Why becoming a mother AGAIN at 36 was the best thing I've ever done

I read somewhere recently some rules for blogging (yeah yeah you caught me referencing The Pioneer Woman again. Whatcha gonna do about it?). You can read that post, it's enlightening. Or not. Whatever. In any case, here I sit. I don't have any sort of case of writer's block or anything, just a case of what do I need to blog about today... Here's what's on my mind:

When I told my dad we were expecting a baby (my 4th, hubs 1st) his words to me were actually, "Are you SURE you want to do that AGAIN?" Of course this isn't saying much for my dad (he doesn't read the blog though so he'll never know). When I was pregnant with my 2nd child he warmly declared, "Wow. You really want me to not be able to deny that I'm a grandfather." Geez. Thanks dad. No, seriously. I love my dad. He's fantastic. He played guitar and sang me down the aisle when Matt and I got married in July. He cried at our wedding. Like cried. A lot. He's a genuinely genuine guy. And I'm a genuine daddy's girl. He might have some trouble seeing the value in having children though. I'm just guessing.

It's my sweet husband's birthday today. He's 36 years old. He's younger than me by 78 days (but who's counting). He just became a father for the first time (though for all intents and purposes he's got 4 kids. A real parenting crash course.). Anyway, thanks to Ella, my well functioning uterus and a night back in December, he now has a biological child as well. This occurred 8 weeks ago today. And this is "why becoming a mother AGAIN at age 36 was the best thing I ever did" reason #1 (I'm in a list making sort of mood this week, for what's it's worth). Also, these are in no particular order. For what it's worth.

1. I made my husband a daddy. And he's super good at it too. Seeing him hold our little baby girl just makes my heart feel like it's going to explode.

(This isn't really physiologically possible btw. Maye a valve or two would bust, but the heart actually exploding... Not likely.)

2. Renewed (or expanded) faith in my body and myself. In case you haven't read this blog, I had Ella at home. Strange and/or controversial as this may seem to some, it was literally the best decision we have made to date (aside from making her, which was obviously a precursor). Having a baby at home is fun (no, I'm not using drugs of any kind). I'd do it again (I said I wasn't using drugs.). Like tomorrow (no, really, I'm not). Also, as the post I mention above declares, while any birth I believe helps make a woman what she is, this one was paramount for me. I believe that what a woman gains from her empowered birth makes her stronger, wiser and generally more capable. This may sound braggart to some, but I'm proud of myself for having a nearly 10 and a half pound baby. In. The. Kitchen.

We have a secret in our culture, and it’s not that birth is painful. It’s that women are strong.
-Laura Stavoe Harm

That pretty much sums that up.

3. Becoming a mother again has made me appreciate the kids I already have that much more. Corny. True. It might sound like I'm saying I didn't already appreciate them. Not the case. Moms (and dads, to be fair), remember when you had your first baby and you loved it so much you thought your heart would burst? (See #1. It won't.) Then you were going to have #2 and were scared you wouldn't be able to love it as much/give it enough attention/etc. (See #8) Then you had the new little baby and bam, love multiplied, not divided. The human brain has an amazing capacity for love. Thank you oxytocin.

4. I have more patience now. That's not saying too much. I'll admit I wasn't the most patient mother at age 20. I still have my moments (you know like when two adolescent boys are trying to kill each other over a PSP or I open the 15 yo's closet to find a hidden pile of clothes that reaches my knees) but my 3 big kids and Ella all benefit from the mellowing that occurs with age. I'm like a fine wine. I think.

5. I have a better grasp on what's important in life. Priorities. For example:

Important: breastfeeding a hungry baby on demand. Not important: scrubbing toilets.
Important: talking with my children. Not important: talking on the phone to my mother (sorry mom. You're moving down the list.)
Important: Hearing my kids laugh. Not important: Hearing people on TV laugh.
Important: Feeling good about your body and your health. Not important: Obsessing over the size of your backside.

I think you get what I'm saying. Life is short. Enjoy.

