Show me a perfect mom I'll show you a broken nose

I sat across the table from a woman who had her three kids in tote.  We were having lunch with a mutual friend and waiting on our food. My daughter was getting fidgety in her high chair, so I did my best to entertain her with Mum Mums, and toys before her steamed veggies arrived.

When I looked up and across the table I noticed the woman across from me also entertaining her children. But with sugar packets. One by one I saw her reach into the container holding sugar and wannabe-sugar, open up the packets, and pour them on her son and daughter's drink coasters. Her two and three year olds were as quiet as can be as they licked their fingers and dipped them into the growing pile of white goodness.

I couldn't help but chuckle. Here I was feeling guilty for not wiping the table down an extra time before letting my daughter devour a banana, while this experienced mom of three pacified her kids with Equal.

I had to tell her how funny it looked. And I laughed as I wondered how many other moms do this when no one is watching.
You know how people say with your first baby if their paci falls to the floor you pick it up, sanitize it, run it through the washing machine, re-sanitize etc before putting it back in their mouth? Then with the second kid you rinse it off in the sprinklers, with the third child you blow on it and dust it off on your pant leg? Well, let's just say I'm trying to treat all of my children equally and I'm just skipping to the third child tendencies.

While I don't see myself letting my kids down a bag of sugar while I'm making dinner, I understand no one is perfect.

So why do I feel like I have to be?

I spent a lot of time thinking about how I wanted my daughter to come into this world, what kind of diapers she should wear, what to bathe her with, pre-washing her stuff, deciding where she sleeps, what she's eating at what age, agonized about pumping and providing breastmilk, and whether or not she feeds herself or I help her and so much more. But when I stop and think about these decisions and then think about the scope of the rest of her life I can't help but think these decisions aren't what's most important, nor what will have the biggest impact on her life.

So what if I practice baby-led weaning and she can use a spoon when she's eight months old. Ladeefreakinda. She doesn't get a medal. Nether do I. And what, is Harvard going to be knocking down my door, promising a full-ride scholarship to be used 18 years from now because my infant can use a spoon? Unfortunately no. 

I could care less if my mom let me cry to sleep or not. As far as I know it didn't have an effect on me. And despite feeding me formula I've turned out pretty healthy,  I don't hold it against her the least bit. I'm sure she tried her best and I'm thankful for that.

She taught me about commitment, about compassion, charity and integrity. She taught me values, respect, and showed me how to love. All of those things made me who I am today. Made me who I'm proud to be.

I'm not a perfect mom. But no one is. I was spanked, (actually I got woopins, which in my opinion is much worse than the "spankings"people gasp over) and I'm not against them.

I spent half an hour in torment up and down the baby isle debating which teething remedy I should get my daughter. Hylands or Orajel, tablets or gel? Which was best? Would the wrong one kill her?

But then in the same instant I let my daughter eat paper, and only stop her when I realize she's gagging on her spit wads or eating something I need.

something I need

Lately I've been trying to be better about spending quality time with my husband because I think my relationship with him will make a bigger mark on my daughter's life. More so than whether or not the apple I'm feeding her is organic.

It's not to say that spending extra time researching good things for her isn't worth it, but sometimes I think it's easy to get caught up in the hype and marketing of what people tell us what's best, when really, what we teach them has far more impact.

I don't know any mom who has it all down pat. Who doesn't ever get frustrated, occasionally yell, feed her kids junk food (or sugar packets), or peeks to see if anyone's looking as she dusts the paci she just picked up off the floor on her pant leg before putting it back in her baby's mouth.

You show me a perfect mom and I'll show you a broken nose. Because no one should be that good and have a perfect face.

What would you do for more blog followers?

Pay cash money? That's what about 300 bloggers are doing and it made me think about this whole blogging, follower, money making phenomenon. As my girl @whodemis on Twitter says "I can't knock the hustle" and I have to agree because let me admit... This idea was GENIUS.

1. Create an email account connected to business name for advertising.

2. Create a linky for bloggers who want more followers. Make the requirement $10 to be entered on to the linky (it's a business write off).

3. Use money from the first 100 links to set up a raffle, instruct visitors to follow the blogs then comment for each follow to be entered to win $1000.

Initially when I saw it I thought the $10 tax write off was because the money was going to charity. Sweet right? Not exactly. The host, and advertiser for the blogs on the linky pockets the proceeds. Really it's a win win win. She gets to make $2K... or whatever else over the initial $1000, which she's already done. Blogs who want more followers get them, and one lucky follower gets $1000.

Now I could go on a rant about how we need more engineers in this country, people who study, develop new inventions, businesses, and jobs for more people---That "get rich quick" schemes like this are ultimately showing we as a people falling short of the big picture, but I won't go into that. Instead, what I want to focus on is this idea of blog followers.

