The unexpected milestones.

I've been reflecting a lot on the milestones of my children that I hadn't anticipated.  In a few short months, Elliott will turn 6 and Bennett will turn 3.  I've been hit with the realization that though I still feel like such a novice, I don't even have babies anymore!  It's both exhilarating and terrifying--moving into this new territory.

Along the way, there were certain milestones I looked forward to--like weaning, the completion of  potty-training, and sleeping through the night.  Honestly, we're still working on the whole sleeping through the night thing with Bennett, a milestone I'd assumed would happen a few months into her life, but (oops!) I was wrong.  Luckily, the other milestones have come pretty easily.

But then there are the unexpected milestones--the ones I never really thought about--the ones that once they actually happen, you realize how awesome they are.  Some are significant, others are not, but they're milestones nonetheless.

Buckling their own car seat. Who knew such a small and mundane task, when completed by my child, was cause for celebration?  Since my kids are on the small (err, like seriously small for their ages) side, I know that we are going to have a longtime love affair with carseats.  Not having to buckle both of those 5 point harnesses every time we load up?  Priceless.

Sitting on a park bench.  (Me, not the kids.)  At almost three, Bennett is now venturing away from me on the playground.  My friend Tabby and I often take our gals to the park and marvel at the fact that we now occasionally get to sit back and chat, guilt-free, while the kids occupy themselves.  It's a far cry from that chaos that park trips consisted of a few years ago, right Tabby?

Skipping a nap without major repercussions. I'm not going to say that I a fan of skipping naps--they're still a high priority on my daily list.  However, there's so much freedom in knowing that if we happen to have to shift or skip naptime, it won't be World War III.

Managing sickness. Without going into details, kids are gross.  Elliott, at almost 6, can handle the majority of her bodily functions on her own, and this includes maintaining good aim when sick (which thankfully is RARE).  Not having to change clothing and sheets when a bug hits is a bonus for everyone.  I can't yet say the same for little sis, so for now, Stanley Steemer and I are pretty tight and I know easier days are in store.

No diaper bag. No diapers, no diaper bag.  Niiiiiiicee.

Drinking from a straw. I think my girls each picked up the skill of drinking through a straw around the age of one.  This was a game-changer for me because it meant that I no longer had to be in constant possession of a sippy cup.  Don't even get me started on how much I hate the phrase "sippy cup", and even worse than that was washing the things and all those teeny holes and plastic valves.  I'm grateful that we're in the regular ol' cup stage around the house, but I do remember when the babes learning to drink from a straw was a game-changer.

A few of these milestones recently joined up to equal our family's first camping trip.  Like, a for real sleeping-in-the-tent-all-night-long camping trip.  And shocker--it was SO enjoyable!

I've been told that other unanticipated milestones are coming.  A very wise and seasoned Mom recently told me a neat milestone to look forward to is when the kids can bathe themselves.  I hadn't even considered this rite of passage, and I realize I'm still years away, but man oh man, the ability to say "go take a shower" without having to be involved?  That's going to be a good day.

I'd love to know some of your favorite unexpected milestones.

I can do this.

I really do believe that there's so much about parenthood that's not understood until you're in the trenches.  A dog is a fabulous trainer for parenting.  I know for me, it was an experience to learn to put the need of a little precious and innocent canine above my own.  Bonding came from the tough things--like potty-training that seemed unending and nighttime walks at 3:30am for the first few months of puppyhood--because it was what he needed, and those needs of his became more important than my need for sleep.

And then enter kids.  Whoa Nellie.  What a way to rock a world and change you to the core.  I am truly a changed woman and glaring evidence presented itself today in the form of a call from Elliott's school.

I received a call informing me that Elliott had fallen backward off of a swing, bumping the back of her head.  Now at first, I thought, you know, it's nice to be informed  but I opted to just assume that things were fine and leave Elliott at school because, well, if she learns that her Mom will come whenever an injury occurs, I have a feeling a habit will very quickly follow. Something along the lines of a little boy who cried wolf.

