Stupid Facebook Quiz

You guys have probably all seen the quiz that’s been making the rounds through Facebook recently. A bunch of questions created by someone who obviously has way too much time on his/her hands, intended for a mom to ask her kids (and/or husband). So, because I obviously don’t have anything better to do, like taking care of a baby, doing laundry, cleaning the house, washing dishes . . . or anything else productive, I’m gonna go ahead and just do it.

Wait, what’s that kid chewing on now? Hold on, I’ll be right back . . .

Ok, just an electrical cord. No big deal. He’ll be fine. It will take him a while to gnaw through that plastic coating anyway. Let’s get to the important stuff. Quiz time!

I asked my oldest boys, and then even my husband, these questions. I will say that it was somewhat enlightening. I even tried to get the baby to give me some answers, but couldn’t quite figure out what he meant by, “eeeeeeeeeeee, bababamamamababamama.” If anyone speaks baby, let me know what he had to say.

Alright, let’s get this party started. First up to bat . . . the 7 year old. Here goes. (My reaction/comments on their answers are in italics).

1. What is something I always say? Go clean up the playroom (true).

2. What makes me happy? Coffee (yep).

3. What makes me sad? Don’t know.

4. How do I make you laugh? Tickling.

5. What was I like as a child? Happy and loved unicorns (um . . . sure).

6. How old am I? 40

7. How tall am I? 4 feet (so close).

8. What is my favorite thing to do? Go shopping (not even a little).

9. What do I do when you’re not home? Do laundry (sadly, yes).

10. What am I really good at? Taking care of the baby (awww, sniff).

11. What am I not very good at?  Being up in the morning without coffee (this boy knows me).

12. What do I do for a job? Take care of the baby. You quit your job as a . . . lawyer? (ding ding ding).

13. What is my favorite food? Sushi (not exactly, but ok).

14. What do you enjoy doing with me? Watching movies.

Next up, the 10 year old.

1. What do I always say?  Take the trash out.

2. What makes me happy?  When the baby’s being good and my brother and I are behaving.  And your kids are at school (this question was asked while the boys had been home for the 187th snow day this winter).

3. What makes me sad?  One of us getting hurt?

4. How do I make you laugh?  Telling a joke that’s funny.

5. What was I like as a child? I don’t know, I wasn’t living then!

6. How old am I? 40

7. How tall am I? 5’4″ (even closer!).

8. What is my favorite thing to do?  Probably relax or go on a vacation where you don’t have to do stuff (so much this).

9. What do I do when you’re not home? Your work:  take care of the baby, dishes, laundry, bottles, feeding the baby.  You know, chores.

10. What am I really good at?  Art and work around the house.

11. What am I not very good at?  Keeping your cool (FALSE!!  Um, I mean . . . who me?).

12. What do I do for a job?  Stay home and work around the house (please note his and his brother’s answers to this question . . . before we get to their father’s response below).

13. What is my favorite food? Sushi (again? ok).

14. What do you enjoy doing with me?  Taking walks around the neighborhood.

And finally, the hubs’ answers.  Brace yourselves.

1. What is something I always say?  Can you hold the baby for a minute.

2. What makes me happy?  Baths, sleeping in, reading books, personal time away, sitting in your chair (all correct, and sadly, all things I hardly ever get to do).

3. What makes me sad?   Your old job.

4. How do I make you laugh?  When you sing (mean!).

5. What was I like as a child? Beautiful & carefree (um, sure).

6. How old am I? 41 in a week (2 days now, but yes).

7. How tall am I? 5’6″ (when I told him I’m 5’5 1/2″ he just said he rounded up.  Uh huh, ok).

8. What is my favorite thing to do? Take a bath.

9. What do I do when you’re not home?  Take care of the kids, you know, you do your thing.

10. What am I really good at?  Remembering birthdays, sending cards to people you care about, and reading with the kids (very perceptive and correct!).

11. What am I not very good at? Finances (Ha!  Hello, pot. I’m kettle, nice to meet ya!) and cleaning (well, I just don’t like it, doesn’t mean I’m not good at it).

12. What do I do for a job? Housewife (which led to a 5 minute diatribe from yours truly about how I am not defined by my role as his wife because it’s not the 50’s and he doesn’t own me, etc.).  Ok, fine, whatever PC thing it’s called now. (So much better, thanks).  (Please note that my hubs is really not a misogynist, which is why I found his answer so surprising and kinda funny).

13. What is my favorite food? Pasta (there we go!).

14. What do you enjoy doing with me? Just gazing into your eyes.  (Very funny).  Ok, traveling with you, talking to you . . . when you’re not yelling at me.

