Two's A Lot of Company

You know how motivational speakers are always bagging on people for answer inauthentically to the question, "how are you?". Granted, it is kind of lame when people say, "fine", because we all know that usually means "not fine", but seriously, most of us are not up for spilling our emotional guts to every person who asks, "how are you", which happens to be most people you run in to. My go-to answer to that question, in an effort to sound like I'm really responding to the question, but without burdening the person with my real problems is "tired". It's almost always true in one sense, and it's a totally acceptable mom answer. I just may not divulge that "tired" might mean "I'm really, really damn tired of trying to make my toddler eat one bite of regular food" or "I'm tired of being stressed out by working three jobs and still not making enough money to pay my bills" or sometimes just "so physically tired that my eyesockets curse the day they were incorporated into my body. They're so sore from tiredness".

But recently, "tired" isn't even cutting it. Now, I respond with a peppy (inwardly rueful), "surviving"! And that sounds like a generous statement sometimes. Some days, parenting makes the fact that there's still air circulating in your lungs at the end of the day a miracle. It's one of those "I laugh, only to keep from crying" things. Another new favorite response is, "taking it one day at a time," delivered as if that's the most delightful state a person could wish to be in. People usually smile and nod, and back away slowly. I don't blame them, I smell like fermented milk.

The kicker is that both my boys are great kids. It's just that there's two of them.
If one of them is even remotely troublesome, things get cray, 'cause you have to deal with the one, yet there's another one, just waiting in the wings to start crying or choking or sticking their fingers in electric sockets since you clearly don't love them if you're not staring them straight in the eyes.

I've always thought it was sad, maybe even a little lame, when parents act as if two kids is all they can handle and decide not to have more. Ha. Ha. Ha. I'm on my way to do penance at the alter of what-an-ignorant-person-I-was-and-I-owe-all-parents-a-sincere-apology-if-I-ever-made-them-feel-like-they-should-suck-it-up-and-have-more-kids.

I know it's too early to make this decision, but I'm feeling some "all done" vibes. Yet I know that this time will pass and I'll forget how grueling it is, and decide I want more kids, and the whole thing will repeat itself. God was real tricky by making "mom brain" a real thing after you have kids - I think it's a coping mechanism/conspiracy so that we keep the human race alive. If I weren't considerably more scatterbrained and forgetful than I used to be, maybe I would remember the hard moments more vividly and decide that having 4 children (if we decide to try that) will probably kill me. The author of this article in Slate recalls talking to a friend about how difficult her four-month-old was, and the friend responded by telling her that when her child was really giving her a run for her money, she and her husband had a running joke about all the ways they could blow up their genitals so that this would never, ever happen again. Sometimes little kids are the best birth control.

I'm a part of this mom's group on Facebook that I love, not least because it reminds me every single day that other people are also spending a moment here and there ignoring their screaming children in an effort not to strangle themselves with the nearest swaddling wrap. I love the solidarity, but it also makes me wonder, how is it that so many of us are doing this, around the globe, when we all feel like crying and gnashing our teeth over it? I know the answer, but sometimes it's hard to feel it: ultimately, having kids is SO worth it. It just hurts real bad, sometimes.

Another cliche I always rolled my eyes at was that being a stay at home mom was a "real job." Well, I'm here to prostrate myself at the altar of I-used-to-be-a-real-idiot once again, because I'll be darned if being a stay at home mom isn't 30 times harder than any "real job" I've ever had. There is no escaping my maniacal little bosses, and you know that your lunch break is over when someone decides to vomit all over the floor.

I find myself wishing there were tranquilizer darts for children. Not to totally knock them out, because I immediately start missing them when they're not ripping my hair out, but maybe just to take things down a notch, you know? Two problems: totally illegal, and also, it would be so addictive. You'd start out saying, "wow this is most insane they've ever been, probably a good time to reel this in *thwak [that's the sound of a miniature arrow leaving the poison dart gun]", but pretty soon, you'd be telling yourself how every day was the craziest yet (just to get that peace and quiet that came from using the little darts), and you'd either run out of darts and have to readjust to all the crazy, or you'd be able to get some really quality sleep, and we just couldn't let parents be having that sort of thing. It's frightening when you realize that the only difference between you and the crazy people in prison is the grace of God and that last minuscule shred of self restraint that keeps you from acting upon the feelings of occasional rage and utter at-the-end-of-your-rope-ness.

I call this illustration, "LALALA, I can't hear the all-encompassing mayhem that is my life right now!"

I should be so good at this mom thing - my boys think each other are the best (hooray!), for now, and despite a rough first month, Ira has turned out to be a super chill baby. I'll be darned if he's not actually a HAPPY baby. So. much. smiling. (Adorbs). And Ishmael is doing great listening and is so darn tootin' cute and funny. It's just that his energy levels are through the roof. I probably say "no" 100 times a day, and that's when I'm in lazy mode about keeping his limbs from breaking. Just now, I didn't even tell him to stop licking the mirror and then rubbing his fingers in the residual slime. Oh, and now he's licking my feet. He's not even being bad most of the time, he's just being, you know... two years old. I somehow expect him to be this refined miniature adult who would enjoy sitting cross-legged next to me on the couch and sipping cocktails while reading the New Yorker. I don't really begrudge the fact that he'd rather straddle the back of the couch and ask me for juice no less than 72 times, I just don't know why it continues to make me feel inconvenienced. You think I'd be over feeling put out by the requests of my children (I mean, it's so selfish! But I'm being real here), but sometimes I just feel an urge to drink alcohol in the morning. Which must be a cultural reflex, because alcohol doesn't make me feel relaxed or dull to real life or anything like that. Maybe I just realize that it's something I can't share with children, and therefore it sounds like nirvana.

It's not that I don't adore my kids and think they're great. I think it's more that I don't feel like a great parent a lot of the time, and it's a drag to be daily reminded of how human and petty and impatient I am.

Another thing that's difficult about having two kids is that the guilt level goes up. I'm trying to keep them both (and the husband, and the house) in a tolerable state of existence, but I end up feeling like I can't give anything as much attention as it craves or deserves because I'm spread a wee bit thinner than before. If you're the parent of two or more, I think you will find this apology letter to the second child worth a read (it's funny and sweet at the same time). "Dearest second child, I'm sorry I don't know any facts about you..."

Sometimes it feels humiliating to be so defeated by such tiny people. Ishmael naps for about an hour in the mornings, and sometimes I spend that whole time calming down from the before-nap period. Most of you have probably heard me grumbling about how infancy is not my favorite stage. I feel kind of guilty, because Ishmael is at an age where I daily have a heart-crushing pang of love for how sweet and funny he is, and I want those moments to never end. I don't get those moments with babies (even the ones I enjoy, I'm okay when they're gone). Except when I feel the exact opposite. Now that Ira is all coos and big smiles, I want more of that and less of Ishmael's telling me he needs to use the toilet AFTER pooping in his pants. We almost made it the other day, but instead, a big ol' poop log landed on the floor in between the diaper and the toilet. And then I stepped in it.

If we don't have more kids, I know I'm going to regret not having more later down the road. But if we do have more kids, well then... we have more kids to deal with. The question becomes, have them all in close succession now and grit through the terrors of it (and probably be completely frazzled and unable to give any one of them enough attention) or wait until the first two are older and then start all over again when we have even less energy than we have now.

When I do open up and tell people how frustrated or exhausted I am with my lack of supermom skills, they say, "why don't you just ask for help?!" Girl, I AM! The other day, I got to the point where I was like, "okay, today, I need help with these kids, it's been a while since I've called in reinforcements." Then I realized it had only been two days since I'd had someone take at least one of them for a large part of the day. Come to think of it, I'm never completely alone with both of them from the moment we wake up to the moment they go to bed. If Jonas isn't home, 80% of the time a friend comes by for a few hours or we go visit the Grandparents, or the Grandparents take one or both kids for the afternoon (or even overnight, as the case was a few weeks ago when Jonas and I were both super sick!). I seriously have a village of support and STILL feel like I'm losing my mind 60% of the time of the 20% of time I spend alone with them. That makes me feel kind of pathetic, and makes me want to do this on my own a little bit more (but oh dear God, not really). Why is it that children always act way better around other people anyway, leading everyone to think you're complaining about parenting the two sweetest angels that were ever deposited on this planet? I'm not lying, people, sometimes they really get wild.

