All touched out

Do you ever feel at the end of the day, when both kids are in bed for the night, that you cannot possibly stand the thought of having one more person touch you?

I love my husband and miss the days when we used to cuddle on the couch or I'd lay on his chest in bed and watch movies. But these days, especially with two babies, I'm so sick of being clawed at, climbed on, pulled on -- touched -- all day long, that the thought of another breathing being touching me almost sends me to the loony bin.

I have to consciously think about it and separate the feelings of comfort from my husband from the sheer demands of the touches from my children, so that I can enjoy being with him. And I'm not even talking about the shaky-shaky booty dance. I just mean normal spousal interaction. Hugs. Kisses. Caresses. Hand-holding. And I hate that it's not automatic anymore. I hate that I have these feelings some days. Because he doesn't deserve to be pushed away or to be denied the touch of his wife.

I know this will pass as it always does. And I know that some days will be worse than others. Once the baby can be put down and play on his own more often and I am back to work and have some physical separation, I'll be back to normal.

But right now? Mike has the baby, Charlotte is trying to make Daddy wear a "pretty necklace", and I finally have the free hands to write this. I am finally touch-free for ten minutes. Our giant cat is sitting next to me on the armrest, monitoring the days' activities, passing in and out of sleep. His back paws have just fallen and are resting on my arm. Instead of wanting to reach out and pet him, I'm thinking about what kind of warm-ass hat a 22 lb Maine Coon would make.

Six weeks

I go back to work in six weeks.

Sawyer will be nine weeks old and will start at the dayhome with Charlotte. I'm not as nervous for him to start child care as I was with Charlotte because I know what a wonderful place he is going to and how much love he will be cared for with (wow, can I end a sentence with TWO prepositions?)

I miss working. My job can be miserable and the deadlines incredibly stressful, but I like working. I love having a part of my life that is solely mine. I don't think that makes me selfish; I think it makes me human. I love my children deeply, but I know that being their sole caregiver day in and day out for years would whittle me down to a minute nubbin of myself, thereby making me less of the mother I should be. I'm just glad I have an arrangement where I work from home a few days a week but have the social/professional interaction of going into the office a couple of days. It's hard but it's worth it.

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Cass had her baby - Alexandra Bloom was born yesterday and she's absolutely gorgeous!!! Considering we've already betrothed our children, I sure hope they like each other because they are some good-looking kids.

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And now, for no particular reason, pictures of my kids. Look, Sawyer is getting a face! He's starting to look like less of an elderly alien.

(Destined for a life in front of the papparazzi)

The post I didn't think I'd write

When I was 13, most girls had gotten their period. I hadn't and when I finally did, it disappeared for months, and then came back for weeks. My breasts weren't developing like the other girls, and any breasts I did have were because I was overweight. I noticed extra body hair but thinning hair on my head and carried most of my weight around my mid-section. Puberty - the time I was supposed to be "becoming a woman" - made me feel like the opposite.

Eventually, my mother took me to a gynecologist who then referred me to an endocrinologist. After tests which included bloodwork and ultrasounds, it was confirmed that I had Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome/Disease (PCOS). Tiny cysts had formed on my ovaries, throwing off the hormones in my body, creating an overabundance of testosterone and a deficit of estrogen. This disease can also cause the body to become insulin resistant, which is why most people are characterized by carrying the weight in the mid-section and some develop Type 2 diabetes. For more info, please click the link.

And what's worse, I had developed it at a critical time in my development. This means that I'd never grow breasts right for my body size. I have hypoplastic breasts. By definition, this means that much of my mammary tissue was never developed. I'd struggle with weight and body image issues for the rest of my life. I was put on birth control at age 14 to regulate my hormones and periods - the only treatment for this disease.

At that first doctor's appointment, the endocrinologist laid something on me that was heavy for any adolescent - I may have a hard time having kids, if I could even get pregnant on my own. My mind couldn't grasp it and had no need to until I met Mike and we were getting married. I wondered how long we'd have to try before we went through IVF, or how many heartbreaks we'd suffer trying to start a family.

But right before our wedding, I had hit my lowest weight, was in great shape, and was on Metformin - a drug that helped with the insulin resistance and helped lower testosterone levels. In addition to my birth control, I was fairly "normal." We decided to go off birth control after our wedding to give ourselves the time I was sure it would take us to get pregnant.

I got pregnant on our honeymoon.

I was determined to nurse my daughter. I took breastfeeding classes and when she came early and wouldn't latch, I hired lactation consultants, pumped round the clock, and took every herbal supplement under the sun to get my supply up. I smelled like maple syrup from the fenugreek and like licorice from the fennel. I never got more than 2 ounces at each pump and without her latching, I never got more. After a few weeks, we went to formula full-time because I was entering a dark place being attached to a milking machine for what seemed like every waking moment. Our daughter has turned out exceptionally bright, healthy, and beautiful.

We decided we wanted another baby and would start trying when our daughter was 18 months old. I knew that we would not have the same luck the second time, though I was back on Metformin, had gotten myself back in shape, and had just lost all the weight. I stopped birth control and we started "trying."

I was pregnant two weeks later.

I knew I was going to try and nurse again despite my "failure" the first time. When my son was born almost three weeks ago, he latched onto my breast within minutes of being born. I have a photo of this and it is one of my most precious pictures - one I don't show people but one that makes me swell with love and pride at something so simple, so innocent - a mother giving life and then food to her baby. Life in its most simplest form.

Within days, it was evident that even though my milk came in, it was not enough for him. We had decided from the beginning that we wanted to supplement anyway, for a variety of reasons and thankfully, he has no problem going from breast to bottle.

In those first few days, he was attached to me all day and all night because I know the law of supply and demand. The more he sucks and drains the breast, the more milk I'd make. And still, after most feedings, unless it was more than 5 hours, he'd cry for more food. And when I'd try and pump if I had to go out, I'd only get three ounces, which was enough for one feeding, but it was over the time of two. So he was needing double what I was making.

Still, I was okay with this. He was getting around 10-12 ounces of breastmilk a day and the rest was supplemented with formula. I know that some breastmilk is better than no breastmilk, though I have no ill judgment against those mothers who solely formula feed, and I was happy that he was even getting some.

And then I found that lump.

I had to have my nipple sliced into and was not allowed to nurse or pump on that side until it healed. With an already low supply, by the time I could nurse and pump in three days, my supply was almost gone.

I was determined to get it back up.

I'm on day three of trying to reestablish my supply, however little it was to begin with. I again smell like maple syrup and licorice. I drove 40 miles to Whole Foods today to get Goat's Rue - a natural galactagogue and an herbal equivalent to Metformin. I also pump, but this time my baby latches, which is much different than being in a room attached to a milking machine. I have special time with him, he instantly calms down if upset and he is a much better pump than my Medela.

After three days, my supply is almost back to where it was. I know now that because of my hypoplastic breasts and my PCOS, I would never be able to nurse any child exclusively. I have to learn to accept this.

Still, it's a loss to me; it's my body betraying me yet again. It's something beyond my control and yet I still feel like I'm failing.

I'm angry at my breasts. I'm angry at my ovaries. I'm angry at my body.

They're depriving me of an experience I so desperately wanted. They're depriving my son of his mother's milk.

Today while lamenting in tears to my husband these very thoughts, he told me "Your body hasn't failed you. It has given us two beautiful healthy babies."

Indeed it has.

