<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221</id><updated>2012-02-16T18:23:35.721-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Briefcase mama</title><subtitle type='html'>Managing the duality of life and the myth of "Having it all"</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>107</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-6794759924668881230</id><published>2008-03-28T06:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-28T07:01:22.669-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting closer...</title><content type='html'>I know I blog every once in awhile, but today, I wanted to share a few things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I am very likely to go public soon&lt;br /&gt;2. Because I am about to become a stay at home mom!!! YEAH!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I have about another month or two of work and then, I will be able to teach my little sweetie all the things I hope to teach a little boy. I culd not be more excited. I plan to move the blog to another place and talk about women, moms, politics and hot issues, as I have some wild opinions! I will be sure to update this site when it is time to roll!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-6794759924668881230?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/6794759924668881230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=6794759924668881230' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6794759924668881230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6794759924668881230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2008/03/getting-closer.html' title='Getting closer...'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5623696058913523521</id><published>2008-02-11T07:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T07:38:09.384-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling a little blue</title><content type='html'>Last night Boy had trouble sleeping. He had been doing SO WELL up until the last week or so. He has been waking early, EARLY in the morning and hubby typically takes him if I am going to work, which I think is really lovely. But this morning, after an amazing day to buy a potty yesterday, I realized I have missed the opportunity to teach him almost everything. I missed teaching him how to sit up, crawl, walk, talk, stack, most of the early joys. And even thought I got to see all of the firsts, I wasn't the teacher. And now, I won't be the one to teach him how to use the potty that he is so excited about. I am really missing out. I figured that I have maybe 6-12 more months working and then I am going to be the primary caregiver and get to teach, but what will be left? I mean, I am missing a lot and I am not sure why?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5623696058913523521?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5623696058913523521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5623696058913523521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5623696058913523521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5623696058913523521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2008/02/feeling-little-blue.html' title='Feeling a little blue'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-6249337952576246361</id><published>2008-01-17T11:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-17T11:17:39.032-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Timing is everthing</title><content type='html'>So, this &lt;a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2003/10/26/magazine/26WOMEN.html?ei=5007&amp;en=02f8d75eb63908e0&amp;ex=1382500800"&gt;article&lt;/a&gt; popped up on my radar screen today...Unfortunately, it is too long for me to get all the way through, plus, I fear if I do, I will quit tomorrow. I do love when I feel validated though!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-6249337952576246361?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/6249337952576246361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=6249337952576246361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6249337952576246361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6249337952576246361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2008/01/timing-is-everthing.html' title='Timing is everthing'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8233690551794569810</id><published>2008-01-11T10:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-11T10:07:51.168-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Family vacation</title><content type='html'>Tomorrow we are taking Boy on a plane again. We are going to visit friends in the south we have not seen for years. These friends have shaped so much of our lives and I cannot wait for them to meet the child I never thougth I would have. When I was a much younger woman, I never wanted children. Didn't really see the point. Much of the time I spent with these people was in those years. These friends taught us all about good relationships and successful marriages. They taught us so very much. And now, here I am with a great marriage and a lovely child. There is something magical about sharing your child with people who are very dear to you. I cannot wait to see these wonderful friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8233690551794569810?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8233690551794569810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8233690551794569810' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8233690551794569810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8233690551794569810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2008/01/family-vacation.html' title='Family vacation'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7150775485841302700</id><published>2008-01-08T07:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T07:30:20.599-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Light burden</title><content type='html'>A friend of mine once told me a story about how it made her feel when she would leave her house for the day with her handbag, laptop bag, the Netflix return and her workout clothes while her husband walked out the door with his wallet. She reflected on this and was so angry that somehow her burden for the day was so heavy and her husband's so light. They talked about this and how it made her feel that she was carrying a greater burden for the family in this symbolic way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, my load has heavy, but I have been working hard to lighten it. Moving to a colder climate makes a heavier burden, coat, hat, gloves, purse, briefcase, gym clothes, Netflix, faxes, etc. I am working on this. I have started to leave the briefcase at work and only take the workout clothes when I know I need to. And then today it was unseaonably warm. No coat, no hat, no gloves, no briefcase, no Netflix, no faxes, just a purse. I cannot tell you how good it felt to leave the house with just a purse and head to work. I felt light and happy. I wish every day was like this morning! Amen to a springlike winter day!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7150775485841302700?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7150775485841302700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7150775485841302700' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7150775485841302700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7150775485841302700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2008/01/light-burden.html' title='Light burden'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-9181529519249958660</id><published>2008-01-07T12:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T12:38:52.635-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Grandparents are awesome</title><content type='html'>Since we have moved back to the Midwest, my parents have visited a lot and we are so grateful for the time. Boy loves them and they love him. They are so sweet and give us time to be a couple again which is so lovely. Most of all, I love that Boy is going to know them REALLY well. He trusts them, loves them and plays with them. It is one of the greatest gifts I have been able to give me son. Way to go mom and dad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-9181529519249958660?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/9181529519249958660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=9181529519249958660' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/9181529519249958660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/9181529519249958660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2008/01/grandparents-are-awesome.html' title='Grandparents are awesome'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2063353893232246770</id><published>2008-01-04T12:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T12:19:20.885-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Being a working mom can be so sad</title><content type='html'>I am incredibly fortunate to have a great job that affords us a nice life. And because we can do this, one of Boy's parents can stay home with him. Problem is, sometimes, it isn't his mommy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy loves us both very much, but because Hubby is the one who is his primary caretaker, he is beginning to get most comfort when he needs it frmo daddy. Which, I am sure you can imaging is heartbreaking. My heart breaks when he falls and runs to daddy not mommy and in the morning when I greet him and he looks for his daddy. I know what dads have felt for years. I am feeling sometimes like I am not close enough with Boy. It is really difficult. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily I am no workaholic and get home each day before 5:30. But, that doesn't change the fact that sometimes, I am his mommy in name only. One of the many things about being a working mom that you just never think about when you make those choices.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2063353893232246770?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2063353893232246770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2063353893232246770' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2063353893232246770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2063353893232246770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2008/01/being-working-mom-can-be-so-sad.html' title='Being a working mom can be so sad'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1736131953980650124</id><published>2008-01-03T06:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-03T06:26:59.622-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My son still doesn't sleep</title><content type='html'>I must be the very worst mother ever as my son still cannot sleep. He wakes at least three times a week during the night while we are asleep and nearly every night right as we are going to bed. It is so exhausting, mostly for hubby who stays at home (because he rules). I wish so much that we would have been able to gird up and let him cry it out sometimes, but alas, we didn't and 17 months later, still no consistent sleep. Pray for us!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1736131953980650124?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1736131953980650124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1736131953980650124' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1736131953980650124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1736131953980650124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-son-still-doesnt-sleep.html' title='My son still doesn&apos;t sleep'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8551767500971974513</id><published>2008-01-02T07:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-02T07:47:20.640-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year!</title><content type='html'>Boy has holiday madness. He cannot sleep and is so full of energy. I am grateful for such a lovely family, but I am more excited about the opportunity to go to bed tonight when he does!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8551767500971974513?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8551767500971974513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8551767500971974513' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8551767500971974513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8551767500971974513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2008/01/happy-new-year.html' title='Happy New Year!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2889529833465509055</id><published>2007-12-29T19:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T19:52:43.727-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why so fast?</title><content type='html'>Why do children go SO FAST. Boy simply will not slow down for anything. Everything is running and rushing. And if he had some semblance of control, it would be fine, but, he is merely 17 months old. Are all kids like this? Is it a boy thing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, bumps and bruises and coming much faster and much more furious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2889529833465509055?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2889529833465509055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2889529833465509055' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2889529833465509055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2889529833465509055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/12/why-so-fast.html' title='Why so fast?'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2069350966097295472</id><published>2007-12-27T11:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-28T09:11:03.007-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Real effort needed on this one</title><content type='html'>My inlaws make me crazy. The challenge here is how in the world am I going to not poison the well for Boy? I would say without a doubt this is my worst habit that must stop (oh, yeah, swearing too!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, Boy it turns out is a little quick on the verbal uptake. He pretty much understands everything we say now. He answers questions and can follow directions. &lt;br /&gt;So, when I grumble about MIL, he hears that. I can't let him hear it, but the woman makes me insane. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, 2008 is going to be the year of the language alteration program (or LAP for short). I will have a mouth full of blood from biting my tongue, but the LAP must go into effect...NOW. This blog will be the saving grace as Boy cannot read yet (key word, yet!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2069350966097295472?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2069350966097295472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2069350966097295472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2069350966097295472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2069350966097295472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/12/real-effort-needed-on-this-one.html' title='Real effort needed on this one'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8671661801018070164</id><published>2007-12-27T09:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T06:55:08.107-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What a wonderful time!</title><content type='html'>This year I am proud to say that despite all of the chaos and upheaval, I had what really could be the perfect Christmas. I accomplished all I set out to do. I baked cookies, settled into a new home, trimmed a lovely tree, bought my son a bevy of gifts from Santa, and spent time with my family both core and extended. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This Christmas was full of joy, pride, warmth, love and happiness. What was last year's loneliest Christmas ever was nearly erased from memory by this one. We were surrounded by family and people who love us. We received small gift from my parents and they really gave their grandson really fun things. He learned who his grandparents are which is in itself a real gift.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being back in the Midwest reminded me of all of the goodness in people. Little gifts and baked goods were left on my desk each day from coworkers. And seeing the wonder and awe in the eyes of my child brought me to tears of joy many times. He is growing up so fast. I am in such a better place now to be able to truly enjoy these moments and relish them as they only happen once.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8671661801018070164?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8671661801018070164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8671661801018070164' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8671661801018070164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8671661801018070164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/12/what-wonderful-time.html' title='What a wonderful time!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7707420870100692058</id><published>2007-12-26T09:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T09:56:41.760-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Where is the world have I been?!?!</title><content type='html'>Greetings and salutations from the scenic Midwest. Since my last post (an embarrassing three months ago), the following has occured:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quit my job&lt;br /&gt;I got a new job&lt;br /&gt;I shipped two cars and a dog&lt;br /&gt;We moved 2,200 miles to a new city&lt;br /&gt;I started the new job&lt;br /&gt;We lived in two different corporate housing apartments (&amp; cried)&lt;br /&gt;We sold a house&lt;br /&gt;We bought a house&lt;br /&gt;We moved into house&lt;br /&gt;We baked Christmas cookies &lt;br /&gt;We celebrated Christmas (&amp; cried)&lt;br /&gt;We played Santa&lt;br /&gt;We visited family&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now...back to our regularly scheduled programming!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have finally managed to find balance in life with a child. It was hard and long and really draining, but I did it. I am finally ok with where I am and I think I am doing right by my little angel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though I feel I have found this balance, there are still things that are challenging. I plan to write about those in the coming weeks and months. It is nice to be back and blogging after the chaos that was my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7707420870100692058?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7707420870100692058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7707420870100692058' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7707420870100692058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7707420870100692058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/12/where-is-world-have-i-been.html' title='Where is the world have I been?!?!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7352703507834141224</id><published>2007-09-27T12:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-27T12:54:32.240-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What is a mom?</title><content type='html'>A few really great friends have found out they are pregnant lately and it has caused them some anxiety about what kind of a mom they will be and although in the past I have blogged about &lt;a href="http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/being-satisfied-with-what-you-are.html"&gt;different kinds of moms &lt;/a&gt;it made me really think about it. Honestly, I have determined there is no prototype for moms. A mom can be anything, come in any shape, size, or form. The only requirements are love and kindness. All moms are different and make all kinds of choices. I like that. I like the mom I have become and I relish every day of my new role.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7352703507834141224?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7352703507834141224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7352703507834141224' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7352703507834141224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7352703507834141224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/09/what-is-mom.html' title='What is a mom?'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1352063895180458223</id><published>2007-09-24T09:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T09:30:28.042-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Traveling with tots</title><content type='html'>Hubby and I went to visit some frends in a resort town we used to live in this weekend. We took the whole circus with us, boy, dog, you name it, it was in the car. BB (before Boy) road trips were common and frequent and fast. We would set land speed records, now, we poke along at a pace that at best could be described as leisurely at worst, I could walk faster than this! We learned this trip that in order to travel with tots, frequent car breaks and snacks are critical components. I look at this weekends 6 hours in the car to travel 230 miles as airplane practice. Our flight to the new location will be about 4 1/2 hours. Wish us luck!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1352063895180458223?