Survival Mode

This photo popped up on my memories recently. It was taken three years ago. My son was using a breathing treatment. Again. Because his oxygen levels were low. Again. I had just given him a steroid pill to help with said oxygen levels and he threw it up. Again. While I was cleaning that up, he drew all over his legs with a marker.

Three years ago, I was surviving. That was it.

Gather around, friends, there’s something I want you to know.

You are amazing. And, what you’re being asked to do right now is bullshit. Your survival mode isn’t endless. It’s essential, but not endless. So, when we are done surviving, we must care for ourselves properly in order to thrive.

18 months after this photo was taken, I stopped sleeping. I had not healed what my family had gone through. And it caught up with me.

Today, with proper self-care. Sleep. Writing. And therapy. I’m healing. I’m less in overdrive.

But, I’m worried about the state of parents right now, and what we will experience on the other side of this pandemic. I’m concerned we will all wake up at 3 am wondering what the hell just happened to our collective families.

Keep surviving, yes. But, let’s lean on each other to heal. If you need to chat, I have coffee. Looking for a therapist? I’ll hook you up with the name of a good one. If you want to run, my legs are strong. And if you need someone to truly hear how hard it is, I will listen.

So, stop on over. The boy might still be covered in marker but he’s probably not puking.

Cheers, my friends!

Polar Bears

Several months ago, my husband picked my daughter up from school and asked her how her day was. She replied, “Terrible!” Surprised, he dug a little to better understand what was so terrible. She told him she’d explain when we were all home together.

Without warning of that interaction, I got home and saw my daughter lying on the couch looking exhausted. I asked her; “Nora, are you ok?”

She sat up. Slowly. And announced she could now explain why her day was terrible.

She then educated us on the danger the polar bears of the world are experiencing through climate change. She had tears in her eyes as she asked me what we could do.

We talked about the ways our family could make a difference and set out to do so. She reminded her brother constantly that leaving the lights on when we weren’t in a room would hurt the polar bears. I even caught her telling a character in a movie that their situation wasn’t “as bad as the polar bears'!”

This girl was feeling this pain deeply.

A few weeks later as the snow began to melt outside our Iowa windows Nora showed up in the bathroom announcing there was an emergency outside. We had litter in our yard. Stuck under the melting snow and what would this do to the polar bears?!?

***

A few weeks ago, I completely lost control of all my emotions. Alone in my car.

I was listening to Glennon Doyle’s new book, Untamed, and couldn’t believe my ears when a chapter in her book told an identical story about her daughter. In kindergarten. Learning about the polar bears.

It hit me. All at once. I’m watching my daughter grow into herself and admittedly have had the urge to tame her.

My girl is unapologetically sensitive to the world’s issues. She's Untamed. And, we need her to be.

As her mama, I need to respond. So, our family has gotten more involved with Indian Creek Nature Center. We do what we can to support them with our time, talent and treasure. Today, they need our support more than ever!

Because...

"First, it’s the polar bears.

Then, it’s us."

Lane Assist

I bought a Subaru Outback just over a year ago. With it, came this amazing feature “lane assist.” If you’re not familiar, this feature maps your lanes and gives you a gentle nudge if your vehicle veers out of said lanes. I'm not a girl who gets too excited about cars. In fact, I was was once on SR22 insurance due to too many accidents. However, I find this feature to be quite literally a life saver.

It’s also a reminder each day of my role as a parent.

I remember telling a co-worker just after Nora was born that I always thought parenting was about making our kids into the best versions of themselves. But, once Nora was born, I knew she was already her best self. As a baby, I could see it in her eyes. I knew, through her eyes, my job was to map the lanes for her, and gently nudge her each time she was veering out of the them.

But, my job has gotten so much harder these last few months. My dear Nora is driving on roads that are unfamiliar to both of us. Kindergarten is in full swing. For us, this means her brain is going faster than a Subaru can drive. The lanes she has grown accustomed to staying in are expanding. She is seeking more control. She is falling apart and wanting to put the pieces back together herself. For God’s sake, her teeth are falling out of her mouth! Ha!

So, each morning I look into those sweet eyes and remember that my job is the gentle nudge. The lane assist. It’s not to drive the car for her (no matter how tempting). And while lane assist doesn’t prevent accidents, it helps keep us aware of the boundaries.

In short, kindergarten is hard.

And we can do hard things.

Cheers, my friends!

To the Woman Who Bought My Jogging Stroller...

I cried thinking about selling you this stroller. Tears of joy and a bit of sadness.

