Sunday, November 23, 2014

Friday, November 21, 2014

The Poopacalypse of 2014

A text I sent my husband today
His reply
Today, I survived the Great Poopacalypse of 2014.

My three year old girl has been struggling with constipation off and on for months now, probably since early Spring.  If anything, it shows me that one character trait this girl has is steadfast determination. She simply will not poop. She will hold it and hold and hold it. Her 'tell' is holding up the seat of her pants. When she start tugging up those pants, I know she needs to go and is fighting it.

"I can tell you need to go potty."
"No I don't, I am just holding up my pants so they don't fall down."

"It is time to sit on the potty. There is poop in there that needs to come out."
"No there is not. My poopy is in Reese's tummy. It hasn't come home to my tummy yet. It's just not in there."

"You need to try to go to the potty."
"Well, I am your Mommy and sometimes your body talks to me. It is telling me you need to go."
"No IT isn't!"

"You are getting on this potty. Right. Now." (as I struggle to sit her on the potty and her body goes straight as a board)
"You're tight-ing me up! Let me go! I gotta get out of this place! You are squriming me!"

"Sit on the potty and I will count to ten and we will see if anything comes out."
"I want to count onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. Noth-thing! Noth-thing!"

"Come on, you are sitting on the potty."
"I I I I I I CAAAAAANNNNN'TTTT!" ( Have you seen Frozen? I blame this one on Elsa.)

"Your job today is to poop. OK? It is a very important job. It is healthy and we want you to be healthy and strong."
"Please stop talking to me. Don't talk about poop anymore."

It goes on and on. Wednesday night I was at my wits end. She was miserable. She gets so mean and irritable and I don't blame her. I would be too. I got desperate and gave her the dreaded "bum medicine" aka glycerin suppository. This took an hour. An hour of begging, pleading, negotiating...from me. I was willing to give her anything. I was armed with the iPad cued up to YouTube, my phone, toe nail polish...promises of Safe-T-Pops, ice cream with M&M's on top, anything she would want.  It was terrible. She cried until she was hoarse.  I was finally able to do it with my husband's assistance. I wanted to cry too. It was horrible and she was mad at me. The kicker, it didn't work.  This isn't the first time this has happened. From talking to the pediatrician's office I knew what we had to do. Clean her out so she starts at zero and it isn't hard for her to go again.  So the next day she got loaded up with Miralax. She didn't go.  She should have been re-enacting the bathroom scene from Dumb and Dumber at this point, but she didn't go.

Today was the Thanksgiving lunch at her school. I was fortunate enough to attend. I get there and she is on the playground, pacing around in circles, tugging at her pants. I looked at her teacher and she shook her head no. We sat down to eat and she could barely sit in her chair. She kept getting up, tugging her pants up, and saying she wanted to go home. I decided to take her home with me. I could tell she was miserable.  I got her home and into a Pull Up.  I tried to get her to take a nap but she was too squirmy and uncomfortable, but still insisted that she didn't need to go.  I left her in her bed hoping she would sleep. Eventually she came running down the hall saying "Something is HAPPENING!" Praise the Lord, the girl pooped. It was a big one. I changed her into a new Pull Up. I knew this was just the beginning.  Twenty minutes later she waddles into my room. "Mommy I poopied AGAIN!" Have you seen a Pull Up reach it's critical threshold of capacity? The side panels were peeling apart as she moved. There was stuff oozing out of it. Solid stuff was on her ankles,  more coming out as she walked.


I put the one year old into the bath tub where I knew he would be contained. Poop falls on to the ground as she waddles in. She doesn't realize the extent that it is all over her. She looks like she just ran a mud run.  "DO NOT MOVE." She moves of course. I am trying to wipe her legs up and it is on her dress. I get the dress off which smears it up her back. The baby is trying to stand up in the tub - in his socks - so I am wiping her with one hand and trying to grab the baby and make him sit down with the other.  Luckily I had a Target bag stashed under the sink and threw the wipes and the remains of the Pull Up in it. I gave up trying to not get poop on me. It was pointless. I went through a package of wipes. I got her wiped up as much as I can and a new Pull Up on her just in case, and tell her to stay in the bathroom, she is taking a bath.  Now she feels like a new girl, alive, free, full of energy! She runs out of the bathroom before I can catch her and she is jumping on my bed. The baby is now standing in the tub again, and you guessed it, he is loading his diaper. I give up on worrying about fecal matter on my bed. I grab the boy, take off his diaper get him cleaned up, and start the bath.  I manage to corral her and get them both in the tub.  This whole scenario took place in a span of about ten minutes, I was impressed with my speediness.

