Indescribable (but I'll give it a shot)

I've got good news and bad news.

The good news is that I can almost guarantee that this will be THE LAST post in which I mention anything about breastfeeding or pumping.  At least in relation to Macie (the jury's still out, for those of you wondering about a possible 3rd Herman child...).  So my few male readers (and, heck, probably some of the females, too) can breathe a sigh of relief that they should no longer have to screen blog posts for such content before diving in.

The bad news, though, is that this means that the time has come for me to wean Macie from nursing.

With Ivie, it was different.  She weaned herself at about 10 months.  Randomly, one morning, she just refused to nurse.  No warning, just quit cold turkey.  I scoured online articles about "nursing strikes" and kept trying, hoping she would come back around.  At first, she would still nurse at bedtime, but not in the morning.  A few days later, though, she gave it up entirely.  So while it certainly made me sad (it was supposed to be MY decision when we would stop!), I took comfort in knowing that I wouldn't have to take it away from her someday.

Macie, on the other hand, loves to nurse.  And you wanna know a secret?  I love it, too. 

I know that this post might not make a lot of sense to some of you.  Some others might disagree with me.  And a few of you might want to just stop reading right now (because of the content - here's your warning).  But I'm writing this one entirely for myself.  And hopefully for my daughters someday if/when they're trying to decide whether to give breastfeeding a chance with their children.

First, I have to be honest and share the not-so-great parts of this commitment.  There are certainly things that I can't, in good conscience, say I'll miss.  Like dragging four bags to work every day, rearranging our freezers to make room for real food when several shelves are full of frozen breastmilk bagged and stacked in several ice cube trays, using nursing pads, planning our days/weekends/trips around pumping sessions, going through airport security and having them inspect each bottle of breastmilk individually, pumping in airport bathrooms and losing pump supplies in the madness, worrying about finding hot water to heat a bottle when we're out and about (since breastfed babies are spoiled by very warm milk), not being able to run in the morning because I have to use that time to pump instead and I no longer have it in me to set the alarm for any time that starts with a "5", not being able to run, period, because I don't like the way it feels to run with "mama-sized" breasts (sorry for the visual - I warned you) instead of my typically-much-smaller ones, having to stop what I'm working on to put the "Please Do Not Enter (with a smiley face)" sign on the door at work twice a day (and then again to take it off), washing the various pump and bottle parts 4 times a day and making sure to scrub the bottles sufficiently enough to get off all of the breastmilk "grease" (Dale agrees with me on this one),defrosting a bag of frozen milk only to find an apparent hole in the bag as it emits hard-earned breastmilk into the hot water (rendering the entire bag "contaminated"), and, finally, last-but-certainly-not-least, being able to claim my entire body for myself.

But you know what?  If I were to rewind the clock to April 13th of 2006 (that glorious day when Ivie Schae entered our world), even with ALL of these things that made my life as a working, breastfeeding mom a little more challenging, I wouldn't change a thing (except maybe the sagas in the airports resulting from the multiple pump battery pack issues).

Here's why I did it...

I know it might sound odd, very odd in fact, that I LOVE that I was the only person who could get up in the middle of the night to feed my newborn.  And I love that when she was hungry, she needed ME.

And now that she's sleeping through the night (finally!) and drinking out of a sippy cup with her breakfast in the morning (what a big girl!), I love that I still have those 15 minutes with her at bedtime.  15 minutes that are mine alone with my not-so-baby-anymore second child.  Time that is generally preceded by tossing and turning, back arching, and big-tear-making screams on the changing table as she expresses her extreme frustration with the diapering and pajama'ing process after a long day when all she wants to do is snuggle, eat, and go to sleep.  I love that the second we collapse into her glider, I can literally see her relax and go limp.  I love that sometimes we fall asleep there together.  I love lifting her up, sound asleep, and laying her with "Oogly" in her crib.  I love that I'm the only one that gets to experience this.

I know that I am so very blessed to have been given the physical ability to nurse my girls for a full year.  I am grateful that my environment was such that I had the opportunity to do so.  And I am thankful to everyone for their encouragement and support, especially at the beginning when I clearly didn't know what I was getting myself into and was entirely overwhelmed - just ask my husband, mom, and sister, who all pulled me through my multiple freak-out sessions, particularly the one (remember it, Sarah?) when I couldn't figure out HOW TO "TURN OFF THE STINKIN' FAUCET"!  (Remind me to tell you about it, girls, if you go down the breastfeeding road someday, so that you're not caught off-guard as much as I was.)

