<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866</id><updated>2012-02-16T11:00:05.977-08:00</updated><category term='breastfeeding'/><category term='co-sleeping'/><category term='VW'/><title type='text'>The Adventures of Raising Owen</title><subtitle type='html'>A little journey into our lives. The joys and frustrations of raising a son. Events happening in our lives. And my goal to live more naturally and organic.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-3932675554705799494</id><published>2009-01-28T14:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-28T14:23:50.886-08:00</updated><title type='text'>2009</title><content type='html'>Okay, so...wow, where to begin? January is almost over, and I realize I haven't even posted anything since November. How life gets in the way! All seems to be going well on our end. Owen had his 18 month check up (at 21 months old), with a new pediatrician last Friday. She is wonderful, very supportive of our choice not to vaccinate AND to continue breastfeeding. Yeah! So, looks like he's just tiny for his age, but she isn't worried at all. At 21 months, he is 20 pounds (although mom's scale says 23) and is just a little over 30 inches tall. He's still in 12-18 month clothing, but is just the cutest thing ever in overalls. She said he's advanced in verbal (obviously he's a child genius), and that he seems to be doing well. Yeah!&lt;br /&gt;For New Year's, we flew to Georgia and spent that time with Sean's dad and step mom and his two WONDERFUL amazing step sisters. I had an amazingly amazing time, and am sad that we're back home. Although, MJ is planning to spend her spring break from college with us, so I'm really excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been doing a lot of soul searching, spending time alone in thought, and really digging down deep, I've come to realize what some of the issues have been with my marriage, and with me trying so desperately hard to make it perfect, normal and pleasing to everyone else. Sorry to be a downer, but I'm not quite ready to reveal what this is, but everyone will know eventually. I'm still trying to work through this, and don't want to say anything prematurely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a happy, fun, great note, my sister Taylor, is due May 5 with a baby girl. So now, she'll have a boy AND a girl. It's time for a girl in the family, seeing that Owen was born in April of 2007, Bennett was born in August of 2007, and now, looks like Baby Girl will be born May 2009. Yeah for babies! I'm through with having kids, but so excited I get to spoil this new little girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll try to keep up with this blog more often. Work, life, family all gets in the way....ugh!&lt;br /&gt;Happy 2009!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-3932675554705799494?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/3932675554705799494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=3932675554705799494' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/3932675554705799494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/3932675554705799494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2009/01/2009.html' title='2009'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-4321093775770949132</id><published>2008-11-12T14:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T15:05:21.953-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The New House</title><content type='html'>So, we've officially been at the new house for 7 days now. Owen hasn't slept more than 2 hours in a row since we moved. He's incredibly clingy, day and night. He wakes up about every hour to nurse, and has a really hard time falling back asleep. He wants to sleep ON me, as opposed to next to me. This is so different for my little guy, and I know the new house, new city, new surroundings are really throwing him off. I just wish I could make this transition easier for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sean and I have enrolled Owen in Gymboree classes in Concord. It is so much fun to see all those 16-22 month olds running around. It's interesting to see the other 18 month olds, and see that they all have/are missing the same teeth Owen is. Owen LOVES the balls, and walked around the entire time holding a wiffle ball. He didn't quite know what to think of the big parachute at the end, but he enjoyed the bubble blowing. Most kids would run around and chase the bubbles. Owen would try to get the ones before they hit the floor. He spent a lot of time pointing at the bubbles and saying AHHH!!! His classes are on Saturday mornings with both Sean and I, and there is an "open- gym" on Thursday nights, which Sean will take him to. I'm so thankful that Sean is so involved in Owen's life. How lucky for Owen to have a dad that chooses to be involved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, in the "official" news section, our house has SOLD! Close of Escrow is December 11, and we are so thankful and grateful that this isn't a burden we have to shoulder any more. Even though we wouldn't admit it, the house was a huge stressor for Sean and I. It's almost like now that it has sold, and we're in a new house, our marriage is so strong...the way it USED to be. For this, I am so happy. I feel like my old self, and I'm loving every minute of my family life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, this is also a sad day, because my youngest sister, Kat, is moving to Germany tomorrow. Her husband, Richard, is stationed there in the Army for a year, so Kat is going to be with her hubby. I'll miss her like crazy, but know she is so happy to be seeing her husband again after 2 months apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll try to keep this updated more often. Oh, Owen can now say "I Don't Know." Where does he learn these things?!?