My husband and I struggled with infertility for two years before finally finding out we were expecting our daughter. In those two years, I dreamed about being the kind of mama who ran with my kiddos. I’d get stronger on those runs. Mentally and physically. I’d teach my daughter to love her body and all that it can accomplish.

I ran once with my daughter when she was eight months old. Days later, I found out I was pregnant again.

My son, who was born seventeen months after my daughter, brought with him more sleepless nights than I can count. I found solace on runs with him. I would run so he’d sleep. I’d run so I could release the tension I felt far too often with a baby and a toddler.

Today, my two little miracles are far too large to run with (and they may be faster than me). So, I pass this stroller to you! I hope you enjoy being “the mama who runs” as much I do.

Your miles with this stroller may be slower than the ones you had before it but I promise you they pass quickly.

Happy running, mama!

"Mom, I'm mad at you!"

“Mom, I’m mad at you!”

I didn’t know these words could bring me so much comfort.

You see, I’m raising a boy.

A boy who instinctively wants to tackle. Who is drawn to motors, wheels, and super heroes in a way that feels unfamiliar to me.

And, I feel a responsibility that is also unfamiliar.

I feel responsible for creating an environment that makes it safe for him to explore his natural interests. And instincts. Because while his interests include a whole bunch of things that are classically masculine by our society’s standard - that is not him in his entirety. His instincts, they include being sad when a friend is not nice. And angry with big expressions when things don’t go his way. And kind in subtle and gentle ways. 

It feels important to embrace all these facets of his little soul at the impressionable age of three.

Because, our boys. I don't think they're okay.

While the roles of women have evolved {with a long journey still ahead}, the roles our boys play in our society have been slower to evolve. I believe my son can be his full self if we create an environment that is welcoming. And, somehow, this feels at the root of where we are as a country.

So, I’m trying hard to do my part.

To tell my son to share his feelings.

All of them.

The big ones that want to erupt as punches.

And the little ones that stop a friend in the hall to tell her she looks beautiful.

Even the ones that come out in the succinct phrase of; “Mom, I’m mad at you!”

I simply thank him for telling me.

Reassuring him that we all get mad.

The After

It’s been a little over a year since we discovered Weston’s coconut allergy. And, not quite a year since we eliminated dairy from his diet. To say we’ve seen vast improvements in his sleep, well-being and behavior, is an understatement.

When I share the story of Weston’s health challenges for the first two years of his life, I’m always met with the comment; “did everything get so much better after you figured it out?”

And, the answer is; “yes!”

But also; “no!”

You see, after the hundreds of up-all-nights, the thousands of questions to the doctor, husband, friends and family, after we started sleeping again, after Weston started smiling more than he coughs, and after everything didn’t seem so hard, I realized I was changed.  

The After. Thankful our little guy is happier and healthier. Photo by Studio K Squared

And change is hard.

Last year, around my birthday, I woke up after only a couple hours of sleep, and I stayed awake for almost four hours. For no reason. Just awake. In a panic about how I would feel the next day with so little sleep. I’d been there {exhausted} before. Hundreds of times. For good reason. Because I was up all night with a sick child. But this wasn’t for a good reason. I just couldn’t sleep.

Then, it happened again a few months later. And, again, a few months after that. Then, once a week for many months. And, finally, many nights in a row.

So, I began to do an inventory on my life.

I noticed an electricity in my body at the mere sound of a cough. A physical reaction to a noise that had caused myself, and my family, so much pain.

I noticed relationships I once took for granted. Cracked. Strained. Not what they once were but not something evolved either.

And I noticed myself still in overdrive. Still regimented in my activities. Trying to control the uncontrollable.

Did life get so much better after we figured out what was causing Weston so much pain, and our family such heartache?

Yes!

But also, no!

Because, I’m learning, my friends, in the after, you’re left with the remnants of the trauma you’ve experienced. These remnants, they're gifts. But, it's up to you to find their place with the new you. 

A Blue Camaro

It happened again the other day. Heels on. Professional attire in place. I grabbed my coat to head out for a meeting. I zipped it up, and put my hands in my pockets for warmth (because I’m never put together enough to remember gloves). And there it was. I could feel the familiar outline. I felt the curves of the metal and the curve creep across my face too. My smile was uncontrollable. 

A small blue Hot Wheel Camaro was in my pocket.

I was so thankful to hold it. To smile for a second and think of my little man who never leaves home without a vehicle in his hand. While he spends his days at school, and I spend my days at work, we are connected.

These little reminders of my daily motivation, they’re everywhere. Sometimes it's a blue Camaro and sometimes it's a purple hair bow. They're in my coat pockets, purse, and under the seats of my car. Every time I find one I can’t help but smile.

