Motherhood: Forever Redefining "Gross."

"Momma, Momma!! My nose came out! My nose came out!! You come and get it please?"

This is what I heard first thing this morning. Maybe I should have been alarmed, but I figured it was highly unlikely that I would walk into my daughter's room and see her sitting on her bed with part of her face missing. But I was curious to find out what exactly had caused her little imagination to take flight so I darted up the steps. And there she was, standing at her gate (aka her "cage door") with a long trail of snot coming out of her nose, across her lips and hanging off of her chin. "My nose came out! You wipe it please?" There was a point in time in my younger years when I would have come at her with approximately 16 tissues so as not to touch any of the sliminess. Especially if it was the greenish-yellow kind. But not anymore. I've left those ways behind.

I've decided that motherhood is so often this junction of cute and repulsive. Well, it's repulsive to everyone else but you. Being a mommy gives you a sort of immunity to gross things. (My personal opinion here, but I think the training for this begins with the ten long months of weird and sometimes disgusting things that happen to your body when you're pregnant). Before Ella and Milo came along, I did my fair share of babysitting and nanny-ing and it often took everything in me not to gag while changing diapers or wiping snotty noses. Back then, I had been known to use a third of a package of wipes for one solitary poopy diaper. Now that I understand how much it costs to buy wipes and diapers, I shudder. (I shouldn't have accepted payment from those parents...) Now, I've mastered the wipe triple fold. Took me a couple of months to get it down, but I'm pretty proud of myself for conserving. Then there are days like today, when I was changing one of Milo's infamous blowouts (poor kid only goes once every 2 days at best and has been that way for months). This is usually a 3-4 triple folded wipe job, AT LEAST. Mid wipe-down, I realize that there are no more wipes in the package and not only that, there are no more refills in the drawer (because of course, they're all downstairs in a Target bag waiting to be unpacked). *%#*!! There was still a considerable amount of poop to be wiped up- enough that I didn't want to have to pick him up and transport him downstairs or I knew we'd both need a bath. I looked around for something to improvise with....and landed on a pair of his socks. (Yes. I did what you think I did). But it had to be done. Not one of my finer moments, but at least they were somewhat soft and...they folded up well inside of the diaper...(sigh)

This got me thinking about some other classic gross-to-everyone else mom-isms? (Disclaimer: if you have actually frozen your placenta, then diced it up and blended it for smoothies and such- you're exempt. You win. Nothing I put here could ever possibly trump that. You're a friggin' rockstar).

--Your child starts choking/gagging/coughing at the dinner table and you instinctively cup your hands under their chin just in case they puke. Because moms apparently love to catch vomit in their hands (Probably because they'd rather most of it go there than all over the carpet). It truly must be an instinctive mom move- like flinging your arm across the passenger seat when you have to break suddenly in the car. I'm pretty freaked out by puke and even I can't explain why I do this every time either one of the kids gags.

--The scratch n sniff test: it's brown and it's near the bottom of your shirt. Is it poop, chocolate, apple butter? Only one way to find out. The crazy thing is, it shouldn't matter what it is because most people would throw it in the wash regardless. But as a mom, I've become accustomed to wearing food as a kind of accessory in my outfits. It's the norm these days. It's sad I know, but if I realized I was looking at the residue of a smooshed chocolate chip cookie, I would sadly probably move on about my errands. But I draw the line at poop. Hence why the scratch and sniff test is valid.

--You take bites of your kids' already partially eaten food. I used to watch parents do this in disgust. How could she put that partially chewed gummy worm in her mouth?? And now I know. Because they offered it to you- that's why. The first time your little girl or boy takes the initiative to share something special off of their plate with you- YOU WILL EAT IT. And you will love it. Because you're now a sap. (You might throw up a little in your mouth afterward, but you will learn to disguise that well too).