But when I hung up the phone, the tears and self-doubt got the better of me.  I texted my husband, looking for a reassuring "you know she's fine", but he was in the midst of a meeting so the affirmation didn't come immediately.  So I sobbed a bit, feeling stuck in the thick of some grand parenting dilemma. First, she needs to learn that not every injury is a big deal and needs to be able to find comfort independently and learn to count on the others who are around her for support.  And she has a wonderful support group where she is--and learning to depend on them will serve her well in her confidence of being away from me.  On the other hand, what if something truly is wrong and she has a concussion and I just blew it off and I'm a terrible mother?

Needless to say, I was quite worked up.  I saw myself in the mirror, and said out loud, "You're not even the one who got hurt!"  And consequently, I thought, all of this ridiculousness needs to be shared.  And it needs a good illustration.  So I took a quick photo of my red-faced puffy-eyed exhausted self.  This, my friends, is why I don't even bother wearing make-up.

Now, I'm not a Mom who jumps up immediately when one of my kiddos gets hurt--it's not that I don't want to--I've just learned along the way that my reaction has a lot of bearing on their own reaction.  That's no grand secret to parents.  So, maybe I might even seem unsympathetic at times, which may be true.

But this time, I realized that the dilemma I faced had more to do with confidence as a parent.  Or, rather, lack of confidence.  I move fearlessly forward on the outside, but inside I'm quivering and letting self-doubt reign.  So many times when I make a choice, set a standard, make a demand or have to punish, the little voices eat at me telling me I'm "doing it wrong".  Sometimes the voices say I'm not tough enough--sometimes they tell me I'm too tough.  So much of modern wisdom tells us that we're psychologically damaging our children at every turn.  There are lists on Pinterest of things you should never say to your child, lists of the "proper" way to praise, and doggonit even though Freud is highly criticized, I still think about how every problem later in life can be traced back to the mother.

Parenthood is riddled with crippling doubt and insecurity.  And that's something I never expected.  I also never expected the swelling love-you-so-much-it-hurts feelings.  And when you mix all that together, it's...exhausting.

In the end, everything I do is for the betterment of my children.  Every rule I set, choice I make, stand I take--it's to get them where they need to be as productive and independent human beings. So, today I share and write.  Jumping up and getting Elliott and bringing her home wasn't the answer today--all signs pointed to the fact that she'd be perfectly fine.  Letting her "be" and letting out a sigh of relief and sharing my joys and frustrations as a mother seemed to be the route to go.

I can do this.  Phillipians 4:13.

When Mother's Day isn't happy.

With the recent celebration of Mother's day here in the U.S., I've been reflecting a lot on my catapult into motherhood.  It's hard for me to comprehend that I've been a mother for almost five years.  On one hand, I can't remember how it feels not to be a mom and on the other hand, it all feels so new.  I still feel like a novice who is treading water in this role that feels like uncharted territory.

In my five years of motherhood, I've learned and adapted, and most of all, I've changed.  Like completely and drastically changed to the core.

Source

I just remember how easy motherhood was before I had my first baby.  Moms, you know what I mean.  I had this idea that it wasn't so hard (and why was every mom I know exhausted and complaining?!) to mother a child.

And then I had one.

For anyone in the throes of postpartum depression, Mother's Day can be a terrible day.  Rather than being a day to celebrate who you are as a central figure in your child's life, it can really feel like a time that highlights your failures and lack of enthusiasm for your role.  I understand; I've been there.  The beautiful images of flowers and pastels that we're inundated with from every department store didn't jive with the darkness I once associated with the holiday.

Things just didn't "click" instantaneously for me in the motherhood department.  I didn't feel an immediate bond with my baby, I didn't like having someone whose needs were so intertwined with my body, and I just felt that every move I made was wrong.  I felt hopeless, and for every well-meaning person who commented on how precious my little baby was, I just sank further into the feeling of inadequacy.  Why didn't I see how precious my little one was? Why couldn't I handle an infant?  Why was it so hard for me when people with far fewer blessings and a lot less support could handle mothering without batting an eye? Why couldn't I just be happy?  Why did I want to leave it all behind?  Was it worth sticking around for?

