Turkey Day 2010... in Pictures...

...sort of.

I'll admit it.  Despite waking up earlier than usual, the day really got away from me and my camera actually became a bit of an afterthought. (I know, SHOCKING, right?)  As a result, I only took a handful of photos, neglecting to even capture the faces of everyone who was even there.  I didn't even remember to get a quick family photo!

Luckily, Dawn took this one of Marcus, Matt and I so at least there is proof that I was actually there.

Boy is it ever time for that baby to come out.

Never the less, it was a good day, filled with many blessing to be thankful for.

Our guests included Matt's youngest brother Marcus, our friends Dawn and Pat and their son Liam, plus Mark, Nicole, Mark's little brother Chris and their odd little dog who's name was very strange and long and I can't remember.

I made Peter's Handprint Turkey place cards for everyone. 

The table, awaiting its feasters.

*Most* of the food. 
Matt made turkey, green bean casserole, corn, bread rolls, pumpkin pie and pecan pie.
I made cranberry sauce and candied sweet potatoes.
Our friends Marc and Nicole brought stuffing, mashed potatoes and corn bread.
Our other friends Dawn and Pat brought a cheese appetizer plate and the wine.

Peter was ALL OVER that cheese plate.  Here he is feeding some to his Daddy.

Here is Matt carving the turkey.  So yummy.  Ooh, I could really go for a leftover sandwich right about now....

Unlike his first Thanksgiving last year, this year Peter actually got to enjoy the feast.  He seemed to like most everything, and what he didn't, he fed to the dog. 

Peter and his Uncle Marcus. 

After dinner, Liam and Peter played under the table.   (Mental note for the future:  folding tables make easy kid pleasing play forts!)

Some Thoughts

1.  I probably really need to do a Thanksgiving picture post for this year....  we had a great holiday, I'm just struggling to find the motivation to upload any of the pictures.


2.  I find myself wondering seriously if anyone actually HAD shared with me a lot of the nitty-gritty (often terrifying and usually at least mildly disgusting) secrets of pregnancy if I would have even believed them.



3.  Along these lines, my outie belly button has officially gone over to the bad place.  (Yes, if you ask my husband these days a lot of things tend to go to the "bad place," like the trash when it needs to be taken out, or the dirty dishes in the sink, or the master bathroom in general.)  But in the case of my belly button I'm not kidding or exaggerating.  Seriously, it's poking so far out its like a really misplaced third nipple.  I apologize if this comparison bothers you, but I can assure that my reasoning behind calling it this is sound.  I've heard that men who run can often have trouble with their nipples rubbing and chafing on their shirts.  Well, I'm certainly NOT doing any running these days (unless it's after Peter) but my belly button is chafing just like a running man's nipples none the less.  *OUCH!*

I tried coating it with Vaseline but this left a greasy circle in the middle of my shirt.  When I applied a band aid over the Vaseline, it wouldn't stay stuck.  So today I skipped the Vaseline and just applied the band aid.  This time it stuck soundly but I must complain that the relief was not nearly as great without the undercoating of grease.  Oh.  And then I had to remove the band aid.  OH MY!  If you think pulling a well-stuck bandage off of a hairy arm hurts, well, let me just tell you all here and now that that pain has NOTHING on the pain of ripping one off of some very tightly stretched, and very chafed baby belly skin.

UGH.


4.  I got my Christmas tree and a random sampling of Holiday decorations up today.  Namely, the decorations that are toddler safe and not likely to end up in 40 thousand pieces when he smashes them on the floor.  The tree (although filled with plenty of breakable ornaments) is safely protected behind a flexible baby gate.  It all went up while Peter napped this afternoon and I am very sorry that when Matt brought him downstairs I did not have a camera handy to capture the darling look of wonder on my son's face.  He was so in awe it nearly brought tears to my eyes. 

I know that Christmas is about celebrating the birth and gift of God's son here on Earth first and foremost.  And I truly believe that the key to celebrating the holiday lies in spending quality time with the ones you love and not in decorations or gifts.

But let me just tell you, the decorations sure do help to make this a special time of year.  :)

(And the gifts are fun too.)


