For Boston…

I held off posting right away.

There’s always so much speculation when such tragedies occur. Everyone trying to make sense out of the senseless.

This whole thing has been weighing heavy on my heart this entire week.

Reflection has done nothing to sort out the carnage.

I’m new to the running community. A community who, after only one 5k, has left a lasting impression on my mind and my heart.

Running is often thought of as an individual sport. Running against your own times. Achieving your own goals. But the camaraderie. Ah, the camaraderie!

I never felt so much emotion as when I gave birth. Indescribable, I-can-do-this-teary-eyed-joyous-love filled emotion. The day of my first 5k, I was filled with nearly that same emotion. 

A crowd of people I’d never met cheered on runners they’d never met, the high-fives handed out along the course, the father running with his son softly encouraging… it gives me chills.

When I opened facebook Monday afternoon and began reading the many posts about the brutal attack at the Boston Marathon I was in shock.

I cried.

My mind wandered to those injured. Those who lost their lives. I immediately began wondering about the hubs cousin who is away at college there (she was fine). I thought about runners, and their families waiting along the finish line to join in triumph over accomplishments. I thought about my own family standing at the finish line the previous weekend awaiting me. I wept.

Race grader and their followers offered a way to show support the following day by wearing a running shirt in honor of Boston, so I did. For Boston. Didn’t seem like much, but it was something I could do all the way across the country.

#RunforBoston was all over twitter, so I did. For Boston.

The past week, I’ve been spending extra time with A just snuggling, running, reflecting, snuggling some more, more running, and lots more snuggling. Because that’s what you do when tragedy strikes. You hold your loved ones tight, you find solace in the usual comforts.

I received a message from an old friend who knew about my running endeavors saying maybe I should stay away from marathons. It was certainly food for thought through all the reflection of this horrific event.

But that’s what the people responsible would wish for, isn’t it? That we retreat. That our spirit be broken, and we hide like the cowards they are.

I learned, with the untimely passing of my dad who was in the wrong place at the wrong time when ran down by a drunk driver, that senseless acts happen. It’s just that. The wrong place at the wrong time. We could live our lives shelled up in our houses. Never step out of our comfort zone. Hide like cowards.

If I learned anything from my first race it’s that those runners aren’t cowards. They’ll hold their heads high. They’ll make it to the finish line on the next race. They’ll never give up. 

Lives were lost to see those runners keep going… to the finish line. That finish line there in Boston and beyond. 

We will move on. The events will blur, and details be forgotten. What I think we should remember is the courage that swelled there that day. Tragedy will strike, events we can’t always control will happen. Boston solidifies that even though there is evil in this world, there is still so much good, so many good people.

My heart is with you Boston.

A Sign of the Times?

Invited to a party, but you don’t know the location? A new trend? How would you feel about that?

With A’s second birthday upon us – I can’t believe it! – I’m in planning mode.

I like attending parties; probably more than most, but I love hosting parties a little more than I like attending them – is that weird? – but my biggest pet peeve? People who don’t respond. 

What is it about RSVP these days? Is it an ancient art form? 

Could it be no one wants to commit until the very last minute, and responding early on doesn’t coincide with that mentality?

I mean, stuff happens. We all understand that things come up that are unavoidable, people get sick, but not responding at all? And then showing up – and the host hasn’t prepared for you – or worst yet, not showing up and the host has way over prepared.

I’ve hosted a lot of parties and it seems the latter is true. I’ve even attended parties where the host/hostess was hard pressed, but wanted to celebrate something important, went way out of budget expecting a lot of people, and sadly, hardly anyone showed. 

But what’s the alternative to RSVP? My mother-in-law hosted our sex party and asked for regrets only. That didn’t go over so well either. I mean, if it’s like pulling teeth to get people to respond with a yes, who wants to call with a “NO”?

Recently, twitter was abuzz (by another blogger I follow) with conversation of women who were contemplating not disclosing the location of the party until receiving that RSVP phone call; avoiding the last minute stop-in.

It made me think.

For me, since I host most everything at home, keeping the location secret just isn’t feasible. What about hosting birthdays at a park, pizza parlor, indoor jump arena, etc…? 


I wondered how the lack of RSVPing could lead to such extremes. But really, if you haven’t prepared for last minute guests someone’s going to get the short end of the stick. It’s not really fair for someone to get to eat that wasn’t expected to be there in the first place, while a considerate RSVPer misses out. 


