Goals, Dreams and Oscars

Last night my husband and I watched the Oscars. I have watched the Oscars for years. Sure, it's a bunch of people wearing ridiculously expensive clothes and jewelry congratulating each other, but I love it. I love movies, beautiful gowns, heart-felt acceptance speeches and the funny/corny jokes.

I always have to chuckle a little bit to myself when I watch the Academy Awards. When I was in high school I was so certain I would be up there on that stage with the bright lights glaring down on me, all my peers and fans looking at me with awe, me holding that 6 lb, 13 1/2 inch golden man statue. I would of course be on the "best-dressed list" and my flowing beautiful gown would match my sleek updo perfectly. My mom would be in the crowd looking on with tears in her eyes and a smile full of pride as I thanked the Academy, the cast and crew of my movie, my family and friends, and of course, God.

I had big dreams of becoming an actress. I half-heartedly tried to follow those dreams by quitting college and making plans to earn money to move out to L.A. I even auditioned for a Broadway musical to get some experience.

I often thank God that this dream of mine did not pan out. My values don't mesh well with those of Hollywood. I am a zillion times happier that my dream of being a wife and mother have come true.

I'm not a big believer in what they tells kids- "You can be anything you want to be." God gives us each different talents and so we all do different things. No matter how hard I want to be a star basketball player, I don't think I could achieve that dream. I'm just too short and don't have the talent. No matter how badly I would want to become a president of a bank, I couldn't do it because I don't have the talent for finance and numbers.

I've learned to become realistic about my dreams and goals. I still like to make fun, silly goals, like learn how to play the accordion and go skydiving. Will those probably happen? Nah, but you never know!

One goal of mine that I haven't even worked on lately is to be a free-lance writer. For some reason that has really been bothering me. Starting this blog was supposed to be a sort of starting point to my writing career. I emailed one of my favorite bloggers for advice on how to break into the biz and she graciously gave me oodles of info. Have I followed up on it? No. It is my own fault that I haven't advanced anywhere in writing. I'm just too lazy.

My writing is something very personal to me, so when it gets criticised, rejected or changed I get very upset. I spend a lot of time trying to find the right words and half the time after I hit "publish" I am never fully satisfied. I read other blogger's words and am so impressed with how well they can weave a tale or put together beautiful sentences with the perfect words. Most of the these talented bloggers have multiple children or jobs outside the home. I have just one and I feel like I don't have time to spell check anything! These women also seem to have many more interesting things to talk about. They talk about motherhood, femininity, NFP, cooking, sewing, moving to a new house, remodeling, etc. The only interesting thing I have to write about is how Joe's poop changes texture and color.

I love to write. I have written stories since I was a young girl. I even liked to write papers in high school and college. I still enjoy writing very much. I like to entertain, encourage, inspire and sometimes just to vent. And I want to stay home with Joe more than anything in the world, and I believe that free-lance writing can help me achieve that dream.

Becoming a new mother has definitely put my plans of writing on hold. I am totally OK with that because he is way more important than writing and I knew that motherhood would be a huge adjustment. I just wonder when I will finally feel I can spend more time for writing. Maybe I need to track my day, like Elizabeth at That Married Couple, so I can see where I am wasting time. I already have to pencil in time to shave my legs and brush my teeth, so writing has for sure taken a back seat.

I'm not too worried about fulfilling this dream right this very second. (What?! Me not too worried about something?! This is something new!) If it is God's will for me to be a writer, then it will happen on his time!

Jurassic Park and Facing My Fears

A couple days ago my husband said he had a surprise for me. He had recorded one of my favorite movies, Jurassic Park, in high definition. After we watched it I wondered aloud if I would have one of my usual recurring dreams about dinosaurs. Yes, I occasionally have a nightmare where a tyrannosaurus rex is chasing me. Why, you may ask? I’ll tell you.

Let me take you back to the summer of 1993. My mom and I had spent the weekend with my uncle and aunt down in south Missouri. I was 8 years old, and the only people remotely close to my age were my older boy cousins who were in their teens and twenties. They decided to go see a movie and I so desperately wanted to go with them to fit in and feel “cool.” I remember them insisting that I probably wouldn’t like this new dinosaur movie, but I didn’t want to be left behind with the boring grown-ups. Besides, I liked dinosaur movies- The Land Before Time was one of my faves!

