LOST A SOCK

Ode to The New Baby

My new camera arrived last week, just before we left for the hospital.  I opened the box, kissed and hugged it and charged the battery, and then returned it to its temporary cardboard home while I was away for the week.  I finally got around to tinkering with it over the last couple days, and I love it.  I quickly learned, unfortunately, that ordering a better lens was an immediate foregone conclusion, so hi-ho hi-ho, it was back to Amazon I go went. 

So while I wait to receive more fun in the mail (three cheers for fun in the mail!) I played around with natural light and black & white. 

Little Miss, on the road to recovery.

 

Just one week post-op and already back to toe-grabbing.

I am incredibly happy to report that she finally finished up her antibiotic today, and is therefore (hopefully) nearing the end of constant baby explosions and diaper rash.  Unfortunately, I'm not sure whether to blame the teething or the hospital for throwing threw her already shoddy sleep schedule for a loop ten loops twenty-seven loops out the damn window, even ruining what we once had going with hours-long daytime swing naps.  (Goodbyyyyyye naps, come back soon!  Mama does loooove her some sanity!) 

And last, or is this simply adding to the sticky mess?  Marin's darling older brother gifted her with Baby's First Sinus Infection upon her arrival home.  Oh mucus.  Oh oh oh mucus.

The gifter himself.  I believe entire books have been written on how to photograph a six year old boy.  And should you stumble upon one of those helpful books, do send it my way.  Because the motion and the silly just doesn't end.

He's got the cold, too.  You can thank me for editing out the snot.

Peace.

(Which is code for, I've been trying to write this entry on and off throughout the entire day, and now at nearly 10pm a child is having a temper tantrum one floor above me while his baby sister fiiiiiinally sleeps.  And with my husband just now on his way home from work?  That's my cue.)

(Calgon whaaa?)

Remember when I rattled on endlessly about paint colors and real estate? Boy howdy, those were the days.

Sooooo, we're close enough now.

I promised myself I wasn't going to talk about it much, blog about it too early, think too much, obsess over, weep over, freak out over - pardon me I'm getting away from the point. 

Yes.

We are down to a week away from Marin's surgery.

If you've not been reading me for long you may be in the dark, which means I've done a pretty good job of non-obsessing over the last several months.  Marin was discovered, while in utero, to have extreme hydronephrosis of one of her kidneys.  She went through a myriad of tests and a few doctors very early on, until she was finally diagnosed by a wonderful pediatric urologist during a hospital stay.  On Tuesday she will undergo surgery to have the upper half of her bad kidney removed, as well as the ureter connected to that portion of the kidney.  She has been on a daily antibiotic since birth, which has caused innumerable cases of thrush (though thankfully held us down to only one nasty infection) in order to keep her urinary tract and blood healthy, and crossing my fingers for All Things Complete Success on Tuesday, we will finally be finished with the antibiotic, the thrush, the worries, the bad kidney and the dark looming surgery date. 

Just. Have to. Get. Through. Tuesday.

I know that people, even babies, have surgery all the time.  I know that my daughter can live on one and a half kidneys.  I know that we have a world class doctor and a fabulous hospital and friends and family thinking good thoughts for us.  But the closer the day comes, the more my stomach does flip-flops.  I'm just afraid of the anesthesia, the operating room, the possibilities, the surgery.

My girl belongs in my arms, not in an operating room.

I think back to those days when I was so nervous about what it would be like to have a third child-  I worried about ever leaving the house again, and sleep, and ever leaving the house again.  And ever leaving the house again.  Ever.  And just like that, mission accomplished.  I leave the house at will with all three kids, even in mid-winter, and have infinitely bigger plans for once we are no longer getting pounded by twelvefreakinginchesofsnowdaily.  And I can almost be sane, and sometimes even reasonable, on Sleep Interrupted. 

Who knew?

At days shy of five months old I am head over heels, to the moon and back crazy about this baby.  Every thing she does is somehow brand new and amazing, even though I've witnessed it twice before.  She has an infectious smile and such soft, pretty skin.  She converses with her brothers and me all day long, giggles and even laughs her baby buns off, and she is the most patient little girl I could ask for. 

 

(I might ask that our local photography place not watermark her entire face, but whatever.)  (Also, hot damn, do I have a knack for producing children who look absolutely nothing like me, or what?)

I really, really love my baby.  And I want her to be completely well.

