sueeeus

My boys.  They fill me up.  LB will be 6 months old on Friday!  He had his first solid food yesterday, and he LOVED it!  He was so excited to put the spoon in his mouth and swirl his tongue around the rice cereal.  He hasn’t figured out the swallowing bit yet.  So far he’s a bit tongue tangled and the food comes right back out, but he’s very much IN to it!  He’ll have it down in no time, and may turn into a chubby baby yet.  BB is all boy and then some.  A bull in  a china shop is the best metaphor for him these days.

When I leave them at daycare, LB now breaks my heart by going into a woeful, the most woeful, of cries.  It rips me to shreds and what can I do?  I hug him and snuggle him and try to distract him, and feel awful as I make my way back to my car.  It affects me so much because it’s a special cry reserved just for moments like those.  It’s the hurt feelings cry.  He only uses it when I walk out of a room and he thinks I’m leaving him.  It’s different from every other cry he has.  I don’t like to hurt his feelings.

BB, on the other hand, has a full production he goes through when we say goodbye.  He gives me one or two kisses on the cheek, and then he blows a raspberry on my face somewhere.  He tries for the nose, but I usually can avert and just give him the cheek.  We hug and say ‘have a happy day’.  I leave through the sliding glass door, then he opens it for his parting words.  G’bye…  ‘Ak sure to whook and get some whest (so you won’t be a cwabby apple) and ‘ak sure to pummmmmmmp.  I wuvvvv you…..

Every. Single. Time.  It’s endearing.  I’ve worked with him and showed him how to make the ‘l’ sound, and he can do it, but he always switches back to the ‘w’ when speaking.  Habit.  I’ll have to work with him more.  He’s also become quite good at drawing.  All on his own.  I’m so pleased. So much so that I decided it was time to give him the special drawing books I’d gotten for him earlier, and set aside until I thought he was ready.  I opened one, the tracing book, and flipped through the pages, and every single activity had been completed already.  And then I vaguely remembered the stepkids going in and out of my office, before I asked them not to.  So…  One or both of them (TEENAGERS, for crying out loud) took the preschool activity books and did all the activities.  Grrrrrrrrr.  At least BB is a bright and cheerful 4 year old, and he was happy and excited to get a new book to draw in, even if someone else had already drawn in it.  Those stepkids though…

BB made it through his 2 weeks of movie restrictions with almost no whining or begging, so I’m quite pleased with that as well.  I let him watch a kid movie on the portable dvd player in the same room where the rest of us were watching TV.  My new rule – no watching movies alone.  Mean mama.  He’s a very independent and head strong child with the misfortune of having couch potato parents.  How I wish Gadget had some interest in being active.  He doesn’t like to go for walks.  Nearly the only outdoor play he likes is when there are motors involved, or gear and expenses like skiing and golfing.  He does like to ride bikes, so I’m going to start pressuring him to work with BB to learn to ride so that we can all go bike riding.  I don’t want my boys growing up thinking the only fun things to do are things that cost money and require gadgets, gear, or gizmos.  Thank God BB likes sticks and stones…   …now THAT’s my boy!  I’m going to enroll him in T-ball and soccer, when the seasons begin.  Soccer is in the fall, and T-ball is in the spring or summer.

As for me?  I’ve lost some of my oomph for blogging and facebook.  I spend hours at the computer each day, and I could be posting, but I just haven’t felt like it.  Instead, I play mind drifting games like spider solitaire, and listen to the whoosh whoosh whoosh of my pump.  I’m trying to come to terms with the life that I lead.  So often I find myself feeling like things need to change, and wonder why I can never seem to reach that place called content.  My home, my body, my marriage, my mothering.   All fall short of my expectations.  The only aspect of my life in which I feel content is my work.  I wonder why that is.

I watched a video yesterday that really shook me up.  It had to do with Salma Hayek visiting Sierra Leone, where “one in five children die before reaching their fifth birthday and tetanus is a big contributor.”  A baby happened to take its last breath, just as Salma was stroking her beautiful little face.

I don’t have words to express the depths of how this makes me feel.  To see life just disappear like that.  It’s not like all the flashy mayhem we see on TV.  All that Hollywood stuff.  It’s serious.  It’s real.   It’s heart wrenching.  It’s heart numbing.

There is bloodshed the world over.  People fighting wars.  People caught up in wars, whether they want it or not.  Again, serious, real, heart wrenching, heart numbing.

But children dying.  Children.  I didn’t want to see a child die.

