The birth story

Both kids are napping! This! is! awesome! Will probably never happen again, so I'm going to type fast.

To update on Molly, she is doing so well. She went to her follow-up appointment with the pediatrician who saw her in the hospital and she is already back up to her birth weight! Day-um! So needless to say, baby girl has a nice appetite. Good thing I'm a cow and make enough milk to keep up with her. She has not yet turned into a monster newborn that wakes up every. single. hour. like another newborn that I barely survived, but sleeps AT LEAST 2.5 hours at a time, and sometimes longer. Hopefully typing that will not cause those lovely habits to cease because then I will be DEVASTATED.

Ok. That about sums up what's happening in Molly's world. I'm now fixin' to get into the birth story, so if you're a male that is related to me, or if you don't want to read any potentially gross details about birth in general, this is where we part ways. See ya next time!

Alright you troopers. Here we go.

After resigning myself to the fact that I would be pregnant for all eternity, I made another batch of fudge. Just. in. case. That evening (Monday), I started having pretty regular contractions. Sam was getting SUPER fussy and in between timing contractions and occupying him, I was kind of over it. Steve kept texting me from work giving me later and later arrival times and I might have gone a little diva on him and told him that I cannot handle contractions, a fussy toddler, and no help anymore. Knowing what's good for his health, he made it home soon after. Steve took care of Sam for the rest of the evening and I bounced around on my ball, timing contractions and hoping this was "it." According to the timer on my phone, my contractions were consistently lasting about 38-56 seconds long, and coming every 5ish minutes. Steve was running around like a crazy person, packing things and running errands and tidying up the house. That is so cute to watch.

After sitting around and watching the contractions until 11pm, we decided to just go to bed. I have read about women who have contractions like this for days with no progression and I was afraid that that would be my story too. So we went to bed and I listened to Hypnobabies. The contractions continued, but I was able to sleep through them. Until.... 3:45am. My Hypnobabies had finished and I was really starting to feel something. So instead of squirming around in bed anymore, I decided I'd go downstairs and time them. And blog. Steve came downstairs around 5. I told him that this was definitely it. Despite the contractions being a little more spaced out in the beginning, they quickly picked up and the intervals between them were rapidly decreasing. At one point it went from 5 minute intervals to 2.5. I was hoping to hold out until around 7, when Sam would normally get up, but after a few more close contractions, I knew we wouldn't be able to hang out here that long. Steve went and got Sam up, Sam was very VERY unhappy about being awakened at such an ungodly hour, and Steve dropped him off at my friend's house. Steve then came home to pick me up. He loaded the rest of the things into the car and locked the front door. As soon as he locked it, he turned around and said, "Oh, did you want me to bring that water with me?" Yes. So he unlocked the door and goes back inside. He comes back out and locks the door again. I asked if he remembered to get the fudge. "Nope." He goes back inside again and gets the fudge (I'll be DAMNED if we don't take that friggin' fudge to the hospital!!!). We finally leave. The roads were kinda crazy because everyone was going to PT. It was bizarre seeing that much traffic so early in the morning, but then again, I am usually tucked in bed at that hour, so clearly I live a charmed life.

We make it to the hospital and park. It's really empty and there is one man at the registration desk. When I pre-registered, the girl told me that women in labor get first priority and get sent straight up to L&D after checking in. So we stood there behind this man (who was taking his sweet sweet time filling out some paperwork), and the woman behind the counter paid us NO attention. I am CLEARLY pregnant and it is CLEARLY 6 in the morning and what in the Sam hill would I be doing at the hospital at that time if not to have a baby??? I finally had enough and just blurted out, "So do we just head on up to L&D ourselves or do we need to sign in?!" She said, "Oh, you need to sign in." And then went straight back to whatever she was doing before. I think the slow man doing the paperwork could feel the fire coming out of my ears, so he stepped aside. The lady behind the desk sent us to one of the rooms where I had previously pre-registered. I have no idea what pre-registering was for, because I basically did it all over again in that little room. Only this time, I was in labor. So obviously that was a barrel of monkeys. The lady doing our registration asked, "So are you here for an induction or a c-section?" I replied, "I'm here for a regular delivery. I'M IN LABOR." She clearly didn't believe me, and although that should be taken by me as a compliment that Hypnobabies was really working, it only served to piss me off. She continued to take her time with everything and then said that once I went upstairs, they were probably going to observe me for about 2 hours. Because, ya know, I'm not really in labor.

We FINALLY get cleared to go upstairs and get settled in a room. The nurse didn't believe I was in labor either and did not even bother checking me when I got the gown on and in bed. She said that they would observe me for another two hours and then see where I was at. I started telling her that I had been timing my contractions for a few hours and they were definitely in the "active labor" category at this point, but that didn't seem to phase her. She finally finished asking me all of her questions and taking my blood pressure and making small talk and THEN she decided that she'd check me. Just for fun, you know. It felt like she was in up to her elbow, and right then I got worried that maybe I had shrunk back down to 1cm. But she looked at me all wild-eyed and said, "Oh. Um. You're 8cm." Ha! Ya think? I explained that I was doing Hypnobabies and it's all about relaxation and blah blah blah and that's probably why you had no idea I was so far along. (aka: TOLD YA SO.)

Now here, I will confess, that despite my immaculate birth plan and Hypnobabies training and prep, I was contemplating an epidural. I even told Steve about it. I didn't want to "fail" at a natural birth (especially since I already knew I could do it!), but thinking about the pushing phase during Sam's birth was literally giving me the shakes. And I mean that I couldn't sit still on the bed because I was so anxious just thinking about pushing. I pushed with Sam for 2.5 hours. And it was miserable. I kept telling the doctor that "this hole is not big enough!" and despite being calm and not screaming or asking for meds, I still did not enjoy it. And apparently those feelings were trapped deeeeeeeeep in my subconscious because it was consuming me at that point. So. Back to the story.

I asked the nurse about an epidural. She laughed it off and said, "Oh honey, you've come this far on your own, I don't think you'll need one!" And while the contractions could still not be classified as painful (thank you Hypnobabies), I could not get my pushing fears out of my brain. So I kept on asking. And she kept on saying that she wasn't sure, they had to do some bloodwork first, yadda yadda. After asking a few more times (aren't they usually PUSHING these things on people?), they finally started the bloodwork needed to be sure I could receive an epidural. But first they had to start an IV. Poor IV lady blew out my first vein. So she stuck me again (in the HAND yamma mamma) and that one took. Then the bloodwork lady came in and got so caught up talking to me about something that she pulled out the needle and slapped a bandage on me before she realized that she forgot to draw blood for the most important test. (OF COURSE) So she started feeling around on my other hand for a vein to poke when I asked, "Can't you just go back through that hole you just made? Or is it necessary to stick me in the hand?" She said, "Oh sure, I figured going back through your arm might be more painful." More painful than the hand? Really? I don't see how. (And it wasn't painful at all.)