So there you go.  A little insight into the minds of my boys.  Discovering what your family thinks of you is always interesting.  I was pleasantly surprised with many of my boys’ answers, and not quite as enthralled with the hubs.  But then again, when you ask a question, I guess you have to be prepared for an answer.  Whether it’s the answer you wanted/expected, or not.

I guess they’ll still get dinner tonight.

 

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

I’ve cracked. Just like an egg, my shell is completely shattered and I’m completely scrambled. And I don’t know if anyone can put me back together again.

What has broken me? Well, my kids, of course. What else?

Last week, pre-blizzard, my husband had to go away for a week for a training session for work. He left on a Friday night and did not return until the following Thursday night. My kids were home for 3 full days because of MLK day, and I thought I was going to go a bit crazy.

Pfft, I had no idea what crazy was at that point.

The blizzard hit us Friday afternoon. My kids were supposed to have a half day, returning home early from school, but because of the pending snow storm, they closed schools for the whole day. The snow started 2 hours after they would have gotten home.

We got a ton of snow. Over 2.5 feet in my area. We were completely snowed in the entire weekend. However, the snow stopped late Saturday night and the plows were out early Sunday morning.

I wasn’t surprised when my kids’ school was closed on Monday. There was still a huge amount of snow on the ground and on the roads. Snow plows were still out plowing and salting, but it was going to take a while to beat back the extreme amount of winter weather that had been dumped on us. The kids were happily playing outside in the snow, having snowball fights, sledding, etc. It was all good.

On Monday afternoon, we were told that schools would be closed again on Tuesday. At this point, the roads were pretty clear, but we figured the school system was just being overly cautious. My husband was working from home, so I at least had a bit of help. The kids were outside again, this time building a snowman, and even went over to a neighbor kid’s house to go sledding for a while. Things were fine.

And then they closed the schools on Wednesday as well. At this point, everyone was pretty much ready for the kids to go back to school, including the kids. And we thought that another day off was a bit much.  My boys were tired of the snow and didn’t really want to go outside to play any more. Instead, they opted to stay in and play video games pretty much the entire day. And my husband was away again for a couple of days for work.  This was getting ridiculous.

But the ridiculousness was not to end yet.  Oh no, because schools were closed yet again on Thursday!  The snow had melted at this point down to maybe around six inches, and you could even see grassy patches in some places. The roads were completely clear and safe to drive on. It had been 4 full days since the snow had stopped. We really couldn’t understand why the kids weren’t going to school at this point. And everyone was going stir crazy.

At this point, I had to drag the kids away from the video games, lest their brains begin to atrophy and turn to mush. I demanded reading of books and other non-screen activities. Eventually, I let them watch a movie. And after that, they drifted back to their games. The sheer amount of video games played in my house over the past week cannot be quantified by modern technology.

Can you guess what happened on Friday? Yep, no school. Again. By the time they go back to school on Monday (dear baby jeebus, let them have school on Monday!) they will have been home 13 out of the past 16 days.

I love my kids. I really do. And I love spending time with them. But my current job is taking care of a very active baby and trying to get all the chores done over the course of the day, while chasing him around, saying, “No. No. Stop. Come back here. Don’t touch that. Etc.” I also need to go grocery shopping occasionally, and dragging 3 kids around the store is not a joy, let me tell you. I need my kids to go to school.

I really need my kids to go to school.

Because their mom isn’t just scrambled.  She’s completely fried.

A Day in the Life

Since I’ve recently changed careers, going from a 9-5 career woman to a stay at home mom, things have been quite different in my life.  And since I am the only person who has ever changed from business mom to home with the kids mom, I figured that I’d give you all a little treat and do something really different . . . blog about it.  I know, it’s crazy!  It’s almost like I’m a . . . hmmm, what’s the term I’m looking for . . . I think I’ll call it, mommy blogging!  Sounds completely unique and creative, right?  And really, what could be more exciting for you than to hear all about how I take care of my kids and house all day, every day.  Buckle in, folks.  It’s gonna get bumpy!

Did you know that kids wake you up really early?  I know, what the hell, right? I figured once I quit my job and stayed home with the kids, I’d get to sleep in late, then take a long, luxurious bath while reading a book, getting out just before I became too pruney and right before it was time for my late morning nap.  But noooooo, the kids are all “F that noise!”  They wake me up and expect me to feed them.  Needy little bastards!

