Best buds

People always ask how Sophia likes her little brother, so this is an answer in pictures! They even have a favorite chair, as you will see . . . and I have to mention that almost all the photo credits go to John in this blog post!

It's a little blurry, but I had to include the smile!

"That" Mom

When you are a kid, there are all sorts of things you say you will never do (or always do!) when you grow up, usually in defiance . . .

"I'll never make my kid eat vegetables if they don't want to!"

"I'm going to let my kids watch Saturday morning cartoons anytime they want!"

"I'll never wash my kid's mouth out with soap!" (For the record, haven't done that one . . . no promises!)

And then as you get older you realize that some of those resolutions are going to be broken sooner or later. But you still keep making them. Like . . .

"I'll never be the mom who falls apart after having kids and never does her hair again and ends up wearing high waisted mom jeans and sneakers every day!" (For the record, I resolved this after watching too many episodes of "What Not to Wear," not because my mom was a slob, because she's not.)

And then yesterday happened.

Yesterday morning at 11 a.m. I looked in the mirror and realized I was THAT MOM.

Last shower, two days ago. Hair, completely spiked up and disastrous from where I slept on it. I haven't been wearing much makeup lately, but I at least put on a tinted moisturizer each morning . . . and obviously hadn't yet! The bags under my eyes said "I got one hour of sleep last night" (true, Jude was sick), and no one wanted to get close enough to smell my breath, that's for sure.

As for my award winning style, here you go. Maternity shorts (my pajamas had been puked on in the middle of the night) in a very bright green sweatpant material, matched (I use that word VERY loosely) with a men's (thank you, John!) brown tee-shirt with holes in it and various patches of breastmilk and spit-up (and thank you, Jude!) all over the front.

It was about this time that John asked what my goals were for the day. Only one answer I could give.

Shower.

Forget the laundry, the bathroom that hasn't been cleaned in an embarrassingly long time, the stairs that need vacuuming, and the dust bunny that has taken up permanent residence under my bed. I don't want to wake up five years from now and find myself fighting with Stacy and Clinton to keep my mom jeans. Although if anyone wants to nominate me for the show, go for it . . . just wait till I get back to my pre-baby body, ok?

Oh, Crappy Day

Today I got crapped on. Not just as in "it's been a rough day," but I also literally got pooped on. Guess it's not much of a stretch to imagine that happening, as I do have a seven-week old baby. Of course, it was my two year old who pooped on me.

My day officially started at 6:30, when I first heard Sophia wake up. Thankfully, John went in and turned on her light and got her playing, as Jude was asleep in bed with me following his most recent feeding. Then John headed off to work, and we were on our own.

I probably should have had an inkling of the day's direction when Jude spat up on me as soon as I put him on me in the Moby wrap for his morning nap. Why in the Moby instead of in his crib? Because Jude, aka "The Cuddler," refuses to sleep in his crib during the daylight hours. He did take a nice two hour nap this morning, with me bouncing and dancing around to make sure he slept. (Because heaven forbid I hold still while he tries to sleep! No, we must always be in motion. In fact, I am typing this with the computer on the kitchen counter while I bounce around with Jude in the Moby. Many typos to be corrected!)

Post-morning nap we headed out for a walk. My idea was to walk around the block, so I put Jude in the jogging stroller and off we went. Sophia was enjoying our walk so much that she suggested going to the park. I figured she was doing well walking and was in good spirits, so why not?

The walk back is why not.

Two-year old walking + baby in jogger + ginormous hill = not fun.

The walk home is just over a quarter mile, but watching Sophia you would have thought I was trying to make her run a marathon. Just around the corner from our house I finally tired of cajoling/dragging her along and popped her in the (one person) stroller with Jude. I lay it down all the way, threw her in the back, and propped Jude up on Sophia. Neither of them was particularly happy with the arrangement, so I dashed up the hill to our house.

End of walk. Phew!

Lunchtime went okay . . . Sophia sat in the kitchen eating her mac'n'cheese and hollering editorials to me in the living room, where I was feeding Jude. After eating Jude seemed particularly drowsy, so I bounced him for a few minutes until he fell asleep. I like to at least attempt a nap in the crib every few days to see if he is ready to transition, so up to bed we went. A sound-asleep Jude was laid in his crib, and a hopeful mama tiptoed out of the room after turning on the baby monitor.

