Q Turns One

Q turning one was a little more emotionally draining than I had envisioned. I was both trying to remember the time of her birth and trying to not remember it TOO hard, while simultaneously juggling a conflict with a friend, the news of the death of a classmate, some disturbing dreams, a lack of sleep, and feelings of loss due to stopping breastfeeding (well, pumping). Add to that the realization that my little baby is now officially a "toddler", and you have one emotionally drained mama. I tried to go to bed nice and early tonight, but I lay in bed with my eyes open and thoughts racing and conceded that I might as well put my hands to good use recording the incidents of today: Q's birthday.

For her birthday, her dad and I got her a classic wooden rocking horse. I found the biggest bow I could find, and we set it in front of her by the big bay window in the muted winter light. She was delighted when we showed her how to sit on it and pushed her back and forth--then she began to wobble vigorously in an attempt to rock it on her own, though I think she'll have to grow a little taller to accomplish that feat. She opened up presents from Florida Grandma, who watched over Skype, and then we all took a nice morning nap.

Her birthday lunch was a smashing success--particularly the little "smash cake" that Q dug into with utter abandon, to the delight of her guests. And then--and I think this is the true mark of success for a party--the birthday girl was whisked away to take a bath right in the middle of her own party. With the exception of her cake smashing, during which she wore only her diaper, Q was attired in a beautiful little dress given to her by her Great Grandma. She had a toddler friend and her fellow baby cousin to the party, and they all made basic attempts at "sharing" and ignoring each other by turn.

If Q asks me what she was like at age one, this is what I would say: You were pale with strawberry-blond "duck fluff" that was just beginning to resemble real hair. You were of average weight and height for your age and had impressively adorable arm rolls. Whenever you were experiencing something new, you would become very "serious" and observant, which basically translated into you never smiling at strangers. Once you warmed up, though, you could smile and laugh with the best of them. You could say "Mama," "Dada," "Nana," (Nanners) "Gaga," (Grandma) and "Khhhh" (cat). You could understand "Book," "Give it here," "Walk," and "No" (among other things). You loved to be read to and to sit on the floor and flip through your books. You walked tentatively, depending on your mood. You bounced up and down to music. You liked to try to eat cat food (but would spit it out when Mama held out her hand), shake the baby gate at the top of the stairs (we had to move furniture in front of it to prevent you from doing so), and shake the flat screen TV in the living room (we had to move furniture in front of that, too). You liked when we put raspberries on your fingers so that you could eat them, but you were beginning to display a dislike for vegetables and would spit them out of your mouth and then drop the remnants on the floor. You were messy, playful, serious, loveable, and the most impressive human being that Mommy and Daddy had ever laid eyes on.

Thanks for a wonderful year of being our precious little baby. We look forward (with dread) to toddlerhood.

A Complicated New Schedule

This morning, I said a prayer for mothers of multiples. Because really, how do they do it? I find that every little last iota of my energy is consumed in the care of this 10-month-old. Imagining two at once--or MORE--makes me want to cry. So I prayed that God would bless those mamas who feel frayed at the edges and give them quiet little moments where they can actually watch and enjoy their children today, instead of just rush, rush, rush.

Q got some bloodwork done the other day. The results were fine, except that she has low iron. We have started iron supplement, but they're actually complicated little buggers. Here's what they entail:
1. Ideally, they need to be split up into 3 doses, because they can cause stomach upset.
2. They stain teeth, so after each dose, Q's teeth need to be brushed (yup, brushing a baby's teeth 3x a day).
3. Because of the upset stomach issue, they need to be taken with food. However, dairy prohibits their absorption. So... take them with meals but don't give her any dairy?
4. They cause constipation, which she struggles with. So she will probably have to take lactulose syrup once a day to combat that.

Yesterday I went in and had a loooong talk with the pharmacist about whether Q REALLY needs to be on this. And the short answer is: probably yes. Q's systems are still lagging a little behind. Babies of diabetic mothers tend to have immune systems and digestive systems that take longer to get in the swing of things; luckily they DO usually catch up. In the meantime, though, it's a pain in the butt. I feel like my body has failed her in so many ways. Maybe that's part of the reason I'm obsessive about making it to 1 year of breastfeeding. Speaking of which...

I'm not sure I can make it to 1 year of breastfeeding. She's almost 10.5 months, but she has developed a cold which has been dragging on for about 10 days now. She's very congested, and I had to stop nursing her because she was biting me multiple times (even drew blood once). I can still nurse her at night for some reason, but in the daytime I have to pump. And I'm pumping about 2 ounces per session. Which is roughly half of what she needs. I've been burning through my freezer supply and have ~12 ounces of it left. So I am now on a regiment of Motilium 3x a day (before meals) in an attempt to boost my milk. But I dunno if I'm going to make it. I really wanted this. I'm so dang close. Just 52 more days. C'mon, body, don't fail me now.

All this to say, last night I sat down and wrote out a schedule for Q and myself, because we're on a lot of medications, and it's too much for me to remember. Synthroid in the morning for me, vitamin D for her, Motilium 3x a day for me, iron 3x a day for her, lactulose syrup once a day, and of course all my multiple insulin injections (2 kinds). And three of those medicines have to be planned around meals. And of course, I've added pumping into the schedule, which is fairly time-consuming (and makes Q angry, since she's used to getting her milk RIGHT NOW). And Brewer's yeast.

If you're the praying type, I'd appreciate prayers for us to adjust to this new schedule. Prayers for my milk supply to increase and her cold to go away, because those two things would take a lot of stress away. At the very least, this schedule is teaching me organization and discipline. Last night I made a spreadsheet of what medications are taken at what time, and even added things in like scheduled naps and diaper changes. To accomplish everything I need to, I'm going to have to run this operation in strict, military style for a while.

Tofu Water and Not Letting Your Guard Down

Yesterday, I changed the tofu water. And two days before that, I changed it as well. I should be changing the tofu water every day, but somehow between mopping up puddles of spit up, scrubbing cat barfs on the carpet, and going shopping for the 3rd time this week because I forgot something else, I just didn't manage to squeeze in a daily tofu water changing. I've been giving Q a soft mixture of tofu and blueberries for breakfast, which has resulted in some interesting poops and a light blue stain on her butt that won't come off. This is apropos of nothing.

So, I could gush about how motherhood has meant trying new things that I never thought I'd try--like changing tofu water--but what I really want to say is that I only feel true fear when I imagine harm coming to my daughter, or her not being by my side always. I have recurring dreams of being separated from her and panicking because I am not there to breastfeed her and am scared she will be crying and hungry. I am struggling to leave her in the care of another person more than I used to--pushing down feelings of unease as I push a shopping cart through the grocery store alone. But I still need that time apart from her. Every mother needs that time.

