The Poopsie Collective

Brotherly Love

Written by BROOKE

My husband and I are both close to our siblings. Not like crazy, talk on the phone ten times a day close, but close as in we can stay in a house for a week with our siblings, not kill each other and have a really good time. I think we’re really lucky that we both like each other’s families. I love it and I feel happy that my kids will know their cousins well because we all get along and enjoy spending time together. 

But it wasn’t always that way in my family. My siblings and I didn’t always get along. We fought. A lot. And violently. (Kid violently, not like sociopath violently). At least my brother closest in age and I did, and I’m pretty sure the others did too. I was 7 and 11 years older than the other two, so we didn’t fight quite as much. But I can’t say we liked each other. Sure, I have memories of us having fun together and doing fun things. But I have a lot of memories of us screaming and hitting. And then I left for college. And when we weren’t all under the same roof things started to change. We got along a lot better. And now that three of the four of us are married with kids I’d say we’re even closer. We now have more in common. 

But I don’t want my kids to be adults before they like each other.  How do I make them like each other now? I’d say at 2 and 4 they are about 60/40 as in 60% of the time they are fighting and 40% of the time they are getting along fabulously. I blame the 4 year old mostly because he’s crazy possessive of things right now and can’t learn how to share. But the 2 year old isn’t blameless. I mean, he has learned how to push his brother’s buttons. You should see the devilish look on his face when he grabs one of Zach’s cars and runs out of the room with it. 

I keep telling Zach, “this is your BROTHER; he should be your best friend!” But his response is always, “he is NOT my best friend, WILL is my best friend.” I don’t know how to teach them to love each other. I know that fighting is inevitable; I mean I don’t think there are siblings on the planet that never fought. But I look at kids who were best friends with their siblings even in high school and I envy that. I want that for my kids. I’m just not sure how to get us there (and I have a feeling yelling “LOVE YOUR BROTHER” might not be working). 

But there are those moments… like last night when they took forever to go to sleep because they were giggling and being silly in their room. Or when I come get them at the gym and they are laying on the ground together coloring as if they really are best friends. Those are the moments when I think I might have a chance. 

Brothers AND best friends? We’re working on it…

Welcome Back, La Perla

written by STEPHANIE

Something momentous happened yesterday. I switched bras. Out with the matronly, sexless, nursing bras that have plagued my lingerie drawers for all these many months! Back to my sweet, flattering, evocative, demi-cups.

It started last week over breakfast. Mornings in our house are rushed – my husband is getting ready for work, while I’m on baby duty changing the nasty over night diaper, milk feeding, then shoveling purees into an eager mouth. We make a point of sitting together for breakfast, despite the morning chaos. It’s a quick touch base before the day consumes us with its obligations. I left out the part in my pre-breakfast routine when I shower and get dressed. That’s because these things don’t happen until noon. So sitting across from my well-groomed, dapper husband at 9am is a crude version of myself, looking something like a Cathy cartoon.

I was carrying on about my plans for the day when I noticed that he wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he stared down toward my chest looking disgusted. This is unusual coming from him. Not the staring at my tits bit — that is entirely normal. It was the look of appall. He can find me attractive moments after I’ve shat myself with food poisoning, or gone through a box of tissues during a bad sinus infection. The man is insatiable! He’s hardly to blame though, as I am devastatingly beautiful, charming and seductive. So, his repulsion was notable.

“What? What are you staring at?”

He nods at my boobs. I look down. My white v-neck tee is low, I’m slouched forward, and most of my bra is exposed.

“What? What’s the problem?”

“That. That’s a problem.”

“Why? What’s the big deal? I’m a mom!  It’s the morning. I haven’t had a chance to get dressed yet…” I’ve got many more excuses quickly lining up in my head, all leading us into a fight for my pride. That’s how things go since I had the baby: he makes a remark, I turn it into a critique on my (dis)abilities as a woman and mother, a short and heated nonsensical argument ensues, followed by an icy standoff. Somehow I mentally bitch slap myself back to reality before we go too far. I realize that he’s right (this time). My morning ensemble is a problem.

While I pump 3 times a day, the baby stopped nursing two weeks ago. I don’t need access to my breasts 24/7, so out of storage came my non-nursing clothes. I stood trying them all on. I felt odd… feminine… independent… exposed. Nursing bras are plain and unflattering, like sports bras and Subaru Outbacks. They are also incredibly comfortable and safe. Subconsciously, they’re proof that my body’s primary responsibility is to my child. Once back in my pre-baby bras, I felt a little silly and a lot sexy.  I wondered, am I cheating on my baby?!

Now, on Day 2, the nursing bras have been washed and stored until the next time around. Things have quieted down inside my head as the idea that I’m done nursing has really sunk in. While I’m not loving the underwires (were they always this irritating?!), I am loving the new feeling that under my clothes is a woman, not just a mother.