It appears the sleep regression in our house is something that will wax and wane.
For about the last week or so, the boys have been blissfully sleeping through the night (cue the angels singing). The only person waking up a million times at night is their baby-resting-on-her-bladder Mommy. (cue the heavy sighing).
I knew a week of STTN meant that we had had too much of a good thing, so I wasn't surprised when Dean woke up last night around 1:30, crying, needing a hug, his Lovey and some more hugs. And then I wasn't surprised when Cary then woke up, too, saying "Ma-ma! Up, pees!"
No, I was not surprised. But as this would not be my life if there weren't some drama involved, of course I had to worry about something.
Two things had happened earlier in the night that have never happened before in our house:
1) Dean refused to eat even one bite of his dinner. Instead, he decided it was better to get remanded to time-out -- twice -- for throwing food on the floor or across the dining room table. Nothing I could do would make this child eat. The pediatrician had just told us a few days earlier that we should not allow Dean to continue with dinnertime if he insists on quarterbacking his meals. "Two times," Dr. Bodnar says. "And then dinner's done." He said if he was hungry, he'd eat and not throw. And the fact is that kids his age eat so much during the day (with snacks and all) that by the time they reach dinner, they're often not all that hungry. And that's OK, he assured me.
But is it? IS IT?
Because when Dean woke up last night, all I could think of was: "This child is starving!! He needs to eat! What should I do? What should I DO??"
2) While Lester was getting Dean undressed for his bath, Cary somehow, somewhere unEarthed an old pill that was hidden God-knows-where in our bedroom. I think, from the size and shape of it, that it is one of the old diabetes-related pills I was taking pre-pregnancy, and that it must've fallen at some point and I forgot about it. Whatever it was, Cary found it and of course, ate it.
Thank God the pill-makers purposefully make pills bitter, because Lester spied Cary's (actually quite-hysterical) screwed-up, sour face and immediately removed the pill from his mouth. So he only sucked it a little bit, as opposed to gulping the thing down whole.
Helpful-Poison-Control-Man assured me over the phone that this particular medicine was fairly benign, even in small children, and besides, 'it sounds like he only sucked off the coating anyway." So, he summed up, no need to worry. Cary should be just fine.
Will he? WILL HE??
Because when Cary woke up last night, all I could think of was, "This child has been poisoned!! He needs his stomach pumped! What should I do? What should I DO??"
I really considered filling Dean's stomach, and emptying Cary's (somehow), but then Lester got up, went in the room with the crying babies, said something I couldn't hear because I was too busy thinking of what I would tell CPS when they came asking me why my one child was sucking on diabetes medicine and why my other child was starving to death, and then came back in the room and said, "Go back to sleep. They're fine."
About 10 more minutes of really half-hearted crying later, they were both knocked out again -- this time until 7:15 this morning.
And they've been fine since.
The moral of this story is....I have no idea. But I am certain I will have more such stories to tell in the future. Stay tuned.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
No, no, no!! No blessings!!
We've entered the early stages of the "No's".
Call me crazy (because I know this will only get worse) but right now, it's kinda cute.
This morning, Dean woke up in a totally contrary mood. He was fine, mood-wise, as long as you didn't try to kiss him, touch him, or ask him to do something.
I said, "Let's change your diaper, baby." He said, "NO!"
He said he wanted milk; when I gave him milk, he shook his head and said, No!"
When Lester came to say good-bye to him on his way to work, Dean refused to allow a kiss or a hug. "NO!" he said, twisting his body in the chair.
When I was leaving, I tried asking him sweetly if he would give Mommy a kiss good-bye. And of course he said, "No."
And then he sneezed - twice. So I said, "God bless you, baby."
And what do you think Dean said?
"No!"
Call me crazy (because I know this will only get worse) but right now, it's kinda cute.
This morning, Dean woke up in a totally contrary mood. He was fine, mood-wise, as long as you didn't try to kiss him, touch him, or ask him to do something.
I said, "Let's change your diaper, baby." He said, "NO!"
He said he wanted milk; when I gave him milk, he shook his head and said, No!"
When Lester came to say good-bye to him on his way to work, Dean refused to allow a kiss or a hug. "NO!" he said, twisting his body in the chair.
