Odds and Ends

I’m not even gonna apologize for the length of time between postings. Nope. Not going to give lengthy explanations about work, travel, or the incredible morass of navigating Two Kid Land. Not going to make false promises of increased posting.

Just going to fill you in on a few odds and ends.

The Odds

Eily has developed a love for these. And while that fact might cause you to judge her two inept parents, I will say in our defense that the doctor suggested that we feed her Doritos. (He quickly backpedaled when he remembered her dairy allergy – because fake Dorito cheese still has dairy.)

For explanation, Eily only weighed 14.5 pounds at her 9 month visit – dropping her below the growth charts. So the doctor suggested we get her onto table foods more quickly than typical and try to increase her fat intake as much as possible. So I’ve been feeding her avocadoes aplenty. And yes, I add dairy-free and soy-free margarine to all cereals and vegetables, but the high-calorie snack she can’t deny is the chips above. Sad, but true.

It’s working, though. By her visit last week she was up to 16.5 pounds, barely putting her back on the weight chart, but it was enough to make the doctor get off our back, so we’re cool.

And it’s all relative. Today I saw an 8 month old that could bench press Eily and then eat her for breakfast. (Which I wouldn’t recommend. She’s not fatty enough to taste good.)

Another Odd

One of my favorite people in the world sent me an email last night that said:

Your boyfriend is on American Idol – right now.

Now, I don’t watch American Idol, but this piqued my interest. So I made Scott figure out what channel Idol was on and we quickly flipped to it, only to tune into…KISS. Who are not “my boyfriends” in any sense of the word. So I called my delusional friend who then told me I’d just missed…LIONEL RICHIE!

Much gnashing of teeth ensued. You all know I love some Lionel Richie – see this post, and this one, and he even got a brief mention in this one.

But I did write her the following email in response:

Lionel Richie has never been my boyfriend. He's more like a well-loved uncle. Except I never had one of those.

So to clarify: KISS and any of its members are not my boyfriend. Nor is Lionel Richie. He’s more like a mythical relative that I’ve never experienced.

The Ends

Zane’s last day of preschool was today. So preschool graduation was yesterday. (Makes sense, right? One graduates before actually completing the coursework?)

Anyhoo, I know it’s hip to be cynical about preschool graduations, but friends, I TOTALLY dug Zane’s preschool graduation. I’m not sure what I loved best, really. Maybe it was the construction paper caps the little people were wearing. Or the fact that they all got to say what they’d miss about preschool – Zane will miss playing with plane, btw. Or the fact that I didn’t hear about preschool graduation until the morning it was happening, making it an almost a completely spontaneous celebration of my kid and his achievements.

It was so cool that I didn’t even get teary-eyed about my baby boy growing up - not during the graduation anyway. When his teachers told me what a pleasure it was watching him grow and change this year, sure I got a little misty. But overall, it was just a great, joy-filled, spectacular, unexpected event that totally made my week.

Ha ha! That cap is amazing - Zane at preschool graduation!

He’s a really amazing boy.

Split Ends

Yesterday I got about 6 inches cut off of my hair. In an attempt to be a more informed hair-styling consumer – instead of giving my regular, “do whatever you want” directive to my stylist – I actually browsed the internet for hair cut ideas.

About 20 minutes later, I was almost hyperventilating with anxiety – am I hair type 3B or 4A? Should I consider a texturizer instead of a relaxer? What about texlaxing? How do all these people know all this stuff about hair? Why don’t I? Shoot, did I miss a this-is-you-hair-and-it-proper-care memo at some point?

I shut off my computer, went to my hair salon and said, “This is freaking me out. I want a change. Do whatever you want.” Which - I think you’ll agree – is a considerable improvement over my past passivity.

Not the best pic, but self-portraits are hard, don't ya know? You get the idea.

I’m pretty happy with the results. Except that apparently, this style takes a flat iron to maintain…anyone know much about those? I’m scared to go traipsing about on the internets to find out more…

My Questions Now

One of my favorite quotes:

I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer...

Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903

So, in the spirit of Rilke (ha ha!), here are the questions I’ve been asking myself recently – some profound some silly:

1. What should I boldly say “yes” – and courageously say “no” – to right now?

2. What do my children need from me at this moment?

3. How come Zane never has enough socks? We’re forever doing laundry…

4. Why is hemp milk so expensive? Why does oat milk suck when you heat it? When will I be able return to the joy ‘o soymilk?

5. How can I hold my family so that we move into this next chapter gracefully and with courage?

6. How do I parent two children gracefully?

7. What’s my preoccupation with being graceful? Life is messy.

8. How do I let others help me? What help do I need?

9. How can two children of the same parents be so different?

10. Has ZZ’s cancer returned? (Thankfully - the answer is “no” to this one.)

11. What will SRH’s next job be? What is his is Work?

12. Will it be in Columbus, Ohio?

13. Am I pulling my weight?

14. What can I have to eat?

15. How will I tell the story of this part of my life in 5 years? 10 years? 20 years?

16. Which is the right school for Zane?

17. Okay, we’ve found it…the right school. Will Zane get into this school?

18. Who do Scott and/or I have to sleep with to get Zane into this school?

19. What’s next for us? (Besides sleeping with school administrators…)

20. How come having a water fight in the kitchen at the end of the night makes everything okay?

Okay, so there are some of my questions. I’d ask for the answers, but if I’m to believe the quote above, I must live my way into the answers. So that’s what I’m doing...living into the answers, y’all.

What are some of your questions?

The Same River Twice...

Zane’s (known) allergies at 4 months: Dairy, Egg, Soy

Eily’s (known) allergies at 4 months: Dairy, Egg, Soy

My reaction to Zane’s allergies at 4 months: Crying, gnashing of teeth, feelings of complete and abysmal failure as a mother

Physical State: skinny and hungry

My reaction to Eily’s allergies at 4 months: WTF?!! I’m a good mother, yo. This m%6$f%&in bites!

Physical State: not-so-skinny, oh-so-hungry

So…I guess it’s not exactly the same river… :)

Nursing Mother/Working Mother

Hoover and Nursey McNursesALot

With Zane I had a child who LOVED to eat. The boy was a hoover vacuum cleaner. A gourmand of the life’s nectar that is breast milk. He was a good, regular eater - predictable, even.

With Eily, I have a child who LOVES to nurse. She likes the breast milk, but more importantly, she likes to be snuggled up next to me eating directly from the Mama Tap. What is predictable about Eily is that she’ll want to nurse at any and all times and she is not discouraged by…say…a room full of colleagues…or having just eaten 10 minutes before…or her mother’s self-consciousness.

So I work with some pretty amazing people who are completely open to our nursing during meetings, phone calls, idle chit chat. But seriously, they must be thinking that I’m a bit of an exhibitionist – Eily nursed during two of my meetings last week. For the record, Eily attended exactly two of my meetings last week.

Now thankfully, I have someone coming in to provide childcare during the two days a week I work, - Memo to self: keep the working to two days a week!- but things happen. I utter things like, “I can come to the meeting if I can bring the baby.” People, say “yes”, and the next thing you know, there’s a meeting, a baby, and a partially exposed booby.

And don’t tell me that I can cover her up with a blanket. This is theoretically possible, but when you’re nursing for pleasure, your baby wants a view. And I suppose I could move her onto a schedule, but I feel like we’re already moving in that direction and I’m really comfortable (on the 5 days a week I’m not working) letting her lead the way on this. Call me child-centered.

Or a fool.

But I’m not actually looking for advice here. I know what I’m going to do: I’m going to keep nursing my child on demand. I’m going to feel a bit squirrelly about it when it happens in professional situations. I’m going to be discreet, and I’m not going to apologize. AND…I’m going to blog about it to receive affirmation and support.

(cue affirmations and support)

Zane is Five

In the ensuing madness of raising two – ee gads! - children and dipping my toes back into the work pool, I neglected to do a post for Zane’s 5^th birthday. (Actually, I haven’t done a post for anything since getting a shiny new blog design…so much for that as a motivator.)