I've done my best to keep my mind in the right place about this for all these months, knowing that worries run rampant will not change her situation.  I am thankful that we have a solution instead of a long-term problem.  We have to get through this for whatever reason there is, and we have to learn something, and appreciate more.  I'm just nervous, is all, because we're getting close.

And I wish I could find that damn Parenting Manual that promises Everything Is Going To Be Just Fine.

Ohhhhh Eight

With having Jack's birthday right there as we ring in each new year, I noticed that I've not ever written a Year In Review post or a Herrrrrre's What's To Come entry on this website -- even though I am actually a mite bit obsessed with a huge fan of reflecting on the past and planning for the future.  So if you'll allow me to drag the new year celebration on for just a bit longer (sure you can drink champagne while you read) we can take a quick look at my year past, and later the one to come.

When I think about 2008, now that we are all of six days into 09, I need a good cry.  Every time.  First I want to weep big crocodile tears of sobby sadness for the hard road that was last year, then some tears of joy and gratitude, and then back for a good long cry of relief.  We made it through 2008.  And frigging hell it was TOUGH.

I think 2007 was one of those years that makes the surrounding ones pale in comparison.  I felt most myself in 2007.  I had a ton of energy and on paper we really accomplished a lot.  We went lots of places and moved to a new house, Kevin took on a new job and I painted and redecorated and just felt healthy in so many ways.  I assumed that 2008 would be a continuation of the year previous and I could spend the rest of my life gleefully hopping around with two kids Enjoying Every Damn Thing (once we sold that pesky house, of course). 

Why hello Morning Sickness, where did you come from?

As can be imagined, I learned a lot this year.  I learned a lot about patience, and grace, and flexibility.  We chucked our plans for selling our old house and rented it out.  We chucked our plans for being a two-child family and opened our hearts to our new baby.  I chucked my plans for finishing my weight loss and for happily vacationing, and we put off every major purchase possible.  Some things really fell to shit, and some of them were rebuilt.  Some things I will never be able to discuss here, but, well, they played a large factor in The Crazy that this year was also.  I'm glad to see the year come to an end.  I'm grateful for all of the opportunities for learning that I was presented with, and I hope I came away understanding everything I needed to.  And my word, I am thankful for my happy sweet-smelling baby that came from this year. 

So here we go - 2008 In Review - In Numbers.

In 2008...

• I mowed zero lawns, dragged garbage cans to the curb only once, and shoveled snow only twice.  Ahh pregnancy, alas I find your perks. 
• We had 2 baby showers, 15 ultrasounds, 1 surgery, 1 tumor removed and 1 reproductive organ lost.  This year my body happily grew 1 beautiful six pound baby and I continued my long-standing career sabbatical to stay home, care for and educate 2 equally wonderful and energetic little boys (and then 1 adorable baby girl).
• In 2008 I consumed 467 pounds of cookie dough followed by a close second, 462.5 pounds of every variety of fresh fruit, canned fruit, fruit flavoring and fruity smelling non-fruit fruit.  I drank only 1/3 as much coffee as I would have, hosted 6 parties in our home, consumed 2 alcoholic beverages and gained 50 pounds (the calories in the alcohol, I tell you!)
• I changed approximately 4000 diapers in 2008, washed at least 1500 loads of laundry, had 2 houses flood, 1 roof leak, and 2 vacuums died.  I painted only 1 room in 2008, hid from 1 tornado, stepped on 984 legos, pinched 1 nerve in my upper back and fell down the stairs once in the middle of the night (and tore the thermostat out of the wall in the process, way to go on doing nothing half-assed.)  I blew my nose 14,982,227 times through the course of 17 colds. 
• In 2008 I ran the dishwasher at least 365 times and washed approximately 4 dishes by hand.
• Major purchases were limited to 1 larger vehicle, 1 winter coat, 1 television and innumerable pink baby sleepers.  This year we purchased 3 DVD's, no CD's, our first video game system as a married couple, and 1 video game.  I purchased 1 pair of shoes this year and no purse.  This year we went to no concerts, no movies, 1 musical, and paid 18 mortgage payments out of our savings veins pocket. 
• Holding strong, we managed to fully fund 1 IRA, rebuild our savings and close out the year without 1 dollar of credit card debt. 
• I read 2 books that influenced me in a major way, meditated at least 100 times and attended church only twice in the middle of an incredible spiritual journey.  I learned 2 very important lessons in 2008, watched my favorite documentary at least 20 times and claimed my personal stake as 1 huge History Channel Dork.
• I learned to love, appreciate and accept this 1 body that serves me whether it is baby-filled, overweight, well cared for or otherwise.  I quietly celebrated my 11th anniversary with Kevin, proud of its fruits, proud of what it took to arrive there.
• In 2008 we took no vacations but made our way into 4 neighboring states, attended no weddings, 1 wake, no funerals, 1 baptism, countless birthday parties.  I helped coordinate 2 classroom parties and rode a school bus 3 times.
• We scheduled 1 vasectomy and cancelled 1 vasectomy, no longer convinced that two 3 is our magic stopping number.  (Possibly I don't mind changing 4000 diapers a year as much as I think?)  I underwent 1 tumor regrowth check to find myself still tumor free and cancer free, hopefully forevermore, at least until February. 
• I kept up with 67 blog feeds, wrote 144 blog entries of my own and took more than 8200 pictures.  I read more than 1000 children's books, (mostly) potty trained 1 little boy, and taught my 2 boys about charity, hands-on, in 3 ways this year.  I made two sets of curtains, six pillows and my first quilt on my gramma's sewing machine.
• I mailed out 72 Christmas cards this year, and excitedly received 46. I was awful about responding to emails.
• In 2008 I sang hundreds of songs, cried more tears than I care to count, smiled thousands of genuine smiles and thanked God hundreds of times for all that we are blessed with.  Even when those blessings are wrapped up in an easy-to-exit year like 2008.

