Hold Them Tighter

I came on here to write out a lighthearted blog post, pictures included, about what life's been like in the Wanner house since I last posted.  Instead, I had to log off my computer, turn off my tv, and just give in to a breakdown.  For the last hour or so.

This is the latest news headline, compliments of Yahoo!, as of just a few minutes ago:  http://gma.yahoo.com/breaking-conn-school-district-locked-down-shooting-report-151955384--abc-news-topstories.html

More information comes in every few minutes but, in a nutshell, there was a shooting at an elementary school in Connecticut this morning.   

An elementary school.  Kindergarten to fourth grade...ages 5 to 10 years old.

28 people have been killed, 20 of them children, and I cannot...cannot...wrap my head around this.  They've been showing pictures on the news, and they horrify me to the point where I've had to physically cover my mouth because I'm realizing that I'm making these choking, mewling noises and I can't control them.  The pictures show children being led out of the building, frantic parents with tears in their eyes and total fear captured on their faces, and police and other law enforcement agents fanned out in the thick of things.

Because I have to keep turning off the television, I'm getting info in bits and pieces but it seems as if somehow the shooting began in the principal's office.  The shooter is a 20-something male whose mother is a teacher in the school.  I don't know why he was there or what provoked him but he shot and killed the principal and then continued from classroom to classroom...at one point, the newscaster mentioned that he had shot people execution-style, and that officers and first-responders were going to require counseling after the carnage that they witnessed when all was said and done.

I can't handle this.

I keep putting myself in the shoes of the parents, and I just can't handle it.  20 children were shot and killed at school today.  Hundreds of parents rushed to that school when they heard the news, and 20 sets of them were told that their child was dead.  My heart broke into a thousand pieces as I watched this on the news, and I can't even begin to imagine what these parents must be feeling.  I just can't imagine.

How are we supposed to send our children, our elementary-aged children, off to school each day knowing that something like this could happen?   That the place where our children spend the majority of their day learning and playing could, at any point, turn into a nightmare?  Things like this shouldn't happen today, especially not in a school.  And not to innocent children. 

I can't stand the thought of sending Bailey off to school and getting that phone call, of running to that building and finding out that she'd been injured or killed for no apparent reason whatsoever.  I couldn't handle it.  I wouldn't survive it.  I want to put her in a bubble for the rest of her life and never let her leave my sight just so I can be sure that she's safe and okay.  I want to tell her that I love her and that I'm so sorry that I brought her into a world where things like this are even a possibility.

I can't always be right there to protect her and it terrifies me.  And it makes me so sad that the world is turning into this kind of place.  I have no real connection to this shooting, other than the fact that I am a mother.  I don't know any of the families or the victims.  But my heart keeps breaking over and over again for them and I'm having a hard time getting my emotions under control.  Bailey is with my mom and dad right now; she slept over at their house last night.  I know she's safe and having fun, I just talked to my mom a little while ago.  But there's still this huge part of me that wants to drive over there and bring her home with me where I can physically see that she is here and okay and alive.  It sounds a bit irrational, but I'm not a rational person when it comes to my children. These days, we just can't afford to be.

I can't help but wonder what the parents of the children in that school are feeling right now.  I don't know how they'll get past this, or IF they'll get past it.  I'm so, so incredibly heartbroken for them, and for the children and adults who were in that school today. 

I've always made it a point to hug Bailey often and to tell her how much I love her.  I do it multiple times every day and will continue to do it every day for as long as she'll let me.  Today, I'll be holding her a little bit tighter.  And thanking God that she's here and safe, and that I'm lucky enough to be able to hug her until she squirms to get away.    Today there are 20 sets of parents who don't have that luxury anymore.  At the same time that my heart shatters for them, a voice in my head whispers that I am so lucky.  We may drive each other nuts some days, but I couldn't imagine my life without Bailey in it and I'm so, so lucky to be her mom.  I'll be holding her a little bit tighter and a little bit longer from now on.

37 Week Appointment!

Just a heads up...this is a TMI post.  So if any of you are squeamish and/or don't want to read about the ins and outs of the last few weeks of pregnancy, please feel free to skip this post.

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I had my 37 week appointment this morning, and it went well!  As I was leaving the house, Bailey started crying that she wanted to come with me and I thought, what the heck?  She's pretty good when I take her.  About an hour later, I was kicking myself for it.  I'm sitting there with my feet in the stirrups and the doc leans down to start the internal exam and Bailey yells, "Oh!  Watch out for mommy's big butt!"  Thank you, Captain Obvious...

Anyway, I'm finally making some progress!  1cm dilated and soft.  Technically, this doesn't mean much.  Some women walk around dilated at 1cm for months, and some women end up in labor within a few hours.  So, really, it could go any way.  But I don't think he's coming any time soon.  I just keep reminding myself, 3 more weeks, 3 more weeks.  And, honestly, as much as I'm ready for him to be here I know it's much easier having him on the inside for now.  Still got Christmas shopping to do, and all those little last minute details to attend to, like getting the car seat in the car (actually, cleaning out the car is high on my to-do list), washing the cradle bedding since that's where he'll be sleeping when he first comes home, and re-packing my bag for the hospital.  Yes, re-packing.  I packed it two weeks ago, went in there last night to check it and realize that I packed like an idiot.  So I'm starting over tonight and then it'll be ready to go.

I also have a breastfeeding class to go to tonight at the new hospital, and I'm actually really looking forward to it.  I didn't take any classes or anything with Bailey, just read up on some things online and figured I knew what I needed to know.  Turns out, I really didn't know much at all.  So I'm hoping that this class gives me some more knowledge and a few tips on making things easier and smooth for both the baby and myself.

I'll update on things a bit more later!

I Confess...

Those of you who have been following this blog have heard read quite a few complaints from me over the last few months.  I've said it before and I'll say it again-- this pregnancy has kicked my ass.  I have SPD this time around and there are a good number of days where simply moving at all from the waist down is excruciating.  Anyway, so yes, I've been complaining.

(Disclaimer: Regardless of my whininess, I would, and hopefully will, do it all over again because I freakin' love my kids and I cannot imagine my life without a bunch of little ones running around).

The other day I got to thinking about this pregnancy and how different it's been from my pregnancy with Bailey.  As is usually the case, those thoughts took me on a little guided ADD tour and before I knew it I had made a list of all the ridiculous and terrible things I've done throughout the last 9 months.  Some things make me feel really stupid (I cried over THAT?!) and some make me chuckle at myself (I did that?!)...and some make me feel a tremendous amount of guilt (I'm a bad mom!).  I figured this list might be good to look back on down the road.  It might even help some other moms out there to realize that they're not the only ones who suck at parenting sometimes.  At the very least, maybe it'll be a wake-up call for me.  Probably not...but maybe.

So, without further ado and in no particular order, I confess...

