We are the Bullies

Growing up I was on both the giving and receiving end of bullying. I was guilty of following the pack and not standing up for kids, but there were times I did. There were times I was on the other side of the pack and was picked on and bullied. Back then (way back in the 80s and 90s) my mom always encouraged me to not only be the bigger person but to also embrace the emotions that came from being bullied. I was reassured that it was okay to cry and it was okay to empathize and feel others’ pain. She reassured both my brother and I that our sensitivity to and respect of not only our feelings but those of others’ was and is a good thing.

Today’s kids aren’t taught this. They are told that feelings are a weakness and that caring for others’ feelings is being a snowflake. If they are bullied or picked on, they are told to suck it up and toughen up.

We mock safe spaces.
We mock empathy.
We mock feelings.
We mock emotions.
We mock sensitivity.
We mock kids who speak up.
We mock those who are different from us.
We mock those that are bullied.
We mock their tears.

We are the bullies.

By teaching our children that showing feelings or compassion is bad, we are creating a society of emotionless and apathetic citizens. And we wonder why we are quickly becoming the nation of school shootings. We wonder how a bully like Donald Trump was elected president. We wonder how bullies become the talking heads on extremist media.

We are teaching our children that feelings do not matter and to just suck it up. We are accepting the behavior of the bullies and punishing the bullied. How messed up and backwards is this?

People aren’t “snowflakes” or “cucks” because they respect the feelings of others and acknowledge their own feelings. These are both characteristics of strong people and the very characteristics we should be looking for in our leaders. We need to embrace our feelings and we need to show and feel empathy towards others. We need to teach more than tolerance and instead focus on acceptance and compassion. We need to welcome emotions. We need to welcome differences.

If we want to change the direction we are heading, we have to stop this whole attitude of “suck it up” when it comes to kids that are bullied and we need to address the real problem of bullying – both in our schools and among our politicians and adults. The internet gives bullies a safe space to hide behind their words and we all feel more emboldened behind the keyboard. But we aren’t gaining anything from this and the only thing that we accomplish is digging deeper divisions.

Mom Guilt, Let it Go

Becoming a mom has been the most rewarding, challenging and changing thing I have ever done. But, it’s also unleashed a whole new meaning for “guilt.” Anyone else struggle with #MomGuilt?

Yesterday marked my third official Mother’s Day and my first as a mama trying to balance and juggle two little ones. In a week, I’ll be adding my job back into the mix. With this, double the working mom guilt.

The guilt that comes with the feeling of dread every time the phone rings during your work day, and the immediate feeling that follows that dread. You know, the guilty feeling because you dreaded your babies needing you in the middle of a work day. This guilt is then followed by more guilt as you hang your head and sulk into your boss’s office to tell them you need to leave. The guilt and anger you feel as you sit in your annual review and your boss tells you that your sick kid is a problem and suggests you find someone else to care for him when he’s sick (yes, this actually happened). Or worse, the guilt you feel as you call your husband because your workday won’t permit you time away.

Then there’s the guilt you feel at home. The guilt when you’re so tired and just want a moment without being needed or touched, but that is all your child wants. The guilt as you try to use the bathroom in peace and your toddler beats on the locked door because the miss you. The guilt when you lose your shit because literally nothing is going your way. The guilt when you say something out of frustration that you didn’t mean to say. The guilt when you miss the time you used to have to yourself.

I could go on for days listing out everything I’ve done as a mother that’s filled me with guilt. Every day seems to present a new opportunity for guilt. 

This Mother’s Day give yourself the gift of acceptance and forgiveness. And, if you’re not a mother, let one you know, love or work with that you’ve got her back. Support mothers whether they work in or out of the home.

Mommy Can’t

For the past few weeks it seems every sentence I speak to my son starts with “I’m sorry, Mommy can’t.” Mommy can’t lay down with you because I have to feed your sister. Mommy can’t play right now because your sister needs me. Mommy can’t read to you because you sister … you get the idea. My husband has uttered this phrase more times than I can count as well.

But, this weekend I decided to banish that phrase. Why? Because it devalues my son’s needs and makes him feel second best, which he is not. His behavior shift has told me what his words cannot, that he is feeling left out and is missing some attention and affection. Well, that and we are on the verge of the threenagers.

Yes, there are times AB needs me and I cannot be with him, but I have to find a better way to express this to my almost three year old son. A way that reminds him that he is important and loved. More importantly, in a way that reassures him that I am still his mommy and he is still my child.

