Project Third Baby

Persimmon Red

Last night I dreamed about paint. I have to say, that's one of the tamer things I've dreamed about lately, but still. PAINT. 

You know Phillip is out of town, right? And I get... I don't know. Antsy. The kids are being pretty good and we're hanging out with friends and all that, but naptime is long and before-bedtime is long. I get antsy and it turns out that what is keeping me occupied and sane-ish has to do with PAINT. 

Luckily my kids are awesome at entertaining each other (when they're not bickering me to death, that is) and I've done a LOT of painting. Well, I suppose that's relative, but for someone who put "painting" up there with "running" as the two things she would only ever do under extreme duress, my 30s have certainly surprised me. 

It COULD be nesting? Maybe? I've spray painted I don't know how many things now, large and small, and painted my dining room and hallway. Yesterday I dragged the kids to Home Depot and picked up paint for my bedroom and - get this - a small can of coral red paint for a seven dollar chair I bought at GOODWILL. People, I don't even know myself anymore. 

Last night I lightly sanded that chair, sprayed it with Killz, and covered it with very careful brushstrokes of Martha's 'Persimmon Red'. And it was one of the most calming experiences I've ever had. I honestly don't know how to describe it. It wasn't that I'd had this miserable day with the kids or anything, but Phillip IS out of town and I am responsible for everything, from morning till night (and also through the night as we know) and it was just sort of peaceful to let the kids hack the lavender bush to death in the backyard (I HATE LAVENDER) while I patiently painted my chair. 

I AM NOT PATIENT! I think that's the weirdest thing. And it might have been different if I was painting, say, Phillip's giant dresser. (Which is on my list.) But here I was ACCOMPLISHING something. And I was doing it in a halfway correct manner. By myself. On a day when it was not too hot or too cold on the deck, when the kids were happy and leaving me alone, and I kept thinking: this will look so NICE with my new white desk! 

I can't run anymore. I probably could have kept running for a long time, but I didn't, and now even walking a few blocks in Portland gave me sharp pains. I'm often out of breath going up the stairs in my house. ANNOYING. And I can TELL that I haven't been running in forever. Not just physically, but mentally, which I have to say was an even better benefit than the help with weight loss. It just DOES something in your brain. I have never written more than when I was running. 

But there was something about engrossing myself in that stupid paint project that was similar and I just found myself feeling like... like I've really MISSED something. It made me feel like me for a while. Even though, come on. PAINTING?

I have grand plans for my bedroom, which is usually the last room in the house I think about fixing up. I don't think I made my townhouse bedroom cute until the last year we lived there, and that was with having to sell the house in mind. Now I think it's about the fact that new baby will be in here for a while and I won't be able to do anything painty or too strenuous or time consuming with new baby around, and I want it to be PRETTY. I've picked out paint and new bedding and I'm scheduling a dresser and two odd tables that function as our nightstands for their own paint jobs. I want these last few moving boxes out of here and all the random stuff off the floors. The only thing is that Phillip and I are thinking of getting a king-sized bed and we might not be able to shell out the cash for that right away, meaning I can't buy the BEDDING right away... But still. I have plans and they make me happy and perhaps that's shallow and boring and GAWD who cares about PAINT but you guys I feel useful and creative and like I'm not JUST a swollen kitchen maid. 


Pretty fingernails just make everyone happier

I randomly left my husband and children this evening to go get myself a pedicure. I haven't had one since last summer, and last summer I was getting one every three weeks I was so addicted to the experience. I don't come from a very female-high-maintenance family - no one gets their nails done or wears much makeup or jewelry, no fancy hair appointments. But then I got my first pedicure the summer I turned 30 and ever since I've been all WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THIS WAS SO GLORIOUS?

Anyway, the lady doing my toes was all, "You want manicure too?" and I barely thought for a second before shrugging out my, "Why not?!"

So my toes are hot pink and my fingers are barely pink. I'm happy. Phillip says I should admire my hands while giving him a back rub. PERHAPS.

There was hardly any yelling today and the only potty accident happened when I was out and Phillip had to deal with it so it doesn't count. HEH. I finished painting my desk but I bought the wrong kind of polycrylic to go over it so I have to go back to Home Depot tomorrow. They're going to start greeting me by name. Did I accomplish anything else? I did eat the rest of the brownies. 

Tomorrow I'm going to have the smaller of my nieces hanging out all day, which means I can probably get done whatever in the world I'd like to get done. But I've been trying to take the kids to the wading pool - it's either crappy weather or bad timing or not open - and I'm wondering if tomorrow would be a good day for that. With Niece there I wouldn't have to go into the water myself! I could simply sit in the grass and growl at the other kids trying to make off with our toys. 

