The Story

At 12:06am, the day before my due date, I woke up suddenly. The first thing I saw was the big, full moon- as round as me- pouring light in the window.  I woke up because of the contraction, and in that moment under the moon I knew it was all beginning. 

Because it was just the beginning, because I felt I’d waited so long, maybe because I was delirious from sleep, I smiled a big smile, happy that I would meet my baby soon, and went back to sleep.

At 1:06am, I sat straight up.  Groggy and a bit confused, and scavenged for a pen and paper to start writing down contractions. Hmm.  I thought.  Hmm.  I think this might go a bit faster than last time. 

From then on, they came 10 minutes apart, over a minute long.  Definitely in labor. 

And would you like to know what I did, Peanuts?  In labor?  In the middle of the night?
I did laundry.  Yes.  I hauled it down to the basement and back up to the second floor, load by load, and I washed it and dried it and folded it up.  Because I am a strange, warped little person and my primary concern when faced with an impending birth was, apparently, that it was laundry day the next day and how was it going to get done if I was at the hospital? Frankly I was a bit irritated that with J still sleeping away in the bed, I wasn’t able to change the sheets.  I have a sickness, I know it.

I also tidied up the house a little, got all my things together, took a shower, got dressed.  Just taking care of business, remembering Little One’s Birth Day and how it takes time, and is a process, and how I wanted to spend as much of my labor at home as possible. 

But by about 4am, I was not smiling.  At the moon, the baby, or anything else.  I was starting to freak out a little. 

These contractions were long and they hurt more than I remembered.  I wasn’t feeling very tough, already dropping my hands to my knees and taking long breaths, with surely many, many hours to go.  I’d only slept about and hour and a half, and after just a few hours of this (ok, and a few loads of laundry up and down the stairs) I was getting really tired.  Plus. 

The thing about this baby being baked two extra weeks is that She’d had that much longer to grow.  She would be at least as big as a two-week old Little One, I figured, and maybe bigger.  In fact, maybe this labor hurt so much more because She was so much bigger.  HUGE probably! I was getting increasingly concerned about Her exit, and altogether starting to panic just a little. 

J, for his part, was just annoyed that I was frolicking about in the middle of the night. Waking him up with all this pacing around, and turning on the bathroom light, and rustling things about, and, wait, seriously? Is she doing laundry? At 3am?  Crazy pregnant lady.  Let a guy get some sleep already. 

He tried to be a good sport.  When I asked him to rub my back he groggily, dozingly complied. Even though, jeeze, now I have to give her a back rub? At 4am? Crazy pregnant lady. 

At one point, he cracked his eyes open and observed the crazy pregnant lady pacing about and taking long, annoyingly loud breaths, and wondered aloud,“are we having a baby today?”  
“Yes”.
He said, “Oh”, and fell back asleep.
When they started to seem really bad, I asked him to count, to time how long they were. 

 “…thrity two, thirty three, thirty…four..thir..ty…f…..” 

“Um, J?”

“Hunh? What?”

“Did you really just fall asleep in the middle of my contraction?”
“…”

“J?”

Such is the exhausted stupor of a medical resident.  I asked him to go downstairs and get me some juice, once. To get me water, twice. And he did. I sat on the bed next to him and squeezed the life out of his hand, several times.  And still, he never achieved full consciousness until we were loading up the car.  It’s not really that he didn’t realize I was in labor.  He just didn’t realize that I was in real labor. 

And honestly, neither did I.  Really, we both thought I was bothering him unnecessarily much.  That I was being, well, kind of a big baby about it all this time around, and why couldn’t I just relax for awhile and wait it out? Like I did before?  How could I be LESS stoic on my second time around?
But I was.
By 7:30, I was back in the shower, calling him and not caring who else I woke up.   
“J.  J!  JJJJJJ!!” 

“What? What?”
“J.  I. Think. Ah! I. Think. I. Want. To. Go.To. The hospital.”

“Already? Are you sure?”
“NO!...Yes!  I DON'T KNOW PLEASE PUT STUFF IN THE CAR!” 

By this time, Little One was up and having breakfast with Nana downstairs.  J loaded up the car and I hollered down the stairs for him.  Sheesh, I thought as I hollered.  I am not being very calm about this.  “J I NEED YOUR HELP!”

He helped me get dressed and had to help me down the stairs.  I paused on the landing and tried very, very hard not to completely freak out Little One, who wanted to know why I wasn’t coming to give Her a hug. 

“Oh no, mommy you sick mommy? You ok?  Need a kiss?”

She hugged me and I moved to the door.  I sat on the couch to get my shoes on and give Her a hug.  Another contraction and it took ALL my self-control to force a smile for Little One, who was not fooled in the least. 

Thank goodness for my mother, who very cheerfully and calmly managed to help me with my shoes, explain everything to Little One in a very reassuring way, hug me and give me one of those mom looks that instantly fortify you, and bundle us out the door, all in one swoop.  My mother is an angel. 

I sent a text to my OB, letting her know I was on the way to the hospital. 

Knowing that I’d only been having regular contractions since 1 and that I’d wanted to labor at home, she messaged back, “are you sure? Want to try taking a bath first?”
I answered no, I didn’t want to worry Little One, who was up now, and I just kind of felt like going in.  But not to rush, because I thought it would be awhile. 

