Tomorrow marks your actual due date. Wow! How did we get here so quickly? Despite the fact that mommy is told daily that I "must be about to pop!" I'm holding out for you to decide when you're ready to join the world. Sounds like everyone thought you were coming early because I keep getting calls and emails making sure nothing has happened. I'm so anxious to see your face and let it all settle in, but you're sittin' tight. :) Running after your sister doesn't give us much time to meditate on what it will be like when you get here, so it still seems half-real. We've finally gotten the nursery (mostly) ready, though, and I hope you like it. You won't really be living in there right away, but mommy wanted to be sure you had your own space just like your big sister did when she was born so you know how special you are to us, too. I understand that kind of stuff doesn't matter as much to boys, but it is important to me. ;)
Aunt Heidi got those cool letters for you for Christmas (before you were born!)
I've been popping Zantac and/or Tums most days for the past 2 & 1/2 months, so yay for you: you probably have hair!! Other than the heartburn, you haven't been plagueing me much from the inside save an itchy belly once in a while and the inability to fit into my clothes.
In fact, I've noticed a strange phenomenon. My skin has been miraculously clear and my legs have stayed smoother longer, when the opposite seemed to be the case with your sister. It may or may not be due to the hormones that come with having a boy, and may or may not just be me, but it's kind of nice. Thanks, baby B!
You also move around like crazy—something your sister never so much did on the inside (now that she's out, it's a bit of a different story... ;)
Your favorite position is semi-bilateral (i.e. head down to one side, butt up to the other). I'm sure you'll straighten out eventually.
Unfortunately, the curse of the clumsy pregnant lady struck again last month, and mommy had two more accidents within a couple-week span. The first happened on a rainy day as I scurried back to my car after dropping off your sister. Mommy lost her footing, stumbled a few steps and—instinctively hugging you like a football in protection mode—dropped to my knees and shoulder, finally stopping the fall with my face. This resulted in two chipped front teeth, very bruised knees and a scrape on my face that is still trying to heal. I called my doctor, dentist and daddy (in that order) before I was able to breathe correctly.
[Whenever you do something bad,
I'm going to show you this picture to
remind you what you put me through.
Jk]
The next week I was heading out to the garden to join Ansley and daddy when I stepped wrong on one of the cement circles and again twisted my trick ankle pretty badly. To make matters worse, it happened in the midst of an outgrowth of poison ivy that was heavily infused with ivy poison (daddy attempting to kill it off), so after carrying mommy inside and stripping me down to the bare essentials, daddy grabbed a CLOROX WIPE and scrubbed me off thoroughly - starting with the severe scrape on my shin. Since I wasn't thinking clearly and was crying profusely anyway, I allowed this to happen (but holy mother of #$%! did it hurt) and followed daddy's further instruction to get in the tub and soap up in continuation of the ivy detox. It was comical the next day, and I was able to hobble around somewhat. Although limping around with a huge belly and wrapped ankle was not so fun. I may have been more angry (at myself. for doing that again) than hurt after the initial trauma.
But hopefully you'll get here soon (if nothing else, so that mommy doesn't have any more accidents.
I kid, I kid).
I'm looking forward to meeting you, B. Daddy is just as excited, though he claims that it's the week of "vacation" he can't wait for. When you think about it, I suppose it is kind of like a vacation, though. A babycation. We get to take time off just to hold and snuggle and get to know you after you arrive. I already know I'll love you; it's just hard to imagine how much. You were only a dream 9 short months ago, and now you're almost here. Actually holding you in my arms will be the culmination of a thousand thoughts and prayers.
I would be apologizing profusely for my lack of attention to this blog as of late, but since you, baby girl, will have no clue how long it's really been between posts by the time you read this, I'm pretty sure you'll forgive me. :) [And if you're a friend or family that's just stopping by, you may want to get a snack and strap in. We're gonna be a while.. Really, feel free to take breaks and re-visit later].
I hesitated even typing "baby girl" right then, because it seems that somehow in just a few short months, you've become so much more a "little girl." Despite daddy's resistance to cutting your beautiful, curly, almost tuck-behind-your-ears-length hair to delay the process, you somehow just grew up. You're addressing people by name now (when you call out "mama!" to me, I can't tell you how my heart soars. I absolutely adore it. Remind me to get that on tape). You can even name all the kids in your daycare class. Of course, this started out with the most easily pronounced (Chase) and had us wondering if we needed to have a talk with Chase's parents about your future together and your seeming obsession with the little man. For a while there, we would ask you who was in your class and all you offered up was "Chase" (along with a bright, beaming smile that was probably just you being proud of yourself but totally kept us conjecturing about your pint-sized relationship). One time when I brought you to school and Chase showed up shortly thereafter, you screamed out his name several times in short succession and darted toward him. Clearly, this only furthered speculation. ;) And more recently, we passed Chase's mom in the hallway (nobody else in the vicinity, natch) and you purposely waited for her to come up to us before shouting "CHASE!" in greeting. I think she was flattered that you recognized her as his mommy, but I was compelled to confess my suspicion of your love affair and we laughed it out. She said they love you, too. But then you started rattling off "Jake," "Livlia" and "Hay-Lee." And my personal favorite [based on tonality alone], "Dru-Dru" (Andrew). Apparently, Chelsea is now stuck saying "Chase," so I think he may have moved on. Playa.
