Baby on Bottle.

Today my Baby Rae drank from a bottle. Like, the whole thing. With no problem.

We had tried getting her on board with the whole bottle thing about a month ago after thinking how nice it would be to go out every once in a while sans the kiddo. And how nice it would be for her Daddy to be able to feed her every once in a while, y'know...so Daddy could cuddle and feed her. Etcetera, etcetera. It wasn't really that successful...although, admittedly, our attempts were fairly half-hearted.

My own Mama and Papa are planning on coming out for a visit in a week and a half...and they offered to send us out for the night while they watched the Baby. Amidst my calculations of how that would work...how we'd have to only be gone for a couple hours, or how it would have to be after I'd fed her for the night and it was just time to put her to sleep, and yaddy yaddy yadda....I found a renewed desire to try the bottle.

So I did.

Luckily, she just finished a big growth spurt so there was some milk to spare, thanks to her ferociously frequent feedings for the last week-and-a-half (ow, tender). I wasn't even patient enough to wait until her Daddy got home. But it didn't really matter. She got it like a pro.

I was so excited! But not all excited. Which surprised me.

I think I felt a little bit guilty, for one...like I was being selfish, making her take the bottle and all. I worked through that one okay...it didn't appear to be an uncomfortable thing for her to take the bottle or anything...and she still got her cuddles during meal time. It's not all for my own comfort...it's also for hers...so if I was away from her for some reason at a feeding, she would be okay. So I think I'm good there, now.

But there was an itty bitty sad part of me, too, that--I think--was mourning the realization that she's not 100% dependent on me anymore, all-of-the-sudden. Like, I just realized she could live without me if she needed to now...I mean, sustenance-wise. And I guess she always could...in all reality. But it just got real.

(whimper...)


She's four months next week.
And she's taking a bottle.
She's growing up.
And maybe I'm tearing up about that a little.

Take a Side.

So I was thinking of egg nog today. And how excited I am about the Christmas season coming up so I can drink it. And then I thought of how I've never met anyone who is wishy-washy about the stuff...like, no "it's alright, I could take it or leave it." Just plain ol' adoration or repulsion. And then I thought of a couple other  things that are like that; everyone I know either loves 'em or hates 'em.
Here's my No-Fence-Sitters list so far:


Egg Nog
Black Licorice
PT Cruisers

At least no fence-sitters that I've met yet.
I have a profound appreciation for these brave little things. They're not afraid to stand up for themselves no matter who gags at their presence. Or drools, for that matter.

So confident. So unaffected. So...inspirational.

Wow.
Don't worry, I'm done.

On Getting Dressed.

I've been thinking lately of why I get dressed in the morning.

I mean dressed, like jeans and a top that I didn't wear to bed. And why I do my hair. Or put any makeup on...even though that does often get skipped altogether. If I'm just hanging around here with a baby who doesn't care, and a hubby that kind of does but loves me anyway.....why bother?

Well....I answered myself. In my head.
(Yep, that's weird.)
But we had a good chat about it, myself and I.

When I was going to school to become an elementary school teacher, the subject of appropriate dress came up in class one day: dressing professionally. Why, someone asked, not wear something more conducive to running after kids all day? Sitting on floors, demonstrating in PE, chasing down the kid about to throw a snowball at recess? We discussed it a bit. We concluded that you should dress for those things, but in a professional way that shows that you take your job seriously. And, added my instructor, when you dress nicely, you show the kids how much they mean to you; that you care enough to dress importantly...for them...because they are important people, and important to you. I always remembered that when I would get ready for teaching during my practicums.

So, I says to myself: this has got to apply to being a homemaker, too.
And I think it does.

So I'm thinking that the way I prepare myself for my job reflects how I feel about it. If I think Home-Making is the kind of job you do in your yoga pants, pajama t-shirt, and lion-mane hair...then I'm sending the same kind of message to myself, my hubby, and my kids: you are about this important to me (hold up sweatpants) . But if I'm taking my job seriously, showing respect for myself, and showing my family that they're important enough to get dressed for...then I feel like I can do what I need to do with confidence and purpose. And love. 
Don't get me wrong, there are definitely days that are comfy days...the yoga pant, sweatshirt-wearing, slippers and weird hair days....and thank goodness that I've got a job with that kind of versatility in the dress code...

But most days, I get dressed. I just feel better. And I act better. And I love better.

I'm sure others can do it all in spandex and roomy cotton.
Myself...told me...that I, personally, do better when I face the day--and my family--with a scrubbed face and clothes that remind me that I woke up and started my day on purpose.

