Oh Jamaica, How I Miss Thee...

Ahhhhhh, Jamaica. The hot sun, the cool pool, the never-ending drinks and food. Oh how I miss you. This weekend has been nothing short of trying for both John and I. It’s the changing of the seasons here so while the leaves may be really pretty this time of year, it’s also the time for everyone to get sick…and sick we have been.

John started with a sinus infection/cold last week and not long after, cub came down with the same issues. Poor kiddo was congested and just feeling awful. It’s the worst when your kid is sick and they don’t yet understand that concept of blowing their nose. They look at you with these pathetic eyes and it just makes you feel so helpless. But this momma powered on…taking care of both my men until they were pretty much on the mend. And then it was my turn. Friday night, I felt like someone was simultaneously stabbing both of my ear drums as they throbbed with a pain I couldn’t imagine. I’d say it was definitely worse than labor because, for me, it was. I never once felt a contraction or a Braxton Hicks my entire pregnancy and had a c-section on week 39 but hey, that’s a whole other story. Back to my misery.

Why is it when moms get sick, they feel bad for not doing the billion and one things that need to get done on any given day? I was exhausted, yet the laundry needed to get done, people needed to eat and my baby still needed to be rocked. And I did it with no complaint, knowing that’s just what moms do. I saw my mom do it for many years as I am sure she saw hers do it as well. Getting sick is different when you are a mom. There’s really no time to wallow in the self pity of sickness. Naps make me feel guilty…which sucks cause I love me some naps. But it is what it is and you do what you need to keep your family going.

Not gonna lie…there are days when I miss the carefree lifestyle where all I had to worry about was taking the dog out for a potty break. Now life seems so hectic and there’s never a chance to rest, much less do something I used to enjoy. But then I look at my little guy and he flashes that gummy smile and I know that there is no place I would rather be. Momville. Some days it’s hard but some days it’s not and those are the days that energize me and keep all of us moving forward.

A dirty banana wouldn’t hurt though. Nor would a sandy beach. There’s a time and a place and maybe we’ll get back soon. Maybe we won’t and that’s ok too. Even with a double ear infection, I can appreciate just how much the Lord has blessed me with and for that, I am thankful. Now if I could only get the stabbing to stop!

I never understood morning people. Why wake up at the crack of dawn when you can stay snuggled in your comfy, warm bed well past the time the sun has made it's debut for the day? I'd rather get things done when the rest of the world is fast asleep and enjoy my late mornings. It's not even that I enjoy sleeping until noon - I certainly don't. But I will sleep in until the very last minute before work and waking up at 8 or 9 am is a luxury I like to indulge in on the weekend. At least that's the way it used to be. Before the Insomniac.

God certainly does have a sense of humor. Knowing that I'm more of a night owl, He provided me with a baby who refuses to sleep past 5 am and even 4:30 am is more of a regular wake up time for him than anything else.

Nothing gets the Insomniac back to sleep after 5 am. We have tried bribing him with a bottle against our pediatrician's wishes. We walk and rock and pat. We haven't yet let him fully "cry it out" yet though we are getting close.

"Crying it out" is an interesting method. I've read the pros and cons and I know people usually feel pretty strongly one way or another about it, but until now I've gone mostly with my gut. My gut hates hearing my baby scream so I just can't do it.

However, I now understand how some moms say they get to a point where there's just no other option. My gut, (and every other part of my body, mind, and soul), is sure getting exhausted waking up at 4:30 - 5 am everyday. But we have neighbors pretty close by and I'm constantly worried about waking them up because not only can my son survive with very little sleep, he can scream with the best of them. This kid has one hell of a set of lungs.

I see 3 options. 1.) Continue as we are and not only will I be "Overwhelmed Mommy" but I can also be "Ridiculously Exhausted, Overwhelmed, Mean Mommy." 2.) Suck it up and institute crying it out while pissing off the entire neighborhood in the process. 3.) Sell the house, find a new one in a more spread out neighborhood, then try crying it out.

