We're Back!!

And, that's a wrap, folks.   We are back safe and sound in North Carolina!  I am utterly weary to the bone and Forrest is sleeping like the dead, but we are content and relieved to be home. I hesitated to even post again -- the last entry seemed a good place to end this adventure, but I've had so many messages wondering how and where we are, that I figured I better make it blog-official.   And to take this opportunity to thank all you wonderful people who followed along on this adventure.   It truly was something special to share it with you and made it so much sweeter for me feeling like I wasn't doing this trip all alone.   I had you. :)  

A weary world traveler who still just can't be pried away from his plane.

Thank you, also, to those who prayed for a safe and relatively easy trip home for us.  I think it was because of you that every single flight we had (3 total, with busses, trains and shuttles in between), that I somehow had an extra seat next to me.  What's more, on the long 8 hr flight from Madrid to JFK, right before takeoff, we were ushered from the back row, squished window seat, with none-too-happy people beside us to our very own ENTIRE row up in the PREMIUM coach seats. (Caps locks are so applicable here, you have no idea.)  Not sure how or why (there were multiple other babies on board), but the flight steward just came back and told me to gather my things, she had a "much better" situation for us. And then Forrest proceeded to take a 4 hour nap. Hallelujah. Seriously, thank you, Jesus.  

Thank you Kay Kay and PawPaw for being there at the end of the road! 

It still wasn't easy-- the vast majority of these last two weeks hasn't been easy. But I hope that following along on this adventure did at least one thing: inspire you to chance it. Inspire you to take a leap. Inspire you... inspire us... to go outside our comfort zones more.  I think very rarely do we regret when we "do it" - whatever that "it" looks like for you. We regret the shoulda, coulda, woulda's if we don't do it.   Maybe it's travel and a crazy adventure abroad pregnant, with just your 2 yr. old as a companion, but most likely it's something totally different. What is tugging at your soul that leaves you both a little scared and a little breathless? Figure it out and don't shy away from it.  It's not too hard. It's not impossible. It is worth it.     

And if you decide to blog about it, send me the link. I'd love to follow along. :)

A whole new decade

I turn 30 today!  My first thought is: sh**. My next thought is: spending my 30th birthday in France isn't quite as cool in reality as I thought it would be when I booked the ticket. At this point in the trip, it's actually a little lonely. But truth be told, I think it would be anticlimactic whether I was here abroad or in the US because I'm just going to be lonely without my lover, regardless.    Cue: "...its my party and I'll cry if I want to....cry if I want to...."    

Ok, sorry, lonely spousal separation aside, the day has actually been exquisite so far. I literally hit the most gorgeous weather week possible here in Provence and today has been no exception.  It's positively shimmering outside.  Forrest has been the giggliest, happiest little boy ever this morning and that, in and of itself, is one of the best gifts I could ask for. I'm trying to teach him how to say Happy Birthday and give me a foot rub, but that may be asking a bit much.  He is the best birthday companion I could ask for (well, his daddy would have been the best, but Forrest is a pretty good stand in) and I've been so grateful lately to have gotten this special time and trip with him before baby girl arrives.  He may not really understand or remember it, but it has been such a sweet, memorable adventure together. I'll always cherish these memories--not so much because they are specifically in France, but because they are with him in France and with him alone.   

So today we are celebrating, starting with the amazing breakfast buffet the hotel serves that I have been too cheap to eat prior. I still have no idea how much they charged the room, but, today, it didn't matter. Nowhere have I seen roquefort, brie, and fresh salami at a hotel breakfast spread. I'm virtually certain I massacred however one is to approach eating a softboiled egg in a silver egg cup, but I did give it a valiant effort -- my little pile of egg shells and yoke puddles just kept piling higher with each attempt, but luckily I can blame any and all messes on Forrest, and my corner table was very protected for such experimentation.   

Forrest, driving a pretty French girl around in a red sports car.  God help us in the future. :) 

There is an incredible Christmas market they are setting up on Cours Mirabeau right outside our hotel room. I'm super bummed the wooden stalls draped with greenery and Christmas lights won't open until Wednesday, which means I totally miss out, but there are a few childrens' carnival rides set up at the beginning that are open for business, and Forrest has been clambering for a ride each time we step out of the hotel doors.  I figured today was a good day to give in.  True to form he was all about it the first time around.  In all the circles, however, he lost sight of me, and ended up nearly crashing the whole locomotion in his attempt to escape and find momma.  It took almost an hour of sitting in my lap and just watching all the other kids go around and around before he finally wanted another go.  After that and multiple turns later, we left, him kicking and screaming and writhing in my arms with the whole world hearing his bellows of, "my car, myyyyyyyy caaaaaaarrrrr!"   Hot or cold, I tell you. Hot or cold. 

A cream and pumpkin soup with little pieces of apple... heavenly.

I'm not even entirely sure what this is . . . but does it matter!?! 

So now, I sit here in the hotel restaurant eating a peaceful, way-too-fancy-for-me dinner with my baby monitor and my glass of champagne and feel...well, not my age - definitely not my age... but really just thankful.  Thankful that I miss home and am ready to return, thankful for our safety when so many were not afforded it, thankful for a healthy, vibrant little boy and a husband who could (somewhat reservedly) condone a trip like this, thankful for family and friends who support me even if they don't fully understand me, and thankful for feeling success in what I needed the trip to signify to me (lets not count the french language catastrophe).    Coincidentally, I look back and realize I turned 18 in Chile as an exchange student, 21 in Spain as a University student, and now 30 in France as a sojourner of sorts. The freedom and passion to travel and to know other cultures in a deeper, immersive way has not subsided with the years, instead it has simply evolved, taking into consideration the vibrancy of a full and immeasurably blessed life. And for that, I welcome this new decade with a gratification that makes me want to cry.

