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- Over the last few days my nose has become progressively more congested, to the point that now it’s just spontaneously leaking. I was all ready to blame those snot-nosed kids at story hour (not that my kids ever have snot, oh no) for hacking some germ on me, until my eyes started to itch and the sneezing kicked in and woe is me, I totally have seasonal allergies. Only, the hell? I’ve lived here how long and at my last check I was 30 years old. Why exactly am I just dealing with this now?
Well whatever reason, it sucks, and my face feels like a giant inflated helium balloon draining directly from my eyeballs and I’m blowing my nose every two minutes. And WHINING ABOUT IT. I’m not going to mess with any over-the-counter stuff while I’m nursing so that’s that. Hopefully whining cures allergies.
- The timing couldn’t be worse for me to be sniffing all the live long day, because Ryan’s baptism is Sunday. Nothing is worse than someone sniffing/sneezing/coughing in a quiet room full of people. Like, uh…a church, for example. I’m totally going to be THAT person. I will hopefully be able to convey with just a look that it’s allergies and not some disgusting plague brought upon by the grimy hands of children, all while mouth-breathing. My goodness, can you just picture how attractive I’m going to be?
- As like any formal-ish event, the whole what do I wear? dilemma has come up. Not just for me, but for the kids. I pulled out the next size up for Ryan yesterday and while I was digging through the totes I became confused. Their birthdays are only a few weeks a part, and yet I found hardly any summer clothes in the 12-month size. How could this be, I wondered. I swear Owen didn’t go naked the summer of 2011. He must have been wearing clothes.
That’s when I realized that I had an abundance of 12-18 month clothes. Emphasis on the 18. Oh, right. Owen was a butterball. Of course he didn’t fit into 12 months when he was ACTUALLY 12 months. Sigh.
Thankfully, I did discover that I had some really sweet polo shirts in a brand that runs small, so Ryan is all set. That left Owen, and I was able to run out yesterday and found an equally cute polo for him. I love having boys, but the only time I get real pangs for a girl is when I see their adorable outfits. However, once you have seen your little boy in Ralph Lauren and Dockers, there’s no fighting the omigod, so cuuuuuuutttteeee!!!! from coming out. Nope.
- A baptism is as good an excuse as any to make banana pudding. Bring on the fat!
- (OMIGOD, MY NOSE.)
- I finally took the Christmas decor down last week and now it is glaringly obvious that there is nothing hanging on the unpainted walls. My living room is basically a sterile environment. If you don’t count the Cheerio crumbs and dog hair. I started to pin ideas for the room so if you follow me on Pinterest, I apologize for the recent onslaught of photos of mantels and gallery walls. I would also love to paint, but the room is big and neither Michael nor I likes to paint. Hiring someone isn’t in the budget right now so either we suck it up and do it ourselves, or continue to live in the vast whiteness.
- Anyone remember when we watched my mother-in-law’s crazy dog last year? I swore it would not be a repeat thing, and yet, here we are one year later and about to embark on 13 days with Lucy. Last year she was skittish and whiny and afraid of men. Which meant that any time Michael would come into the house…she would pee. And then, to add icing to the cake, she freaked out and expressed her anal glands in my kitchen, and I’ll just take a moment to let that sink in.
Expressed her anal glands. In my kitchen.
That smell is burned in my memory and so help me, if she does it again I am shipping her off to Florida so my MIL an deal with it. So, SO gross.
- Speaking of my MIL, she bought a cow. Not a whole cow, not even half of a cow. She bought something like a fourth of a cow so we could split it between us. Only, we don’t really eat that much red meat. Maybe once or twice a month. She was insistent, however, so now the entire bottom half of my freezer if filled with beef. Because even splitting up a fourth of a cow is still hundreds of pounds of cow. I’m not kidding when I tell you this meat will last us a year, maybe more. There’s just so.much.beef. I’m going to have to host a beef party or something just to put a dent in it.
Except a beef party sounds disgusting. No one would come if I cordially invited them to a beef party. Or they would, but they would think it was an entirely different type of party with a whole different kind of beef, if you catch my drift. And that would be awkward.
There’s never a good time to step in urine, but stepping in urine before 7 a.m. really takes the cake.
We’re knee deep in potty training Owen and while he’s doing excellent — really! — boys have that whole extra issue of having to tuck it in and because of that, occasionally I find myself dodging puddles. We’ve bought stock in Clorox Wipes.
