Still here

I’m still here. I’m still pregnant. I’m still shocked I’m still here and still pregnant.  My official due date is this Friday and this little girl is quickly running out of time to arrive on her own.  My 40 week appointment is Thursday and I ‘ll be requesting another membrane sweep in hopes of moving things along.  Each day that goes by makes me feel that my body won’t do what it’s supposed to do (that it’s failing me, again) and my confidence wanes even further.  If she doesn’t show up on her own before then, I’ll have a scheduled induction either this coming Monday or Wednesday (we’re still tossing dates around).  As much as I DO NOT want to be induced, there are other factors at play and eventually, I’ll have to give in.  Everything seems to be ready and in order, I even broke down and mopped the floors today.  I’d been putting it off because, well, I hate to mop and also because I figure my mom needed SOMETHING to do while I was in the hospital.  I have contractions during the day and especially at night, but they never seem to intensify or go anywhere – the only thing they do at night is make it really difficult for me to sleep.  It’s beyond frustrating.  I booked myself a prenatal massage for tomorrow evening, I’m excited for a lower back massage – that seems to be the thing that hurts the most.  I’m also excited to lay on my belly and remove the pressure from my lower back for 50 glorious minutes.  For the record, none of the old wives tales work.  I haven’t tried them all, but I’ve tried a bunch.  And if I have to unpack one more thing from my hospital bag, I’m going to cry.

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Push Presents

This is a funny story, I promise. But first, a pregnancy update:

I, for one, cannot believe I am still pregnant.  My husband cannot believe I’m still pregnant.  My girlfriend, who’s a nurse, cannot believe I’m still pregnant.  But alas, here I am, most definitely, still pregnant.  My appointment on Tuesday with the midwife was interesting to say the least.  My blood pressure was too high which landed me a “resting” period to try to get it to go down.  There were also traces of protein in my urine.  Cue slight freak-out from me because I figure I’m only moments away from being walked across the skyway and admitted for an immediate induction.  Hubs was at least an hour away and I really didn’t tell A goodbye the way I would have wanted to when I dropped her off at school that morning.  My blood pressure was taken again and it came down slightly, but not by much.  I’ve had no (substantial) swelling, no headaches or dizzy spells and I’ve generally been feeling fine.  The midwife came in, took a look at my file, noted that I’m practically dead on a normal day (BP of 112/60 is about my norm) but decided that I didn’t have enough classic signs to admit me right away.  Instead, they took some blood to check my liver and kidney functions.  She also stripped my membranes, definitely more invasive than a normal cervical check, but not the excruciating pain most people talk about.  She confirmed I am now a good 4 cms and she was able to stretch me to a 5.  She also confirmed I’m about 80% effaced.  W.  T.  F.  The sweep definitely brought on some steady contractions yesterday afternoon, but about the time I decided to start timing them, the little boogers up and left.  Leaving me, well, not in a good place and slightly devastated.  I’ve had quite a bit of, uh, “discharge” since my appointment and I spoke with Monica this morning to confirm everything was going ok.  My blood work came back totally normal and the “discharge” is perfectly normal as the cervix continues to efface (which makes me think I basically have no cervix left…not sure what’s keeping this child in at this point).  Lovely.  I also officially turned down my opportunity for an elective induction on Friday; which makes me both proud of myself (for resisting temptation) and kind of makes me want to hang my head and cry.

