Goin' Back to Cali

I wish the title was Movin' back to Cali, but...it's not.   It's just a visit.  I'm going to be that person on the beach in November in a bathing suit in all of my white glory.  Tourist, the locals will sneer.

I'm not! I'm not! I used to live here! (Yeah. Just like I used to be cool, but I'm not anymore.)

Tickets booked. City Mini stroller bought. Bags packed.  Ok, bags aren't packed yet, but I'm already planning what to pack.  It's going to be a long trip with a lot of traveling.  First plane ride for Brixton and it should be interesting.  We are flying into the OC and then I'm heading on down to SD to show Brixton off to everyone that's interested in having a 6 month old baby shoved in their face.  Then we are flying up to NorCal, to Oma and Grandpa's house for a bit too. On the way home we have a layover in Vegas, so Brixton will get his first tutorial in how to lose $20 on the Wheel of Fortune slots in 3 minutes.

While I'm head-over-heels excited to go back, I'm afraid that when I get home, I'm going to find a lump of homesickness hiding for me in my luggage (TSA never finds stuff like that).  Just booking the tickets put me into a funk that lasted two days, so I'm not sure how I'm going to avoid it.  

But..sea..sand..friends..babies..family..the energy that only California has...Mexican food...the warm sun...how could I say no?!

  

Gimme a Beet!

Or maybe not.

Geez.

That picture makes me think of a crying clown.  (cue circus music)

Brixton's been eating solids in various amounts for the past 4 weeks or so.  He's had apples, beets, carrots, pears, bananas, corn and a foray into broccoli, which we quickly ended.  When I put the broccoli spoon into his mouth, his expression looked like he was going to explode with disgust and possibily never eat any vegetables ever again.  Ever.  I quickly hid the spoon, started whistling and went into a riveting edition of The Wheels on the Bus in hopes of quickly burying that memory.  We'll see if it worked.

Feeding Brixton is my least favorite baby chore, followed closely by giving him a bath.  Brendan thinks I'm crazy, because the amount of fun going on during both activities is sky-high.  I think it's just that both things require a lot more prep than just sitting down and feeding the baby or plopping him in the tub.

What baby chores are your least favorite? 

SIDS Risk

I know there are all kinds of wrong in this photo.  Blankets in the crib.  Toys in the crib. Bumpers in the crib. Baby in the crib.  Brixton loves sleeping with a blanket cuddled up next to his face, much like I do, or better yet, with the blanket on top of his face (again, much like me, but I prefer a pillow).  The problem is, he knows how to get the blanket on his face, but hasn't mastered the taking the blanket off of the face.  He'll just lay there with the blanket on his face and move his limbs around and make this weird sound.  Although he's almost 6 months, almost out of the higher-risk of SIDS range, I've moved all blankets out of his crib until he's figured it all out.  That helps me sleep better at night.  

The seahorse stayed though.  She's his companion for naps and nite-nite and he loves her sweet music.  Ugh.  Do you ever just look at a picture of your baby and then (if they are sleeping) just want to wake them up for a cuddle?  That's me.  Right now. 

Steppin' Out: Way Overdressed for the Mall Edition

Yeah, I did all this for the mall.  

Sometimes the mall's all I've got, so it's my moment to shine and remember I used to be someone besides Brixton's mom.  Plus it's kind of fun to browse through expensive stuff that you secretly can't afford but look like you might be able to.  

Fooled ya.

While we were at the mall, I tried on swimsuits.  I know.  It's October.  I guess I just wanted to see the pregnancy damage up close and personal under the fluorescent lights.  And you know what?  It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be.  I got stretch marks on the belly, but they are hardly visible and still fading.  I'm still about 10 lbs. overweight (for me), so I didn't walk out with a new suit, but you'd better believe I'll actually be wearing a bikini and not the tankini I thought I was banished to forever.  

And now a little something about my nose.  I kind of hated it growing up.  It's big, has a bump, isn't a tiny lump of nibbly cuteness.  When I was 15 I was looking at it in the mirror.  I decided it was beautiful.  It wasn't small.  It wasn't delicate.  But it made a statement.  It got me noticed.  It fit me, my face and my personality.  I realized that all those little nibble noses, while adorable, weren't memorable.  God had this big ole' nose up there in heaven and thought, "Who can I bless with this thing?" So then I started to develop a love for my nose.

