Three Weeks Already?

So, Owen's three weeks old now (or was yesterday).  That flew by fast.  I'm still kind of in shock and awe with how great I've been feeling this fourth time around.  I was pretty excited to find that my normal 2-3 week postpartum mood swings (when I feel like I lose all patience and reason for a week or so starting around 2 weeks postpartum) were nonexistent this time.  Or so I thought, turned out it just waited 'til three weeks to start, but they've fortunately (for my children) been much milder.  So starting yesterday, I find the kids pretty annoying anytime they do anything crazy, weird or loud, but for the most part I don't lose it with anyone for no reason whatsoever.  :-)  I'm not sure if it's the hormones that are totally different this time, or if it's just that I'm getting pretty decent sleep (more than when I was pregnant.)  Probably a combination of both.

Yesterday I went to the dentist, then the hospital to visit my Grandma, who's had a rough week or so.  Greg stayed out in the van with the baby (I didn't want to bring him into the hospital, and I didn't want to leave him with anyone for that long), then afterwards came home, but stopped off first at the new Schmidt's Bakery and ate a sugar cookie while I nursed the baby (which is why I hadn't wanted to leave him with anyone, since he went CRAZY on the drive and insisted on eating that very second), then we headed back to my parents to pick up our kids.   I called my Dad, to let him know about the delay for feeding the baby, and asked if the kids had eaten anything.  "Yeah, I fed them . . . I gotta go, they're attacking . . ."  Click.  Then we called when we were almost there (since my Dad insists we do that so the kids have adequate time to find hiding spots).  He was all, "How far out are you?"  I said, "We'll be there any minute . . ." "Sounds good," he responded, then as he hung up I heard him yell, "BATTLE STATIONS!"  Should be no surprise that when we came in, Greg was attacked by several little kids with Nerf guns.  Then they excitedly told me about how they'd had ice cream and popcorn for dinner.  I think there's a reason they ask for Grandpa as their babysitter . . .

And right now, my sister Lacy just showed up to babysit the three oldest while Greg and I (and Owen, who we're hoping sleeps the whole time) go to Kneaders for a must deserved dinner date!  Wish us luck . . . I'd really like to get through this without the baby screaming mightily while we're out!

Of course, we also need some three week pictures of Owen . . .

Productivity

I'm still supposed to be taking it 'easy,' but Greg is officially back to work (as of Monday of this week) and that puts me solely in charge of the welfare of four young children and the home they live in (and trash regularly).  I've been surprised at how great I've felt.  The baby sleeping 3 hour stretches almost all night is a big part of that, I'm getting more sleep and am more rested than I was when I was still pregnant!  A lot of my time is, rightfully, spent cuddling and nursing a newborn, but in between I've been happy to see how much a motivated Mom can get done.  Dishes, breakfast, kids ready for school and wipe down some counters and change the laundry before Annie's even left for school.  I don't think I was that productive before I had a newborn around.  I've been so pleased with how well I've felt, emotionally and physically, after having this baby.  I do not feel like I just had a baby two and a half weeks ago.  I'm way more rested than that :-)

Isaac's also quite productive.  Take for instance this afternoon.  Just while I was nursing the baby, he managed to get his hands on a red marker, write on the chairs in the kitchen, the walls in the hall, a couple doors, and then for his true masterpiece, he took that marker into the bathroom, and while repeatedly dipping it into the toilet, he managed to 'paint' nearly every surface of the bathroom (and most of his exposed skin) in red toilet water.  Floors, counters, cabinets, walls, the toilet lid (every single 'layer' of the toilet seat) and the potty chair.

