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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Spread the word, stop the hurt

It was Spring of 2012.

I had just gotten out of school for the summer. I was 21, living at home, with little to no responsibilities other than going to work and paying for gas to get there. My boyfriend had decided that he wanted to move closer to me and I had caught him looking at rings.

My life was great.

I had my wisdom teeth out on a Friday. My boyfriend, Josh, had said that he would take care of me. He had just moved into a small apartment in my home town. He and I had decorated it together. He had just gotten a new job.

Everything was perfect.

Then it happened.

The day after my wisdom teeth came out, I was still numb and Josh called the doctor. The doc sent in some steroids and antibiotics. I was weak, but after 48 hours of being in bed, I was ready to get out of the house.

We went to the Renaissance Fair and had a great time.

A week or so later, one night, I took a pregnancy test.

It was positive.

What?! There was no way. I mean, of course there was a way, but no...no this couldn't be happening. We weren't ready to be parents. We were just having fun.

I went to the doctor and got a blood test and the doctor sent me to the hospital because I was cramping so bad. The physician's assistant at the ER told me that I was most likely going to miscarry. A flood of emotions came over me, along with the rising hormones in my body, and I couldn't think. I didn't know what I was going to do. Josh was beside me, he told me that no matter what happened, he was going to stand with me. He loved me.

The blood test came back, and I was indeed pregnant, but my hormones weren't rising like they were supposed to. They were too high for how far along I was, but they were also not high enough. They were just there, stuck, in the middle. Kind of like my mind was.

Then one day, my now-husband told me, "You're not going to do this by yourself. I'm going to be there. I want to marry you and I want to support you. I'm not going to leave you."

And in that exact moment, we decided that no matter how hard it was going to be, we were going to keep this baby and we were going to be the best parents we could be.

We were so excited the day we went for our first ultrasound. I had been at work all day and I had been counting the hours until I got to see my baby on that black and white screen. Josh met me at work and we went together with hopeful hearts to see our future.

I was seven weeks, so we knew we might not see much, but it was what we didn't see that hurt us. My gestational sac was on time, but the embryo wasn't and there was no heartbeat. The technicians prayed for us and asked God to send us comfort.

I went home and called my OB.

Two weeks later, I was laying on another table, praying that the tech would see something different.

She didn't.

She told me that the embryo had never developed past six and a half weeks, and that the heartbeat probably stopped within the last couple of days, if it had ever even started.

I didn't want to believe it. I had chose to have this baby. I had chose to turn my life in a whole new direction in order to suit this baby. For two months, I had been planning a new life. I had been planning a new future.

Two days later, I was in the hospital waiting for my D&C.

The morning of the surgery, I woke up, took a shower and cried. I cried while I got dressed. I cried the whole way to the hospital.

When I woke up from surgery, I cried. I wanted my baby. I wanted the baby that had been taken from and out of me. Every time I would feel blood gush from me, I cried.

I went back to Josh's apartment and cried. I just kept crying.

I never got to hold my baby. But it had a name. Josh and I decided that we were going to name that baby, boy or girl, Harper.

Harper Tobin.

I never got to hold my baby.

But I can use my experience to help someone else.

No mother should have her child taken away unnecessarily

In under-developed countries, mothers are watching their children die due to diseases such as Malaria or even something as simple as diarrhea. Mothers are giving birth to beautiful babies that they only get to hold for a short period of time before having to bury them, due to lack of resources for newborn care.

Mothers are miscarrying their babies because they don't have proper prenatal treatment.

I can tell you from experience, that July 13, 2012 was the worst day of my life. My heart has never hurt so bad. I have never ached from the inside out. I have never hurt so bad. When I miscarried Harper, I felt my heart break.

No woman ever deserves to feel that.

No woman ever deserves to lose her child, especially when it doesn't have to happen.

There was nothing I could do to stop my miscarriage. There was nothing I could do to save my Harper, but I can do something to help save someone else's Harper.

And so can you.

Visit http://www.savethechildren.net/mdg500/ and see what the "500 days to MDG" campaign is about.

"The campaign breakthrough is that no child under the age of five dies from preventable causes, and public attitudes will not tolerate high levels of child deaths."

If nothing else, spread the word. 

Help these mothers.

Help these children.

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?

What was I thinking?

Throughout my life I have made more than my share of questionable decisions.

And I really think becoming a parent was one of them.

Before you jump me, I'm not saying I regret my child. That's not it at all. If you read further, you'll understand.

Yesterday, C was playing with my full length mirror. I was in the bathroom putting makeup on and I heard the crash. I knew instantly what happened and all I could picture was my child in a "Carrie"-like scene with blood all over him and shattered glass everywhere. 

Thankfully there was no blood. But there was a lot of glass. A lot. 

And not for the first time, I thought, "Why did I do this?" 

