A recent email to friends

I had my weekly appointment yesterday to check the fluid in little boy's sack and T and I left very encouraged. While still low and abnormal, the pockets of fluid had doubled in depth from the previous week. We definitely felt like prayers were answered.

Three hours later, though, my water broke and I went to the hospital. Tests, ultrasounds and doctor chats seemed to show that little girl's sack is intact without any ruptures and little boy's sack has even less fluid than from previous appointments--even that morning. They couldn't find the exact cite of rupture in the membranes, but I continue to leak fluid. I was kept overnight to see if bleeding or contractions would start (or infection would set in) and they didn't, so I was released this afternoon. I'm at home on bedrest and am allowed to work, but not drive.

I think what frightened T and I the most is that one minute we're practically celebrating the positive change and literally minutes later wondering if I'm going to deliver at only 5 1/2 months.

Two huge prayers: First, that these babies continue to thrive and move as they have been doing and stay inside every second that they can. Second, that I'm not put on hospital bedrest at 24 weeks. The more conservative perinatolgists of the practice mentioned this possibility this morning and it is absolutely one of my worst nightmares. To be away from T and E for that length of time is not something that I'm sure I could handle. Even the isolation of being there without them for the past 24 hours was horrible. So to have to do that for possibly up to three months and through the holidays, makes me just want to crumble.

Please pray in any way that you can. And if your calls and emails go unanswered, just know that it has nothing to do with you; we just might not feel like talking at that particular moment...

k

10 Random Things this Wednesday

1. I'm trying to convince T to buy tickets for Jim Gaffigan who'll be in our area on December 28th. T is feeling squirrely about committing to something given The Pregnant State of Things. I'm thinking if it doesn't pan out--I could always hawk them here at work or on Craigslist. He said he would think about it. Hmmm.

2. While I told myself I wasn't going to buy any maternity clothes this go 'round, I failed and did. The outfit even involves leggings which I've been trying to eschew since 5th grade. As a pear shaped gal in her 30s, I fail to think these things are flattering, however, they seemed necessary given the top.

3. It's actually sunny here today. As in not raining. Or drizzling. Or acting like I need to build an ark. I promptly called our leaf removal guy (Jimi with one "m") and asked him to put us on the schedule. The leaves have been so damn soggy lately that even if I had the physical ability to rake and T had the time, the muthas would weigh 15 tons. Now they can dry out and be removed. By Jimi.

4. On Friday I'm volunteering in E's classroom for a few hours to help stuff the kids in their costumes and hold their hands while they parade around the building. It should be interesting. My only concern is when I then try to leave again that E might be confused why I showed up, but am not taking him with me. I guess cross that bridge when we come to it.

5. Post lunch I always feel like a hot, hot mess. I'm trying to eat enough to bulk up the masses and drink enough to appease the Kidney Stone Gods. These things combined with getting larger by the day, leave me moaning after a meal. It's so uncomfortable. Picture post-Thanksgiving Day meal. Or post-Chinese food feeding frenzy. It's like that while also having the physical dexterity of a Weeble Wobble.

6. T was out of town last night, and whenever he's gone our medicine cabinet looks like he ran away from home (and took his cologne with him). Manning the fort on my own last night was hard. I was a mouth-breather by 8:30pm but managed to squeeze in a mud mask. Priorities.

7. I have my weekly appointment tomorrow and am absolutely dreading it.

8. I have been so crazy productive at work lately, it's as if I don't know who I am anymore. Shoot, I even contributed interesting tidbits in a conference call this morning. I am, however, considering this more of a fad and less a change for the better. Whatever the case, I'm trying to maximize it and haul through some projects that I've stashed to the side and been avoiding.

9. While at Target yesterday, I was finally able to find mini-Snickers, or "fun-size" Snickers. In the past all I could find was those tiny ass squares of Snickers, of which I would eat eight. Fun-size is more my speed. In my excitement I completely forgot to buy the five other items (Windex, body wash, face wash, Burt's Bees lip balm, Kleenex) on my list.

10. This weekend is Daylight Savings Time and I'm feeling uncertain for what it will mean for E's schedule on Sunday. Early wake-up? Witching hour at night? Total middle finger to naptime? T and I live for E's easy sleep transitions and any kink in the plan makes us certifiably nervous and twitchy. My plan is to keep E--as much as possible--on his schedule based on what the clock says. This worked moderately well when he was smaller. We shall see how it shakes out.

Weekendy tidbits

On Saturday evening after heading home from a dinner out, T and I both saw someone in a wedding dress walking down the sidewalk. Either because of how broad this person's shoulders were or because their hair-do was kind of wig-esque or because of the close proximity to Halloween, but I instantly thought this was a man in drag--dressed as a bride for costume party.