5.  Matt's youngest brother is here for Thanksgiving.  He's in the army, is always stationed far, far away and constantly seems to be deploying to someplace dangerous and scary.  Having him here though has been so awesome.  He's a wonderful Uncle and I love watching him with Peter.  (Heck, yesterday he even willingly changed a poopie diaper!!)  When I was a kid I can honestly say that my favorite person on the planet was my Uncle Joe.  I confess that I've often wondered who might take this special role in the life of my own kids.  Not that my kids are in any way ever going to run short on Uncles since I have a brother, Matt has 4 and Matt's best friend (Peter's Godfather) takes the honorary title of "Uncle" as well.  But they all tend to live so far away.  I guess it's just really nice to see the distance removed for once, if only for a short couple of days and a good Turkey Dinner.  We love you Marcus!


6.  Today was Black Friday.  In holding with my normal tradition, I did ZERO shopping.  I wouldn't have even left the house if the dog didn't need a walk and we didn't end up going out to dinner.

Yeah!

Oddly enough though, Matt (the man who hates shopping as a rule) did go out. 


7.  Today is mine and Matt's 8th Anniversary.  Love you Babe! :)


8.. Only 3 more days and wake up....

You say "contracting," I say "contracting"

So this story might only be funny to me, but I'm posting it anyway. 

Tonight as Matt was taking out his contacts and getting ready to brush his teeth before bed I waddled into the bathroom with him.

"Would you be mad at me if I went in to labor tonight?"

(I've asked him something along the lines of this very question every morning and evening for at least the past two weeks.)

"Probably."  He replied.  "Why?"

"Well, it's might just be due to my needing to go to the bathroom (again) but I'm having another random contraction." I told him, hoping he'd hurry up so I could do my business.

"Ah!"  He said, "Lucky for you I know all about contractions.  I studied English in undergrad and now I am study contracting in graduate school!"

Oh. 

Ha.

See, it's a pun.

English contractions... as in, can + not = can't

And his major is CONtracting and Acquisitions for his MBA.  As in, how the military goes about purchasing goods and services.  Except he didn't say it like that, he pronounced like I would say my uterus was conTRACTing.

Get it?

He's funny.

Right.

Anyway, once I used the bathroom the contractions went away again so it didn't matter.

Biding my time...

On the one hand, all that's left really now is the waiting.  This time next week we should be getting Gramma Terri settled in to help take care of Peter while I am in the hospital.  And then I'm going to hug my sweet first born little man goodnight a few million times and try my darnedest to force myself to sleep so that when I have to get up around 5 am on Tuesday morning, in order to be at the hospital by 6 am for the 7:30 Cesarean I won't be a total zombie.

Most likely I'll just be hysterical instead.

First of all, I don't want to leave Peter for 3 or 4 days. 

Second of all, it's all supposed to happen so early in the morning and I am NOT GOOD at mornings.

Third of all I'll be facing major surgery, and having been through one Cesarean already, I'd be lying if I said I was not dreading going through it all again.  "All you should feel is some pressure!" they say.  AS IF.
Hopefully this recovery is fairly easy like the last one was though. 

And of course, fourth of all, I'll be about to meet my new baby.  Like face to face.  I can't stinking wait!

I've spent several of the last few evenings annoying my husband with talk about Peter's birth because it's the only thing that compares.  I've asked him like ten zillion times to describe those long precious early minutes after I first glimpsed his face when they whisked him off to the nursery while the doctor closed me up.  It's funny, but until now, I never really wondered what went on in that 30 minutes of time.  Doc had told me then that when he checked, Peter had been sprawled out in the baby warmer calmly sucking on the back of his hand.  Matt, by that point, had taken to looking really rather green and had been sent to the hallway to wait for me by one of the nurses.  Matt tells me that before he got kicked out, they nurses were monitoring Peter's vitals and they kept checking him and running little tests so I didn't miss anything major.  But, to me, it's just so odd I wasn't there for any of that.

Anyway, my hospital bag is packed (except for toiletries because I will be using those between now and then and in a pinch should anything happen to go on sooner the hospital undoubtedly has toothbrushes and shampoo.)  It's been sitting by the back door for a few days now giving me some peace of mind, because, if all else fails, at least THAT is done.

Because, see, on the other hand, A LOT needs to happen in the next seven days. 

Tomorrow is Bible Study and there's a whole to-do for the holiday going on with that. 

