I'm going to San Diego!

At my January 3 midwife appointment, I received severely disappointing news.  Despite an original due date of January 4, they were moving my due date to the last of three dates.  Three different ultrasounds gave estimates of January 4, 6, and 12, and considering we had reached January 3 with no indications of impending labor, it was a “safe” idea to move the due date to January 12 to allow Baby to enter on his own schedule rather than using medical intervention.  Birth Center protocol only allows for a baby to be delivered up to two weeks “overdue” and by changing my EDD to January 12, we were protecting my right to a birth center birth without the hassles of hospital protocol.  Though I knew and understood the reasoning behind the change, it was still a devastating thing to hear.  Even worse, the final cutoff for Marek’s arrival was January 26, the day AFTER we were scheduled to return home from San Diego.      

Saturday, after an exciting week of visiting with Grandma Kowalske, I was rapidly giving up hope that Marek would arrive while she was here to help and I was starting to worry I would have to cancel my trip to San Diego.  We attended J’s first birthday party in the afternoon out in Sudbury, an hour from our hospital, almost as if I were daring a rapid labor to start.  Looking back, I remember feeling a few twinges at the party, but nothing different than the last three weeks that would indicate progress. 

We ate dinner and I put Pete and Chester in bed, this time I actually started timing some of those twinges, mild, but lasting 30 seconds and coming approximately every ten minutes.  And then… they stopped.  I was upset, but this had happened between 7-10pm several times a week for the last three weeks and it wasn’t surprising to me at all. 

About 8:15pm, I started feeling a general sense of pressure, and I was having momentary twinges, just a few seconds at a time, and sporadically, a minute, then three minutes, then one minute apart.  They didn’t form a pattern and lasted at most three to four seconds.  Remembering how quickly Chester’s labor went from “mildly uncomfortable?” to “OMG that’s a baby!” I decided to call the midwife on duty for a chat.  She reviewed my history and agreed that I should come in to get checked, if only for peace of mind.  I really thought I would be sent home.      

When we arrived at the birth center at 9pm, I measured at 3cm and based on my description of the pain we decided it most likely wasn’t labor but she suggested we stay for an hour to confirm there was no progress.  Ryan watched the Lions game on NFL.com and I listened to music and tried to solve a crossword puzzle.  The “real” contractions returned at 9:30pm, so I was encouraged, and found comfort hanging over a birth ball.  By 10:15pm, Reina checked me again and I measured at 6cm.  I was officially admitted, she filled the tub and put me on the monitors.  Ryan called our friend Sarah who would be photographing the birth, and sadly my friend Meghan was visiting family in Maine and she would miss the birth.

The contractions got stronger, but not significantly closer together and I wondered how this birth would go.  Every birth has the potential to be different from the last, and I was a little nervous of my ability to handle the pain if it didn’t end soon.  I was in the tub and begged to be checked again, but I couldn’t move to allow her access.  I had no concept of passing time, but was able to joke and laugh in between contractions.  I focused on the music each time a contraction hit, closing my eyes and envisioning my hips opening, trying to relax through it and open instead of tensing to fight the pain.  I hummed and moaned through each contraction and I’m pretty sure I got a little loud.  Suddenly I could feel movement, and I thought I might poop.  All I could think was that would be very embarrassing with my friend there to watch, even though all the books tell you it happens quite often.  I didn’t want to poop, but with the next contraction, I no longer cared and decided to let it happen.  That’s when I realized it wasn’t poop, but his head coming.  I paused to listen to the music, and heard Il Divo singing Amazing Grace, pushed again and his head was out.  Another push and his shoulders emerged.  The midwife had me lay back and reached in to guide the baby to the surface as I gave one final push and his body slid out.  I looked at this guy and just thought how small he was.  He felt small, he looked small, he had been predicted between six and seven pounds just a few days before, but he was actually NINE pounds and two ounces.  I guess it’s all relative! 

Marek Jacob Kowalske, born 1/7/2012 at 11:44pm.  Nine pounds, two ounces and twenty one inches long.  Another fast and easy birth to make up for a long and miserable pregnancy. 

Big brothers Pete and Chester are in love with their new baby brother.  Pete even wanted to bring him home “already” (his favorite word when I tell him he needs to wait or be patient) and Chester brought him cheerios to share.  I see many discussions of what babies are and are not allowed to eat in our future!

Come out, come out, wherever you are!

Okay, I actually know exactly where you are.  There's no hiding from me, little baby dinosaur!  I have decided on the "if you pack it, the baby will come" method (and thank you to Kim for helping to name that method)

Today marks just shy of 38 weeks, and as of Wednesday, I'll be eligible to deliver at the birth center (instead of the associated hospital).  For those keeping stats, this morning I measured at 1cm which is not surprising at this stage, but also doesn't indicate impending labor.  I warned the midwife that the baby is nice and low, and she was still surprised this morning because his head really is right there.  I am hoping for a nice, easy, quick, birth center water birth just like last time.

I'm also prepared for things to go differently, and have planned accordingly, arranging back-up childcare for the older boys and considering all the different requirements for a transfer to the hospital if necessary.  The extra hospital forms are on file, and I've taken a tour of the hospital. 

The cradle is ready (Thanks Jennie and Shannon!) the car seat is ready, the diapers are folded and the clothes are washed and put away.  The list of people to call when I go into labor is complete.  The iPad is loaded with music for labor, and the Nook is loaded with books for reading while we hang out in the hospital for two days after the baby's born. 

Earlier this week, I shaved my legs and gave myself a pedicure.  I also picked up water-proof mascara, as my current mascara is merely smudge-proof and certainly not birthing-tub-proof.  Laugh all you want, some women say the last thing they're thinking about is looking good while giving birth.  I think anything that gives you confidence as you're going into labor is worth the effort. 