We started driving.  I had been trying pretty hard to take soothing breaths and remain in control of myself to some degree.  But in the car, with no one there but J, I lost it.
I hollered like Tarzan.  Like a Banshee. I tell you, I just screamed. 

J laughed gleefully.  “This is like a movie!” 
We both laughed.  And then we sat there.  Minutes ticked by.  The contractions seemed really horrible to me.  But they were still 5 minutes apart. Which started a strange cycle of us wondering if we were going in way too early, me apologizing because I knew we’d be walking the halls of the hospital for a long time, and then a contraction hitting and me freaking the heck out.

When we got to the parking lot I was feeling really, really guilty for keeping him up all night and insisting on coming to the hospital so early.  We considered going to pick up some breakfast for him first.

Then another contraction and I started to cry.  I blubbered that I was so tired, SO tired and I just wanted to go to sleep.  I didn't want to have a baby at the moment, I wanted to go to bed instead.  I was scared.  It hurt. I was feeling very ashamed that I was handling this labor process so poorly, and crying because I was so disappointed in myself as I told J I thought I might have to have medicine this time.
I just could not imagine hours and hours more of what was happening.
I was so sorry, I said, but I just wanted to go in.
J agreed that I seemed not to be handling things as well as last time and was probably psyching myself out. But he was super supportive, both with his words and literally, holding me around the waist as we made our way through the parking lot and down the long linoleum hallways.  I kept having to stop and lean on him, but we shuffled our way to triage. 

We waited for the nurse.  I still wasn’t completely ready to let go of my hope for a natural birth, but I wasn’t sure I could make it too much longer. Maybe an hour or two... but I’d only been in labor for seven hours.  “If she says 4 centimeters, I’m not sure I can make it”, I told J.  He kind of chuckled.  “It’s just like a movie!” 

The nurse finally came in all annoyingly loud and cheerful.  Asking me questions that I could not answer (because I couldn’t BREATHE you stupid sappy cheerleader what the heck do you THINK my pain scale is right now!) But at least this time I knew the right answer to that one.  "Ten! Ten.  TEN!"

Cheerleader Nurse: “Well then! How about we check to see how far you’re dilating, and then will you be ready for your epidural?”

C: “Well….well…I think that will depend on what you tell me when you check”. 

Annoying Nurse giggled and clucked at me patronizingly, “Uh, well, I can tell you right now that you’re very uncomfortable, hun”.  
(Did she just "hun" me?! Oh no.  She didn't.  I'll kick her! I'll- wait, contraction, can't move... )

“Ok well, yes.  That’s true….but still, could you just check?”

She brought in a doctor, who checked. And immediately motioned to the triage nurse.  
“Ok, you’re having that baby NOW.”

There wasn’t even time to sign the admitting forms.  They careened the triage bed down the hall like a roller-coaster ride, fluorescent lights flying by, to the delivery room.
They said PUSH! And I did- but then I stopped.
“Wait! Wait! How big is She? Is She too big!? Is She huge?!?” 

Everyone looked around at each other. Crazy pregnant lady. Finally someone said, “um…no….no, she’s…she’s going to fit and everything, and... um..she does have to come out, so…you have to push.”

Fine.
Five minutes of waiting for the next contraction, with a roomful of people just staring at me and my rather compromising position.

“Well”, I said, “this is awkward”.  

But then it was go time again, and I was ready to be DONE.  When they said PUSH, I did. 

And suddenly, just like That-
There She was. 

She didn’t come out stretched and screaming like Her sister, She came quietly, curled up in a little ball.  They rubbed Her back until She gave a cry.  They turned Her to me so I could see Her little face.
And in that instant it was all worth it. 

The waiting, the wishing and wondering, all that puking, the swollen fingers, the aching back, the contractions and the pain and the sleeplessness.  What a small, small price to pay.  The world was suddenly right. 

And that great big baby I was so worried about being able to deliver?  Well.
Just under 6 pounds.  

We were both all cleaned up and I was nursing her when two men in scrubs came in, looking all befuddled.  “Uh..we’re from anesthesiology….? Nevermind."
Luckily I didn’t need them after all. Turns out I was a little tougher than we thought! A little. The nurses all fussed about it, saying I'd been so brave and must have this really high pain tolerance.  J and I, sharing the secret of the Tarzan scream and the tears in the car, just kept looking at each other and laughing. 

Just minutes after being born

I am blessed to have a husband who can see me at my worst; my most vulnerable and out of control, and be there for me through every second of it, keep his sense of humor about it, and love me anyways. 

We’ll probably always laugh about that, and I’m sure I’ll never live it down.  But in the end, everything worked out.  I did all my labor at home like I’d wanted, I just didn’t know it at the time.  She turned out to be even smaller and easier to deliver than Her sister, and labor altogether was a third as long.  And even though I complained about Her not coming two weeks early like my first one, She technically was still early.  By one day. 

And She could not possibly be more perfect.

And Then There Were Two

Little Miss finally decided to join us on Sunday! 

I will have more coming soon...for now I'm just trying to keep up with the diapers, balance a girl on each hip, and soak it all in.  We are home now and doing fantastic.  Life has never been sweeter. 

