Welcome to my collection of true short stories, anecdotes and day to day commentary on the joys, hilarity and woes of being a stay-at-home momma to two toddling boys and a brand spanking new baby girl...
Our eldest will be three soon, and with his baby sister on her way, and little brother becoming more demanding everyday, it's high time the wee manny started doing a few more things for himself.
I'm loathe to push any stage if he doesn't seem ready, but a little nudge in the right direction every now and then seems to keep him on the right track - at least that's how our big kid roles.
We've had a few stand-offs in the past - mainly over food. But the last three days has brought to the surface a stubborn streak in our son that has really stood the test of time.
Both kids are down for their noon time naps. So what on earth is this crazy 'on the Go' Momma doing up and blogging when I should be stealing my Zzzzzzs?
After all, it could all kick-off this afternoon (and I'm not talking about the Olympic soccer heats).......
Don't I need all the pushing power I can get?
Frustratingly I was almost asleep less than ten minutes ago - I had my nose nestled against our littlest's, with our breathing in sync and I was just reaching that delicious fuzzy about to drop off the edge of the world feeling, when a squeezing sensation in my intestines woke me right back up.
Straight away my brain shifted into high gear and all the cogs started whirring around, setting my body on high alert. Is this it?
You'd think that after two pregnancies it would be easy to recognize when my primed preggo bod is under 'starters orders' - but not so the case!
A heavy dose of anticipation makes it too easy to misread the slightest tummy sensations. The onset of labor (at least for both boys) felt very much to me like a period poop. I know, I know - TMI right? I'm sorry, but there's just no better way I can describe it.
So that's what I'm eagerly waiting for.
When I start to have slight period cramping in my tummy combined with a dull ache in my lower back and the urge to poop it's a fair guess that the little lady is on the move.
That wasn't quite the feeling that just woke me up, but it was close enough to get me excited. Just a bit of bladder pressure combined with a genuine urge to poop (easily mistakable). Getting up off the bed for a potty break - especially without alerting baby boy to the fact that Momma is vacating the nest - is no easy fete. I've mastered a somewhat nimble maneuver using my leg to brace my weight while I pull up to sitting. Then I can butt skooch to the edge of the bed. Alternatively, there's the rolling onto my hands and knees and crawling backwards off the bed option.
Either way those extra 38 pounds make it harder to keep Momma's momentum under control and each tiny shift can create an earthquake rippling effect across the family bed with the power to wake the dead (or at least the wee nipper...)
But not if I inch off ever so slowly..... and with girly pushing hard against my bursting bladder I often have to swallow some sharp and nasty blows during an already painful and painstaking process!
Once I've mastered getting off the bed, standing up is an even bigger challenge. Gravity can be such a bitch!
I don't remember having to cup my crotch before. But now, for some reason, I find it excruciating to waddle to the bathroom without holding on tight to my girly bits!
Thank God it's not an all day problem and I don't have to publicly grip my goods on my way to the ladies!Only when I first get out of bed and baby girl is sucked back down into a fully engaged position, does my hooch cry out for additional support....
Anyway, It turned out to be a false alarm of course. Just a regular everyday poop I'm afraid....
I probably should go back to bed - but I'm too damn excited.
I managed to squeeze in another prenatal check on Monday. I was hoping to be done with them weeks ago!
I even held off scheduling next week's appointment until today. I don't think I'll be needing it though....
OK, so I know even now (at 38 weeks) it's still a little premature to be expecting lady gaga to join the ranks, but I'm just so anxious to meet this bitty broad who's been bopping my bladder like crazy the last few weeks - and stretching my tummy in ways the boys never did!
She's been very generous on the stretching - until a week or so ago when a swirl pattern emerged around my belly button. My bump suddenly looks like a washing machine on full spin!
To be fair, I've been incredibly lucky on the stretch mark front - I guess I must be blessed with stretchy skin! My second baby was nice enough to give me a few battle wounds on the underside of my tummy, but those have since faded away to nearly nothing. Baby boy number one never left a single mark on my tum - barely any trouble at all that kid (both in and out of my belly)!
He did, however, create strange stretch marks in a more - shall we say - unconventional place. And that was before stretching his way out of my vagina (btw I wasn't meaning my vagina....)
I remember Googling about stretch marks.. you know... in the...ahem... 'a' hole vicinity. I even plucked up courage to ask the Doc, who you'd think would have seen everything.
