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May 29 My Kid's Jacked-Up MelonBusy 2 weeks. Cheyenne's birthday was yesterday. She got a ton of presents in the mail and she's got more cash than I ever dreamed of having at that age...or even now. She's ballin' out of control. Caleb and his brother Jason took her to see Indiana Jones while I stayed at the house with the little kids and one-armedly put up streamers, prepared a chocolate fondue, and cleaned up the place a little bit. It's been a while, but I still got it.
I think she had a decent birthday, considering she couldn't have the all-out-slumber-bash of her dreams. Maybe later on in the summer when the baby's older.
Merrick had a check-up yesterday morning. Turns out he's got a messed-up head and a messed-up rear-end; next week we will got to some children's hospital in Oklahoma City so they can ultrasound his butt (he's got this weird extra dimple-thing--not a hole, but some kind of indention) to make sure the end of his spinal cord is free-floating and whatnot. While they're at it, they'll go ahead and do an X-ray of his poor little head--it's got this ridgeline running straight down the middle of his skull from back to front, like the plates there are overlapping. His soft spot is really small and more towards the front of his head rather than at the top and in the middle. The doctor just wants to make sure nothing's permanently closed up yet so that his tender little brain has room to grow, and that he's not literally hard-headed.
So, it's kind of weird and a little unexpected, but that's what it is and that's what we'll do. He's most likely completely fine. Caleb's head's kind of warped-looking, and he's okay. Somewhat.
Other than all that, we've been doing a lot of the same--holding the baby, oooing and ahhhing over the baby, and me, feeding the baby. He's just bound to be big and strong--sometimes it seems like he eats constantly. I feel like a dairy cow. I've been bad as far as my diet is concerned; I over-did it yesterday with soda and birthday cake and chocolate fondue, and Merrick was fussy and gassy all night long. I'm telling myself that today is the day I really get back on track and stick to foods with a lot less sugar and caffeine.
Caleb's brother is leaving tomorrow. I'm a little worried--this means we're on our own for the next few weeks before the next string of company. Things will be "back to normal" and I'm afraid I won't know how to act. It's been so nice having someone around to distract us from what we really should be doing.
Which reminds me, the baby is finally asleep and I technically have time to get a quick shower. Have a good weekend, people! May 25 Whew!Sitting around holding a baby is tough stuff, lemme tell ya. Let anyone in my house tell ya, cause that's all we've been doing. Granted, sometimes I feed the baby, and that is also very hard. But the real challenge is diapering the kid. I always--always, always--get pooped on. And then peed on. And then promptly spit up on. And then possibly pooped on again. I've not yet learned to be quick about the whole business. I guess I tend to take it slow so as not to "mess anything up down there". I'll get the hang of it...when he's almost ready to potty-train. And I'm pretty sure I'll still get peed on then, too.
The girls seem to be adjusting well. Mia has been busy wearing out our company. She's having a little trouble understanding why mommy and daddy can't give her undivided attention 24/7, but it's more confusion than jealousy, at least for right now. Cheyenne just got out of school for the summer. It's so sweet--she will ask to hold the baby only once she knows everyone else has had their turn. Caleb's got the hang of keeping the house clean, cooking dinner, and mowing the yard. Plus, he's quit smoking. And he diapers like a champ. I'm real proud. I sometimes feel he doesn't get the credit he deserves because he's a dad. If he were the mom, he'd have his own show.
Me, I'm okay. I didn't have stitches or anything so the physical recovery of giving birth has been a cake walk. I've miraculously lost all the baby weight and then some. It almost feels like I was never even pregnant. (I'm sorry. I know I'm ruining it for all the new mothers out there, and I'm sorry.) I've been trying to give up coffee, but it's just...so...hard.
Merrick is a saintly little baby--sure, he wakes up at night every few hours, but he eats and goes right back to sleep, so there's not much there to complain about, especially considering that Cheyenne and Mia both were absolute monsters in that way. He has a healthy appetite--he gets right to it and doesn't play around when it comes to meals. He spits up a lot, and I haven't exactly figured out what it is I might be eating/drinking that is causing this. Maybe it's nothing. I pray it's not my coffee. I have to change his clothes and my clothes about 50 times a day, and I am never--never--completely clean for more than a few seconds at a time.
