my parents used to have dinner IN A RESTAURANT with me sleeping in the car, and I turned out okay...

I just heard that a woman in my town parked her car in front of Starbucks, with her kids strapped into car seats, locked the doors and went in to grab a coffee. She was supposedly in and out in 2 minutes and could see the kids through the windows at all times, but someone called the police, and she was arrested for child endangerment. I have to say that I was a little bit surprised. I was surprised that someone would call the police over those 2 minutes she was gone, and I was also surprised she was arrested. I haven't, and don't think I ever would, run into Starbucks and leave the kids in the car, but I also wouldn't call the police on someone else who did do it, unless they were gone for 20 minutes or went into a bar or something crazy like that.

It has definitely made me reconsider some of the decisions I've made to leave or not leave Gabe and Josie in the car, and I even went so far as to call our State Police headquarters to ask them specifically what the laws are for unattended children in cars. In the interest of full disclosure, I have left Gabe strapped into the car in front of the dry cleaner during snow storms, with the doors locked, and the front of the dry cleaner is glass, and I am exactly 10 feet away from my door. It makes me a little nervous, but there is no way I can manage the dry cleaning and him and the snow at the same time (he's a sprinter) and he is certainly safer in the car than running through the parking lot without me. I have also left Josie in the car when I run up the stairs to pick up Gabe at his toddler program, but I'm thinking that I may not be doing it anymore. Not because I think anything would happen to her on our safe suburb street in broad daylight with all the other parents running in and out of their cars, but because now I'm nervous someone might call the cops on me!

What do you think? Would you get money out of the ATM? Mail a letter? What about putting your shopping cart away in the cart corral (apparently that is illegal in some states)? What about weather and time of day? Sleeping child? More than one child? Are we taking things too far?

dirt

I had coffee on Monday with a girlfriend who has two daughters, the youngest of which is 10 months old, and she commented to me that she was surprised I was out running errands with Josie at only 2 months postpartum. It was then that I realized that maybe I'm being too hard on myself.

These are the things I accomplish on a daily basis:
1. I am keeping both of my children alive and dressed.
2. I pump at least one extra bottle of breastmilk and freeze it for a future date.
3. I make dinner almost every night for all of us.
4. I make Josh's lunch for the next day almost every night.
5. I load and unload the dishwasher.
6. I throw in at least one load of laundry a night.
7. I shower and sometimes even blow dry my hair (and occasionally even pluck my eyebrows).
8. I feed the dogs and let them outside to "do their business".
9. Watch television.
10. Check email.
(I also sometimes get out of the house to do things like grocery shop or mail packages or meet a friend)

The things I do not do:
1. Fold and put away all the laundry.
2. Vacuum.
3. Clean the kitchen.
4. Clean the bathrooms.
5. Clean ANYTHING.
6. Pick up toys.
7. Pick up clutter.
8. Pick up ANYTHING.
9. Put down the baby. Ever.

But all in all, I think I'm not doing THAT badly for 2 months postpartum. Yes, the house is beyond disastrous, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that. I vacuumed last weekend for the first time in, ohhh, a month maybe? And I only did it because Gabe was picking up so much dirt and dog hair on his fleece pajamas that I couldn't, in good conscience, let him get into bed with those same dirt and dog hair covered pajamas, so I was having to wash his pajamas every day and I was tired of doing the extra laundry. The living has wall to wall junk in it, including books and clothing strewn all over the place. The office still has the pillows and bedding from when my parents left on January 10th. The dining room table is covered in boxes of gifts sent by my inlaws' friends. Our bedroom is covered in more clothes and books, and Gabe and Josie's room have toys and laundry all over.

But still. My children seem pretty happy (well, at least the bigger one does, the little one screams a lot so it's hard to tell), I am pretty happy, I think Josh is pretty happy. We are wearing clean clothes and eating actual meals and haven't even ordered take-out or delivery. I'm going to have to be satisfied with that, at least for now. I'd love a cleaner house, and I do feel badly that Josh comes home to such a disaster, but hopefully it'll get better with time. Maybe Gabe can learn to fold and put away laundry. I can pay him in m&ms. Besides, by not cleaning, I'm building their immune system by exposing them to all this dirt, right?

yummy

Last night, living room couch... Gabe leans over to sniff Josie's head.

