Tired. Good, But Tired.

I often think among all of the things I have to do, that blogging should be one of them.  I can honestly say I am truly honored by all of the people who take time out of their busy lives to read about mine.  It is 10:30 at night and I have been looking forward to bed since around 8 PM.  I have plans to interview my husband about his week going solo with Eleanor and to my mom who is happy to say she stays at home with her newest and youngest grand baby.  Those two items do require time and planning and I currently spend any time not at work with my husband and with Eleanor or sluggishly wandering the kitchen or living room trying to figure out something small I can do to make my husband's day a little bit easier.  Currently, he is in the bedroom asleep and I am putting E to sleep in the living room.  Once she is out, we head to the bedroom, sparing Matt her cries and grunts.  Don't worry, I take the night shift and Matt takes the morning shift.

In any case, many folks who visit the library are excited to see me back behind the reference desk.  Many people talk about my sudden departure and are happy to hear how our little family is thriving.  People ask to see pictures and I must be one of the worst people in the world, because I show them all the photos of E where she's making funny faces.

Okay, I'll include at least one cute one, but she's still making a face.

Mommy, You're Doing What?

This was not quite the face E made when I reminded her that I was going back to work and she would be home alone with daddy. At my earliest I could have returned the Friday or Saturday before Labor Day. I cannot express how pleased I was to hear my superiors at work tell me they were flexible if I felt I should need or want extra time at home beyond the traditional six weeks. With E needing some extra care, I told work I wanted a full six weeks at home with her, not just six weeks total. You may remember Matt took two weeks off once E was home. That was a wonderful two weeks and then began four weeks of me staying at home.

Now it is Matt's turn to be a stay at home parent. Matt and I had a serious discussion last night about this role. I told him if he was accomplished he was not allowed to brag about it too much. With nursing and pumping I felt like a rock star when I was able to do anything else like wash clothes or dishes, or prep or cook dinner. I told him it was hard and I was constantly tired and occasionally exhausted. Tomorrow, I become a working mom. Wish my husband good luck. <3

A Quick Confession

I cannot recall the topic of conversation, but my husband told me this week he had a confession. Towards the end of my pregnancy I had acid reflux. Before my doctor gave me something for the issue, my wonderful husband assumed an additional role of providing me much needed relief by burping me. It sounds weird, it felt weird asking and being on the receiving end of such a task, but it was necessary. The big confession was my husband was glad I was no longer pregnant because he did not like burping me, but had no issue burping our daughter. You see, babies backs are about the size of your hand, making a baby much easier to burp. Yes, my husband and I are silly.

Adventures with Beer and a Baby, a Restaurant Fail

Labor Day was a wonderful long weekend for our little family. We had visitors and as tradition, we searched the city for a local eatery to provide everyone with a delicious and unique eating experience.  After some discussion, we excitedly ventured out to a new bar/restaurant called HopCat. This Michigan-based eatery boasts 130 beers on tap with a constantly changing beer menu. While this is a bar, their website states that anyone under the age of 21 is permitted to enter with a parent only before 9:00 p.m. As a side note, my husband and I recently discovered the above is permitted due to a metal railing around "the bar area" similar to those found in amusement park lines.

The food was yummy and I was told the beverages were enjoyable. I abstained, but they do provide three free samples. If you are not sure and your server does not offer, be sure to ask. The meal was a little less enjoyable when it became time for the necessary pre-meal diaper change. With no changing table in the restroom, we were fortunate enough to be seated at a table much like a picnic table, providing a surface larger than a traditional kitchen chair to change a baby. It is never my preference to change a baby IN a restaurant where people consume food, but this one gave us no choice, except to venture to the front of the restaurant and change a baby on a bench in the entryway. It was busy, said bench was far away with narrow passageways and was likely to be occupied by hungry guests waiting for a seat themselves. With the potential of having a squirmy baby, I wanted my husband to help hold her in place, so I started the deed where we sat. With no details required, this was one of those instances where running water would be required.

The sink was a trough that had three faucets, which to the best of my knowledge is the sink pictured here. The type of sink, the faucets and the shower head like base made it easy to stick a soiled baby bottom under running water.

"I am so sorry and I know this is not very sanitary, but does anyone have any objection if I rinse my baby off in the sink?" The three ladies did not object and inquired where the changing table was. After a very brief conversation and at least one parent advising a school-aged girl to wait for one of the other faucets to become available, I swept E's bottom under the faucet and was incredibly thankful for such an understanding crowd. I wondered if my husband, or any man, needed to change a diaper if he would be afforded the same kindness. I will also add that E does not like having her diaper changed and this experience often yields a 90% chance of E using her entire lung capacity to show her dislike of the process. With bright eyes and no screams or tears (thank the heavens), I was faced with yet another issue. The two trash cans were labeled for paper towel disposal only since all of the towels were placed into compost. This was another great restroom conversation involving all of the women in the immediate area.

We spoke with our server and asked to speak with a manager. We wanted to be sure we were consulting the highest tiered employee who may likely have the power to be able to change this situation. Unfortunately, HopCat is part of a chain with locations in a few different states. He agreed that there needed to be changing tables and it is not a question of cost, but that permission would be required by the owners to install one. We also voiced our concern about having no where to dispose of a dirty diaper. I could tell he was distressed by the situation and he stated this was not the first time he had heard this. He told us he would pass the complaint to the owners in his notes and encouraged us to contact the top most tier of the company, which we plan on doing in hopes that a change can be made.  Who knew a simple piece of plastic attached to a wall would make an eating experience more enjoyable?