I'm baaaaaaaaack.... sort of...

    Let's start at the beginning because it's a great place to start and I'll tell you the tale of how the universe is an asshole... errr... my beautiful and amazing birth story...

So, you know how I am ALL about the drugs during childbirth and I talk about "crunchies" being crazy people allthedamntime?  Yeah... well... now I am convinced of it...  ;)

     You see, my c-section was scheduled for 9 a.m. on Sunday morning 3 very long weeks ago so... of course... I was awakened at 4:45 a.m. that morning by contractions that were 8 minutes apart.  3 contractions later they were 5 minutes apart.  *oh shit*  Hubbs and I quickly scramble for the car where things really start to get interesting.  In the 20 minutes it takes to get to L&D, my contractions shoot to 2 minutes apart and gird themselves for war!   When we (finally!) get to the hospital (and after giving those daft bats at the front desk the shark-eye when they suggested paperwork) Hubbs and I are rushed to triage where they discover I am 8 cm and fully effaced.  They get my IV in and I'm 10 cm with bulging bag.   No pain killers as of yet, btw.  They bum-rush me to the OR and take Hubbs out to get his bunny suit and the rest is a pain colored blur of one nurse letting me attempt to squeeze off her left arm while another nurse laid across my legs to keep them straight so baby girl can't move futher down as some poor (but very well trained) sot tries to get my spinal set.  By this time I am in full transition with the shakes, sweats, and excruciating pain... AND STILL NO EFFING DRUGS!

     Then ... ahhhhh... sweet, sweet spinal relief and I think I proposed to the anesthesiologist.   Baby girl was born at 7:20 a.m. screaming and... well, screaming some more.  In fact, she cracked up the drs and nurses because she hacked up all the fluid in her lungs and started screaming before they could even get her shoulders free of me.   I imagine it was rather Aliens-esque.  Yeah.... girl knows how to make an entrance.

So you can see how the universe really got a chuckle out of this one.  Smug bastard.

But WOW is she cute...  :)

*  I would like to add that Hubbs was an amazing, superhero-like rock of wonderfulness and support through the entire process despite how crazy this whole experience was.  He also said he saw my innards and they looked just like deer guts....

She is HERE!

     I would like to announce that on November 10th at 7:20 a.m., our sweet baby girl came into this world, screaming like an angry cat 3 hrs and 40 minutes ahead of her scheduled c-section via emergency c-section.  Already, my sweet baby girl knows how to make a grand entrance and is following the "go big or go home" theme in our house... but that is another post for another day.  :)  And don't worry... ya'll are going to hear aaaalllll about it!
 
Our duology is finally a trilogy and we are complete!

Your regularly scheduled program is broken...

     I am currently 37 1/2 weeks with a baby/behemoth growing in my midsection that is measuring 8lbs 14oz. Ya'll... I am 5 feet tall.  I keep going into labor but not progressing because her head is too big to get through my poor, beleaguered pelvis.  Unless she breaks it... which feels like a possibility.  My all-knowing, all-seeing Doctor is "so excited that I will make it until my scheduled c-section date", but I must confess, I do not share her "enthusiasm".  Mostly I just wonder if this could be considered torture and could I appeal to a higher governmental power to GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME before I need reconstructive surgery on... well... everything.  I mean, if we have to ensure a certain "humanitarian comfort level" of our convicted felons, why can we slowly rip up the insides of one law abiding mommy?  *sigh*  My plaintive cries have fallen on overly educated and completely deaf ears...

     So... I am taking a Blog Break (from the writing part anyway...  I'm sure I will be blowin' up the Facebooks, Twitters, and Instagrams with photos because those don't require a whole lot of brain sparkies.) AND while I'm sure most of you would be the loverly folks you are and at least peruse my pain wrapped ramblings on how much I hate being pregnant, I won't subject you to that.  Because I love you.  ALL of you.  I'm poly-bloggy like that...  I will be keeping up with you guys (hopefully) because I need to be able to live vicariously through all of you... unless you write about being able to bend over or bladder control... then I will just skip it because HOW CRUEL OF YOU TO RUB IT IN MY FACE LIKE THAT!  *ahem*  I mean, I am not in a place emotionally where I can handle that right now.  Give me a couple of weeks, a c-section, a sweet little baby on the outside, a handy bottle of pain meds, and I will be good to go.

So until then.... see you in your "Comments" section....

*MUAH*

Life lessons at the check-out counter....

     During our increasingly familiar mid-week-trip to the grocery store (because Mommy has decided we need to eat something with more meat, more fried whatever, or more chocolate) my children were entertaining themselves in the car-cart by lifting up their shirts and begging the other one to poke them in the belly button... loudly.  Screechy choruses of "Me!" "No!  Now me!" were echoing through the isles causing the childless to throw the shark eye and the child-ed to smirk and walk on.  They were actually being pretty adorable if you ask me.

     But, as with everything else, all good things/behavior must come to an end, and what began as a round of sweet belly poking, became a full on contact sport.  While Hubbs was trying to check out and I had gone to put an extra something back, Sass began to whomp on Sprinkles... she was thrilled!  The girl loves a good wrastle....  She sat there, giggling and grinning as Bubba rattled her back and forth.  I could see her grin from across the grocery store as I waddled back.  Hubbs was just turning to calm things down when an employee in one of those store colored vests walked up to "shield" my "poor defenseless daughter" from the "obviously egregious maltreatment" by her "evil older brother"... like it was some damn Disney fairytale.  With a sweet southern smile (that always means the exact opposite of what it does everywhere else in the world... except to apes... don't smile at an ape) she told Sass to "be nice to his little sister" and clasped Sprinks head protectively to her bosom. (Boy, is that woman luck that SPrinkles doesn't bite... anymore.)

