Me and You and Our Friend Blue

-I think the hormones from the Clomid are starting to kick in. I feel, most of the time, more warm and fuzzy and sentimental than usual, but then when things take a turn for the absurdly awful (such as on Saturday,) I can feel the stress taking over every nerve of my body. Like PMS on steroids. I was feeling so crazy angry, too, which is unusual for me. Not even angry at the dog or Addy, per se, but more just at the UNIVERSE. At the mud, and at the rain for making it muddy, and at our yard for being low and soggy, and at the physiology of a toddler's body which makes accidents inevitable, and at myself for not orchestrating things better so none of these events would have occurred, let alone SIMULTANEOUSLY. Also, I'm still feeling sick and sinus-y and tired, and so I am mad at my body for not getting well faster.

-Speaking of not being well yet (nor are the kids, but that's another story,) can I just say that I MISS working out so much? I'm sorry, I know that's barfy and contemptible, but my body feels all pent up and restless and desperate to exert some actual effort beyond refilling sippee and coffee cups and refreshing everyone's cereal bowls. I don't know, maybe that's the Clomid too, but I am longing for the day when everyone feels well enough (or at least is not horking snot around too obviously) to go the Y again.

-And speaking of the Y, in the ten days or so that I haven't gone, I have lost five pounds! Since I haven't been eating any differently (if anything my diet has consisted of MORE processed crap) I can only assume this is muscle. So it really sucks that you can lose it that fast. BUT, let this comfort those of us who have been working out for a while and felt nothing was happening. Obviously some of that fat is at least getting CONVERTED into muscle, even if the scale isn't showing much change.


-Have I mentioned yet that Adelay is now the proud owner of a multitude of imaginary friends? Generally it's the Disney Princesses (blech,) specifically Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty (or as Addy calls her, Shake-a-booty.) There is also a magical horsey/unicorn who makes occasional appearances. Nothing gets you more brownie points than playing along and including these invisible friends in whatever you happen to be doing.


-Eli has grown frighteningly obsessed with Blue's Clues. He quivers with joy and chuckles uncontrollably when he hears the opening song, and as soon as the credits start appearing, he goes toddling across the room at breakneck speed to find a grown up to turn another episode on. This morning he was in bed with me, and I woke up to see him smiling toothily in his sleep. He kept giggling softly, then sighing in pleasure. I have no doubt that there was an episode of Blue's Clues reeling through his little brain. Yikes. Methinks it might be time to cut him off cold turkey.


-And who's THIS? Why, it's David, whose thrilling entry into the world I was privileged to witness about six weeks ago. You vaguely remember my wild, spastic delight over that, right? And look at him now! (Actually, this picture is two weeks old, but you get the idea.) Look at those bright eyes! Look at the tiny HAND waving! And oh, but you should feel him curled up on your shoulder! I have honest-to-God physical reactions every time I hold him, and I'm not even really a huge newborn fan. He's is SO SWEET! I want one. Preferably without the annoyance of pregnancy, kthax?

Not My Day

Isn't there a saying that deaths always come in threes? Does it also apply to just crappy events, period? Because if so then THIS SAYING IS TRUE I TELL YOU.

Exhibit A: Enormous dog gets it into his head to snake his way under the deck, that's SNAKE as in ON HIS FURRY BELLY, through the mud. Requires being hosed off- lucky for him it is warm today.

Exhibit B: Toddler decides to follow her mom onto the deck, presumably to observe the somewhat spirited washing of the dog, and mysteriously wearing her snow boats in the sixty degree weather. She suddenly gets a look of panic on her face and proceeds to pee (a lot) into her boots and in a giant puddle in front of the back door. This necessitates putting the now wet dog back on his chain in the muddy yard so I can strip down screaming, urine soaked child and put her back in the bathtub she just got out of ten minutes ago. I then have to retrieve dog, who is now freshly re-mudded, and rinse and dry him again, using three bath towels in the process and splattering my clothes. Let dog back inside, rinse puddle of pee off of deck, and put filthy towels/muddy clothes/peed in clothes into the wash to soak. Rinse off boots and leave on deck to dry.

Exhibit C: Son awakes with horrendous diaper explosion immediately following my return indoors. Screams and flails for ten minutes as I try to clean him up, all the while being lectured by Adelay to "leave him 'lone! He's crying! Leave him 'lone! Be nice, Mommy!"

Name That Furniture Item!

A few updates on the remodel: I DID of course get the kitchen and the rest of the house cleaned up, and it didn't even take a year. It just felt like it. Then I quickly got a picture of the view from den to kitchen before anyone came along and messed up the acceptably tidy vision you see here:


Alas, a sassy three year old managed to find her way into the shot. Three year old then helped me demonstrate these lovely new (to us) ottomans/coffee tables/storage units which my parents handed down in lieu of our wobbly glass topped coffee table.


I'm really quite in love with these... things. I don't know where my parents got them originally, but if you're unhappy with your current coffee table (glass needs wiped on an HOURLY basis, for example) or your den needs more storage space or you sometimes wish for a footrest near your sofa, then LOOK NO FURTHER.


The tray tops flip to convert to a micro suede ottoman, and inside is roomy storage (we are using one for balls and the other for spare towels which we use to wipe our dog's muddy paws off when he returns from the backyard- these towels' previous location was "thrown somewhere on the floor by the door.") They are sturdy, but are not difficult to move around, so you can pull them up closer than a coffee table would normally be. You can also easily move them into another room for vacuuming. The... things also work well as extra seating in a pinch, at least for small kids who aren't worried about lumbar support.

Just don't try to figure out what they're called. Stools? Footrests? Large fabric covered boxes? Help me out here. (And also, try to avert your eyes from that mystery spot on the sofa cushion in photo #3. Yikes. I hope that's just weird lighting.)

Am Sick. But Clomid Seems To Agree With Me.

So everyone in our house is currently battling with/recovering from some mutant variety of cold/cough/flu, with the exception of myself, as I feel merely run down and achy and tired, but am not wheezing and hacking and dripping mucus all over the place like some sort of Typhoid Mary NOT THAT I AM BOTHERED BY ALL THIS MUCUS EVERYWHERE NO SIREE.

I am slightly bothered by the fact that for the last three nights in a row, Eli has awakened at two in the morning sobbing inconsolably for "Coos! Coos coos!" No, not that healthy, more exotic variation of rice. This is his name for Blue's Clues, with which he has rapidly become obsessed. And turning it on is the only way to get him to settle back down in the wee hours of the night, when his fever has spiked and my ability to think rationally has done the opposite. So for upwards of two hours, I have sat on the couch holding him, staring at Joe and Steve and Blue and Green Puppy and Magenta, dozing off repeatedly only to be awakened with a start by Eli's sudden yelps of protest as the episode ends and the screen returns to menu. I fumble for the remote, hit "enter," then proceed to let my head fall backwards into the cushions again.

In better news, I feel, if anything, more balanced and normal since starting the Clomid. I even feel (somewhat!) patient and zen about things that generally really irritate me (such as having watched all three of our Blue's Clues DVD's at least ten times apiece in the past week.) In a weird way, I feel more like myself than I have felt in the last six months. So maybe that miscarriage really had me screwed up hormonally, and the drugs can, if nothing else, get me in a more healthy state. Not that I've been raging and wildly moody up until now, but I've noticed in the last few months that I can get a tad more worked up about things than I used to.

I would just like to say, though, that I am very tired of talking on the phone to various pharmacists and nurses about my freaking hcg injection. When you're on Clomid, you're supposed to go in for an ultrasound mid-cycle to make sure you've ovulated promptly. Since this has been a problem for me in the past, the doctor gave me a prescription for an injection that I'm supposed to take with me to my upcoming appointment. If the ultrasound reveals that I haven't yet ovulated, I get this shot to make sure I do so immediately. Apparently this injection is not something my pharmacy fills for very often, because the first pharmacist was all baffled by it. "You know this is a SHOT, right?" she asked. "And it's really EXPENSIVE?" Yes, I knew, I assured her. "Well, we're going to have to order it for you. We never carry this. It might take awhile to get in. And your insurance isn't going to cover this, you know. Are you sure you want us to go ahead?"