This season of parenting is hard. There's never any time and I always feel I'm stretched too thin. But these tiny reminders, they help. They are quick examples of my why. Why I wake up before the sun rises, and close down my computer long after it sets.

This car is neither blue or a Camaro. It was another car. On another day.

I already know, one day, in the not-so-distant future, I’ll stop finding these reminders everywhere I look. The Camaro and the purple bow will be missing from my pockets, and the little people they belong to won’t be so little anymore.

So, for now, I smile with gratitude. And refill my coffee.

Cheers!

What I Learned When I Quit My Job

I've been sitting on some writing the last few months.

Sometimes it's best to write. And think.

And then share.

I quit my job.

Yup, you know that job I’ve loved for over six years? I stopped loving it. Slowly. It started with some cracks and continued until it was a full fracture. If I’m honest, I was a little broken too. I stopped being my best self. I got burnt out. I lost some confidence along the way.

And, sometimes, when something is fractured, you just need to break it in order to put it back together. So, I broke it. I made the decision to leap without knowing exactly where I'd land.

And I learned some stuff. 

We are not our careers.

I sit on the board of a local non-profit and shortly after I quit my job, I attended a board meeting. There were new members of the board present so we all went around the room and introduced ourselves, saying what we do. Jobless, I froze. Without the title of Marketing Director, what am I? And, why am I here?

The truth is, we are not our careers. They are a part of us, but not the totality. What outlasts a job or a career path are the relationships gained along the way. We build these relationships by helping others to grow, doing work that inspires and investing in each other. These relationships define the person; not the job itself. And, frankly, I did a great job building and maintaining some of the relationships gained during the past few years of my career. And other relationships I did a piss-poor job of establishing and growing. We live and we learn.

I am not meant to be a stay-at-home mom.

I adore my children. Anyone who has only had brief contact with me since having kids knows this to be true. I’m borderline obsessed. I’m also an achiever. I like to set goals and accomplish them. And, every parent knows that any day home with kiddos means you’re simultaneously doing so much while getting nothing done!

And, yes, you’re doing the most important work. I believe that to my core. But, I also know that my mental health can’t take the feeling of coming up empty every day. I always thought this to be true, but the experience of being home with my kiddos with no job to attend to each day, made me know this to be true.

I so admire all the stay-at-home mamas I know. I am absolutely in awe of them. I know I don’t have it in me to do this important work so I’m proud to have found a good village. And I’m happy to know myself well enough to know this is best for our family.

Pausing is important.

I’ve heard the power of meditating comes from lengthening the time between thoughts. Embracing the pause. Lingering in the pause.

We go from singlehood to marriage with little pause. Just the two of us to a family of three with absolutely no pause. And, typically, job to job with no pause. The problem with this is that each new phase of our life is going to expect a new us. To figure out the parts of our selves needed for each new phase takes a pause. It takes a moment to identify what strengths we need to focus on and what areas we need to improve upon to bring our best selves to this next challenge.

I was blessed with a pause. I know this time was a gift. I was fortunate to end up with options for my next career path and I understand this isn’t the case for all. But, whether that pause is taken by quitting a job or just taking a few days off, I believe it’s important.

So, more to come about what's next in my professional life. 

Cheers!

Why I Write

This little world where I come to write is growing. And, I’m happy and proud. And nervous. It’s hard to sit down and put my feelings into words about complicated things like life, parenthood and baked goods. Heck, sometimes it’s even hard to find the time. To add to the complexity, the world around us feels noisy right now.

So, I’ve been a little quiet lately as the noise has gotten to me. I've taken this time to sort through my thoughts about why I write. Some of the reasons are simple… It’s an outlet. I like words. I think words are important. I also think it’s important to do hard things. But, really, I kept coming back to a Sandra Bullock movie. Because, of course!

Remember Crash? There was a line in there that always stuck with me;

"I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something."

I got a note from a reader recently. She’s expecting. Her and her husband had tried for years. They decided IVF was right for them. Then, about the time she was to start the whole process, she found out she was pregnant. She’s thrilled. Excited. And, nervous. She crashed into this little corner of the universe and learned she’s not alone. She found comfort in our sharing.

I cried.

I recently wrote about parenting after infertility. And, I heard from an old friend. She crashed into some words she needed to read;

"Unfortunately experience isn't something you can wrap-up with a bow. Instead I can gift them this... the dark moments will eventually give way to sunshine."

She thanked me for sharing, and I cried, again!

In short, I write to crash into all of you. To feel what we don’t stop and feel without intention. To be scared, happy, sad and nervous – together! We can do hard things – life, pregnancy, parenting, running, juggling – but it’s a little easier if we do them together.

