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.

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.

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.

Bubbles and babies

So apparently Steve has ideas of his own when it comes to my to-do lists.

I'm slowly but surely coming around to this idea since waddling around with a bowling ball between my legs is starting to wear on me. I also require assistance getting off of the floor now. This is no good when Sam INSISTS that I sit down there and play with him during the day. Sitting two feet above him on the couch only elicits disapproving grunts and whines until I come down to his level.
It is also quite troubling when I am in this position, only to have Bowling Ball Baby sucker punch me in the bladder, requiring me to lift myself off of the floor quickly and scramble to the bathroom. (Note: big, pregnant ladies do not "scramble" anywhere quickly or well.)

In other scintillating news, we got Sam a bubble wand at the store the other day.

I thought that it was going to be an amazing three dollar investment. He seemed entranced by the bubbles I blew at him one day, but, as it turns out, I am not a talented bubble-blower. I tend to just blow the bubble solution all over Sam's and my faces. So a bubble wand seemed to be the solution. Except once we got the bubbles going, he seemed a little confused as to where the bubbles were going, and then got distracted with his field o' freedom behind our house.

And since Steve is a little bubble-wand-retarded (picture someone swatting at a hive of angry bees), we ran out of bubble solution pretty quickly. Bless his heart.

I was obviously content to park my whale butt on the sidewalk and take pictures of my two favorite men. (Remember: I had Steve The Crane there to help me up, so I wasn't worried that I would be left out in the field by myself.)

Fear not, warm-weather-appropriate ankle socks are in Sam's immediate future. And possibly a new pair of shoes.

To-do lists

I am slowly but surely whittling away at my to-do list before Second Baby arrives.

I ordered the "coming home" outfits for both sexes, bought the breast pads, packed my hospital bag, and am still listening to Hypnobabies every night when I fall asleep. Steve is currently installing the somewhat-permanent baby gates so that no one takes a tumble down our very steep flight of stairs in the coming weeks when Sam is sure to suffer from some sort of no-sleep-induced parental neglect. (Kidding- (sort of)- don't call CPS.)

The one thing I can't figure out though is which postpartum support to purchase. I've been given three recommendations by three different friends, and I can't find super-overwhelmingly-awesome reviews on any of them. That, or I can't figure out which size I need. Or I feel like it might cost too much to possibly not work at all. The size issue could be remedied by some measuring tape, but that is a wee bit scary at the moment as I don't think we have measuring tape long enough to get the job done. (AM HUGE at this point)

The three supports I'm considering are..... Medela Postpartum Support, The Belly Bandit, and Bellefit supports. Medela is the cheapest, but I'm reading the WORST reviews about it today. The Belly Bandit is semi-expensive and has mixed reviews (although mostly high marks), but requires the measuring tape. The Bellefit supports are rated like God himself created the things but are RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE and I could possibly hire a night nurse for two whole nights for the cost of one of those supports (which I would certainly choose over a flat tummy, no doubt). Help?

My mom told me to let her know when I started nesting so that she could be prepared for "the call." In the past week, I have cleaned two toilets, purged the toy bin in the living room, vacuumed the upstairs (a happening as rare as hens teeth around here), and cleaned and organized the pantry. If this is not nesting, I'm not quite sure what is. Also, we have way more chocolate in our pantry than actual food. Not that I'm complaining or that this is some sort of problem. Au contraire!
(Side note: do M&M's ever expire?)

Still on my list of things to do before Second Baby arrives:

• order postpartum support
• dust
• bake something for new neighbors
• clean the last bathroom
• attempt to find coming home outfit for myself that does not involve yoga pants
• accept the fact that coming home outfit will definitely include yoga pants
• con Steve into rubbing lotion on my feet every night so that I don't scare doctor with paleolithic scales on my rough feet
• eat the rest of the chocolate so I am not tempted after Second Baby is born
• pre-make birth announcements for both genders so that all I have to do is insert newborn photo
• waste another hour of my life in line at the post office to stock up on stamps
• call my mom to warn of nesting symptoms
• breathe
• squeeze my baby
• enjoy my husband
• sleep 

Thanks in advance for your advice on the postpartum supports!