Littlefoot says, "Don't do it, Maggie!"

We got to the theater and I remember sitting in the front row. I was beyond excited! I felt so grown up! Then the movie started. Epic, freaky-scary jungle music started playing. I started feeling a tad uneasy. The first scene opened up.

A bunch of people were transporting a dinosaur at night. (Night?! That’s like the scariest time ever to transport a dinosaur!) It’s a little cage, so it can’t be that bad. Wrong. The gate keeper dude on top of the cage falls after the dinosaur runs and knocks into the cage. He gets pulled in screaming in agony. The British dude with the Crocodile Dundee-type hat runs to save this guy who is being pulled into the cage. “Shooot hah!” He yells to the dudes with guns. “SHOOOOOOOT HAAAAAH!!!” It’s no use. In the midst of all the shooting and chaos the cage keeper guy gets sucked into the cage.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh nooooo…. I was already beyond petrified and it was only the first 10 minutes of the movie! I thought that perhaps maybe they put the scariest scenes at the beginning of the movie. I wasn’t so lucky.

It was 127 minutes of pure terror. Sure there was the “lighthearted scene” where Dr. Grant and the kids are up in the tree and they pet the nice veggie-saurus and it sneezes all over the girl and she gets covered in dino-boogers. Yeah, ha ha, that’s nice, but there are VELOCIRAPTORS out there!

The scenes with the velociraptors scared me the most. I mean, seriously- who ever heard of those? At least with a T-rex if you stood still or could get into a small building he couldn’t get you. But with the raptors- it doesn’t matter if you are underground in a maintenance shed, hiding in a kitchen or fleeing through the ceiling tiles, those jerks are hell-bent on eating you.

RUN, LITTLE BOY, RUN!

Hehehe!

I don’t remember how I acted after the movie. I probably cried hysterically and have just blocked that memory out. But this wasn’t just a scary movie that I forgot about the next day. I should have probably gone to therapy with as much as it frightened me for days afterward. I remember mom reading the book and just seeing the title JURASSIC PARK on the cover gave me an uneasy feeling. I also remember in our bathtub we had a plastic cup used to rinse my hair of shampoo. It was a special edition Jurassic Park collector’s cup from McDonalds. It had a scene with the T-Rex and I remember being terrified of that cup. And to top it all off I remember watching a 20/20 episode that started off in one of those news-y official voices: “Could Jurassic Park REALLY happen? We go behind the science to discover a lost world.” All I could remember thinking was “OH DEAR GOD. WE’RE DOOMED.” Kids my age were afraid of the boogie man under their beds. Not me. I was afraid of a velociraptor in my closet waiting to pounce on me!

Many years have passed and my how things have changed. Jurassic Park is one of my favorite movies. I’ve owned it on VHS and have two copies of it on DVD. If I see it on TV I’ll stop and watch. I’ve read the books. And yes, I do have dreams every few months of dinosaurs, but I wouldn’t even call them nightmares, because they don’t freak me out anymore.

Thinking back on my fears of Jurassic Park made me reflect on fear and worry in general. I look back on my fears and can laugh now. They seem so silly. I can now rest assured that Jurassic Park cannot become reality AND that velociraptors weren’t that big in real life (they were only like 3 feet tall), so if they were to become real I could kick them and run or take a baseball bat to them.

Fear is a good thing. It helps us to survive. We won’t walk on that narrow ledge on the 500 foot cliff during a wind storm because we could fall off to our deaths. We won’t stick our hand in a pit of rattle snakes because we could get bit and get sick. We won’t accept an invitation to visit a new park with real dinosaurs because we know that is just a disaster waiting to happen.

I have written of my fears before. I think some of them are legit- like my fears as a Catholic woman. Some are silly- like my worries of raising an axe murderer.

I think it is pretty clear in some of my blog posts that I am a huge worrier. In this day and age you never know if a psychopath will bring a gun to a mall or a school and shoot. You never know if you might get into a horrible car accident or have a loved one diagnosed with cancer. I always hear these horrible stories: a small child drowns in a neighbor’s pool, a baby dies of SIDS, and a father of three is killed while driving when a boulder crashes on his car. I remember discussing this last scenario with a friend. She said, “Whenever my time comes, I’m ready.” I wish I could have that care-free attitude. So many times I worry and take extra (probably unnecessary) precautions.

