The Guilt of a Second

I write from the throes of pregnancy at week forty. 

None of my favorite jeans fit, I’m sleeping very little and I find myself hungry all the time. It’s like college all over again, but my beloved Chocolate Shop isn’t right around the corner. 

I have a terrible admission to make. I thought if I tell you – and only you – it’ll be off my chest and perhaps I’ll feel a bit less guilt? We’ll see. 

I feel terribly guilty about having a second child. Our daughter Caroline, who just turned two in July, has soaked up every bit of attention and adoration my husband and I have had to offer for twenty-four months. There is no way a second could capture our hearts in the way she has. It is as though I have little love left to give because my heart is running around the outside of my body, begging to go check cows with her baby doll in tow. 

Is this normal? 

Did anyone else feel like their second child would automatically be getting the short end of the stick right out of the gate? How could I possibly love anything in the way I love our first born?

The second will be introduced to hand-me-down clothes on the day they (gender to be discovered at time of birth) come home from the hospital. 

The second will be swaddled in blankets monogrammed with their big sister’s initials. 

The second will use sippy cups with little teeth marks already along the edges. 

The second will never know a mother without grey hair or dark circles under her eyes. 

The second will be bathed with tattered washcloths, wear bibs with spaghetti stains down the front and strut around in cowboy boots already broken in to fit someone else’s feet. 

The second will read books with missing pages, put together puzzles with bent corners and will never have a plastic kiddie pool to themselves.

The second will be compared to the first, out of habit. Will they walk sooner? Cry longer? Bite harder? I pray daily that they arrive in fewer than twenty-six hours of labor. 

The second will use a pacifier that fell on the barn’s dirt floor and wasn’t boiled afterwards. Or, ever. 

The second will blow out birthday candles that have already been lit and blown out once before.  

The second will never get to name their first heifer without input from the next room over. 

The second will never have their birthdate or initials used in a password sequence.

The second will require a sense of humor, high pain tolerance and fierce independence for survival. 

The second is definitely getting the short end of the stick. 

I told my mom and sister about my feelings of guilt and my perceived inability to ever love a second child in the way I have loved our first. My mom quickly responded to my concern with, “How do you think I felt with three kids?!” 

It should be noted here that I’m child number three. 

And her response actually explains a lot of the last thirty-three years. 

UPDATE:

Cyrus Sankey was born August 10, 2018 and when it comes to my fears listed above, 
I think I've had a change of heart. 

Me Before You

Time flies when you spend your evenings pulling corn cobs from the crisper drawer of the refrigerator.

Caroline turned two years old on Sunday and in 24 months' time I've learned time passes more quickly when you're living for something beyond yourself. I mean, I thought recess went fast decades ago, but motherhood moves at lightning speed. 

Very few songs you'll hear on the mainstream radio keep my attention for two full minutes. But the current song that garners my full attention when broadcast is Brothers Osborne's "I Don't Remember Me (Before You)". It's a song about a guy who - despite seeing pictures or hearing stories - can't remember himself before he met the love of his life. It is spellbinding.

Although there are ways I can relate to that song, I certainly do remember life before I loved Caroline. 

For instance, 

Before Caroline my Amazon searches consisted of must-read books, Liverpool jeans and kitchen gadgets that allow me to open and aerate wine more quickly. 

Two years in, and my Amazon searches consist of toddler water shoes, Pull-Ups and gummy vitamins. 

Before Caroline, Cody and I could talk about anything, anywhere, any time. 

Two years in, and our breakfast conversation goes something like this:

"I have to breed C-O-W-S first thing this morning. Your plans?" Cody asks.

"When we get home from town I'm going to fill the P-O-O-L. Have you charged the J-E-E-P?" I respond. 

"Yes. It's behind the T-R-A-C-T-O-R." 

Our adult dialog is a constant spelling bee to avoid losing track of the tasks at hand. 

Before Caroline I never gave a second thought to the pigment of the outer edge of my drink ware.

Two years in, and I realize you can ruin a person's entire morning by pouring milk into the wrong color cup. 

Before Caroline I enjoyed showers. 

Two years in, and I can shower, shave and moisturize in less time than it used to take me to undress. Motherhood is a prime case study of survival of the fittest efficient. 

Before Caroline I could get into the refrigerator and simply select what I needed then promptly shut the door to keep the cold air in. 

Two years in, and I find myself giving a diaper diva a four-minute synopsis of the practical uses of every condiment on the door shelves, followed by a 30-second lesson on energy and appliance efficiency. She never seems to care about the energy lesson because I repeat it five times a day. 