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-4321093775770949132?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/4321093775770949132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=4321093775770949132' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/4321093775770949132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/4321093775770949132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/11/new-house.html' title='The New House'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-984897638186777368</id><published>2008-11-04T10:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T10:21:40.036-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Moving/ Baby Signs/ Sleeping through the Night!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;We're moving to a new house this weekend. Actually, we begin our move tomorrow and will finish up this weekend. Moving makes me crazy. Packing, unpacking, organizing, sorting, throwing away. I don't do well with change. Like, at all. I love to be comfortable in my surroundings. I feel calm when things are predictable. So, this is big for me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;We lost our house in this huge mortgage/economy crisis we're all in. We weren't able to refinance our home loan, because our home appraised for barely $200,000. We owe $318,000 on it. Fantastic. So, we're moving. I'm sad to lose our house...our first house we owned. At the same time, I know change is good and prevents you from becoming stagnant. I'll keep everyone informed how it goes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;On to Baby Signs. Owen has started signing to us some basic words: More, All Done, Eat and No. Funny this is, Sean and I don't sign to him. He's picked it up at Daycare from another child. You can imagine the look on our faces last night when Owen was frantically trying to sign something to us, and Sean and I were just staring at this child, no idea what he was trying to say to us. So, this morning as soon as we got to work, Sean and I did a Google Search on baby signs, and we've been cramming all morning like it's finals week in college. I've got Bird and Banana down perfectly!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;And, on a GREAT note, last night, Owen slept through the night for the FIRST TIME. Yep, I said first time. He is now 18.5 months old. He is still cosleeping with us, and I'm still nursing him, so I was shocked when I woke up at 3:30 this morning to discover he was still asleep next to me. I thought for sure he was dead. (Scary, but true.) This is the child who nurses every 2 hours, and here he is in dream land next to me. Yeah!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Thanksgiving is coming up, and I want to really take time to be grateful and thankful this year for all that we have. Even though we are losing our home, we are moving into a wonderful, family-oriented neighborhood with a good elementary school. We have each other and our health. We have a great, loving, supportive family. And we have a great, smart, wise-beyond-his-years son. Life is great. We are truly blessed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-984897638186777368?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/984897638186777368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=984897638186777368' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/984897638186777368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/984897638186777368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/11/moving-baby-signs-sleeping-through.html' title='Moving/ Baby Signs/ Sleeping through the Night!'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-3610395315914445679</id><published>2008-09-22T08:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T08:46:25.022-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My 29th Birthday</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Well, I am now 29. One year until I hit the big 3-0. Mom says that 30 is the new 20, so looks like I'm now 19. (Love all this math just for a birthday.) Things feel like they are finally coming to a resting point in my life, though. I feel like for the past 2 years, my life has been in a sort of chaotic state, and things have been out of whack. It took us over a year to get pregnant with Owen. Through rounds of fertility drugs and charting and temperature taking. Then, my pregnancy was just a joy (haha). I was all-day sick the first 4 or so months. Then, by the time I finally got used to being fat and happy, I had Owen early. He had colic the first 4 months of his life, and just when he was settling down, I had to go back to work. I got a temporary promotion at work, and that was difficult for me. New department, new manager, new coworkers. I'm now back in my permanent position, Owen is thriving and doing great, and my marriage is getting stronger. We hit a rocky period, and after marriage counseling on my end (I'm actually still going), turns out I have issues. But, then again, who DOESN'T have issues?! From all of this, I'm learning and growing and becoming a better wife. It's my goal to be a better wife, a better mother. It's also my goal to make my last year in my 20's my BEST one yet. I'm more secure with myself and who I am and what I want. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Well, off to do some work this morning. My lovely coworkers have brought in pastries and cupcakes and flowers for me. Yep, my best year yet. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-3610395315914445679?