Once we FINALLY got all of the excessive needle-poking out of the way, the nurses (Melanie and Melanie- that did my pregnancy brain some good) told me that Bernie would be coming in to do the epidural. They went on and on about Bernie. "Bernie is soooo funny! Bernie is soooo nice! You'll just loooooove Bernie!" Well, Bernie took his sweet time getting in there, and that automatically took points off of his overall score. And then, I kept expecting this super-personable guy to waltz in and make jokes to take my mind off of having a giant needle poking into my spine. But he was much more Lurch-like. He had ZERO personality and instead of being comforting at all during the whole process, he kept telling me what to expect. While that might SOUND helpful, I think it's TERRIBLE. If you tell me that I'm fixin' to experience "a sting and some intense burning" you'd better believe that I'm waiting on just that. Whereas, if you'd just told me I'd feel a slight pinch, I would probably be more inclined to perceive the pain in that way only. Anyways, after Bernie "cleaned" my back (and by "cleaned" I do mean "exfoliated the ever-lovin' skin right off of me"), he did the needle thing and I didn't think it hurt at all. But it wasn't the traditional epidural. It ended up being some sort of titrated drip. Which was fine by me. I had done basically zero research on epidurals at that point and was ok with whatever they suggested. But y'all. The feeling I got from that epidural was WEIRD. Slowly losing the sensation in my lower half was bizarre. The Melanies kept asking me to move in different ways and I just looked at them like they were aliens. I had to pick my legs up to move them anywhere. And forget about my butt. That thing was staying right where it was planted.

After receiving the epidural, I was told that my contractions were seriously slowing down, did I want a bag of Pitocin? UGH. And THIS is why I should not have gotten the epidural. I just knew it was going to lead to intervention after intervention and then it would all affect the baby's heart rate and they would end up suggesting a c-section and my nightmare would come true! Gah! So I declined the pitocin and asked for a re-check in 30 minutes. During this time, the Melanies displayed some super-human strength and adjusted me on the bed so that I was seated very upright. Hoping that gravity would do it's thing, I sat up straight for the next 30 minutes. While this was going on, Steve and I laughed and talked and were really in disbelief that I was in labor. What a different experience from last time! I felt her head move down and then my water broke. (Let's all say a quick prayer of thanks that this did not occur in my living room or the car.) Steve alerted the Melanies and they confirmed that it was clear, baby was fine. Then there was talk of a catheter, and that kinda freaked me out, until I realized that I would not feel (or see! thank God!) anything. The older Melanie stuck the younger Melanie with the catheter job, and I really felt bad for her. But she did a really great job of it and that was probably one of the weirdest feelings ever. Especially since Steve just stood at the end of the bed and WATCHED like she was showing him ESPN or something down there.

After commenting on some pressure down there, Melanie checked me and calmly said, "Ok, well, you're complete. I'll let the doctor know and then you can start pushing." Waaaaahhhh!! It's happening!! I relayed my pushing fears and said that I hoped this would not be another 2.5 hour adventure. The Melanies assured me that this would be super fast. I did not believe them. They go about setting up the room and placing my dead-legs in the stirrups. After I'm all splayed out for God and the world to see, the doctor (did I mention the doc is a dude?) comes strolling in. He sits down and tells me that on my next contraction, try pushing. Well. Melanie waits a minute, checks the monitor, then says, "Um... it appears that your contractions just... stopped." Yep. They would, wouldn't they. So they said, No big deal, we'll just wait for the next one. In the meantime, the doc is still seated down there and continues to just STARE. At this point, I contemplated asking for a mirror, because there is clearly a ball game or stock market numbers or SOMETHING going on down there for these men to be so enthralled. But finally, I said that I think I feel something (not sure whether I actually did, or if I just wanted them to focus on something besides my hooha) and one of the Melanies said that she thought she saw something on the monitor too, so it was cool to start. Y'all. I pushed three times and she was out. I think when they showed her to me, I was really shocked because there was NO WAY that it was that simple. No way. And then to hear that she was a GIRL?! It was more than a little crazy.

Steve followed the nurses and Molly over to the warmer and Steve kept asking them if they thought she was over 8lbs. They said that she didn't look like it, probably not even 8, etc. They took her over to the scale and she clocked in a 8.12.3!!!! Girl was enjoying some fudge, that's for sure.

Doc informed me that I did not tear at all (had a second degree tear with Sam) and that "everything looked good." Well I should hope so with the amount of staring that was taking place. It was (and still kind of is) unreal to me at how fast and easy the whole process was. When we got to the hospital, I was hoping to just be at something greater than 3cm. To hear that I'd gotten to an eight with such minimal discomfort felt like a victory. Getting the epidural, while not originally in my birth plan, proved to be A Very Good Thing. I was truly able to ENJOY the entire birthing experience and had a very short (and non-traumatic) pushing phase.

One of the Melanies asked me afterwards which birth was better. And to be honest? I really can't say. Sam's birth was great. I ENJOYED doing it naturally with Hypnobabies and there was a great personal satisfaction in knowing that my body was capable of doing such things on its own. But Molly's birth was calm and relaxed in a different kind of way and I enjoyed that too. So I can't rate one better or worse than the other. They were both AMAZING experiences and I'm glad to have had them. When/if we have another child, I'm not exactly sure how I'll do things. I'll obviously be employing Hypnobabies once again (because that stuff WORKS), but will just go with the flow for the rest of it.

So, to recap, I started timing the "real" contractions at 3:45am, we got to the hospital around 6:15am. Molly was born at 10:30am. Labor and delivery lasted all of 6 hours and 45 minutes. FAST compared to Sam's 24 hour L&D.

My little chunky monkey is eating like no other and sleeping like I always dreamed a newborn would sleep (meaning: more than an hour at a time). Sam is still working on adjusting to this new situation, but is happy in the meantime to soak up all of his daddy's attention. (I am sort of being ignored at this point. Presumably because I appear to be the sole reason that this new person is here.)

Well, it is time for yet another feeding. Duty calls. And the Dairy Queen must answer.

Finally here!

I'm sure you've all guessed by now that we have a baby! And a baby that is outside my uterus no less! It is nothing short of a miracle.

Molly Catherine was born at 10:30am on March 27th, weighing 8lbs 12oz and measuring 21 inches long. She has more hair than I ever imagined and is the cutest little chunk I've ever seen.

Thank you for your prayers and all of the happy phone calls, texts, and comments! They are much appreciated!

Omg! Still! no! baby!

Greetings from 4am! I hope everyone is still sleeping out there. I am still at home. I am still pregnant. And I am still in labor. If that is even what this is. I thought regular contractions were some sort of signal that labor had begun, but apparently this kid is playing a trick on me. I started timing them yesterday afternoon/evening right before Steve got home and up until 11pm. They were about five minutes apart and lasting 45 seconds each. I thought this was a good sign, and figured they would pick up shortly. Second Baby's telepathic powers must have gotten in my brain, heard that, and decided to screw with me. So while the contractions weren't getting any longer or shorter, I decided that maybe going to bed would let me know if this was "it" or not. Plus I was really tired. Because my bedtime is usually AT LEAST two hours prior. Because we are old fuddy duddies like that.

And whaddaya know. I put on Hypnobabies and konked out. Until just recently, that is. I turned over and realized that my Hypnobabies was done playing through and then I started feeling the contractions again, and I already have a difficult enough time going back to sleep when there AREN'T any contractions involved, so instead of keeping Steve up with my constant shifting and moving, I came downstairs to distract myself and time a few. SURELY they are closer together now and longer, because they were definitely feeling more intense upstairs! But no! Haha! They are longer, but more spaced out than before! WTH?! There is no way that I'm doing 16+ more hours of this! No! Way!

While we were watching tv last night (some commercial about fishing), I looked at Steve while I bounced on my ball and said, "I wish YOU could do this part." And he said, "Oh, going fishing? I wanna do that too!" And then I mentally slapped him upside the head and said, "NO. This part. This birthing the baby part. YOU need to do it." And then he tried giving me a pep talk and told me that wasn't the right frame of mind or something else stupid that a man whose never given birth would say.

