How to Unclog a Milk Duct

That title just draws you in, doesn't it? Who is ready for a kind of awkward post?

(Well, I don't think it is awkward, but people who have no exposure to breastfeeding and crazy clogged ducts might think it is and get their minds blown so that was just a little heads up to those who have none).

I just counted, and I have nursed for 26 months of the past 28 months. That really is not even that long considering my mother-in-law nursed for a good portion of the past 28 years.

Back when Ryan was six weeks old, my crying woke Chris up at three or so in the middle of the night. I already dreaded the first painful minute of every breastfeeding session which were spaced no more than every hour and a half even if he nursed for an hour. I rolled my eyes at every mention online that all breastfeeding hiccups and pain would cease after a few weeks, maybe a month. Lies. After blisters, raw skin and mastitis, I was ready to hit that smooth sailing, but it was nowhere in sight. On this particular night, I had the worst clogged duct I had ever had. Chris recognized how painful it was because he said, "You didn't even cry in childbirth." I was crying partly from the pain and partly from knowing that it would be recurring every hour and a half.

Hot showers, hot/cold showers warm compresses and massage while pumping didn't work. I was so engorged in the one duct that heat just didn't affect it, and my pump, as awesome as it is, just doesn't compare to a real, hungry baby's latch. I (stupidly) didn't want to call a lactation consultant. After perusing every dated mommy forum on the internet, I was convinced enough to bring up popping the milk blister with a needle to Chris since I read LuvMyBaby85 or whoever successfully did it. He shot that home remedy down for some reason. Back to the forums I went.

I searched every nook and cranny of every comment until I found something that did not involve sterilizing a needles The Parent Trap way (which I did once when I tried to pierce my best friend's ear freshman year ... how did it go? Well, she got them pierced professionally ... our senior year). Anyway, in between a comment calling for ricotta cheese and one for a grated potato (which very might well work!), I finally found a comment that lead me to my best weapon against clogged ducts in my nursing arsenal.

Nurse upside down.

It worked.

It works.

Oh, what sweet relief! I was so thankful the other day when, once again, it did the trick. 

If you need details, how to unclog a milk duct:

Place your baby on his or her back on a bed or on the floor. It helps to start out with this position when the baby is hungry and has an extra strong suck rather than switching to it in the middle of a feed. Position your baby so that when you are on all fours above the baby, his or her chin lines up to the clogged duct. Get on all fours and nurse. The gravity does wonders and the hungry baby's re-positioned and strong latch does the trick. 

How do you get rid of clogged ducts?

Why Yes I'll Wiggle My Toes

Afters months and months and months of either parroting or flat out no's, Ryan has finally learned the word, "Yes." Praise. The. Lord.

Although as Ana and her sweet girls have seen, he still likes to announce, "No!" for all to hear.

I realized that I really do say, "No," a lot myself. Part of it is because my toddler's cup of curiosity runneth over, but part of it is probably because I can be a grump and selfish. I should save the nos for outlets and teetering Christmas trees and freely give out yeses when Ryan insists on closing all the doors and wiggling toes before putting on socks or footed pajamas.

And when Ryan wakes up every single time I oh-so-silently roll out of bed after putting him back down for a nap, I should definitely say, "Yes," to a nap.

Snail Pace for All

Tuesday was day two of me being the only adult at home with the boys. BoySsssss. Still love that plural s. For half of the day, Ryan wore boots on the wrong feet ... boots that I put on him. Well, I've always had problems telling my left from my right. 

We were going to go to story time, and I was very proud of myself for everyone being dressed and ready to go at the right time for us to walk there and make it in time.  We went to get the stroller in the garage, but there was no stroller. Oops! I had put the stroller in the car, and Chris had taken the car to work. Ever so confident from my self-esteem boosting ability to have everyone dressed, I decided that we would still walk to story time. Ha!

Have you ever tried to walk anywhere with a toddler with a short amount of time on the clock? It took me until the fifth time in two sidewalk blocks that we stopped to pick up a leaf with his mittened hands to close the book on making it to story time. He can stand while everyone else sits next week.

The kindest lady that I had just briefly met at a dinner pulled over to give me an umbrella since it was slightly drizzling, and she didn't know if it was going to rain hard soon. South Bend is super nice.