Turns out not so much. It was a lady. With her bridesmaid. Ooff.

I turned to T in the car and was kind of embarrassed. "I totally thought that woman was a dude! And it's probably her wedding day! What a bummer to be mistaken for a man."

T shares, "I thought she was a man TOO!"

****

E is trying to string together sentences and to the best of our translating/deciphering abilities, it appears he's trying to say, "What did you DO?" Except that it comes out "Dat do do DOOO?" It's the intonation and stress on the "DOOOO" combined with his little uplifted eyebrows that leave us to believe he's questioning us on certain things.

****

It rained.all.weekend. This had T doing some major hand-wringing over the state of the late fall, winter months that keep us indoors and the energy that E needs to burn off. We have the indoor pool at our gym, area museums, my parents house and some other places--but we also came to the conclusion that we might need to make at-home accommodations.

We have a loooovely sun porch that we had painted in a peppy bright green and totally surrounded by bright white windows. Right now we keep it closed off from the living room and merely wax poetic about how we planned to fill it with loooovely white wicker furniture and a seagrass rug and glass lamps and gauzy curtains and bright paintings. Then we discovered that E's room needed to be spruced up (in the form of new plaster walls, ceilings, refinished floors, furniture, omgthecost) and outfitting the sunporch was put promptly on hold.

This weekend we decided that wicker furniture is perhaps best left to those who don't have small ones and to instead turn the sun porch into a rumpus room. Foamy mats to cushion falls, climby things, craft table--things to keep one sane ("one" being T and I).

****

Given that T usually holds the remote and given that he almost always has to watch two channels at the same time, I've tried to implement an "understanding." The understanding being: the holder of the remote doesn't get to watch both channels of his choice. Meaning, you don't get to watch ESPN and Fox Sports at the same time, flicking between the two when one is on commercial break. I don't care if there are two college games on at same time, choose one--preferably the one where the sports commentators aren't shouting at me. (Why do they always shout? Don't they know I'm RIGHT HERE?)

Anyway, because T had to choose one game at a time on Saturday afternoon (oh, the travesty)--this left me choosing HGTV.

To say that T has crush on Carter Oosterhouse is underplaying my husband's manlove for Carter. I mean, look at him...I get it.

But for T it's not all about looks. Carter is a fiend with the woodworking. I think this is where the bulk of the affection comes from. As someone who loves tools and wood (heh), T stares agape when Carter is on the screen--perfectly cutting woodjoints and staining boards with love.

It is here I admit that I wouldn't chuck T for just anyone. However, I have a feeling that if Carter would knock on our door, that I would indeed be.

****

This weekend our doorbell rang twice. I didn't answer. Do you answer your doorbell when it rings? I mean, this isn't the 1950s--people just don't drop by anymore. T is usually without pants, I am usually far away from bra. Judge if you may, but we're at home.

But because I didn't want to ignore someone if they came bearing pleasantries or cookies, I did look out into our driveway and onto the street to see if I recognized a car. I didn't. Whoever it was was on foot. And didn't get the door opened for them.

****

In the effort to have me gain more weight, T has been willing to make evening cheeseburger and pie runs for me. Last week it was French Silk pie, last night it was a Big Mac and a hot fudge sundae.

I haven't had a hot fudge sundae from McDonald's in about forever and holy cow was it fabulous. I may get another one while out on my lunch.

****

Any good tidbits from your weekend?

And so the song played on

Yesterday's appointment yielded no change, good or bad. Little Girl has a veritable Olympic sized swimming pool of fluid. Little Boy has a shallow wading pool of fluid. Both continue to thrash about in a saucy fashion (case in point: whenever I lay for too long on my left side, I get a swift quick. I'm thinking subtlety is not someone's strong point.)

Despite good-news confetti not falling from the drop ceiling onto my u/s gelled stomach, I am thankful for the doctor we saw yesterday. She drew charts, explained all options and considerations, answered our questions, sympathized, took as much time as we needed.

Bottomline: she is at a loss as to why the fluid is low in one sack and abundant in another. There are a lot of possibilities that have left her needing to follow up with the other doctors I saw earlier on in the pregnancy. There is always the possibility that the fluid could increase. There is also the possibility that the fluid could remain the same. It is this that caused me to cry in a stall of a Cracker Barrel yesterday (with a rather sad Willie Nelson song playing on the Muzak, making things even more pathetic). With a baby that continues to grow inside with not enough fluid to compensate for this growth, the baby doesn't get enough practice using its lungs. After being delivered, the baby is then unable to breathe on its own and usually doesn't make it.

