are things complicated yet?

36 weeks

I visited my midwife today and things are good.  I am 36 weeks, but measure 39. I had my first internal exam (what fun!) and was shocked to hear that I am 50% effaced and 1 cm dilated.

My midwife shrugged her shoulders and said that it doesn't mean anything except we're getting closer but she doesn't make guesses, she just observes. I LOVE THIS WOMAN.

At my 36-week appointment with Claire, this happened:

My OB jostled my belly this way and that and made a face like she was concentrating.

"Well.  This is a pretty good size baby!  I would guess about seven or seven and a half pounds already!"

Now, keep in mind that this is nothing more than an educated guess.  She scheduled me for an ultrasound next week to "try and get a better estimate of size."  Both numbers are subject to a wide margin of error. At this point she should be growing by a half pound per week, so we're looking at possibly a 9.5 pound baby if we want to get really crazy with the numbers.

She mentioned that if the baby keeps getting big we may want to look at an induction in the next two weeks because if she really is as big as they think it puts me at a higher risk of emergency c-section.

Just re-reading that for the first time in two years makes my eyes practically roll right out of my skull. WHATEVER, LADY.

I am so glad to be avoiding that brand of crazy this time around.

***

It's a little bit exciting to see SOME progression towards labor since I never saw any with Claire. I definitely feel more labor-y, in the sense that I can tell this baby is lower and has engaged and I find it FAR more difficult to move/walk around at this point than I ever did with Claire. I feel reasonably confident that I will go into labor this time and I won't have to be induced and that gives me an unreasonably large feeling of satisfaction.

But, I'm no fool. I know good and well that it could take the next 6 weeks for this project to complete itself or I could end up at L&D tonight. And it's the last bit of that sentence, the part where I could actually end up at L&D tonight, that triggered some kind of control freak panic button. NOT READY YET! NOT READY YET! NOT READY YET!

I came home and immediately washed the baby blankets and sheets. Then I didn't do anything else because I looked around and I felt tired and everything else seemed to be on the floor and it's not just that it's difficult to bend over and pick things up, it's plain old IMPOSSIBLE. 

So I sat down and ate some Cadbury Creme Eggs and called it a night. The end.

A few thoughts on a topic I have only a cursory understanding of: The Career Path of a Professional Football Player. (In other words, maybe I shouldn't even post this.)

I have spent a lot of time lately thinking about the ideal career trajectory for a football player in the NFL.  I'm not even sure WHY I've been thinking about this other than it's a topic I find mildly fascinating. (Generally speaking, I'm not even an NFL fan.)

This is how the conversation with myself goes when I drive to work in the morning:

These dudes start out in high school as stars, go to college and get beat around on the field there for a couple of years. In return for the development and exposure on the national stage they also get a free education, if they happen to be on scholoarship.  But, they're not allowed to have other jobs.  Their job is football and school, per the NCAA. Collectively, they bring their schools and the NCAA millions (perhaps billions?) of dollars in revenue from ticket sales, licensed merchandise, other things I'm not even aware of and alumni donations. (Because when the football team is doing well, people tend to have warmer and fuzzier feelings about the school and they write checks more easily.)

In return, they get the crap beat out of them and they have a good time and they hope to maybe get drafted one day.  If they don't, they hope the education they got nets a decent job. They also hope that they do not suffer a career-ending injury before their career even starts. 

This seems like a crap deal for the player. Actually, it's OBVIOUSLY a crap deal for the player. The player seems to be taking on a lot of risk for not a lot of reward at this point.  (It's only potential reward, and it's a slim opportunity at best.) The value of the scholarship can't possibly equal the value the player brings to the school. It's a closed system though, so if a guy wants to play in the NFL he NEEDS that game time at a Division 1 school and, well, those are the terms it's offered under.  Take it or leave it. There's not really another path to professional success. I'm not saying I know what the GOOD deal or path is, but it just seems kind of lopsided and crappy to me.  (And, obvs I am only talking about mid to top tier players at Division 1 schools here. People who have no chance to make it to the NFL don't fit into my daily oddball thoughts on this subject.)

