This is a small addendum to today’s picture post.  Ronan was having far too much fun with this hose for me to pass up a video.

This post requires no words.  Simply pictures.

I don’t know why I have been so hesitant to write another blog.

I don’t know why it takes me so long to get my fingers going.  Things just start tumbling down onto the page when I do.  And I have so much to say.  I couldn’t even decide what I wanted to write about today, because I have so many things that I want to say.  It’s my blog, and I’m going to say them.

Any how.  Today, I’m going to write about our trip to Calgary.  I will try to keep it fairly short, because I can tend to be pretty wordy.

To be completely honest, Brock and I were dreading the whole trip more than you could imagine.  After the fiasco that was my plane ride home from New York, I was terrified to take Ronan on another flight.  I couldn’t get images of the screaming and the hitting and the terror out of my head.  I SWORE on that flight that I would never travel with children EVER again, and here I was, less than a month later, about to embark on a 12+ hour journey to Canada.

We did everything we could to prepare.  Tons of snacks and drinks.  Tylenol and Sudafed for his cold.  New toys that he’d never seen before packed in the carry on, and a few familiar stand-bys.  Movies in the FULLY CHARGED laptop.  And a lot of praying.

Now here is where I have to tell you the truth.  Ronan was fantastic on every single flight.  He had a few troublesome moments, but each flight was around 3 hours.  He slept for about an hour on every flight, watched movies, snacked and played with toys the rest of the time.  While we were in airports, we let him walk around whenever and where ever he wanted.  The traveling wasn’t the worst part of the trip.

What WAS the worst part of the trip?

Trying to convince my 17 month old son that he could sleep wherever we told him to.  Sleep in this pack and play, in this basement, in this house.  Sleep in this hotel room.  Sleep when there are 26 people upstairs having a good time.  Sleep.  PLEASE SLEEP.

Ronan didn’t do a whole lot of sleeping on the trip.

What we DID do was a ton of fun.

We went to the Calgary Zoo.  I have a ton of great memories from that place when I was little.  We used to go several times a year.  It was overcast and a little chilly on the day we went, but it ended up being perfect.  Lots of walking around, pointing at animals, laughing at each other.  I took a bunch of pictures from the zoo… and really none from the rest of the trip.  Slacker mom.

Ronan and Dad checking out the elephants.

So very interested in the waterfall.

The oh-so-rare “family portrait”.

The next day, we went to the wave pool.  I don’t know the name.  Some village community center, but it was the same one we went to ALL THE TIME when we were kids.  It was really amazing to take my son somewhere that I loved to go so much when I was small.  Ronan had a BLAST.  He loved the water, he loved the jungle gym area, he loved the hot tub.  Mommy and daddy loved the hot tub too.  We didn’t stay long, but we all had fun.  Maybe next time he’ll be big enough for the water slides.

The rest of the trip was a bit of a blur.  Lots of wedding preparation and spending time with family members.  It makes me realize so keenly how much I love my parents, my brothers, and how I wish we lived closer.  We had such a good time shopping, hanging out, going for breakfast at Phil’s.  Ronan became very clingy – velcro baby – and didn’t want to be held by anyone but me.  Mommy got a little tired of it, but there wasn’t much to be done.  He was entirely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people, the amount of activity going on, and the desire for everyone to interact with him.  It was comforting to see him return to normal within a few hours of getting home.

The wedding was AMAZING.  I mean, amazing.  It was a 40′s pin-up theme, with the guys in black tuxes and the ladies in black with amazing red shoes.  Ronan looked like a stud in his red tie and dress shoes.  Sarah, the bride, couldn’t possibly have looked more radiant.  Her dress was perfect, hair and make up were incredible.  It really should have been photographed for a magazine.  I don’t have any great pictures to share… the photographer hasn’t gotten pictures out yet.  But I promise to post a few as soon as I get them.

I was lucky enough to have my hair and make-up done by the professionals, and took a sweet “in the car” shot of myself.  And one of Ronan in the car seat!

Ow ow!

Gotta love my classy vehicle photography.

Brock looked amazing in his tux.  I can’t wait to see family photos of all three of us decked out.

Yum.

Aaaaaaaand…

… then we came home.  The trip home was fairly uneventful, and it was wonderful to be back.  Ronan ran around the house SQUEALING in delight.  He had to touch all of his toys, and constantly came over to us to show us something he had found.  I’ve never seen him so happy.

I miss my family terribly already.  It was too little, too quick, too wonderful.  I hate not knowing when I will see everyone again.  But…

I’m glad to be home.

I am so undeniably overwhelmed.

