On talking, reading, singing and talking some more

Last night I had an appointment after work, so on my way there, I called home to talk to Lester and the boys, who were playing a little before getting ready for dinner.

Lester put me on speaker-phone so I could talk to the boys. Cary just wanted to push the buttons and giggle, but Dean had something to say:

Dean: Hi, Muh-muh.

Me: Hi, Deanie!!

Dean: Mo racka? (Lester had given them crackers to tide them over before dinner, and Dean wanted more. Lester had already said "no" a thousand times. So now he's asking me.)

Me: You want more crackers?

Dean: Pre-pees. (For some reason, he always says "pretty please," even though no one seems to recall teaching him that.)

Me: No, sweetie. Daddy said the crackers are all gone. It's almost time for dinner.

Dean: Dinner. Ah-mose.

Me. That's right. It's almost time for dinner. Do you want some good dinner? Daddy's gonna give you dinner soon.

Dean: Nooooooo! No dinner!

(Lester, in the background: "Cary, do you want some dinner?" Cary: "Noooooooooooo!! Nooooooo! Pway! [play]")

Me: Ummm, OK, babe. Talk to you later. (I felt meltdowns coming on any second and, to be frank, the radio was rockin' in the car, and I much preferred some sweet tunes to the cacophony of screaming toddlers.)

I recount this little scene to point out that I had a fairly intelligible phone conversation with my not-yet 21-month old baby, the one who is actually the least talkative of the two.

This just goes to show you Moms of infant twins or twin-Moms-to-be (you know who you are, DCAngel and Wiley) that all the books that tell you that twins will likely be speech delayed, and that boys will likely be speech delayed, and that preemies will likely be speech delayed -- all those books don't know diddly.

Now, I'm not saying don't read the books. I read them and I continue to read them. I just ordered the next in the series of Ames books to help me understand year 2 for the boys. The books ARE helpful. But they are not the end-all, be-all.

YOU know your kid(s) better than anyone. And you can defy the odds (barring any actual developmental issues that need outside intervention) just by doing what comes naturally to you: loving your babies, reading constantly to them, talking to them not at them, repeating things 800 million times, etc. etc.

It fueled me every time I read that twins were likely to get HALF the attention that a single baby would get. It drove me to say, That's what you think, baby books! My boys are going to get DOUBLE the attention. Ha! Take that!

And so I made it my mission. I made my sister read to them in the NICU when she came to see them. My Nana laughed at us that we read to them at one week old. "Will you look at this?!" she cackled. "Reading books to them already!" We never designated a "storytime." Anytime was a good time to read. We play music (kids' songs) everyday, regardless of how sick we get of hearing them. We sing to them ALL the time. They see TV in the mornings, when we're getting ready for work ("Noose!" they demand, if we don't have the Today Show turned on fast enough) and during football games (Lester insists). But other than that, no TV. We are with them, doing things and talking about what we're doing, explaining and expounding and then explaining some more. It's exhausting, if I'm being honest. But it's important.

(Two months old, already dreaming about books:)

And I'm not patting myself on the back here -- there are a million things I could and should do better as a parent. (Oh, yes, sooo many things!) I'm just saying that we were determined to make their early years language-rich, and so we try really hard not to let ourselves lapse in that area.

It goes to show you that determination can pay off!

Now...enter Curve Ball in a few weeks.

Will we have the energy to do it all over again?? Seriously, when I say that all that talking/reading/repeating/explaining/singing is exhausting, I mean it. How will we ever muster the energy to do this all again??

"Yes, CurveBall. That's a spoon. A spoon. Do you see the spoon? You have a blue spoon. We eat with a spoon. Mmmm. Eat! Do you want your spoon? Cary has a spoon. Dean has a spoon, too. Let's hold your spoon. Do you want to read the fun book we read yesterday about the dish running away with the spoon? Let's get the book and read it. Book. Mommy will go get the book. Mommy LOVES to read books. Do you like books?"

Lordhavemercy. I'm tired just thinking about it.

I pray I have the energy, the strength, the wherewithal to do for my ONE child what I did (and continue to do) for the two first-borns.

Which is why I ordered ... two books about that! :-)

36 weeks ...and the clock is ticking

I am officially 9 months pregnant, as of today!

This is mind-boggling to me, since I only made it to 8 months with Cary and Dean, and I thought I was going to die from exhaustion and discomfort then.

I'm prayerful that she will stay in as long as necessary to be healthy and ready to be in the outside world. And of course I am fretting about how having a newborn will upset the entirety of my life -- and that of everyone in my house, too.

But it sure feels good to know that I won't have to be pregnant too much longer. I'm at the point where getting out of bed -- especially with a full bladder (which is a given) -- takes real effort. Grunting, groaning, rolling, physical effort. Bending is out of the question. Stairs are like mountains.

Curve Ball is a huge solid mass, taking up almost all the space in my core. There's so little room that when I have to pinch some fat to give myself an insulin injection, it really has gotten incredibly difficult, and I end up injecting wherever I can. She's head down, and has been for a couple weeks. She's low, low, low, and is creating incredible pressure on my groin area. Sometimes, it's hard to walk because of all the pressure. I'm tired and somewhat grouchy and I want to EAT A BROWNIE, fer crying out loud!!

But I am also fascinated and enamored with the evidence of her little heel, scraping across my ribcage. She often pokes her little foot up and I can't believe that that is my daughter's little foot -- right there, announcing itself so severely and sweetly at the same time.

I keep peeking in her room (which I hope will be done soon so I can post photos) and I can't help but smile. She has a room! She has tiny little clothes! She has a teddy bear!

My mom is throwing a little baby shower for me this weekend -- so small we're calling it a "sprinkle" -- and I am excited to see some friends and family, and open up little boxes of sweet girl clothes. Once I get all that stuff, I'll wash everything I've gotten -- both new and handed-down -- and put her things away in her drawers.

(Two things she's already gotten from her very giddy father, who, by the way, did not buy his sons one item of clothing when I was carrying them! Not one. But his little daughter?? Well, she must have a little bathtime bunting with ducks on it, and a pink sleeper bearing a cupcake! She just must!)

And then, at some point, we really do have to figure out what's happening with the car seat situation. But other than those last few things, we are ready for our lovebug.

Our house is ready. My body is more than ready.

And my heart ...well, I think my heart has been ready before I ever knew she existed.

Argh! And aaaaaaaah! And waaaaaaah!

I am so super tired, with so much to do at work, and so OVER all of the monitoring sessions and appointments that take up my entire mornings (leaving me with even MORE work to do at work), I don't know what to do.

Seriously, I feel like I want to scream!

And then sleep for 12 hours. Or 24. Good grief, I'm tired.

I had things I wanted to say about the boys, and how funny and cute they are -- especially when I say things about the baby coming and their response is "No, please!" -- and I was going to post about how Curve Ball refused to practice breathing at today's monitoring session, making the docs stretch the appointment out for an additional hour, and I was going to talk about how I am a crazy person and am trying to help plan my sister's baby shower before I pop this baby out, which would have led into a list of all the many friends I have who are pregnant (it's really quite remarkable, at my age, especially)...and on and on.

But I am so pooped, and my mind so scattered, and seriously, WHY am I on this blog when I have SO much to do at work (have I said that already?)....

So...in light of all that pooped-ness and scatterbrain-ness and work, work, work, work, work -- I will just end this stream-of-consciousness here and get back to blogging at some later date.

Later, y'all.

35 weeks and counting

Today I am 35 weeks.

Exciting! I remember being 34 weeks pregnant with the boys and hoping to make it to 36 weeks. Didn't happen, but the boys turned out fine. That makes me feel better, as I am hoping to keep little Miss Missy tucked in until at least 37-38 weeks. But if it doesn't happen, I have every confidence that she'll be fine. (Check out optimistic me!)

Yesterday in the doctor's office, I met a woman who was waiting for her 6-week post-delivery appointment. She had her little baby with her, and when I say "little" baby, boy do I mean it. Apparently, she was born a month early, and 6 weeks later is just now fitting into newborn clothes! She weighed 3 lbs. 11 oz. when she was born. Can you imagine? Talk about a doll baby!

This makes me understand why people are always like "Wow, you did so well!" when I tell them that Cary was 4 lbs. 4 oz. and Dean was 4 lbs. 10 oz. -- even at 5 weeks early. I'm pretty sure it was all the fattening up I did of them during the early part of my pregnancy, when I was stuffing my face with any and everything. I wonder how big they would have been if I had actually made it to 36 weeks!

