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Wonderful, wonderful day

It's been 15 weeks and five days since Liam was born - well beyond the expiration date for posting the average birth story - so it shouldn't surprise me that I've already lost a number of details I was so determined to hang on to regarding that day. And yet, it does. The name of this medication, the reason for that test, Liam's Apgar score - oh, shit, did I even ask about Liam's Apgar score? Whether I knew it then or not, it's definitely gone now. So understand this won't be a suspensful or even entirely accurate play-by-play of his arrival. Besides, scheduled c-sections by their very nature lack the unpredictability factor required for a nail-biting read. I didn't experience false labor, my water didn't break in Target, I wasn't at risk for giving birth in the backseat of my car. That said, no matter how routine it was or how many holes there are in my story, on June 29, Liam was born, and it was one of the best days of my life. It deserves to be celebrated.

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Luke and I were late that morning, getting to the hospital. We woke up early enough to shower and finish packing - before five, I think, and we were due at St. Vincent's by 7:30 - but I couldn't get out the door. I kept finding things to do, all the while thinking, "This is the last time." Not that I wasn't going to rinse a dish or change a pull-up again, but you know what I mean. The last time.

We arrived on campus around 7:45. I spent most of the car ride e-mailing family and friends, including my boss and my CEO, whose own wife had given birth just three days earlier at the same hospital. When I shared that Luke and I were on our way to deliver Baby Brother, he joked, "I hope there'll be someone around to help you out!" After checking in at the front desk, I called Samantha, who was driving to Indy with my parents, to give her the latest update. Luke debated getting coffee but decided against it (silly man). I half-wondered if I'd be out of recovery in time to watch All My Children.

I remember waiting in triage with Luke, sending Tweets into Blogland. I used the bathroom twice, dreading the inevitable introduction of my catheter. The nurse inserted the hep lock for my IV and did a beautiful job. I saw my obstetrician. I tweeted some more.

I spoke to the anesthesiologist on call for my surgery, trying to figure out if he was present for Nathan's birth (he wasn't) and if there was something he could do to curb the crazy itching I would have in reaction to the morphine soon to be pumping through my veins (there was - administer less of it).

I turned off my phone, put on the fugly calf-length socks provided by the hospital, and a little after nine o'clock, walked myself into the O.R.

Luke couldn't join me until my spinal was in place. Had to keep busy somehow!

The first thing that struck me was the temperature of the room - cold, so very cold. There could have been icicles hanging from the ceiling and I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised. I was helped onto the operating table and waited while my medical team prepared for surgery. Lisa, my nurse, stayed by my side and outlined the process for administering the spinal. Arch back. Relax muscles. Keep very, VERY still.

Now, as long-time readers know, Liam was not my first c-section; all three of my kids were delivered under the knife. I should know the drill by now, yes? I was certainly on my game when Nathan was born; cracking jokes, following directions, and just plain making everyone's job easier because I was so excited to meet my baby. But this time, despite my best efforts, my body wouldn't comply. I couldn't stop shaking, my shoulders wouldn't unclench, and then, suddenly, I was crying. Bawling, actually. It was almost embarrassing, the jaggedness of my breaths and intensity of my sobs.

Everyone in the room was so kind and did their best to help me calm down. "It's so cold," I kept telling Lisa, and, "I'm sorry."

Eventually, with some deep breathing, I was able to control myself long enough for the anesthesiologist to inject the medicine into my spine, and soon I was laying down on the table, arms extended Jesus-style, and feeling a warm sensation run through me as the anesthesia began to take effect. After performing the standard pin-prick to make sure I was completely numb, the anesthesiologist went on to explain that he gave me a little less Dura*morph (aka morphine) to combat the itching and paired it with another drug (Tora*dol, maybe?). He told me to let him know if I started feeling any pain or discomfort any where, any time.

I was fitted with a nasal oxygen mask as a precaution, and then Luke was at my side. By that time I was so anxious all I could do was cry again. "She's a little emotional," Lisa told him as he wiped my tears away. He was nervous, too.

We didn't talk much. Luke rubbed my head while I focused on my breathing. I was so tired.

Luckily, it wasn't long before those pulling and tugging sensations I was so familiar with from Kara and Nathan were happening, and at 9:48 a.m., the room exploded with the most beautiful sound of my life: my newborn baby's cry.

"He's okay, right? He's okay?" I asked, nearly choking on my tears.

He was okay. All nine pounds, eight ounces, and 22 inches of him. The medical staff was impressed.

Luke went over to the baby while they cleaned him up and the doctor continued on with her business. The anesthesiologist was checking on me constantly, which I was glad about, because this c-section was so different from my other two. More discomfort than I was used to, overall, in addition to taking longer. There was also a sharp pain in my right shoulder that the doctor said was normal. It was hard to take deep breaths sometimes.

My boy was brought to me once for a quick snuggle and kiss while my OB/GYN closed me up. "What's his name?" Lisa asked. I turned my head towards Luke. We'd been waffling over two choices for the last few weeks. The only thing we'd decided on were Baby Brother's initials - LBD, just like his daddy. This was the first time we didn't have a name immediately at the ready. "We're not sure yet," he said.

Before I left the O.R., my legs were wrapped in sequential compression devices (SCDs) to help avoid clotting after surgery, since it would be about a day before I attempted walking again. Once they were finished, the baby was nestled into the crook of my arm, and we were wheeled off to recovery.

Surprise! The happiest moments are not always the most photogenic.

Once in recovery, it was just Luke, me, the baby, and my nurse - my family was still en route to Indy, and Molly, the only other person I would have wanted in the room - was at home watching my other two kids (along with hers. God bless you, friend). It felt so good to have all that weight removed from my uterus, and so wonderful to hold him, that I didn't have a care in the world. My nurse was concerned, though, because my temperature had dropped, so I was covered with an air blanket for more than an hour to bring it back up.

It also took about that long to settle on a name. Our contenders were Linus Brendan and Liam Benjamin. We thought about Linus Benjamin, but people. We are only one year out from LOST. The world is not yet ready.

We loved the uniqueness of Linus but worried my Chicago Southsider parents would label it yuppy or too "out there." Plus, I have a weird thing about having at least one "a" in my kids' first names. We loved the simplicity of Liam, and it had actually been on our short list for Nathan, but.... But....

"Honestly, I could go either way," Luke said, each time I asked his opinion. "He can be whatever you want."

Eventually, we ran out of butts.

"He looks like a Liam," I finally decided. "Liam feels good."

Welcome to the world, baby Liam.

It was around one o'clock that Luke, Liam, and I were brought to our room (and yes, I did catch a little AMC). Samantha, my parents, Molly, and all the kids showed up around three-thirty.

Kara and Nathan showed a lot of interest in Liam when they first arrived, but after the first ten minutes or so they were distracted by all the other people in the room. They would make their way over to me a lot, though, when Liam wasn't with me. I don't think the visit lasted longer than an hour, which was fine by me because I was still so tired, and crying on and off, too.

There is a special place in Heaven for this woman, who stayed with my children and hers starting Tuesday night and lasting until Friday afternoon.

Samantha's made it to the hospital on the day of every one of my children's births, despite her hectic life and the long drive. She and Molly, who is equally busy, are the only people who can say that. Amazing.

This was the first time my parents were there. When I found out we were pregnant again, it was one of the first requests I made of them, to come see us in Indy and meet the baby and not wait until we made the trip to Chicago. I'm so happy they did. Luke's parents would have been there as well, like they were for Kara and Nathan, except they were in Wales on a trip that had been planned long before we learned about Liam. Thank goodness for Facebook.

Then, soon, it was just us again.

Our pospartum time in the hospital was the best of all three experiences. I was using the bathroom and walking the day after surgery, Liam nursed well, and I was getting more sleep than I expected. We had lots of visitors, but usually they didn't stay that long, which fed my conflicting needs for company and solitude nicely. With the introduction of the SCDs, I felt like I had more "stuff" constraining me this time around, but my IV hep lock was removed more quickly this time than with Kara or Nathan, and my pain med cocktail was working well, though I did have a lot of gastrointestinal issues. Weeks later I was still having pain in my abdomen, a lingering byproduct of all that gas.

As much as I enjoyed the "free" hospital food and chance to rest up, though, I missed my babies and was eager to get on with the regular course of life. I made sure my OB, nurses, and pediatrician knew of my goal to be discharged after two days instead of three and worked hard to meet all of the standard milestones. Luckily, Liam was healthy and I was progressing well, though my ped was (appropriately) concerned that I might be overdoing it. He knew I was experiencing more pain with this c-section. But I wanted to be home. So on Friday, July 1, we dressed Liam in his going-home onesie, and home we went.

In the three and a half months that Liam's been with us, to say that Luke and I have been overwhelmed at times is an understatement. There just aren't enough hands to get everything done that needs to be done. My bathrooms have never gone this long between cleans; getting a decent night's sleep has never felt more primal. And with a longer work commute and increased responsibilities (and costs!) of raising toddlers who are fast growing into full-fledged children, sometimes all I can do at the end of a day is stick my hand in the cookie jar and collapse in front of the TV. Not exactly how I want to spend my time long-term.

But still.

We couldn't be happier.

39 weeks = I'm having a baby tomorrow = so of course I am experiencing social media issues

As I begin to write this, it's 11 p.m. Luke and I need to leave the house by 6:45 tomorrow morning to make our 7:30 hospital check-in. Which means I will need to be awake long before 6:45. And yet, I can't go to sleep without blogging. You people (and my archives) mean that much to me.

Everything that needs to be done is now done, along with an even longer list of things that DIDN'T need doing but were because hello, crazy nesting pregnant lady here. Two Saturdays ago, I drove to Walmart in a frenzy because I suddenly needed a new wash basin, dish drain, utensil drawer, and a toothbrush holder. Yesterday, I cleaned underneath my kitchen sink and almost went into labor vacuuming every nook and cranny of our upstairs. We never did touch up the paint, though, and the garage still needs sweeping out, so crossing my fingers that the medical staff will overlook these obviously significant details and deem us fit to leave the premises with a newborn.

At least his room is done. My intent was to post pictures, but Typepad is crapping out on me tonight when it comes to uploading pictures and formatting paragraphs, and at 11:40 p.m. I just have to say SCREW THIS, I'M TIRED and move on. I'll try again in the morning, if there's time.)

Today was a wonderful last hurrah of sorts before we turn our lives upside down with our last go at babyhood. Three hours at the zoo in the sweltering heat, and multiple stares as people watched me canvass the grounds, Nathan on my hip for almost half that time because he (and Kara, too) didn't want to leave my side. They were extra cuddly, and especially generous with hugs and kisses and "I love yous." Coloring at home afterwards, Kara couldn't keep herself from smooching my hair, face, arm, hand, any body part of mine within her reach was fair game. And tonight, after a few hours of hardcore Lost A Sock family bonding time, I crawled into bed next to her and held her tight until she fell asleep, Nathan across the room, who went out like a light in minutes, the result of an active, exciting day.

Aside from the already-mentioned photo issue, which I will try to remedy tomorrow, let's tie up some loose ends that may or may not be keeping you up at night:

Baby Updates
That is still up for grabs. When it comes to posting pictures and tidbits on Twitter, I am all set. Facebook is a different story, seeing as I can't figure out how to post from my fan page through my phone. As for the blog, Molly is at the ready to post for me, but I may try to do it myself from the hospital. If I go that route, I will be doing so from my work laptop and will therefore be able to update Facebook accordingly. So, I guess the moral of the story is that if you want quick and dirty posting in real time, Twitter's where it's at. If you are content waiting for news until sometime in the evening, than Facebook or just popping in here will satisfy your needs just fine.

Hospital Bag
Ninety-nine percent packed. I did pack extra lip balm, thanks to your suggestions. I'm even bringing my Boppy support pillow, which I mistakenly assumed had been donated to Goodwill shortly after Nathan's birth but was actually being held hostage by my sister, who casually mentioned that it was in her possession. I don't think I needed it during my second hospital stay, but seriously, I lamented over not having that pillow so many times throughout this pregnancy that I am bringing it soley to make up for lost time.

Big Brother/Big Sister Gifts
Luke and I didn't do this when Nathan was born because Kara was so little and didn't really understand what was going on, but this time around, we thought it might be nice to get something for the kids that would help occupy them in those early days once the baby is in our possession. However, instead of presenting them at the hospital, we've decided to wait until I get home since they will be living it up in the interim with Auntie Molly and her crew.

There is so much more I could say about related to this having-your-last-baby business, but it is now 12:16 a.m., and Typepad really is acting like a douche, and I can't tell you how many times I've tried to fix the paragraph breaks in the source code and have it all undone the minute I hit "Save," so I am turning in for what is likely to be my last five-hour block of uninterrupted sleep for the rest of the summer. See you on the flip side! (Unless I really can fix all of these errors in the morning. We'll consider it my last nesting urge!)

* Speaking of Facebook: I have become increasingly more protective when it comes to friending people on my personal page, for many reasons, so please don't be offended if you no longer have access. I promise you, I'm very boring and only post sporadically, so you are not missing anything. If it weren't for the face that my fan page is tied to my personal account, I would seriously consider deleting that account altogether.

The answer is yes, yes we are. Full-term, baby! And you can stick a fork in me, because physically, I am so Done.

What to say about 37 weeks? I'm still averaging a 15-pound weight gain, which is mind-boggling to me, seeing as my nightly routine now consists of devouring as many chocolate cookies as possible while working through my collection of Friends DVDs (we just finished season 5). Over the weekend, it was Oreos. Monday? Chips Ahoy. Also puzzling is the fact that I can eat cookies, ice cream, candy, and other junk foods without trouble, but Raisin Bran, sugary kids' cereals, and any sort of fruit juice throw my system completely out of whack after just a couple of bites/drinks. What's up with that?

Speaking of food, I am ravenously hungry, so we can probably expect that weight gain to skyrocket come this time next week. Not "A Tale of Two Lunches" hungry like from my second trimester with Nathan, but on a lunch run a couple of days ago I did order one and a half roast beef sandwiches (and a bag of chips) (and a cookie) from my new favorite deli without batting an eye. I presume it will only get worse from here.

Also, I'm still generating inappropriate comments from society at large on my admittedly ginormous size. The mechanic who worked on my Cobalt last week said I looked ready to burst, and the after-hours janitor at my work, whom I had previously never met, was compelled while emptying my recycling to say that I was ready to pop AND ask if I was having twins, all in the same breath. Now that's multitasking!

Things are continuing to move along on the nesting front. Luke and I finally rearranged the toys that were wreaking havoc on our living room thanks to the spontaneous purchase of a shelving bin organizer over the weekend. Bathrooms have been sanitized, cars cleaned, pantries tidied, ceiling fixtures repaired, and nurseries finished. And tonight, we finally began packing our hospital bags. So far, all I have in there are some nursing tanks and bras, one pair of clean underwear, footies, a partially filled toiletry bag, and a breastfeeding book. We'll throw in a couple of going-home outfits for Baby Brother (one newborn, one 0-3 months, as per usual), and a beautiful crocheted blanket gifted from a coworker, but other than that, I am blanking. I know I'll need something for myself to wear upon leaving the place, but I'm not sure what that will be yet. I'll grab a notepad from work to document the entire life-changing experience, and I'm also considering picking up some Mother's Milk Tea, to "promote healthy lactation." It's a given that Luke will pack our camera, and I'll have my smartphone for sharing the big news and providing random updates (and pictures, too, once I figure out how to do that part). So if you aren't following me on Twitter or Facebook, you totally should, because I will be able to post more easily to those accounts than I will on my blog while I'm away. (Though I may attempt to bring my work laptop as well.)

Seriously, though, the hospital bag. For me, less is more when it comes to packing, especially since the majority of the time I'm just hanging out in retro-looking gowns and mesh undies and all of my food cravings will be appropriately satisfied by 24-hour room service. But am I missing anything?

Lastly, in between all the activity, Luke and I are trying really hard to make our last couple of weeks as a family of four as fun as possible. Last week I took a day off work so we could all attend Indianapolis's annual strawberry festival, and the weekend before that we drove almost an hour to participate in the city's annual "Outrun the Sun" family walk. Tumbling class started two Mondays ago, which Kara and Nathan seem to enjoy, and on Tuesday delighted in the company of Luke's parents while they paid us one last visit before their upcoming trip to Wales. Other activities include zoo trips, picnics, and an ice cream expedition to Cold Stone Creamery.

They seem to be getting the fact that the baby's almost here. Nathan has been more cuddly with me than usual, throwing his arms around my neck for minute-long hugs when he might normally dismiss me in favor of some truck or book or puzzle, and Kara has been more talkative about the whole process, stating that the doctor will "open up my belly" to take the baby out. Now, I can't remember if I introduced that phrase to her months ago or if she came up with it on her own, but either way, she's allowing the process to become more real in her mind.

She's also asked to come to the hospital when it's time to get the baby out. The kids will actually be with my dear friend Molly during that time, but Luke and I will bring them up to visit as soon as I feel ready. I remember functioning in a zombie-like state almost the entire day of Nathan's c-section, a product of drugs and euphoria and exhaustion (I literally fell asleep in mid-sentence), and I don't want them to see me like that. But we are so excited for them to meet their little brother, so we'll definitely get them up there as soon as we can.

I turn 37 weeks tomorrow, which has catapulted me into full-on nesting mode, attempting to tie up every loose end in the history of the universe before Baby Brother's June 29 delivery date. Last week we focused on car maintenance and child seating; the Cobalt needed about $360 worth of repairs (mad props, savings) and over the weekend Luke cleaned out both vehicles and experimented with car seat arrangements for the first time since February. At that time, we made the decision to transition Kara into a high-back booster (sans five-point harness) to make room for the baby's infant bucket.

Come Saturday, though, we just couldn't do it.

Despite my initial confidence over this set-up, I became increasingly more anxious about it since reading about the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration's updated guidelines for child restraints back in March. While Kara does meet the height and weight requirements for a booster, she is still only three years old and isn't even close to outgrowing her current Britax Marathon. But keeping her in the Marathon would require us to buy a new car, and despite having an excellent reason to justify such a significant purchase (SAFETY), we simply cannot afford to do that. In my Google research I learned about a slimmer seat with a five-point harness by Sunshine Radian that looked like it would fit and also received favorable reviews on several third-party sites, but the seat isn't sold at any stores in our vicinity, so we'd have to order it online, and what if it didn't fit, and man, these things aren't cheap. We looked into other options for Kara, but all seat specs were similar to the Marathon's. We looked into other infant seats, but the Baby Trend Flex-Loc handed down to us from my friend Jenn has the smallest dimensions we've seen. Nathan's Britax Roundabout wasn't worth messing with because it's already plenty slim and fits his measurements perfectly.

We may as well give the booster a try, Luke and I would say in the end, each time the topic came up, and it came up many times. We'll stay off the highway while we test it out. Our longest drive in town is less than ten minutes. It will be okay.

But again: we just couldn't do it.

Luke spent all of Saturday morning once again trying to get the Marathon in safely and securely, but again it was all in vain. Despite your best efforts, you just can't force a square peg into a round hole. When that didn't work, we pulled out the booster.

It wasn't in the car five seconds before a horrible knot began forming in the pit of my stomach and I was sobbing to Luke that we had to order the Radian.

The Marathon brushed against the door of the Outlander, but just barely. The Radian would save us a precious inch and a half of seat space; we shouldn't need any more than that to make it fit, I said. This is our daughter's safety we're talking about. Please, please order the seat and save me from having a heart attack already.

Luke just nodded. He didn't need any convincing. He was nervous for Kara, too.

The Radian should arrive before the end of the week.

Buying the seat doesn't change the fact that we'll need to buy a new car once the baby outgrows the infant bucket, but we'll be in much better shape financially by then. I'm getting a raise at the end of the month that should absorb most if not all of the anticipated budget increases incurred by Life With Three Children. Tax refunds arrive in late winter, and our credit card debt will be gone by spring, at which point I should be due for another raise. We can plan to make room in our budget for a car payment by then.

In this scenario, I can tell myself It will be okay and actually believe it.

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Of all the worries I've had over my three and a half years as a parent, I don't think any of those experiences came close to the level of intensity of this one. Not even nursing. When choosing formula, I felt guilty over denying them the optimal choice in baby food, but at least we could afford to pay for it. Luke and I hate that we can't take on a car payment to get the best ride for our family; that guilt coupled with visions of our child's body being torn to shreds in an accident? If we had gone with the booster and something would have happened.... Well, there are no words.

Parenting is so much harder than you think it will be when you're first starting out. Luckily, there are also no words to describe its joy.

 

Thirty-six weeks. One more until full-term. Though, judging by the size of Baby Brother's man-cave, you might assume that either it's going to be any day now! or I'm already overdue. As does half of Indianapolis.

 

When I was at this same point with Kara (picture here) (stats here), I had gained 27 pounds; with Nathan, I was around 26 pounds, and by my 37-week appointment I had registered a nine-pound gain and was being monitored by my ob/gyn for HELLP syndrome. This morning, I only weighed 15 pounds heavier than the day I took my positive pregnancy test in October. I'm sure before the baby is born that there will be additional junk on my trunk, but right now I'm in awe. For a while I was crediting this to eating better and being on my feet more because of the kids, but now I'm starting to think the real reason was a terribly difficult first trimester where I lost a ton of weight and a conversative second trimester, food wise, spent gaining that weight back. Will this have an impact on Baby Brother's size? Is my habit of delivering large newborns a thing of the past? Only time will tell.

I've been told by complete strangers with total confidence that the baby is sitting high AND that he's clearly dropped, in the same day even, so, opinions and @$$holes and all that, but I'm inclined to agree with the latter. I'm feeling increased pressure in my pelvis lately; that combined with frequent (yet random) contractions have me shuffling around at a snail's pace. Meanwhile, Baby Brother's movements are more violent than ever; sometimes it's cute, and his level of activity does keep me from worrying about anything being wrong with him, but mostly it's uncomfortable, even downright painful, and overall these last few weeks of pregnancy have reduced me to a tired, weepy, anxious mess. Luke is a saint for putting up with me, because in addition to voicing my various aches and pains, I also can't shut up about all the things we still need to do, even though it's clear that he will be the one doing most of them, but he takes everything in stride and does his best to accommodate my wishes. It's almost like he's done this before!

Kara and Nathan are starting to grasp that Baby Brother's arrival is near as we talk more about what things will be like once he comes home. On my last entry, Molly asked a great question about how we plan to explain my c-section, but because they are still so little, and because because Kara is easily frightened these days by what she doesn't understand, Luke and I are keeping things simple. So far, our talk track has been that Daddy will take Mommy to the hospital so the doctor can take the baby out of my belly, and that satisfies them just fine. At this point, we don't feel the need to mention the surgical aspect of it; me just having the baby is enough reason for them to be gentle around my abdominal area for a few weeks. We can provide more information as they get older and/or ask more questions.

Right now, though, Kara seems more preoccupied with when the baby is coming out. On Saturday, I ran some errands, and the minute I returned, she asked if the baby was still in my belly. Monday, I went to the dentist to repair a cracked tooth, and when I got home, same thing. It's fascinating to watch your children's minds at work as they attempt to make sense of the world around them.

Truly, though, I love answering their questions, even when those questions lead me down roads untraveled. Like on Monday, when Kara was playing with our toy kitchen and she talked about coffee coming out of her breasts. (!!!) I think I know what happened; at dinner we were talking about the different ways that babies eat, and how in the beginning Baby Brother won't need solid food, just special baby milk, and he'll get that milk by drinking it from Mommy's breasts or by Mommy and Daddy getting it from the store. Maybe she thought other kinds of drinks were also accessible through Thelma and Louise? I couldn't tell. In any event, it was a conversation for the baby books, that's for sure - that, and her referring to nipples as "bristles." Be still, my heart.

In my 31 years of life, I've completed almost three pregnancies, but it is yesterday's brief conversation with a grade-schooler that wins the award, hands down, for "Most Shocking Gestating Dialogue."

SCENE: Retail outlet store, where Luke and I were stocking up on summer clothes and baby onesies (our first time buying for three children at once, OMG). Kara and Nathan were occupying themselves by an activity table filled with toys, where a few other kids were also hanging out. Several of them were from the same family, including a little boy who was maybe five or six years old - seven, tops - and who I was already having issues with mainly but not completely because he kept grabbing things out of Nathan's hand.

BOY: (eyes me up and down) You're going to have a baby.

FREMA: That's right.

BOY: (To Kara) Your mom's going to have a baby.

KARA: (Enthusiastically, because she loves interacting with other kids) Yes!

BOY: (Back to me, matter-of-factly) They're going to cut you open!

FREMA: (In her brain) ...

FREMA: (Actual words) They don't have to.*

FREMA: (In her brain, a second time) ...

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Twenty-four hours later, and I'm still not sure what to make of this. I wasn't wearing my "C-sectioners Unite!" sandwich board, and layers of clothing combined with an impressive amount of belly flab ensured that my scar wasn't visible to the general public, so unless he had x-ray vision or possessed a Sixth Sense type of power that alerts him when a surgical patient is near, I can only assume that BOY's mother had gone under the knife herself and shared that tidbit with her son. Which, okay; I personally don't think I'd choose to give that young a child that much information, but then again, my oldest still wears a pull-up at night, so who knows? Really, I was most surprised that a) he apparently believes all babies are delivered this way and b) he chose to talk about it in such a manner with A COMPLETE STRANGER.

For those to whom this applies: What's the weirdest thing a child has said to you about your pregnancy?

* Actually, my doctor and I are in agreement that they pretty much DO have to cut me open, but hell no was I going to support that kid's logic. Seriously, I've seen infants share toys better.

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to include all those he he hees in the title, except that I am quite ready to be done with this gestating business, thank you very much, so if you read it in a whiny, slightly labored tone of voice, you'll have a pretty good grasp of where I am emotionally. You are welcome.

 

I don't have any shots of me at this point with Nathan, but I do with Kara. Click here to check them out.

(Sidenote: I will have you know that the maternity coat pictured in that entry has more than paid for itself. I've used it twice, Samantha's used it once, and I even lent it to a sister of my coworker's. Money well spent, for sure.)

Current stats: To date, I have put on approximately 15 pounds, making Baby Brother's the slowest weight gain of all three pregnancies. I credit some of this to doing a slightly better job of managing what I'm eating - less red meat, more salads, fruits, and vegetables (though my sugar intake is atrocious) - and some of this to being on my feet more as a mom to two little kids (though Luke continues to be wonderful by handling the laundry, cooking, and majority of post-dinner clean-up). When all is said and done, I doubt I'll hit 30 pounds by the time the baby is born. You wouldn't know it, though, because I feel so much heavier this time around, and much more aware of my size. It truly does feel like this child could fall out of me at any given moment. Others must agree: I can't tell you how many times people have widened their eyes or covered their mouths in shock after I tell them when I'm due.

"Do you really think you'll go that long?" (This is where I pull out my mom card and gleefully reply that, as a matter of fact, I do think I'll go that long, because I've done this twice before and this is just the way I carry.)

"But you're carrying so low!"

"Your feet and your shoulders look okay, no swelling." (Thank you, doctor, for your thorough exam and expert wisdom.)

"You look like you're going to have that baby any day!"

"We'll need to get you something for your desk, huh?" (You know - because of my gargantuan belly.)

"Will your belly go back to normal?" (Okay, that one was from Kara and therefore not offensive at all, but I couldn't resist.)

"Honey, you look miserable."

That last one was said to me by a complete stranger last weekend while waiting for a quarter pound of roast beef at the deli. All I could do was smile thinly and say, "I'm not," before turning away. I don't care if you have lady parts or if you've delivered children, if that's the way you choose to start a conversation, we are not in this together.

See? Not miserable at all!

I'm operating on some level of fatigue almost all the time. Baby Brother is super active almost all the time. And now that we're in the final stretch, I'm starting to panic over all of our to-dos almost all the time. 

The cars need to be cleaned out. The infant base needs to be installed. The paint still needs touching up. Nathan's baby book still isn't done. We haven't cleared out kitchen space for baby bottles. The baby gear needs a steam clean.

Oh. And we need a name.

The front-runner we've been carrying around all this time, a name I love and would still be happy to use in the first name slot, will likely be delegated to middle name status to fit into our new naming strategy.

I go back and forth on nursing almost every day - sometimes eager to give it another go, other times determined to crack open the formula on Day One. And almost every time, I reject any concrete decision I've reached and instead encourage myself to adopt a "Just For Today" type attitude and not look any further than that. It's been working really well so far! (end sarcasm)

I have also started getting more anxious about handling those initial weeks and months of babyhood, as crystal-clear details of Nathan's newborn period have been coming back to me with a vengeance. Nodding off during a three a.m. feeding when the sky is dark and everyone else is asleep. Bouncing him to sleep an hour later, eyes barely open, with one hand in a bag of Donettes because eating something is the only thing keeping me from passing out, feeling utterly alone. Struggling to manage the stairs after my c-section. Crying over clothes that still didn't fit.

I'm sure this is true for most women, but I am completely out of my element in the newborn period.

(Edited to add: It wasn't until reading Eva's comment below that I realized I completely glazed over Kara's period. Aside from nursing difficulties, she was actually a dream baby - sleeping through the night at 6 weeks, content so long as she was snuggled, etc. But still, she was my first baby, and just learning how to be a mom was overwhelming enough. So, while I am open to having an easier experience this time, I'm trying to be realistic and just accept that I don't handle infancy well.)

Before I get too panicked, though, I try to remember the good things. Snuggling on the couch. The grasp of a baby hand around your finger. Watching siblings fall in love. The knowledge that each day brings you one step away from the most difficult period of that first year and one step closer to a wonderfully new version of normal.

It has also helped to think of upcoming seasonal milestones and benchmarking where we should be at that point. This has been particularly encouraging to do with a summer baby. For example:

• By Halloween, the baby will be four months old and sleeping in longer patches at night, if not all the way through. I will definitely have adjusted to being back at work by then. And won't it be fun for the five of us to go trick-or-treating together?
• By Thanksgiving, the baby will be almost five months old. Nathan did so well in the baby carrier at that age, so we should be out and about as much as we want. (Not that I plan to wait that long to use it, of course.) The fall weather will be perfect for hikes at the park. Also, I should be in much better shape physically than I've ever been at this point, so long as I'm consistent with running and my Jillian Michaels videos. (I'm already physched to try her newest one, Ripped in 30. Yes, please!)
• By Christmas, the baby will be six months old, experimenting with solids and crawling. What a fun December it will be.
• By Luke's and my sixth wedding anniversary next May, the baby will be almost a year old and most likely walking. Walking! Surely all three kids should be easy enough for someone else to care for them overnight, so Mommy and Daddy can sneak in a getaway.
• Speaking of May, the Mini is in May. I so want to run the Mini next year! Training would be another way to keep my fitness level on track.
• By next June, the baby will be one year and on the way to ditching bottles, formula (if we choose to go that route), and purees. We should also be free of our credit card debt by then. The perfect ingredients for an active, amazing summer.

Each baby is different, so I of course can't bank on all those milestones coming to fruition, but generally speaking, these are the stages where I remember things becoming significantly easier to manage with both Kara and Nathan, so I'm allowing myself to be hopeful. Plus, even if it doesn't, it's really the overall message I'm clinging to: that every day does get easier. I know this from personal experience now. It really does get easier.

The last day of Kara's parents' day out program was last Friday, and since families were invited, I took the day off work to attend the annual end-of-year carnival with Luke and the kids. There were game stations and dollar-store prizes, a bounce house that neither child took to very well, a fire engine tour they both adored, and a creepy old-man magician that had Luke and I rolling our eyes every five minutes. Overall, though, it was a neat way to pass the time.

 

This picture has nothing to do with the carnival, but man, is my family gorgeous or what?

The closer we get to bringing this baby home (five weeks from tomorrow, not that anyone's counting), sometimes it's hard to remember that the two kids we have now actually started out as newborns. Babies are lovely for sniffing and snuggling, but the older Kara and Nathan get, the more fun we all have together -- even planning for the future has become more interesting, as we imagine what lies ahead for our party of five.

Precisely because they aren't babies anymore, and also because one of my biggest stressors is making sure the kids have a fun summer despite the initial turmoil that is sure to result from welcoming a new baby, Luke and I are working hard with the money we have at our disposal (thank you, savings) to sign them up for a couple of things that force us to get them out of the house. They'll both take a nine-week tumbling class at our town's rec center starting in two weeks, and Kara is signed up for a week-long nature camp sponsored by a local park for late July. We also learned of a week-long vacation Bible study class offered through the same church that runs our parents' day out program, for the low, low price of FIVE DOLLARS, so we'll register Kara for that as well. I wish there was more for Nathan to do, but those last two require the kids to be fully potty-trained, so he'll just have to wait until next year. Really, though, just getting him in the tumbling class is a big deal, since he's never done anything like that before. It should be a nice transition into his starting "school" in the fall.

We researched a number of activities in the Indy metro area for ideas of things to do, but the nearest YMCA doesn't have anything for the toddler age range, and the closest Gymboree is 45 minutes away. Also, frankly, our bank account can't handle many more unplanned expenses without putting our maternity leave savings at risk. Still, though, I'm excited about what we do have planned, and we recently renewed our zoo membership, and we're already frequent visitors of our local library, and there are several neighborhood playgrounds in our zip code, which means there are plenty of opportunities for additional fun. Once Baby Brother is here and we know he's healthy, Luke and I have already talked about using more of our savings to buy additional memberships to the city's Children's Museum and the rec center where tumbling is being held, as it has fantastic indoor and outdoor swimming facilities AND a gym AND exercise classes AND is within walking distance from our house. There's even been talk of going to the beach again, like we did last year.

I've been trying not to get so hung up on our summer plans, but it's hard. There were actually a couple more classes at the rec center that we could've enrolled the kids into (dance and music), and I would have done it without a second thought until Luke wisely talked me down, reminding me about the zoo and the library and the parks and also of our commitment to keeping them active even while I'm recovering from my (last!!!) c-section. That's been the kicker for me, I think: knowing it will take me the majority of the first six weeks to feel anything like myself again and how unavailable I will be during that time to do things like hike, swim, or even take long walks on the trail.

Fortunately, Luke and I have already talked at length about this, and we agree that it will be important for him to be out and about with them just like he is when I'm at work so that I recuperate from surgery without feeling guilty. After that, though, I hope to be more on my feet so that we can make the best of the second six weeks we have left. This summer will definitely have its challenges, but I still want to make it the best one we've had yet.

What are you doing this summer?

I heard Janet Jackson's "Miss You Much" on the way to Subway today, and it reminded me of all things I miss about my pre-pregnancy life. At 33 weeks, the list includes:

• The shape of my face (aka non-puffy)
• Eating any type of spaghetti sauce I want without fear of indigestion
• Being able to get in and out of bed without grunting in pain
• Sleeping without a pillow cushioned against my belly
• Walking in heels without resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa (Don't worry, I switched to flats months ago)
• Running
• Sitting the children on my lap instead of barely fitting them onto my knee
• Wearing pants with buttons instead of elastic waistbands
• Not worrying that my shirt is going to creep up and expose what must be the largest uterus on Planet Earth
• Overall energy level, zest for life

And... the photographic evidence:

 

This was taken last week; originally I intended to post a more current photo with this entry, but after reviewing the results of this morning's shoot I found that the lighting on my face is all wrong and part of my hair is sticking up and really, it would be better for everyone to gaze upon a version of my visage from happier days.

Fatigue continues to plague me constantly, whether I get eight hours of sleep or five. There is occasional swelling in my feet after a long day, but it's easily cured by putting them up the minute I get home. Two things that did worry me this past weekend were intermittent pains in my stomach and some light vomiting after taking my vitamin cocktail, so I called my OB/GYN's office on Monday and was seen that day to check my blood pressure, urine levels, and the baby's heartbeat. Luckily, everything is looking good; as for the vomiting, my doctor and I think it was the result of switching from the premium-grade vitamin samples I was using back to the generic ones I had been taking all along. They didn't make me throw up before, but that was before I was prescribed the iron supplement. I now have almost a month's worth of samples in my possession, which should see me through almost to the end of the pregnancy, and by that point, I may just pay the piper to avoid making out with the porcelain throne again.

Quite a lot has happened since the last time we pow-wowed, the biggest being Luke's follow-through with the snip at the end of April (the timing with the royal wedding was purely coincidental, I swear). He is just now beginning to feel like himself again, so I feel okay to talk about it.

The planner in me is so relieved to have this taken care of and cross such a huge thing off our post-partum to-do list, and for the first time in my life, I am absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent certain that I do not want to be pregnant ever again. Still, though, on the morning of, there was a huge rock in my stomach that stayed with me for the first half of the day, wondering if we were doing the right thing. Was I being selfish asking Luke to do this when I could just as easily get on the pill, despite my misgivings? Were we being fiscally irresponsible by spending precious hospital dollars to have this done, knowing that my insurance deductible would be met after Baby Brother's arrival and we could score a tubal for free? Was I really comfortable with the idea of the two of us never making a baby together again?

I always knew I would be sad when the time came to do something permanent with our reproductive parts; I just didn't know how sad.

Luke and I talked it out, and while we were both nervous, we also knew logically it was the best long-term choice for our family, and one we both could handle without regret. And so it was done, and now I have come full circle, because seriously. Giving birth is a miracle, and I will always be grateful for being a part of it, but I NEVER WANT TO BE PREGNANT AGAIN. Thanks, honey, for taking one for the team.

The urologist did ask Luke if we wanted to postpone the procedure until after Baby Brother was born, "just in case," but as devastated as we'd be over anything happening to this little guy, it wouldn't change the fact that we are just not up for another pregnancy.

Morbid "what-if" conversations with your spouse: yet another perk of the whole marriage and family planning package!

The second big thing is that we finally made a dent in Baby Brother's bedroom. We stuck with our decision to keep the paint and wall art as is, but we did rearrange the furniture so that it actually feels like it was set up for a brand new person. It's not picture-ready yet, as there is a pile of laundry that appears to be mating with itself next to the crib, but it finally feels like progress is being made.

 

The kids are doing great. Kara's last official day of "school" was last week, but this week they're throwing a last-hurrah carnival for all the kids and their families, so I will be taking the day off work so the four of us can attend together. One of the best decisions we made was to send Kara to this program, even if we could only swing one day a week; she has so enjoyed the Fridays where she gets to play with her friends and interact with her teachers and make "heart projects" (her original pronounciation of "art projects") to bring home.

I wish our finances and our family situation allowed us to send her to the church's preschool program in the fall, because Luke and I both know she would thrive in one, but with a tight budget and a newborn on the way, it just isn't feasible for us this year. But she's only three, and she will still have her one day a week, as will Nathan, and we can pay for those things without losing sleep, so it will have to be enough for now.

 

Inspired by Emily's recent post on summer strategizing, I fully intended to talk about Kara and Nathan's plans here, but this entry is already long enough, and with my sporadic posting schedule, it's probably best that I not place all of my blogging eggs into this one basket - er, post. Until next time, then!

Folks, we have officially entered single-digit territory - no more than nine weeks until we bring Baby Brother home. My word.

 

I will shoot daggers at anyone who might dare utter this to me, but at 30 weeks, even I have to admit that I'm looking large and in charge (and also in need of a haircut; THAT I hope to remedy next week). Sitting both children on my lap for storytime is damn near impossible, and several items of maternity clothing are no longer fit for public display, especially button-up shirts, which mistakenly give the impression that this child is going to burst through my uterus Incredible Hulk style. Thankfully, I have some things to tide me over courtesy of my book club friends until my sister delivers an entire bin of looser-fitting summer clothes late next month, because the goal is still to spend as little money in this area as possible. (To Katy: I get compliments on this top everytime I wear it, and your patterned black skirt, too.)

Despite the iron supplement I'm taking to address my anemia, I wear out so easily these days, and if there is ever an opportunity to nap on the weekends, I jump on it immediately. Unfortunately, now that we're inching into the final weeks, those opportunities are few and far between. Last weekend was all about The Great Bedroom Merge, and the weekend before that I FINALLY started on Nathan's baby book. Our current goals are to focus on preparing Baby Brother's room and addressing minor touch-ups and eyesores throughout the rest of the house. I've also been busy at work, training my coworkers to handle various projects and to-dos while I'm on maternity leave for 12 weeks.

The closer we get to the big day, the more apprehensive I feel about making it through those early months with a new baby. As a mother of toddlers, I have no doubts about their attachment to me or their understanding of my love for them. This knowledge has allowed me to grant myself permission to strike a manageable balance between my roles as mother, wife, working professional, and individual who continues to exist alongside (and sometimes independently of) all of those identities. In my day-to-day, that balance looks something like this:

I do not bring work home. I will arrive at the office early, or I will stay late, but aside from regularly checking e-mail on my smartphone, work stuff stays at work. It is much easier to stay put until the job is done than it is to stop my train of thought, pack up my laptop, get through dinner, clean-up, and bedtime, and THEN try to pick up where I left off. Not only am I easily distracted at home and get little accomplished whether the kids are awake or not, I also feel cheated out of quality time with Luke. So if coming home late for dinner once in a while helps me to be a more attentive wife (and really, a better employee), than that is what I will do.

