In which it slowly dawns on me: hormones?

I had a major case of The Rage again today. Actually, I think it started yesterday, when I forced Molly into my Cleaning All The Things Boot Camp while Jack was in preschool because I SWEAR if one more person got out one more toy without putting it away I was going to drop everything, including the baby, and flee to Fiji. 

My tolerance for 1) mess and 2) dealing with the people who think cleaning up THEIR OWN MESSES is BENEATH THEM is at an all time low. Or take the all time low and multiply by a frajillion and THAT is how low. I am angry and resentful and lashing out and OMG SUCH A PLEASURE TO LIVE WITH! 

I thought I was tired. 

So I was kind of excited about TODAY, because today was a no-preschool day and that meant if the kids slept late I wouldn't have to wake them up and I wouldn't have to go crazy getting everyone ready in the morning. It's totally not unusual for the big kids to sleep till seven-thirty or eight and the baby sleep till past that. I KNOW. 

Of course, this morning everyone woke up at six. By 9:30 I was about to commit myself. I should say: they weren't being UNDULY horrible. Yes, Molly is doing this THING where she cries at the drop of a hat, about every single stupid little thing and I don't know what it's about (is it her Three thing?) and it is SO wearing. And Jack is his usual bouncy, happy, chipper sasspants which I ALSO have no patience for anymore, but that's the thing. Where did my patience go? I used to have SOME. I feel like I have NONE. 

It happened to be sunny and glorious, however, and I thought that just the thing everyone needed was a nice walk outside. Even though I did NOT want to get everyone ready to go outside and did NOT want to put a super tired Emma in her little coat-suit, I knew she'd fall asleep in the stroller and the big kids needed to get OUT. 

So then OF COURSE, not three minutes into our walk, Jack starts complaining about how TIRED he is and how he's HUNGRY (it's BARELY ten in the morning) and his FEET hurt and Molly looks like she's about to cry and DUDES. Only the skinniest of threads was holding me together in the middle of the street in broad daylight. 

Which is when I thought: hormones?

I NEVER think ANYTHING is hormones. Ever! IT WILL NEVER OCCUR TO ME. Someone else has to say it or write it in a blog post or a comment before I'm all, "OH!" So my next thought was 1) I am improving in my physical self-awareness or 2) things are REALLY NOT GOOD. 

It took me many many more hours before I came up with a suitable explanation for having Hormonal Issues, however, and you will laugh, because it is SO OBVIOUS: I think we are done nursing. I THINK. I have never had a huge supply which I have never done anything about. Emma's been getting a bottle since her first HOURS in the hospital (needed to make sure her glucose levels were stable and my milk hadn't come in) and ever since that first week or two when I decided I had to give her a bottle to maintain my sanity, I haven't really looked back. I am SO OKAY with bottles. 

But nursing is free! Sometimes I like doing it! Emma can be really cute! And shoot, I breastfed my other kids for at least six months, I don't want to shortchange this one, right? Except... 

Yeah, I think it's That Time. I'm pretty sure my supply has decreased more over the last couple of weeks. I still nurse her at various times, but in the evenings when she's clearly Super Hungry, we go straight to bottles. And now that she's sleeping longer and going longer without eating, well, there you go. And I HEAR weaning makes you HORMONAL. 

I have no memories of this with the other kids. I don't! I keep trying to remember how I stopped and all I come up with is, "Well, one day, it just happened?"

I'm not weepy or any of those things... but I am SUPER SHORT-TEMPERED with the kids. I also want to EAT EVERYTHING. Though who knows if that's hormones or my old friend Eating My Feelings. 

Oh, and the other thing that makes me think it's hormones is that, for some crazy reason, I blossomed into Funny Cheery Happy Mom! tonight. WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Seriously, pretty soon everything that came out of Jack's mouth was comedy gold. When Phillip came home I flat out told him that I had never wished more to be at work than I had today, but I said so with a GOOFY GRIN, like OH, ISN'T THAT FUNNY?! 

I was TRYING, I'll say that for myself. We made cookies - the one thing the kids and I do together that we all equally enjoy. Then we did a Shred because I was serious about eating all the things AND WE MADE COOKIES and my kids are HILARIOUS when they are exercising with me. And Phillip came home early. And Emma and Molly took extra long naps. I mean, there was a lot of good. 

But I think I will inform Phillip of the Possible Hormone Situation, because he always likes to know it's Not Him, and see how it goes. I'm not sure if we're really done nursing or just doing it once a day or what. I don't really want to be DONE done, but I can SEE being done done. If that makes sense.

