You guys?
I'm still pregnant. REAL, real pregnant.
I didn't make it to 39 weeks with Snooze. He arrived 10 days before his due date, so naturally I believed Baby #2 would be early; perhaps even earlier than my beloved first born.
And then? Nothing.
There is pretty much zero happening in the old cervix. At week 36, Newbie was nearly transverse breech, and I wonder if that has something to do with his/her reticence to come out. We ended up with an ultrasound the following week, and thankfully baby had turned head down. At week 38, the head that is growing to NOW EPIC PROPORTIONS was still high. I have another appointment tomorrow. Fingers crossed for some dilation, y'all!
People keep asking me how I am doing, and in truth, I feel better than I have in a long time. To be sure: it's still difficult to maneuver myself out of bed for 87 pee breaks per night, and I'm much puffier than I was with my spring pregnancy. My wedding rings haven't fit since late May; but last go-round, I had a few rings I could wear. This time? Not so much. It is Texas in August, and because our energy bill is roughly the size of the national deficit, I'm not as uncomfortable as you might think.
I'm happy to have made it through my summer semester without my water breaking during the final, and I am indulging in lots of sweets. I registered for the Dallas Half-Marathon (December 9th), so as soon as have this baby I'll have to nearly immediately get back on the fitness band wagon. THE WEIGHT, you guys. SHE IS VERY, VERY HIGH. To which I say: meh. Pass me the Milano cookies.
Showing posts with label Li'l Wanya. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Li'l Wanya. Show all posts
Monday, August 13, 2012
Thursday, August 09, 2012
This Is You Drill Bit.
On Tuesday the kind folks at J's place of business threw us a baby shower. I had known for about a week, but kept the secret from J. Hendrik and I excitedly got ready for our rare trip into Dallas, and J's assistant met us at the door and led us to a conference room where J was leading his staff meeting. We told Hendrik to knock on the door, but that's not his style. He busted through the door, catching his father completely off-guard, exclaiming, "Hi Daddy!" as he jumped into J's arms to give him a hug.
Looking across the table, H spotted a familiar face. "That Mr. Clint," he said, matter-of-factly, before running around the table to greet him with a fist bump. J and I looked at each other stunned: he had met Clint exactly twice. The first time was a brief lunch ages ago, and the second time was about two months ago, when J was in a car accident on his way home from work, and Clint drove him home and stayed for dinner. How does this child remember names better than we do?
J went around the table making introductions, as I began to sweat trying to remember who I'd previously met. A few minutes later several people had to leave; when Hendrik noticed, he innocently asked, "Where's other Mark?" Yes, the second of two Marks had left the conference room. I could not have told you that, but apparently my two year-old's knack for detail is unprecedented. He misses nothing at this stage in life. It's incredible.
A snapshot of his morning routine: He wakes in the morning, climbs out of his queen-sized bed, and undresses down to his diaper (he is careful not to take his diaper off, as he knows all that poop would create quite the mess). Then, he picks out his shirt and shorts, grabs a diaper, and gingerly places the wipes (opened) next to the other things. Now that everything is prepared to his liking, he heads to the doorway, which is blocked by a baby gate. "Mommy! Want Mommy to come change you diaper! Come on, Mommy! Come upstairs!"
This is how I am roused each morning, as I need more sleep than he does these days. It is so difficult to move, it usually takes me about 10 minutes to get out of bed. "Coming, Snooze!" I yell up groggily. "Mommy just needs a minute to wake up."
Eventually, I lift my swollen limbs and belly out of our cozy bed, throw on some shorts and head up to his room. He greets me with a warm "Hi Mommy!" as I take down the gate, and then proceeds to tell me some of his plans for the day. Usually something like: "You want milk and a vitamin. Only one vitamin a day! Want to go downstairs and eat a waffle." Then I'll brief him with the day's agenda (you know: library story time, grocery shopping, My Gym camp), change his diaper, and stand back as he insists on dressing himself in the clothes he's selected.
Sometimes I can't believe what I am seeing.
He's a boy. At two and a quarter, he's a little man who knows what he likes (Gotye, Adele, waffles, granola bars, and any activity that involves his buddies). I'm astounded at just how smart he is; what he retains. He is a SPONGE, and can recall details that both J and I have long forgotten. He's always busy busy busy, planning trips (typically to California) and selecting activities ("Want to go build with Mommy!"). He identifies lots of emotions ("Mommy yelled! Mommy's frustrated!") and is quick with a silly face or some nonsense chanting and giggling to lighten the mood. He loves to make us laugh.
