When you find blood on the back of your newborns sleeping gown, don’t immediately panic. Calmly remove the gown and search the baby over for signs of trauma. When faced with more blood splashed across his belly, do not swoon in preparation to faint. Do not scream “HOLY CRIPES!” Nor should you allow yourself to begin sobbing uncontrollably. This will cause the baby to shriek in terror, which in turn will make you think he is shrieking in pain, which will make you sob harder.

Once you realize that the blood is from his umbilical cord stump falling off, it is ok to tear up a little when you realize that he’s already growing up. However, when you go searching for the elusive stump, it is not ok to start gagging upon the realization that it is no where to be found. You shake out his sleeping gown, you search your bed, you search the floor, you even pull the cushions off of the couch b/c that is where you nursed him last night and maybe it happened there and OMG what if someone drops by and sits on your couch and finds that darn stump and then is so repulsed that they run screaming from your home before you can hand them the baby and take the opportunity to pee in peace?

It is ok to tell yourself that the dog ate it and not be too horribly disgusted. You do know that the dogs have eaten baby poop before, what’s a little stump jerky in comparison to that?

As a parent with more than one child, my greatest hope for my children is that they develop a strong sense of belonging and a deep bond with their siblings. I look at the relationship my husband has with his brother and sister in a longing way. I am separated from my siblings by a large age gap and often felt more like their mom then their sister.

My brother lived here for a time, I think that only deepened this mothering feeling.. well it also fostered a feeling of disbelief that we could be related, raised in the same house and yet have such different views of the world.

My sister now lives near by and I have been enjoying spending time with her, forming that bond that I wish we always had. I can call her night or day if I need to talk, need some help or just want to see her. I hope she realizes that she can do the same. Last night, was the first time I saw a glimmer of this kind of relationship blooming between my girls.

At nearly 3 1/2 Tessa refuses to use the toilet. I had every intention on allowing this to ride for a few more months, considering all the changes in our home. I figured I could suck it up and deal with poop detail until we were all more settled in, Tessa decided to push her luck though.

Recently she has become gleeful whenever she has pooped her pants, telling us that we HAVE to change her with a malicious little laugh thrown in for good measure. Last night she ordered her father to change her. He picked her up, placed her in the tub and handed her a box of baby wipes.

“You are a big girl, change yourself”

Panic set in and Tessa transformed from a gloating little sprite into a foamy lathered up lunatic. The very notion that she should wipe her own behind was preposterous and terrifying. She screamed, she shrieked, she cried and in the end Mira - the child who would rather pull up her underpants without wiping her own butt lest she risk getting poop on her hands which in her mind may never wash off- offered to help.

“Don’t cry sissy, I wipe your butt”

And she did.

At bed time they climbed into the same bed. We kissed and snuggled, leaving the room with the warning to sleep, not talk, or they will be separated. As I switched off the light Tessa’s little voice piped up.

“Thank you for helping me sissy, I love you”

My eyes glistened with tears as I listened for Mira’s response…

“SHHHH Quiet!”

Today I pulled into my driveway after dropping the girls at their respective schools and realized I had no idea HOW I got home. There are several routes I could have driven and I truly have no coherent memory of which I took home.. zero. I find this to be extremely unnerving.

Sure, when I was 19 and driving home from dancing all night long, I’d go on autopilot. It bothered me sometimes but on the whole I was able to ignore that hinky feeling associated with losing a good hour of your life. Now that I am responsible for the transporting, feeding, breathing, and general quality of life for my own children, my feelings on the matter have changed. I think it would be more reasonable of me to allow my children to exclusively drink Twinkie creme filling for nourishment then it is to drive them around in this drooling daze.

This haze is no ordinary new mommy crash; it is a full fledge result of infant on mommy torture. Just picture my 12 day old in a diaper with a bull whip and some devil horns. Levi has his days and nights confused. He is showing no signs of budging on the matter and I am starting to show signs of breakdown- if I was imprisoned and being tortured for information I would have cracked wide open days ago, spilling every sordid detail of my life like Chunk in The Goonies when the Fratelli’s shove his hand in the blender.

To my darling son, one of the lights of my life. Please stop killing mommy. When the curtains are open and it is sunny outside, you are welcome to nurse every hour- hell every 45 minutes if you so desire. However, when it is dark, for the love of god PLEASE go a 2 or 3 or even 4 hour stretch without waking mommy.

This week has been a whirlwind of 40 mile round trip visits to the doctors. Levi has finally been taken off of the light blanket and the last hurdle is getting back to birth weight. My mom is here helping out (ie keeping me sane).

1) When your daughter loses her lunch box at school, thoroughly check all compartments of the replacement lunch box that you send her in with. Failure to do so may result in your PreK kid bringing her mother’s needles and Heparin to school - wouldn’t THAT make for an interesting lunch time?

2) If you have failed to follow step one, immediate action is necessary. Beat feet to your child’s school and be vague about needing to retrieve something from her lunch bag. Once access to said bag is granted, quietly slip the needles and meds into your pocket and leave quickly before arousing suspicions.

This message has been brought to you by: Fidget’s Guide To Competent Parenting

Levi was finally discharged from the hospital as of last night. Of course, first thing this morning we had to turn around and go back to have some blood work done. Little man is jaundiced (as expected) and is home on a billi light blanket.

I am exhausted as I spent the night before last sleeping in a chair of the 7th floor nursery- not very comfortable, but my only option considering that I was discharged and he was not. I will write out his birth story soon, when I have had some more sleep. Thank you everyone for the well wishes.

This is Levi in the Transition nursery last night. He is still there today because of his respiration rate. Look at that adorably chubby face!!

Born at 35 weeks and 6 days our precious little one is 7 lbs 4 oz. Mommy is a little lonely as he is being observed in the extended care nursery. He’s really working at breathing right now and is receiving IV antibiotics as a precautionary measure because my strep B test results had not come back in time for his surprise debut.

This morning I awoke to a symphony of pain. My entire right side was crunched up. Lightening was shooting through my brain, down my neck and shoulder, through my arm and my hand was numb. My hip, as per usual, was out of socket, leaving me as vulnerable as a turtle on it’s back in the middle of the highway. It took me more than 20 minutes to manage to roll out of bed.

I dropped the girls off at their respective schools - both late - go mommy! Then dragged my gimpy ass to the chiropractor. Right now he is holding the warm spot in my heart formerly occupied by stool softeners. I’ve been getting contractions ever since the adjustment but am not holding out any hope that it is time. Ive been contracting for almost 2 months now. I’m just waiting for the day my OB shoves her arm all the way up in there and drags him out while he desperately tries to cling to my ribs, liver, bladder and anything else he can grab at on the way out.