Perfect Storm

Remember this? 

It was about a hypothetical perfect storm of events unfolding to bring me a third little munchkin to sticky up my life and make it officially impossible for me to ever be caught up on laundry.

Yes, well, we're in the eye of that storm.

What I'm trying to say is baby 3 will be here in mid-February.  

I know, right?  I was a bit taken aback myself.

Having already done this three times under varying circumstances, I'm fairly relaxed now that it has sunken in.  Pregnant-schmegnant.  I could do this in my sleep.  (Not that I'm getting much what with already having the first two kids and all).

Gavin and this baby will only be 15 months apart.  I did some figuring and realized that, unless I can convince a school to take Gavin into kindergarten 3 months before he turns 5 (which is totally not ever going to happen), him and this baby will start kindergarten on the same day.

So, there's that.

I guess I'll divulge a little more about my boyfriend (baby daddy? oh my.) since he's clearly a permanent figure in my life for at least the next 18 years.

If you've seen pictures of him, you've probably got this (ridiculous) notion that he's some sort of thug (cause he has many, many tattoos and people are sometimes judgey like that).

You'd be all kinds of wrong.

He's the guy who sends me screen shots of love songs he "shazams" because they are playing on the radio and cause him to think of me.

And the guy who patiently steps in and feeds the (very easily distracted) bottomless pit that is Gavin when he can see that I am about to throw a jar of chicken noodle at the wall in frustration.

And the guy who sits in the floor and plays tractors or heads outside and plays catch with Silas.

And the guy who cooks incredible meals and washes 8 loads of (mine and my kids) laundry on his day off - because he just wants to lighten my load.

And the guy who isn't childish. Who never plays games or tries to make me jealous or does anything but try to let me know that me and my kids are incredibly important to him.

He's over the moon about this little peanut who is on the way.  Watching him with my sons has shown me all I need to know about what kind of dad he's going to be, and I must say this is going to be a lucky child.

My (amazing) parents are stepping in to help solve our housing crisis (as in, we absolutely cannot make a two bedroom work any longer).  We plan to be in a house (with a fenced backyard and everything!) before baby C's arrival.

This time last year, I was also growing a little life.  My little Gavin.  I was scared and coming to grips with the end of my marriage and facing raising two kids alone.  

It was still a good year.  I learned so much about who I am and what I want out of life.  Not to mention, I got Gavin out of the whole thing, and I kind of love him so much it hurts.

And I can truly, honestly say that all of the bad things about last year were more than worth what my life has now become.  Happy does not even begin to cover how I feel about having my two perfect, gorgeous, healthy sons and a wonderful, kind, loyal, loving man by my side.

This baby is going to be welcomed into a truly happy home full of love and laughter.

I sat still when God told me to do so, and I waited on Him, and He absolutely knew what was best for me.

I could not ask for anything more (except to never participate in another pregnancy ever again after this one.  Ever. Amen.)

Balance

Lord knows I do not get it right all the time.  Being a parent is hard.  Working a full time job is hard.  Maintaining healthy relationships is a lot of work.  Keeping a household running is a lot of work.  Sometimes one or several of these aspects of my life is in a state of chaos.

This past weekend was a perfect example of me doing what I could to keep the balance.

I loathe housework.  You will never catch me bragging about my housekeeping skills.  We do not live in filth, but we sure do work around a lot of mess.  Laundry and toys and bottles and shoes.  Never. freaking. ending.  That's how we live most of the time.  It's picked up and the dishes are done and we have some clean outfits, but there's generally always something that needs cleaning or washing or putting away.

Approximately once a month, I get the urge to catch everything up and make the house as clean as I can possibly get it.  Saturday was that day.  I got up at 7 and cleaned and did laundry and changed sheets and pulled all the clothes out of the closets that were the wrong sizes or hadn't seen the light of day in over a year.  I did not stop until well after the boys went to bed.

Hooray me! Big pat on the back! Many accolades! Right?  Sure, if you aren't my three year old or my 6 month old.  Because they? Seriously pissed off at me.  Hearing "hold on just a second, mommy's cleaning/folding laundry/finding a place for all of these freaking shoes - how did we get so many shoes?!" 112 times on a Saturday is completely unacceptable to a three year old.

Oh the guilt.  The never-ending, I cannot do enough/be enough/give enough mommy guilt.

My solution to this was to make ALL of Sunday about the boys.  It was a water hose in the yard, buying a kiddie pool, hanging out in our bathing suits, eating hot dogs (and chicken noodle for Gav), don't go in until the sun goes down kind of day.  My kids smiled and laughed and made my heart burst with happiness.

The kids were annoyed with me most of Saturday, but the house got the scrubbing it needed.  