What the...? Why would I bother taking the Clomid at all if I weren't going to follow through with the full treatment? Did she think I had asked for the injection as a little something extra just for fun, and didn't technically need it? And who just gives random strangers medical advise based on the supposed expense of a drug FOR WHICH THEY HAVE A PRESCRIPTION? FROM A DOCTOR? I just looked at her as though she was crazy and said, "Um, yes please!"

But then it didn't come in, and didn't come in, and two different suppliers were out of stock, and I was calling the dang pharmacy every day inquiring as to the status of a tiny, sixty-dollar vial of hormone cocktail which I may or may not even need based on my ultrasound. Fun times.

But. It is now in my possession, all but two of the Clomid tablets are in my bloodstream, and all that's left to do is actually REMEMBER to bring the hcg with me to the doctor's office!

Cleanliness Is Next To Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

I've been wondering a lot about what is normal, in terms of tidiness, in the houses of other people with small children. I am kind of a neat freak, but I am not a person who relishes wasting literal HOURS of my day if there is no point to it whatsoever. And that is kind of how the picking up the house routine at the end of the day is beginning to feel. I still believe the actual CLEANING serves a purpose, that purpose being to help me feel in control of my environment even on the crazy days. So I will probably try to stick to the schedule I currently operate by in regards to actual household chores (that being, Mondays: dust, Tuesdays: vacuum, Wednesdays: clean bathroom, Thursdays: mop and dry dust main areas of house again, Fridays: dust mop the bedrooms and vacuum living room and den again.)

But its all the OTHER stuff that's killing me. The kitchen that needs swept up every day, sometimes every HOUR, the toys and general detritus that seem to just follow the kids around the house, the stacks of laundry waiting to be put away, the dog food that gets scattered around the utility room every time Fonzie eats. Tidying sometimes feels like a losing battle. I'm beginning to think I should just seriously leave the toys alone unless they're in my way for vacuuming. But on the other hand, does that make it difficult for the kids to play? And for me to function? I remember being little and, having let the playroom go from pleasantly messy to absolute chaos, feeling the urge to run away and play outside rather than even face it. So I don't want to create THAT kind of situation for myself, either.

What do you all do about tidiness? Is there a system in place, or rules about picking things up before bed? Bear in mind that my kids are young enough that only one of them is at all capable in terms of picking up after herself. And she'll do it, when asked, but more often than not I skip that part of the routine in favor of doing it myself- in a tenth of the time- once she's gone to bed. Is that a bad habit? Or do you do that too?

Here Goes Nothing

Gulp. Am about to take first dose of Clomid. Oh God, please not quadruplets, please not quadruplets, please not quadruplets...

Also, yes, I have noticed that my last three posts are more like Twitters. Son is still acting OFF, daughter hasn't napped for a week, and husband is deathly ill now, too. I have to prioritize. So that I can remember to take my FERTILITY DRUGS. GAAAH!

Sometimes They Are Cute

There are illness and tantrums, yes, but there is THIS to counteract them.

The Maniacal Laughter Is Coming From My House

So, as of two AM today, Eli is TOO sick!

Suck it, Dr. Useless.

Free To Good Home (Only One Is Housebroken)

Wow, the kids are making me all KINDS of crazy today. Eli has been so screamy and obnoxious and unsleepy and unhungry and weird lately that I finally gave in and made him a doctor's appointment today, thinking he might have an ear infection. First, though, I had to go to the Y, feed the kids, shower, and pick up Breanna from school. Eli decided to have multiple throw himself on the floor, fling his head against the concrete and scream kind of fits when I went to pick the kids up from the childcare, because he has gone from loathing the daycare when he was an infant to loving it so much that he is now loathe to LEAVE it. The daycare worker shook her head in wonderment. "He is awfully angry lately, hmm?" Indeed.

I got home, then found three free Happy Meal or Extra Value Meal coupons to McDonalds in the mailbox (courtesy of Jim emailing corporate and complaining about not getting the correct food the last time we went, which to me seemed a bit... well, it got me free food, so I guess I can't complain.) Now, I KNEW Eli was already coming a bit unglued, but I was exhausted from wrestling him all the way from the basement daycare to the car half a mile away, and a quick easy meal sounded wonderful. So I pulled back out of the driveway and went to the nearby McDonalds. I only drove through, so it didn't add THAT much time to our total car trip, but Eli was a mess by the time I got us home.

I fed them, scarfed my own food, and took a quick shower, then put Eli down for a short nap before we had to leave again for Breanna. He only got about a half hour of sleep though, so by the time we picked her up and headed for the doctor's, he was grumpy again. By the time we got OUT of the doctor's, he was beyond grumpy. Breanna said that she could hear both kids yelling and clambering around the entire half hour she was waiting for us. What she couldn't see was that they were playing crazy circus games of crawling behind and under the exam table, trying to rip the blood pressure cuff off the wall, and throwing the little wheeled doctor's chair back and forth across the room. I was literally just running around like a crazy person, trying to restrain one child while the other wriggled away from me to find more (loud, embarrassing) mischief to get into. I was hissing and issuing threats and trying to enforce time-outs on my lap and just generally flailing around uselessly. Also, Eli chose that time to have a giant poo and of course I had left the diaper bag in the car. So imagine all of the mayhem PLUS bonus Lysol and Feces aroma.

By the time we got out of there (leaving rolls of shredded tissue-y exam table covering paper in our wake,) the doctor had sympathetically patted my shoulder no less than three times. Also, did I mention that in order to get Eli's weight, I finally had to get on the scale WITH him, then be weighed alone, to subtract the difference? Nothing like unexpectedly getting weighed when you've just eaten salty fast food and are bloated and PMS-y.

Anyways, he's still screaming. And flinging food and toys and himself all over the place. Even though he DOESN'T have an ear infection, or any other sort of malady. Well, other than being an infant. Glad we got to pay seventy dollars (thanks for changing our insurance, husband's workplace!) to find that out.

A Birth Story Of Sorts

Yes, the room is done at last. Well, SUPER close. I still need to get something on the windows (ideas are welcome!) and there are a couple pieces of trim that we have to buy and stain, to fill in the spots where Jim tore out the old radiators. But we went ahead and put everything back anyways, because SOMEONE was getting mighty impatient to have the dusty love seat out of the KITCHEN. Ahem.

It was not done on Monday after all, or Tuesday or Wednesday either. Got CLOSE on Thursday. And finally finished Friday. But it was worth the wait. I should really have taken more before pictures of the room, what with the water-stained ceiling tiles such as you might see in a dingy middle school cafeteria, the paneled walls and the narrow doorway that I could barely fit through when pregnant. The knocking out of the dividing wall was probably the best part of the whole project. Made the kitchen AND the den look so much bigger.




The wreckage that was our kitchen. Also, though you can't see it in the picture, imagine every single solitary thing in this room covered in a quarter inch of plaster dust.



The doorway being mudded. And sanded, and r-emudded, and re-sanded. Lather, rinse, repeat.



Jim and his friend Jamie working on the inside of the door. That plastic sheet did little to keep the dust at bay. And then at last, drum roll please....



Finished product. The red turned out nice, huh?



Desk area. I probably should have hidden all the cords a little better. Also, there at the floor you can see where it still needs trimmed up. But still. Vast improvement on old desk area.



More couch area.



This is where it steps up to the kitchen. I was going to take pictures from the desk area looking into the kitchen from the den, so you'd get the full effect of the new and improved wide doorway. But alas, the rest of our house is still a WEE bit untidy and disorganized, and I was too excited to post these pictures to wait until I got the whole kitchen cleaned. So those will follow in about a YEAR when I finally get the floor clean! Until then, I'll be busy lying around on the couch staring in disbelieving wonder at the gorgeous room that has somehow landed in our yucky old den!

Young At Heart

I find I am very childish about some things. Last night, I was so excited about the work going on in the den that I genuinely COULD NOT sleep despite physical exhaustion (and a glass of wine,) and the feeling was very reminiscent of Christmas Eve Jitters such as I recall getting when I was SEVEN YEARS OLD. Slightly embarrassing.

On the other hand, it's kind of fun to be that sort of a person. Difficult, given that it also means I'm highly impatient (hello, another reason that pregnancy sucks for me,) but fun because I still get pretty genuinely whipped up and giddy about lots of things. Not Christmas anymore, sadly, since it now involves a lot of WORK, but about birthdays and vacations and babies (BABIES!) and other people's new pets and most of all HOME IMPROVEMENTS. Last night, when I saw how much progress the guys had made in just one evening, I had to restrain myself from hugging them both and/or jumping up and down. In actual fact, I may have jumped a little. More of a bounce, really, though. Hardly noticeable.

