The Times, They are A’Changin’

I want to write about L turning two. I really do. But it happened so quickly that I can’t even put any of it into words. I can’t believe that I have a two-year-old and in a little over a week, Baby O will no longer be a BABY. He will be ONE. And I will be the mommy of TWO EFFING TODDLERS. How did this even happen?

Things with O are progressing just as they did with L. He didn’t have much interest in getting around on his own until just a couple of weeks ago. It seems like a lightbulb went off inside his head and he suddenly said, “Hey. Wait a minute. I guess if I want to get from HERE to THERE, I need to get on this shit.” And he did. He isn’t walking yet, but he is really trying. Like, if you try to put him down on the floor into the seated position, he hurls himself backward in protest. Sitting is NOT COOL, you guys. Not cool at all. So he crawls and opens cabinets in the kitchen and knocks things over and rips paper things apart. And, even though I seriously JUST DID THIS with L, I had forgotten how crazy babies are when they are just starting to explore their world. Holy shitballs. I am in so much trouble.

L is a sassy little thing. And O is on the move. There are tantrums and loud crashes and Play-Doh eating (purple is the favorite). There is the bumping of little noggins and the fighting over toys. There’s transitioning from formula to whole milk and solids only. There’s potty training looming on the horizon and just SO MUCH NEW STUFF.

I love that, in the near future, the kids will be able to enjoy (or not enjoy so much) each other’s company. They will be able to play together at a more even level and they will learn from each other. I am so excited for all of that. But man, it sure terrifies the shit out of me. I remember that short time when I only had the one kid. I remember how difficult I thought it was. And now, present me wants to go back in time and slap the shit out of past me for ever complaining about it. Because SHIT JUST GOT REAL. I have definitely eaten my words. Definitely.

Currently, O just annoys the piss out of his sister. If he reaches for a toy, she instantly grabs it from his hands. Generally, he giggles at her and picks up a different toy. But occasionally, there are meltdowns. Sometimes, he gets angry when she snatches things from him and screams like he is being stabbed in the temple. Sometimes, the fact that he reaches for another of HER toys angers L so much that she screams like SHE is being stabbed in the temple. Sometimes I scream like I am being stabbed in the temple because all of the screaming is just too much to bear and well…if you can’t beat ’em…

L’s tantrums stem from everywhere. She isn’t as bad as some two-year-olds I have seen. But she definitely is a drama queen. Yesterday, she had a coronary because O was eating a cracker. So, I gave her a cracker. Then she screamed more. Because she did not want a cracker. Today, she is obsessed with her juice cup. If there is no juice in her cup, there is a meltdown. If I take the cup to refill it so that there will BE JUICE IN THE CUP, there is a meltdown because she is not holding the FULL CUP yet. It is challenging. And sometimes I do want to run away from home. But mostly I think that a good pair of ear plugs would be sufficient. Well…maybe.

The other day, a friend attempted to do a Cake Smash photo session with O. And HE was the one having an epic meltdown. Because it would definitely be too much to ask that BOTH of my children be in a good mood at the same time. This is pretty much how it all went down.

This about sums it all up.

This about sums it all up.

 

 

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A Couple of Things (While My House is Peaceful…)

I know I have been really slacking on Baby O’s birth story. And, to be honest, I have written that post in my head about 70 times but I can’t seem to find the time to sit down and blog. I know! Imagine THAT, right?!  But it is forthcoming. I swear.

First, though, I would like to give you a little peek into how things have been going over here in Oopsieville.

1. Having two babies is interesting. Because the minute you deal with one and make them all calm and serene, the other one sprays pee across the room and completely blows your mind. And then, once you have dealt with Pee Fountain, you will then find your toddler digging through the trash.  Coffee grounds, you guys. For reals.

2. I sweep the floor no less that 36 times per day.

3. Baby L has had mercy on me since we brought Baby O home and she has been VERY cooperative when she is being put down for her naps and for bed. It is amazing. But I can’t help but think that she is plotting against me and that this is all just a ploy to catch me off guard. She’s an evil genius.

4. MB returned to work yesterday after almost two whole glorious weeks of being home and helping chase Baby L around while simultaneously feeding a newborn. I miss him terribly because I sometimes wonder if I will be able to handle so much at the same time. And because Baby L likes to tug on my pants when my hands are occupied, I am also wondering if I can manage to do all of this sans pants. Because she is now pulling them all the way down when she knows I can’t do anything about it. Good times.

