Month: August 2012

Shits & Giggles.

by Ashley filed under Uncategorized
Ever feel like you are your child’s favorite toy? Like you’re some sort of dispensable object yearning to be climbed on and bossed around, poked and prodded, subservient to every little demand? Me too. That’s why when my friend Janet sent me a link to the “Daddy Saddle” I just about lost my marbles. So funny. The best part yet is that the “Daddy Saddle” has made advancements and is now currently sold as the “Daddle”, because you know we like combining two names in today’s pop culture (ie, Brangelina). The ad reads, “knee pads are a must, so don’t forget them”. Schwhat?, knee pads aren’t included? That’s like selling a roller coaster without a seat belt. Anyhoo, with no further adieu, I present to you the “Daddy Saddle”. Go out, get your own, and maybe us moms can try getting a ride too 😉

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

source 1,2,3

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The “Kiki” Love Affair

by Ashley filed under Hooper
My sister came to help out over the weekend while Willy was out of town. We had a great time catching up and reminiscing and talking about the childhood Hooper and Van will experience together. We played at the park, went out to eat, and went to the local vintage market. I realized after going through the photos that there are none of Van. Trust me, he was there. That little booger is so peaceful, he rarely lets his presence known. Hooper, on the other hand, is a total ham. So yeah, rest assured, Van was snoozin’ close by.
There was a time people seemed to pass in and out of Hooper’s life. There was no carry-over, no memory of having seen or met people before. Watching Hooper’s memory develop has been a beautiful thing; it means that people that are important to me are now important to him. It means that when we talk on the phone with my in-laws, he knows not only who they are but he also knows the name of their dog. It means when he sees a burgundy car, he knows his grandma is close by (granted every burgundy car = grandma’s close by, but still). And it means that when my sister, his auntie “Kiki”, comes to visit she is sorely missed when she leaves. He not only remembers the key players in his life, but he’s come to really love them. And by love, I mean there’s lots of “hi-yees” and lots of unsolicited hugs and kisses. It makes me so happy, so proud to be his mama. Watching him discover the world, whether it’s picking up a leaf from the ground and examining it or waking up from a nap and asking for his “Kiki”, it’s all pretty special.

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Van @ 1 Month

by Ashley filed under Van

Whew! The month I have coined as “survival month” has come and gone and by golly, not only did I survive, but I truly cherished each day. And I don’t even smell bad. You know why? Because I showered. Everyday. Woot woot. I’m telling you, the things we come to brag about sure change when we become moms. I told a girl at the store that I got four consecutive hours of sleep one night. She looked at me with this poor you kinda face. Little did she know I was bragging. Four hours of consecutive sleep and I feel like a million bucks. Anyway, here’s to your first month, Van! (Cheers, high fives, dosey does all around)…
Growth: You weighed 9 pounds, 8 ounces at birth and were 21 inches long. On the day we left the hospital, two days after you were born, your weight dropped to 8 pounds, 14 ounces. By the next morning, you had already gained an ounce when weighed at your first doctor’s appointment. Two days later than that, you gained three more ounces. You out-grew newborn diapers in the womb and are already wearing a size 1. At your one month checkup, you weigh an incredible 12 pounds (91st percentile = high fives all around) and are 23.5 inches long (95th percentile). I’m curious to see how your weight fluctuates. Hooper was in the 90th percentile at birth and dropped to his lowest, 10th percentile, sometime before six months of age. I could careless about percentiles this time around and feel pretty confident, based on all your pissing and shitting, that you’re getting just what you need. It is such a relief to not have to worry about your weight. 

 

Appearance: Your hair is light brown and your eyes appear steel blue, which I imagine will turn brown in time. The sclera of your eyes were red at birth, proof of being pushed into my pubic bone for three hours. You have a small birth mark on the top of your head, long skinny fingers and toes, and long skinny legs. You looked almost identical to your brother initially, but after your second week of life I’m not so sure. You seem to have different features and at this point in time, you look more like your Papa. Even more than your Papa, you look like Benjamin Button. You have a bald spot on the top right part of your head where your newborn hair has already fallen out, which doesn’t help the old man resemblance. You Papa says the bald spot will make you a faster runner. And your eyebrows and eyelashes are so light they appear non-existent.

 

Feeding: You are a tit sucking mongrel. They say I should feed you every two to three hours, but sometimes not more than an hour goes by before you’re rooting again. My milk came in on your third day of life and my boobies look so full and plentiful because of it. Sure beats the saggy tits your brother left me with. So thank you, we are both benefiting. You like to cluster feed in the mornings and evenings, gearing up for a long nights rest (I hope) and an afternoon nap (I hope). 

 

Sleeping: You’re a newborn, which means you don’t sleep for any length of time. On the plus side, you do sleep. On the negative side, you sleep mostly during the day and then expect me to party with you all night long. My days of staying up late drinking are long gone, please learn to drink your milk during the day and sleep at night. The days of swaddling seemed like so long ago, but alas, have returned. I must have swaddled and re-swaddled you twenty times a night for the first week or so. The best was when I would unswaddle you to check your diaper, discover it’s clean, then re-swaddle you only to hear a loud shit explosion come out your butt. I slept with you on the sofa for the first three weeks of life to allow Papa to get better rest so he could care for all of us during the day. He had the first couple weeks of your life off from work. You make lots of little noises during the night and I’ve had a hard time sleeping even when you’re sleeping because it always seems like you’re about to wake up. You’re in your crib now and sleeping much better. Co-sleeping doesn’t work for us. 

