Is there an antifungal cream for worrywarts?

And I Could Walk 500 Miles....

2011-04-01T09:29:00.005-04:00

....if only I weren't so out of shape.

I joined a running group. We bought a pricey treadmill with our tax money and I've been using it since the beginning of March to try to take back control of my body and lose the flab, gain some energy, and just improve my health in general. I went to a specialty store for some good sneakers, and it was there that I learned of a training program for beginning runners or people who want to run, eventually (allegedly) getting them in shape to run or walk/run their first 5K.

The program is 12 weeks long. I'm in the walk/run group because I can't really run for more than 45 seconds to a minute without feeling like the angel of death is ready to scoop me up and fly me high up to the heavens. Weekly group runs, with tremendous support from mentors and coaches and other (non)runners supporting each other is a fabulous environment to be in.

The first week's group goal for the run/walk group was to complete one mile in intervals of running for 1 minute, walking for 2. I was one of the last to bring it on in, run/walking a 17:30 mile. Kind of sad. We have a set training schedule for each day of the week, including one day of rest, and two days of cross-training. The rest of the days include brisk 45 minute walks, walk/run intervals for 1.25 miles, and of course, the group run. I've followed the training schedule diligently, monitored my intake of calories (between 1400 and 1500 a day), and I thought for sure I'd be able to run a bit more without feeling like death was imminent.

Last night was the second group run, and my time was the same, 17:30 for one mile at run/walk intervals. Again....sad. Old ladies were passing me by. I was the third to the last to finish.

This is much harder than I anticipated. I'm very out of shape. I have lost 4 pounds so far, with a long term goal of losing 57 more by the time I turn 35 in November. I WILL NOT quit this. The 5K is on June 9th, and if I have to crawl across the finish line on my hands and knees, I will finish. I'm in my head too much, and I get nervous when my lungs feel like they're going to explode, and so I tend to pull back a bit. My legs feel as heavy as tree trunks, and my shins feel like they're going to pop out of my skin; this all makes it harder to push myself. I hope as time passes I'll be able to breathe a little easier, step a little lighter, and be able to run/jog more than a minute at a time.

I'm doing this for me. I won't quit. I can't quit. It's not an option.

Week 1 Group Run
1 mile
run/walk intervals at run 1, walk 2 - total run time, 3 min
total time - 17:30

Week 2 Group Run
1 mile
run/walk intervals at run 1:30, walk 2 - total run time, 4:30
total time - 17:30

Fibromyalgia: What A Pain!

2011-01-18T14:37:00.004-05:00

Hello, world. Know what? Fibromyalgia sucks. I was "officially" diagnosed with fibromyalgia over the summer, and a trip to a rheumatologist confirmed it. Anyone who knows me personally knows of the medical struggles I've had, the tests I have gone through, the medications I have tried, some more than once to make sure I gave them a fair chance. In the absence of other findings through various tests (scans, blood tests), my doctors came to the conclusion that part, if not all, of my issues are caused by fibromyalgia. Prior to this diagnosis, I would scoff at the people on the commercials for drugs used to treat fibro, thinking, along with many, many others, that fibro pain was all in the head of the alleged sufferer, that it wasn't a real condition. I'm now eating crow, and perhaps this is karma kicking me in the...well, the hip, shoulders, back, neck, and chest. Those are the places on my body that hurt, some days more than others, some places more often than others.

I've had chronic back and hip pain since early 2006, around the time of my first pregnancy. Test after test after test found nothing. No musculoskeletal reason for the pain. Full body bone scan revealed no bone abnormalities. The more I became educated about fibro, the more I felt like I was reading a list of my symptoms. Unexplained chronic pain in various "trigger points" - check. Headaches - check. Dizziness - check. Feeling bodily sensations that other people don't typically feel (feeling the pulse of your heartbeat in every fiber of your being, feeling gastrointestinal processes, electric shock feelings throughout your body, etc., etc.) - check. Extreme fatigue - check. Concurrent thyroid issues and vitamin deficiencies - check. I could go on. And on. If this is "all" that winds up being wrong with my body, then I am truly thankful. It could be a lot worse.

But waking up (that is, if I've slept) in pain every day is so incredibly draining, both physically and emotionally. There are days when I cringe as my eyes open for the first time that day, just knowing that the slightest movement will set off the hip and back pain that I feel all day, every day. I have a momentary thought, every morning, that I hate the fact that I will need to get out of bed. Not because I'm depressed; I'm sad for myself that I feel like this and that the way I feel, at times, makes me angry/bitter/pitiful, but I'm not depressed, not by any clinician's standards. Besides, the various antidepressants often prescribed for fibromyalgia pain had no effect on my mood or my pain.

I'm not even close to being as active as I used to be or as I would like to be. I need to change that. The Wii Fit Plus is slowly getting my body acclimated to moving and stretching. My Wii trainer, named "Alice Spitbomb" by my kids, helps me through yoga poses that help my body loosen up. Stretch too far or too much, though, and my hip starts to scream. The movement helps a bit, though, and I look forward to being able to do more with myself as I become more stretched and lose a few pounds. For now it's the only thing that helps. I have muscle relaxers for the really bad days. They don't do much for the pain but they relax me enough so that I can fall asleep. I take so much Extra Strength Tylenol that I'm sure my liver will go on strike one of these days. Pain meds don't work. Chiropractic treatment only made things worse. I've considered going to an acupuncturist, but the thought of needles in my body gives me the creeps.

If anyone out there with fibromyalgia is reading this, have you found any relief for your pain and fatigue? What has worked for you?

Hungry N Bitter

2011-01-05T16:09:00.002-05:00

Several days into the new year, I, like many other people out there, made a promise to myself (I refuse to make resolutions) that *this* would be the year I get serious about getting healthy. An astonishing number on the scale coupled with the fact that I have a huge ass has been enough of an impetus to get moving. Or so I thought.

My parents gave us a Wii for Christmas. I'm jazzed. I've wanted one forever, but our budget didn't allow for one. Not being able to afford a gym membership worth its money at the moment, I was glad for an opportunity to use Wii Fit and Wii Sports. I thought it was cool that I could make a little icon representing myself. I gave my little Mii my features: round face, medium-length hair pulled into braids, a little blush, brown hair and brown eyes, and the crooked smile that my husband still insists is one of my greatest features. It has to be, now, since I didn't have this fat ass when he met me. J-Lo booty, sure, but not this.

Anyway. I digress.

So, my Mii looks like me. On a good day. I put in my height, and then the Wii Fit scale (I loathe him) told me to step on the balance board. I guess my first clue should've been the fact that I heard a voice on the screen say, "OOO!!" as I stepped on. Nice. As the Wii calculated my BMI and weight, I stood, anticipating the number, knowing roughly what it would be. What I didn't expect, however, was my Mii to blow up like a balloon once the number registered. Mii looks like she could be a contestant on The Biggest Loser. I mean, when my Mii sits around the house, she sits around the house. When she sits on a rainbow, Skittles pop out. When she....

You get the idea. So, yeah...sure. I'd like to fit into smaller jeans. I'd like to not have to refer to myself as "Lardass." I'd like to be able to run around and play with my kids without needing the assistance of an oxygen tank.

Okay, that's a slight exaggeration. I don't need an oxygen tank.

Mostly, though, I'd like my Mii to lose her little muffin top and be a smokin' babe. So we're in this together. Me and my Mii. 50 pounds or bust.

The eating healthy crap, though, is already getting old. All I want is a piece of cake.

And to get Katy Perry's "Hot N Cold" out of my head. When I listen to songs, I don't typically pay attention to the lyrics. I realize it's a stupid song. And her voice kind of sucks. I'm more into melody, and this little ditty is quite catchy. It's a great song for when I run (ha ha) on the treadmill (that I don't have).

Happy New Year!

2011-01-01T20:01:00.003-05:00

I'm back.

This blog was started in early 2006, right after I learned I was pregnant with my first child. It was maintained throughout his first year, and then I found out I was pregnant with Baby #2. Blogging slowly died down after that, and came to a halt in mid-2009. I forgot about this blog until yesterday, and I was happy to discover that it was still floating around out there in cyberspace. Looking back at the pictures of my babies brought tears to my eyes. My babies aren't babies anymore.

Nat is 4 now. Savannah is 2 1/2. I still see small snippets of their babyhood in their behavior, but those snippets are fewer and farther between. It makes me sad. I long for them to be babies again. I feel like I missed out on enjoying Nat's babyhood beyond age 1 because I was miserably pregnant. I feel like I missed out on Savannah's entire babyhood because that coincided with the beginning of my (still partially unresolved) health issues.

Happy 2011!

My hope for this year is to make a return to this blog that was started several years ago as a way to document my baby's firsts. Now, though, my focus will be on the daily musings of a mom with two preschoolers, and the fun and the trials associated with homeschooling. We have made the decision to homeschool our children, and Nat started preschool learning at home in September.

Not much has changed since last I wrote. We may or may not have begun to find causes of my health issues. My hope is that more will be resolved in the coming weeks. It would be nice to spend my time enjoying my children instead of sitting back and observing their play because I don't feel well enough to be up and active with them.

I still have a desperate need to be liked by everyone I know. I try hard. I think I try too hard, and then inevitably wind up putting people off. Friendships that I have maintained are all with people that I haven't seen in years. I'm not good at making friends in person. I'm awkward. This need to be liked is complicated by the fact that there are days that I feel like my own children don't like me. The arrival of the 4th birthday brought with it mood swings that I thought were only experienced by teenage girls. I hope beyond hope that his moods are normal because, as the title of the blog indicates, I worry that it may be a sign of something wrong. Is he happy? Is he sad? Lonely? Bored? Serial killer in training? Savannah, God bless her, can give Roseanne Arnold a run for her money with the pitch of her screeching when she doesn't get her way. It's not advisable to piss Savannah off. What does Kathy Griffin say? She'll cut a bitch. I'm going to have my hands full when Savannah hits her preteen years. The competition for alpha female is already in full swing, and I have to admit that there are days when she wins. It's just easier that way.

I suppose I could come clean for the new year and say that I've gotten awfully fat in the last few years. I'll blame part of it on my thyroid, part of it on the fibromyalgia I was diagnosed with during the summer, and part of it on the fact that I like to eat. A lot. I turn 35 this year. That scares me. That's....old. While I don't quite have the nerve to spill the beans about actual numbers yet, I do have a goal set for myself to lose between 50 and 60 pounds by my birthday in November. I have to do it. I weigh more than I did during either of my pregnancies and that kills me.

2010 was a hell of a year. My family saw a lot of ups, a few downs, and many in-betweens. I hope to do everything in my power to make 2011 one for the record books.

Just for you, Elise

2009-07-17T13:48:00.004-04:00

I was reprimanded for not blogging in months. I didn't realize it had been so long. I had stopped because all of my focus was on my health and I felt like I was being way too much of a downer. Not much has changed in the area of my health, but boy, have these last few months brought with them some crazy changes.

Nat is now 2 1/2 years old. I'm in complete denial that he will turn 3 this Halloween. He has the wit and wisdom of someone much older, and is still very much the joy of my heart. His intelligence is a bit intimidating. Not intimidating as in he's smarter than me, but moreso in a way that there is going to be no holding him back. He is incredibly sensitive, and still very unsure of others his age; his interactions with adults, however, are far beyond any expectation I would've had. He holds polite conversations, has impeccable manners, and is very helpful. He has an amazing heart. His sense of wonder and awe is inspiring. He thanks God for things that make him happy. He loves to sing and dance, and has a definite artsy side to him. His future is limitless. His imagination reaches places that I cannot see, and one of my hopes for him is that he always stays a dreamer, always continues to follow the beat of his own drum, and simply stays true to who he believes he is. I love him with my whole heart.

Little Miss Savannah has turned into quite a diva. She is 14 months old going on 15. She loves shoes. She has been walking for about a month now and has a handful of words (mama, dada, na-na for Natty, knows that a cow says "moo" and a dog says "woof woof," and makes this nasal-like noise that can't be phonetically spelled when she wants to say "shoe." She's incredibly social, smiling and waving at anyone who will look her way. She flirts and accepts compliments on her beautiful blue eyes from strangers as though she truly understands what they're saying. She's very bright and very mischievous. She knows when she's getting herself into trouble, but simply bats her long eyelashes at you, flashes her nearly toothless smile, and expects to be exempt from a reprimand. As much as a daddy's girl as she is, she seems to know when I need a little extra love, as lately she has begun to climb into my lap, put her hand over my heart, and stare into my eyes as if to say, "It's okay, Mama. Everything's going to be okay." I hope - I hope with my whole heart - that I am able to have a healthy mother-daughter relationship with her. With both of them.

They play together, for the most part, wonderfully. The love they have for each other is very apparent. She wants to be everywhere he is, and while Nat does like his own space from time to time, he is happy to have her around. May they always be close.

The Hubs and I are trying our hardest to establish in our children a strong sense of faith, of God and His role in our lives. We want our children to grow to be happy and healthy, but also to be good, loyal, honest, faithful people. We struggle with knowing if we're doing it the right way, but I guess all we can do is pray and hope for the best.

Hubs and I are doing well. Our 7th anniversary is coming up. I married a great man and I don't tell him that often enough. He's a great father and I hope Nat learns how to be a man from his dad. I hope Savannah grows to learn that she deserves a good man like her dad. There are so few out there, and my children have a wonderful example to learn from.

My health issues still remain a mystery. I started my ninth and tenth medications last week. I'm hopeful that they will have some kind of effect. I had a repeat brain MRI just a few days ago and will have a repeat MRI of the cervical spine in August. Still having daily headaches and vertigo, however vision changes have begun to occur, my memory isn't what it used to be, and I've begun to have total left-side electric shock sensations. I still have the Hashimoto's Disease, and my endocrinologist is having a hell of a time getting my levels stabilized, and I was just recently (again) diagnosed with a severe Vitamin D deficiency. I'm also borderline anemic. What does all of this mean? Who knows. I'm trying so hard to be positive, so hard to put my faith in God, that He'll keep me here to see my babies have babies, but on some days it's hard.

So that's it, in a very small nutshell. I'll try to keep this updated more often for those of you who still check this.

2009-02-26T13:35:00.002-05:00

I've never gone 4 weeks without updating. I've gotten a few e-mails and Facebook messages from some of my loyal readers wondering, "Hi, are you still, like, alive?" Indeed I am. Just nothing good to write about, and I figured my endless battle with all things medical was getting a little too heavy for blogging, so I gave it a break. How sad that, in these 4 weeks, nothing exciting has happened, nor can I come up with anything fun/funny/witty to write about? Ick.

Updates, then, in bullet fashion:

Savannah turned 9 months old on February 15th. Where the hell did those 9 months go? Ohhh, I know....I was so consumed with feeling like poo and trying to figure out what the hell is going on with my body that I've essentially missed my baby girl's first year. Fabulous mothering on my part. In any case, she crawls faster than I can walk. She pulls herself up on things, cruises, and is probably seconds away from walking. Lord help me. She laughs when I use a firm voice and/or her full name in an attempt to stop her from eating random things off of the floor or from attempting to climb the stairs. She claps, says "dada" and "yaaaaay," waves, and makes these awful noises that would make one assume she is part pterodactyl or part short-wave radio. She has never wanted anything to do with baby food, commercial or homemade, and can now out-eat her brother at any meal. No teeth yet. Typical girl attitude is already present, and I can hardly wait for the teen years. She adores Nat and follows him around wherever he goes.

Nathanael is days away from turning 28 months but already has the personality of a sixteen year old boy. I hate the terrible twos, and from what I've been told it only gets worse. He has completely abandoned the idea of napping, so coupled with his attitude you can imagine that we have some ugly days. He loves to draw, and is actually quite a good artist for a two year old. He's smart and a bit of a smartass, proudly identifies letters of the alphabet whenever we see them out and about. Adults who don't know him compliment me on his vocabulary and manners and knowledge...even if he does pronounce peanuts as "penus."

Me, I'm hanging in there. Medically, we're still trying to figure things out. A recent MRI of the spine and cervical spine showed that I have bulging discs in my neck and back, as well as a condition called spondylosis, which is essentially osteoarthritis of the spine. What's causing it is yet to be determined, but cervical spondylosis can cause headaches and vertigo, and so I'm in physical therapy two days each week to try to alleviate symptoms. For the first two weeks I felt like a million bucks, but some of the symptoms are starting to return and I've had an increase in neck and back pain, so if those two instances are related I don't know. My physical therapist is wonderful, though, and I'm hopeful that with her course of treatment I'll get to feeling better soon. Some muscle relaxers and a vacation wouldn't hurt the situation either.

Hubs turns 38 today. That seems so old to me even though I'm 32. We're approaching the 11 year anniversary of when we first met. He had just turned 28 and I was 22. Only 11 years ago? Seems like it has been at least 25.

I live about 15 minutes away from where Continental Flight 3407 crashed. Scary and tragically sad, and my prayers went out to the victims and families, but it's all people could talk about here. Everyone seemed to have a story of how they knew someone who knew someone who should've been on the plane. Like 9/11 all over again. Like everyone felt the need to have a piece of the tragedy. I don't get that.

And that, dear readers, is the last few weeks in a nutshell. I appreciate all the messages concerning my presence on the planet. I was just trying to spare you all from yet another boring and piteous blog entry.

Enough

2009-01-27T13:26:00.004-05:00

I had my appointment with the third neurologist this morning. My primary care doctor suggested that I see this neurologist in light of the continued headache and vertigo as well as the progression of some other symptoms. While I didn't walk out of his office today with any kind of concrete answers as to what, exactly, is happening with my body, we did formulate a plan and will see what happens from there. Yahoo.

Starting today and for the next 4 days, I will be receiving an intravenous infusion of methylprednisolone and magnesium to reduce and kind of inflammation that may be causing the headaches. If this 4-day infusion works, then he will be forced to look in a certain direction for a cause of these headaches. I will have to go to an infusion clinic for 2 hours a day while this medication drips into my veins. Because my husband works and I won't leave the kids with anyone but family, I have to go at night, missing dinner and bedtimes for both kids. This better work.

I also have a prescription for Valium, 2 mg, to be taken 3x/day. Valium is apparently the drug of choice when treating vertigo. I'm a little leery of taking it, but he asked that I give it a try for 2 weeks. We'll see.

Doctor wanted to repeat a spinal tap. Remember how I had a spinal tap done in July of 2008? How it was supposed to be done to rule out MS way back when? Yeah. A MS workup was not performed on the fluid. I'm a little upset over that, because the experience was awful (took the jerk 4 full pokes to find the right spot), and because it was supposed to be performed to rule out MS. The kicker is that the doctor at the time TOLD ME that the tap ruled out MS. This is why I have little faith in the medical system. I wonder if I could sue him for fraud? In any case, I told him that I'd prefer to avoid a repeat tap based solely on my experience from last time, and he agreed to send me for non-invasive tests that may also indicate MS - a VER and a BAER. One tests the eyes and will indicate visual deficits, which I have begun to notice, and the other tests signals between the cochlea and the brain. If these two tests come back with negative results, I will likely follow the doctor's suggestion of having the tap repeated.

Finally, I have a test tomorrow called a TCD. It's essentially a sonogram of the brain, and will show live-action blood flow. It will be performed with a bubble study to determine the possibility of emboli from the PFO. I thought that MRA/MRV would've ruled this out, but I guess not?

I'm praying that these tests and medications will provide relief and assist in eliciting some answers. I really am so tired of all of this. Savannah will turn 1 in May, and it makes me sad to think that the majority of the first year of her life was spent like this.

Update

2009-01-09T13:41:00.003-05:00

I received preliminary results back from the brain scans I had the other night. The MRA (magnetic resonance angiogram, looking at blood vessels) and MRV (magnetic resonance venography, looking specifically at the venous system) both came back negative, which means that no small clusters of clots and no aneurysms were observed. There was apparently one area of the MRV that wasn't of good quality so I have to go back in tonight to have that part repeated, but I'm guessing nothing will show up. So this is good news.

Back to the drawing board. I see the third neurologist in about two weeks. He's also a headache specialist, so if he can't come up with anything then we'll proceed to the Cleveland Clinic to take the immunology route. I refuse to believe that there isn't a reason for feeling this way, and I"m not about to resolve to spend the rest of my life feeling this way. No thanks.

Thanks for putting up with my posts about medical issues and the worries that accompany the issues. Your comments, prayers, and Internet presence actually do mean a great deal to me.

2009-01-06T14:31:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I learned that I have a PFO, or a small hole in my heart. In the 4 or 5 prior echocardiograms that I have had, this has never once shown up.

But now tonight I am scheduled for a brain MRA and MRV to determine whether or not I have had any TIAs, or, essentially, mini-strokes.

I have a blood clotting disorder. I have a history of blood clots to the lung. I also have several brain MRIs that have shown white spots. White spots = strokes?

I'm scared. I can't stop having visions of leaving my babies long before I'm ready.

Bye-bye, 2008

2008-12-31T14:21:00.002-05:00

I can't believe how quickly this year has passed. I spent the first half of it pregnant, and the rest of it feeling like crap. I'm hopeful that 2009 will bring nothing but good things to our family. We're starting to head in the right direction financially, which is a huge weight off. Progress, albeit slow, is starting to be made in terms of my mysterious health issue. I've been referred to a third - THIRD - neurologist after a VNG revealed that my chronic vertigo is most likely the result of a CNS issue. Fab-u-lous news, no? Good news is that things like tumors and aneurysms have been ruled out several times over. I think my PCP's still thinking that I may have MS. This new neurologist is (allegedly) an expert, and *the* doctor to go to for MS symptoms and treatment. So we'll see. Not that I want a diagnosis of that or anything in that spectrum, but an answer, if it ever comes, will be so nice. My PCP is also arranging for me to be seen at The Cleveland Clinic should this new neurologist not have any new insights. That also leaves me hopeful that an answer will be found.

2009 will be the first year out of the last few years that I won't be pregnant during some part of the year. Bittersweet realization.

2009 will bring our 7th wedding anniversary. Hubs turns 38. I'll turn 33. My babies will turn 3 and 1. It will also bring my 10-year college reunion. Yikes.

2009 will hopefully bring nothing but great change for this country. I look forward to 1/20 with both excitement and trepidation.

2009 better bring with it some pretty serious weight loss. Hashimoto's be damned - I vow to lose 50 pounds by the end of this year. That's baby weight from both babies and will bring me back down to my "ideal" weight. I have no idea how I'm going to do it. Finances and lack of any real time prevent me from joining a gym. Well...back up there. We could most likely do it financially. But I feel guilty taking out time for myself to go exercise. Weird, isn't it? It's not enough that I stay home all day with them, but I feel like I'm doing them a disservice by not being around all. the. time. They're going to grow up to resent me for that, aren't they?

2009 holds the promise of everlasting memories. I wish nothing but health and love and happiness for my little family of 4, and to all of you.

May you all have a very, very happy new year!

WWACD

2008-12-11T14:04:00.002-05:00

What would Annie Camden do?

Nat has become an incredibly picky eater. He rarely eats what I put in front of him. I'm not a horrible cook. Quite the opposite, actually. He just has set in his mind what he wants to eat, and it's usually not anything near what I've made for lunch or dinner. In his mind, the four basic food groups include bread/pretzels/rice, chocolate, cheese, and noodles. A kid after my own heart. Or stomach. But I can't go feeding him these foods over and over again.

Can I?

Not the chocolate, of course. Chocolate (and any other sweet) is a treat in this house. Not readily available, and not distributed even on a semi-regular basis. But the other stuff? Breads and cheese and noodles? He could eat those every day for every meal.

