Friday Recap

  1. I don’t like it when people express surprise that my house is clean.
  2. Apparently when I’m worried and trying to think, I still pick my split ends like a fourteen year old.
  3. Tornado E will get sick once a month, but at least he’s learning to use a bowl.
  4. Nothing is more embarrassing than being pulled over with the boys in their seats and your parents in your car.
  5. Ok, having your mom trying to tell the cop your dad is a police officer while you’re talking to the cop is WAY more embarrassing.
  6. Tornado S has decided he’s ready to move up to R movies during DVD time.
  7. Stupid third trimester is making me nap and then I don’t have any time to read my favorite blogs.
  8. Apparently several moms with preschool children don’t go out on date nights with their husbands; I thought it was just me.
  9. My OB/GYN is starting to encourage us about picking out a name.
  10. My father in law still annoys the hell out of me, but at least the feeling’s mutual.

Ray of Sunshine

I learned a lot about myself when I became a mother.  Actually I learned that I had a few gifts in more abundance than I thought.  I had more patience and energy than I ever thought I possessed.  I could roll with the punches with ease.  I could take deep breathes and channel some inner peace during the fights, cries, and whines.  I could be up most of the night and dance all day.  Sure there are days when I’m crashed or at the end of my rope, but they’re not every week or day like I assumed they would be before motherhood.  I thought I would take up smoking, have kids addicted to TV, and drink a few shots after I put the little demons to bed.  None of that has happened . . . yet.

So when I started to feel the darkness growing around me, pulling me into a life-sucking muck, I was pissed and scared.  I didn’t want to give up what I had.  I’ve been done those dark roads before, and I didn’t know how I could be a good mother while fighting to get out of bed, fighting to smile, fighting to move, fighting to feel.  And I told you all about it, and I was amazed by the outpour.  I wasn’t looking for comfort, just throwing a bottle out in the sea to know that I wrote it out, I spoke out those words, I still had a voice.

The good news is it’s been three weeks since I’ve felt depressed.  I don’t know what changed.  Sure I got out in the sun more, and I made sure I always added thankfulness to my prayers.  But I never did much exercise.  I never got around to going to church.  (Sleep or church; sleep or church; sleep or church; guess which won?)  Instead I kept my finger on the pulse.  I faked being normal.  Somehow my hormone levels must have balanced out.  I have my energy back.  I don’t feel sucked of life at the end of the day.  Granted, I’m tired as hell,  but I’m hugely pregnant, so I figured that’s the reason.

Thank you to all of you.  I’m still on guard for post partum.  My doctor is still keeping an eye on me.  But I’m glad I’m able to meet the rest of my pregnancy fully armed and ready to roll.

Learning of the week

  1. When pregnant and hungry, you never have the “right” food.
  2. When pregnant, Catholic, and hungry, on a Lenten Friday, you want fried chicken.
  3. Freely given Tornado S kisses are the best.
  4. Tornado E takes great pride in making his brother scream, “STOP IT BROTHER!” or just scream.
  5. Tornado S knows the letter b.  Booty, Bottom, Butt all start with B.
  6. My parents rock because they came over and cleaned my carpets and then they came over to replace the furniture.
  7. To f with A personality retired people, just get your trash cans out before anyone else does and switch the order (trash on left instead of right), the whole street will switch the order to match.  Reverse the next week.
  8. Sugar crystals take a f-ing looooong time to grow.
  9. I am unable to eyeball an equal division of six types of batter into sixteen cupcake cups.  Stupid Family Fun.  Stupid rainbow cupcakes.
  10. No store has wheat grass seeds in my town.  They so would in California.

Nesting: The Furniture Plans

I’m in my nesting phase.  It’s the only thing I can say when describing my habits of late.  And I don’t nest in one area.  I don’t just cook food, clean every little nook, or make the furniture sparkle.  I do a combination.  But I thought I would focus on one crazy aspect at a time.

