More Blah

The weather sucks, so I've been alternating between cleaning and cleaning, taking breaks for cleaning. And then ya know what? I turn around and it looks like I did NOTHING. How is that possible? To work to the point of breaking a sweat and seriously, not be able to notice I did ANYTHING?

I can only imagine this phenomenon will get worse with this next child.

---

Are any of you green-thumbers out there? Our first houseplant ever, Lao Ching, a bamboo plant I bought at the local Shop Rite one of the first weekends we moved into our first townhouse, has stared death in the face and won.

And now that he's been rehabilitated, it's time to move him to a bigger facility.

I admit, I suck at houseplants. I have killed more than one, or brought them close enough to death that Mike had to nurse them back. Harry, our first hanging plant, was thriving. His ivy hung down to the ground, embellishing my winerack and window. One day, I brought him outside for some sun and forgot him. He burned and turned yellow and all of his leaves fell off. Mike was able to get ONE stem, replant him, and nurse him in our greenhouse back to a very healthy status. His brother Lloyd did not survive.

I actually don't remember how I injured Lao Ching, but as you can see, he is now protected by The Force:




(My mother did that. I have never seen Star Wars. And I don't like pizza. I know, I'm a Commie)

However, as you can see by all the roots, he needs to move. Should we move him to a bigger pot with soil? Or another glass container with just rocks?

Blah

I totally don't have anything of great importance to share with the group, but I feel compelled to tell you I posted a VERY easy, very yummy Mango Sweet-n-Spicy recipe over at Chop. Stir. Mix.

Then of course, I had to go to Wegman's to get fresh Mahi Mahi filets to eat the awesome salsa with. I haven't been to Wegman's in months and it was like reuniting with an old love. They have "customer with child" parking! Close to the store! And not only did I have Charlotte with me, I am also "with child" and snickered to myself as I pulled into the spot, because yes, I really am that corny.

They have sushi! and bread! and muffins! and soup! and pizza! and an Asian section! and tons of organic stuff! I had to stop myself from having a stroke and remember we only came for Mahi Mahi. And by the grace of some higher being, I left with only my four fish fillets, and two packages of Thai summer rolls, two bagels, and one California sushi roll. Do you guys have this wonderful Mecca of all supermarkets by you? It's a good thing it's 20 minutes away, because I seriously think I'd be poor if I lived closer to one.

I rock

I have passed on my ridiculous love for Pauly Shore-isms.

Man-ku Friday

This week, we had a task: To write our haikus from the opposite sexes point of view. Since not all men are the same, I decided to just write from MY husband's perspective. (Remember I love you, honey).

Did you say something?
I was killing trolls with Joe
Sorry, babe. What's up?

Have some chores to do
Guess I'll get up and start them
Ooooh, look! A kitty.

What was I doing?
Oh right. The dishes and trash.
Oohhhhhhhh, something shiny!

Hmmm, a hairspray can
Wonder if it will explode
Where is my lighter?

Must water the plants
Oh, damn. More caterpillars.
Where is my lighter?

I should get in shape
For when the zombies attack
I'll kung-fu their ass!

For more haiku's go see Christina and Jennifer.

I double dog dare you

To listen to this song and do the following:

1) Not reminisce about watching Mannequin and thinking what a great 80s movie it was. (Holly-WOOD!)
2) Not remember wearing your hair like one of the people in the video.
3) Get it out of your head in under 72 hours.
4) Not kill your husband if he starts singing it as soon as you think you may have gotten it out of your head.

8 months...

I did not forget about the Great Ketchup Debate. I was just giving more time to vote and for me to properly collect my thoughts on such a delicate matter.

Today, I had my OB appointment and was surprised to see I didn't gain any weight. I suppose blurting out "But I had a Big Mac on Monday" didn't add any credibility to the fact that I usually tell them how great I eat, even though I had been gaining 2-3 pounds a week. The baby is also measuring small this week, so I suppose we're both in a slow spurt, and I fully expect to go back next time having gained approximately eleventy million pounds.

Here are some things that suck about being 32 weeks pregnant:
-The inability to get up from a chair without making bear-in-heat sounds.
-The insane hunger only to feel sickening full halfway through a meal because, oh yeah, those ARE my son's feet in my stomach. Then, being hungry 28 minutes later.
-Pepcid no longer works. I've gone through three huge bottles of Tums in the past few months and I wish I were exaggerating.
-Numbness/tingling/swelling in my hands EVERY morning.
-The feeling that I want something to eat, but don't know what it is. All. day. long.
-As evidenced by my weekly picture down there, the fact that I have only ONE shirt that both fits, is comfortable, and can be worn anywhere. I am considering washing it everyday.

Here are some things that don't suck about being 32 weeks pregnant:
-I am 32 weeks pregnant.

Here's me at today and last time at this point in my pregnancy with Charlotte. I have not gained nearly as much weight and am carrying Sawyer way lower. But wasn't I so YOUNG and cute and YOUNG?

(32 weeks pregnant with Sawyer)

(32 weeks pregnant with Charlotte, remodeling the living room)

When to commence freak out?

I had Charlotte at 36 weeks. I am currently 32 weeks. Now, I realize all pregnancies and deliveries are different but even my OB said if you go early the first time, you are more likely to go early the second time. No guarantees either way of course.

Hypothetically, if my water breaks around the same time, it means the baby would be here in 4 weeks. I'll say that again in case you missed it: THE BABY COULD BE HERE IN FOUR WEEKS. Oh, holy hell. I fully realize that the baby could come at anytime, tomorrow or right on his due date. But, I feel like I should be a little more freaked than I am.

I have nothing ready. Not one thing. The Amby Baby Hammock, where he will be sleeping, is still in storage. So is the bouncy seat, the glider thingie Charlotte loved, the infant carrier, etc. We haven't made the space in our room for him yet. I haven't bought new, safe bottles or safe newborn pacifiers. I need a new Ultimate Baby Wrap because I can't find my old one and don't know how people live without it. I need swaddling blankets and should order more Miracle Blankets. I don't know if I'm going to try breastfeeding again, so am unsure if I should even dig out my Medela. I don't have my hospital bag packed although I did receive my cord blood collection kit and have it at the ready.

Maybe I am in sheer, utter denial that I am having another baby. He kicks me to remind me he's here almost constantly, and I have the bi-weekly OB visits and ultrasounds, I AM HUGE, and have fantasies of eating avocado after avocado, but I'm not sure it has really hit me that at any point in the next eight weeks, I am going to be a mother of TWO. Two babies. One who is so dramatic and obstinate and prone to freak-outs over the color of her juice cup, and one who will cry A LOT and never sleep.

Or maybe since I'm no longer new at this mom thing, I'm not worried so much because I know it will all fall into place. Worst case scenario, I go into labor early without anything ready and people have to go shopping for me. My mom would pack my bag and buy me huge granny panties like she did last time (man, those were FANTASTIC). My sister would watch Charlotte. Mike would send my dad to the storage unit for the bed and car seat bases. It would all be fine.

Or maybe I'm in denial.

Summer Shows?