Three?! Could it be? (Oh yes it could.)

Guess who turns three months old today?

 

Three! months!

It has occurred to me that this child?  Is going to grow up on me, just like her brothers.

 

And she's so excited about it, too.

 

At three months old, Marin Ann weighs 13 pounds, 6 ounces, and is 23 inches long.  She smiles like crazy, and coos, goos and gahs through most of her waking hours.  She has recently learned to put her hands together and happily stuffs them in her mouth at every opportunity, and is beginning to grab hold of the toys that dangle from her baby gym. 

 

She really likes to watch her brothers as they breeze past her in the most noisy, speedy, entertaining ways,

 

and I believe she is learning to take advantage of her place in the family as The Youngest Daughter.

  

Whoopsie! Sorry Jack! Did I just KICK YOU SQUARE IN THE FACE?   

 

Though on the flip side of that, she's learning to tolerate pretend karate chops to the forehead and such (what Jack refers to as WHACK-E-CHAAAAS. I don't get it either.)  

 

Yes, Marin is a happy baby.  Happy happy happy all day long. 

And all night too.  

Because do you know what she does at night?  Still at three months of age?  She wakes up!  And stays up!  For hours on end!  Beeeeeing haaaaaappy.  (When her mother?  Not so much with the happy.)  

Through three children now, I have waited to bear The Sleeper Child.  KJ never slept at night.  Never, ever ever ever ever, oh my God how awful it was.  Jack?  Not so much with the sleep, either.  Neither of those children ever slept through the night, not even once, until well past their first birthdays.  Now, I will give all three of them credit for being good nappers (both Jackson and Marin willing to nap only in their respective baby swings, but sleeping nonetheless,) but as for sleep during the night?  So very sketchy, still.  Sometimes she will surprise me with a solid three hour block at night, but in exchange will play for an hour and a half to follow. 

She continues to take two or three feedings during the course of what I would consider her night, usually staying awake through that middle time-slot.  And hot damn, she wants nothing more than to smile and coo and watch recorded Oprah shows with me at three a.m. every stinking night.

 

Mockery.

 

Beyond the Sleep Issue, the other thing that made me nervous about having an actual crew of children, as opposed to just a pair, was all of the germ sharing that inevitably takes place. 

With my first two, I became accustomed to passing colds back and forth, so much so that runny noses, in my mind, aren't even notable anymore.  I worry more about things like respiratory infections, ear infections, chills and fevers, pink eye, the cold flu, and thrush.  

And do you know what we've experienced this week?  

Am not kidding - we have all of the above. 

From start to finish, all three kids and I have some version of sinusy-respiratory-sore throat-fever-chills-body aches.  Then in addition, KJ went the ear infection route while Jack opted for pink eye (a new one for our family! Go Jack! And also, I assume I can thank the McDonald's playland gahhhh if there was somewhere else to get exercise in the winter), and just before Thanksgiving Marin took on oral thrush as her plague of choice, and is just now finally getting over it with her second medication.

