TMI just FYI

(I am warning you, this is a TMI blog. Don't say I didn't tell you so.)

I could write about two things: the moment when my boy smiled at me yesterday or my diminishing sex life.

I have a feeling that the more appealing of the two to you, the reader of this lovey blog, would not be the fact that my sex life is currently non-existent. 

I'll start off with my boy smiling because I feel like this is the more important of the two.

Yesterday, we were all sitting around the kitchen table. Mike and Kathy were playing cards and John was playing around on the computer. Little Rylan was being a fussy butt and I was holding him and trying to make him a happy camper once again. I was giving him all the kisses and tickling his little chubby belly. As I looked down at his adorable face, he looked me straight in the eyes and smiled. Oh, how my heart soared. I have been waiting for the day when I know that he can see me and yesterday he I knew that he could. 

As for my non-existent sex life, its well, non-existent. After popping a baby out there are certain "rules" that you have to follow and certain bodily functions that who ever knew happened! Like who knew that you have a period for six weeks after the baby pops out! Who knew that you get stiches up your vag! And who knew that you can't have sex for months and months afterwards. Okay, total exaggeration. You can't have sex until your stiches desolve and and your period stops, so the doctors suggest six weeks. Six weeks, not too long, I agree. No big deal, right? Well, before baby pops out, and your ego is still prego, you don't really have sex.(At least I didn't for the last 2 or 3 of the 9 months.) You see, there is this big belly in your way and it gets a bit awkward when you're trying to do the whole love making thing and then the baby kicks you and your husband during your rockess love making session. Awkward for you, awkward for husband. Its just an awkward moment all around. So, you don't have sex while your pregnant, you can't have sex after your pregnant, so therefore your sex life becomes non-existent. I'm not too concerned about the whole "me" part of it because I'm not too worried about sex because I am a bit preoccupied with the whole taking care of a new born baby thing, you know? But, then I stop and think about my husband. I feel like I can't do my portion as a wife. I mean, men are different than women. Men need that sex life. And I feel like I'm not doing "my job." Now you women out there who are feminists might disagree with me thinking "Oh my gosh, she is going crazy. We are not under the mans thumb! We don't have to have sex with them when THEY want it." Well, ladies, I disagree with you. In order to keep the other half of the "happy couple" happy, you've got to give it up sometimes! Geez, YOU have needs, just our needs are a bit different than wanting to be boned. Sex may not be at the top of the woman's priority list, but I guarantee it is at the top of a mans. Hence, why I feel like an inadequant wife right about now. Plus, I can't reap the benefits either if you catch my drift. But alas, this won't last forever. I must reassure my husband of that daily. I think he may have a count down of days until we can make love again. If he had a calendar, I am sure he would have the exact six week mark circled and highlighted with a big star in the middle. Men.

On a less awkward subject for those of you who were just mentally freaked out by that last paragraph, I will update you on Rylan. He has been having A LOT of trouble spitting up and throwing up after every meal. We have decided that we are going to try half breast milk and half formula. We are going to use the special kind of "spit up" formula and see if that helps first. If not, we are going to switch to the "gentle" formula that is supposed to help with fussiness and upset stomachs and gas. We arn't sure if my breast milk is just too thin or if he has bad acid reflex or what, so we were told to try out a few different things.
I have had a lot of people tell me that he is "colicy" and I pray that he doesn't have colic. I have heard that that is just as bad a teething. But, no matter what, I will go through what I have too for my son. I hope this works though. I will write more about my insecurities about using the formula and pump later, but as of now, I must go and hold my baby boy.

Sorry for the TMI. I warned you. 

My hair, the mane of a lion.

This is going to be a late night post about one of the most important things I can think of: my hair.
Yes, you may laugh, you may even think its silly that I find my hair to be important to me, but alas, it is.

When I was younger, I remember a specific trip to the hair salon. If my sister is reading this, she is probably thinking about the exact same, horrific, traumatizing, one I am.

I want to say I was about 7 and my sister was about 9. Our ex step mother took us to go get hair cuts one day. Like always, she was in control. I am sure I told the hair dresser what I wanted, same with my sister, but then She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (yes, I just threw in a Harry Potter joke) told them what she wanted us to look like. Long story short, I got a mullet and my poor sister got a bob. We looked like little boys. Even worse, looking back at pictures, we were dressed like boys in our shorts that came down to our knees with our t-shirts and (get this) suspenders. Since "the incident", or "the hair cut massacre", I have not been able to trust people telling me how I should cut my hair.

