Stretching my Perspective on Stretch Marks: The Itchy, The Embarrassing & the BEAUTIFUL

I can remember waking up one morning during the second trimester of my first pregnancy and sleepily making my way to the bathroom and turning on the shower. As I undressed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. Lit by the morning sun flooding the window, my torso was covered in bright red scratches. It looked like I had clawed myself in my sleep. They were all over my bulging baby belly. I turned on the bathroom light to better inspect my body. My skin had been a bit itchy lately as my belly had grown but not enough for me to scratch it so badly during the night. I leaned in towards the mirror to get a better look. I realized that these markings were not scratches. They were the dreaded stretch marks I had been warned about in my pregnancy books. Shudder. I was devastated. I had gone so long without a mark, diligently applying cocoa butter to my growing belly each night. I thought I had them beat.

I remember showing my husband and him asking me if they hurt. “Not really. They are a bit itchy but they don’t hurt.” “Well then why do they bother you? It’s just a sign that our baby is growing.” “Easy for you to say,” I remember thinking to myself as I decided then and there that I would never wear a 2- piece bathing suit again.

Shortly after the first appearance of my stretch marks, I remember asking my OBGYN what I could do about them during a routine exam.

Much to my disappointment, “Nothing.” was his response. “Some women get them. Some women don’t. I’m sure there are all kinds of people who would love to sell you miracle lotions and potions to erase them but I think they are just inevitable for some people and wouldn’t want you to waste your money.” he continued. At the time, I was so upset. I think I was naively expecting him to write me a prescription for the miracle lotions and potions that he mentioned or see the issue with the same severity that I did and refer me to a dermatologist.

Looking back, I am a little embarrassed by my naive and shallow ‘first pregnancy’ self. How ridiculous of me to be so worried about a few marks on my belly! Carrying a child is such a blessing. It is a blessing that comes with so much worry and fear as you are responsible for a completely vulnerable and dependent human being. There are so many things that can go wrong and get complicated both for mother and child. My baby and I were both healthy and doing well. How embarrassing and shallow of me to even bring up my stretch marks to my OBGYN as a pregnancy concern. My ‘third pregnancy’ self shakes my head and chuckles at my ‘first pregnancy’ self.

That’s not to say that I quickly embraced my stretch marks because I most certainly did not. In a way, I sort of forgot about them. When my daughter was born, my priorities shifted and I was far too busy and sleep-deprived to even think about something as insignificant as stretch marks. Plus, my post-baby body gave me all sorts of additional reasons to be hesitant about wearing a 2 piece bathing suit anyway. The stretch marks were just the icing on the cake!

I became pregnant with our son shortly after our daughter was born. I didn’t bother with the cocoa butter or any other lotion nearly as much during this pregnancy; partially because I didn’t have the time/ didn’t care and partially because I really didn’t think they worked anyway. I figured that my belly was already stretched so it couldn’t get much worse. I was wrong. I developed even more stretch marks during my pregnancy with my son. Some of my existing stretch marks grew darker or longer and there were new ones too. Some of them stretched my skin so thin that they would bleed and I would have to be cautious about what shirts I wore in order to not irritate them.

However, aside from the physical discomfort, they didn’t bother me nearly as much this time. When you endure back-to-back pregnancies, you start to feel like your body isn’t your own anyway. That being said, I was definitely too embarrassed by them to ever show my bare belly to anyone. I didn’t even like to look at it myself. It was a mess of pink, red and purple lines. I remember nervously showing our maternity photographer at our photo session after she asked if I wanted to do any belly shots and asking if she could photoshop them out of our photos. By this point, at the 8 month mark of my second pregnancy, my stretch marks were so raw, dark and sore that she wasn’t sure she could completely remove them with her editing software so I passed on the full belly shots. I really didn’t want anyone to see just how beaten up my skin had become. I stuck to maternity jeans and a t-shirt for our photos and while I love our photos, I definitely did not see my pregnant, swollen body as beautiful.

I am now in my third pregnancy.  One evening, I was getting ready to have a shower.  My 3 year old daughter decided that she wanted to have a shower too.  We were in the bathroom getting undressed.  When I took my shirt off, I saw her look up inquisitively at my belly.  I was expecting her to comment on how much my belly had grown and ask a question about the baby but she surprised me.  “Mommy, what is that?” she said, pointing to one of my stretch marks.  “It’s called a stretch mark.” I replied, unsure of how to explain this one to her.  “A stret shark?” she asked. Before I could answer, she continued “It’s so pretty, Mommy!” with a big, enamoured smile on her face.  I was so surprised by her choice in words.  “Pretty” was not a word I had ever used to describe my stretch marks.  Then again, anything pink and a bit shiny would be described as “pretty” by a 3 year old girl.  My heart melted as she curiously traced my stretch marks with her tiny finger.  I felt my heart flutter and my eyes get teary as she delicately ran her finger across each one.  In that very second, my daughter had changed my outlook on my stretch marks.

Then she stopped and looked down at her own body, examining it carefully.  Noticing her smooth, unmarked skin, she asked “Where’s my stret sharks?  Mommy, I want stret sharks too!”  “Stretch marks.” I corrected her, giggling at her adorable name for them.  Then I attempted to explain the marks on my belly to my inquisitive 3 year old.  “Some mommies get stretch marks when they have babies in their tummies.  Mommy has marks from when you were in my tummy.  Each time you grew and moved and stretched and kicked, it would stretch Mommy’s skin and leave a mark on my belly.  Some of these marks are from when you were in Mommy’s tummy, some are from when your little brother was in Mommy’s tummy and some of the new ones are just appearing now as our new baby moves around inside Mommy’s tummy.  All of these movements leave a mark on Mommy’s skin.” 

She seemed both satisfied and impressed with this explanation.  I pondered it myself for a moment.  I had never really given much thought as to why I had stretch marks. My train of thought was interrupted by my daughter excitedly asking “Like a beauty mark?”  (She has a mole on her arm.  We taught her that it is a ‘beauty mark’ and is part of what makes her beautiful.)  I felt my heart flutter again and a tear fall down my cheek.  “Yes, they are like a beauty mark.”  She was absolutely right.

Since this discussion with my sweet, little 3 year old, I have learned to appreciate my stretch marks a little more.  Explaining them to her helped me to see them in a new light.  I like them a little more everyday and have actually started to take pride in them.  When I think about it from this new perspective, I realize that it’s pretty amazing to have permanent markings caused by my babies growing inside of me.  It’s quite incredible.  People get tattoos of their babies’ footprints and handprints all the time.  I have markings from my own skin stretching to accommodate their tiny, growing bodies.  I’m starting to think that I’m pretty lucky to have these markings as keepsakes of these 3 phenomenal journeys.

