Picking at a scab that's not ready

This is possibly the best way to describe how I feel right now. Writing thank you cards can be a tedious process. I always feel awkward, how I am in real life just extends to the written word. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot to be thankful for--especially such wonderful family and friends; and for all of their prayers, love, and support after my father passed away. But writing all of these cards, and reliving that horrible night and rehashing EVERYTHING is just draining and painful. And I hate my handwriting.

Why I'm not a fan of Saturdays

Exactly four weeks ago, my father passed away. Exactly four weeks after my sweet baby girl was born. I very vividly remember laying down for the evening (Paul and Baby Tres were still up), I had just laid down and cracked my Nook open, hoping to make headway with my book club book. I heard my cell phone ringing downstairs and I figured that Paul would answer it, and when he did, I remember getting a funny feeling in my stomach, because really, what good comes from phone calls at 11PM? Except maybe a baby being born? Well, we had already scratched that off of our list.

I remember Paul stuttering in to the phone. He couldn't even speak properly, he finally just said to hold on and he handed it to me. That was when my mom told me that my father had a heart attack and that they were in the process of reviving him. I remember scrambling around, getting dressed, trying to find someone to come over and watch the kids. I remember the drive over to my parents house, a drive that I have probably made thousands of times before, and now I can't even do without getting a pit in my stomach.

That whole way to my parents' house I kept thinking, "This isn't good, no one has called us yet with which hospital they are taking him to." Just the feeling of knowing that the longer it takes to revive him, the less likely he will survive. Unfortunately, I know way too much about heart attacks and post codes and survival rates through my job. I knew that this was just awful.

The minute we pulled up, I bolted out of the van and ran inside. And I remember just sobbing on the floor next to my mom while she sat quietly on the couch in the living room. A room that we didn't really use too often. I remember having to tell one of my brothers over the the phone that Dad didn't make it. Having to hear him softly cry over the phone.

I have all of these bad memories that just keep flashing through my mind. And each time I feel like I can't possibly sink any deeper. I have to make a conscious effort to remind myself of all of the wonderful memories of my dad. How funny and sweet and crazy he was. That's how he will live on, by how we remember him and how we choose to live our lives from this point forward.

I try to be thankful each and every day. I'm thankful that even though my dad is gone, that I have my mom and my three brothers. We all love each other and get along. I'm so very thankful for my husband and my three beautiful children--and that my dad met them and held them. Like my mom says, "This is part of the deal." But it still royally sucks.

Birth Story: Part Tres

It's been a long, long time and a lot of things have changed. Some of my recent experiences in my life have brought me such joy, like the birth of my daughter. And, unfortunately, I've experienced the complete opposite end of the spectrum. I am feeling such pain right now, but I just don't have the words to write about that yet. So I will focus on the birth of my daughter and hopefully I will be able to process my grief and share that at a later time.

Rewind to ten months ago...my husband and I were on possibly the most glorious vacation and we thought maybe we should have another baby. We had been entertaining the idea, and life seemed like it was going well, so why not try for a third? We were fortunate that we got pregnant right away. We were completely over the moon. I had a very uneventful pregnancy and (like the first two) we decided that we wanted to be surprised with the gender. I would often refer to this baby as the "tie breaker baby." The baby that could really change the course of the family, swaying life to be more girl-centric or all about the boys.

I really didn't have a huge preference...maybe leaning more towards having a girl. But the reality is having a boy, especially close in age with my bruiser of a toddler, could prove to be a good thing too. As you have more children, and experience how kids start growing up, you realize--there is no perfect way to have a family. There will always be pros and cons to how life shapes up. Just because you have two little boys does not always make them the best of friends. And just because you have a boy and a girl does not mean that competition and jealousy will be absent from your life. You have your kids close together (three in a four year period--eek!) and that might mean you hardly get any sleep. BUT then you probably have an easier time finding activities for everyone to enjoy.

Anyways, my one big hope (aside from a healthy baby) was that I really wanted to experience going in to labor on my own. I was induced for A & D and I thought that this time I wanted to wait. My due date was March 27 and it came and went without a contraction to be felt. This was no surprise for me. I didn't even care. A dear close friend and family member was due two days after me...and she delivered two weeks before her due date. It didn't even phase me.