I pressed the doctor about my ability to work. Initially she said that since nothing changed that it would be okay to go back. Then after talking out loud about the all of the potential reasons for the low fluid, she recommended that I start my maternity leave immediately and resume the partial bedrest.

In the course of knowing that I was on bedrest for the past week or so, many people have said, "It's worth it! This is the most important job you have!" I appreciate the place this is coming from and the person saying it, but if there is more useless platitude for someone in this situation, I don't know what it is.

Without a doubt these babies are important to T and I and whole host of other people. The stress and tears and time of care put into carrying these babies for the past 21 weeks and 6 days is like nothing I've ever experienced. I am, however, a woman of whom other things are expected. I am also a mother to E. I am a wife. I am an employee. I am someone who needs balance. Don't get this confused with someone who is an overachiever (I'm not) or a people pleaser (pfft), as that's not the case. But I do need to lead a balanced life. Caring ONLY for these babies ONLY while laying down slowly chipped away at my mental well-being.

Because of this, I questioned the doctor on her maternity leave recommendation. I explained that I sit on my can for 8 hours a day at my job and it's ridiculously low stress and low key. Being on maternity leave now would be none of these things. She responded, "Well, the doctor in me says to go home now but with little change shown even after being home--okay, go back to work. We'll evaluate it week to week."

T and I shuffled off to breakfast (commence crying in bathroom stall) and then home. We didn't want to talk about it ad nausium and yet felt compelled to purge. After awhile we both felt tapped out and needed a break, so he layed down to watch a boring documentary and I went to visit a friend.

That night we made a list of everything we have going for us: We are healthy. We have a little boy who we love a ridiculous amount. We're receiving good medical guidance. At this time, there is no known reason for the low fluid. The babies continue to grow. We have a lot of people praying for us. I didn't have to be admitted on hospital bedrest. There was no change for the worse from last week's appointment. I could go back to work.

We didn't bother listing the bad things; we already knew what they were.

So, here we are. I pray that every night and every morning that these babies stay inside one more day.

So far, so good.

A day in the life

In case you've been wondering (or not thinking about it in the least as you are currently leading a very full life), here is how I've been spending my time:

6:30am: Wake up when T's alarm goes off; give him hairy eyeball in the dark as he manages to hit every.single.creaky floorboard on his way to the bathroom

7:15am: Hear E babbling, grab glasses to ascertain time, grab pants and wonder how long I can be vertical before my bladder explodes

7:18am: Rush to bathroom

7:30am: Snuggle with E in bed while he dodges my hugs to catch a glimpse of his new crackporn, The Wiggles. New diaper, lotion, Neosporin on scrape on nose, clothes, hair, kiss dodging, wrestling, lure him downstairs with the promise of "buh-bye!"

8:00am: Chase E around the house with shoes, hat and coat. Make T head him off in the dining room.

8:10am: Say "goodbye" from the back door as T drives my car off into the sunset. Or at least the fall, pre-dawn darkness.

8:20am: Cook waffles (3) and park can on couch to find a scary movie. I've lately been trying to force myself to step outside of my comfort zone and watch scary movies. But only in the morning (rest of the day to shake off the cooties) and only on cable (decompression time in the form of commercial breaks).

9:05am: Determine that movie is indeed too scary and get on internet to distract myself. Check work email, Gmail, Google Reader, Twitter, New York Times. Save People and US Magazine for my afternoon reading.

10:30am: My head usually starts to hurt around this time from having the constant noise of the tv on, so I turn it off. Venture into the kitchen to see what mess there is to clean up.

11:00am to 1:00pm: Wander about the house for a bit trying to think of projects I can do while sitting down in a dining room chair. So far I have cleaned out our fridge, our freezer, the hallway closet, T's closet, the upstairs closet, updated E's baby book, ordered prints of digital photos from Costco, cleaned out my work bag, given myself two manicures, sat outside on our front stoop, cleaned out my nightstand drawers, cleaned out my makeup bag, organized my recipes and various other tasks so insanely boring that it takes being on moderated bedrest to get them done.

1:00pm: Shower and wonder why I'm bothering. Oh, that's right...so T doesn't leave me.

1:30pm-3:00pm: Wander around some more.

3:00pm: Read things on the internets, trying to balance my interest in this Balloon Boy nonsense with things happening to normal people.

4:00pm: Watch Oprah. Man, I really don't like her show that much but the commercial breaks are short and I appreciate that. And while normally I enjoy them--even while pregnant--I've been staying away from the shows on TLC and Discovery Health about babies and delivering. Especially on Discovery Health. They have a whole hour long show on women with difficult pregnancies and deliveries. I staged a self-intervention and decided it was best to avoid those shows for the time being.

