My Preschooler, His Tantrums, And My Lower Back

Do you have small children? I'm sure you either do, or you have had them, or you know what I mean when I say that N is going through that stage. You know, right? The one where your child is convinced that he or she can get you to understand that they need that chocolate chip cookie by throwing themselves wholeheartedly at the floor in tears of rage and anger? It's super awesome. N tantrums about fifteen hundred times a day now.

Some days I handle it better than others, but most days in which P and I are both at home, I manage to handle it better because I think seeing P's anger at the tantrums calms my own.

Unfortunately, this means that my darling son inevitably wants me to hold him and comfort him and carry him. This was fine when I was non-pregnant me. I could easily carry him even at thirty five or so pounds. Sure, he got a little heavy, but I'd just adjust him a bit and keep powering through.

Now, however? Oh, my back. And, frankly, people are trying to convince me that at twenty plus weeks, it's probably not the smartest thing to be hauling that much weight up onto my hip. I'll admit that when his face is quivering and his arms are reaching, it is so hard to say no to him though.

Did any of you start to have lower back pain this early in your pregnancy? I'm a little past twenty-three weeks and it feels like I've already started to waddle like a fat penguin and my back feels like someone has punched it.

Also, now, when I sleep, I occasionally get that damned round ligament pain. And when I walk more than five feet, I get a stitch in my right side. Oh, pregnancy, you're miserable. Have I started to glow yet? If so, that would be the constant sweat that is streaming from my pores. I'm sure Halloween trick or treating will be delightful tomorrow as I walk from door to door and give up five doors later. (To those who are not aware, I love holidays in the same way children do, wholeheartedly and excitedly and lovingly. For me not to trick or treat the whole time with N is basically my admission of defeat to this baby. You win, tiny baby. You win.)

But, to end this all off on a slightly humorous note, I dreamed that I had my baby slightly prematurely the other day. It was a girl in my dream and I remember being super blasé about the whole deal -- having the baby, seeing the baby. And I remember in my dream worrying that my pregnancy had ruined my enjoyment of the baby. Then, I was looking and looking at the baby and finally said to myself, "This baby is a girl!" In my dream, I turned to P, and said, "You need to stay here at the hospital with our baby. I have to go buy her a super cute going home outfit from the mall!" I totally abandoned my infant and husband to go get cute clothing for a baby girl. I'm going to be the most awesome mom ever, right?


Damn, If I'm Not Negative, I Have Nothing To Say

I've been on such a posting tear recently, going on and on about my dislike of pregnancy and my general anxieties. Then, I feel a modicum of relief and happiness and I've got not a lot to say. Happily for the readers of this blog, I can only be happy for so long. Pregnancy contributes to my misery.

Here are my random thoughts and bits for today.

1. I finally called a fireplace cleaner to come out and clean our fireplace. It's been years and it needs it. It will be in time for Cookbook Club.

2. I really, really want to move into a new house in a new neighborhood which has young children in it so that N has more children to play with that don't require long drives. However, I think the value of my own house has dropped ridiculously and I shiver at the idea of trying to sell it. Lesson learned, don't buy a house you like but don't love and make sure you research the neighborhood first.

3. I'm happy about the baby nowadays, but dreading the idea of delivery. I most likely will be going to c-section and I spend minutes, if not hours, thinking of the IV and the spinal and the cutting open and the possibility of being paralyzed or killed.

4. Also, since I'm still only at week 23 (ugh, forever until February), the baby is kicking a lot, but not so steadily or heavily that I can do kick counts. This means that I'll experience an hour or two during the day in which I'm convinced something has happened to hurt my baby. (Today's crazy thought for the day: "Did the amnio have a late reaction for this baby and now it is hurting?")

5. Still with the bitter taste of metal in my mouth after eating. Ugh. I just want to enjoy something sweet, life.

6. This baby is such a crazy kicker and so active as compared to my pregnancy days with N. I'm worried about how this will play out the first few months of its being a child.