Why do we have them? Well, Cindy hit the nail on the head with her post about the blogging bubble. When I begged my friends to be my first 7, 100, I'll admit, the number big and bright to the right had me gloating. It was my stamp of "coolness" if you will. A way to obviously show people read me and say "I'm kind of a big deal." No but really, it felt good to know people were reading me. And there's nothing wrong with that. Until it turns into an obsession.

I did some giveaways just for my followers, to gain more followers, and in turn used that number to get better giveaways and even more followers. I know it sounds dirty, I'm just being honest.

Sometime over the last year this craze with that number BLEW UP! I mean, huge in the blogosphere! There were linkies like "Follow me Friday" "More Followers Monday" "Pretty Please Follow Me Wednesday" (ok I made the last one up). And I'll admit, I tried a couple but then realized there was no way I'd be able to read all of these new blogs in my reader, and I felt a bit... Dare I say... desperate. Sure, I'd find a couple gems in the bunch but really? Comeon, let's me honest, we all just wanted to boost our stats. Even if that number has become so diluted, and really null and void at this point because everyone now has a few a hundred dozen fake followers.

But then I would write a post like this one, and gain two dozen followers in a day or two. Seeing the number rising corresponding with a post I wrote from the heart meant so much more to me than a random follower who when you click on their name, it takes you to a profile with nothing more than an email address to contact them if they won, and a list of a thousand other blogs they followed for the giveaways--aka a giveaway hoarder.

So this year I made a resolution to tone it down with the reviews. Mostly accept mom-owned products to make things more personal, and force me to be less commercial. Following was optional to enter giveaways but still a common entry for many people.

But somewhere between doing my own giveaways for followers, dogging this small sortof pyramid scheme on twitter, and then getting called a hypocrite (hey, I can admit it, it's hypocritical) I was forced to ask myself: Why does that number to the right matter? My blog isn't my job. I don't need stats to make money or provide for my family. it's a place for me to release, vent, and rant about things like this. So why does it matter?

If a company is interested in working with me, do I want them to contact me because of a number they see when they visit my blog, or write to me because of the content the read? My guess is before, some were just looking at the number. Which may be one reason I recently got an email from a PR rep which started "Hi Amanda..." when my name is actually not Amanda.

So, now realizing that that number was good for nothing, other that to occasionally stroke my ego as it would go up, or make me feel bad when I noticed it go down, or possibly make others feel bad if theirs wasn't as high, I've decided to escape the circus and simply remove it indefinitely. At least until I regain my reigns.

If people still follow blogs and read them in their reader the old fashioned way (or is it the new-aged way?) they can subscribe my blog via reader by clicking the reader button under my "about" section, or just get my email subscription or just do the for realz old fashioned way and use my RSS feed subscription thingy.

I have to admit, this takes a slight leap of faith. My blog has brought me tremendous opportunities. I've fallen into writing gigs, side jobs, and even recently was contacted by a network news station about my love letters. I don't know if that was because of that number to the right, or because of me.

Going forward, I guess I will.

*Update* It's come to my attention that 1. That blog taking money for the raffle has disappeared, which may very well have confirm my suspicions of a scam. And 2. I have many readers who read my blog who found me through a giveaway but stayed for my content... Who knew? Thanks all yall, really, thank you everyone who reads. Sorry for my rant on this subject, I just was getting annoyed of being thrown into the same pot as many bloggers who only do giveaways. There's nothing wrong with that, but that's not what I want to be known for, or as.

Work/Home Balance--Is There Such a Thing?

I've officially been at work, away from my daughter longer than I was at home with her during my maternity leave. I'd be lying if I were to say it's gotten much easier.

Every morning when I have to kiss her goodbye, it's still ridiculously hard. It breaks my heart even more now when she knows I'm grabbing my purse--not our diaper bag--and I'm leaving without her.

I try my best now to leave when she's distracted or still sleeping; because when she's awake and aware she'll hold her arms out for me and cry.

Daily I'm submerged in feelings of guilt for not being there for her, and paranoia about missing a first. Missing her crawl for the first time, the first time she says "mama" or just being there for her daily developments.

I can't say how grateful I am though for the fact that she's with the best caregiver in the world. Seeing her with her dad, and how close they've gotten makes my heart melt. When I come home she practically jumps into my arms and is all smiles. She's so happy when we're all home and close together and it makes me so grateful she has two parents who love each other and love her. Sadly, that's not the case for everyone. But I'm still a little jealous of that bond I see they have, and of the time he gets with her.

On my day off this week, Little J and I went out for yoga, then we went to lunch and shopping with a friend. She was by my side or in her carrier that entire day and I had the most amazing time. I would be standing in an isle at a craft store and notice her look up at me from her wrap and smile. I'd lean over to kiss her nose and she'd laugh. The simplest moment made me want to stop time and stay right there with her forever. I wished I could I had more moments like these. Like I was missing moments like these every day I leave her for the grind.