Walgreens is bleeding my bank account and dancing on my debit card, I promise you.

(Also, good thing we got our flu shots this year, right?  Oh, wait...)

 

On a positive note, doll-baby Marin will never miss a day of school in her entire life, having been exposed to every damn childhood virus available in her first three months of life. 

And though it may seem otherwise when I discuss our Fun with Exhaustion and Various Diseases, I can't begin to say how happy I am to have three children.  I feel like I really have the hang of it in just three months' time, and what a dynamic our newest little pumpkin has added to our family.  It took some re-defining of who we are and where we are headed as a group and as individuals, concessions as to how long it should and does actually take a mother and three young children to prepare for exiting the house during the winter, and most certainly we are all learning more patience and turn-taking.  But at this point, with children ages six, almost three, and three months old, I am blown away by how blissfully happy I am with my life. 

(Oh don't deny it - you know you love when I end a blog entry all trippy and euphoric.  Mmmm babies, I love me some babies...  Consider me so the advocate of embiggening your family, now.)

Peaks and Valleys

One year ago,

 

I had just completed painting our new house.  

   

And was still doing whatever I could to sell our old house.

 

One year ago we were learning how to swing two houses and their respective payments and upkeeps, while attempting to still have a Christmas.

 

One year ago we were shoveling the snow at our new house, and then at our old house.

 

Six months ago my shock was turning to complete excitement.  

But we were pulling out our hair wondering how we would swing it all, with two houses and a new baby.

 

Five months ago we concocted a new plan. 

It was pretty much our only option, and our hope to climb out of the hole we had been digging.  We were so nervous about whether it would work out, whether it was the right decision, whether we had what would be required of us to try moving forward, second house still in tow.

 

Today we have a happy, chubby-cheeked almost three month old baby who is a dead ringer for her Daddy.  We have spent the last five months re-gaining our footing and taking a breather from the stresses of day-to-day caring for two homes. 

Today we have no doubts that we made the best decision for what has happened with the economy, to hang on to the old house until its value returns. 

Today I shoveled snow at only one house, and I did not give a second thought to how we would afford a nice Christmas this year. 

Today is the first of the month, and when our renter came by to drop off his rent payment in our mailbox, he called from the end of our driveway to ask if I'd like him to run it to the front door so that I wouldn't have to trudge through the snow later, to retrieve the check from the mailbox. 

Several weeks ago they brought home their new baby to our old house-- their current home, and several weeks from now they will celebrate their first Christmas there as a family of four.  Today I realized again, as I have many times over the last five months, that we have been blessed with the absolute best case scenario. 

We really are finally okay.

Ten, or something like it.

Sure sign that I am a parent of multiple children?  I attempt to title a blog entry with the number of weeks old my baby daughter is and have no idea how many weeks old my daughter is.  Score!

Somewhere in our second month, I am sure. 

Hee.

I think it is finally safe to say at nine? ten? eleven? weeks postpardum, that everything around here is back to normal after baby carrying, delivering and recovery. 

I am mildly obsessed with a comfortably clean house again, cooking healthy meals, bathing children regularly, even reading from time to time, grocery shopping and getting out of the house for sport, always with three yahoos in tow, not losing my mind so much anymore.  I've also gotten my first week of WW under my belt, which means I can stand on my own two feet enough to not look to good old Chips Ahoy for comfort, and I've been thinking about painting rooms again.  Hot damn it feels good.

And I hate to admit this, but after three kids, I think I really suck at pregnancy.

Feeling my usual spunk and energy return, it has become abundantly clear that pregnancy makes me so tired, so whiny, ultra moody and mildly depressed.  Now don't get me wrong - I am unbelievably grateful that my body has carried my three beautiful babies, and without that I would neither be who I am nor so damn happy.  It's just that I spent nine months this year trying to not crash and burn, and then two months crashing and burning, and now?  I realize that it wasn't me just being whiny and awful (well, it was...)  It had to have been my hormones going bonkers.

(And this is where the world wide web sighs in utter disbelief of my universe altering discovery: Pregnancy Makes Women Moody! Tired! Emotional! And at times Down Right Miserable!  Holy Shit!  Somebody call Ted Koppel, I think she's on to something!)

