All of my time

When I look at my son — who is now 16 pounds of chubby glory, who is now rolling over (and getting stuck), who is now babbling instead of cooing, who is now holding his head up like he never had a floppy neck in the first place — I see time moving so fast.

So fast it’s flying by.

He’s four months old working on sitting up all by himself, growing inches at a time — though, to be fair, I have a cloth measuring stick and the doctor uses something from 1482 — and he’s learning about everything. Discovering his feet, putting his own binky back in his mouth, moving his lips like he’s talking because he sees me talking and shaking his toys to rattle — even if the toy in question does not rattle.

It’s fascinating to watch, and it’s going by far too quickly.

He’s outgrown pounds of clothing — from newborn sizes to three-month onesies and even some so-called six-month-sized baby shorts. (Putting his lamby jammies into forever storage didn’t break my heart or anything it’s fine.) He’s wearing size 3 diapers and nearly hangs off his bobby pillow while he’s eating.

New baby clothes are super fun, but he’s growing too fast.

I can’t keep up with this kid, but that could be because I’m sleep-deprived. His routine changes by an hour, and I’m off for a week. (The four-month sleep regression is real, and I’m real tired about it.)

Even waking up at 11 p.m., 2 a.m. and 6 a.m. almost every night, nights still go by the fastest.

one month old baby photo

two month old baby photo

three month old baby photo

four month old baby photo
What baby is this?!

Why don’t you slow down a little, kid? Let mommy catch up :)



mother's day bouquet

My first Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is a fantastic holiday. Flowers, photos, love — all for moms.

I say this without any bias, of course. Being a mom and all.

My first Mother’s Day was pretty fantastic — probably because it was my first Mother’s Day being a mom and all.

We didn’t have any plans. Henry is still eating and sleeping on demand — sleeping, ha — so I tend to stay at home with him, and it was my husband’s weekend at work.

My mother-in-law and I decided parents shouldn’t have to work on their respective holidays. It should be a rule.

Of course, so should maternity leave, BUT I DIGRESS.

So it was just Henry and I at home playing and singing and ordering groceries and squawking and sleeping — sleeping, ha — for most of the weekend. Just us two.

I celebrated Mother’s Day being a mother.

(No joke, I just teared up a little. Blargh. Hormones.)



My husband sent flowers — because he’s the best — and we enjoyed those.

mothers day bouquet

mothers day baby

mothers day baby with a flower

We did make it out to my grandparents’ house so they could see him and so I could give my mother and grandmother their Mother’s Day gifts… which I forgot… at my house… so baby brain.

Mother's Day (7)

Mother's Day (13)

Visiting family is super exhausting so we had a bath and snuggled for another good chunk of the day.

baby bath towel




Not the best part — the best part was my nugget — but another great part of my first Mother’s Day was all the happy Mother’s Day wishes I received from my tribe. Friends from work, friends from forever, family — all wished me a Happy Mother’s Day, even though I’m obviously not their mother. But I am a first-time mother, and it was my first Mother’s day, and these women were some of the most excited humans — especially my sister-in-law — when they found out I was pregnant. Their support and love is unwavering, and I’m so very thankful for that, for them.

I’m going to tie a string around my finger for next year so I can wish all the new moms out there a Happy First Mother’s Day — grow the tribe, you know?

I hope you all had a Happy (First or Fifth or 50th) Mother’s Day, too.

Babies are disgusting

My husband and I went out to dinner to celebrate his… well, and mine… and our anniversary since it was his birthday, and we missed my birthday due to a screaming newborn, and our anniversary wasn’t a big show because I was so hugely, uncomfortably pregnant.

So we put on our best and went out, but not before cleaning baby barf off of my dress.

baby barf

Babies are disgusting.

I have more than 200 pictures of my son being cute, but I don’t have even one picture of my son being disgusting, which is his natural state.

…usually because I’m covered in or trying to contain whatever gross thing has just happened.

Here are a few of the truly disgusting things I’ve discovered since becoming a parent (and no one warned me) about babies:

1. Newborn eye gunk

Babies cry. Babies cry a lot. But newborn babies cannot cry tears because their tear ducts aren’t developed fully at birth.

Super useful.