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1352063895180458223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1352063895180458223' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1352063895180458223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1352063895180458223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/09/traveling-with-tots.html' title='Traveling with tots'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-992181148147823865</id><published>2007-09-20T11:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-20T12:00:58.013-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And then, you think you are Britney Spears</title><content type='html'>About a month ago Boy developed some staining on his teeth. I began a slow decent into freak out mode. I researched online about the staining (which was gray) to ensure it wasn't tooth decay. Because, if it was tooth decay, I am clearly the worst mom in the world, the worst! I learned instead it was likely to be due to too much iron in his diet. Here is how my head worked with that information: too much iron because he was formula fed because we couldn't figure out breast feeding meaning I am the worst mom in the world, the worst I tell you! So, I made an appointment with a dentist. I hung up i the process when I pictured this little angel in a dentists chair and gave our doctor a ring. We had our appointment on Monday where I learned I am NOT the worst mom in the world, simply a good mom who had a child with an ear infection and the meds discolored his teeth. huh, a good mom? really? What a releif!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-992181148147823865?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/992181148147823865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=992181148147823865' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/992181148147823865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/992181148147823865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/09/and-then-you-think-you-are-britney.html' title='And then, you think you are Britney Spears'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7481078665073198125</id><published>2007-09-13T15:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-13T15:23:36.879-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And then, they drive you bananas</title><content type='html'>Boy is having a tough time sleeping, still, 14 (effing) months later. He wakes in the night and we agreed long ago we are not cry-it-out people, but for &lt;em&gt;crying out loud&lt;/em&gt;! Couple this with lack of interest in walking and I am about to be a Mom Gone Mad! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy is incredibly tall for his age (he is more than 34 inches!!) and like all 14-month-olds, he is wiggly and long and getting REALLY heavy! Since he won't walk and he wants to be held. I love holding him, but, when you hold him, he wants down. Honestly, this is getting silly!! I know I am not alone and I know I will regret being so frustrated by this phase of his life, but, I know hubby and I could REALLY use some rest as we get ready to move 3,000 miles away. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that it is going to get really hard for all of us for the next few months, but, I just want one more night of sleep, and MAYBE a walker...someday!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7481078665073198125?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7481078665073198125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7481078665073198125' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7481078665073198125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7481078665073198125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/09/and-then-they-drive-you-bananas.html' title='And then, they drive you bananas'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-639349503998509194</id><published>2007-09-10T14:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T14:50:57.276-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Decision made</title><content type='html'>We are moving. If I get the offer tomorrow, I will work for the next 12-18 months for a new company and then take 2 years off as a family. Hubby will continue to stay at home. If the offer does not come or is insufficient, hubby will work for the next year and I will stay at home. We will then swap again. I am very much looking forward to getting my house on the market and getting back home. Everyone is thrilled about the decision! Thanks to all of you for your support and kind words. So excited about the rest of my life!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-639349503998509194?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/639349503998509194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=639349503998509194' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/639349503998509194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/639349503998509194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/09/decision-made.html' title='Decision made'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-4269475817118525092</id><published>2007-09-01T20:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-01T20:25:42.855-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes</title><content type='html'>Hey there, just a note say hey and that I was back in the Midwest this week in an interview with an amazing company. I was impressed. Hubby and I are expecting offers by the middle of next week, meaning we should be making some key critical decisions in the coming week, and man, does my recycle bin shown it! Our options look like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A.) Stay in our current location (very spendy market with no friends or family but gorgeous scenery and many lifestyle pursuits) but we expect the job offer to be a MAJOR increase in salary. Hubby would continue to stay at home&lt;br /&gt;B.) Move to the Midwest (much cheaper market with lots of friends and family and no real lifestyle pursuits). The money would be a smidgen less than current Hubby would continue to stay at home.&lt;br /&gt;C.) Hubby telecommutes from wherever, I stay home. We would likely make a slow move back to Midwest or cheaper western market that offers lifestyle pursuits, but no friends and family. The money would be less than current.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will honestly be the toughest choice of our life. I have no idea what we should do, BTW, this is contingent on getting ALL the offers. Not getting all the offers would make this a lot easier, or harder...tough knowing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would you do???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-4269475817118525092?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/4269475817118525092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=4269475817118525092' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4269475817118525092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4269475817118525092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/09/ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.html' title='Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5368973621419372721</id><published>2007-08-27T14:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-27T14:24:09.991-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's all about spin</title><content type='html'>I have decided that I am no longer a Working Mom, I am a Mom that works. I realize it is semantics, but I think the prioritization is important and it is enabling me to think about my life and roles differently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Discuss...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5368973621419372721?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5368973621419372721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5368973621419372721' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5368973621419372721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5368973621419372721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/its-all-about-spin.html' title='It&apos;s all about spin'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7625875607094990173</id><published>2007-08-22T20:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-22T20:38:45.581-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Been a little quiet</title><content type='html'>The decision was made today that I am going to quit my job. We aren't sure if it means I won't work and hubby will, but we know that my current job is meeting its end. Funny when you realize things are not worth the strain. It is a liberating feeling knowing that you will give notice in a matter of weeks. This is the right choice. Some fights are not worth fighting and some things are more important.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week I had two interviews and a third tomorrow morning. I am also being flown out to my ideal location for an interview next week. Hubby is also going to talk to his last employer about going back to full time. Regardless, life is changing. We are going to be moving back to the Midwest and my job is changing. I may be lax on the blogging in the coming weeks as we continue to refine our exit strategy and get things ready. I am relieved, happy, scared, you know all the emotions that come with big choices. Wish me luck!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7625875607094990173?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7625875607094990173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7625875607094990173' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7625875607094990173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7625875607094990173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/been-little-quiet.html' title='Been a little quiet'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5270766808317745383</id><published>2007-08-19T11:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-19T11:27:51.368-07:00</updated><title type='text'>While we are on the topic...</title><content type='html'>Of making money at other people's expense...OK, I admit, I read mean, mean, mean blogs like Perez Hilton. But yesterday, in the supermarket, I saw the headline on Star Magazine: Britney to babes: You were both a mistake!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in no way standing up for that train wreck, in fact, I cannot believe that Kevin Federline is the good one here...whatever the case may be, isn't it bad enough that their mom is Britney Spears AND are flaunted in public for the sake of remaining relevant, but do the magazine HAVE to be so very mean. These are babies, children, they will grow up and see some of this. It is mean for the sake of making money. Makes me sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a side note, Princess Diana died 10 years ago this month due to paparazzi, why are we still feeding that monster?!?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5270766808317745383?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5270766808317745383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5270766808317745383' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5270766808317745383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5270766808317745383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/while-we-are-on-topic.html' title='While we are on the topic...'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1073885524855118858</id><published>2007-08-15T13:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-15T13:21:44.232-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Save a buck, kill a kid?</title><content type='html'>I am officially tired of China and their inability to monitor safe business practices. I am also done with companies who decide the "risk it" in the effort to save money. I find it interesting that decisions are made to save money, yet, somehow, the product price continues to rise...hmmm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, stop manufacturing in China until they get some standards and stop buying product from companies &lt;a href="http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/Consumer/story?id=3478878&amp;page=1"&gt;who defend&lt;/a&gt; the practice - tsktsk!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1073885524855118858?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1073885524855118858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1073885524855118858' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1073885524855118858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1073885524855118858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/save-buck-kill-kid.html' title='Save a buck, kill a kid?'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2178862950805272621</id><published>2007-08-14T15:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-14T16:27:46.097-07:00</updated><title type='text'>That darned grass</title><content type='html'>Always looks greener. Always! For the last few days hubby and I have been toying with the idea of selling our overpriced, yet lovely, home and buying a house for nearly cash in a less spendy market...at the same time, negotiating with his old employer for him to telecommute in his old job. As for me, I would go to be a stay-at-home mom. In one moment, this excites me, scares me and shocks me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it could be amazing, but I never expected to be a SAHM, ever. I didn't think I would have a problem going to work while my buddy was at home. I actually thought it would be easy. I never thought about the feeling of sadness I would get each and everytime I leave them in the morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also think it is scary. Selling our house, moving 1/2 way across the country, NOT working. Seriously, scary stuff. What if we hate the new place? What if we can't sell our house? What if not working stinks? What will we do when Boy is old enough for school? Hate that grass!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would you do???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2178862950805272621?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2178862950805272621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2178862950805272621' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2178862950805272621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2178862950805272621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/that-darned-grass.html' title='That darned grass'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-3207185496678373055</id><published>2007-08-09T15:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-09T15:15:24.100-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Brilliant post</title><content type='html'>I just think this &lt;a href="http://thecheekylotus.blogspot.com/"&gt;blog post&lt;/a&gt; is lovely. Makes me think back over my LONG life. I am particlularly fond of the Dear 24 year old Lena...heartbreaking and true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-3207185496678373055?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/3207185496678373055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=3207185496678373055' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3207185496678373055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3207185496678373055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/brilliant-post.html' title='Brilliant post'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2928907593665751582</id><published>2007-08-08T11:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-08T11:19:35.294-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Knowing what the "small stuff" is</title><content type='html'>You always hear from other parents (especially those who have obviously not been parents since Reagan), not to sweat the small stuff. And it is indeed true, however, the hard part is identifying what to classify as small stuff. I think it is one of the most difficult things to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This challenge in and of itself has led to more meltdowns in my house. Schedules, nap times, what and when to feed him. It is hard to read their little clues and harder to determine when you are setting "bad habits". Recently, Boy's bedtime has changed. Mostly it changed because he is eating dinner with us now and we cannot eat at 6, so, he stays up until 8 now, which is awesome, however, it has made it hard sometimes to put him to bed, which leads to meltdowns (by me mostly). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, being at work all day, my only job for Boy is putting him to sleep and when he is challenging to put to sleep, I feel like a failure because I was unable to do the only thing I get to do. It is worth noting, we still rock Boy to sleep. We never did cry it out and we are fine with it. The other night, I decided I would just let Boy play a little longer after rocking him for 30 minutes and he was OBVIOUSLY not ready for bed. We played an extra 30 minutes and he went to sleep like a little angel. So, for me determining that a rigid bedtime was just silly and thus "small stuff" I have stopped sweating it and it is a much more peaceful existence. One down, I am sure about a million to go...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2928907593665751582?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2928907593665751582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2928907593665751582' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2928907593665751582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2928907593665751582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/knowing-what-small-stuff-is.html' title='Knowing what the &quot;small stuff&quot; is'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-3907455554035547813</id><published>2007-08-07T15:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-07T15:08:32.340-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Filed under TMI</title><content type='html'>I recently became convinced that we were going to have another baby. Despite hubby's surgery to prevent such things, I was convinced. When the test came back negative, I was happy, sad and relieved. With that one negative sign, I wasn't ever going to have to answer the question of "Mommy, why is my name Miracle Surprise?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-3907455554035547813?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/3907455554035547813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=3907455554035547813' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3907455554035547813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3907455554035547813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/filed-under-tmi.html' title='Filed under TMI'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5699753025357536914</id><published>2007-08-03T16:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-06T11:47:11.516-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time to stock the cellar</title><content type='html'>Spoke to the boss-lady. She has offered to remove all the things that I hate about my job, allow me to go 4 days a week, telecommute more and, if I wish, move to a city where I have more friends, for probably the same money. The catch - I have to stop looking for another job - should be a done deal this week. Fingers crossed, but I am very happy about this. No more managing the whiney bitches, no more administrative bullshit and MORE time for Boy!!! I am very lucky indeed!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5699753025357536914?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5699753025357536914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5699753025357536914' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5699753025357536914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5699753025357536914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/time-to-stock-cellar.html' title='Time to stock the cellar'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-425533752822557858</id><published>2007-08-03T13:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-03T16:16:37.842-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Minding your beeswax</title><content type='html'>I had a really hard time b&lt;a href="http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/03/girls-and-my-little-man.html"&gt;reastfeeding &lt;/a&gt;and wanted to be able to do it more than anything. That being said, I am incredibly sensitive about not being able to do it. I burst into tears the first time I saw the government sponsored billboard (I love when my government goes above and beyond to make me feel bad!) that said "You are a bad person because you didn't breastfeed (or something like that).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, the state of NY has decided to &lt;a href="http://wcbstv.com/local/local_story_212165519.html"&gt;ban formula &lt;/a&gt;from hospital exit bags. I tried and tried to breastfeed at the hospital until one of the nurses was nice enough to tell me that my baby is starving, he needs formula (which is coincidentally why the word "Starving" is banned). Either way, I really, really do not want to have formula legislated. It is hard to breastfeed. It is hard to learn for both people. It is best, I know that, but sometimes, people aren't able to breastfeed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All this being said, don't we have bigger fish to fry in NY state or in our country in general? I mean, there are crumbling bridges, wars, children being abused and sold, poverty, hunger, you name it. Alas...