I don't believe I have had an actual hair cut in 3 years. I might have gotten it trimmed once or twice, but nothing more. Even then, I am sure I was terrified of walking into a beauty salon thinking, "This is the last time I will be able to touch my long hair because I am going to sneeze and the lady is going to mess up and I will once again look like a boy." At one point and time during my high school career, every time I got my hair cut, I had my best friend go with me for moral support because I was so afraid I was going to come out looking detestable.

Now, I am a mom. I have grown my hair out to be the long, luxurious, lion mane that it is and I am considering cutting it. Why? My hair is one of the most important things to me. I have struggled to grow it out and now its long. I want it longer! And yet the thought of cutting it short lingers in my mind. It would be easier to take care of. I would have more of that "mom" look, I suppose.
I promised myself that after I had Rylan, I would not cut my hair because of the "it would be easier" excuse. Plus, it wouldn't make any sense to cut my hair off at the end of summer and have short hair for winter. Surprisingly, my hair keeps me warm in the fall and winter. (Unless I go outside with wet hair, then I get miserably sick and right then, at the point of not being able to breathe out of my nose and coughing up a storm, THEN is another point and time in my life that I consider cutting my luscious hair.)

I think I am just arguing with myself through words right now. Should I cut my hair or should I not? I have yet to get baby throw up or spit up in my hair, which I think should go in the "pro" category, because that in itself is a talent. In the "con" category, my son has already learned that pulling hard on mommy's hair makes mommy make a funny face and say "ow."

Oh, the possibilities one has in life. Here I am, sitting up early in the morning, debating on whether or not I should cut my hair. Some may think that while I am awake feeding my child that I should be contemplating the meaning of life, or how to stop global warming, or feel sorry for the children in Africa who don't have food and here I am, complaining about a hair cut. My words to them would be this: I like my hair. I bet those kids in Africa like theirs too.

Trying to figure this mom thing out

I am exhausted. Last night, Rylan slept really well, just I didn't. I am proud of him, though. The past two nights he will sleep for a good three to four hour period after eating. I think what takes a lot out of me each day is breast feeding, especially with Rylan eating so much since he has been throwing it all up. I believe I spoke too quickly about my ease with it all. My boobs hurt when Rylan takes long naps from him not feeding, my back hurts from having such enormous boobs, the few times I have used the pump it hurts and I feel like a cow that someone is milking, etc etc. I sometimes wish I could just magically switch over to formula, but I feel like that is the easy way out in this sense: I know breastfeeding is more healthy for me and my child and just because I am having some difficulties, I should feel blessed and be thankful that I am able to breastfeed and give Ry the nutrients he needs. (Not saying formula doesn't have any nutrients, I've just been told breastfeeding has more natural "ingredients" so to speak and some women cant breastfeed.) It just gets hard because using the pump is difficult so I just don't use it. In conclusion to that, I get no help from John in the area of feeding because its not like he can just whip out his boobs and feed Rylan which means I get to feed him every hour and get the honor of doing the late night feedings. In conclusion to that conclusion, I get no sleep.
My son has learned how to control me already. He has become spoiled in the first 2 and a half weeks of his life. Every time he cries or whimpers or whines or whatever, I go and pick him up and hold him and love on him until he stops. Then, sometimes, when I set him back down, he will lay there for a few minutes then start crying again. John says we need to just let him cry, but lately Ry has been feeling sick (he is still throwing up all of his food after every time he eats and has been quite fussy lately) and I just want to hold him and comfort him.If its in the middle of the night and if he even coughs or sounds like he is spitting up/throwing up, I rush to his crib with a blanket to make sure there is no spit up flowing from his mouth and nose and that his diaper is dry and that his chest is moving up and down... I still over worry. People say its normal because he is my first. The few times I have "ignored" the cries, a few minutes later I'll go check on him and see he has spit up in his hair and that he peed through his onesie and it just reinforces the thought in my head that every noise he makes I just HAVE to go make sure he is alright. That, in itself, is exhausting. I somewhat hope this phase passes quickly. I just don't want to be a bad mother who ignores their child. I am trying to be the best mom I can be.

And another one bites the dust

My wit has left me. I feel like when I write I have no silly catch phrases or anything interesting to say. But alas, I shall write another blog in hopes that the few who read it are somewhat entertained. 

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned twenty. Everyone kept asking, "How does it feel?!" Honestly, I was up the entire night before with Rylan as he consistently threw up every half hour and woke up completely exhausted. I felt no different and still feel no different from July 25th to July 26th and now that it is July 27th, I have yet to feel any sort of change. Twenty isn't anything huge. Twenty One is the one that everyone freaks out about because they can go out and make a fool of themselves getting hammered but I don't drink so that one won't be a huge deal to me either. I might change my mind on my birthday and have a drink or two, but I have noticed that I am a bit of an addict. I mean that in the way that if I get started on something, I get hooked quickly, and its not easy for me to quit. So why start when it could lead to a lifetime of unhappiness and dependency on a substance? It's a risk I'm not sure I am willing to take. It was hard enough for me to say no to cigarettes, I don't know if I want to go through another withdraw process. That stinks. 

