Walking Along

We walked Ada home from day care the other day and I thought I'd be silly and walk on a board next to the sidewalk like it was a balance beam. Ada hadn't quite figured out how to walk the balance beam yet so I figured it was a good time to teach her. While I was up walking on the beam, Ada turned her head to watch me and walked straight into a very large tree. She fell and got right back up like nothing happened, intent on trying her luck on this new found beam. Her first few steps looked great, and then she started to tip toward the sidewalk. We thought she was going to rebalance herself but she caught us both off guard by failing to counteract her lean and falling over. Just like that she was on the ground wondering what happened. It was a foreign concept for her to have been attacked by the evil forces of gravity. Now it made more sense to me why she was always falling over. Luckily, she got back up and gladly took my hand to assist her future attempts down the beam.

Moral of the story: Be careful what behaviors you model for your children and know that gravity is always out to get you.

Diaper Drama

The other day, we went to Costco to stock up on diapers and baby wipes. A box of size three diapers for Iain, a box of size five diapers for Ada, and a box of baby wipes to share cost us $100. I'd love to say that we didn't have to buy diapers and wipes and were using all cloth diapers and washcloths as wipes, but I can't. Our various babysitters prefer disposables, as does Ada's daycare. And when anyone in the house is sick, or tired, or stressed out, disposable diapers get used because they are just easier. They are a major convenience and until cloth diapers become convenient or easier in some way, that's just how it is going to be.

Last night, I was feeling guilty about all of the disposable diapers we have used with Iain lately. I lost track of where his diaper covers were over the weekend. I wasn't sure if the dirty diapers needed to be washed or what their status was. And we hadn't used the cloth diapers in a few days. We were in the middle of sleep training him via the "Cry it out" method and just didn't have the dedication to deal with cloth diapers. So after the nanny went home, I put Iain in a cloth diaper. That would normally be just fine since it was five o'clock. But he fell asleep at six and only woke up at nine for a little snack. He woke up a few times at night briefly to cry for a bit of attention, but we ignored him like the "Cry it out" method calls for and he went back to sleep every time.

You can imagine my surprise when I woke up at six in the morning and found him wet from head to toe. It made me doubt the whole "Cry it out" strategy. Now I want to modify our strategy to include stealth nighttime visits to check on him to be sure he isn't wet and hasn't pulled a blanket up over his head. To make myself feel better, I decided he was only wet like that for a little while, maybe an hour.

We are getting more sleep, or at least we anticipate getting more sleep now that we know that he doesn't really need to eat in the middle of the night. And I won't be putting Iain in cloth diapers past four in the afternoon. At least not until he has a set bedtime and I can add a doubler to his diaper that will prevent the mess we woke up to this morning.

Moral of the story: Cloth diapers take some serious dedication, patience, and a lack of easy access to disposables. And, using the "Cry it out" method to teach your child how to self soothe can really work if you are committed to it, but it is not easy.

Second Child Syndrome

Everything is different with a second child. We don't take as many pictures, he wears and uses mostly hand-me-downs, and we certainly don't document his every bowel movement like we did with Ada. I recently visited friends with a newborn and laughed out loud when they pulled out the feeding, pooping, eating chart. We wrote everything down for Ada. We made excel charts and tried to predict her schedule. Our goal was to be prepared, knowledgeable parents at each doctor visit. I look back now and just laugh at how clueless we really were. The rhythm is so much easier with a second child. That's why I find it so perplexing that two is so much harder and so much more work. Rick pinpointed it best by saying that we don't have the luxury of down time anymore. With one child, it was two parents versus one kid. Relatively easy. The odds were in our favor. If Ada got to be a handful, we just passed her off for a bit. When it becomes two versus two, we rarely get a break and if we do, we likely use it to catch up on sleep or housework. And when it is one parent versus two kids, well, we're kind of screwed and the house resembles the aftermath of a tornado and the dark circles under our eyes come out in force. At that point, we're just screwed.

Everyone asks, "What's it really like having two?" And we reply, "Really hard." Luckily, we keep hearing that it gets easier soon. We are so hopeful that "soon" is tomorrow. And at least we can be thankful that we aren't spending our "downtime" on excel charts recording Iain's bowel movements.

Moral of the story: The first kid breaks you in, the second one occupies all of your free time.

Picnic in the Park

For an impromptu little get together, Sunday's picnic in the park was quite a success. I called or emailed most of our city friends to see who was available for a little get together and while many folks were out of town for the Labor Day weekend, a good crew was lingering in the city. Four families came with one set of grandparents for a total of ten adults and seven kids with the eighth in the oven. My grand plan for playing bocce ball and croquette failed miserably. The bocce set never made it out of Ada's red wagon. The croquette mallets threatened shins and kneecaps as the kids swung them wildly. The end posts were pulled up to create swords. And the wire wickets (the arches you hit the balls through) became tripping hazards. Not one of my better ideas. We'll skip the games until the kids are a bit older and less into throwing and hitting things.

The food worked out much better than the games. Each family contributed a dish and various snacks to keep hunger at bay. The kids picked at their meals and were quickly off and running through the trees and exploring the wide open field. At some point there was talk of imaginary lions in the rain forests of Chicago --yet another cultural attraction our fine city can boast of.

At some point while I was eating and Rick was calming Iain down for a nap, Ada decided it would be a good idea to take off her shoes and socks. Rick and I both assumed the other had helped her manage this small feat since she doesn't typically do it on her own at home. She, in fact, had removed them completely unbeknownst to either of us. By the time we noticed, she was off and running with her friends.

While running wild, Aaron, Ada and Bella started a sprint across the park. Aaron's grandpa was in hot pursuit, but they had a ten yard head start. As the kids maintained speed and were headed toward Lake Shore Drive, the parents all became alarmed. Rick passed Iain off to me and sprinted over to take control of the situation. He made it to them with less space between them and the highway than any of us parents wanted to see, but he made it none the less. Aaron wasn't excited to walk back to our picnic area so he sat down in protest as Ada and Bella started on their way back. Rick was trying to coax Aaron to get up and join the rest of us at the picnic site when Ada suddenly started screaming. Rick ran over to her aid and found a bee stinger in her foot. "This is why we wear shoes!" became his mantra for the next ten minutes of tears and whines as I ran to the closest convenience store in search of ice or sting medicine. Of course the store didn't have anything that would help so I returned to the park to find Ada still crying, in wet pants with an overly full poopy diaper at Rick's feet. Great. He ended up carrying her all the way home while everyone else packed up the party. Our friends helped gather our stuff since I was busy calming Iain who was, of course, overdue for a nap. Once everything was packed up, our friend Ted pulled our wagon to the edge of the park so I could wait for Rick to retrieve Iain and I with the car. There was no way I was going to make it back home with the folding table, packed wagon, double stroller, and an all-too-alert baby Iain. It was no small feat fitting it all into the back of our CRV either.

