Before the Bean arrived, I wrote about how I was feeling about becoming a mom of two, how to balance it, etc. Well, she’s only been here for 12 days and already I am learning how to be a mom of two: Learn to do everything with one hand. Why, you ask? Well, let me explain how I came upon this lesson…

Last weekend was our first weekend with everyone home together all day. The Hubs saw that things were under control at some point and went to his home office to get some needed work done. The Bean got hungry, so I began to nurse her. It was at that moment that the Boo decided he wanted to go on the potty. Our potty training has been on hold, so this was big news. My first thought was to say no, since I was in the middle of feeding the Bean, but then it hit me that I did NOT want to lose this opportunity, should actual potty training ensue. Usually he just wants to sit on the potty either fully clothed or just with his pants down, diaper intact. This time, he wanted to go all out: pants off, diaper off. So, I get up, Bean attached to me nursing, and one-handedly help the Boo out of his pants and out of his diaper. I crouch down with him as he sits on the potty and we sing two rounds of ABCs (to keep him sitting), all while the Bean is still nursing. I realize that I’m squatting in front of an Elmo potty singing ABC’s with my half naked toddler while my newborn is in the crook of my arm and hanging off my breast. Ah…. now I get it, so THIS is how to be a mom of two. After we sing and nothing hits the potty, we need to put his diaper back on. Bean is still nursing. I ask Boo to get on his changing table but he refuses… he wants me to diaper him vertically. One handed. While Bean is still nursing. Uhhhhh….. this I’m not equipped for. Thankfully Bean unlatches at that moment, I rush to put her down, and re-diaper the Boo before he goes potty all over the floor. Phew.

This weekend, we had a similar scenario. Hubs was on the phone with the Stepdude and stepped outside to chat. Bean was hungry and started to nurse. Boo decided that he wanted dinner and he wanted it NOW. OK… we ran through the list of menu items, none of which he wanted. He finally settled on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. OK. I waited a moment to see if the Hubs would come back in but he was deep in conversation with the Stepdude. Mommy was on her own. So, while Bean continued to nurse I got out the bread, the jelly, the peanut butter, and somehow managed to one-handedly make a PB&J sandwich, cut it into quarters, serve it to the Boo, without a single drop of food on the Bean. OK, I lie, there MIGHT be a drop or two of PB on her back but whatever.

So, this is how I have determined that the trick to being a mom of two is to learn how to do things with one hand because, inevitably, the other hand will be busy cradling a child that is hanging off your boob OR it will be otherwise occupied with some other equally important task for the other child. Each child gets a hand. When the Hubs and I go for a third, I will look into getting a third arm and hand attached OR will have to revise the theory for being a mom of three.

I spent a lot of time during the “Chief Mommy Officer” days in Boo’s infancy writing about his poop. I deemed him an Expert Poo-splosionist and regaled readers of his extraordinary pooping abilities. Surely he would remain my super pooper. Surely my subsequent children, try as they might, couldn’t hold a candle to the Boo’s poo-skillz. Surely.

Enter the Bean. Her poop proficiency in the hospital was adequate, nothing to shout about. “Oh good, she’s normal,” I thought to myself, breathing a sigh of relief that maybe I wouldn’t have so many onesies ruined by an orangey-brown stain in the middle of the back. We took her home (as you do) and realized that perhaps we had underestimated this little lady’s backside bonanzas.

It started simply enough. The audible release… aw, she made a poopie. It sounds like we hired a foley artist to enhance the sound of the poo hitting the diaper but still maintains that cute baby-like appeal. But, as the days went by, it became even more audible. When she pooped I would hear from across the house: “Was that HER?” Still cute, just louder. Then yesterday, while my teenage niece was holding her, a sonic boom hit our house. No, wait, that was her poop hitting her diaper. My niece, who was used to the Boo and his poopinations, nearly went into shock. “I just felt that… IN MY HAND!” Thankfully it didn’t actually propel itself through the diaper and clothes into her hands but merely gave the impression. The Hubs took her to change her after running in the room from elsewhere to make sure that, after the boom, we were all OK. Various shouts of horror were heard from the changing table and the family members that were visiting all rushed in to witness… Bean’s First Poo-Splosion. At 6 days old, she has set a new family record for earliest ‘splosion. She was now on track to out-poop the super pooper.