Wednesday, Matt has some big group project he needs to make major strides on, plus I have my final doctor's appointment before the main event and then I need to finish cleaning my house.  Namely, I need to break down and do something about the ginormous disorganized mess that has become the counter top in my bathroom, I need to mop the floors, run the vacuum and steam the dining room carpets. 

Because seriously, it's like there's this little boy that throws a lot of his food on the dining room carpet.

And therefore, ew.

But I keep putting off working on it because I'm fairly certain Peter might not let the clean last very long.

Wednesday evening, Matt needs to drive to San Jose to get his brother at the airport as he's coming in for the Thanksgiving from Hawaii.

Thursday, of course, is the holiday.  We've got two families joining us (an additional 6 people ) on top of ourselves and Matt's brother.  It seems like asking for trouble hosting this close to my due date, but I guess we just like to live dangerously.  Hopefully, nothing eventful happens and Marcus (Matt's brother) doesn't end up helping Peter host.  :)

Friday is Black Friday, which I will probably avoid like the plague.  The shopping here sucks anyway.  My goal is actually to get my Christmas tree and some decorations up instead so that I'm not trying to worry about that with a newborn when I come home from the hospital.

Saturday is the Ohio State vs. M*ch*g*n game, which I'm sure will eat up our entire morning.  Chances are good college football will eat up much of the rest of the day too.  Unless Marcus wants to do anything in which case I guess we'll see.

Sunday we have to get Marcus back up to the airport in San Jose to fly home.  Then will probably be church and there's an Advent kickoff lunch and craft workshop afterward.  Last year that was a lot of fun.  So we might do that.  Or we might all come home and Peter and I will  nap so Matt can do some more school work.  I feel like I need to spend every available moment sleeping this week as I might never get to do it again after the new baby arrives.

Monday, Matt has class all day, and his Mom flies in at night.

And of course, Tuesday is the main event.

So like I said, it's odd how on the one hand I feel like a sitting duck just waiting for baby to come, but on the other hand I'm going to be running around like a chicken with its head caught off this next week trying to get everything done. 

One thing is for sure though, while I really do want to be done with this pregnancy, what I really really  REALLY want is to hold this baby in my arms.

Belly Pictures

This past weekend we were out at a beautiful location near here full of lovely little gardens so that I could take some family photos of some friends for their Christmas cards.  Since my hair was surprisingly NOT in a ponytail and neither Peter nor Matt had any noticeable stains on their clothes I handed over my camera to my friend and she took some photos of us as well. 

When I was pregnant with Peter my girlfriend who's a photographer, actually flew out to San Diego to take some for us.  It was a whole production, and I'm sure, as a result, the photos were much more impressive.  I never did post any on here then.... but, you might all be happy to find that I did (just a minute ago) go in and back-post a few of my favorites.  You can click over and see them HERE if you'd like. 

Anyway, not to have my second born child be overlooked-- here are some from this pregnancy taken this past weekend. 

This looks so sweet, but Matt was NOT happy that we made him do that!

Almost a family of four....

Don't be deceived... they already find ways to fight with each other.  If Peter sits on my lap he gets little kicks in his back from inside my belly!

Love you kid!

And A.J., we can't wait to meet you!

More Doctors' Appointments

First of all, this post is a few days past due as I've spent the better part of the last few days really rather quite sick with what I can only assume was another nasty stomach bug.

As an aside, if anyone reading this saw me at church on Sunday (which based on my working knowledge of who I saw Sunday and the people I've shared this blog address with probably includes nobody) this stomach bug would explain my odd behavior during mass.  The immense desire I felt to lay down horizontally on (or under) a pew and evaporate into nothingness was NOT in fact due to contractions and/or early labor pains as so many of us thought (hoped) but was actually the beginning of about 48 hours of bathroom based hell on earth for me, um digestively.

Ugh.

Nothing I ate stayed in there.  One way or another, it all came back on me.  A lot.

What with all the vomiting and "natural colon cleansing" my body was giving me I thought perhaps when it was all said and done I might actually go into labor (I've read that these symptoms are often an early indicator of labor) but so far nothing has happened. 
:(

Actually the Braxton-Hicks have even settled down quite a bit.

But anyway, owing to the illness, this post is a few days past due.  My apologies.

So anyway.

