Writing this was good for my soul

• I'm not entirely sure how to start this post, but I have such an intense desire to write-it-out-so-that-it-will-stop-rattling-in-my-head that I'm just gonna start it and see where it goes. Bullet-style, of course. 
• This past week, I joined a club that I never wanted to be in- the Moms Who Miscarried Club. They are a strong, yet sad group of women that never wanted to join the club either. I'm sure they all thought it would never happen to them, and yet they find themselves looking at other pregnant women a bit differently and deleting pregnancy apps off their phone and hiding any baby stuff they might have accumulated since they first saw the two pink lines in the bathroom.
• Also, hey I've been pregnant for the past 10 weeks. I had a much cuter way of announcing this- something more Pinterest-y and less depressing.
• I initially went to the clinic at the post here, but if history has taught us anything, it's that no one knows what they are doing at this "medical facility", so after having blood drawn and my lady bits poked with a nerf gun flashlight, it was concluded that I should go see a real doctor in Seoul.
• I did more bloodwork in Seoul and waited around for my appointment with the OB. I was honestly expecting him to tell me to keep an eye on the spotting, but that everything looked ok.
• The OB (Korean) came in and did an internal ultrasound. He pointed to the tiny screen and asked us what we saw. He asked us if we thought that looked good. He asked us what we thought that meant. Having no background in radiology, I knew not what I was looking at. Hell, I can look at a fully developed baby on an ultrasound and still have no clue what I'm staring at. So this little game of 20 questions was not amusing to me. The language barrier wasn't helping.
• I love Korea. I truly truly do. But right then, I just wanted to talk to someone whose first language was English. I didn't want to have to comprehend his words and accent while also trying to comprehend the medical things he was telling us.
• So after very little guidance and a lot of insensitive remarks (that I am trying to chalk up to "lost in translation"), we left the hospital and headed home. Time to wait for my body to "do its thing."

 

My first and last photo of our third baby

• I expected the process to take quite some time (or so Doctor Google said), so I knew I couldn't just sit at home and wait for it to happen. The kids would make me crazy. I would make myself crazy. So we continued on with our regularly scheduled activities and went to Seoul to see Aggie and her kids for the day. As soon as we got to her apartment though, I knew that it was happening. I feel terrible that I basically threw my kids at her as I ran to the bathroom, but Aggie is one of those friends that you'd want to be around if something major like that is going on in your life. So in between bathroom trips, we watched the kids play, talked with Aggie's psychotic neighbor, witnessed Levi sneeze two macaroni noodles out of his nose, sang Happy Birthday, ate cupcakes, and tried to keep all of the children from catapulting themselves from the trampoline couch onto the floor. To say that being at her house and having these distractions was great would be a massive understatement. I am so blessed by her friendship and support.
• Emotionally, I'm still not really believing any of this. I think my mom was a bit shocked when we facetimed the other day and I wasn't mopping the floor with my tears. This lifestyle won't allow it. But I do believe my brain is somehow protecting me from jumping off into the deep end of dark emotions.This pregnancy wasn't announced to many- only a few friends, most of them being here in Korea. The day I found out I miscarried, the photo books announcing the pregnancy to our families were shipped. So for quite some time, since our families didn't know, the pregnancy itself didn't even feel real to me. I know I'm in the minority here, but I have no pregnancy symptoms other than getting incredibly fat. (I know, lynch my chubby self now!) So I never noticed any loss of pregnancy symptoms that would lead me to believe I could miscarry. I still can't believe it happened to me. I've never had an issue getting pregnant and both of my pregnancies were so uneventful that a doctor might yawn while looking over my patient history. I know "every pregnancy is different" but I'm still me. I thought my body was good at pregnancy and birth. Now that it has somehow failed leaves me feeling like I am in need of fixing.
• It has also been a big ol' slap in the face that, whether I want to dwell on it or not, life goes on. The laundry does not give a shit that I just had a miscarriage yesterday. The kids won't magically fix their own breakfast because I don't want to get out of bed. The whining doesn't stop because I need a minute to myself. Life. Goes. On. These little people need attention and some sort of nutrition, and it's my job to give it to them. And so I will.
• Steve has been great, as usual. He missed time at work so he could be with me at appointments and help with the kids. He tells me that I should probably eat some fudge, that my maxi pads make my butt look good, and that God has a plan for us. I know He does, but it comforts me so much more when those words come out of my husband's mouth. I love that I get to do life with him.
• Also, a huge shout-out to Alicia, who let Molly nap (scream/nap) and play at her house while we went to the doc in Seoul. I know Molly's fear of that hospital is real and having her miss naptime so she can sit with us at a doctor's office is my idea of hell on earth. Having Sam record the entire vaginal ultrasound with my iphone was quite enough. I am seriously so thankful for such helpful friends. 
• So anyways, that's what's been happening around here. My heart is broken, my womb is empty, but my arms are full- I can still read all of my kids' favorite books to them and give them gummy bears when I'm not supposed to and crack a fart joke to make Steve laugh. Life goes on.

