Unexpectedly Expecting

Yes, this counts as a blog post these days.

Tired. Tired, tired, tired. I is so tired. REally. Tired. Too tired to correct that mistaken upper-case E.

Work. Working. Work is early. Work is long. Work is coming home with me. Work is in the brain, in the cracks of my thoughts, always here here here. Work, work, work.

But it's not bad. Not really. No, it's actually kind of good. Shhh, don't tell anyone, but mama likes to work. Loves her baby, yes, of course. But likes to work, too. Is this allowed? Must find parenting manual. Where did that blasted thing go?

But too tired to look. If you see it let me know.

Crying. Baby is crying. Whimpering. Awaking. Time to go.

Loves!

Seven quick takes

Idea for this post borrowed shamelessly from Jennifer at Conversion Diary.

1. Went to the Detroit Urban Craft Fair on a rainy, soppy, yucky Saturday afternoon yesterday. At the Filmore in downtown, right across from Comerica park, about 70 "indie" artists displayed all sorts of crafty goodness. I bought something at the very first table I came across. Then a table two more down. Then, with almost $40 gone, I was like, "OK. Time to slooooow down." Wound up leaving with a beautiful agate stone necklace, a lovely glass pendant in the shape of Michigan, and a "wristlet" purse thingy that will fit perfectly into a diaper bag and hold my wallet, phone, lipstick, etc. Awesome event! See more here, including a list of the great vendors, most of whom hawk their goods on Etsy.  I will probably have to revisit some of those artists at a later date.

2. Luke went from waking up only one time during a 12-hour period at night to waking up every three hours again. Of course, the change came the day before I started working again. And since I am now pumping during the day, I take care of all the night feedings. Before, Jimmy did one, giving me a nice five or six-hour stretch of sleep. The result of that was I usually felt pretty good, even as Luke was getting up a lot at night. Now I'm no longer getting that long stretch. I put him down at 7:45 and then put myself down at 10:30. He usually wakes up first at 1. Then at 3:30 or 4. Then at 6 or 7. It's frustrating simply because I thought we had moved on this.

3. I am running a blog for my dear, dear friend Kelly Kamm, who has left America for an eight-month stint in Mexicali, Baja, Mexico. There she will live with a pastor and his family in their small home that doubles as a church. She will teach the family English and start an ESL program for the neighborhood. She wants desperately to introduce people to Jesus along the way. AND she's studying the effects of cross-cultural sensitivity on mission trips as part of her second year of graduate study through Concordia. Lots going on with her, and you can read all about it at kellyinmexicali.wordpress.com. I warn you though -- reading about what she's doing will make you want to give back to someone, somehow, someway. 

4. I feel bad for Robert the cat. She is so clearly the second fiddle in our house these days. Of course, I still love her. But she is no longer my "baby." She doesn't get to sit with me like she used to. All fall, I probably took her outside to chase leaves once or twice. It used to be a daily occurance. I admit I don't even really notice her like I used to... It's only natural, I assume. But I still feel guilty. I need to pay her a little more attention. She needs my love, too!

5. Work this week was... interesting. Sometimes challanging. Sometimes boring. In one instance, downright humiliating. Altogether...different. I'm not used to showing up somewhere at the same time every day, to sitting at a desk, to warming up food in a microwave, to watching the clock. And my assignment is... um... well, we'll see. The jury is out. Right now, I sort of detest it. It doesn't really suit me. But I'm trying to make it work. As I said, jury is out. We'll see.

6. If you live in Detroit, do NOT miss the awesome Free Press Best burger roundup. I don't even like hamburgers that much, but reading through this photo gallery, I was ready to go to the nearest burger joint, plunk down $5 and sink my teeth into a big, old burger. You'll probably feel the same -- unless you are my veggie friend Jen, in which case, I'm sorry!