Rock Candy

Someone told me recently that I sugarcoat this whole parent thing.  Like I walk around acting like it's all just hugs and kisses and warm fuzzy days at the zoo.  I was kind of surprised.  I'm pretty sure I'm a first-rate complainer!
But the truth is that I really, truly, honestly do LOVE being a mom.
Some people were born wanting to be a pilot or an Olympic shot-put champion or something.  Taking care of kids is my thing.  I just like it.
I honestly also love staying home.  This gig indulges all my restless, easily bored character traits.  No two days are ever the same.  Guaranteed.
I like the freedom to decide what the day will hold, the ability to change plans at the last minute and run off to the park on a nice day or snuggle under blankets with hot chocolate on rainy ones.  It's a luxury to be able to be able to stay with my child 24-7 and ferry Her to appointments if She's sick, without having to ask permission, scramble to find someone else to do it, or worry that I'll get into trouble for missing work. 
I like that if the garden needs weeding or the maintenance guy will be here between 9 and forever o'clock no one has to stress about it, because I can be here.  I LOVE the ability to Be Here, whenever I need or want to, beholden to nothing.
I love feeling like I'm not missing any more moments that I have to. I like that my job involves tea parties and impromptu dancing.
It isn't for everyone.  But it fits me pretty well.  I adore the hugs and the tiny socks turning up in random places and the constant running commentary from the backseat.  I love the tantrums and the boogers and the shriveled raisins on the floor of the car.  I really do.
I think the total unpredictability of a life with children is fun.  Like a roller-coaster is fun, like a room full of wrapped presents is fun, like a road trip without GPS is fun.  I like the adventure of being a parent. 
I imagine that an Olympic shot-put champion thinks their job is fun, too.  I'd bet they like showing up to practice; that they look forward to stepping out when it's their turn in a competition.  They must love it, to put that much sweat and effort and thought and time and hope into hurling a disc.
Of course.  Just because they love it doesn't mean that it's easy.  I'll bet it takes a lot of work to be an Olympic shot-put champion.  I bet you get hurt a lot.  Your social life probably suffers.  It's probably hard to get out of bed for practice a lot of days.  It's probably really, really disappointing when you royally mess up and don't win.
I think that the more passionately we love a thing, the harder it is, in some ways. 
And so the truth is that even though I really, truly, honestly do love and enjoy being a mom, that doesn't exempt me from the fact (it is a fact) that being a mom is hard.
I imagine it's hard for everyone in different ways.  But in the interest of non-sugar-coated disclosure.

It's hard for me because of the worry.  Because of the continual, overwhelming worry that you will do the right things.  That the outside world will do wrong things.  It is emotionally taxing, all this fretting all the time.
It's hard because it requires effort.  Real, concentrated effort- but all the time, constantly, unendingly. The Doing of parenting if it lets up at all, does so only long enough to take a quick breath (not to catch your breath, just to suck a chestful in) and then it is back to the incessant trying of this job.  It is exhausting.
And it is hard because of the sacrifice.  Being a mother means closing your eyes and willing your fingers to loose their hold of things they have instinctively clutched for years and years. It means never again deciding anything based solely on what you want. It means taking so many dreams and goals and wishes- ones that have been precious to you as long as you remember- and wrapping them up in airtight bags, along with pieces of yourself that you once thought were too intrinsic to be separated from, and tucking them into a dark box.  Sliding it under the bed.
Maybe later. Maybe sometime, you will take a few out, polish them up, and put them to good use.  But a lot of them (maybe most of them, maybe even all of them) will just stay there.
Except for late rainy nights when you might peek in and run your glance over them before pushing them back towards the baseboards, they will stay hidden there until you pull them out with lumpy, gnarled hands.  One day when things have grown very still and very quiet around you.  And then you will turn them over in your fingers, surprised at which ones you had forgotten you placed there so long ago, and sighing over the ones you have missed so fervently each day since.
And then you take them with you.  Wherever it is we go after this life.  Maybe we get to use them there.  Or maybe they scatter into the air like star dust, and eventually drift down, and settle into other hearts. 
Motherhood is hard because it consumes you.
Like being swept up in turgid floodwater, like being sucked into a cyclone, like any other force of nature.  There is nothing you can do about it. Nothing you can reverse it with, no way to control it or undo its effects.  You can't put your heart and your life back the way it was before the moment you became a mother any more than you can repair the chasm left by an earthquake or return a mountain to its former self after it has erupted into a volcano.

I don't want to mislead anyone.  Being a mom is hard.  There are some days I just want to remember whether I've ever been anything but a mother. Some days I really miss the things I traded for this.  Some days I just really, really want one more chance to call in sick and sleep till 9 and stay in my PJ's reading a book all day.  Or go somewhere I can wear unnaturally high heels and something with a "dry clean only" label.

But for me, the truth is that being a mother is a lot like a shot-put champion who makes it to the Olympics, like the earth suffering a volcano to watch it become a paradise island, like going through the pain of labor and delivering a baby.  Hard and Worth It so often travel as a pair. 
I guess that's more sugar coating.
But the truth is...it's sweet.

Scape-horse

C: "Ok Little One, time to get these toys cleaned up so we can go swimming!"

Little One: "Uuuum....Horsey going to clean it up."

C: "Ok, sure. Go ahead, horsey.  Clean up the tea set please. Mommy will watch and see horsey putting the dishes away."

LO (stares at Horsey with hands on hips): "Hmm.  Hmmmmm.   Horsey?  Horsey.  One. Two. Tree.  TIME UP!" (hauls Horsey to the corner, comes back in and sits down).

