16 weeks?! Already?!?!?!

Where has the time gone? Nick will be 16 weeks old tonight. That's practically 4 months! He is growing so fast. I wish I could just freeze time for a bit. Keep him 3 months old for a few months...but then again, I love every new day and every new milestone. It's so fun to watch him surprise himself when one of his hands finds the other...or when he grabs the pacifier out of his mouth and looks around like "who did that?!". The new squeals and screeching combined with the constant baby babble are music to my ears. And I just want to butter up those little rolls on his thighs because they are so yummy!

Nick is back to sleeping great at night. And just like his mommy and daddy, he likes to sleep in a little late in the morning. We're not complaining! I have this sneaking suspicion this will change though...especially as teething begins.

I'll post his 4 month update on his actual 4 month birthday (next Thursday, June 2nd), but I just had to get it out that I can't believe 16 weeks have gone by since he entered this world. Every day I fall more and more in love with Nick. And I can tell Todd does, too. They have serious conversations, and crack each other up. It melts my heart to watch them interact.

Happy 16 week birthday, baby boy!

The thing that nobody tells you about.

The Baby Blues.

Or rather, the beginning of post-partum depression.

I swear I had it.

One day we were ogling over our sweet new baby boy as nurses swept him in and out of our hospital room, doing pretty much everything in their power to take care of my every need, while catering to my new baby every second, and the next they are shoving him in to our hands and telling Todd "bring the car around!" and frantically pushing my wheelchair out the front door, patting me on the behind saying "good luck!" like they knew I was being set up for failure.

We got home from the hospital at about 10:00pm on Super Bowl Sunday. Dad and Mom had picked up Whinnie (she was staying at their house), grabbed a big pizza, and settled in at our house to wait for us to bring Nick home for our first night together as a family, on our own.

We pulled on to our street, carefully unhooked all of the seat belt straps that were holding our 6 pound baby in place, covered him with 12 blankets, and brought him inside.

And I started crying.

At the time I chalked it up to exhaustion, and the fact that I felt bad that Todd and my dad had missed the Super Bowl.

But for the next two weeks, the tears never stopped.

I spent hours each day, holding Nick, wondering to myself "what the hell have we gotten ourselves in to?!" I missed my OB doctor. I missed the nurses at the hospital. I felt weird and out of place. I cried because I genuinely thought my life was so different, that I had no idea what to do with myself.

Nick didn't make much of a peep. He slept most of the time. After 3 hours, I would wake him up, take off my shirt, and try to shove my boob in his mouth. He'd attempt to eat, fall back asleep, and we'd repeat again 3 hours later. I hated breastfeeding. I would cry while feeding him. It didn't hurt. I was producing a ton of milk. I was leaking through most of my shirts, and going through plenty of breast pads. But I hated breastfeeding. I couldn't find the "bond" that I had read so much about. I felt like a terrible mom.

I cried because the thought of Nick getting bigger made me sad. I cried because he wasn't gaining enough weight. I cried about breastfeeding some more. I cried because my incision was sore. I cried because the thought of going out in public gave me anxiety. I cried because I worried about something happening to my baby. I cried when family members came over. I cried when people said "oooh, he's sooo tiny!". I cried when people said "aww, you look tired". I cried because I WAS tired. I cried during commercials. I cried during the Jersey Shore. I cried every time I ate. I cried every time Todd hugged me and tried to figure out what was wrong. I cried every time my mom tried to offer her advice or tell me things would get better. I cried when I decided I wanted to try giving Nick a pacifier. I cried when I realized he didn't have any clothes that fit. I cried and cried and cried and cried.