Apparently not.
I remember feeling mortified when she asked somewhat aghast, 'How did you even find them?'
Oh c'mon! Doesn't everybody check themselves out in the mirror? Surely I'm not the only curious cat out there? Incidentally they seem to have disappeared altogether now... (Thank goodness for that - my porn star prospects aren't completely scuppered!) Which reminds me - this time around I'm hoping to watch the birth through a mirror. (Already rethinking this one!! A few accidental live birth image hits while searching for some (in)appropriate blog pics has this once-upon-a-time squeamish Momma quaking in my knickers!) I forgot to ask the Doc if they're set up for that - I could always get the hubby to hold a hand mirror if they're not... Last week I put on a whopping 5 pounds! The Doc was very quick to reassure me that we preggos retain a lot of water in the last few weeks - nothing at all to do with the brownies then, eh? Baby belly was measuring spot-on though. I'm hoping she'll stay nice and tidy within the 7-8 pound region. My boys have made sure I'm already nice and prepped for that. Anything more and we'll be having to work on widening the gap..... not a pleasant thought! The hubs has neglected to massage my perineum this time, and admittedly I'm not pushing for it. As intimate as the act may be, it's never been the most stimulating experience, having fingers and thumbs pull down and stretch the backside of my vagina opening - not exactly the foreplay you'd think it might be!
I'm not sure if the prenatal practice really does anything other than provide a hint of the sensation that is to come during crowning - and who the hell wants a taster of that? (unless of course, there's a hint of truth in that crowning orgasm legend....) The pinnacle burn - when baby's head finally pops through - is that rightful '10' on the pain scale that the nurses like to go by. It's a little tricky to provide an accurate number until the worst has happened. That stretch and burn - even without a rip - bites like a beeatch! When the hubby got out the olive oil last pregnancy I thought I'd handle the massage like a champ - I did have an experienced vagina after all. Who was I kidding!? And what a weeny I turned out to be! All the massage did was refresh my memory of the intense birthing pain that I'd buried in the deep dark depths of my mind - deep enough to make procreation only 9 months later seem like a top idea! This time I don't want to remember the pain until I'm thrust into the throes of it once again. That's probably why I'm not rooting for massaging my perineum and possibly why I declined the cervical check for the first time ever this week. The nurse clearly gave me an 'out' and I surprised myself when I took it. I've been given the right of refusal for the last three weeks now - and I'm really starting to get the impression that the Docs don't believe it's necessary. I think it has to do with this being my third baby. In spite of my curiosity I know the measurements don't really mean a jot. If I'm destined to leap from 5cm to 10cm and skip most of transition (like both my previous labors) I hardly think knowing whether I'm 1cm or 1.5cm will make much of a difference at this stage in the game. Daddy was a tad disappointed when I told him. I think he was hoping that a little 'Doctoring' would kick-start the birth. I'd rather not mess with mother nature thank you very much - although if Daddy wants to have a 'hand' in doing some agitating he's welcome to bring it on.....! The upshot is it could happen any time now. It would be convenient (and most considerate) if baby girl would oblige after a good 8 hours sleep, and before my sister-in-law leaves the state. Whenever she does finally decide to get a wiggle on, I'm sure we'll be ready for her!
It's 9:30pm and Mommy just lullabye'd both mi' laddos to sleep on Momma's bed. Daddy's out on the town for the first time in donkeys years - and probably his last for a wee whiley!
Momma sandwiched between the boys at 37 weeks pregnant
Snuggling in between both boys on the family bed with lights out for a few rounds of Ten Green Bottles, Incy Wincy spider and The Wheels on the Bus seems to be just the ticket for getting them to nod off in sync without too much bother - well at least it's worked a treat the last two nights!
Hmmmm, come to think of it, if we can do that in Momma's bed, surely we can mimic the magic on the choo choo beds in big kid's room....? Granted, I usually have to wrestle the littlest down a few times before he gives up the ghost (not without a frustrated wail and a few attempts at whacking Mommy first though).
Tonight's performance abruptly ended with my eldest shushing me. I think I was messing up the tune to Rock a Bye Baby (in my defense that's a hard one).
He's getting to be a harsh critic with Momma; "Shhh - Don't sing Mommy!" he commands using the imperative, and holding one finger to his lips, while pointing the other accusingly at me. Come to think of it, even our littlest has signed 'all done' and cried urgently "done done!" when I've broken out in terrible tune before.
