Hey There Delilah

Life with two

2012-02-01T08:36:00.000-08:00

Life with two children is:

Double the mess
Double the food
Double the insanity
Double the poop
Double the tears
Double the emotion
Double the wine
TRIPLE the laundry
TRIPLE the work

I cannot go anywhere - not even to friend's or families houses - without hearing my name ten thousand times in two hours. "Kate, did you bring extra pants for the boy? Kate, where are his socks? Kate! Can Lila eat this? Kate! The baby needs a new diaper. Kate! Lila wants to go outside and play!"

This is on top of "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. NO! I want THIS ONE! NOT THAT ONE! Wah! WAH! WAH!"

And from the hubs "Honey, where's the diaper bag. Hun, where's the baby food? Hun, he wants to nurse. Babe, what shoes do you want her to wear outside? Babe, the baby spit up. Babe, come watch this commercial, it's hilarious......................"

Here's a tip: I don't give a shit about that commercial. Feel free to move on without me. I'm covered in puke, poop and macaroni and cheese, but thanks.

With two kids, people stop inviting you over because you're too much "work" to interact with. You are no longer considered the fun couple you once were. You are now "those people with kids."

And when you are invited places, at any given second you can look up and see a look of pity on the faces around you. Your conversations at parties consist of "It'll get better. Hang in there. Cheer up. It gets easier. How are the kids? Do you want a drink?"

Fortunately, having two kids is also:
Double the fun.
Double the giggles.
Double the love
Double the tickles.
Triple the joy.

And OH so worth it. :)

I talked to my mother

2012-01-25T06:47:00.000-08:00

After yesterday's post I talked to my mother. She reminded me that all of my energies are focused on two little humans right now, and that it might be good for me to be alone one night, or alone with my husband for a weekend. Pretty much all the stuff my friends and readers (you guys) said yesterday. So I'm going to make some time for me at least once a week.

She also reminded me that I'm on a medication that dulls my reactions to problems...sort of tones down the excited/passionate/angry/exhuberant part of myself and that could be contributing to the fog I'm in.

Plus it's January. And who DOESN'T get the January "blahs," am I right??

No voice

2012-01-24T08:01:00.001-08:00

Real life…no one ever told me about this part I guess. Maybe because no one has a name for it?

I’m in a difficult spot right now – a place I don’t know how to escape. Last night I realized my son was seven months old. SEVEN MONTHS. Where have the last few months gone? How is my daughter’s hair suddenly three inches longer? How is my son getting ready to crawl? We’re done with school. We have our careers. We have our kids. We have our house. I think I’ve spent too many years with some purpose…some goal I needed to reach.

But for the first time in my life I feel like I have no plan and no sense of who I am or where I’m going. It’s like my life is this endless cycle of schedules and child-rearing. It’s so damned monotonous. And I don’t mean that it’s BAD. I enjoy my children and my husband. I wouldn’t have it any other way…wouldn’t trade any of them for all the money in the world.

But I feel like I can’t breathe sometimes. I get in bed some nights and wonder where the day went. A Friday rolls around and I wonder what happened to Monday. I lay down to pray at night and the second I close my eyes I’m lost in deep, realistic dreams all night long and wake up not knowing if I prayed or not, and feeling like I didn’t sleep at all.

I’m not sure how to explain it. I’m not sad. I’m not angry. I’m not unhappy. I’m not anything. I just feel stuck – like a fog has settled around my brain and even though I can see life five feet in front of me, I can’t see anything else – I don’t know what’s going on beyond the five foot circumference of clear sky in front of me.

Who am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? What’s next?

I keep thinking about shutting this blog down because even the blog doesn’t have a purpose anymore, except as my own personal stress relief and sounding board. The blog lacks a voice because I lack a voice right now.

I say, you do, no questions (I wish)

2012-01-24T07:26:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you’re the bug. Sometimes you’re the windshield.

Sometimes you’re up. Sometimes you’re down.

Sometimes you have a narcoleptic infant, who sleeps 12 hours a night even with a raging ear infection.

And sometimes, you climb in bed, close your eyes to the soft sounds of South Park in the background, and just drift off to sleep before you hear the wail of a toddler from across the house. “Mommmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyy. I scared!”

Somewhere, in the dark recesses of the bedroom, you hear an angry man incoherently mumbling as he buries his head deeper under a pillow because “he’s tired.”

And you realize you have a choice to make. Drag your aching body and sleepy eyes down the long hallway to the toddler’s room, where you’ll rock, sing and plead for an hour with her not to cry louder so she doesn’t wake up the infant. Or tell her to come to your room, get in your bed, and suffer a night of sleep with a midget karate master.

Tips for preventing ear infections

2012-01-23T12:14:00.000-08:00

1) Give him breastmilk (aka "nectar of the baby Gods").

2) Hold infant at precise 45 degree angle while attempting said breastfeeding. Hope you did well in Geometry - I only got a C, so I only get the 45 degree angle right about 76% of the time.

3) Don't let the infant's ears get wet. (This involves very careful maneuvering of said infant in rubber ducky tub, while discouraging all arm flailing, splashing and in general...fun. Life's a bitch.)

4) Don't allow infant to interact with anyone sick. Althought inconvenient, this can be accomplished by placing the infant in an oversized clear-plastic beach ball. Discouragement of sucking on shiny shopping cart handle-bars is especially important, although futile.

5) Give infant lots of nibbles and nummies on his loveable cheeks. He may protest, but he's really just putting on a good show.

Score:
1) Check.
2) Check
3) Check
4) Oops. Handle bar sucking is his specialty.
5) Double check

So why does my kid have a seemingly chronic ear infection? The toddler didn't have these problems. Different kids. Different ailments. Tired momma. Sad baby. :(

Things that plague parents at night

2012-01-19T07:29:00.000-08:00

This is keeping me up at night. I demand answers.

In Beauty and the Beast, Lumiere sings "Ten years we've been rusting, needing so much more than dusting..." So, ok, they've been enchanted housewares for ten years. Got it? Ok good.

But in the beginning when they're telling the story of how the castle came under the "powerful spell" from the beautiful enchantress, who was previously a haggard old woman, they say she gave him a magical rose that will bloom "until his 21st year."

Ok so that means she asked for shelter from an 11 year old kid who "sneered at her gift of a rose and turned her away?" I mean come on! The kid is 11 and some scary-ass woman comes creepin' around in a thunderstorm offering him a rose for shelter? He says "no, strangers aren't allowed in my house when my parents aren't home," and she's all "BOOM! You're a beast! Hahahaha!" There are so many things wrong with this.

First of all, where the hell is his butler? You have a castle full of 800 servants but no butler? I think not. Sounds like Cogsworth was off drinking somewhere.

And then there's this who bit about an enchanted rose as payment for room and board. I mean perhaps she should have offered him candy or crepes or something. I bet that would have earned her a night in a luxurious castle. But really, he sounds like a smart little man too. You don't give out rooms for free, and you don't let creepy strangers in. Period. Let's just punish the kid for listening to his parents about strangers, why don't we. Plus, if she was really a powerful witch, sister should have been turning rocks into gold to pay for her room. Sounds like she had it in for him to begin with if you ask me. I'm just sayin'.

And really? True love is the only thing that can set him free? Are we encouraging pre-marital relations now? Dude is ELEVEN. He's only got until 21 to learn to love someone? Isn't he entitled to be a selfish asshole for a while like most guys?

Disney FAIL. Picking on 11 year old kids...

P.S. - How the f*ck did he get that picture of his 21 year-old self if he had been a beast for ten years? Hmmm?

Kindlespace

2012-01-06T07:20:00.000-08:00

I blame cold medicine for the following conversation. Oh, also I added in a few little internal commentaries that were running through my head during this problem solving session. [They look like this]!

You are now connected to Arturo from Amazon.com.

Me: Uh, I have a little problem in kindle world…I loaned a book to a friend from my library but she never received it. Now the book is basically lost in cyberspace…or maybe kindlespace? I’m not sure which space it’s lost in. Anyway, I can't retrieve it to try to re-loan it to her... 9:44:55 AM

Arturo: Hello Kate. My name is Arturo. [No shit] I'm sorry to hear that. Please just give me a moment to pull up your account and take a look at that 9:45:38 AM

Me: Thank you 9:45:46 AM

Me: I'm wondering if I typed in her e-mail address incorrectly? 9:46:22 AM

Arturo: OK, I'll check on that as well. [OK, Thanks ARTURO!] Do you have the name of the book, please? 9:46:57 AM

Me: As a matter of fact, YES I DO! “Mockingjay” by Suzanne Collins 9:47:42 AM

Arturo: Thanks Kate. I'll take a look at that book and I'll be right back with you. 9:48:21 AM

[At this point Arturo disappeared for another five minutes leaving me to wonder if he was actually READING my lost book. Bastard.]

Arturo is typing...

[Then, Arturo stopped typing and disappeared again.]

Arturo: Kate, I was checking and you actually type email incorrectly. I'll go ahead and cancel the loan for you, so that you can loan the title again on the website or in Manage Your Kindle. Do you know where? 9:53:01 AM

[Me: Clearly.]

Me: Thanks Arturo! 9:54:35 AM

Arturo: You're very welcome Kate. Anything else I can help you with today? 9:54:53

Me: No, Arturo. I think that’ll do it. 9:55:01

Overall, Arturo was actually very helpful. I hope he feels like an Amazon god for being able to navigate the dark recesses of the kindle loaning library.

Women are from venus. Men are from somewhere babies don't spit up

2012-01-03T17:42:00.000-08:00

This post brought to you from the comfort of my couch...where I'm weighing the necessity of a bottle of wine for my sanity versus my insatiable craving for a leftover piece of chocolate cream pie. Damn the holidays and their fatty temptations. Clearly, the only good option here involves one large glass of wine and one medium sized bite of pie. And an extra ten minutes on the elliptical tomorrow.

Of course if I want to drink the wine, there's a ten-minute pumping session in my future which kind of makes me want to skip the wine altogether and just eat the chocolate.

But I'll probably go to bed with neither. Because the second I uncork the wine or cut a piece of pie, a toddler or weiner dog will appear at my side. ::Sigh::

And now I'm four paragraphs into a post that has nothing to do with pie OR wine, and I've really just mucked things up. (This is how my brain works SOBER. Scary right?)
Getting back to men and women...

There's this question that plagues me day and night regarding spit-up, poo and children -- the question of why puke or baby poop evokes an absolute "lose my freaking shit" reaction in men.

Seriously. The babe can emit the smallest trickle of vomit onto my husband's shirt pocket, and he jumps up like a hysterical little girl shouting "Ehh! Ahhh! Ughhhh! Thanks a lot! Holy hell. Ew. Grosssssssssssssss!"

He then ceremoniously holds the baby in front of him at arms length, like a wild animal, and runs forward yelling for me to "take him so I can change!"

The babe grins in approval.

I grin back.

I honestly cannot figure out what the big effing deal is...I go to work covered in snot or puke almost daily. Every pair of slacks, every dress shirt I own, has some sort of mysterious stain on it. I can pull out a freshly drycleaned blouse, not put it on until I leave the house, and by the time I arrive at work, inevitably hear someone say "You've got a little something there on your shoulder."

But as a woman, I casually wipe the baby vomit off with a baby wipe, tissue, bare hand, tongue (kidding), or whatever else I can find and say "It's just a little baby puke. No biggie."

No shit, in all seriousness. I actually took the babe to his four month well-visit, and by the time I made it into the exam room, I had runny poop dripping from my waist to my knee, and vomit spots on both shoulders. The nurse laughed, the pediatrician still wanted to wait across the room...
Baby wipes, luckily, were invented by God for stressed out mothers. Because I somehow still managed to make it to work afterward by giving my dress a Pampers wipe bath. (My co-workers are probably reading this blog and slowly backing away from my desk right now...) Usually I wear lipstick to distract from my disheveled clothing.

There was also the time we took the babe with us to my follow-up visit at the OB. (He has a knack for shitting in doctor's offices.) The hubs was reluctant to change him on the pristine white paper covering the exam table. When I reminded him that the table had seen much worse things than a baby's poopy bum, and that by some strange force of nature, the white paper might have been put there to protect the table from awful dirty things and was, in fact, disposable, he agreed to change him.

So it is beyond me that I can manage to be covered in baby vomit 99.9% of the time and have my husband still be interested in initiating sex, when a dime sized spot of puke has him ripping off his shirt in terror.

My own "texts from last night"

2011-12-22T11:32:00.000-08:00

I had to go pick up some things from a friend of mine last night. And as I went to leave the house in my too short sweat pants, and oversized shirt with holes in it, I picked up the babe to kiss him goodbye and get my nightly dusting of baby puke. He didn't let me down.

I put on the first shoes I could find which happened to be patent leather ballet flats, and made my way out into the rainy and unusually warm night.

Me: On my way.
Me again: BTW, I could never go into a store right now wearing what I'm wearing. I'm borderline Clarissa Explains it All/homeless person.

Her: Can you stop and get me some orange juice on your way?

At this point I actually got OUT of the car, went into the house, and got my purse so I could stop for orange juice on the way.

::Back in the car::
Me: Yes.
Me again: What kind? Like a little bottle or a big one? You know I find it really ironic that I just said I couldn't go into a store and then you said...

::Her text interrupts my texting::

Her: That was a joke.
Me: Oh.
Me: yeah....that was slowly dawning on me
Me: I'm a skittle slow on the uptake tonight. (Damn you autocorrect)
Her: Okay. Taste the rainbow.

My mommy figure - wrinkles and all

2011-12-19T08:07:00.000-08:00

I'm attacking a serious issue today, and throwing out the old cliche phrase "we all come in different shapes in sizes," as a topic for discussion. Because I have recently come across some blogs out there that make me ashamed to call myself a sister to other women.

At 5 feet 11 inches tall this is how my weight has fluctuated over the years:

At 19 years old, and on my wedding day, I weighed 150 pounds. I was very thin. I was relatively healthy, but mostly my weight was the benefit of youth.

At 21 years old I weighed in at 188 pounds. The heaviest I've ever been barring pregnancy. I was very unhealthy. I bar-hopped and drank a lot like a typical college student.

At 23 I learned a lot about nutrition and exercise and I put on a great deal of muscle and trimmed myself to 168 pounds. I looked the best I'd ever looked in my life. And then I got pregnant.

I had two healthy pregnancies after that. I gained 31 pounds with each baby. My body swelled to accomodate an 8 pound child and a 9.5 pound child, carrying both to their due dates. It wasn't pretty, but it was beautiful. I was proud of my roundness both times. Proud of the life I was able to support and nourish. As a woman in today's society I agonized over stretch marks, loose skin, and the loss of the natural shape I had been given by God when I was born. I mourned it's loss because it was unique to me...just as your body and shape is unique to you.

But I am far from ashamed. I dress appropriately and conservatively because I am a mother and I respect my role as such. And when I am with my husband I respect the fact that I am his wife and that I am still and attractive woman and dress accordingly.

But I have lost my patience with the projection and characterization of beauty projected by our society. I have lost my patience with the pressure and illusion of perfection pushed onto each individual woman. I am sick to death of insecure women looking for validation of their looks from other women and men. And I find it absurd that women actually feel the need to photoshop their pictures to project an illusion of perfect creamy skin, manicured features and sculpted bodies.

Because I am a WOMAN. I was meant to produce life and carry on mankind. My body was exquisitely designed to change to adapt to a growing fetus, and I bear the scars of having given life to another human being.

I have often posted pictures of myself on this blog to show how exercise can produce results. And the point of this post is not to say you shouldn't be healthy, and you should work to maintain a nice level of fitness. What this post IS designed to do is say this:

I am a woman. Not a girl.
I do not have a personal trainer or a nutritionist.
Sometimes "dinner" is my daughter's leftover mac and cheese.
Sometimes I have time to work out for twenty minutes. Other days an hour. And other days not at all. Sometimes my only exercise for weeks is playing with my babies and tossing them over my head to hear their giggles.
Some call me an attractive woman. Some are envious of my height and "thinness."
I wear a size twelve. I weigh 166 pounds.
The only time my breasts don't sag is when they are full of milk. When I stop nursing they will barely fill out a B-cup bra.
I have stretch marks from my belly button down, and loose skin from 18 months of pregnancy.
My butt touches the back of my thighs. My stomach is not taut. it is the softest skin in the world. Almost as soft as my baby.
My kids like me squishy. It's more comfortable when they sleep on me.
My husband still thinks I'm gorgeous.
My kids think I'm the most beautiful woman in the world.
I will never wear a bikini again, but only because my kids would rip it off in ten seconds, making me indecent to the world :), not because I am afraid of what people will think.
My body is forever changed, but it will never be "ruined." I don't need the artificial light of a camera lens or the technology of photoshop to show you what I look like. This is me and I am not ashamed.

My tummy from the naval down. Wrinkled skin. A badge of honor.
I'd strip down to my skivvies if I had a rating/warning on this blog. And if I could possibly figure out how in the world to contort my upper body to take an up-close picture of my ass. ;)
Please love yourself. Love your body for what is has given you and for its amazing and unique capabilities. You do not need the validation of others, only permission from yourself to love you. Do not look for pretty compliments from your peers -- even models are picked apart, judged and scrutinized by the world. No one will ever give you the title of "perfect." You are human. You are a woman. You are a mother. You are YOU.

I've been sufficiently Seussified.

2011-12-09T08:33:00.000-08:00

So many Seuss’s I’ve read.
Just get out of my head!

I’m so tired, so tired of reading in bed.

If my kid would just sleep,
And not make a peep.

I could keep all those books read in bed, from my head!

But alas, every night, when my house is a sight,
And I've scrubbed, bubbed and hubbed all the dishes I might,

My kid shrieks in joy, "Oh forget this old toy!"
"Let' read a Seuss tale of duck-footed boy!"

So despite all our lies and our desperate tries
There is no way in hell to say no to her cries.
We just shove her in bed,
Tell her what the boy said,
Stifling sighs as we pray for her sleepy sleep eyes.

And as her eyes fall, I sneak out in a crawl.
Reciting over and over the non-sensical scrawl.
Then I blog and I blog on the couch with a dog.
Not with a pen or a hen, but a really great dog on my lap in a sprawl.
It's so fun to blog with sprawled dog in the Fall.

A feline, I think, wouldn't be nearly so fun.
Because feline's, you see, much prefer the bright sun.

But back to my writing, I stir with a flash.
I punctuate here and there with a dash, thinking desperately how nice it must be to earn cash.
Then I stop this silly post thinking what I really want most...

is to stop hearing this ridiculousness in my head.
I’m so tired, so tired of reading in bed.

If my kid would just sleep,
And not make a peep.

I could keep all those books read in bed, from my head!

Hey God. It's me, Margaret.

2011-12-07T08:04:00.000-08:00

Hey y’all. It’s me. Kate. The owner of this blog.

I’m sure you’re all damning me and my false promises to post more.

And now you’re probably reading this laughing and thinking what and overblown sense of self-importance I have to think you guys care enough to wait on pins and needles for me to post.

I can really only give you the same tired excuse of “I’m busy,” because…well…it’s kind of the truth. The holidays are insane for me. Work is insane for me. Kids are insane for me. It’s a good thing I take pills to control the insanity. Otherwise you might see me on the six o’clock news macing people at Target for toasters.

I could post and tell you about how I'm helping birth babies now as a doula ( the gore! OH the GORE!), or I could tell you about how my daughter's new favorite show is Strawberry Cheesecake aka Strawberry Shortcake (although I think we can all agree, Lila has it right this time. Cheesecake blows shortcake out of the water. I'm just sayin'), or how my husband has a bad cold and is snoring hard enough to suck the paint off of our bedroom walls...OR I could tell you about my new recipe blog http://www.theterriblechef.blogspot.com/.

But the real reason I’m posting is to tell you that one of my favorite readers has kindly invited me to a cookie exchange next week. Before I agreed to come, I asked her if there would be wine involved, since I like to have a glass or four on occasion. And since drinks are more important than cookies…well…I’m totally going. Also she has graciously agreed to provide childcare, I ask you…WHO WOULDN’T go?! Fat, alcohol and someone to watch the kiddies? I’m in.

So now I need your help. Please submit to me your favorite, most mind-blowing cookie recipe below so I can wow the party-goers with my Martha Stewartness. Bonus points for chocolate recipes. I’ll choose my favorite, and send the winner a nice little cable-knitted coffee cup sleeve for their morning commute…and if you don’t have a commute, it makes a great blindfold for toddlers.

A Thanksgiving Morning

2011-11-24T05:50:00.000-08:00

A conversation overheard between father and daughter while I baked furiously in the kitchen:

Lila: what's at Daddy?
Daddy: That's a periscope
Lila: A persoap.
Daddy: That's right. For use on your u-boat when you need to start dropping death charges.
Lila: What's at Daddy?

