Hailey

BabiesThe Story

“Wizzlers, Jejush, Cocadots and Pupcakes”

by Jill
written by Jill

Just a few very cute and funny 4 year old mispronunciations (for Twizzlers, Jesus, Polkadots and Cupcakes) that we won’t be hearing around here on a daily basis anymore.  We went to St. Louis last week to give Hailey, our niece who has been living with us since January, her 4th birthday party and to return her to her mom. It was a drama filled week for sure, and without going into too much detail I will just say that we are hopeful and fairly confident that she is where she needs to be now.  She will be living with her mom and grandparents and be close to her cousins and other aunts and uncles.  She was greatly missed by them all, and she herself was elated to return.  She was especially overjoyed to be reunited with her mother.  It was a bittersweet farewell on our part.  We love her so much and will definitely miss her, but at the same time, it’s nice to be able to just be “new parents” to Kendall without having to figure out how to raise a preschooler at the same time.    I feel like we can finally focus on each other again and enjoy this time together without all the stress.  We’re glad we could help for the 7 months that we did, and we will always be there for Hailey in the future.  We’re also happy to see her happy and back where she wants to be.

So with that, I will just share a few funny moments that have come from taking on a preschooler while pregnant/ a new mom.

Hailey: “Aunt Jill….how are you going to GET that baby out of your stomach?”
Me: “Well….I’m going to push him out.”
Five minutes later I feel two small hands pressing on my lower back.
Me: “What are you doing?”
Hailey: “I’m helping you push him out!”

At around 8 months pregnant Hailey finds my Bradley Method book.  She is fascinated by the baby book.  I don’t think much of it because it is keeping her quiet and I am able to do the dishes in peace.  I see she has found the pages that have actual pictures of birth… like with heads crowning and all.  Oops!  I don’t want to rip the book out of her hands and make her feel bad.  It’s totally natural afterall, right?  I go sit next to her and she looks up with the most confused face.  “What are they DOING?”  “They are having a baby.”  “But that baby is coming out of her…her….her butt!  Is your baby going to come out of your butt?”  “Uhhmmm… yeah… kind of.”  Pause….pause…pause…. “Eww!  Gross.”  She closes the book and begins playing with her Barbie.

The first time she helped change his diaper Kendall gave her a water show and peed all over the place.  She ran around the apartment shrieking, “He’s PEEING!!!  He’s PEEING!!  Aunt Jill, that baby just peed all over the place!”  She then reassured me, “Aunt Jill, I’m a big girl.  That’s why I don’t pee on the walls like Kendall”.

And Hailey was always my little helper.  God knows she shook his carseat plenty of times when he would start screaming.  She even knew which pacifier he liked best and informed me of this.  She told me he like the Nuk when he was just a little upset and the Soothie when he was really upset.  She was absolutely right.  She fetched me wipes and diapers and diaper cream.  She kept a watchful eye on Kendall if I had to step away for a minute (not that I would leave him in a dangerous situation.  I was never counting on her to catch him from falling off a counter top, for example).  And she loved to feed her babies alongside me.   Every time she saw me sit down to feed Kendall she would grab whatever breastfeeding pillow I wasn’t using, pull up her shirt and “feed” her doll.  This absolutely appalled her uncle when he came for a visit and we had to talk about being “discreet”. She was a riot a lot of the time and we will surely miss her comic relief around here.  I think Scott is going to miss “going to the ball” with her too.

12 weeks 6 days

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HOME!!

by Jill
written by Jill

Wow. What’s that saying? Something about how life isn’t the destination, it’s the journey, I think. Well, if that’s the case, my life can be summed up as one crazy ass ride these last few months. Tonight is the first time in weeks that I’ve been able to sit down at the computer and digest what’s happened, and even still, I’m doing it surrounded by haphazardly packed boxes that may never be purged of their contents (“Honey, I need a towel.” “Oh, they are in the black garbage bag sticking out from under the box full of CDs and socks…give me a sec and I’ll dig one out for you.”) and walls that appear to have been painted by the freaking Easter Bunny (Seriously. My Kitchen has one yellow, one purple, one orange and one green wall. We are in for one hell of a painting challenge.)

