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Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A Farewell To Buttons and Zippers
When I was pregnant with Firstborn I could hardly wait to get into maternity clothing. I'm not exactly sure what excited me most about wearing elastic band pants. Maybe it was the prospect of hitting up any number of all you can buffets. Maybe it was the ease in which I could now pull my pants down as I was running for the potty for the umpteenth time that day. Or maybe it was simply that I was ecstatic to have this wonderfully created tiny being inside of me. Whatever the case may be I jumped into maternity clothing much sooner than I should have.
This time around, however, I've tried putting off "the great switch" as long as possible. Well, dearly devoted, that time has come. Farewell buttons and zippers. Till we meet again.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Plunged Into The Icy Depths
I love my husband. He is a wonderfully thoughtful man with a huge reserve of patience. Let's face it, any man who is willing to commit his love and life to that of a stubborn, feisty, and often times erratic redhead is going to need HUGE reserves of patience. Having said that, it is time I tell you, my dearly devoted, of the grievous error he committed not once, but twice within a four day span.
The aforementioned grievous error took place the last week in December in the early morning hours. Some of you may know of my struggle to fall asleep. Since childhood I've had great trouble in getting to sleep. The older I become the more difficult it is. In recent years my doctor has prescribed Ambian, Ambian CR, and Lunesta to get me where I want to go. They've proven themselves to be everything they advertise on television. The problem is now that I'm pregnant I'm not allowed to partake in these aides. So once again I toss and turn for nearly two hours every night until I fall asleep. Now that I've given you the necessary background let me once more take you back to those chilly, early hours in the last week of December.
I was deep asleep and had only roused three times so far that night to relieve my bladder as pregnant women often do. I've learned not to drink anything after 7:00 including my night time ritual tea or else I'm up every hour performing this necessity. Still, it is normal for me to make my way to the bathroom, eyes shut, at least four to five times a night. I walk to the bathroom, eyes shut, in attempts to avoid waking myself to where I once more have trouble falling asleep. I even go so far as to keep the bathroom light off as well. I know the path by heart and more than once I'm sure that I've actually dozed for a few minutes while sitting in the upright position waiting to pee.
On this fateful night I was making my way, eyes shut, to the bathroom, completely dark, for the fourth time. It was on this fourth trip that I was plunged into the icy depths. With great force my hiney hit the bottom of our toilet bowl. Hubby had forgotten to put the lid down on the toilet. Not only was I cold and wet, but I was pissed - literally, physically, emotionally- anyway one could be. I can count on both hands the number of times my husband has left the lid up in the time that we've known one another. I tried to take this into consideration since he'd always been so attentive to it in the past, but taking anything into consideration in the middle of the night when your bum-bum is not only soaking wet and frigid, but slightly bruised from the force of the fall is difficult. After gathering my composure, hiney, and dignity from the bottom of the bowl I made my way back into our bedroom, eyes wide open. I recounted my ordeal in the calmest manner I could muster with a plea to always put the lid down. Hubby apologised and by the tone of his voice I could tell that he truelly was sorry. Hoping I could reclaim my night's sleep I rolled over and closed my eyes.
Two more nights passed by with no incidents. I would fight to find sleep, feel the need to relieve my bladder four or five times a night, and then go back to a warm and snuggly bed. The fourth night is a much different story, however. As you can already guess, yes, Hubby forgot to put the lid back down. Once more in the chilly, early hours of a December morning I was making my way, eyes shut, to the bathroom, completely dark. Once more I was plunged into the icy depths of our toilet with great force. You've got to be kidding me! What had happened to my once wonderfully thoughtful and patient husband? Did he not like my cooking over the past week? Had I been snoring too loudly? Was he seeing someone else and trying to find a way to "off" me, no matter how silly the cause of death might be? What was he thinking? Then it occured to me. He wasn't thinking. He was tired and simply not thinking. I don't know about you, but that reason made me angrier than any other reason he could offer. Not thinking? About his pregnant wife? If there is anything he should have learned from our previous pregnancy experience it's that he should always be thinking about his pregnant wife! I stomped back into our bedroom, eyes wide open and began my angry rant. My poor, sweet, and very tired husband felt horrible . And if I hadn't been so mad, then I might very well have felt sorry for him. But after all, it wasn't his hiney I had been toweling off just minutes before.
I'm not sure I ever got back to sleep that night. I fumed and fidgited in bed for what seemed an enternity. I must have made quite an impression upon Hubby because he has yet to leave the lid up again. God bless him. He's such a good egg.