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-425533752822557858?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/425533752822557858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=425533752822557858' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/425533752822557858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/425533752822557858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/minding-your-beeswax.html' title='Minding your beeswax'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1264174682570267169</id><published>2007-08-02T15:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-02T15:21:02.686-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I have my house back</title><content type='html'>AND the wine cellar is finished. Lord, this is going to be one hard weekend. My boss is in town this week. I am hoping to be able to chat with her about the prospect of going part-time. My fingers are crossed. Even if I dont get to have that chat, I at least can go home and enjoy some peace and quiet in my home. Even with a sick Boy...poor Boy. He has been through so much. Ten extra eyeballs pinned on him, people kissing on him, picking him up, then we leave for a short vacay only to return to an ear infection. I think resting is on the agenda for this weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1264174682570267169?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1264174682570267169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1264174682570267169' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1264174682570267169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1264174682570267169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/08/i-have-my-house-back.html' title='I have my house back'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-77666468122370471</id><published>2007-07-31T15:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-31T15:14:18.914-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Solving problems after 17 years</title><content type='html'>In case none of you have noticed, I am not very satisfied with my current situation. In fact, it is making me bananas. I am &lt;a href="http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/satisfactionally-challenged.html"&gt;satisfactionally challenged&lt;/a&gt;, always have been probably always will be. But, now, my son is one year old and I was too stupid to embrace that first year and too bust to really enjoy it. This makes me madder than putting on a skirt that is too tight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby and I have been together for nearly 17 years. We have seen the very best, faced the biggest challenges, make critical decisions throughout our lives together. We have been through a lot and had fun with it at every turn. So, the time is upon us to determine our next move because the current situation is simply unacceptable. I do not enjoy my job, our city is chronically overpriced and we have pretty much no friends and our families are more than 2,000 miles away (YEAH for some, BOOO for others).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like any good married couple, we took a bottle of wine, a pad of paper and a pen and mapped out what ideal looks like. Then, we mapped out how we are going to get there. I love when there is a plan. It makes me feel much calmer and more secure. It even cures most hangovers!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-77666468122370471?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/77666468122370471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=77666468122370471' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/77666468122370471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/77666468122370471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/solving-problems-after-17-years.html' title='Solving problems after 17 years'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-3348797489795436149</id><published>2007-07-30T14:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-31T14:26:24.125-07:00</updated><title type='text'>They've gone!</title><content type='html'>Holy Moses, my in-laws have gone. How do people become so self-absorbed with their own BS they are incapable of listening. Any ideas??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-3348797489795436149?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/3348797489795436149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=3348797489795436149' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3348797489795436149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3348797489795436149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/theyve-gone.html' title='They&apos;ve gone!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-3572925541963043907</id><published>2007-07-24T16:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T16:25:51.703-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love this guy</title><content type='html'>This is one of the best written blog posts I have ever read. He is so right, it is so true and honest. Thanks &lt;a href="http://www.dadgonemad.com/2007/07/caught-in-the-a.html"&gt;Dad Gone Mad!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-3572925541963043907?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/3572925541963043907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=3572925541963043907' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3572925541963043907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3572925541963043907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/love-this-guy.html' title='Love this guy'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-4112177958875942779</id><published>2007-07-23T12:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T12:22:32.816-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not a baby anymore</title><content type='html'>It dawned on me this morning, I don't have a baby anymore. He is a toddler. I can say with all honesty that babyhood was the most difficult endeavor I have ever embarked upon. And now that it is over, I am so sad that I didn't take the time to enjoy it more. I sure hope I do better in toddler-hood. I already miss my baby!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-4112177958875942779?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/4112177958875942779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=4112177958875942779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4112177958875942779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4112177958875942779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/not-baby-anymore.html' title='Not a baby anymore'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-4967916023648023904</id><published>2007-07-22T11:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-22T11:30:15.196-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Turning one</title><content type='html'>Boy turned one recently and without a doubt, I love one! He is just such a sweet kid. He loves to play and rumpus. He loves people and I love him. He  is going through a mommy thing right now that is sweet as all get out. Just when I needed it too! Off on a short (48-hour) vacation with hubby next week. One rocks!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-4967916023648023904?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/4967916023648023904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=4967916023648023904' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4967916023648023904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4967916023648023904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/turning-one.html' title='Turning one'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5683443811626226153</id><published>2007-07-18T20:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-18T20:20:28.815-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Failing publicly</title><content type='html'>Having my in-laws here has made my life miserable. Their constant (unsolicited) advice, their judgments and their constant ego inflation feels like a daily reminder of what a failure I am as a mom. As a working mom, I have one job each day, put Boy to bed. Since they have been here, I have failed every night. Normally, I fail in private and succeed in the same way. If Boy gives me fits, I can let him cry a minute in his crib and then go try again. When I do this now, I get very disapproving looks and grins of pity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, after failing and having to hand over Boy so I could run to get birthday presents, I got to hear what an easy time they had and how easy it was with just giving him his blanky, as if I hadn't tried this for an hour...So, now, I am on my own and have to struggle through bedtime without walking away from the baby. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because they are all staying here it feels like the walls are closing in on me and my failure. Then hubby, thinking he is being helpful comes to hover and pat my leg and eventually take over my job that I so obviously cannot do. He is, of course, successful while I hide in the corner of my bedroom, the only placed I can go. There is no way out of this nightmare...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jenny, my best to your family and Harrison!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5683443811626226153?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5683443811626226153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5683443811626226153' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5683443811626226153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5683443811626226153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/failing-publicly.html' title='Failing publicly'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-41135634728227053</id><published>2007-07-18T12:31:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-18T13:26:43.664-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Know when to hold em...</title><content type='html'>Know when to fold em, know when to walk away and know when to run...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I am sitting on a conference call with people who are wildly uneducated about the issues at hand when it hits me. I shouldn't work at a place where I am neither heard nor respected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a thought for today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-41135634728227053?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/41135634728227053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=41135634728227053' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/41135634728227053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/41135634728227053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/know-when-to-hold-em.html' title='Know when to hold em...'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7717136466547821122</id><published>2007-07-18T10:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-18T10:42:58.407-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures in the Perfect Gift</title><content type='html'>Hubby and I decided a few weeks back what we were going to get Boy for his big day. Come to find out, this toy is a little tough to find. We went to two toy stores and then started to calling. Finally we found it! Hubby is off to get one of the last five remaining in our area. Now I know what it is going to be like over Christmas is a few years. This absolutely tickles me as Boy has no idea this day is special and why he is getting prizes and for that matter what all these people are doing in his house messing up his sleep schedule.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7717136466547821122?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7717136466547821122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7717136466547821122' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7717136466547821122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7717136466547821122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/adventures-in-perfect-gift.html' title='Adventures in the Perfect Gift'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8810635005594592477</id><published>2007-07-16T10:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T10:29:31.954-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I hope I always do for Boy</title><content type='html'>Focus on and make him feel good at what he does well&lt;br /&gt;Help him understand his place in the world&lt;br /&gt;Help him feel safe and loved in a judgment free house&lt;br /&gt;Never use guilt as a tool&lt;br /&gt;Teach him how to be kind&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8810635005594592477?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8810635005594592477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8810635005594592477' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8810635005594592477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8810635005594592477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/things-i-hope-i-always-do-for-boy.html' title='Things I hope I always do for Boy'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-296177124799747220</id><published>2007-07-15T15:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-15T15:45:05.419-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rare Sunday post</title><content type='html'>Just so you know if my posts are a bit vitriolic the next few weeks it is because my in-laws are here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The arrived late last week and were the most amazing people for a whole 36 hours. They were all just angels. So cooperative, helpful, mindful of the baby and his needs. Their plane was delayed and they arrived very late. They came into th house so quiet I didn't even notice them and were so loving to boy the next say, hubby and I were incredibly encouraged! Over the last 24 hours, they have slid back into their old habits. Here is a highlight:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MIL is asked to watch baby as hubby and I eat dinner. MILs Mom (Hubby's Grandma) asks MIL to make her a sandwich. So MIL starts to comply. Hubby reminds MIL that she is on Boy duty and MIL asks FIL to fill in. He declines in a pseudo-polite way to help and MIL proceeds with the sandwich making. Meanwhile, Boy is about to open a kitchen drawer, slamming either his face or arm in it. Hubby yells to get MILs attention who them blames FIL. And Boy is still about to crack himself in two. MIL finally picks him up and delivers to FIL who proceeds to make a few gurle noises to get Boy's attention, when he fails, he resumes reading the newspaper and Boy is back in the kitchen...I love when people have insanely bad priorities. Granny can either WAIT until we are done OR...MAKE HER OWN SANDWICH. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, I have three additional children in my house. Stay tuned for more tidbits of insanity, like, FIL complaining that our neighborhood is not very nice. And Granny complaining about all the stairs in the house. Side note, these will be the reasons we give why they can't stay with us anymore. Our neighborhood is not nice enough and our home it far too dangerous. ARGH!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-296177124799747220?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/296177124799747220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=296177124799747220' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/296177124799747220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/296177124799747220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/rare-sunday-post.html' title='Rare Sunday post'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1245519914406600916</id><published>2007-07-13T11:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-13T13:19:58.645-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good lord, people</title><content type='html'>Flying is a pain in the arse. Getting to the gate is a painful exercise in insanity and bureaucracy. I absolutely abhor the TSA. It is an example of how dysfunctional our government is. Each place has different security measures, which is what I thought the TSA was supposed to bring...um, no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then, there are the flight attendants, gate agents and crews. Most of the time, they completely rule in the face of pompous, entitled passengers. (BTW, who are you people who just sit in any old seat?!?! That is MY SEAT!!)And then, they can &lt;a href="http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/story?id=3371901&amp;page=1"&gt;suck&lt;/a&gt; beyond all recognition of humanity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have flown hundreds of thousands of miles in every class available. Crying, wailing babies, toddlers who kick seats with a raucous fury are part of the deal sometimes. But, seriously a toddler chattering is no cause to boot someone off a flight. Shame on you, you are rediculous! Sorry you had a bad day, but honestly, lighten up! And to say that a mom should drug her child and control a 19-month-old is fundamentally absurd. And then to say you were threatened, what an abuse of fear!I hope that attendant is at last reprimanded, if not asked to leave. Harsh, yes, but stranding a mom and toddler in a strange city because you ran out of patience, THAT'S harsh!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1245519914406600916?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1245519914406600916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1245519914406600916' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1245519914406600916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1245519914406600916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/good-lord-people.html' title='Good lord, people'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-6181891733616891456</id><published>2007-07-12T09:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-12T10:01:50.340-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pulling the trigger</title><content type='html'>I have been pretty unhappy lately and after much thought, I am unhappy with myself. I don't like how I look and I feel it is impacting my marriage, family and work. I am lacking confidence and feeling very beaten down and up. I realized that I am the one beating myself up and only I can take ownership and control of the situation. I can continue to make excuses, or I can make changes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being an older mom, I know myself pretty well. I know what works for me and what does not. I know that I am going to piss and moan about not getting back into shape until I weigh 300 pounds. I cannot do that. I cannot set that example for my son and I know my husband misses my hot body from college! Hell, I miss my hot body from college, why wouldn't he! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing myself the way I do, I know I will not just start going at this stage in my life. I also know what motivates me or better yet, what WILL get me out the door. I know that it is costs me money, I will do it. I also know if someone is pushing me out the door, or that I have committed to someone else I will go, I may whine about it, but I ultimately will go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Therefore, I am going to hire a personal trainer to come get me 4 times a week from my office or house and work my ass out for an hour. I will pay them handsomely for 8 weeks. In addition, for every pound I lose, the trainer will get a bonus! I am confident this will work for me. Since it is money going out, I will take it seriously. And, since someone is putting time on my calendar, I will be forced to comply. If a trainer comes to my house at 7 a.m. to go run or lift or whatever, I will do it and they can lead me. I know how to eat properly and I can and will do that, it is the boost I need. I figure 8-10 weeks of this will get me started. I have 30 pounds to lose...ready, set, go!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-6181891733616891456?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/6181891733616891456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=6181891733616891456' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6181891733616891456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6181891733616891456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/pulling-trigger.html' title='Pulling the trigger'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5446280532191056869</id><published>2007-07-11T09:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-11T09:57:55.371-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bunk!