Four Months of You

A grin so authentic it can't be replicated anywhere else. Deep conversations consisting of moans, groans, squeals and squeaks. The most glorious of welcomes with a whole body shake and light up from toes to top. A pretty rockin' sleep "schedule" of a 7 p.m. bedtime and a few night wakings here and there. An appetite fit for a king. A few tricks such as hanging in the Bumbo, playing for hours on the kickmat, grabbing and reaching for toys and nearly getting over onto your tummy solo (if only that darn shoulder and big ol' head weren't in the way!). A sunny disposition that allows us to take you just about anywhere. A love for sleep sacks and long naps. Infatuation with your brother. A deep seeded love for Mama and Sophie the Giraffe. The biggest love affair with your fists. A new bond with ducky, stroller rides and car outings. The constant desire to be held. The joy of spotting yourself in the mirror.

And best of all: four months of the deepest love we could ever know.

We adore you, little Squeak. And thanks for kicking that colic. Who knew there was so much sunshine underneath all that rain?!

Style for Substance

A lady of substance, that is!

Recently, my place of work returned its dress code from casual back to business casual, requiring new dress pants and amped up gear for the post-second-baby body. Because this girl ain't no Kate Middleton, this was quite a feat. Even finding black pants fit for a size XX proved to be hard. Here are some finds for those that require the double digits and seek work ensems:

INC curvy pants from Macy's; Alfani and GAP curvy trousers are a close second

Alex Marie dresses from Dillards that are on sale and have an a-line; this one is comfy,
 sassy andhas pockets while still being professional

Alex Marie - a touch of Pretty Woman

Also in the queue are some great Calvin Klein silky tops you can find in suiting, one of his teal suit jackets and  IN Studio dresses from Dillard that are an amazing price, and don't forget your accessories...the things that always fit!

Don't forget to feel good even when you're feeling a bit bad about where your body is in the moment. Slap on a bit of lipstick, some pearls and one of these comfies and affordables and you'll be set!

Inappropriate Thoughts...

By M. Choate when MedAct arrives at your home:

1. What am I even wearing? Do I have a bra on? Am I covered in breast milk or poop?

2. Are they asking me those questions because they think I knocked him out? I may be a pain ever so often, but there isn't a lot of Mike Tyson in this soul...

3. What's that dude reaching for his phone for? He's calling DFCS, isn't he? I knew it - this place is a disaster. Yesterday's dishes, weeks of unfolded laundry, toys galore...he totally is. Where could I hide the children...

4. Man, I hope that cute fireman doesn't trip on the army men at the top of the stairs.

5. How the hell do the kids sleep through 17 large, medically trained professionals tromping through the house but the cat cries from the basement and suddenly they are awake?

6. What? They want to lay him on the bed now?! But those are new, white sheets...

7. Who can watch the children, who can watch the children, who can watch the children?

8. So can I start Cloroxing now? It looks like you guys got this for a bit...I'm not letting that damn virus take us all down.

9. Did that guy really just ask me to put my dog away? Dude - she's a golden retriever. Are you fearful she'll lick your face off?

10. Did I just hear the MedAct chic say she had this virus YESTERDAY?! Get out, lady, get out! We don't need those germs here!

Before you judge, I believe these thoughts were just coping mechanisms for my brain to begin wrapping itself around that my husband was hurt, suffering and had a close call. That I don't know what I'd do without him. That I love him to pieces. And that he's the strongest, bravest guy I know.

I love you honey and am so glad you're healing...so don't forget it when DCFS comes to take me away, ok?

The Truth About the Toilet Paper Roll

"So sir, you're going to be disappointed, because you have another thing on your 'honey-do' list," the paramedic said as she and two others hauled my husband off the ground, the weight of the day and all that had happened in the past hour weighing heavily on their shoulders and his. It just didn't seem like the time to mention that that thing had been hanging off the wall for approximately seven months. You know, when there are still pools of blood lining your tile and your husband is half asleep awaiting an ambulance ride and all. So I kept my mouth shut, despite just a day earlier I was considering how applicable that Pinterest post about laziness stood in our household these days. Suddenly, none of it mattered.

It all started Friday when the daycare report came home that indicated Squeak had a challenge with his tummy, and his tummy won. For 12 hours we held him as he moaned, not understanding what was happening as the flu took over his small form, his body rejecting the only substance he longed for day in and day out. Loads of laundry later, several phone calls to Children's Mercy and hours of pacing the hallways praying such a young baby would bounce back and hydrate, and he was suddenly in the clear. Phew.

But you know what that means...

Daddy was next and boy did he take the job of acquiring THE VIRUS as we adoringly now call it, seriously. Around 4 p.m. he disappeared, tending to himself and hiding away as he suffered through, embarrassed and fatigued that such a strand could take down a man of steel. Balancing the kids (read: quarantining them and getting them to bed), Cloroxing and dropping wet washcloths on the hubs' head, he finally retreated into a fitful sleep, or so I thought.

