The time I tried a tiny (bird) tattoo in Thailand

It's true.  At the ripe old age of 31, I got a tattoo.  In Thailand. 

 No, I wasn't drunk.  It wasn't a spur of the moment decision, either.  

I've been wanting this specific tattoo for over 2 years now.  A tattoo of 6 small birds to represent the 6 babies we lost.

It's taken me 2 years to convince E.  He was FIRMLY against it for a very long time.  Up until our Thailand trip, actually.  One day, during the trip, we were laying on the beach and he actually asked me more detailed questions of why I wanted it.  I told him I wanted something physically apart of me to remember them by.  Something I can touch, feel, and hold close.  He suggested planting a tree, but I told him it would kill me if the tree died or we moved.  (Plus, I really wanted something specific for EACH baby.  Not something collective for them together.)  Then, he suggested a necklace, or something similar, that I would wear like a wedding ring.    But, I wear a necklace with a charm on it for my four living children almost every day (I have two different ones that represent each of them, then I just got a new necklace with their picture on it from www.jewelrykeepsakes.com.  Blog post coming on that coming up.)  

E saw my points, (I guess.  either that, or he was tired of me asking constantly) and said he could see why I wanted one.  If I really wanted it, he'd go with me, even, to get it done.

Rather than wait until we got home (and give him a chance to change his mind), I researched tattoo parlors in Bangkok.  We were spending one more evening there on our way home, after our island trip.  I found one that got wonderful reviews and headed down there on Monday after we checked into our hotel.  

The man who helped us spoke WONDERFUL English, and printed out a page with birds on it to let us chose each one we wanted.  E even helped pick out 2 of them!  After picking them out, he transferred them onto my wrist, taking lots of time placing them, replacing them, getting the arrangement just right.  It was during this placement that I got quite misty eyed, grieving for my tiny babies.  (This was/is the closest thing I'd ever have to a memorial for them.)

Its been a looooong time since my last tattoo (um, 14 years ago?!?) and I sort of forgot how it felt.  Some of them hurt worse than others.  The one under my pinky finger...that one definitely hurt he worst.  I may have been practicing some of my labor breathing techniques and asking E to distract me with pictures from our trip.  Thankfully, it only took about 20 minutes.

immediately after it was finished

Tattoo wrapped up safe and sound during a foot massage on the street.

On the plane ride home

Tuesday evening.

I'm looking forward to when its healed and I can rub my finger across all of them.

In case you are wondering "why birds"?    1. They are just cute and 2. I love the references in the bible about how God takes care of even the birds, so how much more does he love us, his children.  These two are my favorite:

Matthew 6:26
26"Look at the birds. They don't plant, harvest, or gather the harvest into barns. Yet, your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren't you worth more than they?

Luke 12:6
 6"Aren't five sparrows sold for two cents? God doesn't forget any of them. 7Even every hair on your head has been counted. Don't be afraid! You are worth more than many sparrows.

Our rainbow birthday boy

Its hard to believe that this sweet boy is 4 today.

Of course, with his birthday, I'm always reminded of what took place before he was born.  It, as always, makes my heart, and arms, ache for our lost babies.  Aching for them, while also rejoicing in the birth and life of our son.   Not that all of my kids' birthdays aren't special, because they are.  But, his birthday...its just a tiny bit more amazing.  All the heart ache, loss, grief, anxiety, fear, hope, and prayers that came before this child.  (Even during his birth.)  It makes the remembrance of the moment we met him that much sweeter.

Look how much he's grown.  He's such a character.  Independent, opinionated, funny, and sweet.  He loves legos, batman (still!) and his Chillo  .  Looks like his daddy, who shares his birthday.  

Happy birthday, little man.  We love you. 

 

Potty training fail

Eliza's been super into "going potty" lately.  Yet, hasn't actually GONE to the potty.  Every morning, I offer "panties or diaper" and she almost always chooses panties.

Yesterday, she didn't want to wear either, and that was okay with me.  She had a wicked rash on her bum from the previous night (she must have pooped before she went to bed, then woke up in the middle of the night.  When I changed her, it was horrible! ) so she was going commando.

I was typing an email when I heard her say, "poop mommy.  See it?" I turned around and did, in fact, see it.  It was just coming out.  In a gallant effort to get her to the potty for a success, I picked her up under the arms and sort of ran towards the bathroom.

I almost made it.  About 1 foot outside the bathroom, the feces fell to the floor.  Then, since I have to follow those darn laws of motion, I stayed in motion and stepped right in it.  Covering the underside of my entire left foot.

Then, thinking she may have to go some more, I lifted her up to the potty.  In doing so, some poo that had not fallen off onto the floor, fell onto my hand.