Dinner clean-up is done after dinner, not after bedtime. I fought this for such a long time in the beginning, because I felt like those precious minutes before the bedtime routine begins should be spent on the living room floor playing with my kids, not at the kitchen sink washing dishes. So I used to let everything sit until after they were asleep; however, Kara and Nathan were not made from the early-to-bed cloth, so often I wouldn't be arriving downstairs until well after nine o'clock, which meant it could get as late as ten before my "real" evening officially began. This made for a crabby Frema and, once again, a neglected husband, who by this point was in dire need of adult interaction. Finally, I realized that it wasn't the end of the world to listen to the kids laugh and rough around with their father while I puttered around in the kitchen. There are some exceptions to this; on those days where I do come home late, for example, Luke is usually quick to shoo me into the living room while he takes on kitchen detail, and lately he's been making things even easier by wiping out the pre-dinner dishes before he starts cooking. Especially because of this last thing, I am often able to do both.

(Have I told you lately how wonderful my husband is? Because truly, he is so wonderful.)

I do not miss bedtime. This isn't an absolute, of course; sometimes there are evening work functions (though none during this pregnancy so far), Luke and I have splurged on date nights if we are in the vicinity of grandparents or can afford to hire our sitter, and for a few months in the fall I attended a monthly book club gathering on the other side of the city, but overall my general rule is to be present for Kara and Nathan's bedtime. Sometimes it's frustrating if the kids are acting up, and sometimes it's inconvenient, like last summer when I was constantly late for my weekly run with Jenn, but overall it's worth it to consistently be there for bathtime, lights out, and everything in between. I revel in holding them close and sniffing their freshly shampooed heads while reading them stories. It means a lot to me to be able to kiss their cheeks and tuck them in. So I make it a priority.

I do not volunteer. This one I'm not proud of, and it's another reality I fought for a long time, but in the end, it is what it is. I was a member of my college's alumni association for about five years, and I loved doing it, but the distance between Indianapolis and Rensselaer made traveling for quarterly meetings and participating in campus events highly undesirable, especially when I already spend enough time away from home. So in 2009, I sadly turned in my resignation. My employer is great about allowing time off during the work week to participate in volunteer activities, and on and off for a couple of years I was involved in a grade-school reading program for an hour a week, but once I had kids, even that one hour away from my desk was enough to throw off my entire day, so at the end of the 2010 school year, I told the program director that I wouldn't be signing up again. Last fall, my desire to reach beyond myself grew again, and I looked into donating my time at a local women's and children's shelter, possibly on the weekends. Then I got pregnant again, and then I got sick, and now the recommendation letters I solicited are collecting dust in my mail basket, and I'm at the point where I have to admit that now is not the time to throw myself into extracurricular activities that take me away from my family, no matter how worthy the cause. That said, Luke and I recently began going to church again, a church right here in town, and we sometimes talk about looking into their soup kitchen or Bible study classes or something to that effect. So it's not like I'm swearing off do-gooding or charitable works completely, but I have realized my limits, and I have to respect them.

All of that to say - almost three and a half years into this parenthood thing, and I have finally figured out what works for me and my family. And we're about to turn all of that on its head.

Because for me, as a working mother, when I have a baby and then reach the point where I have to go back to work, I'm NOT as secure in our attachment like I am when they're older, so everything feels like it's up for grabs. You can talk to a toddler about things like having to miss dinner and they understand. That is not the case with a baby. So my big-picture focus changes from maintaining balance to simply being there as much as I can.

What this translates into on a micro level: It's hard enough being away for an average work day when they're so little that the last thing I want to do is sit at my desk even one minute after five, even if the alternative is nodding off at my laptop at ten. And when I'm dividing my attention among three children, why would I concern myself with dishes when I could be doling out hugs and kisses? On top of all that, Luke and I have not wavered on our plans to put the house on the market next year, and whether it takes a month or a year to sell, preparing for the next stage of our lives will require me to start using and building on my professional network, and part of that will entail opening myself up to extracurricular programs and events, whether it's the right time or not.

I think about all of this, toss in a few random worries about nursing (yes, I have decided to try again), and my brain threatens to explode.

Then I remind myself to breathe and not get so caught up in the future. I remember that fortunately, another reality is that Luke and I are not brand spanking new parents anymore, and we HAVE figured out a system that works for us; and while there will be an initial period of deviation from that, eventually the dust will settle, and we'll embrace a familiar version of normal once again, even if it's not identical to what we had before. Until then, I will have to grant myself permission to take it one day at a time.

So, to sum up: I am 30 weeks pregnant. I am a tad worried about managing life with a third baby. But I'm also more seasoned now than I was with the first two. Plus, my husband rocks. It will be okay.

This past weekend, Luke and I took the first tangible step in preparing our house for a new baby by moving Kara and Nathan into the same bedroom. The Big Kids Bedroom. A bedroom that now contains a twin bed, a toddler bed, and two children under the age of four.

 

A view of Nathan's big boy bed. You'll notice we nixed the idea of themed wall art and instead went with that famous line known as "Cheap Pictures We Liked From Target."

We've been talking about this merge ever since we found out about Baby Brother, and we've been discussing it with the kids for almost as long, but it wasn't until last week when I was reading stories to Nathan in his glider that it hit me: Oh my gosh, my baby is losing his room. And his crib, and his dresser, and all those other baby things that we picked out just for him.

I thought about how he might not be ready, and how, as one of two boys, he may never have his own room again, and how adorable, kissably soft, and baby-like his cheeks are, even though his favorite statement of late is "No, I want to do it by myself," and I ended up crying myself to sleep. Oh, the tangled emotions involved in making room for another child, and forcing watching the children you already have grow up in the process.

But JC Penney wasn't aware of my misgivings, so Kara's twin bed arrived on Saturday as planned, and Luke and I spent that afternoon washing bedding, rearranging furniture, and transferring Nathan's things into Kara's closet and dresser. Between the two of them, Nathan actually had the largest set of drawers, but I wanted to keep all the matching furniture together, partly for the baby and partly for (eventual) showing purposes; in the end, we made it work by designating the closet for all shirts and pants and the dresser for socks, underclothes, and pajamas.

 

A close-up of Nathan's big boy bed, which looks perfect against the yellow paint, in my frugal lazy humble opinion.

Fortunately, ironing out the logistics of The Great Bedroom Merge turned out to be a lot of fun; while I'm no Martha Stewart when it comes to decorating, I rise to the tasks of organizing, removing extraneous clutter, and finding a proper place for belongings that make the cut. It also helped that Nathan LOVED the idea of sleeping in the toddler bed; pair that with his fondness for his quilt from godmother Auntie Molly, and you get a charged-up little boy who was more than ready to roll around in the covers and play with his animals the minute his set-up was complete. The car pillow was a new purchse and proved to be a hit with both kids. 

 

A view of Kara's newest big girl bed. Is it wrong to kind of want it for myself?

Because it took all day to get things settled, both kids missed their naps (not that Kara takes them very often, anyway), so it was a challenge to get them settled down come bedtime. They didn't want to read stories in the rocking chair as is our usual way, opting instead to camp out in their respective beds, and their attention span was extremely short; plus, Nathan typically goes down about 30 minutes before Kara, and Kara doesn't fall asleep as quickly as he does, so we weren't sure how difficult it would be for each of them to fall asleep in the presence of the other. The cherry on top was following through with our decision to attempt to wean Nathan from his pacifier; I was so sure he would call us on this and put up a fight. 

At 8:06, we showered them with kisses, left the room, and braced ourselves for a long night ahead.

By 9:02, they were out like a light, with Nathan pacifier free.

That is not to imply the fifty-six minutes in between were perfect -- several times they tumbled out of bed, and Nathan did mention his pacifier once while being tucked in. But overall our son took his new role as a big boy very seriously, and big boys stay in their beds, so he did, and pacifiers are meant for babies, so subconsiously I think he deemed it inappropriate to push the issue. Also, his stay-put example definitely inspired Kara to follow suit, as she's never had any problems abandoning her big girl status to visit Mommy and Daddy more frequently than TV shows air commercials. She actually fell asleep earlier with Nathan across the room than she typically does on her own. SCORE AND SCORE.

Luke and I were not as enthused when Kara jumped into our bed at five o'clock the next morning and Nathan sobbed for his pacifier at six (insert stab to the heart here).

We held firm on the latter, though, and Luke eventually tried to appease Nathan by bringing him into bed with us, but four people + a queen-sized mattress does not = restful sleep for anyone. It was a long Easter, let me tell you. And Nathan hasn't fully processed the permanence of the arrangement yet, because occasionally he still asks to read stories in "his room." But at two and a half nights in, we have a consistent pattern of both children falling asleep before 9:30, which has NOT been our experience in the past, so at this point I am inclined to declare the Great Merge a smashing success.

 

Here is our boy, all tucked in and ready for Dreamland. He was delighted with his big boy pillows and adamant about laying his head on the stack of them, which I think is one of the reasons it took him so long to fall asleep that first night. It was clear he was uncomfortable having his head elevated so high. "You don't have to use both of them if you don't want to - you can cuddle the car pillow like a stuffed animal or even move it to the other side of the bed. Whatever you want," I told him, but he wouldn't hear of it.

He must have considered the suggestion on some level, though, because eventually we found him like this:

 

Luke wanted a better-looking photo than that for our albums, though, so he took some artistic liberties to achieve this:

 

How is he not on the cover of a Golden Book? Those cheeks!

Meanwhile, Kara adjusted to her own upgrade pretty well and was especially taken with her new quilt. This shot is only slightly staged:

 

It took a lot of self-restraint not to crawl in there with her, for a mother-daughter cuddle.

At this point last week, I was so sad about Nathan shedding another layer of his babyhood, but now I am so happy for him, and proud that he was able to handle these big, important steps so easily. My favorite part? I can give those baby-toddler cheeks another kiss good-night once he's fast asleep, just like I do with Kara, now that we're no longer separated by crib slats.

 

We are getting so close to Baby Day, and there is still so much to do, but this merge? It was a good thing, and a step in the right direction.

Howdy, third trimester! Allow me to welcome you with a washed-out, shiny, deer-in-headlights expression:

 

I think I've grown since last week - check out the below picture and judge for yourself.

 

Here I am at 26 weeks and some change with Kara, who wanted to join in on the photo-snapping fun, and here is photographic evidence of being pregnant with both Kara and Nathan at this same point. Man, is my body predictable when it comes to gestation.

Things are going fine, incubator-wise. I continue to have an appetite that cannot be satisfied; I've only gained about eight new pounds with this pregnancy so far, but half of that was put on in the last two weeks. My diastasis recti is easing up, thankfully, but it's being replaced with an easily-triggered fatigue that I assume is the result of hauling around another ginormous baby, if Baby Brother 2.0 stays the path carved out by his older siblings; at 27 weeks, the boy is already measuring at 28 centimeters, according to my OB/GYN. My latest appointment was three days ago, which involved throwing back a fruit-punch-flavored glucose drink for my gestational diabetes test. The results of the bloodwork showed that my sugar levels are fine but that I'm slightly anemic (which would also account for some of that fatigue). This same thing happened with Kara, so I will just take my prescribed iron supplement and carry on as normal.

The most exciting thing about my visit was getting my c-section on the books at the hospital - Wednesday, June 29, 9:30 a.m. Mark your calendars!

Finally, I have now reached the point where I need to visit my OB every two weeks. Things are really starting to move along - and not just with the child occupying my uterus. Kara and Nathan are in for some changes soon, too.

 

Kara spreading her own PB&J. In case that wasn't supremely obvious already.

Grandma and Grandpa Dunscombe were in town this week to help us out with some spring-cleaning type projects and also to order parts for Kara's "new big girl bed" - also known as The Extra Bed We Desperately Need To Free Up The Crib For The Baby. Kara will occupy the new twin (to arrive in about two weeks), Nathan will inherit Kara's toddler bed, and the baby will get all of the furniture in Nathan's room. Luke and I have been talking to the kids ad nauseum over the past month about how they'll be sharing a room soon and the big kids will all be together and Won't that be so much fun? Kara's taking it all in stride, but Nathan hasn't readily embraced the concept yet.

Monday night while getting ready for bed, after having talked about the move for the eighty-seven-millionth time:

Frema: Hey Nathan, are you a baby?

Nathan: (smiles) No.

Frema: That's right, you're a big boy. And do big boys sleep in cribs?

Nathan: No. No, they don't!

Frema: That's right, they sleep in big boy beds! So pretty soon, you're going to sleep in a big boy bed! And you can bring all your blankets and all your stuffed animals - the only thing that's changing is that you'll be in a big boy bed!

Nathan: (pauses, then reaches out to touch his crib) I want to sleep in this big bed.

Frema: No, honey, that bed isn't for big boys, it's for babies.

Nathan: I like this bed.

And to think we want to take away his beloved pacifier at the same time! (Because only babies who sleep in cribs use pacifiers! Not big boys!) We're prepared to be flexible, but still, this transition should be super-duper fun.

Money-wise, things are going well. After a grueling six-week wait, we finally received our federal tax return on April Fool's Day, which allowed us to cut our credit card debt almost in half and set aside the out-of-pocket cash we'll need during my maternity leave. We continue to funnel money into savings and cut corners in our budget to make all of this happen, and it feels like it's finally paying off. We sailed through all the major bills of spring - car insurance premiums, school registration, vehicle registration renewals - without using our Visa; in fact, we haven't touched it at all this year, AND we've been making steady progress in lowering our balance even before receiving our tax check. We buckled down when it counted the most, and we are seeing the rewards, and it feels awesome.

To celebrate our financial success, we drove 40 minutes to our local creamery and blew nine dollars on organic ice cream. Hey, all work and no play, right?

 

I'm not sure what the kids are staring at. Certainly not the camera.

After spending so much of the winter cooped up indoors, it felt great to venture beyond our zip code and blow a few bucks on something as indulgent as dessert. We weren't there that long, but Luke and I had such a good time, and the kids, too.

 

Of course, can you have a bad time when ice cream's involved?

 

The cows were in the barn and mooing something fierce when we arrived, so Kara and Nathan wouldn't venture much farther than the doorway.

And...that is my blog update! I hope you all are just swell.

On Tuesday, I turned 25 weeks. Just two more until the third trimester!

 

(For comparison purposes, here's a link to a blog entry showing me at the same point with Kara.)

As I rapidly approach these last few months of pregnancy, I am overcome with the urge to kick it up a notch when it comes to preparing for Baby Brother's arrival, especially since all we've done so far is accept hand-me-downs from generous family and friends. Now it's time for tangible deliverables. I've decided that I want to redo the kids' bedrooms before Easter, get Luke's urologist consult on the calendar, and buy a frickin' onesie, already. Our period of inaction is over. Bring on the nesting!

Speaking of bedrooms, a few decisions have been made in regards to the whole bedroom-redecorating project I mentioned last month, the biggest one being to forgo the painting step altogether. We have been so good at saving our money that at first I thought it would be worth the splurge, but as I evaluate what we have left to save for hospital bills and maternity leave, I'm sadly reminded that every penny still counts. Plus, Kara and Nathan have been really into Winnie-the-Pooh lately, and that theme would totally mesh with a yellow bedroom without completely reeking of girl, so there you go. We'll still budget for some wall hangings and possibly new shelving, but overall those costs will be minimal. As for the baby, well, he certainly won't notice that he's inheriting a completely recycled nursery set-up, so we aren't buying anything new for his room at all. At first I felt guilty about this, until I remembered that my siblings and I never even had our own rooms growing up, let alone a custom nursey, and somehow we all turned out just fine. Also, talk about a middle-class problem if I ever heard one. Perspective, yes?

On the baby names front, while I am still completely satisfied with our front-runner, Luke is feeling a little meh about it these days, so we've been combing through our old copy of The Baby Name Wizard for additional inspiration, just in case. At first I was sad about possibly starting from scratch again, but then I remembered that I initially felt the same way about Kara's name while I was pregnant with her, even though I'm the one who suggested it in the first place. Of course, on the day she was born, it turned out to be the perfect fit, and to this day I'm still over the moon about it, so hopefully it will play out the same way for Luke, too.

As for me? Tired is the name of my game. Last weekend I drove up to Katy's neck of the woods with the kids for a playdate (no locking anyone in the car this time, thank goodness), and two hours of toddler-friendly activity wiped me out for the rest of the afternoon. I am still feeling my size but still do not appreciate having it pointed out to me by others, like on Monday when someone I know through work (who l like very much, by the way) told me that I'm "pooching out" with a wild-eyed stare WHILE ALSO accosting me with an unsolicted belly rub. I saw her again this morning, and she greeted me with a "I swear you've gotten bigger since the last time I saw you! You just keep on growing!" Happy day to you, too!

This pregnancy is progressing so quickly - in a couple of weeks I'll take my gestational diabetes test, can you believe it? - and yet I constantly find myself willing the time to pass even faster. I think about materntiy leave a lot, and spending the summer at home with Luke and our brood of three, and hitting the trail again, and beginning our search for a real estate agent to sell our house, and I'm impatient. On the other hand, I know that this time right now is precious, and I want to soak up every inch of my husband and kids and give them as much attention as I can. I want us to go to the zoo, swing at the park, walk on the trail, and in general just enjoy each other's company right up until the moment our lives are turned upside down with our newest family member. After all, it's the end of an era!

On Tuesday I hit the 23-week mark. My, but time flies when you have a mini-gymnast pummeling you from the inside! (That's what she said! - BA DUM BUM HA HA I BEAT YOU TO IT)

For comparison purposes, here's an entry featuring a shot of me pregnant with Kara at the same point in time. And here's one with Nathan.

 

Can you tell how good I feel about myself in this picture? The warm and fuzzies are the combined product of a long-overdue haircut from my regular salon to clean up my layers (many thanks, state refund check) and being the recipient of a batch of maternity clothes from Katy and another member of our book club (faded shirt is mine; stylish cargo pants, unfortunately, are not). For so much of this pregnancy I've been looking worn out and frumpy, and it feels so good to regain a little bit of my former, pre-gestating self.

Baby Brother continues to be on the move for much of the day and night, and it's been a lot of fun to get an unexpected kick in the middle of a meeting or during an episode of Law and Order: SVU. You'd think my body was reaping the benefits of all that calorie-burning because I find myself ravenous for food practically 'round the clock, to the point that last night I dreamt I was at my parents' house enjoying a GRIDDLE'S WORTH OF BACON. As of today I've only gained about two pounds of baby weight, but once you start dreaming about greasy pork products, I suspect it's all downhill from there.

Speaking of weight, the weight of my belly is finally starting to wear on me, and its size is making simple activities like going to the bathroom a monumental accomplishment. I find myself rolling around like a cue ball on a pool table, desperately trying to find that one right angle that will allow me to empty my bladder completely instead of in stages. Getting in and out of bed? Motherfucker, that hurts. If only I could just take this thing off for a while to give myself a rest, but apparently that is not how this process works.

Despite continuing to be plagued with pain from my diastasis recti, I've still been too cheap to buy a maternity belt; however, in my defense, the waist band on my borrowed jeans today is certainly tight enough to hold those muscles in place until I can prop my feet up again. Luke and I are pretty decided on Baby Brother's name, and in spare moments throughout my day I find myself writing it over and over, along with Kara's and Nathan's, and then mine and Luke's, and good Lord, sometimes I still can't believe we are going to be a family of five. I'm getting so excited to see him and hold him and welcome him into our lives. For all the worries I had at the beginning of this pregnancy, I am equally joyous right now, knowing with every fiber of my being that this baby was meant to be with us.

It's also about now that The Comments start to fly.

Every pregnant women deals with them, and by now you would think I could let these types of remarks roll off my back and take them for the well-intentioned conversation-starters they (sometimes) are, but I can't. I am more apt to hold people accountable for their words and for adhering to basic human etiquette, even if sometimes it's only in my head.

That said, may I present to you:

WHAT NOT TO SAY TO SOMEONE WHO'S EXPECTING: A BRIEF GUIDE

Regarding size

"Wow, look at you. Have you grown? Because you look so much bigger than the last time I saw you."

[immediately followed by]

"Seriously, in just the last week your belly has gotten so much bigger!"

"Are the kids asking a lot of questions? You know, since you're so big now."

"Are you okay? You just look really...tired. I can see it in your face." (Which: I know I did people, but if you think knowing that makes it easier to hear, newsflash! It doesn't.)

Regarding three

"Was it planned?"

"So you have two kids already. Wow, two. And you're going to have a third! Oh my gosh!"

"My husband and I would love it if we had more, but I don't think we could do it to ourselves on purpose."

"Were you trying?"

"Luke is going to have his hands full with three kids at home! Does he ever just need to get away for a while once you get home?" (Bonus points for including this in the same conversation with the first two statements on size)

For those of you in the I've Been Pregnant Camp, which comments drove you up the wall? Do share.

It was all so perfect in my head.

During one of my first prenatal appointments for this pregnancy, I discussed with my ob/gyn the possibility of getting my tubes tied shortly after delivering baby number three. I already knew that the hospital where I had Kara and Nathan wouldn't allow this procedure during the c-section, being a Catholic institution and all, and I was okay with that because I loved both of my stays there and how I was treated by the staff. Plus, Luke has always been willing to man up and get The Snip, so there was no reason to give it any more thought.

Until recently, when I gave it some more thought.

The idea came up again during talks with a coworker who is expecting her first child in May; I learned that she was delivering her little guy at a neighboring hospital, and it reminded me that when I first signed up with my practice some four years ago, right before I became pregnant with Kara, my doctor told me she had privileges at that very facility, in addition to the one I eventually chose. Let's call my current hospital Scrubs A and this second one Scrubs B.

Scrubs B has no religious affiliation but maintains an equally stellar reputation.

The wheels in my head started turning.

Originally, I didn't even want to think about switching to another hospital because my experiences with Scrubs A up to this point have been wonderful, and I had no desire to throw unnecessary wild cards into the mix with this last baby. However, Luke and I have been doing an awful lot of talking about the whole getting fixed issue lately, and since my personal deductible will be all paid up as a result of the charges associated with this pregnancy, any procedures that are covered by insurance would be free of charge for me. You never want money to play a factor in determining which spouse gets sterilized, but when you are already pinching pennies and you are searching for a permanent resolution to ending the reproductive chapter of your life, it is what it is.

So I changed my tune. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to switch things up a little, especially since Scrubs B is so well known for its maternity services and especially since, to the best of my recollection, my doctor could just as easily deliver there as she could at Scrubs A. Then I could kill two birds with one stone - one baby, one tubal, one surgery for the win!

"Let me just make sure the practice still delivers at this hospital," I told Luke a couple of weeks ago. "My next appointment is soon. I can't imagine they wouldn't deliver there anymore."

That appointment was today, and guess what? They don't deliver there anymore.

Well, that's not exactly true. As it turns out, privileges are maintained by physicians on an individual basis, and of the now eight ob/gyns currently with my practice, only two might possibly still retain privileges. This is largely due to the practice's close proximity to Scrubs A - we're talking right-across-the-street close - and of course, as fate would have it, my own doctor is not one of those two. She explained that she stayed affiliated with Scrubs B for quite a while but that her patients always chose to deliver at Scrubs A, so she finally decided there was no need to maintain her ties with Scrubs B. MINUS ONE FOR FREMA.

On the up side, though, the two doctors she mentioned are ones I really like, so while I didn't particularly enjoy the idea of having someone other than my primary physician perform the c-section, that's exactly what happened with Kara and everything went swimmingly, so the switch was still on the table, until she reminded me that if a complication accelerated my delivery and one of those two doctors weren't on call, I'd end up having Baby Brother at Scrubs A, anyway. And as long-time readers may recall, I did have a complication with Nathan that caused me to deliver earlier than planned, so even though my scheduled c-section removes a good chunk of the guesswork from the actual birth, the pregnancy itself is still very much up for grabs, and the last thing I want is to spend my remaining gestating months fretting over how this will all play out.

All of that to say: no two-in-one for me.

Still desperately wanting to take advantage of having a paid-in-full deductible, I talked to my doc about having a tubal after the fact and learned I could schedule it within a week or two of my six-week postnatal follow-up, if I wanted. Which at first I did, because hello with still trying to kill two birds with one stone. Two surgeries within the same recovery period can still be considered a win, right?

My findings: It's a standard outpatient procedure, my ob/gyn can do it, I'd have to be sedated, and someone would have to drive me home afterwards, but recovery time is short at roughly one to two weeks. However, during that time, I would be prohibited from any strenuous exercise: no running, no 30-Day Shred, etc. You know, all the things I planned to do to get into shape before returning to work. Of my anticipated 12-week leave, I would be able to maybe use three of those to actively lose any baby weight.

I went back to work after eight weeks with Nathan, and I looked and felt terrible. I do not care to repeat that experience with baby number three, when the length of time off is one of the benefits I now have at my disposal.

So, all of THAT to say: no tubal during maternity leave for me.

After my appointment, Luke and I did some more talking, and  we came up with a plan. We decided that he would reschedule the urologist consult he cancelled back in October to get more information about The Snip and to find out how much of it would be covered by insurance. If our portion is minimal - as in, a few hundred dollars or less - then Luke will take care of things before I deliver, and we'll write off the bill as money well spent. If the cost outweighs the benefits for us at this particular moment in time, I will schedule a tubal for myself around the holidays, at which point I'll have been back at work long enough to use up some vacation time. Either way, somebody in the Frema-Useless Clutter household is getting sterilized in 2011.

I smell a new reality show for next season. We can call it The Amazing Race: Tubes versus Testes!

Luke and I went through with The Great Carseat Experiment this weekend, and we were able to come up with an arrangement that will suit our needs well enough to bring Baby Brother home in the Outlander.

We first tried using the three existing seats presently in our possession - Kara's Britax Marathon, Nathan's Britax Roundabout, and the Baby Trend infant bucket and base from Jenn - but the Marathon kept bumping into the passenger door upon closing, so on Saturday afternoon we made a trip to Target to invest in a highback booster seat, which bought us the couple of inches we needed to avoid a budget-blowing vehicle upgrade. We are lucky in that Kara meets both the height and weight requirements for a booster, and we went with a highback so our girl could enjoy the benefits of side impact protection a while longer. Though we have the seat in our possession now, we will continue to use the Marathon for Kara until right before the baby's arrival, when the bucket seat will be permanently installed.

We don't know for sure how long we can get by with our current car; at some point Nathan's Roundabout will need an upgrade, and I don't know how three convertible/booster seats will fit back there, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, we are just grateful to retain our status as a car-payment-free family, however long that lasts.

Kneeling on the front passenger cushion to look back at all those child seats nestled together, I realized this was the first time I had a tangible representation of what life will look like with three children. And honestly, it was a little overwhelming. I assume that was only the first of numerous similar-type moments to come.

ABOUT THE STROLLER

Luke and I have given the whole stroller situation some more thought and decided against buying anything for now. For one, Luke reminded me we have a perfectly good umbrella stroller collecting dust in the garage. Also, we have a several baby carriers at our disposal - an infant-sized Baby Bjorn hand-me-down, the Maclaren I received while writing for Parents.com that worked splendidly with Nathan, and an Ergo that will see us into toddlerhood. With all of those things, we own more than enough gear to transport this baby on errands, zoo trips, etc. My main concern was having something for Luke to use when getting Kara and Nathan to and from school, but he has already assured me he would rather use the carrier instead of a stroller to keep both hands free.

Also, about the double stroller: I appreciated all the suggetions, but Luke and I have a double stroller. With two kids 13 months apart, it was sort of a necessity, at least in the early months when Nathan was brand-new and Kara was still a baby herself. Nowadays, though, it doesn't get much use since we received a wagon as a generous present from my in-laws and Kara and Nathan much prefer that to being strapped in to individual seats. Plus, even with the wagon, they actually walk most of the time, so Luke and I anticipate needing only one stroller (if any, what with all the aforementioned carrier options) to contain the baby.

Does your brain hurt? I know mine does. Another recurring symptom of Life With Three Children, I suspect.

This past Sunday, I spent a glorious three hours cleaning out Kara's closet and sorting her outgrown clothes into Tupperware bins for other fashionistas to enjoy. Now that we know the baby's sex and ESPECIALLY since Luke and I will be taking steps to nail shut close the door on the reproductive phase of our lives, I'm eager to let go of that which no longer represents the family we are now and make room for the next round of material fanfare. (Though I did hold on to some unique iron-on onesies made by a special Internet auntie.) For us, that chapter involves turning two toddlers into roommates by situating them in a gender-neutral space absent of floral wall art and yellow paint and preparing a nursery for our newest little guy. 

When it comes to feeling ready for this baby, I haven't yet experienced that paralyzing Oh, Shit Moment Amalah described in a recent post, but at this point it's only a matter of days, as I have already shared with Luke my strong desire to conduct The Great Carseat Experiment this weekend to finally determine how we will fit three children in the second row of the Outlander. Luckily, we have two different infant buckets at our disposal - the Chicco KeyFit 30 originally purchased for Kara, which we love but anticipate being too bulky to position between two toddler seats, and a slimmer Baby Trends hand-me-down from my friend Jenn that may just do the trick. It also helps that Kara is now the appropriate height and weight for a booster seat (40 pounds and 40 inches, as of last week's well-child visit), so that should buy us a little more room.

Anyway, just imagining those carseats all smashed together lined up in a perfectly safe arrangement is working me into a mini-frenzy. Actually watching this image come to life is guaranteed to secure my one-way ticket to Crazy Pregnant Lady Town.

As I've stated before, we truly are blessed to have so many of Baby Brother's "necessities" already in our possession, the result of having two young children and generous family and friends. Bassinet, crib, changing table, swing, car seat, bouncy seats, nursing pillows, bottle warmers, infant AND toddler carriers, mobile... We haven't spent a dime on him yet, and that includes my maternity wardrobe, which so far has accommodated my current size nicely (though come summer I may be singing a different tune). We do know, though, that there are a couple of things we'll want to pick up, the biggest item being a stroller. Once I'm feeling up to it, Luke and I want to be out and about as much as possible with all three kids this summer, and while baby carriers are wonderful, it would be nice to NOT have the baby strapped to my person every waking moment of the day if I so desire. Of course, our choice of stroller will be heavily influenced by the infant car seat we end up using - another reason The Great Carseat Experiment must take place as soon as possible - and after doing some price-checking online, I'm wondering if it would make more sense financially to drop some dough on a moderately priced travel system than spend almost the same amount on a single stroller.

A jogging stroller would also be grand, but unless we win the lottery, Luke and I will be staggering our alone time on the trail accordingly. Which is not terrible in theory, since I'm sure we'll each welcome a short break from the zoo that will be our household.

One area where I do want to spend some money is on decorating the kids' rooms. Kara and Nathan's room would benefit from a fresh coat of paint, spunky wall art, and some new bedding if we can swing it right away. As for the baby's room, it's technically all ready to go for a boy, but I hate the thought of bringing him home to a space that was custom-designed for his big brother. Plus, nurseries are so much damn FUN to decorate, and I want to experience doing that one last time.

Luke and I also once talked about painting the kitchen, half bath, and the kids' bathroom, but these action items may be placed on hold until fall, when we will hopefully have more moolah at our disposal. Not to mention it might make more sense to paint those areas closer to sell time, in case our color palettes are deemed All Wrong by our real estate agent. (Feel free to agree with me here -- or not -- in the comments.)

It feels like we've been talking about these various projects for simply ages now, but pretty soon it'll be time to spring into action, because Oh, shit, a baby is coming! (hey, there it is!), and babies do not factor your laundry to-do list into their date of arrival.

Ingrates!

I am 21 weeks pregnant today, and according to the plethora of baby books in existence, I should be at my prenatal peak: visibly showing but not enormous, increased energy levels, and only occasional bouts of round ligament pain. Go on and run that 5K! Hike your ass off! Enjoy these precious weeks of gestating freedom while you still can!

All of that may be the case for a first-timer or a gal who hasn't birthed 11- and 9-pound newborns, but these are not my truths.

After complaining of tenderness in my belly at my 15-week appointment, a quick exam from my ob/gyn revealed that I have a condition called diastasis recti, meaning that my rectus abdominal muscle has separated into two vertical halves. It's common among women who have endured multiple pregnancies and who have delivered larger-sized babies -- CHECK and CHECK -- and it's not anything I need to be concerned about in the long run (so I've been told, at least), but the doctor did say that the tenderness would remain present throughout the pregnancy and most likely increase in intensity. And oh shit, was she ever right.

I usually begin my day feeling perfectly normal, and if I were the sadistic type I could lightly pummel my stomach without suffering even the slightest twinge of pain. But by the end of the work day, the soreness has emerged from its bat cave, and come dinnertime the skin over my belly button is protruding something fierce, to the point that if it even lightly brushes up against another object of any kind, I am clutching my sides and sucking in my breath as if I've been kicked with a steel-toed boot. Even simple acts like sitting on the floor or repositioning myself on the couch have become seriously fucking unpleasant, and poor Luke has taken over the bulk of evening kitchen clean-up once again.

At my last two appointments, each doctor has recommended using a maternity belt to relieve some of the pressure, but I don't wear belts when I'm NOT pregnant because I hate the idea of having something so constricting touching my skin. However, the pain has gotten worse over the last several days, and even Luke is pushing me to look into this. Have any of you dealt with this condition before? If so, did a belt work for you? Any feedback on this would be much appreciated.

 

It doesn't even look like a typical pregnant belly, does it--all triangular and cliff-like? Plus, my hairstyle is making history by introducing what can only be described as the first front-facing mullet for women! to the modern American public. Clearly, the epitome of sexiness all around!

The saving grace throughout all of this has been Baby Brother's activity, which has been strong enough for weeks to feel at various points throughout the day, and oftentimes it is a welcome distraction from focusing on how uncomfortable I am. I'm already daydreaming about what he looks like, what he'll feel like, and what our lives will be like after we bring him home. Kara and Nathan have started incorporating mentions of Baby Brother in our daily conversations, so I think it's becoming a little more real for them, too.

Kara: Does Mommy and Daddy love you? (She revels in asking this question and poses it frequently throughout the day)
Frema: Yes, honey, Mommy and Daddy love you and Nathan very much.
Kara: And the new baby?
Frema: Yes, honey, and the new baby.

 And we do. We really, really do. 

One of my biggest, all-consuming fears about having baby number three is breastfeeding.

Part of me feels ridiculous admitting that to anyone. After all, I've gone through this twice already! Shouldn't I be a pro by now? Or, at the very least, accept that breastfeeding is not my fight and write it off altogether? After all, to say I've been unsuccessful at nursing would be a vast understatement. To say I'm excited to try it again? That would be a lie.

It's funny; the content of this post has been on my mind for weeks, but now that I'm writing it, I'm not sure what to say.

When I found out I was pregnant again, I resolved to do everything in my power to make breastfeeding a reality for my family. I have read The Books, and the blogs, and the comments to those blogs, so the health and bonding benefits of breastmilk (and, consequently, the drawbacks of formula) are not lost on me. Plus, it's no secret that we are living on a pretty tight budget, so the cost savings aren't anything to laugh at, either. More than anything, though, was this feeling of wanting to overcome a hurdle that has previously appeared insurmountable.

I'm not blaming low supply because honestly, I'm not convinced that was the problem. With Kara, I couldn't keep her on the breast for more than a couple of minutes before she was crying and pushing me away. The lactation consultants at the hospital checked her latch several times, and it seemed fine to them, but who knows? It's not like I had any idea what I was doing, despite reading all those books, so it's very possible my technique was off or Kara's positioning wasn't right or any number of things related to my management of the situation. I never got more than a couple ounces from the pump in a session, whether I pumped every two hours or four, but again, what the hell did I know? Maybe my volume would have increased over time. Maybe I should have just been happy with the amount I was producing and made peace with supplementing the rest of the time.

I didn't try nipple shields, and I didn't attend any support group meetings (though I did call about the one offered through our hospital, and sorry, that once-a-month get-together slated for next Thursday isn't going to help me RIGHT NOW). It's not like I kept at it until my boobs had nothing left to give. It truly was my decision.

So for those who think I didn't try hard enough, well. I suppose they are right. But during those initial weeks of breastfeeding, my mind went to some very dark places. I felt terrible about myself as a mother, which in theory should have been enough to make me go the distance for as long as I could, but even more than that, I hated the idea of doing all those things and STILL most likely failing. Aside from the first couple of days of her life, feeding Kara was a source of stress, self-doubt, and guilt. At some point before the six-week mark I decided that suffering through those feelings for even one more day was more than I could bear. The reality of motherhood, I quickly learned, is that sometimes, when there's a conflict of interest between what you could ideally accomplish as a parent and what you can realistically handle, your own mental sanity has to win out. Second best just has to be enough.

... And THAT was breastfeeding with Kara.

With Nathan, things felt like they were getting off to a better start. I had still had trouble perfecting my latch, but he didn't fight my efforts and ate as often as I would let him, so I was hopeful that this time, please, this time, things would be different. However, at his two-week appointment with the pediatrician, my stomach dropped after the nurse checked his weight and announced a paltry two-ounce gain. TWO OUNCES. My God, did I feel like shit then, and my mind immediately went back to my experience with Kara, and how I fucked that up, and by the time we saw the doctor, any shred of confidence I had about nursing was gone. I continued to pump for another couple of weeks, but I don't think I ever put him on the breast again.

And now, I get to do it all over again with baby number three.

Like I stated above, when I first learned we were having another baby, I was set on doing everything within my power to make breastfeeding work this time around, and hey, third time's a charm, right? I talked about it with Katy, who nursed both of her boys into toddlerhood; borrowed more books; researched lactation consultants; and gave myself numerous pep talks that this time, things would be different.

But now? I honestly don't know. I hate that my first months at home with Kara and Nathan are tainted with such strong feelings of failure. As a working mother, that time to bond means more to me than almost anything else in that first year, and Luke and I are doing everything we can to stock our bank account accordingly so that I can take all twelve of those precious, job-protected weeks off without suffering serious financial repurcussions. I cherish that time to connect with my babies, to snuggle them in the rocking chair and take naps with them on my chest and cover their hands and cheeks and toes with kisses and overall just get to know who they are. It would be so much easier to say, This is not for me, and release myself from ever having to think about this again.

Then again, this time, things might be different. Baby Brother 2.0 could prove to be a fantastic nurser and all my worries could be for nothing. (Kind of like all those "Should we have a third baby?" conversations!) And I do appreciate the benefits, and I do really want those cost savings. Just not at the cost of my self-esteem.

One of the most popular retorts I've heard spoken by the more judgemental nursing mothers and that has most enraged me about the entire breast-or-bottle discussion is the whole "Well, if you aren't willing to make sacrifices for your children, why did you bother to have them?" It makes my fists clench and blood boil and and smoke shoot out of my ears, because really, when did how you feed a baby in the first year of life become the sole measuring stick for quality parenting? And who is anyone to say that I don't make sacrifices for my kids? Luke and I bust our tail to live on one income so they can enjoy all the benefits that go along with that. We painstakingly chose our house because we wanted to make sure they could go to one of the best public school systems in the city. We pack their meals with fruits and vegetables and whole grains, and they have yet to even try soda. We have slashed our household budget more times than I care to count in order to enroll both of them into Kara's day-out program this fall. I can't tell you the last time we bought clothes or shoes or even a magazine for ourselves, but Kara and Nathan get everything they need and then some. 

I did not become a mother because I wanted to breastfeed. I became a mother because I wanted to experience the joy of raising children and because I thought I could do a good job. I did not promise to make every right choice. I did not promise to always put myself last. But I do strive to give my family the best that I have as often as I can. I am proud of the home Luke and I have made for our kids and the life we are able to give them. And when I don't have it in me to reach the ideal, I will forgive myself (eventually) and try to move on.

This all sounds so good in black and white, doesn't it? Let's see how well my heart can embrace it, come June.

Today marks 20 weeks of pregnancy with Baby Brother 2.0, as well as the blessed more-than-halfway! milestone, since my c-section will be scheduled sometime prior to the 40-week point. As of 6:30 this morning, I'm still clocking in about two pounds lighter compared to when I first got knocked up, mainly because I could barely tolerate anything except fruit, yogurt, and the occasional bite of chicken for almost the entire first trimester and some change. Things are back to normal now, for the most part, so in the grand scheme of things what felt like Hell on Earth wasn't completely unbearable, and I know lots of pregnant women experience a far more severe case of morning sickness than I do, but dudes. For serious, I was so damn sick, and useless to my family, and overall just a big blob of miserable.