Perhaps I've been making a mistake in trying to get him to eat what the adults eat. My dinners consist of a protein, a veggie, and a starch. Nat has transformed from a child who would eat anything healthy to a child who takes one bite of everything on his plate and announces that he's done and would like to get down. Put a hot dog or buttered noodles in front of him, though, and he'll clean his plate and ask for more.

So what do you do with a picky toddler? I'm posing this question to the thousands of readers I have (ha), some of whom I know are veteran moms. Do I make two dinners, one for the adults consisting of "real" food and one of which I know he'll eat, or do I continue serving him the balanced choices? My dinner table rule is that he has to try everything once, and if he doesn't like it then he doesn't have to eat it - in that case I'll make him a PB & J or grilled cheese. But he often flat out refuses. So I'm at a loss. Hubs says that he'll eat when he's hungry and to not push him, but I'm the mom - it's my job to push and to make sure I give every effort to take care of him. He's such a little peanut and he needs to eat.

I wonder what Annie Camden would do?

Through the eyes of children

2008-12-09T14:29:00.002-05:00

This will be Nat's third Christmas, but the first year he really has much of an understanding of anything related to the holiday. He gets Santa, though, and understands that Christmas is also Baby Jesus' birthday...as much as a two year old can, I guess.
We took the kids to see Santa at a small country store in the area that has the best Santa I've ever seen. Santa comes down the chimney every night. Savannah, obviously, doesn't understand anything beyond the sparkly lights, but it was fun to see her enjoying the twinkling lights on the trees. Watching Nat's eyes light up as he spied Santa's boots dropping from the chimney was enough to melt my heart. His anticipation was very apparent as we waited in line. He was so excited to tell Santa that he has been a good boy and that he'd like some more Cars things for Christmas. He's been spoiled in that he's my taste-tester for every holiday cookie I'm baking, and he'll also get the occasional treat of staying up "late" to watch a Christmas special in his jammies, snuggled up with mama while eating some popcorn we've popped on the stove top. I wonder if any of these things will serve to become one of his first memories. I hope so. I can't recall many annual Christmas traditions from when I was little, so I hope to create many for these kiddos that will help make each holiday extra special. I know, though, that I'll remember enough for the both of them.

I made the decision to move Nat into Savannah's bedroom, which happens to be his old bedroom. He's been having an awful time sleeping lately, and I wondered if he missed his old room, or if he just wanted company. I was a little nervous about the two of them sharing a room, thinking that one would disrupt the other, but so far it seems to be a success. He loves to look across the room and see his baby sister.

In medical news, my PCP has reached out to medical staff in Rochester to see if anything of my case rings any bells with them. Apparently some doctors at the large teaching hospital in Rochester are quite interested, so I'm wondering if I'll have to travel a bit in my continued effort to find out what's going on. Travel + WNY winters = fun.

I'm at an impasse with Christmas shopping. I would love to buy and buy and buy, giving the kids everything they want, but we also want to instill in them the notion that they don't need to be knee-deep in material possessions to be happy. After all, it's not the amount of things that we have that makes us truly happy. So I'm wondering how much is too much. I know some families who give one gift per age in years - so Nat would get 2 following that rule, and Savannah would get - what, half of a gift? I know some families who have their kids make a list, ranking the top 5 items on the list, and more families who save and save and save during the year and then go crazy at Christmas time. Hubs and I don't exchange gifts, so that leaves some extra wiggle room to spoil the kids, but I don't want to raise spoiled kids. It'll be fun to see what ends up happening.

Lastly, I have the Facebook virus, and nothing we do seems to get rid of it. We've tried a gajillion different antivirus programs, including that one we pay $80 a year for, and nothing works. Anyone have any insight?

Pure, unadulterated HELL

2008-12-04T13:22:00.002-05:00

That's what our house has been for the last 48 hours.

I decided on Tuesday, after a trip to the pediatric dentist, that the time had arrived to bid adieu to Nat's beloved pacifier, affectionately known around here as "suckah." The dentist revealed that his jaw was becoming slightly misaligned, rated it a 7 out of 10, and told me that if I took it away that day that his jaw would return to normal. If I didn't? His adult teeth would have white spots, his jaw would be unable to return to its original position, and...the worst part? He would shpeak like thish. Okay. 'nuff said. Her advice as to how to deal with it was simply suggesting that the sucker was lost, making a huge deal out of finding it, and telling him that it was gone but reinforce that it's okay to go to sleep without it. Sounded easy enough to me, and he only used it at night anyway, so I didn't figure it would be all that bad.

Oh, how wrong was I. Nat's bedtime is 8 p.m. He didn't fall asleep that night until right before midnight, and then was up again at 2:10, 3:12, 4:30, 5:17, 6:15, and up for the day at 7. He was in an ugly mood all day yesterday, and we figured that he'd pass out at bedtime last night. Not so. Last night? He was up ALL. NIGHT. LONG.

He's upstairs now attempting to nap, wailing for his sucker. I know if I cave in and give it to him he'll immediately fall asleep. It's killing me to hear him like that. I feel like an awful mother, because I took away his biggest source of comfort outside of myself, but it's time, right? The boy has been speaking in complete sentences for many months now. He can recite his ABCs and count to 10, draw a perfect circle - surely he doesn't need his sucker anymore. Right? He'll get over it. He won't hold a grudge against me. He'll still be my baby.

Thankfully Savannah loathes her sucker unless she happens to have a rough night, so it's easy to keep hers out of sight. I feel like I've been run over by a cement truck, though, and can't take another sleepless night. I'm hopeful that tonight will be a little easier, and by the weekend, all will be forgotten. If any of my hundreds (ha ha) of readers have any insight as to how to make this any easier, I would appreciate your feedback. He has his other beloved object, his blanket (Binky), and I thought that Binky would just take over, but I was wrong. I'm at a loss.

I've also realized that my studies and degrees in psychology and all of the knowledge I've acquired is 100% lost on my own child. He knows when I'm trying to psychologize him, and he'll give it right back to me in his own psycho-toddler way. Smart guy.

Savannah is babbling, and she has a sweet, adorable voice. She says dada, but we're not sure if it's intentional or not. She'll say it while looking at Hubs, so it's entirely possible. She also says gee-tee while looking at the cat. Cute.

We had a swell Thanksgiving. Spent it with my parents and younger sister. In a moment of insanity, I decided to go shopping on Black Friday. Both kids were up for most of the night, having been thrown off their schedules by the turkey day travel, so at 4:12 a.m. on Friday I decided to head out to see if it truly was a crazy day. After spending 2 1/2 hours on line at a certain store I've decided that I'll never do BF again. Ever. I had the fortune of witnessing a man punch a woman in the face over a vacuum cleaner. White trash at its finest.

I'm continuing to baffle doctors with the medical stuff. My PCP will now be contacting specialists in every area of medicine to see if something about my case rings a bell with them. He's thinking some kind of chronic autoimmune issue or the possibility of having contracted a virus during my c-section or while in the hospital. So now I have to sit back and wait. It's not fun, but at least I feel now like he's actually doing something more than just throwing random drugs my way. He gets it. Last week he prescribed the Medrol Dosepak to see if it would create a break in the symptoms. I felt 100% better on days 2 and 3 of the prescription, but immediately returned to how I was feeling once I stopped taking more than 1 pill at a time. To me this would indicate that these symptoms are being caused by some kind of inflammation, but I'm not the MD, and I've learned through all of this that most doctors don't appreciate having their knowledge questioned. All I want for Christmas is an answer.

As we're getting more into the holiday season, I can't help but be grateful for what I do have, though. I love seeing Nat getting excited over the prospect of Santa. I love that he gets it this year, and I'm proud that he also knows that Christmas is a day to celebrate the birth of Baby Jesus. For as much as I lament over what I don't have, I'm so incredibly grateful for my little family here. And really, that's all that matters.

Happy Thanksgiving to all...

2008-11-26T14:52:00.001-05:00

...and to all a good turkey.

Wishing all of my readers a very happy Thanksgiving. Make you all have plenty to be thankful for. I know I do.

Tagged

2008-11-18T20:23:00.003-05:00

I was tagged by my friend Elisabeth. These are fun.

8 things I’m passionate about:
1. Being a good wife
2. Being a good mother
3. Making sure my family is happy and healthy
4. Napping children
5. Getting enough sleep
6. My faith
7. Holiday traditions
8. Cooking

8 things that happened yesterday:
1. Disconnected the Holter monitor and turned it in.
2. Went to a cake decorating class.
3. Went to Target.
4. Made fabulous towers with Mega Blocks.
5. Read some of my new book.
6. Reconnected with a few old friends on Facebook.
7. Made a fabulous dinner.
8. Watched Private Practice.

8 things I do now:
1. Stay at home Mom
2. Battle with my children to get to sleep
3. Worry about way too many things
4. Spend way too much time on Facebook when the children are asleep.
5. Manage the $$
6. Wish I had more $$ to manage.
7. Do a happy dance when both children are asleep
8. Relax when given the opportunity in the afternoons

8 things I can not do:
1. Talk to doctors on the phone. I have some kind of phobia, so I make Hubs do it.
2. Clean the bathroom. It makes me gag.
3. Get through a day without worrying.
4. Get through a day without checking my e-mail and/or Facebook.
5. Eat pork.
6. Drink Bolthouse Farms Green Goodness. Never, ever again.
7. Win at Scrabble, despite my extensive vocabulary.
8. Let a baby truly cry it out. I've tried and failed.

8 things I often say:
1. Go to sleep, Savannah.
2. Don't touch that, Nat.
3. I SAID don't TOUCH that!
4. Hubs, could you (fill in the blank).
5. I love you Hubs/Nat/Savannah.
6. Dude
7. What?/Excuse me?
8. I'm hungry.

8 favorite TV shows:
1. Lost
2. Grey's Anatomy
3. How I Met Your Mother
4. Big Bang Theory

8 favorite foods:
1. My mom's cinnamon buns
2. Lobster
3. A good salad
4. A good bacon cheeseburger with BBQ sauce
5. French onion soup
6. Any sandwich from Carluccio's in Brooklyn
7. Pizza from Lombardi's in NYC
8. My grandmother's pizza/white bread. :(

8 things you may not have known about me:
1. I used to be quite funny. One of my greatest accomplishments, other than birthing 2 beautiful children, was performing on the stage at UCBT in NYC on the same stage as Amy Poehler, Tina Fey, and other fabulously funny people.
2. I've never felt more free and more alive as I did when I lived in NYC. I miss it.
3. I have an inferiority complex.
4. I'm not adept at making and maintaining friendships. I wish I could be.
5. I once marched with Nancy Regan in a Just Say No parade.
6. I sang with Mitch Miller when I was in the fifth grade, and believe there's a record album out there with my voice on it.
7. I was cast in 2 films when I lived in NYC. One was a bust and probably never made it beyond the cutting room. The other was a huge hit, but I wasn't in it.
8. I will never forgive myself for not being able to adequately breastfeed my children.

I quit

2008-11-18T14:43:00.003-05:00

I'm depressed. I feel lousy. Every. Single. Day. I was hopeful that a diagnosis of Hashimoto's and an increase in my medication would cure everything, make me feel 100%. Not so. I started at 125 mcg of levothyroxine and wound up with chest pain and palpitations and had the dosage dropped to 100 mcg. I feel worse on 100 than I did on 125. I am still having daily headaches. I've had a headache all day every day for the last 6 months. Add to the mix vertigo, nausea, and the occasional palpitation and shortness of breath, and there you have it - my day. I have so many -ologists under my belt that I'm sure I must've beaten a record somewhere. I'm currently wearing a Holter monitor to see if there is any indication of atrial fibrillation, which is apparently common in patients with thyroid disease. I also have a congenital heart defect which makes me prone to headaches, but one would think that I'd have had these symptoms long before having Savannah.

I'm scared. I'm sad. I feel like I'm being let down. I would love to just wake up one morning and feel good and not be scared and actually have the energy to sit and play with my kids the way any good mom would do. I'm so scared. A good Christian would give up her fear to God and be assured that He was taking care of her and would ensure that she will, in fact, be around for a long long time to see her babies have babies. But I can't do that. I don't know how.

I can't get through a day without crying. Without imagining a horrible scenario that includes my kids but doesn't include me.

My thyroid ultrasound came back negative. That's a good thing and I'm thankful for that. Hashimoto's is really wreaking havoc on my body, though. My hair is so brittle that it's breaking. And falling out. I once had thick, long, luxurious locks. Not so much anymore. My skin is so dry that it hurts to clench my fists. I'm fat. Post-baby fat, and I'm not gaining weight, but the fat isn't going anywhere. From what I've read, it's terribly difficult to lose weight when you have Hashimoto's, despite exhaustive efforts. Fabulous. I feel ugly. I'm forgetful. I usually stop mid-sentence to try to remember what point I was trying to make. I can't remember simple words. Once upon a time I was intelligent. Today? I'm lucky if I can get through a sentence without transposing words. I feel stupid. I'm having horrible mood swings. Worse than those that come with pregnancy. I feel like a bitch, and a horrible human being. I'm pretty sure it's making Nathanael hate me, because he loves to say "No love Mama" and tells me "no kiss" when I try to kiss him. Never did I think he'd break my heart, and never did I think my heart was capable of hurting the way it does when he says those things.

I don't know what direction to turn to next. The PCP says it's out of his hands. The neurologist says that there is, indeed, suspicious material on my brain, but it's not a tumor, it could be MS, but he just doesn't think so. The endocrinologist confirms that I do, in fact, have Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, but tells me that it's incredibly unlikely that it's the reason behind the headaches (despite the fact that I've read on many message boards that people with HT suffer from chronic daily headaches) and says that he's not comfortable blaming the cardiac events on the thyroid. The cardiologist straps a monitor on me, hands me some samples, and ignores my question about a relationship between thyroid disease and mitral valve prolapse syndrome, a condition I happen to have every single symptom of.

I feel lost. I feel disappointed. I know this is not in my head - blood tests and radiological tests are confirming that for me. Why can't we figure this out? Why does every single day have to be spent feeling awful? I can't remember the last time I felt truly happy and was truly able to just sit and enjoy the day, my family, life in general. I pray every day for answers. For a sign that I'll be okay. For some kind of reassurance that I'm not going to leave my children without a mother. But I don't feel like I'm getting anything in return. This is why I left my faith on the back burner many years ago.

I just want to be okay. I want to know that I'm going to be okay. I want to stop being scared and sad and feeling sorry for myself and be the mom that I know my babies need and deserve. I just need things to be normal. I just want to be okay.

6 months

2008-11-15T20:13:00.003-05:00

Dear Savannah -

Is it possible that half of a year has flown by so quickly? How can you possibly be 6 months old today? This time 6 months ago, I had just sent you back to the nursery with your daddy for the night, in pain and uncomfortable from surgery, and floating on Cloud 9 from finally getting to meet my baby girl. We hadn't picked your name yet, so we were just calling you "Baby Girl." I had my heart set on naming you Norah, but when you came out you looked nothing like a Norah, and that threw me for a loop.

You amaze me, Savannah. How you function on so little sleep is beyond me, and you are always smiling, always happy. You adore your big brother, and you so badly want to do everything he does. You want to get down and play with him. You want whatever he's eating. You are obsessed with his cup. You watch everything he does, and you look at him with such adoring eyes that it melts my heart.

You are a wonderful eater. Overnight, it seems, you have taken to solid foods with a liking that I've never seen in a baby before. You can't pile in the squash and carrots quickly enough, and you let me know that you're not happy when I don't move fast enough for you.

You are getting so close to crawling already - you can scooch yourself in every direction but haven't officially taken that first crawling move yet. Any day now, though, and Mama's not sure that she's ready for you to be mobile yet!

You love the song "There Was An Old Lady..." and "Hush, Little Baby," and you love for me to sing the chapi chapo song to you while you're eating. You're so silly and so much fun. You're a hit every week at church, constantly amusing and drawing smiles and laughter from the people around us, most often the result of the fabulous raspberries you blow.

You're such a joy, Savannah. You frustrate the living daylights out of me in a way that only a daughter can to her mother, but you have completed our family and I'm thankful every day for you and I love you.

Mourning

2008-11-10T14:06:00.003-05:00

The 70-degree weather is finally gone. The above pictures were taken on Friday - today is Monday - and the high had reached 76 in this part of the state. This morning there was snow on the ground when we woke up. Gross. I'll carry fond memories of the warm months of 2008 with me for always. Memories of watching Nat discover bugs and the fun of digging in the mud and playing in his water table and coloring with chalk on the driveway and learning to ride his little bike. Of playing on his outside toy from Gran and Grandpa's Mustache. Of his obsession with spiders and crickets. I wonder if he'll enjoy these same things next year, or if a little bit of that sweetness, a little bit of that innocence will be gone. I'll remember Savannah dozing in the hot hot July heat, outside on her blanket, with the warm summer breeze blowing around her. I'll remember the look of wonder on her face when she first noticed leaves blowing on the trees. The look of determination on her face when watching her brother play, wishing that she could get down and run around with him, too. These kids will never remember the joy they brought me this summer, but I will. For always.

I've gotten some more answers as to what has been causing me to feel awful since having Savannah. I have Hashimoto's Disease, as well as Vitamin D and Vitamin B12 deficiencies. Fun times. I have an ultrasound of my thyroid scheduled for this week because the endocrinologist feels an abnormality, which may or may not be the result of Hashimoto's. This ultrasound will rule out a goiter, nodules, and thyroid cancer. I'm nervous, obviously, but don't appear to have the classic symptoms of a goiter or cancer. I'll just be glad when it's over.

I'm excited that the holiday season is fast approaching. Although he doesn't fully get it this year, Nat will have more of an understanding of the season, and I imagine a lot of fun will be had. We plan to spend Thanksgiving at our home, and then to my parents' home for Christmas Eve and part of Christmas Day. I remember being horribly morning sick during the holidays last year, so it will be nice to just be able to relax and have fun and enjoy everything this year.

On a side note, please don't buy Yogi Tea Green Tea with Pomegranate. It tastes like feet.

Birthday weekend

2008-11-03T13:24:00.005-05:00

How a 2-year-old's birthday can turn into a weekend-long event is beyond me, but it did. A good time was had by all, though, and that's all that matters. The actual birthday was on Halloween, and he was greeted by Cookie Monster blue streamers hanging all over the house. After a breakfast of homemade birthday waffles, it was time to open presents. If there is a diecast Cars car he doesn't have I'll be shocked. It looks like Disney-Pixar threw up in my house. Mack the Truck was a favorite gift as well. We went to Chuck E Cheese for lunch - our first time there - and seeing his little eyes light up when we went in was worth the obscene amount of money they charge you for food (and I use that term loosely) and tokens. Dinner was at home, followed by cake #1, and then we sat outside and handed out candy to the trick-or-treaters.

Birthday party on Saturday, held at a children's museum that he loves and that we have a membership to. Family and friends came from all around to help us celebrate. Nat had a blast, but I have to say that the highlight of the day for me was displaying the Cookie Monster cake I baked and decorated. :)

The celebration seemed to continue yesterday when we decided to bid adieu to the Zanzibar jungle themed bedroom and turn it into a Cars-themed big boy room. Oddly enough, it was that process that made me realize that I can't really call him a baby anymore - even though I will - and that he is, in fact, a big boy.

Some pictures:

Last day as a one year old!

The cutest scarecrow ever

Mmm - birthday waffles!

Quite possibly the best pumpkin I've ever carved.

Cookie Monster cake for party day

The favorite CEC attraction.

Digging in the rice table at the museum w/ Auntie Alex

Making a wish while blowing out the candles on party day.

Savannah and Daddy at the party

And today you are two

2008-10-31T10:18:00.003-04:00

Happy second birthday, Nathanael!

I can hardly believe that you, my baby boy, are already two - you're not a baby anymore. You're growing up to be such a big boy! You've been so excited about your birthday all week, proudly announcing to anyone and everyone that you were turning two.

I hope that this next year of your life brings you as much joy and happiness as this past year seems to have brought you. You are so loved, and I want you to continue to know and feel that every day.

You are such a blessing to our lives, Nat. You are sweet, kindhearted, sensitive, loving, SO smart and SO very funny. You bring a smile to my lips and heart all the time, even through your tantrums and emphatic strings of telling me "NO!"

I love you. You're so very special to me, and I love you more and more every day. Off you go, and off you grow....but stay my baby a little longer, okay?

Happy birthday, my Natty. My lovey dovey. My handsome handsome. I love you.

Our first family picture

The stuff my nightmares are made of

2008-10-16T14:35:00.003-04:00

Or, my own personal Arachnophobia.

These dudes were living on my mailbox until my brute of a husband came home and made them ex-spiders. I hate, loathe, and despise spiders. They scare me. As Nat would say, they give me the "heebie jeebies" and "creepin' willies." So when I walked outside the other day to retrieve the mail, imagine my horror when I saw these 2 evil creatures guarding the mailbox. It made me throw up in a mouth. My skin is crawling as I type this while looking at the pictures. Creepy.

Seriously, Calgon, please take me away.

2008-10-10T13:35:00.002-04:00

I'm pretty sure I've been in hell all week. The children are driving me nuts. Remember when I wrote a few posts ago about having an occasional bad day, the kind of day that made me wish for a job again? This has been that day. Times 7. All week. Every last minute of it.

The "terrible twos" have officially arrived at our house. I'm so over it. I'm tired of being told no by someone half my size. I'm tired of watching him throw himself on the floor when he doesn't get his way. I'm tired of having him shove his plate at me when he doesn't approve of what I've cooked for dinner. I have no idea where the attitude came from, but it got to the point this week where I was giving it back to him. Counterproductive, yes, but I reached the end of my rope by Monday afternoon. I'm ready to check myself into rehab just to get away from my kids.

The girl child? Forget it. She's at the top of my list. She discovered how to whine this week, and while it was cute for, oh, the first five seconds, it's annoying now. To the point where I want to rip my ears off just so I don't have to hear it anymore. She's currently refusing to take her bottle unless she's sitting in her car seat. That's fine, unless of course I'd like to be doing something with my other child so that he doesn't feel alienated or neglected or like I don't love him anymore. I saw a doctor this week who asked if I planned on having anymore children. I laughed like a maniac. She probably thinks I'm nuts. Truth is I'd be nuts to have another child. I don't think I'm a capable mother. I don't think I'm a good mother. How can I be? It's not normal to feel this way.

Speaking of not normal to feel this way, the answers have begun to arrive as far as my health is concerned. After having 19 vials of blood drawn a few weeks ago at the order of my new neurologist (he was, I'm assuming, testing for everything under the sun), the doctor tells me I tested positive for thyroid antibodies, which most likely means that I have Hashimoto's Disease. No big deal to me, as I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism last year. I'll now be seeing an endocrinologist to confirm the diagnosis and he'll dig a little more to see if there's anything else auto-immune going on. A few other things popped up on the results, but I'm not sure what, if anything, it means. I have a brain and spine MRI scheduled in a few weeks, and we'll see what, if anything, those show. In any case, I'm thankful that we're finally figuring something out. I'm so done with feeling lousy.

I'm addicted to Facebook. Seriously, OCD-addicted to it. If I'm lucky enough to have both children napping at the same time, I'll be on Facebook looking to see if everyone I've ever known in my life is on there, too. On Facebook and want to be friends?
E-mail me at mama_worrywart at yahoo dot com. For those of you who have my other e-mail address, please continue to use it, as this is just my blog-related e-mail.

I'm no maverick, dontcha know. wink wink You betcha!

2008-10-06T17:55:00.002-04:00

I worry about the future of this country. Not for myself, but for my children. Oh - and hers, too.

