This is my Friday evening...a walk with the boys and now I blog as Jack's trucks do a "touchdown dance" and I dodge the volleyball being thrown at me. Daddy is getting dinner. It's hot, I can't cook and have no desire to. I want everyone to do it all for me in these last few weeks. I want to sleep. I want hubby to actually take his eyes off of the TV on the rare occasion that I get a foot/back rub. "That's why you go have it done, I'm not good at it," he says. Yes, I'm sure that's it. I'm not sure I've ever been quite so tired. During the day, I work and work to get ahead, preparing for maternity leave. By the time I get home, I've got nothing, but I plug away. I know I'm not the first to feel this way, believe me. I'm just tired of being pregnant and wonder how I am going to make it two more months. I sit here, sweating under the heat of a laptop and the warm summer air, gazing at my belly and feeling the discomfort of having a four pound melon wedged under my ribs. I want to go up and down the stairs without being completely winded. It's not too much to ask, is it?
The good news is...hubby and I think we are settled on names. Maybe. Boy name is a lock. Girl name...different story. Just when I think we know, another name pops up. There is a name that keeps coming back to our conversations, so we'll see what happens. As for what I think I'm having, I have no clue. A couple of vague dreams, but nothing like I had with Jack. I dreamed I was knitting a pink mitten & hat set and then a later dream where I didn't actually have the baby but someone gave me a three-month old little girl. I was trying to figure out if it was possible to breastfeed her. I don't know what any of this means except that I am weird.
More good news is that I finally got to go to yoga again. It was one of the greatest things I've done since being pregnant. It felt great and I'm looking forward to continuing it through these next eight weeks. I needed something to mellow me out and to work my tired hips and mind. I truly, truly believe in the healing effects of yoga - mind, body, and spirit.
Well, a licking dog, a jumping Jack and a movie (can I possibly stay awake two more hours?) await. It's a typical Friday night and I have to say, I like it.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
I'm trying to decide if my fingers are swollen. I think it may be the heat just doing its normal thing. I don't have cankles and my toes seem un-sausage like. Although, I am on red alert for the slightest change in extremities. These are the things I worry about, so maybe Carly was directing her words at me. I'm not sure. It's just that I already feel so horrendously large that swelling would be a dagger in the heart.
So Jack. My sweet, darling Jack. He is the greatest. kid. ever. The other day he wanted a knuckle sandwich for lunch. He seriously asked for one and got upset when I tried to talk him out of it. "No mommy, I want a knuckle sandwich," he said. Waking up and going to bed is still the best. I know I always mention it, but I love it. He always wants me to "lay with him for a long time" He insists I lay on my back. Not on my side. He will ask me a zillion questions and my answer "mmhmm" is not sufficient. He says, "Mommy, don't say mmhmm," and wants me to answer "yes" or have a more detailed explanation. He is clearly the boss of this relationship. I love that he's a tough guy whose life revolves around baseball, football, and pretending to shoot things with the vacuum cleaner attachments, but his most important possession is "Baby", his blankie. A sippy cup of milk is not complete without his Baby to rub against his cheek. I think that's one of the things that amazes me most about Jack - and kids in general. Their habits and mannerisms. He always wants things the same and follows the same patterns. I guess we are all like that, it just seems unreal to be doing it at the age of two. The other night he woke me up around 12:30 and said, "I can't find Baby!". In my stupor, I found the thing wedged under a pillow. It seems Daddy never hears the wake up calls. I can't decide if I'm so in tuned to Jack that I wake up or if it's because moments of sound sleep are few & far between so I'm already half-up anyway. Or maybe if it's just that Daddy ignores them because he knows I'll get up??? I hope he doesn't think that I'll be doing double duty when new baby makes an entrance.
