I've Been "Out-Mommed"

All the other moms "out-mom" me by far. I freely admit that you're all doing it better than me! And I'm ok with that. I haven't openly cringe when people touch my kid without hand-sanitizer. My kid is the youngest kid in the church nursery. (It's ok. I'm not offended as you wince behind the computer screen ... I need a break on Sunday mornings ... and every Monday - Friday morning.) I haven't played any classical music. I haven't spent a fortune on clothes or toys. I have taken a laid-back approach to motherhood (or so I thought). Despite my over-posting on Social Media and over-shares on bowel movements (What has happened to me? Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I would freely talk about poop .... NE-VER!), I don't have things under and I'm a far cry from laid-back.

In the span of a week:
I have called poison control, made the bug guy stand outside while I frantically cleaned up a blowout (who knew that much crap could come out of such a small creature), almost rushed to the ER for an alleged spider bite, shoved my kid because I thought she quit breathing (thanks Angel Care monitor), had numerous 3 am google sessions making sure my kid is functioning properly, researched how to save the world, convinced myself that my kid is tongue tide and will inevitably need speech therapy and had the bazillionth breakdown over my weight.

Naturally I've found comfort in Sir Mix-A-Lot. His honesty is refreshing. I'm fully aware that my side bends and sit ups aren't getting rid of my motor in the back of my Honda. And I want to punch every person who "claims" that they instantly lost their baby weight. At least Sir Mix-A-Lot can not lie. I too am"tired of magazines." Glamour, thank you for pointing out to me that everyone is doing it better than me. I'm sorry that I haven't started a trendy non-profit that saves the world or that I am not a savvy techie in Silicon Valley. I haven't designed my own clothing line, and I am not currently the CEO of anything besides my house ... and the majority of the time I don't even classify as the CEO. I'm just trying to raise a kid. And judging by my week, I'm rocking it. Needless to say Glamour I'm not going to win Mother of the Year. I will aim for Mother of the Week. It much more achievable ... just not this week.

I have no explanation for the above text correspondence. I just ask that everyone pray that I can make it through the next 18 years. Also note from the silence on the other end of this correspondence, it's clear who the more reasonable parent is.

Sleepless in the Retirement Community

My sweet night owl is 4 weeks old today. And in four weeks I have pretty much become a parental expert. I could totally write a book on how to rock motherhood. 

Step 1: Forget every statistic telling you, you will live longer if you get 7-8 hours of sleep - motherhood instantly subtracts 15 years off your life. Don't bother researching that statistic, just take my word. Four weeks ago at 4:40 am, I asked the nursery nurse if she minded taking my sweet Elle back to the nursery so I can get some sleep; she kindly obliged. Where the hell is the nursery nurse now? I need a house call.

Step 2: Throw every blasted baby book out the window. They don't know what they are talking about! Only buy my book - Baby "UN"Wise ... They can't talk yet, so we don't know why they are crying. They already ate, they burped, they are clean, you are holding them, you gave out colic medicine and gas medicine, you tried to get them to eat again, they weren't hungry, so you decided your kid would win an Academy Award for Best Actress because your child can cry like she really needs something, but doesn't.

Step 3: Unfriend every person who tries to compare their kid to yours -  just like you unfriended every person who uttered the phrase "just wait until you have kids". (You childless people are allowed to hold an opinion on how to raise your unborn children ... even if it is wrong.) All kids are different and these competitive parents are lying (and starving their kid) when they claim their kid slept through the night by 4 weeks.  

Step 4: Accept reality. It's ok to be an Internet stalker. What else is there to do at 2 am? I first realized my abilities 10 years ago with the birth of Facebook when I hacked into my former boyfriend's account in two tries. (It would have really been one try, but I thought I would just take a stab at it and see if Lauren was his password ... it wasn't ... it was Christian. Ironically, he was Jewish ... totally kidding.) I know, I know I am pretty much an Internet guru. 

