Cartoonist, Artist, Geek, Evil Crafter, Girl Scout Troop Leader and Writer. Also, a zombie. I haven't slept in I don't know how long.

Another Long Night With A Screaming Baby

I stand corrected. Michael is not going to Disney World for his conference in August. He’s going to the Rocky Mountains in Colorado instead. Not quite as fun a destination, but he still gets to go sans kids and spouse for a week. Quite frankly, I’d kill just to go to the bookstore for a few hours sans kids and spouse. As a matter of fact, after a week dealing with the kids on my own, I just might kill as soon as Michael walks in the door.

We had another long night last night. Sam continues to have problems with lactose overload. I overproduce breast milk and as a result Sam gets too much foremilk and not enough hind milk. The foremilk is loaded with lactose, and when she gets too much in her digestive tract, she has a lot of tummy troubles – gas, fussiness, and messy green poop. It’s painful for her and she screams all night whenever this happens. I’m still experimenting, trying to figure out how to get her more hind milk, which has all the fats in it that will help fill her up more quickly and keep her from overeating. I’ve been pumping off about an ounce of milk before nursing her. I think the problem yesterday was that I gave her a bottle of pumped milk while we were out. There was probably too much foremilk in it and not enough hind. This is going to cause problems if that’s the case, because now I’ll have to pump extra milk whenever I want to have a bottle for her, getting rid of the first ounce or two. I can do it, but it may make me produce even more milk, which causes my breast to swell up like big fat water balloons and only furthers the problem of overproduction.

Sigh. I can’t win.

Anyway, Sam wouldn’t settle down after her 9 PM feeding so it looked like we were in for a long night of back patting and walking around the house. I tried giving her a bath, but that didn’t help much. I let her nurse, hoping she’d soothe herself to sleep while she ate, but that didn’t work either, and probably only made things worse. I tried pulling her into bed with me and patting her back until she calmed down, but she wasn’t having any of that last night. Finally, around 11 PM, I put her in the front pack and headed downstairs to walk around the house with her for a while.

The worst thing about nights like these is that they make me feel totally useless. There is almost nothing I can do to soothe Sam, and what I can do wears me out pretty quickly. I also know that I’ll be up all night, making me even more useless the next day. Not a fun situation to be in, especially on Wednesday, which is Cassie’s play date day. While I was downstairs with Sam, I decided to set up the coffee maker to make my morning a little more bearable. As I was washing out the filter, Sam started to calm down a bit. That’s when I suddenly had an idea. What if, instead of waiting until tomorrow morning to do my chores, I did them then and there while Sam was strapped to me? I couldn’t do everything, but I could do most of my morning routine, and that way I wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning the house the next morning while I was dead on my feet.

I decided to try it. After setting up the coffee pot, I went through my list of chores and did most everything I would normally do at 6 AM. I folded laundry, washed the cat food bowls, swept the floors, straightened up and put toys away, etc., etc. By midnight, the downstairs was clean. Even better, Sam was sound asleep, her little face buried between my overproducing breasts.

I was able to get Sam upstairs and into bed without waking her. She slept for almost four hours before waking to nurse. When she woke, she didn’t seem as fussy. I let myself sleep late this morning, but because I got my chores done, I’m still on track to get out the door in time for Cassie’s play date, AND I’m not dead on my feet. I’ll have to remember this for next time. It’s going to make my life a lot easier today.

What’s It Worth, Really? A Mom’s Nonexistent Paycheck

Time for me to bitch and whine. It’s 9 AM and I am well into the third week of taking care of the kids on my own with minimal help from Michael. That’s not to say he doesn’t want to help, but right now he’s tied up with a paper he’s got to finish writing for a major conference he’s attending in August.

Said conference is being held at Disney World, of course.

There are times when it just doesn’t pay to be a mom. Now is one of them. I’m busting my ass to take care of two kids and the house, while Michael runs off to work every morning to kill himself over this paper. His work is important – it pays the bills to say the least. My work is important – nobody else is going to scrub toilets, change diapers all day, and clean dirty underwear. So why is it that Michael gets to go off to Disney World on his own for a week while I continue to wallow up to my armpits in dirty toilets and poopie drawers?