Yeah.

I think it's official.

I hate potty training.

right now

I'm in my pajamas.
Its 9:16.  Its a little late for jammies, but I'm calling it a "jammy day", at least for now.
Making small piles for our trip to Michigan.
I'm writing a to-do list on a piece of paper that has a rhino on it holding a balloon.  It adds character.
I'm freaking a little anxious about the timing of my next client's birth. E is going to be going out of town a lot the next few weeks.  You know, during her 38-40 weeks, of course.
Adding "find back up child care" to my rhino list.
Scouring pinterest for ideas for road trips.
Drinking coffee that's a touch too cold.
Wondering if its too late for breakfast.
Maybe I'll just have a brunch.
Listening to Eliza play in her room and talk to her babies via the monitor.
Almost dying from the cute.
Have a heating pad wrapped around my middle.
Certain that sometimes I hate being a woman.
Contemplating an ablation or hysterectomy when we're *sure we're finished having babies (*which is how, by the way?!?)

providential good fortune

I went to a small Christian school for my high school years.  We had this really neat guy for our bible teacher.  He was very thought provoking, to the point where it was sometimes frustrating. (at the time, though, I always thought he was argumentative.  Now, I see he was trying to get us to explore our own belief system and not the belief system of our parents.)

Anyway, one of his big beefs was with the word "luck" and how often we use it.  He preferred  instead, to use the term "providential good fortune!"  Meaning the care of God in your life, resulting in something good. 

At the time, I sort of thought it was silly.   All caught up in semantics.  If what I intend doesn't change with the words I use, what difference does it make? 

This past week, I some how stumbled upon a website called doula match.  Its a website that matches up local doulas with clients.  Its free, though they ask for donations.  I usually am pretty skeptical of things like that.  But this time I thought "meh.  why not?  I doubt I'll get any calls from this, but I'll put it out there."

I had my information on for all of two days before I got my first response.  An email from some one looking for a doula for her hopeful VBAC in June (um, score!  This is totally one of my passions!) With in a few days, I also received a phone call from another woman interested in my services, who was referred to me by Glenni, who runs A Nurturing Moment (a baby/maternity boutique here in town.) and the blog where I posted on MSPI.   The same day, I was contacted by another woman who found me on Doula Match.

This weekend I met with two of the three women, and I felt like we really hit it off.  I'm hoping they thought so, too, and I can get this doula train a going. ;)

 I can see the hand of God guiding me where he wants me to be.  I don't know if I'll be a doula for years and years, but, right now, I am certain this is what I'm supposed to do now.  Its a pretty freeing feeling.  I'd say I was feeling lucky, but I am really feeling providential good fortune. 

Pinterest party

Things have been busy.  (Although, when are they not?  Is this our new normal?)  I'm just now getting around to posting my baby girl's party pictures, and her party was 3 weeks ago. 

 

I have about zero time for commentary, but here are the pictures.  Pinterest was my main inspiration (though I did have some original ideas here and there.) and it didn't let me down.  The party was fantastic!  Eliza was a tad over whelmed at first, and didn't eat much (thanks to the 1.5 week long stomach bug that she started with THAT NIGHT. ack! Sorry guests! Thankfully, only one other person got sick that I know of.) but she seemed to have fun.

 

 

Birthday shirt and tutu

 

 

Hiding from the party guests

 

 

 

Dairy and Soy free chocolate cake.  Its harder to decorate than you'd think.

 

 Straight to the bath

 

Still can't believe this girl is one. 

slight birthday depression

I'm normally nostalgic around birthdays.  Especially first birthdays.  But, y'all, Eliza's birthday is coming up in 2 days and I'm almost bordering on depressed.  I mean, I am glad she's alive, thriving, and turning one (obviously) but I've just been so sad.

I'm sure its a mixture of lots of things.

Isaac stopped sucking his fingers after his accident.  It seems so grown up.  Its sad.  He's growing up.  Which means Eliza WILL grow up.  She's likely our last baby.  When I think on that, I think about all of our babies that we'll never get to celebrate birthdays with. 

Its a downward spiral into an emotional pit.

So, for once in several months, I'd like for my baby's birthday just to hurry up and get here already.  So I can get over this funk.

See you Thursday.

Tracy

Experience rules

In my parenthood journey, I've learned there are a few general rules.  I thought it might be helpful to pass that wonderful wisdom on to those naive less experienced parents who have yet to have these delightful rules apply.

