One Last Look Before I Go.

I woke up this morning with a strange sense of peace. 

Also with the realization that I really, really had to pee.  

And so it is that this, the final day of this pregnancy, begins.

The boys and I are celebrating with toasted-coconut donettes while Daddy has one final opportunity to sleep in before he has "big kid" duty for the next 2 weeks.  Me? I'll be the one passed out with a baby attached to one nipple.  (I'm suddenly imagining the google searches that last sentence will no doubt invite, and it would be funny if it wasn't so sad.  *insert Jedi Mind Trick wave here* "This is not the porn you are looking for".)

I'm going to go ahead and recommend that nobody expects to see anything in this space for the next few days - unless of course Big Daddy is feeling ambitious and decides to post some photos while I'm in the hospital.

Thanks for all the love and well-wishes through this pregnancy - especially this last month.  My sanity has been kept just barely in check some days, and it's always nice to have the emails and comments cheering us on.  Even better than a caramel latte - and if you know how I love my coffee then you will appreciate the profoundness of that statement.

And so, dear internets, for the moment I will bid you adieu as I head out on this next leg of our Adventures in Baby Making.  

See you on the flip side, my peoples.

Or "Why I Obviously Need More Therapy".

See, I've developed an obsession with Facebook.  Which goes well with my addiction to Bloglines and Twitter, especially since the internet is the only thing that induces me to actually talk to other humans on many a day. 

And if you didn't already know I tend towards the reclusive, HELLO and welcome late to the party.

So the ADS on Facebook.  They have, so far, been wickedly in tune to my brain.  I think they're using some sort of advertisement brain ray to suck keywords from my brain.  Remind me to start wearing a tinfoil hat when sitting in front of the computer.

Today I was minding my own business, absently perusing the status updates while I waited for my cnn.com video to load, when I started seeing ads for birth announcements.

Well Crap.

This is the part where I confess that I have not once, not even for second, given any proper thought to what I am going to do about birth announcements.  

With the first two babies I was ambitious and creative and made my own.  I am, after all, supposed to be a photographer.  Linen paper and a good printer was all it took to come up with something I could distribute with abandon.

That was then, y'all.  

Now? Now I am desperately trying to live up to the expectation I set that I would not be one of those moms who lets the third kid get lost in the shuffle.  And the internet is making it so very easy to create fabulous birth announcements in a range of lovely designs, and at the cost of only about half the kid's college education.

So you see, Uncle Sam... before you go giving a huge check to these silly failing banks, PLEASE understand that the $2200 cost per citizen?  I already have that earmarked for printed paper products.  Because I am a good consumer, and also because I am high on estrogen and popsicles... and spending unholy amounts of money on something pretty trivial seems like a preferable alternative to actually, you know, making something myself.

Thank you for your attention to this vitally important PSA.  We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.  At our house, this means Noggin.

Are we there yet?

So after the doctor's appointment on Monday wherein I still had no cervical progress, my OB took pity on me and said "Okay, let's schedule that induction".

I heard the words "Tuesday night check-in and Wednesday induction" and nearly wept with joy.

Then the chi-chi hospital Birthing Center (where I had Toby and determined to have this baby, too, even though it's almost an hour away because it is just that posh, people) broke my fragile little heart by not having any openings.

No openings until Sunday night.

Which means that I will be induced Monday morning.  Which is also a full 2 days past my due date, which makes me want to weep again.

BUT.  But at least we have a date, peeps.  Monday! I'm having a baby on Monday!  And hopefully he won't be so huge by then that he won't fit through my delicate pink parts.  (And to the Lady Who Did Not Know Me at Walmart who decided to tell me I was "for sure having at least a 12 pounder! - you can suck it, Lady.  Keep your opinions to yourself. Unless you want to tell me I look fabulous and, by the way, did I know that I also smell really nice? Because THAT is all you are allowed to say to a pregnant woman you do not know unless you want her to get medieval on you.  If she could actually do that, anyway, but I'm too pregnant to lift this economy-size pack of toilet paper and swing it over my head to bash you with so JUST GO AWAY ALREADY!)