Now, because of her increased pooping proficiency, her poor little sensitive newborn skin has developed a bit of an issue with this constant barrage. She’s very red and getting very raw on her little bum bum and, try as we might, we can’t keep any sort of cream or paste on there long enough to absorb and heal before she poops it right off. But, we’re trying.

This morning the Hubs took the Boo off to school and I took the Bean off to the changing table to get our first diaper change of the morning. What ensued, I was not prepared for. Had I known, I would have surely had at least one cup of coffee and possibly a Percocet to take the edge off. She had a little poop in her diaper, no problem. Then, as I’m gently wiping her sensitive derriere, she pooped again. And again. And again. And again. For 10 minutes, no lie, I sat there holding her little newborn feet in the air, shoving wipes, diapers, burp rags, whatever I could find under her little bum bum as it spewed forth her entire body weight in poop. She laid there as content as could be, just letting it flow. Just when I thought she was all finished and had wiped her clean, she started up again. And again. And again. Finally, at long last, she finished. I think. I did my best to cover her raw spots with barrier cream, gently applied a clean diaper, and crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t hear a sonic boom for at least another 15 minutes so I can have that coffee and regain my bearings.

At hours shy of one week old, she has officially surpassed the Boo in her pooping abilities. I have created not just a super pooper, but what appears to be an UBER pooper. Someone please pass me a case of baby wipes and pour me a glass of wine.

After a long wait, several false starts, a dose of Cytotec, an epidural that came too late, and 2 1/2 pushes (yes, you read that right) the little lady has finally made her arrival into the world!

Please welcome Lucy Rae, born April 15, 2013, weighing 7lb 9oz and clocking in at 21 1/2 inches long.

Isn’t she beautiful? She is everything we could have ever hoped for an more. Healthy as can be, a good eater, a good sleeper, and she is turning out to be an excellent pooper. Mommy is a bit concerned that she is trying to outpoop the superpooper (aka her big brother the Boo), but only time will tell with that one.

She’s been home now for 4 days and we are all doing well. Big brother Boo has been very helpful with baby sister and every morning when he wakes up the first thing he says is “Where’s my Lucy?”

She’s finally here!

As of this morning, I am one week overdue with this little Baby Bean. I am scheduled for an induction tomorrow morning and all signs are indicating that I will just have to wait for it. I’ve had 3 bouts of false labor since last Friday, totaling 14 1/2 hours of timing contractions, hoping and praying that they will make it to 5 minutes apart or that my water would break. Anything to make it so that I can just get to the hospital and get this show on the road. It has been tiring and sad, I won’t lie. Even timing contractions at this point is disheartening and seemingly pointless. We’re all a bit anxious around here.

The Boo, I have to say, is being a superchamp. I think he can definitely sense that Mommy needs some extra love and joy. He has been super cuddly with me, especially last night as he saw me laying on the couch timing contractions. I also think he is gearing himself up for the little lady’s arrival, as though the reality is sinking in. I know, this is a lot to expect of a 2 1/2 year old, but I do think it is true. Last night before I went to bed (once I realized that no, I was not in labor… yet again), I peeked in on him to make sure he was snug as a bug and I noticed that he was holding a particular book in his sleep. “Froggy’s Baby Sister.” This is not his standard bedtime book, he must have gotten it out yesterday and stashed it in bed. As you can imagine, it is a book geared for kids who are getting a younger sibling and how great it will be for them. I smiled when I noticed him holding it. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it wasn’t.

Early in the morning, the child is very insistent on getting one thing… “breakfix!” We’re usually telling him to go back to bed or that we’ll be up in a minute and we hear “I want breakfix!” no less than 700 times before we’ve woken up enough to remember our own names. This morning he woke up and called to me at 6:15, which was not too bad, and I told him it was still night night and could he go play. Usually this sends him into a tailspin but he quietly went back to his toys and entertained himself for a good half hour. Miracle. When he was ready, instead of asking for food, he asked “Mommy, are you feeling better?” Heart: melted. Then, he launched into “I have a baby sister in my belly! I feel her kicking! Wanna feel my baby sister in my belly?” When I went to his room he was holding his shirt up and insisted that I feel the baby in his belly at least three times. I couldn’t be more in love with this little dude. As I was changing him and getting him dressed, he continued to talk about baby sister and how he’s going to change her poopie diapers and throw the poopie diapers in the trash.

