Things might look a little weird around here for a day or two. I'm trying to rename the blog and update the look as well. Because I'm techno-challenged, the blog may be a hot mess while I get it all figured out.
I'll be at least eight (though I'm betting nine-ish) pounds lighter and that much closer to wearing pants with a real waistband.
My toes will once again be in my line of sight.
I can eat SUGAR! Piles and piles of SUGAR!
I'll be reunited with my ankle bones, currently gone MIA under a layer of puffy cankle.
I'll have an excuse (and be encouraged!) to lay in bed for hours and hours and hours and not have one good reason to feel guilty for doing so.
People will bring me FOOD in my bed! Sure, just jello and grape juice until I pass the all-important post abdominal surgery tooting test, but it will still be quite fancy to have food brought to my bed. And food with SUGAR in it!
I'll be missing my dear Anderbug, but he'll be having way too much fun enjoying a spoilfest with his grandparents, his Auntie Megan, and his good fur-buddy Mulligan to even notice I'm gone.
I can nap for hours! You better believe this time around, I won't be questioning the very-sleepy-newborn tendency like I did last time ("Nurse, are you SURE he's okay? Why is he sleeping so much? Are you sure that's normal? Is he breathing? Are you SURE? Should I poke him and see if he cries? Are the OTHER babies sleeping, too?") I'm eating up every single second of those 16-18 hours of daily sleep time if we're so fortunate to again be gifted a very easy/sleepy newborn, and by 'eating up', I mean I'll be sleeping right along with her to catch up on the eleventy billion hours of sleep deficit I've accumulated in the past few months.
My uterus will no longer be lodged in my ribs. Praise JESUS.
I'll be able to lay down and not vomit acid.
And the one that takes my breath away: J and I will have a DAUGHTER. We'll be holding Miss Bumblebee and be an official family of four!! Now THAT is exciting to think about. Exciting enough to carry me through the discomfort, for sure. I'm so ready to meet our daughter, to see if (as I imagine) she looks just like her brother did 16.5 months ago, to experience once more that euphoric flood of newness and love and completion, to hold her and kiss her and introduce her to her awesome big brother. And spill the name beans already. This secret keeping is killing me.
Two special shout-outs:
Happy Birthday, MIL/Mimi! We love you and hope you're doing something extra-special today! Or at least enjoying a big huge piece of chocolate cake at the end of your busy day.
Sara, my saintly BNFF, thank you for lunch. That CFA delivery was just what the doctor ordered after a never-ending morning of messes and animal "issues" and things breaking. The Mister and I thank you for the CFA love. And seriously .... please come back for the cat you left here, or we'll wrap him up in a box with a bow for next week's birthday festivities.
Tuesday, I decided I'd hit it: The Wall. That place at the verrrrry end of pregnancy where nothing is cute anymore, nothing is very fun, no sitting/laying/standing position is comfortable for more than two minutes, and every body part is puffy and bloated and aching and you resign yourself to going shoeless and braless unless absolutely necessary to don one of the two torturous devices. I figured I'd get through the next two weeks by enjoying the quality time with my little man, keeping busy with group activities and plenty of outside time, because sitting around at home all day every day never does much for my mood. Or A's. No, it's not easy getting around with a 23 pound toddler while lugging ~7 1/2 pounds of baby in my belly, but I'd deal.
Wednesday, I realized there is something more challenging than week 37 and a toddler ... week 37 and a SICK toddler. Yep, the Mister caught a cold. Color me shocked. First group childcare experience on Monday, sick by Wednesday. (I TOLD him not to lick the other children.) So anyway, now he's miserable. Coughing, sneezing, sniffling, whining, napless. Our story time and playdate for the week and any other public outings- cancelled. That leaves us with a whole lot of time to putter around the house and get very, very bored as we suffer through our respective physical afflictions.
