sorry, I tried. . .

You don’t know how many times I tried to fix the post below (my boobs. . .), but I couldn’t get the pasted email to separate the paragraphs.  So, get your reading glasses out and your piece of paper and line it up with each line on the monitor and begin to read.  More than likely, Jess will take one look at this, break into my wordpress account and fix it along with a few words that aren’t spelled correctly.  Sorry for the headache you are about to receive from straining to read the post below!


my boobs. . .

Today or rather yesterday since it is 12:14 a.m. was my last day of breastfeeding.  I wasn’t so sad with Emma as I was with Ellie.  I knew that I would have more children and breastfeed again, but since Ellie’s my last, I know that’s it.  Also, when Emma would walk up to me during commercials to feed, I kind of knew that we were done.  Ellie’s is more of a “wham bam, thank you ma’am” breastfeedee.  She’s done in less than 10 minutes so she can get on with playing. 

 I still accomplished a personal goal and breastfeed my girls for over a year each.  Emma was 14 months and Ellie was 12 months.  In this day and age, I am one of the few women that still breastfeeds.  There maybe more out there, but in the privacy of my F-150 truck or lack of, I don’t see too many moms hiding from passerbys as they feed their babies.  I should have been one of those moms that went into a restaurant and bared all as I breastfed my child.  Then again, most customers would lose their appetite and that’s not good for business.  So as you all may have guessed, the boob emails and all boob talk has ended.  As a tribute to my last breastfeeding topic, I’ll enclose my last breastfeeding email I sent out when I starting the weaning process with Emma.

