Over the Moon from the Familymoon
Last December, Bryan and I went to Maui for a week sans Madelyn. It was really wonderful as any Hawaiian getaway should be. We hadn’t been back to the island since our honeymoon, and it was our first big trip being non-parents since we became parents. We felt young(ish) and it was liberating and, in all honesty, we went thinking we’d end up with a newborn 40 weeks later. The baby make-cation ended up being unsuccessful, yet here we are, almost exactly a year later, leaving the state of Hawaii again, this time, 7 months pregnant.
Obviously, we didn’t need Hawaii to get our pregnancy (as it happened six months later on the mainland), and in hindsight, I’m so glad it didn’t happen when we planned for it to happen. That was our big mistake: planning!
To think that THIS December, right now, we would have had a three-month-old if our Maui antics had worked makes me sigh in relief. This past week in Kauai with Madelyn, who’s three years old and four months, was the most magical and perfect week. Having an infant in our lives would have made this trip nearly impossible, and if we’d taken this “familymoon” before Maui Baby was born, Madelyn would have been just over two-and-a-half, and, well, not nearly as fun.
Timing and circumstances have a funny way of working out. This is hard for someone like me to understand if I wasn’t living it first-hand. As a planner and self-labeled control freak, the concept drives me bonkers. Strangely, though, motherhood has taught me to relax a little, and while that stick is still firmly planted up the rear end, being a parent has enabled me the power and advantage of ignoring it on occasion. Stick, be damned! So what that I didn’t get my way when I wanted it… or for five more months after that. So what that we didn’t end up with an autumnal baby, who would have been a blob to carry around for Halloween. So what that we can’t make bad wink-wink jokes with finger quotes about Bryan’s “COCONUTS” or that we did the (more finger quotes) “HULA DANCE” for the baby to start out life in Maui. The timing was not right. The circumstances were not right.
I’m not one to think about higher powers having any influence about how things have happened. I choose to believe that chemistry and biology were not BFF during our week in Maui last December or the months that followed. Then, boom, science yada yada. Also, maybe wine. But still, science.
And here we are, a whole year later and a whole lot of me knocked up. I am so thoroughly glad to have had this extra time with Madelyn. So fortunate that those months of frustration over not getting pregnant happened. So high off of our wonderful week away with our greatest treasure (so far) (Unborn Daughter: when you read this when you’re older, please understand we had a treasure before you, but then you get to show up 3+ years later and make the bounty grow, OK? Apparently, this is how it works with siblings. This is not second-child complex-worthy and I refuse to pay for therapy due to this blog post).
The opportunity of no-such-luck Maui Baby made it possible for us to have the most aloha-tastic time with our first daughter. Silver linings. It was hard to see them all those months ago, but now I am pinching myself with glee and gratitude.
I am also extremely thankful for my hard-working husband who made it possible for us to have this vacation of our dreams, our last one as a family of three (Princeton makes us, technically and currently, a family of four, but he’s not allowed in Hawaii, so for purposes of this vacation, we were a family of three) (Also, I shouldn’t have to defend this because my dog, while brilliant, cannot read and thus, will not incur therapy side-by-side with his youngest human sister).
I will write more about our week’s adventures, but for now, I savor these memories, our last collection of such before a whole new adventure await which will surely entail a little less R & R but a lot more sweetness and love. For all this, I say mahalo.
Farming Family Fun
Halloween came and went and between Bryan’s work travels, weekend crowds, and uncomfortably hot temps, we never made it to our favorite local family spot for fun on the farm. In past years, we’ve gone to the Fall Festival at Underwood Farms in Moorpark to take photos with pumpkins and scarecrows, but every time we tried to make it work around Halloweentime 2014, it just wasn’t in the cards. Fall on the farm can be a magical time, though, so I didn’t want time to get away from us.
With a seemingly appropriate Thanksgiving harvest digesting in our bellies (and thighs and tush and chins), we decided to pick our own harvest during Thanksgiving weekend after the turkey had worn off. Visiting Underwood Farms after the rush of the Halloween/Pumpkinfest craziness was a huge relief — no crowds, nice weather, cheaper admission.