I guess I still don't know the answers to most of those questions, but I DO know that motherhood was worth sticking around for.  I do know now, after baby #2, that even without the depression, extreme sleep-deprivation makes me a crazy-woman who cries all the time, and there's no way around that! I know that babies are not my forte, but I love love love being the mom of a four year old.  I know that a different birth experience the second time around made me happy.  I know that it was worth doing all over again. I know that there is no such thing as a perfect mother.  I learned that even on the best of days, the emotional baggage that a mother carries can be terribly burdensome.  I've learned that sometimes putting the baby books down and following your instincts is the way to go.  I've learned that I don't regret any of the hard work and sacrifices, as I'm (slowly) seeing the effort pay off.  I've learned that post-partum depression made me a better person because I'm more empathetic of others in their struggles.  I've learned that sharing my failings and inadequacies is often far more important than talking about my successes.

To all of you moms who are in the midst of what can be a very hard time, try to put a smile on your face and keep on chugging forward--sometimes that's a step in the right direction.  You're not alone in your struggle.  Share your feelings with someone you trust.  Sharing your feelings with a doctor may be helpful, too.

Hang in there, my friend.  There are better days ahead.

Embroidered TOMS

Before Elliott started preschool, I went on a search for the "perfect" everyday shoes.  She's a Florida girl through-and-through and lived in jellies up to the point that she was required by school rules to wear close-toed "tennis shoes".  Her narrow feet (SO unlike her momma's) don't agree with most kids tennis shoes on the market, and throw in the whole laces vs. velcro debacle and as it would turn out, picking shoes for your four-year old isn't so cut and dry.  Not to mention, this girl has her own preferences.  Sheesh.  

After much research and time spent reading reviews for all the shoes that hit my criteria (had to be able to be put on independently, option to wear without socks, breathable, good for romping on the playground, would look good with a variety of types of outfits, E likes the look) we settled for Toms. 

I may be a bit biased, here.  I have a pair of Toms, too, that I adore.  Navy blue, in fact.  Are you seeing a trend?  I think it's cool that for now she's excited to have matching shoes with me.  That day will pass, so I'm digging it while it lasts.

Elliott was SOO excited for school to start, but continued to voice one concern.  

"Mommy, what if you forget to pick me up?" 

It pretty much broke my heart.  I couldn't convince the girl that it was impossible for me to forget to pick her up, because when I am away from her, it's like a piece of me is missing and that I'm counting the minutes until it's time to get her again.  (Oh, I sound so sappy, but it's SO true!)  I decided I wanted to give her a symbol that would remind her that Mommy loves her and would always be back for her.  This symbol came in the form of a simple heart that I embroidered into the side of her shoe.  When she's sitting with her legs crossed, as kiddos in preschool do, she sees the heart that reminds her that Mom loves her and will be back for her.

Those worries have since left her tender heart, but my reminder remains, just in case they creep back in.

{Project deets: It's literally a freehand heart, backstitched with pink embroidery floss, a needle, and my hand. Cost is like 20 cents, if you have to buy embroidery floss.  Lucky for me, I have unimaginable amounts of embroidery floss, thanks to a momma who cross-stitched a lot in decades past.}

She's been here since July, and I'm a bad blogger!

Hey there!

Umm, since it's November, I guess I should tell you that I'm not 4 months overdue with baby number two--she's been here since the end of July.  Little Bennett was 2 weeks late and came swiftly when she was finally ready.  Labor was just under four hours from the first contraction to the last push--pretty quick, huh?  She was born at home, just as we had planned and I couldn't have asked for a better birthing experience.  I'll spare you the details of the birth (unless you want them... I actually like reading about other births, especially when they're positive experiences) and just say that I gave birth on the floor, next to my bed, while my dog sat in the bed and watched from above.  Kinda humorous, I think.

Bennett weighed in at 8 lbs and was 19 inches long--not too huge for a late baby, thank goodness!

Here she is, 20 minutes after birth, being checked out by my midwife--on my couch.  I still can't believe we were blessed to have such a cool birth.

Here is Elliott, meeting her baby sister.  (Elliott slept through Bennett being born--Bennett was born shortly after midnight.)

Me holding Bennett--she's not even a full day old at this point, I think.

She's a few days old here...

And here she is now.  3 1/2 months old, and oh SO sweet.

Till next time,

Tristin

Waiting for Baby.