 

Development: Again, you’re a newborn, so development at this stage consists of opening your eyes from time and time. You are quite the wiggle worm and I presume you be an early roller just like your brother. You eat, you sleep, you shit, you pee. That’s about it. I lie, you’re also into staring at the ceiling. And not because you’re lying down on your back, but because you really and truly love the contrast of the ceiling beams. Your brother was the same way. Even when you’re sitting upright, you tweak your head to see those things. You also seem to recognize faces. Your Papa brags about the 20 minute love affair he had while you gazed into his eyes. You have a very peaceful and gentle disposition thus far, but of course that’s subject to change. 

 

Some other tidbits:
-We’ve taken to calling you “Vanderson” as a nickname. Typically nicknames are a shortened version of your given name. We are aware that we have added to you name. And we don’t care. You also call you our “little bean”.
-If you were a girl, you were going to be named Penelope. It’s a good thing you came late, however, because we would have been stuck in the shadow of the Kardashian chick who named her daughter Penelope just days before you were born. We both agree we would have had to change your name last minute. I know, we’re dumb for caring, right?
-It’s only fair to confess that you have tried to latch onto your Papa’s hairy nipple. And his nose. More than once. We call this maneuver “the woodpecker”.
-You don’t fuss often. When you do, it’s usually followed by a shit explosion. This leads to your helpful Papa changing your diaper, which in turn leads to you pissing a mile high stream into the air just as he’s about the fold over the clean diaper. It’s true, each diaper change has required at least one, sometimes two, extra diapers.
-For the record, your Papa treated himself to a massage before me. I’m just saying, for the record.
-You make many odd noises in your sleep. Sometimes they resemble a pig squealing, other times they sound like a pissed off cat or an old man grunting. It makes co-sleeping undesirable and led me to research “baby grunting syndrome”… apparently it’s a syndrome and apparently it’s normal and supposedly you’ll grow out of it. If not, I feel for your future roommates and wife.
-I’m pretty sure your brother realized his life had changed as evidenced by the random whacks on the head. By the second week, however, I’m fairly certain he has no recollection of life without you. The whacks have seemingly been replaced with an eagerness, and I mean a down right insistence, to hold you, kiss you, and get right in front of your face to say “hi-yee!”.

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Mama Style

by Ashley filed under Motherhood

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lace Top: INC, purchased at Macys // Black Cami: Nordstorms // Skirt: UO (oldie but goodie) // Shoes: Style & Co. Wedges
This skirt has traveled with me to many countries. I think I’ve owned it for nearly seven years. I rarely keep anything that long. My 1957 sized closet doesn’t allow me to keep much. But it’s one of those skirts that never seems to go out of style. It’s been a long time favorite of mine. It’s perfect with a bikini on the beach in Thailand or paired with a lacy top and heels for a dinner date in Santa Monica. Do you have something in your closet that has been with you for so long that you can’t seem to part with it? Have you altered it to make it current or changed what you’ve paired it with over the years? It’s funny how if you keep something long enough, it eventually becomes “in” again.
I’m five weeks postpartum this week. Things I’ve accomplished this past week include a trip to the grocery store with two munchkins and a walk with both the littles and Sarah during the heat wave that appears to be leaving no time soon. Oh the round of applause I hear ringing in my ear makes me blush. Stoppppp (said like a bashful little girl with freckles and pig tails). Really though, we ought to celebrate the little things; otherwise our days of going to the grocery store and taking the dog for a walk would feel uneventful and unimportant and dammit it was a beautiful walk on a beautiful morning and surely the food in our fridge serves a very important purpose (if only I had the time to cook it– ha, I joke). It’s all temporary. One day I’ll be back to moving mountains and I’ll be dreaming of the days my life was centered around getting out for a morning stroll with the littles.

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Hooper Eats.

by Ashley filed under Hooper
I’ve started a campaign to transform Hooper into an independent eater. I no longer have the time, or patience, to be following him around shoving food in his mouth. Truth be told, I’m sick of it. Feeding him can be so frustrating and time consuming and it’s time for something to change. So today, I’m looking at the man in the mirror. I’m talking about ME people. I’m going to make a change… because I recognize my role in his dependency.
After Hooper was born, a friend of mine gave me some books including The Baby Book by Dr. Sears (Thanks Kris). Lo and behold there is a chapter about picky toddler eaters. Who knew it was a phenomenon? Okay, we all do. I digress. Anyway, I read about the nibble tray and thought it sounded like a great idea. Not only does it promote the trying of new foods, but it also caters to independent eating. Two birds, one stone? I practically jumped into the nibble tray pool with my clothes off I was so excited.
Here’s the tray I assembled:
I included a few things I know he likes to eliminate the intimation factor. To my surprise, he tried everything. And he did a good job of staying in his highchair and feeding himself… for a while at least. I have to confess that I did resort to our norm of feeding on the run once he grew tired of his highchair, but it’s a transition, right?
Have you tried the nibble tray before? Have any ideas for other foods to try in the tray? Other ideas for feeding a picky eater?
Side Note: For those of you also dealing with a picky eater, stop over and say hello to Sarah & Stanley. Sarah does an awesome series she calls “Honest Food”. The two of us have a grand ol’ time sharing frustrations and stories and it feels oh so good to know I’m not alone.

