Santa the Terrible

It's amazing the things you buy into just to get your kids to behave a little better -- and there is no better example than our American Santa. As many parents of young children, Dave and I decided our little brood had to follow the grand old tradition of taking your child to a public mall, thrusting them on the lap of a total stranger, and taking their picture. Of course, we thought this would be great. The kids would enjoy it, we'd get a great picture for the memory books. We were definitely looking at Santa through rosy glasses.

We were as goofy as any parent there. "Look! there's Santa honey. He's very nice and brings you presents when you're a good girl." Bam, right there, setting her up for a lifetime of illusion. Ah, she'll be ok right? Sure she'll doubt our honesty when she finds out Santa's just a temp holiday worker who spends his summers in bars and construction sites instead of the elf-filled north pole. But that's all a part of growing up. We'll spend the first 7-11 years building up her illusions in order to trick her into behaving how we want her to, she'll spend a good 10 years or so resenting us for it, but then, eventually, she may have her own kids and take them to the mall Santa for a picture too.

As you may have guessed, Santa didn't go so well. Owen did fine. After all, he wouldn't realize the difference between Mom, Santa or the Easter Bunny holding him. As long as he's fed and dry, he's pretty much happy to be held. Rhianna, on the other hand, was terrified. You'd have thought we were about to put her on hot coals -- although in all honesty, I'm fairly confident that she would have willingly climbed into a lit fireplace before volunteering to get on Santa's lap. As soon as she saw him, she clutched on to the nearest parent for dear life. She let out a cry that was pure terror and the dominoes began to fall. First comes Rhianna's cry, then the tears, then the next child in line starts to cry and the cry spreads down the line of children innocently playing along with Mom and Dad's attempts at a cute holiday picture. The cry was a communication purely on a children's level. It was the universal language that seemed to say "Don't be fooled! Santa's no jolly old saint. He's got a fake beard and a rented suit. It's lies I tell you, LIES!"

So... maybe next year she'll buy the Santa line and someone else's kid will be the black sheep. Oh well, I guess we saved eight bucks for not having to buy a photo.

A first smile

Having another infant in our lives has made me reminisce about Rhianna's infancy. I realize some of the things I worried about were silly and useless. I realize that it does, in fact, go by pretty quickly. But in looking back only about a year and a half ago, one question comes up over and over again, what did I think was so hard? When Rhianna napped, I could nap. When she cried, I could give her my full attention. When she did something cute, I was sure to capture it with a picture. None of these things are true with two children. When one naps, the other, inevitably, won't. When one cries, the other either starts, or is, ehem, climbing to dangerous heights and needs immediate attention. And I'm not sure what cute things Owen has done because, frankly, I'm too busy making sure Rhianna doesn't kill him by ramming his pacifier too far down his throat. (Ok, so that's not entirely true, he has done some cute things.)

Nonetheless, this is one of those times where I look back and can honestly say, I was clueless. Strangely, I don't now feel that I'm clued in, but I'm more aware that there are bigger fish to fry. When I'm at the end of my rope, with Owen crying in my arms and Rhianna throwing a tantrum on the stairs, I try to remember that no matter how hard I think it is now, it could be harder. Really, I count my blessings. I have two healthy, happy children, a warm home, food, and so on. And though we certainly have our hands full right now, we're managing pretty well.

So the first question everyone has asked me is "how is life with two babies?" My official answer is that living with two babies isn't that bad but living with a toddler is damn hard work. For example, even though I spent most of yesterday pulling Rhianna off the (chair/table/bookshelf/third shelf of pantry), I still wasn't prepared to find her on half-way on the kitchen counter this morning. Yep, she taught herself how to pull the drawers out and use them as stairs. I'm not sure much can prepare you for the reality that you're sweet little baby is no longer a baby but an independent -- often defiant -- person. About a week ago she said Mama for the first time (at least the first time she actually meant me when she said it) and when I asked her to say it again, she looked me straight in the eye, shook her head back and forth and in the sweetest little 16 month old voice said "no." Little brat. Nonetheless, her ridiculously cute moments do make up for the snotty times. Good thing toddlers come in cute packages.

In more nitty-gritty news, we've found a new daycare and both kids will start part-time the middle of this month and more come December. I am going back part-time mid-month then back to my 32hour/week schedule in December. I got the promotion at work I applied for which means I'm the lead designer for the new university magazine which is tentatively slated to be published in March.

Haven't had a whole lot of "free" time to spend blogging but I'm hoping to get back to it soon. Here are a few photos to tide you all over. We're all healthy and happy for the most part -- tired, but happy :) Anyway, enjoy the photos!

Penis 1: Momma 0

After the first official diaper change at home for Mr. Owen David -- our newest addition -- left the score clear. Baby penis won the first round. The good news is that all of Owen's "pipes" work just great. The bad news is that the cute going-home-from-the-hospital dinosaur outfit he wore home is now a little more yellow (and wet) than one would hope.

Owen was born at 1:33 on Wendnesday afternoon -- Sept. 20. So far, everything is going well. He and I are home for a few minutes alone before his big sister comes home from daycare.

grr...

I'm over it.

5 cm. 70%. Baby doesn't seem to understand it's time to come OUT. (And for those of you who've never gone through this, most people are moaning or on an epidural at this point -- but oh no, not me, I'm holding the sucker in to see how many prescription sleeping pills I can manage.)

delay

Should have posted sooner but last Thursday at my appt, I was 3 cm and 80%. Which for a first time mother would be great but for a stretched-already doesn't seem to mean much. Next appt in a couple of hours. I'll try to post this afternoon. No impending labor signs -- unless major crankiness counts :)

ok, so not 10 days, but not 30 either....

Today at my appointment (36 weeks) I measured at 1-2 cm (doc said she could easily stretch it to two but won't to mess a cervix it until 37 weeks) and 50% effaced. So next week she will strip my membranes and we'll go from there. She said that unless I'm really having health issues, she wants me to get as close to 40 weeks as I can go. That said, after 38 weeks, if I'm favorable (which she seemed to think I would be) we could talk about breaking the water -- but unless my health goes to pot in the meantime, we'll just do the membranes thing and wait it out. She said that 2 weeks from now would be great for the delivery because she feels the baby will be close to 7 lbs -- she said though that she expects he won't be as big as Rhianna since I haven't gained as much weight. She had two ladies she was inducing today at 42 weeks and said "Please don't get that far" -- I told her that wouldn't be a problem. If I go to 40, I'll find my own way to break the damn bag of waters :)

10 days :)

Monday was... eventful. I didn't sleep at all Sunday night which my body did not like. And by not like, I mean that I got to visit the hospital. Fun fun. They gave me different drugs and said, Ok, get to 37 weeks (10 days from now) and we'll talk about getting this baby out of you. So I got my wish of getting a few days knocked off the countdown.

Today I went in for an ultrasound and was excited to hear that everything is measuring totally on schedule. They put my due
date for October 2 give/take 2 weeks and estimate the weight at 5 lbs. 14 oz., give/take 1/2 lb so he's over 5 lbs for sure which is good. Obviously we want him to be a little bigger, but it's not like he's only 2 lbs or something. I was really leary that they might say he was underdeveloped but that doesn't seem like it will be an issue. He slept like the dead though even though the lady did her damnedest to wake him -- oh, and HE's definitely a HE. We saw the scrotum and penis pretty clearly. He had his foot right to his head and we could see him sucking which was pretty cool. His head is way down and the u/s tech was surprised that my full bladder didn't push him up "apparently he doesn't mind being squished" was what she said. Anyhow, all looks good so hopefully we'll have a healthy baby boy soon.

I haven't dropped or had any impending labor signs yet but Thursday I'll have an exam to see if I'm yet progressing. I can tell you that, though baby seems pretty happy just hanging out, my body is ready to have some time off pregnancy.

And no, we haven't made any progress on a name, please don't ask :)

36 days.

The countdown has begun and I'm ready to knock a few days of the clock. Back in the early days of our family planning discussions, Dave and I agreed without much ado that we would have more than one child. But there the discussion stopped. There is a little sadness knowing that these may well be the last days of my life that I will experience pregnancy. Simultaneously, I'm also extatic about the prospect. It seems as though, after two years of this "condition," my body is throwing in the towel. My legs have gave up by throwing in fun muscle spasms that keep me from sleeping. My arms seem to be following in the exodus of body parts that refuse to cooperate with the same tingles and bug-crawling sensations. Unfortunately this leaves the rest of my body sorely without rest and without rest, everything goes to pot.