• that Bailey has never eaten as unhealthily as she has in the past 3 months.  I won't even try and sugarcoat this-- she's eaten so much crap in the last few weeks it's not even funny.  I'm exhausted and in pain, and the last thing I feel like doing after working an 11 hour day is going all domestic and whipping up a nutritious dinner for my family.  So...the other day, I let Bailey have a few Oreos and some a shit ton of corn for dinner.  That's all she wanted and I didn't feel like arguing with her.  And now, with Christmas and the new baby coming quickly, Scott and I are scrambling to get all our shopping done and everything else ready to go in case baby decides to come early (or even on time).  Because it hurts so bad to move some days, we've been heading to the mall for a little while a few days a week to make as much of a dent in things as we can.  On those nights, Bailey has had ice cream for dinner.  I kid you not...mint chocolate chip ice cream with rainbow sprinkles, per her request.  It's much easier to have her munching on that while we get things done than to make her sit down and eat something that I know is good for her but she'll fight to the death to get out of eating.  I swear, once this baby is born, I'll make sure she eats much healthier.  For now...meh.  She's not starving.

• that I have been a terrible wife.   Only in a moment of severe weakness will I ever admit this to Scott, but it's true.  He's busting his ass for this family: he got a second job to bring in a little extra cash, he's working on his Master's, he gives Bailey her bath at night because I can't bend over the tub anymore, when we do sit down and have a nice meal at home HE is the one who cooked it, he makes sure all our bills are paid on time, he helps clean the house (I haven't touched the vacuum this entire pregnancy), he takes care of the dog, he single-handedly put up all of our Christmas decorations (inside and outside), he does all of the laundry, he helped get the baby's room together, he takes time off work to stay here with the daycare kids when I have doctor's appointments, he moves around furniture whenever I feel the urge to "change" something (yesterday he moved our bedroom furniture around 3 times until I liked it) and he tells me often that, even though *I* hate the way I look right now, he still finds me beautiful.  And how have I repaid him for all his kindness and hard work?  Well...the short answer is that I haven't.  And I honestly can't work up the energy to do more than say a lame thank you.  *sigh*  I have a lot of paying back to do once this baby arrives.

• that typing my last confession made me cry. I suck as a wife right now, I really do.  Some other things that made me cry recently:  (1) stepping on the scale at my last appointment and seeing how ridiculously high that freakin' number went (my God, it was bad...the doctor must think I'm a lunatic); (2) over the weekend when a woman at the mall thought I was having twins and that I was due any day now (just one baby...still have 3 weeks to go);  (3) finding new stretch marks; (4) the fact that my belly button popped out (this one was happy tears and, for the life of me, I don't why I would CARE about my belly button, let alone cry over it);  (5) the other day when I turned on the car radio and caught the last 20 seconds of my favorite Christmas song...I was sad that I didn't get to hear the whole thing.  OMG, I'm pathetic.

• that I am NOT a cute pregnant woman.   Especially not this time around.  I went into this pregnancy already weighing more than I did with Bailey, so I already had at least one strike against me.  I live in sweat pants, with no make-up on most days and the second the last daycare kid gets picked up at night I run waddle upstairs to put on my pajamas.  Every day I find a new stretch mark or fat dimple.  I get out of breath taking a shower these days, and climbing the stairs can take more time than I'd like to admit.  Sexy, right?  Any picture I have posted online, while it IS me, is a fabrication.  I stand in front of the mirror and spend a good 10 minutes finding a pose that hides all the bad spots and highlights the bump in the most flattering way I can manage.  Notice that in all of these pictures, I also have make-up on and my hair is semi-decent looking.  You will not find a picture of me on a normal day.  It's ugly and frightening and will ruin your image of me forever.  Just trust me on this one.

• that I can't remember the last time I took my prenatal vitamin. I'll also add here that I'm a wuss when it comes to swallowing a gigantic horse pill, and so I take chewable gummy vitamins.  Like a child.  The bottle is sitting right there on top of the fridge so there's no way I can miss them, and yet I still forget to take them.  I feel guilty sometimes, but I figure that I never took one with Bailey (they made me so sick my OB said to just not take them at all) and she turned out fine.  Everything looks great with the baby, so it's kind of like a bonus when I do remember to take them, right?  Flame away, folks.  Flame away.

• that I'm worried that I'm not connecting with this baby like I did with Bailey. Life is SO BUSY right now that I can seriously go an entire day without thinking of this pregnancy (until the baby kicks or my SPD sends me into a fit of tears).  When I was pregnant with Bailey, I felt like we had this connection from the very day the test said "positive".  I used to rub my belly and talk to her (when I was alone so people wouldn't think I needed to be committed) and I LOVED being pregnant and feeling her kicks and rolls.  I soaked up every moment of that pregnancy and felt beautiful and was in a 9-month-long state of joy.  This time around, I'm miserable a good chunk of the time. I don't get a break during the day and when I do, I usually end up falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion instead of rubbing and talking to my belly.  I'm so busy dealing with Bailey and the daycare kids that I don't get a minute to sit down and really "connect" with the baby.  When he kicks these days, it really friggin' hurts, and I find that I'm taken by surprise and almost annoyed at the pain instead of relishing the fact that he's got a healthy set of arms and legs to kick the hell out of me with.  I'm terrified that he's going to be born and we'll look at each other and be like, who the hell are you?

• that I'm worried and sad that Bailey isn't getting the best of me. I've hit the point where I have zero tolerance and no patience for anything or anyone.  When Bailey is having a rough moment, it takes everything in me not to totally lose my cool and just start screaming.  Sometimes, I do yell when she starts acting up.  I forget that she's just a kid and that it's my job to talk her through her tantrums and help her to realize why she's so upset in the first place.  In just a few weeks, she'll have a brother that she'll be forced to share my attention with and I feel awful that I haven't made her last few weeks as an only child more special for her.  I've still got time to do this, but I need to DO it and not just talk about it, you know?

• that one of my daycare parents asked me to make sure the baby was born on my due date, even if meant being induced, because then she wouldn't have to take any extra time off work...and it took everything in me not to rip her freakin' head off for saying such an asinine thing.  I also confess that, after she left that night and took her pain in the ass kid home with her, I sat down and wrote a termination letter that I'll be giving her at the end of the week.  I don't normally vent about daycare here, but this one just pushed me over the edge.  I'm only taking a week off after the baby is born...ONE WEEK.  At any other job, I'd be entitled to a minimum of 6 weeks off, but I didn't want to inconvenience any of the daycare families any more than I had to so I stupidly decided to close for just one week.  I told the parents about my pregnancy and my time off decision at 14 weeks along, so they've now had almost 5 months to get a plan together for when I close.  And yet, this family didn't.  But thought it was appropriate, after I'm already making a HUGE sacrifice for them, to ask me to be induced to ensure that she wouldn't have to miss work.  Sure, lady.  I'll plan the birth of my child around what works best for YOUR schedule.  Sure.  And the kicker of it is that her kid is the biggest pain in the ass I have in the daycare right now.  I won't go into specifics (not that it matters after this rant, anyway) but suffice it to say that the days she is here are pure hell and that most of the other kids are affected by it, as well.  So, I won't say anything about how disrespectful her comment was...I'll just say goodbye.  With a big smile on my face.

