PS

It's mah birfday on Saturday. :)

Head Pats and Snuggles

I give 'em all the time. I want some. Boo-hoo, me. Tonight, I did get a little petting. Baby Taz turned 2 on November 1st, and his big gift was a bunk bed that rocks my socks. We got Sir H the canopy for his top bunk, which, when the lights are out, reflects ambient light on the little white spots and makes it look like stars, or snowflakes. Y'all, it is heaven on earth. Sir H was coming into our room every night about 2-3 am, and as he prefers to sleep his-knees-to-our-kidneys, it was getting really old. He informed me that the canopy "doesn't let bad guys or bad dreams in", so he's all set, thank you very much. Taz (no longer Baby, fill in all those conflicted maternal feelings we feel as our babes grow up), has eschewed the awesome and comfy lower bunk (whose mattress sits directly on the floor, ergo, making me feel as if it is safe enough for him) in favor of sneaking up to Sir H's top bunk and entangling himself in Sir H's limbs, there dozing off into blissful sleep. Sir H loves it. Honestly.

Point being, my now 2-year-old, my almost five-year-old, my 33-week pregnant belly, and my 5'9" self were all crammed into the top bunk (yep, it's a twin size!) reading tonight. I turned the light out and as Sir H was juuuuuuust this side of sleep, I wanted to stay until he dozed off all the way. I was lying in between my precious boys, one mostly asleep and still, and the other just wiggling and humming and whispering stuff that I could NOT understand, but he didn't care, and I already felt blessed. Then, these tiny 2-year-old hands reached out for my face, and started patting my cheek. He sucks his thumb, so he was madly getting after his thumb with one hand, and with the other, rubbed and patted my hair and my face for a solid minute or two. I just about swooned. Then, his fingers wandered to the front of my face and he attempted to drive his pointer finger into my eye socket, so I figured that the patting and snuggling was over. I just love them.

Taking care of Mama

I've been really struggling lately. I was reevaluating my medications, my sleep habits, my diet, all the things that can make one feel off or grumpy or just plain weary. Everything seems to be in order, and I'm not having any emotional or physical symptoms that would be red flags for depression or anything, so I was really confused for a few weeks, wonderful what the hell is wrong with me. It clicked a few days ago: I'm all tapped out. I'm touched out, I'm pregnant-ed out, I'm giving-ed out, I'm patient-ed out, I'm altrustically void. And guess what? That's.....OH-KAY! It was actually a really interesting (to me) way that it clicked, I kind of have to be smacked in the face to really get that I'm not taking care of myself. So many of us are other-focused, especially with young kids and a household to run, or a career, that we neglect our own care until we are in shambles. So, I needed a big old SIGN FROM THE UNIVERSE, apparently.

I was putting away some papers into my obsessive-compulsive outlet file folder that keeps me from going crazy, and I stumbled across a few pages of notes that I made about a year ago. It was the first meeting of my new group that I was heading up at our old church, which focused on praying for our kids. I really feel passionately about moms taking care of ourselves, so my whole first group meeting was focused on taking care of yourself so that you can take care of your kids. I sat on the floor and realized that for the last (how long have I been pregnant? Thirty-billion years?), I've been putting the oxygen mask on the kids over and over and not only putting myself last, but neglecting to put it on at all. You know, like in the event of an emergency, on a plane? No? Okay. Just me, then.

Rereading my notes, I rediscovered this story. I don't remember anything about the origin, I don't remember finding it, but I remember that it made me feel the same way then that it did today.

A few hikers in the forest came across a man attempting to saw down a tree. They offered to help, but he politely declined. Upon their return trek, five hours later, they saw the same man, at the same tree, still sawing, and not having made much progress. One of the hikers suggested, "Why don't you take a moment to sharpen your saw?" And the man frantically replied, "I can't! I'm too busy sawing!"

How many times have I sat there and tried to parent, tried to clean, organize, accomplish, change, and I am left feeling thwarted and frustrated? But if someone comes along and suggests that I shine up my parenting, cleaning, organizing, et. al, tools, my immediate response is one of shock and denial. I CAN'T go get a massage! I don't have the time! The money! The willingness! I can't get my hair cut! I don't have a babysitter! But when I plan ahead, and make those things happen, my tools are sharpened, and I think we all know how much better we feel and how things just seem to go much more smoothly. It doesn't have to be indulgent stuff like manis and pedis, either. I have given up feeling guilty for napping when Baby Taz naps, when I could be foldinglaundryvacuumingpickingupknittingmakinglistscooking the list is, literally, endless. I stop and play cars when Sir H asks me to. But guess what? If I really don't want to play cars? I don't. And I'm working on not feeling guilty about it.