I don’t know how to think or what to think.  I hold my own children close and breathe deeply their warm, living scent.  My comfortable home seems criminal in comparison to the standards in which those struggling people live.

It’s all relative, though, isn’t it?  A rich man might shake his head and think, poor miserable soul, to see the conditions in which I live.  Even so.  It makes me think about what can be done for the greater good.  Obviously there’s too much for any one person to tackle.  I could donate all the money I have, and it would hardly be a drop in the bucket.  I could donate some of the money I have, and it will still be only a drop.  How much can I do?  How much should I do?  What difference can I make?  Since our immediate needs are met, should we then turn any excess over to those more in need?  Or use some to work toward our own hopes and dreams, and set some aside in case of our own rainy days?  I don’t have a complete answer to this, but prudence tells me that I should have a safety net, because that will prevent me and mine from becoming a burden to the public system, especially in these trying times.  That much I should do.  And what of the rest, of those less fortunate than me?

I like the pay it forward concept.  If everyone did something, any thing, to help someone, any one, then good happens.  We can all change lives for the better, one thing at a time.

I’ve been thinking of sponsoring some children in an under-developed nation.  There are always infomercials on about that sort of opportunity.  I would like for my children to give of their bounty to others less fortunate.  I think it will be good for them to learn to share and help others in need.  Now, to find an agency that’s legit.

Parenting a four year old continues to offer challenging opportunities.  Why, just last night, a certain young man was relieved of not one, but several of his most beloved soft friends.  Yes, Dragon, Cody the coyote, and Squawker were all sent on holiday.  It was a tearful departure, but before the tears had even stopped, yet another grievance was discovered.  This one, of far greater proportion than those that prompted the swift away of beloved furry friends.  No, this transgression warranted much more.  No movie privileges for a month two weeks.  We simply do not write on the television screen with ball point pens.  The thing is, where were the parents when this took place?  Clearly we are not as vigilant as we ought to be.  A month is an eternity to a four year old, so we reduced the sentence to two weeks.  Still, an eternity.  We will probably reduce it further, to one week.  And pay more attention.

Amidst the tears, when the first sentence was being delivered, he responded with a terrific scream, the likes of which could prompt passersby to consider calling the authorities.  No, we didn’t touch him.  We just told him that he couldn’t have his stuffies to sleep with (and implied that they’d be gone longer than one night, horrible, bad mother).  During the tears and the sobs and the wails and the pleas, the second transgression was discovered, and I had to tell him he’s in big BIG trouble now.

“Am I going to jail?”

I don’t even know where he came up with that.  We do watch cop and crime shows (Life, Life on Mars, CSI…) and I guess he knows that when people are bad, they sometimes go to jail.  Even so…

He’s a heartbreaker, that one. I gave his friends back as soon as he woke up.  He hugged them so tight, and welcomed them all like long lost friends.  Which is what they were, in his four year old mind.

My beautiful, strong-willed boy.  What am I going to do with him?  How will I be able to stay a step ahead and give him the boundaries and the lessons and the love and the guidance that he needs, in order to become a fine and decent adult?  In reality, I am so much less of a mother than I ever dreamed or imagined I’d be.

Without the rosy glasses, it’s a completely different ballgame.

I am well aware that my blog is very boring, in general. I don’t have any advertisements. I don’t post YouTube snippets. I very seldom change the look. I don’t try to entertain anybody. I don’t try to be clever. I don’t try to make anybody see things my way. I don’t try to garner visitors or a following. I do go on and on at times about various issues that arise in my life. Probably in too much detail. Definitely in too much detail. Boring to the outsider, boring to myself, but necessary, in a way, to help me work through things. It’s very cheap therapy.

I thought I’d venture out recently, and troll some blogs to see if I could find some in my general area. Thinking I might actually make some friends in my neck of the woods. Real people. Maybe. Eventually. But I didn’t get very far. I kept finding blogs with ads and blogher this and blogher that and things seemed just too commercial for me. I got tired of looking.

I like that I’ve met some bloggers, in real life. I have a small circle. It’s pretentious to call it my circle, but there are a handful of blogs that I read, and even if they have little to say or show from post to post, I am always glad to see what they have to say. Because they’re real people with real faces and real lives, and it’s a warm and comforting thing to be privileged to glimpse into their every-day lives. Every-day struggles. Every-day triumphs. I love every-day life. It’s what real life is. It’s where the meat of the matter is. It’s not entertainment. It’s not glamour. It’s not sales or marketing. It’s not a popularity contest. It’s not business. It’s life. And that’s what I love.

