Anger Management

Luke seems to have made me into an angry person.  I don't remember being this angry when Meike was a baby.  My anger is very specific...it's targeted at NOISE, because it routinely wakes the baby up.  Seriously, any noise.  It's become so ingrained that I even get mad at sounds when Luke is in a separate building.  Obviously, this is some sort of sleep-deprivation-induced new-mom-hormone madness (that's basically my excuse for everything weird that I do).

Here are some of the more recent sounds that have made me instantly irate:

• The dog walking on the hardwood floor.  I cannot cut those nails short enough (Luke's either, come to think of it).
• Cat food pouring into their dishes.  It's like an avalanche.
• Car doors being closed when the baby is asleep inside.  I have taken to closing the door as quietly as possible and then leaning on it with my butt until it catches.
• Jonathan emptying the dishwasher downstairs on the opposite side of the house, while I'm upstairs in the bedroom, with the door on and the humidifier acting as a white noise machine.
• Children playing and laughing while Luke is sleeping in public.  Their happiness is so inconsiderate.
• The sound that Jonathan's slippers make on the floor because he shuffles when he walks in them.
• Flushing the toilet in the master bath when Luke is asleep in the bed.  "If it's yellow, let it mellow..." has become my mantra.
• My cat has some sort of upper respiratory issue that causes him to have reverse-sneezing fits.  I've actually tossed his noisy ass into the hallway while he's coughing to spare the baby.  I have no remorse.

I could probably go on forever with these.  I'm surprised Meike is not afraid to talk near the baby at this point.

All-or-Nothing

I've been meaning to write about this for a while, but Mommy-duty is the Great Interrupter.  I've been feeling lately like I do not exist as a person outside of being a mom. But enough about that, for now.

Although not exclusive to the world of parenting, the all-or-nothing mentality is especially applicable to motherhood.  There's a new child-rearing philosophy (or as I like to call them, "baby trend") every month and it's hard to keep up.  Whatever new-age practices that were current during your first child's early years will almost certainly be outdated by the time you have the next, even if that's just a year later.  If you hang out with other new moms, you will probably feel pressure (whether self-imposed or otherwise) to choose a stance among the current regimes.

I remember when Meike was a baby and I read a scintillating article about Attachment Parenting.  I decided to read up on it, out of curiousity.  Much to my surprise, I found that I was already doing most of the things to which Attachment Parents subscribed.  But I couldn't check off all of those eight "Bs" (or however many there are) and therefore could not actually call myself an "Attachment Parent."

Luke had one bottle of formula when he was in the NICU and I felt like I failed him.  When Meike was 8mos old and I went back to work, I couldn't keep up with pumping exclusively.  And it made me feel selfish and lazy that I didn't want to pump every three hours at work.  But that didn't mean that I gave up breastfeeding entirely.  I nursed her when I was home and she had formula when I was gone.  With Luke, we tried using cloth diapers when we were home and disposables while we were out.  I buy organic when I can, but not exclusively.

There are a lot of aspects of mothering that seem to be some standard by which to measure just how committed and awesome you are in that role.  You either "are" or "are not," there are no Venn diagrams.  Are you breastfeeding? Well that baby better have never even had so much as a sniff of formula, or you might as well give up the boob immediately.  Baby having sleeping issues?  Pick a sleep-training theory and stick to it or you are most certainly setting your child up to be a 35-year old insomniac that still sleeps in your bed.  Time-outs?  Passe.  Use traditional baby food?  Tsk, tsk-that kid's going to be injecting that little fatty full of insulin before you know it.

It is emotionally and physically exhausting trying to keep up with all of the parenting standards that we are bombarded with.  It makes you wonder how civilization made it this long.  I mean, how did all those kids survive sleeping on their stomachs?  I think it's important to step back and think about what feels right for you and your baby.  What makes sense for your family.  These labels that we are trying to apply to ourselves are parenting fads that are forever changing.  A little bit of this, a little bit of that-whatever keeps you sane and your baby smiling.

Luke is calling, from my bed.  So I guess we are co-sleepers...some days.

Disgusting Diva

Is it wrong to be disgusted by your own child?  Well, too bad, because I am.  Meike has been super uber gross lately and I've been having to exert some tremendous self control to not say anything that will result in her having therapy-worthy self-image issues by the time she's five.

She's been peeing in her pants fairly regularly.  The degree of peeing varies, but the smell is pretty constant.  She either accumulates small drops throughout the day or full out pees on the couch while screaming at me that she doesn't have to go to the bathroom.  It seems like every time I pick her up, my hand/hip/arm gets wet.  It's really gross.  We're currently investing in Sam's Club-size carpet cleaning products.  I'm considering plastic clothes (for me).

Meike's nails grow at an alarming rate.  And with them, an accumulation of an insane amount of grime.  I have to clean her nails out every day so that she doesn't look homeless.  Now I understand why Jonathan is so neurotic about Meike putting her hands near Luke's mouth.