If you don't get drafted maybe that's okay. Maybe, for some people, the opportunity for an education was worth it and the physical toll in college wasn't too great and, besides that, it was fun.  (Even though I hate the idea of "fun" as valid compensation. You can't eat fun. You can't retire on fun. Fun is percieved and valued relative to the individual. I am sure there are people who hate playing football but do it anyway for other reasons.) 

If the dude actually gets drafted it's a different story. He finally makes some money off of his talent that other people have been making money off of for years. He plays in the NFL and he gets paid pretty well.  Maybe even REALLY well. His career can end at any time, on or off the field, with one car accident or one bad hit or one blown knee.

But, the risk a player takes on is not why he gets paid a lot. They get paid a lot because there's a lot of money to go around in this business. I don't think there are any owners paying players a lot of money because they know this money is supposed to last the next 70 years for the player.  They pay them a lot so they won't play on other teams that will pay them more. But, only a few players get that kind crazy-money treatment.  I mean, the league minimum is $310k. If a person played for three years at that rate (I know it would go up a little each year, but let's keep the math simple), after taxes it'd be about $600k. Hardly "last a lifetime" money.

Plus, these guys are on the clock. For a "career" it sure doesn't last a long time. The player's association backs this up: average tenure in the NFL is 3.5 seasons and 24% of the players get injured every year. That's...a lot of hurt dudes. Even if someone doesn't get dinged in that 24%? Most guys will get injured, either spectacularly or slowly, over the spread of a few seasons. Their usefulness will wane. But, some will still keep playing as long as someone pays.

The Smart Dudes see this coming and they save their money, play wisely and well for a few years and stop.  They will stop before the damage to their bodies becomes noticeable at the ripe old age of 25. They will stop playing and they will take that money and do something else with it like start a business or get a job coaching or SOMETHING, ANYTHING. Basically, they stop getting the shit beat out of them.

The Stupid Dudes keep playing, keep slogging through, keep coming back.  When a team releases him he finds a new one. When he gets injured he rehabs it and goes back.  He plays for what is considered a long time: 5 or 8 years. Maybe more. By the time he's finished, either by choice or forced circumstance, he's done a lot of damage to his body.  He'll be old before he's middle-aged. He'll hurt for a long time. But he might have a nice stash of cash for his trouble.  (But! Money! It does not buy happiness!) If he's lucky, he was a good, notable player and maybe he has some endorsements. But if he didn't save his money and he was an average player with no star power, he's under 30 and he probably needs a job.

And none of this is news, really. It's all been said and pointed out by people far more sports-minded than I am.  (But, like I said, I CAN'T HELP THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR SOME ODDBALL REASON.)

In this sense, being a professional football player doesn't sound awesome to me. It sounds like a lot of sacrifice and risk for a slim chance at great reward. It sounds a lot like using your 401k to buy lottery tickets. I don't see this level of risk taken on in other professional sports, which is why I think I find it all so mind-boggling and interesting that anyone would WANT to do this with their life. Perhaps I'm totally wrong though?

It's just...I don't know. I don't think I'm that far off. Why do kids want to do this? (Likely Answers: Fame. Fortune. Chicks.) It doesn't seem all that wonderful when the realities are examined and the alternatives considered. Even when it works out and you're a star and you make millions it seems like your body will be broken before you're 50 if you spend a significant amount of time in the NFL. And even if you get lucky and don't end up all broken and bruised, there's all of that RISK the entire time you're on the field.  Your quality of life after the game is almost guaranteed to be kind of crappy in a physical well-being sense.  Aren't there other ways to make your fortune and keep your knees?

(Maybe yes, but those ways require more effort and time unless you invent Facebook so, hell yes, they'll totally go knock some dudes down and get paid and worry about the future later. Knees? In ten years they'll be able to grow new knees from cucumbers in the KneeMaker4000. KNEES ARE OPTIONAL.)

(Also, I know that for some talented kids football seems like A Way Out or a Ticket To A Good Future and I get that but I just figure almost anyone is better off taking the education and running the other way than going for the draft.)

It seems so selfish. Who wants to not be able to run around with your kids at 45? Who wants to live a life in constant pain?  Who wants to have joints that ache when your wife is still walking with ease at 40?  I know the obvious answer is that this seems EASY and if there's anything people like it's easy money, but man...it doesn't seem all that easy to me. (Gah, this is SUCH a Mom sentiment isn't it? "Don't get hurt! Get a desk job!")

