Water, socks and bubbles, i.e. the Beginning of Summer

Remember how last year I made up all those activity packets? Hubby started off the summer strong and they did several initially, and then things kind of petered out. So, we still have a bunch (eh, really, a lot) left over for this summer. But, I felt the need to add some others as well. So, I spent quite a bit of time the last couple of weeks preparing new ones. Here are the first couple of them.

 

First, I'd thrown several empty plastic bottles into a bag and challenged hubby to built a water wall. And hubby loves any challenge related to building. And I'm all about encouraging him to build things that don't involve furniture (remind me to tell you about the bookshelf hubby built me early in our marriage).

 

So, hubby threw this together the other afternoon. And E, who is mesmerized by water, love, loved this one. And then, when the kid got home from camp (tennis and swim camp this week), he, too, loved it. It's def a win.

  I found these "sock bubbles" somewhere via Pin.terest. Hubby sent me these cute pics via text, just as I was opening the garage door, returning home from work. By the time I got inside, the kid was running in, sobbing. Apparently, he'd sucked in instead of blowing out, and the bubbles taste bad, y'all. Water and milk helped.

And then, about 2.5min after I got outside, baby E also sucked in. Only instead of crying, he just started puking. Repeatedly. For about 15min. 'Cause once that child starts with the vomit, it doesn't stop til his stomach is empty. Fun for all.

 

Thus does summer begin.

 

 

Today's Lesson: Water wall = big win. Sock bubbles = crying and vomit. Chose wisely, friends.

Judging

Just as a warning, this is an angry post with plenty of cuss words thrown in.

I came across this PAIL guest blog post recently and it hit quite a nerve for me. Probably because we're getting so close to weaning.

This is such an emotional topic for me. Being able to breastfeed my children the “normal” way is the one thing I don’t know that I can’t let go of. Thank you, infertility, so damn much.

I prepared and fought to be able to nurse my boys for a long time before they were born. With baby E I was on the protocol for almost 18months before he was born. For months and months after he was born (13, I believe), me and that damn pump were the best of frenemies. I had a crazy job, with a completely inconsistent schedule, both before and after he was born. But I did it. And we’re still doing it, me and my 33mon old boy.

But nothing about it has been easy.

And I totally admit – for the first time ever "out loud", to anyone other than to myself – that I judge (biological) mamas who don’t breastfeed.

Mostly, I am pissed at them. I am jealous of them. Because they *could* do what I wanted (damn it, still fucking want!) to be able to do and yet they don’t.

I have had to use the SNS for almost 3 years with baby E. We’ve never once nursed without it. Let that sink it. For more than 33months we've nursed with that damn plastic bottle and tubes between us. Of course I'm glad it exists because there's no way we've had made it without the stupid thing. But, fuck me, I resent the thing at the same time.

I have spent I don’t know how much time and money and energy finding donor breast milk (and am eternally grateful for it and the mamas who gave it to us). But it was only necessary because my body wouldn't - won't - do what it's supposed to do. And so many mamas take that for granted. So many simply throw that away. To so many, it simply doesn't seem important.

Comments about "it's so hard to find time to pump" or any other number of what equate to excuses in my mind, they just piss me off. I want to scream (IN CAPS!!!!!!), "do you know what I had to do to nurse my babies??!!".

But they don't. And they don't give a flying fuck. And they shouldn't. Because it's not about them. It's about me. And this fucking infertility. And what, even after all this time, it continues to steal from me. Fuck. That's not even true. It's what *I* continue to allow it to steal from me.

While I rationally know this is *my* issue and has nothing to do with how other mamas choose to feed their babies, I’m beyond jealous that they aren’t doing it. I know. It’s irrational. I know. And yet there it is. I judge them for not nursing. I judge them choosing not to give to their babies what I did everything possible and yet still couldn't give to mine.

I judge.


Today's Lesson: As much as I wish it were true, I don't believe there is a one among us who doesn't judge another about something. Sometimes the best we can do is admit our judgements. And, perhaps from that, we may be able to recognize that those judgements are most often about us. Not about the one we are judging. And, perhaps, that may allow us to understand it and eventually let it go.

5k-ing it

Recently we did our first (of the year) family 5k. Last year we did a couple (including this same one). This year, I gotta say, I was sllllllooooow. E is heavy!! I was all "I mean, he's only 33lbs. That's not that much". It is, people. It really is.

But I did carry him. The whole way. Even though I was huffing. Which I'm totally blaming on the allergy attack I was also having that week. (No, really, that's not a load of crap. It was a for real I-lost-my-voice-couldn't-breathe-through-my-nose-my-eyes-were-swollen-shut-when-I-woke-up-in-the-morning kind of a thing). Although, to be honest, I think we cut about a half mile off the 5k, because, well, I couldn't breathe.

The kid, though, he kicked that race's ass. Seriously.His first mile was 8min45sec. Yes, yes it was. The rest were a bit slower, but still. His overall time was under 36min and he'd shaved a full 2 min off his time from last year.

He and my mama both got medals in their age groups. My mom was walking with me, tho, so her medal is kinda, uh, ill-gotten. You know, since she cut that half mile off with me. I don't think anyone was taking this one too seriously tho, so it's alright.

 

 

Today's Lesson: It is time for my 33mon old to start walkin'. S'rsly, kid is heavy. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.