Big brother Joey is so proud of his baby sister Kate!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Put me out of my misery.... please!
I know that the pregnancy books say that pregnancy only lasts forty weeks but I swear it's much longer than that. Honestly, I can't remember what it feels like to not be pregnant. I know there was a time that I woke up in the morning and didn't have to rush to the bathroom and throw up. Yep, there was a time that I could bend over and pick up my son without getting out of breath. There was even a time that I had more than two pairs of pants that fit. But, that's a distant (and blurry) memory. Right now, I think I've been pregnant forever. Literally forever.
Last week, my hyperemesis took a turn for the worst. Instead of throwing up 4-5 times per day, I started throwing up everything I ate, drank or thought about eating. By Friday morning, I was pretty dehydrated. My doctor had me check my ketones (and fortunately, I have a handy ketone kit left over from my home care days) and they were elevated so they asked me to come into the hospital for an IV. Well, after some blood tests, they found that my potassium levels were dangerously low (which can result in heart failure) and so they admitted me into the hospital. I had to stay overnight and get poked and prodded and loaded up with nine IV bags full of potassium rich fluid.
Honestly, I thought they were just going to deliver my baby. The nurses and doctors stood there trying to figure out which drugs to give me to keep me from throwing up and how to get me hydrated enough to go home. I wanted to scream at them that the perfect solution was to JUST TAKE THE BABY but they didn't listen. Instead, they cited some regulation that my hospital doesn't induce labor for babies less than 39 weeks gestation unless it's a medically critical situation. I was 38 weeks 5 days. Two days short. Needless to say, I'm bitter.
So, here I am, 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant and STILL pregnant. Sure, I have a scheduled c-section on Monday but that's six whole days away and I'm not sure if I can make it. Six more days of throwing up. Six more days of losing my breath everytime I walk up the stairs. Six more days of being unable to chase my son around the living room. Six more days. Feels like a lifetime.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Nesting
Sept. 4, 2007
My mom says I'm nesting. I don't know about that. I mean, my baseboards are still covered in dust and my laundry room hasn't been cleaned in weeks (OK, months). Yep, my closet is still piled high with old clothes and my desk drawers, well, we won't talk about those. But, I have been working hard to get my nursery and Joey's big boy room done.
I started Joey's big boy room weeks ago. My excuse was that he had to get used to it before the baby came, but in reality, I think I just wanted an excuse to redecorate. I was tired of my cluttered, mis-matched guest room. Now, Joey has a fun "big boy bed" and dresser, a new bookshelf and fun sporty walls.
In the daytime, he loves his room and his big boy bed. He reads books to his "Anmals" and cuddles with his UT Bevo toy Cooper. Nighttime is a different story... the transition hasn't gone as well as I had hoped. While he has slept through the night in his big boy bed a few times, he has also spent plenty of nights in his pack & play because staying in bed is much easier said than done. Every night when he's getting ready for bed he says "Bi bo be" (translation: big boy bed) and then says "Me, stay stay stay!". Well, he usually forgets about the staying part about 5 minutes later and ends up in the pack & play for the night. Oh well. He'll get there, right?
Last week, I spent the week getting this little girl's nursery ready. I wanted it to be bright and girly. It's a spring garden with lots of flowers and leaves and is filled with all things pink and pretty. I can't wait until there's a little girl to put in it. Just two and a half more weeks. Seems like a lifetime...
Babies, puppies & hot summer days
Talk about a slacker. I haven't written in my blog for over two months. I could make up a glamorous excuse as to why. Maybe I spent the last six weeks riding my bike through the Andes and living off the land (don't laugh... it could happen) or perhaps I went on a road trip culminating in a romantic stay at a bed-and-breakfast in the Napa Valley (that's more like it). But the truth? I've spent the last two months wallowing in the couch in pregnancy-induced pity wondering when this hot, sticky summer is going to end.
I hate being pregnant. H.a.t.e. it. Don't get me wrong, I want this baby more than anything, but at this point, the idea of this baby is still a bit abstract and the hours spent hunching over the toilet are fresh in my mind. I'm tired of being sick. Tired of being tired. Tired of being fat. Tired of everything. And, I have 6 weeks and 4 days to go (I'm having a scheduled c-section on Sept. 24th) and that seems like a lifetime. An absolute lifetime.
With that said, after weeks upon weeks of hot, boring drudgery of pregnant summer, we've had quite the exciting week this week. First, my dog Zoe went into labor and whelped 9 healthy puppies. Not the best timing in the world considering the pups will be seven weeks old when I have my baby, but we have puppies nonetheless. Joey loves them. I'm dreading the day that they are big enough to get out of the whelping box. My husband is looking forward to the day that they go to their forever homes and we get a nice little payday. I'm already dreaming of some new non-pregnancy clothes. Ann Taylor Loft, here I come (talk about wishful thinking... as if I'll fit into non-pregnancy clotehs anytime soon).
Second, my first nephew Jacob was born on Tuesday morning. He is just precious (check out his picture above). Unfortunately, he's caught a bit of an infection and is currently spending a few days in the NICU. The doctors think he'll be fine, but that doesn't make me worry less. Nonetheless, I'm in love with my new little baby and I'm getting my baby fix from holding him. I'm still not impressed that I have more than six weeks to go... but having a stretchy, sleepy baby in my arms definitely eases the pain.
I promise it won't be this long again. Well, at least for awhile... once this baby is born, who knows what I'll find to occupy my time.
finding out
April 30, 2007
I have my twenty-week ultrasound where I can find out whether this baby is a girl or a boy on Thursday. I'm feeling a bit conflicted about whether or not I should find out. I really, really want to know. I'm not the patient type. I want to get the nursery ready. I want to pick out a name. I want to go shopping. Still, part of me thinks that maybe it would be best if I didn't find out. You see, I'm afraid that my disappointment about the gender might plague the rest of this pregnancy. A very unkosher thing to say, but I'm saying it nonetheless.
I want to say that I will be happy with whatever sex as long as the baby is healthy. That's what all of the PC moms are saying. That's the "right" thing to say. But, the truth is, I won't be happy with whatever sex. At least at first. I confess. I want a girl and I want a girl bad.
I'm not saying that I won't love a little boy because I know I will, but I also know that it'll take some time getting used to. I've always wanted a little girl. A girl to play dress-up and tea party with, to go shopping with and to teach about girly things like make-up and Kate Spade bags. I also don't want to get pregnant again (I may change my mind, but for now, this is it). With that said, I'm really hoping and praying for a girl this time.
So, what do you all think? Should I find out?
I have my twenty-week ultrasound where I can find out whether this baby is a girl or a boy on Thursday. I'm feeling a bit conflicted about whether or not I should find out. I really, really want to know. I'm not the patient type. I want to get the nursery ready. I want to pick out a name. I want to go shopping. Still, part of me thinks that maybe it would be best if I didn't find out. You see, I'm afraid that my disappointment about the gender might plague the rest of this pregnancy. A very unkosher thing to say, but I'm saying it nonetheless.
I want to say that I will be happy with whatever sex as long as the baby is healthy. That's what all of the PC moms are saying. That's the "right" thing to say. But, the truth is, I won't be happy with whatever sex. At least at first. I confess. I want a girl and I want a girl bad.
I'm not saying that I won't love a little boy because I know I will, but I also know that it'll take some time getting used to. I've always wanted a little girl. A girl to play dress-up and tea party with, to go shopping with and to teach about girly things like make-up and Kate Spade bags. I also don't want to get pregnant again (I may change my mind, but for now, this is it). With that said, I'm really hoping and praying for a girl this time.
So, what do you all think? Should I find out?
Another ER visit
Seriously, I think that the ER doctors are starting to know me by name. Next time I go, they'll probably have my favorite latte waiting for me at check-in and my favorite music playing on the loud speakers. They should. I've been there enough lately.
Today's trip to the ER started at Costco. We walked through the door and Joey started to shiver. At first, we thought it was the fans. It was eighty degrees out so we laughed at his chattering teeth and rubbed his arms a few times. By the time we made it to the back of the store, he was shaking pretty hard. We decided that maybe he really was cold in the store so we decided to head home and come back to Costco another day. He continued shivering in the car. We cranked the heat (I know, I know, rookie mistake) and sweated through the trip home.
By the time we got home, Joey was trembling hard. I brought him upstairs and took his temperature and was shocked to see that it was 104. I wasn't overly worried. He was acting normally apart from the shivering and he's had fevers higher than 105 before. I took him downstairs and gave him some Motrin and rubbed his back for awhile. When his fever didn't drop, I called the pediatrician.
The pediatrician said that while his temperature was high, he was probably fine and told me to give him a luke-warm bath. I hung up the phone and as I stood to put him in the bath, his body convulsed. A few seconds later, he was in a full-in seizure, with his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body convulsing. My husband grabbed the baby and I called 911.
The seizure stopped a few minutes later (the longest few minutes of my life) and Joey immediately lost consciousness. The 911 operator said that his body was so exhausted from seizing that he simply couldn't maintain consciousness. We were told to check his breathing and keep him cool and wait for the ambulance.
The ambulance arrived with lights and sirens and the paramedics were able to wake Joey up. They checked his vitals and hooked him up to a whole bunch of monitors and whisked him into the ambulance to head to the children's hospital. There, he was rushed into the children's ER and stabilized. The doctor did a variety of tests and we waited and waited and waited while Joey was put on observation.
In the end, they determined that Joey had suffered a febrile seizure from a sudden spike in temperature. They gave him medication and sent us home, asking us to wake him up every couple of hours to make sure his fever stayed under 102. They said that there is a good chance that he'll have another seizure in the next few days, so we're under strict instructions to call 911 as soon as his fever starts to spike. I'm nervous. The doctor didn't seem too worried.
So, we're home now. Joey's asleep in his room and sleeping soundly. His fever is down and hopefully it'll stay down. For now, I'm just hoping to avoid another trip to the ER. I've spent enough time there lately.
Today's trip to the ER started at Costco. We walked through the door and Joey started to shiver. At first, we thought it was the fans. It was eighty degrees out so we laughed at his chattering teeth and rubbed his arms a few times. By the time we made it to the back of the store, he was shaking pretty hard. We decided that maybe he really was cold in the store so we decided to head home and come back to Costco another day. He continued shivering in the car. We cranked the heat (I know, I know, rookie mistake) and sweated through the trip home.
By the time we got home, Joey was trembling hard. I brought him upstairs and took his temperature and was shocked to see that it was 104. I wasn't overly worried. He was acting normally apart from the shivering and he's had fevers higher than 105 before. I took him downstairs and gave him some Motrin and rubbed his back for awhile. When his fever didn't drop, I called the pediatrician.
The pediatrician said that while his temperature was high, he was probably fine and told me to give him a luke-warm bath. I hung up the phone and as I stood to put him in the bath, his body convulsed. A few seconds later, he was in a full-in seizure, with his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body convulsing. My husband grabbed the baby and I called 911.
The seizure stopped a few minutes later (the longest few minutes of my life) and Joey immediately lost consciousness. The 911 operator said that his body was so exhausted from seizing that he simply couldn't maintain consciousness. We were told to check his breathing and keep him cool and wait for the ambulance.
The ambulance arrived with lights and sirens and the paramedics were able to wake Joey up. They checked his vitals and hooked him up to a whole bunch of monitors and whisked him into the ambulance to head to the children's hospital. There, he was rushed into the children's ER and stabilized. The doctor did a variety of tests and we waited and waited and waited while Joey was put on observation.
In the end, they determined that Joey had suffered a febrile seizure from a sudden spike in temperature. They gave him medication and sent us home, asking us to wake him up every couple of hours to make sure his fever stayed under 102. They said that there is a good chance that he'll have another seizure in the next few days, so we're under strict instructions to call 911 as soon as his fever starts to spike. I'm nervous. The doctor didn't seem too worried.
So, we're home now. Joey's asleep in his room and sleeping soundly. His fever is down and hopefully it'll stay down. For now, I'm just hoping to avoid another trip to the ER. I've spent enough time there lately.
scar face
March 27, 2007
An overly-tired toddler. A slippery pair of socks. A house full of guests all laughing and playing. A small slice of chocolate cake. Sound like a recipe for disaster? Well, it was.
We had friends over for dinner on Saturday night and Joey took quite the tumble. He was tired and loopy and on a sugar-high (I know, I know, I should know better) and a running sprint to give me a hug turned into a crash against the banister that resulted in a cut on his eye that went through to the bone.
I heard it before I saw it; a sickening thud that made my stomach turn. I quickly picked him up and saw the shiny white bone and the blood squirting out and I lost it. I handed Joey over to his Daddy and turned to the wall to keep my balance. Fortunately, one of the friends who was over for dinner happened to be a doctor so he helped us stop the bleeding and get Joey loaded into the car to head to the ER.
In the ER, they strapped my little boy to a “papoose” and stitched him right up while he screamed bloody murder and wailed “no no no no no no!”. It was over in a matter of minutes although my heart pounded for hours. Now he’s no worse for the wear, other than the inch-long bright red cut across his head. His supermodeling career just might be over, but that’s OK. He still has professional football, right?
That mythical second trimester
That mythical second trimester
I know that there really is such thing as the second trimester. I’ve even met some pregnant mothers who have actually experienced it. In fact, just the other day, I met a mother who was seventeen months along and just thrilled to be living in the second trimester. Her morning sickness had all but disappeared. She wasn’t so huge that she was uncomfortable yet her adorable belly was poking out over her still-buttoned jeans. I met another second trimester mama who actually had the audacity to admit that she was enjoying being pregnant. Actually liking it. Imagine that.
For me, I’ve never experienced the second trimester. My pregnancies start out in the first trimester like everyone else’s. I get all of the nausea and vomiting, bloating and gas, queasiness and exhaustion that comes hand-in-hand with the first trimester. The problem is that my first trimester doesn’t end at fourteen weeks like the baby books say it does. Instead, that my morning sickness and fatigue hang on for a few extra weeks, finally making their exit somewhere around twenty-two weeks when they’ve more than outstayed their welcome.
Of course, by the time I’m twenty-two weeks, I’m too huge and bloated and exhausted to truly feel the energy burst of the second trimester. Nope, I skip right over those rosy-cheeked glory days of pregnancy and go straight to my third trimester. Yes, I spend the last eighteen weeks or so of my pregnancy living with the third trimester bliss of impossible insomnia and a larger-than-life body.