You guys all have a great week! May 17 My Brilliant FeatI can probably skip saying that the last several days have been one big, busy, blur. Our baby is here, live and in person. I'm still trying to let it all sink in--maybe it was the drugs, maybe the whole no-sleeping thing, maybe it's the fabulous food my father-in-law's been cooking everyday. Life is one big honkin' cloud of delirium right now, and I'm loving every minute of it.
The birth story in a nutshell: Wednesday morning, Labor and Delivery, 7:30 a.m. We came, we saw, we got IV'd. Still at 4 cm. I put up with about 2 more hours worth of solid-yet-somewhat-bearable contractions before politely ordering my epidural, and after that I was feelin' fine and flying high. At 11:30 a.m. I had made no progress, and New Doctor came in and broke my water--at which point, I'm told, I proclaimed loudly and gleefully "SHE JUST MADE THAT WATER HER BITCH!" In less than an hour later, I was ready to push. New Doctor was once again summoned. 75 random people in scrubs came into the room. Caleb held my hand and out popped our purple little boy. He took a minute or two to get going--you know how they say you don't breathe until you hear your baby cry? Not so. I was so drugged up--I let Caleb do all the worrying for me on that one. I was too busy getting a kick out of the utter numbness in my left leg. We all got to go home early--we were back at the house by 2:00 the very next afternoon. Merrick is here, he is healthy, and we've just been having a wonderful time getting to know him.
Looks: At this point it's impossible to say that he looks like either me or his daddy. He looks nothing like Mia did when she was born--he's got this light-brown hair and these blue, blue eyes and his skin looks a little on the fair side. This surprises me; I assumed he'd come out looking a little more Rico Suave and a little less Otis Lee (He's the tough Cabbage Patch Kid, ya'll). He's got "school-yard bully" written all over his squashy little face. He's absolutely adorable in this grumpy-cute kind of way. He just looks like...a boy, if that makes any sense.
Personality: Yeah, can't really read too much into this yet, either. He's a newborn. He eats a lot. Sleeps a lot. Poops a lot. I will say that from just a few minutes after he was born, he's had his eyes wide open and his head up, just checking things out. He's been giving me this pissed-off look and I assume it's because of all the pokes and pricks and circumcision he's had to endure over the course of his life. I feel really bad about that.
Sisters' takes: Mia is absolutely in love with her baby brother. She wants to constantly hold him, or kiss him, or pet his head, or help with something--anything--relating to taking care of him. Cheyenne immediately took to him--she just beams whenever she holds him, which admittedly isn't much because I'm a little bit of a baby-hog. But, so far, so good.
I can't really think of much else to say except thanks again for all the comments and e-mails and phone calls. It's going to be a low-key next few weeks for us.
I just love my new son.
I love him.
I love him.
I love him. May 14 Merrick Jackson JeffreyHey, this is Jenny, Toni's sister. She wanted me to let everyone know that her new bundle of joy is here. He arrived around 12:50pm or so, weighing in at 8'lbs 15 ozs, and 21 inches long. The official name as you can see above is Merrick Jackson Jeffrey. Toni is doing great, labor went well, Mia and Cheyenne are excited big sisters and of course Caleb is ecstatic. Here are a few pictures that Toni sent me. If all goes well they should be home by Friday, so I'm sure she'll update more then. May 13 CloseAt the risk of becoming the most hated woman in the world, I'm going to take a moment and congratulate myself on a pregnancy well done. Let's take stock of the last 9 months, shall we?