I packed my bags with comfy clothes for the birthing tub, and extra clothes for after I get out and dry off to hang out with my new baby.  Also packed my makeup and favorite soaps and shampoo.  Don't forget the hair dryer!  I didn't pack one with my first baby because it wasn't on the hospital's packing list.  I guess they don't expect new Moms to want to shower and dry our hair?  Again, no problems if that's the last thing on your mind, but getting back to presentable makes me feel better, and a hair dryer is pretty important to that process. 

I am ready and impatient, just like all the other moms-to-be are right about now.  Scheduling a birth is a modern convenience that comes with additional risks that I'm not willing to take, so instead I will just wait.  Impatiently.  I want this baby to come for the 2011 tax break.  I want this baby to come so I'll be sufficiently recovered to enjoy my trip to San Diego in January.  I want this baby to come so I can sleep comfortably with fewer than five pillows.  I want this baby to come because my last one was over ten pounds at 41 weeks and I'd prefer a nice eight pound sized baby.

But in reality, this kid can hang out as long as he needs to, and I'll let him come in his own time (minus a few gentle methods to coax him out like primrose oil and walking the mall) because a happy healthy baby is more important to me than the tax deduction for 2011.  I am blessed not to be affected by pre-eclampsia or any other medical conditions requiring medical interventions in my delivery, so this baby will show up when he's good and ready.  Besides, we still need to come up with a name...

It's finally acceptable.

For months, I've been lying about my due date.  I just got tired of the shocked or horrified look on people's faces back in July when I told them I was due in January.  So when some well-meaning stranger asks when I'm due, I just pick an appropriate fake date and smile.  Random strangers have no agenda, they're not trying to ruin my day or my self-esteem.  They just want to be part of a happy moment, this beautiful time when you're creating life and what's the harm in that?

Please note, this does not excuse family, who, KNOWING the due date, continue to make remarks like "you look huge" or "are you sure it's January" or "ohh my, HOW much weight have you gained".  Shame on you.

Aside from the fact that this beautiful time of creating life is really quite painful and miserable, there's no harm in a stranger wanting to congratulate you and celebrate with you.  So instead of getting worked up over these strangers, I've chosen to give them what they want without horrifying either of us.  I lie about my due date. 

I was tired of explaining that this is the third baby in four years or that I started ten pounds heavier than with the first two, while the well-meaning stranger tried to back peddle or just plain looked embarrassed (for me being so huge or for them being so rude, I'm not sure which).

Around 10 weeks, I hadn't gained a single pound, yet I was already in maternity pants and looking quite puffy and round.  The bloating made me look approximately five months pregnant, and the vomiting made my face as puffy and round as my belly.  Most people haven't even announced their pregnancies at 10 weeks, but I was already claiming September as my due date.   

At 20 weeks, and only up 4 pounds, I looked like a beached whale at my cousin's wedding.  I'm wicked glad the focus was on her stunning dress, his adoring smile, and their bright future because it pre-empted most of the standard "when are you due" questions.

Starting around 28 weeks, I got the "you must be glad to be almost done!" to which I just started answering, "yes, I am glad, we're very excited, thank you."  About 96% of babies born this early will survive, so yes,  was very excited to be at a point where my baby would likely live if he were born today.  And "almost done" is a relative term, so I wasn't quite lying.   

Finally, at 37 weeks, I look like I'm 37 weeks.  We attended a holiday party for the District One Admiral yesterday, and if felt great to answer "yes, due just after Christmas, any time now is just fine with me" to all the sweet older ladies asking when I am due and if I am ready yet. 

Here I am, huge as a house, but it's finally acceptable.  Please excuse the lack of makeup, I've come to the point of simply storing it in my car, since that's the only place I have time to apply it. 

Oh, who needs sleep anyway?

This is actually not about my children.  Well, it is, but it's mostly not their fault.  Today's exhaustion is brought to you by the third child, the one not yet born.  Even when my other boys give me the opportunity for plenty of sleep, the third child keeps me from resting. 

Last night Pete and Chester, exhausted from a birthday party,were in bed by 7pm.  I was into my pajamas and snuggled in bed at 7:17pm and by 7:30pm, there was no more noise from the boys, they were both asleep!  Then the party started.  The party in my belly.  Baby Three had a grand time, rolling and punching and pushing for almost two hours.  At first, I enjoyed identifying body parts and picturing this little two pound baby inside of me playing around, but by 9pm I was just annoyed.  This is my chance to go to sleep early, don't you understand that Baby? 

Sometime during the Wisconsin/MSU game I drifted off, only to wake again just after midnight to pee.  (Also Baby's fault).  Just after 1am, the toddler came crying down the hall.  It only took 2 minutes to soothe him back to sleep in his bed, but I was officially up and staring at the ceiling.  Just when I thought I might fall asleep, the dog flipped out.  He rarely barks, so I was seriously concerned and hopped right out of bed and grabbed my phone ready to call the police, only to find the dog was still in his bed, asleep under his blankets.  He must have been dreaming about the squirrel who taunts him in the backyard from the neighbor's tree.  Back in bed, I gave up and pulled up Facebook on my phone for a little entertainment. 

You know you're old and boring when most of your friends from the East Coast are already in bed and not playing on Facebook around 2am.  I used to see lots of funny status updates and embarrassing drunken pictures posted by friends when I first started using FB while Pete kept me up all night on a Saturday night three years ago.  Now, all I see is other Moms commiserating online as their children vomit all night.  At least I have friends in other time-zones to keep me entertained!  It was nice catching up with you Hawaii and Alaska ladies last night! 

Let me just pause to send hugs and prayers to little CTK who broke his leg last night in a bouncy house in Hawaii!  We hope you're comfortable while you heal, and that your Mommy can keep you entertained for the next six weeks.

The final straw last night was Pete.  He started quietly crying in his bed, and then mumbled "I want a sprinkle doughnut" before crying a little bit more.  I went into his bedroom to find him still asleep as well, but when I covered him back up with blankets, he woke up and asked for water. 

With everyone watered, snuggled and back in bed, I headed back to my bed just after 3am. 