Inspiration, aspiration, consternation

2008-09-30T13:23:00.002-04:00

Nat is 23 months old. Tomorrow, actually. I can't believe he's almost 2. Maybe if I don't think about it it won't happen, and he'll stay my sweet boy forever. Poor baby has a bad cold. Both kiddos do, but he's especially cute because he's so stuffed that "mama" is coming out "baba." Yesterday, he was pleading, "Baba, fix duffy dode." Translation? Mama, fix stuffy nose. Cute.

I'm in a bit of a state of confusion lately, hence the title of this post. From the day I found out I was pregnant with Nat it was agreed upon between Hubs and I that I would be the primary caregiver, the one who would forgo furthering a career to stay at home to take care of the children. I planned to return to work when Nat was in school full time. Getting pregnant with Savannah delayed that plan by another year or two. I have days on which I long for the opportunity to return to work. I don't have a specific job to return to because I've not worked since we moved to the Buffalo area, but on the occasional rough day I would run back to an office and try to mend the hearts and minds of troubled youth in a flash. Until recently.

My children are inspiring me to become a better person. I am told that this is not uncommon. They've inspired me to become reacquainted with and more involved in the Catholic church, and in doing so I've become even more inspired to be the best wife and mother that I can be. I love circular effects.

I've had many aspirations over my lifetime. When I was a little girl I wanted to be a ballerina, a nun, and a teacher. When I was in high school I wanted to be a psychiatric social worker. Once I was in college I wanted to change the world. When I hit graduate school I just wanted to make a fat amount of money. It wasn't until I became a mother that I realized just how much I wanted to be a mother. To raise a baby to be a good, well-rounded, honest, loving, faithful, and caring person. Having a second baby doubled this desire and cemented the fact that I was put here to be a mother, specifically a mother to these two children. In the first few months of being a new and first time mother, I lamented over not having gotten as far as possible in my chosen field. I had given up on thinking that I'd change the world. Oh, how I was wrong. I realize today that I'm changing the world in the best way possible - one heartbeat at a time.

I love staying at home with my children. I get looks of pity and disgust at times when asked what I do and respond that I'm a SAHM. They've chosen what's best for them, and I've chosen what's best for my family. It means not having our own home right now. It means having debt. It means not wearing fancy clothes. I wouldn't change it for the world.

I aspire now to be the kind of mom who is always there for her children, physically and emotionally. I'm sure I'll get eye rolls and "OMGs," but are you familiar with Annie Camden, the uber-mom from 7th Heaven? That's what I want. That's what I want to be. Supermom, I guess. Soccer mom and PTA mom and best-bake sale-mom and cool mom all rolled into one. Would my kids love this or hate this? Would they resent me for not working? Would they be embarrassed? I can see it now. Hey Nat, my mom's a doctor or Hey Savannah, my mom's an aeronautical engineer. What does YOUR mom do? My own mom will tell me about my peers who are in the process of becoming doctors or this and that, and after a fleeting moment of wondering if she's as proud of me as those mothers are of their children, I sit back and remind myself that I endured two awful pregnancies and gave birth to two beautiful children, and am doing my darnedest to ensure that they grow up feeling and knowing that they are loved, cherished, supported, and protected. That has to count for something, doesn't it?

Isn't there ANYTHING for worrywarts?

2008-09-25T13:19:00.004-04:00

It's no secret. I worry. I worry a lot. Also? I'm a big what-if-er.

I think I've always been a worrier. When I was a little girl, I used to pray hard every night before bed that my parents wouldn't die. Morbid, no? As I got older my worries were typical for my age. Would I ever get a boyfriend? (I did.) Will my skin ever clear up? (It did. Thank you, Proactiv.) What if I don't get into my first choice for college? (I did.) What if I DO? (I hated it.) What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? (Still trying to figure that one out.) Am I marrying the right guy? (Pretty sure I did.)

Peanut butter just made me gag. Last time that happened was when I was pregnant with Savannah. Those damn tests better have been accurate!

But I digress.

Where was I? Ah yes. Worrying. An art form I've perfected. My worrying didn't hit OCD levels, though, until I had a pulmonary embolism 5 years ago. Then it hit a high, and drugs and CBT didn't do a damn thing for it.

I have a mysterious health issue right now. It scares me. I sought out a new neurologist, and was directed to a man who appears to be the best, in the best practice. I only wish I started out with him. He seems to have an idea of what may be going on. He's running extensive tests - bloodwork and MRIs of the head and spine. Where the other neurologist was only hearing "headaches" and automatically jumped to the conclusion of migraines, this man took nearly 2 hours on our first visit going over my total health history and wanted to know every nook and cranny of my current symptoms. At the end of our visit, he took my hand in his, looked me in the eye, and said, "I don't want you to worry. We'll figure this out." He's got a few suspicions of what this all might be, and while it wouldn't be great news, I am beyond confident that this doctor will take care of me and help me to live a long and healthy life, long enough to hopefully see my babies have babies.

What about when it comes to your babies, though? When is it okay to worry? How much worry is okay? My Nat? He's tired. He's tired a lot, despite his solid night's sleep and 3-4 hour nap. He occasionally has swollen lymph nodes in his neck. We've had him checked by his doctor who wasn't concerned at the time but wanted to keep an eye on him to make sure they don't change. But it's hard for me not to go....there. I know that growing is a tiresome process. Kids get tired. But I know what excessive tiredness and swollen nodes could mean, and it's hard for me not to get into a panic. Hubs gets annoyed with my worries and then makes "promises" that things will be okay. I'd go on, but he reads this blog and I don't have the energy to fight. But it's on blah days like this, though, that I wish I had some real-live girlfriends to sit and chat with, to cry with for a few minutes, and then help me put my happy face on and pretend like I don't have a worry in the world. I've gotten pretty good at doing that lately.

I hope I don't pass my worries onto my children. I'd never forgive myself.

Size 5

2008-09-18T14:23:00.004-04:00

Is it bad when your 4-month-old and 22-month-old wear the same size diapers? Eek.

I feel like crap today (hence the pregnancy tests). Going to see a new neurologist tomorrow. Need to figure out what the hell is going on with my body. Prayers/good thoughts would be welcome and appreciated.

A collective sigh of relief, please

2008-09-16T13:10:00.002-04:00

2-pack of Target brand pregnancy tests - $7.49
Finding out that I would not, in fact, be a mother to 3 under 3 - simply priceless.

Adoration

2008-09-15T15:18:00.003-04:00

I'm afraid he'll be carrying Binky down the aisle with him some day. This picture makes my heart ache. I love you, Natty, more than you'll ever know.

4 months old

2008-09-15T15:01:00.003-04:00

Sweet baby girl, how can you be 4 months old already? Weren't you just locking your foot into my ribcage for the first time? Weren't you just a tiny dot on the ultrasound screen? Slow down, would you? Don't be in such a hurry to grow up. And while you're at it, make sure you tell your brother the same thing. At this exact moment, four months ago, you and I were most likely being wheeled to the recovery room from the OR, sharing our first moments together, having the opportunity to size each other up.

You are an amazing little creature to experience every day. You love your daddy. You love your daddy so much, and it's evident in the way your eyes light up whenever he walks near you. You have a special goofy smile reserved just for him, and I have to admit that it makes me a bit jealous. You also love your big brother. You think he's the greatest thing ever and you love to watch him and make faces at him. You can't have your precious blanket out of your sight. It's funny how attached you've grown to it already. You'd rather do anything in place of sleeping. You don't fancy sleep much, unless it comes to nighttime. A solid 8 or 9 hours is a great gift from you to mama and daddy, and we thank you. But I hate to break it to you, kiddo - you have to sleep in your crib eventually. You're outgrowing the pack 'n play! You're not crazy about the pacifier - you'd much rather have your hand or my fingers, or, I imagine, a steak in your mouth. Your two little teeth need some buddies, cutie - it freaks mama out a bit that you only have fangs. You find my rendition of There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Fly to be the cat's meow, and you're even more amused when I run out of air singing it. You adore being sung to. Maybe you'll grow up to be an opera singer? Or the first female president? Look out Sarah, here comes Savannah!

I love you lots, Savannah. I can't wait until you're a bit older and we can start having lots of mama-daughter fun, but please - stay my baby girl a little bit longer, okay? I know you're in a hurry to be a big girl, but slow down, just a little. You might not want to hold onto being an itty bitty, but I'm not ready to let it go.

Love you. Miss you.

2008-09-04T14:39:00.003-04:00

My grandmother passed away exactly 9 years ago. I can remember getting the call from my mom like it was yesterday. It was the first time I had experienced a loss of a family member. She had been sick for a while, so we were all expecting it, but still, it hurt and it made me sad. She died about a week and a half after I moved away from home for my first job after college. I moved almost 4 hours away from my hometown for a job I really didn't want so that I could live in the same town as my then-boyfriend (now my husband). I went to my grandmother's home on the night before I was to leave. I went to say goodbye, but I didn't realize that my goodbye would truly be my goodbye. The last thing I had said to her was, "Bye, Gram. See you soon!" I didn't even tell her I loved her. I hope she knew.

On the night that my grandmother died, my mom went to her home and found a dragonfly on the ledge directly outside of my grandmother's window. The dragonfly was dead, but it was still beautiful - completely intact, light green-pearlescent body whole and unharmed, and its wings still spread, looking as though it was simply resting a spell. My mom took that dragonfly and saved it, and I like to think that it was a sign from my grandmother letting us know that she was okay. You see, my mom and I, at the time, were big into collecting all things dragonfly, and I'm pretty sure Gram knew that. I think my mom found some peace in finding it. I know I did.

Every time since that day that I've seen a dragonfly, which isn't often, a mere handful of times, I like to think it's Gram saying hi and letting me know that she's looking out for me.

This morning, Nat and I were playing outside while Savannah napped. It started out a perfectly blah, grey day. Cloudy, overcast, and a light drizzle, but muggy enough that I was comfortable with him playing outside. As we started walking onto the grass in our back yard, a huge mosquito buzzed by my face and I swatted it out of the way. I hate mosquitoes. They give me the creeps, especially the big ones that look like they could suck the very life breath right out of you. It came back, and I swatted it again. Persistent little fellow. It wasn't until I approached Nat's Little Tikes castle that I realized I hadn't swatted a mosquito. It was a dragonfly - a beautiful dragonfly with translucent wings and a green-pearlescent body, and it had landed directly in my line of sight on the top of the castle. I called to Nat to take a look, and as we walked closer, the dragonfly fluttered its wings once and took off, flying right by my face, and went up, up into the sky until it could no longer be seen. It was only a moment later that I remembered.

I've read that dragonflies are attracted to water, particularly running water (lakes, streams), flowers, and things that are shiny. We don't have any of that in our back yard - just grass and the muted colors of several oversized outdoor toddler toys. So was this just a coincidence? I don't know. I'm not a big believer in signs, but I haven't seen a dragonfly in years.

Hello, Anne Rice?

2008-09-01T12:26:00.002-04:00

Savannah, at 3 1/2 months old, has cut her first tooth. Two, actually, only they're not the teeth that most babies cut first. They're not even the second most common teeth. Nope, not my baby. Her ~~fangs~~ top two canine teeth have broken through the gums. Last night they also broke through the skin on my finger. I'm scared.

We are also officially beginning potty training today. My goal is to have him fully day-trained by his second birthday, so this leaves us two full months, as his birthday is on Halloween. My reason behind this has nothing to do with wanting to rush him out of his babyhood. It has nothing to do with being sick of changing diapers (I'd rather change diapers than scrub poopy undies). It has everything to do with the fact that a box of Size 5 Pampers Cruisers now costs $39 and change. And yes, I do know that there are other brands out there, but we have tried EVERYTHING and Pampers, while draining on the wallet, are the best fit for him. So -now it's big boy underwear during the day at home, diapers at night and when we go out. Progress so far? Pee in the potty once. Pee in the underwear once. Poop in the underwear twice. Dry heaving as I scrub the poop out in the bathroom sink - continuous.

Happy Anniversary

2008-08-25T13:49:00.007-04:00

Dear Hubs -

Happy 6th anniversary! I know it was yesterday, but we were busy yesterday and I didn't have a chance to sit down to type out my (very) public declaration of love to you, so I'm taking the opportunity now while both kiddos are sleeping.

Six years. There are some days when it feels more like a hundred and twelve, and there are others when it seems the cah-razy events of the day just happened. It's been an interesting six years. We've seen lots of ups and downs, we've(I've) had our(my) fair share of medical issues and crises (who would've thought 'in sickness and in health' would come into our lives so early), lots and lots of laughs, lots of tears, and a ton of memories. We've moved a zillion times, we've been close to broke, we've had rough periods with our families. We've had great holidays, a few not-so-great holidays. You stuck with me during some pretty awful times.

I was pretty miserable before I met you. I had had my heart shattered into a million tiny pieces and was sure that I'd never fall in love again. In retrospect, I know that what I had before you walked into my life wasn't love. You taught me what love really is.

"And I think it's kind of funny that you say you love me, you tell me that I'm crazy then you smile."

Thanks for being a smartass and taking a chance on someone you didn't know.

Thanks for the mixed tape and for the poem.

Thanks for being a gentleman on the night we met.

Thanks for not being a serial killer.

Thanks for asking "is this okay?"

Thank you for taking care of me - when I was sick, when I was pregnant, and every day.

Thank you for indulging me when I wanted to move to NYC. While it turned out to be a huge financial stress, I believe we wouldn't have our beautiful baby boy if we hadn't moved there. And thank you for throwing caution to the wind on our anniversary last year - we wouldn't have our beautiful baby girl if you hadn't brought home a bottle of champagne and indulged yet another crazy idea of mine. :)

Thanks for working hard every day so that I may stay at home with our children. Besides your love, it's the best gift you could've given me. I can't imagine letting someone else raise our babies, and I thank you for giving me the opportunity to be the one who spends their days with them, who teaches them, who kisses their boo-boos and wipes away their tears. I know we sacrifice a lot and we struggle a bit with the lack of a second income, but I want you to know that I'll forever be grateful that you support my decision to be a stay-at-home mom.

"I'll be the greatest fan of your life."

Thank you for being an amazing father to our babies. I tell them both very often that their Daddy is a wonderful man.

You and our children are my world. You have my heart forever. I thank God every day for bringing you into my life. I look forward to many, many, many more anniversaries with you. I love you.

And Hubs? You had me at hello.

2008-08-22T14:17:00.004-04:00

G'day, blog. Remember me?

It seems as though all of my humor and wit have been sucked out of me this summer. Not like I ever had anything real and worthwhile to write about, but honestly - my brain is devoid of content.

I can't believe the summer is nearly over. Someone once told me when I was pregnant with Nat that once you have children the time seems to pass by ever-so-quickly. It's sad how true that is.

Savannah is 3 months and 1 week old.

She appears to have "the look" perfected already. She's going to be a pistol. She's such a happy baby, although she does have quite the temper at times. Her face lights right up whenever anyone bends down to talk to her, and she doesn't hesitate to "talk" back. She has an adorable little voice, a beautiful smile, and such a goofy little laugh. It lights my heart right up to look at her and know that she's my little girl. She adores her big brother and her daddy. We moved her out of our room last night and into her crib for the first time - it didn't go so well. She let us know that she wasn't terribly thrilled with being in her own room by herself. She has one tooth that is going to break through any day now. Her hands are almost always in her mouth, and if it isn't her hand, then it's my finger. She sleeps through the night about half the time. She's such a joy, and I can't believe she's already 3 months old. Where'd my tiny baby girl go?

Nathanael is about to turn 22 months. I'm in denial that he'll turn 2 on Halloween. Maybe if we don't celebrate it this year he'll stay 1 forever.

He's incredibly smart. Witty. Hilarious. Weird, but in a good way - marches to his own drummer. He talks nonstop from the moment he wakes until the moment he falls asleep. It's fun to actually be able to carry on a conversation with him. He loves to go to church. For some reason, he thinks that the organ is some kind of giant trash can, and he inevitably yells "BIIIIIG CACA!!" during a quiet moment. Every week. He loves playing with his cars. He loves digging in the mud. He loves to pick up crickets and spiders outside and bring them to me, with a look of adoration and love on his face that only a little boy can have for his mama. I have to keep myself from getting the heebie jeebies and graciously accept his gifts. He adores his baby sister, although he'll never openly admit it. When no one's looking, though, you'll find him fingering her hair or sharing his snack or stroking her hand, saying, "Hi, Semanna." He STILL loves his baba and pacifier (Sucker) at nap time and bedtime (don't approve? bite me), and won't go anywhere unless his cherished blanket (Binky) is in his hands. He pees on the potty like a pro, and lets us know when he has to go. No poop yet, though. My plan is to stop using diapers during the day starting on September 1 and start the process of potty training officially. We have to find some snazzy underwear for during the day. He has almost a routine of how and what he plays during the day, but he could spend the day reading. Doesn't show any interest in watching television unless it's Make Way For Noddy on PBS or diving and gymnastics on the Olympics. He loves to color, paint, draw, and glue. I've started stocking up on arts and crafts supplies for this winter so that he can make as many creations as he desires. He makes my heart swell, and I'm so lucky to be able to call myself his mother.

We visited my parents earlier this month for a few days. It was just me and the kids, as Hubs had to work, and they seemed to have a great time. My parents were, of course, the typical doting grandparents. My younger sister was home as well, and Savannah could not take her eyes of off her Auntie. Nathanael is enamored of my parents, but especially my father. I loved watching him interact with the two of them. Nat slept in a big boy bed for the first time while in Geneva, as my parents don't have a crib there. We threw 2 mattresses on the floor, and he and I shared the "big bed," as he called it. He loved it. He did really well and had a hard time going back to his crib once we got home. I'm not quite ready to transition him into a big boy bed yet, but I think I'll consider it a bit sooner than I had originally planned.

So while we haven't done anything spectacular this summer, I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we've all enjoyed our first summer together as a family of 4. I look forward to the upcoming fall and winter seasons and the holidays they bring. I foresee many great memories being made.

Me, I'm just trying to keep my head above water. This mother-to-two thing is hard, much harder than I imagined. No matter how hard I try, I always feel as though one of my children is getting ignored, and that's a bitter pill for me to swallow. I strive to be a perfect mother, and because I try so hard I set myself up for failure and become hard on myself when I don't succeed. I've begun getting reacquainted with my faith lately, hopeful that it'll help me in being the kind of mother I'd like to be to my children (and the kind of wife I know I'm not to my husband). I've corresponded several times with my favorite children's author and I'd like to say that I credit him for having the desire to be more involved with my religion. I've actually joined a women's book group/Bible study though my church in an attempt to make some friends and incorporate my religion into my life a little more than just attending church every Sunday. I'm anxious for it to begin, although the first book is (so far) a bit of a snoozer.

Hubs and I are celebrating our 6th wedding anniversary this Sunday. There are some days when I feel like it has been about a hundred years, yet there are others when I sit back and remember everything associated with that day and wonder how in the world six years have gone by so quickly. Last year's anniversary involved a bottle of champagne that ended up being partially responsible for conceiving Savannah. This year? I think we'll safely celebrate with a Pepsi and a game of cards while wearing long johns or chastity belts. Or both.

2008-08-05T13:27:00.002-04:00

Hello, blog world. I've missed you.

Not really. I've received several e-mails in the last week, though, inquiring as to whether or not I've fallen off the face of the earth. Nope. Just busy. Crazy busy.

First and foremost, thank to those of you who sent well wishes regarding my health. I did in fact get the lumbar puncture results back and they were negative for cancer and multiple sclerosis, thank God. So the brain lesions are most likely the result of migraines. The bad news is that I'm still having the headaches and the medication the doctor was sure would work isn't working. I have a follow-up in a few weeks, so we'll see where to go with that. I also had an ENG done to determine if my vertigo is caused by an inner ear issue, and we have confirmed that it is. I apparently have a vestibular disorder, the cause of which is unknown, but the thought is that a few sessions of PT will resolve the vertigo.

Savannah is doing very well. She'll be 3 months in a week or so - hard to believe that much time has gone by already. She's all smiles most of the time, and is extremely fascinated with the domed kitchen ceiling light which seems to identically resemble a breast. She doesn't fit into 3 month clothing very well anymore, and is already into Size 3 diapers. I've got a big girl on my hands! She loves to look at the television - particularly baseball and Lost - holds her head up like a pro, and she can sit on her own for a few seconds at a time. She adores her daddy and brother. I think I finally have her on a sleep schedule, thank goodness. "They" say it can't be done until a baby is around 4 months old, but I did it. She seems to be very smart, and she's going to grow up to be a sweet and beautiful little girl.

Nat is doing well, too. He turned 21 months last week. Talks nonstop - literally - from wake to sleep. He has well over 200 words an speaks in complete sentences 99% of the time. He uses the past tense correctly, uses "I" and "me" and "you" correctly, excuses himself when he burps, knows some of his ABCs, can count to 11 - although not always in the correct order, but he's getting there - and, like all boys, is obsessed with cars and bugs. He loves to pick up the rolly polly bugs and squish them. I've begun using time-out sessions with him to try to get him to stop saying the 2 expletives he comes out with on occasion, and it seems to be working. At the moment, for time-outs, I'll take him to a quiet area, sit him on my lap, and count to 60 - the last few times he's slipped and said one of the words, he immediately starts counting. It's actually pretty funny, and my husband and I have to keep ourselves from laughing when he does it. He's such a sweet boy, and I hope he retains that sweetness. He's absolutely fearless - he loves to climb the highest slide at the playground (which I'm a little leery of myself) and go down by himself. I hope he retains that, too. He's still painfully shy around other kids his age, and it makes me sad to see that he'd rather play by himself. He marches to his own drummer, though, and I admire him for that. I just pray that it doesn't cause him any social discomfort when he grows older. He's so smart, and so handsome, and I can't believe he'll be 2 in a few short months.

Me, I joined a gym recently. The last time I had worked out was the day after I found out I was pregnant with Nat in 2006. It felt so good to get back. I'm aiming to lose 49 pounds - that's about what I gained with both pregnancies combined. I say 49 because 50 puts too much pressure on me. I'm taking the kids to visit my parents for a few days in a couple of weeks. A two-hour drive with the two of them. I must be nuts.

That's it in a nutshell. I haven't had much to write about, or the time, really, so that's the reason for my absence. I hope to start posting regularly again soon.

8 weeks old

2008-07-11T15:03:00.007-04:00

She rolled over for the first time on the 4th of July. Talk about a true independence day! Her brother didn't roll over on his own until he was 3 months old.

She pushed herself up on her arms and legs and rocked back and forth for about 30 seconds a few days ago.

She has been able to hold her head up on her own pretty much since day 1, but she can do it for a lot longer now.

She still hates the pacifier. She'll only take it when she's too tired to protest.

She coos. She laughs out loud. She melts your heart with her smiles. When she's angry she yells, "Gee!"

She usually gives us a 6 hour nighttime stretch of sleep. Unless you expect her to. Then she's up every 3 hours.

She's impatient.

She's melodramatic.

She's one hungry little baby.

She loves to look at her big brother. She loves to be naked. She loves to toot and poop in the tub. She's frustrating at times and she's one half of a team that makes me exhausted to the point of wanting to die, but she's my baby girl and I love her with my whole heart. It's funny to think back of my worries over not having enough love to go around. Happy 8 weeks, Savannah!

