Last winter, my husband and I and my two preschool aged children went snow tubing for the first time. We were so excited for a weekend getaway and to have fun in the snow.

As we walked up to the snow mountain that late morning all bundled up in our jackets, hats and gloves, I saw a pile of snow tubes – some regular sized ones, and next to them, a pile of oversized tandem ones. Since my husband and I would each be riding down with a child, we need to take the huge, monster-truck-tire-looking tandem ones. As I picked one up and realized how heavy it was, I saw the long uphill path leading to the conveyor belt that would take us to the top of the hill. I knew it would be challenging to make the walk, and wondered if I would realistically be able to do it.

Then, my 2-year old daughter started crying so I picked her up, and with the snow tube in one hand and my daughter in the other arm, walked to the conveyor belt. We rode the belt up the hill, and settled into the tube ready to be pushed down.

As we shot down the snow hill in our tube, the wind rushed through my daughter’s and my hair, and she shrieked in delight (and a little fear)! When we got to the bottom, my daughter screamed, “Again, Mommy! Again!” Even though it was another strenuous walk back to the base where we would be taken up, my daughter’s excitement was worth it.  

As we trudged back up the hill for our second ride down, our cheeks red from the cold, I felt strength in my legs, my back and my core as I walked. I felt a surge of energy, and I had no doubt I could make it again. I was thrilled at the thought of riding down the hill again with my little girl.

My kids wanted to stop snow tubing before I did that day – they got distracted by playing in the snow--but I was energized and excited after partaking in such a fun activity.

I didn’t always feel this way, though.

When I put on over 40 pounds while I was pregnant with my daughter, and came home after birth with 20 extra pounds still left, I didn’t feel good about myself at all. I felt tired, like I could sleep all night long (which I couldn’t do with a crying newborn anyway), but then still needed more sleep when I woke up. I was drowsy, and didn’t have the energy I used to.

Months after her birth, I preferred play dates where the older kids would play and I could sit down on the couch with a cup of tea and snacks.  The thought of doing something active like walking around a museum or going outside for a bike ride with my older son seemed like too much work. I was tired, my back hurt, and I preferred to sit down. On the days I would take them out, I’d go home and feel so tired that I’d wait for my husband to come home so I could pass out in exhaustion.

It didn’t help that I had met so many people that had babies and said they never got their body back. “Why would my experience be any different?” I thought. I wanted to fit back into my pre-pregnancy jeans, and I also yearned to feel better- emotionally and physically. I wanted to have the energy to take my kids to the zoo, apple-picking, and push them on the swings without dreading exhaustion.

I’ve worked hard for my entire life to lose weight and keep it off, failing many times, so I wasn’t sure that anything I tried would work. This time, I tried something different and easier than all the weight loss diets I had attempted during the course of my life. I made changes in my eating that would be sustainable for the long-term, and not a fad. I learned new recipes and meal ideas, and tried out new workouts. I tried to avoid eating out – it was unhealthy and it cost way too much. I valued home-cooked food and it was so important to me to be able to provide food for my family. To make it work with my busy life I simplified how I cooked and which recipes I used. I developed easy ways to make meals, such as using my crockpot and cooking meals in bulk. Most importantly, I made sure the food was tasty so that my family would want to eat it. I didn’t have the time to spend two hours a day in the gym, so I tried my best to become healthy as efficiently as possible.

By the time I went back to work a few months later I had lost 20 pounds. Changes to my diet were the biggest driver in my results, and I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight. Unfortunately, I no longer had as much time to commit to my weight loss efforts. I had a lot of new priorities I needed to balance, like childcare, work deadlines, and figuring out how to stay sane in the middle of it all. Since I had already done the work to test and establish a healthier lifestyle,I just stuck to the principles.

By the time my daughter turned 1, I lost 20 more pounds by continuing to eat the recipes I had developed and following the habits I set up. I was at a lower weight than I was been before I got pregnant – and than any other time in my adult life!  I was able to fit into the jeans I wanted to wear, and I felt confident and energetic.

