Breastfeeding State Laws

I just want to keep this info handy in case I ever need to reference it.
Breastfeeding State Laws

For Sean

I Love My Boys

Gospel Aerobics - Let The Praise Begin

Dear Sean

Dear Sean,

Last night while you were sleeping, I picked you up and I held you. I cradled you in my arms. I placed you over my shoulder and turned my head to watch you sleep. I kissed your cheek and neck repeatedly. I held you to my chest and wished that I could stay like this all night. You are only 3 months, but you dont let me hold you like you used to. You do not sleep on my chest. You will not cuddle with me. When you are awake, you kick and scream when I cradle you and you never put your head down when I hold you over my shoulder. Sure, you let me hold you. You let me kiss you. You even cry for me when I walk away. But, each day you are getting bigger. Each day you are reaching out and growing into your own person. You are learning your likes and your dislikes. I feel as each day I am losing a part of you. I just realized that I must kiss you every chance I get because soon you will have the ability to push me away. I must make you smile as much as I can because one day I will make you sad. And now, I must pick you up and watch you sleep in my arms because you will not let me hold you like you used to.

Mom

Talking with mommy and daddy

Tummy Time

HIStory

***Still working on this***

One day I will tell my son that he was made from love. He was made from irrevocable, unequivocal love. Whether or not he understands, I need him to know that my world got brighter the day I met him. In the midst of all my love and joy for this precious gift, I need him to know what it means to love and what it means to be a good person. He didn't cry when he was born. I remember looking up and seeing his eyes open. He was alert and shell-shocked. The tears did come, of course. Now, when he does find a reason to cry, I think to myself, "cry now, baby boy! For one day the world will frown on your tears." It is my duty to make him tough so the world won't break him down. Give him thick skin. I chuckle to myself as I console this tiny part of me. My love, personified. Cry now, baby boy.

Throughout his lifetime he will seek acceptance. I want him to know that in this world of have and have-nots, the main person who should accept him is himself. He must love himself and the rest will follow. I want him to find beauty in places where people question its existence. He needs to learn that he will never find a woman's beauty between her thighs no matter how much he looks. I need him to know his family and where he comes from so he knows where he is going. I want him to see things in color rather than just black and white. I will teach him that his fingers, his mouth and his mind are all musical instruments that play to peoples emotions. He must learn to be careful of the tune he plays in order to avoid unearthing the wrong emotion. I want him to know self preservation, hard work and responsibility. I want him to know me. He needs to know I have good intentions.

I know there are things in this world that I can't control. I will not be able to control him as much as I might try. And, one day, we may find ourselves in a tug-o-war. I want different things for him than he wants for himself. I will plant my feet to the ground, throw my weight back and pull. When that day comes, I hope I can remind myself of what I feel when I look at him right now. Undeniable pride.

Super Pooper

Renowned psychiatrist, Sigmund Freud pioneered the psychoanalytic method of psychiatry. While it is his theory on the subconscious mind and his Oedipus complex that keeps his name buzzing in Psychology and English classrooms, it is his theory on poop that makes him a relevant addition to this blog. Freud contended that there was a connection between sexual experiences and defecation when we are babies. This leads me to believe one of two things. First, Freud really enjoyed taking poops. In fact, he was such a fan of "popping a squat" that he just knew in his heart there was more to the 15 minutes of pleasure spent passing his waste and gas. Second, Freud never watched a baby grunt and cry in pain when trying to soil a diaper.

Poop has never been the topic of polite conversation. We teach our children to associate our bathroom activities with numbers (#1 or #2). Even men work hard to believe that women are the only creatures on this Earth that do not poop. Personally, I find the good ol' #2 to be a great form of stress relief. Who wouldn't want to spend 15 minutes in a bathroom flipping through a magazine just to walk out half a pound lighter? However, there are times when I do not appreciate defecation (particularly when it is not mine).

It was a morning like any other. Each morning like clockwork, Sean starts his day with a big poop. As I watched Sean squirm and grunt, I felt sorry for the little guy. "They will get easier," I reassured him. I lifted his legs to assist him. Soon, the glorious sound of poop filling his diaper rang in the room. Half asleep, I laid there watching him, secretly congratulating him on his victory. Suddenly, Sean began to spit up. He choked and gasped. I immediately rolled him over to his side. I patted his back while he recovered. Once the look of alarm left his face, I picked him up and sat him on my lap so I could clean his face and neck. He looked up at me. His eyes were big and glossy. It was almost like he was thanking me. In that moment, I was his hero. His eyes told me how much he loved me and appreciated me coming to his rescue. I smiled at him and told him I loved him. I watched his eyes grow bigger. He started to grunt. The smile slowly left my face as I felt something warm rolling down my thigh. I looked down... There it was. The slime that is my son's poop. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" I shouted. I picked up Sean and raced him to the changing table attached to his Pack-n-Play. I watched as my son's enemy invaded my pillowcase, my sheets and my by-standing blankets. His diaper did nothing to protect us. I almost forgot there was an army of poop making its way down my leg at that very moment. I raced to the bathroom and defeated the stinky invader. I could hear Sean exploding another army out of his butt while he laid on the changing table. When all was quiet and I was sure it was safe, I gave Sean a bath. (His feet and part of his leg were covered in poop, after all.) After his bath, I secured a new diaper on him. I looked across the room at my poor sheets and blankets. What was once a safe haven for warmth and comfort was now a big baby wipe. I looked back at my son."I am so going to write a blog about this," I told him.
He smiled and let out a small chuckle.
That chuckle made it all worth it.

