How One of the Most Embarrassing Things to Ever Happen In My Life Became One of the Luckiest

Good afternoon, and Happy Tuesday. Let me tell you, so far this week has been KILLING IT. I feel like I could be on an episode of Best Week Ever (RIP) and be awarded the title. I just hope all this goodness continues for a while!

But with that, I was reminded today via the lovely TimeHop app, that exactly 2 years ago, I was about to be fired for the first time in my life. I say the first time because it also wasn't the last.

I would say a big part of this is my secret shame. When I talk about my time with my old company, I don't speak of why I left, just that I left. And I don't speak of it often. Well today I break my semi-silence, because I know now how fortunate I was to be fired. Twice.

The shortened version is this: I worked for this company for 2 years, and was somewhat poached away to work in another office of said company for nearly a year. I had a baby, went on three months maternity leave (six of the weeks just on bedrest) and came back. When Violet was 4 months old, I was told it was not working out. However, the position I had left for this one happened to be reopened, so I was offered my old job back.

Six months after that, I was told it was not working out. Again. This time I was left without options, without dignity and without health insurance. The latter of which made me cry in the office. A decision I still regret, but emotions are emotions. And I had a 10 month old for goodness's sake. I was tired.

I went home and left Violet in daycare for her dad to pick her up later. As much as I wanted to see her sweet face, I needed some time to clear my head more. I took a nap, I ate some good lunch, and I watched TV. I didn't think about what had just happened or what it all meant. I would have time the next day to do that. And the next. And the next.

The next day, I got the ball rolling. I applied for unemployment, I looked into my individual healthcare options (Chris's family plan at work is not and will not likely ever be an option. The premiums are REDONK.) And then I started packing to go to Mobile for Christmas.

After I got the insurance thing settled for me and V that January, I spent 6 wonderful months being a stay at home mom, taking advantage of the system, and just relishing in the early days of toddlerhood with my girl. We knew it wouldn't last forever. We knew that eventually I would have to find work, but my husband being the wonderful man he is, discussed with me that part time was likely the best choice for us. He had seen how working full time with an infant had taken it's toll on me, and how much better we all were with me being home more.

So I started my search. I went to staffing agencies, I put the word out on social media, and I asked family and friends to be on the look out for me. I spent hours scouring the internet for openings, and went on some sketchy interviews. About 2 weeks before my unemployment was to stop, I got a text from a friend telling me of a job that was hiring for an afternoon position in an administrative field. The hours were a bit strange, but I sent in my resume and hoped for the best.

I was granted an interview, and got the call before I had even made it home that they wanted me for the job. I told them I needed to figure out childcare. We had dropped Violet's full time care out of necessity, and part time care was new to me. Somehow I managed to find a place that would work with my unusual schedule, so I called back and set up a start date.

That was almost exactly one year ago.

In that time, the following has happened:

My daughter grew taller, and I got to see it. My retirement account from my old company got cashed out, and I got to pay off the majority of our credit card debt. I get to eat breakfast at home, have adult conversations in the afternoon, and work with some of the kindest people I have ever known. My husband got the ball rolling on some great changes in his work, and for the first time, we could consider a second baby. I learned how to budget better than I had in my entire life. I learned how to prioritize and organize. I learned how to coupon, price shop and be content. I learned how to be happy.

Now, at the end of September, I will end my tenure as a working mother for an undecided amount of time, this time because it's my choice. I have to wonder if that would have been possible if I had stayed with my old company. Maybe it would have - or maybe I would still be caught up in so much of the old routine that not much would have changed. Sometimes it takes an unexpected shake up to make you realize what you really needed or wanted to do.

I'm not proud I got fired. There's always going to be a part of me that remembers for that period of time, I couldn't cut it. But I am proud that I can look back at the past two years, and feel that I made the best of what could have been a really crappy situation. I didn't jump back into a comfortable place, but instead tried to find a new comfort. And that gives me a lot of faith in myself, and my family.