Me: What are you doing?

Gabe: I smell Josie.

Me: What does she smell like?

Gabe: She smell yike pancakes. Mmm.

time and maybe cupcakes

I have determined that the parenting of multiple children is characterized by guilt. Lots and lots of guilt.

Maybe it is because Josie is such a demanding baby- sweet, but demanding- and so I spend countless hours holding her and nursing her and wearing her around the house, and poor Gabe gets the short end of the stick. I really, really, really wish I could sit on the ground and play trains with him or push cars around or draw pictures at the kitchen table, but Josie wants to be walked around the house or tended to in some way. I've tried bouncy seats, I've tried putting her down on the blanket next to us, and even if we are directly interacting with her, she tends to get frustrated and cry after only a short period of time.

To his credit, Gabe still loves her. He kisses her and hugs her and pats her head and asks about her all the time. A couple of times, though, he has told me to put her down or leave her where she is rather than pick her up, and I feel terrible about that. Last week when he was sick, all he wanted was to be held by me, and I had to put him down constantly to nurse her or bounce her because she will scream incessantly even if Josh holds her.

At the same time, I feel guilty for Josie too. I feel guilty that because she wants to be carried all the time, I get frustrated with her, and wish she would just entertain herself briefly. Since she is in my arms rather than sitting on a chair in front of me, I can't spend the same amount of time admiring her chubby cheeks or sweet double chin. I feel like I should know what to do to get her to nap during the day in her bassinet. I wish I could take away the reflux so that she wouldn't fuss just before spitting up. The pediatrician asked about tummy time the other day, and I almost laughed out loud. I don't even know if she would do tummy time, because it hasn't even occurred to me to try. My mother in law asked if she would hold a rattle, and again, I wouldn't even know because I haven't even tried.

Basically, I wish there were two of me.

Thankfully, every day Josie is a little bit better, a teeny tiny bit more independent, and hopefully as we approach Spring, our illnesses will lessen too. I'm also trying desperately to develop an organizational plan that will help me to take care of the kids and manage the house and be productive during the day. If I could find a way to spend even 20 short minutes of 100% devoted time with Gabe, then I think I would feel much less guilty. If we could spend more time with the television turned off, I think I would also feel much less guilty.

Time will help, and in the meantime, I'm telling you, I'll be over here, feeling guilty guilty guilty.

I'm boarding a jet plane

I just booked my ticket for a trip to visit my parents in California, then on to visit my in-laws in Florida, then back to Boston from Florida. On this trip I will have actual ASSISTANCE with both of my children for the full three weeks I am gone. Perhaps I will go to a movie, or take a shower without someone screaming from the other side of the shower curtain, or maybe even go out to dinner! With adults! Oh, the possibilities.

Josh will not be accompanying me on this trip, which means that although I will have help once we land, I will travel alone with both kids. This also means that I am NOT bringing the dogs with me because I am brave but not CRAZY. You cannot even imagine the hilarity that ensues when I travel with Gabe and the dogs and have to take all three through the security line, especially pregnant.

I'd unbuckle Gabe from his car seat/stroller combo, take off his shoes, ask him to stand RIGHT HERE while I open the dog's bag, ask Gabe to NO COME BACK AND STAND RIGHT HERE, take out one dog, tell Gabe to COME BACK HERE, take out the other dog while the first dog is squirming and trying to jump out of my arms, run over and pull Gabe back to where we are standing, tell 4 people to go ahead of us in the line, ask Gabe to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STAND HERE, load the dog bag and the rest of our bags and the car seat/stroller combo on the belt, direct Gabe through the line, discover that the car seat/stroller combo doesn't fit through the belt, take it off the belt and ask for the hand check, turn around to find that Gabe has run away and is climbing on the stacks of plastic baskets, drag him back over and push him through the security check in front of me, and remember that all of this is with two squirming dogs in my arms who are both trying to get down and scratching each other and me in the process, walk through the security line, wait for the bags, drop one of the dogs, pick the dog back up while the second dog is holding on for dear life, promise Gabe cookies if only he'll stand right here for another minute, get one dog into the bag, get the other dog into the bag, put both of our shoes back on, get the car seat back and strap Gabe back in and then start the two mile walk to the last gate in the airport, because we always, always get assigned to the last gate. By the time we board the plane, I'm always a disheveled, nauseous, hot and sweaty mess, and we haven't even begun the trip.