Anyways, let’s talk about push presents.  I think the idea of push presents is a fairly new phenomenon and depending upon where you live, may or may not be something you’ve ever encountered.  Traditional push presents are jewelry, and believe me, if the Hubs presented me with some brand new, large, diamond stud earrings, you wouldn’t hear me complain.  Problem is, neither of us would EVER make that kind of a purchase without consulting the other and well, I control the money around here so he’d have a REALLY hard time getting that one past me.  Someday he’ll surprise me with new earrings, just not right now.  I’m not really sure I believe in push presents.  I mean, it’s a really nice thought and all, but the whole idea of expecting a gift for having a baby seems a little odd to me.  I LOVE getting gifts, don’t get me wrong, but in this case it just seems like you’d be setting yourself up for disappointment.  When I purchased Julian back in December, there were several accessories I wanted to go with him but I wasn’t going to buy everything all at once.  The first accessory on my list was a new camera bag.  I really don’t have anywhere to store Julian, and all my lenses don’t fit into the camera bag I DO have.  I was looking for something to safely STORE my stuff in as well as something more functional to use when out and about.  Since I do the monthly budgeting around here, I noticed we had some extra this month and decided to buy myself a push present.  Not because I believe in them, but because it was a perfect excuse to buy myself the camera bag.  So I put it in the budget and ordered the Lowepro Sling Shot 202 AW for myself.  That night, I informed Hubs that he bought me a push present.  He looked at me with a bewildered look on his face, which I expected since I honestly never expected anything from him.  He asked me what I’d ordered and I told him.  Turns out, he had intended to buy me the exact same bag, as a push present!  I know he was being honest because he’d asked me about using some extra money and since the guy never does that, I didn’t think much of it.  I figured he’d come across a few books or who knows what, that he wanted.  Anyways, I felt bad because he never and I mean NEVER gets to surprise me but at the same time I find it incredibly hilarious since I hadn’t discussed this bag with him since December and hadn’t brought up the concept of the push present.  On the other hand though, I’m thrilled to be getting a bag to safely store all my gear in and I’m excited to have something I feel more confident taking out and about.  I tried to tell him about a few other accessories that I would like, but he quickly informed me I wasn’t getting anything else.  Bummer.  Staying true to form though, I’ll eventually need an additional camera bag/purse to use in a day to day, more casual setting.  I’ll bet he didn’t even know these existed…

www.kellymoorebag.com

www.jototes.com

So, maybe someday soon I’ll actually be able to accept my push present, from the Hubs, bought my me, but mentally bought by him.  Until I have this baby though, no push present for me.  Somebody send me some labor vibes.  Please.  I really want my bag.

Week 37

I hit 37 weeks last Friday.  My appointment with my doc went well.  Blood pressure is great, fetal heart tones sound perfect, I was measuring about 38 weeks (which is still perfect for a 2nd/3rd timer), Baby C is still head down and I’ve even made a little progress in the cervical department.  I even worked up the courage to have a brief (very brief) discussion with my OB about my desire to avoid the epidural as long as possible and my desire to not be tied to a bed the whole time I was in the hospital.  She said that was fine, I just needed to request intermittent monitoring and that she would give them permission to do so.  Yay.  So, on the medical side, things are great.

Then there’s the REST of pregnancy at week 37.  I don’t really want to complain.  I’m thrilled to be at this point, obviously, and I’m not even feeling super anxious or ready for Baby C to make her appearance.  I figure I’ve still got a week or so left.  But honestly?  I’d forgotten just how tough these last few weeks are.  Pregnancy is generally kind to me (except that whole stillbirth thing)…I don’t put on a lot of weight and I don’t seem to have to deal with the majority of complaints that I hear from other pregnant women.  I keep comparing this pregnancy to my pregnancy with A and while there are a lot of similarities, I’m noticing some differences here at the end.  I started my leave from work at 37 weeks when I was pregnant with A.  Barring some financial emergency during my leave, I didn’t plan to return to work so the majority of my pregnancy was spent focusing on getting out of a job I didn’t particularly love.  My focus was different than it is this time around.  So I was done working at 37 weeks, which felt AWESOME, and I had her at 38 weeks exactly.  It just didn’t leave much time to wallow in self-pity and moan and grumble about pregnancy woes.  Plus I was 3 years younger.  Doesn’t seem like a lot, but man, 3 years sure does seem to make a big difference in the pregnancy world.  So anyways, I’m just generally uncomfortable this time around.  Baby C is quietest when I’m up moving around or laying on my back (I know, I know, a big no-no) she seems to do the Elaine dance (Seinfeld anyone?) at night when I try to settle down on my side.  It’s like I’m having uterus spasms or something.  Not generally painful, but Baby C likes to hit me in my hips…A never did that.  Baby  C also spends a great bit of time with some sort of appendage wedged in my ribcage.  My ribs are actually sore to the touch…odd.  I’m also starting to swell a bit, nothing crazy, but enough that I just had to switch to a plain silver wedding band and tragically, can’t wear my Aggie Ring. I’m more upset about the Aggie Ring.  I’m also just not sleeping.  I love sleep.  LOVE IT.  Right now I’m logging a solid 5 hours, but toss and turn the rest of the night.  Since Hubs isn’t traveling right now, I refrain from grunting when I try to roll over at night, but believe me, if he wasn’t here, it would sound like a pig farm in my room at night.  Baby C is still really high and I figure she’s long.  And I have a short torso, sooooooo, that just doesn’t leave a whole lot of room.  Things just hurt this time around that didn’t hurt last time.  I’m not sure what to do about it except just deal.  I was REALLY uncomfortable last night, more so than usual.  Hubs kept asking me if I was ok and I finally asked him to stop asking me.  I don’t want to complain.  Just let me be and I’ll be fine.  She’ll come when she’s ready, I’m really in no hurry and I REALLY want her to come on her own.  I don’t want to be induced.  It’s a good feeling this time around, to be ok with her coming when she’s ready.  With A, I hit 37 weeks and was like, “Ok, you can come out now!”  I tell people all the time that my best advice is to really enjoy those last few weeks because you have no idea how big of a change you’re getting ready to endure.  So I’m working really hard on enjoying these last few weeks, pregnancy woes and all.  I got together with a group of girlfriends on Sunday evening at a local restaurant for a small shower.  It was super sweet of them to love on me and while I didn’t expect any gifts at all, I got a few new things for Baby C…including a handmade Aggie teddy bear and Aggie blanket, which A promptly confiscated and claimed as her own.  I’m thrilled that Baby C FINALLY has something special of her own.  Well, sort of, as soon as we can get A to part with them.

