This Is a Little Embarrassing...

It has been so long since I posted here that I don't even know where to begin. I attribute this fact to many small reasons that, taken as a whole, have been a little overwhelming.

Parenting two children is not the same as parenting one child, and while I see other parents at the grocery store/library/park whose children are very close in age, part of me thinks, "Gosh, she must be tired all the time, and so sick of changing diapers for two little ones, and worn out from pushing the double stroller," while the other part of me thinks, "It was pretty smart of them to have their kids so close together," because returning to the mindset of parenting a baby when my son was already 4 years old was its own type of challenge.

. . . But that baby is 2 years old now, and that 4-year-old is now 6. When did that happen?

I've also been working third shift for over three years now, and I have recently realized the toll that this shift is taking: on my mood, on my body, on my family, on my self-esteem. When I step outside of myself, on the ragged edge of frustration after working five nights in a row, when all I want to do is sit down on the couch and turn on the television to watch my first non-children's programming in nearly a week instead of reading my kids another book before bed (because isn't seven enough?), the rational and sentimental part of me says, "Read the book. It takes less than five minutes, and in a few years they won't even want you to do it." And so I do it. I read the extra book, which often becomes two extra books, and then I'm too tired to go back downstairs because I've worked 50 hours in the past fives nights, and I feel like I have succeeded as a parent but failed at taking care of myself.

Parenting is incredibly rewarding yet, paradoxically, almost completely thankless. And I have come to realize that my career is this way, too. I love working in the laboratory, especially in the hospital setting, because it is interesting and challenging and I know that I am helping doctors and nurses better understand their patients' diseases and conditions. But it is an often thankless job that I do, and working overnight means that there are no managers or supervisors to witness the hard work that I and my coworkers do, the extra miles we go, the nights that we go to lunch one, two, or even three hours late because we are searching a newborn baby's spinal fluid for signs of meningitis, or testing a pregnant woman's blood to determine if her unborn child is bleeding inside of her womb, or thawing plasma four units at a time to try help the surgeon prevent a victim of multiple gunshot wounds from bleeding out.

I feel like I have somehow become lost in the past few days. It has been a series of small catastrophes, their sum being much, much greater than their parts. I can handle losing my phone and then getting it back with a damaged screen. I can handle my daughter unfolding an entire basket of laundry while I brush my teeth. I can handle an argument with my husband about our budget. I can handle being the focus of a nurse's wrath. What I am having trouble handling right now, though, is that these things keep coming, another wave upon the shore every few minutes.

I wish I could blame it on a full moon.

Sometimes I Forget

I was having one of those mornings where essentially every single thing my children did was getting on my nerves. Harper spitting up on my last clean pair of jeans? Annoying. Harry yelling at me from the basement for help with a video game while I was nursing Harper? Aggravating. Harry telling me wasn't hungry, then asking me to make his lunch two seconds after I sat down to eat my own lunch? Frustrating. Harper waking up while I was making Harry's lunch while my own lunch grew cold? The end of my rope. 

And then we went to Target. After putting the kids in the car, I climbed in, buckled up, and said to Harry, "I'm going to use this car ride to put myself in a better mood," and he said, "Me too, Mom." So we spent five minutes quietly in the car, then shared a pretzel as we strolled through Target and Harper napped. Thirty minutes later, everyone felt much better.

And once my mood had improved, I was able to remember how adorable and bright and fun these kids are, and how lucky I am to have them in my life and in my family.

She always looks this happy after spitting up. I guess it's therapeutic.

Looking pensive. Before the mood-improving pretzel, obviously.

Prepare to Resume Non-Mom Activities in 3, 2, 1. . .

Let's just get this out of the way: Obama! Re-elected! Woo-hoo!

Moving on. . .

Forty-eight hours from now I will be helping my kiddos wind down for the night. Forty-nine hours from now I will be frantically getting ready to go to work. . . for the first time since Harper was born. . . and I will be gone for 12 hours. . . while Kevin is alone. . . with two children. I am way more nervous about this than anyone else (cough, cough, Kevin) is. I know he'll be fine, but I have discovered that I am a bit of a control freak where our kids are concerned.

