I Can’t Diet with Cake in the House!

Evangeline will be 3 months on October 24.  That is four days away.  Four. Days. Away!  And I am still not in my prepregnancy clothes. 

I know all the PC crap that is spewed whenever a previously pregnant woman complains that she hasn’t lost all the weight, yet: “It took 9 months to put it on, it is going to take 9 months to take it off.”  “You are breastfeeding, all that weight should be sliding off anytime, now.”  “With just a little exercise and eating right, you should lose the weight in no time.”  To all of that I say, bullshit!  This is kid number 3 and the weight never just slide off while I breastfed them.  Matter of fact, my fat hangs onto my body like it is waiting for the time I am stranded on some island and we all have to survive off my milk.  (Don’t think on that too long or you might just yak.)  I was Shredding, but even Jillian Michaels couldn’t cut through my mountain of fat.  I had high hopes, because there this mom blogger who started to Shred when she was 5 months postpartum and not only does she have a rocking new body, but a new found love of exercise.  Yeah, not so much for me.  I have 7 days left on my 30 days and I doubt I will finish it.  Frankly, the results I was getting wasn’t enough for me to continue to get up at 5am every morning after waking up multiple times a night after sleeping in one position  to avoid rolling over the little person sleeping next to me who demands to eat at all hours of the night.  My friend cut out eating out and she is down 13 lbs.  Woo!Hoo! for her.  I have adopted the same frugal policy and still can’t lose a pound. 

Confession time, I guess.  I may, just may, be expecting major results in record time.  I think this has always been my downfall in the weight lost arena.  I mean one should never expect to see a pound lost after working out for 2 hours, 5 days a week in the gym for a year.  I will give you, that I might have not pushed myself as much as I should, but there should have been some weight lose, right.  Even if it was a pound.  Hell, I think I even gained a little weight.   After that, not even the lure of child free time could get me into the gym, again.  So when I heard about the 30 Day Shred, I shouldn’t have expected to look like Jillian Michaels in 30 days.  Maybe, those last 7 days are the ones that will do it, but at this point I am not willing to try.  I have been sweaty and cranky for weeks and nothing, nothing.  

Second, exercising makes you hungry and carrots don’t fill you up.  Ah, sure you can listen while all those skinny bitches tell you how good low calorie, low fat food is, but they ain’t got nothing on Paula Deen.  That’s all I am saying.  Not only am I Southern, but Italian and neither of those groups are known for their low calorie meals.  Yeah, yeah there are vegetables involved in these food cultures but they are usually slathered in a cream sauce or tons of butter.  I did get the Cooking Light cookbook at Amber’s school book fair and we have been enjoying many of our dinners out of there.  I especially like it because it uses ingredients I would normally use, like whipping cream, but in much smaller amounts.  So you get the taste or creaminess, but not as many calories.  However, you get a little disappointed when you see the serving size.  I will be the first to admit that my eating habits could use a great big ol smack.  It is very hard to pass up the massive amounts of cake leftover from the pumpkin party or not letting good food go bad. *ahem*  People talk about will power and I guess I was in the cake line when it was handed out, because I obviously don’t have any. 

The worst part is that I know it can be done.  I see the results everywhere.  There are friends that have given birth close to me and they are back to looking like they did before they were pregnant.  There are family members that have worked hard and are back to their fighting weight.  I would like to point out that these family members are not blood related and this is where I blame my genes on that spare tire I am sporting.  Every night I tell myself this is the last day that I eat.  Oh yes, I make a vow to not eat again until I can fit into my jeans without fear of taking out someone’s eye.  Then morning comes and after feeding a baby for most of the night, Mamma is hungry.  I start off good and then it is all downhill starting at 10am.  Another factor is that I know I will eventually be back into my clothes.  It took about 9 months with Amber (when I stopped breastfeeding her) and about 3 months with Sam.  I was hoping that I would cut my record down with Evie, but no such luck.  I think my girls have the same effect on my body.  So, I will have to push aside the thoughts and wishes of  comments of how good I look after just having a baby.  It was my one Christmas wish this year.  And no it doesn’t count if you read this and tell me; it has to be true.  *sigh*  I will continue on with wearing my maternity clothes mixed with the few regular clothes I can wear and hope that one day I won’t be mistaken for the Michelin man breastfeeding a baby.

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Cloth Diapers: Fail or Hybrid?

I will admit in a pregnancy haze I didn’t think cloth diapers all the way through.   The only thing I knew was that  I was thoroughly disgusted with slamming down $20 a week for diapers and I was ready to be rid of them forever.  Besides, there are many, many different and cute designs of cloth diapers and wouldn’t they look so cute on a wittle baby bottom?  Internet shopping and an awkwardly moving pregnant woman aren’t a good match.  It is a little overwhelming to go through pages and pages of different styles of diapers, but  I refused to admit that maybe I was in over my head.  It wouldn’t be difficult; just a bit of extra laundry. 