I have always known that my daughter would be teaching me new things in the future.  I didn’t expect it to happen at 3 years of age.  Someday, when she is old enough to understand, I will be thanking her for sharing her sense of wonder with me and allowing me a glimpse of the world through her eyes.

You’re absolutely right, little one.  These stretch marks are beautiful.


tigerandbabymakes3imean4 is one mom’s adventures as a wife and working mom of Irish twins (now 2 and 3 years old) with a baby on the way!  If you liked this post, please consider subscribing to my blog.  Thanks for reading! xo

Keyless & Foodless: Stranded at the Zoo

My parents bought us a family season pass to the local zoo for Christmas this year. We have been so excited to use it and decided that we would plan a quick visit after nap time on a hot and sunny afternoon. I packed a cooler of drinks and snacks, bathing suits and towels for the zoo’s splash pad and a diaper bag of essentials.

With a 3 year old and 2 year old in tow, it’s amazing how there really isn’t much of a difference between packing for a 3 hour outing and packing for a weekend away. We wouldn’t have much time to visit; 3 hours at the most by the time we got there until the zoo closed for the day but since we are now fancy schmancy season pass holders, we figured it was still worthwhile since it was only 25 minutes away and we can come and go as we please all summer long.

When the kids woke up from their naps, we told them the good news. They were so excited about this trip and enthusiastically babbled about monkeys and tigers and hippos and lions and flamingos as we changed their diapers and coated them in sunscreen. With the car already loaded, we were off!

Our kids are at an awkward stage right now where they are too little to walk for an entire outing but don’t want to stay in the stroller either. We have a collapsible wagon but it isn’t the easiest or most comfortable thing to pull around so we opted for the double stroller. Hubby dragged it out of the shed and loaded it in the trunk while I buckled the babes into their seats. “We’re going to the zoo…zoo…zoo!” we sang as we cruised down the highway.

Once we had our season passes set up, we were all set and ready for our super quick zoo excursion. The zoo has a little train that transports guests and stops at various points throughout the park. We were seconds too late to board the train that had stopped at the main entrance just as we arrived. We were also close enough for 2 year old Mr. C to watch the train take off right in front of him which caused his first tantrum of the outing; full out kicking and screaming “TRAIN! I go on train! TRAIN!!!!!!!” We tried to explain that we would go on the next train but there is no reasoning with a train-loving 2 year old who just missed the train by seconds.

We continued along the path. Naturally, both kids wanted to walk so Hubby and I took turns pushing the kidless stroller and reigning in the kids and keeping them out of the way of zoo golf carts and the train.

The train. Ugh. It is absolutely impossible to explain “designated train stops” to a 2 year old. As we walked in the heat towards the next train stop, a train would drive past us on its way to the next train stop and Mr. C would try to wave it down and then, when it didn’t stop on his command, he would throw himself on the ground in a full tantrum all over again. We tried to explain that he had to get up and we had to hurry up and run to the next stop to board the train but he didn’t understand/believe us. I tried scooping him up under my arm like a football and running to the next stop but he just flailed in protest. It was so hot and being 5 months pregnant, I just didn’t have the stamina to sprint with a 2 year old in tow to catch the train.

We arrived at a fork in the road. Left to the splash pad which excited 3 year old Miss M and me since it was soooo hot. I was ready for a spot to sit and splash. Plus, it is right by the snack bar and since I’m pregnant, I’m always hungry. Or, we could turn to the right to see more animals. Hubby and I asked the kids what they wanted to do. Miss M chanted “Splash pad! Splash pad!” as she started to undress herself in the middle of the road so she could change into her bathing suit. Mr. C just wailed “TRAIN!!!!!” So, we promised Miss M that we would check out the splash pad later, put her clothes back on and wandered down the path visiting some lions, birds, rhinos and feeding some monkeys on our quest for a train.

We stopped at a shady train stop and decided that we were going to keep missing the trains if we didn’t just stop and wait for one at a designated stop. So we sat on the bunch and had a snack and waited for the train. Poor Miss M. She could not understand why we would choose to sit on a bench and eat goldfish crackers and strawberries when we could be at the splash pad or going back to see the monkeys or doing absolutely anything else at all. She entertained herself by jumping off of a rock over and over again, giving me a heart attack thinking she was going to break her leg or hit her head.

We waited and waited and waited for the train. We waited so long that it wasn’t worth wasting any more time waiting but we were afraid to move since we had waited so long that the train should be arriving any second.

Finally we heard the clanging of the train bell. Mr. C jumped up with glee and started clapping and cheering “The train! The train!” Miss M stood up too but seemed to be wondering why we would come to a zoo and obsess over a train instead of the animals and splash pad. We stood up and waited for the passengers to get off the train so we could board a car that had enough room to hold our double stroller. As I grabbed both kids hands and moved towards an empty train car, a group of people appeared out of nowhere and pushed their way on to the car that I was just about to lift my kids onto as Hubby folded up the stroller.

Right then and there I almost cried. I was so shocked and appalled at this behaviour. I scanned the train. There were no other empty train cars. Dammit.  However, out of every storm comes a rainbow and the most wonderful woman in the entire universe saw what had happened from her spot on the train with her 2 school-aged kids and called me over. She told me take their car as we needed more room because of our stroller and she would move to the next car up which only had 2 passengers. I couldn’t thank her enough. I would say that she had no idea what this meant to me but I’m sure she did and I’m sure that’s exactly why she did it. She had 2 older kids who looked to be pretty close in age. I think she has been here before. We moms have to stick together and look out for each other. Motherhood is too damn hard to do alone. It truly takes a village to raise a child especially when your child is literally going to have a breakdown if he does not get to go on a train ride.

To the awesome mom on the zoo train: Thank you again from the bottom of my heart! You made a huge impact on our family and literally saved the day! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

I loaded the kids into our long-awaited zoo train car while Hubby flipped the stroller to fold it and load it on the train. Another “Good Samaritan” woman on the zoo train shouted over to him “Excuse me! You dropped your sunglasses!” We looked down to see that when he had folded the stroller up, the cup holders on the handle had ended up upside down and my sunglasses along with my phone had been tossed on the ground beside the train. Thank you to this other  kind lady on the train as well. The sunglasses I can replace. The photos on my phone I cannot. I try to sync it often but I take photos 20 times as often. Thank you!

