I wish there was an easy way to explain how having a second baby is different from having a first baby, but there are SO MANY WAYS I don’t think I can. When people talk about having a second baby, they talking about “doing it again” – “Oh I couldn’t do that all again! The spit up! The diapers! The sleepless nights!” – but they forget that all the OTHER stuff is easier. Yes there is going to be a ton of poop, but you’ve gotten so good at pinning down a squirmy baby while you change them it only ends up on your clothes once a day! Or even less!

I should probably include a disclaimer that my second baby is a much easier baby than my first, but honestly I’m not sure where the line between “easier because she was born more easy-going” and “easier because I treat her differently” falls. It’s like the chicken and the egg, if the chicken is a mother who is often distracted by a toddler licking things he shouldn’t be licking and the egg is a baby who has learned to only scream for attention when she’s about to be eaten by wolves or fall down a well. There is something to be said for nature – Little Evan has some sort of crazy silent, painless reflux that turned him into an 8 pound vomit machine and Caroline has thrown up half a dozen times in her entire life – but the way I nurture her is definitely making a difference.

For example, we are sleep training Caroline, which is something I literally couldn’t even imagine doing with Little Evan. My brain shut down and my head hurt and my boobs tingled just thinking about LEAVING MY BABY alone to cry in the dark. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of nights he cried in the crib but it was after HOURS AND HOURS of rocking and nursing and begging and banging my head against the wall wondering why I was such a failure as a mother. It never occurred to me he was just really tired and if I put him down for more than 30 seconds he might fall asleep.

But Caroline has been acting nocturnal and I’ve been totally exhausted and unable to parent my OTHER kid during the day plus I decided it was sort of ridiculous she would ONLY sleep in her baby swing at nine months old. So we put her in the crib. That’s it. She’s fussed a few times, but if I let her roll around and shout indignantly (as opposed to because she is hurt or hungry or needs something) for five minutes she sleeps like, well, a baby. I know the crying won’t kill her because it didn’t kill the first kid. I have tangible proof I am capable of keeping a human being alive despite my mistakes, and that confidence is PRICELESS.

It also works in the other direction – because Caroline takes more hands-on time than Little Evan (except on the days when he’s potty training, which is one of the reasons we haven’t been trying too hard but now that he’s showing a lot of interest we’re going to have to and OMG I AM NOT LOOKING FORWARD TO IT) he has gotten more independent and really improved his communication skills. He’s also more loving and affectionate, which I suspect is because I spend so much time holding the baby he wants some cuddle time of his own. I call that a win-win.

Even when things that worked the first time (ahem, babywearing) don’t work so great with baby #2, I have enough confidence in my own mothering skills to just move on and try something else. It’s making this whole parenting gig much more fun.

I’m assuming the next kid will just be born walking, talking and making my morning coffee.

(p.s. Caroline took 6 steps TWICE on Sunday. Remind me to re-read this post when they start running in opposite directions)

Diagnose me, interwebs. I need you to tell me I’m normal. Or maybe just a quick kick in the ass and someone to drag me out of this giant hole of ennui and laziness I’ve fallen into. I don’t really feel like doing anything anymore. And I really mean anything. Getting dressed is boring. Going to Stroller Strides is too much work. Taking the kids to the grocery store is exhausting. Washing my hair is pointless. My diet plan sucks. Talking to people is hard. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. I don’t wanna and this couch is so comfortable and no one actually cares if I get off it.

As a stay at home mom, I have the option to just…stay home. And lately that sounds more and more appealing.

I can complain about being So Busy with the best of them – “Oh yes! I’m So Busy! I’m on a diet and exercise plan, plus I’m really into making soup from scratch these days. And the blog! People are counting on me to…write stuff!” – but really? Besides providing basic food stuffs and making sure the laundry piles don’t get too high (and you know, keeping two children alive) I have no mandatory activities. So when I’m exhausted and in bed at 9 pm it’s my own doing. I’m not busy. I MAKE myself busy to make myself feel more important.

(Insert paragraph about how raising human beings IS important! I am creating loving, kind, functional adults who might cure cancer or fly to Mars or invent calorie-free dark chocolate! Now insert massive eye roll because all I’m actually doing these days is wiping butts and filling sippy cups.)

Lately, when we’re on our way to somewhere I start fantasizing about how I could just NOT. I can seeeeeeee us, all NOT DOING THINGS, and we are are enjoying it. I can feel my desire to be still and quiet pulling on me, whispering in my ear that my kids are too young to even remember these places so why bother? For the blog pictures? That’s stupid.

I’ve given in to my laziness a few times over the last few weeks and it is kind of fantastic. Kid’s TV for the toddler, stretchy pants and a Diet Coke for me, grapes and a teether toy for Caroline and we can all do nothing until E gets home from work. But it makes me sort of nervous because there is a fine, well walked line between taking a few days off from regular life and becoming a shut in whose kids no longer know how to interact with the general public. How deep can I let my hole get?

