Pants off dance off

Certainly E having a cold isn't tragedy or life threatening or even all that dramatic, but DUDE. He has been a pill. In the past, colds slowed him down, made breathing hard, you know--usual cold type stuff. This go 'round? Not willing to eat dinner. Not wanting or even having the ability to play in the evening. Not wanting us to leave the room. Not able to sleep without his sound machine cranked up to maximum volume. Not sleeping without waking every 3-4 hours.

After rocking him to sleep in his botanical garden-esque room (I was sweating like a trucker due to the humidifier being cranked up, but my pores look great!) and falling into bed, I wondered if perhaps God was preparing me for February. And then a lone tear rolled down my cheek because I have gotten soft and the lack of sleep while managing two at night scares The Everloving Christ out of me.

After just one night of that slappy nonsense, I've been a mess all day at work. There have been talks of me going back to work sooner rather than later, but then this morning I tried to remember when E only started waking up once a night to eat. I don't think it was until he was almost 12 weeks old and I was just starting to go back to work. If I go back to work early, how on God's earth am I going to manage waking up more often and also needing to concentrate at work?

Just thinking outloud here.

Anyway, lest you think things are all doom and gloom at our house, let me share with you a few pics of weekend lounging. He's recently discovered that if he shoves his body weight behind the ottoman and manages to get it across the rug to the big chair, he can use the ottoman to climb up into the chair.

And relax. And enjoy his toes.

Pray for us tonight.

A rolling stone gathers no moss

In thinking how to describe this weekend, the usual descriptors (meh, fabulous, boring, productive) don't seem to really fit the bill.

It started off well enough. A weekend where I didn't have to work, a play date with J and B, an unfilled Sunday stretching before us. Lovely.

It was as the playdate was nearing its end and E split his lip open wrestling with T that it all took a dramatic turn down le crapper. Because of the poor buddy's open lip (and have you ever felt baby teeth before? Picture them a lethal combination of puppy teeth + razor + strength of Jaws), lunch was uncomfortable to eat, his pacifier at naptime put pressure on it was forcefully chucked out of the crib resulting in a shorty nap and pissy baby, dinner was a no-go and his lone bottle of the day before bedtime was shunned because sucking on it also hurt. Oh! And ice? To, you know, bring down the swelling and whatnot? Well, E just wanted to chew on it. I'm thinking to sharpen his already strong-like-flint teeth.

Suffice to say, Saturday afternoon was one of those days where T and I love E like mad but seriously count down the hours until we can chuck him--ever so gently--into his crib for the night.

Saturday night was kinda rough because of the lip and a cold rearing it's ugly head. One of the things particularly endearing about E, in addition to his curly head and ability to snuggle just right into your neck, is his ability to pass out at 7:45pm and not be heard from until 6:30am the next morning. Nothing but the sound of...nothing. It's glorious. It's heartwarming. It breathes life into T and I. But throw a cold into the mix and well, that everloving silence is no more. Snorking. Moaning. Needing a paci but also needing to breathe out of his mouth. Coughing. I think T got up with him at least once that night. I layed still like roadkill.

Sunday dawned bright and better. T and E played while I slept in. They picked up breakfast. They drove around town and looked at buses. I started laundry and got dressed. T volunteered to go to the grocery store (his new self-assigned "weekly task" which I heartily support because it means there will actually be food in the house and toilet paper to wipe our biscuits). E and I went for a walk and there was even a nice fall breeze.

It was once E and I got home that I started feeling pain--like a huge band from the top of my side down to the lower bits. Laid down. Ugh. Tried to make E lunch. Couldn't even stand up right. Laid down again and read E books. Still couldn't even stand upright. By now something felt off and I was worried that I'd pulled something while carrying E on our walk. T was still at the store but I couldn't even wait for him. Thankfully my parents were at home and were over in about 5 minutes. I went upstairs for the episode to pass and wonder what the hell was going on in the kitchen. Lunch or Fiesta Flava 2009? Lordy, my family is loud.

After decided something was def. amiss at the Circle K and after a call into the the doctor on-call produced no worthy explanations--T and I went to the hospital.

From there I spent six fun-filled hours in excruciating pain, then feeling fine, excruciating pain and then throwing up, then feeling fine, getting the most thorough ultrasound of my life and then realizing that my breath must smell like ass. T wouldn't make out with me, so I'm thinking "ass" is an accurate description. After ruling out appendicitis and kidney stones, the doctor at the hospital tried to tell me that I was either experiencing round ligament pain or the flu. I believe my thinking was, "For real, mofo? Because I've had both and this feels NOTHING LIKE IT." On the outside, I think my expression was at best dubious--but, hell, I didn't go to med school. I'll take your word for it. Now just give me that scrip for muscle relaxers. Also, I'd been pain free for a few hours (when before it was only ever 10-20 minutes) and was feeling optimistic.

