I give my kid ice cream.

Yes, I give my kid (toddler at that) ice cream.  I also let her eat frozen yogurt.  She's had cookies and french fries.  But, she also eats home cooked meals - (Dada legit makes her mussels and pasta for lunch!)  I made her baby food and currently make her popsicles (greek yogurt and berries).  She's eaten take out pizza, but our norm is homemade pizza (dough and all) from scratch every Friday.  She drinks whole milk - not organic - and water daily, but she has tasted juice.  She knows who Mickey Mouse is, but is clueless about the Disney princesses.  At times she chooses her own clothes to wear and her outfit usually consists of some sort of dress with crocs.  Fake crocs. Imitations that I got for $4.97 at KMart's going-out-out-of-business sale.  She owns Adidas high tops and Toms, but 75% of her clothes have been hand-me-downs.  Her play kitchen is a hand-me-down and her little tikes baby cradle was found for $2.00 at a thrift store.  She still uses a pacifier or a "taci" as she calls it, but I try to limit it to sleep and car rides.  She drives me crazy, but I love her more.  Sometimes I lose my cool.  She goes in time out.  I've said that her behaviors are "naughty".  Hell, I've flat out called her naughty.  But, I don't like to use the word "fresh".  Sometimes she screams and cries and throws herself around on the ground after she's done something naughty, and sometimes she apologizes immediately (of her own doing) or says "mama, kiss!" or "mama, hug!"  Sometimes I argue with her about things.  For example, tonight I tried to wait it out until she'd cleaned up all her toys before we moved on to the next thing- but I ended up caving and doing it myself.  Sometimes she's in bed by 7:00pm, and sometimes we're visiting family and it results in a nearly 10:00pm bedtime.  Sometimes she falls right to sleep in her crib with zero fussing, other nights she cries for nearly 15 minutes.  My heart breaks during those minutes, but sometimes she needs to be in her space and me in mine.  And, some nights she wakes up at 1:00am and calls "Mama, mama.." from her crib and I walk in without question, scoop her up, and snuggle to sleep with her in my bed.  Through all of this I at times wonder: Am I teaching her the wrong thing?  Maybe.  But, as I reflect on all this and try not to compare myself to others or what is "supposed to be best", I realize that, if nothing else, we have a relationship of moderation.  And love.  Lots of love. 

You may scoff at half of what I wrote.  Or, you may think that I'm terrible because my daughter can sing along with The Backyardigans, or turn on my iphone or say "Mama.. text dada"  But, I just like to think of her as wicked smart.  She can follow along with dances, she can sing along with Taylor Swift's "We are never ever getting back together" and she legit tries to do the "cup song" (youtube cimorelli - cups  .. it's Cora's favorite).  She likes mama's ipad, but she also loves to run around outside.  She can slide an iphone on like nobody's business - but then she puts it on her shoulder and uses her imagination and talks.  She may ask to watch "Mickey Mouse!" but she also loves to search for horsies outside (yeah, we live in NH).  She's inventive in her play kitchen, using a pot holder to open the oven door and she sneaks kisses on her baby doll's head at random.  She's full of love and kind words. She always says please and thank you (well, almost always) and tonight, when she was "do mama's hair!" she randomly turned my face toward her and said "Beautiful, Mama!"  So yes, she may be full of song lyrics and can spot Mickey Mouse a mile away, but she's also full of love.  Lots of love.  And hey, I'll take a dancing, hair-doing, cup-attempting, dress wearing, iphone holding little angel who calls me beautiful any day.

Being a Mom is no joke - but it kind of is, right?

It's Mother's Day, and therefore, I was inspired/guilted (by myself) into blogging.  It's been a while kids.  How are you?  Life over here in Mama-ville is to be as expected: crazy.  Cora is like a mini-teenager.  She screams at me.  She tries to smack me.  She'll occasionally grab me.  Well, maybe not a mini-teenager, but what then?  Oh I know, worse.  Much worse. She's a toddler.  Just hearing the word toddler can make me cringe.  When I hear toddler, I hear tantrums.  I hear independence ("No!" "Mine!").  I see dead weight.  Yes, holding a child who was just walking by one hand and suddenly turns into a sack of potatoes as you try not to drag them in front of on-lookers while you walk through the mall or a parking lot.  Yes, you know you can see it now.  You're thinking - "Am I going to break her wrist?  Is her arm going to pull out of her socket?  These people must think I have no control over my child.  ....Can I get away with dragging her across the pavement?"..... and so on.

