Life is too short to always have clean fingernails

I'm not quite sure when it happened but at some point my cuddly infant with the best smelling hair turned into a grimy toddler with dirt under his fingernails and pieces of dinner in his hair. I remember the days when baths weren't a nightly requirement and my tiny baby smelled like heaven in my arms, but now I have to stop him from eating dog hair and drinking soapy, dirty bath water on a daily basis.

Kids grow up and I'm sure at several points in my life I'll cry remembering the younger years that will be long gone (hell it already happens every time I pack away another set of too-small clothes), and one day I'll miss the silliness and even the dirty bits just a little. Sometimes it's not so bad.. The muddy smile I get after a literal trip into the dirt is at least a little humorous (if no injuries are involved) and the funny face I get when my son has a hair in his mouth as he opens wide, points at his tongue and says "nine" (his word for our dog). I've even stifled a giggle when my son cracks up after an inevitable expulsion of gas. These, while gross in their own right, are accidents. It's the on-purpose gross behavior that sometimes leaves me mouth agape and horrified.

Today, for example, we went to the zoo. We hold annual passes so I make it a point to take my son every so often for a short trip to visit the animals. The zoo is not a clean place but with an 18 month old I've given in to the dirt and simply prepare by packing some hand wipes and a spare binky. This particular trip involved lunch given the time of day so my sister-in-law and I ordered our meals, packed my son into a high chair and started to eat. Minutes in, my son decided lunch at the zoo is only to be had while wearing two socks and one shoe. When I attempted to put his shoe back on, or take the other one off, he pitched a fit. This battle wasn't worth the tears (mine or his) so I gave in and placed the discarded shoe on the table while I continued to break up French fries and hand them to the tiny human making monkey noises next to me.

Mid-conversation with my sister, I saw my son stretching his little fingers across the empty space between him and the table and trying to get a hand on his rejected shoe. I asked him if he wanted to put it back on, to which he aggressively shook his head "no" so I returned it to the table, placing it a few inches back and out of reach.

A few seconds later, to my horror, I turned to see said shoe in my son's hands, making its way in apparent slow motion to his mouth. Apparently my shock caused a delayed reaction and before I could intercept his shoe, my son took one big lick right down the sole of it -- the sole that had been walking around a zoo filled with animals, uncaged birds and tiny humans that probably carry more germs than the first two combined.

I snatched the shoe back as quickly as possible and thrust some water in his direction but my son, who won't put half of what I try to feed him in his mouth, seemed unphased by the unpleasant mix of dirt and poo particles he had probably just consumed. Not to mention the morning consisted of a park trip in the same pair of shoes that included muddy grass and a gravel/sand pit (I don't even want to know what's in there!)

I'm pretty sure my son has since forgotten what the bottom of his shoe tasted like -- I'm sure he'll remind himself later - but I still gag a little every time I think about it. We brushed his teeth a little extra tonight. Is it still too early for mouthwash?

- N.

How to survive a week-long business trip with a toddler

So my husband often goes on business trips for work. They are typically 4-6 days and he's been doing them since my son was about 5 months old so we have gotten pretty used to them. Until this week, the last one had taken place when Hunter was just a year old (actually over his bday week) so I had never experienced a full "no dad" week with a toddler. And I thought the night wakings were exhausting...

First of all, this is the first time Hunter has had "object permanence" while my husband was on a business trip, meaning he knows dad still exists even when he can't see him. Even when my husband comes home late from work my son knows and will occasionally point at the door and say "dad?" I anticipated my husband's absence might be a problem, so we prepared accordingly.

Prep: All the fancy books and blogs suggest FaceTime, phone calls and even leaving behind a small token - such as an article of clothing with your scent on it or a Build-a-Bear with your voice recorded inside. We went with the latter and spent about $50 on a monkey that said "Hey Buddy I Love You" in my husband's voice. We gave it to him the day before my husband left and he LOVED it.

The next day, the true test began.

Day 1: 

11:30 a.m. - Facilitate a proper goodbye. Let your toddler wave to Dad as he leaves for his business trip and explain he will be on a trip for several days. But reassure him everything will be okay and he'll still have Mom, Nana, Papa and Auntie throughout the week.

11:45 - Put your toddler down for a nap and sneak husband back in the back door because he doesn't actually have to leave for another hour but if he leaves while your son is napping there is sure to be a meltdown and confusion when he wakes up (the experts say so).

