Secrets of the Second Child

Through all of my research before having Ada, I learned a lot about having a baby and what to expect. Once she was here, I realized there was a lot that people don't tell you about having a baby that I really would have liked to know. Now that we have a second child, I really wish I would have found out a few things beforehand so I could have better prepared myself, at least mentally.


For instance:


You do hear that labor tends to be faster with the second child. That's at least a nice bonus assuming you aren't the exception to that rule. You don't hear that labor and delivery might be more traumatic this time since the novelty of the first child has worn off and you're more grounded in reality instead of off in la la land.


No one told me I'd have to train my daughter to use her inside voice so as not to constantly wake the baby. We're working on that now.

Even if you think you are settled into a good routine and have a handle on parenthood, having a second child shakes everything up and dumps it upside down. You're sense of control all goes out the window and you have to start over. That cheaper by the dozen theory might be true if you ever make it to a dozen. For just two, the idea that it is more of the same is complete crap.


You'll meet new moms again, but you'll connect best with those who also have a second child since the first-time moms still have that deer-in-the-headlights look about them.


If you nursed your first child, depending on how long it's been since you last nursed (in my case, a year and a half), you'll likely have forgotten the proper techniques and should refresh your memory or ask the nurses for pointers before assuming it's like riding a bike and having your newborn damage your nipples. This tip could have saved me two weeks of toe-curling pain.

I didn't know that, if you nurse again, you're chest is likely to get even bigger than before and your original nursing bras won't fit. And if they do, they'll be so stretched out from the first time that they don't offer all that much support. Be forewarned that if you share this knowledge with your husband, he may keep knocking you up solely to see just how big they can get.

If you are nursing, you'll likely produce more milk and leak way more than you ever did the first time. Your milk might also let down as soon as your older child cries since your nursing instincts can't always tell which child is crying, they just respond.

You make a lot of mom friends with the first child so that they will all cook you dinner when the second child arrives since you won't have time to cook, or do much of anything for that matter.

If someone is kind enough to send you flowers with their congratulations and well wishes, the flowers won't last as long as they did with your first child since you'll likely neglect to devote the proper time to care for them as you are sure to be more distracted.

With the first child, you are clueless and want your relatives to stay to help as long as they can--for the most part anyway. With the second, they assume you know what you are doing and don't need them as much when in reality, you probably need them even more. You just don't know it yet.

And the real reasons you take less photos of subsequent children isn't that you love them less or that the novelty of a new baby has worn off. It's likely because you don't have time to pick up the camera, you don't have a third hand to hold it with, mommy brain makes you forget it, or you don't have any more room in the diaper bag to take it with you when you go out. Not to mention the fact that, in order to take a picture, you have to get both kids to sit still long enough to focus the shot and snap the shutter or hope that your older child doesn't run away while you pose the baby on a blanket in the shade for his photo shoot.

Moral of the story: You can't prepare for everything so try to stay calm and do your best.

Introducing Iain Kerr

Early Monday morning June 21st, at 6:11 to be exact, Iain Kerr joined our family to make us a foursome. At 8 lbs, and 21 inches long, the first thing he did outside the womb was pee on the doctoress who delivered him. Sorry about that Doc.

So far, so good. His name, Iain, is the Scottish version of Ian, pronounced E-an, and is a derivative of John. Labor and Delivery went well. I got through it without the help of any drugs or intervention, which, now that it's still fresh in my mind, was no easy feat. Natural birth isn't for everyone.

Dad likes him. Ada seems to be taking a liking to him. I'm thrilled to be done with pregnancy, childbirth, and maternity clothes. I'm excited to be able to enjoy my children and start the next phase of our lives together as a family. I have a feeling it is going to be a fun trip.

Moral of the story: Bringing home a baby is an adjustment with many good memories to be made.

Novels Need Warnings

Men don't have the same issues women have when reading novels for pleasure.

This thought broadsided me last night as, here I am, super pregnant, hormonal, and trying to read for relaxation. My guard is down. I'm emotional. There are only so many things you can do to stay entertained while propping your swollen pregnant feet up on the couch after a long day. I've also got knitting, watching movies, and the occasional good TV show but most shows just had their season finales or I've given up on them. Surely those with cable can only handle so many episodes of Jersey Shore before wanting something to stimulate them intellectually. (That's funny if you know how brain dead of a show Jersey Shore is --so I've heard since I don't have cable and haven't ever seen it.)

For the majority of my entertainment, I've chosen to read novels. I read for pleasure, relaxation, and bookclub. Most of the books I read are recommended by friends or picked off the cart by the checkout desk at the library because I like the title and the cover. Superficial, I know. But there is no way of knowing, from the cover or even reading the blurb on the back or the reviews, that anything tragic will happen to the female characters in the book. I know the book has to have a climax and some sort of conflict to be successful as part of the whole plot. But can't we come up with a rating system like we have for the movies and explicit lyrics on music? Not that I need books to be censored or regulated, I just want a little prior notice and warning before I get into something that I'm not expecting and can't handle. It could be as simple as a small red or green checkmark on the cover to let me know it might do more than just pull on my heartstrings.

The reason I say this is a bigger issue for women is that many authors seem to use sexual abuse, rape, loss of a child, miscarriage, and loss of a lover as their conflict that makes the book interesting. That's great and fine and dandy, but I'd like to be forewarned as these are not issues taken lightly by a pregnant woman.

For instance, last night, I'm reading on the couch as Rick is putting Ada to bed. Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. It's a Pulitzer Prize winner and an International Best Seller. It's got to be good, right? There is no blurb on the back, just rave reviews. So I'm reading. Relaxing. Got my feet kicked up and a blanket tucked around me. Life is good. And then I get to the end of chapter one and am in tears. Spoiler Alert. Turns out, chapter one is about a couple who lose their baby three weeks before the wife's due date and it causes them to fall apart. Hello! I don't need to read that right now. NOT relaxing! I'm four weeks from my due date. Are you kidding me?

The book I read before this one was for bookclub. Shanghai Girls by Lisa See. Again, the blurb says these two sisters go through some tough times and this book is all about the bond between them. Sounds good. Spoiler Alert. It doesn't say anything about a rape scene during a violent war and one of the women having a baby in a shower room and the other having a stillborn and then being sterile after aforementioned rape scene. Hello! Not what I needed. I'm trying to relax here. My job is to think warm, fuzzy, happy thoughts as I incubate my delicate little bundle of joy as he grows and is nourished in the belly.

Men don't seem to be effected by this as much since they aren't the target reader for most of these novels, and sci-fi or war novels --which I'm making a gender biased statement here, I know-- are more typically male and, while I'm not an expert on them, I just don't see the characters in their standard novel choices being sexually assaulted and losing their wives at home to freak accidents that cause them inner turmoil. It just doesn't seem to work the same way when you play to men's emotional heartstrings. I'm not even sure how their heartstrings work or if they even have any.

Until I can find time to create some magical checkmark approval system to save emotional women from a few tears and unnecessary distress, I'll settle for being a bit more diligent in my choice of books when I know I'm more sensitive. Maybe I should stick to the Dan Brown and Janet Evanovich novels that tend toward mystery, action, comedy and more lighthearted fun.

Moral of the story: Consider having a friend pre-screen your reading selections while you are pregnant to avoid those that might send you into emotional areas you are better off avoiding.

