Do I need to get on the Skype?

I miss my friends. 

I love my life, and don't have a free minute to spare most days, but that doesn't mean I don't miss my friends. I never see some of them, don't text or call, maybe I only occasionally comment on their Facebook page, but that doesn't mean I don't miss them. 

And I hate it. I hate it and I don't know how to fix it. 

I'm not sure how I let it get to this point. My only reason is: because, life. My life, their lives, a combination of the two. Moves and marriages and babies and divorces and...life. 

Gosh I wish it wasn't like this. 

I have one friend that I miss so terribly...probably more than she even realizes, because she moved far away. I still vividly remembering crying so hard on the curb outside a bar the last time we hung out before she moved...and if you know me, you know it wasn't a drunken cry. It was a genuine, I'm-happy-for-you-but-please-don't-go cry. At first, we kept in contact regularly through phone calls, then text, and eventually it just became through social media...which is okay, but...*sigh*.

Sigh. Social media. I have such a love-hate relationship with it. It both brings people together and tears them apart. I find that for me personally, social media tricks me into feeling like I'm keeping in contact with people. I say "tricks me" because seeing such constant updates on my friends' lives sort of makes me feel like I've contacted them recently when I haven't. That, in turn, makes me lazy in actually trying to actually make plans with them. Not that with two kids that's easy to do anyway these days, but this social media-related phenomenon was happening before the girls came along so they aren't really an excuse. 

This brings me to the title of this blog entry...do I need Skype? Is that the solution? Will Skyping (is that a word?) make me feel more connected or will it have the opposite effect? And, more importantly, will I keep up with it? Or will it be a one-time thing like the Twitter account I don't even remember making? Will it make my far-away friends seem closer once more?

Very recently, another friend told me that she is moving. I literally hadn't seen her in person in ages and now she won't be here at all. I'm very happy for her moving onto this next chapter in her life but I definitely regret the time wasted on my part. 

Also, screw you, Florida, for taking so many of my friends! They all think you're so awesome, with your sunshine and your oranges and your amazing, amazing theme parks, but they won't be so happy when their hair is a giant ball of humidity-induced frizz 98% of the year! 

And then there's the kids. My kids, their kids, everybody's kids. When I was younger, I had this vision of my children being friends with all the children of my own friends and it was just going to be one big happy huge group of people like on a tv show. Well...it doesn't look like that's going to happen. I'm not even sure of my children are ever going to get to know many of these people who were (and still are whether they know it or not) very important to me. That's so incredibly sad. I don't think Mila knows a single friend of mine. In fact, I have a lot of friends who haven't even met my kids at all, and in some cases I haven't met theirs either. That's insane. And it's my fault. And it sucks because my friends are awesome, and my kids are pretty awesome too. But it seems as though "never the twain shall meet."

I recently went out to dinner with a friend (and when I say 'recently' I mean like a month ago. I miss the days when not seeing a friend in a month felt like "forever" instead of feeling like it was "recently") Even though it took some serious planning, I was so freaking excited to be able to meet up with her. I miss the days where I could just drop by her place and we would plan the day as it happened (which usually involved rollerblades of some sort and her talking me into something crazy). I was going through a lot at the time, but that was one aspect of my life that was just so awesome and effortless. I miss that ease. Now I have to worry if I've packed enough snacks, if I have a place to breast-feed privately, if the girls have taken a proper nap or if they're going to be cranky little demons...again, sigh. I'm sure every new mom goes through this at some point, but it's hitting me hard right now since having my second child. You would think that having two kids would just double the work load, but somehow it seems to have quadrupled it. I'm not sure how the math works, it seems to defy logic.

I also had dinner with two of my closest friends in the world a few weeks ago...but...I brought my daughters. I wanted that "like a tv show" moment to occur, but instead I ended up spending all my time trying to avoid tantrums and disasters and just being generally distracted. I don't even remember what we talked about. I hope to see them again soon, but this time I'd like to give them my full attention. When this will happen...who knows. 

My guy friends have all but dropped off the planet. I can't blame them, many aren't married and don't have kids so they can't really relate to my lifestyle. I try not to fall into the trap of mommy-talk but it's hard when that's my life 175% of the day. (More defying of math logic). It's a different dynamic with them, and I really miss hearing their perspective. 