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Love,
Dominique

21 weeks and bumpin' large and in charge

Oh, How I've Envied You, Moms of 'Older Kids.'

I took my 2 year old to the beach for the first time in her short life this past weekend. Sure, she's been in the water, and played in a man made tiny beach at the house we spent the last week in. But yesterday, we decided it was time for her to the see the "real" beach. The big beach, full of white sand that our region is known for, and the salty gulf water with the tumbling waves.

First of all, she loved it. She got the full experience of white hot sand, discovering broken shells, being knocked down by a few rogue waves, and having your last piece of snack fall into the sand right before you were going to take a bite. She kicked and screamed when we had to head back, even though we had spent a good two hours in the blazing heat making mermaid tails on her cousins and looking for starfish.

Her dad and I were D-O-N-E.

As I sat there on my towel in my maternity swimsuit, getting a terrible shoulder sunburn that I wouldn't discover until much later, I watched how my husband treaded carefully in front of her at all times, watching her every move, should he have to rescue her at some point.

My eyes wandered a little further down the beach, to a couple sitting under some beach umbrellas, sipping their drinks, and periodically shouting "Watch your SISTER!" to the three playing children by the water.

Ah, the coveted life phase of having "older kids." The phase where your children are old enough to not need your constant supervision, but young enough to still entertain you with their enthusiasm and wonderment.

I'm sure you paid your dues. I'm sure you went to the beach once or twice when they were really little, dragging behind you an entire arsenal of sunscreens, sunglasses, hats, buckets, towels, snacks, sippy cups and cover ups. I'm sure you looked down the beach at the college kids and single folks, blissfully listening to their music players (whatever the era was into at that point) and silently cursing how pale you are now, because you would rather have everyone think you are a ghost than parent with a sunburn.

And yet, when I see you there - I can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. As if you somehow magically got there. As if you somehow skipped all of these "baby years," and everything has always been this relaxed for you. "WHAT'S YOUR SECRET, DAMMIT?!" I think in my head. "How are you enjoying yourself completely AND getting to experience parenthood?" Aren't the two mutually exclusive?!"

Now before you tell me to count my blessings, I know, I know. I am incredibly grateful for these memories, and I am incredibly grateful for my toddler, tantrums and all. I love her in every phase, and I am truly happy. But I'm not going to sit here and type this out like it's an instagram memory, all hazy filters and happy hashtags. That beach trip was a once in a year experience, and not because I'm too far away for it not to be. But because it was equally joyful and frustrating, happy and anger inducing, relaxing and stressful all at once.

But I know it's only a matter of time. One day not far from now, I'll (hopefully) be sitting on a beach, under an umbrella and sipping something (preferably alcoholic) and watching with complete bliss (and probably still a few nerves) as my children play independently on the sand and water.

And I'll probably look at the younger mom, the exhausted one wrestling her toddler to the ground as they struggle to put on a third layer of sunscreen, and then waddle closely behind them like a mother hen herding her chicks near the water, and remember how it felt to have young kids, and how I miss when they needed me so much.

Everything is a gift, even the harder times.

Happy Monday Everyone! Especially you, moms of little ones. Our day in the shade is coming!

Letting Go of My "Baby."

Good afternoon! And happy Wednesday!

As you all know, I have recently ventured into the world of the transitioning toddler, complete with potty training and the arrival of (although not used yet) "big girl bed."

All of this is preparation of baby sibling to arrive this fall. 

V shows all the usual signs of growing up. She's getting gradually taller, and speaking more. Her hair is growing, and she's learning new things every day that are leaving her less and less like a baby, and more like an independent little human being. 

Here's the problem, though. 

I can not stop calling her my baby. Or the baby. Or sweet baby girl. I find myself answering, "Yes, baby?" when she asks for my attention. Or telling coworkers "I've got to go pick up the baby." Or telling my mom, "Well I have the baby with me." 