On a somewhat related note, I have been hearing some stories of babies and young children being left in hot cars and suffering injury as a result. And with those stories comes the inevitable comments: "Some people should never have children." "We should put THEM in a car for the same amount of time and watch them suffer." "How can you be so stupid as to forget your child?" I saw a picture posted of signs at a Walmart store reminding shoppers to check their cars to make sure they didn't leave a child inside, and the comments were predictably vicious.

Back up a second, folks. I am twenty seven years old. I have been a mother for 7 months out of those twenty seven years. I must concede that once in a while, I will forget I am a mother. It happens very infrequently now, but in the first 4 or so months, it was a fairly common occurrence. Loving someone does not mean thinking about them for every single minute of the day. Forgetting your child in the car might be easier than you think. It can happen due to something as simple as a change of schedule and a sleeping baby. For example, S usually watches Q while she naps and I go to church, but once in a while if she has had an early nap, I will take her with me. The biggest mistake you can make is to let your guard down. To think, "That could NEVER happen to me," or, "I would NEVER forget I had my child with me." These sorrow-stricken parents are undoubtedly experiencing the most intense despair and self-loathing imaginable; having judgment and threats heaped upon them from the unfeeling masses is both cruel and unnecessary.

I think having those signs up in stores is a great idea. Having a little note on your dashboard to remind yourself to check the backseat is a great idea. Not letting your guard down--not thinking, "That would never happen to me," is a great idea. I think the same can be said of marriage, in fact. There is a 50% divorce rate, but if you had asked those people at the beginning of their marriage/engagement, if there was ever going to be a chance of divorce, how many of them do you think would have said yes? Probably close to 0%. Admitting that we are fallible, that we have the capacity to make mistakes--BIG mistakes--will bring us a long way in preventing disaster.

Where Are the Women Engineers?

I cannot stress how unrelated this picture is.

The inspiration for this blog comes from this video, which set the cogs a-turnin' (excuse my homespun turn-of-phrase; we're gearin' up for Stampede Week 'round here!): Raising Up Female Engineers

I think that, honestly, I'd always assumed that women shied away from fields such an engineering and computer science because they are worse at math and science. Which, I now realize, is a debilitating way of thinking, and probably completely untrue. In fact, my brother and I are somewhat of a real life example. He excels in English--he is a voracious reader and always received high marks, including on the SAT where his verbal score dominated his math score. And yet, he majored in computer science. As for myself, my verbal and math scores on the SATs were identical, despite constant affirmation from myself and others that English was my gift and that I struggled with math. And I majored in English lit. I find myself wondering more and more what would have happened if I didn't have that pervasive societal belief planted in my head that girls are bad at math. Because I wasn't. But I think that my own preconceptions may have gotten in the way of my excelling at it.

Something the woman in the video said really got my attention. We give girls dolls and dress up clothes to play with, and we give boys Kinnex, Lincoln logs, and Legos. (Though, as my mom said, I had access to all of those toys due to having an older brother and still wanted the dolls and dress up clothes.) It made me wonder whether women in male-dominated fields were more likely to have grown up with brothers than women in the general population. They would have, in all probability, had more access to toys that encourage building and problem-solving, rather than nurturing and beauty (but don't get me wrong, nurturing and beauty are wonderful things--I just think girls should just be exposed to more possibilities).

I do believe that there are inherent differences between the genders (besides anatomical, obviously), but I think it's really hard to tease them apart and that I may have overestimated them. On the flip-side, I wonder if men have been conditioned to believe they aren't nurturing. Why is caregiving a female-dominated field?

I'm not sure whether my little gestures will make any difference in the long run, but yesterday I gave Q a toy train (well, her grandma did actually!). She will also get dolls and pretty things, but I hope to mix things up and give her some Legos, toy cars, and things colored blue or green. There is a disturbing trend of walking into a toy store and finding the girls' section a sea of pink and the boys' section inundated with play weapons. And hey, maybe these toys reflect each gender's innate desires, but I'd rather let Q decide for herself that she doesn't want to be an engineer than for me to decide for her.

Alberta Flood of 2013

Ready for the floodwaters

I've tried to sit down and write this post a dozen times this week, but I feel sort of jumbled, like someone stuck me in a giant, Medicine-Hat-shaped jar and shook me around for a little while. I realized yesterday, when I first went to look at my house post-flood, that I've been living in a Schrodinger's cat scenario: my house was destroyed, and my house was untouched. And now that I have a better idea of the extent of the damage (and yes, there's damage), I'm not sure whether knowing or not knowing was better. When I didn't know, I could still picture the house high and dry--all it needed was a good spring cleaning and we could move our stuff back in. Of course I realized that scenario was unlikely, but it was still possible yesterday morning. The cat was alive.

The first view of our basement.

Our basement has a thick layer of muck. Because it's raw sewage and not just floodwater, we will be hiring someone else to do the initial clean-up. This is both good and bad. Good because we don't have to deal with this crap ourselves (haha), but bad because all professional services will probably be really backed up (I swear I'm not making these puns on purpose). According to the inspector, the water reached 14 inches, which means that the electrical downstairs will need to be redone. The furnace is okay. The hot water heater is shot. I'm not sure about the washer and dryer. Floors will need to be replaced, carpet ripped up, drywall redone. All the food in the fridge and freezer is bad by now. Depending on the fumes/what exactly that layer of mud consists of, all of the food in the house may need to be tossed (except for what's in cans). Anything absorbent or that can't be washed with water might need to be thrown away (all my books and the majority of Q's books, though I took her favorites with us). But we just don't know. Our neighbor right next door found his house completely untouched. His gas and electricity were turned back on and he was given the okay to move in immediately. There's one thing for sure, though: Schrodinger's cat is neither dead nor alive anymore--I'd say it's just barely limping along, bedraggled and mud-caked.

The Evacuees:

But along with the pieces of my mind that are bouncing complaints around my skull all day are the ones that keep gently reminding me of the people who have it so much worse. Four houses down from us has developed a sinkhole that broke right through the side foundation of their house and will, I'm sure, take massive repairs and money. The people of High River are STILL waiting to go back home--and their homes are, in all likelihood, pretty much destroyed. The entire city was inundated with water. And we always have a place to go. We have the entire basement of our in-laws' to ourselves--Q even has her own room, here. The cats have taken over the garage and get let outside to nibble on grass and explore the backyard for about an hour every day. The government will be handing out pre-loaded debit cards soon to those evacuees who cannot return home (we should qualify). And because our issue is with sewage backup and no water actually came into the house from outside, it should all be covered by insurance. We hope. I know there's a lot to be thankful for. The complaining and thankfulness have been waging a tiring war against each other every day for the past half week. The recent floods in India have taken hundreds of lives. I would rather lose my house a thousand times over than to see any harm come to my family.