The infatuation with BoBo continues, so you're quick to spot any dog in your viewing radius and call attention to its presence. Daddy found this extra comical when picking out birthday cards with you because every other one had a dog on the front. He said you kept walking back and forth excitedly hollering "BoBo!!" "BoBo!" "BoBo!!!" and pulling out each paper pup you discovered. Allegedly, there were about 15 cards on the floor before daddy realized what you were doing.
You also began using words correctly around months 17 & 18 (like hot and cold, shoes, nose, eyes, button, etc... my goodness there are too many to name). Daddy thought it was hilarious when he taught you to properly identify "boobies," so I'm anticipating the call from daycare about you inappropriately denoting your teachers' or classmates' chests any day. You can identify simple things (dog, duck, spoon, ball, eggs, pizza were among the first) and take direction well. My favorite version of this is asking you to "help mommy" do something. You're especially good at folding laundry (taking items out and putting them back into the basket, and then taking them out again) and "wiping" (using a paper towel or baby wipe to towel off your mouth. Or the floor. Or table. Or even daddy, whom you caught off-guard the first time when you went straight for the crotchal region. Hey - it's at your level. And apparently 'you dropped some food there, dad'). Even your teachers say that you become hyper-focused on certain "tasks," and will repeat them over and over. I'd ask if I should be worried about OCD, but I think it's a little early to tell. You have proven to be most helpful in throwing away trash, as the pantry is one of your preferred playplaces. Since you can open and close the door by yourself, you take great pleasure in coaxing mommy or daddy inside and shutting the door. You occasionally let us out when we bang hard enough.
You can identify "boy" and "girl," but adults are all "mama"s and "dada"s. Which is actually quite cute. Daddy was initially very flattered when you pointed to a large, muscly African American gentleman on a magazine and said "dada."
And now you've begun putting words together. The first example was "good girl," which we use when Hannah is doing something correctly. Since that's not too often, I'm actually a tad surprised you picked this one up (just kidding; we use it on you quite a bit). You also say "up, please" when wanting to be picked up, and have been doing so for at least a couple months now. This has lately transitioned to "hold you" if we don't get you right away - probably because before you say up please you reach out your little arms and look up pleadingly until we ask if you want us to hold you. Since mommy is now in her eighth month of pregness, this is easier said than done for me and apparently frowned upon by BabyCenter. But I still do it. I'm already fearing the day you don't want to be held, so ... whatever BC. You're only 22 pounds anyway (!).
The word "no" has entered your vocabulary as well; cutest in the form of "No, no Hanla. Stop!" (Said when imploring Hannah to cease licking, nudging or bothering you in whatever fashion). It is less cute when you say it to us. But I have taken to letting you choose the radio station on the drive to school every morning. Mommy tunes in and asks "this one?" To which you will either reply "no," with a hearty shake of the head, or "huh" (meaning, uh-huh) and a single, affirmative nod. Love it.
I feel like you can communicate so much more efficiently, too. Since you can tell us when something "huhts," or point out/say what food you prefer. You let daddy know if you want "oh's" or "eggs" or "gits" (grits) in the mornings, for example. And every time I open the fridge and you spy the olives, you ask for one. (Interestingly, you love olives. Unfortunately, you have a strange compulsion to dip them in doggie water before completely finished. Are you washing the extra salt off?). You must take after mommy in liking the sour and salty stuff, because you've also recently expressed a love for grapefruit. Somehow, I don't think grapefruit is a favorite for most other 1 & 1/2 year-olds.
You're also very good with animal noises. Each time we point out a monkey on TV, in a book or on the computer, you give us the "ah, ah, ah!" sound effects. Same for sheep, cow, horse, etc. Pretty much anything you can't identify or that doesn't make noise gets a growl. Which is kind of hysterical when you locate a squirrel or penguin and go "rrrrrr!"
Evil squirrels...
Storytime has evolved into you 1. patting out a spot on the floor, accompanied by the instruction for mommy or daddy to "sit" (you're kind of demanding), 2. bringing us one of about three preferred reading materials (Hand, Hand Fingers Thumb; One Fish, Two Fish; Cat in the Hat), and 3. going to grab another book after about four pages or distracting yourself by pulling all the other books off the shelf. At bedtime, you'll sit obediently through several stories (unless you're supertired, which you indicate by motioning toward the crib sleepily and telling us 'no' when we ask if you want to read or try to sit down).
