In Case You Felt Like Gagging…

Thought for the day:

I mentioned once before that there’s a statistic out there that suggests the typical person swallows (presumably by accident) an average of 8 spiders per year.  

Sooooo, with that in mind,  in a house with two cats, an extremely large, furry dog, and me, who avoids cleaning as much as humanly possible, how many animal hairs would one conceivably swallow in any given year?

I bet it’s enough to coat a terri poo…

Return of The Blob

Like a bad horror movie sequel, I’m back.  There’s no hiding behind the big belly anymore.  The time has come for me to tackle the unfortunate task of reclaiming my bod.  Now that I no longer have the large baby in front to counter balance my butt, I can see it in all its square footage glory, and let me tell ya… it’s not pretty.

Since even the slowest pace walking would set off a series of contractions, I was unable to really exercise much past my 4th month of being with child.  The other day was unusually warm, so I arranged it with superdad to go for a walk when he got home from work.  By the time I got out the door, the sun had already gone down, but no worries, it was still warm enough to go sans-jacket.

I slapped on my headphones & cranked up the iPod.  I had recently synched it up with some sweet new tunes, & I was ready to go.  I honestly don’t know how anyone exercises without listening to good music…. I guess I just haven’t achieved that kind of zen state yet…. Anyway, it (the music) was so good, in fact, that I was feeling like I might actually be able to step things up to a jog.  So, off I went, not at all put off by the fact that I tripped over the landscape edging on the way out, cursing in front of my über-conservative neighbor.

Now, when I say “jog”, what I really mean is “hobble”.  Seriously, there were grannies passing me on their walkers.  And I stupidly went out without a sports bra, so I was forced to hobble with both forearms tightly held against my new set of gadunka dunks, lest they hit me in the face or, worse, the knees… which reminds me– to the person who recently suggested that I’ll probably “bounce right back” after the baby,  let’s just say that while yes,  there was plenty of “bouncing” going on… there was also a good dose of flapping, jiggling, gasping, and maybe even a dry heave or two.

Despite my ridiculous display, I managed to make it a full 30 minutes without stopping.  I was feeling pretty good as I approached the last block on my leg home, when out of nowhere, this really obnoxious section of sidewalk literally leapt up, grabbed my foot, and tackled me to the ground.  I guess the small fire that started from the friction between my thighs was not enough to illuminate my way, and I ended up biting it with two bloody knees, a scraped up hand, and a big ol’ hole in one of the only pairs of pants that still fits me.

Bummer.  At least, since it was dark out, I don’t think anyone saw my complete and utter shame as I picked myself up and, this time, literally hobbled back home.

I must have looked like I just got attacked by a bear in the woods when I limped in the door,  hair halfway falling out of my clip, dried mulch and leaves randomly attached to my clothing, blood dripping from various body parts.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bill asked, half wondering if some other life form had replaced the woman that had walked out the door only a short time ago.

“I decided to go for a jog”, I replied, “I wouldn’t recommend it”.

 

Anyway, the point is…. I survived!  Now I have no excuse, I know I can do it… me and my trusty iPod… which, by the way, here is a small sampling of some of the songs that got my butt moving:  

1. Dr. Yang,  Ben Folds
2. Momentum,  Aimee Mann
3. Honey White,  Morphine
4. Bathwater,  No Doubt
5. Big Wheel,  Tori Amos
6. Los Angeles,  Frank Black
7. Pump It,  The Black Eyed Peas

 

Yeah, they’re not all exactly “current”, buy hey, it’s gets me moving.  What’s on your iPod?

 

 

I’m Not Dead

Has it really been that long since I posted anything?  It literally feels like I blinked two weeks away.  Little Jackson has been sweet as ever, and all three boys have been happily keeping us busy these past couple of weeks.  I was worried that I would feel completely overwhelmed, but I mostly just feel thankful and in awe of the circle of life.  Thank you everyone for all of the comments on his pictures– he really is a cute baby, although he’s still kind of in that awkward newborn phase.  I’m thinking he’s going to look a little more like Max- lighter hair, blue eyes… 

I’ve been writing the story of his arrival, but also experiencing diarrhea of the mouth (er… pen? keyboard?) and can’t seem to get it edited down to an acceptable length where anyone would actually have the time or want to read it… so until then, I can’t help myself, here are some more photos:

 

If anyone knows how to create mosaics with flickr, I would greatly appreciate instructions as I’m sure these photos would look a lot better presented that way.