I can tell we’re getting close as my “nesting” has reared its ugly head.  In odd ways though, for example: went to Target today to buy body wash and shaving cream.  I noticed we were getting low this morning…heaven forbid we run out at an inopportune time because my husband is clearly incapable of getting a few toiletries from Target and I guess I’m going to be chained to my house?  I squeezed in an eye appointment today so I could refill my contact prescription and get my glasses adjusted.  I also decided I absolutely HAD to get a haircut this week; thankfully my guy was able to get me in on Thursday evening.  I just had one not long ago, but it feels poofy and I had a slight panic attack this morning thinking about how I was going to get my hair cut with an infant here.  I scheduled a vet appointment for Maggie on Saturday morning and I’ve decided to tackle the cleaning of our master shower…probably today at some point.  My freezer is stocked with frozen meals and for some reason I have 3 huge boxes of nursing pads.  Now, none of these tasks/things seem unusual…it’s the panicky feeling of not getting them done that is my clue my head may not be working right.  Especially since my house is basically a disaster zone and I STILL haven’t packed my hospital bag.  At least my glasses won’t be crooked and I’ll have good hair.  Hubs is nesting too…only he’s decided that this weekend he’s going to give our yard a complete overhaul.  We have a big yard.  Go for it buddy.

I’m braving a bikini wax today.

I’m no waxing virgin.  I’ve done everything from eyebrows to bikini to brazilian for years now and frankly, I don’t find it to be that bad.  The lady I go to came highly recommended by a few people and she’s great…which makes a big difference.  Not only is she skilled and quick, but we chit-chat the whole time I’m laying there in a slightly compromising position while she spreads hot wax on my nether-regions and rips my pubic hair out.  While not at the top of my list of fun things to do, waxing doesn’t normally scare me.  It does today though.  You see, I’ve apparently been doing SUCH a good job practicing my Hypnobirthing relaxation techniques that some intruder came into my bedroom, acquired a pair of steel-toed boots and kicked me, repeatedly, in the crotch.  I had no idea this was happening (since I was so relaxed and all) and wasn’t aware of the damage that had been done until the next morning when I could barely get out of bed and hobble to the bathroom.  It was the kind of pain where you expect blood, bruising and swelling, only upon closer inspection (not that close, really, I’m 35 weeks pregnant after all), everything looked fine.  Obviously a more likely scenario is that my body is like, “Oh, yeah, I remember this.  Let me go ahead and stretch those ligaments and open up that pelvis ahead of time for ya.”  More likely, yes, but not NEAR as much fun to tell people.  Or perhaps there’s a head sitting in my pelvis and pressing down on my cervix.  A girl can dream.   So while the pain is a little better than it was a few days ago, I fear the pain that is still there might make this upcoming bikini wax a little nightmarish.  It really doesn’t matter though, because I’m apparently growing a rainforest down under and I can’t accept it any longer.