When Nick was about 2 and a half weeks old, Todd convinced me to take a walk one evening. It was decently warm outside, so I agreed. We bundled Nick up and hauled out our huge Eddie Bauer travel system. We belted Nick in to his car seat, which up until that point, he had only actually been in for a car trip twice -- once to the pediatrician (I cried during that trip) and once to Target (I cried hysterically during that trip). As we pushed him around the neighborhood, a car pulled up along side of us. One of our neighbors (who I see walking his dog when I take out Whinnie) said "is this the new baby?!" as if we were pushing someone else's child around the neighborhood. His wife was in the passenger seat. She had worn the badge of motherhood three times -- once with their first son, and the second time with their twin boys. I suppose she could tell I'd been having a hard time...the tear stains on my cheeks, and the huge dark circles under my eyes were very telling. She looked at me and said "how are you doing?" to which I said with a lump in my throat "it's hard". She said "yes. you will cry. a lot. and then one day, you'll wake up, and you'll feel normal again."

I so wanted to believe her. I kept telling myself each morning "this is the day I'll feel like me again". And every day, I'd push through, thinking I had made it, before everything came crashing down in the afternoon. And then I'd cry again.

And I could never really figure out WHY I was crying. I knew everything made me cry, but I didn't know why. I was telling my best friend Lori about my constant tears and the anxiety I had about going out in public. I told her "I feel like everyone can tell I'm different." She said "it's like when you have on an outfit that you don't feel confident in...and you go out in public and feel like everyone is looking at you wondering why you're wearing that outfit...yet nobody is really looking at you at all."

That's exactly how I felt. Like everyone was judging me...wondering why I had a baby, and how the hell I'd be able to care for him. Thinking that I looked so uncomfortable in my own skin. When in reality, the only reason people were looking at me was because a)I had huge dark bags under my eyes, and b)they wanted to see the new baby I was pushing around in the stroller.

Todd had returned to work the day after we got home from the hospital, so I told myself that I would do all of the night time feedings so that he could get some sleep. Not to mention I was the one with the boobs, so it sort of made sense. But I would get up to feed Nick, turn the TV on, get the boppy all situated, yank off my shirt, and cry as Nick screamed because neither of us could get the hang of breastfeeding.

I took Nick to the pediatrician every week during the first month of his life. At about 4 weeks old, I sat in the pediatrician's office and cried. They weighed Nick, and he was not gaining much weight. Nor was his jaundice disappearing. I told the doctor how I felt like such a bad mom -- I hated breastfeeding. The doctor assured me that I was not a bad mother, and recommended that maybe it was a good idea to supplement formula because Nick just wasn't catching on to the breastfeeding.

I had gone back and forth about giving up breastfeeding and switching to the bottle for quite a few days, but having the doctors approval, I instantly felt a small weight lift off my shoulders. Giving Nick a bottle was liberating. I could give him one in public...anywhere...and not be embarrassed. I pumped for a while, alternating breast milk with formula bottles, but in the end, I hated pumping as much as I hated breastfeeding. Sitting with the pump stuck to my chest, feeling like a cow being milked, was just as difficult for me as the breastfeeding itself. So we quickly became a formula only household.

And just as quickly as we switched to formula, my body switched off the tears. I felt like me again. I loved Nick from the minute he was born, but as the tears came to a halt, I started to really like this baby we had been given. I felt like me...a more complete, more whole, me.

When I went to my OB for my 4 week post cesarean check-up (which was right around the same time we switched to the bottle), I told her how I had spent the first few weeks in non-stop tears. And before I could even finish telling her about what I went through, she stopped me and said "why in the world didn't you call me?!" I told her "because everything from the hospital said 'if you are still experiencing these feelings after 6 weeks, call your doctor'" -- you know what she said? "Why on earth would you want to feel like that for 6 weeks, while trying to take care of a brand new baby that you know nothing about?!" That's when it hit me -- nobody I knew had gone through this...nobody had said a word about these so called 'baby blues' -- which is why I had no idea how to cope with it for those few weeks. Looking back now, I should have called her the minute I got home and fell apart.

But now I feel stronger because of it all. Because of the lows I hit, the highs are even better. I went from going through the motions with Nick because I knew I had to, to trying to spend every second of every day with him...because I want to.

