My Old Foe, the Pump

I've been nursing my baby for over five months now. This is a big deal for me considering we almost didn't make it five days.

It comes as a relief that pretty soon he's going to be eating solids regularly. We have started him on a few foods occasionally, and most recently a little oatmeal almost every day. I still nurse him before any foods so he can get the "good stuff" first. But in a few short weeks, these foods will give him additional vitamins and nutrients in addition to my milk. I feel like I'm off the hook a little.

You see, the amount of breast milk I've pumped has always been a "thing". It's a source of constant anxiety for me, made even worse because our daycare provider kept asking for more. I was afraid of getting to a point where I couldn't pump enough to keep up with him. And what's the worse that could happen -- formula makes up the amount I can't provide? That's not a big deal (to a normal, non-crazy person).

I talked before about where I pump at work. I had several people comment that it was so unfair I had to pump in a closet while sitting on the floor. I completely disagree. Knowing the state of breast feeding, I'm extremely lucky to have an out of the way place that's not a bathroom. It was my choice to sit on the floor because in all honesty, the room was kind of cramped and it was sort of awkward to have a chair and not have a table where I could set my pump.

The other day, our secretary cleaned out the closet and when I went in later, she'd rolled in a chair, a table and a radio for me. She made a new "Do Not Disturb" sign for the door and put all my magazines in a cute wicker basket. It really moved me that she took the time to do it, knowing how much breast feeding means to me.

My new digs.

Here's where I spill my deep, dark secret, a secret I'm sure I share with any mother who either works or is exclusively pumping: I hate my pump.

I mean, I sort of dig it. It's the Caddy of pumps. I was excited when I got it because I thought, "hooray! No more worries about milk!"

Until his bottles started increasing. Until I realized it's pretty difficult to pump at work every 3 hours. Until I saw that piddly 3 oz bottle after 15 minutes of pumping and that little voice in my head said, "You can't keep up."

I'm getting resentful of that pump. I hate that I have to be connected to it so much. I hate all the cords to plug in, the parts I have to wash. I hate that after my baby goes to bed, I have to drag out that beast and pump instead of doing things I enjoy doing. I hate having to carry it in every day, or remembering to stick the cord in the bag, or making sure the bottle cooler has frozen.

On the other hand, when I make the bottles at night with milk I've pumped, I feel very proud of myself for keeping it up.

I'm not planning on giving it up. My goal is one year and then I'll probably have to since I think I'm only legally entitled to all those breaks for one year. I'm OK with that, too. The pump is a necessary evil in my life, and I'll keep doing battle with my old foe until he's weaned.

It's a labor of love, but I won't be sad to see that pump go back into the closet.

What's your labor of love? What do you resent, but love at the same time?

Oh, hey, by the way, I did a review of a nursing cover called Baby Bond over at my friend Laurie's blog (Steals & Deals for Kids). She's giving away a cover! check it out!

Prince charming lives at my house

I was going to save this for my anniversary, but I decided to Pour my Heart Out today instead.

My husband is a living, breathing prince charming. No, it's not because he's super classy or rich or puts his boxers in the laundry basket. Or because he always puts his dishes in the dishwasher (because he doesn't). It's mostly because he treats me like a princess.

When Hub and I met, I didn't want a relationship. I liked things the way they were. I'm not saying it was love at first sight, but I was definitely smitten from the beginning. Things moved pretty fast with us, but we both just knew from very early that we were each other's "one".

My relationship with my husband doesn't define my life, it enhances it. His strengths are my weaknesses and vice versa. We're truly the perfect match -- neither of us are perfect, but we're perfect for each other.

He makes me laugh all the time. No one else might think it was funny, but I do. He's silly, crazy, and downright witty. He's very handsome, too. His smile can light up a room. Today I was talking with my Mom and she said he could "charm a snake" -- she didn't mean that in a bad way, just in a way that he can make the nastiest, grumpiest person happy.

He stands up for me and fights for me. For our family. When we were having issues with the daycare person over how much milk I was giving the baby, he calmly explained to her how breastfeeding worked, how it's different, what to expect. He had listened to every word I told him, even when I didn't think he was listening.

He's my shelter in a storm.

My husband is caring -- the most sensitive, caring man I've ever met. He has a soft heart for animals. We've adopted five cats and one dog, and we've fostered more than I can count. He can't say no. I don't want him to.