The sinkhole 4 doors down

So we'd appreciate prayer, and if you're not the praying type, please send us your "casserole thoughts," as my friend calls them (I'm not sure what casserole thoughts are, but they sound delicious and sympathetic). It's easy to become lazy and despondent in such situations, so I'm trying to establish a new routine and a chore list that I can stick to. Life goes on--just in a slightly different location.

A little mildly inappropriate humor

Not entirely relevant, but I keep thinking about this picture...

Self-Image

I was just thinking to myself this morning (which I sometimes do), and realized that one of the most effective ways to give Q a good self-image about her body is to not be verbally abusive of my own. I was looking up some statistics on body image and young girls, and here are some sobering facts I found:

• 46% of 9-11-year-olds are “sometimes” or “very often” on diets.
• 35-57% of adolescent girls engage in crash dieting, fasting, self-induced vomiting, diet pills, or laxatives.
• The average American woman is 5’4” tall and weighs 165 pounds. The average Miss America winner is 5’7” and weighs 121 pounds.

I found many interesting statistics here: http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/get-facts-eating-disorders. You also don't browse the internet for long before you come across "pro-anorexia" sites featuring young, impressionable teens and preteens idolizing stick-thin celebrities, posting pictures of models with their ribs poking through, and taking awkward downward photos of their protruding hipbones all the while complaining, "I'm soooo fat!"

So I'm wondering how to combat this, and I think I have a good idea of where to start, particularly with something I already mentioned:

1. Don't bash your own body. It's almost a rite of passage for women to complain about their bodies--you might be seen as weird or even *gasp* vain if you don't. But kids are impressionable and pick up on these things. They think, "I didn't notice there was anything wrong with the way mom looks... But she thinks there is, so what if there's something wrong with the way I look?"

2. Cut down on the dieting. Did you know that 95% of people gain back all their lost weight within 1-5 years? Dieting isn't the key, and our children--particularly girls--know when we're measuring portions, counting calories, etc. Instead, emphasize healthy lifestyle changes (I really need to work on this one--burgers and cookies are my weakness). Bust out the Canada food guide and go through it with your kids to show them what exactly healthy eating means. And let them know that sweets are okay sometimes--don't always say, "Oh, I really shouldn't be eating this!" Just enjoy an ice cream cone with your daughter, guilt-free!

3. Limit their exposure to mainstream media. Magazines, TV, movies... They pretty much only showcase ONE body type. Let your children see real people in the real world; teach them to choose heroes based on character, intelligence, strong personality, and individuality, not pants size. Do you want your daughter emulating Carmen Diaz or Madame Curie? (Well, let's hope no one emulates Madame Curie TOO much, because she died from radioactive poisoning.)

I'm interested in hearing more possible suggestions to raising a young girl to have a healthy self-image. But I truly believe that maintaining a positive self-image about ourselves will go a long way in promoting positive self-images in our daughters in the future.

Half-Birthday

I am sitting downstairs with my feet propped up on the inflatable mattress that is taking up the entirety of the downstairs room. I can hear the floorboards creaking upstairs as Steven walks around, and the sheet of bubble wrap in my hands is completely popped.

In this state of relaxation, I intend to write about Q turning 6 months old. It happened a couple weeks ago, but the victory is still fresh. 6 months is a milestone in many regards. Firstly, that was my minimum goal for breastfeeding. I remember sitting in my chair behind the screen in the NICU desperately trying to latch my baby. I remember how sore I always was, and how I took my pain medication not for my c-section scar but for breastfeeding. I remember obsessing over my milk supply when my thyroid went low and Q stopped gaining weight. And I counted the months until the 6 month mark. And now I'm here, and all that is past. Next goal is a year.

As recommended, we slept with her in our room until 6 months. We also waited to feed her solid food until her 6 month birthday. And she is still practically bald. As a 6-month-old baby, I required my first haircut and was 22 pounds and 13 ounces. Q's peach fuzz is just beginning to make itself noticeable and she is 16 pounds 7 ounces, so there are definitely some discrepancies. Her hair has the same subtle reddish tint when it catches the light, though—and she has the same chubby arm rolls that I did.

I sort of thought that motherhood would bring some clarity to my life—and in a way, I suppose it has. But I'm a little surprised to discover that I still keep changing and that I still have things that need to be improved. I still feel young and inexperienced and unsure of what my interests are. But I think I feel a little more confident about tackling them. Maybe I was always a couple of steps behind everyone else. I hope Q inherits my good qualities and improves upon my lacking ones. I guess that's what every parent wants for their child.

So happy half-birthday, Q. And congratulations to me for keeping you intact thus far!

Mom Guilt

A few days ago, Q got her 6 month shots. A very nice nurse gave them and oohed and ahhed over how cute Q was--"Look at how observant she is!" she said. "This girl doesn't miss a thing!" she said. And yet, I left the health clinic feeling discouraged and like I was doing a subpar job as a mom. Why is that? Semi-frequently, I come across very friendly, very educated healthcare professionals who make me feel like I am doing everything wrong. These individuals have subscribed to the mistaken idea that there is only ONE way to raise a baby. I got heavy doses of this while in the hospital struggling to breastfeed Q; for each different nurse, there would be a different idea for how I had to do things. One nurse insisted that I only feed from one breast per feeding. Another said feed on one side for 10 minutes, switch, then switch again if needed. Yet another said feed on one side until the baby is done, then offer the other side for as long as she wants it. Foolishly, I decided these polarizing opinions were peculiar to breastfeeding, but really they pervade almost every aspect of baby-raising.

"You're still swaddling?" the nurse at Q's shots asked me with a slight raise of her eyebrow. And then we got into the topic of sleep. "Don't play music with words," she said, "Because your baby is trying to learn language and will stay awake trying to figure out what they're saying. But," she warned, "Don't play classical music either, because studies have shown that it excites our brains." No night lights either. "What you can do," she said, "Is slowly black out the night light with a Sharpie marker--bit by bit each night, until it's completely dark. But it has to be a SHARPIE marker. No knock-off brands or the baby will smell them and stay awake wondering where the smell is coming from." Okay, now we were getting awfully specific. I want to stress again that this nurse was VERY NICE, and I liked her. But think of all the millions of babies all around the world in a myriad of different conditions. Sleeping on rough cots in the sweltering shade in Africa on a summer day. Bundled up in layer upon layer of clothing with only a few hours of sunlight in the day during an Alaskan winter. Babies without air conditioners, cribs, bumper pads, night lights, and CERTAINLY Sharpie markers. Babies jiggling up and down on their mama's backs in a wrap, fast asleep.

