If breast is best, then I guess I'm taking the silver medal

One of the most stressful things in the first few weeks of my new role as a mother was breastfeeding. And mind you...I teach other people how to do this for a living.

One of the first questions they ask you prenatally - "Do you plan on breastfeeding?" My response "I'll give it a try and see how it goes." Being an OB nurse I know full well that breastfeeding isn't easy. There are a lot of factors that have to fall into place. I said that I would give it a try, and not stress if it didn't work.

WRONG!

My hormones raged, my baby wouldn't latch and my world fell apart. What the hell was wrong with me?? It was so incredibly frustrating, and I was failing at my first task as a mother.

Oh, and I am not just talking about the first time around. This same scenario happened after Patrick was born. I'll admit it, I don't like to admit defeat.

 I spent two weeks sitting in a chair, every two hours, begging my baby to latch. She cried. I cried. I pumped. She stared at my boob and if she could talk, she absolutely would have said "And what the hell do you expect me to do with THAT?!"

Sounds like a lot of fun, right?

Anyhoo...after a few weeks and a lot of tears, I reluctantly gave up the breastfeeding (with both of my kids) and they were happily bottlefed. Grace was rarely sick. She was smart, bright, funny, well adjusted and loved me. Formula, indeed had not permanently damaged her.  And with Patrick, well, so far so good.

You see, it is baby formula. Nutritious, well balanced, and NOT rat poison as some would have you assume.

I know a lot of people say that they get grief for breastfeeding in public. And I totally get that. I am sure breastfeeding mothers get stares and snickers. But people should realize that as a bottlefeeding mom, I can also feel judgemental glares coming my way when I pull out my baby's drink of choice.

Truth be told, as mothers we all get a lot of unwarranted advice and judgement. However...

Happy mothers = happy babies. We are all just trying to keep our babies happy and healthy in the best way we know how. What works for one family, does not work for another.

I have forgiven myself for not breastfeeding. And I know now that bottlefeeding was the right choice for me.

All's Fair in Love and Sleep Deprivation

Mommy lesson #2 - Nothing said between the hours of 11pm and 4am counts. No, you are not allowed to bring up anything said or done during this time and pick a fight the next morning.  It's off limits. 

Yes, indeed, we know full well here in the Bunker house that sleep deprivation can make you say and do some not so pleasant things. Being jolted from sleep by a little screaming ball of anger who wants to be fed NOW would make any normally rational person just a tad bit loco. I have been so tired some nights, that I have actually found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen only to scratch my head and wonder "what the hell am I here for again? Oh right...the dictator demands food."

When Grace was a baby and still getting up in the middle of the night, Pat and I would actually lay there and try to convince each other that it was the other's turn to get up. Yup...we would spend as much time arguing about who should get up and feed the baby as it would have probably taken to just get up and do it already. I didn't say it was mature, or even logical...but it was the middle of the FREAKING night.

I really shouldn't bitch and whine too much. Grace was a great sleeper. She was sleeping through the night around 10 weeks. Most of my mommy friends would look a little homicidal when I told them this information (again, there is the irrational reaction of a sleep deprived person..see a theme developing here?). But my little Patrick is a different story. He is about to be four months old and we are still getting up just about every three or four hours to feed. I feel bad for myself just writing it.

I know, I know. He is still little. And frankly, I have to hand it to the dude. He is ALL business in the middle of the night. He cries and whines until we go get him. He doesn't even bother to open his eyes, he drains the bottle and is back to sleep. He's got an appetite. He's definitely our boy.  Plus, no matter how much it sucks to get up, the kid is just so freaking cute that kissing that little face makes it all worth it.

Although, that face would be just as cute in the morning after a solid eight hours of sleep. Just sayin'...

Getting up during the night this time around is a little easier. Maybe we lost our will to fight each other in the middle of the night. Maybe we just knew what to expect, or that we are used to less sleep now anyway. I mean, before I had Grace I could sleep for 14 hours straight and not bat an eye. I one hundred percent admit I am a girl who likes my sleep (and doesn't do too well without it.) Just ask my husband.

But this too shall pass. And we will all sleep again...please God.

Mommy Guilt

Does the guilt ever go away??

One of the most surprising things to me as a mother is the amount of guilt you carry around on any given day. I have decided there are just not enough hours in the day, not enough hands to get things done, not enough arms to carry both of my children and all their paraphanelia at once (although, by God, I do try). When I am at work, I feel guilty that I am not with my kids. If I get out for an afternoon by myself, or a dinner out with friends, I cannot help but feel like I should be home with my kids. When I am playing with Grace, I feel bad about not giving Patrick enough attention. If I am holding Patrick, I feel like I am not giving Grace what she needs. Can you see where I am going with this?

I can't frickin' win!

I am pretty sure that the guilt is born right along with the new baby. From that moment they pop out, you are doomed to feel inadequate. Ok, maybe I am exaggerating...but only a little.