So anyhoo, they say it'll be done by tomorrow night. Painted and trimmed and everything. I'm thinking Saturday we'll get everything moved back in and cleaned up, and then by Monday we'll be all ready for a nice President's Day party!

A Sign

As the carefully chosen cycle approaches when we will begin trying again for Baby #3, I have found myself growing more and more apprehensive and thinking of more and more reasons why I'm not ready yet. The den still isn't quite done, and how will I handle the stress of construction while on Clomid and feeling extra hormonal and stressed out already? Or while pregnant and cranky and exhausted? And speaking of exhausted, how will I EVER nap with two little kids around all day? Especially since one of said children's idea of a nap is now to merely lay in Mom and Dad's bed watching The Diamond Castle and reading books and singing and then popping up OUT of bed about twenty minutes later looking for Mom MOM MOM! I mean, I well remember the I've-been-run-over-by-a-truck, I-would-sell-my-soul-for-another-hour-of-sleep kind of exhaustion that pregnancy brings, and let's just say I'm not getting any EXCESS of sleep here as it is, so this fear of tiredness is way up there on my list.

Another fear is running out of space and then not having the money to add on (since moving is definitely tabled until the market gets WAY better.) Fear of lines at the bathroom and no storage space for clothes and a cramped kitchen while I'm trying to cook- all those little things that are manageable, sure, but on bad days can kind of eat away at your happiness.

Then yesterday in church, the message was about letting go of fears that are holding you back and giving freely of yourself in whatever it is that you are called. I didn't hear an audible voice or anything, but I felt a little nudge in my heart that this message was for me regarding the area of our family. I KNOW that we want a large family, I KNOW that I am emotionally ready for another baby, and I KNOW that we can afford it, though it may mean less eating out and more buying of generic brands in bulk and that sort of thing. But I FEEL afraid. So I prayed that if this was a message to me, telling me to release those fears and go ahead as planned with baby making, then to please let there be some clear signals in the coming days.

Well, today I picked up my friend's daughter for her after school, something we had discussed last week, so that she could go to a job interview. Her daughter is eleven, and her school is literally about a minute from our house. The afternoon went really nicely; Breanna had a snack with the kids, and then asked if there was anything she could help with. I told her I was going to put a dessert in the oven and then try to get some cleaning done while the kids were playing in the living room. She mentioned that she loved baking, and I was all, "Hey! I HATE baking! How 'bout you follow this recipe right here and I'll go change sheets and empty trash cans?" And she did! And it was awesome! There was blueberry cobbler for snack tonight, and I never had to stir or mix or clean up a thing!

When her mom arrived, she told me excitedly that she had gotten the job. However, she was now going to need someone to pick up Breanna and keep her after school until five thirty or so, three days a week. That someone will be ME, and I couldn't be happier. Breanna is great with the kids and says she wants "babysitting experience," and she loves to cook, which is my least favorite thing to do! So basically, I'm helping them out, and in return I'm getting a free mother's helper, more or less. I mean, I'm not going to use her for slave labor or anything, but I can definitely see the possibility of, say, a few months down the road when I'm presumably pregnant and tired, actually getting those afternoon NAPS! And she could go with me on errands and help corral the kids, and... Yay! (I will make sure she has peace and quiet to do her homework when needed, too, rest assured.) So it seems one of my fears is, if not entirely put to rest, at least quieted.

Then also today, my husband's friend from out of town who is a contractor called to let him know that he has the end of the week off work, and he would like to come stay with us and help Jim until the den is finished! Which means, by next week, the den will actually, really and truly be DONE! Even though this probably puts a dent in any Valentine's Day plans, this feels like the best gift anyone could give me. Now it will definitely all be back to normal around here before I get pregnant. I could just about cry with relief. Plus, we won't have to pay anyone (since the guy says he won't accept it) and Jim and his friend will get a chance to reconnect and spend time together! This is SO awesome! Check another worry off my list.

So, are these the signs I was looking for? Maybe, and maybe also just coincidence. But it's good enough for me.

To Whom It May Concern

Kitchen. Stop getting so gd filthy every day, defying my nightly scrubbing. You are sapping my will to live. (Floor beneath high chair, I am looking at YOU.)

Head. Stop aching constantly, for no conceivable reason, and in spite of all the water drinking I am doing to help you out even though I don't really enjoy chugging water. You are making me worried. And cranky.

Hair. Please PLEASE stop being so frizzy and dry and unmanageable. I only wash you every other day, I rarely use a hot iron to tame you, and I recently got about five pounds of you thinned out. I lavishly apply expensive condition and even let it SOAK instead of rinsing immediately. So just give in, okay? Lay down and relax for awhile.

Hands. Stop cracking and splitting around my fingertips, causing me no small amount of pain during totally routine activities such as opening car doors and zipping coats. Your delicate, fragile act is getting real old. You'd better toughen up, because all that dish scrubbing and hand washing? It's not going away any time soon. Deal, my friends.

Coffee. Also, Wine. Thank you, my friends. Many thanks. My gratitude to you is immeasurable, and my reluctance to give you up (see, ttc next month) is not insignificant.

Double The Fun

This is so, so, SO premature, but here's the thing: we are probably going to start Clomid in four weeks, which even at the low dose I will be on does increase the likelihood of twins, so... I keep finding myself staring off into space contemplating twin names. Wondering if they would be a boy and a girl or two of a kind. Wondering if my body would ever recover from that pregnancy. Wondering how reasonable/possible it would be to attempt to exclusively breastfeed two babies while caring for a four year old and a two year old, even if the four year old were in part time preschool. Wondering if it's possible to give birth to twins without a c-section, of which I am terrified (mainly due to a VERY bad experience with spinal anesthesia when I had knee surgery.) This concern is so great I've been dreaming about giving birth to twins naturally.

So, again, I REALIZE I am jumping the gun and overthinking and borrowing trouble and all that, but do you guys have any words of comfort related to the above subjects? Or, failing that, some really great name ideas for two boys, two girls, or one of each?

*Also, I want to say, I realize that I'm making it sound like twins is my worst fear, which obviously would come across pretty, um, crappily to those of you who already have them. Don't get me wrong, I think IN THEORY twins sound adorable and fun too. But ideally, the twins would come FIRST. Then any singletons you might have. When I try to contemplate adding twins to our existing family, my eyes start getting wide and panicked. When I imagine taking a preschooler, a toddler, and two newborns anywhere out of the house together, the idea overwhelms me completely. When I envision two high chairs, two exersaucers, two cribs, etc., I feel like our house would be overtaken completely by kid stuff and I should just give up trying to pretend grown ups live here too.
So yeah, I guess the idea has me a little freaked out. But I sincerely apologize to any of you with twins who are feeling a little miffed by the TONE of this post. I of course can also envision lots of lovely things about twins, but those things don't have me panicked. THESE things (see above) DO have me panicked, so those are the ones I am asking for help with.
Thanks in advance!

Snow Bunnies

These shots are from Wednesday afternoon, when it was still about ten degrees out and we were knee deep in snow. It was Eli's first go at playing in the snow, and boy did he have fun. Unfortunately it wasn't good packing snow, so there was a lot more throwing of snow into the air (and face) than there was snowmen or snowball fights.

Addy's favorite thing to do that day was get handfuls of snow and lick at them delicately until her face was an attractively red, chapped, slobbery mess, and Eli's was to crawl determinedly through the snow like a mushing sled dog, planting mouth first more often than once. Still, despite his painfully beet-red face and eyes streaming from the cold, he screamed in protest when I finally took him inside, worrying about hypothermia and cold burns. It really is a thankless job, trying to keep your kids relatively safe from themselves.

In The Flesh

EEEEK!!! I saw a BABY get borned! AAAHHH!!! *jumping up and down wildly, with cheeks so flushed you'd think I'd been into the wine*

Okay. Deep breath. Give vital information in coherent sentences. My friend Jess's second son, David Nicholas, was born at 4:56 AM this morning, has tons of dark hair, weighed 8 pounds, 11 ounces, and was 20 1/2 inches long. And did I mention I was THERE? (Hyperventilating again as I relive the excitement.)