Now that most of the shows have ended their seasons (minus the Lost finale this Thursday, which by the way, does anyone realize that in a few weeks, I will have children named after TWO characters on that show, which is pure coincidence but people must think I'm a fanatic freak?), I mourn the loss of my Agent Booth by watching reruns and hoping they show more scenes of him in a bathtub, kind of like this:



House is over, as well as American Idol (can anyone tell me why that show won't DIE already? and why I still watch it?). Though I'm not as emotionally invested (read: obsessed with fantasies of David Boreanaz cleaning my house in his skivvies and beer hat), we watch Numbers, Ghost Hunters, How I Met Your Mother, and Big Bang Theory - also all already over for the season. We also watch Mythbusters, Iron Chef (anyone else miss the Japanese version?), Dirty Jobs, and various other Discovery/Science Channel type shows. Truthfully, since we both work and are always busy with one project or another and don't watch any TV until Charlotte goes down, we're a bit behind on our DVR. We do try and keep up with the shows people discuss often for fear of it being spoiled, which has happened more than once (Thanks Ali!).

However, now there is Big Fat Nothing on TV. The USA summer series 4400 was canceled last year and I'm still a little bitter. What happened to Alana? Did Tom take the shot? Now I'll NEVER know. Bastards. And though I am mostly a hater of all things Reality TV, I have to admit to watching So You Think You Can Dance.

So if you're keeping tally, that's TWO shows that I have to watch, with a three-month maternity leave looming. Since the shows ended last week, I've already read two novels and though I love to read, I still miss my mindless TV time, when my brain can't quite read the words on a page without daydreaming about vacations in Hawaii, sleep, a life without editorial deadlines, etc.

What I need from you are some good summer series shows to watch. No reality/contest shows. I just can't get past the embarrassment of humanity in those and won't waste my precious time watching girls as dumb as breakfast tarts competing for Flavor Flav's diseased dong. Nothankyouverymuch.

Based on my given tastes in shows, what's good out there? Do I need any background info? Should I start renting past seasons?

Dear Barometirc Pressure, Suck it

I get migraines. Have since I was a kid. Elimination diets and journaling my food intake never revealed a dietary source/trigger of these straight-from-hell headaches. As a matter of fact, the word "headache" should never be used to describe a migraine because it is like calling a tsunami a small wave.

Over the years, I came to figure out that my migraines came in direct correlation to a severe drop in barometric pressure - a theory batted around by experts and sufferers.

And I should have expected no different when at 1:11 am, I woke up to what I thought was a strange noise. It was me moaning in my sleep in pain. I stumbled downstairs in the dark, because light is The Enemy, peed, and fumbled for the key to the lockbox where we keep the heavy duty meds. I took a percocet and five tums and sat in the recliner waiting for them to take effect, because when I laid down, the heartburn along with the migraine was enough to make me want to ram a screwdriver in my ear if only the pain would stop. I went back to bed, where I tossed and turned, in a place not quite asleep and not quite awake. Oh, and do you know how hard it is to toss and turn at 32 weeks pregnant? Rolling over is an Olympic event and causes my heart to beat faster, in turn making my head throb harder.

Again at 5 am, I woke to myself moaning and holding my head and went downstairs to take another pain pill, the only medicine safe for my migraines. Mike knew at this point he couldn't leave me alone, so he stayed home until the baby woke up and took her to her dayhome, going into work late. I feel bad for the inconvenience, but the reality is when a migraine gets bad enough, I throw up, feel dizzy, am light and sound sensitive, and can do nothing but lie in bed in the dark and hope it goes away.

As I type this, the migraine has receded and I am able to look at the computer screen and get some food in my stomach. It still lingers, threatening a comeback, so I will take the pain pills as prescribed until it goes away completely.

It was a gorgeous three-day weekend here. Sunny, crisp, clear and warm. Then, according to the weather channel, around 11 pm, the barometric pressure started to drop as a storm system moved in. The weather today is warm and sticky and the rain seems to be almost hanging in the air. I can feel the extra pressure. My head feels it.

I just wish there was something I could do to prevent it. Like when they issue a pollen warning, people with allergies know to take some anti-histamines, but there is rarely a "barometric pressure dropping" warning, and even if there was I'm not sure there'd be much I could do. Maybe if I wasn't pregnant I could take a migraine medication as a prophylactic, but in my current state, the only thing I can do is medicate the pain until the migraine goes away.

Do any of you suffer with migraines? Do you know what your triggers are?

P.S. The ketchup-on-steak issue has not been forgotten. I need my brain to be in tip-top shape to discuss such a delicate matter.

Settle An Argument Please

This is of the utmost importance to my marriage, so please, think long and hard before you cast a vote/comment.

Is it okay to put ketchup on steak? How about steak sauce? Any particular brand of steak sauce? Is the cut of meat a factor in whether or not condiments are allowed?

Memorial Day Weekend

I live at/near the Jersey shore, which is notorious for The World's Most Suckass Traffic on holiday weekends. Everyone from North Jersey and NYC head down here to wear socks with sandals blast obnoxious music let thier demon spawns run wild leave their trash enjoy our beaches and boardwalks. This year, however, there was hardly any. I figure the gas prices are really hitting hard. My husband's friend has a boat that he can't even take out because with a 230 gallon tank, it costs almost a thousand dollars to take it out for the weekend. Reason #9982 I never want a boat.

Thursday night, before the weekend started, we took Charlotte to Six Flags. I think I take it for granted that we live within 10 minutes of such a huge amusement park, but since I don't go on rollercoasters, I never really cared. I'm not afraid of them so much as I am testing my luck. I feel like I have bad enough luck on the ground, so why test it while hanging by a metal pole 20 stories in the air? But they have a few little parks inside just for kids. And she LOVED it. Granted, walking around for almost four hours at 32 weeks pregnant isn't the most comfortable thing, but neither is waxing my eyebrows and I do that. Plus, life doesn't stop just because I'm pregnant. My daughter has experiences she should still have and I want to share them with her, whether or not I feel like my hips will separate from my pelvis for two days afterward. I even got on some rides with her. Can you see the look of terror in my face?



She loved meeting the characters:



She loved all the rides:



And when I snapped this picture, I couldn't figure out why it looked so familiar. And then I got home and saw this, and remembered:

(Mike, 1980)

This kid that I'm currently cooking better look like ME! Because I was one cute kid too, damnit!

Overheard while putting up a pool in my parents backyard...

My sister Amy: Mike, hand me that pump thingie so I can attach the hose.
Mike: I don't need no pump for my hose, right honey?
Me: Yes, dear. You are mammoth.

---

My father: Amy, the dogs are getting out!
Amy, frantically tying to get to the gate before the dogs escape: Oh, fuck!
Colin, my 5-yr-old nephew, in a resigned voice: The dog got out again. Oh fuck.

---

Me: Charlotte, you're gonna fall! Get down from the top of that slide. Momma can't catch you. (she starts to fall as I catch her). Jesus H. Christ!
Charlotte: Geeeezus Christ, Momma!
Colin: No, Charlotte. She said Jesus H. Christ. Plus, you're not supposed to say "Jesus." Say "Holy Smokes." or "Darnit."
Charlotte: DAMNIT!
Colin: NO, I said DARNIT.
Charlotte: Damnit, Jesus Christ.

Ah, family. Good times, people. Good times.

Someone? Anyone?

I'd be much obliged if someone could add an extra hour or so to the day.

Thanks in advance.

Finally some nice weather...

Is there a better way to spend a morning?

Salt -n- Pepa said it...

Let's talk about sex.

I don't mean details, because in all honesty entire too many people I share blood/office space/surnames with read my blog. And while I appreciate their support and they know me well enough to know I am quite outspoken, I'm sure they don't need to hear details of my sex life. Not to mention on some level, whether this was an anonymous blog or not, I feel some things are better left respected between a couple and the internet is not the place I feel comfortable discussing such an intimate part of my life. However, we're young and married and get pregnant if the wind blows the right way. So yes, we have sex.