And then there are my newer friends. I'm not even really sure I could call them "friends" because I don't see them often enough for them to realize how glad I am that they are in my life, but they are friends to me. These are people who, upon meeting them, I've literally thought "This person is awesome! I could really see myself hanging out with them! Mary- make sure you make this happen! Don't let this one go!" Yeah, my mind goes into 'overly eager and slightly obsessive/creepy' mode sometimes.  Most of these people are from my job, so I see them regularly from September to June but then the summer hits. It's inevitable, I go into July thinking "Yes! Now it's gonna happen! Because I have ALL THIS FREE TIME!!!" But alas, there is no free time with a toddler and an infant. Not even when they are both miraculously napping at the same time. Not even at 2 am. And so, the closest I've gotten to acting on my overly-eager mind is saying, "Let's meet up during the summer! Or come out to PA sometime!" It's already August and...yeah. I've texted a little with a couple of them but that's pretty much it. But it's cool, because we keep in touch on social media 😒

But today. Today is going to be a great day. Today I'm going to a barbecue and today I'm going to see not one but TWO friends that, although I haven't seen them in quite a while, remain very near and dear to my heart. (Thank you A. for continuing to invite me to your annual BBQs despite years of me not being able to make it!) I can't wait to catch up with them and introduce them to my littlest little human. I'll also get to meet some of their little humans. And we'll talk about getting the old gang together which might happen, and it might not. And it'll be different from how it used to be, but it'll also be sort of the same. 

I'm not really sure what will happen after. I'd like to say that will definitely meet up again soon, that we'll call and text each other more but again, life. Bottles and dirty diapers and jobs and family obligations and living far away and, life. But I hope they know that I still care. And that I miss them. And that in my book of life, they are not forgotten.  None of them are. For now that's going to have to be enough.

Happy Mother's Day, Granna

I am not my daughter's favorite person. 

I used to be, but when it comes to my oldest girl, her favorite person is MY mom, better known to her as "Granna." 

We were in PA last week and taking care of these two girls is a blessing but when it's just the hubby and I, it's often downright overwhelming. Camila is a year and a half and is brilliant but she knows it, so she's already becoming a bit rebellious. She despises naps although she desperately needs them. We also have about 70 million stairs in the house, a fact that didn't occur to me until I had a one-year-old who has only mastered the ability to climb UP but not down. In addition, Camila has started to become more and more aware that her little sister is here to stay, which sometimes brings out the green monster of jealousy in her. I love her more than life itself, but I admit that sometimes Camila can be a handful. She's a good girl and many times will entertain herself for ages by singing, playing with little toys, or (gasp!) watching television...but she IS a toddler- and toddlers are handfuls by nature. 

I am not exaggerating when I say that I couldn't do it without my parents. I am BEYOND blessed to have them right there with us in NY and I wish I could take them everywhere we go! My daughters see their grandmother and grandfather AKA "Granna" and "Tot-Tot" ( no idea how that came from "grandpa") almost daily. I try not to abuse the offer, but I know that if, at any point, I need to bring one or both girls to their grandparents so that I could shower, sleep, make a phone call, go shopping, or paint my grody toenails...it's never a problem with them. I honestly don't know how other moms do it without this kind of support. I guess when you have no choice, you survive, but dang. 

My parents came out to stay with us for a few days in PA during Spring Break and it was THE BEST. While college kids were in Acapulco partying themselves into a MTV-worthy stupor (WOOT! Spring Break!), we were putting in some serious BBQ hours over in the Poconos. ("WOOT!!! Grilled Corn!!!") I serious cried when they left even though I would see them again in NY in just a couple of days. Having them with us (in NY or PA or on the freaking moon) is the absolute best. They help out in ways I never even realized I needed. Our daughters are growing up with their grandparents right beside them and I couldn't be happier about their relationship. 

With that, though, comes its consequences. When she was much younger and I was breastfeeding her, I was Camila's favorite person. I was her source of comfort, life, and sustenance. I could bring a smile to her face like nobody else could. But I stopped breastfeeding at 8 months and that, combined with me going back to work, has put me into the position of second fiddle. It's understandable, I'm the meanie who has to put her to bed every night when she wants to stay up, who tries to force her to eat different kinds of food (and by "force", I mean put broccoli, carrots, oranges, or anything remotely healthy in front of her and watch as she throws them on the floor for me to clean up like her own personal trained maid-monkey. Toddlerhood is a blast), who changes her diaper when she isn't in the mood and starts to flail like a fish out of water while squealing like a cat (yeah...idk).  Plus, I'm ALWAYS THERE. It's not special to be around me, it's expected. 

But my mom...she's special. Going to Granna's is a treat. She makes everything fun. Even the stinky, cranky diaper changes are s blast with a song, a game, a tickle and a giggle. She sneaks chocolate or strawberry syrup into her milk (I know you do it, mom!) and always has Camila's favorite tv shows on standby. She's always cheery, has cookies and cheese at the ready to snack on, I mean, who WOULDN'T want to hang with her?

