Next time, I'll do better

Parenting is rife with opportunities for failure. I often experience these moments of messiness with a "I can do better next time!" type of attitude. No, no that is not how I respond. Not really. In real life, I often respond by cussing like a sailor, stomping around and waving my arms like a pissy pants and topping off my melt down by drinking. Like, an entire bottle of wine (PRE-pregnancy folks, simmer down now). Oh, and sometimes I laugh after I'm done yelling, crying and drinking. Laugh at the absurdity of it all, because frankly if you can't wear a mixture of baby poop and vomit on your brand new white pants without chuckling a little, you probably never should have become a parent in the first place.

However, sometimes you have those little "oopsies" that you can't quite find a chuckle out of. You know, the mess-ups that make your heart tighten up for a moment because even though it turned out okay, it truly could have turned out really NOT OKAY. That happened to me this morning.

To start the story, I have to back up a month ago or so to the Great Edelbrock Sick-Pocalypse of 2011. This featured the three of us passing around every cold and sinus infection known to man so that at least one of us were ill for a consecutive six weeks. It was pretty miserable. So drugs (over-the-counter, totally legal mind you) drugs were flying around like candy. At the same time, I realized that Kate DID think pills looked a lot like candy, which isn't surprising considering their size and shape. So I became vigilante about getting all our medicine in one container, far away from a certain child's sticky fingers.

At the same time, my husband was just trying to stay awake/alert enough to bring home the bacon. So he stuck pills in his pants pockets, his coat pockets, up his nose (kidding, sort of) or any place he might get a quick fix when needed. I "reminded" (ie nagged) him to keep medicine out of the reach of Kate on a fairly regular basis. Still, one day Kate was pretending to "drive" his car, and I looked down and saw a small pharmacy in the cup holder. In frustration, I picked up all the pills and shoved them in the change pocket of my wallet before Kate could notice the "candy" in daddy's car.

Fast forward to this morning. I have not opened the change purse in my wallet since that day (not joking, I never use real cash anymore so I never have change to put in it). So imagine my SHOCK and FREAKING SURPRISE when I came back from putting laundry in the drier to see Kate sitting on the sofa, playing with my wallet and surrounded by pills. HOLYSONOFABSUCKHELLDAMN!!!!!!

In my sheer panic, I simply yelled at my daughter. Soooooo, mom of the year there. She dropped my wallet (in what I can only assume was a "what IS your problem lady??" reaction) and I swooped down on the pills and demanded she tell me if she ate any of them. She told me, in a small voice and with VERY wide eyes, "No mommy..." Yeah, I would say "No" too if I had a crazy lady virtually attacking me. "Tell me the truth!" I said. "YOU CAN"T HANDLE THE TRUTH!" she yelled back.

Haha, no she didn't. Sorry, basically she kept telling me she didn't eat any of the pills, medicine, candy, whatever I called it, she assured me none of them had not passed her lips.

Not to call my daughter a liar or anything, but I chose to go ahead and pretend she HAD eaten at least one and called poison control. The lady on the other end quizzed me about the number of pills originally in my wallet (if I knew that, I would likely know if she had EATEN ANY, right??) what kind they were, etc. I ended up repeating "I don't know" a bunch of times and telling her repeatedly about the pills in the cup holder so she would know I don't just leave drugs LAYING AROUND FOR MY DAUGHTER TO NOSH ON. That I was PROTECTING HER when I put those in my wallet. Damn it.

We finally got to a point where she told me that unless Kate hoovered 10 pills in the literally two minutes I was gone, she was going to be fine. To watch her for drowsiness or upset tummy. Since I knew there weren't THAT many pills in my wallet, I felt much better. And after a morning at the park, I pretty much figured she hadn't eaten a single pill. But seriously, for a good 15 minutes there, it was really touch and go.

Boring story? Kind of. It didn't end with an ambulance ride, a huge medical bill or anything else that would create a truly good episode of Grey's Anatomy. But it really terrified me. Because often I forget how fragile it all is, how lucky we are to be entrusted with these little disasters. How we sometimes act as the only barrier between our loved ones and certain disaster (injury or death) on a regular basis. So this time, instead of my normal cursing and stomping, I really did think, "Next time I'll do better" and MAN. I can't stress how much I mean it.

Fishing for compliments

I've recently been reminded why fishing for compliments, especially with one's spouse, can be a bad idea. This happened after meeting a couple in our neighborhood who were also having a kiddo in August. They were out walking (exercising). We were (obviously) NOT exercising, but instead watching our daughter spin in circles in the front yard and taking bets on whether she would puke when she was done, or just fall down.

Ben: I need to start walking with you. We should make that a "thing" like last time you were pregnant. You know, walking, you getting exercise.

Oh, yeah, chasing a two-year old isn't exercise at all. Good thing I have you to help me "work out" 

Me: Yeah, it would be good for me to get out and walk more.

Ben: Man, that is crazy she is due the same day as you.

I'm due seven days later, but whatever, this seems close enough so I'll give him the point.

Me: Yep, that is pretty crazy.

Still focusing on the "you need to work out" thing and feeling slightly insulted/insecure in my belly-ness. I'll let him redeem himself here.

Me: Do you think she looked better than me?

LOADED QUESTION. Do. Not. Get. This. Wrong.

Ben: No

Good man.

Ben: I mean, she was smaller than you.

Wait. WHAT?


Ben: I mean, she had a smaller frame.

As in, I'm NORMALLY fatter than exercise lady, so I can't help being fatter in pregnancy??


Ben: And this is her first kid.

