It’s A Good Thing You Can’t Have More Kids

“MOM!!!” She screamed at 3am. I was finally sleeping in my own bed after spending three nights in hers. Those three nights in hers meant very little sleep, so my sleep now was heavy and needed. Jed had to even nudge me “Trace – Astrid’s calling for you.” And this was the man that never heard any of our babies wake up once. Now me thinks he did…


I rushed to her side thinking the worst(puke all over her bed), but instead found a little blond imp sitting up and just smiling at me.


What is in love? Why did you yell for me? Are you okay?


“Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted your company. I missed you when I woke up. I couldn’t touch you. So now I can touch you.”


I sat on her bed and she rubbed my knee and smiled.


Okay, I’ll just snuggle beside you for a few minutes until you fall back asleep.


“Thank you mama for giving me company.”


My intention was for her to close her eyes and drift back to sleep, and then I would go back to bed.


Her intention was to use my new ‘company’ in her bed for a little conversation. As it turns out when you spend 24/7 was a sick child for four days, they really get used to you being with you and doting on only them. And it’s not like when they are four you can leave them to their own devices for care.
Basically it’s a no win situation. And they know it.


“Mama, it’s a good thing you won’t have any more babies, right?


I guess so sweetie. But why do you think it’s a good thing? And we really need to get back to sleep.


“Well, it would just be so awkward for that new baby?”


Awkward? Awkward how?


“Well you know you could never love them as much as you love me, and you’d have to tell them that. And well..AWKWARD!”


Yeah, you’re right, that would be awkward for them. Good thing you’re the baby forever I guess, huh?


“Yeah, that was really good planning, Mama.”


She so knows her rightful place in this family and uses it daily to her advantage. Girlfriend gets me every single time.


I just hope she doesn’t need more ‘company’ tonight.


One Last Chance


Um hi, this is Tracy Morrison and I want to schedule a D&C.

“Hi Tracy, let me just look up your chart…..okay so let’s see here….um Tracy, so you are pregnant again?”

I am and I want the D&C as soon as possible.

“Why don’t we make an appointment with your doctor first and do an ultrasound and see how far along you are.”

No, this isn’t negotiable. I don’t want an ultrasound. I’ve had dozens of ultrasounds before and I know what it will show – it will show a pregnancy that is 5-6 weeks along with a little beating heart and then I’m going to fall in love with that beating heart right then and there. And then you are going to make me come back again in a week or so and there’s that heart again and then I fall in love just a little bit more. A week later we’ll do it all again and I’ll find myself not only falling in love even more, but I’ll find myself at Target buying a sleeper, some little socks and I’ll start listing baby names. And you know what happens about a week or maybe three weeks after that? I’ll be in Target again and feel it. Feel some light cramping or maybe not so light cramping and then a drip..drip…drip. And then the good times well they really start. I will find myself back in the ultrasound room to see what I already know. I will see my baby. My baby that I fell in love with. Gone. Just like the last time and the time before that and the time before that and the time before that.


So no, I don’t want that doctor’s appointment or that ultrasound or that heartbeat or that falling in love or seeing that baby or buying that sleeper or those sweet dreams of meeting my new baby for the first time. I just want a D&C tomorrow so I don’t have to hope anymore.


Sometimes I think back to that conversation. I remember that woman. Me. Sitting on her kitchen floor with her head on her knees as she sobbed-shouted into the phone. And how she hung-up on the nurse that day for being so unreasonable. Then I think about how the doctor called me about an hour later and told me he just wanted me to come in so he could give me a hug and buy me a coffee. The doctor who told me three months earlier that it would be a million to one chance for me to have more children and any pregnancy would almost certainly end in another loss. The doctor who finally took hope out of my heart and I started to heal.

The next day in his office as he told me he thought we should do an ultrasound just ‘to see.’ I remember yelling at him for his betrayal of my heart and my hopes as he ripped me opened and played with my fragile emotions of motherhood.

“But Tracy you’ve been given one last chance. Never walk away from one last chance. You never know when this could be the one.”