This entire time my parents are hanging out with E at our house and I kept feeling this bizarre combination of immense gratitude and horrible guilt. Gratitude because my parents came over in a heartbeat and stayed with E without questions. Guilt because E was clearly miserable with a cold and I knew that one of us should have been there with him. Even though I know he would've been a complete crabby patty with T and I.

I ate an obscene amount since I hadn't had anything to eat or drink all day, popped a pill, took a shower and was in bed by 9:30pm. My agreement with the body is that if I could make it through the night without an episode than I'd go to work.

Let's talk turkey about the pain. I have nevah felt pain like this before. Pain so intense and localized it had me gasping and crying. Throwing up so hard I effing bled (which made me all kinds of worried for the two amigos but they're doing a-okay). Pain worse than childbirth. Much, much worse. Flu my ass.

Later in thinking about that doctor's diagnosis and after I may or may not have called him an a-hole on the second trip back to the hospital, T asked if I wanted to send him a thank-you note. "Sure," I said, "It would say, 'Thanks for the expert medical advice, dick.' " I still have a beef with Dr. F.

The pain returned at 1:30am and was so much more intense that I knew something was wrong (needless to say that I won't be eating certain things in a long, long time). T woke my lovely parents back up and they drove over to take me to the hospital. E had been having an even rougher night, so we knew that T needed to stay home and be available to comfort him. I was all ready to put on some undies and call an ambulance, but the doctor wouldn't authorize it. After considering the cost out of pocket for a hot second, we decided to use my parents.

They waited by my side in the horrible hospital chairs until T arrived at 8:30am. At 10:30am my actual ob/gyn along with a urologist finally gave me the diagnosis of kidney stones. Apparently, the large band of pain was caused by the Cranky Effer traveling down the pike. The more localized pain was from it getting stuck. The constant bags of drippy liquids kept me hydrated and out of pain. The lack of drinking water on my own at home kept me dehydrated and in pain.

Go figure.

T and I left the hospital (but not before stopping in the cafeteria for toast!) at 10:00am yesterday with discharge instructions and prescription for Vicodin. That's what I'm talking about. I've been chugging water like it's going out of style and praying the pain doesn't return. So far, so good.

Took E to doctor this morning and he's just got your run of the mill cold but minus ear infections (Go Tubes!). He slept better last night and seems to be on the upswing.

T finally got some sleep after not sleeping at all Sunday night and even he looked a bit peppier.

We all seem to have survived.

Horror, horror, bwahahaha!

Horror story #1.


Horror story #2.


Bwahahaha!

Verbal incontinence

While I consider myself kind of an "over-sharer" with those that I like and trust, there are occasions when I'm surprised what people will share or say. In the past few days I've listened to (one on my voicemail and the other in person) things individuals told me and was kind of left with a "Well then..."-type of feeling.

The first instance happened on Monday. In my flurry to clean out our guest bedroom to make room for the new babies, I've been a selling fool on Craigslist. I have a smallish pile of stuff waiting in the room to sell and the kind woman who cleans our home spotted it when she was there on Monday. She even called me at work about the pile, asking what I was going to do with it all. Told her it was on the chopping block on Craigslist and the price I was selling it for. She was interested but didn't want to pay that much. I lowered the price and told her could just pay me when she's back in two weeks. She was excited and we hung up.

That night when E and I got home, I had two voicemail messages from her. The first:

"Hey, K. It's R. Listen, would you take $30 for the stuff I took? I've been spending a lot of money on things for the house and my husband just about hit the roof when I told him I paid $40. Give me a call and let me know what you think."

Second message:

"Hey, it's me again. Listen, never mind. I'll pay $40. I have some money stashed away in an account that my husband doesn't know about and so I'll pay you $40 but tell him $30. That's why I love having this account for purchases like this. And in case of an emergency, if you know what I mean."

I was listening to the messages in E's room and I just of kind made this face. Holy hell that was personal. Secret accounts? Lies to the husband? Telling me about it all? Man. I'm not so old school that talking about money makes me uncomfortable, but I suddenly felt as if I was privy to more of her financial situation and her relationship with her husband than I was comfortable with.