He just amazes me. So, through the disheartening experience of being way past my due date and dealing with contractions that go nowhere, my little Boo Bear is doing his very best to gear himself up for the very important task of being a big brother and helping Mommy take care of Baby Sister. I just can’t wait to see the little guy in action.

Anyone who has ever experienced false labor knows one thing: It really sucks. When I was about a week away from my due date with the Boo, I thought I was in labor. My contractions were 5 minutes apart, 1 minute long, for 1 hour, the magic 5-1-1 number they tell you. We called the doctor, we went to the hospital, the works. Then, they stopped. They had me walk around the maternity ward to restart contractions and it never happened. We opted to go home but the nurse told us we’d have this baby within 24 hours. Good thing we went home because he was born approximately 90 hours later. Yeah, nearly 4 days.

My mom tells of a similar experience with my sister, her first. Contractions, hospital, no contractions, walking, sent home. It is such a sad thing to be admitted to labor and delivery and then be sent home with the baby still inside. Picture the college walk of shame, only less dirty. It’s embarrassing. It shouldn’t be, but it feels that way. Feels like you don’t know what you’re doing, what you’re feeling. It just plain sucks.

On Friday, when contractions started around 4:30, I was cautious. You see, when the Boo was actually born, my water broke so I KNEW I was having him. Contractions began later. So, of course I was going to be cautious. I honestly didn’t know what it felt like to go into real labor with contractions. So we tracked them, we got the Boo to bed, we ordered dinner, and we waited. As the evening progressed they got longer and stronger and somewhat closer together. This is what they tell you to look for. They started to get really painful. I started to not be able to tell when they really began or ended, my belly was in a constant state of tightness. I was moaning. They were intense. This HAD to be it. Now, they were still 10-15 minutes apart start to start, but these suckers were lasting SEVEN MINUTES. I had not really heard of such long contractions. This ratio has to overrule the 5-1-1 scenario, right? So, we called in my sister for the BooBoositting and, once she arrived, we made the call to the doctor. I was convinced they’d say “Oh wow, seven minutes long? Pain level 4-5? Bring her in!” Yeah, no. The on-call doctor was insistent – wait until they are 5 minutes apart. Can this woman do math? If they’re 7 minutes long but 5 minutes apart START to START… whaaaa? I was crestfallen. Not only that, but had been having contractions for nearly 6 hours. Painful, long contractions. It was nearing bedtime. I was exhausted. I just wanted to get to the hospital, get checked, get the epidural, and get that little medicated rest before having to push.

Alas, it was not to be. 7 hours before contractions began, they stopped. They just stopped. I spent most of the night in and out of sleep hoping they would restart. Any small tightening was tracked. Any twinge was recorded. But, nothing. By morning, I was exhausted and distraught. All that pain, all that work, and no baby. I texted my mom and told her that this false labor was so much worse than the first time around. I didn’t go to the hospital, but knowing that I would have to start all over again after such a painful and exhausting experience was just awful.

Since my sister spent the night and had anticipated spending the weekend with the Boo, she ended up taking him on Saturday anyways and she, my Mom, and my niece took care of him until Sunday morning, which allowed the Hubs and I ample and much needed rest and relaxation to recover from Friday night and gear up for what is to come. Whenever that is.

It is now Monday morning, 1 day past my due date, and we are still waiting. Evidently my babies like to fire a warning shot first. So, I’m hoping that once again my water breaks and we will know for sure when to head to the hospital. I am also hoping this comes before an induction, which would be scheduled for a week from now. Come on, little Baby Bean, everyone is ready for you. We can’t wait to meet you. Let’s get this show on the road. No more false alarms, OK?

It’s been nine months since Dad’s long decline from Alzheimer’s disease came to an end.  I remember writing the post about it being the end of the struggle and I really did mean it. For my family it was the end of a long, difficult road full of fear, despair, sadness, and banding together for strength.

I don’t know if I was just in denial about the mourning process or if I truly believed I had done the majority of the mourning in the seven years of his decline, but I have to say that things have not gotten any easier. In fact, I’m feeling more loss and more sadness now than I did even 6 months ago. I know its not just pregnancy hormones because others in the family are feeling it as well. I’m just not doing so great in dealing with losing him.

I think part of it is that the first few months after he died, I really was dealing with filing away a lot of the feelings about his disease and his decline and everything we had gone through with him during that time. Watching him decline for seven years and then spending eight days basically watching him die was extremely difficult. Being able to release all that hurt from my heart was essential. The hurt will never truly go away, but I knew I couldn’t hold on to it so close or I would never be able to move on.