He's a tremendous father. Absolutely amazing. Hub plays with Luke, makes funny faces, sings songs and helps him play with toys. I'll say it here for all the Internet to see -- Hub was the first person to make Luke smile a real smile. Along with the love comes worry. He worries about Luke all the time and sometimes it drives me to the nuthouse, but it's out of love for our little blessing.

He also cares about me deeply and purely. He knows exactly what to say when I'm at my breaking point. Last night I was exhausted. I hadn't stopped from the time I stepped out of bed until the second I stepped back in. He rolled over and spoke over the white noise of our sound machine, whispering so we didn't wake up the baby: "You're my best friend and a wonderful wife and mother. You're doing awesome. I love you."

Hearing those words gives me the renewed spirit to get up the next day and do it all over again.

I was lucky to grow up in a home with an outstanding father. He reads this blog, I know he does. He checks it all the time. Hi Dad, thank you for showing me what a husband and father should be.

Hub doesn't read my blog, but he should. Hi Hubby, thank you for being the best husband and father to my son I could ever wish for. You're my prince charming.

My God Sized Dream

This is a hard one to write.

I'm not sure how to say what I want to say about this blog. I think its' going to just be word vomit all up in your readers, but maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.

I'm pouring my heart out today on this blog because I want to make some changes.

Let me backtrack.

After my baby was born, I was removed from the blogging world out of necessity for a month. I didn't have time to check my email, much less write a blog and make cool charts and graphs for all y'all. I was having some blog blahs before he got here, so it didn't effect me too much. I didnt' feel like I was missing much, or that I was missed.

This is not a pity party, I swear. I needed to step away and re-prioritize. I was thrown into a new world I knew NOTHING about. It was life changing. I know that seems like an understatement -- of course having a child is life changing, but what I mean by "life changing" is that I didn't expect the change. I was very naive. Blogging was, at best, an afterthought.

Then he started sleeping better and motherhood started to click. I was able to sit down for the first time in four weeks without a newborn cradled in the crook of my arm. I had two hands to type, two eyes to read blogs, and at LEAST 3/4 of a brain to come up with witty comments. I dusted the cobwebs off It's Blogworthy and started writing. And writing. And writing. I wrote and scheduled posts for all of January. I wrote and scheduled Tweets, too. I felt like I was really on top of things.

And then a bunch of you went to Blissdom and I got all envious. I wanted to be a part of the fun.

However, even if I hadn't just given birth a couple months earlier, I couldn't have spent money in good conscience to go to a blog conference. My blog wasn't important enough; I hadn't put enough time or effort into it.

I also felt scared: scared to meet new people face-to-face, scared to be in a strange place, scared to network and go to parties and be myself.

That weekend at our church, our pastor spoke about having God-sized dreams. He said that a God-sized dream was scary, but lays in your heart, feeling like it's just the right thing to do. He said to dream big, but start small. He said two dream killers are fear and impatience.

Fear.

So, I left church and said to my husband, I think working on my blog is my God-sized dream. It might sound really silly. I mean, it's not world peace, it's not feeding hungry children or going on a mission trip. It's not building houses for the homeless.

I've gotten so much out of blogging. I've meet so many wonderful people and have been touched by the kindness of --  let's face it -- perfect strangers. I know all about their kids, their husbands, their pain, their joys. I feel less alone in this new role I've been thrown into (thrown into HAPPILY and JOYFULLY but thrown into anyway). I am a changed person because of the community I've met through blogging.

I want to change others like others have changed me. What if my words make someone smile who's had a terrible day? What if they change someone's mind, or touch their hearts? That's what I want from my blog.

I'd love to grow it so much that it's a source of income for my family. Is that going to happen? I'm 90% sure it won't, but that doesn't mean I can't grow my blog regardless.

I also want to make this blog so much of a priority that I can justify one of these blog conferences somewhere down the road.

I want to grow. I want a direction for It's Blogworthy. I want to put effort into it, because writing is what I love. If I don't, I'm afraid of falling into the gap of being someone's Mom or Wife or Employee and lose who I am as a person. I enjoy writing about ridiculous things like Jersey Shore and Project Runway and Lindsey Lohan, but is that what people want to read? Do I care? Those are things I struggle with.

So I'm just going to do it. I'm going to post, participate in the community more, Tweet and re-Tweet. I'm going to re-design my blog and post more regularly. I'm going to find my voice. I'll figure out the answers as I go.

I'm going to tackle this God-sized dream head-on.