Well, I'm off to continue wrangling my two tiny mammals to the best of my ability. Ishmael just woke up from his nap, and I'll be darned if a little bit of good sleep doesn't cover a multitude of sins. Maybe Zen Mother of my dreams is only a few nights of good sleep away after all... 

Luna

Where once a solitary sphere
Twisted through star-studded storms

There comes a foreign halo
Suddenly, irrevocably
Magnetized to my core

A softly dimpled, barren canvas
In orbit around its aqua emerald mama

You'll dance with me in revolving arcs
Until someday,

A shooting star will pull you out
to sea, to see 

And you'll soar away in the arms
Of a shimmering, glimmering captor

There, meteors will gravitate 
Into the rotation of your new home planet
Precious unidentified objects
Waiting to be known 


Written 4/3/13 & 9/18/14 {image: John Byam Liston Shaw for The Garden of Kama,1914}
I first started writing this when I was nursing Ishmael, and we were constantly tied to each other in a 2 to 3 hour radius. It's both beautiful and exhausting. Especially as the mother of sons, I know (rather, hope and pray) that someday they hear the siren call of the woman of their dreams, and each will leave my orbit as they are pulled in to hers forever (though I can't help qualifying this by saying they'll still always be mine in a sense!). And then they'll have their own children orbiting around them, and I can't wait... 

Dairy-Free Queen

I was imaging what my super hero name would be (like ya do), if I had one, and I thought "Dairy Queen" would be pretty fitting, if it weren't already trademarked. My weapon of choice would be a stick of butter. But right now, my little heart made of butter is melting into a pile of butter tears that I can't even spread on a bagel. Good analogy, huh? I know, that's why you all love me. [an illustration of me, in costume]

This is the deal: Ira had been vomiting violently during and after eating, and it was becoming noticeably painful for him. If it was just spit up, no big deal. Even if it was a bit more than spit up, I wouldn't diet - I mean, kids throw up, right? It's just a kid thing. But after a few days, it was no longer spit up or fresh milk throw up, but curdled vomit, which is kind of a problem.

After talking with Mrs. Sears (future-brother-in-law's mother), I decided to try a dairy-free diet, as lactose intolerance is the #1 reason that an infant might be vomiting. As I write this, it's been about a week that I've been used to this news, and I'm finally to the point where I don't get kind of weepy about the entire concept of being dairy-free. I can't think of anything less drastic than my offspring being in pain that would cause me to go on a diet. And yet, I think I might be dying. Yes. Yes, I am definitely having withdrawals leading to a miserable death. When I'm gone, please, just fill my casket with alfredo sauce.

I've been trying to put my finger on why this is so hard for me, but it turns out that I needed all ten fingers, because I hate it on so many levels. First of all (and this is by far the most selfless reason), it's rough to see your baby in discomfort, and sad to think that you - or a habit of yours - could be the cause of their pain. In conjunction with not wanting to believe that I was hurting my own son, I've always struggled believing people who go on about how what they eat affects them physically in any remotely drastic way.

Although I believe that it's probably true in some cases, I've always scoffed at the idea of "eating this makes my body do this". Plus, I'm really bad at making correlations in general, so it never occurs to me that some discomfort in my body could be related to an eating pattern, and I tend to roll my eyes when other people say things like that. I think a lot of people go on special diets because it makes their brains feel better - they think that being gluten free will help, and so they're happier being gluten free (and b*tching about how terrible their gluten-free life is), even if there's no scientific change in their body. Now all of a sudden, I'm that irritating person constantly whining about how much I wish I could eat dairy, but I can't.

I'm a picky eater in that there are a fair amount of things I don't like the taste of, but God forbid I be one of THOSE people with a trendy dietary restriction. Yet here I am, THAT person in the grocery store, asking the lady if the breaded chicken has any milk in it. Nooooooooooo!

I have never dieted in my life, except going sugar free for a Lent one year. I don't know if that even counts, because my parents decided we were doing that as a family, and I didn't really get a say. I thought it was going to be a breeze, since I definitely didn't have a sweet tooth at the time, but it was actually harder than I thought it would be. Going dairy-free is about 10 times harder. You would not believe how common dairy is in a regular diet - and I don't even drink milk!

It enrages me. It sounds so ridiculous, but this truly feels like one of the hardest parenting experiences I have yet to face. I take food very, very seriously. Crying over spilled milk? Pleaseeee. Try NO MILK PRODUCTS, EVER! That'll give you something to cry about. Apart from missing actual dairy products, this whole experience just messes with my groove. I hate that I'm confronted with "can't", rather than "want". Of course, I spend all my spare time torturing myself with the names and photos of all the things that are off limits to me right now. I obsess over how much whipped cream I'm going to eat in one sitting when I am eventually off this diet. I will stare at ice cream coming out of the machine and say in a soft whisper, "hello, lover...".

I'm not very good at being on a diet. I'm beginning to understand how people eat themselves into enormous proportions. I've developed a "don't ask, don't tell" policy with food I suspect might have butter or a trace of cheese or cream in it (ahem, molasses cookies. It's impossible for something so good not to have butter in it, I assume), because as long as I don't know they're off limits, I can't be accused of straying from the diet, right? It's like I'm a closet drunk, except, I'm a closet dairy queen...

Part of the reason that I find this so hard is because I'n surrounded by the opportunity to eat dairy products. I'll see a picture or read a recipe that sounds fantastic, and then there's this wretched realization 3 seconds later that it contains something that's forbidden. It's such a cruel cycle, and it plays out many times during the day. Like when I just oogled this photo in my Pinterest feed, only to realize this is the real meaning of "food porn." I can't look away, and sometimes I can't even resist taking a small taste. Today at lunch, Ishmael had macaroni and cheese. I love macaroni and cheese. I had a macaroni and cheese festival on my calendar, and I have a whole board on Pinterest that's just mac n cheese recipes. I think I ordered Ishmael's lunch for him because it sounded good to ME. He ended up not eating very much of it, so I finished it for him, telling myself it wasn't a very large amount, and it would be a test to see how it affected Ira. I realize my willingness to potentially cause my child discomfort make me a miserable person. Ira hasn't throw up yet, but he did seem a little extra fussy, I think?? But I'll tell ya, that macaroni and cheese was so good.

I'm kind of terrified that my own body will react to dairy when I stop breastfeeding if I don't keep little bits of it in my own diet here and there. So I have to cheat on my diet occasionally, right? And occasionally means like every other day, right?! In fact, in order to keep enough calcium in my diet, I'm supposed to eat dark greens (yah.........), almonds, and sardines. Hm. How ironic would it be if I lost so much body fat on this diet that I couldn't produce enough milk for Ira?! I would be livid...

I know I'm going about this all wrong, but just think of all the things that you couldn't eat if you couldn't have dairy products! If I were seriously hard-core about absolutely no dairy of any kind, it would be incredibly hard. This list freaked me out, and when I started reading a few labels (a first for me!) at Trader Joe's earlier this week, I was mortified at what things unexpectedly contained whey and other dairy products. Even healthy things, like yogurt in savory foods (one of my favorite cooking go-tos, recently) are now a no-no.

Just have an In-N-Out double-double without the cheese, you say? The cheese is the best part, dammit! In the spirit of actually trying to help myself not be tempted by dairy, I leave the room when Jonas is eating yogurt or has cheese on something, but inevitably, I still see the empty packages in the trash and it makes me shrivel up inside. I know I'm being really dramatic about this whole thing, but I think I'm genuinely mourning this little loss in my life.

At least when I have all this extra time not being taken up by eating dairy products, I have time to look this fabulous while nursing.

Just kidding. I have to tell people that come to the door to wait while I put some cloth on my body.
Honestly, it's pretty hard to find an upside to this whole thing. Except that Ira isn't vomiting. And supposedly all the baby weight will come off me faster. But I'd take dairy over that (losing weight) any day.

In an effort to rally myself, though, I'm trying to see this period of time as a challenge - almost like a game. Believe it or not, I used to hate cooking, but once I saw it as a sort of art project, with the plate as my canvas and an infinite amount of creativity wrapped up in combinations of ingredients, I began to enjoy it. If I can see a dairy-free diet as an excuse to make the BEST dairy-free food possible, I may just be able to bare it.