I am also nervous to go back to work. My third-shift cohorts assure me that not too much has changed, but I feel like quite a few little lab nuggets may have escaped my brain over the last 10 weeks. Even though I have home stress and going-back-to-work stress, I really am looking forward to Friday night. The people I work with are awesome and hilarious and some of my best friends, and on slow nights we tell inappropriate jokes and listen to iHeartRadio and quote The Big Lebowski, and on busy nights we pull together and literally help save some lives: either way leaves me feeling pretty good.

I am telling myself that everything will be alright. And it will. Right?

The Price of Two Incomes

My house is eerily quiet. Tons of things are getting done: groceries put away, bills paid, and backpack emptied of a semester's worth of crumpled paper, highlighters, flattened granola bars, and my long-lost ruler.

And the source of this quiet and productivity? I dropped Harry off for his first full day of daycare. He spent a few hours there last week, but today we're going all-in and I'm not going to pick him up until 4. I cried last week, when Kevin and I left Harry at daycare for the first time, but today it was Harry doing the crying. I tried to psych him up this morning, reminding him of the kitchen he could play in, outside time, and showing Miss Judy his stuffed animal. I guess I should have known it was too good to be true when Harry walked right over to the back door and started putting his shoes on, ready to get in the car. By the time we arrived at daycare, he was asking me to pick him up, hold him, not put him down, and he made the wrinkly crying face that I can't handle when I put him down and told him I'd be back later.

Part of me is really excited that I'm starting an internship. I know that it will be good for me to be out, being productive and working with other adults, and the income that comes when I get a job is going to make a lot of things more available to us. I want Harry to have swimming lessons, and I want to put more than a few dollars in his college fund, and I want for us to be able to take a vacation, to go somewhere that isn't a family obligation but an actual destination.

But the other part of me is heartbroken that I can't be with Harry, as crazy as he makes me and as frustrated as I get being home with him sometimes. I think that it's a cryin' shame that one income isn't enough, even if we were to give up some of our comforts and go to one car and move into an apartment. I love that I have the opportunity for a career, but sometimes I wish I didn't have to have one.

If I was at work right now, daycare might seem like the greatest thing ever, because the alternative would be leaving Harry home with a 1-pound box of Cheez-Its and half a dozen sippy cups strategically placed around the living room. (Joking. Please don't call CPS). Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty about Harry spending the day somewhere else if I was actually at work. But I doubt it.

Mommy Fever

This is Day 4 of Harry's first real bout of Mommy Fever. He's had periods of attachment, some episodes of separation anxiety, and the normal leg-hugging when being introduced to someone for the first time, but every night this week he's been asking me to put him to bed.

And I have put him to bed the last three nights, instead of alternating with Kevin, because the crying from Harry's room has been too much to take. I don't know if this is his newest bedtime-avoidance tactic, or maybe something deeper.

I feel like a bad mom right now. Is Harry asking for me because I'm gone too often, spending three full days a week at school? Am I not 100% present on the days I do spend with him, checking my email and trying to sneak five minutes to review microbiology while he's playing with his Hot Wheels? And is a full-time internship next semester going to hurt my relationship with him? Is daycare drop-off going to be this hard?

Harry just opened his bedroom door and said, "Daddy, get Mama." I want to go in there and hug him and tuck him in again and help him fall asleep, but I don't want to set a precedent where he cries and I run, and I am the only person able to do the bedtime thing. But it breaks my heart, people. It really does.

Today Isn't a Full Moon? Seriously?

It has just been one of those days, Dear Reader, and it's only 1:15. Begin the day at 6:15, which is later than usual, but quickly move on to a 15-minute wait on the phone to speak to the pediatrician's office, a near-miss as an idiot in the opposing left-turn lane greatly underestimated how long it would take him to turn in front of me, a screaming toddler in the pediatrician's office, a nurse practitioner we've never seen before scolding me for not giving Harry nasal saline twice daily, two lanes open at the grocery store, the pharmacy tech giving me the stink eye because I didn't check to make sure Harry's prescriptions were indeed faxed to them (Why does the pediatrician fax scripts? So I don't have to go to the pharmacy twice!), forgetting a bag of groceries at the check-out (Thank you, Check-Out Girl, for chasing me to the coin-operated horse), a 15-minute wait at the pharmacy drive-through, a $50 prescription that I may have to buy monthly for Harry's allergies, an exploding yogurt, and Harry vomiting on the kitchen rug.