Maybe I should mention this child that's taking up valuable real estate in my abdominopelvic cavity

My brain is in a funk. And I'm not quite sure what to blame it on- pregnancy? Steve's field training? this stupid cold? a lack of chocolate? Ok, you caught me. There has been no lack of chocolate. Not since I rediscovered the peanut-butter chocolate Dove candies that Sam sent me for Christmas. (Sam, they are totally delicious and I cannot eat any less than four pieces at a time. My hips are starting to give you the evil eye. Second Baby says "thanks" though.)

There seems to be a lot going on with Steve's job right now, and that's kinda the only thing on my mind. But I don't wanna write about it. I can't write about it. So I'm left wondering what to write about. Because I gotta write about SOMETHING. I always feel better when I write something. But topics are hard to come by in this clunky gray matter of mine. Should I discuss: the injuries Sam has incurred since Steve's training began? The number of times I've eaten Cheerios for dinner these past few weeks? How ridiculous these Hypnobabies tracks sound to me the second time around? How few excuses we have to leave the house these days? The reality that since I got new yoga pants last weekend, I have yet to wear any other pants?

He is always so encouraging of the things I do. And he isn't hard on the eyes either, hm?

Obviously my brain is really hitting a blah note right now.

I'll just go ahead and update you on Second Baby. I have not been giving her/him the spotlight s/he deserves.

Let's see, I am still unaware of the sex of this baby. And nope, this is not a point of stress for me. Got the gender-neutral baby setup all under control and ready.

I am now 34 weeks along. My doctor recently asked me if I was ready to meet my baby soon and I told her that I was nowhere near ready yet. I told her that I was pregnant with my son for at least two years, and I don't think I've been pregnant with this child but five weeks. She looked at me and said that NO ONE says that. EVERYONE is ready to get the baby out, preferably early. I told her that I will have none of that. I will CHERISH my last six weeks of (mostly) sleeping straight through the night and I have no desire to meet this child any earlier than my due date. I will literally have ugly things to say to the person that calculated my due date if this baby comes any earlier than March 25. I'll be happy when you arrive kiddo, but I am really going to miss my sleep.

I refuse to reveal how much weight I have gained. I'm really bad at math anyway and the numbers to subtract from are really high, and how SAD is it when you need calculators to figure that sort of thing out? I am happier being ignorant on the matter.

I actually had a few contractions the other day. Sam and I were visiting a friend and her child at their house about a mile or so away. We lost track of time and I looked at the clock and suddenly realized that I needed to get home to feed Sam dinner. So I booked it back home, anxious to get this kid to bed on time. Apparently Second Baby has an aversion to exercise because s/he was all, "Slow it down! Don't make me come out to remind you!" I never had contractions with Sam until it was Go-Time, so it was really weird for me. I didn't know whether I should keep walking or sit down on the side of the road. I ended up getting home and everything settled down. But this does not provide much incentive for me to power-walk or do any other sort of strenuous exercise outside of hauling the small person up and down the stairs. Side note: I really hate stairs. And I have no friggin' clue how I'm going to work out the logistics of getting two tiny people up and down them all day long. Sam does not seem at all interested in learning to climb (he has taken a tumble or two down a couple of stairs and developed a healthy fear of climbing too high) and getting him to go DOWN the stairs seems downright laughable. I have a feeling that I need to bust out that Moby wrap and learn how to tie a good knot.

So, my question for you mamas with more than one child: What should I be doing during these last few weeks that will soon become much harder (or potentially impossible) with two children? I mean, besides sleeping. I am obviously on top of the sleep around here. And eating all of the chocolate.

Finally getting around to preparing for Second Baby

Yep, we're kinda slow to get the ball rolling over here when it comes to baby prep. With Sam, we moved right before we had him, but we still had his little room all set up and *perfect* weeks before his birth. Of course, he slept in it a grand total of about two weeks before we moved again, so that was obviously well worth the time and effort we spent getting everything "just so."

