secrets to easy entertaining

You people really know a lot about cabbage! I printed out all your suggestions and I'll be experimenting with the many heads we received through our CSA share this week.

In the meantime, here is a yummy yummy EASY recipe for you if you have any entertaining to do in the near future. I got the recipe from Chatty Cricket, who will hopefully forgive me for revealing how easy this actually is!

Baked Brie

One package of refrigerated crescent rolls

Jar of your favorite jam or jelly (I like fig jelly, but I've also used champagne or raspberry or other gourmet jelly)

Wedge or round of brie (depending on how much you need)- I think plain is the best kind of brie for this recipe


Preheat the oven to whatever the package of refrigerated crescent rolls says. Open the package of refrigerated crescent rolls and start pulling them apart. Take your wedge or round of brie and start lining the flat crescent rolls up enough to cover the bottom of your brie, then place the brie on top of the crescent rolls.

Take your jelly, and spread it across the top of the brie (not too thick because as it bakes it'll start oozing all over the place). Then continue covering the brie and jelly with the crescent rolls until you've created a shell over the whole thing. Make sure to overlap the crescent rolls a little bit, just so you don't have any holes for the brie or jelly to escape.

Put your completed masterpiece into the oven for at least the time listed on the package of crescent rolls, and probably 10-15 minutes longer, because you need the bottoms and overlapped rolls to cook completely.

When it looks golden brown and bubbly and delicious, take it out of the oven and serve with crackers or additional rolls and watch it disappear! People will BEG you for the recipe and wonder how you made such a yummy appetizer. I get requests for this sucker all the time, and I hate telling people how easy it actually is! I've even made it with pie crusts and other types of refrigerated breads when I couldn't find rolls. Easy peasy! Enjoy!

gifts galore

New post up at the other blog!

Please check it out if you're looking for holiday gifts for the baby and toddler crowd!

the other love of my life

This weekend in NYC, our first weekend away alone in 2 years, reaffirmed with such brilliant focus one simple fact. I love my husband. A lot.

I wish I had better words to describe what Josh is to me, what he does for me. There is no one I would rather spend my time with, no one who makes me laugh more, no one who lifts my spirits the way he does. I never get sick of him, never stop wanting to tell him everything, never stop being grateful that he is my partner in life. Next month marks our 10th anniversary together, and we still talk on the phone every couple of hours if we have to be apart, just to chat. I still wait anxiously for him to get home from work. I still wish we could be together all the time.

Having Gabriel has changed our relationship in so many ways. I've learned that babies bring quite a bit of baggage with them- stress, differences of opinion, impatience, love, laughter, awe, among other things. I worried so much before having Gabriel about what it would do to our marriage, and I think it was a reasonable worry. Raising a child is hard work, and it seems like it gets harder as they grow up. It hasn't always been easy, but I can definitely say that doing this with anyone but Josh has never crossed my mind. He tempers my impulsiveness, I make him a little less neurotic. Maybe between the two of us, Gabe and 002 will turn out halfway sane.

I've been anticipating this weekend away for quite some time, and it ended up being better than I'd hoped. I feel reconnected to Josh in a non-parents, just us way again, and I'm so happy we did this before our lives get upended again in the next couple of weeks (38 weeks today!). At the same time, I've been feeling noticeably down in the dumps since Sunday, and I think part of it is that it's going to be a while before we can spend large chunks of time together alone. A newborn and leaky boobs definitely kill the mood.

Regardless of how long it takes us to do it again, I'm grateful we made the time to go, because now I remember clearly what I'm missing. Our time with Gabriel makes us happier than we've ever been, but being away is pretty okay too. Once in a while, at least. Now I just need to get cracking on getting ready for this baby. Would you believe that I have no car seat? No clean baby clothes? Calling my house a mess would be an understatement. Someone needs to send some nesting instinct over here, because mine seems to be lost.

now if only I could stop peeing at night

My goodness, but I am dramatic.

So after writing this post, and agonizing for weeks over this very topic, Josh and I set up Gabe's new big boy room with the twin bed and then began our arguing over what we would do with the bed vs. crib situation. A friend of a friend offered to lend me her crib, and I began evaluating how we could change the layout of his room to include a crib next to the twin bed. I ignored Josh's pleas about not wanting to bring in another piece of furniture and moved on to how to transition Gabe from one crib to another.

And then last Sunday night, Josh asked Gabe if he wanted to sleep in his big boy bed instead of his crib. Gabe thought it over for a minute, said yes, and slept through the night without budging from the bed. The next day, I asked where he wanted to take his nap, he said the big boy bed, and he hasn't looked back since.

Tonight marks night 12 in his twin bed, and while I hate to even acknowledge this out loud (or typed out, let's say), this is the best stretch of sleep he has ever had. These 12 days and nights have been completely uninterrupted sleep (at least for him), with no wake-ups and no fighting bedtime or naptime. In the afternoons, he snuggles under the covers happily and doesn't move an inch until he wakes up 2+ hours later. At bedtime, he runs to his bed happily, we read some books while we have a cup of milk, brush our teeth, and then he practically shoves us out the door. For the past two nights he has refused his lullabies and asked us to leave.

I am not so naive to think that we may have some backsliding when this baby arrives, but for now, I'm grateful. I asked him the other day if the baby could have his crib, and he said yes. I even asked where he would sleep if the baby slept in the crib, and he said "My choo choo bed." Meaning, of course, his new room with his train comforter. So I stripped the crib, and Josh will raise the mattress this weekend, and I'll do what little I can to make the room look different while all the bedding and decorations stay the same. I'm relieved and as usual, surprised to find that Gabe has moved on from another stage of his life before my mother is ready for him to do so.

I guess this is what parenthood is, right? Letting go before you want to, before you're ready to, and having to smile even when it kills you. I've had a couple little cry fests thinking about Gabe sleeping in a real bed, and imagining a new little person in the nursery. The same nursery where I sat and imagined what it would be like to be a mother, to have a baby. The nursery where I sat late at night and held my belly and felt the crazy movements inside and imagined what lay ahead.

This is so much better than I ever imagined. Harder too, but absurdly, ridiculous, amazingly better.

cabbagy cabbage

Speaking of this post, does anyone have any decent recipes that include cabbage? I have both red and green cabbage, and no idea what to do with them. Tonight I followed a recipe from the Moosewood Cookbook, which I normally love, and I thought it was only mediocre. It was a noodles and cabbage recipe, and I followed it to the T and still thought it was meh.

Anyone? Cabbage? Help? I have a coleslaw recipe, and I do love reuben sandwiches, so maybe I should resort to that. But seriously, how many reubens can I eat?

it must be an old wives' tale

I had my 37 and a half weeks appointment this morning, and nothing. Nada. Zip. No dilation. Again, I shouldn't be surprised, but somehow I'd come to believe that the intense pressure on my pelvic bones, the non-stop peeing, and the crushing pain I feel any time I try to roll over in bed or get up from the couch meant that the baby was perhaps moving things along.

I'd also hoped vainly that all the walking I did this weekend would do something in that area, but nope.

Josh and I had a major life moment this weekend- we left Gabe for the first time ever overnight. Not leaving him until now wasn't something we consciously discussed and decided not to do, we just didn't think of it. We go out to dinner once in a blue moon, we take advantage of grandparents when they are visiting and try to go for coffee or run errands or take walks alone, but we'd never had the time or money to sneak away overnight without him. I left him for a wedding shower in Atlanta, and then for a bachelorette party in Florida, and Josh has left him when he's gone on business trips, or when I've gone to California. But not together, until this weekend.

I didn't even realize what a milestone this was until we were actually on the train pulling into Grand Central Station and New York City was ahead of us and I turned to Josh and said, "Oh my God, we've never left him before!" and he argued for a minute thinking that surely I was wrong, but no, we really have never left him. The funny thing is that in all the planning for this weekend, I never thought about whether I would be sad without him, I only thought about making sure he was happy and well-taken care of and not missing us.

He WAS happy and well-taken care of and except for one incident that involved tears and a request for mommy, he didn't seem to miss us. He was busy with cousins and grandparents and trains and cold morning walks in the Berkshires.

We spent Friday afternoon until Sunday morning sucking in the city sights. Rockefeller Center, Saks Fifth Avenue and Macy's windows, Greenwich Village, Magnolia cupcakes (my personal highlight, of course), Times Square, Columbus Circle, and the many many Christmas decorations. We walked uptown and downtown and crosstown and saw holiday fairs and stopped for coffee and ate Turkish food and Thai food and diner food and street food (but don't tell my OB), and my feet ached from walking and I took Tylenol and kept walking because it was so lovely to hold Josh's hand and breathe in the cold air and just relax. We walked hundreds of blocks, and I am not exaggerating. And I did it all without bringing my hospital bag to the city, tempting fate to put me into labor 4+ hours from my packed bag, but of course, nothing happened.

It was glorious, and although I'm still exhausted and my feet are still aching and Gabe has been a pill since yesterday (due in large part, I suspect, to spoilage from his grandparents), it was totally worth it and I'm so glad we did it. I'm also glad the first time we leave Gabe will not be when we go to the hospital to give birth, because seriously, how traumatic would that be?