Forrest and I will both miss this beauty that has delighted us every day the moment we step out of our hotel.  

The Day After

I sit here in my quaint hotel lobby a few hours away from Paris sipping tea while Forrest is napping peacefully and cannot think of what I could possibly write in the aftermath of last night's attacks. No words describe the horror. Perhaps Obama's statement of support to French President Hollande and the people of this country are as good as any: "This is an attack not just on Paris, not just on France, but an attack on all of humanity and the values that we share...an outrageous attempt to terrorize innocent civilians." To be sure, innocent civilians are being targeted and caught in the crossfire of terrorism all over the world each day, but rarely does it stop us in our tracks, reminding us that nowhere are we safe, that nowhere can we take our freedoms for granted.  Aix, as far away from Paris as it is, woke this morning reeling, somber, in disbelief.  The streets were deserted for hours before finally, slowly, people started venturing out, opening their shuttered businesses and huddling in quiet groups around their phones and newspapers.   I honestly didn't know if anything would open today, but life does continue even in the face of the unthinkable and with grim determination, the people of Aix, like the people of Paris, move forward. It is through this reality that I think comes the most poignant act of defiance against such evil: Their terror will not win.  They fight a war in which, though they injure, they have already lost.  Perhaps it is in the face of this fact that such acts of violence and mayhem become the epitome of grievious senselessness.   

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In this spirit of moving forward, I look back to yesterday's adventures with Forrest in the hopes of bringing a smile and a bit of joy to the moment.   I had written quite a bit last night when my ipad crashed without any of it being saved.  At that point, I crashed too.   The post went something like this: 

Forrest was a crazed bipolar child today, oscillating between Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with a fluency and extremism that astounded even me.  I'm sure we put the fear of God into most onlookers -- we were  that mother/toddler duo. You know the ones.  On the bus, on the sidewalk, on the boat (yep, we were on a boat - more on that later), in the restaurant, writhing in the stroller.  I can say it was epic only now curled in the fetal position in bed. Earlier, well, my choice of 4-letter words was not so mundane; neither was the pulsing cramps in my abdomen, the vicious headache, or the bloodied battle wounds we both garnered.  Ugh.  Granted, Forrest has been (relatively speaking) a pretty darn good little travel buddy, so I knew it was going to catch up with me at some point. I only describe it for you to let you know not all is peaches and cream traveling with a toddler. :)  HOWEVER, wait till you see some of these photos, and then tell me it isn't worth it. And lest you think I am just dragging him all over tarnation kicking and screaming (though points of yesterday may have pretty much been that), he also is having a really good time and was absolutely ecstatic about the boat ride - even more so than the bus ride!  ...Don't let his "toddler-ness" fool you into thinking he was the more injured party... Most of his complete melt-downs were in some variation due to me not letting him jump facefirst into the water to swim with the fishies, or let him clamber up on any old fishing boat he wanted, or get garbage from the bottom of the clear blue sea to "throw it 'way." 

We took 2 different busses to get to Cassis, a quaint little seaside village about 50 km south of Aix.  Winding through multiple towns and stops, it took us almost 2 hours to get there, but coming over the last of the southern France hills, we could see the Mediterranean lapping at the towering, sheer rock cliffs and this picturesque, medieval village carved into the hillside.   I'll let the pictures do most of the talking, but it reminded me a little of Venice, mixed with Carmel, mixed with the south of Spain, and complete with a 13th century castle up on the bluff that retains much of its mystique because no visitors are allowed.  As my friend Kate says: amaze-balls.

The incredibly clear water - the bottom is like 30 meters down the boat driver said.  November or not, I was tempted to jump in!

Cassis is known most for an intriguing collection of Calanques -- where streams flow into the sea at deep, protected points along the coastline.  They are all part of a national park and boast incredible hiking, which, except by boat, is the only way to access the little beaches and breathtaking views.  Forrest and I took an hour boat ride to go visit the 3 main Calanques and it was definitely the highlight of the day.  In one, Port Miou, hundreds of boats are harbored along limestone cliffs that were once quarried for use along the Suez Canal and the base of the Statue of Liberty among other places. The water is breathtakingly clear, and Forrest was ecstatic to see fish swimming alongside our temporarily moored boat.  The cliffpoint extending furthest out to the east, Cap Canaille, is the third highest sea-cliff in Europe, rising nearly 400 meters above sea level. Sir Winston Churchill spent a lot of time here in Cassis painting Cap Canaille. 

I have to be honest: I totally stole this photo from the web, but I just HAD to give you some idea of how incredible these calanques are and my pictures DO NOT do it justice.  

The trail (which goes all the way to Marseilles) is on the very crest of the cliffs.... it's a steep drop down for the brave souls who get to the beach, but imagine it on the way back up!

His cheeks hide the biggest smile of the day...  (Cap Canaille in the distance)

Be still my heart . . .  Yesterday, it was be still my spanking hand, but whatever. A day's perspective is everything! 

Are these sea urchins?  Whatever they are, this man was literally preparing them directly from the boat and bringing them to the seafood restaurant directly in front of him.   Can't get any fresher than that! 

