The Itch

Little Freddie is ten months old and already acting more like a kid than a babe. For example, he ate quarter of a grilled cheese sandwich yesterday. He dwarfs his little cousins, and after I cradle those tiny boys in my arms he seems a giant in comparison.

I mean, look at these two little chalupas!

Also, I'm still leading the local breastfeeding support group, so I get frequent exposure to babies of various ages and mamas-to-be.

All of these things has set my womb to craving an occupant.

(DISCLAIMER! I am not planning on having any more babies. And unlike in the past, when we were not 'not trying' to get pregnant, we are actively NOT trying to get pregnant. That sentence is like a riddle! To clarify: the goalie has been put back in the net, so to speak.)

I know it's all just hormones, but right now I'm kind of understanding how my grandmother ended up with eight kids, and my great-grandmother with eleven. I feel a desperate, primal urge to reproduce on a daily basis. It seems like as soon as my youngest becomes the weensiest bit independent, I want to replace them with a helpless, floppy newborn.

I will say that, in the past, these feelings were much more intense. When we decided to add a third kid to the family, thoughts of babies filled my every waking thought, and even some of my nighttime ones as well. Also, the thought of making Fred a middle child of sorts is unbearable. His overall perfectness has really cemented my decision to have him be my last. I want to relish in his every moment, and I really feel that no other baby would have the same effect.

But even though my head knows these things, the womb doesn't quite. All it knows is that it doesn't like being empty for long. Perhaps I could start stashing my spare change in there.

How Sam Came to Be

My husband has been travelling a lot lately. He has a side gig where he goes to big city-type places with fancy restaurants and gets car services and first class upgrades and hotel suites. It all sounds very glam, until you realize that he had to drive from WV to Pittsburgh, fly to Miami via Charlotte, then get up at 5am to fly to Newark before lunch, then head to Manhattan for dinner, then back to the airport so he can fly back into Pittsburgh around midnight, drive home to WV and get up at 6am for work tomorrow. That's five airports in about 36 hours. Typing it all out like that makes me feel slightly less jealous that he's having dinner at Bar Boulud tonight and I'm having left over spaghetti and meatballs for the second day in a row.

ANYWAY, all of the travel reminded me of how and when Sam was conceived. (Side note: this isn't going to get all graphic or anything, so don't worry. Intimate details will most certainly not be provided!)

When SOB was about to start his final year of residency I had been working at my current post for about three and a half years. I had moved up from when I began, but I knew it wasn't for me, long term. We had talked about having a baby, and decided that if we started trying now the timing would hopefully work out well, since we were already planning to move for his fellowship. I stopped taking my birth control pills in April, and that first month we just kind of winged it. When we went on vacation in May, I was in that horrible 'it's too early to know if I'm pregnant, but I might be so no booze' stage and I lamented our decision to start trying before our trip. I also lamented the amount of money I was spending on pregnancy tests, but that was to be expected, right?

The next week I got my period, and because I am an absolute control freak I immediately went online and ordered some ovulation prediction kits. I wasn't going to let this whole process develop naturally. I was a scientist, damn it, and I knew all about the processes going on inside my body. I also knew there were ways of monitoring them, so a few days later the kits arrived.

After reading all of the instructions (twice), I marked off the days on the calendar when I would start testing. SOB had a conference scheduled for that month, but it was towards the end of what I predicted would be my most fertile period. I started the ovulation tests, and day after day I would get a negative. I started to think that I was doing something wrong. After re-re-reading the instructions and realizing that I was doing everything right, I started to worry. His trip was looming, his destination all the way on the other side of the country. He was only scheduled to be gone for three days, but in ovulation speak that was long enough to miss our window.

He flew out on Wednesday. He was scheduled to return first thing Sunday morning via red eye.

On Thursday afternoon my ovulation test was positive.

I was disappointed that we would be waiting another month to try for our baby, but held onto a tiny shred of hope that if he wasn't too tired on Sunday morning maybe we still had a shot. I gave him a call, and before I could even say a word he starting telling me about how boring his conference was and how he wished he was coming home earlier. Maybe he was blowing smoke up my ass, but I saw my opportunity and wasn't about it let it go! I immediately told him about the test and then commenced a campaign of convincing him to come home a day early. If he got on the red eye Friday night, I argued, we'd get at least two chances for our future child.

He said he'd look into it. The next day he was on a plane headed back to me and his pro-creation duties.

