Catch Up

This is me, typing away happily on my NEW LAPTOP that WORKS whenever I want it to! So far! One of Jim's coworkers heard him talking about how he needed to get another computer, and offered to give him a laptop he had "just sitting around taking up space" at home! Hello! I'm not one to see God behind every good parking space or sale on beef, but this coincidence did seem very providential.
So here's what's been going on in La Casa de Desperacion. La Casa is now for sale, as we are hoping to purchase a bigger house in a neighborhood about ten minutes from our current location. Our home, while having issues like only one bathroom and no central air, is decorated nicely, is completely updated (most floors, windows, roof, siding, bathroom, kitchen, all fresh paint) and is in a great location (right behind the high school, smack dab in the middle of the best school district.) So we are really hoping that despite the slow market we will be able to move it quickly, since any offer we make on this house we're looking at will be contingent on the sale of our own house.
I'm trying to be patient and not get all worked up and excited since there are many pieces that still need to fall into place for this to work out. But the house seems SO perfect for us. In my head I'm already thinking of it as ours, despite my efforts otherwise. It has beautiful oak trim and chair rails and crown molding, which I love, a basement that can be Jim's "man room," a cool finished loft bedroom over the garage which would be the kids' playroom, a family room with vaulted ceiling that opens to a little deck, a cute kitchen with very nice cabinets, a master bathroom and walk-in closet, a nursery/office/work out room adjoining the master bedroom, and two other big bedrooms on the main floor. So in all, four bedrooms, with the possibility of a fifth (the room adjoining the master could easily be closed off into its own room, as it has a separate closet.) And let's not forget the two and half baths when we've been used to pacing around waiting for each other to be finished! It's worth more than we could afford, but the house has been on the market for a year and a half, and has been vacant for a year (the previous owners moved out of state.) So the realtor thinks they will (or at least should) be ready to negotiate. Here's hoping!
I of course couldn't sleep last night- I was too busy thinking about wall colors and mentally arranging all our stuff in the new house. I finally got myself to sleep watching Friends, but when Eli woke me up at four, I immediately began my mental decorating again! At five, when I still wasn't back to sleep and even Friends had failed me, I took Nyquil, thinking, "I must get some sleep before Addy wakes up!" This was a bad idea. A dose of Nyquil ensures a good FULL night's sleep, not another couple of hours. I woke up so groggy and deranged that I am just now starting to feel fully awake and functioning- it is eleven fifteen. It has been an unproductive morning, even more so because I skipped taking Addy to Kindermusik. I had a good reason- she has had a rattly, wet sounding chest cough for the last few days and I was sure the other moms wouldn't be pleased to have her hacking all over the instruments and holding hands with their own healthy children- but it did remove all pressure to fight the Nyquil fog which has hung around my brain thickly all morning.
This warmed up cup of decaf seems to be tricking me into waking up a little, though, so I guess I'd better go make a fresh pot. Then at least I might achieve a shower and a load of laundry today... Aim high, that's my motto!

The Secret To Weight Loss

Be rich. Or so I gathered from today's Oprah, which featured an inside peek at the life of, among others, Cindy Crawford and her husband. They were revealing their "must-haves" and guilty pleasures. Cindy's was- prepare yourself for the sheer decadence- a spoonful of white sugar in her morning tea. That was her caloric indulgence, I should say. Because her other indulgences were of the outrageous spending variety: expensive designer handbags, her own label of skincare products, and diamond-studded dog tags with her children's pictures embedded in them. Her husband's guilty pleasures were even better: a whole garage full of Harleys, a giant bar completely stocked with expensive liquors. And let's not forget the Malibu mansion right on the beach.
Now, both of these individuals work hard in their respective careers and have been very successful, so I do not begrudge them these things. But I'm just sayin'. If I could go out and buy five hundred dollar sparkly shoes to comfort myself when I was feeling down, I could probably resist that bowl of leftover Halloween candy.

In Which I Face My Failures

So the other day was an Errand Day, not to be confused with a Shopping Trip Day, which at least has the potential of fun. Shopping Trip Days usually hold the promise of a trip to at least one large store with makeup departments and home decor departments and kids' clothing departments in which I may wander at my leisure provided neither child pitches a fit or fills their pants. Whereas Errand Day, by definition, involves lots of small trips to boring destinations, with multiple gettings in and out of cars and carseats, and is not something I look forward to.
The first stop was the DMV. Now, I don't know about your town, but the DMV nearest to our neighborhood is grim at best. The floors are dirty, black flecked linoleum; the walls are a dirty white, as are the chairs lined up before the dirty white counter. There are many dusty fake plants sitting around, and the walls are "decorated," inexplicably, by large, postcard-like photos of random waterfalls and beaches at sunset which I can only surmise to be ancient castoffs from a travel agency. The women behind the counter literally never smile, have uniformly terrible haircuts, and don't own a flattering shade of lipstick among them. They speak in voices devoid of emotion. It is a place I loathe. I feel gritty when I leave, as though a layer of the place's dust and defeatism has settled on me while I was waiting in line. I was doubly dreading the trip this particular day because I had to take both kids with me. I was anticipating having to keep Addy quiet and well behaved in the essentially library-like atmosphere while hoping Eli didn't awake and start rooting around discontentedly, forcing me to fumble with blankets and shirts and flaps of my bra while pretending to be totally cool and un-self conscious about breastfeeding in public.
But the whole thing went off without a hitch- I got the kids in, settled Addy in a chair with a box of chicken nuggets, dutifully approached the counter to take my number, and was told I could go next! The paperwork went quickly, and a nice old lady talked to Addy the whole time and kept her from running around. Eli slept, and the lady at the counter smiled when I left and called me honey! A miracle which filled me with hope.
The next trip was to evil Wal-Mart, as there continues to be no Target in a fifty mile radius. I only had a few things to pick up, and I was anticipating no problems as Wal-Mart trips generally go smoothly. But it was here that my bubble was burst. Within five minutes, Addy was so desperate to be out of the cart she was about to throw herself overboard, so I finally released her, and then chased her around the aisles for twenty minutes. And no, I couldn't put her in the seat-belted front part, because I had to clip Eli's carseat there, and no, I couldn't have put Eli's carseat in the back because our Wal-Mart's carts are tiny and there would have been no room for both a carseat AND my purchases.
I finally managed to get to the check out, after helping her put about fifty Halloween greeting cards back in their appropriate slots, and we headed towards the parking lot. I staved off a near tantrum at the soda fridges beside the counters and was almost home free. Then we passed the stupid rides and arcade games and all that crap. Side rant: Getting out of your average discount store is like a freaking gauntlet of temptation for kids- candy bars, impulse-purchase novelties like nail files and Pez dispensers and Kleenex purse packs. Then the inevitable bucking broncos and swaying cars and glittering glass boxes filled with mounds of tantalizing stuffed animals just waiting to be plucked up with a mechanical claw. It's like the store is booby trapped!
Now, I patiently let Addy play around in the rides for a little while, but it was only delaying the inevitable. Suffice it to say, Addy was not pleased when I finally decided it was time to exit the yellow plastic car and go home, and all hell quickly broke out. Oh, how I hate these scenes- the yelling, the stares, the attempting to physically manipulate the child back into the cart without prompting any calls to Children's Services by concerned onlookers. I was sweating even in the autumn chill, Eli was grunting hungrily from his perch in the cart, and a largely pregnant woman was watching me with wide, fearful eyes. Finally, carrying a screaming and flailing Addy under one arm and pushing the cart with the other, I marched resolutely towards the parking lot. Only to be tapped on the shoulder by a kindly older woman, who was holding one of Addy's light up Dora the Explorer tennis shoes, apparently kicked off in the scuffle. I shamefacedly accepted it, and Addy calmed down, her face still flushed and tear streaked, distracted by the appearance of her beloved shoe. If this hadn't happened, I'm pretty sure I would have had to continue on to the car carrying a hysterical child over whom I clearly have far too little control.
This worries me. I need to get a grip on my kid here before she gets too big to carry, basically. I realize that this scenario was merely embarrassing, but it brought up a real concern for me. I need her to listen to me, at least about important stuff like not running away in parking lots, etc. And I am not a spanker- not staunchly and adamantly and self-righteously, but it's just not me, and since I can't ever see myself doing it with any confidence, I'm pretty sure it would simply be ineffectual at best and confusing at worst, so let's start by saying that that particular disciplinary tactic is not part of my repertoire. However, putting a kid in time out is challenging when said kid is going limp and sliding off the chair while screaming.
Can anyone tell me what I am supposed to do about defiance and tantruming? It's embarrassing, but it's also concerning on a more fundamental level. I am all for having a loving and playful relationship with my kids, but I'm getting a little worried that there's a bit too much play and not quite enough respect in Addy's and my relationship. Have I already failed- is it too late to reign things in? Help!

Edited to add: Is everyone else taking their kids to fun fall festivals but us? Everywhere I go in the blogosphere I encounter adorable pictures of children with giant pumpkins! Stop showing me up! My idea of a fun trip with the kids is talking about the names and colors of the produce at the grocery store.
Oh and also: My cheesecakes turned out be-yutifally and I was outrageously pleased with myself. I have great plans for pumpkin cheesecakes this Thanksgiving. I was so proud of myself I went on to make fudge, which I have never attempted before. It was pretty good, too- not fabulous, but good.