Even while pregnant. Even while ginormously, ginormously pregnant.

Anyway, I posted the sex poll a few days ago in response to people's shock and awe that we were STILL bumping uglies porking making love doin' the wild thang having sex. Since then, I have had almost 50 votes.

It is a pretty even split - 11 people said their sex life didn't change and 17 people said got better (GO you!), which is a grand total of 28 people voting (a total of 47%) that they were at least maintaining an active sex life through their pregnancy. Then 18 people said they stopped because they (the woman) were too tired, uncomfortable, and felt unsexy; 4 people stopped because their spouse was freaked out about the whole Baby-At-The-End-of-The-Tunnel thing, and 2 people stopped having sex because their partner no longer found them attractive. Which brings the No-Sexers to 47%.

This means it was a pretty even split between people who continued an active sex life, either the same as it was or better, and those that stopped. However, most of the people who stopped seemed it was the woman's choice and some commenters mentioned that they felt their body was ravaged, they were exhausted, and couldn't fathom being touched. For the two people whose spouses no longer found them attractive, did they actually TELL you that? (Feel free to stay anonymous because I really want to know) Because 1) Um, what a DILLHOLE and 2) Do they ever intend to get laid again? I find that a completely horrific thing to tell your partner.

For those women who stopped on their own accord, would anything your spouse have said or done made you feel more comfortable? and sexier? Or do you believe the change was hormonal and you just no longer had any interest in sex?

For the first three months, all I wanted to do was nap and eat white bread, but I love my husband and pregnant or not, our physical time means more than just getting our jollies, so we made time and effort for it. As the months go on, it got easier, hormones were better, pregnancy was good, and things were normal, easy. And then it happens: The Belly. It truly becomes an almost comical thing to deal with and yet, we deal. We laugh, we work around it (literally), and even though it may not be as easy as it once was, it is still important to us to have that time.

Though I know I have way more than 50 readers, I appreciate everyone who voted and those who left comments on the first post.

Again, and feel free to stay Anonymous, what are your thoughts on the results? Are you surprised so many people stop having sex while pregnant? Are you surprised so many people still have the time and energy TO do so? Dish, people.

I survived

I'm back home safe and sound. And still have all my teeth. For now.

It turns out what I was feeling was just my filling in my second to last tooth and it was actually fine. The pain is coming from my last molar and is most likely due to the nerve of the tooth dying since it already had a very large filling, the dentist suggested a root canal. I suggested he promptly kiss my ass. No, not really. He was a very nice man and I only roughed him up a little.

My options are this: 1) take some amoxicillin and stave off any infection (which is most likely the cause of my discomfort) and hope like hell it doesn't get worse until I have this baby; 2) schedule a root canal; 3) remove the tooth; or 4) cry in a corner.

The problem for me in options 2 and 3 are that my medication options are limited. They have to use a different kind of Novocain that doesn't contain epinephrine, which may not work as well, and - HELLO! - feeling them root-canal-ize my tooth does not sound like a fun way to spend a day. And, I get no nitrous, no pre-dentist happy pills, nada. So, it would suck. Big, big, big sasquatch testicles (oh yeah, just TRY and get that image out of your head).

So I think I'm going with option 1 with a little bit of option 4. I'm going to take the antibiotics and hope the pain doesn't get worse until after this pregnancy. It's only a few more weeks, right? Right now, it's not painful to eat or chew and it only seems to bother me when something firm hits the back of my mouth (ohmydog, did I just SAY THAT?). Like a fork, I mean. Yeah. ANYWAYS..........

I also don't know if I'm going to go with the root canal, cap, and crown that the tooth would require. Taking the whole tooth seems like a much easier, less painful, quicker procedure. I had the back upper right molar removed when it needed the same crap done, I didn't have good insurance, and it would have cost me a billion dollars. And do I mourn the loss of that tooth? Nope. Don't even know it's gone. BUT since now I do have good insurance, is there really a good reason not to fix the tooth? Decisions, decisions.

For now, I just hope the pain subsides at least for a month or two until I squirt this kid out and can get the proper medication for such a horrific thing. Or can at least drink a few afterwards.

Skeered

In my embarrassing things about me post, I mentioned how I hadn't been to the dentist in a few years. Some of you commiserated and understood and some of you were like "Get thee to a dentist post haste, milady." (Okay, maybe they said it in a less 14th-century way but you get the gist.) Truth be told, I had honestly planned on going as soon as this baby was out of my body and I could enjoy all the sweet delights of medication and nitrous oxide.

And in a cruel twist of fate no less similar to my car engine breaking weeks after paying it off, my tooth is cracked. Or something. It hurts. Not terribly, but it hurts. And I can feel a crack or cavity with my tongue and see it in the mirror. Though part of me wants to ignore it as if pretending it doesn't exist will make it go away, the part of me that lives in reality knows I have to get it taken care of.

So, I called them. The Dentist. As sad as this is, I actually go to a dental office called The Apprehensive Patient. They even use a little scared monkey as their mascot and "Dental care for cowards" as their tag line. And I guess it works because the day I drove by it years ago, I booked an appointment. The people there are used to dealing with giant sissy babies like me, and the doctors meet with you prior and prescribe medicine you can take to "sleep" through your procedures. They also give you nitrous for cleanings and such to make the process bearable (for us giant sissy babies).

For me, it's not the pain. I tolerate pain quite well and any woman who has ever had a child will tell you: everything after that is secondary (although my gall stones blocking ducts into my stomach was up there). I don't mind needles and am not afraid of having my mouth hurt. For me, it is the feeling of being "stuck" or being "held down." My mouth agape with people inches from my face. The inability to swallow. I get panicky, much like I do in MRIs, like I can't get up and run away, though I suppose if I wanted to, I could. It's irrational, I know. But aren't all phobias?

Bottom line: I hate the dentist with the fiery hate of a thousand suns. But tomorrow, I will be there. Medication-free and voted most likely to wet my britches. Or give birth.

Time warp?

Did your kids hit a period where it seemed they grew exponentially and skipped a whole phase or time period? I swear that five minutes ago, Charlotte was this smallish 18 month old, saying short phrases, and toddling around. Now, she is a 36-inch tall, 33-pound little girl speaking full sentences and running at high-speed. What the hell?

I bought all 2T clothes last summer on clearance, assuming that's the size she'd be since she was always on the small side, and they don't fit her. Brand new clothes. Tags and stickers still on them. She was just in 18-month clothes! Now, she is in 3T and some 4T stuff. Coming from a 6'4 daddy and a 5'8 mommy, I never expected her to be small, but up until like um, yesterday, she was.

It seemed almost overnight she went from phrases like "no like it" to "No, mommy. I don't want anymore cous cous. I want cheese" or "Whatchu talkin' bout?" Full, grown-up sentences. Granted, sometimes people other than Mike and I need to translate because her enunciation is far from perfect, but she is still talking a mile a minute. All. Day. Long.

I feel like I missed something somewhere and that this time period between 18 months and 24 months happened all in these past couple weeks. Will it go this fast from now until she is three? and then five? And ten?

I sat next to some college girls today getting pedicures for their trip to Cancun, and as I was getting my toes painted a pearly white pretending to read, they were discussing how many clubs they were going to and how to get the guys to buy them drinks so they didn't have to spend a lot of money and how FUCKED up they were going to get - like, SO wasted, like, totally, like DUDE. And I thought, how can these mothers let their children go to a place like that? I could never let MY BABY go away to Mexico and DRINK! And then, I realized I was not 83, but maybe seven-eights years older than these girls. And at their age was most likely doing WORSE things and I survived. My mother didn't lock me up somewhere. I came out of that time period healthy, happy, smart, well-rounded. I started my career at 21, settled down and bought a house with Mike at 22, was married at 24, had my first baby at 25. BUT, that doesn't help squelch this feeling of wanting to keep my daughter in a bubble somewhere, because she is just growing up too fast.