12:45 - Husband actually leaves.

1:00 - Son wakes up from nap. Commit to keeping busy to ensure you both stay sane without any helpful intervention from family or friends.

1:15 - Lunch. Easy enough - we always have lunch without dad while he is at work.

1:45 - Make brownies. 

1:47 - Realize you are out of eggs and make an impromptu trip to Target to buy some. Stop at Costco to buy a water table to help distract your son from his father's absence. You've been meaning to buy one anyway...

2:15 - Actually make brownies.

3:15 - Go to the park to keep your toddler busy. Continually hear yourself saying "Dad is on a business trip" when asked by your toddler.

4:00 - Take shower. Let your toddler FaceTime Dad, who is at the airport still with a delayed flight, to distract him while you do so. Clearly you are an expert on this already because you are doing exactly what the books say to do.

4:15 - Finish shower, say goodbye to Dad and experience first meltdown as child will not hand over the phone but instead holds it close and says "dadadadadadadadad" over and over, clutching the phone to his chest.

4:30 - Give up on getting your phone back for the rest of the week.

5:00 - Dinner. Make a trusted favorite meal for your son so you know he will eat it and you won't have to spend time cooking several meals. Read books and play in playroom until dinner is ready.

5:30 - Watch as your child throws turkey to the dog and spits mashed potatoes down his shirt. Attempt to eat some yourself to show him how delicious it is. 

5:35 - Give in to microwave meatballs and applesauce for dinner.

5:42 - Look confused as your son makes monkey noises at you. Suddenly realize he wants his stuffed monkey with Dad's voice inside. Ah, yes.. you have beat this system, hearing dad's voice will cure all.

5:43 - Bring him monkey, sit it in chair next to him while he eats. Push hand that makes "monkey sounds." Toddler response: "dadadadadadad."

5:44 - Push hand with dad's voice instead. Watch your child gleefully request this on repeat.

5:47 - Regret your decision to buy stupid expensive monkey as your toddler becomes frantic, screaming and crying for Dad - who should obviously be home for dinner.

5:48 - Cry.

5:49 - Hide monkey.

5:50 - Pull yourself together, it's bath time. Your son LOVES bath time so this should be a breeze.

5:55 - Catch toddler mid-fall before he slams his head into the side of the tub because he is having another epic meltdown (obviously because Dad is gone and Mom sucks).

6:00 - Thank the Lord above that it is bedtime. Do entire routine yourself including attempting to stop your toddler from eating the lotion you are trying to put on him while also fighting him into pajamas and preparing his room for the night. Do everything perfect to assure there are no hiccups. There is no room for error.

6:10 - Attempt to carry toddler to bedroom, usually a pleasant end to the night where you tell him goodnight and he lays his head on your shoulder and blows you kisses. Instead, struggle to keep your toddler from falling onto the ground as he flails about screaming "DAD!!!" You have disrupted his routine and you suck. Way to go, Mom.

6:20 - Experience yet another epic meltdown when you inform your toddler it is neither time to watch TV or play with his dog (who is stuck in the garage while you attempt to get the toddler to sleep).

6:25 - Try to calmly explain to toddler where dad is while he shakes his head at you and says dad on repeat, while standing on top of a box, stomping his feet because, why not?

6:30 - Cry.

7:00 - Give in to TV with toddler.

7:15 - Call in-laws and cry to them that you need help because you are clearly incapable of even 12 hours alone with your toddler.

7:30 - In-laws arrive. Hide in pantry and feel like a failure until they successfully get toddler down to sleep without you.

7:33 - Marvel at how differently your toddler acts when grandparents are around.

7:35 - Breathe a sigh of relief that he is asleep.

7:40 - Cry.

7:45 - Watch TV for an hour before deciding the day was too exhausting for you and go to bed early. Pray for a full night's sleep.

11:30 - Awake to toddler crying for about 30 seconds followed by "dadadadadadadad" before he falls back to sleep. Simultaneously feel awful.

Day Two:

6:40 - Awake to toddler screaming "MOOOOM" into the baby monitor. Typical morning.

6:45 - Greet your child with the typical "Good morning sunshine!" to which he replies, "PAPA!" Still a typical morning.

