tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23564028763008844962024-02-07T11:11:10.623-06:00KpLoving ItLIVE life + Embrace LOVE + LAUGH often = KpLovekpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comBlogger632125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-37910304746425510572019-07-15T04:00:00.000-05:002019-07-15T04:00:12.844-05:00Fortune Teller. Chapter 2. You know how my left foot is covered with a giant tattoo of the ocean, all done in black and grey, and then there's that pink floating lotus flower on my outer ankle and a snow flake on my inner ankle??? Of course when I got it, it had plenty of meaning, but I never knew I was getting a tattoo of the future.<br />
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<i>I had absolutely no clue my snow flake was the tip of an iceberg. I had not an inkling my dark waves were going to be the waves of constant struggles and emotions my future son would endure. I had no idea what my lotus flower was going to withstand, holding it's form and color no matter what. </i><br />
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If everyone knew the future and what their personal journey of parenthood embodied for them, they might never take the plunge. ALL I can remember worrying about in reference to parenthood was losing precious sleep. That's it. I never considered a single other struggle that could come my way. It makes me chuckle just to think about that.<br />
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<i>I am brave. I am strong. I am a mama bear. </i><br />
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Dillon has a really good grasp on language now (yay). It's been a year since the last time I counted how many words were in his sentence, or sighed because the only brief sentences he muttered were scripted or a repeat of what I had just said. He still scripts some and repeats himself a lot, but he also has plenty of original thought language, great functional language, can process and express his emotional state with language, and even cracks a joke every now and then.<br />
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<i>Patrick and I laughed so hard at the beach when I was stretching on the sand, and Dillon came up to me, squirting me in the head with his water gun while giggling and saying, "Oh! Sorry about your hat, Mommy!!" It was such a totally normal 5 year old boy thing to do, I couldn't even be mad. </i><br />
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He doesn't always want to, though; it takes so much more effort for him to think in words. Often he just wants to completely zone out and watch his favorite show, Oscar's Oasis (that has zero words.....it's kinda like a modern day Roadrunner and Coyote). He can reenact every scene down to the tiniest detail from any show he watches (as he does all the time), and do a puzzle in record speed (especially those really hard slide puzzles), but it takes bribery to get a detail out of him about his day, and the detail is usually such a strange or small piece of information that I don't know what do with it.<br />
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<i>As a word oriented person in a word oriented world, this is difficult for me. </i><br />
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It's not countable the amount of times I've heard, "I'm frustrated" and "I can't do it" lately. It breaks my heart to hear him say this so many times a day. How terrible is it to have so many negative emotions all day long? I know his brain is working overtime, that all these "typical" moments take extra effort, and he gets tired, but what is he going to remember about these days?<br />
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<i>As an internal optimist and someone who always has the feeling of "I can totally do that", I don't understand. </i><br />
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He worries. Oh, he worries and frets. His latest worry is about his teeth. He saw Llama Llama lose a tooth on t.v. and now he's been holding onto his teeth for the last 3 weeks, to make sure they aren't falling out.....not in a funny way. Even when he's having fun, he may stop for a few seconds to hold onto his teeth and go deep in thought about it.<br />
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<i>I've never been a worrier. I don't worry about much. But now this kid has me mulling over things all the time.</i><br />
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Every single month I ask myself, "Am I doing the right things? Am I doing everything I can to help my children grow up to be happy, thriving adults? Are they happy today? What school should Dillon go to? Do I further complicate our lives for quiet childcare that he loves or send him to a place everyone else goes to that he might hate? Do I keep him in all his therapies? Am I scaring him for life with this whole feeding therapy thing? Should I change the times of everything so he doesn't miss any school? How the heck am I going to get him everywhere? Am I being selfish or unfair for not wanting to send Mabel to school yet, even though I had already sent Dillon somewhere at her same age?"<br />
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The hard days hit really hard, crashing on everyone. No one goes emotionally untouched by them. And then the good moments come and they're joyful- even the most mundane of things- and I think, "Ah ha. Is this what it's like to be normal??" We get to feel almost normal so much more than we used to, and I'm utterly grateful for each savory minute. But that doesn't stop me from wanting more. Wanting more is what's gotten us this far.<br />
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I hope I saw the future when I got my latest tattoo. You know, that one with the vibrant geometric Mama bear and her happy buzzing busy bees working hard to pollinate and do their part in the world? Ya. That one. Like Dillon says with great confidence and excitement in reference to a chocolate glazed donut behind the glass counter, "I want THAT one, please!!!!"<br />
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<br />kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-32137891681321156212018-06-04T07:00:00.000-05:002018-06-04T10:00:45.651-05:00Miss Mabel 18 Months: A Toddler at her Finest<div style="text-align: center;">
Our Mabel is 18 months old and I could not have imagined a more beautiful little soul such as hers. <i>Insert her "I'm trying to cooperate, but this is extremely boring, Mom" face.</i></div>
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She loves to tease. She thinks it's hilarious to lean in and pucker her lips for a kiss (<i>making the "mmmmmmm" sound</i>), and then when she's lured you about an inch from her mouth, she'll abort mission, shake her head "no", and laugh hysterically. She knows when I call her "Miss Mabel" that things are cool and casual, and when I call her "Mabel Jane" she is being ornery or rebellious. One of her favorite things to do is break free in her birthday suit and raid the house, squealing in delight as I run after her and yell, "Mabel Jane, you get back here!! I'm going to get you!" To which she runs faster and squeals louder. And diaper changes?? Forget it. She flips so fast on the changing table that most of the time I'm trying to put them on her standing up and on the go. </div>
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She is the mediator. If Patrick is tickling me too much, all I have to do is call out her name and she immediately turns on the extremely dramatic waterworks to cut deep into her Daddy's empathy card, which gets him to stop. If Dillon and I are having a standoff because he refuses to pick something up off the floor, she runs to his rescue and picks it up. </div>
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She may be a total girly girl and insist on a "bow" and "necklay" every single day and cry when she has to take her necklace off for sleep, but she doesn't take crap from anyone. <i>This girl.</i> This girl is the sweetest, but if she needs to stand up for herself, there's no hesitation. She knows when she's getting duped (<i>as little sisters often do</i>) and will fight back, but thankfully she is also quick to forgive. </div>
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Her level of understanding is almost always surpassing my expectations. She laughs when we laugh and sometimes I wonder if she really knows why were are laughing. A couple of months ago I was standing in the bathroom braiding my hair. Mabel thought this was the ideal time for me to hold her, and when I didn't grant her wishes right away, she starting whining and pulling on my pajama pants. She eventually pulled so hard, they dropped to the floor and I was left naked from the waist down. Her interest then changed to what was directly in front of her and she just stood there, staring inquisitively. I looked down at her and said, "Yes. That is Mommy's vagina. You have a vagina too." After thinking about that for about 20 seconds, she looked down at herself, pulled her shirt up and sucked her belly in, trying diligently to locate her own lady parts. I never thought when I said that to her, she would actually comprehend what I was saying! My Nana has been calling her "wise" since she was only a few months old, and I think she hit the nail on the head.<br />
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Uncle Dusty thinks she speaks Chinese, but I try to tell him if he would listen really close, she is talking in sentences. Her vocabulary is outstanding (<i>also evidenced by her receptive language skills</i>), but we struggle on the daily with the words "Daddy vs. Dolly vs. Callie vs. Doggie" and "Mommy vs. Mine"<i>......because those all kinda sound the same</i>. At her 18 month checkup, when we were in the room alone, I burped. She looked up at me with this giant smile on her face and said, "Excuse me". Although her ability to repeat anything may be dangerous for a few reasons (<i>like when Patrick or I slip up and say stuff we shouldn't around the kids</i>), it's so releiving to have hope that we wont have to relive the struggles of delayed language. Having an older child with delayed language and a younger child with normal to advanced language is quite the interesting experience. We literally just finished the "no" stage with Dillon, and before we could catch our breath are going through it with Mabel. Mabel, being the character that she is, is switching things up, of course, and adding (<i>and let's be clear, she doesn't use it lightly</i>), "No. Stop it." <i>Insert: Mind blown. Flabbergasted. What did you just say to me? Let's take the sass down a few notches before Mommy starts implementing grounding early. </i></div>
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I'm sure anyone would have guessed after reading this much about her: she loves to practice independence. <i>Maybe it's because I decorated her room with so many birds. Maybe it's because she knows I need her to be. Maybe it's because she's her Mama's daughter.</i> She will walk anywhere by herself; I have to ask her to hold my hand. She is self content when we go to new and unusual places. She's adaptable and charming and daring and doesn't want me to help her too much.<br />
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She enjoys long talks with her best friend Dolly, who doesn't go anywhere without her tiny purple blanket known as Lovey. They both spend hours in Mabel's shopping cart, being pushed around the house, and help line up all the other baby's to feed and manage diaper changes.</div>
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And lastly, she loves her Daddy dearly, but I'm still her favorite (<i>just how I like it</i>). But even though I'm her favorite and she gives me kisses all day long, she refused to give me a single kiss during this photoshoot<i>.....because she knew I REALLY wanted her to and apparently that's what my kids do when I really want them to do something.</i></div>
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-40586720428565440672018-05-30T06:00:00.000-05:002018-05-30T10:09:14.297-05:00Confusing Times, Indeed<div style="color: #454545; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
Kudos to you parents who remember the really hard stuff about your kids....like their birthdays down to the exact day and year they were born along with their birthing stats, or what antibiotic they took last and when and for how long. I just remember all the good stuff like how they very first thing I noticed about Dillon when they handed him to me is he had invisible eyebrows/eyelashes, and how Mabel was the exact opposite (<i>but they were both perfect in every way</i>), and their favorite foods or (<i>hopefully</i>) to bring water when we go out to the park. Every single time I sit down to fill out another dang patient portal to get Dillon in with a specialist or for therapy, I'm racking my brain all over again about the fine details in his life that everyone wants to know. "Is she really his mother?" they probably think. "If so, why can't she remember all these things about her kid?" I think I'm just going to create a resume for him and then tattoo it to his back, like that girl in the movie Waterworld. <br />
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When I'm not arguing with our insurance company or making one hundred other phone calls to try and utilize as many recourses for Dillon as possible, I'm making sure to hardwire the most important memories into my brain; the memories of my kids being kids. </div>
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Toddlers and preschoolers. They are their own species; a fun and very confusing set of alien-mammals<i>.......maybe even more confusing than men find women to be</i>. I mean, I think everyone is familiar with the whole saying "no" when they mean "yes" thing.........But sometimes they’ll do anything just to spite you, like scream for "Marshall" pull-ups when you try to put on the "Chase" pull-up, and when you grab the "Chase" pull-up scream for the "Marshall" pull-up.........or add a "no" to your "no" to make a "no no", and when you repeat it, adding another negative to make a "triple no". This of course, always means "yes"....or "maybe".....or "no".....or "I'm too tired to know what I want", and as their parents, you're just somehow suppose to know the answer while remaining a stoic rock solid voice of reason.<i>......even though the inside you is slowly curling up into fetal position.</i></div>
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And then there are the sweet times with a twist of grossness, like when you’re outside scooping up all the dog poop with the popper scooper so your kids can run as wild and free as a kid can be in a metro-yard in the fresh air without stepping in feces and your son runs up to you and says, “Here you go mommy. I found one!” and hands you a handful of dog turds.......to which you do your best to hide your horror and gently reply,” Thank you, sweetie. That was very helpful and thoughtful. Now let’s go wash your hands and don’t touch ANYTHING. Poopoo is yucky, “ treading carefully not to crush his spirits or discourage his help<i>......and thank your lucky stars that at least it wasn't fresh!</i></div>
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And let's not forget their constant state of denial until it's compellingly urgent, like realizing they are the living-breathing-tiny-versions of that snicker's commercial "You're just not you when you're hungry." Or lately our boy has been literally bouncing off the walls before bed (<i>no matter how much gross motor play we do during the day</i>) and when either of us finally get him to sit in the rocking chair he dramatically yells, “My eyes!” as he rubs his fists into them and we say, “They’re burning because you’re so tired,” and he is in REM sleep about 15 seconds later. And on the occasion that he crawls into bed with us in the wee hours of the morning, I'm awoken to, "ROOOOAAAARRR. Shark monster!" which is startling, but still preferred over the sound of an alarm clock.</div>
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<i>How in the world are we suppose to know how to handle every situation?!?!? </i>A couple of weeks ago, Dillon fell asleep on the couch while I was still at work. Patrick, scared to wake him, took the opportunity to give Mabel a bath and start putting her to bed, and when I got home, that boy was still sound asleep. We diligently debated all angles of waking him up verses letting him sleep and ultimately decided to gamble with everyone's night by transferring him to bed, fully clothed and all, crossing our fingers for the best. Ahhh, we were so close to waking him, in fear that if we didn't, he would wake up at 2 am from a great nap, ready to rumble..........but as luck would have it, he slept the entire night!!!! </div>
