I've read so many different articles about the incurred expense of children, but the focus is on things like formula, diapers, and college tuition. Well, let's just be honest here: some of our nation's youth just ain't goin' to college. And that's not necessarily a bad thing; those parents can retire earlier.
Some costs that seem to have gone unnoticed (or purposely ignored?) are items like our sanity, our social lives, our waistline, and various personal affects that would not come under scrutiny if they weren't subjected to Toddler Hands. So today I would like to discuss the real cost of having children:
1. I opted to nurse Ella. Initially this seemed like a great idea. 4 months after the fact? Not so much. I love it for its convenience, ease, and health benefits to both of us. But clearly the health benefits for her also come in a can of formula, and I'm not sure the convenience part outweighs the reality that some (...Ella's grandmother...) avoid holding her because she cries. The obvious implication here is that she cries BECAUSE she's a breastfed baby. Not because she's just a baby, but a breastfed one. Idiocy to you and I; mere rationalization to others.
2. Piggybacking off of the whole nursing thing is my social life. Where, oh where, has my social life gone? That's what I mean right there--that came out in a nursery rhyme sing-songy voice. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm 30 years old, so I'm not stupid enough to believe I would still be a welcome fixture at dance clubs or even some bars. Nor am I irresponsible enough to want to spend the majority of my time there. When I say social life, I am simply referring to the opportunity to be with people my height with whom I can have conversations that do not include topics such as Lucky Charms cereal, episodes of Thomas the Train, or the possibility of soiling one's self. All I want is a few hours to myself to draft my fantasy football team, see a movie with a friend, or go to dinner (preferably by myself) at a nice restaurant that frowns upon bringing kids. Is that too much to ask???? It is if you talk to my husband; according to him, Ella cannot be away from me any longer than 2-3 hours. Therefore, my social life is dramatically curbed, so says he.
3. With no social life, you would think I'd be saving some serious cash. Nope. Not the case. In fact, I have been FORCED to spend my money on things I don't even want to buy. For instance, at this time last year, I found myself going 70 mph on Rt. 28 only to burst through the doors of Best Buy with tears streaming down my face, screaming, "He ruined my laptop!" He refers to my then 1-year-old son. We were enjoying a nice breakfast, and the next thing I knew, my laptop was bathing in orange juice. I lost my mind, jumping all around the house to find a flash drive in an effort to save that important stuff: everything I needed for work, family pictures, legal documents--you know, "important stuff." I walked out of Best Buy $1,000 poorer with a laptop that, under other circumstances, I probably would have left on the shelf. Never mind the fact that it was my dumb fault for putting my computer on the breakfast table. But that's just it: I'm suddenly a moron.
4. I've read articles and talked to other moms about something called "baby brain." In short, it goes something like this: When pregnant, your brain cells go to the baby. You are, as a result, dumb. When the baby is born, you're sleep deprived, paranoid, and frantic a good part of the day, so it just makes sense that, combined with the affects of baby brain, you're even dumber. Now, not all moms fall victim to this unfortunate series of events. I did. I'm a real asshole these days. I can never find my keys, I forget my kids' appointments (thank GOD for the day-before-reminder-call from the doctor's office!), and I look a hot mess every day. My husband must come home from work, take one look at me, and want to run for his life. But alas, he enters the homestead, helps me look for my keys, and then ignores me as I talk about my day. I guess even the love of my life can't stand to hear my incoherent grumblings any more. Sigh.
5. I used to have abs. I mean, I had nice abs. And I needed them to offset the jiggly-ness of my thighs and the robustness of my ass. Those abs are gone. My waist is no longer a waist, but a lump that sits on my fat hips and makes me want to cry when I bend over and see all the excess skin. Some women are like, "That's a beautiful thing--your belly carried a baby." Other women are like, "Shut the hell up." I want my abs back. I know it's possible with a little exercise, but I'll be damned if I can muster up the energy or time to work out. We have a fitness center in our basement, why don't I use it? Because if and when I have an opportunity to go down there, I would rather sleep. I haven't slept an entire night since the middle of my pregnancy, so we're going on 8 months. I'm tired, people. I have bags under my eyes and my hair is falling out. My skin is sallow, my attitude is bad, and some days, I'm so out of it I forget to brush my teeth. So no, I don't have time to work out right now. Lay off.
In sum, these costs are way more substantial than the monetary expense associated with having and rearing children. I'm not complaining (.....) about them, I am simply stating facts. I have been working on my Masters degree for 5 years, but I keep having babies and now that degree is on the back burner. I only need 3 more classes, I can do it, but just the thought of adding one more thing to my proverbial plate makes me want to stab myself in the eye with a rusty spoon.