I used to tell people we furnished a new room every other year.  But that’s not true.  We furnish when I’m pregnant.  In the last month or two.  And I drag someone around to do it.  Usually The Husband.  And it has to be the perfect furniture.  An investment.  I think The Husband hates when I shop for furniture.  It means a large dent in our savings.

We bought our last house a few months before conceiving Tornado E.  The Official Story is that our bed was ruined in the move, like my dresser, because it was from Ikea and some of their furniture was not meant to be moved or to last more than a couple of years.  The Truth (Because I love and trust you all and I’m damn proud) is we broke it.  Ah, the days before The Husband’s business became so stressful and before the boys came and made my life stressful.  The days when we had energy and weren’t wondering what would happen if one of us just happened to have a life insurance policy that was sizable.  Any ways, the fact was we were sleeping on a mattress and my dresser was just a small wire shelf unit.

When my parents came to visit us so my mom could go to my CA baby shower, they were horrified to find out their very pregnant daughter was still sleeping on a mattress on the floor.  They went out and bought us a bed frame.  Then my dad learned The Husband didn’t believe in box springs, so my dad went out and bought some wood to that we could use the bed frame.

It was then that I took it into my head that we needed a whole new bedroom set.  Sure, The Husband’s dresser, nightstand, and former bed matched, but I brought in a small bright blue shelf unit that I built and used for a nightstand and a former white dresser.  We had looked half-hearted before for a bedroom set.  But now I was nesting and NEEDED it NOW.  I dragged The Husband from store to store and ended up back at the first store in love with set.

I, I mean we.  We ordered a bed, two night stands, a dresser, and a chest of drawers (which was to be The Husband’s so he had last space for his pile of clothes and would need to use his drawers).  We had purchased our guest bed from the same store a few years before, so when they heard The Husband loved the guest bed mattress, they looked up the brand and type and ordered it for our new bed.  As we sat there, the sales person asked us an important question.

Sales: What size would you like this?

The Husband: California King.

He said it with such conviction that I actually believed he wanted one.  It wasn’t until our celebratory dinner (back in the days of money and childlessness when every occasion called for a celebratory dinner out) that I asked The Husband why he wanted a California King.

The Husband: Because they’re so big.

Me: You do realize that they cut off the width of a King and add it to the bottom to make it a California King.

The Husband’s jaw dropped.  Damn.

We got the bed and dressers two weeks before Tornado E came.  We got the night stands the day after Tornado E came.  Though The Husband looked around the room and said, “The furniture clashes with the wall paint.  We should have bought a different stain.”  Um, no, we paint the walls.

When I was pregnant with Tornado S, Tornado E needed a bed.  Since I was pregnant with a second child, a boy child, I was on the hunt for bunk beds.  I wanted something sturdy.  I wanted something with clean lines.  I wanted something that wasn’t easy to break.  I wanted something that would last until the boys were out of the house, like what my parents’ did.  I also decided I didn’t need more than bunk beds and two dressers with young boys.  I figured I could always match the stain for desks and such.

At first, I tried to drag The Husband with me on the weekends, since we couldn’t go out on weeknights with a toddler who needed dinner and bed at the same early time every night.  I think I got The Husband to enter one store.  Something about being dragged around nearly two years before just made him hard to convince to come with me.  Or maybe he was still thinking about the damage to the savings account I did the last time.

So Plan B.  I was blessed enough to have a great friend who was waiting for her Green Card.  (It took over a year and she was a Canadian citizen married to an American.  Screwy, right?)  So I picked up my friend, who had a great eye towards design and loved Tornado E, and we went off to tons of stores with Tornado E in tow to try out ladders.

After several days and stores, I found the set I wanted.  Sturdy, dark stain, clean lines.  The thing is put together that it takes at least two guys to put it all together.  When they came to set it up, four big guys came.  The sales person assured me the company had been around for decades and would probably have the same style of furniture or the stain when I was ready to buy more pieces.  I decided to bring The Husband in for a look before I purchased.  You know, because we’re married, it’s his kids and money.  I’m a thoughtful wife.