My new favorite thing? When he potties on the toilet, then he'll say, "Mommy, let's sit here and talk for a little bit." He never says it anywhere else except the bathroom. It's hilarious and I have no idea where it came from. And potty training is going ok. It's been about a month. We're getting there. I think. He has no problem telling us about pottying while we're in the car - I think he enjoys peeing outside on the side of the road. We did it three times within 15 minutes on the way home from Kansas City. He only peed once. He just wanted to go on a rock.
I love his curiosity about baby. He continually asks if it's done growing and wants to know how he can help. Can he feed it, he wonders? How about playing catch? he asks. He touches, loves, and talks to my belly. I thought he would be more interested in why my belly was getting so big, but it hasn't fazed him a bit. Unfortunately, I don't have those sentiments, but he really just wants baby to hurry and get here - something I do agree with!
It's taken me forever to post this blog - I didn't realize it had been three weeks since the last post. Oops. I have a lot more to say in the next several days (and weeks!) and pictures to post. Until then, hope this finds everyone well!
So Jack. My sweet, darling Jack. He is the greatest. kid. ever. The other day he wanted a knuckle sandwich for lunch. He seriously asked for one and got upset when I tried to talk him out of it. "No mommy, I want a knuckle sandwich," he said. Waking up and going to bed is still the best. I know I always mention it, but I love it. He always wants me to "lay with him for a long time" He insists I lay on my back. Not on my side. He will ask me a zillion questions and my answer "mmhmm" is not sufficient. He says, "Mommy, don't say mmhmm," and wants me to answer "yes" or have a more detailed explanation. He is clearly the boss of this relationship. I love that he's a tough guy whose life revolves around baseball, football, and pretending to shoot things with the vacuum cleaner attachments, but his most important possession is "Baby", his blankie. A sippy cup of milk is not complete without his Baby to rub against his cheek. I think that's one of the things that amazes me most about Jack - and kids in general. Their habits and mannerisms. He always wants things the same and follows the same patterns. I guess we are all like that, it just seems unreal to be doing it at the age of two. The other night he woke me up around 12:30 and said, "I can't find Baby!". In my stupor, I found the thing wedged under a pillow. It seems Daddy never hears the wake up calls. I can't decide if I'm so in tuned to Jack that I wake up or if it's because moments of sound sleep are few & far between so I'm already half-up anyway. Or maybe if it's just that Daddy ignores them because he knows I'll get up??? I hope he doesn't think that I'll be doing double duty when new baby makes an entrance.
My new favorite thing? When he potties on the toilet, then he'll say, "Mommy, let's sit here and talk for a little bit." He never says it anywhere else except the bathroom. It's hilarious and I have no idea where it came from. And potty training is going ok. It's been about a month. We're getting there. I think. He has no problem telling us about pottying while we're in the car - I think he enjoys peeing outside on the side of the road. We did it three times within 15 minutes on the way home from Kansas City. He only peed once. He just wanted to go on a rock.
I love his curiosity about baby. He continually asks if it's done growing and wants to know how he can help. Can he feed it, he wonders? How about playing catch? he asks. He touches, loves, and talks to my belly. I thought he would be more interested in why my belly was getting so big, but it hasn't fazed him a bit. Unfortunately, I don't have those sentiments, but he really just wants baby to hurry and get here - something I do agree with!
It's taken me forever to post this blog - I didn't realize it had been three weeks since the last post. Oops. I have a lot more to say in the next several days (and weeks!) and pictures to post. Until then, hope this finds everyone well!
Friday, July 17, 2009
Ugh.
When the cat's away, the mice will play...boss is out this week. Actually, I've been super busy, super tired, and I'm ridiculously caught up, so blogging it is.