Me from the kitchen: Awesome babe.
Daddy: what? I'm just teaching her what to do in case she's ever in a naval battle with the Nazis!

Have you ever seen the inside of a 55 inch projection television?

2011-11-21T08:15:00.000-08:00

I have.

It's not as complicated as one might think.

There are however, about 43,324 screws that must be removed in order to get to the actual inside screen for cleaning. And it DOES in fact take two adults about four hours of uninterupted time to break down said television.

And midnight is NOT a good time for two married people to be screwing and unscrewing with the help of complicated equipment, unless they are in fact naked and having a good time. Because it generally just leads to lots of fights and blaming.

It's also NOT a good idea to leave out carpet cleaner and then leave a toddler unattended, even if it's only for 30 seconds. Those little suckers are faster than rabbits I tell ya.

And have you EVER seen what carpet cleaner does to the screen of a projection television?

I have.

It looks like a giant blob is creeping up and casting a giant black shadow over your television. It starts at the corner and works its way inward. It eeks and sneaks, and slides and glides across screen and leaves a sheen...just like THE Blob.

And did you KNOW, that a projection television has TWO screens that lay on top of each other and trap liquid...should any liquid mysteriously get on them? And that when pulled apart, even a water dampened cloth just spread the soapy residue across their surfaces?

I do now.

Contrary to what you might be thinking, the toddler WILL in fact make it to three unharmed. The hubs and I remained strangely calm about the incident and somehow managed to salvage said television AND accept responsibility for being the ones who left her unattended with a brightly colored spray bottle.

Eleven

2011-11-11T13:31:00.000-08:00

Texts between me and the hubs.

Him: Hey! It's almost 11:11 on 11/11/11!!!

Me: Cool. Make a wish.

::a few minutes later::

Him: Did you get raptured?

Me: Nope. Looks like you didn't either.

Him: Babe, I work in a corporate law firm. No one did.

Conversations with a toddler

2011-11-07T11:39:00.000-08:00

Lila: what's dis mommy?

Me: Ratatouille. Do you want to watch it?

Lila: what's at mommy?

Me: a rat movie. Do you want to watch it?

Lila: what's at mommy?

Me: a movie. Do you want to watch it? Say yes or no.

Lila: yes or no mommy!

Me: you're making me mad. which one? Yes or no?

Lila: what's dat mommy? A rat? I watch it.

I proceed to turn it on.

Lila: no mommy!!! Not dis one!!!! I don't yike it!

Then what do you want to watch? Lady and the tramp?

Lila: no mommy! Rat moobie!!

Me: this IS the rat movie.

Cue the toddler lying on the floor screaming while I bang my head against the wall.

And apparently after I left, she had THIS conversation with my husband:

Lila walked up to me this afternoon holding a movie,

Lila: Daddy, what's this?

Me: It's Ratatouille.

Lila: What's that?

Me: It's a movie.

Lila: No, its a stew

My Inaugural Recipe

2011-11-04T12:30:00.000-07:00

Which really means I'll probably do this once and it'll fall to the wayside like everything else. But this recipe was the shit (and my grandmother keeps begging me to post recipes). The hubs and I both the licked the casserole dish clean. It was so ridiculous I covered the casserole and put it in the fridge, and then guiltily dirtied four forks as I went back again, and again, and again to take "just one more bite."

Start by dicing red and yellow peppers, and a zucchini pretty small...like a confetti dice. Throw them in a dutch oven with some olive oil to saute them for a bit. While they're cooking, add some garlic powder, seasoning salt, cracked pepper, and italian seasoning. Chop a little fresh basil and add that too.

Fresh basil always makes me feel like my cooking is a little more legit...you know, like I'm cheating less or something. Let me feel that way. I have two kids so I'm lucky to have anything more than a frozen pizza on the table every night.

Squeeze some italian sauage out of its casing and into the pan, and brown it with the veggies. While that's browning, boil some sort of tubular pasta (yes, tubular)...like ziti or piccolini or something of that nature. Drain it and set aside. When the meat is no longer pink (no one likes pink sausage!), add the pasta and mix it all together. Then add a jar of vodka sauce and a cup of shredded italian cheese. Pour it all into a casserole dish and bake at 400 degrees until bubbly.

Ingredients:
Half yellow peper
Half red pepper
1 small zucchini
2 teaspoons garlic powder
1 tablespoon italian seasoning
seasoned salt
cracked pepper
1 pound italian sausage
1 cup italian cheese
1 jar vodka sauce (I prefer Bertolli)

It's not beautiful, but it's super yummy.

Puke

2011-11-04T07:07:00.000-07:00

This morning as I picked up my freshly dressed son and slung him over my shoulder, he spit up exorcist style, and it fell like a waterfall to my expensive bedroom carpet. I"m not sure why I'm always stunned by this but I am, and the usual little exclamtions of horror made their way across my lips as I groped for words.

This time my daughter beat me to the punch and screamed "HOLWY CWAP BABY MAX!!!!!!" at the vomitous mess soaking into the Berber.

"Holwy cwap" indeed my young one. You took the words right out of my mouth. Thank God it wasn't "shit."

OH my, that's a vagina...

2011-10-31T08:13:00.000-07:00

My pen is silent.

I’ve often been told by other writers that when you have a mental block, you should sit down and write something anyway because something is better than nothing.

I don’t have any real reason for my silence other than that I’m not feeling particularly funny lately. I’m not really feeling particularly ANYTHING to be exact – other than busy. And busy is boring. I mean I’m sure you wouldn’t mind hearing about every minute detail of my important day, but you’d probably rather hear about giant black stuffed Halloween decorations that scare the shit out of little children or how I leaked milk through my shirt in front of 31 other students. THOSE are stories with some laughs, people.

I spent 16 hours of this past weekend at a doula training, working on my certification. And I did it voluntarily. Because I’m totally into labor and birth and all that awesome, gory stuff. (I know. I’m a freak. It’s my nature. Be glad it’s not you.)

Interspersed with our learnings on labor positionings, massage techniques, etc., were awesome videos on breastfeeding, laboring women, and other cultures birthing practices. And then, as we were watching one particularly awesome video of a woman giving birth in a squatting position, the girl next to me suddenly exclaimed "OH my, that's a vagina..." whereupon I looked over at her with a stupid look on my face and thought "You DO know that's how babies are born right?"

I mean...I'm just saying...chick wants to be a birth doula and she's afraid of a little pixelated vagina? On screen? Shit's gonna get pretty real in the delivery room honey. We're talking more on the scale of Willy Wonka's smell-o-vision here, so maybe you need to watch a few more videos to acclimate.

Anyway, I learned so much, and before attending the workshop I would have thought I could have taught the class – proving that no matter what you do, there’s always room for learning, as my daughter reminds me daily.

Like on Saturday morning when she asked for milk, and I gave it to her in a regular people cup instead of a sippy, so we could avoid a meltdown. I thought I was being smart. Turns out I’m not. My sour milk-soaked couch cushion is proof.

And THAT, my friends, is the end of this very long, non-sensical post. You're welcome. Peace and blessings.

Bedtime

2011-10-18T16:30:00.000-07:00

It was late. The hubs was working until 10:00 (BOO!). So I was all alone with the kiddos, being a lazy mom, as usual. I fed my kid microwave mac and cheese and let her drink some of my coke. I was on a serious roll…

The baby went down easy, so I procrastinated a little longer on the couch before tackling the monster for bedtime. I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.

So I started my nightly bargaining routine…

You can watch five more minutes of Aladdin if you go brush your teeth.

No!

Okay then I’m shutting off Aladdin.

No!

Then go brush your teeth.

Okay.

Round one went to me. I was winning!

Then came round two:

Lila, it’s bedtime. Go get in your bed and we’ll read duck feet.

No! No night night!

If you aren’t in your bed in three seconds we aren’t reading anything.

No!

1 – 2 –

OKAY!

Round two goes to mommy! Wooohooo! I was on a roll.

Round three. I shut off the lights. Told her to stay in her bed, and started to leave. She freaked out. I sat down on the end of the bed and played on my iPhone while she (tried) to fall asleep. My iPhone fun was accompanied by the sounds of the “ABY’s song,” and a slightly slurred rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Wittle Star.”

After a few minutes I crept out silently and made my way every so quietly to the fridge for some pudding. I had just pulled off the tin foil lid and gotten out a spoon when I saw a little goblin run past me out of the corner of my eye and wigged out so hard that I dropped the spoon on the floor with a clattering crash.

Hi Mommy!

Holy Lord, she scared the bejeesus out of me. There’s nothing worse than thinking you’re alone in the house and seeing someone suddenly in front of you.

We trudged back to bed. She whined when I tucked her in. I told her if she got back up I would close the door and she’d be in the dark. (I’m not above scare tactics sometimes. It’s evil. I know.)

I walked back out, and went back to my delicious pudding and a DVR’d episode of Pan Am I’d been dying to see.

Thirty seconds later, the shadowy figure of my daughter emerged in the dark hallway once again. I, for one, am more than a little creeped out about how she can sneak up on me so silently.

Go back to bed!

Okay! Come on mommy! Lay down on da bed.

I had only gotten one bite of pudding in before I had practically dropped it on the coffee table behind the couch when she snuck up on me, in an effort to hide it before she asked for some. They always want what you have. It’s true I’ve been known to sip my coke hunched over in the car before so she can’t see me from her carseat…this topped only by the time I inhaled a piece of cheesecake in the guest bathroom.

This time I told her I would sit down for a few more minutes, but if she got back up I would leave and close the door.

Twenty minutes passed. The only sounds I heard from her were the occasional wet squishing noises coming from her pacifier.

Slowly, I moved to the floor, assuming a position on all fours, slightly hindered by the phone in my hand. I waited a few more minutes before moving again. And when I finally moved it was so slow a turtle could have passed me. One limb at a time, allowing only the tips of my knees and elbows to touch the floor, I crept ever-so-silently from the room, keeping my head low to avoid her seeing me should she still be awake. Left. Right. Left. Right. My elbows were on fire. Every pop of my knee or ankle left me breathless, pausing to listen for sounds of rustling from her bed.

I made it to the wood floor. A whole new challenge, as my perspiring skin made peeling noises as I lifted it painfully from the floor with each inch forward I gained. I was conscious of each and every breath I took. Good God! What if she heard me!? To pass the time I began pretending I was a spy on a secret mission, trying to keep from being discovered by the enemy. I had made it all the way to the bathroom when the absurdity of my situation struck me.

Holy effing hell. I was the adult here. I could close the damned door if I wanted to and let her cry it out! Why the HELL was I on the fricking floor like a pitiful slug? I had been reduced to an imaginary spy!

On the other hand…I had made it this far and I wasn’t about to lose now. I started to get up ever-so-slowly. With one last backward glance I got on my feet.

Which is when I noticed the flannel clad outline of my daughter staring back at me from the doorway of her room, a sinister smile curling up the ends of her innocent little cheeks. “What’s doin mommy?”

And now....

2011-10-17T16:18:00.000-07:00

My daughter's rendition of the ABC's. (or the Aby's song as she likes to call it)

A B C C E F She, H I K K Elem Elem P, Q R S T Ew B, Dub U X Wine and Z. Now I know my A B Z's, next time won't you think wif me.

Yay mommy!

I like the wine and Z part personally. Wine is more useful than the letter Y anyway.

I swear, she fell down the stairs

2011-10-13T11:42:00.000-07:00

So once again, it's been an eternity since I've signed onto my log. I almost couldn't find my fingers (true story) and then I looked down and was like "AHHH! There they are! Yay phalanges!" So I wiggled them around a bit in the air and got down to typing a new post for you.

Honestly I've been doing super important things. (Warning - a montage of really shitty iPhone shots is about to commence)

Like taking pictures of my foot.

Feeding my child copious amounts of junk food.

Watching my infant turn into a mini man.

And letting my daughter tower off high dangerous places like Ferris Wheels. But it's cool. her brother is Batman and everyone knows Batman can fly.

But perhaps my most interesting day was a morning last weekend when I woke up to find that Cinderella had been murdered overnight.

It was a sick, violent crime. We're not talking about a couple of knife wounds here. The chick had been completely dismembered - torn limb from limb - while poor Prince Charming looked on in horror.

Although I initially suspected my daughter, it didn't take me long to notice that the Prince had a suspiciously cheesy, fake grin plastered to his face. I'm pretty sure he did it, but he swears she fell down the stairs.
I guess now she has worse problems than whether or not her foot will fit into the glass slipper. P-p-p-poor Cinderelly.

R.I.P. Cindy

Chocolate Frosting

2011-10-04T13:49:00.000-07:00

Woah. I almost couldn't remember how to sign in. I sat here with my finger hovering over my keys thinking, why the hell did I change my password?

Anyhowwwwwwwww. What's new with me. That's what we're here to talk about. Since this is my blog. And it's kind of about...me.

Why do you guys read this again?

Oh. I forgot. Because I'm a trainwreck who can be mildly (very) entertaining from time-to-time; you like to see the magic that spews forth from my fingers; you like to observe whatever new complaint I have concocted to write about; and sometimes you just need to laugh at someone besides yourself.

So yesterday I made the decision to invite my family over for Monday Night Football since our favorite team was playing (Go Bucs!). I also decided to go about 84 steps past heating up Totinos Pizza Rolls and make man-food fit for a flipping king. Mostly so they would all come over and be like "YOU'RE THE BEST COOK ALIVE!" Not because I really wanted to nourish them. It's all about the compliments you see.

So I dredged up Pioneer Woman's site and made The Best Chocolate Sheet Cake in the World, Marlboro Man's Sandwiches (inspired by a dear friend of mine), and crispy onion straws.

This required me to work through lunch so I could leave work a tad early, pick up the kids, and run home to get the cake in the oven so it would still be all hot gooey goodness when they arrived. What I did not factor into my plan was a perpetually late husband, a cranky toddler and a teething baby.

I sifted powdered sugar. I boiled water. I made homemade buttermilk. I pulled out some chunks of my hair. I breastfed while I hand mixed. It was glorious. This is what you have to look forward to when there's two little ones and you're by yourself. Stepford wives have nothing on me.

I personally love how the baby is like "WTF mom? We look completely stupid, and this thing used to have a jacuzzi installed."

So anyway, I texted the hubs and was like "Get your ass home now or I'm divorcing you." I gave my daughter her third pack of fruit snacks and told her to sit down and watch some television, while I slaved some more over the stove. No worries. I know what you're all thinking, but I did NOT fry onion strings with the baby attached to the front of me. I passed him off to the husband when he finally got home.

And then....THEN I made the chocolate frosting that went on the cake. I went to a happy place where unicorns fart rainbows and elves shower you with marshmallows. I put AT LEAST half of the frosting on the cake. I'm sure of it. The hubs tried to tell me about his day while I was spiraling out of control in the kitchen, and I told him he needed to try the frosting. He said he would in a minute and I was like "NO. Try the frosting. It's divine." And he was like "I don't want any." And I was like "NO, you WANT this. Trust me."
And he was all like, "Okay babe, but..." And I was like "TRY THE GODDAMN FROSTING OR SUFFER MY WRATH!"

So he did. And he agreed that it was glorious.

The end.

New Parents

2011-09-28T12:27:00.000-07:00

I came home to a hotter than hell house yesterday. The water drainage pipe was clogged and we needed an HVAC, so we loaded up the kids, picked up dinner on the way and headed out for diapers and the HVAC. Big night out! Woohoo!

We entered Target, me lugging the baby carrier, the hubs lugging the toddler, amidst proclamations of “BIG BALLS Mommy! Yook!” (Thanks for that Target. It never ceases to amaze me that your marketing and design department came up with the genius idea of non-strategically placing gigantic red balls all over the concrete out front. I think they really add something special.)

Anyway, we purchased two giant boxes of diapers (one for each kid), an HVAC, and a set of pajamas for Lila since I can no longer zip her up in her 2T’s. The hubs eyes bugged out of his head as he swiped his debit card for $100. “WTF!? How the hell did we just spend $100 in ten minutes!?”

I told him it was damned near impossible to get out of Target for under $100 and he would do well to remember this experience the next time he questioned my purchases. He then told me I was forbidden from ever entering Target again.

As we approached the car, another young couple with a 6 month(ish) old baby was parked next to us and trying to load up as well. I got the baby back into the car and started loading our goods while the hubs just stood there staring at them and holding our toddler. I asked what was wrong and then realized he was waiting on them to move before he could open the door and get Lila strapped in, so I got in the car and waited on him.

“Damned new parents,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I’m sitting there waiting on them to get there freaking car loaded with a 30 pound toddler in my arms, and they’re cooing over the kid like he’s a little puppy. Then of course they had to adjust his diaper and make sure his clothes were on just right before they strap him in. Meanwhile I’m just praying I can get the buckles to snap on the first try so my kid doesn’t kick me in the eyeball.”

I started laughing at him.

“Seriously. Were we ever like that?” he asked.

“Yep.” We most definitely were.

I am alive

2011-09-20T17:00:00.000-07:00

But I have no voice. (which you'd think would make me want to type more, no?)

And both kid's have had croup.

And we are a household of plague right now.

And I kind of just want to die.

I'll be back.

Have no fear.

The Shining

2011-09-09T20:07:00.000-07:00

This movie stands the test of time.

Even 30 years later Jack Nicholsen can make me run screaming from the room like a 12 year old girl when he threatens poor Wendy.

The hubs will be doing dark, middle of the night wakings tonight. ;)

Tuesday

2011-09-08T12:38:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, I went to the doctor to have my IUD checked to make sure everything was...ya know...still in place so that the hubs and I don't grace the world with anymore spawn in the near future. Partly because if we did, we'd be living on a street corner downtown begging for food, and partly because I might tear all my hair out at the roots and go all "Psycho shower scene" on my family. It wouldn't be pretty. It wouldn't be proper. And we like pretty and proper around here. This is the South after all...

Digression. It's a fault of mine.

So anyway, I just get my skivvies off, my naked ass is on the exam table and the baby starts crying. So I hop down, pull him over to me and start rocking him, which is not enough. So I pull him out and I'm patting him on the back. And suddenly it dawns on me that not only does a baby want to suck on my boob for the bazillionth time in one day, but someone was LITERALLY about to be all up inside me. My body is no longer my own.

FOR THE LOVE. OF. GOD. Will everyone PLEASE stop touching me!?

Do not suck on my boob. Do not ask for sex. Do not pull on my arm and ask me another question. Do not play with my hair. Do not lick my feet (even the dogs love me). Do not touch me here OR there. Do not touch me ANYWHERE! I do not like it Sam I Am. I DO NOT LIKE GREEN EGGS AND HAM!

::sigh::

Yes, those are seriously, literally, for real, no lie...the thoughts that went through my head...in that exact order. It's what happens when you read to a toddler every night. It made me laugh for a second. But only the hysterical kind of laughter that wells up inside you right before...

The nurse practitioner walks in, and you fall apart on her in a scary "I might kill myself" sort of way and she looks all kinds of disturbed and concerned.

She asked me how I was. Said she was glad to see me. I started to say "I'm good" like always. And then, involuntarily, I said "I don't know what's wrong with me!" Tears fell. Eyes flew open. In a moment of weakness, I erupted like a volcano, and spilled it all:

"I am so angry all the time. I'm never alone. I'm only happy when I'm alone or drinking (kidding, sort of). Everyone needs me for something. I can't concentrate. I can't remember anything. I can't sleep. I can't stay awake. Sometimes I am so happy I I dread going home from work at night to laundry, dinner, kids, husband. I dread going to work in the morning and dropping off my kids. I hate work. I hate home. I don't want sex. I don't want much of anything. I don't want to read. I don't want to watch television. I hate my life and I HAVE A GOOD LIFE! I feel so guilty complaining about my blessings! What the hell is wrong with me? There are other people who have REAL problems. I don't even have any problems."

She never said the word. Never threw a diagnosis at it, thank God. I didn't want to be labeled. She just said "Do these things. Take this."

"But I don't want to take medicine. I'm breastfeeding. What if I screw up my kid for life? What if I mess up his hormones? What if I'm just being a baby and selfish? What if I've made this all up in my over-dramatic head? What if people find out? They'll think I shouldn't ever have more kids because I can't handle the ones I've got. They'll think I'm not cut out to be a mother. My baby is SO GOOD. What if I screw him up with daycare? What if I am not patient enough with my two year old and I teach her that it's okay to yell and scream to get your point across? I do not want to hurt my children with my own personal failures and shortcomings. If you put this on my chart and I have another baby they'll all say...'Well remember what happened last time.'"