I guess I can’t really complain too much. He announced one day while in the tub that he had to go potty, and after that things just took off. I still have to tell him it’s time to take a “potty break”, as he only sometimes tell us he has to go, but if we keep up on him he spends almost every day entirely dry and many nights too. He’s also been learning the concept of “privacy”, and now wants us to leave the bathroom and shut the door while he goes. Cracks me up, this kid.
ANYWAY, I digress. My point was that at 6:39 a.m. I opened the bathroom door to find that not everything had made it in the bowl and I guess those things can get some range, because the puddle I stepped in was closer to the door than the potty. At the same time, Ryan was complaining from his crib where I put him after he woke to eat at 5:30 and wouldn’t go back to sleep, and Kodiak was all up my butt wanting breakfast.
I finally got everyone situated, but before I could get a drop of caffeine in my system, Ryan was ready to go back to sleep (uh, yeah. Because you were up at 5:30, kiddo.), Owen wanted breakfast and Sesame Street and now the kitchen floor needed wiping from Kodiak shaking his face after drinking. Sometimes I feel like I’ve had an entire day before the day ever starts.
- I’ll admit it. I totally use Owen as a “babysitter”. For example, Ryan’s needs are all met and he is happily playing on his play mat while I write this. Until he’s not happy, for whatever reason, and starts to fuss. “Hey, Owen. Go make your brother laugh,” I’ll say. And he does. And I get five more minutes of me time. We’ll have to have another kid just to keep the cycle going.
- Have you started holiday shopping? I…haven’t. I kind of know what I’m getting most people, but aside from one purchase already made for Owen, I’ve done nothing. I always say I’m going to shop year-round to avoid last minute stress and I NEVER DO. Never. Of course.
- Speaking of holidays, don’t forget you have until Friday to enter to win $50 off your Tiny Prints order. Do it! Cards are expensive! Free stuff!
- Random (appropriate for this post, no?) but do you have a headboard for your bed? Do you love it? I really, really want one, but they’re so expensive and I just can’t commit. I want one that is padded but won’t collect dust and hair. I’m not sure I love leather. I’m pretty much screwed, right? Help?
Something like this, maybe. I really like the clean, modern look of it. I do not like the price tag. Damn you, West Elm and you’re pretty, expensive things.
- In the time it took to write this post, we had another successful potty endeavor. One and two, if you cared to know. (You probably didn’t.) I’m happy to report everything made it into the bowl and no mothers were forced to step in anything gross. The end.
- The woman who cuts our hair can only do it one evening a week. This gets complicated when it comes to getting Owen’s done, and although he’s been scheduled to get one for weeks now, she cancelled on us twice.
After she called last night I knew there was no way we could wait another week. He’s been complaining of hair in his eyes and he was looking pretty ragged. After no luck finding him another appointment today, I gave up and took him to Fantastic Sams. He looks better, but I definitely got what I paid for. Either that or I’m just too picky. I knew that would probably happen.
(It looks better in the picture than in reality, I think.)
- Wow, that was a boring story! Did you make it through ok? It’s beautiful here today so after we got home I left a sleeping Ryan in his car seat and Owen and I played with trucks and trucks and more trucks and some bubbles and then some more trucks. We also threw in some trucks for good measure.
- Our anniversary is in a few weeks and the weekend before we are going away on our annual NH trip. I cannot wait. It will be short and we will have the baby in tow, but I love it there so very much. Foliage and lake views, a roaring fire, maple candies and celebrating four wonderful years of marriage with my best friend.
- Both boys are whiny today. Send booze.
- Guess who is sleeping all night long in his bed with no crying? This beautiful little beach boy, that’s who.
He did cry at nap time the day following the silent return night, but that night he went right to sleep. And the night after that. And again last night. His pajamas are covered in reward stickers and everyone is is great spirits. Your suggestions about keeping the door open were spot on. It never bothered him to have it closed before, and I was keeping it closed so the baby wouldn’t wake him, but we have found that leaving it open even just a crack appeases him and makes him comfortable. Good advice, all! Hopefully this phase has passed and if it hasn’t, at least I know we can use that method again with success.
- It’s 52 degrees this morning. We have a family birthday pool party to attend at 4 p.m. Something tells me it’s not going to be the best day for a swim…
- Ryan woke up at 4 a.m. and since he’s been sleeping longer and longer, when he does wake he majorly chows down. Usually I have to pull him off halfway through and burp him to prevent a massive spit up situation, but it didn’t matter last night. Last night while burping him over my shoulder, he projectile spit up all over the both of us and into the cushions of the glider.
And into my underwear.
This would be bad enough, had it been the first time I had baby spit up in my underwear. Sadly, it was not.