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Maybe the most confusing part about being a parent is the lacking of individualized owners manuals for each child, since they're all completely unique.......and within themselves react differently to every situation based on their unstable moods. What would the manual be called? "Instructions for what MIGHT work during impossible situations. Full disclosure: As fore-mentioned, we called it an impossible situation for a reason because their frontal lobes aren't fully developed yet and there's nothing you can do about it."<br />
But that's what makes it an adventure, right? It's like they say, "It was no mistake that God made them cute." And it's also probably why they invented Yoga and wine. </div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-5471903046025411992018-05-10T22:29:00.002-05:002018-05-10T22:29:41.047-05:00This is my Circus: Mommin' Ain't Easy<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #26282a; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;"><b>Reflecting on our Roller-coaster Life of Victories VS Failures</b></span></span></div>
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I'm not a perfect Mom, but I'm learning all the time. Nor am I usually the type of person to care about what people think. I'm comfortable with who and what I am, but as a mother, there IS a part of me that cares a little bit about what people think in relation to my children, because they are still learning how to be themselves in this world. They don't deserve awkward stares or harsh judgment yet, especially not based on one moment in time (<i>sometimes not the most show-case worthy moment</i>). But the funny thing is, even though a moment can be perceived to be horrific by general standards, it really may be a breakthrough juncture with victory lurking around the corner. </div>
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In order to talk, you must first be able to make noise and WANT to communicate. A year ago, when Dillon was virtually non-verbal and only yelling at us in frustration, Patrick and I thought, "This is terrible." But a therapist convinced us it was wonderful news, because he was indeed communicating, just in-effectively. She taught us how to replace his yelling with words. Flashing forward 6 months, instead of screaming at me when I sing, he says, "No sing." Flashing forward almost 6 more months into the present, not only can Dillon talk in simple but complete sentences, he says, "Sing with me, Mommy!" "Sing louder, Mommy!" "Sing faster, Mommy." "Sing slower, Mommy" "Sing regular, Mommy".....as he comes to get close enough to look me in the eyes, anxiously anticipating the words about to escape my lips. All this stemmed from yelling, a mechanism perceived as something negative.</div>
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<span style="color: black;">For the longest, I thought Dillon wanting me to hold him all the time was a fleeting moment......and then he turned 3 and still wanted me to carry him everywhere and I realized we had some work to do. But i</span>n order to walk with me in a public place, Dillon must first have the drive and the confidence to walk in public. Up until about 3 months ago, that boy had never set so much as a toe on the ground in public unless it was at a park and even then, he wanted me to hold his hand at all times. <i>Imagine me wearing Mabel and balancing my gigantic 45 lb 3 year old on my hip.......Then imagine tiny little Mabel walking everywhere and me still either carrying Dillon, or hoisting him up into a shopping cart......</i></div>
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The other day we had a break-through incident at Trader Joe's. It was wonderful, yet also terrible, chaotic, and confusing. To preface, my boy is an all or nothing kind of kid with a tenacity that can impress even the most experienced of therapists, who has a voice that can carry through a jungle clearer than Tarzan. </div>
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<b>Flexibility adjustment #1:</b> I pick him up from school. He says, "Let's go to the zoo!!" I break the news to him that the closest we are getting to zoo animals today is looking at the painted farm animals on the walls of the grocery store. (<i>This is an eggshell moment, since </i>a<i>ltering his expectations is always scary. In the past it would 100% trigger a meltdown, but we are making improvements in this area.</i>)</div>
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<b>Victory #1:</b> <span style="color: black;"> He gets out of the car all by himself for the very first time in his life!!! I'm so proud and sing him praises.</span></div>
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<b>De-regulation incident #1:</b> While he's waiting on me to get Mabel out of the car, he ootches over to the median and observes some bugs. "AHHHH!!! THERE'S AUNTS!!!" he screams, as he races around a couple of parked cars and back to me. During this time a by-stander thinks she's "helping me.......or society in general" by lecturing him, "No running in the parking lot, young man. You need to stay by your Mother." (<i>to which he is terrified and runs even more to get away from her.....</i>)</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><b>Victory #2: </b>He walks up to the store with me (<i>our newest normal</i>), we get to the cart and I ask him as always, "Do you want to walk or ride in the cart?" To my surprise he opts to walk! (<i>I almost fell over and died from shock, right there.</i>)</span></div>
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<b>De-regulation incident #2:</b> While I was picking out some veggies, he decides it would be good time to push the cart himself, swiftly knocking several groceries off the shelf, and almost hitting two different shoppers. (<i>It may have taken 30 seconds or less for this is to transpire.</i>) I gently redirect him, which of course ruined his fun and crushed his new found confidence. "I just want to go home!! Let's just go to the red car!" he yells at the top of his lungs as he darts for the doors. I manage to catch him in the middle of the automatic entrance and convince him to stay and count the cows on the wall (<i>to which he reluctantly agreed</i>), and he demanded I put Mabel in the cart (<i>to which I reluctantly agreed</i>). </div>
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<b>De-regulation incident #3:</b> Things were going great, until they abruptly weren't anymore and he again decided it was definitely time to go home, to which he bolted, then stopped and started whimpering. When he wouldn't come back, I had to retrieve him and he started yelling at the top of his lungs to go home, threw himself onto the floor in the middle of the aisle and grew roots. Carts were being forced to dodge the planted boy on the floor and after a few minutes I was forced pick him up. "We are going to pay for our groceries and then go home, " I promised. But his emotions where already too high for reason. "Just go home! Just go home!" Everyone was concerned or annoyed at this point. About 3 different people came up to us and tried to offer Dillon a source of distraction, which to most kids would probably work, but this only increased his stress and anxiety, since he is terrified of strangers talking to him and invading his space. A cashier then approaches us to pull us to her open register and get us the heck out of the store. (<i>"Whew, it's almost over", I thought to myself, "We can do this."</i>) </div>
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<b>De-regulation incident #4: </b><span style="color: black;">While the groceries were being ringed up, a well meaning older lady who was probably in her 80's got about 4 inches away from Dillon's face and asked, "Would you like to me tell you a story?" and immediately proceeded into her story as if she didn't hear Dillon screaming, "No! No! NO!!!!!!" I gave her the "thanks but no thanks" response and tried to move on. But the damage had already been done. </span>He jumped from my hip and sprinted for the door AGAIN. Concerned for his safety, everyone in a 10 foot radius started to corral him like a wild animal, to which he responded with horror and ping-ponged his way back to me out of pure terror. (<i>At this point of de-regulation, Dillon loses ability to receive or express most verbal language.......Yay for Autism.........So scolding him would not only be further emotionally devastating, but he would also have no idea what I was saying. We are working on getting visual aids to help for situations like this.</i>)</div>
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<b>Comedic Relief (<i>probably only appreciated by me at this point</i>):</b> I pay for the bill with cash, and while the cashier is attempting to count my change back, Dillon decides this is a good time to very loudly count backwards, "10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5!.........." And Mabel is crying. The cashier's fingers are fumbling around and she's looking very stressed and attempting to recount the money, with much trouble. "You're not the boss of me; stop rushing me" she kind of jokingly directs to my little heathen. (<i>I guess at this point it would have been more appropriate of me to pay with my card</i>.)</div>
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Have you ever been on either side of this scenerio?</div>
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To digress, it was not what most people would call a successful trip to the grocery store, but it was the cracking open of a door that needs to be traveled through. A step in the right direction. The peeping of a skill that can be built upon, and build we will, I have no doubt. But since he has never walked in public before, we didn't even have a starting point until now. And in the in mean time, we will be breaking all sorts of social standard rules that lots of people wont understand. But some people will, like the sweet Mom of 4 at the mall this week who offered to watch Mabel for me while I chased Dillon down in the overcrowded food court and figured out a way to help him tune out the over-stimulating noise by focusing on a water fountain. I can't explain how much that gesture meant to me in a time of vulnerable desperation. </div>
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<span style="font-size: 13px;">Do me a favor, in honor of Mother's Day, let's all just offer non-judgmental support for one another and lift each other up in praise, because DANG, "Mommin' Ain't Easy".........and you never know..........that lady with the out of control kid at the store could be me.......and that out of control kid could just be a really sweet (<i>most of the time</i>), adorable pre-schooler with sensory processing issues who is trying to navigate through some really scary stuff in his world. </span>And dammit; I needed some fruits and vegetables!!!</div>
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-17911172885908679792018-02-23T12:05:00.002-06:002018-02-23T12:57:32.272-06:00Letting Go of Expectations<div style="text-align: center;">
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footer"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="line number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="page number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
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<br />
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">I read once that the
number one reason for being disappointed with anything in life is not because
of the lack of quality of an experience in itself, but almost always because we
tend to set unrealistic expectations. By limiting expectations and comparisons,
life naturally happens and is appreciated for what it is.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgZUdnvkn_FFU62ExhSaxx183VzN9z_pDrGC58cwslF2AOJw7InNe0LP0O02B-IagUmx_TUe5xNE1UxtNtZCv6OfuR5-1bb6RBPwwaA415He6G__cCBcRQFtBMBp_vYQ_cD7RBatjdhI/s1600/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-70.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgZUdnvkn_FFU62ExhSaxx183VzN9z_pDrGC58cwslF2AOJw7InNe0LP0O02B-IagUmx_TUe5xNE1UxtNtZCv6OfuR5-1bb6RBPwwaA415He6G__cCBcRQFtBMBp_vYQ_cD7RBatjdhI/s400/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-70.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZAQ9Eq-JzY-axWJQFlU5JSM0ELOBI11_IU5r_zZpPt3Y3MxtKqZdnLSCipNvX4fEWzyXI8J1P6QqbXOH-6OeTiKHmpLfDTAxIz03RB1L_BVTWl9ulM99-_te8Ki8atT8olINE3nr-Cc/s1600/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZAQ9Eq-JzY-axWJQFlU5JSM0ELOBI11_IU5r_zZpPt3Y3MxtKqZdnLSCipNvX4fEWzyXI8J1P6QqbXOH-6OeTiKHmpLfDTAxIz03RB1L_BVTWl9ulM99-_te8Ki8atT8olINE3nr-Cc/s400/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-156.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
</div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Oh man, this has helped me in so many areas of my life, but was especially true when it came to feeding my babies. So there is this giant movement of
"Breast is Best"; in my line of work, I'm completely submerged in it. And although it's true that breast milk is amazing
and there will never be anything quite as complete, it's not for everyone for a
multitude of reasons, moms and babies alike. It’s supposed to be easy, and for some people it is, but
life is complicated. My favorite mantra is "Fed is Best", because
let's face it, there's already plenty of reasons a parent can feel like they're
failing, but being able to provide nutrition for their brand new mini to thrive shouldn't
be one of them.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWrE5IH2AM8MtRH9X7uN00fYZox1FucfDlCIMw5Qy5iN35q_RT1czB-E6KlNlJAEmZKUNqb-OwLt9aS5Lf0teecsXuGHmk7gghmFHPjGqBrueG4MpZTnzjWAZw3PQxptj2GaIP6K7aBo/s1600/fullsizeoutput_32e1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWrE5IH2AM8MtRH9X7uN00fYZox1FucfDlCIMw5Qy5iN35q_RT1czB-E6KlNlJAEmZKUNqb-OwLt9aS5Lf0teecsXuGHmk7gghmFHPjGqBrueG4MpZTnzjWAZw3PQxptj2GaIP6K7aBo/s400/fullsizeoutput_32e1.jpeg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXnlYcGhV6aDTLQ-nJcFkfO2IF8_bacTFVjpJlmn_1-3gxGJTcxjW-SBjhuzBS3fPf-mx7Fj726GJfM9K4Nmh6rKcAJsSLHXsvrTQTmf_SimD-Mk816r-Tpi4TPa3t0dCANJuL799HiQ/s1600/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-489.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXnlYcGhV6aDTLQ-nJcFkfO2IF8_bacTFVjpJlmn_1-3gxGJTcxjW-SBjhuzBS3fPf-mx7Fj726GJfM9K4Nmh6rKcAJsSLHXsvrTQTmf_SimD-Mk816r-Tpi4TPa3t0dCANJuL799HiQ/s400/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-489.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
</div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">I mourned a little bit
when breastfeeding didn't work out for Dillon and I. Let's be real, when those hormone levels are flourishing and intimate decisions need to be made quickly, emotional stakes are high. But then I held my head up and pumped every cubic centimeter of milk I
could until it practically turned into powder 8.5 months later. Leading up to
Mabel's delivery I tried to mentally prepare myself for a similar scenario. I
decided no matter what happened, I was not going to be disappointed with how I
fed my darling daughter. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRQsfFCB_A72yF6ujn6-0uSFP6NgBbB6ywRSFUWcpf7pNK_5T0melR-kRelac0aIFFPWD-qm1W7bmHmzFFn00qCZcX4uFPeVTxPcFx3L0qBx3GOo4w0KACYwj8z-jfySEezyaoJQ5Bp8/s1600/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRQsfFCB_A72yF6ujn6-0uSFP6NgBbB6ywRSFUWcpf7pNK_5T0melR-kRelac0aIFFPWD-qm1W7bmHmzFFn00qCZcX4uFPeVTxPcFx3L0qBx3GOo4w0KACYwj8z-jfySEezyaoJQ5Bp8/s400/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-384.jpg" width="266" /></a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiuvBoOa_GLwnDavMTSbIqu_FgSIiOI0oUOKTsYw_9ixYSBlr3urM5NlFO64xdFWt07IF99dtvlOQ4qLpGrk7DdR56QHru31pxuju5c-sLWX7sYJRoZxsGTJS0Mzoxkebv0J4Oa9S-0Qo/s1600/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiuvBoOa_GLwnDavMTSbIqu_FgSIiOI0oUOKTsYw_9ixYSBlr3urM5NlFO64xdFWt07IF99dtvlOQ4qLpGrk7DdR56QHru31pxuju5c-sLWX7sYJRoZxsGTJS0Mzoxkebv0J4Oa9S-0Qo/s400/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-192.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
</div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">As it turns out, Mabel
was the most patient yet determined little breast-feeder I have ever met. She
ate and slept so good I actually had to set an alarm clock to wake her up to
eat every 3 hours, which takes a ton a self-control to keep up! Patrick had it
super easy (<i>I.M.O.</i>) and slept all night while this was going on, so I was sure to make
it a wee bit harder on him by turning on the light with every session (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he always says I’m mean…..maybe he’s right</i>).