In health news (because there's always something, isn't there?), we've gone through another couple ear infections, four [or is it six??] more teeth and a round of pinkeye in the past four months. Those were obvious irritations (as mommy can barely cope with your pain regardless), but then came the rash. This happened to occur during a rare stretch at the end of March when mommy was particularly immersed in work and had to stay late most nights and work over the weekends. I'd barely seen you in two weeks (though SuperJon did a wonderful job taking over) and was deep in PowerPoint purgatory when daddy called me at work. I believe his exact words were "I've been trying to reach you. Ansley has measles and we're taking her to the emergency room. And you can't be around her for a week because it can cause serious brain damage to the baby." Now mommy had never in my life cried in front of a boss or broken down in a professional setting (not that my job can be considered terribly formal)... until that day. The thought of not being in contact with my baby girl for a whole other week or harming my unborn child completely overwhelmed me and brought me to tears. Ok, caused a major meltdown let's be honest. After my terribly understanding boss allowed my exit, I sat in the parking lot and couldn't even start the car. Thank heaven Mia called and was somehow able to talk mommy off the ledge by assuring me that it was very unlikely that what you had was actually measles (though in my defense, daddy had totally said it like there was a doctor diagnosis backing that mess up), and that even if you did, I'd definitely been vaccinated and would not need the weeklong quarantine otherwise mandated. When mommy was finally able to pull herself together enough to drive, Mia and I met at the house to scour your vaccination records, since once we thought about it, we were also fairly certain you'd had an MMR shot in the not-so-distant past. The freakout concluded with daddy's final report that "The doctor doesn't think it's measles. It's probably only roseola or a viral rash." Didn't even require medication. Yeah. Let's give a pregnant lady a heart attack jumping to conclusions shall we? Thank God you were alright, but whew! Perhaps daddy was hoping to induce labor...
And then there was the call mommy received from school the following week asking if I might have an idea as to why your little bum bum had two small bruises on either side (Ms. Alecia noticed them while changing you). I was so stressed from the recent measles scare and more strenuous work schedule that I couldn't think why that might be the case until the moment I hung up. I called daddy immediately and lamented that I was sure we had unknowingly caused the bruised bottom by encouraging the repetitious singing of Ring Around the Rosey, during which you got so into the "all fall DOWN!" part that you would literally throw your feet out from beneath you and land smack on your buttocks with a loud thud. I'm expecting a call from social services at some point to inquire about our beating you to the point of bruising.
In more current events, you and daddy have been building a garden. Though it's been a long road and half the crop was compromised by those pesky squirrels and rabbits (hey, they ARE evil!), it's your project together and I know how proud daddy will be if and when you're able to harvest. You were such a good helper in putting it together and planting seeds. Even if you were a bit more interested in the water bucket and piles of dirt...
Day 1: Playing around the garden
"I'm pretty good with a shovel."
"I totally got this."
Day 2: Using the wheelbarrow just like daddy
"I think this plank should move over here.."
"Here daddy, let me help you with that."
"Hold on; I gotta take a call."
Yes, mommy sees you with your hand all up in that bucket..
And now we plant!
Your obsessions as of late include:
1. Dolls/Babies. Holy flipping goodness. If you feel the need to hold or play with one of your 5 (and counting) babydolls and don't see one in the immediate vicinity, you call out "behbee; behbee; behbee" longingly and circle each room hunting for a child. Most of the time, you prefer to have two or more behbees in your possession at once. None of your dolls have names, save Barbie (who is actually a Barbie). Funny thing is, you distinctly call her "Bawbee" in contrast.
You play-act with all of them; taking them in the tub and "washing" their hair, or removing clothes and changing diapers (which, obviously, in your current wiping craze necessitates an actual baby wipe). We have to make sure when you turn them over, pat their backs and put them "night-night" that we're not too loud or that little finger will shoot up to your mouth and warn us to "shhh! ("behbee sleep!")." At daycare you tend to make a beeline for the dolls when I set you down, and you crack your teachers up making them do all kinds of things (like ride the rocking horse and pet the stuffed animals). Supposedly, you get quite the 'tude if a playmate snatches one of "your" babies - even if you've set it down and moved on to other things (like "excuse me! that's mine"). Changing the babies particularly piques your interest, and you will claim to discover "behbee, poop!" at regular intervals. They tell me you're rather diligent in checking your classmates' diapers as well (omg!!), and will let your teachers know if someone's dropped a deuce.
Improper? Perhaps. Helpful? Quite.
But you've always been a bit of a leader in the class. Last week when I sent you off, you ran to the dolls and began passing them out. Seriously. I watched you pick up a kid, call out "Chase," and hand it over when he came obediently to you. Then you grabbed another and called Andrew. Such a good little mommy. If a bit polygamous...
2. YouTube. I know, many grown-ups are a tad obsessive about this one, too, but you will honestly sit and watch 45 minutes of random videos on the internet like a pro potato. It's surreal. You clearly have your go-to vids, such as the Muffin Man (love to watch you bop your head up and down to the beat) and duck song ("and he waddled away.. waddle waddle... till the very next day"). You've grown tired of the gummi bear one, but that obscene underwear-clad dancing green jellybear was your singer of choice for quite some time. We've even found some oldies but goodies like the Elephant Show theme song (skinamarink) and Supercalifragalisticexpialidocious. When we've run through the favs list, mommy will ask what else you want to watch, and the answer to this question is inevitably "behbees" or "bobos." So we find some silly dog tricks or chubby laughing babes to satiate your fix. But sometimes you fall asleep.
3. The phone. Besides the fact that you are now "calling" people and pretending to talk to them, you're also quite proficient at the toddler games on mommy and daddy's phones. You especially like morphing animal flash cards, which you refer to as "Bobos." Basically, they show a warped animal shape, you shake the screen and it goes back to its original shape, then spells out the animal. You shake it again to get a new one. I'm fairly convinced you go through all the animals solely to find the dog and ape.