7. I have made a deal with my mom -- if I bring Luke to see her today, she will stop drinking Diet Coke for a week. I don't really believe her. She is way too addicted. And she has pretty weak willpower. But I hope she does it! I want her to get healthier for her own sake but also, selfishly, for MY sake. And Luke's sake. He loves his grandma, I can already tell. I want her sticking around.

Working Mom Gets off Her Lazy Bum

Ever time I stop posting for any period of time, I feel this need to explain myself, as if there is some invisible boss standing over my shoulder wondering where they hell I've been. Obviously that's not the case. Does that ever stop me from acting on that weird guilt ? No, not really.

So this is where I was. I was enjoying my last week of maternity leave, including four wonderful days with my husband at home. He had that block of time off because we were supposed to go to Mexico for one of my best friend's weddings, but I pulled out because I decided I couldn't leave Luke behind for four days. Instead, we laid low, we went to the cider mill on the last nice day of the fall, we got stuff accomplish around our house (like the crap removed from our basement and the muck cleaned out of all its hiding places in our kitchen), we had a date night and we hosted a lunch party for family and friend's following Luke's dedication. I also did a lot of private thinking about What It All Means in terms of my maternity leave. I don't know that I came to any real conclusions, but I did come to one realization.

It was the best time of my life.

OK, maybe not the first two weeks when he was in the hospital. Maybe not the two weeks after that, when life as parents was becoming our new normal. Maybe not even for two more weeks beyond that when I found my comfort zone as a mother. But the last six weeks to eight weeks? They have been the best of my life. I love my son, and I love my life. I don't care how unprogressive it makes me, but I love taking care of my baby and taking care of my house. My house has never looked better. I started a chore chart and stuck to it. I cooked from scratch almost every night. I examined our finances and tried to find ways to do better. I did all that and had lots of time left over to coo at Luke, to snap 140 photos of him, to see friends, to drive and see my parents. I loved not having to make sure things would fit into my life around a cumbersome work schedule. I loved having more time to think about things I WANT to think about. Mostly, I just loved spending a majority of time with my baby.

I know being a mother is hard, and it hasn't always been easy with Luke. But I do think he is a pretty good baby. I have rarely felt overwhelmed. I have just been really, really happy.

And so. Going back to work is something I have both looked forward to and dreaded. I am excited to do new things. I'm sad to leave Luke. I'm worried about my milk supply and our patched together childcare system. I'm a big old mixed bag of emotions. And so I've spent a little time just trying to figure out where I really am with all this, and although I started today, i still can' really tell you. It felt kind of nice to wear dress pants and strut into an office and train on a computer system and meet with my boss. It fely even nicer to spend the rest of the day reuniting with Luke during a shared nap in my bed. I'm here, i'm there, i'm everywhere. It's hard to blog -- for me anyway -- when life is anything but clear and certain.

Also, during the last week, I spent a good deal of time tweaking a one-page letter to Luke. I read it Sunday in church as a part of Luke's dedication ceremony. I had several requests from people to post it, so tha's how I'm ending this jumbled mess of a post. Here it is:

Little Luke,

When your father and I named you, we chose Luke for several reasons. We think it’s classic but not stodgy, simple but not too common. It’s the name of a fictional crusader, Luke Skywalker, who is dear to your father’s heart. And it’s the name of a Gospel writer who chronicled the earthly days of the world’s greatest crusader, Jesus Christ. But beyond those impressive namesakes, we also liked its meaning -- “Bringer of Light.” Your middle name, Xavier, comes from one of your great-grandfathers. But we like its meaning, too, which is, simply, “Bright.” We could hope for nothing more than for you to live up to that name, to bring a bright light wherever life takes you, a light that can only be fueled by the grace and peace of Jesus.

We are here today to hopefully ignite that spark in you. We want to acknowledge that you are a beautiful gift to us and that as your parents we are dedicated to raising you to be a gift back to God’s kingdom.