I may not be practiced in this particular craft or that particular form of art, but I love that people share the things that they do.

If I happen to buy something, or make something, it’s a big deal to me. Because it’s above and beyond the basic confines of my normal life. So it’s exciting. To me. And that makes it noteworthy. Boring, yes. Part of my every-day life, yes. Beautiful, yes. To me. And I blog for me.

If I have a gross misunderstanding or miscommunication with someone (usually my husband, of course, because he’s the one I share my life with), it helps me to work through it. Or at least to vent. It doesn’t mean I’m looking for sympathy. Or that I’m looking for anything. Or that my life is falling apart. It’s just an ebb, and I need to get it out. To work it out. To work through it. So it goes on my blog. Because I blog for me.

*I drafted this ages ago, then never posted it.  I think I got my feathers all ruffled after reading someone else’s blog in which they commented about being bored with bloggers who seem like they constantly blog about the train wrecks that are their lives.  It’s part of that narcissistic nature in which I ridiculously think that everyone should be my friend and in which I think I want and need everyone’s approval, and of course I assumed she was referring to me (as one of the boring, thus dropped, bloggers).  Righteous indignation.  You should see the other drafts I have in limbo.  I’ve (thus far) spared the global public from some of my more lengthy rants!  Besides, I’ve put enough space between them that the issues of the moment are long past, and no longer on my mind.

At some point early on, the notion formed that I had to do something meaningful in my life, something BIG; I couldn’t just be.  Later, I reformed the notion from having to do something meaningful, to wanting to do something meaningful.  As time progressed, the notion fell further and further behind, buried somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind.

I haven’t given much thought to mortality for quite some time.  In my twenties I had a dream in which I died, and it was all so clear and unterrifying.  From that point on, I no longer feared my own death.  Nor did I think of it (not that I’d given my demise that much thought prior to the awakening).  That is, until I became a mother.

Suddenly, I am keenly aware of my mortality.  I have children to raise, and I want to see them to adulthood.  The recent loss of a dear friend amplifies the awareness further still.  In less than two months, she went from the vibrant friend I’ve known for the past twenty years to a memory.  Cancer exposed its ugly face and devoured her, and just like that, she is gone.

I’m very goal oriented, so I tend to focus on the destination more than the journey.  Even in the most literal sense, as a traveler, I’m the one saying, “Are we there yet?” rather than, “Hey!  Look at that!!”  Thus far, I’m not very good at the journey.  My life has been a series of goals; it’s how I survive.  Get a job, get a home, get a car, get out of debt.  Those are the easy goals.  Those are the goals over which I have control.  Then there are the personal goals.  Find true love.  Build a family.  Live happily ever after.  Find inner peace.  Live a meaningful life.  These are the goals that challenge me, because these goals require me to focus on the journey.  I need to learn to enjoy the journey.  I need to just be (to the best of my ability).  I need to convince myself that it’s okay to just be.  It’s okay.  I don’t need or have to do anything big.

It’s all about the journey.  I already know that’s the answer.  Somebody with far more wisdom than I have already went through the effort to find that.  Live joyfully.  Go thy way, eat thy bread with  joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart.  Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.

New goal.  In the morning, when I rise, I shall ask myself, “How are you going to love today?” and in the evening before I sleep, I shall ask myself, “What did you love today?” In so doing, I live a meaningful life.

Hello there, my Beautiful Boy!  You are such a fine young boy.  I love how you say, “I don’t know ever-fing, cos I’m just a booooooyyyyyyy.”  You look so grown up!  You sound so grown up!  You are quite the conversationalist, and I’m often astounded at the things you say, although we all could have done without you matter of factly calling your dad an SOB last night, because he wouldn’t let you have your way.   We knew it was a matter of time when you’d try that one out.  Sometimes your antics drive me batty, and I have to remind myself that you’re only four.  You are as sharp as a tac, and because of that, you keep me on my toes, always!  You are very very good at behaving badly, and how can I fault you when you explain that “it’s fun for me-eeeeee….”   I’m so challenged, finding ways to explain to you how to behave.

I love the way you talk to me in the morning, after you’re refreshed yourself with a good night’s sleep.  Often you lift your sweet face to me, and say, “Mommy, I’m sorry I acted up last day.”  We talk about you working on your attitude and your temper, and you promise to try harder.  It’s so hard to be four, isn’t it?!