First let me start by saying that I am crazy tired. I can't sleep. My legs hurt. My hips hurt and last night apparently there were "ghostis" in Jack's bed, so that was a fun wake up call. I'm not sure where he's getting the ghost talk from or why he's even thinking about them. This is the second time he's been worried about ghosts. I woke up three more times to go to the bathroom. Probably sixteen more times to adjust the body pillow/heat oven. Such a cruel twist...needing sleep desperately, being completely unable to find comfort, realizing that somehow Mr. Sandman has gotten lost, yet carrying your sweet baby inside your belly and not wanting to feel total frustration. I do feel lucky, that like with Jack, this pregnancy has been amazingly uneventful and easy. I suffer the occasional outburst and I have gotten remarkably more anal (thanks, Dad, G'ma), especially about the way the house looks. What is my deal? But otherwise, I feel the same. Which leads me to believe I could be heading towards boy #2 and maintaining my crown as Queen of the castle on Hillcrest, but I also know that it can mean nothing and that a girl could take over my throne. Which brings me to my next point. I will never, ever, ever, I repeat, never, call my little girl Princess. I seriously hate that! Don't ask - maybe it comes from being a ridiculous tom boy as a child who wore her cousins' hand me down jerseys and basketball t-shirts (and kicked a lot of boys in the junk) and the fact that I was no princess. I looked like a boy. I rode a boy's bike, had a boy haircut, talked like a boy to myself in the mirror, wanted to pee like a boy (and tried on numerous occasions), and probably secretly wanted to be a boy. I'm glad I'm not...but I digress.
As of this very second, I have two months, 17 days, 9 hours, 19 minutes and 31 seconds left until my due date. Of course, I am well aware that I will probably go beyond that, but it's nice to have a goal. I'm not exactly sure why I torture myself with the Baby Due Date counter on my desktop, but I do. I hate the waiting game. I can't even enjoy my pregnancy - I'm looking forward to the baby too much. I'm too busy to enjoy it, except in those quiet moments when the boys are asleep and I can rest my hands on my belly and feel it acrobating around inside. I think those are some of my favorite moments of the day. The worst? When I'm worrying about being huge and the fact that I feel totally unrecognizable as myself. When I worry about stupid things I see on Discovery Health (I'm addicted to the pregnancy shows), and the dreaded stretch marks. I go back and forth with being amazed at my body and it's incredible abilities and the fact that I feel like the ugly duckling and completely out of sorts. My boobs are atrocious. At least I don't have cankles.
First let me start by saying that I am crazy tired. I can't sleep. My legs hurt. My hips hurt and last night apparently there were "ghostis" in Jack's bed, so that was a fun wake up call. I'm not sure where he's getting the ghost talk from or why he's even thinking about them. This is the second time he's been worried about ghosts. I woke up three more times to go to the bathroom. Probably sixteen more times to adjust the body pillow/heat oven. Such a cruel twist...needing sleep desperately, being completely unable to find comfort, realizing that somehow Mr. Sandman has gotten lost, yet carrying your sweet baby inside your belly and not wanting to feel total frustration. I do feel lucky, that like with Jack, this pregnancy has been amazingly uneventful and easy. I suffer the occasional outburst and I have gotten remarkably more anal (thanks, Dad, G'ma), especially about the way the house looks. What is my deal? But otherwise, I feel the same. Which leads me to believe I could be heading towards boy #2 and maintaining my crown as Queen of the castle on Hillcrest, but I also know that it can mean nothing and that a girl could take over my throne. Which brings me to my next point. I will never, ever, ever, I repeat, never, call my little girl Princess. I seriously hate that! Don't ask - maybe it comes from being a ridiculous tom boy as a child who wore her cousins' hand me down jerseys and basketball t-shirts (and kicked a lot of boys in the junk) and the fact that I was no princess. I looked like a boy. I rode a boy's bike, had a boy haircut, talked like a boy to myself in the mirror, wanted to pee like a boy (and tried on numerous occasions), and probably secretly wanted to be a boy. I'm glad I'm not...but I digress.