--You will carry a bowl of poop into the living room, set it on the floor for your husband and other family members to see, and have a dance party around it. At first, you might let yourself think you're doing this because you want to over-emphasize what a big deal this is to your 2 1/2 year old. But then you realize you're not really over-emphasizing it. You're being 100% genuine. You're actually more excited than a kid on Christmas morning. There is a small turd in the potty and you are considering taking a picture of it and posting it on facebook. HUGE deal.


There is obviously a lot more I could add to this (since the list seems to grow on a daily basis). But for now, I think this is all my stomach can handle writing about. ;-)

"How to Sleep Deprive Your Mommy" (reposted)

Since I have a few friends who have just become new mamas (and some that are new mamas again) I am reposting this because, well, it seems that babies everywhere are staging a coup through sleep deprivation. Grab another cup of coffee and enjoy!


"Dear Fellow Babies,

OK, here's my situation. My Mommy has had me for almost 3 months. The first few weeks were great--I cried, she picked me up and fed me, anytime, around the clock. Then something happened. Over the last few weeks, she has been trying to STTN (sleep through the night). At first, I thought it was just a phase, but it is only getting worse. I've talked to other babies, and it seems like its pretty common after Mommies have had us for around 5-6 months. Here's the thing: these Mommies don't really need to sleep. It's just a habit. Many of them have had some 30 years to sleep--they just don't need it anymore. So I am implementing a plan. I call it the Crybaby Shuffle.

It goes like this:

Night 1--cry every 3 hours until you get fed. I know, it's hard. It's hard to see your Mommy upset over your crying. Just keep reminding yourself, it's for her own good.

Night 2--cry every 2 hours until you get fed.

Night 3--every hour.

Most Mommies will start to respond more quickly after about 3 nights. Some Mommies are more alert, and may resist the change longer. These Mommies may stand in your doorway for hours, shhhh-ing. Don't give in. I cannot stress this enough: CONSISTENCY IS KEY!! If you let her STTN (sleep through the night), just once, she will expect it every night. I KNOW IT'S HARD! But she really does not need the sleep; she is just resisting the change. If you have an especially alert Mommy, you can stop crying for about 10 minutes, just long enough for her to go back to bed and start to fall asleep. Then cry again. It WILL eventually work. My Mommy once stayed awake for 10 hours straight, so I know she can do it.

The other night, I cried every hour. You just have to decide to stick to it and just go for it. BE CONSISTENT! I cried for any reason I could come up with:

My sleep sack tickled my foot.

I felt a wrinkle under the sheet.

My mobile made a shadow on the wall.

I burped, and it tasted like rice cereal. I hadn't eaten rice cereal since breakfast, what's up with that?

The dog said "ruff." I should know. My Mommy reminds me of this about 20 times a day. LOL.

Once I cried just because I liked how it sounded when it echoed on the monitor in the other room.

Too hot, too cold, just right--doesn't matter! Keep crying!!

I had drooled so much my sheets were damp and I didn’t like it touching me.

I decided I was sick of all the pink in my room so I cried.

It took awhile, but it worked. She fed me at 4am. Tomorrow night, my goal is 3:30am. You need to slowly shorten the interval between feedings in order to reset your Mommies' internal clocks. Sometimes my Mommy will call for reinforcements by sending in Daddy. Don’t worry though, Daddies are not set up for not needing sleep the way Mommies are. They can only handle a few pats and shhing before they declare defeat and send in the Mommy.

Also, be wary of the sleep sheep with rain noises. I like to give Mommy false hope that listening to the rain puts me to sleep so sometimes I pretend to close my eyes and be asleep and then wait until I know Mommy is settling back to sleep to spring a surprise cry attack. If she doesn’t get to me fast enough I follow up with my fake cough and gag noise that always has her running to the crib. At some point I am positive she will start to realize that she really doesn’t really need sleep.

P.S. Don't let those rubber things fool you, no matter how long you suck on them, no milk will come out. Trust me."

Germs, Germs...