Knowing much more about my body this go around, it was easier to fall into an
effective routine </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 18px;">(</span><i style="font-family: times; font-size: 18px;">and SNS is a fantastic tool if you can figure out how to use it</i><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 18px;">)</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">, but let’s be clear: there was nothing EASY about waking up
every 3 hours to breast-feed AND pump for who knows how many days in a row (<i>nature blurs all those lines for a reaso</i>n), but Mabel totally loved it, which totally made it worth all the effort. She practically lived to latch. If she could be latched 23 hours a day, she would would have been, and I was completely okay with that, because I knew one day I would miss it. </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 18px;">I'll never forget that one day after Dillon watched Mabel breastfeed so many times, he decided to try it out for himself to see what all the fuss was about and got dangerously close before I figured out what was happening and redirected him!! </span><i style="font-family: times; font-size: 18px;">Ahhhh, the gift of imitation. </i><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Mabel co-slept with us
until she 5 months old (<i>I loved every second of it</i>), and remained an avid
breast-feeder (<i>with supplementation</i>) until 11.5 months old, when a nasty stomach bug robbed us of any
remaining time we had left. M<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">y goal was
12 months and it drove me crazy that we didn’t make it!</span> A great deal of determination and support is needed to sustain a milk supply and I am thankful for every single person who helped us be successful. I cherished every moment, took way too many pictures (<i>that she will probably never want to see or even know about</i>), and cried several tears when I knew that particular section of our lives was over. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Why I loved it so</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Convenience.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> I had warm milk ready
and available to feed my baby anytime, anywhere. We nicknamed Mabel "Goldy Locks" for
a while (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">definitely not because of her
hair</i>), because if she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> take a
bottle, it had to be the PERFECT bottle (<i>that took a few painful weeks to figure out</i>) and the PERFECT temperature (<i>since she was so spoiled to her
milk always being just right</i>). And when I say “anywhere”, I mean she literally
wanted to eat everywhere we went……. probably because it was one of her favorite
things combined with the bonus of shutting out the world for a little bit, just to be with me.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUzGvs5CByQe31GfS7pfu6wifKCbPHFd5Dlvq-DsPHHMRLYs1kkbTMnx-9A4r53om2i5Bi6KMZh1W2SISkWCcH96ZLvxbZcLbxrKU2S6aFleqazAEn5q-eoLNUd6CbsRIXYYtKb_VsY8/s1600/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUzGvs5CByQe31GfS7pfu6wifKCbPHFd5Dlvq-DsPHHMRLYs1kkbTMnx-9A4r53om2i5Bi6KMZh1W2SISkWCcH96ZLvxbZcLbxrKU2S6aFleqazAEn5q-eoLNUd6CbsRIXYYtKb_VsY8/s400/Mabel+Carruth+Newborn-491.jpg" width="266" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Instant comfort.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> Any time Mabel was
upset or cranky or tired or overwhelmed, a boob was the magic solution. It
really was enchanting for both of us.</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 18px; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 18px; text-indent: -0.25in;">I bought about 6 different styles of pacifiers and she would never take to any of them, so comfort nursing was a big deal for us. </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">When she was tiny and going through the
witching hour?? Breastfeeding for the win! That time we spent the entire day in
the ER under florescent lighting with constant interruptions for Dillon’s transient synovitis episode???? Breastfeeding for the win!</span><br />
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sleep.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> In the mornings when
she woke up to eat, I would pull her into bed with me for "breakfast" and she’d always let me
sleep until at least 11 am. Breast-feeding was also the way I put her to sleep
every nap time (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">we took lots of naps
together as well</i>) and every bedtime (<i>a great excuse to get to put the baby to bed every single night.....Patrick was so jealous</i>). Sure, I had to stay up late to pump
and wake up early before work for more pumping, but such is life.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Bonding.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> How can I explain this
part in a way to serve it justice? We went through so many stages together.
Some were the sweetest times of authentic tenderness, like how she always
melted into my arms and curled up around me like we were two interlocked puzzle pieces.
Every occasion we were connected in this way radiated contentedness. Some
moments were more playful, like her amused attempts at molding my face as if it
was made of modeling clay or efforts at sticking her fingers in my mouth, then
my nose, then forcing them back to my mouth and giggling about it (<i>I think she has my sense of humor</i>). Sometimes
she would accidentally burp or make a funny slurping sound which would set us
off into a laughing fit. The more I laughed, the more she laughed and then we
would be laughing so hard, all prospects of eating were postponed for a while. She
has spent many an hour perfecting her fine motor skills by isolating only 2-3
strands of my hair and running her fingers through it from end to end. Some stages
were a little less sweet, like the biting and the pinching, but luckily we were able to find a way around those!</span><br />
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5. <i>Confidence.</i> My boobs were rockin' and not stoppin', if you know what I mean (<i>but sometimes there were so rockin' that they were literally rock hard, and that wasn't as cool</i>)! It's not that bigger boobs are the only quality that exert confidence, but the post baby body didn't exactly make me feel as comfortable in my skin as I usually do, and anything that helped was welcomed with open arms!</div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i>Pride.</i> I know it's just suppose to be a part of nature and nothing to brag about, but I really felt proud to be able to provide for my baby. Our bodies can do some pretty cool things!<o:p></o:p></div>
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-65944531320041083782018-02-18T20:21:00.000-06:002018-02-18T20:21:26.981-06:00Unveiling Ignorance: The Other A-word. Chapter 1<div style="text-align: center;">
Sometimes ignorance isn't bliss. Sometimes ignorance is just......ignorance. It was almost a year ago that we walked into a tiny room with life as we knew it (<i>parents of a frustrated, speech delayed, extremely shy boy who needed lots of re-assurance</i>), and walked out with a diagnosis that would change our lives forever (<i>parents of a child on the Autism Spectrum</i>). </div>
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My perception based on limited past experiences with this disorder was lined with grim thoughts, and it was most definitely something that could never happen to my own child. To me, autism was a dirty word. It was life behind invisible bars without parole. It was scary, intimidating, overwhelming <i>(which, ironically, is probably how Dillon was feeling about life every day in general</i>). I didn't handle the news gracefully. I was rude to the messenger, and to be completely honest, it's because I was angry. <i>Angry and fearful and sad.</i><br />
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I was angry that I felt judged when they asked why we hadn't had Dillon evaluation sooner. I was angry that I had to listen to a woman label all of my son's short comings, and overlook all his amazing qualities. I was angry that I felt like she made some things up, and twisted other things into something negative instead of just quirky. I was angry at myself for not biting the bullet and scheduling an evaluation sooner.<br />
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I was fearful that my son would be robbed of experiencing what I considered a "normal childhood". I was fearful for what this might mean for his long term future. I was fearful that this would be a label that haunted him forever with stigma's and associations.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXhFUK3czKe_RY8Mv5BiI6Ki53NPaBtfDiyfkiHkfiVBmCheOJwy5ciCdeh4KPBWwGFS0CMSCsyyGcFj0FNxuNhf4mlfyga10nttA76QRXIkMXCG89jC4GbJoEs7e2LKSHDPiMi6drTo/s1600/IMG_3571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXhFUK3czKe_RY8Mv5BiI6Ki53NPaBtfDiyfkiHkfiVBmCheOJwy5ciCdeh4KPBWwGFS0CMSCsyyGcFj0FNxuNhf4mlfyga10nttA76QRXIkMXCG89jC4GbJoEs7e2LKSHDPiMi6drTo/s400/IMG_3571.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
I was sad that my hopes of Dillon "outgrowing this stage" were completely shattered. I was sad that his frustrations with life were stemmed out of being misunderstood and that this might be the case his entire life. I was sad to think that my boy, my sweet cuddly handsome boy, would struggle with things beyond what neuro-typical children already struggle with. I was sad that so often, my boy was sad.....or mad......or confused.<br />
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I was also motivated. Motivated to make his life and his future better. While trying to process my feelings, I also knew my boy (<i>not even 3 years old yet</i>) needed me to pull my head above water and teach him how to swim. But what the hell did I know about autism and how to raise a child with a neurological disorder, communication impairment, and social interaction challenges??<i> Nothing.</i> I basically knew nothing. I was ignorant to my own son's learning needs and it was anything but bliss.<i> It takes a lot of guts to admit that, by the way. </i>We all want to think we know how to raise our children, that our gut will lead us in the right direction, but sometimes our gut should stick to things like digesting pizza, and being the best parent means putting our ego's aside to listen and read and seek and watch and learn from our own and other people's mistakes and be moldable.<br />
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Despite my inadequacies, the two things I knew I was still good at was loving Dillon unconditionally, and utilizing my resources to seek help. This is how our new chapter in life began.</div>
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-74069018150997980482018-02-05T08:00:00.000-06:002018-02-05T08:00:15.500-06:00Like a Mole Removal: Mabel’s Arrival<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">After extensive talks with my OB and a honest talk
with myself, it was decided Mabel’s birth would be a scheduled c-section at 39
weeks gestation. It was a strange feeling coming to the realization that I
would never know what it feels like for my water to break, or to “give birth”
the route babies were originally made to exit, but I was looking forward to the promise that this experience would be much
smoother than last time. However, I was also skeptical, a side-effect from working for years in the NICU and knowing too much about all the things that can and do go wrong. I worried many times during my early pregnancy about true knots and nuchal cords, as I felt Mabel doing way more flips and turns than Dillon ever thought about. <i>She flipped so much and so fast that sometimes I got that cool feeling in my stomach that you get when going down hill on a rollercoaster.</i> </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">I prayed hard every day for an uneventful delivery and healthy baby.</span><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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The night before meeting our baby girl, I squeezed my eyes
closed and tried to get a good night’s rest. <i>Yeah right. </i>Not only was it like
trying to sleep the night before Christmas when you’re 8 years old and can’t
think of anything other than sneaking a peak of Santa and the presents he
brought you, Dillon also must have had a 6<sup>th</sup> sense his world
was about to change, because he was up crying almost half of the night (<i>a far
deviation from his normal</i>). Oh well, right? It was merely one more night of crappy 3rd trimester sleep
before morphing back into the newborn routine, anyway.....and it was Dillon's last few moments of being THE baby, a concept that was barely even comprehendible for Patrick and I.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jAtQGhy-dKMn4JDTB2w43u7NaC82XtmnJrDAABE4z2sZ9TwSAQdaNWNQMx-vDeIn_SCbK44k5WeH7Swm2idjdMinSrczKoTryLAt66ND3Crzx6SX9lJ88zEkaBz7YNKzDAyX6_51wPM/s1600/Blog+IG5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jAtQGhy-dKMn4JDTB2w43u7NaC82XtmnJrDAABE4z2sZ9TwSAQdaNWNQMx-vDeIn_SCbK44k5WeH7Swm2idjdMinSrczKoTryLAt66ND3Crzx6SX9lJ88zEkaBz7YNKzDAyX6_51wPM/s400/Blog+IG5.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving to have my "mole removed"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The morning of November 15, we rolled out of bed (<i>well.....I hoisted out of bed</i>) to get ready,
cuddled with the boy, and left for the hospital to check-in for my majorly exciting abdominal surgery.
They took me back to a small room in triage where I changed into a styling
hospital gown attire and they started an IV. Patrick kissed my belly and felt
Mabel move around from outside in for the very last time. "Can you believe our daughter is in there?" he said, as he had said many times before. To which I melted and eventually replied, “Wow. This
is just really weird. Nothing about my body is telling me I’m ready for labor.
I am completely comfortable, and yet we know for a fact that we are about to
meet our baby girl in just a few minutes. It’s all so routine and nonchalant,
almost like I’m just going to an appointment for a mole removal or something.”<br />
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Getting an epidural is much easier when you aren’t in severe
pain and having constant contractions! I laid down and let the medicine kick
in, Patrick assumed his role by my head, and the drapes went up for skin prep!
