Well, Crap

For six months I've been looking forward to my mission reunion, only to realize that I missed it. I thought it was tomorrow. It was tonight.

I wanted so badly to go. I wanted so badly to connect with amazing people I met on my mission. I wanted a break from my present routine.

Life as a mom is nothing if not a roller coaster. Some days I think I'm the luckiest person in the world because I get to stay home with my little Summer. Other days, I just think of ways that I can get out of my present situation.

I remember so well reading a talk that was maybe from General Conference. It was some time ago, and I can't find the text, so we'll just have to go with my hazy memory here. Whoever was speaking at General Conference met some young mothers in the park. They all had at least a bachelor's degree and maybe some had more education. She asked them how it was that they were able to turn their backs on careers be so happy being mothers. The response? "We know who we are and we know our purpose."

I always thought of this tableau when I contemplated motherhood. I thought I would just talk with my friends outside on a blanket while our babies played sweetly and the sun shined warmly. It seemed much better than working eight hour days in an office where people who don't really care about you order you around.

But that quaint scene is not my reality. Summer has been sick for three weeks now and so, even if I had a group of friends who basked outside in the sun with their babies, and even if Utah got basking appropriate weather, I couldn't go. And what did I think these women were talking about anyway? Sorry, but I can only talk about diapers and coupons and dinners that involve cream of condensed soups for so long before I go crazy.

Sorry if that was mean. But I have had such a hard time connecting with people since I've had a baby. I feel lonely. When you're working in an office, you work with other people. I'm a social person and I'm sure that even if I didn't like work, I'd get the social interaction I need. It's hard with a husband who is gone all the time and a little baby who demands most of your time and attention.

I understand that Nathaniel needs to be gone. We have a frightening amount of student loan debt that needs to be paid off and the legal market is tough. So I basically want him to be away from 7 in the morning to nine at night. I want him to get great grades so we don't have to declare bankruptcy.

So as Nathaniel is gone, I hang out with Summer. I meet our basic needs. I feel like I just survive.

It's so easy to isolate myself. It's so easy to fill my days with stroller rides and patty-cake and feedings and grocery shopping and a little facebook and some blogs here and there. It's so easy to pass weeks and barely speak to another soul aside from Summer and Nathaniel. It gets easier when, in the course of interacting with someone, I realize that my social skills have atrophied along with my belly-dancing muscles and I am now one of the more awkward people I know.

I do have friends, some of whom are mothers, and for that I am grateful. I actually have a basking friend who is really cool. I just need to take the initiative more. I know. And I know this post underestimates mommy groups. I'm probably just too cynical and proud and I haven't tried hard enough to make more friends. I probably just need to figure out who I am and what my purpose is.

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For Leslie

Thanks for the clothes!!!

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Yay for Husbands

This might be my favorite thing about motherhood:

I was in the middle of doing something when I looked out our front window and saw Nathaniel outside with Summer. He had plopped her down in the grass and she didn't look too sure about it. I could hear him encouraging her, but she didn't go for it and just climbed onto his lap. Unfortunately, this is the best picture I got of that little moment.

Why is it just the sweetest thing in the world to see the man you love more than anyone play with the baby you'd do anything for?

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Part Seven

Yeah, I'm still doing this.

You know that feeling that you get when there's someone in your life? When you find someone who makes you happy and who likes you, too? Your heart seems to beat a bit faster. Food looses its appeal. Sleep becomes an unwelcome intrusion and thoughts of that special someone take its place.

After Nathaniel and I became a couple I just couldn't shake that giddy feeling. I didn't want to feel like that. I wanted to stay on top of my emotions and ensure that reason prevailed. But I guess I didn't want that badly enough because I abandoned myself to the excitement. I let myself smile like a fool whenever I thought of Nathaniel and our moments together. I couldn't help but stay awake into the night, re-playing our every interaction until sleep finally took over. At the GAL's office I could do little else but stare at the file I was supposed to summarize and daydream.

Nathaniel was, as far as I could tell, as close to perfect as anyone I had met. He could see the heart of the issue in every conversation we had. When he knew what he thought on the subject, he never hesitated to voice his well-reasoned opinion. When he didn't know, he unabashedly stated so. But his rationality was tempered with a generous dose of empathy. Nathaniel always tried to look at a situation from someone else's point of view and really tried to understand others. I had never in my dating life encountered someone who could be so logical and yet so caring and dang it, that was sexy.

I was so amused by the things he got excited about. Nathaniel doesn't care for candy bars, but when, at work, they gave out candy bars as a reward, he was determined to get as many as he could. He said he wanted to get enough candy bars to have a drawer full. I told him I thought it was silly. He agreed and abandoned the idea. I wish I hand't said that. How fun it would have been to see him reach his goal and have a drawer full of candy.

