom Petty by free falling.

Just before, or maybe after, I'm not quite sure since I wasn't quite awake, I felt his soft hair against mine. I felt his hair against mine with each BANG as he hits his head to mine at least three times in a row.

Like who does that? As if ravaging my bosom at all hours of the night isn't enough.

He takes a break from hitting his head against mine and his entire body on my face to raise up and fall back down, face first, on my boobs. This kid puts even the professional motor-boaters to shame.

I close my eyes. Maybe if he's sucking, he'll decide to go to sleep.

No suck luck.

There's the scratching on the wall. That's totally cool though, because it means he's at the head of the bed, beside me and hopefully out of harm's way.

I would be furious that this incredibly small THING is interrupting my sleep, except that I keep hearing little sounds come out of him.

"Ba ba ba."

"EE-hEE."

These sweet little laughs and mumbles wake me up the rest of the way.

I decide to get out of bed and head straight for the coffee maker. After a bowl of oatmeal, a cup of coffee, letting the dog out, saving pieces of a wipe from being devoured, finding the dog who is still outside and sitting down on the couch to binge on Scandal, my sweet little baby boy is asleep on my lap.

Until next time, my friends. Until next time.

I've got cellulite in my cellulite

"When did I get so damn old?" I thought to myself just now when I looked in the mirror.

I think this a lot, actually. At least whenever I have the guts to look in the mirror. It's depressing, really. What used to be a small, flat stomach where the skin was mildly firm, now is a wider, rounder stomach where skin sort of "hangs" from when I was pregnant. Where I once had an adorable belly button ring is now just a small hole above some stretch marks that, as much lotion as I used during those 10 months, I couldn't prevent.

I look at my hair, hanging in no particular style on my shoulders and think about how I need SOMETHING done to it. I think about how it used to look good, or at least decent, and now it's just there, usually pulled up in a pony tail.

Then there's my face.

Ugh.

My pores have expanded to the size of potholes in Elgin Crossroads on that street between Subway and Big D's Burger House. I have acne on my forehead and chin that I can't resist the urge from picking at. I have splotches. I have red marks. I have those delightfully dark circles and bags under my eyes that would put Coach to shame. 

When and how and WHY did I let this happen to myself? Was it during those nights that Connor didn't want to sleep? Was it the days after when I was so tired that all I wanted to do was lay around? Was it during those last semesters of college when I was trying to work and be a mother and a student? Was it just last week when I looked at our bank account and automatically got a headache?

I look at my pictures on social media and try to figure out just when this devastation occurred. 

Listen to me whine. How terrible do I sound?

There is an Ebola epidemic in Africa, wars in the Middle East, the U.S. with it's own share of problems, and here I am complaining about the drab mess that has become my exterior. 

As terrible as that is, I can't help myself. 

Oh please. Don't give me that look of disappointment as you stare at your computer screen while the 10:00 news is on. 

Because, let's face it. When the news goes off and you go into your bathroom and look in the mirror, you will sigh too, whether it's voluntary or involuntary.

It's not like people don't tell me I'm pretty. My husband does (and he's really all that counts, right?). He tells me I'm beautiful and he loves me. But I wouldn't blame him at all if sometimes he wished I was still a size two, with semi-great boobs (as great as they can be naturally) and nice skin. 

Once upon a time, I had thought, "I won't want aging cream when I'm old. I will embrace my aging and be thankful that I have been able to live a long life. The wrinkles and laugh lines will just be part of my story, a part that people can see." 

I'm not even old yet. 

I am blessed that I carried a child for 10 months and that I have stretch marks to show where my son grew and developed inside me. I am blessed that my hair is messy because I don't have time to do anything to it since I'm running after this amazing little person who entered my life.

I know that.

No, there is no way that I would take back any of the wrinkles, breakouts, bad hair or big belly for him. He's totally worth it. 

But I'm selfish. 

...and maybe a little self absorbed.

Whatever.

One thing I promised myself and my husband before C was born, and I am trying to keep that promise, is that I would not criticize myself in front of my son. I don't want him to grow up with ideas that women aren't beautiful as themselves. I don't want him to grow up with the notion that a girl has to wear make-up to be pretty. I don't want him to grow up with the thought that a girl has to be a size two in order to be attractive. 