But, through the good and the bad, we made it, girls!  And I wouldn't trade that time with you for all the Skittles (or Mike & Ike's, or Starburst, or Hot Tamales, or Chick-fil-A Cookies-n-Cream Shakes, though that one comes close) in the world.  And, Mac? Even though it's time to stop nursing, I promise that we'll still snuggle in your glider.  Until, of course, you get old like your sister and want to read books and sing instead.

Okay, enough of the sappiness.  Let's just be honest, really.  Macie will be just fine with a bottle at night.  She might not even notice a difference, and she'll soon forget that I ever nursed her.  It's Mommy that's going to be in withdrawal for a while.  Particularly since it means she no longer has an excuse not to start running again...

Weekend Tidbits

Not enough time to do individual blogs on these, but I also don't want to forget any of them.  So here are some weekend tidbits for you.

1.  On Friday night in Hickory, Macie slept from 8p until 8:15a.  Longest she's ever slept.  And in Grandma's Pack-N-Play!  Any thoughts of it becoming her new routine were shattered Saturday night, though, when she woke up at 5:30a Sunday morning for a snack before going back to sleep until 7'ish.  Regardless, Dale and I will be contemplating ways to darken her room.  We're blaming her being an early riser on the morning sun coming through her windows.

2.  Ivie loves to sing in the car.  She will often ask for us to sing "Ivie's Song" with her, which is "I've Been Working on the Railroad", but, of course, we have to replace all the "I'ves" and "Dinahs" with "Ivie".  She totally thinks the song was written for her.  Reminds me of my brother, Matt, when he was little.  We would drive through Eureka, MO on the way to St. Louis, and he would say, "MYYYY Reka?!?".  And we would mess with him and get him all upset by telling him that it wasn't his.

3.  The latest song that Ivie sings to herself starts like this:  "Old MacFarmer had a dog and Bingo was his name-o.  B-I-N-G-O..."  You know the rest.  We don't have the heart to tell her that she's confusing 2 different songs.

4.  Macie loves marshmallows.  It's her dessert after meals.  And she doesn't even care that they've slightly melted after being in a to-go cup in the diaper bag in the middle of summer.  Just pry them apart and give them to her and she's happy.  She can pound some marshmallows.

5.  Ivie used her first porta-potty this weekend at her cousin, Luke's, football game in Boone.  She was, ummm, not impressed.  I tried to get her to stop looking in the hole.  To no avail.  She was aptly describing it as "nastaaaaaay".  And that's how she says nasty, too.  With the long "tay" sound at the end.  CRACKS ME UP.

6.  Ivie doesn't travel well in the car.  Well, neither does Macie, but we're hoping in a couple of weeks when we can turn her to face forward that she'll get better.  But this blurb is about Ivie.  On our drive home from Hickory this morning, after only about 30 minutes (it's a 2-hour drive), Ivie started whining and asking for milk, a snack, the TV to be turned up, you name it.  Since last time Dale and I drove ourselves crazy trying to "talk her down" (because of course Macie was trying to take her morning nap), we decided this time to just ignore her and see what happened.  After about 15 minutes, it appeared as though she had given up.  Got quiet for a few minutes, and then, in normal tone, asked me an entirely unrelated (and very normal) yes-no question.  Thinking we were through the craziness, and hoping to encourage continued "normal" conversation, I answered her succinctly, "No.".

To which she said, "Mommy, you're talking to me now?  Then can I have another snack?".  Stinker knew we were ignoring her.  What a smartie-pants!

"Good Girl"

(A conversation following an epic morning battle that included screaming, hitting, kicking, time-out, and misplaced feces...)


Ivie (still whimpering): Mommy, can I have my Pop-Tart now?

Me (much more calm than 10 minutes prior): Ivie, only good girls get Pop-Tarts after their fruit. Have you been a good girl this morning?

Ivie (hesitating slightly): Yes?

Me: Ivie? What have you done wrong this morning?

Ivie: I went poopy in my panties.

Me: What else?

Ivie: I hit you lots of times.

Me: So, Ivie, have you been a good girl this morning?

Ivie: Noooooo.

Me: OK. We're not going to have a Pop-Tart this morning, Ivie. Maybe tomorrow morning if you're a good girl.

Ivie (seemingly understanding the cause and effect): OK, Mommy.


(2 minutes later, when I tell Ivie that it's time to get in the car so that we can make it to school in time for their morning snack at 8:30a...)


Me (trying to change the subject): Hey, Ivie, what do you think you'll have for snack at school this morning?

Ivie: Maybe a Pop-Tart!!!!

Me (under my breath): So much for teaching her a lesson.

