Monday, August 31, 2015

I quit my workouts

Notice how I haven't written about my workouts in awhile?

Yeah, that's because I haven't been doing them.

Between grad school work, two kids, a needy dog, vacation, prepping for back to school, and a million other things... I just didn't care. I went for a couple of runs. Daily walks. Chased after kids... but I stopped caring about fitting in my T25 workouts in the short 20 minutes I occasionally had to myself over the last few weeks and instead just did whatever I felt like doing.

Which has been great. Less stress. I stopped feeling guilty. And somehow I lost 4 pounds while eating cheetos and ice cream several times a week. 

I'll take it. I'm now a mere 6 pounds away from my goal/pre-preg weight.

Also. Today I'm back at work for my first staff day and I'd be lying if I said the bad mom part of me was a little relieved to have 8 whole hours of my only mom responsibility being pumping. Today feels like a vacation in spite of meetings, cleaning, and room set up. I've said it before; clearly I'm not meant to be a stay at home mom. 

Friday, August 28, 2015

Sometimes I question my decision to become a mother

Picture it:

7 am- I'm laying in bed marveling that both kids are still sleeping and hoping like hell the dog stays quiet and doesn't wake them up, so I can have a few more precious moments of piece. Then I hear it. The pitiful, pathetic cries of a 3 year old sobbing "I have to go pee". It's a cry that can not be ignored. So I head into her room only to have her screech "no, I don't like Mommy, I wan't Daddy" the second I step through the door. I spend the next five minutes trying to explain that Daddy is already at work between high-pitched yelps and wall kicking. Give up. Head back to my room to find the dog licking the baby's face. I sigh, scoop him up, and discover that Bentley has leaked all through his diaper and onto my bed. As I strip the sheets, Fynn sprints past me into my bathroom yelling "I said I have to pee" as though I've just ignored her for the past 15 minutes. Then I hear, "I need you to wipe me". Sure kid, thanks for making my wildest dreams come true.

7:30- both kids are cleaned up and I'm dressed. We have to leave at 9:20 this morning for double check ups and I'm feeling smug and prepared (big mistake). We've got plenty of time. I get both kids up in carriers and we take the dog for a quick walk. Fynn's laughing in the Tula on my back and I'm thinking that we've gotten over our grouchy mood for the morning.

Bentley scoots around the floor playing while Fynn eats a banana and I mess around on my phone checking all the social media I missed since bed the night before. I even take a cute Snapchat of Fynn eating her banana while "feeding" Bentley a plastic one. Aren't we adorable?

7:45- time to get ready. We head upstairs for the kids to get dressed, and meltdown #2 ensues. The next hour and a half is spent with Fynn screaming, putting clothes on, tearing them off, lots of tears (hers) and exasperation (mine) and as I scurry down the stairs at 9:15 fuming, Fynn is just in her skivvies and I have a massive headache as I threaten to leave her at home while B and I go to the Drs. The next ten minutes are a blur as I shove what we need into the backpack, strap B into his carseat and somehow coax/wrestle Fynn into the least offensive article of clothing she owns- a baggy dress that meshes well with her hobo rats nest of a hairstyle.

9:30- we head out of the drive way, Fynn screeching about her buckle being too tight and that I'm a yucky Mommy. As I drive I realize that I haven't eaten anything and Fynn's only had a banana. Great. Attempt to stop at DD for a bagel, but the drive through line is a mile long and we're already late. Somehow I convince Fynn to brush her hair with the hairbrush I oh-so-conveniently stashed in my pocket 

9:55 (appointment is at 10). We make it to the Drs... but there's another DD right down the road so I sidetrack for a bit to grab bagels and my (much needed iced tea). Scarf down my bagel while unstrapping kids, putting B in the Tula and lugging two kids and a backpack into the drs office. The receptionist gives me the side eye as I check in and Fynn sits on the floor to happily smear cream cheese all over her dress.

Of course Fynn is perfect the entire time we're at the doctors (After all, it's just me that she hates), and both kids walk out with star check ups, though we did get a referral to OT for Fynn which I'll write about later- that's a post in it's own.

