Work

It's kinda hard to feel sorry for myself with so much promise exploding outside-buds, bees, birds, flowers...pretty hard to keep me down today. And 75 degrees? Perfect.

But, we've been through a lot this week. When the kids are older, maybe even when they have kids of their own, I think we'll look back on this and say, man, remember when Collin was in kindergarten and everyone got Rotavirus? That was terrible. As in, it doesn't ever have to happen again. Ever.

Truth be told, only half of us have had it. That's the scary part. Poor Collin has already lost 10% of his body weight, and refuses to eat and drink much of anything. He does take comfort in white milk, something he has long abhorred. That's odd. But, whatever will stay down and isn't complained about is okay with me at this point. It's been very trying, and HE'S been very trying. He's a terrible sick kid. I remember as an older baby, he had a stomach flu, and completely slept through the throwing up part. Of course, the diarrhea lasted for days, as it is now, but there's not much to be done about that. My mom tells me I always got it badly, too. Yay, genetics. Anyway, Gordon and I each briefly escaped, and later we agreed that it was such a nice break. I'm certain he was happy as a clam to go to work.

The tv's been on every waking moment. That, of course, has resulted in Collin wanting every toy that is currently offered. There is also a constant stream of "Mama! Get Splenda! It's sweet, but not sugar...you won't get fat!" and "Mama! Why don't you ever listen to the tv? Just press OnDemand, so you don't have to go to the movie store or wait for the mail!" So, yeah, Collin must be a little better.

Now, it's Monday morning, and Cameron is "sick", too. At 8am, she looked perfectly fine, but claimed her belly didn't feel right. Gordon wondered if we should let her stay home. I shrugged and went back to bed. Now, she looks like she might not feel great, but admitted that most of the problem is the fear of throwing up in school. I can't say that I blame her. Her teacher is the man who, when a kid asks to go to the nurse for nausea, tells them to get the garbage can and sit back down. Which reminds me that I was supposed to have a meeting about him with the principal today. Which reminds me that while I feel like I really need a vacation from this whole mothering thing, there is much more work to be done this week.

If

If you go around grumbling in your head about your husband, you'll probably be hanging up his coat (for the thousandth time) and cussing him when one of those big wooden hangers flies off the rod and smacks you in the nose. You might think God is trying to tell you something...or that the karma kicked in. You might then go to get the baby, and decide to change her. Then you put her down for a few minutes, and wrangle the three-year-old into bed. You might immediately have to threaten him to get BACK into the bed. Then you might get the baby again, and realize that she's peed through the new outfit and onesie you've put on her. You might commence to mentally grumbling again. You might change her with your icy cold hands, and the three-year-old will complain that she's keeping him awake (as if he's had any thoughts of sleep at all). He'll ask to poop for the third time in ten minutes. You'll then know that he really HAS mastered bowel and bladder control, because he's only letting out enough to last him a few minutes, thereby increasing his out-of-bed time. Then your older children might come in off the bus, making as much noise as their little bodies can produce. You might threaten them, too, and your mind might wander back to your guilty husband, sitting ALONE in his QUIET office. You'll probably start cussing him again, and the fact that he refuses to use birth control. You might curse the fact that you're nearly 35 and therefore it's probably not a good idea to use hormonal birth control anymore. And the IUD already failed...and condoms are, well, you know...and now the baby's worked herself up to a frenzy, so you'll probably have to go ahead and nurse her. You might park yourself near your laptop, so you can at least surf or update your Facebook status with one hand. The baby might behave herself and burp right away, and not even spit up on you, so you might sit there and snuggle her a while longer, ignoring all the Christmas stuff that still needs to be put away, and the third and fourth loads of laundry. Sooner or later, you might realize that the baby kind of smells like poop. Then you might realize that the smell is a little larger-than-life, if you will. You might look down and see that the baby has indeed pooped out of her onesie, and onto the second outfit you were holding in your hand, ready to put on her. Now you'll realize that there'll probably be a FIFTH load of laundry, and you'll drift back to your husband, who could easily wash clothes while playing his Xbox. While you're walking to your bedroom, you might hear a splat on the floor, and you'll note that she has indeed spit up...half on you, half on the floor. You might put the baby on your bed, on a waterproof pad so that she can do no more harm, and go get the infant bath tub ready. You might look down and notice that the baby has pooped all over your only clean pair of jeans. Your nine-year-old might dramatically burst into the bathroom and announce that the baby has peed...BESIDE the waterproof pad (who said only boys had that capability?), and all over your bed. Yes, it is Sheets Change Day. Yes, there'll be a fifth, and probably a sixth load of laundry. And you'll start mentally grumbling about your BGE and water bills. You'd then put the baby in the bath, noting that she does like being submerged in the water better than being in that bath-chair-thingy. But only for 90 seconds. You'd probably then hurry to dress the baby, who is screaming her fool head off. You see any hopes of a nap for the three-year-old slowly sailing away.