Oh, and about work, Nathaniel's abilities to do it bordered on superhuman. He had one of the worst jobs I could imagine: he cold-called people and asked them abut their finances. He hated it, but he willingly worked eight-hour days and more when he could. His attitude was nothing new: he worked on a paper route when he was young and had held a job ever since, including a grueling stint in an asphalt refinery.

I don't think it has every occurred to Nathaniel that there was something he couldn't do. Except, maybe, fly. Or nurse Summer.

I wanted to go into how much I loved talking to Nathaniel about the gospel, but I need to get to the point. The point is this: for a few blessed weeks, I went along as Nathaniel's girlfriend, thinking he was so rational and amazing and wonderful and then, suddenly, he shattered that image during a fight we had about Dryer's Slow-Churned Double Fudge Brownie Ice Cream.

When on a double date, we were given the task of getting some ice cream from the store. As we walked down the ice cream isle, looking at all the tantalizing frozen delights behind the glass doors, Nathaniel said sweetly, as any good boyfriend would, "Pick whatever kind you want."

My last boyfriend and I stumbled on what we believed was the most amazing ice cream ever: Double Fudge Brownie. I quickly fell in love with the creamy vanilla ice cream with chocolate swirls and toothsome chunks of brownie. It wasn't until we ate several bowls that we discovered it was low-fat. But we didn't let that stop us and we ate the entire carton way too fast.

I found the correct carton and picked it up. Nathaniel looked at the carton and immediately saw the "1/2 the fat!" logo. "Low fat?" he asked skeptically.

"Yeah, but it's really good. I don't want it because it's low fat. I just like it."

"Wouldn't you rather have something..." Nathaniel stared at the endless alternatives, not finishing his sentence. I waited.

"I hate low fat," he finally said. "If you want to loose weight, just eat less."

"Have you ever tried losing weight?" I asked.

"Yes, and I didn't eat low fat crap." I had forgotten I was talking to a former intense high school wrestler.

After we discussed it a bit more, I said, "Well, whatever. We can get a different one, but this would be my pick." What a brat I was. But he had, after all, said I could pick the ice cream.

He bought it. Looking back, I can't imagine many things Nathaniel would rather NOT do than spend his heard-earned money on low-fat ice cream. He was pretty upset.

"Why are you so against low-fat ice cream?" I asked him on the way to his friend's house.

"Because! It's not real!" He said this as though he was explaining to me why it's wrong to kill people. "It's mixed in with a bunch of chemicals that supposedly makes it taste better. Why do you want to eat chemicals when you can have the real thing?"

"Well, me, I just happen to like this ice cream a lot. But some people, when they want to loose weight, low-fat options are good because then they can eat as much as they usually do and still loose weight."

"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. I'm pretty sure full fat ice cream is healthier than chemicals. If you want to loose weight, just eat less. It's not. that. hard." His tone of voice told me that we were having our first real argument.

I laughed. "I can't believe you're getting so worked up over low fat ice cream. If people want to eat it, who cares?"

If I'm upset and someone asks me why I'm getting so worked up about it, well, let's just say it's not a good idea. Don't do it.

But Nathaniel smiled. "I don't know. But I hate it."

I don't remember when we got over our little argument. But it wasn't on the way home. I think we just didn't bring it up the next day and went on our merry way, being sure not to bring up Double Fudge Brownie.

By the way, I've read a lot of food blogs since then, and now I think Nathaniel was totally right. No extra chemicals in my ice cream, thank you very much.

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Ten Months

I'm pretty sure we have the cutest ten-month old ever. And that is a purely objective opinion, I assure you. I would take a picture to prove it, but our camera is somewhere not here. But, really, a camera isn't necessary because it's not just Summer's looks that make her so irresistible. It's not just her sweet brown eyes, her dimples, or her four new teeth. It's not just her generous mane of hair (that's hopefully not red or Nathaniel will freak out) or the way her body looks so teeny-tiny.

Summer is the cutest ten-month old ever because, when she's in a room full of people who start clapping, she stops whatever she's doing and claps along with them. Because when we're in church and during a quiet moment, she lets out a good, long toot and then cracks up with everyone else. Because of her adorable "ba ba bee da, ma ma ba" noises she makes as she crawls around, usually carrying something in her fist like toy or a pair of earrings, or, in today's case, a hammer.

I love this girl so much. When I was younger, I always thought it amazing that of all the people in the world, I was me. It's even more amazing that Summer is her own little person, sent to us from heaven. I feel so lucky to have her and to get to really know her. And yay, she's ten months old.

P.S. We had another weight check. She gained 4 oz in the past month. Not so good. So we're going back in a week to check her weight again. In the meantime, we're working extra hard to fatten her up. I made roast chicken for dinner tonight and Nathaniel and I gave Summer (among other foods) bits of bread smeared with butter and then slathered in chicken juices. She loved it.