With an hour until we would meet Chris at the Basilica, we just walked with no purpose at all except to go at a toddler pace, as snail pace of a pace it is. There were no hurry ups, no come ons. It was my favorite part of the day, and I'm pretty sure it was Ryan's, too. He was just as content to roam from one end of the sidewalk to the next in search of nonexistent 'corns (those grow on oak trees not maple trees, Sweetie), to climb stairs leading to nowhere and to lift his beanie back that was not blocking his view at all so he could tip his head back, furrow his brow and search for curls (squirrels) in the tree. 

It really is nice to know among the daily napocalypses and periodic aggressive adjusting to being a sibling that makes me pull out my hair (and it really can't afford to be pulled on account of the pending postpartum hair loss ...), Ryan is happy to go at a snail pace. He isn't telling me to hurry up and be a perfect mom. Conor certainly isn't.  They just want me to be their mom. I don't have to become a wonder mom to two over night. 

But I do have to be able to carry two at a time after ten blocks.

How was Conor dealing with the toddler pace? Just fine, indeed. 

-ing

Keeping it real and showing the accuracy and sharpness of an iPhone camera with a husband holding a toddler in his arm.

Taking cues from Sydney and Grace. 

Making: a new hat for Ryan since this one went missing.
Cooking: nothing because sweet Lauren is bring dinner over. Rejoice!
Drinking: not enough of anything! My lips were so chapped over the weekend, they bled. Hmm.
Reading: The back of the Stacy's Pita Chips I just devoured. The Simply Naked is simply addictive. Of the more literary reading ... We read Panda Bear, Room for a Little One (as recommended by Janssen!), Panda Bear, Panda Bear, oh and ... you guessed it ... Panda Bear before putting Ryan down for a nap with a promise that we will read Panda Bear again after he naps. I checked out May the Road Rise to Meet You this morning since Stephanie sung its praises. This will be the first thing I have read in a veeeeeeeery long time so I'm excited.
Wanting: a new computer mouse that isn't broken after have to double click on each word of May the Road Rise to Meet You separately in order to select and then underline the words. The poor mouse was violently introduced to the floor by Ryan one too many times and cannot select more than eleven characters at a time or move window boxes more than an inch to the side so it's double click this, triple click that.
Looking: For Chris' wedding ring. St. Anthony, please send all of your prayers over here, and I'll send you some Christmas cookies.
Playing: dumb when Ryan asks where the cookies are. We need to reign it in after an eye opening scene where Ryan was watching the cookie monster while holding two cookies and asking for more.
Wasting: my chance to to see what Cyber Monday has to offer.
Sewing: a bow tie.
Wishing: family lived closer.
Enjoying: The Last Pale Light in the West by Ben Nichols that we discovered while watching The Walking Dead. Great song, great show (even though I only started watching it because Chris and I would share a computer screen with Blogger open on one side and The Walking Dead streaming on the other. I complained the whole time ... and then I would ask what happened if I missed an episode).
Waiting: for cries to come from the bedroom.
Liking: that my arms are full.
Wondering: if I can stop being the mom that answers, "Coming!" and then does three more things before I actually arrive. The cleaning and scrubbing can wait and so on.
Loving: that Ryan called out, "Ruv you!" after we dropped Chris off at work this morning.
Hoping: that both kids keep sleeping during this glorious nap time.
Marveling: at how quickly the dishes pile up both when I cook and when I scrounge.
Needing: to be more intentional.
Smelling: a refrigerator that is in need of a detective. Who is the smelly culprit and how quickly can I throw you out?
Wearing: see above. Yawn. Go ahead, pin it.
Following: Joy's inspiring Instagram feed,
Noticing: we may  have non-brown-eyed baby on our hands.
Knowing: I need some pointers for outfit posing. Because I look ridiculous when and when I don't look straight at the camera and smile. Any help Grace or Anna?
Feeling: like I'm a human jungle gym. Kids are up.
Bookmarking: lyrics for Christmas carols.
Opening: a can of jellied cranberry sauce. Don't judge.
Giggling: at Ryan's accurate impression of my mom.
Feeling: pretty darn lucky to be the mother to two and wife to one.

Wee! Wee! Wee! All the way to stay-at-home mom-dom

I think I'll keep my day job.

Yesterday my mother-in-law insisted on taking Ryan with her to a home decor store quite a bit away. You think, "How nice! You get a little break from crazy toddler land. She is brave to take a toddler there." Well, the more appropriate response is, "Sainthood!" because she also took her four year old and eleven month old. She is truly selfless, and she already has two miracles under her belt - one being the fact that Ryan sat in the cart the whole time and two being that nothing broke in the store! Sainthood.

