Eat Your Peas, With Olive Oil, Please.

I'm the paranoid mom that worries about everything... are my kids meeting milestones? Am I securing them in their car seats properly; did that guy at the fire station inspecting the car seat fit really know what he was doing? What if they get the flu? Did the hand sanitizer work well enough after Annika touched the dirty toys at the doctor's office? What if she touches her mouth and gets alcohol poisoning from the sanitizer?

I have plans as to what room in our house would be the safest should spontaneous gunfire break out in our neighborhood; the downstairs bathroom has no external walls. It's the same room we would seek shelter in the event of a tornado. If an earthquake hits, we'll pile into Annika's room, on her bed. Somehow, that seems like the safest spot...

You get the picture. I worry about my girls, a lot. Before having kids, I can't remember having an emotion stronger than the desire I now have to protect, love, and nurture my babies. My heart grew when they were born. Their adorable giggles make me giddy.

Most of the time, my paranoia is unfounded; I always hope it is. I've been concerned that Lydia's weight is low. This week at her well baby check, we discovered that in this case, my worry was founded. I should have listened to my mommy instinct and pushed the issue earlier. Lydia, who has always been a little string bean, has dropped in percentile for weight. I'm beyond concerned.

Annika ate and ate, & nursed and nursed. She gained weight and grew like a  little weed, a chunky one. I felt like I had the nutrition thing down. I feed Lydia the same foods that her sister thrived on. Lydia isn't much of a daytime nurser, but makes up for it at night. Evidently, I have nothing figured out... my sweet baby is struggling to grow.

Our goal is now to feed our little one the fattiest, most calorie rich foods she'll eat. The difficulty? From sun up to sun down, she will happily munch on fruits, veggies, melon, and berries, but doesn't seem to have developed a taste for rich foods. Thankfully, she has recently let go of the idea that a bottle is an insult to her maturity, and is guzzling organic whole milk. Despite my preference to avoid dairy, I'm elated to see Lydia's sweet, soft little cheeks filling out.


Wanting my children to have every advantage in life, I wish with all my might for the girls to grow and thrive. Although assured by the dietitian that Lydia will be just fine, I am of course still worried, and can't wait until the pounds start pouring on.

My dear sweet Baby L, you melt my heart. I love you more that words can express. Please, listen to mommy, and eat your food, and a little less sand.

The Messy Side of Motherhood

Looking at my sweet little Lydia, it's hard to imagine her being anything less than perfect. Could I ever picture her doing something to completely gross me out? Not a chance... until last Wednesday, that is. We had a day that tested my gag reflex.

If you're squeamish, I'll understand if you slam your laptop closed, and stop reading this post; the next one will be cleaner, I promise.

Lydia is a constipated kid. We give her Miralax to help keep things moving. She missed a few days, but the dose following did a marvelous job. While in the bath, I noticed a serious face. Setting her wet little body on the toilet, I was so proud to have saved myself from a huge mess, a craptastrophe, as I call it.

With business complete, she was once again splashing in her clean bath. Seconds later, my victory smile faded. She pooped, a lot. Wrapping her in a towel, I set her on the floor and cleaned the tub and bath toys. Placing her in freshly clean, warm water, I began scrubbing her down. All was well, until... you got it, more poop.

Wrapping her in a towel again, I cleaned out the bath. With fresh water filling, I reached down to scoop her into the tub, only to find that our soft and cozy memory foam rug had been destroyed. Sigh. I texted Josh (picture included, although I will spare you the visual) letting him know that I had no intention of scrubbing the rug clean, we would be purchasing a new one. Finally, my baby was sweet and clean at last. Josh arrived home that afternoon with a new rug. The bathroom was back to normal...

Returning to work that evening for the beginning of the school year open house, Josh was out the door. As usual, Lydia smeared as much avocado in her hair, on her face, tummy, and arms as she ate. She's a bath after every meal kind of eater. Off to the tub she went.

With Lydia happily splashing in the water, Annika began her bedtime routine. As I turned from helping Annika open her Tom's Silly Strawberry Toothpaste, I saw what made the earlier events of the day seem like nothing. Lydia had once again "loaded" the tub, and as I yelled, "Not to eat!" scooped a handful of poo into her mouth. My first instinct? Rush her to the ER! I collected myself (sort of) and called both my mother-in-law and my mom. Both agreed that while disgusting, her little "snack" was most likely harmless.

With the bathtub clean again, I picked Lydia up to set her in fresh water, and noticed that she had peed on the new rug. Oh well, at this point, a little baby pee doesn't bother me a bit.

Here she is, looking as cute and innocent as can be, just after the incident. "Who, me?"

So what's your grossest parenting moment? And sorry Mom, no need to post yours; I heard it the other night ;)