At least I don't have to worry about dying like this poor sucker. Wow, what a way to go.

I worry about money and finances but somehow we always get by. I keep trying to open myself up to completely trusting in God that we will continue to be OK. But where do I draw that line between trusting in God and being genuinely worried about making ends meat? Is trusting in God and sticking to a budget the best I can do? Will someday when I am 90 years old I look back on my fears of money and laugh like I do now with my fears of Jurassic Park?

This week’s Gospel reading is one of my favorites. Jesus’ instructions to the Apostles not to worry are words I need to hear. It’s like Jesus is talking to me, too. “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life.” He goes on to say that God takes care of the flowers and birds so of course he will take care of his children that are made in his own image. “O you of little faith,” Jesus says. Yes, Jesus, my faith could use some work. “Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of its self.” When will I take these words to heart?

I worry so much and am so afraid. I’m afraid I will lose my loved ones. I’m afraid I will fail at being a good wife and mother. I’m afraid of Hell. I worry constantly about my son. I worry that some guy will be driving drunk and I will get into a car accident. I am so scared of having another miscarriage someday. I worry me or Ryan will get diagnosed with cancer and not be able to take care of each other or our future children. But all this worry and fear- it takes the joy out of life.

It is so hard to let God be in control. It is so hard to trust his will. Sometimes his will doesn’t make sense, and that’s what scares me. I think one of the scariest things in life is to trust God completely. But it shouldn’t be scary. If we live how God wants us to live, then all should be well. We have nothing to worry about. I often take note of the words the priest speaks after we pray the Our Father- "Deliver us, Lord, from every evil, and grant us peace in our day. In your mercy keep us free from sin and protect us from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ.”

I need to be brave. Trust in God. Trust in his will. Give him the control. I need to stop thinking all gloom and doom and get back some of the joy in my life.

Now, with all this talk of bravery and getting over my fears, I still don’t think I could handle the Jurassic Park ride at Universal Studios. Being strapped in a ride while velociraptors jump out? I don’t think so. I would probably try and escape and /or pee my pants. I’m pretty sure there is a sign at the beginning of the ride saying “WARNING: If this movie scared you when you were young DO NOT PROCEED. You will probably die.”

Um, no thank you.

A Mother's Prayer

Yesterday, before Mass began, I started to seriously wonder if I’d never have a “normal” church experience again. Life has changed in oh so many ways since I’ve become a mother, and having a nice, peaceful, spiritual encounter during Mass is no more.

Now, I shouldn’t complain, because Joe is actually very good during Mass. The first couple of months he would snooze through the whole thing. However, I was still always looking at him in his infant carrier, wondering if he’d wake up, and thinking it was about time for him to nurse again- will he wake up and scream? Even though he usually never woke up, I would still not recall what the Gospel reading was.

Now that Joe is older, he is much more alert and active. But he is still such a good baby. He sits in my lap and stares around, and when we are standing he just studies the different people surrounding us. We don’t even have to bring any toys or books to distract him. Every once in a while he will babble, but it’s not loud, and my priest always says, “If you hear a baby chattering away during Mass, that is just his form of praying.” The only problem we’ve had is the one time he had a diaper blow-out and I didn’t bring the diaper bag… but that’s a different story for a different day.

I should take advantage of his good behavior now and start really paying attention to the Mass, because I’m sure when he gets older I won’t be so lucky. But I just can’t help watching Joe watch others, switching arms while holding him and wondering if my arm will fall off, daydreaming about what he will be like in church as he gets older, thinking about how nice a nap would be… my train of thought keeps going and going and going and BAM!- it’s time for Communion.

I used to get excited about Mass. Hearing Scripture, listening to a good sermon, being an active part of the Body of Christ, getting graces- I mean talk about Holy Ghost goose bumps! But now I don’t feel like I’m at Mass since I have Joe there. What about when we have more kids? Will it just be like going to the grocery store? Nothing special? I got a little sad at that thought.