5. Baby L has officially learned to walk. It happened yesterday and it was so amazing. And I cried. Like a little bitch. (You know, like I do when she does ANYTHING AT ALL…)

All in all, things are moving right along. I don’t feel quite as scared as I originally did. Partially because Baby O has been a completely different baby than Baby L right from conception and has proven that not all babies will require that you sleep on the couch for 5.5 weeks because you have to hold them 24 hours per day. I remember feeling, with Baby L, more inept than I had ever felt at anything in my entire life. And now, well, I am more experienced. And I only feel painfully inept about 50% of the time. Not too shabby, I guess.

We’re a work in progress!

Uninvited

Before you ask: No, I haven’t had this baby yet. And yes, I am due in 6 days. And yes, I am uncomfortable, annoyed and generally ready to do the damn thang. (But yes, I am still having nearly nightly panic attacks about having another baby to take care of. I don’t think that’s going to change until I prove to myself that I am Superwoman. And this will hopefully occur sooner, rather than later.) But this isn’t really what I want to talk about today. Because if I talk about, I could get pretty profane. And, well, no one wants that. Right?

 

Who am I kidding? I am most likely going to get really profane anyway. Because this shit is pissing me OFF, you guys.

 

Okay, so MB, Baby L and I moved out of my Mother-In-Law’s house for several reasons. One was because, when we found out we were pregnant with Baby O, I envisioned myself actually locking MB’s nephew in a closet for several months so my kids would be able to sleep peacefully. And when you see yourself doing things like this, you know you are in an unfavorable situation. (And maybe it isn’t the kid’s fault that he is disobedient, loud and generally obnoxious. But it doesn’t matter. He IS those things. And I knew that if we didn’t move, I might start to get really mean.) I was so relieved to get out of there. Not because I didn’t like the family (obviously, I love them) but because I couldn’t stand living with people who were on different schedules, doing different things, at different noise levels, all when I was trying to get my kid into a sleep pattern that didn’t require me to be up all night and then cleaning up after everyone all day. This was not ideal. And I hated the side of town that we were living on.

When we found our rental house, I didn’t love it either. And it is on the same side of town. But the price is right. And the size is right. And guess what, you guys! My in-laws don’t live there! Score! So, I sucked it up. I gave in and agreed that, since I am not currently employed outside of the home, and MB is the breadwinner and this place is not falling apart and doesn’t come with built-in annoying children, I could do it. And I would grin and bear it until I go back to work, and can contribute more financially. SO…here we are. On a side of town that I hate, but no longer bitch about because I am grateful to be here. Alone with MY little family. And with my giant back yard.

But, here comes the bitching.

Several times a week, after I have spent an hour trying to get Baby L ready for a nap and then waiting for her to fight sleep and finally give in so I can go and EAT A DAMN SANDWICH, I walk back into the living room, take a bite of said sandwich and notice, out my front window, people walking up to my front door. (It is important that you know, internet, that we don’t use our front door. It is locked at all times, and can only be opened (even from the inside) with a key. Because we use the carport door. Because that makes sense. You know, because we park there. All of our friends use the carport. Everyone uses the fucking carport.) It happens before noon. And, because I have to, then, frantically search for my keys in order to unlock the door, these people typically have time to ring the doorbell and within ONE SECOND of doing so, add in a good banging on the front door. You know, for good measure. And then Baby L is screaming. And there is a rotund black woman wearing a giant hat, and a tall gentleman wearing a suit standing there, anxiously waiting to tell me where to find Jesus.

I KNOW WHERE JESUS IS.

I went to church for the entirety of my childhood. Never once was I required to knock on a stranger’s door to tell them about where to find Jesus. Because it seems to be the opinion of the people in the congregation I was a part of, that if you WANT TO FIND JESUS, you will do that. You do not need some strangers to help you. It is creepy that people will come to your house to tell you about this stuff. It is creepy because they don’t know me. I could be ANY KIND of person. I could be the kind of person who would totally shoots the kind of people who are not the same as me. I could be the kind of person who would be offended by their religious views. I could be the kind of person who has a one-year-old child who doesn’t sleep and who gets very hostile at 39 weeks pregnant when her baby is awoken by strangers who want to tell her about Jesus. I AM THAT KIND OF PERSON.