Friday I saw my OB again and had another ultrasound.  Everything still apparently looks good.  I actually lost a pound (which also can be seen as an early sign of impending labor) but I still measured too big.  On Friday I was 36 weeks and 3 days along but I measured at a solid 40 weeks.  Doc said I have a lot of amniotic fluid which explains why I am so large.  He seems to think this is a good thing, so I am not inclined to argue (much.)

He measured the baby via ultrasound and gently informed me that there is a BIG head in there.  He estimated it to be 34 cm or so already so I reminded him that Peter's was 36 cm at birth.  Then he shared a story about this lady he'd delivered earlier via an eventually c-section.  The lady's father had arrived for the main event and my doc swore that man had the BIGGEST HEAD he had ever seen.  Like the sort of head that made him wonder if the man didn't need a neck brace sometimes to hold it up.  Doc was sort of amused because it was only AFTER 2 hours of pushing that the lady admitted that all the baby's in her family tended to go Cesarean owing to their genetic relationship to the man's giant head. 

Ah Dr. R... always good for a laugh.  Anyway, Doc looked around with the ultrasound and said everything seems good.  He estimated the baby then to have been right around 7 lbs which bods well for another 8 pounder in a couple of weeks.  He and Matt were joking about God only knows what the entire time so I can't remember really what we saw other than a confirmation of his earlier gender prediction.  Oh, and baby was confirmed to be head down and without the cord currently around the neck (Matt asked.) 

So, good news there.  Did I mention that the Cesarean got moved up from Dec 1 to Nov 30 because Doc had another surgery to do?  This mean the big day is just 14 days away, assuming nothing happens sooner. 

And really, sooner would be better.

But I can wait 14 days, if I have too. 

That's definitely a plus side to the planned C-section... there is an end in sight. 

Although, this morning I woke up with the most horrendous rash covering the sides of my belly.  And HOLY HECK if it doesn't itch.  I mean, my skin already itches a lot of the time.  My pregnant skin really itches ALL of the time.  This rash on the other hand... it itches so much it literally BURNS.  It makes me want to shave my skin off.  Anyway, calamine lotion is my friend. 

In other news, Peter FINALLY had his 15 month (which turned out to be his 16 1/2 month) physical on Monday morning.  I'm mostly just proud that I didn't throw up all over the place (or worse) although I am ashamed to admit that Peter definitely got his hand into the CLEAN toilet water during one of my trips to the bathroom.  YUCK! 

BTW, attempting to hold a 16 1/2 month old squirmy, and very strong-willed little boy up to the sink while nearly 37 weeks pregnant and trying to scrub any toilet-water-germs off his chubby little fingers is an adventure all of its very own.  But maybe that's a story for another day entirely.

So anyway, first the nurse got Peter's measurements.

weight- 24 lbs 11 oz... 45th percentile
height- 33 1/4 inches... 85th percentile
head- 49 cm... 80th percentile

Glad to know my chubby little man isn't so much any more.  Still pretty tall and still with the big head, but that's all fine by me.

The exam went fine.  Doc was impressed by how well he behaved during his exam (he sat in her chair staring up at her with enormously sweet little eyes and she sat in one of the "parent chairs" actually.)  She was also impressed with his verbal skills.   She laughed at his climbing skills.  I spent the entire time alternating between the role of proud mother and wondering where on earth my kid learned to behave so well.    All in all, I guess it was a pretty standard check up, which is great.  I love when things are "normal" and status quo, so to speak.

Then it was time for shots.  He was due for the dreaded MMR (if I'd been feeling up to it, I probably would have worried and freaked out a lot about this one since I have a family member who became very sick after getting that shot a number of years back, but as it was, I was just trying to stay awake and not barf on anyone) as well as his chicken pox vaccine and a flu shot.

Peter always entertains me a bit with his shots.  He never wants to lay down for them, but that really isn't surprising.  What does surprise me is that the first shot never seems to phase him much.  He just sort of flinches.  Then the second one went into the same leg and the boy WAILED.  (He really has been perfecting the volume on his unhappy screams lately.) 

But then the third one went in.

And there was the horrified look...

Followed by he quick moment of shock and anger...

Followed by the substantial gasp for air...

And then then there was the SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAMMM!!!!


The nurse plastered a band aid quickly on each of his thighs and ran for the hills.

I busied myself about snuggling him and getting him dressed since the distraction usually calms him down.

Happily the Doc had provided him with a new board book on aircraft to study and within moments he was merely red faced and a little snively as he looked at his new literary treasure. 