Things were finally starting to feel real. We would hold our baby girl for the
very first time any minute and I was completely coherent to remember all the
details this time. I loved my Nurse Anesthetist; she was so responsive, quick,
and most importantly funny.<br />
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Speaking of funny, Dr. B came in with his vibrant
self and as he was cutting my belly open, he was already asking me when I’m
going to have baby #3! <i>What a nut.</i> “Chill out, Dr. B.” I said, “I haven’t even
near forgotten the last 39 weeks yet.”<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tZ3KabYgzsLhanHbxdRptFB8xXWNGqWszXM2_rUMoyn33jPDjW_QoHHrGET4n-N0_SgP7Iv9nvQtB5mVOjs97byJdFqc3maxcd653D9cjclvS9EQwz13YJ8mgJT9gvdVhsibi-kBEl8/s1600/IMG_2887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tZ3KabYgzsLhanHbxdRptFB8xXWNGqWszXM2_rUMoyn33jPDjW_QoHHrGET4n-N0_SgP7Iv9nvQtB5mVOjs97byJdFqc3maxcd653D9cjclvS9EQwz13YJ8mgJT9gvdVhsibi-kBEl8/s400/IMG_2887.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvvNBg0cBH9O8wCEkkCFc5_NoV7Qhoto22ClmNtHGfF0CvKCEWx26pgkuPWQzfL2MzQIzr1CjZe5G1BG55eQ43vKMniU3qwgUsOFSnJcQ_08u4SZ6YInzcabLPsx2Cn51_XxA-AfIA3g/s1600/IMG_1530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvvNBg0cBH9O8wCEkkCFc5_NoV7Qhoto22ClmNtHGfF0CvKCEWx26pgkuPWQzfL2MzQIzr1CjZe5G1BG55eQ43vKMniU3qwgUsOFSnJcQ_08u4SZ6YInzcabLPsx2Cn51_XxA-AfIA3g/s400/IMG_1530.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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Moments later, a quarter past noon, our beautiful baby girl was filling the room with
the sweetest sound, a new voice the world has never heard before (<i>weight: 7lbs 5oz, length: 19.75 in</i>). Her nurse Patty, put her skin to skin on my chest and that little chunk reached directly into my
heart and stretched it even bigger than I could imagine, as she pooped all over
the place with her not-even-diapered-yet-self. <i>Sweet, I know</i>. But I didn’t care in the slightest. We were completely overwhelmed with instantaneous love,
the kind of love that can’t be bothered by silly distractions like meconium.
And if Mabel was a routine mole removal, she was the most precious wrinkled mole covered in hair (<i>no, seriously, this girl still had lanugo on her backside and on the tops of her ears....it was so cute</i>) and vernix (<i>she was SUPER cheesy</i>) I had
ever laid eyes on.<br />
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And just like that, we were a family of four.......<i>and niether kid knew it yet</i> (insert devious laugh)!</div>
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-78733016279756224992018-01-30T08:00:00.000-06:002018-02-23T12:51:14.746-06:00Tiny's Transformation<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: 16px;">I don’t want this to sound like a whine-fest but the struggle was real. If one could enjoy a struggle, I really did enjoy mine and I was thankful for every minute, but struggle I did.</span></div>
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To this day, I’m still not sure if I’ll ever be able to even look at scallions or riced cauliflower again. I turn the channel if they are featured on a cooking show. I could SWEAR the smell of that single meal was embedded in our hallway carpet; I would hold my breath every morning when I walked out of the bedroom. My mom even came to clean the carpet and our entire house and I still felt like I was trapped in an odorous prison. I was only 5 weeks pregnant with Tiny, and sicker than sick. For at least the next 15 weeks, I barely survived 3 stomach virus’, constant morning sickness, and intense acid reflux. I did my best to put on a brave face, but a few days were so bad, I almost had to go to the hospital because I wasn’t sure if I was even peeing any more.<i> Let me repeat that.</i> I’m a nurse, and I wasn’t able to distinguish a vitally basic bodily function. Imagine calling the on-call OB to tell him that. I felt mentally weak a bit idiotic, and mostly embarrassed.</div>
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I could barely keep my eyes open, I was so tired and beat
down. I barely talked to anyone at work; it was all I could do to go through
the motions. I let Dillon watch a ton of videos on my phone so he would sit in
my lap and chill while I dozed off for who knows how long at a time, just to
get through the day…..<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">winning Mom of the
year on this one, I know.</i> Somehow living off
applesauce and refried beans, I didn't cook, EVER. I was a hot mess, and Patrick was scared of me most of the time, but my skin was glowing, and it
gave me this gut feeling that a girl was brewing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVwl0jggOsON7t0L8YU7X1skhKrb58A2ZBB87kJFAwck1EzTmz0DeWP9NWPTgr9kXrpmAjXUcHp-rlFImG1vap_DdOO0T4Nhfe09GG-3axPFq7udzPY9_dr9IA2S85PbqG9ybXKMW8gOg/s1600/MabelJane20wks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVwl0jggOsON7t0L8YU7X1skhKrb58A2ZBB87kJFAwck1EzTmz0DeWP9NWPTgr9kXrpmAjXUcHp-rlFImG1vap_DdOO0T4Nhfe09GG-3axPFq7udzPY9_dr9IA2S85PbqG9ybXKMW8gOg/s400/MabelJane20wks.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Of course, we would have been thrilled no matter what, we
already were. But if this was a girl, I REALLY wanted to know. I wanted to have
bows and flowers and tutus, and all things pretty in her room, so I needed to
rationalize. Yes, the gender surprise was amazing the first go around and I
wouldn’t trade that experience, but this baby would be born in the winter and
that would mean <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> shouldn’t be out
and about like a summer baby, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I said</i>.
Anyway, I wouldn’t have as much time to go out and get things after <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> birth because I would have TWO kids
to tote around this time and be post c-section<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, I said</i>. I NEED to know this baby’s gender, it just makes the most
sense, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I said</i>. Patrick was finally
convinced and on week 20 we got to change the title of my belly pics from "Tiny" to "Mabel Jane" and dress her in her very first bow, a digital pink lace one. We were
elated! Patrick finally admitted that he was hoping we were having a girl, but
felt too guilty to say it out loud. I say there’s nothing guilty about hope.</div>
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From this point on, my pregnancy would get much easier,
minus the moderately painful suprapubic pressure Miss Mabel seemed to never let
up on (<i>a belly band helped, but who wants to wear an extra layer during the hottest part of the year?!?!</i>), and enduring the excruciating heat of summer outside with Dillon, who
seemed to never notice we were actively melting. We walked many, many miles
of sidewalks. He was obsessed with pushing his ridable firetruck down the block
and famous for not wanting to walk or ride back home, so I would end up carrying his
40lb-kicking-and-screaming-self back on one side of my body while holding the
firetruck on the other, fetus Mabel cluelessly bouncing around in the middle. Around week 36 or
so, I had Patrick hide the firetruck. I just couldn’t do it anymore. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Tidbits I remember about having Mabel in my belly:</span></b><br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><b>1.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Dillon loved to use my belly as an arm rest and would
curl up around it at night as I rocked him before bed.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfpC7HWJbcOJRcUA6lEhvC3xJ8MthCGI9hhBgsdio2ZdS4Lb0Q0Zk8plRmU69cnCCJRjH8km6owBU5J3GT4-iAW02dIhECm8Pz_BtN7wvbWuKcxNR8fqul_qYtVIPhI_FDrBcjW-7Kbg/s1600/IMG_9451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfpC7HWJbcOJRcUA6lEhvC3xJ8MthCGI9hhBgsdio2ZdS4Lb0Q0Zk8plRmU69cnCCJRjH8km6owBU5J3GT4-iAW02dIhECm8Pz_BtN7wvbWuKcxNR8fqul_qYtVIPhI_FDrBcjW-7Kbg/s400/IMG_9451.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><b>2.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Mabel danced the most during girl talk and when
we sang.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><b>3.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Even though my Mabel belly didn’t look any bigger than my Dillon belly, it was shaped different and felt gigantic!<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-j1j2PhiA6Yb_ZlAR2jNAZ71ZHJqnpF1JDGGWTWwZ_aB7bVyvpcw_e_8q8utifj-0YmDkE6dvtkAQqe8ZidTG9iV9pFVuBLup7mltfnzhlEnuzgDOKVs8IT5w3viJt4JQULW5OP3fIk/s1600/IMG_9408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-j1j2PhiA6Yb_ZlAR2jNAZ71ZHJqnpF1JDGGWTWwZ_aB7bVyvpcw_e_8q8utifj-0YmDkE6dvtkAQqe8ZidTG9iV9pFVuBLup7mltfnzhlEnuzgDOKVs8IT5w3viJt4JQULW5OP3fIk/s400/IMG_9408.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><b>4.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Mabel liked to get aggressive at night as soon
as I would lay down to go to sleep; sometimes she kicked or punched me so hard
and sharp I would yelp out loud!<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirOO74nvMV9M8LQkK4n5bCE22f9-8gDLA6aoxjC0oyjk4kht4FutWHzMo0aYJ2qNx9_3PBGbEey_twhXrCEynx9QxCeHC2dLcmcwG8lLzA5cntsf5VGjoaLgzb5xcKoGDQxeyMVZAUNu8/s1600/fullsizeoutput_17ca.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirOO74nvMV9M8LQkK4n5bCE22f9-8gDLA6aoxjC0oyjk4kht4FutWHzMo0aYJ2qNx9_3PBGbEey_twhXrCEynx9QxCeHC2dLcmcwG8lLzA5cntsf5VGjoaLgzb5xcKoGDQxeyMVZAUNu8/s400/fullsizeoutput_17ca.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><b>5.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I loved guilting Patrick into slathering the belly butter
on my belly and back every night.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7QxXlFMovEDGHhU_2kmKjRrPdDS1meWR7t_Y0x22xJ2dMVPueZqk7F9A6Dd6s-StzJpeFIKlnTPD6ehBDO5rChocLR9HC15Ef4iW4ocCrOWRl34NV6m-q-sLhtSlDt5BOgTdNprN3-ww/s1600/IMG_0426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7QxXlFMovEDGHhU_2kmKjRrPdDS1meWR7t_Y0x22xJ2dMVPueZqk7F9A6Dd6s-StzJpeFIKlnTPD6ehBDO5rChocLR9HC15Ef4iW4ocCrOWRl34NV6m-q-sLhtSlDt5BOgTdNprN3-ww/s400/IMG_0426.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><b>6.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0px;">I had obvious diastasis recti by about 16 weeks (</span><i style="font-family: calibri; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0px;">and I'm still working on putting all that back together!</i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0px;">).</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH6f6yDH2XI0NRo0VI821cqgfL8mTYvrAfIwxfaeCWDjlRuJNANw2Kij7XV2aeF7cyyt0g6USGorAbkjhnn4hf_qoQQWGqCV1-2qu1Cbvwe6xN8mPRquQQMSQ5OUq5sfn7nThV1MG0MCE/s1600/14128802_1057088217672515_1048510826_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH6f6yDH2XI0NRo0VI821cqgfL8mTYvrAfIwxfaeCWDjlRuJNANw2Kij7XV2aeF7cyyt0g6USGorAbkjhnn4hf_qoQQWGqCV1-2qu1Cbvwe6xN8mPRquQQMSQ5OUq5sfn7nThV1MG0MCE/s400/14128802_1057088217672515_1048510826_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Mabel Belly, Natalia (post Ale's belly), and Cristina's Lucas Belly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>7. </b></span><span style="text-indent: -24px;">Mabel almost always laid the same way, pushing her butt out to the left side of my belly, making it lopsided. It felt sooooooo bizarre and awkward when she switched it up on occasion; you could watch the obvious lump slowly shift over to the right. I think she thought it felt as strange as I did, because she never stayed that way for long.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: -24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Despite the challenges, I loved being pregnant, and feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity. <i>Every kick. Every nudge. Every hiccup.......those are the things I'll miss the most. </i>It's such a special feeling, growing a new person and having that tiny person with you every second of the day and knowing they are so cozy and happy and have all of their needs met, yet have the building anticipation of meeting them all the while, brewing such a feeling a excitement. It's truly a life changing experience. </span></div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-58910393048982889002018-01-29T07:00:00.000-06:002018-01-29T16:31:45.571-06:00Guilt and Answered Prayers<div style="text-align: center;">
Parenthood is associated with many feelings that are felt much more intensely once you've experienced it first hand. <i>Love.</i> The kind of unconditional love that has no competition. <i>Joy.</i> The type of joy that radiates contagiously from one silly face to the other and then seeps down deep into your soul and grows roots. <i>Fatigue.</i> The kind of fatigue that has you looking forward to nap-time, just so you can take a nap too! <i>Pain.</i> I'm not talking about physical self-infliction like stumping your bare toe on the coffee table pain. I'm talking about how your child's physical and emotional pain might as well be your anguish. <i>Guilt.</i> Oh the guilt. Even if you know you deserve that night out, or that hour of working out alone, or that massage/facial (and believe me, we all deserve those things), the guilt is always lingering, especially when tears are shed upon your departure.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lately I've been feeling some guilt about Mabel already being 14 months old and me not having written a single blog post about her life, or even her gestation! Writing is like working out. Once you get out of habit, your brain gets floppy and the more time passes, the harder it is to start again. The words get jammed. It's like speaking a different language you haven't used in years. The bright side is, I still have many years of my two darlings to write about. So bare with me as I polish off the rust from my writing machine.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To start from the beginning, the very beginning, Mabel was a perfectly timed answered prayer (<i>as all prayers answered or even un-answered are, even though it doesn't always feel that way</i>). We started trying to conceive as soon as Dillon turned 1. A few months later, I went back to my OB to request the same process to conceive that worked in the past. After two rounds of treatment, we were still at ground zero, so I started seeing an acupuncturist who specialized in Herbal Medicine. This lady was a formal nurse, and she was hardcore. She insisted I lose 10 pounds, change my diet, decide to be content no matter what happens, and see her very often. She talked a great deal about the temperature of food's chemistry. I didn't eat salads or have ice in my drinks; I cut out all processed foods, carbs that weren't in the form of a fruit or veggie, gave up dairy, ate mostly organic, and took some giant herbal supplements.<i> I don't know what you'd call it but I call giving up icecream, cheese, and bread, just to get pregnant, a supreme level of dedication.</i> I'm not going to lie, her intensity stressed me out a little bit. I also retired from working 12 hour nightshift's and accepted a dayshift position, hoping it would help with my hormones. In order to do this, I had to take a second job, but we thought it would be worth the sacrifice.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEssyCvY62WxIavLFKHulxQyFre4UCsAl3hdYuG7EMeU2B1zO5T3-QP0D7J3bZuaEpMH4C6s31Djnhx88x0Etmeq5WnyiTC_F_BPI90bJ4M03numPi0n7UhtgWtXU-GunT6MAaO-APyU/s1600/IMG_8634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEssyCvY62WxIavLFKHulxQyFre4UCsAl3hdYuG7EMeU2B1zO5T3-QP0D7J3bZuaEpMH4C6s31Djnhx88x0Etmeq5WnyiTC_F_BPI90bJ4M03numPi0n7UhtgWtXU-GunT6MAaO-APyU/s400/IMG_8634.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My friends joked that I wasn't suppose to get pregnant yet, since we were destined to have our second round of babies in the exact same order that we had our first. First Ale, then Cristina, then me, then Jessica. March rolled around and we were about to have Ale's baby shower when Cristina told us she was expecting...........</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpce32-2YIzV5vqoEkBvuiXaGkrzI67BxKJnpJlxpBDrbvZKW4tDdN9AJGLIAxYRDAI-XAz6cN5oHu05dDqkKGtClNunvwm6Q__J5lU0b9C1Uu0ztQ4T-fVMs-4qEf_fkaY2lczH4E1y4/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1395.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1143" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpce32-2YIzV5vqoEkBvuiXaGkrzI67BxKJnpJlxpBDrbvZKW4tDdN9AJGLIAxYRDAI-XAz6cN5oHu05dDqkKGtClNunvwm6Q__J5lU0b9C1Uu0ztQ4T-fVMs-4qEf_fkaY2lczH4E1y4/s400/fullsizeoutput_1395.jpeg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In this picture, 3 out of the 4 of us are pregnant!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Meanwhile, I was also referred to a fertility specialist who was very sweet, but scared the crap out of us by going straight into talking about IVF, and wanted to do a slew of timed tests on me. I was completely honest with both the my Western Medicine doctors and my Eastern Medicine practitioner. Guess what? None of them were thrilled about the other. They were each skeptical about the other's methods! <i>I will always wonder why both worlds can't just get along and treat cohesively, for an all around wholistic and safe approach. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Here comes the good news. I never needed to go back to see that fertility specialist. One day while I was at work, I started breaking out in hives. These things meant business; giant itchy whelps covered my entire body every day for a week. I was miserable. Patrick was in high anxiety mode about my mystery allergic reactions and it didn't help that he was already worried about the Chinese herbs ever since the Fertility Specialist snubbed them.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I knew something weird was going on with my body, so on March 15th I peed on a really cheap pregnancy test from the dollar store and the faintest pink line appeared in the window. It was so faint I thought it was probably just a figment of my imagination, my subconscious seeing what it wanted to see. I told no one, but it was all I could daydream about. A day later, I bought a nicer test, the kind for dummies, and the results we undeniable this time. I could barely swallow my heart back down into my chest, and immediately called my friend Jessica to take some very important pictures for me, <i>and to keep from exploding with giddy excitement</i>........secrets are HARD. I decided St. Patrick's Day would be a fitting day for Patrick to receive a life changing card with some adorable announcement pictures.......<i>besides, how could I keep it a secret from him for much longer than two days?!?!? He wanted another baby just as badly as I did.</i></div>