Labor and Delivery Preparations

With six weeks to my fast approaching due date, I start to mentally prepare for labor and delivery. I have several friends who are due within a month of my due date so we have been swapping stories, commiserating on how big we feel, and preparing for the big day when our lives will totally change all over again. I can tell I'm getting a bit more anxious as I start to remember what labor and delivery was really like with Ada. Attending pre-natal yoga classes with a bunch of new moms who deathly fear labor isn't helping.

The good news is that BB has his head down and is in the right position for all things to go well. The Doctoress said "It's highly unlikely at this point" when I asked her if he would still flip flop in there or if he'll sit still and stay put. Even with that "highly unlikely" comment, I'm still worried he'll shift and then I'll have to magically find a way to get him to flip back into position. I'll know more in a few weeks when I get my final ultrasound but until then, all signs point to "go". Mentally, I'm encouraging him to stay put and be good. And I'm telling myself to stay calm, incubate, and know that everything will be just fine. Pep talks are crucial at this stage to focus on the positives and ignore the negatives, yet know they still exist and it's going to be okay if something doesn't go as planned.

With Ada it was fast - 5 1/2 hours, painful but manageable, contractions got fast quickly -- my Doctoress told me to come to the hospital this time when they are seven minutes apart instead of 10 like last time. I looked at her and said "10? They were never 10. I started clocking them at seven, I think, and by the time Rick got home from work 45 minutes later I was already at five-and-a-half or less." We are both predicting BB will come before his due date, and we are optimistic that it will be fast and simple -- as in non-complicated but still a heck of a lot of work on my part.

Right now, what really frustrates me is the other expectant mother's I'm talking to. The pre-natal yoga moms are all freaked out because they haven't done their research yet, don't know their options, and think labor is going to be like the movies. No one wants to have complications or a Cesarean section, some are afraid of needles and fear the epidural--but fear the pain of labor even more, and still others are just plain freaked out about it all because they are emotional hot messes. It is always a relief to have a mom who's been through labor in my yoga class to keep me calm and remind me they are rookies.

Then there are the current mommy friends having their second children. So far, I've run into two of them. Both are delivering at Prentice, Northwestern's Women's Hospital here in downtown Chicago renowned for it's flat screen TVs and brand spanking new facility that cost a fortune. I'll preface this with the fact that I'm not a hater and I haven't been there and I really have no right to say anything negative about the hospital so I'll direct my comments to the mother's who decide to deliver there. Why? I get it if you have a high-risk pregnancy or live in a posh circle where you have to impress your friends by going to the "Best" hospital in the area --since that seems to be the reputation of Prentice among the well-to-do ladies--but why? I keep getting asked if I'm delivering at Prentice (all the cool kids are doing it) and my response is, "Now why would I go and do that when I have not one, but two hospitals within six blocks of my house, both with newly renovated birthing floors and suites?" I went to St. Joseph Hospital for Ada and plan to do the same this time. It's close. The staff was fantastic. I had a great experience. And I don't feel like my insurance company is jacking up my costs to pay for flat screen TVs. I had a private room and Rick got to sleep on a crummy cot thing that folded out, but what do you expect? A pillow-top Murphy bed that drops from the wall with 5,000 count Egyptian cotton sheets and a maid to fluff your pillows? Hello! I'm the one that needs to be pampered here--but not to the point of manicures and pedicures post delivery.

Why would I give that local convenience up? I mean, I had a contraction outside of the car, got in, and had my next contraction as I was getting out of the car at the hospital parking garage. If we had driven to Northwestern, I'd have had about six contractions in the car during the 20-30 minutes it took us to get there in traffic, not to mention having to navigate the overcrowded streets of that neighborhood and then Valet park. No thank you.

On top of all of that, Northwestern churns out about 11,000 babies a year. The new $500M facility has a capacity of 13,600 annually. That could mean they are really good at what they do, or that they are a baby factory and you are a number and your Doctoress is really busy and needs to get you in and out and on your way with a cute, perfect little bundle of joy to take home. If I was high-risk and my Doctoress strongly suggested I deliver at Prentice so the baby wouldn't have to be transferred to another hospital if something was wrong, I'd be all for it. But that's not my situation so I don't see the hype.

Not only are new moms influenced by the fancy hospital facilities, reputations and recommendations from their friends, they also go where their Doctoress has rights to deliver. Which brings me to the point of how they go about selecting a Doctor/ess, or a group of Doctor/ess' they want to deliver them. In my opinion, most pregnant women in America are uneducated on the subject of labor and delivery, myself formerly included. What we know, we learned from movies. Childbirth should be uncomfortable, painful, involve a lot of screaming, etc. You go to your local Doctor/ess and listen to what they say, do as they say, and "poof", you get a baby. What they really need to figure out before they pick a Doctor/ess is "What kind of labor experience do you want?" and "Does your Doctor/ess support that experience?" Some want to schedule a Cesarean section and a tummy tuck all at once. Others want an all natural home birth in a tub or pool surrounded by incense. Still others want as much pain medication as they can possibly have and "just get the baby out", hopefully healthy. What I'm saying is, pregnant women have options they don't even realize exist and they make uneducated decisions about the health and well-being of themselves and their unborn children, and it drives me nuts.

For instance... two of the pregnant moms I know (both going to Prentice mind you) had natural child birth experiences with their first children. One baby took 18 hours of hard labor, the other was done in 3 hours. The Doctoress this time around for the first woman has scheduled a date to induce her three days before her due date because "the baby is ready" and she has a graduation to attend so this is a convenient time for her to deliver the baby. The baby can come before that on her own, but if not, it's time to induce. To which I respond "Are you f***ing kidding me?" First, how do you know when the baby is "ready"? What does that even mean? I think that's when labor starts naturally for most people (complications aside). And why would you induce someone who can naturally go into childbirth on their own and thereby dramatically reduce the likelihood of complications before their due date? Seriously? If that were my Doctoress, she'd have a big red mark on her backside as I would have kicked her butt out of my exam room right before storming out of her office and replacing her. To make matters worse, this Mom friend of mine is from another country and seems to believe that being induced is still "natural", maybe due to a language barrier? I couldn't even say "I cut my finger" while at a hospital in Germany so I can't even begin to imagine having a baby in a country where English is my second language. Another passionate friend of mine and this pregnant momma, took this "induction date"as an opportunity to write the momma a three page email on what "induction" means, and all about Pitocin, the synthetic drug used to induce someone and how "un-natural" it really is. I'm hoping, for my friend's sake, that she goes into labor naturally before her induction appointment and ends up with an awesome childbirth experience. I'm just not sure her Doctoress is going to let that happen.

The second mom I know said her induction date appointment like it was rights for bragging. "My labor was so fast last time that they have an induction date scheduled so that I make it to the hospital and don't have the baby at home." Okay. So what does that really mean? "I as your doctor want to make sure I get paid for catching the baby?" or "I'm genuinely concerned for the health and well-being of your child so I recommend that if he hasn't come on his own by your due date, we help him along." Again, that bothers me. I asked my Doctoress what her thoughts were on both of these situations and she replied, "I don't like to induce anyone unless I really have to." Knowing the few facts I had on both situations, she said she likely wouldn't suggest induction for either of these women. She did go on to say, "If you haven't gone into labor a week after your due date, then we'll talk about inducing you with Pitocin or breaking your bag to try to get things started but only because the stillborn risk starts to increase at that point, and we could see poop in the amniotic fluid--and I don't like to see poop." (Not because poop is gross, but because it is bad for the baby to ingest.) She then went on to say, "But if your ultrasound results come back with bad news, I have no problem inducing you." That, my friends, is why she is my Doctoress.

