Setting it Up

Is it me or does blogspot sort of suck lately? I attempted to grace you with my writing three different times- however- there were technical issues. And since it was a passing fancy- I didn't use Word to write and save- I just played Farmville instead.

Things around here have been all about Christmas. The fake tree is up. And while most of my holiday decorations sit in the garage in boxes this year- there is enough holiday spirit in a tight enough space that we are not lacking in Christmas cheer. Most of the gifts have been bought- all via one giganto Target trip and hours perusing the internet. I love how the gifts keep rolling in. One UPS truck after another. It makes me feel sort of popular to have my door buzzing all of the time. I can see how one could get themselves in to dilly of a pickle with the on-line shopping channels.

Anyway- I figured that with a new baby in the house it would be hard to stay behind the eight ball, but actually it's quite the opposite. I am so bored most evenings while trapped, I mean, while sitting at home that it's relatively easy to let my fingers do the shopping.

While shopping and decorating and RSVP'ing NO to all of the Christmas parties has put the season into full effect around here, I feel pressure to come up with at least ONE holiday tradition. And last night, while drinking a bottle of red and wrapping Christmas gifts while BonJovi sang their version of Jingle Bells in the background, I thought of it.

Aside from copying my mother's tradition and buying Jake his very own themed ornament every single year (he's starting out with Snowmen ) I have decided to buy a stocking for Jesus, and will hang it in addition to ours... in order to keep the idea of the season in focus.
I am wondering if other people have any ideas?

Holiay Recharge

Between work and mothering and preparing for the Thanksgiving holiday, I have had little to no free time. Blogging has taken a severe back seat to pretty much... everything else. Part of the issue, I believe, is that I have not had time to think. Not enough time to watch crappy rom-coms and read poorly written British chick lit. No unwinding time on the treadmill or in the bath- or even a two hour solitary trip to Target. All of these things being, of course, my favorite ways to unwind. Which was why yesterday was such a treat.
I spent the better part of the week and the weekend anxiously preparing my litany of Thanksgiving dishes. I spent so much time cooking that our evening family time was relocated to the kitchen. My husband casually remarked, " I am really sick of hanging out in the kitchen." I hear you my dear, oh, I hear you.
That being said, I rather enjoyed perusing the internet last week for holiday fair that was not of my usual variety. I want to especially thank Martha Stewart and Paula Deen for sharing a nice variation of a Fall Salad, a crunch top old fashion apple pie, and chocolate pumpkin marbled cheesecake bars. That being said. The food I created was fine. No raves, no complaints. ( Perhaps next year I will try to drink less wine while baking?? - On second thought.. nah. )
The actualy holiday- between packing all of the said dishes, and the baby, and the baby's "stuff" and then relocating from one family to the other family 45 minutes away mid-day, left me... exhausted. Don't get me wrong, the holiday was delightful as it usually is... but for reasons afore-mentioned, it was not exactly what one would deem... relaxing. Which is what I am trying to tell you I have been craving these days. ( By the way- a revamping of the holiday schedule is on the docket for next year---).
So yesterday- with a refrigerator full of yummy leftovers, signaling a day off from the kitchen, and the hubby out doing his thing.... I relaxed. I swore to Billy as he was exiting the house that, " I am not doing jack today, just so you know."
And despite my declaration I found myself scooting my brand new Bissell around the house ( boy did we ever need a new vacuum... gross!! ), and I couldn't resist tackling the overgrown laundry pile, I did manage to squeeze in plenty of cuddle time with Jake and to rent Four Christmases with Reese Witherspoon and my favorite celeb to trash on, Vince Vaughn ( because I waited on him while waitressing years ago and he was a total asshole). But despite his smarmy grin I enjoyed all 96 minutes of the poorly rated box office bomb, as it epitomized what it is I have been craving... down time.
Today I feel emotionally recharged. Ready to tackle Old Navy with gusto and to reconsider my former promise of NO CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS. Because last night when I glimpsed the shiny glory of all of the eager beaver neighbor's Christmas finery, I couldn't imagine Jake's first Christmas with a scroogey Mom sans sparkly white lights.
It's amazing what a little rest can do.

Tiny Chair in for BIG Surprise

Perhaps it was envisioning the rage. Maybe it was thinking about a big lady on a tiny chair. It could have been the space I know she cleared away in the living room in order to make room for such a "good deal" on such a cute and cozy looking chair with an ottoman, no less! Regardless, while I was perusing the Target site looking for Christmas list ideas for Jake, I couldn't help but ALMOST pee my pants when I came across this review. I WONDERED why it had such a low rating- but this review really takes the cake. I think someone needs to learn to laugh at themselves, no?

PS. When clicking on the link- be sure to click 2 reviews next to the starred rating in the upper right hand corner.

Home

Shockingly, I am surprisingly okay with the commitment of having a baby. I miss Lauren Conrad more than I miss my night's out.
Perhaps this is just becuase I was ready for this phase of life.
I have often even found that having a baby is an incredible escape excuse. No one questions the choice to "stay in" because the "baby isn't feeling that great" or whatever other BS excuse I can so easily blame on my 14 pound, speechless, bundle of love.
My husband and I have been incredibly and increasingly anti-social over the last couple of years. The infant just catapults us into a completely new realm of staying in. However the baby allows us to no longer feel the need to "go" just because if we didn't it would be rude. Rudeness is practically a way of life at this point. Sorry Emily Post- it's just the way it is. Guilt free "no's" to every R.S.V. and P.
Don't get me wrong- it's great to see a lunch in my schedule once in a while. An evening dinner with just the girls. A morning spent pampering my under-pampered self. But I really don't miss the commitments to bars and parties that require us to wear anything aside from sweatpants after 4 PM on the weekends.
On the flip side- I am seriously considering piling up the debt just to have DVR access- which has suddenly turned into an almost necessity... ALMOST. TV has become extremely important as of late. I have actually even considered writing letters to the networks... to "voice my thoughts" on this or that ( I cannot believe the filth on cable before 7 PM or that SOME shows make me pay a DOLLAR just to catch up on a little half hour comedy ! BUt thanks Bravo for finally getting Hosewives On Demand... sheesh! It's taken long enough! ). I know... big time stuff here. Hard to grasp, isn't it?
So today- another day spent in the 1000 square feet of comfort that has become so part of me that I don't even see the dust.

Scared

When people told me to make the baby sleep on his back, use ONLY sleepers and above all else, put NO TOYS or bumpers in the crib. I listened. I listened because I am a new Mom and I didn't want to make a drastic mistake. Over the last week, as we leave month three happily behind us ( gimme me a break, I had a rought start ) and enter month four ( thank you God of rice cereal ), we have made the swing a part of Jake's past and introduced him to his new one and only sleeping spot. His crib.
It's been fairly easy, as the timing seemed right. Well, that, and since he was teething he was on some doses of Tylenol so once that kicked he didn't give a rat's patootie WHERE he was sleeping.
In order to smooth his transition into his "big boy bed", I allowed him one eensy teensy tiny itty bitty allowance. His eight inch by eight inch square binky. Silky on one side and fuzzy wuzzy soft on the other. He loves the thing and it helps him fall instantly to sleep once the cool, shiny silk is placed lovingly against his cheek. How can a mom say no?
Last night, while home alone, I put him down for a late afternoon nap. Binky and all. Suddenly I heard his guttaral screams and at first, figured he was spoiled and his pacifier fell out... again. But then something about that cry made me run like the wind towards his room. I flung the lights on and the poor little guy had gotten his binky somehow stuck across his face. The more he tried to breathe in, the more stuck he felt. Since he was screaming, I knew he was okay, but when I leaned in to pick him up, he went limp in my arms and immediately snuggled his head on my chest. It took him a good twenty mintues to calm down and breathe at his normal rate. It took me at least twenty four hours. Well, actually, I don't think I am over it yet. I don't think I will ever be "over" it.
Tonight, he went to sleep withOUT his special binky. I actually want to throw the darn thing away, but figure he will grow into it.
Now that my first scare is over, I feel more like a mom than ever. As I buttoned my big-sized pants around my rounded middle this morning, I thought how lucky I was that I heard him. How lucky I am to even be graced with his life. How quickly things can go wrong. How horrid it would be. I am a humbler Mom today.

