10 Wednesday afternoon tidbits

1. In a lively discussion here at work about just how bad does it really hurt to get kicked in the nuts, a co-worker deemed the anatomical female equivalent "lady junk."
2. In an effort to bulk up, my doctor suggested I drink an afternoon shake of Carnation Instant Breakfast. The nonsense is putrid and I now need an alternative.
3. We were paid early due to Veteran's Day tomorrow. Holla.
4. If I'm still pregnant this weekend, I'm going to start receiving the steroid shots to help speed along lung development. Am chugging towards 24 weeks like a woman on a mission. (Edit: I reread that sentence before hitting "Publish" and instead of "lung" I typed "lunch." Lunch development, indeed.)
5. We still have not grocery shopped. We now have even less food in the house. I can clearly see the back of the refrigerator. From across the room.
6. It is 4:15pm and I've accomplished not so very much this afternoon.
7. My boots still fit around calves which means water retention has yet to reach epic proportions.
8. In addition to #2, the Carnation Instant Breakfast has left me with ass breath. At work. Nice.
9. I got a manicure a week and a half ago from a new place in town and while it definitely doesn't look like a fresh jobbie and my cuticles are kind of snaggly, overall it still hasn't chipped. !!!
10. In the past week, three orders of mine (two hot chocolate and one Boston Market-related) have been screwed up. This makes me want to pistol-whip someone (no, not you, T).

No explanation needed

Working in reverse in recalling this weekend, I'd like to start off by saying it is no wonder to me that people get hooked on Mellow Goodtime Drugs like Vicodin.

I've reached that stage in pregnancy that when sleeping my back sometimes hurts and my hips always hurt. I'm 6 months this week and I don't remember feeling this way until I was at the super very end in my pregnancy with E. Ugh.

Anyway, because I was feeling a hot mess with those two things and desperately wanted a fabulous night of sleep, I took one of the Vicodin that my ob gave me during the Kidney Stone Debacle. I was out and heavy breathing and uber comfortable within 15 minutes (or by 8:45pm to be precise). It was lovely. When initially prescribed the Vicodin in the hospital I asked if it was okay to use it while pregnant and the doctor said it was--but that it would have the same effect on the babies as it would me. Meaning Sleepytime USA for all three of us.

A good night's sleep came in so very handy last night because Sunday was chockful of whatnot, mainly going to Toys R Us to buy E a few big boy toys in the morning and having E dedicated at church in the afternoon. All in all, I spent way to much time on my feet.

T and I decided to not wait until Christmas to buy E a few toys because we realized a few weeks ago that the boy has very little to play with. I stashed his baby toys quite awhile ago and this left him with bupkis. It was pathetic, really. And it really only becomes apparent on the weekends when he has 48 straight hours at home. Anyway, we sprang for a mini-workbench and a shopping cart with little foods. E is a fan of the mini-syrup.

After putting everything together, wrangling E down for a nap and then stuffing him into a sweater vest--we headed to church to have him dedicated. It went smoothly, but at one point, when our pastor had been talking for too long, the crowd--made up mainly of those under 3 feet tall--turned decidedly restless. We only managed to keep E marginally quiet by stuffing him full of goldfish crackers and entertaining him with boardbooks.

Oh, and it was 73 degrees here on Sunday. While I enjoyed it, whenever freak weather like that happens--I end up stroking my imaginary beard and feeling like the old guy in The Day After Tomorrow who is decidedly suspicious of the weather. Because, you know, in a minute it means the Apocolypse for anyone north of the Mason-Dixon line.

Saturday was full of me feeling like a hot mess for no particular reason and not taking a shower until 3pm and then only under duress from T because we had to be somewhere and wouldn't it be nice if I smelled better? Pfft. Later that afternoon, E and I got our H1N1 shots where the nurse exclaimed that E has nice thighs (can't remember the last time someone told me that). He cried for a hot minute but then was comforted by a sticker with a dog and flowers on it. So easily bought.

Changing topics a bit, T and I are beginning to experience with E what we can only explain as Being a Toddler (or Being a Pill, as I've started to feel). E goes limp like a protester when the mere fabric of his coat hits his arms. It's, like, "Coat? What the hell do you want from me, people?" Because I can't bend over to save my life and T is usually upstairs still trying to put on his pants, I either end up trying to speak calmly and explain what's happening or lifting his limp-noodle-like 30 lbs to a point where putting the coat on is do-able. Shoes are more easily maneuvered since he can flail like a fish and I can still stuff those on his feet. Coat and shoes. Damn. Who knew that injustice lay in the heart of Pediped? We've yet to experience him being a consistent pill at other times. He still listens reasonably well for being 17 months, but, again, it's becoming apparent that E has a will and he wants to exercise it.