I chose my Doctoress this time based on the recommendation of a friend, but not just any friend. My friend is a labor and delivery nurse at the hospital I'll be delivering at. She knows the good, the bad, and the ugly. She knows I want the best chance at a natural child birth, with the piece of mind that comes with a hospital setting "just in case". She knows I'm not materialistic and don't care about flat screen TVs or what other people think about where I should deliver. I want what's best for me and my baby. That's what this whole experience should be about. Hopefully I'll come out of this in a few weeks with a healthy baby boy, a great birthing experience I can share with other new moms, and the ability to shed light on a topic that I find truly fascinating.

Moral of the story: If you plan on having a baby, do your research to devise a birthing plan and a strategy for doing everything in your power to make it happen your way. You can't control the process, but you can make educated decisions along the way.

A Mother's Weekend

Last Sunday was Mother's Day and it's always nice to be recognized now that I'm a mom.

It started out well with Saturday being dedicated to me or at least focused a bit more on how wonderful I am. Rick made breakfast for the family, but not until he took Ada out in the bike carrier for a trip to get eggs. That freed me up some time to tackle the best job ever--rinsing the cloth diapers and dragging them to the basement to the wash machine. I'm such a lucky mom!

Rick and Ada ended up running more errands and coming back with flowers and an aloe plant for me. I guess I hinted at wanting the plant months ago, and the flowers were a nice gesture -- even if I did have to then put them in a vase and add water and even if Rick thought the vase I picked wasn't big or nice enough so he got the other one out of the cabinet so I could switch it out. What a sweetie!

Since it was a Saturday, Rick had a soccer game that afternoon so he got to get out of the house while Ada and I took naps. Ada actually took a nap so that was nice. She's such a sweetheart. Until the maintenance man for the building decided that three pm on a Saturday afternoon would be a great time to demolish the ceiling under our condo unit for some repair work that needs to be done -- even though he knows we have a toddler that naps between one and four typically. It cut both of our naps short and made for a bit of a cranky mommy, to say the least. At least Rick got pelted with freezing rain while riding his bike home from the game. There is such a thing as Karma. I believe it exists.

Knowing that Rick really wanted to see the Iron Man sequel, I arranged with a neighborhood mom to swap babysitting time and we went to an early show. The movie was great and it was nice to get out. On the way home we stopped for a snack since Rick was still a little hungry from a light early dinner. Of course, he got pizza which is the death of me if I eat it these days with my heartburn. I had to endure the entire process of going into the pizzeria, ordering, waiting for them to bag it up, and having it sit on my lap the whole way home, all while salivating and cursing the heartburn this second child has forced upon me. Motherhood is so awesome!

Once we got home, he took our friend home and I got to plate his pizza. I'm such a good wife. He got rockstar parking right outside our house -- which never happens on a Saturday night, unless you go to the early movie and are home by nine when everyone else is just starting their night of fun. Now we know we are lame (or responsible) parents when we are home that early. We've clearly run out of "midnight oil".

Instead of going straight to bed and calling it a night at 9pm, I suggested we try Rick's movie rental choice of Fred Claus with Vince Vaughn. He's been in charge of renting movies lately and learned his lesson (no dramas) when he got Everybody's Fine with Robert De Niro and I cried hysterically at the end. He learned a second lesson (no stupid movies) when he rented You Don't Mess With the Zohan with Adam Sandler. Fred Claus wasn't good either, but it didn't make me cry, and I didn't feel stupider having watching it. At least it qualified as our "free rental" of the month so we didn't feel so bad having paid for it.

The Sunday portion of my Mother's Day Weekend started with another yummy breakfast by Rick. It was nice to stay in and not have to pay a bundle for brunch only to have Ada get ornery and force us to pack up and finish our meal at home. We didn't have anything really planned for the day so I was excited to work on some craft projects that I'd been eyeing for weeks. That idea was quickly stopped by Rick's suggestion that he wanted to "work on sorting out the storage room in the basement". Translated that means, "we need to go through all of Ada's stuff that is down there and make room for all of baby boy's stuff before you're going to get me to put any more boxes downstairs, including the two you have in the living room currently." Seriously? Today? But this is MY day! He says his intention wasn't to get me to help, but if I didn't, Ada and I wouldn't have seen him for three hours and he would have drug all of the boxes of her clothes upstairs to make an even bigger mess of the house, and then had to drag it all back downstairs until we had a chance to distribute it to the people we are giving it all away to. So, we spent a good portion of our day sorting the basement storage room. But it's done. That's a relief. But it isn't what I ever would have volunteered to do on MY day. Just wait until Father's Day comes buddy! Now I know why Mother's Day arrives first in the year...

After the storage room was clean, I got to sit on the couch and iron fabric for the duration of two movies. It was a lot of fabric to pre-wash before getting to cut it into the quilts I hope to get to work on in the next six weeks of my pregnancy -- in all of the free time I keep thinking I'll have since I banned all travel for the next two months. We'll see about that.

We rounded out the weekend with one final movie, Avatar. It wasn't in 3D, and it kept us up way too late on a Sunday night, but it really was very good. A definite highlight of the weekend.

The real best part of Mother's Day, was being able to spend it with my family. Even if we did chores and cleaned, we still got in a lot of quality family time and that is precisely what Mother's Day is all about.

Moral of the story: Mother's Day and Father's Day may seem like made up holidays conceived just to sell a bunch of cards, ties and flowers. Really, they should be considered as a time to reflect on what it means to be a parent and give thanks to those who sign up for one of the toughest jobs in the world.

Boy Oh Boy -- It's gonna be a boy

He looks like he's blowing bubbles...but that's just the umbilical cord. All is well in the land of the ultrasound. And he's almost a pound now according to the Doctoress. Pretty neat.

After a half-hour of rubbing goo on my belly and waving the magic wand, we learned that he has two kidneys, a bladder, a brain, four-chambers of his little heart, two hands and two feet, and a whole bunch of man parts.

Yesterday I went to the Doctoress for my 20 week appointment, which is just a checkup and a chance to hear his little heartbeat. It was also a chance to get the official Ultrasound results and reconfirm that all is well in the womb. Turns out, all is well. Also turns out that having an appointment late in the day on a Monday wasn't such a great idea. I rushed to get Ada up from her nap and even called to say I'd be five minutes late. What I should have done was called before waking Ada up to see if they were on schedule and then let her sleep another hour and rescheduled. Oh well. I'll be sure to try that next time.

Since I took Ada with me to the Doctoress' office, and we had to wait a long time, she got to be a bit unruly at times, but all and all was really good for me not having brought any entertainment since we were rushed out of the house in order to get there on time and --wait for an hour. She played with some other patient's coin purse -- that later spilled Tylenol onto the waiting room floor --oops! And danced in the waiting room. She sucked on a Starburst that she got from the receptionist (Don't give my kid candy, or crappy additive-filled unnaturally orange fake peanut butter crackers for that matter. Even if you ask me if it's okay--I always say "yes" just to be polite but I'm thinking "no" is a better answer since she always gets suckers I'm afraid she'll choke on or candy that will rot her teeth. It isn't good for her and you're a Doctoress' office for Pete's sake. Go with chocolates or rice cakes. Or chocolate dipped rice cakes even. Or carrots, celery and organic graham crackers. Yum.)