Two weeks later, I got my first positive pregnancy test. What was truly fitting about it was that it was the day before Father's Day.

To this day SOB likes to tell people that I forced him to fly back from California to have sex with me, and while that may be a teeny tiny bit true, when I look at Sammy, I think to myself, thank god I was so damned persuasive!

One, Two, Three, Four

Freddie's Birth Story

This long overdue tale begins on a Wednesday. Wednesday March 9th, to be exact. I had an appointment with the midwife in the morning, and had been sadly informed that I had not really dilated much from the previous week. After what I thought was a rather, um, rough internal examination, I was listed at 1cm with some wiggle room. Based on the exam, I think the "wiggle room" was created by my midwife, not that I'm complaining.

That night, SOB and I went out to dinner, and I was having contractions throughout the whole meal. Once we got home, I experienced what those in the business of delivering babies refer to as The Bloody Show. Which is a pretty horrific term, if you ask me. It was about 10pm, so I called my folks just to give them a heads-up that we might be heading to the hospital sooner than later. This was how things started during my labor with Lucy, and I ended up at the hospital in less than four hours.

That was not the case with little Freddie, however.

I spent most of the night sleeping, with intermittent painful contractions. I woke up on Thursday and spent the entire day in the same situation. Noticeable, irregular contractions with no indication that things were going to be getting serious any time soon. SOB was on call that night, so he was hoping that I would make it until at least 7am on Friday when his shift ended.

He got his wish.

On Friday morning, annoyed beyond belief, I called the midwife. My next appointment was not scheduled until Monday, and I knew my patience wouldn't last that long. She had me come in, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had dilated to 4cm since Wednesday. She asked if I wanted my membranes stripped, and I emphatically said YES! If I didn't feel ready to head to the hospital by the end of the work day I could come back into the office to get checked again, just for my own information.

SOB and I went out to lunch, where he informed our server that I was in labor, totally freaking her out. Then we went and walked around Lowe's. At this point I was feeling some pretty good contractions, and frequently needed to stop while picking out light bulbs. After we got home, my parents quickly arrived. I decided to take a bath, in the hopes that relaxing would speed things along.

WRONG!

Instead of quickening things, the bath slowed everything down to a near stop. Since it was about 3:30pm, I called the midwife's office to see about coming back in. And as I suspected, I hadn't progressed at all. So we went for round two of membrane stripping and headed back home to wait. One thing the midwife did mention was that multiple pregnancies may have made my uterine muscle less efficient. She suggested tying a half sheet from the office around my waist, just above my belly button, as tightly as I could stand. In her past experiences, the sheet would kind of hold things down, so that the contractions could be more effective. Which is how I came to spend the next three hours pacing around my house looking like I was wearing a backwards apron.

After dinner, which I did not eat, we put on Monsters, Inc. for the kids and I began timing my contractions. After 40 minutes or so, things seemed to be getting pretty consistent. I was averaging a contraction every 4 minutes, so we headed to the hospital. As soon as we got there, they checked me out, and I had only dilated to 5cm in the last few hours! I was a wee bit crushed, but asked to have my water broken ASAP. With Lucy and Maggie, once my water was broken the babies came out in a matter of hours, and even though my other experiences hadn't been a good predictor, I was optimistic that this one would work.

Finally, I was right about something!

Around 10pm, I was really feeling the pain. I asked to be checked, and decided mentally that if I was past 7cm I would stick it out. I wasn't quite as committed to going drug-free this time around, but it still seemed attractive to me in the right setting.

Sadly, I had only progressed to 6cm since breaking my water two hours earlier.

So the epidural went in, and despite being a little patchy, I was able to get some pain relief. For about half an hour or so. Maybe 45 minutes. Because then, well, Freddie was ready to make his entrance.

Three solid pushes later, my boy had arrived. He was screaming and slimy and absolutely perfect. He was born at 11:46pm, weighed 7 pounds, 14 ounces and was 20.5 inches long.

love at first sight

I'm Finished!

I have reached that lovely, magical point in pregnancy where I am 100% over it. Every twinge or pang is contemplated far longer than necessary because OMG can I please just go into labor already? I am irrationally (but also sometimes rationally) angry at most everyone and everything. My husband's work schedule? Makes me angry. My kids' school schedule? Angry. OB appointments every week? ANGRY! Snow? *Eyes crossing with rage*

My kitchen has been ripped apart for 10 days, so we've been eating a lot of junk. We're getting new carpeting in our room and upstairs, which means that all closets and dressers have to be emptied out by Monday morning when they arrive to rip out the old carpet. And did I mention that the new counters are getting installed at the same time? Right in time for SOB to make an ill-timed trip to Cleavland, hip hip hooray.