7:00 - Make him his favorite breakfast to make up for being a total train wreck the day before. Sit calmly and watch Paw Patrol while he drinks his smoothie.

7:15 - Play in playroom, read stories, feel relief that things are going so well.

7:45 - Child discovers monkey that you hid the night before. Immediately begins frantic chorus of "DADADADADAD!"

7:46 - Rehide monkey.

8:00 - Decide the only way to handle the rest of the week is to be home as little as possible and take toddler to Target to play with toys in the dollar section. Go to breakfast, run errands, buy him a couple treats.

9:00 - Leave for music class.

11:00 - Get home from music class. Keep toddler awake in the car as not to interrupt nap time. He's clearly exhausted so nap time should be a breeze.

11:30 - Toddler fights naptime. For an hour. STOP JINXING YOURSELF.

11:32 - Cry.

12:30 - Decide to take him to lunch because home is awful. 

12:35 - Toddler falls asleep in car.

1:45 - Lunch with toddler. He is well-rested and actually happy. SCORE.

2:30 - Go to in-laws house to play with auntie and papa and stay there until you absolutely must go home.

5:00 - Go to Great-Nana's house to kill more time.

6:00 - Accept help from both parties who come over to participate in bedtime routine.

7:00 - Put toddler to bed with the help of papa and auntie. WIN! He goes right to sleep. You clearly cannot handle your toddler on your own, but three people can. You have finally discovered the secret formula!

7:20 - Tell husband when he calls that he is no longer allowed to FaceTime or talk to his son while he is gone because you (and your toddler) seem to be unable to handle it emotionally. Sorry, Dad.

7:30 - Realize the water table you purchased is still in the box, unassembled, on your bedroom floor.

Day 3:

Basically more of the same. Except this time naptime is a success on your own and your toddler sleeps for two hours. Hold onto this feeling for the rest of the week. You can consider it your single greatest success.

7:15 After child falls asleep, with the help of papa, cry from exhaustion. Call in reinforcements. Plan mini-vacation with sister-in-law to recoop. Hand off baby duties to Nana.

Day 4:

7:00 a.m. - Nana comes.

12:00 p.m. - Listen to Nana gush about how well-behaved and happy your child is. Silently wonder if your child behaves better for Nana or if Nana is exaggerating to make you feel less guilty about leaving. Decide it's probably a mixture of both and swear to enjoy 36 hours of vacation before returning home.

From now on, mom and baby are joining dad on business trips. If he's not going to sleep anyway, may as well do it in a fun locale.

- N.

I hope you dance.

Before we have kids, we think about all of the benefits; how the addition of a miniature human will enrich our lives. Somehow along the way those good feelings seem to get muddled with poopy diapers, muddy hands and screaming fits, but it's important to remember why we have kids in the first place - not just so when we are old and incontinent they will return the favor, but because kids truly make our lives better in (almost) every aspect.

Sure there's the love, affection and overwhelming sense of purpose, but those aren't the only upsides to parenthood. Parenthood makes you better; at least it made me better. So many aspects of my life, and myself, got better when I had my son.

I was mid-spin at 10:30 a.m. as I had this revelation: having a child had taught me how to be a kid again. Hunter was nap fighting like a champ so I decided an impromptu dance party was the best way to pass some time before we tried again - and hopefully a good way to wear him out. We like to have dance parties, usually while I get ready in the morning to keep the little busy. However, now was as good a time as any. Nap fighting can cause a lot of anxiety, mostly for me as my OCD likes the reliance of a schedule, but this time I chose not to fret the fighting. Instead, I chose, in that moment, to overcome the obstacle (I'm pretty sure I've read these catchphrases on a motivational poster somewhere). So we danced to Top 40s hits via Pandora, and as David Guetta sang Bulletrproof, my son and I hopped in circles. We probably looked ridiculous. And it was perfect.

It was a solid 30 minutes before the little wore out, pooped and was ready to actually sleep, but that 30 minutes were a snapshot of what I always imagined parenthood to be. While I was pregnant, I thought a lot about what parenthood would look like, and it's always amazing to me when those thoughts become a reality. It's happened before... reading books to a 3 month old, sprawled out on a dino blanket. I first had the visions as I made the blanket during my second trimester and the first time I laid there with him reading the stories my hear leapt.