I feel a little sick just thinking about it. And imagining that disaster with TWO kids and two dogs and one me is beyond even my capabilities. I thought about adding them to our reservation because they really do love to visit California and Florida since they love the heat, but Josh wouldn't even discuss it. Because he loves me and would like for me to come back sane.

I'm not worried about the trip, at least not yet, and I figure I will just throw Josie into the sling and take Gabe in his car seat/stroller combo thing, and check the double stroller at the check-in desk. I'm going to ignore the fact that she does not, at this point in time, like the sling, and we'll just hope for the best. On the plane, it'll be the first time we've purchased a seat for Gabe and I plan to strap him into his car seat for the 5 hour flight and not even TOUCH the straps until we land. He can eat whatever he wants, play whatever he wants, watch 5 straight hours of television on the dvd player, but NO ONE is getting down. It may actually work because I've never let him down on an airplane, so he doesn't even seem to realize that walking on the plane is a possibility. I plan to keep it that way until he is a teenager, at least.

Best of all, there will be no snow in both California and Florida, and perhaps there will even be sunshine and vitamin D. Also, lots of assistance from grandparents whose sole purpose in life is to make and keep my children happy. It should be great. I'm counting down the days.

on the mend

Slowly, slowly, slowly, we are getting better.

On Monday morning, I walked into Gabe's room and was met with another horrific disaster of a mess, so I picked up the phone and called the pediatrician. By 11am, when we had to leave for our appointment, I had already gotten sick 15-20 times. As we were pulling into the doctor's office, I had resigned myself to going to the emergency room for iv fluids. I couldn't see any alternative that would work, because I couldn't keep any fluids down, and even if I could, there was no way I could keep up with the quantity of fluids I needed to drink.

From a person who thought the absolute worst part of labor was the iv, you can imagine how bad I felt.

Thankfully, the pediatrician was willing to listen to the complaints of all 3 of us and he had lots of suggestions, especially for me since I was still obviously showing the vestiges of the last 2 hours I spent sobbing as I ran to and from the bathroom. Fabulous morning, as you can imagine. Chief among his pieces of advice was for me to start drinking and eating some salt so that I could retain water. Sports drinks, chicken stock, soda, anything with salt and/or calories would help. Plus, he gave a couple more suggestions for over the counter medications that were safe while breastfeeding, although to be honest, it never even occurred to me to check on whether Pepto Bismol was safe for breastfeeding because I was so desperate to try something that would help.

I took all of your comments seriously when some of you suggested something more serious than the stomach flu, like salmonella poisoning, but the pediatrician said he doubted it because we would actually be far sicker from salmonella poisoning, and it apparently isn't as contagious. Contagious, yes, but not rampantly contagious like what we were experiencing.

I began guzzling sports drinks and chicken stock like it was my job, and miraculously, I started to feel better. I also napped for 3 hours while Gabe slept, with Josie tucked into my side on the couch. When I woke up, it was the longest I'd gone without getting sick in a very long time and the trend continued.

Yesterday, Josh went back to work and Gabe ate actual food on two separate occasions and I didn't feel like dying. I even did a load of laundry and folded some of it and played trains on the floor with Gabe and SHOWERED even- it was amazing. Maybe we'll even leave the house at some point in the next couple of days and breathe actual clean outdoor air. Or at least outdoor mall air, because Mommy needs some retail therapy with our nonexistent money after a week like this. Josie wants this overpriced shirt. Of course, it has been sunny and 40 degrees in Boston since last Wednesday, when Gabe first started throwing up, and today we are expecting a snowstorm. Because, of course we would have a snowstorm today. Of course.

As long as I don't have to clean up any more vomit, though, I'll take it and applaud. Hurray for feeling better!

and... another one bites the dust

Last night, while we were enjoying our little bit of child-free time, Josh told me that he was freezing, and I knew that was it. My progression of illness was freezing cold with chills, vomiting, diarrhea, passing out, and then continuing vomiting and diarrhea, on and off since Friday. At around midnight, he bolted upright, ran to the bathroom, and that was it. We were both up for most of the night, because there was no way I could sleep through his constant trips to the bathroom.

