Happy New Year!

So in review, we've had the following happen:

The Rooster joined our family in our bathroom after three hours of hard labor.

Eeny turned two, and threw himself with gusto into the Doings and Behaviors of the Two Year Old.

TheHusband got meningitis while my parents were out of the country, and all of our baby sitters had to work, and all of our other baby sitters were pregnant or had just had babies and no way in heck did I want to let them around our family while DH was that sick.

We had to re-home the dogs. TheHusband took over a month to recover fully from his illness, and I simply was incapable of caring for two large dogs and two small children and a slowly convalescing husband. He was very sad, but he understood.

I came out of the depression I'd been dealing with for some time (situational rather than clinical).

Eeny discovered The Wiggles.

I attended my first two births as a doula, and found my other calling (Motherhood being my first).

I turned 24.

I learned my friend C is moving to the area. Yay! :)

I experienced the generosity of what TheHusband no longer calls "binary friends" in my July Moms email loop providing a wonderful Christmas for us.

I learned that it is perfectly normal at the onset of winter to have at least one person in the family sick for two months straight. ::::hack::::cough::::choke::::sniff:::

Since we have, as my dad puts it, the dreaded lurgy the dreaded lurgy (British & Australian, humorous) --
an illness that is not serious but passes easily from person to person. "My throat is sore and my head hurts. I think I've caught the dreaded lurgy." We have been prevented from participating in New Year's festivities. That's actually okay, because our other option was to go to the house of friends who have two very large dogs who have no boundaries when it comes to small children, and our dear friends don't quite seem to get that it's not terribly cute or appropriate for a large Rottie/Lab mix to stick his nose two inches from Eeny's face. They hope to have a baby this year, and hopefully they'll understand when they have a human baby of their own.

My across the street neighbors suck. It sounds like the OK Corral out there. Happy New Year. Now please stop setting fire to small explosives--we're in the middle of a burn ban.


Welcome 2006!

Laaaaaaaaaazy

I've been so bad about updating.

We've all been sick. I'm so sick of having sickness in the house. It started with the stomach bug in November. Then it was a little cold. Then it was another stomach bug, worse than the first one, but Rooster was thankfully spared the indignity of spewing every last ounce of liquid from his chunky little body. Loosely translated: Mummy was very glad to have avoided being thrown up on in the middle of the night.

Then, everyone was well for three days, and Rooster came down with The Cold From Hell. My cousin, a pediatrician, listened to us over the phone and heard my description of the night before. She said he probably had bronchiolitis. Ick. He's recovering, but we're all still phlegmy. Dang, I hate phlegm.

Christmas was good for TheHusband and the boys. They all got tons of stuff they wanted. I got the Betty Crocker Bake and Fill set I requested, and two Old Navy gift cards. I shouldn't be an ungrateful bitch, but I reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally wanted the toddler bag I asked for. I didn't get it. My purse is falling apart, and I do need a new bag. I'm just picky as all get out.

You know you're a mom when

you put your morning coffee into one of your child's gazillion sippy cups because all of your travel mugs are dirty, and you know the sippy won't spill in the car.

Outta the mouths of babes

At Barnes and Noble this evening, Christmas shopping, Eeny sees a young man in a leather jacket.

His eyes light up as he exclaims, "Johnny Cash rocks!" with an enormous grin.

Some people

Should not be permitted to have the cars they do. I got stuck the other day behind a brand-spanking-new BMW Z4. This is a sporty car. This is a car that is meant to be driven. With a 2.5L Inline 6, this is not a car that's meant to be driven slowly. The speed limit on this particular stretch of road was 35mph.

The Twit Driver of said car was, according to my speedometer, going a paltry 31mph. Let us now factor in my speedometer's inaccuracy. It's two miles fast. That means that instead of going an already slow 31, this driver was driving along at a painful 29. Twenty-freaking-nine miles per hour in a vehicle that's meant to be driven at speeds much greater.

It was annoying. Twit Driver hung up her cell phone and still continued to drive like an 80 year old on her monthly trip to the grocery store. @@

bawm chicka bawm bawm

The kids napped at the same time today. I had planned to sneak out and see the new babies, but TheHusband had other plans.

'Nuff said.

Until Thursday: The Week in Review

Sunday--miss birthday party to doula Friend L's VBA2C of a 9lb baby

Monday--prepare for my parents' garage sale

Tuesday--my birthday--greet internet Friend C from out of town, just after discovering that a kid at my brother's school has whooping cough--guess who helped watch my kids while I was with my laboring Friend L? Panic, before talking to parents and seeing official notification email from school, then call doctor and make sure antibiotics are called in just in case. Friend C's youngest (3 weeks older than Rooster) starts throwing up.

Wednesday--Friend C's youngest finally stops throwing up, but our collective older children (3.5, 2.3, and 2) attempt to tear each other limb from limb and include my house in the destruction. Talk to nurses at doctor's office again and get reassured that two breastfed children of my boys' ages and size are unlikely to get whooping cough anyway from this type of exposure, regardless of vax status, much less a severe case. Feel slightly better. Friend C's eldest child starts acting crabby and breaks out in what appear to be Chickie Pops.

Thursday--Definitely Chickie Pops. Get call from Friend M's husband saying Friend M is being rushed to hospital for "urgent c-section," as the baby has decided to get her cord wrapped around her neck while in the breech position, and yes, they're aware chicken pox are a possibility here, but even so I'm on the top of the call list should Aunt not do so well with Friend M's son. Friend C decides to take sick little monkeys and head home, but not before deciding to rent townhouse across the street, which is A-OK by me. :) It wasn't a dream, we really do get along well together. Brandon gets home and all is well until halfway through cooking dinner, when Eeny pukes his guts up for the First Time Ever, but certainly not the last. His current count is three.

Note: Vomited refried beans are nasty.

Call doctor and speak with on-call since mine's out of town, and explain that Eeny is not vaxed for whooping cough, which is why I wanted the antibiotics in the first place. Blow right past doc's perplexed sounding, "Let me get this straight, he hasn't had ANY DTaP?" and inform him that I think stopping antibiotics (he's only had three doses) until the stomach bug is gone and then restarting them, especially if it's only 24 hours, is the best course of action, and in turn, blithely ignore doc's incredulity at hearing that a 2 year old is still receiving breastmilk. DH, lovely and worthy man that he is, volunteers to sit with Sick Toddler all night, reaffirming my choice to have marry him in the first place. I call my mom, to tell her that no way in heck am I coming over tomorrow to help with the garage sale unless she comes up with a miracle cure for the Puking Boy Wonder. She tells me she understands and that she's hit a deer and is waiting for a tow truck, so would I mind calling back later? Toddler pees in the potty before getting spectacularly sick again, prompting me to offer to eventually buy him Thomas and Friends underpants.

All of this is a wee bit overwhelming. That said, in order to arrange my thoughts, I've come to the following conclusion:

If vomiting weren't so upsetting to my poor child, I'd prefer he did that instead of ever getting a runny nose.

Throwing up is dramatic, done all at once, and gets the ickiness out so it can be taken care of in one fell swoop.

Nose-running is long, annoying, gooey, and revolting, requiring me to follow a recalcitrant toddler around all day with a Kleenex, demanding that he stop long enough for me to wipe that disgusting slug track off.

I think I shall fall over.

Happy Birthday to Me

Four words: Possible Whooping Cough Exposure. @@

For the boys, unfortunately. I think I'll call the doctor tomorrow and ask about their risk. A kid at my brother's school has it, and my kids hang out with my brother.....

Wehaddababyeetzaboy

Friend had her baby!

He's a gorgeous red-headed, blue-eyed little kiddie, and I love him. :) She is feeling terrific, which is awesome, because her labor was over 20 hours long.

She's a bit of a curiosity in the hospital now. She said there have been tons of doctors and nurses poking their heads in to see the 9-pound baby delivered vaginally after two prior c-sections.

She was getting tired at the end, and the OB offered to use forceps if she wanted, but I convinced her to wait another two or three contractions before trying them. After the third contraction, the OB said, "This is where we usually take the forceps off." She'd done it! :) We are SO thrilled for her.

:::skeeve:::shudder::::barf::::

Something in my living room has been whiffy. I couldn't figure out what it was. I thought that when I changed Rooster's diaper on the couch, and set the wet on the back of it, that TheHusband had removed it. Maybe he didn't and it was buried in the cushions. I checked all of the cushions and the trash can.

Sure enough--one wet dipe that hadn't been folded properly. Eeeeew. This does not happen on a regular basis. In fact, I daresay this is a first. Still, the whiffyness remained.

This evening, on Day Three of what is now The Stench, and I reach under the middle cushion on our sectional, thinking that perhaps a diaper got stuck under there. I don't know how it could have happened, but it smells. My hand feels nothing, but I decide to lift the cushion and double check.

Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew.

:::::::::::::skeeve:::::::::::::

It's a dead mouse.

I hate dead mice almost as much as live spiders (I made TheHusband off one of them this evening, too). Squished, stinky, crusty dead mice are pretty darn high up on the list of things that make me want to vomit. We've just recently come through our first cold snap of the season. I thought the traps in the den had been a wee bit more active than usual (how's three of the little vermin in a week?). Eeeeeuuugh.

TheHusband, brave, heroic, and strong stomached man that he is, removed the mouse for me. It had gotten stuck on the bar that holds the two sides of the couch together. The only thing that could have happened to crush the wee beastie was one of us sitting on the couch just as it crawled onto the bar. This leaves me with two thoughts:

1) There's impeccable timing for you
and
2) My ass may be a mouse-murderer

I shall contemplate these things later....

Eeny is hitting Rooster a lot. It's getting on my nerves. I think I'll start taking him to playgroup by himself so that he can have some Mommy time. Sometimes I miss it being just the two of us. I took him with me to a consignment shop today to drop off outgrown clothes, and it was so fun to have him with me. :)

Rooster has just awakened for the night, followed by his brother. This kid needs to stop trying to pull up on anything that will hold still for a second. He's going to get bruises on his cute little face.

He was crying until I came into the room. Even though it was completely dark, he quieted down as soon as I came in. He started cooing when I reached for him, and he's now sitting on my lap blowing raspberries as I try to finish typing this.