You are a light in my life, my Beautiful Boy.  You have a big, beautiful, loving heart.  I love the way you hug and kiss your little brother.  I love that you still like to snuggle with me.  I love the way you spontaneously wrap your arms around me and bury your face in me.  I love the way you kiss me goodbye every morning when I leave you at daycare, and the way you always turn the last kiss into a big raspberry.  I love your sense of humor.  I love your sense of compassion.  I hope and pray that I can always be for you the mother you need me to be, to nurture you, guide you, teach you, and raise you to be the best  you can be.

I love YOU, my Beautiful Boy!  My beautiful, four year old boy.  Happy Birthday.

• Perhaps I’ll start weaning at 6 months.  EPing is a one-day-at-a-time thing.  Perhaps by six months I’ll be in some kind of a groove where I’ll be happy to continue.  Perhaps not.  The wake up at midnight sessions are brutal, especially when I have to get up for real at 5:30.  Every day I run through mental calculations of how much I need, how much I can store, how long it will last, how much it will take to just sustain, and so on and so forth.  Luckily I’ve found a forum/community of other EPers; women who are just as, if not more, neurotic than I am over this whole lactation gig.  If I do continue the current rate of production, and the current rate of consumption remains the same as well, I can go until 8 months and have enough stash to coast through the remaining 4 months.  That’s my lofty goal, and it’s 4 months less pumping than I went through with BB, so surely I can do this.  Surely?  Except I may not have enough freezer space.  In which case I go back to recalculating.  As I do.  Every. Single. Day.
• I’m thinking more and more of that Zoloft, waiting patiently in my pantry, calling to me ever so softly.
• Part of my problem, I’m nearly certain, is the lack of sunshine in my neck of the woods.  According to climateZONE , we have 308 cloudy and partly cloudy days a year, and 155 days with precipitation.  Oi.  Recently, way too much precipitation.  The flooding has been crazy.  So many people have lost their homes and possessions.  So many roads are damaged.  It’s awful.  Why do I live here?  Oh.  My job.  And those 57 sunny days, that are simply stunning.
• Last week was very hard on me.
• I’m doing much better this week.  I’m handling the daycare-wrenching-my-children-from-my-loving-embrace thing, and thankful for a little autonomy, even.
• I’ve lost a blanket.  I don’t know HOW I could have managed such a feat, but I have.  I’ve looked everywhere (except of course where it is, wherever that may be).  Of course it’s my favorite.
• Tonight I plan to make pork chops, and cook enough to last for the next three days, as I will be too tired from the office and commute to cook.  By Thursday, or even Wednesday, Gadget will probably be making excuses not to partake.
• If it weren’t up to me, we’d live on pizza, pasta, and enchiladas.  I really should not give in so much, and just make what I like and tell them to “like it or lump it.”  That’s what my mother told us when we made complaints about the menu.
• I love love LOVE those donation trucks that come by and take away all the crappe I don’t want anymore stuff I leave on my front porch.  (It’s not all junk.  A lot is almost new, maybe worn only once, such as my ‘nursing’ clothes — the mama pajamas with matching baby jammies, and all the nursing-friendly tops.  I had high hopes.  At least I didn’t spend a fortune on nursing bras.)  BB is very lucky that the toys I confiscated yesterday didn’t end up in that truck.  They’re in purgatory, for the time being.  If he doesn’t notice they’ve gone, then they will shortly disappear for good, but if he does notice, then he will have to earn them back.  I was SO tempted to put them out on the porch with the other things, though.
• LB’s hair has grown long enough to overcome its natural tendency to spike, so he looks completely different.  He’s not my fuzzy monkey any more.  But he’s still my snugglebear.  My snugglebear with what looks like the beginning of a molar protruding from the side of his upper left gum.  My slobber-faced snugglebear.
• I am still plagued by the phantom and nearly constant smell of second-hand smoke.  I’m the only one affected, and it’s driving me batty.
• In an effort to assuage the above, I’ve just pumped two reservoirs full of saline solution through my sinuses, using my Grossan tip thingy.  Now I feel dizzy, as one does, when one is not accustomed to having clear sinuses.
• Why is dinner time such a struggle with a 4-yr old?  Oh.  Because he’s four.  Where is that Zoloft?

Finding the bright side

I really like being at the office, in the flesh.  I like seeing the people, walking down the hallways exchanging hellos, sitting at my desk and hearing the buzz around me.  It’s a boost.