I went out this past weekend and spent what I consider to be a ridiculous amount of money on nursing attire.  I needed nursing bras, a few nursing tanks and wanted some nursing pajamas for the hospital, around the house and basically the next year of my life.  This stuff, rarely, if ever, goes on sale so I was forced to pay full-price, except for the pj’s, which were buy 1 get 1 free.  For some reason, the last time around, I decided I didn’t need nursing bras or breast pads or any of that fancy-schmancy nursing attire.  And I didn’t for a few days.  Until my milk came in.  I was perfectly fine in the hospital fighting the cups of my bra down so I could feed A.  Once I got home I pretty much went braless and it took me days, DAYS, to discover that when A nursed on one side I was, quite literally, spewing milk from the other side.  I could not for the life of me figure out why my shirt and boppy were wet…and why my child’s clothes were wet.  The story I love to tell is my 20-something sister sitting on the couch with me while I’m nursing…I have no shirt on and no bra (I lack some of the basic ins and outs of modesty people…especially around my family) and I’m squirting milk out of one boob.  My poor sister…I’m pretty sure I scarred her for life.  (She also sanitized the pieces of my breast pump for me.  The hilarious images of her boiling my breast pump parts in the kitchen and removing them from the water with tongs still makes me smile.)  Thankfully she had enough decency to say, “Um, can I get you a towel or something?”  I was too busy laughing to answer her.  I found it incredibly funny at the time, and still do.  I had tears rolling down my face I thought it was so funny.  I still didn’t get it though.  I remember looking down as the photographer was leaving after A’s newborn portraits and seeing a wet spot about the size of a nickel on my shirt.  I was like, “What the hell is that?”  She was 2 weeks old at this point and I STILL hadn’t figured out my boobs were leaking.  I wasn’t totally ignorant either.  I took a class and read several books specific to breastfeeding.  For some reason though, I figured the rules didn’t apply to me.  I don’t remember when I finally decided I needed some nursing bras and breast pads, but it took waaaaaay too long for me to come to that conclusion.  I’m set this time around though.  Except for one thing…

The Hubs got onto me last night because all my new, ‘spensive nursing attire is still sitting in the shopping bags.  I can’t bring myself to take the tags off, wash it and toss a few things into a bag for the hospital.  I don’t mean to be difficult, I just have this mental block and every time I think about doing something like packing a freaking hospital bag, I convince myself I still have plenty of time.  It’s a defense mechanism and the real reason is that I’m afraid to pack a bag with nursing clothes, a baby blanket, a stuffed animal for Baby C and her coming home outfit; all this stuff that indicates I ACTUALLY EXPECT to bring home a living, breathing baby.  It’s so weird, but I’ve promised him I would at least wash the new clothes today so we’ll see if I make any progress.  A and I spent several hours yesterday afternoon with my mom.  Both my parents and my in-laws wanted to purchase something substantial for Baby C.  My in-laws bought the new glider (wonder when it’s going to be ready?) so that left a new breast pump or a new diaper bag for my parents to purchase.  I don’t need a new diaper bag.  I have an INSANELY expensive one that I adore but I WANTED a new one for this baby.  I found a gorgeous new one yesterday that my mom happily purchased for me.  I’m excited about it but it’s still sitting in my bedroom.  Haven’t even taken it out of its beautiful bag and dust cover.  I just can’t.  Not yet.  The pricey diaper bags have ALWAYS been my thing.  I used to joke with the Hubs that if I ever decided I wanted to have kids, he was going to have to agree to a $1500 diaper bag.  He thought I was joking.  No he didn’t, he knew I was serious.  I didn’t spend quite that much the first time around, and my mom only spent a fraction of that, but there’s something about making such a large, luxurious,  intentional for Baby C purchase that has me a little freaked out.  Hubs told me last night he doesn’t think I’ve actually wrapped my head around the idea that we’re HAVING ANOTHER BABY.  I think he’s right, but I’m not sure how to fix it.  I’m going through all the motions, I’m excited about meeting her, preparing for labor and delivery and finishing up her nursery, yet, I’m not sure I’ve actually grasped that we’re leaving our home with 1 little girl and coming home with 2 little girls.  And my latest irrational, pregnancy-induced, hormonal fear?  That Baby C will be born a “he” instead of a “she”.  Pretty sure the Hubs wants out at this point.  He can’t take the crazy much longer.