Sophia was STILL eating the same bowl of mac'n'cheese (40 minute lunch, anyone?) when I got back down to the kitchen. As I was telling her she had two minutes to finish up before bed, a little cry came thru the monitor. "Jude cyin' mama!"

Yes, he is.

Time to put the Moby back on, Sophia into bed, Jude into Moby. And time to watch Project Runway. (Difficult to do anything terribly productive while bouncing the Cuddler . . .)

At least even if Jude is on me, I can rejuvenate while Sophia takes a nice long nap. I ate a yummy lunch while bouncing on the exercise ball and trying to figure out just who Heidi was going to kick off this week ("Get rid of Bert!!!").

Or I could if she had taken more than an hour long nap.

Just as I finished my last bite, I heard an earsplitting scream from upstairs, followed by sobs.

Blast.

Ordinarily I would leave Sophia in her room for the duration of a normal nap, but the sobs were soon followed by gagging noises.

Double blast.

I would rather have Sophia up early (though 1:30 is REALLY pushing it!) and on the slipcovered couch if vomiting is part of the equation, rather than in her bed with lots of blankets and stuffed animals.

Of course when I got up there it became apparent that the gagging was self-inflicted. Which is awesome in itself, but at least no sick kiddo. Time to watch Blue's Clues while Mommy regroups.

And time to feed Jude again as he woke up in the Moby when he heard his sister screaming . . . which is what he was now doing.

Jude finished eating and started into his afternoon crankies. The usual cure is, you guessed it, the Moby! I wrapped it back around me and put Jude in. He was just starting to chill when I smelled something horrid. And saw a visible lump on Sophia's backside.

Changing Sophia's diaper while Jude is in the Moby is complicated. Sophia lies on the couch while I sit next to her on the exercise ball, bouncing. A little bit tricky for a wet diaper, a lot tricky for a poopy diaper.

I got the diaper off her and was just starting to wipe her bum when it happened. Somehow I jostled the yucky diaper, and her poop rolled out, hitting the couch, my capris, my calf, and finally the floor.

I'm pretty sure that has to be rock bottom for today . . . me bouncing crying Jude on the ball (with him in the wrap) while holding Sophia's legs up so her poopy bum doesn't hit the couch while trying to get her poop back into the diaper while cleaning all the surfaces that said poop hit while Sophia asks me "What doing, mama?"

What doing, indeed.

I'll tell you "what doing." Taking a LONG bubble bath tonight, with a bottle of sparkling cider at my side (no cup required), and chocolate and a book in hand.

Miscellany

Feeding the Snuggler is quite an adventure lately. I never know what she is going to do with her food, but eating is only a small part of it . . .

10,000 Cheerio pickup . . .

. . . peanut butter sandwich Hitler mustache . . .

. . . the ever-popular yogurt lotion . . .

. . . not only delicious . . .

. . . but ever so moisturizing!

Sophia has started treating Jude like her little buddy, and it is so cute to see. Of course, there are still the occasional whacks on the head (I think she likes to see if I am paying attention . . . I am!), and she hasn't quite grasped the meaning of "Gentle!!!" . . . but we're getting there.

Reading Jude her favorite book, Curious George. Jude even dressed for the occasion . . .

Sophia has moved into her big girl bed. It was a matter of necessity, as Jude had already managed to outgrow the cradle. He kept getting over to the side and hanging his arm out, and was not a fan as he couldn't get it back in! Of course, there is supposed to be some lag time before moving #2 into the crib that #1 has just been occupying, but that didn't happen. Fortunately, Sophia does not appear to resent Jude for taking over her crib.

She was pretty curious about the pillow . . . she mostly drapes it over her, or sleeps next to it.

All in all, it's going well, though we had our doubts with her first disastrous naptime in the big bed!

And now for some cuteness:

Eat your heart out, Anne Geddes!

Little Bear and his big sister . . .

Starting again

When Sophia was born via c-section, my doctors told me I had to wait six weeks to begin running again. Torture! For me, running = mental health, and when I finally started up again those raging postpartum hormones didn't bother me so much.