This birthday, was in a way, the best one I had yet. But there is one that, in a way, trumps it. My last two birthdays have been the most pleasant of the memorable ones. My last birthday, my husband proposed to me at the St. Louis Zoo. That was one of the happiest moments of my life. This birthday, I had my son to celebrate with me, the best birthday gift anyone could ask for. So these last two birthdays have come to a tie in the "best birthday" spot. 

Update on Rylan: My boy is wonderful. He has started to spit up less and last night he slept beautifully. I have a feeling though that he will be up all night tonight because he slept for the majority of the day today. Unfortunately, I didn't sleep much when he slept because I had things to do around the house. Oh well.

I got on WIC today. I went to my appointment and the people who worked there were "proud of me" for fully breastfeeding. It was like it was a huge shock to them. I don't know how may times I heard "You're doing the right thing" like using formula would end up killing my child or something. Granted, I know breastfeeding is supposed to be healthier for both yourself and the child, but still, it was like I was being awarded a medal of honor for using my boobs for their natural ability to produce milk. I felt like telling them, "I am a cow that has utters." because that's how I feel. 

Sometimes I wish I was using formual so that John could help me in the midnight feedings. Everyone says "Oh, just use the pump." but they don't understand how time consuming that is. If I were to pump out every bottle for Rylan to use everyday, I would be sitting on my butt the entire day with suction cups attached to me. I'd rather not waste my time with that. Well, I have and I don't think its quite worth it. I'd rather enjoy my day and be up all night than be miserable sitting on my butt all day and getting a few hours of sleep. I have no clue what I will do when I go back to work.

I have rambled on enough for one day. I think I may try to sleep.

Weight and 2 weeks

Ever since I can remember I have struggled with my weight. I know that everyone has always considered me as "skinny" or has even referred to me as a "bean pole" but thats because I have been so self concious about my weight and I really watch it. Unfortunately, when I think I gain too much, I go on beignes of not eating. I guess I felt like since I was teased in school about my heigth and about my "carrot top" hair and my big foot feet and my skeleton looking toes, the only thing I could control was my weight.
Before I got pregnant I weighed 115 lbs and was 5 feet 11 inches tall. At the end of my pregnancy, I weighed 170 lbs. Now, almost two weeks after having Rylan, I weigh 145 lbs. Needless to say, I am struggling right now. I am so used to having that skinny body and weighing under 120 that it freaks me out having a butt and some curves. When I go into Walmart or the Dollar Store, I struggle not getting some weight loss diet supplaments or slim fast or whatever. I have to force myself to eat each day, reminding myself that I am breastfeeding and need to fill my body with nutrients for my son so that he can be healthy.
But then there is that voice in the back of my head saying, "You're going to get fat. You better not eat that."
It is just such a struggle. I feel like, once again, it is the only thing I can control and if it gets out of control, what will I do? Will everything else in my life get out of control too?


Today, Rylan is two weeks old. He is growing up so fast. He is getting to be a little chubby wubby if I say so myself. He is just the cutest thing that I could ask for. I didn't realize how long he is! John was holding him the other day and he looked like he was about to fall out of his arms because he was so long. He is going to be tall like his mama. I hope he is a mama's boy. I'm addicted to my baby boy.

Cig Dogs

Today has been an interesting, emotional day. Not as in "I'm sobbing my eyes out" sort of thing. I will explain:

Having Rylan has made me quit a lot of "bad things" that I did before he was born. Some of them, I don't really want to talk about, but just know that it was not "right" so to speak. Then there are the things that I quit that arn't as bad but unhealthy like smoking cigarettes. I was about a pack and a half a day smoker before I had Rylan. I used to work at the mall and some days, when we were short on money and couldn't buy cigs let alone gas to even get to work, I would walk around the ashtrays outside and smoke the half smoked cig that had once been in someone else's mouth. Gross, I know but I was desperate. The minute I found out I was pregnant, we were so excited, we went outside on our porch to smoke and talk in celebration. As soon as I started smoking that cigarette I thought, "What am I doing?! Im pregnant!" From that moment on, I quit cold turkey. It was really difficult and I admit, once or twice I screwed up and smoked a cigarette, but I quit successfully for the past 9 months.

This weekend has been stressful to the max. I have gotten little sleep, my husband and I were having some marital issues which we were trying to work out but every time it just ended in a huge argument, I felt the motherly overload of having a new born child and trying to take care of him by myself, I have always had weight issues (I usually don't go over 120 and even then, I don't like that weight so being 170 lbs pregnant was a big change for me that was hard to go through.) and I am trying to get back to my normal weight and that is stressful, the list goes on and on.