So, if you hear screaming from deep within the heart of Texas in the next hour…no worries, it’s just a much too vain pregnant lady getting her lady bits waxed in an attempt not to appear as a freak show for all the nurses and doctors that will see her most treasured body parts over the coming weeks.  And blah, blah, blah, they’re professionals that see it everyday, they don’t care…yeah, I know.  I’ve heard it all.  But I like to think they too can at least appreciate the effort.

I’m starting to believe…

No, not in Tim Tebow.  I was already a believer in Tebow…but I digress.

I’m starting to believe these fortune cookie fortunes are more than just coincidence.  Now, I’m a smart person.  I know these fortunes are mass-produced and randomly stuck into fortune cookies, shipped all over the world and there is no rhyme or reason to who gets what.  But I dunno, I kind of like believing in a higher power that works through something as simple as a fortune cookie to remind people to stay on track; stay the course…to remind them of their goals and dreams.  After my last post about my New Year’s fortune, Hubs finally opened his this weekend.  Now, if you’ve been following along at all, you know that the Hubs and I have some big plans.  That’s why his fortune kind of gave me goosebumps.

fortune 2

If you’re interested…here’s the long version of why this particular fortune is so cool.

I’m feeling somewhat melancholy today.  Hubs’ travel schedule has been fairly light since about Thanksgiving.  He’s traveled some, but not much.  He’s also had quite a bit of time off work and we’ve spent a lot of time together as a family.  He left today on the first trip of MANY over the next month and a half.  I knew it was coming and I understand why he has to put in so much travel right now, but it’s still hard.  It’s always hardest to have him leave when he’s been home for a while.  It takes me some time to re-adjust to being alone.  In addition, I’m feeling slightly anxious about adding a new baby.  I’ve treated this pregnancy as an after thought much of the time.  Partly out of fear, partly out of necessity since I have another child to care for.  We’ve been working like crazy to get A moved into her new room.  It’s coming together but still isn’t done and in the process I’ve completely destroyed the nursery.  Just walking past the room makes me nervous because it’s in SUCH disarray.  Not that Baby C will care what her room looks like, but I’d really like for it to be done before she gets here.

I’m starting to experience some sadness about A not being an only child anymore too.  I don’t think that helps my feelings regarding the heavy travel schedule; it just adds to my desire to have my family home.  Together, and close by.  I keep trying to tell myself giving her a sibling is an awesome gift, but I’m not sure I can fathom life with more than just her.  I’m not worried about loving another child, or having room in my heart for another child, I just find myself unable to grasp the concept of another child in this house.  The logistics are mind-boggling.  It’s been just me and A for so long, I know so much about her and I am able to devote so much of myself to her.  I know that just won’t be possible once Baby C gets here and it makes me sad.  I wish it didn’t, it feels like I’m doing Baby C a disservice and she’s not even here yet.  Makes me want to really dig in and savor these last weeks with just A.

