Author Archives: michellereitemeyer
Gift Horse
When my friend from whom I order Mary Kay products includes a free sample of anti-cellulite moisturizer, is she trying to send me a message?
What I’ve really been up to
I realize that my blogging since the baby’s birth has been…minimal. Even when I do post, it is a bit lacking in substance. Now that the relatives are gone, I’m back to my usual life: feed baby at breast, feed baby with a bottle, pump, change baby’s diaper, repeat. Sometimes for variety I read out of a history book or do a math lesson.
If I’m not doing that, I’m off to the clinic or the LC’s (lactation consultant) office. Mary is now 5 weeks old, and not yet back to her birth weight. I’m bottle-feeding her way more than I want to, but I realize it is important that she put on weight. Apparently, besides being too stressed out to produce enough milk, I am also too old and too tired and worn out. Naturally, I reject all those theories, but it sure makes life hard when, once again, an appointment with the LC fails to demonstrate that the baby is getting enough at the breast.
Whenever I read about the heroic deaths of the saints, whether a martyrdom or a slow, painful suffering from something like tuberculosis, I wonder if I could bear that cross with dignity and without complaint. I think the answer is no. Too often I hear myself saying, “I quit! It’s too hard.” The fact is, I have little patience for this whole process. I want a quick fix: more milk, better sucking, no effort – POOF!
I will admit to a certain level of enjoyment at the convenience of handing my husband the baby and a bottle and running out to the grocery store alone. But then I feel I have to sneak down the baby aisle and hide the container of formula under the other groceries. It’s ridiculous, I know. But the whole breastfeeding/bottle feeding thing is very emotional for me.
I’ll get through this. Deep down, I’m not ready to quit yet. But I pray for fortitude and patience. This isn’t a noble or glorious suffering, like having the stigmata. But the pumping, the watching the clock, the recording of every wet diaper, and the trips to weigh the baby definitely qualify as a cross. I just need to offer it up.
Favorite pics
The cake
Holy Communion, Batman!
Billy (to Fritz): You were right. The wine didn’t taste so good. But the bread…that was good.
It’s the Bread of Life, man.
I’m no Michelangelo
Going to the chapel…
Today: Mary’s Baptism
Tomorrow: Billy’s First Holy Communion
The ratio of adults to children is favorable (9 to 6). Should be a good weekend.
Perhaps blondes have more fun, but they get no respect
I was born blonde, but my hair is now a light-to-medium brown with natural highlights if I spend a lot of time in the sun.
My husband, though, apparently thinks that I’m still very blonde. Now, honestly, I’m a smart cookie, and my husband is a top admirer of my mental acuity. I will admit to having “blonde moments” wherein I suddenly forget how to read a map, or where I put the car keys, or the difference between a manatee and a cockatoo, but I think these times are fairly rare. There is no reason for anyone to expect me to not follow along in a conversation and understand what is being said.
So, in September, when Bill felt the need to define the acronym IPA, I was a little insulted. But then yesterday he was telling me a story about a sniper and blah blah blah blah. I’m really not going to repeat this story. I was listening, but this is not the type of story that civilians (including ME) really want to hear about, but since I’m married to an Army guy, I get to hear all the time. Suffice it to say that it includes DEATH in a violent manner. C’est la guerre.
OK. So, guns are involved, and my husband mentions that the sight wasn’t zeroed. He then explains that this means that what the shooter would see in the sight is not where the bullet would actually go.
Really? Wow. Learn something new every day.
At least some anonymous internet quiz thinks I’m a genius.
I think I’ll go back to coloring my hair. I may as well look the part. I’m just surprised he lets me educate his kids!
P.S. No offense meant to any smart blondies out there.





