Donna Reed's Got Nothing On Me

Original Post: Wednesday, May 14, 2008

A staple in our house when I was younger was Nick at Nite. We loved all those old black and white shows that evoked made-up memories of simpler times. Among my personal favorites were Mr. Ed, The Patti Duke Show, and The Donna Reed Show. I think I was drawn to Donna Reed because my mother loved her so much. Every time the opening credits came on, my mom would narrate and say things like, "What a woman!" and "I want to be just like Donna." She even asked for a Donna Reed watch one birthday (which I don't think she actually got). But my mom could never quite seem to pull off the skirt, heels and apron. This fact was a mystery to me. Good old Donna made it look so easy. I just assumed she was either an ethereal being who didn't require sleep or else her refridgerator had magical powers and made lunches and pies all by itself in the night. The Donna Reed Show did an excellent job of disguising the behind-the-scenes Donna. We never saw her covered in flour, or cussing out her oven for burning the apple crisp, or being ticked at Dr. Stone for leaving his socks on the floor...again. Oh no, Donna was the quintessential house wife. The wife all women wanted to be (notice the past tense!).

Now that I'm a wife and mom and about to own my own house I find that I still strive for some of Ms. Reed's perfection. Despite the fact that I realize that being just like her is merely a pipe dream, I am still enchanted with the idea of house wife "perfection" (whatever that even means). Am I enchanted enough to get up at 4:30 a.m., get ready and stand in the kitchen looking radiant while displaying a four-course breakfast steaming on the table by the time Adam gets up for work? Absolutely not. But I am enchanted enough to make sure that I kiss my husband when he leaves and comes home from work. Enough to pick up his dirty clothes and keep the laundry done. Enough to keep my house as clean as possible. Enough to do all those little things that make a house a home. And although there a more than a few things that hinder me from perfection, I truly believe that my precious Lord and King knows my heart in this area and blesses me with the energy and willingness to attempt excellence at home.

Believe me, I often fail. There are many Sunday nights that I am scrambling to get Adam's work clothes washed because I was too lazy or busy to do them earlier in the weekend. There are many days where my children eat peanut butter and jelly for more than one meal because I forgot to go to the grocery store. But, by the grace of God, I press on. And the Lord has faithfully blessed my efforts. He has changed my heart from an attitude of grumbling compliance to what I thought a house wife should be (i.e. picking up Adam's nasty work socks is not a favorite pasttime) to an attitude of excitement and pleasure to serve both my husband and my Lord in all things (even the sock thing).

And yesterday, God gave me a very special gift. A gift that, had I received it a year ago, would most likely have been met with grumbling and annoyance. But, because the Lord has changed my heart so radically, I found myself being overjoyed at what He blessed me with.... A brand new washer and dryer!!! (In my head, that sounded a lot like Bob Barker.) The house that we are buying has a washer and dryer. However, they are shoddy at best. The front and side panels fall off the washer in a very cartoonish way every time it moves and I'm fairly certain that the dryer is the first electric dryer ever made. I was content with these and thankful that we didn't have to buy any appliances for the house (Adam's parents got new appliances and gave us their fridge and oven), but I still wasn't really looking forward to having to pray over my washer to hold it together every time I did a load. Then, in the span of a few weeks, we were blessed with a large sum of money we weren't expecting and an opportunity to buy this washer and dryer, brand new, from a builder that Adam works with for a significant amount less than what they are worth. I am SO excited! Adam and I even watched the DVD that came with the combo last night. (Yes, we are that nerdy.)

God is SO good to me. I am so blessed to have such a tender Lord who knows the desires of my heart and delights in me the way He does. I just have to thank and praise Him for knowing me so well. For knowing what I need both spiritually and physically. And for sprinkling blessings amidst the lessons and trials of this journey of my life.

Eat your heart out, Donna....

Dress Up

Original Post: Monday, May 12, 2008

My daughter has started playing dress up. For the last 3 days she has insisted on wearing my mother's pajama top as a dress everywhere she goes. I finally put the pajamas in the wash last night. So today, when she could not find them, Addison found the dress that she wore to church yesterday, held it in front of my face until I put it on her, and now refuses to take it off in order to wear normal clothes.