More on Holes

Remember my daughter's irrational fear of holes? Today, as I was feeding Sawyer and Mike had just gotten Charlotte out of the bath, I overheard the following conversation between my husband and daughter:

-I have a hole in my butt!
-No, honey. That's your vagina.
-But I don't want a hole in my butt!
-It's not a hole; it's okay.
-Daddy have a hole in his vagina?
-No, Daddy doesn't have a vagina, remember?
-NO VAGINA?!?
-No, Daddy has a penis. Like Sawyer. Well, not exactly like Sawyer, but that's a different conversation.
-I NEED BUTT CREAM FOR THE HOLE IN MY BUTT!!!

Sometimes, I wish I had a tape recorder on standby in this house.

I Wuv It!

It's amazing how little time I have with two hands. I've become adept at the following things one-handed:

-peeing
-making a bottle
-nursing while flipping channels
-chatting (poorly) in GChat
-responding shoddily to e-mails
-making peanut butter and jelly
-fixing boo-boos
-pumping

Here are the things I need two hands for:

-writing blog posts
-getting pictures off my camera
-writing an email with more than one word and no spelling errors
-showering
-baking
-cooking dinner

Incidentally, the items from list number two are usually accomplished in a whirlwind if I'm home alone. There's very little time when one of the children don't need something. (Geez, don't these kids know I have to blog? They're so damn needy.) And because I'm not stupid, if both of the kids are somehow gloriously napping at the same time (which actually happens more than not), so am I. Which leaves even less time with two hands. If Sawyer is not eating (which I swear is not very often) and I'm not trying to entertain my toddler (Thank you, Nick, Jr. and your addictive children's programming) I try and squeeze a million things into one small time frame before Little Dude's grunts turn to cries for - you guessed it - more food.

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On the topic of horrible segues (what, we weren't discussing that?), what do you do when your toddler LIKES time out? Since our house is small, we have very little space where there is no toys, has no access to anyone, and is a good place for time out. So, we decided that for time out, she would sit on the bottom of the stairs. And she loves it. If she does something time-out worthy, like hit or kick or throw things, before I can even say the words, she cuts me off, "I no hit. Nah-NICE! I go in time out. I sit on the stairs." And she walks over and sits on the stairs "I wuv it! Dis is my favwit stair!"

Um, okay. Way to parent and instill discipline, right? What else can I do? I've taken to just making her sit down where she is and not get up until she looks me in the eye and apologizes for what she did wrong. But, she KNOWS she's wrong and does it anyway. Guess that's the bane of having your emotions bottled up in a little body that just. can't. stop. her. from. hitting. the. cat.

What else can I do? My mother used to make me sit in a corner, but I honestly can't think of one we could use and wonder if she wouldn't like that too. I tried taking her toys away. Just today, she refused to pick her books up so I took away her favorite Dora book and put it in the dining room thinking she'd be really upset and instead she waves, "Bye-bye Dora! See you wader!"

Thankfully, she's not malicious. She doesn't bite at all and when she does hit, it's not hard at all or intended to hurt, but almost seems to do it just for the reaction. Should I not give her a reaction or is that gonna bite me in the ass too? She was doing all of these things before the new baby, so though I wish I could blame him and know it will pass, it's just a two-year old thing.

Advice welcomed in this case. (Since it does not involve my boobies.)

The fair

I had mentioned in passing that we went to the county fair on Wednesday evening. I finally got around to getting the pictures off the camera. See, even two-week olds can enjoy sleeping outside the fair.

Two weeks

Sawyer was two weeks old yesterday. I know, RIGHT?! He's like almost in college.

He had his two-week well visit. Born at 7 lbs, 7 oz, and 19 1/2 inches, he is now 8 lbs, 10 oz, and 21 inches. Told ya, he's a porker. He eats 4-5 ounces every 3 hours or so, except at night when he'll sleep for 4-5 hours. This means I'm only up once a night, making a huge difference in my mood. I still try and steal a nap here and there or go to bed early while Mike takes the last feeding, but for the most part I feel pretty well rested. (Coffee helps too. Lots and lots of coffee.)

It's funny that even though I'm having a pretty easy time of having two, I wish I knew then how easy ONE was. Charlotte has started back at her dayhome again, giving me Mondays and Thursdays home alone with Sawyer until he starts in September. And on those days, all I could think about was how EASY this is, comparably speaking of course. I realize that he's a much easier baby than Charlotte was and that having a good quality of sleep helps, but I remember not leaving the house for six weeks or so when Charlotte was born. I was afriad she'd cry or need something while I was out. What of she needed a bottle and I was driving? What if she pooped in Target with a cart full of stuff?

Now? This kid? Has been to the supermarket, Target, two barbecues, and a county fair. In his little two weeks of life. Maybe it's because he's so laid back or because I am this time, but things are way different. He cried in Target. Oh well. I sat in their little food area and fed him till he was quiet. He had a huge poop blowout at the county fair. Cleaned him up and he was fine. Pissed off, but fine. He cries when I'm changing Charlotte or making her food? No baby ever died or suffered irreparable emotional trauma from crying for 3 minutes.

When I was in the pediatrician's office yesterday, there was a new mom with a four-month old little girl. We got to chatting and she mentioned how she can't shower, she can't brush her hair, or sleep on her own because her "daughter wouldn't let her." And I was reminded of an article I read once where the woman was said to another mother with the same complaint, "Last time I checked, you outweigh her by about 100 pounds." Of course, I didn't say that to this new mother, but I thought of it. Instead, I smiled and nodded in sympathy. Because I had been her.

If I was in the shower and Charlotte cried, I got out. If she made a noise, I jumped and picked her up. I always lament about how high-strung and demanding she is, and I can't help but think I made her that way. I know some of it is her personality, who she is, but I also know that had I been more laid back, maybe she would have been.

In any case, when some of you out there were having second babies with toddlers at home, your posts scared the Fiber One outta me.

So far, so good though.

We have a little routine going and though I know it will change almost as soon as I have it in place, we're doing very well. Charlotte's attitude has been improving, most likely due to the fact that she's back at her dayhome (and not bored at home) and she's realizing that the baby isn't going anywhere. Sawyer just kind of goes with the flow. As long as he's dry, fed, and burped, he's a happy kid.

I can't really ask for more.

And even though it's way more than 100 pounds, I keep in mind who's in charge here. We run the show. Not the kids. I'm the parent. They need me to parent and love them and ensure their safety, well-being, and happiness. They don't need me to appease their every whim in mere seconds. They don't need me to be their friends - as infants, toddlers, or later in life.

This may make me The Enemy for awhile and in some situations (No, Charlotte, you cannot put a maxipad on the kitty), but at least they feel safe in knowing I take my job seriously.

I'm their Mommy and I'm damn good at it.

Some people just know

A few weeks after I had Charlotte, I was standing alone in the produce section of our local supermarket. I had left the baby home with Mike to get some errands done quickly and quietly.

I wanted a cantaloupe. I was picking up a few, squeezing them, smelling the rind to see how ripe they were. I must have been in a daze because I barely registered the elderly black woman who started speaking to me.

"How old is the baby?" she asked.

"Um, pardon?" I was confused. I didn't have Charlotte with me. I was in gym clothes, a wedding ring the only sign that I had any ties to anyone, let alone a child. I looked at her gray hair peeking from under her hat, wrinkled face, and hunched gait, and wondered if maybe she thought I was someone else. Maybe she was senile and thought I was someone she knew.

"Your baby. How old is he?"

"Oh, I have a daughter. She's just about 3 months."