I want him to see women for who they are, for their personalities and sense of humor. I want him to see a girl and his breath be taken away by her kindness and morality. I want him to realize that what he's looking at is only a plus.

I could blame the media and society and a ton of other people for my poor self image. But what's the point in that? 

The only person I have to blame is myself. I am the one who looks in the mirror and can't see what my son sees when he looks at me. I can't see the Mommy, I can only see the "Mommy." I can't see what my husband sees when he looks at me, I can only see what he once saw. 

I can ask you to start trying to think of something positive about yourself when you look in the mirror, and tell you I'll do the same, but come on, neither of us is really going to do that. 

So what is the bright side to this post?

We can all be completely ugly and tired and stressed out and completely normal together. 

After all, that's how norms come about anyway, right?

Just a typical Wednesday

The challenges I've faced since becoming a mother are endless, just in my eight and a half months experience.

For example, before I was a mother, I had never peed or pooped while holding another human being in my lap.

I've never had to lift 20 pounds with one arm.

And I've certainly never had to say, "Please get out from under the recliner."

But this morning was a doozy.

Last night we tried to get C to sleep in his crib so we could have some mommy/daddy time. After screaming for an hour and throwing up twice, C finally realized that we were still in the house and he was still going to sleep in his crib (so we thought). After about two hours of being in his crib, I finally just put him in the bed with us again. I mean he slept for two hours, waking up once each hour, so I gave him some credit and thought a little progress was better than no progress.

But this morning we woke up much earlier than we normally do, and it was because one of us was a little bit poopy. Thankfully, this time, it was not me. I got up to pee and while I was in the bathroom I hear this screaming. So of course I just thought he was mad that I left him in the bed by himself.

Oh no.

It was much worse than that.

I walk out of the bathroom and ask him what in the world was wrong with him, and I see two legs (and eight rolls) flailing in the air. What I didn't see what my son's torso or his face.

Fantastic.

I did what any caring mother would do. I stood there with my hand on my hip and asked my eight-month-old, "What are you doing?"

Apollo, the dog, was lying contently under the covers as well trying to ignore the noise that was interrupting his slumber. He still has not figured out why we won't take the thing back where we got it. He also has been exhibiting suicidal behavior so we have to watch him closely.

After getting my fill of entertainment for the morning, I pulled the covers off of my son's head and got the giant turd out of his diaper.

Needless to say he felt like a new man, ready to suck a tit and watch the Today show.

Our first trip to the library

Connor and I went to the library last week. It was during Handy Week, a week long music festival that most people in North Alabama look forward to because they get to stay wasted for a week straight, AND it's socially acceptable.

Anyway, so we walk into the library and I went straight to the computer to search for the book I wanted ("All Fall Down" by Jennifer Weiner). They didn't have the book, which is what began this journey.

I'm really picky when it comes to books, or choosing one. I like to look at ALL of my options before I make a decision. I mean one of the worst things in my opinion is picking out a book and the whole time I'm reading it, I'm wondering what other book I'm missing out on because I didn't take the time to look for it.

This weird obsession/compulsion leads me to look through each aisle, on every shelf, until I am absolutely positive I have what I want. Needless to say, that can take awhile.

I was holding C the whole time, and he was actually really good. He wasn't fussing, he was enjoying himself.

Really enjoying himself.

"BAH!"

"Bahbahbahbahbahbah"

"BAHBAH!"

"MAAAHHHHH"

These were just a few of the things he wanted to shout out while we were in the reading section of our local library.

Even if it wasn't Handy Week, the library is usually busy, especially in the summer.

So let's look at this situation:

1) Library (A/C, free, open to the public)
2) Summer (kids programs)
3) Handy Week (festivities, visitors, etc.)

And then there's Connor. Loving life. Yelling while the older man with dreads sits in a chair, in the reading section, and tries to take a nap.

I wanted to apologize but he would never look directly at us. I couldn't exactly blame him either.

