Waiting...

Lest you think I'm over here ignoring my blog because I'm getting all kinds of baby snuggles...

40 weeks last week... Too lazy to upload the 41 week picture

Nope. I'm just over here swelling up like a balloon, waddling around like a duck, and doing my best to will this (probably massive) baby out of me. Ready or not though, this baby is likely going to get an eviction notice by the end of the week, which truthfully, I have mixed feelings about. I so want the baby to come on his/her own and not have to be induced--but I'm also so ready to be done, especially mentally. I'm exhausting myself by thinking that every little "sign" could be an indicator that labor is about to begin(and then getting disappointed when it doesn't), and I can't take the boys anywhere without playing through a million "what if" scenarios in my head. And shockingly, Darrell's advice to "just stop thinking about it" doesn't exactly work well with my personality. At least the physical annoyances haven't been terrible, although they've definitely started to ramp up over the past few days.

Just for fun, here I am at the end of my pregnancies with the boys.

39 weeks with William (born at 39 weeks and 4 days)

40 weeks with Garrett (last picture we took even though he didn't come until 41 weeks and 5 days)

 Come out come out whoever you are--we're more than ready to meet you!!

Car Rental PSA

Dear Friends and Family--

If you are looking to rent a car, and if there is any remote possibility that you may come in contact with an animal during the time the rental car is in your possession, DO NOT rent your car through Avis. Or if you do, invest in a high-quality lint roller and get used to using it regularly. Because apparently, if you are around pets and some of the pet hair happens to get on your clothes and subsequently into the vehicle, they will slap you with a $250 cleaning fee. I'm not even kidding.

The best part is that their rental agreement doesn't even specifically forbid pets in their vehicles (which--for the record--we never had a pet in the vehicle); it just states that if there is excessive stains, dirt, or soilage that you will be subject to a cleaning fee. So apparently whatever small amount of pet hair was tracked into the vehicle via our clothes was enough to be excessive and warrant the cleaning fee.

Needless to say, we won't be renting a car through Avis again, and I strongly suggest you follow suit, especially if you'll be around animals of any sort while you have the rental.

Love,
Jess

(Failed) Preparations for Real Life

As a parent, one of the things we want to do for our children is prepare them for the issues and obstacles they will face in their lives (notice that I didn't say we were trying to prevent them from having any difficulties in their lives... But that's a whole separate post). And sure, our boys are young and really haven't had to deal with much of anything, but I like to think that we're doing a pretty good job.

Until the other night. When William woke up in hysterics. Because his hand fell asleep and was subsequently waking up. Apparently we had done nothing to prepare him for the pins and needles feeling that happens as a result of a body part falling asleep. And he was not okay with that--or the "owie" that he had in his hand. Of course, we tried explaining to him what was happening, but in the heat of the moment (and the middle of the night) he was not having it. So we just sat there with him. While he screamed and cried and rubbed his hand against his stomach like somehow that would make the sensation go away. And considering we forgot to discuss the situation with him in the morning when he was calm and more likely to understand what we were saying, I imagine we'll have a similar response the next time that happens.

Oh well. I guess we can't win them all.

The Curse of the (Clean) Socks

If you have been a Minnesota Vikings fan for anything length of time, all I need to do is mention Gary Anderson and the 1998 season and you know exactly what I'm talking about. But for those of you who aren't familiar, here's a quick backstory: In 1998, the Vikings were having a spectacular season. They became only the third team in NFL history to win 15 games during the regular season, and scored a then-record 556 points. They cruised to the NFC Championship game--with home field advantage--where they faced the Atlanta Falcons. With a seven-point lead and two minutes left in the 4th quarter, the Vikings had a chance to essentially put the game away with a 38-yard field goal. Despite going 35 for 35 on field goals in the regular season, Gary Anderson missed. And that miss gave the Falcons a chance to tie the game and push it into overtime, which they eventually won (by kicking a 38-yard field goal, ironically).