If every time your mom left you she came home with a sibling, you might have some teeny tiny separation problems!

baby baby baby on the brain

It was funny for me to read the posts here and here, because we are (amazingly) approaching the time where we will finally know who this little person is. With all the placenta and breech nonsense, we ended up having tons of ultrasounds throughout this pregnancy, and although I'm dying to know just for the sake of knowing, we didn't find out because we just don't care. We really, honestly, truly, don't care. I'd love a girl, and I'd love a boy, and whatever we get is what I believe I'm meant to have.

Since the start of this pregnancy, though, people have been spontaneously announcing to me that they think I'm having a girl. At the resort in Aruba, at the doctor's office, my friends, my mom, people on the street, everyone seems to think this is a girl. I even find myself believing that this is a girl because of the increased nausea and exhaustion and terrible skin and dry frizzy hair. This has to be a girl, because this pregnancy has been so much more uncomfortable and anxiety-ridden than Gabe's was. Yesterday, I even realized that I'm becoming somewhat attached to the idea of this baby being a girl. It scares me a little, because I would never want to be disappointed at the birth of my child because I'm hoping for one or the other.

But then, this morning, I realized as I went into Gabe's bedroom and he exclaimed "bay-ball" and "diggah" and pointed to his toys, I could never be disappointed. No matter what. Feeling disappointed because this baby is a boy would be like saying that Gabe is less than perfect just because he is a boy. Gabe is perfect and beautiful and wonderful and I couldn't love him more. I could never wish for anything different because he is the child I am supposed to have. If I'm blessed to have another sweet boy just like him, I will count my lucky stars. If it is a girl, I'll count those same lucky stars.

I'll also get down on my knees and thank everything and everyone for two healthy children. That's all I could ever ask for. Plus, there's always baby number three! Or if I had my way, number 4! Josh says that babies 3 and 4 are going to have to be with my second husband, so I guess we'll have to see.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I hope your holiday is as blessed as ours!

ick, ick, and more ick

This Monday marked the beginning of one of my least favorite medical aspects in pregnancy- the cervical checks.

Ugh.

I guess some people weather these checks easily without screaming and crawling backwards off the paper covered table, but I am not one of those folks. I find any checking in that vicinity to be excruciatingly painful, to the point that I have been dreading it for weeks and have considered taking pain medication in advance of a visit. Okay, just Tylenol, but still.

I hoped to myself on Monday morning that perhaps I'd exaggerated the whole event in my mind, but no such luck. It was very not fun, and to make matters worse, I didn't even get a teensy tiny bit of dilation to be happy about. I am 0% dilated. Nada. Nothing. I don't know why I'm surprised since it took me 40 weeks, 3 days, and 7 hours of pitocin to get me to one stinking centimeter. In a way, I'm relieved because my mom doesn't arrive until December 14th, and also I'm clearly not prepared to have this baby, but seriously, just a little progress would have been nice.

In preparation for the start of the cervical checks, Sunday night saw me contorting into strange positions in the bathroom, trying to deal with the bikini line situation. It wasn't pretty- neither the bikini area or the 36 weeks and 3 days preggo bending every which way trying to access that area. I used this to deal with the situation, and while I'm normally a HUGE fan and I've been using it for about a year now, it was shockingly more painful while pregnant. Maybe my pain tolerance just goes down in pregnancy? Or maybe I'm just a wimp? Who knows.

I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that I deliver the baby before I have to tackle the area again. 36 weeks is one thing. If this belly gets any bigger, I'm going to have to call in the husband reinforcements to assist me, and nobody wants that.

ch-ch-ch-changes

Gabe's new big boy room has a big boy bed in it that he seems to love. It is cute and low to the ground, with a beautiful rail all along one side, and adorable train bedding. Gabe loves to lay in the bed and read and drink some milk and brush his teeth. Gabe, however, has no interest in actually sleeping in the bed.

I was hoping to do the transitional thing and start the bedtime routine there and then move to naps and finally to actual night sleeping in there, but so far he is very much loving his crib. He's also stopped climbing out of his crib because he seems to like it so much.

So what do I do? I kind of need the crib for this new resident that is slated to arrive relatively soon, but I don't need the crib now. I need it maybe 4-5 months from now. But I wanted some period of transition before I remove him from the crib and plop in the newest owner. I was looking for a couple of months of an empty crib to get him to somewhat forget that he used to sleep in the crib and get used to the idea of the baby having the crib instead.

I tried to talk Josh into moving the crib into his new room for a little while, but that suggestion was met with stubborn refusal. Apparently it is "too much work" to do that, and we already bought the twin bed and I need to come up with an alternative solution. My alternative solution does not include making my son miserable or forcing him into a bed if he isn't ready or getting less sleep then I'm already slated to get over the next couple of months.

But what should I do? Should I ask around to borrow a crib? Dismantle the crib myself with my massive belly? Push ahead with plans to switch him to his bed even though I feel in my heart of hearts that he isn't ready? Help!

me no likey the dirty

If it ever doesn't work out with Josh, and some totally hot Amish farmer guy (a la Harrison Ford in Witness) falls in love with me and wants to sweep me off my feet and take me to his farm, I'm going to have settle for a romp in the haystacks, but say no to moving.

It turns out, shockingly, that I'm not cut out for the hard life (Chatty Cricket, please stop laughing).

This summer, we signed up for a community supported agriculture share of a farm. This means that every Thursday, we pick up a box of vegetables from a local drop off spot. These vegetables have been lovingly picked and cut and delivered just for us. The vegetables weren't treated with pesticides, and they've come straight from the ground and into the share box. They are super healthy, totally organic, a diverse assortment, and I have determined that I hate them.

There are a lot of vegetables in every box. They are dirty. Very, very dirty. Covered in dirt and bugs and sludge kind of dirty. I consider us fairly well-rounded adventurous eaters, but we never eat the vegetables they send us. We don't get broccoli and cauliflower and brussel sprouts and spinach. We get parsnips and cabbage (oh geez, so much freaking cabbage) and bok choy and 79 varieties of squash. Oh, and did I mention turnips? Because we get lots of turnips. And lots of leeks and eggplants. How many leeks can one family eat? Turns out, for us it's just one leek and lots go to waste. It is shameful how many of the vegetables went into the trash, but the reality is that it has been too much work for me to pick up the box, wash the many vegetables that arrive, find space for them in our cramped fridge, and then come up with inventive recipes my family will eat from these many random vegetables. I wanted corn and tomatoes and salad greens and beans and cucumbers. That is not what we received.

Also, and this is going to sound ridiculous, I cannot remember to pick up my vegetables from 4-7pm on Thursdays. I just can't. The number of times I have emailed the poor drop-off woman to ask if I can come tomorrow, are too many to count. She must think I am the hugest idiot ever, but I think it is just pregnancy and a toddler and a tendency to stay home on Thursdays for Gabe to have downtime after his toddler program on Mondays and Wednesdays.

I signed up in March when I wasn't pregnant, and when I thought it was a fabulous idea for us to receive fresh vegetables and expand our horizons and I could make and freeze baby food. Turns out, not so much. So we will not be doing our share again next year, and I'll be buying my cauliflower and broccoli and spinach at our local farmer's market or grocery store, and I suspect I'll be much happier for it.

My dreams of being a sexy farmgirl will just have to fall by the wayside.

I know nobody wants to talk about poop, but...

Today marks the first day of the last month before my due date. You see, yesterday was November 19th, and that means that from here on out, when someone asks me when I'm due, I can simply say "the 19th" and there are no other 19ths between now and then. My countdown clock says 28 days to go, and I assume that is because it doesn't count today or the actual 19th. This is a little mind-blowing, to tell you the truth, and a tiny bit distressing because yesterday Josh turned to me on the couch and said, "Wow, we're getting close, aren't we? What- we have maybe 7 weeks to go or something?" Yes dear, or something. Talk about denial on his part!

I'm feeling good this week, and I attribute that to the head down position of the baby, which has caused fewer contractions than normal, and also to the fact that we made some serious headway on Gabe's 'big boy' room over the weekend. We still have a ways to go, though. Gabe's clothes and books and general stuff are still in the nursery, and none of the baby's clothing has been unpacked from the attic, but at least there is a painted bedroom with actual furniture and an actual bed and bedding in the new room for Gabe. He isn't even remotely close to sleeping in there, but I'm relieved that it is done. I'm hoping this weekend will bring more change and advancement on the decorating aspect of the room, and then I promise some cute pictures. Or at least, I think they're cute!

My major complaint these days, and if you could see me I'm grimacing over here to even bring this up, is majorly serious constipation. Like terrible, very bad, no good constipation. This has been a feature of this pregnancy since, oh, day 3. I'm trying everything these days. Loads of water, fruits and vegetables, coffee, straight fiber supplements, bran cereal, yogurt, and I still need major help. My OB is threatening medication, but I'd like to avoid it if I can. So here is where you come in- everyone has advice on this topic, right? Please please please share yours! I can definitely use all the help I can get! Put the shame aside! Share galore!

I think cookies will help

On Friday, I lay on the couch for 2 hours with 5 pillows under my pelvis and my head slanted downward. When I stood back up, I endured an hour of heartburn, acid reflux, and nausea. I told myself, though, that if the baby turned, it was worth it. On Saturday, I sat on the floor on all fours with my butt in the air and my head resting on a pillow, cursing my sore back, but I thought, if the baby turns, it'll be worth it. On Sunday, I woke up and thought, I think the baby might have turned. So I did nothing, except jump up and down and squat and try to get that head to jam itself into the appropriate places.

