The Worst

I've often written about my dreams on this blog.  Sometimes they're just odd, sometimes they're funny, often they are a bit scary.  I don't know why my sleeping mind creates such stories for itself.  But I do know that writing about them helps me to deal.

A few weeks ago I had a very random mess of a confused dream.  There had been some sort of horrible terrorist attack.  The long and the short of it was that most of our country's government and military had been destroyed so in a last ditch effort to fight back, they were gathering up everybody that was left and shipping them off to, well, probably, die.  You can guess were this left my husband according to the dream.

I awoke frightened and terrified.  After few moments though I realized it hadn't been real and I found Matt sleeping beside me in the bed.  I burrowed through the covers and snuggled up to him and it was okay again.

That's usually the way it is.

But this past Saturday night, it was so so much worse.

In this dream we were all out front.  Or, I guess Matt and Peter and I were.  A.J. must have been sleeping, which is often, actually, the case because it's nearly impossible to be out front with her.  She runs off up the sidewalk and runs through the flower beds and basically, doesn't listen well at all.  Her out door playtime more often gets relegated to the back yard or a playground.  So anyway, in the dream Matt and I were out front working on the yard, taking down Christmas lights or gardening or something while Peter played.  He was running around as he usually does, discovering random toys in the garage, riding his scooter up and down the sidewalk, and kicking soccer balls around.  Of course, since it was a dream the reality of it was sort of confused and "our" yard was more of a hybrid between our actual front yard and the yard of the house I grew up in.  I don't know why that matters, except I seemed to be focusing my work over on the south side of the house where my view of him out front was mostly limited.  And as it stands in our reality, if I really was working out side, there is a fence and I don't have access to the side yard  on the south side of the house unless I go around from the back.

So anyway, Peter, as he often really does, spotted his neighbor friend across the street and wanted to run over to see her.  Of course Matt scolded him and reminded him that he isn't to cross the street alone and that he must look both ways ALWAYS to be sure there aren't any cars coming before stepping out into the road.

And then Peter yelled back to us, that he would be sure to do just that... and as he yelled, he stepped right out into the road anyway.  And right as he stepped out, a car came out of no where and hit him.

In my mind's eye, I watched it all unfold, as if in slow motion.  He actually sort of walked into the side of the car and so as it hit him, he just sort of got rolled along the side of it and then his little body sort of bounced back.  In my dream, I watched his little body get hit and spin and then be thrown back, still rolling in the air, back onto the side walk.  For whatever reason, the car caught his pants and they came off and then I saw his little naked bottom all scratched up, start to bleed as I flew to him in horror, ripping my own sweatshirt off to wrap him up in to stop the bleeding.

He was laying face down until I scooped his little body up in my arms, rolling him to face toward to me in my arms. I saw his unconscious little mouth sort of fall open, full of blood and I started to assess him to see how badly he was hurt and pray that he'd somehow be okay, because somehow he just HAD to be okay...

When I jerked awake.



I sat straight up and blinked around myself in the dark.



It was just a dream.  It hadn't been real.  Only a dream.  Only a dream.



But oh DEAR LORD, what a dream.... what a nightmare.

I gasped for air and tried to shake the images out of my head.  I flopped back down onto my pillows and wondered to myself it had been some sort of a warning... a premonition?  That was about the time that I realized that the car, in the dream, that had come to an abrupt halt as it had struck my son... actually looked a lot like the one belonging to my other neighbor who lives catty-corner to us, just across the street as well.

Did that matter?  No, I suppose it didn't, but, still.

I laid there fore awhile, staring out into the darkness of my room, feeling frustrated that I'd woken up before I'd known if he was going to be okay.  Before I even knew how badly he was hurt.  And again, I wondered to myself why I felt like it even mattered.

I got up and went to check on my son.

He was, of course, asleep in his bed, perfectly okay.  He was laying sideways, on top of his covers, at the foot of his bed, on his face. He actually looked like maybe he'd gotten up to go potty and then been too tired, gotten over the idea, and just passed right back out where ever he landed.  I picked him up, hugged him tightly and then laid him down right, tucking him back in and locating his pacy and bunny for him.  I set both close to him, beside his cheek on the pillow where he'd be able to find them easily if he needed.  I looked down at him there for awhile, sleeping and adored him.  He's so perfect.  I love him so much.  Nothing so horrible like that dream could ever really happen to him... could it?

Unfortunately, I know the answer to that question and it isn't very comforting.

I looked in on A.J. as well and found her to be simply a messy blob of blond curls sticking out from under a pile of covers and blankets and entirely too many stuffed animals.  Pretty much, just as I would have expected.  I pushed things around a bit until I could find her face and be sure she could actually breath and then, satisfied that my babies were both okay, I went back to bed.

The images of his little body getting hit and flying... rolling through the air... continued to scare me and I had a hard time (am still having a hard time) putting them out of my head.  I prayed for a long while about it, until finally, I suppose sleep won out again and I drifted back out.

The trouble is, now, I remember that dream just as clearly as if it had actually happened.  I know that it didn't of course, but it's terrifying to me.  Why on Earth would my brain do that to me?  Is it a warning?  Because certainly I'm always careful to keep him out of the street, but now I feel downright paranoid about it.  Is it a premonition?  I've never been psychic before and I'd certainly prefer not to start now.  Is it just anxiety?  We've been going outside a lot more lately as it's starting to warm up and Peter wants to do more and more, bike riding and playing in the street more like the other (bigger)children.  Am I just really more worried about it than I knew?  Or maybe I'm just hormonal and crazy?