You can’t pay a mom to do her job. There just isn’t enough money in the world. For the past three weeks, I’ve had to put both kids to bed by myself most nights. It’s not easy convincing a three-year-old to take a bath when you’re walking around with a six-week infant latched onto your breast. I mean come on, I’ve only got two arms.

In an ideal world, Michael would stay home in the evenings to bathe Cassie, read her stories and put her to bed while I sat in my glider nursing a baby who is determined to chew my nipples off. In my dream world, I would bathe Cassie, read the stories and put her to bed while Michael nursed Sam and tried to determine if our health insurance pays for nipple replacement. Not gonna happen though, is it?

What really ticks me off about this is that I do have work to accomplish outside of the kids and the house. I have a story that needs to be written and two drawings in progress. I have a 3D illustration that I’ve been struggling with for weeks now that I’m only finally beginning to make any headway on. And yet, how much time do I get to spend on any of these projects? Almost none. Yesterday I got to spend five minutes writing before Cassie came skipping out of her room declaring that nap time was over and she wanted to play, thus putting a premature end to my plans for the afternoon.

I know one day the kids will be off at school and I’ll have plenty of time to work. Until then, however, I am on unpaid maternity leave. I hope someone somewhere appreciates that fact.

The Devil Wears Pink – An Analysis Of Little Girl’s Fashions

We got a package in the mail from my mom on Saturday. It was addressed to Cassie and Sam. Inside were a few small toys and a pink dress for each girl.

Why am I not surprised?

Cass is running around with her pink dress, telling me “It’s beautiful!” She can’t wait to wear it. At only six weeks of age, Sam doesn’t have any opinions yet on her wardrobe, but I can foresee the day when she prances about with her clothing, telling me how much she adores her new pink outfit from Grandmama.

If you look in either child’s closet, you will see an endless, monochromatic row of little pink dresses. They come in all shades of pink, from delicate pastel to magenta, but they are all pink. I think Cassie used to have a few dresses that are some other color, like blue or white or purple, but I could never get her to wear those. She’s always got to wear the pink ones. In fact, she wears pink dresses so much I had to institute a rule – no dresses, pink or otherwise, on play dates. It’s just one of those things. I think playing, especially the rough and tumble preschooler kind, is best done in pants and a t-shirt. And besides, I need a break from pink every now and then, otherwise I’ll go blind.

My own wardrobe includes only one pink shirt. That’s it. Everything else is brown, blue, black or red. I have an impressive collection of baggy black t-shirts and a few prized cherry red microfit tops. As for dresses, I think I have two left in the closet somewhere. Haven’t worn either one in ages though.

Cassie is in her room right now, picking out clothing. If I ask her which outfit she intends to wear, I’m pretty sure of the answer I’ll get.

It’ll be the pink one.

Shake Your Booty, Mama – Dancing To Get Some Exercise

One of the biggest problems I’ve had the last six weeks is fitting in exercise. Normally, I have no trouble getting in at least 30 minutes a day. It’s part of my regular schedule – karate class three times a week, yoga once or twice a week, weight lifting and cardio twice a week, etc., etc. It’s easy to do when I’ve signed up for a class and paid for it out of pocket. And since childcare is provided at most of these activities, I can usually just go do my thing without having to worry about a little rug rat tagging along, constantly asking “Are you done yet?”

Unfortunately, my obstetrician put the kibosh on my normal activities for the first six weeks post partum. My body needed time to recover from labor and pregnancy, he said. What he didn’t mention was that while my body was recovering, my brain was going to explode from the lack of stress relief. Apparently he thought I’d be able to relax and take it easy while constantly breastfeeding an infant and simultaneously chasing a three-year-old around the house.