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21 Months.

by Ashley filed under Hooper
I asked Willy the other day for photo shoot ideas for this post. Being that it is Hooper’s 21 month roundup, he suggested photographing Hooper with a booze can. Actually, I believe his vision included Hooper lying in bed surrounded by beer cans. I’m all for humor, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around that one. So I thought, what’s the toddler booze equivalent? And the answer became suddenly clear: ice cream. It just so happened that the evening before I snapped these photos, the ice cream man had come parading down our street with tunes of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” blaring from the speakers. It also just so happened that we were playing in the front yard and thus heard him coming. So yeah, it was meant to be. The photo above also serves as proof it was meant to be. I mean check out Hooper’s expression. If I could read his thoughts, I’m pretty sure he was thinking: “uhhhh, mom? Why are you letting the creepy guy in the molester van hold me?”. This might be my favorite picture to date. 

Growth: You’re wearing 2T in pajamas and pants, mostly because you’re so long. You can still wear 18 month shorts though because you have a tiny waist. Shoes are size 6, diapers size 4. We comment almost daily about how big you are getting. Your brother’s arrival helped to shed light on just how much you’ve grown since birth. 

 

Feeding: You had a cold and/or allergies this month and there were a couple of days where it seemed as though you ate nothing at all. But alas, you got back on track. I try my best to concentrate on what you eat over the period of a week instead of a day, as there are days you eat great and other days you seemingly don’t eat at all. You are still not motivated by food and getting you to feed yourself is a struggle. It’s my goal, as of late, to help you become more of an independent eater. My role in that is trusting you to eat when your hungry and stop when you’re full. It’s easier said than done because you don’t eat much on your own. The majority of food that lands in your belly is compliments of your crazy mama chasing you around with a spoon. 

 

Development: You love to mimic things we do around the house. This includes cleaning. You like to make your own mess and then grab a paper towel, or just your hand, to wipe it up. You also like to bring your Papa a bottle of lotion and pretend to rub the lotion on his tattooes. You’re fond of a little game Papa came up with called “Put your nose to the wall”, only it’s not really a game, per say. Papa instructs you to put your nose on the wall and you obediently listen and then we laugh and the game is over.

We’ve seen the beginnings of your tantrum phase. It happens when you don’t get something you want. The other morning, I opened the freezer to get something and you pulled out the ice cream. When I told you you could not have it, you squatted down to the floor and slapped your hands on the floor and fake cried hysterically. You think you’re making a point, but you’re really just humoring us. You can’t have ice cream for breakfast, the first of many hard lessons you’ll learn in life.
I still take you to your gym class and you are still shy around the other children. You seem to warm up to adults and older children well, but become timid around children your own age. For the monster you are at home, it’s quite a change to see you so reserved.
We’ve started ten second time outs. Your Papa takes you over to the corner, makes you look him in the eye, and counts to ten. You were taken to that corner many times in the two weeks your Papa was off from work (mostly for hitting or being a pest at the table).
You went pee in your potty. Once. Not sure if it was a fluke, but we celebrated anyway. I think you were a bit unsure why there was a cookie in your hand. But whatever the case may be, we’re getting closer.
You give Eskimo kisses. You’ve also learned to give decent regular kisses, complete with a pucker and a “muah”, which sure beats the previous open mouth slobber. You also know the meaning of “ear muffs” and proceed to cover your ears with your hands when prompted to. You do both the “grandfather” and “peg leg” walk. The former is when you walk with your legs so bent your bottom is practically touching the floor. You look like a hunched over grandpa, hence the name. The latter is when you walk with one leg completely straight causing this awkward limp. Almost daily, during your witching hour, you spin around in circles and stumble around like that smelly man in the back of the 7-11. 
Sleeping: You went through a regression in sleep while I was in the hospital. Your schedule was thrown off a bit with all the chaos and there were a few days where you consecutively did not or would not nap. Soon after I came back from the hospital, we got you back on track only you had problems taking naps in your bed. We’d find you in the corner going through your books or on top of your chair turning the light on and off. We put the play pen in your room and you’ve been taking your naps in there and sleeping through the night in your bed. Little by little, I hope we’ll get back to normalcy. Currently you’re taking your morning nap in the play pen, but protest at times. Some days you don’t actually fall asleep until a few hours after being put down initially. Your afternoon nap has been hit or miss, much to my dismay. Mama needs you to nap 🙂

 