There must be players that don't fit into this description. Players that are healthy and feel good after their days on the field are over. Players that saved their money. But, I am guessing they are the exception. 

It's like a question in one of those books: If you could be guaranteed several million dollars, fame and the best time of your life for three years, but afterwards would likely be in a great deal of physical pain for the rest of your life, with an added risk of brain damage, would you do it?

Uh, no. No, I would not.

***

(I promise that you will never see another sports post on this website again. I've got it out of my system now.)

35 weeks

This is me at 35 weeks. I had to go buy some maternity shorts because it was 85 degrees last weekend and that was beyond irritating to spend money on something I'm only going to wear for a few weeks. Really, the weather has been nice for several weeks but only last week did the mat shorts finally hit Target.

And then, because I live in Texas, today it was 50 degrees so I didn't even get to wear the stupid shorts today. This is why maternity clothes are stupid: they cost the same and their life span is terribly limited.

My last day of work is in about two weeks and I'll be 38 weeks by then. I'm hoping that New Baby doesn't come early, because I want her to get nice and fat and healthy, but also I want some time off to do some things and spend time with Claire. We'll see if I get my wish. I'm measuring ahead (37 weeks) and at the rate my BH contractions are picking up and starting to get painful and less BH-like, I'm not so sure I'll make it to 40 weeks. (But, since I just said that on the internet, that means I'll be pregnant for 42 weeks for sure.)

I haven't packed a hospital bag or washed the clothes or figured out what to do with Claire if I go into labor and have to go to the hospital while nobody else is around. I've never been up to the second floor to check out Labor and Delivery. (I trust that the signs are correct and it's really on the second floor.) I haven't hired a baby photographer yet. We still don't have a middle name.

These seem like big-deal things but at the same time they don't. (I think the biggest one is What To Do With Claire but I am sort of banking on my mom being in town or my brother in law or a friend coming over until she GETS to town.) I am remarkably at ease about the whole thing. It'll all happen and get sorted out and be fine because when it comes down to it my only responsibility is to listen to my body and give birth. When I think about it like that, everything else fades into the background noise of my everyday life. Other people can (and will happily) take care of the rest of these things for me if I don't get to them.

***

Totally unrelated, I made a strawberry almond cream cheese tart this weekend. It's a great recipe if you find yourself with a boatload of strawberries to do something with, fast, before they get squishy. (Chris happened to find THREE POUNDS of strawberries at the store for $4 the other day.) I like it because it's not a pie (cooked fruit weirds me out sometimes) but it's still fruity and summery. I've made it several times over the years and it's a consistent winner.

I keep thinking that something big will happen tomorrow, as this week has just been FULL of surprises

Jake had his surgery today and he's home now and doing okay.  The vet said that it was indeed a cancery-looking tumor and it had also invaded the muscle tissue in his leg. They didn't try to remove any of the tumor in his actual leg though, because they didn't want him to lose the use of it. 

We opted not to send a sample to the pathology lab so we'll never know if it really IS cancer or if it's something scarier (I don't even know what that would be) or totally benign (which is was very likely not). The tumor will probably come back or maybe another one will show up in a different spot, but he was optimistic that we'd bought him a "significant" amount of time with today's surgery. So, we'll see how he does in the upcoming weeks and months.

Jake is home now and only a little bit gimpy on his paw where the IV was. Hopefully, he will be feeling better soon.  Thank you so very much to everyone who expresed concern and well wishes. It really meant a lot to us.

***

Today I am 35 weeks pregnant (with only 35 DAYS until my due date!) and today I went to visit my midwife. I am up two pounds in the last two weeks, making my total weight gain this pregnancy a very round and respectable 25 pounds. I am measuring 37 weeks, which was incredibly validating to hear as I feel that I've become far more ginormous since my last visit. No, seriously, I feel HUGE, I am more prone to Braxton Hicks contractions (several per hour), I get winded walking across a parking lot, I require help getting off the floor and I am very stereotypically pregnant.

Go on, think of a pregnant lady cliche. THAT IS ME.

