Chubba-Bubba

In the car the other day Bella handed me a CD and asked me what it was. I looked at it and saw that it was my 'Best of Lynard Skynard' disc. She asked if it was good music, so I popped it into the CD player. The first track was 'Sweet Home Alabama' and I actually said, "Oh, you'll need to know this song". As though it is required knowledge for getting through life. Maybe it isn't, but it sure helps when you're listening to a bad cover band or in close proximity to a jukebox. Plus, we live so close to Alabama that it's almost an anthem. I have seen grown men tear up at the sound of this song. Granted, they were intoxicated grown men, but nonetheless: it's a good song to know. Nothing like some good old southern rock. I'm proud of my southern roots - my family has lived in the south, in the same area I live in now, literally for generations. My children are rich in culture, heritiage and tradition: my husband's father is Filipino, and his mother is Cajun. They are lucky, my children. They will eat collards, and gumbo, and sinigang. When my daughter speaks she uses the southern stand-by 'y'all' and 'yes ma'am'. She loves to imitate her great Paw-Paw's thick french-cajun accent, and her everyday language is sprinkled liberally with tagalog words: ate (aunt), kili-kili (armpit) and others. I am proud of their diverse heritage, and I hope they will be, too.

Bubba had his four month check-up yesterday. He weights in just under fifteen pounds, so he gained roughly five pounds in a two month period. The white spot on his gums is actually a tooth - I had thought it might be, but it seemed too soon and not in the center, but the doctor said it is a tooth. He is healthy and strong, running smack average on all his statistics - height, weight, all that. So he's a healthy kid. Hooray! She said he can have solids if he is ready, and to keep on with what we're doing and bring him back in a couple of months. Alright!

Bubba Grump

Bubba is officially weaned. I felt bad for a while, and still feel a little guilty, but I gave it my best try, and he just didn't want to do it. Or couldn't do it - since he's been on a bottle I have noticed what he does to the nipples and I'm pretty certain his tongue-tie is worse than everyone thought. I'll check with his doctor Tuesday, but I think that was the problem.

We have finally scheduled Bubba's baptism. We had to wait on my Father-in-law to get back from the Philippines and my sister-in-law's husband to get out of boot camp, but now that everyone is present and accounted for we can move forward. The same priest that baptized me when I entered the church will be performing the baptism, which is kind of neat. I was absolutely amazed at the difference in the rules from when Bella was baptized to now. When Bella was baptized I wasn't catholic, so my perspective was very different, as well, but:

• Bella: had seven Godparents (another Filipino tradition, for some), none of whom were actually confirmed practicing catholics. A couple of them were baptized catholic, and one had made it as far as first communion, but that was it.


• Bubba: only permitted two Godparents, at least one of whom has to be a confirmed, practicing catholic and can provide a letter from their parish priest to verify that.


• Bella: we registered at the parish the day we called the parish office to set up Bella's baptism.


• Bubba: you are required to be registered at the parish for three months prior to arranging a baptism.


• Bella: The state of our marriage was never brought up.


• Bubba: When I called to set up a meeting with the priest I was asked about our marriage, and the first things Father did in the meeting was schedule a convalidation.


• Bella: We took a brief class with a deacon and then he performed the baptism after a mass. There was not a priest involved at all.


• Bubba: We met with the parish priest for roughly an hour where he discussed baptism with us, and he will be performing the baptism himself after mass.

I'm certain all the changes are for the better, but it was quite interesting.


On a lighter note, let me just tell you: nobody celebrates a sacrament better than Filipinos. Oh, yes, friends and neighbors, immediately following Bubba's baptism there will be a lunch to beat all lunches on the shores of beautiful Perdido Bay, and as per tradition, there will be lechon (I will be having chicken - I like pork, but pulling it straight off a pig is a bit unsettling for me), and pansit, and lumpia, among other things. It is Filipino tradition to have a huge, blowout party following the reception of a sacrament. My in-laws were stationed back in the Philippines when my sister-in-law was baptized, and it was huge - like, close down the block and invite the entire community huge. We are not taking it that far, but it's apparently going to be pretty big. My in-laws are planning most of it - I'm just around to help roll lumpia and carry things, I think. I'm not going to stress over it, though - I'm just going to keep in mind that my baby will be baptized and that is what matters most, that is the highlight of the day. Yikes!


Bubba is slowly becoming more and more picky, and he makes me laugh on a regular basis. He loves to be out and about - he is the most portable child in the world. You can take him anywhere, and as long as he can see what is going on around him, he is a happy camper. But take him home? Forget it. Homebound Bubba is an unhappy Bubba. When I tell people this, they say, "Well, just take him out!". It's not that easy, though. I take him out whenever possible, but I cannot drop everything else I have to do - housework, taking care of my other child, sleep, things like that, just to keep him entertained and happy. I would love to spend every moment of my day being entertained, as well, but that isn't exactly how life works. Bubba is going to have to learn that lesson early.


People don't believe me, but he is slowly starting to reveal himself. My sister took both kids to the zoo last week, and he was good as gold while they were at the zoo, but once they got back to her house? He screamed his little head off. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law took him out shopping with them the other day, and he was almost angelic. But once he was home? He was fussy. Tuesday we went to lunch, two museums, then a long walk that ended up at a downtown pier with one of those interactive water fountains. A long, long (hot!) day during which he only cried briefly when he was getting sleepy. And then once again, upon our return home? Grumpy, fussy and whiny. I'll never understand it. But I guess it is a good thing that he is good somewhere. I'll take what I can get.


He is also starting to show a preference for certain people and a slight aversion to some (but not all) strangers. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it, though - he will spend all of Bella's swimming lesson in the arms of a stranger, just some woman who walked by and wanted to hold him, and he will be perfectly OK. But then when Jacelyn's swim teacher holds him, he sticks his bottom lip out as far as it will go and cries even though he has known her almost since birth. We ran into a friend of ours at Wal-Mart, and when she leaned over him to talk to him he started crying. But, when I went to the uniform exchange at Bella's school, one of her friend's dads held him the whole time and he never protested - he even cooed and gurgled and made little cute spitty noises and had everyone in the room fooled...I mean, charmed.


He seems to like men - he will behave like an angel for his daddy, or one of his uncles, or any man that he knows (and some he doesn't). At night, it takes me about twenty minutes of rocking and cajoling and singing and patting to get him to sleep, and throughout all of it he screams his head off like I am hurting him until he finally gives in and sleeps. He does the same thing for my sister-in-law, who watches him while I work. But he will sit in his daddy's lap and slowly drift off, never protesting, just sitting still and quiet and falling peacefully off to sleep.


Bella got her report card and she had a wonderful year in kindergarten. And on top of her good 'grades' and behavior, she missed only one day and was tardy only once for the entire year. Hooray! She is spending her summer so far playing Wii and catching up on her cartoons. Swimming is going well - she is enjoying it, and we are signed up and paid for lessons through mid-July, so she is excited about that. I think, however, that after that we are going to take a break and not do anything for a while. Swimming has been every Monday, Wednesday and Friday since April, and while she had enjoyed it and learned a lot, it will be nice to just have nothing to do for a while, until school and Girl Scouts get started again.

I will close with this little tidbit: my apartment is apparently where roly-poly bugs come to die. I have noticed sugar ants lately, and an increase in the amount of spiders, but every time I sweep (which is generally daily) I am finding deceased roly-polys. I'm sure they are looking for moisture, and it is hot as all blazes outside (the temperature last Saturday with the heat index was 108) so that has to be why they are coming in, but I don't understand why they have to die. The ants and spiders are surviving, why not the harmless little roly-polys? Poor things. They hold a special place in Bella's heart as they are the only insect she will touch. We do have a picture of her holding a butterfly she raised from a caterpillar, but in the picture she is looking warily at the butterfly and holding her sleeve closed, so it doesn't really count. If Bella finds them she puts them outside, regardless of whether they are dead or alive. I didn't stay on top of sweeping them off the patio and she noticed that they weren't moving and got a little upset. When I explained the whole moisture thing (it was the best I could come up with) she decided that, from now on, we should keep a bowl of water outside for the roly-polys. So, if you were to look at my patio, you would see a bunch of dead plants in colorfully painted pots, one live plant that needs transplanting, and a little bowl of water for roly-polys. Six is a magical age.

A Mother's Confession

Side note: I have decided to finally give my daughter an internet pseudonym, so from now on she will be referred to as Bella (I like the Latin root and the Italian translation). So I have a Bella and a Bubba. What a pair!

Down to the confession: Bubba is a grumpy baby. He is saved from being completely unpleasant for others to be around by the fact that he is very cute, but his disposition is less than sunny. I certainly don't love him any less, in fact now that I've lived with it for a while it can be funny, but it has been a long, loud road.

My husband can't abide it, and will stand on his head sideways to entertain him. I don't always have that luxury. My mother-in-law even bought us the bouncy seat, the high chair, and the jumperoo from the Rainforest Collection to help us try and entertain his majesty, but on the rare occasion that Bubba will relent and sit in one of them he never stays long. I keep a basket in the living room full of baby toys, and a lovely big blanket for him to scooch around on, but that doesn't last long, either. I can carry him around while I do things around the house, and he will yell and squeal and complain in a generally unpleasant way. There is no pleasing him, sometimes.