The aforementioned grievous error took place the last week in December in the early morning hours. Some of you may know of my struggle to fall asleep. Since childhood I've had great trouble in getting to sleep. The older I become the more difficult it is. In recent years my doctor has prescribed Ambian, Ambian CR, and Lunesta to get me where I want to go. They've proven themselves to be everything they advertise on television. The problem is now that I'm pregnant I'm not allowed to partake in these aides. So once again I toss and turn for nearly two hours every night until I fall asleep. Now that I've given you the necessary background let me once more take you back to those chilly, early hours in the last week of December.
I was deep asleep and had only roused three times so far that night to relieve my bladder as pregnant women often do. I've learned not to drink anything after 7:00 including my night time ritual tea or else I'm up every hour performing this necessity. Still, it is normal for me to make my way to the bathroom, eyes shut, at least four to five times a night. I walk to the bathroom, eyes shut, in attempts to avoid waking myself to where I once more have trouble falling asleep. I even go so far as to keep the bathroom light off as well. I know the path by heart and more than once I'm sure that I've actually dozed for a few minutes while sitting in the upright position waiting to pee.
On this fateful night I was making my way, eyes shut, to the bathroom, completely dark, for the fourth time. It was on this fourth trip that I was plunged into the icy depths. With great force my hiney hit the bottom of our toilet bowl. Hubby had forgotten to put the lid down on the toilet. Not only was I cold and wet, but I was pissed - literally, physically, emotionally- anyway one could be. I can count on both hands the number of times my husband has left the lid up in the time that we've known one another. I tried to take this into consideration since he'd always been so attentive to it in the past, but taking anything into consideration in the middle of the night when your bum-bum is not only soaking wet and frigid, but slightly bruised from the force of the fall is difficult. After gathering my composure, hiney, and dignity from the bottom of the bowl I made my way back into our bedroom, eyes wide open. I recounted my ordeal in the calmest manner I could muster with a plea to always put the lid down. Hubby apologised and by the tone of his voice I could tell that he truelly was sorry. Hoping I could reclaim my night's sleep I rolled over and closed my eyes.
Two more nights passed by with no incidents. I would fight to find sleep, feel the need to relieve my bladder four or five times a night, and then go back to a warm and snuggly bed. The fourth night is a much different story, however. As you can already guess, yes, Hubby forgot to put the lid back down. Once more in the chilly, early hours of a December morning I was making my way, eyes shut, to the bathroom, completely dark. Once more I was plunged into the icy depths of our toilet with great force. You've got to be kidding me! What had happened to my once wonderfully thoughtful and patient husband? Did he not like my cooking over the past week? Had I been snoring too loudly? Was he seeing someone else and trying to find a way to "off" me, no matter how silly the cause of death might be? What was he thinking? Then it occured to me. He wasn't thinking. He was tired and simply not thinking. I don't know about you, but that reason made me angrier than any other reason he could offer. Not thinking? About his pregnant wife? If there is anything he should have learned from our previous pregnancy experience it's that he should always be thinking about his pregnant wife! I stomped back into our bedroom, eyes wide open and began my angry rant. My poor, sweet, and very tired husband felt horrible . And if I hadn't been so mad, then I might very well have felt sorry for him. But after all, it wasn't his hiney I had been toweling off just minutes before.
I'm not sure I ever got back to sleep that night. I fumed and fidgited in bed for what seemed an enternity. I must have made quite an impression upon Hubby because he has yet to leave the lid up again. God bless him. He's such a good egg.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Shame And A Sick Tummy
Shame and a sick tummy are all that I am left with at this point. I made the mistake of buying stocking stuffer sweets for Hubby and Firstborn over a week ago. Mini reece's cups and chocolate Santas have been calling my name from the bottom of my closet ever since. I thought I was showing considerable self control by only indulging one or two here and there. Obviously, I was only fooling myself. I realized this yesterday as I was adding more non-food goodies to the bag of stocking stuffers that almost all of the candy was gone.
I have two options for blame. I can accept sole responsibility as it's a widely known fact that pregnant women cannot be trusted wherever chocolate and peanut butter is of concern. Or I can try and lay blame on my husband who was alone in our house for the past five days. I'm not sure which path I'll take. I'll figure that our later. Right now I have to run out and buy more candy and some Tums.