7. For everyone who has asked, no, we do not know the gender yet. We have an envelope, and we're going to Babies'R'Us or something similar. We plan to pick up one Little Brother onesie and one Little Sister onesie and then tell a cashier to wrap one up as appropriate. Then we plan on opening the present on Christmas day in front of friends, family, and such.

8. Whew, N has reached the whiny stage of preschoolerhood. Tantrums abound. Prior to parenthood, I had no idea that children would really throw themselves on the floor and kick their legs when upset. What a revelation. A sad, unhappy one.

9. Of course, he also declares that he loves me regularly and holds me close to him when he's tired or sad.

10. Today, we started a new thing -- stories about a young boy named N. N was captivated and asked for about five of them. I hope this helps spark his imagination.


The Quad Screen AKA "The Eff You Test For Anxious Pregnant Ladies"

Approximately two weeks ago, during my high risk meeting with a doctor about this pregnancy, they recommended I stop by my regular doctor for blood work for a quad screen since I'm of "Advanced Maternal Age". Without thinking too much about it and because my fear of getting blood drawn is now down to normal fear levels, I agreed and hopped over to do it. I knew my regular odds for Down Syndrome and I knew other stuff could occur, but like all people who don't have any results, I assumed my baby was healthy and comfortable and perfect.

Monday of last week came around and I got a call from my doctor. "Are you meeting with a genetic counselor?" I replied happily, "Yep, tomorrow." She paused and said, "Good, because your quad screen results came back and your Down Syndrome chance is 1 in 110 as opposed to most people your age. And there is something called trisomy 18 which I want her to discuss with you. The odds for that have been increased also, though not by as much. I'd suggest an amnio." I paused and said, "Okay." Then I came home and was anxious, but not as anxious as I was during my meeting with my genetic counselor.

Joann, a sweet lady of roughly my own age, attempted to calm me down when we met. "The odds are still low for both, but not as low as they should be. You've been flagged as a positive for further testing." I tried not to throw up on her as she showed me a drawing of what would occur with the amnio. "Do you want me to move away from this page?" I teared up and nodded at her. She further tried to calm me down. "Your ultrasound looks good, so I can't say that your odds for either are exactly what they say on this form. In fact, doctors catch trisomy 18 a lot of the time and Down Syndrome 60% of the time just looking at an ultrasound. I can't give you official odds, but try to take a deep breath." Little does this lady know that I'm the most anxious person in the office today and that she is my own personal demon. She has basically told me that my baby is going to die weeks after its birth and it's all because I did something wrong with the chemicals in my body. I refuse to listen to reason which states that this baby is most likely (over a 99% chance) just fine.

Again, I tried not to be sick. This pregnancy has already been an anxious one for me, and now here was another thing to be anxious about. I schedule the amnio for two days later, even though getting a gigantic shot into my stomach was not on my personal bucket list.

My husband, a darling but somewhat busy man at work nowadays, asks me if I need or want company at the amnio. Somewhat sick over my baby's health, I'm barely able to concentrate on the idea of a giant needle in my stomach and I tell him that I'll be just fine. It also crosses my mind that I'm going to embarrass myself and I do not want him with me if I do so. Helen offers similarly when I see her for potted duck and macarons. This one is slightly harder to turn down. I know Helen has a fear of needles much like my own and I suspect that I could use the support. However, I am still much too anxious about my baby to believe I'm that worried about the needle and I still don't want to cry in front of someone else.

I get to the doctor's office a little early, unlike my normal self, but I'm made to wait for my amnio for an extra hour for some reason. During this time, the lack of sleep (due to my worry and general pregnancy insomnia) and anxiety I feel begin to take their toll. Randomly, in the office, I tear up, but manage to keep it down. The worry about the needle finally begin to overcome my anxiety about my child's health and I keep imagining the needle hitting me and causing a miscarriage. (One in 500 chance I tell myself silently over and over.) When they finally tell me to get into the office and get undressed, I ask, in tears, some questions and the nurse talking to me pauses. She asks me if I'm okay and I tell her about my fear of needles and the amnio and my general lack of sleep and my high dose of anxiety. She attempts to calm me, but I start sobbing giant tears. This does not go over well. I get changed, but it appears that a conversation has popped up behind the closed door.