The blog title, it makes sense now, yes?

I had such high hopes for maintaining an active pregnancy right from the get-go. The week I found out, I was running along the Chicago lakeshore, and at around six weeks I finished a local 5K with only a handful of walking breaks. Running is the only form of exercise I have ever truly loved, and I fully intended to stick with it for as long as I was feeling able. Then, suddenly, BAM! Everything upset my stomach, I was nodding off by 8 p.m., and I was plagued with constant headaches. I couldn't gather the energy to wash dishes at the sink, let alone throw on my gym shoes and log three miles on the trail. And now, at the more-than-halfway! point, sporting a belly that has pretty much collapsed into gestational position and experiencing sciatic nerve episodes, abdominal tenderness, and semi-frequent aches and pains ("You talk like an 80-year-old grandma!" Samantha laughed during a recent phone conversation), I am pretty much thinking that running is off the table until after I deliver. I plan to start walking and hiking outside once the weather gets nicer, and my friend Jen shared with me a prenatal video that I want to try, but I'm still bummed I didn't feel up to doing more when my bodily functions weren't being compared to members of the geriatric population. Back in the fall, I read an article highlighting female athletes who continued running during their pregnancies, and my favorite of the bunch talked about how running eased a lot of the inital discomfort she dealt with in those first few months. I am so impressed with women who manage to do this; it's one thing to push through predictable motivational issues that apply to both sexes, but forcing your body to perform when you physically feel like ass thanks to a HUMAN LIFE feeding on you like a parasite? That is mind-boggling to me.

Not mind-boggling: why I will never be described as an elite anything when it comes to athletics.

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While my prenatal fitness thus far has been nothing to write home about, I'm super optimistic about what I can accomplish during the last six weeks of maternity leave. Delivering in late June means I should be cleared for exercise in early to mid-August; it'll be sweltering, for sure, and last year I learned that my body can't handle long distances in that kind of heat, but I'm already fantasizing about updating my iPod playlist and hitting the trail again, if only for two or three miles at a time. I also remember my initial success with The Shred after having Nathan (I'll take another ten pounds in 30 days, thankyouverymuch) and wonder if it's unreasonable to think I could achieve my third pre-pregnancy weight before returning to work in the fall.

It is not lost on me that at this time last year I was visiting the gym several days a week to train for the Mini, and mentally I'm salivating over capturing that spirit again, of feeling invincible and capable and strong. I watch Luke train for that same half-marathon and hate that I can't show up this year to improve my time. Patience, I tell myself, patience; pregnancy is an endurance race in and of itself, to be approached with the same level of respect to process and self. Once I cross this finish line, only then I can set my sights on another.

That was our front-runner name for a girl. Cecilia Mae because we liked it or Cecilia Maureen in honor of my late Nana, whose actual name was Gloria Darlene, but we were going with Maureen because it's the name of my grandmother's sister, so it was still using a name from her side of the family without burdening the child with a fuddy-duddy throwback like Gloria. Though I actually did like Gloria and would have seriously considered it for a first name except that Luke was not. on. board. Darlene was, well, never an option.

Anyway, it's a moot point now. We're having a boy.

 

And not a shy one, apparently. I could tell before the ultrasound tech finished typing the first word what our little guy was sporting down there.

 

Kara and Nathan weren't much impressed by the news, but Luke and I both had tears in our eyes, and I couldn't stop smiling. I can see our future so clearly now -- birthday parties, graduations, treks through the Grand Canyon, room-sharing arrangements, tossing out casual phrases like "The boys are in the yard" -- all of it. This tiny new person, my youngest son, our new Baby Brother, feels so right for our family, and for the first time since learning I was pregnant, I sincerely CANNOT WAIT for him to get here. We love him so much, already.

To read my pre-appointment ramblings from last night, click here.

To be sung to the tune of the classic George Michael song or uttered like a blood-thirsty vampire. It's like a Choose Your Own Adventure for blog titles!

On Tuesday, I will be nineteen weeks pregnant. Tomorrow, Luke, Kara, and Nathan will accompany me to this month's ob/gyn appointment, also known as The Big Day. Private Parts Day. ULTRASOUND DAY!

[Include grand proclamation-type trumpet sound here]

"You know, we're not guaranteed to find out the baby's sex," Luke informed me, but we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Until then, this baby's giving up the goods, y'all.

I have mixed feelings about this. Not about finding out, but what I'm hoping for.

When I was expecting Kara, I wanted a girl. After all, I'm a girl. I know what girls are like and how they think. I had dreams of sharing my childhood interests with a girl while she was young and sharing my vast perspective as a wife/mother/daughter/career woman as she grew older. Of watching her take that information and use it to shape her own path. Plus, girls' names are more fun to play around with. When I was a kid, I kept a notebook of potential character names, and my list of girls' names was more than double my list for boys.

Anyway, we all know how that turned out. My baby was a girl! Hooray for me.

When Luke and I found out we were expecting Nathan, most people assumed we'd be gunning for a boy, playing into the whole "one of each" mentality that seems so ingrained into the picture-perfect middle class family. But once again, I hoped for a girl. I am one of four daughters and am extremely close to two of my sisters; so close that I watched one of them GIVE BIRTH. You can't predict the quality of relationship your children will have with each other as they grow up, but nonetheless, I wished for this same type of connection for them.

Of course, we didn't have a girl, and of course, I have no regrets. Nathan is amazing and has brought more happiness to our lives than I ever could have imagined. I never longed for a son the way I did a daughter, but I couldn't be more in love with my thoughtful, quirky, joyful little boy.

Upon learning about our latest bundle of joy, true to form, my default reaction was to wish for a girl. I still love the idea of being a mother to sisters and watching them bond, and again with the more interesting pool of girls' names to choose from. (To date, Luke and I agree on one boy's name. ONE.) I also like the idea of Nathan being known as our boy and not the middle child. Then again, I think about how much fun it would be to have two little boys running around and to watch that relationship grow. And if Kara were to be our girl, well, that could only bode well for her in the long run. Though maybe not her boyfriends.

In the end, I guess what I'm saying is no matter which type of parts present themselves tomorrow, I will be delighted either way. Be sure to check in for the news!

It's so easy to let money troubles define who you are by measuring your life against that which you cannot do. At least, that's how it feels to me sometimes. My monthly book club dinners are out. Luke can't join a gym to support his training for this year's Mini (!!). Kara can't take dance lessons, and Nathan can't start (pre-pre)school by his birthday like we once planned. Granted, these can'ts will resolve themselves in a few months, so they're not hindering us long term, but how do you get by in the interim? How can you turn your day-to-day into something meaningful using only what you already have? And during the coldest, darkest time of year?

Those were the questions Luke and I were asking ourselves at the beginning of the month, after evaluating our money situation for the remainder of winter and coming up with a game plan to get us through. It's easy to fall into a "Why me?" sort of attitude and feel sorry for yourself. But clearly, asking pointless questions and indulging useless emotions won't get you anywhere. So here are some of the ways in which we are accentuating the positive:

Cleaning house: Luke and I love to play the "What if?" game when it comes to remembering all the other houses we could have purchased instead of this one, but when she's wearing her Sunday best, it's easier to appreciate all the positives we gained with this place: open space, natural light, optimal number of bedrooms, and plenty of toilets to accommodate large family get-togethers. I am working hard to stop clutter from piling up in hot spots like the microwave top, the mail stand, and my dresser top. I make the bed every morning before I leave for work, and I've stopped using our CD rack as my own personal storage unit. We won't be implementing any major renovations this year, but we do plan to paint the kids' bathrooms and our kitchen before the baby comes, and a new splash of color can do wonders to improve the overall mood of a room. (Right, Molly?)

Being creative: Last week I received a gift certificate from my employer acknowledging my five-plus years of service. The certificate was for an undesignated amount of money for a site that very much reminded me of those catalogs from grade school - you know, the ones that told you what you could score for selling five to twenty candy bars (sparkly pen, bangle bracelets), fifty to seventy-five (NKOTB tribute band CD, piggy bank), etc. I could have redeemed it for a sassy new hobo bag, but Luke and I chose boring cookware instead, because our current set was scratched up something fierce and there was no room in our budget for replacing it. It wasn't a fun choice, but we saw an opportunity and jumped on it.

Taking stock: It's also been helpful to remind ourselves of all the things we do have that make this rough patch more manageable. The maternity clothes I once planned to unload to Goodwill, for one - I'll need more clothes when the weather gets warmer and my belly rivals the size of a world globe, but for now I can stretch out live off my regular work pants and the oodles of three-quarter-sleeved shirts I found at Kohl's near the end of my pregnancy with Nathan.

Thankfully, we need very little baby gear for Number Three. Nathan's room is still set up to accommodate a baby with a matching crib, changing table, and dresser set, courtesy of my 2008 Christmas bonus, and his and Kara's closets are jam-packed with items Luke and I weren't sure what to do with but didn't want to get rid of: crib mobile, swing, baby carriers, activity table, random infant toys, and so on, and our bassinet will come back to us from Samantha and Dan the next time they come to visit. And ninety-five percent of what we don't have is either being handed down to us from family and friends. We'll need a new single stroller, and we'd LOVE to get our hands on a jogging stroller, but ultimately we won't be missing anything necessary to bring the baby home.

We are also feeling better about our car situation. The plan was always to try and fit our current Chicco infant seat into the Outlander along with Kara's and Nathan's Britax convertibles, but thanks to some of the comments on my last post, we are now considering investing in smaller seats if that's what it will take to cram fit all three kids in there. Plus, there's a good chance that Kara can move into a booster seat by summer, and that will save us some room, so we're exploring that option, too. Not fretting over taking on a $300-plus car payment does wonders for a mother's piece of mind. Imagine that!

Finally, thanks to the size and layout of our house, we'll only need a smidge of rearranging to make room for Number Three. So far the plan is for the two older ones to share Kara's bedroom, which is the larger of the two rooms by about the double the square footage; they are so young right now that the gender issue doesn't come into play, and it just makes sense for the kids who share a bedtime routine to also share their sleeping quarters. We'll transition Kara into a twin-sized bed and Nathan into her toddler bed sometime this spring and leave his room pretty much as is for the baby (though we do plan to paint). All of this will require some creative thinking on our parts in regards to organization, but creative thinking is free, and paint is cheap. This is good.

And on the leisure and recreation front, Luke and I realized we still have plenty of ways to keep busy. We finally made space for his drawing table - which had been sadly collecting dust in our garage for almost as long as we've lived in this house - in the little nook in our bedroom, and we've been alternating between the library and our current book collection for new reading material. We have rediscovered the old Nintendo games saved on our Wii, and my brother- and sister-in-law passed along a TV antenna last week, so two nights ago, for the first time since August, we were able to view network television. LIVE. On our actual TV instead of a laptop. If I weren't pregnant and, you know, vehemently against smoking, it would've been the perfect moment to light a cigarette, post-coital style.

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It's easier to think positively when your stomach isn't hurting almost twenty-four hours a day. I'm in the middle of my sixteenth week, and over the few days or so, I've seen an increase in my energy level and a slightly higher tolerance for a wider menu of grocery items (though for some reason almost every tomato sauce I've had tastes terribly sweet and overall not right to me. What's up with that?), so when it comes to feeling like complete and utter crap, I think I'm finally, FINALLY, out of the woods. (I've even taken to washing dinner dishes again, hooray for Luke!) I'm still getting headaches, but they're not as frequent, and sleeping is still relatively uneventful, save for the three-year-old who has a habit of climbing into her parents' bed almost every night. However, while this pregnancy saw the quickest recovery of first(ish)-trimester symptoms, they definitely hit me the hardest this time. So...I win? Sort of?

My next doctor's appointment is February 7, at which time we'll get to see Number Three's privates and consequently start focusing on only one set of baby names. Time is flying by this go-around, it seems, so I'm not impatient with waiting, only excited. And for what it's worth, I'm not even as nervous about affording this baby, now that we (assuming) have the car thing under control. Hopefully that means my future posts will read more like this one and not my last.

Thank you, as always, for letting me be honest.

Today I welcomed my fifteenth week of pregnancy by vomiting for the first time since I peed on that fateful stick back in October. For future reference, prenatal vitamin + leftover Raisin Bran milk = blaaaaaaaaah.

In other, less disgusting news, I had my monthly ob appointment yesterday, and Number Three is doing well; very active, according to the doctor, and the heartbeat sounded strong at 150 bpm. There are a few aches and pains going on that are typical of this stage - the acting of up my sciatic nerve, for one, and a tenderness in my abdomen that was diagnosed by the doctor as being diastasis recti. I also found my first pregnancy-related skin tag ever near my collarbone, a couple of nights ago. Way to go, baby, for keeping things interesting!

Here I am in all my gestational glory:

 

Why do I look whiter than the Pillsbury Doughboy? And is it just me, or is that picture frame crooked? Oh, well, at least I can still fit into my regular-sized dress slacks. So long as they are cotton and sport elastic waistbands.

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At the start of the New Year I outlined our household budget through the remaining winter months, and I know these issues are only temporary, but things feel bleak, friends. Luke and I are working hard to pay off our credit card balance before the baby comes in June, which means almost every bit of cash from now until March is needed to cover our car insurance premiums, homeowner's association fees, and necessary grocery and household items as well as pay down our Visa bill. Luke and I did not exchange Christmas presents, only token stocking stuffers, and there are no travel plans slated for anytime soon, save my niece's baptism in Chicago next month.

Sometimes I feel like a complete and utter failure for not being able to manage our finances more efficiently, and then I remind myself that some things were simply out of our control: a $164 increase in our mortgage last fall thanks to a negative balance in our escrow account was the most jarring, and the random but major car repairs totaling almost two grand in September were definitely not on our radar. Luckily, there is light at the end of the tunnel: tax refunds in February and my annual raise in April should put us on more secure footing, though we have decided there is no way in hell we have any business taking on a car payment to buy a vehicle that can accommodate three car seats anytime soon. This means we'll be hauling two cars if we need to go anywhere local as a family and renting a van if we find ourselves needing/wanting to travel north. But hey, at least we have two cars that we own outright, and we can still pay our bills and put food on the table, and we don't have to talk about Luke going back to work (as if we could afford three kids in daycare, anyway), and really, this money glitch is so temporary in the grand scheme of things. Nothing on our plate is unmanageable, just really hard to get through sometimes on a day-to-day basis.

How's that for keeping it real?

This is just one more reason I have been considering launching a part-time freelancing business sometime this year. I'm not looking to replace my full-time income, just supplement it with some meaty writing projects from time to time.

Have any of you had any luck starting your own business? How did you get started? Are there any books you would recommend?

* I changed the title because "Headaches, rambles" was very boring and vague and hello, there is an actual topic for this entry, only I didn't realize that until the drive home last night, which is when I thought up this little gem. How could I not use it?

I hit 11 weeks in this pregnancy yesterday, and the most noteworthy tidbit I can offer regarding this topic is that I've been plagued with a recurring headache for more than a week now that can't be alleviated with soda or chocolate. No change in my level of fatigue, nausea, or tendency to gag over smells ranging in intensity from air freshener to number two diapers (thank you, son). With Kara I started feeling better around week 20; Nathan was a few weeks earlier than that, so let's cross our fingers that the month of January brings wondrous feelings of joy and mirth.

My second prenatal appointment for Number Three took place on Monday, where I heard the baby's heartbeat through the Doppler for the first time, pounding away at a whopping160 bpm. Was it a sign that I'm having a girl? A byproduct of my key lime cheesecake from lunch? The world may never know. In any event, things are looking good, fetus-wise.

I also spent some time talking to my ob/gyn about having my tubes tied sometime after delivery.

Seeing as this is our second surprise pregnancy, and knowing that Luke and I conceived Kara when we were open to children but not officially "trying," it shouldn't shock anyone that I am obsessing over the best way to shut down this baby train. While there has always been a hankering for a third baby, I harbor no such illusions regarding a fourth. I am deeply grateful that I have been able to conceive so easily, without the aid of charts or medication or invasive procedures that can go on for years, and that I have given birth to two beautiful, healthy children. But still. Overall, I do not enjoy pregnancy, and I am still freaking out over earning enough bacon to support five people, and my husband would like to go back to work before he turns 50. That is not too much to ask.

Speaking of Luke, he has always been willing to "take care of things," so to speak, and that is still an option. Early next year we hope to get him to the urologist for a consult and determine how much of The Snip is covered by our insurance. If we can swing it financially, we would love nothing more than to "address this issue" before I go under the knife in June. (Are you loving my double entendres today?) That actually makes the most sense, since a tubal would require yet another surgery for me. I deliver at a Catholic hospital, so a two-in-one deal is not an option, and I'm not sure how long I would need to wait after delivery to have it done, and I don't care to leave myself susceptible to another happy surprise for very long.

For a while after Nathan I seriously considered the Essure procedure, which seems to be my practice's first choice for female sterilization, but reading this thread about failures and complications was enough for me to say KEEP THOSE COILS AWAY FROM ME, YOU.

I think this is all coming about because I'm feeling pretty powerless these days. I can't help myself physically feel better, our household budget is in chaos after paying on life insurance premiums, car repairs, and (drastically scaled-down) Christmas expenses all in the same month, and our place is a mess because I can't bring myself to even fold a basket of laundry. (Did I mention that I am an absolute baby when I'm sick?) The idea of snuggling a squeaky little newborn excites me beyond belief, but preparing for that baby will be a lot of work, and the adjustment period will be a lot of work, and I know myself well enough now to say I am not in my element in the first year. Although, recent interactions with Kara lead me to think that the toddler years aren't shining the light on my finest hours, either.

Anyway, I am done with surprise pregnancies and worrying about birth control and stressing over various infant-related issues. Part of what is getting me through this first trimester is knowing that I'm doing this for the last time. The sooner I can enjoy reproductive freedom, the better. 

(I did mention that I'm grateful for this, too, right? You all know what I mean.)

Now that I've broken my two-week posting hiatus, consequently relieving myself of the pressure to come back with an entry of Shakespearean-like proportions, I can give you a real update.

I am still sick. I am still scared. I am still spending the majority of my waking, non-working hours curled up in a ball on the couch in sweatpants.

But also, some progress has been made.

For starters, I have already ironed out the logistics of my maternity leave. I will take 12 weeks off just like I did with Kara and sorely wished I could have done with Nathan. The first six will be paid by my employer, and the second will be partially covered under short-term disability. I will also have almost a month's worth of vacation time at my disposal, and originally I asked about tacking on a week or two of PTO to my leave, but two members of my department's senior strategy team are also expecting, and their leave will overlap with mine, and I was told it was too much time to be out of the office. For a while I was a little frustrated about this, not to mention the U.S.'s overall attitude on maternity leave in general, but there are many women in this country who could never take advantage of even the 12 weeks protected by law, so I am just grateful that my company provides paid time off to begin with and that I can be out the full three months without completely wrecking our finances.

On another work-related note, I have already spoken to my boss about travel arrangements for next year, and she has assured me that my trips should be few and far between. Not that I ever traveled a whole lot, anyway, but the mere possibility of being asked to hop on a plane and leave behind a baby for multiple days at a time was enough to bring me to tears. I had to evaluate an industry conference in Chicago a couple of months ago and I was gone for three nights, and it wasn't terrible, but for me, it was still too long. I couldn't imagine doing that with an infant at home. Luckily, I was told that if I have to go to another conference, it can be scheduled for while I'm still pregnant. Thank goodness my boss is so understanding.

Luke and I have also worked out childcare for my hospital stay. Luke's parents, who graciously watched Kara for us when I had Nathan, will actually be site-seeing in Wales when I deliver in June, so good ole Molly has offered to step up to the plate - VOLUNTARILY, without being asked or anything. How she will handle five children ranging in age from eight to two for three days is...not something I want to spend too much time thinking about. Hopefully, she won't, either.

(Thanks again, friend!)

Lastly, I've started doing a little research on lactation consultants and have information for two different resources near my area, so I'm starting to feel a tiny bit more confident that I will have adequate support for nursing this time around. (There is an entire post brewing inside of me on this very subject, don't you worry.)

Other than that, I've been trying to focus on life after Number Three's arrival: incorporating the baby into our family routines, moving forward with plans to sell the house, and getting through the difficulty of yet another First Year with my sanity still intact. I have visions of baby-wearing and jogger-strollering and baby-sittering and various other ways to keep life moving. With Kara and even Nathan, Luke and I kind of allowed our lives to stop, because with Kara everything was so shell-shockingly new and with Nathan they were both so damn young - both in cribs, both in diapers, both demanding so much attention that all we could do was manage day by day. We also didn't have a clear picture of where we were headed or how to get there, so being at a standstill didn't affect our big-picture timeline one way or the other. This time, we will have two rambunctious toddlers who like to do things like go to school and play trains at the library and dig sand at the beach, and I don't want them to lose their summer just because we add another person into the mix. Also, we DO have goals now, and a long-term vision for our future, and we are the only ones who can make that vision happen. So we'll have to start doing that, too, even in the face of constant feedings, night wakings, and growth spurts.

So, to sum up: things kind of suck right now. But come next June, it will be all good, just mark my words.

I turned nine weeks yesterday. To mark this joyous occasion, Kara and I had the following conversation after I came home from work:

Kara: Mommy, I missed the baby in your belly!

Frema: Aw, we missed you, too, honey! Melts, hugs firstborn lovingly against her breast

Kara: I want to put the baby in my belly. Makes grabbing motions towards occupied uterus, rubs tummy satisfactorily

Frema: It doesn't work like that, honey. Only Mommy can have a baby in her belly.

Kara: I have a baby in my belly! Runs around dining table, victorious

Frema: Big girls can't have babies in their bellies, honey, only mommies can, uh (rethinks statement) - well - you have to be older.

Kara: I'm not a big girl, I'm a little girl.

Frema: Stands corrected.

That's the way we chose to describe the baby to Kara and Nathan on Monday during my first ob/gyn appointment, once my uterus was in clear view on the ultrasound screen. A very chubby green bean. Or maybe a Tootsie Roll. I could keep going here, but you get the point.

 

Everything is going swimmingly. I am properly fatigued and nauseated and as of today am currently 7w1d along in this pregnancy, which aligns perfectly with our date of conception. This gives us a due date of July 5, 2011, though I will deliver him earlier than that, since my history of two c-sections removes any discussion of how Number Three will enter the world. The baby looks good and produced a strong heartbeat of more than 140 beats per minute during the ultrasound. For the rest of the afternoon, Nathan kept saying, "Want. to. see. the baby's. heartbeat?" And once we were back in the car, he and Kara each had to have their very own picture of the baby to study and hold and crumble and very possibly eat. It was really quite adorable.

My doctor and I talked a bit about my sudden onset of pre-eclampsia symptoms with Nathan, and some baseline testing can be done at the time of my gestational diabetes test (around 28 weeks), but other than that, all we can do is keep a close eye on my weight, protein levels, and blood pressure, especially near the end, and be prepared to jump into action should there be a reason. I'm cleared to continue running, though right now curling into a ball on the couch and burying my face in a pillow is about all the exercise I can handle.

I'm still hella overwhelmed, which I think has a lot to do with how crummy I feel. I've lost interest in the majority of food, and all things chicken and pork, except for Chicken McNuggets, a craving I have been fighting for almost a week. Dairy products aren't sitting well, so not even ice cream is a comfort, but cheese continues to be my friend. I am ridiculously tired come dinnertime and usually crawl into bed immediately after the last child has gone down for the night. Uterine cramping is still going strong, mostly due to dehydration, I think, because I have always been terrible about drinking enough water even when I'm not gestating. All of this physical upset means that I am terrible about returning e-mails and phone calls and sitting about three pounds below my normal weight (in other words, no maternity clothes yet). It also contributes to my feeling of dread when thinking about what lies ahead; I am already obsessing over nursing and wondering how I can navigate that situation to produce different (i.e. successful) results (no advice, though, please!), planning our finances so that we can upgrade our family car when we are already squeezing every penny, and dreading the going-back-to-work routine AGAIN. I know! One thing at a time, right? Keep perspective, God provides, etc. But it's hard not to fast forward to next year when I already know this pregnancy will fly by so fast. Even if it feels like I'm inching along right now. I still can't believe I've known for so long--Sunday will mark the four-week anniversary of my first positive pregnancy test. Technology really is amazing.

I'm excited about next week, though--I'm taking off the entire week of Thanksgiving, thanks to my awesome vacation accural as a long-time employee (six years in June!). I plan to lay around in sweatpants the entire time, save for the one-hour photography session Luke and I will be scheduling to formally document our existence as a family of four one last time. And if I'm feeling good and motivated, maybe I can even get some ink onto the pages of Nathan's baby book. You're welcome, son. 

When I started drafting this entry last Wednesday, there weren't any signs of morning sickness to be had, so aside from some run-of-the-mill fatigue and uterine cramping, I was feeling well and therefore insanely optimistic. Baby number three = warm fuzzies of completeness! My family can take on anything! Who needs a savings account when you have love?

Then practically overnight I was nodding off during storytime and experiencing constant stomach upset and swearing off pork chops and coffee. Yesterday I couldn't stop worrying over my ability to divide my time among three children, and today I almost cried actual tears because Subway told me they were out of chicken and dumpling soup, so I suppose we have officially entered the Trimester of Sick and Raging Hormones.

And I really was doing so well. From the moment we suspected I might be pregnant, I've been telling Luke how much easier it will be for us this time around. For starters, we'll only have one baby to deal with instead of two, as Kara and Nathan are pretty self-sufficient as far as toddlers go - ability to play independently, (mostly) follow basic directions, operate utensils without assistance, and put themselves to sleep with (mostly) minimal fanfare. Kara is almost potty-trained and should be completely diaper-free come summer. (We recently tried underwear instead of pull-ups for bedtime, with mixed results, so we are going to try again in another month or two.) Luke is going to work on Nathan soon, who is already showing a vague interest, thanks to the example set by his sister.

More positives: I will give birth in the summer, a first for me, which will allow us to be out and about for the bulk of my maternity leave, once I've recovered from my c-section. Summer break means that Luke's parents and Dan and Samantha will have an easier time spending time with us while the baby is new. I have a couple of honest-to-goodness friends in the area to lean on for support, and we have a reliable baby-sitter at our disposal. My newfound commitment to eating less junk food and being more physically active during this pregnancy should hopefully better prepare my body to bounce back from surgery. We won't be house-hunting or planning a move this time, or making any drastic changes to our home, save for some new paint in a few rooms and reorganizing some furniture, so life should be calmer.

And yet, as I review our finances, and lament over still being so far away from family, and remember how hard it was to get back in the swing of things after the arrival of each child and how vulnerable I always feel in those early months, and how unforgiving the world seems, I get nervous and scared and wonder what the hell Luke and I have gotten ourselves into. I wonder if I will ever have free time again, if we will ever have money again, if we will ever move beyond this "coming into our own" phase and achieve the long-term goals we have set for ourselves.

It will be okay. I think we just need a little more time to adjust.

In the meantime, it's not too late to show off Halloween pictures, is it?

 

This was the first year we took the kids trick-or-treating, and to mark the occasion we let them pick out their own costumes at Target. We went two weeks before Halloween, so options in Kara's size were pretty sparse. Luckily, she was able to don something she liked - a firefighter costume, just like Grandpa (my dad).

 

Nathan was a puppy. He kept calling the ears his "puppy hat." Let the squeeing commence.

 

The act of trick-or-treating was somewhat complicated this year, as Luke and I were out of town that Saturday for my cousin's wedding reception, but one of the news websites said our area would be celebrating on Sunday night as it should be, so we thought we were safe, only after coming back on Sunday afternoon to carve pumpkins and deposit eight dollars' worth of chocolate bars into a bowl near the front door and after getting the children good and excited about visiting numerous strangers' houses for candy, we learned that the news website Luke had found was actually from last year, and that all local festivities had taken place the day before, while we were in Chicago. So we scrambled through dinner, threw the costumes on the kids, and drove twenty minutes to a neighboring town to fulfill their toddler fantasies. Ah, parenthood.

I guess I can archive these past few years of drama regarding to three or not to three in my Waste of Time file, huh?

Thank you all so much for the congratulations and well wishes on this pregnancy. It's been a surreal few weeks around here, that's for sure.

For those interested, a timeline:

October 10
Let me preface this by saying the entire fall season has been a blur of activity for my young little family. Weddings, bachelorette parties, middle-of-the-night births, work trips, guy weekends - all of them took place one after the other, at least two and a half hours away from home. I worked one Friday in September and was out of the office six days in October (mixture of work and personal). We have certainly enjoyed celebrating these happy events and good times with our loved ones, but all that travel produced a constant undercurrent of fatigue among the adults in our house. Which does not exactly lay the groundwork for, ahem, proper romantic relations.

This particular weekend began with my returning from a corporate-related field visit to Clarksburg, West Virginia, at 10:30 p.m. that Friday, resulting from a 15-minute delay of my initial flight that caused me to miss my connecting flight, and of course the next couple of flights back home were either full or became full after passengers other than myself were rescued from Airport Hell via standby lottery. I missed Kara and Nathan's bedtime when I should have been home for their mid-afternoon snack. It was a long day.

The following morning, Luke and his brother drove to Sandusky, Ohio, to hang out at Cedar Point Amusement Park until Sunday afternoon. I had a wonderful time playing with my kids, but hot damn, I missed mah husband.

So that night, after the children were asleep and the dishes were washed and Facebook appropriately monitored, Luke and I cracked open a bottle of wine we had purchased more than two months ago and settled in for a quiet, relaxing evening. An evening that just so happened to end with me asking, "You do know what could have just happened, right?"

Luke nodded, shrugging his shoulders. Obviously the wine had lowered his inhibitions. (Not that I was complaining.)

Quickly I did the math regarding my September visit from Aunt Flo and measured it against the average length of my cycles (32-34 days), and as we turned out the lights I confidently summarized, "Well, my last cycle was before Gina's wedding, so it should be here any day now. I'm sure we're probably safe."

Only the longer I thought about it, the less confident I felt. Since Luke and I have consisently used protection since Nathan was born, I don't make a conscious effort to track my cycles; i.e., there were no helpful Xs on the calendar for me to verify this now-critical piece of information. Then I remembered that, in fact, I had NOT gotten my period before the wedding, but after, vividly recalling my thankfulness to Flo on the morning of September 19 for staying away from my two-hundred-plus-dollar bridesmaid dress. 

I eventually changed my stance and told Luke, who could barely keep his eyes in his sockets by this point, "If we had been TRYING to have a baby, we couldn't have picked a better time."

Obviously, that was not the case with Luke's urology consult (November 3) (which has since been cancelled) (of course).

Meanwhile, the opening scene from Look Who's Talking was being re-enacted in my uterus.

October 11 - October 20
For almost two weeks we were stuck in The Land of Not Knowing, hashing out next steps if it turned out I was pregnant, and me preparing myself for the news that I wasn't, because I so, so wanted another baby and I knew this was my only chance to realize this dream. We have been so cautious for so long that it was a miracle this random fluke even happened at all. We were not trying, and would not be trying. It was now or never.

I looked for cosmic signs that another pregnancy was meant to be, like our recent financial overhaul and the last-minute decision not to sell our carseat. The brand-new, twice-used Ergo carrier sitting in Nathan's closet begging to hold a child who wouldn't scream and flail about angrily because "I wanna walk, Mommy." Also, our track record for accidentally conceiving children.

Then again, we were living a wonderful life with the family we had right now, and it was so much easier for us to get around, and I didn't miss night feedings or nursing anxiety or c-section recovery or taking almost a year to resume my pre-pregnancy weight. We had exciting plans for the future. Financial security was in sight. I was going to visit another continent, even, to help Molly get her precious baby next year. And one day, we would be foster parents, and possibly even obtain our third child that way. Another baby would be like taking two steps back, right? Life is good, I told myself. I will be okay.

October 21
That week I confided in several people about my maybe baby, with varied responses. That Thursday afternoon, I finally told my coworkers, and because a number of us have been experiencing random bouts of baby fever since the summer, they were super-excited; to the point that they eventually convinced me to run to the pharmacy and take a First Response during lunch.

I only took it because I was sure it would be negative. Even if I were pregnant, it was too soon to tell. Wasn't it?

"I'm not even late yet," I warned them as I headed to the bathroom. "It's only Day 32."

On a related note, did you know that a home pregnancy test can now be accurate as early as six days before your missed period? When Nathan was conceived, they were only at five. Slowpokes!

Two minutes later, I was running downstairs with two pink lines and one shaky left hand.

They were all so surprised I didn't call Luke the minute I got the positive, but I knew the news had to be shared in person. So I left work a few minutes early and cornered Luke in the kitchen once I was home. He was at the sink, washing dishes.

"I told the girls at work today about maybe being pregnant," I said, hand in purse searching for my precious evidence. "They were so happy, they wanted me to take a test."

"Did you tell them it was too early?" he asked, his own hands submersed in dishwater.

"That's what I said, but they told me that now you can get a positive reading from a drugstore test six days before you miss your period!"

"Yeah? So do you want to--" He stopped short after turning around, slowly taking in the white stick held snugly between my fingers. His eyes grew wide.

"Oooh."

-------

Baby number three was definitely not part of our current life plan. Many adjustments will have to be made. Like, no more Africa next year (which I am so, so sad about, but Molly has been great), and a major vehicle upgrade, and money for prenatal visits and hospital bills and maternity leave. I will have to prepare myself to once again dance with nursing and hopefully, finally, make it my bitch. Plus, navigate all the insecurities that go along with mothering a brand-new person AS WELL AS adjust to being outnumbered by an army of children under the age of four.

And yet, just try to wipe this silly grin off my face. Just try.

So. It turns out that Luke and I will not be selling our house in 2011.

Instead, we'll be having a baby.

 

We may also sign up for the local middle school's next sex ed class, because apparently we have forgotten how babies are made.

It is still very early; according to BabyCenter's due date calculator, I am four weeks if you measure by date of conception, five if we go by my last menstrual cycle. So, between June 26 and July 3.

I will share more details with you soon. In the meantime, just know that we could not be happier.

Nathan turns 20 months old on Friday, and as the present clouds memories of yesterday, I regret more than ever my almost two-year delay in writing his birth story. I was so tired those first few months, and trying to make the best of a rushed maternity leave, and then coping with going back to work, and mothering a newborn and very young toddler besides. But now I have no excuse except that the details aren't as top of mind as they used to be, and I'm afraid that committing the day to "paper" will only reveal everything I don't remember. That problem will only get worse the longer I wait, though, so here is what I can tell you.

-------

Those of you reading at the time of Nathan's birth might remember that my c-section, originally scheduled for week 39, was moved up by six days due to my showing mild signs of pre-eclampsia. Surgery was moved up to 8 a.m. on Saturday, January 31, which meant he would share a birthday with my sister, Ryan. The day before I put in a half-day at work, sending frantic updates on active projects and cleaning my office of personal effects I thought I might need at home. There was dusting and vaccuming, upstairs and down, the cleaning of toilets, folding of clothes. Also a trip to Red Robin, a sort of last-ditch effort at a low-key Night Before, except it wasn't a low-key experience at all because they gave Luke the wrong burger. He didn't care too much, but I insisted on calling the manager, because hell hath no fury like a fully baked pregnant woman wronged. He promised to comp Luke's meal and actually voided the entire transaction, which we learned a couple weeks later when reading our bank statement. And I didn't even have to cry.

Luke's parents arrived shortly after dinner, primed for Kara duty for the length of my hospital stay. Bedtime went smoothly. I puttered around in Nathan's room arranging onesies and blankets. I blogged. Sometime after midnight, I finally went to sleep.

Luke and I woke up at 5:00 a.m. to start getting ready for the hospital. I showered and shaved my legs, fiddled with my hair. Kara woke up at 6:00, so I was able to hang out with her a little bit before we left. And surprisingly, I wasn't nervous about leaving her anymore. She and Luke's parents get along famously, and Luke was going to be alternating between home and St. Vincent's so as not to completely abandon her routine. It was going to be okay.

We left the house by 6:15 and made it to check-in around seven.

 

Primping for my date with the scalpel.

There are a few details I can recall about being prepped for surgery: the first nurse's botched attempt to insert my IV, watching cartoons with Luke while waiting for my obstetrician, getting updates from Molly en route to Indianapolis. Once in the OR, I learned that my anesthesiologist was acquainted with my employer's CEO. The spinal was administered without any problems; a tight pinch at the beginning, but otherwise so much quicker than the epidural. Once it was fully working, in went the catheter.

The most important thing I remember is my sense of calm. I was finally ready for Nathan to be born. Good thing, too, because sometime around eight, the procedure began.

Due to my pre-eclampsia symptoms, they didn't waste much time cutting right to the chase (no pun intended). At 8:39 a.m., out came Nathan, screaming at the top of his lungs, giving us a small taste of what was to come. He weighed 9 lb 5 oz and measured 22 1/4 inches long. At 38 weeks! Let's not even think about what those numbers could have been at 40.

Surgery was uneventful, thankfully, just like last time, as was the pressure in my chest when they pulled him out. I remember cracking jokes behind the curtain, making the doctor and the nurses laugh, so happy that this moment was finally here, and that we were getting to meet our son. 

He wowed the hospital staff with his impressive lung capacity, as well as his handsome little face, but soon he settled down and humbled himself to the flash of Luke's camera.

 

Post wailing.

Luke and I tossed around several names throughout my pregnancy - Liam, Peter, Toby, Benjamin, Alex - but Nathan Byron is the name we had ready for Kara had she been gifted boy parts, and it still remained our favorite, so Nathan Byron it was. Nathan because we liked it, Byron for Luke's middle name, in memory of his late grandfather on his mother's side. We figured we could call him Nate for short, but not once have we done that so far (though family members have). Just Nathan, or Buddy, or BooBoo, or Little Boobah. (Don't ask about that last one. We don't know, either.)

 

Unlike his sister, Nathan was able to wear more than one newborn diaper.

One of the main reasons Luke and I loved our hospital so much (aside from the private rooms and 24-hour room service) is that the staff considers "mommy and me" time to be top priority, so minutes after I was properly stitched up, Luke was placing Nathan in my arms. He felt so warm, and compared to Kara, so tiny. Words can't describe how much it meant to have him there, another tangible product of my relationship with Luke. I was so in love, with both of them, and Kara, too - my family in its own infancy, shiny and perfect and new.

 

I snuggled him close as they wheeled me into recovery, where Molly was waiting for us. She held her godson for the first time while Luke made phone calls, and then it was time to nurse. He latched on easily and fed for a bit on both sides. Afterwards, it was snuggle time, his face resting on my chest, my hands running over his back, my mind at peace. Feeling exhausted but oh so happy, enjoying my perfect little piece of the universe.

I remember looking up at Molly and saying, "Now I know why some mothers have eight children. I could see myself having ten just to relive this feeling."

 

Nathan and Molly, who, based on her expression, appears fully on board with this plan.

An hour and a half after surgery, I was brought into my room. I remember struggling to stay awake and scratching at my arms and legs constantly, the itching a side effect of the spinal. Luke held Nathan while Molly updated the Internet and I drifted in and out of sleep. I briefly called my boss, and others, too, I'm sure, but I don't remember anyone else. I was starving but wouldn't be allowed to eat anything solid for several more hours. Thankfully, the catheter was still in, so I didn't have to worry about getting up to pee.

By mid-afternoon, Molly was on her way back home to snuggle her own baby and Luke was off to have dinner and bedtime with Kara, leaving Nathan and me to our own devices in the hospital. It was pretty uneventful. I was still so tired, and scratching everywhere, and my butt was sore from lying in bed all day. In the early evening, Samantha, Dan, and Danny Jr. showed up from Chicago to meet their first nephew and visit with me in all my incoherent glory. They were my only relatives to make the trip to Indy, and I was so, so grateful they were there.

 

Auntie Samantha loving on her nephew.

Late that evening, Luke came back. At one point I devoured a glorious postpartum dinner of a roast beef sandwich, vanilla shake, and lime sherbet. I always load up on the sandwiches whenever at that hospital - they could easily stack up against any deli in town. And okay, I drank two shakes, not one, but hey, twelve hours of nothing but liquids = PRIMAL HUNGER.

The following day brought a lot less itching and a few more visitors. Luke's parents, Kara in tow, Luke's brother. They all came together and didn't stay terribly long, but it was so good to see my little girl, and it strengthened my resolve to leave the hospital on day three, to get back to my life. She didn't show much interest in Nathan, or even me, for that matter; she kept running back to Grandma and Grandpa, which was just fine, because I kept worrying about her accidentally kicking my incision.

 

Nathan with Daddy and Grandma D.