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From there, we managed to keep our little secret until Easter, to which we made some creative eggs to give to each of our parents.</div>
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From that moment on, we would endearingly refer to our growing baby as "Tiny".</div>
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Our prayer was answered, but my allergic reaction had us on the edge of our seat until the first ultrasound because I read that pregnancy hives are common with twins! Thank goodness for technology to ease our minds about THAT worry before a heartbeat can be auscultated!</div>
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Oh, and flashing forward several months, Jessica told us the last of round-two-baby's was baking in the oven!</div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-68747718780924578802018-01-26T13:33:00.001-06:002018-01-26T15:35:12.397-06:00Dillon: 13 Months Old<div align="center">
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I'm writing this on the very day my Sweetness turned 13 months old. We continue to be trapped in a swiftly moving time warp. My baby is running. The little hard headed boy that refused to hold anyone's hand when learning to walk now comes to find me, grabs me by the hand, and pulls me to where he wants to go, which is almost always OUTSIDE (<em>to the edge of the porch and grunts for a helping hand to step off.....to the swing, reaches up and grunts.....to the water hose and grunts....back to the porch and grunts for a hand to step on....to the fire truck, pats it and grunts to get in to be pushed around....to the other swing, reaches up and grunts......and away we go!</em>). <br />
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If his request is refused, a great deal of window banging, grunting, and eventually yelling will invetibly transpire. My method of surviving Texas summers by hibernating beside an A/C vent is a thing of the past. Water tables, sprinklers, cool mist fans, splash pads, and swimming pools will now have to suffice. When is reverse global warming going to kick in?</div>
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Although he is a very cautious and methodical individual, he is exceptionally explorative in his comfort zone. A sensitive soul he remains, but is for the most part no longer getting his feelings so hurt when told not to do something <em>(up until this point, there were always tears shed after the word "no"</em>). </div>
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Just today, I was getting ready for work while he rummaged through the bathroom......<em>nothing out of the usual for us</em>......until I noticed a suspicious movement in my peripherals. Amused, I watched him open the toilet lid, eagerly reach into a box of tampons and drop one into the bowl and then ever so carefully close the lid. Just as he was about to start the process over again I asked him, "What are you doing?!?"</div>
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He paused and stared at me briefly with those irrestable baby blues. I could see the "<em>uh oh</em>" look written all over his face. Then he turned back to the toilet, opened the lid, and started to reach in to undo his hard work, accepting he'd been caught.</div>
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"No, no, no. That's okay. Please don't play in the toilet." </div>
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I waited for the tears, but to my surprise they were absent, and after a moment of hesitation, he moved on. I could tell it was a difficult command to obey with such fun temptations at his fingertips, afterall, his favorite two passtimes are opening/closing things (<em>espeically doors</em>) and aiming his balls in the ball catching toys.</div>
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Other great passtimes of his include: </div>
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<strong>1.</strong> <strike>Trying to play with</strike> terrifying the dogs.</div>
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<strong>2.</strong> Feeding the dogs gourmet human food from his highchair, then dissapearing aroud the corner to eat the dog's dry food.</div>
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<strong>3.</strong> Carrying unconvential things around the house: wooden rolling pin, lawn chair, dog self watering tank, shower curtain rod, baseball bat, etc.</div>
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<strong>4.</strong> Pimpin' it like a boss during wagon rides</div>
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<strong>5.</strong> Rummaging through the cabinets and dragging everything out onto the floor.</div>
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I feared once the mobility really took off, he wouldn't want to be held anymore, but that's totally not the case with his boy. We still get our scheduled cuddles at least three times a day for a milk break, and, no matter how far or for how long he ventures off to play, he always comes back periodically to give a hug and be held. Even though he's a bit more sheisty with his kisses, I manage to get a few on command when I ask real nice and make the "mmmmmmmMUAH" sound.<em> Big, open mouth, sloppy ones. The best kind.</em></div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-38577127314948969752016-01-08T13:18:00.002-06:002016-01-08T19:44:21.300-06:00That Thing Almost Went Up My Butt!<div style="text-align: center;">
I have no idea what it's like to act. I especially have no idea what it's like to get paid to act. But I imagine living with our 18 month old is comparable to acting as the lead supporting role to a demanding, high profile actor who doesn't know if he wants to specialize in drama or comedy. Let me explain.<br />
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Dillon has always had a love affair with cleaning supplies. It's guaranteed that there will be an immediate power struggle between adult and child as soon as I start using the toothbrush, broom, pooper scooper, toilet brush, or anything of the sort. Sometimes I just start cleaning with no intentions of actually getting anything done, just so I can distract him for a few minutes. And it may not earn me Mom of the Year Award, but when I'm getting ready, I even stoop to letting him play in the toilet if it means he's content enough to let me leave the house without looking like I'm a crack head on the brink of withdrawals going grocery shopping at the Bellmead Walmart. He was doing just that (<i>playing in the toilet with the toilet brush</i>) right before we rushed out the door for an appointment the other morning. After a full day of running around living life, Patrick and I crawled into bed and pulled up the covers with great big sighs of relief........that lasted for about 5 seconds. True to form, Patrick decides (<i>as soon as we got comfortable</i>) that he needs to relieve his bladder. </div>
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This is the part he may kill me for typing, but it's a crucial detail to this story: Most of the time, at night, my husband sits down to pee. <i>That's right. He sits.</i> It's actually quite convenient to have a husband who sits to pee. They never pee on the floor, and you never as a lady, have to worry about falling in the toilet. It's actually way more common than one would think. I recently discovered several women I work with train the male figures in their house (<i>old </i><i>and young</i>) to sit to pee. Luckily, mine came pre-trained.<br />
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There I was, laying in bed with my eyes half open, patiently waiting for my real life giant body pillow to return, when I heard a screech. </div>
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"OH. MY. GOSH. Hunny!!!!" he wailed.</div>
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"What, Dear?"</div>
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"Are you trying to kill me?? That thing almost went up my butt!!!" </div>
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My mind flashed back to Dillon playing with the toilet brush and I immediately put two and two together. <i>(Four!......just kidding</i>) The toilet brush handle was still standing straight up, erecting from the center of the bowl. </div>
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"Ha!!! I'm so glad that was you and not me! I totally forgot about that." I taunted. </div>
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Dillon already dislikes taking the blame for anything. He also can kill about two bananas in one sitting (<i>which he does just about every time we pass by the bananas at the grocery store</i>), but for some reason, refuses to eat the last bite of each section he is holding.</div>
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Two days ago, we were hanging around the house when he decided he wanted a banana. I gave him half and he started chowing down, while roaming the living room. A few minutes later, I found part of a squooshed banana laying on the floor.</div>
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"Dillon........"</div>
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He came my way and made eye contact with me.</div>
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"Did you put your banana on the floor?"</div>
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Without hesitation he shakes his head no.</div>
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"Oh really.......Well if you didn't do it, who did?"</div>
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<i>You won't believe this is, but I swear I'm not making it up</i>: Dillon points directly at poor little innocent Sumo, who was sleeping on the couch, and starts mumbling while shaking his head. </div>
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Our kid who's not even old enough to say more than 15 words is lying straight to my face and blackmailing the dog simultaneously.</div>
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I can't blame him, but I was completely shocked, horrified, tickled, and slightly proud.<br />
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It's a good thing he gives really good kisses and bribes me with acorns from the neighbor's yard. I'll consider that getting paid with love. </div>
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-25160034825564163332015-05-12T06:00:00.000-05:002015-05-12T06:00:01.367-05:00Like Always, I'm Going to be Honest.....<div align="center">
As a very independent person, used to being on my own schedule, becoming a Mom has in certain ways been quite the adjustment. There are days that are just plain hard. I feel guilty for even thinking that, knowing how "easy" I have it compared to some people out there (<em>having an amazing husband helps emmensely</em>). Some mornings it's extremely difficult to drag myself out of bed at 7am, especially being a night-shifter<em>.......and a born sleeper</em>. For years of my adulthood leading up until I actually gave birth, I openly admitted to being terrified of the personal sacrifices accompanied with parenthood, particularly the loss of sleep part. But with all that being said, none of it out weighs the renown joy and unconditional love associated with being some one's Mother.</div>
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It's an undescribable feeling when you wake up one morning, walk into the living room, and your baby looks at you smiling, and immediately starts crawling (<em>for the first time</em>) across the once vast space of floor between you, closing in on the gap of distance until there's nothing left to do but cuddle. It's a considerable reward to be actively seeked after, making the several months of being the one putting forth all the effort totally worth it.</div>
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That moment happened 8 weeks ago, but in so many ways feels like yesterday.</div>
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At first Dillon's crawl was Clydesdale-like, sloppy and slow. I jokingly referred to him as my baby elephant. You could hear him coming from a mile away, stomping with utter might on all fours, almost vibrating the floor. Two weeks into crawling from one toy to another, to the base of our legs, his world expanded as did his endurance, and he started to discover the living room was actually connected to a house, composed of many other rooms, filled with loads of interesting gadgets, like a noise making piano and creaky puppy crates and a pantry door packed with crinkly packages and kitchen cabinets hiding clanky gems.</div>
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Cruising and crawling happened almost simultaneously; virtually nothing was off limits. The boy was pushing anything and everything from point A to point B with a mission! His DOC Band was starting to come in a great deal of handy, easily doubling in purpose as a barrier between his noggin' and any obstacle he accidentally bumped or fell into. Sure, we still had our ouchies, like the time he crawled to see me in the kitchen, used the frig to stand up, and reached out to grab my leg so he could be picked up (<em>all AT LEAST an hourly ritual</em>), only this time I was moving quickly and before either one of us could comprehend what was happening, his face directly met the hard uninviting tile floor. <em>Screams and tears flooded the air, met with intense guilt on by behalf for lacking the intuition of expecting him to reach for me.</em> My first instinct after swooping him up was to check and make sure his only 2 teeth were still intact; they were. <em>Whew, that was a close one!</em> </div>
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Things slowed down for almost an entire month when our Sweetness seemed to be even more cuddly than normal, accompanied by a great deal of fussing. His first ever ear infection would prove to be a doosy and require not one, but two rounds of gut wrenching antibiotics to conquer. It was a rough patch, for sure, and everyone faced the consequences. Our hearts were ached for our little boy, who is always very lovie (<em>one of my favorite qualities about him</em>), but for this stretch way more love was in order. </div>
