Category: Dreaming of Mommyhood – General

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A Relaxed Frame of Mind

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12 weeks on Friday. That’s Friday of THIS week, I should clarify. 12 weeks. Yep, that’s right, and what have I done to prepare for this latest addition? Nothing really.

I suppose it’s that I have the whole “been there, done that” mentality, but I’m not exactly going overboard with baby preparation. I’ve questioned whether this means I’m excited or not, and quickly decided to push that thought into the Never Never Land of Ridiculous Thoughts.

This past weekend, I reflected on my current pregnancy and compared it to my first one. I went back and read some of the blogs I wrote while expecting Davey, and wow what a narcissitic freak I was! Thank goodness that’s pretty much gone away. By this point in my first pregnancy, I was already mid-ways complete with Davey’s bedroom and I didn’t even know if he was going to be a boy. I decided to start out gender neutral and then to add more gender specific items once we found out the sex. With this baby, I’m pretty much just going to wait until AFTER I find out the sex. What’s the point of working on a nursery right now?

Maybe it’s that I’m just so much busier with Davey and being a stay-at-home mom, or maybe it’s because I’ve already rode this roller coaster or one similar to it, so it’s somewhat lost it’s luster. I’m finding that I don’t fret the little things, even though I’ve felt a LOT worse during this pregnancy. With my first pregnancy, if I felt bad, I was worried. Thoughts ran through my head about something being wrong with me or the baby. With this pregnancy, my feeling bad just means that everything is progressing and hopefully the baby is growing.

Yesterday, I went back to the doctor for a check-up. As we determined in the first pregnancy, my uterus is a bit, well, let’s say odd. The doctors can’t hear the baby’s heartbeat right now without doing an ultrasound. When I was pregnant with Davey, I nearly had a panic attack. I recall how sick I felt and how tears were rolling down my cheeks when the doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat. With this one, we had the same issue. The doctor (a different one from my last pregnancy) told me not to worry. I placed both hands behind my head and sat back and told him I wasn’t worried. We’d had this same issue before. Of course, we did the ultrasound and the baby was fine.

I don’t know if this is a normal state of mind for women who’ve had multiple babies, but I find it refreshing for me, especially since I’m a worrier by nature.

Let’s hope I can continue to think this way throughout the pregnancy.

My Misguided Tears

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It was a hard morning, one of the hardest I’ve gone through in quite some time. At first, I thought about blaming the tears on my hormones, but quickly realized that I would be crying regardless. My husband and I spent our Memorial Day morning, taking down a crib and putting up a toddler bed in it’s place.

I knew the day would be coming and I’d heeded the warnings of so many other moms out there who suggested I wait until the absolute last minute to take him out of his crib. Well, with the new baby scheduled to arrive in approximately seven months, and my mother in law in town for the week, I thought now would be a good opportunity to convert Davey. I’ve heard stories that it could take months for him to get used to the new bed, so why not do it now?

Once the toddler bed was in place, the emotions began to wash over me. He’s not my little baby anymore. I mean figuratively, he’ll always be my little baby, but the thought of no longer being able to walk into his room and seeing his little face above the rails, with his arms reaching out to me and saying, “hi, mama”, just made me start blubbering. My baby was growing up and while I’ve watched it and known it every day, for some reason today was the day for reality to hit me like a ton of bricks. I actually felt faint and even slightly sick at my stomach. Where did the days go? The seconds have turned into minutes, minutes into days, and before I’ve known it my little baby is now a little boy.

We brought him upstairs and the tears began to flow even harder. Davey immediately ran and took a flying leap onto his bed. He tossed around and laughed a bit, climbed back down, grabbed a couple of books, climbed back in and then with his head on his pillow and one leg crossed over the other, he began reading one of his books. How sweet!

And then a few hours later, the true and actual reality of the repercussions of my actions really hit. Why oh why was I ever crying about my sadness of him being all grown up? What I should be crying about was the fact that I may no longer be able to take advantage of long afternoon naps. That’s right, folks, we spent three hours yesterday afternoon playing the infamous game of “Keep the Baby in Bed”. Guess who won? Yep! Davey did. So, obviously, my tears were misguided. I’m convinced that subconsciously the tears were falling because I knew that blissful afternoons of getting things accomplished while Davey slept were quickly becoming limited.

