Six Word Fridays: Favorite Things

Favorite Things: Opposites

My daughter quietly reading her books.

Then having her squeal with excitement.

A hot cup of black tea.

A glass of coke, extra ice.

Eating a nectarine, so good.

Later, having a piece of chocolate.

Reading historical biographies late at night.

Getting US Weekly in the mail.

Not all, but some favorite things.

Go to Making Things Up for more six word fridays.

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Writer’s Workshop: When Babysitting, Make Sure To Change The Channel.

I’m linking up with Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop this week and one of her writing prompts that caught my eye was a memorable babysitting job.

When I was 15 my dad knew a woman who was in a jam and needed a babysitter at the last minute. With the exception of my younger sister, I never did any babysitting but said sure. The woman had a 4-year-old daughter and dropped her off early one night. She was going out for a girls night with a friend who was also with her.

The mom was only going to be gone a few hours and the little girl seemed pretty mellow…at first. The mom and I chatted for a bit before she left. She was telling me that she needs to find a babysitter for the weekends and would like for me to take on the job if I wanted. I told her I would love to accept the job. Before she came over, I had been watching television and left it on while babysitting. She told me that it would be fine if her daughter wanted to watch some television while she was out.

After the mom left with her friend, the little girl, although very sweet, became a tornado as she ran through the house. Babysitting when you’re 15 is the perfect birth control. I spent the whole time racing around the house trying to keep up with a 4-year-old, never paying attention to what was on television.

Finally I found something to distract the little one. We were playing dress up in my bedroom and I was able to sit down for a bit to catch my breath while she danced around my bedroom and tried on my clothes. I heard a knock on the front door and raced to open it, knowing it was the mom. That’s when I heard screams coming from the television. No, not those kind of screams. The kind where a crazy psychopath is chasing down some girl with a chainsaw kind of screams.

I had been oblivious to what was on television as the little girl kept me busy and we had been at the back of the house most of the time. I was mortified, the mom looked like she wanted to chase me down with a chainsaw, and her friend was in disbelief. Can you say Awkward?!

I was fumbling my words, trying to stress the fact that we never did watch television and we’re in my bedroom most of the time playing dress up. Like she really believed me. ha! So we were standing there in silence except for the screams and murder by chainsaw sounds coming from the television.

The mom was pretty much speechless, scooped up her daughter and gave me a quick goodbye as she and her friend left the house. Surprisingly, I never heard from her again. Hmmm….I wonder why? 😉

Comments { 25 }

Wordless Wednesday: Moving Box Playhouse

Needless to say, she thought it was the best thing ever!

For more Wordless Wednesday photos go to these great sites: Angry Julie Monday, A Beautiful Mess, 5 Minutes For Mom, Live And Love Out Loud.

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All That Matters…

I’ve been noticing more and more how some moms have been under attack for the way they raise their children and the choices they make. I know it’s nothing new but there wasn’t any reason for me to pay attention to it until I had my daughter. I strongly feel that there isn’t any wrong way on how you raise your kids. Whether you’re a babywearing mama, a mom who works outside the home, a mom who delivered naturally or those that had a c-section, whether you breastfeed or formula feed. The list could go on.

We’re all in this together and I would love for there to be more understanding and acceptance for the decisions that each of us make. We love our children and want what’s best for them. What’s best for one family might not be so for another and that’s okay. It seems that there are times when people rush to judgement without knowing the facts.

I had every intention of breastfeeding but like everything else that goes along with mommyhood, it didn’t go as planned. My daughter was in the NICU for the first 3 weeks of her life. It was agonizing and even now I can’t help but cry when I think about it. I’ll never forget when I had to leave the hospital without her, looking back to see her empty car seat. Longing to have her home with me.

She had low blood sugar and I was constantly asked if I had a glucose test by doctors every day, sometimes several times a day, for 21 days. When I was pregnant I took the 1 hour glucose test and it came back “slightly elevated”. Then I took a 3 hour glucose test and the doctor called and said everything was fine.