This evening, I surveyed the aftermath of the Great Poopacalypse of 2014.  Two bathmats, my duvet cover, a blanket that was on the floor of the baby's room (she must have gone in there before she found me), her clothes, and my clothes are all in the process of being washed. The carpet in the bedroom is dotted with pieces of toilet paper to indicate where I sprayed carpet cleaner. I weighed the bag that held the Pull Up - one and a half pounds! I am astonished that it was that much. My poor girl.  I am so relieved that she finally went. 

I feel like I earned a Mommy poop survival merit badge today. I am sure there will be many more badges to add to my collection in days to come. In the meantime, I am going to eat MY ice cream with M&M's on top. I deserve it after the past few days.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Help Wanted: Professional Pick Up Person

If I had money to throw away,  I wouldn't hire a personal trainer or a chef. This would be the want ad that I would post.

Help Wanted

Mother of two looking for full-time Professional Pick Up Person (PPUP).  This person's responsibilities would include:

Picking up any and all items dropped and/or tossed on the floors, that should not be dropped or tossed on the floors, throughout my home.  This includes, but is not limited to:

Grooming: comb / brush / ponytail holders / hair bows / de-tangling spray / toothbrushes / toothpaste

Mealtimes: cups / utensils / plates / bibs / napkins / food / shoes / socks

After Day Care: jackets / hats / shoes / socks / shirt / pants / artwork / daily activity sheets

Bath Time: rinse cups / wet washcloths / shampoo / soap / water-logged toys

Diaper Changing/Potty Time: underwear / socks / shoes / diapers(clean and dirty) / diaper cream / lotion / wipes(clean and dirty) / shirt / pants


Must be able to stand for long periods of time. Requires frequent bending.  Must be able to withstand the volume/attitude/mood swings of a three year old and tolerate repetitive singing, yelling, and questions.  Injury while on the job is possible from items thrown by one year old (He has a good arm). Must be willing to travel on occasion to preform duties at off-site functions such as play dates and family holiday gatherings.

On the job training is provided. Excellent opportunity for college aged individual who is interested in working with children. Benefits include lukewarm meals, first-hand knowledge of three year old potty habits, and learning all of the lyrics and nuances of the Frozen soundtrack.

If money was no object, who would you hire? Maid, chef, chauffeur?  The PPUP is at the top of my list, however I would also love to have someone to put away the laundry. I don't mind doing the laundry, it is putting it away that I don't like.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

A Random Act of Kindness

NaBloPoMo prompt for the day: Tell us about one time you benefited from the kindness of strangers.

 I don't have a life changing story to tell, just a little incident in a parking lot.

I had a stranger help me at the grocery store last year. I had my four month old son strapped my chest in his carrier, my 2 year old daughter in the seat of the cart, and a heavy cart load of groceries. I was preparing to load the groceries in the trunk of the car and the cart started to roll away from me. A very friendly woman saw me struggling to hold the cart in place and keep the 2 year old from climbing out. She came up to me smiling and said. "Let me hold that for you. I get it, I have been there too!"  She held the cart for me while I got the kids situated in their car seats. I thanked her profusely and loaded the groceries in my trunk.

It was such a little thing, and took two minutes out of her day, but it helped me so much.  It made me feel like I wasn't alone on the island of motherhood that I sometimes feel like I inhabit. That little acknowledgment that she had been there too, felt so validating.  My always inquisitive daughter asked "Who was that?" and "Why did that lady hold our cart?"  It led to a conversation about being kind and helping others.  She continued to ask about that lady for some time.

I am grateful that the kind stranger held my cart, that she unknowingly gave me a needed mental boost, a exposed my daughter to random acts of kindness.

Monday, November 17, 2014

Happy "Birth" Day to My Sister

Today, in the wee hours of the morning, one of my sisters gave birth to her second baby, her second sweet baby boy. I spoke with her briefly tonight and she sounded fried...happy, in love, in awe of the little face, running out of adrenaline, and deep fried tired.  I think of how tired a mama is after that labor of love, when your body is pushed to the limits of joy, fear, anticipation and excitement.  You have done this birthing thing before, but you hold that little baby burrito in your arms and wonder how it is possible that the baby is outside of you and now you are responsible for that little life.  You worry about the child at home and how they will adjust, how you will adjust to being a mom of two. How will you divide your time? How will you have enough love to pass around?  You already forget so many things about having a newborn, even though you just did this two short years ago. It is overwhelming.