Phew.  Okay, so I feel a little better now.  Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.

Now I just have to figure out how to fill some hours between now and Sunday night.  You know, some stuff that's more fun than the laundry and vacuuming that I need to do anyway.  So far? I have decided to work on neglected crochet projects and maybe bake some cookies.  Yes, my own ambition impresses me as much as it does you.  (*cough*)

Have You Ever Seen The (Frog) Rain?

We could talk about how Jack woke up at 2am this morning, wide awake and ready to party.  

We could talk about how Jack fell asleep this afternoon and took his first nap in about 4 years.

We could talk about how Jack woke up from his nap in order to vomit copiously.

We could talk about the lovely surprise baby shower the neighborhood gals threw for me this afternoon, wherein I was showered with kindness and presents galore.  Milo finally has some BRAND! NEW! STUFF!  Because, this being my third pregnancy, the sum total of what I had procured for him consisted of a couple of onesies from the local consignment shop.  No more! He now has a plethora of items that will be his and only his.  One of these items is a flannel set of bib, burp cloth, and satin-edged blanket lovingly hand-crafted by my friend's 85-year-old Grandmother - whom I have never met.  My own Gram passed away last Thanksgiving weekend, and my other Grandma just moved into a care center at the age of 90.  There aren't great-grandmas around to make blankies for Milo, and so he gets to be the lucky beneficiary of a woman with enough love to spare for a third little baby boy.  So, yeah, that's the point at which I nearly cried.

We could talk about how I finally broke down and got the Twilight series, and swore never to admit it... and how I got so wrapped up in the vampire world Stephanie Meyer created that I read the whole series in a week.  Twice.

But no.  Instead? Instead let's talk about how I finally screwed my courage (or stubbornness, depending on your perspective) to the sticking place and determined to shave my legs after six weeks pregnant neglect.  Let's talk about how I squeezed myself into a warm bath and determinedly wielded my pink Lady Bic until my wookie-like gams were finally smooth.  

Then we can talk about how I used my foot to open the drain and let the water out, then reached back to lift myself up and discovered several inches of standing water remaining in the tub behind me.  Because? Because my ginormous ass had made a watertight seal with the bath tub.  

We can talk about how this discovery was quickly followed by the realization that I was firmly wedged into the tub.  I was completely and undeniably stuck.  

And so I pondered my predicament for a few moments, then sighed and turned on the hot shower.  I sat like that, wedged into the tiny tub with the hot water running over me, for a few minutes before Big Daddy wandered into the bathroom after mowing the lawn.

"Are you okay?" he wondered.

"Yeah... not so much.  I'm stuck."

"Were you planning to call for help?"

"Definitely No."

"Can I help you get up?"

"I think you're going to have to."

On second thought... let's not talk about that either.  

Let's talk about you.  How are you doing?

Ground Control To Major Tom...

Where have I been, you say?
Well, nothing like interrupting the second week of Kindergarten for this:

"This" being a fractured left clavicle.  On the playground at school.

So there was that, which was obviously awesome.  We'll be spending one afternoon a week at the Orthopedic Surgeon for the next few weeks so the injury can be x-rayed and monitored.  The good news is it should heal up in about a month.  Or so they tell me.  

Then there's the contractions, which come frequently but without sufficient strength or regularity to actually count as "Labor".  They do, however, have enough strength and regularity to leave me exhausted.  Yesterday they also seemed to be indicative of labor, but after an hour or so on monitors at the hospital the nice nurse assured us that, no, this baby is not quite ready to make his appearance and all that uncomfortable squeezing? That's just baby warming my body up for the real thing. Which could be tomorrow! Or, you know, a month from now.  Because the baby wants Mama to lose her mind.

And then Toby, poor Toby, has suddenly forgot how to sleep through the night.  This morning found him climbing into our bed at 4am, and by 5 he and I were downstairs watching Oswald episodes off the DVR.

So pretty much that's where I've been.  Aren't you thrilled that you asked?

The Frump is Catching.