Do I think this baby will come early? I'm inclined to say no, since Claire was a wee bit late (10 days past her due date, but only 3 past what I deem to be her *correct* due date) and I also don't think I'm lucky enough to escape those torturous last few weeks plus a few overdue ones. And yet...NOTHING about this pregnancy has followed the format of the last, so maybe this baby will come early and maybe she'll be huge and who the hell knows what other surprises are in store for me?

My midwife declined to comment on any of that though, which makes me love her so much. She said that even though I measure 37 weeks the position of the baby can influence it a few weeks up or down so she's not concerned. If I measure ahead again next week then maybe she'll start to think the baby might be big or come early but even then? No biggie. A big baby or an earlyish baby are really no big deal and they are totally manageable. My last pregnancy? They were already talking about scheduling inductions and possible c-sections and stress-tests because of my giant baby (that turned out to be just over 7 pounds).

I have no doubt that I am getting far better and more practical care this time.

***

We switched to Charlie's Soap Powder for the laundry this week and, um, it's totally awesome.  220 positive reviews on Amazon can't steer you wrong, and it runs about the same price as Tide per load but without any garbage in it. We'll use it to wash everything: grown-up clothes, Claire clothes, baby clothes, towels, sheets, diapers.

***

That's how our week is shaping up.  The dog, the baby and the laundry. How domestic of us. Perhaps I shall bake a pie tomorrow.

How are you? Please tell me that someone got fantastic news this week. (Someone HAD to, right?)

Why are people so stupid? No, really, I want to know. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?

I CANNOT CATCH A FREAKING BREAK THIS WEEK.

Today at daycare I parked my car and went inside to fetch Claire. When I came back, a minivan had parked WAY too close to me. The minivan tires were inside the line (barely) but I am certain that the body of the minivan broke the plane.

I HATE it when parents do this at daycare.

PEOPLE. We are all in this together. We all come here to deliver and pick up shorties and their myriad belongings twice a day and then wrangle them into and out of carseats and, as a community, we cannot abide with parking too close in this parking lot because DOORS WILL GET DINGED.

Just like you don't drive too fast in this particular parking lot or back out suddenly without looking? YOU DO NOT PARK TOO CLOSE TO OTHER CARS. There are unspoken daycare parking lot rules and everyone knows them because they are just that obvious.

Harrumph.

So, this minivan is too close and I'm annoyed. I roll my eyes. I mutter something impolite and I wonder which moron it is that has done this. But, I eke Claire's door open carefully, making certain that I do not touch the minivan and I get her in our car. As soon as she plops into her carseat I hear an odd mechanical clicking sound behind me and then MY car door is suddenly moving and shoving me in the back.

I look up and the woman who owns the minivan is walking towards me. She has used the remote sliding door button to open the door to her minivan, WITHOUT CHECKING TO SEE IF ANYONE IS STANDING THERE. YOU KNOW, WITH A CAR DOOR ALREADY OPEN?

(SORRY, BUT THIS DAY IS ALL CAPS.)

The result is when the minivan sliding door popped open a few inches, it tagged my door, but didn't move it enough to get it out of the way entirely. Her door then dragged itself all the way across my open door and my door bounced across it, because hello, I was standing there the whole time blocking it from moving very much.

My door is fine. Her door has a nice series of staccato-like dings in it.

The whole thing took about 5 seconds. Then, suddenly she appears and figures out what happened and I am beyond pissed off at her and she's muttering something about "I'm sorry," but in a totally insincere and casual way like her grocery cart just kissed mine in the cereal aisle.

I've had a sort of day at this point and I give her a gigantic "You are a fucking MORON" look, inspect my car door (it's fine) and I leave. I SO wanted to get into it with her. I didn't want to pick a fight but I did want to say a few choice words. But, there is a point in my day where I just can't deal with other people, not even to chew them out for being idiots, and I had reached that point several hours earlier.

As I drove away, she was still inspecting her stupid minivan door. I am hoping that I see her tomorrow so I can ask her for a copy of her insurance and driver's license, JUST TO MESS WITH HER.

Sometimes, being an adult kind of sucks

I was going to write about an annoying thing that happened at daycare last week but then this happened today:

Yep, that's a Cone of Shame.