  Hello again~ This will be my last email. . .relating to my boobs.  I got you for a sec didn’t I??  I know, I know, everyone’s thinking, “No boob comments?  What will Stephanie talk about now?  I’m so confused and angry with her!  We want boob conversation!”  Okay, I understand.  The relationship that ya’ll, my wonderful readers, have developed with my chest is going to be missed, but we will get through this.  We’ll take baby steps.  Speaking of baby, mine just turned the big 1 (not to be confused with the big 50 that my parents are now. . .wow, Mom is 49 years older than Emma, wow.  I’m not going to say anything more because my mom babysits my child in return for unlimited Diet Cokes, in a bottle I might add.  I’m not cheap!).   Emma had a great birthday party on Saturday, the 19th, came down with what the doctors thought was Roseola (a high fever followed by a body rash) on Tuesday, broke the high fever Friday, TURNED ONE ON SATURDAY and ate out lunch with Mama and Dada to celebrate, no sign of body rash over the weekend and finally had her one-year-old shots on Wednesday.  Needless to say, the previous two weeks have been a little busy.  Nothing says happy first birthday like a good ole’ rash (funny, I thought it was a hang over?).   Now back to my BOOBS.  What a great word, huh?  Anyway, we are in the process of using whole milk instead of BOOBY milk (ok, I’ll stop).  And let me clarify something, when I say “WE” I mean I am the one doing the milk work and Dustin is supporting, I mean he’s not squirting milk into a bottle, is he?  To explain why Dustin is not doing more work, here is the following story for your enjoyment.  Once upon a time when I was pregnant, Dustin read a book (yes, Dustin did come from River Road and he can read,  I thought it was amazing myself.  Whereas I came from Randall; however, I chose to wait til I got married to have a child.  We both beat the odds.).  And the book was not an ordinary book, no, this one said that a man could actually produce milk.  You see, when a man and a woman are close enough, the man can get some of the woman’s hormones during the pregnancy.  After reading this, Dustin put down the book and slowly moved to the other side of the living room as far as possible away from me.  He complains about all the pillows I slept with while I was pregnant, but if he would have ever woke up in the middle of the night with the bed wet because he was lactating. . .well, that would have been pretty funny.  The End.   Anyway about this weaning thing.  You know back when Emma was 9 months old, I was already for her to start whole milk.  The sooner I didn’t have to wake up at 3:36 in the morning, EVERY morning would be wonderful.  But now that the time has come that she’s down to half an ounce of breast milk and 5 ounces of whole milk, it’s a little sad.  I’m sad because that was the one thing I could do to calm Emma down and even make her go to sleep.  Technically, because of my boobs, I knew how to raise a child.  WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW??  Without my boobs, I am nothing.  Is it just me or was that a little dramatic?   It’s weird, but breastfeeding was the best bonding time that me and Emma had.  Don’t get me wrong when my boobs are a little closer to my chin and not so much hanging around my belly button (did ya’ll get a visual on that?) that’ll be great. . .and what’s that one thing called, oh yah, cleavage. . .totally can’t wait to see what that looks like again.  I am sad though.  I think Dustin’s sad too, but for different reasons (I’m going to stop there).  However, I’m not too excited about this binding the girls up and wearing a sports bra.  But, when it starts to hurt, I’ll just remember the times that Emma was teething and used my nipple as a chew toy.  Ahh, those were the days.  Why again am I going to miss this breastfeeding?  Tonight, if all goes well for the next couple of days, has been my last night to use a breast pump.  No more talking on the phone to Jess and her saying, “I can guess what your doing.”  No more waking Dustin up in the middle of the night with my really annoying alarm that sometimes does not wake me up before it wakes him up.  No more going to bed at 1:30 a.m. and waking up 2 hours later, staying up for 30 minutes pumping, getting back to bed by 4:00 a.m. and getting up at 6:45 a.m. to either pump again or maybe sleep in a little bit and wait for Emma to wake up at 7:45 a.m. to feed her.  No more being late to events even if I did get ready 3 hours before we have to go.  No more being something out of Africa or once seen in a National Geographic (thanks Mom and Jess).  No more trying on a strapless shirt and showing Jess and she walk out of the dressing room laughing.  No more wearing a bra for 23 hours and 45 minutes a day, 365 days a year.  NO MORE!!   You may have been wondering what the number stood for in the subject line of this e-mail.  No, it’s not the number of times Dust and I have done the horizontal hokie-pokie (he,he,he), it’s the number of hours I have worn a bra since March 25, 2004.  In case ya’ll don’t know, when you breastfeed, you have to wear a bra 24/7 so that your BOOBIES don’t hang down to your knees.  I take a 15 minute shower or bath every day and that leaves me with wearing an over the shoulder boulder holder the rest of the 23 hours and 45 minutes of the day.  Needless to say the 18-hour Cross Your Heart Bra left me hanging (funny choice of words) for 2,093 hours this past year.  Ahh, my dad the accountant is so proud at how I put my math skills to work.  First I calculated the number of diapers and the amount of money we had given to Wal-Mart within two months of Emma’s birth and now how long I have worn a bra.  What’s next?  How many minutes I have taken away from ya’lls lives?  Well, let’s see.  if you take each person I send my e-mail to, we’ll call that “B”.  Then if you consider that each of my e-mails takes 5 minutes to read, we’ll call that “O”.  If we do that, then we have to add “O” twice because how many of you have told me that you like my e-mails and commented on particular parts, therefore, you are in a way reading my e-mail again.  Now we have to take into account that Dad likes to forward my e-mails to other people, so he is sending the e-mail to more people, so we have to add “B” again.  So to make this an actual equation, we’ll put “S” as the answer.  Okay, what do we have here:  B+O+O+B=S.  I had to get that in there one more time.  I know my dad is so proud.  I’m still doing homework, can’t wait til I graduate in May.  Talk to ya’ll soon. A soon-to-be asleep Steph, a sleeping Dustin and a snoring Emma
The irony here is that Ellie just got over a case of Roseola and that my since of humor hasn’t changed since April 1, 2005 (when I wrote the original email).  I still talk about my boobs and try to make most people as uncomfortable as possible with my brutally honest description of my life or typical day.. . .ohh and the number is 8,882 hours and 50 minutes, not counting the binding of the girls (I mean my boobs and not my children) and the wearing of the sports bra.  I knew everyone was dying to know.  As I read this email, my thoughts on everything are the same.  It’s like I wrote this email last night.  Granted if I (the me now) giving myself (the me then) advice, I would say, “Just put ketchup on it and Emma will eat it.”  Out of all the parenting advice I could give, that’s the one thing I thought of.  Merry Christmas everyone!!
A non-pumping breastmilk Steph, sleeping Dustin, snoring Emma and a tossing and turning Ellie

my oversized heart. . .