6. I'm no longer terrified of being a mother. At the risk of having a calamity of some kind, I'll admit, there is little (in the realm of normal, and some not so normal) that I haven't seen or done. This includes, but is not limited to: Wounds of all shapes and sizes, depths and widths. Colic. Various surgeries. Snotty noses and attitudes. Vomit and/or poop all over everything, including your clothes and/or furniture (sometimes simultaneously). Pneumonia. Asthma. Boy trouble. Girl trouble. Heartbreak. Bad grades. Trouble with teachers/students/yard duty people. (Once my son actually almost got expelled for drawing a cartoon strip depicting the school being blown up by a bomb. Active imagination that kid.) Anyway. I've seen a lot of stuff. I no longer feel the need to sterilize everything the baby touches. Spit will do. I now know that if a 4 year old doesn't want to wear shoes, probably the world will continue to rotate on it's axis if he goes barefoot. Also, mascara is not poisonous. X14 will clean your shower AND ruin your sofa. Boys bikes should really be designed to protect their penises if they fall (see various surgeries, above). A child can take until they are 3 to fully potty train. They won't poop their pants forever. Even if your mom insists they will. Mud washes off of most things and is also not toxic. Eighteen month old boys are very clever at finding ways to reach cookies. It's not the end of the world if your 7 year old knows the f word. If he says it at gramma's house, you might have a problem. There is little that scares me for I have seen a lot of it. I'm ready. Except for the really bad crap. No one is ever ready for that. I've seen that too. That crap terrifies me. Next topic.

7. It's this feeling you get about your kids. I'll admit one (actually two) of my children were not intentionally conceived. At the time this seemed like kind of a..... well, problem. A crisis even. Of epic proportions. With one of them I actually didn't have room in the house OR the car. But along he came anyway. By the power of failed birth control. It was a pretty big deal at the time. Like... Oh. My. God. How am I going to feed and clothe another WHOLE PERSON? But you know what, there is no way I'd ever live my life without that kid. He is my baby boy. The sweetest kid. He cried when his pet spider died. When Ella was born he sat behind me and cheered me on telling me I could do it. And like every child we've got, I can't imagine if that birth control pill had worked. Can't even fathom. It's magic. Kids just wrap themselves all up in your heart. It what keeps you from giving them away when they're so terribly two, wildly eight, know-it-all 12 and snotty 15. It's natures way of keeping them safe. Anyway... Our house would be so boring without Ella.

8. Cute (and functional) baby things. When I had my first daughter 15 years ago swings still had to be hand wound. I am dead serious. You'd wind them up, put the baby in, they'd run out of go and whammo, awake baby. OR you'd actually remember to re-wind it BEFORE it ran out and the stupid winding mechanism itself would wake the kid up anyway. Now... batteries. Brilliant. Also there were no bumbo's or chairs that vibrated and played womb noises, nightgowns still had stings on the bottom (cause no one had choked on them yet I guess), carseats didn't have detachable bases you could leave strapped in the car (crazy) and if you wanted a double electric breastpump you would have had to sell your soul to buy one. (Yep, I nursed for 16 months hand expressing and using a single sided hand pump. Good times.)

9. Life experience. This is not to say that 20 year old people don't make good parents. (I was a parent at 20 and that kid is doing alright. As far as I can tell anyway.) But this is to say that 36 year old people have seen and done some more stuff. Most of them anyway. I couldn't share what the stress of college and working full time was like with my child when I was 20 because I hadn't done it yet. I didn't know much about politics. (Though I was liberal back then too. Yes, I voted for Clinton.) I didn't know how to carve a turkey much less raise a child. I'd been exposed only to a handful of religious beliefs and ethnicity's. I grew up in a town of less than 50,000 people. But by the time I was 25 I'd know 2 people who were brutally murdered. I'd see one kid shoot a hole right though his hand. I'd lose my own unborn baby, both of my dad's parents, my mother's father, one aunt to suicide and my great grandmother who was like a mother to me. I would have had my house broken in to twice and my car stolen 3 times (You might be getting the picture that I wasn't living in the small town anymore). Also, incidentally, I've seen more in my career as a RN than most people will see in their lives. You get the idea. Experience. I hope Ella can benefit from it.