When the doctor comes in, she looks around and asks, "Where is your husband?" Through my raging tears, I reply, "I told him not to come with me because I didn't think I'd be too bad." I can barely say the last part of the sentence because I'm shaking so badly. The nurse from before tells me that she will be holding my hands the whole time and that I can feel free to squeeze her hands. I ask them if other people in the office cry about this, and both the nurse and the ultrasound tech assure me that they do. The doctor looks peeved.

After they start, the doctor plunged the needle in, but did warn me. I did not look and nearly kicked up my legs, until they begged me to lay flat. The nurse holds my hand and chats with me, or attempts to. She reminds me to breathe like I did while in labor with my other son. Though nearly hysterical, I tell her that I was never in labor. I went straight to c-section and it was beautiful. She appears stymied before asking me more about my son, but I beg her to tell me that it is over. After a full minute of flipping out on my part, she asks me if I want to see the screen. I ask if the needle is out and when she tells me that it is not, I nearly scream no at her. They quickly remove the needle and tell me to look at the screen. Tired, anxious, crying, I do, and I ask if the heartbeat is strong and okay. They assure me it is. I ask when the prelim results will come in, and the doctor says, "Seven days." I nearly fall apart at the idea of seven more days of anxiety like the days I've already faced and as she walks out, she adds, "Hopefully we call with good news." I immediately wonder if she saw something that leads her to believe the news will be awful.

After she walks out, the nurse starts to carefully tend to me. As I cry a little more gently now, she tells me to call after three days because the results will more likely be in by then. She points out that my other ultrasound was good. She tells me a lot of people weep at this office. It is the high risk office. She tells me the odds are in my favor and the only thing I can think of is The Hunger Games ("May the odds be always in your favor.")

I head home convinced that my baby will be dying soon, that my pregnancy is miserable, that my husband will leave me, that the world is ending. After a long fretful weekend doing tons of internet searches, I manage to get back into a somewhat normal state of mind, one that allows me to do things like take a shower without weeping. I do not miscarry from the amnio, and then assume all my luck has been used up in not miscarrying. The rational part of my brain that is able to do math and calculate odds is beaten down by the part of my brain that wants my baby to be healthy when it is born.

Then, today. I'm at work, waiting for a call, because it has been three days. I'm able to concentrate because I like being in the office, but as the hours go on, it weighs on my mind. I can barely breathe by eleven and I say to my phone out loud, "Ring, damn you! Where are you?"

A minute later, the phone rings and it is the genetic counselor. She starts with "Good news! Just verify your identity!" They are no fools, these genetic counselors. I nearly fall apart with gratitude and relief as I try to verify. I ask them the reliability of the prelim test results and they assure me that it is ninety to ninety-five percent assured. I immediately call P, who seems unfazed (as usual) and cheerful.

When he asks if I'm happy I've had the amnio, I say, "HECK NO. If I had never had the stupid quad screen, I wouldn't have had the amnio and I would have spent my whole damned pregnancy believing everything was fine!" He asks me what the quad screen is and how it factors into anything.

I think he might block out half of what I say when I'm anxious.

So, when it comes down to it, what I'm saying is that if I ever got pregnant again (most likely not) I would skip the damned quad screen and go right to amnio even though it made me fearful and weepy. At least then I'd skip the two weeks of crazy anxiety too. If you think this tale of fear and anxiety is nuts, by the way, do a search on "quad screen false positive" and read the forums out there. Clearly other people out there are experiencing the same thing I am.


I'll Have More Of That Duck Thing And Another Macaron, Please

Macaron Rose, Maison Kayser, Nihonbashi
Photo by yuichi.sakuraba

You guys (says the Philadelphia girl), do you like macarons? When I first started to see them pop up around the food blogosphere, I was enraptured. They looked so delicate, so pretty, so amazing, and so delicious. I wanted to make them no matter how long I had to age egg whites on my counter. I wanted to make them so people would look at food I had made and weep with joy at the idea of eating them. However, they seemed to be an exclusively non-United States treat, and I didn't have the money or energy to jet off to France or Australia for some sweets, no matter how cute.