Anyway, once St. Jill and company were off to the land of breakables and I got over my get-a-grip-he's-leaving-for-half-a-day tearing up as I waved bye to Ryan, my mama-mind hopped from one idea to the next of how I should spend my time. I only have a newborn! This little mama cried free! free! free! all the way home.

(Well you know, as free as a newborn lets you be ... which could mean not at all. But still. Work with me here).

As much as I love looking at newborn photos like the beautiful ones that Marjorie creates, they aren't really in the budget. With those not an option, a toddler-free afternoon, orders to not clean, and with a few pumpkins and gourds lying around, I decided to take a click at it for my October baby.

Out came the quilt from Ryan's bed to mask the massive bachelor pad/toddler's dream bean bag in our living room. On came the eight hours of white noise available on YouTube and up went the volume. Out came the sharpie thanks to Olivia for some Pinspiration.

With a prayer and a shhhh and all my fingers crossed, I placed Conor on my laughable set up and pulled out my trusty DSLR camera phone.

What do you think? Potential for an Awkward Baby Photo list ten years down the road? 

Moving Ryan while he is asleep and keeping him asleep is one of my mom skills that I am most proud of. Katrina Harrington, nap mover, at your service. Apparently this knack does not include newborns because Conor woke up. 

He took one look at my photo stage and must have decided he needed to add a fountain. Boys. 

Yes, I think I will keep my day job. 

Oh wait! That involves a lot of sterile fountains, as well.

Right. 

Luckily, it also includes this:

Welcome, smiles!

Hurs and Aarons

A few months ago when I was being chatty Katrina on the phone with my mother-in-law, she told me that sometimes she feels like Moses in the bible story when he has to hold his arms up for Joshua and his men to fare well. When he let his arms rest, they did poorly. So Hur and Aaron held his arms up for him, and the battle was won. My mother-in-law is Moses, her children are Joshua and his men, and her arms are her constant prayers.

This story was one of the readings the weekend before Conor joined our family.

That previous week I remember sitting in a random Mass overwhelmed with teary eyes when I realized what parenthood is. Parenthood is a humbling experience. It is the most humbling I have yet to undertake because you know what? A lot of the time I have no idea what the in the world I'm doing. No idea. I'm just a mom with a whole lot of love, a fantastic husband, and the gift of getting to pick apart God's parenting wisdom through prayer.  As a parent, I need that gift. But really how often do I use it? As often as I check Instagram? No. I should stop letting that gift of prayer gather dust in the closet.

Sure, Ryan knows the last word of many Mass responses and alternates between one-knee and two-knee genuflecting depending on his level of balance for the day. He can do a sign of the cross shimmy, helps me sing hymns at bedtime and his most frequent matching activity is correctly putting the prayer cards he scattered about in the church lobby back in their spots. But you know what word he uses the most impeccably out of all the words that he knows?

Dammit.

Looking mischievous, but really an innocent parrot

Well, shoot, darn, insert euphemism here, you can tell that layer of dust is pretty thick. And it's a wonder he hasn't picked up my other not-so-prayerful sailor curses. Well, sometimes it might seem that he has, but that is really just toddler pronunciation. I hope. Thankfully, the reading my mother-in-law talked to me about is just the story that I need to get my praying action where it should be.

When I heard the reading on that Sunday when I was 39 weeks and 1 day with child, I knew that, through prayer, I need to constantly and intentionally hold my children's arms like Hur and Aaron and to actively and consciously support the arms of many wonderful people. So many people pray for me, and I'm so grateful.

Fast forward four weeks, and I have met that babe that was punching me in the kidney during that Mass.

And he is sweet. Sweet, sweet, sweet.

All he wants right now is to be in my arms, to be bounced, to hear my voice, to nurse and nurse and nurse, and I can do that. I can do that. But on those nights when I feel like I can't and when he. won't. go. to. sleep, I know I'll have my Hurs and Aarons holding my arms as I hold my babe.

So thanks. 

---
I hope that metaphor makes sense.

Anyone have good ways to sneak in extra prayer? My best ways are during nursing and walks. 

Yesterday's Babble

Yesterday, oh yesterday. 