They must have their Daddy's ears.
But whatever, they'll usually humor Mommy with a few nursery rhymes - especially ones that include actions - and now they're both fast asleep, laying side by side on Mommy's bed (with a pillow spacer to protect from stray knees and elbows) - only two hours behind schedule!
Oh, who am I kidding.. what schedule?
Since summer kicked in, and Daddy's been staying home all day, our routines (what few we had) have all gone to pot. I'm still managing to pull off a synced afternoon nap now and then - but not always. And bedtime seems to get later every night! Our eldest, who had been sleeping most nights through on his choo choo bed, is sneaking into our room earlier and earlier each night. Momma doesn't help matters when I randomly let him have a sleepover on our bed whenever I feel like it. I guess I'm trying to squeeze in as much snuggle time with my boys before baby joins the party. And when big kid comes climbing onto the bed - usually right on top of Momma mountain in the middle of the night - I can't help but smile and pull him into my arms. It often feels like a million years since I last saw him at bedtime.
A few months ago I was anxious to get them both moved out into big kid's bedroom to make way for baby girl's arrival. Now I figure it's no big deal. When it gets a little overcrowded in there, Momma and baby girl can move out into the spare room, instead of the boys. I'll probably get more sleep then than I do now!
It'll be like a baby bachelor pad in Mommy and Daddy's room - all the dudes together.
The only problem I can see with that little scenario is both kids affinity for snuggling up to Momma. It doesn't matter where we all start out - or how much crawling to free space Momma does during the night - both boys nearly always end up clinging to me like barnacles.
Most mornings these days Momma wakes up sandwiched between the two (well technically three) kiddos. Often big kid is wrapped around my head with his little arms clinging to my neck, while the youngest is tucked under my chin with his body molded around his baby sister's bubble.
When our littlest can't find me ('cos I've snook out for a fried egg butty, or to steal a bit of blogging time) he usually loses his rag with Daddy. It's not often that he'll take Daddy as a cuddle buddy substitute.
In fact poor Daddy rarely gets a snuggle buddy. He's always left out 'on the side' in the cold. I remember a rare moment, maybe last month when I woke up beside a Daddy sandwich - what a refreshing change it was. I'm not sure if he'd fooled the kids by taking a shower before bed or what.
Maybe Momma had been preggo parping unwittingly in the night....
For once I wasn't overheating, or trapped in a back breaking position with a dead arm cushioning a toddlers head. I was even free to roll over (well barely with baby bump calling the shots) but as nice as it was to have some wriggle room and to be able to take a breather from snuggle-buggling the boys, I admit to feeling a little put out by their sudden partiality for Daddy. The truth is I love our co-sleeping set-up. I wouldn't do it otherwise. Some Mommas think I'm mental, but I just feel lucky to get double the time with the boys - as knackering as it may be. It's such a cliche, I know, but they grow up so fast and one day (all too soon) these cuddly nights will be nothing more than nostalgia...
Once upon a time there was a Mommy and Daddy who lived with two baby boys and two puppy dogs. Life was pretty full to the brim and with a 36 week old baby girl tucked away in the mommy's tummy things were set to take a turn for the busier any day....
On a freakishly foggy summer's morning (last Saturday) Daddy and the boys set out for a walk with the dogs, taking their usual trek along the dirt driveway of our neighbor's expansive property.
It wasn't far away from Daddy's scorpion saga POW POW POW site that they first heard the soft cries of baby kittens. Daddy was all set to follow the mews but of course our dogs were ahead of the game, and having already marked their prey they made chase.
Within seconds the dogs 'treed' what turned out to be a lone black kitten.
I didn't hear about this tale until much later on that day. Daddy didn't rescue what he referred to as 'wild kittens'. He had his hands full, what with the dogs and the boys.
I was worried about their safety - roaming around Texas Hill Country with all the potential predators. It wasn't too crazy to think a possum or a hawk - or even a snake could gobble them up.
Still, common sense dictated that it wasn't strictly our problem, and if we wanted to set out in search for stray cats to save, sadly, we could find a million mangy minxes in need of a loving home. There was also a slight reticence to the word 'wild' which daddy had used to describe them. I didn't want to risk rescuing rabid cats!
It soon became our problem when the tiniest bit of black fluff brazenly made its way onto our land, in spite of its earlier run in with our safely penned would-be predators. Even with the dogs woofing wildly at the enticing little creature, it stood its ground from a safe distance crying out to us, "Help! Help! Help!".
