Once we were home (from the hospital), she cried 21 hours each day, hours calculated on a non-magical, no-extra-hours-added-to-a-day, non wish-granting clock. Life could not continue like this. I made it, she made it, my beloved husband who had no idea what the heck to do made it to Day 5. On this day, while unpacking from the hospital, a tiny rubber and plastic composition of pink, blue, and yellow fell to the bed. It was a God send, an answered prayer, a shining mirror ball hanging from my ceiling sparking rays of light as a chorus sang. I can still remember the secluded discussion my husband and I had behind the closed doors of our bedroom during the few moments that followed. "Should we let her have it?"..."we said we never would."..."Jenn, something's got to give." More like someone or, more accurately, two someones because this was a decision I refused to make on my own. So with heavy hearts and an increasing amount of self doubt (it was that big of a deal) we decided to give a child, one of OUR children, a pacifier. Honestly, at that point, the binkie was the alternative to a small room with padded walls and a nurse named Barb that dispensed medication according to her own clock. It was what came next that was harder than the decision itself. We had to announce the decision to the crowded rooms of family on the other side of our door. After all, no matter how much I love and adore my husband, I couldn't (he probably could...well, maybe he couldn't) stay in our bedroom forever. Mark's solution to my dreaded judgment was very matter of fact. "Jenn, just give her the thing and walk out. If anyone says anything, simply offer them to live in our shoes for the next 24 hours and see how long they last. We lasted 5 days and it was far from how I imagined Heaven." So in a nutshell, he was saying the last 3 days at home with a screaming, crying newborn have mirrored his assumption of Hell juxtaposed with 7 weary days and an equal amount of sleepless nights (remember my labor was long) if confronted, my often quiet and well-mannered husband would have told the offenders where they could have stuck a binkie of their own. We walked out of our room, Jillian held in our arms, the binkie displayed between her lips...
What happened on the either side of the door? Check out Quiet Sold Separately to find out the answer to this and how to get a picky eater to expand his pallet and is it okay to lie to your husband by omission and many more topics as they arise.
100% Waishnora has been in a time out for a little while.This last month has been crazy and super-dee-duper challenging. The latest ingredient in our cake (see previous blog entry) -- Mark has pneumonia and I have shingles. Woo flippin' hoo! Pardon the sarcasm, but pain is not my friend and it makes me rather irritable and discontented. Thankfully, we have great friends and an even greater family that have rose to our challenge better than we could have ever anticipated. So a big thank you to everyone who has called, helped, cooked, prayed, etc. Your efforts have been just about the only things that have been smile worthy these last few days. My grandpa always used to say, "Jesus never said let me know how I can help, He was just always there to help." So thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the help. Goodness knows we need it now more than we ever have before. 