Sometimes I hover too long over her crib at night. Her crib. She’s three and a half and still in a crib. My baby. My chance. I stroke her baby-soft cheek and move her blond curls away from her eyes. My tears fall onto her blankets maybe filling her slumber with dreams of her own that will come true one day. The same tears I shed on that kitchen floor four years ago when I thought all hope was gone.


This post originally appeared in Mamalode, but disappeared after their site migration. So I’ve brought it here. Home. Where it belongs.


Making Babies

I saw the scene playing out in the family room. I kept to my business in the dining room while I listened to Astrid speak to her sisters. I kept my hands busy, my eyes diverted, but my ears were very busy listening and my mind was spinning, hoping that no one would seek me out to further explain Astrid’s lesson.


“So, see Sisters. See the baby is under my dress just like a baby would be in a mommy’s belly. The daddy put it in there, ya know. And then when it gets super big, it kicks and kicks until the mommy poops it out her crotch!”

Astrid stood in front of her sisters with her baby doll and demonstrated the baby making scene several times, just to make sure she was understood.


The sisters – nearly five and seven years older than Astrid just sat on the couch in silence. In disbelief. In confusion. In disgust.


“Weally Sisters. This is how it all works. My friends at school told me!”


Astrid goes to a preschool where she is the ONLY one (I swear) who has only older siblings. All of the other three year olds in her class have babies at home. Babies that were pooped out their mommy’s crotches. Astrid wants to know why she doesn’t have a real baby at home. And she’s asked me for one.


Eloise finally speaks up “Astrid, I have no idea what you are talking about, and I have no idea how babies get in a mom’s belly, but I do know that a doctor comes with a big knife and just cuts that baby out. Why would you think a crotch would be involved? Also, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”


Eloise and Esther quickly exit the room, grabbing books on their way out and I find them in the office snuggled on the couch quietly reading.

If you were to ask Eloise and Esther the difference between boys and girls – they would tell you that boys have shorter hair.


They have no curiosity about their bodies, about other bodies, about babies, about mommies, about daddies, about anything to do with anything to do with how people work. When I was pregnant with Astrid, and they were 4 and 6 and I expected questions..and received NONE. NONE. I even tried to prompt them, thinking it would be good to talk about it, and they both just would quietly walk away.
When I was FIVE I begged my mother to tell me ALL about the birds and the bees..and I still remember following my mom around reading literature about how my body was going to change. And bless my mother’s heart for never telling me to shut-up, even at the grocery store when I was yelling excitedly “MOM, MOM – I have EGGS that are going to travel down my fallopian tubes to make a baby! Seriously, this is the coolest thing ever.”


By 10 I had read Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret at least 2465 times that the binding was broken and the front cover had been ripped off. This knowledge about my amazing and beautifully sprouting body was powerful and I could not learn enough. (Which is why I also talked my mom into buying Forever for me when I turned 11).


Eloise currently views the thought of her period as more of the curse my grandmother acted like she carried heavily with her each month. And I admit, at 44 my monthly visit is a damned and awful curse.


I think Astrid will be that girl like me though – and she’s going to embarrass the crap out of her saintly sisters.


And don’t think I haven’t tried to let the girls know about their bodies. Oh, I was so excited to give Eloise a ‘gift’ on the first day of first of fourth grade – I bought the the American Girl Book – ‘The Care and Keeping of You’ – just to give her a little information on the changes that will happen to her over the next few years.


24 hours after receiving the book, she quietly handed it back to me. She’s a fast reader, so I wasn’t’ shocked that she had finished it so quickly..and my god, if I had owned that book at 10 I would’ve already read it forty times and called ALL my friends to share the news of OMG the cool shit coming to my body! As Eloise placed the book in my hands I asked her if she had any questions or anything she’d like to discuss, because that’s good parenting, right?

And Eloise said, as she looked at the floor, and then at me, and then at the wall, and then at the floor again…”Mom, there’s not one thing in that book that I want to know about…NOT ONE THING…not ever…so don’t even bring it up again and you can return the book.”




“Well, Eloise you know this isn’t like optional – what happens as you as a girl beautifully become a woman, right? I mean eventually you’ll need to know some stuff??” I gently said while trying not to giggle or cry.