C: "... Little One?  The toys still need cleaning up".

LO (shrugs): "Mommy I know! Horsey just... he just, not do it! Don't worry.  Little One give him time up."  

The Magical Letter O

I am picky about car seats.
My experience with the EMS field has made me a serious believer in the importance of safe car seats.
I am willing to sell minor or extra organs if I have to to finance the purchase of the very, very safest car seat there is.
Unfortunately, this car seat has been sold out of everywhere for gosh-darn ever.  And if this baby ever decides to be born, She'll need that car seat so we can get Her home with us.
I had a terrible time finding this thing.  I finally found an online store that said they had them in stock, only to order, get a receipt, and then a three word email the next day: "out of stock".
I finally called the ONLY other company I could find that claimed to have this car seat, and luckily seemed to have struck a gold mine and found not only what appears to be the LAST Recaro Signo G2 in America (they had exactly one left) but also the ONLY decently helpful customer service representative.  Maybe on earth. 
If you are in the market for a car seat, I seriously recommend you get one from this website, because they are awesome there.  I also recommend this elusive car seat, which far exceeds US safety standards and is often referred to as the "ferrari of car seats".  It is made by the same company that manufactures the safety seats in race cars. The kind that go careening around constantly on the brink of disaster.  If you have ever been in a vehicle with me at the wheel, you know that the experiences are not dissimilar. So, since I will be the primary Jeeves to Little Miss's limousine, it really was vital that this car seat be found. 
Before I found the Last Awesome Car Seat and the Last Good Customer Service Rep, I was getting fairly frustrated with my quest for this thing.  I was questing about on my laptop, when Little One observed my unhappiness:

C: "This is becoming silly".  

Little One: "Oh! Oh no mamma, what matter? Sompin wrong you momma?"

She settled Herself in my lap, between me and the computer screen, and studied us both.

Little One: "Here, let me see.  Hm.  Ok.  Ok, don't worry mommy! Little One, help you! Little One help you, yes ma'am!  Look mommy see!"

She very carefully, very specifically, pressed the letter "O" on my keyboard.

Little One: "See! See mommy, there 'go!"

She cupped my chin in Her hands and looked at me reassuringly.

Little One: "See mommy. Little One just, just push a button, make it ever-thing, all better!!! Now ok momma? You don't worry?" 

It was amazing.  All She had to do was push a button.  And like magic, even though my problem wasn't solved, I tell you I did feel all better.

And now I have one fantastic car seat, one fantastic kid, and one more of each on the way. 

No Green Beer For Me.

In answer to your many questions, no. 
Uh uh.  Nope.  Nada.
No baby. 
In fact, I had an OB appointment yesterday, and OB said that Little Miss, so encouragingly "dropped" at my last visit, seems to have changed Her mind and traveled north again.
I am currently showing no signs of impending baby, whatsoever. 
OB even went so far as to schedule me for an induction, just in case Little Miss is still ambivalent about joining the world by the end of the month. 
Please give Her some good, cheerleader-style encouragement Peanuts!  Go baby Go!
In Her defense.  My due date is technically not for 5 more days.  So all this comparing to Her older sibling (Oh jeeze, now we are those parents) and accusing Her of being "late" is really not fair.
In my defense, though.  I have never been this huge, ever. In my life.  (If you knew my in my last pregnancy you are saying, "whoa").   My rings don't even fit now.  Even my fingers are huge. 
I'm tired and sore and (obviously) whiny, and did I mention that patience is not my top virtue? 
The magic 8 ball at my OB's office said "you may rely in it" that this baby will come before my induction date.  I hope that's really true, because it is the day after my mom's plane leaves, two days after my sister will have come and gone, and why yes I suppose we were all a little presumptuous in our planning but still I think they will be a bit less than thrilled to have trekked it out here and not even got to meet Her.  So let's all work with the magic 8 ball on this one.
5 days until the official due date.
Let's hear it now:  Go Baby Go!  

She Said It With Love, Though.

Totally randomly, at dinner last night:

Little One:  "Mommy.  You nice.  Nana, nice.  Daddy.  You GRUMPY OLD TROLL!"

It probably doesn't help discourage name-calling that we all cracked up laughing. 

I Hear Crickets

Ok. 
- Nursery switched/bedroom set up, check.
- AND decorated and arranged and a new closet organization system set up? Check.
- Baby clothes hauled out/ washed/folded/put away, check.
- Swings/ bouncers/jumpers/other infant paraphernalia hauled down from the attic, check.
- bottles washed/kitched reorganized to make room/put away on a shelf, check.
- Much too much shopping done, check, check.
- Bag packed, check.
- Portraits of the baby belly, Check.
- Cradle set up with clean sheets, ready to go, check. 
- Labor plan with OB, check.
- Big "baby is coming soon" talk with Little One, Check.
- All laundry washed/folded/put away, check.
- Dogs' groomed/bathed, check.
- House cleaned/ scrubbed/ put in order, check check check.
- Mom here wrangling the tiny Diva and all the dishes, check.  
- Swollen to the point of being uncomfortable and rather over it and not to compare, love, but your sister was already here almost a week by this time and please don't get too big in there while you take your sweet time? CHECK.

Ok baby.  It doesn't get much more ready than all that. 
Maybe She is waiting for me to finish my AFC meeting today.  That is thoughtful. I can appreciate that. Ok but after that, I'm taping a pink eviction notice over my belly.