I have two options for blame. I can accept sole responsibility as it's a widely known fact that pregnant women cannot be trusted wherever chocolate and peanut butter is of concern. Or I can try and lay blame on my husband who was alone in our house for the past five days. I'm not sure which path I'll take. I'll figure that our later. Right now I have to run out and buy more candy and some Tums.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Excuses, Excuses
It's been brought to my attention by several of my "dearly devoted" readers that I've been neglecting my duties in maintaining this blog. For that I apologize, but I have excellent excuses. Wanna hear 'em?
I'm pregnant. Maybe I should have punctuated that with an exclamation mark but I'm afraid to use my allotment. When I was in college Dr. Cross told us that at birth we are each given three exclamation points to be used throughout the course of our lifetime. We should use great care in when we make use of them. Yes, I know he was being dramatic about the overuse of this punctuation but it made quite the impression on me and I always think of it. I digress.
I'm almost nine weeks along. The morning sickness seems to have diminished greatly and I'm beginning to get some of my energy back. Those of you who know me personally know that I'm not a person who sits still often. I'm wound a bit more tightly than most people it seems. I enjoy keeping busy. So when I was spending most of the day lying as still as I possibly could on the couch watching Firstborn try to get me to play with him it made me feel all that much worse. It's not his fault that mommy and daddy wanted a fourth family member. It's not his fault that mommy was ready to yurp at any given moment. It certainly wasn't his fault that mommy didn't want to fix his favorite foods because she couldn't stand the smell of food. It was hard not being able to do the mommy things I treasure doing for my son. I'm still not back to my normal self, but I'm closer. And I can work with that.
The other excuses I have to offer up are company for Thanksgiving and Firstborn sick for over a week. Hubby's parents came out to visit us from Arkansas. We had a wonderful visit with them. I know I could have found the time to post then, but I was still lying as still as could be on the couch most of the time.
The night before they left Firstborn woke up with a case of exploding diaper and a slight fever. By the next afternoon the fever was up to 102.6. That night it went even higher. I had him at our pediatrician's office for the first available appointment the next morning. It was declared that he had a virus and to continue treating as we already had been. That night the fever was up to 104. The fever continued on for several days and didn't appear to have any interest in returning to normal so I made another appointment. This time I asked for a strep throat culture. Diagnosis: Positive. Usually kids don't get this until they're about four years or older but Firstborn has never been what you would call your usual kid. He's been on antibiotics for several days now and seems to be in a much better mood. He's slept the past three nights all through the night and that has made me extremely happy.
I hope this explains and excuses my absence and I pledge to be more punctual in my posting in the future. I go for my first ultrasound tomorrow afternoon so I hope to be able to post a few scans for you. Please pray for good health and development of our little chick.
I'm pregnant. Maybe I should have punctuated that with an exclamation mark but I'm afraid to use my allotment. When I was in college Dr. Cross told us that at birth we are each given three exclamation points to be used throughout the course of our lifetime. We should use great care in when we make use of them. Yes, I know he was being dramatic about the overuse of this punctuation but it made quite the impression on me and I always think of it. I digress.
I'm almost nine weeks along. The morning sickness seems to have diminished greatly and I'm beginning to get some of my energy back. Those of you who know me personally know that I'm not a person who sits still often. I'm wound a bit more tightly than most people it seems. I enjoy keeping busy. So when I was spending most of the day lying as still as I possibly could on the couch watching Firstborn try to get me to play with him it made me feel all that much worse. It's not his fault that mommy and daddy wanted a fourth family member. It's not his fault that mommy was ready to yurp at any given moment. It certainly wasn't his fault that mommy didn't want to fix his favorite foods because she couldn't stand the smell of food. It was hard not being able to do the mommy things I treasure doing for my son. I'm still not back to my normal self, but I'm closer. And I can work with that.
The other excuses I have to offer up are company for Thanksgiving and Firstborn sick for over a week. Hubby's parents came out to visit us from Arkansas. We had a wonderful visit with them. I know I could have found the time to post then, but I was still lying as still as could be on the couch most of the time.
The night before they left Firstborn woke up with a case of exploding diaper and a slight fever. By the next afternoon the fever was up to 102.6. That night it went even higher. I had him at our pediatrician's office for the first available appointment the next morning. It was declared that he had a virus and to continue treating as we already had been. That night the fever was up to 104. The fever continued on for several days and didn't appear to have any interest in returning to normal so I made another appointment. This time I asked for a strep throat culture. Diagnosis: Positive. Usually kids don't get this until they're about four years or older but Firstborn has never been what you would call your usual kid. He's been on antibiotics for several days now and seems to be in a much better mood. He's slept the past three nights all through the night and that has made me extremely happy.
