So a couple of weeks ago I promised to take you all step by step, day by day through our struggles as we moved Carina back into her own bed in her own room and reclaimed our bed as our own.  But there actually hasn't been much to document.  There hasn't been much of a struggle at all.

On the first day, I decided to try using Johnson's Baby Bedtime Bubble Bath & Wash to start off our bedtime routine.  I was hoping that the calming scent would help in relaxing her and making bedtime easier.  And to my surprise it did!  Carina splashed and played in the bubbles.  She was so excited to get into the tub because of the bubble bath.  Now that was definitely a first.  Typically transitioning into the bedtime routine was very difficult for her and she tried her hardest to stay up all night until my husband and I eventually knocked out.  But with the bubble bath, it made it much easier.  The bubbles stayed in the tub for a while, well I haven't timed it, but long enough for her to play and tire herself out. 

Carina also tends to have sensitive skin.  Her skin will react to any harsh lotions and also switches in diapers brands in the past has caused issues as well.  So this was very much a concern for me before I used the product.  But according to Johnson's the bubble bath was "hypo-allergenic" and had been dermatologist approved.  So for the past couple of weeks, since we've been using it, I've watched her skin closely and she's had no reactions of any kind to the bubble bath. 

After she comes out of the tub, I massage her lotion onto her body to get her a little more relaxed and then we read my favorite bedtime story, Good Night Moon.  I tuck her in, kiss her goodnight, turn off the light and then off she goes to dream world.  And off I go to enjoy a nice quiet night with my husband.  My husband and I have both been a LOT happier since gaining our privacy back at night, and Carina is sleeping a whole lot better too!    

Yesterday Carina came over to me and told me "PeePee Mami! PeePee!"  Exclamations like that cause the drop of EVERYTHING your doing and mad scrambles to get to the bathroom.  So off we took like rockets up the stairs.  She in front and me following closely behind.  For some reason, this sprint caused some glee inside of her and she started to laugh.  Her cute little tiny girl contagious laugh that makes you want to laugh too just because something is making HER laugh.  I began to laugh and felt myself for that instant transported back to the innocence of my own childhood.  When everything was sweeter.  The air.  The swings went higher.  The slides pushed me down faster.  The ice cream truck popsicles were so much more delicious and I never counted their calories... Jokes were funnier and there was always something in the air.  Something not tainted I guess, magical.  Those are the moments I love to be a mom.  No matter what mundane things I was doing (probably folding laundry) we stop and just are in that moment.  And my heart grows and my soul is rejuvenated in some way by the short laughter we shared.   I am Mami.  I am Love. 

So, for a while now, as long as I can remember anyhow, Carina has been sleeping in the bed with my husband and I.  It started out when she was sick months ago, we brought her into bed with us in the middle of the night.  The next night the same thing happened, and then the following night she went straight to sleep in our bed.  So for months on end now, Carina has wedged a gap between my husband and I at night.  At times I wake up to find her caressing my hair, or her foot in my face, arms tangled around me and pushing me off of the bed.  Its the mornings that I love the most.  I wake up to see her little face sleeping calmly next to me, deep in a world of dreams.  Sometimes I just lay there and watch her.  She laughs and even talks sometimes.  I love that little girl to pieces, let me tell you! 

But there's someone else that I love to pieces, my husband Kike.  I love him so much!  Even though there are times, like today, when I feel like I could strangle him.  Coming home late to a dirty kitchen will do that to you though!  But all things considered he is truly the love of my life.  He knows me like the back of his hand!  He's the only person that knows me, how I think, how my mind works, the things I don't like, he knows it all.  And I miss him!  He's been working 2 jobs for over a year now and the time that we have to share together is just not what it once was.  I miss late night cuddles and waking up in his arms.  With him tangled around me, pushing me off of the bed. 

So, I've decided that we need to take a step and get Carina back to sleeping in her big girl bed.  The transition will definitely be a hard one as we're just transitioning her off of the bottle as well.  But we're both committed to it this time (I think!).  So tomorrow, we're going to take the plunge of getting her back into her own room.  Trials and tribulations, crying jags, photos all to be posted here.  Comments and advice from those experienced with transitioning toddlers back into their own beds, and everyone else will be truly appreciated!

