My house is not particularly big as American houses go. I have around 1,800 square feet: three rooms and two bathrooms. We have some storage space but not much, this house was built in 1953 and I think people had less stuff to store. Today this house is brimming with stuff. It's an assault on the senses. There are toys everywhere. I am constantly tripping, slipping, kicking and stepping on toys.
One bedroom is Logan's office (we also store a piano and some random stuff in there). The other two bedrooms are places we sleep. I used to have many toys in the kids' room but decided it created a distracting sleep environment and moved all the toys into the living/eating room/kitchen area. It is a total disaster. I have packed boxes of toys and stored them outside. I thought we would do the cycling of toys. I cycled some toys in and some toys out ONCE in the past six months. We are literally drowning in toys and stuff in this house. I am not prepared to sell or get rid of anything (pack rat and totally unable to part with things). But, I am starting to feel like I am part of the problem. Every time I buy a toy I throw away or recycle a ton of cardboard and plastic. I am literally filling a landfill every time I buy something new. Stuff comes with more packaging than product. At the end of the month, my credit card bill is something I have to think about because I needed to buy more stuff that is suffocating my household. (Don't worry, I am not overspending, but, I am spending money on things we don't necessarily need and we could save instead.) How much stuff do I need before I am happy? I thought the more toys they had, the more occupied my kids would be throughout the day. I was totally wrong. Other than a few select toys (bicycle, tricycle, the toy kitchen, a few other items) toys are awesome for a week and then forgotten. They become something thrown around the house, something I have to pick up and put away on a daily basis. I can't keep my house clean because I can't keep up with all the stuff laying everywhere. I can't wait to get rid of all the toys and box them away. I want to see my floor again. I want to be able to sweep my floor without having to pick up stuff for an hour first. I am starting to hate stuff. The more stuff I own, the more stuff I want, the more money I spend, the more I have to work and then I want the latest and greatest new stuff and pretty soon I am drowning in stuff and debt and also polluting the world with plastic that isn't biodegradable and it's a vicious cycle I can't leave. I am hoping Israel will be a cleansing of sorts. A place where I will be living rather sparsely. I won't have most of my stuff and I am going to live for six months without all of my shoes or clothes or books or kitchen gadgets. I crave this Spartan lifestyle. I want empty bookshelves, bare floors, a space with no clutter. I want to spend this time cleansing my soul on all levels. This crazy American consumerist lifestyle where I feel the need to own the greatest and latest and newest is preventing me from living with freedom where money does not dictate my happiness.
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I am crazy stressed.
I feel overwhelmingly overwhelmed. Completely over my head. We are going to Israel in February for six months. This should be something to dance a jig over, I get it. It should be one of the most exciting things I've ever done. Instead, I feel stressed to the max. I need to fix my house, I need to find amazing renters, I need to pack my house and put it in storage, I need to get passports, paperwork, rent a house in Israel, figure out health insurance, find a preschool for Sadie, find friends for me, keep this house reasonably clean for prospective tenants, and give up my dog Emma. We got lucky and found an amazing forever home for her, but I am going to miss her. Sadie has also started preschool. We have gone from never being sick to dealing with something every week. Last Thursday at 2:30am I jumped out of bed and caught Sadie throwing up. (Motherhood has given me bat-like hearing. I literally heard her gagging and ran into her room as she threw up cat barf.) I carried her to the bathroom where she continued to vomit on the floor and in the toilet. Logan and I let her sleep with us where she vomited a few more times; thankfully I caught her just as she was starting and Logan was able to run with her to the bathroom and get her to finish in the toilet. Today I was at the DMV (trying to wrap up my official last name change and get my passport ready for our trip) when Aaron started to throw up. I was at the DMV for an hour and forty minutes and my number was the fifth one in the G series. He threw up on the floor twice and then started to get upset. I hugged him and then he threw up all over me, down my chest and people were making crazy noises "oooohhhh.ahhhh.iilllll" Someone got up and brought me paper towels to clean up the floor while I continued to soothe Aaron and act nonchalantly about the whole thing. After he was done throwing up he behaved normally so I decided to finish what I was doing there in the first place. I asked the lady working in the front if they could take me earlier because my baby threw up and she asked me why I would bring my sick baby to the dmv. I, naturally, was offended and replied ", uhhh he wasn't sick when I came here... i wouldn't bring a sick baby here obviously." Some guy felt bad for me and gave me his number ("i've got two kids of my own, I understand" he said to me with compassion). It was one ahead of mine but I took