Step 5: Embrace the emotions. because they aren't going away. I'm the oddest person when it comes to emotions. I never cry about real stuff, but if the pasta falls on the floor, then you can guarantee I will have an emotional breakdown (refer to earlier blog post when my depression about living in the Retirement Community was at its peak). I got a little emotional when I left my last doc appointment. I felt like my OB office was breaking up with me because they didn't ask me to schedule another appointment. Therefore, I shamelessly spent the entire middle of the night stalking all staff.

Step 6: It's OK. It's ok to pretend like the GMA staff and Kelly and Michael are your real life friends because that is the only adult interaction you have all day. It's ok to try on your jeans every day to see if today will be the day that they magically fit. It's ok to notice that it is 4 in the afternoon and you have yet to brush your teeth. It's ok to not understand how people have more than one kid. Shout out to my grandmother for birthing 11. It's ok to resent your dog for not having opposable thumbs so he could help. It's ok to silently curse everyone who can not pronounce Elle. It is like the letter L, Elle Woods from Legally Blonde, Elle Macpherson, Elle magazine ... Not Ell-ie like Ellie Goulding. Finally, It's ok to secretly wish you had a job so that you could hire someone to wake up with your child in the middle of the night ... Actually when you think about it, this is the best option because you will be able to live longer and, therefore, be a mother longer because you are getting your 7-8 hours of sleep. 

Once my book hits Amazon, I will be taking applications for the night shift. 

Debuting Elle Broox Warren

WARNING BLOG POST IS LONG and FULL OF GRAPHIC OVER-SHARES ... that probably only Elle's mom and dad appreciate!

Last Tuesday when my doctor told me, he didn't think I would make it to my due date (9/12), I told him I would have to wait a little longer I wasn't ready for sweet Elle's arrival ... the chair for her nursery hasn't come in yet! Her nursery and playroom suite (our sunroom) needed to be completed and perfect for her arrival. As if I had any control over the matter because a day later I was informed that the chair fabric was on backorder until October, and I had to come to terms with the fact that I wouldn't be cooking this little nugget until October.
Three hours later I was on the phone with my best girl friend chit-chatting about life and the lack of a chair when my sweet child decided she was ready to make her debut by breaking my water. I consulted my best girl friend on my semi spill and she said that I would know if my water had broke so I chalked it up to some pregnancy weirdness. About five minutes later I felt the most excruciating pain and of course assumed I was experiencing the worst gas pains of my life. Note: Throughout the last 9 months, I have blamed every movement or feeling that I can't identify on gas.

During the happy times of my 15 minute epidural experience

An hour later my live-in nurse aka baby daddy knew better and rushed me to the hospital with the car flashers on ... after he took a shower. I asked if I could take one and he said no ... talk about double standards. The hospital nurse immediately ruled out gas and declared that I was in labor and at a 6 (for those of you who thrive on too much information). By the time my CRNA came in with the good stuff I was at a 7. Since we knew him, I felt like the most responsible and practical thing to do would be to let him off the hook by telling him it would be ok if he wet-tapped me (an occurrence that happens during epidurals that causes severe migraines). I didn't want him to feel nervous and or lose sleep at night if he gave me a horrible headache.

My favorite photo

Unbeknownst to me, the next 15 minutes were a little scary. I went from a 7 to a 9 and little Elle's heart rate dropped rapidly. They were consulting an emergency C-section. They turned my pain meds off and gave me something to slow the contractions. Emergency C diverted.
For the next three hours I was in full blown labor without any meds. I now knew what excruciating really felt like ... and great news it's not gas pains! If I heard the nurse say one more time I think the next time will be it, I would have slapped her. I cried and cursed ... only a little ... mostly I was in too much pain to waste any energy on nonsense. Note: I now resent every childless woman who says she doesn't want any meds because she is tough enough to handle it ... she probably isn't and just wants to sound like a badass. Finally the doctor said that she wasn't going to fit and I cringed. What was I going to do with a 10 pound baby. Part of my laughed at the irony; I always joked with my girlfriends that I was too skinny to deliver a child naturally ... let's face it I'm not, I just didn't want to have to do all of the childbirth work and I wanted a baby with a pretty head.