Right now, I’m fifteen weeks along and praying that somehow this first trimester thing will end and I will experience the mythical second trimester. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and roll over and not have to race to the bathroom to throw up. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the energy to chase my son around the living room for two hours straight and still throw together a gourmet dinner from scratch. Maybe. Stranger things have happened, right? I mean, I met a woman yesterday who said that she actually liked being pregnant.
I know that there really is such thing as the second trimester. I’ve even met some pregnant mothers who have actually experienced it. In fact, just the other day, I met a mother who was seventeen months along and just thrilled to be living in the second trimester. Her morning sickness had all but disappeared. She wasn’t so huge that she was uncomfortable yet her adorable belly was poking out over her still-buttoned jeans. I met another second trimester mama who actually had the audacity to admit that she was enjoying being pregnant. Actually liking it. Imagine that.
For me, I’ve never experienced the second trimester. My pregnancies start out in the first trimester like everyone else’s. I get all of the nausea and vomiting, bloating and gas, queasiness and exhaustion that comes hand-in-hand with the first trimester. The problem is that my first trimester doesn’t end at fourteen weeks like the baby books say it does. Instead, that my morning sickness and fatigue hang on for a few extra weeks, finally making their exit somewhere around twenty-two weeks when they’ve more than outstayed their welcome.
Of course, by the time I’m twenty-two weeks, I’m too huge and bloated and exhausted to truly feel the energy burst of the second trimester. Nope, I skip right over those rosy-cheeked glory days of pregnancy and go straight to my third trimester. Yes, I spend the last eighteen weeks or so of my pregnancy living with the third trimester bliss of impossible insomnia and a larger-than-life body.
Right now, I’m fifteen weeks along and praying that somehow this first trimester thing will end and I will experience the mythical second trimester. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and roll over and not have to race to the bathroom to throw up. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the energy to chase my son around the living room for two hours straight and still throw together a gourmet dinner from scratch. Maybe. Stranger things have happened, right? I mean, I met a woman yesterday who said that she actually liked being pregnant.
weight gain
March 20, 2007
Status Check:
12 weeks 4 days pregnant
153 lbs. (and growing by the minute)
I gained five pounds last week. Five whole pounds. I went to Kentucky to visit my brother and came back five pounds heavier and not happy about it. Sure, I want to gain weight while pregnant but five pounds in one week is a bit excessive. I remember reading a chart in my doctor’s office saying that I should try to gain 2-3 lbs. during my first trimester. A trimester is 12 weeks long. Somehow I don’t think that gaining five pounds in one week really fits into that plan. Ugh.
There’s something about being pregnant that just makes a body pack on the weight. Seriously, I eat a carrot, I gain a pound. I eat a cheeseburger, I gain five. It’s that simple. The catch-22 to this whole situation is that I’m constantly starving and could easily down three cheeseburgers in one sitting and wash them down with a chocolate milkshake. So, I’m stuck in this strange world where eating is a must but doing so means inevitable weight gain. Can I say ugh again?
So, this week, I decided to try to eat healthy. I had salmon and asparagus last night for dinner and tonight I’m roasting a whole chicken and serving it with spinach salad. My hope is that this will slow down the weight gain a little bit. Of course, more likely than not, that salmon will go right to my hips and that spinach to my belly. Oh well, I can lose it when the baby comes, right?
Status Check:
12 weeks 4 days pregnant
153 lbs. (and growing by the minute)
I gained five pounds last week. Five whole pounds. I went to Kentucky to visit my brother and came back five pounds heavier and not happy about it. Sure, I want to gain weight while pregnant but five pounds in one week is a bit excessive. I remember reading a chart in my doctor’s office saying that I should try to gain 2-3 lbs. during my first trimester. A trimester is 12 weeks long. Somehow I don’t think that gaining five pounds in one week really fits into that plan. Ugh.
There’s something about being pregnant that just makes a body pack on the weight. Seriously, I eat a carrot, I gain a pound. I eat a cheeseburger, I gain five. It’s that simple. The catch-22 to this whole situation is that I’m constantly starving and could easily down three cheeseburgers in one sitting and wash them down with a chocolate milkshake. So, I’m stuck in this strange world where eating is a must but doing so means inevitable weight gain. Can I say ugh again?
So, this week, I decided to try to eat healthy. I had salmon and asparagus last night for dinner and tonight I’m roasting a whole chicken and serving it with spinach salad. My hope is that this will slow down the weight gain a little bit. Of course, more likely than not, that salmon will go right to my hips and that spinach to my belly. Oh well, I can lose it when the baby comes, right?
Stuffing your bra
March 12, 2007
Status Check:
11 weeks 4 days pregnant
148 lbs.
I’ve taken to stuffing my bra lately. No, I haven’t regressed to my teenage years when a little toilet paper served to enhance my favorite T-shirt, but instead, I am in the rare situation of being a pregnant woman with a freshly weaned son and temporarily shriveled breasts. Additionally, I’m stuck in limbo between my newly weaned figure and my looming second trimester when my breasts will certainly grow and hopefully begin to fill my bras again.
Two weeks ago, my doctor informed me that due to the combination of medicines that I’m on, I’d have to cold-turkey wean my son. Emotionally, I wasn’t ready and therefore, I cried for hours. Physically, I was unprepared for the intense pain of weaning that nobody warned me about. Weaning hurts. Bad. I spent three days with my breasts bound in ace bandages and ice packs on my chest before I was finally able to cuddle my son again.
Then, last Thursday, I woke up and felt intense relief as the pain in my chest had resided and I actually felt like myself again. My relief was short lived as I glanced in the mirror and noticed that my boobs were no longer full and round and perky, but instead were flat, saggy, lumpy and about a third the size that they were before. Talk about a shocker. I was even more shocked when I went to get dressed and my bras were all at least two sizes too big. Two sizes. With going braless out of the option, I did what any self-appreciating woman would do. I stuffed and I stuffed it well.
Anyway, since I know my breasts will grow again soon, I’m thinking about holding off on bra shopping. I’m pregnant for goodness sakes! Last time I was pregnant I remember buying a new bra every other week, so I’m thinking that perhaps I might just wait this one out instead of spending $100 on bras that I’ll wear for a few weeks. Plus, for now, stuffing with nursing pads is working much better than wads of toilet paper. They’re perfectly contoured and fill the bra quite nicely. Another life lesson that I learned about ten years too late.
Status Check:
11 weeks 4 days pregnant
148 lbs.
I’ve taken to stuffing my bra lately. No, I haven’t regressed to my teenage years when a little toilet paper served to enhance my favorite T-shirt, but instead, I am in the rare situation of being a pregnant woman with a freshly weaned son and temporarily shriveled breasts. Additionally, I’m stuck in limbo between my newly weaned figure and my looming second trimester when my breasts will certainly grow and hopefully begin to fill my bras again.
Two weeks ago, my doctor informed me that due to the combination of medicines that I’m on, I’d have to cold-turkey wean my son. Emotionally, I wasn’t ready and therefore, I cried for hours. Physically, I was unprepared for the intense pain of weaning that nobody warned me about. Weaning hurts. Bad. I spent three days with my breasts bound in ace bandages and ice packs on my chest before I was finally able to cuddle my son again.
Then, last Thursday, I woke up and felt intense relief as the pain in my chest had resided and I actually felt like myself again. My relief was short lived as I glanced in the mirror and noticed that my boobs were no longer full and round and perky, but instead were flat, saggy, lumpy and about a third the size that they were before. Talk about a shocker. I was even more shocked when I went to get dressed and my bras were all at least two sizes too big. Two sizes. With going braless out of the option, I did what any self-appreciating woman would do. I stuffed and I stuffed it well.
Anyway, since I know my breasts will grow again soon, I’m thinking about holding off on bra shopping. I’m pregnant for goodness sakes! Last time I was pregnant I remember buying a new bra every other week, so I’m thinking that perhaps I might just wait this one out instead of spending $100 on bras that I’ll wear for a few weeks. Plus, for now, stuffing with nursing pads is working much better than wads of toilet paper. They’re perfectly contoured and fill the bra quite nicely. Another life lesson that I learned about ten years too late.
Super hero nose
March 5, 2007
Status Check:
10 weeks 4 days pregnant
141 lbs.
Like many pregnant woman, my nose has decided to go into hyper-drive and is so overly sensitive to smells that the slightest change in scent can make me instantly heave. I can smell my son’s dirty diaper before it’s even dirty and smell my dogs from outside even when they’ve just had a bath. I wake up in the middle of the night and gag because I can smell the dirty laundry in my closet or the leftover chicken in the refrigerator. My husband swears that I’ve somehow developed superhero sense of smell a la Heroes and that soon the government will come looking for me for a top-secret spy smelling mission. My nose is that good.
If someone opens the refrigerator, even if I’m in the other room, I have to hold my breath or risk vomiting. I put on deodorant constantly. I hate the smell of deodorant but the smell of B.O. is worse. I catch a whiff of my own sweat and gag about four times a day (gross, I know). I hate the smell of toothpaste, mouthwash and gum, but the smell of bad breath makes me retch. Shampoo, soap and laundry detergent are out, but so are sweaty scalps, dirty hands and stinky t-shirts. Don’t even come near me with a glass of water the reek of plain old water will really turn my stomach. Oh, and don’t even get me started on the scents that waft into my car from fast food restaurants as I drive by. I’m shuddering just thinking about it.
So, as you can imagine, I’m a blast to spend time with. My husband is under strict orders not to wear deodorant or use shampoo, but also to make sure that he never smells like BO, sweat or dirt. Oh, and he can’t have bad breath but he’s also not allowed to brush his teeth or use mouthwash. No, at my house, you can’t open the refrigerator, eat any smelly food, or drive by fast food restaurants. And don’t even think about drinking a glass of water. Ew. So, as long as nobody does any of these things (or anything else smelly), we get along just fine. Wow, it’s sure fun being pregnant and crazy with a super hero nose.
Status Check:
10 weeks 4 days pregnant
141 lbs.
Like many pregnant woman, my nose has decided to go into hyper-drive and is so overly sensitive to smells that the slightest change in scent can make me instantly heave. I can smell my son’s dirty diaper before it’s even dirty and smell my dogs from outside even when they’ve just had a bath. I wake up in the middle of the night and gag because I can smell the dirty laundry in my closet or the leftover chicken in the refrigerator. My husband swears that I’ve somehow developed superhero sense of smell a la Heroes and that soon the government will come looking for me for a top-secret spy smelling mission. My nose is that good.
If someone opens the refrigerator, even if I’m in the other room, I have to hold my breath or risk vomiting. I put on deodorant constantly. I hate the smell of deodorant but the smell of B.O. is worse. I catch a whiff of my own sweat and gag about four times a day (gross, I know). I hate the smell of toothpaste, mouthwash and gum, but the smell of bad breath makes me retch. Shampoo, soap and laundry detergent are out, but so are sweaty scalps, dirty hands and stinky t-shirts. Don’t even come near me with a glass of water the reek of plain old water will really turn my stomach. Oh, and don’t even get me started on the scents that waft into my car from fast food restaurants as I drive by. I’m shuddering just thinking about it.
So, as you can imagine, I’m a blast to spend time with. My husband is under strict orders not to wear deodorant or use shampoo, but also to make sure that he never smells like BO, sweat or dirt. Oh, and he can’t have bad breath but he’s also not allowed to brush his teeth or use mouthwash. No, at my house, you can’t open the refrigerator, eat any smelly food, or drive by fast food restaurants. And don’t even think about drinking a glass of water. Ew. So, as long as nobody does any of these things (or anything else smelly), we get along just fine. Wow, it’s sure fun being pregnant and crazy with a super hero nose.
Tales of a twenty-eight-year-old drama queen
Tales of a 28-year-old drama queen
Status check:
8 weeks, 5 days pregnant
Weight: 142 lbs.
I’m not typically a huge wimp when it comes to needles. Sure, I don’t like them, but I can handle the occasional prick without hyperventilating or crying. That’s why I wasn’t even overly nervous when I found out that I was getting a subcutaneous pump installed to slowly dispense medication into my system throughout the day. Sure, I freaked out a little about the idea of a needle going into my inner thigh or stomach, but I wasn’t hysterical.
The hysterics started when the nurse informed me that I would have to install the pump myself. Basically, the pump runs into a vein through a tiny tube which is easily disrupted and yanked out. That said, since I am on home care and able to stay home right now, I need to know how to insert my own pump should I need to insert it myself. A nurse can’t come running to my house at all hours of the day or night to re-insert my pump. The thought of giving myself a shot really sent me over the edge. As you can imagine *hysterical* breathing and desperate whining commenced. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
I really lost it when the nurse explained that the process involved holding a needle six inches above my leg (my chosen spot of entry) and jamming it in with force to make sure it completely penetrates the skin. That’s right. Six inches above my leg. Slamming it down with force. Slamming a needle into my own leg with force. You’d be hysterical, too, right? Please tell me I’m not the only drama queen around.
Well, after all is said and done, the process wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The nurse “helped” me insert the needle by slamming my hands down for me, and it honestly didn’t hurt much. The IV that the nurse inserted hurt much worse. Needless to say, I’m being extremely careful not to yank my pump out and so far, I haven’t had any mishaps. I will have to change out the tubing tomorrow because it shouldn’t be in the same spot for more than 72 hours, but until then, I have a temporary reprieve from stabbing myself.
Could you do it?
Status check:
8 weeks, 5 days pregnant
Weight: 142 lbs.
I’m not typically a huge wimp when it comes to needles. Sure, I don’t like them, but I can handle the occasional prick without hyperventilating or crying. That’s why I wasn’t even overly nervous when I found out that I was getting a subcutaneous pump installed to slowly dispense medication into my system throughout the day. Sure, I freaked out a little about the idea of a needle going into my inner thigh or stomach, but I wasn’t hysterical.
The hysterics started when the nurse informed me that I would have to install the pump myself. Basically, the pump runs into a vein through a tiny tube which is easily disrupted and yanked out. That said, since I am on home care and able to stay home right now, I need to know how to insert my own pump should I need to insert it myself. A nurse can’t come running to my house at all hours of the day or night to re-insert my pump. The thought of giving myself a shot really sent me over the edge. As you can imagine *hysterical* breathing and desperate whining commenced. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
I really lost it when the nurse explained that the process involved holding a needle six inches above my leg (my chosen spot of entry) and jamming it in with force to make sure it completely penetrates the skin. That’s right. Six inches above my leg. Slamming it down with force. Slamming a needle into my own leg with force. You’d be hysterical, too, right? Please tell me I’m not the only drama queen around.