The Husband couldn’t come with me that weekend, but I showed him the brochure and the amount, getting the ok.  I decided I better buy it before I had Tornado S.

I went in that Monday with Tornado E on his monkey leash.  I didn’t bring my friend to entertain Tornado E because I figured it would be easy to buy.  The stores computers were down, so it took longer.  The sales people fed Tornado E red licorice and suckers to keep him occupied.  They gave me a large discount because of the wait and that I actually came twice with a toddler.  They gave me a delivery date a week before Tornado S was due.  Perfect.

Except Tornado S came early.  But at least I was out of the hospital.

Of course, The Husband flipped when he heard how much it all cost after I bought the set.  Because The Husband tunes out when I speak to him.  But hey, I did talk to him first.

As for this kid, I REALLY want to go buy some furniture.  We left our white leather, bachelor-years coaches with the old house as well as our bachelor-years table set with two chairs broken.  But we don’t have the money or the room for new furniture.  I guess I’ll wait until we move into a real house. At least, The Husband will be glad to protect the savings account from heirloom furniture.

What is in a name?

We have a little problem.  Six weeks and still no name.  Heck, we don’t have a final list.  But here are some suggestions and who suggested it.

Tornado E: Kevin

Our buddy J: Jeffrey (Can you guess what are buddy’s name is?)

My old college roommate: Liam (Though we have an L last name, so I wonder how it would sound.)

Tornado E: Lightening

The Friendly Giant: Seven (He’s been pushing this since Tornado E’s conception.)

The Husband: Tristan

Tornado E: Peasant

My dad: Doctor (Because it’s the easiest way to get a doctor in the family.)

The Friendly Giant: Jacoby

The Husband: Owen

My grandma: Philip (After her and her father)

Tornado E: Darth

Tornado E: Schmevan

Me: Collin, Cullen, Leland

Of course my roommate keeps texting and calling me to convince me on Liam.  She might have me hooked, though now The Husband, who used to like it, is balking.  As you notice we have a thing for 4 letter Gaelic names.   I’m big on knowing what a name means and fitting it to the child in some way.  But if we can’t figure this out in four weeks, I’m actually considering letting you all name the baby.

Third Trimester Beef

I’ve got a few more complaints about this pregnancy thing.  I’m in my third trimester, so I’m getting big, I’m getting smooshed, I’m getting squished.

Which Tornado S I was so big, that I was only comfortable in our wing-back chair because it made me sit up straight.  Once I was watching a movie with BFF and The Husband, and The Husband kept asking me to come over and sit with him because I would be more comfortable on our saggy leather coaches.  Finally, the BFF told him to look at me, I was fine where I was.  And I was.  It was the only way to breathe easy and allow digestion.

That’s another thing.  Digestion.  Not only does it take For. Ev. Er. I now have a tinier stomach.  Those two things are not good when one is trying to get some sleep.  Not good at all. When I was pregnant with Tornado E, I learned how not good it was and that you can actually have vomit come out your nose.

If laboring like a hugely, grotesque woman wasn’t bad enough, I do two things during pregnancy that I NEVER do at any other time.  I snore.  And I drool.  The Husband complains bitterly over my snoring.  But he has no room to talk.  His friends think I must be a saint because every one of them can tell stories of sharing a hotel room with The Husband and not being able to sleep, contemplating snuffing him out with a pillow.  My old roommates on the other hand will swear I never snore.  The drooling is plain embarrassing, especially in this pregnancy where I can’t sleep on my side.  The stupid drool pools on the corner of my mouth, drying there, creating a sore.

Now you can see why I feel so damn sexy.

Ally Camisole Maternity Set

Sexy Lace Flyaway Babydoll with G-String

Yeah, not so much.