That's my big boy.  Always the little trooper.

My Museum Monterey

Late in the afternoon on Veteran's Day we met up with couple of other families from the neighborhood at the local children's museum for an hour of fun. Here are some of the pictures I took (since I am too pregnant to play very much...)

Peter enjoyed pretending to drive the tractor.

He wasn't sure what was up with the, um, eggplants (?)

He also enjoyed pretending to drive the fire truck.

Standing inside of a giant bubble!

Daddy popped up in the middle of the golf course!

So Exciting!

Before long, Peter was down in the bubble with Mr. Dan waving up at Liam and Grace.

Peter took Dan and Grace for a pretend cruise around the course in the golf cart.

Climbing into the tree house... "I don't need help Daddy!"

Sliding

Drs Daddy and Peter performing Surgery at the gigantic Operation Game

Constructions hats are always fun.

Now he's driving the ambulance... my goodness!

Checking out one last slide on our way out the door.

My husband is weird....

So, Peter happens to have a lot of rubber duckie toys.  My friends did a rubber duckie decoration theme for his baby shower and I took home many of the decorations and favors left behind.  As it also happens, one of those 2 friends who'd thrown that shower had also given me a Sailor Rubber Duckie earlier in the year.  (Her hubby was a marine so she had a marine duck of her very own. I guess she'd gotten them at the same time.)  Additionally, at a recent birthday party, Peter was given a construction worker duck as part of his favor box. 

This is all fine by me, as I find rubber ducks to be sort of amusing.  In particular, the little character ones "quack" me right up.  (Sorry, bad pun, couldn't resist.)  I am forever flipping through the pages of Oriental Trader catalogs though, trying to find excuses to order more of their random little ducks.

Could all these ducks "floating" around our house (har, sorry, I did it again with the punniness) have anything to do with the fact that Peter's first word (after Dada) was "DUCK!"  I'm thinking signs point to yes. 

So then this evening, Peter is in his bath.  Matt is working on washing him.  Peter is playing with his Sailor duck and his Construction worker duck and Matt asks me "Do they make a Police Officer Duck?"

"Yes," I answered him, "I think they do, it comes with a Firefighter and like an EMT or something as part of a Community heroes pack."

Then Matt asked, "What about an Indian?"

"I dunno... why?"  (Until that moment I'd assumed he was wanting a Duck to look like Peter's Godfather, Mike, who works for US Customs, but in uniform, basically resembles the Police.)

"Oh, because we could start to form our own little Village Ducks."  Matt said.  "Except, I'm not sure what the other characters are."

WHERE ON EARTH DOES HE COME UP WITH THIS STUFF?

As it happens, a quick google search revealed to me that we'd need to add not only a cop, and an Indian, but also a cowboy and a biker. 

Oriental Trader, I wonder if you really do have all of those?

An Accusation

Yesterday morning Matt insists that he was awoken by me kicking him. 

Immediately following my alleged slumbering attack on him, he heard one of the cats scritch-scratching at our bedroom door and he is convinced that I heard this and it was why I kicked him... so that he would get up  and make the cat go away by feeding him or smothering him or something.

Surely I would never do such a thing.

Because it isn't like my beloved spouse has ever been known to spread out widely on his back in the exact center of our bed and snore... LOUDLY... like a chainsaw and wake me up in the middle of the night.  And it isn't like under normal circumstances he outweighs me by anywhere from 60-80 pounds and it takes all of my very limited strength to heave that heavily slumbering man (who quite literally can sleep through a war- all though at this point he thankfully has never had the chance too) onto his side so that he *might* stop snoring.

And it isn't like when he's sleeping in the exact middle of our bed (with his head firmly planted BETWEEN his pillow and my own) this leaves any room for me to sleep.  Nor is it likely that I might need a few extra inches in our bed these day for my sizable midsection since, you know, I'm carrying a full term baby in there. 

Furthermore, it couldn't possibly be like there is a fuzzy orange little dog that sleeps on the foot of our bed and tends to sort of spread out and take up more and more space as the night goes on.  And while the prospect of Brutus playing the role of fuzzy slippers and warming my feet at night is a very sweet one, I can assure you that with my particular little canine this is not the case.  If I ever so much as attempt to slide my feet underneath his warm sleeping fuzzy body he jerks awake and growls like a chihuahua caught in a rat trap or something, and, well, frankly I fear that he might chomp off my little toes one of these nights if I force the issue.

