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The Helmet

Posted by cassiegay on July 28, 2015 Leave a Comment

My son has a helmet. Of course, I don’t like it. It stinks (literally), and it is a hassle to change his clothes.

The worse part of this whole experience though is that I don’t like how people stare at him. It is mostly adults, too. I hate it for him, even though he is completely unaware. I see people point with not so hushed, “Did you see that kid? What is wrong with him?” comments. At church, I even had a nursery volunteer ask, “What is wrong with your son?” Ouch.

Let me answer, once and for all, nothing is wrong with my son. We chose to get him a helmet to reshape his head for a flat spot he had. Nothing is wrong with his brain; he is completely normal. No, I did not keep him on his back all of the time. I constantly interacted with him. I don’t know why this happened. Regardless, I explain it like braces. While there are medical reasons for braces, such as an overbite, let’s be real…we all got braces to have pretty smiles. We got a helmet so our son would have a pretty head shape.

Before my son had this helmet, people would constantly gush over him. Now, we either get stared at or ignored. I think people purposefully look away out of kindness, not wanting us to feel like they are staring. I understand this. I am pretty sure I do this when I see someone “different”. I fidget. I grab the phone. I avoid eye contact. Now, as a mother of someone who looks, albeit temporarily, “different”, let me give you advice…. don’t act different. If you normally are the type that gushes over babies, approach that helmet baby and notice the same features you would have cooed over before.

I’ll never forget pulling up to the check out line at Publix. I could tell the cashier noticed my son. I was expecting silent stares or, heaven help me, another comment on what was wrong with him or me for having him in it. Much to my surprise, she gushed over how adorable my son is and how beautiful his blue eyes are. I could have cried. She was able to just see my baby, not the helmet.

For those who are curious, I will answer the top three helmet questions I get:

He wears it 23 hours a day. He gets an hour break to air out, get a bath, and for us to clean the helmet. (Not that it matters…it stinks like a cast no matter how hard we scrub.)
Yes, he sleeps soundly in it.
No, it doesn’t bother him. Oddly enough, when he has the helmet off, he seems to miss it.

Only 3 more weeks until we are done with this headgear. My only concern is that our son has gotten quite used to bumping his head on things without any care in the world. As someone else said, that will only happen once.

Baby’s first Pinterest Art

Posted by cassiegay on July 25, 2015 Leave a Comment

I am not an artsy person. However, I am extremely sentimental. When I was little, I saved my unused napkin from Disney World because it has the pretty picture and quote on it.

All that to say, if you are a sentimental Mamma, that is all the skill set you need.

Naturally, this all began with Pinterest. I was inspired by discovering a recipe for safe,homemade finger paint while trying to find sensory activities for my 9 month old. From there, I decided to make a canvas painting. Then, I thought to add the words of my son’s favorite song. I went to Hobby Lobby and fortunately found all of my main components to be 50% off. Score.

What you need:

Finger paint
Canvas
Scrapbooking Letters
Dropcloth (in my case, plastic tablecloth)
Baby wipes and paper towels

What you do:

Make baby paint.
Putt scrapbook letters on the canvas in whatever phrase you want on the canvas. Get creative…baby’s name, favorite song, nursery rhyme, or Bible verse.
Lay out project on a dropcloth. We opted for outside. First, it is easier to be messy. Second, better lighting=better pictures of baby painting for the first time.
Plop paint on the canvas and brace yourself.
Be flexible. Sure, my son got grass all over the canvas. But I decided I liked it better. It’s part of the memory.
Allow to dry. This could take longer than normal paint.
Peel off scrapbook letters, if you prefer.
Mount the masterpiece in your home. Bonus idea: hang pictures of your baby painting around the masterpiece.

This was such a special project, and it cost less than $10. Did it come out Pinterest perfect? No, but it is now the most valuable, cherished piece of art in our home. My husband, mom, and I could not stop laughing as we watched my son explore this new endeavor.