Our life has completely changed. We are homeowners (yay!) in a part of the country that couldn’t be more different than where we moved from. Instead of having 4 Starbucks, a Whole Foods and a Trader Joe’s within 2 miles of our place, we have 2 Home Depots, 2 Walmarts and a Tractor Supply store. As we pulled into our neighborhood we noticed the Nissan Xterra in front of us had two goats riding in the back. And we learned that we are NOT to buy or even SPEAK of ATVs on Sundays. For real. A sign placed atop the ATVs at the Tractor Supply store reads:

“In accordance with Texas State Law, we are prevented from discussing the features and pricing or selling of ATVs on any SUNDAY.

We ask that you return during our operating hours Monday through Saturday if you have an interest in this product.”

Let me tell you that all this sign does is make me want to march in there every Sunday and ask a shitton of questions about ATVs. And when someone slips up and engages in conversation with me about them I will tell them I am with Dateline, doing an in-depth investigation on petty law violations, and that I have them on hidden camera and that the footage will be shown to the CEO of Tractor Supply. Good times…

But despite losing out on a little of our once somewhat urban, fast paced, corporate lifestyle, it’s been nice moving into a house big enough for everyone to enjoy in a neighborhood that seems to be full of really nice families. I’ve already been invited to Malibu Sundays by some of the women across the street from me. Apparently they get together every Sunday evening to indulge in some Malibu Rum libations. Now, that’s a community meeting I can really get behind. And another big trade off for us has been that I get my husband’s nights back. He worked the night shift for the last 4 years and it is so nice to be back on a normal schedule again.

Of course, getting here was total and utter madness, complete with several fights/screaming matches daily between me and Scott. Luckily, we were in separate vehicles most of the time so that we couldn’t do any bodily harm to each other, however our cell phones took a beating (can’t count how many times I slammed it shut). It didn’t help that half the time I was screaming over the yelps of Kendall from the back seat. He HATES riding in the car now and seems to begin wailing at just the mere sight of his infant car seat. Ahh…that’s enough for a whole other entry.

Anyway, I really have so much more to write about, but I’m so exhausted and can’t get my thoughts together. I feel like I’m rambling. I will just leave you all with a funny story about Hailey (our nearly 4 year old niece that is currently living with us). We didn’t get out of VA until 4 in the morning after a full day of packing. Hailey crashed in an empty room around 11 pm and we put her in the Jeep asleep when we left. We made it a whopping hour outside of DC before we had to stop for some sleep. We all piled into one hotel room with two double beds (all of us being me, Scott, my sister, Scott’s brother, Hailey, Kendall, two large dogs and a cat). Hailey woke up just as we were all dozing off and asked, “Hey, where’s my bathroom?” Scott explained, “We all have to share the bathroom here, Hailey. ” “But, Aunt Jill said I get my OWN bathroom,” she pouted. “What? I never said you get your own bathroom at the hotel,” I sleepily muttered. Scott notices she starts to cry. “What’s wrong?” he asks. She doesn’t say anything. Then I come out of my sleepy haze and it hits me. “Hailey, do you think this is our new house?” She nods yes. Hahahahahahahahahaha!! “Oh, honey! NO. This is a hotel! We are moving to a MUCH bigger house than this.” And with that reassurance, she passes out.

Okay. I’ll be back soon with more. Just wanted to let you all know we are alive (although we did nearly die when I accidentally cut off a semi coming out of Cracker Barrel in Tennessee).

Kendall is 9 weeks 4 days old

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What is your malfunction???!!!!!

by Jill
written by Jill

Stop crying…just stop…stop… please…. PLEASE STOP… just 30 minutes…. I just want a shower…. please…. stop…. STOP!!!!   Have you officially lost your mind when you are negotiating out loud with a 2 week old?  I have lost it.  I am insane.  I have done this to myself.  What do you want?!