Zippety Doo Da, Zippety Ay

I am having a really great Saturday so far. Didn't sleep in, of course, but when Addy woke up at eight and I went to get her, she peed in the potty for me! That's two mornings in a row. True, she never goes in by herself with the intention to pee, but if we catch her at the right times she is starting to. (Is this a new thing, you ask? Why yes it is! You haven't been doing this for months? Why no we haven't!)
Then I went to breakfast with my mom, which was fun. Lots of attention paid to Eli by strangers, which I always enjoy. It's like a random person complimenting your cute handbag or haircut, but on a much more satisfying level, because you actually helped to MAKE the thing being complimented, rather than just CHOOSE it.
Jim had Addy for about four hours- first they went to swimming lessons, then lunch, then to a soccer game his friend was coaching. And I? Eli and I had the aforementioned breakfast, then made a quick stop at the store for some party supplies I forgot, then went home to do my favoritest thing in the world- rearrange. See, every few months I start getting twitchy with the burning desire to move around furniture, pictures, lamps, etc. I can't deal with things being permanent fixtures, as in, "This is the candle that sits on this table, world without end, amen." I guess I have a commitment problem or something, but to me, the placement of decor and furniture in my home is always changeable at a moment's notice.
Today I had one of those moments. I walked in the door, put my frozen foods away, returned to the living room, and stared. Then I went to get my screwdriver and rehung a tapestry. From that followed an hour or two of intensive thought and some carefully executed maneuvering of the glider, an end table, and a floor lamp, and the switching up of some frames and photos, just for fun. I finished it all up with a quick dusting and then vacuumed. I even changed the vacuum bag and threw in a couple yummy smelling Bounce sheets for good measure. Voila! Fresh new living room, and I didn't have to buy anything.
After I finished playing house in my house, Addy got home and was positively delirious with joy after her fun morning with Dad. She played with us for about a half hour, and then went down for a nap. Then Jim left to watch football (or some kind of ball) at a friend's. I ate lunch IN TOTAL PEACE WHILE READING BLOGS YAY YAY and then got to work on those cheesecakes. The brownie crust is now baking away, fragrancing the house with something other than its usual eau de diaper pail, and I am writing! Things are mostly clean! The babies are sleeping! Everything in my universe is, momentarily, as it should be.


*Er, not that I want my children to always be asleep. I like them awake sometimes too. But there is something to be said for silence.

Multitasking

Oh hi! Oh hi everyone! I miss you so much. I miss writing so much. But in order for the laundry to be kept up on and a certain level of sanitation maintained in the house (read: not necessarily dusted, but at least with the mildew scrubbed out of the tub on a semi-regular basis,) and the children kept fed and changed and sort of clean and myself kept sufficiently fed (which is apparently a full time job in itself,) well... Blogging has had to be back-burnered for the time being. Plus my computer at home is a little BITCH (sorry Mom!) and only turns on and stays on about one out of every three tries. Sometimes just the idea of messing with it long enough to get the internet up is too exhausting, and I am forced to flop to the couch and watch Oprah instead.
I have been doing lots of baking, though, which is very out of character for me. Hey, stress eating is my new hobby! This weekend I am attempting CHEESECAKE for a baby shower I'm hosting. PRAY for this cheesecake, friends, that it will survive a night in my house and make it to the party untouched.


And here, for your reading pleasure, is the one post topic which has managed to stick in my head all this week: The Perfect Mother. And how I am not her, no matter how hard I try. I mean, I seriously don't know how moms who also have full-time jobs DO it. How do you keep your house clean, your clothes washed, your cupboards stocked, your children bathed and fed and dressed and sufficiently loved on, meals cooked, various birthday gifts remembered and shopped for and wrapped, appointments scheduled, and still hold down a job? I feel like I am doing these things by the seat of my pants, and I have all day to devote to it!
And these are just the things that must be done. There is also the fact that I hope to still maintain a sex life, keep up with my friends, have a hobby or two, and find time to shave my legs at least once a week. But everything, every little childcare issue or chore or grooming task, be it plucking my eyebrows or changing Addy's diaper or remembering to trim the baby's nails, must be fit in between CONSTANT NURSING. I feel like my brain is churning twenty-four seven, firing off little telegram reminders: "Buy toilet paper! Brush hair! Bathe baby! Wipe counter! Sweep crap off floor! Call doctor's office!" And I hate the way whole days will go by in which I feel like I have accomplished nothing, even though I have felt busy and stressed the whole time.
Is this normal, to feel like you just can't get it all done, no matter how fast your brain is flying and how many post-it reminders you leave all over the house? Is it normal to be gritting your teeth in frustration because just when you sit down to play Legos with your toddler, your baby starts fussing, and now you can't enjoy either the block playing or the nursing with your whole heart, because you know your other baby is wanting you,too? I wish I could clone myself so I could be everywhere, meeting everyone's needs, at the same time.
Just to get this post written, I've had to be rocking the bouncy seat with one foot and getting up and down to play with Addy in between the rocking. And I just love them both SO much, but there's just this mounting fatigue....
Well, here's an example for you: The other day, one of my non-mom friends was over, holding the baby, and she asked, "Don't you just hate to put him down, ever?" And Jim and I looked at each other wearily and answered in one voice, "No. We're excited." Which sounds horrible, but please understand that Eli fusses a lot when he's awake, even when fed and changed and warm, because he wants to be held. This is fine and I am happy to cuddle him as much as he needs, but when he's finally asleep and quiet, my first thought is not usually, "Oh man, I sure wish I could just sit here for ANOTHER hour holding this hot heavy bundle!" It's more like, "Oh sweet! Now I can shower and brush my teeth and maybe get a glass of ice water and watch a sitcom with Jim before Eli needs me again!"
So anyways, that's the state of things here at Semi-Desperation Central!

The Cliche Is Upon Us

The terrible twos, that is. They arrived at our door promptly the Sunday evening after Addy's second birthday party, and appear to have brought all their luggage with them. They are settling in for the long haul, introducing us to furious, limp-bodied tantrums, endlessly dragged out bedtimes, and the desperate determination to do everything by herself. EV-ER-Y thing. No matter if it takes twenty minutes to buckle a pair of shoes, or if she clearly lacks the fine motor skills for a particular task and will only end up in a heap on the floor, weeping, because the milk carton was too cumbersome for her to lift into the fridge. These things are only annoying setbacks which we must power through, because, doggone it, Adelay is a big girl and she does not need our help!
I am also the last few days remembering something Catherine Newman once wrote about her son Ben when he was around three. It was something like, "You know what I just love about this age? Ben's all, 'Oh, however you want to do it, Mom. We can do things in whichever way, on whatever schedule you want. I'm cool.' In opposite land!" (Obviously, the way she said it was funnier, but I don't feel like digging through years worth of Ben and Birdy archives to find the exact quote.) The point, however, is there loud and clear: toddlers are the most particular, persnickety, dare I say OCD people on the face of the earth, and often over the most bewildering issues.
If Addy kisses one person, for instance, she must kiss everyone else in the room as well, and sometimes a few of the inanimate objects get kissed too just for good measure. If I get up from the table to get myself a napkin, she must have a napkin, and then wipe her perfectly clean face and hands just as I have done. If I go to the BATHROOM for one second of privacy to PEE, she is compelled to follow me, drop trou, and demand her own piece of toilet paper. She then sits on the potty for one nanosecond, depositing nothing, before jumping up to help me flush and to congratulate me on my own pottying success.
She wants to snap her own shoes, put on her own socks (inevitably a failure,) buckle her own stroller and carseat straps, buckle ELI'S stroller and carseat and bouncy seat straps, pour her own milk, brush her own hair, push the grocery cart instead of riding in it, carry the giant diaper bag, dispense her own cereal and syrup and orange juice... Pretty much any task which would be messy or painstakingly tedious or just clearly impossible, she is willing to take on as her own personal mission. And there are parts of this that are a delight. It is fun and fulfilling to see her growing independence and to watch her learning new skills.
Yet she is still so much my baby sometimes, too, chewing her hands to ease the pain where her final teeth are emerging, smiling up at me and calling ni-night in her sugary-sweet baby voice. Running through the house with her comical, knock kneed gallop, her blond ringlets bouncing wildly behind her. Laughing with the same glee at the hundredth repetition of peekaboo as she did at the first. Melting down and crying with sheer exhaustion when she misses her nap or is up too late, and having to be carried to bed, sobbing and hysterical over, just for example, an applesauce cup.
I think this age in childhood is perhaps the best of times and the worst of times, emotionally speaking, and it sometimes feels like the pendulum swings sharply between the two (frustration! delight! exasperation! heart-warming pride!) at least a dozen times a day. Anyone else feelin' the love?

