Investing in The Future

One of the things I'm glad I don't miss by being a working mom is putting my daughter to bed. I love nursing her one last time before I put her down, I love how cute she looks half asleep in her milk coma before I lay her down and wrap her in a blanket, and, most of all, I love reading to her before she goes to sleep. I had a fairly tumultuous childhood, but one of the most pleasant memories I have is of my parents and siblings reading to me before bed. I think I began reading early on because I was read to as a baby, and I think I was reading far above my reading level because of that, as well.

So now that I have my own daughter, I hope to give her the same advantage. I'm making it a point to read to her and begin to teach her things while I play with her. I realize that I love being able to teach my daughter and show her things that are so normal to me but so new to her, and because of this, I'm considering homeschooling. Of course, I've got years before I'll have to begin anything formal, but I like the idea of weighing the pros and cons now.

I myself am a graduate of 12 years of public school and 4 years of a private college. I loved school as a girl, but always felt frustrated with the speed (or lack thereof) at which things were taught; it seemed things always had to be reviewed over and over again for the students that couldn't grasp concepts as quickly. I don't mean to say that these students should be given the time to learn at the speed they need to, but as a student who could understand things more quickly, I was easily bored and frustrated, making school less enjoyable than it could have been. I also think, having been given more freedom to choose subjects of study, I may have found things that interest me more quickly and been able to delve into them more thoroughly at an earlier age. Instead, it wasn't until college when I really began to study subjects that I loved (the sciences).

Of course, today I felt was an excellent day to mention this consideration of mine to my mother. She, too, was a working mother, and feels in no way responsible for her decision to work while I was young; she had to work, she would always tell me. I, on the other hand, am perfectly comfortable living a more modest lifestyle if it means raising children that will become Godly adults. I hope and pray that when the time comes to start formal schooling for BabyGirl (and any subsequent munchkins we may produce), I'll be able to stay home and teach them. If that is the case, I can only hope I have the will power to take the criticism I will receive from family and friends; I think my mom's criticism is only the beginning.

Two Down

And three more days to go before a three day weekend.
My first week back at work isn't turning out to be as terrible as I had suspected it would be. I'm just completely swamped.
More regular programming starting tomorrow!

First Day Back at Work Tomorrow...

..and I already miss the BabyGirl. Talk to me tomorrow afternoon and we'll see how it all goes...

Too Much of a Good Thing?

It's funny how sometimes God uses things you would least expect to teach you things about your life. Well, I guess He is always doing that, isn't He?
It seems like since Beardface and I have got married we're almost always in a situation where I have to be very creative with the budget. I wouldn't say we've ever been in financial trouble, but sometimes we've had to be crafty with what we spend each month. Naturally, I've spent some time (not a lot, but some) thinking about what life would be like for us when I get a raise, or if Beardface were to get a high paying job. It's not that I'm materialistic or that I like expensive things; I've just always thought things would be a little easier if there was a bit more room in our budget.
When I go back to work, Beardface is going to stop working and stay home with BabyGirl, so we'll be missing his income for a few months. I was working the new budget (minus Beardface's income), and started to get pretty upset. I guess I'm just getting frustrated with always having to finagle (is that how you spell it?) our way into paying our bills and things. I found myself yesterday wishing we had more money.
This morning was cool here, and I spent the best part of it weeding our garden. We had a fairly large and productive garden earlier this summer, but due to a lack of weeding and an overabundance of sunshine and water, the garden and its weeds have overgrown most of the productive plants. (Don't get all judgmental on me; I was ten months pregnant and it was 100 degrees for most of June!) Two weeks ago I decided to buy weed killer and just attack the weeds and seeding plants that remained in our raised beds; so today I only had to pull up dead plants (which is much less strenuous). It was still a difficult job, and I found myself thinking that our garden was definitely too much of a good thing. We were overzealous with our planting and ended up with 8 zucchini plants, 7 tomato plants, and way too many string bean plants. We had more plants than we could tend to and more vegetables than we could harvest. (I love giving away vegetables I grow to family and friends, but we found the fruits were falling off the plants before we could harvest them.) There was simply too much in our garden for us to take care of with all of our other responsibilities.
I wonder sometimes if that is what God is showing us with our financial situation. Would any more income be too much for us to handle? Luckily, I don't need to know the answer to that question. I only need to know that whatever He is doing is meant to grow us both up and more like Christ.