That is why, from time to time, he can be found in his Mercedes of high chairs (it has a cool toy that fits into the tray that plays music and lights up and spins), squalling his ever-loving little head off while I make dinner or clean up the kitchen. My husband is horrified by this, and if he calls while I am letting the prince cry he cannot/will not stay on the line and talk.

I can't call it colic - it isn't colic. It just seems to be high-maintenance, sensitive baby. He can wake up from a nice nap, be fed and diapered in a timely manner and seem to have no discernible reason at all to be unhappy, but he will be. And it isn't a "there-is-something-wrong-with-me- that-needs-immediate-attention" cry. It's mostly an "I-am-undecipherably-unhappy-and-or-possibly-bored-and-want-to-make-sure-you-and-the-neighbors-know-it" kind of cry. I call him a diva, which my husband also hates, but it is too true. My mother-in-law didn't believe me, until one day that she was watching him for me and he did the same for her. When I came to pick him up she was waiting for me at the door, baby in hand, car seat at the ready. Most days she encourages us to stay, possibly even for dinner, but that day she was done. All she would say was, "He is so bad!" as she shoved us out the door.

He hates his car seat, and screams the instant he is put into it. He hates to be hot, so boy do we have a rough summer approaching - temperatures are already in the nineties, so August promises to be hot and loud. He cries every time I sneeze (just me, for some reason).

I could go on and on. But I won't. Instead I will also note that:

--I am guaranteed a smile if, while he's eating, I tell him to go to sleep. Only under those particular circumstances, with those words, but if I follow the rules it works every time.

--I am astonished and impressed by his ability to pee through his diaper once daily. We have tried different diapers, different positions for his business end, you name it and I have attempted it, but still he manages to pee through his diaper and all over his clothes once a day, every day. What moxy!

--Occassionally he will take a break from complaining and switch to a more pleasant yelling noise. It's filled with enthusiasm and makes me laugh every time.

--Sometimes, just looking at him makes me tear up with a fierce sense of joy and love at having him in my life.

--He loves his sister. You can tell by the way he looks at her, by the way he smiles at her, and by the way she can get him to cackle. Twice now he has immediately stopped his yowling when she got into the car with us in carpool. Just at the sight of her. How cool is that!

He might be grumpy, but he's mine, and I love him. And I have heard that a grumpy baby can turn in to a well-behaved and pleasant toddler, so here's hoping that's true. I just try and remember how fleeting these days are, and how one day I will look back and long for him to be a little grumpy baby again.

Victory and Defeat

I managed to remember to have flowers for Jacelyn to bring to school for Mary's crowning. I forgot last year, and she left the car in tears saying, "But mommy, they are flowers for Mary!" (Talk about guilt!). I couldn't even run to the store to get some and bring them back to her because they went straight into mass from morning prayer. I felt horrible all year and made a point of remembering this year. And I did! Hooray!


The last few days have been full of ups and downs, highs and lows, pretty much across all lines.
For example: Jacelyn, on her third week of swim lessons, did the backstroke for the entire length of the pool yesterday, entirely on her own. However, while I was watching her do so, her brother took the opportunity to spit up (possibly everthing he had eaten over the course of the day) all over my right arm and shoulder. His face was also covered in this bizarre, mucus-y spit-up. When I attemped to wipe his face with a blanket it wouldn't wipe off, it just sort of smeared. This occurred fairly early on in the swim lesson, allowing ample time for us to sit in the sun and for the spit-up and its' lovely smell to bake into my clothes and skin.

Bubba has gotten into the habit of waking up sometime between 12am and 2am to eat and then stays up for an hour or so. He will eventually fall back asleep and then wake up every two hours after that to eat. This leads to exhaustion on my part, because my sleep cycle is so broken. I feel like some sort of zombie, daily. This is causing me all sorts of problems. I can't manage to stay awake until my husband gets home from work (at anywhere between 9pm and 11pm). Last night I couldn't even stay up to get Jacelyn in bed - I fell asleep on the sofa with Bubba, and Jacelyn climbed up with us and fell asleep, too. I find myself frazzled by the slightest difficulty, and quick to get angry or overwhelmingly sad. I am frustrated with myself, most of all, and what seems to be a lack of ability to get anything done in a timely manner, or well, or at all. I am worried: is post-partum depression? Or just lack of sleep? Or is this regular old depression? Add to that some conflicts with my husband over household stuff and I am just stressed out.

I need to pick myself up, dust myself off, and do what I have to do, and eventually I'll feel better. But keep me in your thoughts and prayers - I'm having a tough time right now. Thanks!

I knew it

Well, my predictions were accurate - bad latch, bad supply. Mix that in with a tongue-tie (although not an extremely severe one) and we have every reason in the world to have problems. The solution? Patience. I was afraid of that - the one thing (ok, one of many) that I am in short supply of, and that's the one thing I need to solve this problem. I just have to wait it out, not show stress when he won't nurse, don't push the issue, etc. Latch 15 times until we get a good one, and then patiently go through the process again when he breaks the latch himself. It will be a long road, but I have renewed hope. That and I had to buy more formula last night, and what I paid for it made me wince. So I have renewed hope and a resolve to not buy many more $25 cans of formula. I don't understand the whole brand thing when it comes to formulas - is one brand better than another? Are store-brand generics just as good as the brand names? This is all new to me. Me and my friend Mr. Google will have to spend some time together to figure all this out.

Thanks to those that wished me well, and thanks to those who endured my breast-related rambling. Hopefully I will be done with all that now, with the exception of noting how well everything is going. Hopefully.

Hey, get a load of these....

I find myself eagerly anticipating an appointment during which I will expose my breasts to a complete stranger for comments and questions. Sigh. I mentioned to a male friend that it seems like breasts are all I think about, and he said "Me, too". Although I'm thinking about them in a baby feeding, life sustaining way, and he's thinking about them in a different manner altogether.

I made an appointment with a local lactation office. The woman I spoke with on the phone was so stymied by my description of what Bubba does during our attempts at nursing that she asked me to come in today. So here's hoping we get things figured out, because we have reached a critical point in this process where we work it out or we stop completely.

Here's my prediction:

• My supply is low and must be restored and increased
• Our latch and positioning is completely off and must be corrected

I know what our problems are, but I don't know how to correct them. So off I go to undress for a stranger. It's all worth it, though. And it's a heck of a lot cheaper than formula.

Hey Mama

Aimee over at The Mother Load just posted, in her hilariously funny way, her 10 Things I Didn't Know Before I Became a Mom, and I thought I would follow suit, even though I'm not as funny nor as good of a writer. So here it is:

Ten Things I Didn't Know Before I Became A Mom:

10. I did not know how specific you have to be as a mother. Example:

• "Blow your nose with a tissue", because otherwise she will just shoot snot out of her nose and onto the nearest person or object, as she did here.
• "Wash your hands in the sink" because otherwise she will wash them in the toilet. I cannot refer back to a blog post about it because it happened pre-blog, but it happened.

9. Like Aimee, I did not realize that every trip to the bathroom would be not only with an audience but also dramatically and loudly narrated by said audience, and that the audience would also expect a brief question and answer period as a follow up to what had transpired.

8. That letting my daughter her make her own mistakes and be her own person is good for her, but agonizing for me (when it goes poorly, that is).

7. That little baby boys really do pee on you when you let your guard down during diaper changes, almost every time.

6. That just the sight of either of my children can sometimes bring me to tears of joy.

5. That something as simple as just getting out of the car with two children, one of whom is an infant, can take ten minutes, three trips between the car and the house, and occasionally results in two out of the three of us crying.

4. That I would spend so much time fixated on what is coming out of my children, from where, and with what frequency and quantity: Did he poo today? How many times did he poo? Did she poo? Is that pee on his onesie? Was that throw-up or spit? In the same disgusting vein, I did not know that I would willingly pick someone else's nose, or that I would be so interested in the color and consistency of what emerged.

3. I did not know that my parents were telling the truth when they said the old "this will hurt me more than it hurts you" line. It can be agonizing. Sometimes it isn't, but most of the time is it. And I am referring to punishment in general, not spanking, although I'm certain it holds true for both.

2. That I wouldn't be able to refrain from laughing when she did something like loudly and forcefully pass gas in a quiet church cafeteria meeting. I wrongly assumed that with motherhood came the ability to not be amused by by things like that, but that didn't happen to me. I frequently laugh at things I shouldn't.

1. That I could feel a sense of pride and overwhelming love but also a little sadness and regret every time she does something that shows me she is growing up. She is becoming a strong, independent, beautiful and creative little girl, and I am thrilled for her while also acutely aware that every step leads her further away from me. But that is how it is supposed to be. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

So there you go. Happy Mother's Day to all!

I dream of weaning....

Breastfeeding, as you could probably tell from the title, is not going well.

Anyone will tell you (I know this because I have been told this, repeatedly, over and over again, from a myriad of different people, from other mothers to doctors to lactation consultants) that breastfeeding is a natural thing. It is how we were intended to feed our babies. Well, it doesn't come naturally to me.