A Short Criticism

So today I'm at Kindermusik (aka let's make the overweight moms jump around and gallop like horses and feel like total buffoons IN FRONT OF A WALL OF FULL LENGTH MIRRORS!) and there was this woman there with her granddaughter. Now, let me preface this by saying that I admire her involvement in the kid's life by taking her to the class. Now, let me go ahead and say that I think it is both destructive to a kid's psyche and irritating to everyone within earshot to barrage a clearly shy child with a steady, harassing stream of, "Now, Samantha, everyone ELSE is playing with the instruments, why don't YOU want to play? PLAY! Now Samantha, Miss Amy wants us to march in a circle! Stop hanging on me and MARCH! Samantha, look at that other little girl, she's a GOOD girl, see how she's clapping? Can't you CLAP?" And so on and so forth. All while the poor child is staring, wide eyed and overwhelmed, at the roomful of yelling, prancing children who are marching and clapping and singing and playing maracas like toddlers possessed. All while Miss Amy keeps gently reminding you, "Some children are observers. It's okay if she doesn't want to participate right now." I really wanted to take Grandma aside and say, less gently, "Back the f off! This is supposed to be fun, remember?"

So! Many! Posts! So Little Time! (But Enough Time To Give You Pictures)

*Here is the chubberkins baby boy, who grows ever so slightly less fussy and more plump and delicious with each passing day. And of course the birthday girl, resplendent in her Toys 'R' Us Birthday Club crown!
So... I finally have a moment in which to write! True, I must simultaneously watch 30 Rock and eat leftover birthday cake- for these things, too, must be accomplished- but here I am with one child in bed, one child still asleep in his carseat, and one laptop before me, unattended!
Now, where to start? There are about five possible posts floating through my head... Shall I talk about the massive poop blowout which greeted me when I awoke, leaving a child to bathe, sheets to strip, a mattress to wipe down with Clorox, and a diaper so toxic that its disposal led to the taking out of every trash bag in the house just for good measure? Shall I talk about the soup which I managed to burn at lunch, leaving me feeling like a more capable mom only perhaps than Britney Spears? Or maybe about the giant dog which attacked Fonzie ten yards from our house on a walk which I was reluctant to embark on in the first place? How about the budget, which seems to be completely blown (by yours truly) every single week despite my best intentions? Someone tell me how twenty dollars here and thirty dollars there turns into five hundred dollars without my even noticing?
Maybe you'd like to hear about how I'm beginning this new paragraph an HOUR after completing the last one because Child Number One popped out of bed three times, needing a diaper change, more diaper rash cream (don't ask) and to give Eli another "tiss" goodnight? No? Well, then maybe you'd like to just listen to me cry for a little bit about how in the world my baby is two years old, my baby that I just a tiny second ago held for the first time, covered in slime and the most beautiful thing I ever saw?
Sigh.

Top Five; Also, Comfort Food

And now for a fun change of pace, I shall fascinate you all with a list of products that save my life!

1. Swiffer floor cleaners, wet and dry. And the dusters. These are SO much less annoying than sweeping, and also more effective at getting up dust and dog hair. My only worry is that I am compounding my Debt To Mother Earth by adding these disposable cloths to the amount of trash our family produces. Perhaps there are washable microfiber-type floor cleaners that work the same way?

2. Uncle Ben's 90 Second microwavable rice bags, especially the whole grain varieties. Genius, genius! We use these at least once a week.

3. The Prince Edward wipes warmer. I think the warm wipes prevent me from being peed on, because they're not a cold shock in the middle of the night, and therefore diaper changes don't always completely wake Eli up and cause him to let loose in midair.

4. The Kiddopatomous swaddler blankets, which velcro shut and keep babies nice and snug. Both my kids have always seemed to sleep much better when swaddled, so these blankets have been a big help with Eli, as he has already grown big enough to squirm out of those little flannel receiving blankets.

5. The Infantino baby sling. I never had one with Addy, but purchased one for Eli when he was about two weeks old to try to deal with his need to be constantly held and my need to USE MY HANDS every now and then. So far it has worked very well. Only downside is that my movements seem to put him to sleep, and then it's tricky to get him out of the sling and laid down without waking him up.

Also, I have figured out the reason behind my lack of weight loss with this baby. It is a two-fold problem: First, I am up at night a lot more than I was with Addy, leaving me unspeakably tired most of the time. My body, in a mode of pure self-preservation, screams to me, "Carbs! Eat carbs! The sugar and flour and chocolate chip cookie dough will keep you awake with short bursts of energy!"
And then secondly, my mind, also in survival mode, whispers, "Eat the brownies! Bake another pie! Eating yummy things is the ONLY thing you are doing for yourself these days. Do you blog daily anymore? No. Do you read for pleasure anymore? No. Do you take long scented bubble baths? Oh please. But scarfing down another another cookie while breastfeeding? This I have time for, and this I will do.

To Eli

Dear Baby,
I can't believe you are four weeks old already! I mean, I seriously can't; I feel like I am just now starting to resurface from the postpartum fog I was swimming in, only to find that my tiny baby has been switched out for a real, giant boy while I wasn't looking! I am terrified I have already lost some of your precious, fleeting newborn sweetness to the demands of toddlerhood and laundry and the delirium of sleeplessness. Every day there is a moment in which you seem to me suddenly bigger, and my heart lurches a little in panic. I want to freeze you until I have thoroughly soaked in every second of your littleness, of the way your dark, downy head still fits in the palm of my hand. The way your eyes shine up at me while you nurse, the color of ripe blueberries. The way your lower lip thrusts out when you try to eat in your sleep, and the scent of your hair when you're tucked in on my shoulder.
Today we took a walk around the neighborhood, and Addy fell to her knees and wept inconsolably when I tried to put you in the stroller and have her walk with me. So I let her ride, and I carried you against me in your sling. Every few minutes I would peek down at you, just checking, and that bright blue gaze kept meeting me, steady and calm, just taking everything in. Then after about twenty minutes I peeked and you were asleep, your body curled against mine to fit, your dimpled little hands resting serenely on your cheeks. You looked so precious it was heartbreaking. I nearly walked the stroller into a tree staring at you.

~~~


Addy calls you E-yi, as in "Eeyi, eeyi, yo." Lately we have all begun doing it, and sometimes without meaning to. "Oh, Eyi, don't cry," I will croon sincerely, not even noticing that I am calling you the chorus of a song about barnyard animals. I hope that you are ok with this and we are not scarring you for life. Come to think of it, I spend a lot of time worrying that I might be scarring you for life, by not rushing to you the second you start crying because I'm in the middle of putting on Addy's shoes, or by watching TV while breastfeeding at night instead of staring at you raptly (because when I WAS staring at you, I kept dozing off accidentally.)
You seem fine, though, and you even seem to like me- you perk up when you hear my voice or see me walk by, the same as Addy did, so I must not being screwing you up too much yet. And you're getting so chubby and cute and even starting to bust out some smiles, and surely I can take some credit for these things too, right?
Just now you looked up at me and smiled, open-mouthed and half asleep, and then stuck out your tongue and kind of snorted and chuckled. You are the noisiest little guy! Unless you are sound asleep, you're almost constantly gurgling and stretching and grunting and snarfling, often in apparent displeasure. In these instances, the grunting is generally followed by a crescendo of gunshot farts. It always amazes me that a nine pound infant can produce burps and farts as loud, if not louder, than those of a fully grown adult. Other times it's because you're hungry, which you are almost constantly. We call you Grumpy Bear because you really hate to be kept waiting if you're getting hungry!
Well, you're awake now, and it's getting tiresome to type one-handed while you wriggle on my lap, so I'll end this. Happy One Month Anniversary of being in the world! We hope you're having an ok time so far! We're sure enjoying you, Grumpy Bear, farts and all.
Love,
Mama

As Regards Swistle's Mother In Law

This is really just getting silly. This woman is INSANE. Bat-shit crazy, even. Secrets as power! Refusing to reveal DATES of cross-country, weeks-long visits. Nonchalantly dumping the responsibility of hotel finding onto other people, DAYS before intended visit. And that's not even going into the anticipated behavior during the actual visit. What is this?
Here's what I propose: Everyone is to observe an official Think of Swistle moment of silence each day for the duration of the hostile takeover of the Swistle home, aka MIL's visit. Here's what I will be thinking: "Zoloft and Dove chocolate. Zoloft and Dove chocolate." There is no shame in it!

~~~

Also, in case you needed some proof of what a rock star of a mom I am, I offer to you Exhibit A- Adelay now chirps, in a voice fueled by hope and desire, "Fries?! Fries?!" every time we drive down the fast-food joint lined road near our house. Guess it's time to start cooking again.
And here's Exhibit B- frequently, within the last few weeks, I have heard Addy say to me or Eli or even the dog, "Jus'a minute! Jus'a minute!" in a reassuring but slightly frantic tone which rings all too familiar in my ears. These are not my proudest moments.

Early New Year's Resolution

*Random complaint before launching into an unusually complaint-less post*
I am really tired of missing half of church because I have to get up and go sit and nurse in the bathroom. At least they have a couch and pillows in there. But WHY are the speakers which pipe in the sermon never turned ON? That would seem to be the point of their existence...