Exactly one week after my due date I started feeling crampy. I was actually considering going in to work for four hours, luckily we were overstaffed. At about 5:30 that evening I started having contractions. Not painful, but I was able to time them. I was so excited to get to use my iPhone App. Serious nerd. My sweet hubby took the kids outside and played with them then we ate pizza for dinner, all the while I was starting to labor. I remember my daughter shouting to me, "Mom! How are your Michael Jacksons?" or "Mama! How are your questions?" She still had no clue what was going on. I was even able to lie down with her before she drifted off to sleep and still keep track of the contractions.

I had alerted my parents that this might be the real deal and to have a bag packed. At 9:30 that night it became too much and I told them to come over and that I was going to call the triage line. It sounds incredibly dumb now as I type it, but in my defense I had never been in labor naturally before, but I thought then I would just be able to get up and grab my toiletries and walk out the door. Well, I tried to walk and I couldn't. And then the speed and intensity of my contractions escalated. That was my first "Oh shit" moment of the evening. Then I lost my mucous plug and started having bloody show and I became completely terrified that I waited too long and we were going to have the baby in the house.

My sweet parents showed up and my mom was massaging my lower back. Her icy cold fingers were such a relief. My dad just stood there so stoic and then he said, "How is the freeway construction? Can you get there ok?" These moments will hopefully stand out forever in my mind.

I had called the triage line and talked with a VERY bubbly nurse. She was perusing my chart and I think she clapped when she read that at my last check I was 3 cm and 70% effaced. Yeahhhh, my OB sort of neglected to tell me that I was 70%. So with all of the calling the triage line and having to wait for the nurse to call me back and then talking with the nurse and then having to wait while the on call doctor called me back...this all amounted up to an additional 30 minutes. I guess my mom was motioning to my husband that we should just get up and go--we have cell phones. We can talk to people in the car. Again, I'd never been in labor before and I really wasn't thinking clearly. My second "Oh shit" moment: Having the triage nurse tell me to pack a towel and a garbage bag. And that if I become unconscious or felt the need to push, have my husband pull over and call 911. Lets just say I had never been so happy to see the hospital in my entire life.

We show up to labor and delivery and I walked down the looooonnnnggggg hallway and sit down and get banded and answer some basic questions. My L&D nurse comes out, takes one look at me and says, "So if you haven't had any cervical changes, do you just want to be admitted and induced?" I honestly didn't even know what to say to that. I couldn't even process that comment. And then I thought, "Well, shit, if I'm in this much pain and I haven't had any cervical changes then I'm going to need to be intubated and sedated to handle this." I think that the reality was that she didn't want to get both the triage room and the labor room dirty when she could just admit me to one room. So after 20 min of sitting in triage answering questions, when I was checked I was at a six, almost a seven. Three tries to get an IV in and then I walked to my new room.

I was perched on the end of the bed when my nurse told me that 1) I could not get into the tub. I would relax too much and then my water would break and the hospital isn't licensed for a tub birth. 2) No IV pain meds. Too close to delivery and they prefer it if my baby doesn't forget to breathe. So it was either epidural or no epidural. I think I did say at this point, "So propofol is out of the question?"** She did not find this funny. Our nurse (who by this time I had actually really started to like) was very encouraging. She thought I could totally do this without the epidural. Well then I started to ugly cry and flopped over on the bed. So after a LOOOONNNNGGG discussion about my third degree tear with my second and my fear of tearing, she suggested an epidural so we could control my pushing.

Well lo and behold while she was pressure bagging fluids in, my water broke. There was a lot of rushing around for the doctor to get an epidural in and seriously once it was in, they flipped my legs back into bed and started breaking the bed down to prepare for delivery. I'm pretty sure I felt everything. Or at least 80% of everything. I mean maybe my left toes started to tingle? I vaguely remember looking over at my nurse and saying "I feel everything?!" and she sort of shrugged and made a face and said, "Well, it sometimes takes time to catch up. Those pain receptors are saturated right now and the drugs have to play catch up." So literally 10 minutes after the epidural was in, I was pushing. And it felt like the end scene of the movie Braveheart. You know, where Mel Gibson is being drawn and quartered or whatever it was that was so horrifying.