I don't know.

But I will say, of all the insane dreams I've ever had... including the one with the bombs dropping, the one where the girl was pulling the trigger to shoot me in the face, the one with the twins and even the one a couple weeks back where Matt was being sent off to fight in a hopeless war... THIS was the absolute worst.  EVER.  

Tummy Troubles

Yesterday, by the time I got Peter to preschool he was so full of energy that he was literally bounding around.

Well, first he randomly approached one of his (girl)friends and her mother (who is a teacher at the school) on the playground and introduced himself.  The mom/teacher thought that was pretty funny.  I was chasing A.J. and had missed it, but she came over immediately afterward to laugh with me that he’d felt the need to make an introduction for himself.  Apparently, the Mom had been like, “Yes, yes, Peter, we know who you are.  My daughter tells me ALLLL about you.”  So random.  I responded to her that if only he was as good at the academic side of school, and the BEHAVING side of school as he was at the social aspects, well, my life would be a lot easier.

So then we went inside the room, he put his things up and went to wash his hands.  I was talking to another parent or one of the teachers about something when I noticed him doing laps.  He wasn't quite running.  It was more like a half skip/half gallop, but in any case, he was moving too fast for the crowded classroom first thing in the morning.  To make matters worse, one of his little friends was desperately trying to get him to slow down so they could play together and the other little boy was starting to race after him. 

His teacher intercepted him and directed him to the book area to calm down and read, which was nice except for that other boy poor who still wanted so badly to play.  She and I laughed for a bit about how he was off to a rough start this morning and there was no telling, really, what kind of day he was going to have.  I bid him farewell, reminded him to be good, be nice, listen to his teachers, be a leader and that under no circumstances, was it okay for him to scream or throw a fit. 

Gosh that sounds like a lot doesn't it?  I feel like every morning I leave him there I could probably give him a  10 bullet point list of reminders on how he should behave, if only he could read already.

He promised to be good.  The teacher and I exchanged a look as if to say, “Well, we’ll see,” and I left with a very wiggly A.J. in my arms.

*Cut to, about, 3 hours later at pick up.*

He was first in line which I found to be weird since he’s normally straggling along someplace towards the back of the pack.  As usual, when he came around the corner he saw me, smiled and waved and said “Oh. Hi Mommy!” as if he was surprised to find me there yet again.  Then as I signed the clipboard, his teacher knelt down to talk to him softly.  I couldn't hear her words but as she bid him farewell she told me, “It got better today.”    Apparently, he’d had a rough start (pushing and playing too rough outside) but had been really good after that.

So we go and get in the car.  He immediately starts to narc out one of the other little kids.  “He went to time out!  He started it!  He was pushing and hitting!” 

“Slow down buddy," I said.  What happened again? I’m not mad, I just want to understand, because I thought we’d talked about how you can’t be pushing and playing so rough.”

Then he told me how he’d been playing and the other boy had pushed him… in his stomach.  (Makes sense to me, that other child is a little bit on the short side.)  And apparently, this upset Peter a great deal because…

Well…

(*sigh*)

Because he didn't want the baby in his tummy get hurt. 

Silly Mommy, she thought we’d settled that.  She thought he understood that the baby is in HER tummy… that little boys can’t have babies in their tummies.

(Also, if you’re wondering, that morning, when we’d been getting dressed for school, he’d been rough housing a great deal and I’d reminded him multiple times to be careful of my tummy so as not to hurt the baby.) 

At least I know some of what I’d said to him got through.  Maybe not the right parts, but some of it anyway.

Prenatal Fun

I had another OB appointment today.

Except I'm not really sure if the first one counted (it seemed to be more like just a quick check to see if there really was a baby in there) so maybe this was the first check up for this pregnancy and not really "another" in any sense of the word.  Or something.  I don't know.  It's very confusing.

Okay, so to begin with, by the time I got there I was very stressed out as there was inexplicably no parking anywhere this morning.  The garage was full.  Never mind the fact that it took me 15 minutes to get to the top of the garage and determine that, YES, yes indeed, the garage was, in fact, FULL.  Call me crazy, but don't they have systems to notify people when a garage is full?  Hasn't somebody invented one?  I mean, I know some places have them, don't they?  Just apparently the Navy hasn't implemented any of these. Argh! So then it took me another 10 minutes to circle back down and get back out of the garage.  Because, you know, everybody travelling either up or down through that cursed parking structure seemed hell bent and determined, SOMEHOW, to find that ONE last elusive empty spot that they each believed, truly, madly, DEEPLY, in their heart of hearts must exist.  So all the cars moved at a snail's pace and came to a dead stop any time anyone on foot moved in the direction of their cars so that they might capture their spot.  Except 9 1/2 times out of 10, the pedestrian wasn't even leaving but just needed to get something out of their car.  So go figure.

I tried another garage after that, one that I'm not sure patients are even supposed to park in, but it was also full anyway, except for spots on the bottom floor reserved for Wounded Veterans.  Not that this was  a concept I could make my son understand.  "MOMMY!" he'd yell, "There's a parking spot right there! Go park there!!"  I understood his frustrations.  He'd already been trapped in the car for the 30 minute drive down to the hospital, and was now enduring still another endless half hour (plus) of my fruitless search for parking.  I was frazzled.  I had to go pee.  AND I HATE BEING LATE FOR STUFF.  My poor mood wasn't helping him at all.

