“F” Is For…

(Author’s Note: This post was originally composed in October during the week of the nasty Nor’easter that hit our area. With a week lacking power and two small children underfoot—the youngest being only 3-weeks-old at the time—there was plenty of time to sit back, reflect, and come up with a blog entry. 6 weeks have since passed and not much has changed so I still feel that the post is worth sharing, if not for the therapeutic benefits of venting, but for the humor of it all.)

With the recent addition of Ryan to our family, our household is currently in a state of utter upheaval, adjustment, and lack of routine. As I am busy trying to manage daily household tasks, diapering two children, nursing, and racing to the telephone to interrupt calls before they wake up my husband (who needs to sleep during the day after working 3^rd shift), it sometimes feels as though the only predictable element of our lives is the television lineup. Since Ryan feeds every 2 hours, I often find myself allowing Caiden to watch TV in lieu of more creative outlets because I know that it will maintain his attention and keep him put in a safe spot. As a result, Thomas and Friends, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and Curious George have provided entertainment for Caid while Sesame Street gave me some inspiration for this blog post. You see, every episode of this classic series still focuses on a number and letter of the day. During an episode from last week, as Elmo, Grover, and Cookie Monster informed my eldest that “F” was for “forest”, “freckles”, and “frozen”, I started to think about what “F” stood for in my life.

“F” is for Friends. It is amazing who comes forward once a new baby arrives. Friends from near and far have blessed us with acts of generosity and kindness. From mailing us a congratulatory card to dropping off gifts for the baby and the family (one of the best things we received was the gift of time when my friends took Caiden for an afternoon and I could rest and devote some treasured, quiet moments with Ryan), we have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support and feel so very lucky to have these people as part of our family’s lives.

“F” is for Fortunate. This, for obvious reasons, goes hand-in-hand with “Friends”. An extension of this is geared, however, specifically for the generosity of new friends whom I have made through the MOMS (Moms Offering Moms Support) Club in town. These women, relative strangers to me, stepped forth immediately after Ryan was born and brought over wholesome home cooked meals, hand-me-down nursing garb, and even a present or two for Big Brother Caiden (so that he didn’t feel left out). How could I not feel fortunate to have them around?

“F” is for Fatigue. I haven’t slept since October 8^th, 2011.

“F” is for Feedings. Whereas Ryan eats constantly around the clock, many days I forget to eat meals myself. Breakfast for Caiden is often a scenario of him eating dry Cheerios straight from the box with a sippy cup of milk on the side. And then there is dinnertime. Caiden loves to cook. His mother, however, does not. See the following subcategory.

“F” is for Friendly’s, Fazios, and Fast Food. Without the assistance of the MOMS Club meals and these local institutions of cuisine, my family would starve.

“F” is for Frazzled. A typical “day in the life of Laurel” would include the phone ringing off the hook, the dog barking, the baby crying, the UPS man at the door, and Caiden running around half-naked. Enough said.

“F” is for Focus. Perhaps this is just an extension of “Frazzled” and “Fatigue”, but I seem to have completely lost focus on just about everything. I start something, get sidetracked, start something else, get sidetracked from that, and then look around and say to myself, “What the hell happened around here?”

“F” is for Fibbing. Whoever said that breastfeeding was easy, LIED.

“F” is for Feet. I can finally see and reach my own tootsies, so one of the first things that I did for myself postpartum was give myself an at-home pedicure. It was fabulous, so “F” can stand for that as well.

“F” is for FedEx. One of the things that I forgot about with regard to the early days of bringing Caiden home is the unquenchable desire to do online shopping and, even worse, make purchases from QVC. I blame it on the baby’s feeding schedule. There is not much on for entertainment during the wee small hours of the morning and, therefore, I often find myself tuning into home shopping stations that take advantage of my sleep-deprived state in order to convince me that I need these items. (Although I haven’t stooped low enough to buy a set of Forever Lazy, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were on the horizon. They do look quite comfortable and I am sure that the fabric it is made from is absorbent enough to even handle the rivers of spit up my kid produces…) Especially with the holiday season quickly approaching, the FedEx Man is hiking it up our hill almost daily in order to deliver something to us.

“F” is for Funky. This is probably how I smell since squeezing in a daily shower is a task unto itself. With the ability to shower at the gym, I have recently been contemplating bringing my gear to there just so I can clean up after my workouts without any interruptions involving a wailing infant or my toddler playing peek-a-boo with me using the shower curtain.

“F” is for Frumpy. In general, this is how I look and feel. Even when I successfully work my way into an outfit that doesn’t contain a strand of Spandex in it, I usually have to change it immediately because of hands covered in grape jelly or the wrath of Ryan’s reflux gets the best of me. And on a side note, there is no such thing as a sexy nursing garment.

“F” is for !@%$#%@. Yes, you read that correctly. Since Caiden repeats EVERYTHING, I don’t actually say this word aloud, but forms of this obscenity go through my mind daily. Examples include (but are certainly not limited to):

· Hearing Caiden in another room rummaging through something that he shouldn’t be rummaging through. “What the !@%$#%@ is he into now?”

· Changing Ryan’s diaper for the zillionth time, snapping, zipping, swaddling, only to finish and hear him squeeze out another rip-roaring deuce. Repeat the previous steps of changing, snapping, zipping, swaddling and then realize that he has spit up everywhere. “You have got to be !@%$#%@ kidding me!”

· Putting Caiden to bed. Then feeding Ryan. Then hearing Caiden get out of bed. Wrangle him back into bed. Get ready to turn in myself. Finally settle in. Look at the clock and realize that it is time to feed Ryan again. “!@%$#%@...”

· During a late night feeding I burp Ryan. He’ll spit up over my shoulder and onto my pillow. Do I change the bedding now? “Eh. !@%$#%@ it.” (Flip the pillow over. It can wait ‘til tomorrow.)

“F” is for Family of Four. And despite some of the inconveniences and hardships that sometimes arise as a result of that, I am, undoubtedly, Fulfilled.