You are changed, you are burped, you are warm, you have napped, you just ate 1.5 hours ago…but wait, let me guess… you are hungry AGAIN!  Ugh.  Seriously?  I have a whole new respect for dairy cattle.  You do know these boobs are mine, right?  That’s right buddy, always have always will be mine.  They are merely on loan to you.  So I would treat them with a little more respect if I were you.  I don’t know what the hell you do to make my nipples burn so bad.  Do you know I want to cry just THINKING about the next time I have to pop these babies into your mouth (which is clearly lined with razor blades)?  I thought breastfeeding is supposed to be a loving, bonding experience, not cruel and unusual punishment.

And could you just, for one freaking day, be unhappy when you are on your father’s watch (however brief that may be)?  Is it seriously necessary to CRY all night long until you pass out from exhaustion at 3 in the morning?  Can you not get this out of your system from 5 to 7 pm?! I think your dad thinks I’m a lunatic, or that I’m weak, or both.  Well, he has to believe me because I make sure I call him every damn time you are shrieking while he’s gone to offer him evidence of why I’m such a raging bitch when he’s home.

I thought I could escape this cave today.  That we could all have a nice outing.  I timed it perfectly.  2 hours of freedom between feedings.  Ballet class for Hailey…. FAIL.  The last one was LAST week, which we would have known if we actually remembered to take her to it last week.  Okay, so we’ll go get some ice cream at DQ instead… FAIL. I left my wallet at home.  Go home to get wallet.  Back to the store.  You aren’t asleep anymore.  You are now getting fussy.  It’s only been 1 hour and 15 minutes since your last feeding.  I change your very dirty diaper.  Still not happy.  Head to Whole Foods in search of a new water bottle… FAIL.  You are screaming too loud to even try to look for anything.  I notice other new moms with fussy babies.  They are so sweet to them.  They rock them gently and the baby stops.  They sweetly talk to them and push them out to the car to go home. I am looking at you saying, “That is enough.  Seriously.  I don’t know what you want.  You have no reason to be crying.  Please stop.  I’m not going to listen to it anymore.”  I realize I sound like such an idiot/incompetent parent.  I quickly head back to the car. Hailey still wants ice cream.  I feel bad she’s had to listen to all this and didn’t get to go to ballet.  We head to McDonalds for shakes.  You are screaming so loud that the lady can’t even hear my order.  I am crying in line for milkshakes at McDonalds.  I get home.  Scott meets us outside to help get you out of the car.  I have called ahead for back up.  Of course, you have STOPPED FUCKING CRYING!!  I feed you.  I don’t even eat the milkshake I got for myself because it’s dairy and it’s chocolate – two things that supposedly turn you into the demon child.  See?  I have given up chocolate and ice cream for you!  Please be nicer to me.

NOW you decide to nap.  Now that you can go lay down with your dad.  I want to go nap with you, but it’s not even worth the 30 minutes of sleep I will get before you will inevitably decide you want to eat AGAIN.  Disrupted sleep is worse than no sleep sometimes.  It is a form of torture to only let someone sleep 2 hours at a time.

18 days old

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“I don’t have breasts!”

by Jill
written by Jill

Since I’m up and rarely have the time or energy to blog, I thought I’d take a few precious minutes to blog a funny niece story. Since she’s moved in with us we’ve gone to great lengths to make her feel involved in this baby process. She is beyond excited to be the big “cousin sister” and can’t wait to help out with everything. I got her a book from the writers of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. It’s a children’s book called What to Expect When the New Baby Comes Home. It’s probably her favorite book and I can’t count how many times we’ve read it. A section of the book talks about how some babies drink from bottles and some babies drink milk from breasts (and yes, we call them breasts…I’m not about to have her tell someone I’m “boobie feeding” the baby). We’ve even talked about how bottles and breasts have nipples. She’s quite educated on the process.

Flash forward to a few nights ago… our childbirth class instructor let us borrow a breastfeeding DVD. We popped it in while Hailey happened to be in the room. She sat down and watched it with us. She was quiet at first, seemed intrigued, then she piped up, “that’s a breast!” We applauded her correct identification. Then she paused and thought for a moment and said…”I don’t have breasts” to which my husband awkwardly said, “Well..no…you don’t…uh…not yet,” and she proudly responded, “but I have nipples!” Okay, that was pretty funny, but not even the best part of this story.