I love that little girl.
Oh, and PS, for those of you who are wondering: Yes, I DO have a son whom I love to death. I'll write more about him later. He hasn't been feeling so great lately. But he is my little warrior man and he deserves a good long post. Coming soon...
Oh. Another PS. Both those pictures were taken on my cell phone, so sorry if they're a little shoddy.

Sing It Psalty

Original Post: Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Today has been one of those days. The kind where, at 10:00 AM, you're already wishing you hadn't gotten out of bed. My morning started out pretty routine. My kids slept in a little bit, hence I slept in a little bit, and we all woke up seemingly happy and ready to face our day. Breakfast was normal. Oatmeal and chopped bananas for Addison and Asher. An IV of coffee for me. The after-breakfast routine was normal, too. Like usual, I flipped on the TV after washing the kids up and pulling out some toys. We usually watch the Mickey Mouse Club and My Friend Tigger and Pooh for some visual stimulation in the morning before turning off the TV and playing with toys and listening to music.

And then, not only did the day take a turn for the worse, it skidded to a screeching halt, threw it in reverse and started driving the opposite direction.

At first, I didn't think much of it when Addison attached herself to my leg and refused to let go until I picked her up. That's been a fairly regular occurence these days. So, up she went and I carried on with whatever I was doing...most likely attempting to keep Asher from plunging to his doom from the arm of the couch. The juicy belching sound didn't register in my ears until I felt the warm goo seeping through my shirt and smelled the sickly sweet scent of regurgitated banana. I knew, and dreaded, what I'd see when I looked down at Addison. There was my little girl vomitting all over both of us looking up at me with that sad and helpless little look that pleads with you to make it stop.

After a moment of heartbreak for my miserable daughter and her involuntarily convulsing stomach, I went into uber-mom mode. We rushed to the kitchen sink to let Addison finish up, then clothes were flying and being rinsed off, hands were being washed, a quick dash to the bedrooms was made for clean clothes and in no time we were both cleaned up and cuddling on the couch.

That wasn't so bad, I thought to myself. But then...another burp. I shot a look down at Addison, now sitting on my lap, and she was squinting up at me with that same queasy look. That help me, Mom, here it comes look. It was too late to make it too the sink or toilet and in moments we were both covered...again. I decided a bath was in order. So, after dumping our clothes on top of the growing pile in the sink I went to run a bath, much to Addison's dismay. I threw placed her gently into the tub and tried to wash her off as quickly as possible.

Amidst all this chaos, I had momentarily forgotten about my dear, sweet Asher. And his love affair with the bath tub. Before I knew it he had chucked his bunny (or, for those of you who know him, the growth that has permanently attached itself to his hand) into the tub and was taking a running leap, Baywatch style, over the side, fully clothed, apparently on a rescue mission. I threw my arm out to stop him, thinking it was sort of a soccer mom protective move. It ended up as more of a WWE clothesline move. And now I had 2 screaming children on my hands. One, irate because she was wet. The other, irate because he was not.

The next half hour or so consisted of running around getting juice, putting clothes on both my daughter and me, switching laundry around to make room for the puky clothes pile in the washer and general appeasement of two wailing children. And to add to the excitement I slammed a door on my finger.

Needless to say...it was not my morning. Thankfully, my children decided to take a long morning nap and I had a large chunk of time to get into the Word and study Psalm 121. In this passage, the psalmist calls God our keeper and protector and reminds us that He never sleeps or slumbers, but is always with us. It was exactly what I needed to hear and I went away from my time with the Lord thanking Him for His love for me and constant presence in my life.

Later, after lunch, the kids and I were listening to a Psalty tape (remember Psalty?!) and I was again struck at how much God loves me and how I can only and ever find my strength in Him. A particular song asserts the message of Zechariah 4:6b, "'Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,' says the Lord Almighty." As I listened to this song, the mightiness of God swept over me afresh. I sat on my couch crying with my heart raised in adoration to my amazing God, even as my children laughed and screamed and stole toys from each other.

God is so good to us. He is teaching me that in a new and wonderful way. I felt so blessed and humbled today when I realized that God doesn't just tell me something and expect me to remember and be perfect at it. Rather, the Maker of heaven and earth is training me. He is teaching me and then reminding me of the lessons He's taught, affirming them. I wanted to share that amazing revelation that I've always known in my head, but has finally made its way to my heart.