I find myself worrying about silly things.  Getting upset about situations that haven’t even come to fruition.  I’m feeling fearful about the safety of Hubs and A…given the events that play out in my head you’d think I watch too much Lifetime TV, but I don’t.  Not at all actually.  I know it’s the hormones, but it makes me feel like a crazy person.  I’m doing better believing that Baby C will make a safe arrival, but I still have moments of sheer panic that send me running walking quickly usually kind of limping (since my feet and legs constantly fall asleep) for a glass of water or frantically tapping my belly to get some movement out of her.  As we start to make strides towards ACTUALLY getting our home ready for another baby I can’t help but wonder, what if?  I put off doing pretty much anything until after Christmas.  I just wasn’t confident enough to get anything started.  I fully believe tragedy can strike again.  I had such a hard time ordering my glider last week.  The last time I placed an order for furniture, I had to send my mom to the store the next day to un-order said furniture.  To top it all off, I have more contractions each day than I care to admit.  I know they’re normal.  I know they don’t “mean” anything.  But it’s still nerve-wracking.  I never had early contractions with A, so this is fairly new territory.  I plan to mention it to my doc at my appointment on Friday.  I’ll be 32 weeks.  I’m aware that if Baby C were to show up now, her chances of survival are very good, but we’d obviously be dealing with a long stint in the NICU.  I’d like to avoid it and I just keep telling myself, despite the daily contractions, she’s not coming until March.

On a lighter note, since it’s Tuesday, and I pretty much ALWAYS go to Target on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s, I had to laugh at my purchases today.  1 box of mac and cheese for A.  1 box of shells and cheese for me.  1 frozen cheese pizza for us to share.  1 box of individual deep dish cheese pizzas for me.  1 bag of sour cream and onion potato chips.  And 1 box of maxi pads for, uh, various reasons.  I was embarrassed as I checked out.  I’m still slightly embarrassed, but only slightly.

My New Year’s Fortune

It’s only 12 days into 2012…this post is still entirely appropriate and I’ll have no heckling from the peanut-gallery about my timing.

We ordered take-out Chinese food for New Year’s Eve.  Mostly because we’re incredibly boring, but also because I’m lazy and frankly, I was just cooked-out from Christmas.  Also, the Hubs loves Chinese food and it’s not always at the top of my list of desirable food options so when I say it sounds good, he jumps at the chance to eat it.  This was the fortune contained in my fortune cookie.  I don’t actually believe in these things, but given how I’m hoping 2012 will go, I thought it was kind of cool and slightly coincidental.  Hubs still hasn’t cracked his open, I’m dying to know what his says!

fortune

In other news, we have a lot going on around here.  2012 certainly started with the rubber meeting the road so to speak.  Here’s what’s currently taking up space on my plate:

1) Operation We’re About to Have 2 Kids So We Better Get Started on Bedrooms is in full swing.  We’re moving A into our former guest room and keeping the nursery for Baby C (I’m changing out bedding and stuff, but the wall color and furniture will stay the same).  The guest room has also been used as storage for the past 6ish years…there’s a lot to go through, throw away, organize and store.  The room is painted and furniture has been moved into place so things are moving along, but not complete yet.  Hubs took A to school today and my mother in law is picking her up so that gives me ALL DAY to sleep shop go through random boxes in the closet.

2) Hubs got me Photoshop Elements for Christmas.  I installed it yesterday.  I was immediately reminded I’m not nearly as smart as I thought I was.  It’s a total beast (since I’ve never owned any editing software) and will require me to actually read the instructions.  Sigh.

3) A’s 3rd birthday is next month.  I booked her party yesterday.  I’ll be 37 weeks pregnant.  I’ve since spent more time deciding on invitations than I did deciding on party details.  If I were a betting woman, I’d put money on the possibility I end up sending out e-vites instead of paper invitations.

4) I think the Hubs and I are meeting for lunch to look at gliders.  This trip is entirely impossible with A in tow.  We’ve tried.  Before A was born we were given a beautiful rocker from his grandmother…a family heirloom…it was used to rock the Hubs when he was a baby while his parents visited his grandmother.  I used it to nurse/rock A for 12+ months and I discovered one thing.  This rocker is really good at being a beautiful family heirloom.  It’s very possibly the most uncomfortable rocker ever and the back isn’t tall enough for me to lay my head back and sleep.  I spent hours, and hours, and hours in that rocker.  My ass has never been the same.  My mother in law, somehow, was able to avert the rocker when Hubs was born.  In fact, I think she kind of hates the thing.  My in-laws have graciously offered to buy me a new glider (they wanted to purchase something substantial for Baby C).  Yesterday she basically begged me to go look and pick one out.  So, hopefully I’ll find something today and the current rocker can move into the den and be gazed up for what it is…a beautiful family heirloom.