Needless to say, I've quickly gone from feeling ready to be finished with pregnancy but nervous about having an early baby, not to mention a newborn in the midst of toddler tantum-dom, to just plain ready to be done. I'm anxious to meet our little one and even more anxious to feel as if I get some say in how my body behaves. Without going too far into the ever-growing list of complaints, it's fair to say that I hope to hear at our Tuesday ultrasound that the baby is ok to go and that any delivery would be a safe one. My great fear at this point is that they will tell me he's not fully cooked and I'd have to be pregnant well into October. In such a case, I really think I would completely loose any sanity I have remaining unless they prescribed significant sleep aid that would stop the bugs from crawling all over my body.

Today some of my girlfriends threw me a fabulous baby shower during which I recieved some last minute must-haves. No, it didn't include a margharita, but I'm sure those will be offered in droves once this little bun is out of my oven. After leaving the shower and returning to my toddler's home (yes, I've given up ownership), I realized that ready or not, this baby is almost here. And by almost here, I mean, I'm ready for him to come. I'll never be ready for what faces us with a 14 month old and a newborn, but I'm ready to pick up my coattails and walk straight into the challenge as it means the battle of a 14 month old and an unweildy pregnant figure will end. Sure, I'm nervous about the unknown, but I'm even more nervous at the possibility of remaining here, in ultra-pregnant land, for more than is absolutely necessary.

That's all I've got in me tonight. Unfortunately it's a bit of a downer post... but I guess that's what you get from an author who'd really rather be sleeping but who's body refuses to cooperate.

For my silver lining, I'd like to throw out a truly heartfelt thank you to those of you who have been so supportive in the challenges of the last few weeks. As always, I hope never to need to ask for help, but am honored to have such great friends who come to my side despite my pride. You mean the world to me and I hope you know how much you are appreciated.

Modern Mother versus PT

Most of my good blog ideas begin with email exchanges with my girlfriends. Today is no exception.

The incident that sparked conversation was simple. Wife with child attends an event with husband. Husband sees someone he knows and gives her a big smile-filled, somewhat flirty hug. Huggie (hereon called "Perky Tits") is completely oblivious to Wife with Child. Wife reacts. Husband is oblivious (well, technically, husband wasn't involved in the discussion so, to be fair, we don't really know what Husband has to say about it).

Here's my gut thoughts about how I would have reacted to Perky Tits: I know that Dave's committed and all that, but when a Miss I-don't-have-a-millimeter-of-stretch-marks gets that close to my husband, I don't care how secure I think I am, part of me goes "NO NO!! that's MY husband! BACK OFF!" then that part says "DAMNIT DAVE, Have you no SHAME? don't you REALIZE that you're MARRIED? Fucker."

Here's my dirty mother confession. I hate to admit to it, but it is here nonetheless. Somehow, having been pregnant and had a baby makes me feel less desirable in the whole mix of things. I've heard all the crap about how the pregnant body is a beautiful vessel of life and motherhood is glorious and all of that, but when it comes down to it, my experiences up until motherhood have told me something different. Until you're legitimately married and all that, pregnancy is definitely not smiled upon. Single moms should and do have my utmost respect, don't get me wrong, but when it comes to cultural cliche, it just ain't sexy. Woman's got baggage. No matter how you try to avoid it, no matter how much the single moms you personally know break every mold, the judgement has already been made. Well, as a 25 year old mother of (almost) two, I feel the judgement and baggage despite filling all the right status quo. I'm happily married and plan to stay that way for a long, long time. I love being a mom. Love it. But when it comes to the deep dark corners of my psyche, I confess I see myself as tainted in certain ways because I'm a mom.

Dave didn't go through that the same way. I mean, sure, he's a father now but.... if all hell broke loose in our relationship, I feel like he's more "marketable" in the dating world than I. And somehow, that drives my jealousy up a notch for Miss Perky Tits. He'll go out with his friends and (I know he's not thinking it, but he) CAN be just like he was when he was in college and single and feeling no attachments. Me on the other hand, go out with girlfriends now (because really, what do men have to offer me at this point) and chat -- mostly about motherhood, wifedom and other plights of modern women. I don't flirt -- even harmlessly because it just seems like wasted energy. I don't even want to flirt -- I mean, I remember it being fun, but I really have no interest in doing it now -- and the possibility that it might be taken the wrong way and I'd get into a big emotional thing just exhausts me. Wherever I go, my body is permanently marred by scars (in some cases literally) of motherhood. I have stretchmarks, saggier boobs, and the perpetual worry that any moment away from my baby might be one I'll regret. As much as I hate to admit it, when Dave gets any interest from someone, it pisses me off because somewhere, deep inside, it feels like for him, whether he's interested or not, there's possibility there where with me, I rarely get interest and when I do it's either A) from girlfriend who is just being flattering or B) just laughable because, did you know? I have kids.

I realize it's all about attitude. What's stopping us Wives with Kids from going out and flirting and partying like the Husbands? As far as I can see, it's just our responsible maternal crap that's holding us back. Why are we restricting ourselves? Then comes the bitter-bridget that says, Why AREN'T they holding themselves back --- they have kids too!!!! But then realistically, I don't want to be who I was 5 years ago. I've lived, changed, grown in the last 5 years and I'm proud of the improvements I've made. I'm a better person, right? Yeah, sure, but Perky Tits? if you're reading, go find a shirt with a collar and replace the wonder bra with something sporty -- and preferably granny-panties instead of the thong I see climbing four inches above your waistband.

Realistically? I'm very insecure. I really want my husband to look at every other woman in the whole world and then look me straight in the eye with complete honesty and no prodding whatsoever, and tell me (convincingly) why she sucks and I'm a goddess. I want him to look at me in awe every day because I forced his child out of my hoochie and can still give Mr. Penis a squeeze and drive his eyes back into his head. I want him to tell me until I get sick of hearing it that he feels like he's the luckiest person in the world to have me with him -- and I want new, honest answers for why I can kick Angelina Jolie's ass (probably more figuratively than literally, because Angelina seems to be way more fit than I am) any day of the week and twice on Sunday. I want him to be totally turned on by my ridiculous pregnant figure so that he can convince me that even though I feel like a cow in maternity clothes, he honestly and truly wants to screw my brains out. I want him to bore his friends with "isn't my wife wonderful" crap every once in a while. I want him to ask me probing questions because he really wants to know what I think about politics/philosophy/social concerns and he thinks that my input is insightful and valid. (Actually, I want that from the whole world.) I want him to be the person that another girl looks at and says to herself, I can't have him because he loves his wife so damn much, but I hope I can find someone who'll love me that much. I want all of that but it isn't going to happen. And if it did, I'd probably find some of it annoying and some of it just unrealistic. But I'd like to try a week of it just the same.

I think that men don't generally understand that women need such constant support. They figure, I told I love you, and I'm still wearing the ring, isn't that enough? I didn't tell you anything's changed, so why would you assume something's different? Therefore, they find themselves totally amiss when Wife gets upset by Perky Tits. There's a lot of back story that they just don't see.

Post-child, I've changed. And so have my views and reactions to other women.

My insecurities about being "damaged good" become a flaming beacon of bitchiness when Perky Tits comes onto my radar. Instead of the competition I may have felt for her when I was single, I see her in a whole different class. A class I simulatiously feel beyond and beneath. On the one hand, I've snagged my man. I've ended the single quest, reached my goal. On the other, I've got kids so this one better stick around because if I had to play the game again, well, my tits sure wouldn't be in the perky category anymore (if they were ever there to start) and the thong might never find its way out of my post-birth behind if it ever were to make its way there in the first place.