Then there was the older man who was smiling and talking to C, a sweet gesture, and wasn't upset at all that C was jabbering louder than he ever has while the man was working on his computer.

I tried "shhh-ing" him, but that didn't work. Then I tried quietly saying, "Yes, ma-ma-ma-ma..." so at least people would think I was trying to teach him something rather than just let him scream like the terrible mother I'm sure I appeared to be.

None of it worked.

I went for a different approach.

"Connor, please stop screaming. We're going to get kicked out."

"BA-BA-BA-BA."

I wasn't sure if I should sit down and pop a tit in his mouth or just hurry up and find a book. Which is going to annoy the older people more?

Seeing tits? Screaming baby? Tits? Baby?

I went to the Youth section. I looked around, grabbed a book, and almost ran to check out.

We didn't get kicked out of the library. We actually went back.

And I enjoyed the book I hurriedly grabbed. It was a teen love story, which kind of sucked, but it had a happy ending, which I don't see enough of these days. So I didn't totally regret my decision...

...and even a teen love story is better than "50 Shades of Grey," am I right?

I workout!

Ya'll.

What I'm about to tell you is a sad story. It's a sad, sad story about a girl who might be a smidge bit out of shape and overconfident.

I started back to the gym this week since I'm no longer working during the day and we pay for it in our rent. I started the week off with a body pump class (these are all from the Les Mills program) and I loved it. The pace was just right, I lifted enough to feel something, but not to strain anything. Then I went to an RPM class which is like a spin class. I loved it. Josh went with me and although we worked hard and almost died, we completed the class and felt really good afterwards.

Then I took a day off.

So tonight I went to this class called "Body Attack." I was super excited about it because it was an aerobics class and aerobics looks fun on TV.

Well you know what?

Aerobics isn't fun.

Aerobics is deadly.

I got there about five minutes late but went in and watched until I thought I knew what to do.

I didn't.

Those women were movin'. They were moving their feet and arms and hands and legs in different directions all at the same time. They were moving right and I was moving up.

Let's not forget to mention that I am the most uncoordinated person I know.

Picture a room full of women moving in the same direction, doing the same moves, at the same pace. Then imagine me thrown into the mix just trying to keep up.

It was so bad that it wasn't even embarrassing. It was just funny. I laughed at myself most of the time I was in there because those women had to have thought that I was just there for sheer entertainment--that there was no way I was really trying to work-out.

But I was.

They started doing this "star" move where you throw a foot out and jump and make a star. I don't even really know how to explain it because I just stood there watching them. I knew if I tried to make myself into a star, I was going to burn out.

I thought I could do a jumping jack. I mean, I think I've done them before, so I should be able to do them again right?

Right...kind of.

I noticed every time I jumped, I would get a little bit warm...down there.

The more I jumped, the more it happened. And I thought, "Oh. My. Goodness. I am pissing."

And then came the planks. I wasn't too upset when I heard about the planks, because I can do those.

Except not.

You had to make a plank, then a quirky (?) which was like big steps, walking your way back up. Then you had to touch your hands on your hips, then touch the sky, all while your legs are still doing some other stuff way out in left field, then you come back down into a plank and do three push-ups. This is all done very fast, making 20 moves into one swift move.

"No says I."

I tried one time. It didn't work at all. I couldn't get up as fast as those other women (I'm pretty old for my age). While they were hopping around and reaching to the sky, I just stayed there on the floor. At first I tried to hold a plank position and just do the push-ups, but then I just tried to do the push-ups.

And then I just sat there on my knees and marveled at everyone else.

Finally instructor tells us to run. All right! I can do that! I can totally run!

So I'm a-runnin.' I'm running in place, I'm running forward, I'm running backwards, I'm trying to figure out which was is right and which way is left...but I'm running. Then I start popping my knees up and I have a good sweat going, my heart is pumping and I'm breathing heavy.

We started running in a circle, and I'm gettin' it. I'm running. But then all the women change positions OUT OF NOWHERE and I almost hit a girl in the face with my face.

I politely say, "Oh shit, I'm sorry." And turn the other way.

But through it all, I kept running.

I kept running until I ran my ass out of that door.

Sex. What's that?