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I left our camera in California

A few thoughts:

A while back, I took a logic class from this awesome hippie teacher: Chris Foster. He said that he was so annoyed when Americans acted as though the world owed us gold medals. He pointed out that in small countries, people dance on the streets when they win a medal. The United States already has enough going for it. We don't need to win the most gold medals. So I'm glad Canada won tonight's hockey match. It was their Olympics and their turn to shine.

I kind of hate Russia. I love their ballet, but the Kremlin scares me. I'm sad the Olympics is going to be there next time. I hope the US kicks their trash.

Summer now has four teeth, all of which have come in in the past two weeks. And to celebrate, Summer decided she needs to grind them together. Just the thought of that noise gives me the heebie jeebies, or however you spell that. If anyone has any tips on how to prevent babies from grinding their teeth together, pretty please let me know. (The internet basically says not to worry, it probably won't hurt her teeth. But I worry not for her teeth, but for myself and my sanity.)

People have been requesting pictures with Summer's teeth. I really don't think Summer is just going to smile and show the world her teeth when I take a picture, but when we get our camera back, I'll try.

When I was at Ikea a few days ago, I noticed that the rocking horse that Summer was playing with was not, in fact, a horse, but instead a moose. An employee walked by and I almost asked him, "So, you guys have a lot of Moose in Sweden?" Am I alone in thinking that all the employees of Ikea are Swedish?

What is the plural of moose? Moose? Mooses? Moosen?

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What we did last weekend.

This is what we did last weekend.

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How To Lose Weight

From the time I was about six to the time I was 22 or 23, I was considered a chubby person. I don't think of myself as a lean mean machine now, but back then it was pretty bad. At one point as an undergrad, my BMI was 26, which is well into the "overweight" arena. This would be fine if I worked out and ate healthy, but I didn't. I remember buying a bag on mini twix, planning on sharing them with my friends and eating a few myself. An hour later I was staring at an empty bag in the library. My behavior was a hazard to my health, also. A friend had to do some body assessments for a class, and my blood pressure and heart rate had tipped into the unhealthy range.

I felt awful about my body. I wanted so badly to be skinny. I tried various diets and though they did have some effects, I always fell off the wagon and started eating like before. I felt like I had no willpower and no self-control.

I even tried diet pills. Yeah, soooo pathetic, I know. One time I bought some at Wal-Mart from the self check out line because I was so embarrassed about it. It totally backfired because in order to buy diet pills you have to show that you're over 18. The self check out guy came over to me when my register beeped and said, "I'm pretty sure you're 18, but I don't understand why you want to buy diet pills." I glanced at the people behind me in line who were, of course, staring at me. I got out of there fast, leaving my receipt behind. Naturally, I was carrying something that made the anti-theft alarm beep as I was leaving the store. When the octogenarian security guard made a huge (and loud) fuss of everything, I wanted to die. So that was my last time buying diet pills.

But that's not the point. The point is this: eventually I lost weight. I didn't do it by going on some diet. I did it by changing the person I was and refusing to allow a number on the scale to dictate whether or not I felt good about myself. The changes came after I broke off my engagement and without realizing it, I starting following the recommendations in this book:

It is awesome. I decided to write this post because I've been telling so many people about it. Really, I think everyone should know about it. Here are the 10 principles taken directly from their website:

10 Principles of Intuitive Eating

1. Reject the Diet Mentality Throw out the diet books and magazine articles that offer you false hope of losing weight quickly, easily, and permanently. Get angry at the lies that have led you to feel as if you were a failure every time a new diet stopped working and you gained back all of the weight. If you allow even one small hope to linger that a new and better diet might be lurking around the corner, it will prevent you from being free to rediscover Intuitive Eating.

2. Honor Your Hunger Keep your body biologically fed with adequate energy and carbohydrates. Otherwise you can trigger a primal drive to overeat. Once you reach the moment of excessive hunger, all intentions of moderate, conscious eating are fleeting and irrelevant. Learning to honor this first biological signal sets the stage for re-building trust with yourself and food.

3. Make Peace with Food Call a truce, stop the food fight! Give yourself unconditional permission to eat. If you tell yourself that you can't or shouldn't have a particular food, it can lead to intense feelings of deprivation that build into uncontrollable cravings and, often, bingeing When you finally “give-in” to your forbidden food, eating will be experienced with such intensity, it usually results in Last Supper overeating, and overwhelming guilt.

4. Challenge the Food Police .Scream a loud "NO" to thoughts in your head that declare you're "good" for eating under 1000 calories or "bad" because you ate a piece of chocolate cake. The Food Police monitor the unreasonable rules that dieting has created . The police station is housed deep in your psyche, and its loud speaker shouts negative barbs, hopeless phrases, and guilt-provoking indictments. Chasing the Food Police away is a critical step in returning to Intuitive Eating.