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Eventually routines got back to "normal", if there ever really is a "normal" with a constantly changing baby. Growing like a champ, as evidenced by his already snug sized-18-month wardrobe that we thought would last him through the summer (<em>it's not even officially summer yet, according to the calendar</em>), a stellar report from his DOC Band appointment that his head was filling out to perfection, and a decreased interest in milk with an increased interest in anything he can pick up to eat (<em>forget spoon-feeding; he's been refusing to be fed with a spoon for 2 months now</em>), and back to babbling like a teenager, our baby took his first witnessed unassisted steps 1 week ago after spending an entire hour sprinting around the living room behind his walker and crying every time he came across a road block. He wanted to GO!</div>
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On May 11th, at 10.8 months old, while being completely engulfed in the process of devouring some sauce soaked pizza crust, Dillon walked from one side of the recliner to the other, ALL BY HIMSELF. <em>He had no idea.</em> The only thing on that boy's mind was pizza. A few minutes later, still completely distracted, he walked from the recliner to his toy cabinet. A half hour later, when Patrick got home, he did it again, this time with nothing but his new found confidence to fuel him forward. And then again in the kitchen.</div>
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There's something tremendously satisfying about watching your mini gain wisdom through daily experiments and eventually the confidence to tackle a new skill. He makes the ordinary things in life feel exciting. He fills the once dull moments with giggles, hugs, big open mouthed slobbery kisses, and occasionally an accidental (<em>I hope</em>) punch in the face. <em>Besides crafting, working out, sleeping in, and cooking, whatever did I used to do all day without that little butterball full of cuteness?</em></div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-13811354427484033152015-02-16T06:00:00.000-06:002015-02-16T06:00:11.273-06:007.5 months: Ahhhh! He's Almost on the Move!<div style="text-align: center;">
(<i>The following post was written in the past, and never posted because our computer has been on the fritz and therefore my posts are naked of pictures. I'm giving up and posting everything anyway. So, sorry the the nakedness!!!!</i>)<br />
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I've never wanted to laugh and cry in the same day as many times a week as I do now. We start off having great mornings full of milestones and activities and tickles and giggles and sunlight. Then afternoon hits and something changes.<br />
Dillon is ready to be on the move. He's been rocking on all fours for a few weeks now, but can't figure out how to crawl; he's been fixated with standing for sometime. We literally have to forcefully fold him in half to get him to sit down, and this week he realized he could pull himself into standing position. The next day he did about 1 million squats while he played, up and down and up and down. Two mornings later, he crunched himself into sitting position from laying down, then continued to do it over and over again until he couldn't do it anymore. Two days later, he finally figured out how to push himself up into sitting position from his tummy.<br />
He's dropped naps. We're down to one successful nap a day (<i>with resistance</i>), but we always try for two. Between his constant workouts, and cutting another tooth, I think he's so exhausted by the time afternoon hits, he's just lost all coping mechanisms and can do nothing but cry.<br />
He puts his arms up in the air and waves his hands around to be picked up, being sure he catches someone's attention. Most days, he wants to be held about 90% of the time. I LOVE holding him, but sometimes he feels sooooo heavy or I need an extra hand to do something, so I have to put him down, and thus begins the fit throwing......<i>ie</i> throwing himself onto the floor, stomping his heels so hard he bounces, and/or screaming like someone has cut his pinky toe off with a dull spoon. This is a new kind of cry he's discovered; in the past he usually picked between fussing or yelling. I know one day soon he wont want me to hold him anymore. Just the other day I had him in the Ergo Baby carrier, but he decided he was much happier riding in the shopping cart. <i>Again, it was a moment that made me happy and sad at the same time. </i><br />
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<b>Here are a few of Dillon's milestones/personality traits blossoming this month:</b><br />
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<b>1.</b> When he's concentrating really hard on something he breathes really fast and hard through his nose. <i>It's such a cute sound.</i><br />
<b>2.</b> We started giving him baths the big boy way in the regular bath tub with toys and all, since he was starting to look like a beached whale in its infant tub.<br />
<b>3.</b> Babbling is getting REAL. He babbles away and ends it all with, "Gah!", which I follow with, "Can you say Momma?" And he just smiles this adorably bashful smile. The yelling game is a house hold favorite. He yells, then we yell, then he yells, then we yell. It's gone on for as long as 10 minutes before!<br />
<b>4.</b> He loves being thrown in the air, riding in big boy swings, playing "boo", and twirling really fast in circles while being held<i>......anything that includes the element of surprise.</i><br />
<b> 5.</b> When I sit in the rocking chair in his room and give him a bottle, he likes to very seriously put his hand on my face and play with my chin, nudging my face to go back and forth, away and towards him. He does this over and over until I giggle, then he runs his fingers over my lips and I nibble on them, and he laughs about that.<br />
<b>6. </b>He wants to explore absolutely everything, which is making it almost impossible to pump during the day with him. Between fighting him over pulling the tubing apart so he can chew on it, or saving my pump from being dragged onto the floor, and trying to keep him from falling while he dives to reach other things of interest, I'm getting closer and closer to calling it quits.<br />
<b>7.</b> The boy is finally starting to eat real food. He's explored carrots, green beans, bananas, apples, and oatmeal so far (<i>things I would admit to the pediatrician</i>). He also loves vanilla ice cream, any type of left over bone, pizza crust, multigrain chips, and sugar cookies (<i>things I would never admit to the pediatrician</i>). I've even given him pieces of clementines, resulting in priceless sour faces. He doesn't much care for sweet potato or avocado yet, but does enjoy practicing to drink from my cup (<i>insert part where I go get a new drink afterwards, because I can't bring myself to drink all the backwash</i>).<br />
<b>8. </b>He's still charming the strangers.<br />
<b>9.</b> Three words: <i>18 month clothing!!! </i>He's been in 12 month clothing since he was 5 months old, so at least we got a little bit of use out of<i> that</i> wardrobe.......I can't believe how fast this boy is growing. </div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-85163771713462535652015-02-13T06:00:00.001-06:002015-02-13T06:00:07.349-06:006 Months: I don't THINK he hit his head<div style="text-align: center;">
(<i>The following post was written in the past, and never posted because our computer has been on the fritz and therefore my posts are naked of pictures. I'm giving up and posting everything anyway. So, sorry the the nakedness!!!!</i>)<br />
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To follow up from last month, figuring out how to roll is a thing of the distant past. This boy flops from front to back in the blink of an eye, destroys his play mat in the process, and prefers to slowly migrate around the living room by the rolling method. Our new challenge keeping him from dying when he dives for whatever he wants and then soothing by means of distraction method because he's pissed and surprised when he can't crawl to get to what he was diving for. He's constantly getting frustrated for not being as mobile as he thinks he is.<br />
One night, I was leaving for work and Patrick put Dillon in his bouncy chair for a moment to walk me out to the car. As I was waiting for the first light in our neighborhood to turn green, Patrick called me.<br />
"No need to be alarmed," he started, "but I just thought I should let you know Dillon wasn't in his bouncy chair when I got back in the house."<br />
"Where was he? On the FLOOR??!"<br />
"Yes, but I don't think he hit his head."<br />
"Was he crying?" I asked, hoping the answer was no.<br />
"Well yeah, but it was like a <em>I didn't want you to leave me</em> cry, not like a <em>I'm hurt</em> cry."<br />
"And so it starts. Time to put away the infant stuff."<br />
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<b>Here are a few of Dillon's milestones/personality traits blossoming this month:</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>1. </b>He sitting up on is own with ease and now that he's sitting, all he wants to do is stand.<br />
<b>2.</b> He figured out he can actually jump in the jumparoo and now is an unstoppable bouncer.<br />
<b>3.</b> I'm trying to teach him the sign language for milk, and although I think he could care less, he knows exactly what his bottle is; he pinches the tip of bottle by the nipple, with his mouth wide open as if he was a roaring lion, diving into the bottle head first and guides the nipple into his mouth.<br />
<b>3.</b> He does nothing half ass. It's all the way, like when he gives me kisses by devouring my face.<br />
<b>4.</b> He loves it when you "talk mean to him", will laugh for days about it, giggles to pieces when being tickled, and even the anticipation of being tickled will get him going.<br />
<b>5.</b> He reaches out to be picked up.<br />
<b>6.</b> He still knows no strangers, evidenced by being the weirdo that loved Santa.<br />
<b>7. </b>He's constantly experimenting with new sounds or facial expressions that he'll do over and over again for days and then never do them again. He went through a blowing bubbles of spit by vibrating his lips phase that was just as hilarious as it was messy.<br />
<b>8.</b> I hate putting socks on him because it's like taking away one of his favorite pass time toys, his toes.<br />
<b>9.</b> Bath time has moved from his infant bath tub on top of the kitchen counter (<i>to save our backs</i>), to his infant bath tub inside the regular bath time (<i>to save everything in the kitchen from being soaking wet from all the splashing and playing</i>).<br />
<b>10.</b> He has his very first tooth!!! Bottom left and very sharp. <i>My little vampire. </i><br />
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-25489228270037829502015-02-12T06:00:00.001-06:002015-02-12T06:00:01.615-06:005 Months: Big Fat Welcome<div style="text-align: center;">
(<i>The following post was written in the past, and never posted because our computer has been on the fritz and therefore my posts are naked of pictures. I'm giving up and posting everything anyway. So, sorry the the nakedness!!!!</i>)<br />
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Leave it to our boy to learn how to roll over.....backwards. It's no secret he HATES tummy time, so when the little Houdini first rolled over, he did it when I couldn't see him, from back to tummy. Now, he's done it a million times, and has still managed to always get the job done when I'm not looking, hinting at his accomplishment by fussing about not being able to roll off of his tummy. I always give him a few minutes of begging before I swoop in and save him (<i>by rolling him back into supine position, talking him through how to do it himself</i>), hoping he'll figure out how to get the job done one of these times, especially since this new trick of mobility has seemed to put a damper on his sleeping habits (<i>he needs us to "save" him in the middle of the night and every morning</i>).<br />
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<b>Here are a few of Dillon's milestones/personality traits blossoming this month:</b><br />
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<b>1.</b> I introduced some food for the first time. He refuses to eat from a spoon for me, but will apparently nibble on a few bites from his sitter and his Nanny.<br />
<b>2.</b> He thinks the puppies are really funny. He just stares at them and giggles.<br />
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Other than that, I don't remember what else was happening at 5 months, since time seems like one big blur, and I didn't attempt to finish this post until 1.5 months after writing the first paragraph!!! <i>Big fat welcome to mommyhood, right?!? </i><br />
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-4779324244305309362015-02-11T06:00:00.001-06:002015-02-11T06:00:12.826-06:00The End of a Decade<div style="text-align: center;">
(<i>The following post was written in the past, and never posted because our computer has been on the fritz and therefore my posts are naked of pictures. I'm giving up and posting everything anyway. So, sorry the the nakedness!!!!</i>)<br />
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The second decade of my life officially ended, and boy oh boy was it a good one!</div>
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<ul>
<li>I enjoyed my first alcoholic beverage without breaking the law......with many more to follow.</li>
<li>I embarked on my journey as a Registered Nurse, and even traveled as one for a whole year, just like I'd always dreamed of doing.</li>
<li>I learned how to play the guitar and wrote my first song (<i>who knew it'd be the fist of many?</i>).</li>
<li><b>I found the love of my life and married him.</b></li>
<li>I got to play in an ocean other than the Gulf for the first time......on more than one occasion!</li>
<li>Patrick and I bought and sold our first home.</li>
<li>I ran a couple of half marathons, an accomplishment I never thought my janky knees would allow.</li>
<li>I survived my first backpacking trip in the mountains, rode my bike to the Pacific ocean (<i>from home</i>) several times, learned how to use public transportation, camped in a tent, and enjoyed countless hikes<i>......all with my best friend with benefits by my side. </i></li>
<li>I went to a jillion amazing concerts. </li>
<li><b>I grew and gave birth to the most beautiful baby in the world.</b></li>
<li><i>I'm sure there's more that I just can't remember....hence the reason I try to write about my life for the lines blur too much!</i></li>
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It's going to be difficult, but I shall now set forth to make my third decade even better.<i>.........I'll just have to get creative.</i></div>
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In the mean time, we spent an entire week celebrating. Every day, Patrick surprised me by planting a thoughtful card in different places of the house where he knew I'd stumble upon it, which always put a giant grin on my face. As if that wasn't special enough treatment, I came home from work in the morning to him making me a hot breakfast, just what the doctor ordered after a long shift. He cooked me steak/eggs over easy/hashbrowns one night for dinner, and he risked facing the wrath of keeping Dillon up past his bedtime in order to bring Corner Bakery (<i>one of my favorite work time treats that he's been surprising me with for years</i>) to my work one night. On Saturday he sacrificed going to the Baylor homecoming game festivities to arrange for us a day of fun, riding Segways in downtown Dallas (<i>because we enjoyed it so much last year</i>), while my Mom and Memma watched Dillon (<i>a.k.a. tickled him for 2 days straight</i>), slaved away in the kitchen to make me homemade sushi for dinner, and on my actual birthday he amazingly managed to gather my friends for a jubilee at Cheesecake Factory!</div>
