What it is like

Our little Anna has been outside of my belly for 11 days now. It was odd that first weekend. I could remember everything I was doing the previous weekend when I was still pregnant. And now I'm not. Felt strange.

She's a good baby. Only has started crying in the last day or two. Sure, she doesn't really sleep on her own without being cuddled, and she eats every hour or so, but she's a good baby. Not much bothers her. It seems like it's true what they say about babies getting used to their surroundings when they are in the womb. Ben has been just as noisy as before, and she barely flinches.

On Monday and Tuesday of this week, Ben spent half days at his old daycare. He went absolutely wild with joy to go back there. The time without Ben around has been crucial for my relationship with Anna and my mental health. I'm able to ease into this whole newborn thing... It's tough, but there's something very sweet and instinctual about these early days.

He can't stay at daycare, though, and I have to figure out how to take care of both of them at the same time without help. So yesterday, Ben stayed home with us and Chris went to work. Wow. It sucked.

We really have to figure out a way to get Ben to nap. Yesterday morning, he was giving me the sleepy, naptime cues, so I put Anna in her bassinet and walked with Ben upstairs. We cuddled for a little bit, and I tucked him in. Then he freaked out and had a meltdown at the babygate, throwing his nuks and his blankets over the barrier. I went back up after 10 minutes, this time with Anna, and we cuddled some more and talked about naptime. Anna and I left, and another meltdown insued.

Maybe it was because I was desperate for a nap myself. Maybe it was because I knew that he needed a nap, too. I let him cry it out. He screamed and hollered (not crying) for 45 freaking minutes. Eventually, he passed out in his cuddle chair without a blanket and without a nuk. And he only slept for about thirty minutes. Oh well. I got some more sleep.

The afternoon went better. I set him up with a couple art projects, and he was a little happier with life. Sure, he was so unbelievably tired by dinnertime, he had huge bags under his eyes, but I survived the day without duct taping him to the highchair, so I consider it a victorious day. He went grocery shopping with Chris after dinner and went to bed without much struggle. (Of course he's gotten up about six times since then, crying whenever Anna squeaks, but hey. Can't win them all.)

I feel for the kid. I really do. This new life isn't as much fun for him. He has to share my lap with a squirmy little baby who he can't hold and hug as much as he would like. We are almost constantly doing some kind of care for Anna, and it's tough to interact with him as much as we used to. I've started singing songs with him while I'm nursing Anna, but it's not the same if I can't do the hand motions with him.

Anna is good. Love her to bits. So sweet and precious. I even love her cry. It's adorable to watch her whole face look so pitiful and miserable and hear her gasping, angry cries. She was getting really wound up this evening when we were trying to nurse, and I couldn't help but giggle. Chris thought I was nuts. Hey. It's a coping mechanism.

Interview With a Cheryl

Questions Provided By: Candace and Anna.

The way it works: She was interviewed by someone whose blog she reads. I read her blog every day, and I volunteered to let her interview me. Here are the questions she asked and my answers. If you want to volunteer to answer five itty-bitty questions, just leave a comment or send me an email. I love getting to know people, and it'll give me some use of my almost-received journalism degree.


1) I know you aren't overly fond of holidays. Tell me what you want Ben and Anna to remember about Christmas or Thanksgiving.

You're right. The holidays don't really mean much to me. I've never really gotten into the whole decorating and preparation thing. As a matter of fact, I usually forget to shop for gifts. Maybe my SAHM status will change my feelings about it (not this year, maybe next); we'll see. Regardless of whether or not I ever make wreaths or create a paper turkey centerpiece, I know already what I want Ben and Anna to remember about the holidays. Family. I'm blessed that all of my brothers and sisters live in the same state. As adults, we still try to get to my parents' house for the holidays, though sometimes we miss each other by a few hours.

For the longest time, the only children in the family were my nephews who are now 14 and 7. Two nieces were added by marriage, now ages 13 and 8. Then my sister and I got married and started families. Then my sister-in-law announced a third pregnancy. By Christmas 2008, there will be at least four children under the age of three gathered at my parents' house, creating chaos, joy and lovely memories. We have a large extended family that is totally wrapped up in our children, celebrating all the precious moments, exciting developments, etc. I want Ben and Anna to remember how focused we all were on the children in our lives.

2) What is the most sentimental thing you have in your home? Tell us about it.

This was the hardest question for me. Since college, I've worked very hard at editing my possessions. Maybe I watched too much "Clean House." I don't have a lot of keepsakes lying around. I have a few sentimental items, though I don't know which is the most sentimental and none of them are important enough to me to carry out with me if the house was on fire. I'd grab my children and their most loved things, not mine. I think this lack of sentimentality relates to my apathy for the holidays.

The sentimental items that I have include a framed cross-stitch that Chris's Grandpa Garrett made for us to commemorate our marriage. He finished it about a week before our wedding. Another is a painting of a lighthouse that his Grandma Dixie painted and gave to us as a present. Then there is the framed collage of our first year of marriage. It includes our wedding announcement, a picture of Chris kissing my cheek at our reception, pictures we had taken three weeks before Ben was born, one of which has Chris hugging my hugely pregnant belly, and our first family picture taken at the hospital with Ben all swaddled and wrinkly and cute.

Beyond those, there are some items I've kept from my years as a single girl. A wooden statue of a yogi in melancholic contemplation. The first carving I ever had really strong feelings for. He looked so sad in that pose, I knew I had to take him home with me and keep him safe while he sorted through his despair. It doesn't take a psychologist to realize that I transferred my own feelings onto the statue. For what it's worth, he's in a box in the attic right now. I also have half a dozen 5x7 framed prints of lovely fine art scenes. Lots of soft, subtle colors and happy images. I plan on hanging those on Anna's side of the room. I selected each print carefully because it reminded me of something from my childhood or something from a favorite book.

3) Nursing was a HUGE part of my relationship with my Anna. What is your favorite part of nursing? I know it is early to ask this question but I am assuming you nursed Ben as well. I am proud of you for your determination to keep trying with Anna!

My mom nursed me exclusively for the first year. She always told me that nursing her children was the most precious part of being a mother. She still recalls fondly the soft caresses of tiny little hands lovingly petting her bare skin. Naturally, the concept appealed to me.

With Ben, I expected to nurse him. Of course I also expected to go to full term with him. I didn't, and Ben struggled to go to breast. He latched on a few times, our lactation consultant approved the latch, and his pediatrician discharged him from the hospital at the normal time, not the standard 4-5 day minimum they now have for all babies who spend any time in the NICU. When we got home, we spent a frustrating two days trying to get him to breast again. He didn't. All he wanted to do was sleep. At our two-day follow-up at his pediatrician's office, we were quickly sent back to the NICU to be re-admitted. He had lost too much weight, was severely jaundiced and had the awful label of "failure to thrive." With a lot of tears, my life as a pumper began, and we made the decision to pump exclusively and give up trying to get him to breast.

With Anna, I wasn't going to just automatically start pumping without trying really hard to nurse. Part of it was remembering the words of my mother who still glows when she talks about how wonderful nursing was, part of it was that I knew how terribly hard it would be to pump all the time with a newborn and a toddler to take care of by myself. Imagine then, my utter joy when I not only got Anna to latch, but got her to nurse for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. We've had a few setbacks since she got home, but she'll go to breast at least four or five times a day. I'm loving it. I'm loving the close contact. I love how her eyes cross when she concentrates on a point right in front of her nose.

I'm not forcing the issue with her. When she's hungry, I offer her a choice of positions at each breast, but if she doesn't latch, we give her the bottle. It's getting to the point now where she'll usually go to breast at least fifty percent of the time. I only need to pump twice a day to make enough milk for all of her supplement bottles. Yay us!

4) Is it true? Does your love just grow and expand to make room for the second one?

This was something I thought about when we were thinking about another child and even more when we were expecting. Ben is my sunshine, he's my favorite part of life, he's a constant source of delight and wonder and bliss. How on earth could I feel that strongly for another baby? I didn't worry a lot about it. I just figured I'd deal with whatever happens when it happened.

When Anna was born, I was immediately filled with overwhelming tenderness and concern. Did I love her the same way as I love Ben? No. It's different. A lot of my feelings for Ben involve our history together, how we've bonded over the months, the love and laughter we've shared, etc. It's not just instinctual mother love. I love Anna, and I'm falling more in love with her every day. The place where Anna is in my heart is separate from Ben, so she's not replacing him or crowding him out, and my love for Ben is not constricting my ability to love Anna.

By the way, Candace, you're right about postpartum depression affecting the bonding process. When I had that meltdown a few days postpartum, I was ready to leave. Just pack up my stuff and get the heck out of town. I wanted to leave Chris, Ben and Anna and just go away and not ever have to be a mother or a wife again. It just shows you how much depression can overtake any feelings of love and commitment. My hormones are balanced better now, and I'm back to my usual self for the most part.

5) What is your dream vacation (family or couple)? Where would you go and what would you be sure to do?

In reality, any vacations we take as a family "need" to be to visit Chris's family since they live so far away and have only seen Ben once. We're going in February. In my head, I know exactly what I'd rather do.

Before I became a proofreader, I was a nanny for a lovely family in town. They weren't filthy rich, but comfortably well off and with some family money. Their extended family owns a villa in the Bahamas. They let me and a friend use the villa for a week several years back. It was lovely. Absolutely wonderful. It's a very quiet location, not very public and touristy. Perfect for children. That's where I'd go with my family. We'd wake up in the mornings and cook pancakes. Then we'd go for a walk on the beach and build sandcastles.

The End.

