I am His Bitch and I Think He Knows it

The potty training continues on.  I am not sure which part made it easier with Amber.  The fact that she went to school with it’s peer pressure or the fact that she seem to not want to sit around in wet or poop for more than a millisecond.  Amber was fully potty trained at 3 years old and, while sometimes it was gross, mostly it was smooth sailing.   Sam, on the other hand, is almost 4 years old and test the limits of what I am willing to do as his mom everyday.  He has proven that he can go to the bathroom, but for whatever reason has decided to make his father and I puppets for his amusement.   I think God sent me Sam to keep me humble.  Wouldn’t want me to get too cocky with too much parental success.  And it has worked, trust me it works, so you can stop, now, God.  Are you listening?

It is not that Sam is stupid, doesn’t get it or is lazy, I think he is in it for the power.  This doesn’t just go on with the potty training, but other areas.  Sometimes I show him whose boss and other times I let him have the power.  Depends on the situation.  Well, the time has come for no more Nice Mommy.  I am showing him whose boss and no one is having fun. 

I listened and read all the experts, but frankly if this is the thing that forces Sam into therapy then I will consider it a job well done.  I mean if my kids aren’t in therapy over my cleanliness obession then they weren’t paying attention.  Which proves why I yell, but that is another story for another time.  We have tried the calm, let them lead the way approach to potty training and all it has gotten us is frustration and deep down anger.  Cussing  in my head through wiping a 33 lb almost 4 years old’s butt really helps with the fact that I am wiping a way too big for the changing table in the public restroom with the odd looks from other members of society.  The important part was that I was not making my little baby boy anxious over going in the toilet.  

Next we tried bribery.  The most important weapon in a parent’s arsenal.  Here is where Sam’s power really flourish.  

“Hey, Sam if you just go poo-poo in the potty you can have this shiny new Batman toy.  Look how cool it is.  It shoots and everything.” 

“I DON’T WANT A BATMAN TOY!’ 

“Okay, buddy, how about a transformer toy?”

“I DON’T WANT A TRANSFORMER!”

“Hey, Sam if you go on the potty then I will give you an M&M.”  Later, find the candy bowl empty, because he suddenly got the urge to sit on the toilet every 5 minutes.  However, I would find myself still cleaning a very messy little boy. Cue me running for hills, because surely there is a pack of Wolverines that would be way easier to train to balance balls on their noses than this boy. 

Later, against my directions, SoHubby would go out and buy a Batman toy to stay on our mantel as a constant reminder of what Sam was missing out on.  Want to guess where there that toy is?  Go head, guess?  It is still on the freaking mantel.  SoHubby, because I will have no part in this futility, has shown it to Sam, he has explained all the coolness it has, etc.  Nothing.  The boy still sits on the toilet, pees, scoots off and then poos 5 minutes later.  Basically, as a big F U to me.  That will show me to try and make him to do something he doesn’t want to.  I mean this is really the only thing, in his little world, that he has control over.  And since we are getting impatient and the time line for school becomes closer it is time to step up our game.  Also, I am getting a little grossed out cleaning him up after an “accident”. 

See, I understand Sam.  I understand his rage and I understand where he is coming from.  Can’t say the same for Amber, she is a mystery to me, but, at least, I am not wiping her behind.  So, I know how this will go.  He will continue to play mind games with us and laugh while we become his dancing monkeys.  After squatting down twice in two unpleasant public restrooms, while wearing Evie and wiping his butt, I had it.  I told him in no uncertain terms that his dancing monkeys have left and been replaced with Drill Sargent Mom.  We will continue with the timed trips to the bathroom, but his visits will be longer, even if I have to duct tape him on there, and his beloved Pull-Ups, that he wielded with the power of Stalin, are gone.  That is right, we are going Nana style and there is no turning back.  I fear for my furniture and the pain in the ass to clean carseat.  I fear for the trips out in public and the full clothes changes in the back of the Suburban.  Yeah, I am afraid, but it is time for this boy to learn who is pulling the strings around here.  He has all of his teen years to mentally beat the hell out of me.  I say forget about my kids’ mental state, because they will be fine, worry about my mental state.  I am already looking into mental hospitals where I will live out my retirement talking to walls, because you know they listen and never talk back.

Louisiana Kind of Fun

This story was told to me by SoHubby, who played a minor role and heard the result.