We had to return the DVD that night and on the car ride over there she kept saying, quite adamantly, “YOU can’t feed your baby like that….YOU can’t breastfeed.” I told her that I indeed could and really hope to do so for at least a little while. The more I responded to her this way, the angrier she got until she damn near threw a temper tantrum over it. I could not understand what her problem was. She had no problem talking about breastfeeding before. Finally my husband turned around and point blank asked what her problem was with me breastfeeding. Her response – “That will make ME and baby VERY unhappy….I don’t have BREASTS!” Hahahahahahahahaha!! That cracked me up.

33 weeks 3 days

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Hello old friend!

by Jill
written by Jill

Okay. I’m sorry. I’m a slacker. I’m lazy. I’m overwhelmed. I’m tired. I’m bitchy. I’m cranky. I constantly think I have to pee only to discover that I really don’t have to pee even though I feel like I’m about to piss my pants. That last part mainly happens at night in the middle of really good dreams and deep sleep, which I think contributes greatly to the cranky and bitchy part. So there…there are my excuses for not blogging in so long. The crazy thing about this blog is I feel like it’s a friend I haven’t talked on the phone to in so long that I keep putting off the next phone conversation, not because I don’t miss them and have tons to tell them, but because I don’t have the energy to tell them all that stuff since it’s been so long. You know what I mean? So I’m going to try to get as much out in the most concise manner possible in this entry. These are all things I’ve thought I should write about in depth on here over the last month. Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version:

1. Maternity clothes continue to suck ass and should really be disposable. I am now back to grandpa butt syndrome because my belly has become too big to hold up these elastic waists comfortably. I must say I would prefer that all my pants have waists that come up to my boobs to avoid this, but since I thought that was oh so uncool when I went on my early maternity clothes shopping sprees, I am stuck with all these under the belly or mid belly styles that do nothing but cut off circulation to my crotch or sag off my butt so bad it looks like I just dropped a load….or delivered the baby in my underwear.

I am also constantly walking around with giant grease stains on the front of whatever shirt I choose to wear. It seems I am a walking pregnancy cliche. I can not eat ANYTHING without spilling or dribbling it all down the front of me. It inevitably always stains and makes me grateful that most of my maternity tops were $12 at Target….about as close to disposable as you can get. Let me know, please, if you see any plastic toss-away maternity tops. Or perhaps I should just invest in a very large bib. I’m sure I could find one with a Lobster on it at some local dive of a surf and turf shack.

2. The state of my boobs – dismal. I can’t even express to you how weird my nipples look. They are huge. As of this morning, I guess they’ve started practicing production because I woke up with a perfect circle of wetness right over my right nipple. If only I could believe that that was a strategically placed drop of drool. It is also very weird to feel your boobs and the top of your belly touch. I now have boob cleavage in three places.

3. Stretchmarks, I haz them. Luckily most of them have appeared on my boobs, which surprisingly didn’t upset me that much – those babies are shot anyway. However, I have noticed the beginnings of at least two on my lower stomach recently and have gone from a girl who thought, “Who the hell needs to rub cream all over their stomach. If you’re going to get them, you’re going to get them. What can you do?” To a girl who ran out to CVS to buy a special $11 bottle of oil that claims to be made specifically to reduce and eliminate the appearance of stretchmarks and have been feverishly applying it twice a day, praying it’s my miracle.

4. My son is developing quite nicely. He is probably close to 4 lbs or more now, and he is definitely getting stronger. So strong that he is finally able to penetrate my anterior placenta with his kicks and bumps. I’m finally able to feel movement outside of my stomach and by my belly button in addition to the kicks and jabs I always felt up top and way down low. Another sign he’s right on track is I can feel hiccups! Yup. Apparently babies practice hiccuping. I can not tell you why. All I know is the other night I was wondering why my ass was pulsating. I thought I must be sitting on a giant, throbbing vein. Turns out…not a pulsating vein in my ass…it was my kid’s hiccups. It’s actually very good news to have butt hiccups. That means he is head down! Which leads me to…

5. The baby, as of my last appointment, is in great position. He is head down, butt under my ribs, feet pointed toward my hips. Lock and load, baby! This pleases me greatly and I hope he decides that’s a comfortable enough position to stay in until his grand exit into the world. See, as much as I had an irrational fear of conehead babies and still do think that c-section babies have the most beautiful round precious heads, I do not want a round headed c-section baby. I want a smooshed, pointy headed, wrinkly baby, as long as that means he can come out of me without major surgery.