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Since the actual day fell on the end of daylight savings time, we (<i>everyone at the table, because we are all new at this parenting thing</i>) learned a new vital life lesson. Even though gaining an extra hour feels like a national holiday, small children's bodies still cling to their established circadian rhythm.......meaning you, as a parent, will NOT actually get an extra hour of sleep as you have in the past, and when the next evening comes to a reality, you may know it's only 6:00 pm, but your baby still thinks it's 7:00 pm (<i>and time for bed</i>), therefore going out to eat for dinner at 5:30 pm with a large group of people in a noisy restaurant might not be as great of an idea as you originally thought. <i>Live and learn. </i></div>
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Our table was absolute pure chaos, but one of fellowship and love and joy<i>........and the cutest little boys in the city.</i></div>
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Now.....to unwind from all the wonderful celebrating, I have a massage and pedicure to redeem with a couple of new scarfs to keep my neck warm on the way there, some suckers to keep my sweet tooth occupied, a little herbal scented lotion to keep my hands in tip-top condition, and caffeine credit to help me stay awake long enough to enjoy it all! Oh yes....and it won't be long before I'm breaking in my new steamer and Ninja to make baby-food. </div>
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I am blessed. </div>
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-40631190281073843942015-01-05T06:00:00.000-06:002015-01-05T06:00:02.448-06:00Hello? Was it me you were looking for?<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>You may have been wondering where I am.......... Why I have't written in so long........... How I could just leave you hanging like that......... When I may come back, if ever.............</em></div>
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Y'all, I have a broken computer, a busy 6.5 month old, and am in the process of packing up the townhouse we've been renting for the last 26 months!!! That's right, it's crazy times around the Carruth household! </div>
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Buying a house is consuming in it's own right and because of it, try as we might, Patrick and I had a diffucult time getting into the holiday spirit, but I wasn't going to let piles of paper work, too many emails and phone calls to count, or boxes stacked to the ceiling get in the way of putting up a Christmas tree. <em>What else would I use as the backdrop to my baby's naked butt if I didn't have a beautiful Christmas tree?!?!.......</em>Besides, it's not like I even had the string the lights<em> (S</em>hout out to the saint who invented pre-lit trees!). </div>
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Our hearts have been strung out on a line of nail biting tension since the first week in December, hoping all the contracts played out just perfect with our first real family home and although we've been bumped and bruised along the way, we should ink the final closing signatures Janurary 14, then a whole new kind of chaos can commence! I promise I haven't done anything too extremely exciting in the last couple of months, <em>minus my endeaver with eating a fresh pomegrante for the very first time</em>. I dearly miss writing on a regular basis......<em>if only I had a way of transposing all the pages upon pages I write in my head into the computer without any extra effort on my part</em>.</div>
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I promise I'll be back for real sometime soon, realitive speaking. Untilt then, I'm sure you'll find a way to live without knowing my every thought; you wont be happy about it (<em>I can see it in your eyes, I can see it in your smile</em>), but you'll find a way.</div>
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<strong>P.S.</strong> You're welcome, for getting that song in your head. I hope it stays there all day. </div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-91660017367748380832014-11-05T08:15:00.004-06:002014-11-05T08:15:49.079-06:004 Months: Our Boy Be Tall<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Better late than never, I always say!</i><br />
We had to do 3 shots at one time again. I cried about it 3 days before it even happened, just thinking about how bad I felt for my Sweetness. And when the moment actually came, there he was, charming the entire Pedi office with his smiles and coo's, admiring his handsome self in the mirror, kicking with glee, oh so trusting<i>.........and out comes those mean ol' needles</i>. My heart broke for him, but I think he handled it better than I did.</div>
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Child care has been a little dramatic and stressful for us over the past month, but we've finally found something that works.<i>......for now</i>. It's already difficult enough for me to stay up with Dillon all day and then work all night with no consistency in my sleep schedule, but then when I added staying up the entire next day with him as well, we had to make a change, quick! I never want to feel so close to death again. We were so fortunate to find Judy, a lady who lives on the way to Patrick's new job (<i>Patrick got a new job!!!!</i>), since we really <i>really </i>REALLY didn't want to send Dillon to a day care at such a young age, especially during respiratory season.<br />
Our boy be tall. Real tall........Like off the growth chart tall, literally!!!! (<i>Not that we expected any less, considering his father, uncle, and both his grandfathers, are all 6'3"-6'4".</i>)<br />
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<b>Weight: </b>17 lb 7 oz (90%)<br />
<b>Height: </b>27.5 in (>95%)<br />
<b>Head: </b>17.25 in (85%)<br />
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<b>Here are a few of Dillon's milestones/personality traits blossoming this month:</b></div>
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<b>1.</b> He's moved on from only simple coo's to pronouncing M's and sometimes B's and lots of gurgles with experimental yelling.</div>
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<b>2.</b> He no longer wants to sleep-in with me. I try to coax him to on days that I work and he just cries from the boredom<i>.......this is one sad momma.</i><br />
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<b>3.</b> I finally stopped being so obsessive over his stats. No more logging every pee diaper a day and every ounce he is consuming; just going with the flow<i>.......and somehow he's still surviving.</i><br />
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<b>4.</b> We've made a slow transition to crib sleeping. It started with finally being triumphant in short pack-n-play naps (<i>they are getting longer, the more he gets accustomed, but in the beginning he was only taking three 30 minute naps a day</i>) without the special infant bed. I just made boundaries around him with blanket rolls (<i>a NICU maneuver</i>) in effort to trick him into thinking everything was the same. When we were successful at that for a few days, then we put our brave faces on and tried it for bed time. We waited until the weekend, prepared to lose sleep, but lo and behold, he slept for 12 straight hours and woke with the sunrise flashing that sweet dimple!<br />
<b>5. </b>He's still a great traveler and he still HATES tummy time. I've had to be creative about getting him on positions to strengthen his back and arms. His pediatrician confirmed with me that because he is so big, he has to be THAT much stronger to do anything, so the fact that he is sitting in triad position is amazing. <br />
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<b>6.</b> He loves to be tickled, and thinks it's hilarious when Patrick scoots his feet across the living room floor and then runs at him with his arms stretched out like he's going to "get him".<br />
<b>7. </b>Any time he's mad, I can get him to chill out by simply bringing him outside. </div>
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-35740583273421644062014-10-29T08:30:00.001-05:002014-10-29T08:30:13.408-05:00Embracing My Crazy<div style="text-align: center;">
A few weeks ago Patrick and I went to sleep watching Family Guy on Adult Swim, known to the day-time world as Cartoon Network. The next morning we hit the power button, got distracted, and didn't change the channel for a little while. We came to two realizations.<br />
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<b>#1 Cartoon's these days are weird. </b><br />
They are nothing like they used to be. <i>Must.....Find.....Looney Tunes DVD's.....and save them for our children.</i><br />
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<b>#2 And so it begins our journey as clueless parents.</b><br />
The strange looking characters were standing by a large aquarium and one of them said, "I just love animals. They make me feel so calm." This brought a question to my mind. <i>Are fish "animals"?</i><br />
From there, we did what modern day couple would do: turned to Google for an answer.<br />
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Then Patrick started spurting out a whole bunch of words I'd never heard in my life, to the point that I thought he was either making it all up, speaking a different language, or had a severe stroke. Still confused on the actual answer, we were sure about one thing: we are in big trouble when Dillon starts going to school.<br />
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To even further crush my ego, a couple of weeks ago we had a meeting with a lender to get pre-approved to buy a house (<i>a goal we hope to meet in the next 6 months</i>). I asked him one question and after a 15 minute long answer consisting of a plethora of facts so far over my head they might as well been in outer-space, I sent my Dad a telepathic message, thanking him for suggesting I become a nurse.<br />
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I obviously know nothing and must function in the real world by some sort of God's grace.<br />
So, in the spirit of being clueless, or since one day my son is going to think I'm crazy anyway (<i>because all mom's are crazy for one reason or another</i>) and I might as well live up to it, or just because I can, I hollowed out a massive pumpkin (<i>thanks to Nana for finding and delivering the massive squash to aid my mission</i>) and put my baby in it.<br />
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I'm going to be completely honest; I don't think he was a fan. Actually, he was happy as a clam standing up, but after I karate chopped the back of his knees to get him squished into the clammy, slimy, weird smelling squash, he decide <i>that </i>wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. Cracking a smile was clearly out of the question, but at least he humored me long enough to snap a couple of non-screaming pictures after he realized he wasn't dying and definitely wasn't getting out........and then he decided to taste it, which brought on the water works again. <i>I guess squash won't be our official first solid food to try!!!</i></div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-29877916478778736262014-10-27T09:19:00.004-05:002014-10-27T09:19:46.017-05:00Did I Do Something Wrong, Officer?<div style="text-align: center;">
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No one wants to end their night with the phrase, "Did I do something wrong, officer?" <i>Nobody..........</i><br />
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Everyone knows Fall is one of my favorite times of year, and since I wont be getting to celebrate it this year at a Halloween party, I got my way in getting to spend our date-night evening carving pumpkins and drinking my favorite seasonal Shock Top: Honeycrisp Wheat, while Patrick serenaded our small group of friends by the candlelight on a patio in the cool autumn air, and Stuart cooked us dinner.</div>
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Let me tell you, carving pumpkins in the dark with those damn intricate paper tracings that look all cool in the Halloween books (<i>and you think is for kids but is really for experts with way more advanced knifes than the kit supplies you with</i>) brings on a whole new skill level, or in Allison's case <i>no</i> skill level (<i>haha, where did he go, George, where did he go???</i>).<br />
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Never having attempted more than a mere Jack-O-Lantern, I struggled with the steep learning curve, and after a couple of severed casualties, was thanking the powers that be for toothpicks to repair my mistakes<i>........well, toothpicks and the detrimental detail that carved pumpkins are mostly admired in the dark</i>. I hadn't carved a pumpkin in a few years, but as soon as I made it to the middle, the distinct smell of it's guts and the ooy-gooy slimy feel brought back fond memories. I obviously forgot how vigorous an activity carving can be and was thanking Mother Nature for the cool weather when I started breaking a sweat on my second piece of art. <i>Not only was I breaking a sweat, but I was breaking my carving tools like they were made of decades old crayons!</i></div>
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Held hostage by too much fun, we stayed out too late and to make matters worse, got pulled over on the way home. Clueless to what I'd done wrong, I cringed, hoping our evening of laughter wasn't about to come to an abrupt "Happy Happy Sad" moment. As it turns out, I wasn't breaking the law per say.......we unknowingly had a spadoodle<i>......remember that game? Well it's not such a fun game when you're sitting on the side of the road with patriotic lights in your rear view mirror.</i> Letting us off with a warning, the officer also advised us to go straight home, especially since he "smelled alcohol".<br />
Lets be clear here, shall we? I was appreciative of the "warning", but not too naive to know the real reason he pulled me over at 2 am, and to be honest, I was a little annoyed at the insult. <i>Of course you smell alcohol, Dummy. You came to the passenger side window.......the opposite side of where the designated driver sits</i><i>. Just dare me to get out and take a test. What does 2 beers in 6.5 hours calculate out to: a punch in the face???? </i></div>
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The next morning, it still felt amazing outside, but by the time I had my coffee and we got out the door to admire the Dallas Arboretum Pump Patch, it was already 2 pm and toasty.What could have happened between coffee and 2 pm, you ask? I have no idea. Absolutely no clue! If I had to guess, I suppose I would blame it on the same phenomenon that keeps me from writing as often these days.</div>
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The landscaping was gorgeous, a scarecrow's dream land, with cottages and flower gardens made from pumpkins. Pumpkins of all different colors, shapes, and sizes far and wide, mixed with beautiful plants resembling the shades of fall foliage. We tried diligently to get a good picture of Dillon amongst it all, but he basically turns into a rag doll once the sun hits his face. </div>
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"Why is everyone staring at us?" Patrick asked.</div>
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"They're not staring at us, Dear. They're staring at Dillon. Don't you know by now that we are chopped liver?" I stopped counting all the <i>aww's</i> and <i>how cute's</i> and <i>look at his hat's</i>. I used to get compliments on my outfits or my tattoos, but now I just get compliments on my baby.......which I can only take half credit for. </div>
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It wasn't until we were all tuckered out and ready to leave that my Mom realized she couldn't find her phone. Convinced she last had it in the pumpkin patch, we rushed back to the most crowded section of the entire park to shuffle through hay and filter through distracted bodies in a frenzy to locate her precious life line. Convinced we'd perfectly retraced our steps, but still empty handed, things were looking grim. And that's when we heard Patrick yelling from the sidewalk.</div>