1 million negative pregnancy tests, give or take
1 positive pregnancy test
1 new book about pregnancy and childbirth
3 new books about becoming a big sister
3 months of utter nausea
6 months of aches and pains
16 lb weight loss
19 lb weight gain
500 trips to the doctor's office
500 cups of pee
500 bitter fights over baby names
A surly, almost-teenage daughter who is less than thrilled about having a little brother
An excitable, super-active 3 year-old who now sleeps in her own bed 50% of the time
Two significantly calmer big honkin' indoor labs
One fabulous husband/dedicated father
A zillion: worries, phone calls, hugs, kisses, massages, warm baths, gallons of milk, pudding cups, and "Scrubs" re-runs.
So, all in all, good times. I can't believe it's almost over. We have no official name decided upon, but we're close, I can feel it. Top picks? I think it's safe to reveal them now:
Feel free to weigh in on our choices. I can't promise we won't just go with Diego, depending on the intensity of the fit Mia's going to throw when she finds out that, no, that's not really going to be her baby brother's name. My appointment with New Doctor went well. Tomorrow we will get up at the butt-crack of dawn and drive to the hospital, where I will be hooked up to a pitocin machine (hospitals love pitocin) and relieved of my job as chief incubator of baby numer 3. Tomorrow I'll get to hold my son in my arms.
May 12 Yet?Nope.
I've been busy! I laid around Saturday, went to a little kid's birthday party, and laid around some more. Sunday I ate breakfast at IHOP with the fam, came home and laid around inside, went on the back porch and laid around outside, and then I had to get a shower! It's not easy being me. I hope everyone had a good Mother's Day, by the way.
Today I have another checkup with New Doctor. She'll probably be going over everything I need to do/bring for Wednesday's induction--I have to be at the hospital at 6:30 a.m., no doubt so that she can deliver my baby just in time for lunch. Fine. Whatever. I'm going to have a baby in 2 days. (Or less, but most likely 2.)
Onto other things, Caleb's been growing out his goatee and sideburns. He looks a little like Wolverine and he's thinking about shaving his head. I'd say it's time for him to find a real job now, but I've really liked hanging out with him. That broker-deal business seems to be working out okay--and if a couple more guys come through for him, it'll be a lot better than okay. This could be something Caleb could really do, and do from home, and do well. I'm so excited to see him pursuing this, because even when he finds an actual job, he could keep this gig on the side--the extra income made from just a few phone calls and faxes a week would do more than just help us out.
Cheyenne came home Friday afternoon almost in tears--kids at school had been making fun--serious fun--mean fun--of her clothes (crazy T-shirt, jean skirt, black hair ribbon, dangly earrings, polka-dot leggings, and black rhinestone-y cowgirl boots). Granted, Caleb and I chuckle to ourselves every morning as she walks out the door in one outrageous (ridiculous) outfit after another, but that's just Cheyenne, and we'd hate to see her conform just because she let some punk kids get to her. After a short pep talk and a few suggestions ("Tell those jerks at least you're allowed to pick your own clothes! That at least you're original! That at least you can remember to change your own underwear!") Cheyenne tromped out to the bus today in a pink tank-top, a white sweater, pink leggings under black capri's, the same black hair ribbon, and (Dear God) the cowgirl boots. How gutsy is she?
She wants to sign up for Choir next year, along with band. She wants to join the Pep Squad, even though she has no clue what it is that club actually does. She wants to start ballet lessons in the fall. She wants a bike for her birthday. It might sound like just a long list of wants from a spoiled child, but to Caleb and I, it's a kind of a relief--she's finally motivated to DO something--anything--and I'm sorry, but Pep Squads, ballet lessons and a bike? Could be worse (read: more expensive). I can imagine: "Mom, I want to be a Cheerleader. I want to take strip cardio classes and gymnastics, and I want a motorized scooter and a Nintendo DSLite for my birthday." And I can imagine me: "Fuuuuuuck no." And yes, I'd be forced to say the f-word in that instance.
Mia's Mia. She's more excited than anyone about the baby. She's been rockin' this sweet set of golf clubs (see pictures) that our neighbor-friends picked up for her--and I mean DAMN! They're nicer than anything Caleb's ever used before. Mia, and her wee little pink golf bag, with her wee little clubs. Caleb's been taking her out and working with her here and there...she's got the stance down, and she'll tink those balls across the yard like nobody's business. It's ADORABLE. When our golf course finally opens up (as it was scheduled to in Spring 2005, then Fall 2005, then Spring 2006, etc.) she's already got plans to "go golfing with Daddy and Mr. Billy." It's so on.