Also, my desire not to do stuff has also started creeping into stuff that’s slightly less optional, like dinner and laundry. How about pizza for dinner? Why put these clothes away when they’re just going to get dirty? Who cares if the half of the house we don’t use is a mess? None of the other people who live here seem to. And then a teeny tiny thought that says Why don’t you just not get up with the baby? You can let your husband do it. You can just stay in bed. He would HAVE to deal with it eventually. It only takes a few seconds for me to shake it off, but the idea showing up in my head at all is like having your grandma show up in your sexy dream about George Clooney. That’s weird, Grandma. Go away.

I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse, since the colder weather means fewer places to go (mall, aquarium, children’s museum, mall, aquarium, lather rinse repeat) and bundling up two kids is about as much fun as bundling up two rabid badgers. And when it’s snowing, staying home is allowed – encouraged, even! – so the people I see on a regular basis won’t even start to wonder where I am. Which might be nice for a while, since I can’t seem to hold a normal conversation without talking about my toddler’s potty training efforts or my baby’s habit of biting my nipples and NOBODY wants that mom at their party.

The irony of all these words is that I didn’t explain myself very well, but because I am so filled with ennui I can’t be bothered to explain any better, which might actually be the perfect example of what I meant in the first place.

This is it, I’m done. I refuse to do any more monthday posts for Caroline because I refuse to let her get any older. Nine months is GOOD. She can stay this age FOREVER AND EVER and I will be a happy mama. Because 9 months? It rocks my socks. She can crawl and cruise but not walk or run away, she nurses a lot but not constantly, she’s happy and smiley and social and friendly but she still loves me best. Her clothes are tiny and cute and it’s easy to dress her in anything I want, including dainty lacy vintage jumpers* because she doesn’t immediately throw up on herself of poopsplode immediately! If I let her get any older she’s going to start developing opinions and ideas and then it’s all over.

Tooth count: two middle bottom ones, one top front through and the other top front is about to make an appearance but not before it turns her into the saddest, snottiest, most sleepless baby EVER. I have been beyond exhausted with the not sleeping plus the sad daytime crying but she’s been eating a lot more solids (and by solids I mean eating whatever her brother drops on the floor as he wanders around – yesterday it was a half peeled clementine)(I wish I was joking) and we’re moving her from our room to her nursery this week so I’m hoping to get at least 6 hours every night this week. Whoa! Six whole hours! I’m aiming for the stars here, people!!

Caroline has moved up to 6-12 month clothes from Old Navy, 6-9 month clothes from Gymboree, 9 month clothes from Target and 9 month clothes from Carter’s, unless they are overalls because then they’re just comically long. You know what else is comical? The fact that the math section of my brain is now full of the sizing info for various baby brands instead of algebra. This is what happens when you have kids, kids. Stay in school.

We have a doctor’s appointment….uh…maybe today? Or tomorrow? I should check on that, since when they start asking questions – How often does she eat? Is she vocalizing at all? Do you have any concerns? – and I just stare at them blankly they’re already going to doubt my parenting skills. I don’t want to show up on the wrong day as well. I’m looking forward to seeing how much she’s grown, although she still seems teeny tiny compared to Little Evan. She is going to be my little peanut, my munchkin, my ginger baby doll forever and ever, even if she DOES get older next month.

Caroline’s likes include: cheese, the dog, her brother, blankies, crawling with one leg, smiling, grapes, biting things, boobs, her daddy, standing, apples, yarn, and eating trash. Dislikes are having her nails trimmed, water on her face, loneliness, her crib, and Dino Dan.

Hold on to your ovaries folks, these are the cutest monthday photos yet!

Bebeh model works on her posing

Eeeeexellent

9 Month Milestones (from BabyCenter, as usual)

Mastered Skills (most kids can do)
Stands while holding onto something – Yes, especially my pants while I am trying to sit on the toilet for two damn minutes.
Jabbers or combines syllables – She’s a noisy little monster, but so far it’s just blah blah blah blah.
Understands object permanence – Yes. It makes peek-a-boo fun, but it also means she knows if she screams long enough I’ll come back during nap time. A win AND a lose.

Emerging Skills (half of kids can do)
Cruises while holding onto furniture – Yes, the better to steal my snacks and the remote off the couch
Drinks from a sippy cup – Soooort of. She LOVES her brother’s sippy cup but is unexcited by anything coming out of it. I tried giving her breastmilk and she looked at me like WTF WOMAN THIS IS NOT A BOOB.
Eats with fingers – Well, I think she mostly eats with her mouth, but she certainly gets enough food on her hands.
Bangs objects together – Loudly. She needs more cowbell.

Advanced Skills (a few kids can do)
Plays patty-cake and peek-a-boo – If there was a peek-a-boo championship, she would get the gold medal.
Says “mama” or “dada” to the correct parent – I have heard no mama’s. It took Little Evan more than a year to say mama so we’ll give her a break too.

*Dainty lacy vintage jumper and headband send by Pretty Fancy. Heather is a sweetheart with an adorable bebeh!

Just pretend that's a happy laughing face.

My friend and fellow Suzanne from pretty*swell as put out a call to action. Her friend Hope just lost her babies. A mama needs our help. A family is being crushed with unimaginable grief, their lives turned upside down after their twin girls were born at 21 weeks.