5:00pm: Start dinner and set table. The one good thing about being home and having a crapton of free time on my hands is I actually have time to make something for dinner. That is warm. With my own two hands. A novelty to this here house and one I'm enjoying this week. Because T is on pick-up duty, he is getting home earlier thus having us all at the house at the same time.

5:30pm: Stare out the front door and wonder when they'll be home

6:00pm: Throw open the door the minute I hear the garage door go up. Have heart melt when I hear E yell, "MAMA!"

6:15pm: Give everyone lots of kisses, washing of hands and eating of dinner.

The rest of the evening is filled with playing and coloring and baths and jammies. By 8:00pm my neck and back are usually killing me--I think from sitting or laying down on squishy surfaces so much of the day.

Despite being a complete sloth, I've been going to bed at 9:30pm just exhausted. Must be all that wandering about.

Tomorrow is our follow-up appointment to do a fluid check on Mister Man's sack. I've been trying not to think about the multitude of things the doctor could tell T and I. But if you would like to think about it (emphasis: positive), feel free.

Here's hoping for good news.

Using the ol' grey matter

Things I have been tempted to do since being stuck at home:

1. Give myself a manicure everyday
2. Live blog "Three Men and a Little Lady"
3. Turn down the heat to see how cold I can stand it
4. Email Elizabeth Hasselback to welcome her back to work and tell her that I think her hair looks very nice and shiny
5. Look up "parkour" on Wikipedia
6. Turn old school and start writing letters
7. Call my husband every five minutes to tell him that I am lonely
8. Alphabetize E's books
9. Clean out our coat closet
10. Post the pictures I took of the fat ass squirrels eating and dragging away our pumpkins.
11. Google "atrophy of muscles" to see how long I have to be sedentary for my muscles to turn into marshmallows

****

This weekend was okay. T manned the fort and hustled ass for 48 hours. Five loads of laundry, massive grocery shopping, talking me down off ledges when I got cagey from being inside, playing with E outside, doing naps and bedtimes, running out for pie when it was determined that French Silk pie would keep me from losing my marbles and working on confusing spreadsheets late into the night. He was a machine. I played with E on the floor and handled food time and folded laundry, not exactly earning my keep.

Saving graces: came in two forms: E taking two hour naps and sleeping in until 8am both Saturday and Sunday. Since T has to be the one getting E out of his crib, I was feeling cringey that there would 6am wake-up times. Clearly God smiled on us both days by having E sleep 12+ hours. Praise Jebus for growth spurts.

The other large help was my parents. Both Saturday and Sunday they came over to play with E and wear him out a little bit. It took the weight off T and I for a bit and we sat glassy eyed while they ran around in circles.

It felt like a long weekend and by the time eight o' clock rolled around last night, T and I sighed a heavy relief that we made it.

Here I sit Monday morning wondering what is going on outside my living room. R is cleaning the house and I feel like a complete loafer as I sit and watch The View with my feet up. Incidentally, each time I watch The View I am struck with how completely ridiculous it is wonder how it's still on the air.

I am trying my darndest to not Google bedrest things on the internets as I'm not sure I feel comfortable crying in front of R. As I told someone this weekend, if I think about all the bad news we could get on Thursday morning I cry. If I think about the smidgey of good news, I feel stupidly optimistic. Therefore, I don't think about it.

My cousin had twins a little over a year ago and we are cut from the same pre-planning, love to plan, plan ahead, plan when you can cloth. Her advice:

You can plan for the probability of an early birth and then carry to full term, or you can plan for an early birth and then get surprised like me and get an even earlier birth. The whole experience of a multiple pregnancy is so much more uncertain than a single pregnancy. . .all that to say just really try to embrace the day or week and the decisions that need to be faced or made that week and keep going from there. It WILL be completely overwhelming if you look at the whole picture and try to start lining everything up, which BELIEVE ME is in my nature and I had to just learn to let it go and I can't line everything up. It's getting you ready for after the babies arrive. . .its been so hard to "let go" of that side of me. But I had to. At least for awhile, in that interim 1st YEAR of having twins. I'm feeling it start to return :)

So. That's what I've been trying to do.

In the meantime, I've been heavy conditioning my hair and pulling it back (it's quite possibly the silkiest it's ever been). Giving the skin a break from the makeups and cracking out the mud masks. Telling T "thank you" whenever I can and laughing when he jokingly calls me "lazy biscuits." Playing with E on the floor and taking in his little face eye-to-eye (side note: he cracked out "apple," "pig," "wall" and "baby bear" this weekend). Updating E's baby book with detailed blow by blows with my new ultra fine Sharpie. Getting the most out of our Comcast cable. Eating a crap ton of fruit. All riveting tasks but those that help the time go by a little bit quicker.