Just then a woman and her three children entered the pew in front of me. Her husband walked to the front because he was going to be an altar server. She knelt on the kneeler and her two oldest kids followed suit (she didn’t even have to ask them to kneel!) Her youngest- an adorable little 2 year old was sitting on the pew and was kind of crawling around, but it wasn’t anything distracting. Instead of barking orders, the mother would simply bring her arm back behind her to make sure her daughter wasn’t running off or getting ready to dive off the pew.

Right before the Gospel reading, when we all make the Sign of the Cross on our foreheads, lips and heart, she was making sure her children did this as well. I was impressed. I never did this action until I was in high school! When it was time to kneel for the Consecration, she made sure her kids knelt as well. The 2 year old was still kind of restless, so she picked her up and held her. Now, I know that kneeling with a child isn’t easy- especially in these pews. There’s just not a lot of room. But instead of taking the easy way out and sitting on the pew (which I often do) she knelt on the floor. Her honor and devotion to the miracle of the Eucharist was so great!

Her kids were so well behaved. No whining or talking or kicking the pews. My mother told me that she brings them to daily Mass about 2 times a week. I’ve noticed a correlation between bringing kids to Mass more than once a week and their good behavior patterns. Something to look into for the future perhaps….

I talked to this mother after Mass. I told her that her family was beautiful and she smiled and mentioned that her youngest was kind of misbehaving. I’ve seen kids practically throw the hymnal across the aisle and scream loud enough to wake the dead and their parents don’t do anything, so I assured her that her daughter was great. But instead of talking about how it could be embarrassing (which is understandable- I know I will probably be worried that Joe will embarrass me someday!) she was worried that it was distracting from what was going on at the altar. Her reverence for the Mass was awesome.

We also talked about how we’d like to have a bunch of kids. The inner 5 year-old in me wanted to shout, “Can I be your friend?!” but it was time for us to part ways.

Observing this woman and her children made me realize that helping your children during Mass is an amazing form of prayer. She wasn’t at Mass because she had to be. She wasn’t at Mass to save face or to make it a social occasion. She was there because she loves Jesus and she wants her children to love Jesus as well. She wants her children to get to heaven.

Maybe she can’t recall what the second Scripture reading was. But God is smiling down on her because she is making sure that her children know what it is. Mass isn’t all about “what can I get out of this?” It’s helping others get to God.

Wiping noses, finding a lost sock, letting your baby gnaw on the missalette, teaching the Sign of the Cross- these are all beautiful forms of prayer. I sure hope I can do my very best in this way of praying.

I still need to find balance. I still need to find some more “God time” in my day and stop making Mass my only “God time” of the week. I just feel like I don’t have time.

Yes, life has changed so much since I’ve become a mother. I’m anxious to see where the rest of this journey will take me and what other lessons I will learn.

I Just Can't Help Myself!

Yesterday I wrote about my wonderings of Baby Jesus and how Mary was as a mother. Today I wonder if she would have used YouTube to show off Baby Jesus videos if she lived in today's day and age. No? Yeah, probably not.

But I do! And I know some people get tired of only baby-related posts, especially just ones of pictures and videos. But I just HAVE to show you this video of me reading a bedtime story to Joe.

Hehehe... he cracks me up!

Wondering Wednesdays Vol. 21: Baby Jesus

Today I am wondering what Jesus was like as a baby.

Last night I was rocking Joe to sleep. He is battling an ear infection and I have a feeling he'll start teething any day now. I was at my wits end because he had been fussy all. night. long. I was tired and beyond frustrated. Joe kept crying and twisting and turning in my arms. He refused to nurse. He even refused his binky. Finally after what seemed like hours his eyes got heavy and he drifted off to sleep.

I kept on rocking him because I just knew the minute I put him in the crib he would probably wake up again. I hated that he was in pain. I hated that I felt like a zombie. But I knew that motherhood isn't all giggles and rainbows.

I looked over at the crucifix on our wall. Instead of pondering the mystery of the Trinity or the miracle of transubstantiation, I thought about what Jesus was like as a baby.

I wonder if Jesus had ear infections or was ever really fussy? I mean, I know he is GOD, but he is also fully human as well. Did he ever have a diaper blowout? I certainly hope it wasn't when he was running around naked like all the paintings show him if that ever happened! Did Jesus sleep through the night at an early age? What was his favorite toy? Did he ever projectile vomit?