We started the daycare search this week and it's been exhausting. It's so hard looking for someone to care for my daughter aside from my husband and I, and trusting them with her. Luckily, we won't need to enroll her for another six or seven months, which by then I think she'll be ready to learn and ready for interaction with other kids her age, but it's still so hard.

Right now I can call home and video chat with her via iPhone. At first she didn't know what to think of it, and she'd grab my husband's phone, reaching for me, then she'd start crying when she realized I couldn't pick her up. Now she'll usually smile and talk to me for a little bit, still try to grab the phone, but I think she's realized iPhones don't have arms. This is just one of the experiences I'll miss once she starts daycare. That, and visiting home during my lunch break with a ready-made lunch and grinning baby ready to play.

I started my search by asking a friend I work with her recommendations. She recently did a series on childcare and had some great links to share with me about searching for accredited programs. I started there.

I found one that is close to my job--less than a mile away--and scheduled a tour. When I walked in worked to hold back tears. It's wasn't the facility or what I saw that made me feel bad but the thought of her being in daycare.

I looked in the infant room even though she will be over a year once she starts, but paid most attention to the sunbeam room, for 12-18 month olds since that's where she'd be. They had a glider chair for nursing moms who want to drop in and feed their baby. That made me feel good, even though I'm not sure I'll nurse her past a year. They also allow cloth diapers, which is a big plus, and the biggest positive is how close it is to my job. But the room was so small. Like insanely small. I worked in daycare for years and was worked in rooms four times as big for half as many one-year-olds. That was a huge setback, and almost enough for me to cross them off my list.

I have started looking for other schools but I'm trying not to let the glitz and glam overshadow the accreditation which is really one of my top priorities right now. That and proximity. But there's a huge shortage of them between my house and my job, and because of this, ones that are close--at least the good ones--are extremely expensive.

I'm hoping to just enroll her part time since I work Wednesday through Sunday, I'll still have Mondays and Tuesdays off to spend with her, and her dad will still be with her on the weekends for the most part. Our situation could be so much worse but sometimes I wish I could see what it's like in another's shoes.

Even after my husband begins his new job, I can't imagine leaving mine. I'm not used to not working, not bringing in some kind of income, and feeling like I can support myself if need be. But oh it would be so nice to spend afternoons at play dates, and weekends at birthday parties. It would be nice to feel like a full time mom, submerge myself into cooking literature, sewing her dresses, making her bows, and perfect a new, domesticated me. But then I'd feel guilty every time I bought something. And fun outings I like to do now on my days off would be limited to free things--Yoga would be out. And everything that makes me ME as I know myself would be different. Everything I've worked toward almost my entire life would be put on hold indefinitely to pursue a much less lucrative, but more rewarding full-time career.

I love my job, love my career, what I do every day, and I'm happier than I've even been at work, but my heart and passion gets left at home with my little girl.

It's hard finding a balance. I'm not sure I ever will.

DON'T Flush the Flushies!

Have you ever had one of those moments where you just wish you could go back in time and undo something stupid you did? Well I had that moment this week while I watched a disaster unfold.

Lil' J and I were going out to run a few quick errands, so instead of taking cloth diaper inserts with us, I thought it would be quick and easy to just grab one of the gDiaper flushie inserts I had in the closet.

Before she was born I bought eight bags of the stuff because Amazon had them on sale for a ridiculously low price at the time, plus I thought I was going to be using gDiapers. Anyway, they fit perfectly into our Sprout Change diaper covers so I just stuck one in there, buttoned her up, and off we went.

We went out and came back quicker than I thought, and before she had needed a diaper change but when we got home she was wet so I took her upstairs to change her.

Her changing table is against her bathroom wall so when I took the flushie insert out I tossed it into the toilet.

About a week before I had bought one of those blue bowl cleaning tablets to use in the toilet because it was looking pretty yucky. When I threw the insert in there I noticed it was still looking pretty yucky, but with blue water inside of it instead of clear. I made a mental note to look for our toilet bowl brush to give it a little scrub later.

I flushed the toilet to send the biodegradable liner down the drain when at about the same time I noticed it wasn't going down the drain, but coming back up towards me.

I let go of the lever to stop the flushing, and made another mental note to grab the liner out of the toilet before flushing again. Meanwhile, I was worried about Lil' J falling off the changing table, so I grabbed her and went to look for the scrub brush.

I'm not sure what happened next, but sometime between walking out of her room and into our room I forgot what I was doing, and ended up leaving the insert in the toilet.

Fast forward to later that night. I'm working on my computer and Lil' J needs a diaper change. I'm in the middle of writing an email so I beg my husband to change her so I can finish it up and spend the rest of the night chilling with them.

He takes her and heads up stairs when the next thing I know I hear my husband screaming "NO NO NO NO", and stomping his foot on the floor. I'm wondering what in the world is going on when I realize I hear the toilet flushing.

