From the mouths of my babes...

I like to talk... a lot,  so it stands to reason that my children do too.   And boy, do they.  Allthedamntime.  They say things like:

Sprinkles: "MOOOOoooom!"

(I have been down graded from "mommy" to just "mom" recently.   You are 2... really?)  Anyway... I digress.   It goes something like this. *AHEM*

"Mom! Poop!  Hand, hand, HAND!"
Aaaaand she doesn't mean "give me a hand"...

OR

Sass:  "Touch me, Mom.  I don't think I'm real."

OR

After the arrival of TBL, we fielded a veritable avalanche of questions from Sass concerning his little sister.  He would sit and watch me change her and ask about everything from the color of her poop to what that crusty thing on her belly button was.  I was rather proud of my pre-k friendly explanation of the umbilical cord and he seemed to really get it.   He got it so well, in fact, that the next time it was time for a diaper change he streaked into the room yelling "Hey Mom!  I wanna see her charger!"

Yeah... sort of.

OR

Any time I ask Sprinkles to do anything, and I mean ANYTHING, she squints her eyes menacingly at me and yells "NEVER!" but like an old, grizzled sea dog so it comes out more like "NEVAH!".  And then she growls like a raid raccoon... Yeah, I don't know either.

AAAAAND

Sass was chasing after a red balloon today yelling "Balogna Sandwich!" at the top of his lungs. That is quite a battle cry, little man.

It be a loquacious house,  ya'll. 

*sigh*  I'm tired...

;)

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?

Deja Vu

     GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!  ...or just my household.   Breakfast has been devoured (exploded), everybody is still in their jammies, and I'm walking around with someone else's vomit on my shirt... again.  Huh... sounds like college! I wonder what else hasn't changed all that much? 

All Nighters - But in college it's one or two in a row and not the hellish, exhaust-o-fog that goes on for months (but feels like years) with a newborn.

Ish - It's all drama, tears, and fits of misplaced passion... it could be over who is sleeping with who or who just needs to sleep.

Food - It's all cafeteria food,  really.  French fries, canned veggies, and nuggets of various and unidentifiable meats... Oh and pudding.  Pudding is GOLD...

Ick - Why am I sticking too the floor?  Is it food?  Is it bodily fluids?  You know what, don't answer that.  Yeah... sad when this could work for a frat house OR my kitchen.

Weight Gain - Except in college it's a cute little 5 -15 pounds.  With kids it's, well... let's not go there.  Slimfast my ass...

Effing Laundry - Why do babies (or students) need clean socks, anyway?

It's All About The Boobs - Back then it was all about that tiny little top that just barely kept them in and now I just want a nursing top that makes it easy for me to get them out.

Questionable Bathing Habits - Every dorm (or house) has "that kid".  You know who I mean...the one that refuses to scrub ANYTHING.

$$$ - Where did all my money go?  Beer or Babies, it's the same issue.

I Know Nothing - It's just that then I didn't realize how stupid I was and now I am fully aware of how little I actually know.

     But things really are quite different now, aren't they? I mean, I have crows feet and gray hair now so...  *sigh*

The winds, they are a'changin'...

     2013 was a year of... well, epic.  Just epic.  Babies, minivans, pull-ups, and nobody needed stitches (well, except me) so I'm going to go ahead and say it was pretty, um, interesting.  Take Thanksgiving... it began calmly enough.  We showed up at the cabin, we gorged, we food-drunkenly tried to wrangle children who denied the laws of tryptophan, and then Hubbs became so dizzy he couldn't stand and began the screamy-vomits.  And so Menier's Disease entered our lives with a crash-bang and a garbage bag full of predigested pumpkin pie.  Don't worry... he's back to normal now... well, as normal as he ever was anyway...

     Then there was The Big Little...  TBL shocked the hell out of us by almost arriving in the car on the frantic race to L&D mere hours before a nice, calm, scheduled c-section.

     The wigglers amazed and awed us all by taking this new addition completely in stride.  They love having a baby sister to kiss and pat and to try and force-feed Goldfish to when mommy isn't looking... (oh Sprinkles) *sigh*  In fact, Sass Monkey is completely enamored of TBL.  So much so that when TBL was only 3 weeks old, he came around the corner of the living room (where I had just left them moments before) into the kitchen carrying her and proclaiming that he was her big brother and he was going to "learn her things"...   That was a good 5 years of my life and several new gray hairs.  Don't worry about her either.  She's fine.

(Don't the Chinese have curse that goes something like "May you live in interesting times..."? Yeah... *ahem*)

     But despite the moments that have had Hubbs and I clutching our chests and reaching for the Bayer there have been so many more achingly wonderful ones.  Our baby's first cry, Sprinkles first night in her big girl bed, Sass's first joke with an actual punchline... I could go on and on but you didn't come here for mush, now did you?

I thought not...

How about some big news?  No, no... not that.   I got mah self spade but how about... (drumroll please)... I quit my job.

Yeah.

I did.  (*gulp*)

And now all 3 wigglers are at home with me.  I know.  The girl who has worked somewhere doing something since she was a senior in high school, the PWM, the girl who swore she never would EVER... is now a SAHM.  It's enough to make you mess yer britches... but then so was the daycare bill for 3 wigglers.

     So, here begins a new chapter.   Light a candle for me.  Hell, light one for us all...

Oh sh*t.  There are 3 of them.

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"!