So, I'm a week overdue and finally getting less nervous and more excited about her arrival.  Bennett, like Elliott, was a desired pregnancy, but as soon as I found out I was actually expecting, I kind of freaked out.

I'll liken it to skydiving.  The first time I went skydiving nearly a decade ago, I was not afraid.  You would think you'd be scared about jumping out of a plane at 15,000 feet strapped to a barefoot Aussie named Simon (which, again, is the name we'd planned to use if we'd had a boy...) but I was not fazed.  In retrospect, I know the reason for my lack of healthy fear--I didn't know what to expect.

The second time I went skydiving, I was nervous from the moment I got in the plane because I already knew the stomach in your throat feeling I was about to have.  Also, this time I was strapped to the pot-belly of a redneck named Bubba.  I had a rough landing that resulted in an ankle injury and have never jumped from a plane since that fateful day.  Note to self: one should seriously question putting their life in the hands of a man named Bubba.  Keep that little pearl of wisdom tucked in your back pocket--I'm sure it'll be useful someday.

Now, it's not the labor that I'm afraid of.  As bad as that may be, it lasts for only a short time.  It's not the actual infant, either.  I've learned that they don't break, even though they look like they should.  I'm afraid of having another infant like Elliott--one that doesn't sleep, has a hard time nursing, and in general is a miserable baby.  Cool kid now, but daaaaang she did not like being a baby.



Elliott, at 8 weeks with our beloved Westie, Brian.

I also did not like being a mother for the first... say, 6 months or so.  Or maybe longer.  Heck, some days I'm still not thrilled at the prospect.  Truth is, I suffered from some pretty bad depression after Elliott was born.  I've been more and more open about that fact, and now I'm sharing it with you.  Prior to Elliott's birth, I'd never experienced "depression".  In fact, every time I saw a commercial for depression medications, I thought, "What a load of garbage--those people just need to cheer up".  Yeah.  I was one of those people.

And then I was humbled.  Boy, was I ever humbled.  Turns out all of those frowny-faced people in the commercials looked like they were eating popsicles at Disneyworld compared to how I felt.  I didn't think there would ever be a way out. 

Luckily, I have an amazing husband who supported me without questioning me or making me feel incompetent or crazy.  He was just there for me.  If I cried, he hugged me.  When I shared deep dark thoughts and feelings, he listened and sought ways to make things better for me.  He stayed up through the wee hours with me.  And it wasn't just my husband--my wonderful parents embraced me and were helpful, as were my in-laws.  There were others, too.  One in particular--a wonderful and worthy woman that I attend church with had "been there" before and she helped me feel normal and she has helped me realize that I can handle another child and that things can be different this time.


Elliott at 5 months, with her BFF.

Let's just say I'm approaching this new addition with a bit more apprehension than I did the first time around.  But along with that, I'm getting excited, too.  Newborns may be super-tough, but 6 month olds are pretty dern cute.  And you have to start somewhere, right?  I guess I'd love it if my kid entered the world as a three year old.  Then I may fear birth a lot more, but the kid?  No three year old can scare me.

To cheer the mood, I'll leave you with the quote of the day from Elliott:

"Mom, will you please play games with me?  You can be the winner." 

That girl sure does know how to get me off the couch.  A guaranteed win?  Why, thank you child.  I'll take it.

Suburb-Tastic Maternity

So, I'm sure you've noticed the lull in posting.  Technically I have several posts ready to go (even an awesome guest post from my dear friend Laura) but I've just steered clear of the whole bloggy thing lately.  I'm not totally sure why--it has just happened that way.  To give you an update though, I'm now considered "full-term" in my pregnancy (full-term being 37-42 weeks) so little miss Bennett is free to grace us with her presence at any point.  Not that I'm technically "ready", but who is ever really (and I mean really) prepared for a wee one? 

In the meantime, I wanted to share with you some photos from my maternity photo shoot.  My friend Christy did an awesome job capturing just what I wanted--Elliott and I around our house and neighborhood.  If you follow me on Pinterest, you may have noticed a lot of maternity photos being pinned for inspiration, and I decided I wanted a very suburban feel.  Yes, I live super-close to the beach so a beach photo shoot crossed my mind, but I couldn't imagine myself splashing in waves with sheer scarves and such.  Pretty, but not very "Tristin".  So, here's what I'm calling my suburb-tastic maternity photos. 