She said... "It's okay to take help. You are not a failure. You are an overwhelmed new mother. You are completely normal. Hormones are a bitch."

So against my better judgement, I am on a mild dose of Zoloft for a few months, until I get my shit together and wean back off of it. Some people will see it as dumb, stupid, unnecessary, or whatever other words they want to throw at it. Some people will see it as "brave, smart, heroic, etc." Some people will say "I told you so."

You know what? I don't know what it is. I'm as confused as hell. But no matter how many times I tell myself to suck it up and get it together, I just can't right now. I guess some people are stronger than others. It is what it is. I don't need judgement. I don't need commentary on when and if we decide to have more children. I just need to know I'm normal.

A little update

2011-09-08T05:55:00.000-07:00

As I said...I'm back to working out. I'm doing a little body building workout from fitness model Jamie Eason on http://www.bodybuilding.com/

I've been on it for the past four weeks. So far it's been all weights and no cardio, but that changes next week when we add in thirty minutes of cardio a day. The goal was to build muscle and then melt fat afterward.

Week One: Consisted of four workouts, each focusing on a different muscle group.
Week Two: Same
Week Three: Consisted of five workouts, each on a different muscle group, with two days focusing on legs.
Week Four: Same. (I'll finish week four tomorrow).

Measurements at the beginning

Thighs: 25 inches
Bust: 38.5 inches
Hips: 44 inches
Lower waist: 37 inches
Upper wiast: 34 inches
Arms: 12 1/4 inches

As of yesterday I had lost 2 inches in my lower waist, four inches in my hips, an inch and a half in my arms, and inch in my upper waist and an inch and a half in my bust. I haven't seen much of a drop in weight. I'm holding steady at 173.5 pounds. My pre-pregnancy weight being 168 pounds. You know what they say about those last five pounds!

And to answer someone in my previous fitness post, I am lucky enough to have a gym at work, which is how I find time to workout. It's a blessing and a curse, trust me. On one hand I would rather sit at my desk and eat chocolate, and on the other hand, I have absolutely no excuse NOT to workout since it's provided to me free of charge.

Progress pictures:

Before pic:

She works hard for the money

2011-09-02T07:33:00.000-07:00

Let's discuss the age old debate of stay-at-home-moms (SAHMs) vs. working moms. Who has it harder?

The answer is "neither." They both have it equally hard. The real crux of this debate should be, which job is more rewarding? Give a point to the SAHMs on that one.

I stood in line at my daycare this morning, waiting to talk to the director about a payment issue. I had just peeled my screaming toddler off of me and handed her to her teacher, and laid my infant son down in his crib.

As I had walked away from the toddler room, she threw herself dramatically against the glass door screaming my name, tears streaming down her face. Regret gripped my heart, and I looked away and tried to tune out her cries, knowing I was already late for work, and I still had to drop off baby boy and talk about my payment issue. Deep down, I knew she'd be fine in two minutes, and playing like normal, but I still felt guilty.

Then I had walked into a room of screaming infants, unbuckled my little man from his seat and laid him in his crib. His bottom lip pouted out as he heard the sounds of other crying infants. I felt immediate guilt over abandoning him to the loud chaos of the place. Infants need peace after all, and my boy is so sweet.

So as I stood there in line, waiting, I looked over through the glass door into the infant room and saw my son lying on his back in his crib, crying. Minutes passed, and no one came to him. They were busy with other babies. My heart broke. I was seconds from running in, scooping him up and quitting my job. Screw it. I'll eat Ramen noodles for the next year if I have to. I'm not doing this anymore.

But my sanity slowly returned, and I completed my business and walked out without so much as a glance over at him so that the vice didn't tighten around my heart again.

Because the truth is...I know I can't quit my job. This is the life that we've made for ourselves and the life we must live for now. My children go to a fabulous daycare. They have teachers that love them. They have friends that they adore. But it doesn't replace the fact that no one can love them like me. No one will care for them like me.

The day in and day out routine of waking them up from their peaceful dreams, forcing them to get dressed and get in the car by 7:30, putting on my high heels and lugging 40 pounds of children and gear into the facility every day is hard. My house usually looks like a bomb exploded insde before the end of the week. We eat a lot of meals out of the freezer. We're constantly hunting down shoes and socks and washing bottles, and using breast pumps (okay just me, not the hubs).

As working parents, you only get time with your kids on nights and weekends. You want that time with them. But you're also conflicted...you've worked all week, you're tired, you want time to yourself, you want time out doing normal adult things...

But if you only have a little time with them, you feel guilty leaving them to go out by yourself. So it's a constant cycle of guilt, work, household chores, childcare...it never ends. It never gets better. There is NEVER a mental break from it.

And then there's the hateers who want to make you feel even more guilty fore putting your children in daycare in the first place...

But despite it all. I know I love my children and I'm doing the best I can for them. I know they'll benefit from me working even though there are some disadvantages to being left right now. For now it's just a situation that can't be changed.

Toddlers

2011-09-02T05:50:00.000-07:00

Me: Morning baby girl. Let's change your diaper!

L: No.

Me: (Cheerfully) Come on, let's get dressed so you can watch Diego.

L: No eggo! No shirt!

Me: Yep. Mommy has a waffle in the toaster for you. Let's get dressed! (Still cheerfully, I start to undress the squirming child and receive a kick to the abdomen)

L: NO eggo! No! NO shirt!

Me: Lila. That's not being a nice girl. Nice girls get dressed when their mommies say so. Only naughty girls are mean to their mommies.

L: NO mommy! Purple paci. No eggo. No touch me! OW!

Me: I'm not hurting you. Your butt is soggy. You need a new diaper. (Now we're getting stern and the stand-off continues)

L: No shoes!

Me: ::thinking...what the hell? shoes?:: I didn't say shoes Lila. We just need to change your pants and put a shirt on.

L: NO EGGO! NO SHOES! NO PANTS! NOOOOOOOO! Watch Dora?

Me: ::Exasperated:: You can only watch Dora after you put your clothes on and eat your breakfast.

L: No.

Me: Do you need to sit in time out?

L: NO mommy. YOU sit time-out!

Me: ::bangingheadagainstwall:: You don't talk to mommy that way. That's not nice. You need to go to time-out until you can be a nice girl again.

I place her on the bottom stair in our designated time-out area.

L: Not Nice MOMMY! NOT NICE!

This was only battle number one out of 952 morning battles. And people wonder why I'm late to work every day.

Ain't that some shit...

2011-08-30T12:51:00.000-07:00

I'm sure we'll laugh at this one day.

Okay I'll be honest, I already belly laughed, but my husband didn't think it was quite as funny as me.

I think deep down there's a little rumble of laughter in there somewhere though.

It was last Saturday. The hubs was playing around on the computer keeping an eye on the kids while I got dressed and did my make-up.

A few minutes later I heard loud cursing and proclamations of "What THE HELL??! WHY!?" from the living room. I still didn't budge from my spot in front of the mirror, knowing if it was something serious he'd come get me. Being a mother makes you a little less jumpy about loud yelling from your spouse.

Upon completion of my morning routine, I walked back into the living room and the hubs said...

"Do you know what your daughter just did?"

Me: "No, what?"

Him: "She walked up to me, stuck her hand down the front of her pull-up diaper, pulled out a piece of poop, handed it to me and said 'Here Daddy.'"

Me: ::Laughing hysterically::

Him: "Then she smeared what was on her hands on my pant leg and said "Ewwwww Daddy."

Kids....they're a rare breed aren't they?

A smile can change your day...

2011-08-29T06:36:00.000-07:00

The gift of womanhood

2011-08-25T06:14:00.000-07:00

I have been bleeding for nine weeks. NINE freaking weeks people. Thanks to postpartum bleeding combined with the lovely side-effects of my new IUD. I'm told this could go on for the next six months, cramps bloating and all because of this little birth control wonder they call Mirena.

I've never really loathed my period since I knew it meant my body was all womanly and normal, and that I was highly fertile and capable of conceiving little humans. But there's nothing like bleeding without a cause for two months.

It's been five years since I was on any sort of birth control, and I'm kind of bitchy about being on this one now. Something about knowing I've taken all chances of conceiving children away from myself for the time being feels like a loss of control.

And for real...we all know I'm like the T-Rex of control freaks.

My husband thinks I'm a complete nutter, seeing as how I was pregnant just like ten seconds ago and still have a teeny human to nurse and love on. So what's my real hang-up? My choice has been taken away and I'm irritated and weepy and weird about it. I like tiny humans, AND pregnancy.

But don't mind me. I'm just a bitter, infertile woman at the moment. ;) Can I still blame pysho postpartum hormones or has that window closed?

On the other hand, I'm writing this post because I see people all over the internet asking questions about Mirena and wondering about everyone else's experience with it, so I'm adding my review to the mix. And here's what I know so far:

1) The initial bleeding is a bitch, but if you're planning on keeping it for a while (it lasts five years), I'm told almost all bleeding completely ceases after a year, and you no longer even have a period (hooray!).

2) Apart from a couple short cramps during and afterward (about 12 hours), it doesn't hurt.

3) No the strings aren't that sharp. Yes they do poke you occassionally. I'm told they soften over time.

4) No I don't notice it.

5) I haven't experienced weight gain or wild mood swings, apart from my normal bitchy and sarcastic tendencies.

6) It's really freaking nice not to have to track my fertility or take a pill.

If you are 100% NOT in the baby-making market (and don't want to be), I say go for it.

Anyone?

2011-08-22T12:42:00.000-07:00

Anyone have any remedies for a toddler who won't go to sleep? Preferably one that doesn't involve us lying down with her for hours at a time? I'd like to get to sleep sometime before midnight, and without the added distraction of a toddler latched onto my back.

I'm willing to entertain ideas involving alcohol and hardcore sleep aids. ;)

Awesomeness - I reek of it

2011-08-17T06:58:00.000-07:00

So it hasn't escaped me that everyone else may or may not have been right, and I may or may not have been cray to have two kids so close together. But I'll never tell them that. On any given night you may see me change a diaper with one hand while pushing a vacuum with the other, while simultaneously arguing with a toddler over just how many packages of fruit snacks she's allowed to eat and maintaining my fabulously tight ass with pilates moves.

I'm am woman. Hear me roar!

Okay. NOT.

But for real. I'm getting there. I'm learning I never REALLY knew how to multi-task as well as I thought I did. In fact, I'm beginning to think I may have had a misconception of what that word actually meant prior to two kids. And here I thought I was an English major in college...

On one hand, I think I have finally confirmed what I always suspected - no matter how difficult you think your life is, it can always get more complicated. And by some unseen law of the Universe, YOU will always purposefully complicate it further because of your big, fat ego. Because your attitude with your first child is like this:

Have a baby? Piece of cake! Look how fabulous I look after giving birth! With awe, everyone shall gaze upon this spawn that I have created and marvel at how supremely gorgeous she is compared to every other child ever born. Motherhood? LOVE it. I am the world's greatest breastfeeder - my boobs spew forth liquid gold - nectar from the gods for my angelic infant. Go back to work and still be the world's greatest parent? No problem. I'll put in my full 40 hours, bring home the dough, cook it on the stove and still manage to sit down and teach my child four languages before bed time. She is clearly the most intelligent being ever to grace the surface of the earth. Duh.

Honey? We are awesome at this. Our child is even awesomer. We should raise more awesomely awesome children and teach them more awesomness.

And then the second child arrives:

Birth a baby? Fucking ouch. That hurt like hell and now I have to care for two little needy beings whilst recovering from having my hoo-ha stiched back together. Marvel at how my skin, twice-stretched doesn't shrink back the same, and my ass sags a little lower than before. Oh wow...what a cute little baby. Take him to the nursery so I can sleep before he wants to eat again. Motherhood? I am no longer the world's greatest breastfeeder - my boobs, once located near my armpits, now lurk suspiciously low somewhere near my ribcage; they ache and sour milk stains everything. My toddler marvels at the fact that her "baby eats booby." Come home from work and listen to the baby coo in four languages? My children are normal. They drool and run into things and trip over their own two feet. I'm just sayin'....Einstein probably wasn't hiding macaroni and cheese in his pull-ups for safe keeping. Mmmkay??? And he probably didn't smile up at his mom and coo every time he shit his pants either. He also probably wasn't born to two mundane, mildly successful college graduates either (no offense mom...I'm still a genius in your eyes and I'm sure it had everything to do with how you raised me).

So needless to say...I only have two hands, two arms, two legs and feet, and one brain. And even though life would like to require more of me, I am what I am, and hope to be mildly successful at this parenting stuff. Because as I said, it is inevitable that at some point in the near future, I will feel in control again. My ego will get the best of me and I will complicate my life further - whether it's venturing back to college for a career change or brining another baby into the world.

And even though I feel like someone stole my brain, put it in a blender and hit "frappe," my babies still think I'm pretty awesome. And my new little guy thinks I'm especially awesome.

And you know what? I guess he's pretty much the most awesome thing I've ever done too.

Working it out...

2011-08-16T06:39:00.000-07:00

So I've decided part of why I feel so "blah" and full of baby blues lately is that I'm eating like crap, and I'm missing the endorphins from my normal workout routine.

Today I'm jumping back in with the hope of turning this funk around and reclaiming my former body and wardrobe.

I'm using the Nike Training Club app on the iPhone. I'll update and explain more about it later.

Starting weight 173
Goal weight 155

Goals: Toning midsection, arms and upper back. Lose inches in thighs.

I'm not technically sure that 155 is even possible. I haven't been that low since I got married 8 years ago, and even though it was an unusually low weight for me. But i'm going for it anyway.

Before pics

The nightly grind

2011-08-09T11:23:00.000-07:00

It is 2:38 a.m. I am awake, but I don't know why. I lie staring straight up into blackness covered in shadows, my groggy mind grasping at stearching for the source of sleep interruption, when I hear a wimper again and realize it's the baby that's woken me up.

I lay unmoving, hardly breathing - willing him to go back to sleep. But my husband's breathing/snoring is loud enough to rattle the windows tonight. The baby stirs again, whimpering, but not yet crying. "Go to sleep baby. The boobs are tired and you should be too." I try using Jedi mind tricks to get him to think he's more tired than he is hungry. But for some reason only the dogs are affected by my silent thoughts, and one of them comes staggering out from under the covers like a scavenging rat to see what she might be missing.

"Don't you dare do it," I tell her in my head. "Do it and you will suffer the wrath as I unleash my mommy dury on you." But she does. She flaps her ears, loudly shaking the sleep from her head. She might as well be banging a hammer on the the wall above the cradle.

The baby whimpers. I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep....I'm not sure why i think this will work since:

1) He doesn't have a clue what sleep is or what relevance closed eyes have to it. (I blame it on a year of my daughter prying my eyelids open manually, and tiptoeing into my room to see if I'm awake)
2) It's dark, he can't see me anyway, and he doesn't give a damn if I'm sleeping or not.

He let's out a cry. I roll over onto my belly, put the pillow over my head and pretend I didn't hear him. Maybe the hubs will get up and give him a bottle if he cries loud enough. He cries a few more times. He's really awake now and getting insistent. Wake up! Damn you! I consider wacking my husband in the head with a pillow and then quickly lying back down and innocently pretending I'm asleep.

He's really starting to get angry and I'm afraid he'll wake up the toddler across the house, so I will myself to move, one limb at a time, out of the bed. It's cold outside the covers though and I can't seem to make myself pick my head up. But eventually I saunter over to the cradle, pick up the baby, and make my way back to the bed with him.

Like an uncoordinated drunk, I fumble in the dark with my nursing bra while the baby frantically searches like a bird, his breath coming in quick, desperate gasps. And then comes the quest for the nipple which leaves us both frustrated as he roots and tries to latch, and I try in vain to see which part of my boob I'm sticking in his mouth. Sometimes he latches onto the side and I scream and end up with a red hicky-like mark in the morning.

As he nurses, I slip in and out of consciousness...dozing off and then jerking awake as my head falls forward. I look over at my husband and wonder how he is oblivious to this routine. I fantasize about latching the baby onto his nipple to see if it wakes him up, and then picture how hard I would laugh.

Sometimes I wake up to find the baby asleep and wonder how long I've been sleeping with him in my arms. When he's finally finished, I check his diaper, praise God if it's clean, and curse myself if it's not because that means I have to wake the sleeping giant AND put him back to sleep again before I can reclaim my own slumber.

When he's finally, fed, swaddled and snoozing peacefully, I place him back in his cradle, and fall face first into bed. I usually get perfectly comfortable about a second or two before my ears start ringing with pitter pattering footsteps, one of my eyes pops open and I hear a tiny "Mommy?"

I want to cry. I only have two hours until the baby will want to feed again and I'm probably going to spend it with the two year old attached to my back like a monkey.

::Sigh::

Baby conspiracies

2011-08-04T10:03:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to think they talk to each other at night and conspire against us.

First of all, Lila has had molluscum since she was 18 months old. This wasn't a huge problem until Max was born, and now we have to wash our hands between picking each one of them up. Pain in the royal ass I tell you!

Molluscum is a skin virus spread from skin to skin contact...itthrives in warm, moist environments (yay summer!), so we mostly have to keep her ribcage and arm covered. But at home it's harder because of baths and such. She sees a dermatologist today to hopefully get them lasered off.

She got sick the week I delivered Max so we had to keep them separated, then she had a random fever and cold last week that she's just now getting over. More separation and hand washing (I wish I just had several pairs of hands I could change out).

Thinking we were finally all well, I spotted suspicious white milky substance on Max's tongue yesterday. Combined with the fact that my nipples were in fire and I had shooting dagger-like pain in my breasts,I suspected the worst and put in a call to the doctor who later confirmed the worst...

Thrush. FML.

We now have to give mouth drops four times a day to Max, I have to take Fiflucan, and I also have to rub a vinegar solution on my nipples after every feeding. As if breastfeeding isn't messy and time-consuming already.

I've also discovered that they like to compete for attention. If one's crying, the other one starts, if one is on my lap, the other one wants to be there too. Yesterday I spent a 20 minute drive with both kids in the backseat screaming bloody murder. I smiled at the pharmacist in drive thru window, nodding at her instructions like I could hear her over the ruckus. Silently I looked forward to the glass of wine I had planned in the near future. I couldn't freeze all the pumped milk in my fridge now anyway...might as well use it.

I just got Lila down for a nap. And Max is stirring in the swing...waking for another feeding. I must have been crazy to think this would be easy. :)

Juggling

2011-07-29T09:39:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this post from the bathtub, on my iPhone. Mostly because it's the only place that I find any alone time, the only Place that gIves respite to my abused and tired body, the only place I can lock the door and be alone for even five minutes. A bath in the middle of the day, you ask? Right now I'm home alone. The kids are sleeping. Don't ask questions.

But most days it goes something like this:

I clean up from dinner. I hand the kids to my husband if they aren't wailing for something. I tell him where I'm going. I wall into the bathroom and close the door behind me...locking it do little fingers don't turn the knob and barge in before I ever get started. I sit down on the toilet alone for the first time in hours. Who would have thought being alone on a toilet could feel so good? I hear one of them start crying and I cringe inside.

Turn on the water. It's the only thing that effectively drowns out the noise. As I sit there staring at the running water, I wonder if I can unplug the drain for a few minutes at a time so I can keep the faucet and my white noise going a little longer? I bet my water bill will be higher this month...

I wonder how I got here, and how the bathtub has become my only place of solace. Sometimes I read from my phone, or blog, or drink. Sometimes I just stare at the mill dripping from my overfilled breasts, and sometimes I carefully examine the stretchmarks on my soft tummy, tracing their red angry lines with my finger and wondering when and if they'll fade.

I realize that the two things I take pleasure in right now is warm bath water and the comfort of other mom's words. Knowing that I have some company in this world of motherhood, gives me a sense of camaraderie, a confidence to know I'll make it through, even if I only have five more minutes alone.

I reflect on my own mother's words all these years andfinally understand where she was coming from, and why she didn't always want to snuggle and hug. I realize that even when you love your children, sometimes your body needs a break from the 24 contact of another human. No voices, no fingers anywhere on you, no baby attached to your boob, no husband wanting to have sex or cuddle. Just you. Alone. With your own thoughts, your own feelings, your own untouched
body.

I hear a tantrum erupt somewhere in the house and sigh, debating whether or not to ducky head under the water to mute the sound, or get out and help. I usually decide to get out and help even though I don't want to. Because a frazzled husband is no fun after the kids are finally in bed.

And later on when I'm lying next to my daughter listening to her breathe, and suck intermittently on her paci, I'm overwhelmed with how much I love this little being. How I just want to gather her in my arms and squeeze her to pieces even though moments earlier I never wanted to have skin to skin contact with anyone ever again. I realize it will be okay - that years from now I'll crave contact with her, and that ssomehow, for now, I need to savor this season of my life.