Talking: You’re making more of an effort to string words together, only none of it makes sense. It’s all gibber jabber combined with a point in some direction or a raise of eyebrows. Clearly, it all makes sense to you. We’re still waiting to learn your language, though majority of the time you’re able to make your wishes quite well known. You refer to farts as “doo-doo” and poops as “ca-ca”. Your Papa thinks it’s funny to fart near your face and have you call him out on the “doo doo” he makes. I guess, technically speaking, your first sentence was, “doo-doo, Papa”, complete with a point in your Papa’s direction. There’s no sneaking farts past you. You are the little fart policeman. I guess this is a good time to mention that you are afraid of the whoopie cushion. Deathly afraid. We bought it hoping it would produce more “doo-doo” alerts, but instead you shake and cry in fear… which is also entertaining from time to time.
You also say “maaaaaaa-ma” (just like someone would say “you’re craaaaaaa-zy”) when I’m tickling you or being ridiculously funny cuz, well you know, you’re mama is ridiculously funny.
You also learned that a chicken says “cock-a-doodle-doo”, even though it’s technically the sound a rooster makes… but, whatever, we’ll m


 

Favorites: You love your toy cars. We went to Target the other day and made the mistake of letting you pick out a car. It was a mistake because of the tantrum that ensued. You really need to learn the concept of waiting. Maybe it was our fault for showing you the car before purchasing it, but you have to learn one way or another. It was the worst blow up yet.
You’re still fond of organizing. When we go to the beach, you like to collect rocks and organize them into different pales over and over again. Your Auntie Kim calls you industrious, I call you obsessive. There is a small rock pile outside our front door too.
You enjoy coloring. The crayon covered little table serves as proof. I worry for our white walls. You seem to be left handed, as you use your left hand to color the majority of the time. You switch off hands when eating. Other favorites include your blanket, pen and paper (“pay-pee”), the guitar (aka, “tar!”), filling Sarah’s bowl with dog food and your brother.

 

On Being a Big Brother: The highlight of my first day home from the hospital was when you tried to share your raisins with Van. The downfall was when you fell and bumped your head on the furniture and I had no way of consoling you while I fed Van and sat on my swollen bottom. There were a few days of adjustment in the beginning and you hit Van a couple of times. After the second week, I don’t think you had any recollection of life without your brother. Today, you love holding him and hugging him and saying “hi-yee” to him. You give Van the best puckered kisses too. You’re Papa and I are jealous. It’s a beautiful thing.

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Mama Style

by Ashley filed under Ashley
Dress: Target // Shoes: Karen Scott (thrifted)
I’ve gone back and forth on converting my previous maternity series into a mama style series. I hardly consider myself fashion savvy. Most days, especially these days, I’m in ridiculously over sized sweat shorts and some comfy tank that I can easily pull up or down or over for what feels like the gazillion times I breastfeed a day. But ever since the newest little munchkin decided to grace us with his presence, I’ve been yearning to play catch up on all the fun styles I’ve missed out on over the past year. Like colored skinny jeans. Oh how I long to fit this post-baby-bod into some of those. In any case, if I do decide to carry on with the mama style shenanigans, the series will focus on fun, simple outfits that are very mom friendly.
I’ve visited a number of dressing rooms as of late. Curse those dressing room mirrors. Seriously. Damn them for providing views from every angle. And I swear the lighting in those little rooms is the most unflattering of all. In any case, we’ll see how long I can keep this mama style series afloat. I’m making no promises.

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Remember These?

by Ashley filed under Uncategorized
You may have to think back a while. And no, they aren’t those funny looking pills someone tried to sell you in college. Think back further, to childhood. That’s right, they’re those funny little capsules you marveled at as they transformed into foam animals in the bath. Who knew they still made these? Okay, probably most of the moms out there are well aware. Either way I was pleasantly surprised when they crossed my line of vision at the grocery store. I snatched them up instantly. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hooper jumped right into his mad organizing skills and was all about his new squishy little bath time friends.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He enjoyed putting them in his mouth…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and on his head

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Needless to say, it was a good time. And in case you’re wondering if Hooper has learned to sit down in his bath, the answer is still no.

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First Bath.

by Ashley filed under Van
I’m behind in posting these. Please don’t think we waited over three weeks to bathe our child. Anyway, funny story: Hooper’s umbilical stump took forever to fall off. I’m talkin’ over a month. It smelled. When it did finally fall off, I put it in a box and wrapped it up for Willy. Yup, that’s the kind of relationship we have, what of it!?

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Day One.

by Ashley filed under Motherhood
It was day one, on my own, with the munchkins last Thursday and I survived. Sure, there was crayon coloring on sofa pillows, self-inflicted pen markings, more Yo Gabba Gabba watched than I care to admit, milk spilled on the floor, shit left in diapers longer than usual, nap time protests, a dog that survived without being fed til the afternoon, and an air conditioning that failed (it’s been 110 degrees in the Valley as of late)… But, we survived. Things I accomplished: We all ate, I showered, took out the trash, even made time to curl my eyelashes and slap on some lipstick (because lets face it, lipstick is where it’s at when you’re in a time crunch), and I got our AC fixed. So all in all, a successful day. You better bet I did a celebratory jig. There may have even been a throw back to 1992 when the running man was where it was at. My two cents to all those mamas awaiting their second addition: It is possible.