5. Respect Your Fullness Listen for the body signals that tell you that you are no longer hungry. Observe the signs that show that you're comfortably full. Pause in the middle of a meal or food and ask yourself how the food tastes, and what is your current fullness level?

6. Discover the Satisfaction Factor The Japanese have the wisdom to promote pleasure as one of their goals of healthy living In our fury to be thin and healthy, we often overlook one of the most basic gifts of existence--the pleasure and satisfaction that can be found in the eating experience. When you eat what you really want, in an environment that is inviting and conducive, the pleasure you derive will be a powerful force in helping you feel satisfied and content. By providing this experience for yourself, you will find that it takes much less food to decide you've had "enough".

7. Honor Your Feelings Without Using Food Find ways to comfort , nurture, distract, and resolve your issues without using food. Anxiety, loneliness, boredom, anger are emotions we all experience throughout life. Each has its own trigger, and each has its own appeasement. Food won't fix any of these feelings. It may comfort for the short term, distract from the pain, or even numb you into a food hangover. But food won't solve the problem. If anything, eating for an emotional hunger will only make you feel worse in the long run. You'll ultimately have to deal with the source of the emotion, as well as the discomfort of overeating.

8. Respect Your Body Accept your genetic blueprint. Just as a person with a shoe size of eight would not expect to realistically squeeze into a size six, it is equally as futile (and uncomfortable) to have the same expectation with body size. But mostly, respect your body, so you can feel better about who you are. It's hard to reject the diet mentality if you are unrealistic and overly critical about your body shape.

9. Exercise--Feel the Difference Forget militant exercise. Just get active and feel the difference. Shift your focus to how it feels to move your body, rather than the calorie burning effect of exercise. If you focus on how you feel from working out, such as energized, it can make the difference between rolling out of bed for a brisk morning walk or hitting the snooze alarm. If when you wake up, your only goal is to lose weight, it's usually not a motivating factor in that moment of time.

10 Honor Your Health--Gentle Nutrition Make food choices that honor your health and tastebuds while making you feel well. Remember that you don't have to eat a perfect diet to be healthy. You will not suddenly get a nutrient deficiency or gain weight from one snack, one meal, or one day of eating. It's what you eat consistently over time that matters, progress not perfection is what counts.

Wow, that was a really long quote. Sorry.

Anyway, get the book. You can get it for, like, five bucks on amazon.com.

Man, it's so hard to write a good blog post when you've got a baby yanking on the laptop screen.

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A tooth! Finally!

Six months is the average age for babies to get teeth, so we've been checking every day for a tooth for the past four months. Every day, nothing. But this morning, at nine and a half months old, Summer finally got a tooth. On her top right. I was starting to think we'd need to put her in special education, so you can imagine my relief. Last night was great and she wasn't any fussier than usual today or yesterday. So all those times she was upset and we were sure she was suffering teething pain? I'm thinking we were drugging her for no reason.

Oh, and there will be no picture of this tooth because Summer has serious issues with people looking at her mouth. Just ask her doctor who got repeatedly kicked in the face when she tried to look in our little girl's mouth.

Oh, and we're visiting Paul and Amy in California! Yesterday we went to see some redwoods and to Santa Cruz, which had some amazing waves. Today we went to San Francisco and ate some sourdough bread, which is actually better than the stuff you get at Wal-Mart. Then we went to half-moon beach? bay? where Amy learned how to surf once upon a time. Nathaniel picked up a massive piece of seaweed and decided to use it as a whip. We changed Summer's bum on the beach and I think she was grateful to get a little fresh air down there.

We brought a camera and had lots of good intentions, but no pictures. Maybe we'll get some from Paul and Amy and post them later.

UPDATE: This blog is clearly going downhill.

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Measuring Cup

Summer,

That measuring cup was in the drawer. The drawer was closed. How did you get in the high chair?

Love,

Mommy

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Apparently I'm Starving My Child

Summer turned nine months today. Can you believe she has survived? I'm such a slacker that I am very impressed with myself. People thought I was nuts for being super paranoid when she was younger. I guess I should have explained to them that I knew I was going to slack off later, and I figured that when you average super paranoid with totally too relaxed you get just about right. But I probably wasn't paranoid enough.

I still have toxic poison in the cupboard below the sink. I really don't know where else to put it, but if I just started thinking about it instead of writing about it I'm sure I could find a solution. I felt pretty guilty about that until I read that the French are totally relaxed about child-proofing, and since I pretty much want to be French, I figure I'm doing all right.

And that's not all. Not all the outlets are covered, we have lamps that are just waiting to be shook and then toppled over, I have no idea what's on our floors, and the bathroom is basically a toxic waste dump. Oh, and I really have no idea when I feed Summer.