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/3610395315914445679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=3610395315914445679' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/3610395315914445679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/3610395315914445679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-29th-birthday.html' title='My 29th Birthday'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-8523789035856472473</id><published>2008-08-18T09:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T09:54:54.912-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sean's Hurt Foot = Erin is tired</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Sean hurt his foot last Monday night. Like, REALLY hurt his foot. A realtor was coming over at 6:00 to show our house, so we were getting ready to leave for the hour. Sean was worried someone would trip over our cable line in the bedroom, so he was taking it out of the wall. Owen decided this was precisely the time to roll on the bed, and off the edge. I caught him by an ankle, yelled for Sean, who then leapt across our room, over the bed, and caught Owen. As he pulled Owen to safety, he began screaming in pain that his foot was broken. After I called my mom (isn't that what you do in emergencies?), I got an ice pack for his foot. I was just in auto-pilot mode at this point. (Side note: Owen did NOT fall off the bed.) My mom and dad showed up at our house, and my dad helped Sean down the stairs and into the car, on the way to the ER. So, there we are, Mom, Dad, Sean, Owen and I, hanging out in the ER. Kaiser is known for long waits, so Mom and I took this opportunity to grab some dinner in the cafeteria. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;After several sets of x-rays, poking, prodding and Sean saying he was about to pass out from the pain, it was determined that his bones BENT in the wrong place. They didn't break, but just got bent. Ouch. The doctor said that Sean jumped so hard and so fast to get Owen, that instead of the foot bending at the ball (like on your tip toes), it bent in the middle. They sent us home with Codeine, crutches and a boot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;It's been a week. I am exhausted. Sean's foot looks a lot better, but I know he is still in pain. Codeine did nothing, so he's now taking Tylenol or Motrin, depending on his mood. He is hobbling around the house on his crutches, but still is using a shower seat to take a shower in the mornings. Poor Sean.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;With one parent disabled, for the time being, I have to really step it up. And it makes me tired. And sad. And depressed. I don't know why I'm feeling sorry for myself while all this is going on with Sean. Maybe because I'm secretly jealous he gets a break from parenting, a hall pass to not have to change diapers or prepare lunches or clean up the dishes after dinner. A permanent fixture on our couch, he has become. Foot propped up on a pillow with an ice pack. And it makes me sad. Owen wants a cracker, Mom gets it. Owen has a dirty diaper, Mom changes it. Owen is tired, Mom gets him to sleep. Owen decides he's had enough green beans and dumps the plate on the floor, Mom picks it up. Mom misses one green bean and there is an attack of ants. Mom cleans it up. Gross. Sean needs Motrin, Mom gets that, along with a cup of really cold apple juice. Sean needs to go to the bathroom, Mom helps Sean off the couch, hands him crutches, and holds her breath while he jumps up the stairs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Yesterday, I really had had it. I did grocery shopping, Target shopping, put gas in the car, cleaned the litter box and did laundry....all while my dear hubby sits motionless on the couch, watching some crappy movie on tv. I know, I know...this sounds so incredibly heartless. And maybe at this point, I am heartless. I'm tired. I want to pee without Owen. I almost want to just get in my car and drive. Or take a nap. Alone. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I'm hoping, wishing and praying that his foot will feel better soon. Not only for Sean, but for me, too. I just need a break. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-8523789035856472473?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/8523789035856472473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=8523789035856472473' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/8523789035856472473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/8523789035856472473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/08/seans-hurt-foot-erin-is-tired.html' title='Sean&apos;s Hurt Foot = Erin is tired'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-8164585550477611357</id><published>2008-08-07T08:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T09:04:38.404-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chiropractic Care</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;When I was 9, I started gymnastics. I took in Ardmore, OK at Kippers Gymnastics. Way back in the day, our gym was in the store room of the TG&amp;amp;Y. That was a long time ago. Anyways, my coach, Hope Ritter, noticed that my spine was a little crooked, nothing much, but suggested to my mom I get it checked out. So, my mom, two sisters, grandpa and I went to the OKC Children's Hospital for x-rays. The doctor told my mom that I had scoliosis, but the curve was so slight, that it would never amount to anything. I continued with gymnastics and thought nothing of it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;My sophomore year of high school, I started having horrible lower back and hip pain. I went to our pediatrician, who said it was just muscle pain. She gave me pain pills and sent me on my way. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;When my mom's job changed, so did our insurance. I started going to Kaiser, again having horrible back and hip pain. Again, it was muscle pain. When Sean and I lived in New Orleans, I would swear to you that it felt at times my leg was going to pop out of my hip socket. My then doctor said that was impossible, and had me do blood work to test for arthritis. Of course, it came back negative. So, he suggested I was just weak in my hips and sent me to physical therapy. It only made things worse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;After Owen was born, the pain was horribly unbearable. I would have pain shooting from my lower back all the way down to the back of me knee. Nothing would help it. Not Tylenol. Not ice packs. Not a hot bath. It hurt to lay down, it hurt to sit, to walk...nothing relieved the pain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;On a whim, Sean suggested I try a chiropractor. Since Kaiser told me to carry Owen on the other hip and wanted to give me Vicodin (which you can't take anyways if you're breastfeeding!), I thought, why not. It can't be any worse than what I'm going through now!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;My first appointment was on a Friday morning with Dr. Heidi Olson, here in Concord, CA. The office was so incredibly friendly that I thought I must be in the wrong place. The medical assistant spent more time getting my health history than Kaiser had spent with me in 10 years. Dr. Olson wanted to do a set of x-rays, and I was to come back the following Monday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Monday arrived and Sean and I went to the appointment, while my mom watched Owen. Turns out, I have 2 fused vertebrae in my neck and my scoliosis was so bad that the middle of my spine didn't even touch the "midline" of the x-ray. My hips were 10mm off in height, so that's why all the pain in my hips. I was told that I basically had the skeletal system of an 80 year old woman. I had a lot of degenerated discs, a lot of exposed nerves and a lot of bone-on-bone, which would cause anyone pain. First off, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. And secondly, FINALLY an answer to my pain. In all my years with Kaiser, no one had taken x-rays to see what the real problem was. They just assumed it was in my head, or muscular pain, not actually bones touching bones. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;So, I've been going for a little over 2 months now, 3 times a week for adjustments. I can honestly tell you that I haven't felt this great in such a long time. I was casually mentioning to Dr. Olson that I had a lot of trouble getting pregnant. We had to use 2 fertility drugs in order to conceive Owen. I HATED using the drugs, but my want for a child was so strong and I felt I had no other option. Dr. Olson said it didn't surprise her that I had trouble conceiving. There is a definite "curve" in my spine, and where it is and where the nerves are that are being compressed are the nerves that control the female reproductive organs. Aha! It was all beginning to make sense. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;In my journey, I hope to be curve free and get rid of the "sagging" shoulders look. My neck sticks out way too far, and it's all because of the curvature of my spine. So, it's not that I have bad posture or I'm too lazy to pull my shoulders back. At this point, I literally can't. But, I'm seeing improvement and I'm so hopeful for my future!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;If anyone in the Northern California area needs a good chiropractor, contact me and I will give you Dr. Olson's information. She has become such a positive influence in my life!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-8164585550477611357?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/8164585550477611357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=8164585550477611357' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/8164585550477611357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/8164585550477611357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/08/chiropractic-care.html' title='Chiropractic Care'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-3805259738369215530</id><published>2008-07-30T10:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T10:37:18.876-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Frustratrations of Raising a Wonderful Child</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I am frustrated. I am stressed. I am even a little angry. Some may be quick to say that I'm being too hard on myself, but you must realize that I pride myself on being the "prefect" parent, even though there is no such thing. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Owen is teething. Majorly. I'm fully expecting 17 teeth to pop through in the next day. Because of this, he wants to be comforted. And to be comforted, he wants to nurse. A lot. I don't mind the nursing part, but when I look at the clock and see it's 10:20 and I know I started nursing him before 9:30, I get frustrated. "I'm done!" I want to say to him, although he doesn't know what I'm talking about. I unlatch him, he cries hysterical like I'm cutting off his arm or something. I latch him back on, he falls asleep. I unlatch him, cries hysterical again. The cycle continues. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I was at my wit's end last night. I'm stressed already because of the following: We are trying to sell our house. No one wants to buy a house right now. Paperwork for foreclosure is being started. 