it and was grateful. Some people gave me the side eye for staying but Aaron didn't have a fever and I was covered in vomit consisting primarily of breast milk so it wasn't so bad. We came home and he threw up at the door, near my computer, all over me several more times until I finally called the doctor who told me to stop feeding him and giving him stuff to drink. I was petrified he was going to have dehydration issues but realized three hours of not eating and drinking were not going to send us to the hospital! When I told Sadie we needed to avoid giving Aaron anything to drink for thirty minutes she told me I was wrong and he was going to be hungry. That's my yiddusha-madela. We have gone from fevers, to runny noses, to coughing, to sore throats, to throwing up... it's been a month. I'm feeling overwhelmed with all the diseases we are handling. Somewhere in between all those things I need to get them flu shots to protect them from the real nasty bugs flying around. Also, around three months ago we did the cry it out method with Aaron. It took nearly a week and it was agony. It lasted for maybe a week. Now he wakes up several times a night crying. At first I would nurse him every time he woke up but two weeks ago I decided to night wean him between the hours of 10 pm and 5am. Now Logan has to go in and give him a binkie and comfort him repeatedly through the night. We continue to get poor, inconsistent sleep. I have tried keeping him in my bed but he does not sleep well in my bed either. It seems we are doomed to never sleep a solid 8 hours a night ever again. When I hear of other babies who sleep through the night I am overwhelmed with jealousy. I lie to myself and say the next one will sleep through the night. I also had to quit playing guitar and stop taking lessons. Aaron went from sleeping a lot during the day to only sleeping in the stroller or car seat. Otherwise my hands are occupied holding Aaron or tying to get something done around the house. I feel like a failed housekeeper, I cannot keep this house clean. So, this is an update, a journal entry and my way of introducing the next crazy stage in our life - HALVAH - err, I mean ISRAEL. When we first moved into our house we did not have many baby toys. My mother was into buying my daughter dresses and my mother-in-law was into spending time with my daughter. Toys, books and other forms of entertainment were my responsibility. I took my task very seriously.
I spent lots of money on toys. I saw my friends' playrooms on facebook and in real life and decided my daughter was missing out if I didn't buy her toys. When my son was born 2.5 years later I decided he needed lots of trucks, trains and other "boy" toys. I did not hold back - toys for my children were extremely necessary. When my son turned 6 months and started crawling... I realized less was more. I spent hours every week organizing and cleaning toys. I purged choking hazard toys and found more everywhere I looked. I was going nuts. My house and the toys inside of the house were making my life worse. Sadie's room was an insane cluster of toys and my living rooms was an insane cluster of toys and my family room was an insane cluster of toys. THERE WERE TOYS EVERYWHERE. Okay, confession time: I am a pack rat. I hate throwing anything away. I can't do it. What did I do? I bought many, many plastic bins and filled them with toys. By the end I had one very large bin sitting in the middle of the living room for a month waiting for me to fill it with the rest of the random toys I had collected over the years. Finally, realizing there was no way I was going to organize that bin and keep my sanity, I closed the lid shut and had my husband store it outside. Then I took a look around my house, saw no choking hazards and breathed. Yesterday I called my husband nearly in tears.
I take my kids to swim class twice a week. Because my youngest is only 9 months, I have to get into the pool with him. I usually wear a bikini with a t-shirt and shorts. Yesterday, I put on my bikini top in front of my daughter. "Mommy, that top is too skinny" "What Sadie?" "That top is too small mommy." "Oh, well, that's okay." I have the top on me covering my breasts. "Mommy, you look fat in that." I Look Fat In That. My husband thought this conversation was hilarious and on-point. When I told him what happened he said to me, "well, honey, where do you think a three year old hears these things? You have a constant monologue of being fat and ugly. This is your result." In the morning today I looked in the mirror while brushing my teeth, Sadie (my three year old) stood next to me. I remembered the negative words that came out of her mouth. She must have heard every time I complained about looking fat or old or ugly. I have seared into her mind that looks matter - simply by speaking negatively about myself. This morning I stood there and looked at myself. I saw the same bloodshot eyes, the wrinkles under my eyes, the flaws I see every day and I looked at Sadie and lied to myself - I declared to the mirror, "I look so pretty today." I LIED. And yet, when the words came out of my mouth, I felt pretty. In two seconds the same face went from tired and old to pretty. From now on I will lie and lie and lie until I believe it, if not for me, for my daughter who I think is absolutely perfect. May she never look at a mirror and think she is ugly or fat or less than because of her appearance. When I had my daughter a little over three years ago I knew I was going to nurse her. I was adamant about nursing for several reasons.