We were off! Mr. C was so excited to be on the train. Thank goodness because if he got on that train and looked like he couldn’t care less, I would have lost what’s left of my mind. He and Miss M pointed out all kinds of things along the way. Anything from a giraffe to a sea gull to mosquito to a garbage can. They loved it! It was nice to sit down for a bit too and enjoy the cool breeze.

By the time our train ride ended, the zoo was about to close. The snack bar was already closed and the splash pad was turned off. We let the kids run around the zoo playground before making our departure. We told them that we would be back soon for a longer visit but for now we had to leave so we could go home and have dinner. The kids were hungry and hot and tired so they really didn’t argue with us over leaving.  It was pretty weird.

We got to our car and noticed that one of the back doors was wide open. For a split second, I thought that maybe our car had been broken into while we were gone. But alas, all of our stray goldfish crackers, toys, socks, hats and wipes were right where we had left them, present and accounted for so we must have left it open when loading the stroller. It’s amazing that that this was actually a first for us. I’m not very religious but I did pray that the door being open hadn’t killed the car battery.

I opened the hatch of our SUV and plopped both tired and hungry kids in the back to change their diapers while Hubby tore our bag, cooler and stroller apart trying to find the car keys.

“I’m pretty sure I gave them to you!” he said. “Yes, you did… And I put them in the pouch of the cup holders in the stroller. That’s where I always put them…. So I always know where they are….” I zinged back while wiping hot, sticky bums. “Well they aren’t in there!”

I forced myself not to panic. I put the kids in their car seats and gave them a drink and the last of our snacks while I looked around to see if maybe we had left them in the car. I couldn’t find them.

My memory replayed the incident from the train: “Excuse me! You dropped your sunglasses!” Oh no! We didn’t notice my sunglasses and phone falling out of the pouch. What if our car keys had fallen out too but we didn’t notice? The zoo was closed. The kids were loaded in the car. Hubby went back to see if he could retrace our steps and find our keys while I tore the car apart looking for them. I ripped apart the pouch on the stroller, my purse, the diaper bag, the cooler. I pulled it all out from the basket under the stroller but didn’t find them.

Hubby called me on my cellphone from inside the park “Hey! I am just at the admissions booth. Do you know who our train driver was?” Umm… Is this a trick question? Do you remember the chaos involved in boarding that train? Of course I don’t know who was driving the damn train. “Was it a man or a woman?” Oh…okay… That’s easier. It was a man! The incredible staff at the zoo were going to locate the train we were on to look for the keys while Hubby ran back to the train stop where we had boarded to see if they were still there .

At this point the kids were losing their minds. It was so hot and it was long past dinner time. I couldn’t turn the air conditioning on in the car because we didn’t have the damn keys. I opened all of the doors to try to let some of the breeze through and poured water on my hands then combed my fingers through their hair to try to cool them down. I was out of snacks. They had devoured everything we had brought with us. We were down to the very last bottle of water. “Where’s Daddy?” Mr. C asked over and over. “Drive the car, Mommy!” Miss M commanded. “I’m hungry!” You and be both, kiddo. I took them out of their car seats and let them climb all over the driver’s seat to distract them from their hunger, heat and fatigue. Mr. C laid his chest on the horn in a full body slam over and over finding it funnier and funnier every time while Miss M threw a fit because I wouldn’t turn the music on (because I didn’t have the damn keys!) They were both hungry and losing their minds because of it. My pregnant belly was starving too. There was nowhere close by to get food. Not without car keys and the ability to drive. Zoos aren’t typically located near plazas and grocery stores.

From the back of the parking lot where we were parked, I could see a food truck in the distance, up by the road. It was like I was seeing my own version of the mirage that dehydrated people see in the desert except that I was pretty sure it was real. I told the kids that we were getting food and once again, said a prayer, this time praying that the food truck took debit/credit because I had used up my cash on monkey food. Literally on monkey food.  Now my monkeys were hungry and I had no cash. Ironic.

I loaded both kids into the stroller and hoofed it across the gravel parking lot. Our stroller tires were flat but I didn’t care. A burger and some fries were in our future. Some cold drinks too. We made it all the way there only to discover that it had just closed. If there was still a staff member around I would have begged/bribed them for a bag of chips and a bottle of cold water. The food truck was empty. I pushed the kids (now crying because I had promised them French fries and then didn’t deliver) back to the car as I tried to decide what we were going to do if Hubby didn’t return with the keys in hand.

We had a spare car key at home. However our house was locked. My parents have a spare key but my dad was away and it was probably with him, on his key ring. If someone could get into our house and bring us that spare car key, we would be saved! I’m actually a little freaked out at how easy it would be to break into our house after taking the time to plan out a couple of options in my head for breaking into my own house.

The kids were crying because they were hungry and thirsty. (Note to Self: if ever a contestant on the reality show, Survivor, do NOT pick these two kids as your tribe mates. You will lose… and go batshit crazy.  They have been without snacks for approximately 25 minutes and they are losing their minds. Also, they do have water but they don’t want water. They want milk.  So they would rather be thirsty.  Serenity now.) Hubby was somewhere in the zoo looking for the keys with our train driver. His cellphone battery had died. The parking lot was now empty except for the odd lone cars that were eventually claimed by zoo employees wondering why the heck we were still tailgating in the parking lot and even more importantly, why no one was stopping that 2 year old boy from honking the horn in the driver’s seat. It’s survival, my friends. We are going to be stuck here forever. I can’t fight him anymore. I give up and I give in.

Naturally in times of desperation, I did what any grown woman would do and called my mommy. I explained that we were at the zoo and we were stuck here. I asked if she could check to see if she had our house key. She said she had all kinds of keys that weren’t labelled and would go over to see if any of them would work and if not, she would break in.

She was already 30 minutes away from the zoo so even if she did successfully smash a window and shimmy into our house, it would be at least a half hour before she got here with the spare key. The kids were not going to make it that long without dinner.

I was ready to abandon our car. It’s been good to us and has been a wonderful mom-mobile but at this point, I just wanted to get the hell out of here and never come back. I asked my mom if she could just come and get us. I would install the car seats in her vehicle and we would figure out the rest later. Right now, these kids needed to eat and be somewhere cool. She agreed and I am so thankful for her quick willingness to come to our rescue!