I don't see how they can legally call that "fun"

I have mentioned to a few of you (through email, twitter conversations, etc) that Steve is on top of his game when it comes to physical activity. I probably mentioned this to you while we were lamenting the fact that we are (or rather, I am) NOT good at physical activity. I used to be in really good shape. Sometime back in college. Before Steve started giving me rides to class, because after that started I had no way to burn off all that pizza we were eating and then bleh. Present-day Jenn. Chubs McGee.

Pounds have slowly but surely (emphasis on SLOWLY) been coming off since Molly's birth. Nowhere near as fast as I want it to obviously, but the scale is still moving. Down. Sort of. I mean, I uncovered the secret to making loads and loads of breastmilk (spoiler: it's CARBS. Tons and tons of CARBS. Preferably of the pizza variety.). So consuming carbs and then burning carbs to make milk has sorta evened me out weight-wise, but THIS POST IS NOT ABOUT WEIGHT OR BREASTMILK SO LET ME GET BACK ON TRACK HERE.

Ok. I haven't officially "worked out" in quite some time. My sister and I did some Jillian Michaels over the summer and I hobbled around like a centennial for about four days, but that's about it. So it is no surprise that I am out of shape. Steve recently came home from work and told me CASUALLY that there is a family fun run on the 30th. I asked how far fun was. He said two miles. I might have said a curse word or seven. Because two miles?? Seriously?? How is that fun? How is running anywhere fun? I mean, running out to get wine is one thing, running around in a big circle "for fun" is another. So since Steve is the resident heckler about people falling out on runs, I obviously canNOT fall out on this run. How would that look? And how would I ever be able to tell his coworkers all of the other things I am very GOOD at instead of running? Like, for example, wine-drinking? Fudge-making? Cute-baby birthing? I think I would be too winded to explain, in proper detail, all of the things that I am very proficient at. (I know I'm not supposed to end a sentence with "at" but OMG- have been staring at that sentence for five minutes now and can't figure out another way to say it. ARREST ME NOW, GRAMMAR POLICE.)

So my question to y'all IS:
What is the easiest, non-time-suckiest way to get into shape QUICK? Like, two and a half weeks quick? I am hoping all of your responses sound something like, "Be sure to rest and hydrate yourself, occasionally with water. White wine is best though. Antioxidants and such. Chocolate is good for the legs. Pizza is known for its endurance building; carb-loading and such."

How I feel when someone mentions running

Also, I know good and well that I just need to get out there and sweat. But ugh. Sweating. I hate it so. Almost as much as I hate running.

Random stuff because there's never time anymore to write a fully cohesive post

Not that that's an excuse, because my posts have never been all that cohesive anyway. We'll go at this bullet-style so if my brain farts or a child wakes up and interrupts me, at least it won't be in the middle of a paragraph.

• I just sat on the couch for quite a while feeding Molly and thought that I smelled urine and feces. Surely it's only a figment of my imagination though because there are newly-stuffed, clean diapers folded next to me. Until I notice the two diapers I changed right after lunch. Fully loaded.
• I thought I was doing great, making a solo commissary run with the two kids today before the lunch rush hit. That is, until I got home and noticed that I had soaked through my shirt due to Molly's crying. (FAIL)
• I finally bought the fabric and cut out all of my squares (rectangles, octagons, whatever- it got crazy there at the end and I just wanted to be done) for my cloth wipes. Now I must sew around the edges so it doesn't fray into oblivion (warns the fabric lady). For someone who knows NOTHING about sewing, I am a little petrified at how much of my "free time" (AHAHAHAHA) that this will take up.

• The fabric lady also insinuated that I was pregnant with my first child. (Why else would I be looney enough to do cloth wipes?) She *almost* got punched in the face. But she was holding scissors, so I thought it safer to just smile, CORRECT HER, and walk away.
• I always feel like I'm drowning. Whether it's in dishes, laundry, diapers, or dump trucks. I swear, the amount of dump trucks we've accumulated around here could staff a highway crew repaving I-95.