</title><content type='html'>I try and try to get started on an exercise program (meaning, going for a 3-mile run 4-5 times a week) and without doubt, I fail at every turn. I go for walks each day with the family, but it isn't a run. I want to drop these pesky 25 pounds, but I am unable to leave my buddy to go run. I can't get up early because, well, I hate getting up early. It is a Catch-22. I just need to commit. I need to find the 35 minutes I need each day to dedicate to myself. I know it is the right thing to do, but, when I get home, Boy is so excited to see me, I just can't leave! Maybe during the day...I would love suggestions on how any of you find the time?!?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5446280532191056869?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5446280532191056869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5446280532191056869' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5446280532191056869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5446280532191056869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/bunk.html' title='Bunk!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1611248423272553472</id><published>2007-07-10T10:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T10:49:49.612-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wishing for change</title><content type='html'>It has been almost a year since I met Boy. He had changed so dramatically. I look at pictures and see a little boy emerging over the past months. What I wish I saw was a change in me. I am still pudgy, I am still tired. I am still not getting real time with my husband. I am starting to becoming annoyed and negative. I want time and energy and patience to talk about my annoyances, but it is so hard to communicate these days. Either way, I have a stunning little man who brings a good deal of joy, at least that is something right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1611248423272553472?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1611248423272553472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1611248423272553472' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1611248423272553472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1611248423272553472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/wishing-for-change.html' title='Wishing for change'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2757482490673240694</id><published>2007-07-09T14:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T11:23:27.689-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Open Letter</title><content type='html'>Dear iVillage,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Boy approaches his first birthday, I would like to take a moment to reflect and recognize you, the readership and posting community for saving my life and sanity. I fell prey to post partem depression, I was hopelessly and (now not hopelessly, but still) clueless about being a mother and babies. I didnt know what I was doing at all and if the odd things I perceived my child to be doing were in fact normal. You all collectively saved me from making rash decisions, jumping to conclusions and maintaining a semblance of calm. Thank you a thousand times for existing. Now, I should probably go and click on some ads and buy products from your advertisers so you can continue to make money and exist for the next mom who needs you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My very best,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Working Mom&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2757482490673240694?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2757482490673240694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2757482490673240694' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2757482490673240694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2757482490673240694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/open-letter.html' title='Open Letter'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1375008875989907003</id><published>2007-07-06T10:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-06T10:40:22.014-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dating your friends</title><content type='html'>Hubby and I have been trying very hard to get a semblance of normalcy in our lives with our new child, even though he is nearly one, it is still pretty new. Anyway, I met a mom and asked her out on a date. We went out for dinner last night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had the best time. It is so crazy to meet people and then date them, but you have to. We talked all about our previous lives, how a meal in an adult restaurant is the most decadent thing in the world and how despite how everyone else sees us, we feel like terrible moms and wonder why we are doing this immediately followed by a delicious story of how our babies made our day. It was so very validating to sit with someone from a similar background and talk about the joys and the horrors of baby/toddlers. How shocking it was, all the different things that shaped our outlooks and attitudes and at the end of the day, we are all going through the same thing, only no one talks about it. What a shame. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all need to speak up. Having a baby/toddler is impossible, sometimes it totally sucks, sometimes it is the greatest thing ever, and other times, you are too tired to discern from the two. Either way, go ask out another mom for dinner, leave your Child with Hubby and go commune, it is really wonderful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1375008875989907003?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1375008875989907003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1375008875989907003' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1375008875989907003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1375008875989907003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/dating-your-friends.html' title='Dating your friends'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2632070869732920012</id><published>2007-07-05T13:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-05T13:56:45.653-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting my way</title><content type='html'>One of my favorite things in life, beyond Hubby and Boy is getting my way. I simply feel it is sublime and when I don't get my way particularly when it is a grand idea, oooohhhhh, it makes me mad. I love THOUSANDS of miles away from my parents. And I love them, they love all of us so much so that they are going to uproot their lives and move out here. Problem is, they cannot manage to find a buyer for their home. The home has been on the market for nearly 9 months. It is priced competitively, problem is, they live in one of the tough markets. It sucks. They are so sad and I am so sad. They are missing things they want to be involved in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby and I do well. We have saved our whole lives and can afford a lovely home and a good amount of spending cash. I recently got a nice raise at work for my efforts and we were thinking, why shouldn't we invest in a condo in our market and offer it to our parents while their home sells. We love this idea. It is monthly investing, it gets them out here and when they do sell their home, they will have a base of operations and to top it all off, when they leave the condo, HUBBY'S parents can stay in the condo when they visit! Everyone wins. I love this idea. It is brilliant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I present this to my parents who say, "well, we don't think so." In my mind, this is just plain stubborn and silly. I wish they would tell me why not with an answer that makes sense. They won't meanwhile, it is driving me crazy...I feel like Boy..."I WANT MY DADDY!!!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think we are going to buy the condo anyway, it is a good investment in our market and I think we can get it leased. Seriously, doing things my way work out, promise!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2632070869732920012?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2632070869732920012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2632070869732920012' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2632070869732920012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2632070869732920012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/getting-my-way.html' title='Getting my way'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1848349504643463567</id><published>2007-07-04T12:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-04T13:04:36.632-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm cured</title><content type='html'>This blog was set up as a way to manage my post partem depression. It is a place for me to talk about my feelings and experiences and share with anyone who would be interested to read about the challenges of motherhood. It is a hard gig and for me, it was bordering on impossible at times. Now, I am managng much better. I am happy again. The glass is half full again and I have a renewed confidence in my abilities as a mother. I was afraid of motherhood. Because this fear was so pervasive, I avoided having children for years, chosing instead to live the DINK lifestyle to the n-th degree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obviously, I grew up and realized that I would like to try to have a child and experience life's wonders all over again. The fear never subsided, yet the desire for a child outweighed the fear. That fear created a disasterous first year as a mom. I know it sounds dramatic, but, the first year with your child should be filled with joy, joy joy not fear, tears and anti-depressants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All this being said, on Monday, I went for my semi monthly visits with my psychologist. We talked about my confidence and the weekend as a single sahm and how powerful I felt and that I feel like a mom now. She said we should reduce our visits to once a month...WOW! I guess I am cured. I do feel better, but it was really cool to be validated by this person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do expect to continue blogging even though I am feeling much better. Thanks for riding along through this phase of the journey. On to bigger and better things. If this post were the end of a movie, the credits would roll with the Kinks song Better Things. If you don't know it...go listen to it...it rules!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look for the following upcoming posts:&lt;br /&gt;My recent job interview&lt;br /&gt;My direct reports are a bunch of whiny bitches&lt;br /&gt;Dating your new friends&lt;br /&gt;Why do I ever let people stay at my house?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, my house will be full of people (family) in one week, pray for us all!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1848349504643463567?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1848349504643463567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1848349504643463567' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1848349504643463567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1848349504643463567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/im-cured.html' title='I&apos;m cured'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7228925153929907654</id><published>2007-07-01T20:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-01T21:01:05.860-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What a week!</title><content type='html'>So sorry for the lack of blogs. It sucks when you check someone's blog each day and there is nothing new. I hate that too, which is why sometimes, I write a number of posts in advance for weeks like I had last week, but alas, I did not this time. So, here is a recap of my week, highs, lows and everywhere in between.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Highs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy danced for the first time, man, that was unbelievably cute&lt;br /&gt;Boy also mastered waving hello and bye bye, also stupid cute&lt;br /&gt;Finished a big home project and now we will have more time on our hands&lt;br /&gt;Had a great date, saw a movie (oh do I love that George Clooney!)&lt;br /&gt;Went to a dog park early in the morning with the family. Good times!&lt;br /&gt;Got a client who was not happy to be happy and got to be creative in the process&lt;br /&gt;Had a few headhunter calls, one of which will lead to an interview tomorrow. Listening is always a good idea in my shoes.&lt;br /&gt;Got a complement from the meanest client I have ever worked with&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Lows&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miserable melt down on Tuesday, cried and cried and cried and made my hubby feel just terrible.&lt;br /&gt;Had a tough time getting boy to sleep one night&lt;br /&gt;Had to put in two 12+ hour days this week and one 10+ hour day&lt;br /&gt;Listened to whiney employees compllain about their cushy, high paying jobs - WAH!&lt;br /&gt;Was unable to get cracking on the exercise&lt;br /&gt;Said meanest client ever cut their spend in half, completely screwing up our quarterly forecast which will lead to an angry call from leadership next week&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In between&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back this week was comprised of moments of greatness and despair. I am not a big fan of that type of week, I am hoping this week with bring more time for family and blogging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week should be interesting. I have a few dates with girlfriends( I know, I am making some!), a job interview (for which I sorely need to stop blogging and prepare for!), and a holiday weekend. This week should be much better!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7228925153929907654?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7228925153929907654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7228925153929907654' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7228925153929907654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7228925153929907654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/07/what-week.html' title='What a week!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1053247093936645704</id><published>2007-06-28T22:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T10:38:48.870-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First signs of empathy</title><content type='html'>This week has been a bear, but, I remembered one of the little gifts from this weekend and it made things seem a lot lighter...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think little boys are such little cavemen. Boy has taken to crawling around and stealing other baby's toys and then hitting them on the head. The little girls just look so puzzled, but the other little boys look, like, hey, good idea! I am always concerned about Boy growing up spoiled or mean, that was until last weekend. We were taking a GLORIOUS bed-nap together and when he awoke, he raised up on his knees, hands in the air and come smashing down on my eye. Now, this is not too common, usually, the dog is under the smashing and not my eye. And in case you are worried, the dog is 70 pounds of fur and muscle, she will not be destroyed by Boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he raised back up, I got his attention and we looked each other in the eye and I said "OOOOOWWWWWWW!!!!" It was not a shout, it was a loud talking voice. I also made a very pouty face. Immediately, his lip protruded and he began to pout and his eyes welled up. He then dropped him cheek onto my chest while looking at me very sadly as if to say, "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt mommy, I love you, please forgive me, I am clumsy." I hugged him and told him Mommy was ok, and he was forgiven but to be careful. He pouted another minute or two and then we resumed playing. I had no idea a child so young could show that emotion. I am less worried about him being mean, phwew!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1053247093936645704?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1053247093936645704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1053247093936645704' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1053247093936645704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1053247093936645704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/first-signs-of-empathy.html' title='First signs of empathy'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-6668608273805416830</id><published>2007-06-27T12:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-27T12:57:42.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rough couple of days</title><content type='html'>Work is crazy and home is crazy. Needless to say, I am crazy now, too. No real time to put together a solid post, just know, things are wild right now. I hope to post later this week. Jenny, I will take advantage of your tag probably tomorrow. I have been in meetings on Monday til 8 p.m. and again tonight until 8 p.m. Tuesday I had a meeting at 7:30 a.m. I am quickly becoming convinced someone does not like me right now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Missing Boy, blogging and figuring things out. More later, I promise!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-6668608273805416830?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/6668608273805416830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=6668608273805416830' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6668608273805416830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6668608273805416830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/rough-couple-of-days.html' title='Rough couple of days'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-9209949118808819512</id><published>2007-06-25T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T10:14:31.998-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Now, I am a mom</title><content type='html'>Just time for a brief update. I actually feel like a mom now. I am so proud of myself and this weekend created lifelong memories for me of Boy and I. I thought I was doing something nice for my hubby by sending him out of town for some man time, when in fact, it was a gift to myself. The gift of time, confidence, experience, love joy, all of it. It was just lovely. Here are the ways it was different than normal:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Working&lt;br /&gt;I can procrastinate tasks&lt;br /&gt;Momming&lt;br /&gt;Life is very time sensitive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Working&lt;br /&gt;Split focus on work and home&lt;br /&gt;Momming&lt;br /&gt;Total focus on Boy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Working&lt;br /&gt;Filled with sound&lt;br /&gt;Momming&lt;br /&gt;Quiet much of the day aside from my own voice!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Working&lt;br /&gt;Unlike a marathon, there is no finish line to many work pressures&lt;br /&gt;Momming&lt;br /&gt;Just like a marathon, just keep moving forward&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, at least now, I know what I am missing. Thanks for your support in this endeavor. I am sure more thoughts will come to me about the time I spent, but, I have to say, I am actually energized at work today. I needed that! Now, need to look at all my options.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-9209949118808819512?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/9209949118808819512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=9209949118808819512' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/9209949118808819512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/9209949118808819512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/now-i-am-mom.html' title='Now, I am a mom'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-4968238441729494400</id><published>2007-06-22T20:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T20:20:25.692-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Seriously, I rule!</title><content type='html'>I totally did it! I was scared that I would not be able to, but I did. I thought maybe I would have a meltdown or buckle under the pressure to entertain, but I stayed at home with no help from anyone and was a mom. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy did really well. He was obviously confused as I am much mushier and less hairy that his normal care-taker, but I even flung him in the air, flopped him around on the bed, went for an epic walk with Boy and Dog and even went to Gymboree. I fed him, changed nappies and put him down for two naps. Now, I am sure you veterans at this are like, yeah, so? Well, sure, yeah, so? But &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; did it. I am not exhausted (yet). I managed to shower, eat all my meals and check email a few times. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do now see how lonely this job is and that it feels very isolated. Sorry it is like that. Now that I have experienced that, I think I need to come up with a new tool, technology, something to help stay at home parents to keep them from feeling so alone and isolated. I am so impressed with my hubby and everyone that takes this responsibility on. And I am so proud of me and Boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jenny - sorry about your eye, are you ok?!?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-4968238441729494400?