Although I believe in my Aunt Cathy's advice to not bother with substitutes too much, as they will only disappoint me, I have found a few things so far that may help me cope with a lack of butter or milk. For example, Duncan Heinz cake mixes (which happen to be my favorite anyway) are reportedly all dairy-free. Coconut cream, coconut milk, and coconut oil, as well as Trader Joe's dark chocoloate, mayonaise, avacado, ghee, sorbets, and most Asian foods are my friends. For the less-intense dieter, some aged cheeses are apparently lactose-free, though not free of the protein in milk that can be a stomach irritant. You can be sure that I used that as an excuse to put a few shavings of parmesan on top of my cauliflower the other night. (Here's my Pinterest board of dairy-free recipes to try)

Some substitutes I've been encouraged to try are Tofutti cream "cheeses", Miracle Tarts, Luna and Larry's Coconut Bliss ice cream, and coconut yogurt from New Frontiers in SLO. Have you ever had any of these? Did you like them?

I still struggle with being selfless, even after having two kids. People say, "being a parent forces you to focus on people other than yourself," which is true to an extent, but I guess I thought I would literally be unable to be selfish once I had kids (hahaha). Instead, I'm fighting an urge to grill Ira about why he has chosen to punish me in this way. Doesn't he realize that if his mama is so strongly against dieting, that he should be too? Doesn't he trust me that dairy products are THE BEST? Then again, I'm pretty sure I've heard other parents say that if I am passionate about something, at least one of my children is bound to put all their energy into being completely different than me.

The things we do for love, right? As much energy as I've put into complaining about this, sacrificing my comfort is actually worth it to give my son comfort. But don't get me wrong, when this phase is over, you can find me on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, eating whipped cream out of a huge bowl with my bare hands.

P.S. In case you wanted to have this entire post summed up in a 4 minute video, this... You're welcome. 

Ira's Birth Story

With everything going on in our lives right now, and just the fact that we already have a son, I feel like Ira doesn't get as much undivided attention as Ishmael got as an infant. I imagine this will be a theme in his life (though Ishmael won't get much undivided attention anymore either), and since it's all he'll ever know, I doubt it will bother him, but it makes me a little bit sad, and I want to be careful to carve out special Ira moments and memories that are as much about just him as possible.

The story of his birth is not nearly as dramatic as Ishmael's, which is probably a good thing, but means I don't have quite the saga to share. As smoothly as his birth went, Ira has had some minor health issues in the first few weeks of life (infected tear duct, hernia, vomiting), so I guess that's where he's stealing the lime-light, and helping me toward my dream silver-fox head of hair.

Once again, I went quite a bit overdue with Ira. This time, I was induced 12 days over, compared to Ishmael's 10. I was going to be induced 10 days over, but there was a wedding I really wanted to attend that weekend, so I asked to wait a few more days! Incidentally, my sister Annelise ended up getting engaged that Saturday as well, and I was really glad I wasn't too busy pushing a baby out to inspect the ring, and what not. ;) On Sunday, I walked 5+ miles on the beach, and all I got was tired. We went to INO for dinner after the beach with my family and the Sears family (my brother-in-law to be, and yes, this is THE Sears family of pediatric fame; I get to call them directly with baby questions) and got the call to come in to the hospital right after we'd finished "the last supper". We went to the hospital at midnight that night (end of 8/3, beginning of 8/4).

It was not as hard to go overdue this time. I wasn't in a hurry to have Ira arrive at all before his due date, and then only the 2 days after the due date (especially since I wasn't making any progress dilating) were kind of rough to wait. Though it was discouraging not to go in to labor naturally (I really wanted to avoid the drastic drug reaction from Ishmael's birth), once I realized that I would probably be induced again, the waiting game wasn't as hard. Thankfully, there was a lot else going on in our family to keep me occupied! This time around, in fact, my greatest fear (other than how Ishmael would adjust to having a brother) was going in to labor naturally. I was so worried that I wouldn't realize that I was in labor (I didn't realize I was having contractions at all until my OB told me I was having one during the exam), or that it would be extremely painful, and I actually took comfort in being able to settle in and prepare myself a little bit in the hospital when I was induced with Ishmael. Even so, this song made me think of waiting for him.



The most remarkable part of Ira's birth was how many people were in attendance! Although it wasn't exactly planned this way, we ended up having my parents, my sister and her fiancee, my best friend and her husband, both my brothers and my youngest sister, 2 surgeons, 2 nurses, and 2 other specialists present (compared to 1 surgeon and 1 nurse with Ishmael - I wonder if they had more this time because of the complications with Ishmael's birth?). Including Jonas and I, that's 17 people in the room - 18, if you count Ira! A lot of people have been shocked by that, but it was remarkably chill. I wasn't embarrassed or claustrophobic, and I was happy to give some people the opportunity to see a live birth, if they wanted to (I'd love to be given the same chance someday). In fact, it felt kind of celebratory (there were trays of Costco food, haha!) and I felt loved and supported by the sense of community. It's also a great feeling when I'm able to let people take care of me (that's part of why I love having my babies in the hospital, as opposed to at home).

I think I was one of the more relaxed people in the room - two people, including my husband, almost passed out (lolz), and several people have since expressed that it was difficult to watch someone else be in so much pain, but I felt kind of honored that they were all that concerned for me. I would never have been comfortable with so many guests when I had my first baby (too many other "unknowns" to deal with with a first baby), and Ishmael's labor was so difficult for so long, that I am still shocked at how easy and quickly over the difficult part of Ira's was. In fact, I wasn't expecting to have a baby so soon after I started pushing, which is probably why I kept inviting people in to the room as they stopped by to say hi (so much of the labor was just sitting around waiting), and then all of a sudden, they were all witnessing a birth. Like I said, I don't think many people are going to opt for a similar experience as I had for this birth, but I will say that if you have guests, consider laying down some rules about who can talk - while I was encouraged by the presence of supporters, not everyone's comments to a woman in labor are helpful to her, though honestly, birthing mothers can't really focus on much besides getting the baby out anyway.

The rest of the birth was pretty uneventful. The whole labor was 17 hours (compared to Ishmael's 22), but I was induced with pitocin this time, instead of cervadil, and my body responded much better. Or rather, responded much less drastically, which was awesome. They started me out on a 0.5ml/h drip at about 2 in the morning on August 3rd, and I didn't feel pain until about 2 pm in the afternoon on August 4th. As with Ishmael's birth, I never progressed past 3 cm naturally, and even by 2 pm on the 4th, I was only at about 5 cm with 8ml/h of pitocin. The turning point was when the doctor broke my water, and then the contractions became almost immediately painful.

I labored through the painful contractions for about an hour (they were painful enough that I was crying through them, 8 out of 10 on the pain scale, people) before asking for an epidural. Once again, I had this mental struggle about getting one, feeling like I should be able to have a baby without drugs, but ultimately, I couldn't think of a good reason to endure severe pain when I didn't really have to (can I get an "amen!"?!). What I hadn't realized with Ishmael was that drug-induced contractions can be significantly more painful than natural contractions, and I endured them for a long time, thinking that was what everyone before me had survived. In the end, that almost cost me my life. I think it's totally fine to take pain meds regardless, but especially if your pain is drug induced, why not have drug induced relief? And holy Moses, I had managed to forget just how much I love epidurals. They happen to work really well on me (they don't work well, or at all, on some women), and it's totally blissful, despite that it makes my whole body tingle a little bit.

After 2 or 3 more hours of escalating contractions (that I wasn't feeling through the epidural, booya!) I was at 10 cm, and started to feel "pressure" through the general numbness, which might be the equivalent of "the urge to push" when you can't feel your legs? Anyway, this was the part that kind of caught me by surprise. I started pushing whenever I felt pressure, and after about 15 minutes, it was starting to be pretty painful, but I was still surprised that Dr. Dillon came in and everything just wrapped up so quickly! The difficult pushing was probably only about 10 minutes long, and this time I distinctly felt (or at least, remembered) Ira's head come out on one push, and then the rest of his body with the next push. I was still crying pretty hard because of the pain, but I remain shocked at how easy it was in comparison to Ishmael's delivery.

