The Lush Mommy Blog

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This child cranks our more artwork than I can possibly display. Typically he paints more than one piece of work a day—so by the end of the week he comes home with a stack of 5 to 10 pictures! That doesn’t include the pieces he brings home from summer camp.

Doing the math that’s at least 200 pictures a year! I would have to be the Smithsonian to be able to store or display these little masterpieces. So inevitably many of my son’s pieces end up in…… Oh My Gosh….. the trash.

I know… I know… it’s horrible. But I don’t think I’m alone in using this “private” filing system. I suspect this is yet another one of those dirty, little secrets with which plenty of parents struggle.

My solution to absolve my guilt has been plain and simple. I always rave about every piece my son brings home. I study each painting as if I’m analyzing the lines of a master painter. I display and file a few of them and quietly say goodbye to the rest.  While I think this is the best way to handle the “situation,” I feel horrible every time I drop one in the trash. So now I put them in the recycling bin. Much better. Less guilt.

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Losing weight is a struggle for plenty of people. It's a battle I've been fighting almost my entire life. For a few years however, I was dedicated to getting my body in shape and I did. But for the past 4 or 5 years I have not been able to motivate myself to get in gear. Dammit I miss Dexatrim! It's not for lack of time or resources-- I think there's some sort of mental block that is preventing me from getting back in the game.

I knew I wouldn't lose weight after my first son was born but after my twins arrived I was lucky enough to have dropped every single pound during delivery-- I was all baby. While I was extremely motivated to get the rest of the weight off unfortunately I just hit a wall. I thought my upcoming beach vacation would inspire me-- not so much. What is it going to take? I'm really not sure but I've decided I need a jump start.

So what should that jump start be? I'm thinking of trying one of those pre-packaged meal diets like Jenny Craig or Nutrisystem. I'm not looking forward to eating a lot of processed, over-salted food but I'm thinking it might be a way to light the fire. Is one better than the other? I'd love to get your feedback

What about you? Got any great jump start ideas?

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It sets up quickly, and the pump inflates the crib in less than a minute. The GoCrib can be stuffed into its backpack like a sleeping bag. The self-inflating, insulating mattress sets itself up and protects children from the ground.

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When you plan a wedding you focus on all of the details that, at the time, seem like the most important thing in the world. When I planned my own wedding, I tried to steer clear of the detail consuming nonsense—but like many brides I couldn’t seem escape it. I remember organizing all of the goody bags and party favors when a friend said, “Why are you doing all of this? No one is going to notice.” I remember being mad at the remark, but upon reflection she was right. It really didn’t matter and if anyone did notice—I never knew.

Recently when my daughter Mamie Grace died, I quickly realized many of those same details are involved when you plan a funeral. You have to decide on flowers, music, the service, the funeral program, the coffin, the cemetery, the food and so much more. And, you’re supposed to do all this while in mourning and/or shock.

The day after my daughter died, some friends came to my house and just camped out. They were waiting for me to give them some direction about what I wanted for her funeral. Honestly, I had no idea how much work had to be done and most of it just didn’t matter. There were only a few things I insisted upon; I didn’t want my baby to be buried in one of those Cadillac Escalade type caskets (glossy white with gold bling), I wanted to give the eulogy and host an amazing party at my home to celebrate MG’s very short time on this earth.

Not only did friends and family come from all over the country to attend the funeral, but also they came during Mother’s Day weekend! My friends knew this was not a time for me to wallow in sorrow—there was, and remains, plenty of time for that. This was a time to have some real perspective—something I think so many of us lack. My friends had to choke back their tears so I could focus on being present. I was indeed present. I soaked up every moment of joy and sadness and let it fill my heart and my head.

Several of my friends did the same. Many of them told me they felt guilty or bad for having so much fun at our funeral celebration. But that’s what I wanted. Seeing everyone laugh and have a wonderful time made me so happy. The irony—I had more fun at my daughter’s funeral than I did at my own wedding. Now that is how you celebrate life!

God Bless Mamie Grace 02/19/10 – 05/04/10 and her twin brother Brooks who I know misses her.

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After suffering complications from heart surgery my baby girl died on Tuesday, May 4th, 2010. She died in my arms. I have so much to say about that day, her life and what I have learned from her short time on this earth. I will write more later.

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I’m sitting in the hospital room of my two-month-old baby girl, Mamie Grace. She had heart surgery and is not doing well. Her chest is open and there are tubes filled with blood routed into and out of her heart. Right now, she can’t live without the machine that is attached to her.  Essentially, she is in a medically induced coma. Doctors say she has a 50/50 chance of survival.

This little baby has spent more time in the hospital than she has with me—I don’t even really know her yet. However, just before she was admitted to the hospital, we made a connection. She stared-- I stared back. She smiled-- I smiled back. What a nice moment we had.

I’ve been thinking about what her life means and what it means to die. When someone dies, the loved ones are sad and in pain. But, it doesn’t have to be that way, does it? I think I’ve come to some sort of understanding about life and death—if that’s possible. Here’s what I’ve come up with… life is a guest list.