I look at women who have had children in a totally different light now that I've become a mother as well. It's an awe. A new respect. Birth is just the beginning and Mothers know that. Mothers know that labor is natures way of teaching you, real fast, that all your personal shit goes out the window for this child. During delivery, it's very physical. You poop in front of others, bleed, fart, scream -- all the things composure doesn't allow you to do regularly. From the moment that baby comes out, you don't have another singular personal moment thought as a mother. Even as I was getting my massage this week -- total "me" time right? -- nope, I'm thinking "I hope Rhianna had a good day at daycare....I wonder if she'll ever get to have a massage if she's ever pregnant.... I hope that if she does get pregnant that she's happy with her decision to be a mom....." Not that I'm complaining at all -- I love being a mom and I love Rhianna a ridiculous amount. But I'm truly amazed at how much I love her -- I really didn't know I was capable of and what was all involved in Motherhood. And when I see other moms (ok, sometimes I think, take a shower already or on my more bitter days, you're a mom, dress less like a slut but) for the most part, on the feminist-books, I'm thinking, Wow. She's doing it too. She's doing this overwhelming, loving, completely consuming mother thing too. Women rock. We're so freaking amazing it's just unbelievable.

But do men have that respect? I did have a hint the other day that Dave sorta does. His college friends just had a baby last week and he called Mike to congratulate him. Dave asked if he was there for the birth and MIke said he was and Dave goes,
"Doesn't it make you feel like a schmuck? I mean, they just did this death-defying thing and you just want to take a nap." But does the amazement fade into a distant memory when the vision of Perky Tits crosses his path? Or is it really there but just not "sexy" so they don't show it in the mass media?

As far as I know, men look at a woman and it's the same question: Butt? nice. Tits? good. Bigger tits? excellent. It seems like it's unfair of me to simplify men in that way. Are they really that shallow? Surely we Wives wouldn't have married them if they were.

Nonetheless, when a Wife sees Perky Tits, I think she passes a lot of judgement -- both on herself and on PT. She questions herself, her own worth, and wonders whether Husband secrety wants to ditch Child and Wife and bury his face in the fake-baked bossom that's irritatingly on display for all to see. Wife wants to feel that being the mother to his child has made her sexier and more desirable than any other woman in history -- that any tits that draw his eyes away from her post-nursing hooters will never hold a candle to those that nurished his child. But is that there? Is it true? or is it just something Wife is trying to delude herself into believing because she must in order to survive?

I think it's true... ...but I still want Perky Tits to invest in a turtle-neck, a baggy sweatshirt and stay away from my husband until she's either joined the Motherhood alliance (and hopefully not lost much of her pregnancy weight) or turned 65. Maybe both. Either way, and that point PT and I can be good friends. Maybe.

Or at the very least, give me a hug too -- and offer me one of those drinks you're holding because, trust me, I deserve it.

Toddlers rock

Heat wave
Originally uploaded by b-craft.

Hot chick :)

Hot chick :)
Originally uploaded by b-craft.

Our little artist

Our little artist
Originally uploaded by b-craft.

I can Fly!

I can Fly!
Originally uploaded by b-craft.

So it's been a while

I haven't had many experiences recently that have been worth blogging -- well, the exact opposite might actually be true. It might be that so much has happened that I have neither the time to react, nor the ability to determine what might be most interesting to the Net.

Now thirty weeks pregnant, I am a whale carrying a very, VERY active little boy inside me. I really had no concept of how much more active a baby could be in utero than Rhianna, but little brother is already one-upping his big sis. I'm pretty sure he'll be strong enough to do summersaults when he decides he's ready to brave the big-bad world. If I weren't so uncomfortable, I'd be happy to keep him inside for a while as mentally, I'm hardly prepared to care for another infant. As it is, in the heat of my 90 degree office and my 80 home, I'd be pretty grateful to be un-pregnant. If we do end up planning another child someday, we'll shoot for a winter baby.

Unfortunately, most of our recent goings-on has related to a daycare crisis. Even more unfortunately, it has yet to be resolved. I feel like it would be unfair to publish nasty things about our current daycare over the World Wide Web -- but I also feel it is unfair that I have to bring my child home in the condition I continue to find her. The stress of daycare, money and, of course, daycare, has lead to the inevitable marrital arguments, stress and tears. Hopefully we'll find a solution soon -- as our little family, momma in particular, is just exhausted by the ordeal. As it stands, we can't move our not-so-baby girl because there is no where to take her. Everywhere in town is full, we don't know anyone who will nanny for such a short time (before baby arrives), and neither Dave nor I can stay home right now. Sigh. It's just one of those times that we will get through and be glad when it's over.

In more cheery news, I'm very close to finishing my needlepoint Christmas stocking! If I can get it to the finisher by October, they will get it done this year -- and I'm sure I can do that so I'm very excited to have both Dave and my stockings completed.

Alright, off to grow a baby. Hope this finds you well.

Telemarketers beware

Ok, i know my life is really great and I shouldn't complain, but this is just comical.

Today has been a little rough due to a lack of sleep. Nonetheless, everything is pretty ok except that I ordered this air cooler and it was supposed to arrive today but hasn't and doesn't look like it's been shipped yet. So I emailed the company from who I ordered it and was getting ready to go to the store (which I've been avoiding all day so that I could be here when the package arrived. Anyway, by "getting ready" you should read "on the can."

So I'm having my own little private moment and Rhianna is perfectly happy and then boom! Crap. What was that? Pause. No cry -- ok so either it's super serious or something just fell and it's not on top of Rhianna. Of course, I can't just wait to find out so I stop my "business" and check it out. Luckily she was in view in the middle of the living room so with my ass still bare, I just had to pop my head out of the bathroom to see and she'd just knocked over a toy. No blood, no bruise, no foul.

Ok, resume business at hand. Sit down. Relax. Phone rings. I can't just ignore it because it might be the cooler people and I want my damn cooler. Quick wipe (insufficient though it was, would avoid any skidmarks as long as I returned to finish later), run to get the phone, pants pulled up enough so that the guy mowing outside won't see anything indecent. It was the cooler people. They will be following up. Great, problem solved. I can now go to the grocery store without worrying that I'll miss the shipment (thus having to drive to the airport to get it). Time to resume original business.

Quick check and Rhianna's happily watching the Mom-needs-a-moment video known to all new moms as "baby einstien." Ok return to bathroom (this time with the phone just in case). Ah. Relax. Get to your happy place. Ring ring. DAMN! Seriously! Ok. At this point, I have to make known that I really have a problem with people talking to me on the phone when they are on the can so I make it a point not to indulge in this. Nonetheless, at this point, an exception had to be made. I stopped my "business" so at least there wouldn't be any telling noises on my end. Hopefully it will be someone I know and I can just ask to call them back in 2 minutes.

"Hello?" Pause. "Hello?" "Yeah, this is Qwest...." PLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLUHHH. (internet translation for me letting it rip.) Sorry telemarketer. Not a good time to disturb Mommy. "No, there's not a better time to reach her."

Mommy emerges from the bathroom, hands washed, toilet flushed, and bum properly cleaned. Ah. Wait, NO! Rhianna! the rocking horse is NOT meant to be a stepstool for the coffee table. Resume normal daily activity.

I SWEAR, it was IN the clean pile

So I've been at work for half the day and just went for my... oh, fourth or so... trip to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and what do I see looking back at me? The shirt that I took out of my CLEAN pile (just folded last night... I think....) and there's snot (not mine) along the neck, drips from recently filling my water cup at the drinking fountian along my belly and along the bottom of the shirt.. what IS that!!? cheese? from WHEN!?? I haven't had any cheese today, haven't served any to any one-year-old.... Seriously, I THOUGHT it was clean. Now I'm embarrassed. I feel like a walking tray of leftovers.

Hot Flashes

Current dilemma: I haven't slept all week and, despite tylenol PM, I think the heat is keeping me up. Dave was, of course, fine all night. But then again, Dave can sleep through nuclear winter and wake up thinking nothing happened. Despite the heat, he was also interested (unconsciously) in snuggling at 1:30 am as he was "sharing" my pillow. Uhm, Dave? There are already 2 people (me and bba) and a gigantic cat on my side of the bed, not to mention all the covers that came with you. BACK OFF!

Anyway. So here's the debate: Air conditioner? I'd just give in and get one if it were for the reality that we have vertical windows -- which means the $89 style won't work. We have to get a $300 or more one. Damn damn. Thoughts? My thoughts are that I'm knocked up and it's only june. Then again, I know it's not going to be bad forever... and by 3 am or so, it does cool down. Unfortunately, that leave mommy-pees-a-lot with only about 3 hours of sleep. I don't know. Do I chance it and just try to ride it out? or do I bite the bullet now and enjoy a reasonable summer despite the belly?

