Opportunities

     While attending BYU-Idaho, my Foundations of Education professor had a unique approach to how he presented tests. Acknowledging that many people felt anxiety around testing, sometimes even debilitating anxiety, he realized that simply changing the language he used when referring to tests had a significant effect on his students. So, instead of taking tests in the Testing Centre, we got to have opportunities in the Opportunity Centre (although he did apologize that the Opportunity Centre was still mislabeled as the Testing Centre). As students, we were being given the opportunity to demonstrate what we had learned, how we could apply that new knowledge to our futures as educators, and even to alert our professor to areas in his course that were not as clear as we needed them to be. Our professor wasn't looking for a chance to judge or mock us for what we didn't understand or hadn't devoted enough time to adequately learn. He used our opportunities as his own opportunity to evaluate our progress and the changing and continuing needs that we each had. While I tend to be a good test-taker and I learn rather easily, I appreciated his efforts to alleviate the nerves that many students experience around test-taking as well as giving us, as future teachers, another tool to use in our own classrooms to decrease our students' worries over testing. 

    Every so often in my life since I graduated, I have thought about "opportunities" and how changing the language we use can dramatically alter the way we think and feel about things. I have used that principle many times as a mother and just in my conversations with the people in my life. And while "opportunities" remained in my mind as a reference point, I didn't really feel any further connection to the concept of tests being opportunities...until a few months ago.

         Lately, I have been trying to understand why certain righteous desires of mine are still withheld and why I have been called upon to endure certain trials. In considering these concerns, I have had my mind and heart opened to some truths (that I will share in another post) and have decided to change the language I use when thinking or talking about those trials. Instead of viewing them as tests, I am choosing to see them as opportunities. Opportunities to reevaluate my priorities. Opportunities to consider whose will I am pursuing. Opportunities to strip away the elements in my life that no longer (or never did) serve me in my efforts to walk a covenant path. And, in so doing, I have realized more fully that the Lord, like my professor, isn't looking for a chance to judge me for what I don't yet understand or haven't devoted enough time to adequately learn. He isn't burdening me with trials to show me how lacking I am or to say "I told you so" when my decisions to follow my will before I follow His will find me struggling even more. The Lord is truly FOR me. He loves me enough to offer me opportunities to unburden myself from the problems, worries, and distractions that weigh me down and slow my progression. He can, and will, consecrate every trial and pain and difficulty for my good and gain and growth...if I let Him. And changing the way I talk and think about the opportunities He offers me has been a precious insight and tender blessing. Instead of shrinking away from perceived trials, lately I find myself trying to lean into the opportunity to be refined. I am certainly not yet to the level of faith where I am actively seeking those refining experiences, but I am feeling more gratitude for them when they come...for what my Father in Heaven is doing FOR me, not doing to me, in providing opportunities.   

It's About Time...Take Two

    It has, obviously, been a little minute since I last blogged. There have certainly been a number of events and moments and insights that deserved recording, but life (combined with the odd dictates of my OCD) keeps making it incredibly difficult to find time and energy and wellness existing together to enable me to blog. Lately, however, I have felt pressed to make a greater effort to consecrate the time and energy and wellness that I do enjoy to the Lord...and sharing the "Aha" moments He gives me seems like a fitting use both of those insights and my ability to decently wordcraft.

    So, here we go again! 

T-isms

I'll probably add to this one every once in a while, but I wanted to make a list of the cute things T says. I have wanted to keep a record of her sayings and this way, I can also share the cuteness :)

Real word--T's word

Seven--Fun-in
Tristann--Stin-in
Water--Watern
Oopsy--O P C
The words above are ones she has grown out of saying, but I miss it :)

Pajamas--Jimeas
Make it better--Make it very better
Hold me--Hold you
Banana--Bin-e-uh
Muppets--Ribbits
Licorice--Lick-o-lish
Throw up--Spit it
Beauty and the Beast--Booty and the Boostie
Windy- Wind-ing

When the blow dryer is on or she hears thunder or any startling sound, she'll say "Not scary, just loud."