Redsy posted about feeling the frumps.  Apparently it's catching, or at least a symptom of Fall, because here is the view of your hostess this morning:

Pregnant, frumped to the gills, and also appearing to sport a lady combover? I swear that's just an illusion caused by flat hair.  

There's so much going on right now I could write about, that I should want to write about... I mean there's a hurricane run on the gulf coast, McCain picked a VP running mate, we just got through a bought of baby stomach bug (poor Toby. He's all better now, though!) and, hallo, Obama speech at the DNC!  

But the sad truth is that I am tired.  No, I am exhausted.  I am ready to have this baby and regain the ability to see my feet, let alone put on shoes without assistance.  I am ready to sleep on my stomach again, to stand up without the aid of a crane, and to go more than an hour without the necessity of stopping for a pee break. 

There's also a distinct possibility that I am slowly tipping down the other side of the peak and heading back into depressed territory.  I recognize it, I'm discussing it with my doctor, and I'm preparing to take appropriate measures to head off the meltdown.  

In the mean time, though, I'm trying to regroup.  I'm working on writing a few letters and touching base with a few friends before the baby gets here.  I'm trying to get the house in order and figure out the logistics of life between now and the holidays so that I don't get totally overwhelmed in the crush of it all.  We're trying to get a babysitter so the hubs and I can get a night out alone together before the baby gets here.  (We haven't had a real date since.. umm... hrm.  Yeah, it's been a while.)

So forgive me if I'm not on top of things for the next while.  Finding the Zen in our particular Zoo requires that immediate reality take precedence over reality of the virtual kind even more than usual. And if you wander away, just check back from time to time.  I promise I'll be back to form eventually.  

Enjoy the Silence.

This face? This is the face of a 5-year-old.  One who will start Kindergarten tomorrow.  And, not to get all sappy on y'all, but I'm not exactly sure how I'm feeling about that.  At least tomorrow is "Orientation Day" and we'll just be popping in for half an hour to meet his teacher.

Wednesday, though, he gets on the big yellow school bus bright and early... and doesn't come home until just before dinner.  

Adding to my general sense of malaise today is the fact that I got up about 8 times to pee last night - after Tobin finally went to sleep at 11.  And then? And then there's the fact that I have 5 weeks left in this pregnancy and I am sooo ready for this baby to vacate my premises.  

SO let's just say I'm having a petite blue period.  Let's leave it at that.

Of Birth Days and Birthdays.

The internets, they have stolen a week of my life. 

More specifically, BabyZone's newsletter cheerfully informed me this morning that I am 32 weeks pregnant.  

The problem with this?  I had written on my little calendar (a paper and ink sort, because to keep track of anything concrete in my life requires me to rock it like it's 1987.  At least I don't refer to it as a "file-0-fax") that I was 31 weeks pregnant.  

I checked and double checked and asked my OB at my appointment this moning and, um, it appears BabyZone is correct and I am 32 weeks pregnant.

Well, Crap.

I had PLANS for that week, people!  I was excusing myself from stressing about kindergarten supply lists and back-to-school nights, about packing for the beach and perhaps packing my hospital bag.  I was giving myself a free pass because, after all, I wasn't in that final 2-month window of this pregnancy yet.

DAMN YOU, BABYZONE!

Big Daddy mentioned the other night that he thought I should go ahead and pack an emergency hospital bag.  Given that I have never gone into early labor - that, in fact, I have been twice successfully induced, I found his request silly in the extreme.  I asked him why I would want to do something so obviously unnecessary.  His reply? "I'm craving pickles.  It's a sign."  Yeah, it's a sign of something, all right.  *cough*

It is also possible I may be taking my sudden panic-and-hormone-induced mood swings out on my husband.  Just sayin', it's possible.  

It doesn't help one iota that Jack is now officially 5 years old.

FIVE. EFFING. YEARS. OLD.