“Yeah, well I’m perfectly fine how I am and yeah, this stuff is not interesting to me at all.”




So my plan is to have Astrid, when she’s fully five of course, to have the big talk with her big sisters..because maybe they’ll take it a little better from her.


In the meantime I’m okay with them knowing that the difference between boys and girls is all about the hair length.

Is it so horrible to stay little for just awhile longer?


I’ll just need to find a new preschool for Astrid.


Taking Chances – I’m At Mamalode Today

I remember the last time I told my story. It was over a year ago and I was sitting next to Heather on a three hour airplane ride. She had her newborn nursing baby and her brilliance with her and I had my humor with me and together we made the flight go by incredibly fast with our stories.


I still remember what she told me after I finished spilling my gut. I was wiping tears and she said “You need to read this at Listen To Your Mother someday.” I waved her off and rolled my eyes and did a silly little ‘who me’ thing that I do. You know that thing I do. Maybe you do? ‘I’m not good enough, my story is just my one really wants to hear it, there are so many writers who are better than I am, I have no right to be heard, I am no one.”


And I tucked that conversation in the back of my mind. Because my story did not end there. My story had a miracle.  My story had never completely been written until now. And only because I took a chance –  because I know I am not the most interesting person, and my writing isn’t always that great. But you know what, I have a right to be heard. Everyone does.

So I took a chance and I wrote my story. My story about loss and love and giving up and then taking one last chance because if you don’t take chances then truly you are not living. So I submitted my story and tucked it away in the back of my heart and waited…


..and waited…


And today…it is published at Mamalode. Because I took One Last Chance.


I would be honored if you visited me over at Mamalode today to read my story and would love for you to share with your friends. (Comments closed here so you can visit me at Mamalode).


I know my story has a happy ending. But there are so many that don’t, and my heart is always heavy for those who have lost their babies. I love you my friends and my arms are reaching around you today.


You Are Not Alone

I met these young people about nine and half years ago.  We were all new parents with babies ranging in age from six weeks to three months.  We all showed up on a cold January evening with babies bundled in their car seats, diaper bags overstuffed, and eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. (We also had natural colored hair, more hair, and less wrinkles)

We were strangers with a common thread. We had no clue what we were doing AND we thought we were all alone. You know that feeling of new parenthood – sitting at home crying at 3am thinking that no one understands what you are going through, that no one out there is experiencing the same struggles, that no one else has sore nipples. (Jed complained about this a lot)


And it’s January in Minnesota and colder than cold and you are still on maternity leave so you realize you haven’t actually left the house in over a month and diaper delivery is the best invention on earth.


Yes, sure maybe you have parents to talk to, or friends who have done the new parent thing already but truly aren’t you sick of them telling you how to do things and my personal favorite ‘this too shall pass’ or maybe even ‘back in my day’ and you kind of want to stick an ice pick in their eye or maybe put some hot pepper flakes in their coffee.  No, what you need is someone to talk to who is as vulnerable as yourself, one who walks around with baby spit-up on their shirt, and someone else who is still incredibly awkward trying to nurse in public without giving the world a show while dealing with a diaper blow-out that covers their lap.


So you call this place called E.C.F.E and find out that there’s a new parent class starting soon. And you fret for the two weeks prior to the first night.


You try to find an outfit that fits and looks okay and isn’t stained. You try to nurse beforehand and get the baby a good nap so she’ll be happy. You apply make-up and try to look as put together as possible and you leave your home determined that this is the right thing and you’ll do great.


You walk into this room and find nine other families who look just as sleepy as you and also look relatively scared to be there too.


And you find that no matter how hard you tried to prepare for this outing that your baby still wanted to nurse four times during the 90 minute class, she puked on your shoulder and could not be consoled so you ended up doing the ‘baby dance’ in the corner for almost the whole class unless of course you were nursing or changing a diaper.


You leave exhausted and YET you think I CANNOT WAIT TO GO AGAIN NEXT WEEK!!!


Because these were your people.  You are not alone. You don’t have to do this alone. Ever.


That original ECFE group continued to get together nearly monthly over the next 4-5 years even after our class stopped.  We were there for second babies and the start of school.  And then things happened – the kids started kindergarten and we started drifting.  A few families moved away and we drifted some more.