I run upstairs and see a horrifying scene. My daughter, half naked but thankfully strapped down to the changing table, probably in shock from her daddy's screaming. My husband straddled between the changing table and the bathroom, trying to turn off the water to the toilet. And worst of all, about an inch of bright blue water rising on the linoleum floor as what looks like gallons of water spills over the toilet.

I stood there in shock and prepared for the wrath that was about to come down on me.

"Did you take a dump in here?" My husband asked frankly.

"No." For one, I don't poop. And two, if I did, it surely wouldn't cause that. My third realization was that the evidence of my mistake wasn't visible. He didn't know I had tried to flush a diaper down the toilet. And now wasn't the time to confess.

"Why did you flush the toilet? Did you take a dump?" I wasn't sure what I was doing. Trying to turn it around on him I guess.

"No, he said."I noticed the toilet needed to be flushed so I flushed it. And when the water started coming up I was worried she'd fall off the changing table, so it took me forever to turn off the water." He was mad at himself for what happened. I felt bad, but not bad enough to tell him it was my fault.

I stood wide-eyed and horrified that he'd soon find my goof. I sure wasn't going to admit that I did it. I was completely fine with playing dumb.

By then our daughter was crying, so I picked her up and paced around upstairs, offering towels to my husband as he tried to soak up the man-made lake in our bathroom.

I kept hearing him spout things like "We must have a bad pipe" and "Maybe we could call maintenance."

I knew a maintenance worker was good for fixing our problem, but dad for keeping my secret a secret.

My husband instructed me to go down stairs and look for more old towels.

When I walked into the kitchen I heard what sounded like bugs crawling around our counter and hesitated a little. But when I looked in the direction of the strange sound I didn't see bugs. It was actually much worse. Blue water was dripping from a giant bulge in our ceiling.

Crap.

I turned around to go upstairs and tell my husband what was up downstairs and noticed the kitchen light was also full of blue water.

I'm a dead woman. I thought to myself.

I walked upstairs and told my husband the news downstairs and he asked me to call the emergency maintenance line. I listened to the message on the machine that said not to leave a message unless... And listed things like "your power is out" "your air conditioning or heater isn't working" and was happy when I heard "your house is flooding." I left a message but secretly hoped they wouldn't call back right away.

When my husband went downstairs to assess the damage on that level I saw that as my chance, I ran upstairs with Lil' J and grabbed the plunger to do some secret plunging. But it wasn't working. I couldn't get the dang diaper out.

I grabbed a plastic bag, put my arm inside and tried to reach as far as I could to maybe pull it out.

Nothing.

And that was gross.

I gave up and decided I deserved whatever scorning I would get once everyone knew it was I who clogged the toilet.

I was getting ready to leave for work to work the next day and was amazed at all of the work my husband had done to clean up my mess. The floor looked like it was never flooded, the carpet outside the bathroom was no longer wet, or blue. And he had poked a hole in the drooping ceiling and drained out the water from the bottom floor.

When I got home my husband told me the maintenance guy came by and fixed our toilet, and emptied our kitchen light of water.

"Oh yea?" I asked my husband, curious if they'd found the culprit of the disaster.

"Yea, he had a giant plunger thing and unclogged everything."

I'm guessing either he pushed everything through, or pulled it all out but didn't dissect the remanence because he didn't ask why in the world I tried to flush a diaper down the toilet, even though, to my defense it says "flushie" and "flush" on the package.

I haven't admitted my mistake. I think it's still too soon. But one day, when the time is right. This will definitely be one of those "hey, remember the time when..." conversations.

In Need of a Date Night... I Think

A husband? What's that?

I catch myself asking that question from time to time over the last few months. I know what a baby's daddy is. I have one of those--Actually, I'm quite convinced I have the best one. But between work, and my daughter, sometimes it's hard to remember I have a husband who needs attention too.

Being back at work seems to be getting a little bit harder every day. I do have my good days, where time flies and it's time to see my baby again, but overall it's really hard to be away from my daughter so many hours every week.

The positive is she has a great daddy at home who manages to go to school, work on my days off, take care of our daughter, and take better care of the house than I ever did. How he does it, I have no clue. But I'm grateful.

When I come home from work my daughter is happy to see me but her eyes never light up as much as they do when she looks at her daddy. Why that is, I have no idea, but she thinks he's really funny. Even when he's just standing there.

Both of us have put the needs of our daughter before our own but I'm torn because I feel like we need US time too.

What's a husband? I have one, but I don't always act like I do. No, I'm not talking about flirting with other men--Who has time to cheat?!--What I'm saying is we don't spend much time alone. And, we haven't been on a date just the two of us since our daughter was born--three and a half months ago! We've each been out and had alone time, and we've gone out as the three of us, but it hasn't been just the two of us (besides one trip to Costco, which I don't count).

What's worse is I don't really feel that bad about it.

I don't miss it being the two of us, or miss having quiet time alone. But I feel like I should. Like maybe it would be healthy for us to get out alone, to nourish our marriage.