Sounds perfect, huh? Well yes, until I pick my daughter up from my mom's place and she cries and kicks and screams bloody murder because she'd rather be with my mom than with me. Carlos and I often have to trick her into coming with us by distracting her with a bottle and then grabbing her and running away to our apartment.  In the mornings when Camila wakes up cranky as all heck, I could do everything and anything to comfort her to no avail...a smile doesn't appear on her face until I bring her to grandma. They watch Wheel of Fortune together and shout out letters for the contestants to guess. They sing and dance to the oldies on the radio channel. Somehow even with Camila's limited toddler vocabulary, they have full-blown conversations about life, family, and the latest episode of Bubble Guppies. Basically, my mom is Camila's favorite...not me. 

I know that my mom feels guilty about this. She didn't PLAN on this happening. She tries to play it off, by saying things like "Camila loves her mommy, right Camila?" But I know the truth. 

And you know what?

I'm okay with it. In fact, I think it's wonderful. 

My daughter loves me, I don't doubt that. I'm her mom and that's a bond that nobody can break between us. A grandmother-granddaughter bond on the other hand, is much more rare. I loved all my grandparents dearly but I can't say I remember ever having the connection that my daughter has with my mom. They are absolutely best buddies, or "two peas in a pod" as my dad likes to say. I know very few people that ever had that connection with a grandparent. It's kind of the best thing ever. Getting to see my mom "in action" again is like going back in time and seeing how she was with me. And I learn so much from just observing them together. Like me, my mother was a teacher (recently retired-woohoo) but I don't think she realizes how much teaching she is still doing outside of the classroom. I watch as she teaches my daughter to say new words, sing songs, put things back where they belong and grasp the concept of "No" (although that one's a work in progress).  I'm finding my own way as a mother, but I can't deny that a lot of my actions are shaped by what I see my own mom doing with Camila. 

So it's okay that mom is my daughter's favorite, because you know what? She's kinda my favorite too ☺️

Out, Damned Spot!!!

I'm warning you now, this post is a little gross. I don't think it's THAT bad, but if you are at all squeamish, back away slowly. 

Don't say I didn't warn you.

I think I'm somewhat of a medical marvel because weird medical things happen to me. My left kidney was missing for a decade before it was finally found tucked in between an ovary and my uterus. Once I had this weird rash for a month that presented itself as circles all over my arms and legs. Not spots, CIRCLES. Like the letter O. I was convinced I had the most epic Lyme disease ever, but then it disappeared. I gave my sister a mean case of the chicken pox and nobody knew because I only had one pock. I like to think of myself as the Queen of Medical Mysteries. Okay, maybe not queen, but I'm at least a duchess. I figure I'm SOME kind of royalty. (Also, did you know "duchess" didn't have a t in it? I had to look it up, but I could've sworn it did.)

Anyway, about 5 years ago, I developed a spot on the tip of my tongue. It was large, white and painless. I just assumed it was a swollen tastebud, even though it didn't really hurt the way a tastebud often does. For the first year or so, I ignored it. You can kind of see it in this picture: 

I won't zoom in because, gross, but you can definitely spy it with your little eye. I eventually started to get suspicious about it, but life happens and it wasn't my main concern until two years ago when I had a root canal and the dentist was like "Um, what is that?" (FYI medical professionals: patients don't like to hear that!) I said I didn't know but that it's been there for years. She suggested I mention it to my regular dentist next time I go in (she was just doing the root canal). I'm sure you know what's coming next...

I consulted Dr. Google, because that's what people do. And let me tell you, looking up "strange growths on tongue" is NOT a pleasant experience. Just...don't.  Aside from grossing myself the eff out, naturally I started to convince myself I had tongue cancer. Nothing else seemed to fit my description (In retrospect, cancer didn't fit my description either but in my Worst-Case-Scenario mind, weird growths=cancer=death). 

I didn't have another dentist appointment for a while, though, so again it fell to the back burner for quite a while. My dentist finally looked at it this past summer and said he'd "never seen anything like that before" (again, medical professionals...WTF?) and that I should see their oral surgeon-which would cost me about $200 because the surgeon doesn't participate in my dental plan. I didn't make the appointment yet because I figured I would either find someone who DID take my dental plan or perhaps find an ear-nose-and-throat doc who takes my medical insurance. 

I looked online that day, didn't find anything, and forgot about it because, again, life and stuff. 

Don't get me wrong, I was still freaked out and feared something was terribly wrong, but I was busy with a one-year old and another on the way...and I was avoiding it. I think it was more laziness than fear, but it was definitely a combination of the two. 

Two days ago I went to the dentist again. It just so happened that for the first time, the dot was hurting me. It also looked a bit more swollen than usual. I mentioned it again, and he gave me the oral surgeon's info again- except this time, I made the appointment. It is set for April 18. I'll finally get an answer. 