So I make a bottle for the baby and real breakfast for the older boys (I tried passing bottles all around, but they weren’t having it). Then the requisite emptying and refilling of the dishwasher (I might do about 18 loads of dishes a day . . . not sure how we dirty that many dishes!), before I can finally get a cup of coffee.  Has anyone heard about moms that never get to finish their coffee and it gets all cold and they reheat it a bunch of times over the course of the day, never getting to drink it?  Yeah, not me.  The one thing that is non-negotiable is that I get to drink that damn cup of coffee so that I can function for the rest of the day.

Once I pack up the boys’ lunches and get them on their bus, I put the baby down for a nap and grab a quick shower.  Then, obviously, I just lounge around all day with my feet up, eating bon bons while the maid serves me chilled beverages and massages my feet.  Or, as my kids believe, I just watch TV all day.  Ok, probably neither of those things.  Depends on the day, but sometimes I run errands once the baby wakes up, rushing to get home before lunch/nap time for him (and trying to keep him awake in the car so that I actually get a nap out of him after lunch).  Or, on the stay at home days, I alternate between doing laundry, cleaning up after my kids, organizing the house . . . and getting to play with the baby in his “baby jail.”

Mickey is our favorite!

After I feed him lunch and put him down for his nap, I finally get to have my lunch, around 2:00.  And yes, I sit my ass in front of the TV at this point and eat my lunch.  Then I get back to cleaning up, etc.  Soon after, the boys arrive home from school and the baby wakes up.  This is my busiest time of the day because I’m juggling the kids’ homework, feeding the baby, making lunches, getting dinner ready and washing out bottles.

Once the kids are all fed their dinner, and if the weather is nice like it was all last week, we might go for a quick walk around the neighborhood before it gets too dark.  On one such walk we saw 13 deer on the hill behind our house (yes, we counted multiple times), were attacked by bats as we walked past one house (twice), and watched the sunset on our way back home.

On days that it’s not warm and temperate, I usually just play with the baby in jail while I yell at my older boys to stop wrestling, which they ignore until someone gets an elbow in the eye and starts crying.  Yep, I have boys.  Good times.

Once I get the baby to bed, finish loading the rest of the dishes and wash the last bottle of the day, I finally sit down to eat my own dinner.  This is the time of day that I finally get to relax.  Unless there’s laundry that still needs to be folded.  Or my oldest son wants to read with me (we’re working our way through Harry Potter.  It has only taken us about 2 years and counting).  Or my middle child wants to show me some Lego creation he has made.  But otherwise, total relaxation!

So, as you can see, my life is perfection right now! Actually, I do not miss my old job at all.  But I do miss certain aspects of working out of the home.  I miss vacation days.  I miss conversations with adults.  I miss lunches out with friends.  I miss time alone in my office where I can check my email, Facebook and blog.  I miss being able to grocery shop by myself before coming home to the kids.

But . . . as much as I miss all of that, I wouldn’t go back if they paid me!  I mean, obviously I was being paid then and now all I make is bupkis.  But I do get paid in cuddles and giggles from the baby and lots of hugs from my older boys.  And really, who wouldn’t want to spend every waking minute with this gorgeous boy?

He’s gorgeous, you’ll just have to trust me on this.

 

Catching Up

So . . . yeah. Ok, it’s been an eternity, but I really do have a valid excuse. I pushed an entire human person out of my nether-regions and that tiny human hasn’t let me sleep since. There is very little time for blogging in my world right now, honestly. But I did want to let everyone know that I am indeed still here, albeit entirely consumed by a little hungry tyrant who demands my every waking moment. And most of my sleeping moments as well. For the first 3 months, all he did was scream and eat. Lather, rinse, repeat. And while, obviously, that’s what newborns do so suck it up already, it’s been tiring and draining to say the least.

But I’m guessing you want details, right?  Yes?  No?  Who are you again?  Maybe?  Well, let’s go back.  To a magical time when I was getting 8 hours of sleep a night (except for the 4 times a night I got up to pee).  There I was . . . very pregnant and excited for my 3rd child to be born, and hoping he would grace us with his presence early.

I  had the big belly . . . I had the painted toes . . . I had the nursery all ready.  Now, all we needed was a baby!  He faked us out by pretending to come a week early, but once I got to the hospital, he apparently changed his mind.  Damn you, Braxton Hicks!!  He played with my emotions for about a week, with occasional contractions that made me hopeful, but ultimately ended in disappointment and frustration.  Finally, though, on his due date, he started making moves to enter the world.  For real this time.  So, after being up all night with contractions that continued until the next afternoon, a labor that was quite harrowing as his heartbeat slowed drastically with every contraction, and an epidural that slipped out of my back and had to be re-administered during the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life, he finally entered the world.  On December 1st, at 7 pounds, 4 ounces and 21 inches, he was healthy and beautiful.  I mean, just look at him!