     Now... I am all for a little village discipline.  I have been known to quietly threaten the sand/dirt/mulch throwing heathens of inattentive parents on the playground on numerous occasions.  The idea that Big Parent is always watching is a good one... but would she have done this if Sprinks was the aggressor and Sass the whompee?  Or if my oldest was a girl and my current youngest was a boy?  My money's on no.  Granted, they were being loud and disruptive and we were just trying to get out of the store with all limbs attached, but she was as culpable as he was, not to mention enjoying every moment of it.  There may be 2 years between them, but genetics has decreed that there only be 8 lbs separating them in weight at this point, and what Sass may have in big boy coordination Sprinks can totally handle with her sheer bulk and brute strength.  "Girl" does not equal delicate, crazy lady at the grocery store, or well mannered for that matter. Or clean.  Or defenseless.  Or non-bug eating.  I see we still have a lot of societal re-training to do...  *sigh*

     As I finished waddling up I laughed and said "Oh don't you worry.  She gives as good as she gets." a.k.a. "Hint, hint... hands off." and smiled my ape-smile right back and we went on our way.  When we got home dinner was cooked, cartoons were watched, and cheerful wrastling ensued.... and she gave as good as she got (much to Sass's delight) just like usual and just like it will always be.

Sometimes it's like this...

... and sometimes it ends up like this...

... but being able to (theoretically) pee standing up has NOTHING to do with the outcome of the match!

We all need a little "Heroic Effort"!

     My brother-in-law is going through some L&D pains of his own at the moment.  He is birfin' his buh-aby this week and I would say he's crowning and livin' in that ring-o-fire as we speak...     You see, he's just released his first comedy album called "Heroic Effort" and it is pee-your-pants funny (and no... I am not just saying that because I am preggo and pee when I breathe too hard.  He's just that damn funny!).  Get some depends, put the kids to bed,  grab an adult beverage, and prepare to be bladderally annihilated!

And yes, he totally does walk around looking just like that.  Giant, bionic ninja sword and everything...  My sister is so proud... see?

Totes adorbes....

Anyhoo... go here and download it NOW!  You need the laugh... you know you do....  Besides, dry underwear are over rated....

It is, isn't it?

     Sass Monkey told me last night that, when I had the baby, I was "gonna ESPLODE just like this, Momma!". He then proceeded to throw himself up into the air, flail out all four limbs while making a booming noise, and land face first on the bed in a glorious physical illustration of my impending L&D experience.

I am starting to think he may be right.

     Last Thursday I had the wonderful "It's time!"... "Oh, it's NOT time?  But it sure as hell feels like time!" experience.  In other words, 45 second contractions 5-6 minutes apart for several hours led to a speedy trip to the hospital... of course, minutes before the giant baby shower all the lovely folks at my place of work had planned.  (You should have seen the cake!  Could have fed the entire 101st Airborne Division and had leftovers...)  Anyway... Hubbs and I get to L&D, they stick a gigantic needle in my hand, hook me up like a spider in a web, pump me full of enough fluids to blow me up to roughly the size of a Macy's parade balloon, and then... wait...  The contractions didn't stop.  This is IT!  THIS IS IT!  Ummm....but it isn't, you see...  After being felt up by about 4 different people they all conclude I was not dilating.  Not dilating?  Not even a little? NOT DILATING?  But this HUUUURRRTTTSSS!!!!  WTF?!?!?!!?!

Wtf, indeed.

     Turns out I am getting all the BANG and none of the "It's a girl!" BUCK.  It's False Labor... aaaand it could go on for weeks.  Hearing the "False" part kind of hurt because it didn't feel "False" at all.  In fact, it felt entirely "True" and, as a third timer, I was a little disturbed that I could be duped like that... by my own body even.  The contractions didn't stop but I got to do the walk of shame past the front desk and back out into the parking garage.... *sigh*... with no baby.

Part of my disappointment is because I really can't wait to meet her, part of it is because I really don't want to be pregnant anymore, and part of it is because of that stupid word "False"....

     This got me ta thinkin'... there are a whole lot of words used in OB/GYN situations that have a very negative connotation.  Words that BLAME ... words like "false" and "incompetent"... words that would never be used in reference to a man's pink parts.  I mean, imagine if they called it "Failure to Launch" or "Bad case 'o' the Flops" instead of "Erectile Dysfunction"?  Or what about "No Goo For You"  or "Bye-Bye Boom-Boom Juice" instead of "Prostate Cancer"?   Well they just wouldn't, would they?

     Hey you, Who-Ha community!  My cervix was not "Incompetent " with my last pregnancy (it was just over-eager), and there was nothing "False" about my contractions this time around either.  They sucked then, they sucked all weekend, and they suck now.  Let's call them something else, hummm?  How about "Super Heroine Squeezes" or "The-Hell-We-Are-The-Weaker-Sex Marathon Labor Prep Exercises"?  We could call them the "Seriously's?!?!" for short... just sayin'.

     We have no more control over "Incompetent" or "False" than over "Dysfunction" or "Cancer"....  You Docs may not see it as a failing, but as a hormonal and desperate pregnant woman,  hearing "False" hurts.  But I will continue on, do my kick counts and try to wait patiently...  Yeah... *sigh*

I may actually "ESPLODE"!