As of this very second, I have two months, 17 days, 9 hours, 19 minutes and 31 seconds left until my due date. Of course, I am well aware that I will probably go beyond that, but it's nice to have a goal. I'm not exactly sure why I torture myself with the Baby Due Date counter on my desktop, but I do. I hate the waiting game. I can't even enjoy my pregnancy - I'm looking forward to the baby too much. I'm too busy to enjoy it, except in those quiet moments when the boys are asleep and I can rest my hands on my belly and feel it acrobating around inside. I think those are some of my favorite moments of the day. The worst? When I'm worrying about being huge and the fact that I feel totally unrecognizable as myself. When I worry about stupid things I see on Discovery Health (I'm addicted to the pregnancy shows), and the dreaded stretch marks. I go back and forth with being amazed at my body and it's incredible abilities and the fact that I feel like the ugly duckling and completely out of sorts. My boobs are atrocious. At least I don't have cankles.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
This Independence Day, I am reminded not only of the things I should be (freedom, health, happiness, our country, you know the drill), but I am also reminded of the fact that it's summer, it's the Fourth, and holy crap, I'd love an ice cold beer. Does it seem like I mention this a lot? I'm not a lush or even remotely close (unless you count some long nights in college at Louise's West or Cadillac Ranch, but I don't think that counts). I love the little two pound punkin in my belly. I swear I am treating him/her amazingly well, except that I've had 1000 too many peanut M&Ms lately, but a beer. Heaven. I went to a KU alumni event last weekend and Boulevard Wheat was on tap. Open bar. "Why don't you give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice in it while you're at it?" to loosely quote the words of Miracle Max. Again, I'm not a drunk, I just sound like it today.
Jack is potty training. It's going fairly well, I think. I don't think I'm a parent who can knock it all out in one weekend like some apparently can. We're getting there. I think in a few weeks, we'll be good to go. Jack has already picked out big boy undies with "Cars" on them. We haven't opened them yet, but I think we're getting closer. Diapers have been eliminated. He gets it - mini marshmallows come with a successful trip to the potty and he is quick to remind me if I forget. So, he'll have dry pants but rotten teeth, I guess. He hasn't gotten great about telling us yet, but he will. I simply refuse to have two children in diapers.
Speaking of two children, tomorrow will mean exactly three months until my due date. Seems forever. Seems short. I'm ridiculously ready. I've never been so impatient. Mostly because I know what's coming. I can't wait. Some of it because I hate trying to figure out how to make myself look presentable every day. Everything is ugly. I need to feel like myself again in body and mind! I do have a long list of chores to finish before the bundle arrives, so I need to get on it, pronto. The day will be here before I know it and I'll wonder where the time went and why I didn't get any of it done.
Attached are some new pictures of Jack Jack...at a birthday party, and on Father's Day in the firetruck Uncle J brought to the festivities due to his untimely shift. The final picture is probably one of my favorite I've ever taken of him, so I'll leave you with that. What a handsome devil!
Jack is potty training. It's going fairly well, I think. I don't think I'm a parent who can knock it all out in one weekend like some apparently can. We're getting there. I think in a few weeks, we'll be good to go. Jack has already picked out big boy undies with "Cars" on them. We haven't opened them yet, but I think we're getting closer. Diapers have been eliminated. He gets it - mini marshmallows come with a successful trip to the potty and he is quick to remind me if I forget. So, he'll have dry pants but rotten teeth, I guess. He hasn't gotten great about telling us yet, but he will. I simply refuse to have two children in diapers.
Speaking of two children, tomorrow will mean exactly three months until my due date. Seems forever. Seems short. I'm ridiculously ready. I've never been so impatient. Mostly because I know what's coming. I can't wait. Some of it because I hate trying to figure out how to make myself look presentable every day. Everything is ugly. I need to feel like myself again in body and mind! I do have a long list of chores to finish before the bundle arrives, so I need to get on it, pronto. The day will be here before I know it and I'll wonder where the time went and why I didn't get any of it done.
Attached are some new pictures of Jack Jack...at a birthday party, and on Father's Day in the firetruck Uncle J brought to the festivities due to his untimely shift. The final picture is probably one of my favorite I've ever taken of him, so I'll leave you with that. What a handsome devil!
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