7 year bad mark on credit report. No house. We are slowly making the transition to have me stay home with Owen, and I'm mad that it's not happening as quickly as I want it to. I hate that Owen is in daycare. I hate that someone else is raising my child for me. I hate that this other person gets to have fun with Owen and laugh with him, while I get him during sleepy time and cranky time. I feel guilty for even sending him to daycare and hate going to work each day. I would say I am close to tears each day leaving the house. Some days I do cry. It's so hard for me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Last night, after the hour long marathon nursing session, I finally get him to sleep. I have a huge headache by this time and am contemplating committing myself because I'm so stressed. If famous people can take a personal hiatus, why can't an overworked mom? After my lavendar bubble bath and 2 Motrin, I go into the bedroom. Owen is sprawled out like an X on my side of the bed. Sean is snoring. I get a blanket and curl up at the end of our bed with Brody, our cat. An hour later, Owen wakes up to nurse. 2 hours later, he wants to nurse again. 40 minutes later, my alarm goes off. Swell. Another night of no sleep. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I sometimes feel it would be so much easier if I just didn't care. How easy would it be to just let him cry it out? Or to give him a bottle? Or just let daycare feed him canned spaghetti o's? I could never do these things though. These are my main reasons for wanting to stay home with Owen. He should never have to cry it out. He is crying for a reason! And bottles are full of crap. And why is America overweight? Sure, it's not fully to be blamed on canned Spaghetti 's, but it's a contributing factor. I want him to have organic, natural, pure, fresh food. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;So, in my darkest hour, I look at my angel, sleeping with this little smile on his face. And I realize that all of my anger and frustration isn't because of OWEN. I realize it's me that needs to change. And, it's not Owen I'm mad at. It's more the behavior. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;So, where to go from here? Have a good cry. Feel sorry for myself. Suck it up, and know that shortly, I will be home with my son, and this will all fall by the wayside. Not to be forgotten, but to be a reminder of how wonderful of a child I'm raising. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-3805259738369215530?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/3805259738369215530/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=3805259738369215530' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/3805259738369215530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/3805259738369215530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/07/frustratrations-of-raising-wonderful.html' title='The Frustratrations of Raising a Wonderful Child'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-6778794057337450057</id><published>2008-07-24T13:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T13:26:40.602-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='VW'/><title type='text'>1972 VW Super Beetle!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;As a surprise for Sean, I am going to buy him a car. Granted, the car is older than we are, but this is the kind he loves. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;When I moved to New Orleans in 1999 to live with him, we were dirt poor. So, who isn't dirt poor when you first start out? We were eating the store brand of Top Ramen. And I don't even like Top Ramen. Anyways, I was making $5 an hour and offshore work was slow. Rent was due, bills were due and we had no money. So that I could stay there with him, Sean offered to sell his beloved 72 VW Bug. Sean loved this car...as in, LOVED with a big heart around the word. Once, when we were dating, I was in Huntington Beach visiting him. While at a stop sign, Sean turned down the radio, told me to be quiet, and listened intently for a few seconds. He put the car in neutral, pulled the emergency brake, and jumped out of the car. He opened up the back of the car, fiddled around a few seconds, and came back in the car. He then proceeded to show me a leaf. Apparently, he heard the rattling from a LEAF in his engine and it was driving him crazy. That's love. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;So, this loved car, the one that Sean and his dad spent hours building and rebuilding and fixing and restoring, is the very car that Sean sold for me. We both cried when the new owner drove it away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Almost 10 years later, we are now in a position where we can afford to get him another car. I did tons of research online and found THE PERFECT CAR. I contacted the owner, asked lots of questions, and made a deal. This Saturday, we are driving 3 hours south to look at the car. When we make the final payment, we will then be the proud owners of a beautiful, blue 1972 Super Beetle. I know Sean is still in shock, but I don't think he realizes how much it meant to me that he sold the car...for me. I love you, Buddy. Thank you for everything. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-6778794057337450057?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/6778794057337450057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=6778794057337450057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/6778794057337450057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/6778794057337450057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/07/1972-vw-super-beetle.html' title='1972 VW Super Beetle!!'