(And I am, honestly, a little offended when people try and push their views on me in the first place. That takes some NERVE to come to MY HOUSE and disrupt MY DAY like that without any consideration about how your views might sit with me. But I won’t get all on a religious or moral kick here. Because that is not the kind of blogger I am, and frankly, it doesn’t matter what I believe. Except that I believe that you should not come to my house unless you are invited. And, preferably, have brought me wine.)

After this happens, and I try my damndest not to seriously injure these people (who are likely thinking they are doing some sort of Godly work or something), I am seriously angry. I mean, ANGRY. It is the most annoying thing I can think of. Like, ever. MB had to stop me today, from putting a sign on our front door that said, “I know where Jesus is. Do not knock on this door. Thank you.” He said that it would be in bad taste. I think knocking on my door uninvited and waking my kid up is in bad taste. But maybe that’s just me?

What IS it with this side of town?!

Since I posted this, I’ve gotten some awesome illustrations:

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The Countdown has Begun

So, I’ve made it to week 33. And we have already established that I feel gigantic. And you can probably tell that I am over this whole being pregnant thing, that I have been doing for the last two freaking years. (Here is a little glimpse into 33 weeks during the LAST TIME…)

I am tired. Overwhelmed. Crampy. Irritated. Irrational. Impatient. You know, all of those things that will likely get worse in the next 7 weeks until this whole thing is over and I get to see our new meatloaf.

But I am hanging in there. I had a checkup yesterday and, it appears, I am stellar at being pregnant. My bloodwork is always perfect, my blood pressure, better than it ever was before pregnancy and I have gained a total of only 11 pounds. (Which some of my friends seem to think makes me some kind of freak. But let me assure you, this lady doesn’t go ONE DAY without a bowl of ice cream and a ferocious chocolate craving. And yesterday, to celebrate my 1 pound gain in the last 5 weeks, I had a McDouble. And some pizza. AND THEN ICE CREAM.) Baby O’s heartbeat sounds glorious and he moves around much like his sister did at this point. Only he isn’t quite as intent on actually hurting me. The doc says “boys are lazy” so exerting themselves that much is more of an annoyance. Which is a nice change of pace considering that Baby L, I’m convinced, might have been trying to somehow turn me inside out. But now she is on the outside. Kicking the shit out of me from a whole different direction. Good times.

I know that, at this point, it probably should have totally sunken in that I am about to have a baby. And some days, I can totally get all excited about nibbling on his tiny toes and smelling the top of his head (something that I still do to Baby L CONSTANTLY) but most days it just seems too surreal. I am SO excited about the prospect of not being pregnant anymore that sometimes I get happier about THAT part than the actual little munchkin that I am currently cooking. (Yesterday, I was sitting here thinking that after this seven weeks is over, I will never have to be pregnant again. And I literally started to cry like a total basketcase because I was so excited to feel normal again. My husband thought this was hysterically funny. But that is because he doesn’t have a uterus and has NO IDEA how much this body has gone through and how desperate I am to just feel like ONE person. Not a person growing another person, holding another person on her hip. Ugggghhhh.) But then, you know, reality sets in and I remember that yes, soon I will be UN-pregnant (empty) again and it will be so nice to have a glass of white wine. But then I will scarcely have time to drink said wine because I will be cleaning up spit up. And making bottles. And changing newborn diapers. And then I just don’t know how to feel anymore. Because I want this pregnancy to be over, but holy crap, I don’t think I am ready for this yet.

I guess these next weeks will be my prep time. I am really going to have to get READY for this. Like, mentally prepare myself for what is about to take place. I just really don’t even know where to begin. I mean, I don’t even know what things to buy! Like, since I have two kids, do I need two baby monitors? That might sound like an idiotic thing to panic about. But I am really, REALLY good at panic. So, I tend to do what I know.

I’m gonna try and get a handle on that. I swear.

Emotional Cliff Jumping

I have definitely reached “that point” in pregnancy where it is more annoying and exhausting than anything else. This is the part where you almost totally forget that you are doing a beautiful thing by baking this human being. Because you are so tired, achy, ornery and generally pissed off that it is all you can do not to stab random people while waiting in line at the grocery store, you know, because they are wearing bad shoes or a Billy Ray Cyrus tee shirt. Am I feeling a little illogical? Possibly. Unreasonable? Could be. But I am so CLOSE…yet so far away, people. And I just want to feel normal again. And I just want to sleep. For, like, more than 3 hours. (And yes, I am aware that I am about to have a baby and that this is a total pipe dream. Don’t remind me, okay?)