It wasn't a terribly, no good, horrible day. It was actually a pretty darn good day of un-noteworthy normal. Which, in my blog world, means I have a lot of (not) cohesive notes to share. 
---
We walked to story time and made it a bit early, but only after starting to get ready an hour beforehand. It only took one hour because Conor was nice on my first full day without help and slept in until ten. Only one is a success? Starting with my bar low. Nice and low. 
---
Once we departed story time otherwise known as Ryan-stands-while-everyone-else-sits-time, we entered quite the fall wonderland. Colorful leaves, huge snowflakes and a pat on the back to my morning self who decided to dress everyone in many layers. 

---

Let's talk about this photo. A God's view selfie, I guess we could call them. A mark of a blogger or at least a mark of an Instagrammer. Campus was pretty quiet when I did the whole raise my phone over my head and blindly tap, tap, tap on my phone in the hope that at least one photo captures the boys and their #nofilterneeded background and not an unfortunate shot of my chest or my uncombed hair. Even if campus weren't quiet, I'm already the weird young one with kids; will a little embarrassing interpretive dancing be detrimental to my not important image? No. But when I think of myself behind the insta-scene, it's an insta-chuckle.

My editor is probably going to say that that whole paragraph does not make sense at all. And he is probably (definitely) right. Nevertheless, who got that? Because you get blog hugs from me. A valid currency, no?
---
Ryan got to try out his snowflake catcher for the first time this season. 
Video here. Conor wasn't interested as he just wanted his lunch-milk.
Ryan-catching-snowflakes from Katrina on Vimeo.

---
I went to heat something in the microwave only to be greeted by a burnt scent and a not-so-sweet memory from the day before that graham crackers CAN burn in the microwave. 
---
The sandman forgot to stop by at nap time. He is probably on vacation. I hope he gets sand in his swimsuit.

Stubborn and nap - defiant since 2012

---
Hulu plus and Bob the Builder wasn't working on the TV. Four o'clock circles around, the brooms come out and the witching hour of the day begins.

A lot of sand. I hope he gets a lot of sand in his swimsuit.
---
Ryan has created another opportunity to play peekaboo - between his legs during diaper changes. Now the soiled nature of those is offset by, "Peekaboo, Iseeyou!" I'll take it. 
---
I had dinner prepped to be heated at five. 5:40 o'c'ock as Ryan says rolls around, and I remember that it is Tuesday. On Tuesdays, Chris has a meeting after work, but I could not remember if he gets home at 6 or 6:30. In case you didn't know, there are 777 or so minutes between 6 and 6:30 in stay-at-home mom time. And the number of minutes between 6:30 and 6:31? Don't even joke about it. Not funny. 

6:29 pm, the Harrington home

 ---
It is funny that any poor behavior that occurs in the time between the expected time of arrival and the actual time of arrival absolutely must be blamed on the parent that isn't home. Am I right or am I right?
 ---
But then, Chris came home, and all was right. Not just me. 

---
What does the camel say? I don't know, but at bedtime when I sang that the new camel on Old MacDonald's farm had a spit here and a spit there, I sent Ryan into a peal of belly laughs. And another and another. It was one of those moments that was too good. I like that he thinks I'm funny when I don't even think that I am. 

So that was yesterday. I love you, yesterday, and I love this blog that I get to document you on.

Today we had a newborn who is, well, a newborn who wanted nothing else to be carried and a toddler with a fever who wanted nothing else than to be carried (not held, carried. And he requests that the piggy to his back-ride walk). Poor guy. Prayers that he gets better!

7 Quick Takes

Linking up with my fellow Instagram stalker, Jen, for 7 Quick Takes! 

Source

1. One day young. I saw this très belle series of photographs this week, and j'adore, j'adore, j'adore them. The photographer documented mothers holding their one day old babies, and the exhausted thrilling love just seeps from the photos. They make me ache for that whirlwind and wrinkly day! 


2. Bodyguard. My days are (leisurely, thanks to my mom!) spent as a baby-bodyguard. In the midst of, "I kissed him!" proclamations, Ryan seems to think it is his responsibility to show Conor some good old brotherly roughhousing even though Conor is less than two weeks old.

What did I ever do to you, bro? All I do is eat and sleep and stare. 

3. Pucker up. I've had people ask me what lip product I wear, and I guess Ryan was curious about it, too. 

It's Revlon Just Bitten Lip Balm Stain in Smitten. 

4. The Center for Ethics and Culture is having its Fall Conference this weekend, and Chris and I are tossing the idea around to go to a talk or two with baby in tow. I am not a huge conference person (at all), but Chris is all about stimulating the mind one philosophical discussion at a time and I love events where babies in slings are welcome. We will see! 