Anyway, I knew exactly the blog post I wanted to do, and it wasn’t one of those beautifully written love letters to my child. Please see his 3^rd birthday post for my attempt at that. No, I’m still in the land of the chronically sleep-deprived and hormonal, so any attempt to write such a letter ended in my blubbering while I frantically thesaurus-ed synonyms for “overwhelming love”.

It wasn’t pretty friends.

So, how to coherently express my love for the boy, give him a snapshot of “who” he is at 5 years old, and entertain blog readers – all at the same time? Why, a meme of course!

So here it is, Zane…a “Zane is Five” meme inspired by and about you – our wonderful five year old boy.

5 Things You Are Awesome At:
1. Making Train Layouts – Seriously. I can’t keep up anymore. I rarely even try to help with your mathematically precise layouts.

2. Unintentionally Mocking Others – Why is that person walking so funny? (re: someone strutting down the street) Did she smell something bad? (re: a person with a permanent sneer on their face) “Ooooh…lots of colors…” (re: a hideously tasteless shirt)

3. Playing for Stars – Since we put the “good behavior” chart on the wall, you have eaten more broccoli, picked up more toys, and listened harder than any kid on the planet– all with the intent of getting enough stars to earn a root beer. You loves some root beer.

4. Helping with Eily – You get diapers. You push the button on the butterfly to make it play music. You kiss her little feet in an effort to make her smile. You are totally awesome at this big brother thing.

5. Eating – Never has a skinnier kid eaten so much food. It leaves other children envious (where did he put that 10^th chicken finger?!) and adults in awe.

5 Things You Are…Um…Not-So-Awesome At:
1. Putting Your Pants on Straight – Really, kid. Your bottoms are consistently catawampus.

2. Listening – Especially to things you don’t want to hear. Sure, if I mention going to see trains, you’ll hear me 9 times out of 10. Mention going upstairs to bed, not so much.

3. Sitting Still – You are still the wiggliest worm in your preschool class. That’s okay. The other kids are apparently lazy.

4. Letting Others Play with Your Trains – You have a plan. We’d all do best to stick with it.

5. Eating Candy – You have been overheard saying, “I’m not a candy person,” which is a bit ridiculous since you refuse to even try it. So you are not not a candy person, my love. You are a weirdo kid who won’t try candy.

5 Songs You Love:
1. SexyBack – Justin Timberlake

2. Who Can it Be Now? - Men at Work

3. Underdog – Butthole Surfers

4. Be Happy – Wow, Wow, Wubbzy

5. Fancy – Reba McEntire

6. Don’t judge us.

5 Places You’ve Professed a Desire to Visit:
1. Chicago – lots of trains there

2. Phoenix – You had such a good time when we were there in April.

3. Maine – mostly because your Mimma keeps harping on it

4. Nova Scotia – I’ve been there. You want to go, too.

5. The beach – any beach on any coast.

5 Things You Like to Eat:
1. Chicken Fingers – “chickies” still rule your heart

2. Cracklin Oat Bran – looks like dog food, tastes like heaven

3. Orange Rice – nasty stuff that it is

4. Cap’n Crunch with bananas – aka stealer of the first tooth

5. Pumpkin Muffins – that’s it. No story there.

And finally, child, one last thing you should know: you make my heart sing. Every day. With all you do.

Happy Birthday, Zane.

Check This Out...

Warning: The following post contains a great deal of hyperbole.

Commercial #1
Like my new blog design? Yeah, me too. I.love.it.

Seriously, the design itself could not be cooler, and the process could not have been easier. I worked with this fabulous woman from this fabulous company and got a cool new blog in about 7 weeks for a ridiculously low price.

And coolest of the cool, I will now be changing my blog title and tagline periodically. Folks gave me such great ideas, and I think it would be completely fun to change it up at will. So while it’s still called Zany Mothering today, the next time you come it will probably be called something else. I'm feeling so inspired by the new design that I may actually update my profile.

So if you are hankerin’ to change up your blog, you should give the ladies at ruby and roja a holler. (…and there I just proved that I am indeed from Southern Ohio…)

Commercial #2
Occasionally I know people. Not big people, like say Michael Keaton – he of the Batman/Mr. Mom fame. But smaller fry. Folks who work hard and are great at what they do.

