She's At It Again!!

Remember my oh-so-fun adventure with the moles and how well that day I decided to be rid of them turned out?
My head aches just thinking of it.
So you can imagine how thrilled I was tonight when our neighbor came over, right after we ate dinner, to show us what he caught (barehanded) in his garden.

A mole.

In a bucket.

Except he didn't tell me it was a mole. He just held out the bucket and said "look what I found". So, like any moron, I looked.

And then I did my perfectly naturally 'icky' dance.
You know, the one where your whole body looks like you're convulsing and you shake.
Except that I was wearing non-maternity pants that are just hanging on there (I hadn't planned on going anywhere).
Thankfully I was mostly behind the door when my pants fell down so he didn't see anything except my very red face and my husband laughing.

Taboo

I started to read another book yesterday. I thought I could drag this one out for a few days since I had other projects that really needed my attention.
Within the first few chapters I knew I wasn't going to be able to go to sleep until I got to the end. There wasn't going to be a perfect ending. Happy. Maybe, but not the clean happily ever after that most books seem to have. Hope. Yes.
The Kindness of Strangers is... I don't even know how to describe it. It just brought up so many feelings, thoughts, gut reactions... and I think that's what it was supposed to do.
Because it is taboo. One of those Things Not Spoken Of.
It's about a child's sexual abuse at the hands of his parents and the turmoil it caused in his life, in the life of his best friend's family who soon became his family, and in a community.
It's fiction.
It's true.
It left me with unanswered questions that made sleep difficult even after the last page had been turned.

Too Tired To Care Right Now

First... I passed my GD test. Dr B said that though the baby seems small, numbers are perfect and given that both previous tots have been small, well.... Yes. Bre was my largest at a whopping 6 lbs 13 oz (and two weeks late). He (Dr B) seems certain that this one will be my smallest yet thereby assuring that I will be giving birth to a 15 lb screaming sumo wrestler.
I plan on kicking the Dr at birth.

I am eagerly searching for a photographer and not at all cringing at the money this little indulgence will cost us (at least not outwardly cringing. limping does not count).

I am attempting optimism. Or at least my version of it.

Which I believe means I am reverting to previous form of pretending. Something has to work.
*********

In the 'Ew, how the hell?' department of my life......
Bre has a fungus. On her head.
At first we thought it was dandruff. My stepmom suggested a build-up since she doesn't always properly rinse her hair. And I know this will sound odd, but she suggested Listerine to help remove the patches of dry flakes we were finding.
Though the patches didn't quite fit what the description of what we thought it was, we tried the listerine.
Bad idea.
As I combed out her hair, it started to bleed. And then I looked closer. Those patches were round (ish) and scattered. All over her head.

Her Dr insisted that it couldn't be fungal because, um, it's her head. But she tested some flakes anyway.

Two days later and.... it's a fungus. "How did she get a fungus on her head?" Well, gee, I don't know. I thought that was why I was paying you medical type people.
She is currently taking 6 weeks of a very strong antibiotic under much protest.
Of course everything she does lately is under protest. And eye-rolling. Because she's 9 going on 30 and knows everything.
Honestly? She's making me crazy. I don't say a lot about the things we're going through with her and I won't. I think it's enough to say that I love her, I'm glad she's here, but there are days where even the thought of having to listen to my pre-teen complaining in that whiny snotty tone makes me want to jam a dull knife in each ear in hopes of going deaf.
And there is a very long summer stretching out before me.
*********
I do have a very lovely picture of the family at disco night which I will share just as soon as I can get my camera dock connected properly again.
*******
One thing I hadn't expected this time around was my constant need to nap. I've never been so damn tired. I thought for sure that it would end once the 2nd trimester hit but it didn't. Now that I'm in the 3rd, I'm thinking it never will. I must find some way of not being so damn tired all the time. There are things that I have to get done and falling asleep in the middle of washing windows is not one of them.

