Officially Retired

I thought that maybe I'd nurse Cohen for 2 years.  Ainsley went 14 months, Freddie went 19.  So I thought I could take Cohen a bit further.  However, I've known for awhile that I may not be able to get the night weaning to really work if I didn't just stop all together.

Then last week I went to Oregon for work.  I was gone 4 full days.  I pumped and got next to nothing.  So I knew I was done.

Even before I left, I thought that this trip might do it.  Might get him over the hump.  Might be enough time apart for him to realize he doesn't need it.  So on Monday night, before I left, I nursed him and I knew that it might be the end.  I'm glad I thought about that and took the time to sit and rub his cheek and hair.  I'm glad I focused on just that for 10 minutes so I can remember his little face like that.  I can distinctly remember the last time I nursed each of my kids.  I've been lucky that I've always known when the end was near.  I've always been able to plan it out.

This time it's a bit different.  I am done nursing...forever.  And the weight of that makes me sad, because it means that I have passed another stage, checked off another box, moved forward a bit more.  My baby days are over.

But overall, I'm okay with it.  I didn't collapse into tears in my hotel room when I realized I wasn't making any more milk.  And I didn't cry and give in when he asked for it a few times this weekend.  I will miss his little fist on my shirt, big blue eyes staring up at me, repeating "NiNi?  NiNi?"  I will miss nights rocking him to sleep in the quiet of his room.  I will miss the power to soothe him instantly.  But I forgot the wonderfulness that comes when nursing ends.

Up to this point, a nursing mother provides nourishment for the child and the child comes to rely on that as a way to soothe and comfort.  But this weekend, without the nursing, Cohen actually cuddled up on my lap and just sat there with his head resting on my shoulder or nuzzled in my belly.  He's never done that with me.  With Clif, yes.  He hugs his siblings willingly.  But not really with me, because I'm the boobs.  He is comforted by nursing.  So now he can snuggle me without that getting in the way.

So now the girls are officially retired.  Maybe I can finally buy a bra and wear it for longer than 6 months.  Maybe I'll finally know my actual size.  I'll  never again have sore nipples or engorged breasts.  I have completely enjoyed the 4+ years I've nursed my babies and I will always look back at those times as some of my most precious.  I will forever remember the sound a nursing baby makes, the feeling of let down, and the smell of milk breath.  But everything has to end, and I'm glad I was able to do it on my terms.  I am thankful for that and ready to take the next step.

Number Three

I always knew I'd have at least three kids.  Clif and I are both the oldest of three, so it always seemed to be a given.

I'm sure there are those out there who think we're crazy.  I can't even tell you how many times someone would comment on how perfect we were with one boy and one girl.  That started when I found out Freddie was a boy.

"Oh perfect, one of each."

"You're so lucky to have on of each."

"Well now you can be done."

I would always nod and be polite but what I was thinking was "Who cares if I have one of each?  And I plan on having more."

Until you've felt it, it's hard to explain the need to have another child.  You just know there's another little soul out there that you're meant to be with.  It's not really a decision or a conscious thought...at least it wasn't for me.  It just was.

I have to say, that if you're having that feeling, go for it.  Three is awesome.  Everything is just so natural and easy at this point.

Now, let me be clear.  Life is not always easy.  Life is hectic and chaotic and crazy most days.  But that is not because of the third child, it is just part of having three kids.

Cohen is pure joy.  He is everything good about having a baby with none of the bad.  I'm no longer a nervous, worried, always questioning mom.  I feel like I can just enjoy every moment.  I'm completely confident in my abilities and decisions. 

I still worry about Ainsley.  I worry that she's not reading at the right level.  That she's not making enough friends.  That she's not involved in enough, or involved in too much.  When she was a baby I worried if she was eating enough, or too much.  Was I producing enough milk?  Why was she spitting up?  Did we do tummy time long enough?  Is she rolling over on time?  Would she be able to wear this outfit long enough?  Is she smiling, laughing, responding...blah, blah, blah. 

Freddie was so different from Ainsley, that he humbled me.  I thought I knew what I was doing, but he just never responded the same.  So I worried that I wasn't bonding with him enough.  That I wasn't meeting his needs.

Not with Cohen.  He's 5 months old.  He barely rolls over because I never put him on the floor.  He smiles and laughs more than he cries.  He eats when he wants and stops when he's done.  And I know that he's just fine.
 