Then you might pick up your clean, sweet baby, nicely wrapped and smelling like Burt's Bees Milk Bath. You might snuggle her and decide all is right with the world. And decide maybe your attitude needs rebooting. But your husband will probably still be wrong.

Babies, Cats, Pigs & Bunk Beds

It's almost time for me to have this baby, as most of you know. I'm excited-REALLY excited to be done and to meet her, but I'm anxious, too. I am trying to just take things as they come, but I can't help worrying and anticipating.

I have been ridiculously busy, trying to get ready. I've tried to do all of my Christmas preparations (I still have stuff to do, but I'm pretty well set, except for wrapping). I've tried to clean up, and of course, wash all the baby clothes. There are still totes full of baby clothes in the back of the basement that I've begged G to retrieve...there are far too many obstacles for me to get them myself (namely, said Christmas preparations). I have been trying to keep up with the rest of the family laundry, keep the house in some kind of order, etc. Today I dropped a chunk of change at the store on staples and frozen foods so that we've got something to eat. I even managed to get a haircut, since that will surely be out of the question for a few weeks.

Anyway, so the two little boys are going to be sharing a room, sooner or later. We've been stalking Craigslist for bunk beds for some time now. Earlier this week, we were interested in a set that included a dresser, shelves, desk, etc. It's like a room-in-one. Well, that was sold (because someone else was interested, and the people tried to get me to "counteroffer", but as it wasn't eBay, I wasn't inclined to up my bid), but we found a similar set that was even cheaper. I finally got G to go take a look at them tonight, and he planned to just bring them home if they were in good enough shape. Even the mattresses were being included. I'm kinda iffy (ok, a lot iffy) about someone else's mattress, but I figured it was her daughter's (as in, one child, not two), and there would be waterproof mattress covers on top anyway. So, unless they were gnarly, it would probably be alright.

G called me from the person's neighborhood, and said he was pretty scared. He said there was a dirt road, and it just looked funky. I'm thinking to myself, whatever, plenty of people have a dirt road. Doesn't mean they're inbred or anything. Five minutes later, he called back. He was back outside, and informed me that there were about 45 cats in the house, and a pig. Yes, really...a pig. I insisted that he was joking, but he said, "An effing pig, Amy, I pet the thing!" Oh my. At first I was under the impression that the house was just funky, but he later assured me that no, it was in fact filthy. And the lady had left her 13 year old daughter home alone, to deal with this potential buyer of bunk beds, who could have been anyone, for all she knew. I'm thinking to myself, you were supposed to give the girl $550?! He said the furniture itself was not bad, but not worth the $550 since the mattresses would not be desired. I'd just as soon not inherit whatever nastiness they might contain.

So, one of G's coworkers was getting rid of a decent set of bunk beds, and we've bought them. We'll buy our own mattresses. At least we know that they're quality, and that his coworker is not a funky person. But oh man, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when G walked in there. I would have paid money to see his face when the pig appeared. And all 45 cats.

Update from my Baby Blog

Today started off extra-early. I had to go to University for my 3 hour glucose tolerance test, since I failed the 1 hour. Despite arriving before 8am, and telling two different front-desk-people that I needed to be at the other building by 11am and could I please have my nasty orange drink right away, they managed to ignore me until 8:22. That means I was going to be until at least 11:22 for my testing, and I needed to call across the street to let them know. I didn't have the number, and the lab people claimed they didn't, either. I suppose they didn't have a directory or even internet access, either. But, I did note that for a black lady, they immediately looked up her doctor's number. And with all the other black clientele, they happily sang, "Good Morning!", and inquired about their health, their day, whatever. Not so much with me. Nice.