I tried calling Hubby’s phone again to tell him my new plan of abandoning our vehicle and calling it a day. No answer. I sat on the back of the car and sang songs to entertain the kids who were rolling around the back whining, kicking each other and oh yeah,…whining. In the middle of my own insanity-enduced hip hop/rap version of “Hickory Dickory Dock!”, I looked up to see Hubby walking towards us. Hallelujah!

I jumped off the car. “Did you find them?” No. I told him that my mom was on her way to rescue us so we could at least get the kids some food and could come back to get the car later. (And by later, I really meant never. I was ready for this day to end.) Hubby looked defeated, nodded and then took one last look through the stroller, the bags and the car before agreeing that we would just have to wait and see if someone turns the keys in to the Lost & Found.

I told the kids to get their shoes on because Nana was coming to rescue us and asked Hubby if he could fold the stroller up and pack it into the trunk for me. I hadn’t loaded it yet since the trunk had been our playground while stranded in the hot parking lot.

Hubby folded it up and when he did, “CLANG!” We heard the damn keys fall out. We both almost died and didn’t know whether to be overjoyed/relieved/pissed off or annoyed.

As it turned out, the keys were in the pouch of the cup holders and they had fallen out of the stroller when we boarded the train. But, when they fell out, they fell into the crease of the stroller’s sunshade….and were there the entire time.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Hubby said, tossing me the keys. I agreed, fired up the A/C and called my mom to tell her we were the biggest idiots on the planet while Hubby loaded the stroller. At this point my mom had just left her house and said she had grabbed bananas and crackers on her way out for our starving children. How awesome! While extremely grateful for to offer, we were going home.

And never, ever coming back…

Andbabymakes3imean4 is one mom’s adventures with 2 kids, 11 months apart and 1 on the way! “Crazy” is our middle name. If you liked this post, please subscribe or like my page on facebook to be the first to know about future posts. Thanks for reading! Xo




Tales from the Can: Toilet Time-Outs and Other Cool Things I Do to Qualify for the “Mom of the Year Award”

I used to absolutely HATE being alone. Now I fantasize about it…from behind the bathroom door as 2 toddlers (and sometimes 1 husband) pound on the door shouting things like “what are you doing?” “I can’t see you!” “Open it! Open it! I can’t get in!” “The door won’t open!” “Let me in!” “MOMMY!!!!” Mommy Timeout. Locked in the bathroom. It’s not exactly a spa day or glass of wine on a patio but it works and is absolutely necessary.

My husband is on to me. He made a comment a couple of weeks ago about how he knows that I’m not always “using the facilities” when I disappear into the washroom for 5-10 minutes (tops) after dinner. I didn’t say a word. Because I didn’t say a word, I think he instinctively knew not to push the issue any further. I mean, really… does any sane person who isn’t about to snap voluntarily lock themselves in a bathroom? This is survival. The bathroom is not ideal but since it is the only room in the house with a lock on the door, it works and is my own personal retreat. Sometimes it just takes 5-10 minutes of being alone behind a closed door to rejuvenate me and allow me to breathe again. I immediately feel a calmness in place of the rattled, anxious feeling I know all too well. It gives me the balance and energy to carry on with the day.

Life is good….but the days are long. Working full time juggling a career that I drive an hour each way to get to on top of the circus that is a house with a 3 year old and 2 year old can be a bit much at times. It has become the new normal but sometimes it catches up to me and I need a timeout…in the bathroom… with the door locked. Badass, I know.

Today I fought through rush hour traffic to pick my kiddos up from daycare. I wrestled 2 year old Mr. C into his car seat. (He was fighting me every step of the way, trying to climb into the driver’s seat while screaming “No Mommy! I’m driving!”) Like most days. I had already taken a mental inventory of what was in the fridge on my way home and had planned out my attack (on dinner) in my head. Dinner. Ugh. It can be such a challenge to make a healthy dinner in 20 minutes or less (aka the countdown to both kids losing their minds because they are hungry.)

We pulled in our driveway. Today I won the competition for who would put the key in the door because we didn’t have time to spare on the usual toddler fumbling/fighting over trying to put keys in the door shenanigans. Three-year old Miss M pushed the front door open before Mr. C had a chance to claim that task so he naturally lost his mind and melted to the floor in a fit of rage. “You can open the door next time, Buddy!” I told him as I dumped our bags in the foyer and walked into the kitchen to get started on dinner.

I was filling a pot with water as Miss M announced she had to go pee. She is just starting to (finally) get into potty-training so I stopped what I was doing and enthusiastically ran upstairs to put her on the toilet. False alarm. We came down to find that Mr. C had taken the mop out of the bucket of water which hadn’t managed to be dumped from last night’s kitchen clean up and had mopped (flooded) the floor. I brought the bucket down and dumped it and threw an old towel on the lake that was now our kitchen.

I started washing and chopping vegetables as Miss M decided she wanted to go swimming. “Please Mommy! We need to go swimming! We need to put our bathing suits on and go swimming! Can we go swimming, Mommy? Please!” I explained that she needed a grownup to supervise and I was busy making dinner so she could not go swimming. She nodded her head then wandered around the corner to where her little brother had just pulled a package of paper plates out of the cupboard and helped him to open it while asking him if he wanted to go swimming.

“You’re not going swimming right now!” I shouted from around the corner, letting the paper plate thing go. Sometimes you just have to “choose the hill you’re going to die on.” Swimming unsupervised was it. The paper plates were not. Mr. C scattered the paper plates all over the kitchen. In order to buy some time so I could get my veggies cooking in a pan of garlic butter, I asked him if he could court them. “1…2…3…4….” He happily counted them and I happily got dinner going… Until I was deafened by the silence. Two toddlers and no noise = nothing good.

I stopped what I was doing and listened. I heard Miss M whispering “You have to take your clothes off to go swimming. Your diaper too. Here! I can help you!” I tiptoed towards them from around the corner and heard her say “Hurry up! Mommy’s coming! Mommy’s coming!” I have a bad feeling that this is foreshadowing for the years ahead.When I peaked around, I saw them both standing at the back door completely naked.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Miss M started pleading her case about how she wants to go swimming and Mr. C thought that me “busting them” was a game and started laughing and ran off. When he did, his bare feet hit the wet floor from his mopping incident and he slipped and slid across the kitchen tiles and ended up flat on his back, completely naked. I scooped him up and tried to comfort him. He settled down but refused to put a diaper on. Whatever. Remember that thing I said about choosing the hill you’re going to die on? Naked it is, my friend.