I also realize not crazy to feel the way I do. That a human being with personal needs even if I set them aside most of the time and that it's okay to not want to have contact with my family and be alone for a while. I'm not a bad mother or wife. I'm human.

Things that sound like a good idea when you're two...

2011-07-21T17:15:00.000-07:00

1) Hitting mom and dad in the face when you're mad. (Turns out this is NOT such a good idea)
2) Playing under your sleeping infant brother with a fragile glass vase.
3) Eating an entire bag of animal crackers you pulled off the counter.
4) Doing your best Monet replication on the white couches with a sippy full of milk.
5) Grinding goldfish crackers into the rug shortly after mom vaccuums.
6) Trying to remove a 10 pound infant from a baby swing with no assistance.
7) Feeding the dogs half your dinner when mom and dad aren't looking.
8) Getting in the bathtub that mom has yet to drain with your fresh jammies on.
9) Giving yourself a facial with organic yogurt.
10)Storing chicken nuggets in your shorts for later.

We've had a big week

2011-07-18T07:34:00.000-07:00

I know I'm neglecting this blog sorely. But good grief...on top of all the normal busyness that comes with having two kids, we got to celebrate our first baby turning two, and our eighth wedding anniversary.

Upon reflecting in the week, I find myself struck by the selflessness that comes with having children. Lila was born on our sixth wedding anniversary. I love my husband, but I have to admit that I hardly gave it a second thought. I bought him a card and we had a fun dinner and cake for her.

It was an emotional day...an emotional week really. I found myself sitting around crying a lot- most likely a combination of hormones and nostalgic reflections. All I can say is that I adore my babies, and wish I could freeze their little bodies in time right now and keep them just as they are right now. I couldn't imagine loving another baby the way I love my daughter, and now I see that you don't love one more or less, or even the same. You just love them both equally but differently.

They touch your heart in different places, each one twisting a separate place. It's an equal love, but just so ...different.

Lesson #1 - things more difficult with 2 kids

2011-07-11T18:04:00.000-07:00

It has come to my attention that pretty much everything is more difficult when you have two children.

There are mire diapers, more mealtimes, twice the clothes, twice the laundry, and I could continue this list until it was a mile long. Sleep? What's that? "Me time?" never heard of it! I'd love to say I'm enjoying Max's newborn time as much as I did Lila's, but unfortunately there simply isn't time to moon over him in the same way. Mostly because there's usually a screaming toddler in the background demanding my attention.

So this morning we had L's two year wellness check. I woke up this morning when baby Max demanded breakfast, and realized frantically I didn't know what time the visit was. A phone call to their office confirmed it was at 10:00 am.

Shit. I looked at the clock. It was 8:15. I had about an hour and a half to get myself and two kids presentable and out the door. This doesn't sound like much of a challenge, but I assure you it is. I decided to tackle myself first. I looked down at my son, in his state of mill drunkenness - this is what I call it when my boob is covered in milk, it's dribbling down his chin, and unless I remove it just so from his mouth, he'll latch back on like a tick and continue his unenthusiastic nursing session.

Free from the grip of baby gums, I made a mad dash for the bathroom to throw on some makeup, assess the damage to my hair, and beg my husband to stay home for the morning and help me. After all, I have to admit I'm still nervous to go places alone with two kids.

I also had to hunt down clothes since I'm in that awkward postpartum "nothing effing fits me" stage. The nothing effing fits me stage has caused many tears in our household lately. I either wake up, look at my soft belly and think "damn I look hood for three weeks postpartum" or " I'm a cow. My skin will never be the same. I'm ruined."

This morning I didn't really have time to look. The baby was crying from the bed, my husband was oblivious as he calmly ran the razor across his face and I contemplated other things I'd like to do with it ( are men impervious to baby cries?), and my daughter intermittently woke up long enough to tell the baby to be quiet.

I made her wake up anyway since I knew she needed time to eat, hastily scrambled some eggs while standing in my underwear (the pants were in the dryer and still damp) and walked over to the back door to let the dogs out. at this point I have no qualms about the neighbors seeing me in granny panty Hanes. If they think I'm hot enough to stare at then by all means they can look.

Tantrum #1 started over eggs. For the first time in her short two years she decided an "awful" (waffle) would make for a tastier breakfast. A riot ensued as I tried to shovel eggs in her mouth. It was now 9:01 am.

She and the baby ganged up on me as I lifted her flailing screaming body from the high chair, and as she began chanting "no bath! No bath!" at the top if her lungs, the baby decided he was hungry again and joined in on the chorus. I tried to ignore and carry on. If I remain chipper sometimes the tantrums subside.

But not this morning.

In desperation I called in reinforcements and made a quick phone call to my grandmother begging for assistance.

9:15 am. The toddler has now decided she wants to stay in the tub but I tell her she can't. Ensue tantrum #2. I haul her slick body from the tub and sustain a kick to the abdomen and several scratches. Then I fight with a wild monkey on the bed in an effort to get a diaper on.

9:30 am. I attempt to place sandals on my daughter's feet. It is the end of the fucking world. Tantrum number three is imminent. I abandon the fight and go in search of the infant.

9:36 am. Still pantless, I settle the baby to the boob for a quick snack, because apparently my breasts are an all you can eat 24 hour buffet. Minutes later, I settle him on my lap to change the third diaper of the morning. He poops on me. The toddler is dismantling the diaper bag and spreading breast pads, diapers and wipes throughout the house. The phone rings. It my grandmother. She's lost. ::headdesk::

Hastily I talk her through getting here while I wipe poo off my leg and throw a diaper on the baby. I dress him quickly and throw the dogs in the crate with some food.

9:46 am. My grandmother arrives. The dogs go apeshit. She talks Lila into wearing her shoe while I sneak up from behind in an effort to brush her hair and yet remain unnoticed. It doesn't work and tantrum number 4 begins. Whatever. I give up. My grandmother hauls her out to the car singing nursery songs.

I strap the baby into his carseat to the chorus of ear piecing barks erupting from the dig crate. Heaving a sigh of relief, I pick up the baby carrier and make for the car. It's about a hundred degrees outside already and sweat beads are breaking out along my hairline ruining all of my careful work with my straightening iron. I snap the baby's carrier into place, climb in the car, and heave a huge sigh of relief. We did it. We're leaving. It's quiet. Everyone's happy...

Approximately 10 seconds later I swore as I heard the telltale sound of my son pooping his pants again.

Is anyone still out there?

2011-07-05T17:37:00.000-07:00

I know I have sorely neglected this blog. But I have to be honest, and just beg your forgiveness because apparently someone forgot to tell me that raising two kids was twice as hard as one.

My husband returns to work tomorrow and for the first time I will be completely and utterly alone. Which means even if baby Max decides to watch the late show and the late late show (yep, for real, it exists) and then get up looking for boobies at 4:00 am (let's hope this isn't a habit he carries into adulthood, I STILL have to drag my sorry butt out of bed and take her to school.

I suppose I could keep her home, but we tried that one day last week with both if us home and it was disastrous. It pretty much went like this:

"mommy! Mommy! Open snacks!"

Daddy can open them. Mommy has a baby on the boob.

"Oh no! Baby eating booby! ::giggles::"

"mommyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!"

What?

"snacks. Open." Dangles fruit snacks in front of my face.

Take them to Daddy.

"nooooooooo!!!!!!! OPEN!!!!!!" ::stompsfeet::

Followed by an awful tantrum on the floor until my husband opened the effing bag of fruit snacks. She then happily munched away until the next major crises a mere five minutes later.

Yes I realize there are better ways to have handled that situation. Like simply juggling the baby and opening the damned gummies.

So it's back to work he goes and time for me to get my shot together. I'm sad to be losig my comPany and my helper. Sometimes he's the only thing that can pull me out from a hormonal black cloud or bring me back to sanity with a hug. I'll miss you babe...

Beating the baby blues

2011-06-30T08:21:00.000-07:00

As I sit here writing this, the sun is pouring in the window and my beautiful baby boy is staring up at me from my lap, his baby blue eyes searching mine. And yet I'm consumed with my own kind of baby blues. I'm conflicted with incredible joy and a strange sense of sorrow.

I hate talking about it in real life because it sounds ridiculous and borderline self-centered. I know the baby blues are normal, but I don't really know what the underlying cause is. Is it different for everyone?

I'm over the moon in love with this tiny life in my arms - love every inch of him from his head to his toes. Ironic considering I spent his entire pregnancy wondering how in the world I could possibly love anyone as much as I loved Lila. But I remembered the intense love I felt for her when she was born, and couldn't wait to experience that once again. It was probably even a small part of why we got pregnant again so fast.

Welcoming a child into the world with your husband is the absolute single most incredible experience of your life - something no one can prepare you for. An excitement that can't be replicated. It's almost addicting, like a drug.

For ten months you plan for this huge event, marking days off on the calendar to get to each new milestone. And then suddenly you're within weeks of it. You can taste it. Your body is cramped, swollen and uncomfortable, you're ready to unload the weight you've gained and fit into normal clothes, get rid of heartburn and aches and pains in places you didn't even know you had, and you turn into pregzilla, antagonizing everyone around you with possible signs of this huge impending event.

And then suddenly it happens. It's ridiculously exciting. Your squishy newborn is in your arms, doctors, nurses, friends and family are focused on both your well-beings. People shower you and celebrate this new life. It's a high you can't get anywhere else, and a feeling you can't replicate with anything else. And then suddenly you're sent home to raise another life.

At this moment I feel consumed with feelings of intense love for my beautiful son - I marvel at every inch of him. At the same time, I mourn the loss of our physical connection. I lie here with a flabby, flat, but mostly EMPTY stomach...something that only days ago was so full of life and eager promise. So I cry. I cry in the mornings. I cry in the afternoons. I feel lonely even though he's sitting right here with me. I feel sad that my big event is over and can't be re-lived over and over again.

I had my dream birth experience. I had a perfectly healthy, full-term baby. I have no right to feel sad.

But every night, I lie in bed committing to memory every detail of his delivery and birth, terrified I might forget something of this incredible experience. I insepct his legs and feet, marveling and mourning the fact that they're filling out already...elated that he's so perfect, yet incredibly sad that his wrinkly newborness is already disappearing at only a week old. It's not fair that it goes by so fast. I'm consumed with experiencing every second of him, afraid I might miss something if I don't keep watching.

Our experience has been so different with him. People don't hover, worried we might accidentally do something to screw him up. I guess we proved ourself to be fit parents to Lila. And no one seems to marvel at him the same way they did her...him being a second child and everything. For this I feel guilty. I laugh to think that I ever wondered how I could love him as much as I love my daughter. Because I have so much love in my heart for this tiny human that I could die.

And for some reason I feel like I have to protect him from everyone else...to make sure he knows he's just as loved. I fear that he'll be neglected in some way just because of the way no one hovers around him like they did her. And so I find that I can't even put him down for two minutes because I want to love on him enough for twenty people. I want everyone to feel the same love I do, and it's turned into this crazy worry that I can't control. So I cry some more...

So what's the deal with these baby blues? Does it all boil down to the fact that I'm a self-centered worry wart? Because that's how it feels (pile on some more guilt). I feel like I've been given the greatest gift in the world - two healthy, amazing children, and all I can do is sit here and mourn the fact that my big events are over, and what I might miss out on. I am terrified that I might never have this incredible experience again. My husband and I only agreed on two kids. At 27, are my childbearing years over? Will I never rub my hands over my baby bump with eager anticipation again?

The thought brings me to a fresh bout of tears. More tears to feel silly about. I feel like a ridiculous basketcase who can't pull it together. My thoughts are so hormonal and ridiculous that I can't even voice them coherently to people without sounding ridiculous much less write about them, so I'm not sure what I hope to achieve by attempting to organize them into a blog post.

I just know that the baby blues suck and that I am anxious that these thoughts might never go away even if the baby blues get better.

A baby boy joins the family

2011-06-27T19:02:00.000-07:00

This is Maddox James...or Max as we like to call him.

He's a big, sweet boy. Here is the not so brief version of our beautiful baby boy's birth:

I was feeling pretty sorry for myself Tuesday night. The hubs had training late that night and I was two days away from my due date and had been at home with a sick toddler for two days. I went to bed around 10:30 or 11:00 that night. I hadn't had any labor-like activity all day except that my pelvis hurt really bad again and I had awful heartburn.

I woke up about 12:00 am with some mild contractions, but ones that hurt nonetheless. I laid there for a few minutes and realized I couldn't go back to sleep because I kept having them. I got up to take a bath and see if they continued. In the tub they were anywhere from 2.5 to 10 minutes apart...super irregular. But they continued to get stronger and I just had a feeling this was it. I called my mom and doula around 1:30 to put them on alert even though the contractions were completely erratic. I told them it could be quite a while since I was 0 cm dilated and not really effaced at my last doctor's appointment. I did housework for about thirty minutes and finished packing my bag.

I guess my mom and doula knew it was real too because they both got ready and showed up at my house around 3:00 am. At that point I had just moved to my exercise ball and was hugging it on all fours on the ground rocking through contractions. They were pretty painful and I commented to my mom that I was an idiot for not remembering how bad this hurt the first time! I was actually scared to go without the epidural this time and was reconsidering my original natural birth plan. Both my mother and the doula assured me I could do it.

Between contractions I was still able to laugh and joke, but by 4:00 am it was like someone flipped a switch inside me. My doula had been rubbing my lower back and talking me through each contraction, but within minutes I was moaning and groaning through them.

I suddenly looked up from my birthing ball and told someone to wake up the hubs and tell him to get moving because we needed to leave. I rocked through a couple more contractions and suddenly felt this huge sense of urgency to leave. I remember my mom telling me to lay out Lila's big sister outfit and me saying "I really dont even care if shes dressed when she comes to see me later." I can't express how anxious I was to get going suddenly and how intense things had gotten in such a short amount of time. I thought I had started to leak water too. I was sitting in the car talking to the doula and waiting on Tom who had run back in to find his phone when I started shaking violently. Teeth chattering and everything. I said "Get Tom NOW." And my mom made him leave without his wallet and phone because she was afraid we had waited too long. Little did I know I was in transition labor.

The ride there was pretty awful, but I used a lot of the hypnobirthing techniques I had read and actually remained pretty calm through all but one or two. I used the doula/mom/Tom alternately to lean on through contractions as we walked to L&D. We got up there about 5:15 am to find a very full labor and delivery ward. The triage nurse eyed my done up hair and make-up skeptically as she led me to a room and checked me. (Yes, I'm vain even in labor). I pretty much openly groaned through the cervix check and a contraction, apologizing for being semi-uncooperative, but telling her this was my second baby.

Then suddenly, as she was checking me she said "Ohhhhhhhh boy," picked up the phone and said "I need a room NOW. I've got a second time mom who's 8 cm with a bulging bag of waters." I couldn't really contain my surprise. It took me so long to progress with Lila and now I had gone from 0-8 centimeters in 5 hours. I was also suddenly terrified because I realized I was in total reach of a med-free delivery if that's what I truly wanted.

She offered me a wheelchair which I declined because for me, sitting during labor is excruciating. We walked into the room and they were rushing around setting everything up for delivery. The triage nurse said "check this out," and pointed at me "8 cm and walking." So apparently I earned major props for how calm and collected I was through my contractions...which would change shortly.

There was a woman screaming across the hall. I said I was worried that would be me, and they said she wasn't even as far along as me yet. At that point I realized I really WAS going to do this naturally and I was terrified. Everyone kept me calm by saying how the second my water broke I was basically going to "gush out" a baby he was so low. That gave me hope. They had an anesthesiologist in there already ready to give me an epi but the doula had her leave after she did my IV, and even my L&D nurses were encouraging med-free delivery at that point.

Transition is hell...that's all I can say. I was shaking really violently, and toggling between really being calm and "blowing away" my contractions ( a hypno birthing tehcnique), and getting upset through the ones that were so intense I could hardly breathe. The doula was in my face the whole time holding onto me and Tom and my mother were rubbing my back and neck for distraction. At one point I realized I was pushing and yelled to one of the nurses that I was pushing, and she got the doctor in there within minutes.

He was truly fantastic and told me I could push however was comfortable. He never even pulled out the stirrups and just stood back and watched at first. I pushed on my left side and never really left that position.
After a few pushes, however, we discovered the baby was OP (occiput posterior). Doctor said he was facing the wrong way and his head was not sitting quite right in my pelvis. He stood back and watched through a few contractions while I pushed and said that he could either turn the baby manually and said admittedly "It'll hurt, but it will help you out. You'll have him much, much faster, or that we could wait for him to turn around on his own which would take a while."

We eventually decided to turn the baby manually. It took him 3 or 4 contractions to turn him. I won't lie...it was excruciating and I was screaming loudly through it which was embarassing.

When he was finally turned though, I pushed him out relatively quickly.

I have to say every term I've ever heard to describe labor was pretty dead-on. At one point I felt like my ass was exploding and thought he was crowning for sure, only to find out that was just his head making it's way into the birth canal. The ring of fire is aptly named. I was literally "calling on the name of the Lord in dramatic fashion...OH GOD! OH JESUS! through the crowning. I was so embarassed afterward that I screamed the way I did, but it was totally involuntary at the time. I said all of the cliche things... "I can't do this anymore, Get him out NOW, I'm done with this."
Come to find out, he was gigantic so at least I was validated in my screaming!

I had some major bleeding/hemmorhaging complications and no anesthesia to take away the pain of all of that afterward, so that was a disadvantage to going natural. I was also really out of it and didn't bond with the baby until later on when I was alone with him - I was just so exhausted and in complete shock that when he came out I barely even looked at him. It wasn't until about 30 minutes later that I even got a picture with him I think.

However, I'm glad I've experienced it both ways now. I cant say one way is better than the other. I'm not far enough removed from the memory of this L&D yet.

And now the pictures you've all been waiting for...

With the doc

He's here.

2011-06-25T14:18:00.001-07:00

I will post soon. Maddox James arrived early Wednesday morning at 6:48 am. He is was 9 lbs 5 oz., and 22 inches long.

He came into the world fast and furious and we 're in love. :)

People who love me

2011-06-17T05:18:00.000-07:00

I recognize that I'm a very lucky person. I have ten thousand well-meaning people in my life who really, genuinely care about me enough to ask how I feel on a daily basis - amazing friends and family who step up to keep me occupied when I'm going crazy at 39 weeks pregnant.

Last night I had another false labor spell, got myself really worked up and excited, got everyone ELSE in my life really excited, only to have everything fizzle in the middle of the night. Within minutes they had put together a plan to watch Lila and I'd received ten thousand text messages offering to help.

I decided I couldn't face the prospect of work and prying questions today, so my mom offered to pick up Lila and take her to school, my friend offered to take me to the movies this afternoon and walk the mall with me, and my husband surprised me with a date he had planned for tonight.

I have awesome friends and family. I am blessed.

When your baby meets your baby

2011-06-16T08:19:00.000-07:00

I'm 39 weeks pregnant today. Three weeks ago I honestly did NOT think I would see this day with the way things were going. One thing you do NOT remember (or perhaps I really never had), was the amount of pressure and pelvic pain you experience in late pregnancy. And so, at 36 weeks, I called my mother from my car one day and said...I can't imagine carrying this child for longer than another week. All she said was "Yeah" with a little chuckle. Apparently moms DO know something since I'm still here and still very much pregnant.

That being said...I can't imagine carrying this child another week. Or another two weeks for that matter. God help us all.

One thing that has struck me about this pregnancy is how different...or perhaps indifferent I feel toward everything. The hubs reminded me the other night how cautiously we walked in the door with Lila the day we came hom from the hospital. We gingerly set her carrier on the ottoman, and stood there with delirious smiles on our faces as we let our beloved weiner dogs sniff the hell out of her. What did they think? How did they feel about her? Would everyone get along?

This time I've barely given a courteous fleeting thought to how they feel about it. Although as they get pushed off my rapidly shrinking lap by a toddler, I don't miss their evil stares that seem to say "I know what you're growing in there and I don't like it one bit. How dare you effing bring ANOTHER one home!"

I HAVE however, given thought to how our daughter will react. She seems interested in babies. So far, on a curiousity level, they rank somewhere higher than plastic bananas, but slightly lower than Elmo DVD's and vanilla wafers.

But have I prepared her? Probably not as well as I should. I had grand plans of buying her engraved sterling bracelets with the phrase "big sister" on it, getting her a big sister t-shirt for her first visit to the hospital to met him, teaching her how to care for babies, talking to her more about what it means to have a little brother...