Isaac's still talking a ton too.  Leaving my sister's house the other day, I said, "It's time to go home," to which Isaac responded by standing up and enthusiastically yelling, "Out to the van now,  guys!" ("Guys" is how he refers to his sisters as a group -- singularly, it's "Annie sisser Annie" and "Ellie sisser Ellie.")   I marvel at how much he 'gets' about how to use language for his age.  Ellie was two and a half years old and still referring to herself in third person ("That Lala's bear")  The other day I asked who wanted more grapes, and he yelled, "Me!!  I do, I do!"   Whenever he points something out, it's "That's a doggie," or "That's a ball."  Looking at a book last night, he saw a picture of a broken cookie jar and he shouted out, very concerned, "Oh no!  Broken!  Fall down on floor!  Broken, down!"  He's also my first real 'mimic' .  . . he repeats back whatever he hears, sometimes hitting up to 7 and 8 words from a particular sentence he heard.  On his own, unprompted, he talks in several word sentences throughout the day.  Not to mention his ongoing, indistinguishable, narrative of life.  Whole paragraphs of stuff we don't understand.  Greg mentioned the other day that between the strides Isaac's making in speaking, and with Greg staying home for two weeks with the kids, he's amazed at how much he understands of what Isaac has to say now.  He is pretty impressive at getting his point across -- a gift I still feel strongly that he was blessed with 'cause he'd have a new little brother around to be the 'baby' when Isaac was not even 18 months old. He is also very vocal about what he likes -- asking for specific foods, colors of blankets, books, songs, movies, youtube videos, people and games.  He asks about Owen all day long, and wants to hold him nearly constantly.  He seems a bit disturbed by how much the baby sleeps.

Postpartum Musings

Sometimes I look down or catch a glimpse in the mirror of my had-my-third-child spare tire around my middle.  I stare at my postpartum baby bump that looks a little too much like an actual baby bump, and I start to think . . . what if I was actually four months pregnant and I just didn't know it!  What if that's the real reason why I look four months pregnant and the real reason I've only lost three pounds in the last three months . . . not just the copious amounts of holiday junk food!

Then I realize that would mean I would end up with two children like 14 months apart . . . and then I'm a little bit more OK with the baby weight that's stubbornly holding onto my midsection this time around.

I like to remind myself that it's important to see the bright side. 

And, for the love, it's time to put down the chocolate Santa!

Here We Go Again . . .

Yesterday, my two girls had been anxiously waiting all morning to go to the Splash Park for Mom & Me. I'd told them about it during breakfast, then wanted to kick myself for it the rest of the morning, as Isaac screamed for a solid hour. All I could think was, "I don't want to take him in public, I don't want to take him in public . . . " Annie very sweetly took in the whole situation and said, "Mom, I know Ellie and me want to go to Mom & Me, but if today's not a good day, that's OK. I understand." It made my heart melt and break all at the same time.*

It's hard for me to listen to one of my babies scream. It's harder when I'm surrounded by other people also getting to 'enjoy' my child's frantic cries. It's hardest when I'm surrounded by people I know listening to the screaming. I try not to be embarrassed, but I am. Not just of the noise and distraction of a freaked out baby, but of what I think people must think. Or what they do think and then say out loud to me. I can't even count all the times a well meaning stranger has approached me in a grocery store and said something 'helpful' like, "Oh, listen to that poor baby . . . she must be hungry . . . [in babyish tone] Are you hungry? Do you wish you were at home being fed instead of out shopping?" It's always made me want to either yell, or break down in tears, and exclaim, "I don't just take them out while they're starving for the fun of it! I fed them RIGHT before we left. They also have a clean diaper, have been burped and just had a nap. Sometimes babies just cry. Especially mine!" There's this loudly spoken idea (vs. a non-spoken one) that Mom's 'just know' what their babies need. That Mom's inherently understand each little cry, that they can decipher what they mean as clearly as if they had a Mom to Baby translation book. This has always been hard for me, a source of deep guilt, 'cause when my kids are in the throes of colic, I don't have clue one what the heck they want. I go through it all, I check the diaper, feed the baby, and try and get them to sleep if the timing makes sense -- but mainly I feel like I'm just taking stabs in the dark, guessing at anything that might be causing my child to be unbelievably grumpy. People expect Mom's to know what to do, to know what baby wants. And when you're the Mom who suddenly gets outed as being clueless, it's a bit humiliating.

My friends, family and neighbors know I've had colicky babies. Most everyone's been really sweet, supportive and sympathetic to what we went through with our girls. But, to have yet another one starting to show signs of, at a minimum, extreme fussiness, is discouraging and oddly embarrassing. Like I can't help but wonder if people are thinking, "Three out of three kids . . . must be something she's doing." I ask myself a thousand times a day what I'm doing wrong. 10-20% of babies are supposed to be colicky. It's looking like 100% at our house. I'm throwin' off the curve here, and I can't help but obsess about what I've done to cause it. I have watched people sit there uncomfortably as they listen to my baby cry, silently wondering why I couldn't do more for him. The worst though is when someone will be holding one of my babies, and the screaming ends up becoming too much, so they give the baby back to Mom, since that'll calm them down, right? Um, no. Everyone expects that when you hand a fussy baby to Mom, they'll settle in happily against Mom's chest and instantly become silent -- or better still -- coo in delight. Yeah, when you hand one of my screaming infants back to me, they pretty much just keep screaming. It's mildly humiliating to me when it suddenly dawns on someone that I can't do anything to calm my baby.