This morning, I took over kid duty even though I am very far from okay. I had to lay down twice on the kitchen floor to keep from passing out when Gabe wanted some crackers. In the scale of sickness, though, I'm better than Josh so I had to take over. There have been some scary moments, though. Not long after I realized that I wasn't going to be able to do any walking while taking care of Gabe and Josie, and would have to rely mostly on crawling and lying on the couch, I heard a loud clatter upstairs and then some banging. I ran upstairs to find Josh passed out on the bedroom floor, and I'm not going to lie, seeing your husband passed out, looking gray and thin and almost child-like in his vulnerability, made my heart stop a little. He came around immediately after falling, and I guess he thought he could make it back to the bed before he would actually pass out, but he fell against the dresser and pulled the bassinet on top of him as he fell.

I helped him into the bed, and then had some panicky moments where I thought about the possibility of needing to call an ambulance for both of us if we got any worse. I suspect that both of us need to get some more fluids and might benefit from an iv, but I'm hoping we can make do with drinking a ton.

Thankfully, though, Gabe seems better and even ate a piece of a banana, some plain baked potato and some crackers. Josie, even more amazingly, is still holding out. I'm praying that I have super breast milk that will give her enough antibodies to combat this, because I have no doubt that she'll end up in the hospital if she does get sick. Whatever this is, it is disastrous.

spoke too soon

I was given false hope when I wasn't that sick on Thursday, but yesterday I was hit with the full force of the stomach flu. I must have gotten sick 40-50 times yesterday, and around 7pm I actually passed out on the bathroom floor. I tried to drink fluids, but sometime in the afternoon my milk dried up and poor Josie would sit on my boob endlessly looking for more food. It was awful.

Gabe seemed a little better yesterday, but as evening approached his diarrhea and vomiting started up again and today he has been a disaster. He doesn't even have the strength to walk around or play. It is terribly pitiful.

Josh is running back and forth between the two of us, trying to make everyone feel better, take care of Josie, and keep both himself and Josie from catching this latest stomach bug.

We're a bundle of fun over here, huh?

un-fucking-believable

We have the stomach flu. AGAIN. Gabe came home from the toddler program with a report of diarrhea, but I thought maybe it had to do with the raw cupcake batter I let him eat the night before. But then last night he had another bout of diarrhea, and then at 2am I was woken up by him crying. A horror of horrors met me when I ran into his room. Vomit. Everywhere. Diarrhea. Truly everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

It was so bad I threw out the pajamas he was wearing because I couldn't possibly imagine putting those in my washer. I had to wake Josh up because Gabe was so hysterical, I couldn't do everything I needed to do by myself because I couldn't put him down. We had to bathe him at 2am, strip the bed, start the laundry, remake the bed, line the bedroom with towels, dress him again, and somehow make the upstairs stop smelling like death. Josh decided to start spraying the beds and air with vanilla scented air freshener, which just made the upstairs smell like vanilla shit. It was awesome.

This morning, I woke up with the stomach flu too, but thankfully it hasn't been that bad. Gabe has been okay, for the most part, since last night. He is whiny and mopey and won't eat anything, but I can deal with that. We are just watching a lot of television from the comfort of the couch, and I'm just trying to keep everyone happy and keep Gabe from touching Josie too much.

Then, because we wouldn't want things to get boring around here, my friend called to tell me that at a birthday party on Saturday, Gabe was exposed to the chicken pox. Gabe hasn't gotten the chicken pox vaccine because my pediatrician doesn't believe in it, which is a whole other post for another day. I'm fine with Gabe getting the chicken pox, or at least theoretically I've always been fine with him getting chicken pox, but I didn't expect that to be when I have a newborn at home. I guess that is the problem with the chicken pox, you don't get it when it is good for you, you just get it. Whether it's convenient or not.

After a freak-out on my part, I'm trying to stay calm. There is nothing I can do at this point, except do my best to keep Josie from possibly being exposed. The incubation period is 10-21 days, so we have a long wait ahead of us. Chatty Cricket, because she took pity on me, even called her own pediatrician to get some advice but the advice was the same. Wait it out, hope Josie doesn't get sick, and hopefully if either one of them does, it won't be serious.