We mothers heap so much unfair guilt upon each other and ourselves. We're hesitant to admit the things that almost every one of us feel--by the time Q's bedtime rolls around, for example, I can't WAIT to put her down in her crib. I'm often emotionally drained, I don't want anyone to touch me, and I just want to put her down and sit on my couch and do something unproductive. I bet this is a really common feeling for an introvert. Introverts recharge by spending time alone, but having a baby means that you're suddenly never alone. Don't get me wrong, I love being with my baby. But after a full day with her that starts as early as 5:30am, I am in need of some solitude. Why do I feel bad admitting that? I'm afraid to post pictures of Q in her carseat for fear that some mom will make a snarky remark about the positions of the belt or chest clip (though I've done my research and am, to my knowledge, doing it correctly). I'm hesistant to admit that I still swaddle her, that sometimes I let her cry it out, that sometimes I misjudge the weather and she is not dressed appropriately, and that, yes, I love hamburgers and fries and she just might be acquiring a taste for them from my breastmilk.

Here is a non-exhaustive list of things you can do while still being a good mom:
Breast feed
Formula feed
Pump
Swaddle
Cloth diaper
Disposables
Hold baby over a bucket
Co-sleep
Cry-it-out
Back to sleep
Stomach to sleep
Stay at home
Work full time
Be married
Be single
Be in your 30s
Be a teenager
Give birth naturally
Have a c-section
Adopt 

Sometimes, I have to shake off the guilt and carry on. And sometimes, I need to step back and remember that just because other moms do things differently than I do, it doesn't mean that either of us is wrong or love our children any less.

Charity: A Dirty Word

Give without expecting anything back. It's a simple concept. But charity always has strings attached, doesn't it? We kind of feel that we have a right to judge how other people spend their money. We give a friend or acquaintance in need something for "free," but what we have really done is bought the right to judge their future purchases. If we see them in Tim Horton's drive-thru, we muse, "I wonder how much they spend on coffee a year!" Spot them in a new article of clothing and tsk tsk to ourselves, "Did they really need that new shirt?" And so on. I have occasionally been on both the giving and receiving end of charity, and I like to think I have learned a couple of things about it along the way.

Unfortunately, we do not tend to give of our plenty. We give of our trash. I have definitely been guilty of this. All it takes is one glance at any Diabetes Association donation box around the city to see that people are using it as a means of bypassing taking their trash to the junkyard. Old, outdated appliances left out in the rain. Clothes with stains and holes. The poor know when they're being looked down upon. And what we're really doing is wasting the time of the volunteers and workers who have to sort through all our piles of junk--in addition, we are simply taking advantage of the process to make our lives easier. It's easier just to throw all our old stuff in a box than it is to sort through it and donate the appropriate, well-kept items.

Giving becomes just a little more meaningful when we have to sacrifice to do it. The ultimate, obvious example of this is the story in the Bible where the little old widow puts in her two coins as an offering--two coins that, in her precarious financial predicament, might have meant skipping a meal or two. I know that I don't sacrifice enough. We live in such abundant wealth, it's easy to just skim off the top and give of the extra that we don't need or want anyway. But try giving something that might require you to scale back for a week or two.

And most of all, give with respect and without any preconceived notion of requirements or qualifications that a person must meet in order to be worthy of your giving. By respecting the recipients of charity and by elevating them to equal human being status, we can greatly increase the value of our gifts. Because rarely is it that the recipients of charity JUST need physical items. They are often in a position desperately in need of love and respect, as well.

Floooooooooridaaaaaaaaaaaa!

First plane ride--4 months old

I have to say, Q was angelic for the entire trip. I spent most of the day tensely anticipating a meltdown, but it never happened. From the time we left our house at 7am to the time we got into the car at the airport at midnight (10pm Alberta time), she maybe cried for a grand total of 15 minutes. She didn't bat an eye during take offs or landings. She didn't scream bloody murder when I changed her diapers. And I was fortunate that there was literally not one single person ahead of me at customs, both of my flights were on time (in fact, I think they might have been a little early), and I found my way to the gate in Houston with little trouble. I had empty seats beside me on both flights; there was a very nice lady on my first flight who held Q for a little while to give my back a break, and an exceptional stewardess on the second flight who helped me with many things (she even carried my bags on and off the plane and unfolded my stroller for me when we landed in Florida).

Despite all that, it was really, really exhausting. I had a splitting headache for most of the day from carrying a heavy backpack, overstuffed diaper bag over my shoulder, and holding a baby in my lap for many hours at a time. I got a few snacks in, but I never actually had time to sit down and eat a meal. We had thought Steven would be allowed to escort me to the gate (my mom had even called to confirm this), but when we got to the ticket desk, we were informed that he wasn't. Q had been generously saving up her poops for several days and pooped FOUR TIMES that day--the first one was literally FIVE SECONDS after I sat down on the first flight from having just changed her diaper in the airplane bathroom, the second two were on the second flight, and the last one was a big old squirt in the bathtub as my mom and a very exhausted me were attempting to bathe her at 1am before we put her to bed (which required the emptying, cleaning, and refilling of the bathtub as I held Q in a towel). To top it all off, 3 days before I left for Florida, my doctor called me to tell me my bloodwork came back showing low thyroid and that I needed to go on Synthroid, so I'm not exactly at the top of my game. I have been gaining my weight back like crazy and am pretty tired (which I'd just been attributing to Q's 5:30am wake up time). This is also highly likely the reason that my milk supply has been lacking, so I have to work extra hard at maintaining it until my medicine kicks in and is adjusted to the correct dosage. Furthermore, this is probably the reason I had a pregnancy scare last month when I was two weeks late (something that has never happened before), as low thyroid can mess with your cycle. Anyway, I'm not sure I would attempt flying alone with baby Q again. I mean, I'll have to to get back, but considering how exhausting and painful it was to do all that traveling even in ideal circumstances, I shudder to think what it would have been like if she had been having an off day.