So I’ve been looking for ways to exercise while being saddled with two kids. It’s not easy. I’ve been trying to walk on a daily basis, pushing Cassie in the jog stroller and wearing Sam in a Baby Bjorn front pack as I zip through the neighborhood, but that has its draw backs. For starters, it’s too damn hot to wear the front pack with a heat-producing infant in it. And second, it’s been raining here a lot lately. Walking around with a screaming baby strapped to myself while pushing a cranky wet preschooler in a stroller doesn’t do much to relieve any stress, although it does provide exercise.

So for rainy days I tried riding our stationary bike. Problem is I have to keep Cassie entertained while I do it. Otherwise, she’ll crawl up under the pedals and get herself kicked in the head, so she ends up screaming bloody murder. That’s a real no-win scenario for me.

As a last resort, I turned to my small selection of DVDs collecting dust in one of my bookcases. Unfortunately, Cassie seems to think the purpose of any DVD is to watch it for sheer entertainment value. She refuses to get up and participate. The last thing I want is to turn my kid into a little couch potato, so every time I do an exercise DVD, I tell Cass she either has to exercise with me or go play in another room. As you can imagine, this has led to more than a few arguments. Cassie starts out promising that she’ll do the DVD, only to stop and plunk her butt down in front of the TV after two minutes of marching around. When I tell her to get moving or go to her room, the whining kicks in big time. She can’t do the exercises, it’s too hard, can she just watch me do it, can she play in the room while I exercise, etc., etc… The whole scenario ends up with her in time out and me fuming as I try to get back into my workout. All of this does nothing to relieve any stress I’ve been feeling, and in fact only increases it.

Then on Thursday I had a moment of inspiration. It was raining outside again, and Cassie was busy dancing around the living room to one of her Wiggles CDs. I knew if I turned off the CD to play an aerobics DVD, she’d howl and then plunk herself down to watch rather than work out with me. What to do? While I pondered the question, I noticed that Cass was actually working up a sweat dancing to “The Big Red Car” song. Hmmm. If she could work up a sweat while dancing, why couldn’t I?

I decided to try it. I turned on my heart rate monitor, to see how much of a workout I was getting and I joined Cassie on the floor. I’m happy to report that after twenty minutes of shaking my groove thing to toddler tunes, I got my heart rate up as high as 130 beats per minutes and ended up with sweat pouring down my face.

Ah ha! Now I had a way to burn calories and involve Cassie too. Even better, Sam seemed fascinated by the music and the dancing. She never made a peep during the entire twenty minutes we were jumping about the living room. I could do this!

“Mommy! We’re dancing! We dance like the pirate girls!” Cassie shouted as we finished up another song on the DVD. That’s when I recalled the Scottish dancers we had seen the weekend before at the Mariner’s Museum. They had performed as part of a pirate festival held that day and Cassie had been entranced. She’d obviously been paying good attention too, because as we danced to the Wiggles music, she started performing some of the dance steps to a Highland jig.

That was my second “Ah ha!” moment. If Cassie liked Celtic music and dance, I didn’t have to limit myself to dancing to kiddie tunes. I took Cassie to our local Borders the next day and picked out an instructional DVD on Irish step dancing. The cover blurb assured me that I too could dance like Michael What’s-his-face in River Dance. Pleased with this idea, I headed to the cash register, day dreaming about jigging my way to a jiggle-free behind. Then a little hand tugged on my sleeve.

“Mommy, what’s this?”

Cassie held up a DVD that showed several little girls dressed in tutus skipping around on a hardwood floor. I read the cover – Baby Ballet: Includes ballet, jazz and tap lessons.

“That’s a dance video for little girls, sweetie.”

“I want to be a ballet girl, Mommy. Please?” she asked, staring at me with huge blue eyes.

How could I resist? I got her the DVD. As soon as we got home, though, I realized I was in trouble. The little girls on the cover of the DVD had tutus, so Cassie decided she needed one too. Fortunately, one of her dress up costumes has a tutu-like skirt, so I convinced her to wear that. Then Cassie demanded ballet slippers. Again, she had a pair of Tinkerbelle slippers that looked close enough to satisfy her. She wanted tights too, but considering that it’s 101 degrees in the shade right now, I convinced her she could do without.