I wanted something easy.  I mean let’s not get crazy here.  I don’t mind doing my part to save the environment, not to mention save $20 a week, but I wasn’t going to do anything that made my life more difficult.  I was having a baby, afterall, and that is enough upheaval for anyone.  I decided that BumGenius was the ticket.  It had the velcro, so no fussing with diaper pins, which scared the crap out of me.  Can you imagine trying to work a diaper pin on a wiggly newborn while being very sleep deprived?  Yeah, me neither.  Besides, everyone on the cloth diaper board raved about BGs. 

I wasn’t totally stupid about this.  I did get a couple of different diapers to try on Sam.  I mean a 3 year old and a newborn are practically the same thing when it comes to diapers.  If I could work them with Sam, then a newborn would be a piece of cake.  I must have been smoking something, because I totally spaced on the fact that 3 year old boys lay a load nothing like a newborn.  I, also, chose not to listen to all those well practiced mommies on the CD board that said that even though Bumgenius says their diapers are good for 8lbs to 35lbs, diapers sized more for newborns would be better in the beginning.  Oh peeshaw!!  My baby would be on the small side (7lbs 6ozs), but what is the big deal.  So much for all that research. 

Well, the big deal is that she will look like she a badunkadunk butt meaning that the diaper wouldn’t fit that well on her, which cause some leakage.  No problem, I had just the thing to fix this problem without spending a large chunk of money.  You know pass what I spent on all those one size Bumgeniuses.  I got me a couple of the gDiaper covers and would use the newborn inserts from the Bumgenius diapers.  I am a genius!  Um yeah, that work okay except I wasn’t-and still not- that quick on the draw for changes.  Somehow diaper changing was moved to the bottom of my list of things to check when baby is non-stop screaming.  Who says wisdom comes from experience?  Did I mention I am sleep deprived? 

 That lead to our next big problem, major diaper rash.  Diaper rash so bad that Evie screamed everytime I changed her.  You say, no problem, a little Boudreaux’s and she is good to go.  Oh no, grasshopper, you can’t use regular diaper cream with cloth diapers.  And the diaper creams you can use can not be found at your local Target and my will to wait patiently for shipping or even googling went out the window when my c-section was opened for the third time.  So, I threw in the towel and bought a box of Pampers. 

I still haven’t given up, though.  I went ahead and bought some prefolds and Thirstie covers.  I decided that if I couldn’t go all the way cloth then I would hybrid it.  I use the prefolds and covers while at home and disposable while out.  It was getting a little crowded in my diaper bag for the inserts and the Ziploc of dirty inserts, anyway. 

Can you see the common theme in all this?  Money.  Yeah, I spent money on one size Bumgenius diapers, then on gDiaper covers (which are so cute) , then on prefolds and Thirsties covers and finally, every 2 weeks on a box of Pampers.  I do have hope that once Evie has a little more meat on her bones, we will go to Bumgenius all day and night.  We are still having a bit of a problem with diaper rash, which I go strictly to disposables and Boudreaux’s.  Also, SoHubby is doing his best on cloth diaper duty, but I either forget to mention something, like not wrapping the cloth diapers like you do a dirty disposables diaper (poop gets on the cover) or not putting a fabric sheet in the dryer.  I will admit he is really trying, even though  he was very against this whole cloth diaper thing.  The one thing, that I thought would be the biggest problem, that has not turned out so bad is the washing.  And, now, that our diaper changing station is ontop of the dryer, it makes it that much easier.  So, basically, I have achieved continuing to spend money on disposables and destroying the earth while using cloth diapers.  Who knew I was an overachiever?

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Same but Different

The simple truth is that scheduled c-sections are not exciting.  Basically, we were told when to be at the hospital, we show up and the staff start their thing.  Of course, different hospitals do things a bit differently, but mostly it is the same ole, same ole. 

I have been through 3 OBs and 3 hospitals in my birthing baby experience and mostly there are no complaints.  Well, there was Sam’s doctor, but not much could have been done about her and I am just happy I didn’t use her again.  Fate was on my side, because shortly after I dropped her, because of this incident, I was sent a letter explaining that she had given up her practice.  I heard later that she and her husband moved to Germany.  Let me tell you, if you want to know about doctors and hospitals ask a nurse.  They have been around just about every doctor and they will give you the low down. 