The bright side: At least he had the decency to throw up on a rug this time instead of the carpet.

Hallmark, Take Note

I need a card that says "Sorry my little boy puked on your stuff." I guess I could always make my own, but I could have used two in the last four days - three if you think I could send one to myself.

We thought we had Harry's "allergies" under control with an evening dose of children's generic Zyrtec, but a trip out of town this weekend knocked us on our butts. Harry's nose is a faucet, he has little red racoon eyes, and he's coughing all night long. This coughing, which is due to postnasal drainage, invariably leads to puking. The allergies haven't been officially diagnosed and we've had no testing done. The advice to try medication came from the charge nurse at the pediatrician's office, and all will be reviewed at Harry's upcoming physical.

He spit up just a little bit on Saturday night at my grandmother's house, but at least I'd had the foresight to pack Harry's own pillow. The tiniest bit may have gotten on the sheets, but since he peed out his diaper, we were washing those sheets anyway.

Harry threw up twice last night, sometime around 11:30 and again around 4, which means I did two loads of laundry before the sun was even up this morning. Productive, no? Being dead tired, I dropped Harry off at my parents' house today so I could work, runs errands, and put Harry's bed back together. And, of course, Harry threw up all over my mom's bedspread after his nap and then again after his milk this afternoon.

So, as you can see, I really need some of those cards. . .

If 4 Out of 5 Dentists Recommend Dentyne. . .

. . . then why can't I find two "experts" who agree on the best way to help my child sleep?

Harry had an unscheduled visit with his pediatrician, Dr. B., yesterday to discuss sleep issues. We've been fighting the good fight since Thanksgiving, and to our credit Harry has only slept in bed with us three times. We stick to his bedtime routine, we have a consistent bedtime, Harry takes a decent nap every day, and we are really conscious (I think) of his moods and needs. Dr. B. assured me we're doing all the right things and just need to make a few adjustments (read: no rocking Harry to sleep at naptime, or staying in the room until he's asleep). I've done a lot of reading on the subject of getting Baby to sleep well, and opinions range from "Of course you should rock Baby to sleep, you idiot!" to "Never rock Baby to sleep, you idiot!" There are an awful lot of people who fall between those two ends of the spectrum, too, and I think I need to figure out where Kevin, Harry, and I fit and then really commit to better sleep for the whole family. Dr. B. recommended a book on pediatric sleep issues, which I will be reading in the car as we drive to Cincinnati tomorrow.

Dr. B. also recommended I read up on "spirited children." Apparently, this is the new, PC label: old labels for the same "type" of child include strong-willed or stubborn. For all of my frustrations and challenges as a mother, (many of which are more on me than Harry), I think Harry is actually a very good kid. He's sweet and smart and funny and brave. And he helped me make cookies today: his very first baking adventure.

Turns out this was actually a great idea (score one for Kate). It combined many of Harry's favorite things: noise, pouring, and standing on a chair.

Lime sugar cookies for Kevin to take to a Spring-themed lunch at work:

.
Trying out the finished product:



And deciding he doesn't really care for our cookies:

All's the better: more for everyone else.

Pros and Cons: Thursday Edition

Pro: Harry is having milk and an entire apple for lunch, happily circling his train table as I type this.
Con: He ate Easy Mac for breakfast and is walking around with his lunch. And I don't care.

Pro: I found a $2 coupon for my laundry detergent lying on the floor at Target.
Bonus Pro: My laundry detergent is not made from petrochemicals, is nontoxic and biodegradable, and happens to be kosher (if that matters to you) but is, amazingly enough, still widely available.
Con: I still had to shell out $12 for laundry detergent.