The house was messy again by bedtime Sunday, but we spent a ton of quality time together as a family.

Balance.

That's what I strive for these days.  

I know I am not going to get it right all the time in all aspects of my life.  All I can do is try to keep every facet of my life from being in crisis mode on the same day.  

Mostly I do, and that's good enough for me.

mama, mama

The pregnancy, birth, and sleepless nights by myself?  Worth it.  Gavin said "mama" before "dada". (Confession: he totally talked about his brother and bottles before mama, but it's still a small victory)

Off the grid

I went off the grid.  

My Facebook account is gone.  My blog has tumbleweeds bouncing through it.  There is no one good reason for this.  Mostly I just wanted to check out of the social network and check into my life.

Unfortunately, this has left my peeps from distant lands (read: my home state) feeling a bit disconnected.  I do sincerely apologize.  I swear it was not my intention.

Firstly, I am enamored with my kids.  Watching them build a relationship is the most fascinating thing I have ever seen.  Gavin adores Silas, and Silas has grown incredibly fond of Gavin as well.  Silas still has the occasional flare-up of jealousy.  But now it's balanced with the frequent desire to play with Gavin and make him laugh.  

Gavin is Army crawling all over the place, and he's starting to get up on his hands and knees and rock - life is about to get wild.  He sits up without support (i.e. good bye stupid carrier in Target).  He has said "mama" a couple of times, but mostly he sticks to this beautifully dimpled smile and the sweetest "hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii" you've ever heard.

Silas is moody, which I've read and talked to enough people about to understand that it's mostly his age and his coming to grips with the past year of his life.  He's currently full of random and voluntary I love you mom's.  These are the weeks I relish.  Next week he may be jumping off the couch onto the dog and throwing things at his brother.  He certainly keeps life interesting. 

A couple of months ago, I added their names to my ever-growing collection of tattoos.  My heart's desire was to tattoo their names on my wrists.  However, I opted for my ribs in an effort to maintain the ability to cover them and be professional-ish.  I'm happy with the way it turned out.

My divorce was final the day after Valentine's Day.  It was a grueling nightmare to get to that day, but it has been completely innocuous since then.  I have met Michael's girlfriend several times.  She's usually around when we do the drop off/pick up thing.  Michael has met my boyfriend.  There was even an occasion where the four of us wound up at a social gathering together.  It didn't go horribly.  This is apparently part of acting like an adult.  It's not too bad.

My boyfriend is still this really great guy, and I'm still incredibly happy to have him in my life. 

I still work at the same place doing the same thing.

I still live at the same place and have the same ridiculous commute.

I think that is about it.  You're all caught up!

Weight - what?

You know how I was all crazy overweight but then I lost a bunch of weight?

Right, and now I'm a size 10.

Right, and I have absolutely NO desire to lose anymore weight at all.  Sure, I want to tone up, but I do not want to shed anymore pounds because I am most comfortable at a size 10.

Uh huh.  Well, today, we had a health screening at work.  (It's required if we don't want to pay an arm and a leg for insurance.)

They weighed me, took my height, and informed me that I am overweight.  I need to lose 42 pounds.

These numbers affect our ever-rising health insurance costs, and now I'm pissed off.

What I'm being told is that in order to be "healthy," I have to look completely emaciated.  Because that is exactly how I would look if I lost 42 more pounds.

There are people who were born to be super thin.  Maybe you are one of those people.  Maybe you are tiny, and it looks amazing on you.  I am not one of those people.  I know because I've done it, and it looks all wrong.

My biggest problem is that when I did it, I did it because I was told by someone else that it was right for me.  I did it because I was told that that was the only way to be "beautiful."  

Well, now I'm 30 years old and have given birth 3 times, and I know that's a load of crap.

The "I have to be a size 2 to be pretty" part of my brain died or fell out or grew up a long time ago.   When I look in the mirror, I want to see curves staring back at me.   That is what is beautiful to me.  If I lost 42 pounds, I'd be skin and bones, and would in no way be anything near what I consider to be healthy looking.  I've literally been every size from a 2-18.  I'm well acquainted with what looks best on me.

I've been fat, and I can tell you that right now, I'm not fat.  I don't feel fat.  I don't look fat.  I don't feel bad about myself.  I don't feel unhealthy.  I have no trouble keeping up with my crazy schedule and my two kids.  I make good food choices far more often than I make poor ones.  I exercise.  I drink water.  I take my kids outside to play.  I cannot even stomach fast food anymore.  I strive daily to live a healthy lifestyle.

Still I'm being told that I am unhealthy, and it is not just me.  Other people in my office who exercise, eat right, and look great were told the same thing.