Home Again Jiggety Jig

Anna was discharged yesterday afternoon. I was shocked, but happy. She was eating well in the hospital, all of her blood tests were coming back fine, and she wasn't overly jaundiced (a 9.7 at that point). So I intermittently packed up our room and nursed her throughout the day, waiting for the eventual discharge that takes so long.

Ben and my mom stopped by for an hour, and Ben got to spend some quality time with Anna. So darn cute. Hurt to breathe. When he came into the room, he walked right up to me holding her, and gave her a big hug and pet her head like she was a cat. Then we went though the labeling game. "Where's Anna's ear?" "Where's Anna's hand?" "Where's Anna's nose?" That last one was probably a mistake since he promptly shoved his finger up her nostril.

We took the obligatory pictures of Ben holding her on his lap. He was very gentle with her, and even pressed his cheek against hers a few times. His excitement levels kept growing, and he got a little manic. Soon, he was bored and shoved her off of his lap, and I had to catch her quickly and bring her back to the safety of my arms. I laughed at that, since it was so typical and so totally what he does with his baby doll.

Ben smiled and pulled her back onto his lap and pulled a blanket over her like he was tucking her in. I laughed at that, too, since it was so sweet. Something clicked in Ben's head, and he figured out a great way to get Mommy to laugh. He shoved her off of his lap immediately, and then quickly pulled her back on, covering her with a blanket. Then shove. Then pull back. Blanket. Repeat about four times until I was totally sure that he was just doing it for my reaction, which was joy and laughter and amusement.

For the record, I was guiding Anna back and forth and at no time was she actually in danger.

My mom took Ben home with her to Minocqua so Chris and I will have a couple of days home with Anna alone. We're busy with Anna, but the house feels so empty without him. He'll be brought back tomorrow evening, and then the fun will really begin.

Anna has been a sweetheart, and Chris and I are very busy falling more in love with her every second. When we got home, she decided she wasn't going to nurse anymore. My milk had come in like gangbusters, and I'm hard as a rock. Even with the engorgement, she still has to suck at least fifteen times before the flow starts, and she got so frustrated and refused. Over and over again. We're on orders to supplement her nursing with either expressed breastmilk or formula every two to three hours, so she wasn't starving, but it was still kind of upsetting that we were taking a step back with the whole nursing thing. I pumped a couple of times, and I'm producing so much, we now have a supply of breastmilk for more than eight supplemental feedings.

This morning before we left the house for her NICU check, she finally came around and nursed. She did it twice before our appointment. She was so hungry after we gave her the little bottle of supplement, but she wasn't starving enough to freak out with frustration. Such a relief to finally get that going again.

I made a promise to myself that even if she kept refusing to nurse, I wasn't going to give up, and I would keep trying to get her to breast for at least a month before letting go of that dream and just pumping. Her neonatalogist says that after two weeks, I can wean her off of the supplements and can insist on her going to the breast, and just wait it out until she gets hungry enough to do it. But we can't do that until she's at least gained enough weight to be at her birth weight again. (6 lbs 8.1 oz, today at 6 lbs 1.5 oz). I have faith that she'll keep up with the nursing though.

Her jaundice level is up. She's an 11.7 today, but that's still low enough to forego treatment. We have another appointment tomorrow afternoon, so we'll see how she's doing then. We have to keep feeding her almost constantly to keep her bile levels down, but that's okay.

Right now, Chris is at work for the afternoon, and Anna is curled up against my chest, fast asleep. The laptop is resting on the boppy on my lap. Life is pretty good. I could fall asleep at a moment's notice, but that's normal.

Portrait of an Anna as a newborn

Anna is out of the isolette now and in a little crib. She's totally off oxygen and is keeping her temperature up well. Hopefully, the IV will be off by tomorrow. The best news of all: They're letting me put her to breast every three hours, and she's actually latching on and sucking for a few seconds before she loses interest. The first time she actually wrapped her mouth around my nipple, I felt like Super Mommy.

Time For A Story

Here's a more detailed version of Anna's birth story.

I was sound asleep when I felt the subtle "pop" down below that reminded me of Ben's "pop." Chris was still at work, as he is every Saturday night. I stayed in bed, not moving, holding my breath in wonder. After about three minutes, I had a sharp contraction that felt more painful than the ones I usually had in bed. When I shifted position to get out of bed to use the restroom, I felt the gush of water that confirmed my suspicion that my membranes had ruptured.

I waddled to the bathroom, fluid leaking slowly down my legs. After spending a minute on the toilet, releasing more of the water, I went slowly into action. I called Chris at work and told him it was "go time." I called my mother to tell her it was Anna's birthday. She needed to be called since she was going to be Ben's childcare during the labor and delivery process.

Since I hadn't taken a shower at all on Saturday, I stripped down and climbed on in, washing quickly and enjoying the warm water through a couple more contractions. Chris came home while I was in there, and boy, was he mad that I was on my feet. I told him to bite me. I said it could be hours before I delivered, and I didn't want to be stinky through that whole ordeal.

While Chris was running around like a headless chicken, packing our still unpacked hospital bag, gathering clothes for me to wear, etc., I dried off and got dressed again, then again since I quickly soaked my pants when the next contraction provided another deluge of fluid. Chris woke up Ben and got him bundled into his jacket and blanket, and we all piled into the car with me sitting on a much-needed towel.

I was contracting every three minutes, and they were quite uncomfortable. I was irritable and snapping at Chris for talking to me while I was concentrating. We live ten minutes from the birthing center, so the trip didn't take long. He got me a wheelchair, and our little family rode the elevator to that wonderful destination where they provide epidurals and drugs.

By the time I got undressed and into bed, my contractions were awful. The first thing I said to my nurse was that I wanted the epidural ordered as soon as possible. She said we'd have to wait for my doctor to get there and she'd have to check my dilation. Soon, I was contracting every two minutes, and I was crying and wailing through each one. The nurse checked me and said she had good news and bad news. The bad news was that there wouldn't be time for an epidural, and the good news was that I was already 8 centimeters dilated. I cried even harder.

Mind you, poor Ben was in the room for this whole thing. He was sitting on the couch on the other side of the room, bundled in his cuddle blanket, watching all the flurry. My mom lives 75 minutes away, but we were expecting hours of labor and time for drugs, so we hadn't arranged any immediate childcare for Ben. That was a mistake. By 2:40, I was screaming with every contraction, begging for drugs over and over again. The nurses took Ben out to the nurses station where he stayed and played catch with them and played happily.

Everything went so quickly, though it felt like an eternity to me at the time. I was on my left side, hanging onto the side rail for dear life while my body put me through the most awful agonies. Chris stayed behind me, massaging my low back as hard as he could. The only time I even felt like talking to him was to hurt him for yelling at me to breathe through the contractions. I couldn't concentrate enough to breathe. I have a low tolerance for pain, and I was in a total panic with how intense "transitioning" was.

Around 3:15, amid the terrible spasms, I felt a sudden burning down below, and my instinct was to crawl out of my body, away from the pain. I screamed, "The baby is coming!," and my nurse told me that it wasn't possible since the doctor wasn't even there yet. I told her I didn't think that would matter, and a whole rush of people came into the room, rushing to get ready. My doctor walked in at that moment and quickly suited up while everybody was yelling at me not to push. I still don't know how women manage not to push in moments like that. My body was acting on its own, and I had no control over it. I did manage to not push really hard, and they did get the bottom of the bed removed, my feet into stirrups and an incredibly quick cervical exam to verify that I was complete.

Five seconds later, another contraction rocked my body, and I pushed with all my might. I took a quick breath and pushed hard again, and in the middle of that push, Anna shot out like a torpedo. There wasn't a delay after the head was delivered where they could suck out her nose and mouth. There wasn't a pause for the next contraction. I felt a rush of pressure and felt her slithering out, all slick and bumpy. The ring of fire people talk about had happened before I had even gotten into position, since I was already crowning when I screamed that she was coming.

She was quickly put in an isolette where they rubbed her and sucked out all the gunk and vigorously handled her until she cried. They kept working on her while my doctor stood in front of me with her gloved fingers in my whacker, massaging me until I had another contraction when I expelled the placenta. They swaddled Anna and let me hold her for a second before they took her to the NICU.

My OB was shocked by the state of my placenta. She said it was what a 41-week placenta should look like. Very calcified and aged. "No wonder you delivered at 34 weeks." She hypothesized that I had probably never implanted very well.

She worked on cleaning me up, and ended up having to put in a row of stitches almost a centimeter long. Since I delivered so quickly, my skin had absolutely no time to stretch, and I ripped right open. Oh well.

After it was all over, I was just in shock as to how quickly everything went. And I was just a little miffed that once again, I probably wouldn't get a lot of respect from my friends about my childbirth experience. With Ben, I wimped out and had an epidural, so that birth didn't count. With Anna, sure it was natural, but it only lasted an hour and a half. :)

My mom arrived about 15 minutes after the birth, much to her shock and sheer surprise. She stayed for about 30 minutes until she and Chris got the go-ahead to see Anna for the first time in the NICU. Ben was wired like a top, and she took him home to wind down and sleep.

So where are things now? Anna was on her CPAP oxygen machine all day, though I went into the NICU often to hold her hand and touch her and marvel over how damn cute she is. Surprisingly dark hair and perfect features. They finally took her off the machine around 6 pm this evening, and they'll let me feed her tonight at 9. I've been pumping all day to get a supply going, and I'm looking forward to getting her to latch on so we can stop washing the darn pump parts.

Ben has visited me a few times when my mom brought over visitors, but he won't be able to see Anna until she's in my room and out of the NICU.

I can hardly wait to hold her close and nuzzle her. I've been beaming all day, happy as a lark and oh so proud. I have a daughter!