Pro: There are cheaper alternatives to Thomas & Friends wooden train track.
Con: The local Toys R Us does not actually open at 9:30 on weekdays, whatever their website may say.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie, or Why You Shouldn't Wake a Toddler

In all the excitement of his first haircut and Grandma coming over to play, Harry was (possibly) too excited to take a nap. He usually sleeps after lunch, napping for an hour or two, but yesterday that was a no-go. I gave it two attempts and my mom made an effort too, but alas, no nap.

Harry did finally succumb just before 5 o'clock, which sent me into a panic. Falling asleep that late could not bode well for a normal bedtime. I put dinner in the oven, set the table, and wrote the check for my car payment, and then woke Harry up just as Kevin was getting home from work. I picked him up, gave him a squeeze, and turned on Blue's Clues, thinking he might be so excited about the show that he wouldn't mind being woken up: BIG mistake. Harry cried, whined, screamed, cried, squirmed, cried, rinse, repeat. He wanted nothing to do with me, and Harry eventually got so worked up that he vomited.

Happily, Harry returned to his normal, happy self and we had a pretty uneventful evening. We did the normal bedtime wind-down routine, and Kevin rocked Harry until he was sleepy. Usually at this point one of us puts Harry down in his crib, he rolls around to get comfortable, and we exit stage left. This time, though, Harry immediately started crying, standing up, reaching for Kevin, etc. We let Harry cry for 10 minutes or so, hoping he'd work it out himself, which he did.

Kevin and I went to bed as usual only to be awakened by crying/screaming at 12:30. Harry had vomited again, all over his crib, which meant that I did a rush job on the bedclothes while Kevin dipped Harry in the tub. We repeated his normal bedtime routine, stories and cuddling and rocking and singing, and again Harry refused his crib. I couldn't blame the kid: I mean, he had just thrown up in said crib and I can understand not wanting to get back in. Our bed, which I'm sure was his first choice, was not an option in my opinion (or Kevin's) so we decided that Harry sleeping in his room, even if it was on the floor, was more appropriate than Harry sleeping in our room. So Kevin and I split the remainder of the night into two shifts, each of us taking our turn sleeping on the floor with Harry, who slept like, well, someone else's baby who sleeps well.

Dear Reader, I am not willing to do this sleep training thing again.

Does This Make Me a Bad Mom?

I don't want to take Harry to a playgroup at the park today. I don't feel well. I'm tired. I don't want to have to walk the tightrope between letting Harry have fun and making sure he doesn't get hurt, and the tightrope between being his advocate and not making excuses, and the tightrope between being social with the other parents and keeping an eye on Harry. I don't want him to fall asleep on the ride home because I need him to sleep here so I can work.

But mostly I don't want to go because my hair looks bad and I haven't put on any make up and I have only one pair of jeans and they don't fit well and I hate all my shoes. I don't want to go meet a bunch of new people looking like crap.

I have only recently been pushing myself to get out there and make friends, and I'm not ready to have to do it for someone else, too. And since my personal efforts haven't been remarkable, I'm not so excited to try on Harry's behalf.

If things go very well (or very badly), I will let you know.

No X-Ray Necessary

First of all, don't worry. X-ray? I promise, everything is fine. In fact, Harry finally cut a tooth last night. No, it's not his first, but yes, it is a big deal. There have been no new teeth since February, and seeing as it's almost August, I was starting to get a little worried. He has a doctor's appointment next month and I was prepared to ask for some imaging, just to make sure there actually were a few more teeth hanging around in Harry's gums. As bad as teething is, and as cute as he looked with only two teeth on the bottom, I do really want that smile to fill in a little more.

Portrait of a Sneeze

I think this is proof that I am a good mother.

I sacrificed a perfectly good, clean, soft shirt - one of my favorites - when Harry made it obvious that he was about to sneeze a mouthful of applesauce. Perhaps this wasn't an entirely selfless act. Allowing the sneeze to go uncontained would have meant cleaning the high chair, floor, and dining room table, as well as thawing and heating a new breakfast for Harry. But still! This is an example of the disgusting things I have to do these days.