These kids are cute. I think I shall keep them.

Friend needs to go into labor. She's 41 weeks pregnant and miserable. I feel so badly for her. She had a good BPP today, and she feels fine. I just hope for her sake that it's soon. She's getting annoyed with all of the comments.

Stupid

Yes, I am resentful. Probably bitter, too. I have this thing, you see. I think that a grown man of 28 years should be able to pick up the phone and call utility companies and places like medical offices. But noooooooo. TheHusband called me tonight after having finished all of his school conferences. When he has nothing to do, he likes to just sit on the phone and force me to make conversation. He'll say, "Soooooooooo........." and either wait for me to talk, or ramble endlessly about what color he'd like to paint the walls when we win the lottery and he gets to remodel the house (can we say Dreamland?). Nevermind that if I've told him once, I've told him a thousand times, it's a seriously stupid move to put $30,000 worth of work and remodeling into a house that will top out at $90,000 in the midst of a real estate boom, and I have absolutely no plans to let that happen, so let's not hear about it, thanks.

So I told him I was in the middle of dinner with a fussy, teething (doesn't he have something better to do?) baby on my lap. So then I remember that I need to call the gas company and have them come out and check our line because I smelled gas earlier today, and the friend I had over smelled it, too. I figure, if he's sitting on his arse at the school with nothing to do (he had to wait 30 minutes until everyone else was done so they could all leave at the same time), the least he could do is call the nifty 1-800 number and report the stupid gas smell. I ask him, he whines and whines about how I should do it.

Um, I'm eating dinner. You have 20 minutes until you can leave and you're all ready to go. YOU call. But I'm Nice, so I end up calling. @@ Gas leak smell turned out to be nothing, but I'm still steamed. Why, you ask? Maybe I'm miffed that $107 turns out to be too much to spend on groceries for three people (Rooster's still on tap) for a month, to the point that now I, yes I, must be the one to call all of the medical clinics (even though I was not the sick person :::wishing for a sandbag to hit whoever decided that "in sickness" should be part of the marriage vows::::) and tell them, yes, I'm sorry, I realize we owe you $300 for the doctor showing up at the hospital at 11pm to admit poor Husband, and for the kids' well visits, but for some reason we felt food was more important, and even though this doctor is one of the best in the world and we really like him, we can't pay you this month, even though it's only ten measly dollars.

::::sigh:::: If I can figure out how to put together 30 days' worth of meals for 2 adults and one picky as heck toddler on $107, he can sure as heck pick up the phone and tell a few of these offices to deal with it until we have money again.

ARGH!

In other news, Eeny showed me today that he can now stand on one leg.

Edited to add: I've rethought the sandbag, sickness, and marriage vow comment. I suppose if I want TheHusband to take any sort of care of me when I have a cold, then I'd better leave that bit in. Fine. No sandbag.

Laaaaaaaaaaaazy

So it's been over two weeks since I've last updated. What can I say? I'm lazy, I'm tired, and my life's been rather boring the last couple of weeks. Not that I particularly mind, boring's okay, I can deal with it.

The boys are still snotty. Eeny's coughing as the grand finale to his stupid cold, and Rooster's a booger with an occasional snot explosion. The post-nasal drip has made his already sensitive gag reflex kick into overdrive, so he projectile puked on me for the first time in three months.



This is Eeny, snacking on goldfish at my parents' house. He inspired a whole new level of weird parent remarks on Friday. Dad paid TheHusband to do some work for him, and TheHusband, in a fit of
I don't want to cook" compounded by my fit of, "I've been shut up in this house with two snotty kids practically all week with no adult interaction," took us to the haven that is IHOP. French Toast with boysenberry syrup made me feel much better. Anyway, the server gave Eeny crayons. Anyone who knows him knows this is a bad idea, unless you want your booth redecorated in shades of Crayola.

Eeny felt the need to test these lovely colors on everything (it came off the table, the booth, and the wall nicely), which resulted in the command to "stop coloring on your pancakes and eat them."



This is Rooster's reaction to his first bite of solid foods. Poor kid. We don't do baby cereal, so like his brother, he was started on homemade applesauce (apples and water-piece of cake). He was not amused. He does, however, like the tops of broccoli florets. Over the last couple of weeks, he has also decided that it's time to start cruising. I changed the crib sheet today, and had the mattress out on the floor. Rooster stood with his tiny butt in the air, and his wee hands braced on the mattress. I went into the hall to put something away, and TheHusband said, "Hey, did you leave him standing against the mattress?" I, thinking crib mattress said yes. Poor Rooster got the stuffing scared out of him when he heard me yelp as I came back into the room. The mattress TheHusband was referring to was Eeny's (twin) bed's mattress, which required Rooster to cruise over to the dresser, hold on to the side of the dresser, then lean precariously onto Eeny's mattress. Yeesh, this kid's fast.

In me news, it's been officially decided that I will be pursuing certification as a labor doula and lactation educator. Around here, anyway, the illustrious title of International Board Certified Lactation Consultant is starting to require an RN. I have absolutely zero desire to go to nursing school, and right now, LE is a much more financially feasible certification than trying to go to nursing school with two little kids.

Eeny and Rooster both decided last night that sleep was for the birds, and that 3am was Jack-in-the-box time. They got up for the morning at 6 and 8, respectively, leaving me with little rest. TheHusband took the Jeep to work as usual, and we began our day.

Rooster cried all day long. The only time he was happy was when he was on my hip, with his little grabby hands reaching for everything I was doing. I am normally overcome by feelings of love for his little grabby hands, but today, not so much.

The rules for today were as follows:
-Rooster must be held at all times, or he will cry and make a big, huge, enormous, desperate-sounding fuss
-No sitting down with Rooster
-No rocking Rooster unless you are standing and holding him 2 inches from your body
-No trying to convince Rooster to nurse and calm himself down
-Don't even think of going to lie down with Rooster and trick him into nursing
-No napping for Rooster
-Paying attention to Eeny is okay as long as Rooster is in arms while reading and playing are done
-No putting Rooster down to change a diaper
-It is no longer diaper changing. It is now small, pink alligator wrestling
-No putting fingers in Rooster's mouth to chew on
-No trying to convince Rooster that things really aren't that bad
-When Rooster does finally fall asleep, absolutely no putting him down under any circumstances

All. Day. Long. I understand the little guy's been through a lot. He's developed quite a few new skills lately, reached some milestones, and that's a lot for a baby to handle. He has never done this before, so I don't know that I can really complain. Just when I think I've got him figured out, he pulls this on me. LOL It'd be really tough if he did this all the time.

Rooster had been up for 4 cranky hours when I got Eeny down for his nap. I had to change his diaper during Eeny's naptime, and he woke up Eeny with his fussing about it. U checked the kid from head to toe. No visible reason for the fussiness. Eeny was now upset and cranky and very vocal about it, because he is NOT a happy camper when his nap is not completed. Rooster didn't have any gas, he looked fine, no fever, just the two new teeth he's cut, poking through, but it couldn't have been the teeth--he didn't act like this when the first two came in. It appears we're dealing with a Mystery Fuss.

After 5 hours of baby who is only happy while being carried and even then he's going to squawk and moan about something not being exactly to his specifications, and a toddler who got shorted on his night's sleep and his nap, and I still hadn't had a chance to grab lunch, it got to the point where I decided to join in and have a good cry, too.

I've never had to do this before, but I set Eeny up with a Thomas dvd (childproof living room--yay!), and put Rooster in his crib (he usually likes to play in there while I do laundry) with a few toys, and I hid in the other room for a few minutes to breathe and listen to the sound of silence. There's really nothing like the tearstained cheeks of your 6 month old to make you feel like Mother of the Year when you go to pick him up again for another round of Walk the Screaming Baby.

It was about an hour after walking Rooster around the house for the gazillionth time, trying all of the usual tricks, with Eeny trotting along beside us, and I had just figured out that the strange new rules for the day had taken effect, when I realized the following--every single tool in my Keep The Baby Happy Arsenal was in the Jeep. With TheHusband. At work.

My sling.
The diaper bag.
My clean cloth diapers and covers.
The package of disposables (in both boys' appropriate sizes and brands) my mother bought for us for night time.
Rooster's brand new teether, which also happens to be his new best friend.
Rooster's other favorite teething toys.
The stupid binky.
The Hyland's Teething Tablets.
The Tylenol.

All of it was far away from me. In the Jeep. Gone.

Rooster's a chunky little guy (he's over 20lbs), so by this time my back and my arm were killing me. Usually Rooster's happy to crawl around on the floor or play in the crib or PnP when I need to get something done, or he'll ride in the sling if he insists on being held. Not today. Because it's unusual for him to be so clingy, I decided not to put him down. The house would just have to deal, and we're not expecting company, so who cares if we're all in our jammies?

Then TheHusband calls, and with Rooster wailing in the background, he proceeds to try to talk to me about what he'd been able to get at the grocery store last night from our list, and how he wanted to stop by WalMart on the way home and finish the shopping, and was there anything else we needed? It would mean he was home late. Then, after listening to him ramble for 10 minutes listing various product brands for possible grocery options (gee, Honey, I'm really glad you want to talk to me, but I don't give a rat's butt what brand of hand soap you get, and that's why we made a friggin' LIST!!!), I politely informed him that I really was needed off the phone-the baby needed me, just in case he couldn't hear Rooster in the background. He actually got huffy that I didn't have time to listen to how the applesauce at Target was actually cheaper than the applesauce at Dillon's. !!!!! Men. So, in a fit of maturity and temper, I got off the phone before I let fly the Rant of the Wife Stuck in the House for Days on End (one car, must conserve gas) With Screaming Kid All Day.

The only break from Rooster's upset today came when I finally sat down and got him calmed down enough to nurse. Then he bit me! Not hard, but just enough for me to figure out that it probably had been his teeth all day. :(

Sure enough, I found the lone tube of Baby Orajel, applied a dose, and watched my poor baby drop off to sleep peacefully nursing, almost immediately. Stupid teeth. Why do they have to make it so hard on my kids? Why don't kids come with displays that inform parents of the reason for their crying?