She also loves to pretend to be asleep. Whether I'm carrying her from her bath to the bedroom, trying to get her into or out of her car seat, or attempting to remove her from a place she shouldn't be, she will say "Oh, sleep, sleep!" and then close her eyes and become dead weight. I have no doubt that she could beat a opossum at his own game.

Because I nursed T for just over 2 years, she has cognitive memories of nursing and so, still refers to my boobs as "milkies." She, however, also refers to anyone's chest--male or female, young or old--as milkies. When someone (most men, kids, and women like me who can bra shop in the little girl section) lacks a buxom form, T will say "milkies all done." She has not learned the art of whispering, yet, and so her declarations of who has milkies and whose are all done is often awkward, although always amusing.

While at the store today, T wanted to lie down and, of course, pretend to be asleep in the cart. I didn't have a blanket or coat to make a pillow for her and I told her of the dilemma. She poked my bra (which, while coming from the little girl's training bra section of WalMart, did have a slight padding to it) and said "I want that pillow." She then suggested that I also remove my shirt to provide comfort for her head. Needless to say, I gave her neither and was, instead, resigned to use my hand as her pillow. I did, however, have a horrifyingly hilarious vision of myself shirtless and braless, casually strolling through Smiths while my child feigned sleep on my missing articles. It was an image I am glad lived only in my head, although the imaginary looks on the faces around me may have almost been worth the exhibition.

My Baby is Three!

Yesterday my little girl turned 3! It is so incredible to me that I have had her for three years. In some ways it seems like she was just born, and in other ways it seems like I've had her forever--I can hardly remember what life was like before she came into my life.
T and I watched the video of her birth yesterday (it's from a G-rated angle). It makes me emotional every time I see it, and not because I am forced to recall the pain of labor! T loved seeing herself come into the world. She would point at the vernix on her back and say "Yuckies on baby T!" She wanted to watch the video of her birth (and every other video I've taken of her since) again and again. Yesterday was basically a "Tribute to T Day," which T enjoyed immensely. She even insisted on putting candles in every food she ate and had to have the candles lit at least three times so that she could perfect her candle blowing skills. By the time we have her party this Saturday, she'll be a candle blowing pro! :)
Watching the videos of T's birth and babyhood made me realize a couple of things. First, I am so blessed to have my sweet little T. She is such a gift and a joy and I treasure my every moment with her. And second, I am so stinking baby hungry! I am even craving the labor experience again! Wherever my future husband is, he had better get a move on it...my biological clock has morphed into a time bomb and I'm about to burst with baby need!
This is one of those enduring experiences that I am having a rather difficult time being patient with. There's a pretty limited time frame we're working with here and I'd like to take advantage of my baby making abilities while they're still ripe for the taking (pardon the pun). It is so very frustrating to know that I was truly created to be a wife and a mother and yet living the fulness of that calling is currently denied me. Although I have received blessings wherein I have been told that I will be a wife and mother to many children while yet on this earth, I can't help but be discouraged at my advancing age (don't scoff at my slight exaggeration) and lack of prospective ECs.
I am also so desirous for T to have the daddy she prays for each night. My little princess knows that she is missing something and it just breaks my heart as she becomes more cognitive and aware of the fact that other kids have daddies and she doesn't. Even more than for my own sake, I want a husband who will love my sweet little T and who will treasure the love she is so anxious to give to her own daddy.
As T blows out her three candles (now that she is a candle blowing expert) on Saturday, I hope the birthday fairies hear our wish and bring T a daddy...it wouldn't hurt if he ends up being devastatingly handsome, either :)

The Chipped Plate

I need to apologize in advance for the length of this post. However, it is something I've been meaning to relate and I don't want to leave out anything.