And in a few weeks, I'll have Sawyer and I'll have two babies growing up too fast. Someday soon, Charlotte will duct tape him to the wall, and he will retaliate by peeing in her tea set. Then he will want the car, but be pissed because we gave it to Charlotte for the night. Then, she will complain he is sneaking in her room, spying on her friends, and I will find him one day reading her diary and staring at her friends. Then, they will grow up. And they will leave me. I can only hope I do a good enough job that they leave me with the feeling that I did something right. That I raised good people.

For now, I'll watch my two-year old sleep on the baby monitor and stroke her cheek in an hour when I go to check on her, and I'll keep my new baby nestled deep inside my womb. At least I know he can't freeze his sister's bra in here.

(31 weeks)

Was that a seal?

No, there are no dying sea mammals in my house. That would be me. Coughing. A lot. Charlotte started this cold two weeks ago, and her and Mike got over it pretty quickly. I, too, only felt shitty for a couple of days, but I am left with this cough. That just won't die.

I realize I was one of those annoying office coughers yesterday. Someone that the whole office could hear hacking away in her cubicle, wishing she would've just stayed home and not brought her noise pollution. But I had to go in yesterday; I had an issue to mail out.

The cough kept me (and most likely my husband) up all night, and it's hard to talk more than a few sentences without being racked into a coughing fit. I can't take a deep breath without getting all croupy. I can't really read Charlotte her books very well, and when I cough, she thinks I'm sneezing, so the poor kid has said "Bless-oooooooo" like 40 times already today and it's not even 9 am.

I don't go to doctor's for colds and coughs. I don't take antibiotics for these things. I do not believe in antibiotics for every sniffle, cough, or ear infection. I believe that viruses were meant to be fought off and strengthen our immune systems, and are useless in these situations and only cause our bodies to build up a resistance to the drugs, rendering them useless if/when we ever do need them. So while this could be a bacterial bronchitis, it is most likely a virus that I will fight, and a trip to the doctor is unnecessary and a waste of my already-limited time. But, I promised Mike if it doesn't go away in a couple days that I will go. If only to preserve our marriage because I think he was ready to kick me to the couch last night if I weren't pregnant.

----

I met with the woman in HR yesterday about my maternity leave, and it starts on June 25. Just five weeks! How did that come so fast?! It works out well because Charlotte's dayhome provider needs to have surgery and will be closed for a few weeks starting June 30. So, I suppose I will get to play the part of full-time SAHM until Michele is cleared by her doctor to take the kids back, sometime the middle of August. Yes, that means I will most likely have two babies home with me ALL day. ALL week. Even though Charlotte only goes twice a week, those two days let me work, go to appointments, run errands, etc. I won't have that time for weeks AND will have a newborn. I'm scared. Someone hold me.

My mom will still come and help once or twice a week like she does now and I know Mike is planning on taking a couple weeks off when Sawyer is born. But STILL. TWO babies? Alone ALL DAY? For DAYS ON END? With NO work to do? No deadlines to meet? No colleagues to meet with? How do you people do it because the thought alone is enough to send me cowering in a corner with a bottle of gin.

My return to work date is tentatively scheduled for September 29, which means I get a full three months off, and I am looking forward to that time home with my babies, despite all my worries and fears. And it gives me a good amount of time to kick the drinking habit I'm sure I'll take up. (Relax, I'm kidding. Mostly.)

TV rant

I don't watch much TV at all and Mike and I DVR the shows we like and watch them at our leisure. There aren't many shows I can invest myself in. So, the ones that I DO invest in, I REALLY invest in.

BUT sweet baby jeebus Fox, way to put a pregnant woman on an emotional roller coaster in the course of two hours. ***Spolier alert: Stop here of you haven't watched Bones or House yet. ***
FIRST, them dirty rotten bastards make me think that Booth died. For a good three minutes, my emotions pendulumed (yes, it's a word. I made it up.) between wanting to cry and wanting to turn the TV off and never watch the show again. I was drafting letters to them son of a bitches telling them they lost a very loyal viewer, I was that psychotic. I was hurt, angry, and then when it turns out he wasn't dead, I felt betrayed. And then Zach? A murderer? SO didn't see that coming!

THEN I watch House, which is one giant sob fest. Nothing like a young woman DYING in her lover's arms to make a pregnant woman want to crawl into a fetal position and cry like a baby for three days. Good grief, people-at-Fox. I now need a Zoloft and a nightcap.

Me

My jawline has softened in the last few months, and a face I left behind years ago has re-emerged. Being the "fat girl" my whole life, I grew used to seeing my double chin and puffy cheeks in pictures. I saw my fat arms and bulging stomach and figured that's just who I was.

Then it all changed one day. I didn't want that to be me anymore. And over the course of three years, I lost and kept off 120 pounds. No surgery, no pills, no gimmicks. Hard work, being incredibly disciplined, and re-learning how to eat. Understanding that food was to survive and enjoy and that eating wasn't sport.

At my wedding, I was the smallest I had been since sixth grade. Though still tall and broad, I was only 19% body fat, and spent two hours a day at the gym, alternating between weight training and boot camp classes. I was in great shape and felt it. I felt wonderful. I never got sick, I was never tired or listeless. And I knew that I would never let myself go back to being the "fat girl."

And then I got pregnant. I gained 80 pounds of that weight back. I saw my face bloat up, my double chin return, my thighs jiggle a little more.

It took 16 months, but I lost every last pound.

And then I got pregnant again.

I can see her coming back - that fat girl. I can see the round face in the pictures, and cringe a little more each week when Mike takes my weekly pregnancy picture. It hurts me that I can't find any good pictures of me with my daughter on her second birthday because I hate how I look in each and every one of them.

I gain weight easily and when I am not pregnant, have to watch what I eat very carefully and balance out any "treats" with extra time at the gym - this is my genetic legacy. And as much as it sucks, lamenting about my genes isn't going to make the problem go away so I learn to deal with it. I accept it and I challenge it. When I am pregnant, especially when I can't work out any longer, the weight piles on, two-three pounds a week. No matter how healthy I eat, that one piece of cake will earn me an extra pound on the scale.

I know I am gaining this weight for a beautiful reason - to grow my son. I also know that I will lose every damn pound I have gained again. Because that is who I am - stubborn, strong-willed, and determined. I am already itchy to get back into the gym, to recondition my body, to feel better. But this boy's still got some cooking to do.

Though I may no longer love the puffy face I see in pictures, I know I will look back in ten years and think how wonderful I looked, how happy I was, how I glowed as I was carrying my children.

Recap in Pictures

I did indeed get the same cold my little family was passing around. And it is kicking my ass. I don't even want to eat, and you KNOW I am sick if I turn down food.

So, I'm just going to post pictures from Charlotte's party yesterday which ended up being really wonderful. The weather was fantastic, the cake from Chefmom was UNBELIEVABLE (and she was incredibly sweet and nice in person too!), and Charlotte had a really great time.

(DYFS: Don't worry. She didn't actually drink it. Much.)

(Seriously, how fricken cool?)

Ess. E. Ecks.