As I got older, the nose became a great conversation starter.  Not the nose persay,  but the fact that it made me look foreign, as in "Are you from ____________?".  I liked that.  Also, I decided that any guy that didn't like my nose wasn't worth talking to anyway.  We were a package deal; me and my nose. 

Living in plastic surgery central (SoCal) made me ponder "fixing" my nose a few times.  But, God doesn't make mistakes, so I knew my nose was just as it was meant to be.  Plus, can I be honest?  I already have a healthy amount of self-confidence and vanity.  I can hardly imagine who I would be with a tiny nibble nose.  

So while it might not always be photogenic or everyone's cup of tea, it works and I love it.  

My point?  You know that thing about yourself that you don't like?  It's beautiful.  It's just as you were made by a creator that is the ultimate artist.

Own it!

Dress: Thrifted!

Belt: Urban Outfitters

Boots: Nordstrom

"Regarding gDiapers: I Want a Refund"...

That quote provided by my husband, who, after putting Brix in one of their diapers, had it leak all over after just an hour.

I really wanted to love gDiapers.  I wanted to write a glowing post, describing our ease and joy of cloth diapering.  But I can't.  

It's not the diapering itself.  It's how completely unreliable and inconsistent the gDiapers are.  The first week went great, but it went downhill from there.  I've had leaks galore, sought advice on the gDiapers Yahoo group, stripped the cloth inserts twice and just feel jipped.  The Yahoo group was really helpful and offered some tips, but really, it's a diaper.  There's only a set number of ways to muck it up so bad that you have leaks.  You put the diaper on, make sure it's not too tight, check the seal and you should be set.

It rarely turns out that way.  Usually it's an anxious hour and then checking for the inevitable leak around the legs.  As I type this we probably haven't used our cloth in close to two weeks.  The gPants are all waiting for the next wash.  So now I'm not sure what to do.  We invested in these and I am not getting any other cloth diapers, so I guess we will just continue to use them and have to wash his clothes more.  The whole thing kind of chaps my hide if you want to know the truth.

On a bright note, actually dealing with the cloth was great.  The poo diapers were gross, yes, and I gagged through the first one, but otherwise everything was easy.  I did about 2-3 extra loads of laundry a week and dried the inserts on a drying rack with a 10 minute finish in the dryer. 

My verdict: if you feel inclined to take on cloth diapers, go for it, but I would look somewhere other than gDiapers.

Outrage! Article: A Blog Reader Called CPS on Me

I opened my email this morning and saw my usual bunch of crap waiting for me.  Express spam, Diapers.com spam, a group message from the Yahoo gDiapers group.  But something else caught my eye.  A blog post from BlogHer, with the title stating, "A Blog Reader Called CPS on Me."

I've linked the article.  If you are so inclined, read it and then come back. And please make sure you read the comments too.

(waiting...waiting...tapping foot..waiting).

Well?  Are you as outraged as I am?  This is ridiculous.  I understand CPS is an agency that is designed to protect children from abuse, but where is the line?  That someone (a virtual stranger) can read such a normal, mother-rant blog post, decide there is some "mental abuse" going on, and then call CPS.  Didn't CPS read the post, shrug their shoulders and think "What's the big deal?"  Did they actually think that a mother promoting consequences for her 12 year old son was enough to warrant a child interview as well as a home visit?  

Furthermore, if you read the comments, a woman was given a citation for having crumbs on her floor and some piles of laundry in her house and was subject to a follow up visit, although it was clear she and her children had had the stomach flu for a few days.  Crumbs and laundry piles?  How many of you have had a bad stretch of days where maybe the house wasn't looking so hot?  (I'm guessing we've all raised our hands).  And sorry, government, but if the stomach flu is involved, then nothing is getting done.

A government agency that has the power to remove your children from your home with a very minimal amount of evidence terrifies me.  Am I, as the parent to my own child, setting the standards, expectations and consequences in my home, or is the government?  

Is it me or does the scope of "freedom" in which we live feel like it's getting smaller and smaller and smaller...?

The Simple Life

We learn so much in life and one of the first things we learn about are those implements on the ends of our legs called 'feet.'  