4. Dancing. Yes, daddy, we're in trouble. Aside from the fact that you actually require no music and "can dance all by yourself" (mommy swells with pride), you take great pleasure in doing the Night at the Roxbury head bop and waving your hands to anything with a good beat even while strapped in your carseat. [JB's "baby, baby, baby" gets you every time].
You've even taken to imitating silly movements mommy does with her hands and head. And when you're unrestrained and free of the car, watch out. One of your Valentines gifts was a Tik Tok-singing "sidestepper" monkey. You still love turning it on and groovin' with the monk. When you lay on the floor and began inappropriately thrusting your hips in the air at one point, however, we had to intervene. It was a smidge too 'Little Miss Sunshine' for the grownups ... though the intervention may or may not have been delayed by our rolling around cracking up at that visual.
5. Bugs. Apparently, mommy scared you something fierce the first time you saw a bug and you were forever traumatized, because every little piece of fuzz, speck of dirt, thread, furball or dust bunny around must be carefully inspected to determine its non-bugness before you are satisfied. When you see any such offending particle, you whimper, point, cry out "bug!" and back away postehaste. Mommy's job is to then identify it as "not a bug" and dispose of it properly. This really sucks when it actually is a bug. You're also going through a phase where there are certain things you're scared of, but fascinated with. Which is utterly confusing for mommy, since I don't know whether to let you play with/see those things or hide them away. One such item is your "chatterbox Cookie Monster" that pretty much just says random phrases anytime his mouth flops open. You're just not sure why or how those sounds come out, so you go back and forth with whether or not you actually want him around. At Mia's house, that item is a porcelain mask with hat and feathers that hangs on the wall. I think maybe you're worried it will come to life suddenly, and you want to make sure it doesn't. It's ok. Mommy has always found that mask slightly creepy myself (don't tell Mia).
6. Potty. Ok. So I've hitherto mentioned (once or twice) daddy's propensity for early potty training, which he began encouraging around month 17 with edible rewards (Reese's Pieces. How very ET, right?). It began by simply extending a Piece for the act of sitting down longer than two seconds, and then we started removing the pants and trying it at the same time each day when you got up. Now, you're totally preoccupied with anything potty, and frequently order "mommy, potty. daddy, potty. wipe." We are well aware when you pass gas, but you politely warn us that you've gone "toot toot!" after the fact. You also know exactly what it means to go "poop-poop" (not to be confused with KaKa - more on that later), but are less forthcoming with that info. Not that it isn't obvious. Any time you need to take a two, you stop what you're doing, find a sturdy object to brace yourself, and grunt away till it's done. Your little face will turn red, you won't let us touch you, and when we ask "are you pooping?" you lie and totally deny it. Daddy frequently tries to get you on the potty before the struggle, but when he asks if you want to sit down, you give a panicked "no.. no" in response.
Now it's happened once or twice that you've had trouble with the 2s, and at these times mommy and daddy have panicked. Especially when you call for "help?" in the midst of fruitless grunting. Since being backed up also causes you to refuse food and drink, we went a little crazy the first time it occurred. Daddy came running downstairs (having heard your pitiful protests), whisked you up to draw a warm bath and ordered mommy out to retrieve prunes and .. suppositories (as a last resort). I combed two drugstores before finding the correct medicine, rushing back home and sprinting up the stairs – sure to find my poor babydoll writhing in pain. I rounded the corner to our bathroom to find a full tub: sans Ansley, but graced with something else. Something that surely could not have come from your tiny little (absence of a) back side. Could it? It was eerily quiet, so I listened for a moment and heard a muffled voice from your room. As I pushed open the door, you looked up contentedly from the book daddy was reading and flashed a delighted smirk that told mommy everything I needed to know. My kid can muster up a turd beyond her years. We took photographic evidence, but I'll spare any peripheral readers the graphic nature and refrain from posting the content here. Suffice it to say: holy crap.
Clearly, we're still not ready for a serious commitment, since everyone mommy's consulted says the new baby will completely throw off your sit and go mojo, but you're so interested in it, we can't stop completely. And though the plunge to PullUps or panties has not yet been made, you are suddenly hating to be changed in a major way. (Like, you throw fits when we mention the act of changing you and try to convince us to change a behbee instead). Despite this little hiccup, you've peepeed on your pot a handful of times. On Easter Sunday, you were bathing one of your behbees in your water table in the front yard when you noticed that this particular bathtime babe has a hole between its legs (I guess for drainage), and appears to "potty" when taken from the water. Of course, this brought on an immediate chorus of "behbee, potty! behbee, potty!" and required the hasty relocation of one of your toddler toilets to the lawn (where baby could properly sit and do its business).
After a good half hour of this process (dunk plastic child, let her wee, repeat), you mentioned the deuce. I was all set to drop a Hershey's Kiss in the water below the doll when we realized you meant YOU had to poo. And right there in the front yard, with Mia, Zade and anyone on our street who happened to be looking out a window in attendance, we didn't even think twice about stripping you down to sit on your potty (sorry!). After a minute of sound effects, mommy was joking with Mia about the likelihood of your a. actually going #2 in the pot, and b. doing so completely nekkid in front of the entire neighborhood, when you got up, turned around and pointed. And there in the toilet in the middle of the yard was your masterpiece. Everyone was so excited/proud/amused at once we could barely contain the cheering, laughing, praise and celebration. Zade asked if you had a piggy bank where we could reward you for your hard work, so we brought it down and he helped you insert a number of whole dollars. Then we realized that this looked really bad in the absence of clothes (we had at least wiped you and applied a diaper at that point) and subsequently retreated inside so as not to embarrass ourselves further in front of the neighbors.