Anyway, today I was reading a post by someone who's having a baby soon and how she just set up the crib and is getting the clothes ready and all that. And I am thinking, "aw, sweet" and then I realize HOLY CATS she is the same number of weeks pregnant as ME!

So. Here are the things we are NOT doing in preparation for new baby:

  • Getting a room ready. Poor kid. I am just not ready to move my kids into one of the downstairs bedrooms. Even if I felt like THEY were ready (which I don't think they are, and I haven't done anything to prepare them for such a thing anyway) we are still waking up multiple times a night to take someone to the bathroom or pull up covers or deal with night terrors and I am NOT interested in hiking downstairs and all the way into the far back bedroom at three in the morning. And I have kept the new babies in our room for a few months out of sheer laziness anyway. This was especially awesome when I learned how to nurse Molly in bed. That's, like, EXPERT laziness. Highly recommend. We have this little mini crib and I plan to keep the baby right next to my side of the bed until... well, I don't know. Until we realize the baby is a horribly noisy sleeper or we're tired of putting our pajamas on in the dark or whatever. Thankfully this house has a closet about fifteen times larger than Molly's closet (REMEMBER MOLLY'S CLOSET?) and we can move new baby in there. Basically I think I can put off moving a kid downstairs until at LEAST springtime. ??? But who knows. Maybe they'll be driving me crazy and we'll put Jack downstairs and Molly in the playroom and new baby in the laundry room and keep upstairs to ourselves. 
  • Getting the clothes out. But this is only because I am lazy (see above paragraph) and sorting clothes is pretty much my least favorite thing in the entire world. Also I have no idea where I'm going to PUT her clothes. And folks, that only just occurred to me as I was typing it. Crap! What am I going to do with her stuff? Jack and Molly are already bursting out of their dresser. GAH.
  • Getting all the other stuff out. Like bottles and blankets and the very few new baby required accessories. It has occurred to me that I no longer have a pump. A friend of mine let me borrow hers for both kids, but I gave it back a long time ago and I think SHE borrowed it from someone ELSE (does this gross you out? I've heard you're not supposed to borrow pumps.) But I hated pumping with the fire of ten thousand suns and I ABHOR the idea of buying or renting one. I don't want to do it at ALL. But if I don't, Baby Jail will be even more frustrating. Unless I just put my pump money towards a stockpile of formula for whenever I want to go out... ooh, that's gonna get me in trouble, isn't it! 

Things we DO have

  • A name
  • Two very excited siblings

Rage tempered by fumes

I yelled a lot today. Would you like to hear about it? 

The morning was fine, which was good because for some reason I was OUT OF IT all morning. I remember having some intense dream (all my dreams are intense lately, ugh) and then suddenly I had this thought: there are brownies! in the kitchen! Yes. I thought this. SUE ME. Then it occurred to me if I got up RIGHT THEN, I could eat brownies for breakfast without the children catching me. Possibly I need to go to Carbs Anonymous?

So anyway, I stumbled out of bed, half awake, for BROWNIES. Although honestly, is there really a better reason? But either I woke up too soon or too fast because I was only halfway present in the real world for a good solid hour or two. I managed to get the kids breakfast and all that, and thank goodness they decided to have one of their great big imaginary games instead of bickering at each other all morning because SERIOUSLY, I was SPACED OUT.

So I don't think the yelling started until lunch time. I gave Molly some yogurt, and as she is wont to do with yogurt or anything drippy and wet, some of it plopped on the table. No big deal. But by the time I got to the table to clean it up, Molly had smudged it EVERYWHERE, with her PALM and was looking at me like, "No biggie, Mom, I'm just furthering my creativity" and I was mad. MAD. The child is nearly three. She's been eating yogurt on her own for a LONG TIME. She shouldn't have it smeared all over hands and face and my TABLE.

Then, as I am wont to do, I barked at her and harrumphed and carried on and roughly wiped her up and ordered her to her room. Whereupon, of course, she started to cry. And that just made me angrier. 

"GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

And she shuffled off (Molly always makes certain you know that she really doesn't want to do whatever you are ordering her to do) and I fumed and raved to myself and then I hear her crying take on a different tone. A tone I am quite familiar with, yet one I still don't manage to tend to in time. The cry that says, "I'm really upset! So upset I'm going to PEE MY PANTS!"

Which she did. All over her bed. And you thought I was mean and yelly BEFORE. 

Oh man. I am just DONE with this potty training thing. DOOOOOONE. I swear we've been doing this for a year. I am totally willing to say it's my fault, that I started too early, that she wasn't ready blah blah blah. But you know what? I would have sworn she WAS ready. 