How did I become the mother of a five-year-old?!  I mean, I know - technically - how it happened. (Several cocktails and a french maid costume for Halloween will tend to make that happen.) But how did five years go by? Where did this articulate little person with more skill for video games than his parents come from?  He even wipes his own behind now.  It's like having a very small adult in the house - albeit one who can still throw the occasional tantrum to make the earth tremble.

We celebrated the Birthday milestone in the usual way: there was cake, ice cream, the odd party game, and there were gifts.  I have photos of all of these things (especially the R2D2 cake, of which I am especially proud) but I've somehow misplaced the camera cable and you can hardly blame me because holy crap five years old!  

The weirdness just keeps getting weirder.  I realized today how horrified the teenagers at Hot Topic looked when the pregnant lady with the two kids came wandering in from the mall corridor to purchase new body jewelry.  What? I needed a new nose stud, and a new ring for my left ear.  But I could see it in their blankly-horrified expressions: This woman is way too old to be shopping at the Hot Topic.  But, hey, in five more years I can go in to buy purple hair dye for my skate-punk son.  The one who picked out a trucker hat that says "chairman of the board" at Old Navy today.  Also the one who told me that high tops were "so not cool, Mom".

And if his growing steadily into a pool of angsty no-longer-baby wasn't proof enough that time is passing me by at an alarming rate, the internet pregnancy calendar had to come along and steal another week of my life away.

I want that week back.  Also, I would like a 2-hour deep-tissue massage, a mini-van that gets 40 miles to the gallon, and one dappled pony.  And if anyone has seen my ability to form coherent thoughts, I'd appreciate the return of that as well.

Thanks.

Getting More Pregnant By The Day.

This photo is almost a week old now, since I took it last Friday. The belly? It's even bigger now. And yet this is still about half as big as the buddha was at this point in my first 2 pregnancies. Yes, I realize how insane that is. I also realize I look a little grumpy, but that's just my Friday face.


Also, check out that bookcase downstairs. That's my built-in, the one I built last summer with my own two little lily-white hands and which houses our DVD collection and about half of our current book collection. I'm working on getting the rest of our books unpacked from basement storage to add to the wall.

Also, this case will soon hold the contents of my summer reading list. Which I am working on faithfully, I swear. 1 more day to get your suggestions in!

Distractions.

The hormones are raging, my head is pounding, and it's raining AGAIN. And I am so very done with the rain.

These are the distractions that assault me.

Also, my children have been fighting like two cats in a wet sack for THREE DAYS now, and if anyone knows where I can find a roving band of gypsies who want two kids for cheap? Please to be sending me the linky. (Although my friend Danny DID send me this creepy link. Which I really hope is a joke. It has to be a joke.... Doesn't it?)

But, no, at the end of the day I'm sure the sun will eventually come back out and the actual summer will replace this disgraceful display of flip-floppery by Mother Nature. (So much for my "Mother Nature for VP!" bumper sticker idea) And I'm sure my children will eventually re-emerge before my eyes as the darling small humans I birthed. I'm guessing that will happen about the time the sun comes up and I reintroduce them to the wonders of the Swimming Pool. Somehow all that chlorine seems to evoke a state of euphoria in children. Maybe they can intensify the effect with the addition of ice-cream-flavored cooling mist or something. Someone should study this phenomenon. (Hey, if they can figure out how to get vanilla flavoring from cow crap...)

So, in lieu of anything useful to add to the grand exchage of information on these here interwebs, allow me to present someone else's Very Useful Ideas to stimulate greater brain-thinking for your Tuesday.

P.S. I'm sure my melancholy is also in no way related to the fact that mah preshusss baybeeee is graduating from preschool tomorrow. NOTHING AT ALL, YOU HEAR??

P.P.S. It is becoming intensely clear that we have reached the all important "Why Do They Not Make Pregnancy Mood Stabilizers Because OH MAH GAWD?!" phase of pregnancy number 3. This also seems like something the brainy science-types might want to investigate. So far, the only chemical help I have found involves several pounds of chocolate, which isn't really much help at all. Someone scientific get right on that, okay? I mean, honestly, people - vanilla extract from cow dung. Oh, and also, apparently, This.