Jake is a golden retriever/chow mix. His fur is really fluffy when we don't keep him clipped. Many, many inches of voluminous, thick fur. I usually let it get pretty long and crazy before I finally take him to the groomer because DAMN, do you know how much that costs? More than I pay for a haircut, that's for sure.

He got his hair cut on Saturday and when he came home Chris announced that the dog had a tumor and all I could think about is that scene in Kindergarten Cop where Arnold Schwartzenegger is all, "It's not a tumah!" They hadn't even walked all the way into the house and I was rolling my eyes at whatever new knobby-tiny thing Jake has that Chris had declared a TUMOR, of all the crazy things. Dude, IT'S NOT A TUMAH.

And then I saw the freshly clipped dog and HOLY SHIT there was a tumor-y mass type thing, right there on his hind leg and my God it is the size of a plum. Maybe a peach. At least the size of my fist. It is significant. I thought, "The dog has a tumor."

We felt very badly at first.  We seemed to be terrible dog parents: our dog has a tumor-y mass type thing (TMTT) that is huge on his leg and we...didn't ever notice it? GAH! That's awful. And yet, I am not in the habit of petting Jake on his back leg, towards the upper inside of it and his fur DID cover it up. He's been eating and drinking normally, running and jumping and playing. He lays on that leg and runs up and down the stairs. He hasn't been MESSING with it. Plus, he was just at the vet last December AND he had a haircut then too and that TMTT? Was not there, at all, four months ago. In fact, his bloodwork was pronounced perfect and everyone at the vet's office thought he was half his age. (Jake is 14!)

Maybe he got bit? By a...snake or something? Perhaps? We don't know much, but we do know that a trip to the vet is in order. We secure the first available appointment which ended up being Wednesday. If it wasn't bothering him before, we can wait until then to get it checked out.

Sometime while we were at work today, Jake licked all of the remaining fur off the TMTT and it started to bleed.  Chris came home to two bloodstains in the middle of the living room carpet (always the MIDDLE of the carpet) and a dog that looked miserable. He was able to get squeezed in at the vet this afternoon, between apppintments.  Claire and I get home and I have to talk to Claire about Jake's boo-boo and how he will go to the doctor today to get it fixed and it might hurt but it's okay.  She pets him on the head and says, a million times, "It's okay Jake. You go to doctor and she fix your boo-boo. Boo-boo be okay."

Even after that pep talk, Claire bursts into tears when they leave. She whimpers, "I want Jake be okay!" I try not to get worked up about what news he might come home with. I just hope he comes home with the dog.

While Claire and I play outside with the water table, Chris learns that yep, that's a weird TMTT and it should be surgically removed and, hard to say for sure, but in the vet's experience and based on its location, size and speed of growth, TMTT is probably actually a legit tumor and probably cancer of some sort.  He might be able to tell more once he removes it and we can send it to a pathology lab to find out for sure what it is.  But, he warns us that it may not be worthwhile depending on what we would DO with the information the pathology lab gives us.

If it's cancer are we going to pursue chemo and radiation? Probably not. If it's not cancer and it's benign? We just spent $150 - $200 to find out nothing and do nothing. Huh. Probably don't bother sending a sample to the path lab then, doc.

It will cost $700 - $900 by the time this week is over to take care of Jake and the (probably) cancerous mass on his leg that is bleeding. After that, it's anyone's guess as to how much longer he'll be a part of the family. He doesn't appear to be in pain, which is the most important thing to me, and I'm hoping that simply removing the mass will make him more comfortable from a licking/bleeding standpoint. At the very least, we can't allow the tumor to stay put and get bigger and, in the meantime, let him keep licking it and bleeding all over the carpet.

I'm not sure that Jake is dying or really, what the exact deal with Jake is right now. It seems pretty clear that he may not be around as long as I was thinking he would be. The signs are all there: he's an elderly animal that can't see as well, can't hear as well, can't walk as far and is a lot less energetic than he was seven years ago when I first met him. He's our buddy, but he's our elderly buddy.

I don't WANT to say goodbye to him (obviously!) but for the past few years Chris and I have been asking ourselves just how much longer he's got. I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to feel about this. On the one hand, he's an older dog and this is expected. On the other hand, HE'S MY DOG.

I suppose if you keep asking the universe a question, the answer will eventually present itself. Too bad it's kind of a shitty answer today.

