These are a few of my favorite things...

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have a long list of pet peeves. I'm not sure why they are called pet peeves. I'm going to have to research that one. Anyway so I thought instead of writing a post about my pet peeves, I would put a positive spin on things and write about the opposite: things people do that I like. You'll see.

1. There is nothing more glorious than when people drive at the proper speed, use their blinkers, and know the rules of the road. In fact, I cannot express how much joy it brings me while driving when a motorist who is waiting to turn left understands that I have the right of way when turning right. I have often thought of making a sign that says, "Thank you for knowing how to drive" and holding it up as I pass by. They should know someone appreciates them.

2. I also find joy when people actively listen to what I am trying to say without interjecting until I am finished. Now, I know in heated debates it is tempting to jump in and state one's opinions. But in general conversation nothing makes me more happy than being able to finish a complete thought.

3. Another of my favorite things is when people eat, but I can't hear them eating. Now of course there are foods that are inherently noisy: chips, apples, uncooked pasta, and other things I can't think of right now. And I do understand that it can be difficult to chew with one's lips completely closed, especially if the eater puts too much food in their mouth. But I do appreciate a person who can eat quietly.

4. Nothing brings a smile to my face faster than when I am walking on a sidewalk and one of the two people that are walking towards me moves so I can pass them without being pushed off the sidewalk. Ahh yes, smiles all around for that one.

5. I love to see people utilizing public trash cans. And dog poop bags.

Hi, my name is Whitney

(Hi Whitney)

And I'm a chocoholic.

Seriously. In high school I could put away chocolate like nobody's business. A handful of M&M's? Try half a bag. No, not half a bag that you get out of a vending machine. Half a bag for A PARTY.

For my birthday, my husband got me a 42 oz. bag of peanut M&M's (my personal fave). I polished that off in about a week and a half.

Unfortunately, I don't have the metabolism that I had in high school (ugh, that makes me feel old). And, I'll be honest. Downing half a bag of M&M's at any age probably isn't the healthiest thing to do.

So a few months ago I decided to cut back on the amount of sugar I was consuming. I thought I could still buy cookies and brownies and just exhibit enough willpower to not consume a whole batch in 2 days. But old habits die hard.

In fact, those habits didn't die at all. If there were cookies or treats in the house, I ate them. All. The only way for me to not scarf down a batch of cookies was to not have them in my house. So I stopped buying that stuff. (no ice cream, no cookies, no brownies, no nothin'!)

I thought I had overcome my addiction. But last week I bought some M&M's to give away for Valentine's Day. Well, that's how I rationalized buying them. But guess what? They didn't make it to Valentine's Day. They're gone. I ate them all. Blake helped me, but I ate most of them.  I really wish I had more willpower when it comes to chocolate. But the only thing that will keep me from eating chocolate besides not buying it is if it has mint in it. Mint chocolate anything=gross.

Apparently this is going to be a lifelong struggle.

the saddest words ever uttered

Ok, so that's kind of dramatic.

In the almost 2 years (feels more like 5) that we've lived here, the majority of my time has been spent dreaming about when we get to leave. As much as I've tried to embrace where we live, it's proven difficult. On good days I can handle unfamiliar city life without many complaints. On bad days I entertain the idea of just packing a bag for Blake and me and catching the next flight out of here (of course Evan would join us as soon as he got home from work). At one point I had decided that we needed to move away as soon as possible. I encouraged Evan to look for a job elsewhere and I even started looking for jobs for him.

But with Jerky McJerkFace living downstairs, we decided moving now (instead of waiting to move until we officially leave NYC) was the best option for us. We were able to find an apartment that better suits our needs even if it is a bit smaller than our current place.

As we walked to the subway after signing our new lease, Evan said, "Let's face it. We aren't going anywhere any time soon." His statement almost took my breath away. And then I realized he's probably right. And it's probably time for me to stop thinking otherwise.

It's exhausting to spend your days dreaming of being anywhere than where you actually are. So I have to face it. We're going to be here for a while longer. Not forever. Just a while a longer.

get over it? how?

I came to the realization recently that I was traumatized by the birth of my son. I didn't plan on having a c-section, but I wasn't really surprised when my doctor suggested I'd need one. I was a week past my due date and I had zero signs of labor. No contractions, no baby dropping, no nothing.

And when I look back on my experience with labor, I kind of resent it. As silly as it sounds, I feel sad that I didn't get to have the kind of birth that I thought I wanted. Well, that's not true. I don't think I had a clue what I wanted. All I wanted was a healthy baby. And that's what I got, so why am I so scarred by the events that took place?

As I delve deeper into my memory of those 12 hours of labor and then being told I'd need a c-section, I start to relive some of the things I was feeling:

-not in control: As soon as I agreed to a c-section I was given forms to sign, Evan was taken to be prepped for surgery, and I was told about the slight chance that I'd feel pain when they started to make the incision

-head-spinning: Everything happened so quickly. One minute I was laying in the hospital bed exhausted from a day of labor, listening to Blake's heartbeat decline with each contraction and then increase, and the next minute I was being wheeled into the operating room and told to try to move myself to the operating table.