It was difficult with my daughter - I had terrible supply problems that culminated in me drinking mother's milk tea three times a day and taking six tables of Fenugreek daily (which if you didn't know makes you REEK of maple syrup - you smell like pancakes all day - your sweat, your urine, you name it) and pumping after feedings and drinking water until I thought I would float away and just working, very, very hard, at maintaining supply. I was thrilled to wean her, I'm ashamed to admit, because nursing had became a chore, almost a job.

Well, now, Bubba (our deliciously southern nickname for the new son, BTW - also known as 'Hubba Bubba' or 'Bubba Chunk' or 'Bubba Love', depending on my mood and his disposition) is giving me problems. I'm supplementing with formula while I'm at work - usually he takes 1/2 breastmilk and 1/2 formula, but when I'm at home, he won't nurse. He latches on and then pushes the breast away with his hand while pulling away with his mouth, breaking the latch himself in an exquisitely painful manner. He will only stay latched on for two or three seconds at a time, then pulls off and fusses, then roots around for the breast again, then I help him latch on again, and then he starts the process all over again. He will only stay latched on for maybe a minute or two at a time - and he'll even start swallowing, so I know he's getting milk, but then he will pull off again and fuss.

I know what is happening. Number one: general laziness and nipple confusion. Ever since his introduction to the bottle he has become increasingly frustrated at the breast. Why work so hard for milk direct from mom when it comes so much faster (and probably in greater quantity) from a bottle? And two would have to be latch problems. I can't pinpoint when they developed, I think around the same time as when he started taking a bottle regularly, but they might have existed before then and I wasn't aware enough of it. While knowing what is happening is good, I have no idea how to fix it.

I called a lactation consultant, who suggested breast shields, and if those didn't work to come in to the office. I tried the breast shields and they did not help at all. See, Bubba is a diva. Nursing with him is like a space shuttle launch - conditions have to be absolutely perfect in order for it to occur. He has to be on the Boppy - he will begrudgingly accept a pillow, but he isn't happy about it. He has to be in a certain position. The temperature has to be comfortable. He has to be in a house - he hates nursing in the car or somewhere in public. So throwing those silly little silicone shields into the mix only made him mad. When I first tried to get him to latch on to the shield he made a funny little disgusted face, immediately spit out the nipple and cried. He then refused to latch on with the shield on. As soon as I took the shield off, he latched on, but again, only for a second before pulling himself off again. I tried the shield a few more times but got the same response each time, so I gave up.

I will now have to actually seek out the presence and advice of a lactation consultant. I could go into a local hospital office and see them for free, but I am checking first to see how expensive it is to have a consultant come out to the house. I think that would be so much easier than trying to get an appointment after work, and tow Jacelyn along, and then Mr. I-Won't-Nurse-In-Public will be all fussy about nursing somewhere outside his comfort zones (meaning my house or one of my in-law's homes). So I have left a message and am waiting for a call back about having someone come out to the house. I'm trying to decide how much I'm willing to pay for the convenience, and bracing myself for it to be fairly expensive.

I am keeping my options open. I might end up being an exclusive pumper, or things might work out and Bubba and I could turn out to be nursing pros. Or, things might not work out and I might wean him, and while that is my last resort, I can't keep going on like this, and neither can he. It's unpleasant, uncomfortable and stressful for both of us, and if newborn baby and his momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. Or at least, ain't nobody sleeping.

Since this is a hot button issue I feel the need to say that nursing vs. formula is a personal choice that is entirely up to the individual and what is right for them and their baby. I judge no one for choosing either way. Nursing? Good for you. Using formula? Great. Whatever. To each his own, and good on you for loving and taking care of your baby.

Here's hoping things work out. And that the in-home consultant is cheap. Or, at least not too expensive.

A Quick Update

I have been absent from the internet since the birth of my little guy...to all three people who read this blog, I apologize. Little Guy joined us at 10:50AM on February 4th. I was having contractions Sunday (the 3rd) but not regularly enough to warrant anything. I went into the hospital at midnight for the induction. They put some pill on my cervix and I immediately started having more regular and intense contractions, and Brian promptly fell asleep.

Around 3am the nurse noticed that if I laid in any position other than on my left side, the baby's heartbeat weakened considerably. So I laid on my left side, and I was in agony. The contractions were very different from my labor with Jacelyn. I had them more often but they didn't last as long, and they didn't hurt as bad. They gave me a bag of IV fluids and made me wear an oxygen mask, which freaked me out. The baby's heartbeat was fluctuating, and my blood pressure was low.

I got my epidural around5am, and there were a couple of panicky moments throughout the morning, but after 10 minutes and about 8 pushes, Manning was born with his umbilical cord wrapped twice around his neck. There's obviously a lot more to be said about that, but those are the basics. We're both doing well, and I'll blog again when I can. Congrats to Aimee and her little guy - you've both been in my prayers!

Monday, Monday

Monday is still the day. I saw my doctor yesterday, and there are still no changes. He mentioned the whole 'cervix of steel' thing again. He did an ultrasound and I got to see a lazy Little Guy again, who was laying around and throwing an occasional elbow. Little Guy looks rather chunky - he has a big round belly.



Everything on the ultrasound looked good, and then after a quick check of my cervix my doctor said there's still nothing going on down there. He was almost apologetic about it, but I understand. He brought me to his office where he spoke with labor and delivery about scheduling me in for midnight Sunday (or Monday, depending on how you look at it). I get two doses of cervix gel, one at 1am and one at 4am, and then depending on how things are rolling he will start me on pitocin around 8am. He said the last mother he brought in like this didn't even need the pitocin and delivered around 10am. That would be nice. He said he thinks I will probably need the pitocin, but he is predicting that I'll have the baby somewhere between 12 and 2. He said if he's wrong I can yell at him but not hit him. Deal.



He filled out some paperwork that I have to bring with me to check in, and I joked with him that I was going to attempt to sneak in a couple of days early with it. He said that wouldn't work, as the paperwork was dated, but admired my moxy. Oh well - a girl has to try.

There has been some discussion of celebrating my birthday during Superbowl celebrations on Sunday night. Which is cool, but I don't know I necessarily want to eat a huge, heavy meal before heading off to give birth. Before I was induced with Jacelyn I wasn't feeling well, so I only ate some soup and toast, and I was very glad for that later. I can't imagine eating the ton of brisket that I would inevitably eat, plus various and assorted side dishes, and then going off to labor. Yuck. We don't have to celebrate my birthday this year - although it is the big 30 for me, I am much more focused on having a baby than anything else. We will see. We might do something Saturday night, but the Mardi Gras parade is Saturday afternoon, so everyone might be all tuckered out from that. Not me, of course - you couldn't get me to that parade with a cattle prod, but my in-laws want to take Jacelyn, and that's fine with me.

I have started having absolutely fierce Braxton-Hicks contractions every time I lay down. Nasty, painful things that stop as soon as I sit or stand up. But I like laying down! Last night I was exhausted, and went to bed early, but couldn't sleep from the pain of the stupid things. I attempted to persevere, to outlast them, but eventually they got so strong I thought maybe they could be the real thing. But as soon as I got out of bed it was like someone flipped a switch, the contractions stopped, and then I was almost afraid to lay down. I sat up until after midnight, and then I finally fell into bed and managed to fall asleep sometime later. I was awakened by contractions a couple of times after that, but I managed to fall back asleep afterwards, so it was OK. Sigh. My body seem to know what it is supposed to do, it just can't seem to do it in a productive way. That's Ok, though, I'm letting nature take its' course and that is a good thing. Isn't it? It is.

So there is where we are - no further along than we were before. But the light at the end of the tunnel is rapidly drawing nearer, and I will look at these few extra days as some extra time to get things wrapped up and ready. And as for having him on my birthday - well, who could ask for a better birthday gift? And I can remind him as he gets older, in that loving yet harping, motherly way, that I spent my 30th birthday in the hospital laboring to bring him into this world. Nah, I couldn't do that. Well, maybe. We'll see. :-)

It's My Due Date (and I'll cry if I want to)

Oh, thou foul, mocking baby ticker - zero days to go, indeed.

Here I am, on my due date (which I realize is more of a guideline, but still), sitting at work. People think I am crazy for working this far, but I would go crazy just sitting at home and waiting for something to happen, and we can use the money, so if I can work, why not work? This morning, when I was making Brian roll up my pant cuffs so they didn't get wet in all the puddles (and he tight-rolled them, too - you remember tight-rolling - he thought it was hilarious), he asked, rather hopefully, if I was feeling anything. He is off this weekend and I think he was hoping maybe it would go down on one of his days off. I had to tell him that no, there is nothing happening - barely any Braxton-Hicks contractions, no sign of my mucus plug, nothing. Nadda. He looked slightly crestfallen.

I am utterly charmed by how my job is handling the fact that I am working this far into my pregnancy - it's really rather sweet. Saturdays are usually a minimal staffing day around here, just me and one other person. I have specific instructions on what to do if I just don't feel like finishing out the day today, or if I go into labor while working today. I have a list of people to call and everything. It's lovely, and I work for and with some very wonderful, kind and sweet people for whom I am very grateful.