What was a Momma to do? I set out a small bowl of water and a jar of Gerber baby chicken puree (from the same baby food stash that pulled our parvo pup back from the brink last winter) on our driveway and waited a wee while, then I tried to approach stealthily - but how much stealth can an eight month preggo Momma pull off?
My slow waddle was never gonna cut it, besides my paranoia of contracting a harmful baby bump disease was a major debilitating factor. Instead a nimble footed Daddy was nominated to snare the stray kit. He eagerly rounded on the wee wild one and before long he had her stashed in a big cardboard box that had formerly housed our outdoor grill.
It crossed my mind that there was only one, and Daddy had thought he'd heard a pair. Well, this one was obviously the wilier one of the two - a hardy survivor of this treacherous territory. Hopefully hardy enough to hold its own with two mutts and two toddlers...
I wasn't sure if it was a good idea to adopt it. Of course it wasn't a good idea - it was a terrible idea, but Daddy was already in love with the wee beastie. I remember hearing tales of newborns being suffocated by cats snuggling up tight over their milk mouths, and that cat poo was potentially toxic for an unborn child. Not such a shocker then that I harbored doubts and yet still my heart was already inclined to give this kitty a fighting chance in our family.. blasted pregnancy hormones! Mommy did a bit of online research on possible diseases that the wee waif may be carrying and although there were mild risks of human contraction (minimal risk of rabies) - the only real risk was to unborn baby from ingesting cat poo.
Well that was settled then. No matter how peckish preggo Momma was feeling I would refrain from snacking on Kitty-Kat litter contents!
We did a little (little being the operative word) investigative work in the neighborhood, just in case someone was missing their much loved kitty cat. OK, we asked one neighbor - the one whose land Daddy was walking on when he first spotted the runaway (the same land that one of our pooches got a bullet in the butt). It didn't belong to them.
Surely that was already going beyond the call of duty? Hadn't we searched enough? Perhaps we should have posted signs up on our road.... Ah well, isn't possession 9/10 of the law? Finders keepers, right? In all likelihood the poor thing had been abandoned so I didn't feel too bad about not aggressively searching for its rightful owner.
In this case one man's trash was definitely another Daddy's (and two little boys') treasure!
Our youngest loving on his 'Uh-Oh'
The kitty was a hit with the baby boys from the get-go, especially our 16 month old, who has nick-named it 'Uh-Oh'. At least that's what he calls to it repeatedly whenever it's roaming free in the cabin. I think he thinks it's escaped - or is in danger - and needs to be safely returned to someone.
He follows it around calling "meow" and signing 'cat', before picking it up and handing it back to Daddy or Mommy or big brother. He repeats this over and over, and strangely - as fast as that kitty is, and as unwittingly rough as our 16 month tot may be - it's seemingly happy to let baby boy pick him up and handle him...
The eldest is obviously captivated too - but not to the same extent. The cat hasn't hissed once at the boys, or lashed out a claw. She hasn't, however, extended the same courtesy to the dogs. We let them in last night to meet and greet family member number 7. Instantly - and unprovoked - we saw our feline friend turn feral for the first time. Perhaps she remembers her earlier encounter with the ferocious animals when they ungraciously chased her up a tree. We gated the cabin so the dogs and cat were separated but still able to watch each other warily - I'm not sure who exactly we were protecting though. The dogs eyed up our black fur ball much like they would a rawhide treat. Pup barked a couple of times and kit hid under the couch. It could have been worse. It'll take a few more meetings before they're snuggling up together on the rug! Once again Daddy is cat-happy. We've had two cats cross our paths in the past - never before a black one - both of which we fostered briefly before our inevitable departure overseas. Admittedly Daddy's predilection for petting pussy has conjured jealously in the past - but finally Mommy is in that place of utter fulfillment (and sheer exhaustion) to finally let some of other willing creature lavish in the loving hands of papa bear. More guilt-free time for Momma to blog!! Now we have to think of a name for the wee 'beastie' - which Daddy already threw out there. Our eldest has tried it out on his tongue a couple of times, but it hasn't stuck tho. 'Uh-Oh' is also a contender, and 'Kitty Kat'. I generously offered the name Eponine - the little waif and stray from Les Miserables (Daddy's favorite musical and top of his baby girl name list) - as there's not a cat in hell's chance that our little girl should be so lucky! The name just lends itself to such ribbing and ridicule (Epi, panini, punani to list a few) besides which her literary character is not so endearing as her musical counterpart - no matter how well she can belt out a tune! But I figure for a cat that will stay largely within the family home and not have to attend school or ever worry about getting a job, the name Eponine surely can fly. Admittedly it was only Momma that thought up the barrage of nasty nicknames - so perhaps poor 'punani' the pussy is not safe from ribbing and ridicule after all.... We are open to suggestions (bearing in mind we still don't know for sure if she's a girl or a boy). What would you name our newbie family recruit?