In the last eight months I have become unfamiliar with a three-letter-word.

Sex.

I don't even know what it is anymore, let alone how to actually do it.

C has been sleeping between the hubs and me for about three or four months now and he's really cramping our style. I mean who wants to have sex when the baby is in the bed?

For example, my husband and I tried to "do it" but I could feel Connor's feet on my leg and I had to call it quits. Like, that's just not a turn-on, you know?

We tried to get dirty on the floor beside the bed, but it's ceramic tile throughout our house so that was entirely too painful (and let's face it, I'm pretty lazy as it is).

Another obstacle we face in trying to "get down" is that we have to sneak out of our bed. Our own bed.

Are you with me here?

My husband and I have to sneak out of our own bed in order to have sex. What is wrong with this?!

The more I think about it, the more I realize that this is simply a (successful) plot by Connor to stop us from reproducing. He knows that if we have another baby, he will have to share...everything, so he nips it in the bud (excuse the cliche).

Geeze Louise, Connor, I don't WANT another baby right now. I just WANT MOMMY-DADDY TIME!

Is it really too much to ask to just want to lay there on my bed and do it?

Why yes, Mommy, it is.

We have tried to put him in his crib, but just the site of it sends him into a screaming fit, and then I get worried because what if I am screwing him up psychologically because I'm letting him scream. Life has a way of screwing you up anyway, not even considering the fact that I'm his mother which is a problem enough, but what if he sits there and screams and feels like no one loves him and it's all because I want to get down and dirty with his dad?

Gah, I have problems.

If you've read any previous posts, you'll notice that there was a time when he slept in his crib, but during my last semester of college (and especially after Josh's wreck) we put him in the bed with us. It was so much easier because I could turn over and pop the tit in his mouth and we could sleep. We do sleep. That's amazing in itself and I'm thankful that we're finally getting to that point. Plus, I just needed to know that both he and his dad were in the bed beside me, and we were all OK.

Of course I think about these times and then I think about the three months we dealt with colic. Those days seemed like they would never end, the sleepless nights, the tears and begging him to just sleep. But now, those days seem like forever ago, and I don't really know where they went.

I feel like this stage is exactly the same. So even though I miss snuggling next to my husband and having intimate time with him, I think about how sweet it is when C snuggles up to me and throws his other arm over to touch his dad too. He loves us and he loves being in the bed with us and one day, he won't. He won't want to snuggle with me. He won't want to hold on to me as he sleeps. He won't wake up looking for me. And when that time comes, I'm going to miss these sex deprived nights. And I'm going to cry. A lot.

So if you're in the same bed as me, don't worry too much about it. These days are going to pass way too fast. Cherish that goofy, needy, sweaty, adorable baby.

You smell that?

Sometimes we're all a little stinky. Sometimes, being stinky is normal. I'll even say that being stinky is a part of life.

But the stench that comes from my child is not a little stinky. The stench that comes from my child is not normal. The stench that comes from my child is bad enough to end someone's life.

Oh. My. Goodness. I smell the same way.

Am I the stench?

No. I take showers. I have a pretty regular showering routine. That can't be me, can it?

OK, I took a shower. I still smell it. WHY does my son smell like this?!

After much bathing and investigating, I found out the culprit to the gut-wrenching scent is my sheets. So now I'm freaking out because we've been sleeping on what could possibly be a dead body.

I am aware that it's a terrible habit to start your child sleeping with you. I know that. But I also know that we sleep SO much better since we've started co-sleeping. C gets an all-you-can-eat buffet, and I get ten times more sleep than I was when we were trying to get him to sleep in his crib, or when I had to get up in the middle of the night to feed him. I mean, the crib turns into a full bed, so it's not like he's never going to use it. It's not like he's going to sleep with us forever.

...right? No way. He's not going to sleep with us forever.

For now, he sleeps in the bed with us. So picture this: a queen size bed. A queen size bed with my husband in it. A queen size bed with my husband and my dog in it. A queen size bed with my husband, my dog and my son in it. A queen size bed with my husband, my dog, my son and me in it.