Every mom has fears that she won't love her second child as much as her first, and any mom who tells you differently is lying. But, every mom who already has more than one also will tell you  that the fears are generally unfounded, and your heart just grows bigger instead of having to squeeze in another one into the same size. 

Violet has had two full years of my undivided attention, and for now, I suppose I was ok with that continuing on until it had absolutely had to stop. But my unabashed attachment has started to become more of a detriment than a positive thing as of late. 

We have entered a phase of full on regression with potty training. She doesn't tell me when she needs to go, and she hasn't had a victory in weeks. It's like she all of a sudden decided that she was still totally cool with being diaper dependent, despite her excitement just weeks before over becoming "mommy's big girl!"

When I ask her, "Are you a big girl or a baby?" She doesn't even hesitate. "Baby, mama." The other day she actually wanted her dad to spoon feed her. SPOON FEED HER. We haven't spoon fed that girl in over a year, but she relished in the game, and Chris happily obliged. 

So the other night, after we put her to bed, I told Chris, "We have to stop calling her 'baby'."

The fact is she's not a baby anymore. And nothing, including the arrival of an actual baby come fall, is going to stop or change that. This is so much harder than it sounds. I still remember very clearly the first moment I held her in my arms. Or the first sweet days of nursing around the clock, and hearing that cooing sound they make. I remember the first time she could grip her own pacifier, and being so excited about this little milestone. 

And as much as I wish time would slow down for a little while when it comes to her, it only seems to speed up. I have no choice but to acknowledge that in 5 short months, another tiny little human being is going to need more of me than she will. And we're doing her a disservice by not preparing her for that. 

Sure, she'll always be the one who made me a mom. I'll always hold a very special place in my heart just for her, and we will always have our things that we do, just the two of us. But I think maybe it's time to start sharing a little bit of the blame, and making a change in myself to let her grow, and guide her as much as I can. 

Even if it's a huge pain. Or frustrating. Or takes a while. Or I really, really don't want to do it. 

Here's to the transition year. Wish me luck! 

Love,

Dominique

That Moment You Realize You Wouldn't Change a Thing

I just sat down with a piece of ice cream cake from the kitchen at work. I went in there knowing exactly what I was looking for, and as I cut out a big chunk, I thought, "Well this should help me gain back some of that weight I lost being so sick."

Then I headed over to the water cooler, because pregnant women are required to drink their weight in water every day, and I grumbled to myself, "I can't believe I decided to get pregnant again."

I would be lying if I said these past few months haven't been rough. After our loss in December, I yearned to try again, and as luck would have it, we got pregnant again really quickly. This pregnancy came with all of the good signs of health - including horrific all day nausea that lasted me from 6-14 weeks. And still occasionally hits me.

Add to that my crazy decision to start potty training my two year old,  her biological decision to start cutting the world's worst baby teeth, and a rather large and still growing new baby bill, I have been at my wit's end.

But back to the kitchen. I was standing there with a red solo cup full of ice, and suddenly - something mentally knocked me on my butt. I stopped and thought - I mean REALLY thought - about what I had just mumbled to myself. Of course I decided to get pregnant again. I wanted this. I WANT this. I'm so happy to be expanding my family.

Was I not just telling my coworker, who had been so kind as to share with me that her and her husband were thinking about expanding their family soon too- that it was hands down the GREATEST thing that had ever happened to me? I went on and on and on about how funny, and sweet and beautiful my little girl was, and how even when she was being such a pain, I still loved her more than anything, ever.

I scolded myself silently about how stupid it was to be complaining about such a blessing, and how lucky I was that we were in this (sometimes sinking) boat again. Even if it's hard. Even if it's frustrating. Even if I sometimes long for my childless days of free-spending and glasses of wine with dinner.

I had that moment - that moment in the middle of the hurricane, when you block all of the negative for just a half second, and realize that everything you're going through is what you actually wanted. And it brings a smile to your face, because you did it. It's crazy, and chaotic, but that will end. And when it's all said and done, your life will be better for it. Even if the road was a little bumpier than you originally thought.

