We don’t do religion, but I tell Paige that the dead cat on the side of the road is in animal “heaven”; a place where there’s tuna by the ton and mice to chase for hours and hours. This is different than the “heaven” my Grandma is in; that’s the heaven where dapper old woman go to listen to books on tape and eat BLTS forever.  When she asks what my Aunt’s dog is, I tell her Zeus and that he was a Greek God. When she is playing in my closet she happily chats with a stone Buddah my Dad gave me a few years ago.

I celebrate Christmas, and Easter but it’s never about Jesus. Christmas is about gathering family and friends together for some delicious food, gift giving and generally being awesome and cozy during  a cold December. It’s about giving back, charity, and whatever other warm and cozy things you can think of, ESPECIALLY peppermint bark. Easter is naturally, about chocolate. About spring, gardening, brunch and hunting for eggs.

I love holidays, traditions and mythology. But we don’t really do religion — we don’t need it. If Paige wants to grow up and go become a devout Christian preaching her words to other folks FINE [I won't be happy but FINE] otherwise, lets stick with our gods, goddesses and hollow bunnies because that’s what makes me happy. Stories, myths, imagining a possible heaven that has no overdue book fines and strong coffee because that’s my idea of an afterlife, baby.

When Paige was born people asked when we were getting her baptized and we shrugged and said um, never? I’m not going to pretend to join a church, pretend to believe in something and dip my kids head into some water so that my family can breath a collective sigh of relief. We even offered to have some sort of spiritual hippie bullshit ceremony at our house where we would chant and dip her into water but everyone rolled their eyes — their loss.

Now we have a second kid coming, and my mom’s practically begging for a double baptismal. I’m naturally ignoring her,  but it’s annoying. My kid[s] are awesome in every single way, touched by the hand of some made up god or not.  If you believe in that shit fine, but dont’ keep asking me, pleading with me, fucking begging me to go get them baptized because you’re wasting your breath. I do what I want, WE do what we want as parents and it’s just to raise conscious kids that know about ALL religions and stories, not just the ones filled with guilt, and sin.

That’s my rant for the day. Paige is off at her Grandmas for a weekend of sugar and I am going to sit and do entirely too much of nothing. Cable and some chocolate is looking mighty good, oh yes [ but I'll end up scouring books for crafts to do next week even though this is MY free time dammit and I shouldn't even be thinking about parenting]

I’m stoked to have a second kid.

I’m hesitant to raise a boy.

I’m not a girly-girl by any means, but I love parenting a daughter. We talk and talk, and talk; about feelings, the weather, our favorite foods, our favorite books.  She’s kind of the perfect mix: we can wear dresses AND stomp in the mud shouting “Free to be You and Me” at the top of our lungs because we are awesome. When I talked with my friend I secretly told her i wish I would have another girl, so I could have this awesome pack of strong ladies.

We are going to name our little guy Wyatt [this week, who knows what other names we will come up with...] Paige would like to name him Owl and secretly so would I, but Wyatt is lovely — like a strong soft spoken cowboy eh? And I know that I shouldn’t immediately awesome that my son will be this truck loving,  spaz that gets his kicks from leaping off high places onto piles of couch cushions which WILL give me a heart attack. I should assume that maybe he will love to talk too? That he may love the color pink? I love my husband to death but he’s not a mans man – he won’t be out there fixing the roof but he can be my walking encyclopedia and can make beautiful art.

The little boys I meet and the parents of those little boys laugh at my wishes for a peaceful, crafty existence. They laugh as their sons bash trains together, climb up on top of teetering rocking horses and propel off while shrieking happily and I look on wearily. And this makes me nervous — I know how to parent a girl because hell, I am one. I  can read flip the flap fairy books until my eyes are bleeding, but little boys intimidate me.

For those who raised a boy and girl? Did you notice differences?

Things are good right now

-The snow is melting [fuck yes]

-I got 4 new books in the mail to devour at night

-We have some fun Manhattan exploring planned this month

-My dog Logan hasn’t submissively peed on my floor/couch/bed in weeks

-Paige is practically potty trained. She lets me know she has to go, dumps her little bowl out into the big toliet, flushes, and comes in demanding a “gummi” for using the potty.

-I’ve been making some lovely new friends.

-I’ve expanded my collection of maternity mumu’s

BOY BOY BOY BOY BOY!