Can you believe that the only reasonable option I see is number 3? Is anyone looking for a new home? Mama needs some sleep.

Super Mom

Rather than pretend I have it all together, because in all honesty, that's gotten old real fast, I would like to announce to the world that I'm a mom on the edge. I am overwhelmed and wish I knew the meaning of "balance." I think I need a life coach.



For lack of a better way to put this, I am doing a pretty sh*tty job of being a mom. I can't seem to figure out how to be a mom plus everything else that I'm supposed to be. I'm barely able to handle being a mom and an employee (as I'd really rather not give away what I do at this time) who works minimum 50 hours a week but it's usually closer to 60+. I have actually forgotten on occasion that I'm supposed to be a wife too. I mean, I am technically a wife...there is a legal, binding document that states just that somewhere, it's just that I forget that I was a wife before I was a mom and that I'm supposed to continue being a wife after becoming a mom. And don't even get me started on the fact that I haven't been any kind of friend, daughter, or just me since, oh, about 8 and 1/2 months ago.



I do not understand how you super moms do it. Are you guys pulling a fast one on me or faking it really well so that I look bad? How do you raise a well-adjusted, happy child, maintain a loving marriage, strengthen the bonds of friendship, have a career, keep a clean/organized house, and grow personally all at the same time? Was a manual passed out that I missed getting a copy of because I was off trying to figure out your little secret?



I still haven't figured it out. I have no answers. I'm getting a bit desperate though. You supermoms better watch your back because I'm going to surprise you one day, steal your manual, speed read through it and then work some magic so I find the balance that I'm desperately in need of. Until then, you can find me at work...or buried under a pile of clothes that need to be put away...or wandering aimlessly...

Family Gatherings

Ahhhhhhh, the joys of family gatherings. Good times sitting around talking about the good ‘ole days, laughing as we recall all of our favorite memories. The warm feeling of the bond that is shared between us all running deep through the room as we sip our drinks and devour the massive quantities of food that always seem to be present at family events. These times are precious and we all seem to acknowledge that silently as we go back for another plate or another glass of wine, listening to the trail of laughter as we leave the room.

And then something happens. We start talking about Cub. Specifically about what he is eating and I go from happiness to dread because I know what’s coming next. You see, my family is from Europe (in fact, my sister and I are the first generation actually born in the States) and we all know everything is done differently in Europe…especially 30-50 years ago when my mom and dad, aunts and uncles and grandmother were raising their kids.

I get asked what I am feeding him. When I tell them, they giggle and start down the path. Down the path of what their kids were eating by Cub’s age. My mother is the biggest culprit. She watches Cub 3 days a week and while I know he is in wonderful hands, I know she can’t wait to give him more food than I am ready for him to eat.

“I want to give him an orange or cheerios…and I have!!”, she proclaims. I just sigh and look at my aunt, whom I know is on my side. John and I have decided to follow our pediatrician’s recommendations on feeding and let’s just say that oranges and cheerios are not on the list quite yet. But what are ya gonna do? The kid isn’t gonna die if he sucks on an orange or gums a cheerio to death but I think the part that she doesn’t understand is I want to be the one to introduce these foods. I want to be able to see the reaction of joy or disgust on his face as we give him something new. I want to make sure he isn’t reacting negatively to the food. Basically, I just want some control. Sadness envelops me because I feel like I am already missing so much having to work out of the house full time and I always thought I’d at least have control over his eating. I am quickly learning that I really don’t have any control when other people are with my son longer during the day than I am. And I am working on giving it up and learning to enjoy the time I do have and the things I do get to see. And just because it may not be his first time eating that cheerio, the time will come where it will be the first time he eats that cheerio with me and I will choose to not be sad. I will choose to be proud that Cub is developing enough to eat that cheerio or suck on that orange.