11:30- Driving home. Bentley passed out like the good little cherub that he is and Fynn kept her whining to a dull whimper as I began to wonder... why? Why did I want this so badly? Twice? 

I need a nap.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

This kid is into everything!

Photo evidence
The title of this post alone should tell you tons about my housekeeping skills as the kid in question is a mere foot tall when on all fours and has yet to master any skills that elevate him to higher planes. Therefore the "everything" that he manages to get into, is all on the floor. And to be even more honest, on the floor in my living room which is where we spend about 95% of our time these past couple of days with all the rain and aborted naps. 

Monday, August 24, 2015

I've lost my voice

Metaphorically speaking. Physically I'm still able to yell down the stairs for Fynn to knock it off... but my writing voice, that I've lost.

I started this blog more than 4 years ago as a place for myself. To document and share and flex my puny communication skills, but really just because I'm a vapid narcissistic who likes the sound of her own voice (or keyboard).

And then the blog got bigger and sponsorship came in and I got some swag and some cash and I started molding this place of mine on the internet after bigger fish I strove to become. And I lost me. And I lost the joy in writing.

The last couple of months I've been blogging out of a self-inflicted sense of obligation. Which is something I never wanted to do. I always swore that when it wasn't fun anymore, I wouldn't do it... which is why it's been crickets around here for a couple of weeks. 

Life has been busy. And fun. And overwhelmingly filled with love and chaos and headaches and laughter and tears. Life with two tiny humans is the most amazing and horrific thing I've ever done and I've just been enjoying it this summer.

That joy hasn't been in my writing.

So. Here goes. My blog rebirth. I'm writing for me and what makes me happy and I'm not going to worry about having the "right" tone or style or even grammar really. Sure, there will still be sponsored posts. This blog doesn't run itself for free and I like pretty things, but I'm focusing on what's important from here on out. And if I'm not inspired to write, then I won't.

Monday, August 3, 2015

When will the madness end?

I have an obsession. If you know me in real life, you've probably heard all about it; I'm obsessed with babywearing. I can't help myself. They're adorable and practical and allow me to get stuff done all while snuggling this teeny-tiny human that keeps getting bigger and bigger.

But it is sheer madness. I wrote about my obsession back in January, and again in March, and since then it has only gotten worse. 

With Fynn I had a Bjorn, a hiking carrier, a mai tai and a Seven Sling. They got used occasionally, but they weren't "must haves" and I didn't get all into it. Then I was prego with B and asked on a mothering group FB page about how they manage a toddler and newborn. "Babywearing!" I was told, over and over again. So I looked into it. 

That's wear the obsessing began. Before B was born, I convinced Drew to buy an Ergo 360 (with the infant insert). Then when B was just a couple of weeks old I realized that he was just too tiny for the Ergo and NEEDED a ring sling. So I got one off Etsy and it was tiny-squish, babywearing love. For the first three months of his life I wore him daily in either our mai tai or ring sling and was oh so happy. Once B was big enough to fit comfortably in the Ergo, I fell in love with Tulas. They just looked so cute and comfy and hello, the prints were adorable. So I began obsessing. 



When the gorgeous Spotted Love Tula was restocked, I bit the bullet and just bought one because I had been stalking the buy/sell/trade Facebook page for weeks looking for one at or just above retail. (to clarify, unlike everything else in the world, used Tulas actually sell for more than new most of the time especially if it's a limited or discontinued print. Sometimes at crazy-high prices that will nake your head spin).

I should be all set. I currently have seven! (omg, that sounds ridiculous) Seven baby carriers. That's enough to wear him in a different one every day. Seriously, enough carriers for just about every baby-wearing situation.


AND I WANT MORE.

To clarify, I just want more Tulas, because they totally live up to their hype, but I just want them. They are everything my mommy-heart desires and I just want to scoop them all up. But that would be ridiculous. And I shouldn't do that. But I want to.

So help me though, if Prepster shows up anywhere at retail, I'll be scooping it up before you can say #wearallthebabies. 
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