Random

When I was pregnant with Bre, they made me drink this thick syrupy orange goo for my GD test. I remember having to squeeze the stuff out of the tube because it didn't drip. It oozed.
I also remember throwing up all over the nurse's shoes right before I passed out.
Even though the stuff is less road paving material now, it still fills me with dread to have it done. Still, I know that I have too. Gestational diabetes doesn't seem like a grand party to me.
When I was pregnant with David, they had this stuff that just tasted like really cheap cola. Gross, and fuzzy, but it worked.
This time I was offered fruit punch or......
orange.
I wasn't tempting fate again so I chose 'fruit punch'. It tasted like someone had mixed cheap cough syrup with an otter pop.
While I didn't throw up on anyone or pass out, I did actually feel sick this time. With David I was craving cheeseburgers within 2 minutes.
I'm not sure what this says for the results. I'm not going to worry about it. No really, stop laughing. I'm not. I have enough other stuff I can send myself into a tizzy about.
I think if we do this baby thing again (stop laughing), I'm going to get frisky and ask for a combo of orange and fruit punch. Maybe I'll get to puke in technicolor.
***************
I did something today that never ends well and always leaves me feeling a little sick.
I bought clothes.
I have one pair of maternity pants that fit so comfortably (the rest either show off entirely too much ass-crack and though lovely it may be, it's not for public viewing or are so loose that I have to staple them closed. And it's just awkward to carry a stapler in your purse for when you have to use the bathroom.) and I wear them all the time. I also have no shorts. Something I think I may actually need this summer (I freeze Joe out every night with the window open even though it's like 30 degrees at night).
Today my comfy jeans sprouted a hole in the knee and I cried. Mostly because I already knew that every pair of jeans I saw lately had 'low-rise' in the name and do we really need to discuss how much I loathe low-rise?
But I did it. I found a pair of non-low-rise (aka- ass-crack revealing), non-embroidered (????? on that fashion statement) denim maternity pants that would not cause me to take out a loan. I also found a pretty shirt and capris. I'm pretending not to notice how much I spent.
***************
David has this really great habit of pointing out the obvious.
To the lady in front of us at the store when she foolishly smiled at him:
"Dis is my butt. See?" (and yes, he pointed to it)

To the teacher who just wanted to get her mail when I was putting in flyers at Bre's school:
"I farting" (I could hear her laughing down the hall. I so hope he has her when he starts school)

To me, though thankfully not in public this time, as I was bending over to pick up his giraffe:
"Is BIG"
And then he poked me in the butt.
This kid is killing me.

Blah, blah asshat.

When I was 16 my shrink put me on Zoloft. Yes, my shrink. The one my parents made me see because I was 'rebellious'. More like I had pretty much had enough of my mother's nonsense and had been left to my own devices one too many times but really, was cutting school and refusing to speak to my mother shrink worthy? Anyway, Zoloft.
Yes, that stuff that is now a big no-no for teens.
I was on a really low dosage. 25 mg. Within 2 days I was taking a quarter of that 25 mg pill because of the effect it was having on me. I was foggy all the time. Dizzy. It's fun to drive while you're seeing two of the road. I couldn't eat. Everything made me nauseous. I stayed on Zoloft for a month and nothing changed as far as the side effects went. In fact, I was so miserable from the way it was making me feel physically, that I have no idea what it could have done for me emotionally. Especially since I don't think I was actually depressed. Or at least I wasn't before I started taking it. And I definitely wasn't depressed the day I flushed those pills and told my dad I'd sooner shove a steak knife through my eye than swallow another one of those pills.
All this to say that I try to avoid taking any sort of medication. It wasn't just the Zoloft. Even any pain medication I've ever taken has had an intense effect on me. I'm a cheap drunk. I think maybe it's genetic. And while it never stopped my mother, she of the favored boxes of wine and Prozac, it has stopped me.
I've tried other means of controlling what I now know is anxiety attacks. Sometimes they work and sometimes they don't.
They got worse after Bre was born and I was given a prescription for it. But I was always too afraid to take it so I never bothered getting it filled.
I know my anxiety is high right now. I've been trying to distract myself with other things. It works, sometimes. But then I have to stop and all the things I've been trying not to admit hit me like a ton of bricks.
I worry that I haven't gained much during this pregnancy. It's not that I haven't tried (mmm! cheeseburger!), it could be the 4 months of constantly throwing up.... or it could be the 'what if's'. And that's where my trouble starts. That's how I end up thinking that I don't deserve this and I've done something so horrible that everything I love will be taken from me. It's stupid and ridiculous but it's real.
I am trying to not freak out. I am trying to concentrate on other things. Better things. Things like, Disneyland is only 6 months away and to make it even more awesome our friends (who I love like family) are coming with us. Things like the look on David's face when he felt the baby move and the amazed little 'o' his mouth made. Things like Bre coming up to me during her first school dance to tell me that a boy just danced with her (fast dance, no touching but....) and her malicious little smile (that I know she gets from me) as she ran off to tell her dad (not because dancing with a boy is such a big deal but because she knew he would act like it was). Things like walking into my room to go to bed and finding David curled over Joe and the two of them just snoring, content. And then waking up in the morning to David's little hand on my cheek and his stinky breath whispering "mornin' Mama", the sleep still in his eyes.
Little moments to carry me through.