Donations accepted.

Clarification

Ok, just for clarification, the scratch on Rhianna's head really is just a little skidmark from falling on her head -- it really wasn't a "big deal," it just made me angry when I had to ask around to find out what happened. Sorry if I made anyone nervous.

Tears for Tots

So it was as my eyes filled to the brim this evening that I realized I've taken the elevator right on past crazy and up to histerical. Though I don't feel like I've hit worthy-to-be-hospitalized quite yet, it's within sight. I'd like to blame it all on hormones, but after being pregnant/nursing/horny/pregnant-again for almost the two years, I feel like I've pretty much played that card to death. I have to accept that I am just a raving lunatic.

Please don't misunderstand me. I do think it's perfectly reasonable that when my child has a head wound, I should get a call for it from daycare. Granted, it's not like she was gushing blood or anything, but a scrap/wound/injury that requires care beyond a kiss-to-make-it-feel-better, Mommy must know. Call me high-maintenance. Call me hormonal. Just pick up the damn phone and tell me that my child shed blood -- even if it's only a drop.

Where it becomes unreasonable is that by the time my drive home (about 10 minutes) was over, and I walked in the door, I was at the point of histeria. So a special thanks to those of you who have remained (or even become) my friend during this time of my life. I'm pretty sure.... yeah... I'm pretty sure that this is not "normal" for me.... but hey, what do I know about normal? I've managed to graduate college, move three times (2 states), get married, get pregnant, have a baby and get pregnant again all in the last 3 years. I know I've always been a bit of a control freak and I know, thanks to Sarah in first grade, that I can be "Bossy Bridget." But emotional? Inarticulate? Lazy? These seem to be new personality traits that I'm not so thrilled to acquire.

So you had a bad day

Today has been one of those please-don't-breath-near-me days when my nerves seemed to have been rubbed raw before I even crawled out of bed. Hopefully tomorrow will start fresh. It's funny how a poo-poo, everything-annoys-me day affects one's outlook on life. For example, instead of feeling the Yay! baby's kicking during one of Baby's little playtimes, I felt this little smirk cross my mind when a coworker was talking to me. Baby was bouncing around inside which gave me the perfect distraction to ignore whatever it was my coworker was telling me. Hopefully, it wasn't essential information she was trying to convey because I was having my own internal conversation. Inside my deep, dark places I was thinking "bla bla bla, I wish I were tumblin inside a uterus. La la.... that'd be fun... that'd be way more fun than working today... Huh, coworker's still talking, but I'm growing a baby so... Yeah, I think I'll just continue to play uterus bumper cars until there's a silence which I shall fill with the beginning of a totally unrelated topic so that she doesn't know I wasn't listening."

Belly Rubs

Ok Internet, let me make something perfectly clear just in case any of you end are wondering. The answer is a resounding No. It is not appropriate to rub a pregnant woman's belly. We are not Bhudda, we do not grant wishes, and we will not respond in kind.

Several preggers have brought this up to me in the past, but, until now, I've never had many personal feelings about it as it never happened to me with Rhianna. Apparently, things have changed with pregnancy #2. WAY too many people have passed the personal-space-threshold in the last five days. I don't understand what makes people think this is a reasonable thing to do. Do I rub your growing parts? No. I sure don't. Sure, I'll grab Aspen's boob on occassion, but that's a special understanding between close friends. So here's the rule: unless you have specific permission from mommy-to-be, keep your hands off. Let me explain.

Besides the obvious you-don't-touch-mine-I-won't-touch-yours social rule, you have to understand the plight of the pregnant woman and her belly. Sure, YOU may think it's a miracle -- it may be -- but to preggo chicks around the world, the swelling belly means a lot more than the beauty of life. It means saying goodbye to the body you once recognized as your own, stretchmarks, heartburn, potent gas, and lots and lots of expectations. Whether they know it or not, when someone reaches out to touch that preggo's swelling belly, they have sent her a message. The message, while innocent in intent, is frustrating to me. The message sent is "oh (sigh) how sweet, your baby is growing! it must be wonderful!" Notice the exclaimation points. These exclaimation points come with that look of "don't you feel all snuggly happy about all this glorious pregnancy crap." Well guess what Internet, not all of us feel that way and it's none of your business. Frankly, my belly grosses me out. While there are parts of babydom and pregnancy that truly are amazing, the don't-you-feel-whatever expectations really get to me. It reminds me of Jack Nickolson in the movie As Good As It Gets when he snaps at the Spanish lady that lives across the hall because she tries to make Greg Kinnear's life threatening beating sound like a blessing from the heavens. No, thank-you-very-much, I'm not thrilled about my belly leading my way down the hallway or that my boobs leak whenever I get emotional. And you know what else? That which I do find miraculous and wonderful, I don't feel I should share with the whole non-preggo world. If I do, I'll do it in my blog, not when you give me that look.

The Horror Below.

Today's post began as a not-so-innocent email to friends, but has had such overwhelming response ranging from "Geez you're gross" to "wow, it really must suck to be pregnant" to "I'm glad I'm not the only one with issues." So I've converted said email into todays blog.

I warn you in advance (yes, despite my previous claim to throw disclaimers out the window) that today's post is not for the easily grossed out. So if you weren't thrilled with the boob post earlier this summer, you should stop reading now and just wait for my next "cute baby" blog installment. If you enjoy my "let's just get it all out there attitude" as it's recently been coined (formerly defined as tactless), this one might give you a nice "thank god I'm not knocked up" laugh. Keep in mind that I've performed in the Vagina Monologues 3 times.

So, I don't know if I've just let things get out of hand since my "down there" is slowly edging farther and farther out of view as my belly expands but wtf? When I got all ready to take a shower and clean up last night after a nice Sunday of yardwork and other chores and, I shit you not, I was actually STUCK TOGETHER. That's right. The combo of super-preggo-hair-growth-hormones and excess-preggo-goo can apparently form the world's best chastity belt. I swear, nothing could have gotten through that barrier.

I had to use scissors. (Which by the way, is awfully risky when your uterus is blocking all reasonable view of anything south of the equator.) To top things off after staring at my ever-expanding backside in the mirror with typical disgust, my eyes drifted to my prime meridian and it looked like I was ready to take root if I dared sit bare-assed in a nice flowerbed. Seriously, what do you do to control this? Even if I weren't pregnant, how in God's name can you see AND maneuver any object appropriate for trimming THOSE hedges?? I mean, I'm no porn star, but I generally keep things relatively coifed -- and whiile I know there's some crack fuzz, it's never been noticable to an outside viewer. There may be a stray hair here and there, but it's like my underside has suddenly been cast in as the lead role in the newest werewolf horror flick. And let me tell
you Internet, there was a full moon last night.

But ok, here's my real gripe about the whole teen-wolf-vagina issue. I said something to my husband -- granted, he didn't get the gory details, but he got enough for any reasonable person to hear "I'm feeling fugly." Let me start by explaining that my husband is similar to me in that very little bodily things really gross him out -- at least if there isn't a smell or other sensory offender accompanying the problem. He's very clinical about things. His reaction to my distress: absolutely nothing. It was like I told him I stubbed my toe -- except without the sympathy. On the one hand, I'm glad that he wasn't all grossed out. On the other, seriously, do I have to wear a shirt that says "tell me I'm beautiful in the next 30 seconds or dance the one-handed cha-cha in the shower (by yourself) for the rest of your days"? ....maybe I'll shave that into my new rug -- you think he'd notice?

Look Mom, Fuzz!!

Rhianna-1
Originally uploaded by b-craft.

So our baby girl is now a one-year-old. It's pretty cool. The weekend was filled with cake and presents and an unexpected swim in the creek. It was great and all are a little heavier after the sugar. The birthday girl had her 12 month doctor's checkup and topped off just an ounce under 19 lbs, hit 27" on the nose (still under the growth chart, but 2" taller than 3 months ago so I think it's pretty good) and is doing wonderfully with all the developmental stuff. It was a fun appointment.