What you may not know and what I previously failed to mention is that it is MY fault Gary Anderson missed that field goal. On that particular Sunday, I wasn't feeling the greatest, so at halftime, I changed out of my church clothes and into something more comfortable (which was only something we were allowed to do when the Vikings were losing at halftime, which in this particular game they weren't). I also spent most of the second half lying on the couch, and during all of the games earlier in the season I had sat upright to watch. So really, it should come as no shocker that Anderson missed that field goal--and clearly, it was all my fault.

Sounds ludicrous, right? Not to my sister. I kid you not, for YEARS I had to deal with her telling me it was my fault the Vikings didn't make it to the Super Bowl that year (and truthfully, she'd probably say the same now, but I just avoid bringing it up). My sister is what you call superstitious--and a little obsessively so. Candidly, my dad is too, but my sister is definitely worse. Which brings me to this year--and the curse of the socks.

The Vikings started this season 5-0--a surprise not just because they are the Vikings, but also because their starting quarterback suffered a season (and possibly career) ending injury in practice just weeks before the start of the season, plus their starting running back suffered a serious knee injury early in the second game of the season and has been out since. Admittedly, it hadn't always been pretty, but the Vikings still managed to find a way to come out ahead in the first five games. And then they had a bye, which by all counts, should have been a good thing. They had extra time to really work with the offense and cater it toward the players who were healthy and playing, not the ones who they had thought would be playing when the season started. Plus they had time to rest a few minor defensive injuries. And statistically, teams have a slightly higher odds of winning coming off a bye week. But for the Vikings this year, none of that was good enough.

You see, what the Vikings hadn't counted on and couldn't prepare for during their bye week, was the fact that my sister's husband WASHED her Vikings socks. So when she sat down for their game against the Eagles, she was wearing the same outfit she'd worn for each of the previous games--but her socks were clean (I'll let you infer what that means for the rest of her outfit). And that, ladies and gentlemen, ruined it for the Vikings. They lost that game--and they haven't won since. All because her socks were washed during a winning streak--and everyone knows you don't mess with the mojo when there is a winning streak going on. I promise you my brother-in-law won't be forgetting that anytime soon after the "spirited discussions" he had with my sister after the sock-washing incident.

In all seriousness, though, I really hope the Vikings manage to find a way to win against the Redskins on Sunday. Because if I have to listen to my sister complain one more time that the Vikings can't win because her socks got washed, I think I might lose it. I may not get into the games quite like some of my family members, but I do enjoy my purple and gold football Sundays with this crazy family.

Still Sick

I typically consider myself to be a fairly optimistic person, and I usually try to look on the bright side and remind myself that there are always others who have it worse. But when my kids are STILL having on-again off-again diarrhea and who knows what else, it's REALLY hard to remember that there are mothers out there who would love it if all they had to worry about was a little diarrhea (as opposed to chemo or hospitalizations or major surgeries or anything else). Life has just been a major struggle lately--I'm struggling with the constant stink, I'm struggling with all the laundry, and mostly I'm struggling with the constant disruption of plans--and while I (rationally) know my boys aren't intentionally being extra whiny and crabby, I find myself struggling to be patient with them. William was supposed to start VBS this morning, which I was really looking forward to--good social interaction for him (we've had a few outings/classes that have been kind of a bust for my little introvert, so I was really looking forward to this experience for him since he'll know some of the other kids from church) plus a few hours in the morning for Mommy to only have one boy to wrangle (hello easy errands!). But nope--William was up at 5:00 throwing up and although he's done with that (thank goodness), he's still been in the bathroom plenty this morning. And this was after he'd been fine all weekend (he even had a solid poop last night before bed). Silver lining (I suppose) is that he got sick before I took him to VBS so he didn't get sick there. But this pretty much just confirms I can't go anywhere--I tried going to the park on Friday (after he'd been okay for a few days), and we spent as much time in the bathroom as we did on the playground. So that was fun.