For example, I happen to know one fabulously talented photographer, and said photographer gifted us with a free infant photo session when Eily was born.

He said he needed practice photographing infants. He said we’d be doing him a favor. What he didn’t say was that I’d cry when I saw the photos.

So if you are in the Columbus area and you want amazing photographs of your children (or yourself), you should totally do a photo session at Franz Photography. Again with the incredibly easy to work with and ridiculously low prices.

How lucky am I these days?

Cool New Stuff

Lots of cool new things happening here at Chez RH, and since I usually bellyache and share all my various and assorted worries here (see any posts labeled Keith Richards, asthma, food allergies, or other stuff that worries me), I thought I’d take a minute to tell you about some good stuff.

Zane Good Stuff
My kid read his first word on Saturday. Honest to goodness, read it. Didn’t memorize it as the next word in the story. Didn’t guess it from contextual clues. He read it. As you can imagine, I was seriously proud.

Proud enough that we carted the baby to the library yesterday to pick out some “readers” so that he can practice the glorious act of reading. Because while I wasn’t going to push him into reading, now that’s he’s expressed interest, I can’t stop fantasizing about all the nerdy-fun we’re going to have reading together everyday for the rest of his childhood. (That’s how it works right?!)

The word was “off” by the way, so because I can’t contain my pride, here it is…Hot off the press! My kid can read one word in the preceding sentence!

More Zane Good Stuff
Zane is losing his first tooth. This morning he yelled up the stairs that he had “hurt” his tooth, and all I could think was G!@% D$#%@ Cap’N Crunch. Not only are you a sugary devil, now you go physically assaulting my boy’s choppers.

In actuality, the Vile Cap’N merely further loosened a tooth already destined to leave his mouth in the near future. So this is totally cool because Zane feels like such a big boy, but also kind of breaks a mama’s heart. You know, since Zane is getting to be such a big boy.

Eily Good Stuff
It’s official. We have a girl who smiles. Yep, she did it on her 4 week anniversary of life - looked at me big as anything with a wide-mouthed grin and sparkling eyes. For a bit, I thought it might be gas, but she has repeated it often enough that I’m quite sure that it’s a real-deal smile.

My Good Stuff
Getting a new blog design, friends. Yep, I’m revamping the whole thing. I may even change the title. It smacks of favoritism to have the title of your blog reflect only one of your children, doesn’t it?

As I read the sidebar last month, it barely seemed to be talking about my life anymore. For starters, Zane will be 5 next week – yikes! – and his food allergies and asthma don’t take up nearly the space in our lives as they once did. We rarely dash off to the ER or doctor these days. I’m creating a fulfilling work/life, and I get through most days pretty well. (I am, however, still married to the cynical, sarcastic man who makes me laugh every day, and Zane is still wildly adorable so not everything is different, I suppose.)

So…it’s time for a change, but I can’t figure out a new name for the blog which embraces all this good new stuff – Zane’s improved health, new baby, new work, etc.

Any ideas? ZanEily Mothering? Ryan-Hart the Lion Heart? The Rare Blogger?

What do you think?

Edited to add: BTW, my first name is totally fair game in the whole blog re-naming. Bring on the days of the week madness!

No More Words*

Although I have every intention of posting more during my “maternity leave” (what that even means when you work for yourself, I’m not sure), there are a few reasons that I’m not sure that’s realistic. The major reason being my rapidly dwindling vocabulary coupled with the increasing lack of the necessary faculties to string said words together.

For example, in my seriously sleep-deprived state I had the following conversation with SRH yesterday:

Me: I took Eily to the grocery store and got stuff for dinner tonight.

(This said proudly as I’ve been unable to take a dinner from conceptualization through implementation for, say, about three weeks.)

SRH: Great! What are we having?

Me: (long pause as I struggle to remember the name of the dish) Umm…chicken…in a pot…with ‘tatoes.