Appropriately attired, Cassie set herself up in the living room while I popped the DVD in. She spent the next twenty minutes following along with a quartet of little girls who danced and glided their way through a series of ballet moves. Cassie did more galumphing than gliding, clogging her way along with so much characteristic three-year-old enthusiasm that I nearly hurt myself from laughing. She was dancing though, and as soon as she was done, she was tired enough to take a nap without any fuss. I had it made, I thought. Little did I realize I had created a monster.

That evening, Michael and I had plans to go out. Our babysitter Megan showed up at 6 PM. Cassie was eager to show Megan her new dance moves. Before heading out the door, I set up the DVD and told Megan Cassie could dance as long as she liked. Four hours later, Michael and I came home and found Cassie dancing along to the DVD. Megan was swaying along with the baby in her arms, looking slightly dazed.

“Wow, she decided to do the DVD again?” I asked.

“We never turned it off,” Megan replied. “Cassie’s been at it the entire time. She did the tap lesson and the jazz lesson a few times too. I think she has them all memorized by now.”

Needless to say, I made Michael give Megan an extra $5 for extreme hardship pay.

Ever since then, it’s been nothing but Baby Ballet. Cassie can’t stop dancing, unless I pop in my Irish step dance DVD. We tried that one yesterday and much to my disgust, I found that I can’t follow the damned thing, much less expect Cassie to do so. Oh, I could probably do it with a year’s worth of lessons under my belt and a couple of jog bras holding the Grand Tetons firmly in place on my chest, but that’s the only way I could do it. So there’s another fitness DVD that gets to collect dust on my shelf.

I did accomplish one thing in all this, which is to get Cassie up and moving. Now if only I could find some way to get me some exercise, we’ll all be doing just fine. Hmmm. Maybe we should try swing dancing?

We’ll see.

Ode To My Lactating Breasts

*Sung to the tune of “Do Your Ears Hang Low”

Do your boobs overflow
And shoot breast milk up your nose?

Like a fire hydrant spout?
Do they wear your D-cups out?

Do they sit below your shoulders
Like a pair of great big boulders?

Do your boobs overflow?

Thank you, thank you. Don’t applaud. Just throw money

Time Warp – A Preschooler’s Understanding Of The Hours Of The Day

We just got back from my six-week post-partum check up. Everything looks good, so I can now go back to my regular routine of exercise and activities. Most importantly, I can finally take a bath instead of a stupid shower.

We’ve got a play date scheduled for today. It’s our regular Wednesday play date, including story time at the local library and then lunch at Chic-Fil-A. Cassie is eager to go, and has only asked me a dozen times this morning if we can leave already.

Days like today have taught me that 3-year-olds have a rather distorted sense of time. In fact, I don’t think they’re even in the same universe as the rest of us, temporally speaking. For example, on Monday I had promised Cassie that we’d set up her little wading pool in the backyard after lunch. I made that promise when she got up at 6 AM. Lunch is at noon and usually ends around 1PM. So Cassie spent seven hours asking me when I would set up the pool. It went something like this:

Cassie: “Mommy, is my pool ready yet.”

Me (as I sit down to eat breakfast): “Not yet, dear. We’ll set it up after lunch.”

Cassie: I already had lunch. Daddy gave it to me.

Me: No sweetheart. Daddy gave you breakfast. Lunch won’t be until noon.

Cassie: Mommy, may I have Cheetos?

Me: No, sweetie. Cheetos are for lunch.

Cassie: But it is lunch time.

Me: No, it’s breakfast time right now.

Cassie: But I already had breakfast.

Me (getting slightly irritated): YOU had breakfast, but Mommy did not. She’s eating breakfast now.

Cassie: I’m hungry. May I have some Cheetos?

Me: No, Cheetos are a lunch food. It’s breakfast time right now. You may have some cereal or a piece of fruit if you’re hungry.