Now think of it this way: A queen size bed with three people and a dog, in the Alabama summer heat. For anyone who has ever even thought about Alabama, you know that just because you have air conditioning, it doesn't kill the sky high temps and the wet that just hangs out in the air.

All of this put together creates some sweaty (Apollo is a heater by himself) individuals. We're all under the cover, we're all sweating and we all stink in our own special way. The stink travels to the sheet and just stays there, getting worse with each passing night until it gets so bad that it marches into my nose and triggers my gag reflex.

No one else in my house can smell the stench, and if they can, it doesn't bother them. I think it does bother Apollo, but he's way too polite to say anything.

Well Lauren, what is the point of this post?

That's a great question and I plan to provide you with an even greater answer! If you want to co-sleep and you know you have a severe sweating/stinking disorder, then you need to change your sheets every night. If you choose not to change your sheets every night, eventually the stench will get so bad that it will take on a life of it's own and eat you.

Good luck explaining that one.

One hot mama

I was at work a couple weeks ago and a lady asked me if I was pregnant.

So that was a slap in the face.

I decided that since a gym membership is included in our rent, I might want to consider using it. I have worked out four days and none this week.
I know that doesn't sound like a lot, but for me, it is. I have never liked anything physical (except GETTING physical, which I've found to be pretty darn good at). But I started running on the treadmill and lifting (small) weights, and it's actually really fun. I look forward to it and I'm disappointed when I can't make time to go.

Don't worry, this isn't about me talking about how super hot I look when I pump iron.

Along with my whoppin' four days at the gym, I've also tried to eat healthier. By healthier, I mean I eat cookies with oatmeal instead of normal cookies. I eat whole grain cereal rather than sugary cereal.

I get stuff with lettuce on it at McD's instead of a big, fat juicy burger that I really want. Believe me, it's a struggle.

Anyway, this post is about how, if you want to lose weight, you can do it and not affect your milk supply. After all, who cares how you look if your baby is angry because you ran out of milk!

For starters, from what I've read, it's best to start out easy. Don't start going fitness crazy right after you give birth, just do it gradually (VERY SLOWLY).

Also, don't take this advice as professional. This is ONLY what I am doing and you are more than welcome to follow. However, I do not take any responsibility for how well or terrible you do, so don't try to sue me. Please and thanks.

One of the most important things about losing weight and breastfeeding is to make sure that you're not cutting down on your meals or food. Just cut out the junk and sweets, or in my case, cut down on them. Make sure to keep meat (unless you're a vegetarian, and in that case, I am not the person to talk to) in your diet, because your bebe needs protein.

Don't cut out carbs. Not only does your body need them for energy, but so does your baby. Plus, if your body has no energy, it's not going to make milk.

Which leads me to remind you that breastfeeding burns calories, so make sure to continue to consume your extra 500 calories than normal, just make sure they're the good calories.

Well Lauren, what are good calories?

That's a great question!

Good calories are those found in fruits (which are also high in fiber so you poop more) and veggies. I'm not a huge eater of either of those, but I do like yogurt and fruit is in yogurt, AND you can buy the "light" kind so that it's not as high in fat. Greek yogurt is always good and it's high in protein too. Plus yogurt tastes good.

Make sure you have fiber in your diet, which you can get from whole grains, wheat, fruit, green veggies and some juices.

In a nutshell (nuts are good sources of protein and are great for snacking), don't change your diet unless it's to cut out those bad calories.

Exercise to the extent that you're sore the next day, but that you're not forcing your body to "over-do" (my mother's favorite word) it. If you get to carried away and hurt yourself, then who's going to take care of that sweet little person of yours?!

I don't know how this gym thing is going to go, but I'll be sure to keep you updated.

OK and just as a side note, I have to go to the gyno tomorrow (because APPARENTLY GIVING BIRTH ISN'T AN EXAM ENOUGH) and I'm hoping my four days will have paid off on the scale. I'll tell you all about it in a week or so, don't worry.

Kelly Mom website, lots of different help topics

Choose my plate.gov It's a government site, so it's legit

Baby Fit, I just really liked this site so maybe you will too

Most importantly, don't give up on breastfeeding. You are doing a terrific job.