This time was the same, but different.  We arrived at 430am and waddled, while I did, to maternity.  It was like walking up to a nice restaurant where you have had reservations for  months, except here the food is not that great and everyone gets to see you naked.  I was greeted by a nurse who showed me to  a small room where I was instructed to undress and put on this gown.  A gown that confused and befuddled me.  It looked like a large odd shaped sheet.  I couldn’t figure out where my arms went and wonder if it was some cruel joke they pulled for initiation purposes.  I called for SoHubby, but he was already teleported to his own world of getting his work reports and orders out.  *sigh*  Finally, I figured out that it was a make your own gown and that is when I saw how to snap together my sleeves.  Really, they should post instructions for these things or maybe they get some enjoyment out of seeing us struggle and walking down the hall with our butts hanging out. 

Next came the million and one questions that get asked over and over by anyone and everyone that comes into my room.  No big deal, I would rather tell you a million times that I am not allergic to anything, that I know of, then have you take the random word of some assistant I saw for a millisecond.  I mean all these people did have my life in their hands and if they needed to know when I was born 30 times then, by god, bring it, because the hospital is one place where there shouldn’t be any misunderstandings.

Finally, I was wheeled into the operating room where there were nurses, doctors, and other people whom qualifications I didn’t quite catch.  The fun started with the spinal.  I didn’t have a spinal with my other 2 c-sections and it seems there is a big difference.  With an epidural you are numb, but with a spinal you can still feel what is going on just not the pain.  Well, pain is a relative term, because later on I will feel some real freaking pain.  My biggest concern is not feeling the cut.  I have to imagine that has to hurt like hell and something that I can leave a mystery.  However, the first real pain will come in the form of putting the spinal in.  Apparently, they want you to relax, but it is a little hard to do when you have someone messing around back there with big needles NEXT TO YOUR SPINE.  I was very happy for the nurse who talked me through it and helped me to hunch and push out my back.  A rather hard thing to do when you currently have a 7lb baby wiggle inside and a 35 lb belly resting on your dangling legs. 

Here are a few things that I felt with the spinal, that I didn’t have the pleasure of feeling with the epidurals:

-baby running for the cover of my rib cage when the doctor went in to serve her eviction notice.  It seems Evie was not quite on the same schedule as the rest of us.  You want to talk about alien invasion; that is a feeling I will not forget anytime soon.  It felt quite evil possession to me and if the doctor hadn’t laughed at how the baby ran, I would have screamed for the priest. 

-the pushing and pressure.  Apparently, doctors don’t just reach in and pull the baby out.  They have to push on your stomach a bit to pop the baby out.  If you have ever had a half ton man sitting on your chest you know what I am talking about.  Breathing was not an option, although it was a command.

-the rearranging of vital organs.  Oh yes, there is some rearranging that has to go on.  Seriously, at some point you just have to think of this as some weird deranged Tarantino-esque Operation game the doctors are playing minus the maniacal laughter.  I think that would be deemed unprofessional.

-the replacement of said vital organs.  For some reason this was the big pain, I mentioned.  I assume they were replacing my organs and stitching me, but there was tremendous pressure.  They should be grateful that my legs were rendered useless, because I would have totally run for the hills at that point. 

The rest of the procedure went well, but was much longer than I remember my other c-sections.  I laid there for almost an hour, if memory serves, wondering what the heck they were doing in there.  Later my doctor would tell me about doing something to my stomach muscles.  I never quite got what she said, but I am letting myself think that she gave me abs of steel and as soon as I get rid of the flab I will be able to crush soda cans on it.  Then came the BIG question that was asked several times in the prep room and in the operating room:  Are you sure you want us to tie your tubes?  The doctor would ask and the nurses would ask.  If I could have stood up on the table and shouted it from the operating table for dramatic effect, I would have.  I simply replied, yes, yes, YES.  Finally, I was done and was wheeled back to where I started to recover a bit.

I would leave the hospital on Sunday, because 1. I felt pretty good and 2. I was done with the hospital.  Not that it wasn’t a nice experience, but at some point you just want to wash the feeling of hospital off of you and sleep in your own bed, even if it is next to a boob munching mini eating machine.  We did do our traditional trip to Target, because mama needed her pain meds and some pacifiers for the baby.  I am not a huge fan of the binky, as we call it, but when you have other kids to tend to they are good for buying a little time. 

Things are okay.  Amber is her usual Very Involved Self.  She is good at quieting down a noisy baby when I am not available immediately, however, it would be nice if she could restrain herself from messing with a perfectly quiet baby.  Sam will run up, rub the baby’s head, claim her to be sweet or cute and then go about his business.  He does his best to help, but I think at this time it would be better if he left binky placement up to his sister or me.  Go figure, Evie doesn’t like having a large silicone nipple shoved down her throat.  Who knew?