I got to the hospital around two thirty this morning, jacked up on caffeine and adrenaline, and Jess's mom, doula and I just hung out with Jess and talked and walked the halls and did all the normal labor stuff for about two hours. Her midwife was really cooperative and didn't make her have an IV or stay on the monitor all the time, so she was pretty free to labor how she wanted. Jess stayed very centered and calm; it was impressive. But I remember after our final lap around the mother/baby hall, Jess's mom and I realized that her contractions had gotten really close together, and that she wasn't talking through them anymore.

When we got back to the room, at four thirty, we could tell she was transitioning, but her water still hadn't broken so we thought there was awhile yet to go. Still, I went to get her husband, who was resting in the waiting room, thinking Jess was in enough pain at this point that she'd probably appreciate his comfort as well as ours. As we reentered the room, I heard a nurse from inside scream out the name of the midwife, then saw her rather frantically push Jess back onto the bed and tell her, "Don't push yet! You're complete!" Apparently she had gone into the bathroom while I was gone, and as soon as she got there could feel David's head crowning. She yelled that she had to push, and a nurse came in to check, tsk-tsking all the way that it was IMPOSSIBLE she had to push yet, she had only been FOUR centimeters at last check, her WATER wasn't even broken, but then lo and behold... It was time to push!

The midwife came shoving past us, literally smashing into me as she was scrambling for her gown and mask and I was running to find the video camera. For a minute there it was all very movie-like and loud and surreal, especially to Jess, I think! But her doula was just wonderful, very soothing and encouraging. She just kept stroking her face and holding eye contact, reassuring Jess as she pushed and yelled and pushed some more. David came very fast once they got the bed set up; less than ten minutes, I think. It was a very intense and moving ten minutes, too, let me tell you. My hand was shaking so hard I had to steady it with my other hand in order to get the camera to hold still!

The moment they handed Baby David up to his mom was so amazing. I had chills all over, watching her laugh and cry and exclaim as she cradled her son. It was so crazy to think that literally moments before he had still been safely cocooned in his amniotic sac, oblivious to the roomful of people awaiting his arrival. He was so alert and peaceful, blinking his little blueberry eyes up at us all for awhile, then nuzzling into his mom again. He barely even cried after those few initial protests, just snuggled in his parents' arms as all the REST of us got a little teary.

David, you are just beautiful, just the sweetest little boy, and I am so thankful to your parents for letting me witness your arrival! Jess, you did a truly amazing job, and you have renewed my awe for the miracle of childbirth, painful though it is! I have never seen a birth live and in person like that, and it truly a rush like nothing else. Thank you for one of the best gifts anyone has ever given me!

Nothing Much

Good thing one of my new year's resolutions wasn't to update my blog daily, huh? I have been doing pretty good on the others, with the exception of getting my hair thinned. (State of hair: course and dry. Stubbornly unhelped by Matrix smoothing conditioner.) I also missed one gym session due to an illness which I won't name but will describe as being treated by chugging countless glasses of cranberry juice. Oh and ALSO, as long as we're sharing, I am very proud of myself, as this is the first month in... a few, that I have made it all the way to the end without once thinking or proposing to Jim that perhaps, somehow, I am pregnant OMG NO! Clearly in 2009 I will turn a new leaf and cease forever with being obsessive and fretful!

That's really all I've got; things quiet but good here. We're keeping mostly at home, as it's either frigidly cold or actively snowing lately. Adelay has stayed the course with potty training, and I almost forget what it's like to have two in diapers. The winter blues seem to have left me for the time being, though their cure, chocolate, has also left me with five pounds I had shed just a month before. Well. It's cold. I need insulation.

My current hobbies are doing Sudoku puzzles in the bathtub (hot baths are a great cure for winter depression too, I have found) and, of course, waiting on pins and needles for that momentous call from Jess that ze baby is on his way. Poor girl is now like three days overdue. I realized today that this is exactly four WEEKS longer than I was pregnant with Addy. Young man, you had better be one CUTE little small headed baby, you hear?

Three Questions

Well, that was fun, being awakened at four thirty in the morning by Adelay SCREAMING INCONSOLABLY because she had actually been woken up by her need to pee. I was trying to be happy and enthusiastic about it for her, despite the inconvenience- "That's great, sweetie, what a big girl! It's GOOD that you woke up!" but it was kind of hard to stay peppy while she sat on her potty chair, weeping and shrieking as though she was in the throes of a night terror or something. The sobbing made the process considerably lengthier, too, since it's kind of hard, apparently, to urinate when you're busy having a nervous breakdown.

Once she finished, she was remarkably cheerful, though, and demanded her mini candy cane as per usual, a potty reward which I am strongly considering ditching pretty soon here. This leads me to question one: At what point is it safe to stop excessively praising and rewarding a child for using the toilet? I mean, I worry about the sugar intake from all the treats, but on the other hand, I would hook her up to a glucose drip for a month if that's what it took to keep her on the path to Toilet Independence. Do you think two weeks has been long enough?

Question two: How do you get a kid who's doing really well on her potty chair to transition to the actual toilet? I mean, she's only had about three accidents in the last week or so, and those were all incidents of not getting there fast enough rather than totally forgetting and just peeing all over the sofa or something. So is she far enough on the path, do you think, that we could kind of insist on her trying to use the big potty without putting her off the process altogether? Emptying the little one is getting REALLY old...

Question three: Does anyone have any of the LeapFrog systems? We have an older one that was given to us, but it's been discontinued and we'd have to buy the cartridges on eBay. We also checked out some of the newer ones and they SEEM great, but it also seems like it could be one of those overhyped but little used type of things. So if any of you have had actual experience with them, I'd love to hear what your kids (and you) thought of them.

January

Has it really been over a week since I wrote last? I feel a little disconnected lately. Floaty, like I am here but not really. I will be doing the dishes, but looking out the window instead of down to the task at hand. Looking out at the new snow, which falls fresh every night, it seems, and which is deceptively beautiful to gaze at, with no suggestion in its sparkling, crystalline blankets of the slushy puddles it will leave on the floor and the chapped ankles from where it will sneak in between your boots and your jeans.

I'm also doing things in excess lately, I notice. Drinking too much coffee, so that I feel a constant, jittery unease in the pit of my stomach. Eating too much chocolate (see previous post) and even dipping into Jim's beers, for which I rarely feel any desire. I've even been somewhat overzealous in exercise, mindlessly doing leg presses until the screen on the Nautilus machine warns me that I've completed the maximum number of reps and should either stop or lower the weight (which is embarrassingly low to begin with, so this is more an example of my compulsiveness than of my fitness.)

I seem to be wallowing in some sort of melancholy, or perhaps more succinctly, some sort of disinterest in the dailiness of life, the dishes and the laundry and the errands by which I generally mark my time. Instead, I keep rereading Anita Shreve books- Where or When, The Last Time They Met- which are perhaps unwise choices when one is feeling a little off, as they tend to be pensive and sad and on the theme of impossible love. Jim found an old Sarah McLachlan CD of mine when he was cleaning out his desk last week, and I've been listening to it almost daily, as some sort of soundtrack. Also, most alarmingly, I seem not to care much about dusting lately, which heretofore has been my favorite chore, though I suppose this could likely be attributed to an inevitable resignation to the constant presence of dust in our lives at this stage of remodeling.

It is somewhat depressing to realize how easily I am felled by such a common and cliched affliction as the winter blues.

Also, incidentally, flaky winter skin. Le sigh.

Sixth Day's The Charm

Both kids have colds now, so I'm awfully glad Jim's been home the last few days. It helps to have another adult to talk to when you're handing out tissues twice a minute and washing crusty layers of snot off the sleeves of kids' clothing.

Despite being ill, Adelay has made it through her first day without a single accident. Both of them napped frequently and at odd times today, so she slept until seven and is currently still awake, splashing away in a bath (mission: remove mucous from hair.) Which means that from eight thirty this morning (when she woke up DRY) to nine PM tonight, I have not had one disappointing incident of peeling wet underpants off and administering the dreaded let's-quickly-wash-your-bum bath! Whoo hoo!