That’s right. That was my articulation of dinner. Chicken…in a pot…with ‘tatoes. I couldn’t even get out potatoes or even taters, for goodness sakes.

Sleep feels like a long-lost friend. Vocabulary is rapidly failing. Sanity cannot be far behind.

The cause of all this in-articulation, 3 weeks

*You tell me that you love me while you’re looking away. No more words. No more words, and no more promises of love.

(In this semi-lucid state my crazy love for bad song lyrics is more and more pushed to the fore. At some point, I will do a whole post of lyrics…just strung together…and then you will know my pain.)

So…Ummmm…Yeah…We Had a Baby

I know it’s been an inexcusably long silence from me here. (I mean, when I left you I was about to be induced with a baby who was threatening to be small for gestational age…geez, how did that go?!?!).

And I totally left you hanging there, but in my defense, I figured that every person who reads this blog could find out another way that the wonderful baby had been born, so I went totally off-line for a bit and let SRH handle the announcin’ and such.

But, since you asked…

Eily (rhymes with “Riley”) was born June 4, 2008 at 7:56am. She weighed a respectable 5lbs. 12 oz and was 19.5 inches long.

Take that Small for Gestational Age Police – boo ya! She may have been born officially qualifying as “small for gestational age” by being between the 5^th and 10^th percentiles, but by 5 days old, she was in the 15^th percentile. And every doctor agreed that she’s just a small baby. No issues. Perfectly healthy. Just small.

So, as you can imagine we are very sleep deprived and deliriously happy. That being said, the sleep deprivation is currently edging out the ability to blog this evening, so I asked SRH to give me 10-12 words so that I could do a “word association” post since I’m not all that able to string thoughts together right now. (SRH word in black…my response in purple. And yes, I know that I’m supposed to do the first word that comes to mind, but I find that sleep debt has taken actual words right out of my head and replaced them with roundabout phrases.)

Movie…I’ll never see one of those again.

Baby…Parasite. Ummm, I mean very sweet-smelling, make my heart sing, parasite.

Salt…Pepa. (Yo, yo, yo, yo baby pop. Yeah you! Come and give me a kiss. Better make it fast or else I’m gonna get pissed.)

Rehab…No, no, no.

Laughter…funny stuff.

Nursing…sore, cracked, bleeding nips. That being said, it’s much easier this time around.

Food…yes, please.

Abs…I’m so never having those again.

Groceries…could totally use some of those. How can two adults not make it to the grocery store for over 3 days after stating their intention to go there?

Sandal…I’m always up for a smart pair of black sandals.

Fan…Fantastic, fanfare, fanfic, fantasia, fan-demonium. Okay, I’m stopping now.

Sleep…Ha! I laugh at the thought of sleep. I also cry a little bit, too.

Talk at you soon – I think. I can’t really tell what’s next for our family since I’ve never had two children before. Crap, I’m a mother of two.

She’s our wee, small peanut…but at least she’s still in my tummy

Just to give a quick update: saw the perinatologist today, and I’m still pregnant so that is fabulous news indeed.

Obviously, there was no induction today. My amniotic fluid levels are okay. We saw a beautifully beating heart, “breathing” movements, two kidneys, and a wonderful little profile.

Less than fabulous is the fact that the baby appears to be on the small side - small enough to cause the doctor concern. Not small enough to order an immediate induction today, but enough to order non-stress tests/fluid checks and make the recommendation for induction next week.

Many, many, many details could be given here…call/email me if you’d like them…but basically they don’t know why she’s so small, and it’s not an emergency, but they’d like to get her out once she hits 38 weeks.

(I’ll be officially 38 weeks according to my doctor next Wednesday, so she has scheduled my induction for next Tuesday at 9pm. She’s apparently taking this “induce at 38 weeks” recommendation from the perinatologist quite seriously. Which I kind of appreciate and also kind of freaks me out.)

I’m a bit overwhelmed, but all the testing today said she’s healthy and doing exactly what she should be doing in there so I’m generally feeling positive and confident.

And the docs seem to agree that it would be best if I just go into labor naturally beforehand so I’ll still be using all your tips – and anymore you want to provide – to avoid induction next week.