What else happened this weekend...

Nothing really. I'm still pregnant which is good.

Oh! In yet another turn that will make weaning an absolute beyotch, E has learned how to say pacifer, or paci as we call it in our house. He says it with a lovely, almost French accent with emphasis on the second syllable. It comes out, "paSEE." Yesterday evening we had dinner at my parents house and homeboy was burnt.out. Stuffing him in the carseat for the four minute ride home was clearly beyond him, and in between tears and snot he was wailing, "PaSEE! PaSEE!" Poor soul. T found one in his suit jacket and all was well.

We also failed to go grocery shopping this weekend and have absolutely zero food in the house. Dinner tonight should be interesting.

Anything particularly lovely happen over your weekend?

Hunkering down for the winter

I think I mentioned this in an earlier post, but T and I have decided to turn our sun porch into a playroom for E. I love the concept of playrooms: stashing all toys in one room where the express purpose is to house clutter, mayhem and kid paraphernalia. No energy to pick-up: Simply close the door.

If $50,000 were to drop from the sky, I'd finish our third floor attic and turn that into a playroom. The attic, while outfitted with a lovely door and stairs off our second story, completely creeps me out--mainly because I'm convinced that wily and pissed off squirrels live up there just waiting for me to venture up before they jump on my back and/or back.

As a result, I haven't been in our attic since 2007, but T walks up there to check things out periodically. Of course, I then pepper him with, "Was there anything...dead or creepy or alive?" Anyway, I'm thinking an extra 50K would finish that third floor off rather nicely and make it a haven for playing children and a loud television. However in the absence of extra cash, we're working with what we've got--the sun porch.

Our goal is to order everything and then outfit it as E's Christmas gift. Since almost everything I found is available to purchase online, I'm thinking we should crack a lackin'.

Here is what I've come up with:

Like the rest of our house, the floor in the sun porch is hard.ass.oak. As we've found out, it doesn't exactly cushion a blow--especially for one's melon. We figure some foamy business might do E's body and our knees some good as playing commences. Found on Amazon, we should be able to cover the whole room for less than $40.00.

I found this tent on Ikea's website and like everything from Ikea is named some sort of wonky Swedish name and is super cheap. E is fan of little cubbies he can cram his body into, so this tent seemed like it might be right up his alley. We live slap dab between two Ikeas. A larger one in the Chicago-area and a smaller one near Detroit. Thankfully, the Ikea stuff I've found is available in the the smaller one and T happens to drive past it when he works on that side of the state. Ole.

Initially we wanted to outfit the whole room (which is maybe 12x20) with this sort of foamy, climby business. E has some of the larger pieces in his daycare room and holy hell he loves them. In Googling to try and find out where to buy these pieces and see how much they cost, I kind of gasped. The large squares and triangles and other things cost $300-$400. A search of Craigslist and other venues for used pieces didn't turn up much--which, no kidding! You pay that much, you hold onto it. Anyway, the smaller pieces are much, much cheaper and will hopefully serve the same purpose of allowing E to fling his body over them and wear him out.

Right now we do all of our coloring on the floor. It's easier for me since I am Large of Girth and E seems to dig it. Play-Do, though, not such a good idea on the living room area rug. Or finger painting. Or other crafts that may involve glitter (sigh...I love glitter). So this small craft table from Ikea seemed like a good idea. And it comes in a ton of fun colors. And is cheap, so if markers or paint or anything gets smeared on it--well, that's cool.

Gotta have pint-sized chairs to go with that craft table.

Our goal is to not spend a lot of money because in reality, E is completely fine without an additional play area (he already uses the whole house) and also has no idea that gifts are given for Christmas. Shoot, last year I think we gave him maybe two things. He was only six months old for heaven's sake--what the heck did he need? It makes me excited, though, to think of doing up the room and showing it to him near or around Christmas. And, heck, I think it'll help us all through the Midwest's never ending winter months.

For they are bleak.

WAD and weight gain

This morning we had the Weekly Appointment of Doom, or WAD as I've come to think of it my head. Aside from the fact that I'm still leaking fluid and aside from the fact that Little Boy's fluid is still waaaaayyy below (ideal is between 5-8, he's at .67) what it should be, things look great (not sure if a question mark or an exclamation point is appropriate here). Kidneys, bladder, stomach, movement, placenta, umbilical cord, heart rates are all right-on for both. Next week they'll do a growth check and our hope is that both of them are still continuing to beef up.