And since that moment he has totally filled my world and my heart.  I am with him pretty much every moment of the day and it is wonderful, frustrating, fulfilling and exhausting.  However, once he arrived, I made a pretty drastic decision.  I will no longer be a slave to the corporate world as an attorney, but will instead solely be a slave to my kids as . . . wait for it . . . a stay at home mom!  Since this is my last baby, I just couldn’t hand him over to child care workers and run back to work, like I did with my first two kids.  So, my new full time job is MOM.  We sent the au pair off about 2 weeks ago, and so far it’s been great.  I mean, it’s tough trying to juggle the newborn and also the older kids’ school schedules, but that’s only temporary.  It will get a bit more manageable when the baby is older and not eating every 2-3 hours.  But so far, I think I’m doing fabulous at my new job.  I mean, I even clean the baby occasionally!

And I think I even worked out what was making him scream so much.  At first I thought it was colic.  Then the doctor said it was just reflux.  But I started to suspect it had something to do with an aversion to dairy.  Then again, he would also be miserable it I ate anything that was a gassy food (i.e. almost all fruits and veggies).  So, basically I’ve cut out all dairy from my diet and avoid almost every fruit, veggie, oily fish, nut and pasta.  But other than that, I can eat anything I want!  Yeah, that pretty much leaves me with meats and breads (as long as they don’t have milk in them).  And you wouldn’t believe how many things have dairy in them!  Pretty much everything, dammit.  So, it’s been frustrating to completely change my diet, but worth it for him not to wake up screaming in pain every night.  Oh, and did I mention that I also haven’t had a drink in over a year?  I am having the most fun!  Parenthood is such a joy.

And we probably don’t need to talk about the fact that I turned 40 three weeks ago as well, now do we?

Thanks, hubs!

So, now you know where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing these past few months.  And honestly, I can’t promise that this means a return to blogging regularly (or even sporadically) from now on, but I’ll at least try to check in occasionally.  If my little tyrant allows it.  Here’s hoping.

Making Room for #3

I was worried.  So was the hubs.  We had the best possible plans and intentions, but had no idea how it would be perceived.  Still, this was our best option, so we had to go with it, consequences be damned.

We have a four bedroom home.  Right now, all four of those bedrooms are occupied by myself/hubs, my oldest son, my youngest son and the au pair.  So, the question was . . . where does the new baby go?  We could have easily put him in a bassinet in our room, but that would only be a temporary solution and I have always been of the mind set to start them out early in the crib so they get used to it quickly.

Once upon a time, my youngest son’s room was a nursery.  In fact, it’s pretty much the only room in the house that I actually spent time designing and decorating, as he arrived soon after we moved into the house.  It has green/brown/tan painted stripes under a white chair rail with tan paint above and an adorable jungle theme.  The only thing that has changed over the past six years of my son’s life is the bed.  So, we decided . . . his room would once again become the nursery, and we would move him in with his brother.  In order to make this a reality, we needed to get bunk beds for the boys.

They have wanted bunk beds for a while now, ever since we flirted with the idea of getting them a couple of years ago but never pulled the trigger.  So, we were hoping that the excitement of finally getting those much coveted beds would trump the disappointment of them both losing their bedroom autonomy.  We were already creating a middle child by having this baby, but now we were taking away my youngest’s sanctuary and making him bunk with his older brother.  Like I said, we were worried as to how they would react.

Despite our trepidation, I found a perfect bed online and ordered it for delivery in early October.  Being the cowards that we are, we wanted to wait as long as possible before we had to tell the boys that they were going to be sharing a room, and have the beds delivered then.  But finally, we could wait no more, and we had to pull the trigger.

When we broke the news, we were surprised at how excited they were.  They couldn’t have been happier.  And while we were cautiously optimistic about their reaction, we still wanted to see how they would react once the reality of the situation presented itself.  After sharing the news, we took action . . . removing my oldest’s existing bed and moving around some of the furniture in preparation for the upcoming delivery of the new beds.  Then we waited . . .

Oldest son’s original room . . .

Room without bed.

The bunk beds arrived two days later and were set up and ready to go by the time my kids got home from school.  When I returned from work, I found my boys upstairs, hanging out on their new beds.  And loving them!  They were so excited, it was like Christmas day.  My oldest got the top bunk, which he thought was super cool.  My youngest got the bottom, Full sized bed with a brand new mattress, and he said it was super comfy and soft.  In fact, they loved their new bunks so much, that they without being told, took Clorox wipes to the dusty parts of it (the stairs, inside the cabinets, the top of the ceiling fan that was head height to the top bunk) and cleaned their brand new beds.  Phew!  Sigh of relief.