Hunter has taught me how to enjoy life in a new way, how to see the simple, enchanting wonder kids get giddy about. Sure, kids are weird - they're just about the weirdest creatures out there - but it's the best kind of honest weird you can be. Hunter has made the dance parties aplenty. I can't remember the last time I kicked a soccer ball in the house, finger painted or really drew something before he came into my life. All these simple pleasures that slipped away as I become an adult I am slowly regaining as I watch my son grow. We sing silly songs about our toes and jump for no reason. We make animal sounds in the car. I wish everyone could remember the lighthearted life of a kid. I'm lucky I get to partake everyday and learn how to be carefree again if only for a moment. Hunter balances me. I'm my best self now.

I made a pact with myself years ago not to sweat the small stuff and I try my hardest to stay true to that. Becoming a parent gave me a lot more small stuff to sweat but I'm always proud of myself when I can let it go (let it goooooooooo), and it's better for Hunter and myself. We both end up happier and everything works out in the end.

-N.

The Toothbrush Thief.

My son is getting taller. When I look straight at him I can't tell that he's grown at all, and according to the doctor's charts his height definitely isn't breaking any records. It's as I have to slowly move the drying rack and kitchen appliances back several inches on the counter that I realize just how much he's grown. Sure he's up on the very tippiest part of his toes, stretching as far as he can to grab whatever forbidden object his heart desires at that nanosecond in time (before he moves on to a particularly expensive glass object or my favorite bottle of wine from the wine rack) but nonetheless his determination couldn't stretch him that far a week ago. That's how I know he's growing.

It's usually when I see him actually holding said object that I realize his most recent growth spurt. I try to be good about the baby proofing -- though I'll admit I think redecorating the entire house to accommodate tiny, disobeying hands is a little overkill - but objects nonetheless get left out. On this particular morning, it was a toothbrush my son had gleefully shoved in his mouth in the split second I was focused on putting away dishes that alerted me to the several inches he had obviously grown overnight.

My husband works the early shift, which means he 's up before our son. In an effort to not wake him, thanks to the unintelligent way our house is designed with a master bathroom that shares a wall with the same wall the baby's crib is on one room over (okay, maybe it's partially poor planning on our part), he brushes his teeth in the kitchen. This means, said toothbrush, along with the tube of toothpaste we share, is on the kitchen island every morning when my son and I wake up.

Since my 16-month-old has a (healthy) obsession with brushing his teeth, he took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself that morning, and quickly began brushing his full-set of pearly whites with my husband's toothbrush... or so I thought.

What I didn't realize, until my husband got home and I recounted the story of his toothbrush, pointing to the stolen object now safely placed several inches back on the counter, was that it wasn't his toothbrush at all. It was mine.

That morning I had taken my toothbrush into the kitchen with me to brush my teeth for two reasons. 1) It would allow me to keep an eye on my son while he ate breakfast in his highchair - and fed half to the dog - and 2) The toothpaste was already out there. The little stinker had stolen MY toothbrush, which actually makes more sense because everything that is mine is at least 100x better than my son's. Most mornings we brush our teeth together. I let him scrub mine while I shine his, or its a no-go.... Kids are weird.

Now it's probably important to mention that I'm OCD. Not in the I-have-to-turn-the-lights-on-and-off-seven-times-before-I-leave-a-room-for-good-luck sort of way, but more in the I-can't-stand-when-my-picture-frames-aren't-perfectly-asymmetrical-in-just-the-way-I-like-them sort of way.

Two years ago the thought of someone else using my toothbrush - even my husband - would have resulted in one of two scenarios 1) making an impromptu Target trip to buy a new one or 2) boiling it in hot water for 10 minutes until I had time to make an impromptu Target trip to buy a new one. Instead, I shook my head in disbelief, smiled briefly the way you have to when your child gets into harmless mischief and relocated my toothbrush back to the safety of my vanity in the master bathroom - where I would use it again that night without so much as rinsing it off.

They always say having kids changes you - and my stretch marks are proof of that. But most important are the changes on the inside. I can no longer stomach sad stories posted on Facebook about the horrible things that happen to babies (please friends, stop posting them) and I've somehow also become a more efficient, motivated individual. I didn't notice this particular change until that moment: my illogical OCD wasn't as bad as it used to be. Sure I still vacuum the baseboards now and again and a pile of laundry anywhere but inside the washing machine makes me cringe, but the germaphobia is a little less. I guess having a boy will do that to you. I now gladly stick out my hand for stray pieces of hardened mud found in the house (dragged in by the dog) as my son happily places them in my hand. The excitement on his face to hand me an object to throw away is priceless, only made better by the times I let him throw them away himself. (I guess that extra OCD energy is being transferred somewhere). And I can see, in this simple experience, that my son, the toothbrush thief, isn't the only one growing.