So, since I'm already a mom its OKAY that I'm fatter?

Ben: Plus, she was wearing work out clothes, you know, tighter fitting, instead of a big flowing dress.

But I'm not wearing a dress! I'm wearing pretty tight fitting jeans. I don't understand what is happening here? Where is my compliment? Where is my "You look fantastic honey" or "You are the most beautiful pregnant person I've ever seen." WHERE IS IT?!


Me: But... (insert bewildered and wild stare here) I'm not even WEARING a big flowing dress...

Ben: Yeah, but you know what I mean.


What?! What do you MEAN?? No I don't know WHAT YOU MEAN.


Me: Um...


Alternating between crying inside and imagining my fist in his face. Must. Seem. Non-Hormonal...


Me: Sooooooo, what's for dessert?

The photographic proof

I get it. I all announced my pregnancy, and then "Poof!" disappeared for a good six months or so. Part of that was because with part-time work, a full-time toddler and pregnancy symptoms like "general ickiness" "wanting to puke-itis" and "OMG I'm so tired" abounding, I just didn't have the gumption to write anything (semi) intelligent about our lives.

But there was more to my lack of blogging than just shear pregnancy-induced laziness. What I didn't realize with my first pregnancy was that while every experience was NEW! EXCITING! WORTH BLOGGING ABOUT! to me, there are a million (or a gazillion, I'm no fact checker) other women out there who have experienced exactly, or at least pretty damn close to EXACTLY THE SAME THING AS ME and my unborn wunderkind. Meaning... whatever I believed at the time, I ain't so special. And (shocking, I know) neither was my pregnancy.

Being knocked up a second time is all about the symptoms with none of the romance. My first pregnancy sweet talked me into thinking I was special, that it loved me, that if I'd just let it get to second base we could have a happy future together. My first pregnancy was a complete a-hole, stringing me along by introducing a neat new baby/fruit comparison each week to get me all hopped up on its love, then would hit me with 5-10 pounds of acne and some weird kind of tummy hair.

This time around, I know the game. I'm older. Wiser. Meaner (or crotchety, pick your adjective). Things seemed just a little less funny, a little less ironic and a little more "OH SWEET LORD LET THIS BABY HURRY UP AND FULLY GESTATE ALREADY."

Please don't get me wrong. I am beyond excited about baby E2 and how he will truly complete our little family. It is just different. I tend to focus less on the day-to-day details of creating a little life, but I still talk to him, still get shivers when I feel him moving and still get teary eyed when I think about HE will be the responsible one who takes care of me when I'm old, crabby and possibly balding from Kate-induced stress (she will either be president or a criminal mastermind I'm sure, both of which will cause me some hair pulling and gnashing of teeth I am sure). But a second pregnancy is... it is just different. And I've asked around. You know, the mommy-circuit. And it seems I'm not alone in feeling this way, which is kind of comforting because I was starting to think I really SHOULD be looking at my week to week fruit baby and getting all giddy because OMG a plum. A PLUM BABY!!!!

However, moving on to the point of this post, I feel like I owe you something to prove I really am "with child" despite my lack of fruit-related blog posts. So I've included some photographic proof to ensure you that I AM in fact pregnant, and not some nut job who just tells people I am and then steals some baby from the NICU or carries a doll around and calls him "Henry."

These photos were taken over Easter weekend, so I was, um, 28 minus a few weeks, carry the one and divide by 20... I was about 24 weeks here. Which means I am currently BIGGER than this, which doesn't seem possible but I assure you, is quite possible. Ask my husband who is currently clinging to his tiny sliver of the bed, trying to fight for space against my pillow nest I've created to sleep in. He will attest to my big-ness. And my love of pillows.

THIS GIRL

Who slept all night long in her new big girl room / big girl bed? Who didn't wake up once and even slept IN this morning? Who totally rocks her mama's world?

Yeah. THIS GIRL.

Changes

I don't really know what nesting is, or when it kicks in, but I figured something was going on last month when I found myself feverishly digging through our spice cabinet, throwing out anything that was even NEAR an expiration date. I think I left us with salt, pepper and some paprika my sister-in-law brought us from Hungary. 

It was also about that time that I started to get really itchy to get the rest of our house in order. Our master bathroom has been under construction for the last several months (I blame the DIY network for leading us to believe it wouldn't be LIVING HELL to remodel our bathroom ourselves) which has pushed us into the guest room and all our stuff into various living spaces. Add to that the new clothing, decor, and STUFF we've purchased for the new baby and basically, our home runneth overeth with crapeth.

While I don't have any control over the master bathroom at this point (sweet LORD please send a handy-man angel to our home to finish it while we are sleeping), I knew that I could start to transition Kate from her nursery to her new big girl room. After a week of painting, moving, organizing, shopping and talking about the new room like it is the next best thing to backstage at a U2 concert, we've finally made the BIG MOVE tonight. 

So far, fingers crossed, it is going gang-busters. Despite a thunderstorm outside, we haven't heard a peep from Little Miss Thing since I tucked her in. Although she could just be operating in stealth mode and may have already snuck through the duct system like a ninja to steal the car for a nice joy ride.

Next up, I tackle the nursery for E2. And in less than three months, I'll have a baby to put in it, which totally blows my mind because, um, where did those first two trimesters go? And, can I please have them back so I can properly prepare for this whole family of four thing that freaks me out every time I see a mother with two kids at the supermarket (is that panic, despair or a little of both I see in her eyes?)

But that mini-freak out is surely a post for another time. Tonight, we celebrate the BIG GIRL ROOM!