This morning, I decided to put together a few of A's favorite meals to freeze, figuring they'd make good quick lunches for him next month (aka, the time when a new baby comes and I irrationally fear we'll forget to feed HIM like we do the dog more days than I'd really like to admit). I started the cooking project before J left for work, but because I'm pretty much worthless in the kitchen, I wasn't even halfway through when daddy said "bye bye" and the little man screamed at the front door until I came up with something distracting for him to do. Old pot, pasta spoon .... voila. I bought myself the required 30 minutes to finish the meal. And it ended up being a sweet kind of fun, the little dude and I, cooking side by side on a rainy Thursday morning.
The video is nothing fascinating. Probably okay to skip unless you're a blood relative, in which case you are morally obligated to watch it and tell me how cute he is. Yes, even in sweat pant bottoms, a hand-me-down pajama top, and looking all sickly.
Apparently, I have an inflated sense of self worth. I really fancied myself as a necessity to the Mister, an adored caregiver and bonded companion. Or at least someone who would be missed if I just up and disappeared for half a day. Little did I know he could be lured away effortlessly by a roomful of bright toys and busy toddlers, slipping his little hand out of my sweaty palmed hand and running off to play as fast as his legs would take him. Not even ONE look back, no "buh-bye", no blown kisses. No drama for the mama. This is good, I know, but I was expecting our first morning of MOPS to be a little more of a challenge for him. Or at least, to have to kiss away a few tears before I departed. Nope! He was excited and happy to join the other kids, and when I returned a full 2 1/2 hours later, I found him grinning, pink cheeked and covered in bubbles. His snack was gone, his diaper changed, a whole morning survived without his mama to get him through it. It's good, I know, this independence of his, this confidence he showed. It's just a little bittersweet when you start to realize your "baby" is turning into a person of his own, one who will need me less and less until all he needs is his tuition paid and a bed to crash in over holiday break. ::sob::
I am, however, very excited about our new MOPS group! A very sweet group of moms, a cute bunch of playmates for the little guy, and something else to fill our weekday schedule and keep us socialized and sane. And showered. I enjoyed the uninterrupted adult conversation, even if it kept returning to mommish topics like our favorite grocery store and the best brand of baby shoes. The best part is, Miss Bumblebee will be able to attend as well, since little babies are encouraged to come along and stay with their mothers. A winner all around, if you ask me.
Here's A and his mama this morning. We were both dressed and ready to go a full 15 minutes before we needed to leave the house! Pictures were in order!
no, he could NOT look any more like his father here ...
(And some longer pants, apparently. I swear he grows out of his pants weekly. Forget the college fund, we need to pump up the pants fund.)
We were a very effective bunch this Sunday. Started with relaxing family brunch, ran a few errands, assembled the stroller, finished up washing the first few loads of teeny tiny pink clothes and bibs and blankies, took a restful afternoon nap, neatened the house, paid bills, made a Home Depot run, filled A's sandbox with sand, groomed the dog, scrubbed every square inch of the fridge, vacuumed the vehicle, and finally, J and I collapsed at the kitchen table over plates of lasagna and garlic bread.
So, I'm here. Not hospitalized or otherwise incapacitated ... just here, listening to Tejano music blaring from the raging fiesta next door as it drowns out my DVR'd Project Runway. Thanks for your concern, though, friends and family who have emailed to make sure I'm still among the living because the blog sat without update for three days. I'm here, and I'm lacking things to say about my current state that won't be redundant or clearly obvious or just plain old whiney. I'm tired. I'm achy- my ribs, my legs, my back. I'm hot and sweaty. I weigh approximately the same as your average adolescent hippopotamus. I'm not sleeping more than an hour at a time before I'm up to barf or pee or take another antacid medication. I'm. Over. It. You know you're in a sad state of overnight affairs when you look forward to having a newborn because you'll sleep more. And I will sleep more, because surely she'll sleep longer than one measly hour at a time. And hell, even if she doesn't, at least I'll have some (cute, cuddly) company if I have to be up all night.