Tomorrow after preschool we're picking up Phillip at work, dropping the big kids with my folks, and heading to Portland for the NDCF winter retreat. CRAZYPANTS. We're not actually ATTENDEES - I had the opportunity to pray behind the scenes and I am all over that and Phillip is just going to hang out with Emma and, as he put it, "attract the college girls with my cute baby".  Honestly, I am just excited about not having to pick up anyone's MESS for two days. WAHOO.

SOTC (state of the children)

I was going to do this big post where I took a photo of every outfit I am bringing to Palm Springs, but then I decided that 1) no one cares and 2) that was excessive navel-gazing even for me. 

SO ANYWAY. Phillip's been gone since Sunday morning and HOO BOY am I loving both sets of grandparents right now. We stayed with my parents until Tuesday lunchtime, and Phillip's parents just spent the entire afternoon and evening entertaining my kids while I packed and ran on the treadmill and generally stayed away from the noise. 

Sometimes Phillip is slightly interested in jobs that would take us out of state. Sometimes I REALLY HATE January (and November and December and February and March and sometimes April too) and I entertain notions of southern California or shoot, even northern California, but this will never happen. We could never move away from the only people who want to take our kids for overnight! 

In honor of the speech I did not watch last night, the State of the Children goes something like this:

JACK. This kid, you guys. THIS KID. He is KILLING ME. Senator Smartass is perhaps not a name we use in his company, but it sure fits. He's something four and three quarters, average height, needs his pants cinched tight, big dark eyes and thick dark lashes and the stuff that comes out of his mouth drives me BATTY. I mean, half of it is awesome. I do not deny the awesome. He's a thoughtful little kid who remembers a lot of random details and soaks up Facts like nobody's business. He often interrupts me (often when I'm yelling at him) to ask me what a word means. Like today I was getting onto him for being a brat to his grandfather and he's all, "what does Polite mean, Mommy" and I'm like, "JUST GET OUT OF MY HAIR." 

He is constantly singing. Like, CONSTANTLY. He is loud. He is energetic. He is SO MUCH MORE energetic than he ever was, more than I ever thought he'd be. He does not stop! Ever! And when you tell him to be quiet he won't even look at you or acknowledge you because it's like he ALREADY KNOWS, he doesn't have to WASTE ENERGY turning his head in your direction, he ALREADY HEARD ME he KNOWS. Argh! It burns me up! His smartassery drives me around the bend on a daily basis. His know-it-all-ness, his bossiness, his refusal to accept your corrections, his "okay, okay, stop lecturing me so I can go right back to doing exactly what I want" business is INFURIATING! 

Of course, I also find it utterly charming as this kid is EXACTLY LIKE ME. Even my mother says so. (Obvs she says this gleefully, in a SO SHALL YOU RECEIVE YOUR COMEUPPANCE! tone of voice.)

MOLLY. Miss Mollymoo is the girliest girl of all the girls. I've spent a considerable amount of time wondering how she got this way. She does not have a particularly girly mother (several sequinned dresses notwithstanding.) I never played with dolls the way Molly plays with her babies. I don't remember demanding to wear my dress up dresses all the livelong day. Did I even HAVE dress up dresses? She wants to be a princess, but she hasn't been super exposed to the princess phenomenon. She's pink and purple and sparkly and glittery and where is her wand and not that clippy, Mommy, and I want to wear THAT dwess and Mommy you should wear THAT dwess and not those shoes, Mommy. 

I also spend a lot of time wondering if I'm doing right by Molly. Her brother is so Over The Top in his personality sometimes that Molly is just an element of that. She does everything he does, a split second after he does it. She is always content to let him go first. When he's not around she often seems a bit lost. And I hate that when I try to figure out where she is developmentally or whatever, it's always in comparison to Jack. 

But this morning we dropped Jack at preschool and ran an errand at Target and stopped in the Target Starbucks for a treat and it was like my heart was just FULL of Molly. She sort of ignores you now when you talk to her, like she's either pretending not to hear you or she really can't be bothered to answer, she insists on having a helper every time she uses the potty, her hair makes me crazy, and ENOUGH ALREADY with the "but I don't like those pants, Mommy" every single morning, but I have loved every single stupid minute of taking that girl out shopping and for coffee and for treats and just Her and Me time. It's the best. It is so much fun. It is so sweet. I just love her. I was telling her this morning when I was buckling her back into her car seat, that I just love my girl, and she goes, "Just girls! No Daddy! No Jackson!" Yes, kid. You are my mall buddy for life.