Some fun stuff that’s been going on ’round these parts:

1. Jackson has already had his first bout of pink eye.
2. When he was about a week old, I did manage to get out of the house for a bit, (without any kids) and I bumped into someone I hadn’t seen in a few weeks.  She obviously wasn’t aware that I’d already given birth, and promptly asked me if I was feeling any contractions yet… nice.  I guess in my case, nursing does not make the pounds just melt off… yet (I hope).
3. I have been shown over and over again just how kind and generous people are, and I’m really feeling like I need to pay it forward to make up for all of the kindnesses that have been extended to our family. 
4. I’ve forgotten how much I love, love, love little babies!  Jackson is like a little cuddly kitty cat- I feel like a little girl with my dolly that I carry around everywhere.
5.  I got way too excited to get dressed up yesterday for my big day out…. to my dentist appointment.
6. Bill has been transformed into superdad, (well, he kinda already was superdad, maybe now superdad on steroids?) in how awesome he’s been taking care of Max & Wyatt while Jackson & I are connected at the boob.
7. Poop, poop, and more poop (and a fair amount of boogies, too).

Other than that, things have been pretty good.  Stay tuned for more fun…

New Sheriff in Town

Finally, at long last, and exactly one week old today (as of me writing this), I give you….

 

Jackson Grey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been fun spending the past week getting to know the little guy.  So far, this is what we’ve learned of him:

• Not the biggest fan of diaper changes or baths
• He’s well on his way to becoming an expert marksman
• He has excellent comedic timing
• He likes fart jokes
• Definitely a boob man
• He gets his bathroom habits from his dad
• He belches like a drunken sailor (he gets that from me)

I have to say, despite my intimidation of having three boys under the age of five in my care, it’s been really fun, and a little bittersweet, to have a baby around the house again.  Bitterweet because I fear this might be the last time, and I’ve always been so in awe of the entire experience.  There is simply nothing in the world like having a baby.  As much work, discomfort, and pain that it takes a woman to go through in order to carry a child and give birth, I feel incredibly blessed and honored to be able to do so.   It’s totally amazing, and something I imagine a man could never quite understand the same way (no offense, guys!). 

I’d like to thank everyone for all of the congratulatory wishes and positive vibes you’ve been sending our way.  I’ve read and enjoyed each of your emails and comments and, although I haven’t been able to respond to pretty much anybody, I do want you to know that it means so much to have people who care about us and our family- whether you’ve actually met us or not.  I’m still formulatin’ the whole birth story… not really sure if there’s enough to make an entire “story”, but you know what I mean…  all the fun details.  I vow to make it as fascinating as possible, and use the term “mucous plug” as many times as I can so as to gross my husband out as much as possible.

Until then, sleep well, and dream of large women.

Waiting…

Pregnancy this time around has been particularly hard on my mental state.  Maybe it was the past year’s events, maybe it was the hormones, maybe it was the stress of taking on too many projects with too little time to complete them…. most likely it was a combination of all three… I have always been one to “think” I function better under stress, but really the truth is, I’m a die-hard procrastinator.  I just can’t seem to feel a sense of urgency until things seem… well… urgent.

Anyway, for each of our boys’ births, we’ve been in a relatively new house.  “Relatively new” meaning, we bought it within a year or so, and all three houses we’ve owned have been, if not fixer-uppers, then definitely in need of some cosmetic improvements.  Couple this fact with a neurotic, hormonal, and overly emotional pregnant person, and you get a very llllllooooonnnnngggg list of things that NEED to get done before the baby comes.  Many of the items on the list were not things that I myself could accomplish, due to my “fragile”  (ha, ha) state, and also because there aren’t 196 hours in a day.  So, my neurotic, perfectionist,  hormone-high self enlisted the help of my dear husband, whom is probably at least halfway to neurosis now as a result.