So when a baby cries, instead of tears, the tear ducts get clogged and… gunky. My son’s right eye was so gunky from clogged tear ducts, it needed to be cleaned constantly for like two weeks.

And it was disgusting.

2. Baby hair

Go ahead. Wash your baby’s hair. I’ll wait.


Are you done? Baby’s hair clean? New diaper, fresh onesie, clean socks?

OK, now, touch your baby’s hair.

It’s disgusting, right?!

3. Spit up

When my son was first born and up to about six weeks old, he had terrible reflux — not bad enough that he needed medical attention — but just bad enough that it made him a tiny baby barf machine.

He spit up constantly.

We did everything we could think of to limit the barfing — more burping during feedings, which really just meant more barfing; less movement during and after feedings; sleeping on an incline… We even took him to the doctor to make sure nothing was wrong.

Nope! He’s totally fine — just pro at barfing.

Now, at three months old, he spits up less often and usually in less quantity. But, just last week, he barfed so fantastically after his morning meal, I was coated from shoulder to foot!

And it was disgusting.

4. Drool

Drool is new for my son. He’s not cutting teeth yet so his drool is all-on-his-own saliva production fit to fill a bathtub.

My husband and I have just succumbed to the fact that our shoulders will be forever damp… from spit up or drool.

And it’s disgusting.

5. Skin folds

Babies have a lot of skin, but they do not have the mass to fill the skin at birth — so they end up with folds.

Lots and lots of folds.

Neck folds, armpit folds, thigh folds… folds, folds, folds.

What happens when babies spit up?

It gets in the folds.

You think you cleaned the folds?

You didn’t clean the folds.

If you fail to wash your baby’s folds thoroughly… like three times a day, at least.. yeast will grow in the folds.


In the baby folds.


And it’s disgusting.

6. Toe cheese

It will amaze you that a baby can get so much… gunk… in his toes for never going anywhere barefoot.

Or anywhere, at all.

You know… because babies can’t walk.

No matter! Those precious toes will collect as much gunk as a clogged tear duct whether you keep his feet in socks, shoes or saran wrap. (Note: Do not saran wrap your baby’s feet.)

Toes are not the only victims of cheese. The crevices of your baby’s hands and in between fingers will also fill with whatever gunk he touches. Fingernails, too.

What is he touching?

I have no idea.

Can you stop it?


And it’s disgusting.

7. Poo-plosion

When you become a parent, you know you have to change poopy diapers.

It’s a given.

Nine times out of 10, the poopy diaper is of normal color, quantity and smell. Yes, you’ll notice different smells (which is also disgusting).

But every so often… there is a diaper that is not… normal.

This diaper is a poo-plosion.

You’ll know it when you see it.

We have lost three adorable baby onesies to poo-plosions.

And every time was disgusting.

8. Poo-pocalypse

If you’re lucky, you won’t encounter poo-pocalypse…

Wait, who am I kidding? You’re a parent. You better doomsday prep for this one…

It’s going to be disgusting.

…so about our Birthdanniversary, we ate…

You probably don’t want to hear about food right now, do you?


So here’s an adorable picture of my baby being adorable and looking a bit like an old man.

Guess what he did to those shorts…

Yoga body

Except for a little more squish in my midsection and the disappearance of my derriere — a phenomenon known as “mum bum” — the look of my body has returned to its pre-pregnancy state. At least when it’s covered in clothes that… still… mostly… sort of fit.

Cheers for elastic waists!

If you were to see me without a shirt, however, you’d see some remaining marks of pregnancy: The slowly fading stretch marks across the front and sides of my stomach and the super slowly fading linea nigra — the line that some women get from naval to pubic bone during pregnancy. Lucky me, my line started at my rib cage.

And it’s crooked to boot.

Regardless, my body is at its new normal, fully recovered from the C-section with a few scars. Since I’m not pregnant anymore, my body is also yoga-ready!

Or… yoga-able.

baby in a bouncy chair while mom does yoga
What to do with the baby when you want to do yoga… give him his monster and make funny faces at him between chaturangas.

Yoga is like riding a bike. You don’t forget the postures; it’s easy to fall back into the flows.

I expected — and encountered — stiffness, tightness, shakiness. My back doesn’t bend the way it used to. My hamstrings are tightly wound cords. My balance… well, there’s another carryover from pregnancy, but my body still knows what to do.