As a logical woman, I know my kids are happy and well taken care of. They are loved and cuddled and played with. I guess it is just the fact that having children is such an awesome responsibility. Try to wrap your head around that fact that you are totally and completely responsible for the well being of a person. Whether that person thrives or not is totally on your shoulders. You are expected to teach, feed, bathe, discipline, teach right from wrong...oh yeah, and keep them up to date on their shots (which believe me, is a job all unto itself). Oh, and then throw in the fact that you get ONE SHOT to get it all right...

No pressure or anything.

No wonder feelings of inadequacy surface. Who has more pressure than that in their everyday life?? I am not even convinced Obama has to deal with that kind of stress. He has a staff to help him with his responsibilities. Where's my staff?? Huh??

Seriously now, I think maybe the mommy guilt has it benefits. Feeling the guilt keeps you in touch with just how important this mothering job is. It means you are just a little scared of screwing this up. And, frankly, who wouldn't be?

They grow up TOO fast!

Pat (the hubster) and I have an ongoing argument...he is under the impression that I am having a hard time letting Grace grow up. pppffffttt...please!!! Me?? Having a hard time letting my baby grow up?? Well...maybe just a little.

This argument all stems from the fact that I still let Grace have her pacifier. Yeah...there I said it...I am a softie and I let my almost three year old use her pacifier.

Pat's brilliant idea is that we just take it away, cold turkey. And according to him, just have a few "hard days".

Understatement of the CENTURY. Yeah, OK. It all seems easy. Just take away her crutch, her prize possession. Listen to her whine and protest and then GO TO WORK. You won't have to listen to these whines and protests ALL day. So as I have very politely informed him, you are more than welcome to stay home and accomplish this goal, otherwise...back off, pal. We are in survival mode!

Alright, alright...let me explain. I do not let her roam around with a paci in her mouth when we are out and about. She needs the paci and her little lovey blanket to sleep. She has had them since she was only a few weeks old. When she started talking, some of her first words were "paci and moo?" Moo - is the name of that lovey blanket. Moo is actually a pink giraffe who was originally thought to be a cow (hence the name "Moo"). Also, although it is pink, Grace insists Moo is a boy. A pink boy giraffe named "Moo". Poor bastard has a serious identity crisis. But I digress.

Anyhoo, I guess I have just not had the energy or the heart to take away her beloved paci. It was the original plan that it would be taken away when she turned two. But by her second birthday I was in the throes of pregnancy and all the misery that comes with a first trimester. So did I want to listen to a screaming fit of rage? Absolutely not. I was a little busy growing a person...my bad.

In my defense, my pediatrician and the pediatric dentist BOTH told me not to worry about ditching the pacifier and that she would get rid of it when she was ready. My pediatrician actually said "Don't worry, Jill. She won't go to college using a pacifier." Nice thought, doc. But you haven't met Gracie.

I did try to enforce the "you can only have your paci in your bed" rule. I felt like I was living with a miniature crack addict. I would find her sitting on her bed taking a hit of her paci all throughout the day. I also found pacis stashed all over my house, in her toyboxes, behind couch cushions, behind my TV. And then I realized it. At the ripe old age of two, she was a perfect candidate for the show Intervention.

So it's not just about the paci (it never is, right?) Do you think it's a bad sign that whenever I think about sending her to preschool next year I throw up in my mouth a little?

Mind you, it is only October. I basically have a whole year to get acclimated to this idea. And maybe by next year I will feel differently. But right now, just the thought of her going to SCHOOL makes me ache on the inside.

I guess I will blame it on my personality, which is admittedly (slightly) type A. But the thought of leaving her with strangers, and trusting them to take care of her like I do is unbearable. I have been the one there EVERY day, for her whole life. I know what she likes and dislikes. I know how her little sensitive heart is broken way too easily. I am the one who can just take a glance at her and know exactly what she needs. How could I possible trust someone who just met her to do the same. Being away from her and not knowing what she is doing, who she is with, how she is feeling is too foreign a concept for me to even grasp.

And yet, I know that she is growing up. I see it in her sweet little face. She is losing her "baby" look. She is turning into a gorgeous little girl. I see it in her interactions with other people, and how well she can speak for herself, think for herself. Of course I want to raise a daughter who can stand on her own two feet. And I know she will.

So I guess, the way I see it is that she still is a baby. She is MY baby. She will be 20 years old and still be my baby. And in each part of her life, I am sure there will be new ways I "baby" her. I think to myself, she is only two. We'll get rid of that paci, and I will send her off to school. But for now, I think we will just stay the course. I only get this very short window of opportunity to have her all to myself, before I have to send her out and share her with the world.

And when I do...look out world, you have NO idea what you are up against. Consider yourself warned.

Scenes from a Car

These days, I call my car a torture chamber on wheels.

Generally my mornings consist of planning, packing, dressing and tears (mine mostly). We get piled in the car after 4 hours of preparation and head off to our daily activity. I am already exhausted, but not my kids...they are ready to go.