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Week 3

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Van

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On mama: top, forever 21 // shorts, oldies but goodies // moccasins, target
On Van: vintage romper, from etsy seller eadies elephants
Things are beginning to reach a level of normalcy around here, meaning we’re all pretty much adjusted. Willy has returned to work and the few days that I’ve been on my own have been a-okay thus far. I’m fairly certain Hooper remembers nothing of his short-lived single-child life and has taken to his little bro quite well. He loves holding him and says “hi-yee” to him constantly. Van is sleeping as well as can be expected, waking two to three times a night to feed. Two nights ago he only woke once, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Breastfeeding is going terrific. My supply this time around seems much better and Van appears to be putting on weight. In the absence of sore cracked nipples, I’d have to say all is surprisingly well. What looked ominous last week looks pretty spectacular this week.Click To Vote For Us @ Top Baby Blogs Directory!

Hot Damn

by Ashley filed under Uncategorized

It’s been HOT around these parts. Caring for the two little ones and a hyper dog doesn’t fair well in this lock me indoor and plop me in front of the air conditioning to avoid a slow painful death via melting onto extraordinary hot concrete kinda weather. A friend in the neighborhood has an overly productive lemon tree. Hot weather + free lemons = Must make lemonade. We added strawberrys too. It was a delicious way to keep hydrated. We used this recipe. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How you like ‘dem lemons? Yes, I agree… Bigger than an elephants nut sack.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I chose not to strain the strawberries after blending them. I prefer the chunky bits. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The recipe offers two alternatives to sugar: organic agave nector or mild-flavored honey. I chose sugar because what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.
Voila!

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Tea Cups, Churros, & Goats, Oh My!

by Ashley filed under Hooper
We went to the Ventura County Fair the other day, prior to Willy returning to work (sigh, ::tear::), and had more fun than Pee-Wee did on his big adventure. Seriously. It was a blast. It brought to the forefront what it means to live vicariously through your children. Because truthfully, I could have cared less about riding on the carousal or animal train. But watching the joy on Hooper’s face and the tears that came each time he had to either wait (I know Hoops, it’s a tough concept) in line or get off a ride, truly made both Willy and I feel like we were on top of the world. The coolest parents in town. Way cooler than the thousands of other parents who also decided to fork out the cash to get their children the prized red wrist band that allowed for unlimited roller coaster rides. In any case, if you live in the area, I highly recommend going. I believe it’s over this weekend, but the LA County fair starts at the end of the month.
The fair was complete with a fun house, chocolate covered bacon (seriously?), pig races, pony rides, the coolest petting zoo ever, and turkey legs. I mean, seriously, does it get better than that? What’s that you say? En Vogue, “No you’re never gonna get it”, is scheduled to play? Get out. Okay, we didn’t stay for En Vogue… but that’s because the 90’s called and told us it was time to get the littles home. That’s not to say we didn’t dabble in a bit of fun and a whole lot of sugar.
Hot dog on a stick asked, “Cherry lemonade?”, and I said, “Don’t mind if I do”. Then they asked if I’d like to upgrade to a large for a dollar more (to which I usually reply with a “no”, I’ll take what I ordered biotch) but today I said, “Don’t mind if I do”.
The petting zoo was complete with deer, goats, pigs, chickens, llamas, a kangaroo, and a donkey. And not just any donkey, put a pregnant donkey. We had an instant connection. We opted to pass on the $7 pony ride, cleaned the goat turds off Hooper’s fingers, and headed home with the excitement of returning again in the years to come. So fun.

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Gibber Jabber.

by Ashley filed under Hooper
Having a newborn around begs the question, “What happened to my other baby?”. When did he get so big? Hooper has never felt heavier to hold. He helps me get him dressed. He follows commands. He’s a… kid. And it happened so fast, just like everyone said it would.
Today, Hooper has numerous words in his arsenal. He cannot, however, put them together in a sentence. Understanding him means understanding another language: Toddler language; Part whine, part cry, part pointing, part gibber jabber. Hooper has become his own little person, with wants and desires. Again, where did my baby go?
I was aware of how fast time was moving before Van was born. I guess what was more shocking was how much Hooper had changed in that time. I look at Van and can barely remember when Hooper was so helpless and dependent… When he was more glow-worm than human… More bobble head than hard headed… More fragile than hardy.
If I could plead with time, I would. I’d beg it to slow. But, again, motherhood is about moments in time and there is no remedy other than to soak up these moments. So while I struggle to understand toddler language, I’m reminded that tomorrow it will be teenage language and suddenly deciphering the whines and cries and gibber jabber seems like child’s play. Oh you little tantrum throwing booger, I love you. 

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What Only A Sibling Knows.

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Hooper, Uncategorized, Van

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

{I asked my beautiful sister to help me out with a post this week to allow more time for family bonding while Willy has off work. He goes back today, by the way, so wish me luck. These few weeks spent with our boys have been some of the best. With no further adieu, here’s some memories from our shared childhood…}
I was right about Hooper’s age when Ashley was born. I have no memories of this trauma but, according to family story, I was so pissed off with this new arrival monopolizing my mother’s time and boobs that I threw fruit at my sister. Namely, bananas. Granted, Hooper has a much sweeter disposition than I will ever have, but I still worry for little Van’s safety.
There’s also a family story that says I despised Ash so much that I called her “beast,” but I couldn’t say beast—it came out as “Beeze.” To this day, that’s what I call her—my Beeze.