Maybe it was intuition but I was still worried and asked if I should take the test again in a week or two just in case. The doctor said there was no need but I still felt it should be done. So then I said I want to do the test again anyway. The doctor told me to relax and that everything was fine.

Having my daughter in the NICU for low blood sugar had me wracked with so much guilt. Then having to be asked all the time, by the same doctors, about the glucose test made me crazy. Don’t doctors ever write any of this stuff down?! We were told that she would only be in for a few days. A week later she was supposed to come home on a Saturday. We called the NICU before we went to bed and they said she was doing fine.

I was too excited to sleep. I was up half the night getting her things ready and packing her bag since we were going to stay overnight at the hospital with her. That’s what they encourage when your child has been in the NICU. She had to have her blood sugar checked every 4 hours and was on medication so they wanted to be sure we were able to handle these things.

We got a call Saturday morning saying that her blood sugar dropped late Friday night and she wouldn’t be able to come home. I was beyond devastated. We went through this cycle every two or three days for 3 weeks. The only way I can describe this roller coaster ride was that it was an absolute mindfuck. Add to that my postpartum hormones and I was a crying mess the whole time.

I tried to breastfeed her while she was in the NICU but even with a lactation consultant and the nurses there to help, she never latched on. I was pumping and would bring my milk to the NICU every day when we went to see her. She was given formula occasionally but when I was home I pumped as much as I could.

One of the problems I found was that although I could also pump in the NICU, there was no drinking allowed so I couldn’t drink any water during all the hours we spent there. When I did try to pump there, I felt so dehydrated and that would make me feel sick. That’s why I could only pump at home.

Finally, after 3 long weeks, we were able to bring her home. I kept trying to breastfeed but it just didn’t work out like I was hoping. On top of that, both my husband and I were terrified that her blood sugar would drop. We still had to supplement with formula since I didn’t always have enough breast milk coming in.

My daughter was on medication until she was six weeks old and then her blood sugar stabilized but the worry was always there. In fact it still is even though she’s fine now. I feel like the stress of everything caused my milk supply to go down.

My supply kept on dropping and I was taking all kinds of supplements to help it go back up. I also started doing marathon pumping sessions when my husband was home from work, hoping that would bring in more milk. I was pumping for nearly 4 months and then I got sick along with a horrible cough and was put on codeine for several weeks.

We really didn’t have any other option but to formula feed. During that time I  pumped and dumped because I was still hoping to give my little girl breast milk after I stopped taking codeine. When I got off of the medication, I kept pumping but didn’t get much milk. I felt defeated and had wanted so desperately to breastfeed my child. Looking back, I wish I was easier on myself. Having to formula feed is not the end of the world.

I know I did my best but to some all they might think is that I gave up too easily when it came to breastfeeding. They can only see that I formula fed my daughter. They don’t know what was behind that choice which, as far as I’m concerned, wasn’t really my choice anyway.

All that matters now is that I have a healthy, beautiful, thriving, extremely active 18 month old daughter who I love more than anything in this world.

Comments { 19 }

A Post From Lexy.

I came across this post from Lexy at Mammy Woo. She was very genorous in letting me repost this on my site. I have experienced so many of these thoughts and emotions since my daughter was born. Lexy conveyed them perfectly in my eyes.

The ‘perfect’ mother.

I’m desperate to breast feed but I am struggling.

I shouldn’t give up? Breast is best?

My milk hasn’t come in at all yet the health visitor said.

So he is feeding on fresh air.

My nipples are bleeding and cracked.

I am in agony.

I should pump more and suck up the pain?

It’s my fault. I’m a crap mum.

I should have had the perfect experience. Like you.

I should have prayed every night to the tit gods. I should have learnt about scientology.

I should have reinforced my nipples with wrought iron.

I should have howled in pain like a banshee and continued to feed.

I am such a crap mum.

If only I was perfect!!

Which formula is the best?

We use SMA? The Midwife suggested it.

I should be on Aptimel? That’s better?

Aptimel has got more vitamins in it? SMA is bad for them?

He seems to be thriving on it. He is alert and nearly taking 7 ounces.