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/4968238441729494400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=4968238441729494400' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4968238441729494400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4968238441729494400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/seriously-i-rule.html' title='Seriously, I rule!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8279020530497657279</id><published>2007-06-21T14:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T14:48:21.620-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Note: Limited blogs this weekend</title><content type='html'>Hi awesome readers,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be a stay-at-home, single mom starting tonight, therefore, I may or may not have a chance to blog. Check back on Monday for an update, unless I find a moment to capture some thoughts. I am a little nervous and have very low expecatations of what I can get done, but I am sure I will have fun! Possible topics for Monday include:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Hubby ordered back to work&lt;br /&gt;*Another trip to the emergency room&lt;br /&gt;*WORK RULES!&lt;br /&gt;*I am never leaving Boy again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy weekend and be well,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Briefcase Mama&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8279020530497657279?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8279020530497657279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8279020530497657279' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8279020530497657279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8279020530497657279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/note-limited-blogs-this-weekend.html' title='Note: Limited blogs this weekend'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-47783979161494230</id><published>2007-06-21T09:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T09:49:32.089-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Having it all - the curse of my generation</title><content type='html'>Driving home from work at 6 p.m. last night, I realized that growing up female in the Title IX era created some profound psychological implications. Our parents were one of the first to try to raise their daughters to believe they can be anything they want to be and in fact, they should go for their dreams and goals with gusto. Girls can be anything, President, a pilot, a doctor, things that were traditionally male before our parents generation. It is a wonderful message. They also are the first parents that had to have both parties at work to make ends meet in most cases. Thus began the myth of "Having it all", in my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fundamentally, it is crap. You cannot have it all. And if you do, you certaintly don't enjoy it or are only getting 1/2 of everything. Right now, I have an amazing career and an amazing son. However, when I am at work, I really want to be at home and when I am at home, I am worried I didn't get enough done at the office. All the stay at home moms I know wish they went to work sometimes and all the working moms wish they stayed home. It is a myth. Sacrifice is what it means to have it all which is counter intuitive to the concept. And, btw, sacrifice sucks! The concept of having it all makes me feel like I am missing something. It also makes me feel like I don't have to choose and makes me mad when I have to. I think having it all is a damned if you do/damned if you don't thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone have any thoughts on this one???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-47783979161494230?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/47783979161494230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=47783979161494230' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/47783979161494230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/47783979161494230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/having-it-all-curse-of-my-generation.html' title='Having it all - the curse of my generation'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-4336548578317331706</id><published>2007-06-20T07:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T08:10:39.158-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Being "in the club"</title><content type='html'>Hubby and I were married for 11 years before boy (BB) and dated for 5 years before that. Needless to say, we were blissfully set in our ways. We don't have more than a handful of good friends. I think the latest tally is actually 6 close friends. We have moved around a lot and learned to rely on each other as partners. We trust each other implicitly, love each other deeply and respect each other completely. It takes a lot of effort to be in our circle, mostly because, well, we really just prefer each other's company.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Boy was born, we didn't immedately know what to do with him. I mean, he wasn't "in the club". Of course we loved him, he was our child, but, it wasn't that insane goopiness everyone tells you about. It is entirely possibly hubby and I are defective in some way, but it is the truth. We couldn't figure out how this creature was supposed to get in the club. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It turns out, all he needed to do, was allow us the time to get used to another person in the club. He earned his way in with smiles and endearing little quirks, oh and the laughs! Now, I think he is the king of the club. I am finally at that stage in parenthood that looks really cool. I am just smitten with this kid. Glad he's in the club. The club is even better now! Who knew.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-4336548578317331706?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/4336548578317331706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=4336548578317331706' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4336548578317331706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4336548578317331706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/being-in-club.html' title='Being &quot;in the club&quot;'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1017787632750442073</id><published>2007-06-19T08:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T09:55:28.521-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Is there anything more delicious than...</title><content type='html'>a baby's laugh...eom&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1017787632750442073?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1017787632750442073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1017787632750442073' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1017787632750442073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1017787632750442073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/is-there-anything-more-delicious-than.html' title='Is there anything more delicious than...'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7044114471089071831</id><published>2007-06-18T12:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-18T12:28:48.384-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My sister is mean</title><content type='html'>When I was born, my sister really was sad to share the spotlight. We were born 4+ years apart with different fathers. She spent most of her life resenting me and I spend most of mine trying to get my cool older sister to like me. Until I grew up. I saw that she was a selfish malcontent who blamed everyone else for her problems. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried hard to help her, gave her advice when she asked and supported her the best I could. Even when she would hit me and lash out. Even when she would mercilessly tease me. Even when she was dating a married man whose wife was pregnant with his third child. Even when she decided to marry said loser TWO WEEKS before my planned wedding. Even when she was mean and cruel. I tried to be there for her and help her. Then, she cut me out of her life. And all I could feel was relief. My parents were so sad, me, I was truly nonplussed. Hubby was thrilled. Then, she did the same thing to my mother. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, as I have mentioned in other posts, my mom is no motherhood prize winner, but, she ALWAYS stood by my sister and she was WAY worse to my mother than to me! She made my mother's life impossible when my sister was growing up and blamed my mother for all her problems. My mom was not relieved, she was hurt that she was cut out, but, when that is your kid, what are you to do? The only person my sister has not cut out was her adopted father, my dad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was Father's Day and you know what, the mean, mean girl sent my dad a father's day card. Mom and dad are now so puzzled, poor dad wonders if this is an olive branch. Me, I think it is a waving armed selfish shrew who fears and hates that she is irrelevant. An olive branch would be a MOTHER'S DAY CARD!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the sort of things I stay up at night and try to fgure out how I will explain this to Boy...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- End of rant&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7044114471089071831?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7044114471089071831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7044114471089071831' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7044114471089071831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7044114471089071831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/my-sister-is-mean.html' title='My sister is mean'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1290297856376706941</id><published>2007-06-16T20:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-16T20:49:02.082-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Made an interesting connection</title><content type='html'>Like some moms, I feel like a bad mom sometimes. And sometimes, I cannot shake it no matter what, but the other day, I was visiting my Ob/Gyn and she said, well, "You delivered a baby" and I corrected her and said "no, you delivered him". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, I had an emergency c-section after 31 hours of labor (neat,huh?). And I think because this happened, it makes me feel inferior, like I couldn't even do what my body is supposed to do. Man, that was quite a moment of realization when I look back on it and now I see, that moment in time has driven many of the emotions about relating to my son as a good or bad mother. Bummer, I know, but simply knowing that it is fundamentally redculous as my doctor pointed out to me not even one second later, seems to be a nice breakthrough for me and Boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Father's Day!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1290297856376706941?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1290297856376706941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1290297856376706941' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1290297856376706941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1290297856376706941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/made-interesting-connection.html' title='Made an interesting connection'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-6443680373085386832</id><published>2007-06-15T10:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-15T11:03:04.717-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Being a boss AND a mom</title><content type='html'>I have to say, I may be a bad boss. I sound like a great boss, but when you think about it, not so much. I give my team lots of freedom and leeway to succeed and fail. I give them unparalelled freedom to do their best every day. If they are finished with work by 3, they can go home. If they need to work from home to be more productive once a week, that is cool, too. I do not meddle in their client relationships. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically, I run a fast and loose operation. What is missing for my people is structure and probably leadership. Problem is, I have no energy to lead right now. I am disenchanted with my job and my company. I would like to get jazzed again about my work and rededicate myself to helping my team achieve their goals, but I am just not into it. How bad is that!?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came across this post today: &lt;a href="http://blog.penelopetrunk.com/2007/06/11/book-excerpt-how-to-turn-a-bad-boss-into-a-good-one/"&gt;Bad boss or whiney employee?&lt;/a&gt; and it made me laugh. It also made me sad because the two employees I have trouble with are whiners. These people can be so self involved and cannot see anyone else's perspective. It thoroughly annoys me. In fact, they are the ones who exhaust me. Maybe I should then focus on the ones I can help and grow, and leave the others to their own devises...hmmm...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-6443680373085386832?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/6443680373085386832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=6443680373085386832' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6443680373085386832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6443680373085386832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/being-boss-and-mom.html' title='Being a boss AND a mom'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-6508973894105266130</id><published>2007-06-14T10:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T10:41:45.240-07:00</updated><title type='text'>MAN DOWN!</title><content type='html'>I had to go to an insufferable business dinner this week. At the endof the dinner, after the client had left, I was the rude one texting. I was texting with hubby. I get home after a 15 hour day to a completely incapacitated hubby. He had food poisoning (or the flu, we aren't sure)! Needless to say, it was the saddest thing I have seen in a long time. It made me forget all about silly clients and their silly egos, because all I cared about in the whole world was right here in this house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was a stay at home mom yesterday and (SAKES ALIVE!!) it is the most tiring job ever. Boy was so confused and not feeling himself either, but I did it. I got up with him, comforted him, took care of him and played with him all day. I put him down for his naps and took him out and about. It was really fun and cool and HARD! Learnings from this episode is: no blog, no shower, no real lunch, but TONS of smiles and sense of accomplishment! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, when hubby was feeling better, I lolligagged so much in getting ready for work it was absolute comedy. This post is for all you brave (and lucky in your own way) women who get to stay at home!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-6508973894105266130?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/6508973894105266130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=6508973894105266130' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6508973894105266130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6508973894105266130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/man-down.html' title='MAN DOWN!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-4424925208267337436</id><published>2007-06-12T11:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T11:08:00.022-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Deciding to embrace joy</title><content type='html'>The past week has been a tough transition from vacation back to work, but I am finally there. I am at heart a REALLY happy person, yes, sarcastic but really find a good deal of joy on a daily basis. Yesterday and today (despite yesterday's post) have been some of the most joyous days of late. I have been really happy. So in love with my husband, so in love with boy. They melt my heart. I even started looking at my home as somewhere I want to stay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can say with all honesty that staying in one place has NEVER been something I wanted to do. But, I like where I am right now. I feel content. Also, not a common feeling. Joy - very common. Content - not so much. It is a cool feeling to be satisfied with things. Boy and hubby are so good to me and I think we are finding balance again in our house, our relationship and my humor is back. Live is feeling pretty good!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-4424925208267337436?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/4424925208267337436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=4424925208267337436' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4424925208267337436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4424925208267337436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/deciding-to-embrace-joy.html' title='Deciding to embrace joy'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-6741855451191433681</id><published>2007-06-11T12:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T12:09:36.913-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My in-laws make me bananas</title><content type='html'>Boy is approaching his first birthday which means an influx of visitors is on the way and that includes my in-laws. I know most people are annoyed by their in-laws, and I am not alone, but, what I am seeking is a better way to manage my annoyance of them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the people who ruined boy' first Christmas, which I was reminded of when I was adding things to his baby book last night and I flipped to the "First Christmas" page and the line that followed, family and people who visited was BLANK! They completely screwed my, boy, hubby and my parents in their behavior on this one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then...MIL asks if SHE can make boy's birthday cake. Does she not realize that this would mean, I COULDN'T make the cake for his first birhtday?? She had her chance with her own kids. It is completely disrespectful and thoughtless. Which is why they annoy me. I am going to be addressing this one with my therapist next week, hopefully she will have a strategy for managing them better. They will not change and do not see what they are doing as disrespectful, so, impasse. But, they are involved in my life...ugh! Two weeks of them in my house...I am not sure there is enough wine in the world...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-6741855451191433681?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/6741855451191433681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=6741855451191433681' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6741855451191433681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6741855451191433681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/my-in-laws-make-me-bananas.html' title='My in-laws make me bananas'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7339888116950289084</id><published>2007-06-10T22:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-10T22:10:02.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And then it all comes together</title><content type='html'>Hubby and I went on a much needed date last night. Since we have no family nearby, we use a nanny service. They sent this adorable granny-type over. She was precious. It was shocking that boy reached right for her pretty quickly. We went out and had dinner, looked at some artwork and returned home. It was so nice to return home to hear the nanny gush about our child and about our parenting. She was floored we still rock him to sleep and she really gave us kudos on how well we are doing with this little angel. It was so validating. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, he was an angel. I think it was because we blew off a little steam, but I had a renewed love and commitment for motherhood. It is hard sometimes to realize you need a break. You think you have to do it all, alone, but you know, that isn't good for anyone. It was so precious to realize how wonderful it is to watch your child grow up and learn new things. And by just going out for 4 hours, I feel so renewed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby and I repeatedly promise that we will take more time for our couplehood, with limited success. I think this was exactly the date that will make us live  up to this. Someday, my parents will move nearby and I know that will be an amazing blessing. But until then, nannies, it is!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7339888116950289084?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7339888116950289084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7339888116950289084' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7339888116950289084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7339888116950289084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/and-then-it-all-comes-together.html' title='And then it all comes together'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5486531132974875854</id><published>2007-06-09T15:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T15:37:32.833-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Top Five Reasons Babies are Born Cute</title><content type='html'>5. So we don't mind all the lost sleep&lt;br /&gt;4. Easier to overlook the poopy diapers&lt;br /&gt;3. Survival mechanism&lt;br /&gt;2. Cherubic face wipes away the memory of a screaming fit&lt;br /&gt;1. What other reason is there to endure being vomited on?