Yesterday morning, as I took the gate down, he noticed the nail J had put in the door frame to keep the gate in place. "Need to hammer this!" he said, before running to the playroom and returning with his drill and hammer. And then he worked on the nail, first with the hammer, then with the drill (which he explained, "This is you drill. This is you drill bit."). Where did he come from?
We just adore him; and still sneak upstairs before we go to bed many nights just to catch a glimpse of him sleeping peacefully. He's so exquisite, sometimes we just giggle and recount the things he's said. "Can you believe him?" we ask each other, as we have since the day he was born. He will be 35 someday and will leave our home with his wife and babies and we'll turn to each other and repeat, "I still can't believe we made him."
And soon (well, not too soon since there are no signs of ANYTHING going on in the old cervix), we'll have another one. A little boy or little girl, who will make our family even more complete. Only this time around, he or she will have a Hendrik. Who tells me often "I can't WAIT for baby to come!" and really, really has his heart set on taking baby to the airplane museum almost immediately after delivery.
We can't wait to meet you, Newbie. To see who you are and marvel at your face and repeat daily, "Can you believe we made this?"
Looking across the table, H spotted a familiar face. "That Mr. Clint," he said, matter-of-factly, before running around the table to greet him with a fist bump. J and I looked at each other stunned: he had met Clint exactly twice. The first time was a brief lunch ages ago, and the second time was about two months ago, when J was in a car accident on his way home from work, and Clint drove him home and stayed for dinner. How does this child remember names better than we do?
J went around the table making introductions, as I began to sweat trying to remember who I'd previously met. A few minutes later several people had to leave; when Hendrik noticed, he innocently asked, "Where's other Mark?" Yes, the second of two Marks had left the conference room. I could not have told you that, but apparently my two year-old's knack for detail is unprecedented. He misses nothing at this stage in life. It's incredible.
A snapshot of his morning routine: He wakes in the morning, climbs out of his queen-sized bed, and undresses down to his diaper (he is careful not to take his diaper off, as he knows all that poop would create quite the mess). Then, he picks out his shirt and shorts, grabs a diaper, and gingerly places the wipes (opened) next to the other things. Now that everything is prepared to his liking, he heads to the doorway, which is blocked by a baby gate. "Mommy! Want Mommy to come change you diaper! Come on, Mommy! Come upstairs!"
This is how I am roused each morning, as I need more sleep than he does these days. It is so difficult to move, it usually takes me about 10 minutes to get out of bed. "Coming, Snooze!" I yell up groggily. "Mommy just needs a minute to wake up."
Eventually, I lift my swollen limbs and belly out of our cozy bed, throw on some shorts and head up to his room. He greets me with a warm "Hi Mommy!" as I take down the gate, and then proceeds to tell me some of his plans for the day. Usually something like: "You want milk and a vitamin. Only one vitamin a day! Want to go downstairs and eat a waffle." Then I'll brief him with the day's agenda (you know: library story time, grocery shopping, My Gym camp), change his diaper, and stand back as he insists on dressing himself in the clothes he's selected.
Sometimes I can't believe what I am seeing.
He's a boy. At two and a quarter, he's a little man who knows what he likes (Gotye, Adele, waffles, granola bars, and any activity that involves his buddies). I'm astounded at just how smart he is; what he retains. He is a SPONGE, and can recall details that both J and I have long forgotten. He's always busy busy busy, planning trips (typically to California) and selecting activities ("Want to go build with Mommy!"). He identifies lots of emotions ("Mommy yelled! Mommy's frustrated!") and is quick with a silly face or some nonsense chanting and giggling to lighten the mood. He loves to make us laugh.
Yesterday morning, as I took the gate down, he noticed the nail J had put in the door frame to keep the gate in place. "Need to hammer this!" he said, before running to the playroom and returning with his drill and hammer. And then he worked on the nail, first with the hammer, then with the drill (which he explained, "This is you drill. This is you drill bit."). Where did he come from?
We just adore him; and still sneak upstairs before we go to bed many nights just to catch a glimpse of him sleeping peacefully. He's so exquisite, sometimes we just giggle and recount the things he's said. "Can you believe him?" we ask each other, as we have since the day he was born. He will be 35 someday and will leave our home with his wife and babies and we'll turn to each other and repeat, "I still can't believe we made him."
And soon (well, not too soon since there are no signs of ANYTHING going on in the old cervix), we'll have another one. A little boy or little girl, who will make our family even more complete. Only this time around, he or she will have a Hendrik. Who tells me often "I can't WAIT for baby to come!" and really, really has his heart set on taking baby to the airplane museum almost immediately after delivery.