Not So Little Now!

You guys rock. 
You rock, because you sent all your cellulite-inducing thoughts to Little One, and She caught them, soaked them up, and got heavy!
YAAAAY!
Today's weigh-in went really well.  Little One has gained a half a pound.  That may not sound like much, but it is plenty enough to show that She can grow, that things are working like they should in there.
We still have to keep pushing the "milkshake" (calorie drink) for at least another month, and we still have to meet with the nutrition team (on my due date. Because scheduling appointments is that ridiculous at Walter Reed) to try to make a calorie-dense plan for the future. 
BUT I have been given the ok to tone down the nasty foods a bit.  I don't have to feel forced to give Her french fries and cookies, and we no longer need to feel compelled to perform a 3-ring circus act to get Her to finish every meal. 
Life can go back to normal a bit.  And the best news is that it's an encouraging sign that She's healthy, and that we do not have to do any horrible tests or treatments.  YAY. YAY!
We need to keep the chunking up going at least another month, so it's not totally behind us yet, but I'm going to go ahead and take my worry about this issue and boot it off my back deck.  SEE ya. 

Please Telepathically Send Your Pudge

Not that you have any.  But if you do, pass it this way.  NOT TO ME! NOT TO ME! Sheesh, let's not get confused people.  I've got an overabundance just now, can't seem to part with it.
Send it to Little One. 
Tomorrow is Her big weigh-in to see if all the bacon fat and syrup and deep-fried you-name-it has paid off.  I really, really hope so because I can only stand so much more of this. And because the alternatives are not looking fun. 
But I'm feeling very optimistic.  Personally, I think She's feeling lots heavier to tote up and down the stairs.  Now it just remains to be seen whether that's because She actually IS heavier, or because..well...because I am.  Hmm. 
At any rate, I'm requesting that you all keep Little One in mind tomorrow, and send heavy, thigh-dimpling thoughts Her way!

*Just make sure, as I said, that you aim right.  Any stray dimples land on me I will find and crush the perpetrator.  Seriously, if I step on you right now you would crumple.  Be warned. 

Last Time I Was This Pregnant, I Was In Labor

Today I am officially the same time in my pregnancy as I was when Little One was born. 
So exciting to think that we are that close to holding our new Little Miss in our arms!
Four days ago, the baby "dropped".  WAY dropped.  So far that I'm now measuring less pregnant than I am.  Girl is ready to go!
It's a little rough because She dropped Herself onto a nerve that is causing some intermittent pain/numbness in my legs, but good because now my stomach isn't so crowded, there's more room for chocolate!
We're finally starting to get all ready for Her to make Her big arrival.  My mom arrived on Friday and has been a one-woman circus act for Little One since she stepped off the plane.  Little One is beside Herself thrilled and has been having SO much fun, She's even forgotten about Dora.  Amazing. 
I've been having fun too!
Yesterday I took an entire day "off" to go run errands by myself.  I got everything I need for the hospital visit, including a little outfit to take the baby home in and all that fun stuff.  I considered conscripting some girlfriends for this shopping adventure, but in the end I decided I might want to have some time just by myself, before that becomes entirely impossible again.  It was lovely!
I even gave myself a huge treat at the end of the day, and took my sore feet to a pedicure.  I have only had two of these, one for my wedding and one for the wedding of a friend, so it felt really decadent.  And since I haven't been able to, ahem....really reach my feet for awhile now, they certainly needed the attention. 
It was a great day and I'm so glad I got to do it.  Even though I have to admit that I missed Little One all day.  What do people DO in the checkout line without a little sidekick to chat with?  Even though I enjoyed the peace and quiet, I also missed the laughter that usually accompanies me everywhere I go. 
That Little One is a chatterbox, and into everything, and She really wears me out. 
But without Her, honestly.....nothing is as much fun. 
Except maybe pedicures.  Oh.  That was fun. 
Today I'm packing my bag and settling in to wait for the big day. I'm still appreciating how easy and simple life is, especially with my mom here helping. But more and more every moment
I'm imagining a day when I'll have TWO giggly sidekicks getting their toes painted with me, and getting excited to meet this new Little Miss, and to double all that fun!

Just a Kid

So far, all of our attempts at formal family portraits have produced a few nice shots, but also have been complete disasters with plenty of tears and everyone leaving feeling harried and worn out.  But today, Little One was a dream, posing like a model and following directions to the T.  I chalked it up to Her increased maturity.

C: "Little One, you did a great job getting your picture taken today!  You listened so well.  Are you getting to be so grown up?!"

Little One: "Um, no mommy.  Little One just a kid.  Nana grown up.  Little One, not grow up.  Just kid mommy."  

Haha, true.  And I'm glad.  Especially that She's such a great one. 

Ready, Set...