And the boys were up and ready to play just after 5am.  That's right, total count last night, approximately five hours of sleep between 7pm-5am.  That score is pretty close to the average test scores in my Monday night Financial Accounting class.

Pregnancy insomnia is like practice for your newborn, but I've done this twice already, I don't need practice!

School, work, family, work?

The other day, I had a great conversation with another adult (doesn't happen often) about our career choices, and the family choices we've made that have altered the course of our careers.  We both spent years working towards our education and building careers, then married men we follow around the country, and had babies.

I love my children very much, but I miss my career a lot too, and I make no excuses, I simply can't hack it as a working Mom with my husband in the Coast Guard.  My old job requires the kind of hours that daycares don't handle, and his schedule require the kind of hours/days/weeks/months away that daycares don't handle.  So either I bring in a Nanny (not a huge fan for a few reasons not for discussion here) or work a reduced schedule (aka a normal 9-5 workday), which just barely pays for two daycares, or I stay home and do a better job of balancing the budget than our Congress seems to be able to do.  I'll take the stress of balancing a budget over the stress of getting two kids ready for daycare by 7am! 

I'm still in contact with my old coworkers and the head hunters in the accounting world, which often leads to solicitations for my resume.  They dangle a generous salary in front of me, and promise family-friendly hours (which we all know is a lie) but I just can't bring myself to go back and add the stress of a job to the stress of two kids 21 months apart and a third one scheduled 23 months after the second.  And the other day, after a wonderful conversation about balancing family and career, I had a lovely dream with THE SOLUTION:  Soon Chester will be old enough for pre-school when he turns three, and I can go back part time! 

Umm, until I woke up and remembered I'm pregnant.  Going back to work will just have to wait. 

As another wise friend said later in the week, "The light at the end of the tunnel is really far away right now, but it is there."  She's proof- her lovely children are in high school, middle school and 3rd grade.  It's a different kid of busy, a different kind of stressful, but she's also beginning to reclaim herself.  She can go on dates with her husband on last minute notice because her oldest can babysit her youngest!  She can work part time without paying ANY daycare!  There are, of course, scheduling issues with school activities that we don't have yet, but like she said, it's a different kind of stressful. 

I'm taking my time, trying to enjoy these babies while they're little (which is wicked easy some days and definitely a challenge other days!), and counting my blessings that I can stay home with my babies until they're older and I will re-enter my career (as long as Herman Cain's 9-9-9 plan doesn't pass and make my job as a tax professional obsolete).  I can't spend my time worrying that I'll be hopelessly out of date when I prepare to go back.   I shouldn't bother wondering if all those years of school were the best plan when I'm not using them.  This is my role for now, and I just have to remember that I won't be the only one in the applicant pool with a 7 year gap in my full-time employment.

Of course, I might just change my mind and career path midstream, and go back to school for something else, you never know!

Stupid things people say to pregnant women

You may choose to blame my pregnancy hormones, or society's downward spiral into lack of tact, but today I'm a little cranky about things that people find appropriate to say to a pregnant woman.  I'm not talking about children, or even non-moms who've never done this before.  They are blissfully ignorant and should remain that way until (or if) they eventually become pregnant themselves.  I'm specifically referring to other women who've DONE this before and should know to have a little compassion, or tact.   
Here are two from today:

So are you getting tired of being pregnant?  Let's be clear, there are two parts of pregnancy that I like: the beginning and the end.  The beginning, for obvious reasons, and the end because labor is a lot like running a marathon.  I'm all excited and giddy with anticipation to start the race/labor, and once you get through labor and power through that brick wall at 20 miles and cross the finish line, you feel accomplished and hyped up on the surge of endorphins.  Plus, you get a baby out of the labor, which is better than any marathon medal I've taken home.  But the middle?  The 40+ weeks of misery?  I was tired of that from the second the test popped positive.  So yes, I'm tired of being pregnant. 

And for the record, that question came from a family member who knows how much I hate being pregnant, so really, it was just a cruel question to remind me of the 16 weeks I have left.  (Like the SPD that causes my crotch to feel like it's being ripped apart and the recurring nausea and exhaustion aren't enough!)  This is the third time in four years that I've done this, I was tired of it the first time, and Chester and Baby3 should just be thankful I was willing/stupid enough to do it again after I knew what I was getting in for!

You getting big yet?  Or how much have you gained?  Or my, you're huge.  Or any other size-related comment.  My grandmother asks stupid questions like this every time we get on the phone.  There is no reason to ever comment on the size of a pregnant woman.  I've looked five months pregnant since about the first week, thanks to the extra 10 pounds I never lost after Chester, and the horrible gas/indigestion/bloating that goes with my first 20 weeks of pregnancy.  So when strangers ask, I just give them the answer they expect:   I'm five months.  Who cares if I was actually 8 weeks?  These people are never going to see me again.  And for those, like Grandma, who will see me again know better, I just explain that I'm five months and the baby is due in January.  Hmm, doesn't that make for a 13 month pregnancy?  Yes, Grandma, that's why my babies are so big. 

But, for the record, I did not berate either person who asked me these questions today.  I smiled and gritted my teeth and said "Only 16 more weeks to go, we're so excited!" and "We're right on target according to the midwife".

Then I hung up the phone and had some saltwater taffy.

Paranoia (a.k.a Well, you're screwed)

I have two fears in life that are fairly (or totally) unfounded and unlikely.  Thankfully, I've been able to keep them reasonably in check and go on through life mostly without letting them change my daily habits.  