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5486531132974875854?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5486531132974875854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5486531132974875854' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5486531132974875854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5486531132974875854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/top-five-reasons-babies-are-born-cute.html' title='Top Five Reasons Babies are Born Cute'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-687003307356883687</id><published>2007-06-08T10:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-08T10:56:39.306-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Flexibilty and annoying people</title><content type='html'>I am working from home today - YEAH. I actually do work when I am here, just in my jammies with frequent interruptions from boy. Working from home and the flexibilty I have at work is the only reason I am still there. I am fearful of what another company may make me endure from a time standpoint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I was annoyed by work again. These doofuses amaze me at every turn. We have a customer who does not like one aspect of our offering and they consistently tell us this. I proposed a solution that would make us alter our structure in order to get a MILLION DOLLARS more in business. I was shot down and told that the aspect they complain about isn't really the problem, they are just wrong - LOL...So, net out at "the customer is always wrong"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, back to the salt mines princess!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-687003307356883687?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/687003307356883687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=687003307356883687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/687003307356883687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/687003307356883687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/flexibilty-and-annoying-people.html' title='Flexibilty and annoying people'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7877301196908146408</id><published>2007-06-07T11:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-07T12:07:50.247-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning to lighten up</title><content type='html'>Last night hubby went out and had a little fun with a friend. This is odd for us as we have no friends outside the marriage. This is due tot he fact that we have been known each other for nearly half of our lives. We have no problems being each other's best friend. That being said, we are learning that there is no consistent opportunities to go out together, so, we need to go out with others to get back to regular life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SOOOO, all that said, hubby went out last night. Of course when he left, I was nearly giddy with excitement to lay on the couch and watch a really silly movie. One that he would just not enjoy. I settle in and POOF, boy is awake. OK, I think, this is a snuggly opportunity to go lay in our bed and watch sometime even more mind numbing - reality TV. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I laid there, I was thinking, he should be learning to sleep in his own bed and not be lulled by me. So, I tried to put him to bed - well, that was a HUGE mistake. The happy baby from our bed turned into a monster baby - wailing and crying and screaming. It was so frustrating. All because I wanted him to fall asleep in his bed. Power struggle erupts and I end up in tears gathering my composure outside. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go back in, try to get him back in his bed, then I realize, what's the point?!?! I am forcing this false "should" on a small child. Who cares?!?! He is going through some separation anxiety and so what if he cannot fall asleep in his own bed now. I worry about spoiling him, but seriously, how can this be spoiling him. Nobody ever said my parents loved me too much or tried to make me too happy. Especially around falling asleep. It is just silly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson for the day - lighten up. Boy will not develop horrendous sleep patterns or attachment issues by comforting him to sleep, quite the opposite I bet! I am amazed how much I learn about myself in this process. I guess I am pretty rigid. I always thought I was laid back. Not so much, huh?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7877301196908146408?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7877301196908146408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7877301196908146408' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7877301196908146408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7877301196908146408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/learning-to-lighten-up.html' title='Learning to lighten up'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-59717262710394552</id><published>2007-06-06T08:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T08:23:31.209-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Missing out</title><content type='html'>All my life I have been driven to climb the corporate ladder and FAST. I managed to achieve my goal of becoming a Vice President by my 35th birthday. Last week, while I was out on vacaton and my job had been really grinding me, I realized, I am not sure I want to be on this hampster wheel while boy is growing up. I want to be home more. I want to be available more, but at the same time, I don't want to screw up my career path for when boy goes to school. And then I think, my career is no longer my priority. I could care less is I am a Regional VP or Senior VP in the next 5 years. The cost of that would be too high for what  percieve as a small reward. Iw ould miss too much and gain too little. I just want to be a good mom and spend as much time with boy as I can. I don't really want a new job, I want a smaller job.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-59717262710394552?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/59717262710394552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=59717262710394552' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/59717262710394552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/59717262710394552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/missing-out.html' title='Missing out'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1513694874532385872</id><published>2007-06-05T10:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T10:49:15.816-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to smiles</title><content type='html'>Boy is back to all smiles. I guess he has forgiven me. My counsellor said yesterday was not as bad as I thought. I just need to learn when my fuse is getting short and to go take a walk. I am SURE she is right. I guess all of us new moms feel challenged by crying babies...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1513694874532385872?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1513694874532385872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1513694874532385872' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1513694874532385872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1513694874532385872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/back-to-smiles.html' title='Back to smiles'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5703148147439007353</id><published>2007-06-03T19:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-03T19:49:47.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Return from vacation to some VERY old feelings</title><content type='html'>Vacation was the best in a long while. So restful, relaxing. I actually had a few days where I felt really at ease being a mom. Caring for him, playing with him, calming him, feeling him, reading his cues, doing great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get home, major meltdown. See, the baby really brings things out of me that I had no idea were there. I had a challenging relationship with my mom. She is a selfish woman and not much of a mom, she readily admits it which at this point in life is actually endearing, growing up...not so much. Luckily, dad RULED! He was a spectacular father and made up for mom in many ways. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past 2-3 days boy has not been sleeping, having problems eating and having what seems like REAL separation anxiety. He is growing what appears to be 4 new teeth, all at once. Needless to say, he has been a nightmare to manage. Sobbing to be picked up, when you pick him up, he squirms to get down. Try to feed him, nope he will spend most of the feeding trying to wriggle away and then start sobbing. It is so un-nerving to watch, let along try to help. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, I lost it, I turned into my mom. I was mean and thoughtless. I wanted to run away and get out of this life. It was too much. I felt so alone and unsupported and like I was the last care of anyone in my house. It was just hideous. Fortunately, I did not take any aggression out on this little creature, but, was cruel in word. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I am so ashamed and embarrassed. I feel so sorry for being verbally cruel to my son and that my husband is unable to help in these situations. I recognize he does want to help, but he can't and most of the time, he is helping too late. He is not recognizing the signs I am struggling and intervening earlier. Once I calmed down and apologized to boy (who hopefully will have no recollection of this day and won't be scarred for life), I talked to hubby about intervening earlier and about sharing more of his challenges. I think it will make me feel less like a bad mom and more attuned to my partner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I promise to everyone who reads this and most importantly to my boy, this will NEVER happen again. Makes me so sad to be out of control and upset with this little helpless man when I am supposed to be the one to help him. I feel so disappointed for him. Hope tomorrow gets better. Bad mommy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5703148147439007353?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5703148147439007353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5703148147439007353' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5703148147439007353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5703148147439007353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/06/return-from-vacation-to-some-very-old.html' title='Return from vacation to some VERY old feelings'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2381381982892711105</id><published>2007-05-25T19:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-25T19:21:09.219-07:00</updated><title type='text'>En Vacance</title><content type='html'>The whole family is taking off on a MUCH needed vacation tomorrow. That means many things: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, I will not be blogging for the next week. My compulsive personality prevents me from taking a laptop because, frankly, I just cannot be trusted to not work. I hope while I am gone you will remember me when I come back and feel free to suggest some topics. I adore the comments and would like to have more interaction with the three or four people who read ;-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, our family is going to take this time to really revisit our work/life strategy. I am over-worked and feeling very stressed about the landscape of work. I am secure in my job, just not enjoying it. The bad thing is I have a great gig, just sick of it right now. I am going to spend some time on vacation talking with my partner to find some answers to better balance my job, change my role or get out altogether.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third, MORE TIME WITH MY BOYS. Upon my return, I am sure I will have countless tales of hilarity waiting to blog about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, I will be completely recharged. This vacation is taylored to give me and my family ample time to walk, talk, run and play. And my husband and I time to "reconnect".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I mention I needed this vacation and I cannot WAIT...Come to think of it, I am shutting this down and going to enjoy a beer on the porch with the hubby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Memorial Day!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2381381982892711105?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2381381982892711105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2381381982892711105' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2381381982892711105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2381381982892711105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/en-vacance.html' title='En Vacance'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8699541199150518282</id><published>2007-05-24T14:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T14:36:29.682-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm back!</title><content type='html'>There is nothing greater than seeing your child after you have been gone. They get so excited, almost as excited as I got. He looks happy, healthy and just so sweet, sweeter, in fact, than before. Oh, how I missed my boy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8699541199150518282?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8699541199150518282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8699541199150518282' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8699541199150518282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8699541199150518282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/im-back.html' title='I&apos;m back!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-815264393793869337</id><published>2007-05-21T21:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-21T21:51:55.080-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Business trips</title><content type='html'>I have never been one to like business travel, I was a road warrior for a few years. I have only been on two trips since the baby has been born. Tomorrow, I go, again. Man, I do hate it. I think about all I will miss while I am gone. I will miss one bath, two rocking to sleep, countless smiles, giggles, crawls and wiggles. I will miss two greetings coming home from work and several feedings. It is such a bummer. It is moments like these when I wonder over and over if it is worth it. There have been many moments of thinking about the worth of my work. I am currently considering having hubby go work for a year and then we alternate, makes it a little scary, but it is for sure a good consideration. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until then...Ugh...air travel...EARLY! Here's hoping it is free upgrade day!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-815264393793869337?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/815264393793869337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=815264393793869337' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/815264393793869337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/815264393793869337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/business-trips.html' title='Business trips'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-4573481466413810733</id><published>2007-05-18T09:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-18T09:22:14.989-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Being satisfied with what you are</title><content type='html'>I have been a mom now for about ten months and in this time, I have come across a number of different kinds of moms. I categorize them in the following ways:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A. The giddy mom&lt;br /&gt;B. The worried mom&lt;br /&gt;C. The competitive mom&lt;br /&gt;D. The thoughtful mom&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of them have their own way of managing group dynamics. What makes me sad if how all of them wish they were more like the others. Me, I think I am the thoughtful mom with a hefty dose of worried. I learned that the stay-at-home moms I know wish they were more like me. A few of them are total giddy moms. The ones who can only talk about little Jimmy's belly button and toes, etc. They are so excited about EVERYTHING. I wish I could be more like them. But at the center of it, I suppose I should be really happy with the mom that I am and not spend so much brain power trying to measure up to something that is elusive at best.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-4573481466413810733?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/4573481466413810733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=4573481466413810733' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4573481466413810733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/4573481466413810733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/being-satisfied-with-what-you-are.html' title='Being satisfied with what you are'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-6957496286852290308</id><published>2007-05-17T09:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-17T10:02:36.169-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Top 10 things I loved before baby...</title><content type='html'>That I am not so loving now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Flat shoes&lt;br /&gt;9. My career&lt;br /&gt;8. Staying up late&lt;br /&gt;7. My old jeans&lt;br /&gt;6. Cosmopolitans&lt;br /&gt;5. Running&lt;br /&gt;4. Wasting time &lt;br /&gt;3. Reading&lt;br /&gt;2. My boobs&lt;br /&gt;1. Sleeping on my back&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-6957496286852290308?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/6957496286852290308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=6957496286852290308' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6957496286852290308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6957496286852290308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/top-10-things-i-loved-before-baby.html' title='Top 10 things I loved before baby...'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-224854009087198873</id><published>2007-05-16T12:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-16T12:12:28.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing hookie</title><content type='html'>Lately my job has been an ego-crushing exercise in futility, so, today, I am playing hookie! YEAH! I remember as a kid playing hookie with my mom and dad every year. We would always go to the movies and out to lunch, it was the best. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I just wanted to spend time with my men and play. I knew it would cheer me up and lighten my day. I was right. I am burning out from work and my little sparkler will help light me back up in the push before our annual vacation. I am sure this will not be a good example for boy when he is older, but maybe it will be. Showing him that sometimes you need to recharge and get some grounding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, this little time off and thorough annoyance with work has made me a better mom. Boy and I are connecting more than ever before. I love playing with him even when he is being a whiney little tired baby. Makes me wonder if I should stay at home for a few months. I may have to look into this idea. It is really making my rethink my approach to paying the bills ;-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be well and if you can, play hookie!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-224854009087198873?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/224854009087198873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=224854009087198873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/224854009087198873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/224854009087198873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/playing-hookie.html' title='Playing hookie'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8831579155357201684</id><published>2007-05-15T11:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-15T11:31:56.706-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What the H*ll?!!?</title><content type='html'>I have often wondered what little kids get at Starbucks. I had always hoped it was cocoa, juice, smoothies, etc. Hope, indeed. In talking to a neighbor recently, he indicated that their TWO YEAR OLD LOVES COFFEE!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweet Jesus, are these people crazy!?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel bad giving boy Jamba Juice because of the sugar, but caffiene is a DRUG!! How is this not completely negligent. And yes, for those of you scoring at home, I am TOTALLY judging my neighbor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Babies should not have caffiene!