We hopped on a tractor ride that took us way out into the fields so we could pick our own vegetables. We weren’t sure yet what was out there, but decided we’d cook with whatever we picked in the days to come. Lennie and George would be so proud of us living off the fatta the land. If only Gary Sinise was out there with us to make it really cinematic (and sexy).
My two [human] loves on their way to earn their dinners.
We picked some carrots straight out of the ground — dirt and all — and I already began seasoning them in my mind, ready for roasting. (Olive oil, Kosher salt, cracked pepper, 375 degrees for 30 minutes — you’re welcome). Then we found the broccoli and navigated our way through the rows of tall, flowering bushes/plants/trees. This was much more nature-y than the produce aisle at the market with the little sprinkler mist that comes on every 30 minutes. We knelt down and only Bryan was strong enough to twist — with two hands — the broccoli head off the bush/plant/tree. The rows were so tall with crops, we had to really climb through to find the perfect pickings. Even Princeton was not too sure about the leaves that were triple his size. We also ended up with butter lettuce, beets, and green beans, and already felt healthy and detoxed just carrying our loot, especially after three consecutive days of Thanksgiving meals and leftovers.
What’s up, Doc?
So thankful that my child runs happily toward vegetables.
You’ll remember me. When the west wind blows. Upon the fields of broccoli.
Hey Underwood Farms, I think I know where you’re hiding the remaining pumpkins.
The Jolly Green Giant has certainly become more handsome.
If Princeton was an Anne Geddes greeting card…
Madelyn inspects her broccoli bounty.
Once out of Eden, we decided to enjoy some time with animals. Madelyn rode a pony named Candy and is ready to star in City Slickers III. She loved going around in circles, and I know Candy appreciated it when the official handlers stopped the wheel so she could take a dump. It was especially exciting when this happened in the first of 12 rounds so that all the kids could remark on the smell for the rest of the rodeo. Madelyn was like, “Whatever, guys. This is way more realistic than the horse you can ride for a quarter outside of Rite Aid.”
Jessie from Toy Story should totally be shakin’ in her cowgirl boots for her job security.
All she’s missing is a cap gun and a plastic sheriff badge.
Woooo! Yee haw! Look Ma! No hands!
Once Hopalong Madelyn’s ride was over, we decided to take in more wilderness with the petting farm. It was a little weak on inventory; usually there are sheep and chickens and rabbits, but this pen was only populated with goats. It took everything in me not to steal one in my purse. I really want a goat. I hear they make great pets. How cute would Princeton and a goat be together frolicking in my backyard?
Madelyn loves to play Goat Beauty Parlor every time she visits the petting corral. She makes a dash for the brushes and then goes to town on their coats. The goats are so patient and tolerant, especially when she brushes their hair in the opposite direction — gah! Kill me! I can’t handle that! — but they really don’t seem to mind. Goats, like Candy, also happen to be extra poopy, so we had to watch out for the deceptive chocolate chips that piled out of them on the go. I’m always impressed by animals who can make doody while walking; no magazine or anything. Those guys are efficient. One little girl in the petting area wasn’t as swift about avoiding the poop avalanche. Thank goodness Madelyn has been well trained or she and her wardrobe would’ve been enjoying a spa treatment in a bucket of Lysol by now.
Oh, honey. Your roots are in need of a good touch up.
Move over Von Trapp marionettes. There’s a new goatherd in town. {insert yodel here}
The sun was starting to set and the vibe was calm and peaceful at the farm. Madelyn played on a few more of Underwood’s attractions. Meanwhile, Princeton relaxed in the wagon and waited patiently for his sister to burn off her energy. He got lots of smiles and compliments from the people who passed by as he watched Madelyn play and his beard blew in the breeze. I swear, that dog is a constant source of happiness for me. I think he would’ve made a really good farm dog, but I’m so glad he’s with us in suburbia.
Basking in the afternoon sun.
One more because… I mean…
Farmer Maddie drives the tractor and goes from 0 MPH to 0 MPH in 3 minutes.
She — and time — just keep running away.
Princeton waits. My heart goes ba-bump, ba-bump.
It’s like finding a Maddie in a haystack.