Now, instead of being exhausted from activities with the kids, I look forward to taking my kids to the park, going down slides with them, and pushing them over and over on the swing. I love going bike riding with them, having dance-a-thons at home, and giving them piggy back rides all over our house.

Losing weight helped to make me feel so much better about myself and gave me tremendous energy. The best part is, I’m able to do so much more than before with my family and kids - and they’re reaping in the benefits.

It feels amazing!

Nagina helps busy women lose weight and feel more energy. Sign up for her email list at masala body to receive her tasty recipes and tips.

Today marks a full year since two little girls, seven-month old J and 20-month old D, were brought to my house with some clothes, a diaper bag, a couple blankets and - thanks to the foster care agency - two large bags full of toys. Little D was quiet and serious. Tiny J in her infant car seat made it known that I was not to leave her sight. After the social workers filled out forms and gave me a piece of paper certifying that the girls were in my care, they got in their cars and drove off. My brother-in-law and mother, who had whipped the house into shape before the girls’ arrival, dispensed hugs and kisses before reluctantly walking out the front door. Even though I had never been a parent, I wanted to be left alone with the girls. I wanted them to know I was the person who was going to be raising them, the person they could count on. Since that afternoon, it has been the three of us, D, J and I, facing the world together.

I found the girls a daycare easily, through the Department of Human Services’ (DHS) list of registered providers. However, their daycare provider - who didn’t charge more than low fees DHS covered - didn’t inspire a lot of confidence. Her house was tiny, she often had more kids than she was licensed to care for, and always had more than she was allowed to manage on her own. She didn’t teach the kids anything, just had a TV running all day and basically fed the kids and kept them alive until the parents picked them up. She was nice, but not someone who was going to teach J - who physically was behind for her age - how to roll over, and D - who should’ve been saying a few words by then - how to speak.

As the first month wore on without confirmation from DHS that she would be paid for her work, the provider was unwilling to watch them full time, repeatedly claiming they were too sick to stay at daycare, forcing me to leave work in order to pick them up. So while paying a friend out of my own pocket, I did everything in my power to get in touch with the right people at DHS and searched everywhere to find good daycares that accepted DHS payments. Most daycares charge parents the difference between DHS payments and school costs, which may result in paying $200 or more per week. Finally, I found a good school that only charged me a monthly copay for each girl. Even though I finally received approval for the first daycare, there was no going back. I continued to pay my friend to watch my girls for another two weeks until the new daycare had openings for both of my girls.

The first week at their new daycare, D got sick. And then, the slippery slope of daycare combined with winter began. The girls were sick often and rarely slept through the night, which meant that I was certainly not getting any sleep. At the end of March, we began a five week odyssey in which one or all of us was sick every single day. In addition, my house was a disaster, I didn’t have any help cleaning it and I was getting more and more depressed. Finally, the day arrived when nobody was sick. Two days, three days and then a week passed without any of us falling ill. I felt like a miracle had occurred. I also concluded that paying someone to clean my house would be a smart investment and hired someone to clean once a week. Since then, nothing I’ve encountered has been as tough as those five, miserable weeks.

Being a single parent means everything comes down to me. Cooking, grocery shopping, emptying a full trunk after shopping (I hate that), laundry, home upkeep, filling out forms, making calls, taking the kids to the doctor, even organizing, shopping for and buying food and decorations for the girls birthday party. It’s all me. Sleep is not something to get easily. But I knew that was the case going in and I think I’ve weathered it pretty well. I ask friends, coworkers and family for advice on everything from sleep training to snack ideas. Those same people have come through in a number of ways, helping me do house repairs, unexpectedly offering to play with the kids while I run errands, and coming up with solutions to the many dilemmas that crop up with parenting. It has made me feel connected to communities near and far as long-distance and local friends find ways to help me be a better parent to the girls.