• Molly woke up at 6am today. Since Steve wouldn't be home to help with the morning routine, I thought it best to get her downstairs and settled before Sam woke up. Normally I would attempt to go back to sleep with her in hopes that Sam would sleep til 8 or 830. (He never does.) But I was proactive today! And Sam slept til 9. Obviously.
• I went to the post-wide yard sale on Saturday morning. Alone. It was heavenly, despite the initial downpour. I found some books for Sam, dump trucks (of course) for outside, and some Christmas decorations. Because like I said before, I am proactive. I also spent $3 on this magic. Look who's gonna be doing chores for me as soon as he can plug in the real vacuum himself?

• I finally got Molly's birth announcements addressed and mailed. This took forty-six times longer than it usually does and it really stressed me out.
• Also, the only postcard stamps the post office sells are these ugly Hawaiian Tshirt stamps that say "Aloha." As the post office employee was selling them to me, he said, "Wow these sure are ugly." I KNOW. And I have to put them on my daughter's adorable BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENTS. Can I get a discount based on how unattractive they are?
• Miss Chumba Wumba is almost out of size 3mo clothes!?! And I'm fairly certain that I'm serving up the same milkshakes to her that I did to Sam, yet, he never had a roll to speak of (and not just because of the gluten content). She must have inherited her "Hang Onto All The Fat" gene from me.

• While sitting in the car the other day waiting for Steve to come retrieve his lunch, I checked email on my phone. While I normally just delete the emails from Babycenter about toddler milestones (they really just piss me off since my 19mo is "supposed" to be tying his shoes and speaking French by now), I opened it up and read it. "Dangerous Foods for Toddlers." Interesting. I'll read it. "Do not give toddlers pretzels as they are a choking hazard. Do not give toddlers raisins as they are small enough to get lodged in their throats and create a choking hazard. Do not give toddlers snacks while in the car, because if they start choking, you will not be able to assist your child since you're driving." Well crap. My kid's sitting pretty back there with his super-spillproof cup, munching on raisins and pretzels. Quick. Someone call CPS.
• We got a deep freezer. I'd open-mouth kiss it if that sort of thing (you know, making out with appliances) wasn't frowned upon.
• Why is it physically impossible for two children to nap at the same time? And on a related note, when do they begin to understand the phrase "Just wait ONE MORE MINUTE"??

Alas, Molly has pooped up her back (again) and Sam is up from his nap, beckoning me upstairs to retrieve his (most likely) stinky butt from the crib, so I guess that's my cue to skedaddle.

Let's talk about my extensive el-bee collection

El-bees. A nicer way of saying POUNDS. <sigh> The time has come. My scale is no longer sliding counterclockwise at a delightfully rapid pace. Apparently that fudge was stickier than I thought because my hips? They are holding onto it like there's no tomorrow. With Sam, I got back to my pre-pregnancy weight fairly quickly (although that was not necessarily a number to be too proud of). It seemed like the pounds slid right off following his birth. Continuing with the pumping only helped more. But this go-round I seem to have stalled out already. (I know Mom, I KNOW, nine months to put it on, nine months to take it off. You are sitting on my shoulder as I write this.)

Some people make resolutions at the start of the new year. Something about the first of the year being inspiring and turning over a new leaf and crap like that. You wanna know what's inspiring? Putting your maternity clothes away, getting your "regular" clothes back out, and finding that NOTHING FITS. Surprisingly enough, I am actually getting quite tired of my yoga-pants-Steve's-tshirt uniform, and I would just love to fit back into some of my old clothes. Or! Crazy idea! Buy a few new clothes! I refuse to buy anything to fit this size. That would only provide more incentive for me to stay here. Although I DO have one pair of "fat jeans" that I bought right after having Sam. (It was coming up on wintertime and I needed something to cover my bottom half so everyone in the greater Richmond area was not assaulted by my thighs.) But ya know what? Those gigantic things don't even fit me right now. <SOB> And not that I would wear them anyways what with it turning a thousand degrees here overnight and my propensity to sweat through anything that isn't mesh. So nothing can light a fire under me like the thought of wearing SHORTS. And TANK TOPS. And dresses that don't have the term MATERNITY associated with them. And I won't even get into SWIMSUITS. Gack. The clothing- while definitely vain, it is a motivator. And vanity be damned- I JUST WANT MY BODY BACK.

So while I've already lost 25lbs, there is still a looooooooooooong way to go. You might think 25lbs sounds impressive. And it sort of does- IF you don't see what my current weight is and IF you don't add up what I should have already lost . But when you see where we need to go from here, you would laugh so hard you'd soon have yourself a set of six-pack abs.