Is It Yours?

This title comes courtesy of a woman I ran into at the grocery store this afternoon. I would like to thank her not only for the title of tonight's post, but also for reminding me that my sweet, beautiful daughter looks almost nothing like me.
It's funny how two people can make a little person that looks so different from both of them; genetics is a funny thing like that. Gregor Mendel was all sorts of confused when he crossed his pea plants to find recessive traits, and we still are today when you cross two people with similar traits to produce a baby with totally different set of traits.
Take, for example, my daughter. She has a lovely olive complexion, straight dark hair, and grayish blue eyes. She looks like a Greek baby that has sat in the sun for a while. But that is not the case. Instead, she comes from two pasty white parents with dark curly hair and hazel eyes. I can see Beardface's features in her face, but not mine. My husband reassures me that yes, she does look like me, too. I suspected he was lying and had my suspicions confirmed today while trying to pick up my week's worth of fruit.
I was minding my own business in the produce isle, hanging with the BabyGirl, when all of the elderly women in the store flocked to my daughter. "Oh how cute!"they shouted. "She's adorable!" they exclaimed. Most asked how old she was and commented on how alert she is for her age. But one woman. She looked at BabyGirl, then at me and asked "Is it yours?"
Now, this question has so many things wrong with it, but I'll begin with the most obvious. My daughter is a person, not an object or pet, and as a person, she should be referred to with a pronoun. If one were to have any doubts about the gender of a person they are speaking of, they need only ask. But could this woman have any doubts? I should hope not. BabyGirl was sporting a pink hair bow that matched her white onesie trimmed in pink with a purple butterfly in the center. Now really, ma'am. A butterfly on the onesie is a dead giveaway that this is a little girl, so please use the proper pronoun.
Also, I'm carrying this baby around on my shoulder, kissing her cheeks every so often and looking at her lovingly. Is she mine?? No, I just take strange babies to the grocery store and kiss them. ::sigh::
I realize I should be more forgiving and nicer about her mistake. But man. Makes you feel real good when someone can't tell your own baby is yours.
It doesn't matter, though. I know she's mine. She has just always looked familiar. As if I've met her in some other place, some other time. Here is a picture of the two of us on vacation. She's rocking her daddy's over shirt because it was windy. I love this shot. (Props to Beardface, the photographer.)

An Escape from Reality

As I told you all last week, our family had gone to the beach, and I wouldn't be blogging for a little while. Our vacation was cut a bit short by the current natural disaster terrorizing the eastern seaboard, so I'm now writing to you from my usual spot in my kitchen.
It was bittersweet driving back today. I was sad to leave the shoreline again. I grew up close to the ocean, close enough that I could go every weekend in the summer. I even lived on the beach for an entire summer, residing in an old WWII barracks next to the country's oldest lighthouse. There is something about the ocean that makes me complete again. It brings out the essence of me; it makes me feel like myself again. To use the words of a wise man: the beach is my "reset button". It resets me to what is my normal self again.
On the other hand, I was glad to be coming home. I have only a few days left before my maternity leave is over and I have to return to work. I'm looking forward to a couple of days at home just to get some things done to prepare myself for this huge change. Beardface and I have worked out our schedules so that we don't have to send BabyGirl to daycare. This was a non-negotiable for us. We always said we wanted to raise our own children, not have someone else raise them for us. Of course, at her young age it would be easier and more logical for me to stay home with her, but that isn't possible for us at this moment. So my husband will be home during the day while I go off to earn our daily bread. It will be helpful to get him used to caring for her all day while I'm around to help, and I know it will take BabyGirl some time to get used to eating from a bottle.
Reality had to hit me some time, and now is as good a time as any. On Monday, I will go back to work. I'll leave my baby daughter with my husband while I spend my weeks earning paychecks. I always thought I'd be bored being a stay-at-home mom; in college I mocked women who chose to postpone or forgo a career to raise their children. Now I find myself jealous of them.

Lord, give me the strength to do what I need to do for my family at this time, and give me the wisdom to know what is right for my family. And Lord, let me remember that the two people I love most on this earth will always be there to greet me at home.

Short Hiatus

Am I gone? Had I only returned for a very short blogging stint to leave you all again? Absolutely not! We're just on vacation in North Carolina. The Beardface family has been soaking up the sun and the sand. Regular blogging will continue when we return.