7. Ka-Ka. No, not the Spanish translation. In this case, Kaka is your own shortening of Mia's pup's name: Kashi. Kaka is a mini LhasaPoo. You absolutely love him, and request him frequently. He is small and soft (like you!), so I understand the compulsion. When I mention "going to Mia's" or anything Mia-related, "Kaka?" is your swift response. But it's probably pretty funny for bystanders to hear a little toddler walking around hailing "Kaka!!" every few seconds when you're on a roll. It's exceptionally humorous when you're asking KaKa to sit, as "sit" sounds like the English slang for the translation of Spanish caca. But Kaka can entertain Ansley like no other. You giggle when he leaps onto the bed or runs for a toy, and when he does his circus dance (up on the hind legs batting the paws) you shriek with delight. You like to imitate KaKa's toothy smile. You take great care, however, to avoid his puppy pads - even when there's nothing on them. I guess because that's where "Kaka poop."
8. Boxes. Bryker's bedding arrived a couple months ago and we saved the box for you to play with. Evidently, this was one of the smarter things mommy and daddy could have done, because you've since logged hours of playtime in the box, on the box, in the box with daddy, banging on the box while daddy is inside, asking mommy to join you on the box, hiding things in the box, peekabooing up and down from the box and just generally playing with the large, plain cardboard box. We are so not buying you any more toys (just kidding ;)
You're still a pretty good eater, unless you're teething or not feeling well. Grits are your fave, followed closely by Raisin Bran (I know. Go figure), and you frequently request tea as a beverage. Our fault for introducing you to it, I know. It's pretty much all juice all the time now, since you're still not so keen on the milk unless slurping it from the remains of your cereal (so perhaps it's the sugar content??).
And fyi, this entry has been brought to you by the color blue and the number 2, as those are clearly your current color and number of choice. I take it you're learning this stuff in school, because any time you have two things together, you will very plainly state "two. behbees." Or "blue. ball." Those are the ones you get every time, but I've been noticing more and more accurate identifications of red and items in groups of three as well. Your capacity to learn at the point is completely amazing to me.
You are just so entertaining, enjoyable, loving and cute!! Mommy is enamored with you and most everything about 20-month-old you. You've now started in on "dad-DEE" and "mom-MEE" (as opposed to dada, mama), you're hugging people goodbye, and you walk around with a purpose and occupy yourself with games and tasks. You smile on command and say "cheese!" when we're taking pictures (without prompting). Sometimes you make silly faces just because. I think I've been remiss in your journal entries because I've just been watching you live and trying to hold those moments in my heart. Suffice it to say that the fact that you're now hugging and giving kisses without prompting is my dream come true. Honestly–when you wrap your sweet arms around my neck and actually squeeze, mommy could cry from elation. Every time. And I think to myself, "this is why I wanted kids!!" Oh my geez I'm crying just thinking about it. And when I come home and you run into my arms with the biggest, best grin and request "more hugs".. Let me go ahead and call pregnant (and stop myself from gushing too annoyingly). It's overwhelming. Mommy is so blessed to have you in my life. I love you more than I could ever tell you on some blog. I hope someday you get to feel the same thing for your kids because it's pretty much incredible.
I've received countless nuggets of wisdom/advice since embarking upon the journey to parenthood. So I decided to compile a list of my favorites.
In order of likelihood to cause deathly harm, from least to most likely (just kidding: no particular order), they are as follows:
Babies can smell fear.
The first month or two are all about survival. Do what you have to do. This includes swaddling, holding, pacifying and crying.
"Share" the baby. Sometimes you just need a grown-up moment.
You may have to sacrifice your personal hygiene and household cleanliness for rest. It's worth it; sleep when the baby sleeps.
If your baby cries, try crying louder. It throws them off their game.
When you can, set aside some mommy and daddy time—like date night. You're gonna need that, too.
Don't worry about losing baby weight on the way home from the hospital. It took 9 months to put it there; give it at least that long to come off.
Do your kegels. (This one came from my mom. On my wall. On Facebook [defeatedly shaking head...]).
Your breasts are no longer your property. They belong to the baby. And you might as well forget about that modesty thing while you have a minute, 'cause you're gonna be whipping those puppies out regardless of bystander preference or relation.
You can read all the parenting books and magazines you want, prepare like you're studying for the SATs of child-rearing, and vow "I'll never let my child do that" till you're hoarse, but you just won't know till you're there. It's best to just be flexible and expect the unexpected. You're learning as you go, too.
Never thrust a child on an unwilling participant (i.e. don't force people to hold your baby). If they want to do so, you'll know. And if not, the picture won't be pretty.
Yes, you will be peed on. Get over it.
You'll be puked and pooed on, too. Try not to puke back.