I still haven't returned her call mainly because I'm not quite sure what price to tell her. Does $40 make me sound pimpy? Does $30 sound like I'm undermining her secret account? Why did this turn so complicated?

The second go 'round happened yesterday with an admin here at work. When asking if I knew what I was having, I told we did find out and that it's one of each. As the realization hit her that I carrying two, she leaned over the Reference Desk and asked (in a stage whisper):

"Does it run in your family?"

This is a question I get a lot and something I never would have anticipated if I hadn't read about it on a few message boards. Sure enough, it's asked 8 out of 10 times when I tell someone it's twins.

And since I could kind of assume ahead of time that some people might ask this, I had time to mull over how I wanted to handle the response. A simple "Yes" would be enough to shut most people up, but that seemed slightly "off" since that is so not the reason why I have two cookin'.

I eventually decided that I was comfortable telling people, "No, I was on a lot of fertility meds." That's the truth and I don't consider that process a super secret or am I that uncomfortable talking about it. While I certainly don't need to be the poster lady for those struggling to conceive, I still think that if more women shared what they did to get knocked up than maybe it wouldn't be do damn depressing for those put through the ringer. Camaraderie and whatnot.

And in most cases the merest mention of "fertility meds" as a response either simmers down the questioning or they mention that they knew someone in the same boat.

Not so much this time around.

So, after telling her, "No, I was on a lot of fertility meds. Shots and whatnot." she visibly balked by wrinkling nose, leaning back and saying "No way."

"Uh, yeah."

"You? Really?"

And while this made me happy that I'm not stamped An Infertile to the outside world, I didn't know quite what to do with this.

"Umhmm. Just the way it was. Worked with E, worked really well this time."

I'll spare you the rest, but it proceeded to get weirder from there. I'm still kind of scratching my head. Of course, I shouldn't be entirely too surprised that this was her response. After all, this same women after asking me what I was going to about work after having E and hearing me say that I was going to return to work and E was going to daycare, responded with, "Oh, that's too bad. I hate hearing about kids who have to go to daycare." That I no prepared answer to.

And Lord knows I've overstepped and shared too much and I'm absolutely certain I've responded in a less-than-tactful way to things shared with me, but I guess I always expect more of others.

Maybe that's why I'm still scratching my head.

Logistics

There are a list of things that worry me about having two babies at one time. In no particular order, the list includes:

1. Nursing. I was never a fan of the "football hold" and this is almost required for wrangling two on the boob at once.
2. Holding one and trying to pick up the other.
3. Remembering my name and if I have clean undies on
4. Being in the hospital away from E
5. Going on bedrest and not being able to work
6. Having the babies be too tiny to be good eaters
7. Having T feel like he's getting the shaft with attention
8. Being left with dodgy looking skin around my midsection
9. Each of them getting sick at the same time while being little
10. Weirdos asking if they're twins
11. Trying to get them on a similar schedule so that I'm able to remember what "sheets" and "a bed" are.
12. The cost. of. it. all. forever. and. eternity.
13. Wondering if I should hire a "mother's helper" while I'm out on maternity leave or if I should man-up and tackle it solo once T goes back to work
14. Worried that I'll go into a routine doctor's appointment and have them tell me that I need to be admitted.
15. Feeling isolated in the house in February and March and April
16. Colic

As E's pediatrician told us, "This is a marathon not a sprint." At the time this did nothing to reassure me that I would ever sleep again. Nor did it keep me from feeling intense jealously for the people in the Tylenol PM commercial who were snuggled in their bed.

But now it makes sense. Kind of.

In the meantime, I'm working my way through a roll of fruit flavored Mentos and trying to realize that it's so very much out of my hands.

What can a gal do but eat Mentos?

What's up, buttercup

E is still wrestling with a bit of an oddball stomach-thing. He picked it up midweek and other than that initial day of not much eating and some intensely scary diapers since, he's been fine (no fever, sleeping fine, playing fine). I was strangely reassured that it was sweeping through his classroom--I do better if I have an origin of grossness--but bad for the teachers it smoked in its wake. Thankfully, T and I remain untouched.

In the meantime, we've taken to teaching E how to say "stinky." We're also working on "hello" while shaking hands. For some reason, he loves to shake hands.

Saturday was a whirlwind of playing outside, laundry, T taking E out for pancakes and having T realize he needs to hone his craft on dining out solo with someone so wily, me working on my lecture for the afternoon, eating chicken (which E and I refuse to eat unless it's covered in some sort of sauce or cheese or other fatty goodness), me feeling bitter about needing to shower and wear makeup and go into work, baths, jammies and watching Office Space while eating pizza.