Curve Ball, of course, also will not be too shabby in the weight department (for an entirely different reason) but I'm less worried now, for some reason, that she'll be a sumo wrestler. Somehow, I've calmed down a little bit about it, and I just think she'll be bigger than she might have been without the diabetes, but not so big as to be a major, major issue. This is just my gut telling me this. (I hope I can depend on my gut.) I also hope she won't have low blood sugar upon delivery and have to go to the NICU. My gut is silent on that issue right now. But I'm so hoping for a normal post-delivery experience, where I get to keep my baby with me in my room and snuggle and practice nursing (at least until I need to get some sleep, when I will promptly send her chunky self to the nursery for a few hours. Don't judge me! Ain't no shame in that, folks!)

Anyway - we do another growth scan next Thursday, and then the following Monday, we'll have the conversation with both the perinatologist and the OB about delivery. So we are really getting close.

In fact, we're getting so close that I have started to think about how -- if in any way -- we should be preparing Cary and Dean for the complete obliteration of life as they know it. I have not really given this much thought at all up until now, but I guess I should be doing something, right? Should I buy a children's book?

Does anyone have good thoughts about how to help older siblings (who are still very much babies) be OK with getting a new baby sister? All ideas considered.

34 weeks, 5 days

Today I hit the 34 week, 5 day mark in my pregnancy. This day is significant because on this day two years ago, I had just given birth to two tiny little baby boys. They were outside of me, in the great, big world, breathing on their own, alive and well and healthy. But no longer solely mine.

So, assuming I make it through the next hour and 10 minutes, I will have crossed over into new territory; I will have been pregnant longer than I ever have before.

So now that I've made it, I can make a prediction about her birth.

My due date is Feb. 28th. But I'm predicting she'll come (either on her own or medically induced) between Feb. 16th and 20th. Anyone else have a good guess?

Meanwhile, my friend Stacey came over this weekend and gave me a lot of adorable baby things she doesn't need anymore, like a baby swing, which we didn't have for the boys, because there was no room in this little house for two swings. The swing looks so sweet; I can't wait to see my little honeypie in it!

Stacey also knows that I am a total NUT about the fact that Curve Ball is being born in one of the coldest months of the year. I have serious, undeniable craziness when it comes to babies being cold -- or merely thinking that babies just might be cold. One day I'll tell you about how I wrapped my children in swaddling blankets and footie pajamas and socks and onesies because of the air conditioning in the house -- in the middle of May!

Anyway, to prepare for this winter baby, my friend Stacey gave me these adorable little boots that once belonged to her own little baby:


So at least I can feel comfortable knowing that her little toes will be warm and toasty.
Thanks, Stacey!

Countdown to 34 weeks, 6 days....

Curveball photos (as promised)

Sooo much going on at work the next couple weeks, I am seriously dizzy from trying to keep it all straight.

I'm in between conference calls right now, so I thought I'd just post these two photos really quickly, since I promised to do it yesterday.

First, Curveball at 33 weeks, 6 days:



I think she looks like Dean, but Michelle (our babysitter) thinks she looks a lot like Cary. Go figure.
Lester said, "Why does she look angry? Is she going to be an angry baby?"
Lord, I hope not. I am praying for "quiet, sweet, compliant, happy and loves-to-sleep" baby. Is that too much to ask?

And here is the centerpiece of the design of Curveball's room. This took me about 90 minutes to do, and I didn't even put up all the pieces. There are other decals that I will eventually put strategically around the room, in bare spots -- along with some framed photos, etc. -- but I don't want it to look too junked-up with stuff, so I'll have to think carefully about where everything goes.

Once the valance is up, and I have her bedding, and the other decals are in place, I'll take shots of the full room, so you can see the whole thing.
But for now -- the Tree of Happy Babyness!

I realize now that I probably could have put it up a little higher, as there are leaves and flowery-things that get hidden by her crib. But I have mentioned here before that I am short, so this was as good as it was gonna get, without a ladder. And I was in no mood for ladders on Monday when I did this, especially not with a head cold and a baby on my bladder.

Anyway, despite it being too low on the wall, I think it turned out pretty cute, eh?
I can't wait until the whole thing is done!

OK...that's all I have time for today, except to say again how much I enjoyed my brunch and conversation with Beth on Sunday. I hope 2012 brings more meetings with more blogfriends! If you all are as awesome as Beth, I am in for a TREAT!

Weekend re-cap

I left my cell phone at home and Lester gave me his cold over the weekend, so I'm discombobulated and out of sorts and that means this blog post will be super short.

Weekend re-cap:

Saturday, my sugars were out of control and I felt wiped out the entire day, so I stayed on the couch most of the time and found creative ways to entertain the boys from there.

Sunday, I met up with Beth!!!!! We had brunch and dished about marriage and babies and life, and it was so much fun. She's sooo great. I'm so glad I started this blog so I could meet people like her! Did we take any pictures, you ask? Ummm...of course we did not. We were too busy stuffing our faces and laughing.

Sunday, late evening, I started feeling like I was getting sick. I tried to ignore it. Then, as I'm lying in bed watching Fair Game (a movie about the Valerie Plame story), I started having back-to-back Braxton Hicks. By the time I started counting them, I got up to NINE in an hour.
So I called the on-call doctor, who said to drink a ton of water and watch it for two more hours, and if there were six or more into the third hour, to come to Labor and Delivery. The next hour there were six. And the next hour, I have no idea, because it was way past my bedtime and I fell asleep. I don't think there were that many, though, but I did have to get up and pee 8,000 times because of all the water I drank. 15 contractions in two hours? Weird, right? I have no idea what that was all about.

I was glad that I had monitoring the next day, so I could get a cervix check.

Monday, I was full-blown sick. I went to my monitoring session at the perinatal center feeling headachey and sore-throaty and generally sore. I slept so hard through monitoring, I actually snored. (Embarrassing!) But at least my cervix looks good (nice and closed) and the baby seems fine. I even got a new picture of her where I think she looks like Dean.

Did I bring the picture to scan here? No, of course I did not. Sigh.

Being sick was annoying because I had big plans for Monday, including finally taking down Christmas decorations and putting up some of the decorations in Curve Ball's room. But I slept most of the day (this is the benefit of having an awesome husband) and when I woke up, I was feeling sluggish and unmotivated.

But... Lester took the boys to the grocery store and I just couldn't waste that alone time, no matter how poorly I felt. So I rushed, rushed, rushed and took down just about all the Christmas decorations (don't ask if they're packed very well) and managed to straighten up the toys and miscellaneous stuff around the house while they were gone.

And then, when the boys went to sleep, I did manage to put up what will be the main centerpiece of decor in Curve Ball's room. It took more than 90 minutes to do, and there was a lot of reaching and bending and standing, so I gave up around 9:45 and came to bed.

I watched the last half of the Republican debate with Lester and afterwards was out like a light. And there's my weekend.

Did I take any pictures of Curve Ball's room? No, of course I didn't. But I'll post again tomorrow and I'll have a photo then. I promise.

So...tomorrow, a picture of Curve Ball and a picture of the progress I'm making in her room. But no picture of me and Beth. You'll just have to take my word for it that we both looked FABULOUS!

Office Baby Shower!

I really love my job. I've said it before -- how much I like having a job (even if it makes motherhood that much more challenging), and, more importantly, having THIS job. I truly enjoy the work that I do, and I have really, really great bosses and co-workers.

Case in point: They threw me a baby shower/luncheon today! At one of my favorite Indian restaurants!!!

I got a ton of stuff off my registry, including the lamp, wall art and changing pad cover that matches Curve Ball's bedding; an espresso-colored wicker basket set that includes a hamper and a wastebasket (to tone down all the cutesy-ness); a tummy time mat; sheets and a mattress pad cover for her bed; baby lotions and washes; and cute books!

They even bought Curve Ball her first Teddy Bear!


Awwww!

I am so touched and grateful! My co-workers are the best! (And the food was YUMMMMY!)

Plus, it was really sweet of them to invite Lester!


Now I am totally amped to go home and start decorating Curve Ball's room!!! One of my bosses said, "Weekend project?" Clearly she has no idea who she's dealing with. Ummm...all night long TONIGHT project!! Holla!

(I think I might have had a little too much chai...)

Maybe they aren't moving so fast after all!

Despite my pleas with everyone NOT to buy Cary and Dean anything that "sings, lights up, plays music, or requires batteries," for Christmas, my Dad insisted on giving them motorized cars!

Motorized cars that you sit in. And drive. Really fast.

I was flabbergasted. They're too little! I said. They aren't ready for that kind of thing! Maybe when they're 3?? Maybe? I begged my parents to hold on to the cars until their 2nd birthday, when they'll be a little bit bigger, slightly more mature, and the weather will be warmer so they can actually use them. Secretly, I don't want those darn cars even then, but I was trying to compromise.