It is hard being states away. It is hard knowing my other sisters and my mom get to spend the day with her and hold that sweet baby. I want her to know that I am there with her in spirit and in love and I am willing sleep to come her way tonight, even for a few short hours.

Welcome to the world Declan. We love you already and can't wait to meet you next week!

Saturday, November 15, 2014

When Kids Get Sick

Sometimes, you have good intentions, and life just gets in the way. I have fallen off the post something every day wagon for NaBloPoMo.  First it was computer issues, then a sick kid.

Priorities, right? 

On the topic of sick are so damn resilient when they are sick. I want a scientific study done to find out at what age a person loses that capability. It has always amazed me.  For example, last night, my three year old daughter doesn't want to eat dinner, says she is tired, and wants to read a story.  This isn't completely abnormal behavior for her. She is usually a good eater, but I figured, we all have days when we aren't that hungry. I let her lay on the couch while we finish dinner. She doesn't say one thing about her stomach aching, or not feeling good. My husband reads her a story and at the conclusion of the story, she stands up, coughs, and then the flood gates open. Vomit everywhere. The one year old sees it happening, takes the pacifier out of his mouth and exclaims "UH OH! UH OH!"  Ya got that right, buddy, uh oh.  After the initial tears from the shock of throwing up, she calmed down right away. She was totally content the rest of the night laying on the beach towel covered couch, watching Super Why and chatting away. If I throw up, it is OVER.  I can not stand throwing up. I would be in bed, miserable, sipping Sprite and nibbling saltines (ok, at least that is what I would have done pre-kids).  If it was my husband, forget about it...we all know how men get when they are sick.

So let's talk about the boys.  Last month my son had the croup. He took his course of steroids and by day 2 the couch sounded better. A week later he still had a residual cough and developed a fever one day. I thought, eh, maybe he has a cold. He was acting totally fine. We had family pictures taken the next morning. Does this look like a sick kid? He was happy the entire time.
The next day, the kids were scheduled for their flu shots. I talked to the doctor about what had been going on. Turns out, he had PNEUMONIA!  We spent our morning getting a chest x-ray. It blew my mind. He was acting 100% normal, just a lingering cough.  So at what age do men lose that resiliency and revert to being a "baby" when sick?  Inquiring minds want to know. (I really just dated myself with that reference, didn't I?)

I am happy to report that it was a one and done vomit occurrence for the girl. All surfaces have been wiped down in the house and doorknobs/handles/light switches disinfected.  Now I am just playing the dreaded waiting game to see if anyone else falls victim...ugh.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Saying Goodbye to Single Me

One day last week, my husband decided "I think today is the day." He was going to order his new car. He has been waiting for this moment for seven long years. I have been listening to him talk about selecting a new car for seven. long. years.  That evening I received a text message. It was a picture of the invoice for the car with the message:  "It is done. Thank you for being understanding! I love you!" My reaction? I wanted to cry. Not because I was happy, not because I was excited for him (I actually am excited for him), but because his new car means I have to get rid of my old car.

I purchased my blue Honda Civic in 2003. I paid her off 5 years later. It was the first big purchase I made on my own, no co-signer, no parental assistance, it was all me. She was with me when my boyfriend and I broke up. She carried my belongings and my broken heart to my new single girl apartment. She and I spent my single girl weekends driving to the library, to Blockbuster, the mall, and picking up take out at Wolfman Pizza and Taipei South.  Statistically, the Honda Civic was the most stolen car in the city. I actually had nightmares that she was stolen from my apartment building's parking lot.  She was my companion on countless road trips to and from Ohio to visit my family.  I would crank up the radio, roll down the windows and sing the Indigo Girls and the Dixie Chicks "Wide Open Spaces" as loud as I could.  I was in that car (after driving eight hours through the night to be the maid of honor at my best friend's wedding) when I realized I left my bridesmaid dress back in North Carolina.  I nervously checked my hair and make up in her rear view mirror before my first date with my husband.  We have been together for over 150,000 miles.