But it was all worth it as we rounded the corner and saw Grandma and Grandpa there with huge smiles on their faces, Grandpa snapping pictures of us with his phone as we walked up and handing the phone excitedly to me, saying, "Quick, take a picture of Mom and I with our granddaughter!" as he crouched beside the stroller. Which reminds me, I apologize is Grandpa is clogging up your news feed with his pictures. But of course it makes me a little proud. Every time he's holding her, he wants a new picture. For our walk around the block, he wants a picture. If he shifts her to a different position in his arms, he needs another picture. He says he probably hasn't held a baby in years, but you wouldn't know it to look at him.

Grandma had the whole house cleaned, our room spotless, a basket of toys and handmade receiving blankets laid out, a baby bed set up, bath toys lining the bathtub, a box of diapers and a lined diaper pail ready, and even an adorable little ducky soap by the bathroom sink. She helped me bathe the baby, held her while I showered, then at 2am made me toast and oatmeal with cinnamon, honey, coconut flakes, berries, and almond milk. I couldn't have asked for a better mom. The next night, Uncle Tom and Q were reunited, and we all did a puzzle together (Grandpa and Q helped minimally). Tonight we are celebrating Tom's birthday a few days late, and Grandpa is going to make his "famous" key lime pie at Tom's specific request (Grandma kept worriedly asking, "Are you sure you don't just want a store bought key lime pie?"). Grandpa claims an ability to make key lime pie, but last time he attempted, it ended up accidentally being a key lemon pie, so we're still in the dark as to whether his claim contains any veracity. Tonight we shall find out.

The duck looks a little mad to be encased in soap. I guess I'll have to wash my hands lots to get him out.

I love it here. I mean, it's a little hot right now for my liking (80 degrees and sunny), but in the morning and evening, Q and I sit outside and rock back and forth on the porch swing, looking out over the marsh and listening to the birds call to each other in tree tops high above us. The wind rustles all the foliage, the cattails on the edge of the marsh sway, my mom's colorful flowers accent the all the greenery, and I quietly recall childhood memories of stomping around in the muddy marsh in my boots or shimmying up trees in my overalls or climbing out of my bedroom window onto the kitchen roof to lay in the sun. I mentioned to my dad that sometimes I wonder what the point of anything was before Q, and he said, "The next generation IS the point." That makes me happy and sad at the same time. I will never have my life completely to myself again, but I'm not sure I'd even want to.

The Milk Situation and Holding Onto My Identity

Q's hair has a definite reddish tint to it. What the heck? Where did she come from? If she starts showing a sudden proficiency at sports, I'm going to have some serious doubts that she is mine.

"The Milk Situation," as it has been aptly named, seems to be improving. I have increased feedings (including waking her up for a night time feeding), am letting her nurse both sides, and am eating lots of oatmeal and cinnamon as well as drinking Milk Maid tea like it's going out of style. I have also been praying, which shouldn't be underestimated in the "list of things that could be helping." For the first time in a long time, yesterday, Q was done feeding while I still had milk left. I was incredulous! I thought, "But wait, there's still some left. Aren't you hungry?" But nope, she was done! It was like my stress levels instantly lowered a good 50%. I had been feeling a little shaky and having trouble getting to sleep at night because of my nerves, and last night that all went away. I still dreamed that my brother was a lead singer in a rock band and fell off the stage, though. I'm pretty sure he survived, but he was injured and it was still sad.

Also:

I'm heading to Florida in 4 days! I have ever-proliferating lists on my phone such as, "Things to Pack" and "Things to do Before I Leave." I am trying not to anxiously obsess over traveling with a baby, but I must confess, I've had several dreams about it. I'm very self-conscious about nursing in public, and that is one of my big worries. I have a cover, but frankly covers are unwieldy and inconvenient. The baby gets hot, it's tricky to latch them without being able to see what you're doing, and I often end up having to duck my head under there, which is probably more awkward looking than just not using a cover in the first place. I do wish nursing in public was more socially acceptable, but I don't really desire to be a pioneer in this matter.

I've had so many mini-epiphanies and moments of self-reflection these past few months, it's getting a little exhausting. My opinions on so many things seem unformulated, but maybe it's a good sign to not have an opinion on everything. Even opinions I had which I thought were pretty solid seem to be switching at a moment's notice--for example, I used to think that having your child be rear-facing in their car seat until age 2 was ridiculous and impractical, but now I'm finding myself swayed by that argument and intend to keep Q rear-facing as long as possible (even as I read this, I sense how incredibly boring and trivial these things must seem to non-parents--and maybe even some parents, as well). I used to think that breastfeeding past a year was "weird," but now I find myself considering it (all things considered, if I only make it to one year, I will be extremely pleased).

I must say that motherhood has brought on a bit of an identity crisis. I find myself greatly changed--mostly for the better, I hope--which leaves me wondering who I am and what I'm worth apart from Q. I don't want to lose my identity in another person, as adorable and helpless as that little person may be. I want to believe that my inherent worth comes from ME--from my immortal soul, my experiences, intelligence, humor, dreams, etc. I actually leave Q at home or with her grandma a fair bit, just so I can do errands and things, and driving in the car with the window down singing to the radio helps remind me who I am. I can tell that it's going to be a struggle not to let motherhood completely define me. Of course I want it to be a very important piece of who I am, but I don't want it to crowd out all the other pieces--wife, daughter, friend, child of God, woman, human being.

For my final thought, I will leave you with this picture of three bugs I caught in a big ziplock bag. I found them all at the bottom of the staircase one night while I was home alone, hanging out within about 2 feet of each other and blissfully unaware of the others' presence. I didn't have the heart to kill them, so they're probably spawning evil minions in our backyard even as I write this.

Things I Didn't Expect From Motherhood

1. A paralyzing fear of getting pregnant again. 

Every month, I wait with baited breath for the Crimson Tide of Justice to reappear. Hope for it. Pray for it. I imagine every possible terrible scenario--envisioning pausing in my nursing of Q to expel my stomach contents into a bucket due to baby #2. I think that I could handle having 2 babies (though that would be very difficult). It's being pregnant while I already have a baby that terrifies me. And the whole strict, "Don't get pregnant for at least a year or it could be dangerous," admonition of my obstetrician due to my c-section/diabetes. Couple that with my periods being irregular for the first time in my life, and you have a bundle of nerves every four weeks.

2. Unexpected friendships.

I'm going to be honest, I thought I had it figured out. "I've been hoping to find some common ground with this person," I would think. "Now we'll both have babies and we'll be buddies!" It didn't actually really work out that way. There were at least a couple of women with babies who I expected to get to know well who, it turns out, seem resolutely disinterested in developing a friendship. On the other hand, there are quite a few women who I didn't expect to have friendships with at all who I've grown quite close to. Having a baby also unexpectedly opened up some old friendships that had been laying dormant for a while. In a way, I feel bad, because I worry these girls will think I just like them for their babies. But really, I just needed an in. Some common ground. A mutual discussion point. ALSO, a couple of people whose interest I thought I would completely lose once I dove head-first into motherhood have stuck around and continued to be friendly and show interest in my life. I guess it's the old "don't judge a book by its cover" cliche.

