Waaaaaaaah!

 

I have bad news, people.

After about a week of Isaac crying for a few hours every night, I have cut dairy out of my diet. 

And he is doing much better.

Wait, you say, why is that bad news?

Well, dear readers, while I am THRILLED that Isaac is feeling better, be selfish for a minute and think about a certain dairy something that I am going to have to give up for an undisclosed amount of time.

And if you say yogurt, well, you can’t be my friend.

That’s right, it’s my dear love, and the light of my life (just kidding Brian and kids…sort of…)- CHOCOLATE!

How can I go on without it?

I was all full of talk about how I would eat healthy after I had this baby, but… well…I didn’t really mean it!

And now I am forced to.

.

I know that there isn’t anything that you or anyone else can really do about it.

So can you guess what I really want to hear by writing this post?

That’s right:

All together now: “Pooooooor Caitlin!”

As I reply in a martyr-ish voice: “Sigh, anything for my baby.” 

.

.

PS:  Send Gummy Bears.  And maybe some sort of non-dairy doughnut?  I’m dying here!

 

(Who Do I Choose?!)

I Love My Little Old Man

 

Why 2 years 4 months, and 13 days May Be Too Young To Dye Easter Eggs

It started out innocently enough, with me deciding that, this year, Joseph was going to be allowed to dye Easter Eggs.




Brian opted out and was put on camera duty, so it was a one-woman-egg-dying show.




(Note to self: Opening your eyes really wide doesn't make you look less tired. It just makes you look crazy.)



Now, when I cook, Joseph always helps me crack the RAW eggs into the bowl. So, he decided that these eggs needed to be cracked too!

(cracking on the side of the bowl...)




I tried to quickly show him how we GENTLY placed the eggs into the bowls of dye...as he proceeded to crack every single one except for the one that I had. After he was done cracking them, he placed them gently in the bowl to be dyed.



And then:








Don't I look like I am in physical pain? That is because the dye went all over the floor, onto Joseph's booster seat (which stains easily), onto our table (which stains easily) and onto his only pair of sweatpants that fit him right now.
Ouch.
But, I think that I recovered quite nicely.

So, in the end, Joseph had a lot of fun





And, as for me, I had a slightly stained table, booster seat, sweatpants, and a sticky floor.


But, it was WAAAY more memorable than if everything had gone as planned!


So,


Happy Easter from Joseph:

6:11 pm

 

The view from my kitchen sink

They all look so happy, but Joseph was actually mid-whine, telling me to be “all done camera.”  But it ended up looking like a smile anyway.  So take that, little whiny pants!  (I call him that with love.)

The “Mom-Arm” phenomenon

 

(Not to be confused with the First Trimester’s “This baby must be growing in my arse because I have to buy a bigger size of underwear before I have to buy maternity jeans” phenomenon.  Although I am betting [hoping?] that you have all been there too…)

I used to have pretty toned arms.

For no particular reason, my arms were muscular and defined.

And then, I had kids.

.

Why is it that having kids made my arms soft and slightly flabby?

My stomach? I understand.  A baby stretched that puppy out to high heaven- it deserves a little understanding

My hips and rear?  Well, I can get behind (no pun intended) the whole body-is-saving-fat in case of famine thing.

But my arms?

I am hard-pressed to find a mom, no matter the age, that has really toned arms.  And I bet that every mom finds them a bit flabbier than before.

What’s the deal?

.

I know that I am not working out per-se (haha! that makes me laugh.) but I am lifting a whole heck-of-a-lot more weights than I ever did before:

a 35 lb. weight named Joseph

and a roughly 12 lb. weight named Isaac

plus heaping laundry baskets

all

day

long.

Yet, the softness remains.

.

And please don’t tell me that moms get softer arms to “give better hugs.”

One, you lie. My body doesn’t want to give better hugs.  It wants sleep.

Two, hugs from strong, muscle-y arms are not so bad.

Think of a nice big hug from Jacob a’la “New Moon.”

Ahhh…

See?  Not so bad.

Now, quick imagine that he is over 18 so that you don’t feel so bad about that earlier thought.

But, I digress.

.

In summary of this slightly rambling post:

My name is Caitlin.

I am a mom.

My arms are mysteriously flabby.

But maybe yours are too?

The end.

Warning: This post talks about a certain body part that rhymes with “Wipple.” So, if you are embarrassed by “Wipple”s, or if you are my father, you might want to skip this one.

 

 

Breastfeeding hurts.

Ignore all of the La Leche League propaganda, and talk to real women around you.

I would be surprised if you could find a woman who doesn’t find the whole experience painful during the first few days or weeks. (It does get better after that, thank heaven.)

My dad even claims that my mother would actually scream whenever I latched on.  And he is risking death by ratting her out, so I would tend to believe him.

My sister has scars on her nipple from her three kids.

Some women, in extreme cases have even LOST THEIR NIPPLE.  But don’t worry, folks, it grows back. (Comforting?  If my nipple started to look like it might fall off, my baby’s first word would be FORMULA…)

Ranging from slightly sore, to writhing around and kicking your legs during latch-on, everyone I have talked to has been there.

I tend to be in the writhing around, and kicking my legs camp.  Unfortunately for me.  And my nipple.

.

I was hoping that this time would be better.

After all, since having Joseph, my nipples have been less like play things and more like…well…my elbow?  A knob of leather?  Not really much sensation.

But then, Isaac the Barracuda came along.

And so did the writhing.

Oh, the pain, people, the pain.

And yes, my latch was perfect.  So, riddle me that?

.

At one point, Isaac even vomited blood.

A scary event for any new mom as they instantly think, “Why is my baby bleeding internally?!”

Well, good news, it was just my nipple.

That’s right, folks, my nipple was cracked and bleeding and Isaac was swallowing blood. 

But wait, there’s more.

After that I got thrush.

and then a blood blister.

And then the crack kept opening up every time I fed him, causing tears to literally come to my eyes.

When it was time for him to nurse on that side, I would feel slightly nauseous.

At one point I even sobbed and told my sister, “Isn’t pain the body’s way of telling you to STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING?!”

.

This has continued until about 2 weeks ago, when I finally used a nipple shield on that side for a few days, applied neosporin by the pound, and the crack finally healed.

After 5 weeks of misery, all is well and it doesn’t hurt anymore. 

.

I am so proud of myself for muscling through.

Especially for a baby who will, most likely, grow up and forget to call me, ever, unless his wife reminds him.

My nipple will never be the same (sorry, Brian.)

And my sacrifice is thus recorded, so that I can remind my kids what my nipple has given them.

Life.

Milk.

(and blood.)

 

Joseph’s “Little Chair”