Sunshine makes everyone happier

We got out the water table today, which I think signals the official start of summer around here.  I know that it's technically still winter, and spring doesn't even start until, I don't know, next week? But, summer is a horrible time to be outside around here, so we try to squeeze our summer activities into the early days of spring when it's 75 degrees and breezy and repeated pleas to go play in the sunshine aren't met with an eye-roll or strategic redirection, but are instead given an enthusiastic,

"YES! YES WE CAN GO OUTSIDE!"

We spent the whole damn day out there in the hammock, watching our little girl tirelessly empty ten million cupfuls of water onto the patio.

It sure does seem like it was a long winter. I'm glad it's over. We're all glad.

For the record, I made those curtains at almost 8 months pregnant, which is not something I recommend

New Baby's room is almost finished, which is good seeing as how New Baby is almost ready to be given a SSN and counted as a dependent on my taxes for 2011. I'm 34 weeks pregnant and even though there are 6 (or 7 or 8?) weeks left at this rodeo, there is definitely a feeling of elevated urgency creeping up on me.

Every other thought that crosses the threshold of my brain is something along the lines of, "Oh, crap! I have to do that random baby thing! Like, soon! Right after I eat this mini ice cream sandwich!" I'm not doing so great on my big list. I think I've only accomplished about a third of those items. (Good thing I made a list.)

But, enough with the frivolous words! Here are the pictures. I'm still not finished, but let's say we're 90% there.

Yesterday, Chris hung the curtains I made. I do not recommend making curtains when you are 8 months pregnant. There is just too much bending over what with the pinning and cutting and laying good sides together. It took me about twice as long as it would have if I WASN'T this pregnant. (I suppose this is the punishment when you procrastinate while gestating. Want to save everything till last minute in a pregnancy? You can do that, but it's going to be a way bigger PITA than if you'd done it at say, 24 weeks. Now, if you were still feeling like ass at 24 weeks like I was then maybe you have an excuse, but still.  There's just never a good time to do stuff when you're pregnant. You either feel like ass early on or you can't pick the scissors up off the floor without assistance later. Really, pregnancy is not a very good time to take up new projects, which is kind of stupid. ANYWAY! Long and winding parenthetical that is not decor-related!)

I need to take the curtains down and iron them so they hang properly but I'm pretty pleased with how they turned out relative to the effort expended. Fabric and trim were $38 and I had extra blackout liner already so they were beyond cheap compared to the Land of Nod ones that I really wanted (that probably had crappy blackout liner anyway) that cost something ridiculous like $150. The blackout liner I used is Serious Business and makes that room pitch black, which is the entire point of the exercise. Dark room = sleepy baby = happy mommy.

We picked up the nightstand at Ikea last week and while it wasn't free like I was hoping, it was cheap enough ($60, I think). It's the only piece of furniture we bought for this room.

The ABC print on the upper left is new, and has cursive letters on it. When I was in the third grade I remember BEGGING my teacher to teach us cursive or let us write in cursive on assignments, so this one appealed to me from that angle. (Oddly enough, I do not write in cursive much these days.)

The fruit counting print needs a mat but I stuck it in the frame anyway to keep it safe until I get around to it. I loved this print online but I was actually really disappointed that it was printed on photo paper and not, I don't know, actual paper. The color isn't as saturated or bright as I thought it would be. I can't tell if that's the file or the print quality but for $45 I expected something with deeper tones. I still like the design, but the print quality was lacking. (Fine, but not up to my sky-high standards.)

I have a lamp in a closet somewhere that I think I'm going to put on the nightstand . It's silver and very boring but it is free and functional.

The closet in this room is a set of double white doors and they're kind of annoying because they're this gigantic expanse of WHITE in a blue room. At first I thought I'd get some hooks to stick on the front and hang something cute to break up the white, but then I remembered a giant spool of hot pink grosgrain ribbon that was leftover from my wedding and I thought I could do better.

I bought some of those plastic, removable hooks from 3M at Target for a couple of bucks, hung them upside down on the back of the door and tied some ribbon to them. Then I just picked out two cute dresses, hung them on Bambi hangars that my mother used as a child and voila! Instant rotating cute little girl clothing display. I need to fish around in the closet and find more brightly colored dresses. These are the two that I had handy at the time.