First, I fear driving off of bridges.  I am convinced someone will sideswipe me or somehow knock me off the bridge, over those dinky little railings that the engineers deem sufficient.  I am no engineer (a semester of calc convinced me accounting and business were going to be far more successful for me than an engineering degree) but I just don't understand how those little tiny railings on the side of the bridge will help when my car rockets towards them and flips right over.  Before you laugh, there was a car that flipped off the 93 connector bridge just after we moved to Boston, and while living in Virginia there was at least one car off the HRBT or Monitor/Merrimac bridge.  So this fear is not totally unfounded, though I admit it is unlikely.  I prefer to drive in the center lane of the Tobin, but I still drive over it.  And when we drove across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, I will admit that while Ryan drove, I had Pete unbuckled and ready to pull out of his car seat should we flip into the Chesapeake Bay, but I didn't insist we take another route!   

My second fear is being injured while home with the boys for days at a time.  Somehow I survived 7 years of Ryan serving on ships for weeks and months at a time without slipping on the stairs and falling to my death, and I'm thrilled he starts a land job soon.  However, my fears haven't subsided even with that new found stability in our life, and now that I'm pregnant again I'm even more prone to panic over what would happen in an emergency at home, even while Ryan is just at work for the day.  Besides the standard "I might fall and need help" fears, I'm also now afraid what might happen if I suddenly go into labor while home alone with the boys.  With my previous delivery experience (wow, that's a birth story for another day) I know getting to the birth center in time is going to be a challenge, and I fear my poor innocent three and one year olds will get an early and quite scary lesson in the facts of life.

At least at this point, my boys would only be alone for a maximum of 8-10 hours on any given day if I fell, choked or otherwise died.  Pete is capable of getting food and milk out of the fridge, so no one would starve (and I hope he would share with Chester), though it is likely there would be a terrible mess to clean up.  Chester would have a bit of a rash, because I'm sure Pete wouldn't change his diaper, and I'm also cringing at the image of the aftermath of an entire day with Chester free-ranging after he figured out how to remove his own diaper.  Though inconvenient, neither of them would starve, or be trapped in a soiled crib for days or weeks at a time. (I saw a recent news story about a local mother dead in her home for several days with her infant alone in the crib and this further fueled my fears).  I'm sure as they grow I'll be more confident that one of them could seek appropriate assistance and care for the younger ones, which leads us to my recent conversations with Pete. 

When Chester was born, Pete was far too young to be of any assistance.  He couldn't even talk, let alone call for help.  Now as a three year old, he is able to converse on the phone and make his point understood for the most part.  He's able to unlock the door and leave the house (which is also a scary thought, but I told him it's only if Mommy is hurt and needs help, to go to Miss Meghan's house.  We've had the discussion of firemen and policemen being helpers.  We've talked about 911.  We've pointed out ambulances and how they take people who are sick or are hurt to the doctor's office.  We've even tried to link all three of these concepts.  And that is where we fail.   

Me:  Pete, what would you do if Mommy was hurt?
Pete:  Call the fireman and tell them we need  three firetrucks.  A red firetruck, a white firetruck (ambulance) and a car firetruck (not sure???).
Me:  That white firetruck is called an ambulance, can you say ambulance?
Pete:  Am-boo-lance.  (Close enough)
Me: And what number do you call to get the firetrucks to come help Mommy?
Pete: 1-1-1.
Me:  Close, try again.
Pete: 9-9-1-1.
Me:  Close, it's 9-1-1.
Pete: Ohhh, 9-1-1.
Me:  And what would you tell them?
Pete:  Bring a red firetruck and a white firetruck and a car firetruck. (At least he's consistent, but God help the dispatcher who fields this call!)
Me: Close, let's practice.  My mommy is hurt and needs help.  Bring an ambulance.
Pete:  Silence.
Me:  Can you practice with me?  My Mommy is hurt and needs help.
Pete:  But you're not hurt. 
Me:   Okay, we'll try again another day.


Ryan:  Well, you're screwed. 

Thanks for the vote of confidence, darling husband!

How I REALLY feel about having a third boy.

Of course we're thrilled to have a healthy baby baking away, but I know you are all wondering just how I feel about having a third boy.  And will we go for four? 

I'm relieved.  No, really.  The funny thing is, we started into this journey and I was not-so-secretly hoping for a girl.  I love my two boys and I'm thrilled they are so close and have so much fun together, but I was ready for a sweet little pink bundle to pamper. 

Then I thought some more.  The trials and tribulations of raising a girl in this over-sexualized world, where pre-teens can't find modest attractive clothes, and the pressures to disrespect yourself are overwhelming just seemed too much to handle.  I know I was a "handful" for my parents and while I contend that I'd be thrilled to have a daughter just like me or my HS girlfriends (we partied and pushed boundaries, but ended up as a CPA, PhD, event planner and a social worker) I know that things are even harder today than they were 20 years ago.

And I thought even more.  We already own everything we could possibly need for a boy.  I have boxes full of clothes for every season in every size (Thanks Alicia and Tami!).  The toy room is stuffed full of dinosaurs and trains and tractors.  Even the cloth diapers are in shades of blue, green, yellow and white with no pink or purple to be found.  I would want to buy bows and cute shoes, and adorable bloomers to go under her sweet frilly dresses, and there would be dolls and princesses and babies to add to the playroom.  We'd redecorate the nursery from blue nautical to pink nautical (Can't get me away from anchors and lighthouses!).  All of these things cost $$$ just when we're trying to focus on being a more financially responsible family.

Even Pete told me on the way to the ultrasound that he wanted another Baby Brother, just like Chester.  He wants LOTS of baby brothers.  Yeah, kid, I'm not sure I can survive another pregnancy, so I think you're just getting this one last baby brother.  The boys have so much fun together, wrestling and playing with balls and dogs and trains and cars.  I love to see them interact, and I hope they remain as close as they are today.  Though, Chester can't even talk yet, so I'm sure he'll have a few choice words for Pete as they get older.

So, what am I going to miss?  I'll miss braiding hair, tying ribbons in pigtails, ballet lessons, Easter dresses,  prom dress shopping, handing down my Alpha Phi legacy, first love, true love, wedding planning and seeing her give birth to her first child.  What won't I miss?  Ratty hair that she won't let me comb, failed ballet lessons traded for lacrosse and field hockey (nothing wrong with those, just things I know nothing about!), skinned knees in those adorable little dresses, disappointment when she chooses a different sorority or forgoes rush entirely, broken hearts that I can't heal, bridezilla, heartache over losses and general pregnancy misery that I can't solve for her. 