I have to say that 90% of the time she uses the potty. And ever since we started using Miralax on a regular basis (SORRY FUTURE MOLLY) we haven't had to deal with days on end of, well, TRAUMA. But she is MOST unwilling to use the potty for THOSE occasions and then there are her random... spells. The times when she gets upset. The times she forgets. The times it just appears that she doesn't CARE. 

I know you aren't supposed to go off on a kid who just wet her pants but BY GOLLY I WANTED TO. I just feel like: YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO! YOU KNOW! YOU KNOOOOOOW! And I am SO SICK of cleaning up! GAH! 

I also know that potty training is one of those things even super bloggers choose not to write about, but I'm just gonna say that this is all YOUR fault, Molly. You are KILLING ME WITH THIS. 

The other night I turned to Phillip and said, "Remember when she just wouldn't walk? Like she knew what to do, and she knew that we knew that she knew what to do, but she just WOULDN'T? And when she wouldn't go to bed before midnight? No matter what we tried? She just WOULDN'T? Do you think this is the same kind of thing? IN WHICH CASE WE ARE SCREWED?"

I was so furious and yelly and because I KNEW I was furious and yelly I gave myself a time out. I flopped on my bed and my kids started playing nicely again and I just laid there. Dead to the world. DEPRESSED. 

Eventually I got up and sent Molly to bed and decided to be a half decent mother and play puzzles with my boy, who is quite good at puzzles and everything was okay as long as I mentally turned his voice down and concentrated on matching the dress pieces to the Disney princess face pieces. Eventually Phillip's parents came over to visit and I left the chatty kid with them while I went to, wait for it, HOME DEPOT to buy, yes you're right, MORE SPRAY PAINT OMG I HAVE A PROBLEM. 

(I decided to paint my espresso-colored West Elm desk white. Just go with this. And don't freak out like my FIL about the pregnant and spray painting thing because I bought myself a MASK and I do it on the deck and I take frequent breathers on the far side of the deck and really I think I am QUITE SAFE.) (But I do love how FIL didn't say anything DIRECTLY to me, but kept nudging MIL to lecture me instead. Which she did not. Ahem.)

I don't know. It just made me feel LESS depressed to have a PROJECT. 

And everything was going fine and the kids were happy and FIL and MIL were occupied. But then it was time to meet Phillip at the restaurant and the kids went downstairs to put on their shoes while I headed to the bathroom to put on my third or fourth application of undereye concealer that day I hear my darling little boy say, "Ye Ye, you're STUPID!" Giggle giggle giggle. 

I waited for Ye Ye to haul off and dropkick the child to the moon, but Ye Ye just mumbled something or other. Then I heard my sweet little boy say, "Nai Nai, YOU'RE stupid!" Giggle giggle giggle.

And Nai Nai, being Nai Nai, just said something like, "Oh Jack, that's not very nice, here, let me tie your shoe," and suddenly I realize I am standing there with my undereye concealer while I obviously need to go do the dropkicking myself. 

So I threw my makeup in the drawer and stomped down the stairs and YANKED the precious boy away from his grandmother and half-dragged him into the guest bedroom and in my best imitation of my dad's you-are-dead-meat voice I told him that under NO circumstances was that an appropriate thing to say EVER and if I EVER heard him say that again I would find a nice Dickensian orphanage for him to live in and OMG I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU SAID THAT TO YOUR GRANDPARENTS!!!!

Jack, at least, was properly horrified, mortified, terrified, all the appropriate -fieds. And you know, I'm not even sure he knows what stupid MEANS. I've been trying to think of any time anyone has used that word around him and I'm realizing that I often use it in reference to, ah, other drivers. Like, I will make some Frustrated Noise and Jack will say, "What's wrong?" and I will say, "That other driver is being STUPID!" (Which is always true, obvs.) 

So at the very least he knows it's not a NICE thing to say, which, honestly, is enough grounds for selling to gypsies. His GRANDPARENTS! I wanted to die. Die! Although I'm sure they thought I blew it out of proportion and when I brought him back they were all about wanting him to stop crying and I was still all "NO! STOP BEING NICE TO HIM!"

SIGH. After dinner I came home and put another coat of white paint on my desk while Phillip dealt with the Pee-er and the Stupid-er. 

I have good news and bad news. The good news is that Phillip and I are leaving on Thursday (Thursday!) for a little two-night jaunt down to Portland. BY OURSELVES. We originally planned to go to San Francisco, but dear God have you seen plane ticket prices? Then we were going to drive to Vancouver BC but oops, someone's passport expired. Portland, quite frankly, did not sound all that exciting to me, but then we decided to take the train and suddenly I am all I WILL HAVE HOURS AND HOURS AND HOURS TO READ AND NAP AND IT WILL BE GLORIOUS. Plus I have this foodie friend who sent me the biggest list of restaurants in the WORLD and the top one is a Thai restaurant and maybe you do not know this but I am Vegetarian Pad Thai With Deep Fried Tofu's biggest fan. We're pretty excited about it. 