My pregnancy was a very difficult and tumultuous time in my life. I experienced stresses, both emotionally and physically, that were, at times, nearly more than I could bear. During this period of such instability, I was relieved multiple times by wonderful earthly angels who Heavenly Father used to answer some of the most fervent prayers I had ever prayed. One of those angels acted so selflessly and compassionately that her impact in my life must be shared.
I moved into my first single apartment about the same time that I found out I was pregnant. From the first time I talked to the apartment building owner, J, I liked her. Everywhere else I had called about renting had a huge waiting list or was just way too expensive for me. I figured that J's building would also have a huge waiting list because the prices were very reasonable. Still, I decided to give it a shot.
"It's your lucky day!" J told me when I asked about availability in her building. She said that someone had just backed out of a contract and, while she did have a huge waiting list, she wanted to help me out...especially since I was a teacher. I did some painting and cleaning in the apartment I was to move into so that I could forgo the security deposit as well as get in there sooner. Each time I met with J, I was so impressed with her bubbly, good-natured attitude. She was always very kind. I was glad to be renting from her.
Within the first few weeks of my pregnancy, I became very sick. Any time I would see J in the building, she would ask me about how I was and express her concern for me. Before my first trimester had ended, I had already had a PICC line placed and was receiving IV therapy every other day. I wasn't able to work as often or handle the busier shifts. My income was reflecting my limited abilities. J was so understanding of my situation. She was never worried about receiving my rent late. It was such a relief to know that I wasn't going to be evicted or harassed for being late with my rent.
I had already had a couple of extended hospital stays (one with a feeding tube) because of how sick I was. My body was having a rather difficult time keeping up with my growing baby's needs. It was also discovered that my little one had a tumor in her belly. There was now both the concern about whether my body would be able to carry her to full term as well as the new worry that she would need to come early to have a life saving surgery (the tumor ended up disappearing completely...yet another miracle and mercy). More stresses were entering my life, stresses that were not good for baby or me. As I neared my 7th month of pregnancy, my doctor gave me an ultimatum: quit your job and start taking it easier or be put on bed rest for the remainder of your pregnancy. While I wanted to focus on keeping my baby well and be able to have time to attend all of the doctor appointments that were carefully monitoring baby's tumor, to quit my job would leave me with nowhere to live.
My bishop began looking for a family who would be able to house me for the remainder of my pregnancy and for a while after baby was born. I called J and told her the situation. She told me that she would sell my contract for me when I found a place to stay. When my bishop said he had secured a place for me, I told J that she could sell my contract right away. It seemed like everything was working out. However, while meeting with the couple who was willing to have me stay with them, I felt uneasy. It wasn't long into meeting them that it was discovered that they had misunderstood the extent of my housing needs. They would only be able to offer me a place to stay until the last day in April. My baby wasn't due until May 11th (and she didn't even end up coming until a week after that!). I was devastated. Sure, I had found somewhere to go for the next two months, but then I'd have the same "where am I going to live" problem with just a couple of weeks left before I was due to have my baby. I went home that night and sobbed for hours.
I called J the next morning and told her what had happened. I asked her if there was any way she could un-sell my contract until I could figure out something else. J told me, yet again, not to worry. The couple who wanted to buy the contract wouldn't need the apartment for another month yet. J told me to let her know when I figured out what I was going to do.
I went to work and tried not to cry as my mind raced through any possible solutions I hadn't yet thought of. While at work, my phone started vibrating. Normally, I would have ignored it, but we were really slow. I answered it to hear J's voice on the other end. She shared with me how her husband, K, had just come home from attending a session at the temple. During the session, K had accompanied a single sister into the prayer circle so that she could participate. After returning home, K had related his experience to J and expressed his overwhelming compassion for that sister and his desire to help single sisters, especially single mothers. J then offered to have me live with her family. She said that she and K had discussed it and felt that they were prompted to welcome me to their home. I stood in the foyer of my work and just cried. Yet another prayer had been answered. J asked me to come by her house that night and meet her family to be certain it was a good fit for all of us.
That evening I drove the four miles (it doesn't sound like a lot, but in Rexburg, it's a long way out of town!) out to her home. From the moment I walked in, I knew it was where I needed to be. Her house just smelled right. I know that probably sounds odd, but it had this homey smell that was so comforting. J had 3 sons and 1 daughter living at home. I would be staying in her oldest son's room as he was in college in Utah. I only met two of her sons and K that night, but it was enough for me. I knew this was where I was supposed to be.
I moved in on Easter weekend. J had bought me a pretty, pink maternity shirt and some socks. I felt so welcomed into their home. When I met the rest of J's kids, I was struck by a couple of things. First, all of her children were beautiful. She only had one daughter, who was just stunning. I felt like I was the waddling pregnant girl in the beautiful people house! Secondly, her kids actually liked each other. This was truly shocking to me. Not only did her kids treat each other civilly, but they enjoyed being with one another. They were friends. They played together, joked together, helped each other, and loved each other. Everything was perfect.