"Does she drink from a cup?" Like a REAL cup? Who gives a baby a REAL cup with liquid in it? That's just waiting for disaster.

"Does she walk backwards?" Like...moonwalk? I can't even do that.

"Does she walk up steps?" The steps are up to her thighs. Can you walk steps that are that big?

"How many words does she have?" Does it count that she calls all inanimate objects "Dada"?

But in the end, we decided she's on track for being as close to normal as the combined genetic power that Dave and I can make.

Chunky

There are certain words that cannot appear in a compliment. Cellulite, for example, just can't be made to sound nice. "You have very little cellulite." Nope. Not even that. The fact that the word came to mind when looking at the person meant to recieve the compliment immediately reverses any positive energy meant in the statement.

Another word on the never-in-a-compliment list is chunky. Today a client said to me, "you're finally getting chunky!" What she MEANT (or at the VERY least, should have said) was "you're showing." What she SAID was "chunky." Thanks.

Yesterday I ran into a woman at the maternity store who is 20 weeks pregnant with her third. SHE said to me, "You inspire me to go home and jump on my treadmill." Now THERE's a compliment. Not that I really believed her, I'm sure she was just being nice, but still, it was a great pregnancy compliment nonetheless.

But today I get "chunky." What an ego-buster.

Bla Bla Blog

For today's short post I'll refer to my list of possible blog topics. This one is inspired by my one and only sister.

Today's topic: Camping with Babies

My position: Nay.

I don't feel this needs further elaboration.

Oh Boy!

147699202_d77326cecd_o
Originally uploaded by b-craft.

Well, my first Mother's Day was pretty much a bust. I travelled the entire roller coaster of emotions. It started with a “do you want to get up to get the baby?” (Uh, are you freaking kidding me? It’s MOTHER’S day. You go – not to mention I got up with her at 3am so, sorry dad, you lose.) Then I was given a wonderful card and a figurine I love (high point). And then we continued about our typical Sunday routine of Costco and Target (lull) followed by putting together the new bike trailer (high) then the total hysteria of Rhianna’s first adventure in the bike trailer (low) to my total mental breakdown (really low) but it all ended up ok and by the time I went to bed I was feeling appreciated and loved (good) but ended up getting the stomach flu so spent the night with diarrhea and vomiting sessions (really really really low). So… there’s room for improvement in future Mother's Days.

Yesterday was the Big Day. I dragged myself to the hospital between pooping/barfing episodes for my ultrasound appointment only for them to tell me that my appointment wasn’t actually until Friday. Apparently these preggo hormones are affecting my ability to read a date on an appointment card because when I looked on it, sure enough, it said May 19. Nonetheless, they said I could wait around and see if they could fit me in. I did and they did. Shout out to the ultrasound chicks -- thanks so much for not sending me home with no gender-news.

The verdict? I have a healthy little baby boy swimming inside me. Weird reality: when this is all said and done, I will have had a penis inside of me for almost a year (not even counting the actual catalyst for this event). To add insult to injury, the presence of said penis does not affect at all the amount of orgams I will have. Granted, that would be gross, but still, in the past, penis-presence has had some pleasure potential. This one, the one that will be in me the longest, not potential whatsoever.

Anyway, after a day of shock over my apparent ability to grow someone a penis (and my initial disappointment at not populating the world with mostly vagina-owning personnel), I’m coming to terms with, and getting very excited about, this whole boy prospect. That’s right – another thing I’m willing to admit – just like Miranda on Sex and the City -- I faked my ultrasound. But I’m coming around to the idea of a boy much faster than I thought I would. I'm already pretty excited about it and it's only been a day.

Sure, I’m still a bit afraid of my little boy’s (currently centimeter-long) slong, but I’ll get over it. After all, you have to face fears to get over them right? I’m realizing (woo-hoo psycho-analysis time!) that it’s not so much the penis, it’s the unknown I’m scared of. My initial reaction to this pregnancy was mostly “that’s not what I had planned” but I realize that I hoped for a girl because that would still be in my comfort zone. Sure, I’ll be ok with being pregnant, as long as it’s a girl because I know my vaginas and damnit, I like them. But he’s not a she and I’ll love him and the presence of his penis just as much as I would have if he'd had a vagina (but I’m still praying for no innie).

Who knows? Maybe it will make me more comfortable with the whole existence of penises in the world. I currently see them as a necessary part of nature, but really nothing to look forward to. I mean sure, there are pretty ones and scary ones – like noses. But basically, it’s a science thing. It’s just there – you have to accept it. Like evolution (no comments on that one because if you deny evolution, it will give me grounds to deny the Penis and Dave would be mad if I started a philosophical debate of the existence of the penis).

Really, I think the hoping-for-a-girl was also a lot about the name. I really liked our girl names. And as it turns out, Dave has more opinions than we initially thought about boy names. But that's how it was with Rhianna -- we had no trouble with boys names then, but couldn't agree on a girl. Unfortunately our leftover boy names don't seem to have the same alure. We're open to suggestions at this point.

So to sum up: Yay! It’s a boy! “Now we can have one of each and be done.” We’ll see. For now, I’ll be focusing on growing a good strong boy with a great little penis :)

Eleven Months

....Officially almost a year old, Rhianna is a wonderful little terror. She is understanding us enough now to actually follow through with the "take the remote to Daddy" commands, but, as Dave discovered, still too young for the "go get Daddy a beer" chores. I guess she still has a little growing to do :)

Ok, today's topic is post/pre-baby boobs so if you're shy, stop here.. That's right folks, I'm gonna "go there." Modesty? Not likely.

Before I had child(ren), I had no idea how much I liked my boobs. They were in the right spot, firmish but not engorged. The nips were in the right spot, pointing striaght ahead, and the brown part was about the size of a quarter. I wore pretty bras in lots of different styles and colors. Strappy, lacy, sporty, "no-cold-nipples-showing", padded, not padded, strapless, demi, full, underwire. Nude, blue, black, purple, pink, red, multi-colored, even one with sequenz (sp?) that never actually wore, but it fit.

Pregnancy #1. Boobs are now 4 sizes bigger (good for Dave) but constantly sore (sorry Dave, no-touchy). Nipples have grown astronomically. National geo anyone? Brown is now a silver dollar at least. No longer cute, but more anatomy-book-diagram-like. You want to know what the separate parts were? I got 'em in easy-to-view, extra large. Breast, got it. Areola, got it. Full duct, got it. Colostrum, got it. I have to admit, there was a little novelty here. It was pretty funny the first time I sprayed Dave with milk from 3 feet away -- ha! that'll teach him for teasing a pregnant lady. Beware the squirting melons!

Maternity/Nursing bras came next. Only available in Nude (not actually anyone's skin color), white, and occasionly, black -- but all available in E-cup (yeah, I didn't know they came that big either). All have unsnapping/easy-access-to-boobies capabilities. This is not sexy as you might imagine. If there is anything that can make a woman's boobs feel more like circus clowns, it's being exposed in a nursing bra. Yes, they do come in handy later on, but the experience (that every woman I know who's nursed has had) of your husband having annoying glee (read: rolling with laughter at those-parts-that-were-once-sexy) at seeing your headlights unwillingly exposed by two unsnapped cups of a nursing bra. It's humiliating and Left and Right both know it and will resent you for it.

Baby #1. Milk comes in and Pamela Anderson is left in the dust. I am a porn star (at least until you see the wreck that is the rest of my body). Let down? Ha. Flood zone is more like it. I'm not going to discuss nursing here. That'll have to be another post -- there's just too much to be said. At this point though, they aren't really UNattractive, but you don't recognize them. It's like your "fat" self. You look in the mirror and know your real boobs -- the pretty, perky ones you remember -- are in there somewhere, but you just don't recognize the image staring back at you.

Post-nursing boobs. Smaller, deformed, depressed versions of pre-baby boobs -- which have disappeared, as far as I know, forever. I for one, was a little excited that mine were smaller, but totally depressed at their lack of perkiness. They are mushy, deflated and more oval than round. They don't care anymore. THEY are depressed. The nipples start racing each other to the belly button. You hope neither will win for at least another 60 years, but the outlook doesn't look good. If I'd known this was in my future before I'd delivered, I think I would have switched to formula earlier but at this point, it's hopeless. Though the old bras start to fit again -- which is a nice relief -- they don't "fit" in the traditional sense of the word.