10.Did I mention patience?

11. It was an incredible experience for my other kids to see their sister born. Not only did they see the beauty of new life, they saw the power of women. My boys got to see, through their stepdad, how a woman should be treated. I hope this teaches them how to treat their wives. My daughter got to see what she deserves as a woman. Birth was normalized for them as safe and beautiful, not something mysterious and frightening. And all of them now have to to learn how to share time and space with a whole other person (see #7). They're better for it too.

There are more reasons than this but I'm going to stop now because I know what's important and I've got a baby that's ready to nurse on demand. :)

The Pioneer Woman

Disclaimer: This is me whining about having to go back to work. Because this blog is for me and my own therapy. And I need some.

In case you don't know The Pioneer Woman, here she is. I'd never heard of her before yesterday. I swear. Because I blog, you'd think I would have read her blog. But no. I have not. Or at least not before this morning (well yesterday afternoon). Apparently she's like SUPER FAMOUS (making my little baby blog seem pretty silly). My friend Staci pointed me in her direction (as she was encouraging me, in the way only my sweet Staci does, to start a professional blog) and I admit I was drawn right in. Her blog is fantastic. I mean really. She's got photos and contests and recipes and crafts. She's like the wonder woman of blogging. However, as far as my own personal blogging is concerned, I feel like the internet is pretty saturated with blogs and people trying to make money that way. It's all been done, as they say. I have nothing unique or new or fresh to offer the world. Not when there are Pioneer Women out there that are the epitome of amazing.

However, that said, if I could quit working in the sense that I put on clothes and my badge and stethoscope and go out into the world every day to care for the sick and dying, then I would. I'd miss being able to give to society in the way I feel I do in my job as a nurse. I'd miss my patients and their families fiercely. I'd miss the nurses I work with. But... you really wouldn't have to ask me twice. In fact you would even have to ask me one half of once. If I could make a living at home blogging/cooking/crocheting/ knitting (ok I probably couldn't make a living knitting cause I suck at it)/watching TV professionally/babysitting other women's children/baking cookies/, I totally would. I went to school for like EVER to become a RN (ok it was only a few years but still, nursing school is stressful) but I'd still put all that on hold to see my little baby grow.

I'm pained by the thought of leaving Ella.

Like pained pained. It's the elephant in the room for me right now (which is why it deserved it's own line). Oh sure I can conceptualize the thought of getting dressed and driving to my office and going to meetings and going to patient's homes every day. But when I REALLY think about it, dropping Ella off at someone else's door, pumping during the day, not carrying her around in the sling, not seeing her smiles and giggles, my heart wants to break into a hundred million tiny pieces. I just don't wanna do it. Like throw a temper tantrum on the floor kicking and screaming and make an absurd scene don't wanna do it.

Since I've started looking for childcare options my desire to throw a tantrum is growing stronger. Must. Kick. And. Scream. I know I'm not alone. I think statistically something like 58% percent of women would rather work outside the home. Yeah. No thank you. Not this momma. I'm perfectly content to cook and clean and care for children. I'd darn socks and make dresses and bake my own bread. I'd get spit up on ad pooped on all day. I'd scrub floors and toilets (when I wasn't gazing at my sweet baby). I'd do it. I swear. And I'd never ever ever complain (well maybe a little bit when I missed adult conversation). I was born to be domestic.

When I had my first sweet screaming baby girl my mom gave me this sage advice, she said, "Oh honey by the time that baby is 6 weeks old you'll be DYING to get back to work." She lied. She totally lied (it's not the first time either, sorry if you're reading this mom, you're a really good cook, just so you know). Liar. I took Kelsey to the sitter (who was my friend ever) and then I cried. And when I say cried I don't mean blotted my eyes with a tissue and silently sniffled, I mean ugly sobbing snarfy cry. You know the one I'm talking about. I did it every day for months and months. It was torture. But I had to work. And I have to work now.