For the record, while I enjoy Spicy Goodness as much as anyone, I'll stick with my epidural thankyouverymuch. But I wouldn't say no to This as a little adjunct pain relief because, well...DUH.

Oh, Baby!

If I could make the scanner bend to my will and just WORK already, I could show you some really incredible photos from the ultrasound today.

EDIT: I received the following picture in my weekly update from babycenter. Apparently my baby has entered the "Cirque du Soleil Acrobat" phase of development. This is nothing like the actual images from the ultrasound. It is, however, highly disturbing.

In lieu of that, allow me to say that when an eye as untrained as my own can easily identify the child's external paraphernalia, 'tis safe to say that his papa can be proud.

Yeah, it's another boy.

And, while I thought it was a girl - while I was, in fact, nearly certain that it was a girl growing in there - nobody is more surprised than yours truly to find that, in fact, I am at this moment doing my best not to leap out of my chair and dance around the room from sheer, overwhelming GLEE.

HELLO, LITTLE MAN!! I SAW YOUR PENIS!! AND THEN YOU KICKED ME!! A LOT!!

I'll explain to him eventually about Mommy's nasty habit of typing in all caps without provocation and also yelling, in person, at the top of my lungs when I am very excited.

Also, we will now officially have more than half of a basketball team.

Also, also, we are planning to begin a special savings account to pay for grocery bills in about 10 years, because three teenage boys are going to eat us out of house and home.

CAN'T. FRACKING. WAIT.

Pregnant and Barefoot in the Kitchen.

This is not good my friends. My husband is going to be bound and determined to keep me knocked up for the next hundred million years. And that is NOT okay. Have I mentioned that I MISS MAH WINE! Not to be confused with my whine, which is in fine and working order. Obviously.

But, you see, the Nesting Period has begun.

In the past 24 hours I have sorted laundry, catalogued and compiled our next Goodwill donation, made the beds, vacuumed the entire top level of our house, put away 5 loads of clean laundry, hung wall decor in 2 bedrooms, showered and dressed myself - TWICE - and mopped the kitchen floor.

For the record? That right there might be the most housework I have done in the past year.

It's not that I am horridly dirty or messy. I generally keep the house neat and clutter-free, and if you visited our little abode you would likely be properly impressed with my classic taste and the carefully chosen items with which we have filled our home. An antique Victrola, a vintage wooden short-wave radio, beautiful wall art (courtesy, in most cases, of my Mother-in-law, who has a god-given talent for playing matchmaker with pictures and mat board and frames) and the results of my new found love of Old Virginia-style textiles.

It's just that - when it comes to the nitty-gritty of things like making beds and wiping down floorboards - I have always been, shall we say, a tad laissez-faire in my attitude. (Floorboards? People wash those? REALLY?? But my sister assures me that they do.)

But, suddenly, it's like someone set a pack of wild, OCD hyenas loose in my brain. They cackle madly as I scrub the last vestiges of toothpaste residue from the kids' sink. They howl with mad desire as I realize the seat-cushions on the dining chairs need a good steam cleaning. The rain yesterday? It kept me from steam-cleaning the carpet in our entryway, which won't dry if the humidity is above negative 4 million percent. I twitched with the intensity of the self-restraint required to keep my hands off my precious SteamVac.

As I warmed our dinner last night, it occurred to me that I was both pregnant and barefoot while in the kitchen. I suspect it occurred to my husband, as well, since he has suddenly decided that he is more in love with me than ever and "Hey! Let's take that government rebate money and get you a shiny new MacBook! You deserve it!"

So, yeah, I'm fairly certain he is formulating a plan to keep me preggers, like, forever. This whole nesting thing? Apparently it's not only a powerful aphrodisiac, it also gets you really awesome presents.

PANIC! At the Neighbor's

A funny thing happened last Friday afternoon. I was reading my emails, puttering along, and I got a birthday letter that got me a little worked up.

And then I had a panic attack.

I thought, for a moment, that maybe I was having a heart attack. My chest got tight, my heart was racing, I felt like I might vomit, and then I got so dizzy I had to lay down on the floor and wait for it to pass.