Unfortunately, my Dad never won any awards for his compromising skills. Bless his heart.

So Cary and Dean got big, loud, really fast, motorized cars for Christmas.


My Dad was so excited. He couldn't wait to put the boys on the cars and whoooosh them around the kitchen on Christmas Day.

Needless to say, my two little, not-yet-2-year-olds were terrified of them. Absolutely terrified.

Even today, when Cary sees them at my parents' house he says, "Car. Dranddad. Push! Noooooo!" and runs away.

Meanwhile, my mom found two little schoolbuses at the local CVS and gave them to the boys last weekend when I was there, and Cary and Dean barely let those things out of their sight. Guess what I told Mom and Dad to buy the boys for Christmas? A fire truck. And a school bus.

I'm not one to say 'I told you so,' but....(clears throat) (clears throat again)...

At first my Dad was a little bit hurt, I think. He really was so excited about those contraptions.

But then, this past weekend, he found something lying around in his garage that is a little more Cary and Dean's speed:



Scooters! They love 'em! And look how slow they go! Yay! This is more Mommy's speed, too.

Bonus -- Scooters don't make noise. And...these ones stay at my parents'! Whooo-hooo!

Note: You get to see some of my crazy (and wonderful) nieces and nephews in this shot, including my 6-year-old niece Aminah, who is so desperate to be in the shot that she waves her hands in front of the phone, and then, when that doesn't work, does a cartwheel! Such a 6-year-old move! Gotta love the aplomb on that girl.

Moving out of the way -- a little too fast

There's a saying among my aunties and Grandmas and their friends about babies and walking.

When a child starts walking, they usually say, in a knowing voice, "Mmmm-hmmm. Getting out of the way for the next one."

Meaning, somehow the child intrinsically knows that Mommy is going to need to free up her arms for a new baby -- either one who is already cooking, or who is soon to be created. So the child starts walking, making carrying him or her around less and less necessary.

This certainly turned out to be true in my case. I found out I was pregnant at the end of June, and Cary and Dean started walking 4th of July weekend. You should have heard the clucking among all my female relatives. Their truism had been proven right again: Cary and Dean were "getting out of the way for the next one."

Since then, they have been making strides toward independence steadily and impressively. They can go up and down stairs on their own, and have even started -- unprompted -- trying to navigate stairs on two feet, instead of on all fours. They are doing much better about using a fork at dinner. They have started saying "poop," and pointing to their diapers, after pooping. (Yes, I know that is closing the barn door after the horses are out, but it shows they are aware of their bodily functions and have a name for them -- one step closer to potty-training.) They understand more and more, and their language skills constantly blow my mind! Cary and Dean both use time-related words like "after" and "almost," which is really advanced (in my opinion), and Cary has started saying things like, "Mommy, too" when he wants me to join in a fun game of twirl around the room until you're so dizzy you fall down, or some such. And Dean said, "Wuv you," to me two nights ago on his way up the stairs for his bath -- without me saying it first or asking him to say it. He just said it. On his own. As Cary blew me kisses. Ummm, color me wrapped around their little chubby fingers! I absolutely swooned. They are amazing.

They've even started doing things that are developmentally appropriate, but scary! Trying to walk down the stairs, instead of crawl, as I mentioned, is one thing. Be still my heart!
But the worst is the running. Oh, the running.

Here's a story for you:

This weekend, I took the boys by myself to my parents' house so Lester could paint Curve Ball's room (the green turned out really pretty and not Mountain Dewy at all!! Yay!) On Sunday, I decided to stop off at my Granddad's house in DC to visit him, since I hardly ever get to see him and he's 96 and lives alone, and loves, loves, loves to see the boys. I pulled up in front of the house, and got the boys out of the car one-by-one. I took their hands to walk them up Granddad's front steps, and they BOTH refused. "Nooooo!" they yelled. "No. No. No!"
No amount of pleading, cajoling or bribing could get them up the porch steps.
So I decided to walk up the steps myself to put all my bags down and I just sucked it up: I was going to have to carry them (as hard as it is for me right now to do that) one-by-one up the steps.
As I turned to come down the steps, both boys took. off. running. I hobbled down the stairs as fast as I could, but not nearly fast enough to prevent both toddlers from running INTO THE STREET!
Granddad lives in the city, not on some suburban cul-de-sac. And they ran, not into the narrow street that Granddad lives on, but into the cross street, a hugely-busy, wide main thoroughfare, that is normally teeming with speeding cars.
My heart literally was pounding out of my chest. I SCREAMED at them to stop, but this - of course - just made them laugh, as they ran down the middle of the street at top speeds, one straight down the middle, the other veering off at an angle.
I honestly thought I was going to lose it.
Me and my big pregnant belly, tired and sluggish and unable to move quickly -- running after these two boys who had somehow gotten super-quick, seemingly overnight! It was horrible.
I finally caught up to them, and had to basically drag them back up the street. They were both fighting me and pulling away; Cary even sat down in the middle of the street at one point. I had to use real force to get them out of the street and onto the sidewalk.
And then, I eventually had to muster the strength to pick them BOTH up at one time, one tucked under my right arm, the other under my left. They kicked and cried and fought against me! It was a real struggle, and one I've honestly never experienced before with them. By the grace of God, I was able to heave and pant and plod my way into my Granddad's house, where I literally dropped them both -- crying and angry -- on the floor.
And then I burst into tears.

Praise God (seriously) that there were NO cars coming down the street in either direction (this is really unheard of). And Praise God neither the boys nor I fell during this scary scene.

Later that night, Lester and I made a joint decision that I can no longer go out by myself with them while a million months pregnant. And I'm fine with that. I don't need a scare like that again anytime soon. Lord knows I don't. Ugh! (Thinking about it now still makes my heart race.)

As I look back on that day, and their ability to RUN away from me, I see that they really are getting bigger, stronger, faster, and more willful and independent. In other words, getting out of the way for the next baby.

I know I'm going to need to focus on Curve Ball when she gets here, and that I'll need them to be big boys who help Mommy, not hinder me, while I'm trying to take care of a wriggly, screaming, needy newborn.

But I have to say: I liked it so much better when Cary and Dean wanted nothing more than to stand right by my side, holding my hand, happily following Mommy's lead.

I know this is natural. And necessary.

But I already miss them. Their little hands in mine. Their baby-ness. Their needing me.

It may be true that they may have to move out of the way for their little sister.

But I wish they didn't have to move so fast -- and so far.

Save me from car seat h-e-double-hockey-sticks!

So, our babysitter Michelle has a Volkswagen Jetta. It's a very cute little car, but it is proving to be very inconvenient for us, as we prepare to welcome Baby No. 3 into our family. Darn tiny German cars!!

Here's the issue:

When Curve Ball gets here, we will need to fit three car seats in her car, for the times when she has to take all three kids somewhere (probably not often), and especially for when the boys start preschool in the fall and she has to pack up Curve Ball to go pick them up. (It's a half-day program).

Right now, she has the boys still in their infant seats -- rear-facing. But they'll obviously need to move to convertible seats ASAP. We already bought two for our own car. We have been holding off on purchasing two more for her car, until we could figure out how we would possibly get three car seats in the back of her car. But it's getting down to the wire. We have to make a decision and start ordering soon.

Michelle's backseat is only about 46 or 47 inches across.

Even with our slightly wider CRV, we still had to buy a whole new vehicle to be able to accommodate three car seats. As great as she is to us, I don't think Michelle is buying a minivan anytime soon.

So I've been researching "narrow car seats" on the Internets. My head is spinning from all the research! So far, what I've found is that parents and reviewers alike all say the Sunshine Kids Radian seats are the narrowest on the market, and still very safe. Many parents even say you can fit three of them across in the back of a mid-sized car. I was so excited to read that (all my problems solved!), until I realized that:

1) We need to fit two convertible car seats and one infant seat/carrier in the back. Looking at the dimensions of all three, the math will never, ever work. Even when I do my version of math, which is fuzzy to say the least.
2) The least expensive Radian is more than $200. The one everyone seems to say is the narrowest is $300!!! And we have to buy two of 'em!! Maybe three of 'em!! (See point number 3).
3) To make this work, we may have to put Curve Ball in a convertible seat from birth, so we can fit three across. Is this even safe? I am so used to seeing my babies all snug in their plush infant carrier seats, I cringe at the thought of a tiny baby in a big ole tall, industrial-looking convertible seat.
4) Also, we were not planning on buying a stroller for a while; instead we intend to just use the Snap 'n Go. That means we need to have an infant carrier to snap in it! You cannot snap a convertible car seat in a Snap 'n Go, people! So if we do end up having to buy Curve Ball a convertible seat, that also means having to buy a darn stroller! Mo money, mo money, MO MONEY!
5) Even with all this rumination, I still am not 100-percent positive that any of these scenarios will work to fit three seats in her specific car, because you really have to physically try them out to make sure. Which means ordering a bunch of million-dollar seats to test them. And then what happens if they don't work? Can you send them back? URGH!
6) All this needs to be figured out really really soon, as we will need the infant car seat currently in Michelle's car to bring Curve Ball home from the hospital, leaving her with only one car seat for the boys. And as previous posts have discussed, CB's arrival could be sooner rather than later. We just don't know.