Chocolate Peanut Butter Cookie Cake

Posted by cassiegay on March 2, 2015 Leave a Comment

Like most men, my husband’s favorite thing is chocolate and peanut butter. When baby was napping the other day, I decided to build my chocolate peanut butter dessert repertoire and try something new. So I made up a recipe. I made it a cookie cake for two reasons: 1. Cookie cake is my go to thing. 2. It’s way easier to make a giant cookie than roll individual cookies. Mamas only have so much time….

In short, hubby loved it. I loved it. Baby slept through me making it. #naptimechefwin

Ingredients:

1 c butter
1 c brown sugar
1 c sugar
2 eggs
1 t vanilla
1 c Peanut Butter
2 3/4 c Flour
2 t Baking soda
1/2 t Salt
2 c semisweet chocolate chips
15 or so miniature Reese’s (chopped)

Directions

1. In a separate bowl, mix together dry ingredients. Set aside.

2. In your mixer, cream butter and sugars (brown and granulated sugar).

3. Add eggs and vanilla

4. Add peanut butter.

5. Gradually add dry ingredients, stirring in between. Do it all at once, and it will snow in your kitchen. No Mama has time for that.

6. Stir in chocolate chips and chopped Reese’s cups. The batter should look like the picture below. ~~Don’t~~ taste it. You might end up stopping right there. It’s that good.

7. Put the dough in your favorite pie dish (pack it in by hand, making sure it is tight and level). Bake at 350 degrees for 20-27 minutes. Yes, that is a big range with a large margin of error. Trust your baking instincts. Once you see the edges browning and the middle is not wobbly/squishy, you are good. It will darken a little bit after you take it out.

7. Enjoy! Notice how thick the slices are….it is heavenly. Go ahead and pour yourself some milk.

Homemade White Bread

Posted by cassiegay on February 23, 2015 Leave a Comment

Who doesn’t love homemade bread? With all of the winter snow/ice mix predicted this week, I decided not to face the bread/egg/milk shopping craze and make it on my own.

This is one of those rare things that will make you feel like the queen of domesticity! But, trust me Mamas, this is going to be the easiest thing you will do today with the help of this MVP: the Bread Machine.

This is my classic White Bread recipe that I have tweaked over the years. It is a quick assembly, giving you just enough time to accomplish for your baby’s naptime. I hope you enjoy!

Ingredients:

1 c and 1 T of warm water
1 large egg
4 1/2 t vegetable oil
3 1/4 c bread flour (make sure it is bread flour!)
1/2 c sugar
1 1/2 t salt
2 1/4 t instant yeast

Directions:

Place all ingredients in the bread pan order recommended by the manufacturer. (For mine, it is all liquids first, dry ingredients, and yeast last.)
All of the ingredients dumped into the bread machine pan.
Select the basic or white bread setting. Pick the 2 lb loaf size and the crust color option you prefer (I like light).
Press start and go tend to your now waking baby.

It’s as easy as that. Your bread machine will beep when it is done (it’s a long process…mine takes 3.5 hours!). You let it cool about ten minutes. Your family will no doubt be circling the kitchen island from the amazing smell that has been permeating your home. For my family, it’s tradition to cut off a warm slice and spread on some butter, honey, and cinnamon. Mmhmm.

Let cool for 10 minutes.

Soon, you will be bombarded with wonder, “You took care of a baby and made homemade bread?!??” You nod. Yes. Yes, I did.

Finished product!

Recipe Variations:

DINNER ROLLS. This also makes delectable dinner rolls. Follow the same ingredients. When you select the setting on your machine, chose Dough. Grease a 9″ x 13″ pan. Shape the dough into balls (makes about 15 or so). Let them rise in a warm place (about double the size). Bake at 350 degrees for 12-15 minutes, until a nice golden brown. Brush the tops with melted butter.
GARLIC BREAD. After you have made the normal bread recipe, turn on your Broiler in your oven. Brush slices of the bread with butter, garlic salt, parmesan cheese, and parsley. Broil the bread for a couple minutes, until desired texture. So yummy, so quick!