T's favorite line from Office Space, "I'm a free man and I haven't had a conjugal visit in six months."

Mine: "So in the course of a day, what would you say ya do here?"

I also started reading a book on twins, triplets and quads.

Two interesting facts: 1) Those carrying twins measure 6-8 weeks larger than when carrying a singleton. 2) I should be gaining more weight than I currently have.

The last time I was at the perinatologist I was on the receiving end of major hassle for not having gained any weight and being almost 3 months along. Some time has passed and while I'm almost 4 and 1/2 months, I've only gained two pounds. This is disturbing given that this is what I usually eat in the course of a day:

Breakfast:
Ginormous bagel with a crapton of cream cheese
Large orange juice
Water

Lunch:
I'm on a Arby's kick (but that's starting to wane and sound a little cootie), but that would involve: a medium beef and cheddar, an order of mozzarella sticks, a Jamocha shake and a bottle of water

Snack:
Fruit or the carrots and dip I brought

Snack, part two once I'm home:
Part of whatever I've made E for dinner

Dinner:
Whatever T and I are eating

Snack, part three:
A bowl of cereal or some ice cream

If that menu combined with the fact that I had no morning sickness to blame isn't proof enough that pregnancy is dangerously close to resembling pod people--well, I don't know what is. These characters inside of me are like tape worms! But cuter, I'm sure.

Anyway, the weather is turning crispier and leaves are starting to drop. I even have been eyeballing my favorite caramel cider drink. Oh, and wearing socks to bed since it's cooler out.

Oh! And the two cribs we ordered arrived yesterday. I ordered those bad boys on Wednesday and they arrived Saturday. Nice work, Babies R Us.



To close, I leave you with a conversation that took place while watching College GameDay:

Me: "Whoa. Did you see that? That poor guy on the bottom of the pile had that other character's nutsack smashed into the slats of his helmet. Eww."

T: "They expect that to happen. I doubt he minds."

Me: "Listen. Everyone should mind if they have a nutsack in their face."

Drop it like it's hot

The school where I work has a fabulous little thing after each term called "Term Break." It's a glorious time when the students are gone, I can wear jeans and things are more relaxed in the library. I attack projects that have been ignored for the other 14 weeks of the term and spend plenty o' time chatting with co-workers as to whether we'd rather have a large rack or shapely legs ("You have to choose one!").

Sadly, the students eventually return and it's kind of like a kick in the nads. The new students are obnoxious, the returning students feel like updating us on their hijinks, teaching starts up.

I planned my schedule poorly this go 'round; between the teaching I picked up and the weekends I was assigned. It resulted in me working 13 days straight before I get a break. I'm on Day 6. Tomorrow I teach for a few hours, Sunday I'm on Reference for the day.

And while I've turned the corner on the first trimester Hot Mess of Exhaustion, it has recently been revealed to me that I need 10 hours of sleep a night in order to make it through the day without hurting. Snort laugh. I've been managing 8 or 9 but still wake-up feeling like crap on a stick.

E has also taken to feeling perky and chatty rather early in the morn and it absolutely sucks. Sometimes it's 6:00am, sometimes it's 5:30am. I absolutely refuse to get up at 5:30am. I mainly feel that I can take a rather firm stance on that hour of the morning because E is capable of hanging out in his crib for a good hour, hour and a half. Entertaining himself with: "Mama?" "Papa?" "LALALALALA." "De baskeetbah!" (the basketball), "A buh! A buh!" (a bus, a bus) when he hears the city busses go by, rainforest player pushed on and off, commenting on the "fisshhh" in the player, chucking a paci or two out of his crib, etc.

Eventually his contentedness starts to wane at which point whining kicks in and if there's anything I can NOT handle, it's whining. Makes me want to come out of my skin. Depending upon the straws drawn the night before, either T or I get up and get on with the day. The other person is left lying in bed only to shuffle downstairs and help out the early-waker-on-duty around 9ish. If I happen to be the sleeper-inner then by that time of the morning, E and T are in a various stages of (un)dress and watching "It's Me or the Dog" on Animal Planet, making "woof woof!" noises on the couch. It's a sight, believe me.

So while I have to work at various times this weekend, I certainly hope to not feel too pimped when it comes to hanging out with T and E and managing to get a few things done around the house. We shall see.