And yesterday, I went to the doctor, and VOILA, the baby is turned! Head down, and according to her, pretty engaged in the birth canal. We both agree, however, that the baby appears to have lots of space in my uterus right now and could easily turn back, so her medical advice was, "Don't do anything strange that might make the baby turn back." Uh-huh. I'll make sure to follow that advice. But what exactly qualifies as strange? Does poking the baby constantly to make sure it is still head down qualify as annoying to the baby?

Thanks for your well-wishes! Keep sending "stay head down" thoughts our way!

definitely bootylicious

Wait, wait, wait...

I cannot believe I forgot to mention this, but after all the drama with the placenta, this baby is breech. BREECH. As in, butt first in the birth canal, must turn before a vaginal birth can take place. I was calm about this initially, as was the OB, but as the appointments have continued and 002 continues to remain in the same position, all parties have become a bit more nervous.

At 30 weeks, the OB blew it off. At 32 weeks, she said she was sure the baby would turn. At 34 weeks, she started to seem a little more nervous, and now at my appointment on Monday, 35 and a half weeks, I have an ultrasound scheduled to confirm the breech position and discuss "options". Since last week, I've started doing yoga poses, on hands and knees with my head resting against the floor and my butt in the air while I sway it from side to side, hoping to dislodge the baby and encourage him or her to flip. I poke and prod and try to manually shove his or her head out of my ribs and toward the bottom of my stomach.

I'm pulling out all the stops. I'm getting the ironing board from the basement, and I plan to hang upside down on it while leaning it against the couch. I'm listening to my hypnobirthing cd and reciting to myself that my uterus is flexible enough and large enough to allow the baby to turn. If Monday's ultrasound shows the same position, I'm calling some acupuncture experts. I'll try moxibustion, I'll do cartwheels, I'll run laps, I'll even beg the baby to please cooperate. My OB thinks that trying to manually turn the baby is pretty ineffective, but we'll probably try that too.

I'm frustrated, I can't lie. I find myself feeling irrationally annoyed at this baby when I again yelp at the hard head pressing itself into my rib cage. It feels like you have a bruise and someone keeps poking your bruise in the same spot again and again and again. The baby kicks me hard in the organs and the cervix and in all kinds of tender places at the bottom of my belly. I keep having contractions and sharp pains that make me double over, and I suspect it is this wonky position.

The one thing I'm wondering, though, is that if I'm doing all of these things together to get the baby to turn, what happens if he or she turns and then I continue doing the exercises because I can't be 100% certain the baby has turned, and then he or she just keeps turning and turning and turning. Should I do the exercises until I suspect 002 has turned and then stop? But what if Monday's ultrasound shows I'm wrong?

Do you think Tom Cruise would lend me his ultrasound machine? Should I harass my OB daily and demand ultrasounds? Maybe I should freaking STOP OBSESSING over this and get to nesting?

hormones anyone?

I may possibly, potentially, be the teensiest, tiniest bit hormonal.

I was driving home from my dentist appointment, where I had ANOTHER cavity, which frustrates me to no end because no one (seriously NO ONE) is more obsessive over their teeth. I brush and floss obsessively, I think that in all the years of my life, I cannot remember even once. Not even once! That I went to bed without brushing my teeth. My mom says even when I was a toddler, if I fell asleep in the car and they carried me to my bed, I'd pop my eyes open and insist that I needed to brush my teeth. I've complained repeatedly to the dentist about it, and I am so angry that despite what I do, I continue to get cavities. Grrrr.

Anyway, I'm digressing. Let's get back to my hormones.

I'm driving home from the dentist, where I was able to say to him, "I'm having this baby in about a month," because I am! Today is November 12th, and my due date is November 19th, so I have 5 weeks and I consider 5 weeks, or 36 days, to be about a month. So I'm driving, and reflecting on that craziness, and suddenly I think, "In a month, my baby won't be my baby anymore because I'll have a new baby."

And I dissolved into sobs that I could barely control for the rest of the drive home. I mean, I know, he'll always be my baby, blah blah blah, but still. I'm having a baby, and I'm terrified that this new baby will take the role of my current baby, who is still truly a baby! A crazy talking, laughing, running, jumping, playing baby, but still my baby. In another month and a half, he'll be two! No more referring to him in months! Now I'll have to say he's two and that sounds giant to me. Plus, I'll have this new demanding little person who will most definitely be an actual baby, and although I'm beyond excited to meet him or her, I'm also so sad and guilt-ridden that I'm displacing Gabe. Sigh.

My mom was assuring me while I was crying that he'll always be my baby, and even at 30, I'm still her baby, but I'm still sad and sniffly. There are so many changes these days, it's so much to take in and so much in the way of adjusting. We're painting Gabe's big boy room today, setting up his new bed this weekend, he's been peeing and pooping in the potty (of his own accord, a topic for another post), he chats up a storm and has even taken to bossing me around with his demands. Today I dropped him off at the toddler program and he wouldn't even say goodbye before running off to join the other children with the playdough. I know everyone says they grow up too fast, but damn it, it's true! Gabe is growing up too fast. I just gave birth to him, and all of a sudden he is this amazing kid that just keeps getting bigger. Any tips on how to make it stop?

samma has a lot to say

My Jewish son turned to me over the weekend and out of the blue said, "Mama! Samma say HO HO HO!"

His inflection was perfect, and he'd even accomplished a deeper than normal HO HO HO, but I still thought I must have heard wrong. So I asked what an owl says, "Whoo, whoo," he replied. "And what does Santa say?" "Ho ho ho!" Clear as a bell.

We have no idea where he got it from, since I haven't been talking about Santa, and the toddler program woman claims she hates Santa and wouldn't have talked about it, and plus, Halloween just happened! Who is talking about Santa already? He watches some television, but everything is pre-recorded, so no commercials.

Do kids just absorb Santa by osmosis? It's a mystery, but I told Josh that unless his Jewish kid comes home talking about Jesus or claiming the Jesus will save him, we probably don't need to worry.

health insurance shmealth insurance

I don't know if this is typical and we've just been lucky thus far, but we're having serious issues with our health insurance. In the last 6 months, they've tried to deny claim after claim after claim. Sometimes the letters say that our policy ended (when it didn't), sometimes it says that services aren't covered (when they are), or today, they said they'd already paid the claim (definitely not).

It is becoming infuriating and frustrating, because I often have to sit on the phone for hours with them trying to argue my way through to payment. The other day they claimed that because my name was misspelled on my insurance card, they weren't going to pay for bloodwork ordered by my OB's office. Mind you, I've notified them 3 times about the fact that my name is misspelled on the card, and they never thought it was a crucial fact until now.

When we were in Florida visiting my inlaws, I had to rush Gabe to an emergency clinic because he had a massive ear infection and started throwing up and screaming while clutching his ear (turns out his ear drum ruptured). No one in Florida would take our particular insurance because they said they were never willing to pay the claims. I had to call the insurance company and spend hours on the phone getting an authorization for us to visit a clinic, and they gave me a claim number so I could submit the receipts and get paid for the two visits (one urgent, one follow-up). Today's letter informed me that they already paid me for these two visits, even though they most definitely, assuredly, have not. I think I would notice if I had those $300 I paid out of pocket.

I am so annoyed! Is this typical? Or is this because of the bad economy? Are the insurance companies trying to get away with not paying for standard claims to save money? I'm just so stinking tired of this, and if one member of our family wasn't staying home (i.e., me), I'm not sure who would have time to make these calls. By the way, this is a very common health insurance, not some podunk random one. It is probably one of the largest in the country. So why is this happening and what can I do to stop it? I'm already dreading the nonsense that is going to result after I have this baby. We're probably going to get billed for $500,000 or something similarly insane. Ugh.

fyi, if you come over for dinner

Last night we had a hopeful celebratory dinner of pot roast in the slow cooker. I set Gabe up on the counter next to me and chopped up potatoes, carrots, and celery, handed them over to him in little piles and he would place them in the slow cooker. He was very good at his job, until we got to the carrots, at which point he licked each and every little carrot slice before placing it in the slow cooker.

Seasoning, I guess.

happy halloween!

Gabe is hoping to wish you a personal "Happy Halloween! " as soon as I charge the video camera, but in the meantime, we'll be monkeying around and enjoying the day.

We hope you have a day full of treats and fun, not too many tricks!

Happy Halloween!





Love,
The Halloweenlover family

I'm still wondering if I might have been dreaming

I was just on the phone with my mother in law, complaining about a problem I'm having with a friend, and she effusively complimented my parenting style. MY PARENTING STYLE. Her daughter in law's parenting style. She went on and on for several minutes about how impressed she and my father in law are with the way Gabe behaves, and she swore up and down that he is better behaved than her own children were.

I swear, the whole time she was talking I thought maybe hell was freezing over. Funny how if they were to criticize us, I'd just ignore them, but the compliments? Clearly coming from the mouth of God. They couldn't be more right.

Baby 002 better not ruin my good name in parenting. I will be seriously pissed if this one comes out all screamy. Keep your fingers crossed.

wild animal kingdom

Remember this? Well, we have new intruders in our house, and I'm starting to wonder if maybe our walls are made of swiss cheese or something. Every day, pretty much like clockwork, we find a bee flying around our house. Sometimes downstairs, sometimes upstairs, sometimes (randomly) inside the overhead light covers. Some days, if you can believe it, I've found up to 3 bees in different locations inside the house. Yesterday was one of those days. I found one dead in our living room, one alive and flying around the upstairs hallway, and one hanging out on the mail on the kitchen counter so that when I grabbed it to read it, it fell on the floor and started walking around like nothing happened.