It's Friday again (well it is in Australia), which means two things for this Momma: Firstly it's time to link up to my bloggy friend Tropical Mum who lives Across The Pond (not the usual pond I'm talking about) with a bit of witticism and Mommy mirth. Secondly it's time to spread my knees (if you please) and let the Doc check out if the Little Miss is making headway - so to speak.
Baby is 36 weeks old today, so the count down to push time is most definitely on. A spontaneous pants wetting episode at the start of the week had Momma thinking baby's bubble had burst - but after a bit of Googling and a call to the nurse practitioner I'm now pretty convinced my amniotic sac wasn't responsible for saturating my skivvies - or for the puddle on the bathroom floor. We shall say no more. Nevertheless I'm somewhat eager to get my cervix checked out today. It feels close.
Last Friday I had my first vaginal check this pregnancy, which started out with the somewhat invasive strep B test. After swabbing a pugil-stick inside my vagina (no biggy) and a chocolate starfish sweep (a touch more embarrassing), the Doc caught me completely off guard by politely asking if I wanted my cervix checking.
I've never been asked before. I thought it was standard procedure for the Gyno to get their hands dirty at this stage. I hesitated. It's easy for me to over-think these situations: Why did she ask me? Doesn't she want to check? Of course she doesn't - why would any woman voluntarily stick her hand up inside a stranger's vagina!?!
I couldn't do it - much like waxing bikini lines for a living - dealing with my own vagina is plenty enough punani for me, thank you very much. Yes, I realize it's beautiful (yahda yahda) just like a flower... What a crock! It's got to be one of the ugliest 'attractions' known to man but for some reason nearly every man on earth loves to leer at those ghoulish red creases. I just can't fathom how that and Beyonce can both be deemed beautiful!
hmmm, rose or vagina?
Beautiful Beyonce
Of course I'm not complaining. There are many kinky kick-backs to having your man mad about your muff! It's a magnanimous mystery that mother nature should let men (and a few lucky ladies) look upon our vaginas through rose tinted spectacles. Sadly I'd be a pretty poor lesbian - I'm sure I'm missing out. But how game are the Gynos really? Surely they are gluttons for punani punishment - they must encounter a million muffs a day! And they chose this profession! Even the male docs must get vaginad out by the end of the day. Friends' vagina Doc sums it up on his date with Rachel the waitress: "Okay, all right, well aren't there times when you come home at the end of the day, and you're just like, "If I see one more cup of coffee..."
Back of the bathroom door instructions for
collecting a clean midstream urine sample.
Much like our faces, each coochi must be different - of varying degrees of ugliness. And I'm guessing that muff maintenance and cleanliness is not always up to scratch (and sniff) - especially in this Texas heat. The Gyno-clinic must be humming like Grimbsy fish docks by mid-August!
That's got to be the real reason behind the mid-stream (clean catch) collection instructions posted on the back of all the bathroom doors in the building. If I had to have my head hovering around vaginas all day long I'd definitely want to make sure all the ladies had thoroughly wiped their fannies first!
I have to say, punani protocol when it comes to pap smears and giving birth has always been a bit of a quandary for me. For my first labor I went for the fairly normal 'bearded clam' approach - we're not talking a full on long beard here - more of a genital goatee.
a bit like this....
OK, perhaps not quite so straggly as Brad's chin pubes but hopefully you get the idea! Then the last go round I went all out with a bare muff! Don't be shocked - I was hoping for a bit of regrowth by my due date but the little man was eager to be outta my beaver.
I'm curious about how all you other Mommas out there presented yourselves for your births? Did you trim, or shave, or wax? And if so, how much is too much? I mean - is a shaven haven a little sluttish for a birth? Or is it just sensible for vagina visibility? I realize back in the day there was little to no pubic preening - or leg shaving for that matter. A bit of rug burn on the way out must have been par to the course.
