pregnancy #3

I got pregnant with Kate when Zachary was 15 months old.  Kate is coming up on 15 months and I keep looking at her unable to imagine how I felt that Zachary was old enough to start on another child.  Kate just seems so young.  She is still my baby.  How did I feel so ready to be pregnant again when Zachary was so young?
I find myself thinking that this time feels different and I don't feel quite ready yet.
And then I look down and see my big belly and remember that I am already six months pregnant.
Well so much for that.


oh baby!

Dear Baby,

You are early.  Which is very like your mom, and very unlike your father.  When your baby sister was born, and for the first time I was holding her slimy perfect little body, I looked over to my midwife and your father and said I'll do this one more time.  And I guess you were listening and I should have been a little more specific as to when the one more time would ideally happen.

But I wasn't, and now you are on your way.  And you did try and let me know from the beginning.  There was that morning where I had the most bizarre craving for vitamins.  I devoured Zachary's gummy vitamins like they were the last piece of chocolate that you vowed you would ever eat.  And then there was the irrational thought that when Kate was nine months old that would be the perfect time to get pregnant, and the distinct impressions that I would be once again spending time with my midwife, Rebecca.  There was the weekend road trip when I thought about arriving home and the unpacking, feeding, bathing, and the general care that has to occur when you have small children... I turned to your father and said  

I think I'm pregnant.


Well, when I think about getting home and all the things that need to get done a very distinct wave of hopelessness/tiredness sweeps over me.  And that feels like being pregnant . 

And your Dad didn't really believe me because based on a number of things (things that obviously didn't make a difference to you) I really shouldn't have gotten pregnant.

Baby, I know you care nothing about this letter, and probably by the time you do, this will all be a nostalgic memory for me, and the utter bewilderment of having three children three years old and younger will have faded and make perfect sense in the big picture.  But know that even in the midst of the awfulness of nausea, fatigue and hormones that comprise the first trimester, I am glad you are on your way.  And the morning that I stood over the sink cutting strawberries, too nervous to watch the pregnancy test clock go round and round and round because I already knew the answer and simply needed to prove it to a skeptical husband that thought I was on some sort of weird obsessive I AM pregnant!!! kick..........well know that mixed in with the anxiety and the life recalculations was giddy excitement.  Because new life is a miracle and new life is always exciting.

Room for me?? is a question Zachary asks as I nurse baby Kate in our rocking chair.  I bought this chair before Zachary was born, before I could fathom that one day I might have two (three!?) children to snuggle and be close to.  I bought this chair thinking how its petite frame would fit nicely with our 1950s home with its small rooms and low ceilings.  Slightly misguided purchase aside, there is always room for both Zachary and baby Kate, and there will be room for you as well.

We just might have to buy a bigger chair.

Baby Womack coming April 2014


bedtime drama

We have been struggling the last while to get Zachary to stay in his bed at bedtime.  He initially goes down easy enough, but after a couple of minutes will reappear with some demand for more milk, more books, or a why don't you tell me bout it mommy?
The first round of demands can be kind of endearing, but by round five we are done.
Here is an exchange that happened the other night:

Clint: Zach, if you get out of your bed one more time we are going to have to shut the door.
Zach: Nooo! I no want you to shut my door daddy!
Clint: Then STAY in your bed and go to SLEEP.
Zach: Geeez this is a disaster---why this always happen??!!!!

Zachary, we ask ourselves the same question every night.



 A couple of weeks ago I went to California with the kids.  I love going to California for so many reasons.  The mild weather, the beach, my father's sailboat, see old friends....but I mostly love going because being a mom can be tiring and in California I get to be lazy.  Like really lazy.
In California I don't have to cook, clean, organize, pick-up constantly, and if I wait around long enough, I don't even have to do my own laundry.  Don't get me wrong, every once in awhile I do these things so I will continue to be a welcomed guest in my parents home, and to prove to my parents that I have matured past 13, but really my contributions are pretty weak.  It is fabulous.

I also love that I get to go on jogs everyday.  I always come to California with some absurd fitness goal that I never accomplish, but motivates me to at least do something.  My Dad took Zachary on all his errands, plus had endless patience with playing black steam engine, which freed me up to take Baby Kate running for her morning naps.  I love how once you have two children life seems so easy breezy when you are are only caring for one.  While Zachary spent lots of time with other family members, Baby Kate and I spent lots of one on one time together.  It was nice.  We watched some bad TV, went shopping, and took some killer naps.  And I got some great pics of this cutie.

this picture makes me laugh every time. if we ever buy a grown-up house with a fancy serious adult room you will find a framed version of this.

couldn't leave this cutie out of the post......

The second week of my visit my sister came with her boys from New York. It was a blast, and I was going to write about it, but I just read my sister's blog and she did such a great job.......... http://roboboogiephone.blogspot.com/2013/07/june-cali-trip.html
You can take the lazy girl out of California, but she will still be a lazy girl in Utah.


fat pants

For Christmas this past year my sister gave me two pairs of fat pants.  This was quite possibly the best gift I have ever gotten.  She told me that after baby number two she had an ah-ha moment when she bought some pants that fit the body she had in that moment, instead of trying to squeeze into her old pants that made her feel bad about her body.  I think that she told me all this while I was eating some sort of chocolate covered nut/carmel/pretzal/toffee, or all of the above (it was Christmas time) and so I declared it genius and couldn't wait to get my very own new fat pants.  She then asked me for my postpartum waist size.