I wonder what Mary was like as a mother to her baby. How did being free from Original Sin play into her role of mommy? So many times I get frustrated, but I doubt Mary ever did. So if Jesus was ever fussy, she'd be the perfect woman to deal with that.

I wonder how much she was in awe of her little boy. I stare in amazement at my son everyday but his birth wasn't announced to me by an angel and he isn't the Son of God. I bet she often cradled Jesus in her arms and stroked his chubby hands. Someday these hands would hold tools and he would shortly take on the craft of carpentry like his foster-father, Joseph. Someday these hands would cure lepers, give sight to the blind and open the ears of the deaf. These hands would take bread and change it into his body, blood, soul and divinity. These hands would have nails driven into them as he died for our sins and conquer death. But as she was studying these hands they were probably being chewed and slobbered on, or reaching out for a toy or reaching out to touch her face. Maybe he was just learning how to clap.

I bet Mary was so thrilled when Jesus started tottling around. These feet and legs would carry him all over Galilee as he taught his followers. They would even walk on water. A sinful woman would wash the feet of Jesus with her penitent tears and anoint them with expensive ointment.

When she looked at the chubby, baby soft cheeks of her son I wonder if she knew that they would be spit on, punched and bleeding as he was marched to the cross.

I bet baby Jesus had the cutest laugh and the most adorable smile.

Was Mary nervous as the mother of God? The Savior of the world. What a huuuuuuuuge responsibility. I think that I worry too much- how much did she worry? She had that jerk-wad King Herod to worry about. I'm sure that there were diseases to worry about, famines, droughts, and evil Romans. At least she didn't have that blasted BabyCenter.com to freak her out. A wise friend of mine told me to unsubscribe to their emails, but since I am a glutton for punishment I keep crawling back. Now I'm worried that since Joe is in the 99th percentile of weight and way, way low on the height chart that he's going to be a 5 foot 1 inch adult male that weighs 400 lbs and will live in my basement forever. I'm worried that since he hates tummy time that he will never crawl, thus never walk, and I'll have to carry around my 400 lb son! OK, so maybe I'm overreacting.

Some of my favorite paintings are of the Holy Family. My favorites is the one below. It shows that Jesus was like us. He was a baby like us. He had a family and liked to play. But I just wonder how much of the whole being God influenced how he acted as a baby.

One thing I'm pretty sure of- he was probably one adorable baby!

The Dress

I've been somewhat of a Mrs. Poopie Pants lately, so I thought I'd lighten things up around here!

The lovely Hallie at Betty Beguiles has invited us to describe The Dress. What a fun topic!

I remember dreaming of the perfect dress long before I even met Ryan. I would even buy bridal magazines just to get ideas for my future wedding day.

I always dreamed of my wedding dress being a Cinderella-type ball gown. I watched that movie nearly everyday when I was little. I remember my uncle had gone to a wedding and their favors were in small plastic "glass" slippers, and he gave one to me. I dreamed of a big fancy Cinderella wedding.

Years later, when it came down to the wedding plans, the one thing I cared about (besides the sacrament, of course) was my family and friends being there. We had a very large guest list, but I wanted a simple wedding. No fancy expensive centerpieces or flowers from an expensive shop. No bands, no world class caterer.

I wanted the same simplicity for my dress. I did try on the Cinderella ball gowns. They were absolutely beautiful, but they weren't me. I felt like I was playing dress up and with my short stature I looked kind of ridiculous. I decided to go simple yet elegant.



My dress was a strapless satin gown with a chiffon overlay. It had a sweetheart neckline with a flowered beaded bodice.

The train was a sweep train. I wanted a longer one, but like I said before, with me being a shortie, this one looked the best.

I absolutely loved the back of the dress!

I have no regrets about my dress. I do remember being kind of nervous because I thought my dress was a little too plain and simple for such a fancy church. Many of the reviews of my dress stated this dress was used in a lot of beach weddings. But I decided that I wanted to feel comfortable, happy and beautiful in my dress- and I did feel that way. I love love love my dress. I had it preserved and hope that my future daughters might be interested in wearing it to their own wedding!