In our apartment in VA, weeks before Sam's birth

This time around, we have opted to re-gift Second Baby with all of Sam's gender-neutral baby things (complete with bite marks and stained sheets!) and give Sam a new room (since we are well aware of his gender by now and can decorate accordingly). So I ordered a crib, but did not want to spend a ton of money on a changing table or dresser. My thoughts all along were to find a low dresser that I could put a changing pad on top of, thus eliminating the need for yet another piece of furniture. So off to craigslist I went! You know what they say about craigslist... "If you search it, you will find."
While it is not the most quality piece of furniture (read, not solid wood like I would have LOVED to find), it does match the color of the new crib perfectly. It's clean and not fussy or detailed, and it works perfectly for diaper changes.

Obviously there is still a lot of decorating to do in Sam's new room, but I will get to that eventually. My main focus right now is to figure out what to put on the walls. Besides paint. Because I refuse to paint our walls. Painting them once means I will have to paint them twice (again when we move out), and as much as I hate painting, I just don't feel it's worth it to put that effort in. I would much rather put giant, gaping holes in the walls.

AUsome Aubie mobile that my mom scored for me. It plays the fight song. How. PERFECT.

Help me with this please? This sweet little table and chair cost me all of five fingers as it was lying by the side of the road on trash day, so I scooped it up with grand plans on how I could paint it and make it cute. It was clearly well-loved by its previous owner (a green marker enthusiast), but I am trying to figure out the best way to refinish it so that it works for us. The OBVIOUS choice would be to paint it some sort of orange and blue combination, but I don't want to get too crazy with the Auburn in this room (try to stifle your laughter if you think I've already gone overboard with the rug and mobile- that is NOTHING). The other idea screaming in my head is to do the top of the table in chalkboard paint. Which brings this recently pinned image to mind.

via Pinterest

Okay, so it looks like I've got one vote for the chalkboard paint. Let me know what you think should be done to this little set!

In other news, I fished out all of Sam's newborn clothes and swaddling blankets yesterday. Most of the clothes are usable since we received gender-neutral things before Sam was born. But there are a couple of definite "boy" outfits in the mix, and I thought, what the heck, I may as well wash these too and use them. Because IF I DON'T, surely I will have a day where the child pukes or poops through every other outfit I have available and I will be left with no clothes to put on him/her. That is obviously the worst-case scenario, but I can see it happening, so I'll go ahead and wash the baseball onesie that says "Cute Little Guy" on it just in case. I will just have to keep reminding myself that it's a girl.

IF it's a girl. I'm not trying to send out subliminal messages that I know the gender already or anything. Because I don't. No one does. At my appointment last week, the doctor guessed it was a girl. But that was based on the heart rate, not on an ultrasound image. So take that "news" with a grain of salt.

Everyone tells me it's a girl. I don't know why they say that, unless they figure that since I already have a boy, it is only logical to have a girl next. I will (obviously) be happy either way. But my secret wish (fueled by my thriftiness and fear of sassy teenagers) is for a boy. I have everything it takes to raise a boy! Trucks! Legos! Trains! I know what comes with the boy territory as far as taking care of their privates after birth and I have the CLOTHES for a little boy. That feels very familiar and safe and (in my head) I am well-equipped to deal with it all.

Girls, however, are a bit of an unknown. I really hate princess-y stuff and pink pink PINK, and I really don't want to EVER deal with a teenage version of myself. And definitely not a teenage version of myself AND Steve. Makes me a little sweaty just thinking about it.

Of course I will love a little girl just as much as I will love a little boy, don't get me wrong. I know there are qualities about a girl that I would never experience with a boy, and they say the cutest things, and they like to dress up, and blah blah blah. You don't need to try and sell me on a girl. I PROMISE you that I will love her like a son. Heh.

On the pregnancy front, I am 31 weeks into this game and am now required to visit my doctor every two weeks and that just feels like such a waste of everyone's time. My numbers are ALWAYS perfect. The baby's heart rate is ALWAYS good. And the drive from my house to the hospital is ALWAYS longer than my actual appointment. I wish I could just weigh myself, take my own blood pressure, pee in a cup, and call in my results to her every two weeks. Sounds lazy, I know. But this office does not allow children, so every time I have to go in for an appointment, I have to find a babysitter, write out schedules for different scenarios that Sam might throw at the babysitter, put on REAL clothes (ugh!), and waste time going over things that feel pointless.