So here we are waiting in the reception area. Then we get to wait in our exam room. I visit the loo and pee into a cup as always first. Once in the exam room, Ada starts playing with the stirrups. Then she plays on the scale (she's 35.5 lbs). Then she heads over to the sink and the desk area with the tube of lubricant that is on the counter, and the other fun things she shouldn't be getting into. I lifted her up onto the exam table to sit by me and she made it into a slide since it is inclined for us preggos. That got old and dangerous fast. Then it was back to the stirrups and she had a long session with the button that locks and unlocks the door.

Finally the Doctoress appears and apologizes for the long wait. It's just one of those days. She reviews my paperwork, as Ada takes my folder from her and reviews it too. All is well. Time to hear the baby.

The wait was worth it for this picture alone. For those of you who may be unfamiliar with recent baby technology, when you go in for a checkup, they have this microphone on a cord that they push on your belly and it amplifies the heartbeat and gives the Doctoress a reading on the baby's beats per minute. It sounds kind of like a really fast whoosh, whoosh, whoosh -- like 140 beats per minute fast. So that's all the Doctoress had to do at this visit. Up with my shirt, on with the goo, she touches the microphone to my buldge, and Ada looks at me like "What's that mom?" She gets to her knees on the table to have a better look. Then she takes over for the Doctoress by grabbing the microphone and moving it around on my belly and we start laughing and predicting that she's going to be an OB/GYN when she grows up--which terrifies my Doctoress since she thinks it's a nutty profession with no life. I get all cleaned off and sit up. We move Ada back to the floor... and she goes right into OB mode. She even lifted her shirt up first!

Unfortunately, she doesn't realize that she won't get a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh because there is no baby in her belly. But I give her credit for trying.

Moral of the story: Good things come to those who wait, and having a camera phone handy when those good things come is always nice.

Speaking of crazy...

I'm beginning to think I'm a little bit crazy. After all, how much is too much to have on one mom's platter? Are other moms like this?

I'm a full-time mom and wife.
I work part-time.
I coordinate our family social schedules.
I occasionally have a side gig helping people with marketing or accounting.
I'm the bookkeeper for our condo association.
I'm the social planner for many of our friends and try to be the glue that keeps us all in touch.
I'm learning how to cook from a friend on Mondays.
I start 4 nights of intro to digital photography school tomorrow night.
I'm trying to get to pre-natal yoga every Monday night.
I'm incubating #2.
I blog.
I'm in a monthly bookclub. Which makes me an avid reader.
I'm in a knitting club that meets less-than-regularly but tries. Which makes me a knitter all the time too.
I joined the compact to stop shopping so now I've decided to express my creativity through a ton of crafts instead of buying people gifts.
Which makes me a member of freecycle.org as I try to keep things out of landfills and use things people don't want anymore to make these crafts.
And, I must admit, I'm pretty addicted to Grey's Anatomy, Private Practice, Castle, and sadly, the Bachelor (I should not have read the spoilers.)
Yes, I do still sleep about 8-10 hours a night.

Does that mean I'm crazy? Overextended? I like to be busy? I seek accomplishment?

I must say I'm having fun and learning a lot.

Maybe this is just my way of having fun while Rick is on constant Ada duty since she's in her "daddy phase" and doesn't want much to do with me. Poor Rick.

Moral of the story: As a mom, you become really good at juggling. Just be sure to know when you've added too many items to the list and be sure to discard them quickly before you comprise everything else.

Pregnancy = Crazy

Recently, an old friend and his wife became pregnant. Shortly thereafter, he realized I write about motherhood and pregnancy and asked me to write a message to his wife imploring her to not act crazy toward him while her hormones are raging during pregnancy.

To my friend I say: Sorry bud, no chance of that ever happening.

Instead, my advice to expectant fathers goes like this:

Now that she is pregnant, your wife will be emotional, crazy, forgetful, moody, exhausted, needy, insecure, unsure of herself, exhausted, clumsy, forgetful, (see I'm already repeating myself as I type and I'm not doing it on purpose) and a million other emotions will take her prisoner for the next nine months. Once the baby is here, it could get better, but chances are that it will get worse first. Especially if she decides to nurse the baby as nursing mommy brain really turns to mush.

Some key phrases you as a husband should quickly incorporate into your daily conversations with your wife include:
I love you. (That should already be there but just in case it isn't and I really have to start at square one, it made the list.)
You're the most beautiful woman in the world. (ditto)
I love your changing body.
You are not fat. You're body is making room for the baby and some things are going to be more flattering than others. We just have to find something that flatters your new figure.
Everything is going to be just fine.
You're going to be a wonderful mother.
Slow down, relax, incubate.
Can I get you anything? (water, backrub, footrub, heating pad, foot rest, you're favorite mac and cheese from down the street that you crave)

If it is supportive and reassuring, it should be on this list. You get my point.

You're wife's body is going through an incredible transformation. Most men I know could not handle pregnancy, and if they could, it wouldn't be any better than we women handle it.

Pregnancy is not easy.

Just think about it. We try not to get pregnant for years until we are "ready" (whatever that means). Then we try to get pregnant and worry that we won't be able to. If it doesn't come naturally, there are layers of issues that come with that. If it does come naturally, we're still told not to count our chickens before they are hatched since the miscarriage rate is so high. Then we are bombarded with what to eat and not eat, how to exercise to stay in shape but not overexert ourselves and stress the baby. We have to go to doctor appointment after doctor appointment to get poked and prodded and weighed and measured. We take blood tests to screen for potential birth defects and have to nervously await the results. We then go in for ultrasounds to find out the sex of the baby, or not, and again make sure everything is in it's place. We hear horror stories about preemies, SIDS, postpartum depression and all that can go wrong with a pregnancy, not to mention how every mom we meet will volunteer her awful labor and delivery story just to prove that she's done something incredible, thereby scaring the pee out of us, literally -- because our bladders can now only hold so much and we have to go to the bathroom every five minutes.

And then there are the foods that we crave and the foods that we find repulsive. Our doctors are telling us to gain weight or not to gain too much weight when all we want to do is eat, or not eat.
And we sometimes have morning sickness or feel queasy, we get heartburn and other ailments. We, near the end of pregnancy, can barely walk/get off the couch/tie our shoes. Not to mention the leg cramps in the middle of the night, wild and crazy dreams and nights of restless sleep.

And do I even have to mention feeling fat and unattractive and worrying that we are no longer sexy in our husband's eyes? Or the fact that our wardrobe doesn't fit and we have to buy new things to wear, but we don't want to spend money on ourselves since we are saving up for the expense of having a baby. Then nothing fits once the baby is here and our body is completely changed, so we again need a new wardrobe, and have to dip into baby's savings.

Add to that the fact that you may or may not be working and have to decide if you are going back to work or not, and how you're going to make ends meet when you sit down with the family budget. Can you say stressful?

On top of that, you must consider that the baby is going to need a name and everyone has an opinion on what you should or shouldn't name the baby. Maybe there is family pressure to honor your twice removed great great uncle Elvis even though it totally doesn't sound good with your last name or his initials spell out something that he'll clearly be made fun of for his entire childhood. Can you live with that decision?

And what if you are having twins? It might be a two-for-one deal to some, but it terrifies the rest of us completely.