In the meantime, I hope to appreciate the good things about today (legs that are actually shaved, cool weather with fall in the air, orange juice without pulp, two classes down/two to go, sheets tonight) without thinking too much about how close I am to laying face down on my rather grody office carpet.

Hollow-weinie

Last weekend T asked me, "So what's E going to be for Halloween?"

Good question, sporty, what IS he going to be?

I'm not sure if it's because I'd ordered E's banana costume back in August last year or what--but I've not really thought about it much this go 'round.

Curses!

I rectified that tonight (*cough* at work) and came to the crap conclusion that there isn't much for the 12-18 month old who mightn't be wanting a Halloween costume.

Infants who lie like blobby victims! Covered!

Toddlers who wear a 2T-4T! They're in there like swimwear.

A 16 month old who is longish of arm and leg? Shafted.

I was hoping to find a cow costume since E is infatuated with cows, but alas it was not to be.

The front runners?

Although its mane is looking a tick scraggly, still kind of cute.

I thought this was cute perhaps even a tad official looking--what with this baby's very diplomat-esque-hands behind-the-back stance.

E has a very credible "rawwrrr" sound complete with Godzilla-like up and down arm motions (courtesy of my dad), so I thought this might work

So those are the contenders. We'll see what T thinks.

And now for those that made me laugh/scratch my head/wonder wtf, mate?...

Kinda funny, mainly creepy

That's right Baby Pimp. Now where are those hos?

I thought this one was pretty funny. Baby Captain Kirk!




In the same category as this costume, they also offered up a pint size Napoleon (no pun intended) and a pint size Colonial soldier.

Which one do you vote for?

Stretch or sleep

I am currently having a dilemma. All day I've been waffling about whether or not to go to a new prenatal yoga class. Of all the yoga joints in town, this one actually had a prenatal class on a night that T doesn't travel at a time in the evening where I wouldn't be pimped out of time with E.

Practically an alignment of the stars.

However, I'm worried that come 7:10pm when it is time for me to leave, that I would actually rather be doing this...

...and not bending or stretching.

But because I've not been working out for the past three months, my muscle tone is starting to go to pot. Plus the doc has suggested that I not resume anything too bouncey or stressy on the bod. That then leaves yoga, of the gentle round woman variety, or swimming.

I'm down with swimming and will probably do that on the weekend, but tonight's struggle is: stretch or sleep?

The verdict is still out.

And I believe my yoga mat is as well as I have no idea where its at.

Name that tune...er...baby

On my nightstand I currently have two books that are intended to generate fabulous baby names. I've yet to look through them. I think the reason is twofold: 1) I only ever have time to read for inspiration at night. 2) At night I am sleepy. And that's all she wrote.

I'm also finding it a tick daunting that we have to pick out four names. First and middle + first and middle. Both sexes. With E, while we didn't know he was going to be a boy, we'd already decided on a name; leaving me to flip directly to the girl section. This time I have to read through the whole book

Sigh.

I did pull out our old list of girl name options and it's looking as if one of those four might be recycled. Maybe? I don't know. Lordy.

(I can tell it's nearing 8:30pm because my thoughts are erratic except for when they settle on ice cream. In bed.)

Not to turn the tide too judgey, but I have certain beefs with certain names. Namely, those that are "in." Emma, McKenna (spelled upteen heinous ways), Ella, Elle, Sophia. And the worst culprit of all, Madeline. All lovely in their own right, but since you can't swing a dead cat and not hit a Maddie--well, those options are SO not on the list.

Anyway, because I love a good name discussion--let me know the names you love, the names you hate, the most ridiculous name ever, what you'd love to name your future children, what you'd name your future children if your spouse-partner-person didn't have to agree on it and if you ever wanted to change your own name*.





*In 5th grade, my fake name--because it was sooo cool--was Cassandra. Mrs. H. was a trooper and allowed me and some of my friends to put these aliases on our papers. Lord almighty.

A hosedown of words

Since the term here at school started back up this past Monday, my schedule returned to including a late night of 1pm-9pm on Thursdays. I was worried that I would feel compelled to put on jammies and eat Fruit Loops come 8:30pm (as that is what typically goes down at home), but I was somewhat awake and actually fairly productive with worky tidbits.

The problem was that since I had my nose to the grindstone, I didn't chat much thus saving up all of my chatting for T at home. Much, I think, to his chagrin.

Scene: The couch in our living room. It is important to note that not only is T in full on relaxing mode only to have me crash his party when I got home at 9:15pm BUT the kick-off game for the NFL season was one AND T was helping me out on his computer by trying to pick new mutual funds for my 403b.