I think one of the biggest positive changes has been our reintroduction to routine.  Don't you feel like you function best when your daily life is fairly predictable?  As of the last week Marin is down to taking two feedings during the night and, knock on wood, going back to sleep when she finishes.  Usually she's finishing up her second feeding around 4am, when Kevin gets up for work.  We say hi and head back to bed until six or seven, when the boys get up.  Then I kick it into high gear as I feed and dress the three kids, give the baby her meds, add a bra and crocs to whatever I slept in the night before and load everyone up to drive KJ to school.  If Marin decides to not scream the entire way there, I sometimes drive around town for ten minutes just to BE OUT.  Then we return home in time to plop Marin in her swing for a morning nap, for Jack to veg out with his gal-pal Dora, and for me to handle laundry, dishes, banking, picking up and sometimes blawwwwgs.  In there I get one-on-one time with Jack, breakfast and the occasional shower.  KJ comes home on the bus around noon, wakes the baby if Jack hasn't by now, we do some form of mildly chaotic lunch preparation while feeding the starving baby and prying children off each other depending on exactly how many Lego creations Jack managed to disassemble while KJ was at school.  By two Jack goes down for a nap, I do more house crap and spend one-on-one time with KJ, get Marin back to happy dreamland in her swing, and occasionally sneak in thirty minutes of couch time to read, nap or catch part of a previously recorded Oprah while KJ has some computer or Wii time.  Make dinner, clean up from dinner, homework, baths, pajamas, read stories, tell stories, prayers.  Fifty-three drinks of water with and without ice, both crushed and cubed, back rubs, back scratches, excuses, whining, lights out.  Eventually get the baby to sleep, clean up, dishes, bottles, internet, crash on couch, Kevin home at 10:30, say hi, bed around 11.  Sporadically insert fifteen hundred infant and toddler diaper changes, baby feedings, baby spit-ups, kid snacks, nose wipes, loads of laundry and long periods of high pitched uber-happy speaking, singing, bouncing and rocking.

I'm sorry.  I got on a roll and couldn't stop.

My point?  Predictable.  I like predictable.

 

I love watching him watch Dora, 

and witnessing his excitement when Thomas began talking in all of his computer-animated glory.

I love watching her grow, now stretching to the length of this surface that practically swallowed her whole just a couple months ago.

I love seeing her facial features change, her responses to people and toys change, and her personality begin to surface. 

And in no time flat KJ will be home from school, bringing with him a plethora of fresh energy, ready to tell me bits and pieces from his day at school, ready to know what's on the agenda for the afternoon - today an afternoon playdate if I ever stop typing and get in the shower. 

It's so good to be back to normal.

Two and Three

 

Hello Internet! 

I am Happy Princess Marin and you've just stumbled upon the Princess Marin Show!

 

My mother thinks it a fabulous idea to lay me on this giant ottoman every few days and take ten thousand pictures of how I've grown since just days before, and today was one of those days.  She tossed down my fall blanket and hoped to get some great shots of me in my fun pink sweatshirt and then, you guessed it...  Blech - all over it.

 

And now I will suggest she dress me in something other than this bo-ring white undershirt, so I shall attempt to soak it as well.

 

Dog-nabbit.  Now that didn't cut it at all.

  

Oh look!  A brother is attacking!  Let us see which one it is.

  

It's Jack!

Hello Jack.  You are the more dangerous of the two.  And the one who refuses to wear pants.  

Now don't go climbing on my head like you did yesterday.  I'm warning you.

  

Mom!  Haaaalp!

Put down the camera and save the infant.

 

Aaaaahhh.  Much better.  A safe distance.  A nice, safe, pleasant distance.

  

NOTASAFEDISTANCE!

 

Beware brother!  I will fight you off with my super-clenched fist and terrible grunty noises!

  

Haha, I crack myself up!

 

Ohhh, he has gone...  

Back to playing Noisy Pantsless Superhero Lego Helicopter Baby-Telephone Something or Other.  Do you understand these boys, Internet? 

 

Me neither.  But he covered me with his special blanket before he returned to his toys, which mom thought was very cute.  So I suppose I'll enjoy his noises and antics until he climbs on my head again tomorrow.  That's the way it goes, eh? 

Oh Happy Day

Alternately titled: We're FREEEEEEEEEE!

Guys, I have tried to update this thing fifty million times while in the hospital with the mouseless internet, all with the use of the TAB key and the worst keyboard ever known to man, but Mah God every time I thought I figured out how to make it post with the use of TAB, TAB, TAB, TABTABTABTAB TABTABTABTAAAAAAABDAMNYOU it would eat the entry that took triple the normal time to write, thank you worst keyboard evah.