In the Land of Odd....

In the faraway Land of Odd....

It makes perfect sense to barge into the bathroom to monitor Mommy's toilet paper usage and then offer to help her wipe.

It makes total sense to use brother as a Kleenex.

It makes total sense to use Mommy as a Kleenex.

It makes total sense to barrel into the bedroom while Daddy is getting dressed, yell "nakey buns", smack him in the behind, and then run out again.

It makes total sense to roll play your demons out in the back seat, complete with sound effects and hand flailing.

It makes perfect sense to lay at the bottom of the slide, head facing the top, so that brother can slide down and play "Bocce-Noggins" with you.... repeatedly.

It makes total sense to discuss your underwear choice with the checkout lady at the grocery store... and then let it slip that we "had to throw some Spiderman underwear in da trash because mah weiner was pokin' out!".

It makes total sense to poke yourself in the eye with a fork when asked to take another bite of dinner.

It makes total sense to breakdance anywhere at anytime, all the time.

It makes total sense to do a naked Haka after every bath.  Every.  Bath.

It makes total sense (AND ensures your survival) when you can go from screaming heathen beast to snuggle-angel in 2.8 nanoseconds.

All of this, and much much more... in the faraway Land of Odd.

The Good, the Bad, and the Seriously Heinous....

SO, I'm guessing you have noticed the crickets chirping and the dust settling over here on the ol' blog.  I thank you for your patience and understanding and I promise that I will be back in the saddle again soon.  Well... as soon as this small, somersaulting miracle of gravity and life decides to make her appearance... which will probably be awhile seeing as I will only be 32 weeks along this Friday.

*sigh*

I do NOT wait well....

But I digress...

It is all very "hurry up and wait" in our house right now which is why I have decided to share with you my observations on:

The Good, the Bad, and the Seriously Heinous (SH for short)

The Good:
You could eat off the baseboards in my kitchen if you so chose because I was consumed by an all encompassing obsession to make them sparkle last weekend.  Oh nesting.... how you make me crazy....
 The bad:
Other than frantic spurts of cleaning, I have no higher brain function... or energy... or drive... did I mention no higher brain function?
The SH:
I have worn a Jabba-like impression into the cushions of our comfiest couch with my considerable bulk and the chocolate cream bundt cake I bought at Publix a few days ago.  (Don't judge!)

The Good:
Hubbs has completely taken over bath time/bed time because he is AH-mazing and has been the most tolerant and helpful spouse ever....  Nary a complaint out of the man and I even get the "Do NOT pick him/her/that up!  Let me get him/her/it!  I don't want you hurting yourself." speech regularly.  I <3 him sooooo much...
The bad:
There is no way I could kneel down, bend over, or scrub orifi anyway...
The SH:
I'm like a T-Rex at this point, except it's not my arm-to-body ratio that's off, it's my arm-to-belly ratio.  Not to mention that my back would secede from the union and have me speaking in un-kid-appropriate tongues before I could even get to wiggler # 2.

The Good:
I had an fFN test done the other day and it was negative so she's good to bake for at least another 2 weeks... despite the near constant Braxton Hicks and other assorted uterine activities. (I have had pre-term and preemie issues with BOTH previous pregnancies so it was a concern.)
The Bad:
Contractions at 10 p.m.... 1 a.m.... 3:30 a.m.... *yawn*
The SH:
Pelvic effing rest.  Seriously?  Just take ALL my fun stuff away, why don't you?  No alcohol, no drugs, and now no Super-Happy-Private-Time with Hubbs?  Boo.  It's not like we were able to go all crazy and hang from the ceiling but it's all I had, damnit.

The Good:
She is growing and wiggling up a storm!
The Bad:
All that wiggling doesn't help my near constant Braxton Hicks and other assorted aches and pains... Ever heard of "crotch lightning"?  Yeah...
The SH:
She flops... I pee.

The Good:
The hair on my head is long, luxurious, and fabulous!
The Bad:
So is my leg hair and shaving my legs leaves me huffing like moose after running a marathon.
The SH:
I have one random chin hair.  EEEEK!  WTF?!?!?!  Pluck it!  PLUCK IT!  It's worse than finding a big fat tick behind your ear the morning AFTER you went hiking... ick.... *shudder*

As you can see... all the waiting isn't too bad.  It gives me the opportunity to see all the good things.... whine about the bad... and preggo cry about the SERIOUSLY HEINOUS!  ;)

A Little Birthday Brothers Grimm....

So... I got a little older this weekend....
And a little rounder....
And, maybe a little bit wiser....  well, maybe not....

     We spent the beginning of my birthday at the State Fair.  It was great!  We rode rides (well, not me),...

... ate corn dogs, and toured all the farm animal competitions.  The wigglers were amazed at the size of the cows and the Mammoth Jacks, while completely charmed by all the effed up chicken breeds and super-cross-bred bunnies.

Chicken or Swiffer Duster?

Little did we know, though, that the real wildlife was riding home with us in our very own Robert the Blue car.