Pregnancy #2. It's been a relief that I didn't start lactating at 12 weeks during this pregnancy. Of course, that could be because I never really stopped from Pregnancy#1. (Yeah. I was not-nursing for at least 2 months before I got knocked up again, but, lucky me, my milkers didn't get the memo.) Now farther along, my again-pregnant boobs are looking "up" thanks to a full duct or two. They haven't been enormous like they were with Rhianna which is exciting because I can still wear some of the old more-interestingly-colored bras. Nonetheless, I think they are dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder from the whole nursing experience.

The most surprising thing for me about whole boob-changing experience that happens during pregnancy/nursing/"drying-up"/pregancy again is how different one is from the other. Until I became pregnant -- well, maybe even until I started nursing -- I had no idea Left and Right had such different personalities. One was very excited about squirting milk, one not-so-much. They liked to release milk at the same time (particularly when I forgot nursing pads in public) but Left really preferred to be first when Baby was concerned. One was very happy to be in UnderwireNursingBra while the other prefered Wireless. One nip got a mole, the other liked to change shape. One could be full, the other bone-dry. Who knew? They have retained their separate capabilities. They no longer care about symetry (or, for that matter, embarassing their carrier -- I don't say "owner" because you realize, at a certain point, that you have control over certain things in your body. My boobs are no longer in that category).

So there you have it. The lives of Left and Right to date. Hey, you could have stopped reading at any time, I wasn't pressuring you to read the whole post so I take no responsibility.

Lady Plugs

The best thing about my to-flush, not-to flush post? Cole has brought to my attention the term "lady plug." I like it. So from here on, tampons will be referred to as LadyPlugs. I'll have a whole dictionary of new terms by the time this blog dies. I'm generally not a fan of calling things that-which-they-are-not, but I think in this case, the new term is much more concise as the old one. Way to go Cole. You get ten points.

This weekend was pretty good. Saturday was wonderful, Sunday was kinda bla thanks to the cold-that-won't-die. We looked at a few cars for Dave but, since we don't have the insurance money yet, can't actually commit to anything. I really don't like car shopping and if Dave is happy, I'm happy. I'm hoping to avoid going to any more dealerships. Granted, I'll probably protest if he suggests buying a two-door Porche for less than 10K -- I mean, there just isn't space for two car seats in one of those things, let alone two full-sized adults -- but, barring the ridiculous(ly small) sports car, I could really care less. If he'll spare me from the icky used-car sales people and the still-smells-like-smoke-despite-ten-coconut-air-fresheners "pre-owned" vehicles, I might even throw in an extra $500 from my secret stash.

Are you a flusher?

Ok, this thought has come up a number of times in my head. It's gross, but so is a lot of things about real life so here goes.

Every once in a while, you go into a public restroom and find that the last visitor didn't fully flush. I think there is a division in the world here. Some people flush and go about their business, other are repulsed and move to the next, hopefully flushed seat. The question of the day is, are you a flusher or a leaver?

I think I'm mostly flusher, somewhat leaver. If it's the standard, slightly yellow water with a reasonably small amount of toilet paper, I'll usually flush -- especially if I'm actually in the stall when I notice it. After all, there must have been the rare occassion when I haven't pushed the handle all the way down and, while I went through the correct motions, but didn't get it everything through the pipes. I'm humble enough to admit that if it can happen to others, it's likely happened to me and I just didn't notice.

But then there's the occassional pot that I avoid because it doesn't look like the innocent "I accidentally didn't push the handle all the way down," it looks more like a trap. "Let's see who's sucker enough to flush and then try to avoid the horror when this beast of excrement overflows." I'm pretty sure most people leave those. Special thanks to those custodians or poor minimum-wage workers who graciously deal with these pots because really, they are scary.

Flip-flop Man

Last night Dave went to work in the evening for a couple of hours to catch up on things. This is not all-together out of character. What was out-of-character was the question he asked when he returned home.

"How was YOUR evening?" (emphasis on "your")

Normally he'll ask something like "did Rhianna go down ok?," "what'd you do while I was gone?," you know, standard stuff.

Fine, what happened to you?

So most people are in or witness to what? maybe 5 car accidents in their life? Well, Dave is filling his quota fast. As he was driving to work at about 7:30, the truck in front of him and the motorcycle in back of him decided to have a little shindig after turning onto main. The motorcycle sped past Dave and must have not seen the truck changing lanes ahead of him and.. well, I'm not sure the details exactly, but Dave said it was "just like on tv" when the motorcyclist (hereby known as Flip-flop Man) came off his bike as it went skidding down the road. Yikes. Flip-flop Man was wearing a helmet and apparently was able to limp along ok with bad road rash on his arm/leg/now-mangled-flip-flopped-feet. Dave and some other motorists stopped to make sure things were well in hand before going about their way.

Geez. Just when you think you've had enough events to fill your brain for one week, something else happens. So this post is in dedication to Dave, who seems to be keeping his wits about him very well; to Erica, who's baby boy went through surgery today with, as far as we can tell, flying colors; and to everyone out there who's dealt with the Unexpected more than their fair share in the last few weeks. Your strength inspires.

Naming NitWit

I could write an entire essay (and might at some point) about the baby naming process. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to comment quickly on some news I've just come across.

Everyone knows that celebraties are the worst bad-baby-name offenders, but this is getting out of hand.

First Gwenyth names he daugher Apple. Ok, you can be forgiven for that one. Somehow this one's not THAT offensive to me. But when you follow up with MOSES?!! Gwen Gwen Gwen. I know it's none of my business, but what goes on during your baby naming discussions? I guess your kid won't get the shit kicked out of him in school because he's named Moses because (1) he'll be in school with all the other strangely named celebraty kids and (2) his mom is Gwenyth Paltrow. But still, you're a role model. Set a good example woman. What if your children become normal folks... I'm sorry, but if my WalMart teller is named Moses, I'm gonna laugh. I just can't help myself.

haha, Dave's official response to this news: Poor Gwen, I bet that hurt, him coming out with those stone tablets.

See what you've done Gwen? Why didn't you think about this? He's doomed to a lifetime of bad religious puns.

expecting the UnExpected

For the record, I just read my SIL's post and I'm proud to have married into a family with a sense of humor. Thanks Jen, you're the best.... that does NOT mean you get to fool me though. I just plain old too gullible to be any fun. Really. No Joke.

And now, page two.

I think that if this year had it a theme for our house it would be "the UnExpected." For the most part, all of our UnExpecteds have started out with anxiety and an "oh shit" moment but, I think, will work out for the best. We're started to get excited about another baby for one and for two, well, let's just say we're looking on the bright side of some other looming clouds that I don't need to mention here.

Our newest UnExpected arrived this morning. With a crash. A car crash. Dave got rear-ended. We called the insurance companies and we'll see how we go from here. The fault is clearly on the other driver so should be a pretty cut and dry thing. But it will be a pain nonetheless. I'm not sure when or how we find out if the car will be totalled or not... but I think chances are pretty good since the whole back of the car is toast. It will probably depend in part on how much they say it was worth. I'll keep you all posted.

The String

At sixteen weeks pregnant, I am somewhere in between maternity and regular pants. Maternity are, of course, very comfortable, but for my mental health, I will be occassionally squeezing my bulgy rear and not-yet-cute-or-firm pregnant belly into my regular clothes as long as the zippers don't burst and the tightness around my waist doesn't make me hurl.

There are several different kinds of maternity bottoms. I own the following varieties. There's the 3" waistband kind (my personal favorite), the front-panel (very icky, but useful during the late, whale-like stage of pregnancy); the under-the-belly, no panel style (this one is good, but shirt choice is important here or the stretchmarkes you don't know you have until you get to see the underside of your belly after birth show between the under-the-belly waistband and bottom-of-the-shirt edge. Another important note with the under-the-belly style of maternity bottoms is that your butt has to be just the right shape to hold these up all day. Otherwise you end up hiking them up every time you stand up or be faced with the reality of wearing penguin pants-- if you've seen Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins dancing with the penguins, then you know what I mean here); then there are the all-around panel pants. These are what I'd like to discuss today.