3a. The continuation of the barf saga.

Not for me, for Q. I guess after a puking kitty and then holding a big tupperware container in front of my face for 7 months straight, I thought I would at long last find some respite. But I was unprepared for the perpetual spitter-upper that my child has turned out to be, which brings me to:

3b. Bodily fluids don't bother me.

This is crazy! Historically, I am a squeamish germophobe (spell check is suggesting I replace this word with "homophobe," by the way). If I see that a kid has a runny nose, I can pretty much tell you every toy they have touched. But when it comes to my own offspring, bodily fluids are of no consequence. I don't gag if I get poop on my hand. I sigh and roll my eyes when her spit up dribbles down my chest and into my bra. I don't change clothes for a little spot of pee or half a dozen dabs of her breakfast (which, by the way, was milk). I am impervious to her grossness! For the record, other kids' bodily fluids still bum me out. Even Bella's barfs still make me gag.

4. Fighting off judgements has become even harder.

I sort of thought that peace, love, and goodwill would flow through my body as I embraced motherhood, and I would be able to see that everyone is trying their best and everything is cool, man. Unfortunately, I find myself having opinions over the most inconsequential things, like what age you introduce solids, what kind of car seat you use, where your baby sleeps, etc. I really am having to battle against that spirit of judgement daily, and I hope that I can keep it reigned in. Because honestly, it probably doesn't really make a difference if you feed baby her first solids at 4 months or 7 months, if he sleeps on your bed, the couch, or a crib, or if she listens to Kanye West or Veggie Tales as she drifts to sleep.

5. A cleaner house.

This one is kind of counter-intuitive, but time is so much more productive when it's no longer your own. Instead of sitting on the couch all day thinking, "Meh, I'll vacuum next week," I run around in a frenzy saying, "Oh my gosh, the baby is napping! I have to get things done!" And you swiftly learn that you have to pretty tightly manage everyday household tasks, or else they build up very quickly. The trash, laundry, dishes, cat litter--all these things are fairly well kept up with now that the baby is here, whereas they were all overflowing prior to her arrival. I also make a decent effort at keeping the bathroom clean and the floors vacuumed and mopped. I am definitely enjoying this new-found productivity and generally go to bed feeling more satisfied at the end of the day.

6. A renewed closeness to God.

There's nothing like having your own child to help you get a glimpse of the unconditional love that God has for His children. You realize that your example will be instrumental to setting your child on the right path, and you are resolute to do what you can to assure their eternal salvation. My great desire is for Q to grow up to be a godly woman, compassionate and wise. I pray for her every night and try to keep myself plugged into the Bible. I sing her little hymns and read to her from the book of baby Bible stories. And it no longer feels forced, like it sometimes used to. It comes much more naturally. I can't say that it was like that immediately. Getting a regular Bible time established for myself was key, as was regular attendance to church (with Q, of course). But I have seen God make big changes in my heart, including nudging me to work on certain problem areas. I really hope that this new-found faith continues and that Q absorbs it so that trusting in the Lord becomes second nature to her. (Every time I stop at my in-laws on the way to church, my father-in-law says cheerily, "So, taking her to church? Is she going to throw her sins into the sin bin?")

Letter About Beauty

Dear Q,

I have been wracking my brain recently as to how I'm going to teach you about beauty and purity. There's no use trying to teach you that the world won't value you according to how outwardly beautiful you are, because that's just not true. What I can teach you is to not let the world's evaluation define you, and to base your worth on your soul--strength of character, compassion for others, and innate value as a human being. This mindset does not come naturally and takes a lot of discipline.

That's not to say you're not beautiful--every time I hold you in my arms, I am more and more convinced of just how beautiful you are. But outward beauty is fleeting, and if you base your worth on it, you'll find yourself in a perpetual state of insecurity. It's going to be hard to make my voice heard over the yells of the world--the huge posters of scantily clad underwear models as we pass by the lingerie store in the mall, the toy ads on TV that all feature slender little white girls with long, silky hair, not a wisp of it out of place. I want you to be able to evaluate these messages and consider: 1. What are they selling? 2. How are they manipulating you in an attempt to sell it? 3. What are they saying about what the world places value on?

I think that purity is probably irrevocably tied to one's definition of beauty. If you feel you are beautiful only when other people love and praise you, you will go to great lengths to please them. Valuing yourself means making sure you can't be bought cheaply, with flattering words or empty promises. It means independence of spirit, moral courage, and wisdom in compromising situations. I hope I can expound upon these things deeper when you're a little older. All I know is that the love of people on earth--even your mother and father--pales in comparison to the unconditional love God has for you. If you search for that fulfilling, life-changing love elsewhere, you will come up short.

You are my daughter, beautiful inside and out, and I wish for all good things to come to you and for you to treat others with respect and kindness, even when every fiber of your being protests against it. That, I think, is one of the truest marks of beauty.

Love, Mum

Why I Gave Up On Cloth Diapers

I was very hopeful when I began my foray into cloth diapering. There were, I figured, 3 big advantages to cloth diapering:

1. The potential lessening/elimination of Q's persistent diaper rash.
2. Saving money!
3. Let's not lie, they're really adorable.

1.     To be honest, I had read that cloth diapers don't tend to improve diaper rash--they often make it worse. This was definitely the case for us. I implored the cloth diapering community for solutions, and there was never a shortage of advice: I tried stripping the diapers (well, a very kind lady stripped them for me) and using several different kinds of detergents (including a liquid made from soap nuts that I froze into little cubes and kept in my freezer). All of them were dye-free, fragrance free, and several of them were made specifically for cloth diapers. The rash continued. It wasn't a terrible rash, and it usually cleared up after a night in disposables with a thick layer of Aquaphor (which is another problem--there are many creams and bum ointments you can't use with cloth diapers, including some of the ones I've found to be most effective). But within about 3 cloth diapers, I would invariably begin to notice the increased redness, even when I changed them often (as soon as she peed or pooped). It's possible she was allergic to the material, which would be a pretty tricky thing to figure out and/or combat. But what I think is more likely is that cloth just doesn't absorb as effectively as disposables, and so her skin stays more moist. Furthermore, I often felt that the outside of her cloth diapers were "sweaty" when I picked her up from her naps, even if it had only been an hour and the diaper itself hadn't leaked (though it almost always had).