This time around I was looking forward to starting back up whenever I felt up to it . . . the benefit of a natural birth, right?

Except that I traded abdominal stitches for stitches . . . *ahem* . . . elsewhere. And was banned by my midwives from running for six weeks.

Frustration.

But now I'm back! I cheated a little bit and started running last Saturday, when Jude was five and a half weeks old.

My first run was great.

Well, let me ammend that . . . the first few steps felt amazing and the rest of it felt like my lungs had never actually had to breathe before. I got thru two miles, but shudder to think of what I looked like. I kept trying to correct my posture, because I could feel my shoulders creeping up, up, up . . . John and I have been joking about my shoulders being what I am wearing for earrings these days from holding Jude so much. I was also crawling along at tortoise pace, and it was not a pace that would've had a chance of beating Aesop's hare. To top it all off, my shorts fit me in a whole new way (which is to say that they didn't fit at all), and insisted on creeping up for the whole run. I finally gave up on trying to keep them down. My only brag is that I didn't walk at all.

First run = gasping hunched tortoise with bunchy creeping shorts.

Second run . . . infinitely improved by the fact that I wore workout capris that I had bought when in my third trimester with Sophia. I also had my two nephews with me, who at eight and ten years old are both currently faster than I am. I made them run behind me, obviously for safety reasons. And when I say safety, I mean so that I could set the tempo and not die running at their faster pace.

Because R & G were running with me, I had no choice but to run the entire distance, and even threw a bit of conversation their way to pretend I was not DYING the whole time. And then on the way back I had them do a bit of a speed workout, so that helped distract me from the pain. The problem was still not my legs but my lungs. No more creeping shorts, but gasping hunched tortoise was still present.

Third run . . . felt great! Legitimately great. I could breathe . . . never realized how important that was before. My nephew R was running with me, but I didn't have to keep up such a good front as I really did feel good. That is, until I looked at my watch at the turnaround point.

You see, one thing I did right on runs #1 and #2 was to take my watch off so that I wouldn't know just how slowly I was running. Run #3 I forgot, so was still wearing it and happened to glance at it when we left my sister's house. I thought briefly of leaving it there, but then decided it wouldn't hurt to see what my pace was.

Um, bad idea.

My pace was slow. Slower than slow. More like sludging thru mud three feet deep slow. I am not going to say what it was, for multiple reasons. Mainly, it's embarrassing. I ran three miles in 26 minutes while six months pregnant with Jude. I have slowed considerably. Some people would think my pace slow, some would think it decent, and some might even think it was fast. But what really matters? What I think, and what I think is . . . I need to kick it into gear before my first race back on October 29th!

Onto yesterday's run, run #4. This time I was running by myself, and definitely remembered to take my watch off. I headed out the door determined to enjoy myself. And I did. It was a beautiful day, about 60 degrees with the sun shining . . . ideal for running. Plus, I knew I looked cute in my running skirt and red tank. That always helps my mental game. Silly, I know.

The thing is, I really am a social runner. I so rarely have anyone to run with, but after just two runs with my nephews, I had gotten used to having someone else with me. Having someone else along means one thing for sure . . . no walking.

Now I had to get back into self-motivating. Tough to do when the only sounds you hear are the thud of your feet on pavement and your very raspy breathing.

By the time I was headed back to the house, I REALLY wanted to walk. I was tired.

So I decided to have R come with me for the rest of my run. (Still not sure if I was being creative or delusional . . .) As I turned onto Dennison Street, I could hear his feet pounding along behind me. And when I made my next turn onto Gamage, every breath he made said "Don't quit, don't walk, don't stop!"

Didn't want to lose face in front of the "nephew," so I kept running all the way home. For the rest of that run, Phantom R kept me going. Of course, the reason R wasn't actually running with me was that he was busy running a race, the final 5K of the Triple Crown here in Auburn. And winning his age group in 24 minutes and 20 seconds! (Yes, much faster than me right now.)

I may joke about being a gasping hunched tortoise with bunchy creeping shorts, but in reality I am so excited to be running again that I can put up with looking/feeling slow and ridiculous in the short term . . . I have plans for the long term, and they include kicking my previous personal record in the butt next summer. So this tortoise is going to keep on crawling along, because there is really nowhere to go from here but up!