Cassie: I want cereal.

(I get up and poor her a bowl of Cheerios. She sits at the table and inhales it.)

Cassie: Now will you set up my pool?

Me (still trying to finish my breakfast): No, young lady. I already told you, we’re not setting up the pool until after lunch.

Cassie: But I just had lunch.

Me: No, you just had breakfast. I gave you cereal, remember?

Cassie: DADDY gave me breakfast. You gave me lunch.

Me (trying hard not to lose my temper): No sweetie, you had two breakfasts. Daddy gave you one breakfast, which you didn’t bother to eat, and then Mommy fed you again because you said you were hungry.

Cassie: I’m still hungry. May I have Cheetos now?

Me (starting to pull out my hair): No. Cheetos are for lunch.

Cassie: But I just HAD lunch.

Me: NO YOU DID NOT! NOW QUIT PESTERING ME AND LET ME EAT!

(Cassie sits very quietly and pouts for a few minutes. Then she perks up.)

Cassie: Mommy, if you eat Cheetos, then it will be lunchtime.

Me: AAAAAARRGGGH!

My advice, don’t ever get into these discussions with kids unless you are prepared for some serious mind bending arguments. Otherwise, you’ll go crazy.

The Power Of 5:30 AM

Ah, another morning where I’ve managed to wake up early. So early in fact that I was practically blind with sleep when I crawled out of the bed. But, right now it’s 8 AM, and so far I’ve succeeded in getting dressed, feeding the cats, cleaning the litter boxes, sweeping and vacuuming the downstairs, folding the laundry and making the bed. All I’ve got left to do for my morning chores is wipe down the bathrooms and spend 15 minutes cleaning in my kitchen. Then I’m free to do as I please for the rest of the day. Can’t beat that with a stick.

It’s amazing how much difference those early morning hours can make. I did not get everything done that I wanted to do yesterday, but I did accomplish a few things, like working on my current colored pencil drawing and setting up a new blog for my artwork. I probably could have done more, but I spent too much time writing my last blog entry. I’m keeping things short today in hopes that I’ll get more artwork done.

It’s hard to play more than one role right now, hard to be both the artist/writer and the mom, but I know if I don’t I’ll eventually snap and kill someone, most likely my poor husband. He doesn’t deserve that (at least not today). So I’m going to keep pushing myself to crawl out of bed at the butt-crack of dawn every morning. That way I’ll get the “me” time I so desperately need.

Who The Hell Stole My Time Off? One Pissed Off Mommy Is Ready To Rant

I had one good thing happen this weekend. My best friend came over for dinner Saturday and I got to watch a movie that wasn’t about a Disney Princess. The rest of the weekend pretty much sucked. If I thought people wouldn’t drop dead of a heart attack, I’d lay it all out in my native tongue (swearing), but the way I’m feeling, expressing myself would probably kill someone.

You see some days, everything just clicks. The whole day runs smoothly from 5:30 AM until 10:30 PM and everything gets done. Those are the days when I’m doing things for my family, like house cleaning or shopping or running errands. Then there are days were I want a little “me” time and the whole thing goes straight into the crapper. In fact, on those days, it feels like someone is deliberately screwing me out of my personal time. And I get pretty pissed about it too, can you tell?

I busted my ass last week to finish off a story for ERWA’s Blasphemy theme week. The story got an okay reception, people said they liked it, but the important thing to me was that I got it written and out the door under a tight deadline, in spite stuck in a chair nursing 50% of the time. I’d also gotten some paying artwork finished up as well in the past two weeks, so I was feeling pretty good and figured that after working so hard, I deserved a little time off.

Well, time off when you’re a mom doesn’t exist. I ended up racing around on Friday trying to run errands that I hadn’t been able to get to earlier. We had lunch with my best friend Mary and her son and that was great, but then after they left I had to put up with a couple of fussy kids. Neither one wanted to take a nap, so I got screwed out of my usual free time because nobody would go to sleep long enough for me to do anything I wanted to do. Then Michael came home and informed me he would be working all weekend. Okay, I figured I could deal with that. Mary and I had made plans to get together again on Saturday and as long as Cassie and Sam took a nap I’d still get two or three hours of time to do my fun stuff.