Or crawl for the first time. Or take that first step. Or complete his first sentence. And y’all, that is what this all comes down to. I cringe at all these firsts that I know I am going to miss and while eating his first cheerio isn’t really that big of a deal, I know it’s leading to bigger and better firsts in the very near future. My kiddo is growing up and every day, it gets harder and harder to leave him. As I kiss his little head goodbye in the morning, I wonder what he is going to do today that will be new? What’s going to crack him up and give him a giggle fit today as he notices something that maybe he didn’t yesterday? It makes my heart physically hurt. Yet, at the same time, it bursts with pride knowing he is developing as he should be.

And then I am pulled back to laughter as I hear my grandma talk about how she used to mix my uncle’s bottle with half milk and half coffee. “How old was he, grandma??”, someone yells. “Ooooh, I don’t know, maybe 6 or 7 months,” she retorts. Oh boy. At least we’re one step ahead of the game. Cubbie hasn’t had his first cup of coffee yet…or maybe he has. Who really knows at this point!

Being All That I Can Be?

I want to be one of those moms. I really do. You know the ones. The ones that have spotlessly clean houses that are perfectly decorated for every holiday season. The ones that have a nutritious dinner made every night for their family to enjoy. And then bring out some sort of homemade, scrumptious dessert that make their kids and husband squeal with delight. The ones that always seem to have their sh*t together, make-up done, dressed in the latest fashionable trends as they walk out the door. The ones that have multiple craft projects going and actually seem to complete them on a timely basis. Yeah, those people.

When I was younger, I dreamed and often thought I would be this kind of mom. I know I have it in me but y’all, that couldn’t be farther from the truth right now. Yep, I am a full time working mom with a hellish commute. My day starts at 5am and from the minute we are out of bed, its run, run, run until about 10pm to get just the bare necessities done. And I am talking teeth brushing and laundry, people. Thank goodness Cub is still eating baby food because most days, it’s a frozen pizza, mac & cheese or a bowl of cereal for dinner. Daily showers and make-up? Yeah, right.

I don’t understand how people physically keep up with getting it all done. Maybe this is me being bitter because I can’t be a stay at home mom (another post all together) but I just don’t see how there is enough time in the day to even come close to the type of mom I dreamed of being. I feel like a failure that I barely have a decent baby book put together for Cub. That I haven’t figured out what we are doing for a college education or for that fact, a retirement plan for us. That we don’t have a will yet. That our savings aren’t nearly where they should be for working so damn hard and such long hours. And these thoughts consume me most days to the point where I can’t sleep and it SUCKS.

But hey, that’s what the weekend is for, right? Yeah, sure. Our weekends consist of running errands that don’t get done during the week, family obligations, attempting to keep the house up (hahaha!!), making one meal that doesn’t consist of taking something out of the freezer or picking something up from the local burger joint and spending time together. The three of us get one day together because of our crappy schedules and I am not about to waste it scrubbing my kitchen floor or putting on my freaking make-up. And maybe that’s where I am in the wrong? Maybe I should take an hour and work on a baby book or begin figuring out all we need to with retirement/savings planning. But then I feel guilty because my time with Cub is already so limited. And it just goes round and round and round from there.

And so where do I go from here? How can I possibly add any more time to my day when at 9:30pm (after working a full day, playing with my kid, eating my half of the frozen pizza, washing bottles and preparing for the next day), I just want to flop in bed and try to stay up for an episode of Glee. It’s frustrating because I want and need to do better. So here I sit trying to think of a plan that will allow me to get things done and become the mom I once dreamed of in my head. The mom that my kid deserves. The wife my husband deserves.

So far, it’s not going so well. At the moment, I’ve got nothing. But I have to believe I will get there one day because if I don’t, that means I fail. And not only does that mean I fail myself but it means I fail the people around me that I love. And I simply can’t let that happen.

*huge siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh*

The Best Part of Waking Up...

Let me tell you what I enjoy waking up to - a hot, rejuvenating cup of coffee. Let me tell you what I do not enjoy waking up to - my son chewing on the dog's bone. Guess which one I woke up to today?