OH EMMA. I think she has skipped 6 month outfits entirely. I put one on her this morning and her FOOT was busting out of the FOOT POCKET, so I dragged the storage box out from under the bed and started rummaging around for the 9 month clothes and HOLY CATS MY 4-MONTH-OLD IS WEARING 9 MONTH JAMMIES. This is probably no big deal to a lot of you, but I am used to SCRAWNY children. Although Emma's not particularly WIDE, just LONG.

The last two-ish months were so stinking hard with sleep. I mean, I was having existential crises left and right. The lack of sleep and the constant re-napping was permeating every minute of my day and every thought in my brain. But for some reason she kicked it into gear on Sunday night and now she, like, GOES TO SLEEP. I mean, it hasn't even been a week, but she's now taking Actual Naps and going to bed and Actually Sleeping. I will never assume good sleep is a trend, but I will take it when I can get it. I hope she keeps it up this weekend for Phillip!

And dudes, she is the HAPPIEST BABY. I mean, even when she's fussy and not sleeping and all that, this baby is a smile machine. It's so awesome. She just started laughing and she has this deep gurgly belly laugh. It's not this cute little baby laugh, it's growly and phlegmy and AGAIN: utterly charming. She does this other thing where she thrashes around in JOY - usually in the morning when I'm changing her out of her heavy nighttime diaper. You'd think she was going to kick a hole through the changing pad and thwack herself off the changing table. I LOVE IT. It is SO CUTE!

And all three of them together is SO trippy. I mean, these are my KIDS. With MY genetic material! HOW CRAZY IS THAT!!! Oh wow I'm going to miss them this weekend. Well, after I've slept through the night and had a poolside cocktail or four. Then I'll miss them. 

 

 

SnowWatch 2012, conducted from EJ's bedroom window

Oh YAY! ANOTHER snow day! WAHOO!

Actually, it's fine. I say that GRUDGINGLY, but it's true. I happened to go to the store the day before the snow hit, so we have a ton of unhealthy things to eat, we still have un-played-with Christmas presents to keep us occupied, we have diapers and Netflix and Ursula The Neighbor, Formerly Of Michigan who knows how to properly sled etc. So we are FINE. 

I refuse to call it Snowpocalypse or Snowmageddon until the internet goes down. But then no one would KNOW I'm calling it Snowpocalypse or Snowmageddon which is really the entire point. 

Anyway. What I really want to talk about is how I did not sleep [again] last night. 

I FEEL like we are doing the right things for the kind of... situation we want. I say that because cosleeping was totally fine until it wasn't. You know? Nursing in bed was totally fine until it wasn't. But those things weren't working and the new things do not appear to be working. I was up so much with Emma last night that I think I can pinpoint the exact moment the Snow Event happened in my neighborhood. 

She was hungry (she shouldn't have been hungry) and then she was gassy (from what?) and then she just didn't want to lay flat in her bed? Or she wanted to be held? Or she was just awake? WHO KNOWS!

Now, you guys all know my aversion to parenting books and all that. My answer to all of these things is, "SHE'S A BABY." And you really just have to wait for someone to grow out of that. 

Phillip, on the other hand, takes a harder, longer view of things and when he's not sleeping he's of the opinion that he might never sleep again and SOMETHING! MUST! BE! DONE! 

To be fair, I get that way too, but I don't always want to have a Conversation about it in the middle of the night. Which is what happened LAST night and you can be SURE we were at our most rational and well-said at four in the morning. Isn't EVERYONE at their most eloquent at four am?

So my husband chooses that moment to tell me that he's going to send our big kids to his parents for the weekend when I'm in Palm Springs and HE is going to have Sleep Boot Camp with Emma. Perhaps he didn't put it QUITE that way, but the words "cry it out" were involved. 

I am SO NOT AGAINST cry it out. In fact, it was the only thing that ever worked with Jack. That said, I was SUPER AGAINST CIO with Molly because I just felt, in my heart of hearts, it wasn't going to work. And we never really did it with her and she's a great sleeper now (she was then too, she just didn't want to go to bed on time!) and isn't this vindication? But Phillip doesn't really BELIEVE in my heart of hearts. He believes in DOING SOMETHING. 

I kind of think Emma is a tension-increaser, though it's true I haven't tested her enough to REALLY know for sure. But I also think she's a bad sleeper. She's not HORRIBLE (she's not crying or awake for hours or whatever) but she's certainly no Molly (who fell asleep on her own from the beginning.) So I don't really know how to rejigger this kid. 

