Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Lean In (Not the trendy way. The other way.)

The time has come in the pregnancy where I am having to lean in. 
Literally. Lean in to pee, that is. Not the other lean in. I know that is a thing, but I don't watch the news much. Instead I lean in to pee, cause there is a person in there the size of a rutabaga (I don't really know what that looks like, that is just what Babycenter told me) sitting on my bladder and I have to push him out of the way. You know what I am talking about ladies. The lean. Every 30 minutes. Or fifteen, depending on how much coke sweet tea green tea water you are drinking. 

It is also the time when this is happening...

I am panicking because the only thing I have done to the nursery is taped 75 grey paint swatches to the wall in the guest room.

Everyday someone that lives with me comments on how big my underwear is now. I am growing a person here people, how about a little more reverence and a little less snickering. It's the gift of life a-holes.

I made brownies on Sunday and realized today that I may be the only person in the house eating them. It is Tuesday and there are only 4 left.  Well done, me.

I can't sleep because my sciatic nerve is being plucked by an invisible giant who thinks my rear end is a banjo. Every time I roll over/breathe too deep/sit up I think Hubs has tased my hiney. This is probably why I feel like I would feel better if I could slap his face.

I have exactly three items of clothing for the dude. I am thinking we may have to create swaddling clothes out of LadyB's old pink blankets. 

He has no name. He has name possibilities. He has names we are tossing around. But nothing that can be agreed on. Unless I decide I really do like Ultimate Warrior. Then the discussion is over and we just have choose between calling him Ultimate or Warrior. Because I can't stand double names for boys. 

I have to figure out a way to make my 3.5 year old sleep through the night again so I am not having to get up with a both her and her brother. Because getting up with just one is bad enough. Being double teamed will surely kill me.

The maternity pants I bought two months ago are already too small.

This is the nursery. I should probably put it on Pinterest.
(Photobomb compliments of Honey Badger)








Friday, August 23, 2013

The Paci Fairy Takes More Than Pacis

A few weeks ago the Paci Fairy came to our house. If you are here a lot, you know I was living in fear of this moment. Utter, total, paralyzing, fear. I waited until now to write about it because I wanted to make sure things were all settled down and I could have a little perspective. Here is my take-away from out little adventure in growing up...

Lady B proved me wrong yet again, while reinforcing what I have learned about her. (Confusing, right?) I was so worried about this situation. I worried about her being sad. About her screaming and crying. About her begging me for the paci. I worried about this being an epic of struggle of us against the paci. Instead, girlfriend was totally on board. She gathered up her paci's herself and voluntarily hung them in a bag for the fairy. She asked for her plastic phone that night just in case the Fairy wanted to text her. She was ecstaticwith the LeapPad that the Fairy left her. (Is that a ridiculous gift? Absolutely. Do I care? Not one bit. It was totally worth it.)  And after having a paci every day since she was born, we had about 7 seconds of crying one night. What? Not at all what I was mentally preparing for. 

This all goes to show me what I already knew. Big transitions with Her Highness are easy because the moment by moment living is hard. All of her big milestones have been relatively painless. Switching from bottle to cup, potty training, moving into the big girl bed...we have no crazy horror stories, nothing more than normal growing pains. However, every minute of every day is a struggle for who is in charge of our house--her or us. I guess she is so busy being passionate about things like which skirt to wear and how many band aids she should have, she doesn't have time to worry about the big stuff.

Not to worry. Don't hate me just yet. The Paci Fairy didn't only take the pacifiers. She also took naps and a piece of my sanity. Nothing is truly painless, my friends. We are three weeks in, and I can officially say that naps are jacked up. Gone are the days of her laying down and going to sleep and staying asleep for 2 hours. I now spend anywhere between 30 minutes and 2 hours listening to her playing in her room (also know as ultimate destruction), calling out to me, and begging me for wake up time. Occasionally she will still fall asleep early. More often, she waits until I am about to go in and release her from nap prison to fall asleep. Because she has worn herself out putting on lotion she isn't supposed to have and changing her clothes 12 times and making piles of stuffed animals. And then I have to take my life into my own hands and wake her up, because by that time it is too lateg to let her sleep. But I refuse to give in. I have to do work while she has rest time. Not to mention I need to have a break from the insanity. And put my pregnant feet up. What I have learned from this little situ is that when a child goes from taking naps one day to stopping the next, it makes her a little, urm, unhinged. There is more crying, more drama, more fighting. And it sucks.
Passed out at 4:45 after an extremely impressive nap-battle that included
yelling, screaming, crying, and refusal to take off her too-small shoes.
The Fairy also stole a good night's sleep. Gone are the days of sleeping through the night. Gone is the ability to walk Her Highness to the potty then tuck her back in and creep back out. Now she has no way to soothe herself back to sleep. She wants her back rubbed. Several times a night. How do you teach a kid to put herself back to sleep? I have no idea. All I know is we recently went on an adults only long weekend, and I felt amazing every day after a full night's sleep. Now I know what I am missing. Which is almost worse. And in a few months there will be an infant here too that wants attention all night long. What do I do? Do I go hard core and let her cry? Do I wean her off middle of the night back rubs slowly? Do I make her Dad go in there and then listen to her scream for mama? Do I go stay at a hotel for a week and let Hubs deal with it? I personally vote for the last one. 