We're headed to the doctor this afternoon--after going last week and getting a diagnosis of gastroenteritis, which should have run its course by now--so here's hoping we can get some more answers. Or at least a magic pill that will make all this stop (and make Garrett's eye teeth come in as well, since I'm pretty sure that is contributing to his issues).

A Vote to Outlaw Holiday Weekends

Remember how our Mother's Day Weekend was, well, a little on the chaotic/disastrous side? Despite my comment about not having to worry about doing much to make sure Darrell had a better Father's Day, I'm actually saddened to say that I'm pretty sure my mother's day topped Darrell's father's day. If I try really, really, hard, I think I can come up with three highlights from the weekend:

1. Darrell got to go golfing on Sunday. Only nine holes, but that was probably okay because he re-opened his wound from his fun little knife incident (after getting the stitches out Friday, no less). Nothing major, just prolonging the healing (and pain) a little bit.
2. Despite throwing up a handful of times (and all but one of those times in his bedroom), Garrett managed to miss the rug in his room every time. Which we were very grateful for--cleaning his sheets, bamboo floors, and even the recliner was a lot easier than trying to figure out how we would clean his (mostly white) rug.
3. Even though William has been in underwear for less than a month, he had absolutely zero accidents all weekend (since Thursday, actually)--especially impressive since he had some pretty constant diarrhea (TMI? Sorry. But it's been the story of my life all weekend for both boys--we just didn't have to worry as much about Garrett since he was wearing diapers, although he did leak out a few times).

How's that for highlights of our weekend? For the worried grandparents out there, we took the boys to the doctor today, and as long as things get, ahem, "plugged up" in the next five to seven days (and they stay well hydrated during that time), they'll be just fine. Just a stomach bug (although he used a much fancier word)--which I should mention Darrell had as well. Only because it was truly the icing on the cake for his father's day. Maybe things will improve for his birthday later this week--although I'm not going to jinx myself and say that things certainly can't be worse than they were for Father's Day!

Life as a Horse

So you know what's a blessing--and equally a curse? Having the immune system of a horse (total sidenote--but any idea where that expression came from? It's totally random in my opinion). It's a blessing for obvious reasons--no one actually enjoys being sick--but when you have two kids and a husband who do not have immune systems of horses, it can also be a curse. Because guess who ends up being the healthy (or at least, healthier) one that always has to take care of the sick people? Lucky ol' me. And I know--being able to be home with the kiddos when they are sick is (rationally) a blessing: I don't have to worry about them feeling under the weather and being in someone else's care, and we don't have to worry about juggling PTO and missing work to be home with them. But seriously... Sick kids are awful. And draining. Especially when they don't actually know how to be sick. Rather than just lying down and enjoying (somewhat) unlimited TV time so they can rest, my boys would rather continue to be up and about doing stuff--but being very whiny and temperamental while doing so. And thankfully, Darrell doesn't fall into the "man flu" category of being sick--he'll usually just shut himself up in the bedroom and stay out of our way--but still. Part of me gets envious of his life behind those closed doors. Lying in bed all day? Napping freely? Time to actually rest--and maybe even do some reading? Seriously--where do I sign up? Granted, I'd have to be pretty sick for Darrell to stay home and watch the boys, and if I'm that sick I'm definitely not enjoying a minute of my time in bed (and let's be honest--I'd probably feel guilty about being a lazy pile, regardless of how sick I might be), but still--a girl can dream. In the meantime I'll just continue to suffer through this mild cold that I've had for two weeks (because yay immune system of a horse that keeps me from getting more than mildly sick) while taking care of my boys who seem to pick up colds and stomach bugs at the drop of a hat.

Weekend Rewind

Well, we're only halfway to the next weekend, but better late than never, right? And I actually have a few pictures to share, plus some unplanned (and definitely not needed) "excitement" from the weekend, so I figured I might as well write my recap even if it is a few days late.

