So we’re living with my mom.
When I moved out at age 20, I thought it was for good. I was just starting my third year of university. Darling Husband (Darling “Boyfriend” at the time) and I found a craptastic little apartment in the west end.
It had little black and white striped bugs in the bathroom. The kitchen was a dark little hole. It overlooked the Wal-Mart parking lot where we would watch teenagers beat each other up late at night. It also overlooked an active train track, and when they roared by eight or nine times a day, it was enough to make your teeth rattle.
But it was ours.
We lived in that apartment for three years before buying our condo. When we bought the condo, we were newly engaged and excited about “not throwing away money on rent.” We carefully stripped off the duck (DUCK) wallpaper borders and painted the hideous cupboards — along with every single wall. We felt we had really moved up in the world, and were so proud of having our “own” pool and tennis court, and living in a fancy-pants area of town.
It was ours, and it was amazing!
No sketchy train tracks here!
Little did we know, several months into condo ownership would ultimately leave us $18,000 poorer, thanks to a bitch of a special assessment (i.e. everyone give us $15,000 and we’ll put on new siding and new decks OH WAIT make that $18,000 thanks bye suckas).
We lived in the condo for four years. When we got married, we came home to that condo. We brought Baby Boy home from the hospital to that condo. We had a lot of amazing times there. And now? It’s not ours anymore.
We put our place on the market and didn’t really look too seriously at new homes. We didn’t know how long it would take to sell the condo, and didn’t want to lose out on our House of Dreams simply because we hadn’t sold it. I would have been way too stressed.
My mom had generously offered to let us stay with her. She has a large three-bedroom house in an area we’d LOVE to live in (but, uh, definitely can’t afford). We jumped at the chance to be able to sell the condo without needing to have a house immediately, and get to pay down some debts, save, etc.
So the closing was yesterday, and we moved into my mom’s place last Wednesday (to give us time to clean out the condo, steam the carpets, etc.).
We took over the two guest bedrooms upstairs, and a good chunk of the living room (computer, big-screen, army of baby toys), as well as part of the kitchen (highchair, baby dishes/cups, kitchen gadgets I just couldn’t live without). The rest of our stuff, other than our clothes? Sitting in a rented storage unit 10 minutes away. I really miss my stuff.
We are in limbo now. I am living under the roof I grew up under, but this time? I’m here with my husband and son. I am not the same 20-year-old girl who used to live here. I’m a 27-year-old university graduate, career woman, wife, mother.
My relationship with my mom is different, too. We fought like cats and dogs when I lived at home as a student, and I was worried living together again would be … a repeat of that. But things are mellow now. We are both adults. We respect each other. We are enjoying spending this time together — doing our nails and watching girly movies — but also are careful to maintain the fragile balance of time alone.
Plus, the live-in babysitter factor? DREAM!
I still can’t believe we won’t be back at the condo. I watched Darling Husband shove the keys under the door, but I still don’t believe it. It’s just we’re just … on vacation, or something.
We are looking at houses.
We saw six yesterday.
I don’t know when we’ll buy one.Who cares, it’s so flippin’ FUN to look at houses, eeeek!
Until then, I am trying to remain calmly planted in the present. Enjoying what we have now. Looking forward to what we will have, when we buy a house. Not obsessing over when, or where, we will find our House of Dreams.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’m completely done with breastfeeding.
Some people might read that and say, “Woah, what are you talking about? It was definitely time!” But those of you who have breastfed a baby — or are currently doing so — understand what I mean.
Because it is a HUGE part of your life!
Breastfeeding is something you think about at least every few hours, whether you’re with the baby or not. It dictates what you wear (from certain bras to easy-access shirts to — sometimes — limiting tight-fitting shirts or dresses). It is a completely physical thing AND a completely emotional thing. And when it’s gone, it’s … weird.
I was determined to get to the one-year mark, and happily, I did it. Once Baby Boy turned one, I knew I would kick into weaning mode. I was a little more reluctant than I thought I would be, but I still stuck with my decision.
I made a plan to wean slowly, over the period of a full month. Let’s refresh …
Stage 1 (just before he turned one): I cut out all “in-between” nursings (i.e. randomly throughout the day) and stuck to only before his morning nap, before his afternoon nap, and before bed (as well as once throughout the night).
Stage 2 (a week after he turned one): Began cutting out one of his before-nap nursing sessions
Stage 3 (two weeks after he turned one): Stopped nursing at all during the day. Nursed only at bedtime and during his one wake-up (around 4:30 a.m.). If he woke up at midnight, I would not nurse — just gave him his soother.