6. Gastric bypass surgery must suck. I’m convinced I am suffering some of the same side effects. I am starving. My body tells me to eat..EAT A LOT. I do. Then I regret it. It never seems to make it all the way down without wanting to choose the path of least resistance and come back up. I have woken up several times in the middle of the night gagging on dinner from hours before. Of course, I never throw up, which I think would make me feel a lot better most of the time. For some reason my body has this extreme aversion to throwing up and will rarely let me do it, even if I’m encouraging it. I also am experiencing a ton of acid reflux lately. I forgot to bring my Tums to work with me the other day and wanted so badly to ask the first pregnant lady I saw if I could have some of hers. Unfortunately, it was a slow business day and I had to sit in misery until I could run home at my lunch break. And do not worry…I can be trusted with Tums again. I respect their power and never exceed the maximum allowed dosage ; )

Well, that’s all the time I have for the pregnancy updates. My 3 1/2 year old niece is still living with us, and that’s enough for a whole other blog. She has settled in nicely and is looking forward to being the “cousin sister”. She came up with that all on her own. I told my husband we should have a shirt printed for her that says “I’m the Big Cousin Sister” for her to wear to the hospital. I can only imagine what the nurses will think of our family tree. Surely they will think we drove all the way in from West Virginia for the birth.

31 weeks 3 days

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Liza, Henry is a douchebag.

by Jill
written by Jill

Ever since my husband and I overheard our niece belting out Fergie’s “My Humps” in the middle of the grocery store, we have made a concerted effort to expose her to some more three year old appropriate music.  As much as it pains me to hear “Six Little Ducks” over and over, it’s far better than her learning the words to all, or hell…ANY, of the songs on Top 40 radio.  Just like I’m sure our niece doesn’t realize “Ring Around the Rosie” is actually about the Black Plague, we never realized how inappropriate 90% of the music we listen to is for a three year old (and this is in no way an admission that I belt out Fergie…I put the blame for that squarely on her mother’s shoulders). We bought a set of three kid’s CDs, which, at first glance, seem like they could keep her entertained for hours.  They each have 18 songs on them.  Yeah… but it turns out most kids songs are like 30 seconds.  MOST, but not all.  Not the world’s most OBNOXIOUS kids song ever.  Ladies and gents, I present to you “There’s a Hole in the Bucket”, a song that I’m sure we never realized was so absolutely ridiculous when we were three.  However, as an adult, I’m appalled at the message it is sending to young girls!

(Boys)
There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,
There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole.

(Girls)
So fix it dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
So fix it dear Henry, dear Henry, fix it.

With what should I fix it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I fix it, dear Liza, with what?

With straw, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
With straw, dear Henry, dear Henry, with straw.

But the straw is too long, dear Liza, dear Liza,
The straw is too long, dear Liza, too long.

So cut it dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
So cut it dear Henry, dear Henry, cut it!

With what should I cut it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I cut it, dear Liza, with what?

Use the hatchet, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
Use the hatchet, dear Henry, the hatchet.

But the hatchet’s too dull, dear Liza, dear Liza,
The hatchet’s too dull, dear Liza, too dull.

So, sharpen it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
So sharpen it dear Henry, dear Henry, sharpen it!

With what should I sharpen it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I sharpen, dear Liza, with what?

Use the stone, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
Use the stone, dear Henry, dear Henry, the stone.

But the stone is too dry, dear Liza, dear Liza,
The stone is too dry, dear Liza, too dry.

So wet it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
So wet it dear Henry, dear Henry, wet it.

With what should I wet it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I wet it, dear Liza, with what?

With water, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
With water, dear Henry, dear Henry, water.

With what should I carry it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I carry it dear Liza, with what?

Use the bucket dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
Use the bucket, dear Henry, dear Henry, the bucket!

There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,
There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole.