I have a few things left to do before Little Guy makes his arrival. I still have to clean out my car. I have washed and found places for his little newborn-sized clothing, but I have a large bag of clothes and accessories, both leftover from Jacelyn and that I have received as gifts, that still need washing and then a place to go. Our master bedroom is pretty much a disaster area - that seems to be the room we focused on the least when moving, sorting and unpacking, so there is quite a bit to be done in there. I have my bag half-packed, but not entirely, so I could do that as well. Maybe I will get all that done tomorrow, with Brian being home. And then I plan on being back at work Monday, but I will cut back to part-time, just staying until it is time to pick up Jacelyn from school. Then I have a OB appointment Tuesday, at which any progress will be taken into consideration and the induction date either moved up (I think he said it would be Thursday the 31st, if he moved it up) or left as it is. And then girl scouts Tuesday afternoon, and then back to the grind.

So that is all there is to report - that there is basically nothing to report. Last night I rubbed my belly and had a talk with Little Guy about all this not coming out stuff. He wriggled enthusiastically during the conversation but apparently took none of it to heart. Stubborn! These kids must get that from their father. So it seems I'm in it for the long haul, but that's OK. At least, for right now. Ask me next week.

Feast Day of St. Francis De Sales

"Some torment themselves in seeking means to discover the art of loving God, and do not know - poor creatures - that there is no art or means of loving Him but to love those who love Him - that is, to begin to practice those thing which are pleasing to Him." St. Francis De Sales

(from Oblates.org:)
Francis de Sales was convinced that God sees humanity as a great and varied garden, each person beautiful in his or her uniqueness. The various callings of life – soldier, prince, widow, married woman – are like the various flowers of the field; God loves them all. Through his or her own calling, each person can find a way to a deeper friendship with his or her creator. Francis approached people with genuine respect and gently guided them to recognize the unique path they would take in life. He made the journey to God joyful and possible for everyone to make. Above all, he advised against despair and the burden of fear.

'Go courageously to do whateveryou are called to do.
If you have any fears, say to your soul:
”The Lord will provide for us.”
If your weakness troubles you,
cast yourselves on God, and trust in him.
The apostles were mostly unlearned fishermen,
but God gave them learning enough
for the work they had to do.
Trust in him, depend on his providence;
fear nothing.'
St. Francis de Sales

For some wonderful reading, see his Introduction to the Devout Life . Even if you aren't catholic. St. Francis is my patron saint, so I am rather partial, but it is extremely well written and quite relevant, which is amazing since it was written four hundred years ago or so.

The light at the end of the tunnel....

....just got further away. I went to the doctor yesterday morning. I was totally exhausted from being up until 2AM the night before, so I didn't go to the appointment with the highest of spirits. My doctor was running late, and I sat in the waiting room for about thirty minutes before being called back. My blood pressure is still on an even keel, which is encouraging. I stripped down and covered myself with a lovely paper blanket and waited for the doctor. When he finally came in he poked around with the doppler, then he checked my cervix, and did some more poking, and expressed his astonishment that there had been absolutely no changes at all with the exception that the baby was high, quite high, actually too high. Great. He wanted to do an ultrasound to check Little Guy's position, so I had to wait for the ultrasound room to be open, and then once in the ultrasound room I had to wait for my doctor to free up time to come in and do the ultrasound.

The first thing we saw was, to quote my doctor, a "big old baby head". Little Guy is in the correct position, head down and such, he's just high up. Spectacularly high up. Everything looks good, apparently, and my doctor feels comfortable letting me go past my due date with monitoring. My body is just not doing anything it needs to do or is supposed to do to prepare to go into labor. We spoke after the ultrasound, and he explained to me that he could induce me, he could make me have contractions (even at one point saying, "I could make that lamp have contractions", which amused me - I love sarcasm), I could labor and labor and labor endlessly and ultimately end up having a C-section when my body flatly refuses to do what it is supposed to do. I don't want to have a c-section, and I see his point. You can't hurry nature, even when nature shows no inclination of starting things up on its' own. Fine! I'll wait.

He also mentioned that he checked his calender and that he thought February 4th was the best date for induction, apparently fitting well into his schedule and allowing me time to possibly enter labor on my own. February 4th also happens to be my 30th birthday.

So here's where I'm at:
--I am not having a baby this week
--I will probably not have a baby next week
--I will probably have a baby on my birthday.

Sigh. You never know, I could go into labor on my own. Right - ha! Either way, as long as Little Guy gets here safely, that's all that matters.

I don't know why this is so hard. I went eight days past my due date with Jacelyn and didn't get this miserable until right before I had her. I think that is because I was scared of labor, so while I was uncomfortable, at least it was a known discomfort. I have a lot more going on now, too - a five-year old, work, girl scouts. I didn't do anything in the last two weeks or so but sleep, before Jacelyn was born. So things are different, and you know what? I will allow myself to wallow in my misery a little bit, occasionally, because I think I have earned it. I'm basically forty weeks pregnant, and still working, still taking my daughter to school, still cooking dinner and cleaning my house and getting around (albeit slowly). I'm actually lucky, if I think about it - there are people who have complications who can't do any of that and would probably love to. So, I feel like crap, but 1.) that's OK, and 2.) it could be worse. I can live with that. I really am very fortunate.

I am feeling paranoid and irritated with people. This morning, I was leaving Wal-Mart and a woman walking past gave me this look - the only way I can think of to describe it is a combination of disgust and dismay. I actually did a double-take, thinking that I had imagined the look, but no, she was still doing it, going so far as to actually turn around while walking to continue to look at me. Then, at work today, I stood up to help a customer and she actually said, "Oh my gosh, you are very pregnant, aren't you?". Nooooooo, really? Am I? I hadn't noticed. Good looking out, Captain Obvious.

My disposition has not improved. I can summon up patience with a few people close to me, but that's about it. Brian is driving me crazy - I'm not entirely certain he'll survive this pregnancy. Sunday, after I had spent the day working around the house, going grocery shopping with a five year old in tow, and then making sure he had dinner when he came home (late and without calling), the only thing he commented about was the fact that there was water on the kitchen floor and, horror of horrors, his sock got wet. And he didn't just say, "Oh, my sock is wet", he had to make a huge deal out of it - "Oh, geez, are you serious? Are you serious? My sock is wet, look at that, what is the deal in here, look at my sock, it is so wet, aww, man..." and so on. I chose to ignore that and him for most of the rest of the night, but I was pretty irritated. I try and keep my comments to a minimum, because my normal sarcasm is magnified by hormones and my comments can get pretty scathing and mean if I don't check myself.

That's all for now. I'll keep things updated, but the likelihood of having anything transpire to require said updating is slim. Sigh.

Just stuff

From the 'you know you're nine months pregnant when...' file: The other night I got up from the couch, where I was snuggling with Jacelyn, and went into the kitchen to get a sip of OJ. I returned to the couch, which Jacelyn had vacated in my absence, and when I sat down noticed a damp spot on the cushion. My first thought? 'Oh man, did I pee?'. I ascertained that no, I had not wet myself or the furniture, and realized it was from Jacelyn's still-damp from the shower hair. Whew.

I'm still pregnant, still tired, and there's still nothing going on. Even the Braxton-Hicks contractions have stalled out. My patience with people is virtually nonexistent, which is bad if you work in retail. I have become utterly anti-social. Today, when I was waiting in carpool to pick Jacelyn up, I opened my phone and put it up to my ear so it would look like I was on the phone and I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. That's terrible! I have to struggle against these reclusive, hermit-like feelings. I just want to hide in my house, emerging only for doctor's appointments and to give birth. However, I still have to take Jacelyn to and from school, go to and from work, and do girl scout stuff. You would think I would be trying (or wanting) to get out and do things before I have the baby, but noooooooo. I don't want to go out shopping, I don't want to go out to eat, I don't want to go anywhere. Maybe it's because I run around so much in my day-to-day routine that, by the time I have a chance to be home, I just want to be home. Hopefully it's some harmless reason like that and not any sort of mental disorder.

So that is where I leave you. Still no baby, and no sign of baby showing any interest in making an appearance any time soon. Oh, but the drummer from the Foo Fighters was in the store today (Taylor Hawkins)! I was starstruck from a distance, because I was dealing with someone on the phone, but I was still starstruck. He is the first non-classical famous musician that I have met at work. Since I missed out on Whitesnake all those years ago. Ha! Have a good weekend!

So do I get a cape for that, then?

I have a superpower, I discovered yesterday. Apparently, according to my doctor, I have a "cervix of steel". Every time I type that I can hear that guy that did the narration for the Muppet Show's 'Pigs in Space' segment. You know, it went "PIGS......IN.........SPAAAAAAAACE". Well, apparently I have a "CERVIX......OF........STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL".