Becoming a mute local

I would give my eyeteeth for an antique door like this. 

Forrest and I have walked a lot lately. Like, a really lot.  Today, we went even further afield, making it out past the "old city" to where the views open up and sequestered little neighborhoods hide behind high rock walls and draping ivy.   Boutiques, restaurants, museums, and mysterious enclaves hidden behind these magnificent old doors all gave way to primary schools, the city pool and even a small military training site (or maybe base?).  A little river appeared next to the sidewalk I was squeezing the stroller onto and we followed it to our destination-- a large natural space that, according to the hotel concierge, hid a small playground.  Students were running on the myriad of paths in perhaps what was team training groups and we wove in and out of the foot traffic over bouncy roots on a path that was clearly not meant for strollers.   Finally, in the distance, Forrest and I spied a slide at the same time. 

Still in the "old city." 

The playground in France is just one of the places that has caused me incredible consternation over the unbearably embarrassing level of French I have. Forrest gets to interact with these little kids regardless of their inability to communicate over spoken word, while I just hang around and smile my big dumb American smile and say Bonjour and "je ne parle pas le frances tres bien" to almost all the conversation starters thrown my way by the other mothers.  I literally feel like I know less French now than before I arrived.  I got off the plane in Marseilles and swoosh. Gone was whatever Rosetta Stone had been teaching me this summer.   Also, I totally learned or maybe just remember all the wrong things.  Who cares what time it is when all I want to ask the smiling mother next to me is how old her little girl is?   Forrest can only sit at a little cafe on the Cours Mirabeau and people watch for about 11 minutes (but boy, do I take advantage of those 11 minutes!)  and he gets pretty ancy strapped in his stroller all the time, so park forays have been a part of almost every day here.  In the perfect world, it would have been the ideal place to practice my French . . . but that would require me having slightly more French to start with I guess. Ugh. 

Cours Mirabeau.... it never gets old. 

Talking about other mothers at the park brings me to the fact that I think France has more beautiful women per capita than any other country I've ever been in.  Most women here are quite stunning; and almost every single one dresses impeccably well.   I also could literally count the number of overweight people I've seen in a week on one hand. 

Ok, so at least I have a general concept of what is behind this set of doors, but seriously... don't they just make you want to creak them open and have a peak?  I also think its humorous the statues on each side look like they are getting a massive headache -- commerce, I agree, can be a major pain! 

Seriously, someone please find me a way to get a set of these home... Heck, I'd even settle for the brass door knockers.  

This morning was one of the large multiple square markets held 3-4 times every week here in Aix. Locals shop almost exclusively at these for produce, meats, and cheeses rather than the supermarket. Forrest and I have been missing having a kitchen, but found some absolutely amazing apricot with lavender jam to go with our fresh baguettes.   

We actually haven't been eating many restaurant meals, but I've had so much bread and cheese and fruit lately, I just had to get a legitimate salad last night.   ....Somehow they make even what I thought was a basic caesar look incredibly gourmet. 

Olive picking in Provence

Olive picking in Provence.... Can't believe I am even writing that.  Today was exceptional.  And like most exceptional things, it was not easy to come by...    

I had found Les Pastras Farm and their olive picking and truffle hunting excursions on multiple websites for best activities to do around this area.  A little digging and it turns out that Johann and Lisa Penin are a French/American couple who used to work and live in Chicago before giving up their corporate careers to return to Johann's grandfather's farm in the hills of Provence about 10 years ago.  Their farm is small, about 28 acres, but has olive trees that Johann says are hundreds and hundreds of years old. They also have a small amount of grapes and a growing number of "Truffle trees, which are really oak or a similar type that have been inoculated with truffle spores and then planted. It takes 7-10 years to then harvest any truffles and only about 25% of the inoculated trees actually end up producing.  (That's why truffles or "black gold" are so expensive!)   We are a little early for the winter truffle hunting experience and just past the prime grape harvest, but mid-November is the prime season for olive picking, and what better way to experience authentic Provencial culture!

Turns out, it was actually a little more difficult to participate than it seemed...    Johann and I exchanged multiple emails the last few days and he suggested I use what most of their guests do: a chauffeur guided trip in a private vehicle. Minimum cost for this though was 150 Euro (just for the transportation to the farm and back - its about 30 minutes from Aix).   It was just too much money for me though and I felt sure i could figure out a way to get there more cheaply.  (Gosh, I just realized how much my father's daughter I am)  Turns out, as I don't have a carseat for Forrest here, the chauffer didn't want to take me anyway.  Instead, I found a bus route that would take me to the small village of Cadenet for just 2 euro.  Their farm is only 2-3 km from the center of the village and I was sure I could either walk or find a taxi, so I decided to just try it and see what would happen. Forrest loves the busses here, so the roundabout, multiple stop, hour ride this morning didn't phase him, plus we saw all sorts of beautiful country. Meanwhile, I was trying to call taxi services to pick me up in Cadenet.  I think both my request and my extremely broken french were a turn-off, so the multiple people I talked to finally just said, "no, we are sorry, we don't do that."   Great.  The bus driver didn't really understand what I was doing or which stop I wanted to be dropped at, so we were all the way through Cadenet and on the other side before I figured out we needed to get off.   The three people on the bus tried to point me in basically the right direction, but all really had no idea where I was trying to go or why the heck I, in my present state, was trying to get there at all.   At this point, I may have started to sweat and was for sure doubting I could get to the farm at all. But, at the very least, I knew we could just wander around Cadenet and then catch a bus back to Aix.