I had this fairly mellow baby for weeks with Isaac, then the last four or five days, Isaac has started screaming a couple hours of the day. He was the baby that when fussing could be handed back to Mom and he'd just melt and quiet instantly. Not so much anymore. I'm as powerless to calm a freak out as most anybody else now. It's hard. He's still taking great naps and is getting a lot of sleep (far more than my girls ever did.) Although he has doubled the number of night wakings, which was really sad after he had one 6 hour stretch between feedings one night, then the next night he woke up almost hourly. So nighttime sucks -- but what's hardest is watching him scream during the day. We've tried, well not everything, but almost. Everything we can think of. Swings, bouncy chairs, slings, front carriers, long walks outside, long walks in Costco, binkies, nursing repeatedly, vibration, noise, blow dryers running, vacuum going, attempting a milk-free diet for me, tight swaddling, loose swaddling, side laying, stomach pressure, bouncing, singing, dancing, jiggling, skin to skin, cuddling . . . and some of it will calm him down some of the time. But what works constantly changes. And sometimes nothing calms him down. He went from sleeping happily in his bassinet, being placed there while drowsy then dropping off into slumber land after a few minutes, to taking 50 minutes to fall asleep (while 'barely keep my eyes open' tired) in a swing or sling. I felt like we were 'doing everything right' with him . . . and it was all working so well, until it suddenly doesn't anymore and I feel lost and clueless and a little desperate.

This probably explains why I haven't blogged all week. What can I write, "Another crappy day of screaming and tears . . . mostly on the part of the baby, but the girls and I all contributed too." It just gets kinda depressing to record, "Baby woke up every hour all night, then screamed most of the day" over and over again. I thought we'd dodged this bullet this time. He was calm for so long. He went weeks without showing any of the 'signs'. And suddenly we're hearing full blown screaming for hours a day. And I feel a little duped.


*Oh, and we did make it to the Splash Park, and stayed a whole hour. Isaac screamed for awhile, but eventually fell asleep in his sling. Until he woke up 20 minutes or so later, freaking out. Then I decided to take them all home. But, the girls were able to go and have fun with friends for an hour or so, despite my fears of taking Senor Fussy Pants out into public. Go me!

And Now I'm Tired . . .

Isaac's been a fairly decent little sleeper. Until a few nights ago.

He'd nap well all day, then at night he was going 3 and sometimes even 4 hours between feedings for the first half the night (then like every 2 hours from there). I was getting the rest I needed and feeling pretty good.

Then the kid turned 3 weeks old and decided to screw the whole sleeping thing.

His morning nap today: 15 freaking minutes. After fighting him for hours to go down for a nap, the kid slept 15 stupid minutes. It took another 30 minutes of fighting him to get him back to sleep for another half hour.

Last night he woke up nearly hourly, and stayed awake for up to an hour at a time in between.

The night before wasn't much better.

Which means that my amazing postpartum mood is now fried. I was amazed that for that first weeks I hadn't even been so much as a little bit teary eyed. In the past I've never suffered from postpartum depression, thankfully, but I've had a bit of the occasional baby blues. I felt overwhelmed and a bit lonely when I was suddenly home all day with a colicky infant when Annie was born. And then I'd look at a sleeping two year old Annie after Ellie's birth and think how much throwing a new younger sibling into her world was gonna shake things up and I'd end up weeping to Greg about how she has no idea that her whole world had changed and it wasn't just her and Mommy anymore, and Greg would start to look concerned and finally ask, "Um, is this, like, something I should be concerned about . . . like a postpartum thing?" I'd assure him I was just a bit emotional, but fine.

Since Isaac's birth, I've been surprised that although the physical recovery seemed to kick my butt much more this time, but I've never felt so good emotionally and mentally after having a baby.