5) And OMG…my mother called yesterday and, I KID YOU NOT, asked me (in a round-about-way) if I’d be in labor on March 3rd.  She was serious too.  For the record, neither my sister nor I are adopted.  She’s given birth.  Twice.  She’d been asked to do something that day, all day, and wasn’t sure “what I’d be doing that day.”  “Yes, mother, I’ve been visited by and angel of the Lord and as it turns out, I WILL be in labor on March 3rd.”  :::eyeroll:::  :::facepalm:::  :::headdesk:::

6) I’m off to organize.  Unfortunately for all our stuff, I’m not in a sentimental mood today.  Hubs mentioned last night that I might be entering the nesting phase.  Yep, I think that just about sums it up.

Turd in the Tub

Don’t laugh.  Because if you’re reading this it’s because you have either experienced the turd in the tub or expect to experience the turd in the tub at some point in your life.

WARNING: Potty talk and poop discussion to follow…carry on…

I was giving A her bath last night, which is humourous in itself given my current size.  Each night I wonder if she actually needs a bath, but yesterday morning I brushed dried yogurt out of her hair (to my credit, I didn’t know it was there to begin with) so I figured I should suck it up and bathe the child.  During the course of the bath she started to fidget.  She got squirmy (more so than usual) and started grabbing her, uh, we call them her girl parts around here.  I asked her what was wrong, she said her bottom hurt.  “Crap, I thought to myself, she’s got a UTI.”  I’ve been accused of being slightly dramatic.  So I asked her if she needed to go potty.  She said no.  I asked her if it hurt when she went potty, she said yes.  “Damn, poor baby.  I’ve had my fair share of UTI’s and they hurt.  Guess I’ll call the doc in the morning.”  Then all of a sudden she was fine.  A few minutes later, she assumes one of her many (pooping) positions and starts grabbing herself again.  Aha!  Not a dreaded UTI, she has to poop!  “Do you need to go poo-poo?” I ask her.  She says no.  I ask again, she says yes.  I tell her NOT to go in the tub.  Then I ask her if she wants to sit on the potty.  Of course, she refuses.  It doesn’t matter that she’s almost 3.  She refuses to go near the potty.  She actually demanded that I return the Minnie Mouse undies I bought her a few months ago.  “You take them back to the store, Mommy!” she says to me.  Doesn’t seem to matter that we’re already using the largest size Pampers makes.  Eh, no biggie, I figure in a few years it will be a nice mother-daughter bonding experience to go shopping for our adult diapers together.  That’ll teach her.

So I frantically start to make my way to my feet.  No easy task these days.  Let’s not forget the fact my legs and feet always fall asleep when I sit on the ground so I’m hobbling around while it feels like there’s a million ants crawling on my legs.  At this point she’s begging for a diaper.  I get her out of the tub, wrap her in a towel and then I see it.  The dreaded turd in the tub.  It wasn’t much, but let’s be honest, isn’t any size turd in the tub too much?  “Gross!” I think to myself.  I don’t want my delicate, fragile child to think I find her turds disgusting.  Surely that will damage her psyche, right?  I fish her numerous toys out of the water before they, too, become infected with turd germs.  I make a beeline for her room and tell her get a move on…we’ve got to get her in a diaper…she’s not done yet.  So there I stand in her room and there’s no A following me.  I call to her.  No answer.  “Crap,” I think to myself (literally) “She’s going to poop all over the floor.”  I pour Miralax down her like it’s going out of style.  We’ve had “issues” since she was about 6 months old.  This would have been no easy clean-up.  So I hike it back to the bathroom (ok, fine, it’s only across the hall) only to find her half-naked in the bathroom curiously inspecting the towel that is now only covering half of her.  The thoughts of her impending poop long gone.  I pick her up, carry her to her room and quickly put a diaper on her.  I keep a container of Clorox wipes in the bathroom, mainly to do a quick wipe-down of counters, toilets and floors while she’s in the tub.  Last night I was very thankful for the Clorox wipes to clean up the tub.  She never did finish, by the way.  I pity the person who has to change that diaper.  It will probably be me, but there’s also a good chance her preschool teacher may be the lucky recipient today.

Welcome, 2012.