So again, I'm just trying to focus on the little pleasant things that occasionally pop up. For example, Lucy's idea to take duck sauce packets to school for show and tell. They're learning about the food pyramid/triangle thing, and since I mentioned earlier about all of the the crappy food we've been eating, we have duck sauce in abundance. Or my son, shooting me the most serious of looks from across the breakfast table as he informed me, "The truth is, I am Iron Man." (Guess what movie Sam watched with SOB this week?) Or Maggie as Harrison Ford.

Anything that can make me smile these days is to be cherished.

Checklist

1. Throw successful party for Sam's 5th birthday

Saturday afternoon from 12:30 until 2, there was cake, pizza and the type of unbridled mayhem that can only be had at a child's birthday party. We had the party at a gymnastics center, so it was a very physical event. Close to thirty kids came, and the amount of running, jumping, screaming and sweating was intense. When it was all over, they asked everyone to sit for a photo, and the kids were exhausted and soaked. Observe:

A good time was had by all, as far as I can tell!

2. Register Lucy for school

This morning I had the great pleasure of getting up earlier than I do on a school day and venturing out in the freezing rain to stand in line at the local middle school so that I could sign Lucy up for pre-K. Because I live in West Virginia, where they haven't heard of the internet. At said registration, we were informed that despite our obvious dedication to the education of our collective children (see above, with the rain and getting up early), there was no guarantee that these beloved children would be given a spot in the pre-K program unless they were classified as special needs or low income. Even though it is now legally required for 4 year old kids to attend pre-K in the state of West Virginia. So if they don't win the pre-K lottery, we either have to pay to send them to a private program or get them diagnosed with a minor speech delay, as per the subtle recommendation of the school official I spoke with. Nice. And did I mention that I have to repeat this process for Sam in April? GOOD TIMES!

3. Create ultra-cute super hero to save the world

Need I say more?

4. Have this baby

Damn. I hate having unfinished business on my checklists.

Holding It Down

I am just so, so ginormously pregnant. I took this photo almost a month ago.

When I tell people I'm not due until St. Patty's day, I get looks of amazement and sympathy. I've gotten more than my fair share of the semi-insensitive "Wow you're huge!" or "That's going to be one big baby!" comments lately. And at my last two doctor's visits, I've been measuring big. I know that isn't the end of the world, but it is unusual for me. The last 1743 times I have been pregnant I always measured right on schedule. Coupled with the fact that I've been sick more or less since Christmas, and you have the makings of one miserable mama.

I've been trying, I really have, to embrace this pregnancy. Even if SOB isn't thrilled about the prospect of permanent fertility control, I am willing to take matters into my own hands.

see more Historic LOL

Well, not exactly like that, but you get my drift. I am willing to go under the knife to prevent any future accidental offspring.

So knowing that I will not be having any more children, I really want to be present and enjoy, when possible, these last interminable weeks of gestation. And there are times that I can step back and just relish those kicks and squirms that make my whole torso change shape, or when Lucy comes over to 'pet' the baby, or when Maggie sticks her finger in my belly button and shouts BABY!

But most of the time, I am just plain miserable. I don't sleep well, all of the congestion and sickness make me vomit more than I have at any other time in my life, I can't carry my non-baby baby around, or anything else for that matter, my feet hurt, my hips hurt, my back hurts, my husband doesn't like the name I want to give the baby, and IT SNOWS EVERY GODDAMNED DAY.

Despite all of that, I'm going try my best to focus on the more positive aspects of things in the coming weeks. So hopefully for you and me, this will be the last bitchy post for a long while.

But if you notice things get photo-centric here, well try and send me some happy vibes. Please?

Almost There...

Six more weeks to go

The Grinch

Yesterday my darling little Lucy asked if she could give me a snuggle and a kiss. For months we had been butting heads, but after conceding that maybe she didn't need an afternoon nap anymore, we've been like peas and carrots. Naturally a snuggle and a kiss is always welcomed, and so she ran over and climbed up on my lap. Just as she was one millimeter away from my waiting lips, she coughed directly onto/into my face.

Kids: they're disgusting, but we love them anyway.