Until I started to fear for my sleep. Then I start to cry. The other night, at 4AM, I was whimpering to Greg about how Isaac was sleeping crappy and I was tired and I just wanted to fall back asleep and Isaac kept fussing and wasn't sleeping and what have I done wrong that he's not sleeping and what if I somehow screwed up some motherhood thing and I somehow ruined my good sleeping baby from a few days ago and he's now been replaced with this horrible sleeper that won't nap or go back to sleep . . . I was probably rambling a bit.

See, I have near PTSD when it comes to sleep. Annie was a HORRID sleeper, and it was awful and I was so tired and almost non-functioning that it was scary. I never want to be that tired again. I also harbor intense guilt and worry that I somehow caused it. Sure, my husband points out sweetly to me that there was nothing either of us could do to make that child sleep. Trust me, we tried it all. We tried everything in the world to get her to sleep, and she just isn't much of a sleeper. At two years old on a drive back from California after a solid week of a long, exhausting vacation, she took one 30 minute nap all day. (Ellie didn't do much better -- she wasn't even a year old and even with spending ALL day in a car, she took one 55 minute nap that day. My kids just aren't big sleepers. I don't know why they don't sleep like other kids, especially somewhere like trapped in a car all day, but they just don't.) Other people, possibly not as reassuring as my husband, have how they turned out to be such bad sleepers. Did I just not put them down when they were tired? Did I not 'teach them self-soothing skills'? I mean, they're babies, they should just sleep . . . so what did I do as their mother to get in the way of that? As toddlers and preschoolers, why are they fighting bedtime this much? You should just be able to put them down and they'll eventually fall asleep? You just need a sleep routine. That's how kids work, so why are mine different? I stress about this more than you know. I should mention, I've come down clearly on the side of 'I've done NOTHING wrong' and 'I did everything I knew to do' and 'I've read every single freaking book and some kids just don't like to sleep.' But, motherhood (as you may know) is a guilt trap, and if there's something that sets our kids apart, that has people asking us "Why are they like that?", it's hard not to obsess about all your parenting decisions and wonder where it all went wrong. Funny thing is, I know it's just who they are. I was a craptacular sleeper as a baby. According to my Mom, I gave up all naps at 6 weeks old. SIX WEEKS. No matter what they tried. By a year, they wouldn't even let me nap on the rare occasion I wanted to -- 'cause if they did, I was up 'til midnight that night, and wouldn't let my parents get to sleep. I was a horrible sleeper. Greg, on the other hand, took something like two 2-hour naps 'til Kindergarten. Some kids just need, and want, more sleep than others. Greg's genetics just have not kicked in with our girls yet, and they're unfortunately a lot more like me than him when it comes to sleep. Stupid karma.

Anyway, so to suddenly be kept up much longer than usual the last few nights with a fussy Isaac has me a bit terrified. Then today, him not settling down and taking a nap for nearly four hours of fussiness this morning only amplified that terror.

And my mind immediately goes to, "What am I doing wrong?" What if he becomes a horrible sleeper too . . . three out of three, that has to be my fault, right?

Is there a way to turn off the stupid, nagging, self doubt that comes with motherhood? And turn up that voice that reminds me that I have amazing mothering instincts, and I just need to go with them and stop worrying that I'm screwing him up every time something I try doesn't work . . .

Settling In

It's probably good I'm writing this today, and not like two days ago. :-)

I had kinda hit a wall earlier this weekend -- sleep deprivation was setting in, I was shocked that my recovery was still sucking the life out of me (I seemed to hurt worse every day, rather than feeling better), Greg's been sick, the girls have been wired, grumpy and overly tired, and Isaac decided that the only way to sleep at night was in Mom's arms (Said arms would fall asleep and shock Mom awake with their relentless tingling). At one point Greg took him out of the room for 40 minutes so I could get some sleep, and Isaac fussed and cried the entire time. I finally called to Greg, "Hon, just bring him into me, I'll try nursing him again . . ." Greg came in, laid my baby in my arms, and Isaac was out like a light. Like in two seconds flat. He just wanted Mom. This was both heart warming and terrifying all at the same time. :-) I love holding him and cuddling and nursing him during the night -- the problem is I haven't relearned to sleep with a tiny squeaking human being in bed with me, so for now it keeps me awake the majority of the time. And dude, I need some sleep.