 

We didn’t get along for the first 15-20 years of our lives. There wasn’t all-out fighting (though, don’t be fooled, Ash is vicious), but there was bickering, accompanied by a few sweet moments that revealed the true love beneath—my favorite “trick” was to tell her, “Give me a french fry and I’ll be your best friend.” And she would do it, every time. I’m not sure if you understand how much Ash loves french fries.
It’s only in the last decade or so that I’ve come to truly appreciate the bond siblings have. It’s like no other. There are memories, experiences, and feelings only my sister and I share. There are ways she knows me that no one else will. Ever. Here’s proof:

Ash will remember when:

  • We drove the Maui rental car (aka Monsta) all the way around the island
  • We smoked that weed before we got on the plane
  • We drove by her crush’s house, repeatedly
  • We ran around Grandma Helen’s living room while she played the fast piano song, usually after a meal of mac-and-cheese and grape juice
  • We pretended our Barbie dolls were Olympic gymnasts, complete with those custom leotards we spent hours sewing
  • We caught mom and dad having sex (It happened, mom, stop denying it)
  • We thought mom and dad might get a divorce after that Tahoe trip
  • We jumped on trampoline until the sun went down
  • We busted dad as Santa Claus
  • We watched “Price is Right” and ate Eggo waffles with towers of whipped cream every summer morning
  • We said, “Don’t tell mom and dad, but…”
  • We went to dad’s basketball games, drinking orange soda in the back of his van with those twins whose names I’ll never remember
  • We romped with Kasey
  • We each flirted with Dan Benson and cruise ship Joe
  • We memorized “Nadia”
  • We memorized “Grease”
  • We rollerskated in the garage to Janet Jackson
  • We made dad cry with that picture of us in our softball uniforms
  • We almost got away with you having that party while mom and dad were out of town (until dad found the beer bottle in the rose bush)
  • We named our goldfish after McDonald’s food
  • We begged our parents to have another kid
  • We complained about our parents, cried about boys, disagreed about everything, dreamt about gymnastics, shared way too much information about…well, I’ll spare your readers, laughed about everything

 

One of my most meaningful memories is being there for the birth of Van. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there with all the pain and grunting and bodily fluids. I thought I’d feel helpless, just standing there, but I could tell in her eyes that my presence meant something, even if all I could do was finger-comb her hair and kiss her forehead and tell her, “you’re amazing” (because, fucking hell, labor is no joke).
And now I’m not just her sister; I’m an Aunt to her two little boys. That’s probably my most important title to date.
I wonder what memories Van and Hooper will build together, probably without any of our knowledge. They’ll have stories together known only to them. I can only hope they’ll throw their aunt a bone every once in a while.


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Van Meets the Sea.

by Ashley filed under Hooper, Van
Dear Van,
Your life will be filled with many firsts: first job, first love, first day at school. Last Thursday was your first trip to the beach. You were 10 days old. You spent most of the time sleeping and eating, per usual. Your Papa and brother spent the day collecting rocks and digging holes. Before I know it, you too will be checking out the ladies, eating sand, and discovering the fun that is your Papa.
So Thursday was the first of what I hope become many trips to the beach. I hope you come to love this place as much as I do. I hope the smell of sunscreen becomes nostalgic and I hope sand is found on the floor of your car on a regular basis. I hope you come to value the freedom in going barefoot and I hope the suns rays treat you warmly.

 