Up to this point, I have been really proud of myself. Because I have had very few incidents of psychosis. I have felt good. I have smiled, even when I wanted to hide in my bed for two days and eat ice cream. And I haven’t threatened to punch anyone in the throat. (Except at my Sprinkle. And then it was just my best friend’s wife. Because she kept talking about my having twins next time. Insinuating that there would be a “next time” to speak of. So she totally deserved throat punch threats. At least I didn’t actually DO it. But I like her. SO…)

And then the last few days, I have felt like I was drowning. Like, I felt overcome with all of this insane, pregnant lady anxiety and emotion. And I just couldn’t hang. All of that optimism I have been gloating about flew right out the window and I started, not only dreading having two tiny people to chase around and keep alive, but really hating everything about being a stay-at-home-mom. I started feeling lonely. And scared. And irritated at my husband for continuing to get me knocked up and not even being apologetic about it. And then expecting me to handle it with some sort of superhuman ease. (Which I thought I was totally capable of, until now.) I have been tired. And cranky. And close to tears at almost every moment. And I just wanted someone to take my precious Baby L for the day and let me marinate in this idea that I can DO this and I won’t fail. Because I need some assurance. I need some REAL PROOF that I am not going to fall flat on my face. But there isn’t anyone to take that precious baby for the day so I can marinate. There isn’t any “time out” for me at 8 months along. And MB, well, he just doesn’t get it. Because he feels stress too. But he doesn’t understand THIS stress. THIS kind of stress is reserved solely for the mother-to-be. And it is a shitty place to hang out alone. I am back at that place where I don’t want him to get to do ANYTHING that I can’t do. I don’t want him to smoke a cigarette. Or have a beer. Or hang out with his friends. I am jealous of his lack of fetus. Because I am huge and miserable and have two months left before I can have my body back. But even then, internet, things will never be the same. And that’s my fear. And he just doesn’t get it. And that pisses me off. And then I feel awful.

How will I make it through 4am feedings and spitting up and leaky boobs? I mean, I made it through the first time, and no one died. But I JUST DID THIS. And I am quite happy not having to wear giant pads in my bra. And not smelling like baby puke. And being asleep (most of the time) at 4 am. (Even if there is a small child wrapped around my face.) I was growing to like the fact that my little one is rolling around and readying herself to walk. And saying things that sound more like words than crazy baby babble. And now I am starting from scratch. And holy shitballs, how terrifying is that?

I know that this is all probably just some hormonal cliffjump I have just taken. And I am sure the parachute will open soon enough and I will coast through the rest of the way and then I will give birth to this meatloaf and love him and care less and less about breast pads and baby puke. But in the meantime, can I just get a nap? And some ice cream?

Gigantic

Okay, so I don’t know if I told you guys or not. But I’m pregnant. I know. It is shocking. Don’t worry though, internet, this pregnancy isn’t nearly as bad as my last one. When I was pregnant with Baby L, my world was a pretty dismal place. It was a world where people, including MB, could NOT POSSIBLY have understood how uncomfortable I was. Or how much peeing I was doing on a daily basis. Or how painful getting up to make it to the bathroom to DO all this peeing had become. With the back pain and the hip pain and the headaches and the giant belly, my life was hell. And I was SURE that if I left the house, some stranger would tell me how fat and hideous I looked and that I would either burst into tears and vow never to leave home again or punch them square in the neck…Or both. Because I was a total lunatic. And I make no bones about saying it. But I was miserable. And I needed a drink.

This time around, I have experienced heartburn and back pain and headaches. And I have avoided mirrors on certain days for fear of slitting my wrists at the sight of myself in this state. But I have fared pretty well here. I mean, I have been violently and deathly ill on FOUR occasions and have thought that I might never be able to eat anything again. (These illnesses weren’t your run-of-the-mill, pregnant lady morning sickness illnesses either. They were BRUTAL and lasted DAYS.) But once these days passed, I was able to go back to semi-normal, feeling like a regular lady instead of one who is baking a baby. You know, because if you avoid the mirror and there are no real pregnancy symptoms, it is really easy to pretend that none of it is happening at all. And I was blissful in those moments.