The BAD news is that the day after we get back, Phillip is going on a week-long business trip. SOB. Obvs I will need a REALLY big project for next week. I'm thinking about painting my bedroom, but don't tell FIL because when I told him I'd have to use the big ladder he nearly fainted. 

(P.S. I KNOW FIL is right, I do I do, but I am 1) getting all NESTY and 2) in possession of a new house and I swear it's impossible not to visit Home Depot every single day. It's like my new Target. HELP ME!)

 


How do I love thee, Birthday Cake? Let me count the ways!

I was basically an Anxiety-Ridden Freak until I could call my doctor at nine this morning. I don't know why I get like that. It's not like GD is, you know, CANCER. And my ability to low carb is proven (see the website!) But I was still jittery and upset about still having birthday cake in the freezer that I would now have to feel Horribly Guilty about eating (UNFAIR) and then I called the nurse and she's all, "So your glucose test results were normal, but -"

And I was all, "REALLY!? HONESTLY?! OMG! I've been sitting here all morning dreading the three-hour test! That's fantastic! I totally thought that's why you called! Oh, I am so relieved!" 

The whole time I am running my mouth the nurse is trying to get a word in. Finally she says, "But you're ANEMIC." And she says "ANEMIC" like it IS cancer and then tells me I need to go get "slowfy" and I'm all "slowfy?" and she repeats "SLOWFY" except it sounds like "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU DUMBASS" but it doesn't matter because I! Don't have! Gestational diabetes! And later I google around it turns out I am supposed to go buy myself some of this and FINE, DONE. 

I think to myself, "Maybe THIS is why you are so freaking tired all the freaking time," and then that's the last thought I have about The Vague Phone Message all day. Except for when I have a slice of frozen birthday cake because hey! I CAN EAT SUGAR!

(We will revisit this whole thing once this baby is no longer taking up residence in my body and I have to acknowledge the fact that I have nine thousand pounds to lose.) 

I did all my other grown up things today too, which means I earned myself a trip to Heaven On Earth, aka The Party Store. People, this is not just ANY party store. This is a party store right down the road from me, a party store that sells party supplies, oh yes, but also costumes and Christmas trees and sequinned fabric and professional costume makeup and expensive tiaras and fifteen kinds of glue and feather boas of every color and fake fur and fake cigarettes and OH I JUST LOVE IT. Seriously, just walking IN makes me happy. There's another pretty terrific party store downtown that makes my heart go pitter pat, but MY party store is two minutes away and I CAN JUST GO FOR FUN! Sigh. 

Anyway, I came home with a few necessary items and then all afternoon the kids were on my case to help me with my PROJECTS by which they meant "throw feathers and sequins all over the room." Oh, feathers and sequins! Be still my heart!

So I suppose you can tell from the tone of this post that Things Are Looking Up. Aren't we all HAPPY? You are all invited for the rest of the birthday cake. I will read this here DIY magazine I picked up at Michael's while I wait for you to come over. (I KNOW. A DIY MAGAZINE. AM BRAINWASHED BY PINTEREST.)

 


This is not about spray paint

This is a Third Baby update. For those of you who are interested in such things. 

So, uh, it's a girl. Yay! And I'm not clear on how many weeks I am, but my glucose test thing is this coming Tuesday. And my due date is October 8. So, six-ish months? 

I am large enough so that I'm slightly horrified at being only six-ish months, knowing that I have three more months to get Larger. But then everyone says I am NOT large, pregnant-wise anyway. My theory is this: I gain weight EVERYWHERE. So I am just proportionally bigger all over, not just my belly. Make sense. Maternity pants that literally fell off me when I first needed maternity pants are now quite snug. Stupid PopTarts. 

This pregnancy is more annoying than my Jack pregnancy, by virtue of not being the first pregnancy and therefore utterly unfascinating to me. But much easier than my Molly pregnancy, by virtue of being on those glorious meds... and I THINK I am feeling physically better than I did with Molly. I just remember being SO uncomfortable SO early on with Molly, with sleeping and eating and getting up from couches and all that just being a huge pain. I still have time to get to that point, of course, but 1) I never got to that point with Jack and 2) I'm pretty sure I was already at that point with Molly at six-ish months. So, win? 