Slow Your Roll

Sean has been rolling over since he was 2 months old. It is hard to get good tummy time in when I have to keep rolling him back onto his stomach every minute. lol He had some demands he needed to share as well.

The Adventures of Captain Thunder Thighs

My thighs have always been great friends. They love to touch and be close to one another. I guess you can say they've never separated. It is a blessing and a curse. Even when I am in the best of shape, my thighs manage to jiggle. Not only that, they tend to be very stubborn when it comes to jeans. They just don't like fitting in them. For the past 22 years of my life, these girls have given me nothing but insecurities and countless hours in the fitting room. Little did I know, one thing these two b.f.f.s gave me was super strength...

It was time to start working on getting back in shape. There I was one day roaming listlessly through the gym's weight room when I stumbled upon the leg press! "Leg press, huh," I thought to myself, "it has been a while since I've done one of these." I got myself situated on the seat and looked down at the weights. As I tested the weights to find the right resistance, I was suddenly surprised to find I was leg pressing 180lbs with ease. I thought to myself, "I just leg pressed my husband!" I finished my reps and got off the machine. I was empowered. My legs were strong! (Still flabby, but strong!!) What other peril-less acts could my thunderous thighs display? "I should go home and just kick the door in!" (If we weren't renting, of course) "I could go home and kick a hole through my husbands stomach!" (If I wasn't madly in love with him, of course) Where was my adventure?! Leg presses and lunges can't be all this power has to offer! Sooner than I knew it, my mission was about to roll in my path...

12am. I was just shutting down the computer and joining my husband in bed. He was sound asleep as evident from his loud breathing and faint snore. I stretched out beside him. Suddenly, my dead weight of a husband comes rolling right on top of me! He was still very, very asleep and at this moment he has started to rest his arm on my face. HAVE NO FEAR! CAPTAIN THUNDER THIGHS IS HERE!! Sure, I could have woken him up and told him to shove over, but what fun would that have made this blog? No, it was time! My strength was ready to be tested. My left thigh was nestled perfectly underneath him. I just needed to pick him up with my thigh and roll him over. Of course, I would need to be extra careful! Sometimes I don't know my own super strength. I wouldn't want to roll him right off the bed! I carefully calculated my next move! My knee started to bend! I got into position! Like a gazelle I--- DAMMIT!

He rolled back over before I could push him.

A Reflection of Motherhood

It is 10:30pm. Suddenly, I hear Sean screaming at the top of his lungs. I rush to his side to find him crying in his sleep. A nightmare. He arouses himself and looks around rattled as he attempts to gain back the familiarity of his reality. His eyes focus on me hovering quietly above him. He begins to pout. His pouts turn into whimpers. I pick him up and pat his back. "There, there," I tell him, "Mommy is here. Mommy and daddy are here. You are safe." I look over my shoulder to find his bottom lip still poking out. I nurse him for comfort. Although his is drowsy, he is somewhat ravenous at my breast. His eyes close and open as he fights sleep. His eyelids droop closer together. Soon, they meet. I kiss him on the cheek. In that moment, my eyes begin to swell with tears. "Damn hormones!" I think to myself. However, it was more than that. In this moment, my son is safe and secure in my arms. I thought about the day when my arms would no longer provide security. What if one day his father and I are not strong enough to protect him? What if he gets hurt? What if he is forgotten? Right now he is laying in my arms uncorrupted by the world. Uncorrupted by the people in this world. He is beautiful. I want this moment. I want this moment in time to last forever. I want this moment to last forever because some day soon this moment will be a memory among many others. It will make me smile and think back on the day when he was so little. It will be a mere reflection... A reflection of motherhood...

The Art of Shutting Him Up

My husband comes home for lunch everyday. If he is lucky, I have a warm meal waiting for him when he walks through the door. One day, I heated up meatloaf we had the night before. While he was eating he asked me, "Hey babe, I thought you were going to make me lunch?" To which I replied, "I did. I made you lunch last night, but I made so much of it we ate it for dinner too." He had no comeback.