The bees aren't totally 'with it' either. They seem kind of disoriented or sleepy or something strange like that, because lots of time I'll find them just sitting on a bookshelf, or in the bathroom sink, and it is relatively easy to smoosh them (sorry for you bug environmentalists out there, but I am all about killing the stinging animals that come within close proximity of my toddler). I assumed it was the weather, but this is the first time this has ever happened, and it doesn't seem to matter whether it is cold or hot outside. The bees still come in.

The kicker is that Josh has a serious phobia of bees. I actually think his fear would qualify as a medical phobia because as soon as a bee is nearby he freaks out. Completely freaks out and runs out of the room and harbors this irrational fear that the bee is coming straight for him and wants to sting him. Sadly, this means that he isn't much help in the bee killing department, because his solution to a lost bee is to shut the door on the bee and leave it for me to find.

I've started thinking that perhaps we have a hive hidden somewhere in the house because the bees are so persistent at getting in. The other night when I got up to pee at 2am, I heard a strange thunk in the medicine cabinet, and within a few seconds heard some buzzing and a bee crawled right out from behind the cabinet! There must be a hole- not that I would know because the person who needs to unscrew the medicine cabinet to look refuses to do so in case a swarm of bees attacks him. Yesterday, though, I called my neighbor to ask about the bees and they are also experiencing bees coming inside. Not as many as we are, but a good amount. A bee even crawled inside my neighbor's pajama top and stung him the other night when he was getting ready for bed (a story I did NOT share with Josh for obvious reasons).

So what's the deal with the bees? Is this normal? Tell me I don't need to hire an exterminator because pregnant and with a toddler, it's something I'd rather not do. I don't want Gabe to get stung, though, and Josh and I certainly don't want to get stung either. My current strategy is to inspect all the rooms before bedtimes and naptimes to make sure no bee is lurking around, but it isn't the most effective thing ever. Also? Maybe I should call someone to let them know that those supposedly disappearing bees may be busting into my house instead of returning to their hives. Help!

this is getting a little excessive

The other day I stopped at the grocery store on my way to pick Gabe up at his toddler program. I had about an hour until pick-up time, so plenty of time to pick up the necessities and be there by 1pm. I took only my wallet, cell phone, and keys into the store, and moved expeditiously through the aisles to make sure I had plenty of time to leave and drive the couple of miles to Gabe's "school".

I got to the check out line, and the cashier asked me if I had my store discount card. I reached down to feel the keys in my pocket and realized that I only had the car key in my pocket, not the house keys where the discount card was attached (which were still in the car in the parking lot), so I said no and she punched in the store's number. I paid, loaded up the cart and walked out the store doors. And somewhere between the cashier's line and the front door of the store, I LOST THE CAR KEYS. Lost. Gone. Disappeared.

I backtracked, talked to the cashier, walked the whole way again. Nothing. I spoke to the store's customer service, we walked the way out together. Nothing. They dispatched two store employees to help me, we searched the whole store. Nothing. Searched the parking lot. Nothing. Made announcements, took every item out of the bags. Searched through each individual carrot and potato and yogurt container. Nothing. I literally crawled on my pregnant hands and knees from the cashier's line to the door outside peering under everything. Nothing.

At this point, I started to get frantic because I'm definitely going to be late. I called the toddler program, left multiple messages for the director of the program, called Josh and told him what was going on. In the meantime, we're still looking through the store and someone else is searching my bags, security is standing in the parking lot to make sure no one steals the car, and I am losing my shit. After an hour and a half of looking, I finally gave up and Josh had to leave work to go home and pick up a spare key, bring it to me at the store, the toddler program had to keep him for the whole time, and I went home to wallow in my misery.

That night, I called the store back and they shockingly found the keys, but didn't provide any kind of explanation as to where they were found or what might have happened to them.

Fast forward to today. Gabe is still sick, but we desperately needed an outing, so I decide we should walk to our neighborhood pharmacy and pick up a gallon of milk. The walk is about a mile each way, but I figure it'll be good exercise and Gabe should be fine if I bundle him up. We walk there, buy our milk and a carton of tissues, and head home. About 3 blocks into the walk home, I realize that I am exhausted. Pooped. I'm not sure I can make it the whole mile home, but since I don't have a choice, I suck it up and keep pushing the stroller.

We make it all the way home, and I go to get the keys out of the diaper bag, and POOF, they're gone. No where to be found. I call the pharmacy and surprise! I forgot the keys there. Oh, and I also left my wallet at the pharmacy. My wallet! And keys! And now I have to walk all the way back to the store, another 2 miles to pick everything up. I racked my brain to come up with an alternative to my walking there and back, and I remember that the neighbor has a babysitter for the afternoons, so at least I could leave Gabe at her house for 20 minutes so that I can walk to the store and back without pushing the stroller.

I've never met this woman, though, so I'm a little weirded out about leaving him with her, but beggars can't be choosers, right? She seems totally fine with me leaving him with her, and because she is a saint, she even offers to let me borrow her car. I would never say yes in regular life, but seriously, at this point I was so tired that I didn't even have the strength to have pride about the situation. I borrowed her car, drove to the pharmacy, endured the strange looks about having left my keys and wallet at the store, and made it home in one piece.

I put him down for a nap and collapsed on the couch in a heap. This is getting a little ridiculous, though. I know the whole 'pregnancy brain' thing is normal, but how much is normal? Aren't I taking this a little far? I'm afraid I might forget Gabe at home and go shopping one of these days! Or maybe forget him at the park. I'm surprised I haven't forgotten that I'm married at this point.

I should have known better

And then a day like yesterday came around, and I forgot all my self-professed gratitude and spent much of the afternoon sobbing on the floor in a puddle.

It started out as one of those days where everything Josh and I said to each other turned into an argument, and because we can't leave well enough alone, one of us would call the other one back after the argument and escalate it by saying stupid things we don't really mean.

Then Gabe started acting up and whining over every little thing and demanding to be carried by my poor aching sciatica-ed back. Seriously, whining over every little thing. He wants to eat, he doesn't want to eat. He wants to play with his train, he doesn't want to play with the train. Oh my God, you can't possibly want me to walk the 10 feet into the kitchen without being carried- no, no, no, no, noooooooooooo and let me throw myself on the floor crying to get my point across. To make matters worse, he sat in his crib for 2 and a half hours and refused to nap for the entire time for the first time ever in his life and I couldn't relax because all I did was sit there and watch him on the monitor and listen to him whine and will him to PLEASE SLEEP ALREADY.

So at 4:30pm I decided that we absolutely had to leave the house, so we went to Blockbuster to rent some movies and CVS to buy some Children's Tylenol that was on super sale (this Tylenol thing may have been ESP on my part). It was a disaster. He was running around Blockbuster like a crazy person and throwing movies all over the place and it was impossible to pick a movie while simultaneously yelling at him to STOP RUNNING AWAY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. CVS was just as terrible because the cart was small enough that he could reach the things I put in there and he would toss them out while we were walking the aisles.

I finally gave up and came home and realized that we were past dinnertime and he was standing at my legs begging for a "nacks, pease, nacks" (otherwise known as snacks, please, snacks) while I was trying to cook at the stove so I served him a random piecing together of everything I could make in 3 minutes. Finally, FINALLY, I got him to bed and I breathed a sigh of relief and took the time to shoot Chatty Cricket an email telling her that this had been the most interminable day ever and I was about to curl up on the couch with a cup of Dr. Pepper and one of my favorite movies.

I did curl up on said couch, took a sip, and heard a strange mewling noise from upstairs and then that telltale awful cough that is followed by a gag, and you can imagine what happened next. Lots of vomiting. Lots and lots of vomiting, with lots of crying, and a child who busted out with full-blown croup like symptoms where he sounded like he couldn't breathe throughout the night and was up at 9:30, 10:45, 12:00, 1:00, 2:30, 4:30, and then 6:00 for the day. And in between those times, I was lying there wondering how serious this really was because it sounded like a barge was going through his lungs every time he took a breath.

Josh got home from work sometime after 11pm, and left sometime around 6:30am, so although he suffered through the nighttime wake-ups with me, he couldn't be much help.

And then today, I had to face the realization that he couldn't go to the toddler program this sick, as much as I really, really, really wanted him to.

So that's that. Today has been a tiny bit less miserable, mainly because I feel sorry for him so I'm trying to be more sympathetic, but when I stood in the hallway for 45 minutes while he screamed that he wanted to go back to sleep at naptime but then screamed louder if I tried to lie down with him in bed or put him down in his crib, it was tiring. I felt like screaming back, but kept it together, barely. We've watched a lot of television, and I have done a lot of sighing and eye-rolling.

Here's hoping tonight and tomorrow are better than today, and that I can get my upbeat vibe back.

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life life life

Today I was driving to my 31 and a half weeks OB appointment after dropping Gabe off at his toddler program, and as I was driving peacefully and listening to the radio and feeling the baby kick around inside my belly, and thinking about how adorable Gabe is these days, I realized something important.

This may well be the happiest time in my life. I mean, really, how much better than this can it get?

I'm happily married to a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful man. I have the most beautiful, amazing, awesome child that has ever walked the earth (except for yours, of course, yours is also equally amazing and awesome and unbelievable). I'm pregnant with this hopefully healthy, perfect baby, and our lives are filled with so much excitement and joy and good things and happiness.