So Forrest and I walked a block or two back into town and found a restaurant just opening for the day where I asked if I could request a taxi to take me to a little farm up the way.  The owners inside were a wonderful couple who spoke English and really wanted to help.  They also happened to know the Pepins, who apparently frequent their restaurant a lot. They tried calling for a taxi with no luck either and then insisted on driving me themselves as the husband had to go to the grocery that direction anyway.   Now, lest you, my wonderful readers, think I just hop in random strangers' cars at every turn - rest assured, I don't.   This, for a number of reasons, was an exception. 

Forrest and I finally arrived at Les Pastras Farm significantly after my scheduled 10:30am start time and a nice farmhand showed us where the rest of the group was in the olive grove down the hill.  I think Johann was about as shocked to see me and Forrest as we were to have made it.    

Johann Pepin describing how one prunes an olive tree for optimum sun, wind, and pollination. 

The fog had all burned off and it was a perfect Indian summer kind of day with not a cloud in the sky. There was about 8 or 9 in our group and Johann taught us all about olive growing and harvesting, about his organic farming practices and the small but amazing quality of olive oil he produces. We picked and talked and of course, Forrest was a hit. He turned out to be quite good at picking, and it only took one taste to convince him these were for the bucket and not his mouth.  Olives right from the tree taste NOTHING like the black or green ones we eat!  He also was the youngest picker Les Pastras had ever had. :) Afterwards, we feasted on Les Pastras olive oil, wine, fresh bread and cheeses, as well as truffle oil and truffle salt.   

The farm and the countryside were postcard picture perfect.  It really does look like what you would imagine Provence to be.   I wish my pictures did the views better justice.   Rolling hillsides dotted with the golden leaves of grape vines in the fall, magnificently towering oaks lining the undulating country lanes, chateau-type homes nestled into the hills and flanked by all the splendour of the Provencial views.    I have been to the French Alps, which are stunning indeed, but if I were to ever move to France, I think it would be to Provence. 

Nice picking bud! 

I think this was right after he tried to eat one....wasn't going to open his mouth again! 

Green olives have the most flavor, the purple start to become soft and don't add much to the oil, but Johann presses them all anyway as there are so few purple.  We hauled in a lot more than this, don't worry.  

All together, we picked about 25 kilograms of olives in just a short time. All of Johann's trees are picked by hand so as not to damage the olive which causes the oil to become rancid.  

A row of baby oak trees which have all been inoculated with truffle spores.  If the spores are active, the ground right beneath the tree becomes bare, like the one in the foreground. They don't cut any grass around the trees in order to tell which will produce. 

Their home... when he asked if anyone needed a restroom I jumped at the chance to see inside... the most beautiful, obviously authentic, rustic French-country home you can imagine.  

Yes, it was as good as it looks.  

All local cheeses and pate... Forrest wasn't even tempted, while I simply died of ectasy, but little man actually loved the truffle oil and salt! 

(....I hesitate to even go here, but I know I am probably getting some raised eyebrows given my current "expectant" state. I guarantee you though, sampling a little authentic french wine and soft cheese did not hurt baby girl one little bit...she's literally kicking me as I type this probably wanting more.) 

Aix - City of a Thousand Fountains

Yesterday I think all the travel caught up with both Forrest and I.  We were definitely tired and Forrest was pushing all my buttons while my patience bordered on nil.  Thank goodness for Carla and thank goodness for a change in pace and location, because tired grumpyness is even worse in North Carolina. :)   Both before and after naptime, we wandered the streets around the historic city center near the hotel, finding a picturesque park with a little playground, a to-die-for brunch on the famed Cours Mirabeau, a couple little cafes for snacks and coffee, and a million amazing looking boutiques and shops that were all closed tight because this is Sunday and like any typical Provincial town, Aix is apparently super sleepy the last day of the week. 

But the incredible architecture still proudly invited our inquisitive gazes. They say the Baroque influence in French architecture is only greater in Paris and Versailles. Aix is also known for its fountains. Narrow, winding, cobblestone streets inevitably lead to some fascinating square and another unique water feature -- some no bigger than a large bird bath, others, like this one outside my hotel, are multi-layered and form their own impressive traffic roundabout.  This one was built in 1860 as one of the premiere landmarks in the city. Notice the interesting juxtaposition of the Apple store in the background, though.  I notice very few people even take a second look at the fountain, while true to every Apple store back in the states, this one is overflowing with people everytime I walk by.  At least Forrest is still incredibly impressed by the city's fountains. He goes crazy for every one, shrieking "wawa, wawa!" and pointing like a maniac while attempting to catapult himself inside.  Apparently, NC's selection of fountains is decidedly lacking in comparison.

Driving here is a test of maneuverability and quickness on both the part of the pedestrians and those behind the wheel.  I swear I am walking on what should definitely constitute a sidewalk or maybe alleyway if I'm generous, when a tiny Peugeot comes carining around the corner on what is apparently a legitimately sized street. I never see one way signs, but there is no way a bicycle could pass an oncoming car on some of these streets much less another vehicle.  I had thought about renting a car here.  I think it best I don't. :) 

We walked Carla to the bus station just a few blocks away this afternoon.  Now Forrest and I are on our own. I've been speaking almost entirely in Spanish the last few days and now need to really buckle down on my French, which to judge by waiters' faces around here is decidedly lacking in even the most basic skills.   Maybe if we hang out at the playground enough we can make a french friend....