• that I think Bailey is going to be a PHENOMENAL big sister and I'm so, so, so excited to see her interact with her baby brother. Enough said here.  I've seen the way she is with her cousin Karley and the daycare babies and I just know she'll be an awesome big sister.  I can't wait to see how two little people that I created interact with each other.  :-)

• that I still haven't potty trained Bailey, and I don't have any immediate plans to. Does that make me a slacker mom?  Whenever someone asks (not that it's ANY of their business), I tell them that we're waiting until after the baby is born because we don't want to throw too much at her at once.  And that’s true.  But there’s also the fact that I’m just too damn tired to potty train right now, and I know it’s going to be difficult with her.  She’s really not showing any signs of readiness and she’s not quite 2 ½, so I figure I still have a little bit of time before I start getting weird looks when people see her in a diaper.  Plus, and this is going to make me sound like a total whacko, a little part of me feels like the diapers are the last shred of her babyhood that I can hold onto right now.  And, dumb as it sounds, I’m not sure that I’m ready to give that up yet.  Ohmigod, I didn’t realize how bad that sounded until I just saw it in print.  Good Lord, I’m going to end up on an episode of Dr. Phil.  Anyway, we WILL start potty training her after the baby is born and we’ve gotten into a routine and are adjusting to things.  I promise that I will not send her off to school in diapers.  They won’t allow that. 

• that I can’t remember the last time I ate something truly healthy.  Seriously.  All this baby wants is crap food…chips, cookies, anything you could label as “comfort food”.  I have to force myself to choke down some fruit or a vegetable and even then it takes a few minutes for the nausea to pass.  And I was doing so well before getting pregnant.  I’ll get back on track after delivery (I’ll have no choice but to eat healthy again if I want to get rid of this giant lumpy body) but until then…

And one last confession…

• that I’m jealous of skinny bitches.  To be more specific, not just skinny bitches but skinny bitches who’ve just had a baby.  I did some Facebook stalking the other day and found at least 4 women from my graduating high school class who have given birth within the last 3 months…and they ALL look fantastic.  One of them just had a baby two WEEKS ago, and looks just as great as she did before getting pregnant.  I’m jealous as hell in awe of her.  Would it be creepy to put a picture of her on my fridge for inspiration after this baby gets here?  Just kidding.  I wouldn’t really do that.  Oh, who am I kidding?  I’d totally do it if I didn’t think I’d find myself Scott staring at her picture daily. 

So, there are my confessions.  For now.  I’m sure I’ll have tons more in the coming months, but for now this is it.  

Don’t judge me too harshly.  But, if you do, just remember that these could be your confessions one day.  Scary thought, isn’t it?

35 Weeks

So, I've been having irregular contractions for a little more than a week now and it's driving me crazy.  Not Braxton Hicks but actual, fairly uncomfortable and sort of regular, irregular contractions.  It doesn't happen every day, but when they do decide to make an appearance they can last for a good couple hours and become as close as 5-6 minutes apart.  Then, just when I start to think, Oh okay...maybe I should call the doctor because, woo hoo, it's baby time! the contractions come to a screeching halt.  And then I sit there like an idiot for an hour afterward trying to "become one with my body" and willing something to happen, only to realize that...crap...they're gone.  Over.  Kaput.  Well played, uterus.  Well played.  I never had false labor when I was pregnant with Bailey; never even felt Braxton hicks with her.  The only time I felt a contraction was when I was in actual, honest-to-God labor.  So all these false contractions are throwing me for a loop!

I'm only 35 weeks and a few days along.  So, really, I know better than to expect (or even to hope) that every twinge is the real deal.  I'm the first person to stand up and say that it's best for baby to cook as long as possible, and that I would rather NOT be induced if I can avoid it.  But then the contractions start, and I'm so bummed when they stop.  Eh, it'll happen when he's good and ready.  But, damn it, I hate the not knowing!  And I feel like, with the holidays and Bailey to worry about so close to D-Day, it would be nice to have a concrete idea of when I can expect things to happen.  I should know better, right?

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and I have lots to post about the holiday...and the Black Friday shopping...another day.  For now, here's the 35 week bump.  :-)

Sprinkle Surprise!

It's been forever since I last posted.  I've been a little bit busy, a little bit boring, and a little bit too damn tired to sit down and write a blog post...but here I am!  I'm sure there's a bunch of stuff I haven't posted about in the few weeks since I've been on here, but let me start with my sprinkle.

A sprinkle, you say?

Yep...a sprinkle.  It's like a baby shower (for moms who are working on their second or subsequent baby) where you "sprinkle" mom and baby with love, rather than a shower. I LOVED it!  I went to my mom and dad's house Saturday afternoon expecting to get my hair colored (good God, my grays are getting ridiculous) and when I walked in the door...SURPRISE!  About 35 of our closest friends and family, all gathered to celebrate the baby.  I wish I had pictures, but I don't...yet.  I know there were a bunch of people with cameras, though, so it's only a matter of time before I start harassing them for the photos.  And when I do, I'll load them up here.

We were ridiculously spoiled, and I honestly can't think of anything else that we could possibly need for the baby now.  I can say with certainty that he'll be the best dressed boy in town when he decides to make his appearance.  Now we just have to wash the last of the clothes and bedding, and sanitize all the bottles, binks and pump parts...and we're good to go!  I feel blessed...

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In other news...only 6 weeks left!  Hopefully.  I'm praying that this baby decides to be different than his sister and actually show up on time (though, early would be nice, too).  I'm ready to start feeling like myself again, that's for sure!  Between the pains, the waddling, and the sheer exhaustion I've been dealing with the least few weeks, it'll be nice to start getting back to being ME again.  Although, I'm not looking forward to the middle of the night feedings.  And I'm still trying to figure out how to keep one kid asleep if and when the other one wakes up at night.  Bailey's something of a light sleeper, and her room and the nursery are close to each other.  We'll see how that goes.

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Bailey just finished up yet another no-sleep phase, and THANK GOD for that!  For about 5 weeks, she was waking up at least once (more like twice or three times) in the middle of the night.  Like me, when she's up--she's up.  So she'd come into our room and stand next to the bed, poking my face and quietly whispering  "Mommy...mmmooooommmmmyy.  I awake!"  I'll admit that quite a few times I ignored her in the hopes that she'd get bored and go back to bed.  Or, at the very least, that she'd get bored and go poke Scott instead.  Never happened.  So, without fail, I'd end up dragging my tired butt out of bed and waddling down the hall to her room to sing a sleep-scratchy lullaby to her until she dozed off again.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  Every night.  For WEEKS.  But the last 2 nights *hallelujah* I've gotten a full nights sleep (and by that I mean that the only times I was woken up were when my bladder was threatening to burst and I'd have to roll out of bed and hightail it to the bathroom).

Not too much else to talk about just now.  Bailey has an "observation" class for dance class on Saturday, so expect a lovely post (hopefully with video!) from that...I'm excited to get to watch her!  They've got a recital coming up in June, so it'll be fun to see what, if any, progress she's made since she started.

Stay tuned!