A Good Cry

You know what I'm talking about. It's a good, cleansing, depressing-but-yet-uplifting cry. Everyone needs one from time to time, as far as I'm concerned.
I didn't know I needed one today. To be honest, I haven't felt like I needed a cry in quite some time; definitely not since having the BabyGirl. But that cry crept up on me.
It started because I was finally getting around to reading My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. It is a heart-wrenching, emotional train wreck of a story about a sister who was conceived specifically to be a donor to her very ill older sister; I think they made it into a movie a few years ago. It is truly an excellent book. The ending, though, (which, don't worry, I won't ruin for those who haven't read it or watched the movie) is probably the saddest thing that could have concluded the story. I was definitely not expecting what happened.
I found myself sobbing while reading the last 20 pages or so of this book. Normally, books don't make me legitimately cry; it simply doesn't conjure up as much emotion as watching scenes in a film. But this particular book (and, consequently, the end of Harry Potter 6) made me weep like a schoolgirl. I was laying down reading with the BabyGirl asleep on my chest with tears streaming down my face. Boy am I glad she's not old enough to understand what a head-case her mother can be at times.
I recovered quickly enough from the cry; the baby was hungry, and I can't help but be happy while I'm nursing her (now that it doesn't hurt any more!). A sad book, though, is like a scary movie: I have to consume something funny right afterwards. Any suggestions? What is a good light-hearted, funny book?

Whip It Out!

So today I have a story and a question for all of you.

This past Saturday we went to a nearby city with Beardface's parents for my mother-in-laws birthday. We stopped at a bagel place for lunch, and it was packed. We could only find a table in the middle of the restaurant. Usually this wouldn't be an issue, but since I'm nursing the BabyGirl, I often look for seats where I have my back or one side of my body next to a wall to avoid accidentally flashing the unsuspecting public.

So there we are, Beardface and I staking out our table in the middle of the restaurant when the little girl starts gnawing on her hands, letting me know she would like a snack. I, being the ever oblivious person, put my nursing cover on, which looks pretty much like this:
I then proceed to unlatch my contraption of an outfit to feed my baby. Beardface, of course, ever mindful of his surroundings, proceeds to adjust and pull my nursing cover in all sorts of ways to ensure that I am in no way exposing myself to the people around us. He lets me know in his gentle way that my breast is out for the world to see (which is not entirely true; you could just catch some side-boob view if you were sitting in the right spot). I get fairly annoyed at Beardface when he does this. I understand that I am his wife, and he doesn't want me to expose myself to people around; I'm also sure he's worried there may be some pervs staring. But honestly, I'm of the belief that so long as I'm making a general effort to be modest, I'm doing my part. It's not as if I'm just unbuttoning in public without using a nursing cover, allowing the world to see my breasts. I'm make an attempt to prevent my bosom from being seen, but I cannot help that there may be a person or two who catches an accidental glimpse of something they shouldn't have seen. Or, yes, maybe a perv might try to catch a glimpse of something he desperately wants to see. I can only help what I am doing to try to protect my privacy and that of my daughter, but I cannot help the curiosity and view of those around me.
That being said, this reason alone is definitely NOT enough for me to stop nursing in public. I am not forced to eat in secrecy or behind closed doors, so why should my BabyGirl?

So my question to all of you is: How do you feel about nursing in public? For moms that have, did you use a cover? Did you feel comfortable breastfeeding in places where you could be seen? Leave me something.

In-Laws?

What is it about in-laws that just sometime exhaust and exasperate me?

Don't get me wrong; I love mine. They are sweet, wonderful people. They have made me feel welcome in their family and are always very nice to me.

But seriously, sometimes, they just get on my nerves?

Does this just happen after you get married? Is it because now we're legally related?

I think so.

I got one!!