As I said: me = head spinning!!!

I am going to post all the pertinent dimensions here for any blogfriends who are scientifically (ahem, LauraC!) or mathematically (ahem E. Wiley!) inclined, to see if any of you have ideas. Or anyone else for that matter. I'll take any and all solutions. I am starting to have nightmares about car seats!

Here goes:

Michelle's backseat = 47 inches across total
Each bucket-y type seat is 18 inches wide. The mid section is 11 inches.

Both the Sunshine Kids Radian 80SL (less expensive, but still not cheap) and the Sunshine Kids XTSL (mega-expensive) appear to have these dimensions: 16 x 17 x 28.5
(We're front-facing them now, even though they're not quite 2.)

Our Graco 35 infant car seat has dimensions of: 15.6 x 18.7 x 30.7 (Keep in mind this is rear-facing, FYI.)
The base of the Graco 35 has dimensions of : 17.13 x 9.45 x 23.46

I'm imagining putting the two convertible seats on either side of the Graco, with the Graco in the middle, as the middle is the safest part, no? But I'm not opposed to positioning them some other way, if that way works better.

Any advice???

Thanks.

Signed,

Considering strapping one kid to the roof if I have to
Baltimore, Md.

32 week check-up for Curve Ball

I had a marathon morning.

First stop, a growth scan (ultrasound) at the perinatologist. Then, fetal monitoring, also at the perinatal center. Then, an OB appointment.

I'm sleepy from all that doctoring!

Here's the long and short of my visits:

Curve Ball is still big -- plenty big. She's looking on the ultrasound to be about 4 lbs. 13 oz., which is insane. At this point, most babies are somewhere around 3 lbs. 8 oz., which is about what she was last visit. Four weeks ago.

(And that is already bigger than either Cary or Dean were at birth!)

I keep getting visions in my head of the Stay Puft marshmallow man growing in my uterus. Oy.

The good news is, somehow, the doctors said that her rate of growth appears to have slowed a tad, and her abdomen (although still large) isn't AS large as it was, proportionately speaking.

So, the insulin is working! Now I just have to keep it up, so that her growth slows even more. Let's hope I'm able to pull that off.

Fetal monitoring was uneventful. I started a new book and dozed a little bit while it was going on.

And the OB and I had a good discussion about possible scenarios around delivery of this baby, since she is a chubster.

Although the doctor used words like "avoiding an obstetric catastrophe," which still are bouncing around in my head, actually she didn't stress me out or make me worried. I think that's the sign of a good doctor.

The bottom bottom line is that we'll know more about how Curve Ball is likely to be delivered around 36 weeks. But it's pretty unlikely they'll let me go into labor naturally. It's looking like either an induction, or a C-section. And possibly between 37 and 39 weeks.

How curious is it that I delivered TWO babies vaginally, but will probably have to deliver this ONE baby by C-section?

This is yet another thing to file under the "You Just Never Know What Life Has in Store for You" file.

That file in my house, by the way, is overflowing.

Benefits of a big boy room

I had a hard time sleeping last night (I think because I watched "Inside Job" before going to bed and was internally seething the whole night through), so I was in a total coma this morning when the boys woke up at 6:20. I didn't hear them at all!

I did hear Lester get out of the bed and leave the room, I assumed to head to the bathroom, but when he came back in, he got back in the bed, but left the light on in the boys' room.

"Hey. Why's the light on in the boys' room?" I asked, assuming it was 3 a.m. and he had just lost his mind.

"Because they're awake. It's 6:20," he said.

I was totally confused. How is it possibly 6:20? I JUST fell asleep. Also, how are the boys awake? It's completely quiet in their room. Where is the screaming?

"What are they doing?" I asked. "You just left them in their cribs?"

"No," Lester said, pulling the covers up over his head. "They're playing on the floor."

Whuh? My two high-maintenance boys? Playing? In their room? Without me? Without screaming?

This, I had to see.

So I dragged myself out of bed and peeked in their room.

This is what I found:


Adorable babies, in footie pajamas, with their Loveys on their heads (I told you they do that all the time and I have no idea why), playing BY THEMSELVES, in their new big boy room, with their trucks and cute wooden trains my friend Stacey gave them for Christmas!

Let me reiterate:

6:20 a.m.

Boys playing (not screaming).

BY THEMSELVES.

IN THEIR OWN ROOM (NOT OURS!)

Lester, back in the bed!

Me. Amazed.



So far, the big boy room is a hit. And not just with Cary and Dean. With Mommy and Daddy, too!

Back in the saddle, but my horse is moving slowwwwwly

Happy New Year!!

I'm back at work with a ton to do, of course, but I wanted to get back in the saddle with a lot of things, including testing my sugars more regularly and blogging!

So this'll be short-ish.

I had two weeks off from work, with my family, and it was AWESOME. I spent a lot of time with the babies, and I swear I witnessed them developing right before my eyes. Their language skills are exploding; sometimes they string together three or four related words, helping Lester and me to know much better what they're thinking or wanting. This is lovely, let me tell you.

They're still amazingly whiny and tantrum-y, but at least there are way more moments where I can say, "Oh, you want to hear 'Hot Cross Buns?' OK. Let me play that for you!" or something along those lines. And everyone is happy when communication is clear!

The boys got wooden musical instruments from my sister for Christmas, and it only took Dean two days to figure out how to work the harmonica (which, parents of babies will know is a big thing, because they don't usually get "blowing" until later on, I'm told).

Here he is, making a little tune (and tapping his feet, which you can't see). He was so proud of himself!



My little musical prodigy!

Lester and I began our talks about what to expect in 2012 with a third child/newborn in the house, which is good. But we haven't had our talk about our more general 2012 goals and dreams (other than financial), so we are planning to do that this week.

I'll let you know how that goes.

Meanwhile, we made a plan to go to a birthday party this coming Saturday for a friend's 2-year-old, and then I'll take the boys afterward and go to my Mom's for an overnight visit, giving Lester time to paint Curve Ball's room! Yay! Progress!

I picked a color for her room called "Aloe Vera," which is less minty than I had imagined in my mind at first, with a bit more yellow in it. And now I'm nervous that this will look puke-y or Mountain Dew-ish on the walls. Which is NOT what I was going for. So keep your fingers crossed for me that it is a pretty shade, and perfect for my little sweetie.

Speaking of my sweetie, I am 32 weeks today and I go back on Thursday for another ultrasound to see if she's slowed up her growth at all, thanks to the insulin. I really hope so, but it's unfortunate this insulin business came about smack dab in the middle of sweet potato pie season! (Yes, Mommy splurged a little...) I honestly think she's growing like a weed, if her powerful punches are any indication. Good grief, this girl is strong. And wild! Ugh!

I also start fetal monitoring twice a week, beginning on Thursday. How I will get all my work done at work while running back and forth to the perinatal center, I don't know. But I can't worry about that.

It's 2012 -- the Year of Curve Ball. I'm worrying about her (and the other Davises) and honestly, not much else.

Curve Ball, has a name by the way, but I won't be sharing until she's born. Some of my family members know, and there have been ...how shall I say?....mixed reactions. Which is why I don't usually share in the first place. So I've decided to stop sharing until her name is what her name is, and it's plain rude to criticize then.

Besides, there have to be some surprises in this world, no? With a blog where I share just about everything, this is one thing that I can keep you all guessing about!

(Hey, I gotta find my fun where I can, folks.)

Big day for the Davis boys!

Today, we officially switched the boys from the small room (the nursery) to the bigger room (formerly the guest room).

You can't see from this picture their little bookcase and toybox, and just how roomy it is in there. But take my word for it, it is totally cute and really looks like a little boys' room, even with two cribs and a changing table in it.

Cary and Dean absolutely lurv their big boy room, especially all the newfound floor space to play with their blocks and cars -- but we shall see how they take to it in terms of actually sleeping in it tonight at bedtime.

Naptime for Cary was a total bust. I had to hold him, sniffling on my chest in our bedroom until he conked out and then transfer him to his crib -- which hasn't happened since early, early infancy. (Full disclosure: It was kinda nice, but don't tell him that.)