I ran back into the kitchen where Miss M was standing with a look of horror/shame on her face. I scanned the kitchen trying to quickly detect what she had done. Everything seemed fine. I heard water dripping. The tap was off. I looked down to see that she was peeing on the floor. Who would have thought that dumping a bucket of soapy water almost 24 hours after it was used would have been too soon? “It’s okay.” I assured her, not wanting to scare her away from potty-training. I mopped it up as I heard Mr. C scream “Daddy’s here! Daddy’s here!”

Hubby walked in and immediately asked “why are they naked?” You don’t want to know. I looked up at the clock. 6:13pm. We had only been home for half an hour. Wow.

I asked Hubby to help Mr. C into a diaper and get him in his seat while I plated dinner. Dinner worked out quite nicely. Leftover salmon added to sautéed veggies over pasta. This was a win! Just as I was about to serve it to my hungry, little table mates, I again heard the sound of liquid dripping. I looked under the table and Mr. C was not wearing a diaper and had now peed all over his seat and on the floor. I pulled him out of his seat and turned to grab paper towel from the counter behind me. When I turned back, Miss M was splashing her hand in the pee on his booster seat. I bit my tongue, lysolled the seat, wiped up the floor, washed Miss M’s hands, took a deep breath and announced that dinner was served.

Halfway through dinner, Miss M announced that she had to go pee again. Pee seems to be the theme of today. Hubby and I enthusiastically encouraged her to go to the bathroom and try. I decided that she could go on her own this time and attempted to shove a few bites of food down my throat before I had to go and clean her up.

From the top of the stairs she bellowed in disgust “Mommy!!!!! There’s a big poo in the bathroom! Hurry!” Seriously… Why is Daddy never called for such events?

I ran upstairs to see that she was right. There was a big ball of poo right in the middle of the bathroom floor. My assumption is that it was in her underwear and it fell out when she pulled them down to pee but we will never know for sure. Million dollar idea: a holster for Lysol spray.  Two million dollar idea:  Potty-training boot camp.

After dinner, I filled up the kids’ inflatable pool so I didn’t have to hear the word “swimming” again today after all of the begging and chaos. Once the kids were in their pool, splashing and laughing with Hubby lifeguarding from the chair beside me, I excused myself to go inside to run their bath. While the tub filled, I sat on the toilet with my head in my hands and just breathed for a couple of minutes.

Less than 5 minutes later, the kids came flying up the stairs “Mommy! Where are you? Where are you, Mommy?” I looked down the hall and saw them stampeding towards me soaking wet, no towels, muddy with bits of grass from the backyard stuck to them. I leaned over and calmly said “Mommy will be out in a minute!”, shut the door and locked it.

They pounded on the door losing their minds for the 2 minutes that it was closed and locked between us but for that 2 minutes, I was alone, pretending that it was quiet, coping, rejuvenating and preparing myself to carry on.

Sometimes a couple of minutes on “toilet time-out” is all it takes…and I couldn’t care less if my family thinks I have digestive problems. Whatever works. You gotta do whatcha gotta do.

andbabymakes3imean4 is one mom’s adventures while juggling a full time job, 3 year old an 2 year old Irish twins and a marriage while tap-dancing on the brink of insanity. If you liked this post, please subscribe or like my page on facebook to be the first to know about future posts. Thanks for reading! Xo



Goodbye Rear-facing Toddler! Helloooo Backseat Driver!

Yesterday 3 year old Miss M spiked a high fever just after dinner. She had been battling a cold since playing soccer in the rain last weekend but the fever concerned me. The fact that she screamed in pain when I put the thermometer in her ear made me think it must be an ear infection. I rushed her down to the walk-in clinic where the clinic doctor kindly asked her what was wrong before examining her. In her most dramatic voice, Miss M whined “I have a whale in my tummy…and in my back!” The doctor chuckled and then looked at me for a translation. “She has a fever and pain in her right ear.” I will never know where she got the whale thing from. What a kid!

Sure enough, she had an ear infection! The doctor asked me for her weight. I never mess around with guesstimating weight at the doctor’s office. This is what they use to determine the prescription dosage so it needs to be accurate. The nurse happily directed Miss M to the scale. She weighed 44 lbs! My very first thought was “Holy crap! I need to check the weight restrictions on her car seat!” I knew she had done some growing but I didn’t realize it had been 44 lbs worth of growing! We have convertible car seats, meaning that they can be rear-facing up to a certain weight and then can be installed as forward-facing seats beyond that point .

I am a firm believer in rear-facing for as long as possible. I obsessively read everything I can about this and other toddler safety topics and have vowed to keep both of my kids rear-facing for as long as we possibly can. Both of our toddlers (now 3 years old and 2 years old) are tall. However, they either cross their legs or stretch them up on the back of the seat and haven’t complained about riding backwards. They don’t know any other way.

After picking up Miss M’s prescription and getting her settled into bed, I immediately went out to the car to check the weight limits for rear-facing. Sure enough, it was time to turn her around. I was a little sad as this seemed like a really big sign that she was growing up. The end of an era. The rear-facing era.

Hubby and I wrestled Miss M’s 2 car seats (one for each of our vehicles) into place, referencing the car seat user manual and both car manuals. There really is a science to making sure these things are installed correctly… Which is fine by me. It’s “life or death” important. The most horrific part of the reinstallation was pulling the seat out and discovering what has been collecting underneath it on the bench of the car. We found a collage of old milk spills, veggie straws and a small Goldfish cracker graveyard. This prompted a long, overdue car cleaning. Gross.

The next day was Miss M’s first day in the car as a “forward-facer.” I was really excited to see her reaction to seeing where she was going. Her jaw dropped when I opened the door to the backseat. “Mommy! My seat turned around! I climb in!” She hopped in and happily stretched her legs out in their new-found space. Then I put 2 year-old Mr. C into his still rear-facing car seat. He looked over to see his sister, stretched out, living the forward-facing life, and immediately started to cry “Mine too! Mine too!” Sorry buddy. Not yet.” Though I’m sure he will be maxing out the weight limit in 5-10 minutes.

Miss M was so excited as we backed out of the driveway. “Mommy! I can see you! I can see the sky! I can see the sun! I can see the trees! I can see the flowers!” It was like she was seeing the world for the first time. As we pulled out of our subdivision, things got a little more intense for her and she switched gears into full-out backseat driver. She wasn’t used to seeing our car drive towards other cars. As we approached another vehicle (or another vehicle approached us), she would scream “Mommy! Watch out for the car! Mommy! Watch out for the truck! Mommy! A bus! Look out for the bus! Mommy! Look! A doggie in that car! Mommy! Be careful! Mommy! Stop! Mommy! Turn the wheel! Good job Mommy!” While quite hilarious, it was also a bit distracting and annoying. I started wondering how much a new car seat with a higher weight restriction for rear-facing would set us back.