Anyway, TheHusband came home half an hour later, waking up Rooster yet again (this makes a total of 90 minutes' worth of cat naps for the day), and we finally get out for our walk. On the way in, I bring in the diaper bag, sling, teether, diapers, binky, Tylenol, and Teething Tablets. I will NOT be caught without these things again.

Dinner is served, Eeny is bathed and put to bed after jammies, books, and snuggles, as well as the thanks of his mother for being such an understanding big brother. Now that I have the sling back, Rooster gets put in it, and he gets his teething tablets, Tylenol, and then he is walked to sleep.

I sit here at my computer and it's 2am. Rooster is sprawled out on the Boppy on my lap. He woke up to nurse, but drifted off to sleep again rather quickly. His tiny lips are sleepily pursed against his arm, and the lamplight is bringing out the blond in his hair. He's stirring, and he's snuggling closer to me. It's a cold night. He might feel the chill in the air, or he might just want to be closer to me. Either way, I think he's one of the most beautiful babies I've ever seen, and I thank God for sending him into our lives.
He is worth every ache and cramp in my arm, every twinge in my back, and every second I've spent trying to make his day a little more comfortable.

What a blessing this child is.

I'm in love.

Bizarro Prayer Request of the Week

A minivan. We have the Jeep. I love the features the Jeep has, and I do admit I love my SUV. However, I don't love the 14mpg on a good tank of gas. It's hurting way too much in the pocket book. Rooster's car seat is behind the passenger seat, and the angle forces the passenger seat to sit way too close to the dashboard. I hate hitting my knees on it.

So, on my list of minivan demands:
1) New enough to get much better gas mileage than the Jeep
2) Captains' chairs in the second row
3) LATCH
4) Cheap as free or really close to it
5) Reliable
6) Room enough to haul kids and friends

Now, let's see what happens.

I'm not ready!

Rooster took his very first crawling steps earlier this evening! He's been getting up on hands and knees and rocking back and forth for about a week. He didn't get much floor time today (house full of relatives--more on that later), but about 30 minutes before we left, I put him on the floor to play, and after about 5 minutes, he made some little crawling steps. He crawled and scooched all the way around the living room several times. :::sniff::: My baby's getting so big.

He's mobile. ::::faint::::

PS

The Husband Generator lists my ideal husband as Billy Boyd.

I'll take him.

Apparently, I'm venting.

I haven't said anything about The Nookylessness for the last few months. It would make the situation worse to bring it up and remind TheHusband of his inadequacy (in any department). The only thing I've done since Rooster was born was buy a box of condoms, and mentioned that I'd like to get back into the swing of things sometime soon. Then he got sick, and I haven't made a peep since. Until tonight.

I was baking blondies (I bake when stressed. Needless to say, the house has been CookieLand the last few weeks) and my batter cooled too much to get the eggs in and it failed miserably (wasting 2 cups of sugar in the process--grrr). It was too much for me to handle. I haven't melted down at all since TheHusband got sick, and this was all of that, plus all of my stress about finances (somewhat relieved now) and about the neighbors calling the police on the Honda (long story) instead of coming to our door and saying they had a problem with its location (we could have explained the situation then--we have to wait for payday to move it) resulting in an impound notice. I'd gone a month and a half without a good cry and I needed it.

Physical touch is a very important component of my relationships. I'm a hugger, I like to be touched by those I care about. It's especially important that my husband hug me, kiss me, touch my elbow when he walks by, etc. I got 3 kisses (pecks) today. One when he left for work this morning, one when he got home, and one when he went to bed. This is becoming normal, and I hate it.

Anyway, TheHusband sees me crying over the failed blondie batter, which is between him and the basement stairs (and our kitchen is narrow), and he sighs, walks AROUND me, and goes down to transfer the laundry. #)(*#%Q&%!!!

So I yelled and let him have it. I told him that I was making a tremendous amount of effort in the housework department because I love him and I know it's important to him. I don't care how tired he is, I don't care how little he feels like it, I need some attention. I hate housework with a passion. I'd do many things before doing dishes, given a choice. I hate how the laundry is in the basement. I hate it, hate it, hate it. And yet, I do it for him. I know it's important to him, and I know that it's part of my job as a homemaker. He knows how important physical affection is to me, and he's not even making an effort. I couldn't express to him just how much it hurts. He then tried to walk through every single possible reason he could have for not having interest (fortunately, nothing about my physical appearance is causing this @@), and excused himself from other forms of physical connection by saying my hugs felt 'needy.' Damn right they're needy. I cuddle, kiss and soothe two children all day, and most of the night (Eeny's cold threw a wrench into his sleep habits—hellooo parental bed). I give these children the tons of physical attention they need. I need the supply replenished every once in a while. Needy. Phhsshh. @@

The whole stupid thing ended basically with him saying he understands where I'm coming from and he thinks things will change in a few months, but that for now, I'd just have to deal with going without. I can deal with going without. I've done it for 10 months, I can go a little longer if I have to. What I want, and what I didn't get, is for him to at least make an effort. It feels like he's not even going to try until he 'feels like it.' Thanks, honey. That's really helpful. That's exactly the kind of attitude that makes a marriage work and function. :::sigh:::

ARGH!

Well, I feel better for having gotten that out. My parents asked to keep Eeny tonight, so we have a night of toddler-free sleep and I need to go take advantage of it.

Just an average day

I'm in the process of rearranging the boys' room. It's too crowded, and the barely used crib keeps getting in the way of Rooster's closet. TheHusband somehow decided that a stack of yaffa blocks behind the changing table means good storage. He obviously hasn't put much thought into it. I'd like to see the yaffa blocks used for toys only or disappear altogether.

I can breathe again! My allergies are acting up. I haven't had an attack this bad in years. TheHusband informed me that in order to save money, we'd be opening the windows on all bearable days (it's been in the 90s here--I hate indian summer). Just to show him, I agreed to do it one day. One. He came home to a wife with red, watery, itchy eyes, a stuffy nose, and a chip the size of Texas on her shoulder. Needless to say, after informing him exactly what was wrong with me, and pointing him in the direction of my favorite remedy, he went out tonight and with our last few dollars, got my favorite allergy homeopathic. It's by BHI, and it's simply called Allergy. I love being able to breathe through my nose and not spend 10 minutes at a time with my knuckles stuffed in my eyes, itching.

It sounds like there's something living in my breadmaker. We're having French Toast for dinner tomorrow or the next night, and I'm making breadmaker Brioche for it. The usual loopy whir of the machine is rather nice, but it occasionally throws in this knock that sounds like there's a rat in it trying to hammer his way out. Eeeew. :::shudder:::

After years of baking in relative ease, I've come face to face with my biggest irritation. No brown sugar. I was craving butterscotch brownies. So I bearded the sugar lion in his den and discovered that brown sugar is, in fact, sugar with molasses, not the leftovers of sugar processing as I had been led to believe. So I made brown sugar, and baked butterscotch brownies. They should be cool any minute, and then I'm having one (or three) with a nice, big glass of milk.

I should have taken the boys for a walk today. This is my third day of Operation Look Really Hot that I've missed it. It was 93 degrees at 6pm though, so I'm thinking I have a valid excuse. I hate heat.

I also hate it when TheHusband breaks wind and then complains that I don't like it. I've courteously avoided breaking wind in front of him during our last nearly 7 years together. Surely he thinks I am worthy of the same courtesy. He claims he can't control it. Um, right. I've pushed 8 and 9 pound babies out of a nearby location and have no problems not farting in front of people, what's his excuse?
I am sure Gerard Butler would carefully avoid breaking wind in front of a lady. Mission: Find Gerard Butler and ascertain veracity of previous statement.
TheHusband and I have been married for nearly 4 years. I still prefer to use the restroom with the door closed. He has no problems leaving it open. There are just some things that should remain a mystery. Heck, leave me at least a little of the romance.

Speaking of romance, if we make it to December without having broken the post-(and pre in this case) baby dry spell, we'll have officially gone a whole quarter of our marriage to date, not having marital relations. This, I am not okay with. I don't care how tired he is. At least make an effort. Doesn't he realize that many men would be more than happy to have a wife with an appetite like mine? Physical touch is my primary love language (thank you, Dr. Gary Chapman, author of The Five Love Languages). His is acts of service (stuff like keeping the house clean). I'm doing a kick-ass job of holding up my end of the bargain, where's my nooky?

The Emmys entry

I loved Felicity Huffman's dress. Sandra Oh's not so much.

I was glad to see Tony Shalhoub win Best Actor in a Comedy Series, although I would have been equally glad to see Zach Braff win.

It occurred to me this evening that Lauren Graham and Patricia Arquette both look more like real women than the the waif-type creatures I'm accustomed to seeing at awards shows (maybe their camera subtracts 10 pounds, who knows?). Woohoo hips! It was nice.

I had no idea Naveen Andrews (Lost) was with Barbara Hershey. Go Barbara!

I loved the Peter Jennings tribute.

More if and when I think about it.

A milestone

Eeny put his pants on by himself this evening. We were getting ready to go for a walk, and I handed him a pair of pants to take to TheHusband so he could dress him. TheHusband and I briefly converse, and then we turn around to see Eeny on the couch, with one leg in his pants. I held the waistband so he could get his other leg in, and he put them on almost all of the rest of the way by himself. :) Yeah, so they were backwards and he needed help getting them up over his diaper, but WHO CARES?! My kid dressed himself! :)

I don't want to say this too loudly, but he might be on the way to weaning. He's started slowing down on nursing to sleep for naptime. He's also started nursing for a little bit, then saying, "No," and getting down. He cuddled on the couch with me today for 15 minutes without asking for his Nee. I think I'm ready for it.

I'm sad that he seems to be needing me less and less. I know it's normal and appropriate, but couldn't he need me less when we're not going through a time of tremendous upheaval? Can't he wait until I'm feeling like I'm a good mother to him again? I love him dearly, and he's been acting out lately. Totally understandable, given the circumstances of the past month, but it makes me really frustrated and angry with his behavior. I know it's normal, but somehow, knowing it's normal doesn't really help me feel any better when he scratches Rooster or pulls his hair or just walks up and hits him. He'll walk up once or twice a day and say to me, "Rooster down." He means "Put Rooster down," but he can't quite say that yet. He gets frantic if I can't do it right away. Usually, I can't. Rooster's in a phase of really really really really really really wanting to be held all the dang time now.