2.     We get leaks. Lots of leaks. I have 4 different kinds of pocket diapers, and all of them leak. I have several different kinds of inserts. I recorded the leaks for a few days on my phone, and it seems that there is no particular pattern to which ones leak and which don't. It's not a matter of over-saturation, either--sometimes I find the insert just slightly damp, but it has leaked out of the leg or out the back anyway. All the diapers are snapped into close to the tightest setting on both legs and waist, and if I try to make them tighter, she gets deep red marks that frankly, look uncomfortable. Now, cloth diapering works for so many people, that I'm guessing leaks are a matter of finding the right kind of diaper. But if your primary cloth diapering goal is to save money, buying 20 different types of diapers is simply NOT PLAUSIBLE. I have also heard that sticking a sanitary pad or pantyliner in diapers can help with absorption, but again, this will not help you save money. Between pads and the extra water and special detergent to wash cloth diapers (by the way, it takes a LOT of water), you probably wouldn't be saving a single cent. I was fortunate to have several of my diapers donated to me and to have samples of different diaper detergents given to me, but for me to continue this project would require spending more and more money trying to find something that works without the confidence that I actually will. I'd say the diapers leak about 50% of the time, and this is even with changing them every 2 hours or less. I'm amazed at how many of the moms on the cloth diapering group are dropping $40 for a fancy-looking diaper, or have a stash of 100+ diapers. The cost-effectiveness of cloth diapering is looking more and more dubious.

3.     This is honestly one of the reasons I kept trying. They are SO dang cute. I was proud of myself for all the research I was doing and that I'd gotten the wash cycle down pat (by the way, you'll notice I don't really mention washing dirty diapers as a downside to cloth diapering--it turns out it's not that bad after all). But even the cuteness is misleading. Because in winter in Canada, the chance your baby is going to be hanging out around the house in just a diaper is pretty slim. And cloth diapers are almost all bulkier than disposables. In fact, the ones that leaked the least for us (Alvas, if you're wondering), also happened to be the bulkiest. This means that a lot of her pants didn't fit anymore, and when I did squeeze her into outfits, she looked like she had a big bubble-butt. So the cuteness factor wasn't as awesome as I would've hoped. I'm still very fond of a cute cloth diaper paired with leggings, but any time I wanted to put her in an actual outfit, there was the inevitable fluffy butt. And then, of course, the inevitable leaking all over her clothes.

All this being said, I haven't sold my current stash yet. Part of me is hoping that she's just a little too small for the "one size" diapers, and that in a couple more months, I will try them again and voila! No leaks (however, that wouldn't solve the rash problem)! But as it stands, all they've brought me is stress and frustration. I actually feel constantly on edge when she wears cloth diapers, because I know that I have to change them within a certain time limit or risk getting leaks, I can't effectively tell whether they're wet or not without undoing all the snaps, I worry that they're too tight and bothering her, and I never know what outfit/piece of furniture she's going to pee on next. It's like a waiting game. And I feel a sense of failure, because I personally know several moms for who they have worked wonderfully and who report getting virtually no leaks. I know it isn't the greatest failure in the world--heck, in the large scheme of things, I reckon it's downright unimportant--but I'm sad to have invested so much in a plan that fell flat on its face. I am grateful to the friends (and strangers!) who spent so much time showing me how things worked and giving me step-by-step instructions and troubleshooting advice. But for now, I'm going back to my no-leak, crinkly, soft, comfortable Walmart disposables, which set me back a mere $30-$40 per month.

Swimming, Baby Dedication, and a Cousin Photoshoot

Today, I will let photographs tell much of the story of the past week. Here it goes:

"The Michelin ballerina" in her swimsuit

We took Q swimming for the first time today. The brief sequence of events was as follows: Wake up, get ready to go, arrive at pool, get in swimsuit, pee on Mom and dressing room floor, rinse off in the shower, swim for 30 minutes, begin to get fussy, wait for Dad to finish going down the water slide, wait for him more, wait for him more, eventually realize that Dad has decided to go down the water slide about 10 times in a row, scream bloody murder as we walk back to the dressing room, scream bloody murder as we shower, scream bloody murder as we get diapered and dressed, head to the car, scream slightly less bloody murder as we're strapped in the car seat, promptly fall asleep and nap for the next three hours.

Sometimes, Mom likes to play dress-up. And sometimes, Mom puts together a horrendous ensemble that utterly fails as a coherent outfit. This is one of those times.

The biggest highlight of the week was Q's baby dedication at church. It was a very special and symbolic time for me as I dedicated my daughter to God and promised to lead her in His ways to the best of my ability through things like regular church attendance, reading her Bible stories, and praying with her. I am also making it my ambition to live in godliness, because what I want most for Q is for her to grow up to be a godly woman. I was blessed to have both Steven and my in-laws attend church for her dedication in support of me and Q.

And finally, Q got to meet her brand new cousin Landon this week (Landon has the most wonderful expressions and mannerisms), and the three cousins had a mini photoshoot in their Valentine's Day onesies...

...which quickly descended into chaos.

Ode to a Soggy Mitten

Oh soggy mitten,
You belong to that ilk
Of gently used clothing
That smells of curdled milk.

Oh soggy mitten,
You're covered all in spit
The baby drools upon you,
For you are her favorite mitt.

Oh soggy mitten,
Your fabric is pilling
The baby tries to eat you,
But you're not very filling.

Bodily Fluids, Bodily Fluids, and... Bodily Fluids.

"You'll just have to wait a minute!" I yelled through a mouthful of fries over the wails of a crying baby, wiping in vain at the dried spit up on my shirt with one hand and surreptitiously dipping a soother in a bottle of whiskey with the other. That's kind of what last night was like. I changed shirts three times yesterday, prompting me to swear off shirts forever. And I don't change shirts for little watery spit-ups, no. I only change them for massive, sour-smelling, cottage-cheese-consistency spit-ups. And I changed them thrice. By 10am this morning, she'd already spit up approximately 5 times.

Luckily, she was a champ at her RSV immunization today. And by a champ, I mean that she peed all over the office floor as I held her out to put on the scale to weigh her. "That's happened before, right?" I asked anxiously, prepared to be reassured by the nurses that this was a common occurrence. "Well, we've never actually had one pee on the floor," one replied, "But it's nice to be the first at something, isn't it?" You're sensing a theme here, aren't you? And it's possible that I may not have changed my clothes after that incident. "It's only a couple of drops of pee on my pants," I said. "It's only a little urine on the bottom of my shoes," I said.

