With all the changes in our world, we have been discussing the idea of contraception. When Addison first arrived I told Garrett to schedule a vasectomy before he even thought about touching me. He’d say he wanted another one, I’d say no. Then he’d wake up at three in the morning for a feeding. The next morning I would say I wanted another one, and he’d say no. We flipped and flopped and had a pregnancy scare and then decided maybe we needed to talk about what we really wanted, before nature chose for us.

So Garrett, in all his brilliance, came up with this plan (which I like a lot): No contraception. Just breastfeeding. The side effects of contraception on my reproductive history as well as my anxiety are unfavorable. We didn’t want the risks that I would have to take with all my medical history and Garrett wasn’t ready to accept a vasectomy at 24 years of age.

If we do not get pregnant by the time I stop breastfeeding (about two years) then we are going to fix break Garrett’s man-plumbing.  I don’t know if this plan is very in favor of a third, since I had to have fertility treatments to push the Addison Ova out, but I guess we will see.

I think it is the excessive sun I am getting … but I have never been this loosey goosey with life planning. I don’t like the unplanned, unscheduled, unorganized (when it comes to my body). In both instances with Isaiah and Addison I already had their names picked out BEFORE I knew what/who they were. I always knew I’d have two children, some way somehow. So if I get pregnant a third time- I may not even find out the gender. I may let Garrett name it Alexander Magnus Kopter Pilot the 3rd.  I am just feeling that adventurous about life!

So maybe we’ll have a baby or maybe we won’t. Guess we’ll leave it up to nature

After I quizzed my OB and my primary care physician for several visits (do you know how expensive it is to just TALK to your doctor!) I was given the green light and decided to pick my midwife. We (Garrett and I) discussed what traits were important to us and I took to the task of calling a few in the area. I knew that I would instantly tell if I wanted to work with someone over the phone, and true enough having phone conversations narrowed my choices down to two. I ended up not even meeting with the second midwife choice. I immediately knew I was in love with Janessa Craig. Add  the fact that my OB worked with her on the Labor and Delivery Unit at Siloam and I was golden. Janessa is a smooth personality who will sit and look at me very patiently as I ramble on about research and data. She looks at me graciously and inhales for me and reminds me I won’t have this time back ever again and tells  me to savor it.

Janessa and her apprentice came to have a home visit on Monday.  I cooked lunch and they explored my house, discussed scenarios, and determined what I wanted for the experience. They didn’t leave for three hours.  After doing my vitals they just sat on my bed and giggled and talked like we were old friends. At this point I entered into my lecture about why Janessa needed to let me take Castor oil… “I NEED this baby, ” I complained, “I am over it! I am done being pregnant… I want her NOW!” Janessa shook her head and gave me the same ole speech, “Jasmine the best thing you can do is let her cook and when that time comes  that God appointed she will be here.” THAT is exactly why I don’t let God be in charge of anything!!!! That dude has got His priorities all jacked up! Doesn’t HE know that my body has expired of this process!? Who likes to pee forty ba-gillion times in one damn night!! Janessa’s words, however, reminded me that I could hold on for another week and maybe even two more after that. And just to make sure my misery was cataloged in my mind appropriately, I looked up at Janessa and commented, “Don’t some women stay pregnant well past forty weeks?” She nodded. “UGH!” I exclaimed, “That is it! I am going to be pregnant forever!” To which she responded, “Well! You could make us some money then!”

So we are still waiting. In Jasmineland more waiting means more projects.

 Even though I DO own Castor Oil… I am harnessing everything I have in my overly impatient body and holding on to allow Addison to decided to arrive when she wants. *Better make is soon kid! Asking Momma to have this much patience is sort of an act of God!*

The other day I was nesting like a psycho womancleaning out a couple of drawers and I found our old calendar. Turns out that I wrote down that Garrett and I had sex (I wrote it down because I had previously been taking fertility meds) on June 30th. For all you conception gurus out there, it means that IF I conceived on or around that date, then Addison should be born on or around the 23rd of March! Hooray! At least some kind of direction and clarity, right?!