Ira Alamar Rhys was born at 7:07 PM on Monday, August 4th, 2014. He weighed 8lbs, 1oz. and measured 21" long.

[Thanks to my brother-in-law Skylan for all the pictures in this post!]

When you push, they make you do what are essentially stomach crunches, as you hold on to your thighs. I was getting so exhausted doing this before the nurses and my dad started coaching me not to tighten my stomach muscles as much as focus on pushing in the pelvic region. About a week after Ira was born, I was having pain in my abdomen and it took me a few days to realize that it was from those gnarly crunches. That's how in shape I am.

I did get a second-degree tear this time, but not nearly as bad as with Ishmael, and no hemorrhaging. Because both Ira and I were doing well, I got to hold him right away and watch the staff do all the tests and cleaning and what not right next to my bed, which was really cool for me. Actually, they put him on my chest right after he came out and told me to rub him with a towel, but I was so shaky from the adrenaline and I could barely even process what people were saying around me, so apparently I wasn't rubbing him well enough because they took him away for a second as they said, "he's not making enough noise!" Which totally put me at ease, eye roll! Everything was fine though, and they gave him back a moment later.  In fact, one of the nurses told me that she heard Dr. Dillon say, "what a nice delivery!" to some of the staff when he left the room. That made me kind of proud.

The next thing that happened was that Jonas' parents brought Ishmael to meet his new brother! Honestly, the promise of getting a cute little person at the end of laboring wasn't much of an incentive for me during either birth, but I was surprised at how much I missed Ishmael when I was in the hospital, and I did have his face in my mind as a sort of goal to work toward through the discomfort of having a baby. It was an uncharacteristically sentimental mom moment for me, which took me by surprise. Anyway, I asked that Ishmael not be brought in until I had pulled myself together a little bit and all the stitching was done. When he came around the curtain in to the room and saw so many people he loves there, he let out a bit yelp of happiness which was super sweet. Then, Jonas picked him up and brought him over to Ira and I, and he gave me a flower (mega adorable). I'm not sure how much he understood about Ira being a new part of our family and everything, but he got very quiet and grave and didn't want to get very close to Ira. I think he was a little bit phased by all the people watching to see how he'd react, too.

I was a little worried at first, especially since Ishmael's reaction to Ira was the thing I was most anxious about prior to Ira's arrival. Thank goodness I saw or read somewhere to buy some gifts for Ishmael to present to him as being "from Ira" - lego candy and mechanical grabber arm smoothed out all fears, and Ishmael warmed up to the whole room. By the end of the evening, he was giving Ira kisses, though in general he didn't pay any attention to him. In the three weeks since, Ishmael still just does his own thing for the most part, but when he does interact with Ira, he is very sweet and gentle, and Ira smiles more for Ishmael than anyone else (melt!!!).

Even the hospital stay was easier this time around. We were discharged on the afternoon of the 6th, which amounts to 3 nights spent in the hospital for me (Jonas spent the 3rd night at home with Ishmael). We slept better than we did with Ishmael, and worried less. Once again, my mom was wonderful and stayed with me to help with Ira. It's funny to see how much more relaxed we are with our second (and I thought we were relaxed with our first!) - I'm pretty much doing demand feeding instead of scheduled feeding this time, and even a tiny bit of co-sleeping because everyone sleeps better, though I still can't figure out how people nurse lying down. Good Lord... if you'd told me this 2 years ago, I'd have laughed in your face. We also adjusted our hospital packing list considerably - no custom music playlist (like you can even pay attention when you're having a baby!), and LOTS of snacks. A robe to cover the open back of the hospital gown, and no tennis balls for massaging - last time I'd have killed someone for touching my back in any way, and though I only had about 50% back labor this time, a massage still didn't sound appealing.

With Ishmael, Hurricane Sandy was happening on the East Coast and hospitals had to be evacuated. I remember thinking how scary it must have been to have a baby in those conditions. We also watched Iron Chef and the Walking Dead on TV 2 years ago. This time, we watched the Regular Show (Jonas is now hooked), and news about the Israel-Gaza conflict. Especially with my body feeling like it had been torn open (it kinda had), it was sobering to imagine being a mom in Palestine or Israel right now and trying to protect your kids, or having just had a baby and having to run - it would probably make you feel like dying. I'm very grateful for the excellent care I received here from my hospital, doctor, nurses, friends, and family. Even if the hospital food was completely unimpressive this time.

As for Ira himself... he's so little! Eight pounds felt tiny compared to Ishmael (almost 10 lbs) - so little that it was kind of scary to pick him up because it felt like he wouldn't even fill your hands and so there was nothing to hold on to. Similarly to Ishmael, he had a gagging episode a few hours after he was born, which was pretty scary, but his lungs turned out to be fine, and we just make sure his bed mattress is angled up to cut down on him choking on anything that's in his throat.

It looked like he barely had eyelashes when he was first born, and it's been sweet to watch them unfurl. He has hair on his head, but not as much as Ishmael had, and it's lighter. The way his hair lays on his head reminds me of strands of kelp floating on water. Now that he's a few weeks old, his hair is a little fuzzy and definitely has some red in it. Still hard to say on eye color! Ira has remarkably long toes (the second toe is longer than the big toe!), and a lot of people have commented that he has big hands. One of my favorite details about him is that he has cheek dimples! About half the people who meet him say he looks more like me or a Welch in general, so my genes may just have expressed themselves this time! People also say he looks like Ishmael or my brother Jonathan.

He doesn't cry very often, but he does grunt a lot, and he prefers to sleep on his tummy. He has a super intense frown face that he uses frequently, but he also smiles a lot more than I recall Ishmael smiling so early on. In general, his little face looks very adult. I feel like I know him hardly at all, though. I'm looking forward to falling in love as I do get to know him.

A lot of people are confused with Ira's name, mostly because not many people around here have heard it before, I think. Most of the time, people ask me to repeat it, and even when I do, they're often unsure whether he's a boy or a girl. His pre-birth nick name of "Taco" doesn't fit him at all - instead, we call him Squidward (because his binky looks like a squid mouth), Tiny Mammal, or Meerkat (when he lays on your chest, he lifts his head way up to look around) if we don't say Ira (which we usually do, because it's easy, AND Ishmael can say it, double win).

That's the jist of things, so far! Before Ishmael was born, I wrote a list of things I wished for his life, so I decided to do that again for Ira. The only thing I had in mind already for Ira was that he know what it's like to have truly great friends in life, and when I went back to find the list to fill in from Ishmael's life-wish blog post, I realized I'd wished a very similar thing for him, too.

Wishes for Ira:

I hope that you know true friendship in life.
I hope that you find a woman who you can't describe with mortal words.
I hope you aren't afraid to challenge the status quot. 
I hope you love life intensely. 
I hope you get the opportunity to see the world through the eyes of others. 
I hope you laugh often with your brother. 
I hope you never forget how precious you are to me as YOURSELF, apart from any comparison to your siblings. 
I hope you ignore the tyranny of the majority. 
I hope you become a man people go to knowing you will do whatever you can to help them. 
I hope you respect that their are some things in this life we can't control. 
I hope you grow deeper in love with your Savior every day. 

Love, your Mama.

Ira Alamar Rhys

I have two sons! Is that wild, or what? Here's one of the first pictures I took of Ira Alamar Rhys, born on August 4th, at 7:07 PM. He weighed 8 pounds, 1 ounce, and was 21 inches long. Especially compared to Ishmael's birth, things went quite smoothly, but I'll save the birth story for another post. For now, here is the story of Ira's name, for us to remember, him to read someday, and you to learn about, should you be interested in it.

I wrote a little bit before about how I built a space in my head and heart for Ira by attaching myself to aspects of his name and my dreams of him. We had a hard time settling on a second middle name for him, but all along, I've imagined him wrapped up in images of the ocean. In fact, when I swaddled him this morning in one of the indigo dyed blankets I made, it looked so... right! I made this little image-quilt with images from this Pinterest board that I'd been keeping as he grew in my belly.