Briefly, let's chat about post-pregnancy. She'll doubt her mothering skills. She'll wonder if she should nurse, maybe feel like she's failed if she is unable to nurse (which she hasn't failed...sometimes it's just not meant to be and you need to be supportive of all of her choices.) Your friends may change now that you have a child and your social life might just go MIA for awhile. (Not everyone wants to talk poopy diapers over dinner you know.) Your sex life as you know it is over for at least 6 weeks until you get her doctor's clearance. And then who has time for sex? And how hot are you when you have spit up all over your shirt? Just you wait and see.

Then she'll wonder if doing sign language is good for the baby, if the baby is developing on schedule, if his height and weight percentile are okay, if he is getting enough milk, if she should vaccinate the baby (YES, but do your own research to form that opinion), and if she should get a nanny or enroll in daycare. Her mother and your mother will be all over her parenting skills, and that advice my fall on thankful, or insulted ears. (Don't get me wrong, Dad may be in charge of many of the decisions, but that's still pretty rare and to those fathers, I feel your pain.)

I mean, seriously, you want me to be on your side and suggest your wife go easy on you? No chance in hell buddy. Not a chance.

Now go give her a hug and tell her she's the most beautiful woman in the world.

Moral of the story: Having babies is not for the weak or unstable. It is a daunting process on an emotional roller coaster that will change your world forever. Be supportive of one another, prepare as best you can, and know that it won't be easy, but it sure is rewarding.

Bun #2 is in the Oven

At 14.5 weeks, I'm happy to announce that I am, once again, pregnant and quickly achieving a belly. Bye bye skinny jeans, hello maternity wardrobe. Hello aches. Hello restless sleepy nights. Hello exhaustion. Hello stomach aches and heartburn. Hello crazy dreams that make me think I'm being chased, attacked or eaten by a bear. (WTF? Those can just stop.) Hello picky eater. Hello baby.

This seems like a logical followup to my previous "Loss" entry. Unlike the last time, I feel good about this pregnancy. I'm already past the 12 week mark that was so yucky last time. I've gone in for my blood work. I've heard the speedy little heartbeat of this little monkey. And I've had two mini ultrasounds to make sure all is well and I'm not having twins. (Thank goodness!)

I've told our families, co-workers, most of our friends -- unless you're reading it here... sorry about that.

Ada still doesn't have a clue what's coming to rock her world near the end of June. No idea. She still wants to be carried everywhere and jump on my belly and just can't understand why I won't let her. I just hope that #2 is equally good as Ada has been to us. Specifically, a good sleeper, good eater, and most importantly, in good health. Oh, and I hope they get along, but I guess we'll just deal with that when the time comes.

So get ready. That's what I have in store for 2010. And I'm SO excited! I guess I'm really alternating between excited and thinking "What in the heck are we doing? How are we going to manage two little monsters? What have we done?" It's going to be a great year.

Moral of the story: I'm pregnant!

Such a bad mom...?

From over here, it looks like you might be a bad mother.

Sometimes I feel like that's what other people are thinking of me. I don't believe it's true, but women can be very judgemental and critical, and well, sometimes I just wonder if they are being critical of my parenting style.

Today at the park was a great example--especially following Ada's fall down the back steps yesterday (my neighbor probably thought we were awful to let her stand on the stairs on her own. Gasp, oh the horror!) We're at the park--a tiny neighborhood park on Belmont that isn't much bigger than the size of a standard house lot so maybe 30 feet wide by 120 deep. There are over 20 kids and their moms or dads or nannies and their strollers. It's a lot to take in and I'm clearly over stimulated. Moms on cell phones. Kids eating snacks. Toys being borrowed, stolen, and fought over. Pretty close to full-on chaos.

We've been at the park for about 15 minutes. I'm yawning and daydreaming when all of a sudden I hear a mom squeal and look to see that Ada has run under a swing and got kicked in the face by the woman's child. Everybody is fine. One minute of screaming and all is right with the world. Too bad Obama doesn't have it that good. Then about ten minutes later she ran straight into a railing at forehead height for the ramp up to the jungle gym. The same mothers saw her do both. And they saw me watch her do both, or watch me not watch her in the first case.

To that I just say "So what?" This is a big city. When am I going to see those moms again?

Moral of the story: Don't be too quick to judge other moms, and don't worry if they are quick to judge you. Focus your energy on being a good mom.

Pregnancy vs Feet & Hair

Some of you may have heard that your feet get bigger during pregnancy and your hair changes somehow. I thought it was weird when I was pregnant that I was wearing size 8 shoes instead of 8.5 but just thought it was a new brand and they sized them differently--of course that's when I started buying Cole Hanns with the Nike technology because Oprah said they were the best. I got them on sale but still paid a mint, and loved every minute of them.

Flash forward to my spring wardrobe and I'm pretty SOL when it comes to covering my feet. None of my 8s fit. My feet SHRANK and then GREW BACK! So now I am trying to get the most out of my boots and my tennis shoes until I can find dressy flats that are comfy for the warmer weather. URG! Just another one of the MANY sacrifices of motherhood. Tip: Buy cheap shoes during pregnancy.

Additionally, I've heard a lot of people talk about how their hair turned color, got more grey(obviously! Kids are the #1 cause for grey hair--unless you are Obama and, well, he's just doomed to be all grey in a matter of months), or straightened, or curled. In my case, I think my hair is a shade darker, surely more streaks of grey, and I have funky curls in the back now. Weird.

I will say too that I think my fingernails are stronger as a residual effect of the prenatal vitamins and I'm okay with that as a mini mom bonus.

Speaking of body changes, I don't even have to mention the spare tire that just lingers--but I will. :) I'm negotiating with higher powers to have it recycled or donated to someone who needs it more than I do.

Moral of the story: Everything changes when you have kids. Mostly in a good way. (I guess I get to go shoe shopping now. Too bad I'm not much of a shopper.)

I went to Oprah!

Thanks to my friend Jessi, who happened to check for ticket availability on Oprah.com, I was able to snag 2 tickets to her show for moms. Since my mom and I have always wanted to attend a taping, this was a pretty big deal for us. I called my mom to tell her we had two tickets and all the details - Get there by 7:30 am, wear bright colors, don't bring anything with you because you can't (no cell phones, cameras, gifts, cards for Oprah)-and she came to spend the night. At the butt-crack-a-don (I like to make it sound like a dinosaur), which is 5:15 in my world, we got up, showered, dressed, beautified, and drove down to the show. We got street parking which was swell, and we got in line about 6:15. We were number 33 and 34 in line out of a gaggle of women.

For starters, Oprah's staff is SUPER. Our experience started with the security guard who was fun and nice and kept us all in line while explaining that we couldn't have cameras or cell phones, and that our coasts would be checked, our purses searched. They have this down to a smooth rhythm and I was impressed - which says a lot coming from me who constantly is bitching about how inefficient people are and how I would do things differently. We checked coats, checked purses, went through the metal detector, and then up to our holding area for just over an hour. The excitement in the room was intense. Everyone was excited. Everyone was a mom -- except 2 men who were there because they got in on standby through their hotel and didn't know it was a mom show (oops!). They had water for us and restrooms. We were all seated in a neat and orderly fashion. The only issue we had was that they didn't have anywhere to get food nearby and once we were in line, we weren't moving. (Pack a snack if you go.) You can take food in until you get to the studio but once you're in line, there is no going back. Luckily, I had a banana with me. Whew!