And in case you're wondering. The Psalty tape was Sing-along-athon Maranatha-marathon Hallelujah Jubilee. And here are the lyrics to the song:

(Chorus:)
It's not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit.
It's not by might, nor by power, sayeth the Lord.
(Verse 1:)
We'd like to think that we can handle problems on our own.
We buckle down, apply the steam, work our hands down to the bone.
But when we've gone around in circles and there's no place left to turn,
The Lord reminds us quietly, There's a lesson to be learned.
(Chorus)
(Verse 2:)
We try and try in our own strength to make things come out right.
We think and plan and orgainze and try with all our might.
But when we've finally reached the bottom, the end of all our rope,
The Lord reminds us, once again, In Me you'll find your hope.
(Chorus)

OCD. Works for me.

Original Post: Tuesday, April 29, 2008

As many of you know, I am currently a student. I know, I know...I'm 27 years old and should have graduated a long time ago. In fact, whenever I think of it I am reminded of the scene in Tommy Boy where David Spade's character is making fun of Chris Farley's character for graduating college so late in life. Farley defends himself with the statement, "Tons of people go to school for 9 years." To which Spade replies, "Yeah...they're called doctors."

Darn. I'm definately not a doctor.

But, in my defense I haven't been in school for all of nine years. I've taken at least a few years off. And Grand Valley is my (count 'em) fourth college. All that transferring kind of screwed me up and I ended up taking a lot of classes that don't actually count towards graduation (e.g. GVSU does not recognize Old Testament Survey from IWU for credit). But I've kept at it like that tortoise in the race with the hare and am scheduled to graduate next spring.
Today, however, I was looking over my transcript and degree analysis (a spreadsheet that tells me which requirements I have met and have yet to meet) to make sure everything looked right. I've done this a thousand times, but I'm a double-checker. Now that I have my classes scheduled for next year, those classes show up on said degree analysis and I just wanted to reaffirm that everything was in order (again), as to avoid surprises when I apply for graduation in the winter. As I glanced over this analysis an interesting thing caught my eye; something I hadn't noticed the first 999 times I looked at this report. At the very top was a column which read Total Credits Required: 120. Next to this was a label that read: Total Credits Used: 119, Not Met. If you haven't guessed, this meant that with my current schedule I will be one credit short of graduating next spring.

ONE CREDIT SHORT! Are you kidding me?!?!

As this realization washed over me and the bile began to rise in my throat, several things crossed me mind. Things like, Gee. It sure would have been nice if my #*@& advisor had ever e-mailed me back after the three thousand nine hundred twenty seven times I e-mailed her to make sure I was all set.

These pleasant thoughts were added to as I attempted to get ahold of the registrar's office and recieved only a busy signal. For TWO HOURS. I finally got through and, after a valiant performance of pretending like I wasn't ready to strangle the next person I met, confirmed that yes, I was screwed unless I changed something. All that transferring had satisfied several class requirements without actually giving me credit for them, leaving me short of total credits that count towards graduation
So, for the next half hour I scrambled through the registrar page, desperately searching for a class for which to sign up to get me over the 120 credit mark. Thankfully, I found one which will work with my schedule.

Every once in a while, I find myself celebrating my tendencies toward anal-retentiveness and OCD. Basking in the rewards that can be reaped from over-efficiency and obsessive double-checking. If I hadn't done this now, I may not have caught it until it was too late. Even if I had waited, I may not have been able to find a class to join. It was all just another reminder that God makes us the way we are for a purpose. I'm not saying He gave me the characteristics I have just to save me from taking another semester of school. But He did give them to me for some reason, which I may not ever know.

Psalms 139:13,14 says, "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." God made me the way that I am with care and attention to detail. He knit me into being. Like Max Lucado says, I'm not mass-produced and I didn't come off an assembly line. God didn't just slap me together like an irresponsible bride trying to finish her centerpieces the night before the wedding. He was delicate and deliberate. And even though He's perfect and He doesn't make mistakes, He still took His time on me. What an amazing God we serve!

P.S. The only class I found is called Intermediate Fiction Workshop. Maybe Linda won't have to wait so long for her novel after all. :)

And the Oscar Goes To....

