I'd rather be sleeping

I'm trying very hard not to disappear from the blogosphere now that Beckett is here, but I have to admit, posting regularly is slightly difficult right now. This is mainly because it is very rare that BOTH my children are sleeping at the same time, and if by some off chance they are, then I'm rushing around the house, trying to be productive -- washing dishes, doing laundry, mopping and waxing the floor, planning a strategy for the implementation of world peace... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Yeah... I'm totally lying. If my kids are snoozing at the same time, you better believe I'm curled up in the fetal position right there next to them, trying to soak up some of the silence and stock piling a few hours of shut eye to prepare for the "dark time" (aka night, aka the time when I want to cry for several hours in a row b/c my son will not sleep, aka HOLY GOD WILL THIS INFANT EVER GET DAY AND NIGHT FIGURED THE FUCK OUT?!)

Ahem. Sorry. 

Anyways, with all that said, stories and information and general randomness keeps piling up over here, so I'm doing a quick round-up post to update everyone on life around the EdelSpot. It goes a little something like this:

1. Showering has become something akin to a religious experience for me. Seriously. My house is never, and I mean NEVER quiet any more. There is a baby crying, a toddler melting down, a dog barking or the television/radio blaring nearly every single moment of the day, and half the night. So when I shut my bathroom door, and turn on the blessed white noise of the shower, I very nearly weep with joy. I love opening the shower door and getting hit with the puff of steam I've let build up, I love that first moment when I step into the slightly scalding water, and I love (WITH A PASSION) the feeling of relief I get as all the dried milk, baby spit-up, finger paints, and random food items (sometimes smushed in my hair) gets washed away. For those 10-15 minutes I have a lovely feeling of being just a woman (and not a mommy), and it is delicious. Even though I know it will only last a few moments before I'm once again scraping peanut butter off my arm or wearing a t-shirt with an apple juice stain on it. And I'm okay with that. As long as I get my time in the shower.
2. It is official that second children get treated differently than first children. Haven't decided yet if that is a good or a bad thing for Beckett. On the good end of the spectrum, second children seem to be (at least in our household) worried over less, which probably will lead to a healthy and non-twitchy kiddo. On the bad end of things, I have about two photos of our little man and instead of stressing about whether things are clean, sterile and steam sanitized, I find myself using lukewarm water and a prayer (on a good day) or my very own spit to clean items from pump parts to pacis.  And once I let the dog lick something clean (I think it was Beckett's head).
3. Some things never change. See this post about my magical nipples. Apparently, they have not lost their ability for good since Kate was a baby, as they are working their witching ways with Beckett. GOOOOO BOOBS!
4. Speaking of boobs, Beckett weighs a hefty 7 lbs. 14 oz. now, which means mine have moved to udder status quite well, thank you very much. Today was our two-week check in, and Beckett's stats are 22.25 inches long (95% so we have a tall boy like his daddy), 7 lbs. 14 oz. (45% so slightly below average) and his head circumference is 35.8 inches (40%). Really, nothing too interesting here, but have to put in the pertinent info because as I've outlined before, baby books likely ain't gonna happen, so I'm just planning to tell my kids to Google their info when they ask some day.
5. I picked up a pamphlet about temper tantrums at the doctor's office today. The title of the piece is "Temper Tantrums: A Normal Part of Growing Up." I don't really plan on reading it, but the subtitle makes me feel good somehow, so I'm just going to hang it on my fridge and stare at it every time Kate blows a gasket because she can't find her Cinderella doll, or I won't let her have a second brownie, or global warming pisses her off.
6. I also learned at the doctor's office that I am not a terrible mother (well, actually that wasn't confirmed, but ONE of my fears was laid to rest). For the last several days, I've been thinking that Beckett always has a load in his diaper because he smells funny, but half the time he is clean. So last night I'm holding him and thinking how much I love him, and then I'm thinking how bad he smells. And wondering if it is normal that I think my child stinks instead of thinking he smells like happiness. And THEN I start to worry that maybe HE doesn't smell, that I am smelling ME, so then I get all paranoid about my hygiene AND I think I'm a bad mother because I STILL think my baby smells bad. Fast forward to the doctors office and I find out that his umbilical cord is getting ready to fall off, and that is why it smells bad. There is nothing wrong, it isn't infected and he isn't going to always be the stinky kid in class, but that just happens sometimes. Whew. Still, I can't wait until that damn thing falls off so I can snuggle my baby and NOT think about breathing through my mouth instead of my nose.