Only time will tell what becomes of this story.

Our Newest Version

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Here's Butterbean 2.0
Here’s Butterbean 2.0

A month is quite a while to go especially if you’re a writer and trying to maintain an active audience with a blog. Essentially, I’ve broken one of the cardinal rules of blogging, but in my defense I’ve literally felt like I’ve been on my death bed. You see, for those of you who don’t know yet, my husband and I are expecting Version 2.0 of the Doser clan to make an appearance on December 20th.

Was this something we were working towards? Yep. Was I over the moon excited? Yes and no. My husband was super excited, but me? Well, let’s just say my hormones have kicked into high gear and for the first week after I found out I was pregnant, my immense paranoia and fears started weighing down on me.

Now that I’m moving into my ninth week (some say this is a bit too soon to share the news, but I’ve never been great at keeping secrets; however, I am better than my husband), a lot of fears and worries are now being beaten into submission by an intense sense of nausea mixed with the arrival of migraines, something I didn’t experience quite so soon with Davey.

So, how is this one different so far? It’s been a bit harder and I’ve actually found that all it took to lose those last 10 pounds I gained with Davey, was to just become pregnant. Yep. I’ve managed to lose some weight, which is a complete reversal of the days of Davey. With that little porker, I immediately started gaining weight.

My hormones have sky rocketed, and I’m incessantly sobbing at even the slightest thing. I am back to my “woe is me” attitude of asking my husband if he hates me because I’m not carrying as much of the load. I’m also finding that it’s a lot more exhausting this time around, but that’s probably because I’m a stay-at-home mom, who has a non-stop job of caring for a near 20 month old. When I was pregnant with Davey, all I had to do was leave work early, come home and take a nap. There were no responsibilities and no one to take care of except little ole me. Not the case this time.

And just to kinda gross some of you out, although if you’ve been pregnant before, it’s highly unlikely anything will gross you out, I do not have to take stool softeners this time around. Gasp! How embarrassing to discuss such things, you say! Yeah, well, if you’ve been following this blog since it’s inception over two years ago, you likely read how I suffered from the inability to actually do a number two for nearly a week! Not so this time, as a matter of fact, I have more movements in a day than I normally have in a week. I suppose that could contribute to the weight loss.

Last week was my first doctor’s appointment and we were able to get an ultrasound of Butterbean 2.0 (Davey was 1.0 if you recall), and she looks healthy and has a heartbeat of 176, which I understand to be strong. And, yeah, you read that pronoun correctly, I did say “she” and that’s because I have a firm feeling that this little bundle of joy is going to be my payback for all the hell I put my parents through.

So, all I can say is stay tuned, life is about to get a lot more interesting on the Doser Range. New adventures abound and this time I have Davey along for the ride. Can’t wait to see what’s in store over the next few months.

One Day, When We Become Grown-Ups Again

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The housing market has definitely rebounded and that can be seen quite easily from the window of my office at my house. There’s new construction and already built houses being sold. It’s wonderful to see.

Lately, I’ve become a bit interested in some of the houses that are currently for sale in my neighborhood. I’ve taken to the web to find out about these houses, to see how much they’re selling for and what the insides look like. What I’m finding is quite shocking especially considering the fact that we’re a neighborhood of houses for families, people with children much like us.

A lot of these families have working moms, but the majority are stay-at-home moms, like me, which leads me to wonder what exactly am I doing wrong with the up keep of our house? I imagine that some of these homes are “done up” to look good in the pictures, but I really think these other moms are just doing a more kick butt job than me.

I see pictures of houses that have children living in them, with fancy furniture, sparkling floors, beautiful paint schemes and designer bedrooms. They’re bright, non-cluttered, airy, and inviting. I look at our house and I see Romper Room on crack. We have toys everywhere, a hardwood floor that constantly stays dirty (even if I mop it everyday, which I do), walls and doors that are scuffed, stains on furniture and handprints on windows, the refrigerator, the cabinets, basically anywhere Davey can touch.