In other news, I have resisted the urge to snort down in one sitting the massive amounts of clearanced Christmas chocolates which my husband once again purchased in the first week of the New Year, in a gesture of apparent kindness and generosity, but which I secretly suspect to be an act of sabotage. Exhibit A:

Two And A Half Out Of Four's Not Bad

Jim had scheduled this week off work a month ago. It was slated as the great Get All Those Pesky Monkeys Off Our Back week: potty training, finishing of the den (progress had been put to an agreed-upon halt during soccer season and the holidays,) figuring out of our old/new insurance and medical crapola (because I am crippled with panic about such things and require another adult around as moral support,) and the sorting of all of the soccer jerseys, warm-ups, balls and duffel bags that had been stashed around our house and garage from last year's season.

So far the soccer sorting is practically done: the enormous piles of clothes and bags and balls and are neatly organized and stacked into Rubbermaid tubs in the garage, and all the phone calls nagging the girls to turn in the rest of their stuff have been made. Also, a huge stack of bills has been paid and a worrying insurance claim has been figured out.

The den is going to get there, too, I'm thinking. It's all cleared out of any removable furniture and toys now, leaving only the TV, giant computer desk, and one pretty hefty loveseat. The rest of our house overfloweth a bit with toys and tables right now, but I can live with that when the promise of fresh paint and pictures being hung is glowing on the horizon. Today: spackling and sanding. Tomorrow: the sky's the limit.

But the potty training... Ah, the potty training. This will be day three of Mission: Underpants, and so far we've had only two successes, one of which happened at the gym childcare center, of all places. They don't even have a potty chair, just a regular old toilet, which she refuses to touch at home, and yet she willingly sat and peed on it for Miss Ashley! This solidifies my belief that she could, in fact, physically control herself if she HAD to, but she's just kind of too lazy to care when she's at home and isn't going to be embarrassed about wet pants.

So yeah, for going on three days now, she has cheerfully been wetting her pants and running to tell us about it, despite sitting on the potty at half hour intervals all day long. Fortunately she is okay with wearing rubber pants over the panties, otherwise our house would now be thoroughly saturated with urine, but even as it is I have done countless loads of soaking and washing and drying of said underwear and rubber pants. And in spite of my beliefs that potty training should be natural and child-led and not motivated by guilt or fear of accidents, I have to admit that our patience is wearing mightily thin. There has been much lecturing and nagging and reminders about being a big girl now, then feelings of guilt about the nagging, and subsequent hugging, praising, begging, purchasing of bribery items and offers of dance classes and Dora the Explorer games and leftover candy canes if Addy will just PEE PEE ON THE POTTY FOR THE LOVE OF MOMMY'S SANITY!

Commiserating

My friend Jess is currently about thirty seven and a half weeks pregnant with Boy #2. Since she had her first son at thirty seven weeks to the day, and since her doctor told her that the baby is about seven and a half pounds now and that she's beginning to dilate and efface, and, you know, since she's got a giant watermelon wedged in her pelvis, directly on top of her bladder, she's feeling very READY for this baby to come out. Especially after two nights ago, when she had regular, timeable, fifty second long contractions for like SIX HOURS or so before they just up and went away as soon as she laid down for a rest. (Sound familiar?) She had even called her doula over and everything, called ME even, and then nothing.

Anyway, I am so feeling her pain right now, and I thought maybe we could all just leave her little cheering-up type comments. To clarify, though: nothing that's supposedly cheer-upy but is actually a huge buzz kill, such as, "Honey, just relax! It could be weeks and WEEKS still!"

Oh, Why Not?

Resolutions for 2009:

-Stop wasting inordinate amounts of time rearranging picture frames and candles every time I dust, thereby leaving a lack of time in which to do things of actual importance, like dishes and laundry and emptying the eye-wateringly pungent diaper pails.

-Stop buying and then throwing away, rotted and unopened, bags of produce such as asparagus and winter squash.

-Keep alive the five houseplants in my care. One of them belongs to my mother, so even though it LOOKS fine I have every reason to believe it will up and die right before I'm supposed to return it, just to spite me. Another is a pot of ivy that has seemed, over the past few months, to be resignedly giving up its will to live on top of my refrigerator. I keep expecting to come into the kitchen one morning and find it has jumped to its death.

-GET MY HAIR THINNED. Really, my head should be counted as a sixth houseplant. An out of control houseplant that needs sternly pruned back.

-Cook a from-scratch type of dinner at least three nights a week. I was embarrassed over the holidays when several out of town guests, after hanging out at our house for awhile, remarked on the large number of pizza boxes stacked in the garage.

-Stop leaving my contacts in overnight. Honestly. Who does that? Frequently, even?

-To not have let the yard go to hell in a hand basket by mid-July, which is what has always happened heretofore.

-To stay on top of medical/insurance stuff, which always overwhelms me. And which is bound to overwhelm me further for awhile, as Jim's company is switching plans this year. Just as we're about to start filling prescriptions for Clomid and paying for weekly progesterone shots. Also, the new OB practice doesn't accept debit cards, which is what our flexible spending account used the last couple of years, so I either have to make sure we can get checks written from the new flexible account or just file claims for reimbursement each and every time I or the kids go to the doctor. Which is like, twice a day.

-Make summer dog grooming appointment in February, rather than waiting until April or May, when Fonzie starts shedding alarming clumps of hair onto every surface, and then making a frantic call only to find out that their next available time slot is at the end of September.

-Get my pretty winter coat mended before yet another year goes by in which I don't get to wear it due to the giant rip in the seam.

-And, of course, go to the Y at least three times a week! Lose at least five more pounds! And then get pregnant! And gain at least thirty pounds! (Brings to mind that Lifehouse song, "Sick Cycle Carousel"...)

Well, there. That seems like a long enough list to briefly feel energized about and then ignore completely, doesn't it?

Last Hurrah

Here's a few of my favorite shots from this year. This has been one of the busiest, blurriest years I can remember, but also one of the best. Watching Eli turn from a hungry, grumpy little butterball of a newborn into a chortling, gleeful little brother chasing Addy around the house has been the most miraculous transformation I have ever witnessed. Addy has turned from a toddler into a nearly-preschooler, learning letters and shapes and how to much more firmly and clearly express herself about clothing, food choices, toy preferences, and her love for her purses, tiaras, and various lucky family members. And Jim and I have learned how to... Cope. Go with the flow. Enjoy the moment. I MAY have had a harder time with that lesson than he has, but I think I'm getting there. I fully believe next year will be even better.

And To All A Good Night

Dear Santa,

My greatest dream has been realized. Jewelry, perfume, books, sweaters, or fancy hand creams would now be only a side note when compared to the Christmas miracle you delivered to our house this evening... My daughter caved to my coaching, cajoling, and outright bribery, and, after much fussing and begging for a diaper and whining that her tummy hurt, begrudgingly pooped on the potty.

I have never in my life felt so excited about another person's bowel movement. I have never felt so excited about MY OWN bowel movement. I nearly cried. I gushed, "I'm so proud of you!" so many times that Adelay finally gave me a consoling, somewhat worried hug and replied, "I'm proud of you, too, Mommy!"

Early Christmas!

So guess what arrived out of the blue the other day? A gorgeous handmade carseat cover that I had totally forgotten about winning from Valley Momma! It was like the thrill you get when you discover a forgotten five dollar bill in your pocket, but, you know, a lot BIGGER of a thrill. I mean, LOOK!



And if that weren't enough, she threw in a bunch of other goodies, just 'cause she's nice like that! Lookie!



The top two are little zippered bags; the smaller one is Addy's, with cute little guitars on it, and the brown and pink one is a cosmetic bag for moi. The bottom one is a cover for a travel wipes case. So nifty, right?

Also, she sent a Christmas bib for Eli, very cute, but it's in the laundry right now so I can't show you. AND she sent crayon rolls for each of the kids! Here is Eli's, rolled:




And here is Adelay's, unrolled:



Note the possessive little hand grasping for it. That was literally the best shot I could get of her crayon roll; in all the others, Addy is actually snatching it off the desk, and all you see if a blur of fabric and grubby fingers.

These were all really well made items, in adorable fabrics. I especially love the car seat cover, though. I mean it's so awesome! Beyond the obvious convenience factor, that it is removed EASILY for washing in case someone stains it with juice or um, bodily fluids of some sort, it is just so colorful and fun and SUCH an improvement over the previous, boring navy blue fabric. And it fits perfectly, nipping in at all the right spots to conform to the shape of the car seat. I highly recommend! Thank you again, Beth!