Today John and I went into Evansville today to pick up his medicine and I thought to myself, "I am stressed. I need a cigarette." So, I go into the local gas station and pick out the type that John smokes (having a husband that smokes when you used to smoke is difficult sometimes) as the excuse "I'm buying them for John and I'll just have one." I take a hit, exhale, sit there for a minute and wanted to puke but couldn't because I was driving. I swear, my mouth still tastes like an ashtray. Now after a few of them, you get used to it and actually start enjoying the casual smoke with friends or just to go outside and smoke as something to do when you're bored. It reminded me of the first time I smoked a cigarette. I wanted to "be cool" and this girl offered me one. I hit it and thought how disgusting it was, but continued to smoke the rest of it. Later, we went outside again and she gave me another one and so on so forth. Long story short, it got to the point where I was buying a pack a day and the best part of my day would be going into CVS and seeing that my 27's were a dollar off that day. Anyways, I am getting off topic. It was hard for me to quit smoking but had the "Let your baby be your inspiration" moto constantly running through my head. I didn't want to harm my child in any way, shape, or form. So why would I want to start back up? I quit for 9 months, in 4 years my lungs will be back to "normal" without much tar, I will live a longer life so I can spend more time with my son, I wont be spending 5+ dollars a day on a pack,  Rylan's clothes wont smell, my clothes wont smell, and he won't say that mommy is "stinky". (John's neice's and nephews used to call us the "stinky ones" because we always smelled like cigarettes) I mean, the list of positive reasons not to smoke with a child around goes on and on. So, after feeling like I was going to puke, I had a choice: Continue to smoke and get back into it, or throw it out and pretend like that never happened. I debated with myself for a moment and realized it was stupid to even be debating with myself about it. I threw out the cig and I am not looking back.

I feel like I have given up a lot of things for my son. Sometimes, its hard to think about the things that "could have been" or what I "could be doing" but then I look down at my son and think, I wouldn't want to have it any other way. He is an angel sent from heaven who just happened to land in my arms. I don't want to be out partying or whatever. Sure, I miss the social experience because you can't really go out to a club or a hookah bar with a newborn in your arms, but that's alright. As long as I have my boy, I will be fine. That is the lesson I learned today. Don't look back because then I might miss the future.

I am stressed and about to throw all my lemons away

They say when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. What if life throws you bad lemons sometimes? Do you throw them back, or do you make icky lemonade? Another question is will you be strong enough to make the icky lemonade or just let them sit and rot and  ruin you?
This is all rhetoric right now, hidden messages and codes, I suppose. But really, what do you do with the bad lemons? I have been thinking about this because I have been thrown some "bad lemons" so to speak here recently. I have been so blessed with my baby boy but every other part of my life seems to be going horribly wrong. Every time I turn my head its like something is being flushed down the drain and no matter how hard I try to recover it, its like my hand gets stuck in the toilet or my head gets dunked in for a swirly.
How do I make the bad lemons good? Is there a way too? I keep trying to be positive. I play the "positive polly" game about every hour just to keep my hopes up. "I am thankful for Rylan. I am thankful for the roof over my head. I am thankful for all the baby things given to us. I am thankful for..." etc etc. Then I am happy. But SHOCKER, something happens five minutes later that just makes my happy crash and burn.
I know I am stressed out. I know that me being stressed is bad for Rylan.
I am back on the, "No one take my baby from me!" thing. I am scared to death because of something someone said to me the other day. I am afraid to let most people hold them because I have a nightmare that whenever he is out of my arms and in someone else's they will run away with him and I wont be able to get him back. I can't sleep when he sleeps because I am afraid he is going to spit up and I wont hear it so he will end up choking or since he has learned to roll on his side if he will roll into his blanket the wrong way and not be able to breathe and I will be too busy sleeping to hear him suffocating. I am so paranoid, it stresses me out even more on top of the daily stress I have otherwise.
I feel like I am doing this alone. Night time feedings, John can't help because I am breastfeeding so I don't even bother waking him up for the middle of the night fun. Then during the day I am usually home alone with Rylan and when John gets home he just wants to relax from work so I still have Rylan. Then he goes to sleep and I still  have Ry. Don't get me wrong, I love my son full heartedly and I am not complaining about getting to be with him 24/7, just a little help would be nice. But then it goes back to me not being able to give him up. I cant accept help if I cant let someone else take care of him for a few hours while I sleep. I wouldnt be able to sleep! I would be worrying my butt off.
So I guess the question is, how do I make lemonade right now from the lemons I have? Will it be sour or sweet? So far, its quite sour, but I am hoping some sugar will come into the mix soon.