But I digress. I was going to say that this week my goal is to try to remember something from one of the songs in church on Sunday, which was about God's joy being our strength. My ears perked up at the lyrics, as strength and energy are things which I am chronically lacking these days. So decided to try to savor moments of joy with the kids, instead of just being depressed about how tired I am, and derive energy from that. Moments like when Addy is actually being cooperative and sweet and fun, and moments like today when I gave Eli his first real bath and he LIKED it and didn't cry and was so sweet and round and yummy smelling afterwards.
So far it seems to be working... I had a bit of a setback when Addy decided to cry and throw a fit about her nap, which is very out of character, and then yell and bang around in her room for an hour and a half and keep me awake during the brief window when I could have gotten a nap myself. But I rebounded and moved on.
Besides, how can I be grumpy when I do still have some help, in the form of Beth the Babysitter Extraordinaire, who still comes by Monday mornings for an hour or two, and Friday afternoons for about three hours. These are my Hours Of Sanity, when I can clean the house without interruption, or even (theoretically) sleep, or escape the house and do shopping without diaper bags and carseats and crying. And also there is my mom, who came and took Addy to Kindermusik this morning when I was unable to get myself ready in time to take her (despite the presence of Beth... I know, I know, I'm pathetic.)
And also I really do have a wonderful husband, who helps with kids willingly and gives me chances to escape the house without them. So there. See how grateful and joyful I am? See how I am not complaining about things like ninety degree weather and endless laundry?

Postpartum Post-Its

This post has been slowly composed all week long, in a series of yellow post-its stuck randomly around the kitchen and den. Here for your reading pleasure are snippets from my postpartum haze which I found amusing/horrifying enough to commit to paper.
1. I realized with some alarm that I was laughing out loud, kind of wackily, for an unreasonably long amount of time at one of those "Real Men of Genius" Budweiser radio commercials. There was no one else in the kitchen, mind you. Just me, unshowered and dripping milk, standing there chortling uncontrollably about the Overly Aggressive Touch Football Game Player.
2. I spent an entire day avoiding opening the fridge because every time I saw the pile of leftovers and expired crap that needed cleaned out, it literally overwhelmed me and put me on the verge of tears.
3. On Friday, Adelay's breakfast consisted of strawberries, raisins, and a glass of milk. Guess what she ate? The glass of milk, which she consumed by repeatedly dipping her toothbrush into the cup and sucking the milk from the bristles. I did nothing to stop this, only watched wearily as I sat at the table (what else?) breastfeeeding.
4. Two words: Muffin top. There is muffin top happening everywhere, even when I am not wearing pants. It just sits there, a shelf of fat embracing my hips.
5. I find myself feeling resentful towards people who get to sleep all night. I also feel irrationally angry when people hear that I went to bed at nine, got up every two hours to feed Eli, and then they do a little mental math and say, "Oh, so altogether you got about seven hours of sleep though, huh?" I want to shake them violently while explaining that I could have gotten SEVENTEEN hours of sleep, and if it was broken up every two hours by a hungry baby it still would not provide the same amount of rest that an uninterrupted eight hour night would.
6. On Thursday I fell asleep at the kitchen table while eating lunch. Just fell asleep with my chin propped in my hand. It kind of scared me.
7. One night while sitting up during a feeding, I was literally mesmerized by an informercial for "The Weight Loss Cure." I found myself thinking things like, "Wow, that could work for me! I need to order this book! Maybe I really can drop these twenty extra pounds with no real effort! I just have to read about this miracle fat cure!"
8. My vertigo seems to be returning on and off, in varying degrees of severity. But I notice it only crops up when I am getting really tired. So sometimes I feel myself getting woozy and wonder, "Is it my ear again- or am I actually falling over with exhaustion?"
9. After several weeks of feeding every two hours and sometimes even more than that, I am about ready to take on caffeine as a lover on the side. Unfortunately, Eli's tummy does not tolerate caffeine well at all, which we discovered after about a week and a half of almost constant fussing and gassiness after feedings. So it seems that, in a cruel twist of irony, I am on a temporary caffeine strike just when I need it more than ever before in my life.

The Glamorous Life

Just a short rant here about how the milk, it is in. And about how the kid, he is hungry- but only for the boob. Eli is a breast man. He loathes bottles and pacifiers; they are his NEMESIS, his arch enemy, and he will fight them to the death. Which means that while theoretically, I could pump and have bottles at the ready for other people to occasionally take one of the daily dozen feedings, in reality, there is only one person on the face of this earth who can feed my son. That person is me. I'd be the girl who, last night at an office party, sat propped in a corner, forcing her eyelids open by raising her eyebrows in order to not appear drugged. I also tried not to engage in conversation as I could not recall a single person's name. I forget important information like my daughter's age and birthday (in front of the Kindermusik teacher- nice,) and words like "mailbox" (what, it's a hard word!) My brains are being slowly, methodically leached from my body through my nipples.
My son, besides being a picky eater, is a grazer. He does not wake up, get hungry, eat for fifteen minutes from each side, burp, and then happily stare into space for another two hours until his next feeding. He wakes up hungry, eats for about two minutes, falls asleep. I play with his cheek and try to wake him up, change his diaper to try to wake him up, convince him to drink for another three minutes or so at the other side, and then he's napping again. Ten minutes later, when I have finally given up and packed the girls away, he's awake again and starving. And so on and so forth. I feel like a human pacifier. A soggy, gross one, which leaks milk all over the couch and the bedsheets from whichever side I happen to be laying on.
Oh, and how's this as an example of both my mommy brainedness and my glamorishousness? This morning, a half hour before Addy's first swim class at the Y, I'm packing her up to go and suddenly realize that her swim diapers and bathing suit are still at my mom's house. Where they have a pool. Where I thought it would be SO convenient to store all the swimming paraphernalia. So I'm flapping around crazily in my nursing gown and hot pink slippers, throwing half-dressed children into their car seats and tearing out of the driveway towards my mom's, which luckily is about five minutes away.
I managed to get there, get the stuff, and get back in about ten minutes, which means it is now roughly fifteen minutes until the start of class. The Y is approximately fifteen minutes from our house. So Jim and I are putting forth this amazing team effort, with me changing a poopy diaper and putting on a swimmie diaper while Addy stands there in bewilderment, and Jim pulling her dress over her head and gathering up swim trunks and beach towels and keys and hustling them both out the door. The poor kid looked dazed, yet smiled and waved weakly at me through the slamming door. Her first experience with the Y is off to a swell start!
Also, for a quick pick-me-up, there's nothing like being made to feel like a drug addict by the nurse on the other end of the phone. See, I finally got up the nerve to call and ask if I could get more of my prescription, right? And good old Mary Lou (yes, I knew her, which made it that much worse) pauses, then says rather severely, "Well, I'm pretty sure he's not going to order more of that. Those are very strong narcotics you were taking. I'll ask, but it's very doubtful. Call back later- maybe he can prescribe something that's milder." Guess who hung up sheepishly and never called back?

New Link

Hey, check out my latest link down there- my little sister has decided to follow in my footsteps of coolness.
Also! This is my two hundredth post. Let's all have a moment of silence.

De Je Vu, Soccer, and Mommy Guilt

So yeah, woke up today to the pleasant surprise of DIZZINESS and NAUSEA! Much like a certain hellish two-week illness in my not so distant past! What the frick, as my friend Elliot of Scrubs would say. It's not nearly as bad as it was before, but I am most definitely light-headed and wobbly and weird feeling. I'm really hoping it's just some sort of dehydration thing due to a combo of the stomach flu and nursing every two hours nonstop, and does not in fact have anything to do with my inner ear. But either way, it certainly threw a wrench in my plans- two doctor's appointments, which had to be rescheduled. I have done nothing today but lie on the couch or bed, drinking water and either sleeping or woozily clutching an eight pound baby to my chest.
So! Here's hoping tomorrow I wake up and this is just a memory. I feel irritable, like I cannot catch a break, health-wise. A week after Eli was born, I got a bladder infection requiring antibiotics, and now this crap again. Does anyone know, once a person gets an inner ear virus, is their equilibrium kind of off for the rest of their life, or easily unbalanced, or something? Can I expect random occurrences of vertigo FOREVER now?
Anyways, other than the seemingly never-ending string of weird health problems, we are doing pretty well around here. I haven't had any more big tearful breakdowns, which is a relief to everyone, and Eli is fattening up like a... Like some kind of farm animal which gets fattened up. Is it pigs? Geese? Suffice it to say, he has chubby and squeezable cheeks, and bellows much more loudly than his sister ever did when his meals are not delivered promptly. Also eats in a much more round-the-clock manner than she did, not that I am bitter.
I am feeling truly bitter AT MYSELF, however, for encouraging Jim to coach soccer this season when he literally approached me with the idea in this manner: "Well, there's this coaching opportunity, but with the baby and your being sick and all it's terrible timing. You probably don't want me to..." And here's Sarah, the smiling, eternally supportive Good Wife: "Of course I want you to! You love coaching! We'll manage, don't you worry!" I think if I could take back any spoken words of my entire life, those would be the ones. It was just one thing too many, for all of us. It would have been fine earlier in the summer, or later this year. Any time but RIGHT NOW, what with his being behind in work anyways from having to take off so much due to my various hospitalizations and incapacitations, and what with me or Addy wanting his attention every spare moment, and the rain suddenly pouring down every other day and turning our acre of yard into a knee-high swamp. He so did not need this on his plate, too. I actually feel guilty, because I think if I hadn't encouraged it he would totally have just said no. I am chalking this up to a lesson: This is what comes of trying to be giving and supportive instead of rational. Always go with rational.
Also, someone assuage my guilt about Eli, please, please? Tell me it's okay that I haven't written in his journal yet, and I haven't even BOUGHT a baby book, and I haven't gotten pictures developed and cropped and painstakingly scrapbooked. That I never got his Tigger crosstitch finished, and that I'm not taking at least ten snapshots a day of his kissable newborn cuteness the way I did with Adelay. Is this normal? Will he forgive me? It just feels like all I can do to stay on my feet right now, to get a shower and keep the house and laundry reasonably in control and make sure that everyone has been fed and changed somewhat recently. I am enjoying him very much, but I also felt delirious with exhaustion and pain killers the first week or so. And now it's pretty much just exhaustion, but then also the bladder infection and the flu and then this nonsense today with the wobbling around drunkenly. He's not going to have middle child syndrome as a direct result of my lack of recording every minute of his first few weeks, is he? (Hint: Say no.)