When exactly did our feminine fringes become so unattractive? After all it's such a natural thing. But it's no longer just our pubic hair that's causing offence. All of a sudden our actual vaginas and even our buttholes have come to the attention of the beauty industry. A muddy starfish is no longer acceptable - not when you can peroxide that peripheral! The first I'd heard of butt bleaching was earlier this year. Then I stumbled across vajazzing - and I'm blown away. You can even firm up those flaps and give your labia a lift!
Many years ago back in the UK there used to be a Friday night lateshow called Eurotrash that showed you all the wacky sexual eccentricities that our European neighbours were into - I remember one week it featuring a waxing salon that would shape your pubic patch into any pattern you wished and even tie in a bow if you so desired. The exclusive service had to be performed with the customer on all fours so that all the hairs in all the folds and crannies - butthole included - could be accessed easily for a clean wax!
No longer an obscure fettish, vajazzing is getting to be a trendy business!Has the world gone mad or is it high time we put a bit more vigilance into vajazzing our vaginas? We've been making-up our faces for centuries now, and we're all happy to fancy-up our feet - what's so wrong with garnishing our gashes for the guys? After all, don't we want it to look good enough to eat?
Are our fellas behind this push for beautifying our bits - or are other women behind this new fangled fancy? Perhaps the OBs have orchestrated it all! So, back to last week; I'm laying back trying to think of England with only a swift uneven shave of my bikini region to show for my vaginal efforts. Should I have dressed up down there?
I was dying to know if baby girl's head was down, but it seemed a little forward to eagerly reply; "Yes, please!" so I tried to muster a casual (and very British); "If you wouldn't mind.."
It's not the most pleasant experience, having a hand reaching right back to your cervix - in fact sometimes the Doc's probing can be pretty painful. Trying to maintain my dignity, I've always endured these internal exams without wincing, and usually I prattle on about something irrelevant - making out like I don't even notice that her hand is stuffing me like a Christmas turkey!
All the while I'm thinking about those poor cows who often have a vet's arm - sometimes both arms - stuck inside all the way up to their elbows! And inevitably I cant help my unruly thoughts flitting to the pornographic practice of fisting for fun - I mean WTF?
Even after two vaginal births - two fingers pushing against the back wall of my vagina is enough to make my eyes water - I can't conceive of how a clenched fist could be physically possible, let alone enjoyable! If the poor OB could read Momma's messed-up mind wanderings I'm sure she'd have security remove me from the building!!
I got the info I was wanting: head down (you go girl!), 50% effaced, 1cm dilated, everything feels soft.
Basically we're good to go! So now I have to figure out how I want my hooch to look for the actual birth. It's kind of like deciding whether or not to go for an up-do for your wedding day, only a much smaller group of folks will actually get to admire the handiwork.
I've been playing about with the idea of watching the birth through a mirror this time around, so I can see the crowning glory for myself. Perhaps for performance purposes I'll be better able to push if I'm proud of my preened punani - a bejeweled box with bows might be a tad bit distracting for Momma, although what a way for my little diva to make her way into the world!
Talk about making an entrance! What do you think ladies (and I'd love to hear what the gents have to say on this hairy issue also)? We've talked about waxing our tashes - how about waxing our asses?!
to feed your toddlers leftover mac n cheese for breakfast.... to run the hubs' car battery flat because you shut the seat belt in the door (again)..... to go to the library in the clothes you had on yesterday…… to also have slept in those same clothes... to drive off with various items (like Starbucks coffee and library books) stacked on the minivan roof.....
to accidentally fart in public…………. to get mad at the check-out girl in HEB for saying 'Yes, we have face paint in aisle 18." when in fact they don't even sell it....... to pee your pants a little when you sneeze........ for baby to still have his mac n cheese all over his chops at teatime …….. to cry at The Wiggles and Handy Manny….... to misplace the remote control in the freezer (and blame Daddy for it being missing)…….. to pee in the bath tub along with your kids …….. to keep on watching the Wiggles once the kids have gone to bed….. to be hairier than Daddy…….. to leave your chipped toe nail polish on until it grows out....... to forgo showering for a week........
to rant at Daddy for forgetting the cheese, then realize you forgot to put in on the grocery list in the first place...... to keep on losing your cellphone, again and again and again........
................. If you're 8 months pregnant!!!
Let's face it - I'm probably okay with most of this list when I'm not pregnant!