Up later this week?: Watch Twilight, organize the crap I keep stuffing in my nightstand drawers, Febreeze E's Halloween costume (Elmo's fur smells suffocatingly like plastic), DVR a bunch of Wiggles episodes for E, try new dinner recipes for T.

Good times!

Like butta

I am sitting in my kitchen, eating chicken nuggets, chugging water and hoping the second 1/2 of the day passes quickly.

****

Yesterday morning I had my biggie anatomy scan at the perinatologist's office. I woke up kind of excited to see how things were progressing and what exactly was going in there because the two of them are pret-ty twirly.

According to the ultrasound tech, they're now in a sort of T formation. Baby Girl head down, legs up (potential yogi?) and Baby Boy is laying face down (potential good sleeper?) across the top, horizontally, with his head on my right side.

The good news is that the two amigos are growing like fiends, measuring far ahead of their 20 weeks. Apparently, they weigh an approximate 12 ounces each or three sticks of butter. Given how much I love butter, this comparison warmed my soul.








The u/s tech mentioned that Baby Boy's fluid looked a little low and after she measured everything, called in the doctor. Apparently the low fluid is a concern and can cause any host of problems is it continues to lessen due to a possible leak: infection, preterm labor (anytime between two seconds ago and two months from now), water breaking, everythingbadunderthesun.

He told me to go on restrictive bed rest at home--no lifting, shopping, cleaning--and that they'd recheck me in a week. I misunderstood his instructions to mean that I could still work, so when he asked me if I needed a doctor's note I took it to mean because we'd been in his office for almost three hours. His response? "No, because you won't be working." Hmmm.

It's funny because I was feeling all ridiculously anal on Monday about how each day I wrap up work wondering if it's my last. The threat of bedrest with this pregnancy has been a huge concern for me. Huge. Something that I probably thought about multiple times a day. Mainly because I knew that with one doctor's appointment my home and work situation could change lickety split. T and I are very much partners at home and to put the burden of maintaining everything on just one person, namely T, stresses me out to no end. It makes me feel bad.

As it was, after that news, T and I shuffled back to the car to sort of have a stuttering conversation on the logistics of it all. It was almost noon. T was super late for work. I was super late for the volunteering I usually do on Thursday mornings. And as far as my boss knew, I was coming in to work that night, on Sunday as well as teach on Monday. Ooof.

I called the lovely lady I volunteer for and she understood. I then headed into work to talk to my boss and get some things squared away until next Thursday or Friday. As much beef as I may have with my boss, she practically shoved me out the door and told me not worry about a thing.

This morning T and I worked out a nifty system where he lifted E up out his crib and brought him to me in bed along with his clothes for school and a clean diaper. From there, E and I watched the Wiggles while I got him lotioned up and ready for the day. They headed out the door and I've been left to my own devices since 8:00am.

I dragged our computer from upstairs to our living room, Googled "low amniotic fluid at 20 weeks" and had a good cry.

The fear of having these babies now means that they would most certainly wouldn't make it. The threat of being admitted into the hospital for bedrest makes me want to weep right now. The financial ramifications of being out of work for the duration of my pregnancy plus on maternity leave is almost too much too swallow. Leaving T to manage pick-ups, drop-offs, wakeups and bedtimes makes me feel cruddy.

The one good thing in Googling a potentially ShitTown situation is that you can very often find the individuals for whom it all turned around. Quite a bit of what I read mentioned that "low fluid" is a vague description and that amniotic fluid is measured on a scale from Very Dodgy to Hey This Is Normal. Also, if the baby looks as if it's developing just fine but the fluid is a bit low, then this is less of a concern than if the baby is smallish with low fluid. And the best bit of non-scientific reading came from those women who were merely dehydrated. Checked later on, and after chugging ridiculous amounts of water, their amniotic fluid levels were a-okay.

So aside from trying to drink even more water and sitting on my can a lot until next Thursday at 8:00am, I merely pray that this turns around in some form or fashion.

A day late and a dollar short

On Tuesday night it was deigned that E's hair had reached epic proportions. Full! Curly! Uneven! Wicked combover!

We'd been hesitant to get E's hair cut as we wanted to let it grow, but it became evident that something needed to be done; a trim, at least. Although, I didn't say it to his face, homeboy was looking a little raggedy.

So I scooped him up early from school on Wednesday and we went to a local salon that specializes in kid's cuts. For a hot minute I debated on just taking him to my regular stylist since I know she cuts her own kids hair, but I was worried that E would wig out plus I have impulse control issues and wanted to get it done lickety split.

Here, however, is the highway robbery that this kids salon operates under. You can't make appointments--at all. If you want to be assured a slot, but only within 15 minutes!, you have pay for a VIP membership which costs $25.00. On top of the price of the haircut. Pfft. Whatevs.