What do you think, is it tacky not to disclose the location beforehand? Or is this just a sign of the times?

Toddler Tattoos

photo credit

Toddler Tattoos? Yeah, you read that right, and I’m not talking the temporary kind you find in a Cracker Jacks box. 

Okay y’all, here’s another controversial topic that has left me with a slew of questions, and makes for good blog fodder when you’ve got nothin’ else. 

On facebook the other day, I read the following article and watched cringed at the two seconds I could get through of its attached video… WARNING: it contains strong content I found disturbing, therefore I’m not posting here.

The article doesn’t mention culture, but the facebook poster did, so I did a little research and found this. Basically, for a religious group in Egypt, tattoos are considered a mark of pride and of protection.

I didn’t watch the video in its entirety. I can’t say for certain, but I don’t believe this particular tattooing had anything to do with Egypt or religion. Two seconds in and my stomach was in a knot, so I turned it off, but not without a whole lot of shock and questions running through my head. And my judgement that this is an epic parent fail. But what if it did relate to religion? Does that mere fact make it okay?


I chose to bring up this topic because, like I said, I had a whole lot of questions and the original article I read posed this one: Do you think there’s any possible good reason to give a toddler a tattoo? 

My obvious answer was “Hell no!”

After googling for a little more information, the religious angle was all I could come up with (or in the case of this video, just stupid people)… so it begs the question: Do religious beliefs make certain things okay?

I hate judging religions. In fact, I usually avoid the topic because it’s a touchy subject. In my opinion, religion is often justification for acts. Sometimes the justification is to explain acts of kindness (no problem there). Other times? Well, religion becomes a scapegoat for horrific acts under the guise of doing good (bombing of abortion clinics, to give an example). Either way, if you don’t agree with the particular religion (or its practices), it’s difficult to argue against its ideology. 

I have to say, though, that it seems to be the extremists who use religion to justify unspeakable acts, so I have to wonder if this particular Egyptian religious practice of tattooing is one of those extreme occasions. Nonetheless, it’s become my current controversial blog topic!

Sick to my stomach over the video, religious practice or not, I can’t ever say that tattooing a child is a good thing. Personally, I don’t see what all the hoopla is over piercing a child’s ears before they even understand either – we all can agree that’s for the parent’s own satisfaction. 

I think it’s safe to say we can all also agree that tattooing a child isn’t a social norm and we’re horrified at this parent’s actions. You’ll probably agree that ear piercing doesn’t even fall within the same category, but the article made the comparison, so I couldn’t help wonder what makes one an acceptable social norm. I mean, we’re all shocked – and probably disgusted – over the tattooing, but if it was a regular occurrence, no one would bat an eye. It’s not. So we’re all batting eyes.


Since we’re comparing ear piercing and tattooing, let me give you a little personal history. You’re all aware I have a daughter. I opted out of piercing her ears as a baby. I, myself, have both pierced ears and a couple tattoos. Both of which I remember making decisions about.

In fact, I can remember asking my mom to get my ears pierced. I must’ve been around 7? It was second grade, I think. My first tattoo I didn’t get until I was 21 (my parents weren’t thrilled) and I got my second a few years ago. I’m contemplating a third. 

There were two reasons for my choice not to pierce Lovebug’s ears: 1. I’m not really a fan of the way it looks on small children and 2. I wouldn’t force my likes and desires of something so permanent on my child.  

Though I may desire pierced ears for myself, she may decide it’s not for her. The decision, in my mind, should be all hers. I like tasteful tattoos – of course, what’s tasteful to me may not be to someone else. When she’s 18 and possibly decides she wants a tattoo? That, too, will be her decision to make. 

I can recall a time when many moms in my mom’s facebook group were discussing ear piercing: where to have it done, the best age, yadda yadda. Like I said before, I think ear piercing is a permanent decision. I know guys who fell for the fad long ago and still have a mark on their ear; it never really goes away. But. Ah, the big but… Ear piercing seems to be a widely accepted practice in which many engage their young children, and for whatever reason we’ve all agreed is an acceptable social norm. 

What about a tattoo? It’s not unlike ear piercing in the respect that it’s permanent. However, in our society (for adults), it’s becoming more acceptable, but I’d agree it’s still slightly taboo. For children? I think the majority would agree that it’s unacceptable. From what I could gather, it’s a religious tradition in one part of the world where children there are subjected. Period.