Abigail was stillborn and her sister Zaria fought bravely for a month in the NICU before her family had to hold her in their arms and let her go join her sister.

Two babies were born too early. Two beautiful girls who will never get to go home.

To make things even more complicated, Hope went into labor far away from home and her entire family was uprooted during Zaria’s month-long stay in the NICU. They put all their possessions in storage and broke their lease, preparing for a long stay. But now they have no where to go home to.

I have nothing more eloquent to say than the whole thing SUCKS. It just sucks.

Suzanne has put together an amazing fundraiser for Hope and her family. (You can also go directly to the donation page through the button on my sidebar ——>) More than a dozen companies have generously donated items to encourage people to donated just $5. Go donate, then leave a comment on this post on pretty*swell to be entered.

Her original goal was $1,000 in three weeks. This morning she has $3,779.02. The new goal is $5,000. Let’s do this.

Oh toddlers.

They’re so much fun when they’re not screaming in your face.

Unfortunately, we’ve been having a lot of in your face moments for the past few weeks. Evan’s favorite word is NO and he uses it every chance he gets. Even if he means “Yes please, that would be lovely Mother” he says NO.

Would you like some juice? NO JUICE! Would you like an apple? NO APPLE! Do you want to watch tv? NO TV! Do you want to go to the park and see our friends? NO FRIENDS! NO! NOOOOOO!!! *sobbing hysterics* *tears* *throws self on floor*

Evan, what’s wrong? JUICE! APPLE! TV! FRIENDS!! *sob sob sob sob*

Blarg.

Thank God for our new best friends, Nick Jr and Sprout and whatever other channel is planning something vaguely child appropriate that perhaps also includes a catchy song I will find myself singing later as I vacuum up pretzel crumbs (We got a green light! We’re gonna take a ride! Come on! What are you waiting foo-oo-or? It’s time to move it! It’s time to groove it! Are you ready? Cause here we goo-oo-oo!) Honestly, in the scheme of “things that get stuck in my head” the Fresh Beat Band is NOT THAT BAD. I may in fact actually…like that song. Don’t tell anyone.

I don’t feel even a teeny tiny little bit bad about letting Little Evan watch TV if it means no one gets smacked in the face, buried under a mountain of dirty laundry, or left at the fire station under the child surrender laws. (Not that I’VE ever Googled those in the midst of a meltdown. Nope.)

In the long run, my toddler learns to speak Chinese and I am a better parent. I see no problems.

Sometimes, even all the happy songs and Blue’s Clues on the planet can’t solve the huge, life destroying problems my toddler faces – such as “Why can’t I eat fourteen lollipops for breakfast?” or “Why did I get yelled at for punching my sister in the head?” Life’s mysteries are SO MYSTERIOUS when you are 2. And when you lack the words to explain why you are so upset, the only way to express yourself is flinging your body on the ground and hitting anything that comes within reach. Obviously.

I have learned the suggestion that one “take a deep breath and count to ten” when one is faced with those kinds of meltdowns isn’t just an expression or a general way saying “chill out”. For it to work, you have to ACTUALLY STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING, close your eyes, take several deep breaths in…and…out…and count to 10 VERY SLOWLY. It’s not going to stop the toddler’s behavior, but it will stop you from throwing your own tantrum in return.

Because that is my biggest parenting challenge: not responding like a toddler when faced with a toddler. Which sounds totally ridiculous – I am a GROWN ASS ADULT. I have leveled up appropriately and unlocked all the adult life achievements (college +1, apartment +1, marriage +1, mortgage +1, credit card + a zillion) and yet when someone screams in my face and lashes out it takes every ounce of my strength not to react in kind. It’s stupid and childish and makes me feel like I truly have absolutely no idea what I am doing when it comes to this parenting gig.

WHY ISN’T THERE A TEST? Or a LICENSE? Some sort of oversight program or home visit or preparedness class I had to attend before I was allowed to get pregnant? Why wasn’t I given some sort of practice training child I couldn’t screw up before I got the final draft? Terrible planning, mother nature. Terrible.

But despite all the toddlering going on, I am taking my deep breaths and learning to be patient. I remind myself (over and over and over and over)(and over and over and over) that this too shall pass. I refuse to argue with a 2 year old and pick my battles much more carefully – is it worth losing my cool over pajama shirts or hair washing or sandals or 3 more bites of dinner or keeping the cushions on the couch or how many blankets to bring downstairs or sharing the red truck instead of the blue truck or the five billion other things Little Evan wants to fight about every single day?

No. No it is not.

At the end of the day, he’s a wonderful boy (Especially at the literal end of the day – bedtime is one thing we’ve got worked out). Smart and funny and kind and generous and joyful and friendly. I look forward to spending time with him and seeing the world as the Super! Awesome! Exciting! Place! he thinks it is. We have such GOOD good times that it makes the bad days seem so much worse. I want to just grab him by the shoulders mid-meltdown and shout “WE COULD BE HAVING FUN! WHY AREN’T WE HAVING FUN?!”

But that’s not very grown-up of me.