Comfort for the Working Mom who Longs to be Home

Posted by admin on January 7, 2015 Leave a Comment

Dear Working Mom,

Before I had my first baby, I thought I knew you. You showed me that working would suit our family. Like you, we needed the income. Also, ~~many of you~~ my co-workers (without children) said that it helped to have some time to socialize with adults, that the time away would make me better somehow. I knew I could do it; you do it, I reasoned.

Then, I had “skin to skin” time, holding my child, my miracle in my arms for the first time. You know the moment. I was overwhelmed by an indescribable love, a simultaneous desire not to hold too tightly because he seemed so small, so precious and to hold on with all of my strength so that he would know he was home- he was safe, treasured, and loved. Fiercely loved.

During that first day, you know how the pangs of leaving him started to literally cause an ache in my heart. “Oh, I have 6 weeks…3 weeks…1 week,” I would whisper to myself, pushing away the unavoidable reality. Before I knew it, it was my last night, and I fought it with everything in me. I did not want to pack his bag. I wouldn’t go to sleep because I didn’t want the morning to come. I just rocked and rocked my sleeping baby, memorizing the sweet lines of his face. Oh, did the tears pour all night, all morning, when I kissed him goodbye, on my hour commute to work. I was in mourning, it seemed. Mourning the missed moments, the missed smiles, the missed coos, the missed cuddles, the missed firsts, and even the missed messes.

When I walked in to work, I was greeted with smiles and meaningless conversations. I felt like someone in a dream visiting a world that was familiar but not where I belonged. The worst part were the comments, you know the ones. “I bet you are glad to get out of the house” and “women shouldn’t find their identity in motherhood. They should have a career”.

You and I craved understanding. We needed someone to know that we adore being a stay-at-home mom, and that it is enough. That is it more than enough-that it is something to long for, to miss, and to mourn. It is worthy of a calling. For the moms who are able to stay home, we know it is not something to feel “less” about. You are not “just a stay-at-home mom.”

For you, the working mommas waiting to be at home with your children, I now understand. I apologize I did not acknowledge your hidden hurt and needless guilt you carry, believing the lies that you chose a career over your child. I know your pain, and it matters. I marvel at the strength you display to prepare the meals and pack the bags for a day of activities that will be done in your absence. I admire the courage you display to trust someone else to be with your baby, to comfort, to care, to teach, as we covet those opportunities.

You are not alone in your longing, in your waiting. There are several, goosebump-inducing moments in the Bible where all seems hopeless and helpless “but God” comes, the Deliverer, the Sustainer, the Comforter of His people. In Psalm 73:26, we hear, “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is my strength and my portion forever.” For those of us feeling hopeless in this season, He whispers to you that He is here. Feeling weak? He shouts to you that He is here. Feeling alone? He comforts you by being here. He more than understands the pain of separation from a child, and He longs to heal our wounds.

What-Not-to-Say to the Pregnant Mama

Posted by admin on January 5, 2015 Leave a Comment

Ever heard the phrase that it takes 10 compliments to overcome the sting of 1 insult? For pregnant women, I think it should be double that. When you are visibly pregnant, it is a rare thing to be able to leave the house without unwanted, sometimes insulting comments. Surprisingly, women (who have been pregnant before) usually are the ones making said comments. I always struggled with my response, sticking with a slow “thank you” that sounded more like a question than a statement.

Here is my top 5 list of “compliments” to avoid telling a pregnant woman:

1. “You don’t look pregnant at all. Are you sure there is a baby in there?”

Goal: Okay, most likely, you are attempting to make me feel skinny.

Reality: You just sent me on a Google Images search frenzy so that I can compare my bump (or lack thereof) to other women, making sure something isn’t wrong with my baby.

2. “You’re huge!” (Yes, someone actually emphatically used the word huge with me.)