When the time comes, they call out a few names on the intercom of the preferred ticket holders -- I think you have to know someone to get those tickets - and then they called my friend's name and gave her special treatment because she is currently pregnant. They all got seated in the front section special seats within 10 feet of Oprah. Very nice.

While we waited for Oprah to come out, there was a woman who warmed us all up. She asked for funny stories about our kids. One woman got up and said her son wouldn't breastfeed in the beginning and when she finally got him to, then she couldn't get him to stop. Finally, at age 2, she took and put band-aids over her nipples and told him her boobs were broken. AND IT WORKED!

Another woman talked about peeing in a diaper while on a long car trip so she wouldn't have to stop at a rest stop and wake her two kids in the back seat. Talk about sacrificing!

After a few minutes of warming up the audience, Oprah finally comes out. She wasn't as glamorous as I was expecting -- maybe because her hair was straightened--but she looked nice as always. The show was about moms and motherhood and she had over a dozen moms who had Skyped in to be on the show. One was Heather Armstrong from Dooce.com which is an insanely successful mom blog. We talked about mom stuff. And then 2 women came on for a book they wrote called (something I can't remember). I'd tell you about it but I can't and they didn't give us a copy or any info about it really so what help does that do? Then they introduced Cheryl Hines from the new show called In the Motherhood that is coming out soon and looks cute. She's funny and nice. I was impressed with her. A few members of the audience added to the comments and told stories. And then at the end, Oprah said blah, blah, blah, "you're all getting a Flip Video camera with the Oprah logo." And the crowd goes wild! Yeah! It's a hundred dollar toy and is so easy to use I didn't even touch the manual -- which is again saying a lot because I don't think I've ever not even touched the manual of a new electronic. Super easy to use. Can't wait for Ada to get up from her nap so I can test it out. Too fun.

And that's it. Done. We walked out, got our coats and stuff we had confiscated, and picked up our Flip video and were on our way home by 11:05. Pretty sweet morning if you ask me.

And it was all made possible by my awesome neighbor Colette and her daughter Eva who graciously watched Ada while I went to Oprah. Nice. She's my hero. And she's moving to Seattle so if you know anyone who wants to buy a condo in Chicago... Let me know.

Moral of the story: Keep your eye out for me on an upcoming Oprah. You know the topic and the guests. I'm wearing teal, in the second tier of the audience, and it's doubtful I'll be more than a blurb on TV.

9 Month Doctoress Appointment

What is more awful than giving your little one shots? It turns out, it's getting blood drawn.

Poor little Ada had to have blood work done for her 9 month checkup. No shots this time. Just a check for lead and a blood count. The lab tech put the tourniquet on her little arm and she started wailing. My heart ripped in half. Then, she couldn't get a good vein to pop up so we switched sides and she started all over again. Then the tech in training had to feel the vein too before they poked Ada with the big mean needle. Then (oh yeah, it keeps going) they filled the first vile. Then the second. Finally the tourniquet comes off and her wails slow to a simmer. Her little tears made her eye lashes clump together and her eyes glistened. Her face turned funny shades of red and purple. I saw all the way down her throat to the depths of her littleness as she opened her mouth in the loudest scream something that small could possibly utter. It lasted only a minute or two but seemed to last forever as her chest puffed up and she gasped for more air to let out the next wail to deliver blow after heart-wrenching blow to all things good, warm and fuzzy about being a mom. Once the needle was out I quickly pinned down the gauze and scooped her up into my arms before the tech could even get the band-aid ready. I went deaf momentarily as she squealed. The tech was too happy to stick the bandage on and bolt out the door never to been seen again. I gave Ada the sign language sign for "all done", quickly opened the door, gathered our things and got the heck out of there. Traumatic for us both.

She's fine.

She's off the charts for weight at 23lbs. 3 oz. She's almost off the chart for height 28 and 3/4 inches long. And she's adorable. That's all the Doctoress had to say. That and it's normal for her to walk before she crawls -- if that's what she decides to do. And that it's also normal for girls to be walking at 9 months, and to have some teeth. She's still working on both at this point.

To celebrate the morning's success, we walked next door to Carter's to get Ada a new onsie that says "Daddy loves me" to replace the one she outgrew since it was 50% off. Then we got smacked in the butt by the 10.25% sales tax on the way out the door. Thanks Chicago. We followed that with the usual eat, play, sleep, poop, repeat, routine until about 4 when we experienced quite a treat. Colette and Eva from next door came over for an official "play date" complete with music, toys, and (unfortunately) water for the moms (Colette - we really need to work on this for next time and introduce a little bit of vino or something since you do live next door). Colette and I are chatting away with the babes surrounded by toys when all of a sudden, Eva starts busting out her new moves. She can crawl! Her little butt whipped down to all fours and started trekking across Ada's play mat and my jaw hit the floor. "What the?" "How did that happen?" Mind you, I saw these two ladies on Friday - yes just 3 days ago and didn't see a hint of this action. Colette's response "It just did. I don't know. Crazy isn't it." Then, once I had recovered from my awe of the moment, Eva busts out smooth move number 2. She magically moved from a roll into a crawl. And this isn't some wussy crawl. This is an all out, trucking across the room with a toy in one had and a grin from ear to ear. "Attention: She's mobile."

"Crap. We're screwed."

Stay tuned. Ada's day is just around the corner. She's a ticking time bomb waiting to blow. Wish us luck.

Moral of the story: Be strong whenever you visit the Dr./Dr.ess. and just expect that your kid will scream bloody murder at some point during the visit. This too shall pass.

Handy Dandy Hand Me Downs

I will say, I am a HUGE fan of the Hand Me Downs! Yea, ha! Speaking of... I need to tell my mom and mother-in-law to hold up on the shopping for a bit... hmmm...

So my friend Colette, mother of Eva who is 10 days younger than Ada (and equally big for her age), and neighbor that shares a back parking lot with me -- who just happens to be AWESOME in a million different ways-- was reading a mom post from one of the mom networks we belong to and someone was looking to dump off a bunch of 9-24 month girl clothes to a loving family. Fast response/Super mom Colette was the first to respond and secured the stuff. But not only is that cool, she's so super that she was willing to split the stuff between Ada and Eva. Oh yeah! I ended up doing nothing and made out with a ton of clothes for Ada. Sweet deal if you ask me. I know I owe Colette big for this and many other things she's done for me.

Not knowing what these hand-me-downs would include, Colette ventured up north for the pick up. Turns out, this was the mother load (pun intended). FOUR garbage bags FULL of clothes! JACKPOT! She called me over to divvy up the loot and we had a blast going through all of this stuff. It was adorable and in great shape, and so fun to go through and pick what each of our girls would look good in. Eva has dark hair with the cutest little curls starting to form around her ears and Ada is a light-blue-eyed blond so they each look good in different colors making this way too fun. This woman had shoes and socks and coats and hats and dresses and skirts and leggings and shirts and halter tops and pajamas and on and on and on. I had to break for dinner and go back to finish sorting through our treasure. What a major score.