Before Caroline I could try on clothes in a dressing room without saying a word....other than, "The hell? Did I grab the wrong size?"

Two years in, and I find myself saying these phrases on repeat:

"Do NOT unlock that door."

"Stand up! Do NOT peak under that wall!"

"I appreciate your self-confidence, but please stop licking the mirror."

Before Caroline I would spend my evenings doing chores and focusing on heat cycles, levels inside the creep and mineral feeders and pasture growth. 

Two years in, and I find my feeding time twice as long because I have a chore pal who thinks cows in standing heat is hilarious,  enjoys getting her hands in bags of feed to explore textures and likes picking forage samples and showing me every red clover she can find. 

Before Caroline my time was my own. 

Two years in, everything takes twice as long, but is one hundred times over more gratifying. 

There are days when I'm not sure who is learning more, Caroline or her parents, but let's keep that between us.

And while I'll never be a mother that claims to not remember the me before her, despite the self-doubt and dry shampoo, I like this version of myself a whole lot better. 

The Tradition

The house was locked up tighter than Ft. Knox and lights out. 

Caroline was sound asleep in her crib and her chest was moving up and down (at what age do parents stop checking this?). 

Prayers were said, and I was so, so close to sleep. 

That's when I heard my cell phone buzz on the nightstand. 

A text from Cody, two time zones west: "You may need to keep an eye on 301. I think she's starting.”

Keep an eye on 301? My eyes were about to shut for five straight hours, I thought to myself.

Work Hard, Rest Hard

And so, the last three months have been as such. It has only been at night, when the sun settles somewhere far past Indiana, and it is dark and cold that the cattle calm enough to focus on what they’re all supposed to be doing this time of year: Calving. 

The good news is that we have barn cameras that allow us to watch what’s going on outdoors without getting bundled up. 

The bad news is that we have barn cameras that allow us to watch what’s going on outdoors twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week (if you have the stamina). 

The worst news is Cody can access those cameras from his phone, no matter where his travels take him. 

My phone is my alarm clock, and my alarms are set as follows when I think something shows signs of calving overnight: 

The wake schedule is basically 
like having a new baby in the house.
And I wonder why my under-eye 
cream doesn't seem to be working. 

I haven't always answered the call of duty, though. On one particular night in late February I slept through three texts and four phone calls from Cody. He went on to contact a neighbor for help, while I slept soundly in the house. We have amazing rural neighbors. 

The months of January through March have been comprised of spot lights cutting through pastures, warm gloves and late night texts between husband and wife, and not the exciting kind. These are the kind of texts that silently say, "We're in this together, even when hundreds of miles apart." 

He sends me shots of the beautiful countryside he’s seeing from coast to coast and advice on how to handle difficult situations at home, while I send him photos of the newest calves to hit the ground and video of our sweet Caroline. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?

Each morning and evening (and sometimes overnight) I come in the house and unbundle. Usually exhausted, sometimes frustrated, but never questioning the work. I was raised this way and Cody was, too. Caroline – the greatest and slowest farm hand I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with – already has the farm life engrained in her. I have to bribe her out of the barn with goldfish crackers.

Sometimes she watches me struggle to move a rogue calf or pen a pair and seems to say,
"Dad would have had this done thirty minutes ago."

In our dining room hangs a poem given to us on our wedding day. The gifters - my in-laws - no doubt knew the bride and groom well, and all that they (we) were about to embark upon.

The Tradition

Some folks just don’t get it.

They think owning cattle makes no sense.

It takes too much time, too much equipment,

not to mention the expense.

But the fondest memories of my life

– they might think sound funny –

were made possible by Mom and Dad,

‘cause they spent the time and spent the money.

You see, the most important lessons

helping values grow so strong,

come from loving cattle

and passing that tradition on.

In less than a month the grass will be green, temperatures will be warming, and we’ll be able to look across our pastures and see a flurry of black calves (plus two red ones) running with their tails up, exploring the bounds of the farm. 

Cody’s travel will slow and he’ll be home regularly, which means I’ll probably need to start cooking full meals again. 

The sleepless nights will be a tired memory that paid off with a healthy calf crop. 

And we’ll pass The Tradition on.

Until then, 

with every wake up call or 

dark trek across the barn lot, 

I'll Just. Keep. Swimming. 

Why I Don't Leave Home

Last weekend Cody and I traveled to Ft. Worth for the 2017 Angus Convention. 

