With all the activities a week can bring, I look forward to going to church each Sunday for some personal spiritual enlightenment. I think it’s good for each person to find time to do things for themselves, especially busy mothers who often find themselves wrapped up in the lives of their children. As much as I crave for Sunday to roll around, I also begin to freak out about it too! It goes without saying that with each child we’ve added to our family, getting ready for and sitting in church with all of them has become one extreme ordeal. As I sit with them in the chapel and listen to them argue about who gets to sit by mom or dad or the baby or who doesn’t want to sit by so and so, I grit my teeth in angst. It seems like I’m constantly throwing out threats, “If you don’t be quiet…”, “If
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“Oh my goodness, she looks just like her father!” I used to cringe when I was seven-years-old and my parents’ friends would say that. In my little seven-year-old mind, a daughter should look like her mother and a son should look like his father. How could I look like my dad?? He was a BOY! I inherited all my genes from my dad’s side of the family; we all have a thin upper lip, deep set eyes and high cheek-bones. I could actually pass as my aunt’s daughter rather than her niece and my cousin and I could pass as sisters since we all favor each other so strongly. I also have my dad’s short toes, high arched feet, and long legs with a short torso. I also have my father’s personality-the Browns tend to have smart mouths and quick wit-both traits I have had to learn to curb
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“Since you are only 4 months along, abortion is still an option.” With the words of the fetal specialist echoing in my brain, I reached for my husband and cried my heart out. We had just been informed that our first child, a tiny boy we had named Isaac, had swelling in his brain and it was steadily getting worse. The prognosis “ventriculomegaly” was such a long and ugly word but I couldn’t help repeating it over and over. Apparently it could cause bleeding, brain damage, seizures and a whole list of other symptoms that were too terrifying to even comprehend yet. As a first-time mother, I was in complete shock. What happened? I had done everything by the book — cut out the caffeine and the occasional glass of wine, slept on my left side, ate super healthy and even put my love affair with chocolate on hold, just
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Read Part 1 “Nora ate something, and I don’t know what it is” I replied as I finger swept a grayish-brown chunk of something out of Nora’s mouth. I couldn’t tell what it was by looking at it so like any good mother I took a big sniff of it. “It smells like poop!” I exclaimed, absolutely horrified. Garrett smelled it too and from the disgusted look on his face I knew he thought it was poop too. We both frantically began taking turns finger sweeping Nora’s mouth. After a few passes we got everything out. Garrett and I were unsure of what to do next. We had never encountered (or heard of anyone encountering) this kind of situation before. “Do I need to call Poison Control?” I asked Garrett. “No,” he replied. “It’s just poop. But do you know what she needs?” “What?” I asked “She needs breast
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I have never been the type of mom who was in a hurry to speed through different stages of my children’s growth. My oldest four children are all 2 1/2 – 3 1/2 years apart in age so it’s given me plenty of time to “regroup” before the next one comes along. I take my time going from crib to toddler bed, potty training, and weaning them from the bottle because, why not? I never had the need to rush. Given that our fifth child was a bit of a surprise, my two youngest are extremely close in age, 16 months to be exact. As “experienced” as I could usually claim to be, this baby has definitely thrown me for a loop because of just that. I am constantly pulling my hair out trying to juggle between the two. Just going into a store seems to be the biggest ordeal
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You know the woman you see in Wal-Mart with a screaming baby and a bored tween with an attitude? The one with the look of desperation and embarrassment on her face? That’s me! Remember the lady at the local yard sale buying used toys and second hand clothes for the kids? The one wearing the hideous yet oh so comfortable Crocs and no makeup? That’s also me! How about the woman who fancied herself a master chef and swore never to make frozen meals or mac n’ cheese for dinner, but then along came kids? Me again! And guess what is on the menu every week now? The weepy mom waiting at the pediatrician’s office (walk-in, of course) because her baby has his first sniffle or a fever point one degree higher than normal…guess who that is? Or the wife who used to run her household like a pro, and the teacher who
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