First of all, 29 weeks as of this past Friday.  Hard to believe and if I’m being honest (which I always am here) I’m still not convinced we’re having another baby.  She moves quite a bit these days and is making it very difficult to sleep at night.  Sometimes I get so excited about meeting her and holding her tiny body in my arms I can’t hardly stand it.  I don’t think about it often because I’m still afraid of something going wrong.  But so far, things are going splendid.  Passed my 3-hr glucose test with flying colors and we’re rounding the corner into the home stretch.  Baby C has a place to sleep and a car seat so as long as we swing by the store to pick up diapers on the way home from the hospital, we should be good.  I kid, I kid.  Sort of.

29 weeks

At first glance, 2011 was a truly awful year. I mean, for months I’ve been thinking about how glad I was going to be to see 2011 end. How much relief I would feel to put the year behind me. Upon closer inspection, however, I’m starting to think 2011 may be one of the best years of my life. Not without its hardships and difficulties, of course, but the start of something. Hubs and I have discussed 2011 at length. He says 2011 was full of emotional extremes…I agree. There is no denying it was a year that changed us. Drastically. Forever. You see, there were 2 people who were simply living their lives, unencumbered by tragedy, that died in a hospital room right along with our twins in March. 2 new people were born. 2 people with a new passion. 2 people with a burning desire to change their world. 2 people who were no longer satisfied with saying, “someday” or “what if”. 2 people who were no longer going to simply dream, but were going to DO. 2011 has been a year of reflection. A year of thinking. 2012 will be a year of doing. There is a lot of work ahead of both of us. We each have ideas that have formed in our minds, in our souls, and we share a long-term vision for our life together. We’ve been given an inkling about how to get there. For the Hubs, he formed and founded his own company. It’s small, on the side for now, but has the potential to grow into an enormous beast. I’m not sure how long it will take to get there, but it will eventually be what he does for his living.  I know it like I know the sky is blue.  I’ve got my own little business idea brewing. I’ve had it for a while, but only recently had the courage, mental capability, whatever you want to call it to put my thoughts into action and see where it goes. My husband is fully supportive and actually has a greater vision for my little biz than I do right now. I’ve also taken steps to advance my photography. That’s a totally personal hobby/passion, something I’ve never really spent time on but I’m finding it important. It just feels good to be behind the lens. Once I pick up the camera and start clicking, I can’t stop. It fulfills a place in my soul I didn’t know existed. This little blog here was born out of the tragedy of 2011. I’m not sure where it’s headed either. I love having a place to express my thoughts and share a few of my pictures, but I’m certainly not attracting thousands of readers. I haven’t told anyone in real life, except my husband, that this blog even exists. Maybe someday, but not right now. I just feel like I need to keep writing, need to keep sharing. Hopefully my story, my journey, will help someone else through a difficult time. At the very least, I can read through some of my older posts and see growth, which was really my intention all along.

We rang in the new year last night laying in bed, with me struggling to keep my eyes open until midnight. It’s never been a big party night for us, and last night was no exception. Save the fact we got all the Christmas decorations taken down and put away…that deserves a little celebration, right? Except I think both of us wanted to see 2011 off last night and take a deep breath, look 2012 in the eyes and say, “bring it on.” I’m still not sure where this little life of ours is headed, but I do think 2011 was the start of something big; so it seems wrong to just write of 2011 as a big pile of crap and move on. And I think 2012 holds a lot of potential so long as we’re willing to put in the work. The general fear of failure or fear of the unknown isn’t so great once you experience a loss such as ours. It makes you more willing to take risks, knowing that if you can get through something like losing the twins, you can get through pretty much anything. Teaches you that fear, or not knowing, isn’t a reason not to try. That’s a tough lesson to learn, one I’m not sure I could have learned any other way. So we’ll start 2012 just like any other Sunday. Up early, groaning, as we hear A banging around in her room. We’ll head to church soon and we’re spending the afternoon working on A’s new room so hopefully Baby C will have her own room once she gets here in a few short months. Either way, the Hubs and I head into 2012 with the knowledge that if we work hard enough, if we dig deep enough, if we stay the course, our true purpose and visions will start to become our reality.