It's only a matter of time before your kids experience their first "throw-up bug." And I know what you're thinking- so what? It's true that for most people, this is not a major consideration when it comes to having kids, but it is for some people who struggle with emetophobia. Some emetophobic women ultimately decide that they won't ever have kids because children, as we all know, are walking petrie dishes. It obviously crossed my mind, although never in the sense that I swore off having a family. I just wondered how I would react, or if I would be able to "hold it together" for my kids' sake. I wondered if- despite my best efforts- they might still pick up on my fear and become afraid of it themselves.

Ella got it for the first time when she was 13 months old- in the summer, oddly enough. I heard her coughing in the middle of the night, went into her room to check on her, and saw that she had gotten sick. The phobic part of me wanted to run and get Jake first, but the Mommy in me took over and I was instantly overwhelmed with empathy as I scooped up my scared little girl out of her crib (at which point she proceeded to puke all over me as well). In the moment, I did what I needed to do, caught off guard by my own intestinal fortitude. Thankfully, Jake helped with the clean up while I consoled her as best as I could. I was 9 weeks pregnant with Milo at the time, so I became even more anxious at the thought that I wouldn't be able to discern "stomach bug" nausea from the "first trimester" nausea I was already battling. I remember we finally got Ella back to bed and she slept through the rest of the night. I, on the other hand, laid out on our couch and shook from my frazzled nerves, too afraid to let myself go to sleep for fear I would wake up sick too. (Neither Jake or I caught it).

This is just one of many instances over the last few years that prompted me to get a handle on the anxiety. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of my family. There are few things that I have learned to be absolute truths as a mommy, but one of them without a doubt is this: when your kids are sick, they want YOU. Not Daddy. Only Mommy will do. (Heck, to this day, I still want my mom when I'm sick). So while some moms might aspire to be able to ride rollercoasters with their kids, I want to be the mom that can sit there and hold her daughter's hair back while she barfs into a trashcan, or rub my sons back when he feels sick. The truth is, as someone who has dealt with emetophobia, I may never be totally nonchalant about vomit- ever. But I do believe that I will get "throw-up grace" on throw-up days- that ability to be strong, present, and (hopefully) cool as a cucumber when my kids need me.

So when those times happen, I will not put myself (or them) in a plastic bubble. I will not. No matter how much I might want to. {Repeats mantra}. But so help me God, I will clean and sanitize the shit (literally) out of my home when these unwanted intestinal visitors come around. Hey, it's my prerogative. And because I'm probably much more OC about it than the average person, I've collected a lot of good cleaning/sanitizing ideas and tips over the last few years and just recently came across this post to on how to get rid of the germs AND do it in an eco-friendly way. (There are some pretty good suggestions in the comment section too!)

So do all of your fellow germaphobes a favor and check it out! Good stuff! :)

Steve Jobs: Celebrating Curiosity

"Your time is limited so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."
~ Steve Jobs


Ella sits on our couch and navigates her way through the apps on the home screen of my iPhone and I watch her today, thinking that she'll never truly understand just how much her future has been shaped by a man named Steve Jobs. As soon as she was old enough to grab for toys, she began passing up her Elmo phone in hopes of getting her tiny fingers around my iPhone. Milo also seems much more intrigued by it than any of the other toys we've bought for him. They're no dummies. They may wet their pants, but they know a good product when they see it. :-) The more I've heard about Steve Jobs and his passing, the more I realize that it's not going to be enough for me to simply tell them that he was the genius behind the cool, tech-y toys that they will continue to enjoy. Rather, I want them to know that those "toys" were a direct result of his character and work ethic:

Innovative.

Passionate.

Artistic.

A man who understood that good is the enemy of great.

A man who's curiosity ultimately led him- and subsequently the entire world- into a new age of thinking, navigating, connecting, reasoning, and being.

This is the reason I hope they never stop asking why or how. You just never know where those two questions will take you. Without curiosity, there's no creativity. And without creativity, there's no life.


Rest in peace, Steve Jobs. And thank you for bringing us along for the ride.