One lesson I have had to learn is how to ask for help. One person cannot raise two kids by herself. My sanity has been tested many times, and a couple times I have had to call a friend and ask “Can you please come over?” Just having someone to talk to who also pays extra attention to the kids, can be life and sanity saving. I am so grateful to the friends who have come through for me in those moments when I felt I was about to crack.

The best side of being a single parent is that I know it’s just me and the kids and there can be no illusions of adult grandeur when there is only one adult. When the girls and I go out to eat, there is no adult conversation to be had at our table - especially when neither of the girls had started holding conversations - and there was no point in acting like a boring grown-up. One time the three of us were at a Japanese restaurant and one-year-old J tilted her head to the side. Then she slowly tilted it toward the other side. I self-consciously grinned as I copied her, even though the sushi chefs were mere feet away. J tilted her head to the other side again, and I mimicked her. D saw what we were doing and tilted her head as well, and soon the three of us were looking at each other giggling as we goofily tilted our heads side to side, following little J’s lead. To this day, one of the girls will spontaneously tilt their head to the side and the rest of us will join in, all of us breaking into laughter at our inside joke.

That exchange taught me another lesson. I may dole out the discipline (and hugs) but I am not the only one in charge. All three of us are part of this relationship, we all have a say. A family dance party may start not because I’ve  decided to put in a CD, but because D turned on the stereo and J turned up the volume. Life with kids is spontaneous, funky and fun. When the girls are really challenging and I begin to lash out in frustration, I’ve discovered one of the best remedies is to break out into silly dance moves and the girls usually start cracking up. Making a fool out of myself and getting all of us laughing sets the restart button and as the adult, it’s always my job to get us back on track. Easier said than done, of course, but well worth the effort.

The best part of all of this is that the girls are doing great. As their first social worker pointed out a few weeks in, the girls have become very happy little girls. J learned to roll over and began walking shortly after her first birthday. D is now stating her observations in long sentences and singing songs - including the alphabet songs in English and Spanish - loudly, anywhere, any time. And I have become a fairy godmother, able to heal an “ouchie” with just a kiss on little fingers or knees. They are little comedians, dancers and expert huggers, and I get to reap the benefits of their comedy shows, dance parties and embraces. I feel immeasurable joy when J calls out  “mama” so she can show me how well she wiggles to the music, and D points out that she has buckled her seatbelt by herself, once again. I am their world, and they are mine.

A month ago, I started looking for charms I could wear on a bracelet, representing what D and J mean to me. I found silver stick figures that could be filled with the girls’ birthstones, but I felt like something was missing. Then I received a card in the mail from my friend Gretchen. Inside was a bracelet with two gold-colored owls and one silver owl in between them. It was perfect. After all, it’s not just that the girls have given me the opportunity to have kids, or that I’ve given them a second mom, it’s that we’ve given each other what we wanted - a happy family.

As I sped up the Garden State Parkway the other day, running late for a school fundraiser, I began thinking about balance. Is it even possible in this day and age? If so, am I striking anything close to it? I doubt it.

As a mostly stay-at-home-mom of two small children (ages 4 and 20 months) who also works about 25 hours a week at two different jobs, many people ask, “how do you do that?” Some days, I just don’t know. I sometimes think that I have the best of both worlds – I am with my children every morning of the week (and two afternoons), I am still progressing in my career, and my life is never boring. Sometimes I think that I have the worst of both worlds, as I grade papers at nap time, see clients long after my children are asleep at night, and feel that the only “me time” I get is in the car on the way to, or from, work.

Some days it goes beautifully. I spend some glorious hours playing with my children outside; I feel energized after a student says she really learned a lot in my class; a client I have been seeing is doing better. I come home, the house is straightened up, the kids are asleep, and I can catch up with the hard-working hubby after a long, but satisfying, day.

Some days it all falls apart. The kids are sick, my clients are in crises, my students are being difficult, and my babysitter is running late. I lose my mind, cut corners as needed, accept help when offered, and have mommy melt downs. Mostly though, I worry about the impact on my kids.