SoHubby and his business partner, T, needed to install some equipment in Houma (about 45 minutes away from the homestead).  Apparently, T had a stuffed alligator in the back of his truck.  You will just drive yourself crazy asking why, so move on.  I am not talking about a winning prize from a carnival, but a real 4 foot alligator that was taxidermist.  It seems the alligator has been in the back of the truck for a while and somehow lost its eyes.  So are we all on the same page: a 4 foot taxidermist blind alligator in the back of a pick up truck.  Because of the large equipment the gator needed to be removed to make room.  DUH!!!  Now, other people who live in other places that just so happen to have an alligator in the back of their truck, would probably just put it in their garage and continue on with their business.  But that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?  T got the bright idea to lay the blind gator on the sidewalk.  You know the sidewalk where people walk and children play?

SoHubby and T leave to do their thing and don’t give the gator much thought.  Later T’s wife would call to relay the results of their little neighborhood prank.  It appeared that kids got off the bus and happily walked past the blind gator without nary a notice.  That right there fills me with fear, because how self-absorbed could you be that you don’t notice a large, scaly, sharp-toothed creature sitting on your sidewalk?  I guess to the level of kid self-absorption.  Later would prove that adults are a little more observant.  T’s wife would grill him on what he did to have the police, animal control and a News crew outside of their house.  The story goes that the neighbors across the street DID see the gator and refused to get out of their car until the police arrived.  I am unclear of who tipped off the News crew and since we don’t watch the local News that is all I know of the story. Really there was no reason to watch the News, because it is just another day in a hot, steamy, swampy New Orleans neighborhood.  You laugh, but I check under my car for gators regular.  However, our problem seems to be snakes and wayward lizards and geckos, but that is another story for another day.

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?

Sanity in a sea of Insanity

Ever so often I start to feel the walls closing in, which usually means that I need to declutter.  The bigger picture is that I feel my world is out of control (i.e. newborn) and I need to find something that makes me feel in control.  So I go on a decluttering spree.  Ever since we had to clear the spare bedroom to make room for Sam, I have kept the clutter to a minimum.  I think before I buy and try to keep the pack rats (i.e. SoHubby and Amber) to certain rooms, preferably rooms that are not common areas for me.  It is hard with Amber, but SoHubby has the garage and office, which I only make brief appearances. 

This weekend it was almost to the point where I couldn’t breathe.  Our stuff was struggling me and I needed to get rid of some of it.  I will admit right here that some of the stuff was mine.  I had bought some things on sale with the hopes of using them as presents or party favors.  This never works out for me.  I either forget about said purchases or find that the situation calls for something other than what I have in the house.  I have since stopped this process and stick to buying when needed.  I am sure that Target will have something reasonably priced when I need it, and if not, that $20 is well worth not feeling like my house is about to sit on my chest and torture me with a long string of spit. 

I set out with a game plan that quickly grew to parts of the house I had not intended to tackle, but needed it.  My first objective was the playroom.  This area is hard.  I hate to bring in more toys, but the toys the kids have, now, they enjoy.  Even if I think that most of the Barbies look like crackwhores strolling Bourbon in the wee hours of the morning and the batmoblie has been in more than one head on collision.  But Amber and Sam love them and would hate to part with them.  Or is it that Amber is just like her Daddy and can’t bear to think of getting rid of anything, while Sam just loves the thrill of the crash.  For example, in an effort to stop the yelling, I got Amber a pretty Tinkerbell binder and page protectors for the piles and piles of her drawings.  I gave them to her with the instructions to go through and keep only what she really liked and throw the rest away.  You can guess what happened, but I will tell the some of you that are a little slow, she kept them all.  That’s right, she kept the “test” she had given her brother when they were playing school, she kept the paper that had some random scribbles and some papers just looked like scrap computer paper.  I sighed loudly and was glad that, at the very least, her papers weren’t scattered across my desk, anymore.  I decided that the playroom would best be tackled later and maybe getting some other rooms in order would help with my claustrophobic feeling.