May 09 Won't Be Long NowReal fast: Got a call from New Doctor yesterday regarding induction. She wants to get me going next Wednesday, May 14th, if I haven't already gone before then. One week before my due date--when I started to ask questions, she totally blew me off. But you know what? I didn't really care. I mean, maybe I would care if I wasn't already dilated to 4, or if I weren't dealing with contractions, or if every part of my body didn't completely ache. But honestly, it doesn't matter to me if this induction is scheduled strictly for her convenience--I'll get to see my baby in 6 days or less. And I'm more than ready. Sweet!
And now onto my tag: Name 12 weird/random facts, goals, etc. whatever about yourself, then tag more people. I officially tag everyone reading this. Go.
May 08 Passing TimeTurns out yesterday wasn't a good day to have a baby--and I'm fine with that. Call me crazy, but I really want this kid to be born on an even-numbered day. I just don't like odd numbers. I asked the baby what he thought about May 8th. So far he doesn't think too much of it.
I had a dream about a month ago--a wicked weird dream--that I went to this Tahiti-like island where all women went to give birth. They set you up in a little straw hut, and you got to labor and deliver painlessly right there in the ocean. The only thing was, that, when the big moment came, you automatically turned into this horrible animal, a sort of black lab/organgutan/sloth/flamingo...and you stayed that way forever, or at least until you were slaughtered by hunters, while your baby was whisked away to the United States to live a normal life, far away from his freak mother. In my dream, I was trying to fight the animalizing process before it happened--but the lady at the front desk informed me that my delivery date was May 10th, and I had better get ready. As unsettling as the dream was, I woke up feeling kind of cool, and that date is just stuck in my head. So we'll see what happens over the weekend. I'll either still be pregnant, or I'll have a baby and turn into a monster.
I took a picture of the kid's room last night--we had the crib set up and everything, but we thought it'd be a great idea to see what the walls would look like if they were orange--you know, just to make things a little harder on ourselves. We didn't go nuts and paint everything--just a few key accent spaces--and I think it looks alright. The only problem is, now, Caleb wants a touch of blue somewhere in there for a subliminal University-of-Florida-effect. I'm not so sure about this idea, but as long as we're not blatantly gatoring the place up, I guess I'll be okay. I'm a big fan of the color-combo, just not the team. Right now, the room's sort of hodge-podge--there's no real theme, but I think it looks stinkin' cute anyway. May 07 AcceptanceHola Amigos! And let's hear it for Oklahoma City, for winning top honors in the annual "City Most Obsessed With Junk Food" contest! I had a feeling--with a Sonic's Drive-In every 15 feet, this award was in the bag!
Cheyenne just took off to school in the black-and-white polka-dot dress--and today she was decked out in all her fabulous jewelry, too (mom wouldn't let her put on dangly earrings and a million bangles for the NJHS induction). She's sweatin' somebody--my gut feeling tells me it's this teeny little short kid I've heard her mention--although he looks like a complete and utter nerd on the outside, he's the smartest, wittiest, funniest thing alive on the inside. So let's hear it for Cheyenne, for her brains-before-brawn attitude when it comes to men! You go, girl! Wear that dress! Work it!
I've been trying to make a tiny bit of peace with the baby predicament. Caleb and I are trying everything--everything--to get this labor going and yet we're coming up with nothing. In fact, right now, I feel better physically than I have since 2007...it's almost as if this great big belly doesn't even exist; I'm so mobile this morning.
Yesterday morning I was having a few contractions, so I did what any woman in my situation would've done. I filled up a nice warm bath, sat on the edge of the tub, and shaved as much of my legs as I could possibly reach. What did you think I was going to say? That I sipped tea while contemplating the meaning of life and the awesomeness of giving birth? Phah! Hey, it could be months before I am this clean-shaven again.
