Just pee already!

It would probably be more enjoyable for all of us to have a sweet update on baby Jedi, how he is deliciously fat, smiley and fitting in with our family very well.

Buuuuuuut.....instead I'm going to tell you about how Gizmo makes me see red, and how the toddler stage sucks, and how I hate it so hard.

Gizmo has been potty training for a few weeks now. Really, he is pretty good at it. I haven't had to do hardly anything. That's the best kind of potty training. (Moms, my advice to you is: if you try potty training, and you are putting in more work than your toddler, then stop and try again in a few more weeks or months!)

We only very rarely have accidents. Of course, I am still doing diapers when we go out for over an hour. And, of course, the only accidents we do have include a horrible mess to clean up (like peeing on my couch, or pants full of crap).

Recently, we started putting Gizmo to bed in his underwear. It started as a mistake. But when he woke up dry and was able to get to the potty to pee, we figured we'd try it more often.

But this morning, Gizmo refused to pee on the potty. I let it slide for a bit, and went ahead and served him breakfast. After his food was gone, I asked him again to go potty. He refused. So I told him that he would be grounded from the tv until he peed in the potty. But rather than deciding it would be a good idea to pee in the potty afterall, he decided to throw a tantrum.

Now, I am not a patient mother. I am a big time yeller. And when a toddler flops all over me in an irrational meltdown, especially while I'm trying to nurse a baby, I get especially ragey.

After about 20 minutes, I had almost completely lost my cool. I was able to lay Jedi down (asleep, by some miracle) and I carried Gizmo to the bathroom, stripped his pants off, and perched him on the toilet seat. (His preferred method of eliminating is squatted with his feet on the seat.) And still, he refused to pee. He climbed down, and I put him back. I told him that he could not leave the bathroom until he peed.

We fought and fought and apparently I was losing, because the kid wasn't peeing in the potty. So I started yelling.

"WHY WON'T YOU JUST PEE ALREADY!?! IF YOU WANT TO GO PLAY! ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS PEE IN THE POTTY!!! WHY DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT!?!?"

And then, over an hour after waking up and holding it in, Gizmo lost control of his bladder. But he wasn't all the way on the toilet. And he still didn't want to be peeing. So he got pee everywhere. The floor, the toilet seat, his legs, his feet, his shirt, and his hands...grasping himself in a desperate attempt to defy the command to pee in the potty.

And then I lost it all over again, because there is no rational reason for that mess to have happened, and I was going to have to clean it all up. Toddlers are always irrational.

Braxton Hicks Complaints

Although I've been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for most of my pregnancy, they definitely become much more of a bother in late pregnancy.

First off, my uterus is so huge and high up that my ribs are really sore (and ohmygosh, I still have over a month left to go, my uterus is going to get so freaking huge!!!) Seriously, why are my ribs sore? Wouldn't it make more sense for my uterus to be sore? My ribs are made out of tough bone, after all! But, then again, when I am having a contraction, my uterus feels like it is made out of stone. So maybe there is a reason for my ribs being so sore.

Now, these uterus of marble contractions are completely unpredictable. As they should be; BH's, which means they "aren't real". Which really is a load of baloney, because I know those suckers are doing something and have a purpose...even if they aren't actively dilating my cervix.

Anyway....unpredictable. But yet, so very predictable.

If I don't drink enough water: contractions.

If I drink water and let my bladder get even a tiny bit "full": contractions.

If Gizmo crawls all over my lap like he always does: contractions.

If I walk up or down the stairs: contractions.

You see what I'm getting at here. Pretty much everything gives me contractions. And no matter how much I would love to just go into labor right now and have this baby (really, there is no sarcasm there, anything to -not- be pregnant anymore)...he needs to wait at least 8 weeks, because I have a pirate party to plan and throw for a soon-to-be 5 year old.

Boy, boy, BOY!

A couple days ago, I called my mom for a "mommy fix". Basically, I was having a really crappy, depressed type of day (not that I haven't had these days for most of my pregnancy) and I needed someone to listen while I complained. She suggested to me that I go in and get an ultrasound to find out the sex of our baby. It would give me a little bit of excitement, and I could start planning names and layette...and all that other baby stuff! I had been very determined to go without an ultrasound this pregnancy. But I really did need something to cheer me up for the next 8-ish weeks. So, I decided I would make arrangements for an appointment.

The next morning, I called our family doctor's office. Now, none of us have actually gone to this family doctor, except the Hubs (for a work physical). But she came recommended as a doctor who is friendly toward natural parenting, and we were told she would be willing to take on our whole family. The receptionist on the line was rude. I asked if the office had ultrasound capabilities. She was skeptical about why I would even need an ultrasound. I briefly explained that my care provider is not licensed in the state, and could not order an ultrasound, but I would like one as proof of pregnancy in order to acquire a birth certificate. She then said they did not have ultrasound, but another office location from the practice did. (So all that asking about why I would even need one was needlessly nosy.) I got the number for the other location.

Then I called the other office. The receptionist on the line was rude. This receptionist had a list of problems with me asking about an ultrasound:

1. I was not yet a patient. (Why ever the heck can I not be!?!? I was told that the doctor at the first location was willing to take me on as a patient!)
2. Even if I -was- a patient, you can't hop around to the different locations (Why ever the heck not!?!? Isn't that part of what you do when you are in a practice!?!?)
3. I would have to have an appointment with the doctor first, and then have another appointment for the ultrasound. (Why ever the heck can I not just have the ultrasound as my first appointment, as long as I fill out all the required paperwork for becoming a patient in the first place!?!?!?!)
4. Rude receptionist doesn't even know if the doctor -would- order an ultrasound. (WHY ever the heck not!?!?! I am the one trying to -hire- the doctor, if I am asking for an ultrasound, there is really no reason for the doc to refuse to give me one!!!!)