That day also brought the removal of my catheter, at which point I was charged with the monumental task of emptying my own bladder. It was hugely difficult after Kara, and not accomplished without many tears, but R.N. Susan-Marie gave me a fantastic tip that moved things along much more efficiently and with a lot less pain: get a glass of water and blow bubbles into it with a straw while you're pushing; this gives you something tangible to focus on. That was my biggest problem last time - my body was so out of touch with the act of bearing down that I had no idea how to direct my efforts. Genius!

I can't stress enough how wonderful my hospital stay was this time around. Nathan fed, pooped, and slept with no problems, I ate to my heart's content, and Luke and I received an adequate amount of rest, even sending Nathan to the nursery once for a good four hours so we could get sleep with no interruptions. There were no jagged breakdowns over nursing, no feeling like a bumbling idiot in the hours before we came home. There were no looming doubts over how the hell am I going to do this?

 

Luke and Nathan scoring some father-son time before our release from the hospital.

There were several major obstacles we faced in those first few weeks home: slow weight gain (Nathan's, unfortunately, not mine), nursing and bottle-feeding troubles, constant spit-up, ear-piercing crying, and through it all, nobody nearby to help us. But I love thinking about those first few days when the world felt paused on its axis, and all that mattered was enjoying my new family.

 

Party of four in the hizzouse!

I think the reason I put off writing Nathan's story for so long is the lack of drama surrounding his birth. Kara's story was fraught with suspense at every turn - Will my cervix fully dilate? Drugs or no drugs? Will the baby ever drop? - and I knew readers would get a kick out of the minute-by-minute play-by-play. With Nathan, though, I had all those questions answered before the second trimester by taking them off the table. Water breaking, dilation and effacement, pain relief, pushing, episiotomy or natural tear. Deciding on a c-section eliminated most of the unpredictability. The pre-eclampsia threw a wrench in our plans, sure, but only in regards to time frame. (And thank God for that.) The execution remained unchanged.

But whatever Nathan's birth lacked in story-telling potential was made up for in spades with peace and love and joy. I can more than live with that.

 

It took two years for you to write all THAT? Geez, Mom, you are so lame. Also, so is your cell phone. Pony up and get a Droid already.

As promised, I have returned with pictures of the little man of the hour, all brand new and perfect.

 

Mommy & Daddy with Nathan, just into the recovery room.  I know there isn't much to say for the picture quality, but the baby had his eyes open, giving a very suspicious peek to all he encountered.  And how cute is that, I ask you?

   

Nathan just about an hour old, none too happy to leave Mommy's arms for a quick listen from the stethoscope.

Thanks dad, much better.

 

Aah yes, that's exaaaactly the sleeping place I was looking for.

 

Luke & Nathan, pals.

 

Bree and I and baby Nathan.  Might I add that the last twelve times one of the two of us has birthed a child, the next one in the picture is pregnant (whether they know it or not).  And it is just time to take a break from that for a while, thankyouverymuch.

 

Gush.

And last but not least, here's a little video clip of Nathan, very soon after he was born:

Hoping for a smooth, happy recovery for Bree, and looking forward to seeing pictures of the new fabulous duo, Kara and Nathan, together.

Hi all, it's Molly with good news!

Nathan Byron was born at 8:39 this morning.  He weighed 9 pounds 5 ounces and measured 22 1/4 inches long.  He has lots of dark hair and the sweetest little face. 

Both Breain and Nathan are doing great, enjoying their snuggle time together. 

I will update again with pictures when I arrive home this evening.

Welcome Baby Nathan!  We love you!

As you can tell by the time stamp on this entry, my resolution to keep better hours doesn't apply the night before a life-changing event. Oh, well. It's not like I'll be running a marathon tomorrow, just lying on a slab waiting to be sliced open. Would it really be that inappropriate to take a little nap?

Things are OK--Luke and I have both been a flip-flop of emotions today, excited about the baby, sad about Kara losing her status as an only child so quickly, anxious about getting the house in order, nervous about tomorrow. It hasn't taken much to get the tears flowing--"Kara's last bath as an only child! Sob," but surprisingly my eyes were dry when I put her to bed, and that's where I expected to get really emotional. She fell asleep quickly, though, and the two of us sat in her rocking chair for a good hour while I just held on to her and told her that I loved her and that I knew she'd be a wonderful big sister. And she will be.

 

Everything is in order--dishes washed, laundry washed and folded, picture framed dusted, carpets vaccuumed, refrigerator and pantry stocked, and grandparents on board to take over baby duties so Luke and I can leave for the hospital by five a.m. Registration is at six. I should be under the knife by eight.

But let's not talk about that right now. Would you like to see pictures of Baby Brother's room? I thought about waiting to include them in my grand House Unveiling post, and then I realized I've been promising that post for about two months, and really, I don't even know if you care anymore, but still, I swear it's coming. In the meantime, though, there is this:

 

Somebody on Parents asked about the paint color we used in here. It's Eddie Bauer Dill, EB10-3, courtesy of Valspar at Lowe's. Of course, this information might be more useful to include on my actual Parents blog.

 

I am so in love with this dresser, it's not even funny. In fact, I'm over the moon about all of Baby Brother's furniture--the style, color, the matchy-matchness of it all. Swoon.

 

As you can see, we went with a safari animals/monkey theme for his room. Just enough for everything to compliment each other, but not so much that other items seem out of place. In my opinion, anyway.

 

To think I once thought boy clothes weren't fun. Look at that onesie on the right. See how bright and bold and colorful? Blue and green are my favorite colors, and these shades rock my world. Oh, yeah.

 

A closet waiting for clothes in sizes larger than six months.

 

Not part of Baby Brother's room, but adorable just the same.

My big goal for this weekend (aside from having a healthy baby, of course) is to take care of myself in the hospital well enough to be discharged in two days instead of three (the standard stay for a c-section), and I have more perspective this time than I did after having Kara, so my next post should take place relatively soon. If not, though, no worries, because Molly is coming to Indianapolis to meet her godson and has agreed to update here once she's back at home. Until then, hopefully this will tide you over:

   

We're coming to get you, baby. See you soon.

Today at three o'clock, I had my 38-week appointment slash last prenatal visit before Baby Brother's scheduled delivery on February 5. I learned from the nurse that the protein level in my urine was still at +3 but that I had lost two pounds since last time, which means my swelling has gone down. Blood pressure checked out just fine, as usual. I saw the doctor, who measured me at 43 centimeters and said she wouldn't be surprised if I had a ten-pound baby in there. I mentioned last week's HELLP scare, and she looked at the notes taken during my last visit. We talked for a few minutes about life with two small children, as she herself is the mother of two boys fifteen months apart. By a quarter to four, I was on my way home.

That was easy! I thought. No more drama.

At four-thirty, I walked through the door. At four-thirty one, Luke informed me of a message from the doctor on our voice mail, instructing me to page her at my earliest convenience. She had called at four o'clock.

Well. That can't be good.

I paged the doctor. She called me back. After examining my file more thoroughly, she discovered that my 24-hour urine collection revealed a protein level of 691, which puts me in the category of "mildly pre-eclamptic." If I were 32 weeks along, I'd be on bedrest, she said. But since Baby Brother is full term and growing well (ha! that's an understatement), there's no need to keep him in there any longer.

"So, what does this mean?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"It means that I would be more than happy to deliver your baby tomorrow."

And there it was.

As it turns out, I'm not having the baby tomorrow. Because my pre-eclampsia isn't severe and my blood pressure is good, my doctor was fine with postponing the c-section until Saturday. So the new game plan is for me to go to work tomorrow long enough to tie up some loose ends and then scramble like mad to clean our house. (Three cheers for doing the last of our shopping and finishing the baby's room over the weekend.) Luke's parents will arrive tomorrow evening (a gazillion more cheers for wonderful in-laws willing to watch their granddaughter while her pushy brother makes his way into the world). At five a.m. on Saturday morning, we'll depart for the hospital. I should be under the knife by eight.

I'm not sure what to feel. On one hand, OH MY GOD AM I SICK OF PREGNANCY. It hurts to get in and out of bed. My clothes don't fit. The Braxton-Hicks contractions are taking their toll. The last of my work projects can be easily passed along to other members of my department. I'm tired all the time. Our bags are packed. I'm done.

On the other hand, I'm not ready for surgery. I'm freaking out over having to leave Kara. I'm upset that our family of three is losing four precious days together. I'm worried about recovering from surgery while meeting the needs of two young babies. I need more time.

But all of that said, I still know that I'm lucky, because the first scare was enough to whip our asses into gear and the second one bought us another day and a half to wrap things up. Poor Emily had to leave from her doctor's office straight for the hospital for the births of BOTH her children. In the grand scheme of things, my rushed birthing experience isn't that big of a deal.

Remind me I said that when I'm hyperventilating tomorrow.

Expect one more post before Saturday.

The doctor just called. Platelets are good. Blood count is stable. Liver enzymes are normal. Nothing indicates HELLP Syndrome, though I was instructed to stay off my feet as much as I can to help with my swelling. I shared the happy news with my boss, and she has instructed me to step away from the computer and get some rest. So I am going to do just that.

Thanks so much for the well wishes. Will hopefully update over the weekend with pictures of wee baby clothes (and maybe even my house!).

"175," announced the nurse.

I almost shit my pants when she announced my weight, up a whopping NINE POUNDS from the week before.

As she took my blood pressure, she also shared that the protein level in my urine had risen to a +3. Unbeknownst to me, I've been at a +2 all month, but since that could have been for any number of reasons, it wasn't enough to raise a red flag.

"The doctor will want to do some tests," she said.

Not the routine 37-week appointment I was hoping for yesterday.

Me at 37 weeks. This was taken two days ago, before I knew about the atrocious weight gain (though it only brings me to 35 pounds overall. Thank goodness for small favors?).

I talked to my doctor. My blood pressure is and always has been normal, so no cause for concern there. However, he wonders if I might have HELLP Syndrome; if I do, the only cure is to deliver the baby.

"So he could come as early as Saturday?" I asked in disbelief.

He smiled sympathetically. "Tomorrow. He could be here tomorrow."

-------

In the waiting room, I was fine. I called Luke. I had three vials of blood drawn. I accepted my tool kit for collecting a 24-hour urine sample (which is festering in an ugly orange jug in the fridge as we speak, isn't THAT a lovely picture). I called my boss. I walked out with the receptionist and got into my car. I called Luke again and pulled out of the parking lot.

And then I lost it. Suddenly I was sobbing about not being ready to mother two children and what if tonight is the last night that we'll only have Kara and the baby clothes aren't washed and I don't want to go to the hospital and waaaaah.

I broke down again a few hours later during Kara's bathtime, sitting on the floor and cradling my head in my arms on the toilet seat lid as I contemplated life's grave injustices. "I'm not ready," I wailed.

There was silence for a couple of minutes. Then Luke said, "We can call him Jake if you want."

When in doubt, comfort your wife by conceding to one of her top name choices.

(Note: His name will not be Jake. But I sure appreciated the gesture.)

-------

I'm OK now and trying to stay positive. Baby Brother measured at 40 centimeters and I don't have any other obvious HELLP symptoms (headaches, nausea, vomiting), so maybe I just grow big babies. All I can do is wait for a call on the results of my blood work and take it from there. If all is well, I'll drop off my urine sample at 4 p.m., have more blood drawn, and await further instructions. I spent a lot of last night and will spend much of today catching up on work so I don't leave my boss in the lurch. Luke's been on laundry detail. Kara's being her normal wonderful self.

 

I just called the doctor's office and was told someone would get back to me soon with an update on my blood work. I'm torn between wanting this pregnancy to finally be over--my physical uncomfortableness is now at a point where I cry out just from getting out of my seat--and hoping for more time to relax and prepare. But last night I had a dream about Baby Brother, and he was so cute, except for the part where he didn't have a penis and Luke told me I was looking in the wrong place. 

Don't hold me to it, but I think I'm finally ready to snuggle my son.

When I was 26 weeks pregnant with Kara, my uterus measured a perfect 26 centimeters. So when people questioned the appropriateness of my size, I just repeated what my doctor told me: the baby was healthy and doing just fine. I kept the meaner, gutter-language retorts to myself.

Here's photographic evidence of Kara and me at the 26-week mark:

 

...And here I am yesterday morning, 26 weeks in with Baby Brother, just a couple of hours before my monthly prenatal appointment, where he measured a whopping THREE weeks ahead of schedule:

I know. Kara can't believe it, either. See her look of disbelief? She's all, "Who does this kid think he is, showing me up before he's even outside? I'M the miracle-size baby. Just let him TRY to top my birth weight!"

(Um, sweetheart, let's not encourage him.)

What to say to the haters now? There's no denying it: I look huge and I feel huge. The doctor wasn't concerned, but when I told her I wanted remove this boy from my uterus via a planned c-section, she didn't bat an eye, just asked for my date of choice and verified with the doctor scheduled to be on call that day (the doctor who performed Kara's surgery, no less). I've spent more time ordering beef low mein than it took to schedule the birth of my son. And the noodles weren't even that good.

For those not in the know, I've written a couple of times about forgoing a VBAC on my Parents blog, but to document it here on my personal site, I'll share my thought process again. At last month's appointment, I asked the doctor for her opinion regarding whether or not attempting a vaginal birth was a good idea for me. There are five ob/gyns in my practice, and each time I see one, I throw that question out there just to see if everyone's on the same page. And when it comes to supporting a woman's right to VBAC, they are; nobody ever said I couldn't try for one. However, this doctor was the second one to recommend another c-section (my primary ob was the first). She listed Kara's size as one factor, which I knew was still mind-boggling to everyone there; so much so, in fact, that at yesterday's appointment I took my glucose challenge test two weeks early to make sure my body isn't harboring a secret case of gestational diabetes. The other issue was the risk of uterine rupture, a rare but life-threatening condition I'll allow Wikipedia to explain to you. It sounds just lovely.

Anyway, the idea of attempting labor and then deciding Baby Brother was too big to deliver vaginally was never a big deal to me; I wasn't worried about pain because I knew I'd get the epidural again, and the possibility of avoiding surgery was worth risking an unsuccessful trial of labor. It's the uterine rupture thing that's always been a hard pill to swallow. Once I learned from my doctor that the risk of rupture increases when births are fewer than two years apart, there was no question in my mind that for me, a c-section is the way to go. My kids will barely be ONE year apart as it is; hell no am I counting on the strength of an abdominal scar that only had a few months to heal before it was subjected to another pregnancy.

I applaud women who have the confidence to attempt a VBAC. I think it's wonderful that the old adage "Once a c-section, always a c-section" no longer applies. I'm proud of myself for even considering it. But in the end, it's just not for me. So Baby Brother's birth day is officially on the books: Thursday, February 5, 2009, 8 a.m. My plan is to wrap up work the Friday before and spend the first half of that week freaking out about having my second baby, a baby I STILL can't believe exists in the first place. Mark your calendars and hold onto your hats.

As if this post weren't already chock full of meaty content, I also talked to my doctor about birth control after Baby Brother's extraction--something I obviously didn't pay much attention to after Kara. I'm not interested in methods that turn my uterus into a poo-poo environment on the off chance ovulation were to occur; once the life process is in motion, I don't want to mess with that. But I am interesed in sidestepping it for a bit while Luke and I figure out if we want to have more children. Just for kicks, I asked my doctor about having my tubes tied during my caesarean, but since I'm delivering at a Catholic hospital, it's not even an option. Which is fine--I'm not sure how I feel about permanently ending my childbearing years before I'm 30--but I'm not sure I'd ever be up for another pregnancy, either. My doctor recommended Mirena, which sounds great except it doesn't meet my uterus-friendly criteria, and she also mentioned Essure, a procedure that's just as permanent as a tubal but without all the surgery. Also great, if we decide that we're Done.

In the end, Luke and I will probably just use condoms until my cycle regulates itself and I can trust the calendar to tell me when I'm ripe for the picking (thank you, Taking Charge of Your Fertility). It obviously worked before Kara, seeing as we were able to conceive her the minute we stopped avoiding relations on my "high-trigger" days. Baby Brother's conception had nothing to do with botched birth control and everything to do with "Ha! There's no way that could happen to me." A hard lesson to learn, for we all know how well THAT turned out:

Not that I would have it any other way, of course.

The names, they were copied.

They were placed inside a hat.

  

And then three names were chosen by Luke, who was gracious enough to play my assistant while catching up on last night's episode of House.

In an effort to spread the wealth, I decided to break up the mega package into three separate prizes: the Jay and Silent Bob series, the two Clerks comics, and our dear Buddy Christ.

And the winners are...

 

 

Congratulations Gry, Dawnie, and Audrey! Gry, you get the Buddy Christ. Dawnie, the Jay and Silent Bob series is yours. Audrey, enjoy Clerks. Get me your addresses by Monday and I'll try to mail everything out next week. A big thanks to the rest of you who...um...wanted to take my stuff.

For those of you who couldn't care less about my nerdy contest, might I interest you in a belly shot of sorts?

 

Here I am at 23 weeks pregnant with Baby Brother, my two-days-shy-of-10-months-old daughter standing by my side. It's not the most telling angle, but it's the best Luke and I could manage under the circumstances ("circumstances" being a code word for "the child who insists on clinging to my legs for dear life the minute I walk through the door"). However, it's still enough to compare to my size at this point in Kara's incubation:

 

So far, the kids seem to be progressing at relatively the same rate. I had an ob/gyn appointment on Monday, where I learned that Baby Brother is spot on, measurement-wise, just like Kara was until we reached the final few weeks. (For more details about that visit, including my decision regarding whether or not to attempt a VBAC, check out my post on Parents.com.)

Edited to add: Whoops, there was one more photo I meant to post last night, because HELLO, adorableness:

So. Today is closing day! The day Luke and I officially become homeowners for the first time in our lives. Final walk-through is at 2:30 p.m., closing is at 3:00, and of course we're still waiting to get final numbers from the bank for our cashier's check because why should we expect things to run smoothly?

I came into work this morning with a huge rock in my stomach (aside from Baby Brother), and as excited as we are to begin this new chapter of adulthood, Luke and I couldn't be more nervous. And because everything's happening so late in the afternoon, I'm not sure how we're going to celebrate. Maybe remove the "For Sale" sign in the front yard. Possibly go out to dinner because there's dried Rice-A-Roni on the stove from last night and Kara will need to eat shortly after we close and our apartment is a good forty minutes from our new pad. Continue to hash out paint colors and a schedule of what we can reasonably expect to accomplish before our October 28th move-in day. Originally the plan was to spend three weekends painting the entire house and the last weekend moving in, but my nephew Danny's baptism is now set for on October 26 and by the way, Ryan is moving to Germany to reunite with her army husband the weekend before that, and there's no way I'm missing out on my last chance to see her before spring. This leaves us only two working weekends left, so the NEW objective is to simply finish the second floor before the new carpet and bathroom tiles are installed later in the month.

Not that any of this makes me the slightest bit uneasy. Or crabby. Or hungry for a big bowl of spinach dip and a day in my pajamas.

It's overwhelming, how much there is to do before vacating our apartment; so overwhelming, in fact, that all I can do is think about October in small, manageable chunks. Call the flooring company. Price-check options for Internet, phone, and cable. (Yes, after more than three years of doing without, the Frema-Useless Clutter household just might hop on the cable bandwagon again.) (Also, I'm thinking not so much with the Comcast.) Buy primer and paint. Figure out when to paint. Figure out what to do with Kara. I would totally put her to work if she could walk more than five steps at a time. Also, if she could be trusted to keep her gums off the paintbrush.

(Actually, we do have some plans for Kara. A friend of mine from work who I knew from my Saint Joe days is going to come to the house and keep her company next Saturday so Luke and I can tackle the upstairs at the same time. Marissa heard about our baby-sitterless plight and actually volunteered to baby-sit. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a beautiful, paid friendship.)

In more uplifting news, did I tell you how much fun Kara is these days? Oh, wait, I guess I did. But I want to document it here, too, that my baby toddles and eats yogurt and "reads" her board books the right way and still has to play with my hair when I rock her to sleep. Luke and I are constantly looking at pictures from her newborn days and marveling over how much personality she's developed since then, how active she is, and how she loves us through each fumble. I would never categorize myself as patient, and I'm embarrassed to admit how damn frustrating parenthood is sometimes, but despite my shortcomings, Kara still scrambles to my arms when I come home each day. The biggest fear I had about being a working mom--that she wouldn't want me as much--has now reversed into my biggest obstacle, at least when trying to tackle my daily to-dos. She can't get enough of me. But I wouldn't want it any other way.

It's amazing to think that soon, there will be TWO little wonderfuls vying for my attention.

This was taken last Wednesday morning to document me at 20 weeks. Tomorrow I will be 21 weeks. Where is the time going?

Kara doesn't know, either.

It's mind-boggling, how much I love her.

At nineteen weeks and some change, I finally feel like I'm coming into my own with this pregnancy. Having more energy and a cute little baby bump to boot have inspired me to take more pride in my appearance as opposed to those first couple of months, when just rolling out of bed and showering required supreme effort. Blow-drying my hair? Ha! Don't make me laugh.

Now, though? I'm not sure where to start.

I desperately need a hair cut, but my stylist is in Chicago and I'm not brave enough to try somebody new, so that will have to wait until the end of October, when Luke, Kara, and I will make the trip for little Danny's baptism. I plan on adding to my maternity wardrobe, but new clothes aren't enough. As always, whether I'm gestating or not, my biggest problem has to do with my skin.

Before returning to work in March, I went on a postpartum shopping spree to load up on products that I hoped would reduce the appearance of blemishes and even out my color. And once I went back, I took great care to apply the moisturizer, primer, and foundation. I used Philosophy's "On a Clear Day" kit and was pleased with the results. It was groovy, baby.

Now that I'm knocked up again, though, the tools at my disposal have changed. I love the overall effect of Philosophy's acne products, but the magical step-two serum is now off-limits until I deliver, and it seems like a waste of time and money to use the others out of sequene. For a while I continued to buy the facewash, but I'm going to run out of my current supply any day now, and it doesn't appear to be as effective without the added boost of the serum and the creams. Also, I'm too lazy to go to the mall and buy more, so I'm scratching that, too, even though it would also give me the opportunity to restock on my absolute favorite Clinique product in the whole entire world. End result? Right now I'm going the drugstore route and relying on Aveeno to keep my face clean and moisturized until Baby Brother makes his debut.

Did I ever tell you about how the rest of my beauty finds worked out? Of course I didn't, otherwise I wouldn't have set myself up to talk about them right here and now.

Since 2005, I had been utilizing every last drop of my bottle of Becca's Mattifying Primer because of how silky the mousse-like texture felt on my skin. So on my back-to-work shopping spree, I originally searched for that. However, the gal at Sephora said the brand had been discontinued and pimped the Smashbox Photofinish Light Foundation Primer as a worthy alternative. Amalah is a huge fan of Smashbox as well, so I gave it a shot. And I liked it! But it was one of the few times in my cosmetic history where I actually depleted a product over the span of a couple of months as opposed to a couple of YEARS. And when that product is forty buck a pop, that will. not. do.

So I went back to Sephora, where this time Laura Mercier's Foundation Primer was pimped out instead, and I said yes because it was ten dollars cheaper. But this primer? I do not like. It feels good going on but leaves my face greasy and shiny all the livelong day. According to some of the reviewers who faced the same problem, this probably isn't the best choice for those with oily or combination skin.

I still have a lot left, but because I don't like it, I've stopped wearing make-up altogether, even though I actually quite enjoy the LORAC foundation I found in March. This means I've been showing up to work in all my prenatal, pimply glory. I have finally decided this must stop.

So in vain I looked up Becca on Google, and what do you know, the brand wasn't discontinued after all. And oh, look, there's my primer! So did the Sephora girl lie to my face, or did she mean to imply that Sephora discontinued the stocking of Becca products? If it's the latter, she certainly could've MENTIONED the ability to buy it elsewhere. But whatever. I'm thisclose to doing exactly that. I'm sure my complexion and my coworkers will thank me.

Before my Oops, I Did It Again Moment in May, physically I was in a good place. I felt more confident about how I looked, and I was on the right track to losing the last few pounds of my baby weight. Pregnancy is a blessing, but hot damn, am I excited to do that again.

So, to sum up, Aveeno cleanser and moisturizer (including night cream! my, but I'm fancy), Becca primer, and LORAC foundation. I guess I DO know where to start. Carry on, then, but not without sharing your own favorite beauty and skincare products. You know, for future reference. Sisters have to help each other out, you know?

Well, THERE went two weeks of personal blogging I'll never get back.

The mini-hiatus was unintentional, but life, it has been busy. Between welcoming sweet baby girls, working out insurance and inspection details for our September 30 closing, and keeping up with projects at work, I'm lucky I've managed to update my Parents blog. But, you know, they pay me, so it wasn't that hard of a decision to make.

Speaking of Parents, if you're a follower, you learned on Friday that a penis was discovered in my uterus.

Thanks to the cheesecake I had at lunch, Baby Brother was much more cooperative during his ultrasound than Kara was for hers, so we saw the goods twice. Also, his very adorable profile.

Oh, and we might've purchased a few little boy things. Maybe. Just a few.

I so thought this baby was going to be a girl (thanks for nothing, stupid old wives' tales), but disappointed would be the last word I'd use to describe what it felt like to learn about my son. Luke and I couldn't be more excited.

-------

I really appreciated all of your comments regarding our new house and our plight with the kitchen cabinets. Despite the amount of work we know it's going to take, Luke and I have decided to bite the bullet and repaint them a soft, creamy color. Paired with a khaki/tan shade on the walls, that should be enough to even things out and keep the first-floor rooms from clashing with each other, no matter what colors we end up using. I was quite impressed with Dr. Maureen's paint job, and after seeing her "before" pictures, I better understand why in certain cases, painting over the wood actually makes more sense than keeping the cabinets in their current condition. I have no idea what shape my cabinets were in before they were subjected to all that green, but after visiting the Valspar Web site to review paint swatches, I think I know where the sellers got their inspiration.

Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

The kicker? I actually DON'T MIND the color scheme in this room. But when you swap out the laminate flooring for a blah white tile and eliminate more than half the square footage, including the kick-ass island, what could have been a warm and inviting look becomes cramped and mismatched in a less impressive space. Oh, well. Live and learn.

The time between now and when we actually move in October is already making me nervous, wondering if we can paint every room and every damn cabinet prior to the second floor's carpet and tile job, prioritizing the items we want to add/upgrade in our home, counting every penny and trying to maximize it best we can. It's overwhelming now, but I trust that once we have the keys in hand, everything will suddenly appear much more managable. In the meantime, let's all ooh and ahh over Kara, who turned nine months old today and currently steals our hearts with her open-mouthed kisses, determination to walk, and ability to babble Mama and Dada at just the right time.

The apple of our eye indeed!

Much cuter than the professional shots she took at Target last month. We'll be redoing them this weekend at Portrait Innovations.

Today it's orchards, tomorrow undergraduate education. Sob.

Blasted food and its effect on second-trimester gestating women! The drama continues.

(Though not with Subway. I finally figured out the solution to my sub-versus-wrap dilemma. Double meat! Genius! AND DELICIOUS.)

The farther along I get in this pregnancy, the hungrier I get, at least for the first part of the day. If you don't believe me, let me tell you that today's lunch included a Weight Watchers Smart Ones calzone, an apple, banana, pear, and a roast beef sandwich. God help me, I PACKED A ROAST BEEF SANDWICH AS A MID-MORNING SNACK. With cheese, even! The sandwich was gone before ten, and that's only because I had a nine o'clock meeting. Restraint and Self-Control, see you in February 2009.

Anyway, by eleven I was fishing around the company freezer to retrieve my calzone, but it wasn't until I had unwrapped it that I realized it wasn't my calzone at all, but one of those Hot Pocket things that Jim Gaffigan used to poke fun at, and a feeling of shame washed over me as I compared myself to the professor in Friends who shamelessly stole Ross's post-Thanksgiving turkey sandwich and only ate half before throwing the rest away. I imagined the owner of the Hot Pocket lamenting the loss of his high-calorie treat much like Ross did, releasing a gutteral "My Hot Pocket?!" cry loud enough to send every pigeon in the Indianapolis area off in search of less tortured pastures.

But now that it was opened, what could I do but eat it, write a note of apology, and carry on with my life? So I stuck the Pocket in the microwave, taped a note to the freezer offering my smaller-but-healthier Smart Ones calzone in return, and waited three minutes for the dinger to go off.

Turns out my packing the sandwich wasn't just a piggy move after all, because the Hot Pocket smelled absolutely terrible and inspired a gag reflex so horrendous that I tossed the whole damn thing in the trash. I almost ripped up the note and went for my Smart Ones, but the guilt of eliminating somebody's lunch entirely was reason enough to hold back. I quizzed a few of my coworkers to see if they were the owners of the offending Pocket, but nobody was, though I did learn the IT director is quite fond of them, so I'll check out that lead later this afternoon.

When revealing my plight to one of the director's colleagues, she was sympathetic. "Now, you don't have a lunch," she said.

I just nodded. Nobody has to know about my sandwich but me.

P.S. House info is coming! The inspection is scheduled for three o'clock tomorrow, and I'm allowed to take pictures, so I'll try to relate that tale sometime this weekend. In the meantime, might I placate you with shots of my eight-month-old? She really is the cutest.

No, my daddy doesn't spike my bottle with Starbucks, why do you ask?

My mother, a sandwich stealer? Heavens to Betsy!

...because here's what I bought for lunch today. For myself.

Let me explain.

It started out innocently enough yesterday when I went to Subway for lunch, as I've been apt to do on days when our cupboard is bare. Usually I order a six-inch turkey sub on wheat bread with American cheese, tomatoes, and mustard, and I was about to order that yesterday when a sign caught my eye. It said that any six-incher could be turned into a salad or a wrap. And since I wasn't really in the mood for a whole lot of bread, I went with the wrap. And it was delicious.

But the wrap was not enough. Even after a bag of chips, even after a chocolate-chip cookie. I still wanted more.

So when I went back for lunch today, I contemplated getting TWO turkey wraps. I reasoned I could eat one now and one later on in the day so Luke wouldn't feel pressured to make dinner as soon as I got home. But then two of my coworkers lined up behind me, and if there were two turkey wraps attached to my order, it would be obvious that both of the sandwiches were for me. And since it's NOT obvious to everyone that I'm 14 weeks pregnant (it's not a secret, but it's not main-stream information for those who don't know me), I did what any starving, gestating woman would do.

I got a turkey and a roast beef. With two different kinds of chips. Fooled them all, I have! I thought, and ran the hell out of there.

Until I got back to the lab and realized that NOW I had to worry about somebody passing my very-public cubicle and noticing the two Subway sacks on my desk. Plus, I was mentally cursing myself out for not ordering any liquidy condiment for the roast beef, because Subway's beef tastes awfully dry without at least a little bit of mustard. Too late now.

So far I've eaten one full wrap--half the turkey and half the roast beef--and I've finished one bag of chips. I'm not starving anymore but still hungry enough that there's a good chance there will be nothing left to store in the company break room for tomorrow.

I have a good excuse, though, right? Doesn't every woman start her second trimester with a desire for two lunches?

Also, to document that my pooching uterus still looks more like it's holding beer and pizza than my beautiful, surprise second child, here I am at 14 weeks. In the john. Again. Some things never change.

ALERT, ALERT: An update to add that everything is gone except the second half of the roast beef, which is now sitting in the fridge and will probably never be eaten because OH MY GOD, DRY. Then I went and grabbed an ice cream sandwich from the vending machine and so help me, God, it was delicious. Good thing I'm out of cash or my boss would have to roll me to my car, Violet-style.

You don't mind an entry chock full of pictures, do you? Good. Because I am very tired and these images are the only reason I was motivated to post tonight.

Last week, Luke, Kara, and I spent four days up north visiting family, prompted by the fact that my new brother-in-law, Jason, was on a two-week leave from duty in Iraq, and not only did I have to miss his and Ryan's wedding (remember my Saint Joe scare?), he was deployed before Kara was born, so he still hadn't met his niece. We wasted no time getting them properly introduced.

Uncle Jason was happy to see Kara, though he admitted at one point, "I don't know what to do with her!" Here they are both looking to my mom for further instruction.

For our four nights away from home, we spent the first and last one at Luke's parents house and the middle two with Samantha and Dan. My sister is just over a week away from her due date, which just so happens to fall on the anniversary of her wedding. Little Danny Junior's arrival is eagerly anticipated by all.

(Here would be a great place to include Samantha's picture, except that I didn't take any. Bad big sister!)

Here's Luke reading to Kara one of the mornings we stayed with Samantha and Dan. I'm including it because Kara munching on her bunny's ear--the one that has helped her recover from a rough sleep patch these last couple of months--is way adorable, and it showcases one of her very favorite books: Gossie and Gertie, which is actually part of a Gossie-and-friends-type series. MY favorite is the one about BooBoo because it talks about burps, and what could be cuter then a story about a gosling who burps?

 

On Saturday morning, our little family stole away for a couple of hours and drove to Navy Pier. It was Kara's first time seeing Lake Michigan, and Luke and I had a blast strolling her down the boardwalk and giving her a view of the water. The Pier is one of my favorite Chicago landmarks, so it was probably natural that I felt a ping of sadness over not living closer and being able to see it any old time we wanted. Staying in Indianapolis is the best option for us right now, but part of me holds out for the chance of someday making the move to northwest Indiana, where the grass is green and the commuter trains are pretty.

Later that afternoon I attended a surprise baby shower for Molly (I know she'll be sharing pictures soon) (hint, hint, Molly), and while I was gone Luke and Kara hung out with my mom, who was ecstatic over having so much time with her granddaughter. There are some especially cute pictures over at Parents, where Kara's reading Grandma's face Helen Keller style and Grandma's teaching Kara this "so big!" move that she absolutely loved.

(Notice Kara's travel chair? It's a Chicco Caddy Hook-On Chair we can use at places where a high chair isn't available. It was thirty-five bucks and works like a charm, though Kara did cling to me for dear life the first couple of times she was in there.)

Kara likes the hustle and bustle of Chicago, but she also enjoys the quiet calm we experience when we visit Grandma and Grandpa Dunscombe. Also, Grandpa provides adequate lap space for naps.

The next day, before we headed out of town, we stopped to visit Molly and Jack. They were both excited to see Kara, because Molly has baby girl fever and Jack still gets a kick out of Kara's "Oopsie" video. I think they had a good time with each other, though Jack was not thrilled with Kara's tendency to drool on his toys.

Jack's like, "What are you doing with my bus, woman?" and Kara's like, "Boat?"

I don't know why innocent pictures like this make me want to joke about a future pairing, but they do, except then I get weirded out contemplating my baby daughter's potential love matches. Forgive me, Jack.

Molly and I juggling small children and fetuses (feti?) in utero. Neither of us expected to get knocked up with surprise babies this year, but who does? And anyway, there's nobody I'd rather freak out with.

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Now, the random stuff.

My Hoosier Momma shirt turned out to be too small, so my embarassment over wearing it can wait until next year. Maybe we'll just save it for bedtime.

It looks like the top three venue choices for BlogHer 2009 are Portland, Philadelphia, and St. Louis. I voted for St. Louis because it's closest in proximity to Indianapolis, but I would be way stoked to visit Philly again. I went there with Luke in 2004 to visit his best friend. We visited Old City and Valley Forge and took a ghost tour and all of it was awesome. Luke is actually encouraging me to sign up next year and even suggested that the four of us (!) could go together and turn part of the trip into a mini family vacation. I am so all over that; I really did have a great time last year. My only hang-up is my purpose for attending: my personal blog is often left to collect dust, so ads are definitely not a part of my near future, and sometimes it's difficult to keep up on the one I get paid for. Am I looking for larger readership? More freelance work? Or simply network (Amalah, for the love of God, PLEASE SAY YOU'RE GOING IN '09) and have a good time? Is that good enough?

I suppose it doesn't really matter. Luke's on board with my going, and I bring in enough money from blogging that attending a conference like this would be totally worth it. Count me in.

This week has been great to me, baby-wise. I entered my thirteenth week and experienced an energy surge that didn't come until closer to week eighteen with Kara, and my work unveiled a new maternity leave policy, effective immediately, that pays six weeks at one-hundred-percent salary. Words can't express the impact this will have on my life, but I make the attempt over at Parents.

On the housing front: Luke, Kara, and I will visit three more houses on Indy's south side. Wish us luck.

Lastly, Kara is just nine days away from turning eight months old and making the cutest "mamadadababa" babbles you've ever heard in your life. On Monday morning, Luke will take her in for her first professional photo shoot. I didn't realize how bummed I'd be over not being able to join them, but I'm already leaving early that day for an ob/gyn appointment, and things are too busy for me to take off the whole day. Where did the time go? When did my sweet baby girl go from this:

To this?

Hell if I know, but damn if she isn't the most beautiful person I've ever met.

Dear Internet,

Why is my mom all about the disappearing acts lately? This hiatus was even lamer than the last one. I didn't even get a chance to post! What's up with that?

Grrr,
Kara

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Dear Kara,

When you type negative comments about your mother using her very own blog, remember she can read them. Also, that she has the power to take that pacifier away faster than you can crawl after her.

Love,
Momma

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Well, if my non-literate baby daughter took the time to ask such deep and meaningful questions, the least I can do is answer them. Maybe you're interested, too!

But really, it's quite boring. I never intended this place to collect dust for as long as it did. Every few days I'd intend to post, but first-trimester yuck caught up to me, to the point that once Kara was down for the night, I was down for the night. I could pull myself together long enough to post on Parents, but not for anything that didn't absolutely require some level of attention. Plus, I'm still feeling hella overwhelmed about this baby (as evidenced by my recent Parents freak-out), and I wasn't sure what to say about it here. I go back and forth between feeling completely off my game about having two kids so close together and completely guilty that I'm not one-hundred-percent over-the-moon about our new addition, which I know is a gift from God, a gift I will love just as much as Kara. But right now the big picture is hazy, as the every day is spent battling UTIs, trying to find an appetite (yet simultaneously wondering why I've only lost a pound), sleeping whenever I get the chance, and bemoaning my overall lack of energy. I don't want to complain all the time. I don't want people to think I'm asking for sympathy. But I can't pretend I'm over this hump yet, physically or emotionally.

It helps that Luke and I have put off house-hunting for a bit. Our whirlwind touring process ended with us making offers on three houses in two weeks, none of which worked out. In all three cases the counter was too high, and the sellers weren't willing to come down any more, and we couldn't afford to go up more than a couple of thousand. The first house we bid on was actually a pipe dream -- it had only been on the market one day, so we knew they wouldn't be desperate enough to go down as much as we wanted, but it never hurts to try -- but the last two offers were acknowledged to be quite reasonable by the seller's agents. It sounds like in each case, the sellers owed more than the houses were worth and couldn't accept much less than their original purchase price. Which, OK, but then why is your house on the market? Why not wait until the economy improves and get more bang for your buck? Whatever. Luke and I are taking the next couple of months to save up a larger down payment (thank you, July bonus) and clear our heads so we don't settle on something that won't work in the long run. I really hope all three of those houses are still on the market when we get back on track. Maybe they'll like our offers then, bastards.

(Not that I'm bitter or anything.)

Things around here are OK. Kara officially turned six months old a couple of weeks ago and weighs in at a whopping 21 pounds and 11 ounces and measures 28 3/4 inches long. She's crawling, pulling up on furniture, kind of submitting to a somewhat regular nap schedule, and laughing. The laughing is the best -- full-on, belly laughs that I didn't think were possible for babies, but they are. And on Saturday night, we caught it on video.

I look terrible, and my voice is super annoying, but surely you can get past all that to appreciate my beautiful baby girl. We couldn't be more delighted with her.

FYI, we haven't been able to get a reaction like that from her since, even with the magic word "Oopsie," so let's just thank our lucky stars we captured it when we did.

(It's totally inappropriate for me to watch this clip and wish I'd pointed at my belly during one of the "Oopsies," right? Probably yes?)

Also, in case you were wondering, the newest Frema-Useless Clutter embryo (who from here on out shall be known as Number Two) isn't doing so bad, either.

There's not much to see right now, but the first picture includes a tiny yet helpful arrow to indicate Number Two's current residence. This ultrasound was taken when I was exactly six weeks along and suggests a due date of February 11, 2009. If I have another c-section (which my doctor suggests), I'd go a week earlier, putting my children just shy of 14 months apart. Tomorrow I will be eight weeks. This early part of pregnancy is going exactly like I remembered -- loooong, and also BLECH -- and I'm already waiting in earnest for that second-trimester burst of energy that didn't come until around week 18 with Kara. Hopefully, Number Two will be more considerate, but probably not. I bet Kara posted crib notes on the wall of my uterus, instructing future siblings on proper prenatal behavior, just to spite me.