At about 4:00, Mia and I decided to go shuffle slowly around Target for awhile, where I bought a changing pad and a lamp for the baby's "room". And some gum--hey, it could be months before I remember to brush my teeth on a regular basis.
Today I've got plans to get that baby's room together. Caleb's all done with the crib and I'm so impressed--it looks like it came right out of a Pottery Barn catalog, with its retro spindles and rustic black finish. I can't wait to put it up. The lamp I picked out is actually a lantern, and it won rave reviews. It has 3 different settings, so that at 2:00 a.m. I won't be flooding the room with blinding light. It's all coming together, and still, the fact that we'll have a baby--an actual baby--in our house within the next couple weeks hasn't fully hit me yet.
I still can't eat a ton of food without feeling absolutely ill, but that's probably for the best. My feet are ridiculously huge at the end of the day, but my blood pressure was admirably low, so pre-eclampsia can be ruled out. And sweet Caleb ices up my ankles every night, so I can't complain too much. I hate the contractions, but they're just getting me closer and closer to having our baby, and with that in mind, I don't mind dealing with them from time to time. This "waiting it out" at home isn't really half-bad, for now.
May 06 No DiegoUg. Had my check-up yesterday. I'm obviously not giving birth right now. My water has not broken. My blood pressure is fantastic. I'm not having regular, "real" contractions.
While New Doctor earned cool points for skipping the sunburn lecture, she fast become Evil Bitch From Hell when she sent me home at 4 centimeters dilated. Does that sound weird to anyone other than me? I mean, how dilated do I have to be? What's a girl gotta do to get admitted to a hospital around here? Apparently the baby's head should be crowning before I even think about going in. Geez. 4 centimeters--I was living it up in my posh labor and delivery suite by this point with my other 2 children, having the dream-like, drug-induced, pain-free births I'd always planned for. What's wrong with this picture? Every pregnancy book or internet article I've ever read says I'm technically in active labor--so that, combined with the "elephant baby" I'm allegedly having, should score me unlimited access to the maternity ward...right?
I feel like a ticking time-bomb.
How am I even walking, you ask? Well, let's just say I've now got a good explanation for my exaggerated waddle--it's not pretty, and I have to literally hold up my belly wherever I go.
I'm semi-wide awake, dealing with contractions and an over-active bladder, but I'm not much for writing at the moment except to give this handy update to the people that love me...and the people that don't neccessarily love me but read me anyway for God-knows-what reason. Thanks for all the phone calls, e-mails, and comments guys. May 05 Growing StuffWe've got this garden, see, in the corner of our backyard, right? I take absolutely no credit whatsoever in its development, except to say that when Caleb asks about or suggests certain things to put in it, I give him the obligatory "Sure, sounds great, fine, whatever." And as of right now, we've got onions, onions, onions, and berries. Granted, most of the berries are still green; just give us a week or two. Caleb and I sampled the 2 lone strawberries that were red--they had to be the single most delicious things I'd ever put in my mouth. Mia's been dying to try a blueberry, but those are still only half the size of her little pinky fingernail. And our blackberry bushes are going ape. It's going to be a great summer.
Sure, he's planted other things; some I'm not so thrilled about (okra) and others that I can't wait for (tomatoes, yellow squash, jalepeno peppers). Last year our garden turned out so many tomatoes and peppers we just couldn't keep up--until Caleb took it upon himself to learn to "can" things--they should actually call this process "jarring" because that's what it is--and no, apparently it's not just little old ladies in West Virginia who do it. And while the pickled okra isn't exactly my cup of tea, I'll eat the hell out of some homemade salsa.
Caleb spends...a lot of time out in the garden. If he's not gardening vegetables, then he's gardening flowers. If he's not doing that, then he's mowing the lawn. Or weed-eating something. With him being home everyday, the yard is looking gorgeous. Yesterday, in an attempt to help him out, I tried to weed-eat stuff. I mostly just ate up the little plastic-y do-hickey wire-thingy, and my hands are still numb and my ears are still ringing, but the area around Mia's playhouse is somewhat trimmed down now. Caleb has forbidden me to touch any more yard machinery, though...and I'm pretty sure being pregnant has nothing to do with it.
