I Need Padding

The World is harsh. It picks, it scraps and scratches and slaps. And sometimes it wallops you so hard in the gut you lose your breath and come close to blacking out.
Right now I am in the spin and haze of a wallop. Itty Bitty Baby. Oh Itty Bitty Baby and your little flickering heartbeat. That flicker stopped flickering. Literally there one day, gone the next.
My world went dark.
Trying to catch my breath.
Trying to make it through the day without tears.
Trying to hold the joy of Little Man's laugh and smile in my soul to keep the dark out.
Trying to keep the dark out.

"It's Normal" That Isn't Helpful.

I find myself staring down a long road of anxiety and fear. I never expected to be here. Hoped, yes, hoped with the desire of a thousand suns. But Expected? Not so much.
 Here I am 2 weeks out from the BIG 4-0 and the stick I peed on didn't included the "Not" in front of the "Pregnant".
Pregnant.
PREGNANT!!!!!
4 years of trying, a miscarriage, countless needles and blood test. Having Little Man was hard fought, and hard won. I never wanted Little Man to be an only child. I know how much support (and pain) siblings can be, and I wanted him to have it all. And here I am, in the position to give it all to him. A week of knowing is followed by days of extreme anxiety. Doubt. Worry.
Spotting.
I've been there. I knew that time, I knew it was bad. And I waited, waited to see if it was just a one time thing. It wasn't. But that time, that time I knew things weren't going quite as planned. That development had appeared to stop. I had weekly Dr visits to help prepare me. "Ease" me into it. Help explain.
This time? No. None of that. There is some concern on part of the Dr's office. But it is more, "Wait and see".  For them it is routine.
This kind of waiting is torture. Don't they know that? I need answers. I need a direction. I need you to know this isn't routine for me.
I need a hand to hold.
In this situation, I am high maintenance. I'm not asking you to rub my feet, I'm asking you to ease my mind. Help quite my soul, and calm my racing heart.
I want this pregnancy to "stick". I keep telling the little itty bitty baby that it is already loved. That it is wanted.
That it needs to grow and be healthy.
Close my eyes.
Breath.
Pray.
Wait.
Pray.

Shit Still Be Happenin'

Ok. Anybody still out there? I know, Where the HELL have I been! Um, sorry folks, the work load has really been a brute. I really shouldn't even be writing this now. But I thought I should check in. Especially since Little Man is now OVER A YEAR OLD. Holy shit where has the time gone? I actually took a few minutes to read one of my regular Blogs today and felt bad because I'm not sitting down writing Little Man long letters chronicling what has been going on in his life thus far like apparently all mom bloggers do. In fact, often times I feel like I am letting him down, or not doing enough. He is old enough now that I feel over the weekends he is BORED. There is so much going on during the day at daycare, I don't know how we can possibly compete and still have food and clothing available to us.
But I digress. So many things have happened since Little Man came into our lives. He turned one! And we had a party. No one from Back East came. Per F's orders.  There were many, MANY ear infections. I believe last count had us at 8.  They started when we enrolled him into daycare after my mom said she just couldn't do it any more. At four months old I handed my sweet little man over to someone else to care for. NOT. EASY.
Because of the ear infections we had tubes installed, just after his first birthday.  A month later, another infection. The ENT that did the surgery pretty much blew us off, and every doctor at our pediatrician's office had a different opinion about the effectiveness of tubes.  Needless to say, we've switched care providers on both fronts. So far, so good.
  F took Little Man BY HIMSELF Back East. Because I continue to refuse to stay with the out-laws, F decided that the cost of staying in a hotel was too much and given several options, chose the one where I stayed home. I can't say I was thrilled to have Little Man out of my line of sight for several days considering where he was going, but they both came back none the worse for wear and Little Man's bedtime routine was still the same. NO RETRAINING required. Bless us Lord. Amen.
After coming back from said trip F was already talking about the next one for this summer. *heavy sigh*
Things with the outlaws are still contentious. I suppose I am so used to my own mom's hands-off approach that when they start questioning, poking, nagging, I get annoyed and shut down.  My own problem I know.

Anyway, happier note! Little Man has hit all his milestones. I cannot tell you how relieved that makes me feel. He is a little on the small, side, but he makes up for it with his massive amounts of personality and mischief making.
We just took him for his 18 month check up, all is well!!! My ears and heart delight each and every time he says "Mom-mah" and I hope that is how he will always say it. He and Puppy have their moments. Sometimes she'll play with him, most times she runs from him though. He loves to read and knows exactly where his books are kept, or "boo(k silent)".  He has my heart he does.
 There is so much to share, I can't tell you all of it because I can't remember all of it! I can't say I will do better about keeping you informed, but I will try. Often times I forget I even have a blog.

I hope you all are well! I wish you a fabulous long Memorial Day weekend! God Bless our Troops!!!

You're Right. What Could I Possibly Know?

So I just had a co-worker try to convince me that my out-laws, "Can't be THAT bad. They CAN'T BE THAT BAD." She smiled and slowly shook her head at me like I was a silly little child who was upset that the sun was going down.
And that really made me angry. She knows many of the tales. Has crinkled her face in disbelief. And yet here she was, telling me I couldn't possibly be right.
I often do think that maybe I am being overly sensitive. Constantly on guard with them. That I should give them more slack. And then things happen or are said and I'm right back to where I started. Shaking my head and kicking myself for being so naive. Wondering why everyone keeps telling me that's just how it is and I should just deal with it.

So I come here, and I reread what I've written about the visits.  Relive the moments, the statements, the questions and some times I feel vindicated and other times I feel doubt.
Like when MIL heard of my plan to wait until Little Man was 6 months old to start feeding him solids, she wagged her finger at me via Skype and said, " You listen to ME honey, if you don't feed him food now, he won't like anything later!"
Um, what? Doesn't one of the nephews you pretty much raised only eat chicken nuggets? And he's 8? Soooooooo, what again??
Or how she gave me a necklace and out right lied about "having one made for you from The Homeland because you said you liked mine."
Oh, you read that and think how sweet! why is she complaining? I can't stand being lied to, especially when you give me a broken piece of jewelry as a gift and tell me it is new, especially made for me. To me that is an insult to my intelligence. And this is when I question myself. Just let it go! I say to myself. She is TRYING. But then my other side says, Is it really trying if it is lies and broken items?
I drive myself crazy with the back and forth!