But there will always be that bond.  That bond of being friends – those first kid friends that you make.  And even when we haven’t seen each other in years we still pick-up the conversation with hugs and laughter as we share our war stories from the parenthood-front.


Nine and a half years I’ve known these people. These incredibly special people who were right there when we all needed each other the most.

We laughed today that we need to form another E.C.F.E. group – I mean we don’t need this ‘early childhood’ stuff anymore..but we need more of a P.T.F.E – that’s Pre-Teen Family Education as our kids start reaching THAT age.  Seriously, don’t you think that’s brilliant? There would be wine of course at this one.  And we’d just leave the kids at home.  Maybe this course is actually just called Moms Night Out?   I don’t know but I do know that I need to see these people more.


Did you have a good support network with your first child? Seriously(and ECFE has no idea who I am) find your people at classes like this.  You’re not just saving your sanity, you’re making lifelong friends.



I needed a better baby exit interview…

How many times this week did you feel you came up short with your kids?  You reacted wrong? You yelled instead of reasoned? You laughed at them? You hurt their feelings?

You just really didn’t have the right words to say? They cannot believe that YOU – the one person who must know it all – had no idea what to do or say.

It’s especially hard when they are eight, they don’t like public displays of affection, and something happens at school in front of their friends. And you stand there watching a train wreck happen and cannot stop it. Do you intervene?  Do you stand back and watch your heart get ripped out for your child?

Also when you cannot blog about it because they will be REALLY mad at you. You are also thankful for the hugs and snuggles later on that night when she knows her friends cannot see her need her mom.

I blame my lack of motherly instincts on the hospital where she was born. They let me take her home without asking me any questions.

Seriously, what the hell?  Sure I was 34 and seemed normal and like a had the ability to take care of myself and presumably others.  But they never asked me that.

Instead I found myself yelling at them as I was wheeled out of the door..”You are really just letting me take this baby? How is that possible? You all are crazy thinking I know what to do with her? Where is the intensive training program?” Hell I got eight hours of training at work to learn how to video conference! You all gave me a five minute diaper changing and bathing demonstration and showed me how to put my nipple in her mouth and called it good!? This whole diaper/bath/nipple thing only lasts so long! What about when she’s five and nine and thirteen and sixteen? Where is that training? Can I call you all later? Is there a helpline?”

So I found myself  later that evening sitting in the middle of the floor with the baby sleeping next to me and sobbing to my mother on the phone that “OH my god, they actually let me take her home, can you believe it, they are completely CRAZY at that hospital – NOW WHAT!?!”

Eight years later I am still figuring it out.

So glad she is a patient and kind child.  Because OY I make mistakes.  My kids know just how imperfect that I am. Thankfully.

They love me anyway.

What have you done to just completely not rock parenthood lately?


And since I’m talking how unprepared I was having my first child. Heck – even my third child – I am sharing some VERY old pregnant belly pictures for Shell’s link-up this week.

Here I am 30 minutes before giving birth to Eloise.  Crazy I know. I also ran 10 miles that morning. Turns out when you are training during pregnancy, you stay quite small. Also, OMG my shoes were ugly. WTF is up with that!

So I made up for it with Astrid. Here is my belly at 36 and 38 weeks. Running only three miles each morning..thus bigger belly. And of course cute heels.I had to – it was my last bump opportunity.

Did you rock your bump?


Wordful Wednesday – She Made us Five

I will admit right now that I spoil Astrid.  I will also say that I am not alone in this indulging venture. She has three other eager spoilers at her beck and call.

Perhaps it is the lot of the baby to be spoiled – so many mothers at hand to attend to her every whim.  To ooohh and aaahh over her sweet babyhood.

Sometimes I wonder though if her big sisters will see her getting away with things that they were never allowed to do.

Can I blame it on my age and my excessive tiredness as a mom, that I forgot what was a rule?  Can I blame it on the fact that she is just so cute, who could say no?

Perhaps we spoil her just because she is here. As she wasn’t meant to be.

A miracle some might say.