I started in the pantry, but moved betweened it and the laundry room.  There was not much to get rid of, but what I did find I threw in some boxes ready for charity.  What better way to make yourself feel better than to pawn your unwanted stuff off on the less fortunate?  All of the stuff I got rid of was stuff that no one had touch in years.  Seriously, I am talking some stuff hadn’t been used in almost 9 years.  Why have this stuff take up space on the far off chance that years and years later we MIGHT  use it?  As I explained to SoHubby, as he rolled his eyes, a bit of our mortgage goes to pay for that space that is cluttered with junk.  Of course, he made some snide remark about me hearing that on HGTV.  So what where I heard it, it made sense and I was sick of not having a place to put things or moving random crap to get to other things. 

I got rid of the hurricane food supply box.  The problem with the box is that no one thinks to look in it until a hurricane is about to hit and you end up throwing away food that has expired.  I guess we will have to spend the extra 30 seconds, throwing cans from the shelf to the a box.  Or actually eat the boxes and boxes of MRE (Meals Ready to Eat) that don’t expire for 20 years.   The horror of it all.  In the hall closet I got rid of some walkie talkies that SoHubby bought 9 years ago and we have used, MAYBE, twice.  The one time I can remember was when we went on vacation with NOLAnotes and her husband and that was before any of us had kids.  And as I remember the walkie talkies didn’t work very well.  SoHubby claims he used them during Katrina, but I remember we had Nextel at the time and used it’s walkie talkie feature.  In the laundry room I got rid of the Elefun game; I bought when Amber was a toddler.  The game usually had the 2 kids in a knock out, drag out fight and some of the butterflies were missing.  Basically, it had run it’s course and it was time for someone else to enjoy jumping around like freaks trying to catch little paper butterflies.  The point is that no one had mentioned, used or even thought about using any of these items until they sat on the front porch headed to someone else.  The best part was 4 containers of mints.  They have been around since last Christmas and not one person has eaten a mint.  I even had one on the hutch in the dining room since Christmas and still no one thought to partake of a refreshing mint.  Who needs 4 containers of mints that no one eats?  But how dare I set them in a box for some unfortunate soul to enjoy?

The best part of all this is SoHubby’s attention span.  Here is a hint, it is about as long as a fruit fly’s.  Amber’s school’s open house was last night and, of course, SoHubby was late.  Another very annoying habit.  The man is 20 minutes late, but instead of running into the house, putting down his stuff and racing out again, he stops to rummage through the boxes on the porch.  Already pissed that I was going to have to walk a mile and half, because of school parking, I loaded up Evie and myself and took off.  That is right, I left him bewildered on the front lawn.  Enough was enough.  It was bad enough that apparently the pack rat gene is passed down from generation to generation and doesn’t even have the decency to skip a generation, but it couldn’t even wait until we got home or the next day to rears ugly head. 

This incident was the topic of  “discussion” when I returned home from open house and we will always be on either side of the debate.  SoHubby claims we spend so much money to acquire these things and I claim that we are spending money and taking up valuable mortgage space in our house.  Besides, I give all these items there due time in our home.  They are allowed to lay around until I get the itch, which is usually once a year, then it is buh-bye.  It is going to be a very hard challenge to keep the house clutter free with 2 very determined pack rats (Amber goes into hysterics whenever I mention throwing out even the tiniest piece of paper that she might have written on), but I refuse to be found weeks later after I died to only have the police maneuver through carefully cleared paths of newspapers, magazines, Barbies  and walkie talkies, which he swears still work.  For now, I have the trophy of a spacious pantry and laundry room where you can actually find what you are looking for and find what you might have forgotten we had.

WHAT?!

When I was younger, living in the 80’s, I use to say certain words a lot and it use to drive my mom crazy.  I never understood why Mom was so upset.  I mean, like, I was just trying to, like, tell her story and, like, she would be screaming at me, like, just get to the point and, like, finish the story.  Or I would squeal really loud.  You know a squeal that sounded like I had just been stabbed by some psycho who had just busted into our house to kill the whole family.  But, I was doing it because I was excited or happy about something.  That would drive Mom over the insanity cliff and, of course, I never understood why.  Now, I do.  Oh that parent curse-you know the one, “I hope you grow up and have kids just like you”-is a big, hard, heartburn inducing pill to swallow.