God bless Al for getting up with the Insomniac at 5 am today. Please know that before I go on to my rant about dog bones being in children's mouths, that I do appreciate that he let me sleep in until 7:30 pm.

However I do not appreciate that he was more focused on cleaning up the kitchen than keeping an eye on our son. I know, I'm being an ungrateful biotch. I just said that my husband was cleaning up the kitchen so I should just shut my trap right now and forget about the fact that my 8 month old son's new favorite flavor is bacon, right?

I can't do it. The vision of my baby boy gnawing on a gnarled dog bone will not leave my head. So as I entered the kitchen, I notice Al wiping up the the stove with his back to the Insomniac. And there sits my little man gumming away at the dog's chewed up bone, drooling all over it, and suddenly smiling as he looks up and sees me enter the room.

I screamed, (and by screamed I mean I let loose a few choice words...my kid's first word might start with an "f" but I'll be damned if he's going to play with hand-me-down dog toys), and immediately took the bone out of his mouth. Al's response? "What, he's not going to die!" He had the nerve to be irritated with me for taking the bone that had sharp edges away from our son before he poked his eye out or blood started spurting from his mouth after he punctured his gums with one of the sharp, pointy, chewed up ends. And please don't get me started on the germs. I don't believe the BS that a dog's mouth is cleaner than a human's. I've smelled our dog's breath. Not. Possible.

Needless to say, it was not one of my favorite mornings, though I'm sure it will be one of my most memorable. I'm just hoping I wake up to coffee instead tomorrow.

A Typical Night??

John, Cubbie and I had such a wonderful evening together doing all the things the little guy likes to do and believe me, this mom let him do it all with the hopes that it would get him good and tired and potentially sleep through the night. He jumped in his jumperoo while endlessly tormenting the dog as they played “I jump, you bark and I laugh like because it’s the most hilarious thing in the world”. We fish flopped on the floor (Cub still hasn’t gotten the crawling thing down yet), we rolled across the living room and grabbed the dogs tail, torturing her some more. We played hide and go seek and read books. Finally, the little guy gave me the universal sign that it’s time to start the nightly routine: the good ‘ole eye rub.

We bathed him, he ate and went off to sleep like a charm. I just knew this was going to be a restful night for all...until...

I hear Cubbie (at 2am): “momma, dada? Momma, dada? Momma? Dada? Dada? Dada? Dada? (Breaks my heart, it’s so cute).

Then: DAAADDAAAAA. DDDDDDDAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAA. DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Then: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. (Not so cute anymore)

Then: Hysterical crying as I try to pry my eyes open to measure a bottle while I trip over the case of beer John left right in the middle of the family room (even though I asked him to please put it away before I went to bed so that I wouldn’t trip over it).

Then: I get to my sweet bundle of joy who is shooting daggers at me with his little eyes. I whisper, “it’s ok honey, momma has food.” I pick him up to give him that sweet nourishment that he so desperately needs (have I mentioned this kid is in the 95th percentile for weight? no? well, yeah...he’s a big dude) and realize that he has completely soaked through his diaper, through his clothes, through his wearable blanket and onto his sheets and realize, wow, this room now spells like piss. So, I change him and clean him up, change his clothes, his blanket and put a fresh sheet on the bed all while he is screaming. It’s fun times I tell you.

Finally, I feed him and rock him cause you know, you cant put him down awake. Cause if you put him down in the middle of the night before he’s fully asleep, you hear the: “mamma?, dada?” thing again and I don’t really want to get back out of bed to rock him. So by the time he is stripped, changed, re-dressed, fed, put back to sleep and I check to make sure my toes are just bruised and not broken, it’s 3am. Takes me a ½ hour to fall back asleep and my alarm goes off at 5.

Sleep? Who needs it? Certainly, not I (sigh...). Anyone know how to run an IV of caffeine? Anyone? No? I have a feeling it’s gonna be a lonnnng day...