As we drove the six blocks home, both kids screamed. Rick unloaded the car while Ada watched a movie and I nursed Iain. Once Iain fell asleep, Ada started screaming and woke him right back up. I gave her more ice and got him back to sleep again while Rick went to park the car. He returned to put Ada down for a nap while I put all of the food from our picnic away. Rick took a bath to clean up as I rode his bike back to the park to search for the red croquette ball that we may or may not have ever had to begin with. I didn't find it.

At three in the afternoon with two kids sleeping, Rick and I collapsed onto the couch for a much needed nap. Things that used to be so easy, like having a little picnic in the park, have turned into major productions now that we have two kids. We packed enough food for five kids since we never know what Ada would eat, and then we had to tote it all back home since she never ends up eating much of anything. Now we know for next time.

Moral of the story: When venturing out, take the bare necessities, leave the extras behind, and know that sometimes you just might have to give up and go home.

Friday Family Night

This past Friday, a friend suggested an impromptu pizza dinner in her building's solarium. We ended up having three families enjoy dinner on the twenty-eighth floor. The kids played and burned the day's remaining energy. The men consumed a few adult beverages and got to know one another better. The women engaged in some much needed adult conversation and got a few minutes to relax while the kids were off playing. And no one had to clean house or do dishes.

I have to admit, it was awesome. We were all home by nine-thirty. Each family pitched in ten dollars for pizza and brought their own drinks. We didn't have to hire babysitters or constantly check our cell phones to make sure the kids were behaving. Sure we had to stop the kids from jumping on the radiators, keep their fingers out of the air conditioner, and referee a few clashes over the favored toy. But we also got to hang out with our friends for three or four hours on a Friday night instead of starring at our spouses after we put the kids to bed like we do every other weeknight. And it only cost us ten dollars!

Then next morning, our exhausted munchkins slept in and let us sleep in too. It was so nice.

Is it any wonder that we are hoping to make it a standing monthly date?

Moral of the story: Just because you have kids, doesn't mean you can't be social or that you have to pay a lot to have fun. You just have to be open to new things and get more creative.

Don't Shake the Baby

When the going gets tough... take three deep breaths and count to ten, or phone a friend, or call in reinforcements, but never take it out on the baby. Simple, right? Wrong. Just wait and you'll see.

Last night was not one of my good nights. Rick told me he would be late getting home from work and I was on my own with the kids. Iain is only eight weeks old so the thought of having to put both kids to bed, and feed, diaper, and entertain them at night is slightly terrifying. Iain is an ideal baby until about seven at night and then he gets demanding and cranky. He just wants to eat a ton so he can sleep a long stint overnight without getting hungry. Alone, that wouldn't be so bad. When you compound that with Ada's need for dinner, her desire to watch multiple movies, her refusal to get ready for bed, and her occasional rebellious nature, you could be in trouble. That was where I was last night.

As bedtime approached, Ada's dinner and movie were over. It was time to settle down with a few books before bed. She resisted all of my attempts to coax her into bed. Iain had been crying or nursing on and off for the past hour and nothing I did seemed to soothe him. Ada kept pushing my buttons until I finally had had enough. I counted to three out loud and threatened her with a time-out. She still refused to willingly go to her room to read books so I had to resort to force. Iain was still crying so I had to set him down and listen to his cries intensify while I pulled Ada off the couch and moved her into her bedroom chair for a time-out. She was screaming. He was screaming. I was ready to scream too.

I calmed him down for a few minutes while she continued to scream. The time-out was effective in that Ada knew mommy meant what she said and it was time for bed. I explained that we have a baby as a family and she needs to do her part in taking care of the baby by listening to mommy and helping out when she is asked. She looked right at me and nodded in understanding. Iain started crying again.

Ada and I were trying to read books but his crying was foiling our attempts. At that point, I had tried everything to calm him. He was fed, had a clean diaper, had been burped, was in clean clothes and nothing was working to calm him. (As it turns out, he was just tired and wanted to be rocked to sleep. Too bad I didn't know that at the time.) At one point, I was patting his back when Ada crawled onto the floor next to me and started patting my back. It was so sweet. She was really trying to help. I then moved Iain to where he was lying on his belly on my lap and Ada and I were both patting his back. It still wasn't working but at least she was trying to help.

A few more minutes of this went by and I gave up and called Rick. Lucky for me, I sat on the couch with Iain propped up on my thighs looking at me while I swayed my knees back and forth. The swaying calmed Iain long enough for me to get a short break from the screaming and to be able to vent to Rick for a minute as I searched for suggestions and moral support. Rick recommended everything I had been trying and said, "Hang in there. I'll be home in about half an hour."

Back in Ada's room, we read two books while I patted and bounced the baby. Iain fell asleep in my arms finally. But then Ada started to rebel again and her refusal to get into bed started to get loud. That's when I decided to changed Iain's diaper and fully put him to bed so I could focus completely on Ada. With him down for the night, getting her to cooperate was much easier.

When Rick got home, I thanked him for calming me down and offering suggestions on how to maintain my sanity. I explained how, sometimes, I just want to shake my child to get him to shut up. I felt awful saying it but it was true. And sometimes I just want to smack Ada when she is being sassy and I have hit my breaking point.

You know how Rick responded?

"Me too!" he said.

Whew! What a relief. Just knowing that we were in this together and it was "normal" to feel this way was a huge relief. We have both had the urge to lose it but in the back of our minds said, "No, you can't shake the baby or smack your toddler. That's where shaken baby syndrome and child abuse come from. Your children deserve better and you need to calm down."

That's when you give yourself a time-out. Take a few deep breaths, call a friend or family member, or take the whole family on a walk around the block to burn off some steam. Parenting is not easy. I have found the most challenging part of having two kids is prioritizing their needs and attending to them when they are both screaming and you hit your limit. It helps to know that you are not alone.

Moral of the story: When parenting gets tough, control how you deal with the situation. The rest is beyond your control so accept it and do your best to remain calm.