He is such a good boy.

I should have read each and every label and made an informed decision?

Its my fault. I’m a crap mum.

I should have bought a cow and freeze dried its milk organically. Like you.

Not a lot of cows in Eccles. But we could have had one in the spare room I suppose.

I could have saved up. Built an extension.

We could have had a cow farm!

I am such a crap mum.

If only I was perfect!!

We are only on 1 night feed now! We are really pleased.

He should be sleeping through?

I should try bath, massage and bedtime?

Addison hates the water. Screams blue murder.

He just wants a feed. Little love.

He is overtired? I should make the bath a relaxing environment?

It’s my fault. I’m a crap mum.

I should have swam the channel in preparation. Like you.

I could have grown webbed feet if I had tried hard enough.

Turned into a mermaid and lulled him to sleep.

I should have built a pool next to the cow farm.

I am such a crap mum.

If only I was perfect!!

Have you started weaning? It’s fun! He is always hungry!

I’ve started too early? I should have waited?

He is way too young?

But he seems to love Cow and Gate rice pudding.

He likes soft carrots too. Always a bit worried about choking though!

You would NEVER give your child pre-packed baby food?

It’s my fault. I’m a crap mum.

I should have gone to culinary school. Like you.

I have a phobia of eggs. They terrify me.

I could have written to Paul McKenna. I could of inspired him to write a new book.

 I could have befriended Delia.

I could have learnt to cook without eggs while milking the cow and doing the front crawl.

I am such a crap mum.

If only I was perfect!!

He is six months today! He rolled over. I am so proud!

He should be sitting up? He should be standing?

He is falling behind?

He seems to hate tummy time though. Loves being on his back.

Such a playful little bunny.

I should be encouraging him more?

It’s my fault, I’m a crap mum.

If only I had gone to the gym more during pregnancy. Like you.

I should have bought new trainers.

Ignored my dodgy knees. Put a bit of effort in.

Addison could have been running the four minute mile by now.

I could have ridden the cow, at the side of the pool, while flipping an omelette and wearing new trainers.

It’s my fault. I’m such a crap mum.

If only I was perfect!!

It is all my fault.

I am a terrible mother.

I don’t try hard enough.

I don’t make enough effort.

I am not perfect enough!!

I must try harder.

I must… I must…  I must….

Stop comparing myself to others.

My son is six months old.

His name is Addison.

He does not sleep through.

He is not reading war and peace.

He is on formula.

He likes rice pudding.

He hates the bath.

He likes ‘The bear in the big blue house.’

He likes to be cuddled when he cries.

He laughs when he hears the dog bark.

He is on his own time.

He sleep talks.

He is proud of himself after a big poo.

He is happy.

I am 31 years old.

My name is Lexy.

I am not married.

I like programmes like ‘Drop dead diva.’

I breast fed for a short time only.

I am scared of eggs.

I am over weight.

I beat myself up a lot over many ‘failures’.

I love my son.

I would do anything for my son.

I will be a working mother.

I am dreading it.

I am proud of myself every day.

I love my son.

I love my son.

I love my son.

I am trying my best.

I am doing my best.

I am trying my best.

I am not perfect.

I am not crap.

I am Addison’s mummy.

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Six Word Fridays: Fantasy


I see you laying there, warm.

Can’t keep my hands off you.

I bite in, cheesy, gooey goodness.

I can’t resist a delicious burrito.

Need to stop but want more.

Then I spot you, standing tall.

Crispy, crunchy, oh so very tasty.

Love tacos, could eat them everyday.

You sit off to the side.

What a tease, you beckon me.

Take a chip, scoop you up.

Have to get my guacamole fix.

This is all fat free, right? 

It is, only in my fantasy.

Go to Making Things Up for more six word fridays.

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Wordless Wednesday: The Progression Of Peanut Butter.

For more Wordless Wednesday photos go to these great sites: Angry Julie Monday, Baby Baby Lemon, A Beautiful Mess, 5 Minutes For Mom, Live And Love Out Loud.

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