I know it's just temporary and normal, but still, it's frustrating to have the needs of another young child to meet. I don't like feeling like I'm prioritizing one child over the other when it comes to needs. I just feel like I'm not the mom either of them need right now. I know once I find a job and TheHusband's back to normal activities (meningitis sucks, don't ever get it) that things will settle down, and I'll have my sanity (or something like it) back and feel like a good mom again. I wonder where my patience went. It's probably on back order.

Vindicated

According to Entertainment Weekly's "The Shaw Report," Mother/Child blogs are In. Woohoo! I'm finally participating in something that is In. Usually I'm very Five Minutes Ago.

I've decided I want to be In in other ways, too. I saw a fashion special on E! a few weeks ago, and they talked about a cascade curl perm. I tried cascade curls on me with an iron, and they don't look too bad. I shall add it to my birthday list. As we are financially screwed (thanks to the Hospital Stay--woohoo! 7 grand we can't afford!), the only way I'll be getting any hair pampering is through birthday gifts.

I don't know what else to add to my birthday list.

I went through a Realty Simulator to see what a realty company thinks my aptitude for that particular career is. I didn't push Customer A enough, and I think I pushed Customer C too hard. I think my results will be something along the lines of, "Boy, that sucked. Please do not ever visit our website again. Never, ever, ever."

Mommy stuff now. I cloth diaper the boys part-time. Rooster's outgrown all of his covers, and Eeny's so squirmy it's hard to change him. However, my mother generously ordered some IttyBittyBottoms covers for me, and they arrived today. I LOVE to get mail. I especially love to get packages of cloth diapering supplies. :) These covers are great! I will definitely be ordering from her again. The only thing I'd want is to have a little more fabric over the thigh. Rooster's such a chunkybutt that it's tough to find clothes to fit his legs.

Eeny has started ending phrases in "dot com." His winners from yesterday were "Bub-bob (SpongeBob) dotcom?" "Daddy dot-com?" and "Rooster dot-com?" He always sounds like he's asking a question. He also says, Zassa (that's a) and Zississa (this is a) as the first word to just about any statement. He can now identify all but one car make in our neighborhood. He finally picked up Lincoln today. He's still having trouble with Saab, but we'll get there. It's hilarious to hear this high-pitched little kid voice riding down the street in his stroller naming all of the cars passing and parked on the side of the road.

A typical walk conversation sounds like this:
"Car? Tree? Doggy? Borb (Ford)? Leeenkon? Meercury? Zassa Nis-san? Zississa bi-cy-cle? Volkswagen?" Yes, the child actually says Volkswagen. I left the boys with a neighbor while I went to see TheHusband at the hospital last month, and they went for a walk. One of them owns a yellow Beetle. This is what she said happened:

Neighbor: Bug?
Eeny: Volks-wagen.
Neighbor: It's a bug.
Eeny: Volkswagen!
Neighbor: Bug.
Eeny: (grabs neighbors hand and pulls her around to the front of the car and points at the hood ornament) Volkswagen!

This kid cracks me up.

Rooster is learning to scoot. Everywhere. I caught him getting up on his hands and knees several times today. I'm thinking he'll be crawling by 7 months. I just don't know what to do with a kid who's mobile so soon. Eeny wasn't crawling until just shy of 9 months. This brings a whole new dimension to babyproofing.

Eeny's up. He's crying and wants Mama, Nee, and Bed.

First,

Rooster's second tooth showed itself today. Poor kid.

Second, the bolt on the tie rod on the front driver's side wheel of TheHusband's car broke today....while TheHusband was driving it. @@

Fortunately, it was only about 8 blocks from home and he was not hurt when the friggin' wheel fell off. Unfortunately, we had to have it towed (more stuff we can't afford, on the plus side, this could eliminate a trip to the ILs ::grin::), and now TheHusband has to take the Jeep to and from work. My Jeep....my escape from the stir-craziness...my Jeep with half a tank of gas...for the rest of the month....oy.

Anytime that lottery winner feels like making a very large endowment in our direction, I'm perfectly okay with it.

I'd also like to complain about DH's cousin. We didn't even know she was pregnant with Baby #3. That, in and of itself is no problem. It's just that this is her third baby in four years and I got a Baby Shower invitation. Maybe I'm just totally hypersensitive because we have exactly NO money at this point (and we're under contract to AOHell or we'd have gotten rid of the internet long ago), but it bugs me to get a shower invitation for a third baby. I grew up with this being horribly socially unacceptable and rude. TheHusband thinks I'm crazy and that it's perfectly normal to ask people to buy presents for your third baby in four years, but I didn't notice him asking me if anyone was going to throw me a shower for Rooster (I'm not mad that I didn't get one--I simply didn't expect it).

Better him than me

Rooster cut his very first tooth today. I knew it was coming. It's bittersweet. I love seeing him grow, but at the same time, I wish he were still a teensy newborn who would snuggle up on my chest and fall asleep. But oh I love the little fanged baby he's growing into.

He put his First Tooth to good use by chomping TheHusband on the finger with it after he'd said, "I can't feel it. There's no tooth, it's just gums." Ha! Sucks to be him. LOL

Don't look for me on Food Network

I made an attempt at basic fondant tonight. Attempt is the operative word. Of course, I cooked it too hard. I did, however, manage to make one tiny little ball that I could see might be what it was supposed to look like. Oh well. I shall stick to baking. I'm much better at that. LOL

Remembering that day

"it felt like the whole country was under attack, and i wanted to gather
everyone i loved together and lock them in a room."
--a woman from the April '05 Kids board


That's exactly how I felt. I was asleep. A few months before, I'd gotten an apartment and was living alone for the first time. I went to sleep and woke up to the phone ringing. It was TheHusband, then TheFiance. He sounded so scared. He told me about all three flights. I spent the rest of the day until I had to go to work glued to the tv set and Peter Jennings in his brown tie with white polka dots. I knew it was a really intense day when he took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and undid his top collar button. I was so comforted to see him still there. If Peter Jennings was still at his desk, it had to be okay.

I remember going outside--the sky was blue, the birds were singing, it was a gorgeous day, and it was so weird not to see any planes in the sky. I remember how something so awful could have happened on such a beautiful day?

I was working in reservations for a large hotel chain at the time, and called to see what was going on. Our ops guy said it was the slowest he'd ever seen it. We were doing anything the customers wanted at that point, even cancelling reservations that it was considered to late to cancel on. I got maybe one call every 20 minutes or so. As scary as that day was, it was the only day at that job that it felt that every caller on the other end of the line knew that I was a person, not just a nameless, faceless operator. I'd never felt so close to strangers.

Just when you thought you were safe

from the Monster that is Teething, you have another cute, innocent, sweet little baby who also decides that 5 months is the perfect time to cut a tooth.

I'm renaming the kids, by the way. The initials are annoying me. N will now be known as Eeny. H is now Rooster. There. I feel much better.

Eeny cut his first two teeth at 5 months, so H seems to be trying to make this a pattern. Ack. Anyway, Mr. Cranky Rooster got up from a late nap around 9. He then proceeded to yell through his dose of Hyland's Teething Tablets, which worked for about 10 minutes. We couldn't find the Tylenol, much to my dismay. He screamed and refused to nurse through an online attempt of mine to find a dress to wear to two upcoming weddings (I have 5 months or so to go from housefrau to Hot, and I needed to find a dress for motivation), and proceeded to refuse to nurse and to bitch and moan for the next hour, in spite of my best attempts to solve his problems.

Finally, I took him to the other room to waltz around in the dark and sing. The little booger snickered at my version of "On my Own" from Les Mis. It wasn't a bad job of it, but Someone obviously has a skewed sense of taste in music. I thought about doing a few from Phantom of the Opera or Carousel, but he's already a tough audience.
It's not fair. TheHusband can't carry a tune in an airtight container, but both of the boys love his singing. :::flail::::

Still looking for a job. A psychiatrist in town may employ me as a typist for his notes. I can do that from home, so I hope it works.

You know you're a homebirther when

the following conversation takes place in your kitchen:

Me: How many chicken breasts to we have?

DH: Four.

Me: That's it? Wait, isn't there another bag back there? It looks like there's another bag of them back there.

DH: Those are placentas.

Me: Ohhhhhhhh.....

What a week or two

On 8/15, DH was hospitalized for viral meningitis. That was a Monday. I got to bring him home Saturday afternoon (8/20). He's still recovering. He can see N or H for only a few minutes before he's exhausted. My parents were out of town the whole week he was in the hospital. They got back Wednesday night. I am so relieved.

My ILs came down yesterday to "help." Two things got done. The lawn got mowed (by FIL), and Brandon got the BLT he wanted (MIL made it for him). I had been cleaning the bathroom when they arrived.

Today, I survey the damage.

I am left with three of my freshly-laundered dish towels soaking and dirty (how I don't know, as they didn't do any dishes), a once-freshly laundered bath towel dirty and soaking, the bathroom I had almost finished cleaning is now dirty again, and there's a pan of bacon fat on my stove.

I have also come to the conclusion that my MIL's anxieties and desire to avoid stepping on toes are little more than a cleverly disguised plan to avoid doing anything actually helpful.

I was cleaning the bathroom, and she was playing with the boys, or rather, trying unsuccessfully to get Henry to smile at her, and Ian to pay attention to anything other than his cars or Thomas. She yells from the other room, "I think Henry has a dirty diaper." I say, "Great--I've been using disposables since Brandon's been in the hospital, I haven't had much time for laundry, so there's a bag of diapers and wipes and stuff sitting on the chair in the living room." She replies, "Oh, I'll just wait for you to come do it."
I'm sure I probably compare the ILs to my parents too much, but I couldn't help it in this case. My mom wouldn't have even told me the kid's diaper was dirty. The most I would have heard from her about it is, "Is there a diaper cream you want me to use and do you want him in cloth or disposable?" Heck, she might not even tell me she had changed him.