I was pretty short right back with this rude receptionist. And I kind of, might have hung up on her after a -very- curt "thank you". And, no, I did not schedule an appointment. I did, however, promptly start crying after the connection was cut. Rude receptionists. (Later, talking to my dad, an RN, he said he was pretty sure "rude" was a work requirement for medical receptionists. I am inclined to believe him.)

So, I called the Hubby, in tears, to complain about having a really crappy, depressed type of day. I told him all about the rude receptionist, and all my worries about going into get a medical ultrasound anyway. (They are going to force me to get prenatal care, they are going to bombard me with fear tactics about home birth, they are going to call CPS on me......yeah...I think I have a problem with doctors!)

And here I was, trying to alleviate my depression by scheduling an ultrasound. And things were only getting worse.

After about half an hour, Hubs called me back and told me that we had an appointment for an ultrasound that night at 9pm, with a private company for an "elective ultrasound". I was hesitant (do I -really- want an ultrasound? what if they find some weird abnormality and I have to seek obstetrical care anyway? why do they make appointments so late at night?) but grateful that I didn't have to worry about it anymore.

So that night, we got the kids dressed in their pj's and drove to the ultrasound office. And drove around. And drove around. It was late, dark, and there were business offices everywhere, but we could not find where we were supposed to be!!! Finally, after carefully scrutinizing the GPS on Hubby's phone, we were able to locate the office. And we were still early!

We finally got into the ultrasound room. Belly exposed. Goo squirted on belly. Ultrasound wand applied and BAM!!!! First image very clearly, very unmistakably, very directly revealed the sex of our baby.

We are having a BOY! A BOY! ANOTHER BOY!

Cue shock, denial, excitement, sadness, joy....

I couldn't stop laughing. And then the ultrasound technician started making fun of baby boy's penis wiggling around (from my laughing). Awkward.

A boy! He has a beautiful heartbeat, big feet, a nice well-placed placenta. (I have a nice, well-placed placenta? We have a nice, well-placed placenta?) And no obvious defects or malformations....but it wasn't a diagnostic test, so, you know, take that with a grain of salt.

A boy! Poor Bug walked right out of the ultrasound room when we told him he was going to have another baby brother. (Drama much, 4 year old??) Gizmo doesn't get it yet. But Bug was setting his highest hopes of having a baby girl. He even picked out his favorite girl name (that we had approved of, prior) and he thinks we still need to name the baby this name. Uhm....no. But, if I can get over the fact that we are having a boy, then he can, too.

Speaking of me getting over it: I admit that I'm a little sad. This is where I start wondering if I'll -ever- have a girl. We want a big family, but what if we have 6 boys...7, 8 boys!? Can I do that?? I just have to remind myself that there is still time. And even if I never get a girl, I will still love all my boys.

I actually had a dream a couple weeks ago that I gave birth to a boy. He was beautiful, and squishy. And I was completely and utterly in love with him! I woke up with a strong realization that even if I had another boy, I would still love him. That dream was a tender mercy, for sure!

So, these last weeks will fly by, and we will welcome into our family ANOTHER little boy!

Gizmo Update

Ok....second post within the week. I'm getting better already!

I felt like I should do a series of updates on each of the boys, since my last post was all about me and my whiny pregnancies. (Seriously, the hubs told me that I focused on everything that has been going wrong. To which I say, "Well, duh! That's what happens when you combine depression with the first half of pregnancy, and put it all on a blog with the word 'lamentations' in the title!" But, I'll try to do a little better now.)

I chose to do Gizmo first, because he's going to be the poor, poor middle child soon.

Gizmo turned 2 back in August. OOOOH.....two! He reminds me a lot of Bug at the same age, mainly because he also likes to run around naked-butt. You'd think potty training would be going better. Oh well. He often strips himself. Then he will actually put his clothes in the hamper...diaper and all, sometimes. Just a couple of weeks ago, I missed a diaper while sorting the clothes for washing, and it ended up in the machine. Of course, I had no idea until I opened the lid and found that all my clothes had magically turned into high-tech water crystals! Luckily, my parents were in town visiting, and my mom was able to help me laugh about the whole thing. I'm sure that if I had found that mess alone, I would have crumpled into a sobbing heap of misery on the floor. We shook out all the clothes, making a huge mess. Put all the clothes in the dryer. Ran an empty wash cycle to clear out the washing machine. Cleaned up the floor (made jokes about diaper filling snowballs). Then I'm pretty sure we had hot chocolate. And I didn't rewash that load....it came out of the dryer looking just fine. I'm a lazy mom.

Gizmo's vocabulary has just exploded in the past few months! He and Bug always have adorable little conversations....you know, before they end up fighting. Gizmo is constantly asking "Why, Mommy?" Which turns into the verbal equivalent of a Matryoshka doll, with me answering each "why" and having him again ask "why".

"Please get off the counter, Gizmo."
"Why, Mommy?"
"Because, you always grab a knife when you're up there, and I don't want you to have a knife!"
"Why, Mommy?"
"Because, knives are sharp. And I don't want you to hurt yourself."
"Why, Mommy?"
"Because, I love you, and it would make me sad to see you get hurt. [Plus, I don't want to have to take care of any ridiculously self-inflicted wounds!]"
"Why, Mommy?"
"Ugh....just....BECAUSE!"
"Why, Mommy?"

Obviously, he is just helping me develop my logic skills.

Blessedly, Gizmo has started sleeping in his own bed throughout the whole night! We had a few setbacks, with the usual winter illnesses running their courses. And he always seems to wake up between 6-7am, which stinks. But at least he isn't digging his feet into my thighs anymore. And I'm getting a nice break before sharing with the new baby in a few months!