1. Never, ever, EVER say "Oh, I'll never do_________" (you fill in the blank with whatever it is you think you'll never do as a parent.)  Guess what?  You almost always do it.  "I'll never sleep with my baby."  "I'll never let my child walk around with a sippy cup"  "I'll never let my baby only wear a diaper and shirt!" (ahem. last one was one of mine.) 

 

 Eliza: Queen of the t-shirt and diaper look.



 

 

2. Related to number one is rule number two.  Don't judge, (other parents) lest you be judged (by other parents).  "My child will NEVER behave like that in the store!"  "Sheesh!  Can't that mom stop her toddler from pushing my toddler down?"  "gosh, that child sure talks to her mom with an attitude for a 5 year old.  she must learn that at home."  Sure, your 9 month old may not be into pushing, tantrum throwing, or attitude talking.  But, trust me, they will grow into those things.  Quicker than you think, too.  Your child will be THAT child, smashing the bread in your grocery cart on purpose because he's mad.  Your child will be mean to other kids at some point.  My, then, 16 month old got into "trouble" at church almost every week for pushing kids down.  She was, by far, the smallest child in the class.  Weighing only 16 lbs.  But, she felt the need to display her dominance (or make up for her short stature.  Who really knows what goes through an 16 mth old's little head.) by pushing much larger kids down to the ground and saying a silent "boo ya!" 

 

 

O: World's smallest bully

 

 



3. Bragging and/or complaining publicly about something your child is doing will result in a negating of such activity.  For example, saying "yes, she does sleep through the night" (even with out "bragging") will likely result in your baby waking up 8 million times the following night.  "My child is potty trained!"  will, in the same manner, produce 15 accidents the next day, or, even more humiliating, a poop accident in his pants 5 minutes later.  (Better yet, is the pooping in the corner in his room a year after being potty trained.)  Reversely, tweeting "my baby won't stop crying!" will probably be the magic trick!  Thus forcing you to type a follow up tweet saying "never mind. #babyisbipolar" 

World's cutest room pooper

4.  The doctor rule:  Your child will be very sick at home.  Running a fever, fussing, and general malaise.  When you arrive at the doctor, with 4 kids in tow,  have paid your co-pay, and your child's fever will miraculously disappear.  she will be all non-sick smiles, flirting with the blond haired boy across the waiting room.  The pediatrician will, consequently, find absolutely nothing wrong with your child.  (Say good-bye to your $25 on your way out the door. )

 

 

Its $25 co-pay each child?!?

5.  Your mom really does know a thing or two about babies.  After all, she had you. So maybe she's not up to date on the current crib recalls, but she knows a thing or two about what babies love.  I remember fervently telling my mom that, under no circumstances, would O be rocked to sleep.  Not even by a visiting Mimi.  When I say no circumstances, I meant it.  Even when my mother was visiting us after I brought O home from the hospital.  As in, O was a teeny tiny newborn, who likely had no idea she was being rocked versus in the car.   (I think I read it in a book that you shouldn't associate sleep with rocking. You know, because books are perfect and all.) My mother, gently, told me how full of crap I was  I'd probably change my mind.  Which, I did.  (Not with O, but by A I was a rocking maniac.)

Zeke: Rock, rock, rocking on Heaven's door

So, there are my top five "rules" of motherhood.  Any more that you'd add? 

On suppliments, bruising, and hating excersise

I'm fairly certain I need some more calcium in my diet.  Between my thyroid medication (which depletes calcium) and my lack of dairy intake, I'm not bringing in the bone reinforcements.  Before Eliza's allergy testing, I bought a giant bottle of calcium (and another bottle of folic acid) supplements.  After we found out that I needed to cut out soy, it took me a while to figure out why she was still having symptoms.  Some one told me to check out my vitamins.  Sure enough, my calcium supplement has soy letchin.  I've been so frustrated with the fact that I spent $15 on a supplement that I can't take that I have yet to replace them with anything else (it doesn't help that I haven't been able to find a soy free one in the regular grocery store.)  I know its stupid, since you know, the only one I"m hurting is ME. But, man, it makes me MAD!

Speaking of supplements, I think I may have to have my iron tested again.  (I had it tested during my pregnancy with Eliza, and it was above average.)  I've been bruising like a peach, and most of the bruises I have no idea where they came from.  (Although, if I'm honest, I'm a little more clumsy than the average bear.)  Gauging my tiredness level is no help.  I'm fairly certain anyone with 4 kids, one of whom eats 1-2 times a night, is tired.  I got over my fear of blood draws a long time ago, but I'm still putting this off.  Mainly because I have a fear of waiting rooms.  Okay, so maybe its not a fear, per se, but a much-deserved dreading.  Those labs are always small, busy, filled with old people, half of whom don't like children, and have tons of things that my preschooler and baby shouldn't be playing with but they desperately want to play with. 