Alas, we have arrived home, and what a difference a week makes.

Quick backstory: We took Marin back to the hospital last Friday, just a few hours after we were released, because she had spiked a pretty good fever.  In all the awfulness the universe could muster, she had blood tests, catheterization and a spinal tap and was then started on antibiotics and admitted.  It turned out that she had a bacterial infection in both her blood and her urine, a pretty serious one that was resistant to the prophylactic antibiotic she's been on since birth, and subsequently the antibiotic she was started on that first night in the ER.

So very luckily, Accomodations were provided by Blue Cross & Blue Shield at the Four Star University of Chicago Spa & Resort, and Marin was cared for by a team of doctors, residents and nurses that were just incredible.  (The docs and residents?  They really do walk around in large white coat-wearing groups just like Grey's Anatomy.  I gave them little pet names in my brain, like Yang and Izzy and Mer and wondered which tiny supply closets they were sleeping in during their twenty-four hour shifts, but then the challenge was to not speak these things aloud in the moments I had to rejoin the world of, uh, re-al-i-ty, as they discussed with me plans of action for my baby and more damn IV's.)

As I had filled you in way back when, my next step last Monday morning was to contact a new nephrologist at the Children's Hospital in Indianapolis.  Fortunately, the only thing I could really do with the odd, odd version of Hospital Internet on TV was to TAB TAB TAB and read.  And after doing plenty of reading about the urologist/surgeon we had been seeing at U of C, I wondered why we gave up on the entire hospital so quickly after one bad opinion from one nephrologist.  (I'll tell you why.  With the news and advice from last Friday?  I was in a panic and willing to stand on my head for the rest of my natural life if it would mean never considering the possibility of renal failure in my baby again.)  

With that I left a message for the urologist, and within a couple of hours Marin was being wheeled down for another renal scan.

A few hours later the doctor was back up in our room with answers.  (I won't begin to list the ways in which I adore this man, for I fear I will never be able to stop and then you will never get the rest of the story.  Am long winded.  Have been in seclusion.)

First of all, after much physician debate over the badly worded MAG-3 results, it was clarified that the forty and sixty they had mentioned were meant to say that Marin's bad kidney is functioning somewhat below what is normal, but the good kidney is overcompensating to give her a nice ninety percent total renal function.  That news in itself was enough to have me swinging from the hot fluorescent ceiling lights, but then I let the man finish.

The top half of Marin's bad kidney is very swollen (and now infected) as we have been seeing in test after test.  Thankfully, the bottom half and its attached ureter are completely normal.  The top half of the kidney also has a second ureter coming from it, also very swollen and infected, and neither the top half of the kidney nor the upper ureter are functioning, but rather, reeking havoc on Marin's poor little body.

For that reason, our doctor is giving Marin several more weeks to completely heal from her bacterial infection and then she will undergo surgery to remove the upper half of the kidney and ureter.  And if you can imagine, that is the best damn news I've heard all week.  My daughter is going to have surgery, and then she is going to be FINE.  She will be checked periodically after all of this, and she will be JUST FINE. 

Normal - and healthy - and fine.

My tortured mind and her tortured body since week twenty-five of pregnancy, and finally there are answers, and a plan, and a predicted wonderful outcome for a long, happy, healthy life.

Just for kicks, though, I think I should change my blog name.  Shall we go with,

Lost An Ovary,

Lost My Mind,

or 

Lost a Kidney?

 

A fine time to joke, protests the chubby-cheeked one.   

This was us for the last seven days, in the most awful chair in the entire hospital - the only place I could hold her given the short leash of leads, wires and IV tubing.

 

Kevin and the boys were able to visit the nurse with the juice and snack cart us last weekend, which was great.  It was nice to be together as a family, even if it meant being here together as a family.

 

And as a perk?  In-room prisons for bad behavior (or for playing zoo polar bears, whatever floats your boat.)

Back in pink instead of those awful blue hospital gowns.  Maybe now unsuspecting nurses will stop calling me Martin!

I am also feeling infinitely better all around, and have plans to spend the rest of the week catching up on playtime with my children, and cleeeeeaning, holy pent up energy Batman.