My sweet little girl was born shortly before 1 AM on April 4. So by the time we arrived at the hospital up until delivery was just short of two hours. So about an 8 hour labor. What a whirlwind. I actually spent most of that Saturday shell shocked. That and I was pretty convinced I was going to break my daughter every time I picked her up. I was too used to slinging my chunky toddler over my shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

So that's pretty much my third baby's birth story. What a wonderful day! She continues to be a sweet baby. Which I imagine sets us up for the teenage years to be pretty rough. I'm loving watching my first two kiddos interact with her as we sort of adjust to our new normal of a family of five and I feel blessed that I get to be their mama.


**Propofol. Michael Jackson drug. I cannot believe I have two Michael Jackson references in this post.

Cold Sweat

I'm sweating right now. Probably for a variety of reasons, but right now, the MAIN reason (and reason for this post), is that my sweet baby girl is starting school next week. I'll let that sink in for a moment. The Barracuda is three and half years old and will be starting school next week.

The reason I'm sweating over this is not, contrary to one might think, over some sort of separation anxiety about her leaving. I'm not going to lie, I'm a little teary eyed. My eyes welled up with tears only twice--ok, maybe three times--during Curriculum Night tonight. But I 100% believe with out a doubt that she is so ready for K3. And realistically, it's from 8-10:30 AM three days a week. It will be more of an effort to get her there. And we live within walking distance.

What I'm freaking out about, is all of the paperwork that is required for this. I just printed out ten separate forms. That does not include the immunization form and the picture form. I'm no stranger to a ton of paperwork, but suddenly this just seemed like one more area of my life that I could potentially screw up. On a day to day basis, I'm responsible for myself, my kids, my dog, and maybe 50% of my husband. It depends on the day. Some days I have to be responsible for critically ill patients. Don't forget housework and laundry. Meals. Signing up for park and rec activities. Play dates. Now I'm throwing school into the mix.

Right now I'm feeling this sense that I'm constantly screwing up. And the thought of adding one more thing to my plate that I will inevitably screw up is sorta sickening. I'm suddenly having flashbacks of college and grad school where I'm up late at night writing papers and meeting deadlines and I just think, "What are we getting ourselves in to?"

So why add it? Why add the stress? My little girl needs to go to school. She needs the introduction of some structure and listening to an adult that isn't mama, daddy, or her grandparents. We have play dates with friends, but she isn't in day care so I do think that she misses some of that socialization. I know there are a million studies out there that show that you should keep kids out of organized education longer, but I just can't imagine in this day and age, when kindergarten is the new first grade, her not being introduced to something. And I know there are a million options out there. But when I factor in my work schedule, time, and proximity, our church just seemed like the best fit at this time. My little girl, who can count to twenty, write her name (granted it's an easy three letter word), and draw pictures beyond her three short years on this planet. She's ready. I wouldn't send her if there was a doubt in my mind.

It's our choice. And I'm sweating over it.

Five things that I miss...

Chocolate, like as in hot chocolate or tall mochas from Starbucks or powdered sugar chocolate creme filled donuts from Dukin' Donuts...

Sleeping through the night...

A wardrobe that doesn't revolve around hiding my muffin top or that is breastfeeding friendly AND is clean...

My ability to concentrate on one task at hand (not sure if I ever really had this to begin with)...

Feeling clean...

FIVE THINGS THAT I LOVE:

The Barracuda saying, "Mom? Mom? Mommy? Mama?" and then when I finally answer her, she just smiles and kinda giggles...

Tooters dimples...and his farts!

Hugging The Bear after a long day...

How my sweet dog just sort of takes my toddler's abuse in stride...

My awesome family...(that includes you extended folks, too).

One Year Ago...

I found out that I was knocked up. Again. It's so funny because We had come off of a horribly rough month filled with sleepless nights, diarrhea, hacking up lungs and injuries. And I remember being so God-awful tired at the end of the month. I would fall deep asleep by 7:30 on the couch (Haha, this is when The Barracuda's bedtime was 7 PM. Hahaha!) and haul my exhausted ass upstairs only to plant face down on my bed so tired that I couldn't even be bothered to wash my face or brush my teeth. I know, gross, right? Don't judge. I think I actually accused The Bear of putting roofies in my nighttime cocktails.