Two people. 

Two suitcases. 

No diaper bag. 

You guys - I darn near had an anxiety attack traveling without Caroline. 

It was during those brief three days that I remembered why, now that I'm a mother, I no longer leave home. Unless we're out of milk. 

1. I updated our will. 

I'm serious. After retrieving Caroline from daycare to take her to my sister's, we took the updated will to be notarized at a local business. We were flying to Texas, not Tonga. This is the state of mind I was in. 

2. I found the best sitters money can't buy. 

My sister and brother-in-law, Laura and Scott, watched Caroline for the weekend. Let's talk about the list of instructions I left for them. I put a lot of thought into the instructions on how to love our child, and I have a really bad feeling that they never even read the document before throwing it into the trash. 

I also continued to think about all of the guidance two grown adults - who have fantastic children of their own - would require when managing Caroline. So, as the weekend progressed, I sent more instruction. Least I could do. 

3. Airline travel is ridiculous.

Cody and I split ways when we got to security because he goes through TSA Pre-Check where he just bypasses all lines and walks through, iPad, laptop, boots and all. 

I, on the other hand, still mingle with the snow birds. I was moving along the security line quite well until a line of 5 (FIVE!!!!!) wheelchairs scooted up to the podium. There, the snow birds had a heck of a time remembering that they had to have their license (the one that was revoked four years ago) to go further into security. 

Because of the wheelchairs, they were able to bypass me. This took several minutes. Then, a TSA employee called for attention and loudly asked this simple question: "Do any of you have metal in your body?"

Some people just like to hear themselves talk. 

It was then that all five raised their hands and the interrogation proceeded quite quickly. The snow birds went on their merry way to head south and I jumped back in line to throw my iPad onto the security belt. 

4. I like my personal space. 

I'm not sure if it was the furry vest or the fact that the tray table was not down, but my row partner had a burning desire to rest her sleepy head in my lap. For the entire flight. I tried bouncing my leg, faking a sneeze, and reclining my seat, but girlfriend must have needed some serious rest. I get it, girl. 

5. Look Ma, No Hands

I had no idea what to do with my hands all weekend. I didn't have a kid on my hip. I wasn't carrying buckets. I wasn't pushing a stroller. I wasn't picking up sticks or toys. I was basically a big bag of skin and mascara, wandering around a massive crowd of Anderson Bean boots and Bar None hats, hearing to people ask me: Where's the baby?

"Well, good question," I constantly replied in my head. "I should probably call home immediately." 

Which leads me to #6. 

6. My phone rang off the hook. 

I thought. 

I cannot count the times I thought I heard my phone ring, beep or buzz. 

Caroline needed me. 

She had swallowed a sequin. 

She had developed a rare and severe allergy to beef. 

She was trapped in the car seat because technology had changed so greatly since Laura had kids, that Laura could not figure out how to remove her. 

I think I checked my phone something like 697 times throughout the weekend. 

My phone actually rang four times. Total.

However, there were four great successes of the weekend:

1. I spent really good quality time with my in-laws who I see every couple of months. 

2. The event I was there to help facilitate went quite well and I'm even better prepared to do it again 2018. 

3. I learned that Caroline can survive for several days and have a wonderful time without me. This made me smile and cry. Roots and wings, right?

4. Lastly, I had four (4!!!!!) strangers approach me and tell me that they read and enjoy this blog. I wanted to hug them and visit with them and ask them how they stumbled upon my writing. 

But then I had to excuse myself because I thought I heard my phone ring. 

Parenthood: Year One

We're now the proud parents of a one-year-old, and if the first year is indication of how the rest of them will go: 

Fasten your seat belts, folks, 

and keep all limbs inside the vehicle.
This ride is fast. 

Wow - year one went quickly. 

Mostly because this is how we spent the first twelve months:

Month One
Month one was mostly spent learning how to function on church lady meals (amazing), three-minute showers and way too much daytime television. It was spent trying to come to terms with the fact that I would likely never sleep again. Month one was mostly spent with Caroline and I crying a lot, Cody wondering what the heck happened to his bride and me washing baby clothes so big, I never thought she'd grow into them. Month one was spent wrapping her in a blue light blanket and praying for a good outcome. Month one was spent losing the same cup of coffee multiple times. It was spent counting my blessings until I fell asleep. Month one was my favorite month. 