A.J.?  I'm pretty sure she was asleep.

Finally, I went to the dreaded "O" Lot.  The overflow "lot" which is only a parking lot in the sense that people park their cars there.  It's clear on the outskirts of the medical center property, at the bottom of a humongous hill and is basically a few roughly plowed, flat-ish plots of land cut into the bottom side of a humongous hill.  It's filled with with pot holes and weeds and is located about 3 million miles from any of the actual medical buildings.  They have a shuttle bus that runs people back and forth though, and PRAISE THE LORD JESUS that it arrived right as I found a spot and Matt pulled in behind us as well so we didn't have to wait 30 minutes or attempt to huff it on foot back up that hill.  Because naturally, I didn't have a stroller in the car.

So the kids were dropped off in the hourly childcare (that they LOVE) and Matt and I went over for my appointment.

In the clinic, we got called back pretty fast, but then we waited forever and a half for the doctor to come in.  I was nervous having not met my new doctor yet and of course, because of all the other reasons prenatal appointments make me nervous.  But for once Matt seemed to have gotten over his silly nerves and was mostly on his best behavior.  We chatted randomly about stuff and really, now that I think about it, should have taken a moment to stop and enjoy the time to ourselves, left alone for some adult conversation.

When the Doctor FINALLY came in, I immediately liked her, I think.  It might be too early too tell for sure,   I don't even know why, but I think just did.  She was open, honest, friendly and candid.  Just like me... or just like I try to be... even though a lot of people who know me would really rather I skip the "candid" part.    We chatted briefly about my prenatal history, my medical history (what was that bump on your knee again?) and my current birth plan.

HELLO CESARIAN!

I explained to her that Matt prefers this option.  He's squeamish and doesn't find the risk of trying to go the other way to be worth it.  Also, our kids have giant heads, so my previous OB had serious doubts over whether they would have been able to be born naturally anyway.  She agreed, but also said if I wanted to try a vaginal birth she would let me. I told her very candidly, that what I wanted doesn't matter.  The most important thing for me is to get a healthy baby.  End of story.  All that hippy mumbo jumbo stuff about birthing plans and magical, memorable birth experiences is not for me.  This birth isn't about me... It's about having (another) healthy baby.

I told her that anyone who'd been at the birth of my son (breech, and STUCK, with the cord around his neck twice, born blue, and still and quiet) would agree with me.  All those hippy-dippy natural child birth women... who believe in only the minimal amount of medical intervention can bite me!  Home Birth?  Hell NO.  If I'd tried that crap 3 1/2 years ago... I'm pretty darned sure both my son and I would be dead.  End of story.

She saw my point.

Not that I wouldn't love to deliver this kid all-natural just to show everyone I know how easy it is.  And I would do it to, just to spite everyone.  But it's not about me.  Childbirth shouldn't be about me proving anything to anyone.  It's about me getting this kid borned safely.

The end.

And yes I did just type "borned."  As in "All babies want to get borned!"  Apparently I saw the movie Juno a few too many times.

And I don't think the recovery from a C-Section is all that bad anyway.  So there.

So then the doctor did an exam (yuck.) where she actually said, "Hm.  Your uterus seems a little big!  Are you sure there's only one in there? AHHHH!  Yes!!! I told her, the last lady checked.  I mean she really really checked.  (Because I asked her to.)

If I had a nickel for every time somebody asked me during one of my pregnancies about whether or not I was having twins, well, in the very least, Peter's tuition for school next year would be taken care of.  And if you ask me, if an OB says that, well, it outta count for at least double right?  RIGHT?!?!

Next she pulled over the ultrasound machine to take a look and check the baby's size to to verify the due date again.  It was nice to see the baby again.  It actually looked more like a baby this time, clearly with a giant head, little body and some teeny arms and legs.  I rejoiced out loud that it looked like a gopher or a teddy bear this time and not the basic blob it was before.  She said she liked that description and I gave the credit for that to my beloved OB back in Monterey.  She said she'd always thought they look liked Gummy Bears, (which made me laugh) but that she might start using the gopher thing as well.

She never turned on the sound to let me hear the heartbeat which made me sad, but I could see it beating in there and also the kid was moving and squirming to try get away from the Ultrasound wand which was nice to see.  It looked "feisty" to me for some reason and already reminded me of both of it's older siblings.

I told the doctor how I didn't like referring to my baby as an "It" and she apologized for not being able to tell what he or she will be yet.  Ha.  Like it's her fault.  I marveled for a moment about how much less it looked like a blob now than a teeny baby, and really, what a difference a couple weeks makes because with both Peter and A.J. we had ultrasounds closer to 10 weeks and this time we were closer to 12.  The limbs looked so much longer and more developed in just such a sort amount of time.

I screwed my eyes up for a minute wandering who it is that is in there.  What will this baby be like?  Will it be okay?  Will it be healthy?  But then she flipped off the machine and that was it.

Matt had to go back to work for a meeting, and I went up to the lab for a blood draw.  That was another experience all of it's own.  The lab, or at least the part of it where they draw people's blood, is a tiny room equipped with chairs for 8 patients at a time.  If I was squeamish about that sort of thing, the claustrophobia of the space alone would likely get to me.