Weird, right?

But I figured, hey, these things happen. I'm so full of hormones that eTrade commercials (you know the ones - with the creepy talking baby) have been known to make me mist up, and I might have been self-medicating my stress with.. you know... copius amounts of Amish Fudge.

Then yesterday I took the boys to playgroup next door. And, standing in the middle of my neighbor's kitchen, I felt my face flush, choked mid-sentence, and looked down to be sure my heart wasn't leaping from my chest with all that pounding. I excused myself from the conversation with a pitiful croak and went to seek solace on the couch.

So! Panic attacks. Fun new pregnancy symptom! Apparently 50 percent or so of pregnant women experience them. This statistic makes sense to me for first time mothers, because that first pregnancy is so fraught with anxiety about the baby: Will it have 2 of each appropriate limb? Will that little heart keep beating? What about those oh-so-edible toes - will they be perfect as they should?

But this is my third kid, people. I'm over the scary first trimester, all is well with our little lemon-size baby, and I'm not worried about the pregnancy in the least. So why the panic attacks? Well, apparently caffeine and sugar can trigger them. Okay, so no more coffee for me and I'll cut back on that (*sniffle*) Amish Fudge. I'm giving this sucker a week. Any more of these unwelcome episodes, though, and I'm going to have to have a serious heart-to-heart chat with my fetal tenant. In fact, let's have a warm-up right now.

Hello, there, kid. Hey, listen - your dad and I are ecstatic that you're on your way and all, and your brothers have promised only to give you noogies after your skull plates have sufficiently fused so as not to give you, like, brain damage and stuff... But we're gonna have to talk about these panic attacks. You see, I'M not worried about you. I have my suspicions about your gender, which would explain why YOUR anxiety might be leaking over to me. But rest assured, kiddo, that all will be well. You just enjoy your next 5 months in there where it's all nice and warm and dark, and I promise that when you come out I'll let you rule the roost for a little while. All the milk you can drink, a fresh diaper every time you look like you MIGHT be thinking about transacting some business into one, and as many snuggles as you can demand.

For now, though, baby? Please to be stopping with the giving of the panic attacks. Really. One day, I might even buy you a pony! Wouldn't you like a pony?

Sincerely,
Yo Mama.

Still Standing

Or, more accurately, still sitting. Or laying down. Or schlepping my bulk from one room to the next, then to preschool and back again.

On the up side, I finally feel like there is light at the end of the tunnel. If I ever do this again slap me upside the head remind me that spending my first trimester in the darkest, coldest, gloomiest months of winter is not absolutely the brightest idea ever.

But, at last, the sun is creeping back out from its long winter nap, and yesterday the boys and I even sat out on the front lawn with some friends and had an impromptu picnic snack. The kids ran and giggled and fell down a lot, and generally behaved like you might expect from children who have been cooped up all winter and then suddenly released into the sunshine out in the Big Blue Room.

Other than that, though, there's not much new to report. We bought a new mattress for our bed! It's quite comfy, thank you. Definitely an improvement over the 20-year-old one we replaced. That mattress had grown so lumpy and awkward to sleep on that I would not have been surprised to find a body under it when I pulled it off to put the new one down. (Luckily, the only thing I found were several lonely socks.)

And before you go lecturing the pregnant woman on the idiocy of hauling a couple of queen-size mattresses around all by myself (with my herniated L5, 'natch), let me remind you that my idiocy has been long established on this site. You're not telling me anything I don't already know, or anything that my mother won't be telling me in a string of panicked emails as soon as she reads this. Hi Mom!

T has to head back to Ye Olde Czech Republic for a week or so, after which we will be celebrating my 29th birthday in style. Which is to say, in Amish Country. We try to take an annual trip to Lancaster County so that I can stock up on my yearly requirement of pepper jelly and handicrafts. We didn't make it last year, and the year before that we had only an abbreviated trip when we drove up to procure the devil demon dog, Gizmo. YOU know, "He who chews everything in sight, including my favorite black boots and several thousand toys and that one time he got ahold of one of the steaks before we got them on the grill and then I had to melt him with my heat vision." Yeah, him.