I am still holding at two centimeters dilated, and not at all effaced. There is nothing going on down there. Nadda. I will confess to being discouraged. My doctor and I talked about my options-he doesn't want me to go past 40 weeks, or at least not very far past 40 weeks., because of the SUA. I really didn't want to be induced - I really wanted to go into labor on my own, but I have reached that point where I am OK with being induced, because I am so over being pregnant, and of course because it is what is best for the baby. I voiced my hesitancy to him, and he said that I will not have the same experience I had when Jacelyn was born. He assured me that I could have my epidural at any point I felt ready for it (even sarcastically offering to give it to me right then, which made me love him even more). So if I make it to my next appointment, which he thinks (and I must admit I agree ) that I will, we are going to discuss a date for induction. And really, that's OK with me. I freely admit that I have caved. I gave in without a fight and barely a consideration to the "I-will-do-this-on-my-own" conviction that I thought I possessed so strongly. I would still like to go into labor on my own. Hey, you never know. But the teeny bit of intuition I possess says - it ain't happening.

I'm feeling better about things - I have Little Guy's bag packed, and my own bag partially packed. I do wonder about the weather -the high is in the 60's all next week, and I wonder if the clothes I packed for him will be too warm. But anyway: all the little things that needed to be washed and/or assembled to prepare for his arrival has been washed and/or assembled. The only thing I have not done is clean out my car. I'll get to it, I think. I have to.

But that's it - me and my cervix of steel are just hanging out. Waiting. Stubbornly not doing a thing that we should be doing. Because that is how we roll.

Stick a fork in me....

....preferably one of those crochet-hook forks that doctors use to break your water, because I AM DONE. Finished. I don't care how ill-prepared the house or car might be, I am ready to have this baby.

Yesterday morning I woke up and got out of bed to discover that Little Guy had dropped down a little lower. I don't understand who decided to call this process 'lightening'. I do not feel 'light'. I feel heavy, large and lumbering. I feel awkward and tired and the pressure in my belly when I stand up is, while not unbearable, quite unpleasant. Yesterday I would work around the house for ten or fifteen minutes and then take a ten or fifteen (or sometimes twenty) minute break. This seemed to work well for me until I got up from one such break and was standing at the sink washing out my burner pans and realized: I did not feel any better. I felt exactly the same as I did when I went to sit down fifteen minutes earlier. I gave up and retired to the sofa for a while to watch a show about rogue elephants, while feeling rather elephant-like myself.

I have another doctor's appointment tomorrow morning, and I am feeling very torn on the idea of a cervix check. While I would like to know if I am progressing, if I found out nothing was happening down there I'm afraid it might depress me a little bit. I've been two centimeters and holding for weeks now. Even one more centimeter would be enouraging. I might not get a choice this week, though. I don't know.

At any rate, I don't think there will be a baby this week. I think it could happen sometime next week, but I don't think it will be this early. But what do I know. Very little. We'll see!

Two more weeks (hopefully!)

I wrote a scathing, complaint-and-whine-laced post the other day about the PTA meeting I had to attend that night in order to get Jacelyn's report card. I am now glad that I didn't post it, but I did save one (large!) paragraph to give you an idea of the absolutely horrible mood I was in about the whole thing:

I can't stand PTA - wait, scratch that, 'HSO' meetings. The sitting for so long kills me. I end up having to use the restroom in the cafeteria (since I cannot manage to go longer than five minutes without using the restroom) and let me assure you, those smaller scaled toilets do not make for a graceful dismount when you are nine months pregnant. Not to mention the fact that I usually have to go straight from work and am hungry, and tired. And a miniscule amount of time seems to be dedicated to things that actually matter, actual business, but it takes someone ten minutes to remind us all to save our old cell phones and printer cartridges. Why? Why does that take ten minutes? I propose a one stop, one person presentation on every day type of fundraisers. Instead of ten minutes being spent on Box Tops, just lump all those daily things, the ink cartridges and the Box Tops and the gift card sales into one brief presentation that basically reminds people that if they do those things, the school makes money without you, your friends, neighbors, and loved ones having to buy overpriced gift wrap, chocolates and/or cookie dough all in the interest of supporting your child's education. And when people ask questions, even though they are well within their rights and perfectly entitled to do so, it makes me want to scream and throw things at them. I just want to jump out of my seat, preferably scattering chairs around me in a loud and dramatic fashion, and scream, "Is no one else hungry? Or tired? Does everyone else have someone to get their child into bed on time? BECAUSE I DON'T, AND I WANT TO GO HOME!". I do have someone to watch my child, understand, she won't be home alone or anything, but they are not the responsible, make sure she is showered and eats dinner and is ready for bed type of babysitter. No, these are the feed her candy and let her get dirty and hyper and then send her home ten minutes before bedtime wide awake and shrieking from over-stimulation. Sigh.

Yeah, there was more, that is the sad part. Keep in mind that I am terribly, vastly pregnant and not feeling well and was very tired that day. But: I went to the meeting and got the report card and it was very good! She has improved in all the areas she was supposed to improve in, and got good marks generally all around. Good for her! I'm very proud of her, and I let her know it.

I pre-registered at the hospital yesterday, and took a brief tour of the maternity ward. It finally hit me - holy crap, I'm having a baby. At some point, relatively soon-ish, I am having a baby. Holy crap. I turned in my birthing preferences sheet, which really just said the following:
-I want an epidural (and that right soon)
-I want to breastfeed ASAP after delivery
-I want to see Jacelyn ASAP after delivery
Those were my largest concerns. I opted for rooming in, and breastfeeding, of course. I was amused by the section that allowed you to list people you didn't want around you in the hospital. I understand why they do that, don't get me wrong, but it was funny to think about. That is one good thing about hospitals - they will play the bad cop and kick people out. Of course, as much as you are paying them, they should. Right after I had Jacelyn a bunch of Brian's friends descended on the maternity ward. They were well behaved but I was exhausted, and was trying to think of a polite way to get rid of them when a nurse came in and kicked them out so she could check me. During the check she noted that I looked tired, and asked point-blank if I wanted her to get rid of them. I gratefully agreed, and once she opened the door she announced that I was tired and needed my rest, and told them they could return the next day. She even told Brian to walk them out. I loved it, and was able to settle in and have a few moments alone.

Last night we went out to dinner, and I had a moment in the ladies room: I couldn't fit into the stall. There was only one stall, and the door opened into the stall and hit the toilet halfway in, effectively preventing the door from opening any further. Also blocking my entrance was the huge toilet tissue dispenser. I tried a few times to get in - different angles and such, and then just gave up. Jacelyn thought it was hilarious - "Mommy, you won't fit!", but I was not amused. I ended up sneaking into the men's room and using that (after a good, thorough wipe-down), because not using the restroom wasn't an option. A general rule with me lately is that if I am going to be somewhere longer than about fifteen minutes, I locate the restroom because I know that at some point in the near future, I will need it.

I have the baby's things packed. A couple of outfits (one with a hat), a couple pairs of socks. Some hand mitties. I threw in a pacifier, although I'm not going to let anyone know it is there. Jacelyn had some trouble latching on, so we had to avoid the pacifier in order to prevent nipple confusion. I will have the binkie just in case. But it's my little secret.

What I have not done is packed my own things. I have a general idea of what I want to bring in the way of toiletries and such, but what to wear, both while in the hospital and when leaving the hospital, is throwing me off. I'll probably deal with that tomorrow - my plan is to finish packing the bag, and to clean out the car. And then, most likely, to put the bag in the car. I guess. And then to clean, because I don't want to go into labor with a dirty house. Well, it's not dirty, but it doesn't look great. Cluttery-ish, kind of. Here's hoping the nesting instinct kicks in again so I can get it all done.

Two weeks and counting!

Sick and tired

I am still sick. I am still coughing and hacking and blowing my nose and feeling cold and tired and run down and yucky. And the big routine starts back again on Mondays - of feeling constantly behind, constantly in a hurry, rush here and there and to get things done and I am just not feeling like getting back into it, not at all. Sigh.

I have been having the occassional contraction that I think could be real, but I'm not really sure. But they are infrequent, really rather few and far between. I really have no idea when this baby will come. My intuition is completely silent on this one. Predictions have been made, however - some serious, some not so serious. I have no prediction, I just have a date I would like to have the baby on - I would love the 24th. Because 1.) that is the feast day of my patron saint, and 2.) Jacelyn was born on April 24th, so I would just have to keep months straight, not dates. Others have offered up the following (keep in mind my due date is January 26th. Also keep in mind Jacelyn arrived ten days past her due date):

Brian: says January 25th
Clark: says during the season premier of 'Lost', which would be January 31st. I expressed horror at the thought of going over my due date, and Brian expressed horror at missing the season premier, going so far as to lean over and tell my stomach: "Any day but that one, buddy".
Michelle (my SIL): says Superbowl Sunday. I say no way, as that (Feb. 3rd) is even further past my due date, and the day before my 30th birthday. Yikes!

That's about it for now. I am going to get some work done and wade through another sinus-clouded day before I can go home and stuff kleenex up my nose. Later!

No baby this week

That was what my doctor said this morning. No baby this week, but he thinks it will be in two or three weeks (I really have four weeks to go, to my 'official' due date. But, as he said, when you're dealing with nature, it's all just a guessing game. I am dilated two centimeters, but not effaced in the least, so something is happening, but not a whole lot. And that's fine - baby needs to stay in as long as he needs to stay in, I'm cool with that. For now. Ask me again next week. I have already had two sniveling fits about being big and miserable and ready to have this baby, and there's four weeks to go. That's all for now. Happy New Year to all. Hopefully midnight will find me asleep, that's my wish for the new year. Blessed, peaceful sleep. Best to all!