I am up for suggestions on how to manage this situation. I am so happy/relieved/thankful that the Paci Fairy was a non-event. What I don't know about is how to sleep train a previously awesome sleeper. We all need to sleep all night. We need to have rest times that don't involve destruction and crying. We need some sanity in a big way. 

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Shark Week Sucks. (Alternate Title: Why I am Getting Divorced)

Well, my friends, Divorce is imminent  I thought my husband knew me. I thought he loved me. Tonight I find that our whole lives have basically been a lie.

Two words. Shark. Week.

I hate sharks. When I was in elementary school I saw Jaws and it basically ruined my life. I have had reoccurring shark nightmares ever since. That is around 25 years of living in fear. I am queasy just typing about it. Hubs know how I feel about the great white predator. He knows my distaste. My fears. Yet here I find myself watching something called Megalodon on Shark Week. W.T.F.

I have managed to avoid shark week for, well, pretty much ever. I feel there is not reason to devote a week to this. I can sum it up in 2.5 seconds. Just flash this on the screen...

                                  HELL NO GET OUT OF THE DEEP WATER 
                                        CAUSE YOU GONNA DIE

Sadly, now I have to leave Hubs. Because the very fact that he subjected me to something called Megalodon, about the world's biggest shark that broke apart a fishing boat and now there are some fools toodling around the high seas looking for it shows he doesn't know me at all. As if my dreams are not vivid enough being pregnant at all. Thanks babe. I just wanted to sit here and drink my decaf and Pinterest. I found myself relieved when LadyB called me in for her nightly backrub (usually it makes me want to pull my hair out b/c I think she is asleep and she's not. Just waiting for me to get really comfortable.) 

So if is the last you hear from me, it is because I had a heart attack in my sleep, having night terrors about floating in a beautiful swimming pool then having a shark that is 30 feet long coming out of nowhere and biting me. Cause they always get me when I least expect it, you know. 

Hold me.


What's that? This isn't real? No one cares. Cause it is horrifying.
And makes me feel like this:


I hate you sharks. And I hate you shark week. And now I hate you too Hubs. 

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Can't. Stop. Crying.

So I was getting ready to write about something different when I saw a Downy commercial. Yeah, like the fabric softener. I mean I don't even use fabric softener cause it is weird to me. But the commercial is amazing. It is the one where the guy has the same tee shirt through meeting a girl in college, then getting married, then having kids and at the end his 7ish y.o. daughter is wearing said tee. And I teared up. Cause that is some touching schmidt. Even if fabric softener is a racket.

Earlier today Lady Baby and I had a little conversation about college and what that is and that you leave home to go. She got very quiet and I could literally hear the crunch of brain gears turning in the backseat. Then she announced, "I hate college." I told her we had 15 years to worry about college. She then replied, "Will you come with me?" Cue tears. Yes baby. My sweet girl. I will go and we can live in the dorm and be roomies and I will warm your milk in the microwave in the parlor of your dorm and carry your book bag when you are tired. You don't have to ask me twice. 

Every day something happens that makes me tune up. Every day I am reminded that the flux of hormones pumping through my body is at an all time high. (Hopefully. If not, the all-time high may cause me to literally break in half. Or explode.) It can be anything. A song, a heated discussion, a broken dryer, a hangnail. Anything can cause me to feel that prick in my eyes and tightness in my throat. This morning, it was literally spilled milk. Yes. Spilled milk down the front of Her Highness's leotard. The only one we can find. When we are already late for ballet camp. Not only am I a hot mess, I am a cliche. Awesome.

I find myself most effected by Lady B's emotions. When she is apprehensive, sad, crying, upset, sobbing, unsure, or really anything else that is not meant to purely piss me off, I take it to heart. Literally. One day she was extra clingy when I was dropping her off at school, and I was afraid I was going to cry in the hall at preschool. The same place I have been dropping her off for the last 2.5 years. We are about to undertake the paci fairy (I know, I know, for reals this time) and I practically cry just thinking about how sad she is going to be. I feel like we have a brain link and what she is feeling, I am feeling x7589. Until she is all sassy and rude and won't stop saying "nope" to everything I ask. Then I want to cry because she is being mean and I am really tired. But everything else, totally.

I tear up thinking about crying. I am not being funny. That seriously happens.

Am I alone? Are y'all out there pregnant and crying over Real Sports stories and pictures of cats and chickens that are best friends and your kid bumping their knee? Please tell me that I am not alone. 

Cause that will make me cry.


Awe Dawson, don't cry.
You are a great mom.
And your 3.5 doesn't hate you, she just
wants to break your spirit.

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