The actual waist on these pants are made of about a 1/2" elastic band. The elastic (at least on all that I have or have tried on) is small enough to fit snug around the smallest part of your body. Ok, so not your pinky, but definitely the smallest part of your waist if not your neck. Underneath the elastic is about 5"-7" of stretchy cotton fabric to accomodate your growing middle. This is then attached to the regular pants-- the part that everyone sees. Here's my question. On all of the materinity bottoms I own of this style, there is a string that sticks out coming from the elastic waistband-- kinda like a drawstring. What? is? this? FOR?!?!?!

The elastic built into the band is tight enough to make a size-two feel fat, so it can't possibly be there to sinch the already tight elastic even tighter. If you CAN sinch, you DON'T need maternity clothes. You either aren't pregnant or aren't yet showing. Stick to your regular clothes and stop insulting the preggers who actually do need maternity clothes.

Further, the string is long enough that no matter how humungous you get within the limits of the pants, you cannot reach the end of the string. Trust me, I tried. I stretched these suckers to their limit. I stretched them until the seams on that nice, soft cotton panel were about to burst and there was still a good 12" of string hanging down. WTF? All reason says that this string, no matter what it is for, should not be a foot longer than the possible limit of the extendable waistband. It's just confusing. I mean, when you reach the limit of the pants, you should be getting a bigger size, right? But the String! The String says I've still got space! The seams and the String are sending mixed messages. My self-image confuses things enough. I need clear communication from my pants.

Maybe the String is an emotional spaceholder? You see, you have to figure out how to tuck in the string to avoid the possible embarassment of having something-that-should-be-hidden showing. Much like how us prudish folks feel about underwear. Certain garments (or parts of garments) should not be exposed for public viewing. So the necessity of tucking the String is so that you won't forget the potential humiliation those non-preggers have of a horribly exposed tampon string. Could that be it? Is this String a subliminal message from preggers to non-preggers that, despite not having a period, we still relate to the torture of the monthly miracle? If this is the case, then where is the message that non-preggers send to preggers saying, "I cut you some slack. You're going through enough. I understand that you are sacrificing your body and sanity in order to procreate. You go girl."? For the record, this is NOT the message I get from tube-tops and an over-exposed thong.

The String (which, despite my best attemps to keep it contained, hangs out visibly at least once every day I wear clothes with this feature) advertises that yes, despite my goal of looking less gloppy by wearing maternity clothes, I am, in fact, wearing panelled maternity pants. That must be it. The String is a flag to the rest of the world that says, "I'm not JUST getting fat-- at least half of my newly acquired fat is doctor recommended!" Maybe they'll start adding the String to all pants greater than a size 12 so that women across America can suggest a possible pregnancy to judgemental passers-by instead of feeling the social pressures of needing to fit into a single-digit sized pair of pants. This way those judgers can whisper about the wearer's promiscuity in addition to her inability to metabolize a few too many McDonald's cheeseburgers.

Any other ideas? A tail? A leash? I ask you Internet, why the String?

I feel obliged to keep the String without knowing its purpose. It really seems like I could safely remove it without effecting the functionality of the pants, but who knows? Perhaps, despite all logic, this String somehow holds the pants together and removing it will render the pants utterly useless. I feel the same way about those "do not remove" tags on pillows. I mean, sure, I own the pillow, but if there's a chance I'll get arrested for removing the tag, I'll just keep it on. I put a pillow case over it anyway so it really isn't bothersome. If I cut the String, will the preggo-police come to convict? ...at this rate I'll be incarcerated for life since I refuse to sleep solely on my left side and *gasp* occassionally forget my prenatal vitamin. I'm sure an added String-cutter accusation won't significantly affect my sentence. Did I mention I plan to ride my bike well into my second trimester and might even take cold medicine? Piss off preggo-police.

One of THEM

I realized yesterday when I was on the phone with one of my single friends that I've become a Mommy. I know what you're thinking, shouldn't I have figured this out when I was in labor? No. Not a mother, I mean, a MOMMY. I'm sitting there listening to my friend talk about her boyfriends and bar outings and all I could think about was, "didn't I tell her Rhianna is WALKING? Why the hell doesn't she think that this is the most interesting thing EVER!?"

I've officially beceome ONE OF THEM. One of the moms whose main interests are diapers and first steps. What happened to me? I used to talk about all sorts of interesting, ADULT things and now my conversations seem to revolve almost entirely on "cute things my 10-month-old did" or "How do I get her to (insert behavior here)." I mean, it's not that I'm not interested in my friends' lives. But somehow, becoming a mommy has a horrible side effect. I can no longer stay focused on the "should I call him back or wait until he calls?" dialogue for more than 20 second. And along with the special skill aquired by all mommies of how to change the diaper of a wriggling baby, I can veer any given conversation to the return of the nipple-leak-spot and the "how to soften baby poops" dilemma. I feel like I'm not being a good friend.

* so what do you think about all this illegal immigrant stuff that's been in the news?
- Let me tell you about immigration. I built a wall out of chairs to keep Rhianna out of the kitchen and what do you know! she figured out how to crawl through the legs. Man it's amazing watching her figure these things out.
* hmm.. yeah. that's facinating, so what do you think about the possibility of nuclear bombing Iran?
- I think they should just send some baby-poop-pellets. I can't believe how much STANK comes out of those little suckers. Whoa.

Another example was talking to my soon-to-be-married girlfriend. She's very considerate about my mommy-ness, but when I have to say "not you" a million times in the conversation, it's downright distracting. Do other Mommies do this? Example conversation :
* Did I tell you about my wedding dress?
- No! What does it look like?
* Well, it has a..
- Take your finger out of there!
* What?
- Not you, Rhianna's got her finger in her nose. About your dress.
* Oh, right, it's white, of course, and it has a small..
- Put your bottom down.
* uh...
- Not you, Rhianna's standing in the tub. Go on.
* it has a small train and a...
- Where did you get THAT?
* Uh... it came with the dress...
- No no, not you, Rhianna found a CD in the bathtub, how did that GET in there?!?
* Hey Bridget, I uhm.... should go... uh.... send the invites again or something..
- Oh, ok, well, send me a picture of your dress, it sounds beautiful!

Oh fellow Mommy friends, what have I become?! And to the sane world, I'm sorry to put you through this. I'm hoping to regain my sanity soon. Unfortunately, prospects for this decade seem to be dwindling. If only I could have a margarita, maybe alcohol would bring back the fun in me. Too bad that's off limits for a while.

Trouble

Rhianna has a partner in crime. His name is Steven and he is about three months older than she (which in the land of babies means she might as well be 10 dating a 13 year old). He's very cute.... although truth be told, he has an innie. But hey, Rhianna isn't judgemental.

So Rhianna and Steven, the dynamic duo, like to race each other to the place where they store the diapers and unload them. Well, after getting in trouble about 17 times today for pulling diapers off the shelf, Rhianna decided to get creative. While Steven stayed on the other side of the room diverting attention of the daycare providers, Rhianna went and got a diaper and innocently handed it to Steven. As if to say "what? he did it!"

I think we're in trouble already.

I go in for my second appointment today. It should be pretty uneventful. Pee in cup, get weighed (get told I'm getting fatter), hear baby's heartbeat, schedule next time to pee in cup. All very thrilling. It's amazing how lack-luster this process becomes once you've done it. Hopefully the excitement will grow With Rhianna, I was excited about everything. Every appointment, every symptom. I was even able to write off morning sickness as my body doing what it needed to do to grow a healthy baby *sigh*. But now, I know too many women who have had perfectly healthy babies and did not so much as gag, let alone puke daily. Oh well, it definitely could be worse and I count my blessings.

**after appointment**

Very uneventful appointment. The only noteworthy thing really was that I was in and out of there in less than an hour. I'll get my ultrasound mid-may, but other than that, no news. The heartbeat was a little harder to find than expected, but she found it and it was fine. Hope you're all doing well. Send Rhianna sleep vibes for tonight so we can all get a good night's sleep.

Post-baby shopping

What a difference a year makes.

Before having a child, I would be out shopping and I'd see someone with their screaming child and quietly think to myself, "geez, they really have to get a hold of that kid." Now it's a mixture of "I'm glad I'm not there yet" and "more power to ya sista" (of course, meant for the mom inevitably struggling to maintain her sanity in public and not pull out an oozie to threaten her child into submission--not that that would actually work for little Billy since he's seen that trick and knows she won't actually pull the trigger).