According to the CDC and their nifty (albeit thoroughly depressing) BMI calculator, I am overweight. Not yet obese, but had Molly come a few days later and I had consumed a little more fudge, we might be talking about that. (SCARY, right?) My BMI is not where it should be. My body is not where it should be. I seriously slacked in the working-out department while pregnant with Molly. I ate far too much fudge. I didn't drink as much water as I should have.

I can now state loud and proud that I drink more water per day than your average camel, I have eaten more salads than I ever dreamed possible, and I started the Couch-To-5k program last week. This is A Big Deal, y'all. I am also getting in a little resistance training as I am pushing 75lbs of stroller, carseat, and babies during these "runs." I'm hoping that once I complete the C25K program and go jogging without a stroller, I will run a four minute mile or something incredible like that. As of right now though, it is PAINFUL. It is UGLY. It is SWEATY. God only knows how much those things will exponentially increase once it gets hotter outside. BUT (and this is a major but), I feel so GOOD after I complete one of the sessions. My mood is better (ask Steve!), my muscles actually feel useful again, and I get the bonus of an extra shower.

So to recap:
Motivators- my vanity, clothes fitting, scale numbers, feeling good in my skin again
This doesn't hurt either.

We finally got a new scale (after our old one would tell me I lost 13lbs in 4 seconds- as much as I love it's ability to suck up, I need something a little more accurate) and after opening it up in the kitchen and having Sam play around on it, I guess we got kinda lazy and never moved it to the bathroom. I think it's a pretty effective place to keep a scale.

Also, I'm nowhere near brave enough to tell you how much I currently weigh, or even my goal weight, but I set up a new tab to keep track of how much I have left to lose. Go click on that to feel better about yourself or to have a good laugh. I'll try to update weekly.

And if you made it to the end, here is a cute Molly picture as your reward.

I can't tell if my eyes aren't bloodshot because I'm sleeping so well or if I'm up to my eyeballs in milk.

First of all, THANK YOU for all of the kind words of encouragement and/or commiserating with me on that last post. They were all much appreciated and I may have teared up reading them during some late night/early morning feeding sessions.

In other Super Uplifting News, I made a quick run to the commissary yesterday BY MYSELF to get our weekly staples (during the crazy lunch hour, no less), and the lady bringing my bags out to my car (oh how I LOATHE that "service") said something to me about babies. I told her that I had escaped while one of mine was napping and the newborn was receiving some free family babysitting. And then she said, "Oh, now you can start workin' on dat body again! You the second lady with a newborn that I seen today! Got some work to do, huh?" Um, yes, bagger lady. Thank you for commenting on my jiggly exterior. (In my head, in the Soup Nazi voice: "No tip for you!")

Speaking of the free babysitting (because we will not be focusing on my wiggly, jiggly outward appearance until after the doc clears me to do something about it, aka, I have five more weeks of "vacation"), my in-laws came down this week to meet little Molly. And see Sam. Sam was the main attraction since Molly was pretty content to park herself on anyone's chest and score some z's while Sam shrieked throughout the house and smashed blocks against every solid surface in sight. These extra hands were much appreciated, as I could get laundry done, pump (more on that in a minute), cook dinner, or just sit on the couch and relax. And then (then!) they took our thorn-in-my-side dog back home with them!

 

 Don't let her cute and fuzzy exterior create a soft spot in your heart. This next photo more accurately captures her true essence.

Now what if Steve had been holding my BABY instead of a ham hock?! I rest my case.

To say that their trip earned major gold stars would be a serious understatement. What is above a gold star anyway? Oh! PLATINUM STARS. Those. They earned them. Let's all say many silent prayers of thanksgiving for my in-laws for saving my very sanity by relieving me of that dog.



Amen.