Goal: I am at a loss on this one. Maybe you were trying to tell me I’m doing a good job growing a baby?

Reality: Is it ever good to comment on how large someone is? This should never be acceptable. No one likes being told they are “huge, big, or large”.

3. “Wow, are you sure it isn’t twins?”

Goal: Again, I have no idea. Maybe genuine concern that I should see another doctor?

Reality: I get it. I. am. Big. Because of the 8 other comments of similar concern, I asked. The ultrasound tech and doctors have said that it is one on multiple occasions, thanks.

4. “When are you due? Oh, June. You are going to be miserable being that pregnant in the summer.”

Goal: Spreading your dislike for summer to a random stranger.

Reality: I forgot I should have run this by you for approval. What was your name again?

5. “You look like you are ready to pop any day now! Oh, REALLY? You are only 4 MONTHS along? Are you sure?”

Goal: Encouragement that the end is in sight and you soon get to hold your baby.

Reality: Again, thanks for the reminder of my size. Trust me, I am sure. I am the one that is pregnant.

I think it is a beautiful thing that pregnancy opens up so many conversations with strangers, providing a random opportunity to encourage someone. You should compliment! But, please, do it like you would with any other woman who isn’t pregnant (skip the size comments).

My favorite thing someone said to me was from the checkout lady at Petco. I ungracefully waddled up to her counter. She gave me a warm smile, exclaiming “You are absolutely glowing! You look beautiful.” That made my day and ~~maybe~~ just made up for the other, not so complimentary statements I got breathlessly waddling around the store.

How to Tell Your Husband You are Pregnant

Posted by admin on January 3, 2015 Leave a Comment

For me, this was an unexpected but deeply desired journey. I hesitated to take a test for weeks simply because I did not want the disappointment. One day, I got sick at work (which pre-pregnancy was highly unusual) and decided I would buy a test. After circling the parking lot a few times, cautiously entering the store, and springing for the digital test (mainly because I had a coupon), I gave myself a non-stop pep talk from the drugstore to the house. I decided I would take the test and no one but the dog would hear about my silly speculation.

Much to my surprise, the test instantly revealed that I was pregnant. It was one of the most exciting, joyous moments of my life.

My next thought…how do I tell my husband? I am the sentimental, over-analyzing one of our relationship. I basically reasoned that this would be the most important thing I have ever told him. Plus, you only tell your husband you are pregnant with the child who is making him a Daddy once. It had to be memorable. It had to be perfect. It had to be worthy of its life-altering implications.

Naturally, I took to Pinterest. For those of you who think that is weird, go to Pinterest. Start typing “how to tell”. What comes up first? “How to tell your husband you are pregnant.” This is a real thing.

Pinterest failed me. Writing “I’m pregnant” with lipstick on my stomach or putting a loaf of bread in the oven (how am I supposed to get him to look in the oven randomly?) didn’t fit us. I decided to buy him some kind of baby item that referenced his new role as Daddy. It was there, at Babies R’ Us, where I was finally (I mean, it had been over a couple hours at this point) able to tell someone I was pregnant. The cashier started squealing and fanning her eyes when I told her my plan. I figured that made her the ideal, sappy candidate and enlisted her help to find the perfect gift. We looked everywhere and decided on this:

Click here to buy this bib on Amazon.

After what felt like the longest night ever, I finally got home. I walked in, tried my best to chitchat, and then nonchalantly said, “I got you a gift.”

For those of you who know my husband, he is not outwardly emotionally expressive. From his non-reaction, you would think I came home bearing gifts every day. Not the case. He opened it, held up the bib, and looked blankly at me, basically an unwritten “So?” on his face. Then, my very nervous self, was taken over by a high-pitched chipmunk voice, “We are having a baby!”

Surprisingly, my husband’s voice also got higher than usual, “What?!? Really?!? No, really???” I kept nodding. He swept me up in the biggest hug, still repeating, not actually asking, “really”. It worked. I was able to keep that secret (the dog and the cashier totally don’t count) about 8 hours. It nearly killed me.