I know my doctor told me not to go to the hospital until it was "time" because they would just hook me up to monitors and bug me with checks and offer interventions and all that jazz, but honestly? Right now? I think I'd love the change of scenery. And people around me that are awake. And at least I could find out if there's even any PROGRESS down there. I guess that's what I'm most worried about- after all of this timing and bouncing and breathing and listening to Hypnobabies, there could still be something like NO CHANGE centimeters-wise, and that would be muy discouraging. Add to that the fact that last night (or, well, the night before last I should say), I listened to Hypnobabies on repeat three times, and in between the times where my iPod shut off and I woke up to turn it back on, I had a dream that I had a c-section. And it was SO REAL. Well, some of it was clearly fake, because they offered an ultrasound first (beginning signs that this is a dream! I think I even heard Tricare laughing!), and then the ultrasound was way better than any 4D ultrasound and my baby waved at me like a cartoon character. And then I was very nonchalant about getting a c-section, like, "Oh ok! That's fine! Cut me open!" And they did. Now WHY would I have a dream about a c-section after listening to seven different scripts about natural birth?? Hmmm??? I am at a loss.

So anyways, looking back over this contraction timer history, I started timing at 3:50am, it's now 4:50am, and my contractions are consistently lasting one minute, but are spaced out to around just under seven minutes apart. This doesn't sound like awesome progress to me, but it sure FEELS like SOMETHING. So we'll see what happens. I was so hoping to have a baby picture to post by now, but this child CLEARLY has other ideas! As usual! Where do these hard-headed children come from? Clearly Steve's DNA is winning out once again. I am bound to be the only brunette in my little red-headed family. <sigh> PRAY FOR ME. Thanks.

This post is so boring it almost put me to sleep while writing it

Well, yesterday was my due date. Nothing eventful happened (OBVIOUSLY). I'm still here. Still pregnant. Only now, I've basically lost the opportunity to deliver with my OB (who I love). And my annoying emails tell me my kid is a pumpkin this week.

Luckily, Steve had a three-day weekend and we were able to get a lot of stuff done. Nothing earth-shattering, but still stuff that needed doin'. We ripped out my far-past-dead mums and planted some marigolds and petunias and verbenas. We hacked up our Christmas tree and shoved it in the garbage can (has been sitting outside since JANUARY collecting leaves and trash- and now we're too embarrassed to place it by the curb on trash day, so we resorted to shoving it in the garbage can and are hoping for the best). We cleaned out more of the garage (how is this a never-ending process?). I sold a lot of stuff I found in the garage on craigslist. I promptly spent all of my craigslist cash on wine. Well, not ALL of it. Just a lot of it. And some was for a friend, so....

Funny story about the Class Six- I walked in and grabbed the wine I was looking for and headed to the check-out. The cashier looked at me a little funny and said (half-jokingly), "Is this all for you?" I laughed and said, "I WISH!" Then, "Well, that big bottle is for me. The other is for a friend. But don't worry, I'm not going to drink it yet or anything. I'm due today and I'm hoping that by buying this bottle of wine, the baby will get the hint that I'm ready to get things going."
She said, "OMG YOU'RE DUE TODAY?!?!?! That is sooooooo scary!! What are you doing out?! You'd better not go too far. I would be so scared if I was you!!"
And then another girl popped outta nowhere and said, "OMG YOU'RE DUE TODAY?!??!! Crazy!!! What are you doing out?!?!?!"
I guess I missed the memo about being under house arrest once you hit 40 weeks gestation.

Yesterday Steve and I were trying to recreate the things we did before Sam arrived in hopes of encouraging Second Baby out as well. But since we're no longer able to walk 48 miles around Richmond, we decided that one thing we WERE able to repeat was eating dinner at Olive Garden. Except we can no longer eat dinner at Olive Garden because Sam cannot be trusted in a place full of gluten like that. Also, he has a penchant for the sugar packets they keep on the table. I took my eye off of him for ONE SECOND the last time we were there, and he had ripped open the sugar packets (probably four of them?) with his gums (no teeth to speak of at the time!) and was sucking down sugar. And that just won't do. So we did Olive Garden takeout. Which is obviously even classier because we got to eat it on the couch while watching "Army Wives." (Is it just me or does anyone else wanna punch Denise in the face?)

Well, apparently Olive Garden was something Second Baby was waiting on before heading out (pun intended). Before going upstairs for bed, I had my first, honest-to-goodness contraction. I had four before making it into bed. Then I had some more in bed. Nothing crazy, and nothing close together, but I freaked out a little bit because my babysitter for Sam had just been alerted that nothing was happening. And I was worried that she wouldn't take her phone to bed with her and if I really needed to leave in the middle of the night, we would have no one to come over and be with Sam. But it turns out that listening to Hypnobabies really puts me out, so I slept through all the rest of my contractions and they spaced apart to almost nothing. I've had a few this morning, but they aren't even worth timing. I am clearly not going to make my high-noon deadline.

Stressful part about last night though- I realized all of the little ends I still need to tie up. (I KNOW, how could there possibly be MORE?!) I haven't made fudge in a while, because, really, what's the point? But I NEED it for the nurses at the hospital, so I made a batch this morning. I also realized that my friend probably doesn't have Steve's phone number. And I didn't tell her where the children's Benadryl is, which is kinda super important with Sam. So I've written that on his schedule (yep, was OCD enough to write up a schedule for Sam). I had Steve blow up my exercise ball this morning so I can bounce around during contractions (quite helpful, I'll admit). I watered our new flowers (because I don't want to be accused to killing them in the same week that we planted them). I've folded laundry. I did the dishes. Once Sam wakes up from his nap, I'll Shark the floors. We might hit up a playdate before it's all said and done because the nothingness is kind of overwhelming at this point.

Oh and I got our new rug off of Walmart.com. Their Better Homes and Gardens collection is actually not all that atrocious. For anyone who's interested in cheap rugs with free shipping. Also, Walmart did not pay me to write that. Although I wish they did.

Possibly some TMI and then I make up for it by showing you super-cute pictures

I had another doctor's appointment yesterday. It was mostly uneventful. I know, I'm sorry. I was hoping for her to walk in, check me, and then announce, "You're 7cm dilated! Don't you feel those contractions?!" And I'd be lying there like, "What? Those are contractions? I thought it was just a physical reminder that I ate broccoli casserole last night. Ahahaha!" And we would both laugh and then she would admit me to the hospital and an hour later I would have a nice, pink baby.

But it obviously didn't happen like that. I'm around 3ish centimeters with "a bulging bag of waters." Yuck, huh? My water never broke with Sam, and at first, I was kinda bummed about that because that is such a typical end-of-pregnancy milestone! But now, considering that it can happen anytime or anyplace, and that it has the potential to be really REALLY messy, I'm kinda hoping it decides to stay in-tact until we get to the hospital. When I told Steve about the potential waterfall situation yesterday, he formulated a plan to save his floors that involved doggy pee pads and throwing them down wherever I walk. So clearly he is super-helpful.

In order to encourage Second Baby to come out, the doc "stripped my membranes." (Dad, you should stop reading at this point.) Some people have told me that this is supposed to be uncomfortable, and since it didn't hurt at all when my last OB did it, I assumed that she was just super gentle or faked the whole procedure. So I was slightly apprehensive going into this one, but it turned out to be the same experience again. I mean, it was by no means FUN or something I would just WANT to do on any ol' day, but definitely not something to dread. My dad had called me earlier in the morning, asking if anything was going on (meaning: "OMG you're seriously not in labor yet?!"), and I told him that I was going to the doctor's that afternoon. I mentioned the membrane strip.

"What was that?"
She'll strip my membranes.
"Huh?"
She separates something from something else and it's supposed to help start labor.
"TMI! TMI! I think that was just TMI!"

