Monthly Archives: June 2011

Four Months

Henry turned four months old last week and this month has brought big changes!

First a photo. Or two. Or three.

He gives me this look a lot. Really mom?

 

Henry teething. Or pre-teething. Or just working on his drool/slobber abilities.

 

Henry asleep and teething.

Sophie the giraffe must taste pretty good.

 

Now a crappy video. I promise that we are working on getting a better camera so the quality will be better in the future.

This is Henry having his first tastes of rice cereal. He really surprised us with how much he likes eating it!

He’s figuring his hands out more and more, getting closer to sitting up on his own and charming us with his smiles and giggles.

He was sleeping like a champ until he got his four month vaccines. This week has been tough, but we’re hoping that he gets back to sleeping a good 7 hour stretch again. One night feeding is manageable and almost enjoyable. Three night feedings is pure hell.

And of course, the most important part – baby stats!

At four months Henry is weighing in at 16. 8 pounds, is 26 inches long and has a head circumference of 17.5 inches. He’s a monster!

Going Home Again

Last Sunday night we took Henry to his first rodeo. Dressed in his daddy’s vintage pearl snap baby shirt and his jeans, he looked pretty darn cute. He almost made it through the entire rodeo, but alas baby dreams called and we had to skirt out before the last events.

Travis & Henry at Reno Rodeo

What's in that bottle Dad?

For me, going to the rodeo is kind of a double edged sword. It’s a reminder of a life I once had and while I love watching and supporting all the cowgirls and cowboys who come to our town to entertain the masses, it’s sometimes hard for me to watch as a spectator.

Reno Rodeo

Colts at the Reno Rodeo run with their mothers

Lately, I’ve wondered if I’m living a life that is authentically me or if the life I lived as a barrel racing cowgirl in Elko County was more of who I really am. It’s not that I’m unhappy. I have a really amazing life. I just wonder how I went from being a tough as nails horse woman to a suburban mom/career woman. Is it possible to have both? Could I overlap the Jenny of then with the Jenny of now?

Of course, I’m grateful for the path my life has taken. I finished my education. I’ve traveled. I fell in love with and was smart enough to marry a man with integrity. I’ve become a mom, which was always one of my deepest desires (despite what I would have said in my early twenties).

But the fact is when I watch the cowboys and cowgirls a part of me yearns for that life again.

The smell of horse sweat and cow shit and broken in leather.

The absolute high of being one with a horse. Of running at full speed. The power and thrill of letting a horse have his head and just run. The trust that comes from that partnership.

The quiet solace of riding alone on off days.

The anticipation and excitement when arriving at the rodeo grounds. Walking the arena and smelling the iron in the dirt. The sweet smell of alfalfa.

Practicing and training for hours and hours and the absolute bliss when things finally came together.

Traveling on the road, eating crap food, listening to country music and hanging out with my dad.

 

I don’t know if I ever completely fit in in that world and I don’t know if I’ll ever completely fit in in this world either.

I’m a bit too liberal for most country folk. I’m a bit redneck and a little too straight forward sometimes for city folk.

I never learned the art of schmoozery. It just wasn’t part of the world that I grew up in.

I fear that there will always be a part of me that misses horses. And a part of me that is pissed that I ever let that world go. I know that the path my life has taken is part of a larger, more important journey and that there is no use in regret or the what ifs…could haves… should haves…

The truth is that by the end of my senior year of high school I was absolutely burnt out on rodeo and horses. It took me three years before I really thought about riding again and I got *this* close to buying a horse when I was in college.

This weekend we will head to Elko for my high school reunion. I’m torn about how I will feel there. There’s a part of me that yearns for small town life again. I desperately want Henry to have the childhood that I did.

I want him to know the magic of horses.

 

The Pumping Diaries

Three times a day I meander down to my pumping suite. Others refer to this as the handicapped stall of the women’s restroom. I know, legally, that my employer is supposed to provide a private place that is not a bathroom where I can pump, but I’ve chosen not to make it an issue. First, my employer and boss are awesome. Second, there truly is no other place where I could pump unless someone gives up an office. Third, I don’t care enough to make this an issue.

The bathroom suits me just fine.

The funny thing about pumping your breasts in an area that is shared by those who are just trying to do their business and move on is that no one knows the proper etiquette, myself included.

Should we talk? Ignore each other and listen to the hum of the breast pump? Discuss breastfeeding and motherhood? The weather? The weekend?

And what about that awkward moment when I walk into the bathroom and see someone walking into MY stall. Do I turn around and come back later? Do I say, “Uh, excuse me. Could you use another stall while I pump the milk out of my breasts?”

The most popular subject so far has been how long I plan on doing this whole breastfeeding thing. The women I work with who also happen to be mothers have shared their experience and most didn’t breastfeed past their return to work.

I get that.

If I weren’t in a supportive environment. If I didn’t have a husband who was  a crazy breast feeding supporter. If I hadn’t seen the lactation consultant in the first week.

I would have quit.

Plain and simple.

But now, I feel like I’ve got this breastfeeding thing on lock. My baby and I have a nice rhythm going and I don’t care to stop until, well, until I’m good and ready. Or until he gets teeth.
I’m still not sure I understand how that works…

Anyway, pumping at work has given me some great time to read my Kindle (thank you first mother’s day!) and bond with the other mommies in the office.

My favorite conversation so far went like this:

“Hey Jen! How’s that booby juice coming?”

“Oh hey! It’s going pretty good.”
The End.

3 Hours

I realized this week that I spend about 3 hours a day with my son during the work week.

It’s breaking my heart.

How do other moms do this?

We have our schedule down and I know that many say it’s quality over quantity, but 3 hours? Really?

Every morning I’m torn as I drop him off at the babysitter. I love our babysitter and I know he’s well cared for. He has little buddies and he’s developing at a crazy rate since he has a full posse of boys to watch and dote on him all day. It’s just so hard to feel like I’m missing so much of his life. It’s so hard when he watches me walk out the door.

Picking him up in the evening is the highlight of my day. I look forward to it all day.

I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a full time stay at home mom, but I don’t know if I’m cut out to juggle all of this either. I don’t know how people do this. How do you handle the mommy guilt? Does it get better? Easier? Worse? Harder?