Seven

1. I have rediscovered a delightful little combo called brownies and ice cream. I find that late at night, when one's oldest child has been hanging on them and crying and one's youngest child has been ever so slowly nursing and hogging that coveted commodity, Mommy's lap, a nice bowlful of this carbohydrate-laden treat goes a long way to bring down the stress level.
2. I took my last precious pain pill today, and feel sad and mournful tonight. Also crampy and sore, but there is no solace other than plain old Tylenol.
3. Speaking of general pain, they should really warn an eleven-day-postpartum mom who gamely brings her toddler and newborn to the first session of Kindermusik that this program involves the PARENT jumping and leaping and wriggling and dancing as well as the child. Laying on the floor and wriggling like a fishy. Need I say more?
4. In a similar vein, does anyone have any thoughts about Kindermusik? I want to try to introduce more structured activities into Addy's day, as she seems to be going really stir crazy, but this program seems somewhat expensive. I really enjoyed today's session, though, (residual aches and pains aside) and Adelay certainly did as well. Is it worth the money?
5. The skin on my stomach feels like bread dough. Yummy.
6. Sleep is really like a drug. Yesterday I didn't get much of a nap at all, and by bedtime Addy was unraveling and so was I. We both just sat there crying, and everyone was frustrated and despondent. Today, having gotten almost three hours of nap while both the kids slept(!), I felt strong and capable and the evening went smoothly.
7. Any ideas about how to clear up baby acne, short of wiping him down with Stridex pads? I know it's shallow and it doesn't matter to him, but it makes me feel like a dirty mom when my baby's face is all oily and breaking out.

A Week Ago At This Time

(which is four forty-five AM)I was just waking up from my mid-labor nap, feeling restless and grumpy. I am currently hanging out with a wide-awake Eli, but again feeling distinctly rest-less. And fairly grumpy, because I keep thinking about how in three hours we have to leave for the doctor's office, so there will be no sleeping in for me this morning.
I can't believe he'll be a week old tomorrow. It seems impossible that it's been only a week, but also impossible that it's only been a week. Wasn't I just being wheeled to recovery? But then again, hasn't he been here forever? Hasn't the house always smelled like a diaper pail?

Twelve hours later. Just woke up from a nice, drug-laced nap, which felt like heaven after a long morning of doctor's office, hospital, and errands (picking up necessities such as donuts and industrial-sized pads.) I ended up leaving at eight fifteen with Eli and not getting back until noon. First it took forever at the ped's office because of all the new patient paperwork I forgot I had to fill out for him, and then he ended up looking kind of jaundiced still, so we got sent to the hospital for another blood draw to check on the bilirubin levels. I hadn't stopped to eat breakfast, and I had foregone the pain pill in favor of driving legally, both unfortunate choices. By the time I was leaving the hospital, I was so hungry and tired and achy in all sorts of body parts that one of the old, frail looking volunteers asked me kindly if I was all right, or if I needed him to carry the infant seat for me.
I was all right, of course, although let me just say that I think when our hospital spent millions of dollars on new patient ammenities and an extended lobby/outpatient area, they might have thought to include a freaking chair somewhere in which a mom could nurse her screaming baby! So that the mom does not have to stand in a bathroom stall for twenty minutes with a furious infant yanking on her knockers.
Beyond that, thank goodness lots of people, including many of you, reminded me of the insane weepiness which follows birth. I cannot stop crying, over completely random things. This morning, waiting outside the hospital for the valet service, I saw a little girl about Addy's age playing in the fountain and I got all teary and nearly burst into a weeping fit in front of about twenty people. Because... ? I cry if Addy is happy with the baby because it's so sweet; I cry if she's angry because I feel so bad for springing this new sibling on her. I cry if I'm hungry or tired or sore or if Jim forgets to affirm my self-worth every hour on the hour. I cry more than the baby does, seriously.
Apart from that, I am very happy with this new guy who's moved in here. I am especially happy, and things seem simple and very handle-able, when I have taken a pain pill and all the children are asleep and I am eating a delicious meal brought to me by someone else. It reminds me of being in the hospital, which, frankly, I love. I don't understand why people are so desperate to leave the fresh crisp sheets and the nursery at night (I had him brought back for feeds, don't worry!) and the pain pills and ice water brought to you cheerfully any hour of the day.
'Kay, just got back from cleaning up a poo explosion which was dropped literally in my hand. I think I am done trying to write coherently- let's just have pictures, shall we?

Lots More Details!! Maybe More Than You Wanted!!