Instead of telling him “I can’t,” I have started to ask if I can do whatever in a few minutes. Or I ask him if he wants to help Mommy. I’ve also started making sure I make and actually take the time to spend with him. Now, Daddy helps him get ready for bed while I feed his sister and get her ready for bed. Then, we switch and I go in and read to him and lay with him while he falls asleep. If he wants to play while I am feeding his sister, I suggest activities that allow me to multitask – Play-Doh or coloring at the table so I can still nurse AB while J and I play.

It’s not perfect and neither am I, but we are still learning how to be a family of four and he is still learning how to share his mommy and daddy. We’ll never get it right 100% of the time, but I am working to be more aware of the times we get it wrong so we can adjust. Up next? Learning how to put my phone down.

Baby Girl’s Arrival

Stubborn. Unpredictable. These two words describe AB (Baby Girl) to a T. They also perfectly describe her birth.

At our 35 week appointment, AB was head down and in the ideal birth position. A week later, she flipped breech. The ultrasound tech casually asked if we were having a c-section and I felt my heart sink. A c-section? No, we weren’t having a c-section and we hadn’t even talked about one. After my son’s birth, I’d just assumed that we’d be having another vaginal birth. My only hope was that she baked a bit longer … and to avoid pitocin. Now those seemed like minor requests.

We started talking to our doctor about what options we had and we all agreed to try for an external cephalic version, ECV, to try and flip her. We scheduled it for the Saturday I hit 37 weeks. Then my son got the flu and strep and we rescheduled for the next Saturday. If you aren’t familiar with an ECV, it is a procedure where the OB attempts to manually flip the baby head down by pressing on mama’s belly. The risks to mama and baby are low, but include inducing labor, rupturing waters, placenta abruption and stress for baby. All of these risks are very, very low, so for us, it was worth a shot.

Unfortunately, after twelve hours in the hospital, a failed ECV attempt and a few hours of intense contractions later, we left with AB still breech and a c-section scheduled for the next Monday, when I’d have been 39+2. I started researching everything I could on c-sections – the procedure, recovery, possible complications, etc. I also began researching tubal ligations. We’ve always known we were done at two and if we wanted another, we’d consider adoption. Since I was going in for a c-section and they’d be there anyway, this was the best birth control option for us … nothing quite like being told you are getting too old for the pill and were at a great risk of clots and other negative side effects.

So, we made arrangements for my mother to come up on Sunday and be with the soon-to-be big brother while Dad and I headed in to welcome his baby sister.

Then little miss unpredictable decided to take our predictable, planned c-section and flip it on its head (ironically, she still refused to flip on her head). At our 38 week appointment on Wednesday, February 21, we had a biophysical profile (BPP) scheduled (another perk of being advanced maternal age). That morning, she’d been a little more subdued than normal and didn’t dance around after my morning latte as normal. This wasn’t completely out of the ordinary at this stage, she was running out of room.

During a BPP, they watch for baby to show signs of practice breathing and baby has to move three times during the 30 minute scan. In our prior BPPs, she’d waited until the last minute to start moving, so we were expecting a similar result during this scan. But, she didn’t. Her practice breathing was great, but her movements were not and she failed with a 4/8. At this point, I asked if we’d be heading for a non-stress test.

The tech didn’t even look up from the screen when she said, “No, delivery.” I blinked. Excuse me? No, we have this scheduled for Monday – today was Wednesday. Our son was at daycare and I’d literally just text my mother that my cervix was still cooperating and not progressing. “Looks like we are set for Monday!” I’d said.

The tech left the room and five very long minutes later the OB on call came in and told us to head to the hospital – either my husband was taking me or they were calling an ambulance. My brain tried to process this news while also trying to problem solve what we were going to do to get my mother here, get her my car (she drives a Miata, not exactly carseat friendly) and get my son from daycare. My poor husband is just staring at me in disbelief as I am asking the OB if we have time to take my car home. No, she said, you have to leave now.

Now. Ok. Shit was getting real at this point and I knew we’d be welcoming baby soon.

We got to the hospital a bit before 10am and scheduled the c-section for 3:30 that afternoon – 8 hours after my latte (I guess the nonfat milk counts as food). We’d hoped to have a family-centered c-section that would allow us to have immediate skin-to-skin with the baby, delayed cord clamping and a few other benefits that are standard during a vaginal delivery. Unfortunately, the nurse that does the family-centered c-sections ended her shift at 3pm, so we just missed the window. Damn latte. (I still love you Starbucks.)