Confession: I always told myself when we had kids we'd go on a date at least once a month. Heck, I didn't think it was a stretch to have dinner together once a week. Now I laugh at that thought.

When Lil' J is in bed and we have time to catch up, we interrupt ourselves constantly asking "is she crying?" (we still need to invest in a baby monitor).

And remember that letter I wrote? Yea, still a problem.

I don't think our relationship is suffering from living this way, but I can't help but wonder if it's one of those things that could build up and form something bad. A big fat tumor on our marriage. I don't want to give our marriage cancer, and if a date every once in awhile is the antibody, I'm all for it.

How long did it take for you to go on a date sans baby after birth?

Cloth Diaper Experiment Day 2: Daddy's Turn

Last night I decided I wouldn't chance it and put a disposable on Lil' J before bed. I've heard seasoned clothdiaperers say they use disposables at night so I didn't want to chance it on the first day.

So this morning I prepped the Sprout Change diaper covers with the inserts and gave my husband a cloth diaper review (which took like 10 seconds) I showed him the microfiber side that's supposed to face down in the diaper as to not dry out her little bum. He promised to use them throughout the day.

When I called home and asked how it was going, he said fine, but expressed a concern I noticed the night before.

"She used to love hanging out on the diaper changer, getting dressed, and getting her diaper changed but she just keeps crying today." He said. "Maybe she just needs to get used to them, I don't know."

I felt so bad hearing that and I had an idea of what the problem was.

I ran home for my lunch break and quickly adjusted her diapers from the fourth hole from the end around the legs to the 2nd hole from the end, giving her chubby thighs lots more breathing room (here's a video demonstration we did on how this works). Originally, I wanted to make sure poop wouldn't come through the sides but when I would change her I noticed marks around her fat thighs. She would also cry during diaper changes which she NEVER did before. In fact, that was usually when she was happiest.

After adjusting the tension she was almost back to her happy self again, and I was able to give a sigh of relief. And the poop and pee still hasn't managed to make its way through yet. She still seems not "herself" today, and I'm not sure if it's because she's adjusting to the cloth diapers, or if perhaps she's getting sick and it's just a coincidence she's acting this way, but she seems to be more fussy these past couple of days, when she's normally very cheery and giggly. I'm not sure if perhaps there's a learning curve for babies too in getting used to them?

My husband was able to change the rest of her diapers no problem, and he didn't complain about it like I expected he would. Once he saw how I fit the inserts in, and folded one end a little, he got it down, and is feeling as comfortable with these as he does with disposables.

My husband said he did change some poopy diapers, but none of them got on the cover. That explosion was saved for me.

Not long after I got home I hear a rumble from her bumble, and sure enough, that one got on the side of the cover.

This time I took my friend Jess's advice and grabbed the insert and took it in the shower. If I had a detachable shower head it would have sprayed it with that, but I don't. Instead I held the cloth insert up to the shower and watched as the shower floor turned breastmilk-poo yellow. I tossed it to the floor, squished it a little, rinsed again, then just gave up and threw it in our pail.

My reaction to the cover caught me off guard. Something in my brain snapped. I grabbed it, took it to the bathroom sink, and scrubbed it with my thumbs. You read right. Me. Ms. Eeew Poop is Nasty.

I don't know what got into me. My desire to preserve cuteness must overpower my distaste for grossness.

The inserts I don't care about as much as the covers. Cause let's face it, these are cute.

So now it's time to wash (I already washed my hands). People keep telling me breastfeed baby poop is water soluble and I don't need to rinse them first but I'm not sure I totally believe that because I've had some of Lil' J's cute outfits get stained with poop from previous blowouts. And ok, I give her a lick of my food from time to time, but that's not making it to her poop! All she's getting is mama's milk. So... I'm not sure if this problem was because the poop dried first or what, and since I'm trying not to wash EVER day, I thought I'd give them a quick rinse before the wash, and hopefully the stains will come out.

If not, people suggest setting them in the sun. We live in a townhome and don't have a huge yard to line dry all her diapers, but I can set them on the porch so they can be sun bleached. But will that bleach the cute colors too? And can I set them out after drying them or must the stain be wet to be sunned out?

Other than that, we're both trying to find an easy way to tell if the diapers are wet without taking them all the way off. That seemed easier with disposables.

So many questions I guess I'll learn through trial and error during this experiment.

BEWARE: I'm about to show poopy diapers!!! I know it's a tad bit weird but this is an experiment, I'm putting it all out there, and sometimes photos speak louder than words.

So here's how they look now. I'm about to spray a tad of shout on them and put them in a regular cycle on hot water using Tide powder detergent (I asked around and people agree this works fine I made sure it DIDN'T have fabric softner, which I guess can cause build up on the inserts and in turn make them not absorb aka work well.) That's another frustrating thing I'm finding with cloth diapers. You can't just throw them in the wash like you would any other wash, you have to pay attention to the detergent and cleaner you use on it or it can do this or that to the diapers. I suppose once you have a system down it's not so hard but in the beginning I'm getting a headache reading all of the rules about what to put, and not to put on the diapers.