And I'm not here to complain, really, I just wanted to sort of organize it somewhere other than my brain. Sleep is not going well. (DAYTIME sleep is better, so there is hope.) Husband would like to request permission to wage a Sleep War. The President of the household is not so sure. However, the President is also very very tired. 

I think we'll just go sledding again. That seemed to tire everyone out. 

The Snowbound Edition

You guys, I don't remember when we had enough snow to make snowmen. Or the right KIND of snow. And I have made TWO people-sized snowmen so far. I've dragged my kids around on a plastic disc borrowed from our friendly neighbors. I've oohed and ahhed over the winter wonderland that is my tree-filled neighborhood. I've put hats and mittens in the dryer. I've made many cups of hot cocoa for the kids. I've exchanged the "isn't this NEAT!" happy face with the not-friendly neighbors, because snow on a holiday weekend IS pretty neat. 

But now I am over it. To be honest, I am over it as soon as it begins falling, because Seattle is not known for its snow-handling abilities, both practical (the city continually falls down on the snow job) and emotional (I've seen ninety-thousand cars slide down Capitol Hill streets into downtown on the news thus far.) Also it means I am stuck. 

See, Seattle's kind of weird, in that it will snow in certain pockets of town, or the snow will miss entire ribbons of neighborhoods, or it will DUMP in one particular area and only dust another. It started falling on Saturday and by Sunday morning it was pretty clear that we were not going to church OR the baptism reception for which I bought a VERY CUTE PRESENT. Disappointing! 

Usually you're fine once you get out of the side streets, but according to the news, our chunk of I-5 was a skating rink. Also, our side streets are BAD. My side street is a VERY STEEP HILL and even though it's one seven millionth of a mile long, it's still a launching point for flying into a house and/or sliding backwards into the creek. For this reason Phillip parked HIS car (did I tell you we have two cars now? gah) on the street above the steep hill, like everyone else on the two cul-de-sacs below. 

So we're not STUCK stuck. Phillip could drive out and get us whatever we needed (although he'd still have to make it off the side streets and they are gleaming sheets of white). But for all intents and purposes I AM STUCK and I am stuck here with THREE RESTLESS CHILDREN and there is only so long we can all do this. 

It was fine when Phillip was home this weekend. He's actually still home. He's WORKING from home, which you may all agree is worse than being at work. I used to think it was awesome that he could work from home, but now I know it just means he's HERE but UNAVAILABLE. I do a lot of stomping and shouting when he works from home, just so he KNOWS. 

But anyway. Hopefully this will all be over by the time Phillip leaves for his trip on Sunday morning. Right, God? 

I haven't been doing much of anything except, oh, standing in every room in my house deciding how I will decorate/redecorate/remodel/redesign. It's a sickness. Especially because I have every intention of DOING these things. It's not just, "Oh, wouldn't it be fun if we knocked down this wall?!" Like, I want to email the dudes who took out the fireplace and ask HOW MUCH WOULD IT COST TO KNOCK DOWN THIS WALL. 

I spent a couple hours yesterday planning and measuring for a wall of DIY built in bookcases, before I realized that Ikea only sold one style of bookcase in the depth we want (as far as I can tell anyway, feel free to refute!) and my plan would not work after all. I did a lot of computery work. I folded a lot of laundry. I made brownies which was BAD because 1) I'm still hoping to lose four pounds by my trip (HA HA HA!) and 2) I am beginning to suspect that eating copious amounts of chocolate makes my baby uncomfortable... 

BECAUSE SHE WAS UP ALL NIGHT AGAIN. This is not helping with the snow. She is actually sleeping better during the DAY, which is great. That's helping a lot. She's even napping in her bed again, after we tried it out one day and she slept three amazing hours. So. Better during the day, but still crap at night. Even though we 1) moved her into her own room and own bed/car seat and 2) I am no longer nursing her in bed and 3) we tank her up as much as possible before we put her down for the night. Last night she still ate ALL NIGHT LONG and I finally ended up putting her in bed with me because WE COULD NOT HANDLE IT. And I suspect she didn't REALLY need to eat, but when you're dead tired and it's 4 am, you are not particularly principled. 

So I don't know. Whatever. What am I going to do with us today? More snowmen? BLARGH.

My queendom for a three-hour stretch

I was going to LOSE IT yesterday. Emma slept MAYBE an hour and a half, in twenty minute chunks, all day long. We were even at my parents' house, and the Grandparent Magic was not working. The night before she'd woken up EVERY HOUR. The day before that she slept MAYBE an hour and a half, in FIFTEEN MINUTE chunks. 