Ten Things I Learned This Week

  1. Chocolate.  I need lots of it.  All I want is chocolate or ice cream.  I figure this is the last time I’ll ever not have to worry about my weight, so I’m indulging.
  2. I’m more competitive with my brothers than I thought I was.  I was so sure I grew out of competing with them when I was in college.  But all it took was my mom to beg us to get Farmville Farms so she can have more neighbors and my baby brother kicking my ass in points to make me want to play the damn game all the time.  Of course, I don’t have time for a new obsession.
  3. I apparently cut tomatoes “wrong.”  I didn’t know there was a right way.
  4. I apparently cube hard boiled eggs in a weird way too.  Isn’t it nice to have moms around to correct you?
  5. Pregnancy shirts show way too much cleavage, which is something I forget until I wear them again.  I get it.  I’ve got a nice rack.  The only reason to show it off is for guys to ogle.  They aren’t ogling a pregnant woman’s breasts.
  6. When I’m pregnant, food doesn’t get to my mouth all the time.  It lands on that big tummy or worse down the shirt with the low cut cleavage.  Do you know how annoying it is to have a popcorn kernel in your bra?
  7. My sons want to be the same Jedi.  The obscure Kit Fisto.  And he happens to have a green light saber, so they’re still fighting for it.
  8. Tornado E is afraid of sharks.  Hmmm.  But he knows exactly where the Jaws DVD is and brings it out to ask questions.  Sharks aren’t that big, Tornado E.  Sharks don’t eat people.  I don’t know why that shark is going to eat that woman.  Wait a few years, and we’ll watch it, and I’ll show you were it’s wrong.
  9. Tornado S has a bladder like a steal trap.  The kid doesn’t pee after a dry nap for an hour or two.
  10. When husbands become fathers to children who miss him and he misses them, he feels guilty for being away and brings them presents.  He’s no longer required to bring the wife something.  Not that I’m complaining, but some chocolate would have been nice.

Me, Ready?

I’m ready for the baby.  I’m tired of waiting.  I want to get this over and done with.  Let’s roll.

But in reality, I’m not.  There’s no way I’m ready.

I’ve never been inpatient for a baby to be born before this.  With both Tornado E and Tornado S, when people asked if I was ready, if I couldn’t wait, I would pat my bulging tummy and say, “Not yet.”  But rather than feel like I could wait until everything was perfectly ready to the point of refusing to believe those are actually labor pains, I feel like saying “Just give me the baby already.”

First off, there are the medical issues of having a preemie.  I am more than happy to wait and let the kid cook at his own rate.  Now I would feel guilty for every minute I devoted to the hospital and not with the other boys.  Time management would be a huge issue.  That doesn’t mean if the little character came early that I wouldn’t be done there every second I could.  I just would worry about the boys during such an issue.

Second, the house is no where ready.  We’ve decided to stay with our little rental for another year, saving money for a potential house purchase next year.  Now we have to reorganize the master to accommodate a new little guy.  Thank God it’s a master suite, something The Husband and I didn’t like originally.  We have to pull out all the baby stuff from the garage and my parents’ house.  Not to mention, I really would like our carpets and furniture cleaned and a half of dozen other things that would be nice to have done before the little tike comes to take all our time and energy.

Third, I have to buy stuff for the baby.  Our diaper bag is on its last legs, even though The Husband keeps trying to convince me that we could pull it out for another baby.  Um, no.  I don’t want a hole in it.  I have to buy Tornado E a booster seat, so the baby can have his.  Heck, the water proof pad for the basinet is under Tornado S’s sheets, so I need one of those.  Not to mention, I need to get us a little more organized so I’ll need more racks and stuff.  Yeah, I have a list.

Fourth, we don’t even have a name yet!  Sure, The Husband has all sorts of names picked out, but there’s not one that sounds just right.  Nor have I really looked.  Two kids, a house, a blog, and now a Farmville Farm (completely not my fault, I’m doing it only for my mom), I just never seem to have time to read, much less look for names.  Maybe I should do a contest?

So with all those reasons, why the hell am I “ready” for this baby?  Why do I feel like I’m waiting around for the main event?  Hell, I’m in complete denial for the first hours of labor because I’m so NOT ready.  So why do I feel ready now?

Maybe I really have flipped.