"Jagged Little Pill"

There comes a point in time when you realize you aren't willingly giving yourself to something anymore. The realization had actually been there for months, but I decided to finally admit it to myself two weeks ago. At some point over the last few months, I think I stopped living and started simply surviving. Every day felt like a struggle. Survival until naptime, then survival until bedtime. I would tell Jake that we survived a trip to Target. Last month, we survived the six hour car ride to the beach. Then we survived the beach, but barely (we came back 3 days early). Life became about getting from point A to point B in one piece. I observed other moms when I went out and although I know that nothing is ever what it appears (boy, do I know that one), I started feeling like maybe every other mom except me knew the secret to enjoying their kids. I began to think that maybe I was missing part of the "mom" gene- the one that made me less irritable, more forgiving, more flexible, more....happy. I kept thinking, aren't these are supposed to be the years of our lives- being parents to two beautiful, healthy kids? Isn't this what I always wanted? Why do I feel like this??

So I called my OB and told him I wanted my money back. :)

Okay, not exactly. But I did call him and tell him that this wasn't what I signed up for. Something more was going on. I knew there would be exhaustion, illness, raging hormones, hectic schedules, and days when I would feel like I was barely getting by. But I didn't expect to lose myself in all of it, to forget who I was and the things that I enjoyed. I told him that I couldn't get excited about going shopping, or carving pumpkins, or wine tasting. {gasp?!?!} That Christmas seemed overwhelming instead of occupying it's usual spot as my most favorite time of the year. That I cooked food and ate it, but didn't really taste it. I couldn't finish sentences, couldn't focus. I went to bed exhausted and somehow managed to wake up even more exhausted. My entire body ached. I watched life happen to everyone else but somehow felt like a bystander in my own. I explained how I felt guilty for no reason at all and that I didn't feel like I had anything to bring to the table anymore as a wife, a mother, or a friend. I had given the best of what I had to give for so long, until there was nothing left to give but leftovers. I felt stale, used up. I sobbed to the poor nurse on the phone (she must have been so glad she answered) that I was afraid I would blink- just like everyone promises me that I'll do- and they will be 18 and 16, and when I look back at these "best years"- I'll realize I spent them being numb. I knew if I was going to get better, I had to make myself say it out loud: I think I have PPD.

One script for Zoloft and a couple of weeks later, it's amazing how much better I feel. I feel relieved to know that I wasn't totally losing it after all. I had been carrying something around that wasn't mine to hold onto. A weight was instantly lifted off of me, I think, before I even took the first pill. In hindsight, there were a lot of contributing factors: I'm right in the middle of an exhausting season of life- and there's really no quick fix for that. I'm also a proverbial milk factory for my son, who happens to have the appetite of an NFL linebacker, which keeps me literally "on demand" 24/7 and I think my hormones have hormones now. But I suspect some of my recent restlessness, too, is because I'm simply not pouring my energy into anything else other than my family. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that except for the realization that being a stay-at-home mommy simply isn't enough for me, nor is it bringing out the best in me. And it was an entirely different kind of pill to swallow to finally be okay with admitting that. For so long, I was afraid to actually say it because I thought it meant I had failed. Like, if I actually had a boss as a stay-at-home mom, maybe this would be the part where I had to turn in my two weeks. Maybe I would have even been fired.

But I'm okay with this, with coming to the conclusion that it hasn't turned out how I thought it would. At the end of the day, I have an amazing family. I have two happy, healthy kids, an amazing and devoted husband- and I'm hopelessly in love with all of them. But there's a nagging that something more is required of me outside of this, and I think I finally understand that in a way I haven't since I first became a mom. Maybe something more is required of me because I have so much. I was talking to one of my dearest friends the other day and she said to me, "sometimes, you have to get lost outside of yourself, or you'll be lost inside yourself." It was exactly what I needed to hear.

So now I embark on another journey. I'm not exactly sure what it entails or where it will take me, but for the first time in months, I'm not numb anymore. And that's a great start.