When Phillip showed up at my parents' house for dinner last night I felt like I might start sobbing right there. I mean, even with help, even leaving her with my mom while I ran some errands, I STILL felt crazy. The Tired Crazy is more easily identifiable now, and I knew that I had to go to bed as soon as I got home and just cross my fingers for the night. 

AND SHE SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT. 

Not PERFECTLY. We didn't get home till 9:30 and Phillip just told me she was sleeping on the COUCH between eleven and midnight while he worked on his laptop, but I did not wake up to feed that kid until 5:30 in the morning, when she ate and then went back to sleep till 8. THAT IS A WIN.

I am not entirely sure, but I think a Pretty Huge Factor in all of this is the fact that EJ drank 8 ounces before she went to bed, when she usually drinks 4. ?!?!

I haven't paid much attention to WHEN I do things with Emma, and now it's getting to the point where I feel bad about it. This is another problem I have with breastfeeding. I just do it WHENEVER. I am never sure how much the baby is eating, I rarely have it together enough to know how long it's been since she last ate, at night I just stick her next to me and when she wakes up I stick a boob in her mouth. This is... no longer okay. 

SOMETIMES I think it's okay. I mean, at least I know that if I have to wake up every hour, I get to be IN BED and HALF ASLEEP when I do it. But then I think: if I were getting OUT of bed and making sure she was really eating instead of snacking, maybe it wouldn't BE every hour, right? BUT WHO KNOWS! Let's stick with the KNOWING I get to stay in bed! 

And even worse than that is the not sleeping during the day, or the falling asleep for ten minutes, only to wake up right when I put the first bite of lunch in my mouth. Three kids into this I believe that sleep begets sleep, but three kids later it's clear I still have no idea how to establish naps. 

And have I been starving her this whole time?! She doesn't COMPLAIN about being hungry. There are times when she wakes up and it's obvious she wants to eat right that second, but otherwise? I'll feed her on one side and she seems good, so I don't feed her on the other side. Or she pulls off and messes around and I think she's just not hungry. I DON'T KNOW! And of course I have no idea how much she's getting. I don't know why this didn't feel like a problem with the other kids - at least, a problem I had to DO something about. But last night when I made her bottle I just gave her six ounces for kicks and I was floored when Phillip said he made another two ounces and she drank that too. 

Blargh! 

This is my fault too, you know. I've been staying up WAY too late, doing super important things like deciding what color the links should be on the Blathering website. Also playing Words With Friends which, I swear, I am the last person in the internet to play that game and how did that happen?! It's awesome! Even though I AM REALLY BAD AT IT!!! But I just really value this no-kid time, when it's quiet and I CAN play Words With Friends or read more than two pages of a book or figure out how to do image mapping which is something everyone else learned to do in 1994. THAT feels as important as sleep!

Except, I suppose, sleep is a biological necessity and I need more of it. The Tired Crazy makes that dreadfully apparent. 

Christmas Eve Eve Eve

Earlier this week I called the childbirth center to find out when my labor nurse was working, then tonight I loaded up the car with Emma, a giant box of gourmet cookies from Costco, and a Christmas card that took me forever to write and headed over to the hospital.

They told me she'd be available around 7:30, but I waited quite a bit longer than that. It never occurred to me to just leave the box of cookies and the card at the nurses' station. I wanted to see My Nurse even though, and this is something I thought about while sitting waiting for her, that I try to avoid most of these situations. I often don't answer the phone, I'll drop by when I know someone isn't there, I almost exclusively email. 

I told myself it was because I didn't really IDENTIFY myself in the card, and if she didn't see me in person and talk to me she'd have no idea who wrote it or what this strange lady was talking about. But I think I'd have wanted to see her anyway. 

She poked her head around the corner and she looked totally different to me. She was wearing street clothes, not scrubs, and she hadn't been up all night working. She didn't recognize me, which I expected. I had prepared a whole introduction. "My name is Maggie," I said, "and you delivered my baby."

She looked at me again and then went, "OHHHH."

So she cooed over Emma, as anyone would, and Emma smiled up a storm and basically did me proud. My Nurse seemed to remember more about Emma's birth the longer I stood there talking to her. She wanted to know how Phillip was ("was he traumatized?") She asked a lot about how I was after I went home, bringing up certain things that happened or things about me she'd observed in the hospital, some of which I don't remember at all and wonder if she might be mixing up with someone else. Kind of graphic scary-ish things that at once were validating and terribly unflattering. 