For some reason, Meike has recently started drooling.  When she laughs, she drools.  While I'm brushing her teeth, she drools.  While she's sleeping, she drools.  This wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for her horrific breath.  Her father and I have actually had conversations about it.  You do not want to be within a 5-ft radius of her mouth when she wakes up in the morning.  Seriously, you don't.  I made a few dentist appointments for her while I was pregnant, because there was enough making me nauseous as it was.  But, for whatever reasons, we kept having to cancel or reschedule.  I promise to get on that.  If only to spare Luke, who has Meike in his face 24/7.

In addition to all of these cuddle-inducing characteristics, Meike has been maxing out her annoying quotient.  She has apparent developed some crazy version of fibromyalgia that involves every single part of her body.  You cannot do anything to that girl without her whining about it hurting.  I should probably contact a medical journal, because it gets even weirder.  Meike's terrible disease intensifies near bedtime.

Cleaning her nails hurts.  Cutting her nails hurts.  Holding her hand over the sink hurts.  Being wiped with a wet washcloth hurts, with our without soap.  The blue bubblegum toothpaste hurts her teeth, which requires her to spit it all over my hands while I'm brushing them.  Putting her shirt on hurts her head.  Putting her socks on squishes her toes.  All blankets that are not pink assault her skin.  Washing her hair, conditioning her hair, and, of course, brushing her hair all elicit high-pitched screams.  The list goes on.  She's going to need a morphine drip by next week at this rate.  Or I am.

There's a Waffle in my Bathtub

In all honesty, there's actually a waffle in Meike's bathtub.  If we're considering who cleans and pays for said bathtub, ownership gets a little fuzzy.  And actually, it's not actually in the bathtub, but sitting up on the side.  I have no idea what brought Meike from eating breakfast at the downstairs table to abandoning the waffle in the upstairs bathroom (there's one downstairs, right next to the kitchen?).  I am assuming it was Meike, but I can just as easily picture Jonathan walking through various bathrooms muttering, "Leggo my Eggo."

Stranger things have happened when Jonathan is in charge of the children.  I'm sure all you moms out there have more interesting stories about Dad-watching-the-kids fiascoes.  I am sick and Luke is sick, so Jonathan is [sort of] in charge.  This basically means that Meike watches movies and wakes me up if there is anything "debatable" that needs settling.  Some previously debated topics have included: in what room diapers should be removed, how soon after waking diapers should be removed, and where diapers should go once they have been removed.  Meike and Jonathan argue about really important issues.  My house would probably implode if one of them did not awaken me from my semi-slumber (as I lay there listening to them arguing) to settle the disagreement.

Now that I've set up the scene for my rant, here it goes...

Why is it that men, in general, (I'm sure there are some competent ones out there who've learned through keen observation) seem to lack a natural ability to treat with children?  You guys just make things so much more complicated then they need to be.  Before arguing with your child, ask yourself the following questions:

Will this harm my child or another beyond reasonable repair?

Could I be imprisoned for what my child is currently doing? 

Will this result in me (or someone else you'd rather not deal with) spending a large amount of money?

If the answer is, "No," to all of those questions, then don't argue about it.  Your child will learn from natural consequences.  Or they will grow up to be the bane of civilization (but at least the hypothetical sick mom who was up all night nursing the hypothetical sick baby will get some uninterrupted sleep).  

Furthermore, I don't think it's fair that men can so easily put aside their fatherly duties.  For instance, if I want to go out for two hours without children, I have to prepare.  I have to find an appropriate caretaker.  I have to teach the caretaker the innumerable specifications of caring for my children.  Such painstaking details include everything from how many seconds to microwave the rice cereal to on which side the baby needs to be rocked to sleep so that he will stay asleep once he is put down (which isn't going to work anyway).  I need to pump milk in advance.  I need to bring a hand-held breast pump with me in case there's too much traffic or an earthquake or I'm having fun and don't want to go home.  I need to wear clothes that allow me to pump unencumbered, do not highlight my newly squishy post-baby belly, and hide those itchy nursing pads.  I need to plan and prepare the meals that will be made and eaten in my absence.  The list goes on...  

A man just needs to walk out the door; shower optional.

I would never even conceive of thinking about going out for eight hours to play "disc golf" (whatever the hell that is) and "have a few beers with the guys."  Especially not with a sick spouse and baby.  And if I did, I would come home spraying milk everywhere like a water sprinkler, which might actually be helpful because my house would probably be on fire because I did not respond to the 600 texts I received while I was out.

I acknowledge that this post sounds particularly biased and bigoted.  The truth hurts.

My Three Month-Old is Not Potty-Trained

That's right, I said three MONTH-old.  I did not mean to write three year-old, even though that would make a little more sense.  At least I thought so before today.  Apparently, Luke is behind the ball.  You'd think that sitting up unassisted would be a prerequisite for sitting on a porcelain bowl, but alas, it is not.

Ever heard of "EP-ing?"  I had a vague idea of it that I learned from...I don't know, probably the Daily Show or something.  For those of you not in the know (losers), EP stands for.. Oh man, I just looked it up because I could not form a sentence cohesive enough to describe it to you and discovered that it is actually called "EC-ing."  Turns out I'm the loser.

