Do you remember when I said parenting with a full time job was like walking up Everest with one leg, in a bikini, while stopping to smoke a pack of Marlboro's every 10ft? What I didn't tell you is that it actually feels like that. Because my name is Courtney Saunders and I'm a walking heart attack. Literally. Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy to be specific. Let's back up. I was born with a congenital heart defect  and then found to have an aortic bicuspid valve during my first pregnancy. Lately, and by lately I mean it started 9 months ago (because I am really good at taking care of myself) I've been having chest pain and difficulty walking up steps or to my car from airplanes. It's stress. It's the alcohol. I'm exhausted. That's what we tell ourselves. Because of these symptoms, a few weeks ago I finally went to the doctor and had a stress test and echo of my heart and I failed both with flying colors. Ok, no biggie. Logic says stenosis (narro

Just when I think things are coming under control a bit God laughs in my face. Hysterically, for ten days. Apparently God finds pneumonia funny. I, do not. I am an absolutely disgusting human being. It is rare (as in never) that I actually take a sick day. And I took my second one this year last week. My body hurt so bad from coughing I was confident I was going to end up breaking a rib. Fortunately God thought that would be too much. But I couldn't walk up the stairs. I couldn't sleep. I saw the doctor twice in three days and it wasn't until they gave me the option of chilling out at home with some potent cough syrup or chilling out in the hospital with bad TV that I actually listened, went to bed and sat on my ass for four days. With a litany of medication. Nebulizers, inhalers, cough pills, augmentin, steroids, hydrocodone, codeine, advil...I didn't even know it was possible to take all of this at one time. The albuterol and steroids jack me up and make me cert

Once upon a time I wrote this post:  A few weeks ago, I came home from a business trip and walked in my front door only to be overcome with an urgent need to vomit. Our house smelled like dead fish, or, the scallops Scott had made for dinner. My food aversions have passed, but I'm still not the biggest fan of seafood, especially as a signature scent. I'm incredibly sensitive about smells in my home, and on top of that my olfactory system is frighteningly keen. Even when I'm not pregnant. So I paraded around with air freshener, choking the shit out of my husband, dog, plants and ultimately myself. But at least it was with clean linen. Here we are,  several  weeks later, and I swear I can still smell it. It certainly cannot still be the scallops. I look for it constantly...is it the garbage, the sink, Scott's shoes? Dead animals in the walls? I'm currently convinced that there are thousands of cockroaches decomposing in our walls from our regular exterminatio

Milestones. Something that used to pertain primarily to project plans. Now, something that pertains to the development of my children. Some are physical, some are behavioral, and all of them serve to set expectations for something that is never the same for any child. I haven't forced my children into any of their milestones. Despite being (unnecessarily) worried at times, I've let it all occur naturally - sometimes with encouragement, other times not at all. Except with bottles, because I had to wash them. We were done with that shit at 24 months and 1 day. So it shouldn't come as a surprise that my 4-year-old still has a pacifier. My pediatrician who I adore (I might wear lipstick to doctor's appointments) told me "no kid goes to Kindergarten with a pacifier in their mouth".  He said the same about potty training, so I let it go and low and behold the kid did it on his own at 3 1/2 and we never looked back. This guy might know what he's talking about

I've spent a week practicing work-life. That is, work and life intertwined with no clear lines of delineation. It all just runs, and if you're lucky, works together. I spent Tuesday morning at the park with my kids, and the afternoon on conference calls. Yesterday I did (much needed) lady maintenance in the afternoon and spent the evening writing a proposal and devising staffing plans. And today, I worked first thing, took a trip to the grocery store, worked some more, and now I'm going to take a nap. As soon as I stop writing. And, surprise, it's been an awesome week. I gave myself the ok to decline meetings to which I wasn't essential, and I felt no guilt about taking some time for me when I could have been spending it with my kids. I was super productive at work AND home, and I'm a much happier non-conflicted human being for it. Dare I say I felt...balanced? I know not every week can be like this - I only worked from home, I had no travel, and the kids

Adulting is hard. Adulting with children is like climbing up Mt. Everest with one arm, in a bikini, and smoking a pack of Camels every 500 ft. I said this a year ago today. Thanks, Facebook. Appreciate the reminder of how exhausted I am.  And adulting with children AND a full-time job with mega responsibility is...I don't even have the energy to come up with a witty analogy.  Yea, this shit is way hard. And  I am definitely having a mid-life crisis and letting my idealistic self kick the shit out of me and my every-day life decisions. How can you live with yourself being away from your children on business trips? Why do you have such a potty mouth, and how can you question why your 4-year old talks like a trucker? Must you get so snippy with your husband when he is hands-down the greatest husband you've ever had the privilege of being married to (and the only, but you get my point). Why must you pick up the toys (unclog the toilet, answer that last email, cry in the