     When we got home it was nap time o'clock.  Sass Monkey has been phasing out naps for sometime now (big time sad face) but Sprinkles will still go down for a couple of hours if we run her hard enough... which we did.  Except ... except... it WASN'T quite hard enough to keep her asleep the entire time.  At some point she woke up, stripped completely naked, curled up, and went sweetly back to sleep.  Awwww, right?  Cutey little nakey buns snoring away... and peeing profusely.  Eventually, her own rapidly chilling puddle awakened her from her angelic slumber and that's when the screaming started.  Needless to say, she was quite upset to wake up in a puddle of her own cold pee.  I mean, none of us like to do that, right?  Not that I have... recently.... *AHEM*...  Anyway, I proceeded  to calmly clean her up and tell her yet again that "This is why we DO NOT take our diaper off." while mentally patting myself on the back for remaining so calm and un-hormonal about the whole situation.  Then I roundly huffed and puffed her sheets, comforter, and plushies off the bed and attempted to haul it all downstairs to the laundry, thinking the worst was over....

I.  Was.  Wrong.

     By this time I was supposed to be cooking dinner.  Hamburgers, french fries ... the pregnancy works!  It was my birthday dinner and I had delicious, greasy, deep fried plans!  Hubbs had run to the grocery store to pick up a couple of extras and I was sure I would have enough time to get dinner finished before the extended familia came over for some birthday cake and ice cream.  I glanced at the clock while carrying the sheets out to the laundry.  Yeah.... I should still have time.  No prob....

     All of a sudden, Sass starts shrieking hysterically and then screams "Hey MOOOOooooommmm!  Sister took her diaper off.... AND SHE POOPED IN MY ROOM!"...

     Queue the VERY slow motion waddle/dash for the stairs and my horrified "NOOOOOOOOOO!"... but it was too late.  In the time it had taken me to get downstairs and put the sheets in the washer, my dear, sweet Sprinks had pooped like a man, taken off her diaper, and walked around upstairs dropping nugs like napalm in Nam.  It.  Was.  Everywhere.

And that is how, my sweet little children, we ended up having McDonalds for dinner.

The End

Things that may or may not be growing inside me...

1. One of these...

"Excuse me?  Can you let me out of here?"

2.  A very tiny human with aspirations of prize fighting...

It's one of those "I want my kids to really aspire for greatness" Halloween costumes... It comes with fake muscles, robe, gloves, imitation facial bruises, and anger management issues.

3.  A squid...

Awwww... she got my eyes and his... chin?

4.  A bighorn sheep...

This is an actual photo of what is going on inside me RIGHT THIS MINUTE...  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom... again.

5.  Psy..

 Amniotic Gangnam Style...

6.  A Muppet... this one in particular...

But he's always been my fav...

7.  6 Capuchin Monkeys...

Oh sure... they look cute NOW... but just you wait till Mommy has her 3rd cupcake...

8.  Something nocturnal that hates me...

9.  This guy...

I <3 him so hard.

10.  Another one of these, sans dangler...

Sass as a 6 month old wiggler...  All THIS, all the time...

So you see, there are lots of theories...  What's your vote?

I am not completely myself...

As we round into the 3rd level of hell trimester, I have finally come to the realization that I am really not myself.  Not even close.  There are echos of my former humanity rattling around in here somewhere but that is all they are.... echos.  I have become...  THE INCUBATOR or THE GREAT GASPY or A WHALE CALLED SYNNØVE .. just pick one and run with it.  It's not like I can... run, that is... or even walk quickly, really....  *sigh*

Anyhoo...  While there are many things I am not (like ambulatory, continent, or sentient) there ARE a few things I still am.

I AM

- I am so roundly gargantuan that it's gotten to the point where Hubbs no longer asks if I'm okay when he hears a bunch of panting, grunting, and painful groaning coming from the other room... he just assumes I am trying to stand up.  And he's right...

- I am the hugely pregnant Mom who inspires all the other children in my son's class to beg loudly and publicly for a sibling.  No, no... go ahead and throw me the shark-eye, other Moms.  I get it.  No hard feelings....

- I am the human dirigible who trips over NOTHING in the middle of downtown Nashville and falls on the sidewalk much to the complete horror of everyone around me.  I couldn't stop myself.  Where the belly goes, so go I... damnit.

- I am starting to dream about giving birth...  Yeah, I've hit that point.  The best part of the dream is when I can actually bend over afterwards and breathe properly.  There is always this intense sense of physical relief at the end as I cradle my my new baby (or rag doll as in my last dream where I gave birth to Raggedy Ann in the shower.  Freud THAT!) to my chest and go about my daily life as if nothing has happened.  No pain, no blood, no unnamable goo... just sweet relief.

- I am THAT pregnant lady who has grown too large for actual maternity clothes by month 7 and must move on to big dude tee-shirts from Wal-mart or two table cloths sewn together...

- I AM the heavy breather in the elevator....

- I am so big my stomach is no longer suitable for my children to blow razzberries on as the skin is too tightly stretched.  They have had to substitute with Daddy; a hairier but viable substitute.  He is THRILLED.

- I am that wife who asks my Hubbs to "Be honest... how much bigger HAS my ass gotten?".   He usually just says "I love you!" and moves away quickly or smiles and says "I don't know what you are talking about.".   For a lawyer, he is a terrible liar...

- I am that un-handicapped woman who seriously considers the little motorized scooters in Wal-mart when we go grocery shopping....

- I am afraid to sneeze...

- I am, as my son likes to say, "preeeeegnant". (Draw that out with a Tennessee drawl and then giggle maniacally and you've got it.  Oh, and you need to be shirtless, wearing a camo trucker hat with 4 year olds farmer tan.)  Yup, mah little man, I am... with all those extra vowels and everything.