A moment of glee. 

I have actually never tried Coq Au Vin in the States, but I'd venture to guess the bar is now set pretty darn high...  French cuisine has thus far not disappointed! 

So sad to see Carla go today... gracias por pasar un tiempo tan dulce conmigo, amiguita mia, que te vaya super bien en la U en Barcelona! 

To France we go

My 5-month pregnant self and my toddler are going to France tomorrow. Alone. Because, well, we need an adventure.  I need an adventure.  My still-supportive husband thinks the whole thing is insane, but he just deployed, and I'm feeling slightly panicky about life in general and the continual fading of my individual identity. (It also doesn't help that I turn 30 in two weeks and may be going through a premature mid-life crisis.)  So, as an early birthday present to myself, Forrest and I are packing our bags and headed to a part of Europe I have never been.  We know nobody and I speak about as much French as Forrest does English. ....valiant attempts by Pimsleur and Rosetta Stone notwithstanding. But, nothing will deter the giddy butterflies in my stomach as I finalize a million last minute details and anticipate gluttonous amounts of fresh baguettes and cheese.    THIS IS GOING TO BE EPIC!     

So much of my young adult life was spent traveling and living abroad.  Those experiences shaped much of the woman I am and the things that makes me passionate. Life has a way of tying you down though, and, now, pregnant with my second child, I feel the impending "stuckness" like never before. Granted, I have an amazing life: a caring, wonderful husband, a beautiful little boy and way more blessings than I deserve. For as long as I can remember, though, I have fought this feeling of claustrophobia with my mainstream American life. Even marrying a military man and moving all over the country hasn't been enough to keep it at bay. I still feel this intense need to spread my wings and go the road less traveled. Being mommy and wife are joys that hold no comparison, but they are not all I am. So I'm packing it all up and confirming to myself that freedom, independence, and "young" Nicole are not all lost. 

Sure, there are innumerable reasons why I shouldn't do a trip like this:  Financially, this is for sure not a wise use of meager funds. I am doing it on a shoestring budget, but I'm sure less hormonal people than I could think of better ways to use the money.  Logistically, the trip could very well be a nightmare. Forrest isn't quite two, so I didn't have to buy a separate ticket for him.... which means we're actually going to fit 3 humans in one seat if you count baby sister inside of me. Pray for me. Actually, better yet, pray for everyone around me. Physically... well, strap a watermelon to your stomach, a 30 lb seething mass of boyhood to your hip, and see how traipsing half-way around the world by yourself makes you feel.  Is it weird that I literally couldn't be more excited? 

My dad recently started an fantastic journey traversing the long diagonal of the United States in an antique 1920's Model A Roadster Pickup.  Yeah... Florida Keys to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska in literally one of the oldest vehicles possible. (He's doing it by himself too)  While my mode of transportation and destination are vastly different, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree in our nomadic spirits and thirst for adventure.   It is something I hope my children pick up as well.    So, I invite you to come on this crazy journey with us over the next two weeks as I blog about all the ups and downs that are coming. I'm sure it will be a wild ride. :)

I Need A Manual

How in heaven's name did new moms know what to do before the omniscient Google search?    I guess back then they had grandmothers and aunts and older sisters and midwives always at arms reach, which -- for the record -- I would give my left foot to have near me. But in lieu of that, I guess I am grateful for technological advances that shoot back applicable responses to my inquiry of "How much should my baby be eating?" and "Can I give my baby a hunk of apple?"    (The answer to the last question is yes, btw).  

Lately, Forrest is the most spastic nurser ever, and I've been worried he isn't getting enough breast milk. At 6 mo old, I know he should be getting the vast majority of his nutrients from me still and really only trying out these solid foods as "practice."  Well, he clearly thinks he's completely ready for a cheeseburger, fries, and large milkshake, and acts like nursing is a colossal inconvenience at best.    After all, it requires him to be still, which he detests.   He'll take approximately two swallows and then arch and twist until I sit him up and he can confirm the world is still as he left it.  Then its back down for two more swallows and repeat. 75 times. If I hold him real tight and try to keep his focus right in front of his face by waving my fingers or getting him to grasp my thumb, I may get 4 swallows for my efforts.  But that is interspersed with him beating the side of his body with his fist like a gorilla in heat.   Seriously, this kid.  

So for all the google responses that came back to me with something like: your child will let you know when he's had enough. And don't try to fit in that extra bit or one last swallow, because then you'll be promoting unhealthy eating habits and he'll probably grow up to be morbidly obese.... (ok, I added that last part, but it's all being said between the lines)   Have they taken into account the 10-second nurser that Forrest has become?   And if I let him "be done" when he wants to be, that he would get probably like 2 ounces of milk all day?

All that being said, this was a highly helpful site that did answer some of my questions: wholesomebabyfood.momtastic.com. But I still am a little worried that at 6 mo., Forrest is much more interested in food than milk.  How do I convince him that lying back, relaxing, and snuggling against his momma to nurse is not such a terrible thing?   At this rate, I'll be lucky to even get a high five in a year.... and I thought little boys loved snuggling their mommas....  