To me, a good name should be uncommon, but not outrageous. Both our boys have names that aren't made up or spelled strangely, though they are not well known or often used in our circles. In fact, I've made it a point to google and facebook search my sons' names to make sure there aren't any weirdos or infamous people I don't know about who share their names, and all the Ishmael and Ira Tuckers seem to be african american. Ishmael is a common name among Hispanic communities too, and Ira is predominately Jewish.

I'm more willing to go "celebrity" status with their middle names, though not for the express purpose of being eccentric. When choosing names, we considered the phonic flow of the whole name, the initials, the languages of origin, any pop culture ties that will be triggered when people hear the name, the meaning of the name, and any personal significance the name may have - I like to have a story or reason behind the name. To find three names per kid that fit all those criteria can be tricky, but here's what we decide on for Ira, and why.

Ira (Hebrew, meaning "Watchful". Also the name of a Polynesian sky goddess, apparently).
The first time I heard the name "Ira" was because of NPR's This American Life host, Ira Glass. Our Ira, however, is not named after him. Strangely enough - as these things tend to go - as soon as the name was on my radar, I started to hear it everywhere! I'm a little surprised "Ira" hasn't caught on as a popular baby name in the last few years - it has all the right components, including being short and beginning with a vowel, to name a few. In fact, we recently read that names beginning with "Is" are on the rise too, who knew?! Probably skewed by Isabella after Twilight.

Once again, Jonas was the one who suggested Ira as a first name, and I quickly agreed. That's another difficult criteria I should have mentioned above about how we pick names (that we agree, I mean), so we tend to stick with whatever we both like. We settled on Ira pretty early on.

And no, we aren't purposely giving all our kids "I" names, because a) this isn't the 90s, and b) it's a pain in the bum to abbreviate when texting, for example. Both our sons will have trouble signing emails with their first initial, sorry guys.

Although unplanned, I like that Ishmael and Ira sound nice together and have complimentary meanings. Ishmael means "the Lord hears", so I think it's kind of poetic that Ira means "watchful".

Alamar (Spanish meaning "to the sea", Arabic meaning "covered in gold") 
This is the name with the most meaning to me, and I've been hanging on to it for a long time. Ever since I saw the documentary "Alamar", I was set on having it be part of one of my children's names. I can't believe that not everyone is dying to name their babies "Alamar", it's so lovely to me. I love the way it sounds in my head, (like the ocean, to me) but I don't like the way I pronounce it out loud, and Jonas wasn't as crazy about it as I am, so that's why it ended up as a middle name instead of a first name.

The film "Alamar" is incredibly beautiful, both because of the setting in the coral reef and because of the relationship between father and son. The calmness of the father and the love and gentleness toward nature and wildlife shared between the father and son remind me of Jonas and how he is raising his own sons. A white heron on its migration path stays with the father and son in the movie for a few days, and they christen it "Blanquita". Whenever Jonas and I see a white heron, we also call "Blanquita!" after it. [image]

"Alamar" is not a common name or term in general, but there happens to be an Alamar Avenue in Santa Barbara. It makes me smile when we drive by, and I feel like we'll always be attached to this place in a little way, even if we don't make our permanent family home on the Central Coast. Similarly, every time I come up the hill from Gaviota, headed south, and see the ocean, I think the ocean is one of the most beautiful sights in the world, no matter the weather. I love it when it's grey, I love it when it's blue, I love it when it's green. Maybe Ira will even end up with ocean eyes too, like me. He might not appreciate this later in life, but the whole ocean scene makes me think of that U2 line, "Oh, you look so beautiful tonight."



When I found the second, more obscure (though it pre-dates the Spanish) Arabic meaning of "Alamar", I was doubly in love with the name. I'm so happy to have a small piece of the Middle East in Ira's name, and the image of being covered in gold connotes a sense of the precious to me, beside the fact that I love all things golden.

Rhys (Welsh meaning "Runner", pronounced like a multiple of "rye", as opposed to with a harder Z sounds like "rise")
It was really hard to come up with a second middle name this time. We both really liked "Osiris", but didn't feel completely comfortable with the name's origin. We thought the "IS" ending of  "Osiris" went nicely with the rest of the name, so "Amadeus" was the second middle name for a while, but I never felt really attached to it. Then it was "Xavier" for a while, but I just couldn't divorce it from X-Men (not that that's totally a bad thing). I ended up finding Rhys on some random name list on the internet, and was immediately charmed that it was Welsh (my predominant heritage), for starters. I'd never heard of the name before, but it's apparently very common in Wales. It's also most commonly pronounced "Reese", though I pronounced it "Ryes" when I first read it, which I prefer. I debated whether to change the spelling (which I find totally annoying when other people do), but then happily discovered that "Ryes" is a legitimate pronunciation option as well, according to Wikipedia. I have no huge sentiment one way or another to the meaning of "runner", but maybe it will take on a story as Ira grows.

If Ira had been a girl, his name was going to be Ophira Dahl (Jonas may not know that, haha!!). Other names we liked but didn't ultimately choose were: Soren, Elias, Solomon, Amiri, Atlas, Maalik, Qasim, and Idris. Ira's pre-birth nickname was "Taco", because I craved lots of tacos during his pregnancy, and Jonas and I love Invader Zim, in which our favorite character has a special love of tacos.

In true 20-teens (2014) fashion, Ira's got a hashtag, #iraalamar, along with a regular name, right off the bat. I wonder if it will seem totally normal or totally ludicrous too look back at giving our kids internet names upon birth?

So that's the story! We're so thankful to have Ira finally in our arms, and little guy, we hope you like your name as you grow up. A few weeks prior to Ira's birth, I asked my mom if there were any names she liked now that weren't on her radar when she was having kids. She didn't have anything on the tip of her tongue, but she said that the more she sees her own kids grow, the more she believes that we, as parents, impart a blessing with the names we give our children - that the meanings of names set a tone, in a way. For Ira, I hope he uses his eyes to be attentive to the world around him, to appreciate beauty, and to take special notice of the needs of those around him. I hope he loves the beauty of the ocean as much as I do, and never tires of it or grows out of being in awe of it. He is more precious to me than gold, and as for running, I pray he is always running to do the right thing, running to finish the race strong, and running because isn't it incredible and freeing that our bodies can do that?! Life is an amazing thing. 

Now & Again

This morning, I couldn't even bring myself to tell Ishmael to stop pulling every inch of floss out of the floss container. Resistance is futile, sometimes. He doesn't want to go behind the curtain so I can take a cool picture of him, he only wants a rotten peach (or "apple", as he calls it), NOW. While running around the kitchen after breakfast, he smacked his elbow on a cabinet knob and needs me to pick him up and make it better NOW. When I'm cooking with spattering lava-hot oil, he inevitably wants to be in on the fun NOW - I know because he wedges himself in between my legs and wherever I'm standing, stands on my feet (which has become very painful), and rocks on my legs and looks up with saucer eyes and wide-open mouth saying "up?!" until I pick him up or tell him "no" and move out of the way, resulting in a waterfall of snot and blubbering. You have to see that "up" face to understand why most of the time he gets picked up, no matter how pregnant I am or how far away I have to stand from whatever I'm trying to cook.

If I'm trying to read a book or look at something on my phone, NOW is the time he must sit on my lap and read too. If I'm enjoying my dinner, NOW is the best time to commandeer my lap and challenge my ability to keep my food on the fork in the 3 feet between my plate and my mouth. Everything with toddlers is best done right NOW. I'm not a total pushover nor do I give him everything he wants, exactly when he wants it, but having a little guy teaches you that your time is not always your own, and sometimes what he needs is more important than what I was already doing. No matter how convenient, it is one of the best feelings when your child needs your comfort NOW when he's feeling hurt, vulnerable, scared, or sad.

As for AGAIN, you guys all know about this if you've ever spent time with children. Or my husband. Jonas and I are very different in that he is content to go to the same restaurant (if he finds a good one) for just about every date, where as I rarely want to go to the same place twice, even if I loved it the first time. When time is finite, I want to fit in as much variety as possible. Jonas on the other hand, wants to spend his time enjoying the few things he knows are worth his time. Especially earlier in our relationship, when we were most polarized on this issue, it drove me a little nuts. But I remembered this passage I read ages ago in G.K. Chesterton's "Orthodoxy", and it helps me appreciate Jonas, and now my toddler who wants to play the same game or sing the same song 72 times in a row, or as Chesterton puts it, "until you are nearly dead."