New bed.

My little animals enjoying their new bunks.

Since then, we have managed to somehow get all of my youngest’s clothing into the room, and with the addition of a new bookcase, have been able to organize their books and other items.  So far, they seem to be enjoying the new set up, and I even found them sleeping together on the bottom bed a couple of nights . . . giggling and talking as if they actually like each other!  So, I’m tentatively calling Project Combined Room Bunk Beds a success!

Now, I just need to get the baby’s room organized.  Anyone want to volunteer to help me locate all of the boxes full of baby clothes in my basement storage room?  I’m sure after six years, they will be super easy to find.  Oh, and then there’s the massive amounts of washing to be done once those clothes are found.  Seriously, people . . . I may actually need a village, so get your asses over here!

 

Time to Say Goodbye

When I saw my husband’s face on my phone, I knew immediately why he was calling.  And my heart sank.  I steeled myself to answer and hear the news, then I heard my husband’s voice, informing me of what we had known was pending and inevitable.  Knowing it’s coming doesn’t make it any easier.

He was diagnosed almost a year earlier, and he went through many rounds of treatment before he eventually became disoriented and confused.  After a brief visit to the hospital and a relocation to my brother-in-law’s house to have more constant monitoring, the decision was made to stop the rounds of treatment.  They weren’t helping anyway.  At that point, everyone just hoped for the best.

He had his good days and bad.  On the good days, he would sleep through the night, walk around the house trailing his oxygen hose, interact with visitors, watch the Orioles’ games.  On the bad days, he would think the ceiling fan was leaking water onto his bed and start talking about people who died years earlier as if he had just seen them yesterday.  For a while, there were many more good days than bad.  Until last week.

My husband took the boys to go visit him before leaving for a weekend long baseball tournament over an hour away from home.  We would be staying the entire weekend, so this would be the last time they would see him until the next week.  He was having a very bad day.  Confused, delusional, scared.  It was the worst he had been in a while, and it was quite the sudden turn.  We got word on Saturday morning that an ambulance took him to a hospice home very early that morning.  We contemplated returning home, but were told it wasn’t a matter of hours, but rather days.  We hoped we’d have time to see him again.  We stayed for the tournament.

Late Sunday night we returned home, and while I took the kids home for dinner, baths and bedtime, my hubs went over to the hospice to visit.  The weekend was long and tiring, so I was in bed by the time he returned home, but the text from him that I saw the next morning reported how sad it was to see him like that.  He had been unconscious for the past 3 days.

Despite the fact that there was laundry and grocery shopping to be done, neglected while we were out of town the past weekend, I decided to forego all necessary yet mundane chores the next day after work.  There are priorities in life, and this was one of them.

When I arrived at the hospice center, my first impression was that it looked like a southwestern style spa oasis, not a building housing very ill people a few miles from Baltimore City.  It was a beautiful and richly appointed place, and the people inside seemed genuinely caring and sympathetic.  When I entered his room, I saw him sleeping on the bed.  A shadow of his former self and not much bigger than an anorexic teenager.  There was a TV facing his bed showing scenes of gently flowing streams and playing calming music.  It was very peaceful.  I did find the balcony off of his room, that overlooked a wooded area, to be a bit unnecessary in this setting, but it was a very lovely room.

I was glad to be alone with him.  It’s too much pressure when there are others there.  By ourselves I could just talk to him and hold his hand.  I talked about my oldest son’s tournament the previous weekend and how his team won the whole thing.  I told him that I was just starting to feel the baby move and I was so hoping he could have met his 13th grandchild, even though I knew he would see his birth and life from wherever his next destination might be.  I told him we would give the baby his name for his middle name, despite not having discussed this with my husband prior.  I told him that I was sure that he would soon be with his wife who passed a few years prior and that I knew it would be a happy reunion for them both.  I talked about when the boys were little and he and his wife used to watch them when I got home from work, allowing me to get dinner ready, and how the boys used to love visiting each day.  I told him how much we were all going to miss him, but how we understood if it was time for him to go.  I told him that 81 years was a lengthy time to be on this earth, and that he had fought for long enough.

I talked and talked, but have no idea if he heard a word.  It didn’t matter.   All of those words were just me saying goodbye.  When I heard that he passed the next morning, I was so thankful that I had that opportunity to see him that one last time.