Left with religion bearing the excuse of tattooing being okay, I ask the original bloggers question again: Do you think there’s any possible good reason to give a toddler a tattoo? 

The writer of the article takes a clear stance as well, and cited her reasoning against it – aside from the obvious permanency – as the long-lasting pain from a tattoo versus a piercing in which the pain only lasts but a few minutes. I see that, but is this the only reason? And should religious beliefs be allowed to justify such acts?

Weigh in. I’d love to hear what you think.

Toddler Tattoos

photo credit

Toddler Tattoos? Yeah, you read that right, and I’m not talking the temporary kind you find in a Cracker Jacks box. 

Okay y’all, here’s another controversial topic that has left me with a slew of questions, and makes for good blog fodder when you’ve got nothin’ else. 

On facebook the other day, I read the following article and watched cringed at the two seconds I could get through of its attached video… WARNING: it contains strong content I found disturbing, therefore I’m not posting here.

The article doesn’t mention culture, but the facebook poster did, so I did a little research and found this. Basically, for a religious group in Egypt, tattoos are considered a mark of pride and of protection.

I didn’t watch the video in its entirety. I can’t say for certain, but I don’t believe this particular tattooing had anything to do with Egypt or religion. Two seconds in and my stomach was in a knot, so I turned it off, but not without a whole lot of shock and questions running through my head. And my judgement that this is an epic parent fail. But what if it did relate to religion? Does that mere fact make it okay?


I chose to bring up this topic because, like I said, I had a whole lot of questions and the original article I read posed this one: Do you think there’s any possible good reason to give a toddler a tattoo? 

My obvious answer was “Hell no!”

After googling for a little more information, the religious angle was all I could come up with (or in the case of this video, just stupid people)… so it begs the question: Do religious beliefs make certain things okay?

I hate judging religions. In fact, I usually avoid the topic because it’s a touchy subject. In my opinion, religion is often justification for acts. Sometimes the justification is to explain acts of kindness (no problem there). Other times? Well, religion becomes a scapegoat for horrific acts under the guise of doing good (bombing of abortion clinics, to give an example). Either way, if you don’t agree with the particular religion (or its practices), it’s difficult to argue against its ideology. 

I have to say, though, that it seems to be the extremists who use religion to justify unspeakable acts, so I have to wonder if this particular Egyptian religious practice of tattooing is one of those extreme occasions. Nonetheless, it’s become my current controversial blog topic!

Sick to my stomach over the video, religious practice or not, I can’t ever say that tattooing a child is a good thing. Personally, I don’t see what all the hoopla is over piercing a child’s ears before they even understand either – we all can agree that’s for the parent’s own satisfaction. 

I think it’s safe to say we can all also agree that tattooing a child isn’t a social norm and we’re horrified at this parent’s actions. You’ll probably agree that ear piercing doesn’t even fall within the same category, but the article made the comparison, so I couldn’t help wonder what makes one an acceptable social norm. I mean, we’re all shocked – and probably disgusted – over the tattooing, but if it was a regular occurrence, no one would bat an eye. It’s not. So we’re all batting eyes.


Since we’re comparing ear piercing and tattooing, let me give you a little personal history. You’re all aware I have a daughter. I opted out of piercing her ears as a baby. I, myself, have both pierced ears and a couple tattoos. Both of which I remember making decisions about.

In fact, I can remember asking my mom to get my ears pierced. I must’ve been around 7? It was second grade, I think. My first tattoo I didn’t get until I was 21 (my parents weren’t thrilled) and I got my second a few years ago. I’m contemplating a third. 

There were two reasons for my choice not to pierce Lovebug’s ears: 1. I’m not really a fan of the way it looks on small children and 2. I wouldn’t force my likes and desires of something so permanent on my child.  

Though I may desire pierced ears for myself, she may decide it’s not for her. The decision, in my mind, should be all hers. I like tasteful tattoos – of course, what’s tasteful to me may not be to someone else. When she’s 18 and possibly decides she wants a tattoo? That, too, will be her decision to make. 

I can recall a time when many moms in my mom’s facebook group were discussing ear piercing: where to have it done, the best age, yadda yadda. Like I said before, I think ear piercing is a permanent decision. I know guys who fell for the fad long ago and still have a mark on their ear; it never really goes away. But. Ah, the big but… Ear piercing seems to be a widely accepted practice in which many engage their young children, and for whatever reason we’ve all agreed is an acceptable social norm. 