Grub, (I know, awful nickname) I don't think they make pants that big at this store.

I then tried to quantify my body size by saying I'm not like fat fat, just a little fat.  I'm pretty sure I still fit into sizes they sell at the stores.
And so the story goes, Cameron measured her own waist, realized my chub was within range, and found me two amazing pair of jeans.

The first pair, the ones that I wore non-stop for about three months, were a pair of Joes.  They were soft, and broken-in, and didn't squeeze or taunt any of my flesh.  I missed them when they were in the wash, and always felt much better when I woke to find them waiting for me in my closet----like a gentle outstretched hand ready to welcome and love.  They seemed to go with all of my tops and nursing camis; the options and potential were endless.

The other pair were more of a dress jean.  On the way too infrequent date night with Clint, or the occasional dance concert with a friend, these were the fat pants I reached for.  They were a heavier denim, dark wash, perhaps more slimming, really needed to be hemmed, I mean seriously they make jeans for seven foot tall ladies now!!, but did have one serious flaw, the flaw that relegated them to kid-free evenings out, as opposed to the everyday zoo/park/costco pant.  Its what I call the harried mom (plumber) smile epidemicWith the onset of the low-rise pant I am sure we have all witnessed, possibly fallen victim to this problem, but I feel it necessary to make a distinction for some of the moms out there that find their upper bottoms on display:

It is our children's fault.  Not our fault! (raised fist pump) Perhaps the smile that you see is    because our waists' have still not shrunk from pregnancy and our pants stubbornly hang lower than they should.  Not our fault!! Perhaps the smile that you see is because we hold on to a hope that sometime during that particular day a miracle will happen and the said pants will fit.  We are a hopeful bunch!! (arms outstretched) Not our fault!  And perhaps that smile that you see is because even though we wore a longer shirt to accommodate and anticipate the too-low low rise we find ourselves in a situation where one child is playing on non-child friendly piece of construction equipment and the other other child is awkwardly hanging from a hip, and the strategically chosen long shirt that worked so well before our children were in the equation has raised above the muffin top and those damn jeans are dropping lower and lower by the second as we desperately try to preserve the lives of the two children that we are somehow solely responsible for.  Safety first!! (index finger pointed)  Still not our fault!!!

In an alternate universe we would all be extremely well-dressed with perfectly tailored clothes that never bunched, crunched, raised, or puckered.  We would not have four or five different categories of "transitional" clothing that were constantly being rotated to accommodate varying waist sizes.
I must say, after all this drama I now see the beauty and functionality of the mom jean.  Yes your crotch may be a mile long, but at least you can rest assured that you will never show the harried mom (plumber) smile.

When my sister gave me these jeans she prefaced it with you know, you will probably only be in them for a month or so, but even then it is well worth it.  Well, I must admit I was in them a lot longer than a month (ugg getting back after baby number two is much harder), but even now, as they sit in the basement patiently awaiting yet another post-partum day, I think of them with only the best of feelings.  These are the pants that were with me as I transitioned to being a mother of two children----two nap schedules, two bellies to feed, two car-seats to buckle, two diapers to change, two little faces to kiss, and two perfect beings to marvel at.

Baby Kate reigns victorious

To my fat pants and my wise sister that got them:  You have seen me through a lot. Cheers, I love you both.



the good life

 Being a mom is the best.  Two years into this biz I think I have finally got it all figured out---ok maybe not, but at this moment Z is sleeping, the baby is cooing, the house has that warm slightly messy feeling of a home, and life just feels sweet.

I was so unsure of what life would be like with two children, and would often think if I am tired/overwhelmed/busy with one, how am I going to do two?!!  But somehow it is all working out, and maybe we are just living in a golden moment, and pure chaos is about to erupt, but things actually feel easier with two then it did with being pregnant and taking care of one.

Baby Kate is mellow and easy-going, quick to smile, and has this deep throaty laugh that I wish would never stop.  She loves her brother in small doses and loves to rock out to the blow-dryer and the microwave vent.  Right after I had Kate I was on such a high that I swore I could keep having babies the rest of my life, and this feeling has pretty much stayed with me.  She is just a joy to take care of; I find myself getting nostalgic for the baby phase that I know will pass all too quickly.

Zachary is full of life and boundless energy.  At night, after Zachary is asleep, and we have taken a breather from the whirlwind, Clint and I will often lie in bed and laugh at all the funny things that he did and said that day.  Zachary loves to hoard his toys, and was recently introduced to a man purse (his jack-o-lantern pail from Halloween) so that he could easily transport all his trains, cars, balls, and what ever else made the cut, from spot to spot.  He often has to take his hoardings to bed with him, and the other night cuddled up with a bag of uncooked pasta.

Clint and I both grew up in Southern California, where we spent the summers at the beach surfing and swimming.  I used to charge the water with my board, taking on each wave with determination to get out past the break as fast as I could.  It took me a long time to realize that waves come in sets, and in between the sets the ocean could become flat and calm, making it much easier to get out.  When Zachary was a baby I would get so upset when things weren't going smoothly.  It felt like every screaming session or frazzled moment was an indication that I was doing something wrong.  Now during the hard moments I try and breathe, step back, and wait for the break in the set.

Oh and remind myself that bed-time will be here soon.