So bring on those slightly uncomfortable jeans (thank-you, post-baby fat) and off I go.
Hope those dishes appreciate this eyeliner...

Guess What Day it is Tomorrow....

So excited.
But only because it means I can (temporarily) reclaim my wardrobe from Baby Rae's spit-up target practice.
Daily, whatever I am wearing becomes a makeshift burp rag. I remember the days, with fondness, when I could wear an item of clothing more than once.

Oh well. I'll bask in my post-laundry full closet tomorrow evening at least, feeling like a queen.

These are the Hands...

They grasp my earrings that dangle, pull hairs from my head,

and reach up for a kiss when she's cooing contentedly through a meal.

And they're the hands that grip my finger with reassuring determination, that little squeeze that is all I need to get me through a tough day.

I love these fumbly little fingers.

So Long, Summer

It snowed today.

And it stuck.

Create.

"What do you do all day?"

The question was posed yesterday by my bored-out-of-her-tree Sister-in-Law. She'd been stuck at home for the last three days with pneumonia, forced to stay home from work to relax, recuperate, and....um....what?

It's the question I've seen in my husband's eyes on occasion when he runs through his own personal to-do list of what I should have accomplished that day and is forfeited the satisfaction of mentally checking it off. I think he even asked it out loud once....and then learned never to ask it again...at least not with that tone of voice. (Ladies, you know the one I mean).

It's the question I asked myself when I was home for the last couple months of pregnancy. And when I couldn't answer it with any kind of self-satisfying response, I began to dread being a stay-at-home mom...something I had always looked forward to.

More than a question, it was a plea: Will someone, ANYONE, tell me how this is supposed to be a fulfilling line of work???

My sister-I-L was asking with pleading. She was also worried that this meant she was doomed to hate stay-at-home motherhood FOR-EV-ER.

So, we chatted.

These were my thoughts that I shared...not verbatim, because let's face it: what you should have said is, without fail, always better than what you did. So here's the basic idea...improved by my post-convo elaborations and epiphanies:

I have a job to do. Self-employed, if you will.

What I do is my duty, my responsibility, my art. All wonderfully, stressfully, gloriously mine.

Just like any job, you can show up, breathe the air, and do only as much as you need to earn the paycheck. I used to look at maintaining a house like that: just suffer through it (ugh.) so you can hurry and get on with living, already.

And I suppose that was okay back when I was a student. I had roommates, we shared responsibilities...which got done...um...sometimes...y'know, when someone wanted a break from studying. The only thing solely our own responsibility was our room, where no one else really went and the place that could easily hide behind a closed door while we were busy chasing fits of laughter, potential Prince Charmings, and the next mid-term paper...(in that order, I might add).

And so, keeping a home came SECOND to all of those firsts, a tough spot for a home to be. In fact, come to think of it...home was usually the way we referred to the place where we went on holidays, the place that was well-maintained by a momma who made us warm meals, listened to our woes, and welcomed us with arms thrown wide.

Oh, that haven of a place!

The place we resided while at school just wasn't the same. Since being a single student, then getting married and being a married student, then becoming a stay-at-home mama, I've discovered that going from partial house-sharer to being THE Home-maker is a pretty big process in a girl's life; it's got a steep learning curve. Or, maybe it's just me: I'm constantly fighting a long-lived attraction to the philosophy that almost everything else...especially having fun.... is so much more important than cleaning a stinkin' house.

BUT...I'm also slowly discovering that making a home is much, much more than just 'cleaning a house.' I am learning to take great satisfaction in getting better at my job.

I take pride in making a meal plan that works, saves money, and is nutritious for my growing little family.

I feel good about keeping on top of the cleaning, always doing just a little at a time so it's never a gigantic and overwhelming event.

I find joy in the moments where I get to just sit and stare at my precious baby, making faces at her and reveling in her smiles.

I find satisfaction in keeping my home in order so that when my hubby comes home from a day of chaos and confusion, he can breathe and find peace.

I feel fulfilled as I learn new skills...some directly related to homemaking, and others not....that challenge me and build confidence so that I can continue to be a pillar of strength to my family and friends.

And I face the day happy when I invest a small amount of my day to being spiritually renewed so that I can lift others with love and compassion...whether they can feel that in my home, or whether I can take that with me from that same home.

Home is something I create: creativity at its finest...and in its most crucial setting, I believe.

That's pretty important, I think.