Being pregnant, it didn't take long for my compromised immune system to succumb to whatever germies she projected all over me. I woke up at 2:30 to pee, and I was hot and clammy. When I went to grab a drink it felt like I was swallowing a million teeny porcupines. I took two tylenol and headed back to bed.

When I got up this morning I was feeling ok, but my throat was swollen. Which caused me to gag. Which caused me to vomit. Which caused me to pee in my kitchen. Awesome, right? Fourth pregnancy incontinence? CHECK!

After I got cleaned up and changed I went upstairs to wake my darling little Lu. Her door was open a small amount, which is unusual. I walked in, and before I even turned on the light I knew how the door got opened because of the smell. I flipped the switch and saw the cat nonchalantly making a huge poop in the corner. I don't know how or why he started doing this, but it's getting realllllllllllllllllly out of hand.

And all of this happened before 7am.

Luckily, the rest of the day has been fairly uneventful. I've put on my yoga pants, and we're settling in for a snuggle and a viewing of the Grinch. The house is decorated for Christmas, there is soup on the menu for dinner, and it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow. If that's not enough to make my heart grow three sizes today, then what is?

Lucy, terrified that the Grinch's sled is going to topple off of the top of Mount Crumpet

Feast or Famine

Occasionally, maybe because I am pregnant, or maybe because I have three kids to keep track of, or maybe because we live in West Virginia, or maybe just because I'm getting too damn old, I forget if we have enough of something at home. This is how we end up with two gallons of orange juice, or three boxes of cheerios, or four jars of peanut butter. We always end up going through whatever I've bought in excess, but it makes me wonder what exactly is going on inside of my head.

Recently I noticed we were in need of toilet paper. We were planning a trip to Sam's Club that weekend, so I made sure we stocked up.

Later that week I had to go to Target. Because we had left the giant package of toilet paper in the garage, I kind of forgot we bought it. When I saw that if you bought two packages you got a $5 gift card, I threw two huge packages under my cart.

I had to return something to Target later that same week, and somehow my brain short circuited and forgot that I had already purchased two packages a few days prior. Those sales really suck me in.

So when SOB finally got around to unpacking all of the packages, I shouldn't have been surprised when he called me to the closet, and said to bring my camera. And I didn't even take any photographs in the upstairs bathroom.

Simply put, I don't think we'll be needing any toilet paper any time soon. Unless the kids discover the joys of tp-ing a little earlier than expected!

Y is for Yellow

We almost didn't make it this week! I took this Y photo back in March of 2009 and never named the file so I would be able to find it. After a long time of searching through lots of folders, and reliving lots of memories, I finally came across it this morning. This was actually the shot that gave me the initial idea to look for letters in nature. The shot that started it all, if you will.

Chrissie is visiting her sister, who has three adorable kids, and she used their arts and crafts time to capture this yellow crayon. She took a lot of shots, but I especially liked this one because of the English, Spanish, and French. Waaaaaaaaaay back in the day, Chrissie and I met in our college French class, so I often think of her when I see the written French word. Plus, she lived in Mexico for a time and is fluent in Spanish, so I also often think of her when I see Spanish text. So even though it sounds really weird, this shot of a yellow crayon reminds me of a lot of happy memories of our friendship.

Can you tell I'm pregnant and maybe a little hormonal?

For more Team Up Thursday, visit Megan, Melody and Flickr!

For Your Amusement

Here mom! I drew a picture of you!

See, I used orange paper because it's my favorite color. And I made your face purple because it's your favorite color. And I made your beard green because it's Lucy's favorite color.

What a sweet boy, no?

--

As if you didn't see this one coming, here's the newest addition to the family. He/she will be making an appearance around St. Patrick's Day, 2011.

The Last of It

Today I'm delving into it all and then saying goodbye, so skip it if you want to. I won't be offended.

I never thought I would be in this position. I'm an arrogant bitch, aren't I? I've been so cavalier about my pregnancies before, announcing them only hours after I saw the two blue lines. The only reason I didn't blog about being pregnant with Sam right away was because I hadn't told my family yet, and even though they didn't read the blog then I didn't know that for sure. I really wanted to tell my parents face-to-face, so I kept mum about it here until they knew.

(BTW, did I ever tell you that story? It involved a lunch box and an ultrasound picture inside of a zip lock bag. One of my best orchestrated moments ever!)