Gizmo is pretty physical, stubborn, and has a bit of a violent streak. I don't know whether to blame that on him being a redhead...or him being a toddler. Gizmo hits, pinches, scratches, bites, spits and kicks. Bug wasn't nearly so bad. Of course, Bug didn't have to compete with a brother, so that might have something to do with it. It's distressing, as a parent, though! I hope he doesn't act as poorly during disagreements in the church nursery as he does at home!

Regardless of his bad behavior, Gizmo can be a pretty cool kid! He plays video games better than I do. And he likes to sing and dance. Plus, he is sooo daggone cute. And he definitely uses that to his advantage...the little stinker!

Bunk Buddies

Yesterday, the Hubby, the boys, and I went to our local Ikea in search for a shelf to fit in between our fridge and our wall (a 9" gap), so we could store our canned goods there (since there isn't really space for them anywhere else).

We walked around the whole place and checked the measurements of any self that looked a tiny bit promising. There was a DVD shelf that would fit, but there definitely wasn't enough room for the amount of canned goods we have. Then there was a wall mounted 7-shelf unit that would fit, but we weren't sure how it would handle the weight of so many canned foods. We noted the numbers to pick it up, in case we didn't find anything else, and continued on our way.

Soon, we were in the kids bedroom section. And there stood a sturdy bunk bed, that could either be two separate twin beds or a bunk. It's siren voice called to us. We had talked about getting bunk beds eventually, and we are hoping to get Gizmo into his own bed soon, and we don't really have a lot of room in our house, so a bunk bed is the best option. We looked at the price. We looked at each other. We looked around at the other beds. And then, I took down the numbers, as well as the numbers for another twin sized mattress.

And then we headed down to the warehouse section. For our canned goods, we ended up buying six single shelves (only $4.99 each!) and a dozen brackets (only .50 each!). Then, we headed to aisle 28 to pick up the bunk bed.

A couple dollars later (ok, it was a bit more than just a couple of dollars), we were packing it all into the back of the van and heading home.

And once we were home, and the boys' room was cleaned and prepped, and shelves were mounted in the kitchen, we opened the three boxes of bed and were all of the sudden overwhelmed with the complexity and enormity of the project before us. Scotty hefted two bags full of screws and dowels and brackets out of one box, and wordless instructions out of another. And we got started assembling dozens and dozens of black bed pieces. The tension was high. The kids were constantly in the way. Injuries were acquired. The tension was -really- high. Styrofoam was crumbled...everywhere. Tools and hardware were lost and found and lost and broken and found again. Dinner was late. Wishes of cheaper and easier to build beds were made. Tension was still high. But, after several hours of ridiculous labor,  we had assembled the beds, added the mattresses, sheeted them up, and were ready to put them to use.

Of course, by this point, the boys were both totally exhausted, annoyed at being ignored and snapped at while mommy and daddy worked, and also very excited about the new beds. Bug kept wanting to sleep on the bottom. "I wanta sleep with Gizmo!" And once Gizmo realized it wasn't a game to sleep in the new bed, he wanted nothing to do with it.

We were able to get Bug up on the top bunk, and settled on letting Gizmo sleep with us for at least one other night. We were too tired to fight with him after fighting with the bed all evening. But [hopefully] sooner, rather than later, our boys will be bunk buddies!

Accident

Bug has been potty trained for nearly a year now. It has been a wonderful, marvelous year that could probably make me sing. It definitely took time, but once he was ready, he transitioned from diapers to underwear very quickly and very well. Ok, he actually went from being "naked-butt" all day to underwear, but I was totally fine with that!

But, last week, he had an accident.

I'm pretty sure that our move has broken something in these little kids of mine. They don't seem to be happy very often anymore. And I mostly feel a desperate need to be able to keep them from crying for at least 3 hours, with low success. It's very discouraging at the best of times, and downright unbearable at the worst. (Like this morning, when I crawled out of bed at 4am for a shower, just to get away from an inconsolable Gizmo for 10 minutes.)

Anyway, Bug had been being goofy and defiant, as he so often is, playing around in the living room. I reminded him several times that he should probably go use the potty. He didn't listen to me.

Eventually, he ran past me in the kitchen, into the little half bathroom. Then I heard liquid hitting the floor, and an exclamation from Bug, "Uh-oh! Oh, no!"

I ran into the bathroom, to see Bug standing there, shorts still all the way up, right in front of the toilet. Peeing. And peeing. And peeing. And still, he just stood there, like there was nothing he could do. I told him to pull his pants down and pee in the toilet. (Probably not in the nicest way, considering most of my patience wore out last week, probably a day or two before the accident, and hasn't been replenished yet.)

He did pull down his shorts and peed a microscopic amount of urine into the toilet bowl. Of course, it's amazing that there was anything left. I'm pretty sure the kid had to have been full of pee up to his eyeballs. I can't imagine how such a large amount of pee fit inside such a little guy!

I helped him strip off his soiled clothes, and I gave him a wad of paper towels to help clean up the mess. Then I realized that there was way more mess than a wad of paper towels could handle, so I sent him away for a bath, and I tackled the ocean on the bathroom floor. After mopping and wiping and soaking and spraying, our little bathroom was (mostly) clean again.

Most people say that you should wait to potty train until you have time to do it without any interference from major life changes, so you don't have to worry about the trainee regressing. I'm beginning to think that it really doesn't matter. Because apparently, even supposedly well potty trained little boys will have accidents after a major life change.

Intestinal Revenge

Warning: This may be one of my less enjoyable posts...especially if you are reading during a meal! 

A couple weeks ago, I enjoyed some pepper jack cheese. I -love- pepper jack cheese. Unfortunately, whenever I eat jalapenos, Gizmo get the most disgustingly stinky poop and farts known to all mankind. It's actually quite amazing how a little bit of pepper can affect him so strongly...though my milk.

Nonetheless, I ate my burger with pepper jack, and Gizmo enjoyed a raisin, a green olive, and some bread.