At 4:24pm AB was born via a mostly planned c-section and she was a sturdy 7 pounds 4 ounces and 19.5 inches. The moment they held her up in the little viewing window was a moment I will never forget. It wasn’t the same as the moment they laid my son on my chest, but the heart-stopping, life-changing moment was just as powerful and overwhelming. It took a few minutes to get her color to maintain, but when I finally felt the weight of her in my arms, how she was welcomed into the world no longer mattered.

As much as I’d dreaded the c-section, it wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t the birth I’d hoped for. Going into this pregnancy, my birth plan consisted of the following and having a c-section allowed me to achieve each goal:

  • Avoid pitocin
  • Don’t be a bitch to the nurses
  • Get an epidural

Recovery from the c-section was dramatically different from my vaginal delivery with my son. It’s been difficult to not be able to pick up my son or drive or get out of bed. But, two weeks post delivery, I am slowly getting back to normal.

Big brother is over the moon and is loving having a baby sister, but he refuses to hold her. Every day he comes home from daycare he asks where she is and then gives her a kiss on her head. It’s been amazing to finally have AB here and to see our toddler embrace his role as Big Brother. He’s also been very patient and sweet as I have recovered. He is intrigued by breastfeeding and how his sister is “eating you Mama” or how the breast pump works, “you have milk like a cow?”

Our little family feels complete and while we’re missing those precious hours of sleep.

We Own Our Own Consent

Consent.
noun
1.permission for something to happen or agreement to do something.
“no change may be made without the consent of all the partners”

verb
1.give permission for something to happen.
“he consented to a search by a detective”

It is a simple word with a seemingly simple definition. Or, at least it is at first glance. Perhaps I should say by definition the word and it’s meaning are pretty basic and should be easy to comprehend. However, in practice, this word is quite confusing and difficult to comprehend. Why? I am sure there are many reasons and depending on the situation in which consent is required, different interpretations of “yes” or “no” allow for some confusion – especially when no verbal answer is given.

This is often the case when it comes to sex. The heat of the moment doesn’t always give way to the simple question of “do you want to have sex?” Our senses are jumbled and our actions often take control and we don’t get the words out. In other words, we rely on nonverbal communication to convey consent. The problem with this? Not every one interprets nonverbal communication or cues the same way.

Another reason? Perhaps this is where I will lose some of you. When it comes to sex and relationships and especially sexual desires, women have often been taught to let the man lead. Let him call you first. Let him ask you out. Let him plan the date. Let him pay. Let him make the first move. Don’t be the one to initiate. Don’t speak up about your sexuality. Don’t embrace your desires and wants. Be ashamed of wanting sex. Be timid. Let him take charge. Don’t be a slut. Ugh. Just typing that gives me the heebie jeebies.

This is damaging in so many ways, but I am going to focus on the question and issue of consent.

It is so important that we shift this way of thinking and encourage women and girls to embrace their sexuality and to not be afraid to speak up when it comes to their needs and wants. We’ve been silent for far too long. And, I may be wrong here, but I believe that most men want us to speak up. They don’t want to be the reason we have bad sex or bad dates. Contrary to what society wants us to believe, most men want their partners to enjoy sex and intimacy. They want to know when their moves aren’t working or their kisses are sloppy or when their partner doesn’t want any of that. (Unrelated to the topic of consent … for the love of all women, please stop  faking orgasms, women).

We, as women, are responsible for our own consent. We own that communication – no one else can or should. We cannot hide behind centuries of relationship “rules” or norms. Men aren’t the sold owners of sexuality. They also aren’t mind readers. They, like us, get caught up in the heat of the moment and they often don’t speak the same nonverbal language we do. Expecting them to only blurs the lines of consent even further.

I want both my daughter and my son, to be proud of who they are and I want them both to be empowered to speak up with it comes to their bodies. While it is often uncomfortable to even think about my children in their future relationships, I hope that I can instill in them the confidence to speak for themselves and to express their desires and needs.

Over the last week, I have had this conversation more times than I would like to … I am not going to mention the story that has sparked these conversations because, while it inspired the dialogue, it is not productive to link it to this particular conversation. Yes her story is important and yes her voice matters, but we need to have this dialogue without the potential implications of victim blaming or shaming (neither of which is my intent).