Two Kids + One Bedroom = Disorganization

Since we have a two bedroom condo, our kids are going to be sharing a bedroom for a few years. Iain isn't sleeping in their room just yet since he has just recently starting having a six hour stint of sleep at night and we don't need him waking Ada up during her nightly twelve hour sleep marathon. That puts him in a Pack and Play in the dining room temporarily. Unfortunately, that puts his belongings all over the house, or realistically, shut in the bedroom with Ada fast asleep and us in fear of retrieving them so as not to wake her up. Yikes.

You would think we would have this all figured out now that he is six weeks old, but we don't. What we need to do is create a space, maybe even a drawer in the living room, for a few of his necessities so that we don't have to look at each other after we close Ada's bedroom door and say, "Honey, did you remember to grab the diapers and some burp cloths?" or "Crap! I forgot the wipes are all in her room." Which has been the norm rather than the exception this past few weeks.

The challenge is in keeping all of these things organized and in their proper places while they all seem to be in constant motion. Disposable diapers and wipes are depleted as they are used and thrown out. Cloth diapers and covers are soiled and often somewhere between the dirty diaper bucket, the laundry machine, the drying rack, a stack by their bedroom door of laundry to be put away, or in their room put in the cloth diaper drawers -- which we really shouldn't even be storing his diapers in at all but they don't have another home outside of their bedroom at this point. Outfits, blankets, burp cloths all make the laundry cycle and occasionally get trapped in with Ada. And the snot sucker has just recently been banned from being used in her room so as not to get it stuck in there. It's not an easy task to juggle all of his stuff and keep her out like Sleeping Beauty.

To make matters worse, since we can't store his stuff in their room at this point, that also means there are a lot more obstacles in the house for me to trip on in the night as I rush to quiet his screams so as not to wake Ada. If only they made a magical bubble we could put her and her bed into none of this would be an issue and I'd be much more organized.

Moral of the story: Sharing a room is good in theory once you have both kids sleeping through the night. Until then, it entails a lot of planning and organization to keep the entire family happy.

Announcement Pressure

I'm trying to be fair and treat both of my children equally. I'm well aware of how second children get less baby pictures and tend to have less attention paid to them. I get that. That's why I'm so stressed out about getting Iain's baby announcement sent out. Ada got one so Iain needs one too. I don't want to cut corners with his just to make my life a little easier either. Call me a bit old fashioned, but I want him to have something nice and formal. I also realize how much work goes into making a baby announcement and sending them out. It is no small task, hence the reason I outsourced it to my friend Anne last time. This time, she's supplied me with some paper she had left over and offered to help, but most of the labor is falling back to me. That said, I've come to accept the reality that I won't have these done and sent out in the same amount of time I did Ada's. It just isn't going to happen. Why? Well...

First of all, Ada's was sent out around February fourth. She was born December nineteenth so that makes my deadline for Iain's to be sent out August sixth which is tomorrow and I haven't even started them. Whoops. I don't have the mailing list ready, the invites aren't designed, and let's be honest, all I have is the paper that isn't even cut to size and some stamps. As Scooby Do would say, "Rut ro".

Some people think this isn't really that big of a deal. And in the grand scheme of things, they would be right. It isn't. But it's important to me to do them right and be timely about it, as much as I can anyway.

I think what is holding me back most in this whole announcement process is getting the right photograph to showcase just how cute baby Iain really is. I used over two rolls of film, yes black and white 35mm film, when I was trying to get Ada's announcement photo. I wanted the control of a 35mm camera and I hadn't switched to a digital camera at that point. In the end, I was torn between two photographs, one that my mom preferred and one that my husband preferred. Knowing my mom would nag me about it forever and thinking it was more important to her, she won. In hindsight, I should have taken more pictures until I got one we all agreed on.

Delaying the photo further is the minor incident we had yesterday that left a small cut on his forehead. Not exactly the best way to showcase his cuteness. Thankfully, we have Photoshop and can fix that if we need to. Chances are it will be healed by the time I get to taking his photo at the rate things are going. And I'm embarrassed to say that my mom, good intentioned as she may be, really needs to learn that it is not okay to offer to put cover-up makeup on a baby's blemish for their announcement photo. Not okay. Never. Period. Just like it wasn't okay to cut cousin Anna's bangs while she was at the hairdresser just because they were driving Grandma nuts and she was under strict orders not to cut them. Again, not okay. I will say that she has that whole "Don't ask for permission, ask for forgiveness later." thing down pretty well. It just better not be me she's asking to forgive her if she gets too close to Ada's hair with scissors. But I digress.

Moral of the story: If you plan to have multiple children and treat them equally, consider setting the bar low to begin with so you reduce the pressure to preform later on.

On High Alert

I thought our house was childproof for the most part. Now, I'm pretty sure that it isn't even close. What made me change my mind? How about watching Ada play with a bottle of my prenatal vitamins from the top of my dresser and get them open in a matter of seconds. We quickly took them away from her but I was startled by Rick's comment that that's the second time she had opened the bottle. Okay. Then why is is still playing with it and how can we make it less accessible?

I was reminded of the vitamin incident the next day when doing laundry. While loading clothes into the machine, a prenatal vitamin dropped out of the pile where she had removed the lid of the bottle the previous night. Not a good sign, but a good sign at the same time since that means she didn't swallow it.

We try to keep a close eye on her, but it isn't easy and it doesn't take long for her to get into things to the point where they are dangerous. And we are so much more distracted by the new baby that it leaves her a wider window of time to get into trouble.

For instance, just this week I was preparing the toppings for a pizza for dinner. Ada was at the computer in the kitchen watching cartoons. Iain was in his bouncy chair as I chopped, oiled and shredded toppings. Iain decided he wanted to be fussy so I picked him up for a cuddle and not a minute later I look over to check on Ada --three feet away from me mind you -- and she is covered in clear nail polish. Yes, she did paint her toes. But she also painted her shin, thigh, wrist, her chin and a little bit of the computer chair. She saw her window of opportunity and took it. Needless to say, dinner went on hold while I set Iain back down so I could grab the nail polish remover and a cotton ball. Imagine Rick's surprise five minutes later when he comes home to Ada running toward him yelling "Daddy, Daddy" as she always does and me saying, "Don't let her touch you! She's covered in nail polish and remover." Once he had five seconds to take off his shoes, I quickly put him in charge of getting her into the tub and removing the rest of the polish so I could again calm a screaming Iain and get dinner into the oven.