Ok, well, I can't really be any more vague than that. In retrospect, I'm glad I didn't use my Saran wrap analogy.

In less physically invasive news, I lucked out and found a super-new glider on craigslist yesterday. The lady selling it had multiple people interested in it, and while I wasn't even the first person to respond to her ad, I mentioned in my email about being "very interested" because my due date was Sunday. She said that she just HAD to give it to ME because I was so close! How sweet is that?! And it's soooooo comfy. I made Steve sit in it to confirm, but he could only muster, "This is clearly a woman's chair."
Yes. Now get up.
Apparently it is not conducive to excessive slouching and it doesn't have cupholders or a recline-function, so those qualities deem it "for women only." Fine by me! You can sit in the other (not-so-comfy) chair, or lie on our new rug.

New glider, old chair, swing that saved our life during Sam's newborn days. Oh, and new rug.

Did I mention this rug yet? It's like the newer version of the rug in our living room (that I snagged on clearance at the end of last summer), so all of the colors are already in the downstairs of our house. Not that I have color SCHEMES going on or anything. Au contraire. Things just get randomly thrown in and I hold my breath and hope that no one can actually tell that all of our furniture is from yard sales and craigslist. It is also my hope that putting colorful rugs on the floors will distract from the fact that I'm too lazy to paint a single one of our ultra-white walls. Speaking of walls, I am just now noticing how bare they are. Will definitely have to remedy that soon. Probably today since I'm planning on having a baby tomorrow and I won't have time to do random art projects with a newborn and a toddler.

Isn't this room ODD? It just hangs off the kitchen (like an eat-in maybe?) so we have just thrown random stuff in it, and will probably label it "done" soon.

In much MUCH cuter news, I made Steve and Sam dress alike yesterday.

Sam is showcasing my clearance rug in the living room.

I even took them to the commissary with me, where a few people made comments. Mostly on how they're wearing the same clothes. One woman commented on how they looked exactly alike, but her husband pointed out that Steve didn't have a pacifier, so they didn't look COMPLETELY alike. Very astute observation, sir.

Aren't they the CUTEST?! A nice distraction from all of this baby-still-baking nonsense.

There's a lotta poop talk, followed by pregnancy stuff, followed by some Army updates, with some random photos thrown in for good measure

Today started off well enough- I got up and changed Sam's diaper, and was blessed with no poop! Yes! It's obviously going to be a good day when it doesn't START with poop. So we go downstairs and start breakfast and clean dishes and begin our morning routine.

Then Steve beebops in from PT and says, "Have you let the dogs out yet?"
Nope.
"Oh. Because one of them pooped in there (the laundry room). I'm not sure if it was Odie or Marci, but I was on my way out, so I didn't clean it up."

Yes, this does appear to be some modified version of The Stink Eye, but in fact, Sam now squints before every picture I take of him. Usually I can wait him out, but I sometimes think they're funny and just take squinty pictures anyway. Although, in the context of what we're currently discussing, it's total Stink Eye.

Well, that's just great. So I try to finish my breakfast (that coincidentally, looks kinda like poop) and go assess the damage. Well. I know EXACTLY whose bowels are capable of holding so much and it was NOT my dog. And it wasn't just poop. Oh no. It was DIARRHEA. COME ON. At first (before I ventured inside the laundry room), I was ticked at the dogs for pooping in the house. Especially since we were outside A LOT yesterday. But after seeing that it was one of those poops that is not under anyone's physical control, my anger redirected itself towards the person who couldn't even be bothered to throw a paper towel over it and let the offender outside. Because seriously? It was pretty fowl in there. And yes, I know that Waste Management is just one of the many colorful hats I wear as SAHM, but that was just awful. He must know that I am all out of nesting-type things to do, because after the initial Clorox cleanup that took place in there, I felt the overwhelming urge to Shark the floors. Diarrhea in my laundry room is like a cue from the heavens for some good ol' steam-cleanin'.  So Sam and I busted that baby out and went to town. My floors are now sparkly and sanitized and the poopers are still out in the backyard.

Oh, by-the-way, I'm still pregnant. I'm sure you had guessed that already since I'm talking about poop and not a baby. And I thought I was all ready to go. I had my bag packed and I keep my iPod charged and there's still enough fudge in the fridge to artfully arrange on a plate and pass off as "full". But the other day I walked by my hospital bag and took a look inside. I am only packing a coming home outfit (since I prefer to "dirty up" the hospital's pj's over my own; plus they have such handy little snaps and ties located every which-a-way), but my coming home outfit included a SWEATER. HA. So laughable since it's now hitting mid to upper 80s. The sweater was replaced with a dress, I rearranged my wine again, made sure I packed a toothbrush, and can't stop noticing how empty that bag is. Besides things I have to throw in last-minute (chargers, camera, etc), what am I missing? I have two baby outfits here at the house (one girl and one boy) and whoever is here will wash the appropriate one and bring it to the hospital, so I don't need anything baby-wise. Help? Maybe? Should I just pack more wine?

I'd pack him if he weren't covered in barbeque sauce.

In other news, today is the day that my beloved is officially a First Lieutenant. Luckily they keep that whole LT thing up for a while, because I don't want to rename this here blog. Unfortunately though, I don't have any pinning pictures for you. Ya see, the Army has a thing about paperwork. They want it. A TON of it. And when orders get amended (like Steve's did way back when), they sometimes lose some of that important paperwork. Or it slips through the cracks. And people forget to put your husband on the list of "promotable people" for the month. So then he has to wait until next month to go through the little ceremony. It's just one more month I get to soak up my Butterbar. I sure will be sad to see that little yellow patch go. It's been one fun year (SARCASM SARCASM I AM BEATING YOU WITH THE SARCASM), but it's time to move on. The super-duper bright side to this mishap is the fact that once he does finally get pinned, I will (HOPEFULLY) no longer be pregnant! Yes! Will most likely still be gigantic, but not as gigantic as if I was 9+ months pregnant!! So that's the silver lining. Shallow? Oh yes, completely. But it's a silver lining nonetheless.

Yes, the rumors are true- I am still pregnant.

Today was my THIRTY-NINE WEEK appointment. I know. It's hard to believe that I'm not on Week 63 or something equally outrageous like that. I should have just prepared myself from the beginning that I was on a 42-week journey and distracting people like Steve would try to convince me that I would deliver at 37 weeks. Cruel jokers.

At my appointment today, I was checked and told that basically nothing is going on down there. So, mystery solved: it really was just gas the other night. TMI? Well then don't stick around for the birth story in a few days. Or weeks. Oh who am I kidding, it could be a full month from now before this little human makes up his/her mind to leave the comfy, fudge-filled body cavity that has become "home." But according to my doc, they won't let me go past 41 weeks. I am not too happy about that. I mean, as much complaining as I do about wanting this baby to be out NOW, I don't want to be artificially-induced. I think babies come out when they're ready, and if s/he isn't out, well then, s/he just isn't ready yet. So I go back on Friday again (AWESOME) for another check, and if nothing is a'movin' and a'shakin' down south, she is threatening to strip my membranes. Which, no big deal, I had that done with Sam and I think it "encouraged" things to start happening. I would much prefer that over the dreaded PITOCIN (cue over-dramatic violins and lightening bolts). So we will see. If you would like to be added to the text-alert club to get grossly-awesome updates via your cell phone (ex: "OMG I'm going to the hospital to poop out my kid! Yay!"), please send your cell number to my email and I will be sure to bug you in the middle of the night (because I don't see this child being born in the convenient hours of 9-5).