She's Here!

I'll write out a full birth story later, but for now, I'll just share the main points.

I kept contracting on Friday and yesterday, even with the procardia. My bedrest became more total, but I wasn't very uncomfortable.

My water broke last night around 1:45. We got to the hospital at 2:15. I was 8 centimeters dilated already, and they cruelly refused to even consider giving me any pain medication. :) Jerks.

At 3:15, my doctor hadn't come in the room yet, but I felt Anna crowning. I screamed, "That baby's coming," and involuntarily started pushing while they were shifting me over onto my back. My doctor jumped into her scrubs and quickly checked my cervix, but Anna was halfway through the canal already. It took a push and a half to get her out. She was born at 3:20.

6 lbs. 8 oz.
18.5 in.

She's doing quite well, considering how early she is. She's on an oxygen machine, and I haven't been able to hold her yet, though I get to talk to her and touch her a lot.

Isn't that a kick in the pants? Such an insanely quick labor. I'm doing okay. Started pumping already, and I'm already expressing a decent amount. Anna should be off of the machines by tomorrow morning.

My New Job

I'm no longer a stay-at-home mom. I'm a stay-at-home pregnant lady.

I was discharged this morning with a prescription for procardia to relax my uterus. I'm on total bedrest with bathroom privileges.

So how does a mother of a toddler go on complete bedrest? Yeah. I don't know. For now, my mom is taking my precious sweet boy home with her until tomorrow night. Chris will be here over the weekend. And next week, we'll play it by ear. My mom can come down a couple times at the beginning of the week, and we might have to have Ben go back to daycare closer to the end of the week.

I will be bored out of my mind without Ben here to keep me company. While I was in the hospital, I started working on some concepts for Anna's birth announcements. What's the use of having a mommy with reasonable graphic design abilities if you don't get kick ass announcements? As a special offer to my readers, if you'd like to receive one, just leave a comment and I'll contact you by email to get your address.

My hospital stay got rather exciting yesterday afternoon. After my magnesium was increased because I was dilating and thinning, I started getting really nauseated and uncomfortable. Felt like I either had to vomit or crap my butt out. I managed to have a BM, but things only went downhill after that. I got so groggy and pale and shaky. Chris pressed the call light when my skin color turned pale yellow. By the time the nurse came in, I was almost unconscious. I remember lots of panic and things happening around me, but I couldn't for the life of me respond very well to anybody. I couldn't take anything but very shallow breaths and my eyes wouldn't stay open. Very odd feeling.

It was a small room meant for mothers who are recovering from c-sections, so when all of a sudden there were three or four nurses in the room, scrambling, it was loud, bright and chaotic. My nurse stopped my magnesium drip right away and ordered a stat blood draw for mag levels. I got an oxygen mask. After about fifteen or twenty minutes off of the magnesium, I started coming around again. It was a slow climb, but eventually I was better. It was about an hour before I could walk again, so I had the indignity of using a bedpan. I was perfectly normal two hours later.

The weirdest part of the whole debacle was that my mag levels weren't toxic, I just started reacting very badly to it, even at the normal level. They can't explain it, but I don't think I was faking it or just trying to get attention.

While on the procardia from then on, the contractions were minimal and didn't extend throughout the uterus so they didn't show up on the monitor. By this morning, I had only had a handful of cramps overnight. So I got the greenlight to get the damn IV out of my hand. I HATE IVs. They hurt, they are uncomfortable, and I hate having to drag the IV stand with me into the bathroom.

Anyway. I'm home now. I might be blogging more often. Might not. It depends on if I come up with anything dazzling to say. In the meantime, enjoy a terrible picture of me in triage!

A Mind of Her Own

So late yesterday afternoon, my Braxton-Hicks contractions changed in feeling. More like a burning. I called my OB's office to ask if I should do anything, and I was told to go to the birthing center to get checked.

I did. We were there by 4:45 pm. And I'm still here. My contractions were crazy regular, like every five to eight minutes. I was only dilated to a fingertip and very "thick", but they gave me shots of that "t" word stuff to try to halt the contractions. They didn't work, even after three doses.

I was off of drugs for the overnight for observation to see what would happen. I wasn't dilated anymore by morning, but my contractions weren't going away. My doctor ordered a course of magnesium and a shot of steroids to help Anna's lungs develop a bit more.

The magnesium hasn't been doing its job. An OB checked me around one, and I was dilated to two centimeters and thinning. They upped my dose of magnesium a bit, but there's not much else they'll try to do to stop labor from starting. I've been contracting regularly. They are tolerable, just uncomfortable. I'm only miserable because of the IV in my hand that hurts like hell and the fact that the IV makes me have to pee almost constantly and I can't just get up and go when I want because I'm hooked up to everything. (I refused the catheter.)

So tomorrow morning, they'll check me again. If I haven't dilated anymore, they'll probably send me home to wait for active labor to start. Isn't life interesting?

Thunderstorm Invitation

I had a talk with the baby in my belly yesterday after I read the weather forecast. The forecast called for thunderstorms throughout the day on Monday (today) followed by a nice, long cold front.

And since I'm rather superstitious about today anyway, I told Anna that she was welcome to come on this fateful day.

There's a few reasons for this. 1. I love thunderstorms with a passion, and I think it'd be rather romantic to have a baby during one, especially when there's very little risk of the scary stuff like tornadoes. 2. Thunderstorms in October in Wisconsin are rather rare, and we probably won't get another chance. 3. It'll be the last hot day in a long time (hopefully months), and we don't have central air, but the hospital does. 4. Ben was born at the end of a three-day weekend, too, and this is our last three-day weekend before her due date.

Having explained all of this to Anna, it's entirely up to her. No pressure. She'll do whatever she wants to do, and if it won't be today, I'd rather she wait another couple of weeks.

When my doctor said she'd see me in two weeks, I almost scoffed at her and I had this insane idea to bet her fifty bucks that I'd see her at the birthing center before our next appointment. I didn't because I was depressed at the time and didn't have the energy for a witty exchange of words.

So anyway. At my last appointment, I asked for a bladder infection test. And since the nurse didn't give me any anti-septic wipes, I had a feeling the sample would be contaminated. And it was. But they did find yeast. Which means that I have a yeast infection. Now that news I wanted to argue with. I haven't had sex in over two months and I wasn't itchy or having the yucky discharge. But if yeast shows up, I must have an infection, so I have to treat it.

I hate treating a yeast infection almost more than having one (when I have the symptoms). I'm very sensitive to the creams, and it makes me burn. The cream inserts haven't been very effective for me in the past, but I certainly can't take the oral meds while I'm pregnant. Oh well. If I do go into labor this week, I feel bad for the nurses at the birthing center who will have to check me.

I'm thirty-four weeks now. Still very early, still in the preemie territory, but getting safer and safer every day.

This week should go by quickly. Chris is home from work today (thank you Mr. Columbus), Ben has a doctor's appointment that I have to take him to by myself tomorrow morning, and my mom is going to be in town on Wednesday.

Update: It's almost seven in the evening, and Anna hasn't initiated any real excitement (although I just realized that it's been three days since I had a bowel movement, and that's while on stool softeners, folks). Sure, there's a chance some fun stuff could still happen tonight, but I'd have to really hurry to get her out before midnight. And besides. There wasn't any thunder this afternoon, just a lot of rain. Such a letdown.

The Baby Doll

Ben has started playing with the baby doll we bought him a few months ago when we learned we were having a girl. He loves babies in general, and he's very sweet about greeting babies we meet. So it's interesting to see what he does with the doll.

Forty percent of the time, he plays "mommy" or "daddy." He cuddles and nuzzles the baby, feeds the baby from his sippy cup, takes the baby for motorcycle rides around the house with the baby draped over the handlebars. It's freaking adorable.

Considering that before, his only play with the baby doll included shoving her head first down his potty chair, I feel he's showing real progress. The other sixty percent of the time still involves stuff like that. He tosses her across the room to see how far she'll fly. I'm just waiting for him to realize what a thrill it would be to throw her through the basketball hoop.

We've realized he's just too young to understand what we're talking about when we discuss a baby in mommy's belly or bringing a baby home or living with a baby. He doesn't get it. That's okay. We've taught him the trick of rubbing my belly and saying "baby." Of course he rubs Chris's belly and says the same, also his own.

I think once the reality is here (reality, thy name is Anna), he'll have a few weeks of rough transition, and then he'll be fine. I think he'll love her a lot. And I think I'll spend a lot of my time encouraging him not to crawl all over her like a jungle gym.

___________
A note about depression:
Last night I realized there's probably not enough Zoloft in the whole world. Living with depression is odd. I find lots of moments of pure joy during the day. I enjoy Ben and my husband. But I have these moments and hours where I just crash into wallows of ick and despondency.

I've convinced myself that all this awful cramping and contractions and "wrongness" that my body is feeling is totally normal and I'm just a whiner. Who the hell cares if I can't walk around my house for more than five minutes without doubling over in pain and almost collapsing from the strain. I doubt my OB will even check my cervix. I'm just going to be a prisoner here until I finally get to go to the hospital to deliver this baby.

Poor Ben is stuck here with me. I can't take him outside because I can't walk without having terrible contractions. I give him free rein in the house, more or less, and he gets to climb on things and run, but he gets most of his activity when Daddy comes home at night.

These "blues" are debilitating at times. I totally get the whole thing about one of the major problems with pregnant women being depressed is that they don't take care of themselves. I find myself skipping meals because "I just don't care anymore" about eating. My OB appointment was rescheduled to this morning, and I wasn't that upset. As a matter of fact, I don't even want to go today. What's the point? I don't feel the need to go somewhere to have someone tell me that everything I'm feeling is totally normal and nothing to worry about. Anna's still jumping around in me like crazy, so she's probably doing just fine. So why bother going?

