Mama Woes

Oy. This morning I woke up to dreary skies and a sniffly, snotty Alaina. Poor munchkin caught the plague from an unknown source, and is now sneezing/coughing all over the place. I don’t have very much faith that the rest of us won’t follow suit, and man, is this going to be rough. Julianna has never had a cold before, and sick babies are NOT happy campers. Neither are sick husbands, and while I’m taking care of sick babes, I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to baby Andrew like every man craves.

What is it with men, anyway? I had some sort of AWFUL virus a while back, puking all over the place and doubled over with horrific, gut-wrenching stomach cramps. I got treated somewhat like I was exaggerating. A man gets the sniffles and it’s all over. They are going to DIE, they lay on the couch moaning piteously about being toooo haaaaawt and then they are freeeeezing, and then before you know it, they’re hungry and can’t find the remote and need a tissue and a dose of Dayquil and wah wah wahhhhh. If you’re not available to wait on them hand on foot, you clearly do not love them and my GAWD, how DARE you be in the bathroom, he needs VAPOR RUB, you selfish whore. Ahem. I don’t have issues with sick husbands, I swear!  I think I’m just in need of a little TLC now and then to combat this (slight) bitterness.

Moving on… I ordered an exersaucer from Amazon, and it’s not here yet. It says it should be here tomorrow, but I am of little faith. The tracking info says it was shipped on the 29th, but nothing else. As far as I know, my exersaucer is still in Kentucky. Which, no… bad… NOT OKAY. I need that thing! My sanity! It is at stake here! Please, please deliver my exersaucer tomorrow, FedEx people. A sick toddler and a baby who could be getting sick and a mom who could very well lose the three effing marbles she is so desperately clinging to would really appreciate it.

P.S., it looks like it may just rain around these parts in the near future. Andrew broke my windshield wipers mid-summer, and hasn’t found the time (too busy playing with his boat) to fix them yet. If you don’t hear from me soon, it may be because I have killed him.


So on Monday when I said that I would post the results of Julianna’s well check on Tuesday, that was a big fat LIE. Sorry, life got a little bit hectic, as it sometimes does with children in tow. I really can’t blame my kids this time, because my mother was here Sunday night through Thursday night. No time for blogging, no time for photo editing. Now that mom went home, I have more time for stuffing my face with Wheatables and playing in Lightroom while the kidlets nap.

Lia is now tipping the scales at 16 pounds, and she’s a whopping 26 inches tall. While she is only in the 50th percentile for her weight and height, she is in 6-9 month clothes, already having outgrown her newborn, 0-3, and 3-6 month sized outfits. She’s already getting so big, so independent. She’s eating solids (I use the term “solids” loosely), and even some rudimentary crackers and cookies. She’s sitting up. She’s rolling and scooting all over the dang place. She’s even getting up on her sweet little hands and pudgy little knees, giving her belly full ground clearance. She rocks back and forth and gurgles and coos until she inevitably falls, only to get right back up again. That’s my girl.

I look my chubby little Lia and how big she’s already gotten, and I feel so robbed. I feel stupid for lamenting for a single moment, much less months, that she was a girl baby and so we may be done having children (for hubby’s fear of a third girl) (not the end of the effing WORLD, in my opinion). I had a hard time truly bonding with her because of that, until I really took some time to examine my feelings and realize how selfish I was being. She is a beautiful, healthy little girl, and to wish for anything besides her was wrong from day one. I’m so thrilled that I’ve kicked those ill-placed feelings of resentment and fallen so completely in love with my second little princess, my Squish, my Lia Bee. This is the way it’s supposed to be, and I’m finally 100% there.

Getting Big

Yes, that’s probably me. Worst pregnant person to ever live. I’m basing this on the fact that instead of cradling my belly and reading it Shakespeare and sitting around glowing with joy and whatnot, I’m annoyed. I will be overjoyed once this little girl is out and born and here and adorable. Right now though, she is kicking, stretching, poking, and generally and making my existence difficult. Sometimes I just want to SLEEP, but then I can’t, because Miss Fetus is kicking and asking for juice. Or my legs won’t accept that it is BEDTIME, and I feel the insane need to kick my legs wildly or I will definitely explode into a firey, gooey mess (and that would just be inconvenient). Or maybe it’s the Heartburn, the Heartburn that laughs in the face of Tums and Rolaids and can be caused by anything from apple juice to chocolate (and really, how cruel is that?) to pasta sauces. When I was pregnant the first time, everything was cute and magical and I cried all over the place because, like, oh my GAWD, my adorable little baby just kicked the crap out of me! This time? Can I just have the baby? Please? Pretty please with sprinkles?

Of course, there is also the fact that we have a toddler this time around. Last time, I laid in bed and ate cookies and slept as much as I wanted to. Not so much this time with Alaina running around, who of course doesn’t have any real clue what is going on and doesn’t understand why I don’t want to chase her around the front yard as much these days. When I ask her, “Where’s baby?”, she does point to my burgeoning belly and respond with an emphatic, “TUMMY!” Buuuut that’s about as far as it has gone. I’ve tried to tell her many, many times that a new baby will be coming to live with us soon, and when we see new babies at the store I point them out to her. It’s probably really just too much for her not-quite-two year old brain to understand at this point. Regardless of my (somewhat lackluster, I will admit) New Baby Invasion Education Program (which we can just call NBIEP to keep things simple), she is probably going to be really surprised when mommy and daddy go away for a few days, then come home with a real, live, screaming, attention-stealing newborn.

Andrew’s talking about only taking a couple days off when the new baby is born. A COUPLE. As in, I’m out of the hospital, he stays home for maybe a day after, and then BOOM. I’m a single mother of two. I’m a little panicked. What if I have to have a c-section this time around? Granted, everything went really well with Alaina, there is no reason to think there will be any problems this go-around… but then again, every pregnancy is different, every baby has a different sized head, etc. I can’t imagine being in early recovery from a c-section and my husband has up and left me to go back to WORK, the selfish dog. His mom works full time now, so she couldn’t come help out, and he doesn’t want my mom staying with us because he thinks it may actually kill him this time around. Realistically though… someone has to be here to keep me sane. Alaina by herself, after a vaginal birth with no complications, was easy to adjust to and I didn’t really need much help. But with two? TWO?! And all the what-ifs? Guh.

I can’t believe Christmas is almost here. Again. Breathing down my neck. Whispering in my ear. It says, “Spend money. Alaina needs three thousand toys, new pajamas, a pony, and a partridge in a pear tree.” And the sad part is that I obey like a trained dog begging for a biscuit. Not to mention that my FIL has his birthday on the 7th, my nephew’s birthday is on the 12th, Shannon’s birthday is on the 20th, which is also the same day as my sorta-anniversary (our dating anniversary). Then of course there is Christmas, then my dad’s birthday on the 30th, and then it’s Alaina’s birthday January 16th. Can we say GIFTING OVERLOAD? Sweet Jeebus.

Luckily, I have most of my gifting already worked out because I am so super neurotic like that. Shannon I think I’m all done shopping for, Alaina has more than enough gifts in the gift closet but that won’t stop me from buying a bunch more. I have no idea what to get my FIL… but shouldn’t that be Andrew’s problem? He’s not my dad. And it’s not so much that I just don’t care as it is that I am not a man, not this particular man’s son, and don’t have any effing CLUE what he would want. Not that it won’t end up my fault on the day before when we have no card, no gift, and still no clue. Because, you know. I am WIFE. It’s my “job” put on my little apron and bake pies and tend the wee ones and write cute notes on birthday cards. And be a mind-reader. And expert gifter! What? I became telepathic when I said my vows. Didn’t you?

In other news, today I mopped the floor. A lot. A WHOLE EFFING LOT OF FLOOR MOPPING. It takes a really long time to clean the floor when you a) are infected with a kicking fetus who is also pissed that you dare bend over, b) mother to an almost two-year-old who wants to know the golden, sparkly secret surrounding The Great Mysterious Bucket, and c) a little bitter because your husband is fishing and you are having a spectacular day alone with factor a and b. After I mopped, I did some dishes. Then I sat down and hoped that I could just sleep. Alaina took that opportunity to poke me in the eye, because I am no use to her if I’m sleeping on the job (and really, the nerve of me).

Then Andrew came home and made a mess in the newly cleaned kitchen. (Insert murderous laugh here.)