There was a point where I didn't work. It didn't make sense to put 2 kids in daycare (and then 3 kids in daycare) on the salary I made then but you know living is like expensive man. Expensive. And we've got 4 kids. And the two in the middle eat enough that I have to work just to feed them (Ella only drinks boobie which I can make for free, thank goodness). Also my 12 and 10 year old boys have both already grown out of the pants I bought them when school started (which was, in case you aren't keeping track, like 2 months ago). And. And. And. Kids are expensive too.

Anyway, the point being, I need to work, and I'm working on getting ok with it. My sweet husband is working his hiney off trying to find a way for me not to work. Bless his talented pea picking heart. But alas, I am skilled. I have a degree and I should probably use it, even if I'm totally not in the 58% mentioned above. Frown.

Suggestions are welcomed and encouraged from all you working mommas.

Pumpkin head :)

On being a mother...

Disclaimer: I use a curse word in this post. Twice. The word is shit. I apologize. It was for effect.

My friend Val over at Val McCormick Photography linked my blog on her facebook yesterday (I've know Val since I was a snotty preteen, btw, and so has my husband. He wasn't snotty in 7th grade though, just cute.). She suggested moms read my blog which made me think about...well, being a mom, and blogging.

Once I actually did write part of a book. It was more just a bunch of stories stuck together in what I thought might become a book someday (in the spirit of David Sedaris), but it didn't make any real sense, my rambling about whatever that wasn't really connected. The only common thread of the collection being I was a mom of 3 small children at the time and some of my days were so sitcom comical that I felt like I had to write about them (again, David Sedaris). Then one day, in true sitcom style, my computer crashed and it was all lost, because, in true sitcom style, I hadn't backed any of it up. I thought that might have been the universes way of telling me I ought not to be telling my stories to the general public. In any case, it was funny, if I do say so myself. Tales of me gardening in the nude because I was so frantic to water the tomatoes that I forgot to get dressed, of grape juice containers exploded upon white kitchen walls and freshly mopped wood, of cheerios spilled on grocery store floors with 3 crying children and other things about being a mother (PS I really love David Sedaris. You don't have to read his books but if you don't you're missing out. I'm just sayin'.).

In that light I want to tell you 10 things I wish I'd known about motherhood (you know, before I had a crying real live baby on my hands at the ripe ol' age of 20). Some of them I learned 15 years ago and some of them just in these last weeks, since I became a mommy to another sweet soul. Life is a journey, not a destination. So here it is...


1. You can live on less sleep than you think. A lot less. Chances are when you look at your baby you won't really care that you haven't seen the inside of your eyelids in what seems like an eternity. You'll sleep again someday. Probably. I should add that the combination of lack of sleep + having not enough hands or time to do all that needs to be done (like look at yourself in the mirror) you will eventually walk out of the house with your hair in total disarray/your teeth not brushed/a stain on your shirt/a booger hanging out of your nose. Possibly all of those. On the same day.

2. Alternatively, you might feel like you're going out of your mind from lack of sleep. If this is the case, you probably are and you should get some sleep. Like... now. A sleepy, grouchy mom is ineffective and just plain miserable. Ask my kids. Even with a full nights sleep, no guarantee on the booger thing though.

3. Having a baby will change your body in ways you can't imagine. Women don't tell you this. By your 5th pregnancy (and in truth it probably won't take near that many) your stomach may act as a curtain for your pubic hair and your breasts might resemble something like a tube sock with a rock in the end. On the other hand, if you are one of those women who can fit into her pre-pregnancy jeans and look like she's never been pregnant at two weeks postpartum, I'm sorry, the rest of us hate you. Well, not hate so much as envy. In any case, your husband, if you're lucky like me, will love your body even more than he did before it carried and birthed your baby. I suggest you try to love it too. It's the only one you've got. It's not broken, it doesn't need fixing, it's just new and improved. And squishier. (Note to self: have husband write a guest post on this)

4. Your house is going to be a mess. That's ok. Laundry will pile. Floors will be dirty. I promise you it won't be messy forever. Well it might, but whatever, it's just a house. When your kids leave and it's tidy, you'll just wish they were there to mess it up again. Trust me, I might be the most obsessively clean person I know (next to my mother), the day I let it go was the day I was freed from the prison of my own misery. When the 3 big kids leave to go to their dad's house I madly clean the messes they've left behind, then I sit on the sofa and cry, wishing they'd just come back home and make it a mess again. It's just a house.