5. Soft, thick sweaters? I seem to have donated and discarded all of my soft, cozy sweaters in my latest clothing purge a few months ago, and now that the temperature has dipped and our thermostat and the winter temperatures don't have an inverse relationship, I need some. Anyone have any they purchased lately that they love? Preferably thick cardigans or wraps that are nursing friendly? I would thrift store it up, but I don't think I will be doing my hit up three thrift stores in one day routine for a while. 

I'm kind of a child when it comes to itchy sweaters so I am all about the synthetic, but if you somehow have a wool sweater that is as soft as Conor's skin, I'm all ears. 

6. Hair Help Needed. In the year of 2000, I was very touched by the millenium or something, and my New Year's resolution was to wear a different hair style seven days of the week. What a great self-improvement goal, no? What can I say, my fifth and sixth grade self was a gem (just for clarification - that is supposed to be read with sarcasm). I curled my hair so often that one of my close friends thought my hair was naturally curly. Uh, no. 

Anyway, I peaked too early in the hair department and by the time I was a senior in high school when people normally care about their appearance, I pretty much never did anything noteworthy with my hair, save for dances. To this day, I pretty much never even brush my hair because I can't shake a line I read in a magazine in high school that Gisele, "doesn't own a hair brush." I should probably get over that. 

So. What is this babbling take about? Well, I think I am ready to start sticking my split ends back into the doing my hair regularly waters so if anyone has any easy hair styles for long hair, send them my way! Hair tutorials, Pinterest boards, whatever. Extra points for updos because the baby in my arms is constantly getting his nose tickled by my wannabe-but-never-gonna-be Rapunzel hair. 

7. And we will round it out with a baby photo.

Happy Weekend! 

Postpartum Bullet Points

We have been home as a family of four for two days now, and it has been pretty blissful. Although, if you hear Ryan the Parrot's latest word, you would think otherwise. "Dan-nit!" doesn't exactly paint a picture of bliss does it? But, it is. We are enjoying a week of almost constant nursing, readings of Baby Bear, Baby Bear, What Do You See?, casual lunches with a baby in arms, casual dinners with a baby in arms, somersaults down Uncle David's old, giant beanbag and renditions of I'm a Little Pee-pot on repeat because well, when else in our life will we get a week straight together like this?

>>> Almost peri, peri bad - I was taking a luxurious shower yesterday morning when through the glass door, I saw Ryan walk into the bathroom. He was just in a diaper (duh), which just adds to the "we definitely have it all together" aura that is oozing from this post. Anyway, I watched him clammer up onto the toilet, and then watched him swipe the peri bottle from its permanent spot on the counter (any mom will understand it is my crutch that first week home).

Stooooooop! That is NOT a water bottle! Chris!!!

Fortunately, he put it down. Chris came in, I told him what happened, and we both laughed which caused Ryan to start crowing, "Joke! Joke! Joke!" otherwise known as his latest trick. 

>>> Ryan loves Conor. A bit too much, if that is possible? Baby! Kiss! Baby! Kiss! Let me put all of my weight on you, little eight and a half pound brother so I can kiss you!

>>> Conor loves nursing. Like brother, like brother. If his lips so much as brush anything, he starts rooting and rooting until Chris uproots and finds him his feeding source.

>>> I am not good at taking naps. I just normally burn the midnight oil and the noon oil until one day I crash. Having Chris at home this week means he forces me to take a nap with Ryan and Conor when Ryan goes down every day. I kind of love it. Maybe I will be a nap convert.

>>> Poor Conor is sporting his first badges of brotherly love and curiosity after Ryan scratched his nose on the ride home from the hospital.

>>> Chris is really good at taking care of us. Thanks, parents-in-law, for making him the oldest of twelve!

>>> Newborn sneezes are awwww-inducing. Newborn sneezes followed by a, "Bwess you!" are let-me-have-a-million-babies-feeling-inducing. 

>>> After-birth contractions are not fun at all. At all.

>>> Ryan still likes to kiss my belly, but that is okay since Kate Middleton brought bellies back. Plus, it's kind of cute.

I know things will get much harder when Chris goes back to work and after my mom leaves and then his mom leaves and the terrible twos come and maybe colic will introduce itself to us. But right now, this second time around with a newborn has been so fun, and we are treasuring it.  Maybe it's because we know in the blink of an eye, Conor will be clammering up onto the toilet to swipe a peri bottle ... but that will be a treasure, too. I kind of love being a parent.