I am writing this post in an effort to de-whelm myself, and get some things done.

We fly to Canada in less than 48 hours.  There is so much to do.  There is so much not done.

Ronan is sick.

Why did he have to get sick?

I can’t deal with sick.

Let me be honest with myself… I have made some HUGE strides today already.

Laundry is almost done.

Plane reservations are confirmed, and Ronan has been added to the flight.

Bills are paid.

Ronan is down for a second nap on account of his being sick, and having a short first nap.

All of this is thanks to Laura, and her wonderfulness, for keeping Ronan extra for me today.

THANK YOU LAURA!!!

I need to clean the living room, and vacuum.

I need to do the dishes, and clean the kitchen.  The floor needs to be mopped.

I need to clean the bathrooms and the toilets.

I need to pack.

I need to make a list of what to pack.

I need to remember everything on the list.

I need to change my bed sheets.

I need to… relax.

Because it will be okay if it doesn’t get done, and it will be okay if it doesn’t get packed, and it will be okay if it gets forgotten.  Some how, we will survive.

And now…

… I just need to get started.

I always knew I would breastfeed my children.  Literally, always.  I remember being very young, around 5 years old, and finding out that my boobies were meant to feed a baby some day.  I was absolutely amazed, couldn’t WAIT for that to happen, and would hold all of my dolls up to my chest to ‘nurse’.  I remember very distinctly going to bed at night and praying that when I woke up in the morning, my dolls would become real babies so I could take care of them.  So I could breastfeed them.

When I became pregnant, I also became determined to succeed.  I talked to friends and co-workers who had breastfed, got advice, tips and tricks.  I read books, websites, watched videos.  I wanted to know SO much about breastfeeding that nothing could stop me, there would be no booby-trap to get in my way.

I was lucky.  I had a very easy breastfeeding journey.  Ronan was born with a great latch and a strong desire to suck.  It took very little work on my part to position him properly, to where it wouldn’t be painful for me.  I also was blessed to have my milk come in less than 12 hours after delivery, which meant very little questioning of whether or not my child was getting enough to eat, whether he was growing, etc.  Born at 7lbs 4oz, we left the hospital at 6lbs 13oz.  2 days later, at his first checkup, he was back to 7lbs 4oz already.  So many people; nurses, lactation consultants and pediatricians alike, told me it was unheard of for milk to come in that fast, but my mom assured me she was the same way.

My path on the road of nursing continued to be wonderful, and enjoyable.  Ronan was a very quick eater, which meant ten minutes or less on the breast.  I had enough supply that he only nursed one side per feeding.  When offered the other side, he would make it known that he was no longer interested in eating, thank-you-very-much.  I absolutely loved every moment of it.  I loved holding him, feeling him near to me.  I loved watching the intensity with which he ate, his little fists pulled furiously up near his face in hunger and then slowly falling down to his sides as he became sated.  I adored his little post-nursing milk coma – he looked like he was enjoying pure bliss.  The way his sweet head smelled, the roundness of his tummy – it’s all so strong in my mind, and yet faded like an old photograph.  I can see it clearly, but the reality of it is drifting away.  I wish I could hold on to it forever.

Side-lying nursing was one of the greatest things I ever figured out how to do, as it meant getting a few extra precious moments of sleep, rather than spending minutes at a time positioning pillows and trying to get comfortable.  I remember the first few nights, trying to sit up in order to nurse, with my head lolling over to the side, or slamming back into the wall.  Side-lying changed the whole situation for the better, and I no longer detested night wakings.

Further along in our journey, things didn’t stay so smooth.  Ronan cut his first tooth at 3 months old, and had all 4 of his fronts within 2 weeks.  Holding my hand up to the sky, I am thankful that he only bit me twice after his teeth came in.  Those two bites were enough for me to know without a doubt, I could not continue if he continued.  He didn’t, and we survived.

I also had less support from family members than I would have liked.  It seems to be the common opinion that children only need breastmilk for the first several weeks, and then do just fine on formula.  Perhaps that’s the case, but honestly?  We enjoyed it, both him and I.  It was easy, and quick, and required no preparation.  I didn’t have to pack or sterilize bottles, measure out formula, wonder where I was going to warm up his drink.  And best of all?  It was FREE.  I don’t know how well you know my husband Brock and I, but the cheaper choice is always the better choice.  And spending 20-60 dollars a week on formula did not strike us as the most logical option, when breastmilk, which is more nutritionally fit for our child, is also less expensive.