For those of you who haven't stopped checking this blog for signs of life, I will do my best not to flake out again, but see above regarding BLECH. Thanks for hanging in there.

I told myself it didn't matter, not having a positive pregnancy test. A blood prick from the doctor's office is way more telling than a first morning's urine, and the last thing I need to do is waste three-fifty on something that offers redundant information. But tonight I asked Luke to pick up a Target-brand HPT, anyway, frugality be damned, because I am a girl and biologically programmed to pee on sticks. I need proof. I need the two pink lines. Or in this case, a big blue plus sign.

Mission accomplished.

It's about damn time.

Congratulations, pregnant self! Call me crazy, but it's much more real now.

Things have been crazy-busy around here. Last Wednesday, Luke and I lost two hours of married life talking numbers with our mortgage lender and visited seven homes in four hours on Sunday. Today we saw three more plus the most promising one from the weekend, and tomorrow we will make an offer.

House hunting has proven to be one of the most interesting experiences of my life, and the most exhausting, especially when you're schlepping around a six-month-old who will only tolerate so much car seat before her screams permeate a twenty-foot radius. One house had a whole room showcasing African safari decor complete with elephant wallpaper border and an unfortunately persistent smell of cat. We also attempted to see two bank-owned homes listed at to-die-for prices, until we actually entered the homes and realized that's probably what happened. Somebody must have died. What else could explain the torn carpet, scribbled-on walls, damaged fences, and bugs seeping through the woodwork? If Luke and I could afford a more mature down payment and about ten thousand dollars worth of up-front maintenance costs, these bad boys would be a steal. But we have babies (babies! MY GOD), who would prefer to eat more than once a day, and I am not a fan of having to purge questionable living creatures from my happy place.

The house we are going with, our first choice, is adorable. Three bedrooms, two baths, roomy, fenced-in backyard, two-car insulated garage, brand-new carpet, appliances included, and closet space galore, all in a neighorhood with one of the best school systems in the Indianapolis area. Originally we were hoping to score four bedrooms, or at least three beds and an office space, but alas, we are first-time home-buyers living on one salary, so some of those wants will have to wait until next time. First Choice will definitely meet our needs as a soon-to-be four-person family for years to come, and today on our second walk-through, I got lost thinking about raising our children there--rocking them to sleep, setting up a Christmas tree, playing tag in the yard while Luke throws hot dogs on the grill--and now I am quietly freaking out because I am too emotionally invested in this transaction. We have a price cap that we will not (cannot) negotiate, and there are two other houses to act on should this deal fall through, so I'm not worried about losing my head, but if for some reason things didn't work out, I just might pull a Sally Field circa Steel Magnolias ("I wanna know whyyyyyyyy") and consume an entire pint of Chunky Monkey in one sitting. Which may or may not be appreciated by my embryo.   

Kara is fabulous. She's been sitting on her own for months now, but yesterday was the first time she actually pulled herself into a sitting position. That made me cry, too, as did thinking about how huge I'm going to be in a few months and I won't be able to hold her on my chest like I do now and wah wah wah more ice cream please.

It's getting harder and harder to keep my lips zipped about baby number two at work. I've already told my VP, my direct supervisor, two of my work buddies, and our sales and marketing analyst. If I can make it to my June 18th ob/gyn appointment and ultrasound without tipping off the CEO, it will be a bloody miracle. And seeing as life lately is already one big miracle, I doubt I'm due for another.

I don't know if it's a sign of pregnancy or just an excuse to abandon the strict Weight Watchers regime, but food and I have once again become BFFs. Last Thursday, I "snacked" on a piece of cold steak while Luke was cooking dinner, and yesterday I suggested ordering from our favorite local restaurant, and by the way, wouldn't it be nice to get a hot roast beef and split a small pizza?

What can I say? Baby's gotta eat.

Not this baby. The new one.

Clearly, Kara is bad to the bone.

While surfing the Web for a due date calculator that would allow me to take my unpredictable, postpartum Aunt Flo visits into account, the only one that even provided a spot to adjust cycle length was BabyCenter.com, but even then the cap was 45 days, and I truly believe ovulation took place in mid-May. There's no way I can be seven weeks pregnant. I just can't.

Can I?

You decide. Here are the facts (advance apologies for the TMI):

First day of last period: March 27
Unprotected "incident" #1: April 26
Unprotected "incident" #2: May 12 (Happy anniversary, dear)
Negative home readings: May 9 through May 29
Positive blood test: May 30

There's no morning sickness to speak of yet but plenty of uterine cramping, so my guestimate is still mid-February. If I had ovulated at the end of April, surely I would have seen a positive reading on ONE of my five pee sticks, yes? At least, I think I would have. When I found out I was pregnant with Kara, I was only a few weeks along and STILL got six positive readings. Why would this time be any different?

So. Have at it!

So, over the last couple of weeks, I've kind of been making a big deal over the possibility of being pregnant (again). At first it was fun, something to blog about for Parents that didn't make me out to be an angry dog hater, but I didn't really think it was true. Apparently nobody else did, either. I heard the DUH in comments from some of my readers. "You KNOW your cycle can take a while to get back on track, right?" they said. Which, hey, I'm with you. Surely FIVE negative pregnancy tests can't be wrong.

Except they totally can, because according to my blood test? I'm having a baby.

It's probably safe to assume Luke will never touch me again. No need to worry about number three.

Kara is unimpressed.

Silly Mommy. You've really gone and done it now.

It's going to be OK, right? I mean, I KNOW it's going to be OK, birthing two children fourteen months apart and having to buy a house and upgrade our car and save for doctor's visits and hospital bills and maternity leave (oh, my God, my boss is totally going to think I'm a nympho) and recover from two c-sections in two years and deal with morning sickness and round ligament pain and breastfeeding AGAIN. I know people do more with less. And really, I am so happy. So very, very happy.

But still.

Tell me it's going to be OK.

37 weeks and are we there yet?

The answer is yes, yes we are. Full-term, baby! And you can stick a fork in me, because physically, I am so Done.

What to say about 37 weeks? I'm still averaging a 15-pound weight gain, which is mind-boggling to me, seeing as my nightly routine now consists of devouring as many chocolate cookies as possible while working through my collection of Friends DVDs (we just finished season 5). Over the weekend, it was Oreos. Monday? Chips Ahoy. Also puzzling is the fact that I can eat cookies, ice cream, candy, and other junk foods without trouble, but Raisin Bran, sugary kids' cereals, and any sort of fruit juice throw my system completely out of whack after just a couple of bites/drinks. What's up with that?

Speaking of food, I am ravenously hungry, so we can probably expect that weight gain to skyrocket come this time next week. Not "A Tale of Two Lunches" hungry like from my second trimester with Nathan, but on a lunch run a couple of days ago I did order one and a half roast beef sandwiches (and a bag of chips) (and a cookie) from my new favorite deli without batting an eye. I presume it will only get worse from here.

Also, I'm still generating inappropriate comments from society at large on my admittedly ginormous size. The mechanic who worked on my Cobalt last week said I looked ready to burst, and the after-hours janitor at my work, whom I had previously never met, was compelled while emptying my recycling to say that I was ready to pop AND ask if I was having twins, all in the same breath. Now that's multitasking!

Things are continuing to move along on the nesting front. Luke and I finally rearranged the toys that were wreaking havoc on our living room thanks to the spontaneous purchase of a shelving bin organizer over the weekend. Bathrooms have been sanitized, cars cleaned, pantries tidied, ceiling fixtures repaired, and nurseries finished. And tonight, we finally began packing our hospital bags. So far, all I have in there are some nursing tanks and bras, one pair of clean underwear, footies, a partially filled toiletry bag, and a breastfeeding book. We'll throw in a couple of going-home outfits for Baby Brother (one newborn, one 0-3 months, as per usual), and a beautiful crocheted blanket gifted from a coworker, but other than that, I am blanking. I know I'll need something for myself to wear upon leaving the place, but I'm not sure what that will be yet. I'll grab a notepad from work to document the entire life-changing experience, and I'm also considering picking up some Mother's Milk Tea, to "promote healthy lactation." It's a given that Luke will pack our camera, and I'll have my smartphone for sharing the big news and providing random updates (and pictures, too, once I figure out how to do that part). So if you aren't following me on Twitter or Facebook, you totally should, because I will be able to post more easily to those accounts than I will on my blog while I'm away. (Though I may attempt to bring my work laptop as well.)

Seriously, though, the hospital bag. For me, less is more when it comes to packing, especially since the majority of the time I'm just hanging out in retro-looking gowns and mesh undies and all of my food cravings will be appropriately satisfied by 24-hour room service. But am I missing anything?

Lastly, in between all the activity, Luke and I are trying really hard to make our last couple of weeks as a family of four as fun as possible. Last week I took a day off work so we could all attend Indianapolis's annual strawberry festival, and the weekend before that we drove almost an hour to participate in the city's annual "Outrun the Sun" family walk. Tumbling class started two Mondays ago, which Kara and Nathan seem to enjoy, and on Tuesday delighted in the company of Luke's parents while they paid us one last visit before their upcoming trip to Wales. Other activities include zoo trips, picnics, and an ice cream expedition to Cold Stone Creamery.

They seem to be getting the fact that the baby's almost here. Nathan has been more cuddly with me than usual, throwing his arms around my neck for minute-long hugs when he might normally dismiss me in favor of some truck or book or puzzle, and Kara has been more talkative about the whole process, stating that the doctor will "open up my belly" to take the baby out. Now, I can't remember if I introduced that phrase to her months ago or if she came up with it on her own, but either way, she's allowing the process to become more real in her mind.

She's also asked to come to the hospital when it's time to get the baby out. The kids will actually be with my dear friend Molly during that time, but Luke and I will bring them up to visit as soon as I feel ready. I remember functioning in a zombie-like state almost the entire day of Nathan's c-section, a product of drugs and euphoria and exhaustion (I literally fell asleep in mid-sentence), and I don't want them to see me like that. But we are so excited for them to meet their little brother, so we'll definitely get them up there as soon as we can.

The Great Carseat Experiment: Updated

I turn 37 weeks tomorrow, which has catapulted me into full-on nesting mode, attempting to tie up every loose end in the history of the universe before Baby Brother's June 29 delivery date. Last week we focused on car maintenance and child seating; the Cobalt needed about $360 worth of repairs (mad props, savings) and over the weekend Luke cleaned out both vehicles and experimented with car seat arrangements for the first time since February. At that time, we made the decision to transition Kara into a high-back booster (sans five-point harness) to make room for the baby's infant bucket.

Come Saturday, though, we just couldn't do it.

Despite my initial confidence over this set-up, I became increasingly more anxious about it since reading about the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration's updated guidelines for child restraints back in March. While Kara does meet the height and weight requirements for a booster, she is still only three years old and isn't even close to outgrowing her current Britax Marathon. But keeping her in the Marathon would require us to buy a new car, and despite having an excellent reason to justify such a significant purchase (SAFETY), we simply cannot afford to do that. In my Google research I learned about a slimmer seat with a five-point harness by Sunshine Radian that looked like it would fit and also received favorable reviews on several third-party sites, but the seat isn't sold at any stores in our vicinity, so we'd have to order it online, and what if it didn't fit, and man, these things aren't cheap. We looked into other options for Kara, but all seat specs were similar to the Marathon's. We looked into other infant seats, but the Baby Trend Flex-Loc handed down to us from my friend Jenn has the smallest dimensions we've seen. Nathan's Britax Roundabout wasn't worth messing with because it's already plenty slim and fits his measurements perfectly.

We may as well give the booster a try, Luke and I would say in the end, each time the topic came up, and it came up many times. We'll stay off the highway while we test it out. Our longest drive in town is less than ten minutes. It will be okay.

But again: we just couldn't do it.

Luke spent all of Saturday morning once again trying to get the Marathon in safely and securely, but again it was all in vain. Despite your best efforts, you just can't force a square peg into a round hole. When that didn't work, we pulled out the booster.

It wasn't in the car five seconds before a horrible knot began forming in the pit of my stomach and I was sobbing to Luke that we had to order the Radian.

The Marathon brushed against the door of the Outlander, but just barely. The Radian would save us a precious inch and a half of seat space; we shouldn't need any more than that to make it fit, I said. This is our daughter's safety we're talking about. Please, please order the seat and save me from having a heart attack already.

Luke just nodded. He didn't need any convincing. He was nervous for Kara, too.

The Radian should arrive before the end of the week.

Buying the seat doesn't change the fact that we'll need to buy a new car once the baby outgrows the infant bucket, but we'll be in much better shape financially by then. I'm getting a raise at the end of the month that should absorb most if not all of the anticipated budget increases incurred by Life With Three Children. Tax refunds arrive in late winter, and our credit card debt will be gone by spring, at which point I should be due for another raise. We can plan to make room in our budget for a car payment by then.

In this scenario, I can tell myself It will be okay and actually believe it.

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Of all the worries I've had over my three and a half years as a parent, I don't think any of those experiences came close to the level of intensity of this one. Not even nursing. When choosing formula, I felt guilty over denying them the optimal choice in baby food, but at least we could afford to pay for it. Luke and I hate that we can't take on a car payment to get the best ride for our family; that guilt coupled with visions of our child's body being torn to shreds in an accident? If we had gone with the booster and something would have happened.... Well, there are no words.

Parenting is so much harder than you think it will be when you're first starting out. Luckily, there are also no words to describe its joy.

 

36 weeks and coffee talk

Thirty-six weeks. One more until full-term. Though, judging by the size of Baby Brother's man-cave, you might assume that either it's going to be any day now! or I'm already overdue. As does half of Indianapolis.

 

When I was at this same point with Kara (picture here) (stats here), I had gained 27 pounds; with Nathan, I was around 26 pounds, and by my 37-week appointment I had registered a nine-pound gain and was being monitored by my ob/gyn for HELLP syndrome. This morning, I only weighed 15 pounds heavier than the day I took my positive pregnancy test in October. I'm sure before the baby is born that there will be additional junk on my trunk, but right now I'm in awe. For a while I was crediting this to eating better and being on my feet more because of the kids, but now I'm starting to think the real reason was a terribly difficult first trimester where I lost a ton of weight and a conversative second trimester, food wise, spent gaining that weight back. Will this have an impact on Baby Brother's size? Is my habit of delivering large newborns a thing of the past? Only time will tell.

I've been told by complete strangers with total confidence that the baby is sitting high AND that he's clearly dropped, in the same day even, so, opinions and @$$holes and all that, but I'm inclined to agree with the latter. I'm feeling increased pressure in my pelvis lately; that combined with frequent (yet random) contractions have me shuffling around at a snail's pace. Meanwhile, Baby Brother's movements are more violent than ever; sometimes it's cute, and his level of activity does keep me from worrying about anything being wrong with him, but mostly it's uncomfortable, even downright painful, and overall these last few weeks of pregnancy have reduced me to a tired, weepy, anxious mess. Luke is a saint for putting up with me, because in addition to voicing my various aches and pains, I also can't shut up about all the things we still need to do, even though it's clear that he will be the one doing most of them, but he takes everything in stride and does his best to accommodate my wishes. It's almost like he's done this before!

Kara and Nathan are starting to grasp that Baby Brother's arrival is near as we talk more about what things will be like once he comes home. On my last entry, Molly asked a great question about how we plan to explain my c-section, but because they are still so little, and because because Kara is easily frightened these days by what she doesn't understand, Luke and I are keeping things simple. So far, our talk track has been that Daddy will take Mommy to the hospital so the doctor can take the baby out of my belly, and that satisfies them just fine. At this point, we don't feel the need to mention the surgical aspect of it; me just having the baby is enough reason for them to be gentle around my abdominal area for a few weeks. We can provide more information as they get older and/or ask more questions.

Right now, though, Kara seems more preoccupied with when the baby is coming out. On Saturday, I ran some errands, and the minute I returned, she asked if the baby was still in my belly. Monday, I went to the dentist to repair a cracked tooth, and when I got home, same thing. It's fascinating to watch your children's minds at work as they attempt to make sense of the world around them.

Truly, though, I love answering their questions, even when those questions lead me down roads untraveled. Like on Monday, when Kara was playing with our toy kitchen and she talked about coffee coming out of her breasts. (!!!) I think I know what happened; at dinner we were talking about the different ways that babies eat, and how in the beginning Baby Brother won't need solid food, just special baby milk, and he'll get that milk by drinking it from Mommy's breasts or by Mommy and Daddy getting it from the store. Maybe she thought other kinds of drinks were also accessible through Thelma and Louise? I couldn't tell. In any event, it was a conversation for the baby books, that's for sure - that, and her referring to nipples as "bristles." Be still, my heart.

My own Doogie Howser, M.D.

In my 31 years of life, I've completed almost three pregnancies, but it is yesterday's brief conversation with a grade-schooler that wins the award, hands down, for "Most Shocking Gestating Dialogue."

SCENE: Retail outlet store, where Luke and I were stocking up on summer clothes and baby onesies (our first time buying for three children at once, OMG). Kara and Nathan were occupying themselves by an activity table filled with toys, where a few other kids were also hanging out. Several of them were from the same family, including a little boy who was maybe five or six years old - seven, tops - and who I was already having issues with mainly but not completely because he kept grabbing things out of Nathan's hand.

BOY: (eyes me up and down) You're going to have a baby.

FREMA: That's right.

BOY: (To Kara) Your mom's going to have a baby.

KARA: (Enthusiastically, because she loves interacting with other kids) Yes!

BOY: (Back to me, matter-of-factly) They're going to cut you open!

FREMA: (In her brain) ...

FREMA: (Actual words) They don't have to.*

FREMA: (In her brain, a second time) ...

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Twenty-four hours later, and I'm still not sure what to make of this. I wasn't wearing my "C-sectioners Unite!" sandwich board, and layers of clothing combined with an impressive amount of belly flab ensured that my scar wasn't visible to the general public, so unless he had x-ray vision or possessed a Sixth Sense type of power that alerts him when a surgical patient is near, I can only assume that BOY's mother had gone under the knife herself and shared that tidbit with her son. Which, okay; I personally don't think I'd choose to give that young a child that much information, but then again, my oldest still wears a pull-up at night, so who knows? Really, I was most surprised that a) he apparently believes all babies are delivered this way and b) he chose to talk about it in such a manner with A COMPLETE STRANGER.

For those to whom this applies: What's the weirdest thing a child has said to you about your pregnancy?

* Actually, my doctor and I are in agreement that they pretty much DO have to cut me open, but hell no was I going to support that kid's logic. Seriously, I've seen infants share toys better.

34 weeheeheeheeks

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to include all those he he hees in the title, except that I am quite ready to be done with this gestating business, thank you very much, so if you read it in a whiny, slightly labored tone of voice, you'll have a pretty good grasp of where I am emotionally. You are welcome.

 

I don't have any shots of me at this point with Nathan, but I do with Kara. Click here to check them out.

(Sidenote: I will have you know that the maternity coat pictured in that entry has more than paid for itself. I've used it twice, Samantha's used it once, and I even lent it to a sister of my coworker's. Money well spent, for sure.)

Current stats: To date, I have put on approximately 15 pounds, making Baby Brother's the slowest weight gain of all three pregnancies. I credit some of this to doing a slightly better job of managing what I'm eating - less red meat, more salads, fruits, and vegetables (though my sugar intake is atrocious) - and some of this to being on my feet more as a mom to two little kids (though Luke continues to be wonderful by handling the laundry, cooking, and majority of post-dinner clean-up). When all is said and done, I doubt I'll hit 30 pounds by the time the baby is born. You wouldn't know it, though, because I feel so much heavier this time around, and much more aware of my size. It truly does feel like this child could fall out of me at any given moment. Others must agree: I can't tell you how many times people have widened their eyes or covered their mouths in shock after I tell them when I'm due.

"Do you really think you'll go that long?" (This is where I pull out my mom card and gleefully reply that, as a matter of fact, I do think I'll go that long, because I've done this twice before and this is just the way I carry.)

"But you're carrying so low!"

"Your feet and your shoulders look okay, no swelling." (Thank you, doctor, for your thorough exam and expert wisdom.)

"You look like you're going to have that baby any day!"

"We'll need to get you something for your desk, huh?" (You know - because of my gargantuan belly.)

"Will your belly go back to normal?" (Okay, that one was from Kara and therefore not offensive at all, but I couldn't resist.)

"Honey, you look miserable."

That last one was said to me by a complete stranger last weekend while waiting for a quarter pound of roast beef at the deli. All I could do was smile thinly and say, "I'm not," before turning away. I don't care if you have lady parts or if you've delivered children, if that's the way you choose to start a conversation, we are not in this together.

See? Not miserable at all!

I'm operating on some level of fatigue almost all the time. Baby Brother is super active almost all the time. And now that we're in the final stretch, I'm starting to panic over all of our to-dos almost all the time. 

The cars need to be cleaned out. The infant base needs to be installed. The paint still needs touching up. Nathan's baby book still isn't done. We haven't cleared out kitchen space for baby bottles. The baby gear needs a steam clean.

Oh. And we need a name.

The front-runner we've been carrying around all this time, a name I love and would still be happy to use in the first name slot, will likely be delegated to middle name status to fit into our new naming strategy.

I go back and forth on nursing almost every day - sometimes eager to give it another go, other times determined to crack open the formula on Day One. And almost every time, I reject any concrete decision I've reached and instead encourage myself to adopt a "Just For Today" type attitude and not look any further than that. It's been working really well so far! (end sarcasm)

I have also started getting more anxious about handling those initial weeks and months of babyhood, as crystal-clear details of Nathan's newborn period have been coming back to me with a vengeance. Nodding off during a three a.m. feeding when the sky is dark and everyone else is asleep. Bouncing him to sleep an hour later, eyes barely open, with one hand in a bag of Donettes because eating something is the only thing keeping me from passing out, feeling utterly alone. Struggling to manage the stairs after my c-section. Crying over clothes that still didn't fit.

I'm sure this is true for most women, but I am completely out of my element in the newborn period.

(Edited to add: It wasn't until reading Eva's comment below that I realized I completely glazed over Kara's period. Aside from nursing difficulties, she was actually a dream baby - sleeping through the night at 6 weeks, content so long as she was snuggled, etc. But still, she was my first baby, and just learning how to be a mom was overwhelming enough. So, while I am open to having an easier experience this time, I'm trying to be realistic and just accept that I don't handle infancy well.)

Before I get too panicked, though, I try to remember the good things. Snuggling on the couch. The grasp of a baby hand around your finger. Watching siblings fall in love. The knowledge that each day brings you one step away from the most difficult period of that first year and one step closer to a wonderfully new version of normal.

It has also helped to think of upcoming seasonal milestones and benchmarking where we should be at that point. This has been particularly encouraging to do with a summer baby. For example:

• By Halloween, the baby will be four months old and sleeping in longer patches at night, if not all the way through. I will definitely have adjusted to being back at work by then. And won't it be fun for the five of us to go trick-or-treating together?
• By Thanksgiving, the baby will be almost five months old. Nathan did so well in the baby carrier at that age, so we should be out and about as much as we want. (Not that I plan to wait that long to use it, of course.) The fall weather will be perfect for hikes at the park. Also, I should be in much better shape physically than I've ever been at this point, so long as I'm consistent with running and my Jillian Michaels videos. (I'm already physched to try her newest one, Ripped in 30. Yes, please!)
• By Christmas, the baby will be six months old, experimenting with solids and crawling. What a fun December it will be.
• By Luke's and my sixth wedding anniversary next May, the baby will be almost a year old and most likely walking. Walking! Surely all three kids should be easy enough for someone else to care for them overnight, so Mommy and Daddy can sneak in a getaway.
• Speaking of May, the Mini is in May. I so want to run the Mini next year! Training would be another way to keep my fitness level on track.
• By next June, the baby will be one year and on the way to ditching bottles, formula (if we choose to go that route), and purees. We should also be free of our credit card debt by then. The perfect ingredients for an active, amazing summer.

Each baby is different, so I of course can't bank on all those milestones coming to fruition, but generally speaking, these are the stages where I remember things becoming significantly easier to manage with both Kara and Nathan, so I'm allowing myself to be hopeful. Plus, even if it doesn't, it's really the overall message I'm clinging to: that every day does get easier. I know this from personal experience now. It really does get easier.

The Toddler Days of Summer

The last day of Kara's parents' day out program was last Friday, and since families were invited, I took the day off work to attend the annual end-of-year carnival with Luke and the kids. There were game stations and dollar-store prizes, a bounce house that neither child took to very well, a fire engine tour they both adored, and a creepy old-man magician that had Luke and I rolling our eyes every five minutes. Overall, though, it was a neat way to pass the time.

 

This picture has nothing to do with the carnival, but man, is my family gorgeous or what?

The closer we get to bringing this baby home (five weeks from tomorrow, not that anyone's counting), sometimes it's hard to remember that the two kids we have now actually started out as newborns. Babies are lovely for sniffing and snuggling, but the older Kara and Nathan get, the more fun we all have together -- even planning for the future has become more interesting, as we imagine what lies ahead for our party of five.

Precisely because they aren't babies anymore, and also because one of my biggest stressors is making sure the kids have a fun summer despite the initial turmoil that is sure to result from welcoming a new baby, Luke and I are working hard with the money we have at our disposal (thank you, savings) to sign them up for a couple of things that force us to get them out of the house. They'll both take a nine-week tumbling class at our town's rec center starting in two weeks, and Kara is signed up for a week-long nature camp sponsored by a local park for late July. We also learned of a week-long vacation Bible study class offered through the same church that runs our parents' day out program, for the low, low price of FIVE DOLLARS, so we'll register Kara for that as well. I wish there was more for Nathan to do, but those last two require the kids to be fully potty-trained, so he'll just have to wait until next year. Really, though, just getting him in the tumbling class is a big deal, since he's never done anything like that before. It should be a nice transition into his starting "school" in the fall.

We researched a number of activities in the Indy metro area for ideas of things to do, but the nearest YMCA doesn't have anything for the toddler age range, and the closest Gymboree is 45 minutes away. Also, frankly, our bank account can't handle many more unplanned expenses without putting our maternity leave savings at risk. Still, though, I'm excited about what we do have planned, and we recently renewed our zoo membership, and we're already frequent visitors of our local library, and there are several neighborhood playgrounds in our zip code, which means there are plenty of opportunities for additional fun. Once Baby Brother is here and we know he's healthy, Luke and I have already talked about using more of our savings to buy additional memberships to the city's Children's Museum and the rec center where tumbling is being held, as it has fantastic indoor and outdoor swimming facilities AND a gym AND exercise classes AND is within walking distance from our house. There's even been talk of going to the beach again, like we did last year.

I've been trying not to get so hung up on our summer plans, but it's hard. There were actually a couple more classes at the rec center that we could've enrolled the kids into (dance and music), and I would have done it without a second thought until Luke wisely talked me down, reminding me about the zoo and the library and the parks and also of our commitment to keeping them active even while I'm recovering from my (last!!!) c-section. That's been the kicker for me, I think: knowing it will take me the majority of the first six weeks to feel anything like myself again and how unavailable I will be during that time to do things like hike, swim, or even take long walks on the trail.

Fortunately, Luke and I have already talked at length about this, and we agree that it will be important for him to be out and about with them just like he is when I'm at work so that I recuperate from surgery without feeling guilty. After that, though, I hope to be more on my feet so that we can make the best of the second six weeks we have left. This summer will definitely have its challenges, but I still want to make it the best one we've had yet.

What are you doing this summer?

33 weeks

I heard Janet Jackson's "Miss You Much" on the way to Subway today, and it reminded me of all things I miss about my pre-pregnancy life. At 33 weeks, the list includes:

• The shape of my face (aka non-puffy)
• Eating any type of spaghetti sauce I want without fear of indigestion
• Being able to get in and out of bed without grunting in pain
• Sleeping without a pillow cushioned against my belly
• Walking in heels without resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa (Don't worry, I switched to flats months ago)
• Running
• Sitting the children on my lap instead of barely fitting them onto my knee
• Wearing pants with buttons instead of elastic waistbands
• Not worrying that my shirt is going to creep up and expose what must be the largest uterus on Planet Earth
• Overall energy level, zest for life

And... the photographic evidence:

 

This was taken last week; originally I intended to post a more current photo with this entry, but after reviewing the results of this morning's shoot I found that the lighting on my face is all wrong and part of my hair is sticking up and really, it would be better for everyone to gaze upon a version of my visage from happier days.

Fatigue continues to plague me constantly, whether I get eight hours of sleep or five. There is occasional swelling in my feet after a long day, but it's easily cured by putting them up the minute I get home. Two things that did worry me this past weekend were intermittent pains in my stomach and some light vomiting after taking my vitamin cocktail, so I called my OB/GYN's office on Monday and was seen that day to check my blood pressure, urine levels, and the baby's heartbeat. Luckily, everything is looking good; as for the vomiting, my doctor and I think it was the result of switching from the premium-grade vitamin samples I was using back to the generic ones I had been taking all along. They didn't make me throw up before, but that was before I was prescribed the iron supplement. I now have almost a month's worth of samples in my possession, which should see me through almost to the end of the pregnancy, and by that point, I may just pay the piper to avoid making out with the porcelain throne again.

Quite a lot has happened since the last time we pow-wowed, the biggest being Luke's follow-through with the snip at the end of April (the timing with the royal wedding was purely coincidental, I swear). He is just now beginning to feel like himself again, so I feel okay to talk about it.

The planner in me is so relieved to have this taken care of and cross such a huge thing off our post-partum to-do list, and for the first time in my life, I am absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent certain that I do not want to be pregnant ever again. Still, though, on the morning of, there was a huge rock in my stomach that stayed with me for the first half of the day, wondering if we were doing the right thing. Was I being selfish asking Luke to do this when I could just as easily get on the pill, despite my misgivings? Were we being fiscally irresponsible by spending precious hospital dollars to have this done, knowing that my insurance deductible would be met after Baby Brother's arrival and we could score a tubal for free? Was I really comfortable with the idea of the two of us never making a baby together again?

I always knew I would be sad when the time came to do something permanent with our reproductive parts; I just didn't know how sad.

Luke and I talked it out, and while we were both nervous, we also knew logically it was the best long-term choice for our family, and one we both could handle without regret. And so it was done, and now I have come full circle, because seriously. Giving birth is a miracle, and I will always be grateful for being a part of it, but I NEVER WANT TO BE PREGNANT AGAIN. Thanks, honey, for taking one for the team.

The urologist did ask Luke if we wanted to postpone the procedure until after Baby Brother was born, "just in case," but as devastated as we'd be over anything happening to this little guy, it wouldn't change the fact that we are just not up for another pregnancy.

Morbid "what-if" conversations with your spouse: yet another perk of the whole marriage and family planning package!

The second big thing is that we finally made a dent in Baby Brother's bedroom. We stuck with our decision to keep the paint and wall art as is, but we did rearrange the furniture so that it actually feels like it was set up for a brand new person. It's not picture-ready yet, as there is a pile of laundry that appears to be mating with itself next to the crib, but it finally feels like progress is being made.

 

The kids are doing great. Kara's last official day of "school" was last week, but this week they're throwing a last-hurrah carnival for all the kids and their families, so I will be taking the day off work so the four of us can attend together. One of the best decisions we made was to send Kara to this program, even if we could only swing one day a week; she has so enjoyed the Fridays where she gets to play with her friends and interact with her teachers and make "heart projects" (her original pronounciation of "art projects") to bring home.

I wish our finances and our family situation allowed us to send her to the church's preschool program in the fall, because Luke and I both know she would thrive in one, but with a tight budget and a newborn on the way, it just isn't feasible for us this year. But she's only three, and she will still have her one day a week, as will Nathan, and we can pay for those things without losing sleep, so it will have to be enough for now.

 

Inspired by Emily's recent post on summer strategizing, I fully intended to talk about Kara and Nathan's plans here, but this entry is already long enough, and with my sporadic posting schedule, it's probably best that I not place all of my blogging eggs into this one basket - er, post. Until next time, then!

The big 3-0 and musings on the working mother balance

Folks, we have officially entered single-digit territory - no more than nine weeks until we bring Baby Brother home. My word.

 

I will shoot daggers at anyone who might dare utter this to me, but at 30 weeks, even I have to admit that I'm looking large and in charge (and also in need of a haircut; THAT I hope to remedy next week). Sitting both children on my lap for storytime is damn near impossible, and several items of maternity clothing are no longer fit for public display, especially button-up shirts, which mistakenly give the impression that this child is going to burst through my uterus Incredible Hulk style. Thankfully, I have some things to tide me over courtesy of my book club friends until my sister delivers an entire bin of looser-fitting summer clothes late next month, because the goal is still to spend as little money in this area as possible. (To Katy: I get compliments on this top everytime I wear it, and your patterned black skirt, too.)

Despite the iron supplement I'm taking to address my anemia, I wear out so easily these days, and if there is ever an opportunity to nap on the weekends, I jump on it immediately. Unfortunately, now that we're inching into the final weeks, those opportunities are few and far between. Last weekend was all about The Great Bedroom Merge, and the weekend before that I FINALLY started on Nathan's baby book. Our current goals are to focus on preparing Baby Brother's room and addressing minor touch-ups and eyesores throughout the rest of the house. I've also been busy at work, training my coworkers to handle various projects and to-dos while I'm on maternity leave for 12 weeks.

The closer we get to the big day, the more apprehensive I feel about making it through those early months with a new baby. As a mother of toddlers, I have no doubts about their attachment to me or their understanding of my love for them. This knowledge has allowed me to grant myself permission to strike a manageable balance between my roles as mother, wife, working professional, and individual who continues to exist alongside (and sometimes independently of) all of those identities. In my day-to-day, that balance looks something like this:

I do not bring work home. I will arrive at the office early, or I will stay late, but aside from regularly checking e-mail on my smartphone, work stuff stays at work. It is much easier to stay put until the job is done than it is to stop my train of thought, pack up my laptop, get through dinner, clean-up, and bedtime, and THEN try to pick up where I left off. Not only am I easily distracted at home and get little accomplished whether the kids are awake or not, I also feel cheated out of quality time with Luke. So if coming home late for dinner once in a while helps me to be a more attentive wife (and really, a better employee), than that is what I will do.

Dinner clean-up is done after dinner, not after bedtime. I fought this for such a long time in the beginning, because I felt like those precious minutes before the bedtime routine begins should be spent on the living room floor playing with my kids, not at the kitchen sink washing dishes. So I used to let everything sit until after they were asleep; however, Kara and Nathan were not made from the early-to-bed cloth, so often I wouldn't be arriving downstairs until well after nine o'clock, which meant it could get as late as ten before my "real" evening officially began. This made for a crabby Frema and, once again, a neglected husband, who by this point was in dire need of adult interaction. Finally, I realized that it wasn't the end of the world to listen to the kids laugh and rough around with their father while I puttered around in the kitchen. There are some exceptions to this; on those days where I do come home late, for example, Luke is usually quick to shoo me into the living room while he takes on kitchen detail, and lately he's been making things even easier by wiping out the pre-dinner dishes before he starts cooking. Especially because of this last thing, I am often able to do both.

(Have I told you lately how wonderful my husband is? Because truly, he is so wonderful.)

I do not miss bedtime. This isn't an absolute, of course; sometimes there are evening work functions (though none during this pregnancy so far), Luke and I have splurged on date nights if we are in the vicinity of grandparents or can afford to hire our sitter, and for a few months in the fall I attended a monthly book club gathering on the other side of the city, but overall my general rule is to be present for Kara and Nathan's bedtime. Sometimes it's frustrating if the kids are acting up, and sometimes it's inconvenient, like last summer when I was constantly late for my weekly run with Jenn, but overall it's worth it to consistently be there for bathtime, lights out, and everything in between. I revel in holding them close and sniffing their freshly shampooed heads while reading them stories. It means a lot to me to be able to kiss their cheeks and tuck them in. So I make it a priority.

I do not volunteer. This one I'm not proud of, and it's another reality I fought for a long time, but in the end, it is what it is. I was a member of my college's alumni association for about five years, and I loved doing it, but the distance between Indianapolis and Rensselaer made traveling for quarterly meetings and participating in campus events highly undesirable, especially when I already spend enough time away from home. So in 2009, I sadly turned in my resignation. My employer is great about allowing time off during the work week to participate in volunteer activities, and on and off for a couple of years I was involved in a grade-school reading program for an hour a week, but once I had kids, even that one hour away from my desk was enough to throw off my entire day, so at the end of the 2010 school year, I told the program director that I wouldn't be signing up again. Last fall, my desire to reach beyond myself grew again, and I looked into donating my time at a local women's and children's shelter, possibly on the weekends. Then I got pregnant again, and then I got sick, and now the recommendation letters I solicited are collecting dust in my mail basket, and I'm at the point where I have to admit that now is not the time to throw myself into extracurricular activities that take me away from my family, no matter how worthy the cause. That said, Luke and I recently began going to church again, a church right here in town, and we sometimes talk about looking into their soup kitchen or Bible study classes or something to that effect. So it's not like I'm swearing off do-gooding or charitable works completely, but I have realized my limits, and I have to respect them.

All of that to say - almost three and a half years into this parenthood thing, and I have finally figured out what works for me and my family. And we're about to turn all of that on its head.

Because for me, as a working mother, when I have a baby and then reach the point where I have to go back to work, I'm NOT as secure in our attachment like I am when they're older, so everything feels like it's up for grabs. You can talk to a toddler about things like having to miss dinner and they understand. That is not the case with a baby. So my big-picture focus changes from maintaining balance to simply being there as much as I can.

What this translates into on a micro level: It's hard enough being away for an average work day when they're so little that the last thing I want to do is sit at my desk even one minute after five, even if the alternative is nodding off at my laptop at ten. And when I'm dividing my attention among three children, why would I concern myself with dishes when I could be doling out hugs and kisses? On top of all that, Luke and I have not wavered on our plans to put the house on the market next year, and whether it takes a month or a year to sell, preparing for the next stage of our lives will require me to start using and building on my professional network, and part of that will entail opening myself up to extracurricular programs and events, whether it's the right time or not.

I think about all of this, toss in a few random worries about nursing (yes, I have decided to try again), and my brain threatens to explode.

Then I remind myself to breathe and not get so caught up in the future. I remember that fortunately, another reality is that Luke and I are not brand spanking new parents anymore, and we HAVE figured out a system that works for us; and while there will be an initial period of deviation from that, eventually the dust will settle, and we'll embrace a familiar version of normal once again, even if it's not identical to what we had before. Until then, I will have to grant myself permission to take it one day at a time.

So, to sum up: I am 30 weeks pregnant. I am a tad worried about managing life with a third baby. But I'm also more seasoned now than I was with the first two. Plus, my husband rocks. It will be okay.

I'm a big kid now (times two)

This past weekend, Luke and I took the first tangible step in preparing our house for a new baby by moving Kara and Nathan into the same bedroom. The Big Kids Bedroom. A bedroom that now contains a twin bed, a toddler bed, and two children under the age of four.

 

A view of Nathan's big boy bed. You'll notice we nixed the idea of themed wall art and instead went with that famous line known as "Cheap Pictures We Liked From Target."

We've been talking about this merge ever since we found out about Baby Brother, and we've been discussing it with the kids for almost as long, but it wasn't until last week when I was reading stories to Nathan in his glider that it hit me: Oh my gosh, my baby is losing his room. And his crib, and his dresser, and all those other baby things that we picked out just for him.

I thought about how he might not be ready, and how, as one of two boys, he may never have his own room again, and how adorable, kissably soft, and baby-like his cheeks are, even though his favorite statement of late is "No, I want to do it by myself," and I ended up crying myself to sleep. Oh, the tangled emotions involved in making room for another child, and forcing watching the children you already have grow up in the process.

But JC Penney wasn't aware of my misgivings, so Kara's twin bed arrived on Saturday as planned, and Luke and I spent that afternoon washing bedding, rearranging furniture, and transferring Nathan's things into Kara's closet and dresser. Between the two of them, Nathan actually had the largest set of drawers, but I wanted to keep all the matching furniture together, partly for the baby and partly for (eventual) showing purposes; in the end, we made it work by designating the closet for all shirts and pants and the dresser for socks, underclothes, and pajamas.

 

A close-up of Nathan's big boy bed, which looks perfect against the yellow paint, in my frugal lazy humble opinion.

Fortunately, ironing out the logistics of The Great Bedroom Merge turned out to be a lot of fun; while I'm no Martha Stewart when it comes to decorating, I rise to the tasks of organizing, removing extraneous clutter, and finding a proper place for belongings that make the cut. It also helped that Nathan LOVED the idea of sleeping in the toddler bed; pair that with his fondness for his quilt from godmother Auntie Molly, and you get a charged-up little boy who was more than ready to roll around in the covers and play with his animals the minute his set-up was complete. The car pillow was a new purchse and proved to be a hit with both kids. 