What about a tattoo? It’s not unlike ear piercing in the respect that it’s permanent. However, in our society (for adults), it’s becoming more acceptable, but I’d agree it’s still slightly taboo. For children? I think the majority would agree that it’s unacceptable. From what I could gather, it’s a religious tradition in one part of the world where children there are subjected. Period.


Left with religion bearing the excuse of tattooing being okay, I ask the original bloggers question again: Do you think there’s any possible good reason to give a toddler a tattoo? 

The writer of the article takes a clear stance as well, and cited her reasoning against it – aside from the obvious permanency – as the long-lasting pain from a tattoo versus a piercing in which the pain only lasts but a few minutes. I see that, but is this the only reason? And should religious beliefs be allowed to justify such acts?

Weigh in. I’d love to hear what you think.

Rules…

…Contrary to what I believed as a kid, are not made to be broken.


I’ll most likely be treading thin ice with this post, so let me preface with this: I AM ever grateful that I have people in my life – close enough to my home – to help care for Lovebug on those days when I just need a break or have errands that are easily completed WITHOUT a toddler.


That said, it’s really a catch 22. Cue the ice. I don’t know, maybe I’m the only one who experiences this, but sometimes a much needed break is just best skipped. Or taking a toddler on an errand that may turn into a tantrum is sometimes a risk I realize later that I would’ve been willing to take.


You gasp? Here’s my predicament…


I’ve heard the word “spoil” thrown around by those who shall rename nameless and “Lovebug” in the same sentence. A LOT.


Let’s clarify this word “spoil,” shall we? Merriam-Webster defines it as: the act of damaging.


Wait. What? Damaging? So why would anyone want to “damage” a young child?


Well, I don’t necessarily believe anyone is seeking to damage my toddler. But when rules, we as a family have put in place for what we believe to be our child’s well-being, are going ignored? It is damaging. And somehow, this is a concept that the would-be spoilers don’t seem to understand.


I’ve heard it over and over again… The infant who’s brought into bed with his parents during a teething episode and then doesn’t want to return to his bed after his teething has subsided. The baby who was rocked to sleep while suffering an illness suddenly can’t put herself to sleep once that illness has passed. You give an inch…


We have rules in our house for a reason. 


There aren’t many, and they aren’t difficult to follow. In no particular order: Rule #1- my child must go to bed on/around/remotely close to her normal nap time/bedtime; in her own bed (or, designated by us, the bed where she stays), Rule #2- her meals should be reasonably healthy with little to no sweets. And I have absolutely no problem providing such meals.


Too often, I feel as if my rules are being blatantly ignored.  


Maybe the “spoilers” don’t understand that I do expect Lovebug to be returned to me in the same condition in which she was given them. 


And maybe they also don’t understand that I have to rebuild the entire foundation I’ve built over a 20-month period they unknowingly (let’s give the benefit of the doubt) undid in one day! (Usually this is only the case with naps, but let’s be real. I NEED those nap breaks.) It used to be bedtime when she was younger, and people, we cried-it-out (it works, and I’m a fan), but having to go through it again because someone didn’t follow the rules was a bitch. Not to mention unfair.


Talk about adding more work. This is why I said that in most cases, a small break comes with a huge price. A price I’m mostly not willing to risk.


I could understand if she were, I don’t know say five. A stop at McDonalds for a sundae after school before dinner! That’s a treat I think is reasonable. Yes, it goes against Rule #2, but at that age, I’m okay with a treat every once in a while. Okay, I should not put this in writing. And I shouldn’t have to explain, or feel compelled to change, my rules. I am the parent, right? I revoke my previous exemptions as I may not feel the same way when Lovebug actually is five!


I just can’t understand why it is so difficult to follow our rules. 


I don’t want to revoke privileges. I don’t. 

What Are You Spreading?

Let me begin this post with thanks. I know I’ve been missing in action for a bit, and I thank you for sticking with me. I’ve been tending to a sick infant, and now nursing myself back to health.
…………………..


Germs. They’re everywhere. Now, I’m by no means a germaphobe, but when it comes to spreading illness I get so irritated by a lack of consideration for those of us who aren’t sick.


You won’t find me wiping down the shopping cart with those antibacterial wipes. I don’t hand-sanitize after touching everything, and I believe a little dirt is good for you. And yes, I know illness is part of building immunity, but damn it I hate being laid up in bed eating bonbons watching soap operas struggling to make it another day praying I could just die and be reincarnated as a healthy person. Or worse yet, watching my little Lovebug suffer through a bug.