I decided since the weekends are so slow, I'm going to post an anonymous poll about sex. (Don't worry, Mom, Dad, Aunt Carol, the rest of the free world,etc. No details are forthcoming)

I mentioned about how sex becomes a circus act in the third trimester, comically navigating the growing circumference of the woman's belly. And I was surprised how many people in the comments were, "You're STILL having sex?" So many of you made a mention of this, so it MUST be an issue for many people that I am unaware of.

So, I posted a little poll on my sidebar for you to vote. Unless you were on medical restriction not to do so, did your sex life suffer during your pregnancy?

Feel free to leave comments for discussion if you feel comfortable doing so.

Still a sissy

I never called the woman back. I didn't want to deal with it. I should call and demand my money back, but I figure it's a lost cause and all I'd be doing is getting my britches all bunched. We decided against them coming back at all, because what if they sent the same people or friends of the same people, and they were vengeful and stole stuff or broke something? I figured I'd just cut my losses.

A few people mentioned finding a good cleaning lady, who is not on a time constraint and you can trust. I'd love to do that but don't even know where to start. And then what if they fell and got hurt in my house? I'm responsible for that under my homeowner's insurance and can be sued and all that jazz. But the cleaning "services" are insured and bonded so I don't have to worry about that. But, they apparently suck.

I guess we go back to life before cleaning people, which isn't much different to be honest. I just hate dusting, with the fiery hate of a thousand suns. Also? Cleaning behind my toilet and scrubbing my tub is not easy with a watermelon in my pants and a toddler pulling stuff out of the medicine cabinet, which incidentally has no medicine in it for that very reason.

I'm also kung-fu fighting the cold that Charlotte had last week and Mike had this week. It's not nearly as bad as my poor kid, but I have this wicked post-nasal thing going on, giving me an incredibly sore throat (I sent my poor husband out to Rita's for ices at 9 last night), and annoying sniffles. I keep drinking tons of fluids and resting - ha! - for 10-15 mins here and there. I tried to go to bed early last night, but that in and of itself is a joke. I don't know why I even pretend I'm going to make it to bed before 11. I don't know how people do it. HOW do people with a house and jobs and toddlers go to bed before 10-11? HOW? I need to KNOW! And it's not like I don't have help around here, because Mike does as much, if not more, than I do around here.

Charlotte's family birthday party is here tomorrow and we're planning a great day outside, with tons of food, beer (damn fetus), and sun! Yes, SUN! The weather is finally supposed to be nice for us for a change! Maybe the black cloud that has been jerking off on my head has finally moved away!

I'm a sissy

I seem to have bad luck when it comes to service professionals. Mostly, I am so non-confrontational I never stick up for myself and tend to let people walk all over me in that department. (I know, hard to believe that with a big ass mouth like mine, I am afraid of confrontation). Also, despite being a successful and proud woman, I realize that most of the world still treats and respects men differently than they do women. A man complains and issues threats, others take him seriously and correct or fix the problem. A woman complains and she is irrational and hormonal and her feelings are disregarded. Sucks big moose testes, but it is still the reality. Even though it is not 1952 anymore.

So often, I have Mike call and deal with people who we need to complain about or something where I think I will either be taken advantage of (i.e., car mechanics) or placated (i.e., gutter people).

But having children changes you a bit. It makes me less tolerant of crap. I have gotten better at standing up for myself and demanding my service be done properly and last night when I got home, I did something crazy. I fired our housekeepers. But, wait. I did it on an answering machine. Ugh, how pussy can I get? This was only the fourth time we used this service, and we only use them once a month to do the heavy duty cleaning like dusting and behind appliances and such. For the most part, I am incessantly cleaning and my house is never dirty or messy, because it makes me twitch. But when I got home yesterday and inspected their work, I was appalled I spent my hard-earned money on this luxury. There was still soap scum on the sink, which I purposely didn't clean even though I noticed it the day before because, hey, why bother, the housekeepers were coming tomorrow! There was still dust on the appliances, they hadn't even pretended to clean the shelves and I know this because Charlotte's birthday cards were in the same exact position. There were a few cups in the sink and, fine, I understand they don't do dishes, but at least move the cups and clean the sink. They did not. There was still cheerios behind the toilet (ah, the joys of having a two-year old), and the dust on the lids of my garbage cans. There was dust on my dresser and under my bed. I mean, HELLO! Dusting is the main reason I pay you people to come to my house! I don't want to DO IT!

In my anger, I called the maid service but they had already left for the day and rather than wait till today and call and speak to a person, I reamed out the answering machine and said I wanted to cancel our service and did not pay for people to do the work that I can do at 7 months pregnant with a toddler. I pay them to do ABOVE what I can do, or want to do. And they did not provide that service.

This morning, the phone rings and it is the maid service. I let the machine get it because I don't want to confront the woman. I AM SUCH A SISSY! She leaves a message saying she got my message, apologizes, and wants to send someone out as soon as possible to do a re-clean. Now, here's my dilemma: do I let this same company who did a sub-par job back in my house? Or do I just cut my losses and move on? Do I demand they not cash the check I left yesterday?

I'm at a loss. The woman in charge is actually really nice, and at first when I noticed the service was lacking, I called and made a little complaint and she said she'd have the team do better next time. The next time was a little worse but I figured they may have had a bad day and didn't want to call again and get someone fired. But yesterday's horrible job set me off. I do not deserve to pay money for a service I am not getting.

What would you do, oh wise internet peeps?

This is what happens when...

This is what happens when...

...your daughter inherits your shoe obsession:

(Not pictured is the missing left flip flop, whose whereabouts still remains a mystery, and the white sandals she had on when I took the picture.)

...you put "Bee Movie" in and your husband and toddler both stare wide-eyed and crack up at the same part:

...your daughter wants your digital camera and all you want to do is get ONE good picture:

(It looks like she's gonna say a naughty word, here, eh?)

...your toddler manages to get a hold of your camera anyway and you fruitlessly try and reach into the backseat to get it:

...you ask your toddler to throw away an old container of baking soda you found while cleaning the dining room, thinking she'd actually do it.

(Rather than get upset about it, I grabbed the camera. It's only baking soda afterall)

Quick

I totally forgot to talk about this yesterday, but OHMYDOG, the bitch shot Seely! She SHOT MY AGENT BOOTH! I actually cheered when Temperance shot her in the throat. And of course they leave the ending with him fading out of consciousness.

I assume he will live on these premises: 1) He's hot. 2) It was a shot in the right shoulder, which means it missed the heart. On replay, it seems too high for a lung, but I could be wrong, so my assumption is it could have hit the subclavian artery and/or his right lung. 3) The show wouldn't be the show without him. 4) He and Bones didn't do it yet. 5) He's hot. Very very hot.

T-Rex Syndrome

Imagine a Tyrannosaurus Rex trying to do a sink full of dishes. It would be rather difficult, right? His body would hit the sink before his arms would. And since he is tall, he would have to crouch and bend in order to reach the sink itself. Why even give the poor creature arms? When in order to use them, he must contort and twist in a way that is utterly uncomfortable?

Imagine Rexy trying to fit into a pair of pants. He's never been a small guy to begin with, always on the "big boned" side, but never had ass or hips to speak of. He is all belly. The larger his belly gets, the harder it is for him to hold any pants up, without the use of super adhesives. Most pants that fit his belly are too baggy in the ass and hips, making his ass look worse than it already does. He should just wear a muu-muu.

His gait is wide, causing a side-to-side movement when he walks some people might call a waddle. He prefers to think of it as his I'm-a-T-Rex-No-One-Fucks-With-Me swagger.