Here's how I'm looking these days:
Except my legs aren't really six feet long.
And Mister A? He's a champ. His fetching skills are coming along nicely. He brings me his shoes, he picks up dropped car keys, he brought me the remote yesterday so I could tune in to Oprah to watch the Palin girls. Sure, sometimes he botches an order and returns from the laundry room with a ball of dryer lint (in his mouth) instead of his shoes, but I'd say he's at about an 85% accuracy rate. Not bad. Toddlers are handy! I'm holding up my end of the deal by continuing our wagon walks and park trips, we're just moving a whole lot slower than usual since walking any faster than at a snail's pace sort of makes me feel like Bumblebee's about to fall out onto the sidewalk.
I bought him a $1 ball at the store the other day. He was fidgety in the cart and I really needed some good healthy food. (Or chili-cheese Fritos. Whatever. Don't judge.) Anyway, $1 ball = 15 minutes of peaceful aisle strolling. And he does love that ball.
And as usual, he really loves his "tikky". Kitty, tikky, same thing.
And I sure love him, as we spend these last 20 days together as "mother of one" and "only child". As miserable as I may be, I know well enough to cherish these moments before it all changes.
Yesterday? A fantastic day! (Yesternight? Um, not so much. More on that later.) The in laws arrived bright and early and we handed over a very excited A. They were off to the park before we backed down the driveway. J and I were free! Shopping, eating, OB-appointment-ing. The appointment was wonderful. Bumblebee appears to be thriving, all (approximately) 6 pounds and 11 ounces of her. She's that big already. Dr. S's estimate is that she'll be around 8 pounds, 4 ounces by her birth date in week 38. Judging by the ultrasound, she's got her brother's chubby baby cheeks and ginormous head and her mama's gift of gab, because that little mouth didn't stop moving the whole time. More good news? My GD appears to be a total non-issue. My blood sugar looked perfect and doesn't seem to have affected Bumblebee at all.
Our adult lunch was pretty fantastic as well. We hit up Houston's. No high chair, no sippy full of milk hitting the floor over and over and over again, no veggies flying at my face. Just me, J, conversation, and some very yummy food. (Well, it seemed yummy at the time. More on that later, too.) There might have even been a scrumptiously delicious- if sinful- brownie for dessert.
And shopping? Well, hello, how can you go wrong with shopping? J found himself some Ugg slippers, so envious was he of the pair I've been shuffling around in since Christmas. We picked out a few outfits for Bumblebee. Mama got another pair of my favorite Gap black stretchy pants. Good times.
Came home, covered A with kisses and hugs like we'd been gone for a week, enjoyed some chit chat with the in laws while the guys installed Bumblebee's window treatments, hit the couch for some Idol.
Then came nighttime. Apparently we'd enjoyed our day a bit too much, and someone decided we were in for some karmic retribution. And by "we" I mean "me". Here's the timeline:
J and I go to bed. He's on the mend from a cold, so he chugged Nyquil and collapsed into the guest bed (no germs allowed near the pregnant lady's bed). I chomped my chalky bedtime snack (Tums) and dozed off reading UsWeekly.
I wake up, feeling urgent and confused, sweaty, and pretty sure there's a ferocious animal in my belly trying to escape (not Bumblebee, more like a Houston's french dip sandwich kind of beast).
Barfing begins. And goes on for over an hour. I don't even know how I had that much stuff in me to throw up. I started worrying I was going to barf up Bumblebee. So violent was this barfing that ....
... I'm scrubbing the splatters of barf from the bathroom wall and floor with Lysol wipes. Barf on the WALLS. This was not pretty. It's in my hair, too.
I've washed my hair and finally feel like the Zantac, Tums, and Pepto have calmed my stomach enough to allow some sleep. The cool pillow feels mighty nice against my cheek. I shut my eyes ....