He was a wonderful father to my husband, a surrogate dad to me, and a loving and doting Pop to my children.  He lived in our home for the past 15 years, and his absence will create a great void in our lives and hearts.  We will miss him terribly.  But are thankful we had the chance to know him.  The world is missing one more great man today, and so are we.

It’s A . . .

When I got pregnant with my first child, the hubs and I were convinced it was a girl.  We had a perfect girl name all picked out . . . until the sonogram.  Then we struggled and fought for 5 months to come up with a boy name we could both agree on.

The second pregnancy was pretty much the same . . . both thinking it was probably a girl, and struggling to come up with a name we agreed on for our second son.

As I previously stated, we never thought we’d have to go through all that again, but now that I’m pregnant, I’ll admit it . . . I really really really want this one to be a girl!  Despite the odds not being in my favor (75% chance of having a boy after having 2 prior), I would not be swayed from my fervent hope of a baby girl.

When we first informed our kids that I was pregnant, it was unanimous.  The boys were hoping for a baby brother.  They were adamant that it was a boy, and even my hubs joined in by saying, “well, I make boys.”  I told him to quit jinxing my uterus.

Soon after, he left for a business trip to Brazil for a week, and when he returned, he brought back a few very Brazilian presents.  One such present was this:

I teased him that if he made boys, these might not be our baby’s color.  Either that, or he bought the wrong size for me.  But, it warmed my heart that he seemed to want a girl as well.  At least for that brief moment when he was buying the shoes.

Immediately after we broke the big news of my pregnancy to everyone, I had a scheduled sonogram and blood testing for all types of issues.  Since I’m “high risk” or “advanced maternal age” (i.e. old as fuck), I got the full screening to see if anything might be wrong with the baby genetically.  What I didn’t realize at the time, as they never mentioned it, is that they could tell the sex of the baby once they received the results, which would be in about 2 weeks.  I found out that little detail about a week later, when I spoke to the lab tech who called with the preliminary results, and she told me that she would call back with the final results later that week.  Oh, and also, that she could tell me the sex of the baby at that point if I wanted.  Um, yes.  I wanted.  And then I waited.

When she called back and told me the news, I was at work.  I immediately texted my hubs to let him know:

Me:  Well, you were right.
Hubs:  The Havaianas were right?
Me:  Nope, you make boys.
Hubs:  I’m sorry, sweetie.  I really wanted you to have your girl.  Are you ok?
Me:  Yeah, I’m fine.  But damn you and your sperm!

And I really was fine.  It’s not like it wasn’t expected.  When she said “boy” it sounded completely right.  I’m a little disappointed, I’ll admit it.  But I will love this boy, just as I love the hell out of my other two.

So then, it was time to tell my kids that they had gotten their wish.  I wanted to do something fun and creative that they would remember, since I figured they’d be pretty excited about the whole thing.  So, I had an idea, and I ran with it.  First, I decorated a big box:

Then, I filled it with supplies I had grabbed on the way home, covered it with a blanket, and took the boys outside to reveal the big news.  I had them pull the blanket off on the count of three, and reveal the answer to the box’s question.  To say they were excited is putting it mildly.  My oldest ran around the yard pumping his fist and screaming, “yes!” for five minutes.  It was adorable.  I can only imagine the reaction if it had been a girl!

So, now we will have to go through the fun of trying to name this one as well.  Based on the hubs and my history with attempting to name boys, maybe we’ll just wait until he comes out and let him name himself.  Might be quicker than waiting for his parents to come to an agreement on boy names.  (In case you were wondering, yes, I did already have a girl name totally picked out).

Also, I guess it’s time for a new baby picture as well.  Can’t have my little man wearing women’s shoes!  Might give him a complex right from the womb.

A Surprising Desire

Once I finally accepted that this whole wanting a baby thing was not just a passing whim, I realized that I was going to have to try to convince my husband to go along with this crazy plan. This scared the crap out of me. I had an inkling that he might not be quite ready to jump on board, and that it was going to take some convincing. This idea would be coming from left field and would be especially surprising, considering the source.

But if it was going to happen, it was going to have to happen soon.  I was sitting square in the middle of my late thirties, with the big 4-0 looming on the horizon.  Biologically, I didn’t have a lot of time to waste.  It was almost exactly one year since my miscarriage when I decided to discuss the topic with him.

To say that he was “surprised” would be a vast understatement.  He was almost struck speechless by my unexpected desire for another child.  He then made many valid and logical arguments against it;  our age, the cost of a child, the physical and mental strain I would need to go through, the sleepless nights, his travel schedule, the possibility of losing another baby.