Choose Your Own Adventure

I have been trying for days to figure out exactly which of my seventeen personalities should post to this terribly neglected website.  Should it be The Overtired?  She Who Self-Medicates With Bag After Bag of Chewy Chips Ahoy Cookies?  Possibly Super Laundry Girl (who gets as far as folding and then allows eight baskets of clothes to build up and be picked through on her bedroom floor for at least a week,) or maybe you'd prefer to hear from Riddled With Guilt Mom, which has been the personality of choice these days.

This is normal for five weeks postpartum, I suppose, to feel pretty okay, and then no more than an hour later have a complete mental meltdown over tossing yet another unhealthy dinner onto the table, way to go super-mom (rhymes with Shmurger Fling, but wait! A-ha! Apple Fries! Nutrition at last!)  Or to be driving to the outlet mall, finally alone, forgiving oneself for being So Not Ready to work on losing the remaining forty-ish pounds of baby weight, and then find myself back in my car after only The Gap, bawling because my God did I really just hunt for that size after working so hard to lose so much weight a couple years ago?  And also, I already missed my baby.

These days are pure crazy. 

I did try to pick up the pace late last week, though, and packed everyone up and headed out to the pumpkin farm (with the help of two girlfriends in tow, of course.) 

So, uh, my camera batteries died ten minutes into the fun and the entire experience shall now be chalked up to, Look, We Done Sat On A Red Tractor That October. 

This picture is titled Mama Had To Get Out Of The House So We Drove Up To Michigan To See Orange and Yellow Trees.

Drove and drove and drove, thanking my lucky stars that the boys are good travelers, and Marin remains fairly happy in the car unless it comes to a stop for any reason whatsoever.  Just keep moving.  Keeeep moving and look at the pretty fall colors.  Keeeeep, keeeeeeep moving, you fools.

And if we must exit the vehicle, this is the easiest thing to do in Michigan, or anywhere, with children ages six, two and one month, and one teetering-on-the-edge mother: eat ice cream. 

 

This is the yellow tree I was in love with, which made me feel All Better And Even Normal for a few minutes while I took eighty-seven pictures of it.  

Eighty-eight.

Eighty-nine?

   

Back home, back to that part about the moving again.  Just keeeeeeep her moving.

 

KJ's Spongebob Square Pants addiction is to Marin's movement addiction, though somehow I can deal with one much easier than the other.  (Good gravy he looks So Six Years Old.)

And as for the middle one?  (How strange it still seems to me that he is my "middle one," by the way.)  He's plum goofy, and as long as he's happy, I'm happy.  Even if it means tossing him into the recycling just for kicks.  And see how happy he is there?  Plum goofy, I tell you.

How to fall apart with all (some) of the world watching

1. Have an infant.

2. Have a blog.

Often times when I think about writing here, I think that I have nothing more to say than to tell it like it is, which will include the words Oh God I'm Tired and Am Not Handling This Well.  Then I think that it's been three weeks since this baby was born and maybe I should have GOTTEN A GRIP by this point. 

But let me reassure you, no grip.  In fact, every day I am still pretty sure that I just gave birth the day before because good hell this still a pretty fresh kind of difficult.  I can't believe I'm still this emotional, this weepy and this needy.  I really thought that, being my third time around at this parenting an infant thing, that I should not only recover from my c-section quickly and manage, but manage like a God Blessed Pro.

But the things that I didn't take into consideration, when I thought about what the first month of my sweet daughter's life, are things like sleep deprivation - and how one could be on her twenty-third baby and still start off each morning like a complete zombie because of The Tired.  That after Marin has been inconsolable for a good long while, and the boys are fighting with each other, or still waiting for something from me - be it attention or a simple glass of apple juice, that I would feel hopelessly stuck in this situation that leaves me with no breaks, no sympathy, no peace.  I didn't know I would be this busy, and we didn't know my husband wouldn't be able to work from home once eight p.m. rolled around, like we had planned - like I had counted on.  I didn't remember that I would still be physically hurting three weeks out of surgery, that I would lose an ovary and be ungodly hormonal and cry every freaking day, and that I would look at myself in the mirror and wonder who the hell I was looking at, even though I really thought I had prepared myself for all of this.

I can't help but be so disappointed, both in myself and in this whole situation.  I keep telling myself that women do this, and that I can too.  And then I want nothing more than to curl up in a ball and hide.

Marin is finally asleep back awake, and Jack just woke from his nap.  I never slept.  Fabulous. 

My love to you, Internet.  I'm at a loss.