In short, Saturday was packed. I felt like Darrell and I spent the majority of the day tag-team parenting. We headed to Luverne, MN early Saturday morning so Darrell could march in a parade, which left me (and my nine-month pregnant sister) on duty with the boys. They did pretty well watching the parade, although William wasn't too fond of the fire trucks and motorcycles because they were too loud (the amount of candy he got probably made up for that, though!). We had lunch in Luverne (another adventure in tag-team parenting: one of us eats while the other helps the boys with their food, and then switch!), then got the boys home for their naps. Shortly after they went down my mom came to pick me up so we could go out to Mitchell for my cousin's high school graduation open house. We were only there for about an hour before we had to turn around to get back home--my brother was pitching in a baseball game that evening that we wanted to get back for. Darrell took the boys over there after their naps (it was a tournament and there was a game before the one my brother pitched), and after watching a few innings he handed them off to my dad and sister because we weren't back yet and he had to get to an event where he was taking pictures for the Shriners. My mom and I made it to the fields shortly after he left, and we stayed to watch my brother pitch four innings before I took the boys home (quite a bit past their bedtimes, I might add). Darrell got home late, we crashed, and looked forward to having a much more relaxing Sunday.

And relaxing it was--at least to start. Church, lunch, naps, a run to the store for me to get a few plants for my garden (some of my tomato plants that I started from seed didn't fair too well being transplanted), and pretty soon we were settling in to enjoy some homemade pizza for dinner. We had a chance to Skype with Darrell's parents after dinner (and it even worked for us to take the iPad outside--win!), and then off to bed for the boys. And that's when the fun started. While I was finishing getting William to bed, Darrell sat down on the couch and started getting ready to watch NCIS (because you know, we never do that in this house). I told him that there were a few things I wanted to get done before we checked out for the night, because I knew if the stuff didn't get done Sunday night Monday would end up being way more chaotic. So I asked Darrell to cut up the watermelon and cantaloupe that had been sitting on our counter for a few days and were nearly overripe. A few minutes later, as I'm helping William use the potty, I hear a "shit" from the kitchen--and I get out there to find Darrell standing over the sink, running water on his massively bleeding thumb. Awesome. Thank goodness for parents who live nearby. They came over and took Darrell to the ER (I would have gone with him if it had been major, but William still hadn't settled down and we knew that if Grandma and Grandpa showed up it would have taken even longer for him to get to bed). Four stitches (and as many hours) later, he finally came home. And we could finally get to bed so we could get ready to enjoy our Monday... Or something like that. I don't know if it was the busy Saturday, the somewhat poor sleep (did I mention Garrett is STILL teething and decided over the weekend he needed to wake up nearly every two hours at night?), my lingering cold, or Darrell's knife incident, but between everything we got this week started on the wrong foot and it just hasn't gotten much better. Granted, it hasn't exactly gotten worse (although it would take at least another ER visit for me to deem it "worse" than a weekend where we already had one ER visit), but it's just been riding at this unpleasant level of yuckiness (and yes, that's the technical term, I looked). I suppose on the bright side it's practically another weekend already, so here's to hoping we hit an upswing coming into the weekend and can carry that momentum into next week!

Update: Story of my week. I specifically mention that part of the reason I'm not going to skip over this weekend recap is that I actually remembered to take a few pictures. And then I completely forgot to share them. Sounds about right.

Why Feeding Toddlers is a Joke

Last night for dinner I made a broccoli quiche. I may have over-bought on eggs when they were on sale a few weeks ago, and a quiche seemed like a good way to use some up (plus--turns out they are pretty easy and equally tasty!). William loves eggs, broccoli, and cheese, so I figured it would be a sure-fire win for him. Garrett, on the other hand, is hit or miss with eggs, usually has to be fed his broccoli because he won't eat it on his own, and within the past two weeks has started throwing cheese off his tray when I give it to him for a snack (although I found out that I may have been cutting it wrong, so that may have been the issue).