I nurse her when she wakes up and when she goes to bed, and then pretty much anything goes from there. I think, maybe, I sort of nurse her four times a day and feed her twice a day. As far as the times of these "meals," I have no idea. If she's hungry, I nurse her, unless I've nursed her recently, and then I give her solids. She seems happy.

Earlier today, I realized that Summer is just getting pickier and I'm going to have to plan meals for her the same way I plan meals for us. Which is rarely, but I have really good intentions to do so. And right now, I have the ingredients for a dozen different meals, so I feel prepared.

Anyway, the point of this post, aside from celebrating Summer's amazing survival skills, is to say that at her 9-month check-up, the doctor was worried about Summer's weight.

Oh, my goodness, the m key is sticking and of course I have a daughter with not one but two ms in her name! Let's just call her little one.

Her weight has gone from the 10th percentile to the 35th percentile to the 47th percentile to the 53rd percentile to the 27th percentile and now to the 10th percentile again. The curve does not look like it's supposed to.

Apparently, the rolls on her legs and her massive cheeks don't mean much.

So I get interrogated about how often I feed my child. I am not good with interrogations. I get nervous and confused and I always look guilty. If I ever get framed for murder, I'm screwed.

I felt so awkward about not knowing how much I give this child to eat. I just feed her until she seems okay. How much water do I give her? As much as she wants. Little babies know how much they need, right?

Ugh. So, I'm going back in for a weight check in a month, and I'm supposed to feed her three square meals a day, give her snacks, and be careful not to overdo the water.

But seriously, does this baby look like she's deprived to you?



P.S. I love being a mom. I love playing hide and seek with this girl. I love watching her gobble up her food after she smushes it in her hands. I love the way she absolutely refuses to allow the doctor to examine her mouth. I love the way her eyes light up when she sees her daddy. I love the way she will play with her book for minutes on end. I love Summer.

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New Environmentalism

Here are my thoughts for the day:

Neal A. Maxwell: “True disciples … would be consistent environmentalists – caring both about maintaining the spiritual health of a marriage and preserving a rain forest; caring about preserving the nutrient capacity of a family as well as providing a healthy supply of air and water…. Adam and Eve were to 'dress the garden,' not exploit it. Like them, we are to keep the commandments, so that we can enjoy all the resources God has given us, resources described as “enough and to spare” (D&C 104:17), if we use and husband them wisely."

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Summer's First Word

There is one good thing about having a rather large, possibly dangerous, mole in the center of my chest for everyone to see: Summer loves it. When I hold her , she points at it with both index fingers and babbles. A few days ago, I started calling it “mommy’s dot.”

When I was browsing in a store, Summer starting pointing to the mole and saying “ba ba ba ba.” I starting saying “dot” over and over again. She looked at me and then started saying “duh duh duh.” Hmm…

This morning, when I woke up, I showed her the mole and pointed to it. She pointed to it too, and said, “duh duh duh duh.” (The sounds were sharp and staccato – it didn’t sound like she was suggesting I was dumb, by the way.) I didn't want to get my hopes up, but I really wanted her to have made some progress in the language area. I was totally excited.

Later this morning, I picked her up and she pointed to my mole and said “dot.” In a very baby-ish way, but it was there. I was thrilled. So was Nathaniel. We danced and hopped around like idiots.

So this is why I think “dot” is Summer’s first word. Knowing her, I probably won’t hear it again for a long time, but I had to document it.

By the way, after hearing Summer say “dot,” I flipped through What to Expect The First Year to see if it’s really possible that an 8 ½ month old baby would say something (very unlikely, according to the authors, so I’m probably making the whole thing up). A section on toilet training caught my eyes, and I couldn’t help but share this gem with you guys:

“Children are great imitators, particularly of people they look up to. So instead of barring baby from the bathroom while you use the toilet, invite him in for a live demonstration, accompanied by a running commentary on the goings-on.”

This coming from the same people who eschew the word “poo” in favor of the more delicate “doo doo,” presumably to avoid offending their gentle readers.

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Helping Haiti - A Step Toward Unselfishness

As I was writing the last post (you know, the one when I wanted to become foam), I felt a bit silly writing about how awful and terrible my life is when all signs suggest otherwise. I have a perfect (for me) husband, a beautiful, easy-going daughter, wonderful, giving friends, and two incredible families. Even though we live off student loans, we have a great apartment (relatively speaking) and we always have more than enough to eat. I am blessed to be doing almost exactly what I always wanted to do with my life (full-time mom, part time law clerk, soon-to-be attorney). I love my church and my Crohn's hasn't acted very badly in months. Life is awesome. (And so are parentheticals.)