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” 

Isn't that the most beautiful way to look at the endless cycle of "agains"? I love imagining God as giddy as a child, or a child as giddy as God, taking never-ending joy in doing the same wonderful thing over and over and over, until we're truly dead.

I was feeling overwhelmed and short tempered this morning, especially since I have started to feel uncomfortably close to giving birth in the last 2 days and there's still a lot I want to accomplish before that happens. Remarkably to me, however, I am about 2 weeks in to essentially being a stay-at-home mom, and I'm loving it! I was nervous that I'd be bored and soon grow resentful toward Ishmael, but I had an afternoon without him yesterday and it just felt quiet and I almost decided to go to sleep, which I don't usually feel when I'm staying active with him. (here's a photo of what I'm eating as I write this - pizza, tootsie rolls, tums - thanks to my husband for bringing me this special order. Proof of pregnancy, if I know anything)

I think it's harder not to resent my spouse for working outside of the house and then spending leisure time at home when I still see so much work to be done around the house. Thankfully though, Jonas appreciates that I work at home, and that helps me feel less in danger of getting SAHM syndrome where I feel stifled as a person. Like I said, today started out with me feeling a little more frazzled than I have been feeling. After a few hours of me-time during Ishmael's nap that helped me snap out of my funk considerably, I decided to take him across the street to the Discovery Museum, which neither of us had ever been to before.

I can't believe they charge $8 for children (unless they're under 2, lucky us), and I think I would have been considerably underwhelmed if I'd paid $8 for Ishmael's admission, but since he was free and my admission was only $4, it was a well-spent 2 hours of our day. I was quite surprised at how much he enjoyed it, actually! He ran around from station to station, excited about almost everything, and even warming up to play tunnels, which he's sometimes wary of when he can't see the other end. His favorite things were the tractor (complete with a special way to shift gears) and another little car with a wheel he could turn. He was even running up to other kids to watch what they were doing and wait his turn, though the other children helped me recall that I do not like children in general, Sam I Am.

There was one little boy who was probably 7 who was not in the little car when Ishmael ran up, but when Ishmael tried to get in, the boy got in and would have shoved Ishmael to the ground if I hadn't caught him! I think I was too shocked to chew that kid out like I probably should have. Another little boy didn't want Ishmael to ride a little rocking horse that he wasn't riding himself because the horse "needed to be alone in its pen". When the little boy protested when Ishmael started to ride the horse anyway, Ishmael realized that his behavior was making the other boy unhappy and ran out of the pin, hiding his eyes, which he does when he's ashamed or someone he admires tells him "no", like my dad. It completely shatters me when he does that, and I fiercely want to scoop him up and let him know it's okay and that he didn't do anything wrong (in the horse instance, at least).

Other kids, man. They're real jerks.
I'm sure my kids will have some majorly jerkish moments too, but for today, I'm so thankful for my sweet little guy and that I have these few weeks to spend a lot of time with him and all his NOW and AGAINs. 

Toddlerzilla

Have you ever been watching a post-apocalyptic movie and wondered how the writers came up with such and such a terrifying detail? Sometimes I have, but if you're ever been unable to escape from the screaming of grumpy, sick, or downright disobedient children, you need no longer wonder. Or on the flip side, your child being seriously hurt can make your life feel as dark as the apocalypse. [image]

We've been going through a rough patch in the last few days with Ishmael. He is generally such a sweet kid, but all of a sudden, he has decided that listening is for babies, and he's no baby. One of my greater parenting struggles is being a consistent disciplinarian, but there comes a point where I'm fed up enough to enforce the law of the land. He thinks that's cute. In fact, he really doesn't find spankings to be much of a deterrent, and I didn't expect him to pull that one on me.

Equally distressing is my first experience feeling like I'm powerless to protect him from the world. On Saturday morning, we noticed strange marks on his arms and torso and I've been worrying myself sick unable to figure out what happened and whether his excessive crying and tantruming is because of some mysterious pain that I can't fix or understand. Coupled with the fact that he was (at the time I was first writing this) having many meltdowns and crying excessively over absolutely nothing that we could tell, it was very difficult to watch and wonder if it was the new tooth coming through, or something much more serious. I'm not one to get weepy when he falls and scrapes himself, but the fear of the unknown reduces me to a puddle. 

This morning as I was feeding Ishmael breakfast and wimpering inwardly out of fear and sadness and trying not to fly off the handle in reaction to his incessant and grating meltdowns, an old worship song that my dad used to play popped in to my head. It's by a band called Enter the Worship circle, and the first few lines are, "since I am so sick, since I am in need, since I have no healing within me....", a reference to Psalm 30. The part about "no healing within me" is particularly painful today because I feel helpless to take care of my son, but they are also a good reminder to me that I am not alone as a parent nor can I ever hope to be everything that Ishmael needs. 

The one island of goodness in these harder days is that I get to be the comforter. It's so touching to have another human fling themselves at you and cry out that they need you and love you and come to you for protection and to be rejuvenated. The fact that I get to be that safe place where Ishmael can recharge his strength and courage and then go back out and face the fears and trials of his miniature world is something I'll never tire of in all my days.

Since I started writing this post, I was able to get Ishmael in to see a doctor, who hardly batted an eye before diagnosing him with phytophotodermatitis which sounds gnarly, but isn't really that big of a deal. Basically, there's a chemical in limes, mangoes, celery, some sunscreens, and many other every day products that when it gets on some people's skin and is then exposed to sunlight, creates marks that look very much like severe bruising or chemical burns. Very often, the marks are shaped like finger marks and placed where hands would have held him, leaving this skin condition (which isn't painful, and will fade within a week) commonly misdiagnosed as signs of child abuse.

I don't think I've ever been so worried as a parent as I was this past weekend. And it was an experience that raised so many questions and feelings that I never imagined having to face as a parent. We were so blessed to have friends and family supporting and comforting us, and most of all, we're thankful that we have a loving God to run to when when we have no healing within us. It was so difficult to live with the possibility that someone could have hurt my sweet, sweet son, yet be baffled as to how that could have happened. The whole experience has made Jonas and I take a hard look at our lifestyle (a lot of working away from our kids), making sure we're taking care of our sons the best that we can with our time and our money, and what exactly that looks like, despite the fact that it turned out that this very scary incident was no ones fault nor a result of negligence on anyone's part.

What's the scariest thing that you've encountered as a parent? What brings you comfort when you're faced with the fact that you can't protect your babies from everything? In case you're facing a Toddlerzilla, a fearful unknown, or perhaps just some limes right now, I must say, Psalm 30 is a keeper.

P.S. Isn't it crazy what sort of medical things you become a mini-expert on when you're forced to confront them in your life? Pregnancy and childbirth are great examples! 

Go Around Again

The fact that it's taken me almost half a pregnancy to write even one blog about my newest little guy is evidence if second-child-syndrome at play, even in the womb! But let's just start out with a positive note about pregnancy...

Another thing I'd almost already forgotten since Ishmael was how nosy and judgy people get, as if being pregnant makes you public property. "You shouldn't be eating that", "did you plan this baby?" etc. Someone at work called me a rabbit for having 1 and 1/2 children! RUDE. There are aspects of being pregnant that remind of me someone locked away in an asylum, which is one of my greatest fears. The more you protest that you're sane, the more you sound insane. I think that when I'm pregnant, sometimes people take what I say and do with a grain of salt, which I hate. Even if my emotions are running higher, it doesn't mean I'm not really feeling things that are still legitimate and need to be addressed. That's one part of the pregnant-lady routine that I could do without.