Stage 4 (three weeks after he turned one): We would only nurse at bedtime, and not at any other time (including during the night). If he woke up in the night, Darling Husband or I went in to re-soother him. *This* was the key point where he started sleeping through the night — from 8 or 8:30 p.m. until about 6:30 or 7 a.m. Woohoo, holla and yayyyyyyyyyy x 1,000,000!
Stage 5 (hit the 13-month mark): We nursed for the very last time the night before he turned 13 months. He slept through the night, and when he woke up in the morning as a big, grown-up 13-month-old boy, that was it. Done. Finished. Over.
If you had asked me at the six-month mark how I thought Baby Boy would handle weaning, I would have laughed and snorted something like, “He’s NEVER going to want to stop!” Because, seriously, big eater? Boob man? Mama’s Boy? He’s all of the above.
I knew since he was such a big eater, we would need to replace those feedings. Even though, yes, he was a big strapping 13-month-old boy — and definitely didn’t NEED breastmilk at night the way he did when he was younger — he was still used to eating something.
So what did we do?
It sounds so frickin’ simple, I could kick myself.
We started giving him a bedtime snack.
I knooooow, right??? Why wasn’t I doing this beforehand??? But! But! We used to give Baby Boy some rice cereal before bed — back in the days of our Oh-whyyyy-won’t-he-sleep-through-the-night agony. But after a while, he just hated it, so we stopped.
Yeah, we were dumb.
So we re-introduced the bedtime snack — at the suggestion of my lovely friend C, who is always giving me good ideas because her son is seven months older than Baby Boy. We would give him Cheerios in milk. Or cheese and crackers. Some fruit. A cup of milk. More Cheerios. WHATEVER THE KID WOULD EAT! We packed him full, every night at bedtime.
And you know what? That, combined with the weaning — or maybe just one or the other, who the hell knows with these unpredictable little people — worked. And suddenly he was sleeping through the night. It only took 13 months *grumble, grumble.*
Now, Baby Boy drinks cow’s milk with lunch and dinner, and has some on his nightly bowl of Cheerios at bedtime. He never really had any formula, other than a couple of sips around the 10-month mark as I (stupidly) thought he would seamlessly transition from breastmilk.
Would I do anything different the next time around? Namely, would I introduce formula earlier? I don’t think so. I enjoyed breastfeeding — and not just ’cause it shlepped off the baby weight, ha. It was a special bond between us. It was convenient. It was free (ahem, now that I won’t be buying nine million nursing tops).
While I would encourage a friend to breastfeed, I would never care if they didn’t. While I do think it has good benefits, I am also not deluding myself into thinking it is the be-all, end-all and that it works 100% of the time for 100% of the people in the world. While I think it can be convenient for everyone involved, I’d be fine to use formula if things don’t go as well the next time around.
But I will DEFINITELY introduce bedtime snacks earlier, as I fear that might be the real reason he didn’t sleep through the night until he was so old.
Weaning gradually really worked. For the first one or two nights, we would settle into the glider with our storybook as usual, and Baby Boy would pull out his soother and … well, TRY … But I just calmly kept my top up and began reading. He cried in frustration and it almost broke my heart, but he quickly recovered and just put his soother back in.
After a couple of nights, he stopped expecting it.
I don’t know if he had forgotten all about breastfeeding, or just understood it was finally, really, truly over.
I hope he understood.
Because I will never forget it.
And I like to think he won’t, either.
Where the heck did the last two weeks go?
Just over two weeks ago, our condo sale become official. Sorry for abandoning you guys as soon as I spilled the news! I got caught up in a crazy flurry of packing and organizing and more packing — oh, and CHILD-REARING and my writing assignments and the day-to-day crap like laundry and dishes and wiping off the highchair tray about 2,024 times a day.
Busiest. Two weeks. EVER.
I have so much to share! Here’s a sneak peek of what I PROMISE to bloggy-blog about this week:
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| 1. Take out your slow-cooker. |
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| 2. Dump in a few raw boneless chicken breasts. |
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| 3. Dump some salsa over them (enough to cover) |
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| 4. Plug in the slow-cooker, set the dial to low, leave it alone for 4-6 hours. |
Looks delish, right? It turns out very shreddy and tender, and is awesome on buns (sloppy sandwich thingys) or on tacos (I lovvvvvvve tacos) or wraps (mmmm) or just by itself, with side dishes.
Enjoy, Mamas!