I'll keep my boys, thank you very much, with a list like that, I'll just borrow my friends' little girls and be Auntie Sue.  We'll go to lunch and I'll hold your hands while your daughters select outrageous dresses that you have to veto.  I'll bring over the cocktails and listen while you bemoan the hormonal crabby teenager your sweet little princess has become.  Then I'll show you pictures of the latest 4-wheeler or hockey injury and you can giggle.  I promise my sons I'll try my best to be a warm and inviting, but not overbearing mother in law.  I already have a good role-model, let's just see if I can remember how to be like Karen 25 years from now.  Maybe my future daughter-in-laws will let me come dress shopping and put together wedding flowers and favors and come to help with the older toddlers while she snuggles the newborn.  Or maybe I'll pass on all the drama and put in my only request: Our Mother/Son dance to Lynyrd Skynyrd's Simple Man.   

Minor inconveniences

There are some discomforts of pregnancy that I deem intolerable.  Okay, there's the weeks of nausea, vomiting, gas, constipation and bloating in the first trimester (or longer, if you're unlucky like me).  Then at the end there's insomnia which, during your first pregnancy is a minor inconvenience, but when you're the only one in charge of a toddler all day becomes truly unbearable and sometimes dangerous!  Opinions differ, but after a certain number of days with little to no sleep, I believe you become clinically insane. 

But aside from those two, the rest are relatively minor, mere inconveniences, and sometimes downright amusing. 

Beer/wine:  I miss it.  There have been many warm summer evenings that I really craved an ice cold Bud Light.  Or a beautiful romantic dinner date to celebrate a birthday/anniversary where I just sniffed the wine, or enjoyed a sip or two.  Yes, I understand that even my midwife has approved an occasional glass of wine, but sometimes I miss a good drunken evening.  I miss a full on beer-tastic, wine-a-holic rowdy night with girlfriends or my husband.  It's only 9 months, plus a few while we're adjusting to breastfeeding, so I deem this a minor inconvenience, and the cute little blonde baby boy is worth it.

Nosebleeds:  These are no fun, but also not a big deal!  Just a reminder to carry tissues with you at all times, and a spare change of clothes, for that matter.  It's important to feel the blood start, just seconds before it begins gushing out of your nose.  If you get good at it, you can avoid blood actually ever leaving your nose.  Let's just say, at the grocery store this morning, I conquered the bloody nose.  Though I'm sure my cashier wondered why I suddenly stopped talking to her, grabbed my tissues and covered my nose.  I probably look like I have a cocaine habit.

SPD:  This was nearly part of the serious misery of pregnancy, but thanks to a helpful midwife who suggested chiropractic care, it's been downgraded to a minor inconvenience.  You can google the details if you want them, but basically my pubic bones separate, leaving my pelvis unstable.  It can develop during pregnancy, or as a complication of delivery.  Your legs fee detached from your body.  It makes walking difficult, stairs painful, and crawling on all fours or rolling over in bed nearly impossible.  A stability belt did nothing for me, but my chiropractor was very helpful putting my back/pelvis/hips back into alignment twice a week.  I felt so great with my pubic bones in alignment that I was able to continue my trips to the gym for zumba class. 

Everyone experiences pregnancy differently,  so you may be lucky and avoid some of these entirely, or you may have some extras that never even made my list.  But for now, I'm thrilled to report that I am in between the first 15 or so weeks of constant nausea and vomiting (a bad day here or there is no big deal in the second trimester) and the insomnia of the last trimester, so I'm actually feeling quite well. 

On a side note, we had the big ultrasound this morning, and I'm THRILLED to report that they moved my due date up to January 4 (my estimate was January 6 and there's was January 12 but who am I to judge, I was just the one there...) and that we're having another boy.  Maybe this time he'll have a name before he's born....  Stanislaus Optimus Prime has a nice ring to it, right Ryan?

Baby ThreePete? Baby Dinosaur? How about a Guinea pig?!

First there was Baby Pete, then Baby RePete, and finally Baby ThreePete.  While others may call their baby Nugget, Peanut, Jellybean, Twinkle-toad, Beebee, Wiggles or Princess, I'm just not that creative.  Though I've said this every time, I think I'm done, this being pregnant is far too stressful, and besides, I'm out of names.  I can't use Baby FourPete.  As the Patriots noted a few years back, I think four makes it a dynasty, and I know five makes a hockey line, but I'm pretty satisfied with three.  Remind me of that when he/she turns one and I start missing the smell of Johnson's baby shampoo on a sweet innocent little baby head.   

From the first visit to the midwife, this baby has been known as the Baby Dinosaur around our house.  After Pete saw the ultrasound, he was convinced that the baby in my belly is a dinosaur.  I figured it's not worth fighting about so I went with it.  Ask Chester what a dinosaur says, and he'll "Rawr" for you.  In fact, Chester has a new and overwhelming love of dinosaur books and dinosaur toys (Pete was always trucks and trains!) so perhaps Chester is telling me he's okay with adding a baby dinosaur to the family. 

As most anyone who's been pregnant will tell you, the dreams can be quite odd and quite vivid.  Recently, I dreamed that rather than a baby, or a dinosaur for that matter, I gave birth to a guinea pig.  But the fun didn't end there, I put the guinea pig on the piggy show circuit.  I trained the piggy in multiple events, including the guinea pig agility contest and jumping.  I washed and dried the piggy with a blow dryer and put bows in (her?) hair for the show events.  Who shows guinea pigs?  And do they even have an agility contest for them?  Where do I get this stuff?