Fast forward to today. An hour ago, I randomly went to a mirror to look at the dot...aaaaaand it was gone. It vanished. I have no idea if it fell off or just shrank or reabsorbed itself or what, but there is nothing there. No dot. I searched my whole tongue in case it, like, moved or something, but no. I don't know what to think. My appointment that I FINALLY made that is set for eight days from now will be cancelled. On a very good note, I'm assuming it's not cancer because I'm pretty sure cancerous tumors don't just fall off (although they SHOULD because cancer sucks).  It's the most bizarre thing. I mean, I'm happy my tongue looks normal again. I was always worried people would think it was a piece of food...nasty. 

I just...don't know. It's like it waited for me to make the appointment and then went "Sike!"  It's so bizarre. So, yeah. This is my life, folks. Glamorous, huh?

In related news, I still have to go to the dentist this Wednesday because the aforementioned root canal cap doesn't quite fit properly and it hurts when food gets in there. We'll see what craziness is in store for me next! Always an adventure.

Heh, heh, Bewbies.

Today, we are going to talk about...boobs. 

Not just any boobs...MY boobs. 

More specifically, I'm going to talk about breastfeeding, so all you pervs can leave the room now, because it's not gonna be pretty. Go on. Leave. You creeps. 

Ah, the euphoria of breastfeeding. That intimate connection between you and your little one that maintains the physical bond you had when she was in the womb! 💕 There is nothing more natural, more serene, more beautiful than a breastfeeding mother, no??? 

😑

Well, not exactly. Not for me, anyway.  I mean, it's cool knowing I can feed my kid with my body and I sure as heck appreciate the savings on formula, but breastfeeding has been quite a rocky road for me.  (Did someone just say Rocky Road? As in ice cream??? Where?!?! I want!! I MUST HAVE!!!)

Sorry, got carried away for a second. That's what happens after being on a gestational diabetes-restricted diet for a few months. (Oh yes, I had my second baby, Coraline. Her birth story is coming soon, but I happened to finish this blog entry first. Screw chronological order!)  Anyway, back to talking about my tatas. 

With Mila, I was uncertain about the whole breastfeeding process. My own mother couldn't breastfeed and in my social circle, I don't honestly know a lot of moms who have, so my hopes weren't high. But when they first handed her to me, she latched on like a champ. I didn't expect it, we were just going to do skin-to-skin contact, but with her limited newborn baby vision, she saw the opportunity and went for it. That's my girl, hungry from the get-go. It hurt a bit, but I was so proud that it was happening at all, that I didn't even care. That night, I fed her again in the NICU (she was there for observation) and the pain was still there, but she ate for a marathon session. A good 40 minutes per side. I was a new mom and saw this as (slightly painful) bliss. 

Until the next morning and the 🔥FIRE NIPPLES🔥. Yeah, it turns out she wasn't latching correctly (or unlatching properly either) and that resulted in some serious nipple damage. At first, they didn't look nearly as bad as they felt, so when the lactation consultant cane by, she seemed to think I was overreacting. "Breastfeeding shouldn't hurt," I was told hundreds of times...well, if you have nipple damage, it sure as hell will. In fact, simply having a shirt on felt like sheer and utter torture. I'm not even joking, when she latched on, it was worse than labor pains. My toes curled and I would scream. I dreaded her hungry eager little face and those piranha gums. If the US Government needs a new form of torture, attach babies to the nipples of international criminals. 

Thank God, we got past that stage...but I did use formula (The dread! The horror!!!) to supplement here and there, which sort of sucked because I felt like I was failing. I'm not good with failure, it sticks with me. I felt especially badly during those middle of the night feelings when there was really nothing else to focus on. Especially those first nights when they told me she wasn't filling her diaper enough and was still hungry. I cried so hard at that. Some of the "Breast is Best" supporters have a way of making you feel obligated to do everything the traditional, natural way but what really got us through that time were a few devices that they advised against. One was a "nipple shield." It looks like a tiny silicone witch hat that covers the whole areola area and it made it slightly more bearable to breastfeed until the nips healed (which involved scabbing and other gross stuff but I'll spare you the details.). It's recommended to be used sparingly but I used it exclusively for like three months straight. Whatever, it worked. 

Another thing that helped-and was suggested by the lactation consultant- were "breast shells" which were like hard plastic flying saucer cups that shielded the nips from touching anything. Without the right bra, it made me look like I had the worst implant job ever, but they made it possible for me to actually wear clothes, which was nice if I ever wanted to leave the house. Which I didn't, but still. 