Yes, being  a Mom is no joke.  But, it kind of is, right?  I mean where else are you expected to keep your cool around a screaming 3 foot midget?  (Well, and not get paid for doing it by MTV)  Where else do you have to turn your head to hide your laughter as your child scrunches their eyebrows to give you the evil eye because they don't want you disciplining them.  Where else do you pick boogers on a consistent basis and actually enjoy it?  C'mon, you know you do.  There's nothing like picking your kid's nose.  Or am I alone on this...?  Where else do you wipe someone's bum (again, without pay) and then examine their poop. 

Yes, being a Mom is a dirty job.  But, it's also kinda awesome.  Because with boogers also comes boo-boos.  Boo-boos are no fun, but kissing boo-boos and making them better is.  There's no feeling like when Cora comes running to me saying "Mama, mama!" with her fake cry (yes folks, she has a fake cry when she's not really hurt) and I can gush over her saying "Oh no.. my poor baby!" and squeeze and hug her for about 7 seconds (because that's about as long as she'll stay still for).  It's an even greater feeling  when she says to me "Mama hug!"  Although the best may have been when she said to me today "Mama, cuddle!"  Like you even had to ask.

Yes, being a Mom is a dirty job.  It's a tough job.  Who're we kidding - it's a freaking hard job.  It's deep breaths, exhaustion, praying (dear-god-help-me-before-I-lose-my-mind).  It's booger-picking, poop-wiping, and boo-boo kissing.  It's puking, fevers, teething and tylenol.  It's waking up in the night, diaper changing, story telling, sing-songing and cuddling.  It's patience upon patience and more patience.  It's hair-pulling, screaming, laughing, crying crazyness.  It's the hardest job in the world and we do it voluntarily.  Because, if we weren't Moms we don't know what else we'd do.  Sure, we still dress up in office clothes and commute and listen to talk radio and type emails to colleagues.  But, now we rush home at the end of the work day - not to meet a friend for drinks, or to catch a tv show (well, only if it's a good tv night).  We rush home because we get to snuggle and cuddle and kiss our babies.  We're exhausted around them, but we miss them when we're away.  We're incomplete without them and it's challenging to remember life before this little life existed.  Did I really used to blow dry my hair every day?  Was there ever a time when I wasn't washing sippy cups?  Was I ever really able to just sleep in?  Or, better yet, lay in bed all day and be lazy?  That life no longer exists.  And, although I miss my well-styled dry hair.  I wouldn't give this job up for anything in the world.

Happy Mother's Day, Mamas.  You deserve all the smiles, laughter and joy from your wonderful little angels.  And just remember, although they may be writhing around on the floor screaming now, one day they'll be too big to do that, and you'll long for when they were small enough to scoop up.  Yes, one day they'll be too big to lay on the floor and scream in full tantrum.  And instead, they'll be standing up screaming and slamming doors.  Just you wait, Mom.  It's gonna be awesome.

Raise your hand if you've held your child's puke. My hand is up.

You know you love your kid when you hold their puke in your hand.  Yes, moms and dads, I've done it.  The unimaginable.  The unthinkable.  I held Cora's puke in my hand.  No, not for fun.  Cora was getting sick and I put my hand out for her to puke in it.  If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Or, maybe it's crazy.  It's crazy because I didn't even think twice about it.  It's crazy because I'd do it again.  My purpose in life is to care for this little being now.  She comes before everything else.  My purpose is to comfort her.  To love her.  To care for her.  And if that means holding her puke in my hand, then I'd do it again. 