They were all full, and of course, for each patient their was someone working, drawing blood into dozens of little color coated vials.  That made a total of 16 people crammed into that tiny, windowless room, plus all the cabinets of equipment.  Ugh. I wound up seated in the corner, right by the door.  Across from me there was a young man, who looked to be in his twenties.  I first noticed him because he had on really nice Jordan's which I sort of liked for no reason at all.  Looking at them I wondered if they might come in Peter's size and then I then noticed that when he sat in the chair there, his feet didn't touch the floor.  This struck me as sort of odd as he seemed like a pretty big guy, but then I forgot all about his size and his height and dangling feet when I noticed he had a prosthetic leg, which I could plainly see since he was wearing shorts  This was not really anything exciting or odd to see as at a military hospital you see amputees and folks around with assorted prosthesis all the time.  Still it struck me to see his two shoes hanging there, six inches above the ground, one with a foot inside and one with... well, out.

So then the lady came to get my blood.  She stuck me in my right arm, which is fine I guess. I've been told I have great veins and normally have no trouble giving blood or getting I.V.s of any sort regardless of which arm they use.  Except this time.  I don't think she got the needle in right, because it felt funny and after a few drops, the blood stopped.  She started to freak out a little, but in a very quiet, professional manner.  I ignored her while she switched to another vial, thinking the problem was with the vial, and not her needle poke.  I looked over to my left.  In the next chair over beside me was a younger boy.  Probably a teenager.  His mother was hovering nervously and the poor lad did not look well.  I couldn't be sure if he was sick or just nervous about the blood draw but I sort of wanted to hug him to make him feel better.

My lady kept struggling with her vials.  Finally she pulled the thing out and gave up on my right arm.  She held up the 2 mostly empty vials and frowned. It was more then clear there wasn't enough there, but she offered to go ask someone anyway before she stuck me again in the other arm.  I tried to make her feel better and told her it was fine, she could do whatever she needed to do.  I'm no fan of needles, but they don't freak me out (unless maybe they are going into my children.)

She apologized.  Then she apologized again and again and asked me if I was sure.  I started to want very badly to scream.  It was nearing noon.  I was very, very hungry.  I just wanted out of there.  She could have stuck me 15 more times if I could have just gotten out of there.  She kept fretting over me and got the stuff ready to stick my other arm and try again.  Inside my head I started yelling, "Oh my gosh lady!  It's fine.  Worry about something else.  I am not going to complain.  Look around this room!  The man across from me is missing a leg!  And the leg he still has left is covered in scars from whatever unspeakable tragedy happened to him that took his leg, probably.  I'm fine.  I'm not going to complain!    It would be the most disrespectful thing on the planet to complain over a needle poke in front of THAT man.  And look next to me.  That poor boy!!  He looks like he's going to keel right over!!  He's gasping for breath and turning green!  Worry about him!!! Stop worrying about me, just stick the damn needle in my arm, take my damn blood and get me out of here so you can worry about your other patients.  PATIENTS THAT ACTUALLY MIGHT NEEEEEED YOUR CONCERN!!"

But I didn't say any of that.  I smiled while she did the other arm.  I turned my head away from her when I rolled my eyes in return for her 53rd apology so she wouldn't see.  Then when she had the bandage thing successfully on my arm, I thanked her and got the heck out of there as fast as I possibly could.

I picked up the kids and was pleased to hear they'd both behaved well.

We went to McDonald's and got some Happy Meals.  This made the kids really happy.  And heck, as hungry as I was?  It made me really happy too.  This baby, like it's big brother, apparently likes Mama to eat red meat.  YUMMMMMY, hamburgers and bacon...... though perhaps I should have skipped the large fries.  (Blech.)

Then we came home.

The end.

For now...

5 more weeks and I get to do it all again.  :)

If you're wondering....

Peter had a great Valentine's Day!

I took this picture as we were unloading the car upon getting him home from school.  But I really really wish I'd had my camera ready when the whole lot of them came around the corner in line for pick up.  All those little grinning faces beaming out at us above their little painted heart packages.  Their little hands clutching their treats so tightly and carefully so as not to lose any.  They were all so excited.  And as usual, Peter looked up at me from the back of the line and said in the most nonchalant manner possible, "Oh, Hi Mommy!" as if he was actually surprised to see me there.  Apparently, he always is.

Anyway, once we got into the house it was all I could do to contain him.  He had dumped everything out and was sorting through it excitedly before I could even put my purse down.

He's still so excited about all his treats and cards that he keeps asking me to see them again and again (even though I removed the candy and stashed it elsewhere already.)  He calls them his "treasures."  So sweet.

I can't be very sure, but A.J. seemed to have a good holiday as well.  Of course she didn't get a party or a classroom's worth of little cards, but I took her to Target and let her pick out some My Little Ponies to make her day special as well.

Also, might I just say:  My Little Ponies?  Apparently it's like 30 years ago all over again!  Weird.  

Makin' Valentines: Pet Rocks!

So, as you probably know... if you can actually keep things straight, what with all the Chinese New Year, Fat Tuesday, Ash Wednesday and even President's Day crowding around it this year, Valentine's Day is just around the corner.  Now since this is Peter's first year to celebrate this holiday with a class party at school, I might have gone a little overboard in my plans.  

I mean, if I REALLY had my way, we would have hosted a whole Valentine's Day party (play date) here at my house just because I need an excuse to decorate and bake treats and celebrate.  But since my husband likely would have killed me if I'd even suggested the idea to him, I had to settle with diverting my excessive creative energies into the Valentine's my son would be giving out at school.

Don't get me wrong, because I love the little boxed sets you pick up at the store.  Those are fine and fun, but I really really was feeling the itch to be crafty and to stress myself out excessively over, well, nothing.  