The good news though -- today the pain is less, I feel better than I have, Annie went to bed at 7PM last night, and the munchkin slept in his bassinette next to our bed in between every feeding. More importantly, this means I slept between each feeding. And these feedings were a good 2 1/2 - 3 1/2 hours apart. And he slept in 'til 8AM. (But unfortunately did not send the memo on to his sisters, who were both awake at 6:45AM -- but it was awesome to play with the girls and do breakfast without the baby needing my attention too.) He has more and more awake time during the day, and I could just spend hours staring into his big eyes and making stupid faces and talking in stupid voices to him.

My family also made it home safely from vacation, and all got to meet Isaac yesterday. That was awesome. (Star made the best lunch for all of us too -- I could get used to other people feeding my kids and I all the time!) I took pictures and all that, but they're on my camera still, and since I would have to go get the camera, hook it up to the computer and wait for it to download, it might be a day or so 'til I get those pictures on here . . . :-)

Greg goes back to work tomorrow though -- that should be interesting.

Edited to add: I stole two pics from my sister's facebook from yesterday:

Just one of Isaac looking bigger and older every day --

And just one of my Dad 'bench pressing' my daughters -- they love this game!

Standin' Tall and a New Haircut for Mommy

Ellie's now had a couple instances of standing completely unsupported now. These are usually immediately followed with the most priceless, "HOLY CRAP!" face I've ever seen, then diving in the direction of Mommy. She's getting awfully close to crawling too. She gets up on her hands and knees, bounces around a little, sometimes makes some backwards progress, then throws herself face first into the carpet and screams at the cruelty of her mother who's evilly trying to get her to crawl. She will stand up against stuff and even walk around it a little, but she is such a chicken. :-) She won't pull up to something unless she's holding someone's hand. This is so different from Annie, who at a month younger would pull up on anything she could get her hands on. I'd come into a room to find her standing up, leaning onto a small stuffed animal or ball for support, basically with her head resting back on the floor. It's so interesting to see how differently they develop. Much like Annie though, Ellie could stand for hours up to the activity table . . . I don't think we have a single other toy that's gotten so much use!




Yesterday, I got a haircut. I went shorter than I've been in years, but it was time. I've lost so much hair after these two babies, that the stylist was pointing out various bald spots I have hidden by the little hair that hasn't fallen out! (OK, I actually have a lot of hair left. Fortunately, I started out with incredibly thick hair, so I had some to lose, but I've lost some serious bald patches. Which, as we all know, is like ridiculously attractive in a woman.)

The big reasons for going so much shorter were:

1. It's quicker to style and blow dry when it's shorter. A good cut is a big part of this too.
2. I had to cut it short enough that I could no longer lazily pull it back into my horrific nubbin'-ponytail (see the last picture.)
3. The stylist said I needed to go shorter than I'd planned to even how some of my funky regrowth from hair-loss-2006 (after Annie was born.)


It's a really good cut, it styles easily (only taking me like 5-10 minutes to do this morning!) and although I think I look like a freak when it's wet and I'm like an unsexy poor man's version of Jamie Lee Curtis when she slicks her short hair back with water in "True Lies." Seriously, it looks bad wet and unstyled. I like it done though, which is motivating to get going and get ready in the morning!



This is one of the few pictures I've allowed while my hair has been pulled back. It's much more hideous from the back, where I have this ugly 1/2" ponytail wrapped up in a big ol' scrunchy. It's like the epitome of a Mom letting herself go. :-) It also shows off my new growth . . . which at this point is actually like a half inch mane all across my forehead. And somehow my husband still finds me attractive! Sucker.

Still Waiting for Results . . .

So, I'm personally down 10.8 lbs in the last four weeks. But because my stinky 17-year old brother forget to weigh in before going to school, we're all stuck in limbo whilst waiting less-than-patiently for the final results. I wanna know if I won money! First, second, third and fourth place are going to be so ridiculously close it's seriously going to come down to whomever emptied their bladder the most this morning.