Sigh

Well, I had my Clomid consult today, and it served only to totally frustrate me. The doctor I saw today, the "fertility expert" in the new practice I'm going to, thinks that I don't have a luteal phase defect at all, despite what two other doctors have suggested. She thinks I've just had bad luck twice, and that the low progesterone levels I had early on in those losses were just indicators that the pregnancies were failing, rather than being the reason the pregnancies were failing. I've heard this theory online from many different medical sources. Basically, as the doctor today told me, even the top experts in the field of infertility disagree on whether low progesterone is a cause or an indicator of miscarriage.

She said she thinks luteal phase defect is "overly diagnosed" and that if that were truly what I have, a, I wouldn't have been able to carry Adelay without help, and b, the progesterone supplements I took would have saved the pregnancies that I lost. She thinks my problem is that I have a delay in my ovulating process, which is causing the DNA in my eggs to deteriorate before I finally release them, which is then causing poor quality conceptions that can't develop. This delay obviously doesn't always happen, but maybe more often than not it does. I do frequently experience kind of drawn-out, painful ovulation cycles, which seem to go on for days and days instead of being over in thirty six hours or whatever.

She pointed out that several days ago when I had my ultrasound, my follicle appeared just two or three days from being ready, but my cervix was clearly far from being ready. And it's only just today that I'm beginning to feel the pain in my side that always indicates ovulation is imminent. Which means that follicle has just kind of been swelling and swelling, waiting, and meanwhile the health of the egg is suffering. I guess. That is basically what I gleaned from the discussion. Has anyone ever heard of this or had this problem themselves?

She said she didn't think Clomid was strictly necessary in my case, that Adelay is proof that I CAN conceive naturally and not miscarry. But she said that given my history of loss, and especially since I responded so well to the low dose of Clomid I took to conceive Eli, that taking Clomid is probably what she would do if she were wary of another miscarriage. She said she'd have me come in on day fourteen of my cycle, and if I hadn't ovulated on my own yet even with the drugs, she'd give me a shot to make sure I did in time to preserve the health of the egg.

I am so confused! I mean, I'm kind of relieved that I don't HAVE to take Clomid if I don't want to. I'm not DOOMED to repeated miscarriages without it. But they are significantly more likely, apparently. So what do we do? Leave it to chance and hope for the best one more time? Or say better safe than sorry and take the drugs?

Just Curious

Do you send holiday cards or write Christmas letters? Or neither?

Do you have white or colored lights on your tree?

Do you do outdoor light displays?

Do your kids get into the Santa Clause stuff, or not seem to care? Do you promote him, or actively discourage him?

What do you usually have to eat on Christmas Day?


We are writing a letter this year, and we did last year, too. It's kind of hard to find the right balance between enough information (children's ages, current activities, adult's jobs and hobbies) and too much information (probably won't begin the holiday greeting by making sure everyone knows that I lost a pregnancy in August, then had hernia surgery in October.) It's also hard to know what tone to go with: fun and breezy, or heartfelt and overflowing with gratitude. But it's fun to include pictures to go with the kids' paragraphs, and it's fun to get to brag about them a little (though again, the balance problem: how much bragging evokes a smile, and how much bragging is just plain, you know, braggy?)

We have white lights on our Christmas tree, and a white-light star. Also, gold ribbon instead of garland. But our ornaments are totally random and mostly kiddy stuff, so it's hardly a stuffy, designer-looking tree. The tree skirt is a Christmas quilt that belonged to my late grandma.

We hung icicle lights around our front porch, and wrapped blue lights around the front lamppost. I also attempted, from atop a teetery ladder, to put lights on a tree, but it was a disaster and we aren't turning those lights on. Half the strands ended up being dead, and the tree is deceptively tall and I could only get lights on the bottom two branches, and... It looks really dreadful. And is going to be a pain in my arse to take down, too, since I decided to wind the strands around and around each branch instead of stringing them gracefully from branch to branch. Yeah, it's just bad all around.

I have mentioned Santa a few times in passing to Adelay, and we have a German Santa (complete with a beer stein) in our living room, but I don't think she has any idea or concept of him, and she already seems to grasp that adults bring gifts. So I think it may be a lost cause.

I usually eat candy out of my stocking for breakfast, and then at Jim's parents there's a traditional coffee cake. My mom usually has brunchy things too. But I have to admit I pretty much just eat sugar nonstop on Christmas. I set a wonderful example, I know.

This Is A Long One

I haven't talked much about when we're planning to try to conceive baby number three, have I? Ever since August's ill-fated pregnancy, and my unofficial diagnosis with luteal phase defect, we've kind of been taking it one month at a time, but with the general agreement that we would wait at least until after the holidays.

Also, I am pretty much convinced that I want to be on Clomid when we try again, since out of my last three pregnancies, the only one that went to term was conceived using Clomid. The other two were supplemented with progesterone to try to correct my low hormones, but the supplements alone apparently weren't enough. The new doctor suggested giving it one more go with just supplements, but starting them as soon as I ovulate rather than waiting until I get pregnant. And logically, that seems like a reasonable option. But emotionally, I just cannot chance that it won't work and that I'll lose another baby. So apparently we'll be chancing twins instead! Whee!

I went for an ultrasound a couple days ago to make sure everything was good to go in the ole' reproductive organ department, and then Tuesday I have a pre-Clomid consult with the fertility specialist at my OB's office. Anyways, at the ultrasound, the tech apparently knew that I was there to prepare for a round of Clomid, but didn't know what the Clomid was being prescribed FOR. As soon as she got a view of my ovaries, she got all giddy and exclaimed, "Look at this! You've got a great big follicle on your right ovary! You're going to ovulate this month- you should try to get pregnant on your own!"

For some reason, this made me irrationally angry. "I KNOW I can ovulate," I said a little snappishly. "That's not my problem. If I get pregnant this month on my own, I'll just lose it." What I wanted to say was, "Stick to your job. Measure my uterus, measure my ovaries, take note of my follicle, whatever. But don't give me fertility advise when you have no idea what I'm here for." I think it just made me feel inadequate all over again. I mean, there was a lovely, giant follicle, ripe for ovulation, and I have no choice but to let it go to waste.

Well, sorry about that detour into Unresolved Hostility! The point is, we're getting ready to try again soon, albeit with pharmaceutical assistance. Slowly but surely, I've been feeling the Baby Urge again. I want to the hospital to visit a friend and her day old baby girl last Sunday, and whew, it was so fresh and exciting, yet so familiar and instinctive, to hold a tiny baby again. I forgot how they fit perfectly into the crook of your arm, their heads in your hand and their feet tucked in your elbow. I forgot how you can rock them on your lap and just STARE at them forever and not get bored once. I forgot- but so quickly remembered!- how inexplicably sweet they smell. Especially before their first bath... Oh. It is the smell of newness and innocence and magic. As I watched my friend snuggle her new daughter, wearing that very particular, exhausted but satisfied new mother smile, I felt just like Tina Fey in 30 Rock last week: "I want to go to there!"

It's just the getting there that has me hesitant, still. I know adding another kid would just be more chaos and mess and noise and sleeplessness, but really, once you have two, how much worse could it get? So I'm pretty much over fearing the realities of another child. I just fear the realities and risks of pregnancy. I so badly do not want to experience another loss. And I so badly do NOT want to be nauseaous and tired and weepy for three months, and then bedridden and bloated and dilated and crampy for another two months at the end. Pregnancy is miraculous, sure, but, just like a newborn, it is a miracle that is filled with messiness and complication and major inconvenience.

I wish I liked being pregnant more. It's kind of a sore point with me, because I always thought I would love every second of it. I wish I could walk around the whole time feeling like a glowing Madonna, rubbing my fertile orb of a belly. Instead, I mostly feel kind of like a joke. Like a whale. Or like my regular self, stuffed into a fat suit that I cannot escape. The fat suit prospect is especially scary given that I am finally getting into shape for the first time in my life.

But. I think we will probably try again soon. Or soon-ish. So, um, if you're pregnant, or just LIKE being pregnant, pretty please will you leave me some reminders of why it's special! and magical!?

