Pissed.

Pin It I know -- since the time I found out I was pregnant, my blog has gone to shit. Call it a sign of things to come. But as you can imagine, I’ve been a little preoccupied. Preoccupied potty training Matthew, preoccupied handling Mary for the first time receiving an “Exceeds Standards” on her end of course math evaluation -- and then days later for the first time getting sent to the principal’s office, preoccupied getting up at the ass-crack of dawn every morning for work on urine-interrupted sleep and fighting back vomit all the way to work and halfway through the day on the puny ration of energy I have to begin with, plus crap sleep, PLUS a sudden and complete withdraw of caffeine from my diet.

I spend most of my day pissed. Pissed that I wake up starving at 3:30 in the morning. Pissed that I suddenly have an aversion to all of the delicious, healthy breakfast foods we so eagerly stocked our kitchen with the week we found out that I was pregnant. Pissed that I have to keep a barf bag within reach during my commute to work. Pissed that I’m tired beyond comprehension. Pissed that I can’t just be grouchy about those normal, perfectly expected, little parts of being 8 or 9 weeks pregnant. Most of all, I’m pissed; pissed off more than anything imaginable that I’m so scared.
I want to break something when I think about being scared. Then I want to cry that nine weeks into my pregnancy, I’m thinking about just wanting to break something, or scream at someone. I’m so happy about being pregnant, but I feel robbed of the time that should be MINE to enjoy that happiness. And that’s when I want to break something all over again.

Movie quote of the day:

Fuck you, hormones.

A celebration of love, nonetheless

Pin It Believe it or not, Spencer and I may actually be getting the hang of this whole birthday party thing -- which is good because we’ve been doing them twice a year for three years now, and are soon going to be adding another yearly bash to the agenda, too.

I baked him a Thomas the Tank Engine cake. No pre-shaped cake pan here; every year for the kids’ birthdays I make them a special hand-crafted cake. One year I made Mary (who has a summer birthday) two flip flop shaped cakes with fruit roll-up straps. For Matthew’s first birthday I built him a truck cake, taking a normal sheet cake and cutting it into rectangles and squares, then fashioning them into the shape of a pick-up, and decorating it with candy. At my job once, my boss had me decorate her son’s cake with real tractor toys and fashion it into a construction site scene, which I used a mixture of cookie crumbs, icing and different textured ice cream toppings to make. Last year I did a hula girl cake for Mary, and this year I took a crack at Thomas. It was the most challenging one I’d done by far, partly because the bulk of Thomas is curved and he has a completely circular face. It turned out though, that shaping the cake was the part that gave me the least difficulty and it was icing it that took the longest and didn’t turn out nearly as pristinely as I was imagining. But then again, I kept telling myself, this is being built purely for the purpose of being demolished by a two year old. I could have worked on it more, but I didn’t see the necessity.

We got up bright and early that morning so that we could make a last minute run to a few places for remaining party supplies. In our rush to get our the door with enough time to get back and get ourselves, Matthew and the house together - we forgot that it was Sunday and that Sheila’s party world didn’t open for another two hours. Then Super G’s cakes sucked. Then they didn’t have Thomas balloons, so we had to settle for cute, but generic “Happy Birthday” ones. Then the floral department at Super G ran out of helium 1 balloon short of the 3 for 12 sale, so one of our balloons never got inflated. Then something else happened that warranted me to let out one long, frustrated, “Fu-uck…” only to have Matthew repeat it back to me in the exact same, frustrated huff that he’d heard it in. Ah. Nothing like hearing your kid repeat the world’s worst profanity to lift your spirits and make you forget with a chuckle about all the day’s problems.

It all worked out. Spencer made a second run out while Matt took a nap and I scrubbed the house down from floor to ceiling. My friend came early to keep me company while I finished getting myself ready and then Spencer got home just in time for us to decorate before the guests showed up. The nap did Matthew well. We were meltdown free THE WHOLE TIME. And let me tell you, that’s a big deal for a two year old on a big day. He greeted all of the guests with big smiles and played with his best friend Marty from daycare without beating him up or gauging his eyes out for looking at the wrong toys, and he even listened with a little bit of interest when I read each card, and said “thank you” to all of the right people after every gift. For a few people, he even climbed down from the papasan chair to give them a great, big thank you hug. Every gift, from the smallest to the biggest was a huge hit. He made a killing.