Then, just over a day later, I sent my hubby on an airplane to Texas for a week...and Gizmo started having diarrhea. Stinky, mucous-y, blood-tinged diarrhea. I was near tears thinking about spending any amount of time with a sick kid and an absent husband.

But I was unsure what was really going on in those little baby intestines. Jalapenos had never caused such a bad reaction before. Could it have been the raisin? The olive? Those were new food items for Gizmo. Maybe it was a triple whammy of pepper/raisin/olive distress. Or was it a virus? Whatever it was, I hoped it would quickly get better. And as I Googled, I got more worried about the presence of blood in my kiddo's dipe...and I got more prepared to make a visit to the pediatrician.

But the runs kept coming. And then came the diaper rash on top of it. We were not a happy mother/baby pair.

Then, after a couple days of pain-in-the-butt diaper changes, out came a hard, solid....popcorn kernel! And all the sudden, the symptoms started clearing up. After going though nearly a whole (and huge, I might add) box of diapers, and a whole tube of Desitin...things started to get better.

I can easily blame my husband for this horribly exhausting mishap....because I am never the one that makes the popcorn in our home (and I -very, very rarely- eat it). But, that lucky guy, he didn't have to change a single one of those wretched diapers.

I'm so out of it, I can't even give this post a title

I feel like I've spent a large portion of this week being grumpy...and trying to find at least two minutes to have completely to myself to recharge. Of course, is hasn't happened. I sit down on the couch to read after putting Gizmo down for a nap...and Bug goes and wakes Gizmo up. I go to the bathroom, and Bug follows me. I have to make meals, I have to read tacky toddler books, I have to change diapers, I have to nurse, I have to clean up messes (I know...all those required chores of motherhood). Even now, typing this post, I am having to reprimand the two year old as he is bending the baby's arm back awkwardly trying to give kisses. Tough love....really.

I don't like getting out of bed before 8am unless I really have to. Unfortunately, Bug has woken me (or Gizmo...and consequently...me) up no later than 7:58am EVERY. MORNING. THIS. WEEK. Yeah, yeah, at least he wasn't popping into my room all cheery and awake at 3am. But pre-8am is still early enough for me after a night of nursing and insomnia.  The knots in my neck and shoulders (where I carry all my stress) have been getting so much tighter and tighter that it feels like my head is about to pop off.

Apparently, it is too early for Gizmo, as well. Because he has been cranky all week. (Or, maybe he is teething. Actually, he is definitely teething.) But, Bug thinks it is his personal mission to annoy Gizmo as many times as possible, starting from the minute we wake up. He cranks his arms around to give kisses. He steals toys. He squashes. He says "NO! Bad!". So, combine a cranky 5 month old with an overactive and overbearing toddler and you get seriously disturbed naps for everyone, more crankiness, and a mommy who has zero patience. I have been short with Bug so much recently, I should start a fund for his eventually therapy needs.

And bring on the attitude and tears. I've heard some say that the terrible two's are nothing compared to the terrible three's. And we're almost there. Bug has been incredibly emotionally sensitive. Last night, the Hubs pretended to eat off of Bug's plate while Bug played on the floor under the table...and it make Bug cry. Everything makes him cry these days. (I'm adding another dollar to his fund right now...just because I feel bad for making him cry so often!) And he has a HUGE attitude. That's probably my fault, dangit. Whenever he does something bad and I tell him to knock it off, he steps back from what he's doing, throws his hands up in a defensive posture and says, "Okay! Okay!" in a snotty, sarcastic way. I don't know WHERE he got that. But, the other day, he did squeeze out some poop into the potty just to get a piece of candy. To which I say, "I'll take it!" I'd give him candy all the time if he poops in the potty!

Gizmo, apart from the teething monster that occasionally rears its head, is mostly adorable. Loud. But adorable. As babies should be, right? He is the most slobbery kid I have ever seen. He is starting to sit up on his own. And he can scoot himself around in circles when he is laying on his belly. But he gets upset if he is in one spot for longer that 33.7 seconds. He does enjoy being in his jumper most of the time. This morning, however, he went from jumping around, drooling and having a ball to being slumped over, drooling, and fast asleep within minutes. (What did I say about not enough sleep?)

Speaking of the jumper...The other day I put Gizmo in the jumper for a few minutes so I could attend to something of importance (like lunch, I think). When I looked over to check on Gizmo, Bug was there spinning Gizmo around in the jumper like he was a little top! Then he let go to have Gizmo spin the other way. I immediately went over to rescue the little whirlwind from his twirl in the jumper and reprimand Bug. I wanted so badly to stress to Bug that he should not do that, but it was SO HILARIOUS to watch Gizmo spinning around like that, that I couldn't properly punish Bug through my giggles.

I guess I need to have a few laughs during this crazy week!

*Whine whine whine* "Nose" *Whine*

Thursday: Bad day. Bad, bad day. Potty training horror. Mommy kidnapped by Grandma Marty (thank goodness!)

Friday: A better day. Productive. Laundry, dishes, vacuuming. Mommy felt good.

Saturday: Wanted to go get the Hubs a new suit....fever struck Bug. Potty training on hold until further notice. Suit buying postponed. Mommy kind of enjoying the feverish Bug (he's quiet, still and cuddly).

Sunday: Mommy and Gizmo up early to get to church and print church programs. Bug still feverish. Daddy stays home. Mommy and baby come home after sacrament. Mommy and Gizmo go to family baptism. Everyone being lazy. Daddy goes to church meeting at 7pm. Bug still feverish.

Monday: Bug still feverish. Daddy now feverish, too. Mommy and Gizmo are fine. Mommy taking care of everyone.

Tuesday: Bug no longer feverish. Daddy still feverish. Bug very cranky. And whiney. Daddy sleeping all day. Daddy running to the toilet to yak it up (luckily, Bug escaped that part of the sickies that have been here).