I think that is about it for now. The house is still slightly quiet (except for the a/c repairman who will leave before my children wake up if he knows what is good for him) so I'm going to take a moment to make sure the house is in order, do some ironing, maybe bake some banana bread.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Beckett is already hosting important business meetings with his stuffed animals. That or they are planning a raging kegger. 

My babies.

Kate during her daily dress-up routine -- I have to admit she makes an adorable Cinderella. However, everything must be just right, including her makeup, gloves, shoes and purse or she has a temper tantrum. But its okay, its "A Normal Part of Growing Up." Whew.

I wouldn't say I hate my lady parts...

...but, we are not on the best of terms right now.

I had my 39 week doctor's appointment today and man, talk about a downer. I went in and nothing, and I mean NOTHING is happening DOWN THERE. In my LADY BITS. Well, I mean, you know, my INTERNAL lady bits. My SPECIAL PLACE. Am I being too gentle in my description for you to get the point? Let me elaborate:

MY CERVIX IS NOT DILATING. MY UTERUS IS NOT DOING ANYTHING TO HELP MY BABY GET OUT MY HOO HOO. I AM GOING TO BE PREGNANT FOREVER.

Even my doctor was all, "Girl, this is a second baby, what is going on here?" and I'm all, "I don't know, could this be punishment for watching porn that ONE TIME just because I was CURIOUS? Is that, like, a thing?? Porn punishment through never-ending pregnancy?!" (Apparently, no, that is not medically "a thing" so, you know, whew. Dodged that bullet)

I started to get kind of irrational upset, but then I remembered that during my last pregnancy, I wrote a post about how lazy my cervix was being. Which kind of made me feel better because I still had Kate on my due date, and if I remembered correctly, my body wasn't doing tons to eject her before I went into labor either. So I rushed on home, looked up my post and BAM. Felt horrible again because OMG that post was from SEVENTEEN DAYS before Kate was born. And, to make matters WORSE, I may have felt that not much was going on down there towards the end of my last pregnancy, but at least it was giving off a "we're going to have this baby sometime this year" vibe. Whereas today, my special place is all, "I COULD start working to get this baby out, but I am le tired. I'll take a nap and think about starting the whole process tomorrow. MAYBE. Yawn."

I'm about to take my special place out and beat it to death.

Me and My Lazy Cervix

Yesterday was my doctor appointment with Santa, and the jolly old guy did not disappoint. He gave me a few high-fives during my appointment (which can be awkward when he is also in between your knees) and basically told me I was doing great. I think "great" is a technical term, but if you want me to get really detailed, here is what I learned.

(By the by, if you are of the male persuasion and NOT my husband, or if you are female and girly/pregnant-y type details gross you out, you may just want to skip this post and continue to think that Baby E is going to magically appear thanks to Leprechauns, space aliens or the Tooth Fairy. It will just be easier for all of us involved.)

I'm about 50% effaced, which means my cervix is thinning out -- and although the medical details for why this is necessary is still slightly fuzzy, I do know that it has to happen for the baby to be born and I'm halfway to 100% so that has to be good.

Next, Ben and I were right... Baby E HAS dropped. A lot. As in, when Santa was doing my internal exam he told me he was TOUCHING HER HEAD. As in, well, if HE could reach in and touch her head, I probably could too if I were so inclined to try (I'm not by the way). She is at a station minus-2, on a scale of -5 to 5 (5 being when her little head is popping out). A zero means she is "engaged" which means I'm in labor (hopefully) so I was thrilled that she really is starting to get into position.