Whew, okay, my brain is a little addled with pain killers and my bum is too sore to sit here for TOO long, but here goes!
So yeah, my friend had her little guy, Gabriel, on Wednesday, and as mentioned I was more than a little motivated to have my own labor day. I talked to the doula that night, she suggested all the usuals (sex, walking) but advised not to ask for induction, which I reluctantly agreed with. So I took all her advise, then sat and bounced and bounced and bounced on this exercise ball Jess had loaned me while I talked on the phone. Gradually I noticed that my discomfort was going from "generalized pregnancy achiness and misery" to "menstrual-like cramping but extra deep and with lots of lower back and hip pain." So I got up and walked around for a while, until I began to see an actual pattern emerging.
By about ten that night I had them coming every five to seven minutes. Not that this was anything new, but I was resolved to KEEP walking and KEEP having contractions, so I did laps around the house for another few hours. Finally around midnight we called our doula, having determined that this was indeed the real thing (I was also having bloody show and stuff, which was new, unlike the contractions, so that helped convince me. Sorry, TMI!)
Stacy got there around one in the morning. We all watched movies, she and Jim took turns fetching me ice water and rubbing my back, and I walked and swayed and stretched on the birth ball and ran back and forth to the bathroom frequently and did all the normal early labor stuff. But the hours kept passing, and while the contractions stayed regular, they never got harder. They hurt, but no more than period cramps. We were all so surprised things weren't moving faster. Finally around two or three Stacy suggested I try to take a nap, since I was getting really exhausted and it seemed nothing was going to happen soon.
I laid down reluctantly, terrified to sleep lest my labor once again disappear, but finally my body won out and I slept. Around five when I woke up, sure enough, it was as though I had never been in labor. I was beyond frustrated. Stacy had me keep walking and bouncing on the ball, and in about an hour it did get going again, five minutes apart, but they were barely even hurting. We were now going on about eight hours of labor, since I had started timing things around nine that night. Addy had been BORN in eight hours!
At last around six we called my mom to come stay with Addy while Jim and Stacy and I went to the hospital to have me assessed and possibly even have my water broken or get a dose of Pitocin to try to get things moving. I had not wanted either of these interventions, but I was beginning to feel like I was in a labor twilight zone, and all I wanted was for the actual work to get started so I could see my baby! Not to mention we were all already bleary-eyed from lack of sleep.
We got to labor and delivery around seven Thursday morning, and when checked I had only progressed to five centimeters in all that time- only one more than I had been at my checkup. I was fully effaced, however, and baby's head was very low- the nurse told me I could probably sneeze him out if I really wanted to! They decided to break my water, but first I had to wait to get a full bag of antibiotics since I was group B strep positive. So for four hours we just paced the halls, or rested and listened to Stacy's collection of soothing labor music while we waited for the penicillin to go in. My contractions stalled out even more, to about every fifteen minutes, and still barely more pain than a cramp. Very boring, frustrating, and exhausting, since it was hard to really sleep with all the monitors on.
At last, at eleven thirty, Dr. D came in and broke my water. For the first hour or so the pain got worse, but the contractions still didn't really pick up in frequency. Pitocin began to be thrown around as a very real option. Then finally, just when I was convinced I would never go into "real" labor and would wander the halls of the hospital forever as some sort of eternally pregnant phantom, the pain began grinding down into my hips and pelvis, coming in waves one after another. I was suddenly having to use all my breathing and visualization techniques, and then soon after could only get through the contractions by leaning into Jim, moaning and swaying.
They checked me again, and I was at seven. Progress at last! The nurse had me lay on my side with one leg up in a stirrup, which was torturous but effective, and transition began in earnest. I was shaking uncontrollably and having to work very hard to stay in control during the contractions, which were now about every two minutes. In five minutes they checked again, and I was eight. Ten minutes more, and I was nine. Another contraction, then complete. After hours and hours of nothing, I completed transition stage in twenty minutes of fast and furious pain.
Our poor moms, who had gone to get coffee when I reached seven with the assurance it would be at least another hour, had to be called back frantically and told that I was pushing! When they got back I was already on my back, legs braced, enjoying a brief phase of relief from the constant pain before the urge to push kicked in.
It soon did, however. My doctor was great and really honored my birth plan- there was no stirrups, no shouting and counting and breath holding. He just sat and waited quietly while I found my own rhythm, and Jim and Stacy held me on either side and offered encouragement. It took a few tries for me to figure out how to push effectively, but once I did there was no going back. Boy, there is just no feeling quite like a head emerging from your body! There is really nothing with which to compare the experience. It was excruciating and bone crushing, and also exhilarating and thrilling.
I think in total I pushed for about twenty minutes, and then suddenly he was here with us, his head and then his big hulking shoulders, which did not exactly just slide out the way I remember Addy's doing! It was such a rush when he emerged and was lifted to my belly- I was shaking and crying and laughing all at once. He had lots of dark hair and looked very similar to newborn Addy, I thought, although I could see immediately that he was substantially larger (not that I hadn't FELT that already!)
I also saw immediately that the name we had chosen, Beckett, did not suit him. I stated my thoughts on this even as I was delivering the placenta and the cord was being cut. Granted I was a little delirious and everyone was kind of smiling indulgently at me at this point, but I knew we had to find something else.
In about a half hour we finally got a recovery room free to move to (there was a major rush of births happening- it was so crowded I ended up having to share a recovery room the second day, which really sucked.) I also had gotten my dose of Percocet to counteract the afterbirth pains, and was flying high on endorphins and narcotics.
As we were settling in, we started throwing around all the other names we had discussed, and nothing seemed to be working. I was getting really frustrated that my poor little boy was nameless, and then from the corner of the room I heard my father in law talking about the lyrics to some old Three Dog Night song- "Eli Come Home," I think. Something about an Eli. Anyways, I immediately knew that was his name; he was SO an Eli, and it didn't take long to convince his daddy, too. Jim wanted to make it something with two syllables though, and use Eli as the nickname, so we settled on Elias, and then Marek as the middle name- a German name we had found in a baby name book a long time ago and both really liked. And that is how that happened!
So... I think that's about everything! Here's the wrap-up thoughts: Labor was a long and tiresome process, but so much more satisfying this time than last- I was much more prepared, much more in control. It still hurt like nothing else ever can, of course, but it was also amazing and powerful to experience that life-force working through my body. In the end it's almost like you have to remove yourself and just be this kind of channel that the birth can move through. Very empowering, I thought. But let me just also mention again the words bone crushing and excruciating, so as not to overly romanticize your vision of how things went down!
Having a doula was great, especially during the long tedious hours. I think what she did best was to prepare us ahead of time and to reinforce the work Jim and I were doing together in labor. I was so happy that's how it turned out- I was afraid Jim might be more in the background with having a doula, but in fact it was the other way around. He was very confident and comforting, in part because of the reassurance of her presence and the things she had suggested; he seemed to know all the right things to say and do throughout the process. We were both a lot more prepared and not as scared and unsure as we were the first time, I guess. Which makes sense!
Addy was also wonderful. She's certainly a little emotionally fragile right now, but overall she has been a very good sport about having Mommy gone, and has been very embracing of the baby. It's really precious how sweet she's been. She says his name, and kisses and pats him and doesn't get TOO jealous when Mommy has to breastfeed and can't hold her. It will definitely take some time, but I think we're going to be fine in that regard. It's just hard to feel torn in two directions. A couple of times I've gotten teary and upset trying to deal with both of them needing me, but hopefully I will get the hang of it.
The recovery time was a little rougher than with Addy- I didn't realize the afterbirth cramps hurt so much more the second time around! I also have a problem with a "lazy uterus," so I lost a lot of blood again and had to get lots of Pitocin throughout the first twenty-four hours. I felt pretty lightheaded and shaky and awful for a few hours, but by Friday I was tons better. Except for the whole having a roommate thing, which really sucks when you have to share the bathroom, too. Postpartum is one time when your own bathroom should be a given, I think! As should naps whenever you need them, instead of having them interrupted by other people's loud yakking relatives all day long. But I digress...
I was going to talk about how wonderful and delicious the BABY is, what with his dark hair and long toes and little shnarfling kitten noises and pursed, chubby lips. I felt such a strange recognition of him, even in the first few seconds- I felt I knew him. His head movements and stretches and hiccups all seemed familiar to me already, I guess from when he was inside me. I was amazed that I could be just as in love with a second baby as I was with the first- I really didn't think that could happen. But of course it did, and I could just sit and smell his intoxicating little newborn head all day long! If I could I would bottle it and sell it- I mean GIVE it!- to all of you.
So, there you have it, every single juicy detail (except the truly disgusting and unnecessary ones!) and there will be more pictures later, too. Now I have to go spray my perineum and have my sore breasts sucked on. Oh, the glamorous life for me!
Love, Sarah
P.S. Thank you all for your comments!

IT'S A BOY!! - Updated

This is SDH's hubby Jim. I'm putting Addy to bed and have a few pictures for you. He was born at about 2:10 PM, 7lbs 6oz, 19 3/4 in. Upon seeing the boy, we decided the names we had picked out wouldn't work so we came up with Elias Marek.

Update
Adelay met Elias and held him and gave him kisses. She was really sweet to him and said his name (Eli). Addy wasn't so happy when her mommy was feeding this new baby however. SDH is set to come home Saturday afternoon at the latest, and is looking forward to sharing her birthing experience (including the naming roller coaster).
Jim

Dilemma

So here's the deal (besides the obvious fact that I am indeed still in a state of pregnancy): my thirty-nine week appt. is tomorrow, and Dr. D has offered to "get things started" if I don't go into labor on my own today. This offer, which I scoffed at six days ago, is sounding mighty tempting right about now. Even more so after I got a phone call this morning, telling me that my friend, the one who is due ten days AFTER me, is in labor!
After my initial shock/outrage at the unfairness of it all wore it off, I was of course completely excited, and went over to the hospital to see her for awhile. She was at four cm. and ninety percent effaced, and they broke her water while I was there, so now, as of three thirty this afternoon, I am on pins and needles waiting for a call that the baby is here! It's so exciting; when I went in, I was filled with a weird nostalgia/anticipation- remembering Addy's birth and also awaiting my son's. I am also now filled with plotting and planning, 'cause after being there, in the presence of actual labor, I am even more desperate to get my own going.
My dilemma is two fold: If I don't go into labor tonight, do I agree to an induction tomorrow or Friday? I have always said I don't want to go that route, but this weekend is Labor Day- what if I go into labor then and my own doctor, who I love, is out of town and I get stuck with the on-call? Also, what if I'm dilated even more by tomorrow? I'm getting kind of scared that my water's just going to suddenly break at home, and that by the time the doula gets here and Addy gets situated with the sitter, I'm going to have a baby head coming out between my legs! I don't want to be on the news for giving birth in a car, thank you very much. I'd feel a little safer having the water break at the hospital, because with Addy, I remember things moving very very quickly after that point.
Also, there's this option: Do some housework tonight, walk around a bunch, and get contractions started (because they always do when I'm on my feet for any amount of time; they just go away eventually when I'm finally exhausted and fall asleep.) Only this time, maybe I could just NOT GO TO BED, call the doula and the hospital, go in, and even if my contractions have stopped by then, when they check me and see I'm halfway dilated, surely they'll just go ahead and break my water or something and get labor started, right? I am getting SO tired of being convinced I'm in labor every night, only to have it taper off. Last night the contractions were painful and regular for two hours. I was so sure it was finally happening, and then, boom, gone.
Tell me what to do, people! Do I get some contractions going and head to the hospital, even though I know it's probably not the real thing, just to get admitted? Do I wait for the appointment tomorrow and talk about induction, which really scares me (Pitocin=excruciating pain)? Help!

P.S. Why is Adelay picking THIS week to give up her naps altogether?

Picture Happy; Also, Desperate

Addy, February 2007
Now that I've started with the pictures, I can't be stopped. Also, I have nothing to post without pictures, as my brain has begun a steady loop of "When when when is this baby coming out of me?" and has shoved out any creative/funny/vaguely interesting post topics.
I went so far today as to try to recreate the day I went into labor with Addy- it was a Sunday, we went to church, then we went to Bob Evans with some friends of ours because all the other restaurants were too busy. So we went to church today even though I didn't really feel like it (I'm tired of saying, "Yep, look at me! Still pregnant, ha ha!") Then we called the same friends, and they generously agreed to abandon their Subway and meet us at Bob Evans to see if perhaps it's something in the water there that triggers labor for me. If this works, I will NAME the kid Bob Evans.