Oink Oink

As new parents of our three and a half month old, we have been really missing out on some quality time together as a couple. We anticipated our weekend visit to the babysitters, I mean Grandma's house, with enthusiasm. Despite the extra hour in the car due to stormy, potentially hydroplaning weather in our two-wheel drive car, we made it. Albeit exhausted and excitement slightly waning.
Generally, an eight o'clock PM arrival would signal a trip straight to the fridge for a nice tall cold one, while Grandma took over all baby duties. HOWEVER, I wasn't feeling it. Really, just wasn't in the mood. And after catching up with everyone for a little bit, admitted that my shortness of temperament suggested I needed to hit the sack. I figured I could get rested up and perhaps hit the town with the hubby tomorrow night.
When I woke up in the morning... I knew something wasn't right. The deep congested cough sounded like a dying cow, and my bones ached to their core. Of course, this didn't stop me from a trip to Walmart to pick up some essentials. Or a visit to Farm and Fleet, wherein I proceeded to peruse the baby clothes and toys while my husband scoured the rest of the store, checking out bullets and tire gauges and deer blinds and wrenches.
By the time we got back home, a mere hour and a half later, and as the much detested Swine Flu set in, sorry piggies, I mean H1N1, I needed to lay on the couch. As day turned into night, I realized our night on the town would need to be toned down bit. More like a night on the couch. With Tylenol and jammies. Sadly, I stared at my husband through fevery eyes as he tried to keep up his spirits by cracking open a few cold ones by himself with me laying there and Grandma holding the baby. Probably wasn't what he had in mind for a date night. To top it all off, seemed like the baby was getting his very own dose of the piggy flu, too.
Saturday was even worse, with nothing signifying it was anything but another lame day. Couch. TV. Feed the sick baby. Stuff the sick Mommy with Tylenol. Sleep.
Sunday we packed up, fevers and all and headed back home. Stuck in traffic. Not feeling good. Unable to sleep. Once we got in the door, we spend the better part of Sunday doing the same things as Saturday. Canned soup for dinner. Amazing Race. Early EARLY bed.
So the weekend we had so looked forward to was a bit of a bust.
However, today, I am feeling MUCH better. The baby is in sleep mode. Tomorrow we will be back to the grind like any other day.
The baby's first "sickness" was not what I anticipated. Easier than I thought it would be to manage. Not as scary as I worried about. I am thankful it is behind us and didn't get worse than it could have.
I feel bad I didn't get to spend time with my husband, which we are in dire need of. We have scheduled a babysitter ( thankssoveryverymuch Jen ) for next Sunday. Hopefully My One and Only will not also fall sick... leaving THAT a bust as well.
As for the Swine Flu... I find it a bit emabarassing... say like a case of lice or something. Dirty. Nasty. Piggy-like. When I texted my co-worker this morning she repsonded with an "oink oink". Maybe the name of it doesn't garner the kind of sympathy a more scary sounding illness gets, like say strep throat, or bronchitis.
Either way, all is getting back to normal and I again can look forward to a date with my man.

Realistic Women

You know your life is getting pretty darn small when you almost wet yourself with excitement when you see the new US Weekly laying in your mail pile. Really. I almost wet myself and especially when I have forgotten that it's coming and it surprises me, like a wet lick from a puppy.
You can pretty much bet that the 24 hours following it's arrival will leave me unattentive to pretty much anything anyone has to say... that is unless you have a comment or insight into an article I am reading. My current favorite topic, aside from Lady Gaga's lazy eye, ( please tell me you know what I am talking about? ) is Tory Spelling's eating disorder, I mean, "stomach issues". Becuase we all know that when you drop down to 98 pounds and your upper thighs are thinnner than your knee caps and you get a bad case of the runs you are fine... just need a little imodium is all. Or some LUNCH. But whatever, I actually like her and wish her well.
Anyway, while poring over the photos of the who's who in Hollywood, I must admit that on certain days I find myself wistfully thinking how much I would like to be that rich/that thin/that well dressed/well groomed, etc. And then I take a cold shower, cram my fat butt into some cozy sweat pants, spackle my porous face with expensive make up and I am suddenly brought back to my reality.
But I really do catch myself sometimes, wishing wistfully and all. So it's with great pleasure when I come across some great news... like this German mag, Brigitte. Three cheers for realistic women.

Motherhood... So Far Anyway

With so much time spent at work, and all my evening time spent catching up with the baby and the husband, I am finding that having time to write a blog, let alone a thank-you note, is getting away from me. But today, as the dust sits collecting in little piles, the laundry basket has well overflowed, and the bed goes unmade for the umpteenth day in a row, I find myself sitting here instead of catering to my chores. Wanting to get my thoughts written down while I was still thinking them.
And that's when it hit me. I am not really having any thoughts, lately, other than should we wake him? Should we put him down? Should we put rice in the bottle? Should we put on more/less blankets? Should we put him inside/outside/upside-down? Basic thoughts. Caring thoughts. Easy thoughts. Thoughts that are not only a great break from the norm, but are also a welcome excuse to avoid more taxing, unpleasant thoughts, like paying bills or what to make for dinner. Like should we make a will and how can we get out of this condo?
That is what, to me anyway, is so beautiful about Motherhood. How I can do so little to soothe him. Make him giggle. Provide him comfort and be his everything, that while certainly time consuming, is so... simple.
And as much as I want to see him grow up and crawl and walk and talk, I want to remember what this time was like, too. Because when he becomes a mouthy, independent adolescent, I want to have a vivid memory of being in love with him. And other stuff, but really, I want to remember what it was like to be so needed, and how fufilling that is.
So no, I don't really have anything interesting to say outside of how lucky I am to finally get the chance to be a Mom. Of how much I like it. Of how things have realligned themselves and I have never been happier. But who wants to hear about that?
He will. Maybe that's the point.

Calling Me Crazy

SOMEone stole the little white pumpkin. SOMEone threw rocks at my window. SOMEone threw mud balls at the bricks. Then I had a baby. And when SOMEone threw more rocks, eggs, and water balloons at my windows, I got mad.
Because there is a baby in the house and I am one protective Mama. And thoughts of the glass cracking and letting in all the hot air or cold air or the elements come into my house... my BABY'S house...and possibly inhibit his comfort? Well... now... I don't THINK so.
So we started calling the cops. Yep. 911. Well, not exactly. We called the local non-emergency line. And then they would transfer us to the police. We would and well, DO, wait patiently on the patio for them to show up. And because of our property taxes and the town we live in, they did. Show up, that is.
The first few times, we were... uncomfortable. I mean, it's highly UNlikely that any REAL harm will result from any INTENTIONAL crimes here. Junior High pranks at best. I know.
But try mixing a protective Mama, a TIRED Mama, and a wife who FINALLy got to sit down to a nice candlelight dinner of homemade burgers and a Caprese salad with her husband for the first time in months, and have a laser beam shining into her face shortly after hearing some kids say... "This one.. this one.. THIS is the one".
That is where THIS woman throws her fork down already. Because quite honestly? It was at THAT moment that I knew. I knew that for whatever reason we were the neighborhood "target", and I was DONE DONE DONE.
And while we had been reporting the last FEW transgressions, the officers seemed to care little to none, and we assumed our efforts were an effort in futility.
However, this police officer was very nice. I started off with my usual description, a white kid, a black kid, an asian kid and an hispanic kid. His response? Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. I knew right away that THIS Officer might be the first to "crack the case".
His phone call within the hour confirmed my confidence. After talking to one of the "followers", who sank like a rotted ship and narced them ALL out, he was able to identify and visit each home. Not so great if you are the parent of a Junior High aged child, I would guess.
When I thanked him for his efforts, he warned me to "not get too excited" as the parents played nice but only agreed to "work on it with their kids"... he sounded pessimistic.
I, however, am excited. I am excited because I feel validated that even though these are childhood pranks, they are becoming increasingly frequent, aggressive, and intrusive. They are preventing me from feeling safe and comfortable when I am home with the baby.
I am not excited that there are some families out there that had a pretty bad night. Or some kids today, for example the narc, that probably get beat up. My husband said late last night, after we both had spent some time contemplating the series of events, "You know, I have been thinking, this is the kind of thing that creates a fork in the road. These kids are going to be making a decision because of this. This is where they say ef it, or ask themselves why they are doing this kind of stuff ".
Truer words could not be said.

Precious Life

Before Jake was born, and before I was even with child, it was just Billy and I. It was then that we somehow managed to illicit friendships with the neighbor folks. A lot of them. The octogenerian set. That is what you get in a condo building in our part of town.
When our friends found out we were expecting, much excitement was felt throughout the courtyard. Stopped frequently by enthusiastic congratulations and talks and memories of raising their own little ones many years ago. We were gracious for thier gifts. Not only of the standard onesies, photo albums and recieving blankets, but also the advice, support, and cheerful smiles.
When Jake finally arrived, we could barely sit on our front patio without feeling somewhat accosted by the curious and happy-for-us neighbor friends who wanted to stop by and meet our little bundle and of course, bestow MORE gifts and wisdom. That with the colic we most surely needed, appreciated and accepted.
In the days and weeks that followed, a few of our most eager friends seem to have disappeared. I missed the quick chats in the parking lot, on the patio, and under the apple tree in the courtyard. The invitations to come by with the baby or if we needed some support or a break.
And then yesterday happened.
Neighbor Rich banged on our door with his cane. Insisting we open up immediately so he could rest his eyes on the peanut. If you didn't know him better, you would surmise that his gruffness translated into insensitivity, however we knew better. He then went on to tell us about his pain. The arthritis that has taken over his body and left him virtually immobile. How it was so severe that he was going to be asking the doctor to kindly unplug his heart defribulator pumping inside his body so that he could die peacefully within two weeks of a massive heart attack. Luckily, he told us, there was a renewed hope as his newest medications seemed to be easing it a bit.
Then there was neigbor Dorothy. We were laying on the couch with the baby finally asleep restfully after his first round of shots. I rolled my eyes when I saw her approaching, annoyed that my first real time to relax was being interrupted. She knocked ever so gently and with such timidity that I was ashamed at my initial annoyance.
She came in and of course, was looking for the baby. It was then she told us that she was blind. Suddenly. Seems as if some strep had settled in her one good eye leaving her blinded. The good news was that she was going to be able to keep the eye. If it had happened when she was fifty she is pretty sure she would have killed herself, because now, literally overnight, at the age of 78, she cannot do anything. Drive, cook, dress, read. She cannot SEE. It's no way to live, she tells us. Her own grown children are devastated for her. WE are devastated for her. She was sad that she couldn't see the baby that she had so anticipated watching grow.
Once she left and we settled back into our places on the couch, it sunk in more fully.
As I looked down at the precious bundle in my arms, I thought about the beauty of life, as well as the horror of it. I hope Jake knows one day how much he was loved by so many people without ever having to try. I hope he knows that there were some special people that loved him as they were leaving this world and he was entering it, and how those people calmed us, soothed us, supported us and helped us get his life started.
Mostly, I hope he learns to respect life, and the life cycle and how precious it all is.