I remember working a horribly long weekend of night shifts and I was so exhausted come Monday morning that I begged The Bear (who was on vacation that week) to watch The Barracuda so I could nap. I mean, I didn't really have to beg--he's pretty awesome about helping me get rest. Probably because he knows how horrible I am without sleep and he just doesn't want to deal with me in that state. Anywhoodle, I remember napping and then waking up and thinking, "Shoot. Wasn't I supposed to get my period?" I had just started to become semi regular again. The Barracuda was fully weaned. I had a box of tests in the bathroom closet because I had decided to not go back on hormonal birth control. I peed on a stick, and voila! The digital test told me that I was pregnant. I didn't believe it and I proceeded to pee on about a million other sticks--all telling me that I was pregnant. And then it was all clicking in to place; the extreme exhaustion (attributed to a toddler and night shift), aversion to alcohol (not that strange), hyper emotional (kind of my baseline) and it all suddenly made sense: Fetus on board.

This is such a fond memory for me. A memory that I often play over and over again in my head in the middle of the night or when I hold my baby boy first thing in the morning. I think the best part of that memory is the shock and surprise. We wanted The Barracuda so much and we were waiting for her anxiously. Tooter came here all on his own. I think one of my co-workers explained it the best (she, too, had a love child); "While not at all unloved, he was completely unplanned." Happy memories, Tooter. And thanks for sleeping through most of the night ;)

The Giving Tree...

Is currently The Barracuda's favorite book. I'm shocked by how well she sits and just lets me read the book to her. I am also astounded by how much of the book she has absorbed into her little memory. She will sit with the book and pretend to read it. She will say, "Boy. Tree. Leaves. Apples. Swing. Money. Happy." Almost like she is going through the whole story in her little mind. And she will flip the book over and say, "Who's that?" pointing to Shel Silverstein, who (no offense) looks super scary. And his head shot takes up the WHOLE BACK COVER.

It's kinda funny, The Bear and I were discussing that book this evening. It's kind of a euphemism or allegory or something (my English Lit skills are lacking) for parenting. Being a mother, or a parent, to a toddler is really like being the tree. You give and give and give to make your kids happy. You will give until you absolutely have no more to give just to see the smiles and to receive the hugs. And your sweet toddler just takes and takes. She just takes all your apples, cuts off your branches and makes a freakin' boat out of your trunk until you are just a sad old stump.

Maybe that sounds super sad...but it's not. Somehow, I'm just happy to do it. I just love her so much that I just want her to be happy. Because even though she hits, and kicks and slaps...nothing beats her smiles and hugs.

Sweating

Most likely due to a combination of postpartum hormones, my impending return to work, and the fact that I have almost no milk saved up.

Am I a procrastinator? Yes. But this problem isn't my fault, I swear. So Baby Deuce is a rock star nurser. Like, nursing him is a joy. You know that awesome oxytocin high that you experience when you nurse? Well, for The Barracuda, I felt like that didn't occur until like month 4 or 5 with her. I swear, I had that at like week 6 for this kiddo. Nursing him is awesome. And it's so easy, just whip out a tata and you're good to go.

All this being said, I was very diligent about pumping almost once a day. We were working on a bottle twice a week starting at about 4 weeks old and he was of course a champ at that, too. Then I noticed his poops started getting this funky green. I figured, "He's breastfed, any type of poop is normal." Then his baby acne started looking weird and gross, too. He was all bumpy and red--on his trunk and thighs, too. Again, I was like, "Well, he doesn't have a fever, he's totally happy and cooing, we're going to the doc in a couple of days...I'll just wait until then to bring it up." So we go for our two month appointment and sure enough our pedi is like "Eczema! Slather him up all day long!" Other than that, he's a very happy, growing baby boy.

Then literally THREE days later, I notice blood in Baby Boy's poopy diaper. I'm not gonna lie, my heart kinda skipped a beat when I saw that. Now, I forgot to mention that at about 5 1/2 weeks there was a TEENY TINY smudge of mucousy blood in his diaper. I called the nurse, she said as long as he was acting normal to just watch it. She felt it was most likely due to a tear--very common. Fast forward to now, and there was a lot more blood. Then he had about 3 bloody poops in a 24 hour period. So we go to the doctor's office. After a lot of butt cheek spreading, no tear was visualized. The plan was to watch him for two days and if the blood continued, a tear was not a likely diagnosis and then I should make some diet modifications. AKA: go milk product free.