Sure, we're stressed about money and organizing the house and finding space for all our stuff and guests and paying bills, but things are really good. Life is really good. Now I just have to remember that the next time I stress about the little things.

the poop has hit the fan

I'm at my wit's end.

Over the last few months, Murray has been peeing all over the house when we're not watching him. It started on the bathroom rugs, so I'd wash them, pour the pet smell removal stuff all over them, and put them back down. Less than a day would pass, he'd pee on them again. Rinse, repeat, pee again. So I went out and bought new bathroom rugs. Less than a day later, another pee on the rug. Some days it would be pee AND poop. The other day I realized that he'd been using one of our rugs repeatedly as his personal bathroom and the rug was drenched in urine and had been for weeks.

A couple of months ago, he started in on the kitchen mat and ruined it. I tried washing it and eventually threw it out and bought a new one. Today I walked in to the kitchen, started loading the dishwasher, and stepped on a very wet rug. A very wet rug that smells like urine.

Not only are we dealing with this, but he'll often start pooping on the pee pee pads where he is supposed to pee and poop, but start walking in the middle of pooping and deposit half of the poop in the middle of the kitchen or in the dining room. The other day Gabe brought me a piece of poop upstairs, and I had no idea where it had come from. I ended up finding more poop near Josh's side of the bed in our bedroom.

Our bedtime routine consists of us double and triple checking that all the upstairs doors are closed because Murray will pee in any of the bedrooms if they are made available to him. In the morning, Josh has to make sure to pick up the bathroom rug before he leaves the bathroom because Murray will definitely pee on it. He cannot be left unattended within reach of Gabe's rug or the guest room rugs because he will try to pee on them.

This. Has. To. Stop.

It's gross. It's unsanitary. I have one child and another on the way, and I simply do not have this kind of emotional time and energy to waste on Murray's behavior. I've spent the last 45 minutes crying alternately to Josh (who has no patience either and has reached the end of his rope), my mom (who is sympathetic but doesn't have answers), and finally the vet's office who put a behavioral consultant on the phone with me while I sobbed.

She was helpful, firm, and had good ideas. I kept offering up suggestions for why he was doing this, and her answer was that she just didn't care WHY he was doing what he was doing. It is simply unacceptable, and I cannot continue living like this. If Murray can't behave the way he is supposed to, then he doesn't get to be a functional member of this family. Our new plan of action is that Murray is confined in a crate when we can't watch him until he can be trusted not to pee. He is going to go back to sleeping in a crate at night (something we haven't done in years), and we are getting rid of the pee pee pads completely. Although it is more convenient for us to not have to take them outside in the winter, the existent of these rug-like products inside the house, where they are encouraged to pee, may be too confusing to him and the behavioral consultant thinks it may help.

And we're starting from square one. It'll be like having a puppy again, but I'm hoping this will resolve our problems. I never never never thought I would ever fathom giving away a dog, but crying every day and/or screaming at him is not working either. I feel frustrated and guilty and insanely furious multiple times during the day. I'm not being a good dog owner when I'm so angry I want to scream, and I hate showing that kind of behavior in front of Gabe, but I'm so ridiculously frustrated, I can't help it.

I love my dogs, Gabe loves our dogs, Josh loves the dogs. They love us too. We like having them around, they are sweet and good-natured and kind. I can't imagine life without them, but I also can't imagine living like this indefinitely. I can't imagine having to clean up pee and poop throughout my house for the next 10 years. I have enough of the peeing and pooping from the little person I live with, I don't need it from the dogs too.

Wish me luck over the next few weeks, I'm sure I'll need it.

everything on my brain

First of all, there are 65 days left until my due date. SIXTY-FIVE DAYS. How exactly did this happen? I'm 30 weeks and 3 days and I am in a bit of disbelief that in approximately two months I will have two children. Two. As in, most of my waking hours I will be outnumbered by little people. If I even consider the possibility that the baby could come before his or her due date, well then my head basically explodes, so I don't consider that possibility much. My friend who went two weeks late with her first just went two weeks early with her second, and OH MY GOD let's not talk about it.

That being said, I have also achieved a state of great peace and excitement about this baby. I cannot wait to meet him or her, and to find out finally whether this is a him or her. I'm sure it'll be an adjustment and a challenge, but I'm confident that we'll all be fine and that everyone will survive. People have two kids all the time, right? Plus, I really really want to meet this little person. I don't know if you recall, but I was the pregnant woman last time who cried in the hospital delivery room because she wasn't yet ready to give birth. Post due date even. At 40 weeks and 3 days, I still wasn't ready to have my baby. So for me to say that I'm excited to give birth this time around is a huge step in the right direction.

Nobody around here wants the baby any time in the next 7 weeks, though, so he or she should definitely stay put for now.
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There are days when I am so tired or frustrated by the end of the day that I threaten to sell Gabe on Ebay to the highest bidder. Then there are whole weekends like this past weekend, where I would like to bottle him up and save him forever and get down on my knees and kiss the ground in thanks for such an amazing little boy. This may or may not have anything to do with being excited for baby 002. I'll let you decide.

This weekend, Gabe decided to bring out his angelic side. He spent the whole weekend being totally agreeable. Smiling all the time, talking up a storm, answering all our questions clearly and quickly with a sweet 'yesh' or 'no'. No whining, no tantrums, no sleeping problems. We went out to the Berkshires while my inlaws were out of town, and had the loveliest weekend. We went pumpkin picking, petted animals at a petting zoo, played at playgrounds, took drives through the countryside, stopped into the outlets, ate good food, walked around the cute town centers, and even made it to an antique fire truck show.

Gabe ate when he was supposed to eat, slept in the car when we needed him to, played nicely with friends when we were at home, and gave hugs and kisses liberally. I could eat him up, seriously. Whatever this stage is, it is truly lovely. He snuggles up to us and brings his toys over to us excitedly to share. I need to whip out the video camera so that I don't forget how stinking cute he is, honestly. He makes me want to swallow him whole.
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Remember this? Coincidentally, the car started making this strange sloshing sound whenever I would turn corners. At first it sounded like I was running over a puddle, but when the noise was consistent, I realized that there were no puddles and it was the actual tire that was making the sound of running water. I just had a tune-up done at the dealership around the time when the noise started, so I made another appointment and took it in this morning.

The smell in the car hasn't been getting any better, despite my efforts at cleaning the car, spraying scent removing spray everywhere, and even putting in a pumpkin spice air freshener. This weekend, Josh refused to drive in the car and told me that "it smells like a pumpkin took a shit inside the car". He's a master of words, my husband is.

Anyway, Josh has been insistent that I did something to the car like spill milk, or leave fruit rotting or something, and refuses to believe that an animal might have crawled in there and died. Over the last few days, I even started trying to convince him that maybe the strange running water sound we've been hearing has something to do with this dead animal (an idea at which he clearly scoffs).

Turns out, the air conditioner had a clog in it, and the sound I was hearing was the sound of water backing up inside the radiator. The more I used the air conditioner, the worse it sounded. The smell was the water ROTTING inside that same radiator. The smell kept getting worse because the backed up water was growing and rotting more and more. Fabulous, huh? But I am sooooo stinking relieved to have an answer, especially an answer that has nothing to do with me being at fault. Yay!
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We've made the decision that Gabe is moving to a big boy room and the baby is keeping the nursery as is. We are turning the guest room into Gabe's room and living without a guest room for the foreseeable future, a fact which made my inlaws very unhappy, but I'm hoping they'll eventually understand. I had a talk with our pediatrician, who told me that until this in utero baby is consistently sleeping through the night, it'll be much easier on me if we don't have them share a room. If we didn't have another choice, I'd just live with it, but given the fact that we have a lovely large room available to us, I'm screwing the guests and erring on the side of more sleep.

In the meantime, I've been anxiously hunting for a good bedding set for Gabe. I have a long list of requirements. It has to be something he likes, something bright and fun, something that isn't outrageously priced, and something cute. You'd be surprised at how hard it is to satisfy those requirements. If you have any suggestions, please let me know. I think I've found something that works on Ebay, and I'm keeping close tabs on this auction because I NEED to win this bedding so that we can pick a wall color and finally get started on room decorating.

I got super lucky and found someone who was selling an almost new bunk bed and dresser set from Pottery Barn Kids for dirt cheap, so we bought that and we're going to only set up one bed in the meantime until Gabe is old enough not to fling himself off of the top bunk. I suspect that will be a long time from now. This planning and executing of a big boy bedroom plan is tremendously fun for this nesting mom, though!

I may never wash my hand again

This weekend was my 5th law school reunion, which seems impossible to believe. It feels like just yesterday that I was studying in the library, running around to classes, looking for a job, making outlines and writing papers. Walking around the campus with a fully pregnant belly, hand in hand with Josh, while my son was home with my inlaws was surreal. Fun and comfortable and exciting, but surreal all the same.

I happen to share my reunion year with my all time favorite ex-president, who graciously offered to give a talk at the law school this week since he was on campus for his own 35th law school reunion. My former classmates and I (and Josh) were buzzing with excitement at the opportunity to see President Clinton speak in such a small venue. We chatted over lunch about the possible topics- the election, the financial crisis, the war in Iraq, how would he cram it all into an hour talk? We were given the opportunity to submit questions to him beforehand, but no one knew what he would actually address.