Well, after all is said and done, the process wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The nurse “helped” me insert the needle by slamming my hands down for me, and it honestly didn’t hurt much. The IV that the nurse inserted hurt much worse. Needless to say, I’m being extremely careful not to yank my pump out and so far, I haven’t had any mishaps. I will have to change out the tubing tomorrow because it shouldn’t be in the same spot for more than 72 hours, but until then, I have a temporary reprieve from stabbing myself.
Could you do it?
Would you rather
Monday, February 19th, 2007
Status check:
8 weeks 3 days pregnant
144 lbs.
My doctor put me on home care. I’m thrilled (well, as thrilled as I can be considering the fact that I am sick, have needles sticking in my arm and have seven more months of this to look forward to). Basically, home care is a way that I can stay out of the hospital and be home to take care of my son, while still getting the care that I need. I will have daily ketone checks and dehydration checks and a nurse will visit me frequently to administer IVs and medication. Additionally, I’ll get consultations by dietitians, doctors and nurses to help me gain weight and keep it on. I’m feeling a bit teary-eyed right now because I just got the call that not only is my insurance company covering this care, but they’re covering it at 100%. I’m quite blessed.
Anyway, did you ever play the game “would you rather” when you were a kid? You know, you ask someone to choose between two equally horrible things and see what they’d rather do. Would you rather kick a puppy or drink a glass of toilet water? Would you rather eat raw cow tongue or a chicken eyeball? Would you rather listen to Barry Manilow on repeat on your IPOD for the next ten years or be stuck watching re-runs of Olsen twin movies for five years straight. You get the picture.
I was given a real-life would you rather by my home nurse this morning and I’m still going back and forth trying to decide between two equally terrible choices. I’m getting a Reglan/Zofran pump installed. That basically means that I will have a small tube running directly into a major vein that will constantly administer my needed medication into my bloodstream. The tube will run to a cell-phone sized box that I will have attached to my body at all times that will monitor my medication levels. My “would you rather” decision? I can either have the pump installed on my inner thigh or my lower abdomen. Fun choice, eh?
I’m leaning towards the thigh, but I’m having doubts. Honestly, I imagine that the giant needle will probably hurt less on my abdomen. I have a c-section scar down there and the area is still a bit numb. Still, I’m not sure that I want a tube running out of my abdomen for the next five months, especially as my belly stretches and grows. Additionally, I think it would be easier to carry a cell-phone sized pump around while strapped to my leg instead of my already ballooning abdomen. Still, I’m already cringing at the thought of a needle going into my inner thigh. A real-life “would you rather” that I really don’t want to answer.
What would you choose?
Status check:
8 weeks 3 days pregnant
144 lbs.
My doctor put me on home care. I’m thrilled (well, as thrilled as I can be considering the fact that I am sick, have needles sticking in my arm and have seven more months of this to look forward to). Basically, home care is a way that I can stay out of the hospital and be home to take care of my son, while still getting the care that I need. I will have daily ketone checks and dehydration checks and a nurse will visit me frequently to administer IVs and medication. Additionally, I’ll get consultations by dietitians, doctors and nurses to help me gain weight and keep it on. I’m feeling a bit teary-eyed right now because I just got the call that not only is my insurance company covering this care, but they’re covering it at 100%. I’m quite blessed.
Anyway, did you ever play the game “would you rather” when you were a kid? You know, you ask someone to choose between two equally horrible things and see what they’d rather do. Would you rather kick a puppy or drink a glass of toilet water? Would you rather eat raw cow tongue or a chicken eyeball? Would you rather listen to Barry Manilow on repeat on your IPOD for the next ten years or be stuck watching re-runs of Olsen twin movies for five years straight. You get the picture.
I was given a real-life would you rather by my home nurse this morning and I’m still going back and forth trying to decide between two equally terrible choices. I’m getting a Reglan/Zofran pump installed. That basically means that I will have a small tube running directly into a major vein that will constantly administer my needed medication into my bloodstream. The tube will run to a cell-phone sized box that I will have attached to my body at all times that will monitor my medication levels. My “would you rather” decision? I can either have the pump installed on my inner thigh or my lower abdomen. Fun choice, eh?
I’m leaning towards the thigh, but I’m having doubts. Honestly, I imagine that the giant needle will probably hurt less on my abdomen. I have a c-section scar down there and the area is still a bit numb. Still, I’m not sure that I want a tube running out of my abdomen for the next five months, especially as my belly stretches and grows. Additionally, I think it would be easier to carry a cell-phone sized pump around while strapped to my leg instead of my already ballooning abdomen. Still, I’m already cringing at the thought of a needle going into my inner thigh. A real-life “would you rather” that I really don’t want to answer.
What would you choose?
Water margaritas
Tuesday, February 13th, 2007
Status Check:
7 weeks 4 days pregnant
148 lbs.
Water Margaritas and sit-down showers
Throwing up while pregnant is a whole different ballgame than your run-of-the-mill stomach flu. When you’re not pregnant, the best way to avoid throwing up is not to eat, because if there’s nothing to throw up, then you won’t throw up. This doesn’t work when you’re pregnant. First of all, allowing your stomach to be empty is the surest way to find yourself hunched over the toilet. Second, if you don’t have anything in your stomach to throw up, your body will find something. I swear. Bile. Blood. Water. Stomach Acid. Gross, I know, but so true.
So, while I was pregnant with Joey, I desperately searched for ways to keep food down and keep myself from throwing up in public and embarrassing places. The best trick I learned is never to drink while eating. The nurses in the hospital taught me this one and it’s still serving me well. I have no idea what the medical reason behind this is, but basically, you’re supposed to avoid anything liquid within an hour of solid food. That means no soup for dinner and no glass of water with lunch. This gets a bit tricky as you are supposed to drink a lot of water while pregnant, but with some forethought, you can do it.
Another great trick I learned is water margaritas. Anyone who has been pregnant will tell you that regular old drinking water just won’t cut it when you’re pregnant. No, when you’re pregnant, water has to be cold and has to taste really fresh. A glass of water that has been sitting around for a few minutes just won’t do. In my quest for really, really cold and really, really fresh water, I discovered my favorite cocktail, the water margarita. It’s really quite simple. Take a ton of ice, a little bit of cold water and blend it in the blender until slushy. Drink. Sip. Enjoy.
Finally, my other saving grace is the sit-down shower. For some reason, the combination of standing up and hot steam does me in every time. For weeks, I would throw up within moments of stepping into the shower. I was about ready to give up showering all together when my husband suggested that I sit on the floor and let the water flow down on me. Since steam rises and the water is a bit cooler down there, it works like a charm. It’s a bit tricky to wash your hair and face while sitting down, but it’s worth it.
Status Check:
7 weeks 4 days pregnant
148 lbs.
Water Margaritas and sit-down showers
Throwing up while pregnant is a whole different ballgame than your run-of-the-mill stomach flu. When you’re not pregnant, the best way to avoid throwing up is not to eat, because if there’s nothing to throw up, then you won’t throw up. This doesn’t work when you’re pregnant. First of all, allowing your stomach to be empty is the surest way to find yourself hunched over the toilet. Second, if you don’t have anything in your stomach to throw up, your body will find something. I swear. Bile. Blood. Water. Stomach Acid. Gross, I know, but so true.
So, while I was pregnant with Joey, I desperately searched for ways to keep food down and keep myself from throwing up in public and embarrassing places. The best trick I learned is never to drink while eating. The nurses in the hospital taught me this one and it’s still serving me well. I have no idea what the medical reason behind this is, but basically, you’re supposed to avoid anything liquid within an hour of solid food. That means no soup for dinner and no glass of water with lunch. This gets a bit tricky as you are supposed to drink a lot of water while pregnant, but with some forethought, you can do it.
Another great trick I learned is water margaritas. Anyone who has been pregnant will tell you that regular old drinking water just won’t cut it when you’re pregnant. No, when you’re pregnant, water has to be cold and has to taste really fresh. A glass of water that has been sitting around for a few minutes just won’t do. In my quest for really, really cold and really, really fresh water, I discovered my favorite cocktail, the water margarita. It’s really quite simple. Take a ton of ice, a little bit of cold water and blend it in the blender until slushy. Drink. Sip. Enjoy.
Finally, my other saving grace is the sit-down shower. For some reason, the combination of standing up and hot steam does me in every time. For weeks, I would throw up within moments of stepping into the shower. I was about ready to give up showering all together when my husband suggested that I sit on the floor and let the water flow down on me. Since steam rises and the water is a bit cooler down there, it works like a charm. It’s a bit tricky to wash your hair and face while sitting down, but it’s worth it.
I love my mother-in-law
Friday, February 9th, 2007
Status Check:
7 weeks 0 days pregnant
148 lbs.
I’ve never loved my mother-in-law more. After hearing a teary diatribe from me last night about morning sickness and my inability to watch her grandson, she talked to her boss and somehow finagled two weeks of medical leave to come stay with us and take care of Joey while I try to manage my hyperemesis (which, by the way, is the medical term given for extreme nausea and vomiting in pregnancy). She arrives tomorrow and it literally couldn’t be soon enough. I’ve spent the last few days throwing up, trying to keep a decent eye on Joey and crying to anyone who is willing to listen about how badly I feel and how much help I need. My parents both came and helped for a significant amount of time during the week, but they both work stressful jobs and simply can’t take long periods of time off. My mother-in-law is a godsend. I really need the break. Really, before I decide to even think about getting pregnant again, please remind me of this. I don’t know how I forgot what this felt like so quickly.
Status Check:
7 weeks 0 days pregnant
148 lbs.
I’ve never loved my mother-in-law more. After hearing a teary diatribe from me last night about morning sickness and my inability to watch her grandson, she talked to her boss and somehow finagled two weeks of medical leave to come stay with us and take care of Joey while I try to manage my hyperemesis (which, by the way, is the medical term given for extreme nausea and vomiting in pregnancy). She arrives tomorrow and it literally couldn’t be soon enough. I’ve spent the last few days throwing up, trying to keep a decent eye on Joey and crying to anyone who is willing to listen about how badly I feel and how much help I need. My parents both came and helped for a significant amount of time during the week, but they both work stressful jobs and simply can’t take long periods of time off. My mother-in-law is a godsend. I really need the break. Really, before I decide to even think about getting pregnant again, please remind me of this. I don’t know how I forgot what this felt like so quickly.
Morning sickness
Tuesday, February 6th, 2007
Status Check:
6 weeks 4 days pregnant
149 lbs.
Just when I started to get hopeful about the whole morning sickness thing, it hit me. Yesterday, I felt fine. A little queasy at the smell of the refrigerator but nothing that I couldn’t fix with a really cold glass of water and a handful of trail mix. This morning, it hit me, and hit me hard. I woke up, rolled out of bed and started throwing up. I haven’t stopped since. I called my ob and he immediately prescribed me Zofran, the drug that helped me significantly during my last pregnancy. The good news is that Zofran finally has a generic form, so the $28.00 per pill price tag has dropped significantly, making it much more affordable and giving my insurance company less reason to balk at the bill. The bad news is that my tolerance to Zofran has decreased after my heavy reliance on it during my last pregnancy, so its effectiveness is minimal. I have been able to eat a little today without throwing up, but I feel myself going downhill fast.
While I hate throwing up and hate feeling awful, I’m mostly worried about little Joey. I’m having a really hard time caring for him as the getting up and down and chasing him around the house is only making me throw up more. It seems like every time I settle into a comfortable spot on the couch with the little guy in view, he decides to do something like attempt to climb the stairs or knock the lamp over. Then, I stand up and start throwing up, which in turn, gives him more time to get into mischief. Let’s hope I can figure this out, because I have a long, long way to go.
Status Check:
6 weeks 4 days pregnant
149 lbs.
Just when I started to get hopeful about the whole morning sickness thing, it hit me. Yesterday, I felt fine. A little queasy at the smell of the refrigerator but nothing that I couldn’t fix with a really cold glass of water and a handful of trail mix. This morning, it hit me, and hit me hard. I woke up, rolled out of bed and started throwing up. I haven’t stopped since. I called my ob and he immediately prescribed me Zofran, the drug that helped me significantly during my last pregnancy. The good news is that Zofran finally has a generic form, so the $28.00 per pill price tag has dropped significantly, making it much more affordable and giving my insurance company less reason to balk at the bill. The bad news is that my tolerance to Zofran has decreased after my heavy reliance on it during my last pregnancy, so its effectiveness is minimal. I have been able to eat a little today without throwing up, but I feel myself going downhill fast.
While I hate throwing up and hate feeling awful, I’m mostly worried about little Joey. I’m having a really hard time caring for him as the getting up and down and chasing him around the house is only making me throw up more. It seems like every time I settle into a comfortable spot on the couch with the little guy in view, he decides to do something like attempt to climb the stairs or knock the lamp over. Then, I stand up and start throwing up, which in turn, gives him more time to get into mischief. Let’s hope I can figure this out, because I have a long, long way to go.
Weight gain
Friday, February 2nd, 2007
Status Check:
6 weeks 0 days pregnant
148 lbs.
I gained 52 pounds when I was pregnant with Joey. Before you all balk at my lack of self-control, I want to qualify this 52 pound weight gain with the fact that I threw up daily for the entire nine months of my pregnancy and don’t remember eating anything the entire pregnancy. I don’t get it. I still can’t fathom how a few saltine crackers and several pounds of IV fluid equated to 52 lbs. But it did. I was horrified when I went into delivery and tipped the scales at 199 lbs.
My only consolation was that my husband still weighed a few (not many) pounds more than I did. Still, I was upset enough about my weight gain that I kept this nasty little secret to myself for months afterwards. I even lied to my mom and my sister, telling them that I only gained 35 lbs., knowing that neither would dare to comment on the fact that it sure looked like more than 35 measly pounds. In fact, the truth about my incredible weight gain just surfaced a few weeks ago when I finally had the courage to admit that I gained nearly double the recommended weight gain. Even worse, if you count the fact that I lost 15 lbs. in my first trimester, I gained a grand total of 67 pounds. I’m still appalled.