At this point, I’m not sure where it all started, but let me just say double damnation on those pregnancy books that tell you the third child will come earlier, faster, labor will be shorter, yadda, yadda, yadda, because, while part of me does (notice I said “does”, not “did”?) want this over with, when things don’t go according to plan, and you are under the impression that a little person is about to come popping out at any moment, throw in the holidays on top of that, you’re pretty much ripe for a major mental breakdown.

So, amidst the fury of all the holiday fun,  our endless list of house projects to be completed before #3 made his appearance still loomed.  I got to the point where I would’ve just been happy to make it through Christmas, which actually came & went without so much as a cramp from the little fella.  Once that was out of the way, I then shifted to being fully convinced that once that holiday was over and I relaxed a little bit, the baby would naturally come.  I felt ready, but at the same time not ready: we still had our bathroom vanity, light, and cabinet to install, paint the walls, bunk beds to have delivered, move all of Wyatt’s things out of the baby’s room and into Max’s, clean everything, sort through virtual MOUNTAINS  of baby clothes, put away Christmas decorations, etc, etc, etc.  The intensity of my need to get all of these things accomplished before baby had reached a fever pitch, but yet I just wanted it all over, whether the list got done or not– I was just so sick of feeling stressed.

This is precisely when our electricity got knocked out for a day, we found out the bunk beds were not coming, AND the washing machine broke.  All things that are not very big deals… IF YOU’RE NOT ABOUT TO HAVE A BABY!!  Our entire upstairs floor looked like a war zone, and there was no light up there to do much about the mess.  Ok, maybe now wasn’t a good time for the little one to make his appearance after all.

The days passed, and eventually all of those projects pretty much got resolved.  Phew!  Ok, now I can relax and have this baby, right?  Well…. not so fast.  After a fun New Year’s Eve with some of the cousins,  both of the kids went to bed that night with croupy coughs and fevers which came out of nowhere, and poor little Wyatt threw up twice.  They both had ear infections.  New Year’s Day was spent nursing sick little boys… Max seemed to bounce back, but Wyatt… not so much.  The following day was Friday, Bill had a man date in the morning, and I had a Dr’s appointment in the afternoon.  In between, we tag-teamed taking care of the boys.  Wyatt was clearly not getting better.  He was extremely lethargic, clingy, runny, cloudy-eyed, feverish, and with a nasty, nasty cough.  He was totally miserable, and could barely keep his eyes open most of the day.  That night, I mentioned to Bill that, in all of our running around,  *maybe* we should’ve taken him to the doctor’s.   Luckily for us, our pediatrician has Saturday hours.  He woke up the next day with enough goop in his eyes to spackle all of the leftover nail holes in our bathroom and then some.  Awful.  So, off he went to the doctor, and, to our surprise:  pneumonia!  Ugh!  Remember that old game show Press Your Luck?  No, baby, no baby, NO BABY!!!!

Neither of my boys has ever been that sick.  He was a completely different person.  The pediatrician said if I went into labor, under no circumstances is Wyatt allowed anywhere near this baby.  And whoever is Wyatt’s caretaker cannot be near the baby either.  Stress?  What stress?  Meanwhile, little man has been making threats, but still no appearances…. is he toying with us?  Nope, he’s being a good little boy and staying put until just the right time!  What a little sweety-pie, already so considerate   I’m sure the stress hormones have a little something to do with it, too.

So, T minus 40 weeks was yesterday- I felt totally ready and convinced I would be spending last night in the hospital.  It’s a weird feeling, actually.  I never went past my due date before.  You always read about women whose due dates come & go, and each passing day seems like an eternity.  I always thought I would enjoy having a few extra days to relax or get things done, but now that my OB is already talking induction (and has been for a week & a half now), I’m starting to feel the pressure again (not baby pressure, mental pressure- I really don’t want to be induced).  I have faith that this little guy somehow knows exactly what to do, and it will all make a lot more sense once all’s said & done.  Maybe tomorrow will bring tiny little fingers and toes, eyelashes and coos, and all other things fresh and new and babyish…