I couldn’t deny any of his points.  I absolutely agreed with him on every one.  He was correct.  It was an insane idea.  Yet . . . all of that logic and reason didn’t for one second diminish the persistent and aching need that I had to have another child.  It was beyond logic.  Something I never thought I’d experience.  But there it was.

I didn’t push the issue. I laid out my arguments and then gave him time with it.  I hoped fervently that the idea would settle in his mind and start to grow in his heart.  I had made my case, and there was nothing left for me to say to try to convince him.  He would either accept the idea or reject it.

The next time the issue came up, I realized that he had accepted it.  Although hesitantly and just barely, he was on board.  So we tried.  With no success for the first couple of months.  Until I took a test at the beginning of February and saw a positive result.  This time, my reaction was vastly different than the previous time.  I was overjoyed.  Cautiously overjoyed, but extremely happy just the same.

But it didn’t last.  I lost the baby on Valentine’s Day.

I was beginning to think that it was physically impossible for me to have a baby at this point.  I could get pregnant, obviously, but both miscarriages happened around 5 weeks.  So maybe I just couldn’t sustain a pregnancy past that point.  However, although I was discouraged, I wasn’t quite ready to concede.  My goal was to have this baby before I was 40, so I figured we had a couple more months to make that happen.  So we tried again.  And I got pregnant once again in March.

But five weeks in, I started bleeding again. Just to be safe, I scheduled an appointment with my doctor that day to get it checked out. I didn’t have high hopes, but I wanted to be sure. A sonogram revealed that the baby was still alive, but there was a lot of blood flowing around it. The doctor very gravely explained to me that it appeared that a miscarriage was imminent and that I should return later in the week for another sonogram, with the possibility of a DNC to be scheduled at that time. I was heartbroken.

I waited 2 days to find out the fate of this child. Forty eight hours. Two thousand, eight hundred and eight minutes. One hundred and seventy-two thousand, eight hundred seconds. I felt every single one of those seconds tick by. It was the longest 2 days of my life.

When I returned to the doctor’s office, a nurse took my blood pressure, as is routine. She noted that it was pretty high.  “Are you nervous?” she asked.  Yeah, I think I am.  I wonder why that might be.

I happened to have the same sonogram tech perform the second sonogram. She remembered me, and I remembered how kind she had been at my previous visit, when I couldn’t stop crying after the doctor told me the news.  She had allowed me time alone in the room to compose myself, while I’m sure others were waiting to use it. I was glad it was her again.

When the images came on the screen, I saw something quite surprising.  The baby was moving.  And there was a heartbeat.  The tech very excitedly said that the heartbeat was much stronger than 2 days prior and that the blood was congealing and not flowing as much as before.  This was very good news.  I have never been more relieved than I was at that moment.  When the doctor saw the results, she was very hopeful.  She wanted me to return in a week for a follow-up sonogram, but she said that it looked good. Once I got dressed, I may have floated out of the office.  It felt like a 2 ton elephant had been surgically removed from my heart.  I’m pretty sure my blood pressure had gone down by then as well.

All of that has led me to this point.  The moment when I can tell you that I am now at 12 weeks and counting, and baby #3 is due on November 30th.

Looks JUST like me.

Emerging from the Deep

After my miscarriage, I decided that I desperately needed some help.  Of the professional variety.  Which was quite surprising to me, because historically, I had always outright refused and even scoffed at any suggestion of seeking therapy.

But this was different.  I was in a deep, dark hole and could hardly even see the light.  I knew I needed a trained professional to help pull me out of this suffocating pit of sadness.  So, I randomly searched for someone in my insurance plan who was geographically desirable, and within a week of a cold call, I was sitting in an office, telling a stranger all of my problems.  It was a bizarre and frightening experience for me.

To be honest, the miscarriage was probably just the final straw on top of my depression.  The one thing that made me admit that I needed help and just couldn’t handle my own shit any more.  I had been sinking and barely treading water for years before, but stubbornly thought I could eventually get myself out of the treacherous waters I was trapped in.  This event finally sunk me, but also propelled me to accept a life-preserver.

It was dreadfully hard for me at first.  I am not very good at opening up and sharing my feelings and emotions.  I am a very closed off person.  I build walls for good reasons, and I’m not too keen on someone trying to knock them down to find out what’s cowering behind the bricks.  But I had to do it if I was going to get better.  There was no other option.  So I slowly started chipping away at my protective layer to get to the gooey underbelly of hurt and emotion below.  It was difficult and painful.