I'm not at all worried about Three. Some will call this denial. And I know, I really do, that it will not be a cake walk and I will be tired and all that. But I am one of those people who really DOES like tiny babies. For me it is easier somehow to deal with midnight feedings than it is to deal with disciplining a two-year-old who won't confess to drawing on her bed with markers. There's something about only being responsible for sustenance and physical care, rather than emotional wellbeing and raising someone to Act Right. You are free to tell me that this is because I had ridiculously easy babies and you would be right. This might be my turn for a screamy, refluxy, colicky, torture instrument in footie pajamas, and if so I reserve the right to change my mind on the baby thing. But for now: I'm really looking forward to a new snuggly baby. I am even, and I honestly can't believe I'm about to type this, slightly looking forward to breastfeeding. I KNOW!!! Is this some pregnancy hormone kicking in or something? GAH!

My kids are four and nearly three and they are SO not babies anymore. I'm having actual Sadness over the fact that Molly can now say the word 'strawberry' properly. But every time I think of some little baby thing my kids don't do anymore, I'm overcome with relief that I have a third opportunity. Seriously. This may be my third, but in some ways I'm enjoying and appreciating the anticipation part more than I did with the other two. With Jack I only knew about the bad things (and created terrifically low expectations as a result - I recommend this, btw) and with Molly... well, honestly, I hardly remember anything but being 1) crazy and 2) crazy uncomfortable. But now I know about all the GOOD parts too and I'm so EXCITED for all the good parts again. They almost cancel out knowing that I have to wake up ten times a night and go through the whole baby food thing and put the baby gates. 

The thing that I am not looking forward to is the actual giving birth. You'd think I'd be over it, as it is, again, the third time. But you guys... ugh. I just don't wanna. I was in labor FORTY-EIGHT HOURS with Jack. And everyone says second babies come faster but they LIED - Molly took ALMOST forty-eight hours. These quick labors I read about online are total mysteries to me. What in the WORLD would that be LIKE?! I just don't want to think about it. It'll be fine. Whatever. 

I haven't thought too much about her girlness. Sometimes I'm sad that Jack won't have a brother. Then I'm happy Molly will have a sister. Then I'm happy again that we'll have another girl to balance out Molly's established princess-ness. And we all know girl clothes are more fun (and more fun to re-use) than boy clothes. 

This time I feel really weird about introducing a New Person. Jack and Molly are so... Jackenmolly. You know? And even though they talk about the new baby all the time, it still seems so strange to add another element to the kid dynamic. And then I think about how this time of life is so short and fleeting and after a while the weird thing will be that there was a time when we didn't HAVE a third baby. 


Sleeping Doughgirl

I am a bad napper. When my four-year-old accidentally falls asleep in the afternoons, is rudely awoken by someone demanding he get up and eat dinner or say hello to his grandparents or some other horrific demand, and subsequently Loses His You Know What, I have sympathy. Because I TOO am a terrible napper. Naps always SOUND good, but then I wake up and I feel WORSE. 

(This is one of the reasons why I was a terminally boring friend in college. I woke up early, went to class, went to my part-time jobs, did my homework, and went to bed at eleven. I HEARD about this partying all night and sleeping all day phenomenon, but I was much too dull to try it out myself.) 

Anyway. I have been Anti-Nap as long as I can remember, until Baby Number Three. I MIGHT have napped while toting around Babies One and Two. POSSIBLY. I can't really remember. It's likely that there were naps in the first trimester, but 25ish weeks into this predicament and I STILL feel [NEARLY!] as tired as I did during the first couple weeks. This is not good. This does not bode well. Especially if I keep conking out in the afternoons and waking up a Groggy Grumpy Grouch. 

Sometimes I think my body just does things WRONG. Like caffeine. NORMAL people drink caffeine to stay awake! And help them power through the day! And it makes them feel good! You know what caffeine does to me? MAKES ME CRAZY. It's true that I had absolutely no problems with caffeine until I decided to give up coffee... and then realized I could never drink it again. HOW DEPRESSING. I used to shoot two or three cappuccinos in the afternoons, people, with no ill effect. And now? I can't even drink an 8 ounce drip at 8 in the morning without feeling CRAZY WACKO JITTERY until the day's practically over. It doesn't wake me up. I feel JUST as tired, only my body is on my speed. It is Not. Pleasant.

(My worst caffeine bender had nothing to do with coffee. The culprit was a truly enormous, thick and fudgy vegan brownie. It was ALMOST worth the day + night of shakes.)

Okay, so back to the nap... basically I was telling you all of that just so I can complain about being tired. AM SO TIRED. I napped FOREVER yesterday afternoon (and woke up feeling like crap) (and then was up until midnight reading my Swedish police procedural) (shut up) and then CERTAIN people wanted to eat BREAKFAST this morning, so I had to get up... and then I decided that today I would not nap. I would not be all Mrs. ZombieFace all evening. EXCEPT I AM ANYWAY. Oh my GOSH I am so tired. I can't wait for Phillip to show up so I can crash face first into my bed. 