Why I write... It's important to do hard things!

So, thanks for reading! Thanks for crashing into my little place in this big world. And thanks for sharing. Please come back. And bring coffee and scones!

Talking About Scones, Again!

To say the months leading up to welcoming our son were stressful is an understatement. My work was going through a merger which included a name-change and massive re-branding. As the marketing director, this meant long hours for months on end (for me and the little man in my belly). In addition to that, the daycare our daughter had attended since she was three months old made the decision to close. We were on a search for a new place to love our littles after starting at a new place that was proving to not be a good fit.

I’d wake up each day tired and sore. I’d drop my daughter off at school and leave with her in tears. I’d answer emails, that weren’t always pleasant, at all hours of the day, and head into work to deal with a team that wasn’t quite integrating. In between it all, I’d stop at our local co-op and treat myself to a scone.  I’d made friends with the workers there. They watched my belly grow and on the day my son was born asked, “When are you due?” To which I replied, “Hopefully today!”

This is all to say this scone obsession started long before my maternity leave. In the week after Weston was born, Andy went to grab a scone and surprise me with it. After entering our member number at the check-out, the lady working exclaimed, “Did your wife have her baby?!” I had been caught! I had to admit that our son was made primarily of raspberry cream scones.

As I slowly figured out the recipe that made our new family of four hum, I also figured out a recipe to make my own scones. I figured out how to put one little down for a nap without the other one completely losing it about the time I realized I needed more cream in the scone recipe. I figured out that we run best with structure as I added another tablespoon of sugar to the scones. I learned that my heart would indeed grow so big with this new addition that sometimes it felt it might explode as I finalized the glaze for my baked goods. And, as a result, I might have the only two year old who counts “scone” as one of her initial words.

So, please enjoy my tried and true recipe. It really is a labor of love!

Cheers!

Raspberry Cream Scones

(from someone who really doesn’t know her way around the kitchen)

Combine the dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Then, mix the cream, egg and vanilla in a smaller bowl and place it in the fridge (Google why having very cold ingredients is important for scones). Next, cut the butter into small cubes and mix it in with the dry ingredients. I use something like this to mix it. Using your hands is not ideal as, again, you want your ingredients (especially the butter) to remain as cold as possible.

Next, mix in your "wet" ingredients. I typically fold them in with a spatula. Then, mix in about a cup of the fruit of your choice. The below finished product shows blueberries instead of raspberries. Finally, I brush on a little cream and sprinkle sugar and salt on top to ensure they are crispy on the outside and flaky on the inside.

PS - Other uses for scones include; toddler bribery, husband bribery and exhaustion relief... they really are a cure all!

Two Minutes

My two year old daughter’s sounding cry these days is “two minutes.”

“Nora, let’s get PJs on!”
“Two minutes, Mama!”

Or

“Nora, we’ll go to the park in five minutes.”
“Two minutes, Dada?”

She has no idea how long two minutes lasts. She solely understands that two minutes is some time in the future. Not now.

Her concept of time has me thinking about my two minutes with her and her brother. We have an amount of time with our littles that is extremely limited in the grand scheme of life. Our mundane minutes will turn into their memories and I’ve often thought about the few things I hope they remember.

I hope they remember the laughter.
We laugh through the good and bad. We laugh because Weston insists upon carrying around a fake corn cob all day, and Nora calls him “Peto” when he acts like a dog! We laugh to keep ourselves from crying when the night blurs into day, and things go terribly wrong (cue mishaps like accidentally biting a kid’s finger, poop on the floor, etc.).

And, they were heard. 
Even though our kiddos are still little, we work hard to recognize their emotions. Nora gets frustrated easily and lashes out. Weston is more sensitive and sometimes cries when Nora cries. I hope they remember their feelings being acknowledged. I hope even when we disagree, today and in all the years to come, they remember being heard.

That they are loved.
I hope when they think back to their childhood and these early years, they remember the love. I hope they remember sprinting into our arms and how much our faces light up when we see them. I hope they remember lying with us when they didn’t feel good, and at least some fragments of our family adventures.

What do you hope your littles remember from their childhood?

A version of this post previously appeared at St. Luke's Birth Care Center.

Mom Olympics

With the Olympic Games kicking off this week, it got me thinking about the idea of a “Mom Olympics.” We all deserve a medal for merely getting through the days. Some days are certainly worth a gold while others barely deserve a bronze! But, there are some events that would be entertaining to see play out in an Olympic format. I’ve outlined a few of these events below!

Event #1: The Diaper Sprint

You know this one, get one diaper off while simultaneously adjusting the new one so your little darling doesn’t have a chance to relieve him or herself all over!