Comments

Check this out, THREE entries in one day. That's right, I'm working through lunch.

Anyhow, just realized that people have posted comments. Thanks.... didn't ever realize that was there. So sorry for not responding :)

And to The Girl, I can't believe I'm pregant AGAIN!!

Batman

So I've been thinking about finances with this new baby coming. I'm wondering if it's really worth going to cloth diapers. Does it really save that much? I don't know. We buy generic diapers so we're already saving some money. I talked to Dave about it and I'm not sure he'll go for it. He says if we want to save money, we shouldn't go out to eat so much. Fucker. Deprive a pregnant lady of her McD's and he'll find a poopy diaper in between his side of the sheets. *evil grin* Anyway. I know he's right. My habit of eating out is way more costly than the diapers. So as a little backlash for being irritatingly right, I informed him, in complete honesty that I had sex with Batman in my dreams last night. Ha. Beat that. Of course he had to be all "male" about it and ask if it was on the hood of the Batmobile. But still, I win. I did it with a superhero :)

Apologies for offense

Ok, so I was posting my in-case-it-might-offend things elsewhere but I decided that if you're offended, stop reading. This is my blog and if you don't like it or if I say something mean about you, I'm sorry. Consider this like Harriet's diary. Read at your own risk.

So, someone asked me how everyone is reacting to our news about our expected addition. My family seems very excited—taking a it's-their-life-but-at-least-they-are-finding-out-the-sex-this-time-so-we-can-buy-pink-or-blue-stuff approach. Dave's family seems to have said as little as possible. I'm pretty sure they don't approve. I think the actual words from his mom were "so you're a glutton for punishment huh?" Thanks, how supportive. The truth of the matter is that we had figured that once Rhianna was a year old, we wouldn't do anything to prevent getting pregnant again. We'd talked about it and wanted babies close together. Of course, we weren't expecting them THIS close, but in retrospect, I'm not sure I could get pregnant again on purpose anyway. I guess we should have realized that since I wasn't interested in sex for 6 months after having Rhianna and then suddenly was a rabid animal, Mother Nature was telling me something. Regardless, Pregnancy Blows. I can't imagine doing this to my body intentionally. Don't get me wrong, motherhood has it's neato-parts that make up for the smeared-poop and projectile vomit. But pregnancy, for me, is a hormonal roller-coaster marked with vomit, gas and heartburn. I didn't know that the first time, but now I know what I'm in for. Mother nature's best. If Earth actually gave birth, this last year of hurricanes (morning-sickness), volcanos (heartburn), and tsunamis (ridiculous-need-to-poop-at-work) would have been her first trimester.

Nonetheless, getting back on track, no one has said anything judgemental to my face (yet). We'll see what happens when I'm carrying my year-old baby with an obvious baby-belly. We have gotten a lot of the "on purpose?" question and "maybe you'll have a boy so you can be done." To which I like to reply, "uh, or maybe I'll have a girl and be done, or maybe I'll have whatever and NOT be done." That's probaby snobby of me, but I find it presumptuous that having (insert "other" gender here) will signify then end of the procreating processes. Equally offensive is the assumption that we would "keep trying" for a boy? A couple of things, first, we will continue to try for mutual orgasm—that's worth the effort, but there has been no trying-for-baby in our bedroom since September '05. Second, have I mentioned my fear of baby penises? Creating a being with a penis will not, for me, mark any final right of passage or tick-off one of those must-do-before-I-die accomplishments. Sure, I want to run another race before I die (the 3K was great), I also want to not-be-pregnant-for-more-than-8-months, but birthing something with a penis is not a necessary accomplishment for me.

My fear of baby penises has reached a new level as I saw one the other day at daycare. Don't get me wrong, I love little boys—they are just as cute as girls and I can't get enough of those little courduroy outfits that seem to be prolific in the baby-boy wardrobe. But seriously. Are all baby penises that small? There's the giant-baby-scrotum and, I swear, what looked like an "innie" belly-button for a penis. Sure, it'd be easier to clean than a giant baby shlong, but if my baby's got an innie, it better have clitoris as well. Not to mention, this just adds to the likely-to-get-unrine-in-my-mouth fear since the belly-button penis is perfectly tilted so that if anything were to come out, the arc-o-urine would be aimed directly at the face of the diaper-changer.

I say all this and would be equally thrilled to have a boy as a girl. And I'd try not to pass judgement if he has an innie-penis. That said, there's no question that Dave will change all post-circumcision diapers until said proceedure heals. Baby penis is scary enough without adding a raspberry-color to it.

I'm getting bitter

Ok. New maternity complaint. Looked at the swimsuits at Target because I refuse to let the reality that I will be fat keep me from taking my then-darling-toddler to the pool :) Anyway, so not only are the mostly in a "I'm 300 years old and wear a hair net to the pool" floral granny print, but, once I got past that, ALL of them have a giant "sexy" hole in between the boobs. Just my luck, my not-so-sexy, post-nursing boob would end up IN the sexy between-the-boob hole and Rhianna would point out, in her very cute toddler voice, "Momma, Titty!!!"

I don't think so. I'll settle for going to the pool in a moomoo, thanks :)

Mobile baby!

So Dave and I are playing Harry Potter Scene It (special thanks to the Taylors for lending it to us) and Rhianna is walking around the coffee table. She walks behind me (using my body as a jungle gym), drops to the floor and CRAWLS down the hallway! She can CRAWL! Wow!! Out of NOWHERE! and here we thought she'd just skip right to walking. I guess we might have a couple of weeks of crawling before we get those first steps. Oh I'm so excited that she can move. Boy is Caesar in trouble :)

Hope you're all having an exciting day!!

whew

Wow, January seems to have been a whirlwind. Nonetheless, things are going well. I'm very proud to announce that I finished my first needlepoint project—a Christmas stocking for Dave. It only too me... 2 years? 3 years? Oh well, the point is I finished it and I think it looks great. I sent it to Mom so that she can get the velvet and stuff put on the back. I'll be sure to take a picture once it's officially done.

Rhianna is doing well. Next week she'll be (!) eight months old. She isn't mobile quite yet but everyday we think she might catch on. She can pull herself up to a stand on things and will shuffle along certain things that are short enough for her. She actually can crawl really well—in the bath. Yeah, last night she started swimming laps. If only she could do that on solid ground! Alas, gravity's a b!tch. She's getting over a really bad bug that ransacked the daycare—a daycare I really hope she won't be attending forever. We've started to look around for a new place but everyone's waiting lists are long.

The new year

I know it's been a while since I last posted. We've been busy. Work has been crazy so I haven't been able to sneak any free time in for blogging. I'm currently working on the Collegian, ResLife stuff and finishing up an annual report for the College of Business. Very exciting stuff.

Our family spent Christmas in Minn. with my parents and my sister's family. Ben, my new nephew, is very calm and happy. Kara seems to be adjusting to motherhood very well. Rhianna tried to teach Ben how to spit up and poop all over his mom, but it seems Ben might not have picked those things up as he seems to be the perfect baby. We dug through some old photos and found some baby pictures of Kara—it's amazing how much they look alike!

Ben and Rhianna were baptized on Christmas morning and it was lovely. We had some family photos taken as well to document probably the only time in her life that Rhianna will be taller than Ben.

We spent New Year's weekend meeting new friends and greeting some of our favorites. On Friday we had dinner with a new friend of our family who built a beautiful house about two miles from us. It really is a lovely home and their daughter Ellese is very sweet—although went to bed shortly after we arrived so we didn't get to spend very much time with her. They are working on adopting another baby which is exciting to me because I didn't really know much about the process and it is interesting to learn. On Saturday we went to a friends house to ring in the new year playing games and lighting fireworks. It was great—and we did actually make it past midnight which is special for us.

Since then, we installed new knobs and handles in our kitchen as well as a pot rack. The renovations greatly improve the space. We're now busy listing all the other improvements we'd like to make in our home. Our Valentine's Day gift may be a new set of knives, a microwave hood or a new dining set. We'll see. It's fun to decorate and live in a nice space.

Hope all is well with all of you! Happy 2006.