Note: this is not laughing gas

Even my kiss made her cry

At 1:57 I apologized to the CRNA for making him come back to the hospital to give me more meds. I was semi excited because this was my first time to be in an OR and be able to see (most surgeries make you take your contacts out). I also thought it would be cool to be awake during surgery so I could know what everyone talks about. We talked about football and some other stuff ... I really can't remember, I was shivering too bad to concentrate. I told my doctor that it was ok if my incision was jig-jagged because I couldn't keep still for him. Seventeen minutes later I heard a precious little cry. As they whisked her away and kept working on me, I became momentarily excited because I heard this suction noise and I thought they were giving me complimentary lipo ... I asked, they weren't.
A little while later they brought in a 6 lb 3 oz baby girl that immediately cried when I greeted her, and I told her it was ok most babies cry around me.

He slept with her clothes
every night

After a week of life, she has grown to love me. Our first night at home was miserable, but by the second night she realized that we like to sleep at night and she only woke up for her feedings. She is a fast learner. She is utterly delightful, and I couldn't be luckier.

Magnus is a phenomenal big brother. He has been guarding her clothes with his life. The day we brought her home, he picked up a stuffed animal that had been laying on the ottoman for a week and carried it to her to let her know that it was her toy not his ... I am NOT lying. I breed genius babies and dogs.

The Stuff No One Stinking Tells You

My stint being fat is winding down, I have less than a month and 9 cm to go (just a little shock value in the form of a classic over-share). I can say by this point, I am not a lover of being with child. I will probably never volunteer to be your surrogate unless you pay a substantial amount of money, and since it's not my child I can't guarantee that I won't have a glass of wine while doing you a solid favor. I of course am totally kidding ... no one could ever afford me as a surrogate. Despite riding my bike religiously until 30 weeks, I haven't weighed this much since middle school ... technically I have NEVER weighed this much, but I like to make myself feel better by acting like my body really hasn't gained that much weight. Plus once they take the kid out all of it will be gone anyway ... right ...?

In Magnus's defense these are
bandaids from his allergies
not a dog fight. 

At this point I am confident that I could write a book on all the things that no one tells you. For example, your baby won't detach when you do a head stand in yoga, you can't crush it when you do crunches, it grows in a uterus not your stomach (who knew), it can't get fetal alcohol syndrome from Communion Wine (I really don't drink that much this has just been a long-standing martial debate ... I won), riding in a boat will not give it shaken baby syndrome ... Note: these are all real questions I have asked my doctor. Yes, I am totally fit to be a parent. It is also possible to wet your pants in the middle of the street in front of all your neighbors, while chasing after your firstborn. Magnus is having trouble coping with not being an only child anymore, so he has resorted to starting dog fights with the neighborhood dogs. In midst of his dog fight I began to waddle/run/urinate after him. Note: all neighbors were well aware of my mishap due to the size of my puddle, they thought I was going into labor ... I unfortunately wasn't. Thanks Magnus for shaming me in our new 'hood.

Although everything has gone pretty smooth, I have almost had a major breakdown in the grocery store multiple times. It is August 15 Blue Bell ... August 15! According to your website Birthday Cake ice cream is an August rotational flavor. Therefore, I expect you to do your job and deliver it by August 1. You are 14 days late! As I continue to grow and swell, I will continue to be pissed at the Retirement Community Blue Bell ice cream distributers for not delivering my beloved Birthday Cake ice cream in a timely manner. It is August 15 ... get your act together Blue Bell before I start demanding free gallons, this has been my one and only (maybe I'm exaggerating on the only) craving for 9 long months. If I don't have it by September when it is time to start losing weight again ... I will probably file a false advertising law suit ... just letting you know Blue Bell .... just letting you know.