But to be honest, life is busy, and she's a toddler and doesn't give a rats ass about anything except the here and now and whether it involves fruit snacks. Sometimes I lift up my shirt and say "Look it's mommy's baby. Give baby brother a kiss." And she'll dutifully kiss the bump and try to stick her paci in my belly button (or "baby button" as she likes to call it). I've also tried some object lessons when my friends have their infants around....

Like the other night, my friend's three month old baby boy was wailing, Lila was covering her ears and saying "Baby crying. Baby sad," as she tried in vain to give him her toys (sharing already!?!). So I lifted up my shirt and pointed at my belly and said "mommy's baby is in her tummy, just like that baby" and proceeded to point back at the scraming child.

She glanced between the two objects, raised one eyebrow and looked at me like I had three heads.

So while we've discussed the new baby, I don't actually think she has a clue one will be living with us. Am I nervous? Scared shitless actually. Am I worried enough to prepare her more? Not really. As a second time parent I know everything will shake out however it shakes out and there's not much I can do about it.

But I am fearful that she'll resent me, that we'll have to deal with a series of horrific tantrums, and how I'll feel about having to split the overwhelming love I have for her with another child. But I try not to think about it. There's just no sense in stressing over something that's inevitable.

And now it comes down to cookies

2011-06-14T06:38:00.000-07:00

Now is the time when you begin to receive well-meaning advice from friends and relatives about "enjoying this time before the baby arrives," and "taking it easy." You hear things like "It's only going to get harder. Enjoy your time now."

Except you can't because your feet are swollen, you can't walk without feeling like your ass might explode at any second from the pressure of the fetus, every joint in your body aches worse than you ever though imaginable, you wake up wanting to puke from acid reflux, you can't sleep because you can't turn over in your bed anymore or find a single comfortable position, you have hemmorhoids hanging out of your butt, and every time you ask a doctor for help they want to see you naked and put their hand up your vag.

Even your husband says "I'm sorry you feel bad. It'll all be over soon."

And though he means well, you just want to punch him in the nuts and say "There. It's okay. It'll all be over soon." Realizing that he's only experiencing a tenth of the hurt that you are, and at least he has an end in sight.

And then thee's the excruciating mental game of "Was that labor contraction or just something new that hurts? I hope it's labor. Wait...do I? I'm exhausted. Labor sounds even more exhausting. Was the my mucous plug or just some other unpleasant side effect? Are these contractions real or not?"

Holy God, someone just shoot me and put me out of my misery.

And yet, I've had a child before. I know why people think it's easier while the baby is inside. Don't think it hasn't escaped me that i"ll soon be knee deep in TWICE the poopy diapers, cramming my sore nipples in an infant's mouth very two hours, chained to the house like a prisoner. I know what's coming. And I'm currently weighing which is worse...

Late pregnancy? Or new infancy?

My mind changes hourly on this topic. And last night, I had decided late pregnancy was worse. I'd take my chances with the infant. So I dialed up my Aunt, the midwife (she's pretty much on speed dial at this point), and begged her to tell me why at almost 39 weeks I wasn't dilated. I was told to take Evening Primrose Oil to soften and efface my cervix. Three orally and three vaginally every day.

I weighed my options for a minute, generally decided to say "Screw it. Why not?"

So I bee-lined it to the drugstore at 9:00 pm, threw in a package of cookies for good measure (Why the hell not? Who the hell cares? I decided the scale was a vicious, nasty enemy several weeks ago, came home and tried to figure out how in the world to insert Evening Primrose vaginally. Let's just say it involved poking holes in greasy capsules, and lying on my back on the bathroom floor trying desperately to find my cervix.

But alas...I was successful. And sure enough, a telltale sign of impending labor appeared this morning. (I'll spare you those unpleasant details...as if I haven't already overshared enough)

I'm hoping the full moon works some of its own magic tonight. Fingers crossed. And I may throw in a cookie or two for good measure.

In other news...

2011-06-13T12:22:00.001-07:00

I'm still here.

I'm still not dilated.

But it's the strangest thing. There's this gigantic bowling ball that feels like it's about to fall out from between my legs.

Go figure.

You know what's weird and creepy?

2011-06-10T07:38:00.000-07:00

Finding your kid under her bed at 3:30 am screaming.

Yeah. You wake up hearing your child screaming your name in a terrified fashion. You stagger groggily through the dark thinking you're going to soothe a child's nightmare, only to walk in and find...

That the kid is not in her bed where you left her. But clearly somewhere in the room judging from the volume of her cries.

You know what's even more creepy?

When your husband hasn't moved the internet router out of her room, so when you look under her bed to find her, you find a glowing blue toddler peering out at you with wild eyes screaming like a child in a horror movie.

Freaks you the f*ck out at 3:30 in the morning when you're half awake. Yes sirreeeeee.

The Law of Attraction vs. Murphy's Law

2011-06-06T07:06:00.000-07:00

I've been trying Murphy's law for the last couple weeks. I realize I'm only 38 weeks, but good God, I've never been more ready to have a baby and stop the spreading of ever expanding pink lines up my mid-section. Strangely, I've complately avoided the linea negra this go around.

In my quest for labor though, I've been unprepared. The nursery wasn't finished, I wasn't ready to go out at work, I still had events going on I needed to attend, my house was a disaster....

But in the last four days all of that has changed. I finished my work projects on Friday - even cleaned up my desk should I not be back today.

The baby's nursery was assembled (if not completely decorated), and Lila has been successfully transitioned into her new room.

My mother and grandmother came over and helped me COMPLETELY overhaul my house. I doubt it's been this clean since we moved in. We worked 13 hours straight. I couldn't move a single bone in my body that night, but the tile grout was scrubbed clean.

I packed a bag. I finished laundry. I'm exchaning baby stuff today that won't work. I even went so far as to put my hospital bag in the car should I go into labor at work.

We hired a doula, met with her and established a birth plan.

We pulled out the infant seat and found all of the pieces to assemble and install.

And yesterday...we went to our last committed event for the duration of the pregnancy. In two words - I'm waiting. Now I get to sit and watch the clock tick off the seconds. But yesterday, I finally felt slightly at peace for the first time in weeks.

I finally felt like it was "OK" to go into labor anytime. Because any details left can work themselves out. The big rocks have been moved, and the pebbles will fall into place. I'm putting the law of attraction in motion.

Now if he just had a name...

Sex after parenthood

2011-06-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

Okay I tried to title this post about 6 times before I finally came up with something that didn't sound like something completely illegal. I mean I started with "Sex with a toddler" and realized that sounded ridiculously wrong, and tried "Sex with children," instead but realized that was just as bad.

So "Sex After Parenthood" is what I finally came up with. ::shakes head::

Anyway. Mom...do I really need to preface this post with a warning to let you know there's going to be a wild sex story involved?

My poor husband has been pretty...ahem...starved for affection lately given the fact that I resemble a large spherical shaped object and have absolutely no desire to be affectionate whatsoever. Poor man. I think it's been a good 6 weeks. But seriously, the mechanics are mind-boggling, and the thought of tackling all the problems involved in such an undertaking is usually exhausting enough to send me running for the hills.

So I decided to surprise him this morning with a quick little jaunt in the bedroom before the kiddo woke up. I had no sooner made a suggestive little comment and watched his eyes light up when a sleepy faced toddler appeared in the doorway.

We laughed at her unfortunate timing and sighed, welcoming her into what has become the family bed rather than a place of passion as of late.

And then I had an idea...

"Feed her breakfast! Go put her in her high chair!"

"Great idea," the hubs chimed in. So being the horrible parents we are, we stuck our child infront of cartoons with a soggy waffle and some milk and she was good to go.

And so were we, a few minutes later...the sex-starved husband was excited to finally be getting some one on one attention. Unfortunately our semi-private affair gained an audience of weiner dogs halfway through, which also happened to be about 30 seconds before Lila started screaming "Daddy! Daddy!" at the top of her lungs.

That poor, poor man. I'm not sure that's how he ever envisioned hearing those words during sex.

I'm nearing that point

2011-05-31T06:27:00.000-07:00

I'm nearing that point at the end of pregnancy where you turn into Godzilla and terrorize everyone around you with bitchy comments and complaints of being uncomfortable. Sometimes I even smash tall buildings.

It doesn't help that every person you see gives you the proverbial "Oh my goodness. You're about to drop that baby any second aren't you?" comment.

And you sweetly reply, "No I've got 3 weeks left."

And then they stare back at you like you have four heads and either cruelly get your hopes up by telling you there's no way you'll go that long, or inadvertently tell you that you look like a fat ass by making some off the wall comment about the size of your grotesquely swollen belly - "Are you SURE? Where else will you put him? You CAN'T get any bigger!!!"

::throatpunch::

Why thank you. I hadn't quite taken in my quota of whale comments for the day. I appreciate your contribution, asshole.

Today my back hurts. I am crampy and tired and don't feel like moving. And yet I feel nothing. No labor contractions, no other tell-tale signs....nothing. The weather here will be in the mid-90's with 100% humidity for the rest of the week.

Yours in misery,
Kate

Major freakout

2011-05-24T07:31:00.000-07:00

I'm lying on the couch watching television. The kiddo has been in bed for an hour, the dogs are quiet, and I'm finally at peace for the rest of the night. Sure, Lila will most likely wake up in 6 or 7 hours, but then she'll climb in bed with us, play with my hair and fall back asleep.

Suddenly I feel the baby start hiccuping and moving around furiously in my stomach. I'm uncomfortable and beginning to get annoyed when all of the sudden it dawns on me...

This is going to happen ALL.THE.TIME. once he's here.

He'll wake up every two hours. There will be no 7-10 hour respites of peace and quiet once Lila goes to bed. He'll cry. He'll scream for food. He'll be attached to my boob 24 hours a day. We'll be endlessly washing clothes and towels with spit up on them.

WHAT HAVE WE DONE!?

Commence major freakout.

I almost start crying when I realize that Lila has finally become self-sufficient in the last few months, and here I am about to completely start all over again. Someone please hold me. Get me off of the mother effing ride. I want OUT! WHERE THE FUCK IS THE EMERGENCY EXIT!!!!!!????

I felt depressed suddenly...when that key moment of realization hit me smack dab in the forehead and said "Silly rabbit. You thought your life was yours again? I think not. Here's a new squishy to send you back into the throes of babyhood."

Let the final month of pregnancy begin. It's a wild hormonal ride filled with regrets, excitement, ups, downs, aches, pains, joys, nervous energy and much, much more. But here's the thing I remember from last time....you feel like this for the last four weeks. Every time you feel the twinge of a possible labor contraction, you pause, and put on the brakes thinking "Oh hell no. I'm not ready to do this yet."

And then you know you're FINALLY ready when a labor pain comes and instead of putting on the brakes, you throw yourself into high gear and say "God take me now. I can't be pregnant for one more second and I'm ready to hold my baby!"

Am I doing the right thing?

2011-05-23T08:13:00.000-07:00

Every morning it's the same thing...

I force my kid out of bed, change her diaper and struggle with putting clothes on her, negotiate shoes and socks (sometimes we walk out to the car barefoot and put them on at school instead). She gets some sort of breakfast bar in the car, and we rush off to work and school.

We walk in, she washes her hands, and then the screaming and leg clinging starts. It's awful. She has been in this particular daycare room for two months now, and she never goes in happy in the morning. It's is heartbreaking to walk out of a room with your child crying and reaching for you...to watch them run to the glass classroom door and dramatically throw themselves against it begging you to come back.

Heartbreaking. Sometimes I ignore it and go to work guilt free, but sometimes, like this morning, it gets to me and I find myself breaking down in the car, wishing I could keep her.

I realize that toddlers are dramatic - that they'll do just about anything to get their way, including throwing a tantrum in the middle of a public place worthy of an Oscar-winning performance.

But I can't say that it ever gets any easier to leave your baby behind while they're upset.

This morning on our way to school, I glanced back to see tired eyes, and a resigned expression - she knew where we were going. I reached back to hold her hand and she put it up to her cheek and just held it there. When I took her out of the car, she clung tightly to me, wrapping me in a bear hug. I was upbeat and positive as always....unapologetic. But it didn't make the drop-off any easier.

I know she's in a fantastic care center. I know she must have fun throughout the day. But part of me still questions why it has to be this way...why I have to let someone else raise my kid.

And I'm not questioning the merits of daycare or bashing working parents...I AM one for crying out loud. I have to say that daycare provides my child certain stimulations and social settings that she would be able to get by staying at home with me. I LOVE daycare for teaching my child so many things, for doing arts and crafts with her, for reading to her and expanding her little brain.

But they can't provide the unconditional love I can, can't soothe tears the way I can, can't be mommy to her.

And for that I feel guilty and I wonder if I'm doing the right thing.

One guess as to what happened here

2011-05-17T06:34:00.000-07:00

Because that's all you'll need. Please note the sign on the fountain.

Yes, my child likes water. Yes, she fell in the fountain at a street carnival. Yes, she was very surprised and unhappy about it. Yes, I had to pour water out of her shoes she was so wet. And yes...her fascination with water has been temporarily cured.

The crazy preggo

2011-05-12T12:48:00.000-07:00

Two hours.

I'd been staring at the clock, timing my Braxton hicks contractions on my iPhone app for two hours. I was lying down with my daughter. Guzzling water and gatorade. And as she slept peacefully on my arm, I was getting more and more uncomfortable with each passing second.

Mostly from not changing positions. I knew they weren't real labor contractions, but I'd been having TONS of them for two days and had finally decided to time them and see what the deal was.

Dammit if I wasn't having 8 or 9 an hour. The doctor's office cut-off was 5 an hour.

But I refused to go to L&D when I knew perfectly well these weren't labor contractions. So I took a bath, laid on my left side and did the the proverbial tricks int he book, to no avail.

But I still waited to call until this morning. And as the nurse picked up the phone, I timidly asked "Um. Is there anything else I can do to get these to stop?" Because they were seriously cramping my style at that point.

Of course she made me come in to make sure they weren't real. And the office was swamped and I felt stupid, sitting there as a second time mom with Braxton Hicks contractions, taking up their time. Which is why I apologized ten thousand times to the nurse and the nurse practitioner even though they told me to stop - because I HATE to be seen as one of those crazy preggo ladies who complains about every ache and pain she feels.

When they put the doppler on my belly I heard the rythemic sound of the baby's heartbeat thumping away...only at what sounded like twice it's normal speed. "Um, did you have sugar this morning?" she asked me. Nope. Not even a sip of water, I confessed.

Baby's heart rate was almost 200.

So I got hooked up to the non-stress machine for a non-stress test - which was actually pretty relaxing. But the second she walked out of the room I realized I hadn't called work, or home or anywhere to let them know where I was, and there I was strung up like a rock climber to a thousand machines - unable to move.

So after 45 minutes of watching contractions, my baby's heart rate continually rise and fall, and no suspicious activity besides the ten minutes of hiccups that we charted, I was allowed to go.

I should have kept my mouth shut. Except that as I write this, I'm still having these freaking contractions, so I'd probably be even more freaked out by now if I hadn't gone in.

I'm starting to wonder about this kid. His sister never caused such problems.

Natural Birth

2011-05-11T06:22:00.000-07:00

My husband is not a fan.

In fact...no one I know is a fan. And here's the thing: It's important to me to try. But I have no idea why. I can't cite you 1,000 reasons on why it's healthier for the baby, I can't give you a bunch of crap about being afraid of needles and epidurals, etc.

Perhaps it's some sort of power trip? Some inner desire to conquer and be able to say to myself "I'm tough enough to do this." Perhaps it's simply that I know my body will only undergo this miracle a few times in my life and I want to experience it to the fullest extent. I just don't know.

What I do know, is it's a nagging desire in the back of my mind that won't leave me alone.

Last time I took a Lamaze course, but it was mostly just a childbirth education course put on by my OB's office. For someone who scours the medical internet religiously like me...it wasn't very informative. I made it 19 hours without an epidural but failed to progress very far in those 19 hours and when faced with the possibility of pain relief at the hospital, I jumped at it.

This time I'm reading a hypnobirthing book. It sounds like a bunch of crazy hippy shit. But to be honest, it's perhaps the most logical, educational and scientifically based natural birth method I've ever read. It makes me excited. Not just to try for natural birth, but excited at the possibility of being that controlled in my life EVER. It's a calmer way of thinking, a way of de-stressing and living your life in a manner of controlled, positive thoughts. I see that it's practices would carry over to other parts of my hectic life.

The problem? No one is on board with me. They all think I'm crazy and into some sort of (I'll say it again) crazy hippy shit.

You CANNOT do natural childbirth without a support system - someone to encourage you through the next contraction, someone to speak soothingly to you and keep you in your controlled, relaxed state, someone to remind you of what you wanted before you started. Because birth is intense. It's one of the single most life-altering experiences you can go through.

I looked into the possibility of hiring a doula. I even found one who was trained in hypnobirthing. I've had six turn me down for some reason or another...meaning they already have clients that month, they are on vacation during my due date, etc.

I also looked into hypnobirthing classes - they don't start until June and there are five weeks of classes. My due date is the second week of June. She offered private lessons, but at $50 an hour...it's kind of a lot of money.

So I approached my husband last night about it all, hoping to get his buy in and show him how important it was to me. Although he understands, he still doesn't believe in it and feels like it would be a waste of money.
And to be honest...what if I failed? What if I spent the money on a doula or hypnobirthing classes and still couldn't follow through with my natural birth plan? Everyone would say "See, I told you so. Waste of money." And I'd never live it down.

I don't know where this leaves me. But I'm so confused and at a loss.

Work never done

2011-05-09T16:51:00.000-07:00

I'm MIA because Lila has her first puke-fest Of a stomach bug.

Say it with me folks...yuck.

I had no idea you could change pajamas four times in one night.

But if my pukey mother's day left something to be desired, I was still blessed with a fun surprise shower this weekend which I'll post more about later.

Tomorrow is my b-day(all these holidays get blended together for me...even Lila was born in our anniversary). Hopefully the kiddo is feeling better and we can have our planned dinner out.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Mother's Day.

My fail safe method is no more...

2011-05-05T06:18:00.000-07:00

My kid hates to be left behind. Especially by mama.

So every morning when I'm trying to leave the house and she's busy with something else, I call out "Bye Lila!" and she comes running to front door yelling "Weady! Weady! (Ready)". She's not one to be left behind.

This morning Little Bill was on the tv, Lila was in her tiny armchair, and I was impatient with my hands full of stuff. I called out "Bye Lila!" and waited for her to come running.

She turned around in her chair looked at me and said "Bye mommy," and went back to watching her show.

Dammit.

2011-05-04T06:13:00.001-07:00

Original Video - More videos at TinyPic

We're back!

2011-05-04T05:55:00.000-07:00

Disney was fantastic. Our kid had a great time and so did we.

My advice to those who go to Disney is never to go without a cripple, an old person, a pregnant person or someone injured. (yes, yes, I know it's not PC to say 'cripple' but it's a little joke between me and my handicapped grandmother).

But seriously. I have no idea how you'd get through a whole park in one day without being able to go to the front of lines. We got a wheel chair because...well...I'm eight months pregnant and there was just no way in hell I could walk for 13 hours straight at the parks. Plus a friend who was with us threw out her back halfway through the day.

My favorite part was when we were at Epcot and my husband ordered a beer in Germany but realized he couldn't push the wheel char AND hold his beer. So I held it for him. Klassy.

She also happened to LOVE the characters which everyone thought she would be terrified of at her age, but she walked up and hugged them like a pro before completely dismissing them and taking off each time.

Ready to go on her first plane ride:

An afternoon snooze before Epcot:

Because I won't be here at the end of this week...

2011-04-26T12:33:00.000-07:00

And because I'm tired of seeing the word "vagina" at the top of my blog page, I'm submitting this entry early. We all know I'm not a good enough person to have blog entries lined up and ready to post while I'm on vacay....or am I? Guess you'll have to wait and find out.

Anyhoo, let's get down to business.

The business of being pregnant to be exact.

This week I am officially 32 weeks up the duff with baby boy W. Only 8 weeks to go.

WHAT?!?!?!?!?

Yes I had a momentary freak out when I saw that. Because 8 weeks is really just 8 weeks until my due date. I mean the baby could realistically only be 5 or 6 weeks away which scares the hell out of me. We have no name, I have not taken maternity pictures, his room is still covered in pink birds, he has nothing but purple and pink blankets and towels, no paci's...pretty much nothing.

I'm a terrible second time mother. I suppose that's just the shake second children get huh?

We're getting into the territory of watching for labor signs, lying on the couch like an immobilized whale, and talking about gross stuff like mucous plugs. It's almost here, people!

I'm not ready at work. I'm not ready at home. I'm not ready in my heart. But hey...I'll just wing it like I did last time and hope for the best!