Anyway, here's hoping they're nice and clean tomorrow! You can bet I'll let you know!

The Return to Work

Exhausting. That's the best word I can use to describe my first day back at work.

I woke up extra early so I'd have time to pump before leaving. And since I had been used to sleeping in until 9 most of my maternity leave, this wasn't the easiest adjustment.

I was hoping my daughter would stay asleep but in the middle of the night, after she ate I kept her cuddling with me. So shortly after I got up, she woke up.

Normally I'd nurse her back to sleep but I guess she knew I wasn't going back to sleep either, so she wanted to stay up and play. I had my husband help with her so I could get ready. I hooked up my pump and PumpEase so I could do my makeup while I prepared some milk for the next day.

When I was done I had pumped five and a half ounces from one side (Lil' J ate from the other earlier and I was thinking I'd nurse he again before I left).

I cleaned my pump, got dressed and was ready to leave. This was the part I was dreading.

I had put her in her swing so I could finish getting ready and to my surprise she had fallen asleep. One of my friends told me this was the best way to leave. I knew this was true because had she been laughing and cooing or crying I would have bawled my entire way to work.

Instead I slightly stroked her cheek, shed one tear and kissed my husband goodbye.

On my drive to work I blared the music for two reasons. For one, I wanted to drown out my thoughts and two, I couldn't really do that with her in the back seat. It was weird not focusing on the baby mirror behind me and consoling my daughter who hates riding in the car.

When I got to work I was greeted with warm welcomes and lots of questions. Of course I had half a dozen pictures printed off to place on my desk and showed them off to my colleagues.

When other mothers asked how I was doing I surprised myself when I realized I was doing fine. Then I felt another strange hint of emotion--was that guilt? How could I be doing so well away from my daughter when I love her so much?

I tried to brush it off and made my way to the morning meeting. I didn't miss those.

I hurried out to my first interview. I was working on my segment to help find adopted families for foster children and I was introduced to a talkative and very intelligent 12-year-old.

The moment we met my mind focused on him and making it a time he'd remember. We raced go-carts and played a dozen games of ski ball before the park even opened to the public.

I was immersed in my job with no time to think about missing my daughter. But when the shoot was finished and I was invited to eat lunch with them, I politely declined so I could go home and see my baby.

It had been about five hours since I had last pumped so I was feeling a little engorged.

When I got home my husband had pizza coming out of the oven and Lil' J's smile when she saw me just melted my heart.

I had called my husband on my way home, so instead of warming another bottle for her, he let her wait to nurse. And boy was she ready. She likes to eat but there must be something different about it coming straight from the source because she didn't want to let go. I loved having her snuggled in my arms and watching her stare and smile at me as she ate as if she were saying "I missed you mommy." I enjoyed it so much, I forgot to eat. My husband packed the pizza up for me to take with me back to work.

I was surprised at how he was doing. I hate to admit it but he was showing me up. I can't remember if I had ever had a meal ready for him when he came home from work. Usually I was asking him to pick something up.

This time when I went back to work it was a little harder. My daughter was laughing and smiling when I left and I love being around her when she's in such a good mood.

After my break the day took a bad turn. I had my second interview for another story, but on the way back we were rear ended.

Neither I or my photographer were hurt, but instead of staying ahead of schedule, that and all the paperwork that comes with car accidents, set us back hours.

It did however, give me some time to catch up with my boss who praised me for breastfeeding and asked me about how I'm enjoying motherhood.

Three hours later it was finally time to head back to the station, but it was time to go home when I got there. Luckily the story I'm working on doesn't air until Sunday, but I still wanted to get something going before I left. So I took my laptop, and camera into the makeup room where there were two other breast pumps lined up next to mine.

It had been another five hours since I had last fed my daughter so while I was trying to get everything set up, things got a bit messy. Apparently my body responds really well to seeing the pump, almost as well as when my daughter cries. I felt something wet on my leg and realized I was squirting from both sides. I hurried and hooked the pump up so more precious milk wouldn’t be lost on the make up room floor (don't worry, I cleaned it up. Wouldn't want anyone to slip!).

I had no problem pumping hands free and working at the same time. The most time consuming part, I'm finding is cleaning all of the parts after pumping. At home I leave the pieces out to air-dry but I'm obviously not going to so that at work. So washing and drying all the pieces took some time.

I got another nine ounces to bring home and was more than ready to go home to my daughter.

For a moment I thought I'd bring my laptop home but I decided not to. Keep work at work. I thought.

My husband had dinner in the oven and Lil' J was happy to be back in my arms. I didn't want to set her down and she didn't want to let go.

My husband was able to workout and study while we reconnected and I was in awe of our new system.