New Tricks

This is, very obviously, not an exercise/diet/self improvement type of blog in any way, shape or form. If anything, I could be called an enabler for such things as chocolate addictions. However, I think it is worth mentioning, necessary to mention, even, that exercise has totally changed my life.

Well. Maybe not rocked it to its core or anything. But it was definitely a big part of what finally lifted the fog I felt lost in for a few months following my last miscarriage. The greatest thing it did for me, even more than the faint but still visible physical changes that are surfacing, was to allow me to see myself in a new way. I got to reinvent myself.

See, I have always thought of myself as somewhat soft, if you know what I mean. A bit of a wuss about things like headaches, colds, menstrual cramps, slight variations in temperature, having to sit in the backseat, etc. Not a fan of anything that would cause me to perspire, and certainly not a seeker of muscle tone. A girly girl, definitely. (I think the fact that I got through childbirth- TWICE, even- without an epidural shocked me more than anyone else. Sure, I had said I really didn't want one, but I said it with kind of the same mindset I am in when I say I really don't want a second piece of cake. Even I don't believe myself.)

I have never enjoyed exercise, and I felt that as long as I watched what I ate, that was good enough. (I'm using the term "watching" very loosely here.) But after that second miscarriage, I was so sad, so conflicted, and more than anything, so flat and numb feeling, that I knew I had to change up something in my life. And I had heard that those endorphins can cheer you up, so... I begrudgingly requested a gym membership for my birthday in September. Aside from a brief hiatus after my hernia surgery, I've been going two to four times a week ever since, kids in tow, and walked, jogged, biked, done the Nautilus circuit, and even tried out the hot tub. Just once, though. Mostly I've run, which is perhaps the most shocking part of it all.

I've always hated running, and more than that, I'm not really supposed to run, since I have weak knees. I've been advised to ride an exercise bike or swim for cardio instead. But I'm a terrible swimmer- I look like I'm drowning when I try to swim laps- and I hate being on the bike. I feel like a hamster on a wheel. So, I'm running anyways. And slowly but surely, I am enjoying it. Looking forward to it, even. Once I start panting, actually getting my heart rate up, it feels good. My body craves it, sometimes. I can feel my pulse quicken when I approach the track, much the way it would in the past upon spotting a box of chocolates. Okay, it still quickens for chocolate. But but BUT- now it quickens for running, too. And that is something I never, ever thought I would say.

I am pretty proud of myself.

Jim Halpert No Longer

So I finally cut Eli's hair, with Jim's begrudging permission. I've been wanting to for months, as it was beyond the "cute toddler curls" stage and fully into the "baby mullet/Jim Halpert-type hair sprouting out around the ears" stage. Here is before:



Ahem. And also maybe think "a healthy dose of that kid from The Exorcist."

Aaaannnd... After:



Righteous, dude! My new haircut, like, totally rocks!


And here's one of Addy, since I felt my last post perhaps painted her in a less than angelic light:

Potty NotTraining

The Disney Princess potty, bought in the hopes that perhaps it was a simple aesthetics preference keeping Addy from using our other potty chair, was quickly converted into an amusement park for those swingin' Fisher Price Little People.





Here we have a close up of a few of these stout, long suffering toys. This woman in the headset here appears to be warning the others back from the edges, as though from a volcano. She shouldn't have worried. Nothing more fearsome than dust has been deposited into this particular bowl.





Is it just me, or does the fellow on the right appear to have designs on the wholesome looking chic beside him?

Picking Your Brain

On My Mind: When do kids get old enough to be expected to perform "chores"? And when are they old enough to reliably take their dishes to the sink, pick up their own toys, throw dirty clothes in the hamper, rub my feet on command, etc?

What's that, you say? Around the age of thirty five? I thought so.

In No Particular Order...

We had an early Christmas in Michigan on Sunday, which is roughly three hours each way. So is it at all shocking to say that by the time we reached home, we had acquired FOUR Madagascar Happy Meal toys? Toys which emit such charming little one-liners as, "I know I'm every hippo's dream!" and "Holler at'cher boy!" If that's not annoying enough, these are motion activated toys, but they don't work all that well, so rather than just shake them you have to actually bang them on a hard surface before they'll release their garbled, mechanical quips. And um, did I mention FOUR of them?

Eli is throwing major, albeit short lived, tantrums these days. He throws his head back wildly, usually into his crib or the corner of his arch nemesis, the changing table, and then screams even louder in coupled fury and pain. Or he crumples miserably to the floor, after hurling his toy or book or milk cup across the room, and wails piteously for about ten seconds. Then he's done, and on to the next thing. Head bumps and spilled milk aside, these little fits are actually more amusing than frustrating. (Unlike those occasions of hour-long bedtime screaming, which feel like a kind of relay race: "Okay, your turn to try to settle him while I sit here at the computer and gather my strength for the next passing of the baton.")

What do you guys usually do for stocking stuffers? Do you DO stockings? And what's a reasonable price limit for stocking gifts? Because it seems to me that small does not necessarily equal inexpensive, even for kids' stuff.

What is your take on Christmas decorations? Do you feel they should be bright and fun and clash-y, and that in fact therein lies half the fun, or do you prefer your decorations to at least BLEND with the rest of your all-year-round decor? And who can guess how I feel about the subject?

Jim and I have been watching season two of Rome the last few nights, and holy crap! Has anyone else (who is familiar with the show, obv.) noticed that there is WAY more nekkedness and sex than in the first season? And not even fun sex, but kind of disturbing, this-is-the-opposite-of-a-turn-on kind of sex? Still, it is addicting, that show. Also, unfortunately, not conducive at all to getting sleepy.

Normal Is As Normal Does

I always wonder whether certain things are normal, and having kids has only heightened this curiosity. Is it normal, for instance, that Addy sometimes has tantrums because I don't pour her juice into the right cup- or even because I am not pouring it at the desired end of the kitchen counter? Is it normal that Eli will resort to biting his own hands, kind of hard, after having remote controls, DVD cases, and other people's hands removed from his jaws? Is it normal that I am sometimes loathe to let anybody change clothes one more time until I have the laundry all put away, just so that for one glorious minute all the hampers are empty?

Normal is such a relative term, I realize. In some cultures, for instance, what I would consider to be borderline child abuse or neglect is just part of how they raise their kids. While it may not be ideal, I imagine that those kids are probably not as traumatized by such treatment as kids in our society would be simply because they see it as normative. Another example would be that in many cultures, the expectation that romance, falling in love, and sexual passion will lead up to and be present in marriage simply does not exist. Marriages are like business partnerships, formed for financial security and to create a stable environment in which to raise children. And frankly, there are days when our marriage feels slightly like this: both of us handling one crisis or another, brushing teeth and mopping spills and pasting on diaper cream, then finally collapsing in the living room and completing the obligatory performance review to see how we might improve the system the next day.

But I guess it's the littler, less significant aspects of my life that I wonder about the most. Is it normal that Jim and I rarely go to bed at the same time because once in bed, no matter how tired we previously were, one or the other of us will inevitably not be able to shut up? Is it normal that Addy wants to wear her Tinkerbell costume over her regular clothes every single day- and is it okay that I allow this? Is it weird that I have such frequent dreams about being in high school? Does this happen to other people? Is it bad that when grocery shopping, I often choose kids' snacks based solely on whether or not they look like they'll be messy?

And lastly, and most importantly, is it abnormal that I really do not like Thanksgiving food very much? Especially the yams with marshmallows... And the JELLO SALADS! So... Many... Jello salads!

Humble Pie

I am not by nature a quick tempered or confrontational person. Like, even when I've had a glass or three of red wine, the most that happens is that I'll tell you loudly and with a great deal of animation how much I love you and how gorgeous your hair looks tonight! I really don't get a thrill from telling people off, or from any kind of DRAMA.