So basically because a rectal tear was ruled out, the next likely diagnosis was a cow's milk protein allergy. Boo. And right around the holidays. Double boo. But anything for my little boy, so here I am cow's milk product free for five days! I'd also like to give a little shout out to my mom for making me delicious vegan cookies. They were AMAZING. Honestly, I only really miss my cafe mocha's from Starbucks and my Oikos Vanilla Greek Yogurt. And aside from looking at labels to check for milk, it's really not that bad of a diet. I think it's just going to people's houses or out for dinner where it's going to be a problem--mainly avoiding butter. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that he doesn't also have an intolerance to soy, because Dr. Google tells me that those two muthas go hand in hand. And soy is in EVERYTHING.

So all that beautiful milk I had saved up? I can't really use it. I've put it in our deep freezer until I figure out if I can use it or hopefully donate it. Because what's a better gift than pumped human breastmilk? So I'm just trying to pump when I can and hoping I have enough for a couple of shifts. Luckily I am only part time and I'm hoping to not work back to back shifts so I can nurse Baby 2 like crazy and pump and stock up.

And if that doesn't work, then I will suck it up and buy Alimentum and pray that he tolerates that. Which I heard that not only does it smell and taste nasty but that he might not even tolerate that. So then it's on to even more expensive formula. Sigh. I just keep telling myself, there are worse problems. Besides, he is seriously a very happy baby despite going through all of this.

Short but Sweet

This post will have to be short and sweet because in about 2-3 hours I will be up feeding my little milk monster. October 5th came and went without a contraction, which was good because my brother in law was getting married October 6th and both me, The Bear, and The Barracuda were standing up in the wedding. Have you ever seen 40 week 1 day preggo lady in a bridesmaid dress? At least my ankles were still thin. And people were there to groom me in my beached whale state. I pulled it together and even managed to do the Cupid Shuffle on the dance floor--much to The Bear's dismay, "I don't think fast dancing is a very good idea right now, Allison," He said with a serious look on his face like I was suggesting we go sky diving.

Anyways, we decided to be induced this time and the earliest date was October 12th. I called ahead and sure enough L & D was too busy for our 5 AM time so I went back to bed on the couch where I finally had some contractions and I eventually lost my mucus plug (shudder). We went in at 8 AM I gave birth to a healthy, 8 lb 6 oz baby BOY. He was all wrapped up in his cord (which had a true knot) and he sort of tumbled out and both The Bear and I saw at the same moment that we had a boy and we were just in such shock and awe. Milk Monster was placed right on my chest and tummy which was sweet, smelly and a little gross and we were able to nuzzle before he was weighed.

I'm still a little shell shocked that I gave birth to a boy. And kind of a large boy. I'm not exactly a wide hipped amazonian lady and this kiddo decided to come out with his hang by his face so let's just say that I'm still REALLY EFFING SORE south of the border. Sigh. At least nursing is going well and he currently appears to be a textbook child. The Barracuda loves him and there is really no adjustment to be had. It's like he was always with us.

Two Weeks

Is the amount of time it took for me to notice that I had not purchased shampoo and conditioner but had in fact purchased two different types of shampoo. Sigh. What else have I done that has been scatterbrained and outrageous...let's see. I can't count how many times I've caught myself trying to put dirty dishes or flatware in the pantry. I backed into my mom's car when I was leaving for work while she was babysitting The Barracuda. I often have to make a trip back in to the house to retrieve my phone or keys. Thank God I haven't left The Barracuda in house or car. I feel like I'm going off of the deep end.

I love this new baby so so much, but OMG have I become DUMB. I was so smart the first time around. Really and truly sharp. People even remarked, "Wow, Allison is still so sharp even though she's pregnant." Now my brain is completely atrophied. I actually imagine that all of the ridges (I think they're called sulcci? Sulchi? Whatevs) have completely smoothed out. This new kid is making me stupid. One of the intensivists (a female, mind you) at work assures me that this will all be resolved once the fetus has left the womb. I'm not so sure. I feel like I'm going to be stuck this way permanently. I'll let you know how it turns out sometime around October 5th.

Because You Know Me SO Well...

We were aggressively Team Green for The Barracuda. We just felt like it was one of life's last surprises to wait until the baby was born to find out the gender. I also secretly feel like I would be one of those people who fell into the 2% (or whatever it is) of an incorrect anatomy scan. And then I would wind up having a boy and I would be stuck with a girly nursery and all of the tiny pink clothes that people bought me just because they couldn't resist. No thank you. It's not my style.