I've Cooled Down ... That's a Probably a Lie

Since I have cooled down both literally and figuratively, I can now tell you about our moving experience without getting emotional (irate ... not teary). By now I am able to look at the situation with slight humor; however, four weeks ago I was seething. If I was a dragon, I would have spewed fire (we've been watching Game of Thrones). I came real close to posting pictures of the previous homeowners all across the Retirement Community and sending a citywide mail out warning people not to buy a house from them because they will rip you off and leave you feeling cheated, vulnerable, and questioning every decision you have made in life up to this point. However, I am much more mature about the situation now, so I won't link this blog to their Facebook profile because that is cyber bullying. Needless to say four weeks ago, I had complete buyers' remorse, and as an avid shopper, I NEVER have buyers' remorse. I have moved every one to two years since I was 18. I would almost classify myself as a moving pro at this point, and this move will go down as one of my most tumultuous moves. To paint the picture as accurately as I can, I will start from the beginning and bore you with every detail ... you need to feel as irate at the end of this blog as I did.

• We found a house in the perfect neighborhood and a semi-perfect location (I need a grocery store within one to two miles of me in case I am cooking and need an ingredient ... simple request ... but absence makes the heart grow founder so I am adjusting to the distance). 
• We made our offer at asking price, only to be told that our future house wasn't worth asking price because the house was actually smaller than it was listed - the previous homeowners (PHO) counted the non-air-conditioned sun room as sq. feet. Easy over site (I guess). A little agitated, we adjusted our offer, even though PHO really didn't want to come down on the asking price and wouldn't work with us on closing. (They had a sob story and didn't want to lose any more money ... Everyone can cook up a decent sob story when they need to.) 
• Offer accepted with the contingency that the air-condition was fully serviced (since we now live in the north, it was too cold to check the AC during the inspection). 
• Two days before closing, we get a text message from male PHO asking if we will pitch in to help pay for the $635 AC service because the Freon was completely empty. (By now I was already convinced they were cheap.)
• We didn't respond. 
• We closed. 
• They moved out on Sunday. 
• We moved in on Sunday. 
• Sunday 8:00 pm we have no AC. 
• Monday we call the AC company, and they inform us that yes, the AC was serviced, but they didn't check for a leak because PHO's Realtor was adamant that the company was just to service the unit, not check for the likely leak. 
• Tears were shed, doorknobs were broken, plates were smashed, Sonic Route 44 waters were flying, there was a slight wreck with the mailbox and my car (no one was injured and the mail was all intact). Over $5,000 later, we have a brand new unit and an extra vent in the sun room. 

In hindsight there were signs that the unit was faulty, but I just chalked it up to them being British and wanting the windows open on the nice spring days.  Apparently the word disclosure is not in the British vocabulary because they let a pregnant lady move into a house that they were fully aware didn't have AC. This is the one time I am openly pulling out the pregnant lady card ... a pregnant lady went three days without AC in the dead heat of Spring.

PHO bought an AC vent that was too small
so they duck taped it into the vent. 

I don't think I would have felt as vulnerable and cheated if this were the only mishap. These people completely ransacked the house. If you aren't familiar with home buying, if it's attached in anyway, it stays. They took the attached gazebo out of the backyard, the attached curtain rods, the massive 4 ft. flower pots in the front yard, the attached toilet paper holder in the guest bathroom (...yes), the spare flooring to floor their new house, the attached shelving in the garage, and pretty much anything that they might need in their new house. I fully believe if they needed a stove, they would have taken the one from the kitchen. Loads of other things were broken and disguised to look intact.
As a token of generosity and to make up for their thievery, they intentionally left opened baby formula and breast feeding gel packs (thanks), and unintentionally left a birthday card with a $20 Starbucks gift card ... yes I promptly loaded that bad boy onto my Starbucks app ... If you are going to play dirty, so am I!  

In the words of the great Justin Timberlake, "What goes around comes around." So good luck previous homeowners. I hope your new house with old-house flooring is working out for you. If I see you in the grocery store, I won't smile; I will turn my buggy around.