I have yet to talk to another new mommy that experienced what I went through. All the other new moms I've talked to seem to have had an easier first few weeks. They were in love with motherhood from the start. They didn't have to work up to it. But then again, I can't be 100% sure they didn't experience something similar...because nobody really talks about it. I know from experience...because maybe if somebody had really told me how hard it would be -- had really sat me down and said "you might cry ALL. THE. TIME. -- then maybe I would have been able to cope a bit better, knowing that, in fact, I was normal. That's why I'm putting it out there. So that maybe another new mommy somewhere will say "why am I crying so much, without having any idea why, or how to make myself stop?" and then read this post and realize they are not alone. And that it will get better.

Do I still cry? All the time. I still get choked up dropping Nick off at daycare. I shed a few tears when I see a Pampers commercial. And I outright bawl when I hear Darius Rucker's "It Won't Be Like This For Long" on the radio. (I actually just started crying thinking about the song). But now I know where the tears are coming from when they do come. Their coming from that spot in my heart that was so empty, (albeit without my knowledge) until Nick arrived and filled it up. And now? I love those tears.

Because I pretty much only blog about my baby anymore...

It's a dreary, rainy day outside, and all I can think about is rushing out of this office to pick up my little guy. Considering I'm PMSing, and started crying 5 minutes after I dropped him off at daycare this morning, only makes me more anxious to get out of here. So to tide me over until that whistle blows (that phrase makes me sound like my old-soul husband), I thought I'd post a few pictures that have never been seen by the public before...until now!

Just arrived at the hospital on Nick's birth day. Getting in one last quick pee before being hooked up to all the monitors and IVs. Still looking fairly human (and more than fairly enormous) at this point...

Approximately 8 or so hours after he made his arrival. He basically came out of the womb with his eyes open. And trying to hold his head up. And not crying. The crying/screaming has only recently developed...and it only comes in times of hunger, as in "GIMME THAT F-ING BOTTLE RIGHT NOW MOM OR I'LL EXPLODE!" Otherwise he's incredibly mild mannered. ;)

Still at the hospital...he pretty much slept non-stop for the first week of his life. I'm not even positive that he opened his eyes up to eat. I'm probably not positive though because of the fact that I was covering his entire tiny little head with my gigantic boob, hoping somewhere under there he was being fed, and not suffocating. Turns out, neither was really happening.

Daddy and Nick sharing a special moment. Todd looks happy here, but I'm pretty sure it was due in large part to the fact that he not only had his own bed for a week, but it came equipped with it's own built in speaker system and remote for his own TV on the wall right in front of the bed. Oh, and the fact that his son was born -- that helped, too ;)
Can you believe how much blond hair this kid was born with? Still cracks me up every time I think about what my brother said while we were in the hospital...he was holding Nick, looking closely at his hair, when he said to Todd and me "I mean, you both are pretty blond, but for some reason I totally did not expect Nick to be blond..." We're still not sure what he expected...

(FYI - Nick has since lost most of that hair on top of his head, and the color has turned from blond to seriously orange. And he's sporting a pretty sweet, patchy mullet right now.)

Nick in the tanning bed. He was so tiny that the light blocking headband he was wearing kept slipping off. He also pooped ALL over that light bed. Little known fact -- billirubin looks a lot like spinach when it comes out. I know first hand because aside from cleaning it off this lighted bed, I also got to clean it out of my hands when he projectile pooped into them on day 2 of being at home. THAT was fun...

After his first bath at home. Which wasn't really a bath, but more like a poorly done sponge bath. I'm still not entirely sure why we felt the need to wrap him in that gigantic towel after his wipe down. But I am fairly certain he must have pooped in this towel because I vaguely remember it being so gross that we had to throw it away...and I don't remember seeing it since.

I can't believe how tiny our little guy used to be. Hard to believe that tomorrow night, he will be 15 weeks old. Where have the past 3.5 months gone?! He went from that teeny little thing, to this little chubber:

And I love every ounce of that chunk :)

Two steps forward...Two steps back...