The time before that I happened to be pregnant with Tobin. I have the photos to prove it, as T took this photo of me outside a shop in our favorite shopping spot:

And, of course, now that the belly is burgeoning once again we'll likely take yet another opportunity to remind everyone that yes, we apparently enjoy The Sex, because here we are.. yet another bun in this here oven. I'll post the follow-up pic after our trip because - c'mon - we both know you're dying to see if I still look that smiley and happy-faced this time around, because - really? - THREE?

And yes, really, Three. And maybe another one if we are so inclined, but no decisions on that yet and definitely not beyond that because five is CRAZY territory, and it's another well-established fact that we have quite enough crazy around here already. Just ask any of the people I met at my sister's wedding. They were apparently forewarned that I am The Crazy Sister. True story.
(Also - on five being the crazy territory - Hi SB!! Love yer bunz!)

The other day one of the grand-dads who does drop-off duty at the preschool overheard that I was expecting once again. He looked at Jack yanking on my hand to hurry me to his class, and Toby clinging desperately to my leg and whimpering about "Choo Choo! And cookies, woman, COOKIES!" and said "And you haven't figured out yet how that happens?" and I smiled weakly and chuckled at his joke and then went home and ate a bag of M&M's - THE END.

Noto Photo and Feh-Brew-Airy

I know I have been extraordinarily slacking on the posting front lately, and I can only claim Seasonal Exhaustion as an excuse.

February is always a horrendous month for me - a month of moping around the house and generally feeling the gloom of the many, many days without warm sunshine. I checked the camera the other day and realized I haven't taken a decent photo of the kids since Christmas. CHRISTMAS, people!

It's as if, after the long January, by the time February stretches out into the longest-shortest month of the year, all my get-up-and-go of the holiday season finally got up and went. If you see it, please pass along the message that I'd like a little energy back.

The pregnancy is not helping.

Neither is Jack's cold virus, or his double eye infections. And you don't even want to hear about the relative armageddon of attempting to get antibiotic drops into his eyes to combat the green ooze that regularly trickles out of his sockets and down his cheeks.

Of course, it is March now. March! A new month. So why do I still feel so ... well... February?

My solution, of course, is a simple one. I made an appointment to get my hair cut. Also, I suspect a pedicure is in my near future. (Feet sticking to the sheets? Not a good sign, y'all.)

SO, after a few more days of rest and maybe a little pampering, I hope to return to you in all my wry glory. Also, hopefully there will be new photos before the kids go off to college.

Also, also... Friday is our first doctor's appointment with the new OB. I promise a full report once he's done poking and prodding at my lady bits. Cross your fingers there's a nice, steady heartbeat. Also, for my sake, hope that they don't try to tell me I'm less than 10 weeks along because I might have to drown my sorrows in chocolate. With wine and beer totally off the menu, I am left with only chocolate as recourse. Somehow, as good as a lindor truffle tastes, it just can't compete with a nice, soothing glass of good Cabernet Sauvignon.

That, and if I could make it through to October and gain less than 50 pounds? That would be lovely (and unprecedented). So, there goes the chocolate idea.

Any good ideas for other ways to spoil myself a little? Haircut, pedicure... night out with the girls on Thursday (to eat some good barbecue before the reflux and indigestion put the brakes on even remotely spicy foods). That's about all I have come up with. Suggestions? Treats? Invitations to make use of your Tuscan Villa for a weekend?

Ready, steady, GO!

And Then I Exploded and Died, The End.

I just ate about half a pound of beer-simmered sauerkraut.

I feel no shame on this account.

If I still needed proof of the pregnancy, this would about cover it.

Also, I apologize in advance to my fellow inhabitants of the Potomac Region for the blast of unholy wind that will doubtless make its way to the coast later this evening. Because sauerkraut + pregnant digestion = gas that would shame even my dog, and he was born without the necessary higher brain functions to feel actual shame. But trust me... if this was HIS gas, he would be ashamed.