Finally, the not so exciting news. I'm not dialated at all. Even with these other great pre-labor signs, not a darn thing is going to happen until I start dialating, so I'm trying to mentally coach my cervix to GET WITH THE PROGRAM. My doctor suggested walking at least 30 minutes a day. If that is going to get me to have this baby sooner rather than later, I'M ON IT. I sacrificed today at lunch and walked around the mall with a colleague who wanted to shop and I stood by while she purchased adorable clothes that didn't have waistbands made of ELASTIC and I turned green with envy at her ability to fit into clothing that doesn't look like a circus tent. It was torture for me, but it was also me standing and walking around for a good half hour, so that should tell you something about how badly I want this baby OUT OF MY BODY.

However, to keep this positive, Santa did tell me that he felt I would have the baby naturally and close to my due date, and hopefully I won't have to be induced (yeah!) Then again, he also guessed I was having a boy when he listened to the heartbeat (um, wrong there buddy) so Santa may not be the MOST qualified to guestimate my delivery. My next appointment is with THAT WOMAN (my actual doctor) next Thursday, so hopefully my lazy cervix will have done something by then and I'll have more news to report!

Week 37: A Wish for Santa

Today marks the start of week 37 for me and Baby E. For my troubles, I received a massive kick in the ribs this morning as a wake-up call and then for good measure, a little bouncing on the bladder. Apparently Baby E is a morning person.

This Thursday, I FINALLY get to go in to see the doctor again. Most everyone I know goes to see their OB-GYN every week from 35 weeks on, but not my practitioner. OH NO, she apparently is getting no "it could happen early" vibes from me, so I'm still on the every two weeks cycle. Which is completely FREAKING ME OUT. Because, how do I know that I'm not totally dialated and ready to have this kid? In fact, she even has me scheduled with her colleague this week instead of with her. Apparently, she doesn't feel the need to see me, since, you know, I have, like, a FULL TERM BABY INSIDE ME.

I'm almost hoping my doctor's colleague is on call for my delivery instead of my doctor anyways. Her colleague in the practice has been named top OB-GYN in Dallas for like, 30 years running. He is extremely calm and comes across very caring, lovable and father-like. And, I don't know why this delights me so much, but he has this great tuft of gray chest hair that peeks out of the tops of his scrubs. His eyes even twinkle. Seriously, they TWINKLE. Its like if Santa Clause decided that delivering gifts to ungrateful children everywhere was no longer fulfilling, and he decided instead to care for the vaginas of the world. Now THIS is a man I could have deliver my child. I'm thinking of asking for his on-call schedule and by sheer willpower having Baby E while he is working.

But until that day, Baby E and I are just trucking along. Ben and I are almost positive she's dropped, which is something that typically happens to first time moms soon up to a few weeks before the birth. Ben says my belly looks lower, which I can sort of see, but MY telltale sign that she is lower is my need to run to the bathroom every 20 minutes since she is using my bladder as a recliner. Oh, the joys!

A few pictures so you can marvel at the week 37 belly. The OMFG HUGE week 37 belly.

Week 35: The weight debate

Having a debilitating cold has its pros and cons. I believe I may have beaten you over the head with the cons last week, so how about today we start with the pros.

I had my week 35 appointment today, and (drum roll please) I LOST four pounds since my last visit!! I nearly wept with joy when I heard that, and once the nurse left the exam room, Ben and I high-fived and did a little victory dance that I'm pretty sure looked more like the African Anteater dance from "Can't Buy Me Love" (awkward and unattractive) but it still felt pretty darn good.

When my doctor came in to chat, I again mentioned how excited I was that I lost weight. She looked at my chart, made a few notations and looked at me and smiled, and then said "Yes, that is good. Now you are at a perfect weight. Try not to loose any more weight, but don't gain any either. Try to stay just about where you are."