Evangeline Claire
7lbs 6ozs
19.5 inches
Great set of lungs.

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Almost There

 

Looks like a real baby, huh?
Who knew?

One week left until we become a family of 5.  There have been many questions asked of me lately, as people look at my huge belly and wonder how the hell I am even upright.  Here is a hint, it is very uncomfortable to be anything but.  These are standard questions, but I have been shocked at what falls out of my mouth.  I wasn’t much of a thinker before I spoke when I wasn’t pregnant, but now it just seems my brain filter has taken an extended holiday and my mouth is running itself.   Dangerous territory. 

Are you excited?

Meh, it is just like throwing another one on the pile, right?  At this point, I change the subject and try not to look at the horrified person who asked the question.  Excitement is not the word.  Trepidation, might be better, but that still sounds too negative.  Truthfully, I know what is in store and being busy with life, a husband and 2 other kids, I have taken this opportunity to not really focus on the business of baby.  It will be all too real, all too soon.  It is just a matter of life that the first baby gets all the worries, attention and concern and the subsequent children are thrown into a well-oiled machine forcing everyone to readjust. 

Ask me if I am excited not to be pregnant and you will get a totally different answer.  YES!!!  I will be happy not to roll out of my bed or off the sofa.  It will be thrilling not to have cramps in my legs after tossing and turning all night.  I am ecstatic to actually see my feet without lifting them a bit.  And it will be the best day of my life when I can bend over in a matter of seconds, without strange noises emitting from my mouth and all by myself. 

And you are having another one?

This question was posed to me as I was getting on the elevator while trying to pull the 2 heathens apart from some argument over button pushing or world peace or who annoyed who first.  The answer that flew out of my mouth totally embarrassed me and I didn’t mean it.  That answer was: Unfortunately.  As the older man and I sat silently in the elevator avoiding eye contact, I mentally smacked myself.  How could I say such a thing?  What kind of a horrible mother says that about her unborn baby?  One who has been stuck with WWF in her living room everyday for the pass month and a half.  Truth was I didn’t mean it, but the other truth is that I am wondering how the hell I am going to handle the dueling twosome and a newborn.  I am nervous and hoping that it won’t be like the last 2 times where I have a mental break from lack of sleep and just lash out at anyone and everyone.  Also, it would be nice not to fall asleep while driving in the car.  I think that last one is top on my list of things not to do this time around. 

I bet you can’t wait for that baby to come?

Yes and No.  I can wait, but I know that just puts off the inevitable and I can’t wait because it would be nice to see the baby in real life instead of high tech blob form.  Basically, I am torn.  I want her here to get going on this taking care of a newborn business and cuddling a newborn is always top on my list.  However, there are these other 2 beings that demand attention and need to adjust, too, and that scares the crap out of me.  After going through 2 newborns, I am pretty confident that I could do it well, if that is all I had to do, but I have never had to take care of a newborn plus 2, before, so that scares me.  I keep telling myself it will work out, like it always does, and, yes, I will look back and wished I had done things differently, but in the end we will mold into a family of 5 and soon it will feel like the most natural thing in the world. 

I mean she is cute for a high tech blob and since she is being so sweet at the moment
I see no problem in welcoming her into the family unit.
Check back with me when she is 5 yrs old and has developed an attitude; I may have a
different answer for ya.

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Birds and Bees: Part 1

I have told you about our summer of hell do nothing due to my very huge pregnant belly.  Well, it seems some of us will do crazy things when we have been trapped in a house, by record heat and waddling, watching nothing but Hannah Montana and Zack and Cody for over 4 weeks.  Some of us actually turn on their own trash TV while young children are around, but excuse it by taking it as a chance to be educational and starting the talk about the birds and the bees. 

I don’t remember if I ever got that talk.  I probably just learned it the old fashion way through pop music, bad TV and the kids on the playground.  I have planned to take a different approach with my kids, but the question was always how.  Do you sit them down one day, launching into all the glory details, kiss them on the foreheads and leave them shocked and scarred?  Is it a wait and see kind of thing where you answer questions as they pop up?  Or do you just keep putting it off until your 16 year old sits you down for the conversation of a lifetime?  Who knows?  Nobody.

Amber has been exposed to sex in her so-called kid friendly shows.  Miley Cyrus and iCarly are always talking about cute boys, hoping for dates and kissing, but in the grand scheme of things that is tame.  Then comes Mtv with the hardcore reality, where all that mooning over boys, kissing and hoping that the ultra cute football captain notices you leads to you to 16 and pregnant.  I am not much of a Mtv watcher, anymore.  I remember the days when they actually had music videos and not skanky girls trying to hook up with anything with a pulse.  However, this show caught my eye.  I chalk it up to me being pregnant myself, although my show 36  and pregnant wouldn’t get much of a head turn.  When I am pregnant I crave all things pregnancy, even the gory, morbid things.  I have no explanation, but know that it might not die down once the baby is here.  I will have a  new place of residency, which will be the sofa where I will be pinned under a small, yet demanding nursing monster.  I will need something to distract me while the little one goes to town on my breast.