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-1243803789158895604</id><published>2008-07-18T08:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T08:37:18.997-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;It always makes me sad when I hear stories of people who, after 10 years of not speaking, are just "reconnecting" with their mom. For me, that's something I can't even fathom. I don't think there has been a time when I haven't talked to my mom at least once a day, usually more than that. I actually want to be just like my mom. Super strong, this woman can do anything! Raise 3 crazy girls on her own, homeschool us, make our baby food when we were younger, grow a garden AND make her own pesticides, was a La Leche League Leader for years, stayed at home to raise us, then taught at the school we were going to. I always knew that my mom was a great friend, but after I had my son and became a mother myself, it was then that I really realized how influential my mom has become to me. I strive to be like her. I am reading the same books that she read while raising us. I am questioning authority and my pediatrician. I am a breastfeeding snob. I sing the same songs to Owen that she sang to us. I want to live the life that my mom wanted us to have when she raised us. (Yes, overly emotional me is shedding a few tears as I write this.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I can't imagine not having my mom around. I've already talked to her twice this morning, and sent her an email. It's only 8:30. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;How do you repay a woman who has molded your perfect life into what it's become? How do you say thank you to the one person who taught you to breastfeed? How do you say thank you to the woman who stood by you in the delivery room (all 22 hours of it), cut the umbilical cord of your first born, and then proceeded to tell you everything was going to be okay on DAY 4, when you're a hormonal, emotional, engorged mess?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Thank you, Mom. For everything you have done and for everything you will continue to do. I love you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-1243803789158895604?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/1243803789158895604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=1243803789158895604' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/1243803789158895604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/1243803789158895604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-mom.html' title='My Mom'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-5489537515601023549</id><published>2008-07-17T08:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T08:10:53.246-07:00</updated><title type='text'>107 Things About Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;You probably don't care, but I'm going to tell you anyways!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;1. I was born in Ardmore, Oklahoma.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;2. My parents got divorced in July of 1994.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;3. We moved to California in December of 1994.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;4. I am the oldest of 3 girls. Taylor and Kat are my sisters names. We are all 3 years apart, except Kat and I are 6 years apart. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;5. I met my hubby in a chatroom on AOL in 1997.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;6. We met in "real-life" on February 28, 1998, and got married April 17, 2004.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;7. We have one son, Owen, born April 21, 2007.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;8. I want one more kid...okay, maybe 2.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;9. I am a breastfeeding snob. I think formula is crap.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;10. Owen is still nursing and I believe in child-led weaning. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;11. We co-sleep. Owen has never slept in his crib. Ever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;12. We no longer vaccinate Owen. To us, the benefits don't outweigh the risks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;13. We wear Owen everywhere we go. I love my ERGO carrier.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;14. Owen has never had formula or jarred baby food. I made all his baby food when he was younger. Now he eats whatever we're having for dinner.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;15. I love a good hug. Or two.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;16. My hubby is my BFF.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;17. I am still trying to figure out who I am.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;18. I'm overly emotional.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;19. I cry a lot. My eyes tear up at a love story and I try to hide it with a fake sneeze. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;20. I secretly wish I was left handed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;21. My sister, Taylor, is left handed and I'm jealous.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;22. I wish I could wear fancier clothes like my sisters do and pull it off.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;23. I love flip flops.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;24. I love wearing my hair in a ponytail.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;25. My mom and I have the dream of opening our own bakery one day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;26. My hubby &amp;amp; I have the goal for my to be a SAHM by December.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;27. I give too much information out on a regular basis.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;28. I love re-living my childbirth experience and talk about it too much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;29. My sister and I have literally talked for HOURS about giving birth to Owen (mine) and Bennett (hers).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;30. Our two boys are 4 months minus 2 days apart.