A Little Randomness

Just a few random thoughts I've been having over here:

• I've got 10 weeks left in this pregnancy. Where did the time go?!  When we first found out, it felt like time was dragging, but now...10 WEEKS.  And I feel like I have sooo much to do (getting the nursery ready, putting away clothes, buying all the things that we still need but don't yet have).  But I have zero motivation.  I'm tired.  I'm sore.  Little G is kicking the crap out of me and making it hard to sleep or rest.  Eh...it'll all get done, eventually.  I used to joke when I was pregnant with Bailey that we waited so long to get her room together that she'd end up sleeping in a drawer in our bedroom.  That never happened...but it just might this time around.:-)
• We had a 3D ultrasound over the weekend, and got to see the baby.  It was amazing, and we got a ton of pictures and video.  Scott and I still keep talking about how  "we saw him yawn!".  I've never seen a baby do that on an ultrasound and it was freaking adorable.  Here's our little guy.  Cute, right?

•  Now that it's finally cool enough to consider it the fall season, Scott and I decided to take Bailey to one of our favorite "Fall places"  -  Linvilla Orchards.  We took her on a Saturday after dance class (big mistake...it was ridiculously crowded), and the whole ride over I had these visions in my head of the three of us enjoying a hayride together, sipping some hot apple cider, buying a few fall decorations and just generally enjoying the day.  None of those things happened.  They only had cold cider, Bailey was antsy and we couldn't look at the decorations properly, it was too damn crowded to really enjoy much of anything, and Bailey (for whatever reason) was too afraid to go on a hayride.  But we did have a good time in the end.  Bailey got her face painted...for $8.

 And she went through a little maze with Scott on the Orchard's big playground.

We spent a good couple hours there.  For all the crowded craziness, it was fun.

• We have a bunch of garden gnomes that we used decoratively around the side of the house.  Bailey discovered them a few months ago and now she ONLY wants to play with them when we go outside.  She'll spend, literally, HOURS out front just moving the gnomes from one area to another.  She lays them down for naps, has conversations with them, and carried them around with her out there.  She calls them "my mens" and has been known to run through the house yelling, "Mommy!  I wanna go outside and play with my mens!"  I feel like I have to explain to people who hear her yelling that they're garden gnomes.  We're not sending her out to play with a bunch of pedophiles or anything.

Bailey and some of her "mens".

• She's practicing to become a musician.  Beethoven who?

• And lately I'm finding Bailey in the strangest places.
  
  

  

  Watching tv on the shelf...with her backpack

  
  

  
  

  
  

  

  Fast asleep on her toy box

  
  

  
  I'm sure I'll have tons more to say later.  But for now, in the words of Porky Pig, that's all folks!
  
  
  
  Just kidding. I do have one more thing to show you.  I found this online yesterday and thought it was too hilarious not to share.
  
  
  
  
  Tell me that's not me to a T.  :-)

Progression

Just a quick post today.

 I've been taking belly photos every few weeks sine the beginning of this pregnancy. With Bailey, I spent the entire 9 months in a state of shock that I was actually pregnant, and never really made a point to take any pictures...something that I really regret.  The one picture I do have of myself, I'm about 3 weeks from delivery and looking like a beached whale.  NOT the cute belly shot I'd been hoping for!  So this time around, I decided to take a picture every few weeks.  Now that I'm at 28 weeks, I've got enough photos to be able to really see the progression, and thought I'd share them on here.

For those of you who are (un)fortunate enough to be my Facebook friends, you've already seen these photos a million and one times.  I apologize...but I'm still gonna post them.  ;-)

13 weeks

16 weeks

Almost 19 weeks

22 weeks

25 weeks

28 weeks...Hello, 3rd Trimester!

* I have to add that I'm loving the cameo Bailey makes in some of these photos.  :-) *

Glucose Test, Growth Ultrasound, Baby...Oh My!

I had a packed morning today (and thank God Scott was home from work).  I had the lovely glucose test this morning, followed by my second growth ultrasound.

The glucose test, while annoying, actually was better than I remembered it being.  The drink was still gross, but not too terrible.  I still had the hot flash and nausea after drinking it, but didn't feel too much activity from Baby G.  With Bailey, she was going crazy within minutes of me finishing the drink.  She bounced around in there like an acrobat on speed until the sugar coma hit and then she went still for hours.  With this guy, though, all I got was one well-placed kick...and then nothing.  I actually started poking at my belly and trying to get him to move because I was nervous.  If I poked, I'd get a lazy little roll in response every once in awhile but nothing more.  Luckily, I had an ultrasound scheduled for this morning, too, so I'd be able to ease my mind a bit after that.

The ultrasound went great, and it's always nice to be able to see the baby "in person", you know?  All of his measurements are good...and he was sleeping when we started.  The tech had to do some more poking before he finally rolled and woke up long enough to move so we could get the measurements needed.  She showed me him sticking his tongue out, crossing his feet at the ankles, and sucking his thumb.  Then she pointed to a set of spikes sticking out from his head.

Spikes?  My baby has spikes?!

That, folks, would be HAIR.  Long enough to see floating around from the back of the baby's head.  It definitely explains all the heartburn I've been having...but now I'm picturing my sweet little boy with a head full of crazy hair and it's freaking me out.

Is this what my little guy looks like in there?

All kidding aside (I hope), baby looks great and is doing fine.  He's measuring a full week ahead of schedule, which would put us the week before Christmas.  BUT...Bailey came a week after her due date...which puts us back at square one.  In any case, the ultrasound tech said to check with my OB before setting a new due date in stone.  So, for now, we're sticking with our original December 25th due date.  And I guess we'll see what happens!

It Takes a Village

You know that old adage, 'It takes a village to raise a child'?  It really, really does.  And I'm so lucky that I have my own "village" of people around me to help out.

Scott and I have a group of friends that Scott grew up with.  They all went to high school together and have remained friends pretty much for most of their lives.  Interestingly enough, just about all of us were married within two years of each other (what a whirlwind that was!), but Scott and I are the only ones out of this group who have kids.  He and I often talk about who is going to be next, who wants kids and who doesn't, who would be good parents or fun parents or strict parents.

When we found out we were pregnant with Bailey, and then again with number two, I had a quick moment of panic, wondering if our friends would "abandon" us or want to hang out less because we have kids and they don't.  There was that millisecond where I thought, Crap, now everyone's going to disappear.  Turns out, they haven't.  We don't always get together very often (we're adults--we have jobs and spouses and other friends and pets who keep us busy a lot of the time) but it's always nice when we do.  And I love that, when we do get together, Bailey is almost always included.  Halloween parties, Christmas parties, football at our house on Sundays...it's nice.

But there are often times when Scott and I go out, either with friends or just the two of us, where it's really not conducive to tote around a toddler.  In these instances, I know that we'll always have someone kind enough to take Bailey for a few hours at a moment's notice.  Just a few weeks ago, Scott and I were planning a night out with friends of ours from college who have a baby a year younger than Bailey.  They ended up having to cancel because they couldn't find someone to watch their daughter and I thought, Thank God for my village.  Corny, I know.  But I really, really am blessed to have the people that I have around me.

My mom and dad have taken Bailey more times than you can imagine and, I'll admit, on more than one occasion I texted my mom that morning and asked if she could stay the night.  In fact, every other Thursday my parents take not only Bailey, but my two nieces as well, to their house for a sleepover.  It gives us parents a welcome break, the girls have a blast, and they drop them all off again Friday evening.  Bailey has had a sleepover at my sister and brother-in-law's house quite a few times.  And Scott's parents have also taken her overnight and would watch her for us in a second if we asked them to.  There are very, very few people who I trust with my children.  Bailey is almost two and a half years old now, and we've never hired a babysitter.  Granted, we've never had to because we've gotten so lucky with our family, but I wouldn't hire a sitter even if I had no other options (which has never happened before, luckily).