 The constant battle between F and I over his family is harmful. Here it is almost 4 months out and I'm already stressing about heading Back East for Christmas. No matter what we do, someone is going to be miserable. I of course prefer it not be us.
How do you make yourself not care? How do you make yourself the person who is always seeing the bright side of things? How do I become Zen? How I ask you,  HOW?

Just Call Me Mommy

Oh my digital friends, I know I've been  MIA for many a months. My life is fully consumed with Little Man and all the ripples his existence creates.
As I am allowed to pump at work, twice a day, I am losing basically 2 hours of work related productivity a day. I have managed to stay on top of things by working through my lunch, but then my Boss went and reduced my project completion time. Things have been a tad stressful on the work front to say the least because of this. I don't really have the "spare" time to be writing this, but I need to clear my head of a few things and I know putting them out to the digital world would help relieve some of the stress. And possibly garner some ideas and suggestions.
Little Man is causing me all kinds of stress. I love him so, but seriously kid, SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT ALREADY. When he first arrived on the scene he would start to doze off and I would put him to bed still awake. As time went on, he would have to be completely asleep or he would cry and scream. We were creating a monster. I think the trip Back East was the breaking point. His entire schedule was off by a mile. All the pointing and prodding and smile demands really got to him, and me. At one point, after I was allowed to nurse him instead of his "Nanna" feeding him a bottle, (um, yeah, that's a post in and of itself) he just laid across my lap and rested. I would pat his belly and when I stopped he would make his little "eeehhh" sound and I would do it again. This went on for a good 20 minutes before F looked in on us.  Anyway, this trip is where I feel it all fell to hell. Getting him to sleep that week was hell. Napping was just as bad. When we got back it got a tad better, but never back to where we were. All my mom friends keep  telling me he should be sleeping through the night and to just put him to bed and walk out. Let me tell you, it DID NOT WORK. I put him to bed, told him I loved him and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. Little Man LOST HIS MIND. I went back in 2 minutes later, calmed him down, put him back in bed, and left. HE LOST HIS MIND. This went on for an HOUR AND A FORTY FIVE MINUTES. I increased the times between going back in, tried to stop picking him, but it didn't work. He SCREAMED at the top of his voice THE ENTIRE TIME, unless I was holding him, and even then he might let out a good scream just to let me know he was still pissed at me even though he was stroking my hair.  F? F was beside himself, almost in tears listening to it. He finally couldn't take it anymore, deciding I was forever damaging Little Man psychologically, he went in and held Little Man for half an hour until he feel asleep. I felt like such a bad mom. And I was pissed at myself for listening to the other moms. But I was SO TIRED. Little Man is still waking up at least twice a night. F rarely hears him, so I go in, comfort him, put him back to sleep and then get everyone up and out the door in the morning. I am beat.  But clearly, just up and leaving him isn't going to work, for any of us. So I've switched tactics to a more gradual, less crying sleep training version. And I'm sorry, but there is no such thing as the "No Crying/Tears" method. My kid cries, period. Anyway, we do our normal bedtime routine, lotion, pj's, nursing, prayers, a little song, now maybe a book, and then we sit for a little bit. When he is relaxed, I tell him it is "Night Night time" that I love him, and put in in his crib. He stiffens the second he feels me move to get up.  I lay him down, he is UP and screaming and crying. Yes. No cry method my foot.
The first night I sat on the floor next to the crib with my hand through the bars and if he was close enough to me, I would pat or rub his arm/leg, whatever. It took an hour of him crying and flopping dramatically on his mattress for him to fall asleep. He slept through the night.
The next night I sat in front of the crib with my hand through the bars, but didn't touch him. Well, too much. He would flop dramatically next to my hand and I would touch him with my finger. I mean, come on! The kid was crying and reaching his little chubby groping hand through the bars at me, I'm not made of stone people!
He slept through the night.
So basically, I am slowly moving away from him each night. How tired he is depends on how much dramatic flopping and crying goes on, but it is NO WHERE NEAR the over an hour of crying and screaming, mostly screaming. The most so far I think was 40 minutes. I haven't made it out the door just yet, and I'm not completely sure I will. If I step out to get something during this process the wailing kicks in. Can I spare 10 minutes to sit in my kid's room until he falls asleep? Yes, I can. Is this the wrong thing to do? Probably. My hope however is that I will be able to put him down and walk out of the room like I used to do in the beginning. I'm sure I'll get this put into place just in time for us to go Back East for Christmas. And have it forever FUBARed again.
So there is that. Sleep training is a bitch and I hate it.
Next? Again, Little Man. He has gone from being a Champion eater to a non-eater. He has dropped to the 3rd percentile. I can see his rib cage when I change him. Some nights he just refuses to eat. Even Cheerios!!
Other nights he stuffs whatever he can lay his hands on in his mouth to the point where I'm afraid he's going to choke. F and I are completely beside ourselves. We are worried, confused, at a loss. No one else seemed concerned though, even his Doctor thinks he is fine. And he is growing, reaching all the important "milestones." But we, as his parents still fret over every morsel. I am sure we are developing an eating disorder in him.
And lastly, the nursing. In the beginning F and my Mom; while she was staying with us, (another post unto itself) had me in tears with worry over not producing enough for Little Man. My mother kept telling me to just stop and switch to formula. Eventually though production went up and all was well, we were stockpiling like mad. Then I went to visit CBF for a week, got sick, passed out in her bathroom from dehydration and it has been a struggle ever since. I was able to stockpile some, but no where near what it was before. In fact, I don't think I've stockpiled anything in over a month. I am producing enough for him to have one bottle a day. The rest is formula. He is almost 10 months old. Most people tell me that it is GREAT to have gone so long. But I wanted him full breast milk for his first year. I'd like to know how in hell these people are doing it for six years! I will admit though, that the gradual decline is making it much easier to accept. I'm not tied to him, or the breast pump. I can go quite awhile without worrying about the need to pump. It is, freeing. I will miss it when it comes to an end though. Little Man and I have had some of our best times together, thus far, while he is nursing.  We've also had some of our worst. He continues to bruise my upper arm because he likes to pinch my bingo wings while nursing. F thought I was crazy until he saw the bruise. Despite that, I feel sad whenever I think about it. I remember how hurt I felt when he refused to nurse while he had a cold because he couldn't breath. F didn't get it, to him it was logical. And I knew that, the poor kid couldn't breath, but my feelings were hurt. It felt like rejection. Silly. I know.  I think it all stems from the guilt. My mom was a stay-at-home mom for the most part until I was 9. I spent all day with her. Not that I remember much of it, but I do remember some of it. I spend very little time with Little Man. F even less. So every moment I get is precious gold. I really wish I could switch to part time so I could spend more time with him. But unless F gets some kind of dream job or we win the lotto, that ain't happenin.