Since Amber doesn’t take naps at the ripe old age of 7 years old, no matter how much I try to convince her otherwise, I have selfishly begun watching a few of these trash shows in her presence.  I try to make it a little bit better by using them to teach her about the real world and how one can screw up their lives.  While watching the pretty, popular cheerleader, whom Amber would normally look up to,  and pointing out how she has lost her friends, dropped out of the squad and is crying because her life is a mess surely is an educational moment.  Pushing the point home is the poor girl’s contorted face while enduring labor and then pushing out her baby.  Don’t worry, Mtv is sensational, but not to the point of showing a baby shoot from the girl’s loins.  Sure they can show scantily clad girls writhing on the beach during spring break, but nothing so racy as what can result from said writhing.  But I digress.

Amber soon turns to me with her face in a mixture of shock, disgust and wonder, to tell me that she will not be having any babies until she is the age I was when I had her, 29 years old.  I breathe a short sigh of relief, only to snap to reality, realizing that she says that now but what will she say when faced with that decision.  Not enough time to get hung up on that when the questions start.  “Mom, how do you know when your pregnant?”  I pause searching my brain for the right answer.  The one that won’t reveal too much and won’t spur any more questions.  “When you stop having your period?”  Okay, not the right answer, exactly, but maybe she will get distracted by something more interesting like candy or chocolate milk.  Hey, you have to play up to your audience.  Nope, she continues on. Again, face contorted, “A period?  What is a period?”  Okay, do I make a smart ass remark, like it is that small dot at the end of a sentence, which will just send her into panic mode when she gets a paper back and the teacher points out that she forgot a period at the end of her sentence?  Nah, I just launch into some crude medical talk about the uterus preparing for a baby each month and when that doesn’t happen the lining is released in the form of blood.  You would think this would freak her out, but since I get no privacy what so ever in this house, she just ask if she would need a band aid.  Nope, just those evil things called mattress pads.  Finally, her curiosity has been satisfied for the moment and she bounces off to do whatever 7 years old with new knowledge do. 

I didn’t plan on telling my daughter anything about the birds and the bees at this age, or to be honest, any age.  It is not a fun topic to talk about with your offsprings.  Can’t they just be happy with the fact they are here and not worry about the gory details?  Sure if you want them to come with you with the special news that you are the youngest grandmother on the block.  It is one of the many parenting duties that are ugly, but everyone talks about without many hard and fast rules.  So, at this point, I am taking it one day at a time with Amber.  Going at it slow and hoping that this way makes her feel comfortable and secure with coming to me with her questions.  I would say her dad, too, but that is a whole other fear that I would rather ignore for the moment.  This is fine and dandy for her, but what about the boy?  Sure he would have responsibility, but not to the extent of a female.  Sad, but a true fact of life.  I wonder if a mantra of “keep in your pants, son” is enough.  Probably not, which means I have another fiery road of hell to travel in a few more years, once again.  Hey, maybe with the second girl, I can just tell her to go talk to her sister.  Yeah, I am sure that will work out just fine.  *sigh*

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Going Out with a Bang

It seems with each pregnancy it gets more and more interesting.  Amber was smooth sailing, except for the scoldings I would get from my doctor for my weight gain.  Sam had doctors in other cities worried that I was going to drop at any moment, because you know that women in severe stress just stop dropping babies without any warning.  My stress was caused by a little hurricane called Katrina that decided it was time to wipe New Orleans off the face of the earth.  She didn’t succeed.  With both pregnancies I went on to have rather uneventful births.  Matter of fact, I think Sam’s was downright boring and too clinical.  Amber had a hint of excitement, but nothing that would make one of those delivery shows on Discovery Health.  This one seems to know it will be my final journey down the making babies trail and has decided to give me enough tame curve balls to keep me on my toes. 

Not only do I have more than enough doctors to ensure that I reach my deductible before any baby comes forth, it is like Christmas each time I go in for an ultrasound.  There is always something new and interesting going on in there that makes you go hmmmm…and something for the special doctor to “keep on eye on”.  We started seeing the ultraspecial doctor to talk about testing, because you know I am old and have to be monitor.  You know tests and more tests are ordered to make sure that my womb hasn’t crapped out on me and can still do it’s job like a young, vital womb.  Talk about ageism.  Apparently, when you turn down those special tests, that are suppose to tell you exactly what you want to know but are notoriously wrong, they want to “keep an eye on you”.  That will be the running theme for this pregnancy and everytime the Dr. says it I envision her with a huge eye following me where ever I go. 