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Underwater Gymnastics

My mom has a story she tells of the differences of her pregnancies.  (Ok, really, she has several.)  She smiles and begins, “With Fae, she moved around so much, I couldn’t even sit down.  She was in constant motion.  But when she was born, she was calm and serene. Face (Here by the new name for my middle brother, once known as T, because he’s a good looking guy and is very aware of it, plus the kid loved The A-Team growing up.) never moved at all.  I would have to sit still and wait, counting his movement.  I was always afraid I lost him.  Then when he was born, he bounced off the walls.”

Aside from the fact, that the story shows the perfect illustration of the eldest and middle child, (the more calm one and the one on the throttle), which I don’t have yet because they are both on the throttle, it illustrates the difference between those moving little fish in the womb.

I have yet to have a calm fetus.

I’ve read articles in which women express their concern.  I received pamphlets on how to count fetal movements.  My doctors and nurses have asked with concern, “How’s the baby moving for you?”

The baby won’t stop.

Unless someone, like The Husband or my mom, wants to feel the movement, then that little stinker will enter a Zen meditation state.  Cute.  My kids are anti-helpful even in the womb.

Like his brothers before him, this character is no different.  He twirls.  He kicks.  He punches.  He lands on my bladder, treating it like a bean bag chair.  Not funny.  Nor is it funny when he decides to reach out and punch a major organ.  The time it really sucks is when I’ve just eaten and the character is cramped for space.  Not only does the pressure of feeling for full you’re going to pop, no matter how small the meal was, the character has to move, push, kick, punch, shove, trying to get more space and making you really wish you could digest at a normal rate or faster just to stop the annoyance.

When I was pregnant with Tornado E, a few of my co-workers were amused that I would scold him when he became too active.  Not that he ever listened.  We started our mother-child relationship early.

So how’s the baby moving for you?

The character won’t stop.

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To pee or to sleep? Not that is the question

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The pains and urgings of outrageous misfortune

Or to take arms against a sea of liquid

And by opposing ignore them and get a diaper.

I forgot something when I talked about the worst things about pregnancy.  Every night about midnight or two or three or four-thirty or if I’m real lucky all of those times, I wake up to pee.

Having the bladder the size of a pee is annoying at the best of times.  It means going to the bathroom at almost every place you run an errand.  It means having to go at least once, usually twice during the once in a blue moon dinner with your spouse.  It means going to the bathroom during movies.

At least there is an upside to day peeing.  You know where every bathroom is in every store you visit.  You become less concern of germs, but you do wash her hands and spray them with anti-cuties.  You learn always to pee before you go, just in case you get stuck in traffic.  You become a pro at peeing into a cup.

But the bitch is the middle of the night wake up call.  Like you need that.  Like you need to wake up from your precious sleep.  Sleep that will soon become terribly more precious in a few months when you’re woken up at least once a night or several times a night to feed, change, and sooth a baby.  I have to agree with one of my pregnancy books that people who say that this is to prepare the mother to deal with sleepless nights is like saying dieting prepares someone for starvation.  And I personally think we should be able to wrap that person on the back of the head.  Sure, violence isn’t the answer, but it would make this pregnant mama feel better.  Or is that the hormones talking?  Or the lack of sleep?

Speaking of lack of sleep, did I ever mention the lack of sleep Tornado E had as a baby?  The kid woke up several times a night to feed, even one horrible night where he fedd EVERY TWO HOURS.  Tornado S slept through the night around the sixth week or so.  Yeah, I obviously don’t birth normal babies . . . yet.  But I do remember with Tornado S, I was a happier mama even with a two-year-old trying to boycott naps, still crawling in bed with us, and demanding to have a voice to say no.

Ah, sleep the root of and solution of all life’s problems.

Yes, I am at that point of my life that when asked which would I prefer sex or sleep, I would say hand me the pillow and shut the lights.  Because I don’t get to snag a cat nap when I want; I don’t have down time to relax; I have much more to do during the day then I ever had pre-children.

So if you excuse me, I have to go pee.

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