Ok. So the pumping. I know many people ABHOR pumping. It is just One Of Those Things that all women with children seem to hate. Well, I am not in that group. I actually LOVE pumping. (Breastmilk, that is. We're talking about breastmilk here in case anyone is not reading my mind at this point.) Molly started out with this really great latch in the hospital, and then I guess I wasn't supporting her head properly or enough or something (?) and she started "breaking me down" as the lactation consultant put it. That loosely translates into: "She is mutilating your ever-lovin' BOOBS woman and they look HORRIBLE." So I started pumping to give my boobs a chance to recover. And I kind of had a ton of anxiety about letting her near this very sensitive area again and have just continued pumping. It is so EASY! And quick! And painless! And I get a surplus of milk to stockpile in my freezer (please don't come over and assume that is ice cream!)! And OTHER PEOPLE get to feed her too! And she's still getting strictly breastmilk! And I can use pacifiers without stressing about the dreaded "nipple confusion"! And and and! I just have nothing but great things to say about it. With that said..... I'm not quite sure how the logistics of this pumping situation are going to work out after Steve goes back to work and I am home alone. I did it with Sam (he was strictly a biter! YEOWCH.), but there was no one else around during the day demanding snacks and drinks and books to be read to them. I simply set him in front of me and gave him some milk (from the stockpile) while I pumped and everything was peachy. I am actually now the proud new owner of one of those wacky bustiers that makes pumping hands-free, but the looks I get from Sam while wearing it tell me that this might cost me in therapy sessions later on down the road. (Please please please click on that link and have a laugh at the woman in the photo.) So now I'm contemplating re-latching her. Please begin saying a couple thousand rosaries for my boobs. Thank you and Amen.

Since this post is already super-random, I will just throw in there that I have been left. For the first time ever. One of my very best friends here moved out early this morning. Even though I was up (3am is SUCH a happy time of day, friends!), I figured it would make more sense to say goodbye to her yesterday, you know, when the sun was up and I wasn't attached to a milk machine like a dairy cow. It was tough, y'all. I haven't had to do that yet. I made a really good friend while we were in Virginia, but I left, and somehow that is much much easier than being left. And I guess I knew that eventually this would happen (living on a military installation and all), I just was NOT prepared for it. The kooky hormones did not help either. I started crying in the car on the way to her house. Then I pulled up and saw the moving van and cried again. And then I refrained from crying while I was there, but I immediately started crying while I was walking back to my car. (Totally forgot her husband and his friend were in the moving truck when I walked by crying and he was all, "See ya later Jenn!" And me: <sniff, sniff> "Oh! Bye! Have fun moving!" Have fun moving? I am clearly not a goodbye person.) We both agreed though, that if our husbands continued on in the Army, we would end up stationed somewhere together again. I sure hope so. In the meantime, I must find another best friend that is as knowledgeable as she is on cloth diapering, Catholicism, cooking Paula Deen recipes, locating the best restaurants in a town full of fast-food chains, and agreeing on everything child and husband-related. This is kind of a tall order, I know, but I'm hoping she has a twin floating around out there that is starting to in-process here.

Molly is still exercising her reign as Easy Baby and sleeping nice, longish stretches throughout the night. Except a couple nights ago when (we assume) she had a wicked case of The Gas. Sam never had gas, so I didn't really recognize it right away, but once we eliminated every other possible scenario that might keep her from sleeping (I know, we are Super Parents), we settled on gas. Well crap. We have nothing to relieve that. The little leg exercises and stomach massage weren't working, so I sent Steve out to Walgreens to get some of that baby gas medicine. (We do not earn Super Parent status on our level of preparedness. Clearly.) He left at 10:30pm. I bounced and rocked and finally got her to sleep. By the time Steve got back home, I was passed out too. I woke up when he came back in the room and it was 11:30. Now, Walgreens is NOT that far from our house, so I was a little confused as to why that took so long. But apparently we live in a town where the Walgreens are not open 24/7. So he had to go to Walmart. And apparently Walmart only has two lanes open at 11pm and a lot of folks do their regular grocery shopping at this hour (???), so he had to wait a while in line to buy this gas medicine. What a good man. If it had been me, Steve would have gotten a phone call like, "Honey? I got the gas medicine, don't worry. Now if you could just come pick me up down at the police station, I can give Molly the correct dose."

And now I will make your ovaries twitch with this video of Molly falling into a milk coma.

Some people...

So at some point, recently, I guess, I crossed over into the third trimester. I know. I'm not sure how it happened either. This pregnancy is literally flying by. I felt like I was pregnant with Sam for well over a year. And not in a way like, "Get this baby out of me NOW," because I have been blessed so far with easy pregnancies (KNOCK ON EVERY AVAILABLE PIECE OF WOOD), virtually no symptoms (besides a rapidly-expanding waistline), and never felt the general uncomfortableness that comes with being nine months pregnant. It's not that I *loooove* being pregnant (because there are days where a glass of wine would just be UHmazing), but I don't hate it either.

That being said, I am ready to be done with this pregnancy so I can avoid comments like these:

Upon greeting a friend and her puppy and exclaiming that the dog had grown so much since I had last seen him:
Friend: "He's probably doubled in size since you last saw him. And I think you have too!"
Me: (blank stare)
Friend: "You look so good though!"
Me: (leaving)


Friend, dumbfounded after I had to inform a lady I was pregnant: "I don't see how she couldn't tell you're pregnant!"
Me: "I know! Wait.. What?"