I have a husband who cares about me, and he's making me go anyway.

The Gate

Last Friday night, a momentous event occured in our lives. While we were fruitlessly trying to get Ben to settle down and go to sleep at my parents' house, he managed to climb out of a packnplay. I felt a sense of foreboding, trouble to come, tribulations down the road.

And I was right.

My son is a climber. His favorite activity is to find an obstacle course and climb it over and over again. Yesterday evening, for example, the course included launching himself up on my legs (that were perched on the ottoman), climbing onto said ottoman, squirming onto Daddy's legs (that were perpendicular to mine), onto his lap, and then launching himself over the edge of the chair to do a handstand on the floor and then a "thump" to to the ground. We counted. He did this twenty-one times. A few instances, he'd change up the routine and crawl in a circle on the floor around the ottoman, underneath the tent of our legs.

Other times, he'll simply climb up on a blanket chest to jump on a bed and then dive off of the bed to the floor in an attempt to do a flying somersault. Sometimes he is successful. Mostly he's not, but he rarely complains, unless he lands on a dump truck or the edge of a laundry basket.

So when he climbed out of the packnplay, I knew our time was up.

For the last several months (since February), our precious one-year-old has had the easiest bedtime routine ever. At some point between seven and seven-thirty, we see the signs of sleepiness. The delayed reaction time, the glazed over eyes, the tendency to fuss. And we suggest he head upstairs to go to sleep. About ninety percent of the time, he takes our advice and starts climbing the stairs, with Daddy in pursuit. Once upstairs, they may cuddle for a few minutes, and then Ben crawls into his bed on his own and finds his nuk, Chris pulls up the sheet and sweeps the blanket over him, up to his chin, Ben holds out his arm to then place on top of the blanket to tuck himself in. "Good night, buddy. Sweet dreams." The lullaby cd gets turned on, and Chris leaves the room and locks the gate (there's not a door to Ben's room).

And Ben falls asleep. Every once in a while, he'll wake up in the middle of the night crying. If his cries aren't the intense I-fell-out-of-bed-and-I'm-frightened or the I-had-a-bad-dream cries, we usually let him be. He cries at the gate for less than a minute, and then he puts himself back to bed. In the morning, he starts talking and moving about upstairs, and I head up to open the gate and cuddle with him for a while before he's ready to brave the downstairs.

So that's all over now. Our wonderful little boy didn't want to go to sleep last night, and we finally just locked the gate on him at 9 pm. (In fairness, my mom is here, and he was excited.) He screamed for about a minute, then we heard a thump, the pitter patter of tiny feet, and the quiet shush-bump-swish-bump of him coming downstairs on his little diapered butt.

He made it over the gate. What the hell are we going to do now?

If a Baby Drops in the Forest

Yesterday morning, Anna dropped. She's now very engaged in my pelvis.

There's a few downsides to this. 1. I'm only 33 weeks, and with Ben, I dropped only four days before my water broke. 2. She's not a large baby like Ben was. I doubt she's even five pounds right now. 3. The extra pressure causes almost constant cervical spasms whenever I move, sometimes even when I'm just sitting. So now I can't walk around much and bending over is a joke.

My OB is on her honeymoon until tomorrow. I have an appointment tomorrow around lunch time. I wonder what she'll say about my silly baby.

Like rubbing salt into the wound, I'm also on stool softeners, but I still can't poop.

My dear mother is on a state-wide tour to visit her grandbabies. She has two in Green Bay, three in Oshkosh and of course one here in Wausau. That's not including the two that are gestating. Ben, Anna and I are on the itinerary for an overnight tonight and the whole day tomorrow. It'll be nice to have her here, especially since she'll be cooking the whole time she's here. Our meals, but also extra stuff we can freeze.

She's threatened to take Ben home with her for the rest of the week if the doctor is worried about Anna. I think I would go absolutely insane if I were stuck here in the house without Ben to keep me company. Right now he's playing kick the can with an empty soda can. It's very loud, and he loves loud activities.

The Routine So Far

It's been a few weeks now since I left the ranks of the employed. Just this afternoon, Chris and I realized how much more in tune I am with Ben. I was having about eight contractions an hour this morning, so I'm resting this afternoon, and Chris is on Ben duty. I solved a few mysteries for Chris.

1. Ben wanted to get into the pots and pans cabinet not because he wanted the pots and pans, but because that's where we keep our extra bottles of apple juice. 2. Ben stood at the arch to the dining room and whined and pointed into the room. I waited to see what Chris would do. They both became very frustrated until I explained that Ben wanted Daddy to rough-house on the twin bed that's currently set up in there for the duration. 3. Ben started fussing and screaming when Chris was walking towards the bathroom with some dirty laundry. Almost had a tantrum. I chastised Chris for not remembering that putting laundry down the chute is Ben's job, and he gets very upset when someone stomps on his territory like that. Chris handed him the dirty socks, and Ben ran to the laundry chute and gleefully shoved the items down the hole.

Ahhh. Yep. You heard it folks. I'm super Mommy. The toddler whisperer.

I had a few rough moments last week. Okay. That's a bit of an understatement. I won't elaborate too much, but the outcome was that Chris had to skip a party after work, almost had to take some time off to stay home the next day, and I doubled my Zoloft dose. I've had depression and anxiety since I was a teenager, so I know the warning signs now. We came close to a crisis, but it was avoided. And I'm feeling much better and more stable on the higher dose of happy pills.

Ben certainly isn't to fault for any of that crap. He's a delight. He's definitely getting more adjusted to our new lifestyle, even though he has his moments of panic and inexplicable sadness when he wakes up from naps. I don't mind giving him the extra cuddles. How could I? With a poodle boy like this?


"Breakfast. Yummy."


"Look what I can fit into!"


"This window tastes so good."


"I have a big goose egg on my forehead, but I'm not mad at the world anymore."

Jungle Gym Story

Cute Ben Moment:

Last night, Ben found a way to use Mommy as a jungle gym but without hurting the baby belly. It involved him climbing on the arm of my chair, crawling down my legs and diving head first between my knees onto the floor. He'd inevitably let his legs slide down after him with a big thump. Then he'd stand up and shout "Ta-Da!" (actually just "DA!", but I totally get what he was trying to say.)

He did this about twenty times before he got hurt. At one point, as he was trying to stand up, he slipped and slammed his forehead against the hardwood floor. Daddy to the rescue, and Ben received the hugs and comfort he so desperately needed. Then Ben reached over for some Mommy TLC.

When he got onto my lap, he pointed to his hurt forehead and shouted "DA!"

There was much laughter in the house.

Please Steal the Show

Today is the first time I'll go back to visit my old friends at work. Around 1:30 this afternoon. I have mixed feelings about it.

I'm not really worried about it. These are my peeps. I know them well. Life and work have moved on without me. I kind of know what to expect. "How do you like being a SAHM?" "Is it as wonderful as you imagined?"

And since I'm rather type-A about things like this, I'm trying to decide what kind of attitude I should adopt. I know for sure I don't want to be a negative pissy pregnant lady. I also don't want to paint a picture of bliss and roses.

So how do I like it? With care and dedication. It's a delicate balance between being a complete couch potato and a cleaning, nesting dynamo. It's being frustrated with a frustrated toddler and wanting to lock myself in the bedroom for a few minutes and wishing I could soak up more of the Benji love that's thrown my way. It's seeking out and identifying the blessing moments throughout the day.

Is it as wonderful as I imagined? I was pretty careful not to put any solid expectations about life after the change to SAHM. I had some hopes and dreams for what my life would be like, but a label like wonderful? That's setting me up for disappointment. I imagined it would be different and fulfilling. And it is.

Ben is bonding closer to us than ever before. Since he gets so much "mom" time during the day, he's all "daddy" when Chris gets home. The evenings are full of shrieks and giggles and jumping on the bed and songs. During the day, Ben is learning to seek out different activities. He climbs up into his high chair while I'm cooking or washing the dishes, and I'll set him up with some crayons or some water play. We eat lunch together, and we watch TV together. Ben, nestled on my right side, the laptop on my left. We are growing closer because of the time invested in each other.

And pregnancy? I'm 32 weeks now, and even though with Ben, I was only three weeks from delivery, I have a sneaking suspicion that Anna will take her precious time with coming into the world. She's measuring on track perfectly, and I'm not nearly as huge with her as I was with Ben at this point. I'm sore and in screeching pain some days with my pelvis, and my contractions are starting back up again after two weeks of relaxation, but I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel yet. I'm looking forward to the end of the pregnancy and getting to cuddle a newborn again.

Will it be odd to see my old friends at work again? Yes. And I wish they wouldn't ask me a lot of questions. I wish this was just a normal walk-through with Ben to show him off. But it's different this time. I'm the person they want to see more, not Ben. They want to analyze me and question my choices and eye up any changes to my baby bump. And of course hug me and wish me well. I hope Ben starts dancing and steals the show.

Keeping a Diaper on the Boy

We've found that we have a new responsibility in our household. It comes with many challenges, many on-the-edge-of-your-seat moments, and many laughs.

Ben absolutely loves to be naked now. When he finds a free moment, he tries to take off his pants and sometimes succeeds. And he's a pro at taking off his diaper. He loves the feel of riding around on his little green motorcycle with nothing between his private bits and the plastic seat. He enjoys (I think) freaking out Mommy by standing for long minutes on the only piece of carpet in the main area of the house where it would be harder to hear the sound of tinkle hitting the floor.