I also took advantage of the babysitter (Steve- HA) and went next door to register myself at the hospital. Because, well, it's about time I got around to that. The lady doing my paperwork asked me for my due date and I told her the 25th. She stopped what she was doing and looked at her calender. She pointed to Sunday's block and said, "THIS day? The 25th of THIS month?" Um, yes. I promise that if my water breaks in your office today that I will clean it up before flitting off to L&D. So now I'm officially "in the system" at the hospital. COME ON SECOND BABY. THERE'S YOUR CUE.

Anyways, according to the emails I can't/won't unsubscribe from, I am baking a mini-watermelon in here this week. You read that right- a mini-WATERMELON. Although there appears to be nothing "mini" about this situation.

As usual, I still cannot see my feet or Sam when he stands directly in front of me. (Sam has not seemed to pick up on this yet, and that is why I still bowl him over about 32 times a day.) I tend to waddle after sitting (or standing. or lying down) for a while. I've also slowed down my fudge-making (*SHOCKER*). We ran low a week or so ago, and Steve said, "I'd better eat these last two pieces!"
Why?
"Because if I eat these, then you'll just make more, right?"
Um, yes, I most likely will.

And this is how most things go in our house.

Now get a load of this.

Sam and I went walking/toddling/waddling the other day and came upon the next-door neighbor girls jumping on their trampoline in their swimsuits with the hose on.

Someone couldn't tear himself away from the action.

So we just sat down and watched. Like a couple of creepers. Two of them eventually came over to play with him and he had no idea what to make of them. He just kept smiling and staring. And then one of them farted and I declared it HIGH TIME to go home.

Happy St. Patty's Day! Here is something totally unrelated to that.

I'm probably the last person on the internet to see this (thanks to avoiding Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter), but I still thought it was worth sharing. Interesting stats. Plus there is some green on the picture, thus, St. Patrick's Day-worthy.

via In Good Measure

Top priorities currently: finding out where my mom jeans are and a functioning a/c system in my car

I started out thinking that today was going to be one of the most hellish days of my life. I had an appointment in Nashville to have the a/c in my car repaired. (Nope! No one but the DEALER would agree to touch it, so off we go!)

There was no way they would do it on a Saturday (ya know, when STEVE could come and help toddler-wrangle), they had no cars to loan me to escape the dealership (which, I don't get- you're a CAR DEALER. There's gotta be a few of those lying around somewhere), and my appointment was scheduled during Sam's morning nap, which also happens to be rush hour in Nashville. We can all see where this is headed. I saw it too, so I went ahead and applied a double coating of my prescription-strength deodorant and put on my big girl panties. You can't ever be too cautious in situations like these.

Despite the rain, Sam and I managed to leave at a time that wasn't too far behind the time I originally anticipated leaving. I was so stressed that I would leave something important behind; I mean, we were going to be spending an unknown amount of hours sitting inside of a car dealership during BOTH NAPTIMES. So I packed EVERYTHING: books, blocks, cars, trucks, the random trash recyclables he usually plays with, new snacks, lunch, a sippy cup, pacifier (don't judge), stroller, and diapers. By the grace of God I remembered to bring the wet bag for the dirty diapers, and that probably saved the day. Because the stink- it was there.

We hit rush hour traffic in Nashville (because apparently someone with only a quarter of a brain was allowed to design the roadways for this place) and managed to get through without muttering too many profanities or getting killed. I'll call that a success. Once we got to the dealer, I parked the car and started unloading. The man assisting me asked if he could see my insurance and license. I thought this a wee bit odd, but whatever. I proved to him that I legitimately drive this car around and then he asked me if we were planning on staying here (at the dealership). I said yes and he said, "Oh, well I don't need this info then. I thought you were planning on taking one of our loaner cars out while we worked on yours." Well HOWDY! Hand me the keys! Of COURSE we'll take it! I got the brand-spankin' new version of my car. It had New Car Smell and everything. I told Sam not to fart because then he would ruin the smell of the car. He sharted. I think he likes to ruin things like New Car Smell for me.

After tossing my keys off to the car man, Sam and I took off in the new car. We went a little ways down the road to the mall. Because it was raining and Nashville has REAL MALLS and I had also misplaced the time to eat breakfast this morning, this seemed like a good idea. Except I really didn't wanna leave the new car smell. But I could also smell that it was diaper-change-time, so we went in. This mall had really great bathrooms, kid play places, and a CHICK-FIL-A. So obviously, needs were met. (And HELLO, welcome to Mom World. When those three things about a mall stand out in your mind as A Good Mall Experience, I think you've officially crossed over to The Other Side. Where are my token mom jeans?)

Since we avoided the morning nap altogether today, I thought it wise to leave before we experienced a complete meltdown due to not having an afternoon nap too. One more trip to the bathroom (as someone assured me with various hand gestures that he had produced a "stinky") and we were back in the car. That was not before I almost dropped my son on his flippin' head due to the fact that this giant SUV saw it necessary to park three inches from my car. I mean, when you gotta fold in your side mirrors to fit next to me, simple logic should tell you that THIS SPOT IS TOO SMALL FOR YOUR HUGE A$$ SUV. Also, there was just no way that me, my nine-days-from-due-date-belly, AND my son were going to be able to open the door and squeeze in. So we went in the hard way. And I may or may not have cursed. A lot. Because really. That is ridiculous. The mall was not so crowded that there were no other spots available. Please consider walking the extra five steps before parking that close to me again. I considered leaving a VERY ugly note on their windshield, but rats, I wasn't in my car, which means I didn't have access to my stock of pens and paper. They got lucky today. But don't worry- that diaper bag deficiency has been NOTED and will be taken care of soon.

Since we were still two-ish hours out from the guesstimated car pickup time, I decided that Sam and I would just do some exploratory driving. I will preface this with the fact that I have never had any success with exploratory driving. I always ALWAYS end up in the ghetto. Or next to a river. But usually in a very scary part of town. And sometimes a GPS leads me there ON PURPOSE. So I had no high hopes for this drive, other than getting the small person to sleep for a little while.

Blurry photo courtesy of the fact that I can't hold still when I'm so pumped about naptime.

But APPARENTLY, there is a lot of money hiding in those Tennessee foothills! The houses! They were gigantic! The horses! They were for show! The wealth! It was everywhere! It was AWESOME. I only wish that Steve could have been there to gawk with me and drive so that I could gawk in a safer fashion. We drove all over the place. At some point, I noticed that Sam fell asleep. Mission accomplished. But I kept driving because there wasn't much else to do and the scenery was amazing! Sam finally woke up (friggin' loud blinker!!), so I decided that we would turn around and attempt to head back to where we came from. We still had at least an hour and a half til the car was supposed to be ready, but I figured that he could make use of all of this crap I lugged down here with us and play at the dealership. Imagine my surprise when they called to tell us they were done early! Yeehaw!

We skedaddled back and (sadly) pried the keys out of my hands swapped cars, changed another diaper, handed over a large sum of money, and basked in the cool air that was coming out of my air vents. Ahh. Life is good again.

Sweaty and hairy- it is not a pretty combo on a lady

Well, it is officially that time of year again. The time of year where I have to apply prescription-strength deodorant twice a day and bust out my "summer" pregnancy clothes, even though I was supposed to have this baby in "the spring." Ha. Funny how spring lasted all of four hours yesterday morning.