Needless to say, I think there is some truth to the idea that parents need to have eyes in the back of their heads...and be able to look around corners, through walls, and have internal GPS systems to monitor their child's whereabouts at all times. Until I am issued all of those superpowers, I think I'm just going to have to try to be less distracted and do a better job of locking up, removing, and storing anything that could be remotely dangerous on higher ground. But I know that Ada is too smart for her own good and will just pull up a chair to reach things or climb up the shelves to obtain the elusive "no no" items. There is only so much a parent can do.

Moral of the story: Be prepared to be even more vigilant once you have a second child as your first child might be more rebellious, and will have larger windows of time to do much more damage.

Who's In Charge Here?

Sunday was a lot of work. And I'm pretty sure I lost the mommy-daughter battle for who's in control, at least temporarily.

It all started with a family breakfast in Lake Geneva in which Ada had to be removed from the restaurant at least three times for bad behavior at the end of the table. Her sassiness continues to amaze and frustrate me. And she's testing her limits with both of us.

After breakfast, it was time to head south to Warrenville to drop Rick off for a brewery tour and golf date with friends. I was really nervous after having been in the car with the kids for an hour and forty minutes, to then be driving them home another hour by myself. I haven't had much experience having both of them alone and it still scares me. At least with someone else in the car we can try to give Iain a pacifier --which he won't take 98% of the time--or try to reason with Ada as to why she needs to use her inside voice in the car. Without Rick, I didn't have that sense of security or another adult to commiserate with if things got really bad.

Fortunately, when glancing at the map, I noticed we were right next to Wheaton, IL. It just so happens that I have relatives in Wheaton and Lisle, right nearby, is home of the Morton Arboretum. I debated whether to call my relatives or not and decided that I'd take the kids to the Arboretum to burn off some energy and to say that I've been there since the architecture firm I work for designed the building and it is good to see some of the design work you are trying to sell. I opted to call my relatives when we got close to the Arboretum and they suggested I come to their house, which was five minutes away, to get a free entry pass since they are members. I am so thankful that I did.

Our "stop by to pick up a pass" turned into a two-hour play session for Ada, a good spot for Iain to nurse and nap, and a nice adult conversation for me in which I got to catch up with Tip, Marilyn, their son Brian, and his son Matt. We only see these relatives once or twice a year, which is a tragedy that it isn't more frequent, but whenever we do, I'm always pleased. They are so warm and welcoming and enjoyable that our visits are always refreshing. Not to mention that they tend to feed me well and they are excellent cooks. What's not to love?

As four o'clock approached, I loaded the kids into the car for a quick visit to the Arboretum. Marilyn invited us back for dinner and I wasn't going to turn that down knowing my fridge at home was barren. The Children's Garden area at the Arboretum closes at five pm so we needed to get there quickly if we were going to see it. The free admission pass was supposed to be good for just me but the ticket woman was nice enough to let it count Ada too. It's a good thing she did because I learned later on that my wallet was actually buried in the trunk in a bag under a pile of other bags from our trip and it might very well have taken me ten minutes to find it.

The Children's Garden was great fun. Ada enjoyed playing in the stream the best. Iain slept for most of the time, minus what he spent nursing. We missed the last tram that takes you around the whole park so we'll have to go back and do that again next time.

Second only to playing in the stream was this water marble ball. Ada loves balls, and water, and well, this just made her day and kept her occupied while I nursed Iain.The Arboretum has a beautiful lookout platform high in the trees where we convinced strangers to take a photo of us. I did convince Ada that piggy should not be upside down for his big photo opportunity so she turned him right side up.

About 5:30, after taking Ada and Iain and the stroller through one of the hedge mazes and getting stuck inside for 15 minutes, we found the exit and made our way to the car. Ada picked this point in time to launch her rebellion. She didn't want to get out of the stroller or into the car. I finally resorted to force and put her into the car myself, but then she asserted her force to let me know she didn't want to be secured into her car seat and in doing so, managed to rip open the side of the bag of Goldfish crackers. I was able to grab the bag and keep it together, with few casualties, until I found a container from the trunk to relocated them into. She felt a little bad about the Goldfish incident and finally acquiesced to the car seat.

I hoped that was the end of our battle, but knew deep down it was just the beginning since she almost fell asleep on the five minute ride back to Tip and Marilyn's and was bound to be crabby. I considered skipping dinner but we didn't really have lunch so that wasn't an option. And I'm an optimist so I was hopeful that everything would be just fine. Sure it would be, right? How bad could it be?

We got back to the house as Marilyn was heating up the meal. We all sat down for grace and I thought things were going well until Ada got up from the table and started walking around. Then she picked up a few decorations from around the house and threw a fit when I took them away. She didn't eat much and spent most of the meal rebelling.

Meanwhile, my hope was that Iain would take this opportunity during dinner to kick back, relax and take a nap. No such luck. He went into gassy, fussy, hungry, cranky mode about six bites into the meal. So here I am, with a fussy baby and a sassy two-and-a-half-year-old, trying to eat a warm meal and have a nice conversation with relatives and instead ending up completely embarrassed with no control of anything. None of my discipline tactics worked with Ada. None of my calming efforts worked with Iain. I was zero for two.

Thankfully, Tip and Marilyn understand how crazy kids can be and didn't seem to judge me based on my children's behavior and lack of discipline. I'm hopeful that they will invite us back even though Ada broke a mini tea serving set just before we left, didn't help clean up the toys she played with, and moved three out of four porcelain ducks to new homes throughout the house with no intention of returning them to their rightful home. I'm optimistic that they, as parents and grandparents themselves, are also chalking this up to too much time in the car after a long weekend and a fast approaching bedtime that rendered Ada unruly. And as for Iain, well, he's four weeks old so that gives him an automatic behavior pass, or at least I hope it does.

After such a long, adventure-filled day, both kids passed out in the car. I did have to stop at the end of Tip and Marilyn's block to take Iain's car seat out and swing it back and forth a few times to settle him down. But once on the road, I didn't hear a peep. It was heavenly... until I got parked on our block and realized I needed to get two sleeping children into our house that was about 500 feet from the car and Rick was still in Oakbrook having dinner and our neighbor who typically saves my butt in these situations wasn't home. After the initial moment of frustration, panic, and being really ticked off at Rick for not being there to help me, I came to a solution. I pulled the stroller out of the trunk, loaded the kids and my purse into it, pushed it to the front door (while flashing the middle finger to the parking space that just opened up ten feet from my front door) and woke Ada up to stumble through the first and second vestibule doors as I held Iain in one arm, pulled the stroller with the other and held it in place with my left foot as my right hand turned the key in our front lock and my backside held open the door for Ada and the stroller to stumble through. Sure I could have accepted the offer to help hold the door from the four polite adults walking in front of our building. At that point I was feeling like a mom-failure and had to do this by myself, for me. If nothing else, it was to prove that I did, in fact, still have control over something and I wasn't a helpless mom in the city. I guarantee that next time I'll let them help.