When I’m sick, I wash my hands before using communal items, cover my mouth when I cough, and I avoid public places and other people as much as possible. Hence no need for those damn wipes. 


Maybe it’s true what they say about misery loving company?


But seriously, spread the love, people not the germ.


During my teaching days there were inconsiderate invalids other teachers who would come to school sick, and then parade around common areas spreading their germs. Hey, I’m guilty of going to work sick – I think we all are – but I hid in my own classroom eating lunch by myself rather than exposing everyone in the lunch room, and kept my contact to a limit.


If there are family gatherings, lunch appointments, or play dates, I opt for the “better to be safe than sorry” road and excuse myself from the get-together. 


You see, spreading the love.


Recently, there was a family member – who shall remain nameless – with an illness. This family member was going to be out of town the upcoming weekend and hadn’t seen my daughter in over a week. We were supposed to get together the previous weekend, but this family member was sick. A few days later, said family member wanted to see my daughter since we missed them that weekend and the following weekend was no good. Apparently, there was still a lingering cough – and who else knows what – and low and behold two days after exposure my daughter turns up with a runny nose, fever, and you guessed it, a cough.


That’s spreading the germ.

I was pretty pissed upset. It’s no fun having a sick kid. She’s a trooper, and somehow can smile through, but watching her suffer an illness is not for the faint of heart. 


So now I have a sick kid. You know what happens when you have a sick kid? Yeah, the whole house is sick. Yay!


More love please, less germs.

Thoughts on Jury Duty

Catapulting myself on that soapbox again. 

36 weeks. Ready-to-pop-have-to-visit-the-restroom-every-20-minutes pregnant. Summoned. Holding a jury duty notice in my hand. 

“Are you–a few expletives–kidding me?” “What am I going to do when I have to pee seven times before they even ask my name?” 

Thank god, I actually dodged a bullet and didn’t have to appear. Thank you lawyers for reaching an agreement; my pea-sized bladder thanks you relentlessly.

Fast forward half a year. With a baby sucking on my boob every three to four hours, I’ve been called again? Really court system, have you no one else on your call list?

I despise am not a fan of jury duty. I’ve, to date, been: 

1. privileged stuck with it once, and made it as far as an A or B group in which my group was lucky to be dismissed, after hours of waiting (thank you for sucking life from me that I’ll never get back),
2. summoned the week my dad was tragically killed murdered and reluctantly excused (WTF? How sympathetic of you), 
3. called again while pregnant with Lovebug (glad to know you appreciate a bazillion pee breaks too),
4. and recently been summoned while exclusively nursing (way to sample the population). 

Always convenient timing. 

I have a problem with summoning stay-at-home moms for jury duty.

I don’t “work” for a company in which I receive a paycheck, who’ll find a replacement, and allow me time off to serve my civil duty. I’m a stay-at-home mom with a dependent who relies solely on me for care, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Why are they even subjecting stay-at-home moms to this bullshit? We should be exempt. Always. Period. And I’m not paying to leave Lovebug with a sitter–I don’t even know how an exclusively breast fed baby would fare with that anyway. Just a guess, but screams of starvation come to mind. I will not subject my daughter to that.

Still not a reasonable excuse? I should like to see the reaction when I show up with my daughter on my hip, diaper bag on one shoulder, and a nursing cover donned during opening arguments. If this stay-at-home mom is expected to serve on a jury, that is exactly what they’ll get. What? Is this not a fair representation of the population? 

Hormones, Heat, and… Richard Simmons?

Smokin’ H. O. T.

Cat-called-by-construction-workers sultry? Only if beads of sweat dripping down glistening off my back as I’m about to spontaneously combust is sexy.

As my postpartum hormones rage on, and triple digits soar–in the middle of October!–I’m like a sweaty pig in need of a mud pit to wallow. Can anyone say sweatin’ to the oldies with Richard Simmons? Though, I hope I look better in gym shorts, but probably just as tacky in a sweatband. Hmm… maybe a sweatband is what I need.

Photo credit

What was my point? Oh right, it is fall, isn’t it? I may be hallucinating from all this heat.

If we’re following annual equinoxes and the calendar–because we all know that a magic number on a piece of paper is the last word–then someone PLEASE bring on the cooler weather!