So these things I am and maybe a bit more (depending of whether my little tumbler in training takes the night off or not).  And it's only going to get worse before it gets better...  And then.... then.... into the Newborn Fog we go.  Good times, good times....  But at least I will be able to bend over.  :)

Tah-tah!

Boobs... all over the place....

Today I'm going to talk about boobs... Golden Side Boobs to be exact.  Recently a woman who is made of pure, unadulterated Bad-Assery nominated me for the:

Dyanne of Backsies Is What There Is Not, I am beyond honored!  

     You see, this brave Valkyrie of the Cancerous Wars has fought with and beaten back the most insidious of foes...  Breast Cancer.  *shudder*  Her spine is made of a material harder than tempered steel and yet, through it all, she has maintained her sense of humor and and her warrior spirit... she has left me speechless...  And to cherry-fy her awesome-sauce sundae she also teaches pre-K!  I mean seriously.... they don't even make merit badges for sh*t that hard core.  And wtf... she knows who I am?  

So yes, Dyanne, my fellow Nashvillian!  I will totally put your Golden Side Boobs all over my blog with pride because I couldn't have been gifted by a nicer pair!  :)

And now to nominate... Meara at My Home Is With You!

Meara has let us all into her life, writing candidly about her husband's recovery after being wounded in the line of duty.  Her inner strength and light has charmed me utterly and plus.... our daughters are twins somehow... 

Your guess is as good as mine as to who is who.......

So Meara, I say to you as it was passed down to me... accept this Golden Side Boob... If You Dare!  :)  The rules are wonderfully simple:

1. Be brazen enough to display it on your blog.
2. Nominate another blogger.


 Rock it and own it, girl... and seriously, we need to get some curly fries sometime...

I call a Do-Over!

     "Yeah... *sigh with forehead rubbing*  those are mine."  Those two filthy, nose picking, possibly spider-eating, bruise-covered, pooting, burping, wiggling heathens are mine.

This week has been interesting... comedy-of-errors interesting.  Aaaand it's not even Friday...

Let's start with Monday, shall we?

Sass:  Two boo-boo reports resulting in a decently bloodied knee and banged up nose.
Sprinkles:  A diaper blowout that had the teacher using phrases like "crawled up her back" and "Chernobyl-esque"...

Tuesday:

Sass insists that Sprinks be "Spider Girl" to his Spiderman but she may have taken this to heart and too far...

     I walk into Sprinks school room to pick her up and, instead of smiles and hellos from her teachers, I get "We need to show you something." and dead-eyed stares.  "Okay", I say wondering what devilish debauchery my sweet little daughter has been party to... this time.  The lead teacher walks over, like a pall bearer at a funeral, a crumpled up paper towel clutched out in front of her.  It must be contagious by the way she is holding it.  "We found her playing with this." she says very seriously.  A turd?  I think to myself.  I can handle that AND it wouldn't be the first time anyway...  
     The teacher slowly and carefully peels back a corner of the towel to reveal... a giant crumpled up spider.  Both teachers go silent, waiting for my reaction.  In lieu of screeching like a banshee while leaping backwards fast enough to shed my own skin in a desperate attempt to put some distance between myself and my most hated of enemies I say "Oh.  Well.  Hmmmm....  It's missing its abdomen.  I wonder if somebody has spider breath?"  Shocked silence coats the room while I sweetly smile down at my tiny, organic vacuum cleaner.  "Oh and don't worry... it's not a Brown Recluse (which is why I knew they were afraid to show it to me as they are relatively common here).  It's too big and its legs are banded.  It's a Wolf Spider of some sort."  More shocked silence.
     As I forced myself to pick up my innocent little muffin while trying desperately to suppress my gag reflex and convince my subconscious that she WASN'T covered in nasty, filthy spider hairs, I realized I probably hadn't handled that well.  "Spider, Mommy?" she cooed sweetly.  "Yes, sweetie... that's a spider.  But we really shouldn't play with those..."  *hack, wretch, gag*

No sense in the next generation inheriting my all-encompassing and paralyzing fear of the eight-legged, right?

*shudder*  I need a shower....

Wednesday:

This.

Yeah... we got a call from school that someone had unsuccessfully played "Superman" off some playground equipment and is now 2/3rds angry, swollen noggin.  Did I mention that we are on a first name basis with our pediatrician?  He's fine, btw... he got his Daddy's skull....

*sigh*

I fear for today, Friday, and Saturday... oh, and Sunday.  Betcher britches it starts all over again on Monday, too....

No really... thank you!

     Apparently I work with a bunch of board certified OB/GYNs and I didn't realize it.  They give such great advice... and I get to hear it day in and day out.  Lucky me.  I guess my Ivy League Educated OB was just talking out of her ass when she gave me my November due date because, according to my work-sperts, I am not going to make it past September.  Good thing I asked them!  Oh wait... I didn't?  Well, nothing is more appreciated than advice given by random folks I occasionally see in the hallway.

     Oh... and you are naming experts as well?  I had no idea!  I am also amazed that you find any time at all to impart your obviously superior wisdom upon poor, wandering, and clueless souls such as myself.  Where would we be, other than cavorting around as pelt-clad cretins who beat sticks against each other while desperately trying to make fire and hooting wordlessly at the moon, without your cerebral nuggets to lift us up to civilization and enlightenment?  And you don't like my name choices?  Well then... let me get right on that.