Time has moved on and they are now popular here! A few months back, P and I went to dinner with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law and several of their friends to Talula's Table, and the ending bite was a single teeny macaron. It was the first I had ever had. I was afraid I would be disappointed, but that single bite told me everything I needed to know -- macarons were as good as they looked! In fact, when P told me he hadn't loved his, I almost got angry at him for eating it. I could have eaten that bite! That could have been my macaron bite! Did I eat the stupid heirloom tomato salad that I didn't care for and not give it to him? No, I gave him the salad because I loved him. I realize this is not rational, but the macaron was that good.

Flash forward to this evening. Helen asked if I wanted to hang, and I've been so upset over my pregnancy anxieties and I've felt a general malaise recently, that I jumped at the chance. I demanded macarons too. (That just lets you know if you become close friends with me that I'm self-centered, pushy, and mean not just on this blog, but to people I like. I'm the worst.) Because she's a good friend and because I told her that my anxiety levels are through the roof, and because she's a fan of macarons as well, she got several from Jose Garce's Trading Company. (She also got fresh mozzarella, fresh feta, and some duck/fois gras/caramel thingie that I would have licked out of its jar if she had not been around.)

The macarons were excellent. My favorites of the night ended up being the salted caramel, the chocolate, and the huckleberry. The salted caramel seems to be the popular favorite online for the Trading Company, and it was certainly fantastic, but my favorite was the chocolate. The chocolate was fudgey and much like a flourless tart in its intense flavor. I could buy a whole dozen and just go through them. My excuse would be pregnancy!

Does anyone else in Philly know of a good place to try more macarons? Alternatively, any online places ship that you'd recommend?


Cookbook Club -- November

If you didn't know, Cookbook Club is coming to our household on November 6th at 1 pm. This is an open invite to the people who read this blog and are located close by and who are not murderers, robbers, or baby kidnappers. What is Cookbook Club? Well, it's really the work of Helen and Anna, but the point is that you bring food from a cookbook, cooking blog, or cooking magazine, and we all sit down and sample.

They've picked Dinner is a Love Story, which was tricky of them. Because the authors of that blog don't use very clear tags to delineate which posts are recipes and which are just talkative, you've got to read the darned blog to find recipes! I mean, I liked the blog, but I suggest these people put together a recipe list too.

Because people like me might be angry, you're allowed to use Time for Dinner: Strategies, Inspiration, and Recipes for Family Meals Every Night of the Week since one of the bloggers also wrote for that book.

What will I be making? I'm a sweets type of person, so maybe Snickerdoodles. If forced to do a savory, I might try something new such as this Greek chicken soup.

Now for the bad news! We don't have a microwave, we have only one oven, and four burners. That means if you need to heat stuff up, space will be limited. We also have two cats, one preschooler, and a small house. However, to offset this, I think we might have our fireplace going and a cheese plate out. Does that balance anything out? Also, our preschooler is awfully cute.

Listen, if I've invited you before I want you to come and join in. The only rule is one dish per person. So, if you invite your significant other who hates cooking over, make sure you find them the cheese plate post and have them buy some delicious cheeses. (As a general rule, if I know you, and you come over bearing delicious cheese or delicious alcohol, I'll let you in my house without complaint.) Give it a try.

Weird Things

One of the really weird things about having a blog and then forgetting you've told people about that blog is that people will occasionally read your blog and then mention it to you and then you get nervous and wonder if you're secretly blogging things that might offend them.