- My baby turns two years old tomorrow. I’m kind of blown away by this. I can’t believe I will be posting the first quarterly letter of his second year wishing him the happiest of birthdays, because it’s hard to believe that just two years ago today I went into labor with him. Be prepared for some sap tomorrow.
- Last year we did the big first birthday party, but this year will be low-key with just a family dinner with the in-laws, cake and presents. We will probably do a second cake when the baby comes and my family is in town too. Owen is getting his first bike and helmet — both red (his choice!) — which will, I’m sure, provide hours of entertainment for him, and heart palpitations for his mother.
- In preparation, I’ve pinned about half a dozen cake recipes, so I just have to decide which one to make today. Yum!
- I’m 37 weeks pregnant now, officially full term and ready for this kid to come out. I’m not uncomfortable, I’m just impatient. I really want to meet him! The only two days I’d like to avoid is tomorrow (it would be nice for the kids to have their own birthdays, even if they are close together), and the fourth of July. Being a holiday baby myself (New Years Eve), I know how annoying sharing your birthday with the entire country can be when you’re a kid. Other than that, he can come. I have a feeling he’s not going to make an appearance until at LEAST the 39th week, but I’m willing him out all the same.
I’ve had three real contractions the past few days that were uncomfortable and familiar enough for me pause and think, “now???”, but obviously, they didn’t mean anything. Saturday I was in the mood to clean…and clean, and clean, and clean. Somewhere around 9:30 p.m. while steam mopping my kitchen and planning on tackling the bathrooms next, it hit me that this was exactly what happened the night I went into labor with Owen. I had two schools of thought: one…baby time!, followed by two…wishful thinking slash nesting to the extreme. Guess it was number two.
Not out, still in.
My appointment on Friday confirmed dilation has started — like, barely — but all that means is hey, guess what? You’re going to have a baby at some point. Duh. I know, I know. Babies come when they want to come. I was just hoping that him being my second would mean he’d come out a little sooner, that’s all.
- I think the solution to any sleep issues Owen encounters is to write about them on the internet, because after I do that they tend to resolve themselves a bit. After realizing that the sound of shutting the door was what was upsetting him and causing him to climb out of bed, I started leaving the door open a bit until about 20 minutes after he falls asleep. Success! No more opening the door. He just sleeps.
The main issue is that with the freedom to get out of bed comes the new routine of him waking so freaking early (see last post), and no. That needs to stop. I ordered a special toddler alarm clock that looks like a little alien and rather than making noise, lights up when it’s time to start your day. We’re on day two of using it and while it hasn’t been an overnight success, I can already see progress and he’s definitely excited about using it. I will do a full review of it in a week or so in case any of you are also bleary-eyed and so NOT bushy-tailed while your toddler drives trucks over your face at 5 a.m. and are looking for a solution.
- Owen is trying to climb into the baby swing so I should probably go stop that. Behold my (very near) future.
- I think Owen got the message that he turns two in three weeks. (Wait, what? WHAT????) I wouldn’t say he’s been terrible, but he’s been…challenging. On one hand, he’s this amazing little kid who is speaking in some complete sentences (“Mommy, I want some oatmeal.”) and asking every morning if baby brother is coming today, but on the other hand, he’s this crazy short person running around my house crying for no reason except for the fact that his oatmeal is gone. Or, too warm. Or, something. I don’t really know. And I know I shouldn’t complain that he wants to read more and more and MORE books one after another, but if I have to read the Richard Scarry “Biggest and Best Storybook Ever – THREE BOOKS IN ONE! – ” one more time, I think I might lose my mind. (Truth? He’s on the couch with it right now shouting “MOMMY READ IT!!!!”, even though we JUST DID.)
Yesterday was one of THOSE days. Nothing could please him, he cried constantly, he took an early nap and had an interrupted night sleep. I’m going to go ahead and blame the eventual showing of his two-year molars on some of it (parent tip: always blame teeth. It will make you feel less like a giant failure and more like it’s out of your control), and the rest of the fact that well, people must call it the Terrible Two’s for a reason.
- A friend and I went to an open house at the hospital yesterday to see the new labor tub they installed. It wasn’t there when I had Owen, so I wanted to check it out before things got going. It’s beautiful! Centered in the spa-like room is a large Jacuzzi tub surrounded by soft lighting, an iPod dock and a pretty sink and toilet (as pretty as a toilet can be, I guess) behind a frosted glass partition. The room is nicer than any of our bathrooms. I’m really hoping it’s available when I arrive, because I’d love to try it out as another method of pain relief. It’s not a birthing tub, so I would have to get out at some point to have the baby, but I still think it’s a really nice option.