1:02am (not even kidding)
SCREAMS from A's room. Usually, if he wakes at night, there's whimpers and quiet cries and then he's back to sleep. These were horribly scary, insistent, "OMG MOMMY HELP ME RIGHT NOW I'M BEING EATEN BY A MONSTER!" screams. I was almost afraid to go into his room, so sure was I that he'd launched himself out of the crib and was bleeding or had a broken limb. I go in and find my poor baby slicked in sweat, standing up clutching his crib rail with one hand and his blankie with the other trembling hand. Most likely the aftermath of a very scary baby dream. Probably had something to do with an empty sippy or lost wagon.
He's contently sleeping on my shoulder if I'm rocking, then screaming any time I stop the rocking. The rocking is NOT helping my upset stomach and I'm afraid I might barf on my child. J's still sleeping peacefully. I briefly wonder if I should go check his breathing, because how that man has slept through the last three hours of barfing and screaming, I don't know. And if he is breathing, I kind of want to smack him for sleeping through all this.
A's in bed with me, a desperate last ditch effort to get us both some rest. The good news is he's asleep. The bad news is he's asleep sprawled across my chest, one arm over my belly and the other clinging to the shoulder of my t-shirt, little nails digging into my shoulder. As much as I love his sweet baby sighs and snuggles, I don't really need help making myself less comfortable (or warm) at night at 36 weeks pregnant. There's no way I'm going to be able to sleep like this. And I'm pretty sure I feel something damp leaking from his pajama bottoms onto my shirt.
A's back in his crib, freshly diapered and changed into clean PJs, calm enough to fall back to sleep on his own. I waddle back to bed and stare at the ceiling for a half hour before falling into a fitful sleep and having nightmares about projectile vomiting and babies flying out of cribs.
Tonight has got to be better. And word to the wise: avoid that Houston's french dip. I don't think I'll ever look at roast beef the same way EVER again.
Nap time has become a collective event at our house. The little man grabs his blankie and goes down without a peep in his crib. I crawl into my cozy bed with a big bottle of water, a handful of Tums, and my trusty Mac BFF. The cats come creeping in shortly after to join me. I like to think they snuggle up because they love, adore, and appreciate me for saving their sorry souls from the shelter and putting up with their many ridiculous shenanigans, but really, I think they just enjoy the 200 degree body heat radiating off of me. Users.
I'm really going to enjoy this whole-house nap thing for the next 3 weeks and 3 days (gulp), because something tells me Miss Bumblebee might shake up the routine.
My friend Cari sent me a link to this video. I almost didn't watch it (sorry, C!) because it's seven minutes long and I'm very, very stingy about how I disburse my oh-so-valuable nap time minutes. But wow. I'm glad I did watch, and I'm especially glad I followed her instruction to grab a tissue. This is something you moms absolutely need to watch, particularly if you ever feel like your days are lived on a hamster wheel, working and running and exhausting yourself and waking up to do the exact same thing again the next morning, a seemingly endless (and let's face it, sometimes thankless) effort. You do this motherhood job splattered in spit up and/or smeared with peanut butter, some mysterious crust on your sweatshirt sleeve. You do all those "ordinary" things as you navigate your daily routine, and they can seem so mundane, almost demeaning when the day has been particularly long. Watch this video, and you may actually cherish that crusty sleeve of yours.
Thanks, Cari, for sending this. I can always count on you to inspire me!
The nesting bug has hit full force. I've rekindled my romance with the Oreck, I take a sick satisfaction out of lining the glasses in the cupboard just so, I find myself scrubbing countertops and cleaning toilets and de-cluttering more often than is probably normal. I can't sit down and relax in the evening until every toy is in its place and every sippy cup has been fished out from the diaper bag/under the couch/the backseat of my car, rinsed, and loaded into the dishwasher. The biggest and most exciting nesting accomplishments though, are these:
1. There's paint on Bumblebee's walls:
color: Spa by Behr
I can't exactly take credit for the 'doing' of this, but I closely supervised J as he did it. As nervous as I was about covering her walls with such a bold color, being a 'shades of beige' type for the most part, I'm LOVING it. And I think I'll love it even more when all the pieces come together. This is the most thought I've ever put into a wall color, buying four sample cans from Home Depot before finding one that struck the right balance of soothing baby retreat and dramatic girly glamour.