But I forged ahead with the rant because I think it's important to validate feelings. If you feel bad, it's healthier to acknowledge it, as silly and unjustified those feelings may be, than to brush it under the rug.

So I acknowledged and went to bed and felt 100 times better the next day. And then, with a great night's sleep, I saw clearly what I had been only a vague inkling in the back of my mind: Summer had almost nothing to do with my terrible day. It was all me and my selfishness. I wanted a day when I could do what I wanted and I wanted to do it easily, and couldn't, so I got upset and placed the blame where it didn't belong. I was only thinking about myself.

I should know better. How many times in church, personal study, family home evenings, firesides, etc., have I heard warnings against self-centered thinking? And how it leads to misery and divorce and war and pretty much everything that's wrong with the world except physical illness and pleated pants?

So when I stopped thinking about myself, I started thinking about Haiti. When I first heard about the earthquake there, my heart sank. I hated it that there was so much suffering going on and I couldn't be there to help somehow.

So Nathaniel and I donated a little money to the disaster relief fund of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It wasn't much, but I figured every little bit helps.

Later, after I decided to try and stop being selfish, I saw this. The Church was calling for more donations to help Haiti. We don't have a lot of money (well, none, really if you consider our debt), but we can forgo something that's not that iportant (Avitar in 3D? A dinner at Communal? A new dress? My first-world needs are so silly) so that our brothers and sisters in Haiti can get the help they need.

So I recommend that if you can donate to Haiti, you do so through the LDS church. Just click here. First, they actually put 100% of your donation to disaster relief (I can't figure out what the Red Cross's percentage is, but I know it's not 100). Second, their relief efforts are extremely well-organized and efficient. Areas that have suffered disasters often have a problem with organizations who are trying to help but are really just in the way because the supplies they bring are one big mess. But relief workers are always happy to see the Mormons come.

Also, as the request for more funds stated, people need more than food and water and shelter. They need our prayers. So everyone really can do something.

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Just Breathe

Today was bad. Very bad. I had big plans to put off my work project and head to the store for some parchment paper, because I really wanted to make graham crackers and I needed parchment to do it. I planned to read my scriptures when Summer was taking her morning nap and then take off as soon as she woke up.

It didn’t work. Summer decided that rather than sleeping, she would just whine and cry and fuss in an exhausted, serotonin-fueled state. All day long. Thrice I attempted to let her cry herself to sleep in her crib, and thrice I failed.

What did this mean for me? No getting parchment paper. No earning money. No taking lunch to Nathaniel. Nothing but attempting to placate my child for hours on end in a 10 x 12 living room. And two and a half long hours of listening to my beloved child scream her head off.

If you haven't had the experience of listening to a baby cry for multiple hours in one day, I sincerely hope you never do.

As I lay on my bed, listening to Summer's cries, I wanted to sink into the mattress pad. I wanted to become the foam – no ears, no emotions, no screaming babies.

On days like today, I have to tell myself to just breathe. I have to tell myself that it’s okay to me frustrated and mad. It’s okay to feel inadequate and long for another life. Sometimes, things happen that make the life of foam look enviable, things that make you wish that you could check out of motherhood just for the day. But you can’t. And you wouldn’t, even if you could, because these days don’t last long, and really, life is actually amazing.

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Sometimes you just have to complain about your husband

Today, I checked the mail and pulled out a package. Our address is on Wymount Terrace. The package was addressed to "Wymount Ter."

When I see Blvd., I think boulevard. When I see St., I think street. When I see Rd., I think road. When I see Ter., I think turd.

I have explained this to Nathaniel, and he refuses to stop.

But I forgive him, because he does stuff like this:

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The inevitable spit up pic

You should click on the picture to really appreciate its glory.

When I look at this picture, a few things come to mind:

1. It was taken right after we bragged to our friends that Summer almost never spits up.

2. I love Summer's look of triumph - like she's saying "I never spit up, huh? Ha!"

3. My husband is very attractive, even with spit up on his face.

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Not A Happy Post

Warning: many might find this post a tad bit depressing. Feel free to skip it.

I had a miscarriage in March of 2008. It was the most devastating experience I’ve ever had to go through. I was working at the Attorney General’s office in Salt Lake City when I started spotting. I remember as I was driving home I prayed, crying to God that he couldn’t do that to me because a miscarriage was the one thing I couldn’t handle. I loved that baby so much and losing him or her was unfathomable. 

Before that day, I thought that I could deal with a miscarriage. My mom had a miscarriage and she explained to me that sometimes things just aren’t working right and a miscarriage is nature’s way of taking care of it. I hadn’t realized until then that she could talk about like that because it had been over a decade since she lost her baby.