She runs towards me at full force and I catch her up in a bear hug. She holds my face as she gives me a big, wet kiss and then wraps her arms around my neck, her legs around my belly and growls like a bear. Her force envelopes by body and my heart. I look into her deep blue eyes and stare in wonder at her very presence.

I will never forget that day in the Fall when the kind fertility doctor took my hands in his, looked straight into my eyes and said in a beautiful and honest way “Tracy, you have two beautiful and healthy children. I know that doesn’t replace your wanting for a third, but you need to think long and hard about pursuing this.  After four losses in three years, countless tests and thousands of dollars and heartbreak…your options are few.  You are 40 years old. Your eggs are old. You will continue to lose your babies. Your odds are so slim to have a baby on your own.  Your options at this point are egg donation or adoption.  I don’t want anymore heartbreak for you.”

I left his office sobbing yet relieved at the finality. I had my answer. I went home to my two amazing girls and felt free of trying, free of wondering, free of hoping and just content with what we had.

We were done.  Jed made his appointment. The chapter was closed. We moved ahead as four.

Six weeks later I knew I was pregnant again. Sick, tired, but now my heart heavy to prepare myself to lose another baby. I shook my head in disbelief at the odds and made an appointment for an ultrasound to confirm the inevitable.  Cold. Done. I had moved on. I was more than half empty.

And this little heartbeat lit up the screen.  A week later she grew, and grew again five days after.  For six weeks I had a weekly ultrasound and watched this miracle baby grow. Perfect. Healthy. Beautiful.

When she was born I held her so tightly that I thought my heart would burst from joy.  She fit so perfectly with all of us.

So I decided then and there that our little miracle deserves a fair amount of spoiling.

She made us five.

More wordless/wordful Wednesday and beautiful pictures at SevenClownCircus and Parenting for Dummies…
Sweet Shot Day


A Closed Chapter…

I welcomed the water bottle that greeted my lips as I sat up for the first time again. The small sip turned into a gulp and then my insatiable thirst emptied the bottle.

I looked down at my newborn daughter – just hours old and I was quenched. Satiated. Content.

She snuggled to my chest. Warm. New. Beautiful. Perfect.

And she nursed.  I emptied another bottle of water. I needed my strength for the journey ahead.


As the hours turned to days and days to month and the months turned a year…she nursed.  My water bottle remained on the table by her rocking chair at night, on the side table in the living room during daylight hours, and in my purse when we were on the go.  My insatiable thirst brought on by the nourishment requirement of my first baby.  18 months of water, nurse, water, nurse.  Cuddles. Life.

Wash.rinse.repeat. Baby number 2.  The same. Beautiful. Warm. Perfect. 2 years. Nurse, water, nurse.

Wash.rinse.repeat. Baby number 3.  The same. Beautiful. Warm. Perfect. 19 months. Nurse, water, nurse.

Until Tuesday when she pushed me away and said “no nurse mama.”  I laid her gently in her bed. She rolled over on her side and snuggled her blankets and whispered “night night.”  I stood there forever.

I finally turned around and saw my water bottle that sat empty on the table by her chair.  Like my body. Done. Forever.

The tears ran down my face. The salt dried on my lips.  The water now as tears, not milk.  Over.

The bittersweet tears of a mother knowing she will never nurse another child.


Linking up with The Red Dress Club weekly writing prompt.

This week’s prompt:

Water gives life. It also takes it away.

Write a short piece – fiction or non-fiction – inspired by one or both of these statements.



Astrid started crying at 5pm today.  She was done.  After a 4:45am wake-up time, and a lame attempt at a 20 minute nap.

She was done.

But we were at ballet. So she screamed and screamed and screamed until ballet was over.  Then she screamed and screamed and screamed all the way home.

Then she screamed and screamed and screamed while I just put her jammies on her, carried her upstairs, nursed and rocked her and put her quietly in her bed.

For a moment.

Then she started screaming again.  And I let her scream on and off as I fed her sisters dinner, got them in the shower, jammies, books, bed.

And then I went to her at 7:30.  She had been screaming for 2.5 hours.

And we rocked and rocked and rocked and when I would go to lay her down she would scream.

Normally, I would just let.her.scream.