Then she started boasting to her brother about the luxurious comfort of her forward-facing seat. “Look! I’m stretching my legs out like this! Can you do that?” No. I can’t do little guy whimpered in disappointment. “I’m a big girl! You’re a baby!” Wow. I did not foresee this drama.

That night, I filled Hubby in on the fact that our sweet, little 3 year old had transformed into the worst car passenger ever. I don’t think he believed me… Until he drove with her. She has a full windshield view of hat is going on around her and does not hesitate to say what’s on her mind. The worst was when I was sitting at a red light at an intersection. Mr. C said “Look Mommy! It’s Uncle Josh!” While sitting at the light, I looked over at the ads in store windows to see what he saw that reminded him of my brother-in-law. As I did, Miss M randomly yelled “Mommy! GO!!!!” Thank goodness I realized it was my impatient 3 year-old that was barking orders because my split-second instinct was to go and that the light had turned green while I was looking to my left, the way you would if you were looking away as a sane, adult passenger who knew the rules of the road alerted you that the light had changed. Saying that my 3 year old told me to go would have been a tough excuse to sell to a police officer if u ran a red light.

We are now working on teaching her about traffic lights. Red means stop. Green means go. She figured this out quickly and now each stop at a red light is followed by her chanting “It’s still red Mommy. Still red. Still red. Look Mommy! It’s green! Go Mommy!” It’s very cute except for the fact that 2 year old Mr. C is looking all over the place in his rear-facing seat repeating sadly “I can’t see it. I can’t see it!” Heartbreaking. I continue to remind myself that turning him around so that he can see the things his sister sees is a really stupid reason to prematurely abandon his rear-facing car seat.

Besides, I’m not sure that I could handle TWO little backseat drivers!

andbabymakes3imean4 is one mom’s adventures while tap dancing on the brink of insanity, juggling a full time job, marriage and 2 babes, 11 months apart…with one more on the way! If you liked this post, please subscribe to my blog or like my page on facebook to be the first to know of future posts. Thanks for reading! Xo



For my daughter on her third birthday

For my daughter on her third birthday:

It’s hard to believe that it was 3 whole years ago that I first met you, held you in my arms and instantly fell in love with you. In that moment, I knew my life had changed for the better. Motherhood has been my greatest blessing.

At 3 years old, you are constantly learning and absorbing new information. You are learning to think logically, ask questions and negotiate…. And boy, can you ever negotiate! Your personality is really shining as you develop your own interests and you are deciding what you want and don’t want in life. You are so full of life with a personality that can fill a room and I couldn’t be more proud of you.

You are learning so much about this world. You are fascinated by new places and experiences. You excitedly call out the numbers that label the cashier aisles at the grocery store, you notice puppies, squirrels and sea gulls at the park. You love trying to find Mommy’s car in the parking lot when we leave a store. You love to smell flowers, pick up sticks and leaves, count the clouds in the sky and splash in puddles. Being able to see the world through your eyes has been such a delight. I hope that you always keep your sense of adventure and wonder. This world can be cold but you can make it a better place. I hope that you continue to offer a warm smile and a hello to a stranger, even if the smile and hello are not returned to you.

May you always be true to yourself. In the past year, you decided that you did not like dance class. That is perfectly okay. You also found a deep love for dinosaurs. That is okay too. Follow your heart and know that I will support you no matter what you choose as long as you are staying true to yourself. As you get older, these choices will be much bigger than choosing dinos over tutus, but please know that as your mommy, I will always be there to help you put the tutus in the closet and play “dinos” on the living room floor or whatever you decide is the right fit for you. I will always support you and encourage you. That being said, you do have to try new things. You will never know what you will love, what talents you have and what ignites your soul if you don’t try new things.

I hope that you never take life too seriously and can always see the rainbows after the storm. Not every day will be a good day and that is okay. The “not so good” days help us to appreciate the good days. Continue to make the most of whatever situation life throws at you and splash in the puddles on the rainy days. Be sure to laugh. Laughter is so important. Sometimes when you feel discouraged and down, a little bit of laughter can change your whole perspective and allow you to see things more clearly. Be silly. Laugh every day.

I hope that you are always as loving as you are right now. You are such a sweet big sister to your little brother. You look out for him to make sure he’s okay and has what he needs. You love to sing to him, rock him to sleep with Mommy and Daddy and shower him with lots of hugs and kisses and cuddles. Your smiles and hugs and high 5’s can turn any one of Mommy’s hard days into a great day. You have the ability to warm my heart and brighten my day with just a smile or a hug. Don’t ever lose that. You are such a special little girl with so much love to offer. Be loving to others. Open up your heart and allow others to love you too. But please, do not ever put up with people who are wreckless with your heart. Never let anyone dull your sparkle.

Watching you grow over the past 3 years has been quite the adventure. We are learning so much together and I couldn’t be more grateful for all of the experiences we’ve shared. I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you… But please stop growing up so fast!

Happy 3rd birthday to my sweet, fiercely independent, kind, hilarious, loving 3 year old.

Keep shining bright, little one!



Blueberry-puked microfibre and a 2.5-year old in leopard panties. That’s a wrap for today!

Today was a crazy day to say the least. The theme of the day was “Life is a highway!” I kissed the kids and hubby goodbye at 7:30am and left for work. My 9am meeting finished just in time for me to leave work and race back down the highway to my 11am doctor’s appointment. (I have a 55 min drive to/from work and my doctor’s appointment had been rescheduled for the third time so 11am it was!) My doctor’s appointment finished just in time for me to race back up the highway for my 1pm meeting. Needless to say, by my drive home (and my fourth hour-long drive of the day) I was stressed and exhausted.

As I navigated my way through rush-hour traffic, I daydreamed of a hot bubble bath, alone and in silence. My daydream was quickly interrupted by Hubby calling to ask what I was thinking about for dinner. I was not thinking about dinner. I hadn’t thought about dinner. My brain had given up on today and didn’t feel like evaluating what was in my fridge and freezer and then creating a meal plan. Pizza. Today is pizza day! Amen. I will let it slide that this was supposed to be hubby’s night to make dinner to take a little pressure off of my crazy day. Everyone wins with pizza.