Shoot me in the face

2008-07-11T14:36:00.004-04:00

My husband and I believe in the importance of exposing our children to music. Listening to music is cathartic. Music enhances learning. Music is enjoyable. Nathanael has enjoyed music from the time he was in the womb. He would be-bop in utero every time Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone was played loudly enough for him to hear it. He responded to a very powerful classical music piece when I was in a vintage music store in Manhattan. So much so that I purchased the cd, played it for him when he was a newborn, and he would immediately calm down as though he recognized and enjoyed the piece. We have music going quite often here at home. I've never really had him listen to the classic kiddie songs cd's, lest I go crazy. Instead I've exposed him to folk (Tom Chapin, Elizbeth Mitchell) and, one of my faves, Trout Fishing in America. He loves this music, and actually turns his nose up when he does hear the more traditional kid's music with the tinkly toy piano sounds.

Until this week.

My son discovered Raffi. One song in particular, actually. Aikendrum. Google the lyrics. It's a song about someone who plays upon a ladle and has a nose made of cheese. What the HELL is this song about? And why does he insist upon listening to it over and over AND OVER again?

*************************************************************
I had my spinal yesterday. It took the doctor 4 tries. He hit bone the first two times. He hit a nerve the third time. Fourth poke was a success. Good Lord. Color and pressure of CSF were fine (there's something creepy about seeing a vial filled with fluid from your spinal column), so now we're just waiting on test results. In the meantime, he's having me try something else for the headaches - something that is FDA-approved for the treatment of migraines....as well as bipolar disorder. Interesting. This medication also carries with it warnings of hepatic failure and pancreatitis. In other words, my headaches should subside, but there's a chance that my organs will become inflamed and, consequently, shut down. Sweet.

Three five moppa

2008-07-09T13:25:00.003-04:00

No, I didn't just have a stroke and type some random phrase in the title box. My son has been saying this ALL DAY LONG, and having a mighty laugh about it every time. I'm dying to know what it means. I've run a few possibilities through my mind, and each one makes me nervous. He laughs a particularly sadistic laugh, too, which makes me question whether or not he'll grow up to be a serial killer.

I don't blog much anymore. I've developed too much of a life and have formed a huge social network of new friends, and I simply have no time to devote to blogging.

Oh come now, dear readers. You didn't fall for that one, did you? Me? With real-life friends with whom I'd actually have to interact? Please. The mere thought gives me an anxiety attack.

I just can't find the time to sit down, or conjure up the brain power to write a witty blog post worth reading. The kids wear me out and keep me busy. As soon as one falls asleep the other one wakes up, and vice versa. In the rare moments I do have to myself I'm either picking up or resting because I (still) feel like crap most days.

I have my spinal tap tomorrow. I really thought I was done with sharp pokes in the back (save for my husband in the middle of the night) and I'm really not looking forward to it. I hope the neurologist doesn't overdo it on the coffee in the morning, or have too wild a night tonight, or develop Parkinson's between now and tomorrow afternoon.

I'm also going for an electronystagmogram next week to determine if my chronic vertigo is due to an inner ear issue or if we need to assess other avenues for that as well. Not so much looking forward to this, either. I'm ready to be done with the various testing procedures and just get to the bottom of all of this. I'm tired of feeling this way. I'm tired of not being able to fully enjoy the summer and the joy that it brings my son. I feel like a walking lab rat. Someone's poorly executed science experiment.

On a higher note, Hubs taught my 20 month old son to say "How YOU doin'?" a la Joey from Friends. It's the funniest thing ever.

I've decided that the Count from Sesame Street is a pervert, perhaps even more so than those Noodle "brothers."

I watched an entire episode of Reading Rainbow yesterday. I didn't realize it was RR at first, because there was a segment on cake decorating showing when I landed on the channel, but once I did I was slightly embarrassed as I had been enjoying the program. We don't have cable so our program selection is limited, but when the show continued on to highlight the entire process of making a wax dummy of Lavar Burton for Madame Tussaud's in NYC, I had to watch. Lavar Burton has a scary amount of teeth in his mouth. Other-worldly even.

I've been embracing my inner Donna Reed lately. I'm currently obsessed with the concept of freezer jam. I feel like a loser, but secretly I love it. I'm determined to give my kids a wholesome upbringing, and if I have to go back a few decades to make sure it happens, so be it. I partially blame Wondertime Magazine. I love this magazine. I wish someone from Wondertime would contact me to do something for them, for free even. The latest issue had a few articles in it about memorable family vacations - roughing it-style camping, renting cottages in a beach town for a week - we never did this when I was growing up, and I would love to start some kind of summer tradition like these with our kids. We did other fun things, of course, so don't get me wrong - I don't feel slighted by the kind of summer experiences I did or didn't have, but the thought of taking off somewhere every summer, and having the chance to anticipate the familiarity of it all - it's very appealing to me.

I'm ending with a song suggestion for you all. Songs don't usually have an impact on me emotionally (that's a lie), but this one struck me a few weeks ago when I heard it for the first time. Five For Fighting's The Riddle (You and I). The lyrics are below, but I'd suggest finding a way to listen, too.

There was a man back in '95
Whose heart ran out of summers
But before he died, I asked him

Wait, what's the sense in life
Come over me, come over me

He said, "Son why you got to sing that tune
Catch a Dylan song or some eclipse of the moon
Let an angel swing and make you swoon
Then you will see... You will see."

Then he said, "Here's a riddle for you
Find the answer
There's a reason for the world
You and I..."

Picked up my kid from school today
Did you learn anything cause in the world today
You can't live in a castle far away
Now talk to me, come talk to me

He said, "Dad I'm big but we're smaller than small
In the scheme of things, well we're nothing at all
Still every mother's child seems to know this song
So play with me, come play with me"

And hey dad
Here's a riddle for you
Find the answer
There's a reason for the world
You and I...

I said, "Son for all I've told you
When you get right down to the
Reason for the world... Who am I?"

There are secrets that we still have left to find
There have been mysteries from the beginning of time
There are answers we're not wise enough to see

He said... You're looking for a place I love you free...

The batter swings and the summer flies
As I look into my angel's eyes
A song plays on while the moon is high over me
Something comes over me

I guess we're big and I guess we're small
If you think about it man you know we got it all
Cause we're all we got on this bouncing ball
And I love you free
I love you freely

Here's a riddle for you
Find the answer
There's a reason for the world
You and I...

Nothing beats brain freeze on a hot summer day

2008-07-03T14:23:00.003-04:00

Baby boy turned 20 months this week. The big 2-0. The countdown begins to 2 years old now, I guess. Kind of hard to believe that this is the same little boy who, at this time last year, was this little boy:

Our latest accomplishment is counting to 11...usually leaving out #4, though. Doesn't like the 4. He speaks mostly in complete, 4-5 word sentences now, something that isn't usually seen until age 3, apparently. My boy's a genius. Look out, Mensa - here comes Natty! Still the doting big brother, he loves to shower his baby sister with kisses, and asks for her as soon as he wakes up. He can't get enough of the outside, and loves playing in his pool and sand and water table. Loves the dirt and mud - he likes bringing mama gifts of mud and worms - and thinks it's hilarious to splash people with water. He has such a big heart and he makes me proud every day. We have to be very careful with what we say around him, as he seems to pick up the most inappropriate things we say. His extensive vocab is made up of some not-so-nice things. It can't be me that he gets these things from, no no no. The terrible twos are definitely here and I'm very ready for them to go away, but he's still a ton of fun to spend my day with.

Baby girl is doing well. Smiles and laughs and coos. Doesn't like to sleep much during the day, but is giving us nice 6-hour stretches at night so I can't complain.

I have the pleasure of getting a lumbar puncture done next week to either diagnose or rule out MS. I can hardly wait.

Wait and see

2008-06-27T21:20:00.004-04:00

That's what we're doing. Taking the wait and see approach. I can deal with that.

Saw the neurologist this morning. Was scared out of my wits as I walked into his office. Shaking, actually.

I have about 15 lesions on my brain. I got to see them on the MRI films. I want to name them. I should, I guess. They're not going anywhere.

The doctor is saying that he's not overly concerned about MS at this point. We're going to go ahead and treat me for migraines. I'm on one medication to break this cycle of headaches. I have another to take if they come back. If neither medication works then I'll be set up with infusion therapy. Infusion therapy for headaches - at this neurological institute, at least - involves being hooked up to an IV for a couple of hours in a comfy chair in a quiet, darkened room with an eye mask. SIGN ME UP! Sounds like a vacation to me at this point. If THAT doesn't work, then we'll take another look at things - reevaluate symptoms, perhaps another MRI.

I can wait. I can see. Am I worried? Sure, a little, but it's not going to affect my every day living. It'll be back there in the darkest depths of my mind. I know MS is still a possibility. But I can be thankful for today, and thankful that the first few words out of his mouth weren't "I'm sorry to tell you...."

Thanks to all of you who commented and who sent me private e-mails wishing me luck and sending good thoughts. You'll never know how much they are appreciated.

This or that

2008-06-25T13:25:00.002-04:00

This week seems to be taking forever to pass. I need it to be Friday. Not because I can't wait for the weekend to start, but because I feel like I can't wait any longer to find out, for once and for all, the current state of my health.

I saw my primary doctor for a chronic headache several weeks ago. At that time, the headache had been present for about 3 weeks. Slightly concerned, he scheduled a brain MRI. I had the MRI done last week - it was a real bitch. Not something I'd like to do again anytime soon. I'm not claustrophobic, but having to endure what sounded like a woodpecker on steroids for 25 minutes wasn't my bag, baby. I left the testing center thinking that the whole thing had been unnecessary. Apparently it wasn't.

I received a call from my doctor earlier this week with the results and a referral to a neurologist. Apparently the scan showed "numerous lesions" on my brain that are typically consistent with two conditions, one being migraines. The other? Multiple sclerosis. Bam. Just like that, my world turned upside down. I'm seeing a neurologist later this week to determine which of the two is causing these lesions. The lesions themselves are no big deal - apparently most people have lesions on their brains, and lesions can be caused by many things, including ingesting artificial sweeteners. It's the number and pattern of lesions causing the concern. I feel like I've been handed a death sentence, though, despite the fact that we don't know yet what's going on. MS, while manageable, is unpredictable and can be nasty. The thought of winding up in a wheelchair and becoming a burden to my family is sickening. The thought of not being there for my babies, or being there but not....there...that's even worse. I feel like I've been dealt a shitty hand with my health. Why me? When do I get a break? Can't I just be left alone to enjoy my life and my children...leave me alone!

I'm asking for prayers. For good thoughts. For an encouraging word or two. I'm not sure if I'll find out anything concrete on Friday, but the process of narrowing things down will begin.

'Til then...

Oh mama, Angelina Zooma Zoom

2008-06-23T13:30:00.003-04:00

I fear my girl crush on Angelina Jolie may be coming to an end. She had to go and piss me off.

I recently read this article, and in it Angelina is quoted as giving the following response when asked why she thinks so many movie stars seem to be children of movie stars:
“Artists raise their kids differently,” she said. “We communicate to the point where we probably annoy our children. We have art around the house, we have books, we go to plays, we talk. Our focus is art and painting and dress-up and singing. It’s what we love. So I think you can see how artists in some way raise other artists.”

What the HELL? Why, Angelina, you hit that dang nail right on its head. I's neveh read MAH boy no books. And hell, I ain't neveh had a conversation with him. Art, well that's for them museum places - we ain't got no art here in our home. In our house, we watch the picture box nonstop, and the only books are the Reader's Digests we steal from our neighbor's trailer.

Come on now. In all honesty, I don't know any other mother who has spent more time talking to her child. I talked to Baby Boy nonstop from the day I found out I was pregnant. From the day he was born I would hold conversations with him - telling him what I was doing and so on and so forth. I did this in an effort to interact with him, and later on, to begin to teach him words, phrases, and concepts.

Books? Baby Boy has more books at the tender age of 19 months than I've had in my 31 years, and I love to read.

Talking? The boy probably wishes I would shut up once in a while.

Art? Well, we're certainly not the proud owners of an original Renoir, but I appreciate art and I'm sure my husband does as well. I'm sure we'll visit museums and galleries when he's older.

I'm not sure what she was implying here. Maybe nothing - maybe pregnancy brain got the best of her, but to me there's a hidden element of "we're more educated than the average parent" in there somewhere, and I bet she catches a lot of criticism for it. I love to read. If I had the time I would read more. I love theater. I love theater so much that we blew a ton of money on Broadway shows when we lived in NYC. I've had the pleasure of seeing a certain musical 5 or 6 times.

So Angelina, though it may break your heart, I think I might have to quit you. Your statement hit a nerve for some reason, and I don't know if I can forgive you.

Besides - I've started watching Lost, and I ~~totally have~~ think I may have a
girl crush on Evangeline Lily now.

Back to sleep

2008-06-20T13:27:00.003-04:00

I would love to go BACK to SLEEP, but my daughter refuses to go back to SLEEP when I put her on her BACK to SLEEP. Thank you, Back to Sleep Campaign, for ensuring that no one in this house will ever get back. to. sleep. Ever again.

I realize that this campaign was started in an effort to drastically reduce the incidence of SIDS - and my heart goes out to anyone who has ever lost a child to this awful phenomenon, so please don't mistake my exhaustion and and annoyance for lack sympathy - but the fear of God has been instilled in all parents now, making anyone afraid of bedtime for babies.

S hates to sleep. I think she's a wee bit colicky. She currently dislikes her swing, her pack 'n play, her bouncer, and her infant seat. Loves to be on my chest (can you blame her?) or Daddy's. If she were my only child I'd have no problem toting her around all day, but with Baby Boy, it's just not feasible. So, being the rebel that I am, I put her on her stomach in her pack 'n play a few days ago, and lo and behold, the little angel drifted off to sleep herself. And she's still alive. Sure, I checked on her eighty million times to be sure that her face wasn't down in the sheets, but she survived. I've put her down to nap on her stomach several times since then, and each time she settles right now. She's a tummy sleeper, just like her mama. So now the question remains - do I try this at night, potentially putting her at risk? I have a pretty spot-on mommy instinct. I'd say my instinct is correct 99% of the time - has been since I found out I was pregnant with Nathanael. Do I trust this, or do I listen to the AAP, the pediatricians, and everyone else screaming at me to not put my baby to sleep on her back, or else?

Do YOU follow every piece of advice given by the "professionals?" Or do you tend to go with your gut and trust yourself?

End of an era

2008-06-18T19:08:00.002-04:00

I had my post partum check today. The good news is that I've lost 14 pounds. About a zillion more to go, and then I'll be good. I have to admit, though - it made me a bit sad. I think we're probably done having kids. My pregnancies are awful. Being pregnant takes too much of a toll on my body, and I don't know if it would even be healthy for me to ever attempt it again. We're a one-income family for now, and while I hope we'll get to the point of being financially comfortable at some point, we're not there yet. Hubs is 37. He thinks he's getting too old to have anymore kids.

For as awful as my pregnancies have been, though, there's nothing in the world like knowing that your body is playing hostess to an amazing tiny creature that was, hopefully, created out of love. Nothing like those first faint bubbles of baby's movement. Nothing like seeing your belly pooch out, knowing that the little bean is tucked safely away, nestled and warm and being protected by your body and your love. The thought of not being able to experience that ever again tears me up inside a bit, despite the fact that I have two beautiful children here. Even through the depths of my exhaustion in the middle of the night, I find myself holding S extra tight against my chest, knowing that these moments of snuggling a newborn this tiny and this close won't last forever, and she'll likely be my last baby.

My doctor and I discussed long-term birth control options today. Because of my clotting disorder I'm not a candidate for anything containing hormones. Because of my uterine anomaly, she won't insert an IUD. Because the part of my brain that controls spatial relation is defunct, I don't trust myself with a diaphragm. So what's left?

What's that I hear? Snip snip.

Unfortunately, Hubs works for a Catholic company, and our insurance won't cover sterilization procedures. Pretty lame, eh? So I guess it'll be back to the ol' latex. Not sure if I trust my ability to track my own cycle by counting days - that's how I wound up pregnant both times.

Que sera sera. If I'm meant to have another baby, then it'll happen. For now, though, I'm enjoying the two I have, and trying not to die inside a little bit more every day as I watch them grow before my eyes.

He-wo Guy

2008-06-13T15:01:00.002-04:00

Okay. Sesame Street.

I grew up watching Sesame Street. I learned to read watching this show. I learned basic Spanish watching this show. All before I was in kindergarten. I love the fact that my children will be able to have a similar experience with this show as I had - the educational experience.

Unless, of course, you count Baby Bear.

Baby Bear is one of the newer muppets ~~in the hood~~ on the Street. He has a speech impediment. A bad, BAD speech impediment. I don't know what the hell he's saying half the time. I understand the importance of inclusion on this show. There are characters of every color, and the real-life inhabitants of this happy place in Brooklyn are from every race and ethnicity known to man. Except a Pakistani. I don't think I've ever seen a Pakistani saunter up to Oscar and ask how life in the can has been.

But I digress.

I even understand the importance of having the "brothers" Noodle on there. You know, Mr. Noodle, and his "brother" Mr. Noodle? I'm sure many of the young kids watching the show these days are being raised by two "brothers." Hey - who am I to judge? To each his own. His own noodle, that is. Ha ha.

Why, though, do the powers that be feel the need to include segments led by this bear? What is this teaching my son - that baby talk is normal? That it's cute or funny to speak in a way that no one understands? Honest to God, Sesame Workshop - send the bear to speech therapy!

And how 'bout Baby Bear's friend that he draws - Hero Guy, or, when pronounced by the bear, "He-wo Guy-eee." He-wo Guy-eee even has his own theme song, sung by Baby Bear. And it goes a little somethin' like this:

He's a he-wo, he's a guy-eee, he's a HE-wo, he's a guy-eee....he's HE-WO GUY-EEEEEE!"

No shit. A hero AND a guy, you say? Get outta here.

Hero Guy has the same inflection, cadence, speech impediment...what have you...as Baby Bear, making it equally, if not more, annoying to listen to. Baby Boy looks at these characters like they're crazy. I made it perfectly clear from the beginning that we wouldn't do the baby talk thing, and made sure anyone who tried to do so with him understood that we were teaching our son to speak normally. As it is, if someone speaks to him using the baby talk voice (our pedi does it - drives me nuts, and BB thinks he's a wacko), Baby Boy will look at the person in such a way that you know he's thinking Man, this person's an idiot.

I urge you, creators of Sesame Street. Give Baby Bear the yank. He's not doing anything for the educational value of the show, and that's what you pride yourselves on, right? If you insist on keeping him, though, why don't you chronicle Baby Bear's experience with attending speech therapy, with a special episode following his teachers writing up an IEP/inclusion plan?

Cutest. Toddler. Ever.

2008-06-13T14:30:00.000-04:00

It's hard work being gorgeous.

2008-06-13T14:29:00.002-04:00

High maintenance

2008-06-12T15:23:00.002-04:00

By some awful force of karma, I appear to have a girly girl on my hands.

Savannah doesn't enjoy sleeping. If she does sleep, it's on her terms. No crib or pack 'n play. It's either the swing or with her head nestled between Mama's boobs.

She doesn't like being outside. I guess she wants to protect her milky white complexion. She'd much prefer to be inside, in her swing, pink blanket wrapped nicely around her legs, thankyouverymuch, and if you come near me with a pacifier, Mama, I will surely scream.

Yeah. She doesn't enjoy the sucker. Her brother, on the other hand, will have his in his mouth when he accepts the Democratic party nomination for the Presidential election in.....well, you get it. I don't have the brain cells to sit here and figure out what year it could potentially be.

She enjoys being groomed. Immensely. Although changing her diaper appears to be some sort of sadistic ritual, S enjoys being washed and having her hair gently brushed.

High maintenance I get. I can relate. My husband has told me I'm high maintenance and for the longest time I was in denial. But girly-girl high maintenance? God help me. The teenage years are going to be a real bitch. Maybe she'll have a mouth like a trucker. At least we'd have something in common.

I'm not an idiot, but you are: an open letter

2008-06-12T14:31:00.004-04:00

To the nurse at the pediatrician's office:

When I call the office, despite my paralyzing fear of speaking to people over the telephone, with a genuine question out of concern for my infant daughter, DON'T sit there and give me a five minute lecture on the importance of burping my child and how to properly do so. And REALLY don't lecture me in that monotone voice - it makes you sound like you're reading from The Manual For Idiot First Time Moms Who Call The Doctor WAY Too Often. Because, really? My fluctuating hormones and brain tumor and effed-up thyroid are making me a bit manic today and now I really want to hunt you down and torture you, and...oh, I don't know - cover YOU in the same smelly, pearlescent ecru liquid that my daughter continues to cover me in. I'm glad you didn't identify yourself because then I'd have to be a real bitch if I encounter you in the office at some point. Are you sure you're not the cleaning lady?

Smell you later,
McKenzie

Scent of a woman

2008-06-11T13:42:00.002-04:00

When I was pregnant with Baby Boy in 2006 there was a television commercial that offended me to no end. It was for Tide laundry detergent, and its tag line was as follows:

Because there's a difference between smelling like a mom and smelling like a woman.

I was horrified. I assumed that there was a man in the driver's seat of that ad campaign. After I had BB, I never once noticed that I smelled. Never. Hubs never implied that I was stinky.

Now? With a second child? Holy hell. I haven't showered since Monday. I'm pretty sure I've at least rolled on some fresh deodorant and changed my underwear, but one never knows. I've been projectile-vomited on several times, peed on, and pooped on twice - therefore I'm pretty sure I smell like a NYC subway tunnel during the hottest summer heat wave...with a hint of Coppertone Kids SPF 50. And so, to you, creators of the Tide campaign that pissed me off every single time I saw your commercial, I offer a sincere apology. There certainly is a difference between smelling like a mom and smelling like a woman. The latter? The memory of that scent is long gone. Perfume? What's that? Hubs used to tell me all the time - back in our pre-spawn days - that he loved my natural smell. He doesn't say that to me anymore. The former? Well, I don't think we'll find a bottle of "MOM" on the list of Demeter's prospective scents.

I forgot how much fun it was to really play with my son. I couldn't run and play while pregnant because I was either barfing and not wanting to jostle the contents of my stomach anymore than they were already being jostled, or I was too huge or in too much discomfort. I actually haven't had the chance to run around and play with him since he started walking (he was a late walker). The painful part of c-section recovery seems to finally be over and done with, so running and jumping (in all my jiggly glory) is quite feasible. I love love love playing with him outside. He invented his own version of a chasing game called "Getchoo Keesyoo." Translation? I get you and I kiss you. I don't think I've ever had more fun playing outside with anyone, childhood friends included. Who knew?

Baby girl has started smiling for real. She smiles when she hears my voice. I forgot how heartwarming that was. Baby boy appears to love her more and more each day. He's very protective of her and it's amazing to watch him interact with her. Baby boy is an old soul, I think, and it makes me proud to watch him as he comes into his own more and more. I do hope they grow to be close.

I buckled and made an appointment to have my hair cut this weekend. I haven't had a haircut since - wait for it - November 2006. I need a style. Like I have time to style. Right now it's long and brown and wavy. And coarse and dry and probably dragging my looks down. My looks. Ha. Like I have looks. Plain Jane is more like it. You saw the pictures a few posts ago - you get the general idea. Good lips. Pouty. Angelina-esque. Baby boy has beautiful lips. I love Angelina's lips. They're so...full and pouty and sexy and....

Wait...

From baby boy to the bow-chicka-bow-wow in a matter of nanoseconds. Oops. Not good.

Where was I?

Am I alone in that I come up with the greatest blog posts in the middle of the night when I'm nowhere near the computer? Lately it's during the middle of the night feeding. Something pops into my head and I think Ooo - that would make a great post. Perhaps it's because I'm still in the Lortab-induced alternate universe of consciousness, and there's no limit to where my mind can go. *You may be thinking Wait, didn't she say she's having no more pain from the c-section? Why, then, is she still taking the Lortab?