Operation Get Things Back On Track Day

I am getting snowed. I am getting taken for a ride by my 10 week old, hook, line and sinker. Seems as if the little peanut has noticed that he gets a lot more attention if he chooses to eat little 2 ounce snacks every couple of hours instead of some decent sized 5 ounce meals.
Last week we had managed it all but good, getting him up to 5 ounces at a shot- leaving us with beautifully long slumbers and lots of pleasant adults in the house.. and then we went to Grandma's. It's not her fault. Not by a long shot- but with several three hour road trips in front of us, we were desparate to get him to play nice and sit in his car seat and shut up, I mean rest peacefully, for the duration. Which also means with barely a whimper to be heard we were running like a Jamaican to get him his bottle, pick him up, change him... you name it. It was a very short-lived, but princely time in his life.
It wasn't until yesterday that I noticed the severe regression from all the chaos and his lack of ability to get back into the swing of things.
Today? Operation Get Things Back On Track Day.
Armed with several "How to do this" and "How to do that" baby books in my arm and a newfound reisistance to the peanuts yelps and squirms for MORE MORE MORE- I started the day with "The Plan".
"The Plan" consists of little more than extending the time between his feedings and not picking him up when he's needing a good long nap. Somehow- this has ended up involving lots of pacifiers getting shoved into his tiny, adorable, sweet little pie-hole. Mommy of the Year anyone?
It seems to be working and we have already made some progress. And as I tell my husband... it's actually good for the WHOLE family, namely ME- as I am much more pleasant when the diaper changings are interspersed with quiet moments in which I can put the peanut's scrapbook together already.
Which as of today, is actually coming along quite nicely- thanksverymuch.
The only real fear is the "big debate"... which is him resisting his encouraged bedtime tonight of 7 pm and pushing it to his usual 9- which has majorly interfered with my prime time television watching. Thank God for OnDemand.

The Heart Beats Fonder

How can it be that in baby time an hour goes on for DAYS and a week flashes by in a second? At least that is how it has been for me.
Now that we have Jake's colic under control ( I finally had the nerve to ignore Doctor's orders and switched his formula ) it's like we returned our old cranky baby and got a new one. Since then we have had the chance to watch the beginnings of his personality blossom from amongst the dirty diapers, bottles, and burp cloths.
He's still what one might deem "particular". However, he's also very contented to sit back and watch the world. Of course, that is when he's not exercising those strong little legs of his or craning his hulkonian like neck about. He loves the outdoors and car rides and severely dislikes his crib and the sun shining on his face. He likes to eat in snack portions and he prefers his Dad to his Mom on most days. He's a sucker for having his head scratched and the bouncy seat but can tell in an instant if you lift a finger off his carefully held into place pacifier.
I know, nothing too out of the ordinary or shocking- but a real blessing for us. After navigating through several surreal weeks of non-stop crying and feelings vascillating between frustration and helplessness, we cannot help but feel in awe of his every non-crying movement.
Admittedly, not every moment is steeped in blissful Mommy and baby sentiment, however, it's so much easier now to peer into his tiny little face and fall deeper and deeper into love with him. It's these moments that seem to take a lifetime, but yet pass me by in seconds. I wish I could bottle the feeling and market it... or at least save it for myself to relish some other time... like when he gets his first speeding ticket or stays out past curfew...
But for now I will try to remember what these moments feel like. How a day can slip by and all I have to show for it is a deeper, stronger love.

Sunshine

I must say- the last week has been a whirlwind. Ironically, I took a break from having a baby to go back to work for three days. Not just any three days- the FIRST three days of SCHOOL. Which just happen to be about the most stressful three days of the year. Well, aside from the LAST three days of the year- but that's a different story.

There were curriculum projects to complete, lesson plans to prepare, classrooms to decorate, supplies to be bought and organized, memos to be written and sent, and of course, people to greet, among the myriad other tasks and tedium. And as much as I was frustrated that the chaos was interfering with my time at home, it was a good place to have to be. Not many people can say they love their jobs- but I can.

To make matters even better, my husband stayed home with the baby. Meaning there were no drop-offs or pick-ups to juggle. And especially no worries about leaving my baby with a babysitter, as I knew he was in good hands with his Dad.

The three days flew by with surprising speed, and during that time, we went against the doctor's orders and went with gut instinct and changed the baby's formula to a more sensitive version to see if that would help with the colic. Lo and behold a miracle has happened.

It's like we have a new baby. He doesn't cry. Ever. He's so... good. I am shocked that this is what it's like to have a regular baby. Completely shocked. Life is so much... easier.

We can actually find him a regular bed to sleep in - some semi-normal routines. We can teach him to sleep on his back, play with him, read to him, leave the house with little to no concern. We can even SIT DOWN sometimes! I don't think we have even grasped the full scope of our new capabilities yet. The fog has begun to lift and despite the rain, the sun is shining a little brighter in our world today.

Colic + TV =

So this...... PLUS THIS....

Lots of late nights holding the baby lately. And with that- comes some tied up hands- meaning the remote- while within reach- is useless. Because once you get that colicky baby into a sleeping position- you work quite hard at maintaining those gates to hell that will break loose if you so much as wiggle your thumb. The last few nights have found me dozing on the couch- with the baby snuggled on my chest. Because even though I said I wouldn't do that- it's what works. Yes- I know... keep your told-you-so's to yourself. I promise to apolgize when I come up for air. In the meantime- I woke myself up the other night dreaming of the Daisy Sour Cream jingle with my own words

Do the colic. Do do the colic... Cra-zyyyyyy...

Changes

Huge changes are taking place around my house this week. Huge. Well, at least in my very tiny world they SEEM huge. Whatever. Here they are in no particular order:
1. I will be in my "Mid to late thirties". Old for having a newborn. I know. I know that every time I go to lift him and my back aches or when I have to ask for help to get up off of the ground after changing him. Oh, I know alright.
2. Jake's poop has turned green. And it comes about once a day--- and believe it or not... this is a welcome change considering before it was yellow and came about... um... ten times a day. Yeah, three cheers for formulated green poop!
3. I will no longer have to accept "You must be poor "stares at the gym because I am trading in my huge orange and white Sony Discman which I bought in the late 90's for an I-pod. For my birthday, of course. We are, of course, still poor. In fact, with the little one more poor than ever, but at least it won't be soo.... OBvious.
4. Jake is starting to sleep in his crib. NOT his car seat... his CRIB. Which is located not ANYwhere, but IN his room. This has it's plusses and minuses, but most importantly, my husband and I will be sleeping in our OWN room together, and ALONE. A VERY welcome change.
5. The maternity pants will be boxed up and put away. I realize they still fit, and rather comfortably I might add. However, I have seen Stacy London humiliate someone on national television for not putting away the maternity garments and securing some "regular" pants that fit appropriately within a reasonable timeline of the baby's birth. It's been a solid six weeks... And while I will always have fond memories of pants that are basically elasticized from the knees up- it IS time to put them away.
6. I will be exiting a weight that is so near the two buck mark that I live in a state of constant turmoil and anxiety. Yes, I will. Well, actually, this hasn't happened YET, but I am guessing by the time I do my Weight Watchers Weekly Weigh-in on Thursday that this WILL be the case. If it is NOT the case, I can safely predict that the husband will have to deal with some sort of emergency meltdown ending in me spending money NOT on the NON-maternity pants I spoke of earlier, but some nice shoes and perhaps some other accessories, like a necklace or something. So either way- I can see the silver lining here.
I know, not exactly a stellar list here. But ya know... humor me here people. I realize there will be a day when life's significance will not be associated wtih poop and fat...I am, however, not holding my breath.

Bedtime Stories

Looks like I am already proving to be a bad mother sometimes. While on-line searching for more colic cures, I have come across millions of suggestions. I have been trying them all. The other night, while sitting through hour two of the "cry", I recalled some advice recommending that sometimes telling a nice bedtime story in a soothing voice while rocking the infant on your chest would soothe them. I know, not exactly rocket science, but then again, it was hour two... I was sort of grasping at straws here. Even if it did seem rudimentary.... At any rate, with a renewed surge of hope that I could still quell this bout of wails, I heard myself tell my son this spectactular tale:
Once upon a time there was a beautiful little prince. He was a special and handsome little boy, and people across the country heard of this extraordinary prince and wanted desperately to meet him. He became very educated and was skilled at many things. He could build a house, ride a horse, scale the tallest mountains, and swim the deepest seas.
One day, it became evident to the queen that it was time for him to marry. A bulletin was posted and ladies throughout the land came to vie for his hand in marriage. After a series of tests were administered, a group of special and beautiful ladies, that were purported to be a good match, were introduced to the prince. The prince then chose carefully the lucky lady that would be his wife.
So they married and had a bunch of annoying babies that had the worst colic anyone had ever seen.

After finally getting him to sleep, and then myself to sleep, I awoke groggily remembering my "bedtime" story, feeling what I am sure is to be the first of many guilty pangs I will experience as a mother. Luckily for all of us, due to some formula adjustments, I suspect the colic is subsiding. Hopefully his bedtime stories will start to have some happier endings.