I hope this explains and excuses my absence and I pledge to be more punctual in my posting in the future. I go for my first ultrasound tomorrow afternoon so I hope to be able to post a few scans for you. Please pray for good health and development of our little chick.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
So, You Come Here Often?
This morning I took Firstborn to the local playground. You know the kind. The community builds them and they resemble castles and forts. He was having much more fun playing in the mulch than with any actual equipment, but that's the way it goes. After we'd been there 20 minutes or so we ran into another little boy and his mommy. Turns out both boys were 18 months old.
Immediately the mommy and I began chatting. We had so much in common. We went through all the usual warm up topics: clothing, potty training, likes, dislikes. So far, so good. My mind was racing ahead with all kinds of questions and antidotes.
This was too good to be true. This was not just another seesaw set up. This felt real. I was certain I was getting a good vibe. I hadn't had such good luck in the past. If the kids clicked, then mommy and I wouldn't or vice versa. Totally not the case here. All four of us were having a great time.
I began to turn my thoughts to future trysts. Trips to the children's museum, craft time at the art store, and best of all - visiting the inflatable gyms. This relationship could work. I just knew it.
I took a deep breath and dared to ask the big question. Were they seeing anybody else? They were. A little girl on Tuesdays followed by dinner. And while she never said if it was exclusive or not I just didn't have the heart to go any further. Once again I'd let my enthusiasm get the best of me.
How long was it going to take to find the right fit? How did other mommies do it? Do I need to place an ad? "Mommy and tot son looking for a good time. Likes it dirty. Open to group dates."
I didn't want to end up one of those playground groupies. I didn't want to be the mommy always giving out her digits to any and everyone. I had standards, by golly.
As is often the case it got a little crowded when another mom and her three daughters joined us. Though they were nice and played well, it just seemed as if a damper had been put on the mood. Lucky for us it was closing in on nap time giving us a solid exit line. "It's not you. It's us. It's nap time."
Immediately the mommy and I began chatting. We had so much in common. We went through all the usual warm up topics: clothing, potty training, likes, dislikes. So far, so good. My mind was racing ahead with all kinds of questions and antidotes.
This was too good to be true. This was not just another seesaw set up. This felt real. I was certain I was getting a good vibe. I hadn't had such good luck in the past. If the kids clicked, then mommy and I wouldn't or vice versa. Totally not the case here. All four of us were having a great time.
I began to turn my thoughts to future trysts. Trips to the children's museum, craft time at the art store, and best of all - visiting the inflatable gyms. This relationship could work. I just knew it.
I took a deep breath and dared to ask the big question. Were they seeing anybody else? They were. A little girl on Tuesdays followed by dinner. And while she never said if it was exclusive or not I just didn't have the heart to go any further. Once again I'd let my enthusiasm get the best of me.
How long was it going to take to find the right fit? How did other mommies do it? Do I need to place an ad? "Mommy and tot son looking for a good time. Likes it dirty. Open to group dates."
I didn't want to end up one of those playground groupies. I didn't want to be the mommy always giving out her digits to any and everyone. I had standards, by golly.
As is often the case it got a little crowded when another mom and her three daughters joined us. Though they were nice and played well, it just seemed as if a damper had been put on the mood. Lucky for us it was closing in on nap time giving us a solid exit line. "It's not you. It's us. It's nap time."
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Mayor Of Sloppy Town
Lately I've been feeling under dressed and out of touch. The only things I've added to my wardrobe over the past three years have been maternity clothing, tee-shirts of the long and short sleeve variety, a couple of pairs of ill fitting blue jeans, and a wedding dress. Before I became pregnant my wardrobe was still somewhat stylish. Many of the pieces were several years old but still stylish. I've always taken good care of my clothing by use of Woolite and minimal use of the dryer. My past purchases have been of classic cuts and good quality. Sure, I would snag some trendy stuff here and there but only at discount prices which usually meant poorer quality.
My maternity clothing was mostly purchased from Target or J.C. Pennies. I had some really cute pieces, but let's face it, by the time the eighth month rolled around I felt like everything I put on looked like dirt. The last month of the pregnancy i retained so much water I may as well have just invested in a couple of tents at the local camping store. However, I resisted as my condition was after all, temporary. But finally the blessed occasion arrived and I excitedly awaited to return to my former petite self.