     And for the love of gawd, PLEASE tell me more about your horrific stone age birth experiences!  I want nothing more than to envision your blown out vagina circa 1950.  It helps... it really, REALLY does.  It also explains why 2 of your children are now habitual offenders as the drugs prescribed to you during your pregnancies that you are naming off  aren't even used by backwoods, wanna-be veterinarians anymore.  Truthfully, at least two of them are known to cause cancer....

     No really... thank you random work acquaintances,  for all your unwarranted and unlooked for advice in the elevator, in the bathroom, in the hallways... well... just everywhere I can't get away from you!  I love nothing more than discussing the state of my cervix or pooping the table with folks I have never said more than 5 words to consecutively.

I need some brownie Cialis...

My heart has been dashed upon the sharp, yet delicately balanced, rocks of the culinary tides... I have been left to wander the empty halls, mourning the loss of the only one who could have brought me true satisfaction.

     I mean... just look at the poor beggar lying there completely limp and useless.  Not ten minutes ago he was rising nicely and full of promise!  I don't mind telling you that I was fairly drooling in anticipation of our masticatory rendezvous.  Normally I just pick up whatever I think will satisfy my needs quickly from the store but this was supposed to be special.  We had developed a real relationship!  Brought together by fate, the friendship quickly stirred and blended into something more powerful.  Something more... primal.  I even bought Crisco.  My eyes widened as I pulled him out, amazed by his dense majesty.  And then... oh, the horror... and then I watched my dreams crumble in mere moments as the possibility of our fluffy joining fell utterly flat.

I know, I know... he can't help it.  It was probably something I did, right?  *sigh*

I feel so hollow and unfulfilled...

Mommy Molding

     As I slowly waddle around, scaring the crap out of people in elevators (I can almost hear them thinking "Just please don't let her pop in here!"), I have had a lot more time to think.  I mentally map all of the closest bathrooms, just in case the grublet decides it's time to polka on my bladder.   I wonder about how life is going to change with our third edition.  I compare "then and now"... you know.. the whole pre-kids vs. post kids thing... and I have come to a couple of conclusions about who I was "then" as opposed to who I am "now".  Becoming a parent has definitely made me...


Resourceful
     Not in the "Naked and Afraid" kind of way (Btw, if you haven't seen that show, you should.  It will make you appreciate that we made it as a species AT ALL.  That, and the girls usually kick the guys butts.) but in the "Oh no.  I for got the wipes and her diaper is hanging so low we will have to avoid speed bumps on the way to the car.  Time to MacGyver some Wet Ones out of 2 panty liners and a week old bottle of water." kind of way.

Unsympathetic
   Not to boo-boos and nightmares, mind you, but to childless folks who tell me they are tired or talk about how their most recent vacay didn't turn out as planned.

Proud
     I made this.  That's right, folks!  This nose diving, super-blurr of knock-knock jokes and unrestrained public farts grew inside me.  I MADE PEOPLE (with Hubbs, of course)... what have YOU done for the human race lately?

Hearing Impaired
     I don't know about you guys, but I seem to have lost the ability to hear screaming and rattling around upstairs or outside until it is band-aid worthy.  It's really weird.

Appreciative
     ... of people who will watch my children for a night out with the Hubbs.
     ... of frozen meatballs and Prego with canned green beans.
     ... of Diaper Genies and spray on sunscreen and all those other little conveniences that make life easier               than it was 10 years ago.
     ... of lots of things I never would have even noticed B.K. (Before Kids... as opposed to A.K. - After                 Kids)

Aware
     Where does the time go?  It is speeding by, faster than time should, and now they are no longer babies.  They are little people who can dress themselves (sort of) and tell me what they want for dinner (mostly fruit snacks) and wipe their own butts (weeeeellll... kinda).  Wait!  Stop!  It's all happening too quickly!

Yup... I am a totally different person now... a better one....  :)

Come and visit with me on BlogHer!

Yay!  Run, run, run as fast as you can!  You can totally catch me because I ATE the Gingerbread man... and because I am here on BlogHer today.

*burp*

Join the conversation now!

The Invasion of my Body Snatchers Mines-of-Moria-style

Sweethairycats, DO NOT DRINK THE WATER!  

There are thingssssss in it...

...and they are MULTIPLYING!

Soon they will be in our backyards,...

...taking over our homes,

...using our cell phones,

...and ultimately possessing our very bodies...

"We have barred the gates.... 

(but THAT obviously failed)

...we cannot get out... 

(or even shower alone)

...drums, drums in the deep.... 

(deep in my gut, usually on my bladder)

They are coming."

(That's why it sounds like a herd of wildebeests are living on our second level!)

(LOTR, Fellowship of the Ring)

Invasion of the Fruit Snack Snatchers

     We have an infestation problem.  They are everywhere!  Crawling in and over our fence, wriggling into the house, setting up nests in our playground equipment...  I'm talking about the neighborhood kids, ya'll.

     We moved into our sleepy little neighborhood about a year ago.  It is green, quiet, and zoned for all the schools we want.  Plus, there are tons of kids.  Score, right!  Well, sometimes...  I used to daydream about slow summer days where all the neighborhood kids ran around together like a primeval herd of wild elk, descending upon various houses for juice boxes and Totinos pizza roll snacks.  They would play from sunup to sundown, only returning for sustinance and to fall exhausted into their beds.  Everyone would smell of sunscreen and bug spray, their sun-browned limbs flashing through the trees as they raced across yards...

*POP*

That was my bubble popping.  Loudly and painfully.

