When we found out I was pregnant, we started looking for daycares in the area. Why wouldn’t I continue to work? On top of the tiny life brewing in my belly, we had a new mortgage, a new car payment, and lots of lovely workmates and a career that I love. But, Ollie had different ideas on how life should be and with his prematurity, we thought it best to keep him out of daycares and the germs they famously promote.

So I haven’t worked full time in almost a year.

In the months since, my family has set me up on a couple “blind dates,” if you will.

Someone in my life has met another mom and thought, “Lisa would like her; I should set them up, they will be friends.”

But I can’t get over the idea that these meetings are essentially Blind Dates. Using the same thought process that might have been used if I were single and looking for a romantic mate, my husband has thought, “This woman could help complete her life, to fulfill her need for a buddy in mommy-hood. This woman could be my wife’s pal.”

They’re odd, these dates. It’s like an interview. The same interviews I went on when I was in the process of meeting my husband. Weeding through the answers to see where our similarities lie, thinking about the things I shouldn’t have said.

The wrong answer will destroy these baby friendships; a wrong word could make me seem callous…or even (gulp) “attached,” and the decision is made right then and there that this match is “not the right fit for our needs at this time.” Or, more pointedly, “you’re not what I’m looking for.”

Like a regular date, I can tell when they go well. I tell my husband that I liked That Mom and the person responsible for the other set-up calls the next day and says, “Oh, This Mom really liked you, she wants to go out again.”

I recall the meeting. I was poised, funny, didn’t burp or fart loudly, didn’t drop the F-bomb and saved my secrets for when This Mom is ready for them. I realize I “still got it.”

The second date is being planned, I worry I won’t live up to my first impression. I’m afraid that spark won’t be there again.

Kinda like my second date with my husband.

According to the March of Dimes website, 543,000 babies are born prematurely each year. Five-hundred-forty-three thousand are born too early.

It’s something I never thought I’d experience. A cousin was born two months early a few months before Oliver. I thought “how sad, I hope she makes it.”

After 3 months’ worth of twice-daily visits to my NICU (West Allis Memorial in Wisconsin is a wonderful place with wonderful nurses), willing my baby to live, cheering on the tiny accomplishments he figured out that day, worrying, praying fervently, changing tiny diapers, and feeding him through a tube, I’d experienced it.

I’d experienced it the way that almost 550,000 parents do a year.

I’d experienced it the way the hundreds of thousands of parents of a micro-preemies do.

I’ve experienced it first-hand. And it’s horrible. Terrifying. Something I wouldn’t wish on the worst people in the world. To go through the experience changes you; reveals your strength, forces you to allow yourself to rely on someone else, makes you grateful for small feats, takes the wonder of babies to the highest levels. How a baby so tiny and fragile and so helpless can make it through is impressive and honestly, a feat of God, a miracle, and a testament that the research and medical advancements done in years’ past are needed and necessary.

The following is from the March of Dimes website…

For the second consecutive year, the United States earned only a “D” on the March of Dimes Premature Birth Report Card, demonstrating that more than half a million of our nation’s newborns didn’t get the healthy start they deserved.

The March of Dimes advocates for national and state health policies and programs that benefit women of childbearing age, infants and children.

As part of the national Prematurity Campaign, at the federal level, the Foundation is advocating to:

* Increase access to health coverage for women of childbearing age (especially those who are pregnant), infants and children
* Fund implementation of the PREEMIE Act (P.L. 109-450)
* Secure federal funding to implement the next phase of the National Children’s Study
* Secure federal funding for increased interdisciplinary research to find the causes of preterm birth and to translate those findings into clinical care strategies
* Enhance data collection by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to improve understanding of prematurity, birth defects and infant mortality.

In years past, early babies were put in shoe boxes and kept warm by the oven. Thanks to the research and strides made by organizations like the March of Dimes, we’ve come so far. But we need to go even further.

If you can, visit the March of Dimes to donate or learn more.

I noticed something very odd today. After a month of no breast feeding, I had started to let down. Baffled that I was still lactating, I thought, “I really miss breastfeeding, maybe it’s not too late to start up again!”  I tried to get Jameson to latch but he would have none of it. At one point he managed to grab his pacifier from me and put it back in his mouth so I gave up and searched for my pump.

I managed to pump for 2 minutes before remembering why it is I don’t breastfeed anymore. Pumping is terrible. It’s uncomfortable, awkward, and annoying. Even if I could re-lactate, I wouldn’t stay with it.

I work full-time and hate pumping too much.  Bummer.

My life is in a holding pattern right now, and while I’m happy where we are, I’m really tired of waiting for things to go through.  I wish there was more I could do to move things along but really, I’m doing all I can do.

First and foremost, I’m waiting on my house hunting days to be over.  I was initially looking for a small condo or town-home to live in for a couple years till we bought a house.  But after experiencing the true “pleasure” of finding and procuring a home, I think I’ll pass on ever doing this again if I can help it.  So we’re looking at good ole’ homes to spend the rest of our lives in.  I currently have 40 houses on my radar, 13 back up offers, and 5 pending offers (waiting for the bank/seller to accept).  I’m keeping my eye out on new properties but really, all I need is a bank to approve my offer (on the house on Ellis if anyone who wants to accept that offer is reading this, PLEASE).