My husband and I look at our family room and sigh on a regular basis. He said to me last week, “do you remember when we had nice things?”

Me: “Nope. It seems like it’s been so long ago and that we’re living in a constant state of squalor.”

My husband: “Maybe one day we can become grown-ups again and have a nice house.”

Me: “Probably not for 18 plus years.”

We’ve actually already picked out the new paint schemes, the new furniture, the potential remodeling of the house, knocking down walls, and adding on new rooms. I just wonder if we’ll ever get to the point of having the nice house again.

Are we the only ones living in a perpetual state of disorder and chaos?

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

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Ah, vacation, an illustrious, sometimes coveted, despised, and even long sought after of a word. Vacation. One little word can stir up so many interpretations of what it is, how to have it, how to enjoy it, and even what to do with it.

My Merriam & Webster Dictionary (yes, of course, I still have one of these sitting on my bookshelf!) states that vacation, as a noun, is a period of rest from work, a holiday to use the British terminology. It can also be used as a verb, in that I take a vacation, or I am on holiday (I really like using the term “holiday”, it just sounds much more stylish and glamorous.)

When you become a mom, your interpretation of vacation may vary slightly from what it once was in your youthful days of frolicking on the beach, or independently touring international cities. I once went to Germany. I enjoyed wonderful food, tasty beers, and pretty eclectic clubs. I walked silently through the museums and castles, took in the history, sat outside in the parks and watched the people walk by.

My husband and I used to partake in cruises, usually one every 18 months or so. I loved those vacations, if for no other reason than I really felt like I was on vacation as electronically I was completely disconnected from work. We sat on beaches, did some biding at art auctions, snorkeled in Grand Cayman, toured the Mayan Ruins in Cozumel, took a river cruise in Ocho Rios. We were completely free spirits. What a time! And how long ago those days seem.

Last summer, we went on our first official family vacation with Davey to Myrtle Beach, where my parents have a condo. My husband took two books to read, he didn’t finish reading half of one. I planned to sun bathe by the pool. I came back about as white as I was when I left. We definitely didn’t go to a fancy dinner anywhere. No sir, not with a nine month old running around.

These days, I don’t look to beaches or far away places for vacation. I actually look a mile down the road to our local Wal-Mart. You see, being a stay-at-home mom (well, maybe any mom for that matter), a vacation becomes any time, even if it’s a mere half an hour, when you have some time alone. Who would have ever thought that I’d ask my husband to watch our son long enough for me to make a jaunt into Wal-Mart? No, honey, there’s nothing I need there. I just need to get out of the house. Oh, you and Davey would like to come along too? Yeah, well, that’s not really what I’m looking for.

Does this sound bad? Maybe. When I first became a mom, it worried me that I wanted time away. Almost 19 months into the job, and yeah, I don’t feel quite so guilty.

What I do feel bad about, though, is that I consider a trip to the grocery store ALONE a vacation. I LOATHE the grocery store, or at least I did. Now, it’s my saving grace especially when my husband comes home.

You know, maybe one day, my husband and I will take those vacations of yore. I’ve always wanted to go on a Mediterranean cruise, but for right now I’ll consider my 30 minutes perusing through the gossip magazines at my local drug store as vacation enough. My, my, my, how times have changed.

Potty Training 101

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It was literally a scene from an old 80s movie and one of my all time favorites. I stood there for a moment in disbelief at what had just occurred, but the realization hit me. This wasn’t a candy bar it was indeed, “doody!” to quote the words from Caddyshack.

As most of you are aware, at least if you follow me on Facebook, I am potty training Davey. I’m not going into it as hardcore as I have been with other things. He’s 18 months old and doesn’t completely comprehend the whole using the potty scenario, but in light of recent events including the previously blogged about episode of pooping on my parent’s floor, I decided to give it a go. Hey, should he become potty trained before I have my next child, then rock on!

