В горы.
Кстати мы не одни такие, чуть ли не каждая вторая машина была с ТХ номерами.

My little bean never slept. He cried endlessly for hours, my 15 month-old and I pressing our hands over our ears in frustration. He had reflux and strange rashes. He woke up every three hours. He didn’t latch on for breastfeeding. Then he did latch, but my nipples became so cracked and sore that he would spit up my blood all over his little white onesie like a vampire baby. Oh, and during this time we moved twice, and my husband was working 15-hour days. We had no family nearby, and although I made some lovely mom friends, they were busy grappling with their own offspring.

I found myself daydreaming of ways to kill myself where my kids wouldn’t be the first on the scene. I also became fiercely protective of my children — I’d scoot down the stairs on my bottom, terrified that if I stood up while holding my son I’d drop him. My highlights grew out and an extra 50 pounds hung around my waistline. I watched the news incessantly, convinced that one of my children would be abducted or killed. All around me I saw “perfect” moms, who seemed to have mastered the art of showering every morning, applying makeup, and looking un-harried. I felt like the world’s biggest failure.

It took one of my shoot-straight-from-the-hip friends to tell me I needed help. She visited me one day, surveyed the pile of dishes with caked-on spaghetti sauce (and saw a crying toddler, a crying newborn, and a teary mother) and informed me that I had postpartum depression.

I didn’t speak to her for three months.

Her words stung. Who the hell was she, after all, to tell me I wasn’t handling everything? But the more I thought about it, I realized she was right: I needed help. So I joined a gym with childcare, found a good therapist, and borrowed enough money from my parents to put the boys in daycare for three hours, twice a week. After almost a year, my sense of humor had returned. I looked forward to small things, such as my morning coffee or going to the movies. I stopped crying at the drop of a hat. I felt less overwhelmed, and when one of the so-called “perfect” moms I saw around town confided in me during a yoga class that she had once suffered crippling postpartum depression and had taken anti-depressants, I realized how naive and judgmental I’d been.

можно пароли-явки? где конкретно, а то может нам тоже надо.

начинаем сезон снегов
все сегодня школу уже отменили
сижу думаю. я с 21 начинаю работу ,а у нас Феврал самый плохой в плане лда и снега, те чую буду как блоха прыгат, куда детей дет

а что по поводу няни-то?

Мы тоже собираемся покупать своему. Остановились на этом: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00E6URAOO/ref ... CK1T&psc=1