I like that LB is such a laid back little boy.  He’s happy to see me when we get home, and he doesn’t appear to hold anything against being left with a caregiver all day.  I hold him and he stands on his strong little legs and gives me that, -I’m the coolest thing ever- look.  He is just so pleased with himself and his new discovery that he can use his legs for more than kicking, and it’s literally written all over his face.  I love that.  LOVE IT.

I like that, since LB is an every other day pooper, and generally a daytime pooper, I have very few poopy diapers to contend with.  Nice!

Daycare is frighteningly expensive, and I’m still getting used to the thought of it, but I can afford it, so I’m grateful.  The part about having to pay for it whether or not we actually go still bothers me, but I have to remember that our caregiver’s living depends on contracted service, and it’s not her fault if the roads are flooded or frozen or otherwise impassable.  Also, if we didn’t contract, then we wouldn’t be guaranteed placement, and that could be far worse.

Even if all this adjustment makes me dry up (the supply has plummeted this week, which in itself freaks me out which then causes it to dwindle further; it’s a horrible, vicious cycle -I was three ounces short in just one pumping session, this morning, which is SUBSTANTIAL), it won’t be the end of the world to have to switch to formula, and I can still be grateful that my baby has gotten over 4 months of breast milk and all its benefits.  I still hope I can recover (which is why I’m spending all this time trying to think of the bright side of things and get my head into a better place).

The yin

(Why is it that the negative and dark yin is the feminine attribute, whereas the positive and light yang is the masculine?)

The other morning while I was getting everything ready (even though I’d gotten as much ready the previous night as possible, there is still a lot to do in a morning before getting out the door), BB kept asking, -Mommy, why are you running so fast everywhere?-

I tried a new tactic of feeding LB as much as possible just before I went to bed, to try and hold him through the night.  He would only take 5 ounces, and by morning there was a smell to the remaining 2-3 ounces, so I had to dump it.  I can’t say how wrenching it is to have to dump that substance for which I work so hard and sacrifice so much!  Maybe it was still okay, but normally I can barely detect only the slightest sweet scent, and I’d rather not take any chances.

Part of me wouldn’t be too heartbroken to wean at this point, but the better part of me is concerned about the hormonal effects and the appetite effects.  I’m a bit leery of sending myself into a psychological tailspin by rocking the hormonal boat, since I can feel myself teetering as is.  And as far as appetite goes, I’d hate to find myself sustaining a large appetite without having my body work some of it off in the milk factory.  I’ve put on some belly fat since having LB, and am somewhat afraid of exacerbating the condition.  Okay, terrified.

There is also a part of me that wonders if this stubborn and neurotic obsession with lactation is hurting my developing relationship with my child.  If I weren’t obsessing so much, would I be snuggling with him more?

In need of a paradigm shift

Paradigm in itself is a good word, but it’s been so abused in corporate circles that it is forever tarnished. Tarnished or not, I am in need of a paradigm shift.

It’s hardly the norm any more for women to be (just the) homemakers and men to be (just the) breadwinners, yet somehow it’s been etched in my mind that this is the ideal, the way it’s supposed to be (even with those commercials in the 70s where the woman, hear her roar, sings -I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan…Because I’m a woman, W-O-M-A-N…-)   And because of this, I have a tendency to resent the fact that I am the main breadwinner, when I should celebrate that there has been no glass ceiling for me.  I envy those women who get to be SAHMs in this day and age, or, gasp, SAHWs, yet at the same time I feel guilty that I am out in the paid work force eking out a living, as though I should give it up and buck it up and just find a way to live with the one (lesser) income, because I’m a mother and should be home with my children.  I tend to fall into the thought pattern that if I weren’t the main breadwinner, maybe I’d have more of a choice to be a SAHM.  Hence the resentment.  Poor Gadget.  He’s good at what he does, and he’d be a terrible SAHD.  Truly, the essence of this narcissistic spiral is that deep down I just want to be a princess, dammit, and spend my time leisurely kissing the children (while the nanny does the work), playing the spinet, and sipping tea from the finest translucent porcelain while my dear husband dotes on me and lavishes me with lovely gowns and jewels.

Then, because I happen to like my work, I feel even guiltier, because when it comes down to it, I get cabin fever when trapped home all day, and crave exposure with more people.  So I can’t win for losing, what with the tangled mess that is my mind.

I need to make peace with the fact of being a career woman.  I need to find a way to convince myself that it doesn’t make me less of a mother.

It may be PPD trying to get its grip on me.  I suppose, if I’d read through the convoluted diatribe I’ve just written, I’d concede that it HAS taken root, and just bust out my Zoloft, for God’s sake.