Am I teaching them how much I value time with them or do I say “in a minute” too often as I try to balance too much?

Am I teaching them that they can be fulfilled in many different aspects of their lives or am I teaching them to run a rat race that never ends?

Am I teaching them the value of friendship as we run to yet another birthday party or am I teaching them that it’s hard to say no?

Am I teaching them balance (or an attempt at balance) or am I teaching them an insane juggling act, which leaves little time for self-care?

Only time will tell, I guess. For now, I will just continue to go to the park and play “Pooh and Piglet” while ignoring my students’ emails, be present for my clients and not worry if the babysitter is feeding the kids crap again, and answer my students’ questions while not thinking about the baby’s nap schedule. I will continue the insanity and hope that I have chosen the right path for myself, because most days I feel that I have. Maybe, just maybe, my kids will figure out how in the hell to live balanced lives, and they will explain to me that I didn’t get it right but I did my best. At least one can hope.

Oh, and I made it to the fundraiser. At least on that one day, I was able to get everything done and achieve some sort of balance. Maybe during the elementary school years….

“Trouble, trouble me
Disturb me with all your cares and your worries
Trouble me
On the days when you feel spent
Why let your shoulders bend underneath this burden
When my back is sturdy and strong? Trouble me.”

My husband, Arun, played this 10,000 Maniacs song for me a few months ago. We had just learned that I had a brain tumor and would need surgery in a few days to remove it. There was so much to do and it all happened so fast I didn’t even have time to think about that fact that in less than one week my skull would be sawed open and a part of my brain--unwanted though it was--would be sliced off.  

Before I got the news about the tumor, I had been planning our move to another state, and now had to dedicate time postponing the move, rescheduling movers and subletters, changing school start dates and having to take an extended leave from my demanding job. Most of all, I was worried about my boys.

Arun is a fantastic, totally hands-on dad. Up until then, we would both get the kids ready in the morning and he would take them to school. But he was usually never home before the kids were in bed, so I was responsible for the evenings – school pickups, dinners, baths, books, cuddles, bedtime and getting ready for the next day. As most moms with two boys who are 18 months apart will tell you, caring for them keeps you on your toes, but I loved it. I loved the routine and stability, the time I had alone with them and feeling proud that I could do it all. I never really needed to trouble anyone with my cares or worries or burdens because I didn’t have to.  

Like most moms, I have a certain way of doing things (the right way!) and I was worried about making sure everything would stay the same for my boys. I didn’t want my surgery or recovery to make life difficult for them or for them to feel scared or unstable. As a mom, one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do was accept that I wouldn’t be able to take care of my boys.

That’s when Arun played this song for me. After shedding many tears, I knew that, of course, it would be okay. Things would be different for a while, but I could let it all go and just focus on myself and my recovery. His back was sturdy and strong and I could trouble him. My family and friends would take care of my worries because I could trouble them.

Before the surgery I was anxious about how my boys would react to my partially shaved head and staples in my scalp. We had explained the surgery as well as we could to a 3- and 4-year old. “Mama has a boo boo in her brain and the doctor has to take it out.” Still, we didn’t know what I would look like after the surgery.  When I looked at my reflection in recovery, it was a little jarring for me and I didn’t want them to be frightened. I was discharged from the hospital and settling in at home when I heard the usual chaos that follows upon their arrival. They knew I would be at home and came into the bedroom. I was wearing the standard blue hospital cap which covered my hair and staples. They asked right away to see my boo-boo and I hesitated, but slowly took off my cap and let them see everything. They weren’t scared one bit. My 4-year old asked, in typical 4-year old fashion, if he could bonk my head.  My little guy just wanted to wear the blue cap. They both gave me a gentle hug and kiss. Kids really are amazing. They didn’t care what I looked like. They just wanted their mama.

The days and weeks that followed were tough. I had to lean on my husband, children, family and friends and let them take care of me. But I remembered the words from the song. I learned to let go and trouble them.  