And then, more big things!!

After dinnertime, as Cary was walking around with his hair all over his head, looking like Kramer from Seinfeld, Lester decided enough was enough -- and cut my baby's hair!! For the first time EVER!

Cary before -- with a volcano of curls on his head:


Cary during -- and not even whimpering about the clippers!! Shocking!!


And just like that, my baby is a big boy, in a big boy room, and with no more baby curls!!

This has all been a bit much for me. I think I'll go to bed early.
Sigh.

Next big thing: Tackling Curve Ball's room! Sometime in January, perhaps?

Merry post-Christmas post!

Merry couple days after Christmas all!

I wanted to post this picture of the boys on Christmas Eve, but Lester and I stayed up late trying to figure out how to put songs on a (cheap and annoying) mp3 player I bought my 11-year-old nephew. It took us until almost 1:30 to get it all done, so by then I was too pooped to do anything but conk out.

So -- a few days late -- here are my cuties in their Sesame Street Christmas PJs and Santa hats, on their way to nestle all snug in their beds. All together now: "Awwwwww!"


On Christmas, the boys enjoyed opening the few presents we bought them, and especially loved the Elmo and Cookie Monster toys my Nana sent them from Boston. (Cary was a little afraid of Cookie's gruff voice, at first, but he's over it now.) The biggest hit of all the presents was "My Big Truck Book," which Cary would marry if he could. Well, and Elmo. Elmo can do no wrong in our house, apparently.





(Dean dancing to Elmo!)




We went to my Mom's in the afternoon, and stayed the night. The boys opened more presents, played with their cousins, ate a lot of sweet stuff (and I didn't fuss at anyone about it!) and stayed up way late. We left my parents' late Monday, so that made two nights in a row that the boys had really, really late nights.

So...the best Christmas present for Mommy and Daddy? Cary and Dean slept until 8:45 this morning and then took a THREE-hour nap in the afternoon. That's how wiped they were from all the Christmas revelry. It was great!

Speaking of great Christmas presents, Lester and I had agreed not to spend a lot of money on ourselves this year, because we don't need anything and it's the Year of Austerity (even though he snuck and bought me a beautiful bracelet and earrings! Cheater!), so we decided to spend the money we would have spent on gifts on "Hotel Get-Away Day."

What is Hotel Get-Away Day, you ask? Just the best thing ever!!

A few days before Christmas, when Michelle was still watching the boys, we left the house when she arrived, went and had a delicious, leisurely brunch and then checked into a Marriott, where we promptly took our own THREE-hour nap!! Then we ordered room service, watched some mindless television and just lazed around until it was time to go home and get our boys.

It was so unbelievably restorative and wonderful, I highly recommend it to all parents, especially those who have demanding, small children. I mean seriously, the king-sized bed with the fluffy pillows? The quiet? The people bringing you food and then taking the dirty dishes away? The snuggling? The NAP? It was the best Christmas present ever. We're talking now about doing it on a semi-regular basis. Merry Christmas in April? Why not?!

:-)

Bonus: Just because I have been sooo awful about taking pregnancy pics of myself this time around, I had Lester take a quick iPhone photo of my belly (and me) in the lobby of the hotel, next to this cool display of gingerbread houses made by some local school-children.

I look a make-up-less mess, yes, but remember, this is after sleeping for three blissful hours!! So who cares?

(There's Curve Ball in there! And today we're 31 weeks! Not too much longer now!)

Quick vacation update

I have officially been on vacation since Friday, so I'm not sitting at a computer long enough to post updates, but I wanted to take a few seconds to post two photos.

First...remember all my consternation about the Christmas tree? How I agonized about the hassle of keeping two active (read: hardheaded) little grabby-hand babies away from it, the ornaments and the lights? And how I eventually gave in and put up a small one, because I couldn't stand the thought of not having any tree for Christmas -- and because everyone said I should do it and it would be fine?

I present to you, Exhibit A:



Yes, 8 million time-outs later, the tiny tree terrorists finally won.
Sigh.
We did put the tree back up, and salvaged the ornaments we could, and since then (knock on wood) they've been fairly disinterested in it. So maybe they accomplished what they set out to do and now we can move on? Maybe? Let's hope so!


Also, remember my post about not having the Christmas spirit? And about how I needed to get the boys some Santa hats, perhaps?

TOTALLY helped!!

Santa's elves do it every time!!

(I don't know how much I'll be on the computer for the next two weeks, so...Merry Christmas to all, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year and many, many blessings!)

Outrage day

Yesterday was outrage day for me. Which contributed to (or maybe was helped along by) my lack of Christmas spirit.

First, a friend who is in my Unbalanced Mommies group sent out this article to the bunch of us, with the e-mail subject line: "an article to make u feel guilty about 'cry it out'."

I should have stopped at the headline, but nooo, I read the stupid article. And it was a bunch of bull****. There's one line, for instance, that says that a child who was forced to endure CIO "may spend a lifetime trying to fill the inner emptiness." Inner emptiness? Really??
Which, under normal circumstances would have been merely irritating, but likely forgettable. But this came from someone in my mommy-support-group!! WTF? Why would she send that out to us?
First of all, most of us are hitting the year-and-a-half, 2-year-mark with our kids. Why on Earth would we need to feel guilty about parenting practices from early infancy? Moreover, why on Earth should we feel guilty about ANYTHING we did or didn't do, or do or don't do, as parents? We're all trying our best here, winging it half the time, attempting to raise little people the best way we know how. There is NO room for guilt imposed on us by outsiders. None. We saddle ourselves with enough guilt and anxiety as it is!

Also, up until her e-mail, our support group has been just that: a support group. We encourage one another. We help one another. We do advise one another from time to time, but always with the caveat that none of us really knows what the hell we're doing. But we're all doing a good job! In our own ways. Some stay home, some work part-time, some full-time. Some do daycare; some have in-home sitters; some have relatives to help with the babies. Some of us breastfed, some of us did not. You get the picture. Regardless of our parenting choices, so far, I'd say all our kids are pretty damn awesome. And isn't that the true barometer?

Anyway, most importantly, in our Mommy group, the one thing we never, ever do is judge. Ever.
There's enough judgment in this world, especially where women are concerned. I choose to surround myself with people who would rather lift me up than tear me down. So I was HOT about that e-mail. HOT, do you hear me?

One Mommy-group friend told me she just ignored it. And another -- the woman who invited the rogue e-mailer into our group -- said she was also offended but was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she meant to send the article sarcastically? Like, "check out this bull****?" Perhaps. Who knows. So she said she would find out. And that meant I could not send the e-mailer a flaming response. So I just raged on the inside. Grrrrrrrrrr!

Then, later on in the afternoon, my sister dragged me into this "If I Were a Poor, Black Kid" madness -- which I had been trying to avoid.
I won't even go into the details of it; it's just such a rabbit hole of arrogance and racism and bad grammar.
But suffice it to say that the original commentary by Gene Marks and the online brouhaha that ensued made me think a lot about the fact that people like Marks are representative of the "ruling class" in this country (as evidenced by the fact that his commentary ran in Forbes, not some random blog). And so that means that these are the people who are setting policy in this country. These are the people who will be evaluating and legislating my own three Black kids (two of them Black males, just to add to the pile) some day.
My heart is sick thinking of the prejudice and ignorance and condescension and judgment they will face.
And how, in many cases, I will be powerless to protect them from it.

And so my outrage turned to sadness and worry. (Of course).

I went to bed last night without washing the dinner dishes or cleaning the kitchen or straightening the bedroom which had been torn to pieces by Cary and Dean earlier that morning. That's how wiped I was.

Then, this morning, Cary looked at Dean's pajamas and pointed to the fire truck. He said, "fraratruck!" and then, "Dean!"
I said, "Yes, Dean has a fire truck on his pajamas, baby! That's right!"
Then...he pointed to his own pajamas (he was wearing the same ones) and said, "Fraratruck. Dary!"

He knows he's CARY! He said it!

Then they both commenced to running around upstairs destroying things, all the while making fire truck sounds, "Woo-woo-woo!" and singing made-up, gibberish songs with their loveys on their heads. Dean pointed to a wedding picture of ours and sang, "Ma-Ma, Dah-dee! Ma-Ma, Dah-dee!," and did a little dance. He kissed me good-bye at the front door without me asking!
They both waved to me, happily, and said "Bye-bye, Ma-Ma!"

Inner emptiness my a**!

(I'm over it, really I am! I just had to get that last jab in.)

Paging my Christmas spirit. Christmas spirit to the register, please.