My baby is 6 months old

I can't believe it. Six months has literally flown by. Everyone says it does, but like so many other things in life, I really have to experience it myself before I believe them.  Well. It's true.   What stands out to me about the past half a year are as follows:

• Non-medicated LABOR.  Enough said.
• Scrunched up little legs while sleeping on your chest.   He never does that anymore. :(
• Pleading, pitiful prayers for just 10 more minutes of sleep
• Realizing I was actually looking forward to those quiet, peaceful nightly feedings, where I would just stare at him in awe and feel like my heart might break in two 
• His first milk-coma smiles I swore were real
• Poop. So much poop.
• The first time he threw his arm around my neck
• Little webbed toes
• His absolute lack of feeling any obligation to smile back at you 
• The tremble in his bottom lip just before he sticks it out
• The look on his face when he sees me peak over the crib
• Nighttime dancing squats
• Traveling by myself cross-country with a 4-mo old
• Nuzzling his neck
• His smell, which if I could bottle it up and sell it, I would make millions

Finslippy

So I don't do very often what good bloggers must do: read other blogs.  The realistic side of of me says that I don't have enough free time to just veg out on the couch and read other people's crazy rants (I only want people to do that to my blog), but then the other side of me just plain forgets that there are other really interesting/mildly special people out there writing kind of like I am.       Then, every once in a while, I randomly read all through my blog list (you should check it out too, cuz some are pretty amazing mildly special people talking about life) and then I get rejuvenated and think, yes!  I can do this too.    ("this" being blogging... Maybe that was obvious... Ok)

At any rate, Finslippy is a cool little blog simply because Alice Bradley makes me laugh and I feel like in another life we would have been BFF's over chai tea. Or maybe sushi. And I feel like she may raise her little one a little like we are going to -- basically just trying to not let him fall off the bed. Again.  (I cringed as I wrote that because its a true story. agh)  (Is cringed the past tense of cringe? It looks weird)

At any rate...again... I liked this part of her post a few weeks ago:

Okay, so: first mistake, one big basket. My second mistake was that I put all my work hours toward work that didn’t really speak to my talents. My corporate assignments could be completed by any reasonably smart person; they didn’t need my specific strengths. I was (gasp!) expendable. Which got me thinking, okay, where can I be invaluable? (Or more valuable?) And that led me back to this blog. This is a valuable platform for me. It gets me work. Also, and more importantly, I enjoy it. It’s what I do. It’s important to do what you love, if you have that luxury. I know many people don’t, and I certainly don’t always, but I do here. So: I am recommitting to the blog for selfish reasons, but I hope you don’t mind that. (Wait, does anyone blog for selfless reasons?) 

So maybe I'll try to do more of this blogging thing.  I like it, and I think it gives me a platform to practice writing and sharing stories: two things I love.  My audience (all 3 of you) may have to go through some real growing pains with me and for that I apologize profusely in advance.  But stick with me, and maybe I'll get it together and actually make sense sometimes.   And there is always that off chance this blog could help get me work.   Though I won't hold my breath for that one.

Making The Choice

Some say today's women can have it all: thriving kids, successful career, healthy marriage, clean house, a close circle of friends and still manage to get a pedicure every once in a while.   I'm only 5 months into this thing called motherhood, but I have to say, I call bullshit.   There are only 24 hours in the day, and even though 8 hours of sleep is a long-lost memory, I don't know how these superwomen do it all.  

If you can, (some of my best friends seem to be doing a hell of a good job at it) I give you props and then some.  But I am throwing in the towel on being able to "have it all" and with my stomach in knots, am saying goodbye to what once looked like a very promising career.  Today is my last day on the job.

For the past 3 months I've only worked part time, which I felt like I could balance well and still maintain my sanity.  What I didn't account for was having to pay a sitter more than I would end up making and being stuck in a position that did nothing to satisfy my aspirations but was all that made sense for the "part-time person."  I guess I'm young enough and naïve enough to not be ok with mediocre.  I only want great.    And I think my full time career could have been that. It could have been great.   But what I have now in Forrest is amazing, and if I can't do both, I wholeheartedly choose him.   It's just, well... I feel like a little part of me is dying today and if I start crying right here at my desk on my last day of my "career," I hope the world understands.  I've worked on my profession for over a decade, and I only worked on creating Forrest for 9 months.

I bet some people think I'm an awful woman right now...

There's a song out there with the lyrics, "In the blink of an eye; Seems like minutes as the years fly by... Afraid to stop because you can't stop time."   I know that Forrest will grow up so fast, and when it's all said and done, I don't think I will ever regret leaving a promising full time career behind to be present with him every day.  I am trading in business development meetings for play dates, pencil skirts for spit-up soaked t-shirts, and challenging DoD solicitations for Mother Goose and Curious George.  I am trading in a comfortable income and some nice discretionary spending for a real tightening of the proverbial belt. But I really feel like I'm doing the right thing. I want to be with him -- to be wholly present and to be... his.     It's just . . . I feel like I'm going through an identity crisis.

Today is my last day on the job.   And tomorrow I may cry a little for what is past, but then I will scoop my beautiful little boy up and cuddle him as if my life depends on it.  Because it might.

