A sweet surprise

Today I am 37 weeks along, wee! T h i r t y - s e v e n. That means term for this bump of mine. I am doing a figurative jig (while I am actually just sitting on my glider chair). Fortunately/unfortunately I have been having consistent contractions since Saturday afternoon. I had to breathe through quite a few of them while I was seeing my patients. I started my maternity leave right after that. ;]

On the bright side, I know my body is gearing up and I'll be holding this boy in my arms before long. On the self-pity side, I am tired and fed up with these prodromal labor pains. Some are quite painful and they come and go every 10-15 minutes. SINCE SATURDAY. Oy vey. I am trying to take it one day at a time.

But my darling husband surprised me on Sunday morning with a little shower at our place and it was a sweet relief and quite the distraction. He sent me to church on Sunday morning alone (because Emma has been a handful at mass lately) and it was nice to be able to sit and listen without getting up to change a diaper or clean up spilled snacks or readjust my veil because she's tugged it off again. When I got home, I had a sweet surprise waiting for me.

My husband and neighbors set up a little baby shower with food, desserts, drinks, and a few games. It was a simple morning party and I am so grateful for the thoughtfulness of my husband and our friends.

Now I will just hold on to this moment while I play the waiting game.

My wonderful husband and I celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary this Saturday and it is moments like this which remind me of the million reasons I love him oh so much.

36 Weeks

It's the final countdowwwwwwwn! 

This is it people. The final month. It could be a week, two weeks, or if this boy is anything like Emma, another five weeks (oh Lawd, help me). I am at 36 weeks and one day, officially. But according to this morning's ultrasound it's looking like 36 weeks and three days, but who's counting really? (<--Me, that's who.) 

I know due dates are just estimates anyway but there is something about checking days off the calendar with some sort of "goal" in mind that helps alleviate some of the crazy. Key word, some. I'm still pretty nutso with anticipation over at the hive.

Originally, I was just going to work until I pop, but upon further reflection after a tough last few weeks, Monday will now be my last official day. I think I've hit enough patients in the head with this basketball I've hidden under my white coat. And false labor and dentistry do not a dreamy combo make.

At this point in the game, there is not too much to say. (Hahaha, who am I kidding? I'm a rambler and we all know it.) Really though, the symptoms have kicked up several zillion notches and it's just a waiting game at this point.

The baby's head is down and all up in my bladder's business. The Braxton Hicks contractions send me into a huffing and puffing frenzy. This time around, Paul and I are way less panicy when I get a good steady flow of BHs because we know that's just nature's way of saying, HAHAHA JK. I am hoping the next time I go into the hospital, it's really, real, fo' reals labor and not the two false alarms I had with Emma badger. 

Me: "Emma, if you cooperate for some photos, I'll give you a cookie. Maybe even two." (Yes, it has come to this.)

Let's see, what else? The hospital bag is packed, the toiletries are packed, my pillows are ready, and the baby's crap is taking up the whole apartment. So, we good? We good. This time around I am a lot more realistic about what I actually need for my hospital staycation. We brought so much stuff last time (FTM syndrome) and this time I know really all I need is chapstick and an empty bag to squirrel away all the hospital freebies when we are discharged. But really, I am bringing much less s t u f f, high five self. 

Tonight we are going to install the infant carseat and put the double stroller in the trunk. I'm also in the process of getting mentally/emotionally prepared for breastfeeding again. It was hard to get started with Emma and I remember almost giving up twenty times per day those first few weeks. We stuck with it and I am so glad we did, I just know it can be quite the uphill battle. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. Aren't I just full of sunshine?

Are we ready?

That's a big yes. And an equally big NO. I am ready to be holding our baby in my arms. I am ready to see my feet again. I am ready to relieve some of this sciatic nerve pain. But I am completely intimidated by the idea of TWO KIDS OHMYGOSH BOTH MINE. How will I juggle both of the small humans? Will Emma resent me? Will I be as devoted to the baby boy as I was with Emma? What do I do with the boy parts? Will Emma love the baby? Will they bond? Will I ever sleep? Will my apartment ever be clean again? 

You know, the normal stuff.

Currently I am riding the wave of another contraction and just waiting for my body to say, hey let's do this fo' reals. 

This could be my last official belly update. Or I could see you back at 40 weeks with a harried look in my eyes and wondering if human gestation could extend to 24 months if the baby's will is strong enough.

Some staty stats:

36 weeks
How far along: 36 weeks, one day
Total weight gain: 22 pounds (probably a good portion of that is the whole pie I ate yesterday)
Maternity clothes: Clothing optional at this point. My burgeoning belly doesn't like to be confined.
Stretch marks: Just a few little boogers.
Sleep: What's that?
Miss anything: Doing anything (dressing, standing up, driving) without struggling. 
Movement: This kid wants to make the US gymnastic team.
Food cravings: Wine and pasta a la carbonara.
Aversions: Vegetables and anything healthy.
Sex: Still a boy, hopefully.
Symptoms: Where do I start? Back pain, heart burn, pelvic pressure, loss of bladder control, exhaustion.
Belly button: OUTTIE
Wedding rings: Depends on the time of day. Definitely snug. 
Happy or moody: Completely elated at the prospect of meeting him. Annoyed at everything else.
Looking forward to: Meeting our little man.

She's excited too. 

Emma at 35 and 38 weeks.

Small victories

I swear that is supposed to have an upbeat tone. Although, now that I am reading it, it could go either way... 

Is it just my two year-old or do all of your tots suddenly develop hulk-like strength when they throw tantrums too? I mean really, it's amazing. She should be studied. I was thinking that fact today when she was throwing (yet another) full-bodied, thrashing, violent tantrum. Dang, this kid is strong. I am convinced there is some chemistry experiment going on here. How with one tantrum I manage to sweat a bucket and get kicked in the stomach with the force of a stampeding bull, I'll never know. 