My belly is humungulorific.  I'm getting tired and moving slower and feeling in many respects like a very ripe watermelon. It finally has sunk in that there will be a baby coming soon, and I've been more and more consumed by that thought.
Things are certainly much different this second time around.  For one thing, I have been getting a LOT of Braxton-Hicks contractions, sometimes quite strong ones throughout an entire day or night, and it makes me chuckle.  Because last time, I know I was timing them, getting a little excited with each strong one, and wondering, "Could this be it?!"  Ha.  This time I know that if you wonder, it's not.
So I'm much calmer overall, just sort of waiting and riding things out, where before any little change made my heart rate elevate a little.  I remember this point in my pregnancy with Little One.  I was so excited, so ready, so anxious and antsy with wondering what the whole birth thing would be like, what it would all be like.  I couldn't sit still. 
This time, though I did get a good bout of nesting energy, I also feel an overwhelming urge to slow down.  Maybe knowing in the back of my mind what a whirlwind it will be after the baby comes home makes me want to enjoy what is left of this time of relative freedom.
The last week the chores and errands have been neglected, and it has been all playdates, outings, and snuggling on the couch with a pile of books. We've spent time with all of our "regular" hang-out buddies, and many that we don't see often as well.  I guess I wanted to get in one more playdate for Little One while I can, one more where it's JUST about Little One. And maybe also, one more  conversation with a friend in which my attention is only split two ways. 
We've had lots of adventures and excursions. Now, while there's just the one car seat to wrangle, just the one meal/drink cup/wipes/etc to pack up, just the one wiggler to dress and braid and potty and heave into the car.  Just the portable tiny One to carry, along with my purse, before my arms are out-numbered and I have to start breaking out equipment like carriers and strollers and donkey carts.
I am appreciating the simplicity of my life.  I'm trying to max it out, use it up.
I'm spending a lot more time sitting peacefully, letting the laundry languish in the dryer while I read, stretch, or even sleep during Little One's nap.  I'm letting projects wait after bed-time while I play a game or sit on the couch with J, holding hands and talking.  Or just listening to the Quiet. 
I'm dropping everything when the baby moves.  Just to put my hands on my tummy, feel those kicks, and think about Her in there.  Just to appreciate what a miracle it is to be pregnant, to have a person in there.  So close that for a tiny bit longer, we're one person.  I'm trying to savor having Her that near, that safe and always with me.  From the moment She is born, I know, there will be a gradual but unstoppable pull; a reverse force of gravity, distancing Her from me until She's gone.
I'll never lie and say that I love being pregnant.  It's a (rather uncomfortable) means to a (wonderful, very worth it) end, in my opinion.  But it is amazing and incredible, and unlike anything else.  I'm so grateful to have been able to experience it. I'm trying to imprint the memory on my mind.
Maybe more than anything, I feel myself magnetically drawn to Little One.  So far, during the days the whole universe revolves and Little One and I together are at the center of it.  Our whole world, much of the time, is just about us.  It will be a big change to have that universe shaken up and given new dimensions.  A lovely change, I know, but maybe hard at first, and certainly one that will be permanent.  So I am just soaking Her in while I have the luxury of being able to do nothing but that.  I've been doing a lot of heaving my giant self down onto the floor to play, of dropping dinner prep in the middle of stirring to dance in the living room, a LOT of snuggling and hugging and curling Her up in my lap.  And a lot of just ignoring everything else and watching Her play or listening to Her talk.  I feel like leaving the rest of the world to take care of itself for awhile, to take time to really enjoy and appreciate all I have. 
This time around I'm less prepared in a material way.  The bedroom isn't finished, my bag's not even packed.  But it isn't because I'm less excited about this baby coming home, less thrilled to meet Her and hold Her tight.  It's that this time I have the benefit of knowing that the decorations on the wall aren't what matters, the spotlessness of the floors aren't what matters, the number of meals frozen in advance aren't what matters.  The best way I can prepare my home for this Little Miss is to fill it with as much love and peace as I can. 
When She gets here, the bouncer might not be set up yet.  But we'll all have been gathered up, like we were last night, cuddled under a blanket laughing and talking about Her.  When She first comes through the door, I think the bliss from those moments will be hanging in the air, waiting to welcome Her.  She probably won't notice that the crib skirt isn't on yet, but I have a feeling that when She's tucked up under the blanket with us next time, while we procrastinate another day in putting it on, She will notice something else.  This feels like Home. 

Banning the Ban

Remember The Ban?
Well. 
 In the last two weeks, my darling husband has:
*Sheepishly asked that I make an exception-and a key lime pie- because it was specially requested by someone at work who was on his ICU team and remembered the desserts I brought him to share on call nights. 
AND!
*Purchased TWO brownie and one cake MIX BOXES at the grocery store.  Mixes.  MIXes!
I am both amused and slightly offended. 
And I am hereby calling this evidence sufficient means to declare all baked-good banning void and null.
The Ban is hereby Banned. 
Tomorrow I am going to the store, and buying butter.  LOTS of it. 

Ok, Two. I Forgive You.

Today, I tucked Little One into bed for naptime, just like I always do.
We went through the regular routine, and just as I was giving Her a kiss and getting ready to leave, She pulled the blanket right up under Her chin, and grinned wide. She gave a delighted little squeal and said:

"Oh!!! Oh Mommy, thank you thank you! Mommy. Thank you snuggle me in rocka chair, thank you read me stories.  Thank you read me 'one more' story Momma! Thank you tuck me in, and give me huggies! Oh thank you for give kiss to puppy, and kiss to bunny, and kiss to MEEEEE!  SO nice, mommy, so love you.  Mommy, Little One love you SO MUCH! Thank you my tuckies, Mommy." 