Garden Riddle

What do you get when you cross the following:
1. Frustrating trip to Ace Hardware to pick up potting soil and seeds... leave having spent 50 bucks and a royal headache.
2. Hours bent over pots at 8 months pregnant resulting in severe backache and yet another royal headache.
3. Daily trips outside, 8-10 months pregnant, lugging two gallon water bucket 'round the house to water the 50 bucks worth of potting soil and seeds that will grow into breathtakingly beautiful flowers and luscious fruits and veggies that we will generously share with friends and family...?

The Three Pea Pods.

Run, now... don't walk! To get YOUR pick of the litter. I think the bottom middle one looks the best. Of course, since I spent all that time and money, naturally, I took that one for myself. I bit right into that little green splendor of homegrown deliciousness. BUT!! Thing was? NOT so delicous. In fact... horrible. I did you all a favor and put the other two in the garbage.

Can you imagine? Lucky me!! All that fun and glory for only fifty dollars and constant tending in my last month of pregnancy? I can't WAIT 'til next summer.

Re-Set

I keep having to remind myself that I am NOT in prison. Even though I know that some prisoners ARE getting outside more than I am these days ( believe me when I say that). I know getting outside should be or seem easy- but "outside" has taken on new meaning these days. I think it is most evidenced by my plants. Which after three days in the hospital began to look whithered. But with my Mom here got revived but now with my Mom gone again have shriveled back to basically brown leafy remnants of their former growing selves. Sorry future cukes and tomatoes. Sorry you didn't stand a chance. Things have gotten so pathetic that even though watering these said plants requires only a sliding open of the glass doors, I have resorted to writing "WATER PLANTS" on my Very Important TO DO: list- and it's STILL not getting done. I would rather spend THAT five free minutes, apparently, doing just about anything else. I am getting pretty used to the air condition.
There are other things around here that also are getting neglected. Myself for starters. I don't particularly like the shade of pink I chose to paint my toe nails. I stare at it's Pepto Bismol grossness all day- and even all night- and think--- I should change that out. It had looked so pretty in the store. And then it was like "Project of the Century" to get the nails actually clipped, cleaned, preened and painted. It took an entire weekend to do it and I am not even exaggerating on that. So changing it out seems likes a gargantuan undertaking and I could only wish for two free hours of a salon variety pedicure at this point. But really, that seems next to impossible to organize. In due time on that one... due time.
My house has managed to stay relatively together- because I spend virtually every waking free minute trying to keep it that way. I exhaust myself scrubbing the counters and doing the laundry and making the bed ( I don't know why I need to make the bed at this point- considering there is really no "day" or "night" in my world- so it's just a random series of making and UNmaking it ). I will admit, however- that I have let the floors get ahead of me. I don't tell guests that the smudge they see by the couch is actually some spilled breast milk ( DISGUSTING- I SWEAR I keep meaning to clean it up but it never seems to transfer into the hard drive long enough for me to actually go and GET the product, bring it back and actually USE it ), or that the clump of grease on the kitchen floor is from last weeks burger fest ( of which you can still sorta smell the hamburger grease... ewww. ) But really, other than the nasty floors, and the less than average dinners I manage to half-heartedly throw on the table sans any fresh veggies, things are under control there...
Life has become of series of squeezing things into capsules of time, or what we deem 'round here as the "Morning, Afternoon, or Evening Window"... I am okay with it. I am trying to accept a new set of reorganized priorities that I can live with.
There are snippets of time when I look at the baby and think confidently that this is all totally worth it. I keep hearing those snippets of time continue to get larger and longer until one day you can't even imagine life without your child. Until that time, I will wait patiently- or as patiently as I am wired to be- I will serve unhealthy meals and never walk in the house without shoes and paint my toe nails over long weekends when my Mother is here and never EVER plant a garden again- we will watch Bravo for hours on end in our dirty little condo and just be happy waiting.

Pumped UP!

If you are a man, most likely- you will want to stop reading here. No really. HERE.

For the REST of you- I just wanted to address what is perhaps one of the most ridiculous situations I have yet to find myself in. And for those of you who have HAD the experience, I am sure you will agree whole heartedly.

Pumping. Breast pumping the ol' feedbags for the li'l one. It's just ridiculous. I am literally strapped via plastic cone by my boobs to a machine that whirs louder than a zerox copier. I find myself swaying to the pump for the lack of anything better to do- I have even mentally choreographed a dance that could rival the macarena! Watch OUT weddings! Watch OUT!

Out of sheer boredome, I watch my little plastic bottles fill ever so slowly with the tiniest of drips... Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes can roll by and I am basically immobilized by the plastic tubing that is erupting from my "cones" and attaching me to my "home base". Even more ridiculous are my nipples- squeezed and contorted into some odd shape you would never recognize. Sort of like play-doh hot dogs- artfully crafted by a three year old.

My hands are tied up holding the milk receptacles, and I cannot help but think that this system is the best set up that has been invented thus far? Serisously? You can tell a busy Japanese businessman does not have to pump- or things would be majorly upgraded. In addition- the actual machine would most likely have a silencer- so pumping could be slightly more discreet- or at least.. um... less rhythmic.

I am only aiming for a measly six weeks of the pumping business- and with Wednesday marking my midway point- I am feeling a little less pessimistic about the whole "situation"... and am looking VERY forward to my freedom from the pump.

In the meantime, I will continue to sit- watching more HGTV than you may have thought possible, while whirring away to the sound of my machine- and resting assured it's all for a very good cause.

What I Didn't Know

Aside from the fact that I have not really had time to write a blog, I have also been uncharacterstically undecided on what to write about- even when I DO have five minutes of free time.
As I go about my daily activities ( sleep, eat, pump, hold baby, change baby, feed baby, look at baby, burp baby.... ) and my head mentally composes what just could very well be the next blog- I am stopped mid-point by either A. the incredible mundaneness or B. the sheer volume of complaining I hear myself doing. It's rather ridiculous and I would prefer to spare the readership and myself of boring whiney drivel. So instead, I have chosen to join the land of the new Mommy-barely sleeping and functioning set- and this group strictly forbids any blogging- particularly of the upbeat "things are going great variety". Mostly because it's a lie and also because even it if WERE true, the other new Mommies would become crazy jealous or self deprecating or any number of other horrible sleepless and emotional reactions to someone else's well-being.
I will say, however, that there are a "few things" that were spared me during my pregnancy that I really thought I should make mention of...
For example... WTF on the "after-contractions". Such BS! No one told me, nor did I ever remember reading about such things. But yes- the "afters" are SO not fun. I know- SMALL price to pay- but would have really liked to have known about those suckers.
I also had no idea about the continuation of the "maternity garment". I figured I would just be wearing size 16 jeans or something horrendous like that... but no "real clothes" really fit. In essence, you are still pregnant. At least in the mirror. Which is sort of a mean spirited joke by the man above if you ask me, because you FEEL about a hundred pounds lighter- so really, you THINK you are looking fab and really you have NEVER looked worse. Never. So don't mistake that "thin feeling" with actual thin-NESS. Big difference and the drive thru lady will make comments about you in her head as you pay for your Big Mac.
Moreover- everyone who offers to help, or is willing to help, or IS actually a great help will NOT, and I repeat, will NOT be up for the new child's two AM feeding. So while you might be disillusioned by the fact that you will be "helped"- you need to know that you will be helped most frequently when you don't need it, like when the child is sleeping peacefully or when his diaper has JUST been changed. No offense to MY help- because it DOES help, it's just not really the "HELP" you might fancy yourself getting- because really, nothing quite says "Mom" like a poo-ey diaper and a starving crying infant at 3:25 AM, and really, it's this kind of thing that is needed for you to "earn your stripes" so to speak and why Hollywood Moms just don't get the respect.
This is of course not to discredit that MASSIVE amount of help we have recieved from my Mother or the GINORMOUS amount of food we have gotten from the SIL or Rachel or Vanessa, or the flowers or the baby clothes or the gift cards or the money from every Tom, Harry and Dick and from here to tomorrow. Really, the dresser is overflowing as is the freezer and the bank account. Haha! JUST KIDDING on the bank account- we spent his college fund on dipars already- sorry baby Jake- you were born in a recession year!
Hopefully, as things find themselves more routine and I am able to catch my breath the blogs will get back to being slightly more forthcoming. In the meantime- if you do not hear from me, considering it a favor unless you want me to list the number of diapers I am changing each day.

Birthday Boy

The birthday boy finally arrived. And after much ado about nothing- he's perfect. Absolutely perfect. Oh, I know all new mommies say that. But really, he is. Not even a scratch or a birthmark to be found. And while he's a tiny little peanut weighing in at total of 6.1 pounds, he's just as contented as could be and smiled IN the hospital upon hearing his Daddy's big booming voice. I kid you not. Not to mention, he did ME the favor of arriving as planned on his very special due date of 7-08-09- he will SO thank me later for that one.

We are settling in around here- adjusting ourselves to a schedule he deems fit- which would be slightly easier if he made up his tiny peanut mind already! But alas, we are patient as we are already so in love with him.

Last night- his seventh in this world, was our first as new parents without Grandma around to help out. And thankfully, peanut boy decided to be easy on us and stick to a three hour sleep schedule. See how GOOD he is?