Anyway, I felt pretty nasty by the time I left the lab...I was shaky, heart pounding, etc. Despite not being hungry, I wolfed down a small granola bar, and felt worse. I waited almost an hour and a half at the Fetal Assessment Center, since I had thrown their schedule out of whack. My ultrasound went well...we could see her hair! I have been saying that the only thing I haven't had so far is a bald baby, but I guess that's out now, too. She's estimated to weigh 3lbs 10oz, which is still larger than average. That puts her at roughly 6lbs 10oz at birth, which is more than Cam & Noah, but less than Collin. We'll see how that plays out.

Then I went for my non-stress test & biophysical profile. Things were going fabulously, and I thought I might get out in record time, when all of a sudden, her heartrate dropped. Where it had been in the 130s, it dropped to 85 or 90. I literally heard Kristen, the nurse I've been seeing, drop what she had and run over. She had me lay completely on my left side (I was only slightly propped before that). The heart rate rose to 106. Not good enough. She had me get onto my hands and knees, and the baby's heartrate went up into the 120s. I could feel her moving around, so I knew she was doing ok, but my heart was pounding. I tried to lay down again, but the same thing happened, and then they couldn't get a reading at all. Kristen called for the other nurse, and the doctor. I was given oxygen, and soon there was a crowd around me. The doctor came in and did an ultrasound...we could see her moving around, and he explained that my placenta is on the back wall of my uterus, so any time I'm on my back, I'm compressing the cord and the placenta. They told me I would need to go up to Labor & Delivery for monitoring, and then they would take it from there...meaning, if she didn't straighten up, I was going to have a Cesarean right away. I thought, this is it, I'm having a c-section this time. Well, I guess she just didn't like that floor of the hospital, because as soon as we went upstairs, she was fine. Her movement and heart rhythms were fabulous for the next three hours.

I saw three doctors and two nurses, plus two anesthesiologists. Each one wanted my history, and despite having given all of it several times before, I had to give it seven more times. Angie came up to stay with me, which was great. She lends a comforting feeling, and gives me a different perspective than when I'm just there, wrapped up in my own head. The doctor that I really liked came back in to tell me that my results were back from my 3-hr test, and they were great. She said my sugar was too low by the end (gee, you think so?!). I said, well, can I PLEASE have something to eat then? She said I could probably have something in a while, but I never did get to eat. I did get a cranberry juice, which my stomach didn't agree with. I was finally released, and on the way home, I stopped at Panera. I got a salad, half a sandwich (which of course has the calories of any full-sized sandwich one might make at home), and a frozen mocha, plus a hunk of bread...and I ate it ALL. I'm feeling much more human now. And as I sit here, the baby wiggling and having hiccups inside me, I'm thankful that she hasn't made her entrance into this world just yet. The last thing Kristen said to me was, "See you next week." I hope she's right.

Further Proof...

Further proof that when a parent realizes it is quiet, it is already too late...

Exhale

Following is from my baby blog:

23wks 6days

I went for my ultrasound to diagnose any problems, regarding my abnormal AFP test results. Ready for this one? My results were never abnormal! They were only borderline/slightly elevated. After the wave of relief, I really became pretty angry. Some of you might recall that this is not the first time this OB has regarded test results in the same way. I really think I'm going to switch doctors, and I hope the doctor I want is taking new patients. He's another perinatologist whom I have seen before (with Collin). He's at St. Agnes, where I will be delivering. I feel confident with him, and he's personable. I'm just fed up with my regular OB.

Anyway, they looked at the baby's spine again, and the brain, the cord, the placenta-everything. Everything looks perfect. I then talked at length with the genetic counselor, who said there is no issue. The perinatologist that I love, Dr. Arrabal, said he wouldn't even have tested any further, because the result was so slightly elevated, and because we'd already had a perfect ultrasound. I expressed my concern that the elevated level might be due to my own cancer (because maternal cancer could be a cause of elevated AFP levels in my blood), and the genetic counselor quickly dismissed that fear. She said it simply isn't possible.

So, there you have it-all that worrying and thinking about how my life might change, for nothing at all. I will say again that I wish I had never had the test in the first place, but at least I got to see the baby again. I'm most thankful nothing was wrong. I'll see her again in another four weeks, and then probably weekly after that. She's growing perfectly, and there is not a thing to be worried about right now.

Except telling my doctor that I no longer require her services. Anyone have any advice on that? Lord knows I hate confrontation, and I detest offending anyone, so that's going to be hard for me.

Thank you so much, to everyone who prayed for us. God is good. And a big thank you to Jenn for watching Noah today!