Mr. C, who will be 2 in 3 days was a feisty little man tonight. Apparently he boycotted naptime today and man, did it show. He refused to eat his pizza so I tried to offer some leftover pasta and meatballs instead. He quickly threw the plate of pasta across the kitchen in a fit of rage because I stopped him from stealing his sister’s dinner. The nerve of me, I know.. Timeouts do not phase this boy. In fact, he welcomes them in a “Bring it on!” sort of way. I suppose he feels the crime is worth the time.

While Mr. C sat facing the wall reflecting on his actions, I started a bath for our sauce-covered toddlers while preheating the oven to make cupcakes for Mr. C to bring to daycare for his birthday. I paused and stared at the running water in the tub. I felt overwhelmed with stress. I could feel the blood rushing through my veins. I think that evenings like this are the hardest as a working mama. The nights when you are vibrating from the day’s events and desperately need to unwind and relax but can’t because your babies haven’t seen their mommy all day and they need you. I took a deep breath and then ran back upstairs where I paced around the kitchen singing songs, trying to act normal as the kids ate their blueberries and yogurt for dessert.

I started to mix the cupcake batter only to discover that I was out of vegetable oil. Damn. When hubby returned to the kitchen from the garage, I told him I had to run out. And off I went to the only place I know where I can be alone and collect my thoughts; the grocery store. Not only did I grab vegetable oil but eggs and homogenized milk too. Badass, I know. I forced myself to walk slower through the aisles to get my brain to settle down.

I arrived home 15 minutes later to find that Hubby was bathing the beasts. As I unpacked my loot, Hubby asked if I could throw down a plastic bag. That can’t be good. As I did, my 2 soaking wet, naked toddlers came giggling up the stairs as Hubby explained they had been evacuated since Mr. C took a huge poop in the tub.

We diapered and dressed them in pajamas and settled down on the couch to catch an episode of Dora the Explorer before bed. As the credits rolled up, I excitedly jumped up and announced that it was bedtime. Two reluctant toddlers wandered up the stairs. Mr. C stopped mid-way and turned around towards the living room and said “Bye Couch!” which was easily the weirdest yet cutest thing I had heard all day.

We went upstairs and climbed into the big recliner in Mr. C’s room to start our bedtime routine. It was Mr. C’s turn to choose the first book for story time. He happily chose Dr. Suess’ ABC book. This has been a favourite this week. Tonight I couldn’t do it. I was beyond exhausted. There was no way I could wrap my tongue around the words in a Dr. Suess book tonight. Reading a Dr. Suess book while delirious is like trying to deliver the state of the Union address while intoxicated and half-blind. The slurring, the stumbling over words, the tongue-twisters. What the hell is a “Zizzer-Zazzer-Zuzz” anyway? Hubby took the reading shift tonight. Beyond on the “read to” side of things is pretty awesome, I must say.

Both kids were snuggled into my lap. As Hubby read to us, Mr. C lifted his sippy cup, turned to Miss M and said “Cheers!” and they clinked (well clunked, because of the plastic) their cups together. Hilarious. Hubby clearly delivered Dr. Suess’ AbC book with excellence. I have never had my bedtime stories toasted.

Mr. C seemed more like himself after his big bathtub poop. I kissed him on his cheek over and over making him laugh hysterically. He laughed so hard that he coughed. He coughed so hard that he threw up. All over me. Fortunately, Miss M jumped down so she was out of his range. He was scared. He had never thrown up before and it just kept coming.

This is something that I have learned about motherhood. As mothers, we have this incredible ability to not only put our wants and needs aside, but to make them completely non-existent in order to better nurture and protect our children. Seeing how afraid my little man was, I pulled him closer to me and whispered comforting words to him, completely oblivious to my vomit-covered self. Until he finally stopped and I looked up at Hubby who was frozen and looked like he might puke. And then I started to smell it as the smell filled the room and thought I might puke too.

I stripped Mr. C down and then stripped myself down and Hubby and I started cleaning up the enormous amount of vomit that had come from such a tiny man. Blueberry puke and beige microfibre chair. What a delightful combination. Miss M insisted on helping us clean up which made Mr. C want to clean up too. Why fight it?” Once the vomit was picked up, I handed them a box of wipes to clean the floor before I washed it while I started a shower to deal with the puke in my hair and down my entire body while Hubby grabbed the Little Green Machine (aka my hero and best friend) and tackled the blueberry puke-covered microfibre recliner.

I ended up trading in my hot bubblebath in silence for a lukewarm shower due to the almost 2 year old bathing at my feet. As I turned to grab some soap to clean up my little boy, I realized that we didn’t have any baby soap in the shower. I took a risk and used a bit of my soap on his little body. I’m not an overly religious person but as I scrubbed him clean, I closed my eyes and prayed that he would not get a rash from my soap and that today would be the end of today’s madness.

At this point, all I needed was a laugh. Not a laugh so hard that I coughed and then puked but a good, hardy laugh. My prayers were answered as Mr. C and I got out of the shower to find Miss M skipping around wearing my underwear overtop of her one-piece pajamas with the sides pulled up over her shoulders like a 1980s aerobics bodysuit. What a kid! (And no, the underwear were not clean. Siiigh…never a dull (or clean) moment!)

Andbabymakes3imean4 is one mom’s adventures while tap-dancing on the brink of insanity with 2 babies, 11 months apart. If you liked this post, please subscribe or like my page on facebook to read more! Thanks for reading! Xo


Snow Day Potty Madness: This Mama is in need of a Plumber, a Margarita and a Jumbo-Sized Box of Tampons… (it’s not as bad as you think!)

Today is a Snow Day. Snow Days are awesome. Not only do you get to stay home and snuggle in your pajamas all day but the piles of snow cover all of the plastic play equipment in the backyard and make it look so much more tranquil and tidy… as if 2 tiny people have not taken over every square inch of your property. Goodbye, crab-shaped sand box. Adios, tiny plastic picnic table. See ya in the spring, Little Tikes cars. Zen.

Goodbye toys.  You are now just bumps in the pretty, white drift!
That’s a LOT of snow!

It was a pretty ideal day for a snow day considering we had just done a major Costco run yesterday.  We were well stocked and prepared to be snowed in for a week.  The only thing we didn’t have was fresh lemon for lemon water after all of yesterday’s Superbowl junk food.  (First world problems, I know!)  However, I did have lemon essential oil which is just as good in water if not better.  (It’s amazing what you discover when you are in survival mode…I’m roughing it today with my bottled water and essential oil!)