Since I was already sweating yesterday, I figured it was only appropriate for me to carry on and sweat some more (because I like to make my showers count). My mother recently commented on how badly Sam needs a haircut, and if I didn't do it soon, she was going to do it when she came up. Wanting to avoid another mullet-cut (much like the one Steve gave Sam not too long ago), and also to spare my mother the trauma that is Taking Sam To The Barber, I opted to take him myself yesterday afternoon. We went up to the PX and I talked nonstop on the way there about how he was going to get his hair combed! Just like at bedtime! And it was going to be so! much! fun! I was going to read all of his favorite books and he could even walk around the PX afterwards if he was a good boy! Oh it was going to be such fun!

There might be a possibility that I have these pep talks more for myself than for Sam. But whatever. At least one of us is benefiting from them.

We walked towards the barber shop and saw that there was a small line of guys waiting. Then I kept noticing how centrally-located this barber shop was and decided that I did not want to experience a meltdown of that magnitude in front of God and the world, so we went a little further down to the ladies' salon. They are more in the corner and have doors that shut them off from the rest of the PX and overall, I feel like they might be more suited to cut a screamy, squirmy toddler's hair.

Luckily we had time to watch another girl get her hair cut before it was Sam's turn. ("See? She's getting her hair combed! Look how nice and quiet she is! Oh she's being so good. Her hair is so pretty! Please stop licking the chair. Please. Seriously. That chair is disgusting. Oh it's our turn now! Let's go have some FUN.")

We go to the back and I plop Sam down on the booster seat. He is already unhappy with this situation. He becomes IRATE when she ties the little smock around him because OMG WHERE DID MY HANDS GO?! But once we find his hands and I simultaneously bust out Chex while reading books and showing him a video of Steve singing the Army song (that video is a WINNER), he calms down. He did really well while she cut the back of his hair and I thought that maybe we were experiencing some sort of break-through. But then she had to come into his line of sight and cut around his ears and all hell seemed to break loose. Or so I thought. He completely lost it when she cut his bangs. As in, I had to sit in the chair (no smock for Mama) and do the death grip (usually reserved for the doctor's office, but busted out for special occasions such as this) while he screamed and tried to flail his way out of my arms. Once she finished, I was literally soaked with sweat.

Side note: I know I talk about sweating a lot, and y'all probably think I have overactive glands or something equally gross that should be taken care of in a doctor's office, but honestly, these places are just HOT. And being in a hot place, holding a hot child, while baking a hot baby tends to cause excessive sweating. And this is just one reason that I LOATHE summer and all seasons that hint towards "warm."

Unfortunately, I do not have any entertaining shots of him DURING this haircut experience since I was there alone, but trust me when I say that it was something; something I never want to do by myself again. But he survived and his haircut is adorable and I eventually got all of his hair off of me (no easy task since the sweat was acting as a natural adhesive).

I will have to get some toddler pictures of Steve as proof, but I think Sam looks like an EXACT REPLICA of Steve when he was younger. Especially with this haircut. Steve disagrees and says that Sam is much cuter (bonus points Steve!), but regardless, he is the most adorable boy that ever existed. That statement may or may not be tinged with some personal opinion. I have severe pregnancy brain, so nothing is very clear to me right now. But I'm pretty sure that's accurate.

Hey! I know what you're not tired of hearing about yet!

The fact that I'm still pregnant! And that I can't coax this baby out with pineapple or tea or threats or various other measures that I may or may not have tried!

So it's a darn good thing we DIDN'T find out the gender of this child or people would probably be throwing rocks at me every time I opened my mouth to complain about still being pregnant. (There is still some element of surprise and I'm assuming that's why anyone is still here reading this.) I have decided to call a truce with Second Baby and allow him/her to come out on his/her own time. I realize this was always going to happen from the beginning, but maybe actually SAYING it will trigger some sort of reverse psychology in his/her brain. We'll see.

In related news, I am now 38 weeks into this 40-42 week adventure. Steve's prediction of my giving birth during the 37th week is now officially kaput. He is no Nostradamus. So this leads me to believe that there is a boy in here. Steve still holds strong to his guess of a girl. Only time will tell I suppose... What do you think? (I've created a poll in the top right corner, so vote away! Maybe there will be a prize for the winning team of guesses? Like some leftover fudge? AHAHAHAHA just kidding. There is NEVER any leftover fudge; y'all should know better than to believe that.)

My mom saw the photo of Steve and me before the ball and said that it appeared my child was attempting to escape via my esophagus, which loosely translates into, "Honey, it looks like you're carrying a little high, but you look fantastic." I will agree that this baby is high, despite the fact that my doctor told me last week that it looked like the baby dropped. Dropped? Dropped where? Out of my ribcage? Possibly. I'm thinking this is one long kid because s/he has the ability to head-butt me in the bladder while simultaneously Riverdancing on my lungs. There is a POINT to all of this rambling and the point is that I carried Sam high as well. I didn't ever notice him "dropping." He was also breech up until the point of no return, but after some crafty acrobatics off the side of the couch, I convinced him that he'd be safer taking a look at where he's going versus trusting his skinny little hiney to break his fall upon entrance into The Real World. It is the one time he decided to listen to me. And I was thankful.

I was supposed to have my 38-week appointment today, but due to a lack of a babysitter, I rescheduled it (conveniently) for next week. It's not like they're performing any new tests or doing any fun ultrasounds now; we are all basically just laughing at how much I weigh (ok, I'm not laughing so much) and marveling at my innate cup-peeing abilities. These are things I can deal without doing on a week-to-week basis. But according to the stupid emails I still haven't unsubscribed from (and subsequently, cannot stop reading), my baby is the size of a leek- another vegetable I have never before consumed in my life. The email also says that s/he is "plumping up." Well, I am having trouble believing that as well because there was not a single roll to be spotted on Sam at birth (or anytime afterwards). And we all know that my pregnancy diet habits have not changed THAT drastically in such a short time. I will admit that I never consumed fudge on such a regular basis with Sam, so maybe there's chub hope for this baby yet.

Steve pointed out to me the other day that he is looking forward to Second Baby's arrival and my not being pregnant for a while. I OBVIOUSLY took that to mean that I must be a no-fun fuddy duddy while pregnant and refused to give him the last piece of fudge. He CLAIMS he just meant that we have been married for something like two and a half years, and I have been pregnant for well over half of that time. He would like the non-pregnant version of me that he married back. I'm ok with that, I guess. I like non-pregnant me as well. Non-pregnant me is more fun (usually because she has a glass of wine in hand and doesn't have to pee every 3.5 seconds). But non-pregnant me also doesn't make fudge on a weekly basis, so there are clearly very big drawbacks as well.

Ok, enough pregnancy talk. I promise that the next time I'm back here blabbering away, it will be about something BESIDES Second Baby. Unless I give birth before then, in which case, I will probably be talking A LOT about Second Baby (and his/her real name) and there will most likely be many MANY typos since I will be a half-drunk, (there WILL be wine!) super-happy, non-pregnant zombie.

Military Ball Recap- AKA The Post You've All Been Waiting For But *Spoiler Alert* I Am Still Pregnant

Well, Friday was a busy day. I was anticipating that Second Baby and Jesus would recognize the stars-alignment-babysitter-situation that happened Friday evening and just KNEW that I would go into labor before the ball and conveniently be excused early. So I did a lot more nesting around the house (I know, what else could I possibly have left to do?!), and once Steve got home from work, I headed to the commissary solo to pick up a *few* things that we were sort of running low on. (Meaning: we did not have 3 extras hanging out at the house as back-ups) About an hour and $150 later (so much for my leeetle shopping trip), I was headed back home to frantically wash my hair and skedaddle to my hair appointment.