Wish us luck!

37 Weeks!!!!!!!

(Writers’ Disclaimer: I am today, 37 weeks pregnant according to my doctor. I happen to know, due to being ridiculously obsessed with exact date of conception – a common affliction for couples experiencing infertility - that I will not really be 37 weeks pregnant until Friday. And also, this whole pregnancy counting thing has me completely confused. I thought last week that the doctor said that if I made it through Wednesday, I’d be at 37 weeks. But this week she said if I made it to Wednesday that would be good. Ack! Note to doctor: the use use of the correct and exact preposition is very important to women on bed rest.)

Anyhoo…the doctor said yesterday that I am now free to resume normal activities. In fact, she said that I can run a marathon if I’d like. Because now THE BABY IS OFFICIALLY FULL-TERM! Oh sure, I’m still 3 weeks away from my due date, but it’s been clear for several weeks now that I’m not going to make that date, and now the baby is medically considered full-term.

Can I get an “amen”?

That’s right, friends. I am now full-term, and the baby can come out at any time. Don’t think I am not grinning from ear to ear. Don’t think that SRH and I didn’t do a high-five at midnight last night. Don’t think I didn’t have a celebratory margarita this morning. (Okay, I didn’t, but I certainly wanted to.)

And now, irony of ironies, I have to see the perinatal specialists this week and there is a possibility that I will have to be induced on Friday. Why in the world would that occur, you ask? Weren’t you just the lady who was trying to lay down the majority of the day so that the baby wouldn’t come out?

Indeed. That was me. But now, it seems that the baby may be a bit small and/or my amniotic fluid may be low. So I have to have an extra special ultrasound to get the baby’s size and measure the amniotic fluid. There are a lot more details, but the gist is that I was induced with Zane because of low amniotic fluid, and I am fairly determined not to have that happen again.

So today…I was up and around almost every second. I took Zane shopping for new shoes. We had a play date. I carried a 2 year old down a flight of stairs. I sat on an exercise ball and visualized my cervix opening like a flower, and SRH and I took a long walk after dinner. SRH and I were going to do The Old Bone Dance, but he narrowly escaped that task because I just read an article that said that it’s really not an effective way to bring on labor, and my pelvis hurts enough.

So, bloggy friends, any wisdom to share? Any tips for going into labor before Friday at 9am?

Anatomically Incorrect

Perhaps the child has a point?

Tonight Zane was in champion “stalling for bedtime” form. He yelled messages down the stairs to us, read a book on the potty for a good 10 minutes, complained about imaginary injuries, and asked for extra good night kisses.

At one point, this is the conversation we had – yelled down the stairs because we wouldn’t let him come down to tell us.

Zane: What are you guys watching?

Me/SRH: Just a show on TV, buddy…

Zane: Are you guys watching one of my shows?

Me/SRH: No.

Zane: Are you watching Noggin?

Me/SRH: NO!

Zane: Well, what are you watching?

SRH: Just a show about volcanoes, Zaney. (This was brilliant because Zane is slightly fearful of volcanoes but they don’t throw him into paroxysms of terror like, say, sirens).

Zane: Volcanoes?

Me/SRH: Yep. You wouldn’t like it.

Zane: Do you know what else volcanoes can be called?

Me/SRH: What, buddy?

Zane: Vulvas.

Me/SRH: What?!

Zane: Volcanoes can also be called vulvas.

Me: (laughing hysterically)

SRH: No, no they can’t buddy. Volcanoes are not called vulvas.

Me: (to Scott) Well, they are now.

Zane: Yes, they are. They explode just like vulvas.

Okay, so back to the drawing board on the whole “using the correct terms” for body parts. Apparently, we’ve not been clear enough if our child believes that volcanoes and vulvas are interchangeable.

Whoa there, Nelly!

Dearest Fred,*

There is so much to say to you, sweet baby girl. So much to describe: the awe and fierce happiness I feel about your growing inside me, my heart’s gratitude that we get to have you in our lives, the anticipation of meeting you. But if I get to only tell you one thing, the message is…

DON’T COME OUT NOW!