I keep thinking about last year and the year before that, when nap time was EXERCISE TIME. Okay, not EVERY nap time, but you know what I mean. I would put Molly down, find Jack something to do, and I'd subject myself to Jillian for half an hour. I had arm muscles then! Shoulders! Hip and knee joints that didn't creak! I had ENERGY. I think about how I thought this was going to be the pregnancy where I exercised throughout. HA HA HA HA HA HA!

I am a soft, doughy, roly poly version of my former self. I have barely enough energy to make my kids peanut butter sandwiches at lunchtime. I do laundry when the kids run out of underpants and I wash the dishes only when someone threatens to visit me. I have lost the war on toys in the living room. My bedroom will never be free of clothes strung over moving boxes. I no longer even notice the carpet hole. I spent most of my afternoon plotting a terribly complicated 32nd birthday party, for my own self, shut up, and now I am Wildly Entertained and Truly Stymied by my groundless ambition. I cannot be serious! About the only ambition I have these days revolves around 1) when I can go to bed and 2) what I can download next on the Kindle. (Swedish police procedurals! Not bad!) 

And I am SURE you arrived at Mighty Maggie this evening expecting your usual daily dose of Humorous Insight Into The World Around Us and it appears I have failed you MIGHTILY. In fact, I am only still typing to prolong the illusion that I am Working and therefore Not Yet Ready to tend to the children turning to prunes in the bath tub. (If I can keep typing for nine more minutes, they'll be Phillip's problem! Let's shoot for that!) 

Here, I will give you a comment prompt and I expect you ALL to CHIME IN: Say you were invited to a tremendously cool murder mystery dinner party, hosted by your tremendously cool friend. There is no question you will attend, OBVS, and even less doubt that you will Get Into The Spirit Of Things and dress up, DOUBLE OBVS, but I am wondering, which theme would you prefer? 1) Pageant Queens 2) Bachelorette Party 3) Murder in a SPA?

 


I think we're getting one day of summer tomorrow, then back to sixty-two and raining. Of course.

Oh &@$%. Here I am sitting down to write the Evening Blog Post and I just remembered that we [ME] totally spaced on the Last Day Of Preschool Teacher Present. Blast! Not that we were going to do anything Fahncy, I was just going to have Jack make cards. But Phillip is putting him to bed now... Okay, what if I get out my collection of nice, blank notecards, write my own little note and transcribe a Jackson note over breakfast? And if there's time have him draw a picture? Is that okay? I think the teacher presents get sort of ridiculous... and I, personally, would prefer a note over a Starbucks card... AFFIRM MY DECISION, INTERNET.

So Jack's last day is tomorrow and I realize this seems to be much later than everyone else's last day of preschool. My top theory is that, due to the preschool renting space from a synagogue and therefore taking off all the Jewish holidays, they make them up towards the end. Yes? 

And now we are facing a preschool-less summer and I won't lie. I'm a little intimidated. I've counted on two mornings a week of just Molly and me, which isn't always necessarily a breeze, but at least there is no FIGHTING. And there are two mornings a week where I definitely know what the plans are. You know? And now... Phillip REALLY wants to get them into swimming lessons, but I'm thinking that will be a Saturday thing because I? Am not doing swimming lessons. I am 1) pregnant 2) would rather die than be pregnant and swimsuited and 3) I don't know how to swim. Perhaps that last reason is a good one for me to GO? But no, my Biggest Fear is drowning (actually, drowning because my PLANE crashed into the OCEAN) and, well, I am an adult and I have made my peace with not knowing how to swim. But I WOULD like my kids to be a little more normal than me and yay for their dad taking the initiative. That still doesn't help me figure out my summer weeks. 

I've been perusing the local community center summer brochure and there are all manner of weird little classes to take. I might sign them up for one or two of those, here and there. I don't know. We also have a lot going ON this summer, so maybe it won't seem too empty. A friend of mine also passed on some info for a girl whose nanny job fell through at the last minute and is looking for childcare hours. I can see things working in my favor. 

One thing that is LAME and that I sort of forgot about is Phillip's class next week. In order not to kill ourselves with work, school and travel this winter, Phillip put off a single class for the summer. And he picked a class that is only one week long, but EVERY DAY all week long, with a lot of homework and group work hours afterwards. So yeah. It's one week and if I can survive a week-long business trip I can certainly survive a week-long class. BUT STILL. WAH. 

What are you doing with your preschoolers this summer? 