Wednesday: Daddy's fever broke. Daddy coughing and enduring sinus related torture. Bug also enduring sinus related torture. Bug whining, "nose" every waking minute. Mommy enduring cabin fever and whining related torture. Gizmo enduring "I rolled over to my tummy and for some reason can't figure out how to get back over...but I'm still healthy as a horse" torture.

What a week it has been so far.

Mastitis on a Holiday Weekend

Friday evening, I was at my parents' house. Around 8-9pm, I started getting the chills. My left breast was feeling engorged and tender. I told my mom, "I think I'm coming down with mastitis."

Friday night, I was feverish.

Saturday, the fever kept getting worse. I was hot/cold/hot/cold. Achy. Sore. Headache. Tired. Feverish. Miserable. The soles of my feet hurt! My left breast had a red spot over the most tender part. I got a blessing from the hubs and my dad. At 4pm, my fever was over 102 degrees F. (That's pretty high for me, considering my normal body temperature is normally much lower than average...usually around 96-97.) I took some ibuprofen, which was the only medication in our whole apartment that would do a single thing for me. A couple hours later, my fever broke in a massive, bed-drenching sweat. I felt better...a little.

Saturday night, the fever came and went.

Sunday morning, I still had a little fever. I took more ibuprofen. The red spot on my left breast had spread to cover almost half of the breast. I had a feeling I needed to see a doctor to get antibiotics. But, I don't have a regular doctor. And it was a Sunday. And the next day was Labor Day.

Sunday late morning, the hubs and I dropped Bug off at my parents' house, went to the local Urgent Care. The doc took note of my situation, and gave me a prescription for antibiotics. We then went and got the script filled at the Kroger pharmacy.

I am feeling -much- better, physically and mentally, about the mastitis. I think it was caused by the cracked nipples I had during Gizmo's first week. He had a rough time figuring out how to latch on properly. He's getting better at it now. It has been such a long time since I've needed to go to a doctor for an illness! And it's been a really, really long time since I've needed medication!

Oh, I can't believe I'm on antibiotics! All I can think about is that I'm going to get thrush next. I've cut out sugar...as much as possible (which is a HUGE thing for me)...and I'm planning on going to get some probiotics (the ones I -had- in my fridge are expired, so I don't trust them to keep the yeasties at bay) today. That is, if my stinkin' toddler will take a nap. I refuse to go out of the house with him being cranky. Especially since it will be my first solo outing with two kids!

This mom-of-two thing is hard.

Declawing...revisited

Life as a stay-at-home mom can be very repetitive. Oh, don't get me wrong. I absolutely love being able to stay home and raise my family. But, sometimes I don't even know what day of the week it is. It's almost always the same: wake up, breakfast, dishes, laundry, lunch, vacuum, dishes, clean [a room], laundry, change a diaper, shower, dinner, bedtime. Over and over and over.

And those little fingernails keep growing. No matter how many times I clip them, I have to do it again and again. Clipping fingernails is torture. TORTURE. For both me and the kiddo. When Bug was little, people would tell me to just clip his nails once he was asleep. To which I would say, "ARE YOU FREAKING CRAZY!?!? Do you know how long it took me to get him to sleep!?!?" Bug was a pretty light sleeper. I know that he would have woken right up on the first clip if I had tried to declaw him while he slept.

So we did this.

Now that Bug is older, the rolling and punching and kicking is worse. And it hurts more. But, those nails still need to be clipped. And now Bug has -words- to put along with getting his nails clipped. "It hur's!" he whines, "It hur's!!!!"

Can you believe it? This kid apparently has nerves in his fingernails.

Beached whale, indeed!

It's summer. And it's hot. And I'm pregnant. All these things scream "WATER!"

We are a one car family. I don't have the opportunity to get out to local bodies of water. And, honestly, there really aren't a lot of swimming options around here.

Last week, my sister-in-law was able to pick me up and take me (and Bug) out of our little apartment. We went out to eat, and then I decided to fill up four small baby pools at my mom's house. I figured if I couldn't swim in a big pool, I could at least lounge in a little pool. And Bug would have fun in the water, too!

After squeezing myself into my maternity swimsuit, giving myself three good contractions while getting Bug into his swim trunks, and slathering us both with SPF 50, -we- were ready to get in the pools. But, of course, we had to blow them up first. Huff, puff. Then we had to fill them with water. Then (after a few more contractions) I realized that I needed to get myself a huge glass of ice water. Finally, I was able to put my feet in, while Bug hopped back and forth between the four pools.

It was hot. And I really wanted to submerge myself. Unfortunately, I forgot how humongous-ly pregnant I am. And I forgot how tiny those blow-up baby pools are. I lowered myself carefully into one of the pools. I think it lost half of its water right then. I couldn't lean back, or else I would just fall over, and lose even more of the pool's water. Sitting up was a pain in the ribs. I tried stretching my legs out...but apparently, I'm not short enough. I folded my legs under me in a tailor sit, until my pelvis ached and my thighs cramped. And then Bug started dumping water all over my head.

After five more minutes, I was done. And the next morning, I realized that I missed my thighs when I was putting on the sunscreen. I think I'll just lounge around inside with the A/C.

Pwned!

Apparently, I have a "look" that I give Bug when he is being bad. It's kind of a sideways glance with scowling eyes.

Well, Bug has perfected that look, himself. And every now and then, if the hubs and I are doing something bad (i.e., telling Bug to stop doing something that he doesn't want to stop doing), Bug will give us the look.

Sometimes he will give us the look AND shush us...with his finger pointed either at us or at his mouth...at the same time!

Sometimes, when I'm yelling (or I prefer to say "sternly reprimanding") at Bug for something, if he is close enough, he will put his hand over my mouth to get me to be quiet. Or he'll shush me.

He seems to shush me a lot.