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8831579155357201684?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8831579155357201684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8831579155357201684' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8831579155357201684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8831579155357201684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/what-hll.html' title='What the H*ll?!!?'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5133259095483741712</id><published>2007-05-14T12:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T12:18:33.104-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Mother's Day</title><content type='html'>Had a great day with Boy and hubby. Picnic and hike in the woods really grounded me with all the is going on. Boy is just tremendous. I have to admit, being a working mom makes me feel like I do not deserve a day to celebrate me because I am not his primary care taker. I told hubby this and he vehemently disagreed. He helped me realize that Mother's Day is to celebrate the fact that a woman can love to great depths and give of herself completely to two or more people. What a lovely thought!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5133259095483741712?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5133259095483741712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5133259095483741712' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5133259095483741712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5133259095483741712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/happy-mothers-day.html' title='Happy Mother&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1527909346517566485</id><published>2007-05-12T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-12T11:50:10.785-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Options are even different now...</title><content type='html'>I love opportunities and options. Just simply love them and if you read often, you know my current employ is driving me a little bananas. To sum it up, I am asked to absorb more than my fair share of pressure due to other people's failings and I find that unacceptable. So, I did what any person in my shoes would do, I updated my resume and shared with a few trusted allies that I am passively looking. Lo and behold, nibbles are coming in. One in particular has me intrigued. But alas, my new role as mom has put a completely different spin on the option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This particular option would require me to relocate. Fundamentally, I am not adverse to relocating. I have not been in one place for more than 5 years since graduating from college. No, this relocation would be overseas! A dream of mine and my husband's for many, many years. One in which we gave up on since boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now this great opportunity is in my court. Never would I have thought twice about moving overseas, but it isn't simply about me and hubby anymore, it is bigger than that, there are grandparents and aunts and friends to consider. There is boy himself, who I am sure would not mind at all, but the other people who care for him would sincerely mind. Although, his grandparents already live a pretty good flight away, but, it is not crossing an ocean. One set of grand'rents want to move to where we are, I wonder how that would work moving overseas. So much more to consider now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When people say your life and priorities change when you have a baby, I always thought it was because of the baby, now I realize it is because all of the joy that the baby brings to so many other people is yet another way things change. Didn't see this one coming. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay tuned.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1527909346517566485?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1527909346517566485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1527909346517566485' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1527909346517566485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1527909346517566485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/options-are-even-different-now.html' title='Options are even different now...'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-3880031964128984406</id><published>2007-05-10T10:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-10T10:26:17.186-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving baby - 1st time away</title><content type='html'>So, hubby and I left baby recently for some time away. So many of our friends prepared us to be upset and concerned and worried, oddly enough, we weren't...AT ALL. Now, this obviously should make me feel like a bad mom, but I didn't. Of course we missed him, but we didn't worry or feel bad at all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was awesome, was how he adjusted to a new person caring for him. I think we are really lucky. Our best friend came out and they were as happy as two peas in a pod. He did better for her than he does for us - that's what made me feel like a bad mom!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, we intend to get away again. The trip was a short 36 hours. We will probably make it 48 next time. And it was GREAT. We completely misbehaved, acted like irresponsible kids, got way too drunk and had a TON of fun. Cannot wait til someone else comes to visit!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-3880031964128984406?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/3880031964128984406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=3880031964128984406' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3880031964128984406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3880031964128984406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/leaving-baby-1st-time-away.html' title='Leaving baby - 1st time away'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-818308158851725383</id><published>2007-05-08T10:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T10:37:21.242-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Imagining the future</title><content type='html'>I saw a little girl today who could not have been 10 years old with a cell phone. I freaked out and started imagining what boy will want when he is 10. I can hear him now whining "But, mom, Jimmy has a cell phone chip in his head!!" And then I nearly crashed the car!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-818308158851725383?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/818308158851725383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=818308158851725383' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/818308158851725383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/818308158851725383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/imagining-future.html' title='Imagining the future'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8636490556478811326</id><published>2007-05-07T10:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-07T10:35:05.585-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Satisfactionally challenged</title><content type='html'>I remain incapable of being satisfied with who I am. I always want more, better. Oh, how I wish, I could just be satisfied with my place in the world, but no, striving inevitably happens. I have wonderful things, a great husband, a fabulous son and career, basically, I have it all. And for some reason, it is not enough. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is driving this, you may ask? Well, there are a few things that are making me nuts. I used to run, a lot. Run like the wind, ok, not really, but I could run. For a LONG TIME. Like 5-7 miles, a long time. Two years ago, I ran a marathon. I can barely go two miles now. It is so disappointing. My fitness is a mess. I care about this because I want to be a good example for the boy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am overweight now and it is killing me. My clothes don't fit well and I need to look nice for myself, my hubby and my job! It is a miserable palce to be. The challenge is this: When I am home, I want to be with Boy, when I am at work, well, I have to work. I have run out of time to run. And for some reason, walking everyday is cheating. It is the pansy way to fitness. I want to reconcile this in some way because I would love to be able to walk my way back to fitness. But, each time, I try to go for a walk, I end up running a little and beating myself up because I can't run well. ARGH!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a related note, I started a complete fitness and eating plan to get myself back in shape and feeling good. If I get to a certain, &lt;u&gt;attainable goal&lt;/u&gt;, I get &lt;strong&gt;A NEW CAR!!!&lt;/strong&gt;...can you tell I love The Price is Right??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8636490556478811326?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8636490556478811326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8636490556478811326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8636490556478811326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8636490556478811326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/satisfactionally-challenged.html' title='Satisfactionally challenged'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8776934707831110501</id><published>2007-05-04T09:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-04T09:22:11.636-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessions of a Hipster Mom</title><content type='html'>This article cracks me up. What is the big deal exposing your kids to different things. Our boy dresses just like his dad, which is cool. We listen to kids music that is not "kids" music. Why do people care??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/story?id=3135503&amp;page=1"&gt;Hipster Tots&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8776934707831110501?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8776934707831110501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8776934707831110501' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8776934707831110501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8776934707831110501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/confessions-of-hipster-mom.html' title='Confessions of a Hipster Mom'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7600679566405236561</id><published>2007-05-03T08:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-03T08:33:39.225-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Support is the key to everything</title><content type='html'>I know for sure that the most successful, happy working moms have support from two areas, good support. Those areas are their spouse and their employer. Right now, my employer is trying to kill me! I am accounable for an office. This office has to make money. In order to make money, my clients have to be happy. To achieve this, I need the right people working with clients and they need the right people supporting what we promise. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My boss is fab, she is incredibly supportive. But, there are two areas of our company that are broken and they are beginning to break me. I have two open positions that have been open for nearly two months. That means I am doing two and a half jobs not counting my job as mom. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other area that creates a lot of stress is keeping these clients happy, if they are unhappy, they leave. In normal circumstances, we have sales people who have a pipeline of new clients to replace ones who leave. It is a normal cycle. Well, we have no pipeline making it all the more stressful when clients are unhappy. Needless to say, I am an UNhappy working mom these days. Head below water, feverishly tresding water, but truthfully getting nowhere. Time to start making a new plan. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any ideas???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7600679566405236561?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7600679566405236561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7600679566405236561' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7600679566405236561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7600679566405236561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/05/support-is-key-to-everything.html' title='Support is the key to everything'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-9061521900804176614</id><published>2007-04-30T09:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-30T10:02:20.800-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pulling out baby pictures</title><content type='html'>I may be the only mom in the world who does not offer to show baby pictures at the drop of a hat. Reason, those people irritate me. Because of that, I don't. I also make a very solid effort only tell baby stories when asked. I realized recently that I was being so good about it when someone came into my office and asked whose baby was in the picture on my desk. I laughed and said, Mine! They were shocked to learn I had a baby. Aside from some pictures on my desk, I never carry pictures with me, just a few on my phone to share if asked. Most people think it is funny that the only images I have of my child are digital. I guess that means I am a dork...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-9061521900804176614?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/9061521900804176614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=9061521900804176614' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/9061521900804176614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/9061521900804176614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/pulling-out-baby-pictures.html' title='Pulling out baby pictures'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-3827897629211373037</id><published>2007-04-29T17:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-29T17:28:08.558-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Finally hitting my stride</title><content type='html'>Although this may come off as wildly arrogant, I am generally good at things I try. I think it means I only try things that I know I will be good at, but nonetheless, I have generally achieve what I st out to do, except, my foray into motherhood. I am near the top of my profession, I have run a number of marathons, I am a great wife, or at least, I think so. But, ah, motherhood has been a real pill. Until now. Over the past three weeks, I stopped taking the depression medication and am LOVING this mom thing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never, ever thought I would get as much out of it as I am getting now. This little bugger KILLS me. He is hilarious. He is making me a better person. It is just nuts. Today, we took boy to his first baseball game. He babbled and charmed most of the people around us. He never cried, whimpered, nothing, just smiled and babbled. We were sitting behind some solid hipsters, you know the type, well, I do, because I used to be one. And you could see they were tense that they were sitting in front of a little baby, but boy was no trouble to them. The reason I say he makes me a better person is because I woke up hung over today - I know, nice goin mom! - but because of him, I didn't care, I was just so excited to take him to a baseball game. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not naive enough to think my challenges are past me with motherhood, I am just thinking that these initial challenges may be behind me, what a relief that will be, either way, my stride is back!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-3827897629211373037?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/3827897629211373037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=3827897629211373037' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3827897629211373037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3827897629211373037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/finally-hitting-my-stride.html' title='Finally hitting my stride'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-7794966141638718797</id><published>2007-04-26T10:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-26T11:44:34.157-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby urges</title><content type='html'>I cannot believe it, but I want another baby. Not my own, mind you. Boy is a great genetic outcome and I am cnvinced I would never hit the lottery twice. However, I keep seeing these orphans in horrifying circumstances and I want nothing more than to give them a home, a chance and a whole lot of love. It is shocking to me that I want more children. But, I do. It is amazing the capacity to love and give grows each day. More could be better, but I just don't know. I think for now, I will stick with giving money until I know for sure that Boy wants a brother or sister and then we can go get one. Maybe that's the best plan!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-7794966141638718797?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/7794966141638718797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=7794966141638718797' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7794966141638718797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/7794966141638718797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/baby-urges.html' title='Baby urges'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-3480480895277374377</id><published>2007-04-24T19:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-24T19:13:46.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Off the meds</title><content type='html'>I have stopped taking my Zoloft and I feel so much more focused and happy. I get upset about things which is so normal for me, but, I am so enjoy having what feel like real feelings emotions and highs and lows. It's great. The meds got me through a very difficult time, but I am hoping it is all behind our family.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-3480480895277374377?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/3480480895277374377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=3480480895277374377' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3480480895277374377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3480480895277374377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/off-meds.html' title='Off the meds'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-1552877948285212154</id><published>2007-04-13T14:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-13T14:49:42.009-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Work babies</title><content type='html'>This is simply a rant that cannot be contained. I work very hard at my job and I take pride in the fact that over the years, I have developed a better filter between my mouth and my brain. I learned that honey is a better attractor than vinegar and I have become really skilled at getting the best from people. However, I have reached a breaking point over here and would like to rant about a work thing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please, for the love of GOD, take responsibility of your job, tasks and projects. I cannot cover for mistakes much longer. I cannot stand that people work so hard to say they want to be accountable only to point the finger of blame when things don't go great. I know where the bucks stops and generally, it stops with me, but COME ON! Help me out, recognize how hard it is to be accountable for everyone when no one will stand up and take responsibility when the crap hits the fan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess what I am saying is TRY FOR ONCE to think what it might feel like to be me or my team when you spend your energy covering your ass and your mistakes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least this is preparing me for the day my son breaks a lamp and blames it on the dog. However, I am pretty sure he will do a better job of not completely pissing me off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-1552877948285212154?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/1552877948285212154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=1552877948285212154' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1552877948285212154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/1552877948285212154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/work-babies.html' title='Work babies'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-8884012829610780763</id><published>2007-04-12T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-12T11:05:36.167-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A cure for the slumping shoulders</title><content type='html'>Warning: this post is a little racy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, the weight of the world was on my shoulders. My job is in crisis mode right now as we are understaffed and I have to take on more work. I have a few unhappy client right now which is like rubbing salt in a wound. And then, my son is obviously working on a milestone because he is a real pill to try to put to sleep. I get him to sleep and take a work call at 8 p.m. and it is a former employee who blames me for her departure. Then, I had to clean up from dinner and lo and behold the boy wakes up and I need to get him back to sleep. ARGH! So, I had the weigh of the world on my shoulders. I was slumping. I talked to my husband. He is such a good listener. He listened and validated my feelings, asked what he can take off my plate and it was great. Not only did he listen and help, he then initiated great sex! After than, I was cured! No more slumping shoulders, just relaxed happiness...I highly recommend this solution!