And it isn't like there are ever times when that same fuzzy orange little dog will wake up in the middle of the night needing to go outside.  In those instances Brutus has certainly never been known to stand on the chest of the very sweet man I married and bark, LOUDLY, into the face of his master who does not stir even in the slightest for several minutes lest I intervene without a very gentle nudge (or smack) in the arm from me in order to let that doggie out.

I'd like to add that while Matt is an excellent father and is very helpful with our son he has not EVER heard the baby cry in the middle of the night and gotten up...  willingly.  Yes, sure on a few occasion I've FORCED him to wake up, and in some of those instances as Peter wailed on for hours I might have been known to inflict some sort of minor violence on my spouse in order to rouse him and get a little help before I lost my mind but, I can assure you, I've never kicked him.  (The bed is too high!)

Finally, it isn't like the night before I had spent many hours attempting to sleep with that same beloved child in our recliner downstairs since he had no interest in sleeping.

So, despite all of my assurances, Matt insists that I kicked him  *hard* to wake him up yesterday.

I can promise you all out there in Mommy-Blog land that I have no recollection of ever having done such a horrible thing thing.

And certainly I never would.

(Except that now I know how easily this wakes him up...)

36 Hours of Random "Fun"

My good friend Olivia is here to visit us again from San Diego.  :)  Peter is in love with her and keeps presenting her with his best toys.  Of course two nights ago he was also up between 11 and 1 am and then again between 3 and 6 am with a fever and crying and screaming and generally feeling yucky and I was horrified that his carrying on was keeping not only us, but our guest, up. 

Apparently it didn't, but she said it gave her some interesting dreams.

Matt spent most of that night asleep on Peter's floor even though the boy only seemed to want ME.  I had Peter from about midnight to 1 downstairs in the recliner until he was asleep enough to put back in his bed.  Then I slept in my own bed until 3 when he started to cry again.  Matt awoke and tried to soothe him but to no end so eventually I ended up back downstairs in the recliner with him.  At that point Matt moved back into our bed.  Peter could not seem to settle down to sleep in the recliner with me the second time though so eventually out of desperation I turned on the TV to Nick Jr with the sound down low and let him watch from my arms. 

I drifted in and out sleep during of episodes of children's shows I've never even heard of that made even less sense than usual at that hour without much volume but Peter seemed intent to cuddle in my arms clinging to his beloved bunny, sucking on his pacifier and watching.  Unfortunately, around 5:30 our ridiculous fat cat took a giant crap OUTSIDE the bathroom that holds his litter box and the horrific aroma woke me up for real.  After I cleaned up that mess up I finally got Peter back in his own bed and went to my own again.  A moment later Matt seemed to be getting up himself for the day.

The next thing I knew it was around 9 am.  Matt was coming in to shower for class and get me up so I could take care of Peter and drive him to school.  He said Peter seemed better.  That he'd gotten up at his regular time about 7:30, with his fever gone and that he had eaten and was playing happily.  Whew!  Was that ever what I needed to hear to pry myself out of bed again.

Olivia watched Peter while I drove Matt to school and then the three of us hung around the house for a bit before deciding that a large late breakfast "out" was called for to revive us (me) from our (my) exhausting  night and make something of the day. 

After Peter and I gorged ourselves on French Toast and Olivia's tummy was happily filled with eggs and biscuits and gravy we decided to check out Costco and Target... mostly for a fun, to browse and kill the afternoon but also to look for possible Christmas presents.

We eventually got home from shopping about 4, which should have given me just enough to time to get some Enchiladas in the oven for dinner before I had to be back to pick up Matt at 5.  I started dinner, Peter (who had been out like a light on the way home having been up all night and not gotten an afternoon nap) snuggled into the cushions on the sofa to watch Curious George and Olivia graciously took Brutus for a quick walk around the block before it got too dark outside. 

Matt foiled my plans though by getting done early.  He decided to walk home to save me another trip out and burning dinner.  When he came home Peter, who normally is overjoyed to see him, didn't budge.  Matt tried to get his attention, set his stuff down and tried for a hello hug and a kiss.  Peter, apparently tired and crabby and far too engrossed in his show gave him the old Heisman stiff arm.  A few times.  Like a teenager that couldn't be bothered his body language was all "Leave me alone Dad, geez, can't you see my I'm watching TV."