So this post is dedicated to my fantabulous neighbor, friend, fellow mom, and all around great person Colette. She's made my job as a mom so much easier by being an ear to talk off, a walking buddy to slim the baby belly, a great support in the nanny search, a wise advisor in the ways of child rearing, a good laugh when you need one, a fellow mother of an amazonian baby making me feel less "off the charts" with Ada, a reason to get ice cream or chocolate or both, a benchmark for good mothering, and a fabulous friend. I couldn't ask for more and I will be devastated when she moves to Seattle next year for her husband's job. (sob sob) I still have about nine months before she moves so I'm going to make the best of it and get as many play dates and walks and chit chats in as I can. Oh, and I'm taking applications for her replacement to start next July. She doesn't have big feet but these are some really big shoes to fill. Clown shoes even. She's pretty funny. We might just have to get that video phone thing set up so we can chat on Seattle time. Unfortunately the whole idea of the girls growing up chatting on "phones" made from empty soup cans connected by string from back porch to back porch won't work once they move. :( But I hear Seattle is a great place to vacation so she's not going to get rid of us that easy...

Moral of the story: Fellow moms are worth their baby's weight in gold, and then some. :)(Eva's 23 lbs now too!)

Don't I get some kind of award?

We've made it nine whole months! Ada is still alive(and sleeping like an angel), growing like bamboo (much faster than a weed grows), and doesn't quite have any teeth yet but they will come. There is still plenty of time for all that. I still have my sanity, (for the most part)-- meaning I'm not in a padded cell yet so I'm taking that as a win. Hooray!

Man how time flies. My friend Cadence pointed out to me today that Ada has been out of the womb almost as long as she was in the womb. That's crazy to think about. And it reminds me to count my blessings that I'm not having Irish twins since I'm not pregnant and don't plan to be magically having a baby next month. Hooray to that!

A lot has changed in the past 9 months. I'm a mom and that's kind of a big deal. I love my husband even more than ever because he is an awesome dad, super supportive of me and the things I do and my new role as a mom -- minus the whole taking pictures of me and the baby but that's a universal issue with men and their baby momma's--and I realize I could not possibly have picked a better partner to have on my family "team" for the next seventy plus years. So that's cool. :)

Hmmm... what else... I'm in a new job that I like a lot more than my old job. It's really challenging and cerebral which frustrates the crap out of me but it is great for my career growth and how can I complain when I get to work 3 days a week and play with Ada 4 days a week. I can't. Hooray for that.

So with all of these good changes in life, I must say, I don't need no stinkin' award. Ada is plenty reward enough. :)

Moral of the story: Life is good. Enjoy what you've got. Accentuate the positives... Breathe. Live.

Homemade with love

For those of you who are a bit crafty like me, it is

a big deal to make baby blankets for people who are having a baby. And an even bigger deal when the crafty person finishes the project before the intended recipient turns 25 and no longer needs a baby blanket. Many mothers have tried to make something for their children only to get caught up in life, never to finish the projects they started.

Ada is lucky to have a lot of people who are crafty who love her as she has a collection of homemade blankets. She has one from her great grandma Helen (who passed away just a few months before Ada was born, crocheted with a border finished by her great aunt Connie), her grandma Barb (crocheted), her mom's friend Cassie (knitted), her mom's friend Heather (a quilt with her name and birthday sewn on it), her mom's friend Lorraine (cross stitched), and finally me - her mom (knitted, seen above, and finished before Ada turned 7 months old - which is a big deal for crafty people trying to get things done on time). She also has handmade hats (Amanda, Rebecca, Sherry O), a poncho (Rebecca), sweaters (Sherry O, Barb, me someday hopefully), booties (Cassie, Rebecca), and even a sock elephant with a dress and a bow in her hair (Cassie).

The times when mothers made all of their children's clothes has pretty much passed us by. But I'm proud to say that I was able to knit a blanket for my baby to enjoy as a constant reminder that she is loved. I started it months before she was born and it spent hours draped across the belly that she called home for 10 months. Hopefully it will spend many more hours providing her warmth and a sense of security as she grows into a beautiful woman.

Moral of the story: The love that goes into a handmade gift for a baby is unmatched. If you're crafty, consider sharing that love with a little bundle of joy in your life.

March for Babies

To all who may read this fabulous blog, I kindly ask you to consider supporting my somehow-related-to-me second cousin Brian in his effort to raise money for the March of Dimes. Brian and his lovely wife Mariella lost a child last year prematurely, who would be just a few months older than Ada. Any donation you'd be willing to make would surely make a difference in the world, if even just to show him that you're thinking about him as his family heals.

In gratitude,

Amanda

02 Rant Social Security

In another attempt to acquire a social security number for Ada, I decide to venture to the social security office to re-submit the paperwork for overnight processing. After learning about a week ago that there was no record of the paperwork submitted from the hospital when Ada was born, and not being able to go to the social security office early due to the car being frozen to the street (see rant 1), today is the day we venture out.

Strategically, I wait until Ada has had her morning nap and is in a better mood for travel and adventure. She is fed, changed, and seems pretty happy. As with every excursion, I snuggle her into her car seat, pack the diaper bag, bundle up for the cold weather, and drag everything out to the car, through the front door, the inner vestibule door, down the four stairs, through the outer vestibule door, and out to the car which is conveniently located in front of our condo. This time, I got a little lazy and tried to assemble the car seat and stroller in our condo first and then take it out to the car by myself. After almost spilling the baby, stroller, car seat, and diaper bag down the first four stairs, I realized this really is a two person job and was happy to see two nice strangers exiting my building and willing to hold the outer door open for me as I struggled with all of my crap.

Okay. We get into the car. Not that easy of course. I first put the car seat in the back seat and lock it in place, then I stick the diaper bag and the bag with all of the paperwork next to the car seat. Then I shut the door, collapse the stroller and shove it into the trunk, all the while stabbing myself in the thigh with a random stroller wheel part which will form a nice bruise later on. But I digress.

I open the driver’s side door, and yep, she’s screaming. But I think if I get the car moving she’ll calm down. We’re on the road now and she’s doing okay. We make it about half way to the social security office on the north side of the city and she gets really upset. I can soldier on, or pull off to see what’s going on. I pull off and realize she’s hungry. So what if I just fed her before we left. I squeeze into the back seat of my blue Honda Civic and pull out the ever so handy boob. We sit for fifteen minutes as Ada enjoys a mid afternoon snack while people walking by wonder what I could possibly be doing sitting in the back seat of my car in front of Trader Joe’s. After arousing a good deal of suspicion, it’s time to continue toward our goal.

Back on the road, we’re doing well. We get to the social security office and park at a meter since the lot is full. I think an hour will do. How long could this take, really? I got to the trunk, undo the stroller, get the car seat out, grab the diaper bag, struggle with my jacket since I’ve worn too many layers and it is hotter than I expected, and dig deep to find quarters for the meter. It’s one in the afternoon. I have the meter until two. Great.

We get into the social security office, take a number and start waiting. And waiting. We wait for an hour and fifteen minutes to be exact. Ada fusses a bit but overall is doing great. She sleeps while I hold her and do some leisure reading. Final they call out A162. (The woman with A160 was complaining that they wouldn’t call her number and once they finally did, she had fallen asleep in the front row of the waiting area and never woke up when they did call it, so she got skipped.)

Our number was up. I repack Ada into her car seat in the stroller and approach the window with all of my paperwork completed and in order. I hand it to the woman behind the counter who takes her time reviewing it. I explain that the information has already been submitted but that was around December 20, 2007 and I still haven’t received my number even though they said I should expect it in six to eight weeks. This is week eleven and my tax accountant said it’s worth $1,000 for me to get the number and file it with my taxes so I’m a bit anxious to receive her number. The woman behind the counter smirks at me and says, “Her number was issued three days ago. Here it is. Her Social Security Card should be in the mail and you should see it in about a week.”