I have all sorts of excuses for my weight gain. Part of me knows (just knows) that this was all water retention. My son must have been swimming (literally swimming) in that amniotic fluid. Additionally, I think there is a chance that the hospital (and doctor’s office) scales are a bit off. I mean, really, they get a lot of use and they’re sure to break down eventually. But, the reality of it is that I just gained a lot of weight. I honestly don’t think there is much I could’ve done to avoid it and to my defense, I did lose it all fairly quickly. I lost 36 lbs. before I left the hospital (which goes to show that my water-retention theory isn’t completely off-base) and lost the rest within months.
The reason that I’m sharing my dirty-little secret with the world is twofold. First, I want all of you pregnant mothers who want to cry every time you get weighed at the doctor’s office to rest assured that you’re not the only one. You’re definitely not the only one who has gained too much weight and you’re definitely not the only one who can’t figure out where those pounds have come from. Second, for those of you pregnant woman who have gained a measly thirty or thirty-five pounds, I’d love to hear your secrets. I’m sure you’re reading this and laughing at all of the poor souls who couldn’t help but gain seven pounds every time they ate a grape, so the least you can do is share your secrets. I’m still puzzled by how you have done it.
So, this time, I’m going to try to be honest about my weight gain. I admit that I’ll probably be tempted to fudge my weight gain a little, but eventually I’ll come clean. So, when you see my weight gain ballooning, rest assured that I’m just letting nature take it’s course this time. I’m sure I’ll gain an exorbitant amount of weight again. I’m sure that I’ll cry and hem and haw about the injustice of it. But, I’m also sure that I’m not the only one struggling and that one day, not too far off, I’ll be wearing my size 6 jeans again. Let’s hope so at least.
Status Check:
6 weeks 0 days pregnant
148 lbs.
I gained 52 pounds when I was pregnant with Joey. Before you all balk at my lack of self-control, I want to qualify this 52 pound weight gain with the fact that I threw up daily for the entire nine months of my pregnancy and don’t remember eating anything the entire pregnancy. I don’t get it. I still can’t fathom how a few saltine crackers and several pounds of IV fluid equated to 52 lbs. But it did. I was horrified when I went into delivery and tipped the scales at 199 lbs.
My only consolation was that my husband still weighed a few (not many) pounds more than I did. Still, I was upset enough about my weight gain that I kept this nasty little secret to myself for months afterwards. I even lied to my mom and my sister, telling them that I only gained 35 lbs., knowing that neither would dare to comment on the fact that it sure looked like more than 35 measly pounds. In fact, the truth about my incredible weight gain just surfaced a few weeks ago when I finally had the courage to admit that I gained nearly double the recommended weight gain. Even worse, if you count the fact that I lost 15 lbs. in my first trimester, I gained a grand total of 67 pounds. I’m still appalled.
I have all sorts of excuses for my weight gain. Part of me knows (just knows) that this was all water retention. My son must have been swimming (literally swimming) in that amniotic fluid. Additionally, I think there is a chance that the hospital (and doctor’s office) scales are a bit off. I mean, really, they get a lot of use and they’re sure to break down eventually. But, the reality of it is that I just gained a lot of weight. I honestly don’t think there is much I could’ve done to avoid it and to my defense, I did lose it all fairly quickly. I lost 36 lbs. before I left the hospital (which goes to show that my water-retention theory isn’t completely off-base) and lost the rest within months.
The reason that I’m sharing my dirty-little secret with the world is twofold. First, I want all of you pregnant mothers who want to cry every time you get weighed at the doctor’s office to rest assured that you’re not the only one. You’re definitely not the only one who has gained too much weight and you’re definitely not the only one who can’t figure out where those pounds have come from. Second, for those of you pregnant woman who have gained a measly thirty or thirty-five pounds, I’d love to hear your secrets. I’m sure you’re reading this and laughing at all of the poor souls who couldn’t help but gain seven pounds every time they ate a grape, so the least you can do is share your secrets. I’m still puzzled by how you have done it.
So, this time, I’m going to try to be honest about my weight gain. I admit that I’ll probably be tempted to fudge my weight gain a little, but eventually I’ll come clean. So, when you see my weight gain ballooning, rest assured that I’m just letting nature take it’s course this time. I’m sure I’ll gain an exorbitant amount of weight again. I’m sure that I’ll cry and hem and haw about the injustice of it. But, I’m also sure that I’m not the only one struggling and that one day, not too far off, I’ll be wearing my size 6 jeans again. Let’s hope so at least.
Hot Dogs
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Status check
5 weeks 5 days pregnant
148 lbs.
This morning, I seriously considered writing a long diatribe about how I’ve been craving broccoli and spinach and lean protein and running five miles every morning. I could’ve impressed you with my incredible health-conscious attitude and my love for all things vegetable. I could’ve bragged about how I’m the only woman on the face of this earth who faces her pregnancy with healthy snacks and moderate exercise all while managing a job and a perfectly-clean house. I really considered it. You would’ve been so impressed by me. But, that would’ve been a lie.
Instead, I’ve spent the last four days doing everything I can to resist my intense cravings for hot dogs (yes, hot dogs… ew!) while wallowing in my own exhaustion on the couch with a sink full of dirty dishes in the kitchen and four loads of laundry sitting on my laundry-room floor. I drove by 7-11 yesterday and saw a picture of a hot dog and literally had to force myself to keep driving instead of running inside and smothering it in mustard and consuming it in two bites I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t usually like hot dogs at all, but right now, a big, juicy hot dog is pretty much at the forefront of my every waking thought. I haven’t consumed one yet, but its doubtful that I’ll make it through the weekend.
Really, the fact that I’m craving hot dogs is a good thing. It means that I’m not sick (yet). In fact, apart from feeling exhausted and weak, pretty much the only thing I am feeling is hungry. I literally feel like I could consume anything and everything in sight. I was so sick during my last pregnancy that I never craved a thing and never felt hungry, so this pregnancy hunger sensation is a new feeling for me. Let’s hope it lasts. Until then, I’ll be satisfying this hunger with celery and carrots and fresh strawberries… ha ha. Who am I kidding… we all know that I’ll probably eat three hot dogs and a bag of chips for lunch.
Status check
5 weeks 5 days pregnant
148 lbs.
This morning, I seriously considered writing a long diatribe about how I’ve been craving broccoli and spinach and lean protein and running five miles every morning. I could’ve impressed you with my incredible health-conscious attitude and my love for all things vegetable. I could’ve bragged about how I’m the only woman on the face of this earth who faces her pregnancy with healthy snacks and moderate exercise all while managing a job and a perfectly-clean house. I really considered it. You would’ve been so impressed by me. But, that would’ve been a lie.
Instead, I’ve spent the last four days doing everything I can to resist my intense cravings for hot dogs (yes, hot dogs… ew!) while wallowing in my own exhaustion on the couch with a sink full of dirty dishes in the kitchen and four loads of laundry sitting on my laundry-room floor. I drove by 7-11 yesterday and saw a picture of a hot dog and literally had to force myself to keep driving instead of running inside and smothering it in mustard and consuming it in two bites I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t usually like hot dogs at all, but right now, a big, juicy hot dog is pretty much at the forefront of my every waking thought. I haven’t consumed one yet, but its doubtful that I’ll make it through the weekend.
Really, the fact that I’m craving hot dogs is a good thing. It means that I’m not sick (yet). In fact, apart from feeling exhausted and weak, pretty much the only thing I am feeling is hungry. I literally feel like I could consume anything and everything in sight. I was so sick during my last pregnancy that I never craved a thing and never felt hungry, so this pregnancy hunger sensation is a new feeling for me. Let’s hope it lasts. Until then, I’ll be satisfying this hunger with celery and carrots and fresh strawberries… ha ha. Who am I kidding… we all know that I’ll probably eat three hot dogs and a bag of chips for lunch.
starving
Wednesday, January 24th, 2007
Status Check:
4 weeks 5 days pregnant
147 lbs.
All I can think about is food right now. Visions of ice cream sundaes and French fries are dancing in my head. I started thinking about lunch about three minutes after I finished breakfast. It’s 10:00 am and I’ve already had a snack. I emailed my husband and explained to him that he was going to be taking me out to dinner tonight and that I would probably order an appetizer… and a dessert. For some reason (what could it be?), I’m famished.
Fortunately, my appetite is justified. The nurse called me back this morning. My ob-gyn is recommending that I eat 700-900 additional calories each day to make sure that both Joey and my new baby are getting the nutrients that they need. They also think that it wouldn’t hurt if I gained a few pounds right now so that if I do get sick again, I will have a little bit more meat on me. I hung up the phone grinning. Cheeseburgers and onion rings, here I come!
Unfortunately, my sister, who happens to be a registered dietitian burst my bubble about ten minutes after I started dreaming of weeks of food-filled heaven. She said that while French fries and cheeseburgers and ice cream and cookies will definitely help me gain weight, it won’t be the healthy, nutrient-filled weight that I need. So sad. Instead, she recommended eating extra snacks like nuts and trail mix, adding peanut butter to apples and celery, drinking whole milk in my decaf coffee and buying whole milk yogurt instead of fat free.
So, for the next few weeks, I’m on a mission to gain five pounds. Sadly, it won’t be nearly as fun as I always dreamed it would be. I’ll probably still sneak a few slices of pizza and ice cream cones in there, but for the good of my babies, my snacking will most likely be on healthy, high calorie foods. Gaining weight isn’t nearly as fun as I thought it would be.
Status Check:
4 weeks 5 days pregnant
147 lbs.
All I can think about is food right now. Visions of ice cream sundaes and French fries are dancing in my head. I started thinking about lunch about three minutes after I finished breakfast. It’s 10:00 am and I’ve already had a snack. I emailed my husband and explained to him that he was going to be taking me out to dinner tonight and that I would probably order an appetizer… and a dessert. For some reason (what could it be?), I’m famished.
Fortunately, my appetite is justified. The nurse called me back this morning. My ob-gyn is recommending that I eat 700-900 additional calories each day to make sure that both Joey and my new baby are getting the nutrients that they need. They also think that it wouldn’t hurt if I gained a few pounds right now so that if I do get sick again, I will have a little bit more meat on me. I hung up the phone grinning. Cheeseburgers and onion rings, here I come!
Unfortunately, my sister, who happens to be a registered dietitian burst my bubble about ten minutes after I started dreaming of weeks of food-filled heaven. She said that while French fries and cheeseburgers and ice cream and cookies will definitely help me gain weight, it won’t be the healthy, nutrient-filled weight that I need. So sad. Instead, she recommended eating extra snacks like nuts and trail mix, adding peanut butter to apples and celery, drinking whole milk in my decaf coffee and buying whole milk yogurt instead of fat free.
So, for the next few weeks, I’m on a mission to gain five pounds. Sadly, it won’t be nearly as fun as I always dreamed it would be. I’ll probably still sneak a few slices of pizza and ice cream cones in there, but for the good of my babies, my snacking will most likely be on healthy, high calorie foods. Gaining weight isn’t nearly as fun as I thought it would be.
Breastfeeding and pregnant
Tuesday, January 23rd, 2007
Status Check:
4 weeks 4 days pregnant
147 lbs.
I called my ob-gyn today to make an appointment for my first pre-natal check. I chatted with the nurse for awhile about pregnancy and breastfeeding as I’m really not ready to wean Joey. Not ready at all. The nurse was actually very encouraging. She said that they don’t think it’s necessary for pregnant woman to wean until about 24 weeks at the earliest. What’s more, she cited some recent research that breastfeeding can actually help to regulate a woman’s hormones in early pregnancy leading to reduced nausea and morning sickness. That was music to my ears. She also recommended that I start taking Premesis (a prescription pre-natal vitamin), that I take 1200 mg. of calcium a day. So, I’m off to HEB to fill my prescription and buy some citracal.
Status Check:
4 weeks 4 days pregnant
147 lbs.
I called my ob-gyn today to make an appointment for my first pre-natal check. I chatted with the nurse for awhile about pregnancy and breastfeeding as I’m really not ready to wean Joey. Not ready at all. The nurse was actually very encouraging. She said that they don’t think it’s necessary for pregnant woman to wean until about 24 weeks at the earliest. What’s more, she cited some recent research that breastfeeding can actually help to regulate a woman’s hormones in early pregnancy leading to reduced nausea and morning sickness. That was music to my ears. She also recommended that I start taking Premesis (a prescription pre-natal vitamin), that I take 1200 mg. of calcium a day. So, I’m off to HEB to fill my prescription and buy some citracal.
The calm before the storm
Sunday, January 21st, 2007
Status Check:
4 weeks 2 days pregnant
147 lbs.
I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I keep having to remind myself because I don’t really feel pregnant. I’m not bloated. I’m not tired. I’m not even nauseous. I feel pretty much the same as always, except for this lurking thought in the back of my mind that I’m pregnant. In less than nine months, I will have another tiny life to take care of. I will have a tiny baby to cuddle and a tiny hand to hold.
Right now, I’m feeling like I’m sitting smack-dab in the middle of the calm before the storm. I’m feeling good but I know that all of the aches and pains of pregnancy are probably just around the corner. With Joey, I didn’t even know I was pregnant until I was six weeks along. I remember feeling pretty good for the first week or so and then the nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. By the time I was eight weeks along, I spending the majority of my time in the ER, hooked up to an IV as I was simply unable to eat or drink. At ten weeks, I was hospitalized, admitted for dehydration and weight loss. I was not one of the fortunate ones whose nausea went away after my first trimester. Instead, I battled constant nausea and vomiting for the entire pregnancy. What was I thinking?
I sat down and calculated it out today. If I follow the pattern of my last pregnancy, I should be OK for the next few weeks. I’m going to live it up as much as I can. I already wrote a list for my husband. In the next two weeks, I want to go to Trudy’s for stuffed avacados and Central Market for blackberry French toast. I want spicy coconut soup from Firebowl and Mexican vanilla ice cream from Amy’s. I want cannelloni from Brick Oven and a greasy hamburger from Red Robin. I figure that since I probably won’t be eating a lot after that, I need to eat well while I can. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Status Check:
4 weeks 2 days pregnant
147 lbs.
I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I keep having to remind myself because I don’t really feel pregnant. I’m not bloated. I’m not tired. I’m not even nauseous. I feel pretty much the same as always, except for this lurking thought in the back of my mind that I’m pregnant. In less than nine months, I will have another tiny life to take care of. I will have a tiny baby to cuddle and a tiny hand to hold.
