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.

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.

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.

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.

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.