The farm folks began to gather the wagons that peppered the grounds and close shop on the various attractions as they prepared for their evening work. As we purchased our produce and wrangled our own fruits of our labor — our human and canine children — I was reminded again how thankful I am for my growing family and our special days of togetherness.
This is my favoritest post ever!! I love Underwear Farms and the Friedman Family!! You were wise to wait until after Halloween.I rode past there on Saturday (on my bike) and remarked on the lack of cars backed up to the freeway!! That place was INSANE! I know, Underwear and I share the same zip code. Princeton is adorable and I love how Madelyn is practicing her mechanical bull/pony skills so soon!!
A Bedtime Story
I’m happy to report that Madelyn’s final night in her crib and first night in her bed were the exact same experience: boring! No muss, no fuss. No tears, no fears. I am still pinching myself how easily she transitioned.
The day her bed arrived was a big day. It was Friday, her favorite day at school because of all the Shabbat fun she has in the morning. Then it was Halloween. Then it was bedtime. It was one of those go-go-go days when parents probably shouldn’t do things that are of the milestone flavor due to rushing around and a less-than-routine schedule, but we’re risk takers and like to play with fire like that.
Her bed arrived while she was at school, and we spent the last hour of her school day making the bed and decorating her room so that she’d come home to a mostly complete version of her new living quarters. It was so fun to set up the new bedding and decor I’d worked so hard to coordinate and we couldn’t wait to show her the final product after I picked her up. I took it so seriously, I was just one headset away from actually becoming a Pottery Barn employee.
We led her upstairs to her room and let her open her door. Her smile went from wall to wall, and she instantly declared that she loved “the pink bed with flowers!” We climbed into her full size bed and snuggled in the new sheets as she explored the new bed’s anatomy: pillows — two of them! — sheets, a duvet, a quilt, and her favorite “friends.” The girl who had insisted that she loved her crib and didn’t want to give it to her baby sister truly turned a corner, and she continues to declare that she loves her big girl bed.
On the left, Madelyn’s new bed. On the right, Ariel photobombing Madelyn’s new bed.
After a fun night of trick-or-treating with friends, we weren’t sure what to expect for the new sleep routine. We grappled with the concept of teaching her about staying in her bed throughout the night and not to play with her toys during sleep time and how she can’t go downstairs and other rules that come along with new freedom. But it dawned on me that we should use the first night as our base, our foundation, and it would only possibly cause confusion or problems for my goody-goody daughter who never even tried to climb out of her crib. If there was a problem by the morning, then we would address it. But to put thoughts in the girl’s head when it might not even occur to her to run wild around the house, might just end up shooting us in the foot later.
So, we read a story, tucked her in, gave lots of kisses, and left the little girl in the big bed until the morning.
Reading Tango Makes Three from Madelyn’s new “nest” — we love this book!
“Comfy and cozy” surrounded by all of her friends. We are one stuffed animal shy from promoting her to a king size bed.
Then I stared at the monitor all night.
I haven’t looked at the monitor much since Madelyn was an infant. I’ve never lived in a big enough house that I wouldn’t hear crying without the monitor, and watching a sleeping baby is actually kind of boring. So, the monitor has always been back-up for comfort, but I’m not the mom who’s tied to it.
Except for the first night in her big girl bed. Without rails. And with lots of extra bedding.
But finally, my heavy eyelids gave out and I slept on and off all night, hitting the display button as ferociously as I hit the snooze button on my alarm clock every morning. “Is she?!” No. “Where is?!” In bed. “How is?!” Sleeping. All my light sleeping and frequent wake-ups throughout the night were unnecessary.
At 8:15 on Saturday morning, I woke up with a jolt half expecting to hear Madelyn banging pots and pans downstairs in the kitchen or her laughter outside riding around on her tricycle. I looked at the monitor and she was fast asleep. In the era of the crib, it wasn’t abnormal for her to sleep until 8:30, 9:00, so this this wasn’t totally crazy, but I thought her new surroundings would surely throw her off.
I was up-up for the day, so I relaxed in bed waiting for her to wake up to see what she’d do. 8:30, 8:47, 8:55, 9:10, 9:15… nothing. Still and quiet. No red light blinking on the monitor to indicate sound and no grayed out three-year-old thrashing around on the screen.