Month Two
Month two was mostly spent wondering if Caroline was getting enough to eat. And googling stomach sizes of infants and researching ways to increase milk production and calling the pediatric center daily. Month two was spent tapping containers on the counter top to get just one more drop into the bottle. It was spent pulling the car over to the side of the road to get in the back seat to check if she was still breathing because she had miraculously quit crying. Month two was spent warming the same cup of coffee in the microwave three times before finishing it. It was spent counting my blessings until I fell asleep. Month two was my favorite month. 

Month Three
Month three was mostly spent and washing, folding and sorting the baby clothes (that I thought she'd never grow into) so they could be moved to storage because she had outgrown them. Month three was spent trying to get into a really solid routine so that month four wouldn't hurt so badly. It was spent crossing state lines in an airplane and learning how to travel with an infant - nearly perfectly. It was spent packing and unpacking suitcases and realizing you can never pack too many burp cloths. Month three was about getting out and going. Even though, on one trip to my Grandma's I pulled over at these locations to check her, as her neck appeared weird in the backseat mirror: 

1. Abandoned Copper Kettle restaurant gravel lot (100 yards from our driveway)
2. Economy fruit stand
3. Closed down Williamsburg general store
4. Stuckey's at Centerville Road and I-70
5. Centerville Christian Church
6. Abington Fire Station
7. Aunt Debbie's driveway
8. Empty parking lot in Boston

Then I drove way too fast, four more miles to Grandma's. The 40-minute trip took well over an hour. We both napped upon arrival, and Great-Grandma found us boring. Month three was my favorite month. 

Month Four
Month four was mostly spent crying on the way to work and exceeding the speed limit on the way back to the daycare after work. It was spent not working a minute past 5:00 and being the first person out of the parking lot. Month four was spent calling the daycare every day to ensure Caroline was ok and to see if she'd asked about me. And scrolling through photos and video on my phone every time I needed a break from my career. Which was once an hour. At least. Month four was about finding joy in the 5:00 AM hour, waking before the rest of the world and holding someone so small, so tight, in such darkness, realizing how precious those moments are. Month four was my favorite month. 

Month Five
Month five was mostly spent sitting at the top of the creaky farm house steps on Saturdays, waiting on a baby to fall and stay asleep. It was spent judging breathing patterns from twelve feet away and trying to see a little chest move up and down. Month six was spent trying to figure out how I was going to get back down the extremely squeaky stairs without undoing everything I just did. Month five was about learning to let go and let sleep. Everyone. Month five was spent trying to quietly hide from an emerging, energetic personality. Month five was my favorite month. 

Month Six 
Month six was mostly spent packing for a Christmas adventure to Kansas then wondering if we'd ever survive it. It was sorting through weeks of clothes, for a 5-day trip and cramming diapers into every available space inside a Ford F-250. Month six was about learning how to travel via stock trailer, not airplane, while working around a baby and a few cow/calf pairs. Month six brought a whole new joy to the holidays. Month six was spent humming the same two songs over and over to get the baby to sleep: Silent Night and the theme song from Cheers. Month six was my favorite month. 

Month Seven
Month seven was mostly spent in Carhartts and insulated boots. It was spent zipping and unzipping many layers, feeding and checking cows in the dark 6:00 PM hour and being thankful the diesel growl of a Kubota puts a baby to sleep. It was mostly spent wondering who in the he** engineered the blue ball waterers that constantly freeze and if there is a warrant out for their arrest. It was spent begging a baby to try bananas and green beans. Then wiping bananas and green beans off the dining rooms walls. Month seven was my favorite month. 

Month Eight
Month eight was mostly spent traveling for work and taking a round-faced, brown-eyed baby with me. It was learning that no one sleeps well in a hotel room and no one can get out of Evansville, Indiana fast enough. Month six was spent chipping ice out of water tanks and  putting mittens on a baby who must suck her thumb. Month eight was a real humdinger. It was spent trying to make our way through 3 (more) teeth, 2 (more) ear infections and many more wipe-downs of the dining room walls. Month eight had all of us nearly tearing down the walls to reach fresh air outside. Month eight was my favorite month. 

Month Nine
Month nine was mostly spent wondering how you get a baby to sit still long enough to get her hair in a rubber band and out of her eyes. I was spent it wondering if it's too early to spritz some tail adhesive in the mess and call it done. Month nine was spent wondering how someone so small can find every lady bug in the house, after we had to spend an entire weekend at home because I couldn't find my car keys. Month nine was mostly spent on the living room floor clapping and singing and giggling and wishing bedtime wasn't so early but thanking God that rest was minutes away. Month nine was my favorite month. 