Same thing when Bailey gets sick.  In fact, just yesterday I needed to get her in to see the doctor.  I had been emailing back and forth with Scott all morning trying to figure out when he could get home so I could leave the daycare kids with him and take her to her appointment.  My mom texted me offering to take Bailey in for us, and she did.  And it's not the first time she has, either.  I rely on my parents more than I care to admit, I think (obviously).  If Bailey is sick, my mom is the first person I go to for help.  When she had Roseola with a high fever at 7 months old and had been screaming bloody murder all night, we didn't know what the hell was happening, so I called my mom...at 3 in the morning.  She was at my house in minutes and went with us to the emergency room, then along to the doctor's office when the ER docs couldn't diagnose her.  When Bailey spent the first 3 months of her life alternating between sleeping for 20 minutes and screaming like a psycho for an hour, my mom and dad took turns holding her so I could take a break.

Even now, with a second baby coming in 3 months, I'm not the slightest bit worried about what I'll do when I go into labor.  I know that someone will come and take care of Bailey while Scott and I are in the hospital, and I know that my mom will come and be in the delivery room with us.  I don't have to worry about a thing in that respect, and it's wonderful to know that my daughter will be taken care of.  Normally, I'd be a wreck about having to leave her overnight for 2 nights.

I honestly don't know how people who aren't close with their family do it.  I just don't.  Scott and I have been lucky all our lives to have the families that we do, and I don't know what we would do without them.  It really does take a village, and I'm so lucky to have mine.

Sometimes PARENTS Need Discipline

There is nothing I hate more than a parent who uses a public place as a babysitting tool.  Just in the last month alone, I've had to step in and discipline a child whose parent was sitting right there and choosing to ignore it or not paying any attention at all to what their kid was doing.  Chuck E. Cheese is not your nanny.  Neither is the playground, the Please Touch Museum, the play place at McDonald's or a million and one other public places that some parents seem to think will do their job for them.

I've never been one for confrontation, and never quite knew how, or even if, I'd handle a situation where my own child's safety and/or happiness was in question because of something another child was doing to or around her.  It turns out that, when it comes to my own kid, I have no problem stepping in and speaking up.  Funny, isn't it?  I'll sit back and let myself take crap...but I'll be damned if I'll let it happen to my kid.

Scott and I took Bailey to the Please Touch Museum for the very first time at the beginning of the month and she had a blast.  At one point, though, she was playing on a replica of a Septa bus (with a real driver's seat and steering wheel!) and an older boy got on the bus and started pushing her out of seat and saying, "My turn!  My turn!"  I glanced over at his mother, waiting for her to step in and remind her son that pulling people out of seats and yelling that it's your turn is not the way we do things.  His mother, however, was sitting on a bench a few feet away and texting on her cell phone, completely oblivious to the kid's actions.  I gave it another second for the boy to get himself under control (he was at least 8 or 9...no reason why he can't control himself and wait for the 2-year-old to finish her turn) and when he continued to pull at Bailey's arm I climbed on the bus and told him in a stern voice to stop and wait his turn.  I gave her another minute or two to play and then we moved on to the next activity.  We passed the bench that the boy's mother was sitting on about 15 minutes later...she was still texting away while her son did God-knows-what.

Fast forward to this weekend.  The three of us went to Chick-fil-a for a late lunch on Saturday and when we were finished Bailey wanted to play in the little Play Place they have there.  Scott and I sat on a bench while Bailey took off onto the jungle gym.  As we're sitting there, a girl of about 6 comes running by yelling, "Ew!  Stop spitting on us, that's disgusting!"  She must have yelled about 3 times before going back inside the restaurant and getting some wet wipes to clean things up.  Bailey is still climbing at this point, and manages to reach the very top.  I'm watching her playing and then I see this boy.  At LEAST 7-years-old, this kid is crawling around inside the jungle gym and spitting.  All over the place.  Hitting the floor, the walls, the ceiling, trailing spit wherever he goes.  All with a big smile on his face like he knew he was pissing off that poor girl and leaving a disgusting mess for someone to clean up.  I happen to glance up and see a large sign right above us on the wall:

 "PLAYGROUND AREA FOR CHILDREN 3 AND UNDER"

No way does this kid qualify as 3 and under.  No freakin' way.  I'm still sitting there a minute or two later when another little girl comes running by screaming that he spit in her hair.  She passes by me and I can actually see a glob of spit in her otherwise clean and curly hair.  I look up again and the boy is still spitting.  Still.  No way is my kid going to be playing around and crawling through this little brat's DNA.

So, I hoist my pregnant self all the way to the very top of that jungle gym and get right in that kid's face.

I bust out my stern, daycare provider voice.  "Are you spitting?"  Stupid question, considering he's staring at me with a dribble of spit hanging down from his chin.  He won't answer me, but turns around to spit again in the direction Bailey's coming from.  "Hey!" I yell.  "Do I need to go get your mother and have her take you out of here?  This is disgusting and we don't spit in here.  If you can't knock it off, I'm going to have to find your mom and you'll need to get out of here.  NO.  MORE.  SPITTING."  The little heathen rolled his eyes at me.  Then I hear a loud voice below me.

"WHO IS REPRIMANDING MY SON?"  (Note the caps...the woman didn't speak. She yelled)

And I see Scott stand up.  "That's my wife."

Then I see a woman walk up to stand under the tunnel where I've got her spitting kid cornered.  She's directly under me, looking up all pissed off.  And, I'll admit, she looks a little scary.  Very masculine looking and not-at-all friendly.

Crazy-ass woman:  "ARE YOU REPRIMANDING MY SON?"

Me:  "Yes, I am.  He's spitting in here, and I don't want the kids who are trying to play to be crawling all through it."

C-A W:  "YOU DON'T NEED TO BE REPRIMANDING MY SON.  I'M SITTING RIGHT OVER THERE, YOU COME TO ME IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM."

*I glance over where the crazy-ass woman is pointing and see a younger woman sitting on a bench not 3 feet away.  The two women had been gossiping in the corner, clearly not paying any attention to the boy and what he was doing this whole time.*

Me:  "Well, then, if you're sitting right over there you should have put a stop to it sooner, or at least been paying attention to what he was doing.  I was across the room and could tell plain as day that he's spitting all over the place in here.  It's disgusting."

C-A W:  "YOU DON'T REPRIMAND MY SON!  I'LL REPRIMAND HIM IF HE NEEDS IT!  LET'S GO (heathen boy's name), WE'RE LEAVING!"

The little jerk rolls his eyes one more time, spits again, and then rolls out.

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Now, here's the thing.  Kids are going to act like jerks sometimes.  I get it.  They don't know any better and it's instinctual for them to be a little spazzy at times.  BUT...it's our job, as parents, to teach them how to behave, both at home and in public.  Not to just sit back and relax and let them run around like little hooligans, ignoring basic human behaviors and rules of etiquette.