I digress.  So EC stands for Elimination Communication (aka Elimination Potty Training, must of been were I got the "P" from).  You are supposed to watch your infant for cues that they have to "eliminate" waste.  Then you somehow rush them the the toilet and dangle them there until it all comes out.  Here, let's test your skills.

Look at the following pictures and try to choose the one in which Luke is peeing (he's wearing a diaper because I'm old-fashioned like that):

 A

B

Could you tell which one it was?  Me neither.  But he was definitely moving in B (see the blur?).  

Diapers it is, Luke!

Ironically, this practice has produced such dignified publications as Trickle Treat and Potty Whispering.  I kid you not.  Are people really in such a rush for their babies to grow up?  Can't we just enjoy the ride?  

When you have a baby, you know what's involved before it arrives.  Diapers, drool, and spit-up.  Maybe you didn't know just how much of it was involved, but you were at least aware of the general implications of infant care.  I will liken the situation to getting a cat.  When you get a cat, you know it needs a litter box.  But, despite knowing this, do you potty-train your cat to fit your ideal Bohemian lifestyle?  No, you just keep on truckin with that pooper scooper.

One more fun fact:

ECed babies are free from the problems of conventional diapering: 

...not being able to explore this area...

That's been a big worry of mine.  I've been thinking lately, while changing his diapers, "How is Luke going to touch his penis frequently with this damn diaper in the way."  Problem solved!

Just in case I was too quickly dismissing the key to enhanced attachment with Luke, I asked him if he felt like we were not communicating enough about his elimination needs.  He drooled on me.  

Ethical Dilemmas

I have developed the following proverb:

 "If you don't want your children to know that you do shitty things, then don't do shitty things."

Poetic, I know.

I frequently have to hold my tongue in regard to this proverb when it comes to my 3yo daughter's father, Andrew.  I try to shelter Meike from our drama as much as possible, I really do.  But he does some really shitty things and she sees it.  My father is positive that Meike will grow up to hate Andrew.  For Meike's sake, I really hope not.  I hope that Andrew realizes what he is doing before he does irreparable damage to his relationship with Meike.

I'm writing about this because there is a particular incidence of "shitty things" going on right now.  Andrew is flying with Meike up to NJ on Wednesday.  The trip is a gift from Andrew's mother and all of her gifts come with strings.  It's something I learned well during our brief relationship.  Andrew and his family are going to some sort of Rutgers' game (he's an alumnus) on Saturday, I believe.  Andrew offered to let my mother pick up Meike for the day, rather than get a babysitter.  My mother, and the rest of my family, were elated to have the opportunity to see Meike.  Andrew's family has a lot more money than mine and, consequently, they get to see Meike more frequently.

Then Andrew ran this scenario by his mother. Dun-dun-dun....  She was very upset and did not want Meike to spend time with her maternal relatives when she was paying for the trip.  Some "gift," eh?  And as Andrew put it, "She paid for the tickets, so..."  So...he'll do what she tells him to.  This is the third time that Andrew has interferred with Meike seeing my family.  I've tried to keep it from Meike, but what am I supposed to say to her?  She was looking forward to seeing my mother and other family members.  It was, to say the least, a moral dilemma. 

I decided not to take the fall for Andrew and his mother.  I decided to tell Meike the truth, in as brief terms as possible.  I explained to her that she was no longer going to get to see her Grammy Suzy (my mother) and I told her why, because she explicitly asked.  Meike was devastated.  The worst part is that she talked to Andrew about it and he told her that I was lying to her. 

I left it at that.  I am not going to have Meike going back and forth between us getting different stories and dealing with us each saying the other parent is not telling her the truth.  This puts me in a real ethical dilemma.  In the future, do I cover for Andrew to avoid him lying to Meike about the shitty things he does?  Do I tell her the truth and let him (and her) suffer the consequences.  I don't know.  I wish I didn't have to choose.

Rules of [Baby] Engagement

There are too many rules; baby rules, that is.  And the funny thing about them is that the babies don't even know they exist.  Who makes these rules?  The baby emperor?  We definitely need a baby ambassador or maybe just an interpreter.  I don't know what we need exactly, but someone needs to get these babies back in line (not that they were ever actually in said line).

Luke has absolutely no idea that any of the following Laws of Baby Care exist:

• Put babies to down in their cribs to sleep when they are still awake.  This way they learn how to put themselves to sleep and don't need you when they wake up at night.

           This is hilarious.  Either the person who made this rule never actually cared for any infants or I have a singularly rebellious baby. If he's in a good mood, Luke will lay and maybe watch his mobile for a while, talk to the blue elephant lying nearby (another rule breaker), or calmly try to stuff both of his hands into his mouth at the same time.  However, a majority of the time, when he is actually tired, it's not such a mellow scene. 