I feel heavy. I feel hot 24/7. I feel gross. I weigh 193 pounds which puts me up 25 pounds from pre-pregnancy with 8 miserable weeks of weight gain to go. In a word...yuck. I wake up all night popping Tums to keep from puking up stomach acid, I have feet in my ribs at all hours of the day...

And I still know I'm going to miss this. Do I complain? Hell yes. Should I? Probably not. I need to enjoy this and savor the moment. It'll be over in a heartbeat.

So while my goal for this week is to keep my feet from swelling in the Orlando heat, I'm also going to enjoy being pampered and not having to suck it in at the pool. :)

OMG. I cut my vagina!

2011-04-25T08:05:00.000-07:00

I knew I was having a cervix check done today at my OB appointment since I'm going on vacation far far away at the end of the week.

SO during my daily ablutions yesterday, I took it upon myself to trim up my sorely neglected nether regions so I wasn't rocking the 70's look. I was trying to be courteous...I mean I'm sure these people look at all sorts of things all day, and appreciate someone taking a little extra care with their grooming, no?

The only problem is that I cannot see over my ginormous belly for the life of me. I pushed it down, I curled myself into a ball, I angled this way and that. But it was all in vain. No amount of contortionism would give me a view of anything down there.

So instead of saying "the hell with it" like any normal person would do, I did what any hormonal pregnant woman hell bent on her mission would do...I shaved blindly.

I was doing really well, and was almost done. Once I got started I got a little razor happy and eventually ended up giving myself the full treatment. Who needs a brazilian waxer anyway? I was rounding third, well on my way to home base when I felt the sharp sting of metal against flesh. I cringed in horror and flung the razor away from me.

OMG. I cut my vagina! I leapt out of the tub. I was momentarily stunned...afraid to call for help, afraid to touch it, afraid to know what I had done, kicking myself for being stupid enough to shave that far without a bird's eye view.

I looked down to see myself dripping blood all over the floor (scary anytime you're pregnant...even when you KNOW it's just a razor cut). I had qualms about squatting over a mirror, plus I didn't want to pass out if I had really effed things up down there. So I did the next best thing and called the hubs in to tell me how bad the damage was.

You'll all be relieved to know that I did not, in fact, slice anything off. (Go ahead and heave a big sigh of relief since I know you were scared sh*tless for me) And even if I'm walking a little funny today, it was actually not as bad as I thought.

Fear over my lady parts' well-being was quickly replaced with the dawning horror that I had an OB appointment and was lopsidedly shaven and had a large cut in a very awkward place. I was not, however, embarassed enough to try to go back in and finish the job.

So you can imagine my relief when, as I sat cross-legged on the exam table chatting it up with my favorite doctor today, he actually had the courtesy to ASK whether or not I felt like we needed to do an internal. I think I said "no" a little to quickly.

The shaving was all for naught.

Mama said there'd be days like this...

2011-04-19T11:45:00.000-07:00

It started with a vet appointment and cranky child I had to wake up for school.

By the time I loaded one dog and a toddler in the car, the other dog was pissed because she wasn't getting to go, so sulked inside, which made me feel guilty. My grandmother was supposed to meet me to pick up Luci after her appointment and take her home, but she had car trouble.

Fight number 1
So I arrived at the vet 5 minutes late because of traffic. I lifted the dog and my eight month pregnant belly out of the car, and proceeded to unbuckle my toddler. Lila then spotted a bag of candy on the floor boards that was intended for her daycare's easter egg hunt, and demanded some. I told her that was not for her, that it was for school. She threw a fit in the parking lot.

So I dragged a reluctant dog and toddler into the office behind me. One was barking, the other was screaming. We waited about ten minutes for the vet, and in that short amount of time, the dog flipped out in our tiny exam room and barked incessantly for the entire ten minutes. About that time, Lila spotted the dog treats in the jar on the table and began demanding "cookies." I explained over the dog's shrieking that they weren't cookies, they were doggie treats, which resulted in her dramatically throwing her self on the floor and kicking me and the wall. As I alternated between calming the dog down and grabbing my child off of the disgusting tiled floor of the vet's office, the vet came in and grabbed the leash from me since I was choking my poor dog as I tried to lift Lila off the floor.

Lila went limp as a noodle, scratching and clawing at me like a demon-possessed child. The vet did her thing and handed me back the dog's leash, and we attempted circus style to reload back into the car.

Fight number 2
I dropped off the dog at my grandmother's so I didn't have to go all the way back to my house. At this point Lila had missed breakfast at the daycare, but still hadn't eaten. Since SHE had a doctor's appointment at 10:30, I decided to bring her to the office to have some breakfast and play quietly while I got some work done. There's no point in dropping off a kid at daycare for one short hour right?

Wrong. I should have dropped her off. She screamed. She fought. She was terrible. Probably because her morning routine was thrown off. I fed her weight watcher's yogurt and leftover apple pie from someone's birthday yesterday. Mother of the Year...pin the button on me.

Fight number 3
We arrived at the doctor's office and waited about 20 minutes in the lobby. We played with the fish tank, with mommy's iPhone, with magazines, you name it. When they called her name, she cooperated through her weigh-in and height check...

And then they stuck us in an exam room for 45 minutes to wait. And wait. And wait...

We tried just about everything...opening drawers, wiping our nose, washing our hands, playing with the diaper bag, eating snacks, playing with brochures...all the while going through the normal stuff "Don't touch that. That's not for you. That's gross. Get your hands off the floor. Don't climb on the doctor's stool. Don't touch the instruments. Stop ripping the paper."

The doctor came in, and my usual well-behaved child flipped out and refused to cooperate for anything. I held her down, they did their thing, and we left. By the time I wrangled her back into the car, I took a deep breath and looked at the clock.

When i realized she had also missed lunch at the daycare, I started to cry. And even though I tried desperately to choke back the tears, I couldn't stop them. I was a blubbering, hiccuping mess for ten minutes before I was able to pull it together. I couldn't even figure out why I was crying - there was no reason for it.

When I finally stopped, I put the car in reverse and drove to the nearest fast food joint to get my daughter a kid's meal so she wouldn't starve the rest of the day. Visions of the doctor's office health channel flashed through my mind "Childhood obesity linked to working mothers." Well no shit. We can't even find the time to feed our kids between toting them from place to place on a daily basis. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

By the time I got to daycare to drop her off, she was sound asleep in the back seat. So much for the kid's meal. What a morning...

I felt like a filaure on so many levels. Why can't I get my child to listen to me? Hell, I can't even get the dog to listen to me. My life is a big chaotic mess that I don't know how to change. I can't even breath between meal planning, grocery shopping, baths, laundry, work, doctor's appointments, balancing family and friend time, moving Lila into her new room, redoing a boy nursery from a girl nursery, clothing my child....the list could go on and on. I get one thing under control and in the meantime something else spirals out of control. I feel like I need an intervention.

Not the brightest crayon in the box...

2011-04-18T08:38:00.000-07:00

We went to an airshow yesterday...which was really super freaking cool. Lila loved all the "airpines!" that she saw and was intrigued for the most part. Except for the thunderbirds.

The thunderbirds, despite her ear plugs, did nothing for her, and she screamed and clutched to my mom and me every time one flew over. We ended up leaving slightly early given her near freak-out toward the end. :)

The weather was fine...a breezy 71 degrees. And for the most part, we did the smart parent thing and lathered our baby with SPF 50. Her skin is untouched today, despite the blazing sunshine she was in all day yesterday.

My sensitive pregnancy skin however, is not so fair. Being the bright one that I am, I decided a tan on a pregnant woman would look great...and possibly even thin me out a little (something we all wish for at this stage of pregnancy). So I neglected to put on any sunscreen until a little over halfway through the day.

My legs which never seem to get so much as a smidgen of sun, are now bright red and blotchy, as are the tops of my feet, face, chest, shoulders...and even my hands. I itch like crazy and I'm freaking ALLERGIC to aloe. All sunscreen treatments have aloe in them so for now I'm resigned to vinegar baths and lotion.

Yay for me. Okay maybe I AM the brightest crayon in the box if you take into account this lovely shade of red.

Why Having a Toddler is Like Being at a Frat Party

2011-04-15T07:33:00.001-07:00

Why Having a Toddler is Like Being at a Frat Party http://www.shitmykidsruined.com/2011/03/17/why-having-a-toddler-is-like-being-at-a-frat-party/

10. There are half-full, brightly-colored plastic cups on the floor in every room. Three are in the bathtub.

9. There’s always that one girl, bawling her eyes out in a corner.

8. It’s best not to assume that the person closest to you has any control over their digestive function.

7. You sneak off to the bathroom knowing that as soon as you sit down, someone’s going to start banging on the door.

6. Probably 80% of the stains on the furniture contain DNA.

5. You’ve got someone in your face at 3 a.m. looking for a drink.

4. There’s definitely going to be a fight.

3. You’re not sure whether anything you’re doing is right, you just hope it won’t get you arrested.

2. There are crumpled-up underpants everywhere.

1. You wake up wondering exactly how and when the person in bed with you got there.

A milestone! Yippeeeeee!

2011-04-12T13:39:00.000-07:00

HEY! Two posts in one day!!!! A rare occurence around these parts lately, eh?

I'm 30 weeks KTFU (that's "knocked the f*ck up" for you non-internet lingoers out there).

That means I have roughly 10 weeks to go...which could realistically be anywhere from 8 to 12 weeks. Say it with me folks...DEAR GOD. I'm going to have a screaming puking infant AND a screaming angry toddler. I'll put extra money in the offering plate on Sunday if you agree to pray for me.

I'll start with the bad news: my blood pressure was 140/90 at my last appointment, which is high, but still on the low end of high as I understand it? My normal BP never goes above the 90's or low 100's. This was a huge and sudden jump for me that has earned me another appointment in a week, and if it's still high, an appointment every week from here on out.

I also had contractions all night the night before which earned me a spot on the table with my legs up in the air while a doctor and student nurse practitioner stared at my goods for a while. Which brings up a random question for me - why in the hell does a speculum hurt while you're pregnant but not any other time?

And seriously...how am I to preserve my dignity if I'm not prepared for an internal? I mean I'd love to keep things neat and trimmed, but I seriously can't even bend over to put on panty hose right now, so how am I supposed to blindly trim up with sharp utensils and a basketball in the way?

Anyway, in other news, I have gained 22 pounds - yes the baby is only estimated to be responsible for three of those pounds. Shut up.

And here's my feet. They're starting to swell which so far hasn't stopped me from donning three inch heels in the name of good fashion. OR from propping them up on my desk for all the world to see. After all, I'm pregnant...what can they say to me?

And I generally feel like my belly is right around the same size as it was wth Lila at this point.

30 weeks - baby boy (yes that's my work bathroom again - it's the only place I ever have my phone on mew with a mirror - go figure)

30 weeks with Lila Kate

I have apologies to make

2011-04-12T13:11:00.000-07:00

Today I finally took a great big deep breath and signed into my gmail blogging account.

It was insane - like one of those messes that you don't feel like cleaning up so you put off and put off - you store it in the one bedroom int he house that no one ever goes in and claim that one day you'll go in and organize it.

Well today was that day. Most of it was spam and junk. But a lot of it wasn't. A lot of you e-mailed me really touching, heartfelt well-wishes back when my daughter was in the hospital. And I, being the self-absorbed crazy person that I can be, didn't even have a clue until now.

I just want to say, from the tips of my toes, how much I appreciate each and every e-mail I received, and I want to apologize for leaving you hanging. I know I've made a lot of apologies about my lack of entertaining blog posts lately, and a TON of empty promises about getting back on the wagon. But I hope this really is a turning point for me.

Everything was shoved into violent persepective for me last November, and I think I kind of just couldn't handle it all. I realized that I couldn't juggle every ball, and unfortunately this was the one I chose to drop at the time.

Thanks for all the support, well-wishes and continued readership despite it all.

Kate

When babies grow up...

2011-04-11T06:17:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I painted our bright red office in one coat of primer and a light neutral gray, in preparation for the arrival of my daughter's new furniture. This earned me high blood pressure at my doctor's appointment that week and a long stay on their table for "observation."

You see, we won't be buying another crib for baby boy's arrival - he'll be using Lila's old stuff. And on Saturday, my parents brought over my sister's beautiful oak furniture for the new "big girl room."

I'll post some pictures when the room is completely done. Originally, my plan was just to move in the furniture and work for the next couple weeks on decorating and getting everything ready for the big debut. But Lila ruined those plans when she came waltzing into the room and exclaimed excitedly "MINE!"

She seem genuinely excited about the transformation of this room, and somehow from that moment knew that it was going to be hers. I hadn't planned on letting her sleep in this new room yet because I'm selfish and don't want to give up my sleep. Plus I wasn't entirely sure how one began the transition from crib to full sized bed.

That night I told the hubs we were going to put her in her crib for a few more days, but Lila had other plans. I read up on the internet relentlessly to try to figure out how we would begin this transition. I agonized over the thought of her being able to roam about the house freely, had nightmares of her falling out, of her waking up 800 times in one night, and of her climbing into bed with us every two seconds. But just for shits and giggles I asked her as we walked to the nursery if she was going to sleep in her big girl bed or her crib.

She walked straight into her new room and tried to climb up in the bed, her little feet straining to reach the high mattress. The hubs helped her up onto the bed and turned out the lights, waiting for her to freak out. But she laid her head on the pillow, asked for her stuffed kitty cat, and simply said "night, night."

We stared at each other bewildered, SURE that this was too good to be true. We turned on her lights and sounds mobile and quietly left the room pulling the door semi-closed behind us.

And we waited.

For the sound of pitter pattering little feet to come down the dark hallway.

For terrified cries from her room.

But there was nothing. So I sent the hubs tip-toeing into the room again to put her old baby monitor on. And again we waited - almost three hours - watching TV out in the living room. But not ONCE did she get out of her bed.

Just before bed, we crept back into her room. In the center of what seemed like a now massive bed was the tiny form of a baby human, curled up and sleeping peacefully, her blonde curls a tangled mess. I was suddenly reminded of how she looked as an infant, so small and fragile in her crib. And a bittersweet feeling of nostalgia mixed with regret flooded over me.

I hadn't expected to get emotional over something like this. I turned to my husband and hugged him in the dark as we stood there watching her. And as we left the room, I turned and walked into her now empty nursery, just the way we had left it the night before. It was all ready for her - the crib, the decor - this room I had lovingly crafted and put sweat and tears into a couple years ago as I awaited her arrival.

And then the floodgates opened and my tears were free flowing. My baby was not a baby anymore. The nursery would soon be dismantled and reassembled for someone else.

She was growing up.

I rubbed my hands over my belly as I felt him move inside of me, suddenly reminded that I had another baby to prepare for, another room to ready in anticipation, another baby who would soon grow up and be in his own big boy bed just like my daughter next door. Could it really go by so fast?

And not ONCE, for the first time in weeks did she wake up all night.

I woke up multiple times on the other hand, straining my ears for the sounds of my baby in the middle of the night. But there was only the silence of a content household.

A lesson in customer service

2011-04-07T12:18:00.000-07:00

Last week I sent an e-mail to a local car dealership inquiring about one of the cars on their lot.

Yesterday I received an e-mail back that said "We're sorry. But the car you have requested information about has already sold. Please let us know if we can help you with any other car needs."

So being the devil that I am, I replied...

"No shit Sherlock. You sold the car to ME."

The lesson? Always contact your prospects within 48 hours of a call or e-mail.

Something sweet

2011-04-04T08:16:00.000-07:00

This morning my child leaned over into my face. I pretended to still be asleep so she would roll over and go back to sleep too.

Instead she patted the side of my face gently, stroked my cheek and pulled my hair away from my face. I could feel someone staring. So I finally opened one eye and looked up to see my baby peering back.

"Hi mommy."

"Hi baby girl."

And she sighed "mommmmy" as she rested her face back against mine for a few moments before reaching to the other side of the bed and repeating the same scene with her Daddy.

All in all I can't say it's a bad way to wake up. It beats the hell out of dogs flapping their ears in your face.

28 Weeks

2011-03-30T07:45:00.000-07:00

28 Weeks? Really? That means we've reached the third trimester.

I feel like I was just staring down at two pink lines thinking "Holy shit we've done it again!"

But here we are...big belly, cravings, heartburn and all...once again in the the throes of planning for a wee one with breastfeeding classes, hospital registration and nursery paintings. What the heck were WE thinking? :)

It's all becoming very real again. And yet I don't feel the same excitement. I guess the unknowns of having a child the first time really are most of the excitement. Because although I'm excited and ready to get this show on the road (read...ready for a glass of wine and a trim waist), part of me wishes this wasn't going by so fast - that I had time to savor these last few months of pregnancy in case they're my last.

How does one go from dreaming her entire life of having a family to having the reality of pregnancies over in such a short time? I'll be 27 and possibly done with having children.

There are two things in life that a little girl pines for - two things that little girls re-enact in their nursery play over and over again:
Getting married and having babies

You trail behind your mother at all of her friend's wedding and baby showers dreaming of the day that you'll be in the puffy white dress, shoving basketball and balloons under your shirt to pretend you have a baby inside, and cuddling your baby dolls in your arms.

And then suddenly you're there...and you realize how fleeting those major moments in your life are. You learn that they're really just a couple of brush strokes on the canvas of life.

And then what?

You wait twenty or thirty years until your kids decide to do the same thing so you can enjoy their marriage and babies? It seems so drab. Like being reborn and having to wait an entire lifetime again to live vicariously through someone else's fairytale.

But that's where I'm at. We've always said two kids (really I wouldn't mind three but it doesn't seem financially realistic). And here we are 12 weeks from the delivery of our son. Does that mean it's over? Because if you're a parent already, then you know how fast their infancy goes by. You've already realized that your dream of having an infant will be short-lived. And although children are a wonderful, wild ride with new twists and turns at every corner, you can never have their tiny infant bodies back once they're gone.

I fully intend to attempt to savor every moment of this child's infancy, of the end of this pregnancy, and of this precious time. Because I know the hardships we're about to face - the lack of sleep, the stress on our bodies, the frustration of disciplining two. But I also know the delights that will come with it, and I'm resolved to enjoy those parts more than the frustrations.

To Daycare...Love, A Grateful Mom

2011-03-25T06:06:00.000-07:00

Dear daycare,

Thank you for taking such wonderful care of my child. You all have taught her so many amazing things in the last several weeks and I wanted to acknowledge you for all of your hard work.

Particularly for teaching my child to drink out of a kiddie sized adult cup instead of a sippy cup with a lid. She IS 20 months old after all and I suppose she was getting somewhat too grown up for a toddler cup? I must admit I was somewhat confused when my daughter insistently reached for my own glass from the table the other day instead of her sippy cup full of milk. Her tiny little hands grasped the sides and raised the glass to her mouth from across the room. She only spilled about three quarters of the coca-cola inside on herself and my new rug and white couch. It was so cute! Even cuter when she exclaimed "uh oh" and dropped the glass onto the hardwood floors shattering it into a thousand pieces.

But I realize that you guys have plastic dixie cups and ancient tile kid-proof floors. So no biggie!

I was also extremely impressed that you taught her to clean up her own messes. Imagine my delight when I discovered her purposefully pressing the filtered water button on the refrigerator so that she could use all the kitchen towels in the drawer to clean up the water repeatedly! It was adorable to hear her exclaim "Mess! Clean up!" as she worked like a mini-Cinderella to push soggy towels around my freshly mopped floor.

Oh! And you've taught her to SHARE so well! At least half of her food goes to the dogs now and each meal is filled with exclamations of "Share! Be nice!" I can't imagine how much we'll save on our grocery bill without having to buy dog food. The dachshunds are excited about this development too. They AREN'T as excited that you've taught her to say "No bite" and "Not nice" however, since they are now scolded about 23 hours and 59 minutes a day.

I am truly impressed with all that she has learned through your organization. Each day is like a new fun-filled toddler adventure. Thank you so much for your hard work and patience!

Love,
A Grateful Mom

Crazy? Perhaps.

2011-03-25T05:37:00.000-07:00

We are taking Lila to Disney in late April, before this baby arrives.

I will be 8 months pregnant at a theme park in the extreme Orlando heat with a toddler.

I must have lost my mind.

And yet I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself. What is it about Disney that brings out the kid in us??? I'm hoping Lila enjoys herself and this isn't a complete expectation failure. My guess is that she'll love it. I'm a bit nervous about the plane flights and navigating the parks with a stroller. But other than that I'm totally psyched and ready to go.

We'll be staying on property, but we're only there for a couple days. It will be a quick weekend trip. We're doing Magic Kingdom only...

I grew up in Orlando so I'm no stranger to Disney World. But it's been years since i've been back. So share your best tips for daring toddler parents!!!