Don't Get Excited, Now

Because this is not the new baby, this is a tiny little Addy when she was a day old. Just wanted to post it for comparison's sake, because as we all know, surely the next time I am posting it will be with NEW pictures of the NEW baby! Right, dear gods of childbirth? Right??!!

P.S. People (for instance, random waitresses) need to stop giving me advise about how to go into labor. I am over it. I have tried EVERYTHING short of the castor oil thing, and I am just not doing that. Yet...

Updates and Pictures

As of this morning, I am four centimeters dilated, eighty percent effaced, and the baby's head is tucked below my pubic bone. How am I not in labor? The good doctor says confidently, "Oh, soon, any day!" I think I will be suing the man if I end up going to my due date. They did an ultrasound, too, and guessed the baby's weight to be around six and half pounds, which is very relieving to me. I can do that, I can do six-something. No sweat!
Also, I decided to break my face-anonymous policy, in a grand, "Oh, screw it, I'm showing off the whole fam!" style. I mean, I HAVE to post pictures of the delicious newborn, right, so why not do a grand reveal of everybody? Here we are- you may compliment my child's astounding beauty now!





Here are Jim and Addy in their new jerseys. Every time Addy puts hers on, she runs to the closet and makes Jim get his out, too.


Here is the obligatory hair photo. Please note that it looks better, in my opinion, when it is blown dry and straightened and styled, as it was at the salon, but I am not very good at it yet, and also it is too hot to attempt anything involving extra heat in the bathroom. So scrunching it is.


And here we have the belly in all its glory.


Here's a recent shot of Addy. Lucky girl will never need mascara, unlike her eyelash-challenged mother.

Proof That Boys Are Indeed Harder

Ways to exhaust yourself completely, trigger lots of contractions, and occasionally induce heartburn, yet accomplish absolutely nothing save to drive yourself crazy:
-Sweep and mop your front hall, kitchen, and laundry room
-Scrub your bathroom within an inch of its life
-Vacuum under every single sofa cushion in the house, as well as the cushions themselves
-Dust entire house, including baseboards
-Rearrange all the picture frames and knick knacks in the living room (several times)
-Walk around the mall
-Walk around the farmer's market
-Walk around K Mart
-Eat seafood and Chinese food
-Take evening primrose oil capsules
-Carry your toddler around everywhere
-Pack your hospital bag
-And of course, that most foolproof of tactics to bring along baby, Have Sex Around The Beach Ball That Is Your Belly

Grrr. This baby is more than stubborn than his sister right from the womb. I'm incredibly happy he's made it this far, but now I am ready to kick him out, I'm afraid. I mean, I'm very excited to meet him, too, and get to see his little face and introduce him to his family, but also, especially at two in the morning when I'm tossing and turning and peeing every half hour, I want him to GET OUT GET OUT!
Every single time I answer the phone or make a call, I must answer the ever popular "Are you in labor?" question. It has replaced "Hi" and "What's up?" as the standard greeting everywhere, apparently. I'm really wishing I had not broadcast to everyone my and my doctor's expectation that I would again go into labor within days of being off bedrest. So much for that. Every morning I wake up still pregnant is a mockery. Plus, I'm getting a little worried- sure I did natural childbirth last time, but I had a short labor and a five pound baby. Can I really hack it this time around if this baby just keeps growing and growing in there? I'm gonna have an eight pounder by the time this kid decides to grace us with his presence!
I have decided the Good Lord must have made the last month of pregnancy so torturous just to ensure that women would actually be HAPPY about going into labor. When else are you thinking, "Oh, this is getting painful- yes! At last! Here comes the awful part!"
Anyone else have any totally useless "go into labor" suggestions that I may try just for the sport of it?

Thank You, Baby

For staying put, that is. Because despite my fears to the contrary, I have managed to get myself mostly recovered and have done a few NORMAL PERSON activities without immediately sending myself into labor! I was so sure I'd go directly from my couch back to the hospital, with nary a day in between to do anything fun that I'd been missing out on like shopping or eating out or, you know, shaving my legs and putting on makeup like the somewhat groomed person I was previously. But I have, in the past two days, gone to the mall and gotten my hair cut and highlighted (five inches off, thank you very much!) gone out to lunch, and today am planning to go walk around and shop a bit in a cute little town about a half hour from here- with help, of course. Still no driving for me, but come one! I have made huge progress! I am feeling happy!
I've also had to use my Brethine several times since this semi-return to normal (read: upright) life, as my contractions seem to be triggered by any movement beyond the lifting of the remote. And I decided yesterday, after experiencing afresh the truly horrid side effects of the stuff, that I would rather go into labor at this point than have to take that crap again, so as of now I am on Full Baby Alert. I even packed my bag!
I'm very happy to have made it this far, honestly- thirty seven weeks is a big milestone, right? It's technically considered term, I think. All this trouble and misery, and I managed to keep that bun in the oven! Yay me.
So I'll go out and walk around and visit the farmer's market today with Addy and my mom, enjoy the sunshine which I've been missing, and then hopefully pop this kid out in a few days! (Also, hopefully "pop" will indeed prove an accurate euphemism for deliver, as opposed to, say, "struggle and strain and wish plague and death upon my husband.")

Quickie

'Kay, this will be short, but I just wanted everyone to know I am doing markedly better today, as far as I can tell. I took a shower all by myself, and washed my hair, even shaved my armpits, without going all swoony and nauseous. I was very excited. I've even been up walking around a little bit, though technically by bedrest isn't done until tomorrow, and it felt... Okay. Not great and not normal by any means, but I wasn't choking down the urge to be sick either.
So yeah... Before all this catching a horrible freak inner ear virus business, I was planning to be up doing aerobics tomorrow, trying to move this kid out. Now I am praying he stays put another week or so. I think if I keep taking it easy he might oblige. Here's hoping!
More later.

Random Highlights From Vertigo World

Still a little too woozy to do a full-blown post, so here's some little snippets of my week, and I'll try to expound further about them later if anyone wishes.
-Refusing to admit to myself that I was really and truly going to throw up until it was too late to get a bucket, and puking all over the bathroom rug and my own bare feet.
-Having the same irritating nurse that I had two years ago with Addy, the one who is incapable of finding fetal heartbeats on the monitor and took literally an hour to get me registered in the hospital's computer, and who cannot do IV's to save her life and sent my blood spurting all over the room. To a patient who was dying to get the IV going and get some drugs into her bloodstream, this lady appeared to move almost in slow motion. I wanted to strangle her.
-Having this same nurse extract a urine sample from me via catheter, and ask me repeatedly if I were allergic to the antiseptic she was applying to my girly bits, since I seemed "so squirmy." "Does it burn? Are you hurting down there?" she demanded. No, Nurse Ratchett, but you're slapping that stuff on like you're rubbing marinade into a chicken. One doesn't have to be sore down there to have sensitive nerve endings.
-Having some sort of vomiting and/or fainting incident every single time I have attempted to shower since last Sunday. The first bath, given to me on Tuesday night by my mother, I shook like a leaf from the effort of sitting up, and then promptly threw up as soon as I got out. Second time was a little better, but I got overconfident, tried to brush my own hair, and then nearly passed out. I sat on the toilet seat, seeing nothing but black and white spots, my face ashen, insisting to my mother that I was actually dying now. "Just look at me and breathe," she kept urging, and I would say in a tiny, high voice, "But I can't SEE you! I can't see; I'm going blind!" Third time was a lot better; I only got woozy and lightheaded at the very end, and promptly climbed out of the shower, still sudsy and dripping wet, and collapsed on the floor onto a towel.
-Being wheeled into the doctor's office for my appointment on Thursday, still unable to walk unassisted and feeling barely human, only to be greeted by an office which had been without power most of the day and had no air conditioning. It helps a lot, when one is feeling nauseous and dizzy, to have to sit in a ninety degree exam room.
-Throwing up macaroni and cheese at two in the morning. I don't think I will be craving that particular dish for a long, long time.
-Seeing what my legs look like when they have gone a full week without shaving. *repressing shudder*
-Having a frail old woman in the lobby of the medical complex accost me the minute I got in the door Monday morning to demand, "Did you see the news this morning?" "Um, no," I managed, swaying dizzily. She grasped me urgently. "They said don't eat fish! If you're pregnant, you're not supposed to eat FISH now, who knew?! Stay away from the fish, okay?" I mean, she literally was telling me this with the intensity I would expect from someone telling me to flee the building because it was set to explode in five minutes. I tried to focus on her face, which was swimming wildly in front of me. "I promise! No fish!"
-Reading all of your kind, kind comments and feeling very grateful. Also wondering if I can still take Swistle up on the cookie offer even though I did not end up getting a shot. Because lo and behold, I AM recovering, slowly but surely. The first four days were pure hell, but on the fifth morning I did feel ever so slightly better, and have been feeling better-ish every day since then. No magical overnight cure as I was wishing for, but I am now able to walk without help, as long as I have a wall or piece of furniture there to grab, and I am not barfing. Now I just have to try and NOT HAVE THIS BABY until I am all the way better!