You've figured out where this is going, right? Garrett straight-up inhaled the quiche (and demanded seconds before he even had his first serving completely finished) and William gingerly tried a few pieces before declaring that he was "full". Seriously? Since we knew William wasn't actually full, we told him that he needed to eat at least four bites of what we served for dinner (standard rule in our house) and then he could have something else. And guess what--we cooked him an egg, fished a few broccoli pieces out of the quiche, sliced up some cheese--and he ate it without complaint.

Of course, the real joke will be when I try serving them some of the leftover quiche for lunch--Garrett will probably refuse to touch it, and William will eat it all. Because why not.

Cake Balls: A Learning Experience

So I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but as much as I loved how William's birthday cake turned out, I hated how much leftover cake I had sitting in my house.

Although the pan I baked the cake on was smaller than the one it is currently on, it was still a rectangular pan (two rectangular pans, actually, because it was a double-layer cake). Which meant I had quite a bit of scraps leftover after cutting the rectangles down to a three

Since most of the scraps were a mess and--in my opinion--not worthy of being served to others, I racked my brain for something to do with them because wasting them seemed like a shame but I certainly didn't need to eat them all myself (or feed them to the boys). So, in a moment of brilliance (or so I thought), the idea to make cake balls (or cake pops or cake truffles or whatever you want to call them) was born. While it was a good idea in theory, the final product was less than stellar (and that's being kind).



I know it is a terrible photograph, but trust me--there was not really anything I could have done with the lighting or staging or anything that would have made those little balls look appetizing. However, they were still very much edible (and reasonably tasty) so I allowed Darrell to take them to work (although I made him promise to tell his new coworkers that these were by no means representative of what I normally bake and that I promised to make something much better to send with him soon). Here's a few things I learned from this "experiment":

• Since I was using homemade cake and frosting, I couldn't really follow the standard recipe of "bake a 9x13 cake, crumble, and mix with a can of frosting". So I kind of kept mixing a little cake with a little frosting until I got a consistency that I could shape into balls. However, I'm pretty sure the frosting to cake ratio was too high because they ended up being a little on the sticky side (even after freezing) and they were definitely plenty sweet. I wish that I would have had some practice making these per an actual recipe so I would have known what consistency to shoot for.
• I stacked the cake layers before I cut out the three, so most of my "scraps" included some of the chocolate frosting that I used between the layers. Crumble that up with the yellow cake and green buttercream icing and you get an ugly mess. And since my cake balls were a little too big to be bite-sized, you were pretty much guaranteed a look at the (pretty unappetizing) inside. Next time I might consider adding some food coloring to the mixture so everything is at least a uniform color.
• In order to make the balls easier to dip, you are supposed to freeze them. And I know that lots of people freeze them with cute little straws so you can do fancy little displays with them to serve. Well, I didn't care about that, so I just went without, thinking that I wouldn't have an issue dipping them because I've been dipping stuff in almond bark for years and have a pretty good system figured out. Except I failed to consider that I'd be dipping cold cake balls into warm almond bark, and that it wouldn't quite work the same as the room temperature stuff I normally dip. As you can see from the picture, the coating is incredibly sloppy and terribly uneven. Next time I'd definitely consider using toothpicks or something similar to aid in the dipping process.
• I had planned to put some fun sprinkles on them to dress them up a little, but the coating was starting to harden almost immediately (see above note on cold cake balls plus warm coating), and I felt bad asking Darrell to stand over my shoulder and put sprinkles on them one at a time as I was taking them out of the coating. I think doing some sort of drizzle on the top would work best to "fancy" them up a little, but with all the headaches I ran into along the way it was well after my bedtime by the time I got them finished so I decided they could go without. And let's be honest, I really didn't need to slop one more thing on top of them after the mess that they already were, because I probably would have screwed that up too.