Speaking of hard boobs...Holy McMoly and heaven forbid if you let the tatas become engorged. It's like having actual boulders for boobies. I had the pleasure of this happening a few times and sometimes they caused a plugged duct which is basically a boob blockage that hurts like hell, and the only cure is to feed-feed-feed that baby until it clears up. Super awesome for someone with tender nips. This time, with baby #2, I tried to avoid it but somehow it happened again and it turned into mastitis, which is an infection that makes it feel like you have the flu. Not a cold...the flu. Like influenza. Like you can't move your limbs and feel near death. Same cure, too...feed the baby like crazy until it clears up. This picture just keeps getting more beautiful, doesn't it? 

At this point, I should note the intense relationship that breastfeeding causes between mother and child. It isn't one sided, simply because mom is feeding baby...I need her just as much as she needs me in order to keep my breasts healthy. It's also weird to think that after nine plus months, this child is STILL attached to me somehow...just on the outside. I guess that part is kind of cool. 

But back to the uncool part. You need AT LEAST four arms to breastfeed. I'm not actually sure why evolution hasn't caught up with this yet...females should have four arms. One for holding the baby's head, one for holding the boob, one for getting and adjusting pillows or fixing a bad latch and one for using an electronic device when you are bored because frankly, breastfeeding is time consuming and there's only so many minutes I can stare at my child in awe. I'm sorry, but this is real talk my friends, and after 45 minutes on breast #1, one tends to get a bit restless. 

Speaking of restlessness and boredom...lets talk about breast pumping. Oh. My. Word. It's the most annoying fracking thing ever. First of all, there's like 70 different parts that you have to put together every single time, and you have to clean and sterilize them and OMG. When a coworker suggested I just keep the parts in the fridge in between pumping sessions, I wanted to hug her. I'm not sure how sanitary it is, but my kids are both fine (so far) plus, she's a science teacher so I'll take her word for it (anything to justify not cleaning the parts every time). I bought one of those bras with holes in the nips so I can free up my arms so I don't have to hold it all in place but once everything is set up, it's just BORING. You are literally strapped to one place and you fear that any movement will cause the previous milk to spill. If you are in a public place, you fear people walking in and despite all your best efforts, people WILL disrupt you while you have this device strapped to your chest making you look like some sort of FemBot reject. And I swear, after a while, the pump itself sounds like it says stuff. The suction sound starts to mimic words (Pardon! and Ratchet! being examples, but almost any two-syllable word will do) and I begin to think I'm losing my mind.  Which I guess I sort of am. 

Finally...your boobs become public property. In the hospital, everybody is checking them, checking your technique, etc. At home, the kid eats pretty much constantly (if they are awake), so at least one boob is exposed at all times for the first few weeks. Even once a routine is established, sometimes the kid has to eat when you are in public. I'm not a big public-feeder but trying to find a private spot isn't always easy. I have one of those drape/cover thingies, but peekaboos happen. At people's houses, I never know how people will react. Sometimes they ignore it, sometimes they stare, I've even had a few people caress my boob absentmindedly while I was feeding because they were just admiring the baby and the process (no, that doesn't make it less weird). Yeah. My boobs are no longer private property. 

So after going through all this pain and trouble, you can imagine my absolute indignation when Camila became sick. Her first cold came at about the three month mark and WTF?!? After all I went through, breast milk should be like a miracle cure for all baby ailments from acne to gas to the sniffles. I. Was. Pissed. And yeah yeah, I know, "It could have been worse had she not been breastfed" whatever...I still felt betrayed. And just TRY to breastfeed a baby whose nose is completely stuffed up. It's heartbreaking. 

Despite all this, here I am, with baby #2 and I'm at it again. Why torture myself if it was so bad? Three reasons. 1. I love my daughters and am willing to go through the struggle if it's in their best interest. 2. I'm a perfectionist who always wants to prove I can do stuff. And 3. I'm cheap, and formula is freaking expensive. My boobs are free. Although, the pumping equipment, breast shields and shells and milk storage bags cost a pretty penny, but still less than formula. 

I usually try to end my posts on a positive note, but ugh...it's difficult this time. Especially since I'm writing this at 3 AM while pumping AFTER breastfeeding Cora starting at 1:30 am. I breastfed Camila for eight months before she started biting and thinking it was funny, plus I wasn't able to pump regularly at work so my supply was dwindling and I gave up. I've been exclusively breastfeeding Cora so far, and hope to continue for a full year but I make no guarantees whatsoever. I'm glad I was able to do this for my daughters but I totally understand those moms who couldn't or wouldn't breastfeed. I'm not one of those "Breast is Best" preachers...I'm more like "Survival is Best, so You Do You, Mama." It's less catchy and doesn't rhyme, but it gets the point across.  

To all you moms out there, breastfeeders and bottle mamas and supplementers and everything in between, I salute you. Momming is the toughest job I've ever had, and...um...oh dear...

I was going to end this with some sort of epic inspirational paragraph, but I just heard a certain tiny someone blow out her diaper, so I've gotta run. You know how it is. Wish me luck. 