The selfish side of me

2011-03-22T07:28:00.000-07:00

As I sit here and type this, I am tired and recovering from a nasty stomach virus that took me out of the game altogether yesterday. So let's go ahead and accept the fact that I'm probably tired and hormonal.

Two days ago, I held my friend's three week old baby while my daughter sat next to me and melted my heart by fingering his tiny toes and stroking him gently as we've taught her to do with our dogs. "Nice baby" she said and patted his head.

My heart swelled at the thought of this being our new normal. Because in a few months she'll be loving on her new baby brother the same way as he nurses in my arms...hopefully. Or will she? Will it be different when the baby is staying in her house? Taking her mommy and daddy's attention? Sipping on bottles and paci's that she no longer is allowed to have?

Normal fears. I brush them off as something that will just be part of our routine...part of her growing up...something we'll have to deal with anyway. So why worry about it?

But then the baby started crying. I looked over at my friend, her tired eyes cringing at the sound...as if it meant another round of walking the halls trying to soothe something that can't be soothed. And suddenly I remembered...

I've always had this blissful picture of newborns in my head. My daughter, despite being a feisty child who knws what she wants NOW, was actually quite a peaceful newborn. We didn't deal with reflux or colic, and she didn't actually cry that much. We dealt with the normal sleep issues and 3:00 am feedings. But there WERE the dark times. I specifically remember one day when I had been alone since the hubs left for work that morning. it was 7:00 pm. He was late because he had a meeting to attend. I called him frantically because I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't bounce her anymore. Couldn't think of one more thing to do to get her to SHUT UP and stop crying. I remember the desperation, and how I wanted to walk out the door and not look back.

While those times were infrequent for us, they were still there. I'm not naive enough to think that this baby will be as easy as Lila or the same at all for that matter. And when I saw our friend's blank faces, full of exhaustion and worry, I couldn't help but begin to worry myself.

Because having at toddler is hard. I can't put her in one place and make her stay anymore. She is defiant and ugly to me because she's still learning what's proper behavior and what's not. And most of the time I feel like it takes the two of us as a team to reason with her, dress her and care for her.

And so yesterday, as I laid on the couch feeling nauseous and miserable, I considered that this baby will be here in a few short months, and I suddenly wanted to cry in utter exhaustion. What were you thinking? I chided myself. How could you have forgotten how hard it was already? How could you have thought a two year old and a newborn was a good idea?

I cursed my biological clock for ticking so loudly, cursed my body for craving a pregnancy so hard, felt the baby move inside me and wanted to weep with the love I knew I would soon have for him. But inside I was so tired. I realized everything that seems hard now will be compounded by two soon. I realized that while I'm irritated that the dogs or my toddler seem to need something to eat or drink the second I sit down to relax now, in a few short months, even when I sit down, my arms will be filled by another helpless creature in need of caregiving.

And I felt selfish - selfish for wanting some of my time back, selfish for bringing another baby into the world when I already get so frustrated caring for one, selfish for worrying about these things when there are so many other women out there desperate for a child who would give ANYTHING to be sleep deprived if it meant a child in their arms, and selfish for making my daughter share my love with another child.

But deep down I know it will be okay. I'm certainly not complaining about the fact that we've been blessed with two children. I'm just scared shitless. I'm out of my mind with thoughts of how to do a 3:00 am feeding without waking my toddler. And I don't even want to consider how I will lug a 30 pound baby carrier in one arm and hold my daughter's tiny hand int he other while we cross the street.

I know it will mean double the planning time, double the sleep deprivation, double the seatbelts, double the feedings, double the groceries, diapers, wipes, sticky hands, temper tantrums, and the list could go on and on.

And I'm scared.

Nesting and play things

2011-03-16T13:41:00.000-07:00

Upon returning home last night from work, the hubs left for a night of training, and I was left at home with the kiddo. I ordered a pizza to keep things simple, and cut up a piece of greasy dough covered in cheesy awesomeness to begin the clogging of my daughter's arteries while she's still in the nursery. (she licked the plate too)

I also plopped her in her high chair to fill her brain with mindless cartoons while I went about my household duties for the evening...

Which quickly evolved into an evening filled with powertools.

Yep. I started out cleaning my bedroom, which was so bad I couldn't walk through it without stepping on laundry, and before I knew what was happening I had pulled out my husband's power drill and was putting holes in the wall in an effort to hang shelves, pictures and other myriad items.

Am I a psycho to be up on a ladder with a power tool at six month pregnant? Probably.

Does the bedroom look amazing? Definitely.

And this morning when I woke up, I heaved a sigh of relief as I stepped out onto the clutter free carpet beside my bed.

And this is where I want my mother to stop reading.

I mean it.

Stop reading mom.

You were warned.

I hummed as I ran the straightening iron through my hair, and applied make-up - happy to be starting my day off right. My daughter played with my hairbrush at my feet and then disappeared into the closet for a few minutes which I didn't worry too much about.

Until she walked out waving my big purple vibrator in her hand like a flag and saying "Oooh!!!! Pretty!!!!!!"

Holy mother of God.

I dropped the straightening iron and jerked it out of her hand running back to the closet with it to restash it and telling her "No. No. We don't play with toys like that." (I mean...mommy and daddy have toys that are off-limits. I mean...dammit. How do you explain that to a two year old?)

So I settled on "That's not a toy. Not really," and went about my business again while she threw a tantrum on the floor...

Over a vibrator.

And suddenly I felt like I was re-living an episode of Sex and the City. The one where Samantha lets Miranda's son play with her new vibrator because it's the only thing that calms him down.

If you think this was bad you should wait until I tell you about the time my Grandmother's neighbor's son found her prosthetic boob and started throwing it back and forth like koosh ball (remember THOSE things my fellow children of the 80's?) on the front lawn. Now THAT was something to see.

The State of the Uterus

2011-03-10T06:34:00.000-08:00

All is well I suppose.

We are 25 weeks today! Only 15 weeks to go (hopefully)!

I have done absolutely nothing. I haven't even painted Lila's new room. Things in my house are more disorganized than ever. the nesting phase I hit a couple weeks ago has passed and now I am once again way too tired to move or do anything useful around the house.

I am completely unprepared for this baby. I have a ton of baby stuff to buy because I have nothing that is even remotely suitable for a boy.

I have gained 17 pounds. There's no hiding the belly (not that I would want to!)

I still can't pick out a name and to be honest, the hubs and I haven't even discussed it since our ultrasound 5 weeks ago!

I have another appointment on St. Patty's Day - my last one was on Valentine's Day. I seem to hit all the major holidays. You think if I put green food coloring in my urine sample the nurses would get a kick out of it? No? Yeah me either. But it might distract me from the fun glucose test I have to take. I failed this test the last time and had to move on to take the three hour test where they make you drink twice the amount of sugary disgusting orange soda and draw your blood four times. It's super fun. I swear. Bonus points if you can leave the testing area without passing out from blood loss and a sugar high!

I also intend to speak to them about my stubborn footling breech little boy who insists on using my colon as a couch and my bladder as a trampoline. And when he can't reach my bladder he substitutes my cervix. I swear it's like having someone play pinball inside of your pelvis.

Other than those minor (read MAJOR) annoyances, I can't complain. Things are well. Baby boy is healthy to my knowledge. Perhaps one day he'll have a cool name like his big sister.

Lila still does not grasp the concept of a baby in mommy's belly although she has started rubbing my belly and saying "baby" on occasion.

So here's the comparison shots (personally I think my ass was significantly smaller last time - did I mention they put in a Dunkin Donuts near my house...total conspiracy!):

Baby boy 25 weeks

Lila at 25 weeks

Fun things about pregnancy workouts

2011-03-08T14:00:00.000-08:00

1) You get to watch your midsection grow instead of shrink.

2) Your clothes tighter instead of looser, and eventually your belly starts falling out the bottom leading other gym members to stare awkwardly at the peeping flesh when you attempt anything that involved lifting your arms over your head.

3) When you lie down to do ab exercises you realize it's futile and have to roll over like a whale to get back on your feet.

4) The Wii Fit eventually moves you into the obese category with proclamations of "Oh no! You've put on 6 pounds in two weeks! Can you think of where this weight gain might have come from?" Gee, I don't know f*cker. Perhaps the ball of fleshy alien curled up in my tummy has something to do with it? (yes, the Wii Fit geniuses forgot to add a pregnancy setting...but have no fear, there's one for your dog.)

5) Your workouts get progressively harder instead of easier. For instance, you start off the 30 Day Shred on level three and suddenly can't finish it. Eventually you're back down to level one and sucking wind harder than a Hoover, thinking "Wait a second. Shouldn't this be getting easier? Oh yeah I forgot about those pesky 20 pounds in the front."

6) You learn that pregnancy workout DVD's are really just designed to put you to sleep in a dark room and keep you out of trouble. No seriously, I bought a pregnancy yoga DVD and found myself dosing off after five minutes. As I jerked my head out of a neck roll and came to, I realized there was drool slipping out of the corner of my mouth. I put that one on the shelf to collect dust.

7) The number one most evil thing about working out while pregnant? Watching the merciless scale climb higher and faster every week.

It's like bringing in grocery bags from the car - just when you think you couldn't possibly hold one more, someone loops another bag on your arm and you stumble toward the house blindly groping for the doorknob, screaming "Get out of my way! Disaster is imminent!" and then collapse in a heap on the floor.

I'll take a cucumber too please!

2011-03-04T11:55:00.000-08:00

My TTC (trying to conceive) friend called me up on her way home from Target yesterday to tell me that as she approached the checkout lane at Target, THIS is what she set down on the conveyor belt:

Three pairs of clearanced maternity pants - $6 each

Lingerie with which to seduce her loving husband - $20

Mucinex (hey, we hear it increases cervical mucous to aid the little swimmers mmkay?) - $5

Two three packs of Ovulation Predictor Kits - $20

Fifty one dollars of baby-making aids later, she said she was sure the cashier was confused as hell and looking at her like she had three heads. In fact, I'm sure she was almost as confused as the cashier who recently checked me out when I (in my skin tight maternity top) bought two packs of pregnancy tests , before waddling out with my big ole pregnant belly in front of me to the car where my friend was waiting - I'm sure I was a topoic of conversation that night. Psst! Did you SEE that woman? She had a belly the size of a watermelon and she was buying pregnancy tests! The proof is in the pudding sweetheart. You're knocked the f*ck up. Don't bother with the tests.

So since we've adequately confused the hell out of Target cashiers already, I told her that she should have thrown a cucumber in the mix. You know. Just for funsies. And shock value.

Daycare struggles

2011-03-04T07:43:00.000-08:00

We have struggled this week.

L-bug is in a clingy phase. She doesn't want to me separated from me. Which turns into long nights full of whispered "Mommy's" in the dark and feet in my ribs (not from the unborn babe either), and tiny hands tangled in my hair.

Because even in her sleep she wants to be thisclose to me.

And the wonderful Universe being what it is...decided that THIS would be a good time for her to move up to a new room full of older kids at daycare. She should have moved up two months ago, but because they didn't have room for her she's been held back with the same teachers for over 6 months now.

So I can't really blame the kid for wanting a sense of security in a place she spends close to eight hours a day.

But of course it was time to move her up. The first morning I dropped her off she wrapped her paws around me like a little monkey and refused to go. The new teachers had to pry her off of me one finger at a time. There's nothing like being a hormonal mess already and seeing your baby torn from your arms repeatedly because...you have to go to work.

It makes me feel like even though I signed up for having a kid in daycare when I got pregnant, and by necessity, THIS child did not sign up for this and just wants her mommy. So I went on to work, bawling my eyes out and repeatedly kicking myself for being a bad mother, about to bring another child into the exact same situation.

Things have improved a teeny tiny bit, but we still aren't free of the kicking and screaming from the second we walk in the door of the place. So today...my rockstar husband informed me that he took the morning off to spend with his daughter.

Ya'll...my busy, BUSY husband took a morning off from his firm to make his baby a full homemade breakfast and walk her into her new classroom. Even though he works in the opposite direction of the daycare, even though it's 30 minutes out of his way, even though he had to work all night and part of the weekend to be able to do it.

I love this man, and my heart melted into a thousand pieces. And I REALLY enjoyed having a morning off from crying and feeling like a guilty piece of crap.

Wisdom

2011-03-01T07:13:00.000-08:00

I can't help but laugh at some of the first time moms out there. The crazy things I read on message boards and blogs. It's not that I don't sympathize with them...I see it as a right of passage. I'm positive they laughed at me the last time around.

I see them agonize over diaper bag choices, picking pricey designer bags that will look cute on their shoulders. Not realizing of course that the bag will have juice and breast milk leaked into it at come point or another, that the straps will most likely be covered in some form of spit up or something sticky, and that eventually it will be so filled with tissues, used wipes, oily tubes of butt paste, and gravel covered pacifiers.

I see them carefully put together their birth plans, detailing every aspect of their ideal delivery right down to the designer hospital gown they request to be able to wear. Not realizing, once again, that no delivery is predictable - you couldn't possibly plan how many hours your labor will last, who will arrive at the hospital in time, how big or small or developed your baby will be, and what services will be available to you on that specific date and time.

I watch them ask ten thousand questions on the perfect breast pump, the perfect nursing bras and tops, the perfect outfit to wear when guests arrive to see their new baby, the best bottles, pacifiers, receiving blankets, etc. What they don't know is how hard breastfeeding will be, that they won't know what kind of bottle will be just right for their babies (because every little mouth is completely unique), that they won't know what diapers will work best, or if their child will even TAKE a pacifier.

And I used to be one of them. I enjoyed every minute of agonizing over those little details before my daughter arrived. It felt special, if a bit overwhelming and time-consuming. I literally remember spending almost three hours by myself in Babies R Us one day testing every stroller and carseat on the market to figure out which one was the easiest to operate.

And now I'm all about functionality. I want the cheapest diaper that doesn't leak. I want the diaper bag that is black to hide stains, and has enough pockets to adequately keep me somewhat organized. I want the carseat that will last the longest, is easy to wash and will hide the sight of baby puke.

I won't bother buying mass quantities of pacifiers or bottles until I know what my baby likes. I'll take plenty of nursing tops and bras to the hospital with me, and forgo the fashion accesories, realizing that I won't care, won't want to take the time and will be more about comfort than looks.

I'm a little sad that I already know what to expect, and that much of that first-time excitement is gone, but so happy not to have to waste money and time again.

Snarky mom grows a baby - The state of the uterus

2011-02-23T12:50:00.000-08:00

Forgive my absence. Last week I was lying on the couch with the flu wishing I could die...or at the very least hurt someone, and cursing myself (as I blew my nose for the fiftieth time) for not sucking it up (hehe - great pun) and getting a flu shot earlier in the year. But on to more important matters...

I'm getting big. I'm wearing all maternity clothes now. And despite my ability to fit into a pair of pre-pregnancy jeans, it's only because Ralph Lauren and other jean designers insist on cutting jeans to hang just a precarious millimeter above our pubic hair (hence the reason you see women with their thongs hanging out the back all the time....oh wait that was actually termed a fashion trend at one time? Forgive me - and them.)

Yes I've gained weight. No it's not all in my uterus but thanks for being kind. ::batseyes:: My butt is sagging with the weight of all the Dunkin Donuts and Chic-fil-a I've ingested on my recent carb craze, but I'm sure as hell enjoying the ride this time around. This puts my total gain somewhere in the neighborhood of 13 pounds if you weigh me nekkid, and 15 pounds if you throw the clothes in. Since the doctors don't weigh me naked....because quite frankly that would most likley cause a stir in the waiting area...we'll go with a happy medium of 14 pounds.

I've now been gestating a tiny human for 23 weeks as of tomorrow. My due date is DIFFERENT people - in case I didn't announce that here. It's no June 23 instead of June 26. You won't believe how much talking I had to do to convince them he was going to come three days earlier than they thought, but eventually I wore them down. I think they just wanted me to shut up about it.

The baby is somewhere in the neighborhood of a pound and the length of a banana, I'm told. As I browsed the banana section at the grocery store the other day I tried to decide if they meant the size of an organic banana or the mutant hormone grown bananas next to them. Given the weight gain I totally chose the mutant banana. Not that the baby is a mutant, but this totally gives me a better excuse to pawn off those pounds as baby weight.

My sister tells me I've lost all interesting aspects of my personality and now drone on about pregnancy and babies in 99.9% of my conversations with her and everyone else. So feel free to e-smack me back into reality if you'd like me to stop posting about this on the blog for a while. I won't listen to you, but I"ll take into consideration how you feel and say "sorry." :)

Adventures in dining with toddlers

2011-02-17T09:25:00.000-08:00

It was a cold and rainy night. We made our way to our favorite little steak restaurant in town for a nice dinner out with the hubs' family.

I'm always a little nervous at these things since I feel like I'm being judged by his mother for ever parenting decision I make. I mean I have to face the music - I can't get L to eat the right amount of food, the right kind of food, behave properly in a wooden high chair or use silverware so I'm basically a complete failure as a parent, right? It's obviously MY fault that my kid is a picky eater.

So we sat down, a immediately I knew dinner was going to be interesting. They seated us at a round table so close to another couple's table that L's high chair backed up within striking distance of the woman's chair.

::InsertPepTalktoSelf:: Breathe. Relax. She's in a good mood right now. You can do this.

I arranged the wooden chair as close to our table as possible to avoid any unnecessary mean looks from the nice couple dining behind us. All was well for the time being.

The drinks arrived. I poured some of mine into her sippy cup which of course wasn't adequately satisfactory to toddler curiosities, so I allowed her drooling, cracker covered face to sample my beverage from my straw, and was rewarded with an "Mmmm. Nummy!" from her. Ten seconds later while I was momentarily distracted by the waiter I looked down to see a tiny hand crammed up the elbow in my glass, pulling out ice chunks and dumping them on the floor.

I think it was her secret plot to provide entertainment for herself by slipping up waiters and clients Looney Toon style.

Our food came and she refused her rice. She refused my baked potato. She ate some more crackers and put her hands in my steak, promptly wrinkling her nose and wiping it on her shirt. She made a bed of food in her lap - I'm not sure what this is about.

The couple behind us smiled tolerantly when she raised her voice or screamed and cried. They were making the best of the situation too. But a the evening wore on and she became more implacable, I could tell patience was wearing thin on their end, and couldn't help but notice the subtle over-the-shoulder looks of "Control your child or take her out. We're trying to eat here."

The time for birthday cake finally came and as it was set down on the table she let out a loud "Ooooooooh!" and clapped her little hands in anticipation. I cut her her very own little piece and set it in front of her with fork. All was going well at this point and I finally engaged in some of the conversation around the table.

Until IT happened.

I glanced down in time to see Lila stabbing at her cake with the straw she had removed from my cup. Fine. Whateves. Let her play as long as she's being quiet. But as I watched in slow-motion, I saw her take the end of the straw and try to use it as a fork.

The straw bent in all of it's cheap glory. The cake weighed it down but gave way in an instant. And just as the straw sprung back into shape, effectively lifting a huge chunk of red velvet crumbs with it, it launched the cake like a rock in a slingshot over our heads and onto the plates of the couple behind us.

I was frozen. I couldn't move. I had bits of cake and icing stuck to my own shirt and face and could only imagine in horrified silence what the scene on the table behind us looked like.

"What the heck was that?" I heard the woman say.

I wanted to disappear. I considered crawling under the table and leaving quietly through a back door but i couldn't move. I was afraid to apologize or really say anything. I couldn't imagine what I would say. "Hey. I'm sorry my kid just dumped crumbs of drool-covered cake on your table?"

So I have come to the conclusion that there are parenting moments you absolutely cannot anitcipate in your wildest dreams. Times when you will be so mortified that you want to disappear into thin air. I remember my mother saying this to me, and yet I had no idea it would start so young. I made laughable proclamations like "Oh not my kid. I'll teach her how to behave or we'll leave." or "Not mine. I will control her."

I've learned that judging other parents is foolish and only earns you more embarrasing moments with your own.

Date Night Fail

2011-02-16T06:47:00.000-08:00

We went out on a nice date Saturday night. I got a new silk top, I did up the heavy make-up and awesome hair, and I looked ravishing as my husband swept me out the door for night of fondue fun.

We took his 69 Camaro since it was nice out. Something we only do on special occasions. But we noticed it was filthy from sitting in the garage all winter so we had a few extra minutes and decided to take it through the new laser car wash near our house.

We pulled in. It soaped up the car as my husband's careful eye watched to make sure nothing was damaged (the car is 40 years old after all). And as the power sprayers came on to rinse the car, a kind of dawning horror washed over us (quite literally I suppose).