In these conversations, some have felt that the burden of consent and interpretation of said consent rests on the shoulders of the man involved. This is not even remotely true. As I said above, women own their own consent – allowing a man to own this doesn’t change our norms or attitudes and it opens the door for even further exploitation of women. If we continue to encourage women to be timid about sex, we cannot change the norms or the conversation and we don’t make progress.

Do men play a role in consent? Absolutely. It is their responsibility to receive and appropriately respond to their partner when consent is given or not given. But, if our partners are not responding to our consent, or lack thereof, the way we need them to, it is our responsibility to reassert our position and speak up. Men should also play an active role in the two-way communication of consent. If you, as a man, are confused by a nonverbal cue, ask for direct consent or clarification. Stop what you are doing and ask. Engage in conversations about consent and listen. Actually, just listening is a great first step. Take the time to listen to the women in your life, especially your partner(s). Pay attention.

Feminism is not about women overpowering men or taking revenge on all men for the shit and sins of the past. Feminism is about equality and equal access and ensuring all women have the same opportunities, access and treatment as their male counterparts. We cannot use feminism to blame men for our own mistakes and it goes against every fiber of feminism to expect men to take control of the conversation around our consent. This is a conversation that we must own and lead and initiate.

We own our own consent. Period.

A few friendly reminders about the basics of consent – I don’t speak for all women, just myself, but there are some basic norms that cannot be shouted loud enough.

When it comes to sex, consent is not given when:

  • We wear a revealing outfit
  • We accept an invitation to your home
  • We drink too much
  • We wear makeup
  • We shave our legs
  • We let you pay for dinner
  • We say yes to a date

 

Changes & Challenges

My entire career has been spent in restaurant marketing – even during and before college, I worked in restaurants. It is an industry that I know well , am passionate about and also one that I am comfortable in. The experiences I had before college allowed me to accelerate my professional career and catch up to my peers, despite having a 6 year gap between high school and college. In a way, the restaurant industry is home – I am confident in my ability and my knowledge and I have been able to take this into a variety of different marketing roles and restaurant settings – family dining, restaurant and bar, casual dining and fast casual. Although each of these have their unique challenges, I have always been able to transfer my experience in one to the next as I have grown in my career.

More than once I’ve toyed with the idea of leaving the restaurant industry, but my background often made it difficult to get past the gatekeepers of other industries. My resume is pretty set in the restaurant space and I’ve been fortunate to live in a city that serves as home base for multiple restaurant brands. I’ve always known that I wanted more and that I had a strong desire to expand beyond food. I just haven’t found an opportunity that fit what I was looking for and that was open to working with me as I took that big leap.

But, in less than two weeks I am taking all of that experience and background and entering completely new industry, and in some way a new field. I am equal parts excited and terrified.

I am excited to learn and to grow, but also to be able to test my comfort level and jump out of the zone that’s been my bread and butter. The opportunity to meet a completely new group of people that will help mentor and mold my future is also beyond exciting. There is so much to learn and I am looking forward to seeing what I can do and how I can bring my experience and knowledge to a new team.

But, it is terrifying. Can I be successful in an area outside restaurant marketing? Will I be able to transition out of the industry that has been my entire world for so long? Can this old dog learn new tricks? Can I do it?

I suppose those are all more self-doubts than fears, but one often seeps into the other. As I head into my final few days in my current position, I am working to silence the fears and the doubts by focusing on the exciting changes that lie ahead. It’s easy to let your fear dominate my inner monologues, but thankfully the excitement of a new challenge is helping to drown out the voices of doubt.

One thing I know for sure is that this opportunity is coming at a major time of transition in my life as our family grows and that is also a little bit scary. But for us and me, the timing is also perfect because I am already in a mindset that is ready to embrace the change and the challenge.

Keep You Safe

Some nights, I feel your tiny 7 ounce body tossing and turning as I toss and turn and try to fall asleep. Your big brother tosses and turns too – and even flips sometimes. Your dad sleeps like a log and doesn’t move (unless he has a dream I am falling off the cliff known as our bed and he must jump at at two am to “save me”).

Often as I lie in the darkness and try to feel every movement, I wonder what you look like or who you’ll be.