Very shortly after I moved in, I was called in to join a family meeting. J and K had sold the house and bought another one in the centre of Rexburg, right across from the high school. My heart sank. I just knew they were going to tell me that the new house wouldn't accommodate me. Before I had much of an opportunity to begin my internal freak out, J told me that there was the perfect room for me in the new house. It had been a mother-in-law suite and had tons of pink counter top and cabinet space. Not only was I moving with them, I was getting a bedroom upgrade! J told me the only catch was that I had to keep from going into labor until after we were moved in to the new house :)
The new house was wonderful. I had so much room to put away all of baby's clothes and have her crib, my bed, computer, and my rocking recliner out and still have loads of floor space. It was also walking distance from both my doctor's office as well as the hospital.
J was also the perfect person to spend the end of my pregnancy with. Not only did she have 6 children, but she had worked as a nurse. If anyone knew what I was going through, it was J! She was so wonderfully sympathetic and understanding of the aches and pains as well as the emotional instability of that last stretch of pregnancy. I loved talking to her and hearing her stories from her pregnancies and the young lives of her babies.
When my due date (Mother's day of 2008) came and went with no baby in my arms, she understood why I spent the whole day crying. My induction was scheduled for the next Friday. The Wednesday before my induction, J treated me to my very first pedicure. I felt so wonderfully pampered and loved as we sat in the massage chairs at the beauty college. I was so grateful that J cared so much about me. I was so excited to have my toes look so pretty for my little one's birth.
J would park in the farthest away spot when we'd go shopping so I'd have to walk more in hopes to start my labor. We even jumped on the trampoline with her kids to try and get that baby coming! J did everything she could to make encouraging baby to come fun. If laughing could induce labor, I would have gone into labor for sure :)
J and the family took votes on when I'd actually have the baby. They came and visited me while I labored (37 hours total) and then again the day after my princess was born. I don't think I have ever felt like I was wanted and belonged as much as I did with J and her family.
When I came back from the hospital, J was so doting and supportive. She even let my little T borrow her daughter's blessing dress. J was exactly what I wanted and needed at that time in my life. To say that she embodies goodness and charity sounds cheesy, but it couldn't be truer. I don't think I have known many others who are as selfless, kind, altruistic, and Christ-centred as that remarkable woman.
I have learned so many valuable and treasured lessons from J, aside from the fact that now I, too, can only feel my floors are clean if I scrub them on my hands and knees :) Some of the greatest lessons in parenting which I have adopted have come from J. As I stated earlier, her children enjoyed being with each other and enjoyed bringing their friends home, too. Many of the kids' friends call J "Mama F." There is no denying that she is magnetic and those who know her love to be around her. I wanted to know how she managed to raise children who were genuinely kind and wonderful and loving. Part of the answer to that came in a story she told me that has governed many of my actions as a mother.
I mentioned that J had born 6 children. However, only five of those have had the opportunity to progress past childhood. Her second to youngest child drowned when two years old. One of the most touching stories about her little boy happened shortly before his tragic death. J showed me one of her dinner plates that had a chip in it. She told me how her little boy had dropped the plate shortly before the drowning accident. J explained that, while she may have normally have been irritated to have one of her plates chipped, she didn't react at all harshly to the break in the plate. It had been an accident, and she knew that. Her heart was just so softened to her little boy and she didn't make a big deal about the missing chip in the china. It was very soon after this incident that she would hold her little boy for the last time. J expressed that the chipped plate was now her favorite one. It was a reminder of her sweet little mischievous boy. Her boy whose life on this earth ended so quickly. A reminder of her choice to love her child more than a plate, to not reprimand him or yell at him for dropping it. J told me how she felt that her children were so close, in part, because of what they went through in losing their brother. Her children understood, as many never do, that loving your family is more important than anything else. Her family knows that petty things are petty and life is too short, precarious, and precious to muddle it up with being upset over things that don't matter. The impact that has had on me and how I parent my own child is immeasurable. I want to be sure that if any moment were my last with my T, or her last with me, that I would not have any regrets. I don't think any mother ever looks back on her time with her children and wishes she had held them less or yelled more. I try to take every opportunity I have to enjoy my child and express to her how very important she is to me. I want her to grow up knowing that I couldn't imagine a more wonderful child. I want her to grow up knowing that she can talk to me about anything. I want her to want to bring her friends to our house. I want her to laugh with me and learn with me and just want to be around me. I want to be a mom like J.
As I look back on my pregnancy experience, I see the hand of the Lord so clearly. I see so much mercy and charity and service. I see so many potentially terrible experiences that were avoided and so many needs that were met. An immeasurable amount of those blessings came through one of the most incredible and influential women I have ever known. Thank you, J. For being the righteous and beautiful woman of God that you are. Knowing you has made me a better mother, friend, and servant of the Lord. I just love you :)