Super cool.  Bendy.  Delicious (for babies..or mommies who like to gnaw on their baby's feet).  
 Enough to keep you entertained for hours.  (Okay, five minutes tops).

Enjoy it, kid.  Life goes downhill from here.  Taxes.  Tolls.  Shoveling snow.  The DMV.   

But, for now, there's just this:

Brixton 5 Months

 Dear Brixton,

You are 5 months old.  You are blossoming, albeit at your own pace.  Not rolling over yet, but trying so hard to heave your fat tummy over.  Smiling and laughing up a storm.  Gnawing on my chin.  Using your tiny hands more and more to reach for things (for better or worse).

 That little smile is just begging for a tooth..and with your intense drooling, we might be in luck soon.  But I hope not, I'm not ready to lose that gummy smile quite yet.

 Your eyes are still blue..and we are holding on to that..but brown always lurks in certain light.  

You love having your diaper changed, actually, maybe just being naked because you squeal and smile and kick with absolute glee. 

 You don't cry often.  Only when your bottle is taking too long, you are being strapped into your carseat or mama is trying to eat her dinner. Other than that you are pretty laid back. 

Your baby acne is FINALLY beginning to clear. Hallelujah!

(I love this look on your face, but unfortunately Blogger refuses to load the picture the correct way.) 

Can't wait to see what the next month has in store..

Please vote for us!

Pumpkin Patch Kid

Guess who sacrificed his afternoon nap for a frolic in the pumpkin patch yesterday?

 This guy. Doesn't he look excited?

Let me be the first to admit that I was way more excited about pumpkins than anyone else.  Probably for the sheer fact that I haven't gotten my spook on at a pumpkin patch in forever.  Having a kid makes you do stuff, fun stuff, that you used to do before you got too cool/old/busy.  

Brendan, as always, plays along nicely with all of my ideas (demands).

  Instead of cuddling under a warm scarf and sipping on a piping paper cup of apple cider, it was 84 degrees and sweaty.  The sun must have mistaken northern Illinois for the Hawaiin islands, so strong were the rays.  I kept complaining about the heat, to which Brendan reminded me that I'd be complaining in a month that it was too cold.  I then reminded him that I'm always allowed to complain.  

Tip: When taking a 5 month old out to the patch for the first time, don't expect too much.  At least I shouldn't have had such high expectations that Brix was suddenly going to turn into a Baby Gap model and be all smiley and trying to hug the pumpkins.  Instead, he was tired, overwhelmed and a little grumpy, all of which makes for a fabulous scarecrow face.  That would scare me away.  

This has to be his future teenage face.  Mom, this is lame.

He had absolutely no interest in anything.  I had to pry open his hand to touch the stem and then promise him a car for his 16th birthday in order just to look half interested. 

And then, just when all seemed lost...

...a smile!

And another!  

We got our pumpkins, a jar of homemade dill pickles and some apples and then went over and got some sushi at this place where the sushi trucks around on a conveyor belt.  Not my ideal sushi experience, but it was alright.  

The best part of the day was when we got home and I got to take a snooze next to my little guy, his fuzzy hair tucked under my chin, fat hand grasping my fingers as the last streams of sunlight filtered in from this Indian summer afternoon.  

I love him.

Spoons.

At times, for stretches of a few seconds or minutes, I forget I have a baby.  I forget I am a mother.  I forget that life has changed forever.

And then I open my drawer...

And I am reminded in the simplest way, that I have a baby.  I am a mother.  And my life has changed forever.  

 

An Unwelcome Headline

It was such a pretty day today.  Bright blue skies.  Cracklin', colorful leaves.  Warm, summer-like evening that tempted us to grill.  And the forecast?  More of the same.

And then there was this headline:

Chicago area expected to endure worst winter weather in nation

What in the??? 

If you don't feel like reading the linked article, let me just run it down for you.  Basically we are expected to get colder than normal temps as well as twice the amount of snow.  So what is this Mother Nature?  A trick?  This nice weather is just made for us to high-five and say "Awesome!" because in a month we are going to be wearing six layers and sliding all over the road?  Bring it, I say.  Bring it. 

 Ooohh..a bare tree..big deal?  What else you got?