This week, I wondered if I could keep you in my womb forever, or at least until the world is a safer and saner place. It seems every time I turn on the news another mother is saying goodbye to her child that was lost in a senseless act of violence. I’ve always known our world and our country can be scary places and that danger exists, but this week that danger seems more real than normal.

Two weeks ago, a gunman opened fire in a church less than two miles from our home. This week, another gunman opened fire on 22,000 people listening to music. I read about these tragedies almost daily, but until recently, I’ve never personally known anyone impacted by them.

Every time I feel you bump around inside my belly, I am reminded that my one job is to protect you and keep you safe. My body nourishes you and helps you grow so that one day soon you’ll be ready to make your grand entrance.

That day terrifies me.
That day I will no longer be the one solely in control on your security.
That day you will become vulnerable to a world that seems to value your life less and less every day.
That day you will begin to see the evil that exists; sure it may be years before you comprehend or understand.
That day I will no longer just have to keep you safe inside the security of my body, but I will have to keep you safe from outside forces too.

I fear that no matter what I do, it will not be enough. The mothers that lost their babies in Las Vegas did everything to keep them safe, but one man took that from them. He stole those lives and gutted families. And he did it in less than the time it takes most of us to get out of bed in the morning.

I so desperately want to shield you and your brother from this and to keep you safe from every evil thought or action. But, the reality is I can’t.

I want to keep you safe and the only way I know how to do that is to continue to love and nourish you as you prepare to make your entrance. Once you are here, my job continues and I will fight with every breath I have to keep you safe.

Keyboards & Cowards

Keyboards make valiant swords for cowards.

I’ve seen this shit happen before with other friends, but until yesterday, I hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing it for myself.

I knew posting about where I stand on the #TakeAKnee issue would spark some debate, it already had on Facebook and Twitter on a few occasions, it’s a hot button issue.

What I didn’t expect? Finding out a friend or two had some serious issues with me having an opinion and a blog. Or, that they’d sink low enough to post comments as a troll and then get butthurt when I called their BS on Facebook. But it happened.

Here’s the thing, I’m used to trolls and jerks on Twitter. It’s a side effect of being an opinionated Liberal female that doesn’t stay in the kitchen and keep her mouth shut. Twitter is full of trolls, bots and assholes ready and willing to be the stereotypical alt-right jerk that try to silence females (newsflash boys and girls, it’s never going to work).

I’m even used to and expect heated debates on my Facebook posts on controversial topics. Some end civilly and some don’t, either way, we are all still “friends” at the end.

What happened yesterday was different. This was someone(s) that clearly has an underlying hatred or strong dislike for me personally but doesn’t have the guts to comment on my Facebook post or use their real name (or just delete me and move on with their life), but that is more than willing to stalk my Facebook and use it for personal attacks on me and my friends. Normally, I’m all for “you do you,” but in this case a trust was violated.

I am a sharer. I share photos of my family, my work and everyday boring crap on Facebook. I like to share and I like to interact with people. It’s easier to do on Facebook because let’s face it, we are all busy these days. This is how I stay in contact and connect with family and friends that now live all over the world. Somethings I share are more personal than others and some are political. Either way, it’s my place to open up and share. Same with this blog, whether anyone reads it or not is inconsequential. I’ve been writing for years and pretty sure only a handful even read or pay attention, and that’s okay because most of the time, I am only writing for me (like this post).

What happened yesterday in the comments on my blog post was someone’s cowardly attempt to put me in my place. I fed the troll and posted their ridiculousness on both Twitter and Facebook. They reacted and the vitrole just grew, though far tamer than the comments I get on Twitter – just more personal. A friend posted about looking up the IP address of the troll and we had fun with it, the troll friend didn’t like that too much. But, this is the Internet, folks, what did you expect?

I was pissed and admittedly a little hurt that a friend would stoop that low. I reacted and did a much over due clean-out and it felt freeing.

This morning I am no longer pissed or hurt, just annoyed (and feeling a little lighter). I’m sure there is a chance the person or persons who hate me and my opinion are still lurking on my friend list, but there is also a good chance they are gone. If they aren’t, I’m sure they’ll keep trolling and hiding behind their keyboard.

My Promise

From the moment the very faint positive line appeared on the pregnancy test, I knew in my heart that I wanted this baby to be a girl. Mostly, this was for selfish reasons. I am the lone female in our home and I love the idea of raising a girl. But, I am also terrified of having a girl. The world will be much kinder and more accepting of my son – he has the privilege of being born a white male in America. My daughter will have half of this privilege, but will often be told she can’t do simply because she is female. How do I raise a daughter to be strong in a world that commands she be weak and mild? How do I teach her to trust and love others while also teaching her to guard her heart and trust from those with bad intentions?