I was determined to beat the system and not be some schmo waiting for 45 minutes on a Saturday morning while her son wigs the eff out, so I got there at a 4:15pm on a Wednesday. Smooth sailin'.

No other souls were there. The stylist was cheery but kind of off-putting in her exuberance to cut his hair. E loved the Elmo phone she gave him to play with.

Pictures...



Holy Moses. Check out that hair. Granted this was post-nap and post-fleece hat removal. E was digging the tall chair.




Sweet serenity in the form of an Elmo phone.

Being rather rascally in allowing me to get a snap of his new hairs.

I didn't feel too weepy when she was cutting his hair, but I feel weepy now when I look at him. He looks like a little boy--short hair all curly and cute looking. I do have a small bag of curls--still in my wallet which is kind of creepy--that I'm going to paste in his baby book.

Break time

I'm taking a break from the exceedingly boring work that is preparing for a class lecture and decided to get a few laughs from Texts from Last Night.

Occasionally, I and another co-worker will huddle in my office and wet our drawers over the more inappropriate ones.

Ones that made me laugh this morning:


(631): i just found a bag of weed behind my capital one card. i guess that's what's in my wallet.

(802): and he says: but we did find out that your ovaries have never released eggs. first thing out of my mouth: so i didnt really need to take the morning after pill so many times in college
(1-802): not the response he usually gets im sure.

(480): Thanks for ditching me last night. I got a ride home from the Dominos delivery guy. You owe me 3 large pizzas.

(270): So we sucessfully lit our bathtub on fire. Thought you should know.

(253): I seriously need to stop naming my lingerie sets after the boys I wear them for. I seriously just asked mom if she put Brett in the dryer

(310): four days late. damn you, makeup sex. you win again.

(646): I almost got runover on the sidewalk by a car but wen it got closer it was a crackhead walking with the whole front of a car... bumper, lights and all... I love New York.

(518): apparently people get pissed when you take the bag of wine out of the franzia box and put it in your purse before leaving the party

(978): just because you dressed up as a brontosaurus doesn't mean you can poop in my yard and roar at my neighbors

(201): why is there a sandwich nailed to the wall

(313): awesome recipe for disaster- bar hopping at the airport

(315): a slip n slide in 50degree weather was the 2nd dumbest thing i have ever done. the 1st was hitting the wooden fence i believed was supposed to "help us stop"

(978): i just found an uncooked ramen noodle in my underwear


Feel free to now carry on with your day...

Big ass fruit

Thank you for all the encouraging comments. It's helpful to know that others feel overwhelmed by the normal course of the day too. Makes me feel like not such a wienie.

Last night I was able to catch up with a friend, eat my weight in ham and potato bake (where I was forced to explain to T that I may or may not be carrying a third baby in the shape of a creamy potato square and its twin, Bit of Ham), read my US Weekly and slept hard. Woke up today to a smoother morning. Proof that the tides turn quickly around here.

I also mulled over last night if quitting my job would help me feel more "on it." I'd have time to grocery shop and make meals and have play dates and run around with E and read books together and do laundry. In theory, at any rate, as I know staying at home presents its own challenges. While my job affords us the luxury of adding to our retirement accounts and not eating Ramen noodles every night for dinner, I know that not working outside the home would leave a gaping hole of dissatisfaction. And, frankly, I would much rather have the occasional day of overwhelmed than the potential day-in-day-out of professional dissatisfaction.

At any rate, below are some pics of our venture to an orchard this Sunday. It was freaking cold and I think I may have been wearing brown socks with black pants, but we ate our weight in donuts. Both boys went completely ape on the car ride home for "MORE DONUTS!" Lordy. I handed them out as fast as I could which apparently was not fast enough.

Pre-donut shark swarm.

T was feeling generous of spirit and was game for a hayride. We even sat in front. If you knew my husband's aversion to horses (rather, their butts and what comes out), you'd know this was a big deal.

E was infatuated with the horses who were named Ike and Walter.

A rather large apple that E was propping up...

...with one finger.

A is for...

This morning I felt overwhelmed. I may have also hung my head--in a dramatic fashion--while in the shower.

Often I mainly feel like I'm scooting ahead of the game. Barely. Sometimes I feel woefully behind only to inch a bit ahead of things only to have that feeling of "catch up!" just nipping at my heels. Lately, it's not so much been either--just overwhelmed.

Part of me feels like a complete pansy-ass for feeling this way: I'm not uneducated or attending school. I'm not a single parent. I'm not poor or struggling. My job is not in jeopardy. I have healthcare.

The other part of me knows what is what: I have a toddler. I work full-time. My husband works a ridiculous number of hours a week. I am pregnant and perpetually tired.