- Since my big whine-fest last week I’m happy to report that my foot is SO much better. Like a 2 out of 10 on the pain scale instead of an 8. The plantars wart of doom refuses to totally die, and probably won’t until my hormones regulate after birth, but at least it’s not exruciating any more. I bet you know more about my foot than you ever, EVER would want to.
- You guys. The phone alarm just went off and Owen started dancing to it, until he pushed the side button and it stopped. So naturally, HE BURST INTO TEARS. Yo, Two. Get a grip, will ya?
- According to WordPress, this is my 50th Randomness post. That’s a lot of word vomit.
- Nesting has kicked in. I kept waiting for it, thinking maybe it wouldn’t come on as strongly this time around, but I was wrong. Suddenly I’m obsessed with getting Owen’s new room painted (this week!) and moving him into it. There’s a furniture sale at a local place this weekend and my mom and sister will be visiting. They didn’t know it until now, but I’m dragging them there to buy a dresser and a mattress. I’ve already bought a rug and will just need bedding and some accessories to make the Big Boy room a reality. Wee!
I’m going to leave the nursery as is, save for some artwork on the wall and possibly something hanging with baby’s name on it, so there won’t be much work to do there. At some point I do need to tackle the task of unpacking and washing all the teeny tiny clothes that Owen wore and putting them in the dresser. I’m actually excited about that.
The last project involves cleaning out our fourth bedroom that is currently serving as an office slash catch-all for random stuff. This will be converted to the office slash guest room (which is currently upstairs and the room that will be the Big Boy room), but will probably be pretty boring and unfinished for awhile. With seven weeks and change till baby is due, I need to get a move on. Like, yesterday.
- My foot is totally messed up. The plantars wart was removed (ewwww), but is taking a long time to heal. It’s still painful to walk on so I know I’ve been turning my foot at an odd angle. As a result, my left foot is swollen and feels bruised on top. I’m sure part of the swelling could be pregnancy related, but I’m pretty sure it has more to do with walking like I have a peg leg. Sandals don’t provide enough support so I’m forced to wear my boat shoes, which while super cute, are not what I want to wear on hot days. Any amount of standing or walking irritates it, so I’ve been spending a lot of time icing and elevating.
This didn’t happen with Owen, although the sciatica was worse in terms of pain. I’m stating to get a little grumpy about the end of my pregnancies, though, and the gimpiness that tends to come along with them. Yes, I’m totally complaining. But my foooot. It huuuurts.
- In non-whiny news, my house looks super neat and clean and that’s lovely. We had company yesterday from out of town and I spent the two hours before they arrived making sure everything was in order. I said to Michael that I should probably pretend once a week that company was coming, and just clean as much as I can in two hours. Of course this will only work if he’s home, but maybe it’s something I’ll try to do. Until, you know, July. Because I’m sure that idea will TOTALLY work with a toddler AND a newborn. Right.
- This morning Owen sat down in the living room with a book about becoming a big brother. I stood quietly behind him and listened to him talk about it. “Baby brother coming! I BIG brother!”
My heart, you guys. It totally just exploded.
- Oh, must go. Owen is using his crayons to color on his booster seat. Awesome.
- Last weekend I hopped on a train and headed down to New York City. It was going to be a whirlwind trip — I’d actually end up spending more hours on the train than in the actual city, but I’m so glad I went. My blogging buddy from way back, Jess, was going to be in town with her family, and we had never met in real life. What a perfect opportunity to join up with the lady formerly known as Clink (Alena) for an old-school blogger meet-up. It was lovely, to say the least.
They were kind enough to tell me otherwise, but Pregnancy Face is back and in full effect. Yaaaaay.
- Remember I told you how my foot was bothering me? It got so bad that I decided to suck it up and make an
old lady podiatrist appointment. When I arrived, I sat in the waiting room with five other people. I was the youngest by at least 40 years and most of them eyed me suspiciously. After I filled out my paperwork, I was led to an exam room, where I got to sit and stare at this shoe display:
Orthopedic shoe heaven. This is basically my worst nightmare. I decided right then and there to patent a line of non-orthopedic looking orthopedic shoes for Older Women Who Love Shoes and Can’t Stand To Have Elephant Feet. (Trademark! Copyright! Mine, mine, mine!)
OK, fine. I’m being dramatic about the whole thing. But it turned out that I don’t have a corn, I have a plantars wart, which sounds so much more disgusting than a corn. The doctor told me it’s common to pick up the virus that causes it, but then it is exasperated by stress, weight change causing pressure on the foot and hormonal changes. So, uh, basically I’m a walking cocktail for it right now. He put some stuff on it that’s supposed to cause the skin to blister and push the wart out and I go back next week for a follow up. GROSS.