When I first found out Baby AJ 2.0 was going to be Baby Girl, I text my brother (among a million others) to share the news. His response almost made me cry (had I not been sitting in a car with my company’s CEO, I likely would have) – “Outstanding. I cannot think of a better momma for a baby girl than you sister.”

Wow. Talk about a heavy compliment and a lot to live up to.

Since that day I’ve thought a lot about Baby Girl and how I can be the mama to her that my twin brother believes I can be. So, far these are the promises I hope to keep and the lessons I hope she learns …

Your big brother is pretty awesome and he amazes us every single day and I have no doubt that you will do the same. I promise to never compare him to you and vice versa, but know that anything he can do, you can do (except pee standing up, please don’t try this). But, know that you can do anything you want to and know that we are always in your corner cheering you on. Sometimes you may have to work harder than he does, but that work will be worth it in the end. Some things may come easier. Sometimes, you may not want to do what he does and that is okay too. You are your own person and you are capable of anything you put your mind to.

One day, someone will tell you that you are not good enough (or pretty enough or smart enough or thin enough or whatever enough), but know that you are more than enough. This world can be an asshole and people suck. Society will make unreasonable demands that will make you want to change who you are to fit it. I always tried to rise above this, but sometimes I failed. You will too and that is okay. Some jerk will say something mean and you’ll cry yourself to sleep or punch a wall or break your favorite music box (sorry Dad) because the pain and emotions are so strong and raw you don’t know how to channel them. This too is okay. And I know you won’t always want to talk to me or hear what I have to say, but I promise that no matter the question or circumstance, I am here when you need me and when you are ready.

You will find yourself in situations that are out of your comfort zone – for the good and for the bad – more times that you’ll be able to count or remember. People who call themselves your friends will pressure you into things you may not be ready for. Always, always trust your gut because I guarantee you another friend is watching and is just as scared to speak up or say no as you are. Never be afraid to use your voice and never be ashamed if you aren’t able to find it. My job as your mom is to help you find that voice and that voice can only come with experience and mistakes. You will make mistakes and that is okay. It never gets easier, but you learn and get stronger with every one.

I promise that no matter how many mistakes you make or how many times you fail that I am still going to be there cheering you on. I know people take issue with the whole participation trophy culture, but for me, participating is half the battle and trying and working hard are the rest. Sure, winning is great, but that doesn’t mean we don’t recognize the hard work we put in even if we don’t win. And, Baby Girl, you won’t win them all and that is okay. It’s okay to finish second and it’s okay to come in last. It’s better to walk away with a lesson learned and the knowledge that you busted your ass than to walk away with a first place prize that came easy. As a girl, you will have to fight harder, study harder and prove yourself a million times over just to have a chance to play the game. But, that makes us stronger.

More than anything. I want you to know and feel the love I did when I was growing up. I want you to experience the things I did not get to (among them, being Daddy’s little girl) and I want you to be unafraid of change and rejection. Those fears prevented me from trying new things or getting to know people. It’s hard to push aside fear, but it’s my job to push you past that and I will try my best to not let my own fears get in your way. You will get hurt. You will cry. You will push me away someday. But, I’ll kiss all the ouchies I can. I’ll dry your tears. And I will welcome you home with open arms.

In about 14-16 years, you will start to hate me, mostly for brief periods of time and for really dumb reasons (sorry, I know they are dumb because I had those same reasons a long, long time ago). I am going to mentally prepare myself for that now … yeah, not ready. We’ll talk about that in a few more years.

This growing up shit is hard, but we all go through it and most of us survive with a few stories to tell. I promise to help make those stories as interesting as possible.

Then There Were Four

One boy. One girl. Or so the song goes. And, I guess come March, so our life will go. Our little family is growing by one and I am finally going to have a little female balance in our male dominated house (between my husband and son and our three pets, I am sorely outnumbered).

We finally convinced him that Mama is not in fact having a Baby Star-Lord, but a baby sister. I think he’s slowly coming around to the idea. And, though, I cannot guarantee it, I am fairly certain Baby Girl will be just as (if not more) fascinating to him than Star-Lord. At least that is my hope.