(And, yes, once she is born and we get some nice pictures I'll replace that photo of Claire with a photo of her.)

Great discussion and thought went into whether we should hang the picture centered on the WALL or centered on the TABLE. Finally, I decided the wall. It still looks weird. I think it would have looked weird either way, honestly.

Actually, looking at this picture it appears that the photo is not even centered on the wall. OH WELL. ALREADY DID IT.

Name in white letters will go above her crib. Red paper butterflies from Etsy will affix to the wall starting up in the left corner and trickling/filtering down across the wall. I am hoping it looks cool, but it's entirely possible it will just look weird. Since Chris won't put up the letters until after she's born, this wall will have to wait, which makes me CRAZY with completion issues. HARRUMPH.

I think we should buy New Baby some more clothes.

I died a little bit inside when my mom gave me this wee onesie. I'll bet you just died a little bit too.

Mostly, I just wanted to post this picture that I found on my mom's iPad.

When I'm home for the weekend, I like to look at old pictures. Do you do that?

I look through the boxes and bins and laugh at my painfully awkward teenage years while simultaneously thinking, "Thank God these will never see the internet. Thank God there WAS no internet." I like to squint at my baby pictures and try to find some resemblance to Claire, but it's always been difficult for me to see, even though others swear that it's there.

I really like to look at my parents' wedding photos. They are all candids, there are no more than 100 or so shots and they've never bothered to arrange them in a formal album or enlarge any of them past the 3 1/2" x 5", rounded corner, slightly reddish 1970's prints.  (She DID scan them and put them on her iPad though.) They're basically nothing like any wedding photos you see these days. I love them.

This is my mother, getting dressed on her wedding day in 1977. Her bridesmaids wore sugary-pink dresses, she had a cascading bouquet of lilies and roses and they made their getaway in a Triumph TR7. I think she looks gorgeous.

(Incidentally, it was one of Time Magazine's "50 Worst Cars of All Time" -- ha ha!  She says the got rid of it when they found out I was due to arrive, so I'd have a place to sit. How kind of them. She also says they never had maintenance issues with it, which I find incredible given that scathing write-up.)

***

Being at home this weekend has been super fun. First of all, BABYSITTERS! When you're working towards 8 months pregnant, having two whole extra people around that just love to cater to the toddler's every whim or question is pretty freaking awesome. Plus? They let us sleep in. No, really, my mom TAKES THE MONITOR TO BED WITH HER so that we can sleep.

And? It was all HER IDEA! And? Because it's not our house and Claire is usually here while we are on vacation, when she wakes up at the crack of dawn?  She goes to Grammie's room to wake HER up and not ME. It gets better: I also took a 2 hour nap every day.

The toys here are all brand new, Grammie will read books for an unlimited amount of time and she has thoughtfully placed the juice boxes on the bottom shelf in the door of the fridge, so little hands can serve themselves. She will cut limitless amounts of strawberries and slices of cheese and she won't even make a face when someone asks for an orange to be peeled and then refuses to eat a single wedge.

Colonel throws old bread in the yard so the deer will come out and eat, he chases her around the living room and gladly plays a variation of hide and seek wherein Claire puts her hands over her eyes, counts to ten and then declares, "I hiding!" There's not much for Colonel to do in this game other than say, "I found you!"  Even though it's completely nonsensical, it's cute and he has endless patience for her and she loves his attention more than anyone else's.

We are never going home.

The Acid In My Throat Months

This has been a really difficult pregnancy for me, mostly because I feel like every day has been a mighty and dramatic struggle. If my day isn't a physical struggle, it is an emotional struggle and sometimes it is both on the same day, which adds up to a really shitty day (not just for me, but for everyone in my family) if I'm being honest.

That's so whiney and horrible of me to say because there are people out there who have ACTUALLY difficult or dangerous pregnancies and I am not comparing degrees of awful or traumatic here, I am just saying that personally, I AM MISERABLE AND I AM TIRED OF FEELING THIS WAY while also acknowledging that yes, I know it could be worse and I am thankful it is not but that doesn't make the acid in my throat burn any less.