It's not that I didn't enjoy my other kids as infants.  I did.  But now, I feel like that's all I do is enjoy him.  I don't let any worry or questions cloud that enjoyment.  I've managed to keep two other kids thriving past 5 months, so how could I go wrong here?

Your first baby rocks your world.
Your second baby builds your character.
And your third baby solidifies your confidence that you are totally cut out for this whole motherhood thing.

If only we could have that third baby, first - imagine how awesome we'd be.

The Perfect Day

Sometimes being a mom is really hard.  Some days you just want to lock your bedroom door and cry yourself to sleep for the next 48 hours.  Because it's not easy.  It's not easy to juggle work and mom and wife and house and friends and family.  It is very easy to feel overwhelmed and just want to chuck it all and say forget it.

But then, every once in awhile you have this perfect moment.  This treasured time.  This unbelievable day and you realize that this is what matters.  The laundry piled in the corner doesn't matter.  The dishes overflowing in the sink don't matter.  The toys strewn across the floor don't matter. 

You and your little ones having a day with no cares, no worries, no responsibilities, no timeline...that's what matters.  A day where mommy remembers what it's like to be a kid.  A day where mommy says yes to everything.  A day where kids still cry and still don't listen, but mommy doesn't care.  A time to just let go and say forget everything else and just focus on this moment.  Be in this moment.  Don't race ahead to dinner time or tomorrow's troubles.  Enjoy right now.

Climb to new heights.

Explore new lands.

March to the beat of your own drum.

And finish it all off with ice cream.



Naps and calories be damned!

The Last Night

Four years ago tonight, I was so nervous.

I remember lying on the couch, unable to go to bed.

Clif rubbed my swollen ankles and I tried not to think about the day ahead.

The night seemed to fly by and drag on at the same time.

The baby fidgeted and hiccuped and stretched beneath my skin all night long.

That night would be the last night of the life I'd known.

The next morning I'd be a mommy.  I'd have a baby girl to hold and cuddle and rock.

The nursery was ready.  All the clothes were washed and folded in their drawers.  We had picked a name.  We had a car seat installed in the backseat.  We had preregistered at the hospital.

We were ready...right?

I thought I was so prepared, and I guess I was  as much as any new parent could be.  But four years ago tonight, I had no idea how much a sweet little girl named Ainsley would change my life.

Reminders

Some days are hard.  Some times, when you're knee deep in snotty tissues and hacking coughs and sprints to the bathroom, it's tough to put on a smile and appreciate being a mom.  I do appreciate it.  Every day I'm thankful for those soft curls and big blue eyes and tiny fingers that squeeze mine.  But there are days that I have to remind myself to love it.

There are days when you're just holding on, racing at top speed down a hill, trying not to fly over the handle bars.  Inevitably, you crash.  You hit a rock, no matter how small, at just the right speed and angle...then suddenly you're air born.  Screaming, clawing, tucking, angling...whatever it takes to protect yourself from the unrelenting asphalt below.

Saturday was one of those days.  It was the end to a tough week.  One of those weeks where those bad days string together and you forget when you slept and what you ate.  Hell, you forget if you slept or ate.

Clif was down and out with a stomach bug.  Ainsley and Freddie both seemed on the mend, but runny noses and coughs persisted.  On top of that, I'm getting it.  What it is, I'm not sure.  I had a combination of everything.  Nothing full blown, but everything battling for my attention.  Sore achy muscles, headache, congestion, raw throat.  I was not feeling the mommy vibe, but what do you do?  You push through, and let everyone know how miserable you are along the way.

I was not a good mommy Saturday.  I didn't play dress up. I didn't sing songs.  I didn't read stories.  I didn't bake cookies.  I barely made meals.  I did only what was needed to get by.  I went to bed feeling down.  Sad, that half my weekend was over and it had been wasted on illness instead of imagination and cuddles and laughter and silliness.

Freddie woke up with a smile on Sunday and I felt a bit better.  So we headed downstairs to make breakfast.  He played in the other room while I cooked.  When Ainsley appeared in the doorway, I greeted her with a big hug and a "Good Morning!"

She said "Good Morning!" back and from the living room I heard Freddie let out a huge giggle.  He ran, as much as he can run really, to us and threw himself into Ainsley's arms.  It was as if he hadn't seen her in days.  He planted a big open mouth kiss on her belly and wrapped his chubby arms around her waist

Ainsley reciprocated with a kiss on his head and pinch of his cheeks.  Freddie pulled away and laughed as he headed back to his toys.

In that moment, I stopped having to remind myself.