2. Our master bedroom, for the first time in our married lives, actually looks like a grown up bedroom and not a dumping ground for used and abused furniture/storage room/laundry collection site. There's a new mattress, new furniture, new bedding, new decor. The only downside? It's nearly impossible to peel ourselves out of the too-comfy bed in the morning, though A does his best to hurry that along with his persuasive "DA! DA! DA! DA! GAAAAAAAA!" shrieks from the next room.
wall color: builder beige, aka, too lazy to paint
huge mirror: IKEA Mongstad Mirror (a steal- $99! Go get one!)
And then, after a morning filled with the naughties ... he wakes up from his nap looking like this, like a boy who couldn't possibly hit or stomp or throw a thing because he's just oh-so-busy being faultlessly delightful. Oh, Mister. I guess we'll keep you around, after all.
Um, I think the ear doctor messed up my order. Every mom I've talked to whose kid had tubes put in said something along the lines of how their child was a "new kid" when they went home, how the tubes made their little munchkin happier and placid and soooo much better behaved. If that's all true, I'm pretty sure the ear doctor gave us the wrong kind of tubes. A's happier now that the pain seems to be gone, which is the only benefit that really matters, but this ear tubed A is not some new and improved version of the non ear tubed A. The Mister is increasingly willful and stubborn of late. (Not that I know anyone from whom he may have inherited willful, stubborn tendencies. Nope.) And if I dare let him become bored with his surroundings, he transforms into a one-boy tornado, dumping and tossing anything in his reach and flat out refusing to participate in the subsequent clean up efforts.
Obviously, I don't really blame the tubes. My suspicion lies in another toddlerhood phenomenon that many a mommy friend has warned me of, but that I dumbly thought A's usually laid back persona might allow us to escape: the Terrible One and a Halfs, the precursor to those notorious Terrible Twos. I cringe at using the word terrible, seriously, it pains me to type that. Mister A is anything but terrible- he's funny and smiley and curious and smart and adorable and there's nobody I'd rather kick around with all day long. But lately, he's also a bit of a handful. There have been tantrums, there have been clumps of hair pulled from the increasingly PO'd cats, there's more foot stomping than I'd like to admit, and worst of all, there's been a whole lot of hitting. Hitting mom, hitting dad, hitting pets, hitting poor unsuspecting playmates right over the head. Ooh, and throwing. Not the messy-but-valuable "learning cause and effect" type food tossing, but throwing things in frustration. Take this morning at storytime. So disgruntled was A that I wouldn't allow him to run to the front of the room and check out smack up the librarian's puppets that he grabbed a handful of Goldfish and threw them at the kid beside us. (Who didn't skip a beat, just plucked a Fishy from his lap and had himself a snack as he listened to the book. I guess he got the right tubes.)
The odd part is, these moments are quick fiery flashes in the midst of otherwise calm and peaceful days. Ten seconds after the Goldfish assault, he settled back into my lap to clap along to the goodbye songs, babbling and grinning. He'll take a whack at my face, then pat my back gently. The screaming will last for 15 seconds, then he's laughing. He's still a joy 90% of his waking hours .... but these challenging moments in between are catching me off guard and triggering some of that compulsory mommy guilt. Is he sensing upcoming changes and unhappy about that? Is he needing more socialization that he's getting? Is it the non-organic fish sticks I feed him? Is it just a normal part of being a 16 month old boy learning the ways of the world? Or is he doomed for a naughty life of orange ensembles (and not the burnt orange football uniform kind that star UT QBs wear, mind you, I'm talking the jumpsuit kind with NUMBERS on the back)??