Slow steps.

Deep breaths.

Wimp

I like denial. It's a game I play and I am good. Like, Olympic gold kind of good.
In my defense, it's gotten me through these past months of pregnancy in one piece. It's kept me off my bathroom floor at 3 am crying. It's kept me from spending every waking moment of these pregnancy not asking about the 'what ifs?'
But it's also made me a very unfair kind of person. It's made me someone I don't particularly like very much.
It's the hermit in me. It's my inability to trust my own judgement and to believe that my friends do actually care about me and won't think I'm an idiot for being scared.
It's made me avoid people and make excuses for why I'm not around or why I can't go out when really.... I totally could.
But if I'm perfectly honest with myself, and to be frank I'm not a very good liar in even my best moments, I'm petrified.
I'm in my Black Year again just waiting for things to go wrong. Because I know that they can. They have before.
And because there is still a part of me that doesn't believe I deserve to be a mother. That I've done too many bad things to have the right to any bit of happiness. And, aside from this insane fear, I am happy.
I have the one thing I always wanted but my mother was certain I couldn't. I have a family. I have a husband who loves me and would do anything to make me happy. I have beautiful, happy kids who never have to wonder if they're loved.
So why am I so sure that it's going to be taken from me?
I do my best to remember that my Dr is unconcerned, for the moment, with my contractions. I do my best to remember that I am feeling the baby move (constantly) and stretch (why yes, that is a rib). That alone should give me some piece of mind.
Instead I rely heavily on denial.
Something that I cannot do if I have to talk regularly to the people who know me best and are outside the worry.
I joke about my husband's concern because to admit that I share it means that there isn't anyone who can assure us, and that would leave me on my bathroom floor again and I can't do it.
I count down the days and just hope it goes quickly and pray that it will be alright.
And I hope that the people I've neglected won't hate me when it's over.

On Animal Anatomy

David has been fascinated by giraffe's lately. He asks for a giraffe shirt every day (and of course I can't find one). He talks about his pet giraffe and how it's afraid of his pee-pee (I didn't understand why until... well... you'll see).
For Mother's Day, I decided that we should go to the zoo (because nothing says 'taking it easy to prevent further contractions' like a trip to the zoo! It was fine. I sat a lot.) It was perfect (and crazy busy). The bear was in the water and David came face to face with him. It was slightly unnerving to realize that the only thing separating my child from this very large brown bear was a piece of plexi-glass. His fur was matted to the glass right by David's hand. He whispered, "Whoa" and I think that pretty much summed it up perfectly.
The hippos were playing 'tag' and goosing each other so that it was a chorus of snorts, grunts, and growls. One elephant actually reached out and ripped down some branches from a nearby tree for a little treat. The monkeys (please don't ask me which ones) watched us watching them.
But the best par of the day was when we came to the giraffes and David imploded because he Could. Not. Contain. His. Excitement! Oh! Look! Giraffes!! Whoa!!
We bought him a stuffed giraffe (even they didn't have any t-shirts!) and Bre an orangutan and went home. Tired, happy and together.
This morning after Bre went to school, David and I went through our usual routine of 'Name That Animal' (he still insists that monkeys are Daddy). He picked up his stuffed giraffe and gasped.
"Mama? Where giraffe's pee-pee?"

"Oh. Um. I guess he doesn't have one."

He looks in closer to see if maybe he just missed it. He sadly shakes his head.

"Giraffe scared of pee-pee."

Indeed.

Disco Fever

"It's research."

That was my husband's excuse and why I found myself quietly renting Saturday Night Fever and wishing the glittery-faced (seriously? What the hell is up with the glitter at 11 am on a Thursday?) clerk would stop looking at me like that. I wanted to point out that I was not the one with glitter all over my face, but.... Saturday Night Fever?

Bre's school is having a Disco party soon. During this party there will be a John Travolta look-alike contest.

A contest my husband is determined to win.

Determined enough that I am renting freaking Saturday Night Fever.

I spent a total of 15 minutes with Joe and and the kids while this movie played. Just long enough to determine that my kids are doomed to be very bad dancers.
Just long enough to hear my husband tell my daughter that he was getting some great dance movies out of this.
Just long enough to see me son attempt that finger-hip move and fall backwards over his own butt.

Joe says that there are few times where you get to truly embarrass your kids and he is taking this responsibility very seriously.

All I can promise is that there will be photos.

Conversations

"Are you being a bug, David?"

"No, not a bug. I'm a Dapid."

"Yes, and David is a bug."

"No, Dapid is a handsome boy."

**********************
"Do you want some mac 'n' cheese?"

"No."

"Pizza?"

"No."

"Sandwich?"

"No."

"What do you want?"

"Cookie."

"No cookie until after dinner."

"Samich."

"What kind of sandwich?"

"Cookie samich."

******************
"Where's mommy's keys?"

"In there."

"Where is there?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know where mommy's keys are?"

"In there."

"Can you point to where 'there' is?"

"No."

"I think you don't know where mommy's keys are. I think you don't know where your butt is wise guy."

"My butt right here. Your butt there, there, there....."

"That's enough of that wise guy."

"No, I'm Dapid."

"You win."

"Yeah."

********************
You know it's going to be a bad day when you're being outsmarted by a 2 year old.

Think of Your Own Damn Title. I'm tired.

Do you know what I haven't done in awhile?
How about embarrass myself publicly and then tell you about it?
Right.
See, it's not that I haven't done or said really stupid things in public lately, it's just that I've been in enough of a funk to not find the humor in it.
But not now.
No, I think after the day I had it is a requirement to share.

I had a regular check-up (which I just.... urg! More later.....) and, as always, managed to pee all over my hand instead of in that stupid cup.
Seriously? Who's ingenious idea was it that a pregnant woman who can barely tie her shoes should pee into a tiny cup? Because I'd like to beat them. Preferably with something heavier than that stupid cup.
After that frustrating appointment I thought I'd take David to the library.
He has a runny nose. Not sick, just runny. I really thought we'd be ok. This should have been my first clue.
I was standing there talking to the librarian about the book I'd just read (she asked- The House of Scorta) and about some other recent books when I felt something rubbing my leg.
I didn't think anything of it, just figured it was David trying to get my attention, until the librarian got this really grossed out look on her face and suggested that the library wasn't the place for sick kids.
I looked down to see that David hadn't been trying to get my attention. No, he had just used my pants to wipe his nose and now I had a giant snot trail down my leg and my little monster was standing there staring at a booger on the end of his finger.
He offered it up to me with a very pointed "ew".
Yes.
Thanks.
Need I point out that this is the same library where he pulled up my shirt and flashed the patrons my boobs?
Right.
I think the library is just a very bad place for me.
I tried to clean the snot trail, but it was pretty... ew. And despite my best efforts with the tissue I had in my purse, I think I only made it worse. And to make it really awesome, it was shiny.
And nothing says 'great time to run into people you avoid at all costs' like a giant shiny snot trail on your pants. And it was.
*****
I didn't get to see my Dr this time. No, I got to meet with the nightmare that lectured me about how I was gaining to much weight with David (even though by the end of my pregnancy I had only gained 30 lbs) and that I was going to end up getting GD if I didn't listen to her. I didn't listen to her and I was fine.
This time she commented on how I wasn't gaining enough weight and wanted to know exactly what I was eating.
"The faces of bitches who piss me off and I'm feeling a bit hungry lady."
I ignored the question because I've decided she's insane. And possibly a little obsessed with weight. My weight is fine, thank you. If you don't believe me, just ask my son who insists on using my ass as a bumper.
I'm also contracting. Nothing to worry about at this point. It's inconsistent. I may have 3 one hour and then go another 2 before another one comes on. As long as it stays that way, it's nothing to be concerned with.
Of course, telling Joe was a mistake because now he's completely convinced that this kid is going to fall out of me if I sneeze.
I've been fake sneezing all night just to mess with his head.