That's just it. It's not my style and it's my freakin' uterus. Choose to do what you want with your own baby making parts for all I care. I can certainly see the advantages to finding out, and I often say that when people say they know the gender of their unborn child. I would never say to anyone, "That's so stupid that you're finding out." Yet, people are SO QUICK to judge when I say that I don't know the gender of my unborn child.

Someone once said that the reason they wanted to find out was to bond with the baby more. Right, I'm not bonding with my baby at all. THE CHILD IS INSIDE OF ME PEOPLE, I don't think we could be more bonded. Sigh. And the list of mind-numbingly dumb comments just continues each day.

I just love it when people ask me how I am possibly planning for this child. Or they say, "I could never wait. I am a planner, I like to have things all planned out. That's all I do is plan for everything." I hate that remark for various reasons. First, are you insinuating that I'm not planning for this child at all because I don't know what type of organ does or does not exist between their spindly little legs? Second, you must know me so well to make that comment. Eff off, I have the nursery painted (complete with chevron stripe accent wall), the crib is on it's way, and I just have to organize some baby clothes. I'm 30 weeks, I think I have a lot of stuff figured out already. These are all of the comments that I have wanted to yell at people after they say these things to me. The Bear just thinks I have a touch of the pregnancy hormones. But I am fed up. I assure you, people have said these things to me. Good friends, family members, random strangers, patients at work-you name it. It's like once you become pregnant and your belly starts protruding, you suddenly become public property to just bash.

For the record, I'm a great planner. Let's call a spade a spade: You are impatient and you want to find out what you're having. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. Like I stated earlier in this post, it's your body, you and your partner should choose to either wait or find out. It truly is a surprise either way. It's just whether or not the surprise is somewhere around 20 weeks gestation or after the baby has left your body. Either way, you get to take a baby home with you. A sweet, perfect, little human...that will spew poo and breastmilk (or formula...don't get me started) at you for months...AROUND THE CLOCK.

Lately those gender reveal parties are becoming all the rage. Some people think it's attention whore-ish. I actually hope I get invited to one of those soon. I would absolutely love a blue/pink filled cupcake right about now.

Inadequacy served with a side of guilt

Or the darker side of motherhood. Honestly, being a mom is such a joy. I don't think that I could have ever prepared myself for the amount of love and joy I feel when I look at The Barracuda. But there is certainly no way in hell I could have ever been prepared for the amount of guilt I feel. For instance, I feel guilty that I work part time. The thing is, I would feel guilty if I was a stay at home mom and I would feel even more guilty if I worked full time. My point it, there is nothing, NOTHING, I could possibly do to alleviate the guilt that I feel regarding how I parent The Barracuda, working 20 hours a week, etc. The list is endless.

My new goal is to just try to love being a mommy. I'm really doing the best possible job that I can. My kiddo is strong, healthy, hilarious, and wickedly smart. I have the same hopes for this next one.

Revival

Well, what can I say? It's been months. I've been chasing after a very active little girl and I've been working 20 hours a week and trying to frantically make our house a home. In a couple of months we will have been here one year and I feel like there is still so much to do. I will say that it does feel like home here. The house and yard are amazing. Our neighbors are warm, friendly, and quick to offer advice regarding the neighborhood and city (no one is screaming F*&$ at the top of their lungs at 8 am on a Saturday morning), and the community (library, rec programs, school district, etc.) are phenomenal.

I guess the biggest shocker, and there is really no way to sugar coat this, is that I am pregnant. We found out at the end of January when I realized that it had been awhile since I had a period. I had worked all weekend and I was trying to sleep during the day while The Bear was watching The Barracuda and I suddenly realized that I was late. I thought, what the heck, I'll pee on a stick and I honestly did not think I was pregnant when I took that pregnancy test. And there was the word PREGNANT looming up at me on the digital pregnancy test. I was in shock and then I promptly bought old fashioned pregnancy tests, peep on those and was still in denial. And I was probably in denial for a good 3 months. The nurse practitioner at my first OB visit asked me if this pregnancy was planned. When I responded, "No," she said, "But you weren't on birth control?!" Well, its not like it was super easy the first time. I couldn't do anything but shrug.