So tell me, my digital friends what are your tips on getting your kid to sleep? To eat?  How to deal with being a parent who maybe cares a little too much??

Seriously, how cute are they together? 

It Has Begun

Last Post I told you of the impending trip Back East to visit with the Outlaws. From day one the "discussion" about where we would unpack our suitcases began. It has not been pleasant. I made my case, crossed my arms over my chest, drew my line in the sand and considered the discussion closed since F agreed to a hotel.  MIL on the other hand does not agree. And over a month later she is still harassing F. Still crying to him on the phone.  F is absolutely beside himself with guilt and God only knows what other feelings are churning inside him. I can only guess at what is being said to him. And it makes my blood absolutely boil. I am stressed out by extension because I know if I would just give in and agree to stay there, things would be pleasant. For the moment.
I have however made up my mind that I am standing my ground. My little family deserves to be treated with love and kindness, not anger and disappointment. No matter what we do, there is always something that makes them unhappy.  And by "them" I mean the entire family.  We don't visit often enough. We don't get there fast enough.(I'm not exaggerating about this.) We don't stay long enough. We don't spend enough time visiting with each family member. We don't allow MIL to make us enough meals.
It is exhausting.
And stressful.
And sad.
F is between a rock and a hard place. Visiting with family should be exhausting, but because you've done so many activities and late night card games, not because you've been emotionally tormented.

If anyone has any suggestions on how to deal with this, I would greatly appreciate them.

Blessed Be Bitches

Today Little Man is 5 months old! I cannot tell you how much we love him. It isn't quantifiable. As much as I want him to stay the same, I love all the changes I see in him. His smile is a heart melter, let me tell ya. FLIRT just like his daddy.

Anyway, I believe I promised you a Baptism story.  F did all the planning. I did all the shopping.
There were countless discussions about where the Outlaws would stay upon their arrival. F of course wanted them housed with us. I of course, did not. I managed to make enough logical points(or so I believe) that they, and the other out of towners, stayed at the local hotel. How this went down with them, I don't know, F has taken to not telling me certain things where his family is concerned, but I am sure it was not received well.
MIL immediately dedicated herself to telling me that Little Man was catching his death of cold in the meat locker I kept him in while dressed in mere rags. This continued for the next 4 days. Even when we were in a restaurant that I kid you not, was above 80 degrees and Little Man was in his sheep skin lined car seat, with fleece pants and jacket on. I told F to remove said fleece jacket so he wouldn't over heat. "Isn't he cold?!!!!" MIL quivered worriedly as F reached to do as I asked. He stopped dead mid-air.
"No, he's not. F, take the jacket OFF."  F did as I asked. Bless him. Crazy Best Friend was seated beside me and later gave me her take on the whole situation.
"They must think you are one bossy bitch."
"What?!!? Why?!"
" 'F! TAKE OFF HIS JACKET!!!'  Seriously DH, you were bitchy about it."
I was floored. I floundered about for why she, who knows me so very well would say this. We are decidedly honest with each other and I knew she wouldn't say something, obviously, just to make me feel better.
"I'm going to guess you didn't hear MIL say "Isn't he cold!?" "
"She did?"
"Yes."
"Oh, well then, you were fine."
As the long weekend came to a close CBF saw more and more instances of MIL questioning my parenting choices and of her "poor pity me, I'm such a victim" manipulation tactics. They are subtle, but they are there.
 I'm not going to lie, it was nice to be validated. I'm not just being over sensitive, these things really do happen.
Every time I would try to take Little Man into a separate part of the house behind closed doors to feed him or try to quiet him down for a nap or just because he was being over stimulated by all the activity, MIL would hunt me down, burst into the room without knocking (I breast feed in my own home with it all hanging out, no cover); and insist that I needed help. Was she truly wanting to be helpful? Maybe. But I took it as her continual questioning of my parenting skills. I had been doing it without help up to this point, why did she keep insisting that I needed it?
MIL's parting conversation with me? In a heavily concerned voice; "DH. I don't know how you can do it *heavy sigh* but you MUST find a way to keep him warm in there (Little Man's bedroom)." (a room that has its own free standing heater. Set at 70. With the door closed.) 
 FIL on the other hand insisted that Little Man, at all of 3 months, smile on demand. And became disgusted when Little Man didn't comply.
He was told a day in advance at what time he needed to be ready to leave for the church.  15 minutes from departure time he insisted that he needed another 30 minutes to get ready. F hit the roof. FIL managed to get himself together in the allotted  time but upon arriving at our house, REFUSED to get out of the car and come in.  True to form he was grouchy and sullen for most of the visit. After picking up CBF at the airport and getting her settled into the hotel we went back to our house. The moment my foot touched the tile FIL demanded, "WHAT IS GOING ON????!!!!"
Bewildered I asked, "What is going on with what?"
"With M and L!"
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Have they landed!!???"
"I don't know. Didn't F leave to go get them from the airport?"
"YES. But they were delayed because of the snow. So what is going on! Are they coming here or what??!!!"
"I haven't heard anything from F, so I don't know what is going on. You know more than me. Have you called him?"
"YES. He's not answering."
He was not at all happy with my lack of knowledge and glared at me until F and his passengers walked through the door and then it was as if the long lost son (M, not F) had returned.
When Little Man would start to cry he would loudly inform me, "HE'S HUNGRY! Feed him!"
By the end of the long weekend I had all I could do to continue to bite my tongue.  M even mentioned to F that he was shocked when I snapped at FIL after FIL had informed me that my son needed feeding. I didn't even remember doing it. I was that exhausted by dealing with them. (Later I would also realize that I was coming down with the stomach flu that weekend, so yay!)
The stress was was insane for both F and me. I felt bad for him and how his father was behaving.
But we made it through intact.