Waste not, want not, I always say.
Pharmacist sister - let's say - hypothetically, of course - that my doctor gave me my friend 50 pills of Lortab 10, and she took one every night for 50 nights until they were gone. Am I going to go through withdrawal?

Why is it that the sun is out all morning long when the little darlings and I are playing outside, yet when they're both asleep in the afternoon, you know, when I have a chance to actually sit and relax and get a ~~skin cancer~~ tan, the sun goes in? Every damn day this week.

Your body is a wonderland

2008-06-09T14:04:00.004-04:00

But mine is more like the tricked-out fun house at some skeevy amusement park.

Let me explain. First of all, two c-sections in two years. Damn. My stomach looks like what I imagine the scary creature from the first season of Lost to look like. *My husband and I just started watching the first season. I have no idea what it is they're all running from, so I'm left to use my imagination. I'm pretty certain, though, that it looks like my saggy, droopy, stretch mark-adorned stomach. If anyone who reads this spoils what happens in the 1st-4th seasons, I'll kill you. Or at least make you kiss my bare stomach.

Next - my hair. WTF? Pregnancy is supposed to make your hair thick and luscious. My first pregnancy did. Not the second one, though. It's dry and dull and too long. I think I'm going to cut it off.

Dry skin. Sharp and prickly, like a cactus.

The latest, though, is the headache. The headache and the noise distortion I'm hearing through my ears whenever someone speaks to me. Started shortly after I got home from the hospital. The headache hasn't gone away, so we're talking close to three weeks. I finally saw my doctor for it today, and he's going to treat me for a severe sinus infection (I have no congestion - go figure), but well, "we're also not going to rule out a brain bleed." Oh, okay - a brain ble....WHAT? Dude - don't you read my blog? You don't mention BRAIN BLEED with someone whose blog title has the word WORRYWART in it. He starts to explain that something called Sheehan's Syndrome can result when a woman's blood pressure drops too low during delivery (my BP dropped way low, but not until 2 days post c-section), and this Sheehan's Syndrome is another name for a small brain bleed. Wow. Okay. So his course of action? He's treating me for a sinus infection first - a powerful steroid. If nothing is better by Wednesday then I am to call him so that we can get me into an ENT, and he will also schedule me for a MRI to rule out a brain bleed. (Hello - if you suspect this in the slightest, shouldn't we, I don't know, go ahead and schedule it NOW?) He wrote a script for some blood work and sent me on my way. On the drive to the lab, and the drive home, I was panicky. All I kept hearing in my mind was brain bleed. The first thing I did upon arriving home was to Google Sheehan's Syndrome. Imagine my surprise (and relief) when I learned that this syndrome sounds nothing like what he was describing. Where'd you get your MD, doc? TARGET?

Why do I always seem to find myself with doctors who just don't seem up to par? I'm wondering, though - is he just generally confused, or is he thinking of something else and just got the name wrong? Is my brain bleeding? Would I be sitting here with the ability to type if my brain were bleeding? Damn. I guess I'll have to wait until Wednesday to find out.

My steri-strips still haven't fallen off. I had staples to close the outer incision but they were removed the day I was discharged. I was told the strips would fall off in about a week, but nope - they're holding on tight. They must like my creepy stomach. I started to pull some of them off the other day, but was quite certain that I felt my incision rip open as I was doing so, and I stopped. Not before I got one strip off, though. It was caked with dried blood and my curiosity got the best of me and I held it to my nose and sniffed. Oh hell - after I regained consciousness I questioned how anything could smell so bad, and was kindly reminded by Hubs that the strips had dried guts on them. I briefly contemplated whether or not that was more disgusting than my sister eating a grub in her salad from The Cheesecake Factory. Now I can't touch my stomach without thinking about grubs and innards.

I should totally post a picture of my first c-section. You can see all sorts of grossness!

While the children sleep...

2008-06-04T15:51:00.004-04:00

I should be napping. But no - for my own amusement, I visited this site, using my headshot from what seems like a zillion years ago. For your amusement, I present you with the following:

Sex-ay. In the style of Alphonse Mucha.

Baby face. Thank God my children don't look like this. I'd send 'em back.

This looks like my friend Steven. He just won $25,000 on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.

If I were a Pokemon character.

If my father had been Bubbles the Chimp.

Hey Hubs - see what you have to look forward to?

This one, however, melts my heart.

Thoughts

2008-06-04T15:09:00.002-04:00

On multiple children:
My wife and I have five children and the reason why we have five children is because we do not want six. ~Bill Cosby

I can see how parents get tricked into going from one child to two, but really - WHY would anyone choose to have more than two children? Are you gluttons for punishment? I always thought I wanted a big family, but I'm quite certain that I'd be driven insane. Have you ever had an opportunity to view Bill Cosby: Himself? If so, think back to the portion of the program where Cosby refers to motherhood making a woman crazy, and explaining how his wife - once an intelligent, sane woman - became a nut job after the birth of her children - talking to herself and adopting a crazy look in her eyes. I am now that woman.

On cleaning girly bits:

Why does this make me feel like an inadequate mother? Cleaning a little boy's bits was a piece of cake. This one, though - whew. For some reason I feel like a stranger in a foreign land. An alien creature on its first trip to a new planet. I have these same parts, yet I appear to be incapable of doing a suitable job of finding every little nook and cranny to clean the accumulated funk. And why, in God's name, does she smell like Seneca Lake with a hint of rotted cheese?

On swaddling:

Why is my husband better at this than I am? I purchased the uber-expensive, ultra-trendy swaddling blankets in an attempt to make it easier to wrap baby girl like a burrito. I still can't manage to secure the blanket in a way that won't allow her to push her skinny little arms out of the top within seconds. The Hubs? No one could break out of that wrap, not even Houdini himself.

On parenting magazines/e-mails/message boards, along with the What to Expect...books and Baby 411:

Suck it. Don't tell me how much weight I should've lost by now. Don't tell me to multiply 2.5 by the baby's weight to know how much she should be drinking. Don't presume to know what is and isn't normal for my child(ren) right now at this time. Don't tell me to ignore my child's accomplishments and not offer him praise - that's perhaps the most inane piece of advice you could offer. Really. I can only imagine how emotionally stable YOUR children will grow up to be. Save a tree - stop publishing.

On Lortab:

Thank God I still have half of a bottle left.

Birth story...2 1/2 weeks later

2008-06-03T13:30:00.004-04:00

I've gotten quite a few private e-mails asking for Savannah's birth story, so I thought I'd finally take the time to share it.

If you recall, I was scheduled for a c-section on May 14th. I had a pre-op appointment with my OB on the 13th. NST showed that the baby was fine. Ultrasound showed that the little stinker was still breech. The c-section was a go. Standard late-pregnancy appointment, but also received my instructions for preparing for surgery the next day - no eating after midnight, no blood thinner injection the morning of the surgery, arrive at the hospital no later than 9:30 a.m. for a 1 p.m. surgery...things like that. I made a point of asking my OB twice during this appointment if she'd be the doctor performing the surgery...you know, just for clarification. And sure enough, yes indeedy, she'd be making the cut. As the appointment came to a close, she patted my knee, told me to rest, and said she'd see me the next day.

So the night of the 13th was a bit bittersweet for me. My "last night" just with Baby Boy...of course much of it was spent in tears, a lot of hugging and kissing Baby Boy. I had no appetite for much of the day, but of course was starving as soon as the clock struck midnight.

The drive to the hospital the next morning was filled with sadness, anxiety, and excitement. Anxiety over the fact that my guts would be laid out on a table in a few hours. Sadness over being away from Baby Boy and the thought of him having a hard time with the new baby's arrival, and excitement, obviously, over the arrival of the new baby. We arrived at 9:30 as we were told - took the trip on the elevator to the third floor...only the elevator skipped the floor and went right on to the next. Hmmm, I thought. That's not a good sign. I pressed the button again, and this time the elevator went to the correct floor - only the doors didn't open right away. I should've known right then that this day was not going to go well.

Up to the registration desk I went, feeling like an inmate on death row, and announced that I was there for a scheduled c-section. The lady behind the desk looked at me funny, but I chalked it up to potentially being on her period (even though she was about 100 years old), and filled out the paperwork she pushed my way. Twenty seconds later, a nurse with the disposition of a drill sergeant marched over and asked why I was there. I politely stated - again - that I was there for a scheduled c-section. She asked my name, looked at the chart, and told me no, I wasn't on their schedule.

STOP. Excuse me? The nurse looked at the schedule again and repeated that I wasn't on the schedule. In fact, she told me, that hospital doesn't perform scheduled sections on Wednesdays. Oh really? Well lookie here, nursie - I happen to have a note from my doctor that has today's date on it. Wednesday, May 14th. 1 p.m. Read it and weep. I didn't exactly put it that way, but I wanted to. With a few added expletives. It turns out that I was on the schedule for the 15th. In fact, they already had all of my paperwork raring to go - I was even written on the white board for the 15th. I went through a roller coaster of emotions the night before for nothing? I went without eating FOR NOTHING? They got my doctor on the phone - she apologized. She made up some ridiculous story. She spoke with anesthesia and they told her that they weren't comfortable performing the surgery with only 24 hours off the blood thinner. Really, you freaking ass-thesiologists? Why, then, when I called you for a consult, did you TELL ME specifically to only stop the blood thinner 24 hours prior to the surgery? A ~~fake doctor~~ resident from anesthesia came to speak with me to tell me the risks associated with performing the surgery, including the development of a hematoma on my spinal cord, if they were to administer a spinal that day. Yes, Doogie, I know the risks - this will be my second spinal. But you TOLD ME TO STOP YESTERDAY. NOT BEFORE! And WHY did my doctor, a supposed world-class doctor and surgeon, make this mistake?? In any case, I was told that I could have the surgery that day - they'd make arrangements for it to happen - but I'd have to be put under general anesthesia AND my doctor wouldn't be performing the surgery. I passed. And I went home. But not before I sat hooked up to a fetal monitor to "just make sure the baby is okay." For 3 hours. My doctor's genius idea. And I experienced the same roller coaster of emotions for the rest of that day and night.

Onto the morning of the 15th. Arrived at the same hospital, at the same time...wearing the same damn clothes, even. Mom and Dad were there, as they had driven in the day before to watch Baby Boy during the surgery that was supposed to have taken place. I was admitted. I was hooked up to the IV. I was told that Dr. Vayas would be performing the surgery. Okay, Yes, Dr. Vay....wait a minute. That's not MY doctor. MY doctor is cutting me open. She told me so. I was told that it's unlikely my doctor would be the surgeon. She rarely performs surgeries because she's a high-risk doctor. Only in the most extreme cases would she be in the OR. Oh, contraire, nurse-lady. Unless you want to see my head spin and get your scrubs covered in pea soup, get my doctor on the phone NOW. She did. The doctor would be there. This was apparently a major deal. Lots of people came in to see the young woman that Dr. Lele would be performing the surgery on. I became a bit of a celebrity. I had an ultrasound...except the ~~rent-a-doc~~ resident couldn't find her head. Oh great...my baby no longer has a head? CAN THIS WHOLE EXPERIENCE GET ANY WORSE?? The resident was having a hard time getting anything because the baby was so low. Wait a minute - what did you say? She's LOW? You can't find the head - isn't it right up in my ribs, where it has been for much of the pregnancy? No head in the ribs. The resident asked if I minded if she examined me. Oh, please - yes, that would make my stay at Chez Women and Children's Hospital SO much better. Not only was the baby low, but she was engaged. I was dilated to a 2, and about 75% effaced. What? WHAT?! She turned? THAT must've been what I felt last night. Unhook me - I'm not having the surgery. Hasty decision, no? I consulted with the attending. I consulted with my own OB. Induction was a possibility, but I needed to understand the risks. My OB felt it was in my best interest (and in the best interest of her checkbook, I'm sure) to just have the surgery. Hubs didn't want me to have the surgery. My mom said, "Let's have this baby today." I didn't know what I wanted. After some praying and some thinking, I opted for the surgery. I was convinced that God had listened - He gave me the opportunity to try it on my own, like I had been asking for the entire pregnancy - and I was hoping that it wasn't some message telling me not to have the surgery.

And so away I went. The surgery was a much more...enjoyable (?)...experience than the first time. The spinal wasn't painful this time. The anesthesiologist kept on top of the drops in blood pressure as a result of the spinal and I wasn't loopy or googly this time, so I remember the entire experience. I cried when I heard my baby girl's cry. I stared at her, in awe of her beauty, when I saw her the first time. She stopped crying and turned her head when she heard my voice for the first time. I was in love. I got to hold her myself when I was wheeled from the OR to recovery. I spent about an hour with her before the took her off to be cleaned up.

Recovery was a bitch. I spent 3 or 4 hours under a warming blanket because my temperature refused to rise above 95.4...the nurses' slight looks of concern made me a bit nervous, but I was so doped up that I didn't panic. My parents and Baby Boy got to come in immediately to meet the baby. Once I warmed up and could wiggle my toes I was moved to my room.

That was a Thursday. I was released on Monday. The few days in between were spent eating bad food, struggling with nursing and trying to make a difficult decision, missing Baby Boy like crazy, awful drops in blood pressure (one nurse's exact words were Well, that can't be right. If it were, you'd be dead.), and a constant flow of people coming in and out of my room. My private room was rarely private. The nurses on the Mother-Baby unit were wonderful. Angels, really. My experience was so different from the first time around, and for that I was grateful. It made the perfect ending for a less-than-perfect pregnancy.

And I got this perfect little creature in the end:

Just another manic Monday

2008-06-02T08:44:00.006-04:00

Okay. Hubs just left for work. It's just me. Me and the children. Alone. For the first time. God help me.

I've decided to update throughout the day, mostly as a way to keep my sanity, but also to provide amusement for some of you, I'm sure, as I join the exclusive and special club made up only of stay-at-home moms of two under two.

So far so good. The day started off with Nat sneezing on my English muffin. Savannah is sleeping away in her swing. The dining room table is newly stocked with arts and crafts items for Nat and I to play with together. The air is filled with the stink of fresh poop.

This will be my first day sans Lortab...at least during the daylight hours. I'm hoping that I don't exert myself to the point of ripping open my incision. Then I'd have to worry about Nat running and slipping on my guts, and I'm pretty sure "guts" isn't among the list of stains that Resolve or Zout are proven to remove from carpets.

So - 8:51 a.m. Mama's sanity is intact, as are the children.

Stay tuned.

***We interrupt this blog to announce that Mama is currently doing the happy dance of joy because BOTH children are napping, hopefully for the next three hours.***

Update
So it's 1 p.m. I'm ready to chop my head off with an axe.

Savannah pooped on the couch. Thrice. In a two minute period.

Nathanael fell and hit his cheek on the side of his stupid Leap~~Frig~~Frog table. Nathanael also saw fit to paw through the garbage when I had my back turned for two seconds, happily settling on the egg carton that had two shells and remnants of raw egg inside of it. Amused, he held out his hands with the slimy goo all over, asking me, "What is it?" Salmonella, anyone?

If I trip over one more damn toy, they're all going in the trash.

So - 1:12 p.m. Kids - 2. Mama - 0. I need a drink.

Update
3:13 p.m. - Of course they both see fit to piss and moan in their sleep all afternoon. ALL afternoon. Also? I'm convinced that Savannah will grow up to be a linebacker some day. She can't seem to get enough to eat. Me? The only thing I've eaten today is the sneezed-upon English muffin, and that was about 8 hours ago.

The UPS man almost lost his life today. Dude - DON'T RING MY DAMN DOORBELL DURING NAP TIME! See my tired eyes? See me limping in pain? I just had my insides ripped out 2 1/2 weeks ago. I need to rest. Don't make me get up off the couch. Leave it on the doorstep and back the hell away. NOW! I'm gonna give you to the count of 10 to get your lying, yellow, no-good keister off my property before I pump your guts full of lead! **if you can name which movie within a movie i took that from, then you get a prize

Is it normal for a newborn baby to make sounds that rival Regan's in The Exorcist? 'Cause she's starting to scare me. I'm convinced that a) she's possessed or 2) she's part pterodactyl.

Update
5 p.m. - Calgon, take me away!!

Flying solo

2008-06-01T15:22:00.002-04:00

I never knew such levels of exhaustion existed. I have a feeling that only mothers of multiple children know what I'm talking about. I'm so tired that I'm sitting here watching - and enjoying - a J Lo movie. Oh, the horror!

The kiddos and I will be on our own tomorrow for the first time. My mom was here all last week, taking care of me, taking care of the babies, and making sure I kept my sanity as I slowly become used to being a mother of two. There's something about your mom taking care of you - I don't care how old you are - that makes you long for the days of your own childhood again, wishing that, even if for just one day, you could go back in time when things were easier. Watching Baby Boy love and adore his Gran (or "Gew," as he calls her) was the best thing in the world. Mama was a non-entity when Gew was around. It was a bittersweet time, really. I loved watching my mom interact with my own children, but it made me sad that I'm so grown up now that I have my own kids, making me realize even more that times are changing, we're all growing older, etc.

I have to admit that I'm a bit terrified of being the one in charge tomorrow. Baby Boy has definitely come around with me - most of the time it's like things haven't changed and he's my sweet little boy again. But wow, those terrible twos have decided to come early. The boy has a temper, and he can misbehave with the best of them. All of it is forgotten, though, as I put him to sleep and he starts with his new routine. Mama, no more doctor. No more hosipah. (hospital). Nope - no more hospital, buddy. Mama will be here when you wake up. Always always? Always, buddy. I promise. Mama lovey dovey. I love you too, buddy. Heart? Yes, with all of my heart. Only 19 months old, and already so sweet. Stay sweet, baby boy. Stay sweet.

Yes, he turned 19 months old yesterday. Baby Girl turned two weeks old last week. She's beautiful. Perfect. Makes the most disgusting yet wonderful baby noises. She's so aware - loves to stare at her hands and at the lights and at my checkered blanket. Loathes having her diaper changed. Adores her big brother already - she looks and looks and looks at him whenever he's near her, which is quite often. He returns her affection. He adores her. Loves to give her kisses, loves to stroke her hair and her tiny fingers. All fears I had about the two of them getting along have dissipated. He is a great big brother and she'll be lucky to have him around when she's older.

I'm still hurting a fair amount. I've neglected the doctors instructions to take it easy, of course, and have been picking up my son since my second or third day home from the hospital. I'm a little concerned that I did something to something...every time I turn a certain way I feel quite a bit of pain slightly above my incision. I'm guessing if it's anything it's muscle, but I'm too afraid to call the doctor, so I'll save it until my 4-week check.

I'll end with a funny story. I won't leave Baby Boy alone with his sister...not until I'm 100% certain he won't try to fling her around by her arms - and so he comes into the bathroom with me when I have to go. On Friday morning, he was particularly interested in Mama going potty, and as I stood up to wipe, he excitedly exclaimed, "Hair-do!! Hair-do!!" He loves to potty with Mama now, and every time he sees the toilet he happily accounces to the world, "Mama hair-do!!" I can see the therapy bills now...

Just don't

2008-05-26T13:41:00.004-04:00

I've reached that point, readers. That new-baby-exhaustion point. That wits-end point. That my-husband-goes-back-to-work-tomorrow-and-I'm-afraid-of-my-children point.

I'm stressed. My mom's coming in for a few days, but it won't be the same. Gran is fun. We like having Gran around. It's like there are no rules when she's around. Let's misbehave, 'cause she thinks it's funny and cute. Gran's older, so Mama's not really in charge.

I've been without narcotics for nearly 48 hours. By choice. I haven't filled the script for the good stuff. I may. I just may. Life is better on narcotics. Kidding. Sort of.

Savannah doesn't like to sleep. At all. She's having poop issues. And gas. Me, I'm pooping just fine. Got the first post-partum post c-section poop out of the way. Sure, it felt like I was shitting shards of glass, but it's done. Out of the way. On to the next thing.

The next thing being I'm pretty convinced that I have a brain tumor. For the last 4 or 5 days I've had a headache that would make Jesus himself weep, along with vertigo and distortion of voices in my ears. Brain tumor. The big one, Alice. God gave me two beautiful children, only to kill me with a brain tumor. Thanks, dude.

Baby boy is, I think, starting to come around as far as liking me again. He's still acting awful at times, but I think it's more the terrible twos than anything else. His new favorite phrase, compliments of mama, is "Holy shit." Not ideal, but he heard it enough every time I moved for the last 10 days that he was bound to pick it up. Hey - at least he's incorporating religion into it.

For those of you wondering if you should get pregnant again any time soon, listen to me. If getting pregnant right now will leave you with two children under two, please understand that you'll never eat again, you'll never sleep again, showers just don't exist, you don't change into clean clothes too often, and the amount of guilt you feel for a) telling your older child to shush or keep it down because the new baby is sleeping, b) spending time with the older child instead of the new baby, or c) wanting to chop your husband's balls off so that you never get pregnant again, is very overwhelming and overpowering.

I'm stressed to the max. I'm angry at myself for getting so stressed. I love my babies, more than I ever thought possible, and I wouldn't trade either of them for the world. But I'm terrified that I won't be able to be a good mom to two young children - how am I supposed to continue to teach my son as much as I have when all my time is taken up by the new baby? Is there a manual out there for this stuff?

Starve a fever, feed a c-section

2008-05-22T18:27:00.003-04:00

Now that I'm no longer eating for two, I guess it's safe to say that I'm just a pig. I was hoping that my appetite would diminish once I had the baby, but no way - if anything it's gotten a bit bigger.

My deflated two-c-sections-in-two-years stomach depresses me.

I called my OB's office this morning looking for a little reassurance that the amount of pain I'm still in is within the boundaries of normal and not indicative that I have massive organ damage and internal bleeding. Last night was awful, and every time I moved I was afraid I'd leave behind a big pile of uterine stew. They wanted to see me right away - of course - which made me worry that THEY thought I had massive organ damage and internal bleeding. All was well, though, and the verdict was that I'm simply overdoing it. The doctor did say that, despite the common misconception, subsequent c-sections can be harder as far as healing and pain management because everything is more stretched out and can take longer to heal. Why did everyone tell me the opposite, then? Cruel, cruel, cruel. I did, however, walk out of there with a prescription for a stronger narcotic. Sweet. I probably won't fill it, though, because I imagine it will render me unconscious and even more useless than I already am. Still - it's nice to have it in my hand. I could probably sell it for a nice price.

Savannah is one week old today. Hard to believe that I was lying like a slab of meat on a cold steel table this time last week. I know I promised the story of the surgery and hospital stay - it's a-comin', probably this weekend. She's simply amazing. Eats like a champ. Sleeps like an angel, except for the middle of the night feed - then it's party time. All of her 0-3 months clothes are way too big because she's such a peanut. I have no idea where she gets her slight frame from. Baby boy is also a bit petite for his age. Must be the Irish in them. She had a weight check at the doctor's office yesterday, and while I was undressing her I noticed that her cord had fallen off, leaving a gaping bloody hole in the middle of her stomach. The pediatric nurse had to pretty much catch me from nearly fainting at the sight. Baby boy's button actually had to be cauterized because it was so bloody and open. I don't typically have a weak stomach, but seeing it yesterday almost brought me to my knees and my breakfast to the floor.

I want a new camera. I want a camera that will make my photos look fabulous, despite the photographically handicapped person behind it. Any suggestions, readers? I have a Kodak EasyShare C875, and I hate it. It's a thorn in my side. I would love a big, fancy $1000 camera, but I doubt my husband will allow me to blow our stimulus check on a camera.

Baby boy is a monster. I'm pretty convinced that he hates me and is plotting my death, a la Stewie in The Family Guy. He's entering the terrible twos stage already, and combined with his ~~demonic possession~~ adjustment to his baby sister, he's not a fun tot to be around. I hope with all of my heart that it passes, and that it passes soon. It's difficult to not let it all hurt my feelings.