But, for the record? OHMYGOODNESS how I do love me some sauerkraut.

Even if it means I might actually explode outwards from the inner pressure, thus ending a short but beautiful existence in a rare example of Death By Flatulence.

The End. (And you're welcome.)

Under Penalty Of Law

My sister went and tagged me. And, being that I am hormonal and emotional and that holy freaking crap, my boobs hurt, it's actually a relief to have this post write itself.

For the record, though? Vinegar cravings: check. Bloated like a drowned corpse: check. Falling asleep without warning: check.

But a sudden craving for a Wendy's baked potato? Really? And since when does the slightest tinge of hunger mean a wave of nausea? And when did children's television become so emotional? Because I don't remember Oswald getting me misty-eyed before.

Not that I'm complaining.... I mean, this is probably my last pregnancy. I guess I should enjoy the weirdness, aye? In a way, it makes my usual life seem almost... normal. *grin*

AND, away we go.

What was I doing ten years ago?
I was getting ready to run, screaming into the night, from BYU. I'd been in a stark clinical depression for months, without having any idea what depression was. I kept a blanket over my window and slept most of the day, worked nights at a movie theather, and cleaned house for one of my sisters on Fridays. I had no money, only one friend I trusted to talk to, and no idea where I was headed. I was just beginning my journey out of Mormonism, starting to put words to the feelings and ideas I was struggling with. It was the most difficult time of my life.

What are five things on my to do list?
Finish my crochet project
Finish Barack Obama's book, "The Audacity of Hope"
Find 5 new recipes to try out for dinners next week
Research how I'd go about starting a vegetable garden in the back yard
Get ready for my new business venture this summer (more on that in a later post)

What are three of my bad habbits?
Biting my fingernails
Leaving wrappers around the house
Making "to-do" piles on the counter; bills to pay, letters to write, appointments to schedule, etc.


Places I have lived?
Washington, Michigan, Virginia, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, California, Washington D.C., West Virginia



What are some things that most people don't know about me?
I have no known allergies except for very mild hayfever.
I had no idea how to cook until encouraged by my mother-in-law to learn. Now, I'm actually quite pleased with my culinary skills.
One of my most cherished dreams is to write and illustrate a children's book.
I never talk religion with my family, except for one sister I'm extremely close to, and I'm not even sure my whole family is aware I officially ended my membership in the LDS Church.


And THAT, my friends, will bring us to a close for today. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to actually... like.. get dressed, and stuff. My kids are mumbling something about snack time, and I try to be at least mostly-dressed for preschool drop-off in the afternoons.

Yours in sleepy, sleepy, oh my howdy the tired is like a disease and I actually fell asleep folding laundry the other day and can't you see how all these italics are stressing the depths of my tired, tired pregnant..um..ness? Amen.

Better Late Than Never (No Pun Intended)

I am late posting this, I realize. And now that it's Saturday there is a good chance that you people have lives (as opposed to, say, yours truly, who is at this moment also watching Johnny and the Sprites and just realized there are no children in the room. Send help. And cookies.)

But I have good reasons. I really do. You see, I am also.. well, LATE.

Yes, that kind of late.

Because I have not yet achieved optimum crazy, we will be welcoming Small Person Who Expects To Be Fed and Cared For Number Three this fall. Somewhere in the interim we will also be holding a "Bon Voyage and it was nice knowin' ya" party for the few parts of my body not yet covered in stretch marks.

Actually, though, so that there's no confusion here: We Are Ecstatic. I am ecstatic. Of course, I am also so tired that I keep falling asleep before nine o'clock. And I may or may not have eaten an entire pan of peach cobbler before bed last night - can't say for sure.

But, yes. Hello internets. In case you didn't already know?

Fertile as the Tennessee Valley in this house. Enjoy your weekend, and tune in Monday to hear more fascinating facts... like how I suddenly can't eat my favorite breakfast sandwiches, or how all milk and cheese suddenly smells like feet.

I can just feel your anticipation!