           I will place him down (on his back of course-that's another rule that I'll get to) and he'll coo and smile at me as I talk to him soothingly.  Then I'll take a step back and it will still be okay.  Then I will close the door behind me, and all hell breaks loose.  There's banging and screaming- not upset-baby continual crying, but raging screams that I'm sure would be interpreted as expletives if such an interpreter existed.  Even after I retrieve him from the crib of torture, he will occasionally lift his head from nursing at my breast and let out a short yell, just to let me know how mad he really is, and then go right back to his serene suckling.

• Babies cannot eat solid food until they are at least four months old (or six months old-this rule varies).

          Luke thinks this rule is for pussies.  At least he would if he knew the rule existed.  Since he has been able to track things that are about two feet from his face, Luke has watched us eat.  By "watched us eat," I mean he drooled, stopped all movement, and stared with wide eyes as the fork/spoon went from the plate/bowl to the mouth and back again.  There may have been some "Oo-ooo"-ing and arm-reaching involved.  

          Now, he actually jumps his whole body up and down while flailing his arms and legs anytime he realizes that there is food in his vicinity.  Despite everything I've read, I doubt that feeding him little bits here and there a few weeks early is going to traumatize his body (at least not a measurable amount, I hope). 

• Babies should always sleep on a flat surface with no blankets, toys, or signs of life present.

          If there is any sure-fire way to wake Luke up instantly, it is to put him down flat on his back.  He will wake up upon contact with any non-flesh surface and exact retribution.  I usually have to either lay him down on his side and finagle a rolled up blanket behind him so he doesn't roll back over (a 15-minute process) or nurse him to sleep in my bed and sneak out (also a 15 minute process) afterwards.  

          Either way, I am breaking multiple baby rules.  I have a lingering suspicion that Luke may have found out about this rule recently because he no longer sleeps any more than 15 minutes past being put down or snuck away from.

I keep reminding myself that I should savor these days because I will miss having a demanding little baby to cuddle with at some later point in my life when I will get to sleep without something attached to me again.  Oh wait, I mean...some day in the near future when I will have to suffer the tragedy of not waking with a sweaty baby head on my arm, pee on my bed or the side of my nightgown from a leaky diaper, or spit-up in my armpit.  Oops, I forgot again.

P.S.  I've officially given up on trying to blog on any sort of real schedule.  I'd just be setting myself up for failure.  I'm basically showering like once a week at this point; blogging is just not a priority.  I'll get to it when I can, which is not nearly as much as I'd like to.

Transformation

So Luke's room is finally, mostly, finished.  What once was a wood-panelled pseudo-office is now a full fledged nursery.  I have to add a few accessories here and there and the closet is unfinished.  While the closet will have to wait until we have more cash flow coming in, finishing the decorating requires Luke to allow me to be away from him for more than 15 minute intervals.

A brief synopsis of the work: Jonathan ripped half of the panelling off of the walls in order to create a wainscotting look. As you can tell from the picture, the walls underneath required serious plastering (and sanding) to create a flat surface. We also added new trim with floor molding and a chair rail.  I helped with the painting (a little)!

Before:



  

After:

I still have to get a curtain rod and hang the adorable valance.

Close-up:

These are mirrored wall appliques.

After (I can't find the before for this wall):

See those monkey faces on the floor-those are going up on the left wall there.  Each face depicts a different emotion.  They are a huge pain in the ass to put up; the monkey above the crib is the same material and a third of the size-it took two hours.  The cute framed giraffe poster is going up on the other wall.

Before:

After:

Here's the notorious, yet adorable, two-hour monkey.  I have two picture frames that will go up on that right wall space, a handprint on top and a footprint on the bottom.  Those doors on the left open into our bedroom.

Up Close:

And, despite all of the time and effort we put into Luke's nursery, he has yet to sleep a single night in there.  He prefers to snuggle with Mommy.

Spousal Support

FYI-I apologize in advance for any and all spelling and grammatical errors henceforth.  I am speed-typing to get this all down before my little baby implodes from having to interact with someone other than myself.

I'm always unsure of how to refer to Jonathan.  Although I don't correct others when they casually refer to him as my husband, I don't throw that term around myself.  After all, that would have us commonlaw in a snap and I'm not willing to bear the burden of marriage without a big ring and fancy wedding.  Just because I'm not big into marriage doesn't mean I'm not greedy and vain. 

However, calling Jonathan what he is, my boyfriend, is not ideal either.  Saying "boyfriend" makes me feel sixteen (and not in a good way) and, I feel, trivializes our relationship.  Thus, I'm left with "spouse" or "partner," both of which cause people to immediately peg me as a lesbian.  Whatever, let them wonder.

Anyway, Jonathan has been a great support during the tyrant's reign.  Jonathan brings me water, feeds me, and reminds me to shower every once in a while.  Jonathan even attempts to alleviate me of the tyrant for minimal amounts of time.  That's right, I said TYRANT.  My life is currently being controlled by a tyrant.  A demanding 7 week old tyrant has me under his tiny thumb (which exerts no less proverbial pressure than a full-size one).  Everything is a demand!  He doesn't even have the courtesy to feign polite requests.