And then it happened. 9:20 and she started to stir. She sneezed a cute little morning sneeze. Then she sat up. Looked around her room. And I braced myself for the cry and the plea to be rescued.
Wrong.
She greeted her “friends” with a cheerful good morning not dissimilar from Cinderella to her woodland creatures who lived in her attic, crawled to the foot of her bed, turned her body over, and thumped down on her two feet. Then she went nose-to-lens with the camera on her dresser where I watched her up close and personal as she undressed herself, peeled off her Pull-Up, opened her drawer, fished out a pair of likely princess undies, and then she disappeared out of frame. I heard the rolling of her closet door slide open and the clanking of hangers and clothes swishing around. Then two soft thumps, one for each foot, and silence.
The echo of our floorboards signaled she was cannonballing down the hall and Princeton growled at the 37-inch intruder, completely dressed in a matching ensemble and ready to take on the day, who opened our door with, “Goooooood mooooooorning, Mommy and Daddyyyyyyyyy!”
And that’s when I died.
She was so, so, so proud of herself! She galloped into our bed and we snuggled and discussed her first night in her big girl bed. The reviews were in and they were two thumbs up and then some: “I love my big girl bed!” “My bed is pink!” “I didn’t have a bad dream!” “I loved sleeping with my friends!”
Bryan agreed and backed up her claims with, “Your big girl is so comfy and cozy!” to which she followed: “That’s what I always say! Comfy and cozy!”
I died again. Because I am a cat.
Our love fest continued as she managed to tell us every detail of her slumber, which was pretty dynamic considering all I could see on the monitor was a quiet little girl smushed among pillows and sheeting. She narrated everything we caught on camera, about how she got up on her own and dressed herself “in pink because I looooove pink!”
I keep wondering when this luck will run out (March 4th is the answer). There’s no way lightning can strike twice. Baby in the Utey, if you can read this: It’s A-OKAY to take after your big sister!!!! Madelyn always been such an easy transitioner. Her first day without a bottle of milk? Didn’t even flinch. Potty training: Diapers whaaaat? And now the big girl bed: She was Goldilocks on the first try and it was juuuuuust riiiiight.
I was so proud of her, but doubted the streak would carry on.
So when the second night came around, I held my breath, but bedtime was smooth again. Sure enough, at 3:21 a.m. I heard whimpers. Normally, I wait out the whimpers — I’m not a get-up-and-instantly-go mom. But with such a change, I didn’t want to play that game. So as I got out of bed to address the whimpers, I looked at the monitor and she looked distressed. As I ran down the hall, she was gearing up with more intensity, “Mommy!! Daddy!! Mommyyyyy!”
I rushed to her side and patted her head. Before I could ask what happened, her panicky voice told me: “PIGGY!!! PIGGY FELL OUT OF BED!!!!!!!!!”
Miss Piggy, my own childhood stuffed Muppet that she sleeps with, is… rotund… and had the end spot on the bed (bad call, parents). She rolled off. Pig down. I picked her up, placed Piggy between Madelyn and Rapunzel, and tucked everyone back in.
I got back to bed and Bryan asked what was wrong with Madelyn. “Piggy needs bed rails,” I said.
And then we laughed ourselves back to sleep.
Cuttin’ the Crib
I just put Madelyn to sleep in her crib for the very last time. Her big girl bed arrives tomorrow and Halloween night will be her first snooze in the full size bed. Let’s hope sugar and cheap chocolate are the missing ingredients to a successful night’s sleep.
This was right after she said: “Mommy, can I go to sleep in my crib now?” Pinch me.
We also read her final story from the glider and ottoman. It’s probably a good thing, as she’s having a hard time fitting on my lap since her sister is beginning to take up too much thigh real estate (never thought I’d get to say that my thighs are getting smaller). The next time we read a story before bed, we will snuggle together side by side.
Final cuddles in our chair before the new tenant takes on the lease.