We had about 2 weeks of full night sleep bliss. Nick was going down by about 9:00pm, and sleeping until about 6:30 or 7:00am. I guess I got too cocky telling people, and it has come back to bite me in the rear.

That's right...every time somebody found out I was a new mommy -- either my boss would tell somebody at work "Melissa is just back from maternity leave" or one of the other mom's at daycare would say "Oh! You're the baby's mom!", or someone random on the street who would ask "oh when are you due?" and I'd have to say "uh, three months ago...thanks" -- the next inevitable question was always "so, are you getting any sleep??" And as of the past couple of weeks, I have always answered with "yes! He is the best baby! He is sleeping completely through the night...10-12 hours at a time!" To which most people would say "isn't that the best?!" or "wow! he IS a good baby!"

But the past two nights? Yeah...not so sleep filled.

Nick has been happily going down for bed by 8:30pm. But he'll only sleep until about 2:30 or 3:30am, when he wakes up fussing. Not full out crying...not hunger screams...just fussiness. But enough fussiness that it wakes you up, and makes your heart sad because you want to go in and scoop him up and love on him and help him fall back asleep. So what do I do? Just that. Only I try not to scoop him out of the crib, for fear that he'll think it's party time. Instead, I go in and frantically search the crib for his pacifier (the dark combined with my blindness makes this a rough task), pop it back in his mouth (which also entails groping his face and poking him in the eye, nose, and neck before finding his mouth), pat his little belly and rub his forehead, blow him a kiss, tell him I love him, and then tip-toe back to our room.

Because I'm so exhausted, I typically fall right back asleep as soon as I crawl back in bed. And Nick usually falls right to sleep as well. But in the past two nights, he has woken back up with the same fussiness every hour, until it's time to get up and go to daycare.

I canNOT figure out what is different. He's generally a happy guy...eating well...no poop or pee changes...no fever...so why all of a sudden has he decided to go back to the early morning wake ups?

In all honesty, I don't really mind the mid-morning wake up. I like hearing him, because I know he's still there. But I'm afraid I'm only encouraging his fussiness by going in and replacing his pacifier and giving him a little rub. Is it possible that he has ME figured out, and knows if he fusses, I'll come running? Because it's true -- I will. I just don't want this to become a habit. Because if he's anything like me, he'll be waking me up every night until he's 12, just to ask for a drink of water (sorry about that mom...you'll be happy to know that when I get up to pee or get a drink in the middle of the night now, I don't wake up Todd to inform him).

Hopefully this is just a short phase, and he'll get back to his great sleeping habits. But, until then, I'll make the most of his early morning announcements...because I know it won't be like this for long...and when he's grown out of the baby stage and out of the middle of the night 'I-need-you-right-this-minute-mom!!!' stage, I'm seriously going to miss it.

I lied...It really doesn't get easier

I thought by now I'd have the hang of taking Nick to daycare every morning. I guess I physically have the hang of it, but my emotions haven't caught on yet.

Why do I feel so sad every morning when I drop him off and turn and walk back to my car? The minute the door shuts behind me, I feel this overwhelming sense of guilt that I should be spending more time with him. And my heart starts to ache from how much I miss him the minute I can no longer see him.

Every morning, I get up with Nick and share some smiles and kisses and cuddles. I dress him, get him all ready to go, throw some clothes on myself, and head out the door. I drop him off at daycare between 7:00am - 7:30am. Then I come back home, and work in my home office until about 10:00am, when I head in to my actual office.

But while I'm working from my home office in the morning, I can't help but feel like I should have Nick at home with me. I feel like we should be playing and laughing. I know I'm supposed to be working, but I feel guilty that he's not with me. And I miss him so much. I want to relish in the short time that he will be an infant, and make the most of his babyhood.

Granted, by the time I head in to my office at 10:00am, I am usually feeling a bit better...but every morning it's the same feelings on repeat -- sad to drop him off; guilty that he's not with me; missing him; wondering what he's doing at daycare; feeling like I should have been the one to give him that first morning bottle...