Both T and I felt anxious last night, he probably more than I. I felt like we already knew what the worst case scenarios and everything in between could possibly be. Really--we've heard and talked about them all. So what made this WAD different is that, realistically, there shouldn't be any sucker punches. Weeks prior?--we were the suckas. And today it was a blessing. No changes for the worse.

The percentages for the survival of the two amigos are still abysmal if I were to deliver today, but the percentage of women who deliver within that first week of their water breaking--this early on--is 50%. The two amigos have beat that. They are still inside and seemingly cozy.

I want to revel and wrap this news around me like a blanket, but don't want to get too big for my britches since the truth of the matter is that everything is still hour-to-hour here.

We also talked about the upcoming weeks, our fears and our options and the perinatologist was open to what T and I prefer, as it may be going against some of his more standard recommendations. We'll just have to see what next week brings. Who knows.

We talked about my weight a bit as I should have gained about 20-25 pounds by now and I've only gained 10. I eat a fair amount in the morning and a crapton at lunch, but by evening time I'm tired and worn out and not really hungry. So, I need to beef up and start mowing at night. How's that for a goal? Not sure that's in a Weight Watchers booklet.

So, as we speak I feel a strange combination of peppy and wary.

I'm also planning what I want to eat for lunch as I'm thinking of seriously strapping on the feed bag.

Scene: Early this morning, bedroom

As T and I are trying to get ourselves and E ready for the day, T tells me, "Go ahead put on your makeup. I'll get Little Man ready while you're doing that."

Me: "I already have my makeup on."

Daaaamn, Gina.

Please hold

I'm finding myself and our home in an interesting holding pattern. Because of this pregnancy, T and I so very much find ourselves living and planning hour to hour. The house is always picked up, the bed is always made, the laundry is perpetually done, our work schedules are relatively open--we only think hours into the future. I've postponed my volunteering commitments until I deliver. I'm hesitant to sign up for a child/teacher conference in E's classroom next week. I'm not sure when or if Christmas shopping will get done. We would like to sign up for membership classes at our church, but I'm not sure I can commit to two Sundays mornings in November. The H1N1 vaccine is available at the health department the next three Saturdays and I find myself wondering if I should even bother signing up for a slot.

As a Type A planner this is foreign to me. This sitting-and-waiting isn't particularly hard as I know the reasoning behind it; it's just odd. While none of us know what the future truly holds, we all certainly make plans like we know how it's going to shake out. Except that T and I don't know that.

We've put the nursery on hold, partly because we're not sure if we'll need it. And while the planner in me would rather get it all done, hustling faster more now than even before, the truth is that if these babies came today they only have a 10-20% chance of making it. These percentages go up every week, but how many weeks will we or the two amigos get--inside or outside the womb?

Each morning T and I pray that the babies stay inside for 10 more hours. Each night I pray that I'm not woken up by contractions or bleeding. Last night more than ever. E is wrestling a fierce cold and he needs us right now to lounge and snuggle with.

All of that to say that it's not doom and gloom at our house. We still laugh and enjoy each other and chase E around the dining room. But the cloud of uncertainty hanging over our heads is always there and we can't seem to shake it.

Halloween 2.0

Last year it was bears and bananas--this year it was Elmo.

Inadvertently, B and E were both dressed as Elmo. They both were also very nonplussed about being stuffed into their costumes for picture-time at 11:30am on a Saturday.

Evidence: the happiest photo of either of them from this year. Smashed together, they also looked like a giant pissed off afghan draped over the couch.

E basically had upturned eyebrows of suspicion the entire time. However things improved once dressed and playing in B's ballpit (which was feces and hypodermic needle-free).

That evening my parents came over to help us hand out candy. Be it a cultural difference or just a general Scrooge McDuck-air, T hates/loathes/would rather be dead than handing out candy. I parked my biscuits in a chair and watched while E got into it.

"There's nothing to see here."

T also thought E resembled a small Yeti which I have to agree with.

Helping himself to some candy. I don't know if it was the crinkly sound or the bright wrappers or what--but he went ape and was just tossing the stuff around like confetti.

(I'm sure my mom is going to hate this picture since it features her can, but seeing as she doesn't read this...)

E was a fiend with handing out the candy and loved everyone coming to the door. Some of the creepier masks had him running to my dad.

E was in bed by 7:30pm and our candy was gone by 8:00pm. It was a good Halloween even if the weather didn't cooperate.