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;31. My sisters and I make up works...and use them on a regular basis in public. Bo-Bo, NuNu, Flowery, Eleventeen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;32. My mom is my mentor and hero. I want to be just like her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;33. I drive a 2004 black Saturn Vue named Matilda.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;34. She is my "dream" car.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;35. I sing. A lot. I put everything into song and am excited when I can respond to a question with a line of a song.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;36. I sing a lot of Beatles songs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;37. I hate lipstick. It feels like Crisco on my lips.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;38. I love good hair products. I'm also a snob about that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;39. People tell me I'm funny, but I don't think I am. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;40. We have a 15 pound, Maine Coon cat named Brody.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;41. Owen weighs only 5 pounds more than Brody.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;42. I am looking into homeschooling Owen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;43. I go to my chiropractor weekly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;44. Owen goes, too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;45. I love when Sean rubs my back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;46. I hate when he rubs my back while watching the History Channel. It's a 2 minute "pat."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;47. I love all things medical.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;48. I used to be a medical assistant in OB/Gyn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;49. In another life, I want to be either a Doula or a Journalist.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;50. I love words.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;51. Journalism was my favorite class in school.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;52. I hate when people use words wrong. (Who's is not the same as whose.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;53. I'm a mama's girl.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;54. I talk to my mom a MINIMUM of 3 times a day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;55. I call my stepdad Dodd.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;56. I wish I had more time to read.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;57. I started gymnastics when I was 9 years old.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;58. The next year, I tried out for Team, made it and started competing at Level 5.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;59. I quit gymnastics for good at age 16, but went on to coach at a gym in New Orleans.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;60. I have scoliosis and 3 vertebrae in my neck that are fused together.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;61. I love my chiropractor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;62. I will never enroll any of my kids in gymnastics. Ever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;63. I love sweet iced tea. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;64. I love Sonic ice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;65. I'm deathly afraid of balloons.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;66. I'm equally as afraid of rubber bands and loud noises.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;67. I have a love/hate relationship with my breast pump. I LOVE my Medela Pump in Style. I HATE being hooked up to a machine when I could nurse Owen in half the time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;68. I didn't go to college.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;69. On a high school education, I'm making $28 an hour.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;70. I think I have bird legs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;71. I think I'm too skinny.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;72. My Gram has the best costume jewelry ever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;73. My Gram calls my Sugarfoot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;74. She is the coolest 85 year old I know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;75. My PaPa died my senior year of high school.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;76. One time, Kat brushed her teeth with Papa's denture cream. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;77. I am allergic to bleach.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;78. I wash all of our clothes with Dreft baby detergent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;79. Most soaps/laundry detergents/perfumes give me a rash.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;80. I am a worry wart.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;81. I'm a major Day Dreamer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;82. I love to make lists.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;83. When we are going on vacation, I make a "to-pack" list and divide it into categories: pants, shirts, toiletries, other.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;84. I love road trips, but only if I am driving.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;85. I get really car sick. And airplane sick.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;86. Dramamine seldom helps me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;87. You can't take it while breastfeeding anyways.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;88. Wearing sunglasses gives me a headache.