Now if my husband uses my toothbrush, I'm still running to Target.

-N.

Little Boys & Super Heroes

Ok, confession time: I hide books from my son. That's awful, right? I'm 100 percent for reading to children. In fact, my son and I have been reading since before he was born. I'd read my books aloud when he was still growing in my tummy in a valiant effort to produce a human being that is smarter than my husband and I. Even if he was listening to Nicholas Sparks novels and What to Expect When You're Expecting, it was better than nothing right?

Books were a huge part of my life growing up. I was always reading something - usually not required school reading - and I'm happy to see my son take after me in that sense. Although, lets be honest, I'm happy to see my son take after me in just about any sense considering he's the carbon copy of my husband.

Now, however, he gets stuck on his favorite things, including books. No matter how many dozens of books I buy him - mostly for my own sanity because a person can only read "Where's Spot" so many times in their life -  he wants to read the same ten or so every time we sit down to read. And usually, he prefers to read the same book several times in a row, before moving on to the next.

I make a game out of this practice, mostly to make round 300 of "Ten Tiny Toes" bearable. I change up voices, I make different sounds and try to include interactive portions for my son. I started doing it to help myself, but in the long run I can see it helping my son. Some books, however, do not lend themselves to creative storytelling and are therefore a lot harder to read 100 times over.

My son's favorite book as of late is called My First Batman Book. His aunt bought it for him partially because little boys tend to like super heroes and also partially because Batman is his dad's favorite, but the problem is he could read the Batman book until the end of time, never reading a single book in between, and be perfectly content. There are few ways to get creative with the already slightly interactive book and my voice is quickly growing hoarse from trying to sound like Batman. I've given sounds to the fake "buttons" inside the book, prompting my son to push them when directed and even make "zoom" and "zip" noises as Batman drives his Batmobile with Robin or ziplines across tall buildings.

The realization eventually came to me that perhaps I had made the book too fun; that in an effort to quell my own boredom I had made the book more desirable in my son's eyes. So I quickly changed my approach. I began speeding through the pages quicker than my son could turn them and speaking in monotone voices, with no cool sound effects or added interactive ploys.

To my dismay, it didn't work. My son still loves the Batman book and it only angers him when I don't add in the extra "fun" parts. I don't know why every little boy member of the male population has an obsession with Batman, but it seems to be universal.

I tried hiding it once. I slipped it behind his stuffed animal bin and forgot about it for weeks. Until the day my son tipped over said bin and uncovered the "lost" object. His eyes lit up when he saw it as he immediately handed it to me and promptly sat in my lap for 20 or 30 straight readings. I tried to pick up other books in between but he wouldn't be swayed. It was like a brand-new toy and the weeks it spent missing from his easily-accessible collection only added to its worth.

I guess I learned my lesson. Damnit, Batman.


-N.

Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.

Dogs Best Friend.

My son thinks his friends are dogs.

The other day we were having a play date with our cousins when Hunter joyfully decided to share. I usually encourage this behavior, because as an only- and a non-daycare-going- child, I want him to learn how to play nicely with other children. The problem is that when Hunter shares, he likes to shove toys right into his friends' mouths.

This odd behavior was proceeded by Hunter getting in trouble for not being gentle with his playmate.. hitting him a little too hard and throwing an object in his direction, hitting him square in the chest. But what happened after I said the words ,"be gentle" gave me some serious pause.

Hunter promptly looked at me, his little face clearly registering the command, and then proceeded to pat his play mate lightly on the head and then lean in for an armless hug (basically Hunter putting his head on the other boy's chest). This behavior was not received with the good intentions with which it was meant because the petting was invasive, probably a little to rough and slightly condescending, and the hug registered as a rather strange gesture given their was no actual hugging involved.

Hunter's playmate quickly looked from Hunter to the adult supervisors in the room with a level of confusion and disgust that resulted in a priceless face I wish I had a picture of, and an immediate push as he tried to remove the small human from his chest.