I have no doubt in my mind that I could lose 42 pounds if I wanted to do it. But I don't want to do it.


So, no, absolutely not to your "ideal weight."  I'm the one who has to live in this body, so I'll be the one deciding how it should look.

I feel good, and I'm happy.  Brand me "unhealthy" if you want. 

It's work, y'all

I'm not sure if you remember how badly I suck at mornings.  Suffice it to say: if there was an award for sucking at mornings, I would win it every year, hands down.

There used to be just two of us, and one of us had basically given up on looking presentable in public.  Ponytail? check. Ill-fitting garments? check. Ugly black flats? check. Zero makeup? check.  And I still could not get us out the door in time.

That brings me to the present where there are now three of us to get ready.  

One of us is quite unpredictable about when he wants to eat.  However, once he decides it is time, you damn well better drop everything you are doing and make it happen NOW or there will be consequences.  He'll projectile vomit all over your work clothes and then laugh at you.  He ain't scared.

Then there is Silas.  My sweet angel baby three year old boy who hates everything about waking up before 10 am - at the very earliest.  There is always snot involved and tears and turning into a limp noodle and falling out in the floor.  Now throw in his collar bone injury, and the world is coming to an end with every change of every shirt.

Did I mention I still have two dogs?  They're assholes, my dogs.  They skipped the meeting where the packet on how to be "man's best friend" was handed out.  They were no doubt off somewhere barking their fool heads off at a cat or a kid on a bike or a leaf blowing in the wind.  Perhaps tearing up the trash and dragging it all over the kitchen floor?  No telling, but whatever it was, it wasn't good.

And me.  I'm trying y'all.  I'm trying hard to not drag into work looking a hot mess every day.  I'm trying hard to wear clothes that fit and cute high heels and to flat iron my hair and slap some makeup on my face.  It's so much freaking work. 

And once we're all ready?  Then comes the part where I have to find everyone's crap and place it in everyone's respective bags and give everyone whatever medicine they need.  I have not once made it out of the house without forgetting something since I started back to work.  Not one time.

After I finally manage to make it down the steps and into the car with both of my children and all of our bags and buckle everyone in, I have to sit in the driver's seat and take a minute to collect myself.  

By the time I drop them off and make it to work, I feel relieved.  Yes, I probably forgot something.  Yes, I probably lost my patience.  Yes, I probably found myself on the verge of tears.  

But I get to see those two beautiful faces when I get off work, and we get to do the hectic night routine, and I get to wake up tomorrow morning and hug those perfect gifts from God and do it all again.  

I assure you: they are worth every bit of the work it takes to get us through the days, and I would not change a single thing.

A long overdue update

You missed me, right?

Blogging from an iPad with a baby in one arm and a toddler in the other is hard.  And I'm lazy.  So, I gave up for a while.

Now I'm back to work.  So, you are free to come read my blather once more.

Gavin is huge.  He's got a definite Elmer Fudd thing going on.  He's such a happy little baby.  The smiling and cooing and babbling have started, and it's delicious.  I could just eat him up!  He makes my heart swell with joy every time I lay eyes on him - even at 4 a.m.  I cannot imagine my life without him.

Silas is getting so very grown up.  He's still sweet-natured and bull-headed.  He's still stingy with the kisses and hugs, but he's actually gotten very generous with the "I love you's" and "I miss you's."  We're working on getting back on a schedule.  He's been spending more time with his dad, and I think it is helping him.  He doesn't get upset when I pick him up from Michael anymore.  I think he's finally realized that his dad is still part of his life.

As far as me: I've lost a lot of weight (60ish pounds).  I'm wearing pants in a size that I haven't seen since before I got pregnant with Silas.  A size I honestly never thought I'd see again.  It feels really good. 

I've met someone.  Someone kind, honest, loyal, respectful.  Someone who constantly makes me laugh.  Someone who treats me well and goes out of his way to keep a smile on my face.  Someone who genuinely cares about me and wants me to succeed.  Someone who can actually see me as a person instead of just looking at me and seeing "baggage" (can you hear all the bitterness in the last word of that sentence? because there is SO. MUCH. THERE.)

I'm sure you have an opinion on that subject.  I've heard everything from "I'm so happy for you" to "it's too soon."  All I can say is: I'm happy, and my kids are happy.  Trying to make the whole world (or even everyone I know) agree with my decisions is futile.  So, I will just continue to live my life being concerned about making the people who live under my roof happy.  Things are simpler that way.

Last year taught me a great deal about who I am and what I want and what is important.  My focus for 2013 is to invest in quality people because 2012 showed me just how many of those people I have in my life.  I thank God for every one of them every day.