BUT... 

Parenthood, with its many challenges, comes its many (more) rewards. And sometimes those rewards come in the form of small victories.

Yesterday, in the year of our Lord two thousand sixteen, one Emma badger, pooped in the potty. 

*Tim Tebow victory kneel praising Jesus Christ* 

About mid-May, we attempted one of those "potty train in three days" things (laugh, laugh, cackle, cackle) and let's just say, we were not ready. She wasn't ready to sit on the potty (she was scared of it) and I was not ready to be cleaning pee off of the floor every 10 minutes (I was scared of it). We put potty training on the back burner for a little while and decided that there was no rush and that she would let us know when she was more ready. Well only a month or so later, here we are. She is telling us when she has to go and usually has a dry diaper through the night and nap time. It's giving me all the warm and fuzzies that maybe she'll be fully potty trained before baby bro comes. But I know not to put too much pressure on it because one) I do NOT have the energy for fighting her about it and two) I've heard there is some reversion back to diapers when a new baby pops on the scene anyway.

She is still in diapers and we will move her to underwear when she is more consistent/reliable to do her business in the potty. What seems to be working in the incentive department is this handy sticker chart whereupon every fifth sticker she is rewarded with a small prize (thank you dollar section of Target). I was just so tickled yesterday that she informed me, in her squeaky toddler voice, that she had to poop on the potty and lo and behold, poop she did. Even if she does not do it again for another moon cycle, I am happy for this small victory.

Can I get an AMEN?

Get on with your bad self girlfriend.

So after an HOUR of wrestling (literally and metaphorically) with this one to get her down for nap today, I am just going to sip my afternoon tea, enjoy my (incredibly large) doughnut, and relish in the fact that we aren't completely failing at potty training.

C'est la vie. 

From the hive

There is a constant buzz around me. I do not think I have had a moment of complete quiet in (if I were being completely honest) months. Our little apartment by the bay reminds me of a humming hive -- filled with the hustle of daily life and even in the moments of calm, have an air of profound significance. This life of ours, both in the meaningful milestones and the (equally meaningful) mundane moments, is being formed before our eyes. I am in the trenches of married life, of toddler-raising, of homemaking, of a new career, of growing a human, and of expanding our family.

Here are a few of the thrums and hums from the hive lately.

Emma has been religiously working on her tennis swing. Her concentrated furrowed brow proceeds swing after swing while she attempts to finally make contact with the ball. I've been hit by the ball and by the racket several times and sometimes she comically twirls in a full circle after a particularly enthusiastic effort. 

The attention given to this belly is overwhelmingly beautiful. The hugs, the kisses, and the squeezes give me glimpses into our life with two. She is never one to leave baby brother out of the fun and insists on reading to him and on playing with him.

The imagination of a toddler is unwaveringly inspiring. On this occasion, she was sharing her apples with minnie mouse and "mama dino" after nap.

This corner of the apartment sees the most action by the toddler tornado. But sometimes she slows down long enough for me to capture a precious moment of nurturing as she reads to her best friend. 

Never have you seen such an enthusiastic love of bubbles. We are in the throws of potty training and for every five stickers on her potty chart, she receives a prize. What better prize than a new bottle of bubbles for her and a dry diaper for me? 

And the biggest little girl who wants to do everything by herself and exactly like her number one hero, daddy.

This here. These are the days, the moments, that I will always want to remember.

And now for a story about losing it

This is a story about losing it. Sometimes there are days where I am covered in sweat because I am wrestling a freakishly strong toddler into a diaper after wrestling said toddler out of a previously dirty one. Of course, this brings on a healthy round of Braxton Hicks contractions requiring me to breathe through them and pray my uterus stops pressing on my sciatic nerve at the same time. Today has been a sweaty day. There are no arms left. There is no patience left. There is nothing that is distracting this child from throwing everything on the floor and just coming up to me and hitting me, full-forced, in the stomach. But this has been going on all day. Water poured out of the bath. Half-digested gold fish smeared into the couch. All day. I imagine myself speaking in a cool, calm voice. That voice which drips with serious, cut it out tones but still remains on the softer side. But no, that's not what comes out. Counting to ten did not help. Walking away has not helped. Distractions, bribes, pleas, nothing helped. And then it happens. This shrieking beast emerges from the depths of her normally slumbering state and I just lost it. And then the little mirror reflects it all right back and screams and throws herself on the floor.

And I just stare and breathe heavily and hear my own blood pulsing in my ears. So I put myself in time out. 

Then I approached the tiny tornado and we attempted to hug it out (which failed). She screamed for some warm milk and I turned on the Netflix while I warmed milk in the microwave. My whole body is tense and I am trying not to cry. But I break down any way in all my motherhood guilt and quickly text Paul, begging him to come home early and bring food because there is no way I am recovering any time soon. I am sure if someone witnessed this melt down of ours, they would run away in horror. Or maybe I would get a sanctimommy yielding a pitch fork telling me I am unfit. Or maybe I would get "I've been there" sympathetic glances. 

And now I am trying to tune out her whines for more milk, this time cold and in a different cup. Meanwhile, I am chugging a huge glass of ice water, pretending it's vodka. And sighing with anguish because the dryer and washer just dinged, reminding me that I have two loads of essentials going that will require folding.

And I don't really know the point of writing this except that these are what my days normally look like, just shy of my actually losing it, and I wanted the reminder that I am simply human and that guilt is a good friend over here in motherhoodland.

So while she continually hangs all over me demanding more of my non-existent energy, inducing another sweaty downpour, I pray that bedtime comes soon and hope that the drive through line at Taco Bell is short. So that's the story of how I lost it today, ¡Salud!