I can count on two hands the number of truly GOOD days I've had this pregnancy. Let's be brutally honest: ten days out of 7 months is not very fun. In fact, if a non pregnant person only had ten good days in seven months, a doctor might be inclined to say that person was depressed or gravely ill.  But me? NOPE. JUST PREGNANT.

It's equally infuriating for Chris since I complain, complain, complain and he can't do a damn thing about it. He asks me, all the time, if there's something I need or want or that he can do (and he's very sincere and concerned and very much wants to help me out). Sometimes he can help ("Will you pick up that item on the floor over there?") and then he does, gladly.  But, because I'm very grumpy, half the time I say that the only solution is to give birth and he can't do anything and I will just have to be miserable until it's time to be sleep deprived and fat and smushy post-partum, thankyouverymuch. (Lately, I think I am not easy to be married to.)

On the other hand, my midwife says that I'm having a healthy pregnancy with no complications or distress to myself or our daughter so, on paper, I am having a "good" pregnancy. This strikes me as a rather bad Good Pregnancy, but whatever.

I have been waiting to feel better since September. I've been waiting to feel less tired, less snippy and less heartburn-y. I've been waiting to feel glowy and energetic and peppy. I've been waiting to feel as good as I did when I was pregnant with Claire. Those days have simply not shown up this time around. I'm starting to accept that this second pregnancy is never going to be anything close to my first in terms of comfort. I will not have glowy-smiley days this time around.

The stretch marks are getting worse, and by that I mean they freaking HURT, and I find myself out of breath simply standing at the sink in the morning to brush my teeth. When she kicks my stomach, the acid within roils up into my esophagus.  She sleeps most of the day while I'm at work but I swear she knows when I leave my desk and it's like her burst of energy is directly leeched off of mine.  By 4pm I am a mess, even though all I've done is sit in a chair and write email. HARDLY physically taxing. I have a headache, heartburn, round ligament pain and frequent but irregular contractions through the evening when I am my most active...It's all so different this time.

It's not the worst pregnancy ever, in the history of pregnancies, but of the two I've had? It is the worst. It's not what I was expecting.

***

We are having a difficult time with Claire this week. It is typical toddler behavior: the testing of limits and manipulation thereof. What is so defeating is that it comes at bedtime, at the end of this day where I am already so tired and so done and so wanting to go to bed at 8 pm myself but instead I am fighting a 30 pound child in the dark on a topic that we are both too tired to listen to reason on. Sometimes, Chris has the fight with her and we take turns and while this sounds like a very just and equitable parenting scenario, it's not. We have discovered is that it's exhausting no matter who is the discipline enforcer du jour because EVERYONE HAS TO LISTEN TO IT FOR THREE HOURS EVERY NIGHT.

(It's a phase, it's a phase, it's a phase. Please God, it has to be a phase.)

After our three-hour battle of wills, she's up at 6 am every day, sometimes earlier but never later, and it makes me think that I am not taking advantage of sleeping right now. I am not properly enjoying it or savoring it or appreciating it.  Perhaps it's stupid to think that I deserve to sleep or to even WANT to sleep because these are the years of my life where I Will Hardly Ever Sleep, so why bother fighting it or getting annoyed? It's just reality.

***
These early years with children can be unpleasant sometimes. They are, unquestionably, physically demanding. But they are also short-lived. Just when I think I can't handle something any more, something changes and she grows up a little bit and it's all okay again. I try to smile and enjoy every precious and shining moment, but damn, can it be tough when I'm telling a two-year-old to GET BACK IN BED for the 45th time that night. 

I know that the years where I sleep a lot and my children are self sufficient enough to get their own Cheerios and juice in the morning are ahead of me. One day, I will sleep in and this stage where she wakes me with a smile at first light will be over and I won't even realize that it's over until it's already happened. And I think I am maybe supposed to feel weepy and sad about that, but I don't. It's just life, you know?

The truth is that I think this gig is just plain old tough, from the very start where you pee on a stick and welcome 40 weeks of heartburn into your life, to a day far off in the future where you plan to release these children, that you hope you raised properly, into the wild as Financially Independent Adults. I don't think it gets easier, it just gets different. In between now and then, it's just a long string of Getting By With What You've Got and Whatever Works.

These days, my reality is that I'm getting by with a bunch of stomach acid in my throat.