I continued to brush suggestions and comments like, “How much longer are you going to keep breastfeeding that child?” and “Are you STILL nursing him?” aside, and continued to nurse.  Ronan never became terrible about popping off, or being too distracted to nurse – he was such a quick eater (5 minute nursing sessions were enough by now) that he never got bored.

Our most difficult phase occurred during night time feedings, while side-lying.  Ronan had begun a habit of latching on, and then pulling back as far as he possibly could from me, stretching out boob and nipple very nearly to their breaking point.  As you can probably imagine, it is nearly impossible to have a “correct” latch when pulled so far away, and he would suckle merely on the very tip – it was incredibly painful, and terribly frustrating.  If I pulled him towards me, he would arch his back and pull away with a jerk, causing me tremendous pain.  If I moved closer to him, he would simply inch away.  If I forced him to stay close, he would stop eating and cry.  We were both angry, upset, and unhappy with the situation.  Many times in those few short nights I told him I was “done”, that he was getting a bottle and I couldn’t take it any more.  Many tears were shed.  I suspect that my hot natured boy simply didn’t like the forced proximity, as it caused him to sweat and become uncomfortable.  However, very soon after I figured out that if I prepped him to nurse with his head in the crook of my arm, I could simply keep it bent, and he could not pull his head away.  This allowed him to move his body as far away as he liked, but included no pain or discomfort for me.

We continued nursing like that for weeks, and happiness quickly returned to our partnership.

After many happy months of nursing and pumping at work, I saw my supply decline.  Ronan was only about 10 months old, and I was scared, as I wasn’t ready to quit nursing and didn’t want to start Ronan on formula.  Instead, I took some fairly drastic measures to increase my supply, and was thrilled when they worked.  But the success was short lived…  Ronan wasn’t nursing as often during the day because he was eating more and more solid foods, and I wasn’t able to pump often enough on the weekends because work was so busy.  There were entire shifts, whole 12 hour nights where I didn’t even get to pump ONCE.  My supply took a hit, and so did my confidence.  I had a hard time pumping enough milk while I  was at work to even feed Ronan the next day.  Brock had to start giving Ronan solid meals in place of bottles every now and then just to make up the difference.

As an aside, I would like to point out here that I had no ‘frozen supply’ stored up.  I had something called “Overactive Lipase”, which was finally diagnosed after weeks and weeks of trying to figure out why my milk spoiled so quickly.  We were told, as a general rule, milk could be left out warm for 7 hours, in the fridge for 7 days, and in the freezer for 7 months.  My milk?  Spoiled within an hour.  Went bad in the fridge over night.  Frozen?  We were lucky if it lasted a week.  I tried EVERYTHING to figure out what caused it – stopped working out, cut whole food groups out of my diet, stopped using ANY and EVERY beauty product with a name I couldn’t pronounce in case it was causing a reaction.  In the end, a lactation consultant brought up the lipase issue, which basically means that my body produces too much of the enzyme that digests fat; literally, my milk would digest itself as it sat.  The only ‘cure’ for it is to scald the milk, bringing it to the temperature right before boiling, which deactivates the lipase.  I tried it once, and burnt the milk, wasting the WHOLE batch.  Eventually we decided to use milk management, and not worry about saving up any milk bank.  But it meant that I had no back up option.  If I didn’t pump it, it wasn’t there.

Then, we introduced whole milk.  Just one bottle a day.  One little, simple bottle that gave me so much freedom, such release from stress that I cried with relief.  Just that one bottle of whole milk meant that I didn’t have to sweat not having enough breastmilk, I didn’t have to cry over how much I had pumped.  I didn’t have to worry that he wasn’t getting enough to eat.  And if I made even a little less, it was okay… because we could give him a second bottle of milk.  It very seriously saved my sanity, and my heart.  He was still getting enough breastmilk for it to be worth it for me to continue, but I didn’t have to constantly worry about “not enough.”

As the months crawled on, and Ronan got older, he continued to nurse less and less.  Most of his feedings were during the night, when he was waking 5 and 6 times to eat.  He nearly never nursed during the day any more, and would continue playing despite it being offered.  When 13 months hit, and we walked the path of sleeping through the night, nursing changed forever.  He no longer woke in the night to eat, so he very nearly no longer nursed.  When I would get him up in the morning, he would ask to nurse, and that was it for the day.  No evening nursing, no bed time snack, no nothing.

One morning, I brought a cup of milk with me upstairs and gave it to him instead of the breast.  He didn’t complain, didn’t fuss, and that was the end of it.  We never nursed again after that day.