Now, the spitter's mother was sitting closer to the jungle gym than Scott and I were.  There is absolutely no way that she couldn't hear what was going on and know immediately that her son was spitting on other children in the play place.  But instead of walking over and giving him a warning or, I don't know, dragging his ass out of there (he was way old enough to know better and clearly older than the "3 and under" requirement) she chose to sit back and continue talking with her friend, completely ignoring her son's behavior.  THAT is a cardinal sin in the Book of Parenting.

If your child is doing something wrong or otherwise displaying negative behaviors...you fix it.  You don't ignore it.  And you certainly don't try and start a fight with another parent who IS doing their job and trying to keep their kid safe and well-behaved.  Not only was her son acting like an ass, but he was also teaching the other kids that spitting is okay, and I'll be damned if that's a lesson I want my daughter to learn.

If the roles were reversed and Bailey was the one acting like that (and, believe me, it’s happened before) I would actually appreciate it if I didn’t see what was going on and another parent stepped in and reminded her that she was misbehaving.  I know that not all parents feel this way, but I really do think that if a parent is being lax or completely ignoring their kid’s crappy behavior then it’s okay for another parent to step in and say, “Hey, that’s not right.”  The way I see it, when you take your kid to a public place where it’s pretty certain that he or she will be interacting at some point with another child or children, then you need to be there and be present and pay attention to what your child is doing.  It’s not anyone else’s job to parent for you, and the playground is not a babysitter.

Sitting right there and flat-out ignoring the fact that your kid is misbehaving and/or hurting another child is unacceptable in my book.  And I have no problem stepping in if you can’t or won’t.  We’re raising children here, not little devils and menaces to society, right?  So let’s do our jobs and act like parents?  Otherwise, we’re ALL in trouble. 

Tiny Dancer

First Day of Dance Class

Bailey had her first dance class this morning.  Technically, it was her second, but the first one she was supposed to be in.  My sister and brother-in-law have been talking about signing the girls up for dance class for a little while, but I always thought Bailey was too young and not quite ready to be an active participant in a group activity.  By this, of course, I mean that I didn't think she'd be so great at listening to a teacher and following directions and I didn't want to be embarrassed by being the parent with the spazzy kid.  Plus, I'll admit...Scott and I were kind of hoping that if and when she was ready for something like this we'd go the less girly, more sporty route.  But, I digress.

Anyway, last week my niece had her very first dance class and parents were allowed to come and watch (for the very first class only...after that the kids go in alone and parents are asked to wait in the waiting room until class is over).  Meg invited us to come and watch and, since Bailey had slept over my parents' house the night before, I figured it'd be fun to go and watch.  About ten minutes into the class, in walks my mom with Bailey.  Bailey took off running across the classroom and I'm smiling all big because I thought she was running to see me.  Turns out, she made a beeline for the group of 3-year-olds and just made herself part of the group.  She didn't have the right shoes or clothes on and, bless her heart, she didn't care...the girl just wanted to dance.  The teacher, Miss Gail, was sweet enough to completely overlook the fact that Bailey didn't belong in the class, and she let her take part 100%, even giving her a pair of tap shoes to wear when it was time for the girls to switch out of their ballet shoes.  I spent the next 45 minutes in complete awe of my daughter.  Not only was she dancing and having a blast, but she was listening and following directions and making friends like it was no big deal.  She had no nerves, felt no embarrassment, and had no problem standing up in front of the group with one of the "big girls" and practicing her tap, shuffle and curtsey.  And all with a giant smile on her face.

I spoke with Miss Gail immediately after class and she was all for taking Bailey on.  She's the smallest and the youngest little girl in the group (and the only one not yet potty-trained), but she loves it and she's good at it.  How could we not sign her up after watching how happy it made her?

So today was her first official class.  We went out last week and bought her ballet shoes, a leotard and tights (and my mom bought her tap shoes and a dance bag), and I scraped her hair back into a meager ponytail and off we went.  No parents allowed this time, and I thought she'd be nervous or, at the very least, hesitant.  But she went right on in without me and spent the next hour doing one of the things she loves best.  She came out after class with a big smile on her face and a lollipop in her hand (everyone who listens and participates gets one at the end of class), and started telling me all about the things she did and learned in dance class.  Miss Gail said she did great, listened really well, and owned the dance floor.  :-)

So, Bailey is a dancer...and, despite my original feelings, I love it and I hope that she continues to do it for as long as she likes it and as long as it remains fun for her.  Who'd have thought that the little girl we used to call Brutus Beefcake (for her toughness, attitude, and overall "F**k you, I'll do what I want" outlook) would turn out to be the teeny little ballerina in ballet slippers and a tutu?

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Happy 30th Birthday, Daddy!

I have to take a second and mention that Scott's Surprise 30th birthday party was a success!  We had it last weekend, he had no clue, and we all had a good time.  And, of course, here's a picture of him and Bailey on his actual birthday, blowing out the candles on his cake...

Happy 30th, Scott!!!

Will History Repeat Itself?

As the weeks go by and the belly gets bigger, I can't help but wonder and worry that history will repeat itself.  Last year I wrote about my experience with postpartum depression (that post can be found here).  I had been diagnosed and was being treated for it, but still very much in the throes of that battle, so to speak, and so I didn't go into quite as much detail as I could have. And I still won't, mostly because I work every day to forget that period of time.  But the closer we get to the arrival of baby number two, the more nervous and anxious that I get about dealing with PPD a second time.

I read online (and confirmed it with my OB) that most women who suffer from postpartum depression will deal with it again in subsequent pregnancies.  This isn't always the case, but it's been proven often enough to make me very nervous about my chances.

With Bailey, I was completely blindsided and hadn't in a million years thought that I, of all people, would ever suffer from something like postpartum depression.  Ever.  I was always the one who wanted kids desperately, the one who loved to babysit and spend time with babies and young children.  Because I wanted kids of my own so badly, I had gotten it in my head that, for whatever reason, I'd never have them...at the very least, that it would be incredibly difficult for me.  Imagine my complete and utter elation when I found out that I was (quite unexpectedly) pregnant with Bailey.  I reveled in those 9 (10) months of pregnancy and loved every single second of watching my belly grow and feeling the baby move and kick.  Hell, I even looked forward to doctor's appointments, ultrasounds and the glucose test.  When my due date came and went, I was just happy to have that extra time with my baby before I had to share her with the world.  The word ecstatic doesn't even come close to how happy I was. 

And then Bailey was born and it all just went to hell.

Nothing had prepared me for the way I was going to feel after giving birth.  Physically, I felt fantastic.  Energized, little to no pain, and up walking around just a couple hours later.  Emotionally, it was a completely different story, and I was totally unprepared for that aspect of things.  I had a very hard time with breastfeeding, and there was nothing more depressing to me than sitting up in bed at 3am in the pitch black darkness and struggling to feed my baby while Scott snoozed away in the bed next to me.  In all my life, I had never felt as utterly alone as I did during those middle of the night attempts at feeding.  For Scott, life seemed to go on as normal.  But for me, I just couldn't seem to get it together and I was an absolute freakin' mess. 