There is a woman in the waiting room each week at my daughter’s dance class who I consider to be the last of a dying breed. This mom has three small children between the ages of 2 and 7. That means that she’s always got at least one of them hanging out in the waiting room with her, if she’s not in the bathroom with her youngest for a fifth attempt at peeing on the potty. Kudos to her for not succumbing to the seduction of pull-up pants. While most of the parents around her are busily scrolling through smartphones and kids are huddled over iPads and Kindle Fires, she pulls out her environmentally friendly canvas tote bag and entertains her kids with books (real ones with real pages), card games, and art supplies. I've even seen her daughter knitting while waiting for her little brother to finish up his class. Inspiring. This is a small room. Think six folding chairs by six folding chairs. She plunks her kids down right in the middle of it and patiently guides them through how to play Uno and War. It’s awesome. Somehow, they seem oblivious to the flashy devices that are whirring all around them and she seems intent on keeping them focused on their games, books, and artwork.  

I’ve seen other newer moms with similar good intentions fall prey in this tiny room to the wiles of technology. The mom could be sitting there reading a book and feeding cheerios to her toddler, perfectly content, and a well-meaning grandma who has just discovered the joys of technology will plop her grandchild down on the floor to play a game on her hot pink iPad. The toddler will catch a glimpse, wriggle away from mom and hop down on the floor to see what’s going on. Suddenly, the equilibrium of the waiting room gets all out of whack as the toddler wants to touch the screen and the child with the iPad pulls it away. Occasionally, the child may have a different reaction and offer to let the child play along, even if the mom wasn't ready for him to use technology yet. Too late. There’s no escaping it here.  

I used to be like the tote carrying mom in the waiting room when my kids were that age, albeit much less organized. Now my minivan has bags full of books in it and a fancy sunglasses carrier on the ceiling where most kids expect to find a DVD player. I’m in a new phase now where I don’t scramble to stuff food in my purse every time I leave the house with my kids any more. I have spent the last twelve years experimenting with various methods to teach my kids how to balance their use of technology, how to wait patiently, how to manage their time, and frankly how to be bored. We've had quite a few technology free weeks (some as punishment, some as cleansing experiments).  Now, if I do have a tote bag, it’s full of my own homework that I might actually accomplish during an hour in the waiting room. I don’t have to chase runaway toddlers down the hall while another kid is in class. My kids all know to grab a book (or an iPod or Nintendo DS if homework is done- see, I’m not a total luddite!) if we’ll be waiting for a little while.  

You may think I’m setting a double standard since I will let my kids bring a DS, but not a tablet to this place. Here’s the thing. I can’t concentrate when there’s a lot of noise. I make my kids either bring headphones or turn the volume all the way down on a DS. While my kids won’t say no to their friends if they bring iPads to the waiting room to play together, they agree that its size and colorful images do make it hard for other kids around them to resist and stay focused on their low tech toys. A DS is a little subtler at least. And if you want to bring something to share with others, crayons and markers are the easiest way to appeal to all ages. Always developmentally appropriate, unless the child wants to eat the crayons.  

I run into similar clashes with technology with playdates. It’s not that we don’t like or even love technology. We just don’t want it to rule our lives or rob our kids of their ability to imagine. We’re not a household that has a television on all the time. Our kids have to ask to watch TV and ask to play video games. Yup, even the 12-year-old. It’s not an issue with my youngest, who still has a vivid pretend play world, but it’s tough with my 9-year-old when he has a friend over. (He recently told me that he always brings a book to lunch at school because all his friends talk about is Minecraft, which we don’t have here, the poor deprived soul). When my kids have friends over, I set very clear expectations about technology use ahead of time. If it’s a two-hour playdate, I don’t see why they need to use it at all. They can talk, play chess, cards, ping pong, or go outside and pick a ball game to play if it’s not too cold. Longer than two hours and they can play something electronic, but only for an hour. Different rules apply for Just Dance and Rock Band, because well, that’s singing and dancing and I don’t think you can do enough of that!  