We pray you will recognize that God has given you unique gifts and hopes you will use them to make the world a better, brighter place. We pray that whatever good or bad come your way, you will persevere knowing this life is just a precursor for what’s to come. We hope you will always know your family and our friends love you dearly, but we cannot love you as much as the one who created you. He loves you perfectly. We hope that love will inspire you to love those around you in return.

We hope you will look at the first days of your life – when you underwent open-heart surgery to correct a series of birth defects – and know God was with you, that he sustained you and did so because he has a plan for your life. We hope the scar on your chest will serve as a testimony that God can do great things. We pray your repaired heart sees you through a long lifetime and that you never let that rough start hold you back from pursuing big things.

We pray God will help you charge through life with confidence and compassion, generosity and faithfulness. We hope you will always want to help those in need and that you’ll have the courage to do so. We pray you will ask questions, think for yourself, read, play and laugh often. We pray God will bless our marriage so that we might be an example for you of his love and forgiveness in action. We hope you will forgive us for the ways we will fail you, and we pray those failings will be small. And we pray that when the time comes, you’ll go easy on the ladies who will fall in love with your dark eyes and deep dimples.

In the Gospel of John chapter 3, Jesus explains what happens when someone chooses to follow Him. He says, “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” Just as the wind moves mysteriously, so do those who are brought into God’s family. In the best cases, they will live lives of radical love, lives that don’t always conform to our cultures norms. They are set apart, carriers of that distinctive bright light. That is our hope for you. And we pray we will be blessed with the grace, patience and energy needed to see you through it. We love you, our little funny bunny. Love, Mom and Dad.

Sunday Inspiration

I've had this blog for more than two years now, and I'm going to start today something I should have done from the start.

I don't get many hits, really. A few more than I used to, but still not a lot. And that's fine. I write for me, really. But even if only 20 or 30 people visit my site a day, it's important to think about what they might take away from here. I think whenever someone shares slices of their life online, it's important in a small way because it allows people to connect, to see they aren't alone, to share laughs, to smile, to think, and to sometimes learn. And it entertains. Sure. But I've been thinking a lot about blogging -- what can I say, I'm prone to needless self-analysis? -- and while my feelings on the topic are still all jumbled and unordered, I do know one thing. More often, I could probably use my little corner of the Web to spread the word about causes I believe in. I have only a little voice, but I can use it to do a little more than just go on and on about myself all the time.

The truth is, I'm not sure I blog for the best reasons. There are some good intentions -- to get my own story down so I don't forget it and so that I remember to take the time to reflect on life as it whizzes by. To keep writing, period. To sort out the thoughts clouding up my mind. Sometimes to inform others who might be going through the same thing.

But I think maybe I also do it looking for some weird validation. For some need for attention. I want to get comments, I want to get hits. Basically, I want to be popular. It's like being in seventh grade, hoping the cool kids will notice you, that you'll get sucked into some inner circle and suddenly be relevant. That people will find you funny and interesting and smart and attractive. Realizing that has made me feel a little sleazy, like I'm selling my private thoughts and moments for some return I'm probably not even getting. And that probably isn't worth it.

I'm going to keep on blogging because, although I can't figure out what it is about this medium exactly, I know there is something about it I find authentic and important to this moment in time.  And I just can't help myself.  But I'm also going to use this space each Sunday to highlight something besides my little life.  I do so in the spirit of not really caring if it is the popular thing to do, but just knowing that it feels right. Because I know that I'm not the only one out there wondering how to help, how to serve, where to start. It's easy to feel so small, so unable to make any dent in the world's problems. Sometimes you need a road map, a lighthouse pointing you in the right directions.

And so, that was a big wind up to say a small thing -- maybe not a lot of people are listening to me, but when they do, I want them to hear about something bigger than me sometimes.

That's all.

For today, I want to point out four worthy organizations I learned about in church. Each of them is trying to follow the gospels in its own way -- to bring hope to people who need it, to bring justice to those without voices, and to feed and nourish those who are thirsty.  I'd never heard of any of this groups before this morning. That seems so wrong.