Coraline's Birth Story

As with ANY birth story, be forewarned. Some crazy, gross, horror-movie-like stuff went down in that delivery room, and I'm not yet sure how much I'm going to include in this post, so if you are squeamish, this is your exit cue. 

Okay-if you are still here...Hi! I just had a baby! Actually I had a baby two weeks ago, but judging by how my abdomen and nether regions are feeling right now, it might as well be yesterday. Before too much time has passed, I want to jot this down so one day my lovely little Cora can read it and say..."Gross, mom. Seriously...gross." And it will be glorious. Especially if it convinces her to wait to have a kid until she's 35, like me. Or mid-50s. Whatever comes first. 

Speaking of what came first, let's start at the beginning. This story actually starts with...Coraline's sister, Camila. (I know, I know, she's already trying to upstage her sister. I can't help it, this is how the story went!) On the night of March 5, 2016, an unusual occurrence took place. Mila woke up in the middle of the night crying and we could not get her back to sleep. In fact, just a few days prior, I was praising her for her ability to sleep through the night, so this was rare. After Carlos brought her to our bed (and retreated to the living room! Ugh 😡), she calmed down but was no longer sleepy. She pretty much wanted to play, talk, sing, and poke me in the face. After about an hour of that nonsense, I put her back to her crib and she finally relaxed, but I couldn't relax...I was cramping. Badly. And it seemed to be every ten minutes or so. Just as with Camila, I was nine days before my due date but UNLIKE Camila, my water hadnt broken so I wasn't sure I was in labor. I had had Braxton-Hicks contractions for three weeks do I wanted to be sure this was the real deal. I spent a good two or three hours timing these cramps, which turned out to be contractions. The on-call doctor (which is never MY doc because I always seem to go into labor late at night when he's off-duty) said to come in when they are 5 minutes apart. The problem was that sometimes they were 5 minutes but then the contractions were weak, and being a perfectionist, I wasn't sure if those "counted." I was seriously driving myself crazy. I had an app on my phone and was trying to find a pattern in the contractions. I wish there was an app where I could just place the phone on my belly and it would say either "GO TO HOSPITAL NOW!" or "Chill, girl. You got time. Have some FroYo." but there isn't. Maybe one of you readers of my blog can invent that!!! And then you better give me royalties because I came up with the idea! Hey! I got two little mouths to feed now! Kids ain't cheap, mofos!

Oh yeah...back to the kid... So, I woke Carlos and told him I might be in labor. He seemed to believe me this time, I guess he learned to trust my instincts after NOT believing me when my water broke with Camila (no, sweetie, you will never live that down). By 5 am, the pains were becoming unbearable and although they averaged seven minutes apart, we headed to the hospital. On the way there, they turned into three minutes apart (what the heck happened to all the minutes between seven and three?!?) and every bump in the road was excruciating. By the time we got to the hospital, I was ready for the drugs!

Have I mentioned how much I love Greenwich Hospital? Pain or not, I was psyched to be there. The service is outstanding, it's a beautiful hospital, I never have to wait, it's basically a hotel with a medical staff. They hooked me up with the IV after a few painful failed attempts, and then it was epidural time. 

Epidurals are scary. I'm not sure why because they aren't actually painful, but you have to sign a waiver, and they don't let your partner see what they are doing, and I've heard nightmare stories so I guess that's why, but regardless of the reason, I was freaked out. I was also, apparently, dehydrated. Just before the epidural was complete, I started feeling woozy. Like..."I might faint" woozy. I started sweating all over and the room was closing in on me until...SMELLING SALTS! Or ammonia, rather. Scary moment, but the nursing staff (and my hubby) were there when I "came to" and once the drugs started kicking in, I felt MUCH better. It was bliss. 

Well, for a while anyway. Until they inexplicably started becoming painful again. With Camila, I had pressure pain so I didn't expect a painless labor but this was different. And getting worse. The epidural specialist came in and gave me an extra dose of whatever 'epidurally medicine' they give you but it didn't cut the pain one bit. He offered to redo it but after my near-faint experience, I was reluctant. My blood pressure was already dropping to sort-of-scary levels and I didn't want to risk it. 

But it was getting worse. The doctor came in to check on my dilation and when he checked me (like, on the inside) DURING A CONTRACTION, it was the single most painful thing I ever ever experienced. I thought my body would split in two from the pain. My amazing nurse Chrissy broached the subject of redoing the epidural again, and this time I went for it. I was out of options. A new specialist came in to do the procedure, while Nurse Chrissy kept me calm through the contractions. It turns out, the original epidural fell out of place so I was pretty much doing natural labor for the previous two hours. (Side note...natural labor is horrible. In 2016, I don't understand why anyone would do it. I'm not even sure I understand how the human race still exists considering how long women had babies without drugs. Baffling.)