So I started thinking and pondering.  I searched Pinterest and I Googled.  I saw SO many cute ideas, but nothing really, totally spoke to me.  I didn't want to spend a fortune.  I didn't really want to give out candies or school supplies either, because really, these kids are only 3. 

 And then, randomly, for no reason at all it hit me:  PET ROCKS!

These would be easy enough to make so that even my 3 year old would be able to help.

Also, Peter, means "The Rock" you know, so there's a "punny" double meaning in there.

Last weekend I made a trip to Michael's for supplies, and then Monday morning I set the kids to work on the first step, which would be to paint the rocks with some glittery paint.  I laid the rocks on some wax paper before we started so they wouldn't stick.

If you're wondering, I set them off to cover them in the glittery paint as best they could and then later I went back in and touched up  any spots they missed to make the glitter more even.  The hardest/messiest part was probably flipping the rocks over so they could get both sides.

Obviously, pet rocks can (and do) come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and designs.  We didn't NEED to paint them per say, but I thought covering ours in some red or hot pink sparkles would make them more appropriate for the occasion.

Of course the paint took FOR-EV-ER to dry.  Like more than 24 hours.  I seriously worried all the having to be patient would kill my son.  

FINALLY... when the paint was dry Peter and I glued on some googly eyes and little teeny poms for noses.  I used a sharpie to draw in the smiles and then, because it's Valentine's after all, we stuck a sparkly heart sticker on each.  

I think they turned out pretty cute.  

 It was pretty interesting doing all that gluing with my 3 year old.  I'd apply a big blob of the glue and he'd carefully try to get down both eyes and the nose before the glue ran all over the place.   I guess it was good fine motor practice for him.

And then, after I helped him stick on the hearts, every single time he'd tell me "Oops, Mommy, you almost for forgot the mouth
!"

Every.  Single.  Time.

I wanted to scream a little bit.  "Listen, KID, I know, the mouth, gimme a sec okay?!?!    I promise I will draw in all their little mouths, just as soon as I help you with the glue because otherwise, well, just FATHOM the possible mess."

I didn't scream though, I promise.  I thought about it, but I made myself be patient.

Anyway.  Our little pet rock friends were left to dry again.

After lunch I got out the Cricut Machine.  The one that I almost never use because, well, it's really far too complicated for it's own good and I think I already need a new "blade," but that I just had to have because you really just never know when you're going to need something like that.

A.J. went down for nap.

Peter was supposed to go rest in his room as well, but he did not.  Instead he asked me a hundred thousand questions and climbed all over me and the kitchen table and the chairs while I fought with that machine and various scrap book papers to get it to cut out a heart and the letters necessary to spell out "u rock" for 16 little cards.

Maybe, 2 hours later I had 16 cards that looked something like this (in addition to a desperate but sadly unquenchable thirst- I am pregnant after all-for a large glass of wine.)

Inside, I had Peter write a "P" to start off his name... because really, there was no way I was ever going to get him to even try to write 5 whole letters even once, let alone 16 times.  So he wrote a just his "P" 16 times, and when he was done I went back in and filled in the "e-t-e-r" for him as well as a nice, "your friend" to finish off the cards signatures.

On the back, I decided to print out the verse from the Bible where Jesus renames Peter and refers to him as his rock., just because I think its fun and really, it's where I found my inspiration for the cards and pet rocks.  Also, one of the amazing benefits to choosing a Catholic education is you don't have to worry about offending anybody by being too churchy, or whatever.  :)

Here are all the finished cards.  I tried hard to mix and match all the papers so no two were the same.

Once the glue dried, each rock got a little "blanket" which I cut from some felt.  I suppose these weren't really necessary, but felt is like 75 cents a square and I like the added touch of giving each pet rock a comfy place to sleep.  

So on Thursday, each kid will get the following from my son.

Lacking for a more imaginative way to package our little rock friends, they each went in a sandwich sized zip-lock baggy along with with their blankets and cards.

Fun right?

I think so anyway.

Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!

The Birds and the Bees for age 3

I decided to tell Peter about this new baby really early on.  Risky though that might be, I sort of had to.

I mean, to begin with, I knew and Matt knew, and ONE of my friends knew but that was really really not good enough for me.  This kind of news is just too darned exciting (for me) to really keep quiet about.  So keeping it from my kid(s) was next to impossible.

Also, Matt and I kept talking about it, like, RIGHT in front of him, and he is (already) WAAAAY too old to just talk over his head like that.

"What's that Mommy?"  He'd interject LOUDLY.  "What Daddy?  What does PREGNANT mean?  What new baby?  Tell me what you're talking about!"

A.J. if you're wondering, never seems to notice anything.  She could care less.  So far as she's concerned the only baby around this house is her... and maybe all her toys that she likes to pretend are babies (dolls and plastic animal figurines and random small "cute" dinosaurs and things.)

Also... Peter tends to play ROUGH.  He's a boy after all.  And he's energetic and crazy and likes to jump and climb all over people, especially his parents.  Because of this it quickly became clear to me that I was going to have to start being a bit more careful when it came to rough housing with him lest I accidentally take a sharp blow to my gut and risk harm coming to myself or this baby.

So I sat each child down separately and we had a little chat.

A.J. by the end of our conversation still seemed to have no idea what I meant.  She just kept repeating "Baby?"  with confused concern every time I said the word.  She's still too young to really "get it" I suppose.

