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Leah Ferguson

10 Reasons Why Raising Small Kids is Good for Your Ego

Most of my mom friends are, like me, just starting their families.  Our oldest children are around 2 1/2 or 3 years old, so we’re still in the shock of how quickly we change–physically and otherwise–in these early years of baby-making.  For instance, even if you lose the baby weight and knock yourself back into shape, you won’t recognize the body pregnancy and delivery left behind.  You realize one day that your butt’s not where it used to be.  All of the clothes you were so anxious to get back into don’t fit quite the same anymore.  If you had a c-section, you might have that lovely little “shelf” that sometimes parks itself permanently above your scar.  And if you’re breastfeeding, you can pretty much forget about wearing any kind of cute little top or dress until your baby is weaned (and if you totally disagree with this last statement, please tell me where you shop…).  Nursing bras and spaghetti straps aren’t exactly an attractive combo.  Alas, even if I could wear something out of this month&#8217…

Attention Whiplash

Saoirse decided to spit out a taco onto our dining room floor this evening.  Wait, that’s not right.  She didn’t so much spit it out as lean over her chair, open her mouth, and let the entire half-chewed black-bean-tortilla-and-cheese contents fall out onto the rug.  Appetizing, right?  Wait, it gets better:  as soon as it happened, I launched into the standard reprimand/discipline routine that was clearly ineffective, because the instant she had my attention, she grabbed a big gulp of milk, looked at me with that defiant look only a child knows how to give, and let it all gush out of her mouth, down her chin and onto her shirt.  And then she asked for a cookie.  It was one of those priceless moments that makes me think that sometimes my life would make an awesome reality show.  Seriously.  I’d call it TrainWreckTV.  But you want to know why she did?  Have you guessed already?  Yep, that’s right:  we were paying too much attention to her little sister.  And by paying too much attention, I mean we spent all of 30 seconds (okay, maybe 45…

Begin the Begin (thanks, R.E.M.)

I just had a conversation with a friend about her plugged milk duct.  That’s right, the one in her boob.  At one point, the conversation veered dangerously close to an actual competition about who’d had more plugged ducts in her breastfeeding experience, who’s was more painful and who used the best technique to work them out (feel free to cringe at that thought).  I’m shaking my head as I type this, because I know it’s ridiculous.  War veterans compare wounds and battle stories.  Religious missionaries in foreign lands swap their experiences.  But nursing moms going nose-to-nose (or should I say bosom-to-bosom?) in lactating warfare?  Now, that’s something I never could have anticipated. But the thing is, as parents–and as stay-at-home moms, at that–it’s what we know.  It’s who we are.  What’s unexpected is how quickly the change happens–how rapidly our identities became wrapped up in the families we create.  I still feel like I’m only now getting my balance back after being knocked into this whirlwind two and…