I remember watching movies and TV shows with people buying houses and I don’t ever recall them searching for months, with no luck, to buy a house.  I recall them looking at 4 they like and then buying one.  I guess I don’t recall them changing poopy diapers everyday either so maybe I should stop basing life off fictional entertainment anymore.

The second thing I’m waiting on is my darn engagement ring.  I don’t normally wear rings because I have such skinny fingers, I’m worried it’s going to look weird.  But at the same time, I’m extremely excited that it’s not your typical engagement ring.  Can you say Black Tahitian Pearl?  It’s going to be amazing, and nothing can compare.  Not that it’s better than any diamond, it’s just who else is going to have a engagement ring anything like it?  It would be like trying to compare art from Van Gogh and Michelangelo.  Anyway, my ring should have been here last Wednesday and I am still patiently waiting.

I’m also waiting on diapers and babylegs to be shipped to me.  But when comparing it to a home and a engagement ring, it just seems silly to be too concerned over these.  Althought I am really excited about getting more babylegs.  I hate pants on JD, they’re always too short.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if everything arrived/happened on the same day?  Can you say best day ever?  I can.

Did anyone else have the great, running with whoops of excitement down a totally lit up block, breathing hard through the nostril holes in your plastic Cinderella mask, lugging around an overflowing pilowcase, laughing at your cousin who tripped in the wet grass so he looked like he peed himself, Halloween marathons I had as a kid?

How about some naughtier, but just as nostalgic adult stories?

A detail neatly absent from a Stay At Home Mom’s Job Description: Exterminator. Orkin-Mom. Protect your beautiful baby from the creepy-crawlies that upset your lovely home in their wayward travels from the basement.

When it comes to creepy-crawlies and creatures, I discriminate. I don’t hate them all, per se, the cute ones I can live with….ladybugs, bumblebees, caterpillars. However, when it comes to the ugly utilitarian millipedes with 70,000 legs and the body the size of my pinky finger, then, yes, I hate.

I hate with the heat of 1,000 jilted lovers.

I hate with the passion of 10,000 teenagers in parked cars.

So when I see the creature hanging out at the intersection of wall and ceiling, living room, USA, I sigh. This is not how I want to start my morning.

I sigh because I know this will be an hour’s worth of planning. I will spend an hour strategizing this small battle, preparing the demise of this invader. Most of the hour is spent simply staring at it, wishing it away, ensuring it doesn’t move, gathering my strength for the task at hand. The Department of Public Works drives by, sucking up leaves, I consider for a moment waving them down to save me; I reject that plan because I am a Strong. Independent. Woman. No man needed for this job.

I collect my tools.

baseball cap. check.

long sleeve shirt. check.

gloves. check.

jeans. check.

socks & shoes. check.

broom & dustpan. check.

DirtDevil Handvac. check.

hairspray with aggressive & pointed spray pattern. check.

Gumption? Moxie? Backbone? Decidedly, disappointingly absent.

My plan of attack is simple. Disorient him with hairspray. Bat with broom. Collect in dustpan and throw outside. Contingency plan? Spray, bat, suck. I plug the vac into an outlet close to the door, so I can run with it still on and toss it outside.

I pull my socks up over my jeans – to prevent it from running up my pant leg, natch – and pull my gloves on to keep the openings of my sleeves closed, arrange the cap down over tucked up hair and step to 3 feet from the wall.

With knocking knees, I collect what strength I have and talk myself through it.

one…..two….three…..PSHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

F–k! S–t! Dammit! He’s on the run! PSHHHHHHHH some more. He drops to the floor and squirms. **shudder** He’s too fast, too fast. VROOOOOMMMMM. I have to suck, there’s a thud in the handvac. In a tizzy, I run to the door and throw the vac to the stoop. I unplug it, run it to the garage where it sits.

I realize I’m shaking like I had too much coffee. I’m shaking like I just got through a real emergency. This scene takes place in less than 30 seconds, yet I’m acting as though it’s a life-changing event.

For the rest of the day, I wear shoes. I glance suspiciously at the site where the demise went down. Is there evidence? Did I imagine my success? Is it back? Before I settle back into my loveseat, I inspect the area, to assure myself the rest of the bug family hasn’t set up camp on the armrest, behind the couch, in the blanket draped over the back.

I re-tell my tale to my husband when he comes home.

I don’t think he bought the level of bravado I tell it with. He’s seen me encounter spiders and knows I’m remarkably “girly” when it comes to the ugly pests.

This small victory is in my arsenal of successes when I’m questioning my mothering abilities. I protected and saved my son from the millipede.

I’m like the police. Only cuter.

My name is Jen. I am 34 years old and became a Mother for the first time on March 10, 2009. This came as a great shock since I have been informed time and time again that babies are not in my future. Because of this I allowed myself to be completely clueless when it comes to babies. I wanted nothing to do with anyone else kids and swore thruout my entire pregnancy that this will be my only one. After giving birth it took about 2 seconds to realize what true love really meant and my heart melted to the thought of being a Mom. I even played with the idea of having another one right away. I cant tell you how many times, while pregnant, I had the conversation with someone about how many kids would have. My answer was always the same. They all said the same thing.. “just wait, you’ll change your mind!” Now I understand… babies.are.awesome!