Dear Unborn Child

Dear Unborn Child,
This journey of ours together is about to be over. Over the last nine and 3/4 months, I have gotten to know you better than anyone else. I understand that you like chocolate and hiccuping, and detest sausage. I have done my best to be compliant. I also know that you like to wiggle around at 11 PM, and 2 and 4 AM. Much to my chagrin, but okay. I know you like the sound of your Dad's voice, and that's cool, because so do I. You do not like my long walks, but tough buddy- I have given up a lot of my favorites for you and walking was NOT going to be one of them. More than anything, I have given up my body for you- which while is certainly my pleasure and totally worth it, I am not always gung-ho about it. I have gained a lot of weight on your behalf, and it's rather uncomfortable. I mean, when I went to the movies the other night- the seat actually felt small. Granted, I was trying to lodge a bucket of popcorn between my legs, but my butt has gotten really huge for you. I have also given up caffeine binges and glasses of wine. A couple of my other favorite things. I miss them terribly and as the end of our time together in the same skin draws nearer, I must admit, I am looking forward to a little space here.
I realize you will be needing me beyond belief while on the "outside", but at least when I sleep at night it will not feel like I am trying to sleep with a medicine ball tied to my waist, squishing my lungs and flattening my butt. And really, it WILL be nice to eat a tomato after 4 in the afternoon without "paying the heartburn price" already. With every pillow in the house tucked up under my back and propped along my sides, I am thinking it's time for you to be living on your own a little bit. I know, I know, you won't be far away. You won't let me sleep and all of that. You will put me through another torturous exercise in proving my love for you via lack of sleep and making sure I have absoutley zero sex appeal as you use my body as a feedbag. It's all good- I am ready for the next phase of proving. If we were playing a video game I would say I am bored of this level and feel as if I have conquered it. Let's move on! Level two! LEVEL TWO!
Any which way, I am looking forward to getting you out and on your own, putting YOUR skin to some good use. I am excited to meet you and don't begrudge you any of the time we have spent together, it has been very special and I have already fallen in love with you. See ya Wednesday!
Love, Mom

Appointments

I am not so sure how the pregnancy empathy stuff works for the husband, but my sweetie has been waking up in the middle of the night to pee right along with me. This means neither of us are getting a good night's sleep- and last night, when I woke myself up by snoring... ( NO idea how that works ), I went straight to the couch to maintain as much damage control as possible. Needless to say- it was a restless night and very little sleep was to be had. If it weren't for all the acetametaphin scares, I would have been deep into a Tylenol induced slumber- however- all the news shows have me concerned about my liver. I guess.
So today will therefore be tackled with bags under my eyes and quite honestly, I am getting to that tail end of pregnancy where I could really care less. Yesterday, in fact, I found myself wrestling over weather or not to wear sweat pants out in public and a pair of UN-matching flip-flops. If you know me at all, this is INSANE, as I even match my flip-flops with my jammies just to run outside to grab the mail. But I didn't... wear the sweat pants and unmatching flip-flops that is. I suffered through a pair of knee-hugging black capri's and an un-ironed t-shirt that slid up and showed my belly. A declaration of carelessness. It was very liberating until I caught a glimpse of myself in a window. Not so much fun then, as the tugging and pulling became distracting while I was trying to focus on the most important thing in my life right now, which is food shopping.
At any rate- today- ahhh... today. It is appointment city for me... starting off with a routine Dr. visit. Next will be the chiropractor for a leg massage- and yes it is fantastic ( last time the foreign masseuse took one look at my calves and asked, "Ahh! Too much high heels?" ). Lastly, and most importantly will be the salon- where I will sit for two hours straight while undergoing a cut and color that will leave me looking, or at least my hair, like I sorta care about myself. Which will be a good thing, since it's not evidence by my skin, clothes, nails, or basically ANYthing else.
In the meantime, I have begun poring over my Weight Watchers materials and cookbooks- in an effort to get myself geared up for the "diet" that will begin taking place just as soon as I can get my bearings. I can't wait to own my body again!

Our Last Date

Whew. After two long weeks of worry and concern and maybes we got some confirmation last Thursday suggesting that all was fine after all and thank you very much modern medicine. As a result, instead of being induced on Thursday afternoon, my husband and I came home from the specialist and crashed. As in stumbled into the condo and onto horizontal surfaces and slept all day. Obviously the scare and the drama of baby ills wore us out.
By Saturday morning, when we were done being thankful to the world and catching up on rest was no longer a necessity, we started to become slightly... I hate to admit it, bored. Since we had been under the impression that we might be in the hospital with a child this very day- all plans had been previously either not scheduled or canceled. We muddled through the day with some fishing and movie rentals, but ultimately, I could not help but think of the advice I have been so frequently given, "Enjoy your time now, while it lasts."
After about the 25th time I caught this thought running through my head, my mind began conjuring up ideas, and before I knew it, our "last date" was born. My husband, equally bored, thought this sounded alright as well, because there was really no way we could have another fishing/movie day...
So yesterday, in what I consider to be a day with the absolute most perfect weather available, off we went to the Graue Mill and dinner after at our favorite restaurant, Francesca's.
Because the Graue Mill is on our route to our specialist's office, we have been increasingly intrigued as to the park's offerings. Historic websites generally do not do justice, as was the case for this nifty little spot- complete with scenery, a museum, walking trails, and your overly informed and interested tour guides. But it was gorgeous and interesting and very pleasant.
Our dinner was excellent as well, as we knew it would be. Luckily, a Christmas gift card awaited us and therefore, the large bill at the end of our feast did nothing to squaush our spirit.
Upon arrival at home, I felt satisfied with our "last date", espeically considering that neither my husband nor I are much for "dates"- it was a nice day.

Wait... Is the End Near?

Since I am hearing all sorts of things regarding my delivery date- one being that I will be induced at 37 weeks, which lands Thursday- and I am taking my computer in today for a week's long work worth of maintenance- this may very well be the last post I manage to squeak out before the BIG DAY.
The house is coming together- and while I have managed to throw out most junk I have managed to accumulate over the years, we are still quite "full." In addition, my Mom is here for a two day visit to help me whip some last things into shape, as well as her trial run on the dining room-turned-spare-bedroom-futon and after the first night agreed we should go to Kohl's to buy some "eggshells", which we are preparing to do now.
The husband is fortunately taking off of work on Wednesday and Thursday as well, meaning yet another extra pair of hands either around the house to help or if all is complete to at least... "hang out with me" during my last few potential free days.
I do not feel anxious, excited, or worried at the moment. I feel mostly reflective, but not in a sentimental way- more like in a I-Am-the-CEO-of-the-Company-and-Where-are-We-at? kind of a way. I wouldn't want to head into child delivery without plenty of toilet paper, dish soap, and peanut butter on the home front...Organization Station.
I guess this means that I am ready- so weather or not I am waiting until the end of the week or waiting until the middle of next month- all is well and good. I will do my best to keep you posted!

The Baby's Room Artists

Last Friday night, because it's been awhile and also due to my impending special delivery it could be another long "while", I scheduled an overnight with my neice... and while her Mom, Jen, warned me that "she was excited"... I myself didn't admit that I was ALSO very excited.

You see, my neice and I have something in common that I share with very few other people- we both like to paint. Paint paintings, that is. And while that may not seem to be such a special thing, it is. Because we like to paint together... social painting, if you will. Chitting and chatting and dipping and mixing. It's like when two musicians find each other at a party and proceed to jam to each other's vibe the whole night through, forgetting the world around them exists. Or it's like when peanut butter found jelly, say... or even when salt discovered pepper.

I made sure, before she even arrived, that I had canvases available for both of us, and when she did finally get here and we got to work, it was like magic. Before we began, I reminded her of some painting basics, and then I explained to her that I was going to try and emulate a quilt square from the nursery to hang on the wall as a decoration.

We worked in a peaceful, syncrhonized harmony- talking here and there, but relatively lost in our own respective artist worlds for over and hour. Her end product was fabulous and I will be hanging HER painting in the baby's room as well.

And maybe I am biased, but I think her composition is awesome for an eight year old, and her use of color, space and balance show a real talent.
Not to mention, I haven't had that much fun in ages.

Better Places

I have been in better places, that's for sure.
Last week, during my 35 week appointment, my Dr. seemed a tad surprised when he noticed that my belly was "measuring small", words that are now haunting me. He sent me for an ultrasound, which resulted in a slew of appointments and stress tests and additional this and thats.... ultimately, this little boy inside of me is as tiny as can be. He's only measuring at 33 weeks or so, which in baby world is huge considering they can calculate down to the day.
At first I was not worried, because his little tiny vitals seem to be great- good heart rate, good movement, good dopplers and all the others things that babies need to have for good health.
But as the days wear on and the doctors continue to pick up the pace of the stress tests and ultrasounds, I am losing my confidence. I know that it isn't fair to the tiny little guy to worry and to slow down on excitely preparing for his arrival, but all of sudden it seems as if that is on hold.
The specialist suggested he would like to induce me the second I hit 37 weeks, which is only a week and a half away. But he doesn't want to see me for TWO weeks, so I am not sure if he thought all that through. In the meantime, I hadn't gotten word from the Dr.'s I normally see or the specialist as to who was in charge for now.
This morning I woke up feeling as if it was time to pull my head out of the sand, so to speak. No more allowing the nice Dr.'s to tell me all was okay and they would see me in two days. I called my regular Dr. and she was straight with me, like I wanted her to be. She confirmed that I have every right to be nervous, just like I thought. I know worry will not get me anywhere, but how can you not? Who wouldn't? It's a crazy place to be. For me, it's better to be validated than to question your feelings in addition to all the other stuff that is going on.
My husband and I have decided to keep busy for now, and to keep our chin's up, but I am admittedly scared. We have up to a few more weeks of this, so we need to brace ourselves for anything. That's a pretty broad spectrum...I am praying that he is healthy, but my enthusiasm has surely been dampened.