5. The things you said you'd never ever do in a million zillion katrillion years like give your kids candy for bribery/take them to McDonalds/beg borrow and steal to get them to eat ANYTHING green/let them sleep in your bed when they are 4, you will do. People will judge you. If you have to give your 3 year old a sucker to survive the grocery store, oh well. That might be the only way you both make it out alive. Those teeth aren't permanent anyway.

6. Your children will make you cry. When they are babies you will cry along with them because you can't get them to stop crying/don't know why they are crying/are just realizing what you signed up for. When they are toddlers you will cry because you can't get them to mind you/eat anything that isn't macaroni or comes from a box/stop crying for every toy in the store. When they are school aged you will cry when they scrape their knee/don't make the football team/get left out of whatever circle of bratty kids they wish they were part of. When they are in high school you will cry because they tell you you're the worst mother ever because you won't let them have an xbox/cell phone/boyfriend/black eyeliner. When they are in college you will cry when you drop them off at the dorm and then again when they get their heart broken/fail a class/move into their first apartment/graduate. What happens after college, I can't say yet because I don't know but I'm sure there's just going to be more crying. When they get married/have their own kids/cry because of said kids. You're going to cry, with them, for them and sometimes because of them. If you're not a crier like me then you'll just do whatever thing you do. I cry. I just keep tissues around.

7. Your children will also make you crazy. Batshit, looney tunes, going out of your flippin mind crazy. Just when you think you've got them figured out, they'll enter a whole new phase and make you crazy again. Just when you think your baby is going to sleep all night long they'll start teething or having separation anxiety or having nightmares. Just when you think you've figured out how to get your 3 year old to eat veggies, they'll go back to eating peanut butter and jelly. Every. Single. Meal. Just when you think you see eye to eye with your 11 year old because you have a reasonable conversation, they'll hit puberty and turn into a hormonal monster. And just when you've got the teenager all figured out they'll move away and you won't know what they're doing or where they are and that will drive you crazy too. It's helpful to recognize this before it happens so you don't commit yourself to an institution.

8. Your first child will get a full baby book with a million photos and every milestone recorded, brand new un-spitup on clothes, lots of attention from family near and far and every minute of time you have. Your fourth baby (or 2nd or 6th or whatever) probably won't get all that. At least not the full baby book. I'm just keepin it real. You just won't fill out the book when 4 (or 2 or 6) small people are trying to get your attention. Bottom line: If you only have one child you'll be worried it's going to be spoiled rotten/self-centered/unable to share. If you have 4 children you'll worry they are going to feel left out/ignored/abandoned. You can't win either way. Accept this now. If you are a mother who has kept a full baby book for every baby, please email me now, I need lessons and then to award you the Nobel Prize for Peace AND Literature.

9. Whatever kind of parent you are, someone will tell you you are doing it wrong. If you are an attached parent (like me) people will say things like you're spoiling your baby/your baby is never going to learn to walk/you're going to be sorry you let your baby sleep with you/I can't believe you're STILL breastfeeding etc. etc. It's bullshit. You have to parent your kids. You might be doing it wrong, it's possible, but if you love your children and you aren't abusing them, the person criticizing you is probably just an opinionated jerk. You have my permission to tell them so, or at least just to nod politely and completely ignore them.