Moral of the story: Toddlers can't be controlled. Expect them to behave badly and embarrass you on occasion and do your best to take it with dignity. That's the best option you've got.

We returned to Tip and Marilyn's for dinner. Ada was tired, but I was hopeful that she would make it through dinner and sleep on the way home. We hadn't eaten lunch since we had brunch at 9:30 and snacks in the car.

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.

Firetruck Tour

A few weeks ago, Ada got to tour a firetruck. I wasn't prepared for this little outing so I didn't have my camera, but I did have my cell phone camera so this is what I got. It was a fire safety program put on at the local Border's book store and it ended with a chance to check out the truck. Here she is in the passenger seat.There were a ton of kids at the event and we were some of the last ones to get to tour the truck before they got a call they needed to respond too. I've never seen kids more upset than I did that day when the last few kids in line didn't get to tour the truck. I'm not sure if their parents or nannies really built up the event or what happened but their screams were heart wrenching. It made me feel bad since they weren't really pushing us through the tour very quickly. I was expecting Ada to jump in the truck, take a look around, and then jump back out. Instead, they loaded her in the back, then helped me and my big belly in. We sat down, asked some questions, hung out. Then our friend Elizabeth got in with her son Luke and our friend Sara's son Aaron. Then we got out and went to check out the hoses on the back of the truck. We posed for a few pictures and they got the call to leave with about a dozen kids still waiting on the sidewalk for their turn. We surely didn't need that much time in the truck and I didn't realize there were still so many kids behind us in line or we would have moved through more quickly. But I was really thankful that we got to tour the truck and that our kids enjoyed it -- and that I still fit in the back seat at 9 months pregnant.

As it turns out, the City of Chicago has a fire prevention program and the firemen do this a lot--for schools, block parties, special events, etc. They also invited us to stop by the firehouse anytime for another tour or to hang out. I think that's a better way to go when you've got little kids who aren't the best at waiting in line. Especially if they are really into fire trucks and firemen. I think some parents/nannies made the mistake of hyping up the event and then their kids were devastated when the turnout was so great that the fire department ran out of plastic fireman's hats and we had to break into three sections to do the tours and wait our turn. It was chaotic to say the least.

As always, I'm thankful that Ada was able to wait patiently and didn't spaz out when it was time to leave. We are so lucky to have such a laid back and easy going little girl. As I write that, she is yelling for her father to attend to her in the other room in a tone of voice that is impatient, insistent, and bordering on urgent. It's lunchtime and he isn't moving fast enough. You win some, you lose some.

Moral of the story: You can't control what happens in life, especially at big public events. If you know your child is really set on doing something specific at the event, be sure to explain what could go wrong and how they can prepare for that reality before you go. We don't always get what we want in life and that's a tough pill to swallow.

Little Blonde Braids

This past week, I had to take Ada into an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist to make sure all is well and that her adenoids aren't the cause of the cough that causes her to throw up. When I picked her up from day care to go to our appointment, she had the cutest french braids in her hair.

Normally, this wouldn't really be noteworthy but... I have to pin her down and listen to her scream and push me away if I even try to brush her hair--which I've given up on completely--let alone put it up for her. Then the day care ladies go and do this. So I had to ask, what is their secret? Do they torture her? Or are they secretly bribing her with something really awesome that I don't know about?

As it turns out, Ms. Ana did this while Ada was eating breakfast. That's all it took. Just a little bit of a distraction. I've tried combing it while she is watching a movie, or otherwise occupied, with little luck. I think it's a thing against moms. Kids tend to not want their moms to do their hair, but anyone else can. At least that's been my experience. I will say she doesn't let Rick comb it often either so it isn't all me.

The interesting part of all of this is that, when I woke up the morning this all happened, I had had a dream that my mom cut Ada's hair really short into an awful style that was beyond bad--not bad for some kids but not an acceptable style for my child by any means -- and I was so upset that I woke up from the dream and had to calm myself down. I warned my mother when Ada was first born (in real life mind you) that if she ever went near my child with scissors or enlisted anyone else to do so, all her rights and her title of grandmother would be immediately and permanently revoked. I think she understands that I'm not kidding when I say this because I frequently remind her just how much I hated every haircut I had as a kid past about age 3. The wedge, the feathered look, the poofy bangs -- some of these were popular trends at the time so I give her the benefit of the doubt and only blame her for the majority of them, not all of them. But when I wanted a perm so I'd have body and curl like the models, she didn't advise me against it and I ended up looking like a poodle. And not a cute poodle. More like an old poodle with bald spots and a cone around his neck. BAD. The red wire-rimmed glasses surely didn't help matters.

And it wasn't like she took me to hair "stylists" either. She took me to get my hair cut. There was no real "style" involved. There is a reason I travel 45 minutes to get my hair cut from a friend, in her basement now after she's been at two previous locations, and have been doing so for nine years. She trained under people who learned from Mario Trococi. She understands how to work with really thick hair. She gets me. My hair looks good a few months after I cut it because she understands how it will grow out. And she doesn't encourage me to dye my hair or highlight it or low light it because that's the cool thing to do. She knows that isn't me and I won't maintain it and I'll end up looking like a rat. She's a stylist and an advisor, guiding me to make decisions that protect me from the snarls and dirty, catty looks of other women -- which I still get for my poor sense of fashion, but at least it's minimized a bit and more manageable.

At 31 years old, my mother's influence on my style still haunts me. The emotional scars I have from being far from "cool" growing up are one thing I have no intention of inflicting upon my child. I pledge to protect her from mullet haircuts, mohawks, bad dye jobs, split ends, unhealthy hair, ill-fitting clothing, bangs that start back way further than they should, and fashion decisions that just aren't flattering. That doesn't mean I'll buy her designer stuff or go out of my way to spare no expense on her sense of style. It just means I plan to make a conscious effort to make sure that she has the foundation to make good style decisions on her own when the time comes. And I'll consult and confer with the appropriate professionals as needed. Until then, I'll make style decisions for her that enhance her cuteness and reduce her dork factor. That's my duty as her mother.

No offense mom, but I was a mega dork. I know you did your best and your heart was in the right place. The fashion fairies just weren't with you as I was growing up. I still love you anyway.