Of course, during my most recent appointment, I left Sam with a good friend and was so relaxed leaving him with her, that I secretly hoped that the doctor was running behind. Free time to just SIT in PEACE. Ahh.

But no. I got there fifteen minutes before my appointment time and got called back ten minutes early! Whaa?? I barely read the table of contents in this magazine! I need to read this article about five ways to banish belly flab! Seriously! Look at me! There's going to be a lot of leftover belly flab! But the nurse isn't taking no for an answer, so I go get weighed (total downer), pee in my cup (I am getting SO good at this), and get my blood pressure taken. The doc comes in, tells me how great my numbers look, and sends me on my way! I briefly consider going back to my original seat in the waiting room and reading that article, but then I realize that I'm probably missing the only nap of the day, so I'd better get home and take advantage of that. Sure enough, he was sleeping. Probably only slept for about 30 minutes after I got home and was up until bedtime. <groan> These days are L-O-N-G when there is only one nap involved.

Tis the season to be pregnant

Remember Second Baby?

This picture is from long ago. Somewhere around 11 wks.

I know. Easy to forget about with THIS crawling around.

You SAID we were going to see Christmas lights.. Well?

Well we got to see him/her again this morning! Since my last ultrasound didn't go so smoothly, thanks to a funky position (baby's, not mine), I had to go back in for another one today so they could finish looking for everything they needed to see.


The ultrasound tech saw everything she needed to and sent us on our way- without a picture! So that kind of stunk. But we were able to leave Sam at home with a babysitter, so it was a nice 20 minutes of lying down without Whiney McWhine Pants gabbing about how bad he wants a Cheerio.

In other awesome news, this child is already head-down! Last month? Still breech, which really wasn't a huge concern since I was only 20 weeks. But this kid is already quite responsible and cooperative and is getting him/herself ready for the launch sequence ahead of schedule. I'm hoping this speaks good things about the type of child he/she might become. Cooperative? Easy-going? A desire to please?

Sam was breech until about two weeks before birth. I had to hang upside-down off the side of the couch and do weird exercises in order to get him to turn. But thankfully he finally did. And just like he was in-utero, Sam can sometimes be stubborn and strong-willed and wants to do things HIS way on HIS time. So since I only have one other child to go off of, I'm hoping that this non-breech situation is a good sign. And even if it's not, just let me have this moment.

I have to go in early next week for a regular appointment and I'm hoping that as a Christmas present, my doc won't make me step on the scale... What kind of person weighs pregnant ladies during the holiday season anyway?! I mean, I made a point of getting pregnant during the winter months so that there would be no swimsuit-wearing and I would feel less (?) guilty about having another Christmas cookie. It is my life's goal to never again have a baby in October. Because that means: spending an entire summer pregnant, sweating, and possibly in a swimsuit, and then trying to LOSE baby weight during the holidays, aka the one time of year there is really good food around. Talk about a screwed up year that would be.
So next week will be scary.

And to continue with the scary (because I am awesome with segues), I am turning into a true CRAZY PERSON and boarding the dogs here for Christmas. Just get a load of this:

Your pet deserves a vacation while you're on vacation. Why not let them enjoy a luxurious get-away in one of our private suites, complete with beds, water and food dishes and soothing music.

OMG. CRAZY.

Steve actually heard about this place while he was out with the dogs at the dog park (it's not really a dog park, just a sad section of chain-length fence, Ft Campbell) and he ran into a crazy dog lady. The type that would probably pay fifty smackers a night to board her dog with all of those wacky amenities. But she told him about this place and INSISTED that it was cheaper than boarding the dogs at the stables on post. When he first told me this, I was all, "AHAHAHA yeah RIGHT. I bet." And then he encouraged me to go ahead and at least look up the prices because it can't hurt to check.

And dammit the crazy dog lady was right. It's actually $3 cheaper per day. So even though it's not saving a TON of money, it's still saving money, and money is money and we really enjoy having extra of that, so we're boarding them there. But in case Odie or Marci asks, we're boarding them at this fancy little place because we LOVE them and want them to have a very merry Christmas even though we won't be with them.
Also? The receptionist tried to tell me they were booked solid until she heard that we are in possession of a PUG and then she was all, "Oh I think we DO have an extra room!" Heh. Sweet little face will get 'em every time.