10. Along those lines you will continuously question your parenting. If you think you've got it all right, all the time, there's something wrong with you. Or you're Jesus. Or you should write a parenting book. Or you're one of the people mentioned in #9. You will worry that you're spoiling them/not spoiling them/hugging them too much/not hugging them enough/being overprotective/not being protective enough. You will worry that they are going to grow up to hate you for what you did "to them". Don't worry, they will. They'll probably go to college and then need therapy and then call you and tell you it's because you never bought them an xbox/cell phone/black eyeliner that they are so terribly dysfunctional. Then they'll have their own kids, call you, apologize for being a jerk and ask you how you did it. At this point you should write them a list of things you think they should know about parenting, like this one. Start the list with #6, just to make them feel guilty.

11. (oops, turns out there were 11) Until you are a parent you won't believe how much you can love another person. Other parents will tell you and you'll nod and agree but you won't really know it until you feel it first hand, until you gaze at your baby and see the future through their little eyes and realize they are your heart, your soul and your everything. And you'll probably cry. Just keep some tissue around.

Theses are my four hearts. :)


(FYI: The one in the blue shirt is thinking about how I am ruining his life by making him take pictures. As far as I can tell the other 3 are just hoping it's over soon.)

Crossing the lines to party.

aka crossing party lines.

Blog Disclaimer: I'm not trying to start a political debate. Just, you know, writing. My friend Liz over at Pharm Girl did a blog post yesterday about voting. I read it just I was starting mine. Anyway, Liz is a smart girl and a conservative voter. But I love her anyway :)

So... It's voting time again. Just in case you live in a vacuum or black hole and you've haven't heard of Meg Whitman. Yeah. It's that time of year. The leaves are changing. The weather is cooling. The phone is ringing off the hook with the sounds of pre-recorded voices urging you to vote for this or that or whatever. You can hang up. I give you permission.

Let me start with this: I am liberal. (Oh. My. What did she say?)

Yes. That's right. I am a liberal in a town of conservatives. I confess. Please don't toilet paper my house. Being a minority is tough. My Obama sticker got stolen right off my car. Twice. I wasn't raised by liberals. That doesn't make sense because my parents smoked a lot of weed and were into that free love thing but still my dad is conservative. Weird. I don't think my mom even votes, which is worse than being conservative even. My grandparents are also conservative. Like "have a signed picture of George W. Bush on the wall" conservative. Reeeeally conservative. So I came to my liberal place on my own. I went to an eco-conscious/liberal college where if you didn't recycle you might as well have been a felon and if you weren't pro-choice you might as well have been from Mars. I chose that college. It was my first choice. I applied to 4 other colleges but that was the only one I cared to attend.

I'm not too crunchy but I do recycle. We do what we can. I teach my kids love and responsibility for their surroundings (I mean not their bedrooms obviously, but whatever). We drive an astoundingly big car, it's true, but my husband drives an abnormally small car to offset this environmental offense. We conserve water. We cloth diaper. I wear my babies. We had our baby at home, but we aren't hippies. I breastfeed, not for 6 years, but I do. I'm not going to stop washing my hair or anything, but I do what I can.

Anyway when it comes to politics and voting I subscribe to the following method: Vote your conscience. So I do. I acknowledge that my conscience might not be yours. That's ok. But here's how I vote: I vote with love and concern for other people, or what I think best promotes that. The gay people. The straight people. The people who can't pick. The Christian people. The Jewish people. The atheist people. The liberal people. The conservative people. The socialist people. I even love and care about the people with the Vidak sign on their lawn (or it was on their lawn, but I didn't steal it, I swear. It wasn't me). If I'm not sure how to vote on something I vote 1. for the good of the people I care about (my kids mostly) or 2. for the environment. If I'm really not sure I ask my husband because he's also liberal, and has a lot more opportunity to read the news than I do (AKA: His job is awesome.)

I don't mind political debate. In fact, I welcome it. Good conversational exchange leaves both parties feeling like they've gained from the experience. I think that what makes being human great is that we aren't the same. So let's celebrate those differences. Get out and vote, however you're voting, unless you live in California and you're voting for Meg Whitman. Nah I'm just kidding, you can vote for Meg, then we can have a good conversational exchange about it.

I voted. Now I'm going to go vacuum. Priorities you know.