Most days, I don't even think about the blue car sitting in the garage. She only gets out and about when we realize she hasn't been driven in six months. She is just collecting dust and acquiring that old car smell.  Getting the text that confirmed we needed to get rid of her made me so sad. I sent my best friend a message saying that I irrationally wanted to cry about the situation. She told me it was understandable. It wasn't irrational, it was a piece of my history. That car was single Katie. It is the last thing I have that was mine, all mine, before I was a wife, before I was a mom.  I don't want to trade my life now for what it was back then. My life now is so much more fulfilling, and tiring, and harder, and happy all at the same.  It's is just hard to say goodbye to that little piece of my history, of my identity. I became a wife, a mother, but I was single adult me for longer than I have been either of those things.

The next day my best friend asked me if I was feeling better, and I was, I am. I am still sad, but not crying about it sad.  I would describe the feeling as wistful.  I am not sure what we will be doing with my car. I still have a month or so to make peace with letting go before the new car arrives.  I just know that it will be a bittersweet day when it happens.

Monday, November 10, 2014

How to Change a One Year Old's Diaper in 35 Easy Steps

Today's NaBloPoMo prompt: Write a "how to" post about anything you've got skills for, small or large.

A Step by Step Guide to Changing a One Year Old's Diaper:

1. Catch baby after chasing him around the couch.
2. Lift baby so his bum is in front of your face.
3. Conduct whiff test to confirm, yes, he pooped.
4. Carry squirming baby to the changing area.
5. Place baby on his back on the changing table.
6. Commence taking off baby's pants as he tries to roll over.
7. Place baby on his back on the changing table, again.
8. Repeat steps 6 and 7
9. Repeat steps 6 and 7
10. Open changing table drawer.
12. Remove clean diaper from drawer.
11. Quickly scan the drawer's contents to find an object to distract the child. (Fingernail clippers, thermometer, diaper cream, lotion, medicine dropper etc.)
12. Hand child the $45.00 temporal thermometer. It beeps. He will like it.
13. Remove child's pants.
14.  Undo tabs of diaper.
15. Assess the size of the poop and mentally calculate the required ratio of wipes to poop.
16. Grab needed wipes from dispenser.
17. Begin wiping baby while he tries to roll over.
18. Get poop on your hand.
19. Grab more wipes, try to quickly wipe poop from your hand.
20. Grab more wipes to remove the poop that is now on baby's heel.
21. Hear the thud as the temporal thermometer hits the ground.
22. Roll up the offensive diaper with one hand, while the other hand holds the baby's feet.
23.  Give the baby the wipes box to play with.
24. Slide the new diaper under the baby and bring baby's legs down.
25. Fasten tabs of new diaper as he tries to roll over.
26. Hear the thud of the wipes box as it hits the ground.
27. The diaper is now securely on the baby.  It is crooked, but on the baby.
28. Commence putting each of the baby's kicking legs into his pants.
29. Baby has now kicked the pants off.
29. Repeat steps 28 and 29.
30. Give up on the pants and carry pants-free baby into the bathroom, while trying not to touch him with your poop hand.
31. Wash baby's poop foot in the sink.
32. Set him down on the floor.
33. Wash your poop hands.
34. Notice your baby's eyebrows are turning red as he is making "the face".
35. Start over, beginning at step 2.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Why it is Awesome to be the Second Child: A Letter to my Son

Dear Sweet Boy,

This picture, right here, exists to prove to you that it is awesome to be a second child. You are at the top of the slide of a bounce house. You climbed up the stairs all by yourself, and with a little coaxing, you slid down, and then you wanted to do it again.  You are sixteen months old. Do you want to know what your sister was doing when she was sixteen months old?  She was probably sitting in the baby swing at the park. I never in my wildest imagination would have taken her to an indoor bounce house. NEVER. I would have dismissed the idea as if someone had suggested I let her run around with scissors at shooting range.  You, you lucky boy, are the little brother, the second child.

You have already tried ketchup. As a matter of fact, you ate it tonight on your chicken.  Your sister was denied that luxury until she was almost two years old. You are more skilled with a spoon than your sister was at sixteen months, because we gave it to you earlier. You take a bath in the big tub.  Your sister was still bathing in the little blue whale tub at this age.  There is no room to splash in that thing! You have so much more fun during bath time than she did.  You have your own personal comedienne. You think your sister is the funniest thing on the planet. Imagine if you just had me and Daddy to make your laugh? Bor-ing! Being a second child means there is a plethora of toys to play with and books to read whenever you want (OK, whenever your sister is nice and shares).  You know what, you get to play with my phone and the remote control more often than she EVER did. Isn't it fun pushing all of those buttons on the remote and talking to Siri?