THIS is our reality:

We have dogs.
     They are good dogs, mind you.  One is a 14 year old tri-colored throw rug that at one point was a beagle but now is a sleeping, eating, and pooping machine.  But mostly sleeping.  The other is a 7 year old black lab/pony mix whose one goal in life is to play and play hard.  Fetch, tag, WWE wrestling... she is down for it all...  but they are still dogs.  You have a much likelier chance of being bitten by my toddler than by one of my dogs but still...  when Mommy and Daddy haven't taught you any animal sense, I worry.  So... the dogs get locked up.

Your children are annoying.
     Christonasaltine, fortheloveofallthatisholyandgood will you just shuttheeffup!  My neighborhood is crawling with little dictators who come into my back yard to yell that "Your baby won't get off the slide!" (well, it's her yard and her slide), or that "You should do it this way because...", or even better... the non-stop diatribe about their recent family trip to (insert boring locale here) to visit (insert someone I don't care about here) with little tidbits dropped that leave me wondering if good old (whoever) is a pedophile/shut-in/serial killer.

Where are your parents?
     Are you some street kid just wandering the neighborhood, only here to poach snacks and pee in my bathroom?  Oh no?  You have a family?  Right over there?  Funny... I've never seen them.  I see they subscribe to the Darwinian "Run Free Like The Buffalo" parenting style for all children under the age of 6.  Or did they just lock you out?

Yes, that's all we've got.
"Doncha have anything ELSE to play with?".  Anything other than my fist, you mean?  Ummm... no, I don't.  I am sorry the entire deck box of toys you have strewn about my yard like casualties at the Battle of the Bulge didn't do it for you.  Go find a stick.  Or better yet, go home.

I am not here to amuse you.
You wanted to come play with my children, so do it.  Hubbs and I have just gotten off work and are trying to get dinner ready.  Does my face say I care?  No?  Well... it really is past "take the hint" now, isn't it?

     I just thought their would be more parental responsibility.  I thought parents would drop by and say hello... you know... just to make sure we weren't in the process of chaining anyone to the walls or burying bodies or something before they let their kids run rampant in our back yard.  Hubbs and I have made an effort to figure out what spawn goes where and introduce ourselves accordingly but it has been a long process.

     Is this normal neighborhood behavior or did we buy into some weird, free range hippie commune?  Maybe Hubbs and I are just worry worts.... or maybe manners are optional here?

Got any suggestions?

My head is making puffery noises....

Holy sh*t... lightning can strike twice.  Except lightning can kill you and this is just electrifyingly awesome!

You can find me... *ahem* on BlogHer AGAIN today!  Right here, right now, RIGHT ON!

Can somebody give me a hand?

     As I was lurking on Babycenter, as I'm wont to do from time to time (because some of those folks are just too messed up to be anything but funny), and I stumbled upon a topic called "baby led breastfeeding".   I was confused so I Googled it and ya'll... WE HAVE GONE TOO FAR.

Author's Note:  When I say "we" I mean "humanity" not just "you and I".  Because, in the end, we are all responsible for "we", right?  It is a heavy burden....

     What I gathered from my foray into the interwebs was, that for only $39.95, you too can watch a video for roughly 15 minutes that will teach you how to not help your baby eat.  Apparently, you just lay the helpless wee bairn on your tummy and let it try and wiggle to your nipple... like a worm on an apple.  But there is 1 full hour of BONUS FOOTAGE!  Effing score!  Right?

*sigh*

     It's soooo natural because I'm sure that's how our ancestors did it.  "Okay little Homo Habilis.  I got you on the outside here in this dank, dark cave but now it's time for you to fend for yourself!  Wiggle hard my little ape-man. WIGGLE!"  And just like that, we squirmed and wriggled our way into becoming (arguably) the most successful species on the planet.  (queue the nature documentary music and end scene) *warm fuzzy hippie hugs all around*

Wait....  No... That doesn't seem right.

Because it's not.

     Ohsweethairyjeezus, ya'll.  Just.  Quit.  Humans have the weakest of all mammal newborns because we evolved to care for them with our hands.  You know, those useful tools on the end of your arms that lift the chocolate bars to your mouth? Yeah... those.  Even putting that aside, animals WITHOUT hands push and nuzzle and assist their young to the nip post-haste after their birth because is is essential for the newborn's well being.  Not to mention that a foal, kitten, or lion cub (and any other mammal except the pouch birthers) can lift their heads moments after birth whereas we cannot.

Little Jimmy had better learn to wiggle good, huh?

     Are you really going to do less for you child than a cow in the field?  Yes?  Really?  Okay... well... enjoy your encapsulated placenta and umbilical cord keepsake necklace!

I was going to put up a picture of encapsulated placenta but then I Googled it and up popped pictures of a placenta sandwich and something involving flopping a placenta on a canvas to leave a bloody imprint that folks are calling "birth art"... and I was done.

Just.  Stop.

I have a problem...

The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem and... well, I can't stop playing with my Aviary photo app.  It's just too much damn fun.

You can Pin it here...

and this one here...

and this one here...

aaaaand this one here...

and last but not least, this one here.

Oh please, oh please enable me!  You know you want to!

(Shameless Pinterest plug and link)

The little lies we tell ourselves...

     I did it this morning.  I really did.  I told myself a little white lie.  Shame on me, right?  So naughty... except... except.... it helped.  I felt better.  What is this?  Lies only make things worse, right?

WRONG!