Matt found this funny enough that he came to me in the kitchen (and also, by the way, see people, I do cook SOMETIMES)  and was all "Come try to kiss me and I'm going to do what Peter just did."

When he pushed me away, as Peter just had done, I laughed and couldn't help it.  When you're the Mama, and you're nearly always around, you can tend to get pushed away often as your baby grows into an independent little boy.  (Even when that same little boy could NOT have been calmed by anyone on the entire planet except his Mama the night before.)  It was nice to see him push away somebody else for a change.

Also, I wrote most of this last night, but never published it because I was too tired.  Now this morning I am WIDE awake and have been since 6:30 am because apparently my body thinks 6 hours of sleep is plenty.  What the heck?  This is me, the world's most anti-morning person! 

Peter, meanwhile, is still out like a light and it's nearly 8 am. Less then a week into Daylight Savings Time no less!!!!

That's my boy.

Whatever is best for my baby

I had an interesting conversation with my Ob this past Friday at my 35/36 week checkup.  A reality check actually.

As has become the norm I still measured big... 39 weeks this time around.  Baby's heartbeat still sounded great.  I mentioned to Doc all the contractions I've been having.  He checked me and said the head is down but I am "barely" dilated.  His official assessment was that I still might go early, but probably not this week.

Alrighty then!

Because as much as I want to be done being pregnant, when you're down to just 3 weeks, and you have the Cesarean scheduled, well, it just becomes lots easier to wait. 

Well, that and due to the baby's dropping and current position or whatever, I don't feel GINORMOUS and horribly uncomfortable any more.  Er, well, not as much anyway. 

So we'll see.

Next week we have another check up and an ultrasound scheduled.  Doc warned me that even if Baby looks full term at that appointment there is really no reason for me to start begging to deliver sooner.  (Well, begging more than I already have, I guess.)

I asked him if most women beg him to deliver early by that last month.  He said most do, but there are also those few women who LOVE end-stage pregnancy.  (Weirdos!)

Then we got into this whole conversation about pregnant mother's and their preconceived notions and desires going into the birth process.  You know, the "NO drugs at any cost" moms.  Or the "I absolutely do not want a C-section" moms.    Or my personal favorite, (and I intend no offense to anyone here, but I frankly just don't understand this one) the "I just want to enjoy my birthing experience" moms. 

Obviously if medically it is safe to go drug-free, well that is great.  And sometimes a c-section is medically necessary.  Period.  Torturing oneself about needing one is just silly.  And also, um, ladies, God put the pain in childbirth for a reason.  Yes, it is a one of a kind experience, but I'm pretty sure it is not intended to be exactly enjoyable. 

So anyway Doc and I bantered back and forth about this for awhile.  He shared a few stories.  I shared a few stories and then he said something so profound.... he said, "Frankly, I don't want to call those women selfish- but they're trying to make the delivery all about themselves.  Isn't the delivery supposed to be about getting a healthy baby born?"  Then he was like, "I just love the "whatever is best for the baby" Moms."

Because ultimately, that IS the goal right?

WHATEVER IS BEST FOR THE BABY!!!

Right.

Wow.  Funny how I think I forgot about that a bit.  I think a lot of us do while we're pregnant.

Certainly when I found out Peter was breech I did not agree to the scheduled C-Section because I was really and truly thinking about my baby.  I was too busy being terrified by the prospect of delivering my child rear-first (particularly because he was snuggled in their with his toes under his rump and his knees up by his chin in what could quite possible be considered the WIDEST possible stance for an unborn baby) and I was frankly a terrified of dying in childbirth.  (Is that overly dramatic?  Yes, probably.  Sorry about that.)

I mean, don't get me wrong, Doc mentioned to me that in the past when delivering breech babies vaginally he's had babies suffer broken clavicles and arms and I certainly didn't want to risk that happening with my own child.

But I scheduled the C-section for me.

Period.

Ultimately, that WAS what was best for my baby.  And I thank God for that. 

Doc has come in to more than one of my appointments late and noticeable stressed out after he had to fight mother's to go to emergency c-sections and then he's gotten in there to find the babies tangled all sorts of ways in the umbilical cords.  And he is always so distressed by it.  He really does not want to lose those babies! 