I told her I just wanted to bring her something and tell her how much I appreciated her presence and that I would never ever forget and she said, "Me either!" 

I thought I might cry - honestly, just driving around to that particular entrance to the hospital was super emotional. I used to feel that way just LOOKING at the hospital where Jack and Molly were born. This was a little different though. It wasn't just The Place Where We Had Emma but also The Place Where This THING Happened. 

I didn't cry. But I do find myself tearing up a lot lately. I never know if this, like, residual hormones or just my innate over-sensitivity to absolutely everything hardly worth crying over. Both? But this entrance of Emma's, this crashing and bursting and loud arrival has really left its mark on me. Now when I pray the Christmas novena the beginning stands out even more: Hail and blessed be the hour and moment in which the Son of God was born, of the most pure Virgin Mary at midnight in Bethlehem in the piercing cold.

Last year I wrote that praying the Christmas novena was an entirely fresh Advent experience for me, and really drove home the setting of Jesus' birth. In a BARN. In the COLD. Around ANIMALS. And DIRT. It wasn't just Away In The Manger and O Little Town of Bethlehem anymore, it was having a baby in a BARN. 

And this year, it's having a baby in a barn and wondering if Mary screamed, if she went out of her mind, if anyone heard, if she even CARED that it was a barn. I no longer remember what it felt like, only that I never want to feel it again. Each time I pray the novena prayer, a tiny part of me remembers, a tiny part of me clings to Mary in a brand new way. And at the end, when you say through the merits of our Savior, Jesus Christ and of his Blessed Mother, I sometimes tack on his Amazing Blessed Mother. Because, well, come on. She had her baby without an epidural and she had her baby in a BARN. 

I intend to celebrate this event with piles of presents and heaps of chocolate. We have something like fourteen get togethers planned between now and Sunday evening and I am so very thankful I have a new baby to haul around to each of these events. And if there's anything good that came out of those three bewildering hours in the hospital its this new way to... connect? with Mary. Well, besides Emma, of course. She's pretty awesome. 

Merry Christmas, Internet!

What I did today instead of running on the treadmill

Because Emma took a CRAZY long nap today (JESUS LOVES ME) I had tons of time to do stuff like... fold all the laundry! Run! Prep dinner! Write that post banging around my head for the Catholic blog! PLAY WITH MY KIDS!

Ha ha ha I did none of that. Instead I made an Advent calendar. EYE ROLL. Also: do not get excited! I know you crafty types! This Advent calendar does not involve felt or doors or embroidery or even heartwarming suggestions for Adventy things to do that day! 

TA-DA

Okay, I just didn't have time to write out the heartwarming Adventy things to do. But that's the point. Those are little paper pockets and each day the child who is not driving me to drink will pull out the Thing To Do That Day. The Thing To Do That Day may or may not involve eating chocolate, because what is an Advent calendar without chocolate?

I don't really stress too much about Christmas or how to do it well. I'm not sure why, because I certainly stress about everything ELSE. But maybe it's because I throw all of that energy into our party every year? I LOVE hosting stuff, but I think I get to do all of that with my party, and then I'm happy to do whatever my family ends up doing for Christmas. Which is almost always: descend upon my parents' house on Christmas Eve for wine-fueled present-opening. And until this year we've gone to Phillip's parents' house and had a very low key Christmas Day - this year they're coming to OUR house. But it's still going to be low key. I love my big family and all the bigness that involves, but I've also REALLY come to appreciate the laid back smallness of Phillip's family's holidays and hosting or not, we shall retain the laid backness! 

But Christmas is always Christmassy and always good, even if we're tired of driving and the presents are overwhelming etc. I always have a good time, I always feel like we celebrate the True Meaning and all that. How nice for me to not stress about something!

YOU people, though, YOU people keep writing about how you're doing Christmas and GOSHDARNIT after wrapping a few presents that showed up on my doorstep today (Christmas: Brought To You By Amazon.com) I decided I was not done with the wrapping paper. 

We have about a dozen Christmas books that I save and box up every year. I'm going to combine those with the other dozen I bought from Jack's preschool book order this month and the kids will open one new Christmas book every night. (We'll reuse them next year.) Beyond that I'm thinking of VERY VERY EASY THINGS to go in those little pockets. Like things we will do no matter what (decorate the tree) (decorate cookies) (play Christmas songs on the piano). I'm not sure what else, though. I should probably put some churchy stuff in there. Christmas is not ALL about the party. 