Tomorrow is the big day, we'll find out if this is a Pink Dinosaur or a Blue Dinosaur, but the general public will have to wait until Ryan comes home on Friday.  He's going to be served a cake with vanilla frosting, and when he cuts into the cake, it will be pink or blue inside.  But let's be honest, I think we all know this is another little boy.

Oh small child, how your world is changing!

My Dear Sweet Chester,
Your world is going to be turned upside down in a few months.  Some of these changes will be my fault, and some will just be your own natural progression, but all of the are part of growing up.  Watching you grown and change has been a real pleasure so far. 
The first major change is driven by my needs.  Chester has always had an odd obsession with my belly.  At first, I figured his attachment to my belly was purely a mistake.  It was soft and squishy, just like my breasts and so his contentment snuggled up next to my belly must be related to the food and comfort he expected from my breasts.  But months later he would snuggle up to nurse and then lay his hands down on my belly and pat.  He also loves to straddle my belly and jump or oddly enough, lift my shirt and lick my belly then put the shirt down and run away giggling.  Perhaps the most annoying habit during the middle of he night is to drape himself over my belly sideways and use me as a pillow.  Pete never had any of these belly-habits, so I just chalk it up to Chester's cute little quirk.  I guess this pregnancy is going to wean him slowly off the bouncing, licking, patting and sleeping on my belly.  He'll have to find some other launching pad, salt-lick, comforting pillow!  I do feel bad, but my body is a wreck right now and Chester will just have to sacrifice his special relationship with my belly.

The other big change, and one that I'm not pushing (but I'm not fighting it either!), is Chester's sudden overwhelming love of Ryan.  I mean, of course Chester has always loved Daddy, but recently if Ryan is in the room, Mommy doesn't exist.  Mommy used to be #1 in Chester's eyes, while Pete was the Daddy's boy.  Over the course of the summer, Chester has changed his mind, and now Daddy has two little buddies. Ryan used to tease that I get our boys for a year, and then when they can walk and ride four-wheelers and "tear shit up" then he gets the boys. Perfect timing as far as I'm concerned!  Pete will start school this fall two mornings a week, leaving me alone with Chester so that we can have our own special time together before the new baby arrives, and I'm home with Chester 24/7 so I know we'll still have our bond, but it's great to see Chester growing up and becoming a big boy.  And I'm hoping that when new baby arrives, it won't be as devastating for Chester to get more of his needs met by Daddy for a little while. 

These won't be the last changes for Chester, and probably not the most drastic either, but it's the beginning of the end for him.  My baby won't be the baby much longer.

Where have you been?

Despite being mostly stuck on a couch for the last 8 weeks, I haven't blogged because I didn't want to whine incessantly about being sick and miserable.  It actually was nowhere NEAR as bad as my first pregnancy, so I was quite pleased with the improvement, but I still threw myself an entire first-trimester pity-party. 

We visited family, went river tubing, I did my parents' taxes.  The boys rode four-wheelers, went to Vacation Bible School and the story times at the library.  We survived a heat wave, a fall down the stairs, a toddler who won't listen and runs in the street.  The dogs only escaped a few times, and thoroughly enjoyed the lake and the island at Great-Grandma's house.  We skyped with Daddy while he spent time in Baltimore, Tampa, Boston and NYC.

I visited a few friends, so nice to see JM (now Shamp) and her three kids and with amazingly good luck on the timing, we got to see CF (now Cook) and her new baby B!  We didn't make it around to everyone, but considering I spent most of my time on the couch, wishing this baby would be nicer to me, I was pleased to get out a little.

Chester learned a few new words, like Grandma and Grandpa, More and Up.  He expressed his undying love of dinosaurs, and we checked out every dino board book from the library.  By the end of the 6 weeks, the shirts we brought at the beginning of the trip didn't fit an he had to wear Pete's shirts.

Pete learned to answer a phone (yes, like a real phone on a wall, not a cell phone- he was amazed and befuddled at the same time) and he gave us such dinnertime conversational gems as: I'll eat these five green beans and then my penis will get really big and I'll pee them out in the potty.  Clearly a few lessons in bodily functions are in our future, but I was impressed with his grasp of the general concept.

A true hero, Ryan flew to Ohio late on a Tuesday and woke up wicked early on a Wednesday to drive us back to Boston.  That 10-12 hour drive is only made tolerable by DVDs in the minivan.  And by the very end, even the DVDs weren't helping.  Thank God we don't have to make that drive again until next year for the combo trip including my 10 year college reunion/family vacation/Baby Threepete's baptism.

Not quite fully recovered, but ready to get back in the game, I took the kids to the YMCA the night after we arrived home.  I was ready for a workout and to see my friend K.  Pete was desperate to see his friends Tyler and Maddox too.  He talked about them the entire time we were in Ohio.  I would tell him we were going to a friend's house, or Grandma's friends were coming over, and he would hop right up asking if his friends Tyler and Maddox were coming too.  So sad.  (It was the same way when his first BFF Christian moved to Hawaii last year.)  But back to the YMCA- Let me explain that I've gained 13 pounds so far in this pregnancy.  Although I'm over 16 weeks and that would seem acceptable, let me just explain that it's ALL FAT.  None of this is baby yet, it was "eat whatever makes me not want to die".  So when I put on workout clothes last night and headed for the gym, I was pretty horrified at what I look like right now.  Not only am I pudgy, but I've been away from the zumba class for about 2 months so I don't know any of the new dances, my coordination is shot to hell and I'm falling all over myself.  Two months away will also cause me to lose enough of my normal fitness level so that I'm out of shape and panting heavily.  During one song, we bounced and jumped and all I could think was that I needed to get out of there and go pee!  Damn having three kids in under four years!  As a final insult, after I got the kids home and into bed, I tried to carry the remaining suitcases upstairs to the closet and realized I couldn't walk up the steps.  I just left them there in defeat, took some Tylenol and headed to bed. 

So we're back, and after one more weekend of crazy busy wedding and family visits and two more weeks of Ryan commuting to Baltimore, we'll be ready to settle down into our normal (if it's EVER normal???) life in Boston for another three years. 