Okay, Liza…my dear.  We need to have a little talk.  Henry is a worthless piece of shit who can’t do anything for himself.  You are enabling his stupidity and laziness by putting up with his endless whining and complaining.  Ditch him now, while you are still young, before he knocks you up and then makes you get two jobs to support the babies and his World of Warcraft addiction.  If the boy can’t fix a bucket without you, that doesn’t bode well for his ability to provide you with a loving, stable and healthy relationship.  Break the cycle!

26 weeks 1 day

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Anyone have some spare patience?

by Jill
written by Jill

Okay.  It’s been a week.  Only a week, people!  I am at my wits end.  I love her to pieces, I swear to God I do.  I just can’t hear her say “Aunt Jill” one more time!  This is how the dialog usually progresses –
Her – “Aunt Jill!”
Me – “Yes, honey?”
(enter random question)
5 minutes later
Her – “Aunt Jillllll!”
Me- “YES, honey?”
(enter request for 3rd cup of chocolate milk)
10 minutes later
Her – “Aunt JILLLLL!”
Me – “WHAT….sweetie?”
(enter request to join her in a game of dress my naked Barbies)
15 minutes later
Her- “Aunt Jiiiiiiillllllll!”
Me – “WHAT???!!!!”
(enter request to wipe her butt)

When she is just around my husband she is completely self sufficient, but when I’m around she wants me by her side constantly and to do everything with her.  I know…I know…I’m terrible for feeling this way.  She’s been through a lot.  She feels comfortable with me.  It all makes perfect sense when you are thinking rationally.  But…I just want to be left alone for 5 minutes!

My husband and I are pretty much taking turns at this point watching her since we are on opposite work schedules.  I swear, she waits until my watch to poop so that I can wipe her butt.  It’s not fair!  I’m trying to teach her how to be a big girl and wipe her own ass.  I even bought her special wipes.  All I can say is thank GOD this is not the first trimester.  I’d be cleaning her poopy butt and the vomit down her back at the same time.   And yes, I know I have plenty of butt wipes ahead of me.  That doesn’t mean I have to be comfortable with it now. OH!  And she has peed in her jammies TWICE on my watch.  She gets to the stool that is in front of the toilet, stands on it, but somehow can’t quite hold the pee for the two additional seconds it would take to drop her drawers and put her butt on the seat.  All I hear from the bathroom is, “Aunt Jiiiiillllll!……. I pottied in my jammies!” and she’s smiling when I come in, like that shit is funny!  It’s not funny.  I have told her this repeatedly.  She still laughs.

This whole thing is really starting to freak me out.  Am I going to be a terrible mother?  I mean, we should still be in the honeymoon phase with her.  I’m losing it after only one week!  I have no patience.  I need some…fast.  Is it something that comes after birth, like the ability to live off of 2 hours of sleep a night?  Is it a side effect of the pain you experience when your vagina rips in half?  Or is it more like an acquired talent….like…. parallel parking?

I work part time at a small children’s store, a “specialty” store they like to call it.  It’s a cake gig.  I get a sweet discount, but I’ve never absolutely LOVED it…until now.  I have never looked forward to going to work so much in my life.  This has really opened my eyes to the fact that I don’t think I can be a stay at home mom like I was originally planning.  Maybe it will be different when it’s my own kid, or when I’ve had time to grow into the whole toddler phase…or maybe not.  It’s definitely something to think about.

And at this store I constantly see parents come in, demonstrating the most extreme patience I have ever witnessed with their children.  To the point that I want to shake them (the parents…not the kids…never shake a baby) and tell them, “YOU ARE THE PARENT!  YOU ARE THE BOSS!”  For example, this middle aged couple came in with a maybe 4 year old boy the other day.  I asked if I could help them with anything and they said they were just there to pick out a  placemat for little Johnny.  They then proceeded to follow little Johnny around the store for 45 frickin minutes “trying to make him decide”.