But Peter, well, he immediately got right on board.  "A baby?  In your tummy?  When will it come out?  What will it be?  A baby brother or a baby sister?"

(He really wants a brother by the way.)

So, that went well.

Except for the following Sunday after church when his Sunday School teacher awkardly pulled me aside afterward to apologetically ask me a rather personal question.  Because my son had been telling the class that day all about the baby in his Mommy's tummy. She wondered if this was the truth or did we need to have another talk about telling stories.

Ha.

AWKWARD.

But really, this didn't surprise me.  Peter had been very excited about the baby since first hearing about it and even though it was still WAY too far away for him to even wrap his little mind around, he was thrilled to share the big news with his friends.




But then, a couple of nights later, while we were talking at bedtime again, he said this:

"Mommy, can I have a baby in my tummy too?"

Oh.

Um.

"Well, you see son..."

I gave him a brief explanation about how babies only go in the tummies of grown up girls.  Not boys.  I don't know why, but that is just the way God made it.  He was disappointed, but moved on soon enough.

And then he asked, speaking slowly, and thoughtfully,

 "How did the baby get in your tummy."

And inside my head I went "Shhiiiiiiiiittttt...."

But outside my head I dutifully smiled and I said, "Well..."

I thought for a minute.  And I decided to tell him the truth.  Or, all of it that he needs to know at 3 1/2 years old.

"Mommy and Daddy really love you and A.J. so we thought about it and decided we might like to have another child."  I told him.  "So we prayed to God and asked if He might give us another child.  And just like He did before you and A.J. were born, He answered our prayers and put this baby in Mommy's tummy."



:)

I know right?

RIGHT?

GENIUS!

:)

He's already been told his own birth story many times.  He loves hearing it in fact, mostly, (I think) because of the part where he peed all over the doctors and nurses so everybody knew he was okay.  But having heard that story he was already familiar with the idea that babies, that he and his sister, specifically, had come from inside Mommy's tummy.

And technically everything I told him is 100% true.

Even if some of the finer, more logistical, points got skipped over.

The best part is, the story is simple enough that he can remember it and tell it back to you so I know he gets it and understands.

And, alright, so sure, in a few years we're going to have to fill in some gaps for him, but at his age, he knows enough.

We just have to make sure that some time, in the future, we do fill in those gaps for him.

Otherwise, in, I don't know, 13-16 years from now, if we're not careful, Peter is likely to bring home his girlfriend in trouble.  And he's going to look at me, square in the face and say to me, "MOM, I don't know how this could have possibly happened?!?!  We NEVER prayed to God and asked Him to put a baby in her tummy!!"

Ha. 

The Longest Announcement Ever

Hmm.  Let's see.

Where to begin?  I mean, do I just come out and say it already or do I try to find some eloquent way to lead into it?

Who am I kidding, I don't have time or energy for eloquence these days, even if that was something I was ever good at being.

So the big news is:  I'm pregnant again!  

:)

I think by now I am about 10 weeks along or so.  We've already had one doctors appointment to verify my due date by ultrasound and we were pleased to see that there is exactly one (because when it's going to be your 3rd child you worry more that OMG what if it's twins?) healthy blob in there with a beating little heart.  Seriously.  I was about 8 weeks at that appointment and a teeny blob with a beating heart is really all there was to see.  It's amazing to me how much of a difference there is when you "take a peek" at 10-12 weeks and when you do it just a couple weeks earlier.  At 10-12 weeks it sort of looks like a wiggly little teddy bear.  You can see the beginnings of a head and arms and legs in addition to the little heart beating.  At 8 weeks?  Yeah... definitely just a blob.

I mean, a cute one and everything, but a blob nonetheless.  Couldn't even tell for sure which end was going to wind up being which.

Anyway, so, pardon me while I get all defensive and maybe a little bit b*tchy, but I am going to put it out there publicly HERE and NOW that this baby was, once again, in no way an accident.  This pregnancy was 100% planned.  We've been "planning," and by planning I mean, praying and discussing and trying to figure out the logistics and timing of, having a third since A.J. was still in the womb.  Obviously, Matt was deployed for a little over a year in there and that had a major impact on our plans.  And then once he was home, we waiting awhile to figure out how to be a family living together again before trying to complicate things further with another pregnancy and child.  And then once we found our new version of normal again, we put it off awhile longer so I could train for and complete those half marathons.

But did we think we'd get pregnant (again) the very first month we tried?  Of course not.  Although too be honest I'm not sure why exactly we didn't expect that to be EXACTLY what happened, because that's what happened all the other times as well, but, still.  Knowing that I had the Tinkerbell race in mid January, we were sorting of aiming to stop taking "preventative measures" around Christmas.  Which was neat and all because as the timing worked out, that meant that I had to make the decision right after A.J.'s 2nd birthday about whether or not it was time.  For the record, NEVER leave it up to yourself to decide on the timing of trying to get pregnant again around one of your kids birthdays.  Because nostalgia will take over where reason ought to be and the next thing you know, it'll be 3 weeks later and you'll be randomly passing out on Christmas Day and after your husband recovers from the shock of watching you go down, you'll both figure out that, funnily enough, even though it is still a week too early to take a test and know for sure, you must be knocked up again.

Seriously.  I don't know what it is about Matt and I, but we might just be the most fertile people on the planet!  Somebody should do a study on us and figure out what it is we have and like, bottle that shit or something because we could really help out some people with problems conceiving.  We've been off birth control for a grand total of 5 months in our marriage and I've gotten pregnant 4 times!  (And so alright I early miscarried the first time, and with A.J. it took 2 months instead of just one to conceive  probably because I was still weening Peter) but those are pretty darned good odds!