*ahem* 1. I remember my aunt going nuts with all the bottles and formula and the cleaning of bottles and the purifying of water and it seemed like a huge ordeal and a constant need to clean something. I *hate* cleaning. Nursing? You clean your boobs sometimes in the shower and that's it. This sealed the deal for me. 2. It's so easy. You can pull out a booby anywhere - and I mean - anywhere, and feed your screaming child. Standing in line paying for groceries? Whip out a boob. Sitting on the pot and working on digestive issues? Whip out a boob. Husband is hungry and impatient for dinner? Whip out a boob. Err... well, you get the point. 3. It's FREE!!!! OMG!!!! Something about babies is FREE!!!! You can't even get the baby for free. Both of my kids cost me nearly $800 just to check them out of the hospital. But for some insane reason my boobs make food for free. It's amazing. These three reasons convinced me that nursing was the only way to go. I didn't have to clean anything, I could do it anywhere and it was free. I was set. The first time I put Sadie on the boob (okay, Logan put Sadie on the boob and the nurse made sure she latched on correctly) I knew we were going to stick with nursing. It was a done deal. I did not realize nursing to Sadie meant she was going to be glued on to my breast day and night for 17 months. I soon realized I was going to need a wardrobe in nursing covers if I was ever going to get anything done. I wore my nursing cover everywhere. I went grocery shopping, went to the bathroom, went to parties wearing my nursing cover with Sadie attached underneath. And then, one magical day, I hung out with a fellow nursing mom (I didn't really know any for the first six months of Sadie's life) who pulled up her shirt, whipped out her boob and stuffed it into her son's mouth RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. My jaw dropped and I am not saying this metaphoircally. I was shocked. I was bamboobzed. I went home and with outrage told my husband what happened. She pulled out her boob and nursed the baby in front of me. I saw her boob. I saw her nipple. Where was the fucking nursing cover? I have grown up a lot since then. It takes a lot more than a boob to shock me now. With my first child, I still covered myself a lot while nursing. I felt uncomfortable feeding her in public without a cover. My second child changed the game for me. No longer was it easy to find the nursing cover, put it on, deal with my first child and nurse. I decided to stop using the nursing cover as often. I started pulling my shirt up and putting him on the boob in public. I blame a good friend of mine for forcing me to realize that nursing was normal and not something that needed to be hidden. After I gave birth to my second child my good friend came over to visit. She was there with her children and was nursing her youngest. She asked if she could nurse without a cover and I immediately gave her my approval. As she nursed her child coverless I pulled out my nursing cover and began to nurse my baby. My nursing cover made her feel insecure about her choice and she pulled out her cover and continued to nurse. In that moment I realized how fucked up society is to force women to cover up while nursing their children. I started to nurse in public without a cover to normalize nursing. Now I want to share some breastfeeding artistic photos I have taken to continue the idea that breastfeeding is normal and breastfeeding is beautiful. Feel free to send me any of your nursing photos, I would be happy to post them on the blog. My Jewish birthday begins at sundown tonight. I have very mixed feelings about my Jewish birthday. I was born on the 4th of Av. Essentially, I was born during one of the biggest weeks of mourning in the Jewish calendar. It sucks. As a kid my non-Jewish birthday (August 2nd) was somehow mixed in during The Three Weeks of Mourning. Yes, three weeks of no music and a time of quiet reflection on why we lost the temple, not once but twice. It is rare when I can throw a birthday party on my birthday. Like I said, it sucks. This year the three weeks of mourning are over next Monday and they do not coincide at all with my non-Jewish birthday. I have even heard rumors that the first night of Chanukah is on Thanksgiving, it seems all of the Jewish events are earlier than usual... but I digress. My Jewish birthday is bittersweet. On one hand, it's my birthday. On the other hand, it's a time of great sadness in my peoples' history. It's nine days of avoiding dangerous activities because historically this is a time bad things happen to people. I am spiritually sensitive to the three weeks. Every year I begin to carry a sadness deep within and I look at the calendar and realize the three weeks of mourning have begun again. I can't help but hold my breath and wait until the nine days are over and we can go back to living our lives normally. Today my best friend told me she learned something very interested in seminary (a Jewish school for female adults). The Rabbi told her it was important to bless people by saying, "may hashem (God) bless you." Instead of saying, "I bless you with ...." you are acknowledging blessings