Moral of the story: As a parent, you have a great influence on your child's fashion sense and style. Be sure to wield that power with the utmost care and caution.

Do you know what you're having?

An interesting conversation came up at my book club the other night regarding the sex of your baby. Even though we live in America and women's rights have come a long way in the past hundred years, people in general tend to have a more positive reaction when you announce you are having a baby boy than a baby girl. It almost feels like we're in China and just screwed the whole family out of a male heir when we announce it's a girl. Clearly not to the same extent, but there are some people who still feel that way and aren't afraid to say so.

Alone, we might not have ever realized how differently people react to the sex of your baby, but once we sat down and shared our experiences it was pretty clear. Now that I am having a boy, I'm getting a lot of comments about how we can be finished now that we have one of each. Everyone is so happy for us to have the perfect pair --a boy and a girl. Like that is the ideal and everybody's dream for their family. But is it?

Another mom in book club just had a second baby girl. Someone actually told her they were sorry to hear that she was having another girl. Here I am thinking about how fun it would be for Ada to have a little sister that she could be close to and then I hear about someone apologizing to this mom for having a second girl. Seriously? What happened to just congratulating the mom on having a baby and hoping it's healthy?

I'm guilty of making comments like, "Wow, that's a lot of testosterone for one house." when I meet a mom with three boys. Not because I don't like little boys but because I think women tend to have it easier when the have a little girl to balance out the chaos and energy that tends to come with boys (read: little devils). It's stereotyping, I know. I admit it. But I'm not about to go telling someone that I'm sorry they didn't get a boy out of the deal. That's crap.

I'm really amazed at how excited everyone is for me to have a baby boy. And even more so because I have a little girl. The checkout woman at the grocery store was so excited and congratulated me profusely. An elderly man at the pharmacy congratulated me and then suggested it was time to "shut down the factory" since "babies are expensive". It's the American dream and I don't even know how lucky I am, apparently. Now I have someone to carry on the family name. I've never even thought of it that way. I'm just thankful to be able to have kids.

With Ada, I found a lot of people asked me what sex I wanted. It didn't really matter to me but I thought she was a boy. When we found out she was a girl, I had to mentally transition to having a girl. Then with BB, I though he was a girl and was excited that Ada might get a little sister since the idea of a sister appeals to me since I had a brother and the grass is always greener on the other side(sharing clothes, having that sister bond). Since he's a boy, I'm excited and nervous at the same time. I'm really just hoping he is as easy as she was even though I doubt we can be that lucky.

And then there is the whole debate of "if he was a little girl, would you have a third to try for a boy?" I'm not sure how I feel about this logic. I think a lot of parents use the fact that they want one of each sex to determine how many kids they have up to a certain point and then they give up. I can honestly say I don't think it would have encouraged me to have a third child, but I can see how it might for some people. It's just interesting to me to think about how the sex of your baby can have so much influence on if you have another or how the success of a pregnancy is perceived. You can always want a girl, but be happy if you get a boy, and vice versa. I can't imagine that some people aren't happy if they get the opposite of what they wanted. My mom taught me to be happy with either as long as they were healthy. I think that is some solid advice.

Moral of the story: Be prepared for a wide range of reactions when announcing the sex of your baby. You never know what some people will say.

CRACK...1...2...3... WAAAHHH!!!

It's just as I expected. Last night's storm quickly converted our queen size bed into a family sleep arrangement resembling a sardine can. Imagine me, my pregnant belly, my body pillow, Ada, her stuffed piggy, and Rick in the same bed. Amazingly, we all fit and got through the storm. Thankfully, it passed fairly quickly and Rick was able to drop Ada back into her own bed so we could spread out for the few remaining hours before starting our day.

Having a bit of a fear of thunderstorms, still at age 30, I can understand why Ada would be inclined to join us for a bit more comforting and consoling during a loud storm at night. I'll admit I still inch closer and cuddle up to Rick when a big storm comes through. And I think I was in my early teens before my parents finally made me stop crawling into bed with them when I got scared at night. They remedied that quickly by saying, "Go sleep in your brother's room." I think I tried that twice. He offered me the floor and was so annoyed and uninviting that I was more scared of him than the storm. Habit broken.

I'm not sure what the best way is to make her less anxious during storms at night. The day before this big storm came through, we sat on the back porch and watch another storm pass us by so that Ada could see what was happening. I tried to explain lightening and thunder and rain. Someone told me the thunder was angels bowling in heaven but that didn't seem to help when I was little, and it's a concept way over Ada's head at this age. I tried to make it fun by saying "Crack, boom, boom, boom, rumble, rumble," all while laughing and eating lunch on the porch as the storm blew by us. Ada likes to yell at the storm when the thunder cracks. It's loud so she reacted by being really loud to. She screamed at it, not out of fear but more as a way of saying, "If you're going to be loud then I am too." Our neighbors found it quite funny, and it entertained Rick as he continued to install our new air conditioner above the back door.

Moral of the story: Some things in life can be scary. As parents, it's our job to teach our offspring how to be brave--which is not an easy task.

A Pillow, Kisses, & Chocolate Chips

Ada's the best. Last night, she knew I was exhausted from a long day at work and my body just wasn't playing nicely with the BB in my belly. As I sat on the couch, curled up with a good book, trying to relax the day away, Rick attended to my every need and managed to get Ada fed, entertained, cleaned, and medicated. Poor guy had to get me water and tea and pillows and a blanket and surely a few more things I can't even remember. While he was in the kitchen, busily cleaning out the dishwasher, Ada slipped out from under his watch long enough to come to the living room and smoother me with kisses. Normally she'll give out kisses when she is prompted. This time she was attacking me with wet, sloppy, toddler cootie kisses. I think she gave me 20 kisses without me even asking for one. She must have sensed that I needed some love. It was so sweet.

Then, about fifteen minutes later, Rick was busy doing laundry in the bedroom or some other chore at the back of the house when she returned to my side with a pillow from her bed. She'd seen Rick bring me pillows to prop up my back and legs and wanted to make sure I had enough of them to be comfortable. Can you say adorable?