In fact, all the warm fuzzy feelings I'd felt about discovering a whole realm of people who appreciated my new life (aka, other parents) when pregnant with Ishmael have turned into feelings of "please, stop trying to parent my child".  I've felt unmotivated to join any kind of mommy group because my child never wears shoes and I let him eat sugar. A lot of my parenting ideals have gone out the window since actually having a kid, okay? On the other hand, I'm not anti-vaccines and Ishmael doesn't have an amber teething necklace, so sometimes I feel strange around the ultra "laid back" parents too. Very few moms actually say judgy things to me, but I still feel the vibes. Not that those things (especially MY habits) will ultimately bar Ishmael and I from making mommy and kid friends, but they are genuine hurdles for me. Plus, I don't know anyone my age who lives in my area who has kids, and that is sometimes alienating. Even if I did, there's the sugar and shoes issue that I mentioned. Oh, and he picks out his own clothes half the time, at age less-than-two. Funny how children can bring people together and also push them apart. I'm sure I'll make it past these present snobby hurdles of mine, but for now, I'm just exhausted and lonely as a mom sometimes. Can't I just have one mom friend with little ones who recognizes the names of NPR show hosts? (That may be one of the snarkiest things I've ever said... but hey, I'm pregnant....).

Sometimes I have people frown upon me for working at all when I have kids, and then there was the lady who chewed me out for being only a part-time student on top of working and having a baby, because she worked full time and went to school full time with a baby. It's like people have nothing better to do than critisize everything about you when you have children. I am well aware that my life could be harder than it is, but I'm grateful for the options I do have, and the time I do get to spend with Ishmael, even though I'm still not great at the whole "making someone else more important than yourself" thing...

One reason I'm extra excited for baby 2.0 is that he and Ishmael can be buddies, because Ishmael doesn't really have any right now. In fact, he just kind of gawks when he sees other children. I wrote this little blurb soon after I found out I was pregnant in November: "The thing that I'm totally unprepared for is what it will be like to have Ishmael on top of caring for a new baby. Will he be jealous? Will he understand anything that's going on? Will I be able to love them equally? Pregnancy #2 is already less dramatic and I know I won't be able to give all the attention to my second that Ishmael got. It's not less exciting in the grand scheme of things, but sometimes I do feel like the second baby is already getting cheated out of some extra hype that Ishmael had."

Since writing that, I've become confident that I will love the new baby as much as I love Ishmael, because I remember being unable to fathom what loving Ishmael would be like. I'm not a very sentimental pregnant lady as far as a connection with the actual baby, but I've come to terms with that. Especially with a toddler, I don't have as much time to think and wonder about a new baby, and I know that just like with Ishmael, the falling in love part comes when I get to meet him face to face and get to know him as another human. It's kind of nice not having to fuss with more emotions until that time, and knowing that I will fall in love again at a pace that works for me and the new little guy, just as I did with Ishmael.

A more recent "concern" is how not to make everything about the new little guy a comparison to Ishmael, as I've already done about 10 times in this post so far. On some level, it's inevitable, but I want him to know that he's loved in his own right and I know he will be a different person than Ishmael, even if I can't understand quite how just yet. I already spend most of my time talking about this pregnancy in comparison to my first - this one has been MUCH easier, and it goes by much faster when we already have a little guy running around to look after. I'm grateful for the distraction, but it does take the spotlight off the new baby a lot. My parents were intentional and believable (as in, I know it's really true) in not showing favoritism among their kids, and I don't think I'll struggle with that either, but I am curious about how Ishmael will react to the new baby, and I definitely need to be intentional about giving the new baby his own time and space and love.

My mother in law had a good piece of advice the other day, which was to make breastfeeding time a time to sit and read with the older child too. You're still getting skin-to-skin time with the new one, but not completely excluding the older one from a clearly intimate and bonding time with someone else. I think it's okay to have one-on-one time with the new baby sometimes, but I do like the idea of synchronizing some of their activities. Fellow parents, how do you balance time with your kids, particularly when one's a toddler and one's a newborn? Do tell!

One upside to baby #2 being constantly compared to my experiences with Ishmael is that Jonas and I will get a chance to attempt righting what we feel are parenting fails so far with Ishmael. I'm not so naive as to think that everything I do or don't try with the second son will have the same affect (or lack of affect) as it did on Ishmael, but I'm going to try my darndest to introduce shoe-wearing a little more intentionally and institute/stick to "play by yourself" time earlier.

Of course, Jonas was beside himself with excitement when I told him I was pregnant (I made the lovely pee-stick the last "ornament" as we decorated our Christmas tree this past season), and in general, he makes "reveals" about anything important or that he's excited about into tense moments that I want to run away from. We'd been at odds over how to tell everyone about baby #2. He ended up telling my Dad and brothers when we ran into them at Costco, which was low-key enough for me, but kind of anti-climactic. He wanted to tell his brothers at Thanksgiving by being the last one at the table to say what he was thankful for, but I put the smackdown on that because the very idea makes me wither. I've been trying to figure out why I hate telling people so much that I'm pregnant, initially, and I finally figured it out: building it up, especially in a group, results in everyone suddenly looking at me and me already being weepy or not knowing how to react, which is embarrassing. It puts everyone on the spot to respond in a certain way, and sometimes people's (or my) initial reaction is not really what you want to show. Beyond that, I think that everyone then imagines us having sex. Jonas said that's crazy, but that's what I imagine when other people tell me they're pregnant, and I know it's juvenile that my mind goes there, but at any rate, I don't like feeling naked in front of people. One of my sisters in law confirmed that that's what she thinks of too, so I'm not totally crazy on that.

Speaking of sex, marriage with kids is hard. Not to mention the complications of pregnancy hormones, post-pregnancy body issues, etc. I've struggled with jealously a lot since having Ishmael, listening to my married kid-less friends tell me about their exciting, spontaneous, sex lives. I've been SO thankful for the couples with older kids and the occasional blogger who remind me that difficultly cultivating romance and lack of creative sex is very much a product of having young children, and it does get better/back to normal eventually. I know this is somewhat personal territory, but I make a point of talking about these things because I wish more people were willing to share such comforting knowledge with ME more freely. Not in a creepy way, but if it comes up, you know.

I'm NOT looking forward to the thought of my body sliding back into pregnancy-and-nursing-related-shapes for the next year to 2 years, but the awesome thing about being on your second baby is that you have proof that you really can bounce back from dough bellys and tiger mawl marks and countless stitches in inconvenient places and boobs sucked down to your waist. Except I just read that bouncing back from a second baby is harder, which makes me minorly panic. As with the sex life (which was finally recovering pre-new-pregnancy, ugh!!!), I'm somewhat consoled to know we CAN bounce back, but disheartened to know that the process will be almost entirely a new adjustment because it won't be exactly like it was with Ishmael.

Goodbye, fairly doable life routine that we've worked out with one child. It's strange that when you're in the moment (like figuring out how to restructure your life with a kid from day to day) things don't usually seem all that difficult, but when you look back at all that it has costed emotionally and in terms of sheer time, it's so daunting to imagine doing it again. For example, even with one kid, the thought of watching a full length movie is depressing. Wait, you want me to spend 2 and 1/2 hours doing essentially nothing, to be a told a story that probably won't be incredible enough to make it worth my time? So long, theater. I'll see you in a decade. I'm not even kidding you, I haven't stepped foot in a theater since the Great Gatsby came out.

I now also have a healthy fear of those sleepless and nerve wracking days right after your baby is born and the up-every-3-hour routine for months there after. Can we just skip the first 6 months please? Then again, I'm kind of looking forward to the tinyness of a brand new person again. I found myself thinking "I love kids" the other day, and I can barely believe that I've turned out to be someone who does love kids (or at least my own kids). I also feel much more equipped the second time around with tools like the incredible podcast/community the Longest Shortest Time. Plus, no poop can scare me now! I've already seen it all (right? please tell me I'm right), complete with poop finger painted on Ishmael's face. I'm blissfully unaware of all the things baby 2.0 will throw at me that Ishmael never did.

One thing I'm actually looking forward to with baby 2.0 is the hosptial stay. Everyone thinks that's crazy of me, but it kind of felt like being in a spa, where all I had to do was lay there and let people take care of me and feed me. There is the excruciating pain aspect, but what I have to say to that is: more drugs sooner.

By the way, for you nosy readers, we did in fact plan baby 2.0, so all the drama of an unplanned honeymoon baby is not around this time. I'm almost 20 weeks pregnant as I type this, and I've only gotten ultrasound pictures of baby 2.0 once so far, and they haven't made their way to the fridge yet. Poor little guy. I'm already planning his first birthday party, so I hope that makes up for the lack of new clothes I'm buying and no picture on the fridge yet. I was a little hesitant to give the new little guy quite as dramatic a name as Ishmael ended up with, but Jonas is adamant that we stick with the double middle names, so little guy #2 can count on an equally flowery title.