I am fresh out of original things to talk about, as the days have been mostly: Work, come home, marvel at the children and their awesomeness, fume at the children and their craziness, eat, check my blood sugars (still outta control), go to bed. Oh, also -- put children in time-out for removing all the ornaments they can reach off the Christmas tree and for insisting on sneakily dropping dinner on the floor (Dean). Oh, and clean up all the papers and miscellaneous items they throw around in our bedroom in the mornings while we're trying to get ready for work. Oh, and fret about whether we will ever get all the things done that need to get done in the two bedrooms upstairs to prepare for Curve Ball's arrival.

That's my life. And even though I put up decorations, went to my office holiday party, ordered gifts for my nieces and nephews and finished my end-of-the-year giving, I still don't feel especially Christmas-y. And when I look at all my blogfriends' blogs, I REALLY feel like I was in the bathroom or something when someone was handing out the Christmas spirit. (That's entirely possible, as much as I'm in the bathroom these days).

I'm sure it will come (I think). But to help it along, I thought I'd post a couple pictures of Christmases past, when my cup runneth over with Christmas spirit!

Me and Lester's very first Christmas together as a married couple. Picking out our first tree (Dec. 2007)!

The boys at our church Christmas pageant, Dec. 2010, enjoying the angels and wise men and singing townspeople. I remember thinking, "One day, these two little angels will be in the church Christmas pageant!!" And getting all teary-eyed.


Christmas Eve, 2010 -- such a warm, memory-filled night. Look how cute and small they were!


Perhaps I need to get the boys something Christmas-y to wear and take some cute photos of them this year. They don't have Christmas pajamas, or sweaters or Santa hats (darn K-Mart excursion gone wrong!) Maybe that's what's missing.

I'll try to work on that this weekend. Ho-ho-ho!

Rosemary's baby?

Apparently, I am carrying a demon child, because my body keeps trying to kill it.

First there was the bread truck incident.

Then, last night, I went to put a protesting Dean over the baby gate from the dining room into the living room, and leaned too hard -- I guess -- into the gate. The gate gave way; I dropped Dean on his head. The gate fell on top of him and then I fell HARD on my face, belly and knee.

Did I mention I have hardwood floors? Ugh. This is why ancient man invented carpet, I'm sure of it.

I have a sore-to-the-touch knot on my head and a tiny little bruise. I had a headache all night, and my nose is still sore.

Dean was fine, after getting over the fright of the fall and of having the mesh gate on top of him like a fishnet.

Curve Ball seems fine, too, despite my worrying all night about whether or not she was moving enough.

So, all's well that ends well, I guess. But seriously, what the heck?

My friend Rashod Ollison asked me if someone had "put roots on me."

I am inclined to believe it's either that or I am carrying Rosemary's baby, and my body is trying to save me the humiliation later on in life of having given birth to the spawn of Satan.

Or..maybe I'm just tired and off-balance and distracted, with fluctuating blood sugars that make me feel all loopy. And so, if that's the case, I should prepare myself for more clumsiness and haphazardness for at least the next 11 weeks.

I think I'll buy myself a helmet.

The amazing, incredible Davis boys

Over the last few days, my boys did such amazing things, I am certain they are destined for Fulbrights some day -- or to be mad geniuses who blow up the world. Whichever.

Dean:

1. I have to check my blood sugar four times a day. The boys love the beeping sound the meter makes when I insert a test strip. They always say, "BEEP!" when they see the meter. They think it's Mommy's cool beeping toy.
But this weekend, Dean found a collar stay that Lester uses for his business shirts. It is plastic and thin and, apparently, looks a little like a test strip. Because Dean took it, said, "Beep!" pushed it up against his little fat finger and said, "Stick!" and then --wait for it -- sucked his finger, the same way I do when I'm finished testing, to get rid of the tiny droplet of blood.
Isn't that amazing. Beep, stick, suck! Just like Mommy does! He is such a little observer. I think he has a future as a scientist/researcher/doctor-type. Or a Peeping Tom. Whichever.
Either way, what a reminder that 19-month-old babies are watching everything.

2. Dean also learned this weekend how to unlock the front door. And he learned how to turn the doorknobs on all our inside doors, so he can get out of rooms now. (Joy!) For some reason, he can't turn the front door knob, I think because of the shape of it. So that's a blessing; otherwise, he'd be unlocking the front door, turning the knob and running down the street. For now, he just opens the bedroom door or the bathroom door and scurries out of rooms, his face all bright with excitement. Little fugitive! How did he learn how to turn doorknobs? I guess by watching us do it.
Yet another reminder that 19-month-old babies are watching everything!!!

3. Dean really knows -- and uses -- Cary's name now. He calls him when he can't find him: "Deary? Deary?" And he tells on him when Cary's doing something wrong.
"Uh-oh," he said to me this morning! "UH-Ohhhh! Deary! Steps!"
Sure enough, Cary was climbing back up the stairs. Good to have another set of eyes around! Thanks, Dean!

Cary:

1. Cary said his first full sentence this weekend. I was eating soup in a mug, and he came up to me and said, "Mommy eat soup."
Mommy. Eat. Soup. A subject, a verb and an object. Hello -- not only a sentence, but technically, according to grammar rules, a complex one! I think my child will be poet laureate one day. Or just extremely chatty and a pain in the neck because he won't stop talking. Whichever.

2. While reading "Duck and Goose: How Are You Feeling?" Cary identified each feeling on each page (except for "Frustrated," which is a hard word and concept to explain to a baby) all by himself, without prompting!
He'd turn the page to "Patient" and say some word that vaguely sounds like "patient." Then he'd point to the plant and say, "plant." Then he'd say, "Grow!" Because in the picture, Duck and Goose are patiently waiting for a little plant to grow.
Then he'd turn to the "Selfish" page and say something that sounds very much like "selfish." And he'd point to the duck holding all the flowers and not sharing with his friends, and go "UNH!" as if he were angry at the duck.
At the "Sad" page, he pretends to cry. At the "Afraid" page, he whimpers. At the angry page, he growls and goes "UNH!" At the happy page, he says, "HAPPY!" and smiles. He says, "Proud!" at the "proud" page. And at the "Loving" page, he gives me a a hug. (OK, sometimes, the hug requires prompting.)
It is toooo cute. I love that he enjoys "reading" so much; but I especially love how dramatic this kid is. Seriously, why is he mad that the duck won't share his flowers? LOL. You tell 'em, Deary. Sharing is caring!
Lester asked me, "How does he know how to do that?" And I said, "I guess just from us reading it over and over and over and over."
Which just goes to show you that -- again -- 19-month-old babies are watching everything.

3. This morning, on my way out the door, I said my usual good-byes and grabbed my millions of bags (I'm such a bag lady, like my mother). Dean was in his highchair, waiting for breakfast, and Cary was evading capture as usual. So he saw me leaving and said, "Keesh!" (Which is "kiss," awwww! ) I said, "Oh, you want Mommy to give you a kiss?" And I was truly checking to make sure, because this is not the most affectionate kid we're talking about here. And he said, "Prr-pees." (Which is "pretty please.") So I leaned in to kiss him good-bye, and he puckered! And kissed me! And then went on his merry way.
I swear, I almost cried!

Aren't they amazing? Seriously. My two little crazies are crazy awesome.

Meanwhile, these " crazy awesome" boys spent half the weekend in time-out (not kidding) because they are unable to resist the siren call of the Christmas tree. Which I DID put up (a small one, anyway) along with a few decorations.

Everyone tells me that this is just something they will have to learn, and that eventually -- with consistency -- they'll get it that the Christmas tree (and other decorations) are off limits. But we are a ways away from that day, people. A LONG ways away.

.

iPhone wouldn't let me upload the entire video, so you don't see Dean putting Mr. Snowman back in his spot near the kitchen door and then saying, "Bye-bye noman." And then Cary blowing Mr. Snowman a kiss! But you get the picture. Don't touch the Christmas decorations gets translated into "decapitate the snowman."

LOL!

There's always a silver lining

So the bad news is, today, I ran into a bread truck on my way to work.

I have no idea how it happened. Seriously. I was driving along in my lane, not on my phone, not listening to the radio, with my glasses on. It was sunny and clear. I was in city traffic, so not driving fast at all. Somehow, I just ran smack into the back step-gate of the truck. And the step-gate ripped through the car like it was made of soft butter.

The minivan is pretty much crushed to pieces in the front. It even blew the tire, and crushed the passenger side door, somehow.

So for most of the morning, we've been dealing with surly city police, our accusatory insurance company, damage appraisers and rental companies. Joy.

I have a feeling this is going to drag out for quite awhile -- and be quite expensive, even with our insurance. Sigh.