So you go in for once a month ultrasounds and get more pictures than your other 2 kids combined, forever throwing out that old theory that once the third one comes along there are less pictures.  Each month brings with it a new little problem that is tied in a bow and ready for you and your doctor to unwrap.  There was the kidney backed up, then both kidneys backed up, then there was the placenta, that little rascal playing peek a boo with my cervix and then, the latest, my placenta has formed a little tent over the baby.  I believe my heavily Asian accent doctor informed me that my placenta has 2 lobes.  I asked and I think she clarified, yes 2 lobes.  Well, ain’t my placenta creative and special.  I guess there is room for creativity as long as you are getting the job done.  So why did I need to know this about my placenta, well I have to tell my OB/GYN so she can make sure to get it all out. 

Oh yeah, I have to tell her.  So not only is this last pregnancy giving me every possible little medical mystery to run with, but I have work to do.  I am paying the big bucks to meet my deductible, but I have to make sure my OB/GYN gets everything all cleaned out.  I kid, I kid.  I am sure my doctors will communicate through their notes, but I will be the good little patient and make sure to tell my OB to make sure she sweeps my entire uterus clean and lock up when she is done.  Actually, I think this has all taught me to be grateful that I am relativity healthy and my baby making, while a little on the odd side, is in okay condition. 

It was suggested to me that maybe these doctors are trying to squeeze me for every last penny and I admit I have thought it myself.  I think it is more them trying to cover their ass.  Let me tell you, I have more than once used my patient rights to decline testing.  I mean I do have a brain and while I didn’t go to medical school, and doctors might shake their heads behind my backs, ultimately I am responsible for my medical care and take full responsibility for my decisions.  I mean all that matters is that the high deductible gets met for the year and we are in the clear for the hospital bill.  (/sarcasm)

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Second Hand Kid

Preparing for number 3, after you have had number one, girl, and number two, boy, is easy.  I am not a first time mom chasing my tail wondering what I need, how much I need and do I really need.  I am not having a baby in the middle of the end of the world with barely a stocked Walmart in sight.  Add ontop of that producing a male and wondering what the heck boys like or need.  I am proud to say I think I have this preparing for the baby thing down.  Notice I didn’t say parenting, because that is a whole nother ball of wax, in which I don’t think we ever stop learning. 

However, one question has popped up, lately, how do I handle all these hand me downs?  Sure the baby doesn’t care that the crib she sleeps in once belonged to her sister, or the mountain of clothes she has were once worn by her sister or the toys that she plays with were once played by both her sister and brother.  But what happens when it comes to those gift giving occasions and I can’t stand to bring one more child oriented thing into my overflowing home, so I wrap a toy, that has been hidden in the attic since it was tossed aside by one of the older kids?  Sure the newest member of our family won’t know, until her older sister opens her big mouth and dances around singing how that toy use to be hers.  Will there be a tug a war over said toy, even though the older sister will probably have something new and appropriate for her age, because technically it was hers to begin with?  Oh, you can think with your logical mind that Amber would be the more grown up of the two and not worry about some baby toy that she long tossed aside, but I will remind you, again, kids are not logical.  And trying to deal with them in such a way will only bring you grief and a migraine. 

Sure there will be new things for number 3, but with time she will notice the hand me downs more and one (or just a mother) will wonder if this assures her more time on the therapist couch than the other two?  Nah!!  You see Amber is the first born and will carry much more emotional baggage than her two other siblings, because let’s face it first borns are  the training child.  Sam is the middle child and will have his lack of being center of attention to make sure that he will do all that is in his power to get that attention, which is a bit scary.  Not to mention he will be sandwiched between girls, which I can’t even bring myself to think of the horrors that will bring.  And the last child, oh well, she will be the one that goes in a completely different direction, while her father and I shake our heads and wonder who switched the babies at the hospital.  So I guess this hand me down stuff is just one minor distraction for me, because soon I will have three kids demanding my time, my love and attention.  Hey, maybe I should worry less about their therapist couch time and wonder when I might get a little curled up in the ball time to collect my sanity?