He also loves *helping* by taking off his perfectly clean clothes and diaper and tossing them down the laundry chute. Or throwing them in the garbage. Since Friday, we've gone through about three or four changes of clothes per day.

Chris and I have had some long discussions about this. Daddy is anxious to potty train, Mommy isn't. Frankly, I don't think Ben is ready. I think toddlers can have periods where they love nudity without actually being interested in the potty. And Ben shows minimal interest. When he's diaperless, he doesn't even notice when he pees. He's not even two.

As a compromise, I've agreed to have Ben watching the potty training video I picked up from the library. If that spurs him to want to try out the potty, I'll definitely accommodate his wishes. But if it doesn't, oh well.

A naked toddler makes my life more interesting, by the way. You try having an argument with a non-verbal child about why he can't go outside to ride his motorcycle around the block if he doesn't have any clothes on. I'm sure the breeze on his butt would have felt wonderful, but it's a highly trafficked neighborhood, and I wouldn't want to cause any accidents because of drivers doing a double take.

The Moon and I

We had a good time. Chris and I together, Ben and his Nana.

Ben had a few rough moments of sadness and melancholy with my mom, but overall, was excited and thrilled to be around all of her toys. She has a piano, for goodness sakes, and that's just about the most exciting thing in the world. She was happy to report that Ben didn't pound on the keys like other children. He approached the piano with reverence and delicacy -- exactly how I did when I was his age. My mother predicts a future with years of piano lessons.

He did well without us. When we arrived to pick him up yesterday morning, he didn't run to us to give us hugs. Instead, he ran to gather up all the new toys to show us. Eventually, we got hugs, but not before we were shown every last piece of wonderful that he'd discovered.

When we finally got home, he was a cranky maniac, but that was to be expected. Life with Nana is a very different from the pace of life at our house, and he was overwhelmed by the switch. He slept through the night, though, and I'm hoping that'll restart his batteries.

As for our babymoon, we had a wonderfully romantic time together. As romantic of a time that could be had with a wife who is on pelvic rest. Needs were met, however, and we focused on intimacy rather than wild, carnal lust. We explored the little tourist town we had chosen, ate terrific meals, read books down by the water, swam in the pool, napped, watched cable TV (luxury), and basically just enjoyed each other's company.

A funny moment. When we checked into the hotel, we saw the heated pool and our hearts sank because we hadn't packed our swimming suits. The pool seemed like a really good idea to my tired, pregnant body, so we drove to the next big town to see if there were any swimming suits left in stock. There weren't. So we drove another hour to pick up suits where we knew we could find some... our house. That little escapade took four hours out of our first day, but it was worth it. We loved our time in the pool. Chris joked that next time, we should choose a destination at least two hours away so we won't be tempted to run back home for things we forgot.

It's Friday morning now, and my life starts over again. I feel refreshed and okay about that. I missed Ben's giggle. I missed my own bed. I missed my laptop.

**On a side note to Dana and anyone else who may be confused about the name thing. Chris is Chester and Chester is Chris. When I first started my blog, he requested that I not use his real name (Chris). He's a curmudgeon sometimes. Anyway. I decided that once I quit my job to become a SAHM, I wouldn't bother with the charade anymore, and Chester was rebaptized as Chris. **

Where Is Your Nose?

Me: Ben, where's your nose?
Ben proceeds to point to his nose.
Me: Yay! Good job, Ben!
Ben continues to explore his nose, reaching both fingers in up to the knuckle.

Now whenever I ask him to point to his nose, he does this:

Off We Go

Today's the day we leave on our mini-babymoon. That crazy plan to leave my dear son with my mother for two nights while my husband and I disappear somewhere to "reconnect." It sounds sordid to me, but hey. We're doing it.

That means no laptop until Thursday evening. Yikes.

Do Chris and I really need time to ourselves? Eh. Maybe. The point of it is to have time together, alone as a couple, before Anna arrives and creates a delightful uproar in our lives. How "together" we can get with this gigantic baby belly in front of me is debatable. At the very least, we'll be cuddling and watching cable TV, and Chris will help me take a bubble bath, and my feet will finally get clean.

I will miss Ben. He's going through such a difficult time right now with the transition from daycare. While he's not miserable, his psyche is dealing with some turmoil, and he has had lots of nightmares. I feel bad leaving him with my mom right now. She'll be great with him, and she's a very nurturing, kind woman, but she's not his mommy or daddy. It's different, right?

Can you tell this will be the first night I've spent away from my son since his birth? And it'll be two nights.

In other news, my man crush has found himself a lady love, and I was devastated at the news. It was fun to have someone pining for me again. I think I'd be more comfortable with the concept if he had picked a nicer lady. The woman in question had always given me the cold shoulder. She never seemed very warm and kind... she's so *not* me. Apparently, he knows a different side of her. She's probably very different away from work, because he extols her "big heart." Whatever. Bastard. :)

Also, I had my 31 week checkup yesterday, and everything's peachy. I've lost four pounds since my last checkup, and I'm thrilled. I've already reached my "goal" weight for the whole pregnancy, and I still have a couple months to go. So I've tried to be more active and to eat less and better. Anna is still getting the nutrition that she needs, and she's still thriving. Yay.

Have a good few days, bloggy world. I'll be off in the wonderful world of marital bliss sans toddler.

The Cat and I

I don't know why I couldn't stay in bed. Around 2:30, my mind started spinning, my emotions churning. I switched from libidinous passion to delirious happiness to shoe-on-your-head silliness. All while lying perfectly still.

So it was time to get out of bed.

The subject of the cats is on the table again. No, Adira hasn't made another mistake. She gets her dose of prozac at least every three days, and she seems to be functioning properly. Right now, she's curled up at my feet on the ottoman.

I've been a cat person all my life. When I was in fourth grade, we moved into a rented farmhouse, and I was allowed outdoor kitties. I had several over the next few years. Eventually, the number tapered down to two when we moved to the northwoods. Then one. Then none. Adira came into my life when I was seventeen, an olive branch from my parents.

I had a dream that I found a little marmalade kitten with a red bow around her neck. My mom and I searched through many humane society shelters until I found that kitty of my dream. And Adira, then Mandy, became mine.

While I was in my first year of college, she was cared for by my mother and was relegated mostly to the basement. My dad has awful allergies, but he had promised, and so Adira stayed.

My sophomore year, my sister started university at the same place as me, and we were allowed to get an apartment together instead of living in the dorms. Adira and her cat moved in with us. Then when I lived by myself, it was just me and Adira. A few years later, I got her a funny little white kitty named Maisie.

As a single girl, I loved being a cat owner. They were my constant companions. Adira and I share a special connection, perhaps imagined, but often sensed. She's content to sit by my shoulder for hours, keeping watch. Such loyalty.

So what changed? Well. I got married. Adira started feeling that it wasn't that necessary to actually pee in the litter box, content with the floor adjacent. I had a baby. Now I'm having another. And having pets is no longer a priority for me.

Being a dutiful cat mother, I spent hundreds to have Adira diagnosed with something. Turns out she's only sick in the head. She has an anxiety problem, one that is treatable with generic prozac. Even a generic medicine costs money when you can't add a cat to your health insurance.

Did I mention she bites Ben? She hates children. She gets upset and hissy whenever a child approaches her, even if they aren't targeting her. Living in a 900 square foot house with two rug rats isn't going to be pleasant for her.

I love her dearly, I'm just not sure I love her enough to fight to keep her, though nobody is asking me to get rid of her. Nobody except that little voice in my head. She'd be put to sleep almost immediately because she isn't able to be re-adopted due to her anxiety issues and her problem with children.

I can totally imagine life without her. My mom has offered to subsidize her surrender fees. My husband has offered to bring her to the shelter himself while I'm away. We'd be able to get rid of the litter box in our bedroom because the other cat is perfectly willing to use the one in the basement.

So what's holding me back? What the hell is all this wet stuff dripping down my cheeks? Even though my heart is starting to say, "It's time," my head reminds me that I have about a month of generic prozac left. Unless she makes another mistake while on the happy blue pill, she gets to stay. I feel a bit like a monster.

The State of the Household

I woke up this morning to day four of my new life. At 4:45, which is actually sleeping in for me lately. Pregnancy insomnia is hitting me hard, and I can't sleep in if my life depended on it. I'm still in bed by eight and asleep by nine, but this is cause for adjustment. And I don't hate it. I get at least an hour to myself with a few cups of decaf coffee, my laptop and my heating pad.

I wouldn't say that Ben and I are getting into a routine yet. Life is flowing more smoothly, but it's not always predictable. Ben is still "transitioning" which means he's refusing most meals, still prone to meltdowns and napping erratically. I'm getting more patient, though, which helps. And Ben is learning that Mamma is learning, too. If he wants something or wants to start a new activity, he has to initiate it sometimes.

We've had a couple of good days. I've allowed myself permission to not do so much around the house. I have Tasks That Must Be Completed that include washing the dishes, preparing meals and folding some laundry. Everything else can wait until my next burst of nesting energy.

Ben hasn't made any motions towards wanting to go back to daycare, but I don't really know how he'd express that desire. Maybe he'd insist on putting his shoes on in the morning or start reaching for the doorknob around our usual time. He's not, though. Part of me still wishes I could bring him there for an hour or two, if only so he could be around some other kids. Even when we go running errands, he doesn't really see other kids. Sure, the nice cozy women in the checkout aisle flirt back and play peekaboo, but that's not really the same.

In a couple of weeks we'll start going to the Family Resource Center drop-in playdates, and until then, he'll have to be happy with just me.