Now I swear to you, all I really wanted was some uninterrupted time to draw. That’s all I wanted. And it’s not like I’m trying to recreate the Sistine Chapel, by the way. I just wanted to practice some cartooning. But to make that one little thing happen, I had to get up at 5:30 AM. I knew if I got up at 5:30 AM, I could get the morning chores done, have time to exercise, and then take Cassie and Sam out to a playground or some place and wear them both out.

It didn’t happen. Sam was up all Friday night. I managed to drag myself out of bed around 8 AM after Cassie ran in and woke up Michael and me. It took forever to finish the morning chores. I did get a walk, but then had to come back and finish up more chores. Then Michael took off for work, leaving me with two cranky kids. I got Cassie down for a nap at 3:30PM, an hour later than I’d planned, but Sam wouldn’t fall asleep, so I ended up lying down on the bed with her to nurse her down. Guess which one of us ended up taking the nap?

So two hours later, I woke up and discovered my free time was gone, thanks to sleep deprivation. I decided I could live with it, as I still had Sunday afternoon to look forward to. Mary called, I told her to come over, and we spent the evening eating pizza and watching the kids horse around while we enjoyed a non-Disney Princess movie (I can recite “Beauty And The Beast” in its entirety, so the breather was much appreciated).

Mary went home, Michael took Cassie and got her ready for bed and then Sam went nursed and went to sleep. I was happy. I was going to get a good night’s sleep and get up early on Sunday so I could get my free time.

Guess what? I was screwed.

Sam woke around midnight, grunting and fussing. She continued to grunt and fuss all night. I was still wiped out, in spite of my two hour nap, so the only thing my tired little brain could think of to do was nurse her in bed. I spent all night curled up around this grunting, fussing, farting little twerp and got no sleep until just before my alarm went off at 5:30 AM. I turned off the alarm and went back to a fitful slumber. Thirty minutes later, Cassie came into the room and climbed into bed with us. Four people do not fit in a queen size bed, let me tell you, especially when one’s a farting infant who can take up three times the space of a full grown woman.

At 7:30 AM, I commanded the family to get out of bed, because I knew daylight was a wastin’. Cassie refused to get out and screamed when I repeated my demand. She got her first time out of the day at 7:35 AM. Somehow, we got through breakfast and then Michael headed off for work again. I spent the next five hours muddling through chores that should have only taken two. Sam kept screaming to nurse. Cassie kept pestering me for milk, or her doll, or to fix her bow, or to do something else. It was non-stop harassment all day. I called Michael before noon to come home for lunch. He asked did I want cheese for the sandwiches. He offered to get some on the way home. Like an idiot, I said yes and told him I’d serve lunch when he got home. Michael then went on a three-year shopping expedition, which I think ended at with him discovering the North Pole. Sometime around 12:45 PM, I had to break down and feed Cassie and myself. Michael came home just as we were finishing up. He had cheese. And yogurt. And milk. And deli meat. And fruit. And about twenty other items I hadn’t asked for. It wasn’t the shopping that took so long, he told me. It was standing in line waiting for the deli clerk to slice the cheese that had been the problem. Riiiiiiiiiiight.