Things I learned from my experience:

There is little product that mentions dad without reference to a gender. Example: Daddy’s Princess, Daddy’s Little Man, etc.
Pinterest is not a waste of time. But, in this case, it was.
As usual, my over-analyzing mind got the best of me. It didn’t matter how I told the news. I could have blurted it out at lunch earlier that day, and it would have been just as special.

Breastfeeding

Posted by admin on January 2, 2015 Leave a Comment

Breastfeeding. Now that I have made you all uncomfortable, proceed knowing where I am going with this.

When I was pregnant, people constantly asked me, “Are you planning to breastfeed?” I’d say yes, blissfully unaware of the difficulty that was ahead of me. In reality, being a first-time mom, I was so terrified of labor that I didn’t really think anything after that experience would be hard. Afterall, my husband and I even went to the Breastfeeding Basics class at the hospital, where the mantra “If you are doing it right, it won’t hurt” was promised. Now, I realize I was clueless. As an unexpected exclusive pumper, I’d say labor was much, much easier than this experience.

Why do it then? Because it is what my baby needs. It is what is, by far, healthiest and best for him. Trust me, every day, I have been tempted to quit. I have even felt encouraged to quit and use formula by people around me. It seems like there has been an over-the-top push for moms to feel accepted and not guilty for doing formula, to the point of excluding moms who do commit to breastfeeding by diminishing the importance of it.

Here are the main comments I have heard from random strangers, friends, and family:

“Formula is not poison. Your baby will be just fine.”

Formula is not poison. My baby would survive with it. However, it is scientifically proven that breastmilk protects your baby against all kinds of illnesses. Breastmilk has shown to protect against stomach viruses, lower respiratory illnesses, ear infections, UTIs, and kidney infections. Babies who are breastfed even have a lower risk of SIDS, childhood cancer, diabetes, obesity, allergies, and high blood pressure later in life.

The most fascinating thing to me is how breastmilk changes based on the specific nutrition your baby needs as he grows. When our baby was a month old, he had his wellness check up. The doctor said that fluid was building behind his ears and that he would have a full blown ear infection by the weekend. This never happened. He has never been sick, and I believe a large part of that is because of breastmilk.

“No one will know if your baby was formula fed or not…it’s not on their college application”.

Well, maybe not directly. But, your baby will be smarter. In a study of more than 17,000 infants followed from birth to 6 1/2 years, researchers concluded from IQ scores and other intelligence tests that prolonged and exclusive breastfeeding significantly improves cognitive development.

Another study of almost 4,000 children showed that babies who were breastfed had significantly higher scores on a vocabulary test at 5 years of age than children who were not breastfed.

“Happy Mama, happy baby. You need to do what makes you happy.”

This is where I have the biggest problem. At first, this sounds smart. How can I truly care for my baby well if I am unhappy? Breastfeeding, especially pumping, is extremely hard. From the physical pain, the limitations on your schedule, and the constant cleaning of supplies, it adds quite a load onto an already tired momma. But, if I am honest, there are several aspects of parenthood that don’t “make me happy”. The sleep deprivation, the piles of laundry, cleaning up a diaper blowout, the new norm of dry shampoo and unshaved legs, all are but a glimpse into a sound-of-music-kind-of-list of a few of my unfavorite things.

If am I concerned with my happiness, I am in for a rude awakening. If I make decisions about doing things or not doing things for my baby based off of what will make me happy, my baby won’t be happy.

I have to remind myself that I get to go through these “unhappy” things. I can’t remember the last time I have slept through the night. I do remember all of the middle-of-the-night cuddles and coos, when I gazed into the eyes of my Little Miracle, and he smiled at me. I wouldn’t trade anything for these moments. Being a mom is not about making me happy; it isn’t about me at all. It’s about sacrificially, unconditionally loving my son, even through the small things of losing sleep, my perviously, perfectly clean home, and my boobs.