Month Ten
Month ten was mostly spent removing batteries out of remote controls and putting covers over all reachable outlets; then realizing she has really good reach. Month ten was spent outside studying trees and blooms and rain drops and baby calves. Month ten was spent touching everything and washing our hands a lot. It was spent learning that baby teeth are the sharpest teeth in the history of the world and their jaws can move quite quickly. Month ten was spent logging many hours swinging in the tree and dancing in the kitchen. Month ten was spent waiting for the gagging noise, then peeling a piece of the Angus Journal out of the roof of her mouth, again. Month ten was my favorite month. 

Month Eleven
Month eleven was mostly spent taking imaginary bites of soggy graham crackers when the baby wanted to share. It was spent hugging and kissing her dolly and teddy bear when she thought you should and helping her climb onto her rocking horse every morning and every night. Month eleven was spent picking white seeds out of seedless watermelons and squeezing her into a swimsuit two nights a week. Month eleven was spent folding clothes in the 11:00 PM hour and wiping your tears with footie pajamas that have grippers on the feet because you realize how fast life goes when you're living for something new. It was spent doing a "cheek check" after dinner and again before bed because you realize babies and chipmunks are both hoarders. Month eleven was learning that there is something incredibly intriguing about me stepping foot inside the bathroom. Month eleven was my favorite month. 

Month Twelve
Month twelve was mostly spent on my hands and knees, wiping spilled milk up of the kitchen floor and whispering "spill-proof my ass" before coming back up to where the baby could hear me. It was spent looking in the refrigerator and finding things that can be cut into tiny pieces that will - even after mopping the floor - end up stuck to the bottom of my bare foot as I walk to the bathroom at 2:57 AM. It was spent learning to not be surprised when the baby brings me things - such as little pieces of steak, that is now beef jerky - that I haven't served for two weeks. Month twelve is about wondering where toddlers hide food and if the house might have an ant problem. Month twelve is what we just got through, where we learned moreso everyday that children don't need stuff or over stimulation. They need hugs and experiences. Month twelve was my favorite month. 

I offer sincere thanks to each of you 

who have encouraged me through motherhood over the last year. 

I've wanted to be a mother since I met my own, 

but it wasn't until I became one 

that I realized just what motherhood entails. 

And we haven't even approached 

potty training, 

long division or 

wedding dress shopping. 

Prayers appreciated. 

Making the Ordinary Come Alive

I heard the following three lines - or something much like them - several times over the last two months:
Big party planned for Caroline's first birthday?
What's the theme of her party?
You probably have a Pinterest Board completely dedicated to her first birthday bash. (<- That person obviously didn't know me well.)

And then Cody began asking what our plans were. I was quite honest with him right out of the gate: I don't want a party, I just want to enjoy the day. 
He was all in.

Caroline spent her first birthday having bananas and milk, and a graham cracker or two. 

She checked cows with her dad and watered the garden with me.

We read books we'd not yet cracked opened from her baby shower more than a year ago.

Her cousins came over and she had help opening pretty wrapped presents. 

We swam (splashed) in the kiddie pool for just a bit before an inch of rain came over the farm. By the way - we've had 10 inches of rain in the last 12 days. 

Then the cousins left and we took a tour of the yard and barn lot in the wagon (better known as a utility cart) that we got Caroline (or, me. Think of all the buckets that bad boy can hold!) for her first birthday. 

After a solid nap, we headed to Bowman Superior Genetics to celebrate with one set of grandparents.

And Midge. 

Lots of crawling - it's faster than walking right now

 I made cupcakes for the occasion 

and made enough to send 6 home with 

Mom and Dad's help, James. 

This is probably the same tissue paper 

I used when wrapping Mom's Christmas gift. 

I get it honest. 

Who loves who more?

This wasn't a gift, but it's sure fun to ride 

when we visit Grandpa and Grammie's. 

"You're going to blow out the fire stick 

before I have to eat that, right?"

She always lets us know when it's time to head home. 

We wrapped up the day checking cows again (this time with a graham cracker in hand) and one last wagon ride for the day. 

We didn't really think this part through. 

One day we'll splurge. 

And we'll go over the top. 

And we'll invite family and friends. 

And I will spend more than $4.17 on her party food (cupcakes and icing).

And I might even have a Pinterest board of ideas and must-dos. 

But I don't know when that will be. 

Perhaps her wedding?

For now, Cody and I are spending our time exploring life's ordinary with Caroline. 

No question that - for Caroline's first birthday -

we made the ordinary come alive.