B says she just doesn't want to step on any toes. The hell she doesn't. We left N with them for 4 hours (at their place) to go to a wedding. Before we left, I showed her the diapers and explained very carefully how to use them (we'd run out of sposies, so they were in cloth--easy cloth, considering she'd cloth diapered three boys herself). We came back to a soaking wet child. I'd asked her earlier in that trip when she informed me both boys needed to be changed if she would please help me change one of them so I wouldn't be late to the rehearsal dinner. She said, "No, I'll just watch you do it." I mean seriously. It's a gosh-darn diaper. B said, "Well maybe she can't to it with her hand." MIL is missing her index, middle, and ring fingers on her left hand. I said, "Considering she has no arthritis or other joing problems and she managed to cloth diaper the three of you back in the days of pins and plastic pants, I somehow doubt that." B didn't have an answer.

My theory is that she thinks I'm lazy and just wants to see me actually do something (you'd think the fact that both of her grandkids are alive and healthy would mean I'm doing something, but hey), or that she's scared of an intact penis. Itold her when we left Ian for the wedding there's nothing to do with it.

Either way, @@ is all I can come up with.

To her credit, she did make B the BLT he wanted, but in the process, she somehow managed to dirty my entire kitchen. No less than 6 dishes used and spread all over the counter, and there's a pan of congealed bacon fat on the stove I now need to go take care of. She said, "I just left the grease in the pan, 'cause I don't know what you do with it." I said, "There are paper cups on top of the fridge. I stack two or three of those and then pour the grease into it." She didn't respond. I'd have gotten up and done it myself right then, but H was in the middle of lunch, and he HATES to have his lunch interrupted, and I haven't yet gotten the hang of pouring hot bacon grease into a cup with one hand while nursing a 19lb baby with the other.

FIL did mow the lawn, but B said he should shower afterward for no other reason than that clean feeling. They were headed directly home afterward and they have a shower there. I wouldn't ordinarily mind, but a) they would have had to use our towels--I've had limited time for laundry as it is, MUST they use the towels I worked so hard on? and b) MIL and FIL spend 20 minutes dithering back and forth over whether he should shower and dirty the bathroom I'd gotten almost clean before I had to go change a diaper. Argh.

So anyway, with gas the way it is, it'll be a mercifully long time before they can come down and "help" again.

:::::off to Lysol my shower and bathroom again:::::

Bittersweet.

Holy crap! I mean, I know they grow in leaps and bounds, but this is nuts.

Before his nap today, N talked about"cahs" and "goggies." He called Strong Bad (of Homestarrunner fame) "Badbad."

He got up from his nap and snuck up behind me in the den. After I recovered from the near-heart attack, he said, "Doggies?" Then he pointed to the car book I'm making for him and said, "Car?" Then, I pulled Homestarrunner.com up for his post-nap amusement and he said, "Strong Bad email?" The email just finished, and he has just said, "Strong Bad all gone." clear as day. Wow. I thought I heard him say, "Those are Nissans" to a commercial the other day.

My baby's growing up. Waaaaaaaaah!

Erm, fun.

The boys I got back around 9 last night from St. Louis. We met up with some of the moms from one of my boards. My hostess got sick the second night, so we had to get a hotel room, but that turned out okay because N really needed a break. I asked a lot of him this weekend, and he held up beautifully. The trip home was a lot easier than the trip out there.

On the way there, I had to stop every hour or two for at least 10 minutes to nurse H and attempt to get N out and give him his danged nuggets. The kid asked for chicken nuggets at least every hour. I took the wrong highway headed out of town, so I suppose I deserved it. LOL What should have been a 6 hour and 41 minute trip according to MapQuest took 10 hours.

On the trip home, I had to stop exactly 4 times. Once for gas, once to retrieve a dropped car, book, and train (I swear, if that kid had dropped Thomas the Tank Engine's friend Henry one more time, I would have super glued it to his hand), once for about 15 minutes to nurse H while N stayed in his car seat, and once for all of us to get out, get nuggets and a burger for me, have my snazzy new stroller admired, and stop by my good friend Starbucks to obtain the iced cafe mocha that got me home. I buy from the local coffee shop when in town, but when in a strange place, Starbucks will do.

Sighing again

First, a moment of appreciation for H's mom, Momma Sue. My prayers are with H and her family. I love my mother so much, even though we don't always see eye to eye. I'd be heartbroken if anything happened to her.

Last, I'm pretty sure N has multiple food allergies. He's had eczema since he was 5 months old. We had him allergy tested at 17 months by a pediatric allergist. I was not impressed. Not only did his tests come back clear, but I was scolded for having not vaccinated him yet. Family Doc agrees with my logic. If he's reacting to stuff and we don't know what it is, why should we inject him with substances he could also very probably react to? It doesn't make sense. After the Potato Incident (in which N ate heavily spiced potatoes and got bumps all over his cheeks and had Benadryl), he's not had any break outs, but he still looks not okay.

More later.

So...

LMAO



Gearing up for trip to a big city to see friends. I'm planning on driving with both boys by myself. This should be, erm, fun.

Grrrrrr

I just found out that my trip to St. Louis is in nasty jeopardy. B could get time off of work to go, I know he could. But he won't. He works for a movie theater. He's the oldest on site employee. They seriously can live without him for a weekend. I'm even able to handle four 10-hour days in a row so that he can make up his precious hours. But I really really doubt I can get both kiddos and myself to St. Louis (please see post regarding cities in which I hate to drive) in one piece in anything under many more hours than MapQuest recommends. Argh!

Harry Potter 6---Total Spoiler

Here's what I'm thinking: RAB is Regulus Black. The Horcrux is actually at Grimmauld Place, because it's the locket that was casually mentioned in OotP that was large and heavy and that none of them could open.

Harry's inheriting of Grimmauld Place will be a good thing ultimately. We definitely haven't seen the last of Kreacher, and I think he's a nasty little being, but Dobby will counter him. I think Dobby will probably leave Hogwarts now that Dumbledore's gone and will come work for and live with Harry. I have no idea whether Harry will return to Hogwarts next year.

On to Dumbledore. It had to happen sometime. :::shrug::: The hero has to go on alone, and all of the adults surrounding Harry are now gone. The Weasleys are there, of course, and it will give me great satisfaction to see something rotten happen to that git Percy, but not on the same level as Dumbledore was. I think he was asking Snape to kill him rather than let Draco do it. He probably knew of the Unbreakable Vow, and wanted Draco's innocence protected. I think that in having Draco so devoted to his father, and his mother obviously loving him so much, that Rowling has shown us that Draco is capable of love, therefore I think there's hope for him yet.

I think one of the things we'll find out about Snape is that he was in love with Harry's mother, and that's why he hates Harry so much, but has been unable to harm him. Especially if Harry having his mother's eyes is actually significant.

Snape killing Dumbledore will get Snape in even better with Voldemort, and that will ultimately lead to great help for the Order of the Phoenix. However, Dumbledore said that many people thought they were very close to Voldy, when in fact, none of them were. Snape makes particular mention of Voldy's trust in him in the first chapter. This may indeed prove to be Snape's downfall, and I will also venture a guess that it will be Bellatrix Lestrange's as well. I like Ron and Hermione together ('bout dang time), and I do like the Harry/Ginny combination. :) I do think Ginny's previous interactions with Voldemort does come into play in Book 7 events. I also think Snape's half-blood status will be expounded upon more in the next book. I kind of felt it was glossed over in this one. I think that's about it...

Oh yeah, and I think Book 7 will be enormous.

People @@

My mom took me shopping the other day, and the boys did great. A lady in the dressing room commented several times on how nice the stroller was (hee!) and how cute they were, etc. They got fussy just as I was getting my own clothes back on and walking out. I turned to hang up my rejects and I heard the lady mutter something to her daughter about how pathetic it was that these poor babies had to sit there and cry while selfish mommy tried on clothes, ending with, "I just hate hearing babies cry." I put my clothing on the rack and replied, "I do, too," and walked back to my calming-down munchkins (my mom was pushing them). The look on her face was priceless. She said, "Oh! I had no idea you were still there!" and covered her mouth. I'm glad she at least had the decency to look ashamed of herself.

Harry Potter. :)

H and I went to Barnes and Noble last night to get my copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. It was fun. I met the same friends with which I'd gone to the last HP release party, and we made wands and ate cookies. I only had to stand in line for 9 minutes, and I was the 84th person in line. Of course, I'd told B I wanted to take cash. He didn't remember to get it on the way home, so he handed me the debit card. Our debit card hates me. Hates me with a pure fury that only an inanimate piece of plastic can have. It never, and I do mean never works for me. DH can run the card and it sails right on through with approvals left, right, and center. I try to run the card for $19.30 from a bank account that supposedly has $35 and it gets declined. Not once, but three times. @@ Fortunately, a friend stepped in and took care of it for me. I was so upset about it. :/

Anyway, I get home and B checks the bank account and the only thing we can figure out is that he got gas at the grocery store gas pump which routinely overauthorizes credit/debit card purchases. I have no idea why that's even legal, and I think it sucks.


On to other things.

My due date board has begun the inevitable discussion on when to start cereal, which leads me to an astounding leap of logic. A few people have mentioned that their pediatricians have told them to start cereal after the baby is taking more than a certain amount of formula per day (32, for the sake of argument), as they can get too much formula.

Here's where my logic starts to work. I thought the commonly held idea is that formula is adequate nutrition for the first 6 months, and held by some to be just as good as breastmilk. Please explain this to me.

If a child who is taking 34oz of formula per day 'needs' cereal, and the child who is taking 34oz of breastmilk per day does not, then it would seem to follow that formula is not adequate nutrition if the child needs more. Does my logic hold up? It's highly possible that staying up until 5 this morning reading Harry Potter has had a greater influence on my mental acuity than I had anticipated. If so, please ignore my ramblings. If not, then maybe there's something to it.

I got out

of the house. :) N wasn't a bad kid today, he was just very 2. He must not be feeling well. He was extremely clingy, and I feel like I was awful to him. :( I rarely just need to get out of the house, but today I did. So B took the boys and sent me out a movie with my friend R. We saw "The Fantastic Four" and it was great. :) I don't mind suspending a little disbelief for a reasonable flick.