Over the past few weeks, my belly has started to take over my house. It has grown quickly and with a fury that I could not have expected. And I can no longer ignore it. I am the size now (at least, in my head) that I was when I delivered Baby L who was full-term. (I don’t really know for SURE that I am the same size, just that I FEEL it.) I can’t see my feet anymore. And those lovely comments I got during my last pregnancy about how I looked 5 months along the whole time…well…those aren’t coming this time. So, I have accepted that I look like a pregnant lady. And today, internet, I tried on clothes. Like, in a store. Under terrible lighting. And a few days shy of 8 months along. And to top it off, these were NOT maternity clothes. AND I HAD TO TAKE PICTURES OF THIS EXPERIENCE. (That’s really another thing altogether but the long and the short of it is, I did a “Sample and Share” Market Research study, wherein I had to try on some clothes, take pictures and have a friend do the same, and then we got the clothes for free…but maternity clothes were not an option.)

I don’t know when this happened, internet, but I am GIGANTIC. And now there is photographic evidence. TWICE IN THE SAME WEEK. (you know people didn’t even refrain from photos at my SPRINKLE?! THE NERVE!) And now, here I am, wondering if I could make it the next two months without actually ever leaving the house in order to spare myself the shame of possibly not fitting inside my Volvo. (Yes, I drive a Volvo. And this should give you an idea of how large I am. Or at least how large I feel. Because I drive a tank.)

What’s a girl to DO?

(Interested in getting some free “Sample and Share” goodies? You can sign up here! It’s free…and sort of awesome!
http://crowdtap.com/invitations_landing

Waiting for the Wine

So, I don’t know if I told you, internet, but I went ahead and took your advice and we are having a baby shower for Baby O after all. Okay, not really a shower. More like a sprinkle. Or, like, a small get together at our new place wherein people will eat sandwiches and drink beers (they will, obviously have to bring their own beers though, because lets face it, if I’m not drinking, I’m not paying. But you go right on ahead, have yourself a beer or 7.) I didn’t register or anything all “baby shower formal”, we just invited some people over. And we hope that they will bring diapers or gift cards. Or lots of wine for my post-delivery celebration. (Because you know that is really where MY head is. Because you guys have met me…you know I’m just waiting for the wine.) So, that will take place this Saturday.

And I can’t believe I am doing this again.

I feel like we JUST got done having Baby L’s baby shower. (Probably because it was exactly thirteen months ago.) And now, here we are, having another one. And Baby L will be scooting around all OUTSIDE of my body and stuff and we will be surrounded by dinosaur party favors and baby boy onesies. And OH. MY. GOD. In less then three months I am going to have another meatloaf.

I have so many questions about raising two tiny nuggets so close together. Like, will I ever sleep again? Is it worse having TWO tiny ones than one? Will I stop being such a crazy, anal-retentive freak about things being disinfected? Will I stop being so intensely worried about Baby L hurting herself? (I swear to Cheesus, I would have padded this whole house already if I weren’t afraid that MB would then promptly have me committed because he is of this mindset that kids sometimes hurt themselves. WHAT?! MY baby?! No.)  Will I ever get a pedicure or go out to dinner with my husband again? I mean, these things are already issues for us! (Especially my lack of pedicures. I mean, my toes are scary, you guys. And, OBVIOUSLY MB is totally concerned about the state of my toes, above all else.)

As you may be able to tell, the worry is finally starting to kick in a little. I mean, I am still mostly calm. Mostly. I only start really freaking out, like, in the middle of the night when I am awoken because I have to pee for the 750th time during the night and then I start realizing that I have to pee because there is a WHOLE NEW BABY residing in my PELVIS and soon I am going to have to EXPEL him and then he will be on the OUTSIDE and I will have TWO BABIES and then I will go completely INSANE because MB will be at work and OH MY GOD, I thought one was hard, how the hell am I going to have TWO?!

Yeah, I told you guys before, my head is a totally fun place to live. Especially at two in the morning.

I have to keep reminding myself that I am not the first person in the world to ever have two babies so close together. And that people have TWINS every day. And holy SHIT, how do people have twins? And is that worse? And what about triplets? And Octomom? (Not that I consider her a real person. She exists in my mind as some sort of cartoon character or something. It might be her lips.) What the hell do these people do? How do they not accidentally put the roast in the bassinet and the baby in the crock pot? How?! I need to KNOW, internet!

(Deep breath…)

Okay, this was obviously supposed to be a post about how we are having a Baby Sprinkle, not a literary panic attack. Sorry about that, you guys. You know how it is. Being knocked up makes you a little nuts.

Octomom

Octomom: Or maybe THIS is why I can’t take her seriously?