Okay.  Snow.  Lots of snow.  At least my toes were painted here.  (And cold)

 Hmmm...well...fine. You win this time, you female dog.

Boy Meets Dog

It was bound to happen sometime...

Brixton has finally noticed that warm, furry, friendly thing that we call Lola.

Lola is starting to take a shine to him, especially now that he's starting solids, but I think also she's discovered how warm and wonderful a little cuddle baby can be.

Of course, I think the real love started when he spit up on the floor while playing in his Johnny Jump-Up.

Guess who cleaned that up? (Hint: It wasn't me!)

Lola is and has been a great dog.  We weren't really nervous about her when Brixton joined our family.  She's mostly ignored him, which is good.  Now they are interacting more and that's nice to see, but there's a little part of me that's on guard.  She's a dog, after all.  If we are all laying on the bed together and I have to leave the room, I call her to go with me.  It's not that I don't trust her..I know her..but I hear those stories, the quotes are always the same:

  "We didn't see this coming"  

"He's never been aggressive before"

"She was always such a good dog"

I don't want to add to those quotes so I just err on the side of caution, especially since Lola tends to lay on things she "loves" and she has sharp claws.  Brixton's a big boy, but Lola's three times his size.  Time will amend this and one day (too soon) they will be sharing a special snack (hopefully not dog kibble), romping in the yard, playing fetch, snuggling on the rug.

For now, there's this:

For the love of dog, please give us a vote!

Help Wanted!

Dear Friends,

I can't believe it's that time again, but those stinkbugs over at Top Baby Blogs have reset the numbers yet again, bringing us all back to a level playing field.  I try not to bombard you with vote requests, but to keep us on the first few pages, we do need your help!  


It's easy: click on the button below, which will pop up another page with a choice: vote or not vote (please choose the vote one!).  You can vote once daily!

We appreciate it.  Really.

Love,

Kelley & Brix

 

 

World-Wide Views on Breastfeeding

The other day Brix and I went to our German playgroup.  I got out a bottle and started feeding him, when one of the German gals asked me something.  "Kelley, do you blahblah?"  Huh?  I didn't understand the verb.  "What is blahblah?" I asked.  "Breastfeed."

Oh snap.  Here we go.  

When talking to Germans about breastfeeding, you must realize you will never be right.  There is only one way, and that is the German way.  Boobs out, no cover, baby drinking.  Otherwise you will get a glare and a crinkled up German nose, because any other way is not natural.

I explained to her I was only pumping.  This started the complaints about Americans and our prudishness.  How can we cover ourselves up like that when feeding?  Why are we so afraid to breastfeed?  What's wrong with us?

Now I wasn't just defending myself, but the whole country.  And you know what?  I'm sick to death about this. A LOT of women breastfeed or breastfed their babies.  I think almost all of my friends with kids did.  A lot of women try and it doesn't work out.  Yes, if you pull your boobs out in public to feed there is a chance you will get a negative reaction, and yes, Christina Aguilera (or whoever) can wear a bikini in a music video and there's not a lot of complaints.  It's just us.  It's our culture.  I think it's slowly changing, but it is what it is.

I found this website today Breastfeeding in Public and found it to be very interesting.  It lists different countries and people have given their stories about breastfeeding and its acceptance there.  Guess what?  America is NOT the only place where breastfeeding garners negative reactions or unpopularity.  The UK, Australia, NZ, Spain, France...yep, even those places have a ways to go too.  Interesting how the English speaking countries seem to have the biggest problems.  Puritans, anyone?  

I was surprised by it and relieved.  We may have long strides to make, but we are not alone in this struggle (and this from someone who didn't breastfeed tyvm).  If you have time and interest, take a look.  I was most struck by the women in Saudi Arabia and surprised at the lack of breastfeeders in France. 

The Last Pumping Update

Pump for Sale.  

I tried to keep going.  I drank the Mother's Milk tea and took the Fenugreek drops.  But the real way to increase milk is to pump more.  And friends, I just couldn't do it.  I reached my first goal (to pump for 3 months), kept going and am calling it.  I realized I was really done the other day when I sat down to pump with Brixton squirming next to me.  I had the worst attitude about it.  That was it.  It was just becoming a negative experience with very little reward.  And while having a milk machine suckling at your breast is certainly not the same as a cozy infant, I want to remember our good memories nonetheless.  