For instance, I was at my cousin's daughter's one hundred day party (a special Korean celebration of a baby's life and their moving past the most worrisome part of their childhood) and his sister turned to me and told me that my post on thoughts I had while anxious was hilarious. I immediately froze and reviewed whether I had blogged about my mom recently in a negative way. (Darling cousin, you're on to my secret thoughts now.) Luckily, while my mom and I have a somewhat argumentative relationship, she has been terrific (mostly) lately. Even if I didn't love my mom because she was my mom, I would love her because she tells me to take a nap when she sees me and then her and N play outside all day. And I sleep. Do you know how much I love sleep while I'm pregnant? It's like the greatest blessing on Earth. And though I hate to say this to my husband, the sleep I get when around my mom is deeper than the sleep I get around him. I'm more assured that she'll rush to get N if he's upset or hurt or waking up.

I also wonder if any of P's family (besides my super awesome sister-in-law) ever reads my blog. I barely ever mention P's family, but it weighs on my mind. For instance, I've been wanting to blog about how much I adore my mother-in-law recently, but in doing so, I might happen to admit that I love her much more than I love my father-in-law (who I'm also fond of) but I don't want her whole family to hate me for that. Well, I guess the secret is out now. Don't hate me, okay? I just love your mom more.

Luckily, among my friends, I mostly know who is reading, though I also am curious if anyone of my Facebook friends have found this blog via my webpage link. Surely most of them I never discuss and the ones who I'd insult are the same ones who'd never come looking at this blog, but it still makes me a little nervous.

I think this is one of the reasons I was so happy to keep my online stuff mostly impersonal for so long. You can't really hurt a person's feelings by telling them that you knit a pair of socks or cross-stitched a sampler, you know?

After all that, I do want to give me cousin who reads this blog a big shout out. First, she should have her own damned blog because her decorating at the party was fine. I feel she put a ton more simple and elegant thought into that party than I have for all of my son's parties combined. The color combo of grey and yellow was interesting and pretty and perfect. Secondly, she let me borrow her truckload of maternity clothes. I'll admit that I was a little intimidated by the sheer amount of them. (Last pregnancy, I had about three pairs of pants. This time I have ten pair of khaki pants alone!) Thirdly, she's also the one that taught me to cross-stitch way back in the day. If I had never cross-stitched, I probably would never have knitted. If I had never knitted, I would probably never have picked up sewing. All my craftiest hobbies are due to her and she never even knew it.


Pregnancy, It's All I Discuss Because I'm Boring

Actually, lovelies, if I can ever get off my ass, I'll take pictures of the pillowcase I made for N today. After dropping him off slightly early, but not too early, I rushed home to read some blogs, make brownies, clean the house, and sew. I'll admit, though it reeked horribly of domestic bullshit, I did find it lovely. It was relaxed, entertaining, and productive.

I was going to use my Weekend Sewing pillowcase pattern, but it asked for slightly more fabric than I had of my main fabric, a cute cotton print of woodland animals. I jumped over to the ConKerr Cancer site for their pattern and realized I still didn't have enough fabric. However, because I'm not an idiot, I was able to manipulate the inches of each fabric until I was able to get what I want -- a working pillowcase pattern.

Saying that, I still screwed up because I'm incapable of reading directions. The first sewing step of the pattern is basically: "Fold the border in half lengthwise, with the wrong sides together, and press." I folded widthwise and spent five minutes wondering why I did that before unfolding the piece. After sewing my two fabrics together and reading the next step, I wondered why the edge of my pillowcase was not hemmed. I realized that with the step I got wrong, if I had done it right, there would have been no need for hemming. Then, I wept.

I kind of love sewing now, but it's such a non-child friendly hobby. It's full of sharp scissors, pins, needles, and burning hot irons, any and all of which could truly injure a three year old. N begged to sit next to me while I finished up the sewing and I let him, but I was a nervous wreck and I kept checking where his hands were.

Anyway, living by the motto "Pics or it didn't happen", I'll try to get you a picture by next month or so.

Yarn, yarn, yarn

Do you see what that is? Wine. It's beautiful, boozy red wine. In fact, that picture is of the first wine I drank after N's birth. I'm so in need of a damned drunken binge. I don't want to get so messed up that I black out, but I want the pleasantly woozy feeling of being a little tipsy. I know it'll be at least four more months until I get there, but I'm waiting patiently. The good news? C-section patients get their babies removed at 39 weeks instead of 40! Yay for small miracles. I'd totally be willing to give this baby up at week 38 if they aske though.