I remember one night after dinner, Scott was playing video games and chatting with his friends online.  Bailey was a little over a week old and the three of us were in the living room.  Bailey had just finished nursing (an excruciating ordeal for both of us) and was sleeping, and I was getting ready to pump in the hopes that it would ease some of the pain and discomfort I'd been feeling since beginning to breastfeed.  Scott was chatting away and I just kept staring at that damn pump and willing myself to get it together and start what needed to be done for both myself and Bailey.  I hooked everything up, turned the pump on and started crying the most pitiful silent tears, all while Scott played his game, completely oblivious. 

It hurt so bad.

Scott turned around, saw me crying, and told his friends that he had to go.  He kept asking me what was wrong and, for the life of me, I couldn't answer him.  I can only imagine how ridiculous the whole thing must have looked to him.  His disheveled wife, hair uncombed, circles under her eyes, sitting there with her boob out and a breast pump hanging off of it, crying for no good reason.

I wanted him to tell me to stop, that it was okay if I didn't nurse Bailey.  I wanted him to say that I tried my best and that formula wouldn't hurt her.  I wanted to know that he wouldn't be disappointed in me if I stopped.  I had made such a big deal out of breastfeeding during my pregnancy and he was trying so hard to be supportive, though, that he said "Just keep trying.  Take a break and come back and try again in a few minutes."  Instead of taking them for the encouraging and supportive words that they were meant to be, I automatically assumed that he WANTED me to continue trying to nurse...which made me think that he would be disappointed in me if I didn't.  Which started the tears up all over again.

The first time I gave Bailey a bottle of formula, I think I cried more in one hour than she did in an entire day.  Never mind the fact that she took the bottle just fine and was eating normally.  Never mind the fact that, for the first time since giving birth, I didn't feel dread and constant pain at feeding time.  Never mind that she was just as happy with formula, maybe even happier, than with breast milk. 

I gave my baby a bottle. 

I felt such incredible relief at the fact that I would no longer have to suffer through a painful feeding, that neither of us would end up crying for the 20-30 minutes it took for her to nurse (that's assuming that she was even able to do it at any given time) every hour, that I wouldn’t have to constantly be worrying if she was getting enough nourishment.  But the same part of me that was relieved to finally be done also felt crushing guilt that I just couldn’t cope with.

I had failed.  At the single most important part of mothering (in my mind at the time), at the one thing I truly, truly wanted and expected to be able to do for my child.  . 

Throughout my pregnancy, I had been so set on nursing, and just assumed that it would come naturally and easily to me.  I wasn’t prepared for how difficult it would turn out to be (for me) and I put an enormous amount of pressure on myself to “get the job done”.  When I couldn’t do it…well, I fell apart.

That single thing is what triggered my postpartum depression.  And I’ve been trying for more than two years to let it go.
I’d been taking PPD medication from the time Bailey was about 5 months old (it took me that long to realize that I wasn’t “normal” and get treated) right up until the day I found out I was pregnant again.  At that point, I stopped cold turkey and I’ve been paranoid ever since that I’ll end up right back where I started. 

This time around, I’m enjoying my pregnancy just as much I did with Bailey, although it’s harder on me physically now.  I sort of know what to expect now, and I’m not putting any pressure on myself to nurse this baby for any amount of time.  I still plan to give it a shot, and will be doing my damndest to make it work, but I’m not going to force myself to struggle through blocked ducts, cracking and bleeding, and severe pain either.  If I can do it – fantastic.  And if not, I know for certain that the baby will do just fine with formula.  Bailey survived. 

I’m still loving the baby movements and kicks, and I’m still in awe at every ultrasound and every time I hear his little heart beating.  But there’s a part of me, a big part of me, that is terrified that it’s going to happen again and that everything is going to come crashing down around me before I’m even aware that it’s coming.  I’m only taking one week maternity leave.  I feel so, so, so guilty about it but I have to think about my daycare families this time around and I know that finding back-up care for an extended period of time can be tough.  I’m trying to work through my resentment that I can’t take the minimum 6 weeks that I know I deserve and will need.

I’ve started writing little notes to myself to leave around the house when the baby is born. 


You can do this.

Take a deep breath and know that you’re not alone.

Take a shower and brush your teeth.

Get some sleep!

Bailey and G need you.  Be the mother you know you can be for them.

Take this day a minute at a time.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

It’s kind of pathetic, but I’m not taking any chances.  I have two children who will be depending on me and I can’t let myself get sucked back into the “new mom/PPD/depression” vortex all over again.  I’m doing my best.

I know that I’ll be worrying about it more and more as my due date gets closer, but I’m trying super hard not to let it affect how I approach things right now.  My doctor and I have discussed all the scenarios and options, and have agreed that I’ll be leaving the hospital with a new baby and a prescription for PPD meds…just in case.  I don’t plan on using them unless I really have to, but it’s nice to have it available in case I start slipping again.  In the meantime, I’m counting down the days until there’s a new little one to ooh and ahh over and enjoying every second of pregnancy…big ass and all.  And, if and when the time comes, I know I’ll have done everything possible to be prepared.

The "Perfect Family"?

When I tell people that baby #2 is a boy, I've noticed that a lot of the time some of them will say something along the lines of, "A boy and a girl!  You've got the perfect family now!"  I never really thought about (and normally don't even respond to that kind of comment) until just recently.  An old friend of mine made the same comment a few days ago and, for some reason, it really got to me.  So here's my two cents.

Since when did we put so much stock in having a boy and a girl?  If this baby were also a girl, would that make my family less perfect?

Scott is absolutely thrilled to be having a son.  We both are.  But that doesn't make us or our family any better or more "perfect" than anyone else's family.  I actually asked him the other day if he thought that way and his response was "Nah. Even if it was a girl, it would still be cool."  Okay.  So, clearly, the intimation that our family is only perfect because we've got "one of each" is only bothersome to me.

Another old friend, whom I haven't seen in forever, made the same kind of "perfect family" comment the other day...but then followed it up with "That's good.  Now you can be done having kids."

What?!  Who said I wanted to be done having kids?  Why is that the assumption? 

I've always said I wanted a big family, and I stand by that statement.  If we had four or five kids, I'd be happier than you'll ever know.  But I want children because I love them and because Scott and I want to grow our family (and I may be super biased here, but we do make damn beautiful babies), NOT because I have some preconceived notions of wanting and having a certain number of girls and a certain number of boys.  If we had 5 daughters, I would be thrilled.  If we had 5 sons, I would be thrilled.  If we ended up with a crazy random mix of both...I would be thrilled. 

I know that when people make those kinds of comments that they don't mean anything by it.  But, at the same time, I can't help but resent the implication that if I were having another girl, she would be somehow "less than ideal" or that I would *obviously* have another baby so I could try for a boy this time.  If Scott and I do decide to have more kids, it will be because we love the children we have and want to add to our family, NOT because we're trying to add a specific gender to the mix. 

So when people say, "Now you'll have the perfect family!" or "Lucky you...you can be done having kids now!" I just smile and nod and move on.  I'll let you know when I'm "done" having kids, but I don't think that time is right now.  And, yes, thank you...my family IS perfect. 