I showered a few more hugs and kisses, and before I left (carrying my melted heart in a little pail) She told me that She was going to dream of being a ballerina that can fly in the air, and also an elephant.  She called one more "Love you Mommy night night!" through the door. 
And I was left to remember that the tantrums and the time-outs are just tiny flecks of dust on this great glittering 100 karat diamond of Motherhood.  When I'm reminded to look past them or brush them aside, the beauty of this whole thing really is breathtaking.  I said a few "thank you"s myself, today. 

TWO strikes again

It happened, Peanuts.  It did.  Let me just be clear; I knew that it would. 
I was not shocked, amazed, or caught unawares with my illusions shattered in pieces by the electronics section.  No.  I've looked after enough kids that I couldn't bother with the whole "MY child will never" thing (which is the only way most of us can trick ourselves into becoming parents at all. Me? I'm just nuts). 
But even if you never deluded yourself into believing it wouldn't happen, or if you had already realized there was a high risk it could be you one day, when it actually happens? Being prepared does not help.  It is still just as horrible as you knew it would be.  And it was.  And it happened today.  Our very first Big PUBLIC Tantrum.  *sigh* 
Not that we've never had a time-out on a curbside.  Oh. We have.  But this was a real tantrum.  A TWO tantrum.  She did not throw Herself on the floor, but that might only be because She was confined to a shopping cart, and then- rather immediately- to my vice-like arms.
We were in a store, of course.  In a huge warehouse of a store, in the very, very back. Of course.  So that I had the lovely experience of walking aaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllll the way down the aisles full of gawking shoppers with a screaming, writhing tazmanian devil.  "Oh hi, another shopper. Or you're noticing? Why yes, it's spectacular, isn't it?  Found it in aisle seven!"
Out the door, and into the pouring rain.  Into the car seat.  And (because of the pouring rain) into the car for me too, to listen to the delicate, refined notes of Two climb their way through various octaves and rattle around in my skull. 
Shhh, I whispered to my belly.  Don't get any ideas in there. I waited without moving, without speaking.  Watching the rain and pondering how much fun this will be with another small person added to the mix.  Life gets more and more exciting as we go!
Let me tell you.  Little One is a sweetheart.  She's a good little listener, She's very easygoing, and She is very easily redirected, even when hungry or tired.  She's generally a dream of a toddler, especially when we are out and about. But it doesn't matter. 
It doesn't matter how sweet, how calm and mild or how darling any toddler is,  I tell you there is no avoiding it. The public meltdown is pre-programmed into their genetic code.  No one knows exactly how or why.  But just as their little bodies somehow know when it's time to sprout a new tooth, or finally get grow some hair, the Public Tantrum, too, is In There, waiting to pop out. What can you do?
I had a hot, red-faced moment of actually considering giving Her what She wanted, just to stop the stares.  But then, thankfully, I gave myself a nice mental smack in the face and said, "snap out of it, me!"  What matters isn't the strangers, what matters is that this was a wonderful opportunity. A teaching moment.  A "for future reference, This is not going to work out" moment.  So we made our way down the long aisles, alerting everyone to our teaching moment with a nice blaring siren call, and wailed on through the rain and in the car until it sunk in.  "Well", Two finally decided, "this isn't really getting me anywhere. And I'm getting tired. Oh well." 
We had a nice cuddle and a good, serious chat.  And then, despite the fact that we might as well have been wearing name tags that said "Hi! I'm THAT mom!" and "Hi! I'm THAT kid!"  on our foreheads, we went right back in the store, back up the long aisles, right where we left off, and started again. 
We had not so much as a pout the rest of the day, and it may be that we've got it all out of Her system in one go.  Or it may be that we just hit "snooze" on Her little ticking time-bomb.  
In the meantime, I feel the same about this as I did about Her first dirty diaper.  One the one hand, Ew.  Really not pleasant.  On the other hand, well.  All right then.  It may not be Her most flattering moment but, well, at least She's developing normally.  I guess there's nothing to do but be thankful for that, deal with the mess, and move on.  One day She'll handle Her own poo, and Her own emotions too.  And then I'll probably miss the days when She was small enough for me to scoop up in my arms, and carry to the parking lot. 

Next We Will Read "The Cat in the Tiara"

While Reading Dr. Suess:

C: "Do you like green eggs and ham? What do you think, Little One? Do YOU like green eggs and ham?"

Little One: "EEeew! Yuck! No, not.  Not like this, green egg and ha-am."

C: "No?! You don't like green eggs and ham?!"

Little One (considers the question more carefully): "Umm...um, no Mommy.  Not. Sorry."
(perks up as an idea strikes Her) "Ok Mommy! How 'bout this.  Maybe, maybe PINK eggs and ha-am! Maybe could like pink ones.  Sound 'dea?"*

For the record.  I am not teaching Her this stuff.  I am not spoon-feeding Her frilly glitter-coated hearts, seriously.  It's just...in there. 



*"Sound 'dea?" is one of Little One's favorite terms.  It's Her contraction for "Does that sound like a good idea?"  and frequently used as a bargaining term, along with "No way Jo-se!"