And then, this is the best part, she magically appeared by my side -- well after her bedtime at this point --with a small Ziploc container of trail mix that included peanuts, raisins, and a ton of chocolate chips (which I am currently eating by the handful from a 72 oz re-sealable bag I have conveniently stored on a shelf in the refrigerator. This is one craving I am not going to complain about). I open the container for her and we share the goodies. She's eating the mix pretty fast and I'm trying to figure out if she is favoring the chocolate chips or the raisins or eating all three equally. Part of me is worried that she is just picking out the chocolate chips since that's just not acceptable (I only have 65 oz left in the fridge for Pete's sake kid, lay off momma's stash!). I'm about to tell her to stop hogging all of the chocolate when she turns to me and starts feeding me the chocolate chips. One, two, three chocolate chips go down the hatch and I'm laughing so hard at this point that I have to call Rick over to explain that she is a total enabler, mind reader, and way too cute for words. All my aches and pains instantly faded away at that moment. Maybe it was her gentle way with me, or the chocolate, or the laughter, or the knock out combination of it all, but I sure felt better.

Moral of the story: Sometimes kids do the cutest things. Store those memories in a special place and revisit them often.

Sick of Ada Being Sick

Ada's asthma thing, or whatever it is, isn't quite better yet. She was on medicine and that helped a ton. Then the medicine was done and she was okay for a couple of days. Then the coughing came back. Then, two nights ago the throwing up came back. It was like she had stored up all of the throwing up she hadn't done in the previous week and let it all out in one night. It started at 11:30pm and just kept going. I gave up around 1 am and poor Rick stayed on the couch sleeping/watching movies with her until who knows when. It sucked. Then he stayed home with her so they could both get some much needed rest.

From this most recent episode, I'll say "You haven't experienced parenthood until..."

clearly, there are many ways to finish off this line. To which I'll add:

...you've been thrown up on four times within two hours.
...you've had regurgitated banana drip down your cleavage, twice in one night.
...you've run out of towels in the linen closet from all of the showers you, your husband and your child have used to wash off remnants of vomit.
...you want to change places with your sick child so they don't have to suffer anymore because they just don't understand what's going on with their little body.

Yesterday, Rick took Ada back to the Doctor, but it wasn't her regular Doctoress so it was a wasted visit in my opinion since the new Doctor said we'd have to wait until her regular Doctoress came in today to do anything more. Gee buddy, thanks for nothing.

On the way home from the Doctor's office, Rick picked me up from work and Ada proceeded to throw up all over the back seat of the car just a few blocks from my office. We pulled over and cleaned her up--or Rick cleaned her and the car up while I called the Doctoress' office to demand that they leave our normal Doctoress an urgent message to contact me ASAP. Then I got out and cuddled with Ada's half-nakedness on the sidewalk until Rick was ready to put her back into the pukey car seat.

We almost made it home without further incident but... with three blocks left, she had to let the juice flow. Talk about an easy way to make a distracted driver. Poor Rick was ready to plow through anyone to get around the block and park at that point. Ada's screaming. The car reeks. Traffic isn't letting us through fast enough. It's times like these that I want a button in the car that makes it glow or flash hot pink to indicate to other motorists something like "Move please, I have a really good reason to have the right of way right now. Trust me. Thank you." If only the hazard flashers had that setting...

We were able to park in a temporary unloading spot out front while Rick carried Ada into the house while holding his breath, holding her at arms' length, listening to her scream and trying to comfort her all at once. Straight into the house and down the hall to the tub. He tagged out at that point and I tagged in --just like tag team wrestling, only it's a two-year old we're up against, and there is only one of her. He got to clean the car, bring the car seat in for a major scrub down, and find more permanent parking. I got to give Ada a bath and clean her up. Knowing that I got the better end of the deal, I let him have the honor of drying her off --it really is the best part of the bath as we've made quite the game of it. She runs naked, he catches her, dries and cuddles her, she squeals with delight. It almost makes up for having to clean up her puke. Almost.

Thankfully, the rest of the night proved to be uneventful which was a plesant surprise as I've been expecting, and dreading, the worst. We gave her some Singular and puffs from her inhaler. She coughed before bed, but we haven't heard a peep since. Now if only I could have caught up on some sleep this morning instead of getting up to write at 4 am. Oh well. Maybe tomorrow. Yawn.

Moral of the story: Keep a change of clothes (for your child, and maybe yourself), diapers, wipes, and a towel or two in the car for unexpected incidents. You never know when they'll come in handy, but odds are good you'll need them.

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.

D-Day Fast Approaching

T minus 6 weeks

Minor anxiety approaching, with waves of "Get this thing out of me.", "I quit.", "Are we done yet?", and "Why did we decided to have kids again?".

Crib assembled? Check.

Diapers? Check.

Wipes? Check.

Bottles? Crap. My brother still has those. And my pump. And the Boppy.

Storage bottles for milk? Check.

Ergo baby carrier? Better get that back from Jen. And I guess we'll need the infant insert? Or what about a Moby wrap? Hmmm...

Car seat? Yep. But we should probably dust it off and put it in the trunk of the car in two weeks. But
Rick can always come back to get it since we are just six blocks from the hospital.

Bag packed? Not yet. I don't really need anything since last time we took way too much and Rick just ended up bringing me a change of clothes from home anyway.

Work ready to be passed off? Not quite. But I'm working on it and keeping co-workers in the loop.

Baby clothes? Check. Though we should probably wash them since they've been in storage for two years.

Sleep sacks? Baby hats? Baby tub? Baby wash? Burp cloths? Baby hand covers so he doesn't scratch himself? Check. Check. And Check.

Cord blood donation kit? Just ordered it. Should be here in two weeks. We have to remember to remind the nurses to actually save the cord this time instead of tossing it out like last time.

House instructions for parents? Need to write those up. They're here often enough they'll be fine. Just have to leave clean sheets for them, spare keys and put instructions on the washing machine since it's a bit high-tech.

I wonder what Rick's insurance will actually cover this time. It seemed expensive last time. I should check on our deductible and all that stuff.

Birthplan? I guess I should talk to the doctor about that and make sure they are on board with me not having drugs and all. I'll do that at Monday's appointment.

Who's on call to watch Ada if BB decides to come in the middle of the night or during rush hour before the grandma's can make it here? We should solidify that list a bit more.

I guess we're ready... or we could be with a little help from our parents. Boy is this ever going to rock our world. And Ada's too.

Moral of the story: What is ready anyway? Are you ever really ready? I sure hope so.

The Way We Eat

As I've often declared, this is my year to learn how to cook, and grocery shop, and eat healthier. It used to be a running joke in my family that my mom can't cook -- she can bake fairly well-- but her cooking is limited to dozen meals and they are all edible but average, predictable, and boring. She's not big on change and these few meals suit her just fine. My dad and brother have always been rough on her since she doesn't have their "elaborate" taste buds. That really just means her taste buds are more delicate and can't tolerate the spices and saltings and firestorms my dad and brother prefer. I can't say I blame her since my food preferences are strongly adverse to spicy foods and the craziness of some of their concoctions. I get my sweet tooth for chocolate from her too.