Love,
Mama

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Van’s Birth Story

by Ashley filed under Uncategorized
My sister read my initial birth story and labeled me crude. Having been there, she couldn’t deny the analogies to brains or hot dog buns or volcano craters or filet mignon that were made. But, to spare you the gory details, I’ll keep what each of these analogies are in reference to a secret. I mean do you want to hear what THREE hours of pushing does to your body? Do you want the play-by-play from Willy’s perspective? Do you want to hear about gross things only fellow nurses can joke about (yes, hospital nurses were involved)?
Maybe you’d rather hear the closest-I-can-get to a censored version, from the beginning.
Twas the night before labor, and all through the house… okay, scratch that. I believe that belongs to a well known Christmas story, but Christmas was exactly what those first contractions felt like. A true gift. A gift of pain. A gift of pain I was eager to unwrap further. A gift of pain I had waited so long to open that the pain was actually welcomed; practically begged for, in fact.
They started Sunday evening and they were ever-so faint. Just a twinge of added cramping that made my eyebrows raise and grow closer together. We were watching The Dark Knight Rises in the theatre (I know, we’re brave) and when I told Willy, we started timing them briefly. They were every eleven minutes, on the button. Willy’s Aunt and cousin were in town. We all went to dinner after the movie and the contractions seemed to disappear. I went to bed that night with new found hope and an inkling that my body was getting closer. It had to be. The contractions returned, awakening me around 4:30am. I found myself having to breath through these. I contemplated waking Willy, but figured they could peter out and decided that if it were indeed early labor it’d probably be better if he got some rest anyway. Believe it or not, I got out of bed and posted my 41 week post. Then I got the camera ready, making sure the battery was charged and the memory card empty.
I’m not a fan of timing contractions. I timed so many episodes of what appeared to be regular braxton hick contractions with Hooper, each time playing with my emotions, that the idea of inviting that anxiety and false hope back into my life wasn’t appealing. As I sat at the computer putting the final touches on my 41 week post, I downloaded the contraction timer app on my phone and tracked a few, just to see where I was at. Over the course of an hour, they progressed from every ten minutes to every three minutes. I called my midwife. We sent some texts back and forth and I knew I was in trouble when she told me to lay down and avoid standing, confessing she wanted to be there when I gave birth. I kind of laughed it off in my head, not ready to tease myself into believing it would be that fast.
But it was.
I showered, ignoring my midwife’s instructions. I woke up Willy, saying, “I think Van is going to join us today. And it’s going to be Okay”. It was about 7am. When my midwife (Catherine) and her assistant (Michelle) got here, I was still able to move about. I laid through a few contractions in bed and then got up, stripped the bed, threw the sheets in the wash, and started to make the bed for labor. When my midwife asked where the other set of sheets were, I told her I threw them in the wash. I could tell by the look on her face that they wouldn’t be ready in time.
My dad and Willy were busy setting up and filling the tub in the office and I moved to the kitchen to set out some snacks and drinks for the midwives. I had a few contractions there that required Michelle to come over and rub my back. I moved then to a chair in the family room and watched as Willy tried to figure out the tub. It was a great distraction for him, but as I sat there I started to wonder if even the tub would be set up in time. I felt myself entering what I call “laborland”… You know, that other dimension where you become a slave to your body. The dimension in labor where the pain starts to wrap around you and engulf you and chew you up and spit you out and humble you. The dimension in labor where you are forced to come to grips with the fact you are on a train with no breaks. I was moaning heavily. Catherine came over and asked if I felt like pushing. I remember thinking to myself, “Is this lady crazy?!”. It was only 8:30am. But, I looked at her and replied, “You know, I think my body is pushing involuntarily already”. And just like that, it was time to push.

 

I couldn’t believe we were already in the home stretch, or so I thought. When they told me it was time to push with Hooper, he was out 20 minutes later. You have to remember, however, that getting him out was a top priority as highlighted by the fact that I birthed him on the operating room table. What I’m saying is that it was a group effort. Not only did I push, but others also pushed, the doctor pulled, and eventually a vacuum was used and out came Hooper.

So I started to push. And push. And push. And push. And then I started feeling a bit defeated. I had dilated so quickly that I didn’t really plan on pushing longer than I had labored. But boy did I push a long, long, time. I moved to the tub. And pushed. And pushed. Michelle brought out a towel and instructed me to play tug-o-war with her to help me bear down. I used every muscle in my body. I could feel the muscles in the front of my neck straining. My forearms trembled. I pushed with every ounce of grit and determination. Catherine asked me to move back to the bed. And then I pushed more. And more. And more. Then I moved to the floor. And pushed. I tried squatting. And pushed. Back to my back. And pushed. 
I kept asking, “How much longer?” and never got the crystal ball answer I wanted. Some pushes went by without any confirmation of progress. It was incredibly draining and I started to lose hope. Catherine said we needed to have a conversation. I could sense she was going to suggest a transfer to the hospital. She seemed to think he was getting stuck on something. Seems that every time I pushed, he would descend and as soon as I stopped pushing, he’d retract. I couldn’t push much longer, I was beginning to reach the point of exhaustion.
Next thing you know, Willy is on the phone with 911. We all agreed that the baby needed help coming out. A few minutes later and our house was supposedly flooded with firemen and EMTs. I say supposedly because I truthfully had my eyes closed for the entire transfer. I felt like Hooper reaching his hand into the cookie jar with the you can’t see me if my eyes are closed assumption. Reality, of course, was that they could all see me, in all my trying-to-push-a-baby-out glory. I’m sure it was quite the site and just the kind of excitement they wanted when they suited up that morning.
Think laboring on your back sucks? Try being fully dilated, in full blown labor having pushed for three hours, and asked to slide onto a gurney. I had my legs pulled back during the contractions and was still trying to push when one of the EMTs asked me to straighten my arm so they could take my blood pressure. I wanted to tell him to suck a dick. Didn’t he know I was in laborland? Didn’t he know I had no control over my body? What’s that you say? His penis knows nothing of labor? Oh yes, you’re right. With any luck, his prostate will fail sooner than others. I digress and I joke, but the transfer sucked.
They wheeled me on the gurney out my very own front door. I could feel the warmth of the July sun beam down on my face. It was the last moment of peace because moments later things started happening very fast. It was 12pm at the time of the transfer.

We arrived at West Hills Hospital and I was quickly taken up to labor and delivery where two nurses, an anesthesiologist, and team of other personal waited for me. One of the nurses kept yelling at me to look at her. Truthfully, I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want to confront where I was. I didn’t want to follow instructions. I missed the control and peace I had at home instantly.
But, alas, I opened my eyes and decided that this woman was a bitch and that I hated her. She told me not to push. I figured she wanted me to hold out until the doc got there, but what I wanted to say was, “Look you bitchy drill Sergent, I’ve been pushing for three hours to no avail, this baby isn’t going to come out. Relax.”
The OB got there moments later and I heard the bitchy nurse say she was going to “get the pit”, meaning start me on pitocin. The doctor responded saying, “There’s no time. This baby is coming now”. What happened next must have been quite the scene. I had an anesthesiologist trying to put an IV in my left arm and some other dude literally thumping down on my lower abdomen as if giving my belly button CPR. They should have just had a dwarf jump up and down on my belly like it was a trampoline, that’s how hard they pushed. I felt his head pop out. Instant relief. The OB used a cork screw technique to get his shoulders out (due to shoulder dystocia) and instantly we were parents to two boys. It was 12:26pm, a mere twenty six minutes after leaving the house. He was 9lbs, 8oz and 21 inches long.