If you're a Mom or a Dad then you know what I'm talking about.  When you have a kid, suddenly your entire world shifts.  Suddenly, not much else matters.  You're consumed with this tiny little creature and, at times, it can be pretty damn overwhelming.  Now, I don't want to get all mushy on you, because in reality, holding Cora's puke didn't do much else except ignite my own gag reflex.  But, as much as I gagged, and as gross as it kinda was,  I'd do it again. 

I'll always take her temperature, I'll always cuddle her, I'll hug her and kiss her and hold her and snuggle her.  I'll exhibit as much patience as possible while she screams because she's feeling like crap, but she can't just tell me.  I'll hold her until she falls asleep and place her gently in her cribby.  And, I'll let her come into my bed if she fusses.  Because I'm a Mom and I love her.  And that's what parents do.  We hold puke, we measure tylenol, we wipe poop, we examine poop, we pick boogers and use our spit to wipe our kids' faces.  That's love, because, really, if you can open a diaper and look for "seeds" or digested fruit, it's either love or insanity.  Or maybe, it's a little bit of both.

I'm a freak and proud of it.

Hello dear friends.  I'm sorry I haven't written in a while.  I guess I've been busy living life, ie working full time and being a mom.  I really need to feel the inspiration (I know, lame) before I write a blog.  And, I guess we could say tonight something got me thinking.  I ended up in a back-and-forth exchange on facebook with another mama.  She had posted about how hard it is to be a single mom when both you and your little one are sick.  She semi-vented and then ended with "I envy those who have help on hand in times like this. Don't take it for granted if you do."  A few individuals commented.. one of which who seemed to feel it necessary to one-up her as she was a single mom of 4 kids.  Really, this mama is already down and out - feeling like crap (literally) and caring for her little girl who also feels like crap.  Does she need to be reminded that it could be worse?  No, I don't think so.

Now, this is not to start a mommy war.  If you read my blog at all you know I'm not about mommy wars, but rather about complaining.  Complaining is necessary.  Especially when you're a mom.  Now, I'm not saying to go around all day whining and saying woe is me.  But, g-damnit, if you're a single mom and sick and so is your kid - then I say complain on!  I say scream.  Cry.  Shout.  Vent.  Watch a movie.  Stick your kid in front of the tv.  Put them to bed early.  Then, get a huge bowl of [insert favorite dessert here] and enjoy.  Like seriously, if you can't complain to your friends on facebook, then who can you complain to?  And if you can't complain when you're a mama, then what's the point of having kids?

Again, I obviously love my daughter.  Yes, I love her more than life itself (I think I've already said this in a past post).  I love her to the point of freakness.  I define a freak as me: someone who saves their kid's dried up belly button, someone who cries at the thought of cutting their daughter's hair, someone who thinks processed food will poison my baby... but then someone who will give their said 16 month old a chocolate covered pretzel.  So, basically.  I'm a freak.  I'm a freak who loves their kid so much they can cry on the spot.  Someone who obsessively checks that their baby is breathing.  Still.  At 16 months old.  Obsessively.  And can't go to bed unless I've checked on her because I tell myself that the one night I trust she's okay and just go to bed.. that's the night something awful will happen.  I know, I told you I'm a freak.  I'm a freak because all moms are kind of freaks.  We all have our little nuances.  Our soft spots.  The things that hit home.  The things we'd never do and the things we always do.  What would I never do?  I honestly can't think of anything when it comes to Cora.  Because really, if she needed me to I'd bite her toenails (oh wait, I do that anyway).  If it'd help, I'd eat her boogers.  I share my drink with her even with all the drool, I let her slobber on my face, I even examine her poop.  Yes, I check her poop to make sure it's okay.  I told you, I'm a freak.  And you know what?  I'm proud.  Because to me being a freak isn't a bad thing.  It's those who think they aren't crazy (but really are) that are the ones you have to watch out for.