One size does not fit all. Don't cut the tags off until you're sure the clothes fit (save for a few coming-home outfits in the beginning; your baby probably doesn't want to be naked all the time ... yet).
Love your baby! The times when you are most upset at them will be when they need love the most. This is easier said than done.
The world is a scary place already; have a baby and the threat level skyrockets to Defcon 5. BPA-leaden bottles, stifling crib bumpers, unplugged outlets and unsanitized hands will become the villains of your nightmares. You can't protect your baby from everything, so try not indulge your desire for that plastic baby bubble. Just do your best.
No, b-feeding is not a form of birth control. If someone tries to convince you otherwise, it's a trick. ;)
Read up now, scholar mommy. 'Cause books are a luxury you can't afford in the early days of parenthood. You might want to watch those TV shows, go to the movies, head out to eat and overdose on your favorite meals, too.
And oh yeah, you'll never eat hot food again. So maybe try to memorize what that's like now.
People have been having babies for years. Most likely, there are people much less qualified than you doing it right now. You'll be fine.
If someone asks for the name of your child and then responds with "hm, is that a family name?" or, "where did you get that?" they don't like it. Back away slowly and stifle ninja kick reflex.
Screen the pictures your family posts for public consumption. (I'm adding this little gem post-pregnancy. It was touch-and-go for a couple hours there when I discovered an obscene image on Mimi Sally's Facebook. Just when you think there are no naked pictures of you on the web…)
When you leave the hospital and have the "are they seriously letting us take this thing home without instructions?" thought, don't panic. Babies are less fragile and more resilient than you think.
No matter what, don't shake your baby. Clearly, this is a major issue, because they cannot warn you enough about it in babyclass.
Listen to everyone's advice, nod politely, and then do whatever you want. Because nobody knows how to raise your child better than you. Yeah, I pretty much just told you to disregard everything above. But don't take my word for it..
*Though I just dropped some sweet knowledge there, I feel the need to disclaim that I am not a babyologist, nor did I get my degree in child developmental… stuff. Feel free to use the above as loose guidelines, but if any of them cause irrevocable damage, I'm not afraid to plead stupid.
And if you have any further gems of wisdom, please add a comment and expound on this list. I know there are some pointers I've forgotten. Perhaps I'll do another version after I've been a parent for a while. :)
Am now convinced that women become uncomfortable in the final month of pregnancy in order to prepare them for actual birth.
I mean, think about it. You're scared of the unknown and have no idea what to expect; if you went into labor at that point it could be seriously bad for your psyche. But just as everyone says it will, at some point in the last couple weeks, your attitude changes and you think "Ok I'm just ready to meet him/her and become a mommy! And maybe have my body back to myself..."
It's like ... baby voodoo. How do they do that?
*Post- post revision: So I might have had some unrealistic expectations about this "having your body back to yourself" thing. If you choose (and are able) to feed via the magic milk, you might have to tack another 8-12 months or so on to those 9 months...
Totally worth it, though, sweetie. Totally worth it. :)
As we approach what I am affectionately referring to as "d-day," I'm having a rush of strange and mixed emotions. Trepidation, anxiousness, excitement, fear. At times I feel like "ok if I started having contractions now I'd be totally fine with that," and then the next minute I'm thankful that she's not coming yet because there's so much I still want to do, and I have a strange sense of how incredibly different things are going to be once she gets here.
I guess you could say I'm prepared to be overwhelmed. I know I won't know what I'm doing, so that will be the general postpartum theme. Kids are totally cool with a go-with-the-flow parenting style.. right?
Here's hoping that instinct thing kicks in asap!
The other day I was completely intimidated just trying to figure out how to label things in the nursery and put away clothes. It still looks like this.
Nah I'm joking. Here's what it actually looks like:
I hope you like it, baby girl!
Your dad worked tirelessly to get it ready (so mommy could add the fun stuff). Here are some before/construction pics:
Don't let him fool you if he tries to tell you otherwise; he had fun. :)
Some of my favorite baby quotes—just thought I'd share:
"Making the decision to have a child--It's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." - Elizabeth Stone
"I don't know why they say "you have a baby." The baby has you." - Gallagher
"Parenthood: The state of being better chaperoned than you were before marriage." - Marcelene Cox
"Raising kids is part joy and part guerilla warfare." - Ed Asner
"If your baby's "beautiful and perfect, never cries or fusses, sleeps on schedule and burps on demand, an angel all the time," you're the grandma." - Theresa Bloomingdale
"People who say they sleep like babies usually don't have them." - Leo J. Burke
"Human beings are the only creatures on Earth that allow their children to come back home." - Bill Cosby
"There are only two things a child will share willingly - communicable diseases and his mother's age." - Dr. Benjamin Spock
"Diaper backward spells repaid. Think about it." - Marshall McLuhan
"A father is someone who carries pictures where his money used to be." - Anon
"The hardest job facing kids today is learning good manners without seeing any." - Fred Astaire
“The thing that impresses me most about America is the way parents obey their children.” - King Edward VIII
"Parenthood: trading joy for sleep since [2009]" - Anon
If baby bop decided to come out now, she would be the same age and size as my little brother when he was born 24 years ago 16 weeks early. That is incredible. I can barely fathom it. The fact that Bronson, at 1 pound 9 ounces (and a boy nonetheless) was born when my mom was only as pregnant as I am now astounds me.