I hate being stuck in the house. No driving for 2 weeks. No travel for 4. Nothing in the vagina for 6. Oh darn. I'm dying to get out of the house, but even going for a walk around the block at this point would be painful. Hubs goes back to work next week and my mom is driving up to spend the week here to help out. I'm hoping by then I can get out for some fresh air and a few moments of quiet time. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to do this alone when my help has gone, but I'm pretending that it won't happen if I don't think about it.

Where'd that prescription go?

Lortab = a little gift from God

2008-05-20T14:01:00.002-04:00

I am high as a kite on painkillers right now. I don't remember my first c-section causing this much pain, but oy - it feels like my insides are going to come tumbling right out.

The first installment of Savannah's birth story will have to wait, but since so many of you are interested I thought I'd post another picture. Our first night at home was not bad at all - she's such a good baby! Baby boy, on the other hand - oh Lord. I hope this is all just an adjustment and I get my sweet little boy back. I don't remember giving birth to Rosemary's Baby in October 2006, but he's sure acting like it today!

Until the drugs are out of my system and I can string together more than just a few coherent sentences....

Presenting...

2008-05-19T15:16:00.003-04:00

Savannah Irene Grace
May 15, 2008
2:03 p.m.
6 lbs. 12 oz.
20 1/2 in.

We're home. Just got home today. Mama's too tired and too drugged at the moment to share the details, but you can expect a full report, in several installments, over the next few days. It'll start with why I didn't have the c-section on the 14th as planned.

The baby's doing well. Baby boy/Big Brother is adjusting...he seems to love his baby sister, but is also enjoying the process of acting out and ignoring his mama. Our first night home as a family tonight should be interesting. I've got enough painkillers to last me a while, and I've already pooped, so life is grand.

A big thank you for all of the congrats and well wishes!

And away we go....

2008-05-14T06:29:00.003-04:00

In just a few short hours, Baby #2 will be here.

Any prayers/good thoughts directed this way would be appreciated - I'm a little nervous about this c-section and recovery.

Stay tuned - I should be out of the hospital on Sunday and will likely post a picture or two.

'Til then....

Thank God I'm not an elephant.

2008-05-08T13:34:00.002-04:00

An elephant's gestation period is 22 months. Can you imagine? Surely I'd kill myself.

Yep - I'm still housing this fetus. You thought, perhaps, since I've been missing in action for nearly a week that I'd given birth? No. Not so lucky. We did have a false alarm that sent us to the labor and delivery ward just this past Monday, though - imagine my dismay when they declared me "not in active labor" and sent me on my pathetic little way. Bastards.

The baby is head down - for the first time! Could it be? Should I get my hopes up that I'll go into labor on my own AND she'll be in the correct position? I'm pretty sure God doesn't like me that much, so I'm not getting excited.

I've pretty much reached the end of my rope here, readers. Really. I'm exhausted. I haven't slept more than a few hours each night in weeks. I'm in pain. I'm already mourning the loss of my ability to give my undivided attention to baby boy. I'm terrified of the impending c-section. I learned yesterday that the precautions that were taken during my first c-section to prevent a blood clot (I have a clotting disorder, remember?) will not be taken this time. That leaves me a little nervous. I learned yesterday that I will have my outer incision closed with staples this time instead of sutures. That gives me the creeps. I learned yesterday that I won't be able to pick my baby boy up for 6 weeks after the surgery. He's going to feel emotionally abandoned. He's not going to understand. And how the hell, as a stay at home mom, am I supposed to get away with not picking him up? My husband will be home for a week following the surgery. My mom will be coming to stay for the week after that. Hubs wants to get "someone" to come in to help for the remaining 4 weeks, and by "someone" he's thinking a visiting nurse or some~~thing~~one along that line. Sorry, but no half-qualified foreign stranger will be coming into my home to dust my floors, let alone help with my son and baby daughter. He's telling me that we have to figure something out. No need - I'll go about my business, and if I happen to rip my incision, spilling the contents of my body all over my floor just because I need to pick my son up out of his crib - then so be it.

Unless I feel particularly inspired - don't count on it - to blog about something before next Wednesday, the day of the impending c-section of doom, this will likely be my last post as a mama to one. Updates can be expected once she's out. Stay tuned!

Comic relief

2008-05-02T13:33:00.002-04:00

It has been a long week. A very, very long week. Full of emotional breakdowns, discomfort, sleep deprivation. The icing on the cake last night for me was watching Grey's Anatomy and having the pleasure of seeing one of the secondary characters involved in a c-section gone bad. Yes, I know it's just a show, but come on. I didn't need that. Not now. I don't know how it ended up, as my husband kindly turned the television off once I burst into tears.

Then today? I sit down at the computer, looking for some internet respite while baby boy naps away, and the main headline on MSNBC.com is about C diff, a bacteria that appears to be infecting every person who walks through the doors of a hospital. Fabulous. Again - I know this stuff exists, but really - did it have to make major news NOW?

As I walked by a mirror earlier this afternoon, simply horrified by the reflection staring back at me and getting ready to plunge deeper into this apparent - and hopefully temporary - state of depression that I'm in, baby boy toddled up with a bag in his hands, held it out to me, and said, "F*ck sack?"

Sure buddy, you can have some fruit snacks. And thanks - I needed that.

18 months

2008-05-01T13:45:00.004-04:00

Baby boy, you're officially a year and a half old today. Where did this time go? How can you possibly be on your way to turning 2? It seems like only yesterday that you were growing in my belly, and your daddy and I were so excited to meet you.

You're the most amazing creature on this planet, and as you grow up I will never let a day go by without you knowing that, and without you knowing how much I love you and how special you are to me. Even when you reach those difficult ages and stages, I will always make sure you know.

You're a pretty funny little guy, you know that? You make me laugh so much! You started calling me lubby dubby (lovey dovey) the other day, and it melted my heart. Just moments ago, as I rocked with you in your chair, you fell asleep with your hand resting on my chest and your head resting on your hand. For me to look down and see that sight was a wonderful gift, and I thank you. You see, you fell asleep that exact way when you were a newborn and had just finished eating. I loved to see it then, and I remember those days all too well - to be brought back there, even for a moment, was wonderful.

You have become SUCH a picky eater. You never fail to let me know your displeasure with what I've put on your plate. It usually ends up on the floor if it's something you're not crazy about. You've recently discovered hot dogs and cheeseburgers, and you ask for them constantly, along with a-dunk-a-dunk (ketchup). Geeps (grapes) are your favorite fruit right now, and you love to declare grapes and berries "sour." Mealtimes are definitely frustrating at times, but always fun.

You love playing with your choo-choo trains. You love to color on everything BUT paper. Your love for reading is something that I hope will never change. You have a very impressive bottlecap collection for a little guy, and it's one of the first things you look for when you come downstairs in the mornings. You have quite the temper. Your vocabulary is extensive and amazing - even your doctor is impressed! You like to bonk your head or finger on purpose, just so that mama will kiss your boo-boo. You enjoy picking flowers for me outside. You love to destroy the ant hills outside. You have a fascination with stones. And with washing your sucker - you'd wash it all day if we let you! You have so much fun doing the smallest things, and it's a joy that I hope you maintain all throughout your life.

You're SO smart, buddy. So smart. You have an amazing ability to conceptualize things that I imagine are a little unusual for such a young age. You pick up new words and ideas and skills on a daily basis, and there are times when your daddy and I just look at each other with shocked expressions, wondering how you got to be the way you are. I love having the chance to stay at home with you all day. Sure, sometimes your cranky days become my cranky days, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Things are going to change a bit around here very soon. I feel so sad about that. I'm so sad that our time together as just the two of us during the day won't be as plentiful as it is now. I'm so scared that you're going to be confused, or hurt, or think that you're being replaced. I hope you know that you will always, always hold a most special place in my heart, one that is reserved for you and only you, my first child. If it means I'll never sleep again, I promise you that we will have our time together. I promise you that nothing - nothing - will ever change the way I love you, the way your laugh and your smile brighten my every day, the way I wish I could hold you in my arms forever. I hope that you see your baby sister as a sort of gift, someone to share your hopes and dreams and plots against mama and daddy with. Someone other than mama and daddy to play with. I hope you'll be close. I hope that you and I don't lose our mama-baby bond, something that I've worked very hard these last 18 months to build and maintain.

I hope that you know this - you are loved.

Happy 18 months, baby boy. You'll be my baby 'til you're old and gray. I bought a book for you when you were very very new, and I've never been able to read it to you because it makes me cry. There's a song in it, though, that the mama sings to her baby boy, and I've said it to you many times:

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.

High and tight

2008-04-29T13:33:00.002-04:00

We're not talking about major league baseball pitches. Nope - that would be too easy. We're talking about my cervix. It's sealed shut. It's never going to open. Ever. I am going to be pregnant forever. Well...or at least until the date of the c-section...which feels like forever.

I had my OB's stand-in's stand-in today. He actually asked me if I wanted him to examine me. Oh yes, sure, Doctor. Please stick your latex-covered hand (unless of course he pulls a The Hand That Rocks The Cradle move and then I'd just wind up having an asthma attack) into my most private and not-wanting-to-be-touched area right now. It would be MY pleasure. Really. And, when you're through? Bend over so that I can ram my left Croc up your...

"Yes, I would. I was having some pretty regular contractions yesterday, and I'm curious to know if they resulted in anything." Of course they didn't, seeing as though I don't have a foot sticking out of said private and not-wanting-to-be-touched area.

"Okay then." *pulls on glove* *inserts hand* "Hmmm. Let's see if I can find your cervix." Okay - what? Dude, do you even have a medical degree? What do you mean you have to see if you can find it? I knew I shouldn't have obliged to see this guy in my doctor's absence. His name is pronounced Man-Dip, for Christs' sake!

*rooting around, feels like he's looking for the pencil he lost on the way home from school in the third grade...which must have been, like....10 years ago?* "Okay - closed tight and high up. Any questions?" Yes - WHAT THE HELL WILL IT TAKE TO GET THIS CHILD OUT OF ME??

After that fun start to the morning I had the pleasure of lying flat on my back for 20 minutes (isn't that dangerous while pregnant?) for my weekly NST. The nurses love to poke their heads in and comment, with amused smiles, about how active this baby is. Yes, it's hilarious. I love having a shaking fist or tapping foot rammed into my rib cage at all times. It's so wonderful when she does whatever the hell it is she does to make it feel like someone's ramming a knife into my previously mentioned parts. (I saw Baby Mama with my mom this weekend. My favorite part of the movie? Amy Poehler's in labor, being wheeled into the hospital yelling, "Oh my God, it feels like I'm shitting a knife!" Yep. I feel you, sister.) When she turns circles nonstop in my uterus for 15 minutes, like she's high on ~~my stash of codeine~~ life, and then settles in the middle, sticking her coolie out so far that I swear she's going to tear through my flesh? Yeah - that's the greatest. NOW GET OUT!

From the mouths of babes

2008-04-28T14:18:00.002-04:00

My son, spotting the neighbor ~~spawn~~ kids on their bikes: "Kids! Kids!"
Me: "Say hi to the kids. They're on their bikes."
Son, waving: "Hi, dicks!"

Full term

2008-04-28T14:07:00.003-04:00

I am 37 weeks pregnant today. This baby needs to come OUT. I'm tired of not sleeping. I'm tired of being in pain. I'm tired of the homicidal mood swings.

Honest to God, if baby boy wakes up from his nap 2 hours early because the UPS man rang the doorbell, I'm going to hunt him down and castrate him. The UPS man, that is - not my son.

Anyway, as I was saying...(what mood swings?)

I think I'm going to pull my doctor aside in the operating room and tell her that I won't sue her if she accidentally slips and ties my tubes while she's moving my guts aside to extricate my fetus. Not sure when I'll do it - sometime between the dead man walking trudge to the operating room from the pre-op area (Honestly, why do they make you walk? Why can't they wheel me in a wheelchair? This is major surgery, for God's sake.) and the part where I get to have a needle rammed into my spinal column to prevent me from feeling any pain. This whole pregnancy thang must never happen again.

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Not with my regular OB, but with her stand-in. Watch MSNBC or CNN after around 9:30 a.m. If you happen to see a story about an insane pregnant woman who went postal when the doctor told her she wasn't dilated - yeah, that'll be me.

Eviction notice

2008-04-28T14:00:00.002-04:00

Dear Gumdrop,

You are hereby requested to vacate your current residence no later than May 14, 2008 at approximately 1 p.m. However, today marking the full term status of your gestation, you are requested to vacate as soon as possible. You have not violated the terms of your lease, however you have overstepped several boundaries, leaving the property manager uncomfortable and displeased with the idea of you staying any longer.

In simpler terms - GET OUT!

Lovingly yours,

Your mama

Puzzled

2008-04-24T14:09:00.004-04:00

I'm not quite sure how I managed to forget to put a diaper on my son before our morning out today, but yeah - it happened. Our final stop was to the park near our house so that he could play on the swings for a while. He started walking funny and asking Tizit? which is his version of "What the hell is going on here, mama?" while pulling at his overalls. I figured he had pooped and it went into the front, so I did the check-the-diaper swipe in his pants, except - there was no diaper. We had been out for 2 hours, and my poor baby was without a diaper the entire time. At least he knew not go go in his pants.

And yes, I did have my diaper bag with me - but the diaper bag rarely has diapers in it. Go figure.

The home stretch

2008-04-22T14:58:00.003-04:00

I'm creeping toward being full term with this baby. Today makes me 36 weeks and 2 days pregnant. I need this little bundle out of me. NOW. I don't remember being this miserably uncomfortable with baby boy. Granted, I have about 30 more pounds on me now than I did when I was pregnant with him and I'm guessing that accounts for the discomfort, but Holy God in the Sky - it's awful being this big! I feel like a circus side-show and imagine that I look like one, too, when attempting to get out of bed, off of the couch, out of the car, etc. I don't remember what it was I did yesterday but it apparently looked pretty funny to baby boy, because he started laughing at the effort it took for me to do it.

I'm hoping to bargain with the doctor tomorrow to perform the c-section at 38 weeks instead of 39 if I haven't gone into labor on my own by that time. I thought repeat c-sections were typically scheduled for 38 weeks, anyway, but maybe that's just my wishful thinking.

As much as I'd like to avoid another c-section, I'm not confident in my ability to handle a vaginal birth. Any woman who has battled pregnancy constipation knows that some major effort is oftentimes required to rid the body of the poo - if I can't handle a little poo-removal discomfort, how in the world would I push out a whole person? Because I'm on a blood thinner, if I go into labor on my own I may be SOL as far as receiving any kind of anesthesia if so desired. It'll depend on the timing of the last injection with when active labor begins. There's always the drugs, I guess, but if I'm going to go through the ~~horror~~ experience of a true vaginal birth, I'd like to be coherent enough to remember the event.

I hope I'll know the difference between Braxton Hicks contractions and true labor contractions. Over the last 48 hours I've had some pretty good contractions of some sort. Not painful, more like my breath is being taken away and my insides are being squeezed. Seeing as though there isn't half of a fetus hanging from my va-jay-jay, I'd like to venture a guess that these are contractions of the Braxton Hicks variety. On a humorous note, there was a moment last week where I thought my water had broken. Turns out I just peed my pants. I pee a little every time I step out of the shower these days. Fun times.

I've changed my mind on the name for the baby. Again. Norah has been moved to the #2 spot. Elliotte's off the table. I'm keeping this one a secret, though. The only other person who knows of the name is Hubs, and he loves it, too. My faithful readers will just have to wait until the announcement of the birth to know the final decision. Speaking of which - the hospital has free Wi-fi, and I'm hoping to get my hands on a laptop for while I'm there. If I wind up going into labor on my own I would LOVE to blog through the labor process. If I wind up with another c-section then I'll need something to do during the baby's sleep time while I'm cooped up for 4 days. It's not like I'm going to have hordes of visitors. And, really - who can sleep in those awful hospital beds?

The bag is packed. The room is just about ready. The c-section is tentatively scheduled. I guess all I can do is sit back and let nature take its course or let the doctor slice me open. Either way, I know that life as I know it is going to change drastically and the feelings of excitement, some sadness (please be okay with all of this, baby boy, and know how much i love you and how much of my heart belongs to you. please.), and all-out terror are incredibly overwhelming.

And no, those aren't tears - the, uh...ceiling is leaking.

Wedding Bell Blues

2008-04-20T21:33:00.002-04:00

I grew up in a small town where it was customary to honk your horn when driving by a wedding party gathering outside of a church. It was supposed to be a gesture of good luck, of solidarity; a way of celebrating with the newly married couple. The bride and groom and respective friends and family members would always wave when honked at, looking beyond excited and happy that someone wanted to share their special day with them.

Imagine my glee when we drove by a Catholic church yesterday on the way to taking baby boy to the zoo. I saw a group of finely dressed people as we approached the church, and the small-town girl in me bubbled to the surface, so I asked the Hubs to lay on the horn to congratulate the happy couple. I told him to keep honking 'til we passed the church - after all, I wanted the couple to know we were happy for them! As we inched closer to the church, though, I noticed that people weren't waving. In fact, everyone looked rather...well, melancholy.

It wasn't until a moment after the honking stopped and we were a good 50 feet past the church that I realized we were honking at a funeral party.

What?!

2008-04-19T17:13:00.003-04:00

I'm often amused by the Google searches that lead people to my blog, but one that I noticed last night? Well, this one takes the cake.

And the award for Most Bizarre Google Search (and perhaps search-er) goes to:

The chap who searched for Frosted Fetus Flakes.

Hope you find what you're looking for, dude.

Verbal diarrhea

2008-04-19T15:27:00.005-04:00

I'm quite certain the fetus is trying to push her way out today. Through my lungs.

I had the pleasure of encountering Amherst Mommy at Barnes & Noble story time again on Friday. She had the nerve to attempt to sit next to me on the bench (made for little toddler coolies, mind you - not really for pregnant behinds, let alone two behinds), giving me a my-shit-don't-stink look the entire time as she sauntered over. So what did I, the bigger and better person, do? Moved to the middle of the bench, giving her the same look back, taking pleasure as she rolled her eyes and had to *gasp* stand the entire time. The best part of the half-hour story time? Watching as she bent over to pick her screaming daughter up off of the floor and noticing that her BACK was hairier than her arms. No way! Back hair on men can be quasi-forgiven, but on a woman? Just...ew. I'm not talking about the peach fuzz that we all have - I'm talking full-out 'fro on her lower back...looked like Buckwheat was poking his head out from under her shirt.

Many of you commented that you try to avoid situations involving other moms. I tend to shy away from the places where the competitive moms like to go - playgroups (never!), Gymboree-ish places...too often I've found myself among moms who like to speak extra loudly, just to make sure everyone can hear her, about which milestones her child has reached early, how much of a genius the child is, and so on and so forth. I don't care how old your kid was when he started walking, when she started pooping on the potty, or what your strategy was for getting him to sleep all night. I like to spend my time enjoying my child - not talking him up to any willing ear. Over-compensating for anything in particular, mommy? Like, perhaps, your own downfalls and/or insecurities? Sure, I'm as proud as the next mom when baby boy says a new word or performs a new task, but I don't feel the need to share it with every person who crosses my path, and I certainly don't do anything remotely close to making sure everyone in the room knows it. I learned quickly what and how much to share, which questions are okay to ask and which make you appear to be competitive. I just don't feel the need to surround myself or associate with people who see fit to compare our children.

And now, the most important part of the post -
I've again been tagged by Matter of Fact Mommy to list 7 more random facts about myself. She finds me so darn intriguing, and I'm happy to oblige.

1. I tell people that I am allergic to bees so that they don't look at me funny when I run away screaming and flapping my arms when one comes within 100 feet of me. The bigger the bee, the more severe the allergy.

2. I find Jack Nicholson to be rather sexy. Not The Shining Jack Nicholson...more like wrinkly Something's Gotta Give Jack.

3. I'm terrified of my impending c-section. With my son, I went in to be induced and wasn't anticipating that he'd be presenting breech, so there was no time to worry about all of the what-ifs. This time, I'm imagining every possible worst-case scenario that could occur, and it scares me.

4. Ever since seeing the movie The Exorcism of Emily Rose, if I happen to wake up at 3:33 a.m., I lie in bed and say the Our Father until I fall asleep to prevent the devil from entering my soul. It's not because of my religion - it's because I don't want to become possessed like Emily Rose. It would piss me off.

5. I have no idea what I want to do when it's time for me to go back to work (when the kids are in school). Sure, I have my degrees in the mental health field, but I really have no desire to return to that. It has been too long. If money weren't an issue (is it ever NOT an issue?), I would like to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity to build houses (see previous post about my inner dude), or buy our own huge fixer-upper home and completely redo it myself.

6. As much as I hate being pregnant, and as rough as these two pregnancies have been, I'm a bit sad that this is the last time I'll be pregnant. I always wanted a big family with 4 or 5 children, but my health and our finances would probably never be able to handle it.

7. I don't think I'm all that amusing, but I've gotten comments and e-mails from acquaintances and strangers telling me that I should submit some of my blog posts to newspapers or magazines. I would love to do that, and would love an opportunity to do something like freelance writing, but my fear of rejection keeps me from doing anything about it. My fear of rejection keeps me from doing a lot of things...like having friends!

Embracing my inner dude

2008-04-17T14:12:00.003-04:00

I love Home Depot. LOVE it. If I were a carpenter, contractor, plumber...and, well...a guy...Home Depot would be my wet dream. I love the smell. I love the guy-gadgets. I LOVE the paint section...I'm secretly envious of the Clairol #5 redheaded old lady who works behind the counter, having the power at her fingertips to give you the exact color you requested off of the paint sample card, or, if she doesn't like the looks of you, add a little more yellow or a little less raw umber, giving you not Stowe White, as you requested, but paint that is instead the color of infected pus. We made a trip to Home Depot over the weekend to get some supplies needed to finish up the baby's room, and I was prepared to leave there happy.

Until it was time to check out.

I have a thing about self-checkouts in stores. If the store is equipped with one of these glorious devices, then I have to use it. I have to. I tend to get into arguments with the computerized "lady" in the computer (or Jillian, as I tend to name every computerized checkout lady) at these terminals, though - she'll overcharge me, or register something twice or not at all, and then it turns ugly. I end up calling her something along the lines of "stupid checkout whore" and she usually ends up winning - which means an actual store employee needs to interfere in some way to enter his/her magical employee ID number to silence Jillian from her cry of "Assistance needed! Assistance needed!" Forcing me to interact face-to-face with an actual person? Oh, Jillian - it's on!

This trip to Home Depot, though, seemed to be without a checkout altercation. Jillian welcomed me and did her job expediently and correctly. She politely told me that it was time to pay, and when I went to select my payment method, smiling as I was pleased with the smooth transaction, I noticed that she was flashing me a sign on the monitor that read "UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA." I reached over and tried to clear the message, but the screen continued to glare at me. "UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA." Ohhh, Jillian - are you accusing me of shoplifting? We were getting along so well. And then I realized....no, this wasn't an accusation of breaking the law. My stomach - my swollen, aching, 35-week-pregnant stomach - was touching the bag sensor. No, Jillian was not accusing me of trying to steal an item from the store. Bitch was calling me fat!