We haven’t had a snow day in a while.  After watching the news to have the road conditions confirmed, I reset my alarm to 9:30am so I wouldn’t sleep the day away and went back to sleep.  When my alarm went off, I had already changed 2 diapers, dressed  2 kids, cycled a load of laundry, made bacon, eggs and toast, washed the dishes, watched 2 episodes of Dora the Explorer and was deciding what to feed the kids for snack.  I suppose setting that alarm was just wishful thinking!

I didn’t think that the day would get much crazier than this morning’s incident with our toddlers’ beloved beta fish, creatively named Blue Fish.  As I sat on the toilet after breakfast, Hubby walked in and said “I think we have a problem with Blue Fish.”  Note to self:  Lock bathroom door.

Me: What’s the problem?

Hubby:  He’s dead.

Me:  That is a problem.  Are you sure?

Hubby:  Don’t fish float upside down when they die?

Me: Yes

Hubby:  Then yes, he is dead.  Do you want to see him before I flush him?

Me:  Not really.  Well maybe… I don’t know.  This is really sad.  Blue Fish was the kiddos’ first pet.  He’s been a really good fish.  Okay, yes, I will come up and see him.

We went upstairs while the kids now 21 months old and 2 and 3/4 years old played in the living room.  Hubby picked up Blue Fish’s fish bowl and we both stared inside of it.  Hubby asked me if I was ready to say goodbye.  I wasn’t.  Thank goodness because as we continued to stare at this poor little Beta fish, he started to swim.  So, we cleaned the fish bowl, fed Blue Fish and carried on with our day, relieved that we hadn’t flushed the poor little guy alive.  It’s hard enough to lose a pet.  I would imagine it would be harder knowing that your parents killed it.  Thank you Blue Fish, for swimming around your bowl at just the right time.

This afternoon after I got the kids up from their naps, we all took turns using the potty.  We are desperately trying to toilet-train Miss M but she is not interested at all.  Mr. C is very interested and is doing really well.  After my turn to pee, I flushed the toilet and immediately noticed that the flushing sound was different.  I looked down to see a bazillion pieces of toilet paper quickly swirling to the top of the bowl.  I quickly grabbed the plunger and started plunging like crazy while 21 month old Mr. C repeated “Scary!  Scary!” not knowing what was going on.  With her priorities in order, Miss M asked me “Where’s purple dinosaur?” at least 57 times as she held the orange and green little, plastic dinosaurs in her hand.  My heart was pounding.  My blood pressure was rising.  Hubby had gone out to a meeting.  The fate of our bathroom was up to me.  Crap.  

I pulled the towel off the towel rack behind me and watched the water instantly soak through it.  As I turned to get more towels, I saw that both toddlers had followed me into the bathroom and were splashing around in the toilet water.  Gross.  I pulled their socks off and begged them to get out of the bathroom as I scanned the toilet up and down trying to remember where the shut-off tap is for the water.  I couldn’t find it.  The kids ran back into the bathroom and I got splashed in the face with toilet water when I turned to shoo them back out.  It’s okay.  It’s just pee.  Breathe.  I grabbed their hands and literally dragged them out and shut the door, locking them outside of the bathroom.  They both screamed and cried and banged on the door, then somehow managed to figure out the childproof door knob lock and busted the door back open.

I took the lid off of the tank and out of desperation and panic, pulled the chain inside because it seemed like the only thing I could do with all of the contraptions inside of it.  Obviously, it caused the toilet to flush again, this time pushing water over the lid like the fountain in the middle of Central Park.  Dammit!  Mr. C applauded and cheered “Yay! Wa-ter!” as I pushed past him to the linen closet in the hallway for more towels.

I quickly unfolded the freshly washed towels and threw them on the bathroom floor.  As I did, I noticed that the brand, new jumbo-sized box of tampons that I had just picked up at Costco was still on the floor next to the vanity because it was too damn big to fit inside the cupboard.  It was now completely soaked with toilet water and so were the tampons inside of it.  Talk about super absorbency.

I ran downstairs to shut off the main water line.  Good idea!  Except that I couldn’t figure out where one might do that.  I really wish my brain would work and I could remember anything of significance.  I can tell you what I wore for picture day in grade 3 but when it comes to things like this, I draw a complete blank.  I scanned the laundry room looking at pipes and taps and things that might end the madness, then settled for a mop and bucket. I ran back upstairs to see that Mr. C was plunging the toilet after emptying the linens from the linen closet since there were no towels left and had dumped our extra sheets and blankets into the toilet water on the floor.  How helpful.

Thanks, little man!

Miss M stood outside of the door, frozen like a statue with a look of pure devastation on her face as she pointed at her beloved, heart-shaped, plastic necklace soaked in water and toilet paper bits on the bathroom floor. “My wook-lace!  My wook-lace! My wook-lace! Mommy, my wook-lace!”  If there is one thing I have learned about two-year olds, it is that a two-year old’s world revolves around the two-year old.  Everything else is just background noise.  A flooded bathroom is just an irritating backdrop for a soaked plastic necklace and a missing purple dinosaur.  “Don’t worry about your necklace!  Mommy needs to clean up the bathroom first and then she will get your necklace!”  Well, those words and my failure to immediately stop what I was doing to rescue the “wook-lace” were enough to push Miss M right over the edge.  She threw herself on the floor in the hallway and had a full-blown tantrum while I finally got the water to stop pouring over the top of of the toilet and then mopped up the mess as Mr. C pulled all of the now-soaked tampons out of the box one by one.


I threw all of our soaking wet towels and linens down the stairs to the laundry room, stripped both kids down, washed them, washed the bathroom floor, threw out all of the gross, wet tampons and then got to what was important:  cleaning and disinfecting the beloved, plastic, heart-shaped necklace.  Thank goodness this precious, family jewel was not destroyed in the flood.  Crisis averted.


This mama is now in need of a plumber, a margarita and a jumbo-sized box of tampons.  In the meantime, there are cupcakes.  Cupcakes make everything better…and stickier. Much, much stickier.

cupcake party

andbabymakes3imean4 is one mom’s adventures while tap-dancing on the brink of insanity with her insanely adorable and entertaining Irish twins, now 1 and 2 years old.  If you liked this post, please subscribe to my blog or like my page on Facebook to be the first to know of future posts.  Thanks for reading!  Cheers! xo