Thanks to Airing My Dirty Laundry for the fun link up!
I'm 35 weeks pregnant today - and yesterday was the first real bout of sciatica I've experienced in all three of my pregnancies!
All I can say is F%$*$@%&* OUCH!
I had to Google it and read about what all you other Mommas have to say on the subject - and it seems that I may still be getting off lightly! WTF?I already thought I'd been getting off lightly..
I've had a bit of lower back ache and pain during my pregnancies - even a twinge or two that's given me a bit of brazen bravado: This must be that sciatica thingy they warned me about - I don't know what all the fuss is about......
But nothing like yesterday's; Stop dead in your tracks and breathe through the pain in your ASS Momma!
Holy cow - THAT hit a nerve!
After pushing out the boys unmedicated, I'd figured my pain threshold was something to behold. Bah! Who am I kidding? I've been a Jammy Mammy in the past - and fingers crossed I'll keep riding lady luck for the next couple of months...
Now I'm reading about knife pain searing up and down your leg and I'm thinking holy cow! That's got to be a bit of a bitch! Since my butt stabbing sensation of yesterday I've haven't found the nerve (I'm sure it's trapped somewhere under the baby) to do much more than sit on it.
I'm off to see my OB later this morning so hopefully she'll have some cheeky tips for me.
Last night at the MILs house I tried sitting up straight and holding my right foot on my left knee (pushing down slightly on my left knee). It targeted the pain exactly - amplifying my 'smarting' ass - but in that satisfying stretchy sort of way.
BUTT later OMG! I regretted the stretching and decided my derriere was better left alone! It turns out I needed to give it some time. It aint so bad this morning, but so far I've been going easy on my glutes. I can still feel a frisson of badass lurking behind me....
So my hat goes off to all my sciatica suffering sisters! Here are a few pain relief suggestions I found after a few Googly minutes:
Prenatal chiropractor
Prenatal massage
Alternating hot and cold pad
Stretching exercises - getting down on your hands and knees (only to stretch ladies.. only to stretch!)
There are alternatives, and many Mommas mentioned getting meds from your OB if it gets really bad. I prefer the ideas above - specifically number 2.
What better excuse for a bit of pampering! I think I deserve it - don't you? I wonder if it's too early to give those ankles and calves an encouraging rub...
This summer we've had the most beautiful family of red birds hanging out with us at the cabin. The hubs says they are Cardinals. They started building a nest between our two buildings, and it was really refreshing to have a streak of red flying back and forth across the constant yellow-green cedar backdrop.
That was until the streak of red splattered hard against the cabin window.
After witnessing the tragedy, Daddy - at macabre Mommy's bidding - went out to photograph the corpse, just in case I wanted to blog about it...
I followed hot on the hub's heels to help, and found him - much to my horror - snapping pics at a convulsing corpse.
"It's not dead!" I choked at the hubs, who hadn't seemed to notice the bird's plight. The wretched creature was either shaking in absolute terror, or was well on his way to a traumatic seizure-filled finale.
Believing it to be the latter, Daddy - ever the humane hubs - was quick to offer to snap the little blighters neck. "No!" I cried in disbelief at Daddy's onerous offer. Geez Daddy! At least let's give our feathered friend a fighting chance! It would have been a cardinal sin to end-off a possibly healthy bird.
We placed some water near it and retreated inside to wait and see if the beautiful red creature could pull himself together. I glanced through the window a time or two and saw the shaking had stopped - and not because he'd choked it.
After maybe the third check, we saw he'd moved a foot or two from his 'deathbed', but sadly his wing looked to be a little bent out of shape. Perhaps it would have been kinder to let Daddy stomp on him after all.
We gave our patient a little more space - hoping he'd miraculously heal himself - while we kicked-off the kids bedtime routine.
About twenty minutes later, the kids bounded after us onto the deck - all scrubbed and pajama clad - to visit with our patient. Dusk was upon us, and although it was light enough to still see, our vibrant red bird had seemingly vanished into thin air.
Had he flown away? I looked from the place where he'd originally fallen to where I'd seen him recuperating last, and in wide eyed panic I lunged to the edge of the deck to look down into the dog pen.
Uh oh, how incredibly obtuse were we? My horrified mind's eye had already reenacted the gruesome fate of the beaten bird. It would definitely have been kinder to let Daddy do the deed.