And today has come and gone like any other day.  You can’t wait for your child to sleep through the night or even five solid hours. . .and then she does.  You can’t wait for your child to say Mama. . .and then she does.  You can’t wait for your child to crawl. . .and then she does.   You can’t wait for your child to walk. . .and then she does.  So many milestones and it’s only been one year.  She achieved more in one year than she will in any other year of her life.  I couldn’t wait to sleep, I couldn’t wait for her to be mobile, but now I can.  Ellie did an amazing thing today, she turned 1.

365 days ago, I couldn’t wait to have this baby, but now I can.  One year has gone by so fast and it makes me wonder if the next time I close my eyes, Emma will be driving a car and Ellie will have mastered the art of rolling her eyes as she walks away from me telling her no.  She’ll also be grounded from the phone because I have eyes in the back of my head and I saw that.

When we waited for our Noelle, because little did we know we would never call her Noelle but Ellie, I never thought I could love a child as much as my Emma.  I have now understood why women get bigger during their pregnancy.  You may think it is just a baby growing inside their belly, but it is their heart that is becoming larger.  How could a mother be expected to have so much love with an average sized heart?  They don’t share their love between their childrn.  Their love grows for each individual child.

I look at Ellie and I see my heart toddling around ouside my body.  I clean up tonight’s birthday meal of macaroni and cheese in peace as the girls’ play in Ellie’s room.  I hear Emma screaming and here she comes running to hide in the corner of the kitchen.  Slowly but trying as fast as her little legs will carry her, Ellie’s on her way to catch her big sister.  Emma screams and Ellie has completely forgotten she is the chaser and now hides her head between my legs as the chasee.  Emma tickles Ellie and they head off to the livingroom, Emma leading and Ellie right behind surely to follow.  Like two peas in a pod that are different as night and day.  There goes my oversized heart to play with the train around the Christmas tree.

Dustin had class tonight, what a way to spend his birthday.  Emma is in bed and I’m on my way to get the bedtime bottle for Ellie.  She finishes it and lays on me while I burp her.  I rock her off to sleep as I have done for the last 355-360 days.  Happy Birthday my baby girl.  I love you more than you will ever know.

Goodnight my angel, now it’s time to dream,

And dream how wonderful your life will be.

Someday your child will cry and if you sing this lullabye

Then in your heart, there will always be a part of me.

Ellie’s 1st Birthday Party. . .

cake.jpgcake2.jpgWho’s child is this that devours a cake with such force that she is afraid her Mama will take it away at any moment?  Who’s child is this that is smearing icing up in her nose, trying to fit as much sugar in her mouth?  Who’s child is this that will soon poop out this green and red make nasty looking purple poopy?  Any takers on changing that diaper???  This child would be Noelle Cambryn. . .aka. . .Ellie Bellie, daughter of Stephanie “wipe your hands before you go and play with anything” Tow.  Jack went nuts at his 1st birthday with his cake as well as Lukey.  Emma didn’t like the thought of getting her hands dirty, so the baby digging into her cake pictures went right out the window with her.  As I’m typing this, Emma just asked me for a washcloth to wipe her face because she had oatmeal mouth. . .ohh how I love my little clean freak version of my Mom and I.  And then there was Ellie. . .

Ellie’s new eating habit is chewing on bread or green beans or peaches, chewing it up for a little bit, then pulling it out with her hand and then finish eating it.  She is thoughtful enough to hold it out to me and say, “bi?” (bite).  Such good manners.  As Emma sits at the table working on her third bite of food, Ellie’s already signing “more” before I’ve even got the spoon out of her mouth.  Her birthday cake was no exception.  I did have to take the cake away, and in true Ellie form, she growled at me.  Here are a couple of pictures of the cake destroying process.  The Papa-razzi took all of the pictures, so I’ll post those when I get a CD from him.  This is the short version of my Ode to Ellie’s Birthday, so if you think this one is long (Chase), you need not read the entry that is to follow.  You can’t sum up an entire year in one paragraph.