Mairsy Dotes

"No faith is as solid as a wounded faith."

An anniversary of sorts… June 3, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — beege @ 11:41 pm

…four years ago today, we found out we were pregnant with Nea. I’ve written several blog entries on this day, and my feelings and reactions before. If you’re curious, just go to my archives and look for June 3. If you’ve been reading me for any length of time: I won’t bore you with a repeat.

But what’s funny to me is that I could not for the life of me tell you when we found out about Sarah. Not the first positive HPT. Not the day in the doctor’s office when we got the official “Yep, you’re knocked up.” news. It was sometime in August. Mid-August. But that’s the best I can do.

And I feel guilty about that, and I feel silly for feeling guilty. But I do. I wish I could remember, so that someday in a few weeks’ time, I could write a post about how we felt, and how much we love her, and how this day will always be special because it’s the day we found out she was coming, like I did for her big sister.

I guess I’ll just have to ballpark it.

So, Sarah: I’m sorry I don’t know when we found out about you, but I’m glad you’re here. And to Nea, my sweet first baby, who feels as good in my arms today as you did when they first put you there almost four years ago: Mama loves you like crazycakes.  


Now THAT’S my girl

Filed under: Uncategorized — beege @ 11:35 pm

Texas is an amazing place. I fell in love with it the first time I ever set foot in the state. There’s a mindset, a culture, and a pride that I deeply love. I tell my girls to never forget that they are half-Texan, and I consider myself to be Texan by marriage.

Texans love a lot of things. They love football. They love beer. They love pickup trucks. They love good music. They love their mamas. And they love barbeque.

Which is why, I suppose, that every time we go down to Texas to visit my in-laws, we have barbeque at least once at a little place called Cele. Cele used to be a town. Now it’s pretty much just an old general store that has been converted into a barbeque “restaurant”. I use quotes because they’re only open Friday nights and Saturday noons. It’s decorated pretty much like an old machine shop would be, and their tables are old tables that have been salvaged from basements and garage sales. There’s no air conditioning, and the curtains–once white–have become a rich chocolate brown from the years and years of barbeque smoke.

When we go, my in-laws know most of the people in there. There’s talk, there’s laughter. But some pretty famous people have eaten at Cele, too–Clint Eastwood, Kevin Costner, and probably Dolly Parton and Burt Reynolds (Cele is not far from the house where they filmed “Best Little Whorehouse in Texas“–the house, by the way, was built by M’s great-grandfather and until recently his dad’s cousin still lived there. We had a wedding shower there. Here endeth my connection to Hollywood.). But it’s nothing fancy. Just simple people, getting together in a simple place, to enjoy a simple meal: meat, bread, pickles, cheese, and some of the best barbeque sauce you will ever have in your mouth, all served up on butcher paper.

This visit was no different. FIL loaded up his wife, children and his grandchildren, and off we went to Cele to gorge ourselves on barbeque. The waitress took our drink orders, starting with the little girls. Katy, age 4, asked for a Big Red. Suz, age 3, asked for an iced tea. And what did my sweet Nea order? My sweet, lovely little girl who has never even had a soft drink or a piece of gum in her entire life? She quite proudly (and quite loudly) stood on her chair, looked the waitress in the eye and said, “I’d like a beer.”

The entire place errupted into laughter. I felt my hair go slightly curly, as I wondered what in the hell had prompted her to say that.  Then I decided it didn’t matter what made her say it. It was funny. It was damn funny. And, I supposed I couldn’t very well fault her for ordering beer when I’ve spent that last four years telling her that she’s a half-Texan and everyone knows how Texans feel about beer. So we compromised. She got to have a Sprite. I was willing to let her have her first soft drink, if not her first Shiner.


Taking care of the Ta-tas

Filed under: Uncategorized — beege @ 11:19 pm

I love nursing. I do. I love nursing as much as I don’t love being pregnant. In fact, nursing makes up for all the blegginess of pregnancy, as far as I’m concerned. I love looking down into Boog’s great big eyes, watching them crinkle up at the corners as she smiles at me. Sure, you can have the same experience with a bottle–don’t get me wrong. I’m pro-breast feeding, but not anti-bottle–but there’s just something about the connectedness you have with your baby when you nurse. It’s a connectedness that I love.

For instance: we were visiting my in-laws for a week and a half recently. We left Boog with my MIL so that M, Linnea, and I could go run errands. At some point during the morning: my milk let down, and I announced, “Well, Sarah’s hungry.” Sure enough, when we got back to the in-laws and I got the babysitting breakdown, MIL said she fed her about five minutes after I felt my let down. My body knows when my baby is hungry, even when I’m miles away from her. I freaking love that.

Which is why I love this store. It’s located in Austin, TX and I swear on all that I hold dear and holy: if you’re ever in the area and you’re nursing, or thinking about nursing–stop by. The women that work there love taking care of mothers. They offer a nursing room that is truly nursing mom friendly (soft lighting, rockers with footstools, a door that you can close). They provide a changing table and wipes. They have lactation consultants on staff. My MIL first took me there when I was pregnant with Nea and needed some maternity bras. Then she took me back when Nea was born and I needed nursing bras. This visit: I was after more nursing bras, some new tubing for my breast pump, and a new sling.

They helped with everything. It was so huge. After nearly two months of feeling like I don’t do anything but move from one family member to another, fulfilling their needs (diaper change here, sippy cup refill there, rocking here, finding a missing text book there, snuggling here, blow job there…) and pretty much ignoring my own (Please? Please can I go pee? Please? And if it’s not too much trouble, could I please pee alone?) it was absolute bliss to walk into Special Addition and have a woman answer every question I had, fulfill every need I had (a place to nurse Boog and a place to change her diaper after), and do so in a way that made me feel like I was the best damn mom in the world. That alone was worth every penny I gave them.

The upshot? The ta-tas are happy ta-tas, in a nursing bra that doesn’t require lube and a crowbar to get them out in order to nurse. I’ve got tubing that works with my pump (so M can take over some of those night feedings). And I’ve got myself a fabu new sling.

When Mama’s happy, EVERYBODY’S happy.