So why didn't I jump right online and start blabbing last Monday when I first got a positive test? Because deep inside my heart of hearts I knew something wasn't right. I didn't tell my parents or friends until the next day when I got a second positive, but I still felt some kind of reservation. I told SOB and my mother, but the general consensus was that I was still reeling from the shock. And honestly? I was. Here I was, about to have four kids, the youngest only 15 months behind Maggie, as we're planning an interstate move. I probably couldn't even spell the work SHOCK last week.

But then Wednesday rolled around. I took another test that morning because I had forgotten to photograph the one from Tuesday, and while the second line was there it was maybe just a shade lighter than the second line on Tuesday's test. It was early, I told myself, and any line, no matter how dark or light equaled BABY. Besides, I have a stockpile of pregnancy tests so I'd just wait until next week when I was sure to get a clear and present POSITIVE to take the photo.

Thursday I called and scheduled my first OB appointment. Things were now moving into 'real' territory, and my early hesitation to shout the news from the rooftops was waning.

Friday morning I went to the Y and spread the word far and wide that Maggie was going to be a big sister. Then I came home and wrote about it here. That night as we laid in bed I thought ahead 35 weeks, imagining the moment when a sweet, slippery newborn would be placed on my chest and I would see my baby for the first time.

And that was the same though that flashed into my head at 4:40am when I saw the blood. That I was seeing my baby for the first time. The only time. Smaller and on a square of toilet paper instead of in my arms.

For the next two hours I wished and wished for it to stop. I stayed on my left side, and didn't go to Maggie when she cried around 5:30am because nursing stimulates uterine contractions. Every twenty minutes I would gingerly get out of bed and go to the bathroom with my breath caught in my throat. Finally it became clear that this was happening, and it wasn't going to stop. The rest of the house was starting to come alive. It was time to start dealing with things like waffles and coffee and clean underpants and vitamins. Thank god for that, because now I had something else to think about.

I told my parents, and they awesomely took on the awful task of telling the rest of my family. And my sister-in-law Allison did the same for SOB's side of the family. I spent the day trying to go about as normal, but occasionally I would be overcome with sadness and start weeping.

Through everything SOB was perfect. Perfect. It was as if he could read my mind. He knew when to leave me alone and he knew when to seek me out. He knew that I needed to go out and take my cousin's engagement photos. He knew I needed a night to myself on Sunday. He listened to me complain and said all of the right things at all of the right times. Somehow, this whole crummy experience has made me realize just how much I love the SOB.

Oh, and these little buggers.

In the end I realized how lucky I am. This whole process has been relatively painless physically, because it was so early, and I've had the support of literally dozens of family members and friends. It's deepened my relationship with my husband, made me appreciate my beautiful babies more than I ever thought possible, and it cemented my desire to have more children.

I think I can check 'find the silver lining' off of my list of things to do today.

Retraction

Remember yesterday how I told you I was pregnant? Well, forget about it, k? Let's just pretend that never happened. Because as of 4:45am this morning I'm not pregnant anymore. I'll spare you the details, admit to crying more than I expected and just say that I appreciated all of your well wishes yesterday. Thanks.

Catholicism + Biology = OMFG!

A few weeks ago, when we bought our house in West Virginia before we had sold our house here in PA, I posted some throw away statement about 'life getting 100% more insane' on facebook. Almost every single commenter assumed that the reason for the new found insanity was that I was pregnant.

HA! Silly fools! You must be kidding! My baby is only six months old and I'm still nursing her. Me, pregnant? Bah.

Just after that I got my period for the first time since Maggs was born, and was honestly glad. Now I wouldn't have to throw away money every two weeks peeing on a stick. I've always had a pretty regular 35 day cycle, so as long as I kept my eye on the calendar there would be no surprises.

Damn my catholic upbringing.

And while we're at it, damn my ovaries for being all, 'Oh hey! Did we forget to ovulate? Oh well, let's just do it now, even though she thinks we did last week.'

Cut to Monday morning when I peed on a stick. And it was justbarely positive. And then to Tuesday morning, when I peed on a stick and it was justalittlemore positive than Monday's test. Then to Tuesday afternoon when I peed on a stick of a different brand, and it was definitely positive. But just to be sure I peed on another stick on Wednesday morning, and lo, it was positive.

So yeah, life is about to get 100% more insane.

Sunrise in Suburbia

This baby is trying to kill me. For the past three nights I've been either kept awake for two-plus hours in the middle of the night or I've been awakened hours before the sun rises. Oh, and have I mentioned that this baby HASN'T EVEN BEEN BORN YET?

