I just miss you

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

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

None of these are true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can I love them both?

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

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

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

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

And I wake up with a little bit of peace.

Here we go again

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

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

But it has to happen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scuba diving, pirate ship riding, basketball playing toddler

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

I hope I've accomplished something.

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

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

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

Where has this place been all his life?

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

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

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

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

Oh please don't call the Department on me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year.

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

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

And then I fell asleep.

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

It rang again. I ignored it.

It kept ringing.

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

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

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

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

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

No answer. 

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

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

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

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

I called my Tara and told her. 

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

She lived three hours away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why was he in trauma if he was OK?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I will never leave you." He said. 

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

"And I didn't," he said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thoughts and thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like, who ARE you?

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

I'm shaking my head right now.

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

I'm hoping he takes that idea through college.

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

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

Except now.

He goes in there now.

He loves to play in his room.

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

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

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

Weaning:

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Houston, we have a toddler

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do we even want to talk about my breasts?

Ha, of course we do.

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

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

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

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

"Mom. Milk."

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

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