 

A view of Kara's newest big girl bed. Is it wrong to kind of want it for myself?

Because it took all day to get things settled, both kids missed their naps (not that Kara takes them very often, anyway), so it was a challenge to get them settled down come bedtime. They didn't want to read stories in the rocking chair as is our usual way, opting instead to camp out in their respective beds, and their attention span was extremely short; plus, Nathan typically goes down about 30 minutes before Kara, and Kara doesn't fall asleep as quickly as he does, so we weren't sure how difficult it would be for each of them to fall asleep in the presence of the other. The cherry on top was following through with our decision to attempt to wean Nathan from his pacifier; I was so sure he would call us on this and put up a fight. 

At 8:06, we showered them with kisses, left the room, and braced ourselves for a long night ahead.

By 9:02, they were out like a light, with Nathan pacifier free.

That is not to imply the fifty-six minutes in between were perfect -- several times they tumbled out of bed, and Nathan did mention his pacifier once while being tucked in. But overall our son took his new role as a big boy very seriously, and big boys stay in their beds, so he did, and pacifiers are meant for babies, so subconsiously I think he deemed it inappropriate to push the issue. Also, his stay-put example definitely inspired Kara to follow suit, as she's never had any problems abandoning her big girl status to visit Mommy and Daddy more frequently than TV shows air commercials. She actually fell asleep earlier with Nathan across the room than she typically does on her own. SCORE AND SCORE.

Luke and I were not as enthused when Kara jumped into our bed at five o'clock the next morning and Nathan sobbed for his pacifier at six (insert stab to the heart here).

We held firm on the latter, though, and Luke eventually tried to appease Nathan by bringing him into bed with us, but four people + a queen-sized mattress does not = restful sleep for anyone. It was a long Easter, let me tell you. And Nathan hasn't fully processed the permanence of the arrangement yet, because occasionally he still asks to read stories in "his room." But at two and a half nights in, we have a consistent pattern of both children falling asleep before 9:30, which has NOT been our experience in the past, so at this point I am inclined to declare the Great Merge a smashing success.

 

Here is our boy, all tucked in and ready for Dreamland. He was delighted with his big boy pillows and adamant about laying his head on the stack of them, which I think is one of the reasons it took him so long to fall asleep that first night. It was clear he was uncomfortable having his head elevated so high. "You don't have to use both of them if you don't want to - you can cuddle the car pillow like a stuffed animal or even move it to the other side of the bed. Whatever you want," I told him, but he wouldn't hear of it.

He must have considered the suggestion on some level, though, because eventually we found him like this:

 

Luke wanted a better-looking photo than that for our albums, though, so he took some artistic liberties to achieve this:

 

How is he not on the cover of a Golden Book? Those cheeks!

Meanwhile, Kara adjusted to her own upgrade pretty well and was especially taken with her new quilt. This shot is only slightly staged:

 

It took a lot of self-restraint not to crawl in there with her, for a mother-daughter cuddle.

At this point last week, I was so sad about Nathan shedding another layer of his babyhood, but now I am so happy for him, and proud that he was able to handle these big, important steps so easily. My favorite part? I can give those baby-toddler cheeks another kiss good-night once he's fast asleep, just like I do with Kara, now that we're no longer separated by crib slats.

 

We are getting so close to Baby Day, and there is still so much to do, but this merge? It was a good thing, and a step in the right direction.

26-27 weeks, big boy beds, and number three's ETA

Howdy, third trimester! Allow me to welcome you with a washed-out, shiny, deer-in-headlights expression:

 

I think I've grown since last week - check out the below picture and judge for yourself.

 

Here I am at 26 weeks and some change with Kara, who wanted to join in on the photo-snapping fun, and here is photographic evidence of being pregnant with both Kara and Nathan at this same point. Man, is my body predictable when it comes to gestation.

Things are going fine, incubator-wise. I continue to have an appetite that cannot be satisfied; I've only gained about eight new pounds with this pregnancy so far, but half of that was put on in the last two weeks. My diastasis recti is easing up, thankfully, but it's being replaced with an easily-triggered fatigue that I assume is the result of hauling around another ginormous baby, if Baby Brother 2.0 stays the path carved out by his older siblings; at 27 weeks, the boy is already measuring at 28 centimeters, according to my OB/GYN. My latest appointment was three days ago, which involved throwing back a fruit-punch-flavored glucose drink for my gestational diabetes test. The results of the bloodwork showed that my sugar levels are fine but that I'm slightly anemic (which would also account for some of that fatigue). This same thing happened with Kara, so I will just take my prescribed iron supplement and carry on as normal.

The most exciting thing about my visit was getting my c-section on the books at the hospital - Wednesday, June 29, 9:30 a.m. Mark your calendars!

Finally, I have now reached the point where I need to visit my OB every two weeks. Things are really starting to move along - and not just with the child occupying my uterus. Kara and Nathan are in for some changes soon, too.

 

Kara spreading her own PB&J. In case that wasn't supremely obvious already.

Grandma and Grandpa Dunscombe were in town this week to help us out with some spring-cleaning type projects and also to order parts for Kara's "new big girl bed" - also known as The Extra Bed We Desperately Need To Free Up The Crib For The Baby. Kara will occupy the new twin (to arrive in about two weeks), Nathan will inherit Kara's toddler bed, and the baby will get all of the furniture in Nathan's room. Luke and I have been talking to the kids ad nauseum over the past month about how they'll be sharing a room soon and the big kids will all be together and Won't that be so much fun? Kara's taking it all in stride, but Nathan hasn't readily embraced the concept yet.

Monday night while getting ready for bed, after having talked about the move for the eighty-seven-millionth time:

Frema: Hey Nathan, are you a baby?

Nathan: (smiles) No.

Frema: That's right, you're a big boy. And do big boys sleep in cribs?

Nathan: No. No, they don't!

Frema: That's right, they sleep in big boy beds! So pretty soon, you're going to sleep in a big boy bed! And you can bring all your blankets and all your stuffed animals - the only thing that's changing is that you'll be in a big boy bed!

Nathan: (pauses, then reaches out to touch his crib) I want to sleep in this big bed.

Frema: No, honey, that bed isn't for big boys, it's for babies.

Nathan: I like this bed.

And to think we want to take away his beloved pacifier at the same time! (Because only babies who sleep in cribs use pacifiers! Not big boys!) We're prepared to be flexible, but still, this transition should be super-duper fun.

Money-wise, things are going well. After a grueling six-week wait, we finally received our federal tax return on April Fool's Day, which allowed us to cut our credit card debt almost in half and set aside the out-of-pocket cash we'll need during my maternity leave. We continue to funnel money into savings and cut corners in our budget to make all of this happen, and it feels like it's finally paying off. We sailed through all the major bills of spring - car insurance premiums, school registration, vehicle registration renewals - without using our Visa; in fact, we haven't touched it at all this year, AND we've been making steady progress in lowering our balance even before receiving our tax check. We buckled down when it counted the most, and we are seeing the rewards, and it feels awesome.

To celebrate our financial success, we drove 40 minutes to our local creamery and blew nine dollars on organic ice cream. Hey, all work and no play, right?

 

I'm not sure what the kids are staring at. Certainly not the camera.

After spending so much of the winter cooped up indoors, it felt great to venture beyond our zip code and blow a few bucks on something as indulgent as dessert. We weren't there that long, but Luke and I had such a good time, and the kids, too.

 

Of course, can you have a bad time when ice cream's involved?

 

The cows were in the barn and mooing something fierce when we arrived, so Kara and Nathan wouldn't venture much farther than the doorway.

And...that is my blog update! I hope you all are just swell.

25 weeks

On Tuesday, I turned 25 weeks. Just two more until the third trimester!

 

(For comparison purposes, here's a link to a blog entry showing me at the same point with Kara.)

As I rapidly approach these last few months of pregnancy, I am overcome with the urge to kick it up a notch when it comes to preparing for Baby Brother's arrival, especially since all we've done so far is accept hand-me-downs from generous family and friends. Now it's time for tangible deliverables. I've decided that I want to redo the kids' bedrooms before Easter, get Luke's urologist consult on the calendar, and buy a frickin' onesie, already. Our period of inaction is over. Bring on the nesting!

Speaking of bedrooms, a few decisions have been made in regards to the whole bedroom-redecorating project I mentioned last month, the biggest one being to forgo the painting step altogether. We have been so good at saving our money that at first I thought it would be worth the splurge, but as I evaluate what we have left to save for hospital bills and maternity leave, I'm sadly reminded that every penny still counts. Plus, Kara and Nathan have been really into Winnie-the-Pooh lately, and that theme would totally mesh with a yellow bedroom without completely reeking of girl, so there you go. We'll still budget for some wall hangings and possibly new shelving, but overall those costs will be minimal. As for the baby, well, he certainly won't notice that he's inheriting a completely recycled nursery set-up, so we aren't buying anything new for his room at all. At first I felt guilty about this, until I remembered that my siblings and I never even had our own rooms growing up, let alone a custom nursey, and somehow we all turned out just fine. Also, talk about a middle-class problem if I ever heard one. Perspective, yes?

On the baby names front, while I am still completely satisfied with our front-runner, Luke is feeling a little meh about it these days, so we've been combing through our old copy of The Baby Name Wizard for additional inspiration, just in case. At first I was sad about possibly starting from scratch again, but then I remembered that I initially felt the same way about Kara's name while I was pregnant with her, even though I'm the one who suggested it in the first place. Of course, on the day she was born, it turned out to be the perfect fit, and to this day I'm still over the moon about it, so hopefully it will play out the same way for Luke, too.

As for me? Tired is the name of my game. Last weekend I drove up to Katy's neck of the woods with the kids for a playdate (no locking anyone in the car this time, thank goodness), and two hours of toddler-friendly activity wiped me out for the rest of the afternoon. I am still feeling my size but still do not appreciate having it pointed out to me by others, like on Monday when someone I know through work (who l like very much, by the way) told me that I'm "pooching out" with a wild-eyed stare WHILE ALSO accosting me with an unsolicted belly rub. I saw her again this morning, and she greeted me with a "I swear you've gotten bigger since the last time I saw you! You just keep on growing!" Happy day to you, too!

This pregnancy is progressing so quickly - in a couple of weeks I'll take my gestational diabetes test, can you believe it? - and yet I constantly find myself willing the time to pass even faster. I think about materntiy leave a lot, and spending the summer at home with Luke and our brood of three, and hitting the trail again, and beginning our search for a real estate agent to sell our house, and I'm impatient. On the other hand, I know that this time right now is precious, and I want to soak up every inch of my husband and kids and give them as much attention as I can. I want us to go to the zoo, swing at the park, walk on the trail, and in general just enjoy each other's company right up until the moment our lives are turned upside down with our newest family member. After all, it's the end of an era!

23 weeks

On Tuesday I hit the 23-week mark. My, but time flies when you have a mini-gymnast pummeling you from the inside! (That's what she said! - BA DUM BUM HA HA I BEAT YOU TO IT)

For comparison purposes, here's an entry featuring a shot of me pregnant with Kara at the same point in time. And here's one with Nathan.

 

Can you tell how good I feel about myself in this picture? The warm and fuzzies are the combined product of a long-overdue haircut from my regular salon to clean up my layers (many thanks, state refund check) and being the recipient of a batch of maternity clothes from Katy and another member of our book club (faded shirt is mine; stylish cargo pants, unfortunately, are not). For so much of this pregnancy I've been looking worn out and frumpy, and it feels so good to regain a little bit of my former, pre-gestating self.

Baby Brother continues to be on the move for much of the day and night, and it's been a lot of fun to get an unexpected kick in the middle of a meeting or during an episode of Law and Order: SVU. You'd think my body was reaping the benefits of all that calorie-burning because I find myself ravenous for food practically 'round the clock, to the point that last night I dreamt I was at my parents' house enjoying a GRIDDLE'S WORTH OF BACON. As of today I've only gained about two pounds of baby weight, but once you start dreaming about greasy pork products, I suspect it's all downhill from there.

Speaking of weight, the weight of my belly is finally starting to wear on me, and its size is making simple activities like going to the bathroom a monumental accomplishment. I find myself rolling around like a cue ball on a pool table, desperately trying to find that one right angle that will allow me to empty my bladder completely instead of in stages. Getting in and out of bed? Motherfucker, that hurts. If only I could just take this thing off for a while to give myself a rest, but apparently that is not how this process works.

Despite continuing to be plagued with pain from my diastasis recti, I've still been too cheap to buy a maternity belt; however, in my defense, the waist band on my borrowed jeans today is certainly tight enough to hold those muscles in place until I can prop my feet up again. Luke and I are pretty decided on Baby Brother's name, and in spare moments throughout my day I find myself writing it over and over, along with Kara's and Nathan's, and then mine and Luke's, and good Lord, sometimes I still can't believe we are going to be a family of five. I'm getting so excited to see him and hold him and welcome him into our lives. For all the worries I had at the beginning of this pregnancy, I am equally joyous right now, knowing with every fiber of my being that this baby was meant to be with us.

It's also about now that The Comments start to fly.

Every pregnant women deals with them, and by now you would think I could let these types of remarks roll off my back and take them for the well-intentioned conversation-starters they (sometimes) are, but I can't. I am more apt to hold people accountable for their words and for adhering to basic human etiquette, even if sometimes it's only in my head.

That said, may I present to you:

WHAT NOT TO SAY TO SOMEONE WHO'S EXPECTING: A BRIEF GUIDE

Regarding size

"Wow, look at you. Have you grown? Because you look so much bigger than the last time I saw you."

[immediately followed by]

"Seriously, in just the last week your belly has gotten so much bigger!"

"Are the kids asking a lot of questions? You know, since you're so big now."

"Are you okay? You just look really...tired. I can see it in your face." (Which: I know I did people, but if you think knowing that makes it easier to hear, newsflash! It doesn't.)

Regarding three

"Was it planned?"

"So you have two kids already. Wow, two. And you're going to have a third! Oh my gosh!"

"My husband and I would love it if we had more, but I don't think we could do it to ourselves on purpose."

"Were you trying?"

"Luke is going to have his hands full with three kids at home! Does he ever just need to get away for a while once you get home?" (Bonus points for including this in the same conversation with the first two statements on size)

For those of you in the I've Been Pregnant Camp, which comments drove you up the wall? Do share.

Adventures in Sterilizing

It was all so perfect in my head.

During one of my first prenatal appointments for this pregnancy, I discussed with my ob/gyn the possibility of getting my tubes tied shortly after delivering baby number three. I already knew that the hospital where I had Kara and Nathan wouldn't allow this procedure during the c-section, being a Catholic institution and all, and I was okay with that because I loved both of my stays there and how I was treated by the staff. Plus, Luke has always been willing to man up and get The Snip, so there was no reason to give it any more thought.

Until recently, when I gave it some more thought.

The idea came up again during talks with a coworker who is expecting her first child in May; I learned that she was delivering her little guy at a neighboring hospital, and it reminded me that when I first signed up with my practice some four years ago, right before I became pregnant with Kara, my doctor told me she had privileges at that very facility, in addition to the one I eventually chose. Let's call my current hospital Scrubs A and this second one Scrubs B.

Scrubs B has no religious affiliation but maintains an equally stellar reputation.

The wheels in my head started turning.

Originally, I didn't even want to think about switching to another hospital because my experiences with Scrubs A up to this point have been wonderful, and I had no desire to throw unnecessary wild cards into the mix with this last baby. However, Luke and I have been doing an awful lot of talking about the whole getting fixed issue lately, and since my personal deductible will be all paid up as a result of the charges associated with this pregnancy, any procedures that are covered by insurance would be free of charge for me. You never want money to play a factor in determining which spouse gets sterilized, but when you are already pinching pennies and you are searching for a permanent resolution to ending the reproductive chapter of your life, it is what it is.

So I changed my tune. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to switch things up a little, especially since Scrubs B is so well known for its maternity services and especially since, to the best of my recollection, my doctor could just as easily deliver there as she could at Scrubs A. Then I could kill two birds with one stone - one baby, one tubal, one surgery for the win!

"Let me just make sure the practice still delivers at this hospital," I told Luke a couple of weeks ago. "My next appointment is soon. I can't imagine they wouldn't deliver there anymore."

That appointment was today, and guess what? They don't deliver there anymore.

Well, that's not exactly true. As it turns out, privileges are maintained by physicians on an individual basis, and of the now eight ob/gyns currently with my practice, only two might possibly still retain privileges. This is largely due to the practice's close proximity to Scrubs A - we're talking right-across-the-street close - and of course, as fate would have it, my own doctor is not one of those two. She explained that she stayed affiliated with Scrubs B for quite a while but that her patients always chose to deliver at Scrubs A, so she finally decided there was no need to maintain her ties with Scrubs B. MINUS ONE FOR FREMA.

On the up side, though, the two doctors she mentioned are ones I really like, so while I didn't particularly enjoy the idea of having someone other than my primary physician perform the c-section, that's exactly what happened with Kara and everything went swimmingly, so the switch was still on the table, until she reminded me that if a complication accelerated my delivery and one of those two doctors weren't on call, I'd end up having Baby Brother at Scrubs A, anyway. And as long-time readers may recall, I did have a complication with Nathan that caused me to deliver earlier than planned, so even though my scheduled c-section removes a good chunk of the guesswork from the actual birth, the pregnancy itself is still very much up for grabs, and the last thing I want is to spend my remaining gestating months fretting over how this will all play out.

All of that to say: no two-in-one for me.

Still desperately wanting to take advantage of having a paid-in-full deductible, I talked to my doc about having a tubal after the fact and learned I could schedule it within a week or two of my six-week postnatal follow-up, if I wanted. Which at first I did, because hello with still trying to kill two birds with one stone. Two surgeries within the same recovery period can still be considered a win, right?

My findings: It's a standard outpatient procedure, my ob/gyn can do it, I'd have to be sedated, and someone would have to drive me home afterwards, but recovery time is short at roughly one to two weeks. However, during that time, I would be prohibited from any strenuous exercise: no running, no 30-Day Shred, etc. You know, all the things I planned to do to get into shape before returning to work. Of my anticipated 12-week leave, I would be able to maybe use three of those to actively lose any baby weight.

I went back to work after eight weeks with Nathan, and I looked and felt terrible. I do not care to repeat that experience with baby number three, when the length of time off is one of the benefits I now have at my disposal.

So, all of THAT to say: no tubal during maternity leave for me.

After my appointment, Luke and I did some more talking, and  we came up with a plan. We decided that he would reschedule the urologist consult he cancelled back in October to get more information about The Snip and to find out how much of it would be covered by insurance. If our portion is minimal - as in, a few hundred dollars or less - then Luke will take care of things before I deliver, and we'll write off the bill as money well spent. If the cost outweighs the benefits for us at this particular moment in time, I will schedule a tubal for myself around the holidays, at which point I'll have been back at work long enough to use up some vacation time. Either way, somebody in the Frema-Useless Clutter household is getting sterilized in 2011.

I smell a new reality show for next season. We can call it The Amazing Race: Tubes versus Testes!

The Great Carseat Experiment: Conducted!

Luke and I went through with The Great Carseat Experiment this weekend, and we were able to come up with an arrangement that will suit our needs well enough to bring Baby Brother home in the Outlander.

We first tried using the three existing seats presently in our possession - Kara's Britax Marathon, Nathan's Britax Roundabout, and the Baby Trend infant bucket and base from Jenn - but the Marathon kept bumping into the passenger door upon closing, so on Saturday afternoon we made a trip to Target to invest in a highback booster seat, which bought us the couple of inches we needed to avoid a budget-blowing vehicle upgrade. We are lucky in that Kara meets both the height and weight requirements for a booster, and we went with a highback so our girl could enjoy the benefits of side impact protection a while longer. Though we have the seat in our possession now, we will continue to use the Marathon for Kara until right before the baby's arrival, when the bucket seat will be permanently installed.

We don't know for sure how long we can get by with our current car; at some point Nathan's Roundabout will need an upgrade, and I don't know how three convertible/booster seats will fit back there, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, we are just grateful to retain our status as a car-payment-free family, however long that lasts.

Kneeling on the front passenger cushion to look back at all those child seats nestled together, I realized this was the first time I had a tangible representation of what life will look like with three children. And honestly, it was a little overwhelming. I assume that was only the first of numerous similar-type moments to come.

ABOUT THE STROLLER

Luke and I have given the whole stroller situation some more thought and decided against buying anything for now. For one, Luke reminded me we have a perfectly good umbrella stroller collecting dust in the garage. Also, we have a several baby carriers at our disposal - an infant-sized Baby Bjorn hand-me-down, the Maclaren I received while writing for Parents.com that worked splendidly with Nathan, and an Ergo that will see us into toddlerhood. With all of those things, we own more than enough gear to transport this baby on errands, zoo trips, etc. My main concern was having something for Luke to use when getting Kara and Nathan to and from school, but he has already assured me he would rather use the carrier instead of a stroller to keep both hands free.

Also, about the double stroller: I appreciated all the suggetions, but Luke and I have a double stroller. With two kids 13 months apart, it was sort of a necessity, at least in the early months when Nathan was brand-new and Kara was still a baby herself. Nowadays, though, it doesn't get much use since we received a wagon as a generous present from my in-laws and Kara and Nathan much prefer that to being strapped in to individual seats. Plus, even with the wagon, they actually walk most of the time, so Luke and I anticipate needing only one stroller (if any, what with all the aforementioned carrier options) to contain the baby.

Does your brain hurt? I know mine does. Another recurring symptom of Life With Three Children, I suspect.

Pre-nesting

This past Sunday, I spent a glorious three hours cleaning out Kara's closet and sorting her outgrown clothes into Tupperware bins for other fashionistas to enjoy. Now that we know the baby's sex and ESPECIALLY since Luke and I will be taking steps to nail shut close the door on the reproductive phase of our lives, I'm eager to let go of that which no longer represents the family we are now and make room for the next round of material fanfare. (Though I did hold on to some unique iron-on onesies made by a special Internet auntie.) For us, that chapter involves turning two toddlers into roommates by situating them in a gender-neutral space absent of floral wall art and yellow paint and preparing a nursery for our newest little guy. 

When it comes to feeling ready for this baby, I haven't yet experienced that paralyzing Oh, Shit Moment Amalah described in a recent post, but at this point it's only a matter of days, as I have already shared with Luke my strong desire to conduct The Great Carseat Experiment this weekend to finally determine how we will fit three children in the second row of the Outlander. Luckily, we have two different infant buckets at our disposal - the Chicco KeyFit 30 originally purchased for Kara, which we love but anticipate being too bulky to position between two toddler seats, and a slimmer Baby Trends hand-me-down from my friend Jenn that may just do the trick. It also helps that Kara is now the appropriate height and weight for a booster seat (40 pounds and 40 inches, as of last week's well-child visit), so that should buy us a little more room.

Anyway, just imagining those carseats all smashed together lined up in a perfectly safe arrangement is working me into a mini-frenzy. Actually watching this image come to life is guaranteed to secure my one-way ticket to Crazy Pregnant Lady Town.

As I've stated before, we truly are blessed to have so many of Baby Brother's "necessities" already in our possession, the result of having two young children and generous family and friends. Bassinet, crib, changing table, swing, car seat, bouncy seats, nursing pillows, bottle warmers, infant AND toddler carriers, mobile... We haven't spent a dime on him yet, and that includes my maternity wardrobe, which so far has accommodated my current size nicely (though come summer I may be singing a different tune). We do know, though, that there are a couple of things we'll want to pick up, the biggest item being a stroller. Once I'm feeling up to it, Luke and I want to be out and about as much as possible with all three kids this summer, and while baby carriers are wonderful, it would be nice to NOT have the baby strapped to my person every waking moment of the day if I so desire. Of course, our choice of stroller will be heavily influenced by the infant car seat we end up using - another reason The Great Carseat Experiment must take place as soon as possible - and after doing some price-checking online, I'm wondering if it would make more sense financially to drop some dough on a moderately priced travel system than spend almost the same amount on a single stroller.

A jogging stroller would also be grand, but unless we win the lottery, Luke and I will be staggering our alone time on the trail accordingly. Which is not terrible in theory, since I'm sure we'll each welcome a short break from the zoo that will be our household.

One area where I do want to spend some money is on decorating the kids' rooms. Kara and Nathan's room would benefit from a fresh coat of paint, spunky wall art, and some new bedding if we can swing it right away. As for the baby's room, it's technically all ready to go for a boy, but I hate the thought of bringing him home to a space that was custom-designed for his big brother. Plus, nurseries are so much damn FUN to decorate, and I want to experience doing that one last time.

Luke and I also once talked about painting the kitchen, half bath, and the kids' bathroom, but these action items may be placed on hold until fall, when we will hopefully have more moolah at our disposal. Not to mention it might make more sense to paint those areas closer to sell time, in case our color palettes are deemed All Wrong by our real estate agent. (Feel free to agree with me here -- or not -- in the comments.)

It feels like we've been talking about these various projects for simply ages now, but pretty soon it'll be time to spring into action, because Oh, shit, a baby is coming! (hey, there it is!), and babies do not factor your laundry to-do list into their date of arrival.

Ingrates!

21-week update

I am 21 weeks pregnant today, and according to the plethora of baby books in existence, I should be at my prenatal peak: visibly showing but not enormous, increased energy levels, and only occasional bouts of round ligament pain. Go on and run that 5K! Hike your ass off! Enjoy these precious weeks of gestating freedom while you still can!

All of that may be the case for a first-timer or a gal who hasn't birthed 11- and 9-pound newborns, but these are not my truths.

After complaining of tenderness in my belly at my 15-week appointment, a quick exam from my ob/gyn revealed that I have a condition called diastasis recti, meaning that my rectus abdominal muscle has separated into two vertical halves. It's common among women who have endured multiple pregnancies and who have delivered larger-sized babies -- CHECK and CHECK -- and it's not anything I need to be concerned about in the long run (so I've been told, at least), but the doctor did say that the tenderness would remain present throughout the pregnancy and most likely increase in intensity. And oh shit, was she ever right.

I usually begin my day feeling perfectly normal, and if I were the sadistic type I could lightly pummel my stomach without suffering even the slightest twinge of pain. But by the end of the work day, the soreness has emerged from its bat cave, and come dinnertime the skin over my belly button is protruding something fierce, to the point that if it even lightly brushes up against another object of any kind, I am clutching my sides and sucking in my breath as if I've been kicked with a steel-toed boot. Even simple acts like sitting on the floor or repositioning myself on the couch have become seriously fucking unpleasant, and poor Luke has taken over the bulk of evening kitchen clean-up once again.

At my last two appointments, each doctor has recommended using a maternity belt to relieve some of the pressure, but I don't wear belts when I'm NOT pregnant because I hate the idea of having something so constricting touching my skin. However, the pain has gotten worse over the last several days, and even Luke is pushing me to look into this. Have any of you dealt with this condition before? If so, did a belt work for you? Any feedback on this would be much appreciated.

 

It doesn't even look like a typical pregnant belly, does it--all triangular and cliff-like? Plus, my hairstyle is making history by introducing what can only be described as the first front-facing mullet for women! to the modern American public. Clearly, the epitome of sexiness all around!

The saving grace throughout all of this has been Baby Brother's activity, which has been strong enough for weeks to feel at various points throughout the day, and oftentimes it is a welcome distraction from focusing on how uncomfortable I am. I'm already daydreaming about what he looks like, what he'll feel like, and what our lives will be like after we bring him home. Kara and Nathan have started incorporating mentions of Baby Brother in our daily conversations, so I think it's becoming a little more real for them, too.

Kara: Does Mommy and Daddy love you? (She revels in asking this question and poses it frequently throughout the day)
Frema: Yes, honey, Mommy and Daddy love you and Nathan very much.
Kara: And the new baby?
Frema: Yes, honey, and the new baby.

 And we do. We really, really do. 

On breastfeeding (or not) again

One of my biggest, all-consuming fears about having baby number three is breastfeeding.

Part of me feels ridiculous admitting that to anyone. After all, I've gone through this twice already! Shouldn't I be a pro by now? Or, at the very least, accept that breastfeeding is not my fight and write it off altogether? After all, to say I've been unsuccessful at nursing would be a vast understatement. To say I'm excited to try it again? That would be a lie.

It's funny; the content of this post has been on my mind for weeks, but now that I'm writing it, I'm not sure what to say.

When I found out I was pregnant again, I resolved to do everything in my power to make breastfeeding a reality for my family. I have read The Books, and the blogs, and the comments to those blogs, so the health and bonding benefits of breastmilk (and, consequently, the drawbacks of formula) are not lost on me. Plus, it's no secret that we are living on a pretty tight budget, so the cost savings aren't anything to laugh at, either. More than anything, though, was this feeling of wanting to overcome a hurdle that has previously appeared insurmountable.

I'm not blaming low supply because honestly, I'm not convinced that was the problem. With Kara, I couldn't keep her on the breast for more than a couple of minutes before she was crying and pushing me away. The lactation consultants at the hospital checked her latch several times, and it seemed fine to them, but who knows? It's not like I had any idea what I was doing, despite reading all those books, so it's very possible my technique was off or Kara's positioning wasn't right or any number of things related to my management of the situation. I never got more than a couple ounces from the pump in a session, whether I pumped every two hours or four, but again, what the hell did I know? Maybe my volume would have increased over time. Maybe I should have just been happy with the amount I was producing and made peace with supplementing the rest of the time.

I didn't try nipple shields, and I didn't attend any support group meetings (though I did call about the one offered through our hospital, and sorry, that once-a-month get-together slated for next Thursday isn't going to help me RIGHT NOW). It's not like I kept at it until my boobs had nothing left to give. It truly was my decision.

So for those who think I didn't try hard enough, well. I suppose they are right. But during those initial weeks of breastfeeding, my mind went to some very dark places. I felt terrible about myself as a mother, which in theory should have been enough to make me go the distance for as long as I could, but even more than that, I hated the idea of doing all those things and STILL most likely failing. Aside from the first couple of days of her life, feeding Kara was a source of stress, self-doubt, and guilt. At some point before the six-week mark I decided that suffering through those feelings for even one more day was more than I could bear. The reality of motherhood, I quickly learned, is that sometimes, when there's a conflict of interest between what you could ideally accomplish as a parent and what you can realistically handle, your own mental sanity has to win out. Second best just has to be enough.

... And THAT was breastfeeding with Kara.

With Nathan, things felt like they were getting off to a better start. I had still had trouble perfecting my latch, but he didn't fight my efforts and ate as often as I would let him, so I was hopeful that this time, please, this time, things would be different. However, at his two-week appointment with the pediatrician, my stomach dropped after the nurse checked his weight and announced a paltry two-ounce gain. TWO OUNCES. My God, did I feel like shit then, and my mind immediately went back to my experience with Kara, and how I fucked that up, and by the time we saw the doctor, any shred of confidence I had about nursing was gone. I continued to pump for another couple of weeks, but I don't think I ever put him on the breast again.

And now, I get to do it all over again with baby number three.

Like I stated above, when I first learned we were having another baby, I was set on doing everything within my power to make breastfeeding work this time around, and hey, third time's a charm, right? I talked about it with Katy, who nursed both of her boys into toddlerhood; borrowed more books; researched lactation consultants; and gave myself numerous pep talks that this time, things would be different.

But now? I honestly don't know. I hate that my first months at home with Kara and Nathan are tainted with such strong feelings of failure. As a working mother, that time to bond means more to me than almost anything else in that first year, and Luke and I are doing everything we can to stock our bank account accordingly so that I can take all twelve of those precious, job-protected weeks off without suffering serious financial repurcussions. I cherish that time to connect with my babies, to snuggle them in the rocking chair and take naps with them on my chest and cover their hands and cheeks and toes with kisses and overall just get to know who they are. It would be so much easier to say, This is not for me, and release myself from ever having to think about this again.

Then again, this time, things might be different. Baby Brother 2.0 could prove to be a fantastic nurser and all my worries could be for nothing. (Kind of like all those "Should we have a third baby?" conversations!) And I do appreciate the benefits, and I do really want those cost savings. Just not at the cost of my self-esteem.

One of the most popular retorts I've heard spoken by the more judgemental nursing mothers and that has most enraged me about the entire breast-or-bottle discussion is the whole "Well, if you aren't willing to make sacrifices for your children, why did you bother to have them?" It makes my fists clench and blood boil and and smoke shoot out of my ears, because really, when did how you feed a baby in the first year of life become the sole measuring stick for quality parenting? And who is anyone to say that I don't make sacrifices for my kids? Luke and I bust our tail to live on one income so they can enjoy all the benefits that go along with that. We painstakingly chose our house because we wanted to make sure they could go to one of the best public school systems in the city. We pack their meals with fruits and vegetables and whole grains, and they have yet to even try soda. We have slashed our household budget more times than I care to count in order to enroll both of them into Kara's day-out program this fall. I can't tell you the last time we bought clothes or shoes or even a magazine for ourselves, but Kara and Nathan get everything they need and then some. 

I did not become a mother because I wanted to breastfeed. I became a mother because I wanted to experience the joy of raising children and because I thought I could do a good job. I did not promise to make every right choice. I did not promise to always put myself last. But I do strive to give my family the best that I have as often as I can. I am proud of the home Luke and I have made for our kids and the life we are able to give them. And when I don't have it in me to reach the ideal, I will forgive myself (eventually) and try to move on.

This all sounds so good in black and white, doesn't it? Let's see how well my heart can embrace it, come June.

Pregnancy fitness fail

Today marks 20 weeks of pregnancy with Baby Brother 2.0, as well as the blessed more-than-halfway! milestone, since my c-section will be scheduled sometime prior to the 40-week point. As of 6:30 this morning, I'm still clocking in about two pounds lighter compared to when I first got knocked up, mainly because I could barely tolerate anything except fruit, yogurt, and the occasional bite of chicken for almost the entire first trimester and some change. Things are back to normal now, for the most part, so in the grand scheme of things what felt like Hell on Earth wasn't completely unbearable, and I know lots of pregnant women experience a far more severe case of morning sickness than I do, but dudes. For serious, I was so damn sick, and useless to my family, and overall just a big blob of miserable.

The blog title, it makes sense now, yes?

I had such high hopes for maintaining an active pregnancy right from the get-go. The week I found out, I was running along the Chicago lakeshore, and at around six weeks I finished a local 5K with only a handful of walking breaks. Running is the only form of exercise I have ever truly loved, and I fully intended to stick with it for as long as I was feeling able. Then, suddenly, BAM! Everything upset my stomach, I was nodding off by 8 p.m., and I was plagued with constant headaches. I couldn't gather the energy to wash dishes at the sink, let alone throw on my gym shoes and log three miles on the trail. And now, at the more-than-halfway! point, sporting a belly that has pretty much collapsed into gestational position and experiencing sciatic nerve episodes, abdominal tenderness, and semi-frequent aches and pains ("You talk like an 80-year-old grandma!" Samantha laughed during a recent phone conversation), I am pretty much thinking that running is off the table until after I deliver. I plan to start walking and hiking outside once the weather gets nicer, and my friend Jen shared with me a prenatal video that I want to try, but I'm still bummed I didn't feel up to doing more when my bodily functions weren't being compared to members of the geriatric population. Back in the fall, I read an article highlighting female athletes who continued running during their pregnancies, and my favorite of the bunch talked about how running eased a lot of the inital discomfort she dealt with in those first few months. I am so impressed with women who manage to do this; it's one thing to push through predictable motivational issues that apply to both sexes, but forcing your body to perform when you physically feel like ass thanks to a HUMAN LIFE feeding on you like a parasite? That is mind-boggling to me.

Not mind-boggling: why I will never be described as an elite anything when it comes to athletics.

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While my prenatal fitness thus far has been nothing to write home about, I'm super optimistic about what I can accomplish during the last six weeks of maternity leave. Delivering in late June means I should be cleared for exercise in early to mid-August; it'll be sweltering, for sure, and last year I learned that my body can't handle long distances in that kind of heat, but I'm already fantasizing about updating my iPod playlist and hitting the trail again, if only for two or three miles at a time. I also remember my initial success with The Shred after having Nathan (I'll take another ten pounds in 30 days, thankyouverymuch) and wonder if it's unreasonable to think I could achieve my third pre-pregnancy weight before returning to work in the fall.

It is not lost on me that at this time last year I was visiting the gym several days a week to train for the Mini, and mentally I'm salivating over capturing that spirit again, of feeling invincible and capable and strong. I watch Luke train for that same half-marathon and hate that I can't show up this year to improve my time. Patience, I tell myself, patience; pregnancy is an endurance race in and of itself, to be approached with the same level of respect to process and self. Once I cross this finish line, only then I can set my sights on another.

So long, Cecilia

That was our front-runner name for a girl. Cecilia Mae because we liked it or Cecilia Maureen in honor of my late Nana, whose actual name was Gloria Darlene, but we were going with Maureen because it's the name of my grandmother's sister, so it was still using a name from her side of the family without burdening the child with a fuddy-duddy throwback like Gloria. Though I actually did like Gloria and would have seriously considered it for a first name except that Luke was not. on. board. Darlene was, well, never an option.

Anyway, it's a moot point now. We're having a boy.

 

And not a shy one, apparently. I could tell before the ultrasound tech finished typing the first word what our little guy was sporting down there.

 

Kara and Nathan weren't much impressed by the news, but Luke and I both had tears in our eyes, and I couldn't stop smiling. I can see our future so clearly now -- birthday parties, graduations, treks through the Grand Canyon, room-sharing arrangements, tossing out casual phrases like "The boys are in the yard" -- all of it. This tiny new person, my youngest son, our new Baby Brother, feels so right for our family, and for the first time since learning I was pregnant, I sincerely CANNOT WAIT for him to get here. We love him so much, already.

To read my pre-appointment ramblings from last night, click here.

I Want (To Know) Your Sex

To be sung to the tune of the classic George Michael song or uttered like a blood-thirsty vampire. It's like a Choose Your Own Adventure for blog titles!

On Tuesday, I will be nineteen weeks pregnant. Tomorrow, Luke, Kara, and Nathan will accompany me to this month's ob/gyn appointment, also known as The Big Day. Private Parts Day. ULTRASOUND DAY!

[Include grand proclamation-type trumpet sound here]

"You know, we're not guaranteed to find out the baby's sex," Luke informed me, but we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Until then, this baby's giving up the goods, y'all.

I have mixed feelings about this. Not about finding out, but what I'm hoping for.

When I was expecting Kara, I wanted a girl. After all, I'm a girl. I know what girls are like and how they think. I had dreams of sharing my childhood interests with a girl while she was young and sharing my vast perspective as a wife/mother/daughter/career woman as she grew older. Of watching her take that information and use it to shape her own path. Plus, girls' names are more fun to play around with. When I was a kid, I kept a notebook of potential character names, and my list of girls' names was more than double my list for boys.

Anyway, we all know how that turned out. My baby was a girl! Hooray for me.

When Luke and I found out we were expecting Nathan, most people assumed we'd be gunning for a boy, playing into the whole "one of each" mentality that seems so ingrained into the picture-perfect middle class family. But once again, I hoped for a girl. I am one of four daughters and am extremely close to two of my sisters; so close that I watched one of them GIVE BIRTH. You can't predict the quality of relationship your children will have with each other as they grow up, but nonetheless, I wished for this same type of connection for them.

Of course, we didn't have a girl, and of course, I have no regrets. Nathan is amazing and has brought more happiness to our lives than I ever could have imagined. I never longed for a son the way I did a daughter, but I couldn't be more in love with my thoughtful, quirky, joyful little boy.

Upon learning about our latest bundle of joy, true to form, my default reaction was to wish for a girl. I still love the idea of being a mother to sisters and watching them bond, and again with the more interesting pool of girls' names to choose from. (To date, Luke and I agree on one boy's name. ONE.) I also like the idea of Nathan being known as our boy and not the middle child. Then again, I think about how much fun it would be to have two little boys running around and to watch that relationship grow. And if Kara were to be our girl, well, that could only bode well for her in the long run. Though maybe not her boyfriends.

In the end, I guess what I'm saying is no matter which type of parts present themselves tomorrow, I will be delighted either way. Be sure to check in for the news!

Chasing the clouds away

It's so easy to let money troubles define who you are by measuring your life against that which you cannot do. At least, that's how it feels to me sometimes. My monthly book club dinners are out. Luke can't join a gym to support his training for this year's Mini (!!). Kara can't take dance lessons, and Nathan can't start (pre-pre)school by his birthday like we once planned. Granted, these can'ts will resolve themselves in a few months, so they're not hindering us long term, but how do you get by in the interim? How can you turn your day-to-day into something meaningful using only what you already have? And during the coldest, darkest time of year?