Motherhood Terrifies Me

Ironically on the most celebrated day for mothers, I came to the conclusion that motherhood terrifies me. Besides inevitably screwing my kid up, I am terrified of one simple three syllable word: opinion. Everyone's got one, so why should I be so scared? I'll be the first to admit that I have a strong personality. I also hold strong opinions; some are rooted in fact and some are rooted in pure ignorance, but none the less they are my opinions. However, no matter how strong my opinion is, I am open-minded enough to realize that there is always room for my opinion to change and evolve. My strong personality partnered with another strong personality, and we created a diversely opinionated house. After almost five years of marriage I have learned to respect a different opinion, despite my deep desire to always be right. Eventually, I even have found myself voicing a blended opinion. Yet, I've noticed that respecting different opinions isn't the norm. Society has morphed into an intolerant culture. If it is not the popular mainstream belief, then it is ultimately wrong. Everyone's an expert, and rarely are people openminded ... just because an opinion seems openminded doesn't mean that it really is. While I welcome seasoned advice because I am honestly clueless when it comes to motherhood, I don't want to feel like my opinion isn't valued or that I am sitting in judgement.

In the words of our favorite wizard expelliarmus. I want to cast a little expelliarmus spell and disarm all the judgmental glares and pursed lips. I'm not going to be the perfect mom, and I've already established that I may not the most maternal person, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be a mom. My views of motherhood could be slightly warped because 90% of my views are based from TV and movies (prime example of my opinions being based on pure ignorance). My baby-daddy likes to joke with me and say that I'm the worst mother-to-be. I probably am ... just kidding (he is too) ... My dog is normal and I'm not smoking or drinking so I think I'm doing ok. Yet, according to society I'm not. I haven't expanded by personal library with "What to Expect" books. I'm ok with reading an app to educate myself about my growing baby. I'm not putting classical music on my belly so that my baby can become a musical genius. I'm not excited about breastfeeding (who is?). I think daycare is a completely normal place for my baby to hang out. I'm ok with a public school education. I cringe every time I step on the scale. I'm still trying to figure out how to tone my thighs while my tummy grows. It's safe to say that I don't fit the mom mold, but I never have fit the mold. I dance to a different tune and I'm tone deaf ... I am perfectly fine with that.

Life would be much easier if I also birthed an instruction manual, but I'm not (at least I don't think I am, but there's always a first). If my kid is screaming in the middle of the grocery store just pretend like we aren't there, don't make eye contact, and say a silent prayer as you turn and walk away. I will deal with the learning curve, just don't judge me while I do it. If you do, then shame on you and Expelliarmus!

Thanks Kristin Cavallari - I Should Have Had Mediocre Expectations

It pains me to verbally admit this, I despise my absolute favorite pastime. Over the past two years I have tried really hard not to go shopping (my ex-favorite pastime). I have even tried to quit cold turkey a couple of times. I'll be honest, it hasn't been that hard, the Retirement Community isn't a shopping mecca. Despite my best efforts and the lack of phenomenal shopping, I caved. I have had some birthday money that has just been burning a hole in pocket. Truthfully, I started spending it on other things, practical things, and not frivolously on myself, so I decided I needed to hurry and go shopping before it was all gone ... a very mature decision.

I walked through the polished glass double doors of my new semi-favorite department store filled with such hope. Just like famous pregnant women, I knew my-glowing-self would breeze through pregnancy with style and poise. (Technically I am still applying shimmer powder to capture that glowing look, but no one needs to know that.) I knew other pregnant women would look at me in their sweatpants and instantly be filled with envy because I looked like a pregnant superstar. Thankfully, I'm not huge yet. Although the people at the gym, cast their judgement, the rest of the world minus my present wardrobe is just beginning to notice the baby bump. So this could only be a positive experience. However, my bubble deflated into a thousand soup suds in the dressing room. (Side note: Every time I type the word bubble I am reminded of my first AOL screen name BubblesLB - I rocked that screen name until I revamped it into the sexy SunkistdaisE.)