But tonight I cried and thought about those mother’s who don’t have their babies to hold, I think about the babies that I lost, I thought about the pain of that loss for every one, for every one of them. us.

And so I just rocked and rocked and rocked her for 3 hours.

And I rubbed her back and head. I wiped away the tears of mine, that fell into hers and I kissed a few.

And I smiled and decided that I will rock her if she cries. Every day if needed.

Because she is here. And I am here.
And I have to remember how lucky I am.


October is infant and pregnancy loss awareness month.  So maybe I do think about it more often at this time of the year.  I don’t think so though.  We mothers think about it every day.


Astrid 14 Months…

I am not quite sure what has happened the last few months – but what I see is YOU changing from a baby to a full blown toddler.

So I spent most of the day nibbling on your cheeks(yes both kinds) and squeezing you too tightly and trying to make you giggle.
I know you won’t let me do this forever, so I am going to exhaust you with it now.  Your 7 year old sister already shrugs off my attempts at hugs or kisses at the bus stop and has politely asked me if I could perhaps just watch from the opposite corner, or maybe just from the window.  And to walk 20 paces behind. Your 5 year old sister, who could spend 24/7 on my lap now only cuddles for short moments and then she is off for her more important things to do.  She has lists.

So I have you.

And YOU, out of all my girls – like to run away from me.

I put this sweet dress and tights set on you from France and I say “hey dolly, let mama take a picture” and you RUN AWAY and LOOK AWAY..and you know…oh you know it ALL little missy – what you are doing.

You are a tease and you think you are hilarious.
And you are.

You walk up and down our city sidewalks acting all like you own the place.  Waving at every car, making every dog stop so you can pet it, blowing kisses to the runners, yelling out for kids to come say hi.

You pretty much own us all…all of us up and down the block…from our heads to our toes.


In your petite little package of energy, love, enthusiasm, determination and downright  MAJOR chutzpah.
You make us laugh. You beep our noses and tickle our toes. You brush our hair and play patty-cake.

You make us work hard for your love. And you know it.

Every little finger of yours has one of us completely wrapped around it.

You don’t play fair.

Just give me a little more lovin’  before it is too late.



P.S. Only one more day to enter the May Baby Bracelet Giveaway.  Astrid wants you to win.  Oh, and you too!


Astrid 13 months….

Eloise was sad last week and she involuntarily moved to my lap for comfort.  Strange how that felt already at just 7 years old. She is long and angular and bony.  Her limps don’t fold up and mold into a place in my lap.  Her lean body hangs over the sides, her feet touch the floor and her sharp elbows impale my ribs.  I try to snuggle her close, but she resists a bit – already getting too old for full body hugs and snuggles.  She jumps off of my lap quickly realizing she just doesn’t fit like she used to.

Dear Astrid,

I savor these moments with you baby girl.  The quiet moments in the dark early morning when it is just the 2 of us.  We watch the early, early news. I beer-bong sip my coffee and I snuggle you up on my lap.  Rubbing your sweet, chubby baby thighs, kissing your delicious cheeks and quietly counting your 10 little toes.
But all too soon, you wiggle out of my arms. Down on the floor exploring.  Crawling towards toys, toddling towards the chair across the room, chasing the cat.  Occasionally looking behind to see if I am there.  Sometimes bringing toys back for me to see.  A bump on the head brings you back to my embrace though.  But with a quick kiss and snuggle, you are gone again.

All too soon.
So I am almost literally eating up these last few months of your babyhood.  You are becoming a toddler all too soon.  In your actions, your body, your temperament.  Some days these moments seem to last forever and I wish away again those days of whining, the hours of crying and the nights of screams.  But like a wink, they are gone.  And in there place is this being that I almost do not recognize.  This child that doesn’t fit into the crook of my arm or barely on my lap anymore.  This child that I carried everywhere just wants to be free and roam.
Watching this happen, I know I have done my job, but it still makes me sad.
So please baby girl, don’t grow up so fast.  13 months is still an itty bitty baby in my book.  You have many years ahead of you to run and play and leave your momma.  So just give me a few more months of snuggle time.
Love you,