My jaw drops. The steam whistles from my ears straight out of a cartoon. “Are you serious? I just sat her for an hour and fifteen minutes so you could tell me the number is already issued and I’m wasting my time?” I quickly gathered my things, took a deep cleansing breath, packed up the kid and headed for the door, all the while hoping that I didn’t have a ticket on my car.

I get to the car, ticket free thank goodness. Repack all my crap and the baby into the car and we’re on our way to errand number two. We get about five blocks away and Ada starts screaming. I pull over, go to the back seat and realize this time she is dirty. So I change her on my lap in the very cramped back seat of my blue Honda Civic. Mind you, the car seat is in the middle of the back seat so I am only working with a third of the seat and my feet are sharing space with the diaper bag. And as I am changing her, she pees. Happens every time. Once she’s all cleaned up and re-diapered, I place her back into the car seat and she starts screaming again. Let’s try the boob. I feed her again as the sun beats down on us in the already hot car as sweat starts collecting on the center of my back. After a fifteen minute feeding session, we’re on our way to errand number two, again.

Traffic on Lincoln Avenue is a nightmare. Stop and go, slow, slow, slow. I’m cursing every driver in front of me since, even though I just changed and fed the baby, she’s still not happy. Twenty minutes later, we’re in front of Ada’s new daycare ready to drop off her admission paperwork. There is no street parking so I double park and throw on my hazards. I remove Ada from the car seat thinking it will be easier not to lug that thing around and half-heartedly wrap her in my coat as I approach the daycare. Fortunately for the safety of the kids, this place is like Fort Knox. Unfortunately for me, I can’t contact anyone inside or find anywhere to leave the paperwork that is secure. After three attempts at the buzzer and the back door, I give up and we take a failing grade for errand number two.

Back into the car for errand number three. We’re heading to the doctor’s office to drop off a form they need to fill out for day care regarding Ada’s immunizations. Halfway to the doctor’s office, Ada starts hollering again. So I start hollering back and cursing more drivers to get out of my way and overall just start having my own personal little nervous breakdown. The phone rings. It’s my husband. He makes the mistake of asking me how I’m doing. I explain that I’m having a nervous breakdown, now isn’t a good time to talk and I’ll see him at home later. He wishes me luck and I hang up. We arrive at the doctor’s office. Again, I move to the back seat of the blue Honda Civic to calm Ada again. This time I again try to feed her. She’s had a cold this week and the boob seems to be the best way to calm and comfort her. Poor little thing. After ten minutes, she’s back to a more peaceful state. I relatch the buckles of her car seat and drag her and the paperwork into the doctor’s office. I drop it off at the reception desk and head back out to the car. We get settled in and set off for home. As we pull out of the parking lot, Ada starts in with the screaming again. I take a few more cleansing breaths and drive home as quickly as possible without doing anything too illegal. We finally get home, unload most of our crap as I’ve decided to leave the stroller in the trunk for the night, drag it all through the outer and inner vestibule doors and through the front door into the peaceful place we call home.

Morals of the story: Government systems are to be avoided at all costs, traffic in the city sucks, and don’t try to run errands with a small child recovering from a cold as she is guaranteed to scream the whole time.

ay

01 Rant Frozen Car

For the first time in motherhood, I have actually thought to myself "now I know why people move to the suburbs."

Why?

A simple errand to the social security office to get Ada's SS card and number became much more than simple today.

After feeding, changing, and dressing her, then securing her into her car seat while she is screaming at me no less, I zip up the bundle me to keep her warm, put a hat on her head, and proceed to gather the paperwork I need to take with me. All of that is relatively normal.

Then I get my hat, gloves, and coat on. I move her out our front door and into the hallway. I realize I have my house sandals on so I quick change into my shoes. She's not screaming at this point so life is alright. In lieu of the cumbersome stroller, I decide to just take the car seat and the Baby Bjorn with a fat suit for the little munchkin to wear since I can't carry her very far in the car seat. That was my first mistake.

With the diaper bag over my shoulder, the Bjorn and fat suit in my left hand, the car seat with baby inside in my right hand, I use my 3rd imaginary hand to open the first vestibule door, then the second. We've made it outside. Big accomplishment.

Then we walk a block and a half to the car since it is parked a bit far. We got home late on Sunday and couldn't park on our street. I arrive at the car, arms throbbing from the pain of carrying a 12 lb baby in a what? 6 lb car seat? I open the back door of the snow covered car (2 inches with a layer of ice underneath), some snow falls into the car. I toss the fat suit, Bjorn, and diaper bag into the car. Then I grab the car seat and baby, walk to the other side of the car, open it, again have snow fall inside, and finagle the kid into the clicky thing. By now she is screaming her little head off. I try to calm her to no avail. Maybe she'll shake it off...

I shut the back door, open the front door, start the car, turn on the defrost, grab the brush and scrapper and get started. I dust off the car and scrape the ice, periodically checking to see if she is still screaming. She is. I take a break and try to calm her. She takes to sucking on my finger for a bit. Then starts screaming again. I think I'll try to get the car moving and maybe that will help. So I finish cleaning off the front windshield and hop in the front seat. She's still screaming.

I put the car in reverse and push the gas. Nothing. I put the car in drive and push the gas. Nothing. Reverse again. Still nothing.

It's 3:06 in the afternoon. I'm 20 minutes from the SS office which closes at 4pm. The car is frozen to it's spot and needs to be dug out. The baby is screaming. I have the start of a scratchy throat and my water that I've carried with me doesn't taste very good.

This is when I give up. I turn off the car, go to the back passenger side, get the diaper bag, the fat suit, the Bjorn, reach for the car seat and of course, the tube of breast milk from the diaper bag falls out and rolls into the gutter. I grab it, put it back in the diaper bag and reach for the car seat again. Then the tube of breast milk falls out, again. This time I grab it, forcefully shove it and the other tube and the baby bottle down deep into the diaper bag, grab the car seat with the baby screaming at me still, set her down in the snow, shut the door, lock the car, and try to ignore the people on the street staring at me with my screaming baby. Then I trek all my crap back to the house, stopping once to catch my breath and shake out my now throbbing arm muscles. I get to the front door, unlock it, push it open with my head this time -- somehow my magical third hand isn't available anymore --and as I march up the 4 stairs the thought of a nice house in the suburbs with a driveway and only one front door comes to me. I shake it off, unlock the second vestibule door, maneuver all of the stuff and the baby inside, open the house door, again shimmy through and of course... Ada is now fast asleep resembling the cutest little angel you've ever seen.

But that's not all. I retrieve the tubes of breastmilk from the bottom of the diaper bag and notice that, yes, of course, they have leaked! This is when I pull out every nasty word in my vocabulary and curse the designers of the bottles at Medela who had the foresight to put "Breastmilk is best" on the side of each little storage tube, but no enough sense to make sure that the bottle doesn't leak the very breastmilk that mothers treat like gold. I mean... what mother on earth would put a breastmilk tube in a diaper bag and want to take it with her without it spilling all over everything?

Moral of the story: Motherhood isn't easy, babies cry, design matters, and the suburbs still suck. No offense.

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