P.S. to all my twitter friends - gosh it feels great to release some thoughts without 140 character limits! lol

Sometimes I want to capture time in a bubble. 
Save memories floating in clouds
to be later plucked and tickled back into place.
laughter like champagne bubbles
smiles like the sun

I stop and think one day they will leave me
And I hug them longer
inhaling their scents
trying to fill my every pore with their beings
with trace memories that will never leave me

touch their warm cheeks
see their souls innoncence in their eyes
hear their sweet words
requests for more babies or toys
all come in the same breath

constant questions fill my days
and make me think of thoughts long forgotten
games remembered
childhood relived
Love untold

I love quiet moments at home alone.  They give me time to clear my head.  Being laid off was probably one of the best things that has happened to me in my life, although it still hurts me.  Because I had an opinion I was chosen; I was deemed "unnecessary".  God forbid, a woman should speak her mind.  A man doesn't want to hear it at home and he definitely doesn't want to hear it in the workplace either.  I mean there at least the woman is getting paid to do a job and should be so "grateful" to have one.  Even if she was doing the work of 3+ people and one man was driving her nuts.  Well, he was a vital part of the organization.  A vital part of how the organization worked and I wasn't.

When one thinks of mistakes, one must always look back and examine the actions that made you take that misstep and made you land where you fell.  Well, guess what? I don't take one action on my part back.  Rather, I should have said and done more. 

I stopped writing here for a while because it started to make me feel like my soul was exposed to the world to see.  But then I remembered, I started my blog to expose my soul to the world.  Not to discuss politics, not to debate issues, but to write mostly just to clear my mind.  So here it is 3 months later, after I was deemed "fat that could be cut", and I'm still not over it. I don't know why.

I'm not sitting at home eating OREO cookies and crying.  Not by a long shot.  I go to the gym every day and work out about 2 hours a day.  I drop my children off from school and pick them up, no more before/after care for them.  I have so much more time for my family and for me.  I'm not in last place anymore.  When I was working 50+ hour work weeks, my time was about everyone else but me.  Not anymore.  I'm putting myself first for a little while.  I'm opening my mouth.  Rediscovering my own opinion and voicing it.  I think it will open new doors for me after a while.  We'll see won't we?

As I knelt in the bathroom today, scrubbing the tub, my roots came to mind. I’m one of those Latinas. Not the ones that were born in a Latin country, but one of the ones that were born here. My parents were born in Puerto Rico and raised in 2 worlds, there and here. I, on the other hand, was born here. Only visited the island once in my life. Our familial ties to the island having long been stretched too thin by the hands of time.

My parents were progressive. My father being the first in his family to graduate college, law school and go on to become a lawyer. My mother graduated high school and went on to work full time in Corporate America for 30+ years. My father was the primary nurturer to us and my mother cooked, sometimes when she felt like it anyhow. Other times, it was every person to themselves to find dinner. I am no stranger to cereal and eggs for dinner. That was normal, part of life. My mother washed her own clothing and at some point so long ago that I can’t remember when ceased to wash all of ours. I washed my clothing. My sister washed hers. And my dad washed his and my brother’s.

My husband is one of those Latinos. Not like me, but born on the island. He didn’t come here until he was 19 years old. He still struggles to speak English. His mother doted on him, his father, and the rest of his brothers and sisters. She never worked outside of the home as far as I know. Her days were filled with nurturing their family. Cooking, cleaning, washing, she does it all. When my husband came to the US, he had never lifted a mop, washed a dish, or his own clothing to say the least.

And somehow, my husband and I met, fell in love, and got married. If he had known how un-domestic I was, he would never have married me. He sees me “serving” him as an act of love and devotion. I see “serving” him as being demeaning to me. So we often get mired into the same vicious circle of an argument. Him questioning my love for him because I don’t want to jump up and serve him dinner. I mean for God’s sakes, I’ve been taking care of the kids all by myself all day. Could he serve himself and give me a break? And me questioning whether he appreciates the sacrifice and the commitment that being a Latina wife and mother every minute of every day entails.

I was raised to be independent and now here I am being forced into a mold that I wasn’t built for. How do you just become the quintessential Latina when you were not raised by one? No one else seems to understand how I feel belittled, how I feel less worthy when my husband comes home and I have to jump up to serve him. Then continue to clean, help the kids with homework and so on while he sits in his boxers scratching his balls on the sofa watching ESPN. And I’m supposed to be happy. How do you find happiness in that? I look at my daughter, who is only 2 and being formed now for her future, and wonder what the future holds for her. A life of servitude for her family under the guise of nurturer? A husband who pitches in and cares equally for the children and the house? And my sons, will they do the same that they see my husband doing to their wives one day?

In the mirror, I see the marionette strings tied to my back and wait for the familiar pull of my husband’s hand. For him to guide me in the direction I should be going. For me to jump up, the happy puppet that I am, to cook, to clean, to smile, to laugh, to be reigned over. A lump forms in my throat; I swallow a tear and go back to scrubbing the tub.