"They're so precious at that age." She gave me a quick smile, one of a woman who had seen hardship, known loss, but loved life.

"How did you know I had a baby? Do I have spit up in my hair again?"

"No, child. You were swaying with the cantaloupes and humming. Only a woman with a new baby does that." She laughed out loud and continued, "I had seven babies and now I have 11 grandbabies. I still sway and hum. You enjoy that baby girl, you hear me, child? Time goes faster than you'll ever know."

"Yes. I will."

And I did.

I still do.

The only difference is now I have one more to love. In those early days, I never thought I could love anyone as much as I loved my daughter. Then I had my son. And I've learned that the heart is not a closed container.

It is a bottomless abyss and can be filled beyond capacity.

Quick boob update

My breast is healing very well, thanks mostly to the breastmilk-soaked pad being held against it in my bra. I swear, it's better than Neosporin.

For those of you I didn't personally email and discuss this with, I had to have a cyst removed that unfortunately promised an end to my breastfeeding on that side. Because I don't have a huge supply to begin with, I was sure I would have been dry by the time it would heal. But today after I thought I was just going to stop altogether, I tried pumping on a low setting since the site of the removal looked so good. I can't let Sawyer latch on the sore side because the friction could re-open the wound, but the pump was fine. So for now, I'm taking it one day at a time, supplementing, and enjoying my son. I'm not sure what the future will bring but thankfully, the pain has gone down (yay for red wine).

It's a tough topic to discuss - so utterly personal. But the amazing outpouring of support has made it easier. I may never go into complete detail and bare my soul for people to gnaw on ever again, but maybe even the small tidbits of my story and struggle can help someone else in a similar situation. Maybe that would make it worth it.

I need to know...

I went to my OB today for a breast issue (which subsequently sent me to a breast surgeon for a quick outpatient procedure; I'm not emotionally ready to discuss that and its ramifications yet) but while I was there, he did my first post-partum check instead of making me come back on Thursday as planned. My doctor does them at 2 weeks and again at 3 months rather than the traditional six weeks.

Since I had such an easy delivery and have been virtually pain-free since giving birth, he gave me the go-ahead to resume normal activities in two weeks. This means I can get back to the gym and start working on removing this GIANT muffin-top I have, which makes me incredibly happy. There's nothing like the feeling of a great workout and I can't wait for my body to be MINE again. Of course, my husband hears "resume normal activities" and hears "Par-TAY time! Get this woman some wine!"

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I need to keep my mind busy right now, so I'm calling all ye lurkers out there (and all my other often-commenting readers): I want you to leave a comment and tell me about you - who you really are - not just where you're from and what you do. Tell me what makes you happy. What can lift your spirits when your heart is sad?

Stinky Fat Boy

I had to take Sawyer to the pediatrician again today, even though he went last Thursday and has to go again this Thursday for well visits.

He is healthy but his belly button was rank. It smelled like death-covered ass and even though we had been cleaning it with alcohol, it still had a foul odor so I got worried about infection. It wasn't too oozy and wasn't red so I wasn't overly concerned, but with an 11-day old you can never be too careful. Turns out he was fine and that there was a lot of dead cells under the half-still-on cord and they needed to be cleaned out. Gah-ross. The doc did it and used a little silver nitrate to seal off the already fallen off part. He says the rest should fall off within a week or so. I can't wait. I can't stand that stubby little stinky black death button that gets in my way of properly diapering my son so that he doesn't pee on his 743rd onesie of the day.

I also asked the nurse if they could weigh him for me since last Thursday he wasn't back up to his birth weight yet. Well, today he was 8 lbs, 7 oz, which is not only more than a pound in five days, but is a whole pound up from his birth weight in eleven days! So, I think he is doing more than well on my milk and some formula.

He's also doing well sleeping and he's been good about day versus night. I try and keep it bright and sunny in the house during the day and talk to him during his awake times and at night, we keep it dark and quiet. He seems to know the difference and sleeps about 2 hours at a time during the day but 4-5 at night, which makes a world of difference in our functioning level.

Also, it's been 11 whole days and I haven't been peed on yet. I realize I just jinxed myself, but that has to be some sort of record, right?

Those Wily Hormones

Human biology and physiology is amazing.

I spent the last three months essentially being so ever-loving miserably pregnant that I swore that people who have more than two children should be nominated for sainthood or committed. I was large. Very large. It was hot and humid. I had a very high-strung dramatic spirited toddler who was getting increasingly bored each day I got more and more sedentary. Bored toddlers = Satan spawns.

But...but.. wait for it.... Now, I miss it. I know, right?!? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? I KNOW I was a giant mess and wished that every day at the end was The Day. I wanted him out. I remember it clearly. It was only two weeks ago. How could I miss that? Hormones, that's why.

There's something being released in my body that biologically makes me want more babies - makes me miss being pregnant. She whispers to me: Look at his little toes. Smell his head. Remember the first flutters you felt inside you. Look how Charlotte kisses his nose. Remember how it felt when they put your babies on your chest.

I was cleaning up our room last night, and started putting all my maternity clothes in plastic bags to pass onto the next pregnant person/relative around my size. They're all in such good condition and name brands and part of me felt sad I would never wear them again. The voice whispered: Save them; you can wear them again. I quickly tied the bag, and put them away where I couldn't see them, holding back tears. I quietly unpacked my "fat" clothes from the blue bin labeled "post-baby clothes" and hated those hormones - hated them for making me feel this way.

We've decided we're only having two children. Despite knowing we originally wanted more and that I know I could love and raise more, unfortunately in this economy, cost of daycare, wanting to travel with our kids, etc., etc., we decided two was the right number for us. And 99.9% of the time, I am happy with this decision. I know we can give two kids a great life and I look forward to watching them grow up. So, I hate these hormones for making me second guess that. For making me SAD that I won't have more babies - that I won't create anymore life.

I know that this will all subside in a few weeks and it's just the post-partum hormones. A lot of people get the "baby blues" and some even develop into PPD. I'm lucky that I've been able to avoid both of those things both times around, but this time, it's the finality of it all that makes me sad. With Charlotte, I knew we'd have another. I carefully folded and put away her baby clothes she outgrew in case we had another girl. I boxed up my maternity clothes and put them where I could easily reach them knowing I'd need them soon. This time, I'm packing them up for someone else - an unknown someone I'm sure will get great use out of them. I have no little girl clothes to unpack and they will all remain in storage until someone in my family has a new baby girl. And as Sawyer ourgrows his tiny little newborn onesies, I will pack those away, likely in tears.

It all seems so final and feeling the finality goes against the hormones in my body telling me to procreate more, populate the earth, continue the human race. I'm in a battle - mind against body, emotions against rationale.

I know I'll win. But in the meantime, I'll mourn the loss of the babies I won't have. These are my Baby Blues.

Just Because

Censorship

A lot of you left comments or sent me e-mails about my decision to stop talking about breastfeeding. And for censoring myself on my own blog.

For those of you who were concerned, it wasn't YOU I promise. I got a few e-mails from virtual strangers with all sort of advice on how to get my supply up, how often I should be nursing, how I shouldn't give any formula or pacifiers, etc. ad nauseum. And it bothered me. I don't know why but it did. Maybe because the assumption in the emails was that I was ignorant and didn't KNOW these things. That I didn't take breastfeeding classes when I was pregnant with Charlotte. That I didn't spend days in tears trying to breastfeed my first child. That I didn't spend weeks in a dark room attached to a pump, desperately trying to get my supply up for a baby that would not latch. That I didn't spend money on fenugreek and mother's milk tea and doulas. That I didn't drink so much water I was oozing it from my ears. That I didn't give it my DAMNDEST try. That this time, I wasn't nursing my son so long and so often that I thought I should just never wear a shirt. That I was giving it any less of an effort for my son. And that even if I was, it was any business of anyone else's how my husband and I choose to feed our children.