In other news, Q's weight gain is a little on the low side (3 pounds total since birth), and when I pump (rarely), I am only able to pump about 3 oz total (she takes about 5 oz when given a bottle). I'm still debating whether this is a matter of "knowing too much" and expecting every baby to fit within a specific set of guidelines. Q is pretty fussy, but not extremely. She seems to sleep well, looks healthy, and has an appropriate number of pees and poops. And really, would she be spitting up so much if she wasn't getting anything? It's possible that my body doesn't respond well to pumps, or that I have a particularly cheap one (a $25 manual one from Walmart, I believe). But then they make offhanded remarks to you like, "Well, it can hurt their brain development if they're not getting enough," and you immediately jump to, "My gosh, my body isn't working right and will result in my child's irreversible stupidity!" So back to the doctor and/or breastfeeding clinic I will go. Because my goal for Q is to be chubby and brilliant.

I mean... not for me to be chubby and brilliant. Though I'm halfway there.

Meds, Food Triumphs, The Bible, and a List of Likes

Valentine's Day cuddles with Dad

First off, I would like to say that the reintroduction of Zoloft was a success. I am on the tiniest dose available (25mg), and my anxiety levels are probably about 5x better. Steven says he has noticed a definite improvement, as well. I feel more capable to handle the challenges of motherhood and think that it was a good decision for both Q and myself.

Second off, I would like to say that it was an unadulterated pleasure to move a pot of food from the fridge only to discover three forgotten Lunchables peeking up at me from below the glass shelf. That pleasure was only slightly dulled by the fact that they tasted like corrugated cardboard. Other food-related triumphs: Making muffins from a mix (I added not only eggs, but water too!). Having a meatloaf and cookies delivered to me by my mother-in-law. Steven's discovery of how to make a delicious chai latte. And lastly, multiple attempts at sharing Liberté Mediterranean yogurt with Steven, only to polish off carton after carton on my own. Seriously, in heaven there are probably rivers of Liberté Mediterranean yogurt. The Mocha Yogurt River. The Hazelnut Yogurt River. And oh blessed day, the Lemon Yogurt River...

Speaking of heaven, after several years of not being able to bring myself to read the Bible, I have started again for Lent (did you know that you can also start something for Lent instead of giving up something?), and it has been pretty wonderful. I am doing a 40-day overview of the Bible, reading important parts of various chapters in chronological order. It's a pretty cool program, and I've started reading A Year of Biblical Womanhood, as well. The latter is written by a woman who decided to try and live like the Biblical model of womanhood for a year, such as covering her head, calling her husband master, and "cultivating a quiet and gentle spirit," rather than her usual rigamarole of yelling curse words at the screen during football games. I've found it very comforting in light of my own numerous shortcomings as a homemaker.

And finally, I try to tell Q often all the things I like about her:

I like your toes.
I like your chubby thighs.
I like your belly button.
I like your numerous arm rolls.
I like your hands that always have fuzz in between the fingers from your no-scratch mittens.
I like that they always smell like sour milk because you suck on them so much.
I like your neck rolls.
I like the cheese in your neck rolls.
I like the drool bubbles you blow with your mouth.
I like your button nose.
I like your dark blue eyes and long eyelashes.
I like the duck fluff on top of your head, bald spot in the back, and mullet on the lower back.
I like your smile.
I like your squeals of delight.
I like your piggy grunts.
I like the big pout you get when you're about to burst out crying.
I love everything about you,
and I love that you're my daughter.

Supermom, Electronics, and a Hatred of Cooking

"Mute Button"

Steven is sick, so naturally I have gone full-throttle OCD. Though honestly, I wouldn't really qualify it as real OCD--I've had OCD, and I'm not compelled to clean so much as I just really, really don't want to go through the drudgery of caring for an infant while sick. I'm tired enough as it is while healthy. So each evening, I've been dampening a rag with rubbing alcohol and walking around the house disinfecting doorknobs, light switches, keyboards/mice, the fridge handle, cupboard handles, and any other little object that I think might get regularly touched. I'm also popping Vitamin C and Zinc in addition to my prenatal vitamin.

I'm picking up the slack in the chores, too--today, in addition to vacuuming the upstairs, doing laundry, and single-handedly taking care of the kiddo, I took out the trash, gave the litter box a once-in-a-moon-but-sorely-needed scrubbing, fed the cats, wrote an e-mail to the company who made our humidifier, loaded, ran, and emptied the dishwasher, and did the aforementioned disinfecting. I like that being a mom has brought out a productive side in me that was fairly untouched until recently. I'm not always this productive, of course. Some days all I do is sit on the couch, change diapers, and stick a boob in my baby's mouth. Mine, preferably. But lately I'm feeling a little like Supermom. I wonder how people with multiple kids do it...

I spend more time than I should on the computer/browsing Facebook, and I'm thinking of giving it up for Lent. But there are a couple of problems with that. Firstly, I'm about to start my full-time venture into cloth diapering, and I am a part of a cloth diapering group on Facebook that is full of invaluable information and troubleshooting. And more importantly, Steven's cousin Emily is due to give birth on Valentine's Day or any day around that time, and I really, REALLY want to stay updated on that and see pictures of baby Landon the moment they're posted. So I'm not quite sure how to compromise between my desire to cut back on electronics so that I can give my full and undivided attention to the baby, and my need to keep up with big life events and get the cloth diapering support I will undoubtedly need. Any suggestions?

One thing that I continue to struggle with is cooking. I really hate cooking. Every aspect of it. Planning meals, grocery shopping, cutting/prepping, and the actual cooking part. Tonight I made Kraft mac & cheese, which is more prep than I usually put into food. And I made "ants on a log." Because I'm 7 years old. What I really need to do is just find about 10 meals that I get really good at and stick to those. Easy meals. Like the linguine al fresco that my brother makes. And I really should be focusing on eating healthier because everything that I'm eating goes to the baby. And I have been eating an inordinate amount of cinnamon raisin toast. Steven is often willing to do the actual cooking part if I plan the meals and have all the ingredients ready, so that's nice. We ultimately eat a lot of things from frozen, though.

Well, going to watch a little more Whose Line is it Anyway before I turn in. Goodnight! (P.S. Look at the entry below this one if you want to see some photos of Q from January.)

Photos from January 2013

Professional photos at 2 months

Very girly

Favorite place to sleep--on Mum

All scrunched up in her swing

Pretty dress and new leggings

In her baby carrier

Big smiles

Another funny sleep position

A failed attempt at a cute, double-kiss picture

Q & Daddy hiding under the covers. I love her little legs sticking out

Being held by her Auntie Ang in an owl hat specially made for her