Event #2: The Bedroom Sneak

This one is no joke in our house! How can babies sleep in their stroller while planes are overhead and yet wake up to the slightest door creak? You deserve a medal every time you slither out of the room without the baby alarm sounding!

Event #3: Toddler Translating

I’m positive that my toddler often sounds like this to the average person… “Fadiblyabentruepeese?!” to which I always know she is requesting to go on a family adventure…please! Toddler translating at its best!

Event #4: Simultaneous Napping

Want to know how I’m able to find the time to type these words right now? Simultaneous naps! They don’t happen often. They are so rare when they do occur I sometimes get overly excited, and can’t decide what to do with my time. Then, the next thing I know, someone is awake again and all I did was get lost in the Facebook abyss. Seize your 20 minutes, mamas!

Event #5: Pumping and ­­­_____

Insert every awkward place you’ve ever pumped in the above blank and give yourself a medal. Breastfeeding is hard and is made even more difficult when you have to find time to pump in between all the other Mom Olympic Events!

Event #6: Wine Dance

A glass of wine at the end of the day is often the reward for completing so many monumental events. The real challenge is determining how many glasses is too many glasses to remain productive the following day!

Event #7: The Family Photo Session
I like a good candid photo that shows "real life." But, for two seconds can real life not include the baby barfing on himself while his sister plugs his nose? When you capture all members of the family looking at the camera, it's time to reward yourself!

Worthy of at least a bronze, yes?

What events have I missed? And, what event would you medal in? Admittedly, I might have the wine dance down! 

A version of this post previously at Today Parents.

You Could Have Told Me

Hey little bud with that toothy grin that makes my heart beat differently than it did ten months ago! Yeah, you, with that perfect baby body and the sweetest cuddles. You there. You could have warned me.

You could have given me a gentle nudge while you hiccuped in my belly. A nudge that told me these last ten months were going to redefine the word hard!

You could have told me the fear I felt when your sister didn't cry out for me in the middle of the night any longer would be trumped by the fear I felt when you were sick and cried out in misery.

You could have told me my heart would swell with love for you more quickly than your sister's and it would simultaneously ache while I watched hers catch up.

You could have warned me that I wouldn't sleep for ten months straight. That I’d curse the woman I was before I met you – the woman who seemed to know it all about how to make a baby feel secure enough to sleep!

Frankly, you could have told me you'd be the catalyst for me to call everything I thought I knew into question... how to be a working mom, an effective wife and partner, and a nurturing parent.

You could have warned me, bud, but I know I wouldn't have listened. Instead, as you have grown ounce by ounce, I have grown in patience and understanding. In the process of completing our family, you've helped complete me. My mind is more open and judgment comes slower now. I’m not perfect, but I’m thankful.

You are a rare gift, Weston – the rainbow in the middle of the rain. And, I’m thankful for all the love, lessons and laughter you’ve brought to our lives.

A version of this post previously appeared at St. Luke's Birth Care Center.

Embracing Chaos

We had “one of those nights” recently that seem all too common these days. Both kids were restless which meant their bedroom doors were revolving as Andy and I entered and exited to comfort and rock. It was a week day so the restless night turned into a busy morning, and before I knew it we were walking down the hallway of daycare thirty minutes late.

Nora seemed to be walking slower than normal. I turned to check on her just in time to see her throw up all over the floor. I quickly scooped her up to once again comfort her when round two came – on my head! We turned right around and headed home just in time for me to change my clothes, pull my puke-covered hair into a ponytail and call into a video meeting from my laptop.

After the puking episode. Is it just me or does she look a little proud?

Just another day at the Wendlings!

I’ve been quiet over here on this blog for some time. I keep thinking if my kids start sleeping consistently, work slows down or everyone stays healthy, I’ll give the blog a makeover and get back to it. But, kids don’t sleep, work doesn’t slow, and health is relative. So, now’s as good a time as ever.

It’s taken me over nine months to get to this place, but I think I’m finally embracing the chaos. I grossly underestimated how hard having two littles so close together would be. But, this is our life today. It's crazy and beautiful and will soon enough be nothing but a cloud of hazy memories. And, while I can’t always laugh in the moment or embrace my puke-covered head, I can document it! So, I’m back and committing to make this a place for love, laughter, honesty and embracing the chaos.

Cheers!

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good ,Very Bad Day in Parenting

It was 2:00 in the morning (I think?) and the two littles were crying in what can only be described as “rounds.” You know, like how you sing Row, Row, Row Your Boat? One person starts and the other joins in? Yea, it was like that! Anyway, I finally lost it. I said things I shouldn’t have and put the two year old in her bed before my husband calmly came in from the baby’s room (after FINALLY getting him to sleep) and became the voice of reason. 

