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.  ;-)