And yes, that's sappy and cheesy. And I don't care. I wanted to share my moment.

As always, thanks for listening.

Love,
Dominique

Happy Thursday! Here's a throwback picture for you in honor of #TBT

One year ago, with workout guru, Sweet V:

This Blog of GIFs Will Perfectly Sum Up How Much I AM Liz Lemon While Pregnant

We are the same.

                                   On celebrities talking about their pregnancies:

                 "I'm just eating really healthy, and modifying my exercise routine to stay feeling good." -                      every celebrity ever while pregnant

                                                                      Me:

                                 On whether or not I want to give birth "Naturally."

                            On what it's like being pregnant this time around with a toddler:

On how I feel about the Bruster's located within walking distance from my house:

On my thoughts on how, when, where and why you do your parenting:

On the little victories of pregnancy:

On whether or not I believe that not breastfeeding will hurt my child:

On cravings;

And finally, on mommy haters (thankfully of which, I know none personally!)

Happy Wednesday!

Love,

Dominique 

Three Days of Absolute Misery: A Success Story

As many of you may know, I have recently decided to venture into the world of potty training with my 26 month old daughter. Part of my reasoning, as I can now announce proudly, is that another tiny little bundle of pooping and peeing joy will be joining our family in the fall, and I ain't buyin' no two sets of diapers.

And so, armed with a pdf copy of the Three Day  Potty Training Method, a bag of pull ups, about 20 pairs of tiny underpants, a printed potty success chart, star stickers and various dollar toys, and a very pink, very special Abby Cadabby "big girl" potty, I began last Friday morning with a twinkle of optimism in my eyes.

And then the pee started.

The first accident was shortly after her morning milk, and it didn't. even. phase her. She just peed standing in the den watching curious george, none the wiser of the liquid mess running down her legs. With the warmth of what I can only assume was someone else's much more patient mother possessing my body, I smiled at her and said "That's ok. Let's get you some dry undies." and I got to business cleaning up the mess with a  few paper towels.

The rest of the morning continued much in this manner, with me basically following her around saying 100 times "Remember to tell Mommy when you need to go potty," and her continuing to ignore me completely and pee everywhere. By the time hubs got home for his lunch break, I was about to break down. I told him about the pee. The pee everywhere. The paper towels filling in the trash cans, the stack of dirty undies growing in the laundry. He got the gist of it when I continued to pump her full of juice and water for the "learning opportunities," and she had about 5 more accidents in the hour he was home. By that evening, I had already done laundry once that day, and was gathering it up to start the next day.

As I was opening the fridge door to figure out what she was going to eat for dinner (my most hated mother task) I managed to scrape my thumb against the freezer door. Before I knew it, a very loud profanity had left my mouth, and I stood there - defeated. I quietly walked into the playroom adjoining our kitchen, sat on the couch, and began weeping. Not crying. Weeping. I was done. I quit. I just wanted to put her in a pull up and call it a night.

Thankfully, it was about that time, so that's exactly what I was able to do. I posted my findings on facebook, and got encouraging words, and a few "drink some wine!" remarks. If only. Unfortunately I was three days away from me being able to spread our new baby joy so I couldn't drink any wine and I couldn't tell people why.

The next morning I woke up, and despite my resistance, I put her in a fresh pair of undies. The morning started much like the last, only this time I wasn't so caught off guard by the struggle, so I handled it better. Plus Chris was home, being Saturday, so I had help with the reinforcement.  To my surprise, shortly after her first accident, I heard "Go potty 'gain." So I rushed her to the potty, pulled down the undies and there it was -glorious success. And then - the more miraculous thing - we had SEVEN more successes after that. I was floored. Was this working? Was she really starting to get it? Was I dead and in Heaven?