There are a number of things I don't discuss on this blog in much detail: my sex life, my personal family issues, details about my job and my feelings about it, some relationships with friends; I don't delve deep into politics or religion. I guess there are are a number of reasons for this. One is that even though this is MY space, MY place to write whatever the hell I feel like it, it is still a PUBLIC space. My friends and family read this blog and in order to protect and respect their privacy, I don't discuss their personal lives. My colleagues read this. My husband's coworkers read this. Complete strangers read this. I feel like even though it is my space, because this is not an anonymous blog, I don't have the ethical right to write about some things.

If it was so important to me to write down those things, I could either create an anonymous space or write it down and not publicly publish it. The fact of the matter is the only reason we as bloggers hit that "publish" button is to make a record of our lives, send it out into the great (very public) unknown, and hope for some feedback, make some friends, find something in common with such a vast abyss of people. Some who might just be like me. Or learn from those who aren't.

This is the stigma of not being anonymous. However, for me personally, the benefits of not being anonymous far outweigh the need to discuss personal matters. I am able to keep friends and family updated on my life and on my children - people I can't see very often, but can "see" me through this blog. On more than one occasion, I've had someone tell me "I know we haven't talked in a while but I feel like we have a conversation every day." And in a world where people are so busy, that makes me happy. That I converse with so many people everyday without even knowing it.

Ok, so back to breastfeeding. It doesn't fall in the category of respecting other's privacy. It is a very personal thing and if I want to discuss it, I feel like I should be able to and NOT censor myself, like so many of you urged me not to do. I was warmed by the support and emails from so many of you telling me that my story and struggle could help people so I shouldn't censor it. And you're right. But when does the lashback from discussing things outweigh the benefit of actually discussing them? When do the feelings I get from some of the comments and emails justify the telling of the story? It's a fine line for me. A line I'm not sure I'm ready to walk.

A week

Sawyer is a week old today. We took him to the pediatrician this morning. He has not returned to his birth weight yet, though close, and he is slightly jaundice. We go back in another week to check his weight and color but I'm pretty confident he'll be just fine. He's a good eater, a good sleeper, and is generally a good baby.

I decided that I'm no longer going to discuss how I feed my child on this blog. It became too much for me. Many of you respected my wishes and supported whatever decisions I made, offering kind words of support. Some of you emailed me offsite with your advice, something I specifically didn't ask for. However well-intentioned, some words sting. I thought I could openly discuss the breastfeeding/pumping/formula feeding/supplementing thing without much guilt or lashback. I apparently cannot. So I won't any longer. I just don't want this space to end up being a place for people to get into arguments about an already heated topic.

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Charlotte has been acting out a little bit more, throwing 12 million tantrums a day instead of 11 million. She was in a rough stage before the new baby came. The word "mine" is officially the world's worst word ever. Ever. Ever. Some moments I swear if I hear it one more time, I will truly lose my mind. Clean-up time has become more excruciating and she does this high-pitched shriek/scream whenever she gets the slightest bit upset about something. But this was all happening before Sawyer came. She's two. I know it's normal. But, it has been slightly exacerbated by the new squirmy thing taking up some of her time.

Luckily, she loves Sawyer himself. She likes to rub his head and touch his feet, and gets very concerned when he cries. When he was crying at the pediatrician this morning, Charlotte got so upset I thought she was going to deck the nurse. She gives him his bippies and covers him up if she thinks he's cold. Other than trying to pick him up that one time, which in her mind was completely innocuous, she's been very good around him.

She's also in this weird stage where she's afraid of totally irrational things. First, it was Humpty Dumpty. Now it's anything resembling a hole. Yes, a hole. The hole in the sink for drainage? Terrifying. The hole in Swiper's fake rock suit on Dora? Frightening enough to come sit near me on the couch. The hole Daddy put in the back of the bathroom door by throwing it open too hard? SKEEERY. I got inventive and used toilet paper to plug some "holes." I swear this kid has her Daddy's imagination which means I'm in trouble for some serious nightmares.

Do your kids have any irrational fears? How do you deal with them? We try and tell her that it won't hurt her and give her some power over them (like shoving toilet paper in the hole, which by the way, how long before I find toilet paper in Sawyer's nose?). Any tricks?

Overheard while watching America's Got Talent

Mike: Whoever invented the accordion should die.
Me: I'm pretty sure they're already dead.
Mike: Well then all their descendants should die.

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Mike: God, I hate Jerry Springer so much. It's like looking at George Bush.

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Me: Is Jerry Springer actually crying?
Mike: He probably cries the souls of children.

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Me: Look honey - cheerleaders.
Mike: Huh? Wha?
Me: Yeah, I thought so.

---

Mike: The Hoff is the man.
Me: Indeed.

Mimic

I gave up. I took the contacts out. I couldn't take it anymore. Late last night after both babies were asleep, I was trying to watch TV and every blink I could feel, like a tiny piece of sand in my eye and it about drove me bananas. So I took them out and put my glasses on. Today I have in the old school contacts in the new prescription and WAHHOO I can see and I don't notice them.

People have raved about the Dailies, so I may look into those next. I know my eyes need better contacts since I wear them so much. I just need a calmer time in my life to figure this out.

---

This morning my mother came over to see the kids and help out a bit since Mike went back to work. She played with Charlotte while I fed Sawyer or held Sawyer while I played with Charlotte. I'm pretty sure I'll be just fine on my own but it was nice to have the company and the extra set of hands. To give my mom some time with Sawyer without making Charlotte jealous, I let her shower with me. We do this every now and then and since I'm a habitual leg shaver (I KNOW! I'm nuts. I even brought a razor and shaved my legs in the hospital shower the morning after I delivered), she gets a kick out of "pretending" to shave too. Just like she has to "put on odorant!" or "put dirt on my eyes too! (put on makeup, which apparently looks like dirt on my face). She's a mimicker. I think all two-year olds are.

After we got out and were drying off, I got dressed and put a pad on my underwear. Since I HATE pads with the fiery hate of a thousand suns, she's never seen them before. The only time in the last 15 years I've used them is after the birth of my children. So they were new to her. She looked puzzled for a minute and then it was like a light clicked and she beamed with pride.

"Mommy needs a diaper too! You gotta poopa-heine? You do PEE-PEES?"

Well, if she can be like me, I suppose it's only fitting for me to try and be like her.

Seeing is overrated

I got new contact lenses yesterday. I've been using the Acuvue 2s for years and have had no problems at all. But the eye doctor said that because I wear mine so much - around 16 hours a day - that I am developing blood vessels from the lack of oxygen that will make my eyes look red and bloodshot. Add in a newborn and I'm about four seconds away from looking like a meth addict.

So he fitted me for the Focus Night And Days - they let in six times more oxygen and are FDA approved for wear up to 30 days, overnight an all. I hate them. Right now anyway. I can FEEL them. And for those of you who wear contacts, you know that feeling them is not the goal.

However, the doctor said it was because my eyes are so used to the Acuvues that they need to heal with the new lenses. Something about old cells sloughing off and new ones growing. And because these contacts are made of a new material, I may feel them for up to two weeks while I get used to them.