Speaking of, the kids and I went to Target today and we spent a good ten minutes trying to decide if we were going to buy the WHITE tinsel tree or the RED tinsel tree. This was a HEATED DISCUSSION and we COULD NOT AGREE so we did not buy a tinsel tree after all. I'm feeling a little bereft about this now. I NEED a tinsel tree. Preferably a HOT PINK tinsel tree. Get on that, Target!

Emma has fallen asleep on my lap. Some combination of full tummy + intense leg jiggling... wanna see?

Yeah, if you're ever wondering what your Trusty Blogger looks like when she's churning out brilliant after brilliant paragraph, this is it. One handed typing at its finest. Also, you can't see it, but Spit Up has a starring role in this picture. Anyway, I better go put this kid to bed and cut out the rest of my numbers. Night night. 

The "I'm A Loser Who Updates Her Blawg On Saturday Nights" Picturefest

Baptism!

This is me, EJ, and 30 extra pounds, which are apparently all located in my chin[s]. LE SIGH. Also, SOMEONE is all, "I can't believe I have to be in this photo with that thing on my head."

"Okay, FINE."

Also, I can't BELIEVE someone was letting her kid climb ALL OVER the altar - oh wait.

Cousins! This particular cousin refers to J as "Jacks" and M as "Jackenmolly". Which of course I find utterly adorable. 

On the wall at preschool. 

It worked! (E is wearing, by the way a GIANT BIB because of the Incessant Barfing. It is embroidered with a Giant E in an attempt to make it cute. It does nothing, however, for the barfing.)

And you should have seen the way she was Gazing Adoringly at her big siblings today. She's just starting to smile and respond to Phillip and me, but I SWEAR this kid has been responding to Jack (especially Jack) for weeks. Weeks! He was jostling her around, yanking her this way and that, readjusting her every two seconds and she just Gazed Adoringly the entire time. HAPPY PARENT SIGH. 

Besties with my OB

I had my six week checkup today. You know what was fun? When the nurse was taking down all my information and she asked, "Who delivered your baby?" and I said, "Uh... no one?" and she was all, "HUH?" and I said, "The nurse? Sort of?" and she said, "No, what doctor?" and I said, "THERE WAS NO DOCTOR!" That was fun. 

And then I spent a whole afternoon wondering how weird it would be, exactly, to invite my OB to my Christmas party. I thought it might be weird if I asked her THEN, while I was wearing what amounted to a piece of paper. But it didn't seem to bother HER and she stuck around talking to me long after business had concluded so I don't know, maybe she wants to be friends too? AUGH THIS IS SO DORKY. I thought about emailing my old neighbor, who is 1) an OB and 2) a friend and seeing how weird it would be, but she KNOWS my OB and that just added a whole other element of weirdness. AGAIN WITH THE DORKY!

Baby News: I've decided Emma is not refluxy so much as gassy. Yes, me and Dr. Google decided this. Maybe she does have  a little reflux, but Phillip and I are both in agreement that what's causing most of her discomfort is lots and lots and lots of stinky gas. I am now stocked up with Mylicon drops and gripe water and I'm going off cheese and milk and my beloved instant pudding (sugar-free instant pudding is how I survive the barren chocolate-free wasteland of a low carb diet) in hopes of decreasing the evil bubbles. Arwen sent me a link to some probiotic stuff and the nurse today talked about massage and SOMETHING WILL WORK. I didn't give her the Zantac this morning because 1) my super duper mommy instincts tell me this isn't really a reflux issue and 2) she positively hates it (I can't BELIEVE they make it MINTY). 

Right now she's asleep. On her side, in my bed, covered with a blanket - pretty much all the things they tell you not to do. She's getting so big - 9.5 pounds at her reflux appointment - and she just LOOKS different and I am trying SO HARD to get the most out of this tiny baby stage. Remember Phillip doesn't want to do this again, so I really want to remember all of it. Every time I pick her up I have this fear that she won't tuck her legs up and stretch out with her arms and point her chin in the air and make that closed-eyes-milk-drunk-grimace I love so much, because when she stops doing those things she will officially not be A Tiny Baby anymore and my heart will break into a zillion pieces. 

I took her with me to the doctor while the FPC watched the big kids. Remember the FPC? She's still PCing and has so many crazy cake stories you sort of stop believing that they're real. There just CAN'T be so many wackadoos ordering cakes. AND YET THERE ARE. Which is why the FPC and I are going to start a new blog (yes! another one!) and we're going to call it Cake Freaks or something like that and it's going to be ANONYMOUS and SNEAKY and all about the wackadoos who order cake. And possibly the people who run the cake shops. I'm just saying. IT COULD BE INTERESTING. 