The KIM-IN-A-TOR wins again! Muahaha!

:)

Stay at Home Mom Imagines Strangling Husband

My hubby and I have been together for 4 wonderful years. For me, the thought of jump kicking him across his face is right up there with "how much I love him," and "how happy and lucky I am to be with him." As mean as kicking him in the face may sound, I would never do it. And besides, I would have to stand on a chair or something in order to get my leg that high. My problem with him now is here we have this beautiful 7 week old baby that I am lucky to spend all day (and night) with and my DH just can't understand why I'm not as active in the kitchen and around the house as I used to be. I sometimes feel it is my son's personal mission to ensure things like cooking dinner and doing laundry are not done. However, I am not sure how many moms won a case with "our child deplores when we eat! And loves when we stink!" Let me also add that ever since my husband joined the Air Force, he has been eating enough to feed a small village in a third world country. So how do I make him understand? How do I make him understand that I would love to sing and dance as I make dinner, and fold laundry as blue jays poop rainbows and butterflies over our house? However, the reality is the only gourmet meals I make now a days come out of my breast and unless he wants to share the same diet as Sean, I suggest he be a little bit more thankful for Chef Boyr-Microwave. So here we are. At the end of the day, no matter how much I reason, I am left standing behind him with my hands reaching out.. ready to squeeze...

Just a vent.

Love does not live here anymore

Here is a poem I wrote a couple years back:

Love does not live here anymore.

She packed her bags and broke her lease

Without giving 30 days notice

She was through being unconditional

Unrequited and unappreciated

Her mouth tasted so many tears

It did not know if they were tears of joy

Or tears of sorrow

She tired to change her wardrobe by

Taking her heart off her sleeve

but found,

No matter where she put it,

It always seemed to break

She tried yoga and other forms of meditation

She would listen to love songs

And then avoid love songs

All in the same week

She diagnosed herself with depression and prescribed chocolates

To monitor her condition

Then one day she picked up a pen and paper

And wrote,

“LOVE DOES NOT LIVE HERE ANYMORE”

She packed the pieces of her heart and left.

Love does not live here any more.

But if you see her,

Can you tell her she still owes me last months rent?

Moments in Passing

He's been telling me
Everything will work out.
He says,
"There is no time to
rush time
because there will
be plenty of time
in due time
pump ya breaks,
little mama."
He makes time
feel infinite
He speaks to me
so intimately
He puts his feet
up on my furniture,
Snoozes my alarm clock
in the morning
He makes the addiction feel right
the pressure comes off
at once so it
must be right.
He whispers pleasures in
my ear
Teases me with opportunity
to be something else
to do something else
to make something else
to make love to this moment.
He makes me lust for it.
He invites my mind
to wander,
He plays with my curiosity.
He tells me,
"All we have is this moment.
we walk fine lines to
flirt with deadlines,
It's a fix we can't get enough of it."
I want to leave him
to pick up
and go
somewhere he can't find me.
Go to rehab.
This is the time when I need
A Time Machine
To go back
and never meet him
But Procrastination is hard to forget
He is a hard habit to kick
And Procrastination...
Will always find me...

This man MUST love me

I haven't combed my hair in a few days. I am siting across from my poor husband looking like I am the love child of Ms.Celie from "The Color Purple" and Buckwheat from "The Little Rascals." In fact, (when my hair is not combed) I am infamous for scaring members of my family. One day my sister-in-law witnessed a figure with big crazy hair lurking past a window in her parent's house as she pulled into the drive way. Not realizing it was me, she called her parents from her cell to ask "who was in the house" and "if they needed her to call the cops." The same night my brother-in-law walked into the kitchen where he met eyes with "a cave woman in a t-shirt and jeans." Caught completely off guard, instead of a "hello," I got an "OH sh!t!" While there are no Gieco commercials in my future, actually finding the time to do my hair can be a trying task. It takes me 2hrs to do my hair. My beauty regimen consists of spending a little over an hour blow drying the tight curls out of my hair and then the remaining 2 hrs pressing it with a flat iron. Being a new mommy, the only 2hr breaks I get are the refreshing 2hr intervals of sleep I get in the middle of the night. So here I am. My hair is a mess. A hot tangled mess. Not to mention, I have more rolls around my midsection than a dinner table at Christmas(the souvenirs my son left me to work off). And, if my skin breaks out anymore, I could pass for a witch. A big fat witch. I have a handsome (almost too good to be true) man sitting across from me and there is no telling how repulsed he is right now. Then.. Without provocation, my husband looked up at me and said, "you're so beautiful, babe."

Maybe he needs glasses.
:-P