T: "Before you even ask, I'm not going to change the channel to the Real Housewives of Atlanta. You can record it on the DVR."

Me: "Nice. It IS recording, so there. I knew the NFL started tonight so don't get on your Huffy bike--I read about the game and expected it to be on when I got home. Hey! Do you think Ben Roethlisberger had to have his name in a smaller typeface to fit on the back of his jersey? His letters look smaller. I wonder if he has the longest name in the league. Do you know? Are the Tennessee Titans a made up team? Where did they even come from? Oh! You know those players from Samoa have really long last names too. Hey! There's one now. Nope, his letters look bigger. But, dude, look at his hair. How can it not be pulled and trampled on since it hangs out of his helmet down his back? That seems to be asking for trouble. Why do you think Roethlisberger is so squishy looking? Is it because he's a quarterback? A white guy? Even the linebackers don't look that shapeless even though they get the baby tee look going when their jersey rolls up over their bellies. Did you hear about that civil suit filed against him by that woman? He's denying it but he might be a dirty monkey. So, I had this ridiculously great french onion soup for dinner from the Cherry Deli. I actually gasped in my office. But after eating it, I practically burned a path in the carpet from the Reference Desk to the drinking fountain--stuff must have had a lot of salt in it. Oh! And they sold chocolate milk and it was lovely."

By this time, T is simply staring at me. Perhaps wondering if he should even bother with my questions or when I will stop talking or, frankly, how he got himself into this mess in the first place.

His response?

"Aren't you sleepy?"

Nice.

A list of me

Lately I've been wondering a few things. Mainly, "Am I as pulled together as I think I am?" Some days it is so very touch and go--my brain feels fuzzy, thoughts are not very coherent or sharp, I mainly think about chocolate milk and I struggle at my job.

Other days I feel like a rock star--didn't sound like a tool at work, cracked a joke that made someone laugh, didn't spit when I talked, ate a vegetable or two, actually read part of a book.

So I decided I would make a list to truly evaluate where I stand. That way if I'm feeling cruddy, I can repeat what I've got going on with my bad self. Alternately, if I'm feeling too big for my britches I can then read the other list and know exactly what's what.

Ways in Which I Am a Hot Mess

1. I maybe shave my legs once a week
2. I will hand wash dishes and dry them and put them away just to avoid unloading the dishwasher
3. I never floss
4. I don't know what some of the words used in my workplace really mean
5. I generally only do math, even simple addition, with a calculator
6. I sometimes interfere too much with how T cares for E
7. I almost never bake real cookies that involve flour--instead I buy the dough already cut into squares
8. I am suspicious of most vegetables and love most desserts
9. I am not good about calling my brothers regularly

Ways in Which I've Got My Shit Together

1. I can remember almost anyone's name after meeting them just once
2. I am good about waxing my bikini line
3. My desk at work is never messy
4. I am almost never late
5. I smell good most of the time
6. There are very few crumbies on my floors at home
7. T and I have crafted a home for E that is safe and loving and involves nice smelling baby lotion
8. I make the bed every day and have smooth sheets
9. I don't give T too much hassle
10. I'm not a drunk
11. My co-workers like my jokes
12. I iron my clothes and am rarely wrinkly
13. I'm pretty good about writing thank-you notes and sending cards

It's starting look a little Even Steven, so perhaps I'm just average. Which, is there anything worse than being average? I know it happens to most, but yuck.

Anyway, on most days do you feel like you've got it together? Or do you feel like you're hanging on by a string? Empathy/sympathy welcome.

Random useless tidbits

My craving for sugar in this pregnancy is officially ridiculous. I try to stay away from the pop, but that's about where the self-control ends. Golden Grahams. Super sour candy. Pastries. Swiss Cake rolls. Fruit Loops. Nonsense that I purposefully don't buy when I'm not pregnant because, really, I turn into a damn fool when this stuff is around.

Last night I ate two ginormous bowls of Fruit Loops and promptly felt not so hot. T then laughed at me and told me, "I wondered when it would kick in! You just ate a bunch of colored, sugary DYE." Good point.

And then! Someone kicked me in the side. From the inside. What I was startled to realize is that I will have NO idea who is doing what in there. I imagine that this is probably how it's going to play out in real life as well. Spilled Cheerios in the upstairs bathroom ("How the heck did they get up here?")?--well, there will be enough finger pointing to make the G8 happy.