I've bred the ultimate bottle snob. H refuses to drink from a bottle. Period. If I have to go to a chiropractic appointment, he'll resolutely refuse to even try the bottle and nurse voraciously when I return.

When I got back from the movie tonight, he was contentedly sitting in B's lap, sucking furiously on his fist. He had the best nursing session he's had all day. LOL

I swear he missed me. :) He nursed for a good 10 minutes straight, and then pulled all the way off and stared and me and smiled and giggled and cooed for another 15 minutes. :) He's asleep on the boppy on my lap at the moment. :)

N sobbed his little heart out when I left. I felt bad for leaving him, but he was with his dad-DEE!, and I needed a serious break from Mommydom. B said he didn't stop crying until they got in the car and went to the mall. I still feel guilty. His poor, sad little eyes watched me from the window as I left. I've been sleeping with H in a separate room the last few nights (less kicking from N), but tonight I'll go back in with him. He needs what he calls a Nuggle from his mom. :)

I had my break, and I missed my children terribly. Now I'm ready to jump back in to being a mom again. :)

An Anniversary

I just kissed my 23-month-old for the last time.

When we wake up tomorrow, he'll be 2. I can't believe it. It seems like it was such a long time ago, and yet so recent.

This time two years ago, I was getting ready to go to bed. We were just getting home from grabbing a bite to eat after walking the mall for hours. I'd visited my kinesiologist earlier in the day, and contractions were picking up, but then they slowed down again.

I was tired, and we went to sleep at 10. If I manage to stay up until 11:30 tonight, I'll catch the exact anniversary of my waking into the last 6 hours of my labor. The long, long journey that brought me my beautiful firstborn son.

The baby whose small self fit so snugly into my arms is now a little boy who runs cars over my legs and runs around the house giggling madly at the sight of the cat on the porch. He sings his ABCs, he yells, "One, Two, Jump!" and plants his bum on the couch with a gigantic bounce. He gives his brother hugs and kisses, loves to go look at cars with Daddy, and climbs up beside me and pats my face as we doze off for our afternoon nap.

His name means, "Gracious gift of God." He truly is. I am so thankful for my little boy.

Happy Birthday N Myko!

Driving

There've been some huge storms here this evening, and I was contemplating road trips while hanging out in the basement with The Husband and Kids.

St. Louis: The highway is the crazy let's send you around this loop so that you miss your exit, and then deposit you right back on the highway just on the other side of it. And while we're at it, let's keeps switching which side of the road the exits are on, so if you take a loop one time, you might miss it, but if you avoid it the next time, you'll miss it, too.
And heck, let's make every few exits send you into a really bad neighborhood. The kind where you immediately want to roll up your windows and lock your doors and you ardently wish you were driving an armored humvee-type neighborhood.
We don't have those where I live.


Little Rock: This city thinks it's fun to send a poor, unsuspecting motorist into oncoming traffic in order to enter or exit the highway. The speed limit on the frontage road is 50-55mph. The highway entrance and exit ramps cut across the frontage road in a sort of diagonal. There are yield signs for the driver entering or exiting the highway. In order to cross them, you must wait for the diabolical timing of the stoplights at the end of the frontage road to space out the traffic so that you have just enough time to get across the road and get your back end out of it before the next line of cars comes barrelling down. This is something I imagine I could get used to. The 10 whole feet of off-ramp, however, I cannot. I entered Little Rock just after dark. I found my exit, and expecting an off-ramp long enough to slow down without having to slam on my brakes, I started slowing down. Imagine my surprise when I had to brake harder than I ever had before in order to stay just behind the yield sign. Then I got freaked out again when I saw headlights that appeared to be coming at me. I nade it to my hotel in one piece, but never quite got the hang of that particular set up. The rest of the highway system, however, isn't too bad, and the city and surrounding areas are actually laid out rather nicely.

Vancouver: Eh. I like Victoria better.

The Special

I have had The Special. The Special is a sinus infection, a developing double ear infection, and pink-eye. @@ A sinus infection will usually knock me on my ass for a day or two, so this 4 and 5 day business was really getting to me. I'm glad to find out I actually am pretty darn sick with a major pain in the ass combination, and not just a weenie for a sinus infection.

I accepted antibiotics, and am now dealing with the unpleasant abdominal side effects of amoxicillin. Yay for nausea. On the other hand, I really do feel better already.

Icky

I'm sick. :::cough::: N didn't understand when I told him about sharing, that germs are the things we don't share. :::snerk::: I have a fever, a sinusy nose (heaven forbid it actually run @@), an awful sore throat, and runny eyes. I never run fevers. Okay, so it's only 99, but my normal temp is around 97.1.

I've been taking Vitamin C. I've been drinking water. I'm waiting on a lemon so I can make my favorite throat concoction (1 mug of hot water, plus 1 tsp of lemon juice and 1 tsp of honey). I'm whiny. I'm sick as a dog, and I have to nurse two also-sick kids (although H's only had a mildly snotty nose, and a mild cough--no fevers for either boy). N's eyes have the nastiest green goo collecting in the corners, and while breastmilk cleared H's eyes up in 2 days flat, N won't hold still long enough for me to get near him with the milk dropper. N's now on antibiotic eye drops (I've seriously never seen ickier eyes--poor baby).

I'm getting a headache, and DH is off enjoying the screening of War of the Worlds (a perk of theater management). I would have gone, too, but a) I'm sick, and b) my mom preferred to go to bed rather than watch the kids (that's really okay, I wouldn't want to watch sick, tired monkeys either).

DH has tomorrow off, and he's finally going to get the blasted A/C fixed in my Jeep. I've been driving around in 99 degree temps, in a vehicle with no A/C whatsoever, and a black leather interior. I haaaaaaaate heat and humidity.

And N's up again, so now I have to take us all off to bed...........

Forget Tandoori Chicken

We had Indian food with my dad for Father's Day. I enjoyed a lovely buffet including Tandoori Chicken, Chicken Sixty-Five, rice, and the best Naan I've had in a long time. H latched on that night, and is now, 48 hours later, comfortably latched on yet again. I haven't had more than an hour's break since Sunday night. My nips are killing me. I'm wondering if H's thinking, "Forget Tandoori Chicken, I'll go for Tandoori Milk instead."

Or he could have just hit the 12 week growth spurt a week early. Ow.

The Joys of Toddler Nursing

N is nursing.

and popping off in between little vocalizing interludes...

doo doo doo doo, doo doo, doooooooo :::Jeopardy theme:::





doo doo, doo doo, DOOT! doo-doo-doo-doo









doo doo, doo doo, doo doo, doooooooooo





doot-doo doo doo, doo. doo. doo.

It's happened!

You know how people always say, "When I win the lottery, I'll :::insert cool thing here::::"? Ours was, "When I win the lottery, I'll pay off the credit cards, the car, and the house, and then take all of our friends on an awesome vacation."

Realistically, however, it's more like, "I'll buy myself a cup of coffee at Starbucks."

We went to DH's friend Andy's wedding tonight. The bride's father passed out lottery tickets (scratch-offs) as favors. DH won four bucks.

So much for lottery dreams....

Suspended Animation

So, this might help LunaSea, who seems to have sent all of the ants to my place. If the nasty little buggers pop up again, kill them with Dawn.

In my everlasting tidiness, I left an empty juice glass by the computer. I came in a little later to remove it, and found ants all over the bottom of it. I took it to the kitchen and squirted dish soap in it, and now the ants are in some sort of strange suspended animation. Either way, they're not moving anymore, and I hope they're dead. I hate ants. They rank just below spiders and snakes.

H has the beginning of an ear infection. This is uncharted territory for us, as N has never had an ear infection in his life. So we're squirting breastmilk in it while we complete the three day wait to see if we'll need antibiotics. N has a cold. My poor babies. :( I hate it when they're sick.

I did it!

I took both boys to the doctor's office with me today, and I survived. :)
I think this officially counts as taking both monkeys stroller-free on an errand for me.

In other news, my doc rocks. When I informed him I wanted to donate breastmik, he said that was great, immediately signed off on it and ordered my bloodwork, he then proceeded to say several times how great an idea he thought it was, and how he wished donor breastmilk were more widely available.

Heh

Seen on a church marquee: "Pastor told me to change the sign--I did."

Me. 

Tee hee!

Thanks to Beej of Beejland for the Link of the Week:Shiny Shiny: Moisturising Underwear


Baaahahahahahaha!

I must say, flaky bum cheeks are not usually a problem here.

A conversation with my dad

My dad's a psychotherapist. We talked for a while today, and I think he's helped me out a lot. It seems that I've been operating under the thought that only bad people have CPS called on them, and that if someone took the time to call them on me, it must have some merit, and I must be a bad mother somehow. Fortunately, Dad helped me see that that thought's a load of crap. Hopefully this will have adjusted my perspective enough to pull me out of this funk. I'll reevaluate in a week or so.

Okay then

Our phoneline got, as we used to say at my old job, "pucked" in a hailstorm a couple of weeks ago, and I'm finally back online.

I'm not feeling at all like myself. I don't feel like I've bonded with H (even though he's darn cute), and I don't feel like I'm half the mother I was to N before I got pregnant. :::sigh::: I feel so damn detached from my precious children. It hurts to be this numb.

I had a dream the other night about what could possibly happen if I ran into people involved in The Playgroup Incident, and it brought the whole thing, and all feelings involved, rushing back. I need to just get over it. I've come to the conclusion that I just don't have the tools to get over this on my own. I need help. I've gone through the phone book and marked some counseling centers that look good. My dad's a psychologist, so if I can grab him for a few minutes tomorrow, I'll try to get a recommendation from him. I told B tonight that I'm giving God until Wednesday to fix this feeling or off I go to the counseling center. I hate to put the Almighty on a time line, but something has got to be done. I am terrified of this getting worse. The Husband had the balls to suggest that maybe I'm subconsciously feeling this way because "a lot of the people you talk to online seem to have gone through something like that." Um, oooooookay. In my two closest loops, I can think of a total of um....2, maybe 3 people off the top of my head that dealt with PPD. We haven't talked extensively about it, and I sure as hell am not enjoying feeling this way. In fact, I feel heartbroken that I no longer feel head over heels in love with N, and that I have a really hard time feeling attached to H at all. That's why the kid stays with me all of the time. I'm afraid if I let him go, I'll like being kid-free and without him too much. :( This sucks. This absolutely sucks. I want to be all mushy over my babies again. I hope it happens soon.