Trust Issues

I have learned recently that trust is everything. Without trust, there is not a lot left besides the few strings holding you together. It is like telling someone to jump off a cliff and trusting them when they say the rocks at the bottom wont hurt. Do you trust them? No, your better instinct tells you not too. But in love, you trust that person because you love them, if that makes sense. But there is only so many times you can jump off the cliffs and hit the rocks until you just cant trust anymore.
I want my son to be able to trust me; whether it be as little as me saying "hey, take this plate, its not hot." and him being able to take it without being burnt or as big as me explaining a life lesson to him. For example me telling him not to do something because from first hand experience, it is a bad choice to make. I hope that my son will be able to trust me enough to not do whatever it is because I said it was a rough path to take.
I dont take the topic of "trust" lightly. It is hard for me to trust someone and when I finally do, its hard for me NOT to trust them. They could tell me to jump off a cliff and told me the rocks at the bottom wouldn't hurt a million times, and a million times I could hit the rocks, and on time one million and one, I will jump again if they tell me too, hoping that the rocks will not hurt.
I honestly hope my son is not like me in that way. I hope he can trust people and when he is betrayed or hurt or lied to he can have the will power to step away and not trust them over and over and over again.
I guess you could say I am having some trust issues today.

365 Days of Rylan

I have decided that for the next 365 days, I am going to take one picture a day of Rylan to document how he is growing and just how awesome he is. I might post the pictures through my blog, but I think I will mostly put them on facebook. When I go back to work, this challenge might get a bit more... challenging to do, but I am determined to do it. I think it will be fun!

On a side note, I did get some sleep last night after blogging. For some reason, which I am extremely greatful for, Rylan did not wake up as many times through the night. So today with my new found energy, I have been doing laundry and rereading a Harry Potter book in between feeding and entertaining my son. Speaking of which, my daring boy is now crying so I must shorten this blog. Sorry it was not too entertaining or even really worth your time reading. Have an awesome day!

Day One: Rylan gets his diaper changed.

My greatest fear

If anyone who was ever close to me asked me what my greatest fear was, I would tell them honestly: My greatest fear, still to this day, is being a bad mom.

I always told myself that I would never let my anger control me or get a hold of me with my children. If I got too mad to talk, I would step away from the situation for a bit for some time to think and calm down before I confronted them or disciplined them. I also promised the same for my husband, that if I was too angry to talk for fear that I might say something I don't mean, then I would step away and calm down before we talked about it. I can, unfortunately, say that I have failed horribly with my husband. I can not count how many times I have said things I do not mean or gone off the handle instead of stepping back and cooling off. Now I am afraid that since I have failed in my marriage, that I will fail as a mother too.

I do not want to be "that mom": the mom who is considered "crazy" by the friends because she is always angry or the kid is always in trouble or because she lost her temper in front of the kid and his friends. I want to be able to set a good example for my child. So far, I feel like I have failed there too.

My husband and I got into a pretty big argument last night in front of Rylan. I know he is only  days old, but I am afraid of what kind of impact that my have had on him. I see my son dream and I know that some dreams are not good ones because his whimpers or shakes in his sleep. I wonder if he is dreaming about mommy and daddy fighting. I know he can not see us with his eyes just yet, but our voices is the way that he knows us. I wonder if he is remembering our not so nice voices and is scared.

I am afraid that I am turning out to be a bad parent already. I don't want to argue in front of my children, I don't want my anger to get the best of me, I don't want to be the "crazy" mom. I pray and pray and pray that I will be able to set a good example for my children and that they will be able to look up to me for being a patient, kind, and understanding mother who is always there for them. I have this voice in the back of my head saying "you're not doing this right'', "that was wrong", and "you can't make him happy, he won't ever stop crying because you don't know what you're doing". Have I failed already? Will I be a bad mom? Does Rylan dream bad dreams of my "mad voice"? 

These are a few of my fears. I know that I can work on it and better myself. I just don't want it to be too late. I don't want to scar my child and not be able to repair the damage. I want to be the best mom a person can be. I am trying my hardest. I just don't want to mess up.