Kegels.

I hated them. I remember complaining about them this time last year. I thought they were overrated. “Who cares, they are so secondary and once this baby pops out, they won’t matter”.

After pushing for almost 3 hours, and a vacuum assist birth, I remember resting in my hospital bed thinking…”I wish I would have done my Kegels.” While, I think the kid just didn’t fit, I cant help but wonder if they could have helped my postpartum issues a bit. Come to find out, the PC muscles are often weakened by pregnancy and birth, and need to be worked out or they atrophy just like the rest of the muscles in our bodies. Yes, we want toned PC muscles just like our Gluteus Maximus. If we don’t tone them, we can find common issues like bladder control (hate sneezing?) and in serious issues, prolapse.

7 months later, everyday since March 14th-I am doing my Kegels. Moms-to-be, one word of advice: Kegels. For the love of God, Kegels. If you can count to three and hold your pee, you can do Kegels. For more information about Kegels: how to do them properly and the benefits, check out http://www.kegel-exercises.com/ and The Mayo Clinic’s article here: http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/kegel-exercises/WO00119

As i was driving home the other day, something popped in my head. I need to relearn how to walk properly. But is there a ‘proper’ way to walk? Ever since i broke my ankle and had to under go surgery to fix it, all i’ve been able to think about is walking again. Bein mobile. You never really understand how much that means to you until it’s taken away. You take it for granted. It’s second nature. So, i got home, ‘hobbled’ into the house and got on the trusting interwebz to figure out “How to walk properly” but what i found instead was a life lesson.

No two people walk quite the same way. Your style of walking is as individual as your fingerprints.
This makes perfect sense. No one has the same life.. while some have similar lives, something somewhere is different. YOUR life is a unique as your fingerprints.

Stretch before and after walking. The heel-to-toe action of walking tends to tighten your calf muscles, so stretching the lower legs is important.
You should think ahead and think it through. Life can wear you down and wind you up. By thinking, your body will thank you later.

Start slowly at a comfortable pace.
There’s no rush, keep it simple, keep yourself happy.

Maintain good posture. Keep ears centered over shoulders, which should be centered over hips. Don’t slump. Keep your chest up and out and shoulders relaxed. With this posture there will be less chance of foot, leg, or back pain.
Confidence. Keep those you love centered in your life. Don’t sweat the bad stuff. Take it in stride and it will make you better.

Heel first, rock, then swing the foot forward. Sounds simple, but as you walk faster it’s harder to maintain the rocking motion. Keep your foot swing natural.
Find a good peace within yourself, hold on to it, and savor it. Sounds simple, but as life flashes by, it’s easy to forget it. Keep your head up and never sway.

Pace yourself. Use the target heart rate to set your pace. Walking at a moderate rate will increase your stamina.
Enjoy the small things, stop and smell the roses. Set small goals and reach them. Just be yourself, stay true, it will make you stonger.

Don’t forget to swing your arms.
Don’t forget to let loose, go a little crazy. You don’t have to do it all the time but it feels damn good when you do!

So, i may walk a little funny now.. and thats ok, because i have what matters most, those i love and those that love me. Thats what makes the world go round and that’s what helps me walk.

My 4 year old is sick again. She lays her little blond head on my lap, and looks listlessly up at me with big watery eyes and flushed cheeks. My heart constricts as I notice her lips are chapped from the shallow mouth breathing she’s been doing and I see the pulse jumping in her neck. Just two days ago, she was violently sick and I thought she was getting better yesterday. But now, her temperature is between 101 and 103, even with Tylenol. I thought she already had H1N1. She’s been sick so much this fall.

I almost superstitiously avoid thinking about anything happening to any one of my kids. That’s because if I started to think about those “what if’s” it could become a bad habit that would drive me insane. I love them so much. I have had the luxury of healthy children, and a teenager who was not a risk taker. So, I’ve been able to protect this bubble of denial that anything truly bad can happen to my kids for all these years. But today I find myself holding my little girl and thinking “Could I lose her?” and regretting every time I’ve lost patience with her recently–and every missed opportunity for a hug or silly conversation about bugs.

The Mama Bear in me wants to call the clinic and raise holy hell until they agree to give her Tamiflu and apologize for the delay in getting vaccinations of both flus out (because of course they had a hand in that problem). Poor medical professionals who must deal with parents feeling powerless.

Edited to Add:  MamaBear didn’t have to raise holy hell.  The doctor sent my little girl to the hospital.  She was very dehydratrated.  One night of IV hydration and medications and she was sent home.  We’ve been trying to keep her fever down as much as possible with Tylenol and Motrin.  It’s Day 6 of this sickness, and her fever will spike again tonight (though probably not the 104 it was at the clinic).  The Tamiflu doesn’t seem to be helping, probably because it was begun too late.  My advice: don’t wait until high fever has been around two days to take them in, as all the websites recommend.