In other news, do you think I'd be a jerk to buy myself a baby gift? I love the idea of CitrusLane. They send you a box of age-related goodies for your baby! I think I might save part of my work earnings for this because if I were tired and grumpy, a box of cute baby goods arriving once a month on my doorstep might cheer me up. And I could sign up for the short 3-month subscription, even!

It Is All Good

Want to know a way to freak an anxious pregnant lady out?  After you give her a thorough week twenty ultrasound, leave her in the room with her ultra calm husband for about half an hour or so.  My mind went racing through the possibilities.  Did the ultrasound technician smile while she gave me the exam?  (An indication things went right.)  Did she make any concerned noises or linger over a portion of the test?  (Why did she have so much trouble finding my baby's unfurled hand?!)  Was the doctor gearing up to tell me unpleasant news about my darling little new one?  By the time I did talk to the doctor, I was most of the way to throwing up out of pure nerves, only to hear...

"The baby looks great!"

Why couldn't you have just come by, said that, and added, "Do you mind waiting half an hour while I finish up some other stuff?"  I don't mind waiting.  I can be a patient person when I'm thinking good thoughts.  When I'm about to throw up because my fetus is hypothetically damaged, I'm not patient or calm!

In less awesome news, my doctor was concerned by my disinclination to rush about getting myself blood thinners, pointing out that this could kill me at any moment.  I'm not saying I'm not going to get blood thinners, but there was no way in hell I was administering them to myself. As my friend and I once discussed, Stacy (in The Baby-Sitters Club books) and her need to give herself a daily injection of insulin were horrifying.  In fact, I once read a book in which that was a murder weapon.  No lie. I really did.  And now I find myself in the position of needing a daily shot, once again, for several months.

Another interesting note is that being of "Advanced Maternal Age" (heh, they totally said that to me) and having a previous blood clots means that I'm going to see the doctor so damned much.  I get eight non-stress tests weekly before my delivery!  I find it ironic that something called a non-stress test will be giving me so much stress.


More Mish And More Mash, Only With An Actual Photo

Something amazing I learned in the past week -- if I blog more than once every other month, people will comment on my blog and visit it!  (Other things I might learn in the future: taking pain medication when I'm in pain will diminish my pain, sleeping a proper night's sleep will give me more energy the next day, and doing my hair will make me hate my frizzy hair less.)

Anyway, when I fell ill in the first (and half of the second) trimester, I gave up on processing photos and posting to Flickr.  I just couldn't give a crap anymore.  This is why my recent blog posts violate all my rules of posting by not having photos.  How can I put up October posts when my most recent photos are of Father's Day?!


Luckily, I'm slowly getting back on track.  Even more luckily, I don't think I took more than three pictures in September and October combined.  I really need to get caught up prior to having baby number two.

Now, to  check if any of you actually read these things through the whole way -- what shows are you watching now that fall television is back in swing?  I've already told you that my life isn't complete without Community and Vampire Diaries, but I want to know if there's anything I don't watch that I should give a try.

Also, now that I feel more human and less ill, what should I attempt to sew during N's preschool hours?!



Some days I think I should take pregnancy belly pictures for the blog to keep up to date with how big I'm getting, but I'm not proud of how big I'm getting and when I tried to show my week 39 pictures to my husband from last pregnancy, he seemed freaked out.  Honestly, I was kind of freaked out by the pictures.  And I barely looked more pregnant than I do now.

I vacillate over whether we should DVR Community or The Vampire Diaries every week.  Damn the only two shows I care about on live television for being on at the exact same time.  Which do I prefer?  Allison Brie, Joel McHale, and top notch humor?  Or Ian Somerhalder and crazy fun drama?  Most weeks vampires and their diaries win, but if they do another paintball episode on Community, I will have to reschedule things.