What I didn’t expect was the awkwardness of my fingers and toes.

When before my toes could hug the mat, gripping it for stabilization and strength, now it’s as if they’re stuck in glue. In yoga, you’re supposed to be able to move through space while grounded — wiggly toes required. When before my fingers could bear the weight of my body in Upward Dog, now they bend and break from the slightest weight of a high Cobra.

It’s amazing what falls apart when you stop practicing.

Instead of going straight back to power yoga, which might kill me, I’ve been doing short flows I collected online while I was pregnant.

A yoga flow by Jennifer Partridge for Thrive Market to banish bloat and improve digestion, which was simple and short…

A “Tone Your Asana” yoga flow for legs and butt by Emily-Clare Hill for Gokker, which was not simple but was short enough that I didn’t die…

…and my new favorite — a metabolism-boosting flow that’s all about balance (and is the flow during which I discovered how weird my toes got).

It feels good to have long legs again, even if they shorten up an hour later. Oh, well. Practice makes perfect.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to go back to my favorite ever power yoga class at the YMCA soon, but I’m not ready to leave my son in the Drop-In Kid Zone while I go to class.

Maybe it’s because he’s my first baby — and my only baby, no one get excited — or maybe it’s because he’s only three months old *sob*, but I am terrified to leave him with anyone other than family.

Insta (42)

Even if only for an hour.

My friends tell me this will pass, and I’ll want to hand him off to the nearest janitor for five minutes’ peace.

Until then, I’ll stay home to do my workouts, and so will Henry.

We do baby yoga all the time :)

child abuse prevention awareness month

April is Child Abuse Prevention Awareness month

I joined Junior League of Wichita as a new member for the league year 2016-2017.

…I say it that way because I joined the League last year, but last year’s not over yet.

Anyway, I spent my new member year learning about the League — how it works, what it does, etc. — and I’m excited to start my first active year working for the League’s focus since 2011: Combating child abuse in the Wichita area through awareness, prevention and intervention.

The League works with several area organizations, including the Child Advocacy Center, as well as area elementary schools to combat child abuse. For example, we work with social workers in schools to present our “Someone to Talk To” Puppet Show to third and fourth grade classrooms to have conversations about physical and sexual abuse and to encourage children to talk to someone if they’re being abused. The League also manages and sponsors

We kicked off the cause this year by “planting” blue pinwheels at Bradley Fair, wearing blue (#whyblue) and carrying our trash bag hand bags (#trashbaghandbag).

blue pinwheel for child abuse prevention month

Blue is the color of Child Abuse Prevention Awareness Month, and the pinwheel is supposed to represent childhood.

And it’s a pretty good representation. If you’ve ever seen a large quantity of pinwheels spinning in the wind — the Kansas wind — all at once, your inner child will celebrate gleefully. Because it’s really fun, and there’s no way to explain it other than…


Other than squealing.

Like a little kid.

So Junior League of Wichita women wore blue and covered Bradley Fair in pinwheels. They let us; we didn’t just stuff them in the ground willy-nilly.

junior league of wichita wears blue #whyblue

pinwheels for prevention

Throughout the month, Junior League of Wichita will continue its work with area organizations who work to prevent child abuse. This week, we’re carrying blue trash bags in place of our usual handbags — mine will be in addition to the bag I carry with my pumping supplies and my diaper bag (if I’ve got a baby in tow) — to raise awareness about the struggles children removed from the home face.

Often, when children are placed in protective custody, their belongings are put in a trash bag. We believe these kids deserve better than trash bags so #trashbaghandbag not only raises awareness about this issue, but it also collects donations to purchase duffel bags with clothes, journals, personal hygiene care items and gift cards for these children. ICT SOS, a Wichita organization committed to fighting human trafficking, will help assemble and distribute the duffel bags to local hospitals and agencies where social workers can give them to children in the community.

Donations can be made at, by clicking the “Donate” button next to the name of one of the #trashbaghandbag campaign ambassadors. I’m going to put in the plug for Junior League of Wichita president-elect Laura Roddy.

Each duffel donation is valued at $75-$100 so, if you give $75-$100, you’re giving an entire bag to a child in our community. How great is that?! Maybe you work in an office or on a team of 10 employees. If each of you donate $10, you’re office or team has just created an entire bag. Easy!

