You see, in this crazy life of mine, the one that involves a toddler and an infant, full-time employment and management of a house that currently sports eight brown shutters and four green ones (much to the dismay of the neighborhood association, I’m sure), idle moments are few and far between. Not that I would have it any other way, of course. Still, it does leave one with little time to pause and reflect on things.

Enter lactation.

Twice a day, while at the office, nature calls, and I visit the basement to pump in the one area of the building where the walls are not glass (aka see through)! And I sit for about 10 minutes or so hooked up to my bestie with some of that oh-so-elusive time to pause and reflect on things. It is often in these twice daily stretches that some of my best ideas come to me. Free from my BlackBerry (as my hands are — how should I put this? — otherwise occupied), I actually close my eyes and think. Imagine that!

But aside from the several “aha moments” that my pumping time and place have afforded me, I am also meeting new people! You see I work on the second floor of my office building, and I might never otherwise visit the basement bathroom where I now run into my new cronies: Gail and Lucinda** on a regular basis. And who knows, down the road when I need a programmer, I may just call on Gail. Or when I need a recipe to entertain a dinner party of eight, I just may ask Lucinda for a recommendation. Business done! All because of a little pump that could!

This all leads me to wonder what innovations, ideas and possibly even companies have been born of breastfeeding sessions when the sisterhood of nursing mothers have sat unattached to technology to pause and reflect on things. If we harnessed that collective time and brain power, just think what we could do!

Or if you simply want to use this time to close your eyes and think about George Clooney, Denzel Washington or insert your crush’s name here while reliving the moment in ninth grade when you scored the game-winning goal in the regional soccer finals, please do that. After all, when a mother comes by time to pause and reflect on things, she deserves to be able to do whatever the hell she wants.

**All names have been changed to conceal the identity of these frequent visitors to the loo (yes, I used the word “loo.” It’s just fun to say).

So to rally for my return to work next Wednesday, I thought it might be helpful if I scrounged up some inspirational quotes on the value of work. Perhaps if I read them enough my mind will give my heart a hand in mustering the strength I need to do what I need to do in a few short days. Oh and it doesn’t hurt that yesterday I made a trip to my happy place Target where I purchased a complete new set of colored gel rainbow pens and a crisp clean notepad for the first day back (am I the only one who takes great pleasure in a good pen and a brand new notebook)?!

So alas here are some quotes that will be my rallying cries for the next five days:

“The only place where success comes before work is in the dictionary.” -Donald Kendall

“Satisfaction lies in the effort, not in the attainment, full effort is full victory.” -Mahatma Gandhi

“Work spares us from three evils: boredom, vice, and need.” -Voltaire

“Work joyfully and peacefully, knowing that right thoughts and right efforts will inevitably bring about right results.” -James Allen

“We work to become, not to acquire.” -Elbert Hubbard

“Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.” -Thomas A. Edison

“Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.” -Theodore Roosevelt

”I’m a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it.” -Thomas Jefferson

So I will read these wise words spoken by wise people and remind myself of all the good things that result from my working outside of the home (not the least of which is the ability to fund my bi-weekly trips to paradise Target). So wish me luck and send any of your own personal words of wisdom or inspiration my way if you’re so inclined…I may need an extra large dose come Tuesday night!

On Friday night we had to make that decision that millions of pet owners before us have reluctantly had to. We put Mandy to sleep when it became clear beyond the shadow of a doubt that keeping her with us was causing her suffering. I had always imagined with both of my dogs that I’d be there to stroke their ears as they took their last breath, but in neither case would fate allow for it. With an infant and a toddler now in our household, only one parent could get away to take Mandy to the 24-hour emergency veterinary hospital. And rightfully it was the guy who first came upon her as an eight-week old pup, the last remaining member of her litter to be claimed. This is the guy who would so successfully train her that she’d never need to walk on a leash, would stop on a dime if told to halt and obeyed every command ever directed her way. I suspect he wanted to be alone with his girl to say their good byes. How could I argue that?