International Justice Mission is a group of lawyers and law enforcement agents who work around the world to help bring justice to people whose voices are often stifled. One big group they represent is widows -- women who live in countries where once losing their husbands they lose their rights.

To Write Love on Her Arms is a group dedicated to helping those dealing with depression, addition, self-injury and suicide find resources to get help. One of the main ways they provide this service is through the sale of T-shirts. They're cute and pretty cheap and, I'd assume, great conversation starters.

The Dream Project is an organization that works with AIDS orphans in Mozambique, providing them clothing, food, medical assistant, education, vocational training and, above all, hope. You can support a child for $34 a month, a little more than a dollar a month.

And finally, 1000 Wells Project is an organization trying to bring clean water to people who need --  about one billion people around the world. If you drink only water for two weeks and save the money you'd normally spend on soda or coffee or whatever and donate it, that is probably enough to dig a new well.

I'll continue Luke's birth story this week, but for now, I thought this was a little more important to get off my chest.

A Scary Story: Part 2

Read Part 1 of Luke's birth story here.

Beaumont Hospital has only private delivery rooms, which is lovely, and as I'd heard, they did have that I’m-kind-of-in-a-hotel feel. They're basically a hotel room with a bunch of medical equipment and really uncomfortable furniture. After I plunked myself on my bed, my first nurse hooked up my fetal monitors and told me she’d be back soon with my cervix softener. Most women take a pill-form of softener, but when the baby is small, like Luke was, they like to use a cream directly on the cervix. I’m not quite sure why, but in any case, the nurse scurried off to get me a dose of the cream.

Soon enough, she returned to tell me that they were having trouble finding the cream. Actually, they had one dosage... but it was expired. So they were going to keep looking. This, I thought, was odd. We’re talking about a drug used to help women begin labor at a major hospital, not a pair of cute heels that are never really worn because they don’t go with much. It seemed kind of amateurish. We don’t know where the meds are! Whoops! This something-is-amiss-here sensation only worsened when the nurse returned to say they definitely couldn’t find what they were looking for, but the people in the lab would whip up a batch as soon as they could. Now they were just searching for the “recipe.” I don’t know a lot (read: anything) about the medical industry, but is this how it usually happens? Drugs are made out of recipes in hospital laboratories?

The good news about this wait was the nurse told me I could go ahead and eat since it might be a little bit longer. Best news of the night! I still wasn’t really hungry since I’d gorged on pasta only three hours or so earlier, but Jen just happened to have an extra Asiago Cheese Bagel from Panera Bread. See why I brought her with me? At first I tried to be all modest, saying, Oh, why thanks, I’ll just eat half since I’m not really hungry and just gorged on a heaping plate of pasta. I will admit I was also worried that I might see it again later, mid-push, if you get my drift. And I’m sure you do since, yeah, I’m not exactly being subtle here. But then the entire bagel was gone approximately 45 seconds later. Those bagels are delicious, what can I say?

Since our wait seemed to be dragging on, Jen then whipped out her laptop and informed me she had brought movies for us to watch. She also had magazines and a book for me, knowing I love me some reading materials. Pretty much, the beginning of my delivery was like a sleepover. Not a bad way to start. She popped in Girl in the Café, a British film starring some pretty girl I can’t remember and the creepy old musician guy from Love Actually. We dimmed the lights and cuddled together as much as we could and started watching. This is so fun! I thought. Movies and bagels and fake hotel rooms! Having a baby is a blast!

Before long, a nurse interrupted our viewing pleasure with another piece of news. Turns out, the lab couldn’t find the “recipe” for my cream. First the cream itself went missing, then the recipe. And with no other real option, they decided there was only one route left – start me on a low dosage of Pitocin. They assured me that a low dosage of Pitocin is pretty much the same thing as a cervix softener. They told me I wouldn’t really have contractions until the morning, when they would turn it up a notch.

They were wrong.