So when Cora is 16 and looks at me in disgust and asks me what the heck is she supposed to do with her dried up baby belly button and her hair from her first haircut, I will tell her that I have no clue what she is supposed to do.  I will proudly let her know that I'm a crazy freak and that she can do what she wants with them, but that I love her so much I can't imagine throwing any part of her away.  Except her poop and toenails.. If I start saving those call the psych ward on me.  And if you save those...?  Well, then you're nuts.  And being nuts is totally different than being a crazy freak.

calorie counting sucks.

I usually don't share/blog/write about my attempts to lose weight.  I usually keep it pretty private.  But now?  I'm hoping that writing about it will help me.  Help hold me accountable.  Help motivate me.  Help keep me on track.  Here's hoping.  And I'm writing because I feel like I need all of the potential support/outlets/avenues possible.  I've always struggled with my weight.  Literally always.  As in my entire life.  As in I remember being in Kindergarten and thinking I was fat.  Crazy, right?  Sad, isn't it?  If it were another child I'd be devastated they felt that way.  But it's me, so this is all I know.  So yeah, I've been heavy my whole life.  What kills me, is 5 years ago I was at nearly my lowest weight ever, and at the time, I still wasn't happy with how I looked.  I mean, I felt okay, but I wasn't really happy with what I saw in the mirror.  And now? (at the heaviest I've ever been!)  I could cry at the thought of where I was. 

But, instead of crying, I'm getting up, dusting myself off and counting my calories.  I'm counting my calories and I'm working out.  I'm not perfect, but I'm trying.  Today I said the mantra of "I can control what I put in my mouth.. I can control what I put in my mouth."  This was true... until dinner time.  Now, I didn't go eat a pizza.. but I still went a bit above my allotted caloric intake (I'm aiming for 1200 a day).   But, I'm trying to not feel guilty and just move on.

Did you say calories?  Okay, let's talk calories. 1200 calories is not a lot.  I don't care who you are.  If you tell me it's hard to eat 1200 calories because it's so many, I will not believe you.  I'm sorry, but I just won't.  I will tell you that you are a liar.  Sorry, but I will.  To me, 1200 calories feels like starvation.  Kind of.  Now, don't get all high-and-mighty on me, I know 1200 calories isn't starvation.. and that I'm not really starving because children in [insert-your-favorite-third-world-country-here] are starving.  But, it feels like I'm starving.  Sometimes I feel weak, occasionally get dizzy and flushed with heat.  I assume this is just the lovely side effects of drastically cutting your food intake.  And thanks to tv shows like Biggest Loser, etc, I know for a fact that 1200 calories isn't too few.  And based on MyFitnessPal, 1200 calories equals a 2 pound per week weight loss.  I'll take it.  If it happens.

So here I am.  At the start of a very long journey.  Trying to stay motivated.  Trying not to throw in the towel.  Trying not to obsess and feel immense amounts of guilt after I eat a bit too much.  Trying to be physically active.  Trying hard to lose weight.  A lot of weight.  How much weight?  Should I say?  I'm scared to write it.  But, I will because what have I got to lose?  Oh yeah, 50 pounds.  

Words of support and encouragement accepted.

laundry, hair cuts and tears - oh my!

I actually miss doing laundry.  I know, crazy - right?  But when you no longer have the option to just run downstairs to your basement and throw a load in, you begin to miss it.  In all of my "adult-out-of-the-house" years, I've only had access to free laundry (in my own home) for one of those years.  Yes, that equals about 8 years of laundry mat/coin paying/dragging of clothes.  Sucks.  Last year we were fortunate enough to be in an apartment with free laundry in the basement.  Coincidentally, it was also also the first year of Cora's life.  Super handy, right?  I was able to wash bibs, onesies, crib sheets, face cloths and poopy diapers on demand.  Maybe to you this doesn't sound like fun, but to me, a new mom at home, it was enjoyable because it made my life easier.

Now we live in an apartment building and we have to pay for laundry again.  It is located nearby (just one floor down), but we still have to pay.  Also, one floor seems close until you have a toddler, and then any distance in which you are trying to reel both your child and a hamper of laundry in the same direction feels very far.  So basically, what am I saying?  I'm just complaining.  I'm venting.  I'm, I guess, sharing how lazy and poor I am.  I'm sharing how inconvenienced I am by walking down one flight of stairs to then pay to wash my clothes.  Sorry, but that's annoying.