I grabbed him out of his walker and checked him for blood. I didn't see him bleeding and I didn't see any glass protruding from his body, so I tried to calm him (and me) down. But the whole time, I thought, "Why did I do this? Why did I have a baby? I can't deal with this."

He didn't even get hurt!

When he fell off the couch a couple months ago and scared both my husband and I, I had the same thought. 

When I first began breastfeeding, I had the same thought.

Breastfeeding was demanding. I didn't get to sleep as much as I could have if we used formula (so I thought). If we used formula, he might stay full longer. If we used formula, he might sleep all night. What was I thinking trying to breastfeed?

To this day, those things above are all true. But as I've mentioned before, breastfeeding went beyond just how I chose to give my child nutrition. I needed it too. I needed the closeness.

I saw this quote on Pinterest (I think) that said something like, The first six weeks, you'll envy those who chose formula, but after six months, you'll be thankful you breastfeed.

That was totally paraphrased, but it basically just meant that if you keep on breastfeeding, if you keep trying, then it's worth it in the end.

Well that's true. 

So that makes me wonder if when I die, when I take my last breath, I'll think, "This was all worth it."

I say when I die, because I don't think I'll ever not worry about C. I don't think I'll ever not think, "Why did I do this to myself?" I'll never stop wondering what he's doing or why he's doing it. I just hope that no matter how old he gets, he'll still give me those sweet kisses and the warmest hug I've ever gotten in my life. I just hope that he'll still look at me with bright eyes full of love. I hope that he'll still smile whenever he sees me walk into a room. I hope that he will still love me just as much as he does in this very moment in time. 

And in that second, right before I close my eyes for good, I'll know why I did it.

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.

Why I chose to breastfeed

I've written a few times expressing the love for my son, and this is going to be another one.

Last night, I got into bed after my husband and C. Connor was laying there asleep, his little body halfway covered, his chest slowly moving up and down as his breathing evened out, and his face completely relaxed.

Seeing him so peaceful because he knows that he's safe completely takes my breath away. How did I do that? How did WE do that? I looked at him and thought of how perfect he is to me. I laid down beside him and thanked God for giving him to me. I begged Him to PLEASE keep my baby safe.

I've never loved like this until I saw Connor for the first time.

I have a dog. I love my dog. I've had him since I was 15, and his name is Apollo. I tell everyone that he's my first born, and most anyone who knows me knows that it's true. I treated him like a baby, he sleeps in the bed with us, he goes on trips with us, and when I was pregnant with Connor, I was terrified that I wouldn't love him as much as I did Apollo.

I was so wrong.

On November 15, 2013 at 4:38 p.m., I pushed as hard as I could and I saw everyone at the end of the table light up. The nurse laid my son down diagonally on my belly. I looked at him and my only thought was, this is him? He is mine?

He turned his head, wrinkled up his forehead and looked at me with eyes I've only ever seen in a mirror. I started to cry. I touched his arm, and looking back now I think I was scared to pick him up.

Then he started to cry. I have never laughed as hard as I could and cried as hard as I could at the exact same time until the moment I heard his sweet whine. That moment was completely majestic.

Sometimes when I'm breastfeeding, I feel that same burst of love. It feels like inside my body is the 4th of July, like my heart is exploding fireworks. There's no way to explain it. I look at him nursing and he looks up at me with those same mirroring eyes, and I almost can't take it.

I watch his free hand slide across the breast he isn't on. His hands are so soft, not yet callused from play.

I'll nurse him until he falls asleep, his eyes fighting so hard to stay open, but eventually closing. He relaxes and my nipple falls out of his mouth. Sometimes he will wake up immediately and ravage for it, like he'll never have it again. But sometimes he is in such a deep sleep that he just lays there beside it. He lays there beside my heart.

It was hard for me to encompass that I was a mother. It took awhile. I felt like I didn't know this little person who was thrown into my life, or I was thrown into him. I was terrified. What if I screwed up? What if I screwed HIM up? I didn't think I deserved to be the mother to this incredible little being. I thought he needed someone else to love him and raise him. I thought he needed anyone in the world except for me.

I would nurse him and think about how I couldn't do it. I couldn't be a parent. I cried when he cried. I felt like he would only cry when I had him and that he didn't want me.

That's why I kept breastfeeding. I didn't want to, but even more than that, I was terrified I had no other way to be close to him. I had never been around babies and I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. So I nursed him. I held him and I let him eat, and I burped him, and we did it all over again.

Eventually, whenever someone else had him, he would watch me. His eyes would move wherever I moved. Relief flooded over me. Even though he only wanted me for milk, for nourishment, at least he wanted me.

Breastfeeding for me was about my son wanting me and loving me, and it turned into something completely wonderful. It turned into something I enjoy doing and I enjoy learning about.

I didn't breastfeed to be better than anyone else or to be more natural. I breastfed because I NEEDED the skin-to-skin. I NEEDED to have a way to bond with my child, because I don't think I would have been able to otherwise.