In the mean time, my body is telling me it is full term and I am getting anxious. In a week in a half Addison will be considered medically viable (no complications if she was born)… which is a really bad thing. It is a bad thing because I am notoriously BAD about delaying gratification, especially when I have planned and scheduled and worked so hard for it. Last year I picked tomatoes too early (knowingly) because I decided that I waited long enough for them to do their damn job! Silly aren’t I! I am very patient with children (unless they live inside me) and family and friends (for the most part)… but any projects I have initiated better get themselves DONE by golly or there will be some issues.

So my little in-utero project, Addison, is quickly wearing out her welcome. Janessa, my midwife, is doing the smart thing, reminding me: “Jasmine… all things come in season- she won’t stay in their forever, but let her grow as long as she needs to.” Excuse me Janessa! Do you KNOW who you are talking to…. I want her! I want her NOW!  My OB knows this about me. He told me I could be induced when I wanted. I think this is a dangerous idea and I turned it down, but its appeal grows everyday that my hip pops out of place and I almost pee on myself when I sneeze.

Help me friends. Remind me it is okay to wait, that I will make it, and that all things come in season (even though I will most likely ignore you and drink and ungodly amount of Castor oil).

Jasmine: I hope this store doesn’t smell like Patchouli….  Sadie: Yeah! I hate Patchouli!   

 And so began our journey to Terra Tots. We packed the babies up and started the ipod. We decided that throwback high school songs should be the best musical choice. So a bit of Sarah McClachlan and Dashboard Confessional peppered our conversations as we drove to Fayetteville. We entered a beautifully decorated store with a warm greeting from Bernice.   

 Jasmine: “I just need to warn you that ANYTHING you say to me could end up on our blog.”   

 Bernice: *Laughing* “Its okay, I am used to that. We get on a lot of blogs from around here.”   

 I gave Bernice (the lovely owner) the run down:   

 - I care about the environment but I don’t like poop.   

  -I care more about not being poor, cloth diapers save money.      

-I passed on skin allergies to my kids. I think this is a good alternative to the diaper issues we’ve had.    

Armed with that knowledge, Bernice started in on a very long tour of the store. I got my diaper education while Sadie wrangled the babies. Bernice knows her shit (pun intended). She had ALL of the info on what to use, what not to use, and how to use it. I was thankful and surprised to hear her say that she didn’t recommend certain styles. I asked (about a million times), “but the poop…. will it leak out of this!?” Toward the end of our conversation Bernice commented, “You MUST have a strong gag reflex or something.” That was after she tried to feed me this line, “Just think of it as food that was in you that comes out of your baby….it is a natural process.” *Uhhhh! Yeah lady! Spend a day with my poo throwing feral child and then tell me about upchuck reflexes!* I knew I had already decided to take the dive whenever I walked in the store. So I registered (feel free to buy me things…. yes I just said that, even you stranger who reads my blog, you want to buy me diapers?..go for it!) for the essentials and vowed that I would give cloth diapering a shot.    

Prefolds

 

Diaper Cover

The Lavender one is a cover and the pink one is an actual diaper with a Snappy thingy that holds it closed (NO PINS!) 

Cute Diaper Covers

 

 

<—–These are bundles of prefold cloth diapers that you can use with or without a cover   

                                                                                                                               The best part of the whole set up is that there are several different kinds of diapering methods. There are simple cloth prefolds, prefolds with a cover, all in ones, and pocket diapers. You can mix and match to your heart’s desire. All of the covers snap or Velcro. Some ever have adjustable waistbands and leg holes. The picture doesn’t do justice to the amazing inventory this shop had. I am tempted to never let Addison wear pants, so she can show off her snazzy diaper covers all the time!   

 

  

 

   

Da Belly

 

I suppose this has become my staple look: Over sized sweater, saggy pants (because NO maternity pants seem to fit), flats, and a big ole belly!   