Get ready for some more amusement, courtesy of the pre-schooler, toddler and soon-to-be lump of baby.

I've got it all figured out and

Ryan is not going to like this one bit! 

I've figured out how to keep my morning  all day sickness at bay:  Do nothing. 

I started today with crackers in bed while the boys bounced all over the room. 
I did feed them breakfast, and washed dishes, but then laid back down while the boys played together.
They played until noon while I read the nook and together we ate lunch.
Finally they both took a nap (thank God for 2 hour naps) and I read more on the nook.
One part of Ryan's schedule I can't complain about is arriving home at 2pm when they're in port.  He spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the boys in the basement while I snuggled with the nook.

When I stand up, I get nauseous.  When I smell food, I get nauseous.  When I get warm, I get nauseous.

I'm going to be very well read if this continues.  I'm just praying it ends quickly like it did with Chester, and not linger through the second trimester like it did with Pete.  I'll try not to whine, but honestly, there's not much to blog about since I'm spending all my time in bed.  Unless you want to hear some book reviews! 

And again, a wicked appreciative shout out to Ryan, for cooking dinner, doing the laundry and taking care of the kids after naptime too.  I think he's making up for being gone 90% of the first pregnancy!

In an effort not to whine...

I will not be blogging today.  I know I shouldn't wish my life away, but I could do without the next 5-6 weeks of nausea and vomiting.  Let me know when it's July!

Delayed Blog 5/18: What do you DO all day?

What do you DO all day as a stay-at-home-mom?  I asked that question before becoming a Mom.  I asked that question during the 6 weeks I stayed home with Pete before returning to work.  I even asked it when I became a full-time-if-temporary-for-the-next-decade SAHM in January 2009. 

I had a wonderfully clean home, with fresh-baked bread, homemade meals, lots of playdates and time at the gym for me.  Then the second one arrived and I dropped a few of those, bought the bread, still cook from scratch, the house isn't always spotless, (in fact it can be downright dirty!) and I don't have nearly as many playdates and story hours.  Now that I'm pregnant with the third one, and I'm feeling exhausted and nauseous, I'm not doing the things I normally do.  I've only been sick for a few days and my house looks like a bomb went off.

I must not have wiped down the table after dinner last night, it's sticky and there are smudges of the playdough that entertained the kids while we cooked dinner.  I managed to do the dishes, but the extra bowl from last night's late night brownie baking is still in the sink.  There are pile of laundry on the bed to be folded.  They were on the bed last night, I tossed them back in the basket, and then poured them back on the bed after I made it this morning.  If you see my children this week, they'll be in wrinkled clothes. 

Today I've snuggled in my bed, changed a few diapers (and yes, at this point, I'm using disposable because the diaper bin is full, but I can't keep up with our clothes, let alone the diapers) served CEREAL for breakfast instead of eggs and toast (that's such a sin!), bribed children to be still with brownies, blown bubbles from the couch, watched Spiderman on the ipad with Pete. 

I see what a mess surrounds me, and I can't bring myself to get off the couch (laying, not even sitting up) to do a thing about it.  While the kids are napping, I will be napping too.  At least I showered, which is more than I can say about yesterday.  Someone please tell me I'm not the only one that hates showering during the first trimester.  If the water is hot, I'm nauseous and light headed.  If the water is cold, I'm shaking and it's like little pins beating my body.  There is no in-between.  I have horrible memories of vomiting while showering in my first pregnancy.

While I will tell you I'm feeling 1000% better than I did while pregnant with Pete, this time I'm taking care of two very rowdy boys, so every ounce of energy is taken to entertain them (or at least keep them from doing something crazy enough to accidentally kill themselves) and I have nothing left to give my house (or my poor husband for that matter!).  I alternate between being cranky because I feel crappy, and being overjoyed that it's not as bad as the first time.  I almost think, if this is it, this is the worst, then I understand all the women who say "I love being pregnant". 

I just figure I have to muddle through these next few weeks, while being thankful that I'm not as sick as I was with Pete.  I give myself permission to relax and be a slob because I know when the nesting hits later, I'll probably be cleaning the baseboards with a Q-tip and touching up the paint.  I'm having a rough time, but I'm enjoying what will be the last few months as a family of four, before the chaos of two boys becomes the chaos of three boys.  I have something to get me through these tough weeks that I didn't have when I was sick the first time: the scent of my newborn babies snuggled up on my chest.  That warm fuzzy feeling, and the warm fuzzy feelings I get when I think of  rest of the special moments in Pete and Chester's lives, and adding Baby Threepeat to the mix.  There's a special joy watching your children grow that only a parent can really understand, and it's so much easier to deal with the nausea when you have that to watch and anticipate.

So while I'm being a human incubator on the couch, it's becoming very obvious around my house just what I DO all day or more accurately, what I'm NOT doing all day right now.  I think I'll give my friend a call, the one with the pre-teen daughter who wants to be a mother's helper.  She can play bubbles and trucks and I'll do a load of laundry!

Delayed blog 5/13 The name game

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" is a quotation by William Shakespeare from his play Romeo and Juliet meant to say that the names of things do not matter, only what things are.

It would be nice if a name didn't matter, and everyone were judged on their actions alone.  However we all know a name does matter.  Right or wrong, a name preceeds you and gives your future employer/potential friend/date/school teacher an image of you before you've ever met. 

As a parent-to-be, the name game is one of the biggest dilemnas you'll face during your 9 months of preparation for the little one.  We all want to give our children the best chance at success in life, though with some of the baby names I've heard recently, some parents want to give their children the best chance of success at being a stripper or pole dancer!

I have a few rules when it comes to naming my children:
#1)  I like the Dr. test and the Judge test where you place your child's name in context to judge it's appropriateness.  Can you imagine going to Dr. Fifi for your surgery or addressing The Honorable Audio Science in your civil suit? 