I'm working on carving out a beautiful little space in my mind for my newest baby boy, and the best way I can connect with that space and him and kind of get it ready for both of us is through music, images, words, film, etc. I'm still die-hard against telling his name before birth. Someone wrung one of his names out of me the other day and I regretted it almost immediately. NO MORE! I find it boring and anticlimactic when people tell the name before the baby has arrived, no offense to those of you who do, but I'll give you a little image teaser of that place I'm building in my psyche for him. Another teaser (kinda) is the girl name I had fallen in love with the day before finding out new-baby was a boy, and that was "Ophira". If you steal it before I've finished having kids, I'll slay you.

Sometimes I can't believe I'll have two sons before I'm 23, but you're only in your 20s once, right? This is what I call living large (haha). Although this is never the path I would have chosen for myself, I'm so grateful it turned out this way, and I'm excited that our kids will be close together and be able to share that special type of sibling bond that both Jonas and I had with our close-in-age siblings.

I've been trying to wrap my head around being the mother of boyS, and what all that entails. I definitely like it, but I keep thinking of new "issues" that I hadn't considered having to deal with (probably at an earlier age than I will be thrilled with). For example, I heard a fabulous talk given by Adam Savage of MythBusters fame on how he went about explaining porn to his twin boys. They had discovered how to google various terms, around age 11, and I just loved the way that Savage handled talking to his sons about the dangers of porn on the web. He started off by telling them that curiosity was not bad and was a very rational and normal human reaction to something like sex, but that there were some things on the internet that you can never un-see and that will ruin special moments in your life by popping up uninvited in your head. Ultimately, he described the internet as the brain of someone who "has a problem with their image of women". I was so delighted and encouraged by the model of Savage's talk with is sons (though I imagine this will largely fall to Jonas in our family) because it's so important to me to be open with our kids about things like sex and not to make it all fear and shame based, but to impart how serious it can be, too. Anyway, I highly recommend it if you too are a parent of boys. 

It's a wild ride, people... 

P.S. If you're pregnant right now, I forgot to include two of my very favorite things for pregnancy in my list of favorite 1st year products. Gillian & O'Malley maternity underwear at Target are DIVINE, but I haven't seen them when I've looked the past couple times. They better still carry them, or there will be blood. Oh, and word to the wise, vintage pregnancy clothes are WAY cuter than modern ones. They should have good resale value too! The other thing I can't do without are Target's gummy prenatal vitamins. As with sippy cups, I had to try several (for Ishmael, haha) before I landed on the right ones (it so rarely crosses my mind to try a different brand or method if I'm not totally happy with something!) - some other brands are MUCH more expensive (over the counter), or have yucky coatings, or made me throw up (Costco).

Battle of the Parsnips

I wish I had more funny or interesting or thought provoking things to say about being a mom recently, but good stories need some tension, and neither being a parent nor my child have been difficult to handle in the past several months. The thing that does become harder is the rest of your life; you have more responsibilities and less time than before being a parent, and learning how to work as a team with your spouse and in all other realms is the hard part. To me, there's a very defined distinction between parenthood being trying and the rest of my life being trying because I am now a mom.

I take that back....
At the time I started writing this post a few weeks ago, Ishmael was being his regular pleasant self. He's toddling along like a pro, can answer some basic questions with yes or no head movements, and if I'm missing any kitchen utensils, I have only to look under his bed. I occasionally find him with his hands in the toilet, grinning wildly, but that's charming in it's own way, right?

Well, we've all had colds for the past week, and on Thursday morning (Dec. 5) when I went to feed him breakfast, he absolutely refused to eat anything. Not even apple pie, which he had been wolfing down the night before. We tried every kind of food we could think of, but he would just cry if we got anything close to his mouth, so in the end I figured he must really not be feeling well, and we let it go. He has plenty of chub stored up to allow a few missed meals. He wouldn't eat lunch either, so when I dropped him off at his Grandma Tucker's when I had to go to work that evening, I told her about the predicament, and when I picked him back up around 6:30, he was happily eating a peanut butter sandwich. I was too relieved that he was eating something to feel too irritated that he wouldn't eat for ME.

Fast forward to Saturday night, and the same thing happened, though he's clearly almost over his cold. I steamed some parsnips, which neither of us had ever eaten, but they're kind of like carrots and are supposed to be healthy. I tasted them, so I knew they were perfectly good. I thought maybe his big lunch was still making him full, so I eventually put him to bed without having eaten dinner. Of course, he woke up around 10:30 and wouldn't fall back asleep, so Jonas got him up and tried to feed him, but he still wouldn't eat. I'm already worried that Ishmael is latching on to this idea that if he wakes up in the night and cries for long enough, we'll get him up and feed him. Didn't we already go through this months ago? But anyway, it's hard to steel yourself against a crying baby who you know has an empty stomach.

Sunday morning, he's still refusing parsnips. This is how it goes: I warm them up in the microwave and put them on his tray. I pick one piece up and put it in front of his mouth. He shakes his head with conviction. I keep holding it there, and he opens his mouth and eats it. Good, progress.

Bite two, no go. I'm positive there is nothing wrong with the parsnips and he doesn't seem to dislike the taste, he just doesn't want to eat them. Well too bad buddy, this is breakfast. I sit down across from him with my best firm-resolve demeanor and eat my yogurt. He starts signing "more" and nodding at my yogurt. Yeah, I don't think so. I try to give him a piece of parsnip again, followed by extreme head shaking and now quivering lip and crocodile tears. When I do manage to get a bite past his lips, he spits it out. If I lower the spoon back to the bowl, the crying immediately evaporates. You, sonny, are earning yourself a blog post right now. I guess we've got to give the people what they want!

At this point, Jonas comes into the kitchen as he's getting ready for work, wondering what all the blubbering is about. I'm sitting back with my yogurt, locked in a war of parsnips. Well actually, just as he walked in, I was letting my guard down and peeling a cutie orange for Ishmael to see if he would eat anything. Sure enough, cuties are delicious this morning. You little weasel. Jonas talks me into a making him take a bite of parsnip between each cutie section. The parsnip "bites" involve smashing little bits of the stuff past his teeth on either side of his grimace, with hot and angry tears mixed in. When I'm finished with my yogurt, I put some parsnip bits in the bottom of the cup, and thus trick him into eating a few bites that way. But before long, the cup has been turned on its head to be used as a tribal drum, and the parsnips are on the floor. The usual. We eventually made it through the whole orange and not a whole lot of parsnip, and I'm left a little befuddled as to why my child has chosen this way in which to display his prowess as leader of the rebel forces.

Of course, he doesn't care that I'm sick either. In fact, me being down is prime time to sit on my hair, slap me in the face, and poke at my eyes. Even when he gets disciplined for slapping me, he cries wildly for about 10 seconds, and then slaps me again. I just love it when I accomplish nothing in 5 days off in a row because all I can do it lay on the floor and try and keep either of us from dying. [image source]

I remind myself frequently that "I should not discipline my child for crying." Sometimes I really want to, though. When it's incessant and needless, especially. I also frequently wish I could just sit Ishmael down and have a rational conversation about why he's really getting on my nerves and how if he just told me what he needed, we could work things out from there. I really struggle to treat him like a baby, sometimes. I don't understand disobedience in children - why is "no" not a good enough answer, and why do we want to do what we're not supposed to way more once we know it's off limits? I might understand if the thing Ishmael wanted was really amazing and I was keeping it from him out of spite, but most of the time, it's just "stop kicking me", "stop crumpling that book page", "stop hammering the china cabinet glass with your fork"... are those things really THAT fun? When I think of my relationship with God in terms of a child and parent, I'm mortified by the fact that I'm so disobedient and thick-skulled and God doesn't beat my bum daily.

Ever since being pregnant with Ishmael, I've been getting weekly emails from BabyCenter.com about what each week may include as far as various developments. Last week's said something to the affect of, "all children test their parent's will at this age, remember to give yourself time out to recharge your patience." I was SO relieved to read that my child is not the only occasional brat, especially since no one believes me that he has his moments.

I am determined that one day, we shall eat parsnips in peace.