Advise me, oh wise moms who have walked the toddler road before me. Reassure me, if you will, that this isn't abnormal. I'm open to any tips or book recommendations or even just some commiseration and encouragement that your kid does this too and I haven't somehow failed as his primary caregiver. Or hell, just recommend your favorite bottle of wine as a post-bedtime coping mechanism. (I'll wait until AFTER February 12, obvi.)
The Bumblebee and her mama showing our Packer pride at 34 weeks, 1 day.
And yes, I'm still proud of the Pack, even if the ending of the game had me shouting some very unmotherly and unladylike words. Bleeping bleepers.
I know it's redundant for me to go on about this once more, but WHERE is time going? 34 weeks?! Today marks my 'no travel' date- I'm limited to a one hour radius of Austin because a BABY could come (but she won't, because she knows that is absolutely positively not allowed before February 12 and she's an obedient girl, my Miss B is). I see the nurse this week, start weekly appointments the next week, and from there, it's go time. It's no secret I've been feeling some anxiety about the changes about to happen around here. Then, last night around midnight as I waited for my antacid medication to kick in and allow me to go lay in bed, I came across these in my iPhoto files:
And suddenly, at the sight of that teeny tiny baby and the breathtaking memory of how overwhelmed I was with love and awe and gratitude as I held our son for the very first time that day, how our world irreversibly changed in the instant he took his first breath ... the anxiety melted away to giddy excitement. We get to meet our GIRL next month! Anderson's SISTER!
Mister's sister who has a chair! J spent an hour this afternoon assembling one thing I really wanted to have before Bumblebee came home- a big comfy rocking chair. We didn't get one of these when we had A, and I wish we would have. I was drooling (seriously, drooooling) over the PBK version, but since I couldn't fathom spending an amount scarily close to our mortgage payment on a chair (and one that will be spit up on and spilled on at that), I found a knockoff. It's the Dorel slipcover rocker. I was nervous, but the reviews were positive and now that we've got one, I highly recommend it! For about $340 (for the chair, ottoman, and slipcovers), it's got all the charm of the PBK splurge with none of the guilt (and no risk of homelessness, when you spend your mortgage payment on a chair). One catch- you'll have to brave WallyWorld to get one. Sorry, people. But I promise, it's worth the post-Walmart shower. See?
Since the masses have been inquiring (um, I mean, since three of you have asked this week), I decided to share a picture of Bumblebee's nursery-in-progress. Ready? BEHOLD .....
Oh, what? You were expecting to see an actual bedroom fit for a baby due to arrive in 4.875 weeks? Oh. Sorry to disappoint, Internet, but this is all she wrote so far. A PB catalog page taped to the door, my inspiration picture, if you will. I'm oh-so excited to decorate for my little girl, I promise, but we've got two good reasons to hold off on the nursery. (Two good reasons AND a busy toddler who has been high maintenance of late and our respective jobs and a master bedroom makeover in progress and a crew of unwieldy pets and a whole entire household to keep running.) But the two primary reasons for the procrastination are:
1) The nursery currently serves as our guest room. And because we have just three bedrooms in our humble abode, once Miss B moves in, the guests are relegated to the couch. My parents will be here to stay during/after the birth and we expect a few other visitors soon after, so a guest bedroom is a very nice thing to have available unless our guests enjoy no privacy and sleeping on a couch with a cat or two on their head.