The good news is, I'm OK. And baby's OK. Lester came over to the accident site and handled the whole thing and didn't make me feel bad for driving into a bread truck, not even once. Praise God for him, for reals.

And if you're looking for the silver lining, here it is: The (very nice) bread truck driver felt so sorry for me and my big, pregnant self, he gave us two loaves of Nature's Own Double Fiber Wheat bread from the back of the truck. Which is the kind we actually buy in our house.

So -- our fiber needs are taken care of for the next two weeks.

Next time, I'll try to run into a money truck. :-)

28 week check-up

I went today for my 28-week check-up at the perinatologist (and a follow-up at the OB, too).

Here are the highlights (or the lowlights, as it were):

Curve Ball is showing signs of being in a "diabetic environment."
This is new. At my last check-up at 19 weeks, she was not.

What does that mean, exactly?

Well, for one thing, her little abdomen is measuring in the 97th percentile. That is pretty darn big.
By contrast, at 19 weeks, it was measuring in the 50th.

The big belly indicates that she is storing sugars and fats in her tummy, which is exactly what she is not supposed to be doing.

Also, she is 3. lbs. 6 oz. -- almost a full pound heavier than she should be (no wonder she packs such a wallop!)

This means that -- if she puts on half a pound a week, as babies can do during the third trimester -- I could be in danger of having a nearly-10-lb.-baby. Holy macaroni.

The doctors have stressed that there are many reasons why having a huge baby like that is not good for me.
1. I am 5 ft. tall, and a size 2. OK, a size 4.
2. Shoulder dystosia is a real concern at that size.
3. Therefore, dreams of an uneventful, vaginal birth (which I had with the boys) might be blown to smithereens.
4. Babies who are big because of being grown in a sugar-rich environment are not just cute and chubby normal babies. They are big in different ways: in the bellies, for one thing, and especially in the neck and cheeks and jawline. This can mean Curve Ball might get stuck trying to come down the birth canal and out of my body into the world. Very dangerous.
5. Again, vaginal birth = bye-bye.

In addition, Curve Ball is now at risk of having low-blood-sugar at birth (when they cut her from the placenta) and she is also officially at risk of developing diabetes as an adult.

To say that I am bummed would be severely under-selling all the sadness and anxiety I feel right now.

The good news is, I have been monitored since early on and will continue being monitored (now, even moreso) until she's born. My doctors assure me that all this monitoring means she should be just fine, in the end.

On the way back from my appointments, I put in the prescription for insulin, which I'm to take three times a day. I've already been taking it at bedtime (did I forget to mention that?) so I've got the needle-part down. But now I'll have to mix two kinds together (a fast-acting and a long-acting), so I do have a bit of adjusting to do to this new regimen.

But I'm totally prepared and willing to do it. I really do not care anymore about what I have to do. I will do whatever it takes, for however long I have to do it. Anything to help shrink Curve Ball's little Buddha belly, and get her to not be the size of a small turkey at birth.

I also have to go back to the OB every 2 weeks now instead of four, and at 32 weeks, I go back to the perinatologist for another growth scan and to start twice-weekly fetal monitoring. My boss is going to LOVE this!

On the bright side, everything else about her looked great today -- and the sonographer even broke the rules and gave me 3D photos of Curve Ball. I'm not a huge, huge fan of the strange-looking 3D photos, but we got them -- without asking -- for Cary and Dean. We put the pics in a frame, and those photos crack us up now because of how you can really see Cary in there and Dean in there, all smushed and water-logged, but still very much themselves.

So we begged the sonographer to give us pics of Curve Ball, even though they've changed the rules in that office about doing them, ever since too many crazy parents (not us, this time!) called in panics after getting their 3D pics home, thinking surely something must be wrong with this alien-skeletor-hole-in-head baby I'm carrying.

Truth be told, Curve Ball does look a little Twilight-zone-music-esque in the pics. And they're not as clear as C & D's were, because of the way she was lying.

But ... here she is, her first glamour-shot:


I have no idea who she looks like.

And, the last bit of bright-side news is: Regardless of whatever is going on in my sugar-soaked womb, little Curve Ball seems happy about it.

The sonographer and I both cracked up at this picture of her, which shows my little sweet treat looking just like she is in there just laughing her head off:


Awww. My sweet, happy little baby girl.

Now who wouldn't do anything in the world they had to do to make sure she stays that way? Certainly not me. I'm in hook, line, and sinker! Insulin -- here I come!!!

Baffling toddler questions - a quiz

1. Why is it that the boys repeatedly do all sorts of things Lester and I tell them (multiple times daily) not to do (like push buttons on the Blu-Ray player, play with our iPod and iPhones, pull out plugs, open drawers and cabinets, etc.) -- but when I put them in time-out and say "Now, you must sit still until Mommy says you can get up," they sit there and don't move until Mommy says they can?? If they know to sit still in time-out, they know to listen, right?

2. Why is it that the boys almost never fight over books, trucks or puzzles, but will try to kill each other over toothbrushes, the little cardboard hanger-cover-things that come on dry-cleaner's hangers, plastic baggie clips and other random, inexplicable things?

3. Why is it that Dean has started refusing food, especially at dinnertime -- even some of his favorite dishes -- but if I offer him cottage cheese and fruit, or yogurt, he will devour it and then say, "more pees!" while frantically making the sign for "more" as if he was STARVING?

4. Why is it that the boys and I had a perfectly lovely day on Sunday, hanging out and eating at restaurants and enjoying the day, but when Lester tried to do the same yesterday (he had a day off), he reported back that there were tears, tantrums and general craziness the entire time; and the day was a "disaster? Are toddlers bi-polar?

5. Why do they act like getting their diapers changed is an unnatural crime against humanity?

6. Why is Dean still missing his back teeth? ALL of them? How does he eat orange peels without back teeth? WHY does he eat orange peels?

7. Why do the boys pretend to talk on the phone to my sisters, but when they're actually with my sisters, they refuse to go to them?

8. When will Cary learn to turn books right-side-up? When will Cary learn -- for certain -- that he is, in fact, Cary?

9. When does the screaming and crying about everything end? When? When?! WHEN?!

10. How can the boys listen to "The Ants Go Marching" on repeat 100,000 times in a row and not want to throw themselves off the top of a tall building into burning lava?

Bonus: How is it possible that toddlers are the most inscrutable creatures on the face of the Earth -- and also the most adorable, hysterical and lovable?

Tuesday fun facts

-- Today Curve Ball is 28 weeks!
(How do you like that I started this post with her instead of her brothers?!)

Technically, she is only 26 weeks, but I am 28 weeks along carrying her. This is the official start of the third trimester, according to the pregnancy books. That means this is the final stretch. She should be here in 12 weeks or fewer. (Hopefully not too much fewer). I'm still freaked out, but also getting excited. A new little baby, with new baby toes and new baby smell! Awwww.

The books also say that Curve Ball could weigh as much as 2.5 lbs by now. I can believe it, as this little thing packs a powerful punch when she is moving around -- which is pretty much all the time. She is a party animal! I sometimes call her "Wild Thing," and like Max in the famous book, then I command her to "Be still!" But I must not have Max's special magic tricks, as she never complies.

Full disclosure, I have not gotten very far on the list of things to do to prepare for her room. I have ordered a few things for the boys' new room (bookcase, storage unit, toybox) which will help us move their stuff out of her room, so I can start decorating for her. I also have a bassinet for Curve Ball - which I got from a yard sale - but no crib yet.

Lester and I both have a little time off coming up this month, so hopefully, we will knock this out then. I really don't want it to be February -- and I"m 9 months pregnant, still trying to get two kids' rooms together.

P.S. Curve Ball still has no name, but we have a strong contender! I'll keep you posted.

-- Dean has started saying Cary's name a bit. Finally! It sounds like "Dairy" or "Deary," actually.
And sometimes Cary will say it too. But I'd say 75 percent of the time, Dean calls Cary "Dean," and 85 percent of the time, Cary calls himself "Dean."
I was very happy yesterday, though, when Cary pointed to Dean in his highchair and said, "Deannn," (He really emphasizes the "n" now) and then pointed to himself and said, quietly, "Deary?"
I think we might be turning a corner!

Dean also is becoming more and more interested in helping to put on and take off his clothes. The same way I often find Cary sitting quietly somewhere with a book is the same way I'll now find Dean sitting quietly somewhere with a pair of pants or pajamas he's pulled out of the hamper, trying to put them on his feet or arms (with no luck). It's very cute. He takes clothes off of "Piggy" - a little stuffed pig with a vest - and then tries so hard to put them back on. (So cute!) He helps pull his pants off when it's bathtime. He thinks he can put his own socks and shoes on and cries when he can't do it. (Awwww.)
Cary has no interest in helping with anything, mind you. He's perfectly happy for Mom and Dad to do everything for him.