After that we turned the lights out and sang “Happy Birthday,” a song we’ve had 10 days since his actual birthday to get him used to; at this point he knows how to sing the whole song on his own, but he didn’t join in. I got a video of him making a meek, untrusting effort to blow out the candles, but there isn’t much to it because he is deathly afraid of fire (which is our doing, since we have a gas stove that he’s tall enough now to reach his hand up to the burners of). We already knew to expect this, since on his actual birthday 10 days ago Spencer and I gave him a football ice cream cake whose candles he refused to blow out then, too, saying “No… fire is hot!”

Family left after a few hours, and we got to share the big “we’re doing it all over again” news. Our friends stayed later while Matthew got to show off and play with some of his toys - two of a toddler’s favorite things to do. When they left, Spencer and I sat on the living room floor and assembled all of his new toys, then picked up all of the trash. By seven, nearly everything was back to normal; trash bagged up, party supplies folded together for storage, uneaten chips re-bagged, dishes in the sink and balloons popped.

I’m the only one with anywhere to go in the morning, so I was ready for bed around nine, although Matt had other plans. He decided that 18 rounds of his Thomas & Friends: It’s Great To Be An Engine book was just not enough for one night, and he cried for an hour straight after being put to bed.... Clear through Spencer and I trying to squeeze in a few minutes of Valentine’s Day celebration. {You know, Matthew, since the whole DAY revolved around you already!!} But, it didn’t take long for us to agree we’d really enjoy having him in bed with us for the evening anyway. Spencer got him and Matthew crawled up to the pillows, making himself at home right in between Mommy & Daddy. We turned the T.V. on and watched a whale documentary that was right up Matthew’s alley. He gave us each a turn running his fingers through our hair, mimicking the way that I run mine over his when I’m telling him how much I love him. Spencer and I chuckle to each other about how perfectly adorable he is, and I fall asleep.

I wake up a little while later to Matthew nuzzling the side of his head into my chest, trying to find a comfortable way to fall asleep and Spencer picks him up to put him to bed, which he’s finally ready for and goes without a fight.

I couldn’t have asked for a better Valentine’s Day, and Spencer agrees with me before kissing me goodnight.

This time around

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The best part of having a day off from a blizzard for a kid: destroying your little brother with snowballs and not getting in trouble for it.

The best part of having a day off from a blizzard for a parent: Just getting to share a bowl of cheerios with your kid at breakfast time.

This pregnancy has timed itself out well. I’m really proud of the fact that I let myself forget that we were trying long enough for me to actually miss a period. When I was able to test, we were pretty confident that the result was going to be positive. The first thing on my long list of “to-do’s” for this particular pregnancy was to have Spencer there with me when the good news arrived on that little urine stick of wonder… You know, “the most advanced piece of technology you will ever pee on.” He was. And we high-fived.

We were able to test on a Saturday, when I was officially seven days late. We had all weekend to soak it up, share the news with the kids, and talk baby talk over great big breakfasts. Then the blizzard hit a few days later. And all four of us were snowed in for two days throughout the normal school/workweek. It was nice to be home this week, where I could gush freely about my excitement and where I could nap at four o’clock in the afternoon and where I could go through boxes of Matthew’s old newborn khakis and sweaters.

I’ve calculated that I’m about seven weeks along already, based on the first day of my last period - the method obstetricians use - which means that my early pregnancy symptoms are, yes, in full, full swing. This time around, though, I’ve promised myself (and the poor saps around me) that I’m going into this battlefield prepared. The first thing that we did when we got the news was … well, go out to breakfast… BUT after that, the first thing that we did was head to the grocery for the itinerary. Plenty of breakfast food, rich in whole grains and carbs… Good stomach settlers that take longer to digest, so they keep you feeling fuller longer. That’s important because hunger is a main culprit of morning sickness. We also got half caff coffee, crackers, ginger ale, and a few things of V8 Splash so that I could kick start my fruit & veggie servings everyday, whether my stomach is up for carrot sticks or not.

So far, this baby is giving me a run for my money. I didn’t expect anything less, because Matthew was the same way. In the early stages of my first pregnancy, I’d get to feeling nauseous as soon as I woke up and nothing would sound appetizing; The longer I went hungry the worse the nausea got, until I felt like anything I looked at would bring up 32 gallons of churning stomach acid. When I finally did eat, I’d vomit. And that’s about the only time I actually felt a little bit of relief. I was always hungry, always unsatisfied and always sick for the first few months.