Ronan was 13 months old, and I admit very strongly that I feel like we stopped too soon.  I miss nursing with all of my heart, and while Ronan doesn’t seem to be any worse off because of it, it hurts to let go of something so easily that you can never get back.

I have a video of Ronan taken just a few short days before he weaned, where I am playing with his toes while he nursed.  When I watch it, it makes me cry.

I’m proud of myself for nursing as long as we did.  I’m excited for the opportunity to raise and nurture another child in the same way.  I love the bond and beauty of breastfeeding so much, I wish I could help others have an experience like mine.  I support moms who breastfeed, moms who nurse in public, and moms who don’t get much support anywhere else.  I never once felt like a cow, or hated having to have Ronan close at hand to feed him.  I wasn’t resentful that no one else could feed him.  I was happy that something I did, some part of my being a mother was done right… that something I did was good enough.

Brock left for work around 8am this morning.  Ronan was still sleeping.  I prayed that he would stay asleep… all I wanted was just one more hour.  I wasn’t ready to get up, not ready at all to face the day.

About five minutes later, I heard Ronan.  It wasn’t his normal ‘wake up’ noises – he usually starts out very quiet and gets louder and louder the more awake he gets.  This morning, he started out yelling.  After my fleeting hope that he perhaps was just stretching or repositioning, I checked the video monitor.  (Have I mentioned lately how freaking valuable that thing is?)  The first thing I noticed was that Ronan was sitting up.

The second thing I noticed was his wiener.

Holy shit, the kid doesn’t have a diaper on!

So much for a bit more sleep.  I ran upstairs faster than I ever had before, hoping to get him up before he peed all over the bed.

I was too late.

Ronan had already peed everywhere.  The missing diaper was found at the other end of his crib, saturated and still “velcroed”.  I have no idea how he squirmed his way out of it.

But that is how I started my day.  It can only get better… right?

Too hilarious not to share.

Here you go.

While I laid in bed last night, wide awake for nearly 4 hours, I thought of things I could blog about.  I never really have problems coming up with ideas of things to write when I’m doing… oh, ANYTHING but writing.  But as soon as I sit down at my keyboard, my mind goes blank.  I run through a million little thoughts and none of them are something I want to put down on a page.

So last night, I made a mental list of things I could write about.  I went over them again and again in my head so I wouldn’t forget them.  I finally fell asleep, only to wake up this morning remembering nothing.

Nothing.

I need to keep a pen and a piece of paper next to my bed, to jot down my ideas.  Where the heck do they go?!

Anyhow, I have been pandering away my morning, trying to grasp on to something that I could possibly write about.  While focusing on Ronan, I realized I hadn’t really focused ON him, and started paying attention to some of the things he does.  The way they brighten my day.  The way he makes me laugh.  The way I can’t wait to see what he will do next.

These are a few of my favorite things.

Ronan has recently learned the meaning of “Hot.”  It has to do with walking outside barefooted on the pavement when the temperature is hotter than 90 degrees.  We’ve been signing “hot” at him for ages as a warning against trying to grab hot food, or putting his hands on the stove.  Suddenly, one day, amid running out on to the road in an attempt to get to the pool, he realized his feet were feeling uncomfortable.  He stopped, looked back, put his hand up to his mouth in a claw shape (the sign for hot) and said “Hot, hot, hot!” – only, our little non-speaker doesn’t articulate that well, and it sounds a lot more like “Haw, haw, haw!”

Now, whenever he touches something even remotely warm, he has to proclaim it’s temperature.  Bath water?  Haw, haw, haw!  Momma’s hot chocolate cup? Haw, haw, haw!  The carseat on a sunny day?  Surely, Haw, haw, haw!  This morning, as we sat at the back door waiting for Flint to finish his business, Ronan reached his hand down to touch the ground.  It may be 70 degrees out, if that, but the ground was warmer than the air.  He immediately pulled his hand back to his face in a claw, looked at me very seriously and said, “Haw.”

Oversharing?  One of Ronan’s new favorite things to do is elicit a similar response from someone.  Lately, it has been taking a big bite of his food, chewing it a few times, and then opening his mouth as wide as he can in order to show it to you.  As soon as he’s done so, he expects you to do the same – he showed you his, you show him yours.  Once I’ve opened my mouth and showed him the contents within, he’ll happily go on chewing with a little smirk on his face.  He usually only does it once per meal, as well, leaving me to wonder his motives – Are you eating the same thing I am, mom?  What does food look like in your mouth?  Or possibly just, can I make mommy do the same thing as me?