As for what's going on in my head and heart... I still feel a bit suspended above it all, like this isn't really my life. I'm going through the motions and doing what is expected of me, and I'm always on the lookout for moments of joy and bliss (which do happen). But the reality hasn't really settled in yet. The good news is that I'm no longer that anxious to go back to work.

Chris and I cuddle more in the evenings, and he's very affectionate and attentive. Our relationship has changed a lot since we're no longer within 200 feet of each other at all times anymore. So we hug more, and I still send him totally inappropriate text messages for him to receive while he's in meetings.

So that's that. My life, four days into the Change.

The First Day on the Job

On the outset, let me remind you all that I'm 30 weeks pregnant and VERY hormonal. Add into that equation that I despise change, even when it's good, and I have a toddler who is going through a life upheaval and transition of his own. Although I'm slightly ashamed at what happened yesterday, a part of me understands and forgives me.

Ben woke up at 5:45 yesterday, right after I had put our big Finnish pancake in the oven to bake for breakfast. The next hour went smoothly. But by 7 o'clock, I was bawling my eyes out onto Chris's shoulder, keening with desire to bring Ben to daycare and to go back to my cubicle at work.

To set the scene, we finally got our dining room put back together after a month and a half of painting it when we found time and felt up to it. It's red now, and very beautiful, though we haven't taken the tape down yet. I also bought a bookcase to put in there so we'd finally have a home for all of Ben's videos and books. Do you see where this is going?

Chris and I showed him the game where we put the items in tidy little piles and stacks and arrange things nicely on the shelves. Ben, however, thinks it's way more fun to pull things off the shelves and toss them around the room. I tried twice to show him the proper way to play with the stuff, but he grew more frustrated and adamant about it, and threw the books aside with more fury. I gave him a timeout, but he went right back to the task when he was done.

Enter Chris, looking all handsome and put together, smelling clean and fresh, ready for work. Picture me, hadn't showered since Saturday, in my ten-year-old, tissue thin pajamas, unshaved legs, morning breath, sitting in the corner of the bed that's in the dining room, just staring at Ben with a glassy-eyed expression.

And I cried a lot. I actually said I wished I had a different boy to take care of if I had to be a SAHM. Chris took charge and held Ben while they put the stuff back on the shelves. I kept crying, and Ben came and gave me a couple of hugs and kisses. The mood quieted, and Chris went to work.

The rest of the day was better, of course. I grew rather stir crazy just sitting around, and the urge to nest was intense. I washed dishes, moved furniture, swept, mopped, packed donation bags, carried boxes up to the attic, cleared out the front entry closet, put in a shelving system in there, folded laundry, made lunch and dinner, tickled a small boy and watch a lot of children's programs on TV.

I didn't have another meltdown, but the day felt a little lackluster. We'll get a routine, and we'll get used to being around each other 24/7, and then life will be better, right?

A Boy and His Balloon

Thursday afternoon, someone delivered a bouquet of daisies and balloons to my cubicle at work. They were from my mom and my sister to congratulate me on my new job (SAHM). A very sweet gesture.

Along with a multitude of boxes and various items including a wooden snowman, a lamp, a radio and a pillow, we carefully shoved my bouquet into the car at the end of the day. I knew the balloons, more than anything, would be oh-so-exciting for Ben. And wow.

When he was getting strapped into his seat, he looked over and noticed the balloons. You should have seen the grin spread across his face. I cut one off and handed it to him, but he accidentally let go of it a moment later and the wind floated it off into the sky. So he got a second one, an orange one.

And he didn't let go of it until the afternoon. Seriously. He slept with that thing. It was so funny seeing him on the video monitor, curled up under his blankets, holding tightly to the balloon's string. Around four in the morning, he started waking up a bit, and we could hear him play with the balloon in bed. Squeaka-squeaka-squigzh.



After he came downstairs in the morning, he started playing with his other toys, but only with one hand, because the other one was still holding onto the balloon. And when he tripped and fell and started to cry, he came running to me for a hug, but turned around when he got to me so I could lift him up from behind to hug him. He didn't want to let go of the balloon, even for some loves from mom. I wish I had pictures of Ben holding his orange balloon in one hand, his little yellow school bus in the other, while Chris carted him around the grocery store after the morning nap. I bet he was pretty cute.

By mid afternoon, the amount of helium left in the balloon wasn't sufficient enough to keep it aloft for very long, and it was easier and easier for him to hold it and carry it around. And then Chris and I started batting it around so Ben could play monkey in the middle. Soon after that, the balloon started to lose its charm. It currently lies on our bathroom floor, where Ben put it after I refused to let him toss it in the bathtub while I was taking a shower.

Chris was worried about the obsession, but I was stalwart in my defense of Ben's mania concerning the balloon. Over breakfast, I assured my dear husband that Ben would not be graduating high school with the thing, it might pop at any time, and would be dead by Monday no matter what. It's not like he was obsessed with a pair of scissors or a tampon. A balloon is a perfectly natural, reasonable thing for a small boy to be in love with.

Even though the balloon is relegated to the past along with his other discarded used-to-be-favorite toys, I'll always remember fondly his little obsession, his insane need to constantly be hugging it, and that brave balloons refusal to die, even when being steamrolled by a toddler over and over again.

A Job Well Done, The Long Goodbye

It's customary for employees on the corporate side of the business to write a last email, a goodbye missive, to the departments they worked closely with on their last day. I put off writing mine because I didn't know what to write. I even looked online to see if there was a form letter I could use. But I decided that the best email would be one from the heart, even if it sucked. Turns out it didn't suck, and I only got positive feedback from it.

In this letter, you'll figure out that I didn't burn any bridges, I didn't mention any of the things about my job that frustrated me, and my husband's real name is Chris, not Chester. (He wasn't comfortable with me using his real name, but I finally realized that he's just being silly, and he won't notice anyway since he's never read my blog.) I feel good about the letter. It feels like it was the right way to end an era.



"As I'm finishing up my last day of employment here, I realize I'm exhausted, physically and emotionally. Physically because I didn't sleep much last night, and I'm in my third trimester of pregnancy, so I'm entitled to some fatigue. Emotionally... well. It's hard to say goodbye to a place that's been my home away from home for the last four years.

But I'm not really saying goodbye. I'm not dropping off the face of the planet after all — I'm just going to my house that's only a fifteen-minute walk away. There, I will dig out some fingerpaints, some crayons and some scrap paper, and I will play with my son. Ben and I will have at least a month of Mommy/Ben time before the birth of his little sister Anna, and then a whole new adventure will begin.

I've learned a lot as a proofreader and as a member of the team. I've learned that it's important to think about and maybe even talk to our customers every once in a while to gain some perspective. Concentrating too much on the details keeps you from seeing the bigger mistakes you might be making. Smiling at a coworker while you tell them how much they screwed up goes a long way toward keeping your car tires unslashed at the end of the day.

Leaving this job is most difficult, I think, because I didn't hate it. I actually loved being a proofreader, and I rarely tired of proofing catalog page after catalog page. So really, you all owe me an apology. You should have made my life unbearable. You should have always been sullen and morose and crabby. You shouldn't have smiled at me in the halls or thanked me for my 'good catches.' You should have made me feel undervalued and unappreciated. But you didn't, and now I'm sad.

On the bright side, my husband still works here, and that means I'll still be coming around to visit often. I'll definitely be coming in to show off my babies, and I might actually have Chris bring in baked goods that I create in a fit of domestic flurry but can't bring myself to keep in the house. In that way, your life may be better once I'm gone.

I'll be online at home, and you are all free to email me to visit or to gossip or to ask proofing questions.

-Cheryl Mathis

'I don't believe that children can develop in a healthy way unless they feel that they have value apart from anything they own or any skill that they learn. They need to feel they enhance the life of someone else, that they are needed. Who, better than parents, can let them know that?' -- Fred Rogers"

The Last Week

So it's now officially my last week of employment before I join the ranks of the happy SAHMs. Yesterday, my replacement started. She's cuter than heck and very sweet. And I already feel superfluous. She's not proofing a lot yet, but she's making the rounds, getting introduced, and I continue packing up my cubicle and clean everything for her take over next week.

My boss and I are not talking a lot about my leaving. When we've mentioned it in the past, we both get rather emotional. And I'd rather not have to have a big goodbye scene with her. She's become a best friend... though we don't really admit that outloud. We'll still see each other, and she promises to email me, and we'll get together and have our boys play. I'll still be going into work to visit and show off the kids because, after all, my husband still works there.

But the wind down is happening. Every day I either pack another box or go through another file. Tomorrow we're having a potluck in the printer room as my Goodbye Cheryl sendoff. Friday, I have my exit interview with HR. And then I finish out my day and I'll be done. And I will not be wearing mascara that day.

In other news, today is the day of my gestational diabetes testing. I just guzzled down the Fanta-on-steroids glucola, and we'll leave for the doctor's office in about thirty minutes. After the blood draw, husband and I get to wait for an hour while they run the test, then we have my 29 week checkup with my doctor. On my list of things to talk to her about include bleeding hemorrhoids that don't itch but are scary, dizziness, and my fear that Anna is not growing quickly enough.

By this week when I was gestating Ben, I was measuring at least a few weeks ahead. I was huge. I'm big, and my belly is full and round, but it's a lot smaller. I'm lucky if I'm measuring at 28 weeks. I guess I'm just nervous because Ben was five weeks early, but a good size (6-14). What if I'm preterm again and Anna isn't that big? Ugh. Best case scenario is that she's small because she's not planning on making her getaway early... and even that kind of fills me with dread because I'm not really looking forward to being nine months pregnant (something I didn't have to live through with Ben because he was born already).