Am I alone in feeling this way? Is there a way to accept our routine and not beat myself up over it? Does anyone out there want to give me a million dollars so that I can just stay home with him every day?? Anyone?!?

How'd he get here?

So I'm sure you've all been waiting with baited breath, to hear about Nick's birth story. No? Well, I'm going to write it out anyway, if for nothing more than to remember it myself.

On Wednesday, February 2, 2011, Todd and I woke up around 8:30am, loaded up the car with our hospital stay bags, and drove to Alexandria hospital. When we arrived, we had to sit in the Labor & Delivery check-in waiting room for a while, as they cleaned a room for us. Apparently, there had been quite a few new babies born the night prior and in to that morning, so they were a little tight on space.

Once the room was cleaned, they whisked us in, told me to change in to a hospital gown, and hop in to bed. (A bed, mind you, that detached in the middle to provide extra room for all of the doctors and nurses to gather as you sit spread eagle trying to push out your baby). At about 10:00am, the nurse came in and started hooking me up to bags of fluid. This was possibly my second least favorite part of the whole ordeal -- the needles in the hand. ugh. Just thinking about it still makes me cringe. I hate having needles stuck in my hand, and even though I knew they were for a good cause, they still make me squeamish.

One of the bags of fluid was full of pitocin to give me a jump start and induce my labor. They started my drip at an 8, and said it could take a while until something, if anything, started to happen.

I laid in the bed watching TV and complaining of my boredom. Since I had been told not to eat anything that morning (although I'm pretty sure Todd snuck me some toast for breakfast before we went to the hospital), I was starving. But I was only allowed to have clear liquids. At one point the nurse told my mom "there are Popsicles in the freezer, help yourself" and I about peed the bed with joy. I ended up having about 5 Popsicles throughout the day.

The day dragged on very, very slowly. My OBGYN arrived mid-day, and checked to see if I had dilated. I was only at about 1cm, so she said "we'll wait another 4 or 5 hours to see if you dilate any further." As those 4 hours passed, my hunger pains got stronger, but my labor pains did not. The nurse came back in and said "well, you're having strong contractions, 1 minute apart...how do you feel?" and you could have heard her jaw hit the floor when I replied "hungry!" I said "is this how most people feel?" and she said "your pitocin drip is at a 21" (I still don't know what that means) "and your contractions are a minute apart...most people at this stage are doubled over in pain...and the thought of food makes them nauseous!"

Well, apparently I have a super high pain threshold, because I honestly was not feeling a thing. Other than my aforementioned hunger, that is. So mom found some clear broth in the kitchen, and I downed it like it was my last meal. Finally my OBGYN came back and checked me again. I had only gotten to about 2cm dilated. She looked me square in the eyes and said "so...what do you want to do?" and without hesitation I responded "just get him out!" And thus, I was confirmed for a c-section.

They had to check on availability of the operating room, and get it all sterile, but as soon as it was ready to go, they pulled me out of bed, and I walked into the OR(so weird to walk in to an operating room...every other time I've had any sort of surgery, I've already been in the bed). Todd had to stay behind in the labor & delivery room and get outfitted in his full head-to-toe scrubs. They told him that once I had my spinal, and was numbed, they would bring him back to watch Nick arrive.

The first order of business in the operating room was to numb my body from the chest down. Apparently at Alexandria Hospital, with a C-Section, if you haven't already had an epidural, they just do a spinal. Spinal = much smaller gauge needle being jabbed in to my spine = much happier me. The thought of an epidural was the one thing I had been dreading since the moment I got pregnant, so imagine my happy surprise when they told me I would just be getting a spinal (I'm sure it had a more "doctory" name to it, but I don't think I was paying attention to what the nurse was saying).