No mistaking it, our second and final babe is going to be on Team Penis! A tiny part of me wanted another girl, because the thought of having a gaggle of brainy, bookish little ladies seems really appealing but now that I’ve got a little him growing well, that’s pretty awesome.  I can tell he’s already a bit more laid back than Paige — she was like a fire cracker in my stomach; always moving moving moving.  This little guy is a bit more laid back, he moves but it feels like he’s tickling my belly when I least expect it. I still can’t stomach coffee, but I covet spicy foods.

Now for the challenge: to find clothes that don’t have foot balls, “dangerous creatures “  [think sharks, bears with their mouths agape” or trucks/tools no them.  I mean really! Just because I’ve grown a strapping lad doesn’t mean he’s going to want to play football, drool over trucks.  Actually, if I get anything with sharks or bears I will have to fork it over to Paige to wear, because she’s obsessed with both.

So that’s what has been brewing here. We got blasted with a few more snow storms and so our days have been spent indoors, which is cozy but really? Spring please? Paige and I lay around and talk about all the things we will do when it’s warm: swimming holes, walks in the woods, looking for bugs, planting gardens, going to parks, going to Central Park for the day, just going and going.  The thought of constantly bundling us up just to walk a few blocks is exhausting; on the way there Paige slowly sheds layers until she’s missing mittens, a hat, and her jacket is half unzipped and her teeth are chattering.

Okay, whew now I’m off Just wanted to throw out an update so you don’t think I fell off the face of the planet

So a big discussion in our house these days is penis.

Daddy’s got one, and so does the guy who walked out of the diner bathroom. I know this, because Paige screamed “THAT MAN HAS A PENIS” as he was walking by. Rinse and repeat two more times [same diner, should we stop going] and you have what could be a kind of hilariously mortifying serious of events. I told her that we simply don’t talk about penises in public [if we can help it] and so on our bi-weekly jaunt to Trader Joe’s, Paige used her most melancholy voice to tell a hipster in the produce isle that “she wasn’t supposed to talk about penises…”

We don’t really shy away from body parts here. We’ve taken showers together and Pauge knows the difference between a vagina and a penis. Bailey has a penis, Daddy has one and Mommy has “HUGEEEE BOOBS” and a vagina with “hair on it!”

My parents didn’t talk about sex. Now I can be as raunchy as I want and it will only produce giggles from any member of my family, but when it was really time to explain what masturbation was? Well, they froze.  I don’t even think my mother talked to me about sex unless it was to tell me “I BETTER not be doing that…” during  a weekly walk in the woods with my 13 year old male friend. For the record, we were building forts we were not doing it. When my parents left a copy of Howard Sterns “Private Parts” on the table one night, I thought “this is it, the sex talk!” not realizing the book wasn’t a guide to the body for girls, it was well, a Howard Stern book…

I also remember my first orgasm; I was rubbing my bed and got so freaked out by the feeling I told my mom “I RUBBED AND RUBBED AND IT FELT LIKE SEX” to which she walked out horrified that I’d just declared my well..womanhood to her.

I can’t raise my kid like that – she’s going to hear every factoid about bodies, penises and vagina’s until her ears are ringing. No question will be left un-answered! No body part a mystery! Nope, no sir, not in this house.

Blogging smogging, I’m in love.

Besides trying to sleep and find time to read all my favorite essay’s [I'm on a kick and re-visiting my book shelf] I’ve been digging my little lady right here. She’s had me giggling for days, and I’m really enjoying our time together solo, just her and me before the baby comes.

Her latest passions? Wearing my underwear on her head and pretending to be a “clown” and making up her own joke mash ups [knock knock? who's there Paige? I'm crossing the road to make hot coco..] Even in my deepest moments of frusteration, like when I accidently drive over the George Washington Bridge and end up in the Bronx and I’m tingling with annoyance she makes me giggle…as I look up in the mirror and see her making funny faces to get ME to relax.

We really are the best of friends.

Paige’s birth took place in a hospital.  At 11 in the morning I called my doctor to tell her I thought I was in labor [I'm one of those "oh my god, I feel the baby coming!" 3 weeks before the due date while eating an ice cream cone..] and we hung around for a few hours at home before heading in.  I had a bag packed with yoga pants and books, and was ready for anything.

