It begins with your organs, as they make way for a new roommate. Muscles spread, the stomach shimmies up, all so that a life might have space to grow. Next it hits your brain, where a small explosion occurs when the words I’m pregnant first barrel in. Then the spot reserved for celebrity gossip steps aside for a catalogue of what you can and cannot eat, and you become more well versed on Top Ten Baby Names than the hot spots in town. Next, it hits your heart, where wounds get buried and love climbs ladders to infinite heights, spills over edges and settles into every nook and cranny of your being. Love, love, love. And with that love comes a tether to endless worries, responsibilites and hopes and dreams in such abundance, they populate the intention behind every move you make.

This is the sometimes subtle, occasionally jarring and almost always extraodinary shift of motherhood. One where you, your life, your needs find a comfortable seat in the back until you learn to weave them into the spotlight ever shining on your children. Motherhood is joy, it is pain, it is sacrafice, it is work, it is bliss, is it fear, it is every emotion sometimes all at once, but every one of them is fueled by love. Love, love, love. It is the way you gaze at dozing babies after cursing their inability to sleep. It is the way you mindlessly wipe snot, pee and spit- up from your hands and how you rearrange your days and nights and entire life to accommodate a being that is so much smaller and yet so much bigger than you.

It is the hardest thing I have ever done and it still breaks me on an almost daily basis. But it is the greatest journey, moment, destination of my life and I will never stop thanking God, the universe, my children, my husband for letting me be a mother or feeling gratitude for family and friends who love my babies like they love me and keep me steady when balance all but disappears.

You never understand what it takes to mother until you become one. There are no words to adequately prepare those who are expecting and none needed among those who are veterans, because solidarity comes easily.

To every mother-in-the-making and the ones who’ve been mothering for decades, I wish you the very happiest of Mother’s Days. Hold in your heart the knowledge of all that you give and all that do and never forget why you’re doing it. And then lock yourself in the bathroom so you can get 5 minutes of peace and quiet. And bring wine. And also a trashy magazine so you can get back some of the celebrity gossip your brain tossed aside.

I did it – survived enjoyed my first weekend away since adding a +1 to my offspring. Joey and I traveled to Long Island, NY for a friend’s wedding, which was akin to a mini-reunion of his college buddies, who, lucky for me, are all awesome people.

Though we were only 30 minutes from Manhattan and desperately wanted to see the city, the closest we got was a split second glimpse of the skyline as our cab left the airport (“I think I just saw Manhattan out of the corner of my eye!”). However, since I am still nursing Crosby, my breast pump and I did get to tour many of the bathroom stalls in Long Island, specifically in the Plainview and Muttontown areas. Had I been able to think beyond “What am I missing out on while I make like a cow in this grody bathroom for 20 minutes?“, I would have photographed them all for your viewing enjoyment. Including the times I pumped on the interstate while heading to and from the Chicago airport and on our airplane as it sat stuck on the LaGuardia runway for almost 2 hours…after a 6 hour delay. Those were really good times, and all I will need to convince expectant mothers that nursing covers are, indeed, a very smart purchase.

As you can imagine, I spent the days before our trip internally freaking out about it, as I do anytime I travel. Besides leaving the grandparents a 4 page manual on how to care for my kids (keep in mind they watch my children about 16 hours every week and are well acquainted with their routines), I also planned and strategized and visualized every aspect of traveling with and using a breast pump while away and getting a weekends worth of breast milk back home safely. Overall, it was inconvenient, but not a big deal. Except for having to bust out my boobs and milk them while seated on a completely full airplane.

Here’s how I pulled it off: I borrowed my friend Rebecca’s battery-operated pump (Medela Freestyle. Highly recommend it.) so I could use it anywhere, packed a bunch of ice packs, milk storage bags and special pump-cleaning wipes and a collapsible cooler. I called ahead to the hotel to ensure our room had a fridge and stashed everything there until Sunday, at which point I loaded up my cooler and took it and my pump with me as my carry on. Airport security didn’t bat an eye, but they did test all of my milk to make sure it didn’t contain explosives.

I have to admit, I feel proud that I sucked it up and did this. I returned home to Wisconsin with over 70 ounces of well-traveled breastmilk. I should have mailed Crosby a postcard from my boobs saying Wish You Were Here, but again, I was too distracted by all the fun.

It was wonderful to get away, though I thought about my kids often and was thrilled to see them. Now that motherhood is in my face almost 24/7, stepping back from it and remembering that there is so much more to me than that is a very good thing.

Not to mention that it was all very good practice for this weekend, when I depart with my pump again for a girls’ trip to Washington, D.C., where my friend Courtney lives and is just weeks away from welcoming her own son into the world. I’m feeling much less stressed out this time around.