Or you can wear blue and raise awareness with #whyblue. My closet has one blue shirt (that still fits) so I’m going to carry the blue trash bag this week — to the grocery store, to work, to the coffee shop, to lunch — and tell everyone I see everything I just wrote.

Children deserve better than trash bags, and, together, we can combat child abuse in our community.

eight weeks postpartum

Eight weeks… er, two months

When do you switch from counting weeks to counting months? I stopped counting days when I got to one week so I suppose I should stop counting weeks after one month.

two month old baby photo
Can you tell how much we just did not want to get our picture taken? No. Look below.
long sleeve white onesie baby
Not. Happy.

He is two months old; I am eight weeks postpartum. For C-section ladies, eight weeks is the magic number of weeks for recovery.

I don’t know why.

do know that I have “recovered.”

My stitches dissolved. I’m cleared to do light weight lifting, (whatever) gentle yoga (is) and some cardio, such as walking. I’m allowed to climb stairs regularly and lift things heavier than the baby. You know, like the baby in his car seat, which weighs exactly 300 pounds. I’m also officially cleared to drive… but I’ve been doing that for weeeeks.

Not on pain killers? Back in the driver’s seat. Girl’s got places to be.

Speaking of pain…

The consistent sharp cutting pain I felt during the first three weeks postpartum is gone — so is the consistent dull throbbing pain I felt in the weeks following.

Now, the only “pain” I feel comes from pressure on the incision site.

Which means ALL of my structured pants and skirts from pre-pregnancy hurt me because they put pressure against the incision site so I guess I don’t have to worry about fitting into them again… yet.

Which is good, because I don’t have the time or energy to add a workout routine to my day… to my week. I might be able to pull off a trip to the gym once every two weeks — and I’ll be doing NORMAL yoga in my NORMAL class, if baby and boobs cooperate, of course.

Yeah, it’s not just the baby taking up all my time and energy. I also have to contend with my boobs.

Every spare second of waking up early in the morning is spent — you guessed it — pumping, and every spare second of waking up late in the morning is spent — oh, yeah — still pumping.

For instance, while writing this blog at 5:15 a.m., I’m — yup! — pumping.

I’ve got an overactive set of milk producers over here (I’m not worried about not producing enough anymore). I’ve also got a hungry baby who recently when through a tremendous growth spurt — mostly in the head region, adding two inches to its circumference and setting himself solidly in the 99th percentile for head size.

So I don’t have the time…

…waking up earlier doesn’t work either. For instance, again, I’ve been awake since 4 a.m. — first feeding the baby, and then pumping.

Plus, I have to wash my pump parts after every use. There’s only like six pieces so I’m not going to run them through the dishwasher. I’m hand-washing these babies, which takes up even more of my morning.

By now, it’s 6:45 a.m., and I have to get ready for work. (But the baby woke up again, and he’s hungry.)

So I don’t have the energy…

…there is not enough caffeine, there are not enough calories I can consume.

Oh yeah, whoever decided you don’t have to increase your calorie intake while breastfeeding — and I’ve heard people say this — is a jerk.

have to increase my calorie intake because, now, I’m literally eating for two. I have to feed me, and then I have to feed him. with. the. same. food.

Luckily, the person who decided you don’t have to increase your calorie intake while breastfeeding is also wrong. I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, and not gain weight.

Want to know why?

Turning roast chicken into breast milk burns calories. Lots and lots of calories.

So I don’t care.

Full stop.

I. do. not. care.

The only thing that can get me on a regular workout schedule without time and energy is money… for the nanny, the housekeeper and personal cook I would need to get time and energy enough to incorporate a workout into my daily routine.

I’m not never going to work out again. I will fit into all those pants and skirts hanging in my closet again — mostly because I don’t want to buy new ones — but my body will never look like it did before pregnancy.

Stretch marks cannot be exercised or dieted away — and we all know I’m not going to diet. My scar will fade, but it will always pinch the skin to pucker. My skin will probably remember, at some point, that we’ve already gone through puberty. My hair will grow back… my hair will grow back my hair will grow back my hair will grow back…

pregnancy hair loss
That part has never looked so bare… My bathroom mirror, however, is often that dirty.