-scared: I wanted desperately to call my mom when my doctor told me I would need a c-section. But I felt like there wasn't time and that if I got on the phone I'd immediately start crying. And I distinctly remember not wanting my doctor to see me cry. That seems so silly since he was going to cut me open and see the inside of my uterus. But I wanted to seem ok with being cut open.

-worried: I was worried about Blake's health and my health. And I was also worried that my wedding rings would get lost because the nurse forgot to tell me to take them off before going into the operating room.

-pain: After my c-section, my epidural catheter was removed before I received any pain medication. I was on a high from being able to see my little baby, but soon after that I was in the worst pain I'd ever experienced. Just imagine being able to feel the pain from a fresh incision in your skin AND your insides. It was horrible. So horrible that all I remember doing is squeezing Evan's hand, screaming at the nurse when she would push on my stomach, and asking for the pain to go away.

-relief: Finally I was given a strong enough pain medication and the pain subsided. And then I got to hold my baby.

But that relief wasn't enough to wash away all those awful feelings I had before I got to hold Blake. And when I think about having another baby, a lot of those awful feelings come back. And sometimes I can even feel a slight twinge of pain in the "beautiful" scar I get to wear for the rest of my life.

I feel like having a c-section has taken away my choice when it comes to how I want to have more children. I mean, I do have choices. But I guess I don't really like my choices. VBAC? Possible, but there are risks. Scheduled c-section? Probably easier, but then there's the issue of scar tissue and the risks associated with that.

And then there's the recovery. The recovery from my c-section was very long and painful. I've heard that c-section recovery gets easier with each one. But I can still remember not being able to stand up completely because the pain was too much to bear.

I feel like I should get over the fact that I had a c-section, not let it effect my decisions the way it has. But the memory of everything is still fresh, even after 16 months.

With such a traumatizing experience pre and post delivery, I feel just as traumatized by the memory of being a new mother. The sleepless nights, the pure exhaustion, the frustration, the needing help but refusing to ask for it, the night that still haunts me when I grabbed a piece of paper as Blake was screaming in his cradle and scribbled down how I wasn't cut out for motherhood and how I had made a horrible mistake, or the night I prayed for Blake to stop crying until he actually did stop crying. It all seems so dramatic now. My emotions were out of control and I hated it. Evan wasn't around to experience my postpartum mood swings. And I don't think any amount of explaining will prepare him for them when we have a second child. 

I suppose that if I'm feeling apprehensive about having another child then I'm not ready mentally for it. And that's ok. Every once in a while I kind of check in with myself and think about whether it's time to "expand our family". I do wonder when the memory of my c-section, memories of being a new mom, and the apprehension of life in Brooklyn with 2 kids will be outweighed by the excitement and readiness to have baby #2. For now, I'll just focus on not-a-baby-anymore #1.

I'm one of THOSE moms...

I let my 13 month old pick things up and put them in his mouth. (gasp!) Obviously I don't let him pick up trash or dangerous items, but he's been known to chew on a stick. Or put a wood chip or two in his mouth.

And he's eaten dirt before. I did try to stop that, but it was too late.

I guess I should clarify a little. I don't let him continue chewing on things that aren't conducive to being masticated. I just don't hover over him taking every little thing he picks up out of his hands. And I don't freak out if he puts something in his mouth. Well unless it happened to be dog poop. Then I would totally freak out. And let's face it, I'm never surprised when he picks stuff up and puts it in his mouth. I'm actually surprised when he doesn't!

Last week I was at the playground with Blake and he was taking his usual stroll around the park, picking things up and holding them in his hand. Obviously at 13 months old Blake is not big enough to man the playground on his own, so I walk around with him. I am completely aware of what he is doing at all times, and that includes when he picks things up and tries to have a taste. Apparently another mother didn't think I was in control of the situation and said, "Oh my gosh, he is eating the stick, Mom!" I ignored her and just took the stick out of Blake's mouth.

I was annoyed. I guess she was just trying to let me know that my baby had a stick in his mouth. But I was right beside him! Looking at him! I've found the bigger reaction I make when Blake does something I don't want him to do, the more he does it. So I let him put some things in his mouth so he can see that they don't taste good. It probably sounds crazy, but our playground trips would consist of me carrying Blake around so he doesn't pick anything up off the ground. And that just isn't going to happen.

I would never let Blake put anything in his mouth that would make him sick (i.e. trash, medical waste, nuclear sludge), but is it so bad that I don't freak out when he licks a rock or tries to eat an acorn? I've been wondering lately if I did react in a big way if he would learn more quickly not to nibble on sticks and such. I'm guessing he'd still keep grazing.

I love that he likes to explore and is trying to experience the world around him. And I'm right there with him letting him experience it in a safe way. And sometimes that means he's gonna eat some dirt.

confession

The pressurized cans of dough, like Pillsbury crescent rolls, scare me. I hate opening them because I never know exactly when they're going to pop. I know they will pop, just not when. I usually make someone else do it. Evan laughs at me. And you probably are, too.