I will say that it has been nice to walk down memory lane, opening bags of clothes I thought I would never seen again or watching Amber help her dad put together her old crib (Side note:  Being horizontally challenged, I am not  happy about this new trend of non-moving crib sides.  So I am more than happy to use Amber’s crib with it’s 1/4 hinged top.  If I could have found one for Sam I would, but at the time the crib people had moved on to something completely different and I was lucky to find an old school one side moves up and down but in a newer model.  Less you think I got some 70′s death trap where a head would get stuck or baby’s first snack was the peeling lead paint.), or dusting off the perfect swing and vibrating chair that Sam used.  A bigger plus, not shelling out tons of money for newer models that are just not the same as the tried and true ones, even if they have probably been deemed death traps by the powers that be, that currently sit in my attic.  Besides, it saves more money for all the asprin I am going to need in the coming years.

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Did Someone Say Vacation?

A mere 32 weeks ago I made reservations for a nice little cabin in the mountains of Tennessee.  Funny, when I made the reservations and calculated that I would be over 7 months pregnant I thought, “Pshaw!”,  I am no wimp I can do it.  Even when George said that he wouldn’t be able to stay with us for the time at the cabin, I brushed it off, again, thinking I am only pregnant not dying.  Oh how a huge belly and many doctors’ orders later change things.  Luckily, George decided to stay with us, because the no lifting heavy things, as much as I said I could handle it, is really cramping my style. 

Like most vacations where children are involved it doesn’t feel like much of a vacation, but more like we have taken my act on the road:

There was grocery shopping.
Of course, this was vacation grocery shopping where we throw good health out the window
for convenience and the avoidance of arguments with small picky humans.

There was laundry to be done.
Of course it was at midnight and continued on into this morning, when I was awoken
by 2 small bouncing heads screaming how much fun it was to sleep in BUNK BEDS!
AW!  to be young and enjoy the small adventures life has to offer.

I fulfilled breakfast requests that went uneaten after only a few bites.
NOTE: The bread to the right of the bowl of cereal was a third in a series for
Sam. And he is still asking for more.

 

Then there was the ever so essential Command Central.  SoHubby has one, too, but
I must be connected to the wall.  Because we are on vacation.  In the mountains.
Where technology isn’t always reliable. 

Along with all this, there has been whining, because there are so many injustices on the road, time outs, because even on vacation once must maintain some kind of civility, crankiness, because when on vacation you are expected to stay up late which doesn’t always agree with everyone in the party (this includes a certain adult, but I ain’t naming any names), and early risers, who didn’t get the message that: WE ARE ON VACATION, and that means, for the love of all that is holy, letting mom sleep in. 

 

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30 Weeks

Once a month I go to my OB, she listens to the baby’s heartbeat, measures my stomach, gives me a bit of information and sends me on my merry way.  Last week, her bit of information was to inform me that I had to start seeing her every 2 weeks.  Her receptionist, being ever so efficient, made every appointment until July 24 when I will go in and have this little bundle of joy.  It was overwhelming to say the least, especially since I had planned to not leave my house beginning June 15 until I was forced out by an eager baby ready to be born.  It is hot out there and no place for a bulging, easy to anger mama, like myself.

Oh but the joys of pre-natal care ramped up a bit at my ultrasound appointment, today.  I was ready for the long wait.  Unless you get an appointment time of around 8am, you are going to wait at least an hour pass your appointment time.  I don’t like it, but not much I can do about it.  Today was worse.  Not only was I there a half hour early hoping that I would get in around my appointment time, but the doctor left me waiting in the ultrasound room for over 30 minutes.  As the clock ticked closer to 1pm, my appointment was for 11am, I informed SoHubby that if she wasn’t in here by 1pm I was leaving.  And we know I mean it.  I had just hopped off the table and began wiping the goo off my belly when the click, click of the doctor’s heels made their way to my room.  I hopped back on the table and that is when she looked at me and asked what was wrong.  “You look uncomfortable”.  Really, you think?  I have only been sitting here trying to control a tired little boy and an antsy husband while covered in goo and trying not to suffocate under the weight of my belly.  NO, no I am not uncomfortable at all. 

The worst part about these appointments is that they feel very rushed.  The tech does measurements first, but can’t tell you much.  You know legal stuff.  Her degree just doesn’t cut the mustard when explaining what the hell she is doing pushing and gliding all over you belly.  Then the doctor comes in rushed from all her appointments that have gotten behind, because she deals with nothing but pregnant women with some sort of problem or another.  I am guessing I am low on the problem scale, so things tend to get lost in the wash. 

Last appointment, I left wondering about the kidneys.  This appointment I left wondering why the hell do I have to go in twice a week for non-stress tests.  And telling me to come in for a NST and “take it easy” on a week when I am suppose to be preparing for an 8 hour trip to Tennessee and stay a week alone with my kids  doesn’t help in the stress department.  Yeah, what were you saying about taking it easy, because really that means nothing to me.  By the way, the kidneys are fine.  The right is perfect and the left is a little backed up or maybe it is the other way around.  Basically, all this worrying about backed up kidneys was just the pre-party to the placenta worry party going on right now.  My placenta seems to be covering half of my cervix and the doctor hopes that as the baby grows she will push it aside.  Even me reminding her that I am already scheduled for a C-section and a long and closed cervix (EW!) didn’t earn me a get out of NST free card.