A Scary Story: Part 1

At first, I didn’t write about my birth experience because of the two-week hospital stay that followed it. Then the first few weeks home I was lost in the fog of new motherhood. Then life slowly steadied itself, a routine developed and I started to think about getting my birth experience down in writing. But I kept holding off. Why, I’m not sure. (If I’m being honest, probably because I was too busy nursing and watching What Not to Wear). In any case, now it is Halloween, a celebration of all things scary. I can't think of a better time to start than now.

 

Enjoy!

--

 

Let’s start with this little fact: never during my pregnancy did I consider having an epidural-free birth. Not once, not for a second. I was firmly in the camp of taking advantage of whatever pain-relief options were available. Nothing against women who choose otherwise, but I always knew that “natural” route wasn’t for me. I’d heard plenty of gushing from women who’d birthed with an epidural, women who raved about how they slept for five hours in the middle of labor, how they barely felt a thing, how the entire ordeal was -- while still painful at times -- manageable. I’d seen The Baby Story episodes where women birthed naturally, screaming and writhing around uncontrollably, shaking and convulsing with violence. It looked awful. No sir, no thank you.

 

And so, epidural, here I come, I thought, as I packed my bags on July 17^th. Doctors had decided I needed an induction on my due date because they worried Luke suffered from Intra-Uterine Growth Restriction. In other words, they thought him on the scrawny side of normal, and apparently, that wispiness becomes more problematic the longer past your due date you go. And so, fully 40-weeks pregnant and with no signs labor would start on its own, I put aside my worries and accepted my fate with induction. That day – a Thursday – was a typical summer day in Michigan, swelteringly hot and bright. I tried to keep myself busy. I cooked a big dinner of pasta, assuming I’d need the carbs for energy and knowing I wouldn’t get to eat again for possibly a day or more. I cleaned, not wanting to return to a mess and feel overwhelmed. I checked and re-checked my lists of Stuff to Take. I had everything – my robe and comfy socks, snacks for Jimmy, my iPod, my hair-dryer for the day after, my ugly underpants that I wouldn’t mind seeing destroyed, and a carefully picked coming-home outfit for Luke. Preparedness is my game, and I was on top of it. Since Jimmy was working until midnight or so, my friend Jen had signed on to take care of me for the first shift. She swooped in at 6:45 p.m. to pick me up, and after a pit-stop at Walgreen’s for gum and a headband, I checked into the hospital at 7 p.m.

First stop was triage. It was a very quiet day, as far as I could tell, on the labor and delivery floor. Literally quiet; if there were other patients in triage, I didn’t hear them. I changed into the hospital gown and settled myself onto the table. A few nurses came by to fill out paperwork, do a quick ultrasound, ask me questions and check my cervix, which was still not dilated even a smidge. While the nurses came in and out, Jen and I gabbed as if we were out to lunch and not at a hospital for an imminent birth. At one point, we started laughing so hard that... um... I farted. Loud. That produced another round of hysterical laughter followed by a few tales of farts from our past. Yes, my birth experience was definitely off to a classy start. Eventually, a nurse came by to explain the way things would go down. My induction would start with a cervix softener, which would help me efface completely overnight. In the morning, I’d begin taking Pitocin, the drug – some would say controversial -- that mimics Oxytocin, the natural hormone that causes contractions. Pitocin is used in most deliveries today, either to induce labor or speed it up.

I would come to find out that sometimes it does both. And I wasn’t going to have to wait until morning to learn that lesson.

--

Check back for more in the coming days!

Just stop it! Because I said so!

So, I've decided. I would like Luke to stop growing up now. Just stop. Stay three months and almost two weeks forever. Stay tiny and adorable and so so sweet and sleepy forever. Stay the perfect size to fit into the 0-3 month AND the 3-6 month sleepers forever.