I had an OB appointment today. It's been... a while. I scheduled my ultrasound sort of late-ish, and then I kept putting off this appointment. I swear, every single one of these appointments has been pointless. They take five minutes. Listen to the heartbeat, then off I go. Not that I'm complaining about things being so NORMAL, HARDLY, but I wish I could SKIP all this stuff and head directly to Labor and Delivery. What would they do to me? Make me give birth in the parking lot? 

(Also, yes, totally looking Gift Horse in the Mouth, etc. etc.) 

The thing is, I adore my doctor. She is just... ADORABLE. She's cute and WAY friendly and remembers everything about me and my family and actually she's so chatty and remembery that I get sort of stuttery and weird around her, because, uh, AREN'T YOU JUST MY DOCTOR? WAIT, ARE WE FRIENDS? I need my boundaries clearly defined. Anyway, she doesn't hassle me about a single thing and when I told her that I did NOT want to see the Original Nurse Who Gasped At My Previous Pregnancy Weight Gain for a refresher on breastfeeding (OMG CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE?) she waved her hand all, "TOTALLY."

Overbearing super doctory doctors seem to be the exception rather than the norm amongst my Seattle friends, and I always feel lucky when I compare my situation to stories I read about on the internet. My experience has been that the medical professionals are a lot less interventiony (how many nouns can I turn into adjectives in this post?!) than others in other parts of the country. As you know, I am not the type to have my baby in a tub and I am a big fan of pain meds, but I prefer to be poked and prodded as little as possible, and that's the sort of doctor I have. At least, she has ALWAYS given me the choice, when available, and when I ALWAYS opt out, she never makes me feel stupid or bad. 

But I stil have to show up to [Mostly] Pointless Appointments. Alas. Of course, today I was handed my vial of Revolting Orange Drink for my NEXT appointment, so I suppose there was that. 

Today I also started to think about actually HAVING the baby. I had conveniently blocked this part out. WAH.

Well. That was pretty tangenty, wasn't it (AGAIN! WITH THE ADJECTIVES! AM ON A ROLL!) I need to be writing these NOTECARDS, people. Stop distracting me! 

 


Mooooommmmy I huuuuuuungry

A lot of the, ah, Second Trimester Symptoms I experienced last time around are showing up again. Mainly the ones where my mental health is not up to par. I am on drugs, precisely BECAUSE of the insanity of last time, so it's not at ALL comparable, but I recognize it, I blame it on pregnancy, I know it's not forever, but it still super duper sucks. 

A first-time-pregnant friend of mine was asking if it was normal to feel so depressed and - God forgive me - I couldn't help launching into my Second Pregnancy Mental Health Affliction and sweeping statements about sometimes "PPD" shows up before you are post-partum anything blah blah blah, shut up me! I normally think I'm pretty decent about not having to infect every conversation with My Own Personal Experience (maybe? shush, people who know me in real life!) but I could not help myself and I was ashamed. Especially when it became clear that my friend just had a lot going on in GENERAL, not just PREGNANT-WISE, and clearly did not need to hear my tale of woe. Which had nothing to do with Normal People Depression. Or anything remotely related to HER. Gah.

At least Phillip is coming home tonight and holy wow, tomorrow is JUNE NINTH. I'm having trouble wrapping my brain around The End of Grad School. I think partly because he still has a week-long class in July and partly because he still goes to WORK and all that. I wondered if I would feel a difference, but the last couple weeks when he was home WERE really different. He ditched a lot of school and work because the rest of us were puking our guts out... I suppose that's an extraordinary circumstance. But still. Just the idea of him being home on Saturday mornings is kind of thrilling. 

In other news, my hair has grown out so much and yes I KNOW it's looking shaggy and unkempt, but I've officially decided I have neither the time nor the funds to get my hair cut every month. Besides, being pregnant and all I have awesome hair and maybe it will grow out a little faster and sometimes I kick myself for chopping it all off when I did. I could have waited till it was already falling out all over the place and looking like a stringy wet dog! 

I've also decided I need to own some necklaces. And not just charms on chains. After a lifetime of not wearing necklaces, mostly because I don't need to draw anyone's eyes THERE, ahem, I'm feeling saucy. I'm liking those big colorful necklaces I see on Etsy, and now when I get dressed I always think, "What this outfit needs is a STATEMENT NECKLACE." Ugh. I am rolling my eyes at my own self. 

All of this makes me realize I have no idea what to wear to Phillip's graduation ceremony. On one hand, it's Seattle. Jeans! On the other hand, I LIKE TO LOOK NICE SOMETIMES.

LA LA LA can you tell I'm just killing time before I have to put the kids to bed? Despicable Me is almost over, and since neither one napped today, off to bed we go. After that I have a half a pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream in my freezer and a Netflix streaming account with the entire first season of Drop Dead Diva. I'm more into reading these days, but since I've spent most of my day immersed in Unbroken, I think I need a frothy, high calorie break. 