A while back, I was talking to my daddy about the anxieties of parenting and the worry I carry around about screwing up my kids. Another common concern among mothers, I know, and because I already deal with an anxiety disorder, I can really allow myself to get bogged down in it. I was having a great conversation with my wise father about it, and I said something quite close to, "Because, you know, taking care of my kids is The Most Important Job I will ever have." He became quiet for a moment, thinking, then responded, "I disagree. I think your most important job is taking care of your kids' mother."

As if that weren't kick in the pants enough, I was talking to my mother last night about some difficulties, and she said, "It breaks my heart that I can't take care of your problems for you. So, will you do something? Will you take care of my daughter for me?"

Okay.

Okay.

I don't know how, but I'm learning.

The Pregnancy

Well, if the Old Wives' Tales have any validity at all, this little sucker is not only a girl, but a really strong-willed one. This is most definitely our last baby, The Huz and I are in more than 100% agreement about that. There will be no Business Happening until someone gets fixed permanently, of that we both agree. Ergo, I'm doing all those things I always wanted to do. First, we're not finding out the sex of this baby, second, I'm committed to not getting an epidural barring unforseeable complications, and third...um, something else cool.

But, wow, how different this one has been. With the boys, I felt nauseated with them, fairly constantly for a few long weeks during the first trimester. With this one, I was chained to the toilet, or had to carry a plastic bag with me from week 6 until week 16. Now, that's what I call FUN. I had no trouble sleeping with either of the boys, I napped like crazy and slept 12 hours at night. This time, I'm plagued with insomnia and lie awake for hours at night, no matter how exhausted I am. I'm also carrying very differently, my belly is all out in front and straight and all my weight is in the belly, which is great, but with both boys, I got a little heavier everywhere, and I carried much further back in my body. I also have a fantastically uncomfortable umbical hernia, which is really becoming exacerbated now that the belly is getting bigger. Anytime I sneeze, laugh too hard or forget to tighten my (quickly vanishing) ab muscles, it pops out and oh, it hurts. It feels like a particularly sensitive bruise, and any time it is touched, even if I accidentally brush it against something, it radiates pain. Super comfy. Of course, the boys think it's really cool that my belly button (or "bey butt" as Baby Taz calls it) sticks out so far, so they're always randomly poking at it, and wow, it's almost always unexpected. Then, of course, it's high-LAR-ious that Mommy jumps that high when we stick our finger in her bey butt, so let's sneak up on her and do it again!

I'm coming through much of the ambivalence to a place of peace and excitement. I've had some really wonderful bonding moments in the last few weeks, and I hold on to the thought that each time I've been pregnant, I've been terrified. That pregnancy, for me, is definitely not the exciting thing. I'm not a woman that loves, or even particularly likes, being pregnant. I didn't particularly like being engaged. I was engaged for the purpose of being married, and I'm pregnant for the purpose of mothering my sweet babies. Now that I have two pregnancies under my belt, I can at least accept that even if it does make me cold-hearted, pregnancy doesn't do a thing to make me feel all warm and cuddly, but once that baby is born, I will sacrifice anything and everything (except my other babies) for that child, and nothing can come between us. I don't really believe it now, but I do know it will happen.

I wonder what the baby will look like? It's fun to postulate. For some reason, the sex isn't all that important to me anymore. I was so scared of having a girl that I could have fainted, but now, I can see all the wonderful attributes of having a daughter. When Sir H started his preschool year at the beginning of September, we had Annual School Haircut Day, and the big boys (The Huz and Sir H) lined up for cuts. I had just gotten a Mini Boden catalog in the mail, and had spent at least an hour poring through the pictures of the younger boys, trying to find a style that I liked that would work with Sir H's hair. I had it narrowed down to three, and the next night, I excitedly took the pictures into the dining room at dinner to show the Huz and Sir H. I sat down and told them that I had been looking through the catalog, had some pictures to show them, elaborated on each hairstyle and how it would work with his hair texture, and then asked them for their opinions and looked up as I waited for their responses. My eyes met a blank stare (Sir H) and a slightly frightened and overwhelmed wide-eyed look (The Huz). We sat in silence as about 5 seconds ticked by, and I finally sighed and said, "I need a daughter, don't I." Sir H recommenced shoveling food into his mouth and The Huz took a deep breath when he saw that he was off the hook and nodded his head emphatically, just happy not to have had to make a choice.