But last night, as Jim and I pulled in the driveway from a night of Christmas shopping for the kids, our neighbor stood waiting at the edge of our lawn to inquire primly if that "was your dog running around without a leash the other day." And man, I got immediately defensive and angry. This is the woman whose dog attacked ours the first time I attempted to take both the kids and Fonzie on a walk, just a few weeks after Eli was born. I was wearing Eli in a sling, and Addy had been strapped in the stroller, screaming in terror as I tried to drag the dog off Fonzie's neck while still protecting my newborn son. I yelled for help, but it took a few minutes before our neighbor, the woman's husband, sauntered out of his house to call his dog off. He seemed barely apologetic, just saying, "Huh, guess we need to keep these two apart, huh?" At the time, I was too shaken up to say much, but I was absolutely furious. His dog had run at mine- mine was leashed- and latched onto his neck, just inches from my two year old daughter. I have rarely felt so frightened and vulnerable. And unable to coherently express myself.

But boy, I found my words last night, and I quickly turned what should have been a short reminder to keep my dog in my yard into a tongue lashing about how this lady had some nerve, lecturing me about my dog escaping our yard when hers had been just lounging around in their front yard, unattended, when he obviously wasn't able to handle being around other dogs. She got very huffy, informed me that SHE never allowed such a thing and that perhaps her husband had forgotten to chain their dog, and then stormed down the driveway, yelling that there was no need to have gotten nasty.

I went inside, shaking and with a huge case of the nervous tummy. While I felt that I had a legitimate point, it was also true that a, our dog undeniably had been running around the neighborhood that morning, having escaped my eye, and b, the incident in question happened over a year ago, and it was an incident that this woman had had no personal part in. I felt terrible that I had ended the situation is such a way- I just can't stand to have people upset with me unless it's absolutely unavoidable.

I almost went back to her house, which is about four doors down, and tried to make amends. But I decided she might still be upset and not in a making peace frame of mind. So I wrote a note, not overly apologetic, but admitting that I was in the wrong for letting my dog get out and for bringing up such an old situation, and one that didn't directly involve her. I left it in her mailbox this morning, hoping for the best.

Well, I got a call from her this evening, and this lady was just pleased as PUNCH about the note. No kidding. She went on and on about how sincere and heartfelt it was, and how miserable she had been about our exchange until she found the note in her mailbox. She said, and I quote, "I really hope things can be just friendly and... And peachy between us from now on."

So, there you go, kids. Go forth and make peace. Even when it's a bitter pill to choke down. That phone call felt good.

Season's Greetings

It is snowing for the first time here. I mean, heavy, pelting, sticking to the ground snow. I am so! excited! It looks like a holiday card out there. We are celebrating by eating doughnuts and watching Clark Griswold and family making merry. Nothing like the classics.

Also, I went Christmas shopping this morning for the first time this season. I needed to buy gifts for a holiday get together that is happening NEXT SUNDAY. And now I need to buy WRAPPING PAPER. Is it, like, Christmas time already? What is going ON? Next thing you know I'll be dragging out the tree, and wondering where on earth I'm going to put all the gorgeous Christmas decorations I just had to have from last year's after Christmas sale at Target.

Anyways, it's been awhile since I took a poll, hasn't it? I sense your impatience for another one, my dears, so here we go: When do YOU put up holiday decorations? And what is your family's favorite holiday movie? (My answers, for the record, would be: the day after Thanksgiving, and A Christmas Story. Also, I'm not sure if this counts as a holiday movie, per se, but I always watch Love Actually at Christmastime too.)

Breaking My Rules By Making Some Rules

I am not, as a general rule, a big fan of strict schedules for kids. Or for myself, come to that. What I have had to admit in recent weeks, though, is that while schedule may not be a necessity for little ones, having a routine is enormously helpful. In terms of sleep, the last few weeks have been shockingly different to the previous months and years, thanks mainly to our reluctant instituting of a bedtime schedule. Which means both the kids are in bed by eight thirty, or very close to. Which means I can get a few hours of peace and still be in bed by eleven, as opposed to twelve or one, like before. Which means we all wake up around seven, when we're supposed to. And also that I wake up feeling reasonably okay, and not like I want to sob with exhaustion.

A month ago, bedtime was killing me, and not so softly, either. I would stagger into the den at ten or eleven, having finally succeeded in settling one or the other of the kids down for the final time, and fall onto the couch thinking, "Another baby would kill me dead. We simply have no more room for chaos- full capacity has been reached." After one particularly bad night when I was in tears of exhaustion and frustration, we decided we had to do something differently, so we put together a much more detailed bedtime routine than had previously been in place.

Before, the only set events which took place were brushing Addy's teeth, saying prayers and singing her a song. But it happened kind of whenever she seemed sleepy, which was usually not until nine or even ten. Eli was the same- we'd respond to his sleepy cues, rather than just arbitrarily saying it was bedtime. I still think this is, generally speaking, not a wholly stupid plan, and that it works for some kids. It worked for Adelay when she was a baby just fine. And really, it's still kind of what we're doing- we just had to force them to start getting sleepy earlier, and around the same time each day. It wasn't working for them to stay up so late, because we inevitably ended up staying awake later ourselves to try to get in a few hours of grown up time. This made Jim exhausted (and late for work) and me sluggish and miserable until about noon the next day.

So, we drew up battle plans, essentially, deciding that around seven o' clock, the bedtime routine would commence. We assigned ourselves battle stations (feeding Eli his nightly oatmeal, brushing Addy's teeth, getting out pajamas, etc.) that we should be manning simultaneously so that each child was ready to be tucked in by eight pm. We've been following the plan for about two weeks now, and while we are sometimes off by up to a half hour, in general we are adhering pretty faithfully to the rules. And it... It works. The kids are getting reliably sleepy, exhibiting their cues of glazed over eyes, yawning and thumb sucking, by about seven forty five each night. They are going to bed and staying there, without Eli's usual ruckus and protests and jumping and screaming and having to be settled down multiple times.

I suppose it's probably too early to call it, and one must also factor in the fact that they've been kind of sick-ish and run down lately with colds/allergies, and so may just be more sleepy and compliant in general, but... I think I may just be in love with our new schedule. Who knew?

Increasing My Carbon Footprint One Diaper At A Time

I am making another halfhearted go at pushing the potty training thing. As I type, (having been up for two hours already on a SUNDAY, what the heck) Adelay is dancing around bare bottomed to her Angelina Ballerina movie, her potty chair abandoned behind her. At the moment, her brother seems more interested in it than she does, though his designs for the potty have more to do with licking and less with peeing. Lord, but parenting is disgusting.

Ah, and now she's just gone to her room to fetch a clean diaper, informing me that she is done sitting on the potty. "Have you gone pee?" I ask hopefully, jumping up like a fireman to a bell. But no. As always. Two sticker charts, bags of pink M and M's, and multiple packs of Disney Princess and My Little Pony panties later, our successes on the potty could still be counted on two hands.

And... Eli is hunched over the potty chair, up to his elbows in the actual POT part now. He looks like a small, portly plumber. His little sleeper sleeves are rolled up, even. Off I go again to put a stop to it.

And I'm back. I must remember to corner and hiss at whoever suggested dragging that stupid potty all over the house with us.

Someone tell me about the worst potty training stories you can think of. Children going to sleep-away camp with Pull Ups in their duffels, that sort of thing. Cheer me up.

Overthink

So I kept hearing about all the LINES and the WAITING for voting this year, and I was determined to go, but equally determined not to take the kids with me. They are not old enough to appreciate the process, only old enough to whine incessantly and be miserable when forced to stand in line for more than two minutes. So. I convinced Jim to work from home today, got up a little early, got the kids all dressed and fed and changed and played with, and had Eli down for a morning nap by NINE AM. Nice. Then I got Addy busy with her paints, grabbed my purse, double checked my stance on a few issues, and dashed out the door.

Our precinct's voting center is the high school that is literally about two blocks away from us. But I was still feeling anxious, thinking LINES. Instead, when I got there, I had to wait behind literally one person, and was then immediately ushered through the speedy process of having about six rather old people find my name in their books, squint at my driver's license, copy down my first name as KAREN instead of Sarah (how?..wha?) and then discuss how they went to high school with a kid who had my very same last name and do I know good old Joseph so and so?

But that aside, whoa, the voting process was speedy quick and painless for me. I'm proud that I planned for any and all disaster, but yeah... I probably could have saved those plan-ahead skills for times like, say, when Eli had a poo blowout at the Y the other day and I realized my diaper bag was fresh out of wipes.

How about you? Everyone out voting with kids in tow, or did you have a contingency plan?

Here's To Autumn Sunshine

Good morning, my lovies. I had fun playing in the leaves with you today.