Fireworks!

Almost every year for Independence Day, we go to a large event called Red, White and Blue Ash (held every year in Blue Ash, Ohio).

For the past several years, it has been rainy. We usually try to enjoy the fireworks anyway. Last year, that meant we sat under a damp blanket while we were drizzled on. And ashed on. The wet rain fizzled out the fireworks prematurely, and so there was a lot of ash raining down on the crowd. And a lot of smoke. I'm not kidding about the ash. My face was covered in little black flecks by the time the thing was over! Really, it almost wasn't worth it....Especially since I had to nurse Bug through the whole thing. He stayed under the blanket, attached to his nursies, and missed the whole show. Except for the noise. And you really can't escape from that.

This year, I regret to say it wasn't much better. The weather was BEAUTIFUL (although we are now in a heat emergency for the rest of the week). But, good weather can't make the whole thing worth it. And neither can AWESOME, AMAZING, SPECTACULAR fireworks. Although, that is what the fireworks were...I still don't know if I want to go again next year. And that kind of makes me sad.

We left our home around 7pm. It takes about half an hour to get to where we were going. So we figured we have plenty of time to find parking (and get on a shuttle...because there is no way in heck I was going to walk very far being seven months pregnant, toting around a 2 year old, three fold up chairs, a diaper bag and a blanket in the 90 degree weather...even with my amazing husband to help!)

Before we even got on the highway, we got a call from our Spanish sister missionaries. They needed someone to give a blessing to the little baby of a Spanish speaking family in our ward. We were so close, that we figured it wasn't a big deal to stop and help out. (Hey, I even ended up getting a compliment, that I read in Spanish better than my hubby does...and he's the fluent one!!) It turned out to be a very spiritual experience for me. Of course, I had been having a "bad pregnant day" anyway...meaning "highly emotional, cry at everything day". The little girl was having a bad reaction to a slew of vaccines she had received almost two weeks ago. The story touched home to me, as we have chosen to not vaccinate, due to the risks of reactions in young children. I'm not sure what all was said in the blessing ('cause my hubby's the fluent one, not me!) but I felt such a strong reassurance that our Heavenly Father loves this little girl, He cares about her and the needs of her family, and he will bless her with a recovery. I really was glad we stopped before we went on to the fireworks.

Shortly after the blessing, we were back on our way to Blue Ash. We avoided traffic, and found a -wonderful- parking spot at one of the shuttle stops. But, we noticed there were two lines for the shuttle bus. We weren't sure which line we should be standing in, so we chose the line that had a sign saying "Shuttle Bus Stop" at the front. It seemed more like the official stop. I figured we would be on the second bus that came. Apparently, the bus driver was just going to stop at the closest line of people...which wasn't the line we were in. And as the bus was loading up the people in the unofficial line...ALL the people BEHIND us, cut in front of us to the other line!!!!!!! WHAT THE HECK!?!?!? Those JERKS!!! Finally, we decided we might as well move into the other line. Instead of the second bus picking us up, it was probably the 5th bus that we were finally able to get on. And Bug was crying the whole time we waited. He wanted to get on every bus. He wanted to eat strange berries on the ground. He wanted to pick up garbage. He wanted to take off his shoes. Did I happen to mention (no...no I haven't yet) that he did NOT take a nap. I should have known we were in for a long night!

As we were getting closer and closer to the shuttle, people started walking away, declaring that it wasn't worth it to go, because "People are elbow to elbow..." that happens every year "they are out of pop..." we have our water bottles "they are out of food" we ate before we came "they are out of beer! For cryin' out loud, they are out of BEER!..." uhm, we don't give a darn about the beer, and frankly, we'd love for all you alcoholics to not be there around us anyway "and the port-a-potties are all overflowing." Ok...that last thing was a little bit discouraging...because pregnant women tend to use the toilet a lot. So I started practicing my kegels again, right there in the line! But we weren't going for the food or the entertainment (well...I -did- kind of want to see Peter Frampton), we were going for the fireworks...so we got on our shuttle.

And we finally got there and found my family (and a bunch of other people we know) and set up camp. By the time I was sitting in my camp chair, it was just after 9pm. Two hours after we left home!

And "Ooooh, Baby, I [don't] love [the] way" it all happened...but I MISSED PETER FRAMPTON!

However, I was able to complain to my mom, eat a doughnut, and pass off responsibility for Bug to my little sister. Finally, at 10pm, the fireworks started. We were in the perfect location. Not too close, not too far. And the smoke all blew to the side of us, rather than right at us! I was SO grateful that Bug didn't want to hang out under a blanket nursing this year. He loved the fireworks. He ooohed and awed and clapped. And, luckily, he didn't cry when they ended at 10:30pm. I must say, it was a very nice display. They even had fireworks that exploded into a "U", an "S", and a slightly wonky "A". Pretty cool engineering, I guess...even if it did look like it was written by a first grader!

After it was all over, we walked two minutes over to the shuttle pick up point. All the shuttles were already full and leaving. Ok, great. We'll wait. No big deal. We'll wait. And wait. Oh, there's a shuttle....nope, it's a "Red Line" and we want the "White Line". So we wait. And wait. And the shuttles keep stopping at the other end of people (and they totally should have stopped at our end, because then all the shuttles that came in behind them wouldn't be waiting in line to pick up people, while the first shuttle sat there blocking the way...argh!) Finally, an hour and a half later, we squeeze our way onto a "Red" shuttle, that had been converted to a "White", because apparently, they needed more whites. We did have a really spunky shuttle driver, though, and she made me smile, even after waiting for so long!

And -hallelujah- the traffic didn't impede us one bit. We were able to get home quickly and easily. And we settled into bed exactly 2 hours after the fireworks had ended.

I may have to settle for a less extravagant firework display next year...I'm just not sure if it is worth it!