We are obviously thrilled and excited and a little cautious. The kind of cautious that you are after you already have a child. A child that wasn't the greatest eater or sleeper as a baby but who has evolved into a smart, funny, and gorgeous toddler. I'm also a little embarrassed this time around. I'm not quite sure why. Is it because my kiddos will be 21 months apart? Is it because I wasn't expecting this? Yet I wasn't on birth control? Maybe embarrassed is the wrong word. Shy would be better.

So here I sit at just about 26 weeks pregnant. And it still hasn't quite sunk in. But I'm no longer in denial. I did, after all, paint the nursery already.

Walking Wounded

Seriously. Twenty-Twelve has been a little rough. The Barracuda got the flu a couple weeks into January. It's my fault. I admitted a patient that was basically peeing out of his butt and a poop germ wound up in my system. I came down with the flu about 36 hours after my shift was done. Thirty-six hours after I was laying in bed with severe abdominal cramping, my daughter had it. First the squirts, then vomiting, then an ungodly high temperature. Luckily she likes her milk and water and stayed hydrated. Unfortunately with the diarrhea came the worlds worst diaper rash. We have often joked about The Barracuda's "Buns of Steel." We could seriously keep her in a wet diaper all day and her bottom wouldn't even be the slightest hint of pink. Six hours of diarrhea and her bottom was torn to shreds. Like the mere sight of her girly bits reduced me to tears. Ugh. Terrible. Do you know how horrified I was to transmit this to my daughter??? That I was responsible for her pristine system being invaded and violated?

Then The Bear had a head cold during his vacation time. Not horrible, but he was a little whiny and I was far from sympathetic.

Then our beloved dog had a little accident at the groomer. His toenail was ripped off in a grate. He was taken to an emergency vet and given pain medication and sedation and then his little digit was treated. They were very nice and thorough, blah blah blah, but they have him 4 effing milligrams of dilaudid. He only weighs 85 lbs. The poor guy was like a drunken sailor for the rest of the night. The Bear had to carry him from the car and up the stairs.

THEN last week The Barracuda started having a runny nose. At the time I thought it might be teething. Then it turns into a full blown cold this weekend. With a low grade fever starting yesterday morning. She's miserable. She no longer lets me suction out her boogers and freaks out anytime I go near her nose. I even tried the NoseFrida (which I'm secretly jealous I didn't invent) and she is PISSED. I have never felt so helpless in my life trying to make her feel better. And I secretly think if I hadn't weaned her she never would have gotten any of these ailments.

Oh, and our puppington? He had his teeth cleaned last Friday, which resulted in having a cracked and rotten tooth extracted. He also had 3 moles/skin tags removed (2 of which were new that had gotten bigger in the last 2 months). Now I'm anxiously awaiting the pathology report.

And I'm sick too. End of story. End of whining.

Keep on keepin' on

Exhausted. The Barracuda's sleep schedule was all jacked up from the flu a couple of weeks ago. January was a rough month. I think things are getting a little bit better. She sort of slept through the night last night, although at times it was a fitful sleep.

She also has a diaper rash that just won't disappear. Things will be all good and then her little bottom will be pink again. I just feel bad for her. She already hates diaper changes, a sore bottom isn't helping the situation.

Other than that, life continues to go on. My apologies for the lame post.

The Big Wean

I had a lot of mixed feelings about weaning The Barracuda. I still do. For instance, the morning that I tried to shove a boob in her mouth and she bit me so hard I thought (just for the briefest of moments, and I would NEVER do this) that I might punch her. Six teeth left an interesting impression on my right nipple. Let's face it, after one year of breastfeeding, my nips weren't exactly the hottest on the planet. I guess the teeth marks really elevated them to deafcon 7. Flash forward to evening/bedtime nursing, and I would have the sweet girl who delicately nursed while clutching her lovey, only occasionally letting go to shove a pudgy hand in my mouth or up my left nostril.

I remember, towards the end, when I tried to nurse her one morning (the day after I had just skipped an early morning feed) she hungrily nursed only to be met with...NOTHING. Oh, did she pull back with a lock of shock and anger. She immediately started to cry. The kind of cry reserved for scary strangers and vaccinations. And while she stared at me with her beet red face, the tears streaming, she pointed at me. ACCUSINGLY. Oofta. That image will guilt me into something later in life.

Biting and finger pointing aside, I think the main reason I stopped was that I just couldn't do it anymore. I could not haul my ta-tas out one more time. On top of it, I started getting my period back in October. Do you know how freakin' taxing it is to nurse and menstruate? I assure you, it sucks. I was WIPED.