Just this Sunday I was having second thoughts about having my tubes tied,  those thoughts have been squelched.  Now, I am thinking I am glad I signed those papers last week, when I had a moment of clarity, because I am more than willing to leave my reproductive years behind me.  Especially, if the older I get is the ticket to all these fun tests. 

NOTE:  The ultrasound doctor didn’t call my OB to notify her of my NSTs, which I was informed means that this is merely a precautionary measure and nothing to be too concerned with.  It seems that the ultrasound doctor is very thorough and careful.  Basically, don’t worry until there is something to worry about.  Which only leaves me wishing we had more birthday cake so I can drown my angst.

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We Have Entered the Cranky Phase

What?  You thought we were already there?  Oh, how naive of you. 

I will be entering the 27th week of pregnancy this coming Tuesday and as much as I would like to just keep moving forward, the clock is ticking and I am getting crankier by the moment.  Everything and everyone is annoying me.  Oh it is nothing that they are really doing it is just the fact that I am uncomfortable without any comfort in sight for awhile.  I just want to be left alone to gestate.  The next time anyone should talk to me is when I am nice and drugged up in the hospital.  I am usually a much nicer person at that time. 

The ones I really feel sorry for are Amber and Sam.  I so want to just be a fun mom this summer, the last summer it will be just 2 kids, but I don’t really see that happening.  I have already talked to them about cancelling swimming lessons, because I don’t want to be harpooned in the local pool.  I go back and forth about cramming 20 lessons, or maybe just 10, into the month of June, but I see a lot of annoyance on my part.  Sure I should suck it up and just do it for the kids, but, HEY, that is pretty hard to do when you have to roll yourself out of bed every morning and just getting ready requires a nap.  Besides, I am breathing like a 90 year old with emphysema, already, can’t imagine what it will be like one I hit the 8th month.  I am not feeling too bad, because we do have a big vacation coming up where there will be a pool, YEA!, and other adults to pawn my children off on to help with the little buggers.   

It is already time when I don’t even want to step outside for a millisecond for fear of passing out from the heat.  Sure it is only in the high 80′s, but I have been standing near big piles of leaves and fluffy trash just in case I fall over from lost of fluid.  I am sweating in places I didn’t know existed, well since I was pregnant the last 2 times.  I have already scouted a few indoor places to MAYBE take the kids so they can burn off that pent up energy and collapse at home.  I can’t imagine it getting any better as the temperature keeps rising.

I was feeling the affects of the heat as my blood boiled starting this Friday with our usual grocery shopping.  First, the stores can’t get the temperature right.  Target was so blazing hot, to me, that I thought I had actually entered hell.  This just made every word or question out of Sam’s mouth grate on the last remaining nerve that is holding on for dear life.  Nothing really new in what he was doing, but with each utterance I was fighting the urge to turn to him with head spilt open and scream “ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE SNACKS!”  I am still baffled that his little body holds as much food as he shovels in and, at this point, I am ready for him to use the stove and give me a break.  It wasn’t any better when I decided we needed to get out of the house on Saturday.  And what better way than to do a little baby and birthday shopping.  Oh dear Lord!  Save me from Amber’s birthday party. 

The main problem with having 2 kids or more, I am assuming, is that one or both like to annoy the crap out of the other one which in turns annoys the crap out of the parent.  And my husband wonders why I have offered to run his route for him on a few occasions. Yes, I am starting to believe that no matter how busy his days are, it is much more relaxing than hearing 2 screaming kids in the second row scream at each other EVERY. DAMN. CAR. RIDE.  Although, I don’t think waddling into multiple French Quarter bars would be a welcome sight.  I have really wondered how I have managed to stay on the road for this long.   Please for the love of God, stop with the bickering and touching.  Words have come out of my mouth these pass few days that I never thought would ever cross my lips, like, DON’T EVER TOUCH EACH OTHER AGAIN FOR AS LONG AS YOU LIVE!  or IF YOU DON’T STOP THAT FIGHTING, I AM GOING TO PULL OVER RIGHT THIS MINUTE!  Not sure what I am going to do once I pull over, but it sounds good at the time.  Maybe there is a nice ditch I can lay down in for a little peace to regain my composure. 

So the summer is here and we are embarking on just trying to survive.   I see me face down in a sofa pillow and chaos ensuing.  Pray for us or better yet just don’t come knocking at naptime.

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