After quite a few months of therapy, I realized that I needed some greater assistance.  My therapist had suggested on a few occasions that I might do well with some prescription medication.  But, I was firmly anti-meds.  So, I rebuffed this suggestion outright at first.  I actually accused her of trying to fix my problems with drugs instead of doing the work of being my therapist.  I was in a bad place and it was a horrible reaction.  But eventually, I came to realize that she was right.  I needed more help.

Cue a referral to a psychiatrist and a prescription for Wellbutrin.  And suddenly, the haze started to clear.  It was like I could finally breath again.  Everything felt more stable and real.  The drugs actually made me feel like I was finally sober.  Instead of dulling my senses, everything felt sharper and brighter.  It felt real again.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like myself.  There were no more random crying jags in the middle of my work day.  I no longer wanted to come home from work every night and just sleep.  I spent more time with my kids and was a much better mommy than I had been in a while.  It was drastically and distinctly noticeable to everyone close to me.  Some didn’t know what had happened, but they knew something was different.  A good different, for sure.

While my head was clear, I could really dig deep in therapy and try to heal some things that had previously seemed irrevocably broken.  I made excellent progress and found myself crying less and less each week, which was nice, because I was really getting sick of those damn tears.  I was slowly healing.  Shedding those weights that had been holding me down.  Sadness.  Loss.  Guilt.

And then a strange thing happened.  It started with just a glimmer.  Then grew stronger and stronger until I couldn’t deny that is was an actual desire.  I tried to ignore it, but it persisted, until it turned into an all-encompassing need.  Much like Glenn Close, it would not be ignored.

I wanted another baby.

Something I Didn’t Know I Wanted

The following is the first in a series of posts that I will be writing in the next few weeks.  They are neither funny nor snarky.  Together, they will form the story of what has been happening with me over the past year and a half.  I have not been ready to write about it until now.  The posts are serious, and can be a bit dark, just so you are forewarned.  However, by the end of the story, all is right with my world, so just hang in there and take the journey with me to reach the end. 

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When I first found out that I was pregnant, I experienced many overlapping emotions.  Shock.  Disbelief.  Confusion.  Horror.

This was not a planned pregnancy, obviously.  I wasn’t expecting, nor did I desire, to have a third child.  My boys were 4 and 7 at the time.  If and when anyone had asked me over the years if I was going to have another baby, I usually responded that I was done.  And I meant it.  I started my relationship with my husband by declaring to him that I neither wanted marriage nor children.  I felt that our two kids were a good compromise between zero and the huge brood he had originally wanted.  Our family was complete.  We were content, comfortable and settled.  This new development threw us for a major loop.

When I informed my husband of the news, he was happy, but I could also see the trepidation in his eyes.  He could see that I was upset, so he tried his best to comfort and calm me.  Then he left for a business trip for a week.

During that week, I went through all of the stages of grief.

– Denial:  That test couldn’t possibly be right!  No way was I pregnant.  Not even possible.  This stage lasted as long as it took to take another test, with identical results.

– Anger:  Yeah, I was angry, dammit!  How could this happen to me?  I didn’t want to be pregnant or have another baby!  Pregnancy sucks.  Giving birth sucks!  Sleepless nights suck!  I hated this pregnancy and the baby.

– Bargaining:  I don’t believe in god, so there weren’t any deals with some imaginary guy in the sky, but there were definitely some proposals of action to the universe that I thought might be a better outcome than having another baby.  And yes, losing the baby was one of them, I’m ashamed to say.

– Depression:  And then the sadness came.  I kept thinking of all the things I would have to give up for this unwanted child.  Drinking, sushi, my body, sleep.  Every time I thought of another thing that this pregnancy would take away from my life, I sank deeper into the abyss.

– Acceptance:  A funny thing about acceptance . . . it sneaks up on you.  One minute, I was thinking about how difficult my life was going to be because of this accident, and then I turned around and found myself thinking about how sweet a baby is, and how my boys were growing up and were way past that baby stage, and how I missed that.  After just a few days, I realized that I had come to terms with this formerly perceived tragedy, and I was starting to look at it as an incredible gift.  Not planned for or initially wanted, but wonderful all the same.

And then, just as I started settling into the idea of it and began making mental plans, I started to bleed.  And just like that . . . it was over.  Gone.

That’s when the guilt started.  Everyone will tell you that it’s not your fault.  That you didn’t do anything to make it happen.  That it just wasn’t meant to be.  And while logically, I knew that was probably true, I also remembered.  I remembered all those glasses of wine I had before I knew I was pregnant.  The sushi dinner I had 2 weeks prior.  And the time I wished for this very thing to happen before I got over the shock of it.  I thought of those things, and I wasn’t certain that I didn’t somehow have a hand in this.

And then the darkness set in.