Pen poised, I finally sat down to some long overdue baby spoiling thank you cards when the sickening thud of body meets tile echoed to the family room where I lay below. Panic stricken and heart racing I headed to the master bath, a pool of crimson greeting me first as my stomach and heart leapt in different directions, while my mind and fingers magically found the 9-1-1 buttons on my miraculously charged phone. A friendly, calm voice walked me through pulse checks, breathing, compressions, not moving him and keeping me close until MedAct arrived, the heavy thud of their boots on my stairs a most welcoming sound. As the children continued to sleep, the mister came through after a short seizure, able to answer what year it was, who was in office and where he lay while he began to process what had happened and of course, that he was only in his skiivies.

Some patches, saline, time and an awkward wardrobe change later we were advised to take the ambulance to the nearest ER for some stitches, fluids and a CT. On our agenda, the husband of course refused the ride, his ability to process the hit to our budget still existent as he lay weak and recovering as we waited for my Dad to watch the children in the wee hours of the morning. Once he arrived, I provided limited instruction, got the husband into a vehicle and took off for the ER less than five miles away, only to have him seize once more in the car.

Several bouts of shouting, wheelchair racing, question answering and calming later, the husband was getting cleaned and juiced up, the color slowly returning to his chiseled cheekbones and his humor sprinkling in with his spirit as he cracked jokes with the physicians and nurses on staff. A clear CT, bags and bags of fluids and 10 stitches later and we were close to on our way, alerting the doc we'd be back for suture removal and potentially that vasectomy thing that was on our list. With a smile, he advised they couldn't be done in the same visit. Dang doctors - always trying to make some extra dough...

Returning home to a roused child, an anxious and germ-concerned father and a slumbering pre-schooler, we snuck in a few hours of sleep, only to awake to it being Mommy's turn.

Then Little Dude's.

Then my poor parents, who were just trying to help out.

Silver lining: none of us tried to go extreme with THE VIRUS and wind up in white gowns under flourescent lights. Perhaps it's because neither of those things are very flattering.

That and someone still needed to fix that damn toilet paper roll...

Here's hoping you and yours avoid THE VIRUS and are off to a happy, healthy school year!

PS: to our neighbors who thought all those emergency vehicles were there to bust them for their itty, bitty bonfire...THANKS A LOT! :)

PPSS: Hubs thinks he can take the stitches out himself with a pair of scissors and some whiskey. You know, just like Rambo. For the record, this is a terrible idea.

Mom Knows Best

Tory Burch Nude Flops: A just-because, pick me up gift from Mom's trip to Atlanta. My feet and heart are swooning over my first TBs.

Thanks for knowing best Mom!

Monday Momfessions

Yah, I know, I know...missed the deadline. Truth: Momma's tired.

1. A 911 call was placed to my nearest and dearest colleague to rescue me out of my hands-free pumping bra during a zipper snafu that left me helpless. Thank gah for besties and work wives. I hope they haven't installed those cameras yet in the hallways...

2. Two nights this week I've gone to bed before 8 p.m. Apparently for me, having two children equates to the worst case of mono that isn't improving.

3. You know the ol' trick of purposefully dumping half a glass of water on you to compensate for leaking breasts before hitting the board room? Yep. Check. "Oh I just spilled some water..."

4. Skittles for breakfast? Sure, why not.

5. I'm highly considering opening my own detailing business for car seat blowouts. Might as well make a buck on it if the chore is going to be required every three days, yes?

6. Though dressing one's self at three fosters creativity and independence, at times I want to scream into the universe that I prefer he wear something dapper that matches. Shhhhhh.

7. The block between the two daycare centers? Sometimes, just sometimes I want to toss the big in there without taking the time to strap him in to make the trek. Don't worry, I won't, I won't...but I may still want. Sometimes those two to eight minutes it takes for them to climb in, help buckle themselves and tell three stories makes me ponder if we could have summoned a camel and hoofed it over there at a similar pace.

8. I still haven't learned the secret of getting both small children into a public stall to meet my needs. It's like that island show...which do you kick off? And really, neither is acceptable. Lose-lose situation. Unless I revert back to that whole letting a stranger hold your baby thing I had going on for awhile during the colic stage.

9. Apparently I need a sponsor to get me through my grief stage of giving up the co-sleeper. Since we're no longer expanding Team Choate, we're consigning like crazy, the sleeper the most difficult to give up. This makes no sense. Perhaps the mattress is lined with addictive substances. Either that or I'm just getting old and nostalgic. Regardless, I see puppies and ponies in my future...

10. I've still not made the mister get up for a night feeding, though I do my fair share of thrashing and bed bouncing on my departures and returns "on accident because I was so tired." Or, as some may call it, "bitter at times for being the sole provider of food for baby at this time." That's a lot of accountability for one gal. Perhaps it will be a good resume builder in the future or a great answer to when my kid thanks me for breastfeeding him for a year....wait a minute...

I hope you have a great weekend Momma. Hang in there, you're doing great!

Four? Really?!

The vision has been announced and preparations have begun:

Bounce house secured. Invitations sent. Presents purchased. Excitement building. Bring it on.

But maybe leave the age four part out, ok? All this magic is going WAY too fast...