My pants: <falling down every time I bend over>
Me: !!! long string of very profane curse words !!! coupled with my repeating my brilliant future invention of a set of suspenders that hook the bottom of your bra to the top of your pants


Friend: "How much weight have you gained?"
Me: "Enough."


Seriously???? Like poor Steve doesn't have enough work cut out for him already? Now he's got to reassure me that I don't look like the side of a house??? PLEASE people. When you spout out these seemingly innocent conversation starters (HA), some pregnant lady's poor husband has to do damage control. Not that these things have gotten MY panties in a twist. I could really care less. Doc says that I'm "right on track" and her professional, medical opinion is really the only one I truly care about (besides Steve's). I am just amazed at some of the things that come out of people's mouths.

via Pinterest

Why are 6 people scheduled for the same 2:45 appointment??

Yesterday I took Sam to an allergist to see if he could shed some light on his eczema issues and why he's constantly in Break-Out Mode. The night before I was sweating it out (out loud, of course), "What if he's allergic to peanuts?! Or wheat?! Or milk?!" Steve told me I was overreacting, he might not be allergic to anything, least of all, peanuts, so no sense in thinking about it now. I'm sure you all know that didn't help me sleep any better.

So we went to the doctor and waited in his Very Boring Waiting Room while I tried to fill out a book's worth of paperwork and simultaneously watch Sam to make sure he didn't free-fall face first off of the chair or lick the seat or tear apart the Mechanics Daily magazine. So that was difficult. And the sheet to fill out was SO CONFUSING. Maybe I'm an idiot, but halfway through, I wasn't sure if the information I was filling in was supposed to be MY info or Sam's. It started out with all of Sam's information but then.. Married? Spouse's info? Work phone number? Ummmm.. I just wrote "N/A" for a lot of it and the nurse didn't say anything else to me so I left it at that. I'm sure they're all having a fun talk about us today. "Look at the way this idiot filled out her paperwork! OMG! Let's make her wait AT LEAST an hour by herself in that tiny waiting room as punishment for being so dumb."

And since we're on the issue of STUPIDITY, while I was signing in and writing down my appointment time, I looked up and noticed that five other people had written down that they too were scheduled for a 2:45 appointment with the exact same doctor. Really? Did they honestly think that five out of the six of us were going to magically forget about this appointment? Not show up? Back out? Really? And we wonder why the doctor is "running a little behind." Yep.

Oh! And while waiting in the tiny waiting room by ourselves, I blew their minds. I opened my door back up. They looked at me like I was Rosa Parks. We were seen shortly after, and I think it's because they saw actual PEOPLE in there, WAITING on them! To be fair, I wasn't just standing in the doorway giving folks the evil eye, I needed a new distraction for Sam. He had already ripped all of the sanitation paper to shreds and pooped a diaper and drank all of his milk so we had to think on our feet.

They checked his weight before we went into this tiny, boring room. And wouldn't you know that they didn't have a baby scale! Imagine that! A pediatrics office without a baby scale. Hmm. The nurse looked at the scale and looked at me, looked at the scale and looked at Sam. Then she said, "Well, I think the only thing we can do is to weigh you holding him and then weigh you without him." Oh, AWESOME. She told me to just leave the diaper bag on for both weighs, but HELL NO am I adding (at least) ten extra pounds to that number. So she got an accurate weight, and I can't say that it was much better without the diaper bag on, but I have almost no shame at this point anyway. So what if a few random people know my weight now? And those kids heard it too? No biggie. But no need to announce it down the hallway SHUT UP WOMAN!!

After waiting a virtual eternity in the tiny waiting room with someone who desperately needed a nap (me), the doctor finally came in and checked Sam out. He told us the same things that I've been hearing since Day One. He gave us a few new prescriptions to try in order to clear up his current eczema flareups, and after that goes away, he will do some food testing.

I guess I have plenty of time to worry about peanut and wheat allergies. But I don't have NEAR enough time to make my scale reading lower before my next weigh-in.

Mothers' Day recap

My second Mothers' Day (I was pregnant with Sammy on my first, technically!) was AWESOME. Awesome awesome AWESOME. I got to take a shower, SHAVE MY LEGS, go to church, receive a rose and a special blessing for mothers, expose myself at church again, pick out a new phone, my husband made dinner, and Sammy was extra-cute. I even got a card from the dogs!