Bed Bug

The hubs and I have been working on getting Bug into his own bed. Although I've loved sharing a bed with Bug, there are times when it is quite annoying and frustrating! And now that we only have a few more months before the baby comes, we feel like we need to buckle down and get the big boy into his own bed. I definitely don't think it would be safe to have Bug and the baby in the same bed, even with mommy and daddy there! (And for my sanity, I need to be able to nurse the baby in bed!!!)

The hubby is doing most of the work (e.g., laying next to Bug's toddler bed until midnight). I figure that is what will work best, though. And he might as well get used to it, because he'll have to be the one to put Bug to bed when I'm busy with a newborn!

Night 1: Bug went to sleep fairly easily in his own bed, although later than we wanted him to. He slept until 4am, when he then fell out of bed and knocked his head. The hubs slept through the noise and crying, so I lugged my large pregnant self out of bed and brought Bug into my bed. (Then I went pee before I settled back down, because if I'm already up...I might as well!) Awake at 8am.

Night 2: Bug fought sleeping in his own bed just a little bit. The hubs laid on the floor next to the toddler bed until nearly midnight. Bug slept in his own bed until 7am.

Night 3: Bug missed his daily nap, and fell asleep in my lap (on the couch) at 8:30pm. The hubs moved him to his little bed. He slept great! Although, we did hear him a couple of times awake at night, he just moved into a more comfortable position, took a drink from his sippy, and went back to sleep on his own! He didn't get out of bed until 8:30am. Twelve glorious hours of wonderful sleep in his own bed!

Night 4: Fought it hard. Hubs on floor until midnight. Bug fell out of bed at 3am, but slept on the floor for half an hour. When he woke up and realized he wasn't in bed, he cried. The hubs put him back into bed. Bug pushed the hubs away, he apparently wanted to go back to sleep on his own. Bug got up around 6:30am.

Night 5: Fought it hard...but not quite as hard as the previous night. Hubs on floor until midnight. Mom out of bed to go pee at midnight. Bug restless and whiny. Finally, mom gets annoyed because she can't sleep with Bug making so much noise, and has the hubs bring him into our bed. Mom out of bed again, to pee, at 3am. All awake by 7:30am.

I'm seriously debating whether or not I want to cut out Bug's daily nap. As you can see, the day he missed his nap resulted in the best night of sleep for us all! It's a work in progress. And I haven't been good at getting Bug to nap in his own bed...usually we both nap together in my bed. The hubs says that has got to stop, because Bug needs to learn that he only gets to sleep in his own bed. Usually, I'm too exhausted by nap time to fight, though! Of course, if I cut out Bug's nap altogether, I will be doubly exhausted...but it might mean twelve hours of sleep for us all!

We'll just keep working on it. Hopefully we will all get into a happy and restful routine!

Oh, my achin' pelvis!

How horrible is it that I didn't write anything about Mother's Day, on this blog that is all about being a mother?? So, a whole week later, I did want to mention a little bit about my Mother's Day. The Saturday before, the Hubs took me out on a date. We walked around a large mall, and ate at our favorite Mexican restaurant (where I actually tried to speak confidently in Spanish, and made myself look like an idiot...and the hubby wonders why I rarely try...) The dawn of Mother's Day came peeking through our bedroom blinds. I kept my eyes closed and laid on the bed in a drowsy half sleep. I heard Bug squirming beside me. Then, I felt two little fingers grasp my old mascara and sleep encrusted eyelashes and pull one eye open. "Boo!" said Bug, once my eye was open enough that he could see me in there. There really is little better than a "good morning" from a two year old!

I also got a comment from a friend at church, on Mother's Day, that I was looking "so big"! Apparently, I officially, undeniably, unquestionably look pregnant. Another friend overheard the "so big" comment and later said to me, "I don't think you are getting big." I told her that it was ok if I was getting big...because I'm pregnant, and I'm -supposed- to be getting big! She said, "Yeah, I know. But you don't have to say it that way. It just sounds bad." I asked her if people should instead say, "My, my, you are looking very pregnant today!" And I think that works.

And while we are on the topic of pregnancy (like I ever talk about anything else, right hubby?) I have diagnosed myself with Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction (much to the hubby's exasperation, right hubby?). Some people think that I [over]diagnose myself with minor annoyances just to get out of doing my squats to prepare for birth. Not true. I honestly have a horrible pain in my pubic ligaments! ESPECIALLY when I roll over in bed. And even when I am just walking around like normal. I probably irritate it by climbing over the gate to get in and out of my kitchen 15 million times a day! This is one thing that I didn't have to deal with during my first pregnancy. A friend of mine assured me that all the real aches and pains show up in the second pregnancy.

My poor husband. He is such a guy. You know how guys are...they want to fix everything. And they think there should be or actually is a solution to everything. This makes voicing pregnancy complaints annoying for both of us (maybe I should just keep my mouth shut, for both of us....but then I wouldn't be a woman!). He says, "Do this and it will probably go away." I say, "No way am I going to do that, because it will make it worse!" I'm telling ya, you can't fight Relaxin!

Can't a girl get a nap?

Since the vomiting episode, life hasn't gotten much easier. Bug is...better. Of course, I'm not sure if that is the best way to describe it. He did have diarrhea for a couple days after the upchucking. And we ran out of laundry. And I was too tired to do it. THAT day, the day the earth pretty much imploded on itself, I was the one that was really sick. And not just "I'm pregnant and feel crummy all the time" sick. It was way worse.

I began the day at 4:45am. I got up and went to the bathroom to empty my stomach contents into our toilet. It was the first time this pregnancy. Then, I went back to sleep. Only to get up a little after 6am. Apparently, someone hit the repeat button, and I was in the bathroom again. Before I knew it, we were all up for the day.