What really amazes me that is on top of the nearly 11 pounds I lost in the last month, I'm realizing that since Thanksgiving I am down a whopping 23 lbs. It was like the nursing finally kicked in and the weight started coming off, combine that with some actual real effort on my part and I am now 12 lbs less than where I started pregnancy with Ellie at. This means I've lost ALL my baby weight and then some. I'm actually 4 lbs. less than when I married Greg. I'm within 5 lbs. of the lowest weight I've ever been as an adult. And yet. I feel fat. I feel no thinner, despite the constant assurances of my mother and sisters (who are like contractually obligated to mention me looking thinner, as they know I've been losing weight.) I don't really notice it. I'm not really wearing different clothes yet (although I think if I got some of my smaller pants and shirts out I may actually find I can wear them). I did look at some family pictures from this summer and did notice my face is thinner (it darn well should be, I weighed like 30+ more pounds in those pictures, Ellie was only a few months old), but overall, I'm not noticing it. I think unless someone knows I'm losing weight, they probably wouldn't notice it either. Like I said, only my sisters and Mom seem to see it at all, and they're looking for it. Of course, I'm looking for it, and I'm not really seeing it. I don't think my husband's really noticed (probably too much of that 'love you no matter what' makes him more blind to the ups and downs). Shouldn't 20+ lbs be more noticeable?! Seems for every couple pounds I put on I have to pull out a box of bigger clothing . . . but 25 lbs down and nothing seems different.

A lot of this has to do with tone. Despite weighing less than when I got married, I don't think there's a snowball's chance of me fitting into my wedding dress (at least not without the help of some super amazing infomercial girdle I'm too cheap to buy). I don't think I can even wear most of the shirts or pants I could wear in 2004. I may be weighing less, but I'm not smaller. Just flabbier. I was fitter before, more toned, more muscle mass to count towards those pounds. I think part of the lack-of-joy in this weight loss is that as the weight has finally been coming off, my poor stomach seems to just be getting flabbier . . . it's like with the loss of the firmer, filling fat I'm left with more skin than I know what to do with. Stupid genetics leaving me with very un-elastic skin!

Of course, the answer to this is more exercise and strength training. I'm workin' on that . . .

Pregnancies, weight gains and losses . . . these things really do a number on your body. And mind.

Postpartum Blahs

There's this myth that women are supposed to get this beautiful, long, flowing, healthy, vibrant hair during pregnancy (well, it's always been a myth in my case at least.) The downside is once you have the baby and your hormones go a different kind of crazy, all this extra hair starts to fall out. In clumps. In my case, I end up with actual bald spots hidden only by the fact I have pretty thick hair to start with, and strategically placed comb-overs. After Annie was born I lost so much hair that when it started coming back in I had a full mane of 1/2 inch hairs sticking straight up all around my face. I had a hair stylist comment that she'd never seen so much new growth on someone who hadn't had chemo. I don't know how I somehow managed to delude myself into thinking that it wouldn't happen again this time, but now there's no denying it. I'm very quickly going bald. I lose handfuls of hair every time I wash it. Like drain-stopping amounts of hair. My vacuum is picking up more hair than dirt, and even when I sweep the kitchen floor I end up with enough hair to make a wig for a small bald doll or something. And I hate hair on things. It grosses me out each time I notice one of my hairs stuck to Ellie's blanket, or on Annie's shirt, or all over my pillow. I can't possibly vacuum enough, because it just keeps falling out. I'm starting to think the only solution is shaving my head bald and starting from scratch.

On the flip side of thinking I wouldn't lose all my hair after this pregnancy like I did the last, I'd somehow convinced myself that weight loss after pregnancy would be just as easy this time around as it was after Annie was born. I don't know exactly why the weight just melted off after Annie was born (bringing me down to even 10 lbs. lighter than when I was married,) but it probably had something to do with the fact I had gallbladder problems throughout the last several months of pregnancy and wasn't allowed to eat more than 4 grams of fat at any one meal for fear my gallbladder would freak out and I'd need it and the baby taken out in emergency surgery. Most motivated I'd ever been to stay on a diet. So, with eating almost no fat my entire third trimester, I only gained 15 lbs. during my whole pregnancy. And I'd lost 25 by my 6 week check up. I was sure I'd stumbled on a great weight loss secret, and somewhere in the back of my head started formulating a plan to get pregnant in rapid succession, and right around the time I had enough kids to fill a mini-van I'd be a lean 135 lbs. Turns out though, pregnancy and child bearing are not the best ways to lose weight. Who knew? If you gain more like 40 lbs. during pregnancy, your body is much less forgiving, and I think as a form of punishment, tries its hardest to hold onto every single last pound possible. At this rate, if I stick with my 'not getting pregnant until I'm back to my pre-partum weight' goal, we may not have a third child until well into our thirties.