Original Post: Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Addison. For her outstanding dramatic portrayal of a baby in distress.
My daughter is, perhaps, the most dramatic child I have ever encountered. Now, I know that babies throw fits. But Addison? She THROWS FITS! Flailing. Logrolling across the floor. Shrieking. Sitting up. Changing direction. Continued logrolling. More shrieking. Weeping. Gnashing of teeth.
All of this used to concern me. Lately, however, I have begun to just sit back and enjoy the show because, truth be told, it's wildly entertaining. Does this make me a bad mother? I think not. I think that for now this is all I can do. Addison is too little to understand timeouts. If I try to sit her in one spot she merely looks at me in wonder of what could possess me to wrestle her writhing torso across the room, and then logrolls back to her original tantrum launch area. She's too little to understand spanking. It only makes her cry harder because now she's tired and in pain. She doesn't respond to hugs or kisses or comforting words. So, my only option is to let her cry it out. At some point, she'll calm down just enough to let me pick her up and give her a pacifier and her favorite pink bunny. I can't tell you how I know when this point comes. I just do. Then I can pick her up and she'll lay her sweaty, red little cheek on my shoulder and sigh because sometimes a girl just needs to get it out.
I can't blame her, really. She never really had a chance. She's female. And she's my kid. My mom is constantly reminding me of the fits that I once threw, vividly describing the clunking sound of my bony frame hitting the wooden kitchen floor as the bellows began to rise from deep within me. Did I really expect my daughter to be any different? Not really. Because, like me, while Addison throws one heck of a fit, she also can throw one heck of a giggle-fest. And I love that about her. I love that she is sensitive and intense. I love that when she gets mad, she gets MAD. And when she's happy, she's gleeful.

So, here's to Addison, my little girl, aspiring diva and drama-queen extaordinaire.

My New Jobs...

Original Post: Monday, March 10, 2008

To all of you who told me that the first three months of motherhood were the hardest and if I could just get through those, I'd be ok...

To all of you who said as soon as you're sleeping more, it won't be as tiring...

To all of you who said, once they crawl or walk or hold their own bottles, then you'll have much more free time...

To all of you, I'd like to say, YOU ARE LIARS!

Ok, fine. I am past the exhausting stage where sleep is a far off and mysteriously imaginary friend. My kids are now usually pretty good about sleeping through the night for at least 12 hours. But on days like today, when my son is up at 5:30 shrieking like someone is slicing his left arm off, I don't think to myself, Oh how nice that I'm past that first three months. Instead I think, Why won't that #*$% kid sleep?! Gee, I sure wish Asher would sleep longer.

And yes, I am able to straighten up the kitchen a bit while they're eating lunch. However, this cleaning time is usually interrupted by a moment of terror when one or the other kid starts choking and I have to instantly transform into Rescue Hero Mom and rush to save their lives. Most times, though, they've worked it out by the time I get around the snack bar to their chair and, instead of requiring a hard smack on the back, merely smile up at me and continue shoving food in their face like a Somolian refugee.

Yes, when they were little, they were exhausting. But at least they required little or no physical exertion in my part. I remember days of laying on the couch, watching America's Next Top Model for hours and only stirring to make some bottles, change a few diapers and eat some Almond Rocca. Don't think I was a neglectful mother or anything. My kids just slept all day (hence, the no sleeping at night) and playing peek-a-boo with a sleeping child is borderline crazy.
But the older they get, the stranger the tasks I must learn to perform. Relaxation? What's that?Here are the latest in my long list of professions:

Contortionist: A necessary skill when attempting to change a diaper. One must learn to hold down more flailing toddler parts than they have limbs while simultaneously attempting to thwart the excrement on said toddler's rump from becoming the newest wall decoration.

Weightlifter: My son is a beast. His weight is approximately that of a baby hippopotamus. And he has become stronger than me. Picking him up conjures images of World's Strongest Man competitions in which truck-sized men with sweat glistening and neck veins bulging procure hernias while lifting heavy objects for no sane reason at all.

Spotter: My son is also an aspiring rock-climber. He needs to be watched at all times, lest he feel the sudden urge to practice swan dives off of the couch which he can now get on to by himself.

Animal Tamer: Taking two 14-month-olds anywhere has been aptly compared to venturing out of the house with 2 full grown wild goats (Thanks for that blog, Mo!). Imperative tools for these outings include feed (graham crackers usually have the desired effect of distraction and enough nourishment to momentarily satiate the beasts), water (mixed with juice in a lidded cup is preferable, but keep an eye on the cup as it is a favorite to be thrown at strangers), and restraints (anything with straps and buckles will do). I'm still searching for government approved muzzles. Some form of entertainment is also recommended, but if you fail to bring that, making ridiculous faces usually does the trick of entertaining the children, while simultaneously humiliating you.