Back to the matter at hand. Nothing fits. Nothing. Absolutely Nothing. I thought larger sizes would be the solution and then I could just have everything altered after my extra weight departed and I would be stuck with pregnant clothes that I would never wear again. Wrong. Larger sizes swallowed me, which wasn't flattering. Although the skinniest parts of my body, my wrists and ankles, were still being accentuated, I looked like an over-sized version of one of my beloved Olsen twins.  If only old people had babies, then there would be a maternity store in the Retirement Community. I left the clothing section empty handed, and today I changed into gym shorts at work ... shameful I know! I decided that I didn't want to be one of those women who just buys shoes because clothes don't fit them, so I spent my birthday money on makeup. 

What's Keeping Me Up at Night.

I'll be honest, I am sleeping just fine. Except for the not so rare occasion that my husband is snoring and then I just punch him ... he stops and I fall right asleep. It sounds violent, but studies show that if you get the breathing slightly off track the snoring stops. (This has been my personal study for the past 5 years. I do plan to publish my findings soon.) My blog title is just a cover so that I could have a reason to be random.

Random Thought #1.
 I am 99.9% sure that my neighbors sell drugs. I'm just leaving that .1% off so I don't sound judgmental and in the off chance that they are actually readers, they might be less likely to harm me if I wasn't 100% certain. They are so nice, and we really have had only had two incidents where we have been directly effected by their side business. One time their Yorkie tried to "borrow" some tools from our yard. They graciously brought the tools back after their "Yorkie" gently used them, which that was pretty nice of them considering that their small, but incredibly strong dog drug our tools all the way down the street to their house. The neighbor was right, it was a miracle. The second time we were directly effected was when some lady in a perfectly healthy coherent mental condition tried to come into our house to talk to "Robert*." (*Name has been changed for the protection of our neighbor). She insisted that he lived at our house, but we kindly pointed her in the correct direction. (Now we are officially enablers.) Magnus didn't even flinch during this encounter I, on the other hand, had my meat cutting knife ready to use at a moment's notice. I firmly believe that everyone should have a safe place to call home and that drugs should only be sold on street corners not the privacy of your house because let's face it, it's not private when the whole 'hood knows about your side business. Note: you can't offer someone at a gas station some Mollie and then head home only to find out that you really blew your cover because your new potential customer is also your neighbor. Neighborhood gossip rampantly spreads. Drugs affect the whole block.

Random Thought #2.
I need to go on Shark Tank, so I think I am going to invent some simplified baby equipment. I just don't understand how something so tiny could need so much equipment. It's all confusing, and just plain stressful. There should be one device that serves as a car seat, light weight carrying mobile (I'm so clueless I don't even know what that is called), and a stroller. I'm pretty sure my parents just put me in a box to hang out because I don't remember having that much stuff. I frankly don't see the need for half of it. I totally understand why women just strap the baby around them with a long cloth because that baby car seat thing is just WAY too heavy, and who wants to lug that hunk of a thing around when you can be hands-free. Therefore, there is a need for my invention. I need an engineer, someone with contacts in China, and a patent lawyer.

Random Thought #3.
While we are on the topic of baby equipment. I also need to start a website that has a list of stuff you really need, why, and where to get it. I don't want someone to sell me on their product. I just want the most lightweight and convenient devices. A convertible crib is pointless. When the second kid comes, it will need a place to live too. I'm not buying two cribs ... unless I get to have twins. Honestly what highschooler wants to claim that they are still sleeping in their crib because "awesomely" enough it turned into a twin bed or a double bed. I do however see the need for certain lavish devices. I have recently been mesmerized by is a stroller that is $1700. It's extremely practical: one touch opening feature, warms my hands on cold days, tracks my calories burned and distance walked, charges my phone, and that's only the beginning. When you think about it, it's really a WIN WIN. When you become a parent you have to be responsible, you can't be stranded without a phone. They don't have pay phones anymore.

We're Experiencing a Bump

My life didn't drastically change the day I learned I was going to be a mother. It started and ended just like any other day. Sure there were hours filled with excitement at the revelation of this significant life-altering secret. But in the weeks following I thought my maternal instincts would have kicked in. I wasn't immediately overcome with this profound joy that only a mother can experience. Yes I was excited, but it was a shallow excitement followed by nausea and migraines and the realization that, dammit, after 10 years of slimming down, I am going to end up going back to my high school reunion fat. Egotistically, I hope that someone out there would have been curious enough to look me up on Facebook, and see that yes ... I did slim down.