Suffice it to say: I'm losing it. Between $300 vet visits for my dog who has allergies and requires special medicine (are you freaking kidding me?!), the need to wear a bra 24/7 unless I want to enter an impromptu wet t-shirt contest, my inability to accomplish everything (anything, really) I need to in a short span of 24 hours, and the sad fact that my physical appearance and continued education will probably never be a priority again, I am withering away. The only thing that keeps me going some days is that morning cup of coffee. And my coffee machine just broke, so I think that's God's way of saying wine at 7 am is A-OK with Him.*
__________________________________________________________
*Disclaimer: the above rant is but an exaggerated form of expression. I love my life and my children, yet find comfort and satisfaction in complaining about them via writing. If you're going to call CYS on me, at least let me know so I can clean up before they get here.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
10 Years Too Many
Tuesday, September 11, 2001:
I rolled out of bed and grabbed my books. I was speed walking to my Brit Lit class hosting my annual fall-induced head cold. I was out of sorts because of the cold, but I distinctly remember thinking how eerily quiet it was. It was like my head was in a cloud and I couldn't hear a thing. What didn't make sense, though, was that people were on their cell phones all around me. I passed a girl standing in a doorway, on the phone, crying. I assumed she had just broken up with her boyfriend.
I got to class and there were murmurs of a bomb going off in New York City. I am ashamed to admit it, but I didn't pay much attention to the conversation. Our professor came in the room a few minutes late and I noticed his eyes looked red. Was he tired? He wasn't the most exciting English prof I had ever had, but that day, he actually sat behind his desk and began discussing the prior class's reading assignment. At that point, I could just feel that something was wrong; it was like we were breathing a different kind of air all of a sudden. And that's when his secretary came in. She was dabbing her tears with a crinkled tissue, handed our professor a note, and they just sobbed together. He flipped on the TV to show us. I had no idea what I was looking at. I still have no recollection of the walk back to my dorm.
When I got back to Campbell Hall, it was like I didn't recognize the familiar faces or even the elevator I took twenty times a day to get my room. By the time I made it to the 4th floor, the realization of what was going on in New York hit me. I ran to my television and watched, over and over, the horrific footage of the planes smashing into the Twin Towers. Of the people on the ground running from the smoke. Of the newscasters trying to explain what they were seeing, but they, too, were at a loss. I just could not understand how two different planes had strayed so badly off course...
Not until I actually listened to what was going on did I get it. There were people a half a world away who hated the United States so badly that they were willing to die to prove it. My thoughts immediately went back to those who were in the hijacked planes; they knew what was going on. They were anticipating their imminent death and all they could do was sit. A few "lucky" ones were able to call a loved one and say good bye. They had no choice but to sit in their seats, watching the target draw closer and closer, knowing the end was near, but not knowing what it would be like. I began crying. I don't think I stopped for a week.
I called my dad because now I had so many questions: "Why did those people hate us?" "What had we done wrong?" I felt like a child. My on-again-off-again boyfriend at the time played golf for the school and was out of state for a tournament. His flight was supposed to have come into Pittsburgh around 7 that morning and I remember wondering if he was on a hijacked, diverted plane. I also remembering thinking I could call his parents to ask, but I didn't. It's weird how tragedies can make things that were confusing the day before so incredibly crystal clear. We broke up shortly after September 11th and I met the man who would become my husband just a few months later.
Words like suicide bombers, jihad, and al qaeda became household phrases over the next several years. The Towers, Flight 93 in Somerset, the Pentagon. Saddam Hussein. Bin Laden. All told, about 3,000 innocent people, dead. But over the past 10 years, even more heroes have emerged. Firefighters, police officers, soldiers, and people from all over the world have reached out to the families who have been affected by 9/11. Compassion, kindness, and generosity of spirit have touched the lives of so many. Our country banded together, despite varying political affiliations, and came together in a time of need. And that's what I will never forget.
I rolled out of bed and grabbed my books. I was speed walking to my Brit Lit class hosting my annual fall-induced head cold. I was out of sorts because of the cold, but I distinctly remember thinking how eerily quiet it was. It was like my head was in a cloud and I couldn't hear a thing. What didn't make sense, though, was that people were on their cell phones all around me. I passed a girl standing in a doorway, on the phone, crying. I assumed she had just broken up with her boyfriend.
