We've been getting cost estimates for our upcoming move. The latest quote came back saying "based on our estimate that you have 15,200 items, the approximate cost will be...."

Um, 15,200 items? This floors me. First, I want to run screaming out of my house away from the weight of all these "things." Second, how in the world did they come up with this number?

Garage sale here we come.

I've been a mom of two kids for almost 5 weeks now. It's hard. Very hard. But I think I am getting the hang of it. Or I thought I was until a seemingly innocent trip to the farmer's market almost pushed me over the edge of reason.

Car ride down - small infant screams bloody murder till my heart is breaking, my boobs are leaking everywhere, and every single nerve is completely shot. I am in no frame of mind to deal with...

Instant meltdown of toddler when told he must leave his excavator truck in the car. The instant I let go of toddler's hand, he runs into the road yelling "I am leaving. good-bye!" So now my broken heart is in my throat as I think my first-born is about to get run-over. Once toddler is retrieved and found to be unharmed, he resumes total meltdown. Anger and annoyance slowly replace any feelings of fear over his safety. Finally manage to get hysterically sobbing infant in the sling and he is instantly content. Toddler continues to draw attention to our little family by frantically flailing and screaming while being carried into farmer's market by his father. This scene does not improve much, only a brief respite while toddler digs in the dirt while we sit down by the water.

Return to the car, toddler happy to have his excavator, infant resumes shriek fest when removed from the sling and returned to his carseat. Drive home is much the same as the drive down.

If it's not one kid, it's the other.

They are both napping now and I am trying to find some inner peace. Please let it be a long nap day, please.

I know it's only been 4 weeks since O was born, but I am going a bit crazy over this extra 20 lbs I am carrying around with me. I gained 40+ lbs with his pregnancy, so take out a 9 lb 5 oz baby, a placenta and some amniotic fluid and I still have 20 so pounds to lose. And it is not budging. Not a pound since we came home from the hospital, despite the fact this kid is a nursing champ. Sigh.

I know, 9 months on 9 months off. But 9 months is a really long time whether you are gestating a kid or trying to lose enough weight to fit into those really cute Ann Taylor capri pants in a size 6 hanging in your closet just taunting you. I think this is the problem. A was born in February. I had no problem fitting into my big sweaters and sweatshirts that winter. Summer clothes on the other hand, much less forgiving.

However, I can not give up my Ben and Jerry's addiction, so I may be wearing my maternity clothes for quite awhile still. I am so sick of these clothes!

I am sad. There is just too much change afoot, and I hate change. Sometimes in my life I have actually looked forward to change, embraced it, but not now. Not now. I love my life here, love my friends, love who I am here. Yes there are things I would have changed over the past two years - like the crazy hours M spent at school and away from his family, crappy apartment living, etc. But for the most part, moving here to BFE was one of the best things we ever did.

One reason I have been so happy here is the wonderful friendships I have made. With M gone crazy hours at school, it was my friends that kept me sane. From coffees at Barnes and Nobles to pot-luck dinners at our houses, they really helped make the long winter hours fly by. There were various women who popped in and out of our playgroup but we were a strong solid core of 4 moms with 4 kids, who by the end of 2 years turned into 4 moms with 8 kids. Our kids have literally grown up together, as close as siblings the way they fight!

And that is why leaving is so hard. Not just one person is moving away, our whole group is dissolving as we all go our separate ways. I feel like a whole episode of my life is coming to a close. And I wanted so badly to hang onto it. But it's started, one of my best friends moved back to Brazil today. And not only is she one of my best friends, she is the mother of one of A's best friends. I think this just makes it doubly sad - especially when I say we're going to go get ice cream and A instantly lights up and says "and Vivi and Kina-Bina will be there too!" and I want to cry because, no, they won't be there. We won't see them again for a long long time. Yes we'll have email and I know we moms will stay in touch, but the kids are so young, they'll forget, and when we do eventually get together again, they will be like strangers to each other and that breaks my heart.

But I need to stop wallowing. I have so many great memories, so many great laughs, and such good friends. And those are things that don't dissolve, don't change, and can't be taken away.