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"Hey dummies!!! I found it in the stroller!"</div>
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<i>WHEW!</i> One weekend. Two close calls. Three tired adults and one sleep baby. <i>That's a wrap. </i></div>
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-19908069393179941112014-10-26T08:23:00.000-05:002014-11-05T08:23:55.535-06:00#dillonaday Weekly Roundup 19<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnWJ3vVoJxKNdv6U4OARQ_VYCbHIJ51SOIM0-97sXGF0bT9SB-xeVr6k3DqbT9Ykc679eytU6A8_fTHQbc91lfHwqCkF04kvM6lmY7UqsvIpWKr0krU2oNszsL5MT2qiRk9ApciGBt14/s1600/1688142_10203735507122939_5848735644885987520_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnWJ3vVoJxKNdv6U4OARQ_VYCbHIJ51SOIM0-97sXGF0bT9SB-xeVr6k3DqbT9Ykc679eytU6A8_fTHQbc91lfHwqCkF04kvM6lmY7UqsvIpWKr0krU2oNszsL5MT2qiRk9ApciGBt14/s1600/1688142_10203735507122939_5848735644885987520_n.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>#1</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">All the chicks at the garden were diggin' my style today.<i>- October 19</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>#2</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">Ever wonder why my skin is so flawless? I get a few baths a day.....mostly by Callie. <i>- October 20</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>#3</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">"I would flex, but I don't want to rip another tee!" Feeling happy and strong after a successful swim class and a refreshing bath.<i>- October 21</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>#4 </b>Growing like a weed. <i>- October 22</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvgA_1-68jA7CweVUBK8b2F4Vmu0HJwt-gV-qC5C7mCmDGe4f6DoCUhJdwi6dGafqdeMpwZ1tJwNPSbM0ZrtkX7A1sRzDY-jzurByZuwngEIwORTlvSWqIWHOp6Plreu1RxSFUmJUXB5c/s1600/10734236_10203755324338357_77972603885339846_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvgA_1-68jA7CweVUBK8b2F4Vmu0HJwt-gV-qC5C7mCmDGe4f6DoCUhJdwi6dGafqdeMpwZ1tJwNPSbM0ZrtkX7A1sRzDY-jzurByZuwngEIwORTlvSWqIWHOp6Plreu1RxSFUmJUXB5c/s1600/10734236_10203755324338357_77972603885339846_n.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>#5</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">It's true; I'm in a pumpkin. I know I know.......I tried to tell Mom she was crazy, but I guess she doesn't speak baby babble. <i>- October 23</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>#6 </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I figured it was about time I spiced things up and rolled over all on my own, but first I waited until Mom and Dad weren't looking, so I could surprise them with my trickery!! </span><i>- October 24</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>#7 </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Showing Dad a good time on this fine Saturday night while Mom is out making the $$$.</span><b> </b><i>- October 25</i></span></div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-44789638991846740622014-10-19T08:22:00.000-05:002014-11-05T08:24:12.310-06:00#dillonaday Weekly Roundup 18<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#1</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">I don't know why they won't me drive the tractor yet. I think I'd be pretty good at it. <i>- October 12</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#2</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">If you could read my shirt, it'd say,"Officer Cuite reporting for doodie." <i>- October 13</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#3 </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">Taking care of business today; convincing a lender (with my dimple) that Mom and Dad can afford a house. <i>- October 14</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#4</b> Oops - <i>October 15</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#5</b> Oops- <i>October 16</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#6</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">Thanks for letting me and the puppies chill outside, Mom. We love it out here! <i>- October 17</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#7 </b>Oops - <i>October 18</i></span></div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-23356533661379079952014-10-12T08:20:00.000-05:002014-11-05T08:24:21.924-06:00#dillonaday Weekly Roundup 17<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#1</b> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">Weekend football with Dad is utterly exhausting. <i>- October 5</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#2 </b><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">This is a yoga pose?!? What a joke. It's so easy I could juggle my toys while doing it......watch this; I can even eat simultaneously. <i>- October 6</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#3</b> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">Oh, hey. Don't mind me; just playing with my toys. <i>- October 7</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#4 </b>Oops -<b> </b><i>October 8</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#5</b> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">This is the face I give Mom when she doesn't put enough milk in my bottle. Doesn't she know I'm STARVING?!?!<i> - October 9</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#6</b> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">I think I'll take a cat nap in this here cozy recliner. <i>- October 10</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>#7</b> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">Napping outside at Nanny's while Mom and Dad cheer on the bears. <i>- October 11</i></span></span></div>
kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-90155797027187417772014-10-06T06:00:00.000-05:002014-10-08T04:54:23.405-05:00It's Not My Fault: My Baby Ate My Brain<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh boy. If you're currently pregnant and looking for your brain at the end of the pregnancy tunnel, I have bad news for you..........your baby already ate your brain through the umbilical cord like it was a milkshake through a straw and you'll never get it back. People have always warned me that I'll never be as smart as I was before I got pregnant, and it is oh so true.</div>
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Let me just give a run down of a few dumb things I did this week. </div>
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Sometimes the boy is just in a crab of a mood. As I realize we humans aren't all peaches 100% of the time, I tired to just accept that Tuesday was his day, but it was hard. He cried every time I tried to put him a down for a second, literally, which made every aspect of life 10 times more hectic and difficult. In the chaotic blur of getting Patrick's and Dillon's gear packed for swim lessons, half of Dillon's accumulative belongings together and in the car for his first day of new child care, my things for work, eat, pump, and squeeze in a shower (<i>all with him screaming at me</i>), I was lucky to even find my way out the back door. It wasn't until I walked into the hospital that I realized I didn't have my very important backpack harboring my very important work badge (<i>that I purposefully placed in my back pack so I wouldn't get to work without it</i>). My perfect photogenic memory informed me the bag was laying on the dining room floor, lonely and scared, surrounded by the disaster of a home I'd left for Patrick to put back together. I had to call my hero of a husband and have him drive back across town to bring it to me. <b>#fail</b></div>
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Thursday was going to be a new story!<br />
<i>Sing with me: It's a new dawn! It's a new day! And I'm feeling <strike>good</strike> like I really got my shit together!</i><br />
I was on the ball with a happy baby, a motivated me, and a mission to do better. I did all the dishes, took the puppies on a walk, read Dillon a few books, got my things together and wardrobe laid out for work without turning the house upside down, took a shower, convinced Dillon to take 2 naps in his pack-n-play for the first time ever, managed to squeeze in a 30 minute nap of my own<i>......things were looking up</i>. I even got us out of the house in time to see Jessica for her Dirty Thirty happy hour.<i>.......but just before we left, something snapped</i>.<br />
I was pumping and overflowed a bottle. Covered in milk, my initial mild distress was worsened to moderate by the realization that I was also covered in baby stool. There was poo puddled on the couch (<i>thank goodness it's leather</i>), soaked through Dillon's onsie from his diaper up to his neck, and saturated through my yoga pants. After we were put back together in working order, I started to load the car in a monsoon. A severe thunderstorm rushed in out of the clear blue sky just as I needed to leave!!! One trip and I was completely drenched; water dripping from my hair, I looked like I had just jumped into a pool fully clothed (<i>I really </i>did<i> do that once</i>). I quickly snagged my rain coat from the coat closet (<i>wait for it</i>), and braved the storm once more to put Dillon in the car.<br />
Patrick met me at Chuy's to get Dillon and wish Jess a happy birthday. As he was leaving he said, "Do you need anything from the diaper bag?"<br />
"Yes!! I need my wallet."<br />
"Is that all?"<br />
I nodded yes.<br />
"Are you sure?"<br />
"Yes. I have everything in the car." That should have been my hint. <i>The car.</i> But I no longer have a brain, so it slipped right past me until I actually needed to leave.<br />
That's right, you guessed it. My keys were in the diaper bag. I called Patrick, begging for mercy and forgiveness. You'd think I'd been on my toes (<i>with all I've put him through in that last two days</i>) when he drove back to drop them off, but I wasn't. I missed his call and he had to resort to calling other people to get my attention.<br />
When I finally was able to leave the restaurant, I realized as soon as I got to work that I had forgot to pay for my tea, so I had to call the birthday girl and ask her if she'd spot me.<b> #epicfail</b><br />
And what you've been waiting for? Well.........when Patrick got home he sent me a text. "Weirdest thing. When I got home I couldn't find Callie. She was locked in the coat closet behind the pack-n-play."<br />
YES.<br />
He had no idea that I'd had my rain coat. As a matter of fact, the storm that caused me so much grief was blowing and going so fast, it was gone just as fast as it came. It was nothing but sunny skies on the side of town he'd met me at and he'd wondered why I was wet. But Callie is terrified of storms and must have sneaked in the closet during the 3 seconds I had the door open and spent the next 2 hours in a dark hole patiently waiting to be rescued.<b> #legendaryfail</b><br />
Two days later I was left the house without remembering to insert any nursing pads after getting dressed. I realized it in the car and frantically searched for anything absorbent to stuff in my bra before the entire city noticed my light grey shirt turn dark grey over two very distinct landmarks of the female body. Luckily I found exactly two cheapo fast food napkins. <b>#closecallbutstillafail</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://dobrador.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/205495_10151724473103465_1533468322_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://dobrador.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/205495_10151724473103465_1533468322_n.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://dobrador.com/brain/" target="_blank">(source)</a></td></tr>
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So there you have it. I'm off my rocker with a capitol R..........or O.......I'm not sure, because like I said, I might as well be the scare crow from the Wizard of Oz.<br />
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kpLOVINGithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11140744610495463201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2356402876300884496.post-8896250593319555252014-10-05T08:19:00.000-05:002014-11-05T08:24:29.020-06:00#dillonaday Weekly Roundup 16<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>#1</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;">Sunday funday with my buddy. We're quite the pair; me drooling and him spitting.......at least we're easily entertained!</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"> <i>- September 28</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"><b>#2</b> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; text-align: left;">Representin'. Cut tin' teeth is a full time job, homies. <i>- September 29</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"><b>#3</b> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; text-align: left;">Puppy dog?!?! More like werewolf!!!! <i>- September 30</i></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5lSsehL5qCkKE0Qe9Q-_LYsm5KoPbEy2PWeaAuZ7wB7-G5atQoat1t34roLTz56N7-Wq4vhgnB3J2Ov7xauT7mJpX6Fg97WvUFjbDfopCOUT8QKL28S4fJ9fcTNoXg4GeCxepFsI7Ew/s1600/10351176_10203600464146949_3010679010514374182_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5lSsehL5qCkKE0Qe9Q-_LYsm5KoPbEy2PWeaAuZ7wB7-G5atQoat1t34roLTz56N7-Wq4vhgnB3J2Ov7xauT7mJpX6Fg97WvUFjbDfopCOUT8QKL28S4fJ9fcTNoXg4GeCxepFsI7Ew/s1600/10351176_10203600464146949_3010679010514374182_n.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"><b>#4</b> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; text-align: left;">Stop looking at me, Mom. I'm mad at you right now. All the toys in the world aren't going to make up for you forcing me to do tummy time!<i> - October 1</i></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivx5EMbGQaLS2SWmNdqSQihu-KD05Lic4vfljsjCsk_IS2j7qUU84jYnkLVaGf4RaUBTT63FEMG68RwjnEF5C-ZRI3BcR2OVDmIjSQFiJin7ikpqX4xpajsefTLRAFtUQ4SeN2z1PjqW0/s1600/10177526_10203604269842089_7105890938520384634_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivx5EMbGQaLS2SWmNdqSQihu-KD05Lic4vfljsjCsk_IS2j7qUU84jYnkLVaGf4RaUBTT63FEMG68RwjnEF5C-ZRI3BcR2OVDmIjSQFiJin7ikpqX4xpajsefTLRAFtUQ4SeN2z1PjqW0/s1600/10177526_10203604269842089_7105890938520384634_n.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"><b>#5</b> </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #141823;">Guess who took a nap laying flat in his packnplay like a big boy?!? ME; that's who!!!</span><i> </i></span><span class="_58cl" style="background-color: white; cursor: pointer; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; text-align: left;"><i><a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/dillonaday?source=feed_text" style="cursor: pointer; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; text-decoration: none;"></a>- October 2</i></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9swl2zp6RO4ZFPMjqs9eQZqqzdCDrAJbVIQqtEEiU1lVpa9Spahtbo9UIBK4MjF5-po-DzlE6nolnJ81q4wW4HuORw7irZyKhyphenhyphenYAMt1P91vH6tNlxTENSfneWVIKTzXZ-pW8RA9b_WSc/s1600/10710974_10203613982324895_7210271939356316356_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9swl2zp6RO4ZFPMjqs9eQZqqzdCDrAJbVIQqtEEiU1lVpa9Spahtbo9UIBK4MjF5-po-DzlE6nolnJ81q4wW4HuORw7irZyKhyphenhyphenYAMt1P91vH6tNlxTENSfneWVIKTzXZ-pW8RA9b_WSc/s1600/10710974_10203613982324895_7210271939356316356_n.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"><b>#6</b> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; text-align: left;">I'm too handsome for this shirt. Get off me, shirt! <i>- October 3</i></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFVo1qdYbOoVewDWPuXPOaYTm1YEq8IC2QfkjXMpdXgm02hNt646C0qxucl054YgBngrSYoamWsLgyRLFiVktsKQAqdjTlUQI4FCNYzXi3AKq84-QxHtOIGtvrvsA09BxRVXzl54Gx8o/s1600/10659354_10203617154244191_7425324807573456616_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFVo1qdYbOoVewDWPuXPOaYTm1YEq8IC2QfkjXMpdXgm02hNt646C0qxucl054YgBngrSYoamWsLgyRLFiVktsKQAqdjTlUQI4FCNYzXi3AKq84-QxHtOIGtvrvsA09BxRVXzl54Gx8o/s1600/10659354_10203617154244191_7425324807573456616_n.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"><b>#7 </b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; text-align: left;">Mom and Dad are SOOOOOO proud of me for sleeping 11 straight hours in my real expensive crib last night for the very first time!!!!! <i>- October 4</i></span></span><br />
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