Daddy was a little more skeptical, after all there was no evidence of fowl play in the pen, nor were there any feathers suspiciously sticking out of the dogs' mouths - much to a mortified Mommy's relief.
After scanning the ground we eventually spied a smudge of red bobbing around, safely on the opposite side of the fencing to where the dogs were on patrol. Thank God for that!
We didn't recapture the red bird. We decided it was time to let nature run it's course. OK, so the chances were - without a wing or a prayer - some other opportunistic critter would be fine dining that night, but at least it wouldn't be our dogs dishing out the death sentence...
Distracted by the plight of the Cardinal, little did we realize that our youngest was dishing out a dastardly death sentence all of his own......
Since our 'clever' placement of the doggy run - directly underneath the front decking - it's been inevitable that eventually one day, our little boys' passion of posting would all end in tears.
For months, the big attraction for the boys has been posting sand toys and chalk through the side railing - lost for immediate play but not forever. Only recently has our littlest's mischievous streak had him testing the fate of his snack and toys up front.
He'll stare down at his sacrificial cracker or trinket with his face pressed up against the gridding waiting to see if the dogs claim their prize. Mom and Dad are quick to rescue any treasured toys from a teethy end, but watching his folks retrieve his castaways has him squealing in delight at the drama all of his own doing.
Of course he's eager for a rerun, so our only defense is to ensure all deck toys are too large to fit through the hog wire. But in spite of our vigilance - a toy tractor or two has managed to slip through the net. Fortunately these tiny metal tractors are somewhat indestructible and, after acquiring a bargain basket load from a garage sale last summer, the kids have too many for me to panic over their loss.
I guess it was bound to happen eventually - a toy tragedy worse than you can possibly imagine.....
Sadly that same night of the cardinal's plight, after darkness fell upon cowboy territory and we'd all turned in hoping for a miracle for our doomed friend with the broken wing, unbeknownst to us the dogs started their teethy torture on a most treasured friend. The next morning Daddy and the boys went down to feed the dogs breakfast, not really expecting to see any remains of the cardinal. Any would be predator would likely have licked his plate clean. Instead, the brutal remains of our well loved Woody marionette lay scattered around the dog run.
Tossed down by a mischievous toddler (who couldn't have fully realized the repercussions of his act) in the midst of our cardinal capers, our poor Pixar pal had been half eaten to death.
Daddy was disturbed by the discovery, so it was a sure bet that both boys were somewhat saddened - and a little confused - by the sight of poor Woody's body ripped into several pieces and scattered around the dog kennel.
The boys helped 'round-up' Woody's remains and brought them inside for Mommy to work her magic, but tragically there was nothing to be done for the chewed-up old cowboy. Beyond repair, he has been shelved for now. If he does happen to spring to life when we're not looking at him, he'll have a hard time getting anyplace without his legs.... I've thought about throwing him away, but after watching Toy Story 2 umpteen times with our two little boys, I can't bring myself to do it.
We played the movie again later that morning and our eldest (the almost three year old) was overjoyed to see his buddy alive and kicking with all his limbs reattached.
He's not asked for his Woody doll since. Out of sight out of mind I guess, unless of course he remembers all too well and doesn't want to go there - I wouldn't blame him.
I suggested to the hubs that we could do a burial - and I was only half joking. Admittedly, that's probably a bit morbid for our babies to witness. I'm not sure they're ready for their first funeral (just yet).
They wouldn't have to witness it though, then it would just be us mad-hatter parents performing the rites - perhaps not so crazy given we were both almost moved to tears by the sight of Woody's remains...
But what if he's not dead? I mean, just because he's been ripped limb from limb doesn't mean he's actually popped his cowboy clogs....now does it? The bleeding to death rules surely don't apply with toys, no matter how anthropomorphic they may be.. Perish the thought - our boys' beloved cowboy hero should have to live out eternity in a shallow grave!
WTF?! When us 'grown-ups' (debatable, I know) are starting to believe in the reality of Woody's 'reality', either Pixar must be doing something ridiculously right - or something is worryingly wrong....
There's every chance Buzz - yes we have the space ranger also - and our Little People collection could be plotting their friend's rescue mission right now - I hope for Woody's sake they are. Just in case, he'll be waiting on the shelf indefinitely....
Is it just me? Surely some of you would balk at the idea of binning the little fella too? What would you do if it were your toddler's treasured toy hero; shelve him... bury him.... junk him.... or something else?