No one grouping of characteristics deserves sympathy/empathy...they are what they are: facts.

I'm also a little Type A about some things and I'm wondering if this is enhancing the overwhelming-ness of it all. I'm trying to scale back on what I consider "needs to be DONE!" and T is forcefully taking over some of what I'd cockblocked him from (laundry and grocery shopping, mainly).

Even so, we just seem to run out of time on the weekends for anything aside from naps and time with E. Rejuvenation and crayons seems to occupy a good 48 hours, leaving us tapped the eff out each night of the week--especially on Sunday.

I think what has me feeling most overwhelmed is that I think this will be the status quo for the next scarynumberof years. Tired, hustling about once home, tending to small brown people, hoping they don't sick, hoping they get enough hugs and individual attention, trying to overlook the crumbies on my floor, wondering where the hell the food went in the fridge, never feeling rested.

I wouldn't trade this life for anything, but does that even need to said? Maybe. I'm not going to pull a Marie Osmond and run for the hills. Do I need to better strategize what needs to be accomplished (fun with E, time with T, time to make meals, time for the upteen small house projects that carry over and over and over)? Probably. Will I ever stop going to bed at 9:00pm? Who the hell knows.

Weepy Willie

Apparently, I turn into SUCH a crier when I'm pregnant.

When I was pregnant with E I made the huge mistake of watching Legends of the Fall on cable. Holy hell. A sad, moving experience while not cranked up on hormones. But pregnant? Cripe. I think T was at work or for whatever reason not at home and I ended up laying on the couch for three hours sporting no bra and stretchy pants having full body sobs over Samuel's death and Tristan's lost love and Alfred's struggles with Susannah. Really, like, funeral-lost-a-loved-one-maybe-even-your-fabulous-boyfriend kind of sobs. Ugly face crying. Now whenever I'm looking for a movie on cable, T makes sure to remind me, "No Legends of the Fall! You're pregnant!"

Earlier in this pregnancy I experienced the same kind of ugly face crying while watching Little Women. Again with the full body sobs. Beth's death almost put me over the edge. At least I was in bed and could wipe my face with the sheets.

This morning I started crying in E's classroom at daycare. His teacher started telling me how very rarely do nice things make it back to the person for whom they're intended, but she really wanted to tell me......and then she went on for a bit about how they all feel about E and how they can tell how loved and cared for he is and what a special little boy they think he is, etc.

There was a lone tear and then I got the trembly lip. She stopped mid-sentence and asked if I was okay. And I bust out with, "I'm just pregnant. And he's so happy here and we're just so blessed to have you guys caring for him. We appreciate you so much." Thankfully, she's a kind soul and didn't stare.

After pulling myself together and getting home, I then ate two donuts, drank some orange juice and watched Sex and the City on our On Demand. It was the show finale when Steve's mom has dementia and Miranda has to find her after she's been wandering around Brooklyn and Carrie and the Russian are having problems. There were tears. It was rough.

In the meantime, E is getting big and he's sporting a new hat for these chilly mornings.

Weep.

Whatevs

My hair, while never exactly bouncy and full of volume even after I finagle the hell out of it, has fallen flat due to the crazy ass winds here in the Midwest.

E, fascinated with the knit pattern on my sweater, caused a small hole to form by sticking his chubby little brown finger in one of the loops and wriggling it around.

I am wearing bare legs and need to buy pregnant lady tights for the winter but am not sure when I'll be able to get to the mall to do this.

And on Monday night I peed on myself.

In all honesty, I was convinced that I was leaking amniotic fluid. I'd not sneezed, laughed hard or waited too long to use the restroom (all death wishes for a pair of dry undies on a pregnant person), yet there was a distinct trickle down the leg. Lord.

T, never one to dink around, wanted to call my parents and rush me to the hospital. I wanted to eat my chicken nuggets and go to bed. We compromised. I lied on the couch so that he could eyeball me nervously and I told him that if it increased throughout the night that I'd wake him up.

It didn't but I still went to the doctor in the morning. The verdict was piss. Apparently, one stealth move by any one of the flailing limbs inside of me can cause a nudge towards incontinence.

Not much else is happening at home. E has been a crazy marathon sleeper as of late, but as I told T this morning--I'm careful to not feel too saucy as I know the tides turn at an alarming rate and we could be left with a wake-up call at 5:45am.

After getting the most difficult class out of the way earlier this week, my desire to toil at the workplace has reached a new low. As a result, I spent time this afternoon tossing old bits of paper and random lists; just kind of cleaning up the joint.