It’s weird, this whole big girl bed thing. I am excited for her and looking forward to our family enjoying her new room, but I am also super nostalgic about closing this chapter. I remember all the sleepless nights I spent planning her nursery. Every detail was intricately imagined. I tossed and turned over the crib bedding and played Goldilocks on dozens of chairs in stores throughout Los Angeles: this one’s too glidey; this one’s too stiff; this one’s juuuuuust right. Some things don’t always go as planned and some things do. I always assumed she would be up all night in her crib leaving us exhausted — because that’s what babies do — and that she and I would spend hours in that chair nursing and cuddling — because that’s what babies do. Thankfully, the former didn’t happen — she slept soundly in that crib, and we lucked out in that department. The latter, well, that didn’t happen either, but perhaps I will get the chance to experience nursing and bonding with Madelyn’s baby sister.
It’s taken a while for Madelyn to come around on the big girl bed. She has always really loved sleeping in her crib. I tried to nap with her once in our bed, and she wouldn’t even close her eyes. She needs her own space and was always very attached to the security her crib provided. It’s so interesting how some kids are cut out for different sleeping arrangements. So months ago, when we presented the idea that change was blowin’ in the wind, she pretty much protested. We wanted to cut the crib early, around halfway through my pregnancy, so that she’d have time to adjust and it wouldn’t seem that the new baby was stealing her property.
I should’ve known she wasn’t going to drink the crib Kool-Aid just yet; she’s the only three-year-old I know who had never even attempted getting out. She can’t even climb in by herself. I always heard stories about the time I climbed out of my crib and my mom awoke to my face at her pillow. No such surprise ever happened because Madelyn never wanted out.
This is as far as Madelyn gets when she tries to climb in. Her upper body strength is not Olympian and her drive is not Harvardian.
Even on weekend mornings, she will wake up around 8:30 and happily play for hours sometimes until 10:00 or 10:30, by singing songs, telling stories to her stuffed animal “friends,” and recreating the previous day’s events. Her crib has always been her spot for relaxing and her spot for creating; that crib knows secrets and the depths of her imagination.
It was only about a week ago that Madelyn finally got on board with the big girl bed. We went shopping for her bedding at Pottery Barn Kids and I was on a mission to find the cutest bedding. It was like nursery planning all over again, but this time, it had to last. Never did I think that she’d spend over three years in her crib, so I knew that this would be even more long term and hopefully take her to her pre-teen age. After about an hour of playing with all the
overpricedmagical decor at PBK, she realized how much she loved all the big girl items. When I picked out her bedding and showed it to her, she said it was “so beautiful, Mommy!” and I knew she had fallen victim to the wonder and enchantment of Pottery Barn.Creating a monster.
Apple. Tree. It doesn’t fall far.
This past week, we’ve been busy building new furniture for her so that her baby furniture can go in her sister’s room. The poor child isn’t even born yet and is already getting Madelyn’s hand-me-downs. I plan to decorate the nursery with all new bedding and accessories so that Baby Girl Friedman #2 has somewhat of her own identity. Meanwhile, Madelyn gets a fresh start with a new dresser and bookshelf bench in addition to her new bed and bedding. Tomorrow, her crib and glider chair will move next door, and the adventure of her big girl room begins.
I’m crossing all my body parts — which is very hard to do when you’re 21 weeks pregnant — that her first night goes smoothly and sets the precedent for continued healthy sleeping habits for our lover of Zzzzzzzzz’s. I’ve heard of putting a pool noodle toy under the fitted sheet to help prevent roll outs. Any other nuggets of wisdom for keeping a kid in bed when freedom has suddenly been granted?
Since she never tried to go all Shawshank on me, I am hoping the lack of baby jail bars won’t tempt her to pull anything naughty.
She’s never been so happy to be held captive behind bars. PJs are the new black.
I won’t worry myself too much with what-ifs and maybes. Instead, I will continue to savor our last night together in the chair, cuddled close as her hair tickled my chin between sentences of our book. And despite the minor hernia from lifting her, I will treasure the moment of putting my baby — no, big girl — into her crib for her final snooze.
Growing up is sad-cool.
Marching Forth
Already this poor kid is getting the infamous second child shaft. Twenty weeks in, and she’s only had her own blog post once. Oh yeah, it’s a “she.” See? SO MUCH INFORMATION I HAVEN’T WRITTEN ABOUT. I think by 20 weeks, I had already blogged about Madelyn’s every cell, so this is an extreme departure in this chapter of motherhood.