I am a second child and so is your Daddy. I know it can be hard to be little when your older sibling gets to do things that you can't do.  I can sympathize with all of the "not fair" things you will experience. I will help you through those times.  I want you to know that my love for you is just as big as it is for your sister.  I want you to keep sliding down bounce house slides.  I won't wrap you in first-timer-parent bubble wrap, I know you won't break. I am braver now. I will give you opportunities to be brave too, to fall down, and get back up.

You will be OK, and I will be too.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Friday, November 7, 2014

Cruises? Not for Me

NaBloPoMo Prompt: Where is the one place you would never want to go on vacation that other people seem to love?

My in-laws are the king and queen of cruises. They can tell you which ships to take, who has the best food, the best casinos and the best excursions. They cruise over to Europe and fly back and vice versa. They give such an enthusiastic pitch for taking a cruise, that they seriously should get paid by the cruise line. Even after hearing their stories of the places cruises have allowed them to see, I just don't get the appeal.

1. In my defense, I get sea sick. I would need to be on Dramamine the entire time, which would mean I would be sleeping the trip away.

2.  The thought of not being able to see any land kind of freaks me out.

3. Rogue waves. Google it.

4. Mystery cruise illnesses. It happens all of the time. 

5. Mingling. I am not a mingler, and don't do well with small talk. I would rather eat in my room than sit a table with strangers and engage in forced chit chat.

The only cruise I would slightly consider taking, is the New Kids On The Block cruise. Have you heard of this?  You and hundreds of other thirty-something suburban moms go on a cruise with the NKOTB boys. Joe McIntrye was my number one crush during the New Kids' boy band reign.  I have attended two NKOTB concerts as an adult and it was ridiculously fun.  I would don the motion sickness bands and down my Dramamine to hang with those Boston boys.  

Ok, so I probably wouldn't.

I will go on a cruise right now. I will spin around so I feel motion sick, drink something fruity, turn on 'Hangin' Tough' (now it's the NKOTB cruise!), and throw a cup of water in my face to simulate the rouge wave that is probably going to strike the ship. Surely that is the same experience, right?!

Thursday, November 6, 2014

A Letter to My Daughter

Hey Peanut,

Tonight was a rough one. You have really been testing your limits lately. I know, it is really, really, really hard being three years old (you tell us this all the time). I know you have big emotions and don't know how to handle them.  You have been yelling, hitting things, and not following the rules. Daddy and I are having a tough time too.  This is the first time we have had a three year old.  We are trying to do our best, but are not sure if we are doing it the right way.  The consequence of not listening at night is to take your bedtime story away. Believe me, it hurts us just as much as it hurts you. I would have a much easier time taking away a toy, but to take away a book, ugh, I hate it. 

Tonight, when you were told no story, you ran into the corner, tears streaming down your red face. You turned around, eyes wide, hand on your chest and said through your tears "I can feel my heart beating.  My heart hurts because I'm upset." Oh Baby Girl, my heart hurt too.  It will always hurt when you are upset, even when you are a grown up. I wanted to give you that story back. It is so hard not to give in when you are crying, pleading for your story time, apologizing through your tears, saying between sobs that you are listening now.  I remind you that tomorrow is a new day, and we can try again tomorrow.

Tonight instead of reading a book we had a few minutes of cuddle time. You snuggled up against me in the dark and said in a voice still shaky with tears, "Tell me a story about when you were a little girl at the pool."  So I held you tight and told you about when I was finally brave enough to jump off of the high dive, and how the walls of the bathroom were painted the same blue as the bottom of the pool.  Daddy carried you into your room and we tucked you in.

As I closed your gate I reminded myself, tomorrow is a new day. We can try again tomorrow. 

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

The Last Magic Christmas

Have you heard of NaBloPoMo? I hadn't either until a few days ago. It is a 30 day writing challenge to get you in the practice of writing. Prompts are provided as a guide if you choose to use them.  SOOO, here we go, I am going to try this thing out. Because I am a few days late in joining, I am going to use yesterday's prompt: Your favorite holiday memory

Remember the first time you realized there might not be a Santa Claus? Your older sibling, in the middle of an argument, blurts out that Santa isn't real, or you had that one friend at school that seemed older and wiser and she said matter-of-factly that he does not exist, because she found her presents tucked away behind some coats in a closet.  You got that little flutter of panic in your chest and a sick feeling in your stomach.  I was probably in the third or fourth grade when I stopped believing. I had my suspicions.  When Santa brought me a pair of roller skates, and forgot to cut off the tag inside the box that held the skates together, I knew the truth.