We are now using the frozen milk stash, which I was able to increase slightly.  I'm not feeling sad anymore about it.  Brixton's eating solids now (kind of like a champ/wild animal) and seems to actually prefer his cereal made with formula (I know!  Weird.)  I am actually kind of relieved if you want to know the truth and excited about not having to worry about it.  I am very grateful that I was able to go for so long and surprised that I stuck it out as long as I did.

I remember sitting down the first day I was home and pumping.  "I'm going to do this for three months?" I thought.  It was like looking up from the bottom of a huge mountain you had to climb.  I'm there.  I'm at the top.  The climb was long, but worth it and the view from up here is great. 

And while I will no doubt be filled with sadness and sentimental feelings watching him drink that last mother's milk bottle that is coming in the next week or so, I am satisfied that he had it at all.  He's healthy, happy and huge.  

Thanks, boobs.  I'll never look at you the same way again. (And either will Brendan).  

**A sincere apology to my 90-year-old Grandpa and my Father for having to read this post.**

Steppin' Out--Mom Breaks Free Edition

Oh yeah.

I stepped out big yesterday, and I didn't come home until 5:30.  Okay, it was p.m., but still.

I instantly skipped items one and two on my list as they seemed too "errandy" to do on a MDO.  First things first, what I wore:

Sweater: thrifted Banana Republic

Striped Shirt: Old Navy

White skinnys: Banana Republic

Boots: Nordstrom

Awesomeness: All mine

Brendan saw my outfit and in three seconds became a nagging mother voice from circa 1988.  "You can't wear white after Labor Day!"  This from a guy whose weekend attire consists of a pair of loosely defined "sweatpants" with a gaping hole in the crouch and a mustard yellow T-shirt with a hot dog on it.

And guess what?  I'm still here, so I guess you can wear white after Labor Day.

I hopped in my car and went to breakfast.  A lonely, vulnerable breakfast of eggs Benedict and fruit.  Blissful couples and families all looked at me.  The freak by herself.  And then I realized I left my cell phone at home.  Zoinks.

I decided to breech a rule of MDO and went home to get my cell phone and deliver the Bjorn which was also in my car. All was quiet when I got home, with Brixton napping, so I snuck in and got out real quick like.

I went to the mall.  I gazed at the Fall stuff coming in, the boots and gloves and scarves.  I took a 5 second jaunt through F21.  I don't know how you F21 shoppers do it.  That place is overwhelmingly huge.  And when did it get pricier?  I remember going in there and buying a whole new outfit for like $12!  Suddenly a shirt was almost $30.  Not for me, but keep tempting me with your purchases, ladies.

I did, however, fall in love with about three thousand dollars worth of merchandise at Anthro..jackets, skirts (and I'm in a no-skirts phase right now), jewelry.  I splurged on a new, colorful scarf and a candle and then found a bunch of dishware that was on sale. I ended up with a new pie dish, serving dish and creamer and I'm totally going back for more with my birthday and Christmas money.  (I'm going for the Francophile plates).

Then I went to see "The Help."  I haven't read the book yet..and I planned it that way.  I've realized you should always see the movie first and then read the book.  The other way around always makes the movie not as good, as the book is always better.  Great movie though.  My flimsy napkins were frizzled into tiny, rolled heaps afterwards from the plethora of tears that flew out of my eyes.  The South during that time seemed like a tough place to live, not only for blacks, but for women trying to survive in the very structured and intolerant social scene.  Ladies of the South?  Can I ask you?  Does any element of this social structure exist anymore?  

Tangent: I'm fascinated with the South this year.  It's really its own, special place with its own customs and such.  I kind of wish we could move there.  

Last stop: the gym. I hate it.  But pregnancy seems to make your muscles like a soft pudding consistency, so I'm actually going to have to put some effort in here.  Cardio is the worst.  Shuffling back on forth like a hamster in a wheel on the treadmill, or climbing a staircase to nowhere on the Stairmaster.  Gag.

I came home, cuddled my little guys and then Brendan promptly disappeared into the basement for about 2 1/2 hours.  Oh well.  I had a great day..can't wait for the next..whenever that will be!