I may be recovered by the time we head BACK EAST to visit with them for a week in June.

You Won't See This Pregnancy Story On TLC

My pregnancy had been pretty easy. All the NSTs (non-stress tests) had gone very well. Little Guy was a mover and a shaker. So much in fact that my very first NST landed us in the Hospital because they couldn't get a clear read on him. But an hour and half later I was back home chillin.
Yes, I had Gestational Diabetes from pretty much day one and was put on insulin, but I was doing incredibly well controlling it. My Dr had agreed to let me go to 40 Weeks if everything in that area stayed under control. She knew I didn't want to be induced. And I felt we were well on our way to a "normal" delivery pretty close to my due date.
Um, yeah, no.
I think it was about week 35 that things started to go haywire. 
At one visit my Dr informed me that I had dilated to 2 cm. But in my gut I knew I was no where near ready to deliver. Then my sugar levels started to drop. Which in turn made my insulin needs drop. Not a lot, but enough. In fact it took me a few late night sweats for me to figure it out.  I was in the middle of week 37 and was desperate to go to week 40. My Drs decided that because my need for insulin had dropped, that my pancreas was shutting down and the baby needed to come out ASAP. I was not at all pleased with this. At WORK, on a Wednesday the Dr shut down my hopes by telling me that I was to come in on the following Monday. After I calmed down a bit, F and I were able wrap our heads around a Monday delivery and even made plans for the weekend. Luckily we went shopping for a few important baby items. Thursday, the very next day, the Dr called me at work again and told me I was to report to the Hospital THAT VERY NIGHT.
 I freaked the hell out.
 I was not ready for this! I truly felt that if I had the weekend, my body would do it's job and make the baby ready to come. I still had an appointment with the Dr that afternoon and hoped I could push this whole thing back to the original Monday plan.
Then the Dr called again and said there was no room at the Inn for Thursday night but hey, come Friday!  I'll see you at your appointment!!
No, no, no. I still needed that extra day to finish work! I still needed that extra day to find some peace with this. The Dr would not budge. Even though in two weeks I'd only dilated HALF a cm more. Nope doesn't matter; Friday, come on in!
I knew in my core that this wasn't necessary. That the baby was FINE and we could make it just a little longer. Let my body do what it was meant to do. I thought about refusing to go through it all, but I knew if putting this off meant something would then go wrong and Little Man would somehow be affected, I would never forgive myself. So I relented.  We went in on Friday morning, and were late getting there. They still didn't have a place for me, so we ended up waiting. Little did we know that it was going to be  waiting game for a full day while they monitored me and Little Man. We were none too pleased to discover this since we thought by Friday night we would have a baby. Not so much.

It only got worse once I was "settled" in my room and the medical side of things started. Needles and I are not friends. IVs and I are mortal enemies. So needless to say when they stabbed me 6 times before they managed to get the IV in; I almost passed out. My mom told me later I was whiter than the pillow case. Then my sugar crashed because I hadn't eaten since 6 am ("something lite" like I was told, total bs, btw, eat as much as you want) and my system was used to snacking right about the time they decided to stab me.  By noon time they were just starting the medicine to get my cervix to dilate, since it wasn't doing it on its own. (duh) Little Man and I were continually monitored throughout the day.  At 2 pm I still hadn't been feed, and was being told that wouldn't happen until after I delivered. MANY HOURS LATER. (WTF?) When the Dr on rotation came in and told me that they might send me home to rest for a few days and "let things progress naturally" then bring me back, on MONDAY to try again; I had all I could do to not start swearing up a storm and crying like a little girl. They were so worried about the baby that they MADE me come in and be induced, but NOW it was ok to send me home?  At home who would monitor me, the baby, my sugar that was low, or my blood pressure that was continuing to climb? The nurse did her best to talk me into it, but she couldn't answer any of my concerns. Needless to say nothing more was said on the topic.  The new nurse ordered me food on the sly at 5pm.   VERY late Friday night I got feed again, again on the sly, because within the hour they would start the Pitocin to induce contractions.  By Saturday morning I still hadn't progressed much more. All day long on Saturday they pumped me with pitocin and monitored my sugar and blood pressure. Throughout the day they upped the pitocin dose until they finally maxed it out.  Late Saturday afternoon they broke my water which kicked the barely felt contractions into high gear. That in turn made my blood pressure soar. They put me on bed rest and the nurse highly encouraged me to get an epidural because my blood pressure just kept climbing. I had wanted as natural of a birth as possible. Granted, I hadn't completely ruled out the epidural, but to me it was a last resort. However, putting me on bed rest due to my blood pressure killed all the plans I had to walk, shower, or use the birthing ball to help the process along. So I went along with it, I mean, if I was going to be confined to bed, why should I suffer? F had just left to get something to eat, but he came running back to be there when they stuck me, IN MY SPINE. Yeah, a NEEDLE in my SPINE? SERIOUSLY? Thank God that stuff is fast acting. They put a skull monitor on Little Man and one inside me since I wasn't going anywhere and it would give a more accurate reading of his heart rate and my contractions. I still had to fight to be feed and was only allowed broth, and they were still talking about a vaginal delivery. At this point, a day and a half in with 2 sandwiches in my stomach and no real sleep to speak of, I was beyond that. I was tired, extremely hungry and knew there was no way I would have the strength for "4 to 6 hours of pushing, people do it all the time." WTF????  Yes, this wasn't the way I wanted to give birth. But NONE of what was happening was how I wanted to give birth. I probably could have done it, but I still knew that my body was not ready for a vaginal delivery.