So Much

I haven't written anything in quite a while. That would be because I've been pretty darn busy. Not as busy as Kim (I don't know how she stays afloat), but pretty busy none the less.

My two older children are in school now. The daughter's having a hard time adjusting to the rigors of fourth grade (and not being on a summer schedule again). She's also just plain having a hard time. I'm certain she has ADD. Therefore, I've been having a hard time with her. Most of the time, I could choke her. She's completely defiant, and forgets E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Even those people in whose eyes she's always been perfect are now singing a different tune. I feel sorry for her, but she's maddening. She's extremely difficult to live with, and frankly, extremely difficult to love right now. Which makes me sad and depressed. I quite honestly feel like the daughter I used to know has died.

The middle boy is doing well in kindergarten, but it occurs to me that he needs a LOT of help in the handwriting department. Must be a boy thing. He also did something that surprised me today-he switched to his left hand. He hasn't done that since he was about two. I hope he's not a lefty in hiding.

My little boy is still the affectionate, lovable bully. He's even started pooping on the potty once in a while. Usually, that's followed by a poop in his pants, but hey...it's progress.

And, why does everything in the house have to break at once?

The A/C died some days ago. Thank God, we have some window units which are carrying us through the end of summer. Today we have the windows open, of course, which is also fine. For some time now, the toilets have been clogging, off and on. That's problematic, when you have five people who need to use the bathroom, and one who goes about every nine minutes (that would be my pregnant self). It's especially problematic when four are trying to get ready in one bathroom. At any rate, I've plunged, dumped hot water, tried Dawn, cussed, prayed...you name it. My dear husband has plunged. He also ruined the bowl of our new toilet with a crappy, worthless snake. He flooded the basement when he tried to flush the air vents. Then, on Sunday, neither toilet would work. I had had it, and I decided it was time to call the plumber. We know a plumber, and while it might not be cheap, we know he won't screw us. Well, G refused. He insisted he could fix the problem. Yes, dear, but when?! Needless to say, Monday, I went to stay with G's grandmother. Me, and all three kids. G was surprised, but I'm not exactly sure what he thought I would do if I stayed home...camp out at McDonald's most of the day? Dig a hole in the back yard? Honestly, I really wonder what he thought I would do. He did not seem to see the urgency in the matter, and didn't seem to be in any hurry to fix it. That's fine-I wouldn't be in a hurry to mess with shit, either. Which is why I would CALL THE PLUMBER. Expensive, yes. Maybe needs to go on a credit card-ouch, perhaps. But NECESSARY. TODAY. He couldn't understand why I was short with him. Eventually, I guess he wanted me to be nicer, or he wanted his family to come home, or something. Eventually, he began working on the problem. Really working. He removed the downstairs toilet, and there lay a bath toy, all covered in poo. SIGH. Love that little boy. You know that commercial where the man flushes all manner of things, trying to summon the hot plumber lady he saw next door? Yeah, that is my son, I guess. Rest assured, the toilet will flush. But the object might not ever enter the pipe. It WILL cause a problem, eventually. G has already deduced that the same problem exists upstairs. He rented a professional snake, but has already taken it back, because he's sure it's another toy. You can imagine that I'm not too pleased about that, either. One working toilet is good. One broken toilet is bad. But hey, I'm back home.

Staying with G's grandmother wasn't so bad. I only had to clean up after the kids, and I actually had help without asking once in a while. On the other hand, when I came back to my house, disaster awaited. A man, alone in the house for three days, is not a good thing.

So, anyway, since we're talking about spending money, we're talking about REALLY spending. Maybe 50% of our windows work (meaning, the others are painted shut, just plain don't open, or just plain won't stay open). You can imagine the loss of heat and cool they account for. The siding is ugly-it either needs to be painted (not my preference) or replaced. At least one portion of our roof needs to be replaced-might as well do it all. Our concrete looks terrible. And, we have a tree in the back yard that's going to cost a few thousand to have removed. It's pretty dead now, so it's time...before it falls on the house itself. It looks like we're going to suck it up and refinance. It makes me nervous, and I hate the thought of all that needs to be done. I don't even know if we can afford to do it all. But man, it will be so nice not to worry for a while when it's done. And it will be nice to enjoy our home, rather than want to stay away from it. Ah, if only the same would apply to the INside! Does refinancing come with a maid???