The next day, when I started having intense contractions at 11 weeks, I wondered why God would do this to me? To us? Why would he make me think I had a baby on the way, only to take it away from me? With every other trail I had experienced, I found a way to make sense of it: I learned an invaluable lesson, I came out of the trial with more empathy for and understanding of others, I was a stronger person, etc. But I could not, and still can’t, understand the good in losing a pregnancy.

One of the most difficult things in losing my baby was that people downplayed it. No one was rude, but comments that were meant to be helpful like “You really need to rest more,” and “That sucks. Well, at least you’ll have more time to study,” and “Maybe you weren’t really pregnant,” hurt. Most just pretended everything was the same, even thought I had already told everyone about the pregnancy. Some people were wonderful. My mother said, “I don’t know what to say, but I just really love you.” That was exactly what I needed to hear. My gastroenterologist, of all people, was also very validating. He left me a voicemail saying, “I’m sorry about your baby.” He didn’t say “Sorry about what happened,” or “Sorry about the miscarriage.” He recognized that I had a baby and the baby died. A woman from work gave me a hug when I returned and said, “No one really understands until they’ve been through it.” Nathaniel, of course, was wonderful. He just let me cry on his shoulder and cried with me.

One of the worst things about a miscarriage is blame. That’s why well-intended comments like, “Next time, you need more rest,” can hurt so much. Women who have had miscarriages constantly second-guess their every action, wondering whether or not a different decision at some point would have saved their baby’s life. This morning, I read a blog post about how the author miraculously avoided miscarriage, through prayer and faith and the grace of God. I am so glad she didn’t have to go through the loss of her pregnancy, but I do hope no woman reads that post and wonders if an extra priesthood blessing or more faith would have resulted in a different outcome. Well, I hope no one aside from me feels that way.

I spent a long time in the temple and although I cannot understand the reasons for losing a baby, I made my peace with what happened. But I have to renew that all the time. It’s easy to go back to being angry at God, but prayer helps the peace return.

When I was 7 months pregnant with Summer, I was chatting with a friend from high school about the bar. He mentioned something about my being a mommy, and I replied that I wasn’t a mommy yet. “I’m Catholic,” he responded, “and for me life begins at conception. So you’re a mommy in my book.” I liked that. So in a way, I’m a mommy of two.

I said I don’t understand why God would let me loose a baby, but perhaps I’m starting to make sense of it. Soon after the miscarriage, I was listening to a radio program about caring for trees (not something I would ordinarily do, btw). In response to a question from a listener, the host of the show explained that in order to properly care for a fruit tree, the blossoms should be plucked for the first couple of years so that the tree can grow strong and be prepared to bear fruit. When I heard that, my thoughts immediately went to the baby I lost. But I shoved aside the notion that God would let my baby die so that I could grow up a little more before I was charged with caring for one of His children. I’m still not sure that that’s the answer, but every time I think of the little one I lost I think of that experience. So maybe that’s part of it. I’m not sure. And now, that’s okay.

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Toy Station

Thanks to my mom, we have an extra dresser. (Why is this centered? I really shouldn't use programs I don't understand.) Here's what we did with it.

I'm pretty proud of myself. So I'm bragging on the internets.

Yeah!

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Going Private!

Hahaha....just kidding.

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My wife is trying to kill me...

I'm starving...almost dead. Why, you ask? Because my wife is starving me to death. Here's the story:

I was in the middle of wasting time on the computer by looking at some blogs and improving my facebook-me by making nice comments on other peoples' statuses when I noticed my hands were shaking. No, it wasn't because I was nervous my facebook-friends wouldn't like the comments I was making (they always love them)...it was because my body does not have enough food in it. Now you want to know why the heck my body doesn't have enough food in it....well so did I! As I stared at my shaking hands I thought, "wow, I'm really hungry." Thankfully (and contrary to my wife's diabolical plan) that thought persisted and I did something about it (well, honestly I haven't yet eaten but I'm going to right after I post this). I'm pretty sure that my wife was hoping that I would never make myself food and I would slowly die of starvation. No, I have no idea why she would want to kill me, I'm perfect in every way. But that's beside the point. Here's how she was trying to kill me:

Step 1) Make food for Nathaniel on a regular basis.
Step 2) Make food for Nathaniel so often that he never makes food for himself.
Step 3) Make Nathaniel absolutely dependent on the food that I make him.
Step 4) Stop making food for Nathaniel
Step 5) Hope that Nathaniel has forgotten what hunger feels like so that when it hits him he won't respond by making his own food but will die instead.

I thwarted her plan on step 5 (again, technically I'll thwart it by eating as soon as I'm done typing this post with my shaky hands). I will live another day, wife! Better luck with your next evil plot.

The End.

Update:

Yes, I love to use parentheticals and yes, my wife is making me food while I'm typing this...does this mean she thinks her plan might still work?