Right now, I’m feeling like I’m sitting smack-dab in the middle of the calm before the storm. I’m feeling good but I know that all of the aches and pains of pregnancy are probably just around the corner. With Joey, I didn’t even know I was pregnant until I was six weeks along. I remember feeling pretty good for the first week or so and then the nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. By the time I was eight weeks along, I spending the majority of my time in the ER, hooked up to an IV as I was simply unable to eat or drink. At ten weeks, I was hospitalized, admitted for dehydration and weight loss. I was not one of the fortunate ones whose nausea went away after my first trimester. Instead, I battled constant nausea and vomiting for the entire pregnancy. What was I thinking?
I sat down and calculated it out today. If I follow the pattern of my last pregnancy, I should be OK for the next few weeks. I’m going to live it up as much as I can. I already wrote a list for my husband. In the next two weeks, I want to go to Trudy’s for stuffed avacados and Central Market for blackberry French toast. I want spicy coconut soup from Firebowl and Mexican vanilla ice cream from Amy’s. I want cannelloni from Brick Oven and a greasy hamburger from Red Robin. I figure that since I probably won’t be eating a lot after that, I need to eat well while I can. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Pregnant...
January 19th, 2007
So much for my vow to be patient. I can’t stand it. My period is officially late now and I’m hemming and hawing about taking another test. Sure, I’ve already wasted three tests this week. Sure, if I wait a few more days, then I’ll know for sure. Sure, I promised just yesterday that I’d wait at least two days before testing again. But, I just can’t stand it. I’m taking a test. Results pending…. Be back in five.
It took a few minutes but a faint blue plus sign appeared in the window. Now I’m freaking out. Yesterday, I was freaking out because I’d taken three negative pregnancy tests. Today, I’m freaking out because I took one positive one. Part of me is ecstatic. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby. The other part of me scared. I’m scared to death that I’m going to be sick again. I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to take care of Joey while pregnant and nauseous and sick. I’m scared that something is going to happen to this tiny life. I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to manage two babies. The roller coaster has started moving and there’s no getting out now. So, I guess all I can do is buckle up, smile and enjoy the ride.
So much for my vow to be patient. I can’t stand it. My period is officially late now and I’m hemming and hawing about taking another test. Sure, I’ve already wasted three tests this week. Sure, if I wait a few more days, then I’ll know for sure. Sure, I promised just yesterday that I’d wait at least two days before testing again. But, I just can’t stand it. I’m taking a test. Results pending…. Be back in five.
It took a few minutes but a faint blue plus sign appeared in the window. Now I’m freaking out. Yesterday, I was freaking out because I’d taken three negative pregnancy tests. Today, I’m freaking out because I took one positive one. Part of me is ecstatic. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby. The other part of me scared. I’m scared to death that I’m going to be sick again. I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to take care of Joey while pregnant and nauseous and sick. I’m scared that something is going to happen to this tiny life. I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to manage two babies. The roller coaster has started moving and there’s no getting out now. So, I guess all I can do is buckle up, smile and enjoy the ride.
wasting tests
January 18th, 2007
How many pregnancy tests do I have to waste before I realize that it’s my money that I’m tossing in the garbage. I mean, really. The test says in big letters that there is a significant chance that I will get a negative result even if I am pregnant if I test too early. So, why am I sitting here, staring at my third negative pregnancy test in a week? I’ve vowed not to take any more tests until at least Saturday, the day after my period is due. No more. I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient.
How many pregnancy tests do I have to waste before I realize that it’s my money that I’m tossing in the garbage. I mean, really. The test says in big letters that there is a significant chance that I will get a negative result even if I am pregnant if I test too early. So, why am I sitting here, staring at my third negative pregnancy test in a week? I’ve vowed not to take any more tests until at least Saturday, the day after my period is due. No more. I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient.
Negative
January 15, 2007
And, it was negative. Seriously, I’m feeling really disappointed and I have no idea why. I mean, we’ve been trying for one whole month. It’s five days before my period is due so it could be a false negative. Seriously. This is a bit pathetic, but I’m sitting here crying nonetheless.
And, it was negative. Seriously, I’m feeling really disappointed and I have no idea why. I mean, we’ve been trying for one whole month. It’s five days before my period is due so it could be a false negative. Seriously. This is a bit pathetic, but I’m sitting here crying nonetheless.
Instant gratification
January 10, 2007
I am not a patient person. I’m all for instant gratification. At my house, we tevo all of our favorite shows so that we don’t have to wait through the commercials. We order our pizza already-cooked and buy our wine already-chilled. I often shop on the internet, but I also often upgrade to one-day shipping as I simply cannot wait any longer for my shipment to arrive. I like things fast. I like things now. I hate to wait. With this said, this whole waiting game is driving me nuts. Am I pregnant? Am I not? I just want to know. Sure, my period is due in a little more than a week and I’ll know for sure then, but a week sounds like an awful long time to wait.
January 14th, 2007
I’ve been scouring the internet to find out when is really the absolute, tip-top, utmost, without-a-doubt earliest that a pregnancy test can come back positive. Of course, sources vary. While I did find a few articles that said I could take a home pregnancy test as many as 7 days before my period, the general consensus on-line was that it’s best to wait at least until the day that your period should start. Naturally, being a hate-to-wait-and-see type of person, I didn’t like (or heed) this advice. Instead, I went to the drugstore and bought a pregnancy test. The box said “Positive results sooner than any other test!” across the front. Inside, the package directions said that if taken four days before a missed period, a woman who is actually pregnant has a 53% chance of getting a positive result. Those odds are good enough for me.
My period is due in five days. I explained to my husband over dinner tonight that if I take a pregnancy test tomorrow morning, I have a 53% chance of getting a positive result if I’m truly pregnant. For some reason, my husband (who used to be a math teacher) didn’t like those odds. He rationally pointed out that if I just waited until Friday, the day my period is actually due, I’ll have a 98% chance of getting a positive result if I’m truly pregnant. According to Mr. Rational (and I must say, Mr. Frugal), it would be a waste of money to use a pregnancy test on a day with only 50-50 odds of a correct result.
I’ve been stewing all night. The pregnancy test sits on my bathroom counter, tempting me, while my husband has decided to play the lets-be-smart-about-money-and-not-take-unecessary-pregnancy-tests game. I’m not going for that. I’ve resorted to begging and pleading. What if… what IF…I do get a positive result? We could tell our parents early and start planning and get all happy and excited a week before we otherwise would know. Come on, sweetie. It’ll be fun. It’s just one pregnancy test, just one. I got it on sale, anyway. And, for real, there’s even a free test in the box. I’m sure that the manufacturers did that for just this reason.
He finally gave into my pleading. He’s a sucker for my smile (or maybe the memories of a pregnant and crying wife are too fresh in his mind). Anyway, tomorrow morning, I take a test first thing in the morning. I’ll let you know how it goes.
I am not a patient person. I’m all for instant gratification. At my house, we tevo all of our favorite shows so that we don’t have to wait through the commercials. We order our pizza already-cooked and buy our wine already-chilled. I often shop on the internet, but I also often upgrade to one-day shipping as I simply cannot wait any longer for my shipment to arrive. I like things fast. I like things now. I hate to wait. With this said, this whole waiting game is driving me nuts. Am I pregnant? Am I not? I just want to know. Sure, my period is due in a little more than a week and I’ll know for sure then, but a week sounds like an awful long time to wait.
January 14th, 2007
I’ve been scouring the internet to find out when is really the absolute, tip-top, utmost, without-a-doubt earliest that a pregnancy test can come back positive. Of course, sources vary. While I did find a few articles that said I could take a home pregnancy test as many as 7 days before my period, the general consensus on-line was that it’s best to wait at least until the day that your period should start. Naturally, being a hate-to-wait-and-see type of person, I didn’t like (or heed) this advice. Instead, I went to the drugstore and bought a pregnancy test. The box said “Positive results sooner than any other test!” across the front. Inside, the package directions said that if taken four days before a missed period, a woman who is actually pregnant has a 53% chance of getting a positive result. Those odds are good enough for me.
My period is due in five days. I explained to my husband over dinner tonight that if I take a pregnancy test tomorrow morning, I have a 53% chance of getting a positive result if I’m truly pregnant. For some reason, my husband (who used to be a math teacher) didn’t like those odds. He rationally pointed out that if I just waited until Friday, the day my period is actually due, I’ll have a 98% chance of getting a positive result if I’m truly pregnant. According to Mr. Rational (and I must say, Mr. Frugal), it would be a waste of money to use a pregnancy test on a day with only 50-50 odds of a correct result.
I’ve been stewing all night. The pregnancy test sits on my bathroom counter, tempting me, while my husband has decided to play the lets-be-smart-about-money-and-not-take-unecessary-pregnancy-tests game. I’m not going for that. I’ve resorted to begging and pleading. What if… what IF…I do get a positive result? We could tell our parents early and start planning and get all happy and excited a week before we otherwise would know. Come on, sweetie. It’ll be fun. It’s just one pregnancy test, just one. I got it on sale, anyway. And, for real, there’s even a free test in the box. I’m sure that the manufacturers did that for just this reason.
He finally gave into my pleading. He’s a sucker for my smile (or maybe the memories of a pregnant and crying wife are too fresh in his mind). Anyway, tomorrow morning, I take a test first thing in the morning. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Romance of trying
January 6, 2007
Who knew that “trying” could be so stressful. We’ve never “tried” before. My pregnancy with Joey was a wonderful “accident” that took us completely by surprise. So, the idea of “trying” is new to us. For a few days it was fun. We hurried to put Joey to bed and then spent the evenings together, eating romantic dinners and making out on the couch. We winked at each other during the day and even “tried” one morning before the baby woke up and my husband had to scurry off to work.
Just when I was beginning to enjoy the whole “trying” thing, I foolishly decided to check out an on-line fertility calculator. It started out simply enough. I wrote in the first day of my last period and it calculated my fertile days for the month. It claimed that I had a small chance of getting pregnant on Jan. 3rd and 4th and that my most fertile days were Jan. 5th-8th. A quick glance at the calendar showed me that I only had two more fertile days left in the month. We were suddenly facing a looming deadline. No more spontaneity. No more romance. We had to get crackin’.
All of a sudden, “trying” went from being fun, spontaneous and easy-going to a stressful race-against the fertility clock. We did end up “trying” as much as possible during my most fertile days, but I have to admit that I’m a little worn out. At last, the fertility calendar says that I’m not fertile anymore so we can have a few weeks off from “trying” and get back into the normal groove of our marriage. Of course, now it’s a waiting game.
Ready to try...
January 1, 2007
The decision to have another baby was an easy one. Really, I started craving another tiny sweet-smelling newborn about two weeks after I brought Joey home from the hospital. It wasn’t that I didn’t love Joey or even that I didn’t have my hands full, but simply that I knew that I wanted lots of children and that each child would bring additional joy and life into our household. Yes, having a baby has been difficult at times. Late nights, lack of sleep, dirty diapers and a crazy toddler definitely have taken their toll on me, but sweet kisses and musical babbling more than make up for the trials of parenting and I have always wanted a household full of the laughter of children.
While the decision to have another baby was an easy one, the decision to get pregnant again wasn’t quite so easy. My last pregnancy was no piece of cake. I had morning sickness to the extreme. I threw up multiple times every day for the entire nine months, and ended up spending a good amount of time in the hospital fighting dehydration and weight loss. I swore I would never, ever, ever do it again. When I was pregnant, I couldn’t imagine how any baby could possibly be worth the misery. Of course, the instant my son was born, I had no doubt that every moment, every long night spent hovering over the toilet, every embarrassing time that I threw up in public was worth it. Worth every moment.
I spent the last two months fighting these two conflicting ideas. I want another baby. I don’t want to be pregnant. But, I do want another baby. We considered adoption, but decided that adoption takes several years and that while we may keep that option open in the future, we’d like to have a couple of kids close together first. So, a few weeks ago, we decided to go for it. I knew I was most likely getting myself into months of misery. I knew I’d probably spend days sitting on the bathroom floor throwing up while entertaining an active toddler. I knew I’d probably kick myself for even thinking I was ready to be pregnant again. But, I also knew that the moment I held that precious baby in my arms, I’d forget all about the pain. I know it’ll be worth it. So, with that said, we are officially “trying”.
The decision to have another baby was an easy one. Really, I started craving another tiny sweet-smelling newborn about two weeks after I brought Joey home from the hospital. It wasn’t that I didn’t love Joey or even that I didn’t have my hands full, but simply that I knew that I wanted lots of children and that each child would bring additional joy and life into our household. Yes, having a baby has been difficult at times. Late nights, lack of sleep, dirty diapers and a crazy toddler definitely have taken their toll on me, but sweet kisses and musical babbling more than make up for the trials of parenting and I have always wanted a household full of the laughter of children.
While the decision to have another baby was an easy one, the decision to get pregnant again wasn’t quite so easy. My last pregnancy was no piece of cake. I had morning sickness to the extreme. I threw up multiple times every day for the entire nine months, and ended up spending a good amount of time in the hospital fighting dehydration and weight loss. I swore I would never, ever, ever do it again. When I was pregnant, I couldn’t imagine how any baby could possibly be worth the misery. Of course, the instant my son was born, I had no doubt that every moment, every long night spent hovering over the toilet, every embarrassing time that I threw up in public was worth it. Worth every moment.
I spent the last two months fighting these two conflicting ideas. I want another baby. I don’t want to be pregnant. But, I do want another baby. We considered adoption, but decided that adoption takes several years and that while we may keep that option open in the future, we’d like to have a couple of kids close together first. So, a few weeks ago, we decided to go for it. I knew I was most likely getting myself into months of misery. I knew I’d probably spend days sitting on the bathroom floor throwing up while entertaining an active toddler. I knew I’d probably kick myself for even thinking I was ready to be pregnant again. But, I also knew that the moment I held that precious baby in my arms, I’d forget all about the pain. I know it’ll be worth it. So, with that said, we are officially “trying”.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Snow in Texas
It never snows in Texas. Never. Well, almost never. Over the last few days, we’ve had a winter storm that brought freezing rain, slush, sleet, ice and “snow” (if you can call it that). I grew up in Bend, Oregon, right at the base of the Cascade Mountains, and in a town where snow means *snow*. Growing up, we shoveled our driveways early in the morning, moving several feet of snow just to get to school on time (and then walked to school barefoot and uphill both ways). Snow days were few and far between and required more than three feet of snow in addition to black ice. A light dusting of snow or a thin layer of ice was child’s play to us snow veterans.