The End Is Near

What is it? What did they eat? Or drink? The kids are OUT of their MINDS. It's total chaos here at the school. With the "Prom" finally behind us, Seniors out for the year, and only graduation and finals in front of us, there are fewer and fewer things to "dangle" in front of the students to bribe them into behaving.
This year it's particularly stressful for me becuase I feel torn between tying up my regular end of the year loose ends and preparing sub plans for the Fall when I will be knee deep in diapers and late night feedings. And while the sub can always call me, every additional detail written down in the "binder" is one less phone call to answer when I will truly NOT care at all.
And it's unbelievable to me that somewhere in the weekend, squeezed between my very last, and thank-you-very-much, bountiful baby shower and a retirement dinner at an incredibly fattening and SO-HOT-I-WAS-SWEATING-WHILE-EATING Japanese steakhouse there was a wonderful Spa Day complete with the sisters, Mom and Grandma that was absolutley splendid. Well, splendid except for my facial girl, and while she was quite nice, she did use me as a sounding board to clairfy her marital problems. But that aside... the Spa Day itself was over the top great.
And even when my massuese and I were laughing at my huge body on the tiny table and how it was cumbersome to move and my boobs kept flopping out of the sheet ( sorry people, these things are new to me.... I haven't exactly figured out how to exert control over those babies yet.. ) it was mah-va-lous.
If only I could have bottled me up some of that Spa Day to sip in doses this week. Sigh. Only five more pregnant days of school.

The Squeeze

I have never been one that can appreciate the pomp and circumstance of routine and attention. I dreaded my graduation from high school, didn't attend my graduation from college, anxiously awaited my wedding showers and feel no differently now that I am in the midst of baby showers.
I have had two thus far. One hosted by my "city girlfriends", the next by my "co-workers"... which doesn't sound fair because they are also my friends, and then next weekend, last but certainly not least, the "family" shower.
And while I feel like an elephant in a China shop at such events, particularly when I am the guest of honor, I have been doing my best to initiate, salivate, and gratiate all over the place so that everyone feels welcome, appreciated and thanked. And the fact of the matter is that I am very thankful.
When I initially created a baby registry, I nearly had a panic attack and had 911 dialed in on my cellular. Luckily, hearty Italian fair and a good dose of cheesecake alleviated the necissity for me to actually have to place that call... but it did result in some heartburn as well as a dose of insomnia. I had no idea I would need so much... STUFF. Not only was I concerned about where I would PUT the STUFF, I also didn't know how I was going to PAY for the STUFF. I had thoughts like.. ... Well, we could always spend five hundred dollars on the stroller we HAVE TO HAVE and I can lock it up with a bike chain to our grill. Or we could live without a crib, right? The kid can sleep in a nicely padded cardboard box? I know our child may actually not survive unless we buy him the "techno-euro-space-saver 5000" car seat, but will a used one from our friends be good enough?

Eventually, the insomnia led to some plotting, and the plotting led to some discussion, and the discussion led to some fighting with the husband which eventually turned into mature adult discusion and then ultimately to a "grand master plan". Which basically meant throw out everything you own and love and currently use, like the dining room table, and make room for baby. End of story. It has been working for us.

And so as the stuff rolls in, which again, I am very thankful for, I am realizing not so quickly that the "grand master plan" was not GOOD enough. Because the truth is our place isn't BIG enough. But we will make it work. Too bad someone I know isn't into Longaberger basket sales or they would make a killing off of me. Which has turned into my go to for "extra-storage solutions". Not Longabergers, per say... but BASKETS. I currently know a heck of a lot about what baskets are out there.
At any rate. The showers have been fabulous and my friends generous. More than I feel we deserve but we do appreciate it( really, I had to say that yet again). With most of the major items off of our registry purchased we have some financial breathing room. So really, I have no right to make any complaints. It's just if you come over and I ask you to sit in the crib for dinner, please understand we are just a tad bit tight on space.

Cracked Up

The week? Highs and lows, my friends, highs and lows. Crown fell off- which led to an emergency dental visit. Twice got to work and had forgotten something at home and had to turn around and come back and get it (pregnant brain, anyone?). Got lost taking the behavior disordered students to the Museum of Science and Industry. Behavior disordered students tried to UN PLUG HUGE displays and dismantle large computer systems while AT the Museum of Science and Industry. Had to turn in my FMLA request ( and for those of you who DON'T know me- this is, to me, a commitment... and you can guess how well I managed THAT...). Had our friends over for pizza and while I was looking forward to their visit I had ulterior motives of confirming and negotiating our child care needs for next Fall... ( mission accomplished, and I will not brag, at this moment, about our extremely fortunate set-up- but let's just say the price is beyond reasonable). This amid a night class, a switch to 4:45 am work outs, a Dr. appointment, swimming class, groceries, dinner, and laundry- and the kids not even HERE yet!
OF course, me being me, and me being PREGNANT me to boot- this led to a melt down of sorts last night. While listening to my phone messages at the tail end of our evening ( and a good hour or so post normal bed time ) my husband gently hugged me in the most loving of fashions. His hand slipped dangerously close to my behind and while I normally would giggle and squirm I instead roared at him at the top of my lungs the obvious..., " DON'T DO MY CRACK!", poltergeist style. After my eyes rescinded back into my head I looked at him and we began to giggle hysterically.
Actually, we were laughing so hard we had to sit down on the couch so as not to fall over. WHILE laughing so hard, my body emitted a disgusting and embarrassing series of uncontrollable farts. And of course, while my husband began to laugh harder, I suddenly, to his shock, became irate. Next poltergiest moment enter here, ( Poor, poor husband) " WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?"... and then I exited stage left, ran to the bedroom and began to cry hysterically.
And while I knew this was in-SANE... I could not stop the eMOTion. Luckily for me the very patient husband was there to comfort me back to reality... Needless to say, the last 20 minutes of my week very much emulated the week in general.
I slept heavily and am already not sure that was really ME last night. However, considering my husband's walk on eggshells approach towards me upon waking confirmed that yes, it had to have been true.
Eight more weeks, people... EIGHT more weeks.

New Job?

On our way back to Chicago via I-80, my husband and I stopped in my hometown to visit my Mother for a Mother's Day hello. Part of the overnight pitstop included, on behalf of Billy's birthday as well as an observance of the day itself, dinner at my very favorite restaurant, The Cellar in Geneseo, Illinois.
The Cellar is a small town steakhouse, with a motto of "food worth traveling for"...While it's basement location and fake brick wall-papered walls might be reason to give pause to it's deeper offerings, the bottom line is the food is delicious. Basic, fresh, grilled, and delicious.
Some of my favorite memories are rooted in this restaurant. Daddy/daughter dates, birthday celebrations, sports banquets, and even the home of my very first waittressing gig, which led to a part-time career in the field and was the origins of a humiliating memory of dumping an entire pitcher of iced tea in the center of 8-top well-dressed round before I even served up the appetizers.
At any rate, I was very much looking forward to my meal.
As we approached the restaurant, we noticed immediately the two police cars parked out front. Within a matter of seconds, we also heard the shrill whir of the ambulace following up behind. As we were meeting my Grandma there, I noticed my parents dart quickly inside the restarant to make sure there were no issues with her, while Billy and I lingered back, not wanting to clog the entrance. Seems as if this split second decision was the difference between "helping" and/or not.
While the ambulance people unloaded and made their way inside, I was met with relief as I watched my Father through the window chatting up my Grandma, realizing at once that at least the victim was not... well, her.
While this fact settled in, I was interuppted by a lone, uniformed woman standing beside me on the sidewalk, holding onto a stretcher- contemplating how to lug the huge steel bed down the 8 steps to the lower level of the restaurant entrance. Without remembering that I am nearly 8 months pregnant, I heard myself mutter, "Did you want me to help you with that?"... thinking while speaking that of course the ambulace worker would recognize my very pregnat state, as well as my heels and quickly deny me.
She didn't. "SURE!" She exclaimed. I immediately did what any wife would do and said, "BILLY- Help her get this down there!". While he took over, the lone woman thrust a large canvas medical bag at me. I stood there patiently waiting for them to get the gurney down the stairs and was shocked when the woman abruptly yelled, "Get that DOWN there, it's the oxygen."
What the hell? I thought. The OXYGEN??? Why is this on ME? I sprinted down the stairs and in the foyer of the restuarant was trying to convey to the masses that I needed to know where the "emergency" was as I was, unlikely as it might seem, suddenly, the "lady with the oxygen". In stilted English I managed to convey my importance and was directed to a section of the dining room, where I came across two police officers as well as some other EMT's helping a non-breathing victim to the floor. Tables had been moved. Patrons were staring. A once bustling dining area was stunned into silence. Again, as I made my way over to the "situation" I again tried to convey the importance of what I held...
I demanded the officer look at me via several attempts of holding the canvas bag at his eye level and yelling, "This is the oxygen, THIS is the oxygen, THIS IS the oxyGEN." Eventually, he was able to hear me and held out his arms to take the life saving oxygen machine.
When I turned around to locate my family, instinct had me searching for our "table", which was thankfully, in a different room altogether and no where near any of this.
As I sat down, I felt tears of overwhelm fill the corners of my eyes as the waittress informed us that the woman was fine and was breathing but was merely choking. Whew.
As my dinner and my family and my celebration came back into focus, I wondered when I had started working for the ambulance services in town.