Sam started crying again so up I went to the glider to nurse her. Did I mention that I now have to pump out some excess breast milk before each feeding to keep her from overloading on the lactose in the foremilk? So she howls for five minutes while I hook up my raw, chaffed nipples to the breast pump from hell and bleed off two ounces. Then we nurse. And nurse. And nurse. Sam nursed for fifty minutes and would not let me unlatch her. Meanwhile, Cassie kept hovering around wanting to know when we were headed out for the museum to see the pirates. Again, I’m an idiot. I promised Cassie we’d go do this no matter what, event though we’re rapidly running out of time before her scheduled nap, AKA my free time (2:30 PM). At 1:30 PM, I finally get Sam unlatched and we all hustle out the door to get to the museum.
The museum was nice, if you like taking things at a three-year-old’s pace. We whipped by all the interesting exhibits to get to the kids’ area where Cassie got her face painted up to look like a pirate. She got a sword balloon too and a little pirate doll. Then Sam started to howl AGAIN to be fed. Fortunately, the Scottish Dance Theater was getting ready to perform so I convinced Cassie we should go watch the dancers while I nursed Sam. That lasted about 20 minutes. Then Sam unlatched and howled some more. I wanted to stay to see the dueling exhibition (they had pretty boys dressed up as pirates and enough Johnny Depp look-a-likes to choke a sea monster), but Sam was fussing and Cassie wouldn’t sit still so I called it a day and we headed home.

Cass fell asleep in the car. Sam did not. I had to haul Cassie up to bed and sit and nurse Sam some more. Cassie woke up about five minutes after I put her down. It was now well past 2:30 PM and my free time was rapidly disappearing before my eyes. Over the next hour I nursed Sam while continuing to send Cassie back to her bed. After finally getting Cassie down, I had to soothe Sam was suddenly extremely fussy. I finally got her down for a nap at 4:45 PM. I went downstairs, had a drink and then banged my head against the wall as Cassie popped out of her room announcing once and for all that nap time was over.

And so it went, on and on and on. Things just kept going wrong the rest of the day. Michael didn’t leave work until late, so yours truly had to make dinner while keeping an infant calm and a preschooler entertained. We had waffles and scrambled eggs. Yes, I know. That’s not dinner. I don’t care, it was all I could come up with as there was no chicken thawed out. The rest of the evening flew by in a blur. I recall taking ten minutes of “me” time to scribble down a small cartoon and another five to run up to the office and scan it in. Woo-hoo, there goes my creativity for the day. Michael took over with Cass and got her to bed. Sam refused to calm down until 10 PM. The night didn’t get any easier either. Sam woke up grunting and farting again at 2:30 AM and all I could think of was, “Here we go again.”

By sheer force of will, I made myself get up at 5:30 AM. I felt ugly and vile, but I knew there was no way in hell I was going to get any time to myself if I didn’t get up at the crack of dawn. And somehow, as I muddled through a morning of temper tantrums, household chores, exercise, more chores, more tantrums and a couple of sessions of pumping and breastfeeding, I suddenly managed to click back into my normal routine. It caught up with me at noon, when I found myself relaxing on the couch, holding a contented baby and watching Cassie play happily with her Little People. We were all dressed, the chores were all done, and the afternoon was wide open.

Cass went down easy for her nap today. Sam’s a little fussy, but I can live with that. I’ve had some time to draw and plenty of time to finish off this rant. I may even get a little more work in, if I take Sam downstairs and let her fuss it out on the floor while I sketch. I won’t get everything done that I wanted to do today, but I got something done that satisfies the artist in me, and that’s enough to keep the mom in me from going off the rails.

We’ll see how tomorrow goes.

Potty Mouth And Baby Talk

One of these days, we’ll all be old enough to go to the toilet.

It’s a sad fact of life that once you have kids, certain adult things go right out the window. Going to the toilet is one of them. In our house, everyone goes “potty,” including my husband and me. I’m not even sure I can say the word “toilet” anymore because I’ve been saying “potty” for so long.

We do not urinate or have a bowel movement anymore either. We have poo-poo or pee-pee. But that’s okay because nobody in the house has a butt. Somehow we’ve all developed tushies instead.

I don’t know where the baby talk came from. I had no intentions of using it with my kids, but somehow it crept in while I wasn’t looking. It all sounds great when mixed in with my usual swearing, I tell you.

What’s really funny is the fact that Cassie is quite capable of speaking and understanding long words. Lately, she’s been asking me if we can have a “conversation” together. That’s her choice of words, not mine. She sounds so adult when she asks this, but once I say yes, things take a turn for the weird. It goes something like this.