Parents – “Johnny, which placemat do  you want?  You just have to point at one”
(Johnny ignores parents because tearing down the toys on the endcap is far more entertaining than picking out a stupid ass placemat)
Parents – “Okay, you can play for a few more minutes and then pick one out…okay?”
(Johnny has moved on to the ball bin, God help me)
Parents – “Johnny, do you like the blue one or the red one?  Just point, sweetie…that’s all you have to do.  We want to get you a place mat you really like.”
(Does Johnny give a shit about the placemat?  I think not)

I am so serious when I say this went on for 45 minutes.  I timed them. FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!! IT’S A PLACEMAT!  I don’t know about you, but if that were me, I would have chosen the placemat for little Johnny after 5 minutes and been about my merry way.  If he doesn’t like the damn placemat…tough shit.  He can eat on top of a garbage bag for all I care.  I just don’t understand parents like that.  Who the hell has that kind of time?  And what a disservice you are doing to your child!  I really, really don’t think it’s in my nature to ever be that… uh… I guess you would call it patient, or maybe more accurately…  ridiculously accommodating to anyone’s offspring, including my own.  Does that make me terrible?  I hope not.

However, I do hope I can strengthen my patience muscle a little more over the course of the next few weeks.  I may never follow my niece or my kids around McDonald’s for hours asking which Happy Meal toy they would like, but I get that I could be a little more understanding that kids ask questions, need help, like to play with you, etc.

23 weeks 4 days

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Cankles, sausage toes AND a toddler?! Thanks Santa!

by Jill
written by Jill

PSA – visiting the in-laws for 10 days over Christmas is bad for your health, especially when with child.  The stress of the visit made me swell up so bad that by the end of every day there it looked like there were doughnuts around my ankles and I could no longer distinguish my knee caps from my thighs. My feet were bulging over the sides of my ballet flats.  I can say this was directly related to the visit because no more than 48 hours after being home I was able to comfortably slide back into my pointed toe heels and “skinny” maternity jeans.

It’s possible that this was a more stressful than usual visit.  On top of all the additional attention, stranger belly rubs (and yes, you ARE a stranger even if I am married to your cousin’s best friend’s brother), unsolicited labor horror stories, and screams of disbelief and discouragement at my desire to MAYBE have a med-free childbirth,  we also had to deal with losing my husband’s grandfather to lung cancer three days before Christmas, with a wake and funeral trailing the holiday.  Let me tell you, it’s hard enough to make it through the holidays sans drinking heavily without having a Catholic funeral and wake thrown at you.  And the baby either loved or hated all the family chaos because he has never been so active.  Every time we were in a room full of family, which was pretty much all day every day, he was rolling and kicking like crazy.  I told him he needs to get used to it now because his father’s family will NOT be any quieter once he’s outside of the womb.

In addition to the lovely cankles and sausage toes Santa gave me, we also ended up coming home with a three year old.  Nope.  Not a three year old dog or cat or something else I could throw in a cage when we want to go out to a nice dinner.  An actual three year old little girl.  Our niece.  Due to some personal things she needs to work out, her mother, my husband’s sister, signed over power of attorney to us for the next six months.  I struggled with whether or not I wanted to write about this here, but since she’s going to be a very big part of us having the baby and bringing him home I didn’t want to confuse you all with her random appearances in my future tales.  She’s an absolute sweetheart, even if a tad over-dramatic at times (not at all like me!), and we feel so good about our decision to help her and her mother out.  Yes, it will be stressful and an adjustment and nothing like we’ve ever done before, but it was the right thing to do, and she deserves it.

So here we are…thrown into the world of parenting, months before we ever expected it.  We got to skip the bottles and dirty diapers for now, but are up to our eyeballs in sippy cups, stick on earrings, Teddy Grahms, hot dogs, and Disney Princess Barbies (and can I tell you I – a self proclaimed priss – have always HATED Barbies….damn shoes and dresses never stay on…stupid hair always gets tangles…too many farking accessories… makes me glad I’m having a boy).  I feel like I have aged ten years in the last three days.  Yes, you read the time stamp right.  I am blogging at midnight on New Year’s Eve, and I’m so tired.  It took all the energy I had to get up and turn on the TV to watch the ball drop because I have no idea where the remote is.  I’m ready for bed.

Happy New Year to you all!  I have a feeling it’s just about to get interesting…

23 weeks

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