I protested because with a new baby in the house, the last thing I need is one more thing to be uncomfortable about. So, he did send me home with a pair of the Acuvues in my new prescription (which is one step away from being holyhell blind) but asked me to give the Focus a chance. He made such a good case about the health of my eyes and how great it would be not to have to fumble for glasses when the new baby woke in the middle of the night that I had to ask if he gets kickbacks for this brand of contacts, he was pushing it so hard. He assured me he wasn't.

I'm trying them. I've had them in since yesterday afternoon and though they don't hurt and my eyes aren't red, I can feel them and if I think about it, it annoys me. I want to give them a chance because if they do work, the thought of not having to take my contacts out every night (though I'm sure I still would every once in a while to give my eyes a break) is very appealing. Especially when my son needs me to, you know, SEE in the middle of the night.

Anyone have these contacts or have had a similar experiences with "getting used to" new ones?

I also thought I was going to leave there with reading glasses because I've noticed I've had a hard time focusing on my laptop or a book recently when I first look at it. But he assured me it's because I was pregnant/am nursing and that my eye muscles are weak and don't focus as well as fast. Pregnancy symptoms never end, do they?

---

Also, one more thing: gratuituous newborn sleeping pics:

Was only a matter of time

"Uh-oh. I dropped it," says my two-year old running into the kitchen.

"What did you drop?" I ask, hauling my jiggly ass to the living room where I had just put Sawyer in his swing.

Before she could answer, I saw my newborn slumped over in his swing. Thankfully, she didn't actually "drop" him but intended to pick him up and lost her grip. She's been trying to pick him up but we've always been right there to tell her no and steer her attention. It was literally 15 seconds she was alone in the room with him.

That'll teach me, huh?

Guess I'll shower sometime in 2011.

Beginnings

Today marks the day I start on my official journey back to my former body. And to do this, I will be posting my weight loss, exercise, and healthy eating progress on a new blog, Life After, that Cass and I started. Granted, she is still very pregnant, but she won't be for much longer and we are going to use the new site as a place for support and encouragement, as well as whining that it is no longer acceptable to eat rice krispie treats and devil dogs as breakfast. I have my first post up and hope you mark us in your reader.

---

Sawyer is settling in and Charlotte is getting used to him. She seems to like him and wants to hold him and pick him up all the time. Unless he is crying. Then she starts her "fake crying" and wants to be held. And today, when he was nursing, she decided that she "wanted boobie too" and we had to explain that she drinks from a big girl cup. The irony is that she never latched, so it took two years to get her to want to breastfeed. I know she is having a tough time with this, as do all kids who have to go through such a major change, but I am proud of how gentle she is being with him (for now) and know it will settle down soon.

Alert: I am about to discuss breastfeeding, and I know it is a hot topic with many people finding the need to judge/criticize/offer unsolicited advice from a very high horse, but I ask you to respect any decisions I've made and just be my friends. Moving on...

I desperately wanted to breastfeed Charlotte and when it didn't work out, I spent a long time getitng over the guilt. Eventually, as she thrived and I realized that formula was not crack, I forgave myself. Once I knew I was pregnant again, I decided that I would not deny my son the effort I put forth for his sister but that I wasn't going to do to myself what I did last time. If it worked, great. If it didn't, I'd be okay. And we decided from the beginning that we would supplement. For many reasons. Within minutes of his birth, he latched like a sucker fish and continues to do very well with nursing. We were topping him off with a bottle at the end of the feedings and he was having no issues with nipple confusion. Until today. And thankfully, it's not the breast he started refusing, but the Dr. Brown's bottles we loved with Charlotte and wanted to use again (we bought glass this time though).

He nurses all day. It's the only thing that comforts him. And he never seems full. I know my milk has come in and I can hear him swallowing and his little mouth is covered in milk when he releases. But he always wants to eat. I'm sore and feel stuck with a baby attached to me all day. In desperation, I checked for more boobie-friendly bottles that were BPA free. One. There was one. I sent Mike to the store and he came back with this:

It's the Adiri Natural Nurser and he took it. Yay! The problem is that half of the time he's eating, whether breast or bottle, I'm not entirely convinced he's hungry. He roots like a madman and only seems happy on the breast, where he seems to comfort himself back to sleep. I bought every BPA-free pacifier on the market and he won't take any of them.

I don't want to be a human pacifier. I want to nurse him but I have another child that is suffering when I spend literally 90 minutes at a time nursing. Mike is home with us until Wednesday so I have help and a distraction for Charlotte, but what happens when he goes back? Who's going to make meals and play with my two-year old while I sit on a couch, newborn to boob? I am not good enough to nurse him in a sling yet, and he will only latch in the football hold on the right side, making it impossible to do almost anything BUT nurse.

I'm not really asking for any advice here; I got what I asked for. My son latched and he is getting the best nutrition he can and I am more than happy about this. I know breastfeeding isn't easy, especially at first. And we will continue to persevere with the supplementing.

I'm not new at the mom thing, so I know things will settle into a routine and pattern and it will all work out. But, I am thrown back two years and remember the desperation to stop making your baby cry. And right now, the only thing that works is suckling. However, I also know by looking at my beautiful children that it will all be okay. How can it not be with faces like these?

(My little old man)

All in One

We're all home. All four of us, under one roof.

Sawyer is sleeping (what else do two-day old babies do?), Charlotte is about to go down for her afternoon nap, and I plan on lying down too. I still feel pretty good but am more sore today - in the car-accident kind of way, not in the birthing-babies kind of way. My back muscles and leg muscles are all sore and tight and I ache all over. Showering in my own house and sleeping in my own bed are all the medicine I need.

Oh, and a beer.

Sticky

Although I stand by my feeling that all newborn babies - though miracles - look like little elderly alien men, there's something that makes you believe no more beauty could fit in a room when you see this.





Today has been rather relaxing and enjoyable. Physically, I am fine. My most annoying complaint is the three hundred rolls of duct tape adhesive seemingly stuck all over my body. Seriously, with all of medical technology in the world, how can they not make a tape to adhere to skin that doesn't 1) rip off all epithelial layers and hair to reveal bone when removed or 2) leave behind a large amount of adhesive turd all over your body only to have to remove later with copious amounts of said skin and hair?

I feel bad bragging about my delivery and I'm sure it had more to do with the sun and moon aligning or some other astronomical miracle rather than my Superwoman Birthing Powers, but this postpartum period is far more enjoyable than the first. No ice packs. No stitches. No pain. Despite knowing that I gave birth to a 7-pound baby because HOO BOY will I remember every second of the feeling of his head, shoulders, and the utter relief as the rest of him slid out, I feel like it never happened NOW. And it's awesome to not have to deal with my own pain while taking care of a newborn.

My mother brought Charlotte to visit today and she seemed to understand that Sawyer was the "baby brudder" that was in Mommy's belly the past 9 months. She was very gentle to him and not possessive over Mike or me. Of course, this is on a nuetral ground and not in HER house with HER stuff, so we'll see how she does tomorrow when we bring him home. While I was nursing, she watched and then once we explained, she kept telling everyone that "Sawyer was drinkin milk from Momma's BOOOOBIES!" She rubbed his head and kissed him and showed him how to use a bippy. Initiate parental melting.









After topping him off with some formula after a 40-minute nursing session (ohmysoreboobs), he has been sleeping for the last three hours, letting me get all these pictures off the camera, upload them, and write this.