While I'm on the topic of being tired, I've been trying to run in the mornings before E goes to work (versus in the evening, before bed).  Its.....um.....a challenge.  E leaves between 5:45 and 6.  So, I have to be back from my run between 5:45 and 6.  Even with my early risers, that's dang early.  (Especially with a 1 and 3 am wake up calls for milk.)  This morning, I happened to wake up about 10 minutes before my alarm.  I laid there, the entire 10 minutes, arguing with myself on whether or not I was going to get my butt out of bed and run.  Yes I am, no I'm not.  I'm going to sleep.  I'm getting up.  I don't want to.  I have to.  UGH!  Fine.  I'm up.  Sure, in the end, I did it.  I'm glad I did it because now its over and I don't have to think about it.  But, man, those few minutes of talking to myself are exhausting.  I wish I had a natural love of running.  So, it'd be like getting up early to have a cup of coffee by myself.  That, I would rarely argue about.

 

Did I ever share back to school pictures?  The big kids went back to school last week.  They are both loving it (which is such a blessing!)  A came home from school every day last week and said "school is awesome!"  That is music to a momma's ears, folks. Isaac doesn't start until next week, after labor day, but he's excited as well. We're getting back into a routine, which sort of helps every one.  I pretty much suck at schedules/routines during the summer.  But, yet, we all seem to thrive on one.  Maybe next summer, I'll pony up.

 

Me and my munchkins on the first day of school

I blinked

and this is what happened.

Its a me party

5:15 E's alarm clock goes off and wakes me up.  Which scares and shocks me all at the same time.  See, I'm not normally even in our bedroom when E gets up.  I normally move to Eliza's room after her early morning (2-4 am) feeding and sleep on the bed in her room.

6:00 the boys are awake and giggling in their room.

6:15 O is up and E is out the door.  I take the bigger 3 kids out back to play and eat breakfast on the patio.

7:00 Bananas in Pajamas (are coming down the stairs!) for the kids, and I dive into my coupons. My Internet keeps crashing.  I almost through my stupid mouse at the computer screen.

8:30 Eliza finally wakes up.  I'm super engorged, so she keeps pulling off during "breakfast" and it hurts so much I want to cry. (thrush, anyone??)

9:45 Finally finish coupons. 

9:50 we head to the bank, then to the store to buy our groceries.  Where I have to tell the older kids to "please stop talking to me for a few minutes!  I'm trying to THINK!"  So, yeah.  A tiny bit excited that I'll only be taking 2 to the grocery store with coupons next week.

11:00 Make lunch for the older kids and put Eliza down for a nap.

12:00 Get big kids settled in for quiet time.  Lay down with Isaac, in hopes that he'll take a nap.

1:00 Its a no-go for the nap.  I laid with him for a half hour, and I can hear him pounding on something in there.

1:03 I decide to try to make the paper lanterns I have planned for Eliza's party.  Unfortunately, I've bought the wrong sized dixie cup.  Dagnabbit.

1:30 I sweep and mop the floors.  Isaac freaks (he's not a huge fan of the mopping.  "too swippewy, mommy!") so I send him and O outside to paint.

2:00 Painting seems to be a hit with Isaac.  O is done because most of the "good" colors are dried up. Eliza's up, I feed her a snack while I finish my chores.

2:30 I'm getting a headache.  Seems to happen a lot around this time every day.  Maybe its because I didn't eat lunch.  Speaking of food, Crap!  I forgot to put dinner in the crock pot!  HIGH setting it is.  

3:20 its too late for "lunch", but I have got to eat something.  Coffee?  Salted Carmel latte??  Yes.  I eat an apple and some almonds, too.

4:00 time to feed shark baby (its what she feels like when she eats right now) and put her down for another nap.

4:30 E's home.  Time to go run!

Doctor, ain't there nothing I can do?

Eliza had her 9 month check up this week.

She wore her fanciest bow,

Her prettiest cleanest diaper,

Ate a few blocks,

Took a few pictures with her clothes off,

and wore her hair in a faux hawk.

These characters came with us.

They brought their tiger venom,

and a few good smiles.

Turns out, Eliza worked ahead and is in the 90% for height. Take that, short genes!

She's healthy and thriving.

She's taller than all of her other siblings were at her age.

Especially O. (she wasn't this height until 15 months)  Its an accomplishment, in and of itself, that she's even on the chart for weight!  That's a rarity at 9 months in our family, too!

Way to grow baby. Way. To. Grow.

Meet Princess Consuela Banana Book Hammock

Whenever I say/type the word "sling" I think of a speedo. Which makes me think of a banana hammock.  Which makes me think of this episode of Friends. 