     They are part of our Basic Parental Survival Skills arsenal (B.P.S.S.)!  A necessary evil, if you will.  If we lived every moment second guessing ourselves we would all go insane and give up.  And not the "good" kind of insanity, either... you know the kind I mean.  The kind that makes you say crazy sh*t like "I want another baby." or "I have always wanted to go hang gliding/bungee jumping/swimming with sharks."  Yeah...

But I digress...

     Listed below are some of the Little White Lies we, as parents, can be found guilty of clinging to like little wordy life preservers in the sea of batsh*t crazy we swim through every day.  Beware of jellyfish and sticky fingers!

1.  "It's the store brand of the healthy cereal."....
... but it's not, really.  It looks like Kix but tastes like Reese's Peanut Butter cups so it's probably not healthy at all.  This is what I get for not fighting harder at the grocery store.... I was totally owned by a 4 year old.

2.  "They'll stop picking their nose eventually."
Oh, no he won't. And if you are all, like, "Eww!  My sweet snookums wouldn't do that!" you are fooling yourself and here is the study to prove it...

- Andrade, Chittaranjan; B.S. Srihari (2001). "A preliminary survey of rhinotillexomania in an adolescent sample". The Journal of Clinical Psychiatry - 

Also, don't lie.  We all know what we do at stoplights....

3.  "That brown stuff must be dirt"...
... yeah.... it MIGHT be.....

Feel better?  Yeah... me neither...

4.  "Tomorrow will be easier."...
... or just a new hot mess.  Either way, you will have hopefully gotten some sleep and a few minutes of down-time with a stiff drink.  Unless you are preggers, in which case, you are screwed.  (Hah!  See what I did, there?)  Did you know I dream about margaritas?

5.  "Well, every child does that at some point."...
... but they don't, actually.  Otherwise it wouldn't be called a problem behavior.  But take heart!  We all started out as little heathens who bit, hit, tantrumed unmercifully, or gawd knows what else.  It's part of how we figure out who we are.  Aaaaand then it becomes our problem again by proxy when we reproduce.  We do it to ourselves, really.  Just do your part and nip it in the bud... or at least try to.

Why is it ALWAYS in public?

6.  "It's just a phase."...
... or an unspeakably terrible and permanent part of their personality.  Yeah, or THAT.

Prince effing Charming, right here...

7.  "I can nap when they nap."
Isn't what we tell new Moms and Dads to do because we all WISH we had done it but then never really did?  As I have said before, the idea of  being a well rested parent is the sparkly, fat, f*cking unicorn of raising children... it doesn't exist.

8.  "I will get organized!"
Sure you will... when everybody is off at college in 18-20.  (Yeah... that does sound like a prison term, doesn't it?)

You see, they are all quite harmless and psyche-preserving.  So keep on with yer bad self!  I know I will...

Got any I missed?

Nature Playdate

This weekend we did as those who have gone before us...

We rode some ponies...

                

We caught some fish...

We played in the water...

       

You know... really "bonded" with nature....

mmm... delicious river rocks...

And we got scraped up, bruised, and covered in bug bites.

Smiles all around...

     Now, don't get me wrong.  I want my children to be able to negotiate a tablet full of apps and find the good programs on TV.  I want them to understand the wealth of information that is at their fingertips and to use it.  I want them to be able to navigate the world we are creating for them competently and confidently.  But I also want them to know what river water tastes like, how to bait a hook, and how to live without www.whatever.com for a while.  I want them to understand the power of a quiet day outside and why we need to make sure and save some of the nature for our future folks.  SO now is the time for sun-reddened faces and muddy little knees... we can always play "Angry Birds" or watch "Octonauts" the next rainy day!

OO7 Sass-style.

So... Sass has a new... um... trick?... game?... that Hubbs falls for every.  single.   time.

     Before book and bed at night, Sass watches a cartoon.  Sometimes it's Jake and the Neverland Pirates, sometimes it's *shudder* Bubble Guppies, but most of the time it is Octonauts (But never the Whale Shark ones.  Sass is TERRIFIED of the Whale Shark ones.).  Hubbs and I usually use this time to begin the vegging and play on our phones.  (There are only so many times one can watch "The Snot Sea Cucumber" or "The Comb-toothed Blenny".)  It's been a great tool in "Calm Yourself, Monkey Boy" time and sets him up nicely for a pee, a book, and bed.  That is, until...

Me:  "Okay, buddy.  Octonauts is over.  Time to go upstairs."
Sass:  "Just one more?  One more Octonauts?  Please?"
Me:  "Nope... you know the drill.  Let's go."
Sass:  "Hold on, Mommy.  I want to ask Daddy someding."
Me:  "He's going to tell you the same thing, buddy."
Sass:  *already squirming into Daddy's lap* "Come here Daddy.  I want to tewl you someding secret."  *places a hand on either side of Daddy's face and turns to whisper in his ear*

     Except he doesn't whisper.  He licks all the way up the side of Dad's poor, old noggin.  Chin.  Ear.  Hair.  All of it.  And so quickly, all Hubbs had time to do is looked shocked and gag a little.  Sass and I then proceeded to laugh like maniacs for about 3 minutes while Dad digs the drool out of his ear.

The thing is, this hasn't just happened once or even just twice.  It has happened 3 or 4 times.  Sass varies his approach and waits for days before trying it again.  He's crafty.  And scary.  After his guerrilla-tongue attack, Hubbs lamented, "But I was going to get HIM this time!".

*sniff*  

My little man is growing up and plotting like a big boy.  

*blows nose loudly*  

I took this photo right after his sneak attack.  Just look at that sweet little face so filled with self-satisfaction... *sigh*