Ruv You.

I am guilty of taking a lot of photos. A lot. I just had to go through 900+ photos on my camera app to clear enough space off of my phone so this little baking baby in my oven can be graced with the privilege of being captured by such fine photography equipment. Those 900+ photos were in addition to the thousand already living in my camera roll. 

I know, it's embarrassing. 

The next morning after making my phone win the biggest loser contest in terms of space used, Ryan and I were hanging out on the kitchen floor at five something in the morning. He was delightfully perched on the bottom step, and the cute combination of his heavy eyes above his it's a new day! smile were just daring me to not be content with the short hand on the clock. 

I snapped a photo, of course.

But the next day we were again at our luxurious seating arrangement, the kitchen floor, and having a ball singing, "I'm a Little Teapot." I couldn't bring myself to bring out that phone paparazzi of mine. I have no problem snapping photos of the warm-my-heart moments between Chris and Ryan because I'm just an observer in those sweet father-son moments. However, out of the 1500+ that were on my phone alone, I think only one shared between just Ryan and me was truly a Kodak moment - and it was captured by luck. It was Ryan's first smile, and I just happened to be taking a photo of him at the time to send to Chris at work. Most of the others were amazing times, of course, but they involved getting the phone out, choosing the app, waiting for the camera to focus and then inviting that intrusive biographer into our mother-son moment. Click, click. 

The best times are the ones for which I have no serendipitously timed photos. The best times come before the photos.

I should always remember that I am Ryan's mother, not his full time photographer. Right now, I don't always remember. When I am conversing with him about the ducks that flew! away! in the air! after he was running!, I want to truly be involved in the conversation no matter if it may be the tenth time we have had this conversation in two minutes. Because of this, I don't have photos of those sweet moments when we are jumping on the bed or singing about, "pee-pots." Or when he finally learns how to just turn the letter P just so for the puzzle space. Or when he lets us in on a new phrase for the first time (for example, tonight it was, "Mama! Girl! Gassy. Stinky!!")

Or of when he said first told me, "Ruv you." 

This morning, after rising in the more reasonable hour of six, we were wandering about the house. He was in his dinosaur footed pajamas with a black fleece pullover and had the craziest case of unruly hair that rivaled the namesake of one of his favorite baby youtube shows. (Einstein, if you aren't a parent who is thankful for screen-time). We went into the bedroom to grab something or other and as we passed the dresser, he hugged my leg and murmured, "Mama! Ruv you." 

Was I supposed to go search for my phone, run back to the spot and ask him to say it again? Isn't that like a significant other saying, "Thanks," in reply to your angst-ridden confession of love? I was just happy to soak it all in and feel my heart swell ... and swell ... and swell.

I ruv you, too, Ryan. Thanks for giving me a million uncaptured Kodak moments.

Adapted by Motherhood

Chris and I spent a short bit (a long bit) of time the other night clicking through baby photos of Ryan (yep, Baby #2 is due in a week and I still don't have photos of my firstborn printed out. Millenial mama?), and I just had to chuckle a bit and furrow my brow a little at what I remembered that baby looking like compared to what my oh-so-professional phone photos captured.  All of this then got me thinking about how I have changed in the jungle of motherhood.
 
So, the five senses. Have mine changed? Yes, I think so. Mothers have to adapt, after all.

SIGHT.

>>> Feline Fine - Can successfully make it from the bed to to the child with nary a toe stub in the pitch black dark. 

>>> Rogaine Strength - If everyone had a mother's eyes, Rogaine would be unnecessary. I never saw my child this bald:

But he was. 

>>> Clearly Better Than Clearasil - What baby acne? I don't see it. Teens all over the world wish that this power could be bottled up and sold at Walgreens across from the Haribo candy. 

HEARING. 

>>> Batman Has Nothing On Me - Not only can I anticipate sound and wake up before my baby cries, I can also hear the faintest scratch of a pencil on a wall. 

>>> Better Than a UN Translator - Frantic arm waving. Squeal and squawk. Yes, that is a bird in a tree! 

>>> Fear of Silence: Silence = Destruction. 

TOUCH

>>> Mom Bounce - She's got the rhythm (and baby's got to snooze) (Alan Jackson, anyone?)

>>>In addition, see above for navigating through a dark room ability.

TASTE

>>> Apathetic to Ideal Temperatures - A room temperature dinner just magnifies the flavors, right? 