The hair appointment was interesting (as my hair appointments usually are). The stylist started off by blow-drying my hair into a frizzy oblivion (a major curly-hair no-no) and then TEASED the top of it. My hair is so big naturally that I didn't see why teasing was necessary, but I think she is a fan of the bump look, so maybe that's what she was going for. Unfortunately for you, I did not have the foresight to photograph this process, although I see that now as a missed opportunity for a major laugh. My apologies.

Once she was finished with my hair, I have to admit that it is was the best updo I've had to date. Keep in mind that I've had a total of maybe four updos in my life, each one being slightly better than the one proceeding it. (We started off with the first updo at senior prom and it was truly gag-worthy, so count your blessings that I don't have access to those pictures.) While this wasn't what I was dreaming of my hair to look like, it was an improvement, so I guess I can't complain too much. She had to tone down "the bump" at my request, and by the time it was all said and done, she had shoved approximately 3,468,972 bobby pins into my scalp.

My best friend from high school came up to watch Sam for me and spend the night, so I was clearly hoping that labor was imminent. But after racing home from the hair appointment (after a quick trip to Target to buy a fake wedding ring and a quick trip to the PX for other nesting-type needs- shut up), I had no time left to cut into the fresh pineapple that I'd purchased at the commissary earlier in the day. Luckily Brittany is one smart cookie and did not need me to explain anything at all to her concerning Sam's care, so Steve and I hurried out shortly after she arrived. This was after she helped me apply eyeliner as I am still very stupid when it comes to putting on any makeup besides mascara. (And I wouldn't be too surprised if I've been doing that wrong all along too.)

We got to the ball and immediately got in line to get a drink at the bar. After shaking a few hands and listening to Steve and other soldiers talk about Army stuff, I was pretty convinced that one glass of wine was not going to do me in. In fact, I felt it might be beneficial for my sanity to have a drink before we got sucked into the actual ball. But lo and behold, Jesus was all set to stop my fun when he had someone post a gigantic sign at the bar stating, "DRINKING ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES PRIOR TO CONCEPTION OR WHILE PREGNANT CAN CAUSE SERIOUS BIRTH DEFECTS."  Yes, thank you for the reminder. When the bartender asked me what I wanted, I told her that I couldn't have anything and she looked confused. Then I looked at my stomach, then back at her, and she asked me if I'd prefer a Coke. No woman, I don't want a $3 coke. I wanted some WINE and I would even settle for whatever nasty liquor that Steve was drinking, but instead I sipped on some water and hoped that someone up there was keeping track of how many gold stars I was earning.

We stood around for what felt like forever and then finally got to go into the ball. No receiving line or pictures this time, which pointed to the beginning of the lameness of the evening.

The ball was decorated very nicely, I'll give them that. We didn't have assigned seating (thank the LORD in heaven above) and got to sit with nice people who didn't want to talk Army all night. This ball was buffet-style though, which turned out to be pretty awful when something like 400 people are trying to squeeze around one little line of tables to serve themselves. (Waiting until bedtime to eat dinner didn't help the frantic-ness of everyone scrambling to get in line either.) Wanna see what a $30 dinner looks like?

Green beans, potatoes, dried up chicken, and some salad. They were also offering a mystery meat, but I thought it best to pass on that and get a piece of bread instead. But get this- NO BREAD. Who serves dinner with no bread? I couldn't get over that part. Like the giant pregnant lady needs extra carbs, but still. That just seems like a standard part of dinner to me.

Please excuse the terrible quality of these photos. Even my phone was pissed about being here apparently.

For dessert they had sheet cakes.

I didn't take a picture of all of them (four total), but I will add that my piece of cake was the Screaming Eagle's beak. I thought that was a nice touch.

Here I am with my handsome husband, putting on our cheese faces and ready to man the fire extinguisher if duty called.

I really was expecting to get our photo taken at the ball, so I only asked Brittany to snap a few shots of us before we left, in which I look like a whale in every last one of them. But I think you deserve more than this grainy iPhone picture since you all so kindly weighed in on my hair and wardrobe choices for this thing.

Even the hand-on-hip pose is not making you look any skinnier, girl. Whoooooo.....

Ugh I hate for this to be anywhere remotely NEAR the internet. At least Steve looks good.

I won't go into the nitty gritty about the ball, because basically, it is NOT something I recommend attending sober and since I did not go into labor there, there aren't too many interesting stories.

We got home and found out that Sam had a ball of his own with his red-headed babysitter. I'm thinking he was kind of ticked when he woke up the next morning and saw that Steve and I had come back.

Being the saint that he is, Steve took over toddler-duty for the day and let Brittany and I catch up and leave the house. Even though we don't live as close as we'd like and we don't get to talk as often as we want, it is always like we are picking up right where we left off when we get together. (That's how you know that your friend is a BEST friend.) Another indicator was that it felt like we only hung out for approximately ten minutes, when in fact, we had been gabbing away the entire day. Sadly, she had to go back home because she has a real JOB and a HUSBAND that wants to see her and a LIFE or something, so she couldn't come live with us forever. I guess I understand... (Thanks for coming Brittany!!!)

On the baby front though, I think we can all agree that I look as if I'm ready to burst, so in an attempt to encourage Second Baby to get a move on, I have consumed an entire fresh pineapple, drank every pregnancy tea available, eaten spicy foods, etc; NOTHING is making this child budge (unless you count the thousands of jabs taken daily to my diaphragm and bladder). Oh well. I think I still have a sock drawer to rearrange and a post-hospital meal plan to map out. OMG PRAY FOR US.

Come OUT Second Baby I can hardly stand to be around myself with all of this nesting going on

So here we are- Military Ball Day. I was hoping to avoid this day altogether by spontaneously going into labor and having the Easiest, Fastest Birth Ever, but Second Baby clearly has other plans. S/he is all, "You haven't dusted yet. You need to put SOMETHING besides wine and your toothbrush into that hospital bag. Maybe you should register at the hospital? Maybe? I think you need to make one last trip to the commissary. You are running low on marshmallows, which means that you can only make one more batch of fudge, and I'm not coming out that quick, (HAHAHAHA) so get a move on, woman."

CHILD. You aren't even HERE yet and you're already testing me. Didn't you get my memo? Fast, easy birth that just so happens to coincide with the military ball since we have reliable babysitter access? I have plans. And lists. And more lists. And I need you to follow along because we all know that *I* am in charge here. Oh wait a second. I'm not in charge? Ok, you and Jesus call the shots and I will just drop everything and play along whenever y'all are ready. I'm assuming y'all have developed some sort of sick sense of humor in that I'll go into labor in the middle of the night, with a sink full of dishes and a huge stinky diaper load to wash the next day. BUT OK I CAN DEAL. I was just sorta kinda hoping that we wouldn't have to go to this military ball and yawn away a Friday night while we listen to higher-ups jabber on about how *awesome* this battalion is and hooah hooah hooah.

For the record, the nesting is starting to get a little uncontrollable at this point. Before 9am this morning, I had dusted everything, done dishes, laundry, diapers, vacuumed the floors, read more Hypnobabies, sorted the recycling, took out the trash, made another batch of fudge, and changed two diapers. Yesterday I did this:

Can you see what that is? Here's a closer shot:

Yeah, my dishwasher is a storage unit. Laugh it up.

I felt the overwhelming NEED to label everything in case Steve isn't here to help someone locate something they might need. Our friend who has agreed to watch Sam while I'm in the hospital has been to my house plenty of times, and I'm sure she could find everything she needs (she is equipped with two arms, legs, and eyeballs), but why not make it a little easier on her? Also- I AM IN CRAZY NESTING MODE AND WE NEED MORE POST-ITS STAT.