The other day I got together with my birth instructor and friend, Danielle, and the other woman from my birth class, Anat, who had her baby 2 weeks after I did. I am so thankful to Danielle for all of her support and I really think she should be proud of herself because this was her first time teaching and both of her students ended up having amazing natural births. Even more amazing for the fact that both Anat and I went into the class with lots of birth baggage - mine from a c-section and she from 2 previous difficult vacuum births. The classes were more like birth therapy for us and I think that that played a huge role in helping me deal with my fears and concerns for O's birth.

When we got together this week of course the talk was largely about birth, the good and the bad. And it wasn't until after they left that I realized I was healed from A's birth. Prior to O's birth any conversation about birth usually left me close to tears, frustrated and sad about the way A's birth had turned out. I had read on ICAN about so many women whose VBAC's made them more resentful of a prior c-section, left feeling it had been so unnecessary. But I think I am finally truly at peace with A's birth. There was a reason he couldn't descend, a reason things turned out the way they did. And yes, I will still always wonder if I hadn't gotten the epidural, would that have made all the difference in helping him turn and get out - but I'll never know. And I am OK with that. I have A and that is all that matters.

I don't feel any differently towards O than I did towards A after they were born. No matter how each one came into the world, each one is special and precious to me. I learned so much about myself, about who I am as a woman and as a mother through their births, each birth taught me something new. Each birth made me stronger in very different ways. The only difference was that A's birth left a wound in my heart that was finally healed by O's birth. In a strange way they compliment each other, sort of the yin and yang of birth. I feel I have come full circle now, I have experienced so much between both births, I feel rich and lucky in my experiences now. Not to mention how incredibly blessed I feel by my sweet boys, who are as different as their births. I can't wait to see what else these boys have to teach me about the world, themselves and myself.

After writing my previous post extolling the virtues and beauty of breastfeeding, I went on to experience the evening of hell at the local grocery store. After 3 weeks of being the absolutely easiest baby ever, O basically flipped out. Had to be held, was trying to frantically nurse but couldn't manage it, was more like blowing raspberries on my boob while I am walking around the supermarket with my t-shirt half hitched up my body and half of my belly flab exposed, pushing my cart one handed. Obviously I had not planned ahead in the nursing apparel department and stupid me left the sling in the car. Why didn't I just leave? Because I needed food! I refused to admit defeat, plowed on and bought my food. O survived but never stopped crying until the second we walked in the door of our house. Unbelievable. I understand now why people go insane.

Stealing a page from Ang here, but boobs are a huge part of my daily life right now.

Forget penis envy, it is all about the boobs. I know there are times M wishes he had them - like when baby O is fussy and miserable and nothing else can calm him, like when I get to lie in bed snuggling and nursing a sweet little baby and he is forced to deal with ugly toddler tantrum moment.

Plus there is just nothing like the nursing relationship between mother and child. The smells, the snuggles, the gazing into those deep dark eyes. Having nursed my first son for 20 months, nursing was not just about feeding my child, it became a way of parenting to me, an integral part of our relationship. And I am looking forward to having such a relationship with baby O. Though when that relationship is over, it is over. A asked to have some "nursie babies" the other day I did turn him down and explained that they were only for babies, not big guys like him and then promptly offered him some chocolate cow's milk!

But it's not all roses. Many, many times during the first few weeks of nursing I wanted to actually cut my boobs off and hand them over to Mike and let him deal with it. My milk came in with a vengeance this time around, resulting in some fierce and painful engorgement and plugged ducts over which many tears were shed and many hot showers taken. And lets not even talk about the leaking. I hate feeling so bovine all the time. A's crying seems to set the milk production off as well as O's so I am the victim of chronic leaks these days. And since I prefer the braless approach when I'm home, I am constantly changing shirts.

But whining aside, I am so happy I've been able to nurse my babies.

Telemarketers hang up on me. That is how insane my home life is right now. The cable company called yesterday and when I picked up the phone Owen immediately started a desperate cry for food while at the same time Alec started demanding attention. I was not phased by it at all, but the woman on the other end seemed downright horrified. She said "ma'am, why don't I call you back at a better time." And then hung up.

Honestly, not a bad thing in my opinion, maybe now they will stop calling me!

I birthed a big baby. 9lbs 5 oz. Big guy. And of course when you have a new baby and you run into people, strangers or aquaintances alike, they ask you about the baby, how old he is, how big he was, etc. And when you answer 9 lbs 5 oz, you immediately get a "wow" response combined with a once over look that says "how in the hell did such a little person push out such a big baby." So basically they are thinking about my nether regions, something I find just a bit disturbing.