Linking up with Darcy at sweet shot tuesday.
Sweet Shot Day


Yes I did buy the designer Pampers…

I shop at Target.  Not surprising. I fit their demographic.  I cannot leave Target without spending at least $100, even if I just stopped by for the $8.99 Northern bath tissue jumbo pack on sale.
It is a drug. We all know that.  We sign up for it and give basically hand over our credit cards at the doors.  If was ever so apparent when just last Spring there were over 100 women who looked pretty much like me, lined up by 8am on a Sunday to shop from Target’s new Liberty of London collection.  It was crazy. Women running, carts filling, clothes tumbling, smiles galore.  Madness.  Pure blissful, shopping madness. And have you seen my cute wallet and scarf?  They match my new dinnerware and rain boots!  AWESOME.

So of course I was intrigued when I heard a few months ago that designer Cynthia Rowley had designed  a new line of Pampers exclusively for Target!

But vacations happened – vacations with NO TARGET STORES(or Starbucks).  It was awful. We even had to visit the Walmart.  Astrid seemed pleased. She received a time-out for that smile.

Immediately upon our return home, after downing 14 venti non-fat lattes from Starbucks, we shopped Target to buy the coveted designer diapers.
I know, I know – designer diapers – you are asking are you really going to pay 40% MORE than regular pampers just because they are pretty.  Your child is going to POOP in them.  Really?  And my answer – HELLS TO THE YES I AM!!!!  They are gorgeous and I do agree with their marketing statement….

“It’s the first  piece of clothing your baby will ever wear….Why not make it special?”

You have seen that in the Summertime my poor child is HOT and is pretty much only  in a diaper only at home – so I want to see a cute bum.  With pretty flowers and perhaps a bit of toile.  Indulge me a bit – these sweet diapers make me happy.

And I need to smile more when I am changing poopy pants.  So don’t judge me.
Just send me more Pampers from Cynthia Rowley.  As I am now officially addicted to this cuteness.


Nuture vs. Nature…

I leave the room to put a load of laundry in or cook dinner or go to the bathroom.
All goes quiet and I know she is into something.  Nearly every time I return, she is here, in the hallway, in front of the mirror, pulling out all of her sisters headbands, bows, necklaces, brushes and nail polish out of the bins.
She surrounds herself with them, “trying” each on one.  Brushing her “hair” and giggling.
Was she born this way – to be girly and pretty and enjoy pretty things. How is it that I gave birth to 3 girly-girls?
Or does she watch her girly-girl sisters brush their hair and wear bows and assume this is what she must do?
No matter the truth, it is seriously the cutest thing to watch.ever.


A Prisoner by Choice…

I wrote this email to a friend yesterday, whose husband is an optometrist..

Here is my dilemma…and why I put off going to the doctor, eye doctor, dentist, stylist, why I don’t get pedicures, my hair is gray and I haven’t had a haircut in 1 year since my stylist who made house calls entered rehab…I am at home, I have no(zippo, zero, zilch) free time with 3 kids on me all of the time and a nursing baby.  When I do manage to escape, it is for 1 hour increments if I am lucky.  I don’t have babysitters – which is my own personal hang-up and financial issue, nor my mom in town to help…and a husband with a whacked-out work schedule that I can NEVER plan on a damn thing.

SO, I need an eye app’t, glass, contacts, etc but need to be efficient and quick, in and out,  and cost effective.  I am very easy, low maintenance and no-nonsense and easy to please once I can escape..

It haunted me all day.  She either now thinks that A. I am insane, B.  I am exaggerating, or C. I really need a martini at ten in the morning, or D. All of the above.

But the answer is E. None of the above.  I choose to be completely housebound for the first year of the babies lives.
I bow down to the grocery delivery trunk when it arrives.  I shop for everything on-line.  I chat-up the UPS man for way too long and ruin his delivery schedule but I don’t care as he may be the only adult I talk to all day.  I am glad he is cute. I had a stylist who made house calls – but he entered rehab and it’s been a rough go for me.  I haven’t been to the eye doctor in 3 years – my contacts are gone, my glasses do not work anymore and now things are jumping out at me when I drive and I cannot put it off any longer.  So yes, I have had inner turmoil and stress about trying to make time to get my eyes checked.(Maybe A. I am insane really is correct).