The specialists have been seen. The tongue has been scrutanized. And after an ordeal that began in mid March, I am happy to report that Adeline’s tongue has been given the diagnosis of Perfectly Fine and Totally Healed, with the final verdict of As Long As She Doeasn’t Try Biting It Off Again, She Should Be Fine.

Hooray and Hallelujah!

I tried getting a picture of the healed wound, but did a very poor job, as you can’t see the scar at all. But that’s probably a good thing, right?

.

Look at the middle of her tongue, then to the left of it. You can faintly see a little curved line. That’s the scar, which I must say looks much worse in person than it does in this photo, but that’s besides the point. All the matters is that it’s healed.

This photo was taken as she was in mid popsicle lick. It’s so great to see her eating one because she wants to, not because a mouth injury demands it.

Here’s to hoping ever inch of this girl stays intact from here on out, cause seeing your baby get hurt really, really sucks.

I asked her what she wanted for dinner and she replied, without hesitation, “A pizza with a face on it.No! No! A picture pizza with a picture of a sailboat. And with barbecue sauce.”

I stared at my daughter. How the hell was I going to whip that up in the approximately 9 minutes I had to feed her dinner before then having to feed Crosby and myself and then put everyone to bed (Joey was a school choir concert)? But I knew I would do it – Whatever It Takes To Get Her To Eat is my dinnertime motto. Every meal I put on the table is planned with my daughter’s finicky eating habits in mind.

And so a barbecue pizza with a sailboat she got.

And I must say it’s the most damn fine cheese sailboat pizza I’ve ever seen. A freakin’ cheese sailboat masterpiece, if you will. Please note my use of various mediums – cheddar and mozzarella – to create the appearance of water and clouds. That’s some advanced shit right there.

I also made a cheese and kalamata olive pizza because, while Addy is very selective about what she’ll eat, she has a mature palate and loves things like olives, curry and Thai food. She’ll all about the umami.

Here’s what the pizzas looked like after Addy “ate” her dinner.

And here’s what they looked like after I ate my dinner.

We concluded the night with Adeline pretending to sleep on the floor and Crosby chewing on his exersaucer.

It was a very exciting evening. Hope everyone has a good weekend! Perhaps you’ll find time to dabble in the ancient art of Picture Pizza Making.

I swear I didn’t force this. But seriously. Can you believe she flashed the sign for love just as this photo was taken? Makes my heart melt. Joey and I take zillions of photos of our kids every week, and while a lot of them aren’t great, it’s pictures like these that keep us doing it.

Read More

Ten years ago, when I was a mere 23-years-old, spring break meant the beach with drinks and friends. Now that I’m older, married and have kids, spring break has taken on an entirely new meaning. Because of Joey’s profession – he’s an elementary school principal – spring break does still include some kind of break (though not much of one). We decided to spend one day doing something fun as a family, so we abandoned nap times for the afternoon, loaded the kiddos in the car and drove 45 minutes to downtown Milwaukee to hit up Betty Brinn’s Children Museum.

The first thing we did when we arrived was unleash profanities and get into a fight, because someone (not named Liz) forgot to put the diaper bag in the car. So we were 45 minutes away from home with 1) no diapers or wipes for 2 kids, the littlest of which poops constantly. 2) No back up outfit for The King of Pooping in case his diaper leaked. 3) No bottles 4) No nursing cover to compensate for the fact that there were no bottles.

The next thing that happened? Crosby took a super poop and his diaper leaked. Many expletives. So very many. And another brief spat where I found every possible way to rephrase the question, “How do you forget the diaper bag???” and concluded it with “For the sake of our marriage, we shall never discuss this event again.” So we got back in the car, found the nearest diaper supplier, returned to the museum where I proceeded to wash Crosby’s pants in the bathroom sink and dry them with the hand dryer. So far, this fun family trip totally blew. But we were not to be deterred! The family fun would be ours, damn it! And it was, even though Crosby was in damp pants all day and I had to hide myself in secluded exhibits to nurse him (a nursing mother totally belongs in the back of the chuck wagon in the Pioneers exhibit). If you’re ever in the Milwaukee area, Betty Brinn is an awesome spot for kids, ages 2 and up. Just be sure to remember the DIAPER BAG!

I took this series of pictures at the museum so I could convince Addy that we spent Spring Break 2012 traveling America.

Golfing in Palm Springs, CA

Navigating the seas in Maine

River boatin’ in Louisiana

Her debut bluegrass performance in…Nashville, TN?

Canoeing on especially calm waters in Michigan

Although we didn’t venture far from home this spring break, it was still wonderful to have Joey home a bit more than usual (little known fact about principals – they don’t get any of the breaks that teachers and kids do, so he still works most days during breaks, summer included). Also, we learned to never leave home without triple checking that we truly have everything we need, like the diaper bag and both of the children.