Sort of like when you announce that you are pregnant. It is admitting to your parents, grandparents, and all those other folks who you would rather not know, that you and your husband have actually had sex.

Just shoot me now. I really thought moving to FL was a done deal. We were set, were looking at homes online, starting to make plans. But now the CA job has returned with a vengance and really, really seems to want M to come work there. But they can't give us the official package until next week. And I know M is torn. It is a fantastic job, great opportunity for growth and recognition up the corporate ladder, and the money will probably be good too. But it is in CA. Near LA. Blech. Just blech. And the housing prices, I want to pull my hair out looking online at the prices. Unfreakingbelievable. Who pays 6-700k for a small 3 bedroom house? Why, why could this job not be located somewhere else? It is a huge multinational company. Offices everywhere. Why this office, why?

So we wait. We make no plans. I want to scream.

I am the first one to whine about how toddler boys get the shaft in the clothing department. Go into any kids' department or store and compare the girls side to the boys and you will see what I mean. But, I am currently loving all of A's summer clothes. He has some really cute, cute things - hawaiian shirts, madras shorts, great hats. So what am I whining about now? Just the fact that he.won't.wear.any.of.them. There are three shirts in his wardrobe that I can currently get on him without a fight. One has a bulldozer on it, another Bob the Builder, and the other a small print of various construction vehicles. See a theme here?

He is all about the "bobs" as he calls construction trucks. Books, toys, videos and now clothes. I even made a special trip to Target today in search of something "bob" - maybe a new shirt since I can't do laundry often enough to keep up with his demand for his bob shirts and I fear the ensuing tantrum should one be dirty. But no bob shirts were to be found. No bob socks or sneakers or sandals. Nothing to make my life easier. Just lots and lots of Sponge Bob and Spiderman - one who scares A and the other he has no idea who it is. Grrr. I need more bob stuff! Send in the bobs!

O, on the other hand, I get to dress in anything I feel like. And trust me I do. Love, love, love baby clothes!

Contractions started around 1:00 pm on the 24th. I wasn't 100% sure this was it since I had been cramping and spotting for over 2 weeks, I thought it was just more cramping. But over the next 2 hours the cramping became more regular and stronger so I figured this was it! Called my friend to arrange for Alec to be picked up and called my doula to come over.

Everyone arrived at once and it was pure chaos. I was playing with Alec and totally focused on him at that point. It was hard to say goodbye, but he was so excited to go to his friend's house that that helped. Literally as soon as the door closed behind him the contractions started coming much harder and closer together. They had been about 5 minutes apart and were now about 2 minutes apart. The pains were intense and I had to bend over on the bed and have some counterpressure to get through it. Something inside me said "go to the hospital now!" so even though we were told to wait for the OB to call us back, we left.

The trip to the hospital was from hell. Tons of traffic and I was in transition though I didn't know it at the time. Coping with the contractions sitting in the car was almost impossible and I was literally hanging from the sunroof and the roof handle while Mike cut through parking lots to avoid some lights. We arrived at the hospital and basically threw the keys at the valet and flew in a wheelchair up to the maternity ward. Seriously a scene from a bad sitcom.

I was checked and found to be 10 cm. So even though I was literally begging for a shot of nubain or stadol I was shit out of luck. I was pretty out of control with the pain at that point and yelling some crazy stuff and I was so embarrassed afterwards. There was a brief heartrate scare and then a breech baby scare, but everything was fine. So we started pushing.

The pushing was longer than the labor it seemed. The baby was so high (which is why they thought he might be breech, they couldn't feel the head) and big it took a while to work him down. But he did come down and that was the most amazing thing. 2.5 hours later somehow this big baby came out and I think I was in total shock that it actually happened. So amazing. Nothing happened how I thought it would but it was a great experience overall. I wouldn't change a thing. Except maybe stitches and the 'roids!

Owen is a sweet sleepy guy so I feel like I don't really know him yet - literally I have to force the little guy to wake up to eat. So different from his brother who would stay up for hours every night just checking the world out. But I am so happy with this little guy, our family just feels very "right" right now.