Mostly drugs, and some lunch, I was starving. Natural birth didn’t seem like something I was interested at the time — the childbirth I knew wasn’t this amazing spiritual experience, it fucking hurt.  The only time it didn’t hurt so much I wanted to punch someones lights out, was when I was moving around…in a hospital you can’t. I was on my back hooked up to machines and that’s that. I can say though, that I had a fantastic nurse and doctor: both were so caring, helpful, and just amazing during the entire birth. I didn’t feel rushed to push [I'm the one who initiated it] and there was no tearing, or cutting involved. Paige was on my boob within seconds and it was lovely. So, I’m not against hospitals  especially when there’s decent staff that really CARE about delivering babies.

My after care? Well, it sucked. I had trouble breast feeding like so many new moms do, and the nurses either couldn’t/wouldn’t help me, or swooped in for 2 seconds  at 3am to offer advice that I couldn’t understand in my sleep deprived state. One nurse told me my “baby was hungry so formula would be okay..” and it was awful. I really, really wish I was more educated and could have told all the nurses to fuck off and HELP me with my tits, which were producing the stuff just fine thank you, I just needed help with my latch.

This time I was going to do the hospital birth again, but I’m not happy with my doctor. How impersonal it is: to sit in a waiting room for an hour while everyone pretends to read magazines but secretly checks you out. To see a doctor for five minutes – long enough to make sure the heart is beating and I’m gaining weight. To know that in 9 months this basically anonymous person would be all up in my vagina. I wanted something more personal. I wanted to be able to move fluidly around because that is what feels good. I want someone who can sit and patiently help me breast feed this time, so that it’s not painful and I don’t fight back tears every time it’s feeding time, which is all the time. How many times can I use time? Lets see

So this momma is having a home birth. I’m reading about it and looking up midwives in the area and getting more and more tingly-excited every day.  Phil is going to get involved, and I’m hoping this can bring us closer together as a couple of dorks who are raising kids.  Will I have Paige present? I really don’t know yet — I may need this to be a me/my body experience without her clamoring about asking a million questions…same goes for my dogs. I’m sure they will be howling right along side of me and THAT is already annoying. Pet hotel? Grandmas? We will see!

Either way, I’m pumped. Be pumped for me

I’m not against modern medicine. I vaccinated Paige up until she was just about a year old, and while I’ve decided to delay any other vaccines she may or may not get [I'm still teetering on the fence] I’m not anti anything. Would I give my child the flu vaccine? Nope! But I wouldn’t stop being your friend if you thought it was a great idea. When we have colds I bust out my honey, eucalyptus scented bath stuff, and a cool mist humidifier for the stuffy evenings that lay ahead. We hibernate with tea, and avoid spreading our germs and we get better…

We had a barf-week last week, but we were starting to feel better. I was craving oil and vinegar drenched sandwiches and Paige stomached a half a bowl of cereal without sobbing to take it away, when we got hit again. This time it was the sniffles and I was prepared. We did honey, we rested, and yet it got worse. My normally spastic excited to talk about sharks toddler was lethargic and wanted nothing to do with anything but bed, water, and naturally lots of Pixar movies.  We had a funeral to go to on Saturday so Paige went to my mother in laws, and I told her if she’s not better on Sunday I’m just sucking it up and we are going to the doctor. The first one I can Google that gets halfway decent reviews because a week is 5 days too many to be under the weather.

Paige had lungs filled with fluid. Could be just my bad asthmatic genes or it could be pneumonia

Either way, scary! Scary scary scary.

She’s on some pretty strong medicine. I’m reluctant but I know that this is serious — she’s not contagious but with a weakened system anything could blast her over. Today she’s doing better – she’s demanding to make volcano’s and wanting to read, so this is good. Very good! I’m going to make breakfast for dinner and I hope tomorrow she’s almost back to normal because this is just..it’s tiring for all of us. I want my playful little bear back!

We are under the weather thanks to a bout of food poisoning.

Nothing spells a good time like feeling a bit of cramping, followed by a toddler barfing directly next to you as you settle in for bed…of course to be followed by a night of running to the toilet yourself, new towels, new jammies, new bed clothes, and lots of water to keep hydrated.

Once, someone asked me how long I breast fed for and I lied. I told them it was months longer than I actually had, because the entire conversation we had there was a toddler hanging off her tits and I was trying to convince Paige she wanted to give me a sip of her Capri Sun and I felt so flustered that I wasn’t offering her some “mommy milk” instead of a sugar lazed fruit drink I got on sale at Target because they looked so damn good sitting there on the shelf.