Ultimately I am happy that I did finally wean her. And a happy mom leads to a happy baby/toddler. And I'm damn proud of myself that I did make it to my goal of a year for breastfeeding.

Absolutely...

Nothing beats seeing my parents with my daughter. To see their hearts melt as they hold her and play with her. To see my gentle dad bounce The Barracuda up and down makes my heart swell. To see the pride my mom takes in feeding my daughter home cooked meals or how she gladly changes a poopy diaper makes me want to cry with happiness.

Regardless of what your relationship is with your parents, I think you sometimes forget or have an altered memory of your relationship when you were a young child. My relationship is wonderful with my parents as an adult. And I know that it was wonderful as a child. But I feel like I can't even remember what that relationship was like as a young girl! I feel like I can only glean bits and pieces. How freakin' sad!

I didn't really know my grandparents. It wasn't a huge deal, we lived far away from family so the I always felt awkward and shy. But I just always knew that I wanted my children to know their grandparents. So to see my parents with Baby Bear is one of the greatest gifts that I can receive.

Being a parent is the toughest role/job/choice that is out there. You have to balance love and kindness with discipline. Sometimes you have to be the bad guy. It is loving unconditionally regardless of if that love is returned. But to be a grandparent, I imagine it's all of the perks and wonders of being a parent, with none of the bad stuff. And more sleep.

Update:

I ditched the mom jeans and chopped about 5 or so inches off my hair. I am a new woman. I went down a size in jeans (holla!) and I'm super pumped. I also started the Jillian Michael's 30 day shred with The Bear and I'm totally loving it. She is a slave driver and it's exactly what I need. And you can't beat the twenty minutes it takes to complete in your own living room. Hopefully I can get rid of some more of the baby weight a FULL YEAR after the baby was freakin' born. She's worth every pound of the fifty that I put on.

We're still in the throes of our move and I feel like it will never be done. Toss in the holiday season and life is really getting busy. But it's wonderful and I wouldn't change it for a thing.

The Barracuda has been sleeping through the night this past week (like 12 hours!) and it has made such a huge difference. I miss our late night snuggling sessions, but I don't miss how exhausted I was. Let's face it, I'm tired enough as it is. She is cruising around the furniture still and on Thanksgiving Day, she pulled herself up on The Bear, let go, and clapped her hands while maintaining her balance. I was so surprised and proud that I cried. This first year has just flown by and I'm so happy-but a little sad-that it's coming to a close. I shake my head and get goose bumps every single time I look at my sweet (and quite sassy) little girl. Watching her discover life has refreshed my own. Every. Single. Day.

Mom Jeans and Short Hair

I'm feeling so frumpy! I'm in desperate need of an ambush makeover. But I am refusing to buy any new clothes until some of the baby weight comes off. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that after the barracuda is weaned that I might magically drop 5-10 lbs that my body has been hanging on to.

As for the hair situation. I'm just sick of pulling it back in to a messy bun. I just look (and feel) unpolished. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with my hair, but it'll be something drastic.

The Barracuda is cruising around everything! And she's totally in to making funny faces and sounds. She makes fish faces and when she wears overalls she bears a crazy resemblance to Curious George. I am so scared that the next time I hug her she will break.

The Barracuda just cut another tooth on Sunday, bringing the grand total to 3! Most kiddos her age have a mouth full of pearly whites, but my little peanut is taking after her father and is lagging behind in pushing out those pointy, serrated shark teeth. Fine by me--we're still breastfeeding! I cannot believe I've made it over 9 months breastfeeding my little girl. I'm so happy that I persevered and fought through the sleepless nights (which still occur, by the way) and the tongue tied issue and didn't listen to all of the haters. I feel like I've accomplished a major goal.

In other news, work has become increasingly busy. We are in the middle of some major changes and everyone is at deafcon 7 when it comes to stress. Working part time I feel that I have been exempt from a lot of these feelings. On the other hand, I feel very out of place and out of the loop working part time. I've been struggling with these feelings for awhile and I've been attempting to write about them and post them here but life is just getting away from me. Combine the busyness with the fact that my brain has turned to complete mush...well it's been 5 times as hard for me to write about my feelings of working vs. staying at home. And I have a lot of feelings about this subject matter. Good and bad.