After the holidays, my daughter’s friend came over and told her that she and her sister each got their own iPads for Christmas. Hannah said, “Oh, my family got a Kindle Paperwhite to share.” That about sums us up. It’s also not that I’m cheap or don’t appreciate what iPads have to offer. I recently found out I can do a running record (a reading accuracy assessment) on one with my students which would be so cool. That’s enough to make me want to get one. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to handle the monitoring that’s going to come with it. We’re in this blissful stage right now where everyone is devouring books and I don’t really want to mess with that.  

I’m not saying that I have all of the answers when it comes to technology and kids. It’s only going to get harder. I know it’s tempting to get the most out of these expensive and engaging items before they become out of date and I need to get the next model. I’m just asking us all to reflect for a minute about how we let our kids use it and how it affects the people around them. Ask yourself: Am I afraid of being out in public with my child without an electronic device to distract him/her? Does my child complain of being bored a lot? Does her attention span seem shorter than it should? Do I respond with offers of technology? Can my kid socialize at my house with another child without the aid of technology? What would happen if my kids (and I) unplugged for a week?  

Perhaps after reading this you might consider how you monitor or don’t monitor your child’s use of technology each day. Maybe you’ll consider going low tech and throwing in a couple of matchbox cars and a box of crayons in lieu of your iPad the next time you come hang out in the waiting room at dance class. No batteries required. 

Today's guest writer, Kate Lucier,  is a former middle school teacher and public defender and a current workers' compensation and union-side labor lawyer with a three-year-old son. She shares how knowing the truth about parenting has served her these last few years. 

“We owe the truth, not just the facts. I’m celebrating my 84th year on this planet. I’ve seen many things. I’ve learned many things. I’ve certainly been exposed to many things and I’ve learned something: I owe it to you, to tell you.”
–Maya Angelou

Most of the parents of young children I know easily state that parenthood is the hardest job they’ve ever had. Actually, most of the parents of older children I know say that as well. Despite that, a number of people have, probably for their own sakes, conveniently forgotten quite how difficult certain aspects of certain ages were with their own children. They say things like, “Oh, I miss that age,” and “Enjoy this stage—it gets much worse.”

I imagine that they say these things because they really do feel sad about their kids growing older and have put a “fuzz filter” on the past because it’s nicer to remember it that way. But, when one is in the midst of the sleep-deprivation and high anxiety of being a new parent, or when one is three tantrums in to a six-tantrum day with a three-year-old, these comments are, shall we say, less than welcome.

One of the greatest gifts I received as a new parent was the fact that I have several close friends, each of whom had children before I did, who were always extremely honest about the challenges of parenting. They clearly adored their kids (and would have done anything for them), but they also openly expressed their doubts, frustration, exhaustion, and general unpreparedness for and about parenthood. Because they were my role models, I didn’t feel guilty when I felt angry or exhausted or desperate when Jacob was a newborn—or yesterday when he demanded something from me for the umpteenth time in his “little dictator” voice.

I can’t imagine what it would have been like to begin this journey with the impression that every moment would be blessed and precious and that I shouldn’t ever wonder what the heck I had done with my life. Because I know, of course, that every moment is blessed and precious, but also mind-blowing in less pleasant ways.

It’s been hard for me to figure out how to share the reality of parenting with people expecting their first child without sounding negative or even frightening them. And, of course, it all depends on the attitude of the person listening. Some people are ready to hear that they’ll have some rough times (maybe daily, at times!) and appreciate that they’ve found someone to turn to. Some people are happy to put a gloss on their parenting lives and suffer alone or with a very discreet few.  I am, of course, the former.  And if someone is the latter, I try to catch the look they give me and abandon ship.

For me, the company of other honest parents has been invaluable.  I hope to give that same gift to as many people as are open to it.

How about you?  How “realistic” were your expectations about parenting?  How often do you turn to other parents to check in about how difficult things are?  What was/is your preference in terms of openness about the struggles of parenting?