Amber is 7 years old so she has many stories to tell and can actually hold a conversation, if you can get to the end of the story or weed through all the superficial crap and get to the point of the conversation.  We hardly ever get to any of those things, because I get frustrated and Amber stands there dazed and confused.  Most times I feel as if I am living with Vinnie Barbarino.  Okay, that really dated me.  I will ask Amber a question.  A question I think is clear, concise and in English.  And to make sure she can hear, even though her doctor assures me that she hears fine, I will get close to her face and speak slowly.  Her response will be, “Wha? Where?”.  So my solution is to get louder, because that works with people who speak another language.  When that doesn’t help I think about getting a little Samuel L. Jackson on her:

Warning foul language and subject matter ahead.
Proceed at your own risk.

Of course, without the cursing, gun, threat of bodily harm, and subject matter.
But I do have to say, I totally understand the frustration.

  Then I realize she is 7 years old and not sent here to destroy me  or have my soul in a case that she refuses to return.  So then we have a little discussion about a better way to voice that you didn’t either hear or understand the person.  It is a hard road and one day I may see a light at the end of the tunnel.  Sadly, I have the same problem with SoHubby. However, I have less patience with him, because he is an adult.   Which means that I totally dream about going all Samuel L. Jackson on him, but I don’t because only Samuel L. Jackson can get away with, well, being Samuel L. Jackson.  I am learning that this child rearing is a vicious cycle and I am caught in the middle.

 

Baby’s First Spa Treatment

It has been 5 weeks since my last pedicure and in true SAHM eating bons bons pampered fashion I was jonesing for some feet TLC.  I was also sick of looking down, now that I can see my feet, and seeing a clump of snaggle toes.  A couple of weeks back I stubbed my toe on the rolling laundry basket and broke one of my big toe nails.  That meant that I had to remove my nail polish and start hacking away at my nails, because I can’t have one nail half broken.  That would not look right.  Nevermind that after I chopped off the tops of my nails, I looked like a badger had gotten a hold of my foot.  No matter, I was no longer a slave to my sandals and flip flops, because I can actually bend at the waist and have normal size feet.  I would just keep them in tennis shoes for awhile.  Well, that worked for awhile until the day came I wanted to wear something open toed (no know, something nice other than tennis shoes) and thought that the sight of my feet might actually cause people to wretch.  Right then and there, I decided that I would get me a pedicure at any cost.

I figured Evie is at the stage where she sleeps, eats and poops.  No problem, right?  I would just tuck her into the sling and I could enjoy an hour of someone working their magic on making my feet lovely to look at ,again.  I have learned after 7 years and 3 kids, that when you have kids there are some compromises that have to be made when it comes to things that you need want to do.  Sure I thought about the time where she might want to eat, but I have that covered.  *ahem* Or maybe uncovered is a better choice of words, as a veteran of nursing in public (NIP).  I have nursed many places, so why not the spa.  I mean there are totally naked women behind some of those doors.  I am sure a boob with a baby attached wouldn’t be such a surprised in this arena.  And it wasn’t.

What I didn’t count on was that Evie seems to be advanced, or my memory is failing due to momnesia.  I think it is the latter.  Evie has become more animated, lately.  She is not sleeping most of the day, anymore, and it is getting more difficult to get her to sleep.  I have discovered that her pattern is eat, burp, scream her head off, then sleep.  So, yeah, that scream her head off part was something I should have considered before making my selfish pedicure appointment.  In the end, things went pretty well.  There were some tense moments where I thought this was it, she is going to scream non-stop and I will have to walk out of the spa with half my nails done.   She did fuss a bit at the end, but I was able to walk out with fully painted toenails.  Next time I will be leaving her with her father, no matter how much he protest.  Sure she is a boobie baby, but there is milk in the freezer and I am sure she will stop screaming before I get back.  All that screaming makes a baby tired, so eventually she will fall asleep.

In other news, I came home to find Lord of the Flies going on in my home.  When SoHubby “watches” the kids in the mornings, when I have an appointment, he is in the back office and the kids are left in the house.  I never use to worry, because Sam could usually be counted on to watch TV until I got home.  Since Evie came along, I have asked him to get a few things for himself.  Well, this has opened up a whole new world for him.  All it takes is a knowledge of the location of juice, snacks and a stool and he is sitting in 3.5 year old boy heaven.  I walk into the house to find Sam with a pack of Oreos, the stool positioned by the fridge and something very gross on the doorknob.  This, and a couple of mornings where I had to take a nap (falling asleep while driving Amber to school) and he went out the garage door to the office, for me to realize that I can no longer trust that Sam will just play in the playroom or watch TV.  We are living in a new world and I am not too happy.  Adjustments must be made.  I go to sleep when the kids go to bed, at 7pm.  Ask me how happy that makes me.  Not very, but, at least, it is working at preventing me from driving into a ditch, canal, or off a bridge in the morning.  And I will have to lock Sam and SoHubby in the office.  Don’t even go there with me giving up my early morning, once a month, appointments to the spa.  There are so few things I can do without the kids around and if I lose anymore, I might just lose my mind, completely.