And my grouchy, hormonal self is also having traumas about life with a newborn. Life with newborn Ben was exciting and wonderful, but not blissful. I remember being very tired all the time. I'm worried that I haven't arranged enough people to come and stay and help me take care of Ben AND Anna after the birth.

But anyway. I hate sounding so bitchy. I'm quite in love with my little fetus. She kicks me constantly, and I have lots of fantasies about nuzzling her sweet little baby cheek and tickling her ear lobes.

And Ben is a delight. Very affectionate and loving. Very rambunctious and curious and loud. And he's saying more and more words now... but his favorite is "No!" Emphasis on the exclamation mark. He'll shout that especially when we ask him if he needs his diaper changed. As an added benefit to toddlerhood, he likes picking up trash from the floor and throwing it in the garbage. Just last night when husband was getting the coffee pot ready for morning, he went to dump out the old coffee grounds, and he was surprised to find two of Ben's shirts in the garbage. Ben helped. :)

Vicodin, Ben Joy, Labor Day

I just haven't felt like I had much to say to anybody. Things at work are crazy and emotional. Lots of people are stopping by to express incredulity at my leaving and sometimes congratulations. I'm gearing up to start training my replacement who starts on Tuesday. And my pregnant self has been feeling kind of ick lately.

At my last appointment, my doctor finally broke down and prescribed vicodin for me to take at work when I start having severe back pain, pelvic pain and contractions. Since the dears in HR would rather I limit my intermittent FMLA to four hours or so a week, I'm stuck here at work when I should be home in bed... that is unless I want to go to battle with HR. And I don't. I'll be gone soon, but Chester has to stay here. Better to leave on good terms.

Working while stoned out of my gourd on vicodin is interesting. My proofing ability decreases by about fifteen percent, but I can still focus. It doesn't even take away all the pain, but I'm so chilled out I don't care about the discomfort. It makes life a little more interesting, and I avoid talking to people while I'm riding the waves. It's very easy for me to make a fool out of myself, and I would prefer to be discreet about narcotic usage in the workplace.

Disclaimer: Vicodin is not the best drug to take while pregnant, but the major risk to the baby occurs when taken near full term. If I were to stay on vicodin until I go into labor, the baby would be at risk for dependency and withdrawal. I'm only taking it until I stop working at the end of next week, and I don't take it every day.

Anyway. Ben has been a joy and a blessing this week. He's not nearly as crabby and difficult as he was when I posted last. We've adjusted our diaper changing techniques, and that's been helping with the levels of frustration in the house. We've also been sitting down to eat together in the evenings without the TV on, so we get some quality time with Ben. It makes a huge difference. We've also reverted back to a morning cuddle time upstairs with him before he comes down for the day. We found that if we just go up there and unlock the gate while he's still in bed, and we don't stay up there to cuddle with him, he has a meltdown and a very rough start to the day.

We don't have very dramatic plans for the weekend. We both get off of work at noon today, and we'll be picking up Ben and then going home for a nap. Tomorrow, we're scheduled for an informal cookout at my best friend Mary's apartment. And for the actual Labor Day, we're driving to Green Bay to see my brother and his family... and deliver some "Congratulations on Getting Knocked Up Again" presents and supplies. We haven't been to their house in over a year, so it'll be nice to cross that off our list of things to do before the baby comes.

The Remarkable Changing Boy

I remember dragging my little family to a reunion (Dad's side) up north a year ago. It was a simple one, held at state park beach I had swam at lots in my childhood. After I had introduced eight-month-old Ben to all my old relatives, the general consensus was, "Cheryl, what a good-natured boy you have!"

I know now that what of the reasons that label was provided for my son was because of another baby, born a year earlier, who was never as "good-natured" and was really kind of difficult at times (read spoiled).

But for the most part, it's been true. Ben is a sweetheart. He's not afraid of new situations, new people. He's never had stranger anxiety except for that one time when the creepy guy at Wendy's talked to us too much. Ben is usually content to just sit back and watch everyone around him with a slightly amused expression on his face (rather like mommy).

So where the hell did this kid come from? Not the nice boy, but this creature he's become. My mantra for the past two weeks has been, "It's just a phase." "Things will be different when I'm home with him all the time." But really, toddlerhood is wonderful and delightful, but some parts of it can really suck. Hard.

Ben is exercising his new-found ability to throw temper tantrums and meltdowns when he doesn't get his way. Under no circumstances do we give in, but it hasn't dampened his seeming enthusiasm with the process. So the world comes to an end almost every single time we have to take a toy away from him for one reason or another, no matter how lovely and wonderful the replacement toy is.

Another characteristic of this phase is his unhappiness with pretty much anything that happens. We leave to go to the store, meltdown. He has to hold our hand to walk from the car, tantrum. I don't let him kick or hit me while I push the cart, panic attack. AND... and this is the part that leaves me in tears, too, he freaks out when we leave him at daycare.

I'm a reasonably intelligent young lady, and I know that his issues are control and power issues. I also know that our lives are transitioning toward many changes (SAHM-hood, new baby). And though his life hasn't really altered much yet, he can sense that things are in upheaval. So he's acting out, trying to exert some control over the situation that is his life.

My husband and I keep reminding each other that we know we're not raising a spoiled child. That was one of our main determinations when we first talked about parenthood. Ben doesn't get what he wants all the time. We offer compromises. We never walk down the toy aisle at a store. We teach a message of gentleness and kindness. And yet...

I know it's just a phase. Really. I know it. I just hope he snaps out of it before my mom comes down to spend a few days with us this fall before the baby comes. She's be horrified that I'm not spanking (sorry, "correcting") him already. And frankly, I don't have the strength to try to explain to her why we're avoiding spanking.

Bookish Thursday: The Lay of the Land

I used to call these Bookish Thursdays, so here it goes again. It helps that I finished a book this morning before work.

As I've mentioned previously, I'd been reading Richard Ford's The Lay of the Land. It's on my list of about twenty books that are out of my comfort range, are about topics that I'm not familiar with, and have won some sort of award.

Anyway. I really enjoyed this book. It's the kind of book that has paragraphs and sentences that fly out at you and smash your face in with brilliance. Stuff I had to read out loud to my husband and bring into work to show my boss the next day.

Like other reviewers, I was driven through the book not because of the plot, but because it's a gigantic practice in self-help and self-actualization. It's very difficult to read the book without contemplating the state of your own internal affairs, where your life is right now or what you really want out of life. Sure, you get to know the texture and scope of the main character's soul, but surprisingly, you learn a lot about yourself as well.

Frank Bascombe is called an "everyman." And he is. Although I've never known someone just like him, he reminds me a lot of many different older men I've known throughout my life. His experience with cancer makes me wonder how my dad dealt with his. His realty business and ambition reminds me of the smooth-talking guy who sold us our house. Little bits of his humor remind me of an old boss. But mostly, he's like none other I've ever known. And I'm glad to have met him. Being a young lady in my twenties who has ensconced herself in rural America, I'm not likely to venture out and meet people like him. Older gents don't usually take the time to sit down and divulge their life stories to someone like me, though now I wish I'd open myself up more to people and make myself available for experiences like that.

I'm not going to do a thorough review of the book. I don't have the patience because I'm cranky and have been having a bad morning. But I would recommend this book to anybody. It's dense and slow-moving, but incredibly satisfying. None of the characters are really cookie cutter. It's like Ford made a point to make each one more unusual than the last. And while the book is slow moving, the plot itself is a crazy ride that only takes place over a couple of days. I wasn't ever really bored, because I found Frank's introspections and explanations to be fascinating. It's not often you get to see so clearly inside someone else's messed-up head.

I identified a lot with Frank as he explained why he made bad decisions throughout the years. Like me, his decisions were not reflections of his permanent, developing morality, but rash, not-thinking-clearly, just-going-with-the-moment choices that you have to regret later, in my case, when I was sober. I think growing up and maturing involves not making so many bad decisions like that... and letting your permanent morality and ethics guide your way more and more.

A Lesson Learned About Having A Kid With Asthma

I'm up early this morning because Ben is. And instead of fussing and crying and clinging to me, he's actually wanting to play, so this is good news. You see, yesterday, it wasn't like this at all.

Sunday night, Ben started coughing in his sleep. He seemed okay in the morning, and we sent him off to daycare with a request to Amber to keep track of his cough and his breathing. He had the sniffles, but was still anxious to play with his friends.

I called periodically during the day on Monday, and she let me know his status. He was okay. He had a cold, but he wasn't miserable. When we picked him up after work, he had just started on his downward spiral. His very quick downward spiral.

By the time we got home, his eyes were glassy, he was running a fever of 101, and he was gasping. Not good at all. He refused dinner, and he started crying non-stop, which only made his breathing worse. So we started his breathing treatments.

It was a long Monday night. Ben woke up in many cold sweats because he had stopped breathing. It was scary. Chester stayed home with him yesterday to continue the breathing treatments and to monitor him. Finally, when I came home for lunch, Ben consented to lunch. By dinner time, he still had a strong wheeze, but he was more interested in playing. And he ate some dinner. Yay! Off to bed, and he stayed asleep until four this morning.

We were all set to split the shift today. I'd stay home in the morning, Chester in the afternoon. But now, with Ben so perky, I'm not sure it's necessary to keep him home. As you can imagine, I'll be watching him very closely over the next hour. He still has a small wheeze, but otherwise, he seems normal. Amber's perfectly willing to do the nebulizer thing, too, so he'll keep getting his Albuterol.