Know what else is annoying?  Hair in your eyes.  And that was the driving force behind Cora's first haircut.  Wait - yes - you heard right, Cora got her first haircut.  Let me downplay this a little.  She got her bangs cut.  By me.  I tried to cut them on Thursday night, but chickened out.  No, I wasn't scared to actually cut her hair.  I was emotionally torn.  I (crazily?) felt like I was robbing Cora of her baby-ness, of her innocence.  I told you I was crazy.  Then, Friday night arrived.  I thought more about it, about how she always has to wear a little pony tail to keep her hair out of her eyes, and yes, I focused in on how her hair is always in her face.. just hanging there...blocking her view. Always.  Sometimes she drags her hair back off her face, but mostly she just walks around with it in her face.  And that's not really fair, right?  So what'd I do?  I sat down on the floor with her, pulled her hair out off her face and snipped.  Then?  Well, then I cried.  I cried because I felt like I was facing the fact that she's not really a "baby" anymore.  I cried because I semi-regretted cutting it.  I cried because I barely recognized her.  Her features changed with the bangs and she looked like a little girl.  And I also cried out of guilt.  Guilty about cutting her precious, beautiful hair.  Guilty over cutting off the hair that started growing in when she was weeks old.  Was it even potentially the hair she was born with?  So what'd I do? I kept it.  I put the inch of hair in a ziplock bag (I know, I'm classy.  Classy and crazy).  I plan on doing something a bit more special with it... a friend of mine mentioned a glass jar.  But for now, it sits in a ziplock bag magnetized to the fridge.  And now?  Now I'm kinda used to her bangs.  It's day 2 after the cut and I've calmed down.  I can still put a bow in her hair and even a pony tail if I want to.  And now, her hair isn't in her eyes.  She can actually see clearly when she's barging through the room throwing toys around.  And finally, I've stopped crying.  I mourn the loss of her baby-ness, but I welcome her toddler-hood. Kind of.  For now, I'm holding onto the fact that she sorta looks exactly how my sister did when she was little.  And in some crazy way, that's comforting.  I'm also holding on to the fact that now I can see her gorgeous little face without a pony tail on top her head.  For now, I'm not crying.  We'll see how long that lasts.

let's talk tired.

How do you define exhaustion?  It probably depends on what you do.  Maybe your eyes get exhausted because you look at a computer screen all day, maybe your brain gets exhausted because you are crunching numbers, or maybe your body is exhausted because you work construction.  And if you're a Mom?  That's a new form of exhaustion: being a mom.  And so how do I define tired?  Here goes... tired is setting 4 alarms and snoozing them all... for an hour.  Tired is not being able to speak in moments... and the words you actually can utter come out backwards.  Tired is being able to drink multiple cups of coffee in the day... and even one at night.. and still pass out with no problem.  Tired is leaving your house in a disheveled mess.  Tired is forgetting why you walked into the room.  Tired is finding a box of cereal in the fridge, or putting something that needs to be refrigerated in the sink.  Tired is having no clue what day of the week it is.  Tired is forgetting how to spell simple words -- have you ever had to stop and think how to spell 'who'?  Tired is having no clue what day of the week it is. Tired is repeating yourself.  Tired is thinking you always hear a baby crying (or is that just being a mom?)  Tired is sitting on the couch, putting on some trashy reality tv and zoning out.  The exhaustion you face as a mom is real.  At times it's almost unsafe... and all the time it's hard.  Really, really hard.  But, I'd rather be so exhausted I can't think, than imagine life without Cora.  She has changed my world forever.  She has turned it upside down, sideways and around.  She has given me new purpose.  And I'd do anything for her... including facing sleepless nights for the forseeable future.  She's my life now, and that's all that matters.  Even if it is a tiring life.  Also, I should mention,  being tired makes you emotional.  So if you're welling up while reading this, you're probably a tired mama... or just a mama who gets it.

this is not a rarity

Winterfest: A Place to Meet Babysitters - who knew!?