After 16 months I was able to fit back into my old jeans, even the super skinny ones. At last most of my wardrobe was once again accessible. The more outfits I tried on the more it became apparent, however that I had been a hoochie in my former life. Maybe not a full time hoochie, but a hoochie all the same.
This was not good. I was a mommy and proud to be one. A mommy did not push a stroller wearing a sheer Bebe blouse while wearing a skirt that wasn't much longer. Besides, pushing that stroller was going to be much harder while wearing those stacked stilettos that I had once been so fond of.
I begrudgingly began packing several garbage bags with the clothing I had once loved wearing out to late, late dinners and cocktail parties. I surveyed what was left on the hangers in my closet and realized that I had officially become mayor of sloppy town. My love for lounge wear had left me with years of Tee-shirts that were super soft and faded to seven times past that of original purchase. My beloved yoga pants and gym clothing were still there to comfort me, no matter that they, nor I had seen the inside of a gym since my first trimester. Where had my style gone? Was it off somewhere hanging out with my boobs? 'Cause I hadn't seen them in a while either. At least not since I weened Firstborn.
I felt completely intimidated at the thought of rebuilding an entire wardrobe. I hadn't properly maintained the one I had and now I was starting from square one. Not only would this be costly but time consuming. I once enjoyed shopping but it now seemed that i had lost that spark.
I wish I had my sister's enthusiasm for the great retail hunt. She is a trained and avid hunter and darned good at it. Never have I ever seen her wear anything that wouldn't be spread across the pages of a magazine. Her hair and makeup always looking fresh and "just right". Me, I do good to get my face washed and moisturized. I even remember days when Firstborn still had that new car smell, that washing my face merely consisted of dragging a baby wipe across cheek to cheek.
Fortunately, my sis has made the offer of taking me shopping once I have a little cash tucked away. Until then I'll be rocking out in one of my high school cross country Tee-shirts from 1993 and an ever popular pair of black yoga pants watching "What Not To Wear". Feel free to nominate me for the show.
My maternity clothing was mostly purchased from Target or J.C. Pennies. I had some really cute pieces, but let's face it, by the time the eighth month rolled around I felt like everything I put on looked like dirt. The last month of the pregnancy i retained so much water I may as well have just invested in a couple of tents at the local camping store. However, I resisted as my condition was after all, temporary. But finally the blessed occasion arrived and I excitedly awaited to return to my former petite self.
After 16 months I was able to fit back into my old jeans, even the super skinny ones. At last most of my wardrobe was once again accessible. The more outfits I tried on the more it became apparent, however that I had been a hoochie in my former life. Maybe not a full time hoochie, but a hoochie all the same.
This was not good. I was a mommy and proud to be one. A mommy did not push a stroller wearing a sheer Bebe blouse while wearing a skirt that wasn't much longer. Besides, pushing that stroller was going to be much harder while wearing those stacked stilettos that I had once been so fond of.
I begrudgingly began packing several garbage bags with the clothing I had once loved wearing out to late, late dinners and cocktail parties. I surveyed what was left on the hangers in my closet and realized that I had officially become mayor of sloppy town. My love for lounge wear had left me with years of Tee-shirts that were super soft and faded to seven times past that of original purchase. My beloved yoga pants and gym clothing were still there to comfort me, no matter that they, nor I had seen the inside of a gym since my first trimester. Where had my style gone? Was it off somewhere hanging out with my boobs? 'Cause I hadn't seen them in a while either. At least not since I weened Firstborn.
I felt completely intimidated at the thought of rebuilding an entire wardrobe. I hadn't properly maintained the one I had and now I was starting from square one. Not only would this be costly but time consuming. I once enjoyed shopping but it now seemed that i had lost that spark.
I wish I had my sister's enthusiasm for the great retail hunt. She is a trained and avid hunter and darned good at it. Never have I ever seen her wear anything that wouldn't be spread across the pages of a magazine. Her hair and makeup always looking fresh and "just right". Me, I do good to get my face washed and moisturized. I even remember days when Firstborn still had that new car smell, that washing my face merely consisted of dragging a baby wipe across cheek to cheek.
Fortunately, my sis has made the offer of taking me shopping once I have a little cash tucked away. Until then I'll be rocking out in one of my high school cross country Tee-shirts from 1993 and an ever popular pair of black yoga pants watching "What Not To Wear". Feel free to nominate me for the show.
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