It is and was quite definitely a miracle that after struggling in the hospital for weeks and weeks and enduring a myriad of difficulties (hernias, reflux, a lazy eye! asthma...), B turned out to be the robust, ;) caring brother that gave me the shirt off his back today when I was feeling a chill. I know he's gone through a lot, but Bronson - you are literally awesome. Don't let anyone tell you differently.
Jon, last night: "I better get a mention in your blog about how awesome I am."
Despite my urge to immediately delete all indications of said awesomeness after that comment, he really does deserve a number of mentions. Plus I had already written most of what's below.
It's not like I didn't already know Jon was excited about being a dad. I mean, anyone who speaks to us on a regular basis probably understands that he was ready for the job at least 5 years ago. But lately he has taken to what I call "man-nesting." Symptoms of which are, as I've noted:
1. Concern for me and baby at an all-time high. He about jumps out of his skin if a dog approaches my belly, will not allow me to lift or move anything over 7 lbs, rolls me over in my sleep if I happen to end up on my back, and will not eat my leftovers because I am apparently supposed to stuff them into my overly-full self "for the baby." When I disclosed that my back was hurting shortly after the move, he took to giving me little standing back-rubs and helping me up and down without my asking. And he's offered up his Prilosec and Rolaids on a number of occasions when I think I might have heartburn (though it is almost surely not as bad as his). He also quietly dodges my hormone-induced freakout sessions (the most recent of which involved a missing sweet & sour sauce in my [rather un]happy meal), and definitely does not jump at the chance to tell that embarrassing story to any and everyone we encounter ...
2. Banker-Jon in full effect. He goes in early, stays late, and has generally been working himself ragged trying to earn more money in preparation for baby time (and the 2 or so months that I'll be out of work for baby time). He even told me he felt this was his way of nesting, as it is the only thing he knows to do. This symptom should also include his tireless efforts to find us the perfect new home, rent out our old home and make sure our other properties are productive enough to help pay for daycare. Honestly, this is like IT for me. Being able to sleep at night knowing we should (fingers crossed!) have the means to pay for childcare and put a roof over our heads is huge. (Yes, Jon, that makes you awesome).
3. Above-average level of interest in certain things baby. After a long day at FLS scoping out beds and kid-related furniture, we crumpled into the car and before I lost consciousness I heard Jon say, "That was fun... I enjoyed that." He had a major hand in picking out the bedding, insisted that the nursery contain pink, and practically dragged me to register for the major items at Babies R Us (which I actually think he enjoys frequenting). We attended babyclass together, and he even endured the b-feeding seminar (where he at least kept the childish giggling to a minimum). He was quite amused with our "amazingly lifelike" stand-in, especially when we happened to pick her up separately in both classes:
(don't ask me what happened to her head; let's just call it an unfortunate birthmark)
He often peers at my belly and smiles or laughs at its fullness. He says it's just "so cute to see because it wasn't there before and now [I'm] growing our baby inside it."
4. Taking over my tasks. Obviously, I'm not completely helpless. And most of the time, I'm fine to do all of the things I do on a normal, everyday basis even while pregnant. But I have recently noticed how Jon has taken to getting up early in the mornings to feed and let the dogs out. This blessedly allows me to sleep a little longer, and prevents me from having to stumble after Hannahbelle the wild animal while she does her business. In the first trimester, he would often make dinner and do the cleaning up because I was too tired. He was and is happy to carry all my bags (aside from the light groceries and pillows I insist on being able to carry myself). As I mentioned, he packed up most of our old house while I was gone and did a ton of the moving alone. And the first night we stayed in our new house, Jon called me upstairs to find him sprawled out in the tub with the jets on (this was just hilarious to me because he has never to my knowledge voluntarily taken a tub when not sick, and I just pictured myself coming home from work one night and discovering him in the bath with candles, music and bubbles - none of which were present this time I should state). So I guess he's gone ahead and started taking baths for me, too, since I'm not supposed to do so. Nice.
5. Enter Mr. Fix-It. Jon has also become my very own handyman. I'm not sure how he acquired these skills, but all of a sudden fans and fixtures are switched out, hardware is replaced and dimmer lights are going in like nobody's business. My bathroom sink was draining a little slowly when we first moved in, and Jon took it apart and unclogged it himself. He's painted the nursery, put up beadboard and assembled baby furniture (with help from the dads and Kay), and even put up shelving in the garage. There's a possibility this all started back when our toilet wouldn't stop running on Eagle and Heidi was the one who figured out how to fix it. I think he made a vow that very day to out-man her. But no matter what the impetus, I have to say I am loving HandyJon.
--
So sweetie, I hope I haven't left out too much (because I'm sure there's more, and I'm sure you'll remind me of it if and when you read this blog).
Of course I know you'll make the most amazing father I could ever hope for. But maybe I need to tell you more often. I am profoundly honored and grateful that you picked me to be the mother of your child(ren). It's pretty amazing to know you're in this with me 110%. Clearly, marrying you was one of the smartest things I've ever done (and I'm pretty smart ;)
In all seriousness, though, you are the first thing I thank God for when I pray. There would be no baby without you. I don't even know how I got so lucky to find you on pretty much the first try! Thank you for making me feel like I can do this (with a little help). I love you just as much.