Well, in Texas, a light dusting of snow and a thin layer of ice means city-wide closures, empty roads, traffic accidents, and creative snow play. It’s almost comical for those of us who are used to winter weather. On Monday, our temperatures dropped below freezing around noon. Grocery stores closed. News reporters dramatically explained the treacherous conditions. People waited in hour-long lines to get firewood and bottled water. School was cancelled. People were warned to stay indoors and stay warm.
Now it’s Wednesday. Our weather is still below freezing and schools are still closed. Every freeway in Austin is closed in at least one spot where there is a bridge or flyover. The city is completely shut down. Grocery stores are dark. Gas stations are locked. Walmart (Walmart for gosh sakes!) closed at 3:00 pm yesterday and has yet to reopen. The kids across the street ran a hose down the hill in their front yard and used a boogie board to “sled” down their ice tube. The city of Austin is nearly out of its supply of salt and sand so most of the roads haven’t been sanded and are therefore closed. The kids down the street spent hours trying to create snowballs out of the tiny accumulation that we have.
Anyway, I thought that my friends and family in Oregon would get a kick out of our “treacherous” conditions and the extent of our “snow” accumulation. The newscaster just announced that our freeze may break late tomorrow morning and that schools may even be open tomorrow for a half day. Let’s hope so. We’re getting cabin fever here.
Happy birthday Joey
Dec. 27, 2006
My baby boy turns one today. Not surprisingly, I’m feeling a little sentimental. People warned me that this first year would be hard. I expected to lose sleep and to lose patience. I expected dirty diapers and loads upon loads of laundry. I expected toys to fill my living room and cheerios to cover the floor. I expected doctor’s visits and baby Tylenol and saline drops and diaper wipes. I read all of the books and knew what to expect with a baby at home. But, I never expected to feel the way I feel today.
I never expected the incredible feeling of tiny arms wrapped around my neck and sweet warm kisses on my cheek. I never expected to feel pure joy when I heard a sweet voice utter “mama” and smile up at me. I never expected that I would be entertained for hours watching chubby knees run around the room and explore one thing after another. I never expected a toothy grin to make me laugh harder than I ever have before. I never expected to fall completely in love with my husband again as I watched him play Daddy. I never expected to love someone this much or this fiercely. I never expected that tiny baby that I held for the first time one year ago to change my heart and my life so completely.
So, today as my little boy pulled cake off of his high chair tray and smeared it all over his face, I felt happy and sad and joyful and sentimental all at once. I laughed as he tasted his first bite of frosting and grinned up at me in pure delight. I cried as he smashed bite after bite into his mouth, amazed that the little boy sitting in front of me was the same tiny baby that I brought home from the hospital just twelve months ago. I held on a little tighter as I pulled my little boy out of his high chair, covered in frosting, praying that I’ll remember to take the time to savor these moments when my baby is still young. I love you, Joey. Happy Birthday.
I never expected the incredible feeling of tiny arms wrapped around my neck and sweet warm kisses on my cheek. I never expected to feel pure joy when I heard a sweet voice utter “mama” and smile up at me. I never expected that I would be entertained for hours watching chubby knees run around the room and explore one thing after another. I never expected a toothy grin to make me laugh harder than I ever have before. I never expected to fall completely in love with my husband again as I watched him play Daddy. I never expected to love someone this much or this fiercely. I never expected that tiny baby that I held for the first time one year ago to change my heart and my life so completely.
So, today as my little boy pulled cake off of his high chair tray and smeared it all over his face, I felt happy and sad and joyful and sentimental all at once. I laughed as he tasted his first bite of frosting and grinned up at me in pure delight. I cried as he smashed bite after bite into his mouth, amazed that the little boy sitting in front of me was the same tiny baby that I brought home from the hospital just twelve months ago. I held on a little tighter as I pulled my little boy out of his high chair, covered in frosting, praying that I’ll remember to take the time to savor these moments when my baby is still young. I love you, Joey. Happy Birthday.
Traveling with baby
Dec. 20, 2006
I traveled with my son, you’d think I wouldn’t have been so quick to jump back on the horse. But, for some reason, visions of a white Christmas in Oregon surrounded by relatives and hot northwest coffee made me forget the cardinal rule of air travel: Never (ever, ever) step foot on an airplane, bus or train with a child under two unless you’re either crazy or you’re being paid several thousand dollars to do so. Ever. Unfortunately, I forgot this rule when I booked Christmas tickets to Oregon a few months ago. I forgot this rule as I packed my suitcases and shuttled Joey to the airport. I didn’t even remember the rule until after we had checked our bags (along with the stroller, carseat and Pack & Play) and made our way through security.
Once through security, we found out that our flight out of Austin was delayed. This, in turn, made us miss our connecting flight in Dallas which led to a series of misfortunate events resulting in a screaming and naked (yes, that’s right, naked) baby on a freezing cold airplane hours after his bedtime. And this, in turn, lead to three exhausted, cold, tired and wet Texans arriving in Oregon several hours after our original arrival time on Christmas day, feeling anything but merry.
You’d think that since I’ve been a mom for almost an entire year, I’d know that with a baby, you can never be too prepared. I thought I had that one down pat. Usually I carry a huge diaper bag stocked full of essentials and yesterday as I packed for our flight, I went through a mental checklist and tried to think of any and all possible situations. I packed string cheese and cheerios in case he got hungry and empty sippy cups to fill with water on the plane. I brought toys and books and blankets and wipes. I brought diapers and Tylenol and hand sanitizer and changing pads. I brought two receiving blankets and three bibs. I really thought I was prepared, ready for any and every situation that little Joey could throw at me. I was wrong.
We waited until the last minute to get on our plane so that Joey would be able to run around and explore for as long as possible before being cramped in airplane seats for hours. As the last passengers loaded their stuff into the bins, we stepped onto the plane and started making our way to our seats. That’s when I smelled it. I looked down and Joey was literally covered in poop from shoulder to ankle. The plane was jam-packed and ready to leave any minute. Since there aren’t any changing tables on planes, Cam and I rushed back onto the tarmac just outside the plane while the flight attendants waited patiently to shut the doors. We laid out a changing pad and used a million wipes as we wiped him down from head to tow. It was everywhere. I put a fresh diaper on him and started digging in my bag for his clothes when it hit me. I had forgotten to pack a change of clothes.
So, much to the chagrin of many passengers on the plane who were quick to explain to me that there is absolutely no reason to take a naked baby out in public in the middle of winter, we climbed aboard, wrapped Joey in a receiving blanket and a coat and tried to keep him warm. As we got off the plane, the flight attendant gasped (literally) at me and said “You do know that it’s cold out, don’t you?” We carried our naked baby around the airport looking for somewhere to buy him something to wear, but it was Christmas Day and most of the airport stores were closed. Finally, we found a Dallas Cowboy’s T-shirt in his size. He wore that for the remainder of the day with a receiving blanket wrapped around his legs.
This time, I’ve learned my lesson. I will not forget the rules of travel. No matter how enticing it sounds, I will not book tickets to fly with my son until he’s at least two and potty trained. The next time I fly with him, he will be able to happily watch a Little Einstein DVD while we fly. Yes, there will be a next time, but not in the next year or so. No way, no how.
I traveled with my son, you’d think I wouldn’t have been so quick to jump back on the horse. But, for some reason, visions of a white Christmas in Oregon surrounded by relatives and hot northwest coffee made me forget the cardinal rule of air travel: Never (ever, ever) step foot on an airplane, bus or train with a child under two unless you’re either crazy or you’re being paid several thousand dollars to do so. Ever. Unfortunately, I forgot this rule when I booked Christmas tickets to Oregon a few months ago. I forgot this rule as I packed my suitcases and shuttled Joey to the airport. I didn’t even remember the rule until after we had checked our bags (along with the stroller, carseat and Pack & Play) and made our way through security.
Once through security, we found out that our flight out of Austin was delayed. This, in turn, made us miss our connecting flight in Dallas which led to a series of misfortunate events resulting in a screaming and naked (yes, that’s right, naked) baby on a freezing cold airplane hours after his bedtime. And this, in turn, lead to three exhausted, cold, tired and wet Texans arriving in Oregon several hours after our original arrival time on Christmas day, feeling anything but merry.
You’d think that since I’ve been a mom for almost an entire year, I’d know that with a baby, you can never be too prepared. I thought I had that one down pat. Usually I carry a huge diaper bag stocked full of essentials and yesterday as I packed for our flight, I went through a mental checklist and tried to think of any and all possible situations. I packed string cheese and cheerios in case he got hungry and empty sippy cups to fill with water on the plane. I brought toys and books and blankets and wipes. I brought diapers and Tylenol and hand sanitizer and changing pads. I brought two receiving blankets and three bibs. I really thought I was prepared, ready for any and every situation that little Joey could throw at me. I was wrong.
We waited until the last minute to get on our plane so that Joey would be able to run around and explore for as long as possible before being cramped in airplane seats for hours. As the last passengers loaded their stuff into the bins, we stepped onto the plane and started making our way to our seats. That’s when I smelled it. I looked down and Joey was literally covered in poop from shoulder to ankle. The plane was jam-packed and ready to leave any minute. Since there aren’t any changing tables on planes, Cam and I rushed back onto the tarmac just outside the plane while the flight attendants waited patiently to shut the doors. We laid out a changing pad and used a million wipes as we wiped him down from head to tow. It was everywhere. I put a fresh diaper on him and started digging in my bag for his clothes when it hit me. I had forgotten to pack a change of clothes.
So, much to the chagrin of many passengers on the plane who were quick to explain to me that there is absolutely no reason to take a naked baby out in public in the middle of winter, we climbed aboard, wrapped Joey in a receiving blanket and a coat and tried to keep him warm. As we got off the plane, the flight attendant gasped (literally) at me and said “You do know that it’s cold out, don’t you?” We carried our naked baby around the airport looking for somewhere to buy him something to wear, but it was Christmas Day and most of the airport stores were closed. Finally, we found a Dallas Cowboy’s T-shirt in his size. He wore that for the remainder of the day with a receiving blanket wrapped around his legs.
This time, I’ve learned my lesson. I will not forget the rules of travel. No matter how enticing it sounds, I will not book tickets to fly with my son until he’s at least two and potty trained. The next time I fly with him, he will be able to happily watch a Little Einstein DVD while we fly. Yes, there will be a next time, but not in the next year or so. No way, no how.
Thanksgiving brunch
My siblings and I are adamant that my mom cooks Thanksgiving dinner. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but Thanksgiving isn’t Thanksgiving without my mom’s homemade stuffing and pumpkin pie. When other people make it, it just doesn’t taste the same. So, with my mom in charge of all of the dinner food, I always volunteer to host a Thanksgiving brunch. Traditionally, we all walk the 5K Turkey Trot early on Thanksgiving morning so by the time we’re finished, we’re ready for a hearty meal. Because of this, I like to make breakfast casseroles that I can throw in the oven on time-bake so that we come home to a warm house with warm breakfast in the oven and hot coffee in the pot.
So, here’s my brunch menu for this year. It’s not necessarily healthy (who I am kidding, it’s not at all healthy) but it’s warm, comforting and festive. And after all, isn’t that what the holidays are all about?
Menu:
Chile Relleno Egg Bake
Pumpkin Bread Pudding with Caramel Sauce
Ambrosia fruit salad
Spicy mochas
Hot Mulled Cider
Chile Relleno Egg Bake
8 slices white bread
2 tbsp butter
3c. shredded sharp cheddar cheese
2 c shredded jack cheese
2 cans diced green chiles
6 eggs
2 c. milk
2 tsp. chile powder
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. Mexican oregano
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. dry mustard
Cut crusts off of bread and butter. Place butter-side down in 9X13 baking pan. Cover bread with cheese. Cover cheese with chiles. In lg. bowl, beat eggs, milk and spices. Pour over bread & cheese mixture. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Bake at 350 for 50-60 minutes until set. Let sit for 10 minutes before serving.
Pumpkin Bread Pudding w/ Caramel Sauce
2 loaves challah
1 ½ c. milk
1 c. half and half
1 15 oz. can pureed pumpkin
1 c. brown sugar
2 eggs
2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tsp. nutmeg
2 tsp. vanilla
Cut challah into 1 inch cubes. Beat remaining ingredients in large bowl and pour over bread. Let stand in refrigerator 1-2 hours. Bake at 350 for 40-50 min. Dust with powdered sugar.
Carmel Sauce
In small saucepan, whisk 1 ¼ c. brown sugar with ½ c. butter. Add ½ c. whipping cream and stir until sugar is dissolved (about 3 minutes)
Ambrosia Fruit Salad:
6 large navel oranges
1 small pineapple
2 large grapefruits
¼ lb. fresh cherries (pitted)
1 ½ c. shredded coconut
Peel and slice oranges and grapefruit. Chunk pineapple and cherries. Mix with coconut and serve.
Spicy Mochas
Put 4 c. whole milk in a medium saucepan. Add 4 small dried chiles de arbol and 3 whole cinnamon sticks. Simmer for 8-10 minutes and remove from heat. Steep for 15-20 minutes then remove cinnamon sticks and chiles. Return to medium heat and whisk in 3 cups strong brewed coffee, 1 ½ c. sugar, 1 c. unsweetened cocoa powder. Cook until heated through.
So, here’s my brunch menu for this year. It’s not necessarily healthy (who I am kidding, it’s not at all healthy) but it’s warm, comforting and festive. And after all, isn’t that what the holidays are all about?
Menu:
Chile Relleno Egg Bake
Pumpkin Bread Pudding with Caramel Sauce
Ambrosia fruit salad
Spicy mochas
Hot Mulled Cider
Chile Relleno Egg Bake
8 slices white bread
2 tbsp butter
3c. shredded sharp cheddar cheese
2 c shredded jack cheese
2 cans diced green chiles
6 eggs
2 c. milk
2 tsp. chile powder
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. Mexican oregano
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 tsp. dry mustard
Cut crusts off of bread and butter. Place butter-side down in 9X13 baking pan. Cover bread with cheese. Cover cheese with chiles. In lg. bowl, beat eggs, milk and spices. Pour over bread & cheese mixture. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Bake at 350 for 50-60 minutes until set. Let sit for 10 minutes before serving.