So I wrote a guest blog for my dear friend Patricia and sent along a rough draft late last Saturday night. It was about my 4-year-old reading his very first book and me being a proud mama. It was okay. I’m not a terrible writer. But then I couldn’t sleep afterward. And feeling all groggy on Sunday I hated every word of it, though I wasn't sure exactly why.

On Monday I took a foggy walk and the mental fog lifted somewhat. I decided that I love talking about my kid. He’s adorable. I love being home with him. And I’m glad I made that choice. Plus I love LOVE reading books with him and I’m proud of what he just accomplished. BUT...I started thinking about being that mom who talks about how many books we have in our home and how we do this and do that – ugh. Is that really me now? And does that mean I've become that one-dimensional mom whose sole focus is indoor soccer on Mondays and preschool pick-up precisely at 12:20, and so on?

Uh-oh. Here we go.

Then I thought about what else happened that Saturday that could possibly turn a harmless blog post idea into a minor freak-out. Well, duh. I had only just sent out a jaunty “save the date” email about my 40th birthday party. My birthday isn’t until August but I know my busy Bay Area friends and they really needed that much warning, even if I’m bringing the party to them.

Yup. 40. Every time I think about it I think about a whole new decade starting and what will define it, especially now that my son is the big 0-4, easier to manage, and usually sleeping at night. Usually. And I need to admit that it’s triggered a bit of any identity crisis. (If I say “a bit of” an identity crisis maybe it won’t sound so cliché. Worth a try. )

With just a hair more REM sleep and a few mornings of preschool a week, my eyes are able to refocus on my own reality a little. But the ideas are all over the place and it’s still really blurry, sounding something like this:

Oh yeah, I moved to Portland to afford a house a couple years ago. That explains all the rain. I wonder how I get to someplace besides the zoo, the children’s museum, and the grocery store?...Maybe I can take a little more freelance work? Do I have time?…How do I grow that? How do I can that? Where do I recycle that?...What does my iPad do besides play kiddie games?...What did I used to do for fun (and can I still do that before I fall asleep at 9:30 so I can get up at 6)?...What kind of music do I like again? I’m sure it sounds nothing like Raffi.

And most importantly: What overblown writing ideas did I have in my head before I stopped journaling every day because I was too new-mama tired to keep it up? Where did that too-short screenplay go that I seemed to get jazzed about every May for years? (Not sure why it was only in May.) Where did I stash that short story I shared with my book group that was supposed to turn into a bunch of soul-searching travel essays? Can I even write about those things anymore?

And the biggest, foggiest question of all: Is there a bridge back to that creative, quirky 20- and early 30-something writing person, post-mamahood? Or better yet, a fresher more confident take on her? Say, the fabulous 40s version?

Like the whole idea of turning 40, coming out of early motherhood brain fog is far too much to process at once. But at least I figured out why writing a simple Mom blog post pushed my buttons. I like mom blogs a lot, but I've got to reach out and find my real voice again so I’m not afraid it’s lost. To write as myself, in the first person, for the first time in years and have it come out in momspeak – it scared me into that process of refocusing. It scared me into coming out of the mom fog when I’m not at soccer or picking up my son from preschool or picking out books he can practice reading. My son is reading! He’s all grown out of toddler clothes. He’s gotten big and independent so fast. It’s time for me to make more of an effort to expand my horizons too – and please let it be before I finally turn 40 and really freak out.

Carrie R. Wheadon is a stay-at-home proud mama of a new reader. She reviews lots of books, apps, and DVDs for Common Sense Media (commonsense.org; check it out parents – good site!). She only just discovered this week that she fears mom blogging. Follow her on twitter: carrierobinw

I have two daughters, Kid C & Kid A. As of writing this, Kid C just celebrated her 4th birthday and Kid A is 2.5 years old. They were born 17 months apart. I found out I was pregnant with my second daughter when my first-born was a few months shy of her 1st birthday. My dear husband (DH) and I barely reached our milestone of Year One of Parenthood, when we learned that we’d soon be a family of four.      