Not because I have a daughter and will soon have a son, but because it's mine. 

Heart Study Results

I'm only now realizing that I never came back to post the good news about the heart study I had done a couple weeks ago.  Everything looks great!  The baby, as usual, was moving all over the place and basically making it difficult for the ultrasound tech to get the measurements she needed.  But she got them eventually, and the doctor confirmed that baby looks wonderful.  Relief!

I have to get ultrasounds every 4 weeks from now until the bitter end just to check growth and whatnot, but everyone is confident that everything is going just as it should be, and I couldn't be happier about that.  I kind of feel like all these extra ultrasounds are unnecessary (and kind of pain in the ass because I have to find a back-up to cover the daycare/preschool every time I go), but, on the plus side, I'll get a few more pictures of my little guy every time I go.  :-) 

Next up:  the dreaded glucose test.  Can you tell I'm not a fan?  I remember when I had it done with Bailey...the gross taste of the sugary crap I had to drink, the instant it kicked in and Bailey started going nuts and using my uterus as her own personal gymnastics space, the feeling of intense nausea a little while after I drank the stuff, and then the paranoia when Bailey all of a sudden stopped moving for a few hours afterward.  What mother wouldn't want to send her unborn baby into a sugar coma, right? 

At least I know what to expect this time around...

Preschool!

Bailey started her very first week of preschool last week.  Granted, her "preschool" is in our home, but it's preschool all the same.  She was soooo excited the first morning.  Had her back pack ready the night before, got a brand new "first day of school" outfit from Mimom, and was all set to go.  :-)  She did so much better that I was expecting her to!  I was kind of nervous as to how she'd react, seeing as how (1) it's school at home and (2) she's pretty strong-willed, and wants to do what she wants when she wants.  I was totally expecting her to just decide that she didn't want to do it.  But she surprised me!

She woke up and was super excited to "go to school", and she just kept getting more and more excited as her friends got here.  She participated in all activities, answered questions, and had a blast doing our art projects...I was very pleasantly surprised!  And, of course, her favorite part of the whole day was putting on her backpack (Minnie Mouse, thank you very much).  In all, we have 5 kids in our preschool class this year and most of them did great.  I, on the other hand, am exhausted!  Between creating a curriculum from scratch, getting all the materials we'll need for our projects, teaching preschool while still running the daycare...I'm just wiped out by noon every day.  It doesn't help that ALL of the kids are back in full force, either.  There are two that I'm definitely looking to replace(for my own sanity, as well as for personal reasons) and one that I'm on the fence about.  The rest of the group has been great, and I'm thankful to have found such good kids and parents. 

Wanna check out some photos from the first day?  Yeah, you do!

She was SUPER excited to show off her new backpack...Minnie Mouse!

Bailey and her cousin, Madison

They did great at Circle Time!  Now making "Fruit Loop Letter A's".



Fun with playdoh!

And after a hard day of ABCs and 123s, Bailey unwinds...with a bowl of cereal and a bottle of wine.  ;-)



Harder This Time Around

I was just thinking last week how easy I've had it so far with this pregnancy.  No morning sickness, except for the occasional passing bout of nausea.  No fatigue once I got past the first trimester.  No huge weight gain.  No ridiculous cravings that no man could possibly appease.  And my back (herniated disc and all) has never felt better.  I was loving my cute little belly, and enjoying feeling those little baby flutters.  Basically, living it up.  On Saturday, I hit the 23 week mark.

And all hell broke loose. 

Scott and I ended up at ER around midnight on Sunday.  A few hours earlier, I had started feeling crampy but chalked it up to doing too much (Bailey was staying the night at her grandparents' house and I had  REALLY scrubbed things around the house).  I took a nap for about an hour, and was still feeling blah when I woke up.  Took it easy the rest of the night, and Scott and I went to bed around 10:15ish.  I couldn't get comfortable and the cramping was getting worse.  It was like this rubber band of pain that kept squeezing around my stomach and back, and nothing I did got rid of it.  I drank a ton of water, took a warm shower, walked around a bit, tried laying down...nothing.  The cramping wouldn't go away and kept getting worse.  I called the after-hours line at my OB's office and they sent us over to L&D.

They hook me up to the monitor and we can immediately hear the baby moving around and kicking like crazy.  His heartbeat was great and he didn't seem in any sort of distress, but the pain just would not go away.  We spent about 4 hours on the monitor before they sent us home with a diagnosis of round ligament pain.  I don't agree with this, but I'm no doctor.  I had round ligament pain with Bailey and I had it early on in this pregnancy, and the pain I had been feeling for the last 10 hours was NOT the same.  Not necessarily contractions, but definitely more pronounced than round ligament pain.  My discharge orders were to follow up with my OB this week, drink lots of water, and rest woth my feet up as often as possible.

Rest...with my feet up...as often as possible.

I run a home daycare, and work 55 hours a week.  Not to mention the hours I put in with Bailey after daycare has closed.  There is no such thing as resting with my feet up often.  Or at all.  There's always a diaper to change, always someone to feed, always someone who needs to be picked up or otherwise lifted for some reason, always something to be done.  Needless to say, I haven't been resting so much.  I can catch a 15 minute break here and there while the kids are napping, but that's about it. 

I hurt.

My back has been killing me since Saturday.  My pelvic bones feel like if they stretch any further I'll rip in half.  I can never find a comfortable position, whether it's standing up, sitting or laying down. I've had heartburn so bad that I've come close to vomiting more times than I can count.  Sometimes, when I switch positions or move a certain way, I feel a painful popping in my belly (the doc says this is all the ligaments and joints stretching).  A lot of the time when the baby kicks it's hard and it hurts.  Every time I stand up, I feel like my inside are about to fall right out.  I don't remember it being this bad when I was pregnant with Bailey.  Some days, it's almost unbearable.

And I still have 16 weeks to go.

There's no such thing as rest and relaxation when chasing around a toddler all day.  And I've got 5 of them in daycare right now...more to come next week.  And then when they all go home,I have my own toddler to contend with.  Bailey doesn't understand when I tell her that Mommy has to sit down and rest for a few minutes, and the disappointment I see on her face sometimes breaks my heart.   I love her to pieces but, my God, it's hard sometimes!

This afternoon, I logged on to my birth board on Babycenter and read 4 different stories from women who are just about as far along as I am and who have gone into early labor.  Only one of those babies survived, and it's not looking good for him.  When I read these women's stories, and thought about how heartwrenching it must have been to go through 24 and 25 weeks of pregnancy only to deliver a stillborn baby, I feel both relieved that my baby is doing alright and ridiculous that I'm complaining about being in pain when other women would give anything to be in my shoes.  When push comes to shove, I'd take any amount of pain as long as my baby is doing okay.  At the end of the day, how can I be anything but grateful that he's healthy and "going strong"?   I complain to Scott about it often, but the truth is that I'll gladly take the pain for the next 16weeks in exchange for a healthy baby in December.

Is it exhausting and close to excrutiating most days?  You bet.  Have I come close to tears more often that I'd care to admit in the last week?  Yes.  But, in spite of it all, if you asked me if I'd do it all over again my answer would be an immediate and resounding:

HELL YES.