Pumpkin Bread Pudding w/ Caramel Sauce
2 loaves challah
1 ½ c. milk
1 c. half and half
1 15 oz. can pureed pumpkin
1 c. brown sugar
2 eggs
2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tsp. nutmeg
2 tsp. vanilla
Cut challah into 1 inch cubes. Beat remaining ingredients in large bowl and pour over bread. Let stand in refrigerator 1-2 hours. Bake at 350 for 40-50 min. Dust with powdered sugar.
Carmel Sauce
In small saucepan, whisk 1 ¼ c. brown sugar with ½ c. butter. Add ½ c. whipping cream and stir until sugar is dissolved (about 3 minutes)
Ambrosia Fruit Salad:
6 large navel oranges
1 small pineapple
2 large grapefruits
¼ lb. fresh cherries (pitted)
1 ½ c. shredded coconut
Peel and slice oranges and grapefruit. Chunk pineapple and cherries. Mix with coconut and serve.
Spicy Mochas
Put 4 c. whole milk in a medium saucepan. Add 4 small dried chiles de arbol and 3 whole cinnamon sticks. Simmer for 8-10 minutes and remove from heat. Steep for 15-20 minutes then remove cinnamon sticks and chiles. Return to medium heat and whisk in 3 cups strong brewed coffee, 1 ½ c. sugar, 1 c. unsweetened cocoa powder. Cook until heated through.
Halloween by the numbers
Oct. 31, 2006
1: The number of minutes that it took for Joey to spit-up on his costume after I put it on.
2: The number of cups of coffee that I drank before I met my friends downtown for coffee. It’s Halloween… I’m allowed to be caffeine and sugar-loaded, aren’t I?
3: The number of hours that my son decided to nap this afternoon. I guess the five o’clock mornings due to daylight savings finally caught up to him.
4: The number of miniature candy bars that I ate right after breakfast without feeling the least bit guilty (OK, so I feel a little guilty but I’ll worry about that tomorrow)
5: The number of hours that it took me to sew my son’s costume (you know, the one that he’ll never remember wearing and that he’ll wear for a total of two hours).
6: The number of times I’ve emailed my husband “the cutest picture ever” today after snapping at least seventy pictures of my little baby elephant.
7: The number of seconds that my son kept his elephant hat on before ripping it off and starting to chew on the trunk.
8: The number of times that I had to tear out the stitching and re-sew seams on my son’s costume before getting it right.
9: The number of minutes that I resisted opening up the bag of Reese’s that I bought for the trick-or-treaters. Really, nine minutes is a lifetime when you’re faced with chocolate on Halloween.
10: The number of bags of candy I bought to hand out to trick-or-treaters who flock to our neighborhood on Halloween.
Mini-vacations
Oct. 20, 2006
I used to daydream about taking mini-vacations. I’d imagine myself sleeping in late on a Saturday morning at a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains. Skiing all day and spending all evening sipping hot chocolate by the fire or lounging on the beach sipping a daiquiri and watching the sunset. Mini vacations where I would get away from it all and come back relaxed and rejuvenated. Now, I’m a mom, and weekends away by the ocean are out of the picture, but I still daydream about mini-breaks. Here are just a few of my recent fantasies:
* A hot cup of coffee, with lots of cream and sugar that I actually get to finish while it’s still warm.
* A freshly vacuumed floor that the baby can actually crawl around on without getting dog hair in his mouth.
* An unexpectedly long nap. You know, one of those once-a-year occurrences where the baby sleeps for three hours and you finish everything on your to do list and have nothing left to do except sit and surf the internet or watch mindless TV.
* Time to sit back on the coach and read a chapter of a juicy novel while munching on caramel corn.
* A Lost Marathon on TV where all of my questions get answered once and for all.
I used to daydream about taking mini-vacations. I’d imagine myself sleeping in late on a Saturday morning at a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains. Skiing all day and spending all evening sipping hot chocolate by the fire or lounging on the beach sipping a daiquiri and watching the sunset. Mini vacations where I would get away from it all and come back relaxed and rejuvenated. Now, I’m a mom, and weekends away by the ocean are out of the picture, but I still daydream about mini-breaks. Here are just a few of my recent fantasies:
* A hot cup of coffee, with lots of cream and sugar that I actually get to finish while it’s still warm.
* A freshly vacuumed floor that the baby can actually crawl around on without getting dog hair in his mouth.
* An unexpectedly long nap. You know, one of those once-a-year occurrences where the baby sleeps for three hours and you finish everything on your to do list and have nothing left to do except sit and surf the internet or watch mindless TV.
* Time to sit back on the coach and read a chapter of a juicy novel while munching on caramel corn.
* A Lost Marathon on TV where all of my questions get answered once and for all.
A hypocritical church
I was talking to a friend the other day and she started talking to me about the reasons that she isn’t a Christian and doesn’t attend church. One of her main reasons is that she sees the church and Christians doing so many hypocritical things. She talked about how the church preaches against immoral behavior yet we frequently hear of priests being arrested for child abuse and of church members who are secretly involved in affairs. So-called Christians use God as an excuse to incite violence against others and to pass judgment on those who don’t agree with them. Christians, who are called to give generously and joyfully are often the last to open their hands and instead, keep their pockets and bank accounts full. Those who claim to love one another are often the last to show love to the downtrodden or needy and instead, blame those who are less fortunate for their woes and quickly cite the reasons that people deserve what they get.
This conversation made me very sad, mostly because my friend is right. The Christian church as a whole doesn’t set a good example of practicing what it preaches. Christians do all sorts of things that don’t uphold Christ’s example. I’m definitely not innocent of this. While I do my best to do the right thing, I am often quick to anger and slow to give. I’m ashamed to say that there have been times when I have gossiped, judged, been greedy, said things that I shouldn’t have and the list goes on. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that there isn’t a single Christian in the entire world who is innocent of this kind of hypocrisy. I can also see why this probably leaves a sour taste in the mouths of those who aren’t Christians.
After thinking and praying about this for awhile, I came to a reassuring realization. The Christian church isn’t about Christians and what they do, but it’s about God and what he did. It’s about Jesus and his gift of salvation through his death on a cross. It’s about his mercy and grace and forgiveness that none of us deserve yet that he gives freely. If we all did the right things and deserved his salvation, then we wouldn’t need Jesus. But, we do need him and that’s clearly evidenced by the hypocrisy and behavior of the Christian church. This is no excuse for the things that we do as humans. They’re wrong and they shouldn’t happen, but it is evidence of the incredible grace that we have been allowed. I just pray that I am able to show God’s love and mercy in my life, and while I’m not perfect and never will be, I pray that my friends and family will see a glimpse of Christ in me.
This conversation made me very sad, mostly because my friend is right. The Christian church as a whole doesn’t set a good example of practicing what it preaches. Christians do all sorts of things that don’t uphold Christ’s example. I’m definitely not innocent of this. While I do my best to do the right thing, I am often quick to anger and slow to give. I’m ashamed to say that there have been times when I have gossiped, judged, been greedy, said things that I shouldn’t have and the list goes on. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that there isn’t a single Christian in the entire world who is innocent of this kind of hypocrisy. I can also see why this probably leaves a sour taste in the mouths of those who aren’t Christians.
After thinking and praying about this for awhile, I came to a reassuring realization. The Christian church isn’t about Christians and what they do, but it’s about God and what he did. It’s about Jesus and his gift of salvation through his death on a cross. It’s about his mercy and grace and forgiveness that none of us deserve yet that he gives freely. If we all did the right things and deserved his salvation, then we wouldn’t need Jesus. But, we do need him and that’s clearly evidenced by the hypocrisy and behavior of the Christian church. This is no excuse for the things that we do as humans. They’re wrong and they shouldn’t happen, but it is evidence of the incredible grace that we have been allowed. I just pray that I am able to show God’s love and mercy in my life, and while I’m not perfect and never will be, I pray that my friends and family will see a glimpse of Christ in me.
Chile Verde
When I was a kid, my next-door neighbor was a Mexican woman named Rose who owned a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant in town. Rose made everything from scratch, from her fresh salsa to hand rolled tortillas. Locals flocked to her restaurant for fresh enchiladas, carne asada, sopa de albondigas and her famous chile verde. I grew up eating her food and when I was in college, I spent my summers waiting tables in her restaurant. After each shift, Rose gave me a free meal of my choice and I never tired of the amazing handmade Mexican delicacies that she created.
When I got married, one of the first places I took my husband was Rose’s little restaurant. My husband loved it as much as I did and we spent many evenings lingering over chile rellenos and fresh margaritas. My husbands favorite was Rose’s spicy chile verde and he ordered it nearly every time we went into the restaurant. Rose’s food was our favorite and we became regulars at her little restaurant, chatting with the waiters and waitresses and knowing the menu by heart. When we moved to Texas, one of the things we missed the most was Rose’s cooking. We have yet to find a restaurant that even compares to Rose’s and everytime we go home, the first thing we do is head over there for dinner. It never fails to satisfy.
My husband has had a rough week so I decided to try to surprise him with something special. So, yesterday, I set about to recreate Rose’s top-secret and famous chile verde. Starting with an old chile verde recipe that I found, I have added a bit of this and a touch of that and let it simmer all day. While I think I’ll add another jalapeño next time to make it a bit spicier, all in all, I really enjoyed the dish. It was also really easy and inexpensive to make which is an added bonus. Here’s my recipe:
Chile Verde
1.5 lbs. pork tenderloin or chicken breast (cubed)
10 fresh tomatillos
2-4 jalapeño peppers (I used two, but I think I’ll use three next time)
2 poblano peppers
1 onion, diced
3 cloves of garlic
1 tbsp cumin
3-4 tsp. salt
¼ c. chicken broth
Husk tomatillos and place in boiling water for 15 minutes. Strain and set aside to cool.
Put jalapenos and poblanos under the broiler until their skins are charred. Turn and char the other side. When charred, remove from oven and set aside to cool.
Mince garlic and dice onion. Place in crock pot with broth.
Cube meat, add to crock pot and stir.
Sprinkle cumin and salt on meat and veggies.
Carefully peel still-warm tomatillos and peppers. Place in blender and puree until smooth.
Cover meat with tomatillo sauce.
Cook on low for 8 hours.
Serve with rice, cheese and tortillas.
When I got married, one of the first places I took my husband was Rose’s little restaurant. My husband loved it as much as I did and we spent many evenings lingering over chile rellenos and fresh margaritas. My husbands favorite was Rose’s spicy chile verde and he ordered it nearly every time we went into the restaurant. Rose’s food was our favorite and we became regulars at her little restaurant, chatting with the waiters and waitresses and knowing the menu by heart. When we moved to Texas, one of the things we missed the most was Rose’s cooking. We have yet to find a restaurant that even compares to Rose’s and everytime we go home, the first thing we do is head over there for dinner. It never fails to satisfy.
My husband has had a rough week so I decided to try to surprise him with something special. So, yesterday, I set about to recreate Rose’s top-secret and famous chile verde. Starting with an old chile verde recipe that I found, I have added a bit of this and a touch of that and let it simmer all day. While I think I’ll add another jalapeño next time to make it a bit spicier, all in all, I really enjoyed the dish. It was also really easy and inexpensive to make which is an added bonus. Here’s my recipe:
Chile Verde
1.5 lbs. pork tenderloin or chicken breast (cubed)
10 fresh tomatillos
2-4 jalapeño peppers (I used two, but I think I’ll use three next time)
2 poblano peppers
1 onion, diced
3 cloves of garlic
1 tbsp cumin
3-4 tsp. salt
¼ c. chicken broth
Husk tomatillos and place in boiling water for 15 minutes. Strain and set aside to cool.
Put jalapenos and poblanos under the broiler until their skins are charred. Turn and char the other side. When charred, remove from oven and set aside to cool.
Mince garlic and dice onion. Place in crock pot with broth.
Cube meat, add to crock pot and stir.
Sprinkle cumin and salt on meat and veggies.
Carefully peel still-warm tomatillos and peppers. Place in blender and puree until smooth.
Cover meat with tomatillo sauce.
Cook on low for 8 hours.
Serve with rice, cheese and tortillas.
Closet clutterer
Please indulge me while I take a moment to be hysterical. I’m freaking out right now and seeing as how my husband isn’t home to take the brunt of it, you guys are it. A few minutes ago, I was working in the kitchen while my son played on the floor with pots and pans. He crawled over to the kitchen sink and started playing with the rug (the rug that I washed and changed yesterday, by the way). As he picked it up, he started reaching for something under the rug. I caught a glimpse of his target so I went over to investigate. That’s when the hysterics began. Underneath my kitchen rug was a dead three-inch long scorpion. *Hysterics*.
Sure, it was dead, but it was big. And scaly. And had really scary pinchers. And my son touched it. And who knows if it was really dead or just playing dead. And I have no idea if scorpions play dead that but I’m not going to risk touching it. And it’s stinger might still have poison in it. And it looks more like its four or even five inches long instead of three. And I’m not sure that I can live in the same state as a scorpion, much less the same house. And how many more scorpions might be lurking in my house? And did I mention that my son touched it? *Hysterics*.
Remember that I’m from Oregon, where it’s too cold for bugs bigger than a centimeter long to survive. We don’t have wasps. We don’t have those big red flying things that look like they have feet. We don’t have cockroaches and we definitely do not have scorpions. A few weeks after we moved to Texas, my husband found a scorpion crawling up a shirt in his closet. My first phone call was to the exterminator. My next was to the airline to see when I could catch a flight back to Oregon. I calmed down a bit and weeks turned into months before we saw another scorpion.
When we moved into our house, we decided to get pest control services to avoid another run-in. We paid the $70/month happily for a year, but last summer we decided to try and cut some costs. We figured that we could buy the same pesticides at Home Depot and it would cost much less. We figured that we could find a more environmentally friendly option. We figured wrong.
So, now that I’ve calmed down enough to think somewhat rationally, I’ve swept the dead scorpion into the garbage and washed my rug. I’ve also called the pest control company to see about renewing service. Sure, the scorpion was dead, but he was in my house and my son found him. I am not about to expose myself to another scenario like that. The $70 a month is worth it. Worth every penny.
Sure, it was dead, but it was big. And scaly. And had really scary pinchers. And my son touched it. And who knows if it was really dead or just playing dead. And I have no idea if scorpions play dead that but I’m not going to risk touching it. And it’s stinger might still have poison in it. And it looks more like its four or even five inches long instead of three. And I’m not sure that I can live in the same state as a scorpion, much less the same house. And how many more scorpions might be lurking in my house? And did I mention that my son touched it? *Hysterics*.