As it came down his side of the car, I noticed it start to leak up near his window, and as the full force of the sprayer brushed by a second time, water dripped heavily on the collar of his starched shirt. I laughed a little and tried to wipe him off with my coat, when it suddenly occurred to me that the sprayer still had two make two passes at my window.

And just as I turned to look at the window and check the cracking ancient seals, the sprayer hit me full force in the face, soaking me, the dashboard, the seat...water, water, everywhere. Not dripped as the hubs side had, but SPRAYED, I tell you, like a water hose. I screamed like a little girl and held my coat up in front of me as the sprayer made a second pass....trapped like a rat in a water filled maze...or in this case a laser car wash.

The hubs was laughing hysterically while he apologized profusely and drove out.

We made it to dinner a few minutes late in our shiny, beautiful car, though we were a little soggy ourselves.

Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails?

2011-02-11T06:50:00.000-08:00

Is that even the right saying? SEE! I don't even know the right little boy sayings!

I was in the doctor's office with Lila yesterday, and there were two brand spanking new little girls being cuddled and cooed over by their adoring parents. Their tiny little fingers still red and wrinkled from being in the womb only days earlier. It brought back memories of those first early days with my daughter, and I was suddenly so sad that I wouldn't get to see this new baby in a pink little sleep sack, similar to the one the little girl in front of me was wearing.

It made me sad that I wouldn't be re-using the heavenly, soft little blankets and dresses and hats...all the little girl stuff I had so carefully packed away for my next daughter.

And yet I can't help but be excited that I'm giving something priceless to my family - a little boy to carry on his father's name - a grandson to my father who's never had a little boy to spoil rotten.

But people...I have no idea what to do with little boys. I have complete and utter penis incompetence. I don't even know how to change the diaper of a little boy. Suddenly I'm having to think about circumcisions, potty training a built-in water gun and embarssing him when he's older, and I'm scared.

I know little girls. I don't know little boys. I fix hair. I play dress-up. I drink tea.

And I hate Star Wars.

So I don't lose faith in humanity...

2011-02-11T06:08:00.000-08:00

If you have some time, please stop by and check out my e-friend's blog at http://prayersformason.blogspot.com/

At her 20 week ultrasound they discovered some heartbreaking things about their little boy, and she is on a painful, day-by-day journey right now to find out if her baby will live or not.

As bloggers, we put a lot of ourselves out there - granted, this is by choice, but we do it to show the human side of ourselves...to show that it's okay to be vulnerable, and to maybe help someone along the way.

Mason's mommy has put hers up to solicit prayers to help her unborn baby boy. And in the usual sick fashion, of the internet, some readers have chosen to question her truthfulness and be downright cruel. I know all about internet trolls, and I know there are crappy excuses for people who just want to stir the pot, but it just sickens me to see someone who is struggling with an extremely emotional situation right now have to deal with commenters who tell her to abort her ugly retarded baby, etc.

So if you have a minute, send up some prayers for Mason, and maybe leave this struggling mama a kind word or two. Please restore my faith in humanity.

Last week aliens abducted my child

2011-02-07T06:49:00.000-08:00

And replaced her with someone else.

No I'm not joking. It's the truth. I woke up one morning and she was gone. All I found in her crib when I woke up was a little hellion who had the audacity to kick me in my pregnant belly, scream at the top of its lungs and raise holy hell.

I tried to dress it. Thirty minutes later we were both sweating and exhausted, but somehow I managed to wrangle her into the car and drop her off at school.

When I picked her up from school, sure enough...the teachers agreed with me and wrote a note suggesting something might be wrong. The little hellion had bitten another child on the forehead, pushed down and hit multiple children, and when I picked her up to give it a hug, she hit me across the face.

I wasn't really sure what to think, so I let the hubs deal with it while I took a bath and wracked my brain - just a bad day? hormones? (nope too early) sick? (already had antibiotics for ear infection) alien abduction? (AHA!!!!!)

She didn't sleep. She woke up at 2:00 am and tortured me until morning alternating screaming with periods of fitful sleep next to me. The next morning, the hellion was still there. My nerves were frazzled. I strapped her into the carseat so she would be subdued and drove straight to the pediatrician's office, hellbent on discovering the medical problem that was surely there.

Imagine my surprise when the doctor said she WAS my child and that NOTHING was wrong with her.

"What do you mean nothing's wrong with her?" I asked. "Look at her! She won't listen to reason, she's kicking, hitting, biting and freaking out on me. She tells me 'no' before I even ask her anything, and hits me and calls me 'bad dog' if i try to make her do something she doesn't want to. This is NOT my child."

The doctor laughed at me and said "Welcome to the terrible two's."

I politely said "No, thank you." and tried to leave the office but they made me take her with me.

The aliens had pity on me and replaced her with a gentler version of a terrible two toddler, but she's still not completely herself.

The state of the uterus is good...

2011-02-02T08:10:00.000-08:00

There is a new squishy little baby BOY in there! And he's healthy and perfect. :)

Lila waved her little hand at the screen and said "Hi baby." And my heart melted right then and there.

My Dad is grinning from ear to ear because he's finally going to have a boy in the family, and my husband is over the moon as far as I can tell. I don't think he believed it when he first saw it on the screen! (Besides the proverbial "Is that his leg or his penis?" comment that he just HAD to make. :0)

I don't even know what to think. I always pictured us with two little girls. So I cried of course because I felt like I had accomplished something big and new in our family.

We are happy. :)

So according to you guys...

2011-01-31T06:28:00.000-08:00

Tom and I will soon be welcoming another baby girl!

I hate to agree with you since my husband and father are surrounded by a bunch of hen-pecking females already, but truth be told...I think you're right. I think there's a girlie in my ute right now. All the old wives tales say it, and my instinct tells me the same thing.

I would be utterly and completely shocked to see a penis on the screen on Wednesday morning. My jaw will drop. I'm not sure how I will feel about it.

There's something strange that happens when you find out the sex of your baby. You go through half your pregnancy calling him or her an "it" or thinking of them as one or the other, and then your bubble is completely burst. You see their little fingers and toes on-screen, their tiny heartbeat, they might wave or suck their thumb, and then suddenly they aren't the little alien beings you've thought of them as...they are very real and human, and they have a name...if only "him" or "her."

I bawled my eyes out the day I found out Lila was a girl. I had expected a boy - I seriously BELIEVED she was a boy. And then suddenly, she was someone new...someone I hadn't expected. I thought at the time that I had gender disappointment, and I felt horribly guilty over it.

This time, I don't think that's the case. I think that I am just nervous to find out who this baby is because I know it will make everything more real. It takes away the cloud-like bubble I've lived in for 20 weeks, smacks me in the face and says "Guess what? You're going to have a SON. Or you're going to have another DAUGHTER."

And for some reason that is scary. I think it's because I realize I'm not living in some fantasy world. I have another little life I'm going to be responsible for...a human being...a PERSON.

So I can't help it. I'm ridiculously excited about Wednesday. I have been for weeks. But the closer it gets the more nervous I get.

Apart from that, everything is going fabulous. I've gained around 9 pounds. My belly is rounding out and looking less like I ate one too many enchiladas for lunch. I'm officially 19 weeks 2 days along, and baby is close to the size of a canteloupe. I'm enjoying all the fun little aspects of pregnancy no one discusses - stomach irritation, extreme hunger, extreme fatigue punctuated with bursts of energy, the glorious snail trail, sinus and asthma troubles, increased fetal movement, day-long headaches, and the list goes on and on.

I really can't believe how fast this has all gone by. But I'm happy. And I thank God for my situation every day. \

Baby #2

19 weeks with Lila

Confuzzlement more...

2011-01-27T09:36:00.001-08:00

Last night there were 35 votes on my poll.

Today there are only 21 votes.

Can you retract votes?

I haz confuzzlement again.

This is not rocket science folks...it's fast food

2011-01-25T12:58:00.000-08:00

I am a busy person. As most of you can probably guess from the lackluster, unamusing posts you've been subjected to in the last several weeks.

But seriously. I am effing BUSY as a pregnant, full time working mama to an 18 month old. I throw baby showers, shop for clothes and food for the family, venture into couponing on occasion, clean and organize my house sometimes, cook....sometimes I even shower and do my hair (and it looks AMAZING on those days, I must say).

So when I pull the family Jeep Grand Cherokee through a Taco Bell drive-thru in a desperate attempt to feed my starving child some semblance of a dinner before I bathe her and put her in bed, I expect the teenager in the window to be able to string together a coherent sentence, even if mumbled, and serve me my damned food.

Which is apparently asking way too much.

It was 6:00. I didn't have food at home for her (food she would eat anyway), and it was below freezing outside. Should I brave the wilds of the supermarket with a toddler on a busy evening, or cop out and feed her fast food?

I chose the latter because I was tired, and didn't feel like having a fight on my hands. I should have known better...OH I should have known better. Because how many times do you pull through the drive-thru on a night like that and actually find a cooperative happy person on the other end of the voice box? Never.

I pulled in to find no other cars in the drive-thru. Sweet! I pulled up to the voice box and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And finally ventured a "Hello?" Only to be answered by a staticky voice on the other end that mumbled something equivalent to "One moment, please." I think....that would be my guess, anyway.

I waited a couple more minutes until the voice mumured something about ordering a combo meal. The following conversation transpired:

Him: Would y' like try combo?
Me: No thank you. I just need two chicken taquitos please.
::::Silence::: A few seconds later....
Him: Would y' like try combo?
Me: NO. THANK YOU. I just need two chicken taquitos.
:::::More silence::::
Him: Steak or chicken?
(okay genius...CHICKEN taquitos....but I decided to be nice though I was rolling my eyes from the driver's seat)
Me: Chicken. And that's all I need.
Him: What sauce?
Me: No sauce.
Him: Sour cream, guacamole or salsa.
Me: (Fine. It's faster if I answer) Salsa.
Him: I'm sorry?
Me: S.A.L.S.A.
Him: What to drink?
Me: No drink.
:::::Silence::: (I imagine I throughly perplexed him on this one. I mean....WHO doesn't get a drink with two chicken taquitos and salsa???? WHO, I ask???)

So I pulled forward. I gave him my debit card. He tried to hand me a drink, which I told him was not mine. He did not apologize, but put it back on the counter and handed me a receipt and my food bag. He asked me what sauce I wanted again, because apparently, the kids at Taco Bell get paid by how many sauce packets they give out (at least that's my guess since I was repeatedly assaulted with sauce requests).

I pulled around. Lila, who has discovered that a drive-thru can only mean something good is about to happen was chanting "More. more!" from the backseat, so I reached into the bag and pulled out part of a chicken taquito to hand to her, which she promptly licked three or four times and then threw onto the floor board.

Realizing I was hungry and she wasn't going to eat it anyway, I reached into the bag as I pulled out into the road. My questing hand searched through a dozen packets of mild sauce only to find....

One.There was one taquito. Not two.

And I felt like screaming. If I can juggle this thing called mommyhood with work and life and everything else, why, WHY can't a kid at Taco Bell count to two and do his job?

2011-01-23T16:30:00.001-08:00

Original Video - More videos at TinyPic

Confuzzlement

2011-01-21T07:05:00.000-08:00

Wow. You guys are about as accurate at predicting the sex of a baby as Intelligender is!

And as indecisive as little old me. Look at that poll split right down the middle!

Don't forget to take the poll!

2011-01-19T11:39:00.000-08:00

<--------------Right here!!!! Because this is important business people.

State of the Uterus Address - Take 5

2011-01-19T06:57:00.000-08:00

How far along: 17 weeks 3 days

Baby's size: About the size of a vidalis onion. I made up the Vidalia part, but you know, no other onion will do.
Symptoms: Headaches from hell
Sleep: Full of really bizarre dreams about floating in bubbles and being abducted by weird people. OH, and one where I delivered the baby at 17 weeks fully healthy and normal.
Total Weight Gain: 6 pounds

Maternity clothes: Yep. Belly bands and stetchy pants all the way.
Best moment this week: Baby showing me his dances moves in my ute.
Movement:
Food cravings: Country Style Steak - cause I have a really awesome friend who make some that's kick-ass.
Gender: I might be thinking boy now. The heart rate was down to 160 at my last appointment. Don't think the kiddo's ever got that low in my first pregnancy.

Labor signs: Nope. Not unless you count gas.
What I miss: Belly sleeping.
What I'm looking forward to: My anatomy ultrasound.

Milestones: I don't think we hit anything major this week.
Emotions: I cried for half an hour after we saw True Grit on Sunday. The hubs was laughing at me.
17 weeks with this baby

17 weeks with Lila

It can't all be a fairy tale

2011-01-17T06:43:00.000-08:00

Here’s the deal. The baby is kicking. Every day I feel him moving inside me more and more. And with that comes feelings – feelings of elation, excitement…and even some fear. Not just the fear of wondering how in the mother effing hell I’m going to fare with two little ones, but old delivery fears.

I’m not really terribly worried about delivery. My last labor and delivery was one of the most memorable experiences of my life, and I mean that in a good way. If I could go back, I would re-live it over and over again. But only because it was the day I finally met my daughter – and because of the way my husband’s face looked when he saw her the first time – and because of the way my mother started crying when her little face first emerged.

And don’t get me wrong…I had a pretty fabulous, complication free birth. But there are still things that bother me about it. Things I’m not sure how to correct before the next birth.

I go to an OB/Gyn practice with 11 doctors. They have a fabulous reputation in our area and are one of the oldest most respected practices around. I chose them because they are very proactive about being minimally invasive and intervention free when it comes to childbirth. My best friend’s mother-in-law has worked there for thirty years, and did I mention I love…no really LOVE my OB's office?

So what’s the problem? The problem is that they rotate their on-call shifts. Meaning, whichever Joe Schmoe is on-call the night you deliver is who you’re stuck with.

I was hesitant about this when I was pregnant with Lila. Unsure I wanted som random stranger down there catching my squishy little baby. But as time went on my fears were eased, because I felt more and more confident with each new OB I met. They were all more than friendly, extremely competent and made me feel confident in my choice to use them as a practice.

But of course there was ONE I didn’t meet. And of course he was the ONE on-call the night I went into labor. First he pissed me off by not admitting me until the required 4 centimeter mark, because apparently, even after 15 hours of labor, and with contractions two minutes apart I was not REALLY in labor until I hit 4 centimeters? Not that he ever bothered to check on me to decide for himself.The nurse apologized but said I was 3.5 cm and sent me home for a while.

When I came back the second time, I was admitted, but I saw hide nor hair of the doctor on call until five hours later whereupon he entered the room, didn’t bother to say so much as ‘hi’ and promptly broke my water and announced, based on his exam that I had another 5-6 hours to go.

When I delivered her less than an hour later I at least felt like I’d had the last laugh. But my birth plan had been wrecked in the process. Granted…I’m a second time mom, and I now scoff and laugh hysterically at the idea of birth plan. I mean seriously…you cannot PLAN birth. (Listen to me first-time moms. I mean it. Give it up NOW.).

But I had wanted to go natural, and a long labor with back-to-back contractions simply necessitated the use of meds because, quite literally, I was exhausted. But I also felt like I made the choice to get an epi out of fear, and I feel like I was fearful because I didn’t have a doctor anywhere around to talk to.

I remember thinking “What if I’m not progressing? I’ve been in labor 19 hours and I’m only 4 centimeters. What if they have to cut me open and I’ve refused an epidural. THEN I will be put under and miss my child’s birth.” Stupid fears I realize now since hardly ANYONE uses general anesthesia now.

And let’s talk about the doctor – besides bad bedside manner, he was a product of the seventies, very serious, and very old school. I think he had his mind made up about the episiotomy before he walked in the room. Which come to think of it, is ironically funny, considering I pretty much had my mind made up NOT to have an episiotomy before I walked (okay hobbled) into the room.

When the moment of truth came…we haggled. He never looked me in the eye. I felt like I couldn’t express my feelings to him. He wouldn’t elaborate on WHY he thought it was necessary except to say “It’s physics.” So we ended up communicating through my mother. I told her my wishes. She relayed them to the doctor. He said something back to her, and she would repeat what he said to me.

Yes. I’m serious.

Despite my express wishes NOT to have the epi cut, he pressured me further threatening that he “couldn’t control a tear, but could control a cut.” More fear on my part. Obviously I couldn’t see what was going on down there. I was at his mercy. And then “It’ll only be this big,” as he held up his fingers half an inch apart. I felt belittled. I felt like I was wasting his time and he hated me for questioning him, when really I just wanted a dialogue…and HELL…I just didn’t trust him.

He cut three times in the end. I had multiple layers of tissue and muscle repaired. Ouch. That’s all I have to say about that.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it really was necessary, and maybe I couldn't have delivered her otherwise. The fact remains that I didn’t trust him. I didn’t trust him because I’d never met him and because he never gave me a reason to. Never tried to establish so much as a tenuous “hello,” nevermind a casual doctor-patient relationship.

I met him a few weeks later again at my sister-in-law’s sonogram. I had my new baby – the baby HE had delivered with me, and he couldn’t so much as spare me a glance.

So what does one do in a situation like this? The odds are 11 to 1 that I’ll actually have him at my delivery again. And if it had been a different doctor, I don't think I'd have felt distrustful in the situation, and wouldn't be worried about this now. I love my other doctors. I don’t feel like the answer should be to have to switch practices.

And yet I feel like I’m stuck - still at the mercy of that damn on-call schedule. If I felt like my wishes had been respected even a little. Perhaps if he had even rationally tried to say he supported my beliefs about epi’s and would try to do his best, then I would have felt better about it. But I never felt like he was my advocate. He couldn't even talk to me about what was going on. And for that, I am bitter - toward him - not the entire delivery experience.

Because the fact remains that I was left with a healthy baby, and I healed just fine, even if it was painful. You can't ask fo rmore than that...even if you don't agree on how you got there. I just REAAaaaaalllllly wish that I could choose to have my own doctor there.

Shabby blogs is making me reconsider

2011-01-14T07:42:00.000-08:00

In case you have noticed the friendly little sticky note in the corner of my blog, Shabby blogs has redone their codes. Honestly, learning the tiny bit of html to design my blog the first time was about as much of a tech learning curve as I can handle. SO I'm considering hiring someone to redesign everything for me.

Does anyone have suggestions?

Because a Kirby outsucks a Hoover (or a Dyson)

2011-01-12T07:10:00.000-08:00

I was home yesterday because of one of those rare days of snow and ice we get in goold ole' NC. I could have chosen to take my, my unborn child's, and my daughter's life in my hands and braved the wild, slick roads, but I didn't. I stayed warm and cozy in my home watching Laurie Berkner entertain my child for hours on end with the same nonsensical tunes as the day before.

I baked cookies. I took down my Christmas decorations. I got things done despite the fact that my allergies were worse then usual.

And then there was a knock at the door - and someone offered to steam clean one of my rooms for free. Being the generous person that I am, I thought that some struggling carpet cleaning business owner weas trying to sell his services by giving demonstrations. And while I would usually tell him to high tail it out of our non-soliciting neighborhood, I sent my husband down the road to tell him to come on in and give it a whirl.

We needed carpet cleaning estimates on the bedrooms and upstairs room anyway.

But alas...I was stumped once again by the ingenious sales world and it turns out it was Kirby selling their state-of-the-art vacuums. But I figured what the hell? Let him suck up all the stray pine needles from the tree and show me this amazing, one of a kind machine...less work for me right?

Three hours later, I discovered that Kirby vacuum cleaner salesmen are harder to get rid of than Jehovah's Witnesses. Dudes...it's 7:00 pm, my daughter is hungry and needs a bath, and despite the fact that I think your vacuum rocks, I need to get back to my life. Mmmkay? Thanks!

The problem is that even though I was super annoyed by the pressure sales tactics and the $1600 price tag, I WANTED THAT DAMN VACUUM CLEANER!

OHMAHGAH! He sucked inches of dust out of my mattress. He cleaned my air vent returns on my 17 ft high ceilings! He cleaned my curtains and my celing fans. He shampooed my carpets in record time. HE EVEN SUCKED THE HAIR OFF MY DOG. It put Dyson to shame.

I wanted that stupid cleaner so badly by the time he was done that I left him with my husband so I wouldn't be tempted to buy it. Because...plainly put, I can't shell out $1600 on a vacuum cleaner. But I have asthma, and allergies, and so does the hubs and the kiddo, and I wanted my house to be that clean, dammit.

We talked him down to $850. I still regret the fact that we shoved him out the door. Because my house is 100% dust free, and I feel like I at least owe him a good plug. Because his product was amazing. if you ahve the money, BUY THE KIRBY. Life time warranty will guarantee you never have to buy another machine, and this one does it all.

I still regret my decision.

These white discs full of gray dirt plainly show the grime that came out of my house.