Growing Up and Regret

Time flies so fast. I am afraid of what time may bring.
My boy turned 1 week old today. Soon it will be 1 year, 5 years, 10 years, etc. I keep thinking back on what my childhood was like and how I wanted to grow up so fast and get away from everything and I successfully did there for awhile. I don't regret anything in my past for our choices that we made in the past make us who we are today. But I do wonder what it would have been like if I stayed living at home and didn't rebel from my family and possibly went to college. Would have my life been "better''? No. Just different. I think I would have stronger family ties and would possibly have a higher educational level. But if I would have done that, I wouldn't have met John which means I wouldn't have a husband or my beautiful boy right now so I am glad that I made the choices that I did, even if they weren't on the plan so to speak.
I want for my son to know how important family is. I didn't realize how important they were until it was too late but in my family's eyes, it was never "too late". I am still struggling with some family issues that I have of my own, but I want Rylan to know that no matter how much you screw up and screw around and make the "wrong choices", I will always be here for him. Always.
I was saying the other day how I never wanted Rylan boy to grow up. My sister pointed out to me "now you know how dad felt!". I guess its something you only understand as a parent. You always want your precious little angel to be happy and safe but growing up is an emotionally painful experience. You always want to protect them and you know there will be a time in their life where you can not. You always want to help them but there will be a time where "tough love" will need to be reinforced. I never want my boy to be hurt or in pain or be struggling financially but I know those things will happen.
I believe that Rylan growing up will be an adventure for both me and him; a scary one at that. I want to be able to be a good mom who gives her child what he needs. I know that financially, I wont be able to put him in any travelling leagues or buy him name brand clothing all the time. But I know I will be able to give him all the love, all the hugs, all the kisses, and all the emotional support he will ever need. I hope he will accept that as enough. I hope that he will be able to appreciate the things that I can get him when I can and be able to appreciate "the thought that counts" when I can't buy him exactly what he wants. I hope that I will be able to raise him to be a good hearted man and one who can be gentle and kind but also strong and brave. I hope he can appreciate what he has, because I know I didn't and that, my friends, is something I may just regret.

That small town

My sister decided to come for a quick visit last night to meet her new nephew. As she was here, she ran into town to buy me some snacks. (How sweet, right?) When she came back she was talking about the "small town". Basically, our town consists of a dollar general, a library, a bank, and a few family owned store (a bar, a pizza place, and a floral shop) Then we have the two rival gas stations. One is "stop 'n go" but everyone calls it "steal 'n stop" because kids used to steal from it all the time. The other is "Pats Place" which is owned by my husbands relatives. If you go in one, you basically pledge your loyalty to it and if you go in the other then come back to the original one you went to, you will no longer get the "friendly smile service" from them because you have "betrayed" them. in my eyes, its quite funny.
I was thinking about raising my son in a small town where everyone knows everyone and and everyone's business. I like the quiet neighborhoods and the nice people. The down side is there isn't really anything to do. You have to travel to a neighboring town to go see a movie, go bowling, etc etc and the neighboring town could be as far as 45 minutes away. It's funny when people in town call Evansville "the big city" when Evansville really isn't that big at all. Compared to Owensville though, its monstrous. I think it will be nice though. Seeing how you have to travel to go and "do something" it will enforce a lot of family time. We could do things like go on bike trails or take long walks or go fishing, stuff like that. Then again, those things will get repetitive and I'm sure my son will want to venture out of the small town feel eventually.
On a side note, there is such a joy that I get when I see John holding Rylan. It's so good to see him as a daddy. He is going through a rough patch right now, but when he looks down at Ry, you can tell that all of his worries and pain slips away for a split second and he is happy. I love my boys with all my heart. They are my life. I dont know what I would do without them.

Ramblings of a mother

No pain, no gain, right? I can tell I am overdoing myself when the pain medication the doctors gave me at the hospital isn't quite working anymore. On the plus side, I feel like I might be starting to get used to this whole no sleep thing. Rylan  doesn't really have a set schedule on when he sleeps or for how long he sleeps so its kind of a guessing game on when I will get sleep and for how long. I think the nights are the hardest where I lay down and five minutes later little man wants to be held or burbed or fed again or have his diaper changed or has gas, etc  etc. It's all a part of being a mommy though, so I am okay with it.

I must admit, I have felt a bit overwhelmed at times. Today, I made a big step (in my eyes anyways). We have been having visitors and I have been forcing myself to let other people hold him. I am still a bit nervous about it all, but I am trying to let my guard down. I also let his Grandma Douglas hold him while I cleaned up his room a bit. I could tell that really meant a lot to her. 

Ry had his first bath today. it wasn't a "real" bath per say, because for now, he can only have a sponge bath until some bandages come off. But, he was so cute. He didn't even cry. What a good boy.

I can not get over the feeling I have when I hold my son. Sometimes, it is just overwhelming. I feel happy and anxious and overjoyed and excited. Every time I hold him, i say a little prayer for him. I hope that one day when he grows up he will be able to see how much I love him. 