                         "Waaaaa!"     Take off your shirt and feed me wench!
                         "Arrghh!"      Change my diaper this instant!
                         "Mnnnn!"      Get back here right now!
                         "Unghh!"       Burp me so I can vomit on you!
 
 King Luke seems to know that Meike is not here; he has demanded 100% of my attention in her absence.  For the past three days, I've basically been confined to bed with my Lord and Master attached to me in some manner.  He will not tolerate me being away from him and will not accept anyone else in my stead.  Well, except for two miraculous occasions:

1. June 26, 2001 13:00-14:30 hours - Luke was content to be passed from woman to woman for this time period.  It was amazing.  I honored this blessing by spending the time jumping in an inflatable castle with a bunch of sweaty preschoolers.  You know how I just love screaming children, but really, who doesn't?  Ah, the joys of children's birthday parties.
2. June 28, 2011 12:00-12:30 hours - This one only sort-of counts as a repreive because, while I was allowed out of the bed, I still had to maintain an acceptable proximity to Luke.  And by acceptable proximity, I mean I tied him to my body and he didn't cry.  I managed to get Luke's name letters sticky-tacked to the wall above his crib.  I got ahead of myself with this one by then updating my status on Facebook with a promise of an imminent post with his room details and pictures.  Luke promptly put me in check by demanding to get out of the wrap and back into the bed.

You might be thinking any number of obvious things to say to me, so let me address those thoughts now:

• Contrary to everything afore mentioned, I do not actually believe that me newborn seeks to control me.  Ironic, I know.  I am not willing to make him "cry it out" to show him who's boss.  His intellectual capacity is pretty much maxed out after staring at the ceiling fan for 8 minutes.  At this point, all he knows is summed up by "Mommy feels nice and no Mommy feels no nice."  He hasn't mastered the English language either yet, much to my chagrin.
• Yes, I know that I've done a wonderful job decorating his room.  Thank you for noticing.  Oh, and yes, those letters are hand painted.  It took several days due to a certain someone incessantly needing me.
• I know that having Luke sleep in my bed will lead to both his eventual death and his remaining there for the next five years.  Even though I somehow managed to avoid both of these eventualities with Meike, I do not fool myself by thinking that it is not a possibility for Luke.  I say it instead of they because I only really acknowledge that he could be in my bed for a while, not that he could die in said bed.  Luke is invincible.  I mean, does that look like a child who'd let mere blankets snuff him out?  Luke punches blankets in the face regularly.

Well, that's all the time I've been allotted, as the King is calling.

Promises, Promises..

I promise, again, that I will keep this blog up-to-date and post regularly from now on.  That's a super-extra extreme promise.  However, I intend to go a different route with the blog here on out.  I don't want to write about boring everyday things that my kids do.  I don't want to bore you, after all.  I'm going to write about the funny stuff, the ironic stuff, the crappy stuff.  And I'm going to focus on New Baby Life (it's a legitimate time period, like Toddler and Middle-Age).  Just a heads-up for anyone not truly familiar with me, I am Sarcastic (yes, the capital is necessary).  So anything that comes across as harsh, cruel, abusive, out-of-line, or insensitive, just chalk (chock?) it up to my witty sarcasm.

Just a brief tidbit for now, since I'm trembling on the edge of sanity listening for any sound of malcontent that little Luke might utter.  Speaking of which, is there anything like a new baby that makes you "hush" at people  maniacly?  Even though this bundle of joy sleeps through Fred Flinstone snoring from Jonathan and stadium-quality sound projection from Meike, I am frantically "Shhh"-ing at sounds like dishes clinking together and toilet flushing.  Yes, my 5-week old's happiness does come before my cats' rights to drink out of a clean toilet, regardless of how they feel about it.

Back to the main story, I realized today that I am much more self consious now than I ever was before.  Aren't you supposed to become more confident with age?  I never used to look at other women and compare myself to them.  But I caught myself doing just that several times today.  We went out for a Father's Day dinner at a new restaurant called "Look at my Boobs."  Just kidding, I forget what it was called (I'll remember later, ramdomly, when it's no longer relevant); it was akin to Hooters, but with a classier decour and awesome food.  I'm not saying Hooters doesn't have good food- everyone talks about the wings, right? 

As I noticed Jonathan's wandering eyes, I began to take notice of the girls walking around.  Then I began to systematically take down each waitress (in my head at least).  Some of the following thoughts ran through my head:

"Yeah she has nice legs, but my boobs are totally bigger than hers." 

"My hair is so much nicer than hers; what a trashy color."

"I've had two kids and I'm not that jiggly."

Regardless of the validity of my comparisons, I felt it necessary to one-up every girl that passed.  I never used to care about guys checking out other chicks.  Studies show that even babies prefer to look at attractive people.  And I've always been very confident.  If I'm going to waste my energy on being jealous, I should be comparing more useful things, like who gets more sleep and who gets thrown up on the least.
Is this just some postpartum craziness?  Will it go away in a few weeks when I feel less squishy (if I ever feel less squishy)?  Do any of you other new moms find yourself succumbing to any random insecurities?