One plus side of being up before the dawn is that it gives me ample opportunities to shoot the sunrise. Today the sky was looking quite stunning, so I hauled out my tripod and got to work. I shocked the hell out of my husband when he discovered me in the driveway wearing pj pants and one of his discarded t-shirts.

In the end I ended up with some pretty nice shots, all SOOC. I'm tired as hell already and it's only 8:05am, but I'm guessing this is my body's way of preparing me for what's to come, right?

Visit Tracy Clark for more Best Shot Monday photos.

Cha-Cha-Cha-Cha-Changes!

First there was this:

And this:

He wanted to make sure his backpack was in the shot!

To say I was anxious about Sam going to pre-school would be an extreme understatement. In the spring, when he was at the old school, his teacher starting filling my head with worries about his 'concentration levels' and his 'physical impulse control issues.' She was a lovely girl who had just graduated and had all of this book learning in her head, but maybe not quite enough experience in dealing with three year old boys, I think. But her words got inside my head, and all summer I had nightmares of Sam getting expelled from Montessori by day three.

Needless to say, that is not the case. He seems to be loving it there, and all reports from his teacher are overwhelmingly positive. He comes home every day singing a new song and doesn't hesitate to tell me about his day, which was something he had trouble with last year. I think the structure is doing him a world of good, and he has been much more well behaved and sweet at home as a result.

On to the girl baby!

Something clicked for my little Lucy in regards to her new bed. In just one day she went from this:

Sweet but defiant child who thinks her bed is a place to hoard books and not for sleeping. Ever.

To this:

Can you see that passed out little girl up there? Maybe she realized how comfy and cozy it was, or maybe she just got too damn tired, but after three napless days, she collapsed in her bed and hasn't given us a problem since. Hold on a sec while I find something wooden to knock on furiously...

With all of these changes going on, I can only hope I'm next.

Here are V 1.0 and V 2.0 for comparison!

I still have thirteen days until my official due date, and while I know that isn't set in stone, I am just about ready to move on from this state. This hugely enormous, uncomfortable state. This state in which peeing my pants has become a routine thing, since this baby is sooooooooooo loooooow. I am ready to transition from being pregnant to having a newborn again.

Speaking of transitions, don't forget that next week Theme Thursday will be moving to Mental Inventory, hosted by Megan. Make sure you stop by and say hello!

The 'Good Mommy' Face

Last night after we tucked the kids into bed I went to get a quick shower. As I looked in the mirror, I contemplated throwing on my robe and grabbing my camera. Why? I had two discarded barrettes in my hair and blue paint streaked across my face, probably from this:

I made sure SOB saw me before I washed up.

Sam has been doing so well in school, just today he told me he loves his new teachers. He can't remember their names (Kieranan and Elaine) but he loves them! And Lucy seems to have figured out exactly what her new bed is for (hint: SLEEPING!) and so life in the past 48 hours has been pretty, well, happy. Despite being 38 weeks pregnant (!!!!!!!!!!!) I'm managing to keep life moving along most days. Even when the days start before sunrise with one or more kids waking up in a damp bed.

Somehow I'm just now becoming aware that my time with just these two is coming to a close. With every onesie I wash it's like a minute is ticking away. So sometimes even though I'm totally exhausted and it's closer to bedtime than dinner time, we bust out the finger paints. Or instead of blogging during the daily episode of Curious George, I'm more inclined to sit and snuggle.

I hope you'll understand. I want to keep wearing my 'good mommy' face for as long as possible.

Nesting 3.0

Yesterday we bought a rug shampooer.

Guess what you can do with a rug shampooer, besides the obvious? You can clean upholstery!

For a few months now we've been keeping our red couches covered with these god-awful putty-colored covers. Yes, they're washable, but after only two washing they've gone and gotten all pilled. Plus they're constantly coming un-tucked, and I seem to be the only person in this household who has the magical ability to re-tuck them. Point being, the couch covers were giving me an eye twitch.

When we bough rugs for this house, we purposely bought inexpensive ones. Sam wasn't even two yet, and Lucy was a fresh, new babe. Somehow we were able to predict that buying nice, fancy would be a foolish decision. We were right, by the way. Unfortunately, our cheapy rugs have come to look a bit like crap, especially in high traffic areas. I did some online research (thank you amazon product reviews!) and we decided on a nifty new cleaning gadget.