All that to say, though, that this pregnancy is NOT an accident.  Yes it happened a bit faster than we might have expected, but other that the fact that I had to run Tinkerbell with an extra teeny passenger riding along, that is neither here nor there.  And so help me, the next person that says something to me along the lines of "Haha, Oops, right?" or "Why are you having a third child, the third child ruins everything?" or, even... "Do you really need another kid, you can barely handle to two you already have?" so help me, AFTER my head explodes, and then I reassemble my head, I am just going to punch that person square in mouth.

I hate people and their darned opinions sometimes.  HATE!!!!!

Have I mentioned lately, or ever, how pregnancy makes me bitchier and crankier than usual?  If not, well, than I should.  I'm certain that somewhere along the way during pregnancy #2, Matt told me he doesn't like me very much pregnant and that no matter how nice the outcome is, that we were NEVER doing it again.  Lucky for me and this 3rd baby that he had a whole year in Iraq to forget about that right?  Not that he hasn't already asked me (lovingly) if maybe there are some nice mood stabilizing that pills I could start taking to medicate the crap out of myself and make me be nice again.

Last time I checked, not any that wouldn't hurt the baby honey, so, um, sorry.  But on the plus side, you've only got 7 1/2 more months of me like this to deal with!  :)

And just think, I haven't even started to get fat yet!!!!  :)

Also, to make me, irrationally, more grouchy, I'd been waiting and waiting to find the right time to formally announce this baby to the world.  First I had decided to wait for the ultrasound pictures and send copies to Matt's parents and surprise them that way.  Once they knew, then I supposed I could let the secret out.  But I'm not even kidding, the next day when I logged into the computer to put something up on Facebook and begin to write this blog post, a friend of mine had just posted something announcing she was pregnant with her 5th baby.  I mean, GREAT for her, that's awesome.  But I didn't want to be riding on her coat tails so I put it off for a couple more days.  And then when I finally felt ready to try again, ANOTHER friend of mine had just put something up announcing her (wait for it) 9th baby!  I mean, WOW, that is fantastic!  Nine kids?  That's awesome--better you than me!   Haha.

Still, the timing stung.  How was I to think anyone was going to care at all about my measly 3rd child when all my friends were preggers too?

Hormonal pity party anyone?  Yes.  Yes I did.  Thank you very much.

Anyway, now here I am, still a couple MORE days later and I'm skipping the Facebook post altogether and just writing this.  I am thrilled for my friend #1 (due in "early September) and friend #2 (due in "late August) and all I can say to them is ladies.... I will race you to that delivery room because my baby is due September 7.

And I'm almost 100% sure that we'll be having another scheduled C-Section, as I've already had 2, and really, let's be honest:  if I tried to go the "old fashioned, traditional route" I'd most likely suffer a MASSIVE panic attack mid way though and my dear sweet adorable darling husband would hit the floor at the first sight of anything bloody.

So yeah....

Baby Number 3.

I am so excited.

Nervous.  Scared.  Worried.

Of course.  But very, very, stupidly, excited.


(Lots more to say about this, but I'll save it for other posts.  Stay tuned everyone!)

Homophone Fights

The following exchange has occurred in my house at least a half dozen time today:

Me- A.J. do you want ____________?  (Fill in the blank as you like because really it could be anything and it doesn't matter.)

A.J.- Yeah!

Peter-  Me too!!!

A.J.- (Really happily!) Me THREE!!!!  

Peter- No, I'm three, you're only two!!!

Somewhere shortly there after A.J. will start to melt down and cry miserably about the terrible injustice that Peter says she can't have whatever it is she wanted "too," completely forgetting about the fact that I offered it to her first.  She also misses the part about where Peter randomly makes this a conversation about their ages rather than whether or not they both can ALSO have the same thing.

Kids today.

I tell ya.

The Zoo

My goodness I've been slacking again and now another week has gone by and I'm STILL not caught up.

Sorry folks. I'm getting closer.

Anyway, so, when Uncle Jono and Aunt Kelly were here, the only thing they specifically asked to do was go to the zoo.  Not sure why exactly this was the ONE thing, but Jono said it's because it's "supposed to be famous!"

About that....

So far as I can tell, the "World Famous San Diego Zoo" is only referred to as such (World Famous I mean) because some advertising guru decided to call it that.

I mean, is it a good zoo?  Sure.  It has nice exhibits, loads of animals and all of that.  (If you're willing to overlook the confusing curving path layouts that weave and tangle through the trees and up and down hills making it very very easy to miss things and/or get altogether lost.)

But World Famous?  I'm not so sure.

Certainly, the first time I ever heard of the San Diego Zoo was in high school, when on a random episode of Friends Ross mentions he's really hoping to get his pet monkey Marcel into the San Diego zoo.  Not sure that qualifies it for World renown.

Columbus, Ohio, happens to have a great zoo and at least in my neck of the woods, we didn't sit around longing for anything better.

Or I guess maybe it's because San Diego has Pandas?

(Columbus had Pandas for awhile too.  Granted they were on loan, maybe even from San Diego, but... still.)