Daddy Has a Meeting

Tonight, before her bath, we made the mistake of telling Ivie that after she went to bed, Dale was going to have to leave for a late-dinner meeting with his boss, who is here traveling with him this week. The intent was to speed up the bedtime process, since Dale needed to leave the house at 7:25p.

Should have known better.

Ivie started sobbing. And I don't mean just whimpering for attention. I mean full-out sobbing, so utterly sad that her daddy was leaving, even though if we hadn't told her she wouldn't have even known. I heard the crying from Macie's room as I was putting her to bed and Dale was finishing up with Ivie in her bath. Then, after she had her pj's on, Ivie came into Macie's room, still sobbing uncontrollably about her daddy leaving.

I comforted her, giving her a hug and telling her that Daddy would be back while she was sleeping. But it wasn't doing any good. As she walked back into Dale's outstretched arms for another hug, she just kept saying, "Daddy, are you going to be sad and cry at your meeting?". Thinking (wrongly, it turns out) that yes was the appropriate answer, Dale said, "Yes, Ivie, I'm going to be sad when I leave you.". Which only made her cry more, saying, "Daddy, I don't want you to be sad!!!". Sob, sob, sob.

It was a no-win situation. But, for some reason, I couldn't help but find it amusing. She was being so dramatic! In fact, I think she even saw me laughing behind her back. Resulting in more sobbing. When I finished feeding Macie and left her room, Ivie's door was open and I could hear her crying downstairs. Turns out that when Dale left, she had ventured out of her room, gone downstairs, and was sitting at the front door. Still sobbing, she had her nose pressed up against the pane of the full-length window as she watched him drive away.

Later, as I snuggled with her in her chair reading her favorite "I Spy" books, she looked at me and said, "I miss my daddy SOOOOOOO MUCH!".

Dale feigned sadness (at her utter despair) when I told him the end of the story upon his return home. I could see right through it, though. He was gleaming with pride. He's hoping like crazy that she's turning into a daddy's girl. I'm still not entirely convinced, but I must admit that this might qualify as a tiny step in that direction...

Expressing Anger

For the most part, I truly believe that a "school" setting is great for kids in their toddler years. At least my kids, that is. You know, for the typical reasons, such as learning to share, expressing oneself in a group setting with peers, respecting authority, experiencing more creativity from their teachers than they could ever get from their pretty-boring mommy, yada, yada, yada.

However, even though this is the first time I've written about a bad habit that Ivie's learned at school, I'm certain it won't be the last...

Apparently, at least in Ivie's class amongst the 3 year-olds, there's this "thing" that the kids say to each other when they get frustrated/angry. They look each other in the eye and, with a mean look on their faces, say "You're not my friend any more!". (Until, like, 5 minutes later when they "make up" and say, "You're my BEST friend!")

And, of course, Ivie has decided to bring this negative phrase home. So any time she gets frustrated with Dale or me (usually when we ask her to do something that she's not ready to do), she looks at us and utters this phrase. With an expression similar to this on her face.


Lately, in an attempt to get her to stop, I've asked her how it makes her feel when her friends say that to her at school. One such time, we had a great discussion, and Ivie said that "it hurt my feelings" when her friend had said it to her. A breakthrough, maybe?!? I actually thought that she was finally beginning to understand that this was not an appropriate way to express anger. So, since then, each time she says it to me, I explain to her that it hurts my feelings when she says it, and that I wish she wouldn't use those words. Especially since we all know that I will always love her and be her friend, even though she certainly won't always agree with my decisions as her mommy.

Sounds great, huh? Well, I wish I could say that it's working. But, so far, it's not. I know it's going to be an uphill battle, particularly given that she spends 8+ hours a day at school where "the phrase" runs rampant! But we'll take on the challenge. And I'll hold off on writing my child psychology book for now...

Tuesdays

Once, when Dale and I were either dating or just recently married, we headed out for dinner on a random Monday night and decided to go to Moe's, blissfully ignorant as to what we would find inside. Not long after opening the door, we discovered IT WAS KIDS' NIGHT.

It could only be described as a zoo. There was a karaoke machine in the corner, and the bigger kids were all singing and dancing. I don't think there was a spare high chair in the place. And it was loud.

I think we told each other than night to make a mental note to avoid Moe's on kids' night...