This time, I vowed to be prepared. Since this will probably be my last pregnancy, it’s important to me that I take care of myself so that when this time all-too-quickly becomes just another memory, I’ll be able to say that I drank up all of the enjoyment out of it that I possibly could. At night before I go to bed, I leave crackers on the nightstand so that I can have them before my head even leaves the pillow. If I don’t have the chance to get hungry in the first place - especially first thing in the morning when it’s always at it’s worst - then I have a good head start. Also, being able to munch a few in the middle of the night when I wake up for that middle-of-the-night-pee, I’ve found can make all the difference in the world. I keep myself very well hydrated and if I’m in the mood for something, I DEVOUR IT. Right away; no waiting until that deceptive little whisper of a craving turns into a full-blown hostage situation in the bathroom. I eat right away, and I surely don’t pick at my food, but I make sure to keep my portions in line - because a too-full belly in this stage of pregnancy has it’s own consequences. I make sure to eat the best that I can, while my tummy can handle it. I don’t know what my belly will be able to handle in a month from now so while I have my symptoms under control as well as I do, I’m trying to stock up on those important nutrients.

Also, I don’t have the option of taking naps throughout the workweek, so on the weekends, I plan to take full advantage of any time I have to sleep. This is not normally an easy task for me because the weekends are a time for me to catch up on housework or playtime with the kids that I miss out on throughout the week - but I’ve gotten in the habit of at least letting myself slip in a short ten to fifteen minutes. If I can handle longer, than I plan to splurge.

So far, I’ve been really proud of myself for being able to counter these little symptom attacks. Even Spencer has noticed, which when he mentioned it, made me feel like I was on top of the world. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

Hey Baby!

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The first belly pic,

(Oh, yes, I totally plan to do this)

The little one

Big brother, big sister

This is them saying "Yay, Baby!"

Right now, this new little one is tucked somewhere behind the elastic in my pajama pants; growing, shaping, being. Whoever they are, they are very, very busy becoming more and more real... Becoming just another miracle being who will for the rest of it's existance put the beat in my heart. Right now they are in the sesame seed stage: one of the stages I remember most clearly learning about with Matthew. To this day since his birth, whenever we come across a sesame seed, Spencer and I show it to each other and reminisce about when he was "just that tiny."

There is a plate forming right now that is a heart in the making, though it hasn’t yet begun to beat. They have the beginnings of a brain and two beady, little peepers that someday will hopefully (fingers crossed) be the beautiful brown color of their daddy's eyes. I’m told that my uterus will grow more rapidly this time around because this little somebody’s big brother has already (quote): “warmed it up” for them. I still have a long ways to go before I can dust off those old maternity jeans (or... you know, blow the nursery budget on a trendy new maternity wardrobe -- whichever comes first), but all I can think about is how I cannot wait to get fat.

Speaking of which, I caught up on some reading first thing yesterday morning that reminded me of the extra three hundred calories a day I owe it to my little one to consume. Well, if that isn’t the best excuse in the world to go to Old Country Buffet for breakfast, then I don’t know what is! Matthew’s birthday party was rescheduled from that day to next week because of the six foot snow drifts lining the streets. We plowed through the snow banks at the end of the driveway in the minivan and took a few pictures of the snow covered house on our way to breakfast. As we drove past rooftops lined with icesicle and front yard snowmen, I thought about what a nice weekend this was celebrate the expansion of our family.

Little Marks On My Belly

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I can’t sleep. I know that I have a long day of fatigue ahead of me this snow buried Sunday, but can you really blame me? Yesterday I walked around the house in a giddy haze after I took the test, touching my belly, daydreaming, hugging everybody, daydreaming some more, and running my fingers along the ridges of stretch marks that line the rubbery muscle of my stomach where that two year old over there used to lie and squirm and kick and hiccup inside of me. I have a hard time believing that that phase of my life ever really physically happened. If it weren’t for those stretch marks, I don’t think I would.

Sometimes in the shower I think back to when I got them. In the last stretch of pregnancy, with only days to go before my due date, Spencer noticed the first shimmering indication; it was almost pretty. Almost. Up until then, I was so proud of the glowing expand of unsoiled skin that wrapped around my baby - as if it were something I’d actually accomplished myself and not plain, dumb luck. If Matthew weren’t a week “late” from the estimated due date the doctor had calculated, then I wouldn’t have half of them. Once I’d lost the baby weight and my stomach began to reshape itself into something more closely resembling the figure of an active twenty-two year old woman, the stretch marks softened and lowered into a place below the button of my jeans. They’ve become a secret between only me, my husband and the son who gave them to me.

Although these marks are shrill and unforgiving; although they are a physical imperfection and they will never fade completely, they are the proudest part of who I am. They are the Mom in me - flawed and real and rich with history. They remind me of the growth of my child, but mostly the growth of his mother.