I got to class and there were murmurs of a bomb going off in New York City. I am ashamed to admit it, but I didn't pay much attention to the conversation. Our professor came in the room a few minutes late and I noticed his eyes looked red. Was he tired? He wasn't the most exciting English prof I had ever had, but that day, he actually sat behind his desk and began discussing the prior class's reading assignment. At that point, I could just feel that something was wrong; it was like we were breathing a different kind of air all of a sudden. And that's when his secretary came in. She was dabbing her tears with a crinkled tissue, handed our professor a note, and they just sobbed together. He flipped on the TV to show us. I had no idea what I was looking at. I still have no recollection of the walk back to my dorm.
When I got back to Campbell Hall, it was like I didn't recognize the familiar faces or even the elevator I took twenty times a day to get my room. By the time I made it to the 4th floor, the realization of what was going on in New York hit me. I ran to my television and watched, over and over, the horrific footage of the planes smashing into the Twin Towers. Of the people on the ground running from the smoke. Of the newscasters trying to explain what they were seeing, but they, too, were at a loss. I just could not understand how two different planes had strayed so badly off course...
Not until I actually listened to what was going on did I get it. There were people a half a world away who hated the United States so badly that they were willing to die to prove it. My thoughts immediately went back to those who were in the hijacked planes; they knew what was going on. They were anticipating their imminent death and all they could do was sit. A few "lucky" ones were able to call a loved one and say good bye. They had no choice but to sit in their seats, watching the target draw closer and closer, knowing the end was near, but not knowing what it would be like. I began crying. I don't think I stopped for a week.
I called my dad because now I had so many questions: "Why did those people hate us?" "What had we done wrong?" I felt like a child. My on-again-off-again boyfriend at the time played golf for the school and was out of state for a tournament. His flight was supposed to have come into Pittsburgh around 7 that morning and I remember wondering if he was on a hijacked, diverted plane. I also remembering thinking I could call his parents to ask, but I didn't. It's weird how tragedies can make things that were confusing the day before so incredibly crystal clear. We broke up shortly after September 11th and I met the man who would become my husband just a few months later.
Words like suicide bombers, jihad, and al qaeda became household phrases over the next several years. The Towers, Flight 93 in Somerset, the Pentagon. Saddam Hussein. Bin Laden. All told, about 3,000 innocent people, dead. But over the past 10 years, even more heroes have emerged. Firefighters, police officers, soldiers, and people from all over the world have reached out to the families who have been affected by 9/11. Compassion, kindness, and generosity of spirit have touched the lives of so many. Our country banded together, despite varying political affiliations, and came together in a time of need. And that's what I will never forget.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Happy 4-Monthiversary, Ella Faith!
Our baby girl is 4 months old today! She's 12.5 pounds and is about 25 inches long. Like her brother, she's considered "tall." Hilarious. I will say, though, if little girls are like dogs and grow into their "paws," she's going to be 7 feet tall! Take a look at these things...
Because she's been showing interest in food (AKA: screeching when we eat), we asked the pediatrician if Ella could start on some first foods. For the past week, we've been giving her rice cereal twice a day. She doesn't quite understand what to do with the spoon and we end up with a big mess, but she's very excited to eat. Just yesterday we introduced apples and mixed it in with the cereal and she was in heaven! Last night she slept from 9:30 until almost 6 am and I was in heaven. I don't know if I can give credit to the solid foods or what, but I'm hoping for a repeat performance tonight and every night.
We finally seem to have a routine going, too. I'm trying to stick to a regimented schedule to keep her on track at night, so here's hoping it works. If it doesn't, I'm getting fixed.
Brady insisted on being part of Ella's monthly photo shoot today. He gave me very specific directions on where he would like to sit and when I should take the picture and he made a million different faces to pose. This kid is cracking me up lately! Today before his nap we had this conversation:
Brady: I going in a helicopter (pronounced heli-cock-ter)
Me: When will you be going?
Brady: After my nap, but maybe I have trouble.
Me: Oh no! What kind of trouble?
Brady: I don't have a heli-cock-er.
I don't know if he realizes how hilarious he is, but when I told him I thought he was funny, he immediately corrected me: "No, mom, Mater is funny."
On top of his sense of humor, Brady is very empathetic toward those in need. Even if "those in need" refers to a dead bug stuck in the grill of my car. When the boy saw this enormous thing fried to a crisp yet fully in tact on the car, he was instantly concerned, "Uh oh, mom, bug has boo-boo." Before I could even think, I said, "Don't worry, he's in bug heaven so he doesn't feel pain." I then had to explain what bug heaven is. He's finally stopped asking questions about it, but I could see that he took it all in. It's just a matter of time before he starts telling me his crashed cars are in heaven.