Yes, I guess I can't slip anything by you, Internet. I had yet ANOTHER wardrobe malfunction at church. I'm not sure what sort of a sign that is. Why does God want me to expose myself (my CHUBBY, WHITE self) to lots of innocent people? Maybe they aren't so innocent and God wants to punish them by making them look at me, exposed? I can't get inside the Big Man's head, but it happened again.. At least it didn't happen IN church this time. I was walking to the car (go figure, we got a REALLY good, close parking spot Sunday) and I was wearing this cute white dress that I wore way back in the day (like, possibly high school) and Steve had to get on his knees and wrestle with the zipper just to get the stupid thing on me, but it finally zipped. So I'm wearing my cute heels and I'm feeling good, just got out of church, fixin' to head to the store to get my new phone and then, dun dun DUN... My heel gets caught in a little crack in the sidewalk and I ALMOST face-plant (which probably would have been more embarrassing), but I do that whole crazy-waving-arms thing to steady myself and then comment on how graceful I am. Only then do I feel a light breeze through my dress and realize that when I was wobbling around on the sidewalk, I must have inhaled deeply (like I normally do when I get nervous about eating concrete) and POPPED THE ZIPPER. I thought I just popped the top snap thing off, but upon closer inspection (inside the car) Steve pointed out that, no, the actual zipper was still at the top where it was painstakingly wrestled a few hours before. The actual zipper was busted, and steadily creeping down, further and further to reveal..... my panties (You: Oh no not again, please tell me you weren't wearing the same ones as last time.). Rest assured Internet, between flashing the church at Easter and now, I have re-stocked my underwear drawer with good quality Target panties. We can all breathe a big sigh of relief. And after seeing pictures of myself in the dress I decided that I didn't care for that dress much anyways. Makes me look sort of.... pregnant? Not exactly the look I'm going for these days...

We can all agree that for whatever reason God made that zipper pop, it was probably for the best. Amen.

So the second most interesting thing in this post would be... the new phone! As Steve so bluntly put it, "Twelve-year-olds have cooler phones than we do," and it was time to do something about that. My phone was on its way to a slow, lingering, painful death, so we pulled the plug on it early and I got an iPhone! Now I am so "with it." Well, until you ask me to do something on it. Then I turn into some (VERY UNCOOL) 70-year-old who is sort of squinting and poking at it with one finger and saying, "How do you make a call on this dagblasted thing?" But I am slowly figuring it out. (S-L-O-W-L-Y being the operative word.)

I also gotta thank y'all for your suggestions about what to do with all of the Rapidly Reproducing Strawberries. I've made smoothies, put them atop yogurt, fed them to Sammy (although he was not a huge fan), and made that strawberry pie- which completely DISAPPEARED in two days flat. I would love to say, "Oh that Steve! Such an appetite!" But I would be LYING. I was a true partner in crime, doing my fair share of the pie-eating. So maybe desserts would be something I'd consider making more of since we eat them faster than green grass goes through a goose.

Just look at those sweet rolls!!

Or maybe not since I am still staring at my broken-down-zipper-dress that popped open on its own free will (probably due to the PIE).

Eating, tongues, and curtains!

Punctuation is important, huh? Otherwise you'd think that we're over here eating our tongues and curtains. Well it's still up for debate whether Sammy is eating his tongue or not. He's certainly not eating any solid foods, so it's quite possible that his tongue has become a nice "anytime" snack for him. This little habit has formed over the past few days and he's doing it more and more. Here's to hoping it's only a phase...

This whole tongue thing has kind of gotten in the way of the eating-solid-foods thing that we've been working on. I caved today and tried carrots instead of the peas peas PEAS that we've been pushing lately. I also have a jar of pears that are my LAST RESORT. At the suggestion of my mom, I went out and got every baby spoon ever manufactured in case the reason behind Sammy's disdain for everything on a spoon was being caused by disapproval of the actual spoon I was using to feed him with. There's no way he could be rejecting the food on the spoon because it is the food he sucks straight from the bottle multiple times a day. A photo from one of our feeding sessions:

From left to right: a bowl of plain formula, a bowl with formula and rice cereal, and a teeny tiny itsy bitsy half ounce or so of breastmilk. No, he wasn't drinking the Coke, that was mine, but if he would consider taking it off a spoon, I would let him have at it. If it hadn't been 2 in the afternoon, I would have been gunning for the WINE because holy moly watching him spit out every last drop that I stuck in his mouth almost drove me to the edge and back!! He thinks it's hilarious.