We can't wait to meet you, Newbie. To see who you are and marvel at your face and repeat daily, "Can you believe we made this?"
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
Oh Hey! I'm Pregnant!
It's amazing how quickly and interminably slow your second pregnancy goes. Whilst I feel like I have been pregnant since the beginning of time (we found out the first millisecond we could possibly have conceived), I can't believe I am inching towards 30 weeks. Since I assume I will go a little early (H was 10 days early, and I always measure a bit large), this could mean 8 - 10 more weeks of baby-carrying. I'll blink and I'll be in labor once again. How did we get here?
I've banished any "second-child syndrome" chatter from the house. (It was getting out of hand, from lots of sources. I feel for you, second children. We firstborns apparently steal all of your parents' attention, all of your toys, your ability to think independently, your ability to speak as quickly as us, and probably will end up drop-kicking you a lot during your formative years. We're pretty treacherous; but I promise you this, Newbie: not on my watch. We'll figure it out together.)
(Also, your big bro is pretty spectacular. Just keep an eye on him around your puffs.)
I've been nesting like crazy this week, and I hope that continues through delivery. I've never been so productive, y'all. I still haven't hit the third trimester wall, so I've got a lot of energy to make lists, clean out drawers, read Economics, attend playgroup, and read for pleasure. I've been waking up at 6 AM each morning to jump-start the day (it is always wise to remain a few steps ahead of a two year-old), and it's actually been some wonderful bonus time. By the time H stirs around 7ish, I've already checked several things off of my ever-expanding To-Do list.
Hey! Let's talk about weight gain. Yeah... Well, I am just pleased that I didn't put on TWENTY pounds in TWO months like I did the last go-round. The weight has come on slow and steady, and I'm now up 30 pounds. I can handle gaining 40 this time. If we go for a third, perhaps I can actually stay in the normal weight-gain range! But I've made my peace with it. This is my body on pregnancy. I feel good; I exercise; I eat my veggies. (And all of the Klondike bars, but LAY OFF ME I'M STARVING.)
Where is all the weight going this time around? My belly is GINORMOUS. People say incredibly rude and/or presumptuous things to me all the time. ("Two more weeks, right? "You must be counting the days, huh?" "You got two in there?" "I can't believe you have that long - you look much further along!") Last night, I'm fairly sure my Econ prof thought my water was about to break in his class. (It very well might, y'all. It's a long semester.)
When class ended, a girl I hadn't met smiled at me and said, "Can I just tell you - I think you look beautiful!" How kind.
And thank you, stranger, for reminding me what's really going on here.
I've banished any "second-child syndrome" chatter from the house. (It was getting out of hand, from lots of sources. I feel for you, second children. We firstborns apparently steal all of your parents' attention, all of your toys, your ability to think independently, your ability to speak as quickly as us, and probably will end up drop-kicking you a lot during your formative years. We're pretty treacherous; but I promise you this, Newbie: not on my watch. We'll figure it out together.)
(Also, your big bro is pretty spectacular. Just keep an eye on him around your puffs.)
I've been nesting like crazy this week, and I hope that continues through delivery. I've never been so productive, y'all. I still haven't hit the third trimester wall, so I've got a lot of energy to make lists, clean out drawers, read Economics, attend playgroup, and read for pleasure. I've been waking up at 6 AM each morning to jump-start the day (it is always wise to remain a few steps ahead of a two year-old), and it's actually been some wonderful bonus time. By the time H stirs around 7ish, I've already checked several things off of my ever-expanding To-Do list.
Hey! Let's talk about weight gain. Yeah... Well, I am just pleased that I didn't put on TWENTY pounds in TWO months like I did the last go-round. The weight has come on slow and steady, and I'm now up 30 pounds. I can handle gaining 40 this time. If we go for a third, perhaps I can actually stay in the normal weight-gain range! But I've made my peace with it. This is my body on pregnancy. I feel good; I exercise; I eat my veggies. (And all of the Klondike bars, but LAY OFF ME I'M STARVING.)
Where is all the weight going this time around? My belly is GINORMOUS. People say incredibly rude and/or presumptuous things to me all the time. ("Two more weeks, right? "You must be counting the days, huh?" "You got two in there?" "I can't believe you have that long - you look much further along!") Last night, I'm fairly sure my Econ prof thought my water was about to break in his class. (It very well might, y'all. It's a long semester.)
When class ended, a girl I hadn't met smiled at me and said, "Can I just tell you - I think you look beautiful!" How kind.
And thank you, stranger, for reminding me what's really going on here.