Late Saturday night/ Early Sunday morning they stopped the pitocin to give my system a break. They started it up again about 3 hours later. For a total of 27 hours of pitocin. I think it was a record.  I was so incredibly bloated it was horrifying. I could have given the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man a run for his money.  During the night Saturday Little Man's heart rate went down a few times. Just before 7am Sunday morning I was still stuck  at being dilated 6cm  and 70% effaced.  It was at this point that they decided to do a C-Section. I was fully on board at this point. I just wanted to be done. Poor F had all of 15 minutes to pack up all our stuff so it could be moved to Recovery. He saw his son born while still in his slippers, pj pants and a t-shirt.  They stuck me AGAIN to have a "fresh IV line", so I had TWO flipping IVs in me for the next several hours. At 8:54am on Sunday they pulled my little baby boy out of me. And then stapled me back together, again WTF??? STAPLES???????????
So yes, I didn't really get to "deliver" or "have" my son. He was taken and then given to me. But damned if he's not the  most precious thing I know.
The next several days in the hospital were surreal.  Nurses, Doctors, Aides, all came and went. Little Man and I struggled to breast feed. He was so tiny and thin!! I felt like my huge boobs would crush him. Family came the same day. I fell asleep on more than one visitor. F and I were so spent. Hospitals are not known for their restfulness. Twice I sent F home to try and get some sleep in a real bed. It didn't really help.  
Finally we were released into the wild as a new little family unit. As we pulled out of the parking lot it hit us full force. We had a baby in the back seat!!! Holy crap, now what???? There wasn't going to be anyone checking on us every hour, no call button to bring immediate answers.
SHIT.
We were on our own. On our own with a little 6 pound 6 ounce person. There would be no leaving him in the car to run into grab a pizza. Those days were gone.
Do I wish it had all gone differently? Of course. Did the end justify the means? To a point. I will always believe things could have progressed on their own just fine if left alone. But when I look at Little Man and he smiles at me, I know I would do it all again.
He is the best gift God could ever have given us.

Baby Chicken Legs

Pinch Hitter

We are closing in on the end of the whole I'm PREGNANT phase and approaching the I'M A NEW MOM phase. And honestly, I am a little sad to see the end of the pregnancy. I've had a really good one with few problems and I'm not going to lie, I enjoy the special treatment. Who wouldn't? I get to sit and watch Ghost Hunters while F cleans the house? Um, YES PLEASE. I get to nap instead of doing laundry? Where's the pillow??? Seriously, I could really get used to the pampered lifestyle.
But I know it is coming to a close. And I am ready to meet this Little Man who loves to punch his mommy in her bladder making her stop in her tracks while the ringing vibration of the hit subsides. I am ready to be done with the swollen feet. The end of October and I am still wearing flip flops because it is the only thing that fits. I am also ready to be done hearing F say, "Well how can you TELL your feet are swollen??" When CLEARLY they are 4X their normal size and there are strap marks from your flip flops still cutting across your foot an hour after you've removed your shoes and propped your feet up. When the doctor looks at you at during your appointment and says, "So, how's the swelling?" as he hitches up  your pant leg to take a look at your "elephantinus" (Sailor Mouth's husband's assessment) ankles. And then proceeds to tell you that you better remove your wedding ring while you still can and put it on a chain to wear.  When I told F this new development that would require the purchase of a chain? "Just don't wear it."
Um, yeah. Cause the stigma of a pregnant lady without a ring is non-existent. I received no chain and have been "just not wearing it" and feel completely judged every time I go out. This brings us to the newest phase of being pregnant. The Birth Class phase. When I realized there were various classes offered I signed us up for as many as I dared before I thought F would start refusing to attend. F claims to not be a novice with this whole baby thing, but seriously, he so is. Some of his comments over the last 7 months has really made me wonder about his knowledge of the birthing process. It is minimal ya'll. We had our first class together this weekend. I was concerned about how he would take the 7.5 hours of birth Birth BIRTH!!!! But he did remarkably well. Half way through he said he was learning all manner of things. I was surprised but very glad that this was the case.  His interest began to wane at the end of the class when it was focused on making your baby momma more comfortable during labor. He was not pleased about being my pillow, but I did get a half hearted attempt at a back massage later that night, so something appeared to have sunk in.
What I'm finding "sunk in" was bits and pieces, not the full scheme of the "L&D" process.  I think we've discussed that  F is an engineer?  And hence has a VERY different thought process, very linear. When the instructor informed the class that at 35 weeks you are considered full term and can deliver safely anytime thereafter,  F heard "DELIVER ANYTIME, IMMEDIATELY." On the way home from picking up the crib mattress he queried as to how far, exactly, was I along?
"Just the start of 35 weeks."
"When do you start counting?"
"Well, on Wednesday I will be 35 weeks, 5 days."
"So the 35th week started.......?"
"Friday?"
"Yes, FRIDAY. So you could go into labor ANY MINUTE."
"Well, yes, I suppose."
"ANY DAY, ANY TIME!"
"Um, yeah?"
"We have to be ready, we HAVE TO GET THE CRIB!!!!"
"ooook."
When we got home he fixated on the crib and the need for it to be in the house RIGHT NOW.
This discussion brought me almost to tears because my feet were swollen, my back hurt, I'd just spent 7.5 hours in a class I really didn't need to attend and then was dragged to a sketchy Toys-R-Us to pick up the crib mattress. I was SPENT and just wanted to be done for the day.
We agreed that the next day we would go order the crib. Thankfully they had one in stock and there was no need to wait 6-8 weeks for delivery because I was due NOW NOW, ANYTIME NOW!!!!!
I thought after procuring said crib we'd moved on into safer, calmer waters of understanding.
I was wrong.
While at dinner at my mom's later that night the topic turned towards her readiness for the impending day and the need to put together her own hospital bag since I asked her to be part of my L&D team. And by "Team" I meant her, F and anyone with a medical background and a hospital ID badge. I made her a list as we discussed what she might need clothes wise F chimes in with, "You know, you really should line up some other (birthing) coaches. Like maybe call S_E_S."
"What?"
"Well, if labor really does last 20 hours (a factoid from class, 20 hours is the average from the very start to finish) then I'm going to need someone to relieve me."
My mom stopped mid task and stared at him.
My mouth was stopped from hitting the floor only because the kitchen table was in the way.
"WHAT?!" my mom and I said together.
"That's a long time, someone will need to relieve me."
"REALLY? And just WHO will I get to relieve ME and take over having the baby?"
"Well, no one."
"EXACTLY. If I have to be there the whole time, YOU have to be there
THE. WHOLE. TIME."
"Nuh nuh."
"Yuh Huh."