See, I have been waiting for the Optometry Mobile to pull up in front of my home with my groceries and my clothes.  Books come that way, I have even seen the mobile pink mammogram van.

Now I realize I may be odd in my need to nest with my baby for a year, to never leave her and make that my only and number one priority – but it seems to me there must be others?  And what a business opportunity for someone to bring these services to new moms – The Eye Check Van, The Pedicure Wagon, The Hair Care Bike, The Snappy Pap Mobile, The Coffee Courier, The Mobile Massage, Moving Martinis…

A new mom can only dream of such a world.

Do you nest?  Or do you yearn to be on the outside and get too cooped up in babyland? Anyone want to come over and paint my toenails?



Because Rose Colored Glasses are Overrated…





xoxo, t
P.S. And what does it say about my readers when my post about my cat’s birthday gets more comments than my post about my sweet baby? It means y’all are a very strange bunch. I am so glad you are here.


Friday Favorite – from Stokke

Oh about a month ago, I wrote a post about one of my favorite books.  It was my intention at the time to start a new weekly Friday post called “Friday Favorites” – just random things that I love – as a mom, a woman, a human, etc.  (No one is paying me(ha – as if) or asking me to write about these items.)

Well, since I haven’t posted a Friday Favorite since, my intentions were awesome but my execution was not so awesome.

So here we are again – trying for more continuity.
(those are not cheetos – they are some freaky corn-puff baby concoction – really.)

This Friday – a favorite that I am sharing is the KinderZeat from Stokke. I have never used/bought a traditional highchair for my babies.  Before they are old enough/strong enough to sit in the Stokke, I just feed them in their bouncy or on my lap.  But, at about 8 months of age, they are old enough to sit-up in the KinderZeat.

I bought the Stokke from Prenatal in the Netherlands when I was pregnant with Eloise.  I wanted a child’s chair that would accomodate a baby, look more like a piece of furniture than a piece of plastic highchair, that allowed them to join the table to eat – and never use a tray that was separate from us, and that would then turn into a booster chair.

The stokke has fit the bill perfectly and I had to kick Esther, at 5 years old, out of it to make room for Astrid.  She was not happy.

The Stokke has been pulled up to our dining room table for 7 years now and it is still as awesome as it was the day I unpacked it.  It shows virutally no wear and all 3 of our kids have loved it.

It holds up to 300 pounds – so even Jed could use it if he was so inclined. After the kids are done using it at the table, it will also be a very cool desk chair.  I can see the Stokke going off to college with one of the girls someday. (Well, not with Esther, because she is not going to college. She plans on winning American Idol when she is 16 = awesome.)

Any Favorite items that you want to share with us today?



A playground story…

You take your baby to the playground for the first time. You remember that day – they were about 9 months old and you pushed them gently in the baby swing, making small talk with the new mom beside you, scanning the playground.
Looking at your future.

You watch the parents of the 2 year old – chasing their little ones as their toddler runs away screaming. The parents are coralling and redirecting and offering snacks.

And you push your sweet baby simply in the swing.
And you watch the parents of the 3 year old – whose child decides they are too old for the baby stuff and lunges and climbs and falls and cries. The parents spend their time holding, bracing, hugging, kissing, helping. Exhausted.

And you push your sweet baby simply in the swing and tickle her feet and she laughs.

The parents of the 4 year old are standing back a bit, giving their child space, giving a hand if needed, still pushing the swing and perhaps soothing hurt feelings. But there is a space of independence and you see a faint smile.
And you push your sweet baby simply in the swing and tickle her feet and she laughs and she claps with delight.

You then see the 5 and 6 and 7 year old children, ruling the playground, pumping independently on the swings, playing their own games, giggling and running. You look for their parents and spot them sitting on the bench with their lattes and People magazines.

And you push your sweet baby simply in the swing and tickle her feet and she laughs and she claps with delight and you glance at the mom’s with the lattes and you think “bitches.”
And then you realize that YOU have a 7 year old.

So you yell to your 7 year old and say “Hey Eloise get your butt over here and push your sister. I need to join my people.”
The End.