Not fair!

I am sick. Hacking, congested cough, snotty nose, sore throat. I would like it duly noted for the record - someone in the great scheme of things, please jot this down: it is not fair to be nine months pregnant and sick. Your energy is already sapped. Precious sleep is already at a minimum. You can't take any medicine, at least not anything that really works. When you cough or sneeze, the danger of peeing on yourself is very great. Add to the cough/cold combination another unpleasant condition that starts with a 'C' (I am, as a dear friend puts it, 'all stoved up', if you catch my drift), and I am miserable. But that's OK, it will get better. Because it has to get better. Right? Right? Anybody? It's gonna get better, right?

I have an appointment with my OB on Monday morning, so I will survive until then. And then if I'm still feeling icky he can (hopefully) give me something or suggest something that will help me. And then I can find out if I'm dilated or anything so I can reassure those around me that the baby is not going to explode out of me at any random moment just around the corner. I am trying to be a good sport about it, but comments from random strangers about my size or impending labor are getting irritating. And when people (some people, not all) find out that I have less than a month to go, they freak out a little bit - the other day at work a couple I was helping actually backed up from me slightly, as though they were going to get sprayed with something. Like amniotic fluid was going to shoot out of my nose. And then there was the older gentleman who I was assisting the day after Christmas, who told me that I must be having quadruplets, because I was just so big. Har-har, sir. I have a baby inside me that makes my belly large; what is your excuse?

Christmas went well. We weren't sure Jacelyn was going to be up to midnight Mass, with her being sick, but she napped from about 2:00 until almost 8:00 and woke up refreshed and ready to go. I was grumpy and disgruntled, but then I am grumpy and disgruntled a lot of the time lately, so it was nothing new. Brian and Jacelyn left around 11:30 to get seats, and I stayed behind for another ten minutes or so to make sure everything was ready for Santa to come while we were gone. She behaved very well through Mass, and afterwards we went to Brian's parent's house for presents. And after that we went to our house for presents, so we were up until almost 5am. It makes me tired just typing it!

My sister woke me up the next morning around 11am, and I hurriedly got up and started getting the ham in the oven. Brian was in the kitchen at the same time, and I got very territorial - I wanted him out of my kitchen. I even said a couple of time - "YOU ARE IN MY WAY". He was trying to finish up some pies he had started making the night before, so he was just sitting around spreading cool whip, but he was in my way just the same. He at one time said something about prepping the chicken and turkey at our house before heading to his mother's house to cook them (he was frying them, because this is the south and we love to fry stuff), but I nixed that idea very quickly. I had to baste the ham, make cornbread, make macaroni and cheese, make tea, clean the kitchen and front bathroom...I could go on and on. And did go on and on.

But despite having everyone over at our house, despite a sick child and a sore back, it was a good Christmas. My Christmas spirit has flown the coop, however. There are still things to be done around the house before Little Guy gets here, and the Christmas tree is holding me back. As much as I would like to keep it displayed for the proper amount of time, I am ashamed to admit that I want it gone. I want the snowmen candles gone. I want the lights in the dining room window gone. I want it all gone, and everything in its' proper place. I have a hormone-fueled desire to be ready, darnit. And if you don't listen to those hormones...well, just look out.

School does not resume until January 7th, but there is a part of me that realizes this time is the last time I will have before the baby is born to not be dealing with the school routine (up early, driving all over creation, etc). And I still have to work - a good catholic education does not pay for itself, alas. I want to get things done while the getting is good. And if that means cutting the Christmas season a bit short, in the decorative sense....well, so be it. There's always next year.

I still need to pack my hospital bag. I still don't know what exactly to pack for Little Guy. I don't know where to keep my hospital bag once I have packed it - in my car? At the house? I am mulling over when I should install Little Guy's car seat. And should it go in my car? Will we be taking my car to the hospital, or Brian's? I am a confused mess. But I'm getting by.

Merry Christmas to all, and I wish you a Happy New Year, as well.

Too much thinking

I realized today, as I was waddling up to the convenience store to get a soda, that I am very blessed. I might not feel 100% - my back hurts, things ache, I'm constantly tired, I'm an emotional train wreck, I could go on and on - but I can still get around. I can still take Jacelyn to and from school, get to and from work, actually be somewhat (only somewhat, though) productive while at work, and take care of my house (laundry, dishes, etc.). So I thank God for that, and I thank the good support system I have in my family and friends for making my life easier. So thanks, y'all.

The catch to all of the above? It's hard to remember sometimes. My due date seems to be so far away when I'm dealing with physical discomfort, yet so close when I think about the things that need to be done. One of my goals for the month at work is to not go into labor, and people laugh, but I mean it. I need to get my inventory finished (an enormous task - 10,000 or so books, single sheets and whatnot to count all by hand), I need to leave the department in some sort of decent order so that the poor people that have to take care of it while I'm on leave can actually find things. And that's just at work!

As far as the house goes....yikes. I went so far as to cull the newborn sized items out of the stuff I got at my baby shower and put it in a basket for washing, but have since stalled out. The basket is sitting on my dining room table, glaring accusingly at me every time I walk by it. But in my sick little head, I now need to go through the clothes I saved from when Jacelyn was a baby and get that newborn stuff, so I can wash all of the newborn stuff at the same time. Then I have to find a place to put it, which is going to involve purchasing some sort of bin or basket system to go on one of the shelves of the changing table. BUT - the shelf of the changing table on which I hope to place said newborn sized clothes warped while in storage, and either needs to be magically straightened (which I'm thinking I'll try shoving it under our mattress - if the weight of the two of us can't straighten that out, nothing can) or replaced. Then I need to figure out which of the newborn clothing is coming to the hospital - we have a little outfit for him to wear for his pictures, but will he wear that home, or should I bring something else? Since it's winter do I need to bring pajamas for him to wear in the hospital, or what? Jacelyn was born at the end of April, so she just wore a t-shirt and diaper while we were in the hospital. I don't know! And I need to pack a bag for myself. And I suppose something for Brian, although I don't know - I think I would like him to be with me while in labor, but I would also like him to be home with Jacelyn at night, if I end up having to stay an overnight. I'm thinking too much and its' making my head hurt.

Jacelyn was invited to two birthday parties over the weekend, and there is a girl scout caroling thing Sunday, as well. I don't want to go. To any of it. I want to stay home in my pajamas. We did a birthday party last weekend. Then next week at school we have the School Christmas program. Last year did not go so well (see here), so I'm hoping this year will be better. Then a half day Wednesday, and then she is done with school for two and a half weeks. Yikes! I'm not ready. And of course, I think about next Christmas, when my sister-in-law won't be here, and I'll have to make arrangements for someone to watch Jacelyn and the baby. And then I get all stressed out. And you know what helps with stress? Cookies. So I'm going to go have a cookie and try and forget all this.

Why?

I want to know why I cannot go into nesting mode on, say, a Sunday afternoon. Or a Tuesday morning. Or before midnight, really. Last night, after consuming a bowl of spaghetti, I zoned out on the sofa for an hour or so. I laid there, watching CSI: Miami, hating David Caruso and berating myself for not getting up and doing something. I actually drifted off to sleep for some indeterminable amount of time - I think it was about twenty minutes - when I woke up, absolutely stricken with the urge to finish cleaning the kitchen. It had to happen. I was putting something away in the fridge and thought, gosh, I need to clean out the fridge. While cleaning out the fridge I sat something on the stove and noted that my burner pans could use a good cleaning. After dismantling the stovetop and giving it all a good cleaning, I saw a box of clothes that had not been unpacked, so I switched rooms and started cleaning and sorting and putting away in our bedroom, occasionally going back into the kitchen to swipe at something with antibacterial cleaner, just for good measure. I made myself lay down around 1:30am, but still couldn't fall asleep for another half hour - I laid there, begging for sleep, and could only think of all the things that needed to be done around the house.

My sister-in-law is throwing me a small, family baby shower this weekend, which will be at my house. Ack! Grandparents, Aunts and in-laws, all under my roof at the same time. That's not even mentioning my father and my stepmother. My stepmother is a devoted and loving wife to my father, who means the best and wants the best for us, but the woman acts (at least I think, nay, hope it's an act) stupid around other people for some reason. The last time she was around my in-laws my mother-in-law followed her around making faces at her behind her back and doing that universal 'crazy' sign, where you twirl your fingers around your ears. I hope everyone behaves.

I was talking to my Aunt last night and she asked me what I needed, and I was stumped. What do I need? I literally had not thought about it. I knew I needed a car seat, and had already hit my father up for one, but outside of that, I didn't know. I realized I don't have a lot of those long sleeve, warm pajama sleeper things, I have no baby bath gear - towels, washcloths, CLR (that was for you, Clark), things like that. I have a metric TON of receiving blankets, I have a smattering on onesies in various sizes. I don't have any baby socks. While I was thinking about all this, I started to feel very ill prepared. And then there's the matter of the weather. It's usually still cold around the end of January around here, so I know I need some warm newborn stuff. But how long will he be in newborn clothes? I mean, I had a friend whose son never fit into newborn sizes - he came out needing 3-6 month sized clothes. He'll be fine. I suppose I have reached that point where my hormones have completely taken over, and they are doing a fine job of inciting panic. I need a boppie! And a breast pump! And a diaper bag! And diapers! I feel completely unprepared. I think that is the hormones talking. It will be fine, I will be fine, he will be fine, it will all be fine. On a completely unrelated note, this child gets the hiccups more often than any other fetus in the world, I think. He had them last night for what seemed like HOURS, and he has them again now. Bless his little heart.