No really, don’t. We’re not ready. You’re not ready. Nobody is ready.

Scoot back up in there and take a breather. There’s no reason to be hanging down below my ischial spines– you get another 6 weeks in Spa de la Mama, enjoy them. There is no rush.

Not that we don’t want you here. No, siree. Your papa and I are certainly looking forward to your arrival. We’re simply also looking forward to completing the remodel, finishing up some work projects, and getting your nursery together before you join us.

But mainly, we want you to stay in there because we want you to be completely healthy when you come out.

You can imagine my surprise last week at the doctor’s visit when she said that you were about to make a run for the border and deliver at any second. (Or perhaps you cannot imagine my surprise because you are a mere 34 weeks gestational age and so have no experience with obstetrical visits and shocking news yet. And actually, she didn’t say you were coming at any second. She just kept repeating how “low” you were. I have taken a bit of neurotic license with this one).

Anyway, I knew you had dropped, and so I mentioned to the doctor that I thought this tended to happen later in a pregnancy. The doctor wasn’t overly concerned, but decided to do an internal exam after I told her that I’d been having some pelvic pressure since then.

And then the following conversation occurred with my feet in the stirrups:

Doc: Oh…you are very low.

Me: Yeah, I know. I was amazed that I’d dropped.

Doc: Yes, very, very low.

Me: Uh- huh.

Doc: You’re at a +1 station right now.

Me: Hmmm… (that was me faking that I knew what that meant)

Doc: No, I don’t think you understand. If you were in labor right now, you would be pushing.

Me: Oh.

Doc: (shaking her head) That’s very impressive.

There followed a discussion where we determined that I needed to get monitored to see if I was having contractions (I was) and possibly go to the hospital. Apparently since the contractions were very mild, I was allowed to go home to rest. And rest, and rest some more.

So that’s what I’ve been doing…resting. I don’t do that very well, really. But I’m determined to keep you in – because I totally have complete control here - so I’ve been pushing myself like crazy…to rest.

This means, however, that I am left with a lot of time resting and thinking about what needs to be done. So there has been some preparation for your arrival:

- We bought you some preemie clothes, just in case. Completely surreal, that. They’re all “3-5 lbs” size. Yikes! But we gave them to Mimma and told her not to wash them until we actually get a hospital admission. Hey, it’s good to have them, but if you do end up being full-term, we’re taking those sweet little clothes back, mama.

- SRH through action/thought/deed/and strong non-verbals pressured the contractor into speeding things up in the remodel a bit. By this, I mean that he started working beside the contractor and would cast dirty looks his direction all the while muttering, “The baby is coming, the baby is coming” over and over. He’s subtle, your papa.

- I hired the painter to come next week to paint the kitchen, office, bathroom, and your nursery.

- Mimma came over and cleaned the entire downstairs, and Papa and I are pulling the upstairs together. Just so you know, we are filthy, filthy people. Perhaps this will change when you get here, but I wouldn’t count on it.

- We’ve completed the pre-registration forms for the hospital.

- I’ve scheduled the hospital tour and childbirth refresher class. Those both happen by next Sunday, so hopefully that’s soon enough.

- I’ve sorted and washed the 0-3 months clothes that we’ll reuse from Zane, and washed the new stuff that we have for you.

I think that’s about it, chica. The nurse said that we shouldn’t plan to make it to our due date, but there are always surprises, and I’ll know more when I see the doctor on Friday. Or when I go into labor, I suppose.

So, try to hang tight in there, child. There’s a whole big world to see out here, but you have plenty of time.

Much love,

Mama

*And of course, your name is not Fred, but we don’t know exactly what your name is yet. We’re trying to wait to meet you before making any rash decisions…and Zane has decided that if you can’t be named Cabbage or Truck, then he shall call you Fred. So it’s what we have to work with right now.

I'm Trying to Think Here!

I may have mentioned this before, but SRH has – on occasion – made the following comment to me, It must be hell to be in your head.

And though this might sound a bit harsh, he’s actually just commenting that I have so much going on in my head at any given moment, he’s not sure how I function through all the chatter. And truthfully, neither am I.