His teeth are sharp, perfect for eating prey and small women colleagues who piss them off on more than one occasion. They are also great for gnawing on the bones of annoying people who ask him dumb questions about his current condition.

As I enter my 30th week of this pregnancy, I am convinced they should rename this leg of the journey the T-Rex-Mester.

(30 weeks)

Morning or Night?

Twice a week, I am up at 5:45 to get ready to go into the office. I am showered, dressed, make-up on, baby bag packed, baby up, dressed, ready to go, and out the door by 6:55. The other days when I work from home, I am up before 7, and by 8 am have most likely showered, dressed, put my face on, made the baby breakfast, did the dishes, threw in a load of laundry. By 10-11 am, all the errands are run and the house is ready for lunchtime and naptime in the coming hour. As I type this, it is 7:58 a.m., and I've already done more in the house than I did all yesterday afternoon.

I am in my groove in the mornings. I am one of those obnoxious "morning people," who literally wakes up happy and immediately starts her day. Don't get me wrong, there are some days when I call it quits and we lay on the couch after breakfast, with her watching Dora and me checking blogs. But even pregnant, these days are few. I don't feel good when I lie around. I feel useless and bored. I am a mover. But mostly in the mornings. By 4 pm, I'm usually done with the day and muster the energy for dinner and that's it. If I have chores or errands to get done, I better do them before the afternoon, or chances are they won't get done. I'd much rather run around like a beheaded chicken for a few hours every morning and then have the rest of the day to just "keep up."

When I do sleep in - past 8 or 9 - no matter how much I need the sleep, I feel like I've wasted my most productive part of the day, and spend the rest of the time fruitlessly trying to keep up, which defeats the purpose of the extra rest.

I did not marry a morning person. When we first met and Mike was home on leave from Iraq, I'd call his house on my lunch break and he'd still be sleeping. AT NOON!! Even as a single person, that was unheard of for me, unless Senor Cuervo and I went one too many rounds the night before or unless I was sick. People in my house just didn't sleep in. My sister does, but she is another species altogether. Even in college, I was up and making breakfast and coffee before everyone else. People hated me.

Mike would rather lie around some mornings and do the things that need to be done later on. His motto is "It will get done today. Why does it matter WHEN?" and he's right. That's not to imply he's a slacker at all. He works incredibly hard at his job, in this house, and everywhere else. He just doesn't see the harm in putting off the days work for a couple morning hours, whereas I would rather have those hours back at the end of the day to relax and wind down. We work out a balance and most of the time I win and he does it my way because I'm sure my incessant whining drives him within moments of insanity we get things done one way or the other.

Some days, he'll come home from work and I've already did everything that needed to be done. He gets upset because he feels like I don't leave him enough stuff to do and that I should learn to take a break. He says he can't help me if I don't let him. But if I don't get it done early, I won't do it at all, and then all hell will break loose in the house, right? I mean, if I don't do chores and errands, the world will JUST END.

What about you? Do you have your most productive time in the mornings or at night? What about your partner? Does this cause conflict and how do you resolve it?

Just a busy day

I don't feel like doing a mother's day recap post. It was a busy day, a good day. I am not one of those mothers who feels the need for a "day off" for mothers' day, though I find nothing wrong with it if you do. We deserve it. I get plenty of me time when I need it and Mike and I give each other breaks routinely, so I like to spend Mother's day with the people who made me such, even if she was being a whiny demon spawn because YUCKY MILK, MOMMA. NEED APPY JUICE. UP? UP? I'd much rather use my birthday as a "me" day. So we worked our asses off all day outside, but the weather was gorgeous and I was thankful for that.

I am starting to swell significantly more each day and yesterday make the heinous mistake of getting on a scale, which informed me I had gained 11 pounds in 8 days, an almost physical impossibility, especially since I eat fairly well and am very active. Like carrying chairs up ladders, moving things, lifting boxes while cleaning our garage, active. There should be no reason to gain such an ungodly amount of weight in such a short time, other than the fact that OH YEAH, I'm 7 months pregnant and NEVER rest. It's not like me to relax and watch other people do stuff when stuff has to be done. And as long as I'm healthy, I'm going to continue pushing myself and stay a normal active human. Even if it feels like my pelvis may crack in two, and even if I can wear nothing but flip flops by the end of each day. Because I LIKE being busy. I like being high-strung. I like multi-tasking. I have tried yoga on more than one occasion to help me relax and it was like Chinese water torture. I kept looking at the clock because of all the things I had to do, and OH MY DOG, how does she get her leg to move like that - it's UNNATURAL. I just. can't. sit. still. I am awesome at aerobics and kick-boxing and combat classes, though!

We get the Explorer back today and it will be essentially a new car since it has a brand new engine in it. So despite the fact that the odometer reads almost 80K miles, I am going to drive that fucker until the paint falls off and my kids are embarrassed to be seen in it with me. I will use that as their punishment. "You want to be a wiseass, fine. I'm going to drive you to school and drop you off at the front door in THE EXPLORER and kiss you and hug you in front of all of your friends." Ha! Take that, my future surly preteens!

Good news wouldn't be complete without bad news, so Mike now has the same cold Charlotte has, which thankfully has seemed to bypass me. In addition, we woke up around 5 am to the sound of our new gutters (you know, the ones with the birds nesting in it) FALLING OFF. Oh, woe. According to the woman who had to deal with my wrath because I was afraid of walking out of my house with my toddler for school this morning for fear of decapitation by brown pieces of falling sky, they are coming to repair it. At least this requires no money out of my pocket, right? There's that silver lining to ever piece of aluminum falling off my house.

Two

Two years ago today, I met her.



And then I fell in love with her.
She grew.



One year ago today, we celebrated her life.

I loved her more every day.
She grew.



Today, I helped her blow out the candle.



And loved her even more.
Still, she grows.

Slow down, baby.

Thoughts of a fetus

Hey, what's that noise? Is that music? Let's kick where it's coming from! Hmmm, I don't think I've eaten in a while. Time to punch the spleen! Hi-ya! Take that you useless organ! What are you good for anyway, Mr. Spleen? Iron? Pfft. My mom can get injections! Karate-chop! Oh....mom...is...walking...so...sleepy...time...for...a...nap. OH! Is that DADDY? Hi Daddy! I'm here! No, here! Ha-ha! I moved! Betcha can't catch me! There I am! Watch, I'm gonna stick my foot through Mommy's skin! LAWDY, is that my sister jumping on me again? Why must she bounce on me so? I was so comfortable. Time to NINJA! MMmmmmm, is that chocolate? AND coffee? HOLY-HELL-I'M-TWEAKING-HERE-DUDE!!! Crap, I have the hiccups again! Ohhh....walking....again....so....cozy...and....warm....in...here. Hey, don't lay down, woman! What do you think you're doing!?! I like it better when you get up and move and swish me! There will be no sleeping! You like my fist in your bladder? Huh? Huh? Do ya? Do ya? How's about a foot under your sternum? Yeah, right there! Under the rib cage! That'll teach YOU!

Bringing haiku back

Just two years ago this week
I was so swollen
Something must be wrong, I thought

Baby isn't due just yet
Still has five more weeks
Then my water broke

Induced with no contractions
Gave me meds from Hell
Pitocin and Cervadil.

"Mom, I feel like throwing up."
"It's time to push, hon."
"I can't. I can't do this, Mom."

Mom stood up top by my head
Mike held my left leg
My sister watched in horror

Thirty minutes of pushing
I wanted her out
Then, with a cry, she was here.

We came home on Mother's Day
The day was perfect
My little family's begun.