Yep, complete and total understanding.

Where We Are With The Pregnancy Thing

I've cut my possible baby name list in half. I've traded my visions of dresses and pig tails for vests and frog tails. And you know what? I love him already. I talk to him more, I smile when he tickles my belly from the inside, and I look forward to my little man's arrival. My little man. He has ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes and one strong little beating heart. I can't tell if he loves or hates the spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy's, but I know it makes him do baby gymnastics in there. He's growing right on schedule. I have finally relaxed about most of it. I am avoiding some things still, like research, and classes, which I know I need to do, but I have this fear in my heart and mind of jinxing his arrival if I get ahead of myself. Which in reality is probably making me be behind. But I think I'm ok with that.
I am not OK with the gestational diabetes. Because of my age and weight and "sugar history", they tested me super early, like week 8. It has been a constant battle of numbers since. Testing four times a day. Testing within an hour of eating; which can really take a toll on your personal life and vacation plans. Shooting up with insulin at the same time every night. I never thought I would be packing an insulin pen in my clutch at a recent wedding so I could stab myself in a stall in the lady's room. Counting, counting, COUNTING CARBS. Goodbye cheesy bread sticks! Hello STEAK. I have been doing quite well with this, I admit. I've "cheated" a few times. I had a scoop of ice cream for my birthday. But it has turned out to be much easier than I thought. Because I want to give this Little Man a chance. After everything to get him here, I want him to know happiness. So I have a bite or two of F's pizza before finishing off my salad. I've actually LOST WEIGHT. I can not tell you how many people have asked me if I'm really pregnant or not. As I type this in week 21? I am STILL wearing my regular pants! Who knew?!?!?!
So there you have it. A BOY. A Boy who has already stolen his momma's heart.

"THE APPOINTMENT"

Next week is "THE APPOINTMENT", which is quite literary how even the O.B. staff refers to it. With the dawn of new technology, it has become more common place to find out the sex of the as yet born child.  I am completely and utterly torn on this point. To have a definitive answer would make some things easier to decide on. Nursery theme. 50% fewer names to come up with/chose from. Stocking up on baby clothes. etc. When we first got the news that this extremely long, emotionally defeating, needle infested process had FINALLY taken hold, F claimed to want to know; he has since changed his tune, SEVERAL times over.  I however, am unsure. After "When are you due?" is asked, the follow up of  "Are you finding out what you're having?" is hot on off the lips.  I waffle between wanting to know and sticking with "tradition" and not finding out.
It did occur to me after my Mom asked me if she could attend "THE APPOINTMENT" since she had never seen an ultra sound before that the "tradition" of not knowing was not so much of a tradition as it was just how things were. They had no way of telling until the baby came out. Many blogs and websites are split 50-50 on this topic.  Anyone you talk to will have an opinion on this.
 I am going to be completely honest about this, please do not judge me. I want a girl, and I am concerned and disappointed in myself that I will be horribly upset if we find out we are having a boy. Of course I want a HEALTHY baby, no matter the sex. And I WILL love this hard fought for child NO MATTER what. Let me be clear about this. I already love this child. How could I not? It is the coming together of F and I. 50-50. I have always pictured myself with a family of both girls and boys, but since this is most likely the only child we will have, I want a girl.  I adore boys, they are just as cute and of course momma's boys, what is not to love? I am just confessing what I feel.  Granted our family is short on the male side. We are clan that produces girls, so me having a boy would make my only nephew probably extremely happy.
But there it is. My darkness in my heart.
This pregnancy has brought about many feelings in me. Fear. Love. Doubt. Joy. Shame.
Today I am sharing my shame of myself. Shame for giving thought to my baby beyond its health and well being. I am going with the Shame because I cannot handle the bone chilling, heart stopping, tears inducing Fear that something will be wrong with little dh.
So judge me if you will. Just know you cannot judge me any harsher than I am already judging myself.

BIG REVEAL

F and I hosted a party at the very beginning of my 13th week to semi-announce this little darling. Most people completely and utterly missed the cues, which was ok, because to see the dawning of understanding on their faces once it was pointed out was quite priceless.  Later that evening I posted on Face Book that we are expecting. I kept it short and sweet, once sentence, where as F wanted a flipping novel about how we are "expecting our first child." I nixed that for my posting, but kindly told him if he would like to put that type of announcement on his page he of course was more than welcome to do so. He declined.

Their are a few of my co-workers with whom I am "friends" on FB who did not come to our little party. They were all a twitter with the news and in hushed tones grouped together to discuss how I had so expertly pulled the proverbial wool over everyone's eyes. It has been quietly making its way around the office. Some people I have gone up to and personally told; others, ie Mrs Nosey,  and Mrs. Mannerless have been purposely left out. If someone else tells them, then fine, but they shall not hear it directly from my lips. Neither of them have approached me up to this point, and I am quite fine with it. Our big office meeting is happening this week and Boss has asked if she can announce it. I gave her the go ahead because I was quite happy with keeping it low key and allowing it to make its way around the grape vine on its own, but am also fine with something "official" being said, and I know she won't make a big show of it. Or maybe she will. I don't know. I hope not. Anyway, I will be quite delighted to see the reaction of those not in the know.
I am not, however looking forward to Mrs. Mannerless chatting me up about pregnancy. I cannot ever forgive nor forget her complete and utter selfishness concerning her office baby shower.  I ALSO have a pregnancy buddy in the office and she is quite a delight and I would be most happy to share the spot light with her. We are due almost two months apart, so I don't know if that will happen or not, but I am fine if it does!!

