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I hate your stinking face. You make my child miserable. Which, in turn, makes me miserable. So stop it.
Today I am thankful that it is Thursday. I am thankful that tomorrow is Friday. I am also thankful that I am taking a half day at work tomorrow. I am thankful that we are headed to Birmingham for the weekend for a family reunion and my college BFF's wedding on Saturday. I am thankful to have a friend who I can fall right back into familiarity with even if we don't get to talk or see each other as much as I would like. I am thankful that she has found love with a wonderful man who adores her and keeps her in check. I wish them a long and happy life together. I am thankful that we will get to be with family this weekend and have some fun at the lake. I need some down time to decompress and regroup for the next week. So does the Mister. He has been extremely busy with work, and a weekend of fun in the sun will do him good.
This entry is very disjointed, I know. But I have gotten out of the habit of doing these Thursday posts, and I really need to remember to do them so I can sit for a few minutes and focus on the things I'm thankful for. It's so easy to lose sight of our many blessings in the hustle and bustle of our everyday lives. I feel like I never get a chance to just be anymore. Be present with my husband. Be present with my child. Be alone with my thoughts. It's good to dwell on the good things in my life when I feel myself getting bogged down in the everyday.
I am constantly amazed by how big and small my son seems. At the same time.
When we're going somewhere and I put him in his car seat, he looks so small. But then I get him out and carry him a short way, I am reminded that he weighs nearly 30 pounds.
When he stands up and toddles around the room, he looks so big. But when I see a photo or video of him standing or walking, still looks small.
I get a little teary-eyed when I fold his little clothes. They're just so little! But then I think about washing and folding all of his newborn clothes when I was pregnant. The clothes I fold now seem so big.
He feels like a giant in my arms as I rock him to sleep. His legs now hang down to my thighs and it's hard to keep all of him cradled in my arms. But in the mornings when he wakes up, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and he burrows into my shoulder when I get him out of his crib, it's like he's a tiny baby again, not a toddler.
How much longer will this odd juxtaposition last? When will he stop being big and small, and just be big? I dread that day. I have been looking at pictures of CJ's first few months fairly often here lately, and remembering what it felt like to hold such a tiny human being in my arms. To rock him to sleep, to carry him, to feel his weight on my chest or lap. I can hardly breathe under the weight of him now. I can't stomach the thought of him being too big to lay on my chest.
Why can't they just stay small for a little longer? Why do they have to grow so much these first couple of years? Not to compare my child to a dog, but I can understand now why people choose to have small dogs. They're always small. I've always been a big dog person. My dogs are huge. They used to be small, but now they are big. But I've already decided that our next dog will be a small breed.
I just want something that will stay small and cuddly.
I am also experiencing a rather odd, but likely not too uncommon, big and small in another area of my life. My right breast seems to have given up the ghost when it comes to breastfeeding. It never becomes full with milk, and is nearly back down to its normal pre-baby size. But Ol' Lefty is still gung-ho. But the time CJ's bedtime nursing session rolls around, my left breast looks and feels like a large grapefruit, cut in half and stuck to my chest. The size difference is profound, and I hope it is not too noticeable to the casual observer. And I hope that I have no observers besides casual ones.
I did get to wear a normal bra the other day, though. So I got that going for me.
"Woman, how dare you attempt to clothe me so soon after my evening bath! I care not if your pajama top of choice is my favorite Run DMC t-shirt. I won't have it! I'll let you off with a warning this time. But try it again, and there will be consequences. DIRE CONSEQUENCES!"
Seriously (or sewiously), where does this kid get these faces he makes? Oh, that's right. Me.
Tonight CJ, the Mister, and I went on a date. We went to a local mall to pick up an item for our lakeside family reunion next weekend, then we decided to grab something for dinner. The Chili's we usually go to at this particular mall was packed, so we decided to try the newish Dave & Buster's.
We walked around D&B looking for a free booth, only to find there were none available. But in the next room, we noticed that there were several free tables in the bowling alley. I had no idea there was a bowling alley in D&B! So we decided to throw caution to the wind, rent some skank-nasty shoes, and knock down some pins while we ate dinner. We used to love going bowling. I'm terrible at it, but the Mister is pretty good. My problem with bowling is that I have no arm strength anymore and I have lingering tennis elbow and carpal tunnel in my left arm, so I have to use the lightest ball I can find (which is usually a 9 lb. ball). But the 9 lb. balls' finger holes are usually too small for my adult-sized fingers. So I have to toss the ball using the tips of my fingers and I can never get a good enough grip on it. But tonight I actually found a ball with decent sized finger holes. I got a few strikes with that ball.
But I digress.
We all had a really great time tonight. CJ loved all the lights and sounds and activity. He would watch us from his high chair, clapping and giving us high fives after we threw our balls. He ate a good dinner, and didn't cry or get fussy at all. I'm actually very surprised that he was so good because he seemed to be a little tired before we got there. But he just took it all in. I'm really glad that he is such a flexible, easygoing baby. We came home, got him ready for bed, and he went right to sleep.