We always knew that we wanted to have more than one child, but never discussed the timing. (Read: The timing of having kids 17 months apart was not planned, but we’re glad that it happened the way it did.) While we were a bit surprised at first, we embraced the idea that “Hey, we’re already sleep-deprived and changing diapers, so why not keep this party going!” 

There’s something to be said when you have two kids under the age of two. The common response: “Wow. You must have your hands full.” And, believe me, they were. There were days where I felt like I was being tag-teamed by my kids, as if they were conspiring against me and testing my sanity on a daily basis. One would start crying, as the other stopped; or both would cry and demand my attention. Often times, I would join them and end up sobbing on the kitchen floor.   

There were days where I felt like I was on a loop of feeding/nursing, changing diapers, putting down for naps, etc.  It was an exhausting and challenging time. Don’t get me wrong – I enjoyed witnessing the milestones and being able to spend quality time with my girls – but it was challenging to say the least. 

It wasn’t until some time after Kid A’s 1st birthday that the thought crossed my mind: “Should we have another kid?”  

The answer to that question would fluctuate depending on the day, or sometimes even the hour. Initially, I would yell back at my subconscious: “You must be crazy to consider having another kid. You can barely handle yourself with two! What are you thinking?!”   

But the question continued to infiltrate my mind. I figured it was worth exploring and started my own personal research. I found myself observing other families with three kids, asking parents with more than two kids about their experiences, and I even resorted to asking Google: “Should I have a third child?”  Because where else do you go when you need help figuring out a life-changing decision?  

I came across numerous articles and stumbled upon HavingThreeKids.com which covers the pros and cons of having three children. While all of it was helpful and offered different perspectives, it just reinforced that I had no clue what was the best decision for our family.    

The process of coming to our decision took well over a year.  The conversations with DH usually went something like this:  

Me: Are we done?   
DH: I don’t know. Are we?  
Me: I don’t know. Let’s discuss it when Kid A turns 2. 

Fast forward to some time after Kid A’s 2nd birthday:   

Me: So, are we done?   
DH: I don’t know. Are we?  
Me: I don’t know. Let’s discuss it after my sister’s wedding in September, or maybe after our friends’ wedding in November. 

I think we both felt (and feel) incredibly blessed with our two little girls.  We did not have a strong opinion either way on whether we should go for Kid #3. Often, I thought it would be easier if DH had a no-thanks-to-three-kids feeling or if I had a definitely-done-birthing-children stance.  But neither of us had that. Maybe it’s because DH is the third child in his family. Maybe it’s because I’d find myself staring at the extra chairs around the dining table and daydreaming about having three grown children. Whatever the case, it led me to believe that we were both open and willing to see what the universe had in store for us.  

We agreed ‘not to try’ and if it happened, great! If not, then we still had much to be grateful for. I stopped taking the Pill and used a self-imposed deadline of my 35th birthday as the time to stop ‘not-trying’. I knew I wanted to be finished with pregnancies by the time I turned 35.       

Fast forward to the present:  I am 14 weeks pregnant with Kid #3 and my 35th birthday is just around the corner. It’s still sinking in that we will be a Family of Five come this summer. It’s still sinking in that the kids will outnumber the parents in our household. It’s still sinking in that we will be pressing the RESET button and have a newborn in the house again.   

While I can’t foresee what it will be like having three kids, I can predict this conversation in the near future: 

Me: We’re done after this one, right? 
DH: Yes, right? 
Me: Definitely. 

At least we’d have finally wrapped up that conversation. 

I am currently unable to move previous guest blog posts to this page, so below are links to the first three posts. 

If you would like to read my twin sister Pamela's posts on why she wanted to be a foster mother, click here: Becoming a Foster Mother.  If you'd like to read how she survived her first month as a new mom to two sisters under age two, click here: One Month Into Motherhood.

To read Brigid D'Souza's post on her decision to leave her job and become a stay-at-home-mother, click here: Hear Me Roar.