Relief flooded my veins. Not because I was worried about the transfer to the hospital but rather because I was so physically exhausted. Your mind goes to a lot of funny places during labor and, I’m not going to lie, at one point I fantasized about the professional massage I would treat myself to in the coming days. I have yet to give myself such a treat, but the soreness experienced has kept my fantasy at the forefront of my mind. 

 

After I got cleaned up, they handed me Van. Willy came over, tears filling his eyes and I experienced the euphoria that only birth can create. The gift of life. The gift of family. The gift of the greatest responsibility of your life. A responsibility I welcome with love and gratitude.
After Thoughts.
So, it wasn’t the birth I planned. Neither was my birth with Hooper. Technically speaking, I’m zero for two. I’m hardly crying myself a river. Despite the transfer to the hospital during Van’s birth, I’m left with a happy memory and an absence of any fear. I worried from the beginning with Hooper’s birth. As soon as I left the back-up OB’s office, on my way to the hospital, I worried for Hooper’s well-being. I worried how he would handle the impending birth. I worried about the deceleration his heart showed on the non-stress test. I cried. I grieved. Nothing seemed to be in my control.

Van’s birth started much differently. I had all the control. The contractions started on their own, re-instilling faith and trust in my body that was otherwise beginning to waiver. I felt proud. Like I said, I welcomed the pain. I decided when to call the midwives. I decided when to wake Willy. I felt strong and in control. And I was so comfortable in my own home with my family there to support me. After a few short hours of dilating to 10 centimeters and then another three hours of relentless pushing, Van and I were fine. His heart rate was stable, showing normal decelerations that quickly rebounded back to a normal rate. It definitely wasn’t in my plan to be transferred to the hospital, but to be transferred under stable conditions was the best I could ask for. Neither of us were in danger and despite the chaos that surrounded me, I felt very at peace. I never worried about Van. I got to the hospital in time for one thing and one thing only: to birth my baby. There was no time for un-necessary interventions, no time to prepare me for a surgical birth, no time other than to do what I had intended to do: birth my baby naturally, on my own. And that’s just what happened. Just not where I expected it to happen. But such is life. The Rolling Stones nailed it when they said,
You can’t always get what you want,
but if you try sometime,
you just might find,
you get what you need.

 

I have no regrets.

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2 Weeks.

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Motherhood, Van
I’d be lying if I didn’t confess that this past week has been both magical and ominous at the same time. Magical because, well you know, we created another little human. We are now a family of four and there is nothing sweeter than that. Willy has been absolutely wonderful with Van, so patient and loving. And his relationship with Hooper is stronger than ever. We’ve all really bonded and that’s why, when I look to the near future that is this week, I say things are ominous too. That’s because Willy will be returning to work. That means I will have to juggle breastfeeding the little while making meals and spoon feeding my bigger (because we all know how time consuming feeding our horribly picky and finicky eater can be). It also means that I will have to discipline the bigger one my own, which has become quite the usual occurrence this past week. The culprit is only obvious and I’m hoping that in time the transition to becoming a big brother settles in. There have been a few times where Van has been at the breast and Hooper has come up and whacked him on the head. In steps Willy and over to the corner Hooper goes for his lecture on hitting. Take Willy out of that equation and I’m not sure what to do. I picture myself pulling my hair out, but I know that will happen soon enough on it’s own so I’m not sure what I’m going to resort to. I imagine I will figure it all out and I hope that with each passing day I learn a trick here and there to help me get through the day (preferably with a shower and three meals). To be continued…
As far as recovery goes, I feel shockingly fairly close to normal. I started using the term “normal” just a few days ago and it feels oh so good to let that nice word roll off my tongue. I get a bit sore if I do too much during the day, but so long as I take care of myself, I feel almost back to normal. I will be sharing Van’s birth story on the blog tomorrow, but not included in the story is the fact that I did tear (again). It was one of my biggest fears prior to giving birth the second time and I have to admit that immediately after confirming that Van was okay, I asked, “Did I tear?”. Sure enough, the answer was “stage 3”, same as before. I dreaded recovery instantly, but I’d have to say it has been significantly easier and less painful than the first time. The body has such fantastic ways of healing and caring for itself.
Sleep hasn’t been horrible either. Would you believe me if I said there was one night Van gave me a five hour stretch? And another night a seven hour stretch? Of course those are the exceptions. Interspersed are increments of an hour, maybe two, and sometimes only 30 minutes. Keeping it positive, it’s been nice to catch up on the Olympics in the wee hours of the night as I sit like a potato on the sofa with my lovely glow worm attached to my breast.