I'm looking at you, Blue!

No "washable" marker,
Specifically Blue,
Has made me see red
Quite like you do.

It may be that "washable"
Means something else where you're made?

Something was lost in translation
And on my nerves you have stayed!

No Eraser that's Magic,
Nor cleanser with scrubbies
Has scraped you from walls
Or the skin of my babies.

And NOW...

It's really quite obvious...
Yes, everyone knows...
That poor little Sprinks
Has been picking her nose.
There is a stain down her face,
A Cerulean Letter,
Where you clung to her fingers.
But it gets even better
Because even her boogers
Are a bright shade of blue...
Because you aren't really "washable"
Like you say, now... are you?

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....

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.

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!

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...