And oh look! NOW the sun is coming out! At seven o'clock! HOW CONVENIENT! Where were you when I was desperate to keep my kids from killing each other? HMMM? We could have used some tricycle weather then!

P.S. Phillip and I are planning a Post-Grad School Alone Trip, most likely to the Bay Area, in the late summer. But I am sort of thinking maybe there is somewhere nearby? Driveable? That we should visit instead? I think I am taken with a blog post I just read about beach houses. Perhaps I need to fly to LA. 

AND OF COURSE THE KIDS ARE ASKING FOR MORE DINNER FTLOG I HAVE TO GO SHOOT MYSELF 


Spoiled lady clothes rant

I am INCREDIBLY frustrated with maternity clothes right now. And you get to hear about it. LUCKY YOU. 

I just hate EVERYTHING. This isn't, actually, all that different from when I'm not pregnant. I'm normally lacking in love for my closet, but now my choices are fewer and, even more irritatingly, less comfortable. I think back to my Jack pregnancy when I was still going to work and investing in Work Maternity Clothes and I cannot FATHOM it. Pants! I wore pants! When I now devote entire mornings to coming up with outfits that do not require pants!

No really. I am not kidding. Pants are, like, THE DEVIL. Either they are too snug around my belly or they are not and they fall down all day long. So! Annoying! I have one pair of Very Large Not-Maternity jeans that are so lowrise that they don't bother me. Other than that, I wear pajama pants or leggings. 

In fact: GOD BLESS LEGGINGS. I thought I would never wear them again, not once I saw the pictures of Tweenage Me wearing (oh God) WHITE LEGGINGS and you guys, I have NEVER been a size appropriate for WHITE LEGGINGS. But Old Navy maternity leggings are pretty much the only things I can stand to have on my lower half (that are also mostly acceptable to wear in public, as opposed to my giant plaid pajama pants.) 

However! Leggings require tunics. Longish shirts. Shortish dresses. And this is where I get stuck. I have a handful of tunicky items, but not enough to constitute a wardrobe, not when leggings and tunicky items are ALL you feel like wearing. I have a few stretchy skirts, which my sister (my authority on these things) tells me are okay to wear over my capri-length leggings, but I'm also lacking shirts. (Insert tangent re: why must maternity clothes make up for the maternity-ness by being Scandalously Low Cut? Not all of us are excited about that development! Gah!) 

And then I have one or two stretchy casual-ish dresses, so let me tell you, I am wearing out the leggings. This was worse when the weather was colder, because I was freezing all the time, but now that it looks like we might have an actual summer, I'm more optimistic. I can wear long tank tops and tunics and t-shirt dresses and leggings (or NO PANTS!) ALL FREAKING SUMMER!

Except! I CAN'T FIND ANY!!!

You have no idea how much time I've spent online looking at maternity clothes. Which I'm embarrassed about because so many people are all anti-buying-maternity-clothes, but if I don't, I feel YUCKY. I need things that FIT. And look DECENT. I didn't like wearing yoga pants even when I was skinny enough to wear the ones I have. But you guys, maternity clothes are either obscenely expensive and designery, or they are cheapo crappo. I am not one to turn up my nose at cheapo crappo, believe me, but I can't find anything I want! 

I do not want:

  • things that are so low cut I have to buy something ELSE to wear under/over them
  • spaghetti straps
  • pleats
  • ruffles
  • anything that smacks of Old Timey Maternity Clothes
  • cross over tops, because, well, see, the first item on this list
  • big bows in the back
  • anything skin tight

IS THAT SO HARD?

Basically I want potato sack-type tops in cute colors with maybe some cute embellishments that are long enough to cover my expanding rear when I wear leggings. I also have a pair of cropped jeans and several skirts (some of which are not maternity skirts, but skirts I wore pre-children, which makes me either die of shame or pump my fist, depending on the day.) 

There are a couple things I'm eyeing at Old Navy, but nothing that makes me plunk down the credit card, you know? It's so much easier to complain about it. Or buy shoes. 


Update on the brand of baby

It's old news if you follow me on Twitter, but: GIRL. 

I wrote a little bit more about The Girlness for Parenting, but I see it's not up. Yet. Hmm.

I thought it would be a boy. Because 1) Molly is the only girl in her generation, on both sides of our family, and we thought she was a fluke, and 2) this pregnancy feels more Jack-like to me. Both of those observations are built on an extreme lack of medical knowledge, so there you go. 

Aaaand, that's all you get for today since I made my daughter sob when I told her I had to use the computer instead of holding her. Great parenting this morning, folks. I can't wait to see what she does when I HAVE to hold a new baby.