Now, in a few more weeks time
I'll do it again
I couldn't be happier

I wonder if I'll make it
Until my due date
Or maybe on Father's Day?

Happy Birthday, my baby
Happy Mother's day
To all who love more than words.






More Haiku's here.

Some things

Things your sick toddler eats because you feel so bad for her, your husband is working till 10:30 tonight, and your parenting skills went out the window:

1) chocolate chip muffin
2) straight apple juice
3) macaroni and cheese
4) hot dogs (in my defense, they are organic 100% beef and nothing else.)
5) a spoonful of chocolate icing right out of the container after she takes her Motrin.

Things you eat because you have a sick toddler, your husband is working till 10:30 tonight, and your self-preservation skills went out the window:

1) chocolate chip muffin
2) regular Pepsi
3) macaroni and cheese
4) hot dogs
5) two spoonfuls of chocolate icing right out of the container after you took your Pepcid.

Thursday Schmursday

Yesterday morning, I got up at my usual 5:45 to shower and get myself together before Charlotte wakes up. She usually sleeps till at least 6:45, giving me plenty of time to make myself the stunning goddess you see everyday. But yesterday at around 6:15, I heard her turn on her mobile - a soother she's used every day since she's been able to reach it; it's as much a staple to nap and bedtime as a pacifier - and start to whine. Sneeze one. Sneeze two. Then, "Momma, I messy. Boogers! Oh, no!" So I went to her and sure enough she was covered in snot. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was running. But it was clear, so I assumed it was allergies from being outside this whole week. My mother arrived, I warned her of the situation, told her to call me if she needed me to come home, and set off on my 56-mile trek through never-ending construction on Jersey's awesome highways to my office. I called to check a few times and mom said she was fine. But by noon, she had a fever.

Mike was home by 2:30. I straggled in around 7, haggard and swollen from a long day at the office. We sat and watched some TV. We snuggled and then I rocked her to sleep. Within two hours, she was up and restless and her fever was back. Almost 103. She was red-cheeked, red-nosed, swollen-eyed, and just looked so sad. We sat her in front of our fan, gave her another dose of motrin, and I held her again until she slept. The fever broke and we put her back down. She slept all night and woke up still snotty at 6:45 this morning, but in much better spirits.

She has a cold. Some sort of virus that will run its course (hopefully bypassing the adults) in a few days. She is home with me instead of at her dayhome today. We will watch TV and drink lots of apple juice, while Daddy covers someone's 12-hour shift. The day will most likely be long and rough, but it will be okay.

As I held her last night, trying to shush her back to sleep, my heart breaking for her poor little red nose, her raspy cough and hot skin, I felt so sad. Sad that my baby has to experience any kind of discomfort. More sad that I can't prevent it and protect her from ever being sick or feeling bad. And then I thought that some people have babies and children who have life-threatening illnesses - cancers, diseases, injuries. And my heart broke a little more.

And then I thought how lucky I am to have a sick baby - just a virus.

While you shower....

...this is what your toddler does to your cat.



Can you see the look of contempt in his eyes:



But she means well. She told me, "Cronie pretty Momma! Cronie tatohead!"



At least she loves him. Even if he is secretly plotting her demise.

Whatcha gonna do with all that junk, all that junk....

The Great Ass Pain of Aught-Eight is gone. It was bizarre. The next day it moved to the right ass cheek. I mean, I can't blame it. Once you get a piece of my ass, you want the whole thing. Wow, that was raunchy wasn't it? Sorry, Mom.

I'm just happy it's gone because HOO BOY was that NO fun. I mean, have you ever seen an already overweight, already waddling, seven-month pregnant woman LIMPING? I'm sure I looked like someone shot the Stay Puft Marshmallow man in the knee caps.

I'm sure by saying this I am totally jinxing myself and maybe I should go find an umbrella to open in the house, shoes to put on the table, and a ladder to walk under, but I have been feeling physically pretty damn great the past week or so. Other than the random ass pain situation, I have been feeling spofulous (anyone else get that reference?). The list of stuff I still need to get accomplished before Charlotte's birthday party is HYOGE, but it's doable. It doesn't help that work is kicking my ass either. There are just not enough hours in the day, but that is a lament that I am not alone in I'm sure.

We should have the Explorer, whom I've re-christened Murphy since he is being reborn, by early next week, just in time to load it up with our spring flowers and soil for planting and hanging. The lawn service people should also be here next week sometime to do all the other non-pretty crap I don't want to do, like rake the dead leaves and gather fallen branches and all that jazz. Unless it's chocolate or Agent Seely Booth, I am not bending over for much of anything (OHMIDOG, I AM SO NAUGHTY TODAY!) and way high on that list is branches and debris.

The floor is done, the couch is here, the car will be fixed soon, we're giving away free stuff here, and my ass doesn't hurt. These are all very good things.

The size of my arms, however, leaves me saddened. I mean, is it just me or does it look like they've been stuffed like a porkchop?

(29 weeks)

Who doesn't like free stuff?

Seriously, if I could enter my own contest, I so would.

Our blog Chop. Stir. Mix. is hosting a pretty rad contest with really cool prizes. Crate and Barrel stuff! And a $50 dollar American Express card. All you have to do is leave a comment!

Failing

Before you give birth, you know you're going to be the perfect mother with the perfect baby. You will breastfeed. After all, the human race had to continue somehow; it will be easy. Your baby will be on a schedule. You will let them cry it out like you've read in the books, or you will never let your baby cry, like you've read in the other books. Your baby will only eat organic food, never McDonalds. Your child will never watch TV or drink soda or eat chocolate.

And then your 40 weeks is up.

Your five-week-early baby won't latch. You pump. Every two hours. You hire a doula and a lactation consultant at over $100/hour. You read books. You try every herbal remedy. Your baby still won't latch and you're not making enough milk. You try and try and give everything you have until there is almost none of you left to give to your baby or your husband. Your husband rubs your hair while you cry on his chest. He helps you with the decision to give up, knowing how hard it is for you to let yourself fail at anything, because being a happy mother is better than whoever you had been for weeks. You feed your baby formula. She grows healthy, happy, and smart.

Your baby's cries wake you from the coma you've fallen into after a 20-hour day. You know she no longer needs to eat in the middle of the night. You check the video monitor and can see she's okay. Her cries get louder. You can hear her gasps for air through her sobs and you want to go to her. But the books. The books say to let her cry. Otherwise, she'll never learn to soothe herself. Your heart tears into tiny shards and you go to her. You hold her. You comfort her. You bury your face in her neck, inhaling her baby smell, shushing her cries until she slumps back to sleep, drooling on your shoulder. She eventually learns to soothe herself, and by the time she is 9 months old, she goes down for naps and bedtime on her own and sleeps 10-12 hours a night.

You find yourself standing in the kitchen, desperately trying to get the dishwasher loaded so you can cook dinner, but your toddler keeps taking the plates and cups out and putting her My Little Ponies in. You put the TV on. Dora and her booted-monkey friend give you 28 minutes to get things done. An hour later, the TV is off and she is playing with blocks, making ramps for her toy cars. Her imagination is in-tact -- beautiful.

You're running late. There was traffic, the grocery store was packed, you had to get your prescriptions by 5, and you have a toddler in the backseat getting increasingly more whiny with each minute. It is dinner time and you aren't near home, let alone have a meal planned. You pull into the nearest drive-thru. She happily eats "nuggess and fwies." She still eats your organic, whole-grain cous cous and tofu the next night for dinner.