Now I am left with the loss of him. Not him with the disease, but him. My Dad. The man who taught me how to ride a bike and coached my little league softball team and took me to the barber shop with him on Saturday mornings. The man who helped raise me, nurture me, and teach me about life. The man I love so much. He’s gone. No more hugs, no more smiles, no more hands to hold. No more words of advice, no more laughter, no more him.

There is a gigantic hole in my heart that nothing could ever fill. Never was this more evident to me than just a couple of weeks ago when the Boo said to me “I want to see Dida.” My immediate response was “Baby, I see him every time I look at you.” It’s true, my little man is everything in me that is everything in my Dad. Sometimes it’s his smile, sometimes just the curve of his face, but he does look a great deal like me and my Dad. So, while the hole will never be filled, it is eased slightly by the reminder that Dad lives on. He lives on in me, he lives on in my son. He lives on in the hearts of everyone who knew him. He’ll even live on in the little lady Baby Bean arriving any minute.

I miss you Daddy, I’ll never stop missing you.

The clothes are washed, the hospital bag is packed, the car seat is installed, we are ready for little miss Baby Bean to arrive. As we inch closer and closer to her due date (which is currently 4 days from now), I am facing a mixed bag of emotions about her little arrival. Nothing negative, of course, just a bit nervous.

I remember the feelings of being a first time mom. How all my time was consumed taking care of the baby and washing the bottles and doing 27 loads of laundry an hour. We painstakingly tracked every ounce, every pee, every poop, every moment of sleep in the first few months of baby’s life. The entire universe, well MY entire universe, revolved around his cries and coos and tiny fingernail clippings. Our little man was “it.” Even through transitioning from a stay at home mom to a working mom, social outings, and real life, he has remained “it.”

That chapter is about to get a swift, hard close as we welcome the little lady into our life. I’m concerned, of course, that the Boo will react unfavorably to having to share his attention with the Bean. However, I’m more concerned about my ability to split my attention. I’m downright scared of being a Mommy of two. Yes, I know, all the Mommies of 2+ are probably giggling at me right about now and I will be giggling at myself soon enough. However, its just kind of scary. How will my brain compartmentalize her feedings vs. his? Yes, of course, he’s on a normal meals schedule and I’m not painstakingly tracking his poop (no need, that kid is still a pooping MACHINE), but he still has his schedule and his needs and I wonder if in my sleep deprived, constantly nursing, crazed state of newborn mothering if I will still be able to keep up with the structure and love I’ve bestowed upon him these last 2 1/2 years.

For her, will I still track her every bit of intake and excretion? If not, will I miss something that I never had to worry about with the little guy? The Boo was such an easy baby in a lot of ways, will the Bean be colicky? Will she eat well, poop well, sleep well? What if she doesn’t? What if I can’t handle it?

I feel like my brain will be split in two just keeping track of my babies’ everythings. One half still dedicated to the Boo and his needs (potty training, discipline, continued moves toward safe independence), the other half wholly consumed with the Bean and her needs (around the clock feedings, diaperings, doctors appointments). Perhaps a small sliver will be leftover for the household items still under my care (bills, laundry, cleaning, shopping). Oh, right, and then in 12 weeks I will be back to work. So, I guess I’ll save a sliver of brain for that too (or maybe not, we’ll see if they catch on). Maybe, just maybe, I may have a little bit left to nurture my marriage to my very loving husband. Poor guy.

In the back of my mind, of course, is the question: will I ever have a semblance of ME again? Will my beloved yoga mat continue to collect dust in the closet and my website continue to be nearly content-less? The Hubs, having witnessed and felt the impact of my separation from my own pleasure activities in the last couple of years, out of necessity to focus on the things I needed to do for the family, has been asking me about what I want to do, what I want to pursue. The question itself nearly sends me into a tailspin. I can’t even think about it.

What mother has time for such luxuries? Many do, yes I know. After a few months of being a mother of two, I will get the hang of it. I know that. And then I’ll go for number three and have these thoughts all over again. I fully anticipate that. Just the nervous nelly musings of a very pregnant woman relishing the final days (or maybe hours?) of having my first beautiful, perfect, little angel baby as my focus.

OK, back to reality. Was that a contraction I just felt…?