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;89. I love Celebrity Gossip.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;90. I actually pride myself on being up to date with Hollywood. How shallow of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;91. Flying cockroaches scare me to death.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;92. I have actually called the Security Guard at our old apartment in New Orleans at 11pm to come kill a roach.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;93. I have never smoked in my life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;94. Embarassingly enough, I love the smell when someone first lights up a cigarrette. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;95. I'm afraid to put my head under water.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;96. Crazy, since Sean was a Commercial Diver.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;97. I once got to dive in my mother in law's swimming pool wearing Sean's dive hat. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;98. I talk to myself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;99. I'm totally in love with Patrick Swayze.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;100. I had trouble getting pregnant with Owen and we had to use fertility drugs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;101. I hated putting fake hormones into my body.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;102. I'm waiting on a call back from my doctor to get my IUD removed. (Funny note: As I was typing this, my doctor called. Wish me luck at 3:10 this afternoon!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;103. Mistake: Having an IUD put in.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;104. I love the smell of Owen after his bath.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;105. I love Owen's open mouth kisses.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;106. I have been with Sean for over 10 years now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;107. I'm sad this list doesn't have much order to it. I'm fighting the urge to go back and put it in some sort of order.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;So, there you have it! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Owen was really cranky last night. He is really teething now, so we gave him some ice and some Tylenol. That seemed to help, but he had a rough night, as did Mom and Dad. I guess I should get some work done, so I'll close for now. Until later...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-5489537515601023549?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/5489537515601023549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=5489537515601023549' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/5489537515601023549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/5489537515601023549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/07/107-things-about-me.html' title='107 Things About Me'/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7704868177133978866.post-833370431510332333</id><published>2008-07-16T18:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T18:32:23.534-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='co-sleeping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='breastfeeding'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Seeing as this is my first blog, and that sometimes I really don't care what people have to say about me, I'm actually somewhat surprised at how nervous I am. (I hope I sound smart. I hope I don't use a word in the wrong context. I hope I say intellegent things.) As I write this, my darling little boy, Owen, is asleep next to me on the couch. His feet are propped up on my side and he's snoring just the tiniest bit. I'm so happy that he is sleeping. The past few nights have been rough. He'll either fall asleep and be up all night, or he'll have the hardest time getting to sleep, but then sleep soundly. Both of the scenarios keep me up endless hours. Owen is still co-sleeping with us, so if he's up, the whole family is up. Co-sleeping has actually been a blessing to our family. Since I'm still nursing Owen, it's so easy just to roll over and nurse him and we can both fall back asleep. And, I sleep so much better knowing he's right next to me. One may be surprised at the amount of comments (positive and negative) when I share that we're co-sleeping and STILL nursing. People either look at us like we have completely lost our minds and that we're ruining our child (ha!) or they say we're doing a great job, but they could never do it. Either way, I love our arrangement!&lt;br /&gt;I'm actually worried this blog is getting to be too long...or too boring. Hmm. With that, I'll end. Owen is starting to roll around, so I'll see if he can get a few more minutes of sleep...and me a few more minutes of peace before sounds of little feet chasing our cat fill the house. Until later...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7704868177133978866-833370431510332333?l=theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/feeds/833370431510332333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7704868177133978866&amp;postID=833370431510332333' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/833370431510332333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7704868177133978866/posts/default/833370431510332333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theadventuresofraisingowen.blogspot.com/2008/07/seeing-as-this-is-my-first-blog-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Owen's Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00028481223568775419</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_6UqIxF515Eg/SH9xpCMP5VI/AAAAAAAAAAM/DJ9VhBE5RFA/S220/Owen+carrier.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