I wanted to thank all of you for your kind words and for all of those who followed my updates on Twitter. It was like having cheerleaders on the sidelines, and it kept my mind focused on something other than how much what I was going through sucked. If you just started following me the past few days, send me an email and let me know who you are so I can follow you too, as that was one thing I didn't have time to do. Having my phone and laptop gave me a direct connection to an emotional outlet and a way to keep all of my friends and family updated at such a wonderful time in my life. Here is the proof that you all were by my side, even at the worst of it. And for this, I thank you.

Welcome our son!

Meet Sawyer James East McLastname :



Born on 7/10 at 10:17, weighing 7 lbs 7oz, and 19 1/2 in.

I think seven and ten may be his lucky numbers.

Labor was long and slow - almost 24 hours from the start of induction - but once the epidural was in, I was comfortable for most of the day.

The first epidural did not take and only made the left side numb so we did it again and this time it worked perfectly. That? Sucked. A lot.

So I spent the rest of the day making slow progress and getting increasingly pissed off that I was still pregnant.

Then it seemed to happen all at once. His head was engaged and the epidural was wearing off. They had more coming but I was trying to limit it so I could speed up labor. I went through about an hour of contracting to get to 9 cm. By then I felt I needed to push but they told me I wasn't fully dilated. I said (perhaps in a slightly JEEBUSCRIMINYLISTENTOMENOW tone) that I understood but unless they wanted to catch the baby as I shot him across the room, they needed to set me up.

They did, and within mere minutes of getting my legs in the stirrups, Sawyer was out. I pushed three times. I amazed everyone. Best of all? No tears, no episiotomy, no stitches. There are no words to describe how happy I am about the quick delivery.

They plopped his little head on my chest and I stroked his face while they collected the cord blood. It was an unknown face, nothing like his sister or father who I see all day. It was my face. He has my face. I'm in love.







More to come later - they have him in the nursery doing their tests and bath and stuff. He'll ba back soon and I should get some sleep. I'm just so excited!

Soon

Almost time to push!! Stay tuned!

Slightly more progress

So, some time has passed and some good things and some bad things. Baby is great, even after the water was broken he is still kicking ass.. And after all this her blood pressure is back to normal, as long as she dosn't sit up, roll over or yell too much..

She is going kill me, it so sounded like I was talking about a dog or something right then, think of me fondly.

Contractions are about 3 to 5 minutes apart and she is about 4 cm and 80 percent effaced. So they ordered the epidural and after what looked very painful they had her sit a while while it took effect.

Left side tingles, check.. Left side numb, check..

Right side? Yeah, so about that right side.. No matter how much checking with ice cubes and alcohol preps to test the sensation, it was still only half effective.
Kind of like Paula Abdul on American Idol.

Epidural Part Duex was a success! And after some pleading the doctor even said she could eat a granola bar (The nurse said the doctor would be fine. Said his headache would pass and that it was a normal side effect from partial strangulation.).

She is now resting comfortably sipping some fine hospital tap water and awaiting sedative to help her rest.

--Mike

Progress

Like my snarl? I even raised my eyebrow for you all. Things are progressing entirely too slow for me. But I'm blogging through a contraction as we speak - do I get a prize?

I'm in early labor now thanks to modern medicine. The contractions are coming, regular but not too painful yet. The medicine they're giving me to keep me from seizing from the high blood pressure, magnesium sulfate, makes me feel like hell. "May cause flu-like symptoms," they said. They were right. I am headachy, woozy, shaky and nauseous, but it has gotten better as the morning has gone on and they've given me some Tylenol. Worst part? I can't eat at all and only have a limited amount of water to drink. Frick.

Once I'm dilated enough, they're going to break my water to speed things up. I'm all set up for my epidural but am going to try and put it off as long as I can since I know it slows labor down and I want this kid OUT OF ME. However, I WILL be getting it.

So far, here are those people in contention of winning the contest and the weights that will break the tie:

Morgan: 7 lbs, 8 oz
Cass: 8 lbs, 7 oz
Nora: 7 lbs, 10 oz
SciFi Dad: 8 lbs, 8 oz

They're all very close, so we'll have to wait a few more hours to find out. My uterus is not The Price is Right so the "closest without going over" rule does not apply here.

I'll be back with updates, and if you're not already on twitter like the rest of us lemmings, I update there often so you can have a play-by-play if you so chose. (Click on the twitter button on my top right sidebar to follow me)

To the finish line...

Well, I made it to 38 weeks but as you can see from the picture, I won’t be pregnant much longer!

After feeling shitty for the past few days it turned out I was preeclamtic. My blood pressure was 170/115 when I first got here, and subsequent readings were high enough to cause alarm. They have me on a magnesium sulfite drip to prevent seizures and began the process of induction.

Sawyer will be here sometime on 7/10. I did not want to go into labor under these circumstances but we are happy to meet our new son. Will keep you posted :)

Blank

Everyday is the same.

I keep hoping something will happen that is worthy of putting pen to paper, and instead I sit here starting 50 different entries and deleting them all.

I'm so boring right now.

I used to be able to discuss careers, politics, religion and actually sound intelligent - actually have an opinion I could back with research and fact. I'd read books, magazines, websites other than Perezhilton.com. Though I usually leave those topics off this blog because I'm a chicken shit and don't want to start a confrontation I try and remain neutral so everyone feels welcome here, I still could DISCUSS them with other adults.

Now? Notsomuch. My brain is mush. I watch Animal Planet, Discovery, and Noggin. I stumble or surf useless celebrity blogs. I couldn't care less about their lives, but reading about them is so mindless. And now, mindless is my friend.

I miss me. I miss working and having adults to interact with on a regular basis and feeling professional. I miss wearing regular clothes. And BYGOD do I miss my SHOES. I have so many pairs that are literally collecting dust in my room. I cringe inside when I see a chick in a cute pair of shoes that I want. I've lived in flip flops for the last 3 months and though comfortbale, I miss my strappy heels, my sexy summer shoes.

I miss intellectual debates over a bottle of Pinot Noir. I miss the gym and working out till I feel like gumby. I miss being able to bend over without grunting and causing a contraction.

I miss Grey Goose.

---

Three people guessed today in the Baby Contest. Though I appreciate their wishful thinking and realize the day is not over, it is not looking likely. The biggest contender thus far is next Tuesday, the 15th. And if anyone guessed after the 20th, consider yourself written off as my friend. Or bring me vegetable dumplings from P.F. Changs and we'll call it even.

If you haven't voted yet, go go go.

---

Anyone have any cool innovative ideas for indoor projects a very impatient two-year old can do? Mostly by herself since 1) she hates when people help her and 2) some things are very difficult for me to do right now, i.e., cleaning up messes, sitting on the floor, etc. I'm off to the craft store this afternoon and plan on picking up some stuff to keep her occupied on the days it is too hot/rainy to go outside, or when we are trapped in with a newborn.

She's enjoying watercolor painting with her babysitter as I type this and coloring is by far one of her favorite things to do.

Help? Please?

It's my fauxhawk and I'll cry if I want to

Evolution of a tantrum:

1) I help Daddy?



2) I PEEEEEEL CAWWOT? I HELP DADDDDDDDDDDDYYYYYYYYYYYY?



3) My life sucks. Daddy won't let me grate carrot. Commence complete meltdown.