I’ve talked about breast feeding before, and I’ve spoken of my struggles. My mastis, the pumping I did 100x a day just to feed my kid so she wouldn’t have formula, the pain I felt every single time I looked at my kids lips or my pump or just about anything.  Sometimes I feel this twinges of guilt because I gave up, but I had to. I would feed Paige, pump, and get about 10 minutes of sleep before the whole cycle started over. I did not go to support groups, or call friends to come over and help me fit my huge swollen nipples into Paige’s mouth. Instead I cried and poured bottles of strawberry milk into the sink because I was too grossed out to give them to Paige.

We nick named my husband the breast feeding Nazi because he’s the one who would stand over me and tell me to keep on going — look how smart she’s going to be, she’ll never get ear infections, you won’t get breast cancer. He reminded me of this when I tried to “forget” my pump at home when we went out for the day, or when I sat in a friends living room topless pumping while Paige napped.

But I gave up. I got Paige sucking on formula and I got more sleep and gave my breast pump away.

I plan on breast feeding this new little bean I’m growing. If I can do it for a few months great, if I can swing it for a year awesome! But I’m not going to lie anymore. If someone asks me about Paige’s career as a breast feeder I will tell the truth: that it hurt, that I couldn’t go on. That she’s never had an ear infection or been sick with anything but a common cold. That she used the word “intolerable” the other day so maybe her Enfamil made her a genius.

One of my goals is to get Paige in her bed..permanently. We are co-sleepers to the max, and by 8:30 most nights I’m ready to drop thanks to my pregnant state of being…and drop we do, together, in my bed like two rag dolls who’ve had a day of playing playing playing. I know when the new kid comes co-sleeping is a must, and I don’t think it’s going to be feasible with a toddler, and a momma who’s going to be up. She has a perfectly adorable pink bed, and I just bought her the softest blanket to keep her cozy. And so in her bed she’s gone..kinda…

She keeps FALLING OUT!

The bed is not far from the ground — its a toddler bed at it’s best, and I set up a down comforter so if she does roll out she lands on what is essentially a cloud of feathers. But each night fall she does, and with that comes a piercing cry and a plea to come to our bed because she’s scared. And me? I’m a sucker with a pension for sleeping so I scoop her up, and we snuggle together.  I know one day she’s going to sleep without falling out, but it’s so frustrating that it’s happening to her! And it must be scary to go from sleeping and  dreaming to laying on a floor [as soft as it is] wondering what the hell happened.

So that’s where I’m at. Trying to get the kid to stay in her bed, playing with moon sand every day [love that stuff!] and just being silly and waiting patiently for winter to be over. I have this little daydreams about leaving my back door open and catching the breeze, of going to the park and having picnics and they are lovely, but unattainable when it’s like 12 degrees out and Paige doesn’t want to wear mittens or a hat.

When I was in elementary school, I got breasts. Poking out of my Children’s Place tee shirts, they were the talk of my family. As they grew, so did my shirt sizes –  I’m small gal, but I’m certainly not SKINNY. I have arm chub, a roundish belly [even when I'm not pregnant] and the likes but I’m just small boned. Short, small hips, and well, huge breasts.

I remember playing in a friends treehouse, bra-less and free, feeling the breeze up my shirt when I was about 11…hours later when we went home, my mom told me it was time to get a bra, and I died inside. Lock up these gals? No thanks I’ve got texture issues. And I did, and I still do. I love soft cottons and clothes that breath — on a good day I can wear a tee shirt and leggings and feel cozy, but on a bad day I want to rip my clothes off and die a little because they feel like sandpaper on my skin.

My boobs have continued to grow, and just last week I went for a bra fitting only to find out, I’m like a size bigger than I thought, and by a size bigger I mean a size F which is way too fucking big for my liking. And I know that once my milk comes in I’m going to go up at least another size or two, and what than? Am I going to be able to get out of bed without being too top heavy and toppling over spilling milk onto my shag carpet? When you have boobs that are a size F you don’t wear bras, you wear bullet proof vests that push your chest in, and up causing even an XL tee shirt from the gap to look pornographic

And I hate it. Girls with little itsy bitty boobies get to wear these dainty wispy lace bras that come in fun colors, and I have this…this rig up of straps, and heavy cotton that cut off my circulation when I do decide to put them on.

I’m swearing off bras for New Years. Unless I’m going out and there’s a chance I might take someone out with my boobs I’m going to be free-breasting it like a wild woman.

Happy Sunday!