Ultimately, we eventually got the two year old to sleep, the baby started crying again and everyone was up – for the day – by 6:00 am.

We decided to head to the farmer’s market because “if we push both kids in strollers, they’ll sleep!” We were excited to treat ourselves to our favorite coffee! 

They didn’t fall asleep. 

And, the coffee shop wasn’t open for this particular farmer’s market. 

We cut our losses and headed back to the car because “if we drive around, the kids will sleep!” We were excited to get coffee at Starbucks in this new scenario because it has a drive-thru. 

When we arrived back to the car there was a flat tire. (I’m certain this was my karmic retribution for the lack of grace I showed in the wee hours of the morning.) 

And, the day was just getting started. From there we encountered technical issues with the bad tire that required tow truck dispatch, a friend picked us up, and we left a trail of Cheerios in her clean vehicle as a thank-you for her kind heart.

I write all of this down so I can laugh in a few years when I’m looking back at this time in our lives that can only be described as chaos. We’ll forget. This post will remind us! And, it will be funny. But only in retrospect because the day ended with a black cat running in front of our car. Mama said there’d be days like this, right?

Getting Honest About Sleep!

There’s an old country song that goes something like this; “Six days on the road and I’m gonna make it home tonight.” For whatever reason, it plays on repeat in my head when I think about our current state of sleep deprivation. But, I edit the lyrics a bit; “Seven months with no sleep but I’ve gotta have some hope tonight!”

I hesitate to even write this post as I always cringe at the way our society treats sleep when it comes to babies. How many times have you heard, “so, how’s he sleeping?” This question always seems to be posed with an ounce of judgement – as if sleep somehow separates the good parents from the not-so-good parents. But, I’m writing this post anyway. Frankly, I’m writing it for all those parents who are living on four hours of interrupted sleep, caffeine and hope that tonight’s the night!

Our trip down the road of severe sleep deprivation began innocently enough. We packed our little man up at 13 weeks old and sent him off to daycare. Sure, we weren’t sleeping great at that point but he was still so young, and we were sleeping as well as expected. But, daycare did what daycares do – they loved our boy hard! But, they also shared some germs with him. Those germs turned into a cough which was eventually identified as the dreaded RSV. It took us the better part of three weeks to get him through the worst of the RSV.

Our hope was once he was feeling better, we’d build some better sleep habits and right our ship. But, RSV gave way to one ear infection after another, and now our little guy hasn’t had a clear ear since the beginning of February. Sleep is hard to come by for Mom, Dad and Baby Boy these days (thankfully Nora is still sleeping like a rock!).

 

Andy and I have both missed work and social outings abound. I’ve never been a fan of the idea of cry-it-out, but I’ve also never gone this long on such little sleep. We never made a choice to co-sleep, but we’ve admittedly landed there when the nights have gotten long and busy days lie ahead. I’ve felt like a horrible parent and a great parent in the same day. I’ve cursed myself countless times for not putting him down “drowsy but awake” more often, and have felt jealousy when I hear about friends’ babies who sleep!

But, we’re doing the best we can – just like the parents with a sound-sleeper! We’re shedding tears at 2:00 in the morning because we don’t know what’s wrong with our baby. Then, we’re drowning our under-eyes in eye cream and running a business meeting the next day. We’re making time for doctor appointments and strategic planning sessions while not folding the laundry. There are dishes in our sink, and not enough hours in our day, but cuddles are plentiful.

Here’s what I’m trying to say about this sticky subject of sleep… we’re all more alike than different! Maybe sleep isn’t your battle – maybe it’s something else. Regardless, it’s important to remind ourselves there’s a story behind every struggle. If we can remember that, we just might find ourselves with more comrades in this battlefield we call parenting.

For today, I’ll drink some coffee and hope that tonight will be our night because… “Seven months with no sleep but I’ve gotta have some hope tonight!”

This post previously appeared on St. Luke's Birth Care Center.

Welcoming Weston Charles!

It’s probably a testament to the whole “second child syndrome” that it’s taken me a month to sit down and write this. If I’m being honest I think today might be the first day in a month that I haven’t had to squint to see through the lack of sleep in my eyes. And, it should be said that I’m existing this way because I sat (not laid) down on the couch with Weston and accidentally woke up two hours later. So, the introduction to welcoming Weston could be summarized as; having two kids is hard. I realize that there are millions of people who do it and even more who have more than two kids but I say this with the utmost sincerity… I have no idea how you do it!