Spiritual Sippy Cup

There are so many incredible experiences in being a mother. I have cried in pain, fear, frustration, disappointment, laughter, and absolute joy since my journey in motherhood began (those tears never seem to stop!). I have learned a new kind of love, patience, and fulfillment that I had never known. I have also learned so much more about the nature of God through my experiences with my child. I have been able to gain the smallest glimpse into His relationship to us and love for us as I have experienced specific events as a parent. One of the most impacting and profound experiences I had was a little over a year ago.
My daughter (T) was holding her sippy cup of water; she drank the last of it out of the cup. T sucked on the empty sippy a few times before realizing that she wasn't going to get anything more out of it. Her sweet little smile turned into an angry and frustrated frown and huge tears welled up in her eyes as she prepped for a mighty break down. My little angel mourned her empty sippy cup like she had lost a dear friend. My heart was filled with both a gentle amusement and a deep compassion for her; she was so desperately distraught, but didn't realize how simple the solution was. I reached out for her cup so that I could fill it up again. To my surprise, T refused to relinquish her hold on the sacred sippy. I tried reasoning with my then 18-month-old. I told her that mommy would fill her sippy with more water. I promised to give it back when I filled it. I even tried to gently pull it from her grip. She would not let it go. She cried so sorrowfully over her empty sippy, but still would not let me fill it up again. Eventually, she calmed down and, together, we filled her cup with water and all was right with the world again.
That night, as I was praying and expressing love for my beautiful daughter, I was taught so completely and profoundly. I realized the parallel between my relationship to T and Heavenly Father's relationship to me. How many times had I cried to Him about my empty sippy cup. How many times had I mourned and begged and pleaded for Him to fill my sippy back up, but refused to let Him? I felt overwhelmed and humbled at the awesome simplicity of the lesson I was being taught. I wondered how often God had looked upon me with the same gentle amusement and deep compassion for me; knowing how desperately distraught I was, but also having the infinite wisdom to know how simple the solution was. Just as I had been with T, He is so willing and ready to fill my sippy cup back up. He won't jerk it from my hands and make me let Him. Neither will He give up on me and only offer to refill me within a certain time frame. When I am ready to trust that He knows more than me, understands more than me, loves perfectly, then I can hand over my sippy cup and allow Him to fill it.
I think that night I apologized multiple times to my Father in Heaven for being so slow to trust, for crying so long, for refusing to hear His gentle directions and accept the blessings He waited to pour upon me.
How grateful I am for a God who is perfect, who never tires of my cries, who is never short on compassion. How very grateful I am for a God who takes the opportunity to teach me through my child. And how infinitely grateful I am for a God who gave me that child.