I'm definitely stressed. I'm definitely not happy. And I am definitely sick and tired of all the sickness. I hate that I'm spending so much time during Josie's first weeks worrying about whether she is going to get sick or not. It is enough to make me consider pulling Gabe out of his toddler program, but I can't do that. I need the time, he adores the school, it wouldn't be fair. It just stinks.

not fighting the power

When I was pregnant with Gabe, I viewed my expanding belly with a certain measure of awe. I couldn't believe my body was capable of doing this amazing thing, and I was ecstatic when it became obvious to those around me that my buddha belly was from pregnancy, not just weight gain. I was pretty liberal with what I ate, taking advantage of the pregnancy and enjoying the newfound flavors that were appearing in food. I don't know if this happens to everyone, but when I'm pregnant, food tastes amazing. An ordinary turkey sandwich turns into the most delicious turkey sandwich I've ever had, a chocolate chip cookie can practically cause orgasms, and even a salad tastes delectable.

This liberal attitude meant that as the end of my pregnancy approached, I'd gained considerably more weight than I'd hoped to gain. It wasn't atrocious, but I ended up gaining around 40 pounds. I say "around", because they didn't weigh me at my last appointment when I ended up being induced, but based on where things were headed at my 40 week appointment, I'm sure I hit at least 40 pounds and I choose not to even think about how much I may have gained in those last few days. I still (stupidly) wasn't super worried about the weight gain because up until that point I hadn't struggled with my weight. I fluctuated a bit over the years from college to law school and through marriage and job changes and moves, but we're talking about a change of about 5-10 pounds, nothing that would have made me think that losing the pregnancy weight would be a challenge. My mom always talks about how she lost all her pregnancy weight within 2 months of giving birth, and I was optimistic that I'd have a similar experience.

I was, umm, very wrong. From the start, losing the weight from Gabe's pregnancy was difficult. I dropped the typical water weight, placenta, amniotic fluid, and actual baby weight within a couple of weeks, but I was left with 15-20 pounds that were firmly settled into my hips, thighs, and stomach. Breastfeeding did NOT help, and in fact, in the end it turned out that my body held onto a good 5-7 pounds until I finished breastfeeding, no matter what I did. Losing the weight did happen, but not until Gabe was 15 months old. I stopped breastfeeding when he was a year old, watched what I ate (to a certain extent), started taking longish exercise walks with Gabe, and willed the weight away. I had gotten to the point where I started to think that perhaps the weight would never go away, when I stopped breastfeeding and slowly the last pounds started coming off.

Still, even when I hit my pre-pregnancy weight, I didn't fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes. I suspect my body has reorganized itself into a different shape, but as long as the number on the scale was the same, I could deal with the new changes. I bought almost a whole new wardrobe of pants and shirts, and I was relatively satisfied with where I was.

And then I got pregnant.

Literally, the same month that I hit my pre-pregnancy weight, that second line showed up on the test. I couldn't believe it. Having just lost the last few pounds of weight, being pregnant again was a totally different experience. I was anxious and careful about the weight gain this time around. I was almost relieved, in a way, that my nausea kept me from over-eating. I felt sick far, far longer than I had with Gabe, and although it was torturous to be debilitatingly nauseous at 20 weeks, I was grateful when I stepped on the scale each week at the doctor's office and found that the numbers had stayed the same.

At the same time, though, I felt so guilty to be obsessing over such an inane thing. Who cared about the weight gain when I was so blessed? How could I be thinking about a stupid number when I was growing a beautiful baby? But I couldn't help myself. I was terrified of facing the same long struggle with pregnancy weight, and I pledged to try to gain less this time around. I'd be more careful, do a little more exercise, eat a few less cookies. As I'm writing this I feel like this makes it sound like I was seriously restricting my food intake or agonizing over this, which couldn't be farther from the truth. It wasn't like I was going to the gym or taking extreme measures with my diet, but it was often on my mind.

In the end, I was able to gain less than my last pregnancy, and Josie was kind enough to come a few days early, which helped. I topped off at 30 pounds, and I was really happy with that number. I would have loved to keep it at 25, but I also didn't want to put down the cookies, so I guess I didn't want it that bad.