Finally! My clammy prayers have been answered. The other morning I woke to cloudy, gray skies and dew. Yes, people! Dew! Actual condensation–don’t work yourselves into a frenzy my fellow Californian’s, it’s just a little dew–that has to count for something. I mean, we’re only a month into fall and by 2pm it’s a balmy 80º. That shows progress, right?

Broke somewhere between 90º and even-the-devil-is-burning-in-hell, my internal thermostat said balmy 80º wasn’t cuttin’ it. You know it’s bad when you’re done breast feeding the babe and her hair has that nappy wave like she’s just come out of a steam room. Hey! Maybe she can borrow my sweatband if she can pry it from my soggy hands.

I’m just sayin’… I’M HOT.

Hormones, Heat, and… Richard Simmons?

Smokin’ H. O. T.

Cat-called-by-construction-workers sultry? Only if beads of sweat dripping down glistening off my back as I’m about to spontaneously combust is sexy.

As my postpartum hormones rage on, and triple digits soar–in the middle of October!–I’m like a sweaty pig in need of a mud pit to wallow. Can anyone say sweatin’ to the oldies with Richard Simmons? Though, I hope I look better in gym shorts, but probably just as tacky in a sweatband. Hmm… maybe a sweatband is what I need.

Photo credit

What was my point? Oh right, it is fall, isn’t it? I may be hallucinating from all this heat.

If we’re following annual equinoxes and the calendar–because we all know that a magic number on a piece of paper is the last word–then someone PLEASE bring on the cooler weather!

Finally! My clammy prayers have been answered. The other morning I woke to cloudy, gray skies and dew. Yes, people! Dew! Actual condensation–don’t work yourselves into a frenzy my fellow Californian’s, it’s just a little dew–that has to count for something. I mean, we’re only a month into fall and by 2pm it’s a balmy 80º. That shows progress, right?

Broke somewhere between 90º and even-the-devil-is-burning-in-hell, my internal thermostat said balmy 80º wasn’t cuttin’ it. You know it’s bad when you’re done breast feeding the babe and her hair has that nappy wave like she’s just come out of a steam room. Hey! Maybe she can borrow my sweatband if she can pry it from my soggy hands.

I’m just sayin’… I’M HOT.

Scheduling Conflicts

Hurry up to get here. 

Hurry up to wait there. 

Dinner is at… 

and your doctors appointment is scheduled for… 

Life is one big calendar.

I’m one big scheduling freak.

Life and my child’s schedule do not share the same timetable.

It doesn’t care that I have a baby who lives in her own time zone. 

Life goes on.

And

If I want to be apart of it, then I need a rough idea when I can pencil it in.

A rough time frame is my best friend. It makes things like shopping, cleaning, and preparing Lovebug’s food a breeze. Knowing when she plays and naps makes planning ahead a bit easier. I love a good schedule. And when life calls, I’m all for having a good schedule to fit in all that it has to offer.

Ah, it feels so good to sink into a routine.

For many months, Lovebug’s schedule has been complete bliss. Waking around 7am to nurse–who doesn’t love sleeping in?–a little breakfast, playtime, and another nap–all this talk of sleep has me wanting, well, more sleep. *yawn*

At about 10, her cherubic face greets me ready to eat–ah yes, more eating! Sleep and eat, what’s not to love here? More playtime, or errands until it’s… wait for it… another nursing and a meal around 1pm. I’m hungry, you? Then, no don’t tell me. Another nap?

The cycle repeats. At approximately 430 or 5–you guessed it–another nursing and maybe a cat nap afterwards. Ah the life! We ring in the 6 o’clock hour with dinner bells in which she enjoys a dinner–prepared a la moi with the help of my magic wand baby bullet–a bath and/or walk, and then some quiet play with me and the hubs until her evening nursing and bed at 8pm.

Lovely. Fabulous. It’s a routine and I LIKE IT. And she’s happy!

Two days ago it all fell apart.

By noon, the evil twin appears. Can you say Sybil? Hello clingy, cranky, and crying.

Nap? Nope. But she’d be pleased to let me break my back toting her around. Aside from needing serious chiropractic, I’d have no problem with this if she was her usual bubbly self, but it’s apparent Sybil Lovebug needs the rest.

Sleep has taken a backseat to cruising on all fours and practicing standing. Which has left my routine?

In fragments.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for growth spurts. I love that Lovebug is stretching her know-how and gaining independence, but that freedom doesn’t come without a price; the huge price tag of a routine-less life, for now–it’s a sad day.