So my good bye to Mandy took place in the driveway as I helped hoist her failing 90 pound body into the back of our Saturn Vue for her last ride in the car–an activity she had always enjoyed throughout her life. I had only a few seconds to kiss her nose and hug her to my chest before I had to run back inside to make sure our two-year-old wasn’t lying on top of our six-week old. It wasn’t enough of a good bye for a pet that to me was more like another child in many ways, but to prolong our parting would have only prolonged her pain.

I’ve known Mandy about as long as I’ve known my husband. It was she who first greeted me when I made the first trip to my then boyfriend’s home in Chesterton, Ind., when we were newly dating. I was a bit nervous–making this trip from the city to the 219 area code meant we were getting serious. All my nerves went out the window though when a friendly yellow lab greeted me in the driveway putting this dog lover at ease in an instant.

I can assure you that the stories of Mandy and her big heart are many. She was loved by all who ever met her. She was Lassie to our golden’s Marley personality. My husband used to call her the goodwill ambassador, and I can’t think of anything that more accurately describes her nature. We had many other nicknames for her, including “D,” Deeter dog, Mandino and the yellow dog under the bed–(the impetus for a children’s book series I’ve been working on), and I’m sad that I’ll never again be able to call them out and hear the tags on her collar clink in response as she scampered my way.

Mandy loved more than anything to be outside. When I first made her acquaintance, she’d literally tremble for joy en route to the Indiana Dunes State Park to climb and then descend the dunes headed at full speed toward the waters of Lake Michigan. Later when she and her dad moved to Michigan where I had relocated, she enjoyed walks around our neighborhood–anything that would allow her fresh air and a chance to play fetch with a tennis ball or frisbee.

More than once Mandy served as courier between her dad and me. Stressing out over a statistics assignment that had me on the verge of a nervous breakdown during grad school, I looked up one afternoon to see Mandy headed my way with a red rose from dad tied to her collar. Who couldn’t feel a little better with that visual in mind? On another occasion, she couriered a note from my husband to me with some words of love and encouragement that I’ve now since forgotten, but the sentiment is still very much remembered.

Mandy was a teddy bear at heart but was also an astute watchdog letting us know when a stranger was at the door. And when we expanded our family and our infant daughter would fuss, Mandy would pace the floor like a worried mother. She was our ultimate protector, and I don’t doubt that if an emergency had ever arisen, she would have done everything in her power to assist.

Mandy was everything a dog should be, and she is already missed. Seeing her tattered bed out with the garbage cans this morning literally caused my stomach  a moment of pain And coming upon her red collar and leash on the counter has had me closing my eyes for a moment to acknowledge again that it’s better for her–and–us–that she isn’t here anymore, not in the state she had been in. The state that had not allowed her to go on a walk in several years. The state that meant if she wanted to join us in our bedroom in her home under the bed that we’d have to carry her up to that spot. The state that meant we’d hear that labored breathing only intensify with time.

So, she has joined her pal Riley on the other side. And one thought that has made me mentally smile since her passing is that some day (hopefully a day far from now) when I go to that side, I’ll be greeted by wagging tails full of enthusiasm. And a fuzzy yellow goodwill ambassador will be there to show me the way to all His wonder.

It has become such a part of my daily routine that I have gotten somewhat lax in my discretion. For example, lately I have given to pumping at the island in our kitchen as I surf the Internet on my laptop. That means I am pretty much in a fishbowl for anyone who might be passing by our home. Thankfully we live on a cul-de-sac with no outlet, so random traffic is rare.

Today as I pumped, I about a had a heart attack, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement out the back window. It was a man spraying our lawn and though I doubt he was looking in the window (and if he was, I further doubt he would have caught on to what I was doing), I ducked down out of view of the window and dragged my pump with me–after all breast milk is like liquid gold–hard to come by and second to none for baby’s nutrition. I simply couldn’t let good milk go to waste.