Double the fun

Today was Babysit The Neighbor Day. It went surprisingly well. I will admit that I was very excited to watch this tiny baby while having Sam at home so I would have something to go off of as to how life might be once Second Baby comes in March. (HOLY COW THAT IS HAPPENING IN LESS THAN FOUR MONTHS. HOLD ME.)

Looks like I haven't lost my touch..

While I cannot predict the temperament of this upcoming baby, I was curious as to how Sam would react to the little blob. At first, he was not too happy about the situation. The baby was fussy when he came over and Sam was put off that I was paying this OTHER kid all of HIS attention. So he fussed and whined and got sent back to his crib to adjust his attitude. He came back down a little while later and continued to be perfectly normal for the rest of the day.


But I am starting to realize a few things that will instantly become more difficult once Second Baby comes. Funny you should ask! Well, for one, getting both of them up and down the stairs. The baby didn't seem to appreciate sitting down on his own, so I fished our front-load carrier out of the garage and stuck him in that. He was great in it. But I had to haul Sam out of crib with that thing on (and my ever-expanding belly), change Sam (praying the entire time that we all weren't going to take a golden shower), and then haul all four of us down the stairs. (Yes, I'm totally including Second Baby in that number because s/he is definitely making his/her presence KNOWN at this point.)

Lunchtime was another interesting point during the day. Oddly enough, we ALL felt like eating at 12:30. Go figure! Luckily I had a lot of finger foods for Sam so I could give the really scream-y kid the bottle. And then I put the baby in Sam's old bouncy seat and he LOVED it. (Richmond Craigslist, I cannot sing your praises enough!) Sam was pretty interested in it too. He kept going over there and checking everything out, touching the little animals, and looking just like a BIG BROTHER OMG.

 
I was really shocked at how well he did. He played so well around the baby, only tried stealing his pacifier twice, and never got jealous when I was holding the baby instead of playing with him. THIS GIVES ME HOPE.

But it's not even the idea of two kids that scares me. Or getting them both up and down the stairs. Or fed. Or changed. Or bathed. Or put to bed. Gosh, breastfeeding doesn't even have me worried at this point. What has me shaking in my boots and having mini panic attacks every time I think about it is the lack of sleep that comes with a newborn. Oh sure, everyone ELSE'S newborns are only waking up something like twice a night (I think I go to the bathroom more often than that NOW), but Sam just never slept at that age. (And I'm the type of person who deeply cherishes her SLEEP.) He was up every. single. hour. And then refused to be put down just any ol' way. You had to do this magic act of slowly sliding him off your arm and into a swing (!!!) and then turn it on and make sure it was set on the ocean noises because OMG if someone left it on the song setting from earlier he was just going to FLIP HIS LID and punish me for that by wailing for another half hour. And I know whenever Steve was putting him down in the swing, he would literally hover over him and make shushing noises for something like five minutes straight just to be sure that the sleep "took." UGH I'm just not a newborn person. Today was fine, perfectly fine, because it was someone else's kid, and I could look at the clock and think that I only had 2 hours left and then I would be DONE. But that is not real life!

So all of THAT to say that after today's experience, I'm feeling reassured that I can, in fact, handle two kids at once, and still get stuff done. (Like those three loads of laundry and that baked chicken? DONE.) But I also take that feeling with a grain of salt, because I had a nice chunk of sleep in me last night, and I don't think real life will be so kind.

Today I cross off #44

I finally made bread. From scratch. I've been making bread for a few weeks, but in a cheating sort of way. I was using this... Lord I'm even embarrassed to post the link because it BLATANTLY states that you basically dump everything in a bowl and then bake it. Not exactly "homemade."
Although it did have a very Old Testament look to it, which made me feel quite a bit like Ma from Little House On The Prairie.

Not to mention it was about a frazillion times better than any bread I've ever bought at the store. So simple! Cheaper than buying ready-made bread! Tastes amazing!
Yet I was still feeling like a bit of a fraud "making" bread out of this box.