On Saturday, January 5th, YMCA Camp Lincoln hosted it's annual Winterfest.  I bundled both myself and my 15 month old daughter, Cora, up in warm snow clothes and headed to Kingston.  I knew I was testing fate as we left around the time when Cora would typically nap, but I hoped she'd be distracted enough to last an hour or so.  When we arrived, I plopped her in her sled and pulled her through the snowy parking lot and path to where others were congregating.  There was a bonfire going and I recognized everyone's face, which was comforting.

Soon after our arrival, some staff and children of the staff began to roll snow and make a giant snowman.  Everyone worked together rolling the snowballs across the untouched blanket of snow.  Sticks were gathered for arms and the broomstick and some pine needles became a moustache!  Our snowman stood in all his glory in the bright sunlight as the children grew antsy to begin sledding.  And so, soon after our arrival, we were walking toward the hill which leads down to the lake.  We were informed the lake was frozen through and was safe for skating, which only added to the sledding fun as the hill spills into the lake.  Saucers and sleds were set at the top of the hill and camp staff were maneuvering the snow on the hill to create a slippery (and safe!) slope. 

As soon as the hill was ready both adults and children began climbing into sleds and traveling down the hill.  Although I did not have snow pants on, I didn't let that deter me from sitting on a saucer, plopping Cora on my lap, and speeding down the hill.  I wasn't sure how Cora would respond, and true to form, she loved every daring minute of it!  At the base of the hill, I (sloppily) staggered off the sled and headed back up the hill carrying Cora... and let me tell you, a toddler gets awfully heavy when you're walking up a hill!  We continued in this fashion a few more times and even coasted down the hill with enough speed to make it out onto the ice - a feat which soon became the norm for everyone.

After what I thought was an acceptable amount of time sledding, I headed into the camp office with Cora.  We ate grapes and Cora nibbled on a cookie while we warmed up.  Families from the community were in and out of the office getting hot cocoa and popcorn.  Cora waved to them with crumbs on her chubby fingers.  I bundled her back up and headed out to say goodbye to everyone as I figured I had pushed Cora's nap back far enough. 

When we got outside, I became sidetracked in conversations with fellow YMCA staff and some parents from the community.  Soon, the daughter of the gentleman I was speaking with, saw and heard Cora's gestures of wanting to sled again, and was offering to take Cora sledding.  I glanced at her Mom who gave me the affirmation I needed and then I tried to see if Cora would go to her willingly.  She did.  What happened over the next hour is nothing short of pretty amazing.  Cora was shuffled among 3 different girls' laps (all sisters) and held tight as they brought her sledding down the hill.  Over and over.  For an hour.  And they carried her back up the hill.  And they fought over who would get to hold her each time.  For an hour.  Did I mention that they brought her sledding for an hour!?  And the entire time Cora was as happy as could be - content in these girls' arms.  And me?  Former over-protective mama... I was elated.  I spent the time chatting with the girls' parents.  We talked about the Y and my role in the organization.  We spoke about Camp Lincoln.  We spoke about being parents.  But mostly, we just enjoyed one another's company.  We shared in the joy that both our families were experiencing.  Our daughters were loving every minute together and we, as parents, were able to share a sunny winter's day together at Winterfest.  And, in the end, I scored potentially 2 babysitters and Cora knocked out in the car by the time I put it in drive.  All in all, I'd call the day a success!

I still pee when I sneeze.

Hi, I'm Nicole and I still pee when I sneeze.  Now, don't laugh at me.  It's true; at times, depending upon the force of the sneeze and the degree to which I need to pee, I will pee (a bit) when I sneeze.  If you're judging me or laughing at me you're one of 2 people: 1) a man 2) a female who has yet to push a baby out her vagina.  Yes, I said vagina in my blog.  Now, I know there are things you can do to help this... ie kegal exercises - but who has time for that?  And honestly, it doesn't happen that often, so I figure I'll just sneeze lightly and pack extra underwear. I'm kidding. Kind of.  But for real, child birth is intense.  And crazy shit happens when you labor and then push a 9 pound HUMAN through a hole that was once barely visible.  Your bones literally stretch open, and all kinds of scary things thin, stretch and aide in the birthing process of a baby.  So, don't judge my inability to hold it until you've figured out a way to push a grape through the eye of a needle.