I have never been one of those women who are giddy shopping for baby clothes. Baby shoes have never brought tears to my eyes or reduced me to say, "I can't wait to have a kid so that I can shoe them".  I have always assumed I'd have children, but I've never been baby crazy. I've listened to women excessively insist they didn't want children more than I'd really ever thought about having children. I joked with my friends saying that I just wanted kids to name them and to dress them ... that was it ... and they knew I wasn't kidding. When my girlfriends have had babies, I'm the person that holds them for approximately 2.4 seconds and hands it back. The second I start talking my deep raspy voice alarms them causing them to breakout into a horrid fit of fright, so I guess I will have to learn to whisper to my child. I have no desire to clean up their puke or change a dirty diaper. If it were possible I would hire a bodily fluid cleaner. I cringed when my nephew asked me to "wipe" him (of course I was twelve, but I was appalled that a kid was old enough to talk, but not old enough to clean up after himself. (I'm sure he's horrified ... I doubt he's reading.))

Every step of the way, I have questioned myself.  Am I ready for this? Deep down I have always convinced myself that I needed to fill my entire bucket list before I have kids because it's all over once you have kids. I can't just pick up and travel anymore, and we were just finally getting back to a place in life where life wouldn't be filled with long study hours and countless hours of working for free. I know my life isn't over, that's just my extremism kicking in. I'm certain that my bucket list will change. I can still travel and probably still will, despite people telling me I won't want to ... they don't know me.  I know the power of a babysitter and am fully prepared to utilize that power. I've always thought I'd be too selfish to be a mom, but then I finally realized that I'm not. I know what it means to make sacrifices for other people. I packed up a perfectly good life to put it on semi hold for my other half to attain his goals. While I might have complained about living in the Retirement Community, I've never once regretted my decision to move here or to support my husband. Through the years, I've learned that I don't have to satisfy every frivolous whim. I know that not everything can fit perfectly into my own agenda. I don't want to be the difficult one in situations because I know the majority of life doesn't revolve around me so I shouldn't try to live like it does. While I'll always have a tad bit of selfishness (It's not my fault, I grew up as an only child and compared to other only children ... I'm honestly not that bad), I know there is room for it to revolve around someone else. Despite my hesitations, I truly am ready for the Autumn when my life will once again be turned upside down for the better. 

The Blog You Never Thought I Would Write

The day has finally come, and I have been counting down since day one. I have had one foot out the door since the bitter beginning.  I am confident that everyone, like me, has had their calendar firmly marked for the past two long and gruesome years. Our stint in the Retirement Community is FINALLY expiring, and it's time to retire from the Retirement Community. It should be the end of an era!

But brace yourself ... it's not the end of an era. It's just the middle. We are making our permanent residence for now ... for maybe ever ... in the Retirement Community. Shocking I know! It is definitely a slower pace, but in my year of just being still this seemed like the right move ... or not move to make. I have really come to love this gem (it's now considered a gem, since I am calling it home.) I love the clear blue lake waters. The good food. I love hiking the mountains and mountain bike riding. The easy-going carefree atmosphere.

I will have to learn to plant both my feet firmly where I am at and quit constantly looking over my shoulders to greener pastures like a city. I will have to be content. I will have to learn to not be ashamed of living in Arkansas, and to be prepared for the enviable jokes. Despite our differing nationalities (Italian and Puerto Rican) my husband and I look alike so every married to your brother/sister joke is coming our way. I will have to learn that it's ok to not have everything I want at an arm's reach like decent shopping. I have probably saved thousands of dollars. You're welcome, boo. However, our little tourist town has had an invasion of chain restaurants (fast food so counts as a restaurant) in the past two years. If the rumors are true and Hot Springs is ready to grow, then I will be the first person to sign up to re-birth a national treasure! 

Note: I have not learned to call the hogs, nor will I!