I called my doctor in a panic this evening because I was afraid the dull ache I've had in my abs all day was a bad sign, but it turns out the lack of throw-up, fever, or blood indicates that this is just another pregnancy symptom.  I then secretly cried over the idea of another twenty weeks of this.  Then I felt bad because I didn't want this baby to think I didn't love it.  I do love it.  I just love my body being my normal body more.  Then that thought made me weep for a loved one in my life who has cancer and who is having a tough battle with it.  At least this shit will all end in twenty weeks.  I just got to tough it the hell out.

I genuinely hate the phrase "It is what it is" and everyone has started to use it.  Screw that.

I have a cat that seems inclined to suicide.  So far she has swung around on the top of a door that was opening and closing, fallen into furnace piping, gotten lost in two different attics, ran away from home and into a doghouse, attempted to eat tortilla chips and drink lemonade (which ended up with her slightly choking like a toddler who was never taught to chew), and tried to run away into a thunderstorm.  As I told P last evening, if she saw a tank full of sharks, she'd probably jump into it.

Going back to work one day a week has made me remember how much I genuinely liked my job.  I don't regret staying home to take care of my son, but I miss it.

The last Postsecret post had a postcard from a woman who talks about loving to give birth, but hating to be a mom.  I think that woman is secretly my nemesis. 

My mom made fun of me for just wanting to lie about and read or sleep for this whole pregnancy telling me that I was going to fail at being a mom to two.  She seemed to ignore my point that this pregnancy was wretched to me and that I probably wouldn't get much of a chance to read or sleep after the baby was born. 

All I think of all day long is how good my favorite foods must taste.  They rarely taste as good as I think when I eat them.  I still spent half an hour last night imagining a big bowl of gravy and some bread.  I spent an hour today thinking of brown sugar Pop Tarts and another ten minutes daydreaming about chocolate ice cream.  However, I'd probably be happiest if someone just installed a hospital ice maker in my kitchen.

Even though I do not yet know where we will be moving to in the future, I keep looking at every house that meets my list of requirements that is on sale in any region I'm interested in.  I almost bought the most recent Philadelphia magazine that touted the best suburbs to raise children in.  I love this house for the children it has brought me, but I think our family is outgrowing it very quickly.

N is really big into tantrums this last week.  I can't figure out if he's just not getting over this cold/infection or if he's three. 

For serious, only twenty more weeks.  I can do it.  Right?  Sure, it's not running a marathon and then delivering, but managing not to die of sheer misery is something. 


Less Gloom, More Baby Room

Because I forget these things and I use my blog as my notepad now -- here is what I need to get for the new baby and N prior to the birth:

1.  Going home from the hospital outfit.  If this is a girl, be prepared to see the fussiest, craziest, girliest outfit that has ever existed.
2.  New crib, but one that sits on the floor rather than a few feet off the floor.  I'd rather bitch about bending over to put my baby to bed than spend two years worrying that my baby would fall five feet to the floor below after they climbed out.
3.  Twin sized bed and mattress.
4.  Playmat.  A cute one.
5.  Carseat.
6.  Small bottles (Will this be the baby I can breastfeed?  Let's hope so.  I will totally save money.)
7.  A recommendation for a newborn photographer because I want precious pics of the tiny babe this time to post all over the house.
8.  New non-yucky diaper bag.
9.  Mei tai.

It's not as much stuff as last time, thank God.


Speaking of Anxiety

Here is a fun list of things I've worried about in the last twenty-four hours that are ridiculous:

1.  I spent a good five minutes worrying about my belly button popping out on this pregnancy.

2.  I spent much more time worrying that I might one day be in a bank while it was being robbed with my two children and the robbers would try to attack one of them because I couldn't keep them quiet.

3.  I worried that my spinal during my next c-section would go terribly wrong and I'd end up paralyzed for life.

4.  I sobbed over how I'd get a blood clot right after my c-section and die leaving my husband to raise our two children alone and that he'd find a wife who would be mean to our children.

5.  I briefly wondered if my son would grow up to be an unreliable young adult who never calls or emails because I didn't spend enough quality time with him during this pregnancy.