It's amazing how when you have a baby in the house even the simplest acts of human existence become little miracles. When BabyGirl was in the hospital she had a small bout with jaundice (many babies do), so Beardface and I were excited every time we changed a poopy diaper. (Jaundice is an excess of bilirubins, and they are removed from the blood by being processed through the liver and excreted mostly in bowel movements). When we got home, I was glad to see that our baby could nurse correctly and very often; that meant the pain of nursing would go away quicker and she'd gain weight.
Well, BabyGirl is now five weeks old, and although we've seen our fair share of gassy "smiles", Beardface and I were pumped to see the real thing. That first baby smile when our daughter finally recognizes who we are. And I think I really got a few!This one I got after yesterday morning's nap. She had been in quite the milk coma after eating, so I made swaddled her (made her into a baby burrito) and laid her down for a while. When she woke up she noticed I was still around and gave me this giant grin. (Side note: Although my little daughter has more hair than most newborns, I'm still intent on putting a bow on her little head to let everyone know she's a girl!)
And this little gem I caught in Panera (it's amazing how much time they'll let you use their internet for the measly price of a cup of coffee!). I had to tickle her a bit to coax this smile out, but it's real nonetheless.
I know there are other milestones of basic human existence that this little baby is going to go through (grasping things, first steps, first words, first real food), but I think this one has to be my favorite. It lets me and Beardface know that over these last five weeks, our little girl has grown to trust us and recognize us. She knows that Mommy and Daddy and something to smile at.
What about everyone else? What are your favorite milestones in the first few years of life? You mothers of older children, does it just keep getting more and more exciting? Because, honestly, I can see God amazing us with this little girl more and more everyday.

One-handed

When I was pregnant it seemed like everyone I met had some little nugget of wisdom for me, some treasured piece of information that would get my husband and I through parenthood. By and large the most common piece of information I received was to learn to do everything I need to do one-handed. Mostly this information came from dads of multiple children who told tales of bouncing a toddler on one knee while doing the bills or some other picture-esque scene from a movie that I can only imagine would be entitled "Adventures in Parenting".
Oddly enough, I have found this tactic useful. I'm sure when BabyGirl because a fussy, bouncing toddler both Beardface and I will have the opportunity to use our one-handed skills. But I am finding it beneficial to learn to do things one-handed while I'm nursing. Granted, I don't know of any fathers that have breastfed their babies (you never know with today's technological advancements..), but if they did, they'd know what you really can do one-handed.
For example, I eat most meals while nursing. Something about Beardface and I sitting down to eat makes our daughter hungry. This will be great when she is three years old and can use a fork and spoon to feed herself, but for now I've mastered balancing a baby on a crossed leg while eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I used to feel bad about getting Raisin Bran crumbs or salad dressing on her head, but then I realized: I have to eat, too! If I don't eat, I don't make milk, and if I don't make milk, she is out of luck. So I continue to eat with BabyGirl in my lap.
Tell me: has anyone else eaten while nursing? Whay other things have you done while breastfeeding? I'd love to hear about it.

Back in the Saddle Again..hopefully

Have you ever looked back at a season in your life and felt like it was not real? Maybe you felt like you couldn't really remember what happened; or what happened in that season didn't seem like it was happening to you, but instead you were watching it in a movie. That is EXACTLY how I felt when I re-discovered my own blog and read my last few entries.

It has been a while, of course. Over a year. And a lot has happened since then. Beardface and I have moved twice since then. In fact, the most recent move was into the first home we've ever bought.
Not too long after moving into our home, we welcomed a new member to our family.
Below you will find a picture of Miss Madeline. She is the newest member of the Beardface family. Her hobbies include sleeping, wiggling, expelling gas, and trying to nurse on anything even loosely shaped like a nipple.

I'll save you all the dramatic re-enactment of her birth, mostly because I don't remember much of it. It's not that I was drugged up for most of the labor, nor had I gotten any pain medication early on. It is true what they say about mothers and their labors: they forget the pain. I recall my labor more like a movie I watched that day. A 30 hour movie. My poor husband remembers every detail. I fear we will not have anymore children if it's up to him.


I'm sure you may be wondering "after a one year hiatus from blogging, why now are you returning?". There are many reasons for this. One is that I am still on maternity leave, and although I am loving not having to go to work, it is difficult to find things to occupy my time when the little girlie is napping. Another reason is that Beardface and I have hooked up internet again, so I am able to post things up. Finally, I've actually missed blogging. I've found that when I'm blogging I'm better able to organize my thoughts and therefore organize my life. The past few months I've found it difficult to keep up with life in general. Part of that may be because we have just been more busy these last few months. It seems like business trips, birthdays, holidays, and other family obligations come right on top of each other, leaving us little time together and me little time alone.
So I'm returning to blogging in an effort to become more organized and to be able to put down in words my thoughts, ideas, and plans.
Stay tuned, folks. This could get ugly.