Unlike my routine, my husband left Lil' J in her PJs all day versus dressing her up, but I didn't mention it to him. Baby steps I thought.

It was nice to put makeup on again, actually doing my hair and wearing a suit. But my feet, which had grown accustomed to flip flops over the past twelve weeks didn't appreciate squeezing back into heels. So it was great putting my feet up and snuggling with my sloberpus that night.

We all turned in early around 10pm.

Today I'm anchoring the evening shift so my schedule will be a little different but I've had the whole morning to spend with my daughter.

Tonight she'll get to watch me on TV and come visit me at the station during my dinner break.

I'm so blessed to have my husband at home with my daughter and he's doing SO much better than I imagined.

I didn't believe people when they told me I'd appreciate the time with her more, I didn't think it would be possible to appreciate it more, but I really do.

It's a lot more work now, and there's a lot of teamwork involved. I'm working hard and focusing on work when I'm away, but the moment I get home I take my daughter and don't set her down.

My husband can take that opportunity to do things he enjoys doing but it's pretty much non-stop work for the both of us.

My husband and I may be doing things a little backwards compared to most families but I'm optimistic it'll work for us.

I'm surprised how I am able to jump back into work almost without skipping a beat. I think part of that thanks to having a job I love.

I try not to wonder what I'm missing when I'm away. And I made my husband take an oath to act surprised by any new developments I may miss, as if I'm seeing the firsts right along with him.

I'm not sure how long I'll be a working mother, but for now, I confess: It's not as bad as I had feared.

Everyone who comments on this post is entered to win a CoddleLife Bottle. I'll pick a winner using Random.org on September 28th.

***

Swimtown Pools Winner: #33 Domestica
PumpEase Winner: #130 Lindsey

Dear Libido,

I miss you.


Sincerely,

Jenn

Breastfeeding: A Love Story

So many women think breastfeeding is a natural thing that will just happen organically after birth. I didn't.

Maybe it's my hypersensitivity or the way I always happen to run into the horror stories, but I was preparing myself for the worst.

I defended formula feeders because I was formula fed and really, who am I to care, much less judge someone for their decisions on how they feed their child? I'd expect the same respect.

Choosing to breastfeed started as an attempt, something I thought I'd endure through blood, sweat and tears just so I could save money. After my baby came, I waited. And the blood and sweat never showed up.

There were tears though--Oh there were tears. But not from the pain like I imagined it would be.

There was pain. In the beginning as I got used to her latching on. Then the cramping breastfeeding would cause in my uterus returning to it's smaller size. But I made it through those moments.

The first night home was the worst. That's when the tears came. My milk hadn't come in and my baby wanted to eat all night. Looking back I guess I could have supplemented that first night home to calm her cries but then, I didn't know they were because if hunger. Nevertheless we survived.

Now, her having nothing but food from me, and having made it through the proclaimed "Hell weeks" I have a little internal game going on. How long will my milk be all she gets?

I don't plan on nursing past a year right now, but before, a year even seemed like an impossible feat. Mostly because of my job. Now I'm optimistic, though I know the day she finally eats something else will be a shot to my pride. My 13.5 pound 7 week baby came from me... I did that! It's amazing to see.

I'm returning to work soon and I've been pumping daily to have a stash, and I hope to keep pumping when I start working. Hopefully enough to not have to supplement for a while.

I have a can of formula in my cupboard. Enfamil sent it to me and I didn't throw it away like many suggested. It's not like I don't have will power, or like it's poison. There may be one day I need it, or perhaps I'll donate it. I know many friends who tried to breastfeed and couldn't or didn't for whatever reason, and it wasn't an easy transition for any of them.

I cried when my baby had her first bottle at two weeks, fearing she wouldn't breastfeed again.

Then I cried at six weeks when we tried to give her her second, third and forth bottle, but she wouldn't take it.

I thought breastfeeding would be something I would just endure until I couldn't stand to do it anymore, but instead it's become something I love more than I could have imagined.

Why Co-sleeping SUCKS (for me)

Just when I think I'm undoubtedly becoming the fastest granola mom convert in history, the breaks are screeching to a halt at co-sleeping.--Which is like I dunno, number two on the list of things crunchy moms do.

I know technically "co-sleeping" means sharing a room (which I like and is recommended by the AAP), and not necessarily "bed sharing" (which I don't like and is discouraged by the AAP) but for the sake of consistency, I'm talking about bed sharing right now.

One of the first times I co-slept with my daughter was an accident. I woke up from my deep slumber and said a silent prayer--thanking God for not letting me kill my daughter.

Co-sleeping advocates tell me breastfeeding moms who are sober don't/won't/can't/never roll over on their babies but guess what people?... My rule is never say never.

A few nights later I fell asleep with my daughter again but woke up a couple hours later to her piercing scream beneath me. Case in point.

No more co-sleeping for us.