See my dog in the background?
Little did we know he was plotting a picture-ruining but laugh-inducing
moment of deuce-dropping.  He's classy, that little man.





This is a "real" moment between Elliott and I.  Her arms crossed in defiance
 and my hands on my hips all "because-I-said-so" like.  Yeah, I've told you
before that we keep it real.  We still do.

This is the baby in Elliott's belly.  His name is Simon. ; )
(It's the name I'd intended to use for a boy.)

Thanks Christy, for an awesome capture of a cool time in our lives.  Oh, and if you want a glimpse of my buddha-tastic big ol' belly, I've saved the best for last.  How do our bellies stretch SOOO big and then slim back in?  It's simply amazing.

Kids say (and do) the darndest things.

In two months, I'll be the mom of a three year old.  How did this happen?!

In three months, I'll be the mother of two girls.  Pretty sure I know how that happened.

Our almost three-year-old with her almost three-year-old mentality never ceases to entertain us.  Elliott incessantly talks about her upcoming birthday party and specifies what she wants as a part of her special day.  Things that have been mentioned more than once as "I want that for my birdday" (misspelling is intentional as this is how she pronounces "birthday") are as follows:

1. Green
2. Hippopotomus
3. The song "The Greatest Love of All" by the late and great Whitney Houston

Let the party planning begin, right?!  Dang, that was NOT what I had in mind.  (If you're interested in MY party planning ideas, you can check out the Elliott is turning three, Come and celebrate with tea Pinboard on Pinterest.)

Elliott is majorly into pop music these days--specifically Bruno Mars.  If you ask her who her favorite musician is, without hesitation she will state "Bruno Mars".  I may need to nip this pop obsession in the bud--I still haven't gotten over the shock of hearing her try to beatbox to Jesus Loves Me during a song service at church.  (We worship without instruments, so believe you me, beatboxing children stand out like a sore thumb.)

In other musical entertainment news, she was recently singing along to some of her favorite tunes in the car (specifically they were tracks from NBC's the Sing Off) and she made a high pitched squeal when going into falsetto... and promptly stopped singing to say "Sorry guys.  I didn't mean to make that noise".  We're still laughing at that one.

Elliott's love of music is matched only by her love of dance.  Unfortunately, she inherited my dancing ability--or lack thereof.  What we lack in skill we make up for with unabashed enthusiasm, funny faces, complete obliviousness to the fact that we look like robots on crack, and plenty of pelvic thrusting.   The world is not ready for our dance parties, so we keep 'em in the safety of our living room, which, as long as my husband is not around, is a judgement-free zone.

Moms of gals out there--when is an ideal time to get your daughter's ears pierced?  I hear it's during infancy, though it's not something I cared enough to do at the time.  However, my little gal has really taken a liking to earrings.  Elliott is constantly asking if she can wear this pair or that pair of my earrings, to which I simply reply "You don't have holes in your ears so you can't wear earrings yet".  I guess I hope that she thinks holes will magically appear in her ears one day when she's ready for earrings.  She has different ideas, naturally, as you can tell by a conversation we had yesterday.

Elliott: Mom, I want earrings too.
Me: But Elliott, you don't have holes in your ears yet.
Elliott: Maybe Santa will cut holes in my ears.  With scissors.

Sheesh.  Remind me to lock up all of my scissors.  While most moms are concerned about the rite-of-passage self haircuts that so many toddlers manage to achieve, I'm concerned about my child slashing holes into her earlobes with my rusty coupon-cutting scissors.

In short, I'm rather enjoying this stage in Elliott's life.  I can't say I've enjoyed every moment like so many Moms seem to do (or at least they pretend better than I do).  I still remember Elliott's infancy as a thankless and frustrating time--and don't even get me started on the sleeplessness. Those beautiful Hallmark images of motherhood and warm embraces while light seeps through gorgeous open windows are truly few and far between here in our home--but laughter?  That's daily stuff around here, and I'll take it, thank you.

Til next time,
Tristin