Fast-forward to 5 years and 2 kids later. You guessed it. We are regulars at Moe's on Tuesdays (they switched from Monday to Tuesday Night Kids' Night at some point). Gone is the karaoke machine. But we now welcome Balloon-Man Mike every week. Except when he's on vacation. When Balloon-Man Gary tries to take his place. The balloons aren't as elaborate, at least from what I can tell, but Gary is a bit more personable and always goes out of his way to bring Macie a little plastic animal for her to chew on, since she's not old enough for a balloon. Either way, both of the balloon men have learned to come to our table to make Ivie the balloon of her choice, because Dale always tips them. He's a sucker for the smile on her face when she holds up her flower bracelet, or her monkey in a tree, or her kitty cat, or her, well, you get the picture...

Now, I must admit that after hitting up Moe's every Tuesday that we've been in town for the last, literally, 100 weeks, we've grown a bit weary of it. Especially Dale, who I think has told me at least 100 times that he prefers Qdoba, which, incidentally, is not half a mile from our house with a "kids eat free" night. So we don't ever go there. But even Ivie has expressed a desire for change recently. A couple of weeks ago, as we drove the short road home from Moe's, she said to me, "Mommy, I don't want to go to Moe's any more!". I guess it does get old for her to eat the little "mini-tacos" that I make for her week, after week, after week... In fact, now that I think about it, it kind of gets old sitting there making her mini-tacos while my initially-crunchy tacos sit getting soggier, and soggier, and soggier.

So we've starting mixing it up. Thankfully, though, we've still been able to forge ahead with our routine of not ever eating at home on Tuesdays, because it just so happens that the Chick-fil-A that is even CLOSER to our house also has kids' night on Tuesdays... So the past few weeks, we've met our usual Moe's dinner companions, the Cherrys, for some fun and socializing with the "moo cow" instead of the balloon-man. And, this past week, Ivie was thrilled to see that "the girl moo cow" made an appearance instead of "the boy moo cow" that is generally there for kids' night. And Dale and I are thrilled that Ivie's finally gotten over her fear of the moo cow so that we can actually GO IN the restaurant when he/she is around (since, in the past, if we pulled up and she saw him in the window, she would insist on us going through the drive-thru and taking the food home to eat it).

So all is still well on Tuesdays in the Herman house. If you're ever looking for us, you'll know where to go...

Show-and-Tell, Round 32: Princess Crown

I didn't mention it in the original blog post, but, as part of their $10 shopping spree at Wal-Mart during our trip to Branson, both Ivie and Olivia also got matching princess crowns to go along with their cell phones. Ivie proudly sported hers for Show-and-Tell on Friday. But, trust me, she didn't (and still doesn't) need a crown on her head to think she's a princess...

T-Ball's Over, Already?!?

Saturday was the last t-ball game of the summer. I'm happy to report that Ivie made VAST improvements over the course of the season. By the last game of the year, she was happily putting on the batting helmet (though still showing preference for the UNC one), stepping up to the plate, hitting the ball, and taking off running. Though we still have the previously-reported issue of her heading directly for 2nd base, at least she was running and having fun with it!

Now, her work in the field is going to take some work. If I'd have had my camera with me on Saturday, I would have snapped a picture of her hanging out at the water break table in the deep outfield while the rest of her team played the field. I think she's decided that if the ball isn't going to come to her, she's going to do her best to stay hydrated! Guess I can't blame her!

To put a wrap on the t-ball season, I thought I'd include a collage of more of the great pictures taken on our team's "picture day", which I explained in the previous post, Major Hops. We'll be back with more action shots of Ivie when she takes on SOCCER this fall. Neither Dale nor I played soccer growing up, and neither of us really enjoy watching it (with the exception of UNC's women's team, of course!), so this could be interesting. But it will be good for Ivie to get out and run around and, if we're lucky, continue to learn to enjoy the fun of playing sports...

Climbing Stairs

I'm not sure how, but we made it through Ivie's baby years without purchasing a single gate. It's not that I never thought about it, or didn't check them out online, and in the stores, a million times. But the process was (and still is!) just a bit overwhelming for me. What size do we need? Where would we put it/them? Should we get the screw-in-the-wall kind and risk us messing it up (not to mention ruining the walls!)? Too many decisions, too little time, and not enough motivation. So, in the end, we chose instead to spend several months making the trek to and from the stairway any time Ivie ventured in that direction.

The time has come for Macie to find the stairs intriguing, as well. So the chase begins again. Or, when we're tired of chasing her, we just let her go (following very closely, of course!). This was one of those times, as she went in search for the green plastic egg that apparently didn't get put back in the bin with the rest of the Easter decorations... Too bad the candy's long gone from it, or I would have been racing Mac to the top instead of catching her stair-climbing on video!

Finished Eating?

This is how we know when Macie is finished eating. You'll need to pay very close attention, or you might miss the "subtle" sign...