So there I was pumping on the floor of the kitchen under the island–my sexiness factor at an all time low. No one was there to witness my predicament, but it had me thinking about the positions we sometimes find ourselves in once kids enter our lives. For example, a few days ago I was on the ground attempting to slither through a multi-colored tunnel that was a recent birthday gift to my two-year-old daughter from her aunt and uncle. What she seems to like most about this new toy is watching her parents struggle to fit into it. I thought I was doing well losing the baby weight until I entered this tube and attempted to emerge  from the other end at my daughter’s prodding. Let’s just say it wasn’t a pretty sight.

But before I had time to worry too long about whether my husband still sees me as attractive given the somewhat compromising positions I seem to find myself in more and more now that we have two munchkins, I received an unsolicited e-mail from him that has set my mind at ease.

It was a simple forward with an attachment showcasing breathtaking photos featuring Grecian landscapes. His note accompanying this slide show read simply, “To my beautiful bride…….we should take a trip to Greece…..put it on our top 100.”

And in an instant, I felt all was right with the world again–despite, at that moment, being hooked up to a breast pump.

Prior to giving birth to the little guy, I had a conversation with my sister, herself a mom of three, about how I could ever love another child like I do my two-year-old daughter. I just couldn’t comprehend being able to have that much love for another child. She assured me that I would.

As per usual, she was most certainly right. And for the past 13 days, I’ve been thinking about how I could convey this feeling of love for my now two children. It came to me today in the words of a woman by the name of Heather Lende, a stranger to me but someone who shared her story in the May issue of Woman’s Day magazine that arrived in the mail earlier today. The issue is devoted to moms in this, the lead-up to Mother’s Day. At three points while reading through the issue and pumping breast milk into freezer bags, I was brought to tears. Seems the post-pregnancy hormones are still very much circulating through my body (as if I needed more evidence–thank you chronic night sweats).

Ms. Lende is the mother of five, four biological children and one daughter she adopted from Bulgaria 11 years ago. In the article, she talks about how when each of her babies was placed in her arms, she had a similar overwhelming sense of love and responsibility for this new being. She experienced those same feelings when a nine-year-old Bulgarian gypsy became her daughter through the miracle of adoption. Ms. Lende writes, “There is no occupancy limit on a mother’s heart. It expands with each child, whether you gave birth to that child or not–you just add another room.”

I loved it–particularly the “no occupancy limit” bit. Another room has indeed been added to my heart. It’s baby Brendan’s. Love you with all my “no-occupancy-limit” heart little boy. Welcome to our world!

Don’t get me wrong—I have stocked up on some boy onesies that are neatly folded away in his dresser drawers. But comparatively, my son is starting out with way less in the clothing department than my daughter did. I guess that’s just how it goes.

I’m hoping though that what I lack in attire for my baby boy I more than make up for in motherly experience having done this child birth thing once already. For any of you who’ve read my blog from its early days, you may recall a post I wrote on “what I know for sure,” which is also the title of Oprah’s column on the last page of each issue of her magazine. At that time in 2009, I was writing what I knew for sure about pregnancy up to that point. Today, I write what I know for sure about parenting now two years in.

What I know for sure…

• The sleep deprivation of having a newborn is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, but it too will pass.

• No matter what advice veteran working moms send your way, it’s extraordinarily difficult to go back to work leaving your (in my case) 12-week-old baby in the care of another.

• No matter what advice veteran stay-at-home moms send your way, going back to work (however it is that you choose to do so) is beneficial to you, your spouse and your child in myriad ways (and not solely financial).

• There’s nothing like having your own mom there to help during your first days home from the hospital (thank you MK)!

• The famous quote by Elizabeth Stone couldn’t be more dead on: “Having a child is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

• The words “I love you” have never held more meaning than when said out of the blue by a curly-headed toddler giving your leg a giant bear hug.

• Breastfeeding is hard.  Breastfeeding is rewarding. A lot of people have very strong opinions on the topic. Listen to their opinions and those of others you respect. But ultimately, make the decision that is best for you and your child.

• The best is yet to come!