#2)  I also like to avoid popular names, so that he's not one of seven Jessicas in his kindergarten class.  Though, a boy named Jessica would clearly be unique. 

#3)  I also like family names,but not close family names because it can be confusing to have multiple Kathryns at Thanksgiving. 

#4) Finally, I like the names from the era of our Grandparents.  This can be hard because so many of them are returning as popular, which violates rule #2. 

I named Peterson, and (Ryan claims) I named Chester so Ryan thinks it's his turn to name Baby Threepeat.  I cringe at all of his suggestions, clearly our naming styles are completely different.  If we end up with a baby named Daggar or Stanislaus, instead of a baby Bennett or Donald you'll know why.

Delayed blog 5/12 Has it really only been 13 days?

I feel like I've been pregnant forever.  It's been 13 days since the positive test, but already it feels like months.  According to our best guess at dates, I'm 6 weeks (only 34 to go!) though that will be confirmed at next week's ultrasound. 

It's been impossible to keep this exciting news quiet (especially when it's clearly the reason I'm not drinking with all my friends!) so all our local friends know, and most of our close friends from back home too.  It's stayed off of FB and CC so far, but I'm sure after we get our confirmation of a heartbeat I'll let the news slip there too.

A special shout out to KLM, whom I've been alternating pregnancies with for the last 4 years.  Every visit home to visit my old drinking buddy has been marred by one or both of us being pregnant.  I've hoisted many a Bud Light in your honor my old friend, so please drink one for me for the next 8 months. 

There's a feeling of impending doom, waiting for the morning sickness to kick in.  I'm also praying it does kick in soon, worried what it may mean that I'm not sick yet.  Maybe my dates are off and I'll start vomiting next week?  Maybe I'll be blessed and not be sick this time?  Maybe the lack of raging unbearable all-day sickness means the unthinkable. 

The last three days I've been a little queasy in the morning, easily solved with a few saltines.  I feel a little light-headed when I shower and the smell of eggs makes my stomach turn.  I wonder, is this what other women have when they say they had a little morning sickness?  Is this the "normal" morning sickness that pregnancy books discuss as a mild unpleasant symptom of pregnancy?  It's certainly not the vomiting in your car at the stoplight, keeping a trash-bin next to you during the CPA exam, losing 17 pounds, throwing up in your sports-bra during a charity 5K, unable to keep down even water misery from my first pregnancy.  If this is it, I can handle this!

With big plans for this May, June, July and August, I felt like this first trimester (and all its ails) would fly by.  Then I looked at the date on the calendar this morning and realized it's only been 2 weeks.  Sigh.  This is going to be a long 9 months!  I can't wait to meet Baby Threepeat and smell his soft baby scent (because let's be honest it will be another boy!)  There's nothing like napping and cuddling with a freshly born baby!

Delayed Blog 5/3: Pregnancy exhaustion

No, the laundry is not getting done.  I managed to clean the shower, take a shower, feed the children breakfast, do the dishes, drop Ryan off at work, pick up toys, vaccuum the living room and feed the children lunch all by noon.  While this doesn't seem like an awful lot, considering I'm battling the first-trimester exhaustion and the random migraine (perhaps brought on by gleeful screaming from the children at breakfast?) it is all I plan to accomplish for the day. 

I should be addressing the H&F invites.  Or finishing the thank-you notes from Pete's birthday party last week. Perhaps even mopping my disgusting kitchen floor.  The laundry definitely needs some attention, but I can't bring myself to move it into the dryer, let alone hang a load on the line out back. 

No, instead I shall nap while the children nap.  God only knows how long they'll nap, so I better get to it!  Good night.

Delayed Blog 4/30: Guess who's having a baby???

This morning it was confirmed.  I'm pregnant!  We're having another baby!  This blog will be delayed for a few weeks while we try to make it to 12 weeks, and then I'll publish them all at once for you to catch up. 

With the positive test this morning there is, of course, immeasurable joy but there is also fear.  Not the fear of handling a third baby, or the fear of morning sickness or labor and delivery but the fear that every parent holds in their heart that something might happen to your child and family.

During my first pregnancy, I was blissfully unaware of the complications that could occur.  I was sick as a dog, throwing up for 28 weeks, losing 17 pounds in the first trimester, vomiting at work, vomiting in the car sick.  I was miserable, and hated life, angry at this thing inside me causing so much pain.  I still think that was horrific, but I no longer fear the all-day sickness.

During my second pregnancy, a friend lost her baby at 8 months, just a few days before Chester was born.  Another friend's baby arrived months early with serious long term health complications.  The speaker at MOPS shared her story of losing one twin during delivery. My friend's cousin's newborn recently passed away.  This all rocked my safe little world.  People I knew and loved had been in my shoes, happily expecting and loving their new babies, only to have unimaginable heartache ruin the happiest times of their lives. 

Last week a toddler was found in a running car, her mother found dead in a pond nearby.  I imagine her last moments, begging her killer to spare her baby.  Tonight I heard an interview on the evening news from a man in one of those deadly tornadoes this week.  As he was grabbing his baby out of bed during the storm, the wall collapsed and the bed and baby were sucked out of his reach.  My stomach turns, and my heart cries out for someone I don't even know because as a parent, that could be my baby.  Every baby could be my baby.  Every baby is my baby. 

I look at Chester, and know he was supposed to share the name of the baby who passed.  I think of BCS and how we should be having playdates together.  I cannot understand my friend's sorrow, but I do grieve with her.  I wonder if we're tempting fate by adding to our family of perfect (rowdy, but still perfect) little boys.  Are we due for some heartache ourselves?   

In order to function in everyday normal life, I push those fears down and keep them reasonable, though they never entirely go away.  I pray to God to protect my family, and thank Him for his love and grace in our lives.  I live in the happy moments we're creating rather than the terrible moments that probably won't even happen.  Someone summed it up "As a parent your heart walks around outside your body"