When you have a party you invite all sorts of people: There are those who come and they’re the life of the party, they stay all night and leave you with some great memories. There is always a guest who says they’re going to come—you expect them and they never arrive. You’re disappointed but the party must go on. There’s a guest who comes and stays only for a short while. You’re sad to see them go but the party must go on. There’s a guest who you felt obligated to invite but, when they left, you were glad they came. There are the guests who come and you never get to talk to. While you wish you could have spent more time with them, you’re just happy you had the chance to see them. There’s a person you invited who doesn’t know anyone. You invited him because you felt bad for him. When the last guest leaves and the party is over you reflect on the night and you smile. It went by too quickly, you worked so hard to get it all together but you’re damn glad you did it.

When you host a party you invite fun, love, sadness, hope, pity, charity, longing and laughter. Life is indeed a guest list. We don’t always know how long our guests will stay, who will come, or how long the party will last.  We can only appreciate the time we had and those whose company we shared.

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When I first moved to Washington, D.C. I was 31-years-old, single and ready to conquer the world. Once I got my feet wet in the big city I went out almost every night. I would grab drinks with friends, attend some fabulous event or dine at a great new restaurant. I stayed up late and rolled into work at 9:00am—what a life! My mantra was “You can sleep when you’re dead.” But now, after 5 years of marriage, one dog, three kids, dozens of doctor visits, thousands of dirty diapers, vomiting episodes, fevers and midnight feedings, I just want someone to kill me so I can sleep!

These days sleep does not come easy. With the recent birth of our twins the birth of our first son seems like a faint memory. I do remember one time in the wee hours of the morning—it was my husband’s turn to feed our son—my husband awoke and said, “I’ll give you $100 if you take the baby.” It would have taken $1,000 to get me out of bed that morning. The lack of sleep that comes with newborns can make you so crazy you’re willing to do just about anything to get some shut-eye.

There are groups of people out there who make it their business to let you sleep—but it will cost you. I lovingly refer to them as the “Midnight Mafia.” You pay them for protection—protection from serious sleep depravation. The elite “Mafia” members come into your home in the dark of the night, take charge of your life and you pay them a lot to do it. They’re actually called "night nurses" and for a fee they will save your sanity. They take care of your baby or babies throughout the night so you can sleep. At $17 to $22 an hour they’re not cheap but when you’re dying for sleep you’ll pay anything to play dead for 8 hours.

Sleep is something many of us take for granted until we have children of course—at that point sleep becomes a luxury. But if the high price of sweet slumber means a happy family, then it may be time to pay the piper.

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I made it to 37 weeks and 6 days and just completed my last sonogram. My doctor wanted to make sure my twins could stay put for a few more days. After I left the doctor’s office I met my husband for dinner. We had just ordered some hot wings and I planned on sinking my teeth into a big, juicy burger. We were celebrating our “Last Supper” before the tidal wave of babies. Just before the food arrived my doctor called. She told me to get over to the hospital because she felt it might not be safe to wait until my scheduled induction. I was so pissed! I had been up since 2am and had not eaten much all day. She told me no food—just get to the hospital. Oh the drama!

Needless to say my babies were fine-- but once they get you into the hospital they don’t let you leave without a baby or in my case-- two. So I had yet another sleepless night, three painful IV’s, an enema and no food. Of course my husband went home and had a good night’s sleep. How nice for him.

The following day they decided it was time. My water was broken and the show was about to begin. A few powerful contractions later and my anesthesiologist arrived. Since my last epidural wore off during labor I decided to give this doctor a little piece of advice. I simply said, “If my epidural wears off again I will hunt you down.” He didn’t seem amused. Needless to say the damn thing worked!

They wheeled me into the operating room, turned on some music and I proceeded to deliver my babies while listening to the disco hit by the Bee Gees, “Staying Alive.” The spirit of John Travolta was with me! When it was time to push I pushed twice-- the doctor stopped and said, “Okay, on the third push your baby is going to come out.” My reply, “What? Are you kidding?” He was serious. On the third push-- out popped my baby girl. A few minutes later my son arrived after about 9 pushes.

The process was so quick and painless that I actually had fun. After suffering through a painful birth process with my first child this was a piece of cake. Speaking of cake, after the delivery of my twins I was so hungry that the hospital food seemed like a 5-star meal. I cleaned my plate.

That night I went to sleep with an empty belly, a full stomach and a sense of pride like I’ve never felt before. My husband? Well, he went home and had another good night’s sleep.

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I was getting my hair done today and the lady next to me started talking about my upcoming birth. She said, “Isn’t it just the most important day of you life?” I thought for a second and said, “No.” She looked a bit stunned and perplexed. That’s when I realized I was bit too honest with my hair salon stranger.

I went on to explain that I had post-partum depression with my last child and just didn’t have that glorious feeling some women talk about when their babies are born.  She still looked puzzled. It was then I realized why some mothers just “fake it.”

I’ve talked to so many women who have struggled with motherhood but yet don’t dare talk about it. I think my hair salon conversation is the perfect example of why some women are afraid to really say what they think. When you’re honest about your feelings and someone doesn’t understand you may start questioning yourself, doubting your abilities as a mother and ultimately just go along with the crowd. But how many in that crowd are doing the same thing? The fear of judgment can be powerful.

Why isn’t okay for you to just feel the way you feel? Well, when it comes to motherhood we’re facing generations of tradition. When you mess with tradition people get uncomfortable. I get it—but I can’t play along.

For the record, the most important day in my life was the day I met my husband. I replay that moment in my head all of the time. That was the beginning of what would lead to so much more... my amazing son.

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