But “Hot Mama” isn’t solely about diet and weight gain. It touches on such other topics as hot mama clothing–an area I need to ponder as I peruse my limited selection of maternity clothes. I am roughly 12 weeks out from delivering a baby. Do I really want to spend money on clothes that I may never wear again? But at the same time, I am so sick of the five-day rotation of clothing and my relative dearth of maternity pants, which I have adamantly refused to purchase this go around, that it seems I will have to augment the selection or continue down my path of not-so-hot mama.

Let me share with you my dilemma. I am five feet 10-and-a-half inches tall. It’s challenging enough in a non-pregnant state to find fashionable clothes that fit my goonish frame. I can think of at least three bridesmaid dresses I’ve purchased over the years and on which I’ve had to spend at least an extra $30 more than the other attendants simply because extra fabric was needed to accommodate my longer than average body. I actually refuse to shop from stores that charge more for their tall sizes. There’s absolutely nothing I can do about my oversized body people!

But I digress. Imagine now being visibly pregnant and needing to sport maternity clothes for both aesthetics and comfort. Now imagine trying to find affordable, cute, LONG maternity clothes. Not an easy task. As a result, the outcome often looks something like this:

And while there are a few outlets out there that sell maternity frocks for us giants, they’re few and far between, and the selection is not always as broad as one might like. So, I put this out there to someone looking for a new business venture in 2011. How about a fashionable line of clothing for tall pregnant women? Sure, we’re not as numerous as our smaller counterparts, but we’re desperate and willing to pay!!

If I didn’t have eight million balls of my own in the air, I’d pursue this myself. Until then, I would firmly support (aka feverishly buy from) such a business and shamelessly promote it on my blog!

I should preface this tip by noting that my daughter was born with a full head of hair, which though everyone told me she would lose shortly after birth, she never did. See exhibit A.

Exhibit A

At 21 months, she continues to sport a thick, full head of hair (with gorgeous curls that leave me envious and more than a little curious as to from where they came). See exhibit B.

Exhibit B

Needless to say I need to contain her hair via pigtails, ponytail, barrettes or some other assortment of hair accessories. I’ve accumulated quite a collection of such things since her birth, so many so that I often find tiny hair ties in the oddest of places (my laptop bag, the cup holders of my car, the kitchen floor, the dog’s water dish…you get the idea). And since I am so often losing these tiny hair ties, I am finding myself at my favorite place to shop (Target) on a somewhat regular basis to purchase more rubber bands, toddler barrettes and the like. Though I try to keep them contained in a zipped-up cosmetic case, I still find my supply depleted on a regular basis.

So imagine the “aha” moment I experienced when my sister-in-law whose two daughters have sprouted luxurious locks of their own produced a pill box neatly containing and organizing dozens of hair ties by color. I loved it! And I let her know. She promptly shared that she stole the idea from her own sister-in-law. So I found myself at Target upon our return from our holiday trip to the in-laws’ to find just such a container for my daughter’s many hair ties. And not a day has gone by since then where I haven’t been able to find matching hair ties for my daughter’s pigtails.

So simple. So practical. So portable. Thanks for the parenting pearl of the day Jessica!

With the holiday season in full swing, we have a Christmas tree trimmed and on display in our living room. It contains many ornaments with photos of her or of her mom and dad  on their wedding day. Of course in these photos, her eyes zoom in on her hero, and she loves to pull the photo ornaments from the tree to gaze at dada and repeat his name. Honestly, it’s getting a little old.

But the other day, she came running to me with an ornament she had retrieved from a tree branch and began shouting “mama, mama” as she approached. I looked at what she was holding and couldn’t help but smile. She saw some resemblance to me in one of the “nine ladies dancing” that are part of a set of ornaments representing the “12 Days of Christmas” that were passed down to our family from my parents.

And it wasn’t a fluke. She has done it several times since then. While I don’t know that I am the lightest of foot when it comes to dancing, I quite like that she thinks I resemble this young lass who obviously keeps on top of her roots (me not so much) and is way more curvy than her real life lookalike.

You can bet this ornament will remain in the rotation for years to come!