They had me sit on the operating table and hug a pillow, while leaning forward and rounding my spine. A nurse stood in front of me holding my shoulders, while the anesthesiologists prepped the slew of needles. The first needle she told me would be the worst...it would feel like a bee sting, followed by some pressure. WELL! She was just a little off... It felt more like a wasp trying to kill it's prey (my spine), followed by a terrible burning sensation surging through my back. The pressure part? That was the fire hose like speed and force that the burning spread through my spine at. Within seconds, I announced to the room "I'm going to vomit". All of the nurses scattered like ants whose hill had just been stomped on. One of them came flying back to my face with a bag. The male anesthesiologist in the room said "I'm going to put some zofran in your IV", and just as fast as I felt like I was going to vom, I felt better.

Then came the spinal. The anesthesiologist pushed around on my back until she thought she had found two vertebrae of my spine to insert the needle between. (This was hard for her to find because of all my edema -- water retention/swelling). Then a hugh-jass needle was stuck in my back, but because of that wasp sting I received earlier, I didn't feel a thing.

As soon as the shot was finished, I was laid on the skinny operating table, arms extended out on either side, looking like the scarecrow from Wizard of Oz...only I was buck naked. (That's right -- all modesty goes straight out the window when you have a baby.) My entire body from the chest down started to go numb. Although, it didn't really FEEL numb. I could still feel my doctor when she would touch me. I kept saying "I can feel you! I can feel you!" and she would say "you're GOING to feel me...but you won't feel pain!". I didn't believe her. She turned to the anesthesiologist, he handed her something, and she turned back and said to me "there, do you feel THAT?" I couldn't feel anything so I said "no...what are you doing?" and she said "I just poked you in the leg several times with a toothpick" to which I replied "was that toothpick in somebodies mouth??" Apparently that was hilarious because the entire operating room full of doctors and nurses busted up laughing. Silly me -- obviously they wouldn't be chewing on toothpicks in a sterile environment (at least, I should hope not).

At this point Todd had arrived. And while it was embarrassing to be laying on the table with all of my parts visible, because I couldn't feel them, I didn't feel as exposed. Kind of like when I take out my contacts at night and start picking my nose. I forget that just because I can't see Todd, doesn't mean he can't see me! whoops!

As soon as Todd was seated and holding my hand, the cutting began. They cut through my stomach, skin, fat, muscle (what little I had), and dug down deep inside to find Nick. I couldn't see what was happening on the other side of the curtain, but I could smell a burning smell. I said "eww, what smells like it's burning?" and my OB said "you!" Ha.

My OB and her assistant started pushing on my belly and tugging really hard. It didn't hurt at all, but I could feel all kinds of pressure. I announced loudly to the room "I feel like one of those dolls that when you squeeze it's belly, it's eyes and tongue pop out." That got another round of laughs from all the nurses and doctors in the OR.

With one last tug (as my OB was literally LAYING on my belly to push him out), Nicholas Matthew was pulled from my belly at 11:29pm. And boy did he come out screaming! I don't suppose I could blame him...here he was thinking he had three more weeks on his lease, and we evicted him early. And to make matters worse, poor guy was covered in all the nasty gunk that was keeping him company in there. Fortunately the nurses whisked him over to the scale, weighed him (6lbs, 10oz), and immediately started cleaning him off.

I could barely see him from my angle on the table, but Todd and the anesthesiologist reported back to me and snapped pictures from every angle. Finally I caught a glimpse of my baby boy, and tears escaped my eyes. He was so tiny, and had a head full of blond hair!

Once my OB finished stitching me up (I have to give her props -- she is a fabulous surgeon and my scar is perfect), I was moved to a hospital bed and I was covered with a bunch of blankets (hooray no more nudity!). They wrapped Nick up tight in two blankets, put a tiny little hat on his itty bitty head, and laid him on my chest. Then they rolled us out of the OR and down the hall.

As we rolled down the hall, my family all started to appear. I first saw my brother and sister-in-law. They were both crying (which I later found out got Todd crying as he hugged my brother. I'm bummed I missed this...I've never seen Todd cry, and I would've loved to have seen his tears over the birth of our baby boy). Then I saw my dad, who was also bawling (he became a big softy when I got married), and finally we rolled by my mom...who of COURSE was crying. It was a surreal moment...and I had never before felt such a sense of pride.