The World’s Longest Hangover

My husband is posting this entry, which I have dictated, for me because I am unable to see straight let alone look at a computer screen.

I’ve been to the hospital and back, but no baby yet. I woke up Sunday morning, so dizzy that I couldn’t get out of bed on my own. By the time we made it to the bathroom, I barfed all over. After a couple more hours of dizziness and puking, I called the doctor and he sent us to the hospital for fear of dehydration or preeclampsia. We thought we’d be there for a couple of hours to get hydrated, but after two IV bags, the dizziness and vomiting had not subsided. Since my vitals were all fine, they weren’t really sure what was wrong with me, so I had to stay the night.

The next morning, after a sleepless night of being hooked on monitors and having my blood pressure taken as soon as I managed to fall asleep, there was still no change in my condition. The doctor then ordered a CAT scan to rule out tumors, strokes or seizures. The hour to and from the radiation floor, was the worst in my life to date. I immediately started vomiting as soon the wheel chair transporting me started to move. It didn’t help that the lab technician sent up to fetch me also had a vomit phobia and bolted as soon as the retching began. She hurriedly took off to find a nurse, leaving me gagging alone in the hallway. As I listen to the nurses debate whether or not I could make to the lab, one of the many random strangers passing me in the hallway, decided to stop and offer me a wet washcloth. Finally, a new nurse arrived to take me the rest of the way down. I made it through the CAT scan and back to the wheelchair before I started barfing again.

By the time I got back to my room, they had tried three different kinds of anti-nausea medicine through my IV. The Dramamine finally seemed to help and I mercifully fell asleep. A few hours later, the results of the scan came back normal, which was a relief. I had been lying there imagining scenarios in which I was dying of brain cancer or other rare diseases. When the doctor came back, he said his best guess was that I am suffering from a virus of the inner-ear. Apparently there is nothing they can really do to treat an inner-ear infection other than, ha ha, bedrest. So he said I could go home as soon as I was able to hold down some solid food. I was determined to make it home that night, so through a great effort of sheer willpower, I managed to survive getting dressed and being wheeled down to the lobby without yakking once.

The next day was mostly a blur of sleeping and of course the ever present dizziness, every time I tried to so much as move my head. So far, my condition has not much improved, I’ve managed to keep down a little solid food since I moved home, but not much. The doctor said my condition should improve soon otherwise we’ll have to do more tests.

So please keep your fingers crossed for me and the baby, that I can recover from whatever I have before it’s time to deliver.

P.S. Thanks to Swistle for posting about my current situation. When I can type this myself, I’ll try to give a better account of the story.

Baby Boy- Coming Soon To A Hospital Near Us!

That's what we're anticipating, anyways. I was almost three centimeters dilated today, and had a few pretty strong contractions on the monitor, so the doctor thinks I'm having productive contractions (i.e., causing cervical changes) and not even really feeling them. He said my body just doesn't want to keep babies in all the way to forty weeks, and also threw around the term "incompetent cervix," which I sort of bristled at for some reason. Could they not have thought of a less accusing term than "incompetent"? Like I don't feel guilty enough about it- when I found out I was dilated more, I immediately started the mental chastisement for the times I've cheated a little bit here and there, helping to tuck Addy in for bed, or getting up myself to change DVD's.
So anyways, suffice it to say I'm still on bedrest, and was also commanded to take the Brethine if I felt even one contraction, rather than waiting until I'd had two or three in a row, as I was doing before. So now I get to feel shaky and irritable and like I'm having mini heart attacks all the time! I also got an extra week tacked onto my bedrest sentence, since he noted that with Addy, I went into labor about forty eight hours after I was on my feet again, at thirty six weeks, and he'd like me to make it to thirty seven weeks this time if possible.
This has pros and cons. Pro: I am kind of relieved to hear that the baby will almost certainly be a few weeks early. It may sound horrible, but after all this, I was going to be really depressed if I ended up getting off of bedrest and then went full term, walking around dilated and effaced and anticipating labor every single day for the last four weeks. And I feel pretty confident that the baby will be fine any time he wants to come now. He weighs about five and a half pounds, and I had the shots for his lung maturation. Plus, Addy came at thirty six weeks and had no problems. So chances are he'd be okay, right? I mean, I'd like to get a few more weeks under my belt, but maybe not five more weeks.
Con: I really was counting on being allowed to get up next Thursday. I was so excited- one more week!- and now it seems as though I'm pretty much going to be stuck on this couch until I go into labor. Plus, there were so many little nesting projects floating around in my brain, and I'm probably not going to have time to get to any of them myself. They will either not get done, or be done by someone else. I wanted to put away the tiny clothes and buy the tiny diapers and sterilize the nipples and the breast pump equipment MYSELF, and I wanted to bustle around the house and clean to MY satisfaction for a few days. I haven't done it in so long it would feel fun, I think, like playing house. And then there's the actually fun stuff: I wanted to go out with friends for dinner at least once, and go walk around the mall and pick out a coming home outfit for the baby. I haven't gotten to shop for so much as toilet paper in three weeks! And I'm not really an internet shopping type person- for me it's just not shopping unless you're walking around actually touching and looking at the stuff.
Oh, and in case anyone's still reading this whiny monologue, I've also been having this really deep, bruise like pain in my right knee, but there was no bruise, nothing. I mentioned it to the doctor today, and he made me go to the hospital this evening to have an ultrasound of my leg to rule out a blood clot. Good times. No clot, which I figured, but it was still reassuring, I guess. Just a sucky way to spend an evening.
We also went over our birth plan with the doctor today, which I thought would be a quick thing, but instead he felt compelled to mention after every single point that this would be fine "so long as nothing is going on with you or the baby." I kept saying, "Yes, we know, this is just our ideal. Obviously if something out of the ordinary is going on with the baby, we're flexible," but he seemed to feel the need to keep drilling in the point that the birth plan was only a wish list, not a blueprint. So that was a bit tedious. I understand; I'm sure he has a few patients who are kind of die hards and are married to their birth plans, but I'm totally not like that- I'm still open to an epidural, for instance, if this turns out to be a longer labor than last time.
So... Kind of a bad day, all things considered. Only real highlight: Heath bar cheesecake from Jim's family's coffee house. My favorite dessert in the world, at the moment. Oh and also, my weight was only up a pound this week, as opposed to the ten pound gain of last week. That was kind of a relief. As for all the other crappy news, well, we'll make the best of it. And again, let me just say, I don't know what we'd do if we didn't have such helpful family around. At least I know my mom and mother-in-law would never dream of letting a new baby come home to a less than spotless house, so one way or another things should be clean enough around here to satisfy most of my nesting needs by the time this little guy starts knocking on my cervix door.

Oprah Is Giving Me A Complex

Usually by the afternoon I am feeling pretty bored and more than a tad self-pitying. I lie there on the couch and obsess over things like how long it's been since I shaved my legs, and how the callouses on my heels are disgusting and oh my Lord am I sick of laying here staring at them. I examine with grim self-loathing the cellulite creeping down to my knees, and the stretch marks creeping up on my belly. I bemoan my stringy hair and think about how I would really like to go immediately to the nearest hair salon and get it cut and colored. I feel as though my life is very hard indeed.
And then Oprah comes on, shaming me with tales of Darfur and quadriplegics and the Lost Boys of Sudan who walked thousands of miles across the desert to escape. I have also been given several issues of her magazine to keep me occupied, and usually after reading a few of the articles I feel like a selfish, oblivious, over-indulged American who doesn't read enough, give enough, think enough, or care enough (about things that matter, anyways.)
So, now I have a guilt complex to go with my furry legs and unkempt eyebrows. But also, for the record, isn't Oprah the one who touted that book The Secret on her show? So we will take her sometimes self-righteous wisdom with a grain of salt. I still like her magazine, though.
In other news, here is a list to date of things I have accomplished and/or things that have been accomplished by someone else on my behalf since I have been on bedrest:
1. Nursery painted and decorated.
2. Curtains for Adelay's room finally found, purchased, and hung.
3. A year's worth of photos either filed or scrapbooked.
4. A crosstitch of Tigger very nearly completed, to be hung in the boy's room.
5. A name almost certainly decided on- but not yet to be revealed.
6. My eyebrows allowed to go unplucked, since they were previously way too thin and I didn't know how to solve the problem since I didn't want to go out in public with stray hairs all over my face. But, get ordered to stay in your house 24/7, and suddenly you are handed the perfect opportunity to let those eyebrows go crazy. I think once they're all back in, I'll go get them waxed, since I clearly can't be trusted to tweeze with restraint.
7. Adelay taught to make farm animal sounds based on a wooden puzzle she likes featuring various barnyard creatures. (This was all me, thank you very much.)
8. Addy peed on the potty THREE times this week! And also on the bathroom floor, but still! She is clearly a prodigy with the potty skills. Not even two! And still randomly pees on the little potty if someone rushes her there at the exact time she is planning to pee in her diaper! Amazing!