The thing is, Hunter's behavior was supposed to be nice. He was petting his friend. And, in all fairness, this is my fault (because his dad wasn't around to take the blame).

We have a dog and I'm a huge proponent of pets for kids. I think the right pet provides a lot of benefit for young children. Not only have studies proved that kids with dogs tend to have stronger immune systems (probably because the dogs constantly expose them to dirt, germs and crap they otherwise wouldn't usually be around) but I credit our dog with helping to teach our son to walk. It was the determination to catch up with his dog, after all, that motivated Hunter to take his first steps - right toward our 90 lb. Black Mouth Cur, who immediately ran for cover, horrified that this small but loud lump had suddenly learned to move on its own. But our son has also learned how to play with others based on how he plays with our dog.

The command "be gentle" most commonly comes in response to Hunter using our dog as a drum - or a horse, or a step stool - so when I made the warning, he jumped into action. Responding exactly how he would to our dog with a series of nice pets and an animal-appropriate hug.

Despite the hilarious awkward inappropriate exchange, I can't help but marvel at how children view the world. In a way, his immediate reaction shows an impressive amount of acceptance and tolerance as well as the true innocence of a child. He doesn't see an animal as lesser than another human being - to him, he was treating his playmate with the same respect and love he shows his own brother. To Hunter, that was the utmost compliment (or perhaps it was a knee-jerk reaction to my command, but let's pretend it's not). Either way, PETA could learn a thing or two from Hunter.

In closing, my takeaway is simple: We need more human play dates.

-N.

Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.

Things aren't always easier the second time around

As soon as you get married, the questions start. Every relative from your third cousin thrice removed to your Great Aunt Jo want to know when you'll be bringing a baby into the family. As annoying as the constant pestering can get, it's hard to blame them. I admit, I bug my married friends about their plans of the ovary variety from time to time. My intentions aren't to bother them, I am just legitimately excited about the prospect of a new baby to play with.

The only pestering worse than this, however, is the constant conversation that happens after you birth a child. No sooner does that child reach 3 months old than the entire family has barged right back into your ovaries again - figuratively speaking, of course. Because once you've started, you're expected to act as if your sole purpose is to cook and pop out babies like your families own personal baby factory - most enticing to those either too old or too young to produce on their own.

I've said since pregnancy, when I was experiencing 24/7 morning all day sickness that I would be waiting a solid 4-5 years for baby number two. This notion was perposturous to most, especially those pregnant at the same time as me, clamoring to be pregnant again by the time their little one reached one year old, but for me it was the only way it'd ever work. After all, I was throwing up so much and so often that I was barely capable of taking care of myself some days so how was I supposed to care for two babies at once? Especially when one was already outside of my womb? (Three babies if you count myself - which you should).

I am happy to report that none of those mothers actually ended up pregnant by their little one's first birthday, but I am still sometimes surprised by the number of people who had kids at the same time as I did, having another already. Aside from the awful sickness, I actually have several valid reasons for postponing postpartum round two. And they are even better than the perfectly acceptable "I'm f**king tired."

When all is said and done I'm actually proud of myself for how well I've done with my son. Not for a second am I going to pretend I have it all together (just this past week he gave up naps in his crib), but overall, I achieved what I wanted to. I breastfed my son for over a year, I cloth diapered for the same amount of time, I successfully kept him healthy for the entirety of year one, I made all of his scheduled doctors appointments, I made all of my own (mostly organic) baby food and I stayed home with him - and still do (something I never envisioned for myself). But now, with the impeding thoughts of baby number two eventually (see: eventually) coming, I'm afraid. I'm not sure if I can be as good of a mom the second time around.

It was exhausting doing all of those things. Obviously I did them for the betterment of my child's life, because I personally feel they are important, but the idea of pumping milk several times a day and spending hours peeling, steaming and pureeing apples sounds exhausting. Add in child number 2 (now 4 or 5) who is likely bringing home sicknesses from school and feeding my baby chicken nuggets when I'm not looking, and the task seems daunting. And then I'll spend my whole life feeling awful because I was clearly a better mom round one. (No, really, I will. I'm that type of person).

So before you ask me about kid number two, be sure you're ready for a loooong explanation. Because these are the thoughts that go through my mind when I think about kid number two, and if I was having a good day before you asked me, I likely may not be once this conversation is over.

-N.


Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.