Finally! Relief! After this, it was pretty much smooth sailing until delivery time. Carlos and I watched a lot of HGTV (another side note-what is this fascination with "tiny houses" lately?!? I don't want to live in a space where my bed doubles as my breakfast table slash sofa slash desk slash whatever) I wasn't even getting the pressure pains in my backside like I did with Camila. I was dilating well, too. The only issue was that the baby was too high up. After shifting me around for a few hours, Nurse Chrissy came in with what looked like a giant pill device that looked like two big exercise balls melted  together. I had no idea what the hell to do with this thing. Bounce on it? Bend backward and stretch over it? It turns out that they put the giant thing between my legs (if you know what I mean), like a pillow when you are sleeping (wait...what did you THINK I meant?!?) and...it worked!!! About a half hour later, Cora was in position and we were ready! Nurse Chrissy was the absolute best!

It was showtime. I was NOT looking forward to this part. I pushed for nearly an hour with Camila and by the end of that labor, I was more exhausted than I had ever been in my entire life. Well, they say that your subsequent deliveries are shorter, and that was true because I only pushed for 20 minutes or so. Although it must be mentioned that the staff and my own husband OUTRIGHT LIED and told me that she was "right there" for about 15 of those minutes. In fact, during my second-to-last push, I could have SWORN that the baby was halfway outside of me and I BEGGED them to let me push again. By "them" I mean all six people on the room. Yes, it was a full house, partially because they had found out that the baby made a bowel movement right before delivery (That's my girl!) and needed extra staff from the NICU to make sure it didn't pose a threat to her health. 

But that last push did it and, according to my husband, she "shot right out!" They placed her beautiful (and covered in disgusting jelly looking stuff) little head on my belly and I could already see her fuzzy little shoulders and big eyes wide open just like her older sister. I kissed my hand and placed it on her head before they whisked her away to the next table to make sure she hasn't ingested anything dangerous. The next few minutes were a blur of relief, me craning to try to see my new baby, passing the placenta and getting stitched up (which I didn't actually feel! Yay for a functioning epidural!) and the bustling of all those people in the room. I remember two things most clearly- 1. The number of people commenting on her crazy-long eyelashes and 2. The look of joy on Carlos' face. When I had Camila, I was too exhausted afterwards to pay attention to his reaction, but this time I got to see his "proud papa" face as he inched in to take photos and video of his new little girl. Our family just became all the more complete. 

Finally, they cleaned her up and I was able to hold my sweet little Coraline for the first time. I kissed her little forehead as I would do thousands of times in the following weeks. She looked like her sister, but not quite. Her nose was definitely different. I could already tell she was a quiet, peaceful little thing. And she was here. Thank the Lord. 

I started this blog entry a week ago, it's actually Easter morning and our sweet Coraline is exactly three weeks old today. It hasn't been easy with two-under-two, but she is a wonderful baby and has made it a lot easier than it could have been. She sleeps a good 90% of the day...and that includes nights!!! Woohoo! So far, she doesn't seem to have a "witching hour" and I hope that doesn't change. She has a little red birthmark above her lip and another on her right eyelid like her mama. In short, she is my perfect angel. Her name means "beautiful heart" and so far she is living up to it. 

Welcome to our crazy family, Miss Coraline Jolie. We love you so gosh-darn much. 

Come at me, Snow!

Okay...So I don't actually want the snow to "Come at me". I was just being punny- and felt pretty proud of that one so I made it the title.  I actually want the snow to stay as far away from me as possible. I have a love/hate relationship with snow. I used to love it...now I mostly hate it. I love learning about snowflakes, I actually have a book about it (What? I read! Yes it has pictures, shut up.) Snow used to represent Christmas and winter and hot soup and cocoa to me, but now it represents shoveling soggy boots and figuring out the path of least resistance to get to work. 

If you didn't already know (because you live far away, or are reading this years from now, or are a hermit) the East Coast was hit with quite a blizzard a few weeks ago. (I had to just stop and wonder if hermits read my blog. Or if they have wifi. Are you technically a hermit if you are on social media?? Okay, this should be a future post, back to my original point...). I actually started typing this blog entry because I had to take the subway home due to the aforementioned blizzard. 8 months pregnant and I sludged through the streets to take a crowded train home. It kind of sucked. I used to love snow, but no more. Which got me thinking about the pros and cons of snow, which led me to write it down...in my blog...and so, here I am.

So here are my thoughts on the illuminating topic of......snow. And I have a lot of thoughts on it, folks, so brace yourself because (Nerdy Game of Thrones reference alert!) Winter is Coming. 