Monday, March 26, 2012
The Devil in Blue and Yellow
This past weekend we went to Ikea. I was really, really determined to get to Ikea. Since my precious baby will soon be ousted from his crib by Li'l Wanya, we need some big boy furniture, and quick. And because toddlers are super destructive little beasts, we don't want to spend a lot of cash.
Enter Ikea. My whole weekend: built upon getting to Ikea. Did I mention I really was completely batshit crazy about getting to Ikea this weekend? In addition to bargain, minimalist furniture, I romanticized that Hendrik could connect with his Swedish roots. Look, baby! Lingonberries!
(I spoke a lot about lingonberries as we got closer to Ikea. They remind me of being a child at my Far-Mor and Far-Far's house. After I mentioned them for the fifth time, J said: "You know they're just like cranberries, right?" God, he is so not Scandinavian.)
We finally arrived at Ikea late Saturday afternoon. We are still at the mercy of the child's afternoon nap, which is approximately 12 - 3 on any day we wish to go somewhere at a certain time. So we entered Ikea's massive parking lot around 4 PM, and I was taken aback by all of the cars.
"God, don't these people have anything better to do than be at Ikea on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon?" I remarked to J, without irony.
Oh my God, guys. Ikea. It is a fucking soul-sucking, hellish pit of soul-suckiness. There were 8008709 people there. They were everywhere. And the signage! There are like, secret passages to get where you are going. And we couldn't find them! And we were walking in circles! And H was running away! Our stress-levels escalated quickly. We grabbed a $10 wooden train set for H and decided to high-tail it out of there. Only, in Ikealand, they don't let you high-tail ANYWHERE. They make you work for it and walk past the miscellaneous stuff. You know, all the crap you don't really need but they somehow seep into your fragile psyche at this point and you find yourself loading up on wooden salad bowls and trays.
We followed signs for the checkout. We walked for miles, and Hendrik was agitated by now, and every mile marker I would spot an idle employee in yellow, and beg, "Please? Where is the checkout?" And they would smile malevolently and tell us we were headed in the right direction.
And then we arrived - at the SELF checkout. The lines were hideously long, and these animals had more than 15 items in their carts! We had two things. My gallant husband put these things down and said: "We can order this online - we need to get out."
But wait! They seriously had the exits blocked and locked and fixed with ALARMS. The only way out was through the checkout line. Evil Swedes!
We made it out alive. My pregnant feet were aching. We had survived.
When we arrived home, J got to preparing the turkey burgers (and hard drinking) and I told him I needed to lay down for a moment. Hendrik followed me into the living room imploring: "Choo choo? Want choo-choo train? Wanna play choo choo train!"
J and I glanced at each other, panicked, and I grabbed my son's hands and said, as calmly as possible: "Honey, I'm so sorry; Mommy and Daddy didn't get the choo choo. We'll have to wait a little bit longer, but we will get you the choo choo."
The boy collapsed in a swell of tears and naked emotion. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" He writhed on the floor. "WANT CHOO CHOO!" He sobbed.
I couldn't help it: I started sobbing too.
For the first time in his 22 months, we had let him down. We had been so irritated, we hadn't bothered to tell him we weren't going to buy him the choo choo. We hadn't done it to avoid a tantrum; we had acted impulsively and hadn't considered our son's expectations and feelings.
He was just so: hurt. I saw the future: there will be other hurts, and they will be heart-crushing for his parents to witness. I love him so fiercely; perhaps I should just keep him inside the house for the rest of his life? I will make him a whole room full of choo choos.
He calmed down. It took me much longer to stop crying. We sat on the couch watching airplane videos on YouTube while I hugged him and apologized and told him how much we love him. I vowed in my mind to never blindside him again. I suppose, in the end, it was a worthy lesson.
This post brought to you by Ikea: Where Dreams are Dashed and Families Are Torn Apart.
Fin.
Enter Ikea. My whole weekend: built upon getting to Ikea. Did I mention I really was completely batshit crazy about getting to Ikea this weekend? In addition to bargain, minimalist furniture, I romanticized that Hendrik could connect with his Swedish roots. Look, baby! Lingonberries!
(I spoke a lot about lingonberries as we got closer to Ikea. They remind me of being a child at my Far-Mor and Far-Far's house. After I mentioned them for the fifth time, J said: "You know they're just like cranberries, right?" God, he is so not Scandinavian.)
We finally arrived at Ikea late Saturday afternoon. We are still at the mercy of the child's afternoon nap, which is approximately 12 - 3 on any day we wish to go somewhere at a certain time. So we entered Ikea's massive parking lot around 4 PM, and I was taken aback by all of the cars.