Since Sam has funky little mealtime tendencies and a few food allergies, I thought it best to create a chart detailing what mealtimes look like for him.

Ok that's a little blurry, but even I can plainly see that a crazy person wrote that.

And this last picture is a true testament to the fact that I'm READY. You can see the top of my microwave. (!!!) It is usually covered in ridiculous amounts of mail, articles that I've been meaning to send to my mom, receipts I'm scared to throw away, stray toddler toys that I might attempt to fix, and tax info.

Steve is (supposedly) getting off work early today and I plan to use that free time to register myself at the hospital (I hope they don't laugh at me too much or try to admit me right then due to my size and waddle) and then go to my fancypants hair appointment. Y'all, I had to go in there last week for a hair CONSULTATION. That is how serious this hair place is. I've obviously been frequenting Great Clips too much because this has been the main source of excitement for me this week (besides that visit to Chick-fil-a, which always ranks high on my List Of Things To Get Excited About).

AAAAAANNNNNNDDDDD my best friend from high school is coming up to not only babysit Sam while we are out tonight, but to hang out with me tomorrow! If only wine was going to be involved, this weekend would look like The Most Perfect Storm Ever, but I think instead, it will just be A Really Great Weekend and I'm excited.

Obviously I will take pictures of Steve and myself all dolled up for the ball and report back to you with whale pictures soon. In the meantime, please either pray for this extreme nesting urge to back the hell off or for Second Baby to grace us with his/her presence sooner than later.

More fudge and some questions

So it turned out to be a good thing that I made that fudge the other day. Not because I needed to take it to the hospital due to my going into labor or anything but because my FRIEND went into labor that morning and didn't have time to make her own nurse treat, so I got to drop some off at the hospital and see her! I will also add that I drank some red raspberry leaf tea that morning and I'm pretty sure this helped her to go into labor as well. I think the point of drinking it is to jump-start your OWN labor, but at least one of us is not sporting a kicky watermelon anymore. 


(Also? Side note? Hot tea is THE MOST DISGUSTING THING I have ever ingested in my entire life. How does anyone get through a cup of that crap without continuously dry-heaving? I have sampled a few different kinds of hot tea now (thanks to my Yankee husband's insistence that it doesn't taste like hot sick), but I cannot get over how gross it is. And don't you even bother telling me that HONEY is going to make that mess taste better. I will never in a thousand years believe you.)

Luckily (for all of us) I don't need to use my gray matter to come up with an original post today since sweet Kate from Daffodil's tagged me in a questionnaire. Go over there and thank her!

1. Why did you start blogging?

I started blogging to keep folks up to date on Sam's life since the Army has not placed us terribly close to any family. I have continued blogging because it helps release some sort of stress chemical that builds up in me that does not escape when I merely tell my "stories" to Steve.

2. Where did you go to college and why did you choose it?

I went to Auburn University (WAR EAGLE) and I chose it because I can't stand the University of Alabama. 

And when you live in the great state of Alabama, those are kind of your only two choices. Unless you go out-of-state of course, which is only for the super-smart (can we say "scholarships to offset out-of-state tuition costs"?) or the super-rich (again, astronomical out-of-state tuition costs!). 

To be completely honest, I started out at Troy University (they are cropping up EVERYWHERE and probably coming to a strip mall near YOU very soon!) and really enjoyed it. To clarify, it is the ORIGINAL Troy University, in Troy, Alabama. So it's not like I went to a knock-off Troy in another town. But after two years there and not having a ton of interesting majors to choose from, I transferred to Auburn. GOOD THING TOO, because how else would I have earned my MRS degree if I hadn't gone there and met my sweet Steve???

3. Do you love your job? If not, what would you rather be doing?

I do love my SAHM job. If I could change one thing about it however, I would like to be released of my inherent duty of bodily fluid/biohazardous waste cleanup. But alas, poop and puke come with the territory I suppose.

4. What(or who) is your biggest motivator everyday?

My biggest motivator is naptime. I know that there is a very finite amount of time that I have to myself once the little munchkin goes down for his nap, and I try to never squander that time. This is why working out will never be on my Naptime To-Do List.

5. If you could have one song playing in your head at all times, what would it be?

Preferably silence, since I think listening to the same song in my head on repeat would drive me to the brink of insanity.

6. What does your dream home look like?

My dream home is always spotless, with those pretty, white slip-covered couches and chairs from Pottery Barn that never get dirty. The bathroom would include a deep clawfoot tub, perfect for soaking, and the kitchen would always replenish itself with chocolate. There would never be a stray Lego lying on the floor, ready to physically disable me at a moment's notice and turn me into an crumpled mess of a woman who can't stop dropping F bombs under her breath. There would also never be another piece of dog hair on my floor EVER.

7. If you had a large sum of money to spend on yourself, what would you buy?

A night nurse. Hands down easiest question I've ever answered. I am not one of those moms that gets extreme joy and pleasure from waking up every hour of the night to feed a screaming newborn that won't latch and then requiring an intravenous coffee drip the next day just to function. I have a feeling that I would be more apt to actually enjoy my baby if I had a full night's rest in me. I would gladly wake up to pump every 2-3 hours and let someone else baby-wrangle for me. If anyone out there reading is willing to do this for free (or even cheap, or maybe I could possibly pay you in fudge), then please contact me as soon as humanly possible, since this whole up-all-night newborn phase is fixing to hit us like a load of very heavy, unwieldy bricks.

8. What is the biggest risk you have ever taken?

Hrrmmm. Kind of not a risk-taker here. Maybe that one time when I took a shower during a thunderstorm? Or when I let my peanut butter stash get down to one measly jar? Holding myself accountable to actually wash and dry and stuff cloth diapers so my child has something to poop in everyday? Did I mention that I don't take risks?


9. What do you enjoy most about blogging?

I love being able to read back over what was going on during a certain day in my past and sort of relive it. Also, duh, baby pictures of Sam.

10. What do you collect?

I tend to collect chocolate. In the form of pounds. On my hips.

 
11. Do you have a tattoo? What'd you get and why? If not, would you ever consider it?

I don't have a tattoo and I will never get one. I'm too indecisive about something that will permanently be on my body. I might think it's cool today, but I know that years from now, when I'm a saggy 70-year-old, I will be questioning my sanity at the time that I got it, and I think I'll have enough sanity issues to deal with at 70, without throwing a tattoo in the mix. Of course, if I go out and get a tattoo tomorrow, we will all instantly forget that I ever said this and everyone will proclaim that I got the coolest tattoo in the history of tattoos.

I'm supposed to tag people and ask them new questions, but I've been up since 4:45 this morning and my brain doesn't have the proper capabilities to do that right now, so I'm just copying the eleven questions I came up with last time and if YOU wanna answer these, go crazy. Leave a comment if you do answer them though so I can read your responses.

1. How many states have you traveled to and which was your favorite?

2. Would you be more likely to be featured on an episode of Hoarders, What Not To Wear, or Wife Swap?

3. If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?

4. Do you try to leave one or two little pieces of toilet paper on the roll so you don't have to change it? Or are you the martyr that changes it as soon as it starts running low?

5. What is your favorite comfort food?

6. How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?

7. Are you brand-loyal when buying laundry detergent, or do you grab whatever is cheapest?

8. Tea: sweet? unsweet? hot? cold?

9. Do you ever believe what your fortune cookie says? Or has one of the fortunes in your cookie ever come true?

10. If you could meet anyone, dead or alive, who would it be and why?

11. If you were forced to choose, which of these things could you live without forever: TV, internet, or condiments?