It's been a few weeks since the blizzard, but I'm still pregnant and still somehow surrounded by snow which led to a scary incident last night. We are in PA for the week and yesterday what we thought would be a 'light dusting of flurries' turned into a couple of very slippery inches of icy snowfall. That's not in and of itself unusual, after all we ARE in the mountains, but what WAS unusual was that our vehicle was struggling. Like, a lot. Just to move at all. It smelled like we were burning some serious rubber, until it stopped. Not the struggling, but the car. Altogether. And filled with a noxious smoke. In the middle of a narrow road. Right before a crazy turn. On a steep hill. Clearly I'm writing in sentence fragments for effect. 

And when I say "middle"- I mean it. When cars came barreling down that road and hit the turn, they could barely avoid us. Many of them skidded out and got stuck as well, although not for the same reasons as us. (Might be a transmission thing, with the snow just being an unfortunate coincidence). I'm not sure if I'm explaining it well, but the point is that it was scary. We actually had to call 911 and because of the storm being so bad nobody came right away. We were stuck there in the middle of the road as night fell and it became dark. And to top it all off we had the baby with us. Never mind the fact that I'm nine months pregnant. No heat in the car and it was 18° out. Like I said, scary. The cops never did come, and the tow truck that they called I had trouble with the road and turned around and left. No, what saved us last night wasn't the police or 911, it was the humanity of friendly neighbors. One kind couple with their own four-year-old son in the car offered to drive me and the baby home to warmth and safety (the man told us his wife and child were in the car...to ensure us he wasn't a murderer. And he wasn't. So that was good.) They were our first guardian angels of the night. Then another gentleman helped Carlos move the car to the side of the road and called a tow company. Then he let him keep warm in his own vehicle and stayed with him until the truck arrived. He was our other guardian angel when the supposed 'emergency crew' failed us. We are forever indebted to them all, and felt very blessed to have such kind generous people willing to help a little family that they didn't even know. I know it's cliche but it truly fits in this case- "Faith in humanity-restored!"

I know I'm rambling a bit here but what happened last night -the scary situation bringing out the best in people-reminded me of snow in general. (Warning-things are about to get philosophical) It's a strange thing, snow. It covers everything up and makes the world look clean and pure. No matter what neighborhood you're in, rich or poor, clean or filthy, freshly fallen snow is the great equalizer. It makes everything look new again. Temporarily at least. As much as I hate it for the dangers it poses, there's no denying it's beautiful. That's sort of like humanity isn't it? Very dangerous at times but it can also be very beautiful. Like a lot of things in life. 

Take love, for instance. A beautiful thing-no doubt, but can be very, very dangerous. Even scary. Fear of loss, of betrayal, of unrequited feelings. Life without love would probably be less painful...but we still want it. And when it's fresh and clean, it's beautiful. 

How was that for a digression???

Anyway, back to the snow. Again, I definitely have a love/hate thing going on with it. Like, I love how it looks when I'm not out IN it. Especially driving. Also, it turns all the cars white as well (actually that's due to the residue from salting the roads, but there would be no REASON to salt the roads without the snow so I'm claiming it as residual effect. Get it? Residual? *tap, tap* Is this thing on?) It's 'storybook-pretty' for a little while, but then...it starts to melt. And it becomes messy, and even ugly depending on where you are. 

Looking out my window at the forest that is our backyard, my heart is happy knowing that the melting snow, though messy and muddy, is laying the foundation for new life, new growth. In a month or so, the buds will form on trees, chipmunks and squirrels with be racing around, deer will be grazing and it will be beautiful. 

But not everywhere. In city streets and parking lots, snow plows will pile blackened snow into mounds that will linger for weeks, angering people as parking spots are being taken up. It will bring out the ugliness in people as they compete for shoveled spots. 

Sanitation trucks will "forget" that certain inner city neighborhoods exist, and garbage will pile up, being revealed layer after layer with each warming day. (Side note-why are there always orange peels in snow on these days? Do more people eat oranges outside in snowstorms? Is that the blizzard fruit of choice? I'm just saying.) The delineation between the 'haves' and the 'have nots' will emerge and become more apparent than ever through the dirty slush and puddles. 

And of course, there's the accidents. Not just car accidents but all the horror stories that emerge after a snowstorm that newscaster revel in. Older people stuck outside and freezing, homeless people falling victim to the elements, carbon monoxide tragedies, etc. This part is the ugliest of all. 

Despite it all, children will glee in waking to a snow day, with the chance to have the day off from school to sled, make snowmen, or build one heck of a fort complete with a snowball arsenal. They won't watch the news or drive a car on a slippery road or fight over a shoveled parking spot. They'll just run inside with their cheeks flushed and their tastebuds and bellies waiting for that hot cocoa. 

And it will be beautiful again. 

I have a love/hate relationship with snow.