Thankfully, the post-partum experience has been totally different also. With a toddler and a newborn, I don't have the time to sit on the couch and eat all day. I'm also up and down playing with Gabe and picking up the house and bouncing Josie around. The weather has been abysmal here, so we've done NO walking whatsoever, but still the number keeps dropping on the scale. On Saturday, I almost cried when I was able to fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans after less than 8 weeks. That is ridiculous! Gabe was a year old before any of my pre-pregnancy clothes could even be attempted. I still have a ways to go, though, and I suspect I might still hold onto these last 6 pounds, just as I did with Gabe, but I'm relieved that I haven't struggled the same way.

At the same time, even as I'm typing this post, and while I was watching my weight over the last 11 months, I feel almost sick that this is worthy of a blog post. Why are we (or at least me) so obsessed with weight? Who cares? We attended a birthday party on Saturday, and I was struck by how thin all of the mothers were. Not just regular thin, but almost anorexic thin, TOO thin. Even the ones that were pregnant were all skinny legs and arms with a belly protruding from fitted clothes. I got an email the other day with pregnancy tips and their advice was that I do a MINIMUM of five days of cardio per week while I'm pregnant. I'm sorry, I am all about staying fit and keeping things healthy and under control when you're pregnant (and I saw the results of eating liberally last time), but I also think that maybe we are going overboard.

Not only do I have an Ivy league education, try to be a good partner for Josh, raise two kids, keep the house in decent shape, be interesting, fun, kind, but I also have to look hot doing it. It's crazy!

Still, I know it is nuts and unfair and unnecessary, but I will still be relieved when those last pounds are gone. Vain, huh?

file this under "DUH"

Seriously, I could start loaning my kids out as a diet plan. I lost two more pounds in the last few days. Probably a combination of not being able to eat much and running all over the place helping everyone else. Plus the lunges I do to get her to sleep. But really, it's a plan. It could be a win-win for everyone. You lose the weight, I don't have to hire a babysitter!

Over the weekend, Josie caught the cold from her brother (of course), and on Monday morning, we discovered that she has broken the record for youngest baby with an ear infection. She clocked in at 7 weeks and one day with a massive infection in one ear. The fun never ends around here! So these days I am dispensing baby Zantac, amoxicillin, and baby Tylenol two times a day. Considering that her brother had nothing but breast milk for the first six months of his life, this is definitely a change for us and I try not to feel guilty for what it might be doing to her poor little stomach.

I have to admit, when the pediatrician proclaimed her ear terribly inflamed, I was pretty surprised. Josh and I agreed that Josie seemed happier over the weekend, and she has graduated to cooing and smiling, and doing what really sounds like actual laughs. If you bend down and tickle her chin or cheeks, she'll make these little "heh, heh, heh" sounds. It is totally stinking adorable. It may not be actual laughs, but they sure do sound like it. So when the pediatrician kept asking if she was being extra fussy, I really didn't think so. But whoooo boy, on Monday night she proved us wrong. She screamed nonstop from 9pm until 1:40pm, and although she would collapse from exhaustion every so often, as soon as I put her down the screaming would start up again.

Neither one of my kids has ever consented to be swaddled, and since we came home Josie hasn't been swaddled for longer than 30 seconds. We've tried a few times and have been met with such screams, we've pretty much given up. As we were approaching the wee hours of the morning, though, I got desperate. I pulled out the swaddling blanket, wrapped her up, and boom. She was out like a light. AND SLEPT FOR 6 HOURS STRAIGHT. That was the longest stretch we'd ever had. On Tuesday night, she screamed for a bit, and I took a chance. Again, swaddled and boom. Out. And then, I'm afraid to even type this, she slept for 8 hours and 20 minutes. Eight. Hours. Of course, I slept for less than that because my boobs almost exploded during that time, but still. I would make love to the swaddle blanket if I could. I'm obsessed with it.

Last night, we had one wakeup after 2 hours of sleep, and then she slept 6 and a half hours again. This is seriously approaching a record, and I'm considering leaving her in the swaddle blanket 24 hours a day. I am also kicking myself because I guess I could have been getting this much sleep all along, if I'd only stuck with the blanket instead of giving up right away, but I'll take this and count my lucky stars.

At this moment, she is swaddled and asleep and I am treasuring the peace and quiet. Ahhh. Can you hear that? That, my friends, is the sound of two sleeping children. Isn't it beautiful?