2) The whole 'live and learn' second timer thing. By this same point in my pregnancy with Anderson, his nursery was done. Decked out, fully stocked, every blue-hued airplane accessory in its place. As I entered my 3rd trimester, I remember feeling waves of new mom anxiety that it must ALL be done and perfect at LEAST one month prior to his due date or ... or ... well, I'm not sure just what I thought might happen, but I know it was VERY CRUCIAL and maybe even involved CPS. Then A was born and that lovingly prepared room collected dust for 4.5 months as our little Mister slept snugly in his $99 pack and play beside our bed. I cherished that bonding time with him that rooming in provided, J and I loved the early morning snuggles with our newborn and the ease of feeding a baby twenty times a night without having to leave our room. And okay, being semi-neurotic and all, it was pretty handy to be able to put a hand on his belly and make sure he was breathing. Which I did no less frequently than twice an hour in those early weeks. I want that same special time with Bumblebee as our roomie, so I just don't see any reason to stress about having her nursery ready and waiting.
So back to the "progress". Here's a better look at my inspiration, courtesy of Pottery Barn Kids (who else?):
Look past the fussy/fancy crib and the hanging birds, neither of which are part of my vision. Well, we will do a white crib, just not this particular white crib. Think simpler. But the birds? Not happening, because I'd like Auntie Megan to still love us. What I'm inspired by and planning to replicate is the soothing light blue color on the wall, the clean lines of the long white panel curtains (topped with a rod with these pink finials I've had picked out since I first became pregnant three years back), the simple/modern bedding, and the pink chair with other pink accents throughout. White floating shelves on the wall, perhaps, mirrored frames atop. A whimsical wall decal of vines or perhaps a tree? So you see, I have ideas. I'm not in denial and not unaware that baby girl's room deserves all the love and attention that baby A's received. We'll probably paint this week or next so the fumes are good and gone by the time Bumblebee comes home. We've got the pink chair and ottoman ordered. But the rest? Eh, it can wait until March-ish when we're even close to needing the room. The modern miracle that is internet shopping will make this possible with two babies under a year and a half to care for, and I'll feel a whole lot more like decorating a room when I can get from the sitting position to the standing position in under 10 minutes without gasping in pain.
So stay tuned, my friends. Sometime in mid-April or so, I'll show you a picture of a fully furnished, functional nursery. Until then, don't worry about Bumblebee, because the beauty of a newborn is that they're not very materialistic. Food, clothing, a $20 box of diapers a day ... and they're all set.
We all survived The Morning Of The Tubes. TMOTT was certainly not something I'd like to do again anytime soon, what with the very early wake up call and very thirsty/hungry/tired/disoriented little boy ... but Mister held up like a champ and his monkey pajamas were the hit of the nurse's station. Mama did cry when they carried him off, but 25 minutes later, they carried our limp, sleepy boy back into the room. He was ready to chug some sippy. And screech like an angry chimp and stare at us like he'd never, ever laid eyes on us before.
He was certainly entertaining on the drive home, still feeling the effects of whatever it was they gave him to knock him out. According to the anesthesiologist who came in to check on him before we left, he was less than eager to go to sleep and gave them a run for their money back there. I suspect he got a little extra dosing of the good stuff.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the good thoughts and prayers, texts, emails, and blog comments. All very much appreciated! Now let's just hope those tubes stay in place and do their job ... and we get a nice long break from the pediatrician's office and CVS.
Tomorrow, we brave the Austin Arctic Blast to have Anderbug at the surgery center no later than 5:45am. The tubes, after some frustrating last minute doctor switcheroo-ing, are going in. It should be a really "fun" morning. Getting up at 4:30am is fun. Waking a sleeping baby? Fun! Other "fun" things: not being allowed to feed or water that cranky woken baby, leaving our house before dawn to venture out into single digit wind chill factors (Austin's coldest temps in 14 years), and the biggie: having our baby A taken to an operating room and put under anesthesia. That last one in particular is making me more and more anxious as the surgery approaches. I know there will be tears involved, but I'll keep those to myself until I'm out of Mister's sight, obviously. Nerves aside, I'm so ready for this to be over and done with and for A to get some long-lasting relief from the never ending ear infections- which will, all sarcasm aside, be very fun. I'm ready to have my happy-go-lucky little sidekick back. So if you're awake and you think of it, send some good thoughts or prayers or voodoo chants or whatever it is that's your style our way tomorrow around 7am. Also hope that I remember to remove all of his "jewelry and piercings", as per the nurse's instructions this morning. A's really going to be bummed when I tell him he needs to hand over the diamond studs and pry out the nose ring.