Don't you love when you buy a baby product, use it for several years, with multiple children, only to have it recalled for minor issues, you know, like death?  Yeah.  me, too.  I was upset when they did a mass recall of drop-sided cribs.  (Not only had I been using it for 5 years, I used it for 3 children!)

Before we found out we were pregnant with Eliza, we debated on whether or not to buy a new crib, or just move Isaac to a toddler bed.  He was 10 months at the time.  (It would've been a rough go to move him to a big bed.)  Since we knew we wanted at least one more baby, we went ahead and got a new crib.

The crib, however, still has some emotional value.  I mean, it provided habitat space for 3 of my babies.  When they WERE babies.  One railing had teeth impressions from A when he was a baby.  I can still hear the sound of O twisting one of the looser spindles when she was bored/waking up/falling asleep.    All 3 kids peeked out, peered over, when they first learned to pull up. 

I digress.  So, I've been searching and searching for crafty things to do with it.  I wanted it to be semi-functional, but not like laundry room functional.  More like, it does a job, but still looks pretty and can be a conversation piece. 

I scoured Pinterest and found an idea I liked.  But, the person's link/blog gave no real instructions or measurements.  Plus, I didn't have the same kind of crib. Ours had decorative spindles.  Crap. 

I'm not good with power tools (yet!) and E isn't the move envisioned ("really?  That's what you're going to do?  Won't it look cheesy?")  I enlisted my dad's help when they came down to visit in July.  He's kind of awesome with that stuff, so he went along with my craziness and helped me saw/glue/screw it all together. 

Then came the big job.  Filling the holes and sanding the entire thing. 

My little sanding helper

Then I threw two coats of white paint.  The color was, of course, *just* different enough to notice, thus requiring the 2nd coat. Then I sanded some of the edges to give it a distressed look.  (I did this for two reasons. 1.  I'm lazy.  I can hide my imperfections this way. and 2. I did the same deal to the side table in that room, so it "fits".)

The sewing was not complicated.  Basic rectangles with a top stitch and some snaps.  (The one I got the idea from had the snaps going the other way.  I liked it this way better.)  The most complicated that step was the prongy side of the snaps getting bent.  I know.  Tough stuff.

Finished!

In her room, with more age-appropriate books.

The reading/nursing corner. I love the way it looks against the blue wall, that matches the quilt, with the fabrics from Eliza's room as the slings.  

Ta-da! 

It even earned a compliment from my husband.  Which is big, people. Big.

Because she's cute

I haven't had time to blog lately, as I'm sure you can tell.  Between O's FTT repeat diagnosis, following blood tests, dietitian appointments, and anxiety therapy (which, as a total aside, can I send a bill to the parents of a child in my daughter's class for more therapy?  because we were about to get released, then she started picking on O during recess, which caused her anxiety to kick up into high gear again.  Y'all, I know the mom.  I'm this [ ] close to sending her the bill with an attached note to ask her daughter to please be kind, or at least not overly hurtful.) plus Eliza's doctor appointments, and now GI appointments, and probably allergist appointments, my dentist appointments, the kids dentist appointments.

Plus school.  Plus dance.  Plus swim.  Plus groceries and homework and housework and running and weight watchers and getting ready for my brother's wedding and and and and LIFE.

Surely this will slow down this summer.  Right?

Well, I have blog posts in mind.  That will likely never actually make it to my blog.  Because of life.  But, pictures.  Well, I'll keep posting those.  Because, let's face it, I'd be doing a disservice to the world by not posting this cuteness.

Dear O, my eldest child

Happy 7th birthday to my sweet petite princess.   How you've changed our lives. 

You were the first to make us parents.

You've helped us welcome your siblings into our family. 

Willingly, in fact.  You love being the big sister.

 Especially to a sister. ;)

I wish I wasn't so sick right now.  I wanted to finish your slide show.  I wanted to write you a beautiful birthday letter, and make you your birthday pancake breakfast and dinner choice of taco salad, and make you a chocolate cake with pink icing.  Hopefully you'll forgive me and that Daddy's rendition of birthday cake passes the test.  I promise to do some of those things when I feel better. 

Love, mommy

My baby model

I just have to share a picture from Eliza's modeling session yesterday.  My friend, Jen, is a photographer/crafter extraordinaire.  She makes all kinds of cute crochet beauties and amazing headbands.  (She's the one I got Eliza's Christmas hat from, among other things.)

So, here is Miss Cuteness:

I could just munch on those cheeks (well, if they didn't smell like rancid spit up.  its a good thing you can't smell through pictures.)