He tried to talk to me!

Okay, so that's 'talk' as opposed to talk, but I swear he did. :) I went to the chiropractor yesterday, and her nurse (L) watched H for me while I got adjusted. When I got done, I went to get him. L said that he'd been grunting and buzzing the whole time I was gone, but quieted down as soon as I entered the room. He looked at me, and tried sooo hard to smile, and got out his first real coo. :) It was so sweet. It made me feel like he really does know me after all. :) It's nice to know that milestones with the second child feel just as special as they do with the first.

The decision has been made

B has decided to return to teaching for one more year. However, he will be quitting the theater, as I would be really tempted to leave him if he didn't. I'm okay with this ONLY if he's only teaching. Hey, it's job security, right?

I'm happy for him because he's made a decision. I'm sad for him because he refuses to take risks, and there are some really great jobs opening up about now. I'm selfishly sad for the boys and me because there was a teensy light at the end of the Paycheck to Paycheck Tunnel and now it's gone.

So here I am again

Back to posting.
Ick. H's face smells like my MIL, who was holding him tonight. I hate it when people kiss on my babies' cheeks. I mean, yes, they've got perfect cheeks for kissing, if I do say so myself, but dangit, confine the kissing to the top of the head, especially on my newborn (how much longer can I call him that? LOL). I hate it when people stink up my kids and mess with my pheromones. N got a scrubdown for smelling like FIL tonight. Poor kid. LOL I need to get a onesie with a Basil Fawlty quote (a John Cleese character, for those poor souls who don't know) on it. I shall get one for each boy and put it on them in public, and especially when the ILs come over. It would say, "Don't touch me, I don't know where you've been."


In other news, Bridezilla (seen entries from July and August 2004) has returned with a new title. She is now Birthdayzilla. Here's the itinerary (with price list for DH and me) for her 20th birthday bash:
1) Lunch at Carrabba's--$30 at least
2) Bowling--about $20 for two games
3) Mini-golf--$10--playing one round, which takes about 15 minutes
4) Dinner at Chili's--can be done for $25 if we are careful
5) Movie--$15, plus any drinks or snacks

In her ideal world, everyone would attend all 5 events--the cost of such a day if DH and I both go? Easily $100 if we don't bring her a gift. But she and her DH both know that not everyone will be able to make everything--right?
B is on a leave of absence from the movie theater due to H's arrival and my need for sanity, so we have ZERO extra money for the next couple of weeks. That said, nowhere on that list is "hang out at her place with friends" or "rent movie and have a good time with other poor friends." They're both students. They have a horrible time finding money to pay bills. Birthdayzilla tells me this all the time. You'd think that since she also has a two year old, she'd realize that this list of activities means that her friends who have no extra money as well (and from what she tells me, it's not just us) will have to find sitters for their little monkeys. N can go to my parents', but my mom's out of town and my dad's availability isn't guaranteed. All of that venting done, I think we'll try to just do dinner. Chili's is right down the street, we can eat relatively inexpensively, and we won't have to find a sitter for N. I think I'm still mad about the wedding. Dang, I need to get over that. We'll see how tomorrow goes. If Bdayzilla's incredible ability to complain about anything holds up to its usual standards, it should be an interesting evening. I used to work at the Chili's we'll be dining, and I'm still friends with most of the staff. They all knew I was pregnant, but haven't met H yet. Bdayzilla might be jealous when baby H gets more attention than she does. :::::evil giggle:::::

I heard myself say

"N, please do not stick Corn Pops between your brother's toes."

Yes, that's right, his brother. :)

HJMB was born at 7:53am on Tuesday, April 5th. He weighed 9lbs, 4oz, and measured 20.5 inches. He's just precious, and I'm so blessed to have him. :) I'll post a birth story in a few days. HJ's a quiet kid, but oh, so sweet.

In a nutshell, my labor began exactly 2 hours and 45 minutes after my last post. It ended 3 hours and 23 painful, overwhelming, and empowering minutes later with our son being born on the bathroom floor. He's an adventure already.

It's 4/4

And my official due date. Hmm...it's an interesting feeling. I didn't make it this far with N, so now I'm sitting here waiting for Fidget to make his/her grand appearance. I am getting really impatient, this kid feels huge, and I'm ready to be in labor. I've also developed a very unpleasant UTI. Anytime now is just fine with me.

Nightly Cup of Actualization

Had a MW appointment tonight. I'm swelling, which looks gross, but doesn't necessarily indicate a problem, as it goes right away when I change positions or get up and move. My BP's elevated, but not seriously, and she took it during a contraction, so it wasn't exactly going to be baseline. My urine dip and Fidget looked great though, so all is well. :)

Emotionally, I've had such a rough time this pregnancy that I've been really concerned that it's inhibiting labor. So I sat down today to think about what's been bugging me.

This biggest stressor the last few months has been the Playgroup Incident. In spite of constant reassurance by those around me, I haven't quite been able to bring myself to realize that I'm okay. I'm a darn good mom, and my son is just wonderful. I've been paranoid as hell about any comments about my child's weight, height, hair color, clothing, or anything that even remotely came up as a "concern" during The Incident. I've been so worried about having two, even though I haven't wanted to admit it. If someone thinks I'm so horrible at mothering one child, how am I going to be able to deal with two of them? And what if this one's skinnier than N was? Then what am I going to do? Answer?

Simple, really--I'm going to mother my boys.

The social worker was thoroughly impressed with the care with which B and I researched the positions she considered unorthodox. She was completely satisfied with our explanations for our reasons for delaying vaccinations, and was genuinely (personally) interested in why we chose midwifery care over obstetrics. She accepted without skepticism my explanation for refusing to give N ferrous sulfate drops. She seemed impressed by our combination of allopathic and traditional medicine She had the report declaring us officially just dandy parents finished the evening she did our interview (2 days before Thanksgiving), and we haven't heard a peep out of her since.

The bottom line? N's iron levels came up because of the work I did. His weight increased because I took him to doctors until I found an answer that made sense. He is healthy, fed, and happy. My pregnancy has physically gone smoothly because I do the work and the research to make the best choices for me and my baby.

The social worker was shocked walking in the door to find a happy, obviously thriving child and family. She was expecting a child in trouble. She found a child blossoming under the loving care of his parents. She left with the words, "I love these visits. It's so nice to see a family that is doing so well."

The bottom line is that I was right. I was absolutely right. I have not at all screwed up in the raising of my child, and I will not screw up in the raising of this child.

I gave birth to N. My body, with God's grace, gave him life. I brought him into the world, and I care for him now that he's here. I will give birth to his brother as well, and will mother that child with all of the love I have.

I am powerful.

I am woman.

I am a mother.

Bring on the New One. I'm ready. :)

A Temper Tantrum

I want to have a baby. I go through this whoooooole pregnancy thing just so I can get the cute little baby. I'm tired of Fertility Goddess. Give me the kid.

You'd think that if my body feels the need to be so rude as to wake me between 3 and 5am, it would at least have the courtesy to be in labor or something. No dice. @@ It's now 4:45am, I'm just now starting to get remotely sleepy again, and I'll have to be up in 2.5 hours to take DH to work (or I can sleep in and then get stuck in the house all day with a toddler who keeps asking for, "Outside? Outside? Out, out, out?" only to make a dash for the street as soon as we do get outside @@). I feel like a really pissy cat who has her claws out all the time, and I'm sick of it. I want me back. I nearly bit poor Dh's head off when he saw the light on in here and came to ask if I was okay. DOESN'T HE THINK I'D TELL HIM IF I WERE IN LABOR OR NEEDED HIM?!?!?!?!? He's the one catching the baby fercryinoutloud, I'm not about to have him miss it.

Sorry.Yes, I'm well aware I'm not even due yet and that a due date is only an estimate. Being reminded of this knowledge is absolutely no consolation whatsoever, as Ian was already out by now, and I think Fidget's decided to take up residence here permanently (yes, I know, no one's pregnant forever--don't say that to me either). I'm 39.5 weeks pregnant, my skin is stretched absolutely to the limit (as in brand-new stretch marks everywhere, and the old ones itch like crazy), and if one more person calls just to say, "Had that baby yet?" they're going to hear the phone go sailing through a window. Heaven help the next moron who asks me that in person. I'm measuring 43 weeks, which, incidentally, now that I go back and look at the reports, is larger than I measured with my first child, and I just went back and looked at belly pictures from labor with him. I'm way bigger this time, and my body is refusing to do anything more than send tons and tons of prodromal labor my way. Going on 3 days now, and I'm sick of it.

I. Want. This. Kid. Out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As an update, I posted this on my due date board, went to the bathroom, and discovered that I am actually losing my mucous plug--woo! Who'd have thought a snotty glob of mucous would be such a happydance inducing thing?

Squeaking in

Just in time to get this post up for Easter. It would have been awesome to have delivered today. I couldn't think of a more appropriate way to celebrate the occasion of death being defeated by bringing a new life into the world.


Unfortunately, that's not to be today.....

So today

I had a midwife appointment. It went really well. She did tell me today that legally, she has to use my LMP due date (which puts me due oh, this past Monday) on the charts, and if I actually make my due date by ovulation (and sonogram), that she'll have to send me in to the OB for a checkup. That's fine, I've already got a visit for 4/5 scheduled just for the heck of it. My weight gain is holding steady at around 60lbs, my blood pressure's in the range of normal for me at this point in pregnancy, and my urine dip was "perfect" :::giggle, snort::: I have perfect pee. :P

Anyway, Fidget's heartrate is a lovely 130s-140s with good accelerations, and N was a sweetie during the measuring (43cm, still), and patted my belly and kissed it, and kept his hand on my belly while we were checking the heart tones. MW's going to leave a doppler here for us, so we can check FHTs on our own, since Fidget's slowed down. He's pretty much run out of room, and he's always been calmer than Ian was anyway. The MWs are estimating his weight to be around 8.5lbs, which is about what Ian was at this gestation. Speaking of gestation, I'm irked. I know when I ovulated, the sonogram date confirms it. I hate, hate, hate that my LMP is even being considered here at all. Bah!