Davey’s really good at understanding when I ask him if he needs to go potty. He can’t say the word, but he will point to the bathroom door and pull down his pants and training pants before sitting on the potty. He’s even managed to poop one time in the potty. Of course that was two weeks ago and since that point, I haven’t even gotten a drop of a tinkle out of him.

I ask him every so often if he needs to go potty and he’ll run to the bathroom, but won’t give me a deposit. When I see him start to squat as if to poop, then I immediately take him into the bathroom. One of two things usually occurs. A- he’s already pooped and I’ve missed the opportunity to get him on the toilet or B- he sucks it back in and saves it for a later time when I’m not watching him squat. It’s frustrating, but I also know it’s not going to be an easy process.

At night, before putting him in his bathtub, I always ask him if he needs potty. And most every night, he points at the potty, sits on, smiles, grabs a book, or kicks his feet around. A few minutes later, he gets up and the potty is dry. Last week, I did the exact same routine with him. I explained the importance of the potty and asked him if he needed to go. He shook his head “no”, so I put him in the bath.

Davey’s not much of one to sit, not even in the bath. He’s constantly moving and standing and I’m constantly spending my night getting drenched as I sit him down in the water. Some nights, I actually just let him stand. I’m right beside him, so I’ll catch him should something happen.

Last week, Davey was standing as he normally does, but this time he threw down his toys and just stood there for a minute. I looked at him and could see that he was contemplating something. He pointed at me and grunted, but I’m not much for really understanding my son’s grunts. Little did I know, that he wasn’t really pointing at me, but was instead pointing at the toilet, which I was using as a chair while watching him take a bath.

After a few seconds of telling him “mommy doesn’t understand what you’re saying”, I watched as he appeared to be holding his breath and his face became red. His knees started bending slowly and before it registered with me that he was trying to push a poop out, one actually came out into the water!

I was horrified!

“Davey, stop!” I screamed as I jerked him from the tub and flipped up the toilet lid and plunked him down on it.

He began crying and holding tightly to my neck. Poor little guy, I guess he thought he was going to fall in. I kept him there for a few moments hoping that if he had another poop then it would come out now, but nothing else came.

I cleaned him up and then stared down at the bathwater. There was what looked like a little Baby Ruth just floating around. I almost wanted to leave it. How was I going to get this out? I couldn’t let it run down the drain, could it? So I grabbed some toilet paper, moaned for a few seconds before reaching into the bathwater to pull out the doody. Davey just looked at me smiling. I had to take him into our bathroom to give him a bath.

I’ve been told this is a normal occurrence for little boys especially when trying to potty train them. I hope it’s a normal ONE TIME occurrence, as I’m definitely not interested in cleaning poopy out of bath water. No one told me it would be like this! 🙂

Please Calm your Son

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I froze, but only for a split second. Was this really my child? No way! That wasn’t possible. I didn’t behave this way when I was his age (or so I’ve been told, which by the way, I think my parents lied to me or either they are the King and Queen of having well behaved children).

As I regained my thoughts, I darted up from my seated position on the carpeted floor of the library play room. Someone had left the door open! Who does that? I mean, seriously, why would you leave a door open for a room full of noisey and rambunctious toddlers to run out? Oh, your child doesn’t like to run and be free? Well, lucky you! Mine; however, saw an open door as his chance of freedom and he took it faster than a dog takes a meaty bone.

By the time my foot crossed the threshold of the door, Davey was already halfway through the children’s section of the library, his arms pumping alongside of him propelling him to run harder and faster while the entire time his mouth was open and he screamed, “Aaaahhhhh!” Librarians looked up from their desks, but not a one of them bothered to offer the obligatory “shhh”. Instead they all glared at me, some over their half glasses as if to say, “oh, you’re THAT mother!”

Yes! I’m that mother! I’m that mother with an overly curious 18 month old. I’m that mother with a very active child. I’m that mother who can control her child, but short of sitting on him or tying him down to a chair, I can’t keep him from running, which leads to the next issue.