Little marks on my belly, you are a right of passage into the best place I’ve ever been.

My Morning...

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Oh, not bad. :-)

The Man is Officially Two!

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I remember waking up on this day… Waking up, a mom.
It was my first day on the job. Two in the morning on February 5th. I wondered how I could have ever fallen asleep. I turned over and my eyes fell onto that plastic basinet on wheels next to me, Spencer lying in the bed beyond that. Both of my boys were fast asleep.
I loved that these were ‘my boys.’

After all of this time, he was right there at my fingertips. “A lot of effort had gone into getting you here, kid,” I whispered to him. I pulled the basinet next to me. “It’s hard to believe that from now on all I have to do to get to you is wake up.” I lifted him up to me, cradled him underneath of my chest and peeled away at the thin layer of blankets, trying not to wake him up. I let my eyes dance along the underlying skin of his scrawny little neck and his proud, naked chest; watched as they rose and they fell with the harmonious rhythm of his breath. It was a melody I couldn’t believe I’d ever been able to live without. My eyes followed the dips and curves of his body, cheeks and chin and little whispery eyebrows. His lips swung up and broke like a wave over his chin. I kissed them, felt them move just a little into mine, and then he woke up.

This was my first day as a mom. This was the first in a long line of ‘best days of my life.’

Yesterday was just another.

Happy birthday, my love.

This is a link to a video of Matthew reading his own birthday balloon.

How far he's come...

http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=1BatHLhmxZuQA

Just Another Day in Paradise

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He says he likes this one because ("even though we both look retarded")
it shows how he just can't get enough of me.

My husband texts me about Matthew’s doctors appointment coming up sometime this week - we aren’t sure if it’s today, and if it is, whether we’ll actually make it there or not. It’s already 5:45 and I’m just beginning to pack up the minivan, to make my way down 141, and all the way back home from work. Matthew hasn’t had a doctor’s appointment in ages, so taking him isn’t a part of our regular routine anymore, the way it was when he was a baby. Things that fall beyond the boundaries of our normal routine are in dangerous territory… Between the two of us, they always get screwed up.

I get in the door, and by the grace of God, it isn’t today. My husband hugs me in front of the fridge and tells me it isn’t until Friday, pointing to the appointment card under an insurance magnet. We both laugh at what awful parents we are and he tells me he missed me. Mary walks in the kitchen doorway, clumsily holding Matthew who is practically as big as she is, sliding down her leg, then being hoisted back up with a jolt that knocks Mary backward a step or two. He’s clinging to her for dear life but smiling from ear-to-ear; he’d only laugh if he fell so he isn’t afraid of being dropped. It wouldn’t be the first time. Mary’s grounded from watching t.v. tonight. She runs down the list of extra chores she did after school and I give her a high five. They both give me a kiss and then roam down the hall to reek some havoc.

Spencer’s already got dinner sizzling, stirring it with a wooden spoon. I grab his neck while he’s stirring and pull his face down to my level, kiss him on the cheek. I tell him I’m taking a nice, hot bubble bath while the kids are actually behaving. Thanks for doing dinner. In between stirring and adding spices, he meets me in the bathroom, shuts the door behind himself and stands against the sink. He tells me about his day at work and about the cute things that Matthew said on the way home from daycare, about his short nap, about Kirsten picking on Mary again, about how beautiful I am with my hair up that way, about how much he loves me. He leaves to go stir, then comes back, and he hands me my towel. He leaves again, then comes back to grab the plunger.

When he comes back again, he yells for Mary, then asks her what she put down the kitchen sink, while he washes his hand… Tells me the kitchen sink was clogged and now there’s poop in the sink. We ask Mary if she cleaned up cat poop and decided to put it in the kitchen sink. She gets angry, “No!” Spencer corrects me, this isn’t cat poop. This is real poop. “Why would I put poop down the sink?”
“Yeah, babe, I don’t think even Mary would do that.” I can’t help laughing, even though everyone else is mad. Then Mary laughs. Then Spencer laughs. The problem gets fixed. It wasn’t poop. It was just disgusting.

We put Matthew to bed, Spencer reads to him down the hall while I help Mary through her multiplication homework. Spencer pours himself and I each a glass of beer, and we eat spaghetti in front of the T.V., laugh all the way through The Office, Spencer makes fun of me for getting sucked into the commercials, we fall asleep with the dishes on the nightstand next to the bed. We almost forget to set the alarm.

“I love our life,” he tells me during a commercial.
….. “What? Did you say something?” He just kisses me on the forehead, sweetly condescending.
“Shut up. I do too.”