Overall, it was probably the best way to get rid of all the leftover cake we had, and it's definitely something I'll keep in mind in the future--although maybe next time I'll just be more careful when I'm cutting my shape out so I don't have so many "wasted" pieces!

Seriously

Seriously. Go home Spring, you are massively drunk. Although at least this is a super pretty snow and not nearly as windy as it was on Wednesday, but still. Not cool Mother Nature.

Welcome to Spring

Not Pictured: Lovely 30+ mph winds

Go home Spring. You're drunk.

On Not Being "Greedy"

So I don't do this very often, but I'm going to have a little bit of a soapbox moment about being a stay-at-home mom. Because this post has been years in the making--and I'm finally getting up the courage to write about it.

Last night at church, I was chatting with a father of two elementary school aged girls, and he asked if I work or if I stay home with my boys. I told him that I've been able to stay home, and he responded "That's great. We always wanted to do that, but we could never make it work. I guess we're too greedy". I don't exactly remember what I mumbled as a response, and I had to make a quick exit because Garrett started wandering out of my sight (like he enjoys to do), but the honesty of his words stuck with me. I've had a lot of people tell me that they wish they could stay home like I do, but that they just can't afford it. Now, I know there are certainly times when this is true... But I also know there are plenty of times where this isn't exactly the whole truth. Because I've been in their houses. I've seen what kinds of cars they drive, what kind of clothes they wear. I've heard them talk about the vacations they go on, the nights they spend eating out at restaurants. And I want to ask them "Really? You really can't afford to stay home? Or is it that you are not willing to alter the lifestyle you are living in order to be able to stay home?" Because Darrell and I are proof that it is doable. It isn't always easy--and trust me, we've had to make plenty of sacrifices--but it can be done. And, with careful budgeting and minimalistic spending, it can be done enjoyably and even allow for occasional "big" expenses--like our twice-yearly trips out east to visit Darrell's family.

I know staying at home isn't the right choice for every family--and for some families, it isn't even an option, no matter how tightly you budget. I get that. But when you hear that I stay home, don't tell me you "wish" you could too when the only thing holding you back is (as the person from church put it) greediness. Because trust me, I wish I could buy new clothes more often (for me and the boys!). I wish we could go out to eat more often (Sioux Falls actually has some pretty great restaurants that we just never get a chance to visit). I wish we could get through more of the house projects on our list (repaint/replace the siding, redo the kitchen, fix up the landscaping, to name a few). I wish we had upgraded to a larger car months ago (instead of holding out as long as we can before picking up a car payment). I wish lots of things that just aren't in the cards right now as we live off one salary--but would I give up the opportunities I have during the day with my boys to make those wishes come true? Absolutely not. So please, next time you hear that someone stays at home, don't get envious and wish that you could trade places with them--acknowledge (even if it's just mentally) that they are probably making some pretty serious sacrifices that you just aren't willing to make.

Irony at its Finest

At Garrett's one-year well-visit, one of the vaccinations he received came with a "warning" that it could cause him to spike a fever about a week after the shot. The same thing had happened to William, so we have been watching and waiting for Garrett to spike a fever this week. So of course, Darrell was the one to spike a fever (bad enough for him to stay home from work yesterday), and today William has fallen ill. But no fever for Garrett. Go figure. (Although he has pooped six times today. So I guess he has that going for him.)