I've actually been to many zoos outside of the United States, and a couple those are ones that people really might argue are World Famous.  The Singapore Zoo for example.  (Its night Safari is AMAZING.)  I went to the Perth Zoo in Western Australia... in a funny turn of events that had me their with the Admirals wife.  A bunch of us wives were there to meet the ship when it pulled in and the day before I was heading to the zoo when I ran into Matt's boss's wife.  When I told her where I headed she introduced me to Mrs. The Admiral and suggested we go together.  And we did too... although she left a bit earlier than I did.  But can you even imagine how that went.  Me, little old Mrs. Pee-on Lieutenant  causally hanging with Mrs.In Charge of the whole Battle Group.  WEIRD?  (Somebody please explain to me how I always manage to find myself in those situations?  

(I'd actually forgotten about that story until just recently when Matt reminded me.  I guess he has a better memory than I do for all the ways I tend to embarrass him.)

But anyway... you know that famous photo of a Mama giraffe sort of kissing a baby giraffe?  Yeah, that was taken in Perth.  And e went to another little zoo in Sydney, where we got to pet koalas and kangaroos but I can't remember what it was called.  Also, I went to a couple of zoos in Japan.  Those are all in addition to the zoos I've visited in other parts of America... San Francisco, Port Defiance (in Tacoma WA) and Woodland Park (in Seattle, WA) and  maybe a few others I'm forgetting about now.  

Is San Diego's Zoo, like WAY better than any of those?  

I don't think so.

The San Diego folks just have a better team of Advertisers.

Anyway, I'm off on a tangent again aren't I?

So a couple of weeks ago Wednesday, I think it was January 23, we packed everybody up (except Matt, he had to work) and then headed down to the zoo.  It was loads of fun, and basically, I enjoyed the day being absolutely useless.  Jono and Kelly took care of my kids.  I just pushed the stroller (which usually didn't even have any kids in it) and took pictures of everything.  So much so in fact, that I'm not even IN any of the photos.  :)

(Starting to see the benefit of having family close by after all....)

Checking out the giraffes.

We like giraffes.

Rhinos.

They were sleepy.

Aunt Kelly and A.J.

Seriously.  I could have just gone home.  

That camel has an odd droopy hump.

Love wombats!  

Tree kangaroo!

It was early, so barely any of the elephants were out yet.

Jaguar

We had kind of some rotten luck with the polar bears, in that the absolute minute we walked in to look at them they disappeared behind the scenes.  Seriously, Peter was ALL excited about them and all we saw was one of their little butts disappear into a door and then it shut behind them.  Grr.  I understand the exhibits need to be cleaned and animals need to be fed, rotated, etc, but somebody please tell me what I am supposed to tell me 3 year old when he's expecting bears and there aren't any???

Oh.  Right.

I don't have to tell him anything because Uncle Jono will distract him
by sending him to play in the pretend ice caves.

And the helicopter.

(He did keep asking about the Polar bears later in the day though.  Jono tried showing him Brown Bears and Grizzly Bears and things but Peter was very insistent that he wanted to see the WHITE bears.)

So then we trotted off down the hill towards the panda.  Kelly had seen that the baby would only be out until 11 am and she really wanted to see it.

On the way we found the tree panda.  So cute.

I've seen the pandas before, but I will definitely say this was the best view of them I've had.  They've rearranged their enclosures some, and the animals were cooperating much better I guess as well, and we were able to get great views of them all.

Stereotypical panda eating bamboo pose RIGHT in front of us.  AAAH!!!  :)

So then, having had some fun looking at the big ones, we headed around the corner to get in line to see the baby.

I've seen the "baby" before, years ago, and I'm here to tell you that at the time, that baby was not really so much.  Teenager was more like it.  I mean, sure he was cute and all, but not all teeny and adorable like I was hoping.  So then this time, when we rounded the corner and this latest baby sat there looking like a living teddy bear... all teeny and adorable.... well, I almost fainted from the adorableness of all of it.

After we ate lunch, A.J. ended up getting a stuffed panda, and I'm not kidding, I think its roughly the same size as that baby.  

:)

Anyway, from there we went up the big (killer hill) to find more animals.

Like the tigers.

But we were starting to lose A.J.  Here interest was fading, and she kept running away.
(Kelly had just caught her when I took this picture.)

Not long after she went to sleep.

We found some of the monkeys and things, but STILL never found the gorillas.  I know I've seen them at this zoo before, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out where we needed to go to find them that day.

Orangutans are so cool but when they look right at you it's almost scary.  

We did walk through almost the entire reptile area, and Peter oohed and ahhed at every snake and lizard and terrifying reptile with his Aunt and Uncle while I hung back with A.J. in the stroller and looked on wearily from a safe distance.  (Yuck.)

Then Jono helped Peter smash a penny.  Of course since we were outside the reptiles it had a lizard on it.

And so that was really that.  

The rest of our visit with the doctors was pretty mellow.  We went to lunch on Thursday and they took some time by themselves to go explore Coronado, but otherwise, mostly, they just hung at home with us and played with the kids.

Reading A.J. 10 zillion books

And playing games.

It was a really great visit.

We were sad to see them go, but surprisingly, Peter seemed to take saying goodbye to them okay.

That is until, about an hour after they'd gone, he noticed his cowboy hat again.  He picked it up and asked me why Uncle Jono had left it behind.  I explained that the hat wasn't Jono's, it was ours, but Peter wouldn't hear of it.  Then he took the hat and tried to put it in the trash.  He said without Uncle Jono he didn't want to be a cowboy anymore.

I think that broke my heart.

It's hard saying goodbye isn't it?