After I was told to "put the weed-eater down right there and step away", Mia and I decided to relax in her nuclear-orange pool. (The neon-blue pool blew away in a freak windstorm. We looked all over the neighborhood and couldn't find it anywhere.) I don't know how long I was out there, but I am fried to a crisp today. My face is red, and of course, Caleb, Mia and Cheyenne are all bronzed to golden perfection. I have a check-up today with New Doctor; after the lecture that I'm sure to get, I've got a laundry list of questions and complaints but mostly complaints:
Well, what do you know? I couldn't make it to 10. Hmm. I'm sure I'll come up with something by tomorrow. Unless, of course, we have the baby today. In which case, just because it's Cinco de Mayo (Happy Cinco de Mayo, by the way), I'll feel compelled to name him Diego for real, and then expect people to believe that we're really not Mexican. Really. Not that there's anything wrong with being Mexican. Or Native American. Or Sicilian. Or anything else people assume my husband and daughter are. When Mia was a baby, everywhere we went, people asked "Is her daddy Mexican or Indian?" A lady at the library got downright pissed off when I told her "No, honestly, she just has brown hair and brown eyes. She just does for no reason." Oh, yeah, and speaking of judgemental people--IS IT A CRIME FOR A PREGNANT WOMAN TO BUY BEER? Do you see a pregnant woman with a 12-pack at the grocery store and automatically assume she's going to chug the entire thing by herself or something? If I were drinking and I ran out of drink, a pregnant woman seems like the most logical person to make a beer-run. I've been the chosen one the past 3 weekends--and everytime I stand in line with that box of Keystone, I get these God-awful glares of disapproval--little old ladies, cashiers, drunk-off-their-ass construction workers--their eyes all seem to say "Doom on You"...O, those horrible, evil eyes of utter hatred and death... ...Please, people. I'm too busy burning myself with sun to worry about getting trashed on cheap beer. Besides, it's not like I could keep it down even if I wanted to...which, God, at this point, do I ever want to. That said, I think I'm going to let Caleb handle the beer-buying until I'm a little less with-child. May 03 More waiting...I really ought to be out walking around the neighborhood, but I don't feel like moving. I had enough energy this morning to shower and blow-dry my hair upside-down, something I haven't done in a long time (the blow-drying, people!) and while doing so, I noticed an odd, yet exciting, new symptom of pregnany: everytime I bent over, my boobs fell down (or up?) and smothered my face! How many people can say that? Awesome! Alas, after that brilliant feat, I was exhausted and barely had it in me to drag myself to the computer.
I am going to try and get out and about today. Caleb was sweet enough yesterday to take me goofy-golfing and arcade-ing. It was a great way to keep me off my ass and make 3 hours pass quickly. When we got home, he iced up my ankles and massaged my feet. He cooked dinner and served ice-cream for dessert. He played with my popped-out belly-button for only a minimal amount of time yesterday as opposed to his constant messing around with it. Today he says he's going to finish the crib for sure, and put up the hooks for our curtain/room divider in the closet/baby's room. My husband is great. As much as I like to whine about him, he's great. Really.
The kids are doing well, too--I'm sure they're getting just as bored as I am waiting for this baby to show up. Mia, especially, is getting a little sick of Mommy always being tired and sore. She'll be so happy when I can get up and move around with the greatest of ease. Cheyenne still doesn't seem too thrilled about having a new baby around--"Oh, my God, it's going to cry, like, ALL the time, and when he gets older he's going to be, like, soooo rowdy and obnoxious." I'm chalking it up to normal 12-year-old-negativity and try to ignore her comments, although they have gotten to me a few times and I don't know whether to cry from my hurt feelings or yell from being just plain fed-up with her attitude. I might do both and see what happens.