I'm going to go drink my one cup of coffee I allow myself. And try to calm down. I'm exhausted, and frantic, and just need to settle down, but not so much that I fall asleep. Because that is generally frowned upon, sleeping at work.

Cha-cha-cha-changes

I do not spend enough time with my daughter. It is that simple. And since we moved, I have been neglecting her and letting her spend waaaaaay too much time in front of the television while I waddle around, getting things done. And once she's in bed, and I am done for the evening, I will zone out in front of the television, as well, since my books are still packed. And I have felt compelled to do things until I am exhausted and in pain - work long days (because we need the money), or unpack and move and shuffle (because Brian is so busy and works such long days) until my belly button hernia is throbbing, or until my back gives out on me, or until I am having painful Braxton-Hicks contractions. No more, I say, no more.

My goal is to establish a routine. I think it will be good for all of us before Little Guy makes his appearance. I don't have a concrete plan in mind - just a few things that are floating around in my head. I know I want to spend more time with her, or at least make better use of the time we have together. I know I want to turn off the television. I want to teach her to help around the house. I want to eat dinner at the table with her, every night. I need to sit down and figure out what I want and how I'm going to implement it. I need to re-read my 'Mother's Rule of Life" and actually use some of the ideas there. I'm calling myself to action. I'll let you know how it goes.

The Loyal Order of Water Buffalos

Brian made his return to the lodge last night (he is a freemason). There was a family night, which I frankly can't stand attending. Tons of people show up and eat, then the menfolk go off to their secret meeting and the other womenfolk quickly disperse and head for home, leaving a very dirty kitchen. In the past I have gotten off work and arrived there just in time to eat the cold plate of leftovers that someone made up for me and then wash dishes and clean for another hour. Last night I had already decided I would not be cleaning up. I only went because Brian took Jacelyn and my mother-in-law, and both needed a ride home.


I got there and ate (attempting to comment quietly to Brian about how terrible the green beans were, only to discover that he made them - oops), smiled at the comments ("Oh, look, she swallowed a watermelon!") and tried to ignore the 'you-da-man' props the other men gave Brian upon discovering that I was pregnant, and with a boy no less. Lots of back patting and hand shaking and winking and whatnot. Silly boys.


One of the other masons has a young daughter, I think she is 18 or 19. At one such family night when Jacelyn was smaller she brought a friend with her, at proceeded to make me feel like crap when she literally pointed at me and said out loud in a normal tone of voice, "She was pregnant when she got married". I mean, so what, and all, but it wasn't the most polite thing to do. Last night I she walked over to me sporting a baby bump that rivaled my own. She is due a couple of weeks after me. She hasn't finished high school, she isn't married, and she broke up with the baby's father and, in her own words, "...kicked him out. That is my mother and father's house, and he's not going to be living there with me with that attitude". Sigh. Poor thing.


I ate, got my mother-in-law and daughter and we were out of there. Brian didn't come home until almost 10:00pm, and announced that the members asked him to be "master" next year. I just sighed. What do I say? I mean, it's his family tradition - the men in his family are masons going back generations and generations. And then there's the Catholic aspect of it, which I am still not 100% clear on (the Catholic church has denounced masonry for literally hundreds of years). And when I tentatively and carefully brought that up one day he waved it off. There are men in his lodge who are also Knights of Columbus. I don't understand the church's position on it entirely, but it nags at me a little.


To be "master" requires a lot of time. He already works ten hour days. You add in the half hour commute each way and that is eleven hours out of the house already, just with work. The lodge has two scheduled meetings per month, plus whatever other degrees, important visitors, visits to other lodges, etc.. I tried to gently remind him that he already works so much, and has a daughter who loves and misses him, and will shortly have a infant son, and that's not to mention his lovely wife, who will be frazzled trying to take care of a kindergartner and an infant, maintain a household, and work part time. He accepted the position, anyway. Sigh. So starting in the end of December he will be installed. I am fairly certain he is only doing this at his father's urging, and I don't know what to do about it.


I tried bringing it up with his mother last night, being very careful about how and what I said, but that didn't do any good. She has a very Wilma Flintstone attitude about the whole thing. My father-in-law is literally gone five or six nights out of the week to some lodge or another, and she complains occasionally, but her thoughts on the subject are as long as he takes her out shopping on the weekend, buys her dinner and gives her money, she's OK with it. I'm not OK with that. He can't buy our daughter off - there is no toy, no matter how fabulous, that will replace his role in her life. He needs to bond with his new son. And I certainly cannot be bought.

We will have to see how it goes. Maybe it won't be as bad as it seems right now. He was master once before, and he was busy, but I think his work schedule will limit some of his activities. I don't want him to burn out, either. We shall see!

Wah-wah-wah Whine

I have waddled, reluctantly and wearily, into the third trimester. It's like someone flipped a switch. Overnight, everything aches and hurts and swells and is uncomfortable and you pee all the time (sometimes even making it to the bathroom) and you know it's the final stretch but it hurts so bad. The sad thing is, it's early yet for me! It's not going to get better; it's only going to get worse. That's OK, it will all be worth it when I hold little guy in my arms for the first time. I'm just tired. It will get better. I hope!

A typical night in the third trimester (at least for me):

11:00pm: Lie down on bed, attempting to sleep on your back. Find yourself unable to breathe and roll to your left side.

1:00am: Wake up with pain in left hip. Get up, pee, then come back to bed and lie down on right side.

3:00am: Wake up with pain in right hip. Ignoring urge to pee, roll back over to left hip only to discover it still hurts. Sniffle pitifully. Try laying on back; discover you still cannot breath. Gingerly find comfortable position on left hip.

3:05am: Angrily get up to go pee, since you forgot to go before you got comfortable.

3:10am: Feeling the stirrings of fetal movement, you return to bed and attempt to get comfortable again. Snarl at husband when he asks if you are OK. Find a tenously comfortable position on your left hip again.

3:12am: 'Fetal Dance Party' begins in your uterus, since all the moving has awakened your little one. Thinking a change in position whill settle the baby, you roll to your right side, only to discover that 1.) your right hip still hurts, and 2.) the baby is up and moving regardless of whatever position you might attempt.

3:30am: Cry silently as baby continues his early morning aerobics.

3:45am: Your right hip now hurts so bad you roll back over to your left hip, which still hurts. You are not surprised by this anymore, only pitifully accepting. Get up and pee just because you can, and because walking feels somewhat better than laying down at this point.

3:50am: Return to bed and roll around attempting to get comfortable. Loudly suggest to your sleeping husband things he could do to help you: "Why don't you carry this baby for me then, huh, buddy?", and offer up blame and guilt: "This is your baby, too, you know".

4:00am: Offer husband a teary "Well, FINE THEN" as he retreats to the sofa to get away from your rolling and complaining.

5:00am: Wake up, fully aware that both hips hurt and there is no comfortable position. Get up, pee, and walk around the house, mumbling things to yourself. Glare resentfully at sleeping family members. Watch a little TV and hate it; there is nothing good on at 5am. Turn off TV and return to bed, exhausted and still aching.

5:15am: Re-discover the power of prayer: "Please, God, let me sleep".

5:30am: Fall asleep in a bizarre, contorted position that requires multiple pillows in odd places and angles. Sleep for two hours. Get up, pee, and give up the notion of sleep for this day, at the very least.

9:30am: Try not to scream when a stranger in Wal-Mart tells you, "Well, sleep now, because you won't later". You somehow find the restraint to not shake them senseless and bellow, "I DON'T SLEEP NOW!". Grit your teeth as people you have never met and will never see again tell you how very "huuuuuuuuuuuuge" you are and express their horror that you are out in public in such a state and manner. Wish you really had gone through with making that t-shirt that says:
1.) It's a boy.
2.) I am due January 26th.
3.) Yes, I realize that I am enormous, possibly the most vast pregnant
woman you have ever seen. Thank you for taking time out of both
of our days to point that out, as it is exactly the boost to my esteem
I needed.

Yeah, that'll do. I'm going to try and find something that will give me the attitude adjustment I apparently desperately need. Here's hoping!

Babies and Ramen Noodles

Little Guy has dropped down a little bit lower, just overnight, it almost seems. Or maybe it's been a gradual process and I just haven't noticed. I found out at my last doctor's appointment that he is head down and ready to roll. I can't believe I'm 29 weeks already. Knowing myself the way I do, reality will not slap me in the face until I hit thirty weeks. Fourth quarter, people! Time to step up the game! I still need to pre-register at the hospital. Gotta do that. And pick a pediatrician. This might be a terrible thing, but I'm not obsessive over a pediatrician. I wasn't with Jacelyn, either. My doctor keeps encouraging me to interview pediatricians. What do you ask at one of those? "So, um....you like kids?". I guess they have to like kids, or at least put up a good front. The only particular I have with a pediatrician is whether or not they will support breastfeeding. Other than that, I don't know. You can interview someone, but sitting there yakking about particulars is completely different from how they will actually be around your newborn/infant/toddler. I have reservations about some of the vaccinations, but none of the reservations are so powerful that I would not have him receive them. I guess. What do you ask? I'm clueless.