So it Goes

Today, I took the kids to the Aquarium in an effort to tire them out and get us out of the house.  We were blocking the bathroom door when the woman, trying to squeeze by us and our huge ass stroller, asked me how old was the baby.  It is a question I have answered often and then accepted the surprised looks, because we apparently live in the 1950’s where people believe babies under 6 weeks old and their mothers should be hidden away in their homes.  However, I got a very different follow up question from this woman, “So, how are you doing?”  I was stunned, because no one really notices that this tiny, cute, screaming bundle came out of me.  So while they are surprised that such a young infant would be out and about, it is more surprisingly that her mother is, too.   

The reason I force my sleep deprived self out and about into the world is because whenever we stay home I am extremely annoyed by the older two bundles that I managed to evict from my womb and raise to their current state.  It appears that when we are at home and they are bored they decide it would be a good idea to torture each other with the time honored games of “He/She touched me”, “Let’s bother a perfectly happy and quiet baby”, or my personal favorite “Mom, Soandso is annoying me”.  All of this makes me want to rip my ears off and throw them in the trash, because I can’t stand to listen to any of it One. More. Time.

It has been 3.5 weeks since Evie has joined our family and I have to say I think I am dealing with her, and all her newborn demands, fairly well.  It is the older kids that I can’t seem to handle.  I broke down one morning, after a night of having a small one attached to my boob most of the night and trying to sleep in a very uncomfortable position, asking George why, WHY, can’t these kids listen.  I say things calmly and with a clenched please and nothing.  I try to have nice pleasant conversations with Amber and get a Vinnie Barbrino response of “What?”  The girl is looking straight at me and I am pretty sure she understands English, so I get a little annoyed and aggravated that I am greeted with a What, instead of a “Mom, I am not quite sure what you are talking about?”  Which is when I give up.  Then there is the constant annoyance of Amber bouncing between thinking she is Evie’s mom, except when she is screaming at the top of her lungs, or she is an expensive doll that we picked up one day at Target, that happens to do everything.  There are not enough numbers in the world to tell you how many times I tell slightly large human beings, with seemingly working ears, NOT TO TOUCH OR BOTHER THE BABY!  I have explained that it takes a lot to get her settled and when she is quiet, I can get things done, like make them lunch or change the diaper of a certain stubborn pre-schooler.  None of it registers.  They just see her sitting in her swing or crib all nice and quiet and they can’t help but mess with her.  Then, of course, my head splits into two and  Medusa appears, snakes and all.  I feel bad for constantly reminding them to leave their little sister alone, because I know they love her and are just curious about this new addition to our family.  I just need some sanity and right now that comes in the form of a quiet, satisfied baby. 

I will say that Amber and Sam are helpful at times.  They are happy to sit and patiently shake a binky into the mouth of a screaming baby.  That is especially helpful in the car.  They jump at the chance, when I announce that she is awake enough for them to “play” with her.  Amber begs to hold the baby, which comes in handy when my arm has fallen asleep.  They have understood when we are out and I have to sit down to feed the baby and do their best to stay in the general area.  Just thought I would let everyone know that Amber and Sam aren’t all bad.  I just wish they would turn on their ears and brains when words in the form of instructions come out of my mouth.  Is that too much to ask?  Don’t answer that.

Why write when you can look at pictures?

 

All you need for an afternoon nap is the soft warm glow of the laptop and a stack of papers as a pillow.
We here at the Homestead are always willing to provide the best of accommodations. 

I don’t understand the anger. 
Not only did I buy her a pretty outfit, but it came with her own guard dog.
Starting with the opinions, already.

Of course, your siblings love you.
I do ask that they don’t poke you when you are sleeping.
Seriously, STOP POKING THE BABY!!!

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.

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.