So, as you can see, life has definitely not become any easier. It has become much more interesting, though. And definitely more fun. I'd pick watching these two run around and knock each other over the head with things over America's Next Top Model any day. Besides, a steady diet of Almond Rocca was definately not helping with the loss of the baby weight.

Copying...Still

Original Post: Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Again, It Begins

Thus begins another three months of too many activities, which will inevitably lead to insanity, weeping and the occasional gnashing of teeth. I tell you this to forewarn and pre-apologize for any absence of person or mind you may experience from me. Do not be offended or frightened friends. I live on! Yes, a new semester dawns, with papers to write, texts to read and brains to suck dry. I have to keep reminding myself that I chose this. I chose this. Silly me.
But I have to say that I was encouraged and quite in agreement with Kasey when she spoke of needing God the most when our ducks are not in a row. Despite the looming workload ahead, I look forward to the necessity of utter dependence again. The last 3 weeks or so have been busy, yes. But busy on my terms. I've made the schedule; I've planned where we would go, what we would buy, how we would celebrate. And I inadvertently asked to God to please, would you be so kind as to wait on the bench? You can sit this one out. WHAT?! As I reflect back on this holiday season, I'm coming to the sad realization that for the first time in a very long time I completely forgot about why we even do Christmas. I think I may have given it a brief glance of a thought during a prayer on Christmas day. But other than that, I was too busy making spinach dip and wrapping presents and wiping boogers from little noses. Now here I am, once again, standing abashedly before the Lord, nervously twisting the hem of my shirt and kicking at invisibly stones so I don't have to look Him in the eye. And He just smiles. Smiles because I'm back and He missed me. Smiles because of my foolishness at thinking I could do anything on my own. Smiles because He knows that I'm entering another phase in which I cannot help but depend on Him. This phase contains too many ducks and they are rebellious ducks and they don't want to sit in a row.
So bring it on, too many ducks. I know I can't deal with you, so I won't try. I'll just sit peacefully, doing what I must, doing what I'm told. God can handle the rest. He even wants to. Aaah, surrender. Sweet, sweet surrender.

Original Post: Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Tiny Teeth

Here are some things I love about being a mom:

~Tiny teeth marks in my bronzer brush handle because it's the only safe thing to distract my kids in the bathroom with while I get ready in the morning.
~Being able to make my kids laugh just by looking at them or making a funny face.
~Lying on the floor and letting them crawl all over me like little puppies who have to "pee-pee, wee-wee, TINKLE!" (WonderPets, anyone? Anyone?)
~Sleepy eye-rubs.
~The deep, purring inhale-exhale of baby slumber.
~Neck-nuzzles.
~Hearing "mama" come out of their little baby mouths with little baby voices.
~Little hands waving goodbye.
~Big crying (I know that's mean, but they're so cute when they get offended when I take something they're not supposed to have away and they cry like I just cancelled Christmas).
~Arms wrapped so tight around me that I feel like a mama oranguatan who's about to go swinging through the trees.
~First steps.
~Having to run because they crawl faster than I can walk.
~Naked baby selves in the bathtub, splashing like tadpoles.
~Never getting a good picture because as soon as the camera comes out they decide it would be a good idea to eat it.
~Mouths that open wider than imaginable as soon as the spoon comes out of the bowl and has yet to come anywhere near their mouths.

Those are just a few. There are lots more.

P.S. Only one more exam left and then 3 weeks off!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yipee skippy.

Original Post: Saturday, September 29, 2007

So...I'm not dead. Just busy. Wanna know about my life? K.
Oh by the way, if you're just tuning in: I have 9 month old twins. They make the following that much more interesting...
Mondays and Wednesdays I have class so I'm gone from 2 to 6:30. Tuesdays I work from 11 till 2 or 3 and then I have class from 6 to 9. Oh, also, Wednesdays I have Bible study at church (which is a 1/2 hour away) at 9:15 in the morning. Then I work Thursday nights and sometimes Friday nights. Sundays are church and either Bible study or work at night. Oh, and Adam and I joined a couples small group at church so we'll be meeting with them on either Monday nights or Thursday nights, if I can get work off. Thankfully, though, that's only a 7 week commitment and we'll reevaluate after that.
So, if you haven't heard from me, don't think I'm a bad friend. Please see the previously mentioned itinerary of the chaos that is my life.