Iowa

After many, many, many e-mails, my husband and I finally made it out to Iowa to visit my Aunt and Uncle's dream home in the South Central portion of the state. After getting used to the slower, yet thinner, traffic, as well as the hourly stops my body necessitated, we arrived early Friday afternoon ready to get out of the car.
After a quick tour of the beautiful brand new custom home, complete with Frank Lloyd Wright inspired detail, windows overlooking a scenic pond and cloverfield, a deck larger than our entire condo, a walk in shower, two fireplaces, a kitchen complete with prep sink and double oven, and many other enviable details ( like an indoor putting green ), we headed to the great outdoors.
Billy's tour was taken on an ATV that rivaled our actual vehicle in terms of power. My tour, while just as thorough, was in a bigger and stronger, and much safer for a woman in my "condition", SUV. Eighty acres of land, filled with fields, orchards, ponds, forest, hills. Flora and fauna in abundance. Careful attention to native grasses, plants and trees in an effort to attract wildlife also native to the area, particularly deer, turkey and a plethura of birds, including, but not limited to, several varieties of hawks as well as hummingbirds.
After the tours, Billy was off to turkey hunt with my Uncle on the property, while I quickly and happily slid into social hour(s) with my Aunt. And while they came back empty handed, we cheerily engaged in a feast of homemade and right-from-the-pond caught fried catfish fingers.
The next two days followed similar patterns. The remoteness created a peace in me I had forgotten was possible. Sleep came easily and lingered for longer than I thought conceivable. Nature walks resulted in muskrat spottings, fawn glimpses, Tom scares ( I had no idea a male turkey could be so "BIG" looking in person, and therefore... slightly scary! ), and venison so varied I had no idea I was even eating it... delicious, by the way!
In the end, while we did not walk away with a turkey, or even a catfish for that matter, a whole new world was opened to us. Submergance deep in Iowa country. God's country is what some might say and I can see why. Re-established relationships with an Aunt and Uncle that were previously good, but more remnants of the past as opposed to realities of today. Refreshed minds and spirits. Bonded more tightly in our marriage by a shared weekend that brought both of us deep pleasure and a reassertion of our life's goals and priorities. And the lesson that a couple committed to a joint and focused goal can lead to a realized dream of this vastness- this amazing.
We had a great weekend. It was a great way to spend one of our last child-free weekends. We are looking forward to going back, but better yet, we have taken the experience with us and will use it as one of the foundations of our marriage.

Farter Starter

My body is turning against me. Really. It hates me.

Somewhere between my first bra and the braces coming off, I figured out that farting in public was way taboo. By the time I was a full fledged teenager I was most lady-like in gassy situations and seldom recall a situation where I was emabarrassed by any kind of flatulence. In my twenties I somehow basically lost the ability altogether. By my 30th birthday, I lit an additional candle on my cake to commemorate a decade of fart-free-living. More or less.

In the three years my husband and I have co-habitated, I have essentially been fart-free. He's not heard a peep nor has he sniffed a smell. I have managed to convince him AND myself that I no longer fart at all. Now, mind you, we all know that is impossible, but I have worked hard at learning to conceal what some might consider a deadly weapon.

Suffice it to say, since I have become pregnant, that has all changed. And against my will, of course. Because I don't think an hour has gone by where I have NOT farted. Actually, if I could figure out a way to harness all of the gaseous energy I am creating I could seriously make bank. Seriously.

And the worst part is not admitting that I have turned into a fart fest- but that I no longer have the social skills needed to handle these "touchy" situations in public.

Take for example the other day. A co-worker and I ran into each other in the stairwell. We talked for several minutes and then I felt it. I did my best to keep it "quiet" so as not to interrupt our conversation... but I knew within seconds that while you could not hear what I had done, that was certainly other "evidence". Luckily for me it's Spring in the high school, so she immediately confused my body's hatred for me as a Senior prank, "Eww, another stink bomb- I am outta here!". So, I managed to escape blame free on that one. However- the embarrassment has been haunting me.

Last night at dinner, I was chatting with my husband at the table. He said something funny and when I busted out in laughter I also busted out in sing-songy fart. I didn't know what to say- or DO. So I of course did what any 35 year old would do, I ran into the living room and hid from him.

And while I am most certainly "out of control", I don't want to create a "reputation" as a liar OR as a farter- so I am trying very hard to manage moments like these with grace and consideration.

I cannot believe I have almost three more months of this! Please someone, tell me that AFTER I deliver this baby that certain "things" will go back to SOME sort of normalcy? Either that I will have to get THIS :

tatooed as a tramp stamp on my back.

CHUGGA chugga CHUGGA chugga

So as of yesterday, I am officially NOT going on bed rest or having a C-section. ALSO, as of yesterday, I am officially scared shitless, four and a half ponds HEAVIER, and absorbing the fact that there are no drugs to take for my increasing restless legs.

At 28 weeks along, I have a 140 beat per minute and 2.some small number pound baby, and a perfectly normal cervix length. Um, gee thanks? I always thought my cervix was perfectly normal.

As we walked out of the Dr's. office, I felt a pang of excitement drenched in deer-in-headlights-fright. No turning back now. As I head into the last trimester, I keep hearing the words of my girlfriend who delivered her OWN son exactly one month ago, "Welcome to the worst three months of your life." Pause. "But it's worth it!". Really? I will try to remember that as I lay my very big fat ass on top of the shoebox sized air conditioning vent and pour ice water over my head and rub soothing ointment on my chaffed rubbed together thighs while laying in my hugungous maternity underwear and the Mr.'s tank top.

And while the maternity undergarments ARE huge- they are so ridiculously cozy- I don't know what was holding me back. Maybe it was the advice of yet another new friend/Mom. "Just prepare yourself upon opening the package for a Shallow Hal type of moment." And I did, and it was. The pained look that discreetly crossed my VSH's ( very supportive husband's ) eyes told me everything I needed to know. I am now a utility. A cargo ship- a box car- a shopping cart even.

I am relieved to hear that my life can and will be, for the foreseeable future, anyway- carrying on. The month of May is chock full with two night classes, two weekend getaways, and three showers. And what better month for a shower aside from May? It is the momnth of last hurrahs before I am imprisoned by the heat and my oversized belly and then of course by a child. I have every intention of making it good.

Easter Weirdo

Last weekend, while "Eastering" in my hometown, my husband and I had the the privilege of spending our nights, due to a lack of sleeping spots and my VGP's ( very generous parents ), in one of two hotels on the edge of town.
We chose THIS particularly motel over the other because it is the newer of the two- and while it doesn't have a swimming pool, it is "nicer", if you will. And while it is "nicer, if you will, it is STILL a hotel. So it was no surprise to me that my very pregnant self awoke wide-eyed at the hours of 2, 3, 4, and then could never really quite fall asleep again. And BEING that it is a hotel, and I didn't want to deny both myself AND my husband the opportunity of sleep, I did my best in the wee hours to occupy myself with "things to do". Like reading with the booklight I got from my SIL ( thanks Jen, LOVE the snuggie it came with as well, and BTW- there is a snuggie pub crawl this weekend in Chicago... I am guessing that if I was properly snuggied- no one would guess I was preggers??? ) . I digress.
I read, I meditated? I think. I made mental lists and I stared at the clock. I played games like "close your eyes and see if you can calculate a minute"... and then opened them to see how I fared and would be sad that only about ten seconds had passed. I was bored. On morning two, having had enough of the folly- I gave in and opted to use the work out facilities. Which consisted of a tread mill and a weight machine in a room the size of a small bathroom. But it certainly did the trick.
The advantage of the "gym" was it's view. I was able to stare at the people walking past to either check out or dine at the free continental breakfast. And since there were only about six cars in the lot- this left a lot of down time, but still, who else stays at a hotel on Easter morning and is up at five, the people just HAD to be of interest. And they were. The "dog" sisters- two ladies in matching air brushed t-shirts of three dogs- each dined hungrily on a cake donut, bowl of cereal and a some orange juice. And they prayed before they ate. The "trucker"... the plain looking guy who drank coffee and read every corner of the paper... and then there was the "weirdo". The weirdo that has led to the writing of this post, because for the life of me, a week later, I cannot shake him from my head, and I just HAVE to share.
When he initially walked past- I thought very little of him. He was dressed in jeans and a normal looking t-shirt. No creepy greasy hair or coke bottle glasses or gold teeth. He DID have a stuffed animal, something like an old rusty Eeyore- but I assumed his wife and two year old would be soon to follow. No one followed. I waited- but no one followed.
When I finished up my work out, I helped myself to the free continental breakfast where I had a closer look at the "weirdo"... there he sat, at a table by himself, with the stuffed animal propped up on the table and it's own cup positioned carefully in front of it.
I tried not to stare as I gathered up my own coffee and cereal and newspaper, but curiousity, as I have mentioned before, has killed this cat MANY times. And while I was curious, something about it also frightened me. I chose to sit in FRONT of him, so I would not be able to see if he was staring at me. And while this may have defeated the purpose of my Easter morning spying, I am STILL 7 months pregnant and had just engaged in physical activity and food was, well, let's just say- inHALED.
As I ate and caught glimpses of him between bites of Raisan Bran, it became evident to me, that yes... this apparition of a normal man was just that. He was a closet WEIRDO! He actually had his "pet" set up to watch TV with him and was offering him bits of drink from his own special EMPTY Eeyore cup, while he snacked on his bagel and drank his coffee.
When I was solidly convinced that Eeyore was a special and very real part of this guy's life, I began to shiver as thoughts of roadside death crossed my mind. My fear outwieghed my hunger. JUST kidding- my fear caused me to gather my food and scamper back to my room as quickly as my wobbly butt and arms full of food and styrofoam cups of coffee could safely carry me- which really wasn't all that fast- but you know.. I tried to have my move on.
Anyway- even though the man wasn't technically doing anything WRONG- I still wanted to call the police. Instead I just woke my husband. He was not impressed.
All I can say is beware of regular looking men dining with stufffed pets. Something tells me there is MUCH much more to the story.