I am a sticky band-aid

I need to start getting over my attachment issues. If I were a band-aid, I would be the kind that just doesn't come off and when it does, it pulls every hair with it.There are so many people around me willing to watch Rylan or just hold him even for five minutes and I am so attached (for a lack of better words) that I wont let go of him. Rylan had his first church visit today and even though I felt way too exhausted to even hold little man, I wouldn't let anyone else hold him because I was too scared to let him go. Because of this, I am running on little sleep and look like a zombie because I haven't taken any "me  time." In my mind, who needs "me time" now there there is "him time". I want to spend every second of every day with my son right now. I don't want to miss a single breath for fear that he might giggle and I'll miss it. Ry is going to grow up and be like "mom, you're too much!". I guess I just love him too much.

I don't know how I am going to go back to work. The other night, John offered to hold him while I needed to go to the bathroom and I started to cry because I would be leaving him. Pathetic, right? I have been so weepy lately, I might cry just as much as the baby does. I am a weepy rain cloud. Some of those tears, though, are happy tears. I cried once because I was laughing so hard because one of Rylan's farts scared him and he made the most adorable face. 

Right now, Rylan is sleeping. I should be too, I am exhausted. But I even have to watch him when he sleeps because I am afraid he will spit up and I wont hear him and he will choke or that he will accidentally roll over and not be able to breathe. (He is a STRONG little fellow) I think my worry might kill me. 

I need the poops

I never thought that I would be praying for poop, but recently that's what most of my prayers have consisted of. My darling son is not pooping. (If he ever reads these blogs when he gets older, I'm sure he will kill me for just disclosing that information.) We almost were not discharged from the hospital because he was not pooping, but they decided to let us go home. Since we have returned, there has only been one "present" I have found. Today, he is supposed to poop 4 times; poor baby has only pooped once. You can tell it is distressing him because every time he tries too he starts wailing like someone just poked him with a hot iron and only a fart comes out.

I have been thinking about it, and I am so thankful to have healthy son, even if he can't poop right now. There are so many other parents that have to go through heartbreaking circumstances with their children and to just to be able to hear "he is healthy" is a blessing in itself. I used to pray for God to make sure my son came out with all his limbs and fingernails and had perfect hearing and eyesight, now I pray for poop. I have faith that the poop will come and when it does, I will be the happiest mother in the world.

I am a mommy

Finally. The moment has come. Ever since I was little, people would ask me, "what do you want to be when you grow up?", I would reply "a mommy." I am finally a mommy; a proud, happy, overjoyed, overwhelmed, ecstatic, mommy. It is everything I have hoped and dreamed, just even better.

John Rylan McCleary Douglas entered the world July 11, 2012 at 10:03 am, weighing in at 8 lbs 9.2 oz and measuring at 23 inches long. The hospital said we broke one of their records, for they haven't had a child measuring in at such a long length so long x amount years. (My boy is going to be tall!)

I don't have a lot of time, but when I do, I will ramble on and on all about labor and how sweet my nurses were and all my fears and feelings. But for now, what you get is short: It was not as bad as people made it out to be. Seriously. I got in there and got it done and now I have a beautiful baby boy. For those of you reading this who are about to become a parent, don't listen to the people who had the rare experiences of their vagina ripping into 8 pieces and their baby coming out with your uterus in their hands. It is not that bad. More on that on a later date though.

As for now, I have my angel. I feel like I am floating on cloud nine. I'm running on little to no sleep because I let Rylan sleep in my room with me at the hospital. It's an odd feeling having someone you have been so close too (literally) for nine months not be with you anymore, if that makes sense. I miss him even if he is in the same room with me. The only time when I don't miss him and feel absolutely complete is when he is in my arms. That is the best feeling in the world. It's the one I have been waiting for. I am a mommy.

Papa Bear is on board

Although I have already written a blog today, I feel like a significant mile stone has been passed and the urge to document it is killing me.
My husband is excited. Yes, I know this sounds like a silly thing to consider a "mile stone". Some may think its as trivial as me saying "I just went pee." But I have learned throughout these past 9 months that men do not react towards pregnancy the same way as women do. Shocker, right?
When we first found out I was pregnant, it didn't really come as a surprise. I mean, it wasn't a planned pregnancy at all, but we found ourselves sitting on the porch each night discussing baby names and how we have both always wanted to be parents. It didn't help that we lived right across the street from an Elementary School and every day you heard kid's calling out for their mommy and daddy when it was time to be picked up. Needless to say, we were thrilled when we found out.
Months passed. I feel like the responsibility of being a mother hit me as soon as I saw the plus sign. I quit smoking, I wanted to find out all I needed to know about eating right and what I can do personally to make my child develop right, yada yada yada. I've been in mama duck mode ever since. My ducklings are all in a row and I'm ready. John on the other hand has been through an emotional roller coaster over the past 9 months. He has been excited, anxious, fearful, scared, you name it and he has felt it, I'm sure. These past few weeks have been creeping up on us as the due date became closer and I could tell that it was not excitement running through his head but nervousness and fear. 
Today, I get a call: "I'm going to be a daddy!" I think he is more excited than I am, if that is possible. I got phone call after phone call today of "Is he here yet?" and "I can't wait, I can hardly focus at work." Yay! Papa Bear is finally on board and I feel ten times more prepared then I have all day.
I've got my right hand man, all my bags packed and ready to go, and I feel at peace. For now anyways. We will see how the rest of the night goes.

