three hundred sixty five days

Recently I've been amazed at how much different my life is than it was a year ago.

You remember a year ago.

I was going bonkers trying to get my kid to sleep.
I was a floundering breastfeeding mama who was getting utterly discouraged.
Heck, I even started a blog to try and control the situation a little bit because often it seemed like my life was spinning out of control.  Though my "dark days" have now been accounted for, once I was able to realize I had PPD.

Things got better just before my little baby turned one.  And hopefully all you newer mamas who are still in the darker days don't feel like I'm rubbing this in your face--but life with my toddler is so much fun!

Ok, yeah, there are still times when I get super frustrated.  I'm not a machine.  But the ratio of tears to giggles has changed exponentially.

We went to the Gulf this past week. 
Sam loved the beach SO MUCH MORE than he did the year before when we had just stopped breastfeeding despite our best efforts. (Who would have thought that a 27 year old, healthy woman would be diagnosed with pericarditis which would demand her be on medicine that was not BFing approved!?)

During our stay there in the condo, my son was wearing a diaper, a pajama shirt, blue crocs, and eating a snack while listening to the Beatles on Pandora.  Our little swaying dancer cracked us up so much, I just had to share!

I thank the Lord often for bringing me through those first 365 days.  And I am SO GLAD the next 365 days are shaping up to be awesome.  God is good, all the time.  And all the time...

Five Minute Friday: Song

Music is the thing that brings joy to my family.  We seriously love it.  My husband plays beautiful guitar and dabbles in piano.  He finds such joy in music.

I love music, too.  From the time I was born I was being sung to.  Every night (or as far as I know, every night) my mom or dad would rub my back as they tucked me in and sing "Turn your eyes upon Jesus."

It's ingrained in me.
I had it played at our wedding five years ago while my husband and I took communion together for the first time as a married pair.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
and the things of this world will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

I have a 16 month old.
Guess what song I choose to sing to him during our bedtime routine?  You guessed it.  I don't do it every night, but almost.
My parents also use to tell me "sweet dreams of Jesus" as they closed my door and left me to drift off to sleep.

I love speaking that phrase to my boy.  I hope it instills in him the same love for Jesus that I have.

don't say the "c" word

You hear the whispers and see the glances as you try to dash out of church with your wailing baby who you've been paged to come get out of the arms of the gracious nursery volunteer who is holding your baby on his belly in her arms as she rocks and attempts to sooth him with her shhhing.

You've avoided saying the word for a few weeks now, but it just can't be denied any longer.
Your baby has....colic.

GASP!

Isn't that how the story goes?  Babies who are assigned that word are suddenly freaks with crazy-underdeveloped intestines.  You get "bless your hearts" and "I'm so sorrys" from all the moms you talk to.  You get moms who raised (seemingly) spawns of Satan who tell you their horror stories while still shuddering a little bit as they reminisce.

Yet your baby doesn't seem that bad.  Right?  Surely she can't get stuck with that label.  No way!  You didn't suffer through forty long weeks of pregnancy and long hours of labor just to find out you got "stuck with a bad one!"

Mamas.  I feel like colic has gotten a bad rap.  And because of that, all of us new, frightened mamas tip-toe around the word to avoid getting our baby pinned with an unpinnable fate. 

But I'm here to dismiss the stigma.  A LOT of babies have colic...or are colicky...or have colic-like symptoms.  AND THAT'S OK.

Sure, it's no walk in the park and parents don't wish it upon their babies, but we all eventually get through it.  Hang in there, mama!

And don't be afraid to embrace the "c" word.  Once you do, it's a lot easier to live day to day because at least there's a reason for the gas, reflux, crying, and sleepless days and nights!

From one colic-baby-raising mama to another,
Mary
P.S. If you're looking for some tips to help with a colicy baby, check out this post. 
       If you're wondering if a colicky baby has contributed to postpartum depression, check out this post.
P.P.S.  Guess what!?  This blog has been up and active for over a year!!!  Happy one year anniversary, blog!

the day we almost killed our son

In honor of my sister's dramatic story telling, I'd like to tell my own dramatic story about how our son was almost crushed to death and I saved him with sheer brute mama-strength.

Recently our garage door decided to stop opening.  I pushed the button in the garage so I could push Sammy out in his stroller for a little walk.  The door opened about three inches, closed, then opened three inches again and stopped.  After trying this a few more times, I gave up, hauled my son, who was already strapped in his stroller, up the stairs, then back down the outside stairs where I think too a pathetically short stroll that was probably not worth the effort.

Later that evening my husband and I decided to investigate and see if it would be a simple fix.  I pulled the rip cord on the door which made it close the three inches, but then, nothing.

Since we are (one of the 36) people in America that actually use our garage to store our cars, we realized we needed to get the door open so I could pull my car out.  Since the cord is pulled on the door, it should just pull right up and open manually.

Keeping this in mind, my husband starts lifting...and it doesn't budge.  It's a two person job.

At this time Sam is happily exploring the garage, not paying much attention to us. 

My husband's knee is somewhat injured from a running incident, so he decides to pull on the rip cord and I'll use the handle at the base of the door.  We'll get the door open, get the car out, and worry about fixing the door later!

We begin pulling the heavy two-car garage door up and it's working--the two of us are doing it!  However, there are three of us in the garage.  Sam sees his escape and starts going under the gap in the garage door.  My husband, with his safety instincts on the tip of his tongue yells to Sam to stop and come back.  Well, instead of our 15 month old heeding his commands, he instead becomes very frightened and just stops dead center under the door and begins to cry--petrified with fear.

So there we were, using all of our muscles to hold this door three feet from the ground, with our toddler frozen underneath the suspended door.

My mama bear instincts kick into gear.  I realize I have three choices:  1. let my son be crushed under the weight of the garage door  2.  hold the garage door up long enough for Sam to stop crying and either come in the garage or out of the garage (in which case I could run out the front door and get him) or 3. I could life up the garage door.

With all my strength I take a deep breath and hoist the door up and throw it up over my head like a heavy-weight champion!  And it works!  The door is up!

Lee J holds the door (which is now at its resting place at the top) while I scoop up my terrified son.  We proceeded to put him in his stroller (which was still outside from our earlier walk) and then I pulled my car out and lowered the garage door slowly closed until it is repaired a few days later.

So there you have it.  The day I saved my son's life (after being one of the ones
to put it in danger in the first place!)