I told Jimmy yesterday, I don't think he will ever like me quite as much as he does right now. He stares at me with straight-up adoration, people, and it feels nice. I don't want it to stop. Ever. I imagine him being a rebellious 13-year-old sneaking out of the house to throw eggs at the neighbor's car, or being a back-talking four-year-old telling me I'm stupid and mean, or being a mouthy eight-year-old having a meltdown at Target because I said he can only get one GI Joe. (Or whatever little boys play with nowadays. I'm clearly still living in 1987.)

I don't wanna. Nope. I want him to always be this way. Pretty selfish, I know, to have a baby and then demand that he just stop growing up to suit your own needs. I hear ya. But I don't care. I want him to be my little baby forever and ever. Amen.

I mean, seriously. He is too cute. He is perfect. He is all smiles at whatever I do. I am super-mommy. I am coolest lady ever. I am so original and so hilarious and so pretty (what? I can tell he thinks I'm pretty. Got a problem with that?). I am the best bestest best Mommy ever. And I know this isn't going to last. It doesn't last. Right?

Already, he is learning how to play, just a little, without me. Already, he is getting a tooth. A tooth, people! His little gummy smile is disappearing ALREADY! It's too soon! My books say he shouldn't teeth for a few more months! How dare he skip ahead! Already, he is no longer sleeping with me. I moved him downstairs this week, and I have to say, while it is a better scenario for everyone involved for many different reasons, it still seems like it is just too independent. Too much too soon. Shouldn't a little baby be pressed up with his mommy all night? What if he needs me? How can he really survive on a different floor from me?

Turns out he can. Oh, he still needs me. He still needs me lots. But I can look ahead and somehow see a time he will not. I can see what he might be like past his babyhood. Smart and strong and fierce and probably still sweet. He's probably ask me adorable questions in his adorable voice. He'll probably just grow on me more and more. That's what I tell myself, and these good days will just lead to more and better good days.

But it's hard to imagine a time better then this time I have right now.

Red state, blue state, losing my mind state

Let me start by saying that I really, really, really need this election to be over so I can sleep better. What happens now is, Luke wakes up at 5 or so, I go downstairs to feed him and instead of staying in a mushy, dream-like sleep state, my brain starts tossing and turning over the stupid election. And then when I go back upstairs to sleep for two more hours? I toss and turn over the stupid election. Then I get up at 7:30 and feed my hunger by reading more election coverage online, and then I feel my blood pressure rising and then BLAH! I just need it to stop.

I really probably shouldn't get into my personal views on things. I am trying really hard not to because I pretty much know how that would go. This late in the game, everyone, including me, is all riled up for one side or the other, it seems. I can't believe there are actually undecided voters out there. What in God's name are they waiting for? How can they not know yet where they stand? Isn't everything laid out there? So I suppose adding anything more to the national dialogue at this stage is just silly. So I won't. But just know I am really biting my tongue over here! Please, Nov. 4, get here quickly!

In the meantime, here is something that is sort of political to ponder. Check out this Web site www.storyofstuff.com. They showed a clip from it at church this week, and I came home and watched the rest. I realize it is likely way, way oversimplified. After reading some online reviews, I know one fact in particular is a gross mischaractization of a situation. Still, I think the big picture it lays out is what matters. And it's the kind of big picture that makes me never want to buy anything ever again. Or throw anything away. Or watch TV. If you watch it, let me know what you think! Or if you've seen it before -- I know it has been out for a year or so.

Friday morning in bed

These boys melt my icy cold heart, just a little bit.

Letting your baby watch TV

Just read this interesting post from Shannon from Rocks In My Dryer. It's about a Reuters report that lays out what should probably be common sense -- living in a home with constant background noise from a TV is bad for kids of all ages. 

The article starts out with the well-known recommendation that children under the age of two shouldn't watch any kind of TV -- they call it "screen media" -- at all.

Whoops. Another strike against my mothering skills!