And it’s been a particularly high-chatter time in the old noggin recently. I attribute this to the pregnancy and the whole working-for-myself transition, but the origin of it really doesn’t matter.

Anyway, I thought I’d try to blog about it so that other people can share my hell. Lucky blog reader.

At any given morning these days, here’s the conversation in my head:

Me: Okay, so what needs to get done today?

Baby in the Belly: Uh…I don’t know what your plans are, but you better start off whatever you’re doing with some protein. I’m trying to grow some gray matter here.

Keith Richards (my errant, but benign, liver tumor): Not so fast there, you saucy wench. I’m still in effect down here on your right side. I haven’t been getting much air time now that the princess is on the way, but I’m still here and you don’t want me to… (unidentifiable garbling)

Me: Are you threatening me, Keith? Because I’m pretty good to you. I haven’t eaten 14 sausages in a row for years and I have drastically reduced my consumption of red meat - all to give you more room.

Baby in Belly: Can I have some shrimp?

Keith: She doesn’t even like seafood, bambino. Now eat some melba toast and shut it.

Exhaustion (a ubiquitous new player on to the scene): Well, if we don’t get something to eat soon, I’m going to have to insist we go back to bed.

Me: What? No! We’ve only been up 15 minutes! Okay, let me think. What is protein-rich, low fat, won’t expand my stomach too much – see, I’m taking care of you Keith – and can be fixed in the next two minutes?

Baby in Belly: What about taking care of me? I’m your long-awaited, much anticipated second child. You went through Clomid to get me lady. Don’t mess it up now. FEED ME.

Keith: Baby, you weigh, what, a pound and a half? You’ve only been bigger than me for the past month. I was here before you and I’ll be around after because – unlike the party planned for you on or near June 18 - there aren’t any plans to evacuate me from her body.

Me: Shhhhhhh…both of you…I’m trying to think.

Looming Project A: I don’t have much to say about breakfast, but I should remind you that you have some outstanding emails to attend to. And I don’t have to tell you that this is a big project, and you’re new to the team. And you did quit your job to do exactly this.

Baby: HUNGRY!!!!

Looming Project A: And you really should take on some of that “to do” list you wrote out last Friday. It was over page long – all stuff that you’re paid to do.

Keith: Speaking of pay, I did mention that that’s what I’ll make you do should you decide to break your fast on oatmeal or somesuch, didn’t I?

Me: Oatmeal? Keith, oatmeal is low fat and fiber rich. It’s good for me – and you and the baby. We all win.

Keith: Yes, but it takes up an uncomfortable amount of room in your stomach while it’s digesting. All in all, I’m not a big fan of the oatmeal these days.

Baby: And oatmeal doesn’t have much protein. I’m totally down with protein – and I mean the animal- meat kind of protein - these days. I think it has something to do with the very important neural connections that I’m trying to develop this.very.second.

Me: Heading to the kitchen as we speak guys, hang in there.

Exhaustion: Ohhhh…I’m sorry. Not quick enough, Zany Mama. I’m going to have to dock you two hours this morning. Come on, let’s go lay down.

Me: Okay…okay. Let me just get some breakfast, get Zane to preschool, do a bit of work, talk to the contractor, and then….Crud. Then I’ll have to eat again. But I promise to meet you after lunch.

Exhaustion: Don’t worry. I’ll be here.

Keith: As will I!

Baby: Me, too!

Looming Project A: I’ll just sit quietly over here, but you know you’ll have terrible guilt and recrimination later if you avoid me.

Me: I hear all of you. Now leave me alone. I’m going to go eat a smoothie followed by a lean but nourishing slab of ham. There. Everybody happy?

Interesting. Several sources of this conversation reside in one small space - 24 weeks

Please note, the above exchange does not represent the views and voices of:

• Possible Exciting Project X
• Sciatica
• Old Job
• Upcoming Work Trip
• Kitchen/Bathroom/Office Remodel
• CRankiness Associated with Pregnancy (CRAP)

I will, no doubt, share some of their input at a later date.