I've never asked him if he ever has.  Probably I don't want to hear his answer. 

But thinking back to Peter's delivery, with the cord around his neck twice... I remember hearing the doc start to get a bit concerned... FOR MY SON.  He was doing what he hoped was best for my child.

I'm so glad.

I met someone recently who's had 2 previous cesareans and she's due fairly soon now with her third.  I think her first was after an attempted vaginal birth when the baby's stats dropped.  The second time she told me she wanted to try for a VBAC so she drove to another hospital 30 or 40 miles from here where they agreed to let her try one, but eventually she went c-section anyway.  This time she mentioned that she going to delay going to the hospital as long as possible once she goes into labor (because apparently she's "planning" on going into labor well before her scheduled operation) so that hopefully she can deliver naturally AT HOME.

Well, good for her.

Seems risky though. 

There is so much than can go wrong.

There are a lot of reasons why doctor's won't recommend a patient to a VBAC.

And, is she really doing what is best for her baby?  Or is she just thinking about herself again?

The odd part to me, is that honestly, once a woman has that baby in her arms, her priorities ALWAYS correct themselves.  Once that baby becomes tangible, outside of the womb, I've never met a mother who wouldn't choose to do "whatever is best for the baby." 

Anyway, I pray that in the next 3 weeks I can remember to put my baby first.  No matter what.  This pregnancy, and this birth aren't all about me.

And I'll just have to pray for that other lady and her child as she attempts her home birth against medical advice.

Boy's First Haircut

It seems that the status of my son's hair is a bit controversial.  I've known this for awhile, actually, as I ALWAYS maintained that I would keep my own son's hair short (at least until he is old enough to really have his own opinion about the matter) since long haired toddler boys sort of drive me crazy. 

But then my own kid's hair grew in, unexpectantly a beautiful shade of blonde.  And on top of that, he had curls.  My kid, it seemed, could be a toddler hair model, if such a thing existed.  I wanted to cut it.  Everyone told (begged) me not to. 

It drove me crazy actually.  EVERYONE commented on how cute those blonde curls were... but none of those people had to deal with them.  Want to know the biggest reason Peter gets a bath every single night?  His hair!!  Because my goodness if that hair didn't get washed every single night... ew.  And the tangles!  And the pain of washing it.  And of trying to comb it.  It was cute, but oh my goodness!

Plus, if it was hot it would tend to "fro" out.  In all directions.

Matt and I have been in debate about when to cut it for some time now.

Meanwhile, our neighbor nicknamed him "Sunshine" from that movie Remember the Titans, because the boy is from California after all, and he had the hair to match. 

Then again, if I'm completely honest, I'd admit that I sort of loved all that hair too.  When he cuddled on my lap and watched TV I'd run my fingers through those soft tresses endlessly. 

But then last week, the little circular cowlick in the back of his head- the one that goes CONTRARY to the natural part on the front of his head started refusing to cooperate.  As a result, my little boy's blond "fro" of curls now had a lovely mess sticking straight up and to the left out of the back of his head.  Nothing I tried could make that hair lay down. 

Ladies and gentleman, as much as I'm going to miss those curls (and I'm still hoping they'll grow back) it was time... a haircut was in order. 

This morning we took him to Daddy's barber shop. 

BEFORE:

Front view, and just look at that smile :)

The back, those curls, in all their wonder

DURING THE MAIN EVENT:

Climbing into the chair... er well, into Daddy's lap who was going to hold him in the chair

Getting dressed in the schmock

The first cut!  (Mommy caught all of it in a ziplock baggie for a keep sake... and she only cried a little.)

Cutting away

Trimming up those sides (they were the longest part)

The other side

*Sniff*  So sad to see my baby's curls left on the floor. 

Cleaning it up around the ears

And across his neck

Peter was starting to get impatient and want to escape by this point!

But Oak the barber was determined to get it right (yes her name really is Oak.)

Handing him a comb to play with helped distract him for that last little bit...

and then finally he was ALL DONE!

AFTERWARD (THE RESULTS:)

Looks like such a big boy!

Much cleaner!

It's odd really, he looks more like he did back when he was only 8 or 9 months old and his hair hadn't grown out yet... but then again he looks so much more grown up now too!

Very happy to get out of there!



And of course I've got my baggie of his blond curls to cherish for forever.