On with the Show!

So here I am at 36 weeks and 5 days... and this baby is all but falling out.  I've experienced basically every possible indication that the onset of labor is imminent:

• The baby "dropped" around two weeks ago.  Yay I can eat a full meal!  Boo I have to pee every 15 minutes.
• I have "false labor" contractions where my lower abdomen gets rock hard at regular intervals for hours at a time.  Good practice, I guess??
• About ten days ago, the OB checked me and I was 3cm dilated and 70% effaced.  I didn't have him check me at my appointment this week because it hurts like a mo-fo to have it done and the only purpose it would serve is to satisfy my curiousity.
• The OB also said that the baby's head was at 0 station, so he's fully engaged in my pelvis.  This explains the unpleasant lightening-strike shocks I get through my groin/hip/upper thigh area when I'm walking.; It's knocked me down a few times and I'm afraid that it's going to be the "straw-that-broke-the-camel's will to decline an epidural" if it continues through active labor/pushing.
• A few days ago, I lost my mucus plug (aka "bloody show," though it wasn't so bloody-TMI, I know).  This is supposed to mean that delivery is a week away, max. Ha!

I suppose I shouldn't be complaining yet since I'm still about a month shy of my due date.  The OB assures me that I will not make it to May 20th, but is reluctant to give a more specific timeline.  I bought way too much "newborn" size clothing, so he needs to get out and use them!

Pregnancy Moment?

So I've been sitting here crying now for about twenty minutes, straight.  I'm not sure if it's a hormone mama thing or if it would have happened anyway.  I came across the following story and found it emotionally devastating.  It's about an 18mo with a really terrible disease/prognosis; she is no longer able to see or even smile:

http://healinganaya.blogspot.com/p/about-anaya.html
The link is to the page that explains about the child and family; the mom posts regular blogs as well.

I found the little things to be the most heartbreaking, like the mom talking about helping her daughter move her hand to touch her lips, after the little girl had been quivering with effort from trying to move her arms on her own.  Just writing that made me start crying again. 

I keep going upstairs, where Meike is napping in my bed, and just staring at her sweet sleeping face.  I had to come downstairs because I got to the point where I was afraid my crying would wake her.  This story makes me feel so grateful to have the beautiful healthy child that I do.  And then it makes me feel guilty for having her; I haven't done anything in my life to deserve such a blessing when there are mothers out there who are just happy to have their child not die today. 

Of course I know that there are tons of stories like these, not about this particular disease, but about sick children.  But there's something about reading this mother's daily struggle with actual live hourly updates is very powerful.  Even more moving is the grace she outwardly displays (I'm sure it's not so calm inside) in being thankful for every day that she has with her baby. 

In celebration of this little girl's 18-month birthday, here is an excerpt from what the mother wrote to her:

We love you sweetie. We're so glad you grace us with your presence. Stay as long as you need to. We will take care of you and help you in every way we can.

This makes me feel like a whiny selfish person for complaining about being tired because I'm 8 months pregnant and chasing Meike around.  It makes me treasure all the moments I have with her and really appreciate just how lucky I am. 

As I was laying down with Meike today to get her to take her nap, I actually had to reprimand her (i.e. threaten no pool time) to get her to stop kissing my tummy "for Baby Luke" (like 30 times) and lay down.  I certainly won't be doing that again; I'll soak up those kisses 'til the cows come home.

Arrowhead Ranch

I decided to leave my monologue from last night after minor adjustments.  I guess the point I was trying to make was... I enjoyed spending time with mothers my own age. 

The picture on the right is the end of her forced "cheese" face. Too funny.

Anyway, we went to Arrowhead Ranch on Friday expecting a large farm or ranch.  While it is a working cattle ranch, it's on a random plot behind a development.  You literally have to turn down a dirt side street in between two cookie-cutter houses to get to the parking lot.  The ranch is not normally open to the public, but they were open for two hours that day for spring break.  Their website boasts a petting zoo, horse rides, and a "roping game" and they charge a $5 flat-fee.

The entire fenced-in play area was maybe 400 square feet.  There were two chickens, two rabbits, three goats, a donkey, two ponies, and two horses.  We were given a small amount of feed (a halfway-full mouthwash-size paper cup) for the goats, who were each tied to a tree by a dog leash.  I actualy kind of liked that they were tied up, because normally free-roaming goats trample Meike when food is involved.  The donkey just slept the whole time in his own little pen.  A horse or carraige (which was nowhere to be found) ride was included in the price and you could purchase additional rides for $2, which was a pretty fair price compared with other venues.  Riding the horse in two short 50 yard circles was Meike's favorite part.  I even splurged on a second ride for her.

The rabbits had horrible canker ear (likely scars from previous infections, since they weren't scratching) and Meike asked why they had "crumbs and seashells" in their ears.  There was a bench surrounded by a portable fence where the kids would sit and a very grumpy 16yo would continuously pick up the rabbits and place them in their laps. 