Of course... I'm feeling a bit busy these days. But it sounds like a fun little side project. I would totally read that blog. Dude, the wackadoo she told me about today? TAKES THE CAKE. PUN TOTALLY INTENDED. I told the FPC that I would even take dictation over the phone. That is how committed I am to the cake blog. Of course, the FPC wants to monetize it, so that she no longer has to deal with cake wackadoos. I told her she might need to think of a plan B. 

Why am I not sleeping while the baby sleeps? Oh right. It's called TWO PRESCHOOLERS and IN DIRE NEED OF DOWN TIME. 

 

 

In which my 19yo self cannot comprehend the Painting As Relaxation concept

It's just Emma and me in the house right now - Phillip is on his way home from picking up the big kids at his mom's house. I meant to have a lovely afternoon getting a few things done, but Miss Gassypants here was all, "You must be joking." So much for getting started on painting the entry way and addressing Christmas party invitations. I can't even do not-fun stuff, like laundry, because I don't think I can get the clothes out of the dryer without dumping the baby into the laundry basket as well. 

She's on Zantac, but I'm beginning to suspect that the real Fuss Culprit is gas. Lots and lots and LOTS of gas. So much gas that I am seriously considering avoiding milk and cheese (and this has NOTHING to do with getting out of eating low-carb, OBVS). Also, she's six weeks which I hear is Prime Fussy Time. (And DUDE - six weeks?!) She's eating every two hours at night, which is not something I can sustain forever... although honestly, I'm not doing too badly in the sleep deprivation department. Even with the fussiness I feel okay. Tired and irritated because I can't do my own thing and stunned by the amount of spit up laundry and maybe a little nervous abut how this Increase in Fuss is going to affect the whole delicate preschool system we've got going on, but overall? I really do think I'm doing well. 

Might I mention I've completely weaned myself off the crazy meds? BOO YA.

Well, now it's hours and hours later... I don't know why I'm so focused, so WRAPPED UP in "doing stuff" right now. I feel like everything I write here has to do with "sure I have a six-week-old baby but I CAN and I WILL [fill in the blank]." Paint. Plan a party. Lose weight. Redesign the Blathering website. Make plans with friends. Find the perfect pendant lamp. Move Jack into his new room. Write! It's so HARD for me to not do stuff. I have no problem taking a cheery contented baby to Home Depot and Target and setting her up in the bouncy chair while I tape off trim or write a blog post or (ha ha) use the treadmill. But having to hold a FUSSY and GASSY baby ALL AFTERNOON... I just start TWITCHING. Sigh. 

So I don't know why we decided to spend our whole Saturday afternoon at a CAMP, a CHRISTIAN camp where we planned to crash our old college fellowship's yearly fall retreat. I KNOW. It sounded kind of losery to me too. We are in our THIRTIES. We do not hang out with spry and overenthusiastic COLLEGE STUDENTS. But one of the Meaningful People from our years in the NDCF was the fall retreat speaker, and Phillip really wanted to attend one of the sessions. I wasn't planning to go. It sounded weird. It sounded uncomfortable. I thought for SURE I would come home with ISSUES. Not least of which would be: I am REALLY OLD NOW. 

But then I thought: hey! This could be sort of fun? Maybe? Because it sounded sort of nice to ditch the big kids with grandparents and spend the day with my husband and my baby in a peaceful lakeside retreat and see old friends. 

So I went! And lo, it was good. Mostly. I mean, I DID feel super old. And I think I spent more time Observing than I usually do. It was neat to see the staff worker side of things (one of my best friends is now the entire NDCF Powers That Be in Western Washington, which is how we got to invite ourselves in the first place, oh yes, you need college ministry hookups - I have them) and we got to hang out with the speaker and eat junk food in a warm cabin and not stress about having an Intense and Important Experience like we did when we were students. Turns out things aren't always such the big deals we thought they were...

But we got home at midnight and Emma was up every two hours and did I mention we are OLD NOW? Someone asked us if we were planning to stay overnight at the camp and attend the Sunday morning session and we did our best "YOU MUST BE JOKING" Emma impression. 

Now it's back to the grind, yes? My biggest hope for Monday is that Emma naps while the kids are at preschool and I can paint my entry way. And this was my biggest reason for not really wanting to go to the retreat: what in the WORLD would my 19-year-old self have to say about my biggest hope? She would die a thousand mortified deaths, that's what.