His talk was great. Interesting, uplifting, reasonable, balanced. Clearly I'm biased, because I adore Bill Clinton, but even my conservative classmates agreed. He praised both McCain and Palin in his talk, and advocated for people to stop this atmosphere of hatred and vitriol against those candidates with whom they don't agree. We don't have to agree with someone, he insisted, but you can still acknowledge their accomplishments and good qualities. It was refreshing and ironic to hear him address this topic, since I'd just had two separate run-ins with friends when I said remotely kind things about the Republican ticket. There is no doubt that I am voting for Obama, but my only point was that all the candidates have some redeeming qualities, for sure.

President Clinton gave his own views about the new bailout plan, health care, and foreign relations, and talked a bit about his own time at the law school. The hour passed quickly, the question and answer session was brief, and soon he was being ushered down the aisle to leave the hall. A crowd gathered around him as he was leaving, and he took a few minutes to answer some questions from other alums. Most people left the hall, but Josh and I and a few friends sat around watching him field questions and charm the crowd.

Josh suggested we get closer to see if we could get a better picture of him while he was chatting, so we started squeezing our way through the aisle and around the crowd. I stood to the side, because I certainly didn't need to be squashed with my big pregnant belly, and I watched Josh finagle his way closer and closer. He waved me over as President Clinton's time drew to a close.

The crowd was smaller, and I was finally 5-6 people away from him, when he announced apologetically that he really did have to go because his classmates were waiting for him at his own reunion reception. He turned to leave, turned back for a moment, caught my eye, and REACHED OUT HIS HAND TO GRASP MINE AND PULL ME THROUGH THE CROWD. "When is your baby due?" he asked. And then I threw myself at him while professing my unending love.

Ok, not really, but I did almost die from excitement! He held my hand and leaned into me while Josh snapped a quick photo, just long enough for me to promise him that I'd name my little future Democrat William Jefferson if it turns out to be a boy. He laughed, gave my hand a little squeeze, and was quickly escorted out. I've been giddy with excitement ever since, and can't stop telling Josh how unbelievably soft Bill Clinton's hand was, and how grateful I am that he encouraged me to try to get closer for a picture.

The rest of the reunion was great. A casual reception in our law school's courtyard, quality time with some friends, a good dinner, and then it was over. Definitely, definitely, definitely, that minute and a half was the highlight of my day, though. Baby 002 will definitely have a good story to tell about how his or her pregnancy got me that picture.

and I smell some pretty stinky diapers, but this doesn't even compare

Something crawled into my car and died there.

I've cleaned the car two different times, including emptying the car of EVERYTHING this last time and scouring under every seat, in every crevice, and even crawling around sniffing each seat, seat belt, and rug to locate the impossibly disgusting stench that has permeated every surface.

I cleaned the car of every last shred of toy, clothing, paper, and food, and even removed the car seat to ensure that some noxious food hadn't fallen underneath or behind it. Then I sprayed the whole car with Febreeze and hung up a lovely pumpkin spice scented air freshener. This morning, I got in the car, and it smelled like rotting pumpkin flesh with perhaps a dead rodent inside. It was awful. Truly, truly disgusting.

What do I do? I searched the whole car already, I don't think the smell is coming from inside the automobile. Is it possible for an animal to have crawled inside the engine and died in there? Would it smell inside the car? What should I do? Being pregnant just makes the whole thing worse. Today I drove through the rain, gagging, with the windows rolled down because I couldn't tolerate breathing the car's air. Help!

I've created a monster

Why didn't any one of you tell me how totally, utterly, and completely creepy a certain televised children's train show is? I would never have turned it on in the first place. Someone told me that several of the shows were saved on our cable's "on demand", so on Thursday I turned it on for the first time and let Gabe watch the show. Big, big mistake.

Every morning and night since Thursday, Gabe has requested the "choo choo crain" repeatedly. Repeatedly. He's never asked for any kind of television show before, in fact he has pretty much ignored television except for brief viewings of everyone's favorite furry red monster. When my niece and nephew were visiting, the television was on quite a bit for cartoon viewing, and he barely looked up from his car and trucks to see what was on. So this newfound obsession with this oddly disturbing train show is throwing me for a loop. He really, really, REALLY likes Thomas, apparently, and he's been getting very upset when I say no, or when I insist that Thomas went to sleep for the night. Those are most definitely unsatisfactory answers to Gabe.

A warning would have been nice, people. Is there anything else you're holding out on me about? Should I avoid any particular foods? Channels? Stores? Anything else about which my child is going to become ridiculously obsessed? Now is the time to let me know. Spill it.

20 months going on 4 years old

Gabe's cuteness these days is staggering. He is sweet and helpful and charming and chatty and scrumptious. My parents and I spend every two seconds exclaiming over something else he said or did. He imitates everything you say, and combines 2 or 3 or even 4 words together to make mini sentences. "Mama go cahhhr, Gabe get down walk, bye choo choo, Nonna help Gabe, I sit chair," and so on. He narrates everything we do, and has definite opinions about the state of the world. He says 'no' firmly with a shake of his head and he cannot be persuaded otherwise, no matter how many different ways I present the same question. His 'yesh' is the same way. A sweet nod and a smile if he likes your offer. He answers me in Spanish or English and seems to understand almost everything we say.

He loves cars and diggers and trains and trucks. I've taken him on miniature trains at amusement parks or to stand on the subway overpass and he can barely contain his excitement. While we drive, he points out every digger or 'bire (fire) truck' or car. His newest interest is dinosaurs and the dinosaurs seem to engage in serious battles where one dinosaur bites the head or tail of the other one. Then they call out "help" (which is his favorite request from any one of us) to one of their other dinosaur buddies and they get rescued.

He separately identifies baseballs, soccer balls, footballs, basketballs and golf balls. He will also correctly identify the sport from its various paraphernalia, such as a goal net for soccer or a bat for baseball or a helmet for football. He also, to my chagrin and his father's pride, can recognize the Red Sox or Patriots logos as their respective sports. He kicks hard and throws harder and swings a golf club with follow through and occasionally even hits a baseball with the baseball bat if I lob it at him slow enough. He imitates the professional athletes on television, so he lifts his leg when he pitches and lines up the soccer ball before he kicks it. I remind myself regularly that he is only 20 months old, because he seems so much bigger than that.

Everyone tells me that he will seem huge when this baby arrives, but that seems impossible because he is already huge. He is barely a baby and so much little boy all at once. I can't look at him without smiling, even when he has thrown his 79th piece of food on the floor. Today he angrily threw my cell phone onto the public bathroom floor and when I admonished him, he sheepishly looked up at me through his long eyelashes and said "soyry Mama". And then my heart broke just a tiny bit. Maybe if I box him up he'll stay this size forever?

** (He's actually 21 months now, but I wrote this post a couple of weeks ago)

I'm seeing double!

This Saturday is a huge church tag sale that we've attended for the last two years, and we're making serious plans to attend this one. We have secured the aunt to babysit for Gabe, we are arriving early, and we are coming prepared with lists of items we need to purchase.

This year, you see, we are in need of a serious item- a double stroller.

I've mentioned before that Gabe is a really active kid, and I've done a few outings without a stroller in malls or short walks, but I still think we're going to need a double stroller to get us through the first 6 months to a year with the new baby. In the first few months, I hope to wear the baby while we're walking, but if this one grows at the rate of his or her big brother, that is going to be a short-lived plan.

So... advice please!

I am pretty flexible on what I'm looking for in a double stroller, so I'd love all suggestions. I just want it to be easy to push. I don't jog, but I do walk for longish periods of time. It would be nice if the stroller had bigger wheels since certain neighbors don't clear their sidewalks of snow when they are supposed to, but I guess I could push my single stroller that has bigger wheels on those days and hope the baby doesn't weigh that much.

I'm planning on going in with a list of double strollers, Josh and I will split up, and we'll try to find one of our top choices. Right now, I'm thinking about one of the Maclarens, or Mountain Buggy, or the Bob Duallie, or the Phil and Ted's. All completely different choices, so I can use all the advice I can get.

We're also looking for lots of "dino, dino, dino" toys, but that is a whole other story. Feel free to also give advice on dinosaurs, though, if you're so inclined.

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Update: Nothing, nil, nada. We couldn't find anything worth the money, and then I found out that a fantastic baby store was having a sidewalk sale and all their store model strollers were on super clearance, but of course we got there late because we were at the other sale and missed all the good deals. I'm so mad about it!

Anyway, I'm on the hunt on Craigslist and Ebay and hope I can find something decent sometime soon. At least I found a fabulous sling (this one), and maybe that'll get me through the first couple of winter months until I figure out this whole stroller thing. Ugh.

someone owes this baby a pony

Guess whose placenta moved a whopping 4 cm?

Guess whose baby is head down?

Guess who is cleared for a vaginal birth?

Guess who is so happy she cried hot fat tears in the doctor's office?

Me me me me me me me me me me. So we went out for sushi to celebrate where Gabe consumed copious amounts of seaweed salad, chicken katsu, edamame, and broiled eel. And I thanked my lucky stars for a beautiful boy, another beautiful babe on the way, and hopefully an easy last couple of months of this pregnancy. Thanks for all your prayers and positive thoughts. The baby has his or her head wedged between the placenta and the cervix, so maybe I also have him or her to thank for tugging on that umbilical cord and moving that placenta out of the way. Who knows, but we'll definitely be celebrating in this household for quite some time.

more little boy than toddler

Do you remember what today is?