 I decided on waterproof diaper covers with traditional cloth diaper prefolds and hemp prefoldsfor at night( I am sure I am calling them the wrong names). I plan to sew some of my own inserts (because I think I am just that hardcore!). I like the method (after hearing about the million other ways) and I think it will work best for us. Bernice was incredibly kind and knowledgeable. I didn’t feel pressured to buy anything or try anything that I didn’t feel comfortable with. It was a big plus that she was enthusiastic about supporting local businesses and cloth diaper makers.   

  Garrett is really excited to go to their cloth diaper workshop on the 23rd of this month.  

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-   

Let me start by pointing out that the cloth diapers? Are really stinking cute. I mean, a few times I was about ready to do cloth diapering just because they are so fancy. Pink! Purple! Aqua! A snazzy retro green with grey! Polka dotssssss! But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, I happened to come into the store carrying a tote bag from another local baby shop that just happened to have the name of the shop emblazoned on the outside. I imagine the two stores are competitors. Oops. Sorry for the fauz pas.  

Second, I was not aware that I was on the adventure in order that I could wrangle the babies. Had I known, I would have swallowed my anxiety pill with a shot of vodka before embarking. I tend to get a little freaked out when the kids are running around all willy-nilly in places where they can stick their hands in stuff. And break stuff. And wipe their noses on expensive blankets. And Norah has a thing for throwing around recently folded clothes, so when we walked in the store and I saw the stacks of cute little organic t-shirts, I honestly thought they would be my undoing. I made it through the past 20 months but those t-shirts are my last straw! Surprisingly, she left the t-shirts alone.  

In fact, for the first 1/2 hour Isaiah and Norah were perfect angels. They went directly to the back of the room where there were toys laid out with the sole purpose of being played with (which, thank you for that Bernice) but eventually they discovered, and wanted to play with, the walking stick toys. Now really, I do not get the purpose of walking stick toys, except to bang them on the floor and make me want to pull out all my hair and use it to plug up my ears. So after 10 minutes all I could hear was “Wheeee!!! Clank clank clank! Crash! Smash!” all under toned by the incessant pinging of the tiny wooden balls inside the wooden death toy.  

Toy O' Death

 

 

I tell you, I was about ready to just leave Jasmine there with the babies and the death toys and the stacks of organic t-shirts and the woolen breast pads and the cute cloth diapers. I was ready make a break for the door and go get myself a chocolate milkshake. Fortunately, just as I was sneaking toward the door, Norah and Isaiah gained a renewed interest in the tiny wooden vegetables and wooden people with their wooden potty. So I walked over to the footstool and slumped down.

  

I was sitting there, innocently looking at my wounded finger when suddenly, the adults in the room (Jasmine and Bernice) shifted their attention to me. “I’m just interested” Bernice began, “Interested in the reasoning behind not wanting to cloth diaper.” I got a little squirmy here, because no, I have nothing against cloth diapering. I will gladly support and encourage Jasmine and Garrett and will even try it out when my creature is born (using Addison’s outgrown diapers) and who knows, maybe it will be something I think I can do. But this humorous post is not the place to really get into my reasons not to take the plunge just yet. Suffice it to say, my history with anxiety and barely managing the basic tasks of household cleanliness after Norah was born were enough of a reason to stick with disposables for now. Ok, so I leave diapers laying around my house. Yes, I know that is gross and sick and lazy, but hey, at least I wrap them up first. And I am willing to bet that I am not the only person in the whole world who does that. But I do it with disposable diapers and I know I would do it with cloth diapers too and people, I draw the line at having rotting poop pads laying around in my living room. I have standards you know! So I explained this to Bernice,and she seemed a little grossed out by my diapers in the living room, but she conveniently had an answer to all my excuses, and to be honest, I began to think about really doing it. But still, I resist.  

At one point I said “So, you have to like, rinse them out when they get pooped in, right?” and Jasmine and Bernice answered in unison, “Well not when you are breastfeeding!” and I was all “Ok, but eventually your kid will eat solid food and then there will be that day when she eats and entire can of olives and you are going to find those partially digested olives in her diaper and then you are going to have to deal with that.” If you had been there, on the olive diaper day, you would get my point.  