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Back to one month ago …

I began noticing some contractions as I dropped Nora off at daycare. They weren’t yet painful so I headed to work for the morning, and quietly tallied the contractions  during meetings and conference calls. Around noon I decided that I should head home.

Once home I finished sending emails for work and even took a nap – knowing that if things continued to progress I would need the energy. Once I woke up, I finalized plans for Nora and went for another walk as Andy made his way home and my doula, Melissa, headed to our house. Everyone rallied at our house around 4:30 which is when I think active labor really picked up!

I was so thankful to labor at home for a few hours. It was nice to chat between contractions and to feel comfortable as things progressed. One of my favorite moments was when – between contractions – Andy asked Melissa and me what it all felt like. I’m not sure either of us were able to give him a great description – I think we likened a contraction to a Charlie Horse?

Photo by Heart Shot Photo

Around 6:00 Melissa began to talk to us about heading to the hospital. All through my pregnancy I was nervous about getting to the hospital “too early.” Because I wanted an un-medicated birth again, I feared I would think I was further along than I was and head to the hospital earlier than I would prefer. Melissa, being the expert she is, was tasked with helping me determine when to go to the hospital. And, despite my knowing that she is the expert (for a reason), I still felt she was crazy when she began urging us to get moving!

During the first part of the drive to the hospital, I talked with Andy about how I didn’t want to be frustrated if I hadn’t progressed very far, and by the end of the drive that whole conversation was null and void. As we pulled into St. Luke’s my contractions were coming one on top of each other and it was clear that things were picking up.

Photo by Heart Shot Photo

We checked into triage around 7:00 pm and I was 6 cm dilated. At some point we moved to a labor and delivery room and the nurse asked if I wanted the doctor to break my water. I discussed the pros and cons of this with Melissa and ultimately heard “it will get more intense but will be over more quickly.” The doctor arrived pretty quickly, checked me (8 cm) and broke my water. He also made the comment that he’d “wait outside the room” as it was clear things were moving quickly.

Melissa was once again correct, the contractions did get more intense but it wasn’t long before I felt the urge to push. This was a huge a relief as I never got this urge with Nora (and subsequently pushed for almost three hours). The nurse was very relaxed as I began pushing and allowed me to push on my side. Multiple people in the room told me excitedly that I would be meeting my baby soon and I didn’t believe them. I was wrong. After about three contractions with pushing (and twenty minutes after they broke my water), Weston Charles Wendling was born!

Photo by Heart Shot Photo

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to describe the feeling I had when they placed him in my arms. Weston was born about an hour and a half after labor intensified and we arrived at the hospital which meant I got to experience the rush of joy without the exhaustion from a long labor or prolonged pushing. I was ecstatic to meet our son and was overjoyed by the love I saw in Andy’s eyes. We made it. We made it through yet another full-term pregnancy and an un-medicated birth to finally meet our son.

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Our last appointment with the doctor we have been working with for over three years – the one who saw us through fertility tests, surgery, a confusing diagnosis and now two high-risk pregnancies – was the Wednesday before Weston was born. Unlike when I was 38 weeks pregnant with Nora, I was able to have a sensible conversation with her (beyond “get this baby out!”). It felt significant to have a reflective conversation about how far we’ve come. She reminded us that the odds were stacked against us both in terms of getting pregnant and carrying two babies to term!

It’s crazy the way the lack of sleep, countless nonsensical conversations with a toddler and the overall chaos that exists with small kids clears the memory of the pain that infertility can cause. The gratitude comes back in quiet moments when you remember how you thought you’d never get here. 

November 6, 2013 was supposed to be the date when we would have our implantation for a round of IVF. Almost exactly two years later we have two healthy kids under the age of two. We blinked and created a family – against all the odds.

Photo by Heart Shot Photo

To my girl...

Dear Nora James,

Tears overwhelm me as I write this. You see, you’re going to get a baby brother soon. Within weeks, for sure, and days, if your mama is lucky! This means I'm very emotional - and that your whole world is going to change. I swear it will change for the better in the long run, but in the short-term, it’s going to be confusing. You’re going to wonder why I can’t pick you up every time you mutter the syllables “up-pees.” You’re not going to understand why I’m not as quick to jump out of bed and wish you a good morning or why your dad is doing the “night, night” routine with you more often.

Believe me when I tell you that I’ve gulped in every look at your cute, chubby face the last few weeks. I have given you more kisses on those squishy cheeks than you or I could possible count. I have savored all the moments that have been just the three of us. From you spilling milk all over the table to you pulling off a somersault with your dad in the middle of the living room floor. I’ve done this because I know as soon as your brother gets here, you’re no longer going to look like the baby I remember. You’re going to look like a big girl, and we’ll then be treasuring our party of four.