Needless to say, things are a little rough around here. While Darrell was completely and utterly useless yesterday while he was sick, at least he kept to himself in our room and obeyed the things I told him to do (drink water, eat soup, etc). William, on the other hand, is downright miserable while sick. He doesn't want to do anything, doesn't want to eat or drink anything, doesn't want to get his temperature taken, doesn't want to take his medicine--nothing. Suggesting that he do any of those things--or trying to force him to do something--causes a meltdown. And on top of that, he feels it necessary to whine to me every thirty seconds that he "feels sick", no matter how many times I acknowledge his statement and apologize for his misfortune. I know I shouldn't be annoyed by my sick child... But there's only so much I can take, especially while also tending to a one-year old who is his normal ornery self (and who--admittedly--just wants to play with big brother and doesn't understand that throwing a ball at William is going to make him break down and cry). For all of our sanity, I hope William's illness is as short-lived as Darrell's was, otherwise I may have to call in for reinforcements tomorrow.

Wipes Woes

If you've ever spent any amount of time around a newborn/infant and have had to deal with diaper changes, you've probably used one of those "fancy" wipes dispensers that's designed to keep the next wipe ready and available so you don't have to dig into the carton to get it out. And in theory, they work pretty great. But, despite having multiple diaper-changing stations set up at our house, each with its own dispenser, none of ours seem to work as designed. And it has nothing to do with the particular brand or model, but rather everything to do with a particular two-year old. A particularly "helpful" two-year old. Whether I'm changing Garrett's diaper or his own, William has to be the one to close the container of wipes when I'm done (seriously--don't try closing it on your own or be prepared to face the wrath of William). And for some reason he has decided that it is completely unacceptable to close these containers with any of the wipe sticking up and easily accessible. Not a huge deal when the container is full, but when it's getting down to the bottom? I have to waste precious seconds digging for a wipe while my always-moving two-month old (who--by the way--recently decided that he only needs to poop once a day, so when he poops, he POOPS) is trying his best to smear poop onto whatever surface I'm changing him on. So just a note to the designers of those wipes containers: Your products are pretty handy, but if you could build them to withstand the destructive forces of a well-intentioned two-year old that'd be great.

Parents of the Year

Nothing says parents of the year quite like taking away your son's beloved pacifier on his birthday. Happy 2nd Birthday William--now no pacifier for you! Needless to say, bedtime has been a little rough tonight, and I'm sure naptime tomorrow will go even better. At least the birthday wasn't a total bust--we did take him out for ice cream after dinner. That counts for something, right? Because I need something to make myself feel better for the fact that I'm making my son cry big, real, crocodile tears on his birthday. And this margarita just isn't getting the job done.

#NursingMamaProblems

Leaky boobs. Seriously. Why does this have to happen? When we were at Garrett's follow-up appointment three days after our discharge from the hospital, our pediatrician was impressed with Garrett's weight gain and commented that my milk must have come in. As we're getting ready to go a little bit later, I realized that noting Garrett's weight gain was irrelevant; all our pediatrician would have had to do to notice my milk had come in was look at the front of my shirt and the massive milk spot that had leaked through my bra pad. Awesome.

Listening to your partner snoring at 3:00 in the morning. I love Darrell and will (proudly!) admit that he does just about everything he can to make the nursing journey as easy as possible for me (including doing all diaper changes in the middle of the night). But there's something about listening to him snore while I have a hungry little monster sucking away on my boobs that makes me want to hand Garrett over to him with a bottle and call it quits.

The unpredictability of nursing on demand. A few nights ago Garrett nursed at 815. He averages two to three hours between feedings. By the time I got the house tidied up, prepped a few things for the next day, and polished off half a pint of ice cream (don't judge), it was getting close to 1015. Cue the debate: Do I go to bed immediately and try to get whatever sleep I can, even if Garrett gets up in a mere ten minutes to nurse? Or do I find a few more things to do (and there's always more things to do) and just stay up until his next feeding? (Spoiler--I went to bed and he slept until 1130. Win.)

Continued alcohol deprivation. Yes, I know, major first world problem. But I can't help it that I like my beer (and wine and tequila). And when we're having pizza for dinner, nothing sounds better than enjoying it with an ice cold beer. But when we're eating dinner at 530 and Garrett will (likely) be wanting to nurse again around six, I suck it up and be the responsible mom and pass on the drink. (Of course, he may not nurse again until closer to seven, which means I could have at least some of the beer--see aforementioned problem number three about unpredictability.)