Why I should keep a tape recorder in our bedroom

The night before last, I couldn't sleep. Huge surprise, right? So rather than toss and turn (i.e., grunt and groan as if I were in a strongman competition) and keep Mike awake, I came back downstairs and putzed around online until my eyes felt heavy. When I got back into bed and began to arrange my bazillion pillows to my comfort level, I must have stirred Mike awake slightly.

"Where is the tripod?" he asked.

"What tripod?"

"The one for the race."

"Honey, you're sleeping. We're not racing."

"Yes, it's for the mini-golf race," he insists, his voice strong.

"But we're not racing; we're not playing mini-golf. We're sleeping."

"Not NOW! Last week! The race!"

At this point, I'm in a fit of giggles and reach out to rub his arm to fully wake him so he stops arguing about a fictional mini-golf race (which by the way WTF?).

Trying to sound calm and serious, I tell him "Babe, you're sleeping. I've never even been mini-golfing, let alone raced it. And if I did, I can't see how a tripod would help in that situation. Are you awake now?"

He rolls away from me, muttering about how it's not funny, it was a serious race, and he hopes I choke.

Which of course sent my giggles into a full out side-splitting fit of laughter, like I hadn't laughed in months, loud enough to finally wake him and the sleeping toddler in the next room.

"What's so funny?" he rolls back to face me.

"Do you not remember the last five minutes? tripod? mini-golf? racing? hoping I choke?"

"I have a vague memory of being very adamant about something."

---

This is not the first time he's talked in his sleep. He mostly mutters about zombies or Saddam Hussein's underwater lair - strange things only a science-fiction lover's mind and imagination could conjure in his dreams - but usually I, too, am sleeping and don't have the energy or mental capacity to try and get him to talk back to me. This time, since I was wide awake and he was dead asleep, the conversation continued past his initial mutterings.

Does your partner talk in their sleep? Do you ever try and talk back? Any funny stories to share?

----

Don't forget about my contest! You get to gamble on human life for a prize! How fun!

Bet on My Baby Contest

Rather than sit here wondering all day when I will have this baby, I decided to let you guys guess for a prize! It will entertain me WAY more than my whining.

So I'm going to run a contest. The winner gets a $25 gift certificate to Target or Barnes & Noble (your choice), which as we all know is like pure crack.

Here are the rules: In the comment section, leave the date you think I'll give birth as well as the weight you think the baby will be. The winner will be chosen by the date and the closest in weight.

EDITED TO ADD: You can pick the same date as someone else and the closest in weight will break the tie.

Hint: I gave birth to Charlotte at 36 weeks and she was 6 lbs, 14 ounces. I realize that may mean nothing but I figured you might want to know.

Bonus: If you link back to this contest on your blog and are the winner, I'll up your prize to $30.

I'll take entries until Friday night or until I send out the alert that I'm en route to the hospital, whichever comes first.
----

Speaking of contests, Anglophile Football Fanatic has been running a few this month for her Blogiversary (see the button on my sidebar). I even won one! Woot.

A list

Despite me whining about how uncomfortable I am and yadda yadda, shut the eff up already willyaplease, I started thinking about other pregnant people that have it worse than me. And yes, I am shallow enough that it makes me feel better. So there.

1) Michelle Duggar

This woman is pregnant for the 18th time. In essence, she has been pregnant for around 20 years. I suppose each birth is easier and by the 18th one, the kid just walks out in a prairie dress and starts doing chores. I know she does this by choice. Still. Pregnant. Two decades. Screw. That.

2) An African elephant:

Though not a person per se, this poor creature has to be pregnant for 20-24 months. Two years. Thanks but no thanks. I'd be the elephant hiding in a cave when the males went into musth, "Hell no! I don't care how big his tusks are - he ain't coming near me!"

3) Omkari Panwar

She's 70. And just had twins. I'm not quite 30 and am having a hard time carrying ONE baby. Her and her husband had two daughters and five grandchildren but no male heirs which is a big deal in India, so they mortgaged their land and took out loans for IVF treatments. Aside from the ethical implications, the gross factor is also pretty high up there for me. Can you imagine life in their house the past few months? Honey could you hand me my dentures AND my nipple cream?

4) Angelina Jolie

Just kidding. She gets to sleep with Brad Pitt. And she looks like that. No sympathy. None. Zero.

Monday Update

First, can someone explain to me how my house is messier when there was an extra adult home all weekend to "help" me?

It's not that Mike doesn't do more than his fair share of housework - it just seems that the more people in a house for a longer period of time means that the house will never. ever. be. clean. And we're about to add one more who will most likely pee and puke a lot, thereby not helping the mess.

I had my weekly OB appointment this morning, and though most doctors do internals at this point, mine doesn't see the need for it. So, every week I get a little ultrasound - we make sure the head is down (check!), that there is enough fluid (check!), that the baby is breathing well (check!), that his size is good (check!), and then I get sent on my merry way with an appointment for next week.

My blood pressure is good, I only gained one pound in the past two weeks, and the baby looks healthy and LOW.

Next Monday at 39 weeks, if I'm still pregnant (OhSweetBabyJeebusPleaseLetMeGoThisWeek), we can discuss induction due to his size and the increasing risk of a needed C-section from some scarring I have from previous surgeries. I'm torn. Part of me - the control freak part - would love to know when he is coming. To be able to plan childcare for Charlotte ahead of time, make sure everyone is in position and could notify their jobs, etc., would be a great burden lifted off my shoulders. On the other hand, I want him to come when HE is ready, not when I am. I know it's better for him that way.

Right now, I'm just trying to take it one day at a time. Even if each day is looooooooong.

Misnomer

Can someone tell me why they call it "lightening" when in fact I feel 60 times heavier since my son decided to drop?

Screw the extra lung space; I stand up and I swear he may fall out. The pressure is damn near unbearable. I walk around literally holding my belly to make it easier.

See? He now resides IN my pelvis.

Early morning funny

This morning when Charlotte woke up, I got her and put her in bed with us, as snuggling/jumping on Daddy is one of her favorite things and he is usually gone by the time we wake up (he works a 6a-2p shift).

We were both on our sides facing each other with Charlotte between us. She came over to me, lifted my shirt and said "Baby brudder in dere?"

"Yes, unfortunately for Momma's sore body, baby brother is still in there."

"I feel?" she presses her hand against the left side of my belly, trying to catch a flutter of movement, something I've been doing with her as Sawyer's kicks are now more than hard enough for anyone to feel.

"Sorry baby, that's where his back and hienie are; his feet and arms are kicking and punching the other side, towards the bed."

She looks at me with disinterest and removes her hand.

Then she turns to her father, presses her hand to his belly and says "I feel?"

Haiku Friday

No baby just yet
Still playing the waiting game
Could be any day

Maybe tomorrow
Maybe not for two more weeks
The suspense kills me

I try and focus
On my precious little girl
My second true love

Soon she'll have to share
Her Mommy and Daddy's heart
With a brand new life

I know she'll adjust
And love her little brother
But for now, it's us

So we bake cookies
And read books and watch Dora
Snuggle on the couch

She's my first baby
Forever my little girl
I'll enjoy these days

What day is it?

When you're on maternity leave and your toddler is on a break from her normal dayhome on Mondays and Thursdays, everyday is the same. I honestly thought yesterday was Friday for most of the day. Add on the fact that I keep forgetting there's a holiday this weekend and I feel like I'm walking around in this haze without a schedule.