Before I clicked 'order' we decided to go out shopping for some other junk we probably didn't need. (Although the sign making supplies to keep the pesky neighborhood kids away from my apple tree were an absolute necessity. I am 86 years old, you know.) As luck would have it, we were at Best Buy where the same model we had selected online was on sale. And we had a coupon. So suck on that, internets! Instead of $179.99 we paid $138 and some change! And I got to bring it right home and commence shampooing!

First I did the dining room rug. Then I decided to test out the upholstery brush. There was a brief period of time where there was some swearing, and some sweating, and some forcing SOB to read the directions aloud, but I got the damned thing working, And? It worked like a charm! I started with the seats on the dining room chairs. As I was scrubbing, as if struck by lightening, I realized that the lamely covered couches could potentially be saved!

I wish I had taken some before and after photos, but trust me when I say that they look practically brand new. My back feels ancient, but my couches look fabulous!

Oh, and I got a new stroller, cleaned the car seat, dug out the boppy, made strawberry jam and washed a big pile of onesies and receiving blankets. If anyone out there has any idea where the basinet insert for my pack-n-play might be located, I'm willing to pay good money for that intel. Come on baby! We're ready for ya!

The Ordeal or Why Technology Sometimes Sucks

This morning I spent three hours in the doctor's office and hospital, where I had an unscheduled non-stress test. A non-stress test that was more than a little stress-inducing, to be honest. It's funny, really, because I've been doing a lot of reading lately, and I keep coming across a common theme. In a normal, uncomplicated pregnancy like mine, excessive testing and monitoring can often lead to unwanted interventions and unnecessary tests. Today I got to see just how true that can be.

After sitting in my doctor's waiting room for an hour and fifteen minutes, I got called back to be examined. The nurse immediately begins to ask about some specific problems I'm totally not having, and of course I'm confused. Turns out, they see another patient named Amy who's last name is only one letter off from mine, and they got our charts confused. More time spent waiting for them to find the correct chart, and then we're back to the exam. Everything is normal so far, urine weight, blood pressure, fetal heart rate. The doctor comes in (not the doctor I was scheduled to see, BTW) and all is well. Then she picks up my chart and does a weird face thing.

I hate the weird face thing.

Turns out, the baby's heart rate was high when the nurse was measuring it. I wasn't too surprised because the baby was being seriously active and jumpy in there. When I'm moving around a great deal my pulse gets elevated, too. The OB goes out to retrieve the doppler again. However, the baby really hasn't settled down, and now also has the hiccups, so the heart rate is still high. Now she's on the phone and using phrases like 'fetal tachycardia' so I have to go over to the hospital for a non-stress test, which is basically just some fetal monitoring.

Of course, in the ten minutes it takes me to get over there, the baby has calmed considerably. Which is not a good thing at this point, because they're looking for at least two periods of heart rate acceleration from the baby in a one hour period, and if that doesn't happen then I FAIL! I fail the non-stress test and have to stay longer and have some biophysical profile ultrasound done. Yay! For the first half and hour I was there, baby barely made a peep. Just a nice, steady resting heart rate of about 150, with no spikes or valleys. If only this had been forty minutes earlier when I was still in the office.

Speaking of the office, did I mention that in my seventy-five minute wait over there I had finished my book? And that the TV in my hospital room didn't work? Thank god for my iPhone.

Speaking of phones, during all of this, I am frantically trying to get in touch with my sister-in-law, who was with the kids at the mall. We swapped cars so that she could take Lulu to Build-A-Bear for her birthday present, and she wasn't answering her texts or calls. I knew she had to be at work at 2pm today, so I was trying to figure out what in the hell I was going to do with Sam and Lucy. I had been told that there was a possibility I was going to be stuck in the hospital all afternoon, and the last thing I wanted was to have them there with me in the hospital with a busted TV. So I start frantically texting SOB to start frantically calling his sister.

Luckily, all of that frantic dialing must have had some effect on my little fetus, because s/he started jumping all around again, demonstrating two or more periods of heart rate acceleration, so I passed the non-stress test. It also might have been all of the juice they gave me, but either way the little bugger performed like a pro on opening night. After completing some paperwork, and some more paperwork and then a little more paperwork I was free to go.

I'm betting my $7 parking fee will be the smallest of the bills I receive with today's date on it.

When I got home Allison and the kids were here safe and sound, and her phone was totally ker-fuffled. She hadn't received a single message or call from me.

Isn't modern technology grand?