“Mommy, can we have a conversation?”

“Of course, sweetie. What shall we talk about?”

“Hmm… Let’s talk about eating people.”

“Uh, okaaaaay, what about eating people?”

“Monsters eat people. People are crunchy.”

“Who told you this?”

“Aunt Khaki.”

“Remind me to thank Aunt Khaki the next time we talk to her.”

“Okay.”

Of course, the conversation with Aunt Khaki isn’t that much more rational. And I have conversations like this all day long. It’s no wonder I think I’m going crazy.

My Amazing Three-Year-Old – The Secret To Surviving Life With Child Number Two

I decided to forgo yesterday’s blog entry in order to finish off a short story for ERWA’s Blasphemy theme week. The writers’ group dedicates the first week of each month to a particular theme and I decided to see if I could actually start and complete a story in the five weeks between Sam’s birth and the upcoming theme deadline. The astonishing thing is that I did manage to complete the story and get it posted to the group. I don’t think it’s my best work, but it got done, which is all the proof that I need to know I’m back in the saddle again.

Yes, I think I’m back to a normal life, or as close as I’ll ever get, five weeks after Sam was born. It took a lot of work and a lot of help, but hey, it’s currently 9 AM and I’m dressed, Cassie’s dressed, everybody’s had breakfast, the laundry is folded and all my morning chores are done. Just as soon as Sam finishes nursing, I’m headed out the door for a 30 minute appointment with the jog stroller and my neighborhood walking path. Life does not get any better than this, boys and girls.

So how did this happen? Well, I owe a lot of this success to my oldest daughter Cassie, who’s only 3 ½ years old. Cassie has not only made life easy for me the past five weeks, she’s actually gone out of her way to help me. Now I’m not saying we haven’t had some temper tantrums and whining and all out fits, but for a three-year-old, Cass has been pretty amazing. For starters, she knows how to entertain herself. This is a huge help when I’ve got my hands full with a hungry baby. Right now, as I nurse Sam and type out this entry, Cassie is sitting on my bed reading some of her books. She makes the occasional comment to me, and sometimes asks for things I can’t possibly do at the moment (like run downstairs and get her milk, tie her shoes, etc.), but for the most part she’s keeping herself busy and content.

Cass has also been pretty good about helping out. If I’m stuck in the glider or on the couch, I can ask Cassie to get me something and she’ll usually find it with no problems. Sometimes she’ll give me that vacant stare and shoulder shrug that says, “Cassie’s not in right now, but if you’ll leave a message…” but for the most part, I can ask for something and usually get it.

What other amazing things does my big girl do? She dresses herself most mornings, or cons her daddy into doing it for her. I will admit, she does make some unusual outfit choices. Personally, I wouldn’t wear a Disney Snow White costume with purple sneakers, orange socks and hot pink swimming goggles, but if Cass thinks she can pull it off, who am I to stifle her sense of style?

Cassie also makes her own bed. Sometimes she’ll pick up her toys. She can shoo the cats out of the room if they’re being pests and she’s gotten very good at telling me when it’s time to breastfeed Sam or change her diaper. She also likes to announce when Sam farts, but I’m not really sure that qualifies as helping.

Perhaps the most astounding thing about Cassie is her ability to go potty all by herself. That makes all the difference in the world, let me tell you. I only have to worry about changing diapers on one child, and I don’t have to constantly prod Cassie to use the toilet. She knows when she has to go and will do it by herself. When we’re out, she’ll even ask to be taken to the potty if she needs. We have had a few accidents, but not enough to be a problem.

My girl is so smart! So well behaved! So astonishing to me! It’s hard to believe that she was once a chunky little baby like her sister, who spent most of the day lying across my lap as she sucked the life out of me through my nipples. How did this happen? When did this kid get so big and so capable?

I don’t know, but my advice to any mom thinking about having child number two is to make sure child number one can stand on her own two feet first. You’ll be ever so grateful when you’ve got a little helper ready to lend you a hand with your new screaming bundle of joy.