I was tired. My stomach was cramping. And I didn't want to eat anything. I knew that pregnancy sickies can be made to go away (for at least a short amount of time) by eating. I tried to eat. I got down a banana. Then I had to change a diaper. A really bad diaper. And I had to change the little pants that kept that bad diaper from getting all over my carpet.

The I ate one cracker, changed another bad diaper and fished around for the only clean pair of pants for Bug. I couldn't find the pants. I looked around the house. I saw a massively destroyed living room, a kitchen piled high with stinky and dirty dishes, dirty laundry smeared with crusty poop and vomit overflowing from the hamper....and I thought about how tired and horrible I felt....then I lost it. I cried and cried.

I didn't know what to do, so I called the husband and bawled to him about how miserable I was and I begged him to come home. So, he did.

While he was on his way home, I ate one baby carrot, and crawled into bed with Bug. We were napping when he arrived. When we woke up, the dishes were done, the living room was clean, the laundry was being done. My husband is obviously a super human, one of a kind, hunk of a hero! Gosh, I love that man! He even went and got me a roast beef sandwich...even though I was only able to take three bites.

Since that day, I have been feeling better. I still feel like crap, but it's the better kind. The normal pregnant kind. I'm a little bit better at handling all the messes. For instance, I haven't cried once since that day, even though every time I go to take a nap, Bug refuses to join me and instead causes mischief around the house. Mischief like emptying bags of cereal or brown sugar onto the kitchen floor. And I was actually able to laugh when Bug stacked three -glass- cups on top of each other at my parents' house.

Toddlers sure are full of energy. It doesn't always make a good match with a mother who is so un-full of energy it is laughable! But, today, we sat down together and starting watching Tarzan, and I had tears of joy and love come to my eyes. I was reminded that even though things are really difficult right now, I love my family. I love this little boy that I helped to create. And I love my husband who works to hard for us. And I'm so excited for the little baby that will be joining us.

Now, if only I could get a nap!

I've been attacked!

I have been attacked by the pregnancy crummies. Or, just the first trimester crummies, I guess. Either way, I feel crummy. Almost to the point that I have no energy or desire to do anything (other than sleep, of course.) I think I am more exhausted than I would normally be, because I am still nursing Bug. And on top of that, I feel nauseous 24/7, so I'm probably not eating as well as I should be. How can I eat well if nothing sounds good!?! I just want to keep from throwing up whatever I get down (which I have been successful with so far).

And, speaking of throwing up....Bug did. All over me. And himself. AT A LA LECHE LEAGUE MEETING. That I didn't drive to by myself.

So, I changed his clothes, and cleaned up the both of us as best as I could. But I still smelled it. And I sat through the meeting (my ride was the leader of the group, so I couldn't exactly beg her to take me home), feeling very nauseous with the smell of sick in my nose. Then, when the meeting was nearly over, But threw up again. Luckily, this time it was only breast milk. But I couldn't change him into clean clothes (because I had already put him in his spare outfit.) I called the hubby, who was finally able to come and get me. Hallelujah!

I felt horrible. There is nothing worse than sitting in a room full of mothers with young children, with a kid that keeps vomiting. I just hope Bug didn't infect all those babies with whatever he has. (Or had...I can't decide it he is over it yet.)

But, I will tell you what...it is making me sick just thinking about it. Ugh...I can't wait until I get to the second trimester and this all goes away! And I am SOOOOO SORRY to all those women who deal with pregnancy nausea through the whole 9 months!

Reverently, Quietly

Every Sunday, I am reminded of why I dread Sundays.

I LOVE going to church. I have a stronger testimony of the gospel than I have ever had. I love to partake of the Sacrament to renew the covenants that I have made with my Heavenly Father. I enjoy teaching the sweet CTR 8 class (the 7 year old kids that have almost all turned 8 by this time of the year). I love socializing with the other members of my ward. I am happy to have a reason to dress up nicely, do my hair and wear make up. I love having my husband with me nearly all day long.

But....I don't like trying to keep Bug reverent and quiet during Sacrament meeting. The hubs thinks Sundays are great now that Bug is old enough to go into nursery for the last two hours of church. Unfortunately, nursery doesn't take care of the first hour.

I bring assorted snacks. A full sippy cup. Books. Puppets. Pens. Paper. LDS action figures (which are actually made by a Brother in my very ward!). And other toys. They don't work. Bug throws things. Whines. Screams, sometimes. Crawls around. And does everything he can to be generally disruptive and very irreverent.

I struggle to keep Bug as quiet and reverent as possible. Then, when my hair starts to get too messed up, and my face is flushed with the effort...Bug gets taken out to the hallway, by either the husband or myself. It is so embarrassing to have to leave the chapel so often. Because, you know when you come back in, Bug will only last five more minutes before he needs to be taken out again.

Sometimes, I feel like I am the only mom with a psychotic non-reverent, non-quiet kid. Please tell me you guys have irreverent kids, too!!!

Early Bird

Every now and then, I have "one of those weeks". The weeks when Bug wants to nurse ALL THE TIME (and I'm still using my lanolin religiously). And when Bug refuses to go to sleep until a ridiculous hour, even though I nurse him for hours on end and I know he is completely pooped. AND when Bug wakes up at the crack of dawn, even though we have been up numerous times nursing that night, after going to sleep insanely late.

I am a total grump in the morning. Actually, I'm a total grump whenever I should be sleeping and I'm not. And you have to be a brave soul to disturb my sleep. Oh yeah, I made exceptions when Bug was a baby and needed me to wake up at night with him. But, Bug is a toddler now. He shouldn't be nursing five times a night! And if he wants to nurse five times a night....he shouldn't get me out of bed before the sun is up! Especially if he is waking me up by screaming and whining and crying...and then giggling like a maniac as soon as I look at him. The giggling is probably the only thing that keeps me from pulling my hair out, because it is just too darn cute.

I'm sleeping in tomorrow.