Apparently, my child is inciting possible riotous behavior amongst the other toddlers. I’ve been informed that I can’t let him run anymore during the storytime or musical jamboree. If I let him run around, then other children will want to follow suit and then it will just be mass chaos. I believe the teacher actually used the term “anarchy”. Are you kidding me? These kids can’t even say anarchy much less know what it means, and yet my child is going to start this? Please!

The teacher went so far last week as to also inform me that if I can’t keep him from running around in the room, then I would no longer be allowed to attend the musical jamboree or storytime. I’m sorry, lady, but it’s the library and my tax dollars pay for this, so unless my taxes are going to be prorated to reflect the fact that I will not be attending the library, then my son and I will be there.

Davey isn’t abnormal, but he’s very independent. He’s not content sitting with me while stories are being read, unless I’m the one reading them. He’s not content with being docile when there are so many other things to explore. I’m not going to stifle my child, but I will do a better job of trying to keep him more interested in what’s at hand.

Fortunately, the doors are staying closed in the classroom these days and my child is quarantined, so no longer am I mortified at the sight of my heathen running through the library screaming at the top of his lungs. Geesh! The homeless people couldn’t even sleep in their chairs with him around!

On a side note, though, should you be trying to conduct storytime and/or musical classes for a bunch of toddlers, please try to keep them involved. Don’t chit chat with each other or to the parents. You start losing the kids, or at least you start losing mine.

Speak Easy, My Son

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This is a fun time, or I suppose it should be. Nah! It is a fun time. I find myself chuckling more and more everday as my son continues to find his voice.

He says “Mama”, “Dada”, & “Dixie” and has for quite some time. Occasionally, we’ll get the word “duck” or even “color”, but over the past couple of weeks Davey’s vocabulary has expanded almost as drastically as his weight (my child jumped from the 75th to the 92nd percentile in weight in less than 3 months…a story for another day).

And I suppose what I’m enjoying almost as much as his new words is the amount of inflection he puts on each one, or the dramatics that come along with it. Here’s a good example. While watching the NCAA tournament, Davey picked up on the fact that my husband and I will raise our fists in the air and yell “go”. Quickly, he learned the word and even began mimicking our actions. The only problem is that his “go” coupled with the fist pumping, reminds me of Arsenio Hall and his Dog Pound (you all know what I’m talking about!)

His next favorite word is becoming my least favorite, especially since he knows the semantics behind it (you know, it’s really amazing how quickly these kiddos catch on!) Lately, Davey has developed a fondness for the word “mine”. And EVERYTHING is his these days. This includes the toilet paper, the keys, the seat cushion, the flower petal in the yard, the blinds, my iPad…you catch my drift. He wakes up in the mornings saying, “Dixie, mine”, while pointing to our dog. Really? Are you the one taking care of her? I think not! So, until that happens, she’s not yours! I’m falling asleep to his little voice saying “mine”. Yikes!

Another word he’s come up with is “guys”. I don’t know where this came from, especially since us southern country folk use the term “y’all” all the time. I’m racking my brain trying to figure out how he became Yankee-fied! LOl! My husband and I can be sitting in the family room watching television, next thing you know Davey comes running in yelling “Guys!” It’s quite scary, but also endearing especially when we hear him on the baby monitor as he says “night night, guys.”

We’re picking up on the word “tiger”, which comes out more as “tiga”. Fine by me, especially since Mommy here is a diehard Clemson Tiger fan. You keep rocking that word, Buddy! Makin’ Mama proud!

And I guess the greatest thing I’ve heard and seen is the day he decided to point at his daddy and say the word “cracka!” It was priceless along with the look on my husband’s face. I was given the death stare coupled with the unspoken question, “did you teach our son that?” No, honey, it was an honest mistake. The kiddo does know his crackers, even if one is his daddy! Just kidding, honey.

Finally, the word(s) that seem to get misused the most, wait let me check to see if it is a word. Nope, not in my 2001 Webster’s Dictionary, and yest I still have one of those! So, the phrase overused and misused is “uh oh”. It’s my fault and I say it a lot, but truthfully my son is a bit accident prone, so why wouldn’t I say those words? Problem is that now he will purposefully throw his food on the floor and then say “uh oh”. Sorry, my dear boy, but you can’t use the words when you do something intentionally. That’s not how it works. Oh, did you throw your socks from your feet or did they accidentally fall off? They accidentally fell off, you say? Well, then that’s an “uh oh”.