 So Jasmine and Bernice, left me, exasperated with me and my plastic diapers and I returned to casually wandering around the store looking nonchalant when I was really planning to burn up those stupid death toys that had, again, made a noisy appearance. I happened to wander by the section of Gently Used Diapers and I picked up a bright green one. I was holding it, considering how cute it would look over Norah’s Luvs when I caught a whif of patchouli. Patchouli! On the green Gently Used Diaper! I threw it back in the bin and hurried away.  

 Eventually the death toys were put in time out, which was a good thing because I just knew that Norah and Isaiah were going to break them and then I would have to buy all 6 of those stupid toys and then they would be in my house FOREVER! And soon after, we left. I fell in love with an octopus t-shirt, some Simple shoes, and Norah banged her head on the concrete floor a few times, just to get a laugh. Other than that, we left unscathed.  

Later that afternoon I was reflecting on my experience and I sent this conclusion to Jasmine via text message: Dear Jasmine,
I love that you are going green but if you start wearing Patchouli deodorant I don’t think I will be able to continue this relationship.  

     

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________   

That is the story of our adventure! Isn’t motherhood amazing! It is like driving to a destination. You can take lots of ways, back roads or highs walk or plane or train, to get to where you are going. It really doesn’t matter how you get there, as long as you do so safely. So regardless if you cloth diaper, use conventional, breastfeed or don’t, spank or redirect… all that REALLY matters is that each Momma has made a decision that best fits her family and helps her be the mom she wants to be, while keeping her sanity!  

Cheers!  

♥ Jasmine and Sadie  

 

Where have I been?! Lordy! When you actually have a child that is cognizant enough to realize that holidays are actually happening… you have to figure out what traditions you’ll actually keep and what ones you’ll actually pass on… we are still working on that.This is a hard choice for me (since my DNA looks like a meeting at the United Nations).

Isaiah survived. He came out pretty well actually. The Guppy and PopPop (my in-laws) managed to find and purchase the one toy that would induce panic in the lives of my dogs. Noelle and Zoe now run from Isaiah as he screams at them from his Hot Wheels Jeep.

Because what an amped up toddler needs is a motorized something to run into mommy as she attempts to keep balance. Let me tell you, there is nothing better than being 29 weeks pregnant and getting rammed in the back of  the knee by a tiny hard-plastic Jeep. It is awesome beyond awesome. So awesome that I tend to call out the name of the Lord after each lovely encounter (I have been informed that God’s last name doesn’t start with a “D”).

Holidays make me miss my brother (who passed away in 2006) and very nostalgic. With Addsion’s arrival on the horizon I find my mind meandering back to days when Isaiah was tiny (and not  accosting me with Chinese made toys, THANKS A LOT CHINA!!!). For your viewing pleasure: My little bambino with his daddy, during his first snow (he was about 6 months old!):

 Hope your Holidays were filled with peace, joy, great memories, and (most of all) LOVE!

Here is a game we can play. You won’t win a prize, a giveaway, or shenanigans like that. You’ll only have the beautiful gift of feeling, for a brief moment, what it is like in my life.

Here are your clues:

1. I couldn’t find Isaiah

2. I found him in the towel closet

3. He piled up blankets

4. He pulled down his pants

5. He took off his diaper

6. When I asked him what he was doing he closed the door on my face and declared, “…..”

Tell me. What do YOU think he declared?

Give up? He screamed, “Close door mom! POTTY!!!”

Uh yes son, what was I thinking… I potty in the towel closet all the time! Someone want to come clean up my towel closet?

 Lauren was from a prominent and affluent family in Enid, Emma’s mom was an organic chef, and I don’t remember about Paige. Needless to say, it was a very funny scenario to have this motley of little girls spouting lyrics like, ” here I go/here I go/here I go again/girls what’s my weakness….?” And as I spit the lyrics my three counterparts would scream “MEN!” finishing the line to the song. What did we know about that topic? Nothing! We knew that Zac, a kid in our GT group who was always weird during our French lessons, was a boy and thus he was the enemy.