As your child nears her second birthday, you will look back at all the things you failed at. Because of your shortcomings, she loves Dora, chocolate, and sneaks sips of your diet coke. She has eaten McDonalds more than once. She sometimes still cries for you in the middle of the night and when you go to her, she begs through tears and sleep, "Momma rock me?"

And you do.

Because one day, she will be too big to hold.

One day, you will realize your inabilities to be the perfect mother are the very battles you've won. Because in the end, your child is who she is because of them.

She is perfect because you failed.

First look

Yesterday we had our 3-D ultrasound for this pregnancy. While in the waiting area, we were witness to a large family finding out the newest member of their family was a boy, discussed my need for a margarita with another swollen-bellied woman, and lamented just how young some of these women looked in here. And that maybe it was just us getting old.

I made sure I ate some chocolate and had my second cup of morning coffee on the way to the appointment (yeah, like it was hard to convince me to do that) to make sure Sawyer was up and ready to show his face. And it worked.

Meet my son:

(Rock out, man!)

(A smile - which I fully realize isn't technically a smile, but still cute as hell - with the same one-sided dimple his sister and father have.)

(Yes, still a boy. He's going to hate me for showing the internet his boy bits, isn't he?)

86.2% finished

The fridge and kitchen table are no longer in the living room. The dishwasher is no longer in the dining room. My house is almost my house again.

The tile is completely down.

Do you love it as much as I do? The best part? It will hide dirt!



It still has to be sealed next weekend and we're still having issues with this:



Because we couldn't pull up the very last level of original floor, there is a much higher transition from the hardwood to the tile than normal. Higher than any of the transitions/reducers/saddles that any of the flooring stores carry. So Mike's dad is going to make one for us and we'll hopefully have it all done by the end of the weekend. And then we can spend the next week or so putting our house back together, selling internal organs (anything but the liver because, dude I am SO gonna need that in a few months so she can take me out for drinks) to pay for my car, and getting ready for Charlotte's birthday.

Did I tell you that chefmom is custom making a cake for me for Charlotte's birthday party? How fricken cool is that? She has her our custom cake business and just happens to not only live in my state but close enough to bring me a chocolate-filled Dora cake! Oh, the joy I'll have from eating that little Explorer's face.

~~~

When I was pregnant with Charlotte, we decided to go for one of those 3-D ultrasounds. We got a DVD set to music where I could watch my unborn daughter yawn, suck her thumb, drink amniotic fluid, and subsequently get the hiccups. It was an amazing experience and I knew I'd do it again with this baby if for no other reason than in five years, I don't need to hear "Momma, why do you have these pictures of Charlotte and none of me? YOU DON'T LOVE ME AS MUCH!" So, tomorrow we go back so that I can see Sawyer's face for the first time. I know it will be as wonderful as it was to see Charlotte's, both inside and outside of me.

Updates all around

I realized I failed to give you the final update on Mike's PRK eye surgery. He is now a full month post-op and can see 20/15 in one eye and 20/20 in the other, which is better than I can see with contacts! The reason the other eye is a little behind is because of the loss of his bandage lens for the day or so, but it will level out within weeks. The full results of the PRK don't stabilize for up to six months, but I'd say seeing better than perfect is pretty damn good. I'm jealous and I want the surgery, but since Murphy keeps kicking our asses, who knows when we'll have another five grand.

The grout is in - the floor looks great. I'll post finished product pictures once we get the molding back up and the appliances back in. There's a couple places the guys have to come back to fix because the cement from underneath came through and it is slightly discolored from the grout. Normally, I'm not so picky with such things but for the price of the floor and the detriment to my sanity and marriage over this project, I want it perfect.

Despite taking my truck to the nicest, most honest repair guy I know, the engine is still broken. We were hoping it was the timing chain that may have damaged some valves that could be replaced for a couple thousand dollars. Instead, it was indeed the engine itself and some pistons were broken and those cannot be fixed without a whole new engine (like how I pretend I know what the hell I'm taking about?). But rather than the $7,000 from the Dealership, which I now refer to as the RapeMeForAllMyMoneyYouBloodsuckingBastardship, he is getting a new engine for $2800, guaranteeing it for three years and unlimited miles, and installing it over next week for $1400 labor. Add in NJ tax, and we're looking at about $4400 and I should have it back a week from Monday. Still sucks big hairy man teets, but is still better than $7000. I am trying to find the silver lining in this giant bowl of crap.

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Weird pregnancy thing happened to me yesterday: I was playing with Charlotte at in indoor gym and was feeling pretty great actually. My hips didn't hurt, my back felt great, I had some energy. I went to reach for her on a slide and thought nothing of it, but when I turned to follow her when she ran from me (a regular occurrence), I couldn't walk on my left leg. There was a shooting pain so severe in my left ass cheek, I could barely put any weight on it. I figured I just twisted something and it would go away the more I walked. Nay. It got worse and by the end of the day when we were at the mall getting dinner or at Home Depot getting floor stuff, I could barely walk. And not "boo hoo my leg hurts a little," like serious pain enough for me to call my mommy, who is also a nurse. She said it was probably my scaitic nerve that due to my plentiful belly, I had pinched while twisting. I did some research when I got home and it seems that it could also be Pelvic Girdle Pain. Have any of you ever heard of this? I'm not sure what it is but it is better this morning. Last night, I could barely walk and today there is just a twinge of pain when I walk or stand up from a sitting position. I did some stretches last night and tried to take it easy last night (as in no shakey-shakey booty dance). I figure I'll give it the weekend to die down and if by Monday it's still bad, I'll call the OB. Have any of you experienced this? What can I do for it? It was literally almost like being stabbed in the ass and my leg would give out from under me from the pain. And I live with a video gamer and a two-year old, so I can handle pain pretty well. ;)

Travesties

There are many things in our day-to-day lives that we brush off as inconveniences, small annoyances that can barely make a ripple in our day. Depending on our given mood, such things can be quickly forgotten or held tightly as a grudge, infesting its negativity in the rest of our day.

This morning, such a thing happened to me and thankfully, I was in a good enough mood that I was able to look past it, remind myself that there are worse things in life. And that no ill intent was present.

They gave me blueberry coffee instead of my French vanilla at Dunkin Donuts this morning.

Can you believe the horror? Like WHO drinks blueberry coffee? Why do they even make such a nasty flavor? The pungent aroma leaked all throughout the car and I knew, just KNEW, that there was a fuck-up. And sure enough, when I took that first scalding sip, it was NOT my coffee, but indeed, some dumbass berry flavor.

I mostly blame myself. Even ginormously pregnant, I always get out of my car and go inside to order my coffee. There are no lines and the early morning woman knows me and my order. Large coffee, 2/3 coffee, rest skim milk, 4 splenda, and begins getting it ready before I can even waddle all the way to the cash register. However, due to a lack of a toddler nap at MeMa's yesterday, Charlotte slept a little bit later, and I didn't have time to shower this morning before taking her to her dayhome. I threw on a pair of yoga pants, an old stained sweatshirt, and flip flops. So, rather than scare people with my bedhead, morning breath, and awesome attire, I chose the drive-thru. She didn't know me. She must have confused me with the big-haired teenager in the car behind me, because surely, the only people who drink blueberry coffee must be under 20.

So I sit here drinking my blueberry coffee, which despite my additions of extra flavored creamer and more sugar, still tastes like blueberry. I could make my own coffee except my Tassimo is what feels like miles away, in the kitchen, beyond the men who are currently grouting my floor. It is lost for at least another 24 hours, but it stares at me from the counter, across an endless sea of of tile and grout. It is yuppie torture.