Perfect dress. Perfect day. Perfect man for me. I am so blessed!

Why Enough is Never Enough: A Review

When I had the chance to review the book Why Enough is Never Enough: Overcoming Worries about Money- A Catholic Perspective, I jumped on it. Worrying about money is something I do. A lot.

I didn't really know what to expect with this book. Would it be a guide on how to save money? A tool to spending money wisely?

It wasn't either of those. The author, Gregory S. Jeffrey, is a development consultant for parishes, so he knows plenty about people and their monetary habits. He dives into the typical "money doesn't make you happy" but he goes much deeper than that.

He talks about the virtue of generosity, learning to trust God (something I think we all struggle with), build a deeper relationship with Him, and how to combat greed and envy. It's like a theology book built in with subtle advice on how to be at peace with money.

Another thing I really liked about this book was after each chapter he has a reflection section with questions and conversation starters to share with your money partner. It asks the tough questions that some people do not want to face and other questions that one may never think of.

Did this instantly quell my worries about money? No, but I don't think that is the point of Mr. Jeffrey's book. He teaches us that our relationship with God and building on our virtues is a starting point in being at peace with our financial situation.

This review was written as part of the Catholic book reviewer program from The Catholic Company. Visit The Catholic Company to find more information on Why Enough Is Never Enough. They are also a great source for serenity prayer and baptism gifts.

Can you hear me, God?

I mentioned in my last post that my husband received some bad news. He had an interview a couple weeks ago and it turns out he didn't get the job. We were so hoping that this time would be different.

For goodness sakes, he found out about the job from a friend on Christmas night- we thought it was a Christmas miracle! His friend called that night asking if he was still looking for a new job (which of course Ryan said, "YES!") and said there was an opening in his office. We thought Ryan had an "in" but it turns out that it wasn't meant to be.

I had prayed two novenas before this job interview. In my prayers I always requested that the people conducting the interview would make the best possible decision on who to hire and also for us to accept whatever God wills.

Well, I am at a loss for what God wants for us. I've mentioned it before, but I feel like a little kid tugging on God's arm wanting him to talk to me, to tell me what to do, but he's too busy listening to every body else and giving them their own answers to prayers. I'll admit that after I received this news I threw a tantrum. I even got "mad" at the saint I was praying my novena to. Seriously, who gets mad at a saint?! That's probably an extra 52,000 years in Purgatory for me.

What upsets me the most is that I want awesome and good things to happen for my husband. He works so damn hard. He is a good worker and I believe he deserves good things to happen for him. It breaks my heart to see him get passed over for a job opportunity and to see him disappointed and bummed out. I love him so incredibly much. His pain is my pain.

I think I've gotten a little whisper from God on what to do next, but I'm afraid it's just my wild and crazy imagination at work again. I'm afraid I'm setting myself up for disappointment all over again. It is something I will definitely be praying over.

Thank you all for your prayers and kind words from my last post. Sorry I've been so "Woe is me!" lately. Hopefully soon I can get back to my regular spunky self!

Candy Canes and Conversation Hearts

We have a bowl on top of our microwave. In it are a few candy canes left over from Christmas and a box of conversation heart candies. Looking at those items reminds me of how much I dislike this time of year.

I'm usually depressed for a few days and I wonder why. Then I remember seasonal affective disorder. I always think, "Nah, that can't be it." But then I realize- "Yep, that's what it is."

The joy of Christmas is over and there is nothing really more to look forward to. Sure, there is the Super Bowl, but I actually get kind of depressed around this time because that means football is over. I am not much of a basketball or baseball fan so I have to wait awhile for football to come back.

It doesn't help that I haven't gotten out of the house since Sunday. Stupid massive blizzard.

It doesn't help that I'm feeling I'm in a rut in my exercise routine. Sure, it's still physically challenging, but it's starting to get boring. I remember why I hate exercising to DVD's- it can get to be a snooze fest. I haven't been losing weight (just one measly pound) and I wasn't smart and didn't take my measurements before I started this whole shenanigan so I don't really know how much progress I'm making. I wish the weather was nice so I could go walking or running. Or we didn't live out in the sticks so I could go work out at a gym.

