Plan B..or C...or...whatever.

As a parent, I have learned that having a Plan B is essential to my sanity. Plan A's only work out part of the time, right?

Like when my son was in the early potty training stages and we went on a shopping trip to Tyler with real big boy underwear on, and he refused to go to the bathroom when I took him. No, he chose to go to the bathroom on the floor in Dillard's.

Plan B.

Or when Kevin proposed and I decided that June 2nd was the most sensible day to get married, because March 6th was too close to the TAKS test (yes, I know, roll your eyes. I do too.)...and then about a week into our engagement I realized that letting the T.E.A plan my wedding day was ridiculous.

Plan B.

Or when Jackson was 10 months old and we decided to be wise and start trying to have a baby then because it took us a year and a half to get pregnant the first time. Two months later I took a pregnancy test into the Dillard's bathroom and cried all the way home.

Plan B. And perhaps some anxiety medication.

You get the point. I also realize I have had some pretty significant life moments in Dillard's. (If you are employed by Dillard's and reading this, I totally made up the part about my son peeing on the floor of your store. He would never do that. Noooo. Not by the Fossil watches. Not right before we sprinted out of the store. Not him. Never.)

Anyway.

After Sadie was born, we wanted to learn from our previous miscalculations. We made a deal that after--and only after--Sadie turned 2, we would try again for baby Reed #3 until I turned 36. I could lie right now and say that would give us a 6 year window, but in reality it gave us right at five months. If, at the end of that five months we weren't pregnant, we were going to take that as a sign that we were meant to be a family of four.

Plan A was almost a go when my husband came up with the wonderful idea of a family vacation in New Mexico next Christmas. When we proposed the idea to everyone, it was well-received and less than two days after Christmas we were already reserving a cabin for next year.

In all the excitement, someone reminded us about our plan. Wouldn't it be funny to be nine months pregnant in the middle of a snow covered mountain?!?! Unmedicated labor at 5000 feet! Good times!

Yeah boy. Whee.

Perhaps we were going to need a Plan B. Again.

We decided to stick to Plan A until the end of February. If Reed#3 had yet to materialize, we would wait and try again from August until the end of the year.

Plan B.

Or in this case, not! How 'bout that?

Monday, Monday

I've always thought Mondays got a bad rap. This particular Monday, lived up to all the hype. Not in any sort of life-altering way. Just in the how-the-heck-does-so-much-stupid-crap-happen-before-8 a.m. sort of way. Literally. Before 8:00 a.m.

In order to tell this story to the fullest, I should start around 12:30 a.m. when Sadie woke up crying. Sadie, our deep sleeper. The one who has disturbed our sleep approximately 3 times since she was four months old. Did I mention that Jackson--our frequent waker--was spending the night with Nannie and Dado? Kevin got up with her the first time--and if I weren't so nice, here would be where I would insert his crappy Monday story, but I will refrain--I got up with her the next four times. Yes, four. In one night, she doubled her up in the middle of the night count. Every time, she stopped crying when I entered the room. She didn't have fever, and didn't seem to feel particularly bad. I held her, turned on her music, even tried putting her in bed with us, but nothing seemed to be what she wanted (again, not crying, just wide awake)...so, me being the mom of the year that I am, put her back to bed and decided that the next time she cried, we would let her self-sooth. She started crying about 15 minutes later, and Kevin got up and shut our door. Apparently, however, I can't sleep with our door closed and knowing my baby is crying. So I stayed awake. And listened for her cry. Because that was the plan, right? Finally, around 3:30, I couldn't take the sound of her crying anymore. I opened our door to silence. What? I thought it was just a temporary respite. I listened. Nothing. So instead of going back to bed, I go back upstairs. I sneak in her room to find her zonked out, and from the looks of it, she'd been that way for quite some time.

I was hearing things. And losing sleep. For TWO HOURS.

I also woke up late. And I have morning duty this week. So instead of eating my bowl of cereal at home, I poured my milk in a coffee mug (with a lid) and put my cereal in a baggy and thought I'd made a brilliant decision. When I got to school, I stuck the mug in my purse for approximately two minutes so that I could open the door.

In case you're wondering, two minutes is just enough time for 10 ounces of milk to leak out of a sealed coffee mug and into the bottom of my purse.

Around 8:05 my husband emails me to say that my mom thought Sadie had a sore throat and fever. Mother of the year, that's me.

But Monday didn't get the best of me. Or Sadie for that matter. I think she might be teething, but no fever right now.

I wish I could say the same for my purse.