Years later I think back on how formative music can be. Isaiah’s current favorite song is Dolly Parton’s song “Jolene”. He hops around screaming the lyrics and “raising the roof” although I have informed him that maybe you are just supposed to raise the roof to Kanye West’s songs. But Why? Jay-Z, a rap artists, is famous for saying that rap heals racism.He says that when you love a person’s music, when you find yourself singing it and relating to it, the color of the person’s skin becomes secondary. It is hard to look down on someone you admire because of their skin color. Furthermore, there is no “there’s” and “our” music. Music relates to everyone.

 Lauren, Emma, and Paige had no real concern about the color of Salt N’ Peppa’s skin. They didn’t even connect that the name of this band told something about what these women’s classifications were in the Black community (light skin versus dark skin). The most interesting part of this memory is that though the girls were not worried in the least bit about these women and their “blackness” I was, at every moment thinking and feeling about it. Iassigned myself to the darker singer- because I knew I was different from these girls. In my culture African American children are taught that they are Black. My Grandma Annie Pearl would tell me, “Child! Remember you are Black because those White folks’ll never let you forget it.” From an early age I was taught that I would be considered less… so I should expect, well, less. I have several other races that are prominent in my genetics . My mother is Belgian and Cherokee and my dad was Samoa-American, African- American, and Spanish. My birth certificate says “Black” and nothing else…and my grandma never let me forget it. But my pack of friends never even questioned it. They knew my hair was different, and they marveled that I could fit THAT many beads in my hair, but there was never any line drawn. They never requested to see my birth certificate to authenticate my race before playing with me. In fact, I was the leader of the pack. Racism is taught from both sides. Sometimes, racism is inherited- as it has been in my family. Minorities can be raised in a culture that preemptively tells them to hang their head low (as I was). Dr. Bill Cosby speaks to this point (loosely paraphrased) that, children should be taught their histories, but that their skin color doesn’t determine where they go in life- their sense of self, community, and drive determine that.

I am sure you are wondering what my point is. I don’t know exactly what my point is. Maybe my point is that my son is African American (among a million other things) and these are things I have to think about. I have to consider how I will raise my son. Garrett and I have to decide which direction we will take. We certainly want him to respect his history and identify himself as part of the African American community… but certainly not in the way I was taught. It was taught to me as a handicap that I must endure. I don’t want to go down that path. Isaiah is a creative and beautiful individual and his race is of little importance to his success (to us). So for now, I suppose I will teach my toddler that if he wants to, he can raise the roof to Dolly Patron and line dance to Kanye West songs, because the color of your skin choice of musical selection shouldn’t make a difference.

Jasmine

But with Halloween having just passed–Halloween, the holiday devoted entirely to eating so much candy you can hardly stand up to answer the door for laggin Trick-or-Treaters–I know that I have some things to confess.

1. It wasn’t me who woke the baby from a nap in order to get her ready early enough to get all the good candy from the neighbors.

2. It wasn’t me who quietly watched as the neighbors put candy in her bowl, pre-emptively assigning which candy I would give to Norah and which I would keep for myself.

3. It wasn’t me who gave out all the Super Bubble and kept the Airheads.

4. It wasn’t me who fed Norah Halloween cookies for breakfast before church and then acted like I had no idea why she was acting like a lunatic during the service.

Anyone else have Halloween confessions?