Patrick starts screaming the minute we strap him into the car seat. I have tried pacifiers, toys, opening his window, different music on the radio, static on the radio and basically anything short of steering with my feet so I can reach into the back and help this poor little creature. The kid just hates the car. I have come to accept it. Hey, we all have our things.

And my Grace is a talker. I love her for it. But being trapped in a small box with a two year old who would talk to the wall if it would answer her back just adds to the torture.

Here we are all strapped in and ready to go:

Patrick is screaming

Grace: "Mama, 'member last morning when I got a boo boo on my knee?"

Me: "yes, Grace, I do."

Grace: "It's almost all better. See?"

Me: "Yes, its almost better. I see."

Grace: "No, you didn't look, Mama."

Me: "Well, I can't look right now, Grace. Mama's driving."

Grace: "Why?"

Me: "It's not safe to take my eyes off the road."

Grace: "Why not?"

Me: "Because we could crash."

Grace: "Then we would have to go to dat hospital where you work?"

Me: "Yup."

Patrick screams have gone from "I am not really digging this car seat" to "If someone doesn't come get me outta here, there will be hell to pay."

Grace: "Mama, can I have a snack?"

Me: "Sure."

I reach in to my bag, fumbling around. Finding everything except the friggin' goldfish I know are in there SOMEWHERE.

Me: "Here you go, Grace. Don't spill them."

Grace: "OK, mom. I won't."

Patrick is still screaming. Throwing an absolute hissy fit. I am starting to twitch.

Grace: "Uh oh, mom. I spilled them."

Me: "Oooooof course you did."

Grace: "Are you mad at me?"

Me: "No, Grace. Accidents happen."

Grace: "Sorry, Mama."

Me: "Grace, how about you listen to your songs and relax"

Now, we have Patrick screaming, Raffi blaring and Grace singing.  It's the perfect trifecta.

Grace is starting to ramble about something, and I am trying to zone out and go to my happy place.

Grace: "Mama, are you listening to me????"

Me: "Yup."

Grace: "I don't dink you are. You're fibbing."

 Me: "How about I give you your paci and you take a little snooze."

Don't judge, people. Yeah, so she still has a paci. Desperate times, my friends. Desperate times.

Wait...what is this?!?!

~Quiet.~

 Has it really happened?! Have they both fallen asleep?!

HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! I can actually hear choirs of angels singing.

As we pull into the driveway, I am almost giddy with the thought of getting them both down for naps. I could actually eat a sandwich with BOTH hands and maybe even throw in a load of laundry in peace (I know, I know...the things mothers wish for).

And then it happens...

a series of tiny little sneezes from the car seat. I close my eyes and say a little prayer. But despite my pleas to the big guy upstairss, Grace's eyes fling open.

Grace: "Mama, I'm not tired. I want to watch TV. I want to eat lunch with you. No more naps. It's day time. Did you hear Patrick sneezing? Maybe he has a lil' cold. I had a lil' cold last morning. Mama, why are you banging your head on da wheel?"

The Beginning

In December 2007, I gave birth to my first child, a beautiful baby girl. And my world was turned upside down.

My world was absolutely R - O - C - K - E - D.

Most new moms can understand this. Everything is so incredibly intense in those first few weeks. The love you never knew was possible, the "mama bear instinct" (as I like to call it) that comes out of nowhere, the sleep deprivation that would drive even the sanest person a little crazy...oh yeah, and did I mention the hormones?

Mommy lesson # 1 - Never underestimate the power of hormones.

As a little background on me, I am 29 years old.  I am a part time OB nurse. I love my job! But I am more in love with my family. In 2006 I married my high school sweetheart. Pat is a warm, caring and all around swell guy! Oh yeah...and he's pretty easy on the eyes too. Yup, I married a looker.

Once we were married, I knew I wanted babies, and luckily, my guy was right on board. So we did...well, what you are supposed to do to get a baby. And six months later...

We were pregnant!!

I suffered through pregnancy as every woman does (and those of you who say pregnancy is "easy" are LYING! But that is another blog entry for another time) and waited, and waited and waited. I thought I would be pregnant forever. But then in the early morning hours of December 1st, 2007...

Along came Grace! A little girl who would teach me a world of lessons (among the biggest being patience)

Grace is a girl's girl (with a capital G). Famous for her bouncing curls. Loves princesses, anything sparkly, dancing, singing and drinkable yogurt. She is great company and most days I feel like she is a lot smarter than I am. 

Two years later, we forgot ourselves, and did it all again. On July 2nd, 2010 along came baby brother...

Patrick!!

A super cuddly, busy boy. Hates the car (getting in the car these days makes me  die a little on the inside, knowing I will spend the next however many minutes listening to this kid scream as though he were being speared by hot pokers). But he loves snuggles, his activity gym, when mama blows raspberries, Elmo and his sister. Learning to use his voice and make his place known in this family. 

So there you have it. The cast of characters. Let the hilarity ensue...