****

I just printed out 50 personal leave slips for my maternity leave. With E I was all Anal Annie and filled out the needed forms months and months and months in advance--this time around? Not so much. My main reason for sitting on it is because I have no idea when I'll begin my leave. A little early? A lot early? Somewhere in between? Who knows.

****

A faculty member (a judge, no less) just left my office after asking me to do a bit of research for him. After we were done talking I thought he was sticking out his hand to shake mine as a goodbye, so I stuck mine out. Except he wasn't sticking his hand out and I realized this too late so I grabbed mine back. Then he realized what I'd intended so he put his hand out there but I'd already pulled mine back in.

It was a horrible moment that made me cringe. Ugh.

****

I am wearing a blouse today that when I bought it I thought it was cute, but now I just think makes me look like a stupid, frilly pregnant person.

****

Tonight I am going solo with E because T is working out of town. Someone expressed interest in picking up the stuff I sold them on Craigslist, but for fear of getting chopped up and put in a garbage bag--I'm asking him to wait until Friday before giving him my home address.

Plus just short of riding the mattress and box spring down our stairs like a sled, I kind of need T to wrangle it downstairs near the front door. It just seems like asking for trouble to have some strange manperson come into my house and then come upstairs while I'm pregnant and alone with a toddler.

Hello, Lifetime Movie.

****

I think I need pasta for lunch.

****

Someone I work with has been driving me absolutely batty. More batty than usual. And while I would love to spill it all out here, I know that it would come back to haunt me. Like, bad.

****

I'm off to get pasta...

Hawkin' some crap

This weekend I emptied out a lot of the amenities that our guest bedroom use to offer: nightstand, lamp, full length mirror, sheets, comforter, nice vase of flowers on the nightstand.

After doing some haggling with T on what would stay and what would go, it's been decided that I am going to sell the mattress, box spring, frame and all bedding on Craigslist.

Lord Almighty I hope it sells because I don't want to keep any of that stuff in our basement.

The plan of attack is to then fill the room with new stuff. Cribs, a cushy rocker, changing table--those sorts of things. Minus the queen size bed, it's a pretty good size room.

Links to what's up for grabs/cash in my pocket:

http://grandrapids.craigslist.org/hsh/1363902513.html

http://grandrapids.craigslist.org/fuo/1363883569.html

http://grandrapids.craigslist.org/hsh/1363859612.html

http://grandrapids.craigslist.org/hsh/1363813548.html

http://grandrapids.craigslist.org/hsh/1363788985.html

Advice

Buddha says, "Have a Labor Day free of labor."

Come and get it!

This evening's pleas for dinner were heartfelt but minus the Holy Hell Meltdown. This has been a recent trend (and by "recent" I mean the last two days) and it makes for smoother meal preparations.

Of course, it could be too that I've grown aware enough of the pending crazy look in E's eye and don't push the poor boy past his capacity for food-related patience.

Who the hell knows.

What I do know, however, is that if I can make his dinner without him clinging to me like a Monchichi and wailing in a dramatic fashion, well things just instantly got better.




Furiously doing the sign language sign for "please" while also saying "chee! chee!" To be interpreted as, "Feed me cheese, woman!"




What made me laugh is that he's not only pulling on the fridge but also trying to open the cupherd. "I will get something to eat! With or without your help!"




This here is a new development. Apparently, the ledge near the bottom of the fridge is the perfect resting place. I think that this would be immensely cold on the biscuits, but E quite likes sitting here for a spell.




Condiments are examined.




After being booted from the fridge (I'm only willing to waste so much energy) and looking a tick like a Wise Guy.

Love/hate

Love: This ridiculously great weather we've been having here. Sun. No clouds. 77. Fabulous.

Hate: It looks as if I may need to tackle my bikini line for pool time this weekend.

Love: The fog of intense sleepiness has finally lifted and I'm feeling a tidgy bright-eyed

Hate: I still need to be in bed by 9pm otherwise I'm slumped over and drooling on the couch by 9:04pm.

Love: These past few weeks with E. He's showing his brand of squirrely humor and the way he says "peekaboo" cracks me up.

Hate: Because of his ability to wander around our house and entertain himself during the day, I have had nights-upon-nights of 1/2 sleeping dreams where I sit bolt upright or toss and turn--wondering who is watching him and where he is. It's bizarre and unnerving all at the same time. If before I fall asleep I tell myself, "E is safe in his bed and not wandering around." then the restless weirdo dreams don't happen.