We've breached the threshold. Lying down the other night in MiniMac's favorite chair and in her favorite position, I looked down at my belly and actually saw her move. Jon and I were so captivated by the strange alien poking, we probably sat there for a good 30 minutes just staring. It's kind of like a little fishy disturbing the "water." She's still being rather sneaky, though. And only with certain people. She'll let the grandmothers feel her, but my dad has yet to catch her in action. She seems to be playing hide-and-seek with Aunt Heidi (and she's really good at the hiding). I'll feel her rolling around one minute, and the second they reach out a hand she converts to stealth mode. Unfortunately, shoving and verbal threats seem to have no effect at this point.
Ok I'm seriously freaked out. Not only has my previously-inny belly button begun to protrude outward and become more shallow, but it has a hood. The other day, Jon and I got a kick out of pushing on it, because it feels sort of like a sliding cover. So weird. And even weirder, I know eventually it will poke out way more - to the point where it will then look to me like a third nip under my shirt... at which time, I may invent some preggy "bell-eez" (like "boob-eez") to cover up my obscene protuberance. Did I mention this pregnancy thing is really weird to me?
Um, yeah. I realize this actually was completely new information to anyone not in our immediate family (or rather, anyone that the immediate family didn't tell), but ok, here's how it all went down, which I'm sure is more than you ever wanted to know:
We'd discovered some time ago that 2 1/2 people and 2 beasts in just under 1300 square feet does not work well (nor does it a happy family make). Jon is constantly on MLS anyway looking for investment opportunities, so he would often scope out possible future homes (yet still investment-worthy, of course ;) in which to raise our "brood" of children, dogs, etc. We'd come upon several in the past 6 or so months that seemed like they'd work, and placed offers on 3 at different times, but things fell through with each. And Jon was starting to reevaluate what we might be able to afford with impending day and childcare expenses.
Then it appeared. Well actually, it had been on the market for a while I guess, but Jon suddenly found it and on a random weekday asked me to take a look. We did the tour in less than 30 minutes, and despite the blue carpet and brass fixtures, we both had the feeling that it was "the one." Of all the homes we'd seen, it was the only floor plan I walked into and said "Yes. I could live here as it stands." They'd reduced the price considerably a month or so earlier, but if you know Jon, you know he's always looking to make the most out of our money, and the reduced list price was even quite a bit higher than we wanted to spend. Adding to my anxiety, the agent told us that another offer was on the table. But Jon kept me calm and assured me that a) sometimes they just tell you that, and b) sometimes even when people outbid you, the financing falls through, so even that wouldn't necessarily end it. We decided on a price we couldn't go above and offered 10% less than that. They countered as expected, and though they came down, it wasn't where we needed to be. Jon (and perhaps more reluctantly, I) decided that we'd go up to our magic number and tell them final offer, and if they didn't take it, it wasn't meant to be. I think it was Adam who explained it best: he said just think to yourself, would you rather not go above what you want to spend and maybe lose the house, or offer more and then wonder if you paid too much? I was so nervous I don't know if I slept the whole weekend we waited on the response.
Monday was the beginning of a series of events I can only describe as divine intervention. The offer was verbally accepted. We were still on a high from learning that there was a fully-forming, seemingly healthy little girl in my tummy, but of course I was a bundle of nerves at the fact that we had no written acceptance, no solid plan for our current home, and had yet to obtain financing. A week later, they returned the signed contract. Jon put a for-rent sign in our yard on Eagle. And though he'd planned to place an ad in the paper and on Craig's List as well, we got 6 calls that day. After a mad dash to tidy and de-dogify the house, we showed it to a nice lady who signed the lease contract by the end of that week.
At this point, it still didn't sink in for me. Yes, my subconscious was aware that the closing was set for the end of the month (less than 2 weeks away at that point), but I was in the midst of planning Jenna's bachelorette celebration at the beach. And, being my neurotic self, was so uncertain about the qualification process, I just didn't believe things would happen along that timeline - if at all. We decided to wait until the house was ours before really telling everyone we were moving (mostly because of my nerves). When I returned from the beach on the 27th, however, our house was 2/3 of the way packed and stacks of boxes populated the living room. Jon had worked tirelessly all weekend and our closing was set for three days later. Somehow, everything fell into place and we (i.e. Jon) started moving boxes that day.
So if it seemed abrupt and shocking, it kinda was. I still can't believe it's our real home!
Well hello there. Your request to stalk my life has been approved (oh who am I kidding we all know you're here for little a-bomb..).
After much resistance and delay, I'm finally starting the requisite baby blog (which is apparently paramount on the parental responsibility scale). I can't promise my posts will always be witty or interesting since I'm new at this and most will be done through a sleep-deprived haze.
I'm willing to bet if you visit me here, you already know the mcdetails, but just in case:
I'm a left-handed ninja perfectionist who can dance all by myself (but I like to dance in the circle of trust with my midjas). I eat tea and drink Pibb (which I refuse to call Pibb extra). I am perpetually late (but it's really Jon's fault). And my next child will likely be named Drizzle. (Totally kidding about that last one. Jon just freaked out a little bit...haha).