Dean is also taking his climbing game to new levels, literally. One day last weekend, I found him on top of the dining room table! Yikes. He climbs all over everything, and he and Cary push furniture around (on our wood floors!) so much, climbing all over everything, that Lester and I had to buy a new baby gate (18 months in to having babies) to stop the C&D Wrecking Crew from destroying the entire house every single day.

-- Cary is stringing more and more words together. Last night, he spied a stray grape that rolled into a corner, and said "Dir-tee brepp." (Dirty grape!) He also says , "No touch tuh-ree-vee!" which means, "Don't touch the TV." And the other day he slipped and bumped his chin on the nightstand in our bedroom, and as I was comforting him, I asked him "What happened, baby?" and he said, through tears, "Mouf. Babel." (Mouth. Table.) (Awwww!) And this morning, on his way down the stairs with Dean and Lester, he called my name, "Muh-muh?! Muh-muh!" until I came to the top of the stairs to see what he wanted. "Yes?" I said. And he waved at me and said, "Buh-bye, Muh-muh." (Double awww!)

This is a kid who has a lot of thoughts; I can tell. He expresses real emotion when he's "reading" books. When Corduroy the Bear falls off the bed, he says, "Ho, nooo!" When the barber is giving the baby a haircut in Dr. Seuss' ABC, Cary whimpers (he hates the clippers Lester uses to give Dean his haircuts). And in "Duck and Goose: How Are You Feeling?" he pretends to cry when we get to the "Sad" page, and he backs away from the book, saying "Dock! (dark)" at the "Scared" page. His favorite page is "Happy!" I love that!

I can't wait until he's able to express himself even more. I imagine having really fun conversations with him.

All in all, everyone is well and happy and our house is full of entertainment! Who needs cable when you've got twin toddlers and a baby on the way!

High-low weekending

When I was the fashion writer for The Sun (don't ask), I frequently wrote about the trend of high-low dressing. In a really oversimplified way of describing it, high-low dressing involved pairing one really high-end item -- such as a $200 pair of jeans, or a designer handbag or a pair of Manolo Blahniks -- with a cute top from Banana Republic and some costume jewelry from Target. Something like that.

Anyway, it was all the rage then. It made high-fashion more accessible, as you didn't have to be dressed in head-to-toe couture, and as a bonus, even the celebs were doing it!

I say all that to tell you that this weekend was high-low weekend for the Davises.

I took the boys to hear the Baltimore Philharmonia Orchestra, who played a beautiful selection of Christmas music and old favorites, such as songs from My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music.
It was awesome! I left singing "I Could've Danced All Night...." all night long.

The music was really beautiful and I loved that the boys got to see real musicians and real instruments, and hear something other than "The Ants Go Marching" 25,000 times a day.
Cary was a little unnerved by the really loud crescendos, and Dean kept wandering up to little old ladies with white hair and then would run off, shaking his head "No!" when they smiled at him and tried to have conversation. But other than that, it was very nice. And very high-end!
I mean, hello, there were cellos involved.

Afterwards, I figured my two boys had had enough culture for one day, so we decided to go grab an early dinner -- at IHOP! Holla!!
The boys had chicken tenders and fruit and French fries. I had pot roast and mashed potatoes and corn. Then we shared one scoop of vanilla ice cream -- which really means I got maybe two bites, since they devoured it.

The boys behaved marvelously (Praise the Lord!) and I couldn't help but get a twinge of sadness/regret that we are really just getting to the point where I can do things that other Moms of singletons have long been able to do, just as I'm about to blow the whole thing up with a new baby. I don't see how I will be able to have fun dates with my boys, with a newborn in tow, unless Lester is there too. And as much as I love my husband and family togetherness and all that jazz, it was really nice yesterday to go out and about and spend time with Cary and Dean all by myself. Oh well. I'm sure it will all work out eventually.

Anyway, the IHOP was in a shopping plaza that had a K-Mart in it. I hadn't seen the inside of a K-Mart since....sheesh...I don't even know when. But I thought I might be able to find cheap slippers for them to toddle around the house in, and also Santa hats, on the cheap. So after IHOP, we went to K-Mart!

Talk about "low-end." LOL.

I did find slippers -- cute little dinosaur slippers -- for $6 and I thought I found Santa hats, but when we got home, I realized my children's heads are now toddler-sized, not baby-sized, so I have two Santa hats for Curve Ball for next year. But none for her big brothers this year. Back to the drawing board for them I suppose. And in keeping with my low-end-retail-shopping-spree, I will first try to find them at ...The Dollar Store!

Davis Family Year of Austerity is in full effect!!

P.S. Weirdness of the day: TWO people (one at the concert and one at the K-Mart) thought Cary was a girl. A girl!! Please take a look at this picture of my two crazies (taken at IHOP- holla!) and tell me where on Earth Cary Glenn Davis looks like a girl?! In this picture, maybe he looks like a refugee (seriously, what is going on with his hair? It might be time for a haircut, no?) but certainly not a girl! People are seriously baffling.

Is parenting harder today than it was for our parents?

I was listening to an afternoon call-in radio program about parenting today.

http://www.wypr.org/stationprogram/midday-dan-rodricks

The premise was that there's a new trend in parenting toward complaining about it in public. The show referenced books like "Go the F--- to Sleep," and new TV shows like, "I Hate My Teenaged Daughter." It also talked about all the Mommy blogs where mothers admit to not liking their kids from time to time and to not enjoying all aspects of parenting or to missing parts of their old lives.

"Is parenting today harder than it was in previous generations?" the radio host asked. "Or are today's parents just whiners?"

That made me think a little bit.

This holiday, I snapped at my Mom -- during a particularly cranky stretch of the Cary and Dean show -- that when Curve Ball is born, by golly, people are going to have to come visit US! All this traveling an hour up and an hour back, skipping naps, dragging babies around?? Not fair! If people want to see us, they will need to come see us! Waaaah-waaaah! And WAAAAH!

And my Mom said, without looking up from whatever it was she was doing, "We took you kids everywhere when you were little -- all five of you. And it was no problem."

I'm sure I had a brilliant retort. But now I'm wondering if what Dan Rodricks asked on his show is true? Am I a whiner? Or is my mother having a bit of grandparent-earned revisionist history?

She had to have SOME problems carting five kids around, first in a Toyota hatchback, and then, finally -- when economic times improved -- a big burgundy Ford Aerostar with license plates that read, "4RFAMLY." Right?

I didn't even take my two to the grocery store until just a couple weeks ago! Am I a whiner and a wimp??

She and my Dad also say that me and my siblings NEVER had fall-out-on-the-floor screamfests while out in public. Never. Unh-unh.

"You all KNEW BETTER," Mom says.

Can this possibly be true? Five kids and not ONE public tantrum? Parenting was a piece of cake in the 70s and 80s? But now it's so hard I have to read books and start a blog and whine, whine whine about it???

If I'm honest, when I look back on some of my blog posts, they do seem to have a strong whiny streak. Yes, there's a lot of joy and a lot of pride and a lot of truth-telling (which I'm proud of) but when does truth-telling cross over into Whinyville?

I read an NYT article a while back about a guy making waves by telling people to "have more children." His theory is that raising kids is easier than we make it out to be, if only we were to relax a little bit, have fun with the kids, pick our battles, quit worrying so much about the latest studies and theories, or sugary cereals, or TV watching or pre-school picking. Kids are a big responsibility, he agreed, but they're not supposed to equal so much work and stress. We adults bring that all on ourselves.

"Do you think your grandmother sat on the floor for 5 hours a day playing with your Mom?" he asked, in one of his books (I'm paraphrasing) "No. She had things to do and she did them, and she didn't worry about whether your Mom would be scarred for life or not say 20 words by age 15.2 months or get into the right college or any of those things. And guess what? Your Mom turned out fine."

So why DO we (and by "we," I mean "I") stress out so much about stuff?

Why does it bother me that my kids are cranky and unhappy because they missed their naps? Why can't I just say, "Oh, they're fine. It's just a missed nap, fer crying out loud."
Why do I read so many damn books?
Why don't my kids "know better" than to scream when they want something?
WHY IS THIS SO HARD?
Or is it??

Is all the stressing out taking away somehow from the enjoyment I should be having in child-rearing?

I mean, I enjoy it plenty. I really, really do. (No kidding! I love being Cary and Dean's Mommy.) But could I be enjoying it more if I could zen out some?

This has definitely given me something to think about.

(But...I won't think TOO much because that would be dangerously close to worrying about it, and that would just be getting me nowhere! LOL!)

I'll let you know if I come up with something profound.