come from God and you are asking God to grant the blessing. I like that. On your Jewish birthday, it is customary to bless people. Your birthday is a renewal of you. It is a celebration of your birth, of your existence. As the sun falls and the sky darkens, I am ready to embrace the energy that repeats every year on my day of birth. The heavens opened and my soul was flung into my body this day. My mother cried, suffered and pushed me out of her womb. I took my first breath today. I cried my first cry today. The universe echoes with my existence, the 4th of Av remembers me. I am grateful for my life. I am grateful for my children and my husband and my family. I am grateful for the opportunity to exist. To you, dear friend, I ask that Hashem blesses you. May he bless you. May you be blessed. There is a certain intimacy in death. Death creates familiarity. It allows, at minimum, two people to acknowledge each other as two souls passing in the clouds sharing a similar destiny. When someone dies, it is a stark reminder you will die too. There is no escaping that fate. I first became familiar with death when I was 15, a few months shy of my 16th birthday. I was about to move to San Diego and embark on a new adventure. A few days before I was going to leave, my friend and next door neighbor passed away. I don't weep the way I used to whenever I remember her death, but there is a raw spot in my heart for her. My friend's death shocked me. I still remember a phone call, a request to sit down, my inability to sit since our house had no furniture and then hearing those ever so painful words, "Rebecca died." I didn't and I still don't understand the pointless death of a teenager. She deserved to live a long life and bear children. Her parents deserve that satisfaction. No parent should bury their child. I cried for hours that night. I took a shower and then cried on the bathroom floor. I didn't know how to process the pain. I spent the days before moving to San Diego either taking finals or sitting at her parents' house during shiva. The image of her room during the shiva is burned into my memory. I can still envision it, still remember the bed and the closet and floor and her desk. All of it. I saw her parents' grief and it killed me. No parent should mourn the way they did. It is a total travesty for a child to die. After moving to San Diego my great-grandparents slowly started to die off. I lost three great-grandparents in several years. They were the end of that generation. I had known them most of my childhood and it was hurtful to realize they were no longer going to be part of my life. Their deaths were surreal - something that happened back in Chicago, my former hometown. Deep down I believed if I took a plane, flew to Chicago, got into a car and drove to their apartment I would see them all again. Their deaths were almost meaningless, a false story easily disproved if I was in Chicago. Only a year ago did I have to face the pain of death again. My husband's grandfather passed away at 89 years old. On paper that looks like a long life, a happy life, an okay time for someone to die. But I knew that man and his death hurt so much once again. He was strong mentally and physically until the end. A man with a truly kind heart and a stubborn soul. I asked him once what it was like to be 89 and he told me he was surprised whenever he looked in the mirror and saw an old man, in his heart he was still in his 20's. His funeral was the first I ever attended. They had an open casket and I was terrified to enter the room. I had never seen a dead person in real life before. My husband was in the room and I felt he needed my support. I entered the darkly lit room with trepidation. Grandpa Hal lay there peaceful and seemingly alive. His family stood around, each looking for support in separate ways. Some shared tissues, some stood next to each other, tears flowed freely. I did not know how to handle the grief that I was witness to. My husband's family is not known for sharing emotions. Everyone tends to smile or pretend to smile - awkward comments are met with deflection. I was almost more shocked by the show of emotions versus Grandpa Hal's body laying in the casket. Six months prior to the funeral I had a verbal altercation with my sister-in-law. Despite several apologies I was unwilling to forgive. That day, when we made eye contact in the viewing room and her eyes met mine we became intimate. It was a moment of two people seeing death and understanding its permanence. Her tear filled eyes were an open portal into her heart and I forgave. Later, when the burial was occurring and my father-in-law stood by the grave grieving, I once again felt the intimacy of death. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and hugged him. We stood there with my arm around him and his arm around me. This week I have lost another member of my family. I regret I allowed distance and time to take away from our relationship. My mother's uncle passed away from a short battle with melanoma. When I heard I cried for his death. As an adult I didn't really know him. However, as a child, I remember his smile and his kindness. When he helped my family with a basement remodel he allowed me to work by his side. He only had a kind word for me. He was a good man. I am sorry to say goodbye so soon in his life. Yesterday, my father-in-law's dog passed away. When Aaron joined the family one of our dogs was hit by a car and died. I found his body but within the hour that Logan came home to pick up the body someone had already taken it away. We never said goodbye to our dog. Sadie spent months asking about him. So, yesterday, when Zoey the dog died, I decided Sadie was going to go to her burial and say goodbye. I picked up Sadie from school, told her I had something sad to tell her and then let her know Zoey had died. I asked if she wanted to go the funeral. Sadie very much wanted to say goodbye to Zoey. When Sadie first saw Zoey the dog's body lying in the ditch she was curious but seemed emotionally calm. At some point she went with Grandma (my MIL) to see Zoey closer. I stood on the opposite side and watched Sadie, MIL and FIL stand by the grave while FIL spoke kind words about his dog. I saw Sadie take her finger and put it to her mouth. I continued to watch her and she seemed calm but I felt uncomfortable with her standing so close to the grave and seeing so many people crying around the burial site. [The dog was company dog and many people at my FIL's business really loved her so she was heavily grieved upon her passing.] I walked down the hill and pushed past crying people yelling Sadie's name until she came to me. Immediately she jumped into my arms and demanded to go home. I realized my mistake instantly. I should not have allowed her to go so close to the grave nor stand there while adults weeped around her. It was too intense for a little person. I took her to my husband's office and fed her chocolate and held her for a while. In time she calmed down and we went home. Thankfully today she seems unfazed by yesterday's burial. Why is it only in death we allow ourselves to open to the world and to one another? It seems for many people only when we are faced with our mortality do we allow ourselves to cry and open the window of our souls to each other. I am not typically a morning person. I feel like I need to rewrite that statement. I don't choose to rise early in the morning if there is no pressing need. Typically I like to wake up around 9-10am, do my thing, around 11pm get wired by some mysterious energy force, and then run around until 1 or 2 in the morning before I slowly crash and fade away to dreamland. This lifestyle has hampered my ability to get anything done. If I wake up around 9am and my kids wake up around 9am... and they go to bed at 11pm and I go to bed at 1am, that doesn't give me a lot of time to myself (not to mention any alone time with the hubby). Also, late night time to myself has ended up with me zoning out into internet land and facebook, versus doing something productive. Two mornings ago I needed to complete a project. I was working on it diligently, Aaron woke up and I wrapped him encouraging him to sleep while I finished working. Then Sadie woke up. God had raised the ante. I knew it was time to pull out the big guns in order to have the thirty minutes I needed to finish my work. I turned on the tv, gave the kids food and worked. This was the first time I ever intentionally allowed Aaron to watch tv. He was hooked. Look at the concentration on his face. It's amazing. This morning I rolled out of bed at 6:30am, gave Logan a hug as he prepared to go to work and I sat down at my computer. My book of prayers looked at me demanding attention. "Give me a few minutes," I whispered to the book. I turned on my monitor, checked my email, checked my facebook, felt guilty and started my morning prayers. BAM Aaron woke up. Ooookay. I got up, took my book with me, hugged a smiling Aaron, changed his diapers, finished my prayers, wrapped Aaron and sat down at my desk. I started writing and then Sadie woke up. Morning Plans. Dead. My new life plan of waking up early and seizing the day has been dragged outside, tied to four horses, split apart and made into ashes flying in the wind. On the upside, my kids are going to bed earlier, which has been a blessing. On the downside, I pass out by 11pm now. Tomorrow, a new day. As an optomist I Money is a touchy subject. Some people have lots and lots of money, some people don't have that much money and some people are in the middle. I'm one of those middle people. I'm not poor but I'm not rich. I have lots of bills to pay and a little spending money at the end of the month. Okay, confession time, I LOVE to SPEND SPEND SPEND money!!!!! Can you see the enthusiasm? It doesn't even have to be fancy stuff. I easily can spend $200 at Target or Walmart without blinking an eye on crap I don't particularly need. I call those stores impulse buys. Everything seems inexpensive until you get to check out and your credit card gets sucked dry. Amazon prime has been my enabler for years now. It doesn't get easier than sitting at your computer, clicking BUY, check out cart and you're done! The mailman brings you presents on a daily basis - the Jewish Santa! With horrible pregnancies and little kids, going to the store was a dreaded task