I thought for a minute yesterday that my water had broken. How could I not be sure? I've heard tale of women not experiencing that whole gushing-thing; apparently that only happens in 10-15% of labors. I decided to wait things out for a while and by bedtime I was pretty convinced that everything was fine and intact. So, how do you know if you're having real contractions or if your water breaks? Hey, let's ask the mother of 2! Oh, wait! She DOESN'T HAVE ANY IDEA. I guess all my babies just like to keep me guessing. May 02 Go, Diego, GoWeek 37, Day 2. Still no baby, but I really shouldn't complain since my due date is still a couple weeks off. I do hate putting up with contractions in the meantime, and this whole "guessing game" is absolutely maddening...I'm almost willing to try my father-in-law's idea of getting Caleb shnockered. Almost. I'm also tempted to ask the doctor about the labor induction I should apparently be having. But then again, I've come this far. If the baby hasn't made it here by his original due date of May 21st, then I can give that option more serious thought.
So, I'm waiting. Sometimes I'm tired and achy and contraction-y, sometimes I've got plenty of energy. Caleb's getting a little anxious, I think, but only because he really wants me to hold out as long as I can so he can have his prize-winning newborn: "If he's born early, then he won't weigh as much as Mia did when she was born. I want at least a ten-pounder." You'd think he was talking about one of the tomatoes in his garden.
I'm also a tad...shall we say...pissy?...lately, and I'm getting overly mad at even little things. For instance, it really chaps me when Caleb says things like "We're pregnant" or "Our pregnancy". Let's just get one thing straight, okay? It's not you, it's me. It's all me. I'm pregnant--this is my pregnancy, damnit. My nausea, my fat, swollen fingers, my stretch marks. I also hate it when Dora and Boots go on this great trip to Coney Island to buy some measly ice-cream, when along the way they pass a CHOCOLATE LAKE--hello? Once on Coney Island, they chase the ice-cream truck all around these huge mountains of ice-cream, just so they can pay 8--count 'em, 8--coins for a tiny scoop of crappy ice-cream. What the hell? Is Nickelodeon teaching our kids to be butt-stupid?
I hate when people speed even slightly through our neighborhood. I hate when they're not speeding, but their car is so souped up that it sounds like they're speeding, and I'm forced to give them the finger anyway.
Alright, I'd better quit while I'm ahead. Caleb came home with the good kind of donuts. I guess that makes up for the crazy comments he's been making. Everyone deals with stress in their own way. May 01 You'd Think I'd Know BetterWell, yesterday evening we found out how much I DON'T know about contractions.
My lame ass sat at home for the longest time, putting up with what I thought was just a little back pain. That slowly progressed into back pain that got a tad bit worse every 5 minutes or so, but it never let up completely and I had trouble telling the difference between what was just normal pregnancy aches and pains, and actual contractions.
I dusted. I vacuumed. I did all the laundry, and the dishes. I cleaned the bathrooms, I straightened the bedrooms. I washed the dogs. I walked around the block. Caleb finally talked me into calling the doctor, who then, of course, told me to go up to Labor and Delivery to be checked. Just in case.
Long story short, we went.
...And then we left.
I was contracting, regularly, but there was no progress being made. We came home, grabbed the kids from our neighbors, fed everyone grapes and turkey-dogs, and went to bed. After 3 great hours of sleep, I got up, and here I sit, again timing contractions...probably in vain. As of right now, they're still coming regularly, and they do seem a little more organized--I can feel a definite beginning and end to each one--but I have a feeling this process could go on for days. Good times, good times. I compare labor to hurricanes. You try and try to remember just how bad it was the last time--Category 1? Should I be worried? Category 2? What's that like? Don't evacuate until at least a Category 3? And only if it's hitting head on, or slightly to the west? Huh? Are you sure these aren't strong contractions? Cause they feel at least semi-strong. I mean, what if it gets worse all the sudden? They are regular...kind of. They do hurt...a little. I am feeling them in all the right places...I think. Frick. I wish I had a pop-up doctor to check me periodically and tell me what to do. |
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