Original Post: Saturday, May 26, 2007

"It Gets Easier"

I got this from another blog and it's AWESOME! All new mommies should read it. The end.

My first two babies were born 17 months apart.
One morning, when Adam was one and a half and Stephen was a newborn, I was leaving ladies' Bible study after having picked them up at the nursery. In my left arm was Stephen and his 14-ton baby carrier, two diaper bags and a tote bag. In my right arm were my car keys, three coats and the pudgy hand of little Adam. Just as we exited the building, Adam exploded into a tantrum over something--I can't remember what--and I carried all 25 pounds of screaming boy, dangling from my right hand, his feet refusing to touch the ground. A woman saw me struggling, and with sympathy in her eyes said, "It gets easier."
I went to my car and cried.
Fast forward a few years. Adam had just turned four, Stephen was two and a half, and Joseph was a newborn. It was the end of the day, just before Hubs was supposed to return home. Things had fallen apart. All three of them needed me at once, and all three of them were crying. I sat on the couch, rocking the baby back and forth, a preschooler weeping on each shoulder, and I felt more overpoweringly inadequate than I'd ever felt in my life. I can't do this, I thought, as I focused, quite simply, on breathing in and out. In and out.
Surely, I thought, it must get easier.
This time, I was too spent even to cry.
Those moments, and hundreds more like them, are seared into my heart. As much as I treasured parenting my little pack of preschoolers, the overpowering exhaustion and mental drain that comes from that season of life nearly did me in more than once. I look back on those recent years, and I wish I could give the "me back then" a whisper of encouragement from the "me today".
It gets easier, I'd whisper to my bleary-eyed self. They sleep and they reason and they take charge of their own bodily fluids. They make you laugh and they feed the dog and they remember where you put the car keys. They become functioning, delightful little people who can read the notes you leave them. It gets easier. It really does.
Since I can't go back in time to share it with "me back then", let me happily share it with you moms of little ones. You know who you are. I pop in on your blog sometimes and see that precious, frantic season of life you're in. You're sitting there at the computer, right now, and you may have crusty spit up in your hair. You may have assembled 364 miles of Thomas the Tank Engine track today. You may have sung the Dora the Explorer theme song until your head is ready to explode. You have little ones, really little ones, and they need you so very much. And, oh my friend, I know you're tired.
So yes, I tell you, it really does get easier. Sure, you inherit a different set of parenting challenges as they age, but at least everyone can cut his own meat. You will get through this time.
And if that's not encouragement enough for you, let me share with you something a friend shared with me during a particularly trying episode of Young Mommy Fatigue. She e-mailed me the following verse (Isaiah 40:11):
He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young. [emphasis mine]
Never have I felt as loved as I felt the moment I first read those words. The God of the universe, the Master Creator, stopped in the middle of telling The Greatest Story Ever Told for just a brief moment to whisper, "Moms, I know it's hard. But I will lead you. And I will lead you gently."
As I read it, I laughed and cried altogether, speechless with thanks at a God who could express such specific tenderness to His creation. I wasn't alone.
And neither are you, moms of those precious little ones. You may be up to your ankles in pureed carrots, but many, many of us have gone before and lived to laugh about it, urged on by the gentlest Shepherd. Take all our word for it. It gets easier. And it gets good.

Original Post: Tuesday, May 01, 2007

The Misery that Is Tummy Time

Why do they call "tummy time" that? It makes it sound playful and enjoyable. And yet, when my children have tummy time neighbors come to check on us because it sounds like someone is gutting a couple of puppies. From the moment I flip them on their bellies the whining starts. Then the crying. Then the yelping. Then the outright screams of indignation. Finally I pick them up after the longest 20 minutes of all our lives and they continue to look me in the eyes and yell at me for another 15 minutes.
I pose the following quesiton: Is this really worth it? My mom said I never got tummy time and, yet, I know how to roll over and hold my own head up. AMAZING! How did I do it without tummy time?!?!
Blech...I'm sure it's good for them. In fact, Addison is almost rolling over and holds her head and chest up better than Asher because she sleeps on her stomach (calm down, all you SIDS alarmists) and Asher doesn't. I can still hate it, though. Any suggestions?