December Will Have More Than One Joyous Birth

I promise this isn't the actual stick. I had a blood test.
This is a picture of someone else's pee stick from the internet.

It Be DONE Yo

From this dull nastiness

To this "Spa Like" loveliness
co-worker's words, not mine.

My favorite part is the tile mosaic, which everything was built around

What I am Doing This Weekend

F slide into the curb and broke the Van.
The Van was one it's last leg and this broke it. We were discussing the purchase of another vehicle, new or used we hadn't decided. This little icy road induced incident however, forced us to decide.

So, this weekend we are picking up MY BRAND NEW mode of transportation:

Honda CR-V in pictured color

Sadly we are NOT getting this:

A small amount of $382 gets you a Honda approved  tent to attach to your car.

because I was unaware until I went searching for a picture to post on here that a TENT was even an option.

I'm gonna ask F if he thinks we can still add it on when we pick up the car.

Sailing along in a Whirlpool…

  “Hurry up and Wait.” 

I remember when my sixth grade music teacher announced to us new sixth graders that is was going to be the way of the world from here on out. Even at the all-knowing age of 13, this concept dawned anew, yet very wise to me.  You tend to forgot this, when you are waiting for 45 minutes in a paper gown on crinkled paper atop a pleather table, or on hold with the electric company; but I think if we kept it in mind during these moments it would help alleviate some of our blood pressure issues.

My most recent case of “Hurry Up and Wait” pertains to the Short Sale of my house.  Things were sailing along rather smoothly despite the Mortgage Company and their feet dragging ways or the buyer deciding they needed to be an LLC and the Mortgage Company saying no.  We had moved past that. The Mortgage Company came with an offer, PAY US MONEY for the next five years and we’ll call it good. I, in need to be done with this, was ready to jump at the offer as is. Our Attorney, (and F) decided it would be best to go back to the Mortgage Company with our pockets out and the lint dangling from our elbows as we croakedly asked, “Please Sir, can you make it less?”

Fine, less out of our pockets is a good thing. I agree. But time is of the essence here, and all this back and forth takes TIME. Lots and LOTS of time.  Mortgage Companies move SLOWLY, even when it comes to collecting your money. Just read the news about how far behind they are on foreclosures, at least a year.  So I was settled in for a long wait. Our Realtor had told us at the onset of the process that the minimum was six months.  We are at month FOUR from the ORGINIAL offer.  On October 19^th  the Original Buyer decided to be an LLC. We then moved through changing names and resubmitting the NEW Buyer offer to the Mortgage Company. New Buyer appeared on October 28^th.  That puts us at TWO AND A HALF months. As opposed to SIX.  Am I wrong that I started counting over when we had to change names? That took time.  Plus the Original Buyer took a little trip out of the country and papers weren’t getting signed or notarized, and that was a cluster.  So here we are, two and a half months later, after THREE major holidays, and the “Buyer” Original or New I am not sure, is “(g)etting antsy.” So says the Buyer Realtor.

Seriously dude?  Now I know I thought your realtor was kinda flaky, but I at least figured since she made such a show of how many short sales she was juggling she would have told you that this takes time. Months of time.  Apparently, I was correct in my judgment of her lack of sense.  I gave her too much credit.  Silly me. I do have a problem when it comes to going with my gut instincts. It has been an issue I have struggled with since childhood.  That aside, I truly do hope the ants get out of your pants, or I may be suing you for mental anguish if you pull out of this sale. I cannot take much more of this.

Patience is a virtue. 

Please have some of both.

There Was No Snow for Christmas.....

And no Peace and certainly not Joy.

That's right my digital friends, F and I drugged and packed up Puppy and headed Back East to spend the Lord Jesus' Birthday with his family.
 I have to say that once again this year things were less drama filled than in the past. However, F and I found ourselves smack dab in the middle PLUMBING GATE: 2011. Please read here about the use of vinegar and baking soda. FIL attacked F about our use of T.P. as the cause of PLUMBING GATE: 2011. F HIT THE ROOF. He told FIL not to accuse him and his wife(that would be me) of causing a problem he (FIL) already knew he had and refused help in fixing. Apparently FIL's response was: "Oh, so you're going to be a MAN now are you?"
Oh, the love, it is overwhelming.
After this little male pissing contest we took MIL shopping. F turned on her in the car. She refused to talk about it which enraged F even more. He declared, once again, that we would NOT be staying at their house when next we visit. She declared that in THAT case we need not visit, AT ALL.

And here my digital friends is where FIVE YEARS ( i know, not all that long compared to some, but quite long for me) of keeping my peace came to a very dramatic end.
I LOST MY COOL.
I YELLED. YELLED. Not spoke sternly. Not through gritted teeth and pursed lips. FULL ON YELLED at MIL.
I don't remember verbatim what I said, but the gist was; Stop the drama! Do not Threaten us! Not visiting is VERY MUCH an option as far as I'm concerned, so DO NOT PUSH ME.
 F, was stunned. I was stunned. MIL was crying.
MIL's response was that she wasn't threatening us, that we just don't understand what it is like with HIM everyday since we are only there ONCE a YEAR and ONLY for a FEW Days. (ah, still able to get a dig in). It hurts her feelings that we don't want to stay in  her house; and how would we feel if she did that? I told her I wouldn't care. Whatever made her most comfortable was fine by me.