   

Thoughts from a traveling Mommy

Forrest and I just got home from an 8 day trip to San Diego and Tucson. I was beyond haggard by the time we landed back in Raleigh (and may have even shed a tear when I heard Bo's voice on the phone) BUT, it was a liberating adventure I'm so glad I did.  Here are my lessons learned for the next time:

• Traveling with an infant by yourself is challenging but doable. My independence concern is somewhat assuaged.
• What I thought was packing light definitely wasn't. For the next week long trip, we each only get 4 outfits and 3 pairs of shoes. (Well, ok, I get 5 outfits.)
• Forrest's toys need to be heavily rationed. Consider rationing diapers.
• Breast feeding still continues to be the easiest answer for hungry cries. The fact that sometimes it ends up happening in the middle of the outlet mall or in seat 8F next to the 25 yr. old navy Seaman who's never even held a baby, just has to be a part of life and not something to get self-conscious about.
• Its a great learning experience to have said Seaman hold Forrest for part of the flight. An added benefit is there is no room for him to drop the baby.
• Turns out, Forrest values socializing more than nap time... He can be so incredibly good with so little sleep until finally, he's not.
• Little baby ears seem to acclimate better and better with each flight. When they seem to be struggling, nurse. Those that may raise an eyebrow at you normally for nursing in such close proximity to total strangers, would much rather suffer through sitting next to a nursing mother than a screaming infant. Promise.
• When you are wobbling down the gangplank with overflowing bags, spastic child in arms, BOB stroller and car seat to break down and gate check at the bottom and someone offers to help-- for the love of God, accept.
• If you ever see similar situations in the future, for the love of all things holy, offer help.
• Unless you have the whole row to yourself, DO NOT sit in the window seat. When faced with their options, whoever is in the aisle will trade you.
• The flight stewardesses will love holding your baby while you go to the bathroom. Just make sure they aren't busy when you ask.
• Be absolutely sure you have enough diapers and extra clothes to recover from at least 3 massive blow-outs... in a row...
• And lastly, take lots of pictures and revel in every moment -- even those that were ugly on so many levels.  Each is a memory you will forever cherish.

 

TGIF

I was supposed to go to a girls' coffee/fellowship thing this morning. I was actually really looking forward to it all week and would have absolutely gotten my butt out of bed on my day off if Bo hadn't kept me up with our DIY Home Renovations (see last post) till after midnight and Forrest hadn't gotten me up approximately every 2 hours after that.   Finally at 7:30 am, I threw in the towel, brought him into our bed (I know, I know, I'm not supposed to do that) and admitted to myself I wasn't going to get up for coffee and fellowship like I probably should have.    

We had a glorious lazy morning in bed with our son (Bo didn't have to work today either - PURE gloriousness!) and then I made cottage cheese pancakes and now I sit here wondering what else I could possibly blog about than this relaxing, sun-filtered, hot-latte-in-hand Friday morning.  I realize no one else may care about my Friday morning, but this is my blog after all and it does say "a journal...of sorts."    So I don't even apologize.    Ok, fine... I do kinda feel bad.  Sorry to all those dutifully slaving away at "real" work right now.   I wish you could be here with me. I would even make you a latte.

My chunky monkey is snoozing away in his swing (remember, he hardly slept last night either), so I should take advantage of the glorious morning and get some weeding done. I keep holding my breath that maybe, just maybe, spring has arrived.  But then invariably we get a frost the next morning, so this is me not holding my breath any more.   Maybe my forced nonchalance will aid in holding the long tentacles of Winter at bay.

DIY Home Renovation

So our house has never been a "fixer upper," but for whatever reason construction projects have been a huge part of our home-owning experience since the beginning.  Maybe its because we have too much vision or maybe its a mark of Bo's OCD. Whatever the case, if we don't have 17 different on-going projects all in various stages of completion it's an off month.  Our current crisis looks something like this.... ok...exactly like this.

Once completed, the projects (so far) have all turned out beautifully ... ok, there have been a few exceptions- like our homemade mantel that never would stop dripping sap and a screened in porch that could double as a set in The Conjuring.   Still, by and large, we've been very proud of our mostly DIY home renovations.   In the midst of the madness it can be pretty overwhelming (our current mindset) but I guess even a crack of light at the end of the tunnel gives us enough oomph to push through.    Since I have no banister or railing on either my staircase or 12 foot tall balcony and no friends will come visit me until I do, we should get back to work.   Hopefully, I'll soon be able to post the "after" pictures.

Oh, and yes, that is a baby swing overlooking the "stain the railing" project. Forrest is becoming quite the supervisor.  

A picture's worth a 1000 words

It's my 3 mo birthday, and if daddy wants to feed me frozen snicker bar than who am I to refuse?   

(.... hehehehe...shhhh....I just had frozen snicker bar)

For heaven's sake, when will they figure out I will NEVER enjoy tummy time. These cheeks are way too heavy to hold up!

She sits on my lap, but won't let me kiss her!!!

....Random aside just cuz its pretty -- Derby, on an evening swim

Bath time AND I found my toes -- what could be better!?!?

Oh golly, mom, are you going to use this at my high school graduation?

Small sips of air

Small Sips of Air.... my yoga instructor's voice makes it sound soothing and easy even in a stifling bikram room where the latest contortion has my body screaming for relief and my eyes burning with the salty sweat pouring from my forehead. I close my eyes and focus and breathe. Small sips of air, and my mind clings to it like a mantra. ...Small sips of air....

But it's outside that room that maybe I need the most practice. Small sips... it's something I don't do very well. I gulp. It's why I hate ice in my drinks. I sprint, and I speed. I floor it when the light is yellow and hold back road rage when a car is slow.  I lunge. I grasp. I overcommit and overextend.  I don't do sips very well.  But I think there is something to be said for intentionally slowing everything down and taking small sips instead of 7-eleven gulps.