Of course, none of these "problems" would ever make me want to legitimately consider throwing in the nursing towel; I feel very blessed that I was able to nurse William for thirteen months and that I am starting (what seems to be) another successful endeavor with Garrett. Nothing good comes without a few sacrifices, right?

Sigh...

So last weekend we had what I assumed was our last weekend as a family of three, and it was wonderful. I was feeling good about what we did and what we accomplished, and was as ready as ever to bring Baby #2 into our family.

Whelp, here we are at another weekend--and still as a family of three. And sadly, I already know it will pale in comparison to last weekend. Darrell has to be out of the house pretty much all day today for an event with his El Riad Shrine Unit, which leaves (40-week pregnant) me home alone with William. Again. Don't get me wrong, I very much love the time I get to spend with William and feel so lucky that I can stay at home, but I desperately look forward to breaks and the extra set of hands on the evenings and weekends when Darrell is home--pregnant or not. Plus the weather is not supposed to be nearly as nice as it was last weekend, which makes it harder for me to work up the motivation to get us out of the house (which, trust me, is quite a chore with the size of my belly and a toddler who is set on asserting his independence).

Thankfully, we have no plans tomorrow (mostly because we pretty well assumed that by this point in the month we'd be home cuddling a newborn), so Darrell can make up some hours of Daddy time and I can get a break to run to the store (alone!) or something. That discounted Valentine's Day candy isn't going to walk itself to our house, after all. And given the rate with which this labor is progressing (or rather, NOT progressing), Momma's gonna need some chocolate. Because I may or may not have polished off those brownies yesterday.

Mom Guilt

So for all intents and purposes, my son has been locked in his room for the past hour. He's supposed to be napping, but is clearly doing anything but. I know that I shouldn't necessarily feel bad about this, especially since I know there is nothing in his room that poses any sort of a threat, and I know that even if he doesn't take a nap he (and I!) need the quiet time, but still. Guilt city. Why? For one, he's probably in a poopy diaper. He almost always poops after his nap, and when he is trying to stall his nap, he'll poop sooner than later to try to get me in there to change it. So chances are, he pooped almost immediately after I put him down because he didn't want to nap, but I'm just not biting and going in there to change it like I have in the past. I also feel guilty because even if he does tire himself out and he decides he wants to nap he can't get back in his bed. He's been in a full-sized bed since sometime in December, and while he can climb out without much issue, it's a little too far off the ground for him to get back into. Which also means that if he left his puppy and blanket on his bed he wouldn't be able to get those even if he did want to lie down. And of course, I feel guilty every time he calls for me--which I can hear clear as day since we still have the monitor in his room. But I know he doesn't actually need anything, which makes it a little easier to ignore his demands. A little.

I'm just afraid that if I start going in there right away (like I did yesterday--three different times--when he was pulling the same stunt), that he'll learn that this is a "trick" he can employ to get out of his nap. And I am--under no circumstances--ready for my twenty-one month old to be nap-free. Especially with a baby on the way. So I guess that might mean he has to spend a little extra time in a poopy diaper (just praying he doesn't figure out how to get the poop OUT of his diaper!). And that might mean he takes an occasional nap on his bedroom floor. And it'll even mean I have to spend part of my afternoons feeling guilty. But I think I can live with that--at least for a little bit.

Too Early....

Dear South Dakota:

I should not be able to see my breath when I am out for a morning walk on September 12th. It's too soon for that nonsense--I don't even have a winter coat for William yet! Please return to normal fall temperatures ASAP so we can do normal fall things like go to the apple orchard and have bonfires.

Love,
Jess, William, and Baby

PS Thank you for not dropping six plus inches of snow on us like you did cities in the western part of the state. I am most definitely not ready for that.