Not to say day two was a breeze. We still had more than our share of paper towels thrown away, and we did have one horrible green poop incident that I won't detail. I guess the stress had really gotten to her. But that night, I gave her her bath, and we danced in her room after like we always had. Everything seemed a little lighter. We had made progress.

Day three was almost identical to day 2. I won't bore you with the details except to say this: That night after bath time, as we were dancing, she suddenly stopped, and said "go potty!" She then ran to her own potty and sat down and went. Not a drop was spilled. I thought I was going to wake the neighbors with how loud I praised her. And I can proudly say that she's had several instances since where she has stopped what she was doing to go use the potty.

We're not out of the woods. It's been 5 days, after all. But I can say that we have not had to do laundry today, and we have not used a diaper since Thursday night. I am so proud of my big girl. I really believe this method is the best way - even if you end up weeping on the playroom couch.

Because you gotta get a little uncomfortable. And as a friend said to me, "Remember. She's been peeing and pooping in her pants her whole life. This is a big change."

And by God, if you are able to, stock up on wine or whatever you drink of choice. Fortunately, I did have the good sense to buy a family size pack of double stuffed oreos before I tried this.

Good luck to all of you potty training moms out there! It will all come together eventually.

Happy Tuesday!

Love,
Dominique

My Toddler is Kind of a Jerk, Ya'll.

Remember my sweet, angel child who ate like a champ, and went down to sleep with little to no fight, and loved her bed?

Well that chick is gone, man.

Who or what has replaced her in a terminator-like toddler robot hell bent on the destruction of my sanity.  Well that may be going a bit far. But she IS kind of a jerk now.

It's not like I'm saying I don't still love her and enjoy her. I'm just saying that if someone re-imagined a production of A Christmas Carol with an all-children cast, I imagine the lead would be played by a two year old.

Repent your ways, Ebenezer King! Or, just keep dumping those cheerios on the floor and crushing them with your bare feet. Whatever.

Today I actually went into my bedroom and closed the door, right in the middle of the morning's one millionth tantrum over nothing. (Mommy! Bubbles. No, Violet I'm eating. Let mommy eat. NO EAT, MOMMY. BUBBLES.)

I sat on my bed and made my grocery list in peace while I heard her tiny voicebox creating the loudest noise imaginable ever to come out of a 27lb human being, whilst banging her fist on the door and saying "MOOOOOOMMY! OUUUUT!"

I closed my eyes and I thought, "I just don't want to talk to anyone right now. I just want to be alone. And maybe with a glass of wine. And some cheese. And some oreos, if we have them."

We do have them. But I can't eat them at any point from 6am until 7:30pm any given day because my toddler has some sort of spidey-sense about what I've gotten into in the pantry and comes running full speed any time she hears the bag crinkle open. I don't want to share my oreos. Not today. Not ever, if we're being honest.

And every night now, after bath time, I get to play American Gladiator as I wrestle a squealing naked 34 inch tyrant to the ground to get on a diaper, a quick layer of lotion and some matching (or whatever I can grab quickly) pajamas before "reading" the Mickey Mouse flap book for the 100th time that I so stupidly got her for her birthday. Then it's on to the struggle of blue blanket/pink blanket for an extra 30 minutes. I hand her her pink blanket. "No pink. Blue blanket, mama." So I hand her the blue blanket. "No blue, mama. Pink."

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Until I throw both of them in her crib and make a mental note to take one out after she's fallen asleep.

After 7:30 to 8pm, I'm finally free to relax and enjoy an episode of Pretty Little Liars or New Girl. Or, to fall asleep on the couch, which is more likely to happen.

And yet, despite these trying times, I wake up each morning excited to see her again. And excited to spend some time with her, and see what funny things she'll say or do, and what amazing things she'll learn today.

And I wake up each day willing to try to make her happy. And that's what motherhood is about, right? The trying? So I figure, even if I shut the door for a minute, I'm still doing ok.

Happy Tuesday, everyone. May the Oreos be always flowing.

Love,
Dominique