For the record, the haircuts turned out seriously kickass.

The Joys of Dorkiness

So, I'm pulling out of the Chili's parking lot (the baby was demanding a molten chocolate cake), and I'm imagining telling The Huz about my doctor's visit and having the conversation in my head about what I wanted to tell him about my weight gain and how I'm getting close to my personal limit, and I was getting all worked up about my unhappiness about gaining 3 pounds this month, even though I know it's not that much, and I am totally talking out loud, as if The Huz is there in the car with me, because that's how I roll, right? So, I'm backing up, and I realize all at the same time that not only am I using facial expressions, emphasizing words and USING HAND GESTURES, but I'm also being stared at by a dude with his girlfriend/wife, whom, I realize, has been staring for longer than a second, and thinking that I have lost my damn mind. For some reason, I was so embarassed that I cared what Someguy thought that I TOTALLY put my hand up to my ear, as if I were wearing a Bluetooth, and kept talking, as if I WEREN'T crazy, and had been actually on the invisible phone the whole time and it was all cool and whatevs, dude, so quit staring. I'm pretty sure I even laughed breezily at something "The Huz said". I scare myself. Your turn. Please.

I've been avoiding putting up an update

because not everyone knew about our news! However, my sweet mother is so excited that as of last week, pretty much everyone that would read this in my real life has been informed that we are expecting a third babe, and now that the shock and awe has (mostly) worn off, we are getting pretty excited! The Huz just got back from a three day trip out of town for work, and I got quite overwhelmed wondering how I would handle three small people all on my own in times like that. But, I remember two years ago, being terrified about adding a second child, and wondering how I could possibly be a good mom to two kids at the same time, and my boys seem fairly content, so I keep hanging on to the idea that we'll figure it out the same way.

Since this was quite the surprise, we don't have an exact date for the arrival, like we did for the boys, which is quite the challenge for a person who already struggles with anxiety. It's been a battle to let that go and remember that the baby will arrive when s/he is supposed to, and we do know within a few days, at least, when the conception happened, but I like to know Exactly When That Was, so I'm learning in this journey, too, as often happens. Funny how that is. We plan to find out the gender, but since I'm only 10 weeks along, we have time until then. I've been knitting tiny things like crazy, and my first pair of longies seem giant for a newborn, but may fit a one-year-old, so they may go in the drawer for a long while! Knitting newborn pants is much faster than knitting something for Baby Taz, that's for sure (pictures coming soon to show off my new yarn)!

Anyway, when we first went in to confirm the pregnancy and that it was viable and healthy, and get dates, it was just a few days too early to see a heartbeat, so all we saw was the embryo as a white spot inside of the gestational sac, so baby's nickname became Spot, and has stuck with him or her, ergo, when I reference Spot, it will be the little guy growing in there and making me sick all day long (hopefully not for much longer!). Spot's due on Sir H's birthday, on 12/31, and we'll see how that pans out when we get close, my best guess will be that the arrival will be a few days before that, because I think the conception was actually two days before, and I think I will follow the pattern I've set with the boys: Sir H was birthed at 40w6d, Baby Taz at 40w1d, and I think this one will be either 40w1d or 40w on the dot (or spot, heh).

Feel free to make gender and birthdate predictions, love to hear them!

Yarny Goodness

I'm making some slippers out of this delicious yarn. I'm so not a slippers girl, but I have Reynaud's Syndrome, a fancy name for my-toes-go-numb-and-lose-feeling-at-random-times-mostly-when-cold. So, I fell in love with these little guys. You know you're jealous.

I've finished the actual shoes, and it took me about 4 tries to figure out the attached I-cord, but I finally got it. I ditched her directions and used my own, and we'll see...pictures will come when I am finished!