"God, don't these people have anything better to do than be at Ikea on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon?" I remarked to J, without irony.
Oh my God, guys. Ikea. It is a fucking soul-sucking, hellish pit of soul-suckiness. There were 8008709 people there. They were everywhere. And the signage! There are like, secret passages to get where you are going. And we couldn't find them! And we were walking in circles! And H was running away! Our stress-levels escalated quickly. We grabbed a $10 wooden train set for H and decided to high-tail it out of there. Only, in Ikealand, they don't let you high-tail ANYWHERE. They make you work for it and walk past the miscellaneous stuff. You know, all the crap you don't really need but they somehow seep into your fragile psyche at this point and you find yourself loading up on wooden salad bowls and trays.
We followed signs for the checkout. We walked for miles, and Hendrik was agitated by now, and every mile marker I would spot an idle employee in yellow, and beg, "Please? Where is the checkout?" And they would smile malevolently and tell us we were headed in the right direction.
And then we arrived - at the SELF checkout. The lines were hideously long, and these animals had more than 15 items in their carts! We had two things. My gallant husband put these things down and said: "We can order this online - we need to get out."
But wait! They seriously had the exits blocked and locked and fixed with ALARMS. The only way out was through the checkout line. Evil Swedes!
We made it out alive. My pregnant feet were aching. We had survived.
When we arrived home, J got to preparing the turkey burgers (and hard drinking) and I told him I needed to lay down for a moment. Hendrik followed me into the living room imploring: "Choo choo? Want choo-choo train? Wanna play choo choo train!"
J and I glanced at each other, panicked, and I grabbed my son's hands and said, as calmly as possible: "Honey, I'm so sorry; Mommy and Daddy didn't get the choo choo. We'll have to wait a little bit longer, but we will get you the choo choo."
The boy collapsed in a swell of tears and naked emotion. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" He writhed on the floor. "WANT CHOO CHOO!" He sobbed.
I couldn't help it: I started sobbing too.
For the first time in his 22 months, we had let him down. We had been so irritated, we hadn't bothered to tell him we weren't going to buy him the choo choo. We hadn't done it to avoid a tantrum; we had acted impulsively and hadn't considered our son's expectations and feelings.
He was just so: hurt. I saw the future: there will be other hurts, and they will be heart-crushing for his parents to witness. I love him so fiercely; perhaps I should just keep him inside the house for the rest of his life? I will make him a whole room full of choo choos.
He calmed down. It took me much longer to stop crying. We sat on the couch watching airplane videos on YouTube while I hugged him and apologized and told him how much we love him. I vowed in my mind to never blindside him again. I suppose, in the end, it was a worthy lesson.
This post brought to you by Ikea: Where Dreams are Dashed and Families Are Torn Apart.
Fin.
Monday, March 19, 2012
March Madness
I swear: I just wrote last week. But alas, the days seem to move more quickly now. Life with a toddler is INTENSE, y'all. One moment that kid is rubbing my shoulders and picking me flowers; the next, he is throwing "amby-truck" at me in a fit of rage and collapsing in tears of fury.
In. Tense.
Plus, there's that whole second pregnancy thing. I'm 18 weeks now! Huzzah! I am in the sweet spot where I am actually feeling semi-human, and also eating all of the ice cream in sight. So naturally, I'm packing on the pounds, but I'm still hopeful that I can reign it in soon. Enjoying my third bowl of Breyer's last night, I did tell J I should probably stop buying this stuff. Probably.
Li'l Wanya (hereby christened after I met Boyz II Men last week at the House of Blues), is doing great. I've got another highly-mobile baby, but all looks healthy and strong. And, a little secret between friends: methinks this is a lady-child. Something about this pregnancy feels different. I know, dudes, they are all different. But if I were a betting woman, my money would be on lass. We've got our 20-week ultrasound on April 3rd, but of course we are waiting til Li'l Wanya makes his/her painless and joyful arrival sometime in mid-August. Stay tuned.
What else? We're planning a trip to Los Angeles in a few months, shortly after H's 2nd birthday. I've also got to plan his birthday party, which is bittersweet. Our little boy is growing up so quickly; I wish our close family and friends could help us celebrate. Alas, we will celebrate with them in spirit, with a whole lotta candy and Elmo and trucks and cars up in here.
The blessed child is now awake and we've got to run to the Nissan dealership and then dinner and then I'm out into an adult world known as marketing class. The fun never stops, y'all! I'm just totally producing endless blog fodder these days, like did you want to discuss how I'm now freaked out by microwaves and I'm heating up leftovers on the stove and in the oven all damn day? We'll talk. I'm interesting!
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