Our styles of eating all became clear to me earlier this year when we tried to pick a restaurant for Easter brunch. Now that I'm getting into food, food quality, the importance of quality ingredients, and realizing the wealth of talented chefs that surround us in the city, I am more inclined to suggest well-known restaurants that come highly recommended. Maybe that stems from not going out to eat much and wanting it to be really good when we do. In the search for restaurant options my co-worker asked me what type of food my dad prefers and my honest response was "meat and potatoes in large quantities." It then dawned on me that that was how I was raised, and why Rick has had to reprogram my eating habits. My family usually ate together at the table for 5 pm dinner, which consisted of meat and a couple of sides or a casserole dish. Sunday noon was the big meal and typically included a dessert, and always a big chunk of meat. The TV was always on to the news, sitcom or a movie. If you didn't like what was served, there was always peanut butter and jelly in the kitchen and you could help yourself.

My dad has a thing about making sure we never go hungry. Once you take two or three bites, he quickly checks to see how it is and if you want more. It's an insult if you don't have seconds, and the first helping is always large enough to feed two people. He's known for his good cooking and extravagant tailgating spreads. There is always enough food for each of us to bring a friend, but if we did bring a friend, he always worries there won't be enough. Maybe that's a result of the economy when he grew up or just how his parents did things, I'm not sure. But it's something I've been much more conscious of now that I'm in charge of feeding my family.

Another observation I've made is that I tend to eat really fast. I'm almost always the first one finished when I go out with friends. It's been helpful when we've had to take turns eating and feeding Ada when she was a baby. But it has also trained me to eat out of necessity instead of enjoyment. Rick's amazed at how little I care about the various flavors and actual taste of my meals. If they aren't quite right, I don't really care. He on the other hand is constantly wondering how a meal can be improved upon and will point out if foods are over or under done. He can savor it all. I'm working on that.

Rick has been the best observer of my eating habits since we've been together so long and he's that way by nature. It didn't take him long into our marriage to notice that I tend to overeat at each meal. I'm frequently a member of the "clean plate club" but I don't remember that ever being a rule at our house growing up. I'd eat so much at each meal that I'd want to explode for the next two or three hours until I could digest a bit, thereby making me pretty worthless after dinner. We'd both do the cooking, but we stuck to meals that were safe and easy and heavy on the pasta. After awhile, he started plating up my food in smaller portions on smaller plates and, amazingly, I didn't eat as much and still became full, while leaving room for dessert. Surely I'd be obese from all of this eating but I have a high metabolism so it never really affected my size or weight. It just made my energy focus on digestion instead of other fun things I could have been doing.

Seeing that point of view on how I was brought up and my philosophy on eating made me realize I needed to change my ways, learn how to cook, and find a way to break those habits and create new ones to pass on to Ada. Even if we have high metabolisms and tall, thin genes, doesn't mean we shouldn't eat healthy. Late last year, after being married for over seven years, I finally got tired of the "What do you want for dinner?" debate and the subsequent listing of local restaurants. The expense and monotony of that habit were wearing on me. I just wasn't sure how to go about making that change.

At a holiday brunch with friends, our hobby chef/foodie friend Sarah offered to teach me to cook this year. A few lessons later, she's instilled me with the confidence to read recipes, try new things, and be less fearful of the grocery store and weird ingredients. She's taught me how to better stock my pantry, and how to eat healthier. She's pointed out deficiencies in my kitchen supplies--a handheld juicer? Seriously? I don't have one of those?-- and influenced me by sharing what she has learned about eating organic foods and shopping at the local farmers' markets.

The other driving force behind all of this is my book club. Not only are they healthy eaters, but they recommended I read books by Michael Pollan, specifically The Omnivore's Dilemma, and Food Rules. They also suggested I join a CSA (Community-Supported Agriculture) to get my fruits and veggies delivered straight from local farms as it is in season for some of the best produce available. Another friend suggested the documentary Food Inc which features Michael Pollan and many of the issues covered in The Omnivore's Dilemma. It has all been eye opening.

How has all of this changed me?

Well, my neighbor Kelly just asked me "Since when did you become so domesticated?" after walking through my kitchen. I've got mason jars of rices and grains out on the counter, fruit and vegetables overflowing the counters, and I'm offering her lunch or leftovers from my cooking lessons. She's amazing that I can actually cook now whereas before, she would come down here for a snack and be sorely disappointed. I see her a lot more frequently now. It's been five months and I've spent more money on food and cooked more this year than the last three years combined. I want to eat healthier and instill these new eating habits in Ada. I want to eat smaller portions that are more nutritious. I want to support local farmers and enjoy the flavors in my food. I want to savor my meals instead of inhaling them and waiting for the next meal to do the same.

Is it a lot of work? Yes.

Is it worth it? Heck yeah. It's amazing. So tasty and enjoyable. And I feel better both physically and mentally knowing that the time I invest now to learn how to cook is helping me to eat healthier and provide my family with better food choices, hopefully influencing all of our diets in the long term. I'm still struggling with meal planning, grocery shopping, learning how to read labels, and navigating the farmers' market, but that will come with time and practice and more trial and error. It's almost harder in the city when you can shop at Whole Foods, Trader Joes, Dominicks, Jewel, Straack & Van Til, Treasure Island, the farmers' markets, local delis and cheese stores, meat markets, the spice house, Stanley's fruit market, Costco, and have one of a dozen CSAs, including those for meat and poultry. In the suburbs, they only have a County Market, Jewel, Wal-mart, the butcher, and an occasional specialty store, which creates a different sort of challeges.

Do we still order out from the local restaurants? Yep. But not as often. And I tend to order a much more healthy options and steal bites of Rick's sinful selections -- he hasn't given up fat, greasy burgers and fries or chili dogs even close to the extent of which I have. I'm still indulging in the good old American standbys, but a lot less frequently. And pizza is dead to me--at least until this baby is no longer causing mass amounts of heartburn to my system.

Eventually, I hope to find a balance so we waste less food, consume healthier foods with less chemicals and less processed foods so our children are off to a good start. It is a big investment in both time and money, but one I feel will stay with my kids for life and make a real difference in the world.

Moral of the story: As children, our knowledge is based on our parents' knowledge. It therefore lies on us as parents to give our children a solid foundation on which to grow that knowledge. Challenge yourself to do just that.