I think my eyeballs may have popped out of my head while she was looking back down at the chart. I wanted to say "Sorry sister, but this isn't exactly a precise science, what with the baby gaining about half a pound a week, and me facing down cravings like a fighter pilot facing enemy crafts and my body retaining water like a camel before a long trek. I mean, sheesh lady." But instead, I shook my head in eager agreement and looked innocent. I then went for lunch and had two biscuits slathered with honey for my reward, followed by an enormous dinner with ice cream for dessert. Yep, I'm going to get back to watching what I eat, but damn if that little day of indulgence didn't make me happy, and the four or five Tums I had to take down to atone for it didn't even taste all that chalky.

Week 28 -- The Best is Yet to Come

I'm officially in my third trimester, and I'm happy to report that with this new stage of pregnancy, I've also experienced some fun new "symptoms" (for lack of a better word), including burping, nose bleeds and extreme stupidity.

The burping and nose bleeds aren't enjoyable, but besides being embarrassed because I giggle every time I burp (I've never been ABLE to burp before so now I find it highly amusing) I can deal with these little annoyances.

What I can absolutely NOT fathom is my newly found extreme stupidity. Extreme. Sure, I've complained of "pregnancy brain" -- the forgetfulness that comes with having a baby (and which leads my husband to tell me that the baby is sucking my brain) but I had an experience this Sunday that later led me to wonder if perhaps Baby E really IS sucking my brain, and will I have any brains left to work with after she is born?!

Chances are not good. Because on Sunday morning, I woke up in a fog and rolled over (ungracefully -- got that big ol' belly, remember?) in bed to ask my husband "What is today's date?" to which he told me it was December 28 and I realized I had forgotten my Dad's birthday the day before (December 27). FORGOTTEN. I felt awful. I felt like an ingrate. My father is such a doting, caring and loving guy, and I had just basically wiped my feet with his special day. I spent the morning mentally head slapping myself and generally feeling like I was the scum of the Earth. But it didn't end there.

As the whole Edelbrock clan loads up in the car to head to church, Ben announces in the car that I've forgotten my father's birthday (okay, maybe he didn't "announce" or "point fingers" but at that point in my guilt-ridden morning I was fairly certain that he had just told my in-laws that I was the worst daughter on the face of the planet). And with that, the guilt multiplied because not only was I a bad person, but people KNEW I was a bad person now.

And to top things off, when we get to church the priest starts talking about the theme of that Sunday which was family, and how important family was and I swear in less than 30 seconds I had tears ROLLING DOWN MY FACE. Pair extreme guilt with pregnancy hormones and a normal person doesn't have a chance -- Hell, SUPERWOMAN wouldn't have a chance.

I was a wreck.

But as I slowly pulled myself together, the TINY part of my brain that hasn't been taken over by the baby started to struggle with why I was upset. Because that TINY part that can still think rational thoughts is reminding me that I've never been in town to celebrate my Dad's birthday with him over the Christmas break. And that is because my Dad's birthday isn't on December 27 at all.

Let me repeat that.

My Dad's birthday is 100% NOT on December 27, but on December 29, the NEXT day. I had NOT missed my Dad's birthday.

I HAD however, been completely and utterly convinced that his big day was on the 27th. Despite 28 years of knowing this date the EXTREME STUPIDITY of pregnancy made me absolutely SURE that his birthday had been the day before and I had missed it. And in turn, my husband's ENTIRE FAMILY would soon know that I was suffering from extreme stupidity.

So I did what any self-respecting person would do and willed myself to forget what I had just realized. I sat through church quietly, praying for God to return my brains and didn't tell Ben what I had realized until about SIX hours later when we had driven back to Dallas and he was pestering me to call my father. I tried to make it into a big joke "Isn't this funny Ben?" but he just looked at me sideways and turned back to the basketball game, which made it pretty clear that this episode had surpassed pregnancy brain in a BIG way.

So joy to the third trimester and all it brings us this New Year.

My week 28 picture from Sunday night. I also had a doctor appointment this morning, although besides gaining an unheard of EIGHT pounds in four weeks it was fairly routine -- she called me a fatty (albeit nicely), suggested I eat more veggies and less pie, and sent me on my way.