>>> Standards Set to Sink Half Empty - Oh does that food allow for zero dish usage? Bingo, we have a winner. 

SMELL

>>> Hound Strong - Bomb or bullet, in this case, she who smelt it, did not dealt it, but probably has to change it. 

>>> Perfumist - How else could a newborn always, always smell like the best in the world amid spit up and diaper bombs?

Anyone have anything to add? Make me laugh, my friends! 

Katrina, Read This in Three-ish Weeks

When the new little one is fussing and wailing and fussing and wailing in the wee hours of the night, I'll remember that Ryan used to do still does that (albeit occasionally).

When the baby must be held precisely at dinner-making time, I'll remember that Ryan outgrew still adamantly fits on that perch of a (former) hip (and now belly).

Dinner making chez Harrington circa tonight.

When the newborn doesn't give me a moment of privacy, I'll remember that Ryan gives that freely in exchange for a mess somewhere and everywhere.

Okay, okay.

When all of that and more happens, I'll remember that I look back and dearly miss those nights of tired pacing, dinner making with a Ryan-peanut on the side and one-handed Olympics even though they may still be happening, toddler-size. 

Motherhood. It is a mystery.

On Singing

Ryan just went down for the night after a not so bad day that started at 5:50am when he knocked on our bedroom door. Normally when he wakes up at four something (do the minutes really matter when four is the hour) or five something (see the last parenthetical), I hear his door open followed by extremely loud cries for mama. A very pleasant alarm. But this morning! I heard his door open and braced myself for the whole rolling out of bed maneuver my belly requires to get up and calm him down. The wails of the early bird not finding his worm didn't come, but little knock, knock, knocks! I opened our door, and there was the little pantsless son of mine smiling and chirping, "Knocking! Knocking!" With that start, we had a very fine early morning full of a first breakfast and a second breakfast because Ryan's stomach insists on making this home Harrington-shire.

So that is how the day began. Then we had a roller coaster of a morning of a nurse's visit for shots, ice cream to make it all better, and two thrift store stops. I discovered that the key to keeping him in the cart is to only let him hold a trophy if he is sitting down in that portable jail. We will see if it works next time, and there will be a next time because I have the thrifting bug, and I don't know if there is a shot for that. Our afternoon was positively splendid after deciding at the last minute to bike to the park, finding it empty and then Kathryn randomly arrived, followed by Ana, followed by Lauren. Sometimes park days are perfect. 

Back to bedtime. I have been weaning Ryan for the past week so my only magic trick for putting the rascal to bed is to sing. If you were from my family or if you are a random Mass goer who so happened to be sorrily graced by my full heart and voice, you would know that the word magic is spot-on because it would seem impossible for my singing voice to lull any hearing being to sleep. In middle school, I tried out for the lead in the mandatory eighth grade play (there were twenty of us in the grade ... the competition was steep). After my audition, I was at the teacher's desk with other classmates (it was a very informal class), saw my audition form, curiosity killed the Kat, and so I read the words, "No pitch." Do re mi fa so la ti, NO, you are not getting the part. Needless to say, the role went to a very deserving classmate of mine. 

So it is magic that Ryan demands me to, "Sing!" when we lie down on his bed. As I warbled through a hymn and eventually gave in to his requests for the fight song (normally I'm no fun and categorize the victory march as non-sleep inducing), I thought about my own mom's lullabies. They were and are as tone deaf as you can be, save for my own, but I think her singing voice is one of the most comforting things to hear.

Fraulein Maria, I'm not, but a mother, I am. And that trumps any Broadway talent, according to my son. 

Snapped this selfie to preserve the very first time he requested the fight song

Confession of a Mom with an Internet Connection.

Happy Nap Time! Except that it is 10pm as I write this. So really, unless you are a college student about to take a nap before finishing your paper or going out, it is not nap time. Today, I just once again fell into the trap that my beloved nap time can be. 

Did I type the words "nap time" enough in that last paragraph?

I always tell myself that I should do my blogging at nap time. I am alone with absolutely nothing to distract me. Absolutely nothing. Right?

An oldie, but a goodie.

Let's say it is a day that I plan to blog. Bills have been paid, laundry has been folded (ha, does that ever really end?), dinner will be quick enough to make while Ryan is awake, house is decently picked up, etc. 