This is the story of my older sister's last "magic" Christmas.

She was nine or ten and teetering on the edge of not beleiving. I am sure having three younger sisters helped facilitate the desire to believe. Feeling like you know the biggest secret of them all, that Santa, the granter of wishes, the supreme being who you try and try and try to be good for all year long, might not really be real?!  Well, that is a big burden to bear for a nine year old girl.

It was Christmas Eve. She and I shared a room. We scrambled into our beds. Our red night gowns snapping with static as we wiggled under our sheets. Our hair was wrapped up in pink sponge curlers, and it was difficult to get comfortable on the pillow.  Add in the Christmas Eve excitement and sleep was almost impossible. The top of my bed was up against a window.  Under that window, the black roof of the family room downstairs jutted out into the back yard. In our room, the bottom half of the windows were covered with brown wooden shutters that folded back on hinges. I would lie down, tilt my head back and look up through the closed slats of those shutters, at the alternating lines of wood and purple night sky. That night, as I was looking up, trying to go to sleep, snowflakes started to fall. I happily closed my eyes, thinking that the snow would help Santa and his reindeer on their journey.

I am sure the Christmas morning routine in our house was very similar to yours. The kids wake up, one or more wakes up the parents. Mom and Dad go downstairs to "check everything out". Our Mom would turn on Christmas music, and turn on the lights on the tree.  We would perch eargerly on the top step of the stairs waiting for the OK to run down. Dad would be at the bottom of the stairs with a camera.

This paticular Christmas morning was different. I woke up, I looked outside to see how much it had snowed. And right there, on the roof under my window, in the freshly fallen snow, REINDEER TRACKS! REAL REINDEER TRACKS! My sister climbed onto my bed. Our breath fogged up the window as we pressed our noses against the cold glass in awe.  Santa had been to our house!  She knew it! She knew there was real a Santa. There was no other explantion for the tracks. She was relieved, so relieved. We rushed into our parents' room to tell them about our discovery.  It was even harder than normal to sit still as we sat on that top step, waiting for the OK sign to come downstairs. We had PROOF that Santa had come.

That Christmas, you could feel the magic.  I felt it, I can still feel it when I think about it. My sister can too. It was just enough magic to make my sister believe for one more year. That was her last magic Christmas. The tracks on the roof must have been from a squirrel or raccoon, but to us they were from real live reindeer. We didn't bother to count them, or take notice of their size, or look for marks from a sleigh.  My mom and dad both have commented on the magic that Christmas and how the timing was just perfect.

I imagine it is a sad milestone for a parent when their child no longer beleives. I am still several years from that experience.  I hope, man do I hope, that I can make that same kind of magic happen just once for my kids.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

5 Things I Miss About Breastfeeding

There are a lot of things I miss about nursing my babies, and several that I don't miss at all, but for the most part, I was fortunate enough to have a positive experience.  Here are five things that I have realized that I took for granted during that year that I nursed each of my kids.

1. The smell of their poop. I am not saying it smelled good, like make it into a Yankee Candle so your entire house smells like it good (I can see it now, a mustard gold candle named "Breastfed Baby"), but their poop did not smell offensive to me. My aunt always said it smells like buttered popcorn, and it kind of does.  It smells so much better than the real deal poops once solid food and cow's milk are introduced.

2. Baby breath. I loved the way my son's breath smelled. It smelled so sweet and good and 100% baby. I literally would sniff his little mouth.  Perhaps this was a mother's instinct thing, because my husband didn't understand what I was talking about.

3. Nail trimming. I would trim my babies' nails when they were nursing.  They were relaxed and milk drunk and happy.  They wouldn't even register what I was doing. Now the squirmy feet kick and the hands flail. Have you ever tried to cut an angry cat's claws?  It is like that.

4.  The excuse it gave me for an escape. Breastfeeding is the best reason to make your exit from an undesirable situation. Loud family gathering? Older kid having a melt down? Oh!  Sorry, the baby needs to be fed, excuse me while I go upstairs for a few minutes and play Candy Crush on my phone, um I mean, feed the baby.

5. My comfy nursing bra. I wore the soft cup, sports bra-like type that can give you that uni-boob look, and I didn't care. I wore that thing practically 24 hours a day, I slept in it long after the threat of leaky boobs that required nursing pads at night. Now that I am no longer nursing, I am back to underwire..ugh..underwire.

If you breastfed your baby, what do you miss?