B woke up this morning with a 102 degree fever. @@ Timing. Seriously. I love the man, but he's going to drive me nuts with his ill-timed illnesses. This is the second one in two months that he's managed to pull. I know, it's because he works so hard that his body has to force him to take breaks, but geez, can't his body force him to take breaks in a way that doesn't involve a doctor wanting to put him on Very Expensive Antibiotics, especially when we just spent the last of our money on Not So Expensive Antibiotics? Oh well, so, as enormously pregnant as I am, it looks like this baby will be staying put for a few days. I guess that's okay, I really need the sleep.

I think I'll call my mom tomorrow and have her watch N while I go swimming. I need to rest a bit, and that involves me, a swimming pool, and a nice, toasty shower afterward.

La la laaaaaaaaaaaaa

:::ahem:::
Happy 38 weeks to meeeeeeeeee,
Happy 38 weeks to meeeeeeeeee,
Happy 38 weeks to Fidget and Mee-heeeeeee,

Happy 38 weeks to meeeeeeeee.

Now--Get. Out.

Yeah...so this is long...and from yesterday

I had a MW appointment tonight involving higher than normal BP (for me) and swelling that got me confined to the couch with half a small tumbler of Guinness (as we don't have any wine) and a huge glass of water for the rest of the evening. At this point pre-e is not a concern, as my urine dip was protein and other pre-e indicator-free, and it's an isolated high BP, not a consistent one. She'll check on me in a day or two, and I'm under orders to sleep in tomorrow, as not getting enough rest appears to be a main trigger of high BP for me.
She said based on how I'm looking and how I appear to be feeling (extremely freaking pregnant, and snarky as hell), she really doesn't think I'll go much longer. B had to go into work to do inventory tonight, so she told me I could get up and do basic N care, but that after that, it was back to couch with a cup of chamomile tea. I have the cup of tea now, just so no one throws anything at me. :P She initially wasn't going to make another appointment for me for next week (thinking I won't make it that long), but I made her do it anyway. I just know if we didn't, I'll be pregnant forever.

Of course, this is the time N decides to make it clear just why he wasn't eating the last two days. He played nicely (in our kid-proof living room) and let me take a nap, after which I felt much better. He'd been gassy all day, so when his diaper had a suspicious smell, I thought I'd wait and make sure he was done and had actually done something before beginning the Diaper Wrestling Event. Biiiig mistake. Add up these three things: 1) Kid who has selectively eaten pretty much only wheaty, fiber-rich "digestive biscuits" for the last two days 2) Kid who hasn't had a dirty diaper in the last 4 days and 3) Kid who's seen other kids with the Nastiest Stomach Bug Ever a few times over the last couple of weeks. The result? 4 large spots of diaper leakage on my floor and a couple of toys. Thank goodness it got the wood and not the carpet.
So, even though I'm supposed to have been couch-rested for the evening, I get to wrestle my stinky, poop-dripping toddler into the bathtub. I run a bit of water without the rubber plug just to get him rinsed off, and notice that it's draining reeeeeeeeeeeally slowly. So, with naked, not-quite-clean kid playing at the other end of the tub (by playing, I mean picking up my shampoo bottles and chucking them at the inch and a half of water just to make them splash poopy water everywhere), I grab the plunger, and try to get the clog loose. Yes, disgusting I know, but the kid washes, and no way in hell am I letting a still-poopish child run naked anywhere in my house. After waiting for all of the water to slooooooooowly drain while dodging shampoo bottles (I did manage to finally distract him with a smiley face squirted in citrus shave gel on the wall), I then realized that yes, the rubber plug hadn't been used, but that the supremely obnoxious metal plug was still in place, and was apparently holding things up. @@
So then I call B about to melt down because I'm nine months pregnant, my kid apparently has a horrible stomach bug, I'm supposed to be avoiding any situation that might cause me stress, and he's at work and can't come take care of me or the bathroom that smells like little kid diarrhea. He sends me a sympatheitc "sucks to be you" (in nicer words than that), and tells me he'll be home as soon as he can.
I spend the next ten minutes trying to convince my happily splashing child that he must get out of the bathtub now, no, NOW, and come put his towel on. It takes offering the "Precious Papoose" song to get him out and he takes off sans towel as soon as his little feet hit the bath mat. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I actually look a hell of a lot better than I did earlier that evening. Figures. I track down the little nudist, wrap him in his towel, settle in to sing the promised song, and get shoved away with a "No!" He looooooooves Papoose. Why won't he let me sing it to him?
I wrestle him into his diaper and pjs, and it then takes him 45 minutes to nurse to sleep. B calls at minute 40, with N's eyes poised on the brink of Out, to tell me he's on his way home. I'm relieved, but geez, timing.
Fortunately, 5 minutes later, Out is reached by the small one, B is home, the spots on the floor and bathroom are cleaned up, and I am packed off to the kitchen to get my chamomile tea and throw together the no-bake oatmeal cookies (literally a 5 minute endeavor) I've been craving for the last two days. B goes to bed, and I, in my sleepy glory, am sitting at the computer with my tea, waiting for my cookies to cool, and then I am going to bed and following the midwife's orders to sleep in tomorrow. N will join us in our room sometime tonight, I'm sure, and since he didn't go down until 1, he'll sleep in too....at least, he'd better.
One more high point to the evening: This weekend, B's cousin, her husband, and B's aunt (well, ex-aunt, technically) are coming down with A's (cousin's) two kids to McPherson to see B's parents. I have NO desire to go. I like Aunt K, R's a nice guy, A's fine and the kids are cute, but I am extremely cranky, and have absolutely zippo patience with regards to in-law interaction at this stage of my pregnancy. B asked D (midwife) if I could go, and she said that under no circumstances am I to be stuck in the car for an hour, and that I am to be spending next week walking through botanical gardens and swimming, and avoiding situations that cause any tension or stress like the plague. Soooo, guess who got out of a trip to the ILs this weekend? B may not get to go either. I know it's only an hour away, but I'm really not sure I want him or N that far away from me right now.

:::sigh:::

Okay, I know. I'm not even due yet. I'm okay with that. Really I am. I know this little one needs to stay in as long as his/her body tells him/her to. And I'm fine with that. I know that no one is pregnant forever, and aside from not being able to bend at the waist, sit with my legs together, put on my own socks, shave my own legs, etc, I'm really not even that uncomfortable. I certainly haven't hit the "I can't take being pregnant another minute" stage (actually, I hit it at 28 weeks, but I got over it and am now physically just fine with being pregnant thankyouverymuch). I know I'm really blessed to have had two wonderful, easy pregnancies, and that everything looks perfect and healthy. I know that. I'm truly grateful for it. But can I whine just one teeny bit? In the last 5 days, there have been 4, count them 4 babies born IRL to people close to us, that's not even counting all of the email loop and due date board babies born this last week (which seem to number around oh, a million). A friend called me last night to say, "Um...if someone's about 3 weeks away from her due date, and she has a gush of something that doesn't smell like pee and soaks her pants completely, could that be anything but her water?" It's not fair. :::flail::: You can't call the woman who's 37 weeks pregnant and having a serious case of baby envy to ask if she thinks your best friend's in labor. It doesn't help that since I had N at just barely over 38 weeks, everyone and their dog thinks history is going to repeat itself and I'll be popping this kid out any second now. The answering machine messages I'm getting now state, "Well, I guess I'll try you on your cell, and if I don't get you there, I'll just hope you're in labor.....call me back if you're not or when you've had the baby." I almost want to refuse to return their call on principle, or just tell them we had the baby and forgot to tell them. It also doesn't help that due to DH's leave availability from work (he gets a whopping 3 days paternity leave), tomorrow would be the ideal day to give birth. As I mentioned before, physically, I'm still doing pretty well with being pregnant. I'm measuring 43 weeks, but other than the new stretch marks and decreased mobility that come with being so huge, I'm really not too uncomfortable. Regular chiro appointments have gotten the pubic pain to almost nothing, and people still tell me that from the back, they can't tell I'm pregnant (and then they see the front and their eyes bug out). I can easily see this kid just sitting here, happy as a clam until after 40 weeks, just to throw everyone else for a loop and drive me insane. :) Just so there's no concern, the only thing I'm doing herbally or otherwise to prepare for labor other than walking is taking RRL capsules. I'd like to finish my GBS treatment first, so the kid's gotta give it at least 3 more days. I haven't even started EPO yet, and I'll probably wait on that until closer to 40 weeks. So I refuse to do anything to make this little munchkin come out before s/he's ready. Just wanted to make that clear. It's just frustrating when everyone around you is having babies. I held one the other day that was the same size N was when he was born, and I've been flattened by the newborn bug. I just had to get that out somewhere, and here strikes me as the best place. I'm still fine with being pregnant, but I am very ready to snuggle my newborn.

There's a baby around here somewhere, and I want to kiss it. :)

10 minutes

That's how much time I spent today convincing N to come back over to the couch to put his diaper on. The kid insisted on leaving his pants around his ankles, every once in a while checking to make sure his "nee-niss" was still there (it's a recent discovery), and playing with his puzzle. I finally talked him into it by tempting him with bites of oatmeal (with applesauce and milk, a favorite of his) and his beloved Noo. I'd have gotten off of my rear end and brought him over to the couch, but our couch is very deep, and I'm just too friggin' huge to get up off of it unless I absolutely need to.

The only other thing N's wanted to do today is Noo. I sit down at the computer, "Noo?" I sit on the couch and he climbs up in my lap. "Noo peess?" "No baby, not yet." "Nooooo."

He is cutting his 2 year molars (which means after this, we'll be done until he's almost 4--whee!), so I think that's most of the reason for this sudden increased desire. I just wish teething saliva didn't tear my poor noo to shreds. But I think he also knows that there's someone else coming soon (think the move to his own room might have been a dead giveaway?), and that his time with his Noo being just his Noo is getting shorter.

I'm feeling a sense of sadness watching his baby and only child days draw to a close, but I am really looking forward to the birth of this new little one. N's going to eventually be an awesome big brother, and I am so excited to see him in action.