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A letter to Summer three days after she turned eight months old

Dear Summer,

Three days ago, you turned eight months old. And I'm sorry, but I did not write a post about you on that day. I was really tired. Oh, wait. You're only eight months old. You don't care. Goody.

You've been crawling for a couple of weeks now, but it's nice and slow so you can't get into too much trouble. And you stand up and cruise a little (which is when you get around by holding the side of the couch or something). Sometimes it's really cute when you crawl to me and climb up my legs, just standing there, waiting to be picked up. Sometimes it's awfully inconvenient when you do that while I'm holding a knife and have raw chicken all over my hands. I haven't quite figured out what I should do at that point because you can't stand up all by yourself and it seems a little mean to walk away and let you topple over. Good thing daddy was there.

And speaking of your daddy: Summer, we need to talk about something. Your daddy loves you just as much as I do. He is just as good at holding you, and probably a little bit better at playing with you. When I give you to him so that I can go to the bathroom, you are in safe hands. There is no need to scream when I leave the room. As much as I need a break, I promise I'll always come back when I go to the bathroom.

See? Here he is, feeding you a bottle. Oh, and this picture was taken the day you turned eight months old.


What? You don't like the lighting? Neither do I.

Today I fed you blueberries. As it turns out, it's not a very good idea to give messy babies something that stains almost black. Maybe we'll save them for when I don't have to puree all your food. Or maybe not, because you didn't seem to like them that much this time. So I gave you leftover chicken and dumplings. I'm not sure if you're supposed to give babies stuff like that, but you loved it, and that's good enough for me.

Today, I tickled you for the very first time. Well, I've tickled you before, where my hands start about a foot from your tiny body and they slowly inch toward your rib cage. That, coupled with threats from the tickle monster (me), usually gets a laugh.

But today, as you were laying down on my lap looking at our new cool orange rug (or maybe the wall, I'm not sure), I just gave you a simple tickle just above your tummy. I was rewarded with a dimple in your cheek and a nice upward curl in your lips. I did it again and got a laugh. We just sat and laughed for a few minutes. It was so great.

Your favorite game is full body peek-a-boo. I love how I get a big smile and laugh out of you when I jump around a corner or hide under your chair, then back again. And you look for for me when I hide out under your high chair. You are so fun.

Well, most of the time you are fun. Sometimes, it's very difficult dealing with a baby who is teething. You're just not your happy, smiling, laughing self, and you want to be cuddled and carried a lot. I'm sorry you're so uncomfortable most of the time. I'm sure I'd be a big grump too if I was dealing with that.

I just love you so much. I am so glad to have you in my life. You are the perfect eight-month old.

Love,
Mommy

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Sometimes I think Summer's head looks massive

But I sure do love her!

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Our Early Morning Adventure

Last night/early this morning, Nathaniel and I took Summer to the ER. It was totally unnecessary. Of course, we didn't know that before we got there. Summer is generally a good sleeper at night, but she woke up several times before 10pm screaming, loudly and for long periods. So we went and got her, figuring she was teething and shouldn't have to suffer alone and in the dark any longer. She was dripping tons of snot, so we sucked it out with a sucker. Then she threw up. Then she started making these "ehhhhh" screechy-sounding noises. Then she felt hot. Then her temperature measured 102.3 or something. That was on Tylenol. I freaked out. We gave her more Tylenol. A while later, Nathaniel took the thermometer out early and it measured 102.8. That was when we packed up and headed to the ER.

When there, a nurse got Summer's vitals. The main reason for writing this post is to remember how cute it was when she wrapped a blood pressure sensor around Summer's tiny big toe. Summer just sat there, looking at it, lifting her foot up and down. So cute. The nurse took her temperature, which had decreased to 102.2. Good sign.

Then we waited for a room. We waited. And waited. And waited. Forty-five minutes into the wait, Nathaniel said, "We should bail." Looking back, I had no idea why that isn't what I did. Summer looked thrilled to be up so late and in a new place. She did not look like a sick baby.

An hour and fifteen minutes after our arrival, we went back into a room. A nurse greeted us and asked us more questions. And then we waited. And waited. And waited. At one point, Nathaniel had a nice little nap in the chair while I showed Summer all the fish in the room. Definitely not a sick baby.

The doctor came, and he said that the fever meant there was an infection in the body. It was likely viral, and because she was over three months, she had immunities and could fight it off. There was a slight chance it was a urinary tract infection, which could be really bad, but it was likely related to all the snot coming our her nose.

Why could the internets not have told us that a few hours earlier?!? Why did we need to spend two and a half hours in the ER in the middle of the night to have a doctor tell us that? Google, you have failed me.

The nurse came in and checked her temp again: 99 degrees. When she told me that, I felt pretty dumb for being there.

On the bright side, Summer got a cool new toy strapped to her leg:

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