If I were a mathematician

I have been looking up "tips" from other moms who have been induced on the Internet. For future reference, it was a horrible idea. The idea itself may have been worse than the idea of the Holocaust.  For some reason, every mom who has ever had a bad experience being induced has decided to write all about it on every blog forum they see. It was like one mom was trying to up the other moms story. "My induction lasted 3 days!", "Well, my induction ended in an emergency C-Section!", "Pshh, girl, that's nothing! My induction was so bad I sued my hospital!" Like goodness gracious women, I was just looking for some tips like "You may throw up after the epidural" or something. I felt like I was reading an episode dialog of "Maury".
I was calm at first but now I'm freaking out that my child's arm will rip my uterus and the epidural will only numb half my body and I'll be bed ridden and they wont let me walk around. Then there are the doctor's who say getting induced is unhealthy and when your baby is ready, he will just pop out, basically informing me that I am an idiot for getting induced.
The most help I have received has come from a close friend. She told me all about how she got induced and everything was fine. I was looking for tips like the ones she gave me: positive reinforcement such as don't eat the night you go in or you may just poop yourself and relax when the epidural is given to you, it only hurts when you tense up. POSITIVE! POSITIVE!
Speaking of positive, my hopes are still high for Rylan to be here sometime tomorrow, though I now have the thought lingering in the back of my mind that labor may just take 2-3 days and I wont get to hold my son until Friday. But that's not positive, is it? Positive thought! I think that the day he COULD be here is cool. 7-11-12. Every time I hear 7/11 I think of that little jingle "7/11, Oh thank heaven." I thank heaven every day for my little angel about to enter the world, so a jingle to go along with it is kind of spiffy. Also, it is apparently national blueberry muffin day. Who doesn't like blueberry muffins?! Why wouldn't you want your child to be born on a day dedicated to blueberry muffins? If I were a mathematician though, which I am not, I think I would want my child to be born on some significant date, like 6-2-12. 6 times 2 is 12. 12 divided by 2 is 6. Then again, I am no mathematician, so I guess that doesn't really matter. 

Roller Coaster Ride

I'm not quite sure how this whole "blogging" things works. Really, I just want to write about my son and all the adventures we will have together and he isn't even born yet.
The biggest adventure together yet is soon to come; Rylan boy making his grand enterance. Today is his technical due date, but he has decided to cook in my belly a little longer. I'm supposed to be induced Wednesday morning. I feel anxious and nervous, overwhelmed, happy, worried... I could go on for hours about all the emotions I am feeling at this exact moment. I am sure I could go on for hours more, in depth, about why I feel each emotion, but that would just be me rambling. Then again, I'm rambling now about how I don't want to ramble.
All the "what ifs" are going through my mind like a thousand horses running in an open pasture and they just cant find a place to rest. "What if labor gets complicated?", "What if he isn't healthy?", "What if I can't labor right; can I labor wrong?", "What if I can't breastfeed?".
Then there are the "I wonders". "I wonder what color his eyes will be", "I wonder what color his hair will be", "I wonder what his first cry will sound like and if my heart will literally stop beating", "I wonder when I will stop crying tears of joy and be able to pull myself together long enough to take a picture".
Then there are the random questions like, "Will my water break before I am scheduled to go in to get induced?", "Am I making the right choice on breastfeeding over formula feeding?", "Is the epidural going to hurt as bad as some say, or is it just going to feel like a bee sting?". There are so many questions and yet I can't answer any of them. Unfortunately, patience was not something I was blessed with. I will just have to wait and see when the time comes for each question to answer itself.
I feel like my husband is more nervous than I am. He cant stop playing video games right now or he will just stare at me, waiting for me to pop like a balloon or something. Then he will pace around the house, anxiously biting his fingernails. I think some of the same questions that are constantly going through my head, are going through his as well. I might have to drive myself 45 minutes to the hospital because he will be so nervous he wont be able to drive! To me, its kind of cute.
The biggest adventure of both my life and my husbands will soon be started. I can not wait to embark on such a journey. I know it will be a roller coaster. I have never ridden a roller coaster, so I don't know what to expect. But I know it will be a thrill.