On the home front, my upstairs neighbor is apparently the Ping-Pong champion of the world. And being the Ping-Pong champion of the world requires practice, folks. None of this namby-pamby couple of hours of practice a night thing - Thursday night there was ping-pong action from about 9:30pm until about 4:00am.I laid down on the loveseat just before 10:00, determined to prop my feet up to hopefully alleviate the massive swelling in my ankles. I watched a little TV and then drifted off to sleep, but was awakened by the ping-pong upstairs. It's not just the pinging and ponging that drives you crazy; it's also the foot motion involved. While at the table itself you have to jump, and slide, and shift around, and then when you aren't playing you have to go outside for a smoke, and apparently run laps around the living room to stay warmed up until it is your turn again. And when you leave at 3AM to make a beer run you have to talk loudly on the stairs, saying "Dude!" a lot, followed by other silly and inane things, but you have to make certain that the 'Dude!" is audible for a good fifty feet, otherwise you aren't cool. And when you're in the ping-pong game, there's nothing more important than street cred. I did take the time to lay there and marvel at their staying power. I think the only things I have ever done for seven hours straight is work, sleep, and read. I endured the noise out of sheer laziness and comfort, but was finally forced to my bedroom at about 4AM. I don't know if there was a doubles match taking place or what, but the foot traffic noise had picked up considerably, and the scribble-scrabbling from over my head was too much to take. The noise wasn't nearly as bad once I was in my bed. They have their ping-pong table in their dining room, which is the room furthest away from the two bedrooms, so it didn't disturb Brian or Jacelyn a bit. Thankfully. Things were better last night. I don't know if the ping pong marathon wore them out, but they were decidedly subdued. We shall see. They seem harmless, if not a little annoying (the entire crowd smokes on the balcony and throws their cigarettes onto the ground, so our patio area is littered with the things). But it could be worse, so I'll roll with it.

Unpacking is going slowly, but at least it is going. We're having Brian's family over for dinner tomorrow evening, so I have a deadline to keep in making things look presentable. Even if that means taking the final few boxes, shoving them into our room and closing the door. I have to say all this cleaning and sorting and putting away is good for my nesting instincts. And I had a moment the first morning we were there that made it all worth it, when I realized I was standing in the kitchen, washing dishes while wearing only my underwear. That moment, odd as it may sound, was magical to me, especially considering that 1.) I have lived with my in-laws for the last 2 1/2 years, and 2.) before that I lived with my sister-in-law for a year, so I haven't been able to wash dishes in my underpants for quite some time. Hooray!

For dinner last night I made the most bizarre salad that turned out to be quite good. I have a enduring fondness and love for ramen noodles, so that must be taken into consideration before you make a face at my atrocious taste:

Ramen Spinach Salad
INGREDIENTS
2 (3 ounce) packages chicken flavored ramen noodles
8 cups torn spinach leaves
2 cups cooked and cubed chicken
1 cup seedless red grapes, halved
1 cup sliced red bell peppers
1/2 cup chopped cashews
1/2 cup Gorgonzola cheese, crumbled
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 lemon, juiced
1/3 cup olive oil
1/4 cup light mayonnaise
1 red bell pepper, sliced
20 grape clusters, for garnish
DIRECTIONS
Cook ramen noodles according to package directions, without adding the flavor packets. Drain noodles and cool. Cut noodles into large bite size pieces.
In a large bowl combine the torn spinach leaves, cooked turkey or chicken, halved grapes, red pepper, cashews, Gorgonzola or blue cheese, and ramen noodles.
In a small bowl mix flavor packets, garlic, and lemon juice and let stand at least 15 minutes. Add oil and mayonnaise and whisk until smooth.
Pour dressing over salad and toss until thoroughly mixed. Garnish with red pepper rings and small grape clusters, if desired. Serve.

I changed this quite a bit, to accommodate our sad lack of groceries: I only used one packet of chicken ramen, and about half a bag of regular fresh spinach mixed with a few handfuls of plain old garden salad mix (to make up for our pitiful lack of other vegetables). We cut up a rotisserie chicken Brian brought home from work, added some sliced tomatoes, and I only had green grapes, so I quartered a handful of those and tossed them in. I didn't have cashews, bell pepper, or cheese, so I had to omit those as well. I did make the dressing almost as directed, except I only used the one seasoning packet from the ramen noodles (and kept the dressing on the side, as I was dubious about it). I let the garlic, seasoning and lemon juice sit for fifteen minutes, then mixed it with the mayo (Duke's fat-free) and olive oil and put it in the fridge, where it sat for about a half hour or so. When I first mixed it up it tasted way too salty, but after sitting the fridge for a while it thickened up and mellowed a bit. I actually liked it (and I am notoriously picky), and Brian liked it, too. We polished off the whole big salad and all the dressing. Yum! Weird, but yum.

I'm going to get some work done and try to get through this day so I can get home and hang out with Jacelyn, whom I feel like I haven't really seen or spent time with in weeks. Have a good weekend and a good Veteran's Day!

Man Killed; Wife Responsible

Pensacola, FL: A 29-year old pregnant woman murdered her husband with her bare hands yesterday, literally choking the life out of him as they shopped for furniture. "It was the two-tone sofa," the woman sobbed. "It was a dark brown fleather (fake leather) base with a khaki microsuede pillow top. When he added the pie-slice shaped cherry and glass end tables and the granite-colored polka dotted lamps I just snapped, I couldn't stop myself".

According to the wife, the incident occurred after roughly six hours and eight different furniture stores. The man insisted they go back to their first stop of the day, a Rooms to Go, and was seriously inquiring about a ridiculously expensive furniture package when the woman grabbed him by the throat and choked him. "He's just too big to shake" she was overheard saying. "Otherwise I would have just shaken the s**t out of him".

A salesperson named Krissy was also injured in the incident. She was treated and released at a local hospital for injuries consistent with being shaken vigorously. A witness at the scene reported: "The wife just kept shaking her and screaming, 'Don't encourage him! What are you doing? Those pieces do not go together!'". The wife reportedly told police the salesperson kept telling her husband he had 'an eye' for interior design.

The woman is currently out on bail pending further investigation. A source in the prosecutor's office has said that charges will most likely not be filed, since "...it really was a terribly ugly furniture grouping".





I really hate furniture shopping, can you tell? I really could have murdered Brian yesterday. Luckily (for him) we did not purchase the offensive furniture in question.





This is the sofa. Apparently the lamp and the table set are so terrible that RTG won't put them on the website, so you'll have to use your imagination. The sofa:

Now picture this sofa with cherry and glass pie-slice shaped coffee and end tables, and then add two very bulky textured lamps with enormous raised polka dots in a granite-gray color. It was terrible. Like I said, we didn't buy it, but I was scared - it was a close call.

Brian hates everything I like. I, being a mature adult, am willing to compromise, so I told him I would just go with what he liked. Until I saw this grouping, and then I had serious second thoughts. Luckily for me, 'Krissy' fibbed about some pricing items and then neglected to mention the additional $110 for what is basically ScotchGaurd-ing (apparently a 'required option', a phrase which has amused me endlessly). Brian was livid and we left. Whew!

Moving in went terribly. We actually didn't move in. The apartment wasn't ready that morning (that's why we ended up furniture shopping), so we had to wait until 2:00. We actually didn't get there until 3:30, and walked in to a nasty mess. The carpet was still wet, for one. And the apartment itself was disgusting. Mold in and on the refrigerator, cigarette butts on the floor, the stove and oven had not even been touched. Mildewed caulking in the bathroom. I can't even list all the issues we had. Brian called the office and told them that we expected to clean when we moved in, but we thought that they might have the place cleaned, and it didn't look like they did. They ended up sending their cleaning crew out again, and we were told to come back at 6:00.

We returned at 6:00 to a marginally cleaner home. Still mold and mildew everywhere, but whatever. So Michelle, Joe and I cleaned until about 12:30am. I went home and collapsed into bed, and here I am looking at a weekend of cleaning and moving. Sigh. It will all be worth it soon, that's what I keep telling myself.

Brian watched Jacelyn while we cleaned, feeding her and got her showered and in bed (almost certainly late - I didn't ask because I didn't want to know, but judging from her demeanor this morning before school she was up late), and then hung out at his mother's house, calling us occassionally to check in. He later decided to replace all the light bulbs with energy effecient bulbs, so he went to the store and bought a ton of bulbs, and then came over and got in everyone's way changing them, walking through freshly mopped floors in his sneakers, flipping the light out in the bathroom while I was cleaning the shower....really, I think if I had killed him yesterday no jury would have convicted me.

So moving happens Sunday. The only item in the house are Jacelyn's bathroom set, and then Brian's new living room furniture (ugh) and the television that he insisted on bringing over, to 'make sure that the cable works'. Here's to a busy weekend!