School is in full-swing; Zach's extra curriculars have begun (he keeps the clock for basketball games) and the SAT course I teach each year is just around the bend. If that's not enough evidence that fall is here, the Steelers first game is this Sunday. Pretty soon there will be snow on the ground, frost on the windows, and I'll be wishing we lived in Arizona. Until then, we'll try to play outside as much as we can because, as he's proven for the past few months, if Brady doesn't have a chance to run around, he gets a little nuts...
Because she's been showing interest in food (AKA: screeching when we eat), we asked the pediatrician if Ella could start on some first foods. For the past week, we've been giving her rice cereal twice a day. She doesn't quite understand what to do with the spoon and we end up with a big mess, but she's very excited to eat. Just yesterday we introduced apples and mixed it in with the cereal and she was in heaven! Last night she slept from 9:30 until almost 6 am and I was in heaven. I don't know if I can give credit to the solid foods or what, but I'm hoping for a repeat performance tonight and every night.
We finally seem to have a routine going, too. I'm trying to stick to a regimented schedule to keep her on track at night, so here's hoping it works. If it doesn't, I'm getting fixed.
 | ||||
| 4 Months! |
Brady insisted on being part of Ella's monthly photo shoot today. He gave me very specific directions on where he would like to sit and when I should take the picture and he made a million different faces to pose. This kid is cracking me up lately! Today before his nap we had this conversation:
Brady: I going in a helicopter (pronounced heli-cock-ter)
Me: When will you be going?
Brady: After my nap, but maybe I have trouble.
Me: Oh no! What kind of trouble?
Brady: I don't have a heli-cock-er.
I don't know if he realizes how hilarious he is, but when I told him I thought he was funny, he immediately corrected me: "No, mom, Mater is funny."
On top of his sense of humor, Brady is very empathetic toward those in need. Even if "those in need" refers to a dead bug stuck in the grill of my car. When the boy saw this enormous thing fried to a crisp yet fully in tact on the car, he was instantly concerned, "Uh oh, mom, bug has boo-boo." Before I could even think, I said, "Don't worry, he's in bug heaven so he doesn't feel pain." I then had to explain what bug heaven is. He's finally stopped asking questions about it, but I could see that he took it all in. It's just a matter of time before he starts telling me his crashed cars are in heaven.
 |
| Trying to eat his face... |
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Operation: Ella Take...Ahhh Forget It.
Ella. Will. Not. Take. A. Bottle. And it is KILLING me. Not only does she refuse the bottle, but she refuses the binky as well. I am her food, her comfort, and, lately, her all-hours-of-the-night buddy. I'm tired. So tired.
Despite her adamant refusal of the aforementioned things, Zach and I ventured to Erie for his friend's wedding and left Ella with his parents. Brady stayed with my mom and dad because they're not nearly as patient as St. Mother-in-law and we knew if anyone would win Ella over, it would be Terri. She didn't do too bad, either; she actually resorted to feeding the child out of a medicine dropper. Seriously--who has that kind of patience? Anyway, Ella slept fairly well for them and even latched on to a bottle at one point and drank about 3 ounces, but other than that, all bets were off. When I say this child is stubborn, I'm talking STUBBORN. Like she's already made up her mind about how the rest of her existence on this planet will go and we're just along for the ride. This is probably God's way of getting back at me for doing the same thing to my parents. But for the love, at least I took a bottle and SLEPT.
Oh sleep, how I miss thee. Since returning from what was a train wreck of a wedding (an outdoor ceremony in the RAIN, a jerky groom, bridal party chaos, horrible company AND cookies, and the need to manually relieve myself into a toilet for fear my boobs would explode--just how I wanted to spend my ONLY night out...), Ella has been punishing me by refusing to sleep. Like at all. No naps, no more than 2 hours a time at night, and even though she used to nod off in the car, she's decided she would rather scream now. Last night, after trying to put her down for two hours, was the final straw: I just broke down and cried with her. At one point I honestly entertained the thought of leaving the house. I had nowhere to go or I would have just taken off! I am beyond exhausted. What I don't get is that she's NOT. She's all smiles and giggles, especially when she's in my arms. I think she's plotting against me. I look like a homeless person and I feel like I've been hit by a bus. It's just a matter of time before I get sick and have to keep up the facade of full-time mother and teacher. And the latter, by the way, is kicking my butt, too. I'm currently training teach on another platform in addition to Blackboard and not only is it incredibly different from what I'm used to, but I've got to "hurry, hurry, hurry" and finish it in a week because our fall enrollments are picking up. If I could hit the lottery, my life would be so much better: I would quit working and then I wouldn't care if I had to be up all friggin' night with the girl. And I would be able to afford a much-needed facelift.