Yesterday I felt so intensely guilty about not giving Ben the nebulizer treatment right away on Monday morning when he woke up with the sniffles and a cough. The medical plan that our doctor gave us indicates that, but I wanted to wait and see how he did throughout the day. Dammit. Having such an easy summer with his asthma made me complacent. At least I've learned my lesson. When your kid has asthma, you have to freak out when he gets the sniffles.

In other news, the new girl at work doesn't suck. She seems bright and intelligent and seems to be a quick learner. At least I hope so. My boss is already transferring a lot of duties over to her.

My sister is coming to town this weekend with her family to drop off the latest load of rummage sale finds. These include a mini basketball hoop, a motorcycle-looking tricycle thing, several tonka trucks, and two more bags of clothes for Anna. She really loves going to rummage sales, and we don't mind reaping the benefits. Goodness knows I don't have the energy to be traipsing about, yard to yard.

What I Learned This Weekend

I desperately need to say that I had a productive weekend, though I really didn't. That really awesome idea to finally paint our dining room so we'd have a venue to finish listening to the audiobook we started last weekend. Yeah. That idea kind of fell flat.

Saturday dawned hot and humid. The nighttime had been hot and kind of rainy (which is nice because we need the rain), but instead of cleansing us from the dust and awful the-heat-is-never-going-to-go-away stuff, it kind of made the heat a little more moist and icky.

Dear husband had been up until two in the morning working because, as he put it, "the box that I was rebooting died and I fixed it, but then it died again and it took me a while to figure out how to fix it." Yeah. I don't have a clue either. The point of the whole fiasco is that right after lunch, he insisted on going back to bed for a nap. So even though he had only cleared out half of the living room and I had masked only a few vital areas, I sent him off to bed.

True, in a perfect world, I would have been able to be industrious and keep working on the project without him. But truthfully, I didn't want to. He didn't want me up on the ladder without him around, and I have a hard time crawling around on the floor. So I sat down and read.

Sunday morning. I woke up and read. After Ben got up, I did a sinkful of dishes and got started on baking a fabulous Finnish pancake. (It was terrific, by the way.) Following breakfast was a little play-with-Ben time which ended with it's-mommy's-nap-time time. When I woke up, we all had lunch, and then Chester and I got going on the dining room again.

While I was stirring the paint, his work phone rang. Yeah. That's never good news on a Sunday afternoon. Apparently some people at work were quite upset that they couldn't print anymore, and it wasn't an easy fix. I guess the server that hosts the printers is on its last leg, and it's dying. That required a lot of really boring phone calls to a lot of different workaholic types who didn't want to push off the problem until tomorrow but instead wanted my husband to get started on the fix immediately, even though he was supposed to be painting the dining room.

I painted a bunch of the trim areas (the deal is I work the brush while husband works the roller). Chester was in the living room staring at his laptop while he talked to various people on his annoying blue tooth thing. Eventually, he was able to put down the laptop and paint... but while he was on the phone the whole time.

The painting thing was a bust. Our dining room is now half pepto-abysmal pink. It's a terrible color. It's just the mid-tone primer that goes on over the original white and under the beautiful deep red to come. I've always wanted a red dining room. Maybe I'll eventually get one.

Once upon a time, I loved painting projects. Even when I was six or seven months pregnant with Ben, I was quite agile and able to dance around clumsily, painting his bedroom a lovely blue. This time around? Yeah. It's not happening. I hurt. Breathing in this heat with just a box fan to blow more hot air on me... not fun. My feet are swollen, I have two inexplicably bruised ribs, and my house is a disaster area because it hurts to bend down and pick up Ben's toys and videos that are strewn all over the place. But hey. It could be worse. I could be moving like Allie at http://curvatude.blogspot.com.

What I learned this weekend is that sometimes it's best to just focus on the productive aspects of life and ignore those crazy, pie-in-the-hazy-sky plans.

When it was raining Friday evening, and Ben was looking so cute, staring outside at the rain, I went out with him and we got drenched while exploring the perimeter of the house and experiencing the water dripping off the eaves. We were barefoot, and Ben was spotlessly clean after his bath. It was joyous. We got muddy. It was very productive.

I made pork chops for the first time in years, and they turned out well.
We watched a Little Bear video about eight times.
Chester is nearing the end of the last Harry Potter book.
I am greatly enjoying the book I'm reading. The Lay of the Land by Richard Ford.

All are minor accomplishments, but hell. They're all I got.

I meet my boss's new employee tomorrow. On Friday, Lady Smogo asked me surreptiously to try to find the new girl's myspace page... which was no easy task since she doesn't use her real name or a specific location. But hell. I found it. And while she has my favorite singer on her favorite bands list (Damien Rice), I'm still not sure we'll "click." Oh well. Only four weeks of awkward getting to know you crap and then I'm out of there.

In other news, my boss plans on making an offer to my future replacement. She let me help her in the decision on who to hire, and I'm hopeful that this new guy will work out well. Being a proofreader requires a great deal of ... well... balls and nerve. He'll be one of two people in the company who will be proudly waving the banner of accuracy and consistency in the faces of people who were happy with the slap-dash-crap way that they did their work the first time. It takes a bunch of courage and even more ego.

And, because the universe is usually kind to me, just months too late, the person I dislike most at work is putting in his or her notice this week. This person's last day will be about a week and a half before I leave. I did a happy dance, but I wish it would have happened a year ago. No. I wish the company actually cared about performance and quality and fired this individual a year ago when it became oh so clear that it was the right thing to do.

Ben Giggling Like a Maniac at Nana's House

My first experiment with posting videos.

My Goofy Boy

I just love the new facial expressions that Ben uses. He likes acting like a goofball as much as mommy and daddy do. Here are a few pictures from our weekend... including the rare pictures with my beautiful husband.

A weekend of travels with sunburn included

Finally a weekend happens with lots of bloggable material. I might expound on certain events later in the week, but I figured I'd write the outline down before I forget about it all.

We left work early on Friday to get the hell out of Dodge. We were at my mother's house in Minocqua before dinnertime. Ben absolutely loves playing at Nana's house because, without fail, he always forgets all the new interesting toys she has at her house... and he hasn't even discovered the basement yet.

After dinner, my mother, Chester, Ben and I drove down to the Lac du Flambeau Indian Reservation for a concert. We left my mother there after an hour because Ben was getting a little antsy and quite tired. It was way past his bedtime after all. But we had a nice time.

Saturday morning, we woke before dawn to get ready for the activities we had planned for the day, namely getting the hell out of dodge again. Driving in separate vehicles, my mom and dad drove to Eagle River while we followed. We had a nice breakfast at a diner owned by the same family that owns one of our favorite diners in Wausau. It was kind of funny to see the same menu, just with higher prices because of it being a tourist area.

After that, we drove. And we drove. And we drove. Sure it was only for two and a half hours, but it felt more like six. We headed to Upper Michigan to stop at my grandmother's farm in Baraga before we headed further north to Houghton. There we met with about thirty or forty of my relatives on my dad's side, and we got on a cruise boat and eventually traveled down the canal to the open waters of Lake Superior.

It was a fun family reunion, though after eating, I felt very seasick and nauseated. Seeing all of my relatives was interesting, especially seeing the little kids that I used to babysit. One kid is sixteen now, but I distinctly remember having changed his diaper before. Very weird. Most of that group isn't from the area anymore, though. They are scattered from sea to shining sea. From Florida to California to Toronto to New Jersey. It's a good family. Everybody is reasonably well educated and kind and unpretentious. Having originated from a place like the UP of Michigan tends to take a bunch of potential snobbiness out of your personality. I think it's directly related to the number of times you've used an outhouse or had a sauna naked with your grandparents.

After the boat, we drove back towards my grandma's farm (which isn't really a farm anymore since there aren't any animals). We stopped at the nursing home where she lives now. She's not really "there" either, but she likes getting visitors, even if she can't communicate well anymore and doesn't remember anybody except my mom. I sat with her and told her about my life, then kissed her and said goodbye. When she does die, I won't be reminiscing about this stage of her life. I'll be remembering the stooped old lady who made watery beef stew and always let me play with the ancient toys she kept in the closet.

Then we drove that ridiculously long and boring trek back down to my parents' house. We didn't get there until around 8 at night, but we ordered pizza from a local dive and watched TV for a while, mainly to wear out Ben some more. That silly little guy barely napped all day long. Maybe fifteen minutes here, fifteen minutes there.

Sunday morning, we amused ourselves with breakfast and cartoons, and Ben found a few more special toys he hadn't seen before. Then the boy and I took a nice long nap, after which we packed up all of our stuff and headed back down to Wausau. It's weird being at the house without my parents there, but they stayed in the UP for the night to be around the visiting Tepsa and Martilla family members.

When we got back to Wausau in the afternoon, there was a message waiting on our answering machine telling me to call my sister-in-law Jennifer in Green Bay. I called her, bewildered, since I only talk to her every couple of months. She tried making small talk, but I made her get to the point because I was dying of curiosity. I knew something was up because she had left a few messages on the answering machine at Nana's house as well. Turns out she's pregnant again, due in April. Ha!

Ha! I say. Over and over again. I'm thrilled, don't get me wrong, but this is not an expected turn of events. She has two sons, ages 13 and 8. For the last few years, she and my brother had been toying with the idea of having another baby, but she wasn't really into the idea, so they dropped it. Ha!

It's all very exciting. I'm due in November. She's due in April, and my sister Jolene and her husband are planning for another baby to be born in June or July. Ha! We're going to have to rent a freaking banquet hall for holidays now. So many grandbabies! There are already six, not counting the ones in utero. Ha!

So that was my weekend. We've got to clean house and get organized for the week to come, but we're so lethargic and exhausted, just relishing the comfort of being in our own house again.