I love my baby, and there is nowhere I would rather be than with him. I love spending time with him and making the most of every moment I have with my little family of three. But I would be lying if I said that sometimes I sort of miss the freedom of being able to just pick up and go out and do things whenever we want. We used to go lots of places and do lots of fun stuff. Braves games, the aquarium, weekend beach trips, bowling nights, miniature golf, movies, you name it. I'm a go-and-doer, and I love to have fun things to do. I rarely had a plan or agenda.
That has been the biggest adjustment with becoming a parent. Our every activity has to be so planned. We have to make sure we have a stroller, diaper bag, toys, snacks, sippy, change of clothes (I always need them if I don't have them), and various other essentials. I can't just pick up and go. Spontaneity has not been a part of my vocabulary in a very long time. But now that CJ is getting older and can actually stay engaged with us in whatever it is that we're doing, opportunities for fun like tonight will hopefully pop up more often. He's proven himself to be resilient and he deals with disruptions in his schedule very well, so life and activities don't have to be so cut and dried and scheduled all the time. We can go out as a family and go with the flow.
I think that's why I had such fun tonight. It wasn't scripted. Life just happened. Everyone rolled with it. And it was good.
Why do people wait until 4:30 on a Friday afternoon to decide they want to work? And it's all soooooo very important work that can't wait. Nope, it MUST be done before I leave. I've been here allllllllll week, people. I went all day today with minimal work to do besides busy work and filing and whatnot. Why did you sit on projects until half an hour before I am supposed to leave to decide it was time to get down to business?
I'll never understand some people.
Dear Medela Pump In Style Advanced,
We both knew this day was coming. After all, these types of relationships aren't meant to last forever. Things change. People change. People grow up, they get older, and they no longer need expressed breast milk. But I want you to believe me when I say it's not you, it's me.
When we first started our relationship, I was skittish and leery, but I was determined to make it work. You were very intimidating, though. Pipes, flanges, tabs, knobs, buttons, bottles, you made my head spin. But I have always liked 'em a little complicated, so I was drawn to you like a moth to a flickering flame. The allure was there. And to your credit, you lived up to all your promises. You did everything you told me you would. I was able to give my child nothing but breast milk to drink for his first year of life (and then some). In fact, thanks to you, I am still going strong nursing my baby, and I have a great stash in my freezer, so CJ will continue to get breast milk for a while longer. And the money. Oh, the cash you saved me. When you first threw those dollar bills around, I was hooked. Over the past 13 months, you have helped me save over $1,300, and quite possibly more than that because CJ was lactose intolerant and had slight reflux issues (thankfully he outgrew both). I am all about holding on to my dollars, and I knew that if I stuck with you it would really benefit my bank account.
But breast pump, two kept promises are not enough to sustain a relationship. You have your flaws. The trips to work with me every day SUCKED. Like I didn't have enough to haul around without you dragging me down. You're so freaking high maintenance, too. I had to carry you in, make sure you were comfortable, unpack you, repack you, carry you out. Come home, wash bottles, sterilize parts, repack you. And you never lifted a finger to help. Just because I'm the human with opposable thumbs and you're a bit of machinery powered by electricity, I'm supposed to do all the work. I bet you think it was my job just because I'm a woman, you misogynistic piece of crap.
Our relationship also became very co-dependent. If I went too long without you, I started to ache. And dear Lord, were you demanding. Every three hours at work I had to check in with you. I couldn't even take a lunch break for fear of upsetting you. I felt like I couldn't get away from you. If I wasn't with my child, you had to come along. Even when I was with my child, say, on a trip out of town, somehow you managed to worm your way into the car for the trip. You had to go on vacations, trips to visit my parents, sometimes you even went on shopping trips with me. I really think you need to work on the whole overbearing smothering thing you've got going on. It's really not going to help you maintain a lasting relationship with anyone.
But honestly, I don't really think you're made for a long-term relationship. The pain you have caused me will not soon be forgotten. The first couple of months were torture. Then we settled into an uneasy level of comfort, but I was still annoyed with having to spend so much time with you. But towards the end? More pain. My poor nipples have taken enough abuse from you. They are tired of looking like ground beef. They are tired of being so sensitive. I have enough to worry about nursing a child with a mouth full of teeth. Why should I continue to subject myself to your brand of torture? What do I have to prove? Nothing.
So, breast pump, we had a good run. Eleven months is longer than most Hollywood marriages these days. I'm very happy that you came into my life for a time, but all good things must come to an end, as they say. And really, I'm okay with it. REALLY.
Because when I say "it's not you, it's me", I really mean it's you.
Smoochies,
Rachel
We're in for it now.
(Forgive my fat girl arms. I'm fat. I embrace it. Or at least recognize it.)
(Sorry it's so huge. I don't know how to make it smaller.)
Just plain hot.