Everyone came in the room and took turns holding Nick and fawning over him, How could they not...he was perfect! (C-section babies always tend to look a bit better...no cone head).

I don't remember much else from that night because I was a bit out of it from all the numbing drugs, and I was exhausted. I think Todd held Nick for a while, while I dozed in and out, waiting to get cleared to go upstairs to recovery. Eventually they wheeled me upstairs to our recovery room, or our "week long vacation room at chez hospital Alexandria", as I like to think of it.

We spent the rest of the week attempting to catch up on sleep (which never really happened), watching a LOT of TV, having a million & one visitors, and spending every waking moment wondering how the heck we were going to take care of this little baby once we took him home and were on our own. (We've since (I think) figured this out).

Later my OB told my mom and I that when she started my C-section, the umbilical cord had prolapsed, and it presented itself first AND it was wrapped around Nick's neck. She said had I spent more time trying to labor and push him out, it would have been extremely dangerous for him. That combined with the fact that my placenta had hemorrhaged in the middle were all very bad occurrences. Had I gone past 37 weeks, Nick might not have made it. I can't even bear the thought of him not being here.

So how did our little Nick get here? Well, he got here literally in the "nick" of time!

Mother's Day

I remember when I was little, we spent most mother's day holiday's getting dressed up and going to my Gramma & Grampa's house. I remember my mom always wore a bright flowered dress (complete with poofy sleeves -- hey, it was the 80's), and curled her hair perfectly. We'd get to Gramma & Grampa's house and take pictures on the old wooden bench in front of their house. Matt and I would anxiously fiddle with our dress clothes, waiting to run around the front yard like a couple of banshees, trying to get out all of our energy. Sometimes we would go to the officer's club for mother's day dinner...other times we ate at Gramma & Grampa's. Matt would play with the computer games, and I would haul out all of the doll furniture and barbies from Gramma's stash, spread them all around the living room, and then get bored and leave the room to find oreos or pre-dinner snacks. Somehow we could always convince Gramma and Aunt Lauri to play Lincoln logs, kitchen, Clue, or Sorry! with us. But other than that, I don't think I truly understood what mother's day meant.

Now here I sit on mother's day as an adult, with my own home, a loving husband, a sweet dog, and now a beautiful baby boy, and I feel like I finally "get" mother's day. And more so, I feel the need to tell my mom what I'm sure she knew, but rarely heard on all of those mother's days when we were growing up: Thank You.

Thank you, mom, for all of the sleepless nights. For the poopy diapers you celebrated, and for all of the fevers you brought down. For all of the middle of the night head stroking, when we didn't even know you were there. For rubbing my back as I drifted off to sleep, even though you were sleep deprived yourself. For kissing my skinned knees, and making sure I ate my veggies. For all the times I fought you on something and you responded with "one day when you're a mom, you'll understand". Now I understand. And for all the grief I gave you, or all of your affection that I didn't want in public because it wasn't "cool"...now I realize that it wasn't you who was lucky to have us...but it was us who were lucky to have you. YOU are our true gift from God...because He decided to make you not just a mother...but OUR mother. And now I see you pouring your love on to Nicholas, and I can't help but feel so blessed that you love him as much as you love all of us. You are an amazing Gramma, and an amazing Mom. For all you've done and all you continue to do...and most of all, for all of the love you have to give, and continue to give unconditionally...Thank you.

I love you, Mom! Happy Mother's Day, 2011!

___________________

On a similar note, I'd be remiss if I didn't thank my husband for giving me the greatest gift of all -- Nicholas Matthew. I know that being a daddy wasn't necessarily in your "5 year plan" when we started dating 4 years ago, but the way you bust out in smiles when Nick talks to you, it's obvious that your plans have changed, and you wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. Thank you for giving me this beautiful little life. And thank you to our sweet baby boy for giving me the best job of all -- mommy-hood! I love my boys! :)