Today was Gabe's first official day of "SCHOOL"! (Otherwise know as the toddler program in my neighborhood)

I didn't mention anything to him about today's big event until a couple of days ago when I started telling him that he was going to go to school soon, what the teacher's name is, what he would be doing, and what he would have for snacks, etc. I was a tiny bit nervous, not because Gabe is a clingy child, because he falls far more on the too independent for his own good side, but because the past two and a half weeks have been out of control.

First, we were in California where between jet lag and general upheaval, his bedtimes and naptimes fluctuated wildly. Then last Wednesday we flew to Atlanta where I was the Matron of Honor at my friend's wedding and Gabe watched more television in the span of 3 days and slept stranger hours than he had in his entire life. Between helping my friend put together her favors and centerpieces (!!!) and running random errands for her, poor Gabe ate horrible junk food at strange times, took naps in the car or far too late, and was going to bed at 1am and waking up a number of times a night to call for me. It was a bit of a nightmare.

Thankfully, Josh arrived in Atlanta on Friday night and he helped me get Gabe under some semblance of a schedule again while I was able to devout myself entirely to the wedding festivities all day on Saturday. Last night we flew home to Boston, had Gabe bathed and in bed by 8:45pm and we kept all fingers and toes crossed that this morning would go well. He did wake up twice during the night to ask for us, but this morning he woke up at 8:15am, happy as a clam and shockingly excited to go to school (although who knows what he thought 'school' actually was).

We dressed, packed our new backpack with a change of clothes and diapers, took our all important picture and walked the 4 blocks to the toddler program, while I told him all the exciting things he would be doing during the day.

By the time we arrived, he was ready. We walked inside, he walked over to the teacher, gave her an unsolicited hug, and settled in with a "choo choo" and a truck. I sat there nervously for a few minutes, unsure of whether I should leave or not, and finally decided to give him a quick kiss and run out the door. So I leaned over, told him that Mama was leaving now, gave him a kiss, and started edging toward the door. He looked over at me, looked back at the trucks, and called "buh-bye Mama" over his shoulder as I walked out the door.

And that was it.

He apparently played the entire time, never asked for me, ate his snack and lunch with no problem, and didn't want to leave when I came back. I came back early, just in case, and the teacher told me that he was definitely fine to stay for the entire time on Wednesday.

I, on the other hand, had tons of plans for my first stretch of free time and ended up taking care of the flat tire I discovered when I backed the car out of the driveway. Fun fun fun. Turns out I had TWO nails in my tire, plus the tires are going bald, so I have a service appointment Wednesday to hopefully take care of everything. Phew.

All in all, a successful day. I'm ecstatic that Gabe did so well, and I'm hoping this keeps up over the days to come. Most of all, I'm so stinking grateful to be home and for all this traveling to be over. I'm having tons of pressure and what I assume are braxton hicks contractions, and I take this as a sign that I need to slow down.

Next up, Halloween decorating. What? You're surprised? Josh is lucky I didn't start decorating before Labor Day.

maybe low cut shirts will distract everyone

My stomach has finally exploded to achieve it's full 6 and a half months pregnant potential. I'm enjoying the fully pregnant look and finally fitting into my maternity clothes.

Unfortunately for me, it seems that my ass is expanding to counter balance the large belly. The scale isn't showing the pounds changing, but I see it as I look in the mirror every morning.

The cupcakes could also possibly not be helping, but I'm not yet ready to give those up.

smokin' hot

California is very, very, VERY hot. Especially when you're pregnant. It is definitely too hot to take your child to Fairytale Town and the Zoo and Funderland and chase after him in the 100+ degree heat. Once you have soaked through all your clothes due to the copious amounts of sweat, you may actually start to feel a little lightheaded and have to retire to the car. It is too hot to take him to the park, too hot to take walks, too hot even to drive places because that means returning to your boiling hot car and waiting for it to cool down.

I feel terribly guilty because I know it is getting colder in Boston as I type and I should be taking advantage of these last days of summer, but I'm just too hot to deal. I end up throwing Gabe in the backyard and watching him through the sliding glass doors from the comfort of the air conditioned kitchen. That's not neglect, right?

Besides that, the visit is good. I am fulfilling my destiny as a pregnant woman and sleeping 10 hours at night and taking 2 hour naps in the afternoon. Every other second of my awake time is spent eating. I wish I were exaggerating, but alas, I am not. Add to that the fact that I am too hot to exercise at all, and Josh might have to roll my inflated booty off the plane in 2 weeks.

Gabe is loving his grandparents and gets incredibly upset when they leave for work or go to the bathroom. He stands at my dad's door screaming his name in the morning until he gets up to play with him. It is fun to see, and I'm glad he is enjoying them so much.

I had a pang of sadness this morning when I realized that he was missing his first day of school because we are here, but hopefully he won't be left out too much from all the social cliques of the toddlers. Toddlers don't have social cliques, right? I'm telling myself that he is also missing all of the crying and separation anxiety from the first few days and he'll be able to glide right in when we are back in two weeks.

I'm off to search for a nearby pool, because that might be the only thing I can tolerate in this heat. I'll apologize in advance for anyone who has to see my rapidly expanding body in a bathing suit. Ugh.

lap child on a plane might be a problem when your lap is seriously diminished

Things are looking up these days on the patience front. This may or may not have to do with the fact that I went away on a girls' weekend for the first time ever since Gabe was born. My inlaws graciously volunteered their house in Sarasota, Florida for my law school friend's bachelorette party, and last weekend we all headed down there for a fun-filled weekend of partying and sunshine.

HA.

Hurricane Gustav decided to make his presence known from the moment we touched down until the moment we took off. Monday afternoon, however, as I boarded the plane, was gloriously sunny and warm. Every other day, however, the windows inside the house were dripping with condensation because of the sheer quantity of monsoon type rain and winds and mugginess outside. My inlaws' ceiling actually started leaking in the breakfast area and I had to make a very unpleasant call to them on Sunday evening to let them know that I was afraid the roof was caving in on us.

Still, it was nice to be responsible for myself for a change, and not to have to deal with the ever-changing demands of a tiny person. Except for the one housed inside me, I mean. That person was well taken care of with chocolate chip cookies and ice cream and pizza. Isn't that what you eat on vacation? That same little person woke me up in the middle of the night on each night we were in Florida with acidy-burning-my-throat-alive acid reflux, so perhaps he or she was less than grateful for my food choices. I even called my mom at 3 am just to ask her what I could possible do with home remedies to make it stop, since I had no medicine in the house.

The little break was good for my spirit, because I've come back refreshed and missing Gabe and Josh desperately. It also helps that I've acquired that much desired spurt of nesting/cleaning/decluttering energy promised in the second trimester. I feel good, mostly, I have tons of energy, and I'm excited and happy for this baby to arrive. I've spent hours during naptime scouring the internet for ideas on Gabe's big boy room, and throwing out things we've kept in storage for 6 years of marriage. I think the charities I've been calling for pick-ups must be wondering where on earth we've been keeping this much junk. Just yesterday morning, I threw out 10 years worth of college twin sheets and blankets and old clothes and microwaves and law school textbooks (because honestly, what was I doing with my constitutional law text?) and plates and mugs and magnets. My front yard looked like a garage sale, minus the organized tables. I have things listed on Craigslist and Ebay and I'm taking any reasonable offer for people to haul away my stuff.

The guest room or Gabe's future room is a veritable disaster of books and papers and pictures that need to find a home in the very near future. Plus, to make matters even more crazy, I'm leaving TOMORROW for California for 2 weeks, then flying straight to Atlanta where I'm the matron of honor in my friend's wedding, then back to Boston, and the next day Gabe starts school at his new toddler program. Phew. I'm tired just writing it all down, much less living it.

I'm keeping my eyes on the prize, though. Once September 21st hits, there will be no more traveling, no more craziness, and I can focus on my new obsession- picking bedding for Gabe's new room. Do you have any idea how much a pregnant woman can obsess over whether a toddler or twin bed is better? Or whether the alphabet or trucks is more appealing with a toddler? Blue or red duvet? Blue or green or yellow walls? Is two rooms in the house painted yellow too much? What about rugs? Seriously, this is what keeps me up at night.

I suspect I'm avoiding considering the whole placenta thing too, and every time I go to the bathroom I nervously eye the toilet paper, just waiting for a speck of blood to appear and my whole world to come crashing down. I'm in a rush to get the house in order because I know that at any moment I might have to go on bed rest and that is terrifying. Terrifying. So I avoid the thoughts and focus on September 23rd, when we'll have the ultrasound that will tell us what is likely to happen come December. Keep up your placenta moving thoughts. Maybe it is wishful thinking, but I have been feeling more kicks in the cervical region and I hope that is a harbinger of good things to come. I hope my placenta is a mover and a shaker, that's for sure.

happiness is...

finding all of the "kittle kittle cahs" lined up on your kitchen floor.

maybe i need more chocolate

My patience is seriously lacking these days. I hate to admit it, but I find it terribly hard to deal with a toddler while pregnant. Some days things are fabulous- Gabe is easy and sweet and compliant, and then other days, like today, I want to lock myself in the bathroom and scream.