I went to Target at lunch and spent an ungodly sum on footed fleece pajamas for E, laundry detergent, household cleaners, milk, bread and lotion. How is it possible that all of that can add up to $99.53? I didn't even buy anything fun.

(This post is quickly going down the toilet...)

Oh! Here is what I ordered yesterday for E to wear on Halloween. On the drive into work yesterday I figured that I probably should get my act together lest this be known as the Halloween Mom Forgot My Costume Because She Was Kicked In The Nads with Tiredness.



Besides thinking that the baby model in the suit is ridiculously cute and surely my son will look even cuter, it was on sale and will arrive by Monday. Perfect!

Although I fear that I am venturing down a path of dressing E up in costumes that cause him to lose water weight because they're so damn thick. I think I'm going to have to warn the daycare ladies to strip him down to his diaper before stuffing him in this--otherwise he'll need the smelling salts.

The weekend, bullet-style

• E slept in until 8:30am both Saturday AND Sunday. I literally felt God touch me with blessings when this happened two days in a row.
• I had my book club Sunday night and the discussion turned scarily descriptive about sex within minutes of sitting down and caused Starr Fish to exclaim, "Come on! We haven't even ordered yet."
• T's back hurt on Sunday, so I gave him a muscle relaxer. He fell like a tree in the forest in our living room and didn't wake up for three hours. He was also unsure what day it was.
• I shaved my legs.
• Inexplicably, E woke up on Sunday with a really bad limp on his right side. A two hour doctor's visit and five x-rays this morning revealed a crack (but not fracture) near his ankle. No need for a cast unless he keeps favoring it. Proof positive that toddlers are INDEED like drunk college students who wake up with injuries that they don't remember occuring.
• Pregnancy has caused my constipation to reach new and even more frightening levels.
• Yet again, T did the grocery shopping for the week and this resulted in me wanting to tongue-kiss him.
• Loveball came by for a visit Saturday afternoon and while T was running out to pick us up some dinner, discovered that "Enough" was on. Turns out I think Billy Campbell is kind of attractive (when he's not bitch slapping J. Lo.) and loveball thinks he looks like someone from the Archie comics.
• I started to dread this upcoming work week which can only be described as "potentially craptastic." Would love to have both Monday night and Thursday night removed from the line-up.
• At a jewelery party I went to Sunday afternoon, I ran into the woman who waxes my bikini line. If there's ever someone you don't want to run into outside of their natural setting, it's the woman who rips out hair near your vagina.
• I failed to drink enough water and experienced a few twinges of pain. I then stuck my maw to the kitchen faucet.
• I caught up on the "Real Housewives of Atlanta" on my DVR and couldn't believe that Kim's boobs didn't explode from her dress at her birthday party.
• The squirrels failed to discover that I have pumpkins on my front stoop and have yet to start eating them.

All in all...a pretty good weekend.

Come and knock on our door (just not too loudly)

Thing are beginning to mellow out.

After a good evening Wednesday night (Dinner? Eaten! Laughs? Had! Playing? Commenced!), sleepytime turned into a veritable crapstorm. Easy mellowing out, milk enjoyed, snoring--but the instant I'd lower E into the crib (which is becoming a challenge over my belly)...BING! Eyes open and tears falling. I attributed it E still feeling a bit under the weather, but after repeating this cycle three more times, I told T it might be time for the Cry It Out. And while I'd loathe to try this when E isn't 100%, it was clear we were being played. He cried for four minutes and was o.u.t. Clearly he'd been giving it the college try to keep us in the room. Nice try, son, but we're onto you.

During the crying, however, T was pacing in our living room and wringing his hands. He is not so much a fan of the crying it out, but is less of a fan of wearing his son like an afghan in a humidified room while rocking back and forth in a chair. I think he chose wisely.

After that to-do, E slept without until 4:30am-ish. A tidgy of moaning and squirrelyness, but then passed back out again.

Thursday morning dawned sunny and with less snot. T took E to school so that I could have a more leisurely morning (I work Thursday evenings at the library) and I decided that it was a good morning for: Sex and The City On Demand, Corn Pops, cutting down my hydrangeas and peonies and putting out some mums and pumpkins. I even did a load of laundry, used the blower to clean off our driveway and walkway, picked-up the house, did some ironing AND got to work early.

Back in the day I almost never arrived to work on time and was constantly thinking there was never enough time in the day to accomplish what I wanted to get done. What the hell was I ON?

I, of course, felt bad that T had to do bedtime and, potentially, the crying it out on his own--but upon arriving home, apparently E only cried for five minutes right out of the gate and we didn't from him from there. Not one peep. And he slept until 7:00am. Praise Jesus.

So, things are simmering down at our house. Fall has descended onto the Midwest. It is Friday.

Things are looking up.




Welcome to October.