I thought life would ease up a bit with the arrival of Forrest.  (easy does it, all you loudly guffawing mothers). I knew I would only work part time and my additional time at home was sure to be just the picture of relaxation. Instead, I feel like a tightly wound top -- and my kid isn't even crawling.  I succumb so easily to this culture that teaches you to never be satisfied, to always strive for more, to commit to more activities, to make more money, to get more stuff. There is no time or energy for small sips. And none of the above is bad -- in fact, it can all be good. And believe me, apathy or laziness is definitely not the antidote.  

But I find my breath catching in my throat to gaze at my baby's perfect pouty lips the moment he stops nursing when they are still damp and slightly puckered and realize it's the first time I've really drank him in all day.   My breath catches when the afternoon rolls on by and I'm more worried about meeting a deadline, my to-do list for tomorrow, or the fact that I haven't worked out yet, than making my little boy giggle.    When I just stop and sit and be.... I feel guilty. Why is that?  I worry that I'm not progressing more in my career. I worry that the house projects may not give us equal return when we sell. I think I should be taking a few college classes.  I should be writing more. I should be gardening more. I should get out and start traveling again. I should, I need, I should, I need. Small sips are hard when life just keeps spinning and spinning.  But how much do we miss out on in our never-ending thirst for more?  Perhaps it is one of life's greatest ironies that small sips give us the most return.  I pray I take more small sips. I pray I don't value these huge gulps so much. I want to be the best I can be and live to my potential; but I don't want to look to the future so much I lose sight of the present. I want to rest in today, and be ok with missing out on things. I want to not get everything done, to not accomplish that next step or succeed in that next opportunity. I want to go against my own rigidly developed grain. For once, I want to sip small sips.

Oh Boy

So at the very real risk of being reported to CPS and having every other much more knowledgeable and safety conscious parent judge me, I am posting this video of Forrest's newest trick. ...Done in literally the span of 30 seconds while I stepped out of the room to move along a load of laundry. And I admit it... So maybe I immediately grabbed the camera rather than my son... but I swear I'm a pretty competent parent.   Still, it's probably a good thing this blog will only be read by my nearest and dearest.

So we obviously think Forrest is advanced. I mean, I guess every parent probably thinks their child is special, but seriously -- this kid.  He's something else. He's not even 3 months old yet and I feel like the next time I turn around he'll probably be doing a cartwheel and asking for an advance on his allowance.   He's rolling over with some regularity although his absolute refusal to do so in front of the camera is a point of ongoing consternation for me.   He laughs all the time and scrunches his little chin into his chest, peeking out at you under his amazing eyelashes. His newest thing is putting his arm around your neck or over your shoulder. He nestles right into your neck and you literally feel like you might melt into a puddle of ecstasy. The other day he slung his arm around my neck, leaned back and, I swear, winked at me. I almost died.

On another note, I've gotten one week back at work under my belt.  Besides the fact that I'm wearing heels again, I don't have too much else positive to say about it.  I'll give it some time, but I'm really torn.

Airplane wings and weddings

We are just getting home from a quick weekend trip to MI for Bo's sister Katie's wedding.  It was a lovely, Valentine's Day affair. Small and simple, but with all the love, family, and friends that make such events unforgettable and oh so special. It also made for Forrest's first airplane ride.  I have to say, he looked the part in his little aviator jacket, but had more than a few choice words to shriek while experiencing pressure change for the first time.   I think we had every single surrounding person lamenting with us and exchanging advice that was "sure to work" as we struggled to help him pop his ears or whatever his little body needed to do.   Poor thing.  The second flight I nursed him the whole 40 minutes and we barely heard a peep.  I think there is a certain amount of grace though for the heart-wrenching newborn cry.  A toddler's bellows may not elicit quite so many kind-hearted grimaces. I'm sure we'll find out in another couple years. 

Walking around the airport, we took turns holding the little man in the front pack. It was all I could do to hide the twinkle and little giggle every time Bo took him. Don't tell Bo I said this, but he positively strutted every time he was holding Forrest. It may have just been the 12 lbs strapped to his front and the sudden change in center of gravity, but I swear his chest puffed out, his gate changed, and I almost expected a plume of peacock feathers to suddenly spread out behind him.   

On Saturday, Forrest gave the bride a run for her money in the attention-getting department.  Next wedding I may have to lock him in a closet or something so he doesn't steal all the oohs and aahhs. It is fun, though, to see him interact and engage with people so much more than even a few weeks ago. He loves his older cousins a
nd they all can't wait "until he does stuff" as 4 yr. old Logan says.  I was never really that close with my cousins growing up -- for both distance and age factors.  Bo, however, has over 20 first and second cousins that he grew up with and spent nearly every summer at the lake with.  I hope and pray that Forrest gets to experience that kind of camaraderie and extended family adventures. They are for sure friendships and memories that are priceless.  

The Real World Beckons

So I'm headed back to work next week.  One moment I'm looking forward to getting out of the house and putting on real clothes, and the next moment I'm fighting this panicky desperation at the thought of being away from Forrest so long.   Granted, it's only 20 hours and 3 days a week.  It can't be that bad right?   We'll see if perhaps I have more patience for work place drama than before...

So now there are all these pumping and working mom aspects I need to know.  How much milk does Forrest need for a 7-8 hour day away from me? How does my care provider not overfeed him (or underfeed him for that matter...If only he could talk, this would all be so much easier.) Am I going to need to keep increasing the amount of milk I leave with her as he gets bigger? What if I can't pump enough to keep up?  Luckily, i stumbled across WorkandPump.com which helped answer many of these. What the heck did moms (ok, people in general) do before the internet?