Top 5 Things I Wish I Knew Before I had my Baby

I wrote this when my daughter was about six months old. Since then (she'll be three years old next month) I have had the opportunity to share what I learned with multiple friends who were nearing the arrival of their first baby.
I felt that there were many things that the baby books, and even other moms, just don't tell you. I kind of made it my personal mission to never let a friend of mine voyage into the world of labor and delivery without knowing what to really expect. While I fail in this article to mention the absolute necessity of stool softeners in preparation for the first post-vaginal birth pooping experience or the fact that pushing your baby out is a whole lot easier (mentally) if you have music on so that the sound of the music might drown out any...sounds...that may come from you while bearing down with every ounce of strength you possess, I think I've done a fair job of giving new moms (and dads) a heads up on what may not be common knowledge.
Good luck and enjoy!

 

Having your first child is an endless flood of new experiences. In pregnancy, your body, mind, emotions, and hormones change as often (and unpredictably) as your trips to the bathroom. Still, there are so many resources out there (books, websites, friends, chatty women in the check out line at WalMart) to give you advice and counsel. By the time my belly was barely showing, I was a pregnancy expert. At any given time, I could tell you how big my growing baby was in relation to various fruits and vegetables. I could fascinate you with facts about water retention, when and why my joints would begin to loosen more, and the best way to stand, sit, and lie down for baby and me to be most comfortable. You could have put me on top of a mountain and sent lowly and meek seekers of truth up to my craggy penthouse to learn from my great wisdom. I was a veritable fount of knowledge. I had even brushed up on (or, rather chiseled into my neural pathways) labor and delivery. I read everything I could, talked to every mother I knew, and watched countless videos of births on YouTube (which truly frightened me). I was ready. Or, so I thought. What I had failed to prepare for was what happens AFTER the baby is born. So, I have created a list of the Top Five Things I Wish I Knew Before I Had My Baby.

1. When a child exits your body, your body shows it. One look at the size of a newborn and the exit route and it’s pretty clear—it’s going to be one heck of a tight fit! I had expected that I would tear (which I did) and that I would need stitches (which took my doctor so long to do I thought he might be embroidering down there). It was during my post-labor shower that I received quite a disturbing shock. The trauma of delivery had left me very, very swollen (to the point that I felt I could better understand men and their burden of external genitals). I was too exhausted from the recent ordeal of bringing my baby into the world to really panic about the condition of my body, but it was still rather distressing. I definitely hadn’t read about that in my pregnancy books! The good news: after about a week the swelling was gone and everything was nearly back to normal (everything physical, that is!).

2. Breastfeeding done right is beautiful; breastfeeding done wrong HURTS! Some babies are born to eat. Get a boob in their general vicinity and they’re on it like a duck on water. I had this great picture of breastfeeding in my head: mother contentedly nourishing her child as they gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes. The picture of my reality looked a little more like a mother dreading when her baby woke up because her blistered, cracked, and bleeding nipples couldn’t take the torture of the little piranha. Basically, if you combine a baby who didn’t latch-on right initially and a well-intentioned nurse with some bad breastfeeding pointers, you’re left with a whole lot of “ow.” If I hadn’t already decided that the only thing that would stop me from breastfeeding was if my boobs fell off (and I thought that they just might), I would have called it quits before nightfall. But, I got help instead. I saw the hospital’s lactation consultant twice (before and after my milk came in) and she was able to get baby and me into the breastfeeding groove. It took a while before nursing wasn’t painful, but now I’m a pro (I’m actually nursing now as I type!). And I have had my own moments of contentedly nourishing my child as we gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes (and after the love gaze, she usually smiles as milk runs out of her mouth). My recommendation: try to have a lactation consultant with you at the very first latch-on (preferably within one hour of giving birth). Getting it right from the beginning can make all the difference.