Flexible Flyer

At this point in my pregnancy with Little One, major renovations had been done to prepare the nursery.  The decor hand-sewn by my mom, showers were thrown and tags pulled off new clothes. I was staining the crown moulding while I was in labor.
With this one, most of the stuff is just hauled down from the attic, and she'll be sharing a room with Little One so there's no nursery decorating to do.  It may be why the nearness of Her due-date hasn't really struck us yet: we're just sort of going about business as usual.  And with so much going on with Little One, sometimes we almost forget that something quite huge really is about to happen to this family.
But my last OB appointment, where OB told me to expect Little Miss to make Her entrance (exit?) any time now, sort of gave me a wake up call.  Any day now? Really? 
And the nesting instinct has gone into hyperdrive.
MUST. PREPARE.
My latest stroke of inspiration/insanity gave me the idea to switch the nursery with the larger guest room, so that there is really space to share a room, and so that I can take pictures down and re-hang them in another room, thus giving an outlet to all this nesting energy.  Because the bathtub really can't be scrubbed so often.  It can't be good for it.
With the advice of a friend who is a great mom, I decided that now is a better time for this switch than after the baby arrives.  So that it can be about Little One, and the baby not be blamed for another big change.  Toddlers are infamous for their hatred of change.  INfamous.
So I was sort of nervous about bringing up the idea with Little One, especially because I decided to pass Her nice crib along to Her sister; a change on top of a change, orbiting an even bigger change.
But I mentioned it in passing this morning.  Then I looked online and found a great toddler bed on Craigslist, and showed Her the picture.  She determined that it was a "ballerina big girl" bed, and that She loved it and wanted to "sleep in there, and then jump! And spin! Around around around baller-EEN-a BIG girl bed!" So we picked it up, put it together, cleaned it.  All the while, I was waiting for the idea to hit Her that She was being somehow displaced, and preparing myself for the fallout.
But She remained thrilled with the idea all evening, and when J came home and carried it upstairs, She instructed him to put it in the guest room.  And told me that She wanted to sleep in it.  So we brought in Her blankets and puppy and teddy.  At Her insistence, we read stories in there, and then She crawled right in. "So nice, my ballerina bed, mommy," She said yawning.  And said goodnight.
And slept, all night, slept in even.  I can hardly believe how easy that was, like I couldn't believe how easy it was to take off the rails and make Her crib a "big girl" bed.
I've never seen a toddler quite so flexible and ready to let go of these sort of weight-bearing beams of babyhood.  The crib.  The nursery.  I'm proud of Her for rolling with it all so well; embracing progress and future and newness.  I felt a sense of triumph as I shut the door after tucking Her in, and started envisioning all the re-organizing I can do now that She's taken so well to the new room. I felt happy that Little Miss will have had something re-arranged, redecorated, re-done just because of Her, and excited about making the space we have work in a more practical way for our growing family.
And then I passed by Little One's room...Her 'old' room?  So carefully thought out, the paint color so much sweeter, the pink and purple curtains making it cozy.  I stood in the doorway awhile and the triumph went a little bitter.
I like that room. The nursery.  It's special.  It's full of memories that smell like Baby and whisper about becoming a Family. The shadows from that window that fell across so many sleepless, blissful nights.  Her crib-bed looked so forlorn and empty.   The baby kicked.
I turned out the light and shut the door, realizing that maybe the reason I'm so impressed with Little One's happy appetite for change isn't that I'm afraid She isn't ready...but that I'm not.
Change and growing up is hard for toddlers, it is true.  But maybe it's even harder on their mothers. It flies by so fast.

Cocoa Baby

When this new baby comes- and oh my, but She is coming awfully soon- I'm pretty sure that She will look like this: 

 

Hopefully just the one of Her, though, but still.  Because after the amount of chocolate I have consumed in the last few months, there is just no way Her little genes haven't been altered by all that cocoa infusion.  I mean, I have always loved chocolate.  Mmmmmm....chocolate......

But this is just insane.  I think I have a problem.  Hello, my name is C, and I have a chocolate problem.  I eat it all day.  ALL DAY.  And. Sometimes in the middle of the night, too.  

If I could, I would just melt some down, stick it in an IV bag, and send a direct line in, continuously, all day.  With Little One I craved milk, and oranges.  But not like this.  And since Little One is now allergic to both milk and oranges, I seriously hope I am not dooming the Little Miss to a lifetime without chocolate, because what would be the point Peanuts?  What kind of life would that be?! 

No, chocolate is necessary.  But this much is not good.  For example, even though I lost weight during that dreadful first trimester, and even though I gained it slower and got a lot more exercise in the second than I did with Little One, the chocolate has, since it's constant companionship in this last trimester, chunked me up so that I already am heavier than I was when Little One was born, and I'm not even done yet! With being pregnant, or with the brownies and snickers bar in the kitchen! 

It's a shame that Little One and I can't trade spots for a while.  At the moment, we are rather like Jack Sprat and his rotund wife.  One thing is for sure.  This baby is going to be born just FULL of sweetness. 

Keep 'Em Coming...

Keep Cookin' Little One!

Thanks so much to those of you who have contacted me with ideas about ways to fatten Little One up. 
Keep those good ideas coming, please!
Today was Her first weight check at the pediatrician's office.
I made the poor tech re-weigh Her three times, and re-zero the scale. 
But despite all that good denial- and despite all the bacon fat and ice cream and gravy and cookies and calorie drinks- Little One hasn't gained any weight.  In fact, defying all logic, She has apparently lost a pound and a half.
We are hoping that She's just still recovering from the yogurt/allergy fiasco. We'll see. 
We've earned some more specialist appointments, but probably no invasive tests for now.  Hopefully, by the time Her next check rolls around, She'll have some rolls around too.