–Sadie

Leave it to me to make my first blog post after a long sabbatical to be about  guns, masturbation, and nose bogeys. Alas, I am me…

Since Sadie admitted that Norah has pica (I kid) I decided that I should talk about Isaiah’s amazing new (and some old) habits. Vanessa, a good friend of mine, always talks about boys and the things that they instinctively pick up. When Isaiah, who is two years old, started picking up sticks (to destroy monkeys and enemies) and using them as pretend guns, I would gasp, “WHO taught him to be violent! WHO taught him about guns. We don’t let him watch war movies…why is he army crawling!!! ” I am anti-gun. I HATE them… as a result of a traumatic childhood experience. When Isaiah started this I attempted to redirect it. “Isaiah lets hug, not shoot.” My best attempts were thwarted. He just kept pretending to shoot things. Vanessa explained, (loosely translated)” Something about them switches on and they have to hunt and protect and all that jazz.” So now, my precious two year old son runs around the house pointing curling irons screaming, “BLAM BLAM DIE MONKEY!!!” Sometimes I play dead. Other times I snarl, “DO NOT point guns at people- even pretend curling iron guns…GAWWW!” It is like a boyhood involuntary spasm! Something DID just “click” and he decided I was a gatherer and he was a hunter.

Isaiah also went through a stage where he dominated all of his stuffed animals. When I say “dominated” I mean, “Isaiah humped his stuffed animals and the rugs like there was no tomorrow.” No one taught him. Through exploration he just decided, “OH! Mommy has company, I should show them what my body does when I hump this stuffed lamb!” “Ohhhh! Is that high pile carpet? *OFF GOES THE DIAPER*. Let me show you what to do with this…”  Thankfully we have a great set of friends who just laughed off Isaiah’s “habit.”

One other boyhood involuntary spasm that has amazed me has been the action his nose has been getting. How do kids learn to eat their boogers (is that how you spell it?)? I remember the first time Isaiah did the deed. I looked in the rear-view mirror and his knuckle had disappeared into his brain. He gingerly pulled his finger out only to plunge it into his mouth. He clapped and giggled as I tried not to veer off the road from the intense gagging I was doing. “Who taught you that Isaiah?” How did he learn to eat his nose crusty? SICK!! SICK! SIIIIIIICK! Again… something just clicked and he decided he knew how to do this. Since he knew how, he obviously should. Thankfully Dr. Oz  *YES! I learn how to parent from my favorite TV personalities *  says that picking your nose is fine. The only problem is that it can damage the mucus membranes. I think he will survive. Sadly, me and my weak gag reflex might not.

I love these things about kids.  I love that just like a heart beats involuntarily, there are things that little boys and girls do without prompting. It makes me excited to imagine if we have a girl, (the doctor says ultrasound shows 70% girl) what she will do. 

♥ Jasmine

Rusty and I don’t practice spanking or swatting as a regular form of discipline. Lots of thought and reflection, as well as the education that comes with having a bachelor’s degree in psychology have gone into making that choice. I think there is a place for swatting young kids, but I don’t plan on doing it regularly, plus, it would probably end up being useless with Norah.

Once I swatted her hand because she was just being a defiant little booger. She glared at me and then continued with her actions. And once I swatted her butt. She was walking toward the street while I was putting the car seat I ran over to her, swatted her butt (not hard) and said “No! We do NOT go into the street without Mama or Daddy!”

It worked that time. She cried for a long time, and for the next thirty minutes would shoot dirty looks at me before crying again. Jasmine was there, and Isaiah too. It was pitiful and a little bit funny. But that’s the extent of our swatting experience. I use other discipline techniques, like positive reinforcement and redirection. Oh, and time out.

I really thought that time out was working ok. Norah has gotten to where she will sit in her corner until I tell her to get up, and usually she stops doing whatever she was doing that put her in time out in the first place.

However, I am losing my faith in the usefulness of timeout. On Monday I was watching Isaiah at my house. He and Norah were playing with those giant Lego things, and he started throwing them at me. I used all the tools I could think of to get him to stop before I lost an eyeball (he throws hard!) but he wasn’t listening. So I took the block from him and put him in timeout. Before I could even turn around Norah ran up behind me, slapped me in the butt and then laughed and sat herself in time out right next to Isaiah!

So I’m thinking that time out is really not that effective with Norah. She thinks its a game: Slap Your Mom and Sit in the Fun Corner

I don’t know what I’m going to do with that girl.