But since we're talking about funny redheads-- my best friend Brittany came up this weekend to help me with some sewing projects around the house. She is such a whiz when it comes to measuring and cutting and stitching and thinking the entire project through BEFORE SHE STARTS. That is a major downfall I have when it comes to projects. I am so caught up in getting it started and finished that I forget a step and ruin the entire thing. It was nice to have such quality help. It also didn't hurt that Sammy loved her and we got to catch up and have girl time.
We made a curtain panel (for our giant window-door in the living room) and some pillows. And when I say "we," obviously I mean Brittany. I was a little bit scared of touching the sewing machine and causing the curtain to morph into a valence. Brittany did beautiful work though.

Just look at that craftsmanship! :)

Brittany sewed, I took pictures, Steve held Sammy, and Sammy monitored Brittany's progress. It's best when everyone has a specific job to do, right?

Well, we eventually got Steve to do the "man work" that needed to be done. Power tools always fall under "man work" in my book.

And the finished product-- Gorgeous!!

There are plenty of other pillows that we cut and pinned, but the sewing machine had had enough by 9-ish Friday night (we're pretty wild, huh?), so we saved them for another day. Can't wait to post the whole package--the pillows are for the sofa that seems as if it will never arrive, so once it gets here and the pillows are on it (lookin' fabulous), I will post more pictures.

Could the discount fabric be ANY cuter???

And here is a picture of me and my skinny best friend, who, I kid you not, tried on a dress that I had from HIGH SCHOOL, which was approximately SIX YEARS AGO, and she fit into it perfectly. Actually, I think it might have been a little loose. Either way, I think I might have turned a few shades of green...

As soon as I learn how to use Photoshop, I am going to look GOOD.

All in all, it was a GREAT visit. I love hanging out with Brittany and catching up, but making pillows and curtains was some serious icing on the cake.

Now check out how "adult" Steve and I are. We own a LAWN MOWER. Our lawn is no longer the jungle of our block (we passed that torch on to our next-door neighbors around noon today).

And can you believe we fought over who got to mow the lawn?? The weather is THAT NICE. Everyone is out mowing their lawn just to have something to do outside. Kids are EVERYWHERE. Grills are popping out of every garage. And I've got the SPF 100 handy so Sammy and I don't miss any of the action.

PICTURE OVERLOAD

Ok so this past weekend, one of my little brothers got married. It. was. beautiful. And almost as cool as that? I was the unofficial photographer. Yup. Me. The lady who runs the chapel where they got married was Official Photographer, but can I just say that her picture poses were LAME, she didn't take any candid shots, and had we been inside, I'm sure she would have used the FLASH (EEEEEEEK), so I was very excited to be allowed to help take pictures. Granted, I am not even considered a Photographer and I don't think I spend enough time on taking pictures to even call it a hobby. I do enjoy it though. And the amount of pictures I took this weekend bordered on Hobbyist (is that a word?). There were 335 photos total, but thanks to my lack of photo editing knowledge, only 118 of them turned out. I have tried very very hard to slim down my favorites to a few to include here. Enjoy!

My gorgeous siblings

The blushing bride-- beautiful!

The big smooch

The newlyweds

OMG, can I just take FULL CREDIT for this picture??? The Official Photographer said, "Oh that's a good idea!" (Unofficial Photographer: 1 point, Official Photographer: 0) Yes, I'm keeping score; I love this picture.

Flowers and cake

Sweet

Wedding gift

Leaving for the honeymoon!

Cutest wedding favors! This is actually how Matt proposed to Celia. Nice to munch on in a traffic jam as well.

All in all, we had a great weekend visiting with family and passing off our kid to them as often as they would take him.

In other news, I am TWO POUNDS away from pre-Sammy weight (You: Wow, that took a long time.). And despite that weight becoming a reality soon (Me: The end of this week!!), I do not see much physical difference. Apparently having a baby makes your weight shift to other parts of your body... ick. So it looks like the new goal is.... LOSE SOME MORE.

Oh, and after "Recycle Clarksville" REFUSED to call me back and take my money and my clean, neatly sorted recyclables despite four weeks of my begging, pleading, and threatening ("I will throw these recyclables into the trash in a hot minute if you do not call me back!"), I took matters into my own hands and lugged them all down to Ft Campbell. Luckily, they allow soldiers living off-post to recycle there (FOR FREE! Take that Recycle Clarksville!), so I'm going back to dropping off my recycling. One day I'm going to live somewhere with curbside recycling, gosh darnit. I guess Kermit the Frog is right; "It's not easy being green."