Fast forward about a month. We have a feeding routine down at night. She sleeps next to me in her bassinet, I can hear her when she stirs, and feed her quickly while half asleep, then place her back in her bed. She's down to waking up once a night around 4:30. She's up again around 7, then she'll sleep until 9 or 10. At the 7 o'clock feeding I'd pull her in bed with me and dose off as she ate. The sun is up, and I am more rested from the night and feel safer about it.

It's fun to still feel like I'm waking up to my cute cuddle bug but not feel like I'm putting her at risk the whole night.

I wrote about my co-sleeping fears of squishing my future child in March of 2009, then questioned co-sleeping and a sex life shortly after. I wanted to know if and how people still got it on. I got a wide range of comments. Most assuring me they still got it on either other places around the house or with the baby in the bed. I'm finding many make it sound as though co-sleepers have this A-Mazing sex life and the rest of us are missing out. Who knew bringing your child to bed is all ya need to spice things up and bring out the freak in you?

Seven weeks after having a baby, getting it on is not on my wish list. For me, co-sleeping is an excuse so I don't HAVE to get busy. So far it's working wonderfully. Lil' J keeps the ladies occupied just long enough so I know I'm in the clear, then I put her down.

I do miss cuddling with my husband but cuddling just sends mixed messages and, um--I'll stick to cuddling with the baby for now.

While visiting my family in Atlanta Lil' J and I share a bed. I keep my arm around her so I don't roll over on top of her, but it's really putting a damper in her routine.

Instead of waking up once a night to eat she's kicking and slapping me all night, plus headbutting my boobs trying to get some.--Milk that is.

Maybe professional co-sleepers have it down, I don't know what they do--Sleep topless (that would explain five paragraphs up)? But I can't seem to get back to sleep after she's punched me awake for the 50th time.

Plus, it's HOT!!

I got warm cuddling with my husband but I could move away after awhile. With Little J, I feel like I need to keep my arm around her so she doesn't roll face down into our fluffy bed, or scoot off the edge (yea, she would). So I'm smoldering all night next to my mini me.

Sure, she sleeps great, all you can eat buffet right next to you, just wake up the chef and place your order. She'll hook you up!

She's eating way more, and I don't think it's a growth spurt coincidence because during her growth spurts she'll eat more during the day and she's not now. But come on, be honest. If you had cupcakes in bed with you, you'd snack on them every hour too.

She could be comfort nursing because we're in a new environment... A Twitter friend suggested this.

We'll see.

All I know is if this week of co-sleeping makes it so my daughter is sleeping with me until she's 5, we're going to have some major problems.

The Confession

I'm so embarrassed to admit this and I hope I soon give up this guilty pleasure if only to save myself from eternal damnation. I blame it on my reporter antics and intense curiosity... Oh and one of my BYU professors, that's what got me started on this in the first place.

Ok ok, I'm done prepping you now. Here it is: I watch Big Love. Not only that... It's the best soap opera I've ever seen. I'm actually watching it right now and laughing my head off.

I was at the public library when I saw one of my business professors looking at the DVD section. She asked me if I'd seen the show and I told her I'd only heard of it. She said it was interesting to see other people's perspective of LDS people. *side note* the main characters aren't LDS they are secret polygamist people pretending not to by polygamists (you have to see it to understand)*.. Or whatever the show portrays these religious people as. At first I thought it was a documentary of real polygamists, but I soon recognized the scriptedness and the guy from Twister and put two-and-two together.

$3 later I rented the whole first series. I had to fast forward a few times through some raunchy stuff but other than that it wasn't bad. Actually, I'm pretty much hooked. Now, just as season 3 is starting, I get to take advantage of free cable I get with my job which basically means unlimited TV and of course, HBO.

Anyway, the point of this whole post isn't just to try to justify my guilty pleasure in near-apostasyness, but to say this: I COULDN'T DO IT! It's so interesting watching these actors portray what it may be like to share a husband. Their challenges, heartache, the benefits. I couldn't do it though... utuh, no way Jose. I'm an attention hog and I couldn't share my man... Although it wouldn't be bad to have some sister wives to clean the house, cook and whatnot... They just can't, ya know... Share my hubby in other ways (if you know what I mean). Yea, I'm glad I don't have to deal with that.

All the other stuff about the wannabe Warren Jeffs is boring to me, but the drama between the three wives all the kids and the husband... talk about ENTERTAINING!

The Secret

So, ummmmmm, yeeeeeeea..... My husband doesn't know about this blog yet, so if you know him, don't tell him, ok?

I'm thinking I'll break the news of my public confessions when we're like 9 months pregnant and very secure in our marriage, that way he won't leave me.
Just kidding, it's a 2010 surprise for him.

(And honey, if you're reading this right now, I'm just kidding (about everything).)

The Confession

When I lived in Utah I didn't even want to THINK about spawn/kids/children/offspring. Now that I'm gone and don't feel the need to REBEL anymore, I want one.