I avoided. Instead I purchased toothpaste and everything else on Amazon. Recently visiting Target has become a summer activity. All of a sudden I realized I was easily paying 50% to 100% markup on all the toys I was buying the kids online. I feel slightly duped and taken advantage of by dear Amazon and am considering a strong breakup in the near future. Or at least, more comparative shopping. Unfortunately my shopping habits are biting me in the ass. In a bad way. Last month's credit card bill was not helped by a big car maintenance bill and a few other had-to-be-done stuff, but my impulse buys made the situation worse. I may have spent a bit-more-than-I-really-could-afford on a few fancy wraps. But let's not talk about that. Let's discuss happier thoughts! I have decided on a solution. Tracking money is half assed at best and not really my thing. No, instead, I am going to create a LIST. If I could have a running .gif of LIST flashing like a Vegas sign with lots of shiny sparkling lights around it, I would. Unfortunately that's out of my talent. But, I digress. I am going to make a list, a sort of written pinterest where I write down everything I want to buy. Here, let me start creating my list: 1. Range Rover 2. Porsche Cayenne Turbo S 3. UppyMama wrap 4. A bed so we can stop sleeping on mattresses on the floor That was off the top of my head in the first ten seconds of writing. I have a list, it lives in my head. I have come to a phD conclusion, if I continue to spend money on crap I don't need that accumulates in my house and I end up throwing away (giving away) every six months, I will never own anything I actually want on my list. So, that's it. No more impulse shopping. No more wasting money on kids toys that are forgotten within 2 days of purchase. I'm done. I live in a small house and it's filled with clutter. I have bins of toys that sit around taking up space and are never touched. I am making my stand against stuff. Against clutter. Against $200 shopping sprees at Target that are challenges to pay off when there were three visits in one week (and what the hell did I buy???) List here I come. It might be a novel's length, which is a different problem entirely, but it will be so much more satisfying in the long run (like a media console instead of that thing I am using to hold my dvd player.) Finally, with a list I can compare what the item costs versus what we have extra and viola, I can mark the item off the list, which is so ef·fi·cient /iˈfiSHənt/ of me! I am a people pleaser. I want everyone in the room smiling and at ease. It is an unfortunate insecurity I am working on. My sweet three year old daughter is NOT a people pleaser. In fact, she is the exact opposite. She cares little if anyone likes her or not. Coming back from a playdate she let me know that "some kids like her and some kids do not." I was floored.
When I was a kid (and in some days as an adult) I felt like every kid in the room did not like me. It was very difficult making friends. I preferred to read versus making friends. I was painfully shy and would hide under my dad's jacket at parties. I did not make friends easily. Sadie also takes her time making friends but she doesn't take it personally. She watches the room, examines the people around her and lets herself acclimate before associating with anyone. Recently my people-pleasing ways and Sadie's anti-people-pleasing ways have come to a head. I want Sadie to smile and say "hello" and "goodbye" to people we meet. If I am friendly, I want her to be friendly. Instead Sadie looks at most people with a stony expression and if they compliment her she makes a face and turns away her face away. My daughter should wear a shirt that says "DIVA: Do not speak to." It's like she's a member of Madonna's entourage. I hate the way she behaves but I accept it. I sort of laugh nervously, shrug, mumble something about kids and move on. All of this behavior has been acceptable; however, recently, we have come across a bigger problem. People want to touch Sadie. Older women especially want to touch her hair or her arm and she freaks out. Sadie starts to screech in frustration and make faces. Yesterday an older lady was helping me find a pair of glasses. When we were done she tried touching Sadie's face while mentioning how cute she found Sadie. I did not know what to do while Sadie screeched and turned her head other than mumble something about kids and gently prod Sadie along helping her avoid the woman. This has happened on more than one occasion. I don't want to be rude and tell people to not touch my kid. I also want to support Sadie and her desire to not be touched. This is becoming an issue I don't have a real solution to unfortunately. |
Meet the Blogger!
I'm a mom. A writer. A lover of good fantasy. A proponent of nursing when possible. A birth advocate. I am absolutely horrible at keeping my house clean or the dishes washed or the laundry done. I strongly believe in women having a positive birth. When we start to respect women's rights to birth the way they want, we can start to treat women as equal people in this world. Archives
February 2016
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