Ohhhh, no you didn't, Jillian. It should've been on like Donkey Kong, but lucky for you the Hubs ushered me on my way. Besides - sticks and stones may break my bones....but I walked out with an extra paint stick and about 100 Mickey Mouse paint sample cards for baby boy, and you didn't even notice. Oh yeah - and a $200 gas grill.*

*disclaimer - the grill thing was a joke. a joke. the paint stick and sample cards are free, so if you're a lawyer or someone from Home Depot looking to sue me....well, you can't. come to my house and see that there's no gas grill. the sweet-ass cordless drill, though? well - i'll call it a gift. besides - i'm 4 weeks away from having my second kid. now i've REALLY got nothin'.

the drill. a joke. i long for a cordless drill. and one of those black and decker thingies that assists you in hanging your pictures straight by shooting a laser beam out of either side when you hang it on the wall. hey black and decker - since i'm too cheap to buy one myself, why don't you send me one for free and i'll give it rave reviews on my blog? e-mail me at mckenzie underscore haskell at yahoo dot com.

Baby baby, I'm taken with the notion....

2008-04-16T18:33:00.002-04:00

....of just calling you Baby until you're old enough to name yourself.

Thoughts on these two names, dear readers. Hit me.

Norah Grace

Zoe Grace

Baby boy's name starts with N, so there would be some cute alliteration there if we chose Norah.

Been MIA for a few rough days. Be back with some witty post tomorrow. The ice cream parlor awaits my fat ass.

An Open Letter

2008-04-11T13:15:00.004-04:00

To the Amherst Mommy I had the misfortune of sitting next to at Barnes & Noble story time this morning:

Where does your sense of entitlement come from? I'm curious. Maybe I can pick some of that up somewhere so that I can feel okay about being a bitch in public, both to others around me and to my own child, for no good reason.

I'm sorry you had to share the tiny child-sized bench with my pregnant self. I'm sure your surgically-enhanced body would've preferred a bench to itself, but...well, I'm big, I'm tired, and I deserve to sit down, but it was mighty white of you to ask first before you plopped down. I will say, though, that I found it a bit unnecessary when you continued to "tsk" and shoot daggers my way whenever I shifted to keep the sciatic pain to a minimum.

Oh, and your 22-month-old daughter? Is it really necessary to paint her nails, put sparkly eye shadow and lip gloss on her for story time? I mean, it's a little ridiculous that you put this on her at all, but for story time? I realize the tendency of the majority of moms in Amherst is to dress to impress - it's evident wherever you go here, but really - this is story time. Look around you. Most of us moms of children 2 and under are lucky to get without our pajamas on. I'm not sure who you were dressing up for, but you sure didn't impress any of us. In fact, when you left early? We all started talking about you.

Your kid, by the way, is a brat. I'm not quite sure why you forced her to sit through stories when she very clearly didn't want to be there. I really don't think the way you grabbed her and wrestled her out of her coat was entirely appropriate. Moms get frustrated - that's part of the job - but you're lucky I stifled the hormones and kept my mouth shut as I sat, watching open-mouthed, at the way you physically handled your child. It was disgusting. I understand the need to get out of the house - believe me - but I'm sure there was a coffee shop or nail salon out there with your name on it that you could've patronized instead, shipping your kid off to someone else to watch her while you indulged in yourself, as I got the feeling you often do.

Oh, and a word of advice. Next time, skip the Botox appointment and head over to an esthetician for some electrolysis. I've never spotted a woman whose arm hair rivaled that of Robin Williams' until I had the pleasure of being your seatmate today. Kind of ruined the effect of the $200 pink blouse you were wearing, know what I mean? I felt unclean just looking at those hairy beasts.

See you next Friday!
McKenzie

The name game

2008-04-10T14:01:00.002-04:00

I'm 6 weeks away from the official end of this pregnancy, which is 40 weeks. I'll likely be having a c-section in 5 weeks, unless I go into labor on my own beforehand and the baby is in the right position...which, with my luck, will not happen. So 5 weeks to go until I'm the mother of 2. Under two years of age. When did this REALLY hit me? Yesterday afternoon, on the highway, driving to the library with my son. I had a bit of a panic attack, actually, at the thought of being ~~trapped in the house~~ responsible for 2 little lives. How the hell do women with 2 under 2 do this? How am I supposed to share the love? How am I supposed to keep my sanity intact? Well, it's not like I'm uber-stable now, but still - how am I to be assured I won't turn into Sybil? I asked my mom how you're supposed to love the second as much as you love the first. I don't think it's possible. She told me that you always love all of your kids, but you love them differently. You never have the same feelings for second, third, etc. children as you do for your first, but the love is there, and your heart inevitably grows. Being a second child myself, I'm not sure how much I like that!

Then there's the issue with the name. I'm over wanting to use a boy's name. So over it, in fact, that I'll happily disclose with you the name we were thinking. Ready? Drum roll, please....
Eliot. But spelled E-L-L-I-O-T-T-E for the sake of femininity. My husband loves it, still wants the baby to be named Elliotte. Me, not so much. I keep going back to my original name choice. Any time I attempt to "talk" to the fetus, comes to my mind - she just "feels" like a to me. Hubs hates this name. Thinks it sounds old. Know what? I don't care. Our son's middle name is after the Hubs' father. I think I should get the chance to choose this one's name. I'm carrying this baby, for Christ's sake. I'm the one who got fat, who threw up, who cracked a rib, whose other ribs feel as though they're going to shatter into a zillion pieces from the damn fetus foot lodged in there, who can't sleep...the list goes on. Get my drift? So where does that leave us?

BTW - I've taught my son the name that I've chosen - he said it for the first time today, and it sounded SO cute.

Perhaps I should create a new poll. Leave it to you, dear readers, to choose how to rectify this situation. Those of you who know the names I've chosen are with me on this one, with the exception of one person. If you feel like it, rock the vote.

In conclusion? Stretch marks are ugly sons-of-bitches. Didn't get any with baby boy. This time, they're big and bright and right in the front. Ugh. My stomach would qualify as something to be used to administer the Rorschach Inkblot Test.

Free association

2008-04-10T13:52:00.003-04:00

Baby boy and I were eating our morning snack today, watching the "Host Chat" portion of Regis and Kelly, when he jumped up and, through a mouthful of toast, started yelling "Mama! Mama!" while pointing to Kelly Ripa. I can see how he'd be easily confused:

Kelly Ripa - Blond and styled, perfectly coiffed
Mama - Brunette, hair hasn't been washed since Monday, but I think there were probably remnants of yesterday's mascara still hanging around on my luscious lashes.

Kelly Ripa - 100 pounds soaking wet
Mama - How much does a compact car weigh? Because I'm certain that, during this pregnancy, I've surely surpassed it. And to be soaking wet would imply that I had a chance to shower. Not since Monday.

Kelly Ripa - funny. Sometimes.
Mama - Well, this one I can understand. I'm a regular comedienne. Hey - I performed at comedy clubs in NYC, so I must be a little amusing.

I guess I should be flattered. I find Kelly Ripa to be an attractive woman (but not in the same way that I find Angelina Jolie to be attractive.), so I guess my son has good taste. Makes me feel a little better about his obsession with pink tu-tus and purses in the toy store.

17 months

2008-04-09T14:09:00.002-04:00

Look at this handsome little dude. There are some days I barely recognize my baby boy. He is becoming more and more a little boy, with his own opinions, his own likes and dislikes, his own way of doing things, and the ability to verbalize his independence.

He's so smart. His vocabulary is incredibly expansive. "Experts" say that, by 18 months, a baby (I refuse to call him a toddler - he will always be my baby) should have a vocabulary of at least 10 words. My husband and I compiled a list of all coherent words that he speaks and, at my last count, we were in the 70s. He picks up concepts incredibly fast. He's hilarious - already a comedian, just like his mama. He knows some letters and numbers. He can count to 2.

I could go on all day about the amazing things he does, but it would be of interest only to me, I'm sure. I'm just so amazed by his abilities and things that he's already capable of. I let him learn these things at his own pace. I certainly do not push him to learn his letters or numbers or words - he picks these up just from daily conversation. I credit this to the amount of interaction I've had with him since the day he was born, never using baby talk and always talking to him, even as an itty-bitty, as though he could actually comprehend what I was saying. I know many people who are in a hurry to grow their children up - enrolling them in school too early, just because they're intellectually capable, or rushing into things like potty training and toddler beds, all because they desire the convenience of having a "big kid" rather than letting a baby be a baby or a toddler be a toddler. These are the same people who will cry and complain when it seems as though their children have grown up overnight - we all know that our children will grow up - it's the most awful part of being a parent, I think, but these people are pushing for it to happen. Would I love to have a child who could go to the bathroom on his own at home? Absolutely. He tells me when he's going peepee or caca, and would likely grasp the task of potty training very quickly. But I'm in no hurry. Being in a diaper isn't hurting him.

I'm no one to judge - to each his own, after all, but what happened to allowing kids to be kids?

Impasse

2008-04-03T01:06:00.003-04:00

We have no idea what to name this baby. I want to create a website that will allow all readers of the internet to vote on or suggest a baby name for Gumdrop. I want The Today Show to find out about it, do a piece on it, and turn it into a huge phenomenon. Could you imagine? Something like nameourbaby.com. She'd be famous - like Baby Jessica, only not for having fallen down a well at the hands of her irresponsible parents.

But mostly? I want this damn codeine to make the pain go away. I'd like to sleep tonight. Even Gumdrop is unfazed by it. I think she likes the narcotics already.

God watches MTV

2008-03-29T13:13:00.002-04:00

He must, because I feel as though I'm being Punk'd. Why? Because it appears that my morning sickness has come back, again with the word morning being a complete misnomer. I wake up nauseated, and after I have a two second window where it seems to have gone away and I'm brave enough to eat so that the fetus doesn't starve...well, it comes back. Literally. Heaving with a booboo rib isn't my idea of a fun time. Damn it.

The icing on this proverbial cake of pregnancy is that I've begun having some signs of early labor (at 32 weeks). Am I awful and/or selfish for being the slightest bit excited that the end is possibly a little closer than expected? I know if Gumdrop is born now she'd be in the hospital for a while, unless the steroid inhaler that I've been taking for the last week is pumping (clap) her up, making her little lungs mature a wee bit faster than normal. I was born (I think) 6 weeks early, and hey - look at me. I'm fine. I'm sure I am awful, though, for that and for many other reasons, but honest to God, I'm ready to be done with this pregnancy. And I plan on either forever forgoing sex or getting Hubs neutered so that I never come close to getting pregnant again. I always wanted a big family, but I'll have to buy them or steal them (kidding!!), because I will never, ever put my body through a pregnancy again. I apologize if someone reading this isn't able to have children, and I realize that it's a blessing to be able to carry a child (I really do, actually), but my body is just not one that enjoys being pregnant, and my doctors will agree.

The silver lining on this cloud is that baby boy is FINALLY calling me mama. Sure, he's been able to say it for a while, but he never called for me like he does his daddy. He's never had to - I'm always there for him, rarely out of his sight. But, coincidentally, the morning after this little rib mishap occurred, lo and behold, he pointed to me and said "mama." Oh, what music to my ears. I'm sure when he's older and it goes from the sweet, innocent, filled-with-love call of "mama" to "Mom. Mom. Mommy. Ma. Mommommommommom...." it'll drive me nuts, but for now...and maybe it's the painkillers...but now - I'll revel in it. Thanks for saving it, baby boy. I needed it this week, and I love you so so much.

But wait - there's more.

2008-03-26T14:18:00.004-04:00

I have a cracked rib. The culprit? This frigging cough. No fooling. Doctor said it'll take 6 weeks to heal - right about the time Gumdrop is due. I'm thrilled that the last few weeks of alone time I had left with baby boy have now been ruined.

Doctor's orders? Take it easy.
Ok, dude - I'm a stay-at-home mom with no friends or family in the vicinity and a husband who works full time. I'll sit on the couch all day eating bonbons, just 'cause you said so, and let the baby take care of himself.

This bastard hurts more than recovering from a c-section did. Doc wrote me a 'script for pain meds, but how the hell can I, in good faith, drug my fetus? I'll be paranoid that she's stoned or dead when she's not moving from the effects of the drug.

The entire pregnancy has been like one big comedy sketch...except it's not funny.

Well, wait - I guess this could be considered funny. Or gross. Or both. My body also chose this time to grace me with diarrhea, but due to the unrelenting, insurmountable pain that comes with reaching around to wipe myself....well, I'm just glad *I'm* not the one doing the laundry!

My "water" broke

2008-03-22T14:11:00.002-04:00

Before I begin, let me just say that there's nothing like having a huge fetus head pushing up into the right side of your rib cage. Nothing in the world. I'd like to kill myself at the moment, just to make the pain stop. Or...you know...take some more of that sweet, sweet nectar of Tussionex, just so that I don't realize how much it hurts. Kidding. I'll be too busy counting down the days 'til my c-section, when I'll be blessed with ~~a prescription for a sweet stash of Percocet while recovering~~ a beautiful baby girl.

Okay. Now, as if my day yesterday didn't suck enough (thank you for the comments and e-mails, by the way), my night added a wee bit more stress, although only temporarily.

The scene:
The time is 1:30 a.m. Big fat 16-months-pregnant woman propped up in bed with her 11 pillows, fast asleep. Awoken by a gush of water and the feeling as though I were swimming in a small pond. The internal dialogue went something like this:
Oh God, I peed the bed. I peed the damn bed. How the HELL am I going to get this one past the Hubs? Let me feel. Nope...not pee...at least, it doesn't smell like pee. There's a lot of it, though. What the he... Oh. Oh God. OH MY GOD. My water broke. My water broke. I'm only 32 weeks pregnant and my water broke. NOW what? I should've had a bedtime snack, because boy - I'm hungry. Is it still coming out? Let me feel. Nope. Oh God. What if the baby has dried up like a prune? Or an old, wrinkly leaf? Well wait - sometimes the old wrinkly leaves are damp with mold or dew, and even though they look like they should be dried up, they're not. Wait - my water broke?! Ow! Damn it, fetus, that hurt - don't kick me in the ribs! At least I know you're okay in there, though. Ow! STOP KICKING ME THERE! Wait - why is my back wet? Is that what they mean by back labor? Is she coming out that way? Ew. What the hell? Wait - let me feel. If the cat pissed in the bed and I'm laying it, I'm not going to be happy. I'll kill him. I'll break his neck. I'll.....ohhhhh. The water bottle. It feels flaccid. The water bottle feels flaccid. YAY! The water bottle feels flaccid! Damn piece of crap, what happened, did it explode? It exploded. All over me. And my pillows. And the sheets. Great. Now what? I'm not changing the sheets, and I'm sure as hell not sleeping in wetness. Wait - I know...

Slapping my husband on the arm, I say "hello?" "Hello? I NEED HELP HERE!"
Snork! Snort! Grunt! "Huh?"
"Kenny (explanation to follow) exploded. I need help."

And the scene ends with the two of us schlepping me downstairs to the couch (Hubs' side of the bed isn't comfy, or else I would've stayed there), with my being certain the zombies from I Am Legend that we had finished watching earlier were just waiting for him to go back upstairs so that they could prey upon my fatness. A fun night to end the fun day. It was funny, though. Now. Not then.

As for Kenny. Ohhhh, Kenny, how I enjoyed the little love affair I had with you. Kenny is the hot water bottle who saw me through my pregnancy with baby boy and who was assisting me with this pregnancy, doing his best to soothe away the aches and pains in my back. I used Kenny so much the last time that I have a permanent burn mark on the right side of my back. I like to call it a love wound. But now. Now, my sweet Kenny has left me. Couldn't take the pressure (literally) anymore, I guess, and he exploded from the stress. Poor guy. Now I need to find a replacement. There will never be another Kenny.

Kenny. My love. Wherever you are, and I'm sure you're in a better place now, I just want to thank you for all of our nights together. I'll never forget you.

Good Friday

2008-03-21T14:11:00.003-04:00

Not for Jesus, and not in our house, either.

The scene last night:
Our living room. Mama is lying on the couch because the fetus has taken up residence in her right rib cage and she's in a bit of pain. Hubs is sitting on the couch. Baby boy horsing around on his little Elmo couch, a little too close to the entertainment center for mama's comfort.
Mama: He's going to crack his head open!
Hubs: Noooo. He's fine!

Thirty seconds later...literally....
Baby boy crashes head first into the metal knob of the entertainment center. Baby boy starts to scream. Baby boy has a small gash on his forehead, and it's bleeding. And deep.

I said he'd need stitches. Hubs said no. The doctor was called, and we were told he'd probably need stitches - take him to the ER. Long story short, Mama was right...as usual...and my brave baby boy left the ER with the glue sutures and steri-strips. Thank goodness no thread stitches. We had to wake him up every 2-3 hours last night to make sure he was easily roused. Fun times for all.

The scene today:
My cardiologist's office. Routine follow-up visit. Resting heart rate is very high. Doctor tells me that I'm at risk for an enlarged heart and heart failure if it runs this high consistently. I'll have another echocardiogram in a month and if it looks like my heart is "tired," or not functioning properly then I'll be put on medication to give it a rest and we'll "figure some things out."

I felt my world shatter today. I'm terrified. I'm depressed. I'm angry. It's days like this that I want to throw my religion and what little faith I have left out the window. Leave me alone, God. Pick on someone who isn't a young mother. Pick on someone who has lived her life, who doesn't have years and years ahead of her.

I'm terrified that my heart's going to go kaput. That I'll die in my 30s or 40s. That my husband will get remarried to someone who isn't worthy of even knowing my children. That my children won't grow to know their mother, that they won't know that the heart that took their mother away from them once swelled with more love for them than she ever thought existed.

Shit.

Tagged. Again.

2008-03-20T13:46:00.003-04:00

Oh, Matter of Fact Mommy, you kill me.

I've been tagged to post 7 confessions about myself. I'm an open book - ask me anything and I'll most likely tell you the truth, but I'm feeling cautious today, so we'll see how crazy these get.

1. Sometimes I pretend I'm in deep sleep if my son wakes up in the middle of the night, just so that my husband will have to get out of bed to tend to the issue at hand. BUT - he falls back to sleep much easier than I do, and I'm pregnant, so come on - it's only fair.

2. I'm still disappointed that I'm having a baby girl instead of a boy. BUT - it mostly stems from being terrified of raising a girl. Mostly.

3. I have a list of celebrity women that I'd turn gay for in a flash. Hence the Angelina Jolie comment in a previous post.

4. I take magazines from my doctor's office. And my OB's office. And the pediatrician's office. And anywhere else from where it wouldn't legally be considered stealing.

5. Friendship is a concept that scares me.

6. Sometimes I take pleasure in pissing people off.

7. I told a grubby 8 or 9-year-old boy that I would rip his head off if he touched me or my son again. BUT - and this was during my playdate today, so imagine the impression I made - he was putting his filthy, trashy hands all over my son (while his filthy, even trashier mother looked on), and after I told him to stop touching my son, he slapped my stomach. HE SLAPPED MY STOMACH! Ohhhh no you didn't. So I bent down and got right in his filthy, stained face and whispered to him, "If you touch my son, or you touch me, ever again, I will rip your head off." I smiled at him, I smiled at his mother, and I watched as he walked away. I won.

Rock the vote!

2008-03-20T13:40:00.002-04:00

No, I'm not talking about voting in the upcoming election. I don't even care at this point - the country's in trouble no matter who gets elected. I'm talking about voting in my poll...you know, the one over there <------ about names. I know for a fact that more than 7 people read this blog (including the pervert who found his - 'cause you know it's a guy - way here by Googling lactation fetish), thanks to the little program I have embedded that tells me where all my readers come from. So vote! The votes are anonymous, so I won't hate you if you vote no because I won't know it was you. If I did know, then I'd probably hate you. But vote. Please? The fate of our country (and my daughter's name) depends on it.

Moody

2008-03-19T14:14:00.003-04:00

Why do I insist on eating it, even though I KNOW it's going to make me feel sick almost immediately after I've finished it?

Why did the baby have to drop already, making me feel like I have to poop 24/7, and making it near impossible to do anything that involves moving my body? You don't play poop games with pregnant ladies, baby - pooping is a luxury, don't you understand that? Besides - one of the medicines I'm taking has a label that states that I should not be alarmed if bowel movements are red while taking this medication. *I* want to poop red!! (said aloud in my best Veruca Salt voice)

Why in the world did I agree to a play date? I swore I'd never do the play date thing. I'm too lacking in self-confidence, far too shy and feel too inferior to other women. I get nervous and sweaty talking to other people - especially other mothers - and I'll probably wind up making her hate me and making her kid hate my kid. Mommy brain + pregnancy brain = inability to string together words to form coherent sentences (funny how many times I had to retype that for it to make sense), thus making you look, sound, and feel like an idiot. The mom is nice, though, and I know baby boy needs to learn to be around other little gents his age. Maybe I'll take some cough syrup before I go, just to take the edge off. I'm kidding. KIDDING. Kind of.

Why do I always look like a bad tan-in-a-bottle gone wrong when I try to apply translucent loose powder to my face in an attempt to make me look a little less like the undead dead? I'm 31 - I should be skilled in applying makeup by now.

Why do my eyebrows never match when I pluck them?

Why do guys turn into jerks when in a sports setting? I took baby boy out today and had to stand in line at an ice rink to find out where the play area for little gents was. One guys was on the phone, and there were two other guys behind the window talking. You know the kind of guy I'm talking about - meathead, fancy chain and fancier cologne, thinks he's God's gift but in reality probably has a really, really small penis. I'm standing there for a good 5 minutes, holding my really heavy kid so that he doesn't run all over the place, as well as hauling a diaper bag that surely must've weighed 30 pounds. I'm guessing that if I were a foot taller, hot, unpregnant, and had 38D's that weren't in the process of getting ready to lactate...they would've been all too eager to assist me. Bastards. That's the kind of guy I don't want baby boy growing up to be. If I were a single gal and all guys were like that then I'd be a lesbian for sure. Or if Angelina Jolie walked up to me and said, "Hey baby, let's make out." Then, you know...whatever.

Category C

2008-03-18T15:45:00.002-04:00

Six weeks, two trips to the hospital, a cat scan, chest x-ray, and many prescription medications later, I finally found a doctor who is actually doing something about the cough. The cough that has caused me to pull every muscle in the left side of my body. The cough that is making me vomit several times a day. The cough that is making me want to kill myself and anyone else I come in contact with.

He's testing me for whopping cough. What is this, 1856? Is whooping cough even around anymore? Apparently it's making a comeback. Fabulous. I'd rather leg warmers and Pepsi Clear have another go at becoming popular, but no, it has to be a bacterial disease.

I am, however, on 3 pretty rockin' drugs, one of which is Tussionex, a lovely cough syrup laced with codeine. Look it up online and it'll tell you that it should only be taken in pregnancy if the benefits clearly outweigh the risks. Well, seeing as though this poor fetus has spent the last 6 weeks listening to and being jostled around by my hacking, puking self, I think the time has come for some kind of intervention. While I do feel a wee bit bad that I'm drugging my fetus, I've already stated that I'm not above taking medication while pregnant (I can imagine the disapproving looks now. Eat me.). The primary concern during a pregnancy should be for the mother - an unhealthy mother can lead to problems in-utero. I'm thankful that I have a doctor who realized that. I'm also thankful that I have a doctor who hooked me up with narcotics. There's nothing like the feeling of drifting off into a codeine-induced fuzzy state of mind-numbing bliss.

*disclaimer - i am not now, nor have i ever been, addicted to drugs, prescription or otherwise. however, i can see how it's easy to become addicted to something that makes you feel like you have no cares in the world, something that allows for a full night of sleep when the aches and pains and fetuses of pregnancy keep you awake night after night after friggin' night. so if you're a prospective employer (do i really have to go back to work when the kids are older and in school? come on!) reading this 5 or 6 years from now after having googled my name, relax - this was written in humor. partially. i mean, i'm not going to lie - if i had a connection that could hook me up with codeine on a regular basis, i'd probably have a problem that required rehab. and if you choose not to hire me based on this blog entry, then i wouldn't want to work for your sorry ass, anyway.