Stank face!  I don’t know how it started, really.  I was trying to teach Ronan to blow his nose, I think.  I started making a very exaggerated face, and sniffed in and out of my nose loudly trying to show him how to breathe through his nose.  He caught on very quickly.  Now, he walks around huffing in and out of his nose with the most hilarious face you’ve ever seen.  He scrunches up his nose, turns his mouth down into a frown, and sniffs.  Quite honestly, it looks like he’s just smelled the stinkiest fart ever, but it NEVER fails to elicit a laugh from me, nor cause me to stank face him back.  We both get a giggle out of it.  It’s something I desperately want to catch on film, because all too soon he wont do it any more, and I’ll wish I had videotaped it.

Dancing.  Ronan, having never danced as a smaller child, used to concern me.  He never jumped, either.  I thought perhaps he was creationally challenged, or something similar.  Perhaps he just didn’t like to have fun?  I used to dance like a CRAZY person in front of him, trying to get him to copy me.  I guess all it really took was the right kind of music.  Now, whenever a tune comes on, Ronan boogies down appropriately to the beat.  Today, it was to the starting music of Monster’s Inc, and I couldn’t stop laughing.  Forgive the camera shake!

Also, sorry the music is so quiet… it’s much more entertaining when you can hear what he’s dancing to!

There are quite a few more that I’ve thought of just while writing this post, but I think I’ll cut it short here.  This is already one of the longest posts I’ve written in weeks!  I never get enough of this little boy.  He continually makes me smile, despite whatever badness is going on in my life.  I love him more than words describe.

Somewhere along the road that is my life, I have developed a terrible habit.

I am getting very good at avoiding things I don’t want to deal with.  It’s really not a very attractive trait in an adult.  I can avoid doing dishes, and laundry, and going to the grocery store.  I avoid answering the phone, and thinking about medical bills, and leaving the house.  So far, I’ve successfully avoided talking about or thinking about our upcoming trip to Canada, so as to stave off the inevitable panic attack.  Sometimes, I even avoid showering.  Yeah.  Yeesh.

I have become a self-inflicted shut in.  I save up all of the energy I have for my three 12-hour shifts a week, and try to survive every moment in between.  I am hoarding sleep like a pack-rat.  Any time I’m not sleeping, I’m thinking about when I’m going to be sleeping again, counting down the minutes and day-dreaming of my next nap.

My parenting skills have been lacking, and I’m thankful my son is pretty easygoing.  I’m grateful for my wonderfully understanding and helpful husband, who has been pulling his own weight as well as my own.  I’m ready to be over this, and as happy as I am that I am pregnant, STILL pregnant (9 weeks 2 days!) I can’t wait to get some normalcy back into my life.

There is hope, I believe.  I keep telling myself that as soon as I get out of the first trimester, I will have more energy.  I’ll be a better mom, better wife, better friend.  More grown up, more of a person.  I hope it’s true, I really do.  Because I’m actually getting kind of sick of myself.

Brock and I were married on the 5th of July, 2008.

Yesterday was our second anniversary.  Two wonderful, challenging, exciting, surprising, amazing years.

I had to sleep all morning because I worked Sunday night, but as soon as I was up and moving, we packed up the car and drove up to the lake.  The weather couldn’t have been more perfect.  Ronan was in a great mood, and we dressed him to go swimming as soon as we got there.

I took a couple of pictures, but once again not nearly enough.  Ronan was in a life jacket as long as we were on the dock.  He didn’t seem to mind at all.  Also, his hat is adorable and I’m glad he’ll keep it on for more than 15 seconds now.

He loves swimming, and has no fear at all of the water.  We played in the lake for about an hour before we went inside for lunch.  Ronan went down for a nap, and Brock and I went out on the boat with Matt and company.  Brock and I both wakeboarded for the first time this year.  I swear, I rode for LESS than 5 minutes total, and I was so exhausted I thought I was going to have a heart attack.  I literally quit because I couldn’t catch my breath, too tired to continue.  It was nice to be out on the boat and not have to worry about where Ronan was or what he was doing.  We stayed out for at least two hours, and when we came back, Ronan still hadn’t woken from his nap.

Once up, we sat and let Ronan play on the deck.  He had crazy hair!  I tried forever to get a picture of it, and finally got this:

What a sweet, silly goose.

A few short hours later, it was time to head home.  Bedtime comes early at our house.  Today, I’m taking Ronan back up to the lake so his grandmom can watch him while I work a 12 hour shift tomorrow.  He’s going to have his first sleep over!  It will be strange not to have him in the house… but perhaps Brock and I will celebrate our anniversary a little more traditionally.

Hope you all had an amazing 4th of July!