Love: E is starting to master the spoon and fork

Hate: Last night's attempt at yogurt found it smeared in the folds of his neck

Love: T and I are going to use the crapton of points on our credit card to buy baby stuff

Hate: Damn those points don't go very far

Love: My craving for the absolutely gold-level fabulousness that is milk has returned with this pregnancy. I am drinking 2-3 glasses a day.

Hate: This..ahem...has had its side effects on my guts. Just sayin'.

Love: VitaminWater

Hate: VitaminWater 10. Blech.

Love: The Real Housewives of Atlanta. All of them are a hot, lovely mess.

Hate: There is absolutely nothing else on that is suitable for viewing

Anything in particular you're loving or hating?

Mad mens

I don't watch a lot of tv in the evening mainly because I'm kaput by about 8:30pm, but recently there have been some gem of a commercials that had me a) confused then recoiling then exclaiming out loud and b) talking the smack about it to T afterwards. Not that I'm in a great position to talk smack about anyone's work product seeing as these helpful comments usually come as I'm eating Doritos, drinking chocolate milk and not wearing a bra.

But whatever.

Watch for yourself.





Okay, so at first I was all, "Huh. What is up with the bushes shape shifting?" Then when the commercial wraps up and the voiceover actually explains why the BUSHES are changing shape I was all, "Cripe!" They might as well have been giving beavers haircuts for as subtle as that message was.

Anyway, I'm of the school that while very little is left to the mystery of my close girlfriends, I'm not sure how comfortable I am knowing the exact geometric shape of that woman's underbits.

Boundaries, people.

This next one is a little less personal, but still proceeds with questionable intent:

My beef is not so much with the commercial, but more with the product.

If your house smells so manky that guests sniff the air and then cringe, well, sister--you may want to invest in a Chlorox wipe and some elbow grease versus painting the wall.

Even if you smoke, which as I understand it, can seep into walls and cuphards and whatnot--well that smell will still be in your carpet and couches and sheets. You going to paint those too? Makes no damn sense.

Unless! (and this just occurred to me)...You're moving into a new home and that old owners were dirty monkeys. Then you could have fresh walls and fresh air. I guess.

Whatever.

Anyway, these two just just disturbed and perplexed me so I thought I would share.

Well hello there, stranger

This morning I had another probing by my favorite perinatologist. It was a full morning--really. I was there for two hours.

In between being covered in greasy, warm gel and seeing my insides on the outside, the doctor answered every one of my anal retentive questions.

What are my chances of bedrest?

What are my chances of being hospitalized?

What are my chances of delivering tiny babies?

Can I go back to working out?

Should T make me eggs and bacon every night for dinner?

Will you deliver the babies?

Will I get to choose how the babies come out or do we have to wait and see how they're laying come D-Day?

Can I have my tubes tied during the C-section?

Basically, since E was a biggie baby (nine pounds) but still a tidgy early (38 weeks) my chance for going on bedrest or delivering small babies is a little bit less than the average. I guess the best predictor of one pregnancy is the previous one.

She also mentioned that making it through weeks 22-26 is fairly good indicator of how things will progress. If something like preterm labor or a quickly shortening cervix were to hit the fan, then it would probably start then. She recommended that for those 3-4 weeks to do moderated bedrest (naps, no lifting) so that I can keep on truckin' through that and up until the end. T got all Mexican street justice and seemed to think this meant staying at home for Turkey Day; cooking our own bird and whatnot. Hmmm.

Also, apparently I'll only be going to this practice for my fancypants ultrasounds and then back to my regular ob/gyn for the in-between stuff and to have them deliver the two amigos. This I did not know. I prefer my regular ob/gyn since it's a smaller office and closer to work. Plus they've been lovely with handling all of my referrals and paperwork and whatnot as I shuttle between doctors who want me to take my pants off (by now, I've been to third base with most of the physicians in Michigan).

E's been patting my tummy and saying "baby," of course he also points to trucks and calls them buses, so you know. Other blogs have mentioned this, but what is UP with the sudden explosion of all things wordy? He's cranking out new words each week. Recent ones are: thank you, monkey, truck, school, balloon, water and juice. Still my favorite is when he shakes his index finger and says "no, no" after I've told him not to do something. Throw an appliqued sweatshirt on him and he's a miniature elementary school teacher.

Anyway, I give you Baby A and Baby B. I think (??) that Baby A is the girl and Baby B is the the boy, but I'm not 100%. T doesn't remember really either. This is why neither of us could work for any sort of government-super-spy conglomeration--we can't even remember the genders of our own children. How would we remember the coordinates to something even more sleuthy?

Again, here they are--laying right on top of each other: