The Boss

6 months and already in command.....

Paparazzi friendly......

...Everybody was kung-fu fighting......

You may notice that any time David is close enough, she grabs at him or is holding on to some part of him. She does this every time he gets close, all day. Most of the time he lets her.

David refused to kiss her cheek. He agreed to kiss her head but did it so fast we couldn't get a picture.

How Stupid I am.....

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS POOP! CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE IF YOU SMELL THE POOP.

It had been a long day and it was barely noon. David is sick again and was having a monster fit because he did. NOT. NEED. PANTS. WOMAN!!! And I was pretty insistent that he should at least wear underwear, but his spiderman underwear was in the wash and that was the pair he wanted. Like, the red spiderman underwear was just not going to cut it, you know? What the hell was I thinking? It's Tuesday, it can only be the black spiderman underwear and why the fark don't I know this already? He expressed his distaste for me by throwing himself dramatically across the bed (which he had to climb up on first) alternately wailing incoherrantly and whispering woefully for his "black spideyman undies". Meanwhile, Josie is in my arms smiling away because "Dude! Dinner theater! Awesome!"
And yes, it was sort of dinner theater because she was waiting ( with increasingly less patience) for me to give her lunch. "Yes! Lunch! Let's have some! Woo-hoo!" (I swear one day she's going to be one of those annoyingly perky women I see getting their starbucks early in the morning. You know the ones, hair and makeup perfectly done, all smiles and fast paces wishing you a good morning until you just want to punch them square in their shiny little noses.... what? Just me? I'm really not a morning person. Ok then, moving on.) Yes, she is perky and happy all the time and I don't how that happened except to say that eventually she will turn three and I will get what's coming to me because that's just how it works in this house.
Anyway, lunch. Right. I was getting ready to feed Jo-Jo some applesauce when I smelled it. It was pretty faint at first so I thought that maybe David, with all his wailing and drama queen-ness had farted. But then it got a little stronger as I stepped into the hall.
One of the dogs had pooped in the house. It was now my mission- before feeding the very hungry Josie- to find that poop!
"Yay! A game! I love.... wait. What? You're not going to feed me right now? But I want food! Now! This very second or I shall cry! Very well then, take this... WAAHHHHHH!!!!"
"Look Josie! Paper!"
"Woo-hoo! Paper! Let's party!"
Yes, my other family secret (aside from David's insistence that certain pairs of underwear are worn on certain days) is that my baby loves paper. Screw the playmat, the blocks and the exersaucer, she'll take the Wall Street Journal.
So, on to the poop finding mission.
I walked out into the dining room where Mishka's crate is and wondered how my dog managed to transmit her poop from the backyard (where she was at that moment) somewhere into our house. Hmmm... not likely right? Besides, she hadn't pooped in the house in a very long time.
No, the culprit had to be Auggie, the old man of the house who had very recently taken to letting his bowels loose as he pleased. The dining room was clear and I couldn't smell it as strongly there so I went back down the hallway to check the bedrooms.
I could definitely smell it stronger here but I wondered how our old dog had managed to get upstairs without me seeing or hearing him. Especially since he so rarely comes upstairs anymore. Despite being able to smell it really strong at this point, I couldn't find anything.
Then it hit me! The vents! Auggie must have pooped in one of the rooms downstairs and it was being carried upstairs through the vents! Yes! That's it!
"Paper is boring now. Want food! Want now! Waaahhhhhh!!!"
"Look Josie! A mirror!"
"Oohhhh! Pretty!"
"WANT BLACK SPIDEYMAN UNDIES!!!! AAAHHHHHH!!!!"
Right. There was that too. Fun!
So, Josie and I ran downstairs (or more accurately I ran downstairs with Josie in my arms playing with a little mirror and laughing at herself) to Find That Poop! Because it's such a fun game.
I start checking the rooms. I notice that I can smell it very clearly in the hallway, but not as much in the other rooms.
There is nothing there.
My nose says "POOP!"
My eyes say "NO POOP!"
It is all just to much for my poor little brain to handle.
I sit on the steps, smelling the poop, not seeing the poop, wondering.... Where is the poop??????
I see David's black spiderman undies waiting for the washer, but no poop. I see the sock Bre left on her desk because the 5 feet to the laundry room was just to much for her to walk, but no poop. I see the intricate display of trains that David set up before I asked him to wear pants thus beginning his spiderman-undies meltdown and having to revisit the lecture on what days he requires what colors, but no poop.
Maybe I'm going crazy? I'm smelling things that aren't really there. Isn't that a sign of dementia? Or maybe I'm having a stroke! Just instead of smelling copper, I'm smelling poop! I'm starting to panic. I don't want to smell poop for the rest of my life! I'll become that crazy lady who never leaves her house. She just sits by the window randomly yelling "POOP!" at people and the neighborhood kids will dare each other to ring my doorbell on Halloween because they heard that if you ring my doorbell I'll throw poop at you.
WHERE IS THE POOP?????


"Hey mom, do you think before you feed me, you could maybe change my diaper? My butt is gettin' good and squishy in there and it's really starting to stink. Ooh! That reminds me... Can I have sweet potatoes?"


Dumbass.

No pants and I'm an asshole

After much searching and serious effort (read: thank God for Google), we have found David a preschool. There has been much excitement over his starting school (next week) and it's all he talks about (well that and going to a certain amusement park this summer where 'there will be rides and water and maybe you can come too!') day and night.
We wake up in the morning to the same one-sided conversation; "I'll go to school and make friends and learn and write my name and make letters and play and sing and it will be fun and I will not be scared because I am a big boy....." So very glad that he is confident and excited. However, there is a small problem that we have to somehow fix before then.

He has to wear pants.

The only time this boy wears pants is when we go out. To the store, the park, library... and once we are there he is asking how long it will be until he can take his pants off or would it be alright if he just took them off right now?

I give it a week before we're kicked out of preschool.

******************

When David was a baby, he required constant motion to sleep. I do not want to even consider revisiting his sleep issues (especially since they are still there), but I remember trying to put him in his crib to sleep and it just never worked.
So, when Josie was born, I just figured that it was more of the same. Into the swing she went and it worked for the first few months. Last month, it stopped working. I was averaging 3 hours a night and it showed.
Here's where I show you what I gigantic asshole I am.

You know that large piece of furniture previously mentioned? The one with the matress and slats specially designed for babies to sleep in?

Turns out, Josie really enjoys sleeping in it.

Imagine that. A baby sleeping in her crib.

Such an asshole.

How To Give Medicine To A 3 Year Old

Step One- Take note of crusty eyes, green snotty nose, barking cough, and Chewbacca-esque cries.

Step Two- Retrieve bottle of children's Motrin from bathroom along with medicine dropper.

Step Three- Properly load medicine dropper with precise amount of medicine.

Step Four- Lay sick, pouty 3 year old back on your pillow and place medicine dropper just inside mouth. Squeeze.

Step Five- Wipe medicine that child has spewed all over your face off with washcloth. Note that none actually made it past child's tongue.

Step Six- Reload Medicine dropper.

Step Seven- Pry child out from under the bed while yelling for back-up.

Step Eight- Have Husband pry child's hands from mouth while you attempt to push dropper past the teeth.

Step Nine- After wiping medicine off of face, hand towel to husband so he may do the same.

Step Ten- Reload medicine dropper while husband distracts child with goldfish crackers.

Step Eleven- Watch horrified as Husband yells 'NOW!' and then attempts to tackle three year old only to miss and land face first on the floor.

Step Twelve- Make lame attempt to not laugh and fail miserably.

Step Thirteen- Realize that in the midst of Husband's mad tackling skillz, child has run off.

Step Fourteen- Find child hiding under the table, coax him out with promises of cartoons and juice.

Step Fifteen- Wait until child starts to put goldfish in his mouth before popping in the dropper and squeezing, quickly close child's jaw shut and hold until he has no choice but to swallow.

Step Sixteen- Comfort angry, sick child as he screams bloody murder.

Step Seventeen- Take a victory shower to get all the motrin out of your hair.

Dear David,

This year, despite your many objections, you turn 3. By many objections, I mean that every time we mention your new age, you scream and cry and demand to be 2. We finally gave up and decided that you could be 2 and 365 days. This seems to be a fair compromise to you. I'm not sure what this says for your future because if it's this hard for you to turn 3, I can't imagine what it will be like when you turn 30.

While you have been busy denying your age to everyone who asks, I have been busy trying to accept that the two's are over. I know that it's often referred to as the terrible two's, but that's just to keep parents distracted from what comes next. Let me give you a photo example.
This is the two's:

And this is what we refer to as the effin' three's:

It seems that overnight you have gone from a very sweet little boy to raving lunatic who loves to scream.

Still, I know it could be worse. Your sister used to throw shoes at our heads and as of yet, the only thing you have thrown is a feather.

It's not all screaming and fits though. If I'm to be completely honest, you are more of a ham than a handful. You are constantly on the go. It's just that you have decided that you want to be the one that says when we go, where we go and how we go and being told that you have to do it our way is just not something your little mind can handle. After all, you are 2 and 365 days and you know exactly what you want. How can we argue with that?


Above all, I think you should know that you are adored. Not just loved, but honestly adored. Your family, friends and a few people who have just been lucky enough to catch you when you feel like being charming. You love to make people laugh, you love to dance and you love attention. You still make your monster face.

This year you have become fascinated with everything to do with outer space. You like watching the Discovery channel with Daddy and talking about the planets. You told me that you are going to be an 'astanot'. I find this much more hopeful then when you told me you were going to be a kitty.

As many changes as we've had this year, the biggest has been the addition of your sister. I was fully prepared for you to be jealous.

I was not prepared for how much (and how quickly) you would come to love her. Everyday you ask to read to her, to play with her to hold her. When she's falling asleep during feedings you whisper in her ear. I don't know what you say and I don't need too. She smiles at the sight of you and if she's not in the room, you ask for her.

I know you love your big sister too, but I think it's easier for you to be with Josie because she's not playing with your toys, she's not telling you to get out of her room and she's not fighting with you. Someday, yes. But not now.

For now, you kiss her and hug her and you are gentle in a way I didn't know was possible from a boy who takes flying leaps off the coffee table at anyone walking by.

You are a handful, rambunctious, lively. You have a wild sense of humor and a need for physical play. You can be so very gentle and sweet. You are smart and surprise me all the time with the things you know.

You are 3. But don't worry, we'll keep that just between the two of us.

Happy Birthday crazy man.

Love,

Mom

The Return

Why is it that when you return from vacation, you always feel as though you need to take a break to recover? Or is it just me? Of course, I think our situation was not helped by the absolute madness that has been our life for the last month with house guests. major school events, a birthday and then of course, our trip to Disneyland. And then there's the fact that we all ended up getting some nasty stomach bug that has left me about 6 pounds lighter and my abs aching. Thankfully, the kids didn't get it so bad though I felt awful for them when they were so miserable. Anyway, more on the trip another time. We're still recovering.
This morning we returned to our normal routine. David wakes up far too early and I pretend not to notice. He softly whispers 'tv', hopefully. When this doesn't work, he points to the TV ( in case I didn't know what he meant?) and repeats 'tv'. I pretend to snore. At this point he becomes almost manic in his desperation. He violently jabs his finger as bounces up and down, his eyes wide and pleading, 'teeeee veeeeee'! I smile and for the first time, decide to respond. "Yes, that is a TV." I think I broke him. He stopped bouncing, his jaw just dropped and he stared at me for a moment. Then he rolled onto his belly and went back to sleep.
Now I wonder, and am doubtful but still must wonder, if all this time he's just wanted me to agree that yes, that is a tv he's been pointing at and not actually wanted to watch whatever cartoons are normally on at 5 am?
Unfortunately, I think he's just a morning person as his father is.

Dear Bre,

This year, you are turning 10. The big 1-0. You have been obnoxiously excited about hitting those double digits. I have been at a loss.
It's not that I haven't enjoyed these past 10 years. I have. Immensely. It's that I can't believe 10 years have passed already. When you're a kid everyone tells you to slow down, time passes so quickly. And you laugh because it seems like such a joke. Time is slow when you're young and want to get your driver's license, or be old enough to wear make-up and date. And then one day you are old enough to do all those things. Older, in fact. One day you have kids of your own and you realize that those people weren't kidding. It's too fast.
I've been thinking a lot about this birthday letter, wondering what I would say, if I would be able to put into words just what I want you to know. I don't know if it's possible. I've tried but I always seem to forget something and then I have to start all over because it's just not right.
But I think you said it best when, upon seeing the birthday cake I had made for you, you said you loved the way I made the CD and when I told you it was a record you asked me what a record was. Because that's it isn't it? The basics of it anyway. You are in an era where records don't exist and I am from one where they did.


This year has been a difficult one for us. You have been pushing for more independence while I've been trying to keep you from moving too fast. I think we're starting to find a balance that we're both comfortable with except when it comes to make-up. I say there is no way I'm letting you out of the house wearing it and you try to do it anyway.
This is also the year you finally got a little sister. You've spent much of this year dreaming of pink dresses and braiding hair. I can't tell you what it does to my heart to watch you with her, to watch both of your faces when you smile at each other, all the wonder of it, that bond that you have instantly. It's different then what you have with your brother. While I know you love him just as much, there is something in a sisterly bond that is just special.
You are doing much better in school this year than you have in the past and that gives me hope. I've said before and I've meant it that I want your hands to always be full .

We are coming close to a time when you and I will find it nearly impossible to understand each other. We will be speaking a different language, you of 'teenager' and me? I'll be speaking that dreaded 'mom'- speak. But I promise that despite this, I will never let you get lost in my shuffle as my mother did with me. I will never stop loving you. I will try to remember what it's like to be a tween-age girl.
Your dad has promised to remember what it's like to be a boy at your age and as you get older.
I'm afraid you'll never be allowed out of your room but I promise to push saltines under the crack of the door and maybe a hose for water.
I know you think that we are too often unfair because we don't let you on the phone past 7 pm and we don't let you watch r-rated movies but I'm ok with that because it's our job and as much as I hate saying it because it sounds so much like my father's voice coming out of my mouth (and if you ever tell him I said this I will torch your Hannah Montana CD's) but... when you have kids of your own, you'll understand.
After Josie was born, when I was still in the hospital and enjoying my vicodin, you asked me if I thought you'd make a good mom someday. I tried to picture you in that moment, staring at your nine year old daughter, holding your newborn, and I knew that you would.
But please, don't rush it. Time passes oh, so very quickly. And before you know it? Your ten year old will be asking you that same question and rolling her eyes when you get teary.
Happy 10th Birthday Bre......

Love, mom.

Little Boys

You'd think that someone who does nothing but talk all day long would know the words 'be quiet'. He hears them often enough after all.
But I guess maybe not because as my sister and I were talking through an episode of 'Word World' he turned to me with that little frown on his face and asked me to please 'Stop your mouth mommy!'

Yeah. OK. Look who's talking buddy.
*********

It seems to be a thing about boys- or at least the little boys that I have known. And I should perhaps admit now that the only little boys I have ever really known are my brothers, my nephew and my son. Still, when I tell this thing about David, I notice that other moms nod their heads in agreement.
Gas. That great bodily function that is so fascinating to my little boy.
When the baby does it, David lays claim to it. When he hears someone else do it, he happily announces it to them....
"Ha! Ha! You farted! Good job!"
He thinks it's some great magic trick to make your "butt make music" (as he puts it).
************
Since his cousins have been here, I've actually gotten him to eat. He's been eating 3 meals a day for the first time in a very long time and not even fighting about it. I'm going to be very sad when his cousins leave and he returns to poking his chicken nuggets a few times before saying "This chicken is too brown for me. I can't eat it."
I've noticed that anytime there is something he doesn't want to do, eat or wear it's either too small, too big, too brown, or too whatever for him. He wasn't too thrilled with me when I told him his blocks were too wooden for me to give to him unless he cleaned up his other toys. I guess it only works one way.

How It Is............

Fall has always been a busy season for us, not that I'm making excuses or anything......., I think this one has been the worst. Or the best, I suppose, depending on how you want to look at it. For someone like me who has spent so much effort to not be near people for so long... I'm not sure really how I should view it. I am enjoying being busy. I think I have a pretty good handle on the tasks I am responsible for (though I will admit my anxiety at having to do the taxes when I don't even do my own) and I think I'm even enjoying most of it. It's just meant that this blog, writing about my stresses and the stupid things I do, has had to take a backseat.
Bre is in that dangerous 'tween age range. I go from loving talking to this new version of my child to wanting to boot her mouthy little butt to military school. I know we'll get through this stage eventually but in the meantime I'm finding myself frequently counting to 100.
David will be 3 in just a few more weeks. I've so enjoyed his twos- never understood that 'terrible twos' nonsense. I think it's just to distract people who are thinking of kids from thinking about the f'ing threes. I'm already catching glimpses of it- the random screaming, the "I can't" whining, the motherload of tantrums.... Still, I can't really complain. He's a good kid, mostly minds me and loves Josie. He talks non stop from the moment he wakes to the moment he falls asleep. Lately, he's been talking in his sleep too.
"Mom look! A pinecone! See the pinecone? I like pinecones! Shhh! There's a bird in there, he's sleeping, can you see the bird mommy? I can see the bird he's blue and he goes like this (makes snoring noises) and we should be quiet so he doesn't wake up and fly away don't you think we should be quiet mommy I'm hungry can I have crackers I bet the bird likes crackers I'm going to show daddy the pinecone with the bird and maybe we can keep it and I like goldfish do you like goldfish do you want to eat some goldfish too does Josie want goldfish where's 'Branna' she likes goldfish I like playing with 'Branna' mom can I have choco milk I like choco milk wanna' see my funny dance it goes like this can you do it too can we watch word world I like word world let's build a word woo-hoo can you build a word let's build pinecone can you see the sleeping bird shhh I don't want to wake him let's play cars I like fast cars I like to crash cars can you build me a house here's my blocks build a big house I want to crash my car in it see like this wiirrrrrr boom! look it's the sun look it's a car look it's a dog who's that with the dog can we go to the park..........."
And that's my day. His stamina is amazing. Every time I think he's done, he's not.... he's just taking a breath.
The other day I caught him letting the dog lick his lollipop before sticking it back in his mouth. When I asked him about it he said the dog was "just cleaning it for me, see?" He is fantastic. I love my time with him, but he is also exhausting. There are times where I think my ears are going to start bleeding from the non-stop chatter. But then I worry on those rare moments when he's quiet.
And that's just the way it's supposed to be.

When all else fails........

Be lazy and post baby pictures. Maybe no one will notice how much you suck.


Isn't this sweet? This is what it's like. She's totally a mama's girl.

Because when Daddy gets to hold her this is what happens.
He's trying not to take it personally but I feel for him. She can be happily 'talking' and smiling at me and all he has to do is say 'hi' to her and she starts to pout. If he smiles at her, she cries.
They have their good moments too, but I think it's taking her longer to be OK with her dad than it has for the other two. It's like those sitcoms where the dad picks up the baby and baby screams. Dad holds baby away from him and baby is fine and so on.
This is her 'I just farted' face. I can't always tell the difference between her cries, but the faces? Those I know.


This is her 'I'm going to scream if you don't pick me up you bitch' face.







She was sound asleep and then I set her down. She opened her eyes and they snapped the picture. She promptly snorted and flipped off the photographer. Obviously unintentional but funny anyway.
All that aside, she really is a sweet and happy baby.

Happy 2 months Josie!

The Things Babysitting Never Prepared Me For

Have you ever seen those talk shows where the really stupid girls are talking about how they want a baby even though they aren't old enough to drive because it's just like babysitting???
Have a good laugh with me on that one.
Then I thought about all the things that I learned in my rather brief foray into the wild world of babysitting and all the things that it could never have prepared me for.
Like the time that those two little darlings locked themselves in the bathroom and the 6 year old shaved off her 3 year old sister's beautiful blond curls. I learned that no matter how sweet they look, they are evil and never believe them when they say that their mommy loves a bald headed child.
So, my current top 10 list:

1) What to do when your child uses your very expensive facial cleanser wipes in place of the baby wipes.... Or worse. When they use the lysol wipes instead.

2) What to do when your husband teaches your daughter how to burp and now she can't seem to help showing off this talent to everyone.

3) What to do when your child announces to the airport bathroom that your behind is HUGE.

4) What to do when your child tells your grandparents to pass the fucking potatoes (at the age of 3) please.

5) What to do when you're in labor and the child who begged to be there is telling you it's 'too gross for words!'

6) What to do when one child takes advantage of the fact that you are nursing another and decides that it is the perfect moment to stick your shoes in the toilet to see if they'll float.

7) What to do when said child then flushes the toilet- with your shoes in it- to 'clean it up, see?'

8) What to do when your child asks to borrow your favorite shirt because she wants to be a hobo for Halloween.

9) What to do when your children decide to play hide and seek, but forget to tell you that you're supposed to find them until you and your husband are in a panic and decide that maybe it's time to call the police.

10) What to do when your child cleans the toilet with your perfume.

I don't know what it is about the toilet, but that is my kids' go-to place for all things naughty.

Blather

Hey look! I remember this. This is that spot I used to regularly come to write down my every little obnoxious thought and deed. I think I even maybe enjoyed it from time to time. Of course, that was before I had a demanding chubby-cheeked infant attached to me expecting to be fed all. the. damn. time.
There is a reason that at 6 weeks she weighs 10 lbs and I think that despite what she may be telling the other babies it isn't that I don't feed her.
She's actually a pretty easy going baby. It's just that if she's awake she's hungry.
Lately she's been taking the occasional break to smile at me and coo a little. And spit up. Or fart.
Remember how much of a freak I was about strangers touching my pregnant belly? To my credit, I only tried to bite one person and touched 2 of them back. The rest just got snapped at.
See, I thought that was the worst thing that would happen. I thought that once I gave birth, the inappropriate touching would end. But then I'm an idiot and of course it didn't.
No, I sort of miss the belly touching phase because at least then there was a barrier between some stranger's germ-ridden hand and my baby.
In an effort to not have a coronary in public, I generally let it slide as long as they don't touch her face or hands. But I draw the line at the woman who tried to stick her finger in Josie's mouth. All I could keep picturing was that woman scratching her ass and now here she was trying to shove that ass-digger in my little baby's mouth!
Freak.
So. Lesson learned: As bad as it is to touch a pregnant woman's belly, sticking your ass-digging-finger anywhere near baby's mouth may result in the mom loudly telling you to keep said ass-finger to yourself and then having anyone within earshot give you bug-eyes.
********

Once upon a time I had a rather nice figure. I wasn't scary skinny. I had curves but was well within my healthy weight range. Even after my first baby, returning to said lovely shape was truly effortless. Such is the benefit of being terribly young and stupid.
Now....
It was only a few weeks ago that I was proudly displaying that baby bump. Even sharing that picture here. I loved that round full belly. I couldn't see my shoes, my back ached and I knocked things over. But I loved it. There is something about it that is simply beautiful.
Since she's been born? I won't even look at myself in the mirror unless I am fully clothed. And there is something really wrong with that. It doesn't help that none of my clothes fit anymore. It doesn't help that I know exactly how much I weigh and exactly how much more that is than when I had my first.
I try not to contemplate it too much as that is simply depressing. As is the realization that I can no longer buy a bra in a store because they don't stock them that big. No, I get to order mine on-line and hope that they'll maybe somehow shrink overnight. Like, maybe if I close my eyes, they'll return to a size more suitable for a human being. One who has not had a boob job. Yet.

Adjusting

Josie is a month old today though it seems that she has always been here. But I think that's the way it is with kids. At least for me, once they are here it seems as though they have always been. As though who I was before, that life is so far from where we are as to not matter. And it doesn't. I'm sure I'm not explaining myself well.
This month has been hectic. Josie's birth, my parents visit, my grandfather died (it's ok, really. We'd been expecting it and he was ready. He missed my grandmother so very much), school started, Bre's cheerleading started (and someone please slap me because I somehow agreed to co-coach and I can't even blame it on Newborn Stupor since I agreed before she was even born) and my job as PTA treasurer has started to kick in.
In the midst of all this, our house has never been so peaceful. It seems that we have all found a softer side and even David, with his love of screaming, has taken to speaking in whispery tones around his baby sister.
This is not to say all is rosy in our world. Bre is still 9 going on 30 and is in serious need of an attitude transplant. David tried to give Josie away at the grocery store but the next day he pushed a little girl who got to close to her (in his opinion) and declared Josie to be his baby.
Josie has finally reached a point where I can put her down for an hour here and there to get things done. Her cheeks have filled out in that perfectly plump, begging to be squeezed way of an infant who loves to eat. And she certainly loves to eat. A lot.
She coos. She has for over a week now. Someone told us she wasn't supposed to do that yet but I don't think she really cares about time lines because she has been smiling at us too. She still snorts.
David is utterly fascinated by her one moment and absolutely bored with her the next.
Her toys, however, are a different matter.
We are adjusting. Always adjusting.
I am reveling in this period of quiet contentment.

A Birth Story (without the graphic details- you're welcome)

I know, I suck. But I think I get a break since new baby +toddler+ 9-going-on-30-and-therefore-knows-everything= Whack-a-doodle with little time!

So... birth story. I think mine is more of a mild warning in listening to your instincts and not the nice nurse on the phone telling you that you are probably not in labor. Because when you listen to the nice nurse, it is only the fact that you have some neighbors that don't think you're totally nuts that saves you from having your baby on your bathroom floor or by the side of the road.

I couldn't even tell you when my contractions started because they didn't feel like contractions. Or at least not what I remembered contractions to feel like. It was all below my belly button and in my lower back. I tried to explain to the nurse that they were coming at regular intervals and that my labor with my first was less than 4 hours. She said I could come in but she didn't think it was necessary until they were 5 minutes apart.

That's where I went stupid and said ok.

Then I lost my damn mind and told my husband that he could go in to work. Work which was at least 45 minutes away but would likely take more than an hour by the time I needed him.

In fact, he had just reached his shop when I called and told him to come home. Fast.

At 5:30, I called my neighbors to see if they could watch David since our original people weren't home and our backup wasn't answering her phone.

When she came over to get him, she took one look at him and said she was taking me to the hospital.

I knew I was in labor by then, though the contractions were all still very low. I could feel her kicking my ribs through the contractions. And what was once 7-15 minutes apart, was suddenly 2 minutes apart.

We had to hurry.

Joe, naturally, went to the main hospital instead of the birth center (which is in the next building). The same birth center we had David at. I'll chalk it up to his nervousness. At least this time he didn't run up and down the hallway completely confused and asking me if I was sure that my water ruptured as he did with David (I was standing in a puddle and water was still coming in spurts- did he really need to ask?).

By the time he got there it was 6:15. The nurse checked me, and despite knowing I was in labor I still expected to be sent home.

"OK, you're at 8 cm!"

I think I started to cry. I knew that meant no epidural. No pain relief. I'd waited to long. I'd ignored my instincts and now I was going to pay.

I have to admit that this time was not as bad as it was with Bre. At least this time there was a break between contractions. With Bre it was just one on top of the other and I felt like I couldn't breath.

I used the labor ball and my darling husband decided that this was the perfect time to take a picture and there is not enough money in the world for me to be willing to share that picture with you Internet. I would sooner shave my head with a dull razor.

They tried to give my an IV- 3 times- but it didn't work. Instead I got large black bruises that lasted 2 weeks.

The doctor finally came in and decided to break my water. She warned me that once she did it, my contractions would get stronger. I tried to warn her that the second she did it, this baby would be out.

And I was right. I don't think that the water was done gushing before the baby's head crowned. I remember a lot of people talking and someone telling me to listen to the doctor, but then everything got muffled and all I could do was push. Her shoulders got stuck and I think that was probably the worst of it. Bre (did I forget to tell you she was in the room? Well, she was. By choice) couldn't look anymore. She later told me it was "the grossest thing I've ever seen in my entire life!". I think we've successfully deterred her from having children for a very long time. I've always said that a great way to lower teen pregnancy rates is to let teens witness a meds-free birth.

She came out screaming and I started to shake. Uncontrollably shake. This maybe wouldn't have been too big a deal, but I needed stitches. It's very unpleasant to get stitches. More so, I think, when you're shaking.

This is when the nurse lost her mind and asked if I'd like to hold my baby.

Hold my baby?

Lady, I can't hold myself!

But it passed, and so did worst of the pain (thanks to a little friend I'll call Vicodin) and nothing else mattered.

Josie was here. And I could finally hold her.

She scowls like her dad when he's thinking. She has impossibly long fingers and toes. She snorts.

This time I managed to not mix up my motrin with the bottle of colace they give you. With David I took 6 colace before I realized that it wasn't my motrin. The recovery was different. I had been told that recovery after the 3rd baby is harder, but I didn't really think about it until I realized that I couldn't walk. It was 2 weeks (and several Vicodin later) before I could walk without pain.

But it's all worth it.