Like... It's Been Forever!

Becuase THIS seems to be so popular, and since I have been horrible about blogging lately, I figured I would kill two birds with one stone.

A) Four places that I go to over and over:
Domincks, work- specifically- to my desk in the basement... ew, Target, and my new favorite store- Kohl's- because the one by me just got remodeled and it's fab.
B) Four people who e-mail me :
Don't worry about it.
C) Four of my favorite places to eat:
Home ( fer real), at the Cellar ( a steak house in Geneseo, IL ), Places with white linen napkins( if I am lunching with my friends), and Francesca's.
D) Four places I wish I could be right now:
IN THE WATER- ( 6 months pregnant and the bouyancy is great), with my parents at their home ( I am not looking forward to the three hour drive- see previous item RE: pregnancy), Shopping for myself ( For shoes and accessories-naturally), in a magic place where my house is clean and my body looks fabulous and I get to walk around comfortably in a bikini sipping cocktails and getting spa treatments.
E) Four people I'm sure will respond:
I hate this question.
F) Four TV shows I watch:
Real World- EVERY SINGLE SEASON EVER, The Hills, Survivor, House Hunters

In other very important hold-your-breath-news, I bailed on my Facebook account. The pressures were mounting and after getting an e-mail from a guy from my third grade class I did what most other respectable persons would do, I deleted my account. Now, mind you, I don't go to my "reunions" and when I am "home" visiting, I would willingly knock down a tuna can tower in an effort to conceal my identity and to dodge an old classmate at Fareway if need be. I prefer my anonymity.
I know I know- I have heard of the security measure- but really- just e-mail me through my e-mail? Ya know? It's just like Facebook only I don't have to add a bunch of security measures and deny friendships to people I don't really like that much. Just saying. With regular e-mail and can secretly dislike you from afar and not so.... In Your Face...

My house recieved the royal cleaning while I was on Spring break last week- we are talking washed curtains and dusted ceiling fans here people. This was the big time. In preparation for the baby I decided to try to slowly but surely kill myself by trying to do a month's work of neglected house work in three days. I must admit I did pretty good- but by Thursday evening had not slept more than 9 hours in three days and was feeling a lot of tightening in the belly--- I laid down pretty much the rest of the weekend. I have made myself a mental promise to be a little more balanced from here on out. As a reward for my new promised plan ( or maybe just because I am looking for an excuse), I am getting myself a new pair of shoes. And since I do not buy new shoes often, this is what I deem a "production"..... I have perused Piperlime to Zappos, J. Crew to Target... nary a brown wedge sandal is out there that I don't know about.

Either way, it's time to pack for my Easter weekend away- the parent's house AGAIN!- what can I say, I like it there....

Maternal Affairs

"Having a baby" is in full effect around here. The spare bedroom/ boxing arena has been completely upended, creating waves of distress throughout the house, including the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. And let's not even talk about the dining room, where all of the furniture, games, movies, clothes, tools, dishes, etc that no longer get to stay in the house have temporarily landed - looking very much like a Japanese style yard sale. In other words, a ton of random shit in a very, very small space.
The good news is that it should all be gone within a week or two, leaving us with a normal dining room again, well, except for the treadmill taking up the one half of it. We are even considering removing the dining room table altogether and purchasing a futon to shove in there for any overnight guests we may have ( MOOOMMMM!!! ) once this baby gets here.
In the meantime, to maintain my sanity I have decided to "take up" something new. A highly recommended pre-natal water class. Before officially making my decision, I figured I better try on the bathing suit. And after staring at my body for no less than ten minutes in the borrowed maternity swimming suit, I figured I shouldn't let it get to me and went for it. I must say, it was one of the best hours of my life. To feel weightless was unreal. Beautiful. Comfortable. Relaxing. There are only three of us ladies in the class, and we became fast friends. When telling a co-worker about it the next day she said, "rub a dub dub, three men in a tub".... and then put her hand over her mouth. A day later she squelched out an apology thinking my ego/ butt would be offended. I don't really care. I just can't wait for the next class.
Plus, that comment was nothing compared to the male co-worker remarking I looked liked I belonged in the Macy's Day Parade as one of the balloon floats. I would have responded back just as smartly had it been someone aside from my boss! Sigh. I keep waiting for this "treatment" I have heard so much about. The one where strangers give up their seats and open doors and wave you through the line.
Not so much for me.

Baby Class Numero Uno

It is 6:27 PM. We are leaving in N-8 minutes. We are headed to the hospital for our "orientation". And while I am dreading it, I am also looking forward to it... in a way. I have seen it played out on TV so many times that I feel like I already know how it is all going to go. I have been warned by my experienced friends that the "commoners" who are taking the class with us will not have the first clue how to follow directions... so when the instructor says "save your questions until the end" they will snicker at all of us and raise their hand up half-way and talk while doing so so that the rest of us will be forced to undure the Question That Was Supposed to Be at The End.
I am tempted to bring along my book but figure that might be deemed rude... and wouldn't want to embarrass my husband.
I felt the same way when I headed off to traffic school for my first time. I knew the experience itself might be somewhat dreadful, however, curiousity has killed this cat many, many times, and I am always up for doing everything at least once... besides... I am "supposed" to be excited since it's about our baby, right?
Since the class runs until 9 PM- which is bordering on past our bed time, I am guessing we will be feeling a little ornery by the time it's all said and done. I predicted to my husband they would save the tour for last... otherwise we would all bolt. We will see how it goes.

PS- As predicted, the tour was saved for last.... however- our v. wonderful instructor believed firmly in the art of swiftness. Nary a question was answered until the v. v. end and she promised us an early exit, which she followed through on ( I REALLY wanted to get home to watch the season finale of the HILLs... Priorities people.. priorites!) Her knowledge was vast and her answers concise.
Also, was it any surprise when a lively looking gal asked me from across the room, "HEY! Aren't you the LORI that was my college roommate my Freshman year at SIU??? " Hmm. well, yes, now that I take a good look at you, yes I AM that Lori. After recovering from some initial shock and then MORE shock as she led me through some mental math calculation putting us at 16 years absence- I began to relax and enjoy her company. So who said this might be boring?
As I exited with my old roommates business card, my packet of hospital information, and more cord blood connections than I thought possible, I breathed in the warm night air and relaxed in the knowledge that we just might be able to handle this.

Coffee Pot Wars

Introducing: ON your left, the Stainless Steel Mr. Coffee 10 cup Carafe auto coffe pot. ON your right.... 1980's relic Black and Decker Space Saver- No frills with a 12 cup GLASS carafe....

I must admit, I have always appreciated, given the right time and place, a healthy dose of competition. Growing up in a children-filled neighborhood, games were aplenty and winning occurred every day, along with losing. It IS more fun to win, but I learned early on that the enjoyment of playing the game, regardless of said game's outcome, was the real prize.

As I grew up, it became evident to me that there are many people out there that possess a fierceness to win. And unless the "game" is taking place in some sort of sports arena, I do not want to win so bad I will poke your eyes out, therefore, these people scare me.

And you know who the fierce folks are! Heck, you know who YOU are. Your desire to have more KIDS than me, your desire to make more MONEY than me. Your desire to have a nicer car, find a better deal, get more attention, have a cleaner house, cook a better burger. Doesn't matter, you want to win and it's women like you that kept me a very safe distance from trying out for any and every competitive reality show out there. I have NO desire whatsoever to compete in that manner.

As I mentioned previously, however, I do like to see a game. And even more so.... a winner. Particularly when the results affect virtually no one. For example- two ants on a sidewalk trying to get to the leaf first? Game. How many times I can throw my undies from across the room into the dirty clothes basket before I miss? Game. How much water can I put into the bathtub without it spilling out? Game. But today's game is the kind of game that really geeks me out.

Our coffee pot has not produced a good cup of joe in months. We told a friend about our dilemma and he gave us his old ( very very old ) coffee pot to try. So this morning- as I blog away- there are TWO pots of coffee brewing.

It's Mr. Coffee in a stainless steel carafe VS. Black and Decker under the counter with a glass carafe. Who will the winner be? Not sure. According to my research- good coffee is predicated by extreme heat. Our Mr. Coffee has yet to demonstrate an ability to really "heat things up". I gave Black and Decker a cleaning con trial run last night and 'ole boy was HOT. However- he has no auto timer NOR does he sport auto shut-off. As I hear the duo brew drips pumping in the other room- my mouth salivates for the first taste. Results will be posted later on when the husband decides to rise and drink.

Things have not been this exciting around here in a long time. Let the games BEGIN!!

PS- Taste test was relatively uneventful. A winner was decided almost instantaneously by moi, however- the husband 100 % backed me up within mere seconds of his swigs. I must say-- shockingly- the 1980's Black and Decker Space Saver dripped out some DELICIOUS tasting brew- Now the new delimma? How will I remember to turn it OFF every time I use it?