So after a quick trip to the grocery store today, I bit the bullet and made some honest-to-goodness bread FROM SCRATCH.
I used my cousin's recipe since it looked pretty simple and the directions were (almost!) idiot-proof.

Questions (these are most likely to be seen in the next edition of The Complete Idiot's Guide To Making Bread):

1. What kind of yeast does "yeast" mean? I saw ActiveDry and Rapid Rise Active. I had no clue which was more appropriate for bread so I flipped a coin and got ActiveDry.

2. I cannot be held responsible to determine whether the bread has had enough flour or not. It looks sticky but is not sticking to the sides of the bowl, so... more flour? The lump of dough is all clumped around that dough hook and the mixer sounds like it might be threatening to start an electrical fire if I don't knead this dough by hand... Looks done to me!

3. I felt like I should take before and after shots of the dough so I could determine whether it had doubled in size or not. It looked considerably bigger after a half hour, so I called it good and started on the next step.

4. Punching the dough left me feeling PRETTY stupid. Is there a technique to punching it? Do I punch it like I'm letting out some aggressions on the Army or like I'm fake-punching a friend? Or maybe something in between? How many times am I supposed to hit it? After I had beat that hunk of bread into submission, I divvied it up and set it in two pans.

This is where I think I might have made my fatal mistake. I halved the dough ball and then flattened each ball into the pans so that each of the balls were in a shape similar to the pan. But I think I might have done too much flattening, not enough punching, maybe vice versa, because those babies didn't come out nearly as fluffy as I had imagined.

HOWEVER. It is quite delicious. It's not going to win a blue ribbon at the county fair for its good looks, but I think a slice of this bread and a heapin' helpin' of peanut butter would get along just fine.

Now I'm not trying to imply that baking bread was anything less than scintillating, but Sam and I did a few other things today that are worth noting. (HA.) We made muffins this morning (call me Betty Crocker with all this baking I'm doing), played many rounds of trucks and blocks, made this with some ribbon,

It's for hanging Christmas cards! Someone send me a card so I can look at you while I grab my coffee mug and wonder how on earth you make your hair look so good.

went to the grocery store off post (yeowzah!), and had every intention of going to Mass tonight, but didn't. Since Steve randomly came home for about 8 hours last night, I waited up for him. Didn't quite think it would take him til 1am to get home, but what can I say? He's worth the wait. And since Sam hasn't developed any manners yet, he rudely woke us up at 7am, so I didn't get as much sleep as I've grown accustomed to. (I know, I know, Second Baby is fixing to murder me with a new sleep schedule.) So while Sam was playing with some toys in his room this afternoon, I passed out HARD in the glider and didn't wake up until he started smacking me on the knee and whining. (I think I slept for 3 minutes? Maybe 5?) I started to get us ready to go to church, but Sam started melting down and today was just NOT THE DAY for it. I didn't want to battle him during the entire Mass, only to come home and force-feed the overly-tired child dinner, and then get him ready for bed. I didn't have that much fight left in me at 4pm.

So I did what any crazy, half-asleep mom would do: We went for a drive. Usually that only works for calming newborns, but as long as Jason Aldean is serenading us, Sam is pretty sedate. We drove around some of the neighborhoods on post to check out Christmas decorations and finally drove by the Division Headquarters on our way back to the house.

And whaddaya know? They're fixin to retire the flag for the day! We turned around and went straight back to the parking lot to watch all of THAT go down. (Woohoo.) I've never actually been in the area when they take the flag down or put it up, so I was kind of interested to see what it was all about. Sam was singing the whole time, which, again... manners? Old Glory is going to bed and I guess Sam was singing her a lullaby.
They blasted this bugle music from the loudspeakers and then shot a cannon and it all had Sam's FULL attention. So naturally I wanna come do this everyday at 5 in order to offset the ugly witching hour.

So there you have it. Another fun-filled day here in Tuckassee. Tomorrow we are babysitting our newborn neighbor for about 8 hours straight. What can I tell you? The fun just NEVER stops around here.

Also? The fact that I somehow keep doing this cowlick to his hair everyday is all the more reason for Steve to hurry up and come home. Bless this poor child's heart (and hair).