Meike attached herself to a 6yo girl and sat next to her on the bench for a really long time.  Meike seems to like older girls better than kids her own age.  Meike then followed the girl around repeating, "This is my new friend. Want to be my friend? I'm going to be your friend." about a hundred times.

The "roping game" consisted of a 1ft tall metal pole bent into the shape of a bull with a lasso around it.  Meike took turns with a younger girl sitting on the bull and getting roped by the older girl.  Meike found this immensely amusing and probably sat there for about twenty minutes total. 

Arrowhead Ranch is otherwise only open for super cheap private birthday parties.  They also offer a cool package for $35 that I think I'm going to get Meike for her birthday.  You get 45 minutes of horse petting, brushing, feeding, and riding on a one-on-one basis.  Plus they give the kid a cowboy hat and balloons and everything.  I think Meike would really love the personal time with the horse. 

Which leads me on to birthday planning...only a month to go!

Playgroups

Meike and I went to our first born-again stay-at-home-mom playgroup today.  The group is called something like "20 to 30-something year old moms..."  It was so nice to be around moms my own age.  I tried to join a playgroup when Meike was only a few months old, but never returned after the first meetup.  First of all, the group was comprised of four or five 35yo+ women who lived on the same street together in Westlake.  They were all "retired" (is that the right word?) professionals who had already established themselves in fields like medicine and law.  They nursed their kids until they were 3+ years old (I try not to judge and to be open minded, but I'll expand on this in a minute).  We (meaning me vs them, collectively) were very obviously at different points in our lives in multiple regards and it made it difficult for me to relate to them or feel comfortable.  The fact that they were already an established close-knit group who shared the same parenting perspective (whether peer influenced or not) didn't help things.

Now, I am all about natural, free, unadulterated childhood and innocence, but even I got a little squeemish when the third chick nonchalantly threw her shirt aside to nurse her 3yo son.  He would just run up to her, fumble around with her shirt and bra like a nervous 13yo about to get to second base, and the mom would just help him undress her while continuing on in conversation as if nothing unusual or private or noticable was going on.  As if that wasn't enough, the mom then commented that she had decided to wean her son a few months ago and had consequently "dried up."  So she was continuing to let her 3yo publicly disrobe her at a whim so he could suck on some "dried up" boobs?  The mom didn't even address the possibility of the situation being awkward or unusual.  She just sat there without her shirt on so the boy could alternate between playing with his friends and sucking on her boobs at his pleasure. 

I think of myself as having a fairly lassaiz-faire (or is it laissez?) approach to parenting and in responding to other parenting styles.  I mean, of course I have my own opinions about bed-sharing, free-birthing, nursing, and such, but I keep them to myself.  I'm not so arrogant as to think that I know all the right answers or that I utilize superior parenting techniques.  But the group of women my own age seem to be much less rigid when it comes to parenting idealogies.  We aren't going to keep trying to put a square peg in a round hole because it's "what the books says." 

Even though I'm not a particularly young mother, I did feel pressure in that Westlake group to measure up... To measure up to the complete maternal selflessness for which Attachment Parenting has been criticized.  I don't feel that pressure from my similar-aged peers; we are all trying to figure out our place in this world and create a niche for our little families.  We're letting the pieces fall into place without too much poking or proding or reshaping.  Austin seems to reel in a diverse mix of folks from far and wide.  We're happy with the momentary status quo and are trying to enjoy it, first-hand, as much as possible.  Maybe it's because we haven't spent quite so long investing in and fantasizing about this perfect family.  Rather than trying to make the subject fit/suit the medium, we're just mixing it all together to see what adventure and fun comes out.

**About halfway through writing this blog, I realized that my sleeping med had kicked in.  I tried to push through it, but I'm pretty sure I've ended up with a whingy tantrum about ...something to do with parenting or motherhood.  Forgive me or appreciate the unadulturated... I must now stop and will most likely do some MAJOR editting in the morning.

Under Construction

Obviously, I have not been doing so well with keeping this blog up-to-date.  I have a legitimate (if really stupid) excuse!  I forgot which website I had chosen to host the blog and could only think of Blogger.  I finally did a search of "blogs" today and pulled this up almost immediately.  Trial and error, right...  Check that off my list of future excuses for procrastination.

So...the nursery is coming along.  The full wall paneling that was actually house siding (the last owner was very into do-it-yourself)has been reduced to the bottom half of the wall.  We've tested about a dozen different paint colors.  You can't tell from the pictures due to the poor lighting, but the paneling will be blue and the top part of the wall will be yellow.  Jonathan still has to do the molding/trim for the chair rail and the floor, which will be a rich brown color. 

I'm starting to think that Jonathan is doing it himself just so he can buy a new tool each week.  What's with guys and gadgets that do things for you that you can already do yourself just fine [without said gadget]?  Anyone else know what I'm talking about?  In addition to the plethora of tools that are piling up in our garage, the construction zone is like a children's playground of death.  Let me just say that it's a good thing that Meike doesn't get to wander the house unsupervised... ever.  And that I now know where all of the scissors went...