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-8884012829610780763?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/8884012829610780763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=8884012829610780763' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8884012829610780763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/8884012829610780763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/cure-for-slumping-shoulders.html' title='A cure for the slumping shoulders'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-3752388013755760640</id><published>2007-04-11T13:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-11T13:50:04.258-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The first trip ot the ER!!!</title><content type='html'>Having a baby boy is like trying to maintain control of a snot-covered eel on a case of RedBull sometimes. And my little bugger is something to behold in this area. He crawls up my hip when I carry him, sticks his butt out and walks up my side, honestly. So, it was a matter of time before we would visit the ER. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week (naughty blogger for not posting sooner!), little man who is trying to crawl lunged for the television stand and bashed his tiny face on the bottom of the stand. He cut his face. Now, our son is pretty much ALL cheeks. You've seen this kid, their cheeks are lower than their chin! And because the cut was near his cheek with all that meat, it looked gaping. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I clutched him, put on his coat and rushed to the ER, where they proceeded to make fun of me for coming to the ER for such a suferficial wound. Seriously said, you should maybe talk to your pediatrician about what constitutes an emergency, I mean, he is exposed to more germs here than he is getting treatment for his scratch - well fine! I actually found this whole experience funny and completely first-time mom cliche'd. Made me feel totally normal! YEAH!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-3752388013755760640?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/3752388013755760640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=3752388013755760640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3752388013755760640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3752388013755760640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/first-trip-ot-er.html' title='The first trip ot the ER!!!'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5388971937811512467</id><published>2007-04-03T09:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-03T09:46:14.703-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy go crazy</title><content type='html'>I have post partum depression. I have never been depressed a day in my life. I have been so unbelievable lucky with great choices and outcomes my whole life. And now, I have this wonderful baby and am starting to get my footing here, but I have to take medication. It makes me so sad. I know it is chemical, but it is so alarming. I have always been decisive and driven and action oriented, now, I can barely get things crossed off my list, but because of the meds, I am fine with my list not getting done. I cannot wait for this to be over. If you have sadness and despair, get help, it is worth it and nothing to be embarrassed about, even though I am a little embarrassed! This blog is like therapy to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5388971937811512467?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5388971937811512467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5388971937811512467' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5388971937811512467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5388971937811512467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/happy-go-crazy.html' title='Happy go crazy'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-189020453739648335</id><published>2007-04-01T21:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-01T22:30:08.733-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Scarlet Letter - Ambition</title><content type='html'>For the first time in my life, I talked my way OUT of a promotion. I have been working so hard for so long lately. However, I have not missed out on anything with the boy. Typically, I get home just after 5...I have a tiny commute! And I finish my job after the little man is in bed. This works for our family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had my annual review this past week where my boss told me I was kicking tail, but have to start delegating and start innovating for the company again. I love having this permission. It really makes me feel empowered to get back to what I love doing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been driven my whole life. In the course of this year, I have excelled at work. Our company is driven by revenue and I lead my office to exceed targets. FAR exceed targets. This has led to talk of a promotion for me. When I talked to my boss about this at my review, she was very candid about the role and the promotion and said that it was mine for the taking. Normally, I would have said, yes, please right there on the spot, but I looked at the photo on my desk and said, let me think about it in terms of my current role and getting the most for my career and for the company. My boss was pleased and when I spoke to her the next day, I said, that I am thrilled to have this opportunity to evaluate, however, I have only been in this role for a year and think that I still have more to learn and want to be more prepared for the challenges of the next opportunity. She was pleased, but all I could think about was missing any more time with my son. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was like an out of body experience. I was just hovering over myself saying, nah, I will pass on this amazing opportunity to get even closer to the goal of running the company because, frankly, I am putting in enough time right now. I can see someday down the road taking that role on, but for now, I am happy to continue to grow in my current job as my son learns to crawl. So when people ask my if having kids changed me, I just smile and say, in more ways than I could have ever known.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-189020453739648335?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/189020453739648335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=189020453739648335' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/189020453739648335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/189020453739648335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/04/scarlet-ambition.html' title='The Scarlet Letter - Ambition'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-78175985912281079</id><published>2007-03-26T16:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-26T17:00:03.126-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lack of focus</title><content type='html'>Is it me alone, or have you, too, lost all ability to focus. I cannot pay attention to anything for any period of time. I am contantly distracted and I wish so much I could get it back together. Does it get better? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I can tell you that the having a kid part has gotten AWESOME all of a sudden. We are hitting our stride. He is just such a little goof. Everything is funny to him, I love it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if I could just focus long enough to remember what this post was supposed to be about!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-78175985912281079?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/78175985912281079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=78175985912281079' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/78175985912281079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/78175985912281079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/03/lack-of-focus.html' title='Lack of focus'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-6631034132494707133</id><published>2007-03-23T10:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-23T10:10:12.617-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An open letter</title><content type='html'>Dear Other Moms,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I appreciate many women have dreamt of being mothers their whole life, some of us didn't have that experience. And although it is not your intent - it better not be - your blind enthusiasm for the entire experience makes the rest of us feel bad. Your child is screaching like mine does. How is this music to your ears? Poopy diapers are not all the funny. Spit up is gross. Are you pretending? If you are, remind me to never play poker with you! It feels terrible feeling inadequate comparing ourselves to you. Please know this is not to be bashing in any sense. If you do have any tips or tricks I could try, I am all ears, PLEASE share.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, if you are putting on a front, please don't do it for us, save it for your family or better yet, the people who have not had kids yet ;-) We need to be solidly together, honest and transparent. Knowing that there are hard parts from other women keeps the rest of us from coming unglued. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much love,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Briefcase Mama&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-6631034132494707133?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/6631034132494707133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=6631034132494707133' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6631034132494707133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/6631034132494707133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/03/open-letter.html' title='An open letter'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-3963840632314359791</id><published>2007-03-20T21:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T21:12:57.438-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The girls and my little man</title><content type='html'>My journey was a round-about through the countryside and back again. When I discovered I was pregnant, I was certain I would not be able to nor want to breastfeed. The thought of being a food source freaked me out. A lot! I really could not imaging a baby suckling at my breast. In fact, I can barely type the word suckling without shivering. (Not my favorite word.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, I learned how great it is for both mom and baby.  I heard it is a beautiful and natural thing. I understood it would help the baby's immune system, brain growth. I also understood it would be a great way to take off the extra baby weight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, then, I tried it. We tried hard. Really hard. And failed. A lot. My son would not latch effectively. My nurses in the hospital were cruel and had a hard time understanding my resistance to formula. I really wanted to breastfeed my son. We did not flourish. It was my first taste of failure as a mother. I was only three days in!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We tried and tried. We started to get the hang of it, but not consistently. I used a shield and he did well with that. I even managed to feed him on demand at the doctor's office. I was so proud! The doctor them told me how inconvenient shields would be. So, I made the first of MANY mistakes and listened to the doctor despite proof to the contrary. I stopped using the shield. And guess what, we failed. I tried the shield again, but by this time, my little boy could not figure out the breast. I was devestated. He cried and wailed each time to tried to put him on my breast. He was failing to gain adequate weight after 10 days. We called a lactation consultant. She indicated that he had a lazy tongue and I would have to increase my supply and go back to shields. I would need to try to feed him and then pump for 15 minutes. He would be fed breastmilk and supplemented with formula. I promised to try this through the weekend and if he was unable to latch effectively, we would go to formula.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to formula. I cannot tell you how many tears I cried over this failure in my mind. However, within weeks, my son was thriving and I was recoving from my loss. My husband, always the trooper, was right there by my side. He encouraged me to do what I felt was best for all of us. He stated over and over that a happy mom is better for a baby than her breast. I suppose he is right, but, it was hard to swallow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sad thing is, I still feel judged when I pull out a bottle of formula to feed my son. Other moms are still breastfeeding and I feel like they think I am lazy or don't love my son. And then, I met a mom who said, what I wouldn't give to pull out a bottle and just feed him. I guess the grass is always greener.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Postcript to this post: I recently drove past a billboard that said "Babies are born to be breastfed" and it was sponsored by the government. This made me feel so bad about not being able to accomplish breastfeeding. I wish people would be more sensitive to mothers. We really do try to do the best we can.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-3963840632314359791?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/3963840632314359791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=3963840632314359791' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3963840632314359791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/3963840632314359791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/03/girls-and-my-little-man.html' title='The girls and my little man'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-5801979900847805559</id><published>2007-03-16T12:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-16T12:19:54.172-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Proud mom of an average child</title><content type='html'>Went to the doctor recently and my boy is average. Awesomely so, in my opinion! And I got to thinking, why do so many parents think their child is special and above average. It just isn't possible. Someone has to be average and someone has to be below average. Everytime I talk to a parent these days, it is all about how ahead they are of milestones, how they are in the 95 percentile of everything. They say it as if they got an A in weight or head size! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is wrong with a kid hitting milestones on time? What is wrong with the 50th percentile? Maybe I am being sensitive because my son is regular!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-5801979900847805559?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/5801979900847805559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=5801979900847805559' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5801979900847805559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/5801979900847805559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/03/proud-mom-of-average-child.html' title='Proud mom of an average child'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-319750156596942869</id><published>2007-03-15T11:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T11:53:14.749-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Damned if you do, damned if you don't</title><content type='html'>We are thinking about taking a trip and leaving our son with a trusted family member. Sounds sane, logical and completely safe. But I swear I cannot reconcile it. I am so worried about how he will do with someone else while I am out and about with hubby. And it got me thinking, I feel guilty about everything all the time. Anyone else feel like this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, I feel terrible when I have to rock him to sleep that I am setting up bad sleeping patterns, but I would feel bad if I let him cry himself to sleep. I feel bad for giving him a paci instead of letting him calm himself. I feel bad about everything all the time. How can this be? I swear I am doing some things right, or maybe not. I just cannot escape the feeling that I am not doing the right things for the long haul. Then, I try to remember my baby-hood. Of course, I can't and he won't either. But I can't remember that or believe it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish there was something that anyone could do more to make me and moms like me feel confident about our abilities. I know I could use that, preferably in cocktail form ;-) Or maybe I am alone in this one. Of all the things I have talked about with other moms, this is not one that has come up yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It makes me wonder, when will I feel successful at mothering like I do at work?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-319750156596942869?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/319750156596942869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=319750156596942869' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/319750156596942869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/319750156596942869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/03/damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-dont.html' title='Damned if you do, damned if you don&apos;t'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2473119354136532869</id><published>2007-03-14T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T10:58:39.927-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fascinating study</title><content type='html'>I found this article recently and think it is fascinating. &lt;a href="http://nymag.com/news/features/27840/"&gt;http://nymag.com/news/features/27840/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We need to be careful about even being nice these days.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2473119354136532869?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2473119354136532869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2473119354136532869' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2473119354136532869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2473119354136532869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/03/fascinating-study.html' title='Fascinating study'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7156783816342752221.post-2356123973800889091</id><published>2007-03-13T10:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-13T10:03:25.058-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ah, dates</title><content type='html'>So, we finally broke down and got ourselves a temporary nanny to come twice a month to give me and my honey regular dates. Oh, how I missed dating! And despite being married for about 100 years, we still dated before the boy. We dated a lot. Once or twice a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since the boy, not much, maybe once a month. Well, that certainly takes a toll on even the most solid relationships. So, nanny it is. It was a great day when we got the application and filled it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the nanny came and we went out for dinner. What happened...we talked about the baby! The irony was too much. We did have a nice time. And it is so amazing to have time to talk to each other like married people. It is also amazing to leave the responsibility for a few hours to realize how much you love and miss that little creature. According to the nanny, he wailed for about an hour, but she was able to get him back to sleep. We were thrilled she wanted to come back for more the next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot believe how important the simple act of dating is on a new mom. You remember you are a woman, you have a great man, you can eat without bouncing your knee, you can speak in your normal pitch WITHOUT whispering...all wonderful things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More dates to come...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7156783816342752221-2356123973800889091?l=admom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/feeds/2356123973800889091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7156783816342752221&amp;postID=2356123973800889091' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2356123973800889091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7156783816342752221/posts/default/2356123973800889091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://admom.blogspot.com/2007/03/ah-dates.html' title='Ah, dates'/><author><name>Working Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07920783350730878562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