I gained 41 pounds during pregnancy, most of which was water weight that fell off entirely after two weeks. One night I sweat soaked the sheets, peed for five minutes in the morning, and it was gone! Additional weight loss I attribute to breastfeeding because it burns calories.

Lots and lots of calories.

At eight weeks postpartum, I’m five pounds away from my pre-pregnancy weight. A weight at which I was happy. A weight at which I fit into pants and skirts without elastic waists. A weight at which I do not plan to work for right now.

Instead, I’m going to try to go to yoga every other Saturday morning because I’ve missed it immensely.

Instead, I’m going to eat Cool Ranch Doritos and Greek salads because I love Cool Ranch Doritos and I can tolerate leafy green vegetables again.

Instead, I’m going to spend my free evening hours between dinner and dream feed snuggling with my son.

Full stop.


A Day Without a Woman

Today is International Women’s Day, and women across this country will celebrate by participating in A Day Without a Woman — taking a day off from paid and unpaid labor; purchasing no goods unless from a small-, woman- or minority-owned business; and (or) wearing red in solidarity.

I woke up this morning and went to work.

I work for a woman-owned business. We’re a small team, and I have a lot of work to do coming back from six weeks off with a new baby.

I guess, with an infant at home, I won’t be taking the day off from unpaid labor either. He requires a lot of labor (and it’s all of love).

Last night, I attended a Junior League of Wichita Diversity & Inclusion Committee panel discussion with local female leaders in the community — some truly amazing women from public service, higher education, law, non-profit and small business ownership. The panel discussed careers, obstacles women face in the workplace, including themselves, and — a recent topic for me — “mom guilt.”

The Wichita Eagle recently compiled a collection of survey responses from women in the workplace: Wichita women talk about workplace obstacles, which addresses obstacles, such as maternity leave, breastfeeding and child care — all things we talked about in last night’s panel discussion.

I almost did not attend the panel discussion, even though I’d been looking forward to it for a month, because of mom guilt. My husband had been home all day with our son who was suffering from gas and discomfort.

So he was fussy.

When I got home, I nursed him, burped him and gave him back to my husband so I could leave again.

He was still fussy.

My husband told me to go knowing I’d stand there staring at them with keys in hand fretting… and feeling guilty.

“Mommy guilt is real,” the panel agreed, and it’s a challenge women face in the workplace, in our home life and in our relationships.

One woman said, when her children were young, she feared the Kindergarten teacher would judge her seeing her son in the same T-shirt two days in a row “because we like that T-shirt” and some mornings can be difficult.

Another woman lamented about being asked how she could open her own business and plan her son’s birthday party at the same time.

“I can do it,” she told them.

Whether it’s the guilt we put on ourselves or the guilt we put on each other, listening to these women talk about their own mommy guilt assuaged my fears leaving my son — missing developmental milestones, not being there to comfort him, not being there to feed him.

I am going to miss things happening in his life, and that’s OK. He’s going to be OK. One of the women made a point to say: “You’re children will be fine.”

A small business owner on the panel with four children said she couldn’t do what she did every day — working, managing her business, mom-ing — without her husband. As a woman, a business owner and a mother, she wasn’t doing it all all of the time all alone.

Her message was of support — whether from a spouse, a family member or a community.

Years ago, I wrote about how my village raised me. Today, my village empowers me to be a mother, a wife and a woman.

Without the women and men who support me, throughout my pregnancy (and during the fourth trimester, especially), I could not do what I do every day — working, writing, mom-ing.

My husband, who is an amazing husband to me and father to our baby…

My mother, who taught me hard work and who loves my son so much…

My mother-in-law, who gives and gives of her time so my husband and I can go to work knowing our son is in good hands and loving arms…

My sister-in-law, who flew in just to meet him (and make us dinner — thank you!)…

My friends, who called or texted to check in on me weekly after he was born…

The women who gave so generously of new and used baby gear so I didn’t have fork over an arm and a leg to keep him diapered, clothed and soothed…

The women who became my tribe and who never passed judgement on me or my decisions.

I went to work this morning.

Wearing red.

Because — even though I went to work — I stand with women.

For an end to violence and harassment.

For reproductive rights.

For equal pay, affordable childcare and paid family leave.

For civil rights.

For women.