Remember that I’m from Oregon, where it’s too cold for bugs bigger than a centimeter long to survive. We don’t have wasps. We don’t have those big red flying things that look like they have feet. We don’t have cockroaches and we definitely do not have scorpions. A few weeks after we moved to Texas, my husband found a scorpion crawling up a shirt in his closet. My first phone call was to the exterminator. My next was to the airline to see when I could catch a flight back to Oregon. I calmed down a bit and weeks turned into months before we saw another scorpion.
When we moved into our house, we decided to get pest control services to avoid another run-in. We paid the $70/month happily for a year, but last summer we decided to try and cut some costs. We figured that we could buy the same pesticides at Home Depot and it would cost much less. We figured that we could find a more environmentally friendly option. We figured wrong.
So, now that I’ve calmed down enough to think somewhat rationally, I’ve swept the dead scorpion into the garbage and washed my rug. I’ve also called the pest control company to see about renewing service. Sure, the scorpion was dead, but he was in my house and my son found him. I am not about to expose myself to another scenario like that. The $70 a month is worth it. Worth every penny.
My fun new pet
Oct. 15, 2006
Please indulge me while I take a moment to be hysterical. I’m freaking out right now and seeing as how my husband isn’t home to take the brunt of it, you guys are it. A few minutes ago, I was working in the kitchen while my son played on the floor with pots and pans. He crawled over to the kitchen sink and started playing with the rug (the rug that I washed and changed yesterday, by the way). As he picked it up, he started reaching for something under the rug. I caught a glimpse of his target so I went over to investigate. That’s when the hysterics began. Underneath my kitchen rug was a dead three-inch long scorpion. *Hysterics*.
Sure, it was dead, but it was big. And scaly. And had really scary pinchers. And my son touched it. And who knows if it was really dead or just playing dead. And I have no idea if scorpions play dead that but I’m not going to risk touching it. And it’s stinger might still have poison in it. And it looks more like its four or even five inches long instead of three. And I’m not sure that I can live in the same state as a scorpion, much less the same house. And how many more scorpions might be lurking in my house? And did I mention that my son touched it? *Hysterics*.
Remember that I’m from Oregon, where it’s too cold for bugs bigger than a centimeter long to survive. We don’t have wasps. We don’t have those big red flying things that look like they have feet. We don’t have cockroaches and we definitely do not have scorpions. A few weeks after we moved to Texas, my husband found a scorpion crawling up a shirt in his closet. My first phone call was to the exterminator. My next was to the airline to see when I could catch a flight back to Oregon. I calmed down a bit and weeks turned into months before we saw another scorpion.
When we moved into our house, we decided to get pest control services to avoid another run-in. We paid the $70/month happily for a year, but last summer we decided to try and cut some costs. We figured that we could buy the same pesticides at Home Depot and it would cost much less. We figured that we could find a more environmentally friendly option. We figured wrong.
So, now that I’ve calmed down enough to think somewhat rationally, I’ve swept the dead scorpion into the garbage and washed my rug. I’ve also called the pest control company to see about renewing service. Sure, the scorpion was dead, but he was in my house and my son found him. I am not about to expose myself to another scenario like that. The $70 a month is worth it. Worth every penny.
He's no Einstein
Oct. 1, 2006
My son can’t crawl. He can get from one side of the room to another in a matter of seconds, but it’s not by normal knees-and-hands crawling. Instead, he sort of leans sideways and reaches while putting his butt in the air and then flops forward, bonking his head on the way down. It’s not pretty. Not at all.
Joey’s inability to crawl doesn’t bother me much. Sure, I get a bit competitive every once in awhile and try to tempt him forward on his hands and knees, but in the whole scheme of things, I have much bigger things to worry about. He’s happy. He’s healthy. It’s not like he’s seven and still can’t crawl. He’s eight months old for gosh sakes! What is bothering me are the people who seem to think that it’s their duty to inform me of all of the things that could possibly be wrong with my son since he’s not crawling yet. Here are just a few (of the many) things that people have told me lately:
- If he doesn’t learn to crawl before he can stand, then he’ll never be able to read or write because he won’t understand sequencing.
- If he never crawls, he’ll have to have physical therapy on his legs and be in casts for years when he’s older because he’ll never learn to walk flat-footed.
- If he can’t crawl before he’s nine months old, it’s a sign that he’ll probably have a learning disability in math.
- If he doesn’t crawl before he’s eight months old, his arms are too week and I should get him in to see a therapist immediately because it could signal a physical disability.
When people tell me things like this, I want to scream. He’s a baby. His pediatrician doesn’t see a problem. He’s right on track with the rest of his milestones. Crawling has nothing to do with reading. Or writing. Or math. Sure, in the next few years, Joey could face any number of these issues. He could struggle with learning to read. He could need physical therapy for one reason or another. He might not be good at math. But right now, I think that these issues should be the farthest away from my mind and it drives me crazy that people feel the need to say things like this. As if I don’t have enough to worry about as it is, these people think I should worry about his future ability to do long division and read Hamlet.
Joey’s inability to crawl doesn’t bother me much. Sure, I get a bit competitive every once in awhile and try to tempt him forward on his hands and knees, but in the whole scheme of things, I have much bigger things to worry about. He’s happy. He’s healthy. It’s not like he’s seven and still can’t crawl. He’s eight months old for gosh sakes! What is bothering me are the people who seem to think that it’s their duty to inform me of all of the things that could possibly be wrong with my son since he’s not crawling yet. Here are just a few (of the many) things that people have told me lately:
- If he doesn’t learn to crawl before he can stand, then he’ll never be able to read or write because he won’t understand sequencing.
- If he never crawls, he’ll have to have physical therapy on his legs and be in casts for years when he’s older because he’ll never learn to walk flat-footed.
- If he can’t crawl before he’s nine months old, it’s a sign that he’ll probably have a learning disability in math.
- If he doesn’t crawl before he’s eight months old, his arms are too week and I should get him in to see a therapist immediately because it could signal a physical disability.
When people tell me things like this, I want to scream. He’s a baby. His pediatrician doesn’t see a problem. He’s right on track with the rest of his milestones. Crawling has nothing to do with reading. Or writing. Or math. Sure, in the next few years, Joey could face any number of these issues. He could struggle with learning to read. He could need physical therapy for one reason or another. He might not be good at math. But right now, I think that these issues should be the farthest away from my mind and it drives me crazy that people feel the need to say things like this. As if I don’t have enough to worry about as it is, these people think I should worry about his future ability to do long division and read Hamlet.
My little Texas tornado
Remind me again why I was so anxious for Joey to learn to crawl? Because all of a sudden, my little Texas Tornado moves non-stop and leaves a path of destruction behind him as he tears his way through the house. This morning, I set him down and he made a bee-line for the basket of toys in the corner. He dumped the entire basket and spread the toys around the living room before moving on to the coffee table. He threw the coasters on the floor and spread the candles around the tabletop before heading into the kitchen to dump the entire bowl of dog food on the floor and move the kitchen rugs into the living room. From there, the books were torn out of the bookshelf and the shoes were pulled out of the shoe bench. This entire episode took about 3 minutes, and I’m guessing that all of you parents of toddlers are going to tell me that it only gets worse from here. *sigh*
Gymboree valedictorian
September 20, 2006
My son is not on track to becoming the valedictorian in his Gymboree class. Not even close. He’s not the quickest. He’s not the strongest. He’s not even the best dressed because some of the parents purchase outfits from Janie and Jack before they even go on sale. One of the boys, nine-month-old Christopher can pull himself up to a standing position and stand on his own. Another little girl, Allie, claps with exuberance at the songs. Little Benjamin can crawl across the room in 10 seconds flat and precious little Grace climbs the play structure as easily as she waves hello.
Joey, on the other hand, is a bit more cautious and a bit more eccentric in his preferences. While the other babies lunge forward to chase the balls on all fours, Joey flops forward and rolls across the room, taking ten balls and the parachute along for the ride. When the other babies attack the ramps and slides on the play structures with gusto, Joey is left behind as his wobbling crawl (if you can call it that) just can’t keep up with the others. When the teacher blows giant bubbles for the babies to pop, Joey screams and hides his head in my shoulder while the other babies squeal with delight. When the teacher sings “Shhhhhhh!” after a long parachute bouncing session, Joey screams at the top of his lungs, thinking it’s hilarious to hear his own voice in the silent room.
Honestly, at yesterday’s class, it kind of bugged me that he wasn’t the fastest and strongest. I didn’t want it to. I know that all babies develop in their own ways and at their own rates, but I sure wouldn’t mind if Joey was the kid that everyone “oohed” and “ahhed” over. I left Gymboree class thinking that we were going to go home and practice. I had grand plans to spend hours on the floor, teaching Joey to crawl in a smooth and efficient manner and practicing balance and rhythm.
But when we arrived home, I set Joey on the floor and my plans changed. He rolled over and scooted forward towards his toys in his awkward and uncoordinated way, and I found in awe of the way he moved and explored the room. He rolled across the room, stopping to examine the table leg and a toy along the way. He pulled himself up on the coffee table and immediately flopped back down and wormed his way over to his books. Sure, he’s not the fastest or even the most coordinated, but he’s funny, interesting and different. He’s discovered a creative means of locomotion that’s all his and I wouldn’t trade the world’s fastest crawler for my precious little boy who crawls to the beat of his own drum.
Childhood friends
September 15, 2006
While adult friends and college friends and mommy friends are fabulous, there is something about a childhood friend that is just irreplaceable. Don’t get me wrong, I love all of my girlfriends. My college friend Hildi and I spend hours shopping for what-nots and gab non-stop about everything from cooking and cleaning to dating and blogging. My friends Jessi and Jenn each have two adorable girls and my entire day is brightened when I get emailed pictures or updates from them. My girlfriends from my small group at church are caring, kind and compassionate, always willing to step in and lend a hand. When I was pregnant and sick, these girls brought me meals, sent me cards, visited me in the hospital and continually supplied juicy novels to distract me from my morning sickness misery. My girlfriends have been a constant source of advice and support, friends who I can laugh with, share with and depend on to be there for me no matter what. That’s so important because in a world full of ups and downs, there is real comfort in always having a close friend to lean on.
A childhood friend goes a bit beyond that. A childhood friend knows everything about your past and is an important part of your history. Armed with that understanding, a childhood friend can understand where you’re coming from in a way that no one else (other than perhaps your siblings) can. For me, my best friend growing up was a girl named Katie. We met when we were five and became fast friends. We lived a few blocks away from each other and spent our childhood years biking to and from each other’s houses, having slumber parties and playing with our dogs. Later, in high school, we shared each other’s every up and down, holding each other up through joyful and tough times, through eating disorders and bad breakups, through first jobs and college applications. Now, we’ve been close friends for more than twenty-three years and still email each other every day.
The thing about Katie is that she understands things about me that nobody else does. She spent the night at my house nearly every weekend growing up so she knows my family, my eating habits, my quirks and that I get really cranky if I stay up too late. She understands why the 1989 Tiffany concert is and always will be the best concert that I’ve ever been to. She’s seen me wearing crimped hair and pegged jeans and even wearing rag curls and neon-pink tank tops. She remembers my childhood dog and knows why I still miss him. She knows what I did at my senior prom and even knows the guy you went with. She knows my brother and my sister and knows that we used to fight like cats and dogs but are now best friends. She knows why I’m scared of caves and spiders. She was the first person I called after I got my first kiss and the first person I turned to when I had my first break-up. She knows that I will always ask for extra whipped cream on my cappuccino blast, even if I’m trying to lose weight. She knows things about me that nobody else does and I love having a friend who I can talk to without explaining anything. She already knows.
Katie and I now live on opposite sides of the country. While we’re physically far apart, our friendship is closer than ever. Last fall, we found out that we were pregnant at the same time and commiserated together about the ups and downs of pregnancy. We planned our nurseries together and talked about our fears of labor and delivery. We talked about baby names and bassinets and breast pumps and sleeping problems. A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to visit her and meet her beautiful son, Miles. Holding Miles, I had tears in my eyes as I realized how thankful I was to share the wonderful experience of motherhood with the woman who I’ve shared everything else with for the last twenty three years. I just pray that Joey is able to find a childhood friend like I had. Someone who will know everything about him, about his hopes, dreams, fears and faults and love him just the same.
It's lonely here at home
September 1, 2006
It’s lonely being a stay at home mom. Don’t get me wrong, I feel so fortunate that I’m able to stay home with my son. I love waking up to the sound of his coos instead of to an alarm clock. I love spending my mornings cuddling with him and going on long walks instead of rushing out the door to get to daycare and work. I love being able to hear his every giggle and watch his every move. I wouldn’t trade being a full-time mom for anything, but I have to admit that I’ve been somewhat surprised at how lonely it can be at home.
Before I had Joey, I was a high school Spanish teacher. My days were non-stop. I taught five classes. I spent my lunches chatting with teenagers about their lives and their problems. During my off periods, I rushed to get tests graded and papers copied. I spent my Friday nights at the football stadium, watching the shy kid in my second period class make a touchdown-stopping tackle. I worked fifty or more fast-paced hours a week and loved every minute of it.
Becoming a stay-at-home mom has definitely been an adjustment. I went from being constantly busy and surrounded by chatter to a more low-key life where I stay home while my baby naps and create a schedule that revolves around feeding and play time. Even if I do take the time to put on makeup and get dressed, it’s a waste because nobody sees me. On many days, the sound of my own voice singing silly songs to Joey is the only sound I hear all day. It gets lonely.
The thing that has surprised me most about staying home is how much I miss my husband. Before Joey was born, it wasn’t uncommon for us to see each other for only a few minutes each day. My husband, who was a football coach, was often at practice and games until well after my bedtime. We were both so busy that we hardly noticed that we didn’t have time, and the few moments that we did share together were full of lively conversation. We had a lot in common then, with similar jobs and similar schedules. Now, I see my husband much more than I used to, yet miss him much more.
When he comes home, I lunge at him, passing him the baby and chatting a hundred miles a minute while he just wants to take off his tie and relax for a bit. Obviously, this causes undue tension, but we’re still trying to work out the ins and outs of our new schedules. I’m not used to so much downtime. He’s not used to so much exuberance when he gets home. I’m sure we’ll figure it out, but these things take time. I always knew that I wanted to stay home with my kids, but I never expected it to be so different from working. It’s definitely an adjustment.
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