                                      (Look at those cheeks - she was INSIDE my body just
                                               moments before this photo. Insane, right?!)

Now, don't get me wrong... as much as the birthing process is scary, it's just as amazing.   And lately, for some bizarre reason, I've been fascinated with animal births.  Yes, you heard me right, animals.  Like cows and elephants.  I know, I'm a freak right?  I'm blaming it on this tv show called The Incredible Dr. Pol.  Have you seen it?  If not, I highly recommend it.  Actually, I'm not sure if I do.  I end up watching with a racing heart, and spending the whole show fearing I'm going to cry, or crying.  It's pretty intense.  So, yeah, this Dr. Pol hero basically rushes around all of creation saving or trying to save thousands of animals.  From rodents to cows.  I've seen them use chains to help pull a baby calf out - it's CRAZY.  So, me and my damn curiosity started youtubing animal births.  I know, I told you, I'm a freak.  But, in the process I found this *amazing* elephant birth story: The Miracle of "Mr Shuffles" on The Zoo.  It's 5 parts... with each part being about 9ish minutes.  (Yes, I spent 45+ minutes today watching an elephant birth. Shut it.)  It was amazing. AMAZING.  I mean, aside from the fact that an elephant pushes out a 260lb baby, it's an awesome story.  And, I mean awesome in the true sense of the word.  So right now, stop reading this.  Go youtube it and be ready to enjoy the next hour of your life.  Unless, you're not a freak like me and animal births do nothing for you.  If not, then I guess you have time to go do some kegals.

Mr Shuffles and I say bye bye for now!

2012: that's a wrap!

Well, here we are again.  At the start of a new year.  And I'm left here with my thoughts of what the upcoming year will bring as well as what the past year has been like.  How does one begin to sum up a year?  I guess chronologically as best I can.. or... randomly..? yes, randomly.  That's much easier.  So here goes...

2012 was the year of...
..pumping..making a million bottles.. making homemade baby food.  nannying another baby so I could be home with cora.  naming my brother and sister godparents to cora.  cora's baptism.  my good friend megan's wedding in march (which was also consequently the first night out since I had had cora in september 2011).  selling the car I'd had for the past 10 years.  our first family vacation to cape cod in the summer.  our first trip to ireland as a family in november.  changing a million diapers.. (which included cloth for many months until we moved).  lots of laughs.  lots of smiles.  lots of tears.  8ish teeth.  a move to new hampshire. a new job for me. visits to daycares.. decisions about daycares... tears on my behalf, tears on cora's behalf... and then happiness at daycare.  2012 was the year Justin Bieber coined the phrase "we're gonna party like it's 3012 tonight."  2012 was the year I taught cora sign language and the year I frequented Mama & Me in JP (and made and kept some amazing mama friends).  it was the year of walks, swings, sandboxes, crawling, pulling up and walking.. an amber necklace for cora, countless milliliters of ibuprofen and tylenol.. fevers and visits to the doctor.  it was the year I found out my sister was pregnant and watched her belly grow exponentially (she's due in Feb!).. 2012 was the year of my niece getting her license, my best friend getting engaged, my dad learning how to facetime and my mom becoming comfortable with texting.  2012 was the year cora turned one and showed everyone that when presented with a cupcake or blueberries, she chooses the blueberries.  2012 was the year of summer olympics in london, hurricane sandy's devastation, and the horrific shooting in sandy hook.    2012 was a year of hugs, love, fights, make ups, passion, laughs and learning.  it was a big year for me and my little family as we grew together and learned from one another.  in our little world we're taking things one day at a time, and that's just fine with us.  here we go 2013, are you ready?