It doesn't help that Baby Joe is not sleeping like he used to. It used to be fairly easy to get him to sleep, and even though he still wakes every 3 hours to nurse, I'm used to it, and he'd go right back to sleep. But now he won't fall asleep unless he is in my arms. As soon as I lay him down he is wide awake. So it's a back and forth battle of standing by his crib and comforting him, watching him drift off, sneak out of the room, him realize I'm not there and start screaming, I come in and rock him back to sleep, lay him down, and he starts fussing again. I love cuddling with my love bug, but I am losing even more sleep and my house is starting to look like a disaster zone.

It doesn't help that some news we have been waiting for has come back as bad news. I will go into details later. I received this news as I am writing this, so I think I'm going to stop writing for now. I had much more to say, but I don't have the strength to write anymore. I'm losing faith and losing heart. I foresee binging on Girl Scout cookies and watching a Harry Potter or Friends marathon tonight...

I'm thankful I have a very smile-y boy who cracks me up and a husband that bends over backwards to cheer me up. He let me take a long nap today. When he left for work today I told him I'm sorry I was in such a dark depressing place. Before he left he went into the kitchen, got a lighter and lit some candles in our living room and said, "Since I can't be here, I'll make some light for you."

Counting my blessings right now... that's all I can do.

5 Months!

My precious baby Joe is 5 months old today. I just cannot believe how fast he has grown! He's gone from this cute little sleeping-all-the-time-nursing-all-the-time-that's-all-I'm-gonna-do-with-my-day infant to a very cute, active, vocal, short-nappin', still loves to nurse baby. (I know he is still technically an infant; I just always picture little newborns as infants and 4 months and up as babies... I'm weird I know!)

There are just two measly lines for "New Accomplishments" on the 4-month page in his baby book. I'm going to have to write extra small because he has discovered and accomplished so much this month!

First of all- he rolled over! This boy haaaaaaates tummy time. He gets super mad, but for a few days he was doing really good and rolled over from his tummy to his back! He did it quite a few times in a row, but lately it seems he has forgotten how to do this new activity. He still hates tummy time, and instead of putting his arms under his chest like he used to for support he flails them out to the side like he's trying to fly. I'm sure he'll remember how to do it again someday. It's my fault for not doing enough tummy time with him! Right now he'd rather stand and jump around!



Our next exciting adventure was trying rice cereal. We didn't have a high chair so I was so excited when we got some awesome coupons in the mail for Babies R Us. We bought a high chair and all I needed was the go-ahead from his pediatrician to start solids. I don't know why I was so excited. I guess I was just excited for a new experience for my son. I had him play in his high chair, play with a spoon, and taste some breast milk on a spoon. Well, he wasn't too impressed as you can tell.

Making cereal is a pain. I have to pump (which I hate doing), then mix the cereal, and watch him not enjoy it. We tried oatmeal cereal which he seemed to tolerate a little better.

Sweet potatoes on the other hand- he loooooooves. He opened his mouth in anticipation and scarfed down the whole 2.5 oz jar. I was so happy to see him so excited for this new food, but felt a little sad at the same time. I read somewhere that starting solids is the first step in weaning. I was jealous of that little jar of sweet potatoes because it used to be only me that gave him delight and nutrition. I'm still planning on breastfeeding for a long time, but now I have to share the limelight with level one baby foods. It's hard to explain this bittersweet feeling.

First time in the snow! He didn't know what to think!

He is becoming much more playful. When we first got him this jump-a-roo he just kind of sat there and stared at everything. Now he is reaching out and playing with the toys. The same goes for the little toys on his swing. They've been there since the very beginning and he's just now reaching out and playing with them. I used to be able to type with him on my lap but now everything comes out as "wog2o3ogoijj,,,,wefowk,.xx77x///wvv/...])"

What I love most of all about his new ability to explore is how he reaches up and feels my face. He stares into my eyes and studies me. Sigh... it absolutely melts my heart!

He outgrew his bassinet. So here comes the crib! He's still in the same room as us, but not right by my side of the bed like he used to be. He likes his new bed, but still prefers to cuddle with mommy and daddy.

5 months. Wow. That's almost half a year!

Happy 5 months, my precious baby. Thank you for making these the scariest, most tiring, most exciting and most blessed 5 months of your daddy and mommy's life!