And, like most things, I’ll be feeling all of your emotions with you. I’ll be excited, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll be confused too. We’ll find our way – much as we’ve done for the past 17 months.

What I know for sure is; above the sweater I received one year from American Eagle (that I desperately wanted), and far above those True Religion jeans I got on a separate year, the greatest gift my parents ever gave me is my siblings. And, I’m excited to give you a comrade to play with, commiserate with, and, ultimately, probably complain about me with!

From confusion, little lady, we’ll get to a new normal. And, I promise, we’ll do it together!

Love you!

Mom

Dear Nora

It’s almost your first birthday and that means this first-time, pregnant-again mama is getting emotional. It’s hard to believe that you’ve been in our family for a year.  And, yet, you have fit in with us so seamlessly that it’s easy to know you’ve always been in our hearts.  There are a few things I want you to know now that I’m an expert mom {ha!}. I’m writing them down as a reminder to both you and me when our future selves are doubting.

• Being a mom is hard, but not really as hard as some people will want you to believe. If you choose to become a mom one day, know that people will make parenting sound scary and intimidating. And, it is, but you have it in you to be the person you need to be no matter the challenge you are facing – parenting or other.
• Sorry for… accidentally biting your finger when we were playing, pinching you when putting your pajamas on, not realizing you had thrown up in your crib soon enough, forgetting to change your diaper on a long car ride, dropping food on your head during the days that you stayed content in the Baby K’Tan, your dad pinching your finger in the rock and play (we’re lucky your fingers are all still intact), and everything I’ll do in the future that isn’t quite right. You deserve better and I’m getting better all the time.
• Your name means “light.” And, I described you as full of light long before I knew that. Don’t let anyone dull that light.
• I wet down your cowlick every morning. I think the spirited curl that sprouts on top of your head because of it might calm down once your hair gets longer. Truthfully, I hope it doesn’t, because I love it.  Regardless, I hope you’re always confident in the beauty you were born with. From the curl on top of your head to your curious spirit to the freckle on your knee to the seriousness in which you make your point to those killer eyes, you’re beautiful.
• You have a really good dad. You know that today. Your light is brightest when he’s around. Don’t forget it in 11 years or in 24 years. Keep talking to him. Keep reading with him. Keep building that relationship.
• You are skeptical and slow to trust others. I get it. So am I! But, girl, you have a lot of great people who love you, so go ahead, and let them in!
•  Keep sharing things you love {Gerald} with others.

Photo by Heart Shot Photo

But, most of all, always know that we love you. We cut your bananas up into tiny little pieces for fear you might inhale them too quickly. I have more awkward “pumping” stories than I have time to tell. You didn’t get a blanket in your crib for a ridiculously long time. Your dad still gets scared when you walk on tile. Remember these things when you’re frustrated with us. They may be strange ways to show it, but we love you more than you know right now.

Love, Mom

This is 30.

I woke up on the morning of my birthday to the sound of the alarm on my phone.  And, it was alarming because it wasn’t the sound of a little one jabbering in her bed.  Then, there was a feeling of excitement knowing that she had slept through the night despite a cold that has been wearing her down. 

This is 30.

I got out of the shower in time to hear the jabbering that I had missed at 6 am.  And, it wasn’t long before that jabbering turned to crying.  The crying lead to a conversation regarding to daycare or not to daycare.  And, that conversation quickly changed to a comparing of calendars and a decision on who could afford to stay home and who could not.

This is 30.

There was coffee with said crying baby on the hip while dialing up the doctor for a last minute appointment.  There was a quick hand-off of the baby before rushing to the office for a few meetings.  There was a double ear infection confirmation and the commencement of antibiotics.  There was a change of plans from a lunch date to take-out and another quick hand-off.  All before noon.

This is 30.

The thing is, this is definitely not twenty.  This is chaos that I’m so thankful for.  If it wasn’t for a career that I’m blessed to have and love, I wouldn’t have deadlines that I would be juggling – and missing and meeting depending on the day.  If it wasn’t for meeting a fantastic partner that I’m so fortunate to have married, I wouldn’t have someone with which to compare calendars - someone who loves me even when I’m frazzled.  And, on a different day in a different year, I thought I wouldn’t have a little one to jabber at me, wake me in the night and smile at me in the morning.

This is 30 and 30-something :)

This is 30.

This is a time when each small, unplanned inconvenience allows for reflection and thanksgiving.  It’s a time where enough life has been experienced to appreciate what you have while anticipating all that’s still to come.  So, this isn’t twenty (thank God), this is 30.  And, well, 30 feels pretty damn good.