- I have successfully taught Owen to answer with my first choice name when I ask him what we should name Baby Brother. Michael still hasn’t committed, so I needed some back up. When I have Owen perform his trick, I’m met with an eye roll from Michael. Hehe. There’s only 10 weeks left to go…this kid needs a name!
- We weren’t able to confirm a sitter, so tonight’s couples date night has turned into a big pizza party at our friend’s house with all the kids. There will be six adults and six kids in total, plus two in utero. Definitely different from the date nights of the past, but I’m really looking forward to it.
- Owen is cutting the first of his four 2-year molars, so he’s been…pleasant. And congested. It’s affected his mood and his sleep and gah, I am tired. Last night was an epic battle to get him to go to sleep. Screaming and sobbing, wanting nothing more than to be held on the couch and refusing to sleep in his crib. I finally went in my room and lay him down on my bed…and he was instantly asleep. I left him, surrounded by pillows, for an hour or so, before moving him back to his crib. He woke around midnight crying again, but this time Michael was able to sooth him back down.
We hastily attempted a night with his mattress on the floor once when he acted like this before, but it wasn’t really talked about as being a Big Boy Bed transition and didn’t go well. But I’m starting to think that he actually sleeps better in a bed at this point, and we should stop dragging our feet and do it. So…maybe a mattress purchase is on the agenda this weekend.
And a nap.
- It pains me to say this, because it sounds so gross, but I have a corn on the bottom of my foot. At least, I think I do, based on a self-diagnosis from the All Mighty Google. If you’re unfamiliar with that disgusting term, it basically means I have a really painful callus that won’t go away and makes walking ouchy. Why they have to go and name it something that churns up visuals of lumpy corn-like growths on you, I have no idea.
Anyway, I’ve been trying to home remedy the sucker for a while now, but to no avail. Foot soaks, pumicing, lotioning and removing the shoes that caused pain SHOULD have helped, I thought, but no. I even wandered into the unknown — the foot aisle at the drugstore — and bough corn pads to alleviate the pressure. If that doesn’t make me sound 82, I don’t know what does.
I guess the time has come to suck it up and call a podiatrist. That’s one of those doctors who when you call, you know you’ve reached a Certain Age. The pediatrician carries you through your childhood, your first trip to the gynecologist ushers you into womanhood. Making this appointment is like my ticker tape parade leading me to 30′s door. Next up: colonoscopies and cataract screenings.
- Since we’re talking about feet (YOU’RE WELCOME), I ordered almost $200 worth of shoes for Owen yesterday. (Side note: why, oh WHY are toddler shoes so expensive? I ordered four pairs! If that’s not a rip off, I don’t know what it.) (Side note #2: trust me, I’ve looked at the cheaper options, but at this point, my fat footed child needs some shoes that fit, and fit well, so suck it up I must.)
I used Zappos since they have free shipping both ways. I figure one pair has got to fit (right? RIGHT????) and then I can just send the rest back, easy peasy. With my luck none will work, and I’m going to have to submit Owen to a life of a hobo. I’m probably going to have to bite the bullet and buy the kid some Crocs for the summer. You know how I feel about those “shoes”, but I believe that the only time those things look cute is in miniature form and hey, they’re easy to clean and will probably fit his Shrek feet.
- I had to get my RhoGAM shot yesterday. (See link if you’re interested in it. It has to do with preventing my body from creating antibodies that would destroy the baby’s red blood cells. Sounds scarier than it is; it’s really just a preventative measure. It’s super common and most women who have a negative blood type need to get the shot. They give it to you in the top of your butt cheek and it hurts like a bitch, but better that than having my body eat my baby, I suppose.)
I had to take Owen with me, so you can imagine how thrilled I was to pull up and see this sign in the hospital parking lot.
While he can of course walk, as soon as he gets out of the car he wants me to carry him. I’m working on getting him to hold my hand and walk into places more on his own, but he only does it sometimes. Also, since the appointment was in the Infusion Center of the hospital — a long walk through the parking lot, the lobby, up an elevator and down another long hallway — had I let him walk the whole way we would have been 45 minutes late. That was my long, drawn out way of saying YAY PARKING SPOT.
More places need parking like that. Or, drivethru windows. (I’m looking at you, POST OFFICE.)
- Owen has been back to waking at 5:30 a.m. this week. No bueno, child of mine. I’m going to see if I can get him to snuggle in bed with me now with some books. Maybe a morning nap is in our future. (HA. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.)