We walked to the park that is over a mile away because it's his favorite, which was probably a HUGE mistake because I almost melted from the heat and humidity. On the way, we stopped at one of my favorite coffee shops. They have multiple little bead maze toys at the coffee shop, so I unstrapped Gabe to let him play while I ordered. Big mistake. Within 30 seconds, he was running around the cafe like a madman and ignoring the bead mazes completely. In the meantime, 3 other children who were around the same age sat around quietly with their mothers/caregivers and played nicely at the tables. I sat at the table to get him to calm down and in his haste to get away, he knocked over my full iced coffee onto me and all over the floor and then took off across the coffee shop again.

It took all my mental fortitude to keep it together as I'm chasing him around and then getting down on my hands and knees and wiping up the coffee. It didn't help that the workers at the coffee shop were totally unsympathetic and pretty unfriendly to me when I told them about the coffee spillage.

We left shortly thereafter and headed over to the playground, where we played nicely for 20 minutes before slipping off of a rocker and getting a bloody lip. Back to the house we went, kicking myself for not thinking through this heat and humidity thing. We arrived and I got distracted answering an email for a minute or so, until I heard water running in the kitchen. Gabe had dragged a chair over to the kitchen sink, turned on the water, taken the sprayer and SPRAYED THE WHOLE KITCHEN DOWN. We're talking some serious flooding. And I felt that I couldn't even get that mad, because I'm the one that wasn't supervising him in the first place! It was so much water, I had to run to the basement and grab all our beach towels to mop up the mess, and I'm still finding piles of hidden water everywhere. Inside drawers, under the sink, under the stove.

It's moments like these that make it so hard for me to hold it together. Before being pregnant, I would laugh it off in most circumstances, but these days, I either get furiously angry or break down in tears. I've never wanted to spank Gabe before, but these days I find myself wanting to give him a smack on the hand or a swat on the behind. I find myself yelling more too, and this just isn't the environment I want him to be in. I certainly think there is a time and place for me to raise my voice, but lately it is happening more and more often.

I hate myself for being this tired, this impatient, this frustrated, but it isn't something I'm doing intentionally. I'm doing my best to hold it together, and there are just days when it feels almost impossible.

Tell me this is a typical pregnancy thing. Tell me it's going to get better once this baby comes. Or at least will I learn to cope with the frustration?

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

In other happier news, today marks 6 years from the date Josh and I walked down the aisle together. I'd do it again in an instant. He is my best friend, my confidante, my sanity keeper, and everything else in between. On the one hand, we cannot possibly have been married for 6 years already, and on the other hand, it feels like we've always been together.

I am so unbelievably, impossibly, shockingly lucky to call him my husband. I don't know what I did to deserve him.

in the slow lane

The placenta hasn't moved.

Our ultrasound was yesterday, and I'm undeniably upset. The good news is that it is no longer a complete previa, but the placenta is still covering part of the cervix and I've been put on pelvic rest until the next ultrasound (September 23rd). A high risk doctor did the actual ultrasound, and he was pretty positive about our chances for movement before delivery, so I'm trying to stay positive too. I'm avoiding all thoughts of what might happen if it hasn't moved by September 23rd, because those are the kinds of thoughts that might push me over the edge of anxiety (bed rest, bleeding, surgery).

We did get a chuckle out of the appointment, though, when I probed further about the definition of pelvic rest.

OB: No sex.
HL: But what exactly does that mean?
OB: No intercourse.
HL: So no orgasms?
OB: Oh no, orgasms are fine.
HL: Ohhhh, thank God. That's fine then.

(Big laugh from the room)

High Risk OB: I guess he'll just have to work a little harder, then.

(More laughter)

OB: All we're saying is please don't put objects in your vagina. Everything else is fine.
HL: Oh great, that's not a big deal at all. (visible relief)

(Josh tries to sink into the floor from mortification)

We had a full ultrasound look at the baby, who is still appearing adorable and healthy and perfect. We got some 3-D pictures of the little cutie smooshing itself up against my placenta with one little hand against its nose and the other hand caressing the umbilical cord. It was so strange to watch it play with the umbilical cord and see it wrapped all around the baby. It makes me a little nervous, but the high risk OB said that the cord is unbelievably slippery, which is why cord accidents are so rare.

We still didn't find out the sex, although I was burning holes into the screen trying to catch a peek of private parts. I can't say anything for sure, although I never glimpsed a penis even though we had several viewings. I'm soooo tempted to find out, but I know that if I actually do find out I'll be disappointed that I didn't hold out until the delivery. Especially if this placenta situation doesn't resolve itself, I think the not knowing will help me through the third trimester. I have a whole other post ruminating on the topic, so I'll save this for another day.

In the meantime, we're shooting the baby more positive vibes and asking him or her to try pushing the placenta a little. We only need a 2 cm clearance away from the cervix, which seems so small. So doable. If only my uterus will move that sucker out of the way. I'm also going to be calling some acupuncturists and see if anyone makes any positive claims about being able to move placentas. Let's hope so!

toddlers are germy

Okay, okay, you all have convinced me to do it. I found myself obsessing over whether to do the toddler program or not, and after reading all of your posts, and confirming with the program's instructor that we could cancel if it didn't go well at all, I decided to do it. Since making the decision, I have felt a HUGE measure of relief. That tells me that my choice is probably the right one.

I'm still nervous about being away from him for a whopping 8 hours a week, but I'm also excited to see how he does with the program, and excited to have some time alone to do all the things I barely have time for these days. You'll laugh, but I'm so happy to have time to clean my house and do my laundry and keep things picked up and organized. All of those things have to get done at some point, but I constantly feel overwhelmed by the minimal amount of time I have to work on them. Imagining what it will be like to have 8 hours of uninterrupted time to do everything, plus nap times after that, feels luxurious. Plus, the thought of being able to take the dogs to the vet, or me to the OB, without packing 89 toys and snacks to keep Gabe entertained is awesome.

Now I'm just hoping he likes it.

The opportunity to do a different program only one day a week popped up over the weekend also, and I was tempted. I thought it would resolve my nervousness over Gabe being away for too many hours, but talking to my parents and Josh and my in-laws convinced me to stick with the two day a week program. It'll be more stable for Gabe, and everyone else insisted that I'd regret it terribly when I realized that one day a week was nothing.

So we're signed up and ready to go and I'm excited. Gabe won't actually be starting until September 22nd, because we're going to California to visit my parents for the first two weeks of the program. We're just working to survive between now and then, because Gabe is sick AGAIN. I broke down and took him to the pediatrician this afternoon because I simply cannot tolerate any more whining and crying and being up at night. What was the result? Another bout of Coxsackie (otherwise known as Hand, Foot and Mouth). For those of you keeping track, this is his 4th time with Coxsackie, the second actual Coxsackie infection in a month, the third overall illness in a month. I'm exhausted. Our sleep is a disaster, Gabe is falling apart, and both Josh and I are moping around the house with sore throats and congestion. We need some serious immune boosting around here!

At least the weather is rainy and gloomy too, so we're not missing out on too much!

how early is too early?

I'm facing a truly heart-wrenching dilemma.

A neighbor emailed me yesterday to let me know that the toddler program her kids have all been enrolled in has an opening for an under 2 year old. The opening would be for Mondays and Wednesdays, from 9am to 1pm. Gabe would be one of six children, 2 others around his same age and 3 over the age of 2. The cost is pretty reasonable and would run from September to June.

The program is somewhat structured, with playtimes, snacktimes, reading and music time, lunchtime, and even weekly baking! We stopped by the woman's house today to see her space and have her meet Gabe, and she seemed friendly and sweet. She has three grown children and has been doing this for several years. My neighbor had nothing but good things to say about her program, and said that her kids all loved it. I also have a call in to another mother who is sending her fourth child there this fall, an eighteen month old.

At first glance, I jumped at the opportunity. A toddler program would mean 8 hours of free time for me. 8 hours to run errands, go to doctor's appointments, clean the house, do laundry, exercise, take a nap! Come December, 8 hours would mean time alone with the baby! 8 hours would mean socialization for Gabe, structure, stimulation, learning to listen to someone else's discipline, lots of fun. 8 hours would also mean time away from my sweet boy. It means that someone else will have influence on him besides me. It means that he could pick up "bad" toddler behaviors that I've been studiously avoiding thus far. It means that I have to let him go, just that little bit.

I've realized over the past couple of months, though, that I need to find a way to get a break sometimes too. Josh works a lot. He leaves around 6:30 every morning and doesn't get home most nights until 7:30 or 8pm. He often is able to play with Gabe for half an hour, and then holes himself up in his office until 10pm or later every night. He has been exceedingly stressed lately, and it is exhausting for me to be alone with Gabe all day, cook dinner alone, clean up alone, do laundry alone, do all of the upkeep for the house, plus all of the errands, and then deal with an occasionally cranky husband (and child, of course).

I'm unbelievably grateful to Josh for how hard he works, so I don't want this to sound like I'm complaining about him. I'm not. He's awesome. He bends over backwards to help during the weekends, but still, it's hard. I need a break sometimes too, and since we've never even hired a babysitter before (mostly my fault due to nervousness on my part and not wanting to spend the money unnecessarily), the vast majority of the work falls on me.

So bottom line, I need to either get a babysitter or do a toddler program. I can't keep doing it all with minimal help, especially not with 002 on the way. Letting go is always hard, and although he is so big these days, he still seems like such a baby to me. I don't want him away from me for so many hours every week, but I acknowledge that he'll likely be fine and welcome the change of scenery. It's a hard decision to make, though. Any thoughts? Did anyone do a toddler program at 20 months? Is it too much? Am I being ridiculous?