I feel like I exist in this limbo, waiting for The Big Event and though I've hit a point of resignation and letting life take it's course, it doesn't dispel the fact that right now I feel a little bit like Groundhog Day. The same routine every day, without having a professional life or deadlines to meet, without trips to the gym, without shopping for hours, without chasing Charlotte at the park, has me bored to tears. I thrive on being busy and this sedentary portion of my life has me nuts.

I know that many of you are thinking, "Just wait a couple more weeks when you have two babies at home and then you'll be wishing you were bored" and you're probably right. I'll be looking back on these days of sleeping till 7:30, sitting on the couch writing and watching Dora till 9 am, and be reminiscent of all that "free" time I had.

But, for now? NOT having a life is killing me.

Every morning as I change her dry diaper (Seriously kid, PEE ON THE POTTY already), she runs through the gamut of what her day will bring. "We see Shell (her daycare provider)?" "We go swimming?" "We go see Ella (the woman at the gym daycare)?" "Daddy working?" "We see MiMi/Colin/MeMa/Gramma/Grampa?" "We go SHOPPING!?!"

And lately, all I do is tell her "No."

No, Michele has a boo-boo and you will see her in a couple weeks when she feels better.
No, Mommy is too big. We'll go to the gym again soon.
No, we'll go swimming this weekend at Gramma's.
No, Colin has school today. Mimi will bring him over later.
No, Mommy can't go shopping. Money is tight since I'm not working right now.

She's bored. I'm bored.

I'm looking forward to this holiday weekend. Even though Mike is working the holiday for extra money, we should have a great day on Saturday at a family BBQ. People fawn over Charlotte, giving me a break, and her and Gramma love the pool and literally can spend hours in it. There's no better sleep than that of a toddler who spent all day in a pool.

What are you doing for the holiday weekend?

Randomosity

Yesterday, my two-year old came to me and said, "We make purple cookies now, momma?"

Um, sure. I don't see why not.

So, we made chocolate chip cookies and I put blue and red food dye in and topped them with the new purple Premium M&Ms.

But where in the hell did she get that from?

Between needing purple cookies and insisting that she is indeed Chinese, I have no idea what goes through this kid's head.

Currently

As I type this, my daughter is outside playing with her babysitter who has offered to come over a morning or two a week to play with her - go on walks, climb her "wocky walls", etc. It's a pretty nice day, slightly warm but with a nice breeze. I am sitting with my feet up, laptop on whatever lap I have left, and Animal Planet on in the background. In my defense, I already did the dishes, washed the counters, cleaned the fridge up, and vacuumed. I am happy Charlotte gets to get outside to play and work off her toddler energy - which is often transformed into fits and tantrums when she is bored. I also know I need this break and that the alternative - sitting on the couch while my kid is bored in the house - is not a good option. However, I still feel guilty. I feel lazy. Even though logically I know I'm not, I feel useless. But I've come to accept this and am trying to be better at accepting help, something I totally suck at.

I've also come to accept the fact that this baby will come when he's good and ready. Though Charlotte has many of her father's qualities, she possesses my impatience and stubbornness (I like to think of it as strong-willed and independent) and maybe that explains her early dash to enter the world. Maybe Sawyer is like his Daddy - laid back and relaxed, with no real rush to get anywhere. Despite my discomfort, I know he will come when he is ready and that's what's best for him. I'm not sure if this is utter resignation or silent hope that I'll be proven wrong and he'll come this weekend (I am quite fond of the thought of a 4th of July baby). In any case, I want him to come when he is ready, not when I am (which was about 9 months ago).

In the meantime I will still whine to my husband how much I don't want to be pregnant anymore. I will moan and grunt when I try to get off the couch, floor, or roll over in bed. I will waddle through the stores, having to stop every few minutes to get through another Braxton Hicks that stops me in my path. I will smile at the people who look at me with pity and continue to answer "any day now!" when people ask me "When ARE you due?"

But I will do it, mostly because I have no real choice in the matter, and because I know that my son will come when he is ready.

And when he does, I will start counting how many beers he owes me on his 21st birthday.

A milestone

I've never been this pregnant before. I had had Charlotte by this time last pregnancy. As of this week, I am technically full-term and Sawyer is more than welcome to come out at any time. Soon would work for me.

(37 weeks)

Search hits

I see a few people do these on a regular basis and they always crack me up. Here are some of the more colorful search-engine queries that have lead people to my site:

► peed myself again
Ah yes, I know that feeling well.

►help, there's a toddler in my house
If you find an answer to this, please let me know.

►ninja baby
Yes, I have one of those in utero, too. Hopefully not for much longer.

►can I hurt my fetus by poking my belly
If you could, mine would be screwed since I have a two-year old jumping on him regularly.

►can I eat taco bell while in my 2nd trimester
Can you?!? I wouldn't recommend NOT having taco bell while pregnant. It's one of the only times it's justifiable. Then, and when in a drunken stupor at 3 am.

►taye diggs is hot
Yes. Yes he is.

►tired of worrying about BPA
Yeah, me too. Damn parenting gig. Always worrying about not poisoning our kids. Hard work, eh?

►saltnpepa is they pregnant?
Um, what? I'll cutchoo.

►wife sleeps in the morning while I clean
I love you.

►my husband put music on at home and gave me a karate chop in the head
There are no words.

Watching too much Discovery Channel

Last night, I had a dream I was a crew member on board a ship on the Deadliest Catch. The night before, I was racing sharks. Neither of which I'd ever want to do. Like ever.

I really don't know how I'm dreaming at all considering I only sleep for an hour or two at a time and then need to flip over because my extremities are asleep or I have to pee, or both. Last year, we bought a rather expensive bed - a king Tempurpedic - you know, the ones on the commercials that use the same material as NASA? The kind that hold your body shape? The kind where the chick in the nightie jumps up and down on one side of the bed but the wine glass stays still on the other?

And it was one of the best investments we ever made and is probably the only reason I'm sleeping at all and my husband hasn't murdered me. He barely notices me moving all night long, unless I - ahem - inadvertently smack him for sleeping so soundly.

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Last night, we went to PF Chang's for dinner - a mother's day gift from my in-laws that we just now got around to using. We had 100$ in gift certificates and since I knew this may be our last night out alone together for some time, I fully intended to eat as close to $100 as I could. We got two appetizers (three if you count the second round of steamed veggie dumplings I ordered), our meals, Mike had two mojitos, and we got a few of those little "shot glass" desserts. Anyway, the point of this story is not the awesome food we had. It was the stares.

People literally stared at me the whole time. While being walked to our table, I could see people glaring at me. Then, when I had to track back because I had to pee, I felt those same stares. I thought maybe I was being self-conscious and overly sensitive. But when I finally sat down, Mike was like "People literally stopped eating and stared at you while you walked by," and they did. At the table, my stomach kept me almost a foot from the table and during our conversation, I'd look around and see people whispering to their tablemates and then they'd all look over at me. I made Mike check my teeth, my white pants, my hair, make sure I had no boogers. Nope, they were all staring at MY GIANT SELF.

No longer am I the cute pregnant girl who gets the little side smiles and small tidbits of conversations from other pregnant women or mothers. I'm not the other woman trawling the maternity sale racks in Target you strike up a conversation with because - hey look! she's pregnant too.

I am the "Oh my God, how is she still walking?" pregnant woman.

The one they feel sorry for.

The one people say "Wow, any minute now, huh?" or "Goodness, you're about to pop!" to.

The one people just HAVE to show their friends because Holy Hell, doesn't she look uncomfortable!

Oh well. I always wanted people to stare at me when I walked through a room. I guess I'll take what I can get.