6.  I worried that I might leave the bottle warmer on and that it would burn down our house and my son would be too young to realize what to do and we'd also lose our cats.

7.  I became afraid that our washer would spin out of control and smush our son as he was walking past.

8.  I was mildly concerned that I'd slip on the bathroom floor while it was wet and lose our baby.

9.  I wondered if my last c-section had gone totally wrong and ruined my stomach thus leading to all the nausea and heartburn this pregnancy.

This is seriously stuff I think about as the day goes on.  Do any of you have ridiculous fears or am I the only one? 

Do You Think I Have An Anxiety Problem?

I'm totally posting from my iPad for the first time as a tribute to Steve Jobs. That was a lie. I'm doing this because I'm lazy and my couch is comfortable. But I do like a good Apple product. (That clearly doesn't include the piece of crap Apple computer I was forced to buy in college.)

Anyway, this will be a short one. I just took a test on the Internet to see if I had an anxiety disorder. It was one with obvious "normal" versus "stop worrying so much" answers and so I was not surprised when it told me to see a doctor. After I got the results I worried that I had picked the answers I did just to get that result. Then I worried that worrying about an anxiety disorder test online probably meant I really did have a problem with anxiety.


Feel Free To Judge Me, Just Don't Leave Nasty Comments

Now that I'm deep into this pregnancy, I like to do several things -- read pregnancy blogs and read of horrific late pregnancy miscarriages. Both of these things bring me extreme misery but I simply cannot stop doing them. See, first of all, after my mom's history of miscarriages, I pretty much believe I'm going to miscarry every single day of my life. Right now? I haven't felt the baby move in about a few hours so I'm worrying like you don't believe, even though it is only week twenty. And then, when I do feel the baby kick, I'm all annoyed with it because it makes me feel weird. I'm the worst.

As for the baby/pregnancy blogs, even if the people who write them are open minded, the commenters are the worst. I have a friend who once told me that he refuses to read comments on the internet. Why I don't follow his good and true advice, I have no idea. People judge so harshly over everything when it comes to babies. So, here I am with a list of things you might think make me a crappy mom/pregnant woman. Feel free to judge me.
  • I still let my three year old use a pacifier when he goes to sleep. It comforts me.
  • I didn't breastfeed him beyond two or three weeks because I had nearly no milk, he couldn't latch, I couldn't afford a breastfeeding consultant, and I was spending more time crying over it than bonding with him. I will try with the new baby, but if I can't, I can't. (According to 55% of internet moms, this puts me into the same league as mass murderers and kitten kidnappers.)
  • I drink caffeinated coffee on days it still tastes good to me.
  • I ate sushi. A few times. During both pregnancies.
  • Even though I don't want a blood clot and the pain and danger associated with it, the idea of laying in a hospital for a week with a ton of painkillers being injected into me while I simply sleep, knit, and eat hospital ice kind of sounds like a vacation rather than a punishment.
  • Sometimes, instead of playing with my son, I sit on the couch and read books or I just check out the internet on my iPad. If it makes you feel better about this one, if I do this, I feel guilt for the rest of the day.
  • Sometimes I yell at my son when I get angry and I feel justified about it rather than upset.
  • I told my son that Santa Claus exists.
  • My son believes that the Great Pumpkin exists because I let him watch television. Sometimes I even let him watch more than two hours a day when I feel especially crappy.
  • I give my son sugar. And white bread.
  • I let my son listen to music with curse words in the songs. I don't care because I like those songs.
  • If N asks to sleep in my bed at night, I just let him, especially when it is just us.
  • I might CHOOSE to have a c-section.

Do you hate me now? I still like you. I promise. Also, I want to talk more about pregnancy in general nowadays, but I'm afraid all my posts would read, "I'm miserable and angry and waiting for February." This probably isn't a positive attitude to post about since I don't want my future child reading my blog one day and asking, "Did you like me at all?" So, when I get more positive stuff to share with you, I'll be back. That'll probably be soon. As N gets more vocal, his comments about this new baby have been damned hilarious.