Otherwise, not much to report this chilly winter week, it's been pretty "same old same old", and that's not a complaint. I'm enjoying this calm, peaceful period, soaking up A's last month of only child status and trying not to notice how my waddle is more pronounced each and every day. We had a snuggly pajama day yesterday since A and I were both feeling a little "meh". We hit up the Chick-fil-a drive through for lunch, A in the backseat giggling at himself in footy jammies and me up front in pajama pants hoping and praying we wouldn't get rear ended because I'd have to get out of the car without a speck of makeup and in my pajamas at noon. We cuddled on the couch to watch Elmo, took a long winter's nap, read books in bed. This morning, out of milk and eggs and cat food, we trekked over to Target and the Mister cried when he felt the winter wind in his face, dashing my hopes of him carrying on the family Sioux tradition. If the boy can't handle 20 degree wind chills, he certainly won't tolerate hiking down University Ave. in white out blizzard conditions with a -52 degree wind chill. Oh, well. UT will just have to do. Or USC. I'm not picky.
After today's three hour (heavenly) nap ... happy boy, nutty hair:
It may be time for that first professional haircut.
Nine. Nine short hours, most of those hours spent in restless sleep punctuated by firecrackers, a whimpering dog, fiery heartburn, and a screeching child. Nine whole hours we made it into 2010 before a phone call to the pediatrician's off hours line and a trip to the CVS drive through. Where I paid THREE TIMES as much for A's prescription as I would have had to pay nine hours earlier, back in 2009 when our deductible was met. Happy New Year to you, too, BCBS!
I'll bet you can guess what malady prompted this, right? If you're thinking ears, give yourself a cookie. (I'll just go ahead and give myself a stick of lowfat cheese.) Yesterday, before my very eyes, the Mister melted down from cheery to irritable to all-out miserable (think book throwing, hair pulling, foot stomping, cat tail pulling) in the time between lunch and dinner. Of course, the very obvious ear pulling sign he saved until 4:30pm, just as the pediatrician and ENT closed up for a long holiday weekend. Grrrreat. So as of this morning, he's back on antibiotics, a little medicinal "band-aid" to get us through the weekend and into the OR as soon as the ear doctor can fit him in for tubes. As much as I'm dreading the idea of my baby being knocked out and hauled into an OR, however briefly and however beneficial the outcome may be, at this point I just want it over with. For poor A's sake, for my sanity's sake, for CVS's sake. (I mean, they've got to be sick of looking at me by this point, no?)
All that aside, welcome to 2010, my friends! Though the blog of late often turns into a place to vent the challenges of everyday life as a mom, in my heart, I don't forget for one moment how absolutely fortunate J and I are to be on this amazing journey hand in hand, to raise this sweet little man through it all, to eagerly (if nervously) anticipate the arrival of his baby sister. And we do all this surrounded by a family loving and generous and caring beyond compare, so many friends who bring laughter and support and whatever else we may need, under the roof of our warm and cozy home, with good jobs and good health and good fortune. 2009 was full of so many awesome memories, so many lessons learned, so many moments where I paused and thought "wow, really? I'm this lucky? Me?" I can only hope for more of that greatness and joy in the year to come ... and I wish the same to you all. My mom holds firm to her belief that even years bring the best things (we'll just overlook the fact that two of her three children came in odd years, this particular child included). I believe her superstition. It's held true so far- marriage in '04, move to Austin in '06, meeting the Mister in '08, and Bumblebee's due arrival in '10. That's not a bad track record, so mom, I think you're on to something.
Happy New Year and lots of love from our house to yours!