So first thing’s first. As mentioned, it’s a girl! And a very healthy and perfect one at that, and Madelyn is so darn excited to have a little sister. We found out at our 12-week ultrasound. The tech was pretty sure it was a girl, but hesitated to tell us because she didn’t want me to go nuts (what would ever give her that impression?). We confirmed at an indulgent ultrasound studio that it was indeed 99% girl, and the tech there said the only reason she couldn’t tell us 100% is because they’re not allowed to. Holy vagina!
The pregnancy started off stressful due to my beloved Dr. Fiiiiine confirming with me that she was going to cease the obstetrics portion of her practice in exchange for a more stable and consistent lifestyle with normal hours. Can’t say I blame her, but I was more than heartbroken. She had been there for me during the most amazing — and most scary — parts of my experiences with Madelyn, and I was sad that she would not deliver our second child. I also wasn’t thrilled about having to find a new OB, but she referred me to another local doctor who I’ve now seen twice. Dr. Replacement is very nice and knowledgeable, and so far I think I made a good decision by choosing to see him. I’ve heard that he’s an excellent surgeon and at this point, that’s what I care about most. As a second-time mom, I am not as concerned or worried about every minute symptom of the pregnancy and I don’t have to question about his practices during a natural delivery since I am having a repeat c-section. I’m confident he will do a nice job and will take the necessary precautions to make sure I don’t go through what I went through after Madelyn’s c-section.
I started this pregnancy seeing Dr. Fiiiine’s dad who she practices with (and who delivered me in 1983) because Dr. Fiiiine was out of town. Then I saw Dr. Fiiiine twice more before we decided we had to break up and see other people (me, other doctors; her, other women who were not bearing children). Before I found Dr. Replacement, I also did a test run with another popular OB in the area and wasn’t thrilled with him. I also sprinkled in a routine appointment with the perinatologist for a first trimester screen. So, lots of various doctors, and not a lot of consistency — thank goodness this wasn’t my first baby or I’d be a wreck! I’ll see Dr. Replacement next week at 21 weeks and only for the third time. His checks seem to be less detailed and exciting from what I remember at Dr. Fiiiine’s and of course I miss her office staff terribly, but I think once we hit the homestretch and it’s showtime, he’ll really deliver the goods. Literally and figuratively. And then, when I’m all done and it’s time for annual visits, I plan to go back to Dr. Fiiiine because there’s no love like your first love.
(Side note: I had to call Dr. Fiiiine’s office to transfer some records. We spoke on the phone and as we were hanging up, I blurted out, “I MISS YOU” and then there was a really awkward silence. I am THAT girl). (This could be me).
Other than the excitement of adding another girl to our house and the shuffle of doctors to deliver this girl, this pregnancy has been pretty low key. Like last time, I’ve felt really normal and pretty healthy. I was never too sick and the only thing that’s bothered me has been some pretty debilitating headaches, but I also appreciate how easy I’ve had it compared to some other moms.
Part of that ease has been Madelyn. The times when I am down for the count, that little girl impresses me beyond all expectations. She’s such a happy, independent player and can keep herself busy for hours. Whether it’s playing school with her dolls, reading books, coloring and painting, or dressing up in all of her princess costumes, I have felt better knowing I can take time for myself while she stays happy and healthy.
Out and about with my big girl who asked to take a selfie of us. Oy.
Of course we love our play time and snuggle time, and we enjoy many trips and errands out during the day, but I am so thankful for the times I need to be selfish.
I don’t know if it’s the hormones or if it’s the normal response, but I often find myself tearing up when she talks to “her” baby, hugs my belly, tickles it, and cuddles with her sister. Just this morning, during a cuddle sesh with my belly button that may as well poke an eye out, she said, “Oh, Baby! I just love you! I can’t wait to teach you!” Yeah. There was a puddle and it wasn’t my water breaking early, that’s for sure.
I’m going to make sure I update more so that this little ones doesn’t come read this blog one day and hate me for neglecting to document her time in my belly. It’s gone fast and I know it’ll go faster now that we’re a little more than halfway done cooking. March 4th is the big day, and march forth we will!