Not a Fan

Benjamin's Aunt Whitney is a big UT fan, so I decided to let him wear a UT onesie that someone gave him since he's going to her house today. Apparantly, Dr. Tadvick indoctrinated Benjamin at birth, though (one of the first things Benjamin saw was a Texas A&M surgical cap on the doctor who delivered him), because as soon as I got it snapped on him he pooped all over it and laughed out loud. Sorry, Aunt Whitney. Erin and Travis, I thought you'd enjoy this. Gig 'em, I guess.

Happy Birthday, April Baby

Our little April Baby would have been one year old today. What a strange feeling...so many things I still wonder about. Someday we shall know fully, even as we are fully known.

Dedicated

Yesterday Benjamin was dedicated to the Lord in a short ceremony at our church. It was really moving to look around and see our church family standing in support of us as well as our actual family (and some close friends) standing behind us. Many thanks to Grandma and Grandpa B., Pappy and Katie Faye, Mee Mee, Pops, Aunt Millie, Aunt Connie and Uncle Tom, Aunt Whitney, Aunt Debby, Shanna, Charles, and Meg for coming to support us on Benjamin's special day. Benjamin's two grandfathers laid hands on him as Pastor Rob prayed for him and for us. It was a really special time and we are so grateful.

Anger Management not Applicable

Since I'm a stay at home mom now, I've been looking forward to joining the local MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers). I spent some time on the MOPS website the other day and got the names of the mentors. I recognized one of them as a lady from my Tuesday night BodyFlow class and approached her on Tuesday to ask a few questions. She was super excited that I was interested in MOPS and was more than willing to tell me the date of the next meeting, explain the childcare situation, etc. An awkward moment occurred when she told me about the last meeting. "We had a wonderful speaker last week," she said. "Well, not that the subject matter applied to anyone. It was about anger."
I laughed and said, "Yeah, I bet no moms of preschoolers ever deal with that!" Then I realized she wasn't joking. She looked at me like I had just admitted to child abuse.
Now that I'm away from the embarrassment of the situation, I realize how ridiculous it was for her to assume that mothers who are tired, hormonal, and weighted with the responsibility of not only keeping their little ones alive but also providing an "enriching" neural environment would never have to deal with something so base as anger. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I'm sure I'm not the only one who has lashed out for no reason at a wonderful, but momentarily clueless husband. I'm probably not the only one who has wanted to slap the fifth person who said, "Oh, a c-section, huh? You took the easy way out." And I suspect I may not even be the only worn out woman who has ever looked at a screaming newborn and said, "I don't know what you want!!!!"and handed him off to whoever would take him for just fifteen minutes.
Hopefully, most of us already know how to deal with these moments of frustration and rage. But I can see the benefit of hearing a comedic teaching on the subject if, for no other reason, it just lets us all know that we're not the only ones. Few of us will need the kind of intese therapy or medication for anger management that would otherwise leave our children in danger. But I think all of us could use a moment to hear another woman laughing and nodding and saying, "Man, I've been there." I sincerely hope, despite this mentor's comment, that MOPS is a place for real women with real emotions who will be honest with each other. Because I really don't have time to go to a meeting of the Stepford wives twice a month.

Spilled Milk

Yesterday I decided to brave the grocery store with the baby for the first time. Well, truthfully, we were out of food, so I had to brave the grocery store. We've been before, but always with my mom or Jon. It went surprisingly well. Benjamin didn't cry in the carseat on the way to the store (he doesn't usually like the carseat). He didn't cry when I put him in the stroller. He seemed to like looking around and hearing all the sounds of the store. I put the groceries (mostly frozen meals and steamable vegetables) in the bottom basket of the stroller and headed for the checkout. All the while, I'm thinking how great this is all going. We check out. Our groceries are bagged--two plastic bags, one with a gallon of milk and one with all of the other groceries--and we go to the parking lot happily. I again have the groceries in the stroller basket. I am at a store that has special parking for new and expecting mothers, so I have a great spot right out front. I put Benjamin in the carseat first. He starts to fuss a little when I strap him in, so I start to hurry through the rest of my routine. I pick up the first bag of groceries and put it in the car. Then I reach for the milk bag. I have forgotten to lock the stroller wheels and it starts to roll a little. I try to catch it while still trying to get the bag and CRASH!!! I drop the bag in the parking lot. I wince as I look down to see the plastic filling up and then overflowing with so many white ounces. It becomes a river of white in the parking lot, breaking off into several streams as it flows down. Benjamin is screaming. I am crying. I am embarrassed. I am hot. I fold up the stroller and throw it in the back and just drive off with a screaming baby and no milk.

Halfway home I suddenly remember something my mom always says: "Don't cry over spilled milk." That's when the humor of the situation hits me. Mom, you have no idea, I think. Then I start laughing, almost hysterically. My laughter stuns my screaming son and he stops. He starts cooing instead. By the time we get home, we are both in a much better mood. Jon goes and gets us milk and chocolate chip cookie dough later in the evening.

Every day is a new day

Thursday:
Wake up feeling rested. Take the baby for a visit at school. Vacuum the house. Do two loads of laundry. Work on the scrapbook. Clear the table of junk mail. Cook dinner and serve it by 6:30pm. Give the baby a bath. Put the baby to bed. Pump extra milk for the freezer. I am super-mom.
Friday:
Wake up congested. Go through two boxes of tissues. Leave used tissues all over the house. Go through three changes of clothes. Try to remove baby poop from three pair of pants and all of baby's outfits. Baby goes through five changes of clothes. Try to remove baby poop from rocking chair cushion. Leave stain-treated clothes all over house. Get a frozen casserole out of the freezer to cook. I cook it but it gets cold while I'm cleaning up another poop explosion. Change five thousand diapers. Give the baby a bath. Put the baby in the swing while I take my third shower. Hear the baby cry--shower over. Milk lets down and showers my legs as I'm drying off. Nose is running like a faucet. Income tax reciepts are all over table that yesterday was clear. Rewarm dinner. Eat standing at kitchen counter at 9:30pm. Have three piles of laundry stacked randomly in bedroom. Look in the mirror. I am bloated. My hair is inexplicable. Have a kleenex stuck in each nostril. I am Bridget Jones.
Today:
Clean up from yesterday. Take care of baby. Blog. Cook from the freezer. Bake four pies (one for Daddy, one for Dakota, two for Easter lunch). Lots of help from mom. I am normal.
Tomorrow:
"Is a new day with no mistakes in it yet."

Murder, she thought.

I knew parenthood would take its toll on my marriage, but I didn't anticipate that it would actually make me fantasize about killing my husband. But, alas, at three in the morning, when Benjamin had been wide awake for over an hour and I finally got him to sleep, my sweet husband sniffed loudly enough to wake the dead. Immediately, despite my sincere love for him, I wanted him to join the dead. "If you wake the baby," I hissed, "I will kill you and make it look like an accident." I would like to tell you that I didn't mean it, that I was just tired and cranky, but...well....there it is.

Yes I Did!

Last night I went to the health club and took Body Flow. There were a lot of moves I couldn't do and I had to take some of the lighter options on others, but I stayed through the whole 55minute class and did something active the entire time! I know how proud of me you all are.

My plan is to continue with Body Flow only for two weeks, then add RPM for two weeks, and finally work my way up to Body Pump. I'm going to kick this c-section recovery in the caboose (there's some mommy talk for ya!)!