My boy Brady has been all kinds of wonderful, though. He's saying more and more each day, and most of the time it's hilarious. When he woke up yesterday morning, he was softly calling for me and when I went into his room, he said, "Oh please get me out of here, I can't do it myself!" He's very dramatic. We met one of my high school friends at the park last week and her 3.5 year-old son kept Brady on his toes! There is SUCH a huge difference between a 2-year-old and an almost 4-year-old! And it was the first time I actually witnessed Brady having a conversation with another kid. ADORABLE. They discussed how yummy lollipops are and then decided they would have a race down the slide. I was in charge of yelling, "Ready, set, go," and my friend had to wave an invisible flag to signal the beginning of the race. I think both boys have watched the Cars movie one too many times.
I woke up early today (5:30) to get some work done, and I accomplished the bare minimum and then turned to the blog. It's about 7:00 now and I'm figuring I may have a small window of extra sleep time, so I'm going to take advantage of it. As Brady would say, "Later, Mater."
 |
| Someone got a hold of the baby powder... |
Despite her adamant refusal of the aforementioned things, Zach and I ventured to Erie for his friend's wedding and left Ella with his parents. Brady stayed with my mom and dad because they're not nearly as patient as St. Mother-in-law and we knew if anyone would win Ella over, it would be Terri. She didn't do too bad, either; she actually resorted to feeding the child out of a medicine dropper. Seriously--who has that kind of patience? Anyway, Ella slept fairly well for them and even latched on to a bottle at one point and drank about 3 ounces, but other than that, all bets were off. When I say this child is stubborn, I'm talking STUBBORN. Like she's already made up her mind about how the rest of her existence on this planet will go and we're just along for the ride. This is probably God's way of getting back at me for doing the same thing to my parents. But for the love, at least I took a bottle and SLEPT.
 |
| Learn to love this crib. Immediately. |
Oh sleep, how I miss thee. Since returning from what was a train wreck of a wedding (an outdoor ceremony in the RAIN, a jerky groom, bridal party chaos, horrible company AND cookies, and the need to manually relieve myself into a toilet for fear my boobs would explode--just how I wanted to spend my ONLY night out...), Ella has been punishing me by refusing to sleep. Like at all. No naps, no more than 2 hours a time at night, and even though she used to nod off in the car, she's decided she would rather scream now. Last night, after trying to put her down for two hours, was the final straw: I just broke down and cried with her. At one point I honestly entertained the thought of leaving the house. I had nowhere to go or I would have just taken off! I am beyond exhausted. What I don't get is that she's NOT. She's all smiles and giggles, especially when she's in my arms. I think she's plotting against me. I look like a homeless person and I feel like I've been hit by a bus. It's just a matter of time before I get sick and have to keep up the facade of full-time mother and teacher. And the latter, by the way, is kicking my butt, too. I'm currently training teach on another platform in addition to Blackboard and not only is it incredibly different from what I'm used to, but I've got to "hurry, hurry, hurry" and finish it in a week because our fall enrollments are picking up. If I could hit the lottery, my life would be so much better: I would quit working and then I wouldn't care if I had to be up all friggin' night with the girl. And I would be able to afford a much-needed facelift.
 |
| She drools a lot. |
My boy Brady has been all kinds of wonderful, though. He's saying more and more each day, and most of the time it's hilarious. When he woke up yesterday morning, he was softly calling for me and when I went into his room, he said, "Oh please get me out of here, I can't do it myself!" He's very dramatic. We met one of my high school friends at the park last week and her 3.5 year-old son kept Brady on his toes! There is SUCH a huge difference between a 2-year-old and an almost 4-year-old! And it was the first time I actually witnessed Brady having a conversation with another kid. ADORABLE. They discussed how yummy lollipops are and then decided they would have a race down the slide. I was in charge of yelling, "Ready, set, go," and my friend had to wave an invisible flag to signal the beginning of the race. I think both boys have watched the Cars movie one too many times.
 |
| Much like her attitude, her hair is outta control. |
I woke up early today (5:30) to get some work done, and I accomplished the bare minimum and then turned to the blog. It's about 7:00 now and I'm figuring I may have a small window of extra sleep time, so I'm going to take advantage of it. As Brady would say, "Later, Mater."
 |
| Bet he wouldn't like her so much if she kept him awake all night... |
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