Something new everyday.

Travelin’ Mama

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A lot of things change with the birth of your first child.   There’s the change in your physical appearance, a distorted and even contorted version of your previous self.   Some of us lose our  hair, while others, such as myself, start losing some of their memory.   I suppose the change I’m noticing the most is the superficial one.

Friday, my husband, son, and I flew to New York to visit my in-laws for Easter.   As we stood in line at the ticket counter, I couldn’t help but notice the current fashion attire not only of today’s youth, but also that of other generations. Being the typical female, I found myself judging these women and comparing myself to them.

Some women were absolutely appalling and shocking as if they were eager to push the levels of the fashion mantra.   Then I looked down at myself, with jeans, tank top, long sleeve shirt and padded vest along with my running shoes.  I wasn’t hideous or mismatched, but I definitely wasn’t the woman of years ago and that is what becoming a mother will do to you, or at least most of you.

Once upon a time, I used to wear flowing skirts with strappy sandals or heels.   I wore fashion jeans with boots, warm scarfs and snug hats, all of which seemed to make a fashion statement as opposed to serving their actual purpose to keep me warm. I wanted to look stylish as I flew.   I made sure no hair was out of place and that my make up was flawless. Back then I put a lot more emphasis on my appearance as opposed to functionality and comfort. Not anymore. Those days have long since passed now that I’ve become a mommy, and this is one change I’m grateful for especially as I eyed the lady in leopard print leggings, with brown thigh high boots and four inch heels. I chuckled to myself and sighed inwardly with pleasure at my change while she adjusted her lavender, fake fur coat.

Thank you, my son, for helping mommy to see the road she would travel down in the fashion world had you not come along. Thank you, indeed.

Mommy, I Went Potty

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Those are the words I’d hoped to hear on my son’s first time.   Actually, it would have been nice to hear anything that was to forewarn me of the events that would soon unfold this evening at my parent’s house.

After dinner, we all decided to retire into my parent’s family room.   Growing up the room was padded with marigold, 1970s shag carpet and coated with dark paneled walls, with the burdensome popcorn ceiling to match.    Since, my parents are now considered “empty-nesters” they’ve decided to upgrade their house and for once they actually have a nice, distinguished home with dark oak hardwood flooring.   It’s a beautiful floor and my mother is very anal about keeping it clear of debris and spills.   Of course, having a toddler running around the house makes that a bit difficult, but never to the extent we imagined tonight.

So, back to after dinner…while relaxing, we noticed that my son had disappeared and appeared to be a bit too quiet, which we all know usually means trouble.   My parents stayed seated in their recliners and I turned around on the couch to face the back of the room and that’s when I saw it happen.

At the time, it seemed to be occuring in slow motion and I could even hear the sound of my voice, deep and muted as I yelled “Davey, No!”   But while it felt like slow motion, it really was much too quick for any of us to really be able to jump up and stop the travesty occuring in front of us.  

Somehow Davey had managed to pull down his pants AND his diaper.   He squated down and grunted a couple of times, before squeezing out a poop.   One lump came out and yet he kept pushing even as I’m screaming.   And while I’m screaming, he’s taking his hands and patting his little tushy while poop starts coming out between his fingers.   

When I finally reached him, he had finished and immediately grabbed me with his pooped covered hands as if he was excited about actually pooping someplace other than his diaper.   I was distraught for a few moments and couldn’t think.   All I could manage was to ask my dad to throw me the diaper bag and my mother to grab me a towel and lots of wet washcloths to clean Davey and the hardwood floor.

As I’m cleaning, I imagine my mother getting upset (being the super clean neat freak that she is) and complaining about her hardwood flooring being covered in poop.   Alas, she just stood above me with her arms crossed as I put a clean diaper on Davey and said, “Hmmm…you think now’s a good time to potty train?”

Indeed I do, Mother!   Indeed I do!