Do you have Fuzzi Bunz?

2008-03-16T14:54:00.003-04:00

As if I don't already have enough anxiety over making sure that my daughter-to-be's bits and pieces will shine like the top of the Chrysler Building, I've made the decision to switch from disposable diapers to cloth diapers. Initially we were just going to use cloth for her, but I'm quite certain we'll be making the switch for baby boy, too. Awww, you may be thinking, she's trying to save the environment. Not wanting to clutter up landfills with her babies' waste products and Sesame Street-adorned Pampers. Screw the environment - I'm just sick of buying diapers.

Gone are the days of the Diaper Champ, which only leaves you gagging for a brief second as you flip the head of the diaper pail to dispose of your messy bundle and being rewarded with a quick gust of poopy air. Welcome to the world of flicking poop into the toilet, rinsing poop residue and pee-pee out of the liners in the same sink that I brush my teeth over, and storing them in a pail until ready to wash, surely filling the entire upstairs with the enticing fragrance of newborn poop and toddler explosions. Oh, and let's not forget the daily washings of these fabulous coolie-covers. I love to do laundry every day. Really. Especially when the weather is nice outside.

But hey - I'm saving money, right? Right.

I give it a week.

Just a typical Sunday.

2008-03-16T14:39:00.002-04:00

My little family was enjoying breakfast at the Original Pancake House this fine Palm Sunday morning, basking in the goodness and warmth of quiet quality time and orgasmically good blueberry pancakes (or pee-keys, as baby boy calls them). Then it happened. I fell out of my chair. Out of nowhere. In a dining room full of people. Who just kind of stared in half amusement, half horror, at the pregnant lady who just got knocked on her ass by, apparently, an invisible ogre or undetectable gale wind (saying gale wind is actually redundant, as a gale is defined as being a very strong wind, but its most common usage in the English language is as the term gale wind. Just thought you'd like to know).

The first person to come to my rescue? After about 30 seconds? Nope, not my husband. The waitress. The pregnant waitress. We womb-for-wenters, we take care of each other. And, God bless her, what did she say? These damn chairs! They're no good! Kind of like what you would say if, for example, a heftily-weighted person were to sit on a chair and the chair suddenly gives out, shattering in a million different pieces...all to spare their feelings. Despite the searing pain in my side from having landed on a chair leg, I laughed it off and joined my family to finish my pee-keys. When we got up to leave? I pretended I didn't even notice the stares of every person in the room...the people who were just waiting for me to leave so that they could laugh out loud at what had just happened moments ago. A pox on their houses, let me tell you.

And a happy day was had by all.

2008-03-15T15:21:00.006-04:00

Geez. It's not like he's the rabbit from Donnie Darko!

See how he's looking off to the side, pleading for rescue? Yep - it's me he's looking at, begging to be saved by mama, who instead is speaking in a high voice, cheering him on while saying, "Come on, buddy, it's okay! It's a bunny! A bun-ny!"

The second daddy took him off the ~~pedophile's~~ Easter Bunny's lap, he was all smiles and eagerly said, "Bye bye, buh-nee."

Can't wait to do this next year with 2 kids.

Random

2008-03-14T21:05:00.002-04:00

Forget wondering how I'm going to handle cleaning a baby girl's girly bits. At this point, my stomach is so big that I can barely keep my own clean. And wiping? Forget it. An impossible feat. Bring on the hose. Or the bidet.

Surely you're all familiar with the children's ditty There's A Hole In The Bucket. You know, the song that epitomizes why the majority of women think that the majority of men are idiots? I had to endure a version today that I've never heard before. It must've taken at least thirty minutes to get through the song. It was painful. Horribly, terribly painful. So I choose tonight to present you with a list of things that I'd rather do than listen to this version ever again in my natural lifetime.

Sit in a dark room filled with spiders and the stench of rotted fish.

Go through the rest of my pregnancy without the help of Tylenol PM at bedtime. (Yes, I'm one of those selfish mothers-to-be who would rather get a decent night of sleep than be drug-free during her pregnancy. If it makes me sleep/stop coughing/forget who I am for a little while, I'll take it.)

Stop eating ice cream.

Watch Stephen King's It by myself in a dark room filled with balloons and man-eating clowns.

And lastly?

Get pregnant again.

Things I hope to never pass on to my children

2008-03-14T13:52:00.005-04:00

My fear of spiders, the dark, and death. Oh, and of the smell of fish.

My expanded vocabulary of obscenities and ability to string them all together flawlessly in one sentence.

My tendency to judge people based on appearance, although my judgements tend to end up being spot-on assessments of character.

My low self-esteem.

The nasty case of what appears to be ringworm on the backs of my hands.

My clotting disorder.

My carb addiction (as I sit here eating ice cream straight out of the half gallon container).

My socially awkward tendencies.

My ~~hypochondriasis~~ overwhelming concern for my health.

I'm sure I'll think of more, but I'm dripping ice cream on the keyboard, and I don't want my husband knowing that I eat at the computer. It's forbidden in my house!

Ok - so my control issues. Don't want them feeling the need to be in charge all the time like I do. Even though that's the way it should be. And it is. :)

Something you should never have to hear; Names

2008-03-12T14:22:00.002-04:00

A few weeks ago, I was talking to my mom on the phone, complaining that I didn't know what the heck to do with a girl since all I know now are cars and gross boy noises. I told her that I was a wee bit nervous about cleaning baby-girl-to-be's girly bits and having to wipe from front to back (I don't - too complicated), and that I imagined Hubs was, too. Her response? Well, if your father can do it, anyone can.

Ohhhh, sweet Jesus. Sweet Jesus Christ. La la la stop talking stop talking STOP talking.

That's a visual I never ever wanted to have. But that's why I love my mom. She comes out with some funny stuff sometimes.

I do believe we've settled on a name for the baby girl. Not sure if I'll reveal it ahead of time, but it's killer. Unique. A ~~boy's~~ unisex name, just like my own. The meaning is "The Lord is my God." Maybe she'll grow up to be involved in something religious. Or, maybe she'll grow up to become a serial killer because she hates her name.

I want my family to be like the Camdens

2008-03-12T13:28:00.003-04:00

The latest news of our lovely Governor, Eliot skank pig cut-off-his-balls Spitzer, has me wondering something -

How do *I* get myself into a prostitution ring so that *I* can earn upwards of $2000 an hour?

I kid, I kid. Actually, it's things like this that, as a mother to a little boy, terrify me. How the hell do I make sure my baby doesn't grow up to be this kind of a man? I'm not sure if Spitzer's father was a hooker-hoisting sonofabitch, but I'm not sure that, even if he were, that would be an excuse.

My son has a good man (my husband, duh) as a father. Someone who, I hope with my whole heart, would never be unfaithful to me. If he were, though, and I were to find out, I can't say that I know how I would react. Silda, Spitzer's wife, looks like a ~~frigid bitch~~ heartbroken, devoted wife....I imagine I would feel the same.

In any case, as far as the whole how to be a good man thing goes, I'm confident that my husband is a good example for the baby. I remember back to high school, though, and so many of those guys were absolute jerks. Disrespectful, verbally and/or physically abusive, cocky, arrogant...the list goes on. So many of them hated their parents. A few were involved with drugs. Many of them drank all throughout high school. Keep in mind that I graduated with a class of 33...there were less than 100 people in my high school during my 4 years there, so it's easy to keep tabs on what was going on. I need there to be a manual somewhere out there that will educate me as to the proper way to raise a child so that he/she will grow up thankful for what the have and always knowing what the right thing is. I expect my child (I'll be able to say children in less than two months....holy God) to make mistakes in his youth. I *want* him to, so that he may learn from his mistakes. But I don't want something to happen along the way where either a) we stop noticing the mistakes and "lose" him as a result or b) he stops sharing with us and we "lose" him as a result. How the heck do parents make sure this doesn't happen?

I grew up in a Catholic household and attended a private Catholic school for 12 years. And I'm still not convinced that faith and God are the answer. My husband's feeling is that changing ourselves (read: change ME), as well as becoming regular church-goers and bringing faith into our home will be a big part of it, but I don't buy it. I know he's going to read this and get defensive and it'll probably start a fight. I grew up with a couple of people whose parents did this very thing...and it didn't avoid these people hating their parents, even now as adults, getting involved with drugs and/or alcohol, and just basically not making any good out of their lives. It scares me.

I was rocking the baby before his nap a little while ago, and I couldn't help but stare down at him as he was drifting off and getting teary. I willed him, through his slumbering ears, to always stay sweet. To always remember how much I love him, how I would always, always love him. I told him that I would do my best to teach him the right things and how to be a good person. I asked time to slow down a little.

How, if at all, are your fears about your growing children quelled?

Tagged

2008-03-11T13:11:00.002-04:00

I was tagged by Matter of Fact Mommy on her blog to write about the following:

7 Random Food Facts (About Myself)

Without further ado, I present:

1. I will not send food back in a restaurant. Haven't you ever heard of sneezers? Or watched the horrendous movie Waiting? I don't want some dude's bodily fluids floating around in my pasta, thank you very much.

2. Did you know that it is a common occurrence to find fly wings in commercially processed peanut butter? And it's not even illegal!

3. If you can't cook - don't. The smells coming from your home may be pleasant to you, but when they make my son's bedroom smell like rotted liver and onions for days on end...well...buy a cookbook or something and follow the recipe correctly. A layer of jam. A layer of lady fingers. A layer of whipped cream. Then beef sauteed with onions and peas.....

4. Chances are if it has caused me to vomit, whether because of a stomach bug, morning sickness, or its general digustingness, I won't eat it again.

5. If I'm going to eat the chicken, I can't clean and trim the chicken. I just can't.

6. Browning ground beef always smells like poop to me.

7. I love pumpernickel bread, but can't stand caraway seeds. Go figure.

Full disclosure

2008-03-10T13:46:00.003-04:00

I've just eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, about a pound of grapes, a Stringsters, and a big bowl of cereal. And I'm starving. The fetus must be having a growth spurt. Either that or she really wants a big fat fatty of a mother so she can sing the song we all remember from our youth: Fatty fatty two by four, couldn't fit through the bathroom door. So she did it on the floor, licked it up and asked for more. Or maybe it's just another one of those songs that only kids who attend private Catholic schools were privy to. I have a bunch of them. And I can't wait to teach them to my own kids. I can see it now - Baby Boy in a few years when he attends kindergarten - "Teacher teacher! Stick your finger in this hole...." THAT'LL be a fun phone call.

Now that I've disclosed my ~~hypochondriasis~~ perpetual concern for my health I find myself at ease with sharing today's ailment. My kidneys. My kidneys, my kidneys, my kidneys, my poor friggin' kidneys. My poor scarred, bruised kidneys. I'm pretty sure I have a kidney infection/stone/tumor in my left kidney. And it's funny to know that I tend to panic, yet I also tend not to bring my concerns to the doctor very often. Why? I'd rather not find out if anything's wrong. Totally logical, right? Last night I was certain that I coughed so hard it separated a ventricle or artery from my heart, and that's why it was hurting on my left side every time I coughed. Oh - and I think I mentioned to my husband that I probably had throat cancer because when I swallowed it felt like there was a marble in the back of my throat on the left side.

It's all about the left side right now. The right side is getting jealous - I might have to go run into a wall to make it feel better.

I totally thought of more

2008-03-09T20:40:00.003-04:00

Just when I thought I was crazy enough, I came up with a few more of my little quirks. Remember - they're what make me endearing.

17. I sleep in a tank top and pajama pants every night. I know - sexy. I have to wear the tank tops inside out, though. I can't sleep if they're outside in.

18. I'm very skittish about my health. I always assume the worst case scenario. For example - this mother effing cough that I still have? I'm pretty sure that it has turned into throat cancer. Like, 99%. I'm not a hypochondriac. I'M NOT.

19a. I hate talking to people on the phone. Not that I hate people (although I am what some would label socially awkward), I just get very uncomfortable talking on the phone. I'd much rather e-mail.

19b. I have a phobia of doctors. Specifically speaking to them on the telephone. I make my husband call the doctor for me when I'm sick/having pregnancy issues, and he relays my symptoms. I'm sure the doctors all think I'm mentally incompetent...I don't care. Most of them are medically incompetent, so we're even.

20. I always think people are talking about me.

I think that might be it. I think that's probably enough. If the wrong ~~ex-landlord~~ person reads this they're likely to have me committed or declared an unfit mother. Woof.

Everyone's a rittle bit lacist

2008-03-08T20:05:00.004-05:00

Avenue Q. Some of the funniest stuff to cross a Broadway stage.

My husband has told me on more than one occasion that I'm weird. When I ask him why, then, did he marry me, his response is usually along the lines of blah blah blah....neurotic tendencies...blah blah...endearing. So tonight I dedicate a blog post to all of my idiosyncrasies. They're what make me me.

1. I hate body hair. On anyone, including myself. It repulses me to no end.
2. Ever see the movie Mr. Magorium's Something-or-Other Emporium? The weird finger thing Natalie Portman does? I do that, except I do it to whatever song happens to be going through my head at the moment, including commercials and ditties from Sesame Street.
3. I count stairs when I walk them. Every time. Even in my own home.
4. I can't eat the ends of a loaf of commercially processed bread, but I love to eat the heels of freshly baked French or Italian bread. The ends of a bagged loaf make me gag.
5. I also take issue with eating the last end of many foods. Hot dogs, pickles - I can eat the end that is bitten off in the first bite, but I can't eat the end that would be the last bite. I have to throw it away.
6. If I bang/burn/bite/stub one part of my body, I have to do the same to the other side to make it fair. For example - if I stub my left big toe, I have to lightly kick a chair or wall with the right big toe. If I don't, it almost makes my skin crawl.

Think I'm effed up yet? This is nothing.

7. I have to throw the outer 5 leaves of a head of lettuce away. I can't eat them. I believe they're tainted.
8. I can't buy/eat anything store brand/generic (other than Wegmans pasta) because I believe I will find bugs inside the package. Especially canned goods.
9. Sometimes I just have to make a noise to make sure my voice still works.
10. I can't share a drink or utensil with my husband. The very thought grosses me out. Considering where both of our mouths have been....I don't get it. I could further elaborate, but I don't want to embarrass anyone.
11. I have to use the spellcheck feature several times in e-mails and blogging. I have no patience for misspelled words.
12. I have to look at people's teeth when I'm talking to them. If your teeth are less than perfect, you can be damn sure I'll notice.
13. The piece of toilet paper that will be used next on the roll must be facing up, not down and left hanging.
14. Before I use a glass or mug, it must be rinsed out 3 times with hot water.
15. I don't touch door handles in public places. I grab them with my sleeves or wait for someone to hold the door.
16. I'm a germophobe. Not hardcore, but enough.

That's all I can come up with right now. I know there are more, but I don't want to scare you too badly.

The Mating Call of the Bronchial-ly Afflicted

2008-03-06T13:11:00.004-05:00

Or, my time in the ER last night.

My brilliant doctor, who I'll affectionately label Dr. Douchebag until we can find another family practitioner and then I'll be happy to plaster his name all over the internet, decided to send me to the ER to rule out a pulmonary embolism. I've had ~~lung cancer~~ TB ~~the plague~~ this awful cough for just about a month now. It's not getting better. At times it appears that it's getting worse. Five prescription drug interventions, two rounds of blood work, a chest c-ray and a nasal-pharyngeal suction have revealed nothing. I asked the genius if he could instead call the hospital to schedule an outpatient CT scan, which was what I was being sent to the ER to have done, and he refused. Apparently that's not the way they do things in Western New York. Ohhhkay. Because it was early in the day, I was assured by my husband that I'd be in and out.

I was there for 10 hours.

The hubs dropped me off so that he could take baby boy home. As soon as I walked in and said I needed to be seen, the greeter took one look at my swollen belly, asked how far along I was, and told me to go to the Mother-Baby floor, as anyone over 20 weeks automatically gets sent there. I told him this wasn't related to the baby, I didn't know where the M-B floor was, and if he wanted me to go there then he'd be arranging for someone to take me. I was, after all, having some obvious shortness of breath and a bit of pain...I wasn't going to be walking all over this giant hospital, breathing in the air of death and the stink of illness. He arranged for someone to take me upstairs. The ~~bitch in command~~ Labor and Delivery Charge Nurse asked if I was in labor, I told her no, and she told me to go back downstairs because they didn't deal with pregnant women not in labor. Ohhkay. I told her to call downstairs and to get the story straight with the ER, and if she wanted me downstairs then she could arrange to have me taken back down there. Long story short - I was waiting in the waiting room for 5 hours before I was taken back to a room. Four of those hours were spent sitting next to a 3-year-old girl who fell in the tub, split her chin, and was bleeding all over the place. For the entire 4 hours. Hello - OSHA would have a friggin' field day with that one. I was in utter disbelief that no one took this poor little girl back to have sutures.

Once I was in a room (they don't have enough ER rooms, but each room does have a nice flat panel widescreen television) I could hear that the patient in the room next door was having about as much fun as I was with a awful cough. For much of the night, when I would cough, he would cough...hence the title of this post. It was much like the Dueling Banjos, except instead of the twangy plucking of the strings it was a dry, hacking, non-phlegm-producing cough that is so forceful it raises your blood pressure and makes a pregnant woman worry that one more hack is going to bring forth her child. It was almost as if he was trying to one-up me on my coughing spells. He won, though - he got the steroids, got better, and got to leave.

The doctor told me he'd order a CT scan with radiation. Yep, had those before. Many. When you're pregnant and in the ER and require any kind of x-ray, you're made to feel like a horrible person when you give your consent to have the procedure. You must sign about 70 pieces of paper stating that you are aware of the potential devastating effects of the radiation on the fetus, and that you can not hold us responsible if your baby comes our with a hare-lip, unibrow, and undying love for Tiny Tim. Of course, if you elect not to have this procedure we can miss a life-threatening blood clot in your lung, and if you were to have one and die...well, you can't hold us responsible for that either.

In the CT room, the tech explained that he'd shield my belly the best that he could, that he'd reduce the beam to only focus on my chest (stop staring at my boobs, dude), and that he'd go as quickly as possible so that I wouldn't have to be on my back (you know you want me) for too long. He threw the lead blanket over me and went in back to do his thing. I moved through the tube, he ran the first set of scans, and I noticed that the fetus jumped as soon as the machine started to whir. I told her silently that it was okay, not to be scared, and that I was sorry I had to do this but I had to make sure we were okay (shut up, Hubs) when I suddenly heard Whoops, gotta move THAT up more. Jesus. The guy didn't put the blanket on high enough and part of my uterus and the baby showed up on the scan. Way to go, Dick. If my kid is born looking like Bert from Sesame Street, foam filling and all, I'm a-comin' after you.

Long long LONG story short, I was discharged at 2:30 a.m. with the all-clear. But I still don't know what the hell is causing this cough. I did, however, have the pleasure of listening to a man pass a kidney stone. Wuss.

My hell

2008-03-05T15:45:00.003-05:00

I hate being pregnant. Hate it. More than I hate WalMart. I hated it the first time, too, and just when I thought I couldn't hate it anymore...well, I just decided that I do.

A friend of mine told me that she never felt better than she did when she was pregnant. It must really suck being her. I hate the women who have that pregnancy glow. The women who appear to have endless amounts of energy and spunk. The women who look cute when they're pregnant. I feel like I look like a really fat Jeff Daniels.

I'm obsessed with Celebrity Baby Blog. I'm a pop-culture junkie, so how can I not be? But while I enjoy the voyeuristic nature of gawking at celeb photos, enjoying the opportunity to see and learn that Kelly Ripa and Jennie Garth look like real people when they're shopping at Target, I get pissed at the same time when I see pictures of people like Nicole Kidman and Jessica Alba, both pregnant, coming out of the gym after an alleged hard workout. CBB had a picture of Nic the other day supposedly leaving the gym after a spinning class. Her torso is about as wide as my jiggly tricep - how the hell can a baby fit in there? And hello - I can barely sit on our cushy sofa for 10 minutes before pregnancy-induced sciatic pain sends me waddling to the medicine cabinet, hoping that the Percocet Fairy left me a surprise to dull my aches, pains and brain cells. How is it possibly comfortable to sit on the crotch-crunching bicycle seats, to listen to some ~~Bike Nazi~~ instructor bark out orders to up the resistance without pregnancy hormones taking over and causing a mass homicide? Jessica Alba is about as far along as I am. She looks like she ate too much bread. Me? I look like I ate Jessica Alba. Now, I love me some exercise, and I can't wait until I can move quickly enough to get my fat ass back to the gym to lose every ounce of baby weight, but come on, girls - it's okay to let your bodies take over a bit.

I'm at the point in the 3rd trimester when you're quite certain that sudden death would be an adequate cure for the aches and pains. I can't remember the last time I slept longer than 45 minutes at a time. I have to pick up my stomach to roll over in bed...that is, if I'm lucky enough to have a night where it doesn't feel like my lungs are being trampled by a herd of elephants when I attempt to sleep on my side. I sleep with nine - 9 - pillows in my bed. I need to be propped up most of the night, because 75% of the time I can't sleep on my side as it feels like the very air is being sucked out of my body. When I sleep propped up, though, my hips become stiff and the sciatic pain kicks in after a while...right about the time I have to get up to pee, making the process of getting out of bed something that would likely pass as a popular circus side show.

Heartburn and cankles. Dry skin. Dry hair. Dry heaves. Yes, it's all worth it in the end, blah blah blah, but when you're so damn uncomfortable to the point of asking your pharmacist sister to score you some narcotics to make you forget about how uncomfortable you are, it's hard to see that light at the end of the tunnel.

Is there an antifungal cream for worrywarts?

And I Could Walk 500 Miles....

Fibromyalgia: What A Pain!

Hungry N Bitter

Happy New Year!

Just for you, Elise

Enough

Update

Bye-bye, 2008

WWACD

Through the eyes of children

Pure, unadulterated HELL

Happy Thanksgiving to all...

Tagged

I quit

6 months

Mourning

Birthday weekend

And today you are two

The stuff my nightmares are made of

Seriously, Calgon, please take me away.

I'm no maverick, dontcha know. *wink wink* You betcha!

Inspiration, aspiration, consternation

Isn't there ANYTHING for worrywarts?

Size 5

A collective sigh of relief, please

Adoration

4 months old

Love you. Miss you.

Hello, Anne Rice?

Happy Anniversary

8 weeks old

Shoot me in the face

Three five moppa

Nothing beats brain freeze on a hot summer day

Wait and see

This or that

Oh mama, Angelina Zooma Zoom

Back to sleep

End of an era

He-wo Guy

Cutest. Toddler. Ever.

It's hard work being gorgeous.

High maintenance

I'm not an idiot, but you are: an open letter

Scent of a woman

Your body is a wonderland

While the children sleep...

Thoughts

Birth story...2 1/2 weeks later

Just another manic Monday

Flying solo

Just don't

Starve a fever, feed a c-section

Lortab = a little gift from God

Presenting...

And away we go....

Thank God I'm not an elephant.

Comic relief

18 months

High and tight

From the mouths of babes

Full term

Eviction notice

Puzzled

The home stretch

Wedding Bell Blues

What?!

Verbal diarrhea

Embracing my inner dude

Baby baby, I'm taken with the notion....

An Open Letter

The name game

Free association

17 months

Impasse

God watches MTV

But wait - there's more.

My "water" broke

Good Friday

I'm no maverick, dontcha know. wink wink You betcha!