Actually, I very much understand and agree that TV is not for babies. I very much want to hold to my desire to not let Luke watch TV until he's three. And then only the History channel, PBS and the Muppets (wait... are the Muppets still around? Probably not, but there is really nothing funnier than the Swedish chef. Am I right?) I have great intentions. But... well... already, I've slipped here. For his first two months at home, as I sat nursing and nursing and nursing him on the couch, I would keep the TV on to pass the time. Let's just say I became very very familiar with TLC's schedule. Even if I was reading the paper or talking to my husband or chatting on the phone, the TV was usually on. One day, I noticed Luke gazing in that direction. He seemed to be actually watching What Not to Wear right along with me. I thought it was sort of funny and then turned him away so he couldn't keep rotting his brain. But it kept happening... As I would watch Jon and Kate Plus Eight, I'd catch Luke doing the same. As Nanny 911 came on, Luke would glance over at the TV with me.

Since I knew he had figured out what the TV was, in a sense, I decided I might as well play him something educationamal. So I slipped in his Baby Einstein DVD, something I got at a shower that I really wasn't interested in, hence my aforementioned no-TV-intentions.  His reaction to the DVD cracked me up. He sat riveted, absolutely riveted, as toys flashed on the screen, all to soundtrack of Mozart. It was like crack for babies. He was hooked, and I was entertained as well, trying to figure out how these Baby Einstein people had taken such a simple thing --  basic shots of colorful toys and babyfied classical music -- and built an empire. Entrepreneurial genius!

Once I had broken my no-TV vow, it didn't seem so bad to turn on PBS and let Luke watch Curious George one day. Then yesterday when he seemed bored, I flipped to some cartoon, and he pretty much flipped his lid. He squealed and shook his arms and bounced in my lap and went a little nutso. The storyline had something to do with a little girl who made a promise to plug up a hole in a giant vat of grape soda that threatened to overflow and soak a town inhabited by all sorts of odd, alienish creatures. She, and several others, failed to keep their promises and at the end, they all learned a good lesson -- if you can't keep your promises, you shouldn't make them. I'm not sure Luke really caught that little moral lesson or whether he was simply intrigued by the flashing colors and cartoon sound effects. But he was sure entertained. I, on the other hand, was simultaneously relieved and self-critical. On one hand, I had figured out a way to entertain a baby who shuns napping. On the other, I realized I'd already totally broken my own promise to myself and become the sort of parent I had previously scorned.

Case in point: When we were in the hospital after his surgery, for six days we had to share a room with another baby and his parents. Each side of our rooms had TVs hooked the wall. Sometimes throughout the afternoon, we'd turn ours on, but it mostly stayed off. There was too much else going on, people always coming and going, nurses, doctors, visitors, it never ended. A TV would only add to the chaos.  And besides, I'd think to myself, this isn't really the time to catch up on All My Children. Pretty self-righteous, considering on the other side of the room, the TV NEVER turned off. Those parents literally kept it on the entire time we were there -- day and night. It drove me nuts as I tried to sleep on the terrible little couch as their TV cast a light over on my side of the room. I'd lay stewing under the pillow I'd shoved over my head and wonder what kind of parents they were to keep a TV on like that all day and night. In the HOSPITAL.

Pretty smug, wasn't I?

And the funniest part about it? The station they kept it on all day and night? TLC.

So yeah, I've fallen into the same habit as a majority of parents in this TV-obsessed country. And it is already rubbing off on my baby even though he is just three-months old. He's already glancing the TV's way when we are in that room, even if it isn't on. In the last few weeks, I have made a point to keep it off during most of the day. The quietness of the house is so much more conducive to just about everything -- thinking, reading, paying close enough attention to my son that I don't miss the little things. Praying. Talking on the phone. Cleaning. My mind is so much more productive without the constant hum of Take Home Chef. But I  think a certain degree of damage is already done. Because Luke has realized not just what the TV is... but that his mommy is a fan, just like him. And old habits die hard. My first inclination when I sit on my couch with my son is almost always to reach for that remote.