Of course I’m biased, but I think he IS the best baby in the universe!  His hair is finally growing long enough to fall over, rather than stand straight up in all directions like a fuzzy little monkey.  Except he’s bald in back from rubbing his head back and forth, which makes for a very funny profile.  He’s learning to use his legs more now.  He puts his weight on them and practices standing.  When he’s on his tummy, he scoots his butt up and sort of kicks his legs.  He may crawl soon, at this rate!

I’m feeling a bit anxious about next week.  LB begins daycare on Monday.  While I’m very thankful for the help, there is a large part of me that is sad to leave my baby in the care of someone else for the better part of each day.  He will have excellent care and attention, and I will have a little more unencumbered time in which I can do things like make mad dashes to grocery stores without wrangling car seats and unruly nearly four year olds.

I figure it will take me three hours from the time I wake until I make it to the office, on the office days, and that is also somewhat stressful.  Three. Hours. For. Goodness’. Sake.  I need time to pump, wash the parts, pack them up along with the pump to tote to the office, pack the laptop, get myself dressed and ready, get the kids dressed and ready, load up the car, drop the boys off at daycare, then head in to the office.  Work.  Arrive home in time to pump again.  Wash up, make dinner, get as much ready as I can for the next day.

Office days will be very long for me, and I’m sure I will value my telecommuting days all that much more.  It’s important for me to go back to the office though.  I need the adult interaction.  I need to sumberge myself in the variety of personalities.

Until it all becomes part of my day to day, I think I’ll find myself anxious more often than not.  Change tends to be stressful, but I know I’ll settle in to a routine eventually.

Meanwhile, LB is expressing himself more and more!  His hungry cry is NNN-GHEEEEE, NNN-GHEEEEE, NNN-GHEEEEE.  See?  It even sounds like ‘hungry’!  My kid is a genius.  Genius!  He’s showing more emotions and slobbering like a fiend, chewing on his fingers until he practically gags himself (not such a genius in that regard).

I think he may be going through a growth spurt, because he’s taking quite a lot more milk it seems.  Yesterday he had 31 ounces (waking every 2-3 hours, which is NO picnic for me), when I think he’s been averaging closer to 22-26 before that.  That’s another thing I need to figure out – how many bottles to send with him to daycare, and how much fresh I’ll have ready for him, and how much refrigerated, and with all that, the instructions for which milk is which and the order in which to use it.  So complicated!  Maybe I’ll number the bottles.  I haven’t paid all that much attention to how much he has each day.  I feed him on demand, and I’m making enough to meet his needs, with some extra to freeze.  So this weekend I’m carefully noting how much he has each day, to help me figure out how much to send with him on Monday.

So many things to think about and prepare, when one sends one’s kid off to daycare!  I think I should try not to worry about next week, and just take each day as it comes, and do my best to keep up and stay afloat.  And somewhere in the midst of all that I will need to get some sleep.

First, another look at a beautiful baby.  There can never be too much of that!

While I’m not big on resolutions, I live by lists and goals.  They help maintain my sanity.  There are so many things rattling around in my head, so putting them down on paper (so to speak) is a way to pull them out of the quagmire that is my mind, thus free it up just a bit.  In lieu of any formal resolutions, here are some of my current hopes, plans and goals, in no particular order:

1. sleep through the night — LB slept for six hours straight last night, so we’re on our way!  If only I didn’t keep waking up to check on him, or to check the time…
2. breast milk for a year — if I can maintain the current rate of production, I might be able to stop pumping in April (assuming I can find enough freezer space)
3. settle in to a livable pumping schedule in which I can get a reasonable amount of sleep; see 1 and 2
4. recover my milk supply — one day (yesterday, see 3) of fiddling with the pumping schedule and now a tremendous drop in supply. ..  …trying not to panic…
5. settle in to a good work schedule (thank God I work with and for such great people!)
6. make peace with leaving my children at daycare (children, I have children!)
7. maintain good blood sugar control
8. exercise at least 3 times/week
9. eat more healthy foods than junky foods
10. keep my cool in the face of the emotional challenges a four year old poses
11. spend a little more time and effort grooming –looking better helps me feel better…
12. enlist Gadget to help more around the house –one can always try…
13. buy a house!  Yes, the economy sucks, which is why this year is a particularly good year to buy, if we can manage it.
14. play more with my boys
15. establish a reasonable bed time and routine for BB
16. think happy thoughts
17. count my blessings every day
18. eat for necessity, not emotion or sport
19. take a vacation that’s good for all of us
20. declutter