- Ryan is finally asleep.
- Open the fridge. No leftovers. Not in the mood for anything of nutritional value.
- Open the pantry. Think about cooking something for lunch for an eighth of a second. Shot down by my lack of desire to wash any dishes that I use while cooking. 
- Bagel and cream cheese it is!
- Pop the bagel in the toaster.
- Sit down at the computer with full intention to click clack a post out.
- Open Blogger
- Hmmm, maybe I'll watch Hulu just to have something in the background.
- Start Project Runway. 
- Check Suri's Burn Book. 
- Check Facebook. Won't go into extreme detail because hey, you have to keep some things like Facebook stalking private! Wink, wink.
- Someone posted a Buzzfeed list. Laugh and nod. 
- Ding! Bagel is toasted
- Smother on the cream cheese. (Hey! I'm pregnant!)
- Sit back down. 
- Notice the printer blinking. Oh yes, must order ink cartridges.
- Go to eBay with the intention of purchasing ink cartridges.
- See on the home page that they are recommending a lot of crochet yarn to me. 
- What would I crochet?
- Head to Pinterest. 
- Distracted by all of my Pinterest friends' impeccable taste. Lose myself a bit in my interest.
- Get even more distracted by meal plan pins. 
- Maybe I should meal plan for the first time ever.
- But what is the best way to meal plan??
- Better look through pins.
- Explore crockpot meal planning.
- What about Paleo meal planning?
- Somehow I find myself reading about a woman who planned every single meal for a year. 
- I can so do that.
- Start a list of meals.
- Get overwhelmed after resorting to breakfast for dinner for our seventh meal idea.
- Reach for my bagel. It's all gone. I don't remember eating it. 
- Better toast another!
- Sit back down and remember that I wanted to look at crochet ideas. 
- See a few cute crocheted snowflakes. 
- I should crochet a bunch for our Christmas tree!
- Where can I buy bulk yarn? Search. 
- Look for coupon codes. 
- Go back to Pinterest to check for what type of yarn.
- Ding! Cream cheese, round two. (With twins?)
- Oh yeah, I was supposed to meal plan.
- Start searching for delicious meals. 
- Pioneer Woman lassos me in.
- I'll have one of every recipe on her website.
- Reach for bagel. Gone. I have bagel amnesia.
- Okay, I need to get it together. Back to eBay. Now they are telling me to look at thread. 
- What was that secondhand site all the bloggers are talking about? 
- Now tied up by ThredUp.
- Boot-searching-boogie commences. 
- I need a boot kick in my blogging arse! 
- Go back to that very first tab in my browser window titled, "Blogger."
- Blink at the blinking cursor.

Cries come from the bedroom. 

Now I'm the cursor. 

I'll be WAAAAH-ight back. 

(We know that is not true).

(Tell me I'm not the only one).

To Be Deleted

This post will be deleted once our children are old enough to find and read their mother's blog. If it still exists whenever that time comes, that is. 

You fooled me, Mom.

Confessions to my children that you will not hear from my mouth until you, yourselves, are parents:

--- I hated making my bunk bed growing up. Tucking sheets and blankets into the rails is the worst. Somehow though, I willingly purchased a twin over full bunk bed with a trundle when I was pregnant with Ryan (well, if that doesn't give away our family plan hopes ...). And now, since Ryan isn't exactly capable of making the bed beside tossing a throw pillow or two on, I make the bunk bed. 

And I still hate it. Yay, siblings sharing rooms. Boo, bunk beds.  

--- I haven't made our bed that doesn't even have pesky side rails in three weeks. 

--- I tell Ryan that he can't eat all the cheese while I am grating it. Yet, somehow half the block makes it into my mouth whenever he looks away. 

--- Every night I tell Ryan how important it is to close his eyes and get some sleep. Hours after he finally caved to the power of my silent sleep, baby, sleep mantra, I am still awake, probably staring at a wall or someone's brunch on Instagram, not listening to my own advice. 

---I'll most likely take away whatever hypothetical electronic device that connects you to the rest of the world, but disconnects you from me even though I am right next to you. Yeah, I've checked three different social media apps in the short time span of typing these confessions on, get this ... another electronic device.

--- I can't stand wearing itchy clothes, too. I'm sorry if I buy you a wool sweater.

--- I do actually know where those nonsensical number books went.  Out of your sight and reach.

--- Ryan gets a time out when he throws a tantrum whenever I innocently bring him the wrong (according to him!) food. Did I get a time out for this? No.  

Read this quick because pretty soon it will be filed away with a number of old photos.