Those were the questions Luke and I were asking ourselves at the beginning of the month, after evaluating our money situation for the remainder of winter and coming up with a game plan to get us through. It's easy to fall into a "Why me?" sort of attitude and feel sorry for yourself. But clearly, asking pointless questions and indulging useless emotions won't get you anywhere. So here are some of the ways in which we are accentuating the positive:

Cleaning house: Luke and I love to play the "What if?" game when it comes to remembering all the other houses we could have purchased instead of this one, but when she's wearing her Sunday best, it's easier to appreciate all the positives we gained with this place: open space, natural light, optimal number of bedrooms, and plenty of toilets to accommodate large family get-togethers. I am working hard to stop clutter from piling up in hot spots like the microwave top, the mail stand, and my dresser top. I make the bed every morning before I leave for work, and I've stopped using our CD rack as my own personal storage unit. We won't be implementing any major renovations this year, but we do plan to paint the kids' bathrooms and our kitchen before the baby comes, and a new splash of color can do wonders to improve the overall mood of a room. (Right, Molly?)

Being creative: Last week I received a gift certificate from my employer acknowledging my five-plus years of service. The certificate was for an undesignated amount of money for a site that very much reminded me of those catalogs from grade school - you know, the ones that told you what you could score for selling five to twenty candy bars (sparkly pen, bangle bracelets), fifty to seventy-five (NKOTB tribute band CD, piggy bank), etc. I could have redeemed it for a sassy new hobo bag, but Luke and I chose boring cookware instead, because our current set was scratched up something fierce and there was no room in our budget for replacing it. It wasn't a fun choice, but we saw an opportunity and jumped on it.

Taking stock: It's also been helpful to remind ourselves of all the things we do have that make this rough patch more manageable. The maternity clothes I once planned to unload to Goodwill, for one - I'll need more clothes when the weather gets warmer and my belly rivals the size of a world globe, but for now I can stretch out live off my regular work pants and the oodles of three-quarter-sleeved shirts I found at Kohl's near the end of my pregnancy with Nathan.

Thankfully, we need very little baby gear for Number Three. Nathan's room is still set up to accommodate a baby with a matching crib, changing table, and dresser set, courtesy of my 2008 Christmas bonus, and his and Kara's closets are jam-packed with items Luke and I weren't sure what to do with but didn't want to get rid of: crib mobile, swing, baby carriers, activity table, random infant toys, and so on, and our bassinet will come back to us from Samantha and Dan the next time they come to visit. And ninety-five percent of what we don't have is either being handed down to us from family and friends. We'll need a new single stroller, and we'd LOVE to get our hands on a jogging stroller, but ultimately we won't be missing anything necessary to bring the baby home.

We are also feeling better about our car situation. The plan was always to try and fit our current Chicco infant seat into the Outlander along with Kara's and Nathan's Britax convertibles, but thanks to some of the comments on my last post, we are now considering investing in smaller seats if that's what it will take to cram fit all three kids in there. Plus, there's a good chance that Kara can move into a booster seat by summer, and that will save us some room, so we're exploring that option, too. Not fretting over taking on a $300-plus car payment does wonders for a mother's piece of mind. Imagine that!

Finally, thanks to the size and layout of our house, we'll only need a smidge of rearranging to make room for Number Three. So far the plan is for the two older ones to share Kara's bedroom, which is the larger of the two rooms by about the double the square footage; they are so young right now that the gender issue doesn't come into play, and it just makes sense for the kids who share a bedtime routine to also share their sleeping quarters. We'll transition Kara into a twin-sized bed and Nathan into her toddler bed sometime this spring and leave his room pretty much as is for the baby (though we do plan to paint). All of this will require some creative thinking on our parts in regards to organization, but creative thinking is free, and paint is cheap. This is good.

And on the leisure and recreation front, Luke and I realized we still have plenty of ways to keep busy. We finally made space for his drawing table - which had been sadly collecting dust in our garage for almost as long as we've lived in this house - in the little nook in our bedroom, and we've been alternating between the library and our current book collection for new reading material. We have rediscovered the old Nintendo games saved on our Wii, and my brother- and sister-in-law passed along a TV antenna last week, so two nights ago, for the first time since August, we were able to view network television. LIVE. On our actual TV instead of a laptop. If I weren't pregnant and, you know, vehemently against smoking, it would've been the perfect moment to light a cigarette, post-coital style.

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It's easier to think positively when your stomach isn't hurting almost twenty-four hours a day. I'm in the middle of my sixteenth week, and over the few days or so, I've seen an increase in my energy level and a slightly higher tolerance for a wider menu of grocery items (though for some reason almost every tomato sauce I've had tastes terribly sweet and overall not right to me. What's up with that?), so when it comes to feeling like complete and utter crap, I think I'm finally, FINALLY, out of the woods. (I've even taken to washing dinner dishes again, hooray for Luke!) I'm still getting headaches, but they're not as frequent, and sleeping is still relatively uneventful, save for the three-year-old who has a habit of climbing into her parents' bed almost every night. However, while this pregnancy saw the quickest recovery of first(ish)-trimester symptoms, they definitely hit me the hardest this time. So...I win? Sort of?

My next doctor's appointment is February 7, at which time we'll get to see Number Three's privates and consequently start focusing on only one set of baby names. Time is flying by this go-around, it seems, so I'm not impatient with waiting, only excited. And for what it's worth, I'm not even as nervous about affording this baby, now that we (assuming) have the car thing under control. Hopefully that means my future posts will read more like this one and not my last.

Thank you, as always, for letting me be honest.

15 weeks and personal finance mumbo jumbo

Today I welcomed my fifteenth week of pregnancy by vomiting for the first time since I peed on that fateful stick back in October. For future reference, prenatal vitamin + leftover Raisin Bran milk = blaaaaaaaaah.

In other, less disgusting news, I had my monthly ob appointment yesterday, and Number Three is doing well; very active, according to the doctor, and the heartbeat sounded strong at 150 bpm. There are a few aches and pains going on that are typical of this stage - the acting of up my sciatic nerve, for one, and a tenderness in my abdomen that was diagnosed by the doctor as being diastasis recti. I also found my first pregnancy-related skin tag ever near my collarbone, a couple of nights ago. Way to go, baby, for keeping things interesting!

Here I am in all my gestational glory:

 

Why do I look whiter than the Pillsbury Doughboy? And is it just me, or is that picture frame crooked? Oh, well, at least I can still fit into my regular-sized dress slacks. So long as they are cotton and sport elastic waistbands.

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At the start of the New Year I outlined our household budget through the remaining winter months, and I know these issues are only temporary, but things feel bleak, friends. Luke and I are working hard to pay off our credit card balance before the baby comes in June, which means almost every bit of cash from now until March is needed to cover our car insurance premiums, homeowner's association fees, and necessary grocery and household items as well as pay down our Visa bill. Luke and I did not exchange Christmas presents, only token stocking stuffers, and there are no travel plans slated for anytime soon, save my niece's baptism in Chicago next month.

Sometimes I feel like a complete and utter failure for not being able to manage our finances more efficiently, and then I remind myself that some things were simply out of our control: a $164 increase in our mortgage last fall thanks to a negative balance in our escrow account was the most jarring, and the random but major car repairs totaling almost two grand in September were definitely not on our radar. Luckily, there is light at the end of the tunnel: tax refunds in February and my annual raise in April should put us on more secure footing, though we have decided there is no way in hell we have any business taking on a car payment to buy a vehicle that can accommodate three car seats anytime soon. This means we'll be hauling two cars if we need to go anywhere local as a family and renting a van if we find ourselves needing/wanting to travel north. But hey, at least we have two cars that we own outright, and we can still pay our bills and put food on the table, and we don't have to talk about Luke going back to work (as if we could afford three kids in daycare, anyway), and really, this money glitch is so temporary in the grand scheme of things. Nothing on our plate is unmanageable, just really hard to get through sometimes on a day-to-day basis.

How's that for keeping it real?

This is just one more reason I have been considering launching a part-time freelancing business sometime this year. I'm not looking to replace my full-time income, just supplement it with some meaty writing projects from time to time.

Have any of you had any luck starting your own business? How did you get started? Are there any books you would recommend?

MyTubes*

* I changed the title because "Headaches, rambles" was very boring and vague and hello, there is an actual topic for this entry, only I didn't realize that until the drive home last night, which is when I thought up this little gem. How could I not use it?

I hit 11 weeks in this pregnancy yesterday, and the most noteworthy tidbit I can offer regarding this topic is that I've been plagued with a recurring headache for more than a week now that can't be alleviated with soda or chocolate. No change in my level of fatigue, nausea, or tendency to gag over smells ranging in intensity from air freshener to number two diapers (thank you, son). With Kara I started feeling better around week 20; Nathan was a few weeks earlier than that, so let's cross our fingers that the month of January brings wondrous feelings of joy and mirth.

My second prenatal appointment for Number Three took place on Monday, where I heard the baby's heartbeat through the Doppler for the first time, pounding away at a whopping160 bpm. Was it a sign that I'm having a girl? A byproduct of my key lime cheesecake from lunch? The world may never know. In any event, things are looking good, fetus-wise.

I also spent some time talking to my ob/gyn about having my tubes tied sometime after delivery.

Seeing as this is our second surprise pregnancy, and knowing that Luke and I conceived Kara when we were open to children but not officially "trying," it shouldn't shock anyone that I am obsessing over the best way to shut down this baby train. While there has always been a hankering for a third baby, I harbor no such illusions regarding a fourth. I am deeply grateful that I have been able to conceive so easily, without the aid of charts or medication or invasive procedures that can go on for years, and that I have given birth to two beautiful, healthy children. But still. Overall, I do not enjoy pregnancy, and I am still freaking out over earning enough bacon to support five people, and my husband would like to go back to work before he turns 50. That is not too much to ask.

Speaking of Luke, he has always been willing to "take care of things," so to speak, and that is still an option. Early next year we hope to get him to the urologist for a consult and determine how much of The Snip is covered by our insurance. If we can swing it financially, we would love nothing more than to "address this issue" before I go under the knife in June. (Are you loving my double entendres today?) That actually makes the most sense, since a tubal would require yet another surgery for me. I deliver at a Catholic hospital, so a two-in-one deal is not an option, and I'm not sure how long I would need to wait after delivery to have it done, and I don't care to leave myself susceptible to another happy surprise for very long.

For a while after Nathan I seriously considered the Essure procedure, which seems to be my practice's first choice for female sterilization, but reading this thread about failures and complications was enough for me to say KEEP THOSE COILS AWAY FROM ME, YOU.

I think this is all coming about because I'm feeling pretty powerless these days. I can't help myself physically feel better, our household budget is in chaos after paying on life insurance premiums, car repairs, and (drastically scaled-down) Christmas expenses all in the same month, and our place is a mess because I can't bring myself to even fold a basket of laundry. (Did I mention that I am an absolute baby when I'm sick?) The idea of snuggling a squeaky little newborn excites me beyond belief, but preparing for that baby will be a lot of work, and the adjustment period will be a lot of work, and I know myself well enough now to say I am not in my element in the first year. Although, recent interactions with Kara lead me to think that the toddler years aren't shining the light on my finest hours, either.

Anyway, I am done with surprise pregnancies and worrying about birth control and stressing over various infant-related issues. Part of what is getting me through this first trimester is knowing that I'm doing this for the last time. The sooner I can enjoy reproductive freedom, the better. 

(I did mention that I'm grateful for this, too, right? You all know what I mean.)

First trimester progress

Now that I've broken my two-week posting hiatus, consequently relieving myself of the pressure to come back with an entry of Shakespearean-like proportions, I can give you a real update.

I am still sick. I am still scared. I am still spending the majority of my waking, non-working hours curled up in a ball on the couch in sweatpants.

But also, some progress has been made.

For starters, I have already ironed out the logistics of my maternity leave. I will take 12 weeks off just like I did with Kara and sorely wished I could have done with Nathan. The first six will be paid by my employer, and the second will be partially covered under short-term disability. I will also have almost a month's worth of vacation time at my disposal, and originally I asked about tacking on a week or two of PTO to my leave, but two members of my department's senior strategy team are also expecting, and their leave will overlap with mine, and I was told it was too much time to be out of the office. For a while I was a little frustrated about this, not to mention the U.S.'s overall attitude on maternity leave in general, but there are many women in this country who could never take advantage of even the 12 weeks protected by law, so I am just grateful that my company provides paid time off to begin with and that I can be out the full three months without completely wrecking our finances.

On another work-related note, I have already spoken to my boss about travel arrangements for next year, and she has assured me that my trips should be few and far between. Not that I ever traveled a whole lot, anyway, but the mere possibility of being asked to hop on a plane and leave behind a baby for multiple days at a time was enough to bring me to tears. I had to evaluate an industry conference in Chicago a couple of months ago and I was gone for three nights, and it wasn't terrible, but for me, it was still too long. I couldn't imagine doing that with an infant at home. Luckily, I was told that if I have to go to another conference, it can be scheduled for while I'm still pregnant. Thank goodness my boss is so understanding.

Luke and I have also worked out childcare for my hospital stay. Luke's parents, who graciously watched Kara for us when I had Nathan, will actually be site-seeing in Wales when I deliver in June, so good ole Molly has offered to step up to the plate - VOLUNTARILY, without being asked or anything. How she will handle five children ranging in age from eight to two for three days is...not something I want to spend too much time thinking about. Hopefully, she won't, either.

(Thanks again, friend!)

Lastly, I've started doing a little research on lactation consultants and have information for two different resources near my area, so I'm starting to feel a tiny bit more confident that I will have adequate support for nursing this time around. (There is an entire post brewing inside of me on this very subject, don't you worry.)

Other than that, I've been trying to focus on life after Number Three's arrival: incorporating the baby into our family routines, moving forward with plans to sell the house, and getting through the difficulty of yet another First Year with my sanity still intact. I have visions of baby-wearing and jogger-strollering and baby-sittering and various other ways to keep life moving. With Kara and even Nathan, Luke and I kind of allowed our lives to stop, because with Kara everything was so shell-shockingly new and with Nathan they were both so damn young - both in cribs, both in diapers, both demanding so much attention that all we could do was manage day by day. We also didn't have a clear picture of where we were headed or how to get there, so being at a standstill didn't affect our big-picture timeline one way or the other. This time, we will have two rambunctious toddlers who like to do things like go to school and play trains at the library and dig sand at the beach, and I don't want them to lose their summer just because we add another person into the mix. Also, we DO have goals now, and a long-term vision for our future, and we are the only ones who can make that vision happen. So we'll have to start doing that, too, even in the face of constant feedings, night wakings, and growth spurts.

So, to sum up: things kind of suck right now. But come next June, it will be all good, just mark my words.

Nine-week milestone and happy December

I turned nine weeks yesterday. To mark this joyous occasion, Kara and I had the following conversation after I came home from work:

Kara: Mommy, I missed the baby in your belly!

Frema: Aw, we missed you, too, honey! Melts, hugs firstborn lovingly against her breast

Kara: I want to put the baby in my belly. Makes grabbing motions towards occupied uterus, rubs tummy satisfactorily

Frema: It doesn't work like that, honey. Only Mommy can have a baby in her belly.

Kara: I have a baby in my belly! Runs around dining table, victorious

Frema: Big girls can't have babies in their bellies, honey, only mommies can, uh (rethinks statement) - well - you have to be older.

Kara: I'm not a big girl, I'm a little girl.

Frema: Stands corrected.

Green bean

That's the way we chose to describe the baby to Kara and Nathan on Monday during my first ob/gyn appointment, once my uterus was in clear view on the ultrasound screen. A very chubby green bean. Or maybe a Tootsie Roll. I could keep going here, but you get the point.

 

Everything is going swimmingly. I am properly fatigued and nauseated and as of today am currently 7w1d along in this pregnancy, which aligns perfectly with our date of conception. This gives us a due date of July 5, 2011, though I will deliver him earlier than that, since my history of two c-sections removes any discussion of how Number Three will enter the world. The baby looks good and produced a strong heartbeat of more than 140 beats per minute during the ultrasound. For the rest of the afternoon, Nathan kept saying, "Want. to. see. the baby's. heartbeat?" And once we were back in the car, he and Kara each had to have their very own picture of the baby to study and hold and crumble and very possibly eat. It was really quite adorable.

My doctor and I talked a bit about my sudden onset of pre-eclampsia symptoms with Nathan, and some baseline testing can be done at the time of my gestational diabetes test (around 28 weeks), but other than that, all we can do is keep a close eye on my weight, protein levels, and blood pressure, especially near the end, and be prepared to jump into action should there be a reason. I'm cleared to continue running, though right now curling into a ball on the couch and burying my face in a pillow is about all the exercise I can handle.

I'm still hella overwhelmed, which I think has a lot to do with how crummy I feel. I've lost interest in the majority of food, and all things chicken and pork, except for Chicken McNuggets, a craving I have been fighting for almost a week. Dairy products aren't sitting well, so not even ice cream is a comfort, but cheese continues to be my friend. I am ridiculously tired come dinnertime and usually crawl into bed immediately after the last child has gone down for the night. Uterine cramping is still going strong, mostly due to dehydration, I think, because I have always been terrible about drinking enough water even when I'm not gestating. All of this physical upset means that I am terrible about returning e-mails and phone calls and sitting about three pounds below my normal weight (in other words, no maternity clothes yet). It also contributes to my feeling of dread when thinking about what lies ahead; I am already obsessing over nursing and wondering how I can navigate that situation to produce different (i.e. successful) results (no advice, though, please!), planning our finances so that we can upgrade our family car when we are already squeezing every penny, and dreading the going-back-to-work routine AGAIN. I know! One thing at a time, right? Keep perspective, God provides, etc. But it's hard not to fast forward to next year when I already know this pregnancy will fly by so fast. Even if it feels like I'm inching along right now. I still can't believe I've known for so long--Sunday will mark the four-week anniversary of my first positive pregnancy test. Technology really is amazing.

I'm excited about next week, though--I'm taking off the entire week of Thanksgiving, thanks to my awesome vacation accural as a long-time employee (six years in June!). I plan to lay around in sweatpants the entire time, save for the one-hour photography session Luke and I will be scheduling to formally document our existence as a family of four one last time. And if I'm feeling good and motivated, maybe I can even get some ink onto the pages of Nathan's baby book. You're welcome, son. 

Six(ish) weeks

When I started drafting this entry last Wednesday, there weren't any signs of morning sickness to be had, so aside from some run-of-the-mill fatigue and uterine cramping, I was feeling well and therefore insanely optimistic. Baby number three = warm fuzzies of completeness! My family can take on anything! Who needs a savings account when you have love?

Then practically overnight I was nodding off during storytime and experiencing constant stomach upset and swearing off pork chops and coffee. Yesterday I couldn't stop worrying over my ability to divide my time among three children, and today I almost cried actual tears because Subway told me they were out of chicken and dumpling soup, so I suppose we have officially entered the Trimester of Sick and Raging Hormones.

And I really was doing so well. From the moment we suspected I might be pregnant, I've been telling Luke how much easier it will be for us this time around. For starters, we'll only have one baby to deal with instead of two, as Kara and Nathan are pretty self-sufficient as far as toddlers go - ability to play independently, (mostly) follow basic directions, operate utensils without assistance, and put themselves to sleep with (mostly) minimal fanfare. Kara is almost potty-trained and should be completely diaper-free come summer. (We recently tried underwear instead of pull-ups for bedtime, with mixed results, so we are going to try again in another month or two.) Luke is going to work on Nathan soon, who is already showing a vague interest, thanks to the example set by his sister.

More positives: I will give birth in the summer, a first for me, which will allow us to be out and about for the bulk of my maternity leave, once I've recovered from my c-section. Summer break means that Luke's parents and Dan and Samantha will have an easier time spending time with us while the baby is new. I have a couple of honest-to-goodness friends in the area to lean on for support, and we have a reliable baby-sitter at our disposal. My newfound commitment to eating less junk food and being more physically active during this pregnancy should hopefully better prepare my body to bounce back from surgery. We won't be house-hunting or planning a move this time, or making any drastic changes to our home, save for some new paint in a few rooms and reorganizing some furniture, so life should be calmer.

And yet, as I review our finances, and lament over still being so far away from family, and remember how hard it was to get back in the swing of things after the arrival of each child and how vulnerable I always feel in those early months, and how unforgiving the world seems, I get nervous and scared and wonder what the hell Luke and I have gotten ourselves into. I wonder if I will ever have free time again, if we will ever have money again, if we will ever move beyond this "coming into our own" phase and achieve the long-term goals we have set for ourselves.

It will be okay. I think we just need a little more time to adjust.

In the meantime, it's not too late to show off Halloween pictures, is it?

 

This was the first year we took the kids trick-or-treating, and to mark the occasion we let them pick out their own costumes at Target. We went two weeks before Halloween, so options in Kara's size were pretty sparse. Luckily, she was able to don something she liked - a firefighter costume, just like Grandpa (my dad).

 

Nathan was a puppy. He kept calling the ears his "puppy hat." Let the squeeing commence.

 

The act of trick-or-treating was somewhat complicated this year, as Luke and I were out of town that Saturday for my cousin's wedding reception, but one of the news websites said our area would be celebrating on Sunday night as it should be, so we thought we were safe, only after coming back on Sunday afternoon to carve pumpkins and deposit eight dollars' worth of chocolate bars into a bowl near the front door and after getting the children good and excited about visiting numerous strangers' houses for candy, we learned that the news website Luke had found was actually from last year, and that all local festivities had taken place the day before, while we were in Chicago. So we scrambled through dinner, threw the costumes on the kids, and drove twenty minutes to a neighboring town to fulfill their toddler fantasies. Ah, parenthood.

How number three came to be

I guess I can archive these past few years of drama regarding to three or not to three in my Waste of Time file, huh?

Thank you all so much for the congratulations and well wishes on this pregnancy. It's been a surreal few weeks around here, that's for sure.

For those interested, a timeline:

October 10
Let me preface this by saying the entire fall season has been a blur of activity for my young little family. Weddings, bachelorette parties, middle-of-the-night births, work trips, guy weekends - all of them took place one after the other, at least two and a half hours away from home. I worked one Friday in September and was out of the office six days in October (mixture of work and personal). We have certainly enjoyed celebrating these happy events and good times with our loved ones, but all that travel produced a constant undercurrent of fatigue among the adults in our house. Which does not exactly lay the groundwork for, ahem, proper romantic relations.

This particular weekend began with my returning from a corporate-related field visit to Clarksburg, West Virginia, at 10:30 p.m. that Friday, resulting from a 15-minute delay of my initial flight that caused me to miss my connecting flight, and of course the next couple of flights back home were either full or became full after passengers other than myself were rescued from Airport Hell via standby lottery. I missed Kara and Nathan's bedtime when I should have been home for their mid-afternoon snack. It was a long day.

The following morning, Luke and his brother drove to Sandusky, Ohio, to hang out at Cedar Point Amusement Park until Sunday afternoon. I had a wonderful time playing with my kids, but hot damn, I missed mah husband.

So that night, after the children were asleep and the dishes were washed and Facebook appropriately monitored, Luke and I cracked open a bottle of wine we had purchased more than two months ago and settled in for a quiet, relaxing evening. An evening that just so happened to end with me asking, "You do know what could have just happened, right?"

Luke nodded, shrugging his shoulders. Obviously the wine had lowered his inhibitions. (Not that I was complaining.)

Quickly I did the math regarding my September visit from Aunt Flo and measured it against the average length of my cycles (32-34 days), and as we turned out the lights I confidently summarized, "Well, my last cycle was before Gina's wedding, so it should be here any day now. I'm sure we're probably safe."

Only the longer I thought about it, the less confident I felt. Since Luke and I have consisently used protection since Nathan was born, I don't make a conscious effort to track my cycles; i.e., there were no helpful Xs on the calendar for me to verify this now-critical piece of information. Then I remembered that, in fact, I had NOT gotten my period before the wedding, but after, vividly recalling my thankfulness to Flo on the morning of September 19 for staying away from my two-hundred-plus-dollar bridesmaid dress. 

I eventually changed my stance and told Luke, who could barely keep his eyes in his sockets by this point, "If we had been TRYING to have a baby, we couldn't have picked a better time."

Obviously, that was not the case with Luke's urology consult (November 3) (which has since been cancelled) (of course).

Meanwhile, the opening scene from Look Who's Talking was being re-enacted in my uterus.

October 11 - October 20
For almost two weeks we were stuck in The Land of Not Knowing, hashing out next steps if it turned out I was pregnant, and me preparing myself for the news that I wasn't, because I so, so wanted another baby and I knew this was my only chance to realize this dream. We have been so cautious for so long that it was a miracle this random fluke even happened at all. We were not trying, and would not be trying. It was now or never.

I looked for cosmic signs that another pregnancy was meant to be, like our recent financial overhaul and the last-minute decision not to sell our carseat. The brand-new, twice-used Ergo carrier sitting in Nathan's closet begging to hold a child who wouldn't scream and flail about angrily because "I wanna walk, Mommy." Also, our track record for accidentally conceiving children.

Then again, we were living a wonderful life with the family we had right now, and it was so much easier for us to get around, and I didn't miss night feedings or nursing anxiety or c-section recovery or taking almost a year to resume my pre-pregnancy weight. We had exciting plans for the future. Financial security was in sight. I was going to visit another continent, even, to help Molly get her precious baby next year. And one day, we would be foster parents, and possibly even obtain our third child that way. Another baby would be like taking two steps back, right? Life is good, I told myself. I will be okay.

October 21
That week I confided in several people about my maybe baby, with varied responses. That Thursday afternoon, I finally told my coworkers, and because a number of us have been experiencing random bouts of baby fever since the summer, they were super-excited; to the point that they eventually convinced me to run to the pharmacy and take a First Response during lunch.

I only took it because I was sure it would be negative. Even if I were pregnant, it was too soon to tell. Wasn't it?

"I'm not even late yet," I warned them as I headed to the bathroom. "It's only Day 32."

On a related note, did you know that a home pregnancy test can now be accurate as early as six days before your missed period? When Nathan was conceived, they were only at five. Slowpokes!

Two minutes later, I was running downstairs with two pink lines and one shaky left hand.

They were all so surprised I didn't call Luke the minute I got the positive, but I knew the news had to be shared in person. So I left work a few minutes early and cornered Luke in the kitchen once I was home. He was at the sink, washing dishes.

"I told the girls at work today about maybe being pregnant," I said, hand in purse searching for my precious evidence. "They were so happy, they wanted me to take a test."

"Did you tell them it was too early?" he asked, his own hands submersed in dishwater.

"That's what I said, but they told me that now you can get a positive reading from a drugstore test six days before you miss your period!"

"Yeah? So do you want to--" He stopped short after turning around, slowly taking in the white stick held snugly between my fingers. His eyes grew wide.

"Oooh."

-------

Baby number three was definitely not part of our current life plan. Many adjustments will have to be made. Like, no more Africa next year (which I am so, so sad about, but Molly has been great), and a major vehicle upgrade, and money for prenatal visits and hospital bills and maternity leave. I will have to prepare myself to once again dance with nursing and hopefully, finally, make it my bitch. Plus, navigate all the insecurities that go along with mothering a brand-new person AS WELL AS adjust to being outnumbered by an army of children under the age of four.

And yet, just try to wipe this silly grin off my face. Just try.

The heavens must be shaking with God's laughter

So. It turns out that Luke and I will not be selling our house in 2011.

Instead, we'll be having a baby.

 

We may also sign up for the local middle school's next sex ed class, because apparently we have forgotten how babies are made.

It is still very early; according to BabyCenter's due date calculator, I am four weeks if you measure by date of conception, five if we go by my last menstrual cycle. So, between June 26 and July 3.

I will share more details with you soon. In the meantime, just know that we could not be happier.

On the day he was born

Nathan turns 20 months old on Friday, and as the present clouds memories of yesterday, I regret more than ever my almost two-year delay in writing his birth story. I was so tired those first few months, and trying to make the best of a rushed maternity leave, and then coping with going back to work, and mothering a newborn and very young toddler besides. But now I have no excuse except that the details aren't as top of mind as they used to be, and I'm afraid that committing the day to "paper" will only reveal everything I don't remember. That problem will only get worse the longer I wait, though, so here is what I can tell you.

-------

Those of you reading at the time of Nathan's birth might remember that my c-section, originally scheduled for week 39, was moved up by six days due to my showing mild signs of pre-eclampsia. Surgery was moved up to 8 a.m. on Saturday, January 31, which meant he would share a birthday with my sister, Ryan. The day before I put in a half-day at work, sending frantic updates on active projects and cleaning my office of personal effects I thought I might need at home. There was dusting and vaccuming, upstairs and down, the cleaning of toilets, folding of clothes. Also a trip to Red Robin, a sort of last-ditch effort at a low-key Night Before, except it wasn't a low-key experience at all because they gave Luke the wrong burger. He didn't care too much, but I insisted on calling the manager, because hell hath no fury like a fully baked pregnant woman wronged. He promised to comp Luke's meal and actually voided the entire transaction, which we learned a couple weeks later when reading our bank statement. And I didn't even have to cry.

Luke's parents arrived shortly after dinner, primed for Kara duty for the length of my hospital stay. Bedtime went smoothly. I puttered around in Nathan's room arranging onesies and blankets. I blogged. Sometime after midnight, I finally went to sleep.

Luke and I woke up at 5:00 a.m. to start getting ready for the hospital. I showered and shaved my legs, fiddled with my hair. Kara woke up at 6:00, so I was able to hang out with her a little bit before we left. And surprisingly, I wasn't nervous about leaving her anymore. She and Luke's parents get along famously, and Luke was going to be alternating between home and St. Vincent's so as not to completely abandon her routine. It was going to be okay.

We left the house by 6:15 and made it to check-in around seven.

 

Primping for my date with the scalpel.

There are a few details I can recall about being prepped for surgery: the first nurse's botched attempt to insert my IV, watching cartoons with Luke while waiting for my obstetrician, getting updates from Molly en route to Indianapolis. Once in the OR, I learned that my anesthesiologist was acquainted with my employer's CEO. The spinal was administered without any problems; a tight pinch at the beginning, but otherwise so much quicker than the epidural. Once it was fully working, in went the catheter.

The most important thing I remember is my sense of calm. I was finally ready for Nathan to be born. Good thing, too, because sometime around eight, the procedure began.

Due to my pre-eclampsia symptoms, they didn't waste much time cutting right to the chase (no pun intended). At 8:39 a.m., out came Nathan, screaming at the top of his lungs, giving us a small taste of what was to come. He weighed 9 lb 5 oz and measured 22 1/4 inches long. At 38 weeks! Let's not even think about what those numbers could have been at 40.

Surgery was uneventful, thankfully, just like last time, as was the pressure in my chest when they pulled him out. I remember cracking jokes behind the curtain, making the doctor and the nurses laugh, so happy that this moment was finally here, and that we were getting to meet our son. 

He wowed the hospital staff with his impressive lung capacity, as well as his handsome little face, but soon he settled down and humbled himself to the flash of Luke's camera.

 

Post wailing.

Luke and I tossed around several names throughout my pregnancy - Liam, Peter, Toby, Benjamin, Alex - but Nathan Byron is the name we had ready for Kara had she been gifted boy parts, and it still remained our favorite, so Nathan Byron it was. Nathan because we liked it, Byron for Luke's middle name, in memory of his late grandfather on his mother's side. We figured we could call him Nate for short, but not once have we done that so far (though family members have). Just Nathan, or Buddy, or BooBoo, or Little Boobah. (Don't ask about that last one. We don't know, either.)

 

Unlike his sister, Nathan was able to wear more than one newborn diaper.

One of the main reasons Luke and I loved our hospital so much (aside from the private rooms and 24-hour room service) is that the staff considers "mommy and me" time to be top priority, so minutes after I was properly stitched up, Luke was placing Nathan in my arms. He felt so warm, and compared to Kara, so tiny. Words can't describe how much it meant to have him there, another tangible product of my relationship with Luke. I was so in love, with both of them, and Kara, too - my family in its own infancy, shiny and perfect and new.

 

I snuggled him close as they wheeled me into recovery, where Molly was waiting for us. She held her godson for the first time while Luke made phone calls, and then it was time to nurse. He latched on easily and fed for a bit on both sides. Afterwards, it was snuggle time, his face resting on my chest, my hands running over his back, my mind at peace. Feeling exhausted but oh so happy, enjoying my perfect little piece of the universe.

I remember looking up at Molly and saying, "Now I know why some mothers have eight children. I could see myself having ten just to relive this feeling."

 

Nathan and Molly, who, based on her expression, appears fully on board with this plan.

An hour and a half after surgery, I was brought into my room. I remember struggling to stay awake and scratching at my arms and legs constantly, the itching a side effect of the spinal. Luke held Nathan while Molly updated the Internet and I drifted in and out of sleep. I briefly called my boss, and others, too, I'm sure, but I don't remember anyone else. I was starving but wouldn't be allowed to eat anything solid for several more hours. Thankfully, the catheter was still in, so I didn't have to worry about getting up to pee.

By mid-afternoon, Molly was on her way back home to snuggle her own baby and Luke was off to have dinner and bedtime with Kara, leaving Nathan and me to our own devices in the hospital. It was pretty uneventful. I was still so tired, and scratching everywhere, and my butt was sore from lying in bed all day. In the early evening, Samantha, Dan, and Danny Jr. showed up from Chicago to meet their first nephew and visit with me in all my incoherent glory. They were my only relatives to make the trip to Indy, and I was so, so grateful they were there.

 

Auntie Samantha loving on her nephew.

Late that evening, Luke came back. At one point I devoured a glorious postpartum dinner of a roast beef sandwich, vanilla shake, and lime sherbet. I always load up on the sandwiches whenever at that hospital - they could easily stack up against any deli in town. And okay, I drank two shakes, not one, but hey, twelve hours of nothing but liquids = PRIMAL HUNGER.

The following day brought a lot less itching and a few more visitors. Luke's parents, Kara in tow, Luke's brother. They all came together and didn't stay terribly long, but it was so good to see my little girl, and it strengthened my resolve to leave the hospital on day three, to get back to my life. She didn't show much interest in Nathan, or even me, for that matter; she kept running back to Grandma and Grandpa, which was just fine, because I kept worrying about her accidentally kicking my incision.

 

Nathan with Daddy and Grandma D.

That day also brought the removal of my catheter, at which point I was charged with the monumental task of emptying my own bladder. It was hugely difficult after Kara, and not accomplished without many tears, but R.N. Susan-Marie gave me a fantastic tip that moved things along much more efficiently and with a lot less pain: get a glass of water and blow bubbles into it with a straw while you're pushing; this gives you something tangible to focus on. That was my biggest problem last time - my body was so out of touch with the act of bearing down that I had no idea how to direct my efforts. Genius!

I can't stress enough how wonderful my hospital stay was this time around. Nathan fed, pooped, and slept with no problems, I ate to my heart's content, and Luke and I received an adequate amount of rest, even sending Nathan to the nursery once for a good four hours so we could get sleep with no interruptions. There were no jagged breakdowns over nursing, no feeling like a bumbling idiot in the hours before we came home. There were no looming doubts over how the hell am I going to do this?

 

Luke and Nathan scoring some father-son time before our release from the hospital.

There were several major obstacles we faced in those first few weeks home: slow weight gain (Nathan's, unfortunately, not mine), nursing and bottle-feeding troubles, constant spit-up, ear-piercing crying, and through it all, nobody nearby to help us. But I love thinking about those first few days when the world felt paused on its axis, and all that mattered was enjoying my new family.

 

Party of four in the hizzouse!

I think the reason I put off writing Nathan's story for so long is the lack of drama surrounding his birth. Kara's story was fraught with suspense at every turn - Will my cervix fully dilate? Drugs or no drugs? Will the baby ever drop? - and I knew readers would get a kick out of the minute-by-minute play-by-play. With Nathan, though, I had all those questions answered before the second trimester by taking them off the table. Water breaking, dilation and effacement, pain relief, pushing, episiotomy or natural tear. Deciding on a c-section eliminated most of the unpredictability. The pre-eclampsia threw a wrench in our plans, sure, but only in regards to time frame. (And thank God for that.) The execution remained unchanged.

But whatever Nathan's birth lacked in story-telling potential was made up for in spades with peace and love and joy. I can more than live with that.

 

It took two years for you to write all THAT? Geez, Mom, you are so lame. Also, so is your cell phone. Pony up and get a Droid already.

Little Mister

As promised, I have returned with pictures of the little man of the hour, all brand new and perfect.

 

Mommy & Daddy with Nathan, just into the recovery room.  I know there isn't much to say for the picture quality, but the baby had his eyes open, giving a very suspicious peek to all he encountered.  And how cute is that, I ask you?

   

Nathan just about an hour old, none too happy to leave Mommy's arms for a quick listen from the stethoscope.

Thanks dad, much better.

 

Aah yes, that's exaaaactly the sleeping place I was looking for.

 

Luke & Nathan, pals.

 

Bree and I and baby Nathan.  Might I add that the last twelve times one of the two of us has birthed a child, the next one in the picture is pregnant (whether they know it or not).  And it is just time to take a break from that for a while, thankyouverymuch.

 

Gush.

And last but not least, here's a little video clip of Nathan, very soon after he was born:

Hoping for a smooth, happy recovery for Bree, and looking forward to seeing pictures of the new fabulous duo, Kara and Nathan, together.

He's here!

Hi all, it's Molly with good news!

Nathan Byron was born at 8:39 this morning.  He weighed 9 pounds 5 ounces and measured 22 1/4 inches long.  He has lots of dark hair and the sweetest little face. 

Both Breain and Nathan are doing great, enjoying their snuggle time together. 

I will update again with pictures when I arrive home this evening.

Welcome Baby Nathan!  We love you!

The night before (but just barely)

As you can tell by the time stamp on this entry, my resolution to keep better hours doesn't apply the night before a life-changing event. Oh, well. It's not like I'll be running a marathon tomorrow, just lying on a slab waiting to be sliced open. Would it really be that inappropriate to take a little nap?

Things are OK--Luke and I have both been a flip-flop of emotions today, excited about the baby, sad about Kara losing her status as an only child so quickly, anxious about getting the house in order, nervous about tomorrow. It hasn't taken much to get the tears flowing--"Kara's last bath as an only child! Sob," but surprisingly my eyes were dry when I put her to bed, and that's where I expected to get really emotional. She fell asleep quickly, though, and the two of us sat in her rocking chair for a good hour while I just held on to her and told her that I loved her and that I knew she'd be a wonderful big sister. And she will be.

 

Everything is in order--dishes washed, laundry washed and folded, picture framed dusted, carpets vaccuumed, refrigerator and pantry stocked, and grandparents on board to take over baby duties so Luke and I can leave for the hospital by five a.m. Registration is at six. I should be under the knife by eight.

But let's not talk about that right now. Would you like to see pictures of Baby Brother's room? I thought about waiting to include them in my grand House Unveiling post, and then I realized I've been promising that post for about two months, and really, I don't even know if you care anymore, but still, I swear it's coming. In the meantime, though, there is this:

 

Somebody on Parents asked about the paint color we used in here. It's Eddie Bauer Dill, EB10-3, courtesy of Valspar at Lowe's. Of course, this information might be more useful to include on my actual Parents blog.

 

I am so in love with this dresser, it's not even funny. In fact, I'm over the moon about all of Baby Brother's furniture--the style, color, the matchy-matchness of it all. Swoon.

 

As you can see, we went with a safari animals/monkey theme for his room. Just enough for everything to compliment each other, but not so much that other items seem out of place. In my opinion, anyway.

 

To think I once thought boy clothes weren't fun. Look at that onesie on the right. See how bright and bold and colorful? Blue and green are my favorite colors, and these shades rock my world. Oh, yeah.

 

A closet waiting for clothes in sizes larger than six months.

 

Not part of Baby Brother's room, but adorable just the same.

My big goal for this weekend (aside from having a healthy baby, of course) is to take care of myself in the hospital well enough to be discharged in two days instead of three (the standard stay for a c-section), and I have more perspective this time than I did after having Kara, so my next post should take place relatively soon. If not, though, no worries, because Molly is coming to Indianapolis to meet her godson and has agreed to update here once she's back at home. Until then, hopefully this will tide you over:

   

We're coming to get you, baby. See you soon.

See ya, February delivery date; January, how YOU doin'?

Today at three o'clock, I had my 38-week appointment slash last prenatal visit before Baby Brother's scheduled delivery on February 5. I learned from the nurse that the protein level in my urine was still at +3 but that I had lost two pounds since last time, which means my swelling has gone down. Blood pressure checked out just fine, as usual. I saw the doctor, who measured me at 43 centimeters and said she wouldn't be surprised if I had a ten-pound baby in there. I mentioned last week's HELLP scare, and she looked at the notes taken during my last visit. We talked for a few minutes about life with two small children, as she herself is the mother of two boys fifteen months apart. By a quarter to four, I was on my way home.