3. Just because a 7 pound baby, hefty placenta, and other fluids left your body, it doesn’t mean you’ll leave the hospital any lighter than you went in. During the end of my pregnancy I would have these dreams where I’d have the baby and then look down and think “Oh, look, my belly is flat again. Hooray!” Needless to say, real life wasn’t quite like my dreams. Still, I figured that I’d be significantly lighter once I left the hospital. This was not so, either. I weighed exactly the same after I had my baby as I did the day before her birth. I’m still not sure how that happened (whether due to the IV fluids I received or my rapidly enlarging boobs, I don’t know), but it was a disheartening reality I was not prepared for. The weight didn’t drop off quickly, even though I was breastfeeding. I began to despair that I would never again be able to use my pre-pregnancy pants as anything but material for a nice jean quilt. The good news: About six months later I could wear my pants once again. It was a seemingly long wait, but now it’s like having a whole new wardrobe again!

4. It’s probably gas. Two in the morning and I’m walking around the room bouncing an inconsolable baby. She never cries like this; she is normally a very happy baby. But, here I am, so frustrated that I think I might start screaming right along with her, if I don’t pass out from exhaustion first. She acts like she wants to nurse, but screams after the first few seconds (is my milk really that bad?). I check her diaper—dry. Her onesie—tagless. I lie down, sit, stand, swing, bounce, dance, and try every other form of activity or inactivity I can imagine. She continues to wail. Then, my mind travels back to my baby shower (ala sitcom flashback) and I recall the bottle of Mylicon accompanied by experienced voices singing its praises. Mylicon! Where’s the Mylicon? I rifle through the cabinet filled with a dozen bottles of baby wash, lotions, and powder. Somewhere in the back I see it: the tonic of the baby gods. I squeeze the measured amount into my baby’s squalling mouth. She halts the rampage long enough to swallow. Ten minutes later she’s asleep, the serene look on her little face belying the horror of the past three hours. This general scenario has played out quite a few times, with Mylicon acting the part of rescuing hero each time (why I still don’t think of it first, I can’t say). What I’ve learned—if baby is clean, dry, and fed and still screaming, it’s probably time for Mylicon.

5. You don’t have to be perfect (or have a perfect baby) to be a good parent. I started out feeling so nervous about everything I did, everything my baby did, and what it all said about the kind of mother I was. If she did so much as squeak in church I’d rush her out into the hallway as though she had been screeching wildly. I wanted her to have the cutest outfits with the perfect hair and the nose that was always clean. I wanted to do it all right and to have others marvel at what a perfect little princess I had. But, babies develop their own personalities (and mine has quite a strong one). They pull the bows out of their hair, smear bananas on their brand new outfits, and babble and scream when they get the urge (usually in church for my little one). You learn to let your baby be a baby and not some idyllic model of perfection. And the time I didn’t realize she was so fussy because she had been poopy for over an hour (oops), or when I buckled her car seat wrong and the whole thing flipped upside down when I turned a corner (bigger oops), or any of the mistakes I’ve made thus far…the truth is, it’s okay. It’s a learning process. No one would expect me to play a piece of music perfectly the first time through (or the hundredth time though, for that matter!). Parenting is no different—it takes time, practice, and a little trial and error. What I’ve learned—loving your little one and keeping her safe and happy are the things that really matter. And, bless baby’s immature memory, she’ll probably never know about the little mistakes you make along the way :)