I apologized for yelling. And then I told her she could come visit us, that we want her to come visit us. She wailed that she can't go anywhere!
She was still crying, F was crying. I was shocked and horrified at myself. I was also waiting for F to lose his shit on me for losing mine on his mamma.
I did feel some sense of relief though, I have to say. My friend at work felt that it was unfair that MIL took the verbal beating for FIL, but as I told  her, she lets him get away with it and sits silently by as the victim. And who knows? A verbal beat down most likely is still in FIL's future.
Oddly enough, all was well after that. FIL even called a plumber. I wish I had been a fly on that wall for conversation with MIL and FIL about me losing my cool.  Why else would he suddenly decide to call a plumber? Maybe I am over crediting myself, but who knows. SOMETHING knocked some sense into him, if only temporally.
There were no ugly clothes received this year. W and T only fought once. The boys LOVED Puppy almost to death. No, really, they were very good with her. FIL groused that he had NO say in Puppy coming with us, to which F said we would happily have stayed at a hotel. Disbelief all around that a hotel would allow a pet. F and I both lost our cool with the boys once over a slapping incident. We both slept like shit despite the new mattress, see link above.
And, I did NOT get sick!! How amazing is that??

Hansel & Gretel Couldn’t Have Left a Better Trail

    I swear to all that is Holy there is a well-marked road map and several sign posts with possible runway lights that lead straight to our dishwasher and kitchen. It is miniature sized. Mouse sized. We have another one, or several, or however many.  F and I were away on vacation for a week. Puppy was at the Dog Sitter’s house.  When I entered the kitchen I noticed all the “spare” pieces of food Puppy had left on the floor surrounding her bowl were gone. Then within minutes of Puppy making it in the house she was tail deep in a corner of the kitchen where we keep a bag of bags.  I thought that was odd since she never goes in that corner.  I moved said bag aside and low, there were droppings. 

“Shit.”

Then as I grabbed the bread to make myself some toast, I noticed a hole in the bread bag.  “Is that melted? From being by the toaster oven?…. even though it was nowhere near the toaster oven?”  Then I noticed the chunk of bread missing.

“Fucking shit.”

Checking the counter top where said bread was kept I spied more dropping.

“Mother Fucking SHIT!!!!!!!!!”

I started opening all the drawers looking for more droppings because that is where they have been the last few times. I saw none. I also saw none in the dishwasher.  Another favorite spot.

“This could be not so bad.”

“F! the mice are back! Please call an exterminator ASAP. I am sick of dealing with this.”

F: “grumble, complain, makes excuses…..”

Next day

“Holy shit! The mice have made it into the half bathroom! Please call an exterminator!”

F: “grumble, complain, makes excuses…..”

Another Day Passes

Puppy and I are filling the dishwasher when I open the door and there is a small grayish thing sitting there.  I realize it is a mouse and slam the door shut hoping to knock it unconscious with the door.  Puppy is completely clueless even though half of her breed is “standard size dachshund was bred to scent, chase, and flush out badgers and other burrow-dwelling animals”.  Mice are burrow dwelling, aren’t they? Anyway, she did nothing.  The mouse was dazed, but not completely out of it. I stared at it for several moments trying to decide if I should just reach into the dishwasher and grab it. I was afraid it would bite me. During my indecision period the mouse had made it to its goal, the vents or something in the bottom of the dishwasher door.  It crawled right up in there. Where it went from inside the dishwasher door I have no idea.

“F! The mouse is in the dishwasher door!!!”

“I don’t know what to do about that, I have no idea how to get to it. Just run the dishwasher.”

So I did.  Then I washed all the knives and emptied the drawers. Everything is now on the dining room table and you have to walk there to get a knife, or spoon or fork. 

F is picking up mouse traps today.

Sell Already, PLEASE

I’ve told you about the Short Sale.  It is currently in a holding pattern because the Buyer sent back his “I swear I’m not going to flip this house” affidavit back without it being notarized.  Seriously, F and I don’t understand how the Mortgage company can make such demands of him, but whatevs, if he is willing to sign it, it is up to him either not do it, or do it and not get caught; and it is up to the Mortgage company to enforce it. Right? F and I are completely out of that part of the equation. FINE BY ME.  Our Attorney also keeps asking for the Buyer’s proof of funds, but I swear to you, it was sent. And I forwarded it to him AGAIN the other day. He even told me back when he first got it that he used it as an example in another short sale for the buyer there. I really don’t need the added stress that is swirling around right now.

If  THAT isn’t enough, said VACANT house seems to be living it up while I’m not there. Lights blazing, washer/dryer/dishwasher/fridge all partying it up because last month the electric bill was $190.00. ONE HUNDRED NINETY DOLLARS. For an empty house. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?? That is $50 dollars MORE than what F and I are paying at a house we are living in, full time. With lights and cell phone charges and TVs and tons of other stuff running pretty much nonstop.  Look at the usage. “My” house: 1128 KWH. “Our” house? 741 KWH. With two people living in it. And a dog who listens to classical music while her owners are gone so she has less separation anxiety. And 2 tvs, and a fridge and microwave and well, you get the idea.

I just got off the phone with the Electric Company.  They are adjusting the bill, AGAIN. It was wrong last month too.  I think $88 bucks is a much more reasonable amount, don’t you? Let us hope we don’t have to go through this again next month, because seriously, I will go cut those lines myself.

Now I get to call the Gas Company.

Where’s the assistant who handles all this stuff?

Oh right, I’m not rich, so I have to do it myself.

Damn it.

OMG, Will it Make That Much Difference?

Sooooooooo, the Mortgage Company  has received our paperwork concerning the Short Sale. Remember the Buyer agreed to up his price to $32,500?  The Mortgage Company wants us to "counter with $35,000", because that extra $2,500 is going to make such a huge difference.  Seriously, I don't get it.  If they Fuck up this sale for $2,500 I am going to be extremely pissed and in need of very heavy amounts of medication.
What a crock of shit this whole process is. I had to fill out and sign an  affidavit that I am in financial trouble and I also have to fill out AGAIN my income stats AND supply bank records. Even though we filled all that crap out and supplied it to the attorney like 6 months ago. I'm pretty sure he turned that all in with our original paperwork.
I should have gone for a liquid lunch.