That was easy! I thought. No more drama.

At four-thirty, I walked through the door. At four-thirty one, Luke informed me of a message from the doctor on our voice mail, instructing me to page her at my earliest convenience. She had called at four o'clock.

Well. That can't be good.

I paged the doctor. She called me back. After examining my file more thoroughly, she discovered that my 24-hour urine collection revealed a protein level of 691, which puts me in the category of "mildly pre-eclamptic." If I were 32 weeks along, I'd be on bedrest, she said. But since Baby Brother is full term and growing well (ha! that's an understatement), there's no need to keep him in there any longer.

"So, what does this mean?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"It means that I would be more than happy to deliver your baby tomorrow."

And there it was.

As it turns out, I'm not having the baby tomorrow. Because my pre-eclampsia isn't severe and my blood pressure is good, my doctor was fine with postponing the c-section until Saturday. So the new game plan is for me to go to work tomorrow long enough to tie up some loose ends and then scramble like mad to clean our house. (Three cheers for doing the last of our shopping and finishing the baby's room over the weekend.) Luke's parents will arrive tomorrow evening (a gazillion more cheers for wonderful in-laws willing to watch their granddaughter while her pushy brother makes his way into the world). At five a.m. on Saturday morning, we'll depart for the hospital. I should be under the knife by eight.

I'm not sure what to feel. On one hand, OH MY GOD AM I SICK OF PREGNANCY. It hurts to get in and out of bed. My clothes don't fit. The Braxton-Hicks contractions are taking their toll. The last of my work projects can be easily passed along to other members of my department. I'm tired all the time. Our bags are packed. I'm done.

On the other hand, I'm not ready for surgery. I'm freaking out over having to leave Kara. I'm upset that our family of three is losing four precious days together. I'm worried about recovering from surgery while meeting the needs of two young babies. I need more time.

But all of that said, I still know that I'm lucky, because the first scare was enough to whip our asses into gear and the second one bought us another day and a half to wrap things up. Poor Emily had to leave from her doctor's office straight for the hospital for the births of BOTH her children. In the grand scheme of things, my rushed birthing experience isn't that big of a deal.

Remind me I said that when I'm hyperventilating tomorrow.

Expect one more post before Saturday.

HELLP diagnosis: negative

The doctor just called. Platelets are good. Blood count is stable. Liver enzymes are normal. Nothing indicates HELLP Syndrome, though I was instructed to stay off my feet as much as I can to help with my swelling. I shared the happy news with my boss, and she has instructed me to step away from the computer and get some rest. So I am going to do just that.

Thanks so much for the well wishes. Will hopefully update over the weekend with pictures of wee baby clothes (and maybe even my house!).

Not the HELLP I had in mind

"175," announced the nurse.

I almost shit my pants when she announced my weight, up a whopping NINE POUNDS from the week before.

As she took my blood pressure, she also shared that the protein level in my urine had risen to a +3. Unbeknownst to me, I've been at a +2 all month, but since that could have been for any number of reasons, it wasn't enough to raise a red flag.

"The doctor will want to do some tests," she said.

Not the routine 37-week appointment I was hoping for yesterday.

Me at 37 weeks. This was taken two days ago, before I knew about the atrocious weight gain (though it only brings me to 35 pounds overall. Thank goodness for small favors?).

I talked to my doctor. My blood pressure is and always has been normal, so no cause for concern there. However, he wonders if I might have HELLP Syndrome; if I do, the only cure is to deliver the baby.

"So he could come as early as Saturday?" I asked in disbelief.

He smiled sympathetically. "Tomorrow. He could be here tomorrow."

-------

In the waiting room, I was fine. I called Luke. I had three vials of blood drawn. I accepted my tool kit for collecting a 24-hour urine sample (which is festering in an ugly orange jug in the fridge as we speak, isn't THAT a lovely picture). I called my boss. I walked out with the receptionist and got into my car. I called Luke again and pulled out of the parking lot.

And then I lost it. Suddenly I was sobbing about not being ready to mother two children and what if tonight is the last night that we'll only have Kara and the baby clothes aren't washed and I don't want to go to the hospital and waaaaah.

I broke down again a few hours later during Kara's bathtime, sitting on the floor and cradling my head in my arms on the toilet seat lid as I contemplated life's grave injustices. "I'm not ready," I wailed.

There was silence for a couple of minutes. Then Luke said, "We can call him Jake if you want."

When in doubt, comfort your wife by conceding to one of her top name choices.

(Note: His name will not be Jake. But I sure appreciated the gesture.)

-------

I'm OK now and trying to stay positive. Baby Brother measured at 40 centimeters and I don't have any other obvious HELLP symptoms (headaches, nausea, vomiting), so maybe I just grow big babies. All I can do is wait for a call on the results of my blood work and take it from there. If all is well, I'll drop off my urine sample at 4 p.m., have more blood drawn, and await further instructions. I spent a lot of last night and will spend much of today catching up on work so I don't leave my boss in the lurch. Luke's been on laundry detail. Kara's being her normal wonderful self.

 

I just called the doctor's office and was told someone would get back to me soon with an update on my blood work. I'm torn between wanting this pregnancy to finally be over--my physical uncomfortableness is now at a point where I cry out just from getting out of my seat--and hoping for more time to relax and prepare. But last night I had a dream about Baby Brother, and he was so cute, except for the part where he didn't have a penis and Luke told me I was looking in the wrong place. 

Don't hold me to it, but I think I'm finally ready to snuggle my son.

One baby, extra caesarean, hold the VBAC

When I was 26 weeks pregnant with Kara, my uterus measured a perfect 26 centimeters. So when people questioned the appropriateness of my size, I just repeated what my doctor told me: the baby was healthy and doing just fine. I kept the meaner, gutter-language retorts to myself.

Here's photographic evidence of Kara and me at the 26-week mark:

 

...And here I am yesterday morning, 26 weeks in with Baby Brother, just a couple of hours before my monthly prenatal appointment, where he measured a whopping THREE weeks ahead of schedule:

I know. Kara can't believe it, either. See her look of disbelief? She's all, "Who does this kid think he is, showing me up before he's even outside? I'M the miracle-size baby. Just let him TRY to top my birth weight!"

(Um, sweetheart, let's not encourage him.)

What to say to the haters now? There's no denying it: I look huge and I feel huge. The doctor wasn't concerned, but when I told her I wanted remove this boy from my uterus via a planned c-section, she didn't bat an eye, just asked for my date of choice and verified with the doctor scheduled to be on call that day (the doctor who performed Kara's surgery, no less). I've spent more time ordering beef low mein than it took to schedule the birth of my son. And the noodles weren't even that good.

For those not in the know, I've written a couple of times about forgoing a VBAC on my Parents blog, but to document it here on my personal site, I'll share my thought process again. At last month's appointment, I asked the doctor for her opinion regarding whether or not attempting a vaginal birth was a good idea for me. There are five ob/gyns in my practice, and each time I see one, I throw that question out there just to see if everyone's on the same page. And when it comes to supporting a woman's right to VBAC, they are; nobody ever said I couldn't try for one. However, this doctor was the second one to recommend another c-section (my primary ob was the first). She listed Kara's size as one factor, which I knew was still mind-boggling to everyone there; so much so, in fact, that at yesterday's appointment I took my glucose challenge test two weeks early to make sure my body isn't harboring a secret case of gestational diabetes. The other issue was the risk of uterine rupture, a rare but life-threatening condition I'll allow Wikipedia to explain to you. It sounds just lovely.

Anyway, the idea of attempting labor and then deciding Baby Brother was too big to deliver vaginally was never a big deal to me; I wasn't worried about pain because I knew I'd get the epidural again, and the possibility of avoiding surgery was worth risking an unsuccessful trial of labor. It's the uterine rupture thing that's always been a hard pill to swallow. Once I learned from my doctor that the risk of rupture increases when births are fewer than two years apart, there was no question in my mind that for me, a c-section is the way to go. My kids will barely be ONE year apart as it is; hell no am I counting on the strength of an abdominal scar that only had a few months to heal before it was subjected to another pregnancy.

I applaud women who have the confidence to attempt a VBAC. I think it's wonderful that the old adage "Once a c-section, always a c-section" no longer applies. I'm proud of myself for even considering it. But in the end, it's just not for me. So Baby Brother's birth day is officially on the books: Thursday, February 5, 2009, 8 a.m. My plan is to wrap up work the Friday before and spend the first half of that week freaking out about having my second baby, a baby I STILL can't believe exists in the first place. Mark your calendars and hold onto your hats.

As if this post weren't already chock full of meaty content, I also talked to my doctor about birth control after Baby Brother's extraction--something I obviously didn't pay much attention to after Kara. I'm not interested in methods that turn my uterus into a poo-poo environment on the off chance ovulation were to occur; once the life process is in motion, I don't want to mess with that. But I am interesed in sidestepping it for a bit while Luke and I figure out if we want to have more children. Just for kicks, I asked my doctor about having my tubes tied during my caesarean, but since I'm delivering at a Catholic hospital, it's not even an option. Which is fine--I'm not sure how I feel about permanently ending my childbearing years before I'm 30--but I'm not sure I'd ever be up for another pregnancy, either. My doctor recommended Mirena, which sounds great except it doesn't meet my uterus-friendly criteria, and she also mentioned Essure, a procedure that's just as permanent as a tubal but without all the surgery. Also great, if we decide that we're Done.

In the end, Luke and I will probably just use condoms until my cycle regulates itself and I can trust the calendar to tell me when I'm ripe for the picking (thank you, Taking Charge of Your Fertility). It obviously worked before Kara, seeing as we were able to conceive her the minute we stopped avoiding relations on my "high-trigger" days. Baby Brother's conception had nothing to do with botched birth control and everything to do with "Ha! There's no way that could happen to me." A hard lesson to learn, for we all know how well THAT turned out:

Not that I would have it any other way, of course.

Your mother's a tracer!

The names, they were copied.

They were placed inside a hat.

  

And then three names were chosen by Luke, who was gracious enough to play my assistant while catching up on last night's episode of House.

In an effort to spread the wealth, I decided to break up the mega package into three separate prizes: the Jay and Silent Bob series, the two Clerks comics, and our dear Buddy Christ.

And the winners are...

 

 

Congratulations Gry, Dawnie, and Audrey! Gry, you get the Buddy Christ. Dawnie, the Jay and Silent Bob series is yours. Audrey, enjoy Clerks. Get me your addresses by Monday and I'll try to mail everything out next week. A big thanks to the rest of you who...um...wanted to take my stuff.

For those of you who couldn't care less about my nerdy contest, might I interest you in a belly shot of sorts?

 

Here I am at 23 weeks pregnant with Baby Brother, my two-days-shy-of-10-months-old daughter standing by my side. It's not the most telling angle, but it's the best Luke and I could manage under the circumstances ("circumstances" being a code word for "the child who insists on clinging to my legs for dear life the minute I walk through the door"). However, it's still enough to compare to my size at this point in Kara's incubation:

 

So far, the kids seem to be progressing at relatively the same rate. I had an ob/gyn appointment on Monday, where I learned that Baby Brother is spot on, measurement-wise, just like Kara was until we reached the final few weeks. (For more details about that visit, including my decision regarding whether or not to attempt a VBAC, check out my post on Parents.com.)

Edited to add: Whoops, there was one more photo I meant to post last night, because HELLO, adorableness:

Closing time

So. Today is closing day! The day Luke and I officially become homeowners for the first time in our lives. Final walk-through is at 2:30 p.m., closing is at 3:00, and of course we're still waiting to get final numbers from the bank for our cashier's check because why should we expect things to run smoothly?

I came into work this morning with a huge rock in my stomach (aside from Baby Brother), and as excited as we are to begin this new chapter of adulthood, Luke and I couldn't be more nervous. And because everything's happening so late in the afternoon, I'm not sure how we're going to celebrate. Maybe remove the "For Sale" sign in the front yard. Possibly go out to dinner because there's dried Rice-A-Roni on the stove from last night and Kara will need to eat shortly after we close and our apartment is a good forty minutes from our new pad. Continue to hash out paint colors and a schedule of what we can reasonably expect to accomplish before our October 28th move-in day. Originally the plan was to spend three weekends painting the entire house and the last weekend moving in, but my nephew Danny's baptism is now set for on October 26 and by the way, Ryan is moving to Germany to reunite with her army husband the weekend before that, and there's no way I'm missing out on my last chance to see her before spring. This leaves us only two working weekends left, so the NEW objective is to simply finish the second floor before the new carpet and bathroom tiles are installed later in the month.

Not that any of this makes me the slightest bit uneasy. Or crabby. Or hungry for a big bowl of spinach dip and a day in my pajamas.

It's overwhelming, how much there is to do before vacating our apartment; so overwhelming, in fact, that all I can do is think about October in small, manageable chunks. Call the flooring company. Price-check options for Internet, phone, and cable. (Yes, after more than three years of doing without, the Frema-Useless Clutter household just might hop on the cable bandwagon again.) (Also, I'm thinking not so much with the Comcast.) Buy primer and paint. Figure out when to paint. Figure out what to do with Kara. I would totally put her to work if she could walk more than five steps at a time. Also, if she could be trusted to keep her gums off the paintbrush.

(Actually, we do have some plans for Kara. A friend of mine from work who I knew from my Saint Joe days is going to come to the house and keep her company next Saturday so Luke and I can tackle the upstairs at the same time. Marissa heard about our baby-sitterless plight and actually volunteered to baby-sit. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a beautiful, paid friendship.)

In more uplifting news, did I tell you how much fun Kara is these days? Oh, wait, I guess I did. But I want to document it here, too, that my baby toddles and eats yogurt and "reads" her board books the right way and still has to play with my hair when I rock her to sleep. Luke and I are constantly looking at pictures from her newborn days and marveling over how much personality she's developed since then, how active she is, and how she loves us through each fumble. I would never categorize myself as patient, and I'm embarrassed to admit how damn frustrating parenthood is sometimes, but despite my shortcomings, Kara still scrambles to my arms when I come home each day. The biggest fear I had about being a working mom--that she wouldn't want me as much--has now reversed into my biggest obstacle, at least when trying to tackle my daily to-dos. She can't get enough of me. But I wouldn't want it any other way.

It's amazing to think that soon, there will be TWO little wonderfuls vying for my attention.

This was taken last Wednesday morning to document me at 20 weeks. Tomorrow I will be 21 weeks. Where is the time going?

Kara doesn't know, either.

It's mind-boggling, how much I love her.

Trying to bring pretty back

At nineteen weeks and some change, I finally feel like I'm coming into my own with this pregnancy. Having more energy and a cute little baby bump to boot have inspired me to take more pride in my appearance as opposed to those first couple of months, when just rolling out of bed and showering required supreme effort. Blow-drying my hair? Ha! Don't make me laugh.

Now, though? I'm not sure where to start.

I desperately need a hair cut, but my stylist is in Chicago and I'm not brave enough to try somebody new, so that will have to wait until the end of October, when Luke, Kara, and I will make the trip for little Danny's baptism. I plan on adding to my maternity wardrobe, but new clothes aren't enough. As always, whether I'm gestating or not, my biggest problem has to do with my skin.

Before returning to work in March, I went on a postpartum shopping spree to load up on products that I hoped would reduce the appearance of blemishes and even out my color. And once I went back, I took great care to apply the moisturizer, primer, and foundation. I used Philosophy's "On a Clear Day" kit and was pleased with the results. It was groovy, baby.

Now that I'm knocked up again, though, the tools at my disposal have changed. I love the overall effect of Philosophy's acne products, but the magical step-two serum is now off-limits until I deliver, and it seems like a waste of time and money to use the others out of sequene. For a while I continued to buy the facewash, but I'm going to run out of my current supply any day now, and it doesn't appear to be as effective without the added boost of the serum and the creams. Also, I'm too lazy to go to the mall and buy more, so I'm scratching that, too, even though it would also give me the opportunity to restock on my absolute favorite Clinique product in the whole entire world. End result? Right now I'm going the drugstore route and relying on Aveeno to keep my face clean and moisturized until Baby Brother makes his debut.

Did I ever tell you about how the rest of my beauty finds worked out? Of course I didn't, otherwise I wouldn't have set myself up to talk about them right here and now.

Since 2005, I had been utilizing every last drop of my bottle of Becca's Mattifying Primer because of how silky the mousse-like texture felt on my skin. So on my back-to-work shopping spree, I originally searched for that. However, the gal at Sephora said the brand had been discontinued and pimped the Smashbox Photofinish Light Foundation Primer as a worthy alternative. Amalah is a huge fan of Smashbox as well, so I gave it a shot. And I liked it! But it was one of the few times in my cosmetic history where I actually depleted a product over the span of a couple of months as opposed to a couple of YEARS. And when that product is forty buck a pop, that will. not. do.

So I went back to Sephora, where this time Laura Mercier's Foundation Primer was pimped out instead, and I said yes because it was ten dollars cheaper. But this primer? I do not like. It feels good going on but leaves my face greasy and shiny all the livelong day. According to some of the reviewers who faced the same problem, this probably isn't the best choice for those with oily or combination skin.

I still have a lot left, but because I don't like it, I've stopped wearing make-up altogether, even though I actually quite enjoy the LORAC foundation I found in March. This means I've been showing up to work in all my prenatal, pimply glory. I have finally decided this must stop.

So in vain I looked up Becca on Google, and what do you know, the brand wasn't discontinued after all. And oh, look, there's my primer! So did the Sephora girl lie to my face, or did she mean to imply that Sephora discontinued the stocking of Becca products? If it's the latter, she certainly could've MENTIONED the ability to buy it elsewhere. But whatever. I'm thisclose to doing exactly that. I'm sure my complexion and my coworkers will thank me.

Before my Oops, I Did It Again Moment in May, physically I was in a good place. I felt more confident about how I looked, and I was on the right track to losing the last few pounds of my baby weight. Pregnancy is a blessing, but hot damn, am I excited to do that again.

So, to sum up, Aveeno cleanser and moisturizer (including night cream! my, but I'm fancy), Becca primer, and LORAC foundation. I guess I DO know where to start. Carry on, then, but not without sharing your own favorite beauty and skincare products. You know, for future reference. Sisters have to help each other out, you know?

Let's Hear It For The Boy

Well, THERE went two weeks of personal blogging I'll never get back.

The mini-hiatus was unintentional, but life, it has been busy. Between welcoming sweet baby girls, working out insurance and inspection details for our September 30 closing, and keeping up with projects at work, I'm lucky I've managed to update my Parents blog. But, you know, they pay me, so it wasn't that hard of a decision to make.

Speaking of Parents, if you're a follower, you learned on Friday that a penis was discovered in my uterus.

Thanks to the cheesecake I had at lunch, Baby Brother was much more cooperative during his ultrasound than Kara was for hers, so we saw the goods twice. Also, his very adorable profile.

Oh, and we might've purchased a few little boy things. Maybe. Just a few.

I so thought this baby was going to be a girl (thanks for nothing, stupid old wives' tales), but disappointed would be the last word I'd use to describe what it felt like to learn about my son. Luke and I couldn't be more excited.

-------

I really appreciated all of your comments regarding our new house and our plight with the kitchen cabinets. Despite the amount of work we know it's going to take, Luke and I have decided to bite the bullet and repaint them a soft, creamy color. Paired with a khaki/tan shade on the walls, that should be enough to even things out and keep the first-floor rooms from clashing with each other, no matter what colors we end up using. I was quite impressed with Dr. Maureen's paint job, and after seeing her "before" pictures, I better understand why in certain cases, painting over the wood actually makes more sense than keeping the cabinets in their current condition. I have no idea what shape my cabinets were in before they were subjected to all that green, but after visiting the Valspar Web site to review paint swatches, I think I know where the sellers got their inspiration.

Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

The kicker? I actually DON'T MIND the color scheme in this room. But when you swap out the laminate flooring for a blah white tile and eliminate more than half the square footage, including the kick-ass island, what could have been a warm and inviting look becomes cramped and mismatched in a less impressive space. Oh, well. Live and learn.

The time between now and when we actually move in October is already making me nervous, wondering if we can paint every room and every damn cabinet prior to the second floor's carpet and tile job, prioritizing the items we want to add/upgrade in our home, counting every penny and trying to maximize it best we can. It's overwhelming now, but I trust that once we have the keys in hand, everything will suddenly appear much more managable. In the meantime, let's all ooh and ahh over Kara, who turned nine months old today and currently steals our hearts with her open-mouthed kisses, determination to walk, and ability to babble Mama and Dada at just the right time.

The apple of our eye indeed!

Much cuter than the professional shots she took at Target last month. We'll be redoing them this weekend at Portrait Innovations.

Today it's orchards, tomorrow undergraduate education. Sob.

"The Moist Maker" sounds much tastier than a calzone

Blasted food and its effect on second-trimester gestating women! The drama continues.

(Though not with Subway. I finally figured out the solution to my sub-versus-wrap dilemma. Double meat! Genius! AND DELICIOUS.)

The farther along I get in this pregnancy, the hungrier I get, at least for the first part of the day. If you don't believe me, let me tell you that today's lunch included a Weight Watchers Smart Ones calzone, an apple, banana, pear, and a roast beef sandwich. God help me, I PACKED A ROAST BEEF SANDWICH AS A MID-MORNING SNACK. With cheese, even! The sandwich was gone before ten, and that's only because I had a nine o'clock meeting. Restraint and Self-Control, see you in February 2009.

Anyway, by eleven I was fishing around the company freezer to retrieve my calzone, but it wasn't until I had unwrapped it that I realized it wasn't my calzone at all, but one of those Hot Pocket things that Jim Gaffigan used to poke fun at, and a feeling of shame washed over me as I compared myself to the professor in Friends who shamelessly stole Ross's post-Thanksgiving turkey sandwich and only ate half before throwing the rest away. I imagined the owner of the Hot Pocket lamenting the loss of his high-calorie treat much like Ross did, releasing a gutteral "My Hot Pocket?!" cry loud enough to send every pigeon in the Indianapolis area off in search of less tortured pastures.

But now that it was opened, what could I do but eat it, write a note of apology, and carry on with my life? So I stuck the Pocket in the microwave, taped a note to the freezer offering my smaller-but-healthier Smart Ones calzone in return, and waited three minutes for the dinger to go off.

Turns out my packing the sandwich wasn't just a piggy move after all, because the Hot Pocket smelled absolutely terrible and inspired a gag reflex so horrendous that I tossed the whole damn thing in the trash. I almost ripped up the note and went for my Smart Ones, but the guilt of eliminating somebody's lunch entirely was reason enough to hold back. I quizzed a few of my coworkers to see if they were the owners of the offending Pocket, but nobody was, though I did learn the IT director is quite fond of them, so I'll check out that lead later this afternoon.

When revealing my plight to one of the director's colleagues, she was sympathetic. "Now, you don't have a lunch," she said.

I just nodded. Nobody has to know about my sandwich but me.

P.S. House info is coming! The inspection is scheduled for three o'clock tomorrow, and I'm allowed to take pictures, so I'll try to relate that tale sometime this weekend. In the meantime, might I placate you with shots of my eight-month-old? She really is the cutest.

No, my daddy doesn't spike my bottle with Starbucks, why do you ask?

My mother, a sandwich stealer? Heavens to Betsy!

I'm a little ashamed

...because here's what I bought for lunch today. For myself.

Let me explain.

It started out innocently enough yesterday when I went to Subway for lunch, as I've been apt to do on days when our cupboard is bare. Usually I order a six-inch turkey sub on wheat bread with American cheese, tomatoes, and mustard, and I was about to order that yesterday when a sign caught my eye. It said that any six-incher could be turned into a salad or a wrap. And since I wasn't really in the mood for a whole lot of bread, I went with the wrap. And it was delicious.

But the wrap was not enough. Even after a bag of chips, even after a chocolate-chip cookie. I still wanted more.

So when I went back for lunch today, I contemplated getting TWO turkey wraps. I reasoned I could eat one now and one later on in the day so Luke wouldn't feel pressured to make dinner as soon as I got home. But then two of my coworkers lined up behind me, and if there were two turkey wraps attached to my order, it would be obvious that both of the sandwiches were for me. And since it's NOT obvious to everyone that I'm 14 weeks pregnant (it's not a secret, but it's not main-stream information for those who don't know me), I did what any starving, gestating woman would do.

I got a turkey and a roast beef. With two different kinds of chips. Fooled them all, I have! I thought, and ran the hell out of there.

Until I got back to the lab and realized that NOW I had to worry about somebody passing my very-public cubicle and noticing the two Subway sacks on my desk. Plus, I was mentally cursing myself out for not ordering any liquidy condiment for the roast beef, because Subway's beef tastes awfully dry without at least a little bit of mustard. Too late now.

So far I've eaten one full wrap--half the turkey and half the roast beef--and I've finished one bag of chips. I'm not starving anymore but still hungry enough that there's a good chance there will be nothing left to store in the company break room for tomorrow.

I have a good excuse, though, right? Doesn't every woman start her second trimester with a desire for two lunches?

Also, to document that my pooching uterus still looks more like it's holding beer and pizza than my beautiful, surprise second child, here I am at 14 weeks. In the john. Again. Some things never change.

ALERT, ALERT: An update to add that everything is gone except the second half of the roast beef, which is now sitting in the fridge and will probably never be eaten because OH MY GOD, DRY. Then I went and grabbed an ice cream sandwich from the vending machine and so help me, God, it was delicious. Good thing I'm out of cash or my boss would have to roll me to my car, Violet-style.

In case you couldn't tell, I got a haircut, too

You don't mind an entry chock full of pictures, do you? Good. Because I am very tired and these images are the only reason I was motivated to post tonight.

Last week, Luke, Kara, and I spent four days up north visiting family, prompted by the fact that my new brother-in-law, Jason, was on a two-week leave from duty in Iraq, and not only did I have to miss his and Ryan's wedding (remember my Saint Joe scare?), he was deployed before Kara was born, so he still hadn't met his niece. We wasted no time getting them properly introduced.

Uncle Jason was happy to see Kara, though he admitted at one point, "I don't know what to do with her!" Here they are both looking to my mom for further instruction.

For our four nights away from home, we spent the first and last one at Luke's parents house and the middle two with Samantha and Dan. My sister is just over a week away from her due date, which just so happens to fall on the anniversary of her wedding. Little Danny Junior's arrival is eagerly anticipated by all.

(Here would be a great place to include Samantha's picture, except that I didn't take any. Bad big sister!)

Here's Luke reading to Kara one of the mornings we stayed with Samantha and Dan. I'm including it because Kara munching on her bunny's ear--the one that has helped her recover from a rough sleep patch these last couple of months--is way adorable, and it showcases one of her very favorite books: Gossie and Gertie, which is actually part of a Gossie-and-friends-type series. MY favorite is the one about BooBoo because it talks about burps, and what could be cuter then a story about a gosling who burps?

 

On Saturday morning, our little family stole away for a couple of hours and drove to Navy Pier. It was Kara's first time seeing Lake Michigan, and Luke and I had a blast strolling her down the boardwalk and giving her a view of the water. The Pier is one of my favorite Chicago landmarks, so it was probably natural that I felt a ping of sadness over not living closer and being able to see it any old time we wanted. Staying in Indianapolis is the best option for us right now, but part of me holds out for the chance of someday making the move to northwest Indiana, where the grass is green and the commuter trains are pretty.

Later that afternoon I attended a surprise baby shower for Molly (I know she'll be sharing pictures soon) (hint, hint, Molly), and while I was gone Luke and Kara hung out with my mom, who was ecstatic over having so much time with her granddaughter. There are some especially cute pictures over at Parents, where Kara's reading Grandma's face Helen Keller style and Grandma's teaching Kara this "so big!" move that she absolutely loved.

(Notice Kara's travel chair? It's a Chicco Caddy Hook-On Chair we can use at places where a high chair isn't available. It was thirty-five bucks and works like a charm, though Kara did cling to me for dear life the first couple of times she was in there.)

Kara likes the hustle and bustle of Chicago, but she also enjoys the quiet calm we experience when we visit Grandma and Grandpa Dunscombe. Also, Grandpa provides adequate lap space for naps.

The next day, before we headed out of town, we stopped to visit Molly and Jack. They were both excited to see Kara, because Molly has baby girl fever and Jack still gets a kick out of Kara's "Oopsie" video. I think they had a good time with each other, though Jack was not thrilled with Kara's tendency to drool on his toys.

Jack's like, "What are you doing with my bus, woman?" and Kara's like, "Boat?"

I don't know why innocent pictures like this make me want to joke about a future pairing, but they do, except then I get weirded out contemplating my baby daughter's potential love matches. Forgive me, Jack.

Molly and I juggling small children and fetuses (feti?) in utero. Neither of us expected to get knocked up with surprise babies this year, but who does? And anyway, there's nobody I'd rather freak out with.

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Now, the random stuff.

My Hoosier Momma shirt turned out to be too small, so my embarassment over wearing it can wait until next year. Maybe we'll just save it for bedtime.

It looks like the top three venue choices for BlogHer 2009 are Portland, Philadelphia, and St. Louis. I voted for St. Louis because it's closest in proximity to Indianapolis, but I would be way stoked to visit Philly again. I went there with Luke in 2004 to visit his best friend. We visited Old City and Valley Forge and took a ghost tour and all of it was awesome. Luke is actually encouraging me to sign up next year and even suggested that the four of us (!) could go together and turn part of the trip into a mini family vacation. I am so all over that; I really did have a great time last year. My only hang-up is my purpose for attending: my personal blog is often left to collect dust, so ads are definitely not a part of my near future, and sometimes it's difficult to keep up on the one I get paid for. Am I looking for larger readership? More freelance work? Or simply network (Amalah, for the love of God, PLEASE SAY YOU'RE GOING IN '09) and have a good time? Is that good enough?

I suppose it doesn't really matter. Luke's on board with my going, and I bring in enough money from blogging that attending a conference like this would be totally worth it. Count me in.

This week has been great to me, baby-wise. I entered my thirteenth week and experienced an energy surge that didn't come until closer to week eighteen with Kara, and my work unveiled a new maternity leave policy, effective immediately, that pays six weeks at one-hundred-percent salary. Words can't express the impact this will have on my life, but I make the attempt over at Parents.

On the housing front: Luke, Kara, and I will visit three more houses on Indy's south side. Wish us luck.

Lastly, Kara is just nine days away from turning eight months old and making the cutest "mamadadababa" babbles you've ever heard in your life. On Monday morning, Luke will take her in for her first professional photo shoot. I didn't realize how bummed I'd be over not being able to join them, but I'm already leaving early that day for an ob/gyn appointment, and things are too busy for me to take off the whole day. Where did the time go? When did my sweet baby girl go from this:

To this?

Hell if I know, but damn if she isn't the most beautiful person I've ever met.

A six-month-old's lament

Dear Internet,

Why is my mom all about the disappearing acts lately? This hiatus was even lamer than the last one. I didn't even get a chance to post! What's up with that?

Grrr,
Kara

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Dear Kara,

When you type negative comments about your mother using her very own blog, remember she can read them. Also, that she has the power to take that pacifier away faster than you can crawl after her.

Love,
Momma

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Well, if my non-literate baby daughter took the time to ask such deep and meaningful questions, the least I can do is answer them. Maybe you're interested, too!

But really, it's quite boring. I never intended this place to collect dust for as long as it did. Every few days I'd intend to post, but first-trimester yuck caught up to me, to the point that once Kara was down for the night, I was down for the night. I could pull myself together long enough to post on Parents, but not for anything that didn't absolutely require some level of attention. Plus, I'm still feeling hella overwhelmed about this baby (as evidenced by my recent Parents freak-out), and I wasn't sure what to say about it here. I go back and forth between feeling completely off my game about having two kids so close together and completely guilty that I'm not one-hundred-percent over-the-moon about our new addition, which I know is a gift from God, a gift I will love just as much as Kara. But right now the big picture is hazy, as the every day is spent battling UTIs, trying to find an appetite (yet simultaneously wondering why I've only lost a pound), sleeping whenever I get the chance, and bemoaning my overall lack of energy. I don't want to complain all the time. I don't want people to think I'm asking for sympathy. But I can't pretend I'm over this hump yet, physically or emotionally.

It helps that Luke and I have put off house-hunting for a bit. Our whirlwind touring process ended with us making offers on three houses in two weeks, none of which worked out. In all three cases the counter was too high, and the sellers weren't willing to come down any more, and we couldn't afford to go up more than a couple of thousand. The first house we bid on was actually a pipe dream -- it had only been on the market one day, so we knew they wouldn't be desperate enough to go down as much as we wanted, but it never hurts to try -- but the last two offers were acknowledged to be quite reasonable by the seller's agents. It sounds like in each case, the sellers owed more than the houses were worth and couldn't accept much less than their original purchase price. Which, OK, but then why is your house on the market? Why not wait until the economy improves and get more bang for your buck? Whatever. Luke and I are taking the next couple of months to save up a larger down payment (thank you, July bonus) and clear our heads so we don't settle on something that won't work in the long run. I really hope all three of those houses are still on the market when we get back on track. Maybe they'll like our offers then, bastards.

(Not that I'm bitter or anything.)

Things around here are OK. Kara officially turned six months old a couple of weeks ago and weighs in at a whopping 21 pounds and 11 ounces and measures 28 3/4 inches long. She's crawling, pulling up on furniture, kind of submitting to a somewhat regular nap schedule, and laughing. The laughing is the best -- full-on, belly laughs that I didn't think were possible for babies, but they are. And on Saturday night, we caught it on video.

I look terrible, and my voice is super annoying, but surely you can get past all that to appreciate my beautiful baby girl. We couldn't be more delighted with her.

FYI, we haven't been able to get a reaction like that from her since, even with the magic word "Oopsie," so let's just thank our lucky stars we captured it when we did.

(It's totally inappropriate for me to watch this clip and wish I'd pointed at my belly during one of the "Oopsies," right? Probably yes?)

Also, in case you were wondering, the newest Frema-Useless Clutter embryo (who from here on out shall be known as Number Two) isn't doing so bad, either.

There's not much to see right now, but the first picture includes a tiny yet helpful arrow to indicate Number Two's current residence. This ultrasound was taken when I was exactly six weeks along and suggests a due date of February 11, 2009. If I have another c-section (which my doctor suggests), I'd go a week earlier, putting my children just shy of 14 months apart. Tomorrow I will be eight weeks. This early part of pregnancy is going exactly like I remembered -- loooong, and also BLECH -- and I'm already waiting in earnest for that second-trimester burst of energy that didn't come until around week 18 with Kara. Hopefully, Number Two will be more considerate, but probably not. I bet Kara posted crib notes on the wall of my uterus, instructing future siblings on proper prenatal behavior, just to spite me.

For those of you who haven't stopped checking this blog for signs of life, I will do my best not to flake out again, but see above regarding BLECH. Thanks for hanging in there.

For what it's worth...

I told myself it didn't matter, not having a positive pregnancy test. A blood prick from the doctor's office is way more telling than a first morning's urine, and the last thing I need to do is waste three-fifty on something that offers redundant information. But tonight I asked Luke to pick up a Target-brand HPT, anyway, frugality be damned, because I am a girl and biologically programmed to pee on sticks. I need proof. I need the two pink lines. Or in this case, a big blue plus sign.

Mission accomplished.

It's about damn time.

Congratulations, pregnant self! Call me crazy, but it's much more real now.

Things have been crazy-busy around here. Last Wednesday, Luke and I lost two hours of married life talking numbers with our mortgage lender and visited seven homes in four hours on Sunday. Today we saw three more plus the most promising one from the weekend, and tomorrow we will make an offer.

House hunting has proven to be one of the most interesting experiences of my life, and the most exhausting, especially when you're schlepping around a six-month-old who will only tolerate so much car seat before her screams permeate a twenty-foot radius. One house had a whole room showcasing African safari decor complete with elephant wallpaper border and an unfortunately persistent smell of cat. We also attempted to see two bank-owned homes listed at to-die-for prices, until we actually entered the homes and realized that's probably what happened. Somebody must have died. What else could explain the torn carpet, scribbled-on walls, damaged fences, and bugs seeping through the woodwork? If Luke and I could afford a more mature down payment and about ten thousand dollars worth of up-front maintenance costs, these bad boys would be a steal. But we have babies (babies! MY GOD), who would prefer to eat more than once a day, and I am not a fan of having to purge questionable living creatures from my happy place.

The house we are going with, our first choice, is adorable. Three bedrooms, two baths, roomy, fenced-in backyard, two-car insulated garage, brand-new carpet, appliances included, and closet space galore, all in a neighorhood with one of the best school systems in the Indianapolis area. Originally we were hoping to score four bedrooms, or at least three beds and an office space, but alas, we are first-time home-buyers living on one salary, so some of those wants will have to wait until next time. First Choice will definitely meet our needs as a soon-to-be four-person family for years to come, and today on our second walk-through, I got lost thinking about raising our children there--rocking them to sleep, setting up a Christmas tree, playing tag in the yard while Luke throws hot dogs on the grill--and now I am quietly freaking out because I am too emotionally invested in this transaction. We have a price cap that we will not (cannot) negotiate, and there are two other houses to act on should this deal fall through, so I'm not worried about losing my head, but if for some reason things didn't work out, I just might pull a Sally Field circa Steel Magnolias ("I wanna know whyyyyyyyy") and consume an entire pint of Chunky Monkey in one sitting. Which may or may not be appreciated by my embryo.   

Kara is fabulous. She's been sitting on her own for months now, but yesterday was the first time she actually pulled herself into a sitting position. That made me cry, too, as did thinking about how huge I'm going to be in a few months and I won't be able to hold her on my chest like I do now and wah wah wah more ice cream please.

It's getting harder and harder to keep my lips zipped about baby number two at work. I've already told my VP, my direct supervisor, two of my work buddies, and our sales and marketing analyst. If I can make it to my June 18th ob/gyn appointment and ultrasound without tipping off the CEO, it will be a bloody miracle. And seeing as life lately is already one big miracle, I doubt I'm due for another.

Name that due date!

I don't know if it's a sign of pregnancy or just an excuse to abandon the strict Weight Watchers regime, but food and I have once again become BFFs. Last Thursday, I "snacked" on a piece of cold steak while Luke was cooking dinner, and yesterday I suggested ordering from our favorite local restaurant, and by the way, wouldn't it be nice to get a hot roast beef and split a small pizza?

What can I say? Baby's gotta eat.

Not this baby. The new one.

Clearly, Kara is bad to the bone.

While surfing the Web for a due date calculator that would allow me to take my unpredictable, postpartum Aunt Flo visits into account, the only one that even provided a spot to adjust cycle length was BabyCenter.com, but even then the cap was 45 days, and I truly believe ovulation took place in mid-May. There's no way I can be seven weeks pregnant. I just can't.

Can I?

You decide. Here are the facts (advance apologies for the TMI):

First day of last period: March 27
Unprotected "incident" #1: April 26
Unprotected "incident" #2: May 12 (Happy anniversary, dear)
Negative home readings: May 9 through May 29
Positive blood test: May 30

There's no morning sickness to speak of yet but plenty of uterine cramping, so my guestimate is still mid-February. If I had ovulated at the end of April, surely I would have seen a positive reading on ONE of my five pee sticks, yes? At least, I think I would have. When I found out I was pregnant with Kara, I was only a few weeks along and STILL got six positive readings. Why would this time be any different?

So. Have at it!

Good-bye, cold lunchmeat. See you in February 2009.

So, over the last couple of weeks, I've kind of been making a big deal over the possibility of being pregnant (again). At first it was fun, something to blog about for Parents that didn't make me out to be an angry dog hater, but I didn't really think it was true. Apparently nobody else did, either. I heard the DUH in comments from some of my readers. "You KNOW your cycle can take a while to get back on track, right?" they said. Which, hey, I'm with you. Surely FIVE negative pregnancy tests can't be wrong.

Except they totally can, because according to my blood test? I'm having a baby.

It's probably safe to assume Luke will never touch me again. No need to worry about number three.

Kara is unimpressed.

Silly Mommy. You've really gone and done it now.

It's going to be OK, right? I mean, I KNOW it's going to be OK, birthing two children fourteen months apart and having to buy a house and upgrade our car and save for doctor's visits and hospital bills and maternity leave (oh, my God, my boss is totally going to think I'm a nympho) and recover from two c-sections in two years and deal with morning sickness and round ligament pain and breastfeeding AGAIN. I know people do more with less. And really, I am so happy. So very, very happy.

But still.

Tell me it's going to be OK.