 Yes, those are razor-sharp lethal kitty claws... next to the scissors, pocket knife, dremel, and a circular saw.

And since we're on the subject of hazardous materials, I'll throw this one in just for fun:

A Positive Direction

Bunny and Duck are made out of playdough. Jonathan challenged me to replicate the rabbit from the playdough ad. Duck was created to keep Bunny company for a few minutes until Meike decided to smoosh them both, while laughing meniacly (I do worry sometimes...).

     Overall, Meike seems to be settling down into our new home routine. All of the changes over the past few months have been rough on her. She missed Jonathan while he was out of the home and was always asking for him to "stay forever" when he visited. She is happy to have him back in the home.  It seems that she's even developed more fondness for him; she'll sit on his side of a booth when we go out, or will ask him to hold her instead of me. Mama is no longer the unequivicable preferred standard (which is a load off my shoulders).   

 These are the pictures that I took during a yummy breakfast at the Pancake House. 

I'll have to ask Jonathan for his pictures from that morning,

which detail Meike licking whipped cream out of a bowl like a cat.

      Meike started sleeping in my bed in December after Jonathan had been out of the home for about a week.  It was a great comfort for her; she stopped avoiding bed time, stopped waking up at night, and was less often wetting the bed.  She is still sleeping in my bed a majority of the time.  Otherwise, she wets whatever not-Mama's-bed she's sleeping in at the time. 

     We bought her a pop-up tent as a reward for being a good helper (we have a chart with stickers and everything).  She was very excited and wanted to sleep in the tent.  So I'm trying to transition her out of my bed and into the tent.  I tried just putting her back in her room in the tent, but she peed three sets of pjs before I just pulled her back into my bed.  She is consistently dry when she sleeps in my bed and she's been doing well with the tent in my room.  It's just such a process.  I'm not in a rush for her to be independent, but I do want her to feel secure.  Advice is welcome, unless you plan to tell me that I should stick her in her own bed and make her deal with it.  That line of advice is most definitely not welcomed.

     All this talk of sleeping arrangements might make one wonder...so where does Jonathan fit into all of this?  He fits quite well in the guest bed or on the couch.  Honestly, I've been kicking him out for being a Snore-o-saurus for a while, so it wasn't any big change for us.

I love you Amazon (& consequently my kindle)

I dread making customer service calls... Not know if I'm going to be able to understand the person talking to me and vice verse, spending 174 minutes navigating through cyclical automated systems, people asking me the same questions over and over again, not to mention the holding and wav file music.  It all just sucks.

Well, Amazon's customer service does not suck. I love how I can punch in my number on their website and they call me right up, with a real person and everything. No waiting or wasting time.  I've been noticing lately that it is like trying to get out of a maze to just find that one page of actual contact info on a lot of company's websites. It's like they want to hide it as well as they can without being toooo obvious that they do not want to talk to or deal with you.  Or you have companies like ebay, where there is literally no way to contact them besides frustratingly slow and unproductive emails back and forth until you punch ebay in the face (figuratively, because if you broke your computer you would miss out on the titillating experience of Amazon's customer service).

Anyway, my kindle is all F-ed up and I sought assistance. Someone in my house is not good about putting things away or keeping valuable objects off of the floor. That person is currently pregnant and is therefore granted immunity from any fault whatsoever. The lovely South African lady (tell-tale accent, like a German who learned English while living with an Englishman and an Australian exclusively) said, "Yup, sounds like it's messed up."  FYI- I did not mention to possible stepping on of the kindle. She asked me if it was a gift and then told me I'd get a new on by Tuesday. Really? It's that simple? You don't want to do any analytical testing to get out of having to uphold the warranty? WooHoo!

Now I just have to fill up my next two days with something that is NOT reading. I'm sure Meike will think of something :)

A New Beginning

The title is cheesy, I know... but it really sums up where I am in my life at this point.  It's been a rocky few months.  It feels like my previous existence has been bulldozed, so here I am building it back up...

When Meike was born, I had every intention of scrapbooking every moment of her fascinating little life.  Three days and about fifteen full-bed-linen changes later, I knew it was going to be hard to keep up.  Now here I am with another baby on the way, hoping once again to document it all.  I feel guilty as I look through the half-completed baby books that get emptier as the pages flip by.  I'm pretty good about uploading pictures to Facebook, so I figured I'd be more likely to succeed if I was able to just upload photos, rather than have to get them printed to put in books. 

So this is my second attempt to document my children's childhoods.  Even though Meike and Luke (current forerunner for baby #2s name) are growing up without the daily interaction of our dearest family members and friends, I hope to keep you all abreast (literally, with the new baby coming and Meike's current fascination with "boobies") of their development and milestones.  Mostly, I just want to share and remember all of the hilarious things that my kids say and do!  I hope you all find their antics as entertaining as I do!

P.S. The blog is named after the words we've diligently chosen to have our kids use for their "private parts."  We were obviously going for very technical and proper terminology, not just the funniest, yet fitting, words we could think of... ah, the perks of parenthood.