When I was leaving, I tried asking him sweetly if he would give Mommy a kiss good-bye. And of course he said, "No."
And then he sneezed - twice. So I said, "God bless you, baby."
And what do you think Dean said?
"No!"
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
18-month check-up
Cary and Dean went for their 18-month check-up yesterday, and here are the details:
Cary weighs 22 lbs., 8 oz. and is 32.5 inches tall.
Dean weighs 26 lbs., 2 oz. and is 33.5 inches tall.
It is still very interesting to me how much heavier Dean is than Cary, especially because (Dean's love of snacks notwithstanding) the two of them eat about the same amount of food. Neither is a very picky eater or eats like a bird. So it's clear that the two of them are just composed differently fundamentally, and also, likely, have very different metabolisms.
It'll be interesting to see how that plays out over the years.
Dr. Bodnar was VERY impressed with my boys' language skills. He said, with surprise, "How many words do they have?" And, then, when Dean asked for a tongue depressor by saying "Stick, pees," he asked if they were putting more words together, so I listed some of the phrases I could remember: "All done." "No more." "Bye-bye, truck." "More, please." "Bye-Bye, Da-Da." And Dr. Bodnar said, "They're putting that many words together already?"
I couldn't help but smile.
My boys' talkativeness is gratifying because I was so determined that they would NOT fall into the "preemies, twins, boys" trifecta of late-language-development that I had heard so much about. So we read, and read, and read, and read, and read, and read some more. And we talk, and talk, and talk, and talk! Oh, the talking! Frankly, it's exhausting (just being honest), but it is clearly paying some dividends, so far. So I will gladly talk/read myself hoarse.
Dr. Bodnar was no more help in the sleep-regression department than my blogfriends have been, but he did let me know that we were doing the right thing by continuing to reinforce their self-soothing skills, instead of acquiescing. Even if it means no one is really getting any sleep, for now, anyway, he assures me it's better in the long run, and that the boys will eventually get back to normalcy. (whatever that is)
As far as the nighttime bottle is concerned...well, I decided to come clean and tell our doctor that I had been too wimpy to let it go. I was honest about it -- it's just way too easy right now to get them to fall asleep at night, no crying, no fussing, no whining, no protesting. In fact, they clamor for their bottle and bedtime, and once they get 'em, they are quiet as church mice. It is ONE predictable thing we can depend on, and when you're dealing with crazy twin toddler terrorists, it is hard to give up that one thing. Does anyone feel me on this one?
To his credit, he did not make me feel like the WWM (world's worst mom). And he said that, of course, what we do as parents with the bottle is up to us. In the scheme of things, is it the worst thing we can do? No. But he did leave me with this scary little tidbit: If we try to stop the bottle now, it'll likely take about 10 days or so of bad nights to break the habit. If we wait until they're 2, it'll take twice as long.
20 nights of screaming? Lord have mercy. Nothing about that sounds appealing. Of course, I don't intend to wait until they're 2 to stop it, but then again, Lester and I don't really have an endgame planned. I suppose we need to get one.
One other thing that Dr. Bodnar reassured me about was this:
I have been secretly worried that Dean's tantrums and clinginess and crying and defiance and anger issues meant that he was emotionally marred in some way. I thought to myself, "Cary is so much more affable; what can we do to help Dean be more agreeable?"
Dr. Bodnar spent 45 minutes in the room with the boys before saying that, in his professional opinion, DEAN is the more typically-behaving baby, and CARY is the one who is atypical! Wha-what? Really?
He said for their age, Dean acting like one big raw nerve is pretty much what he's supposed to be doing right now, and Cary just la-la-la-ing through the day (for the most part) is just a lucky boon for us. This made me feel so much better, because I always think everyone else's toddlers seem so compliant and well-behaved and agreeable and cute and normal. I'm so glad to find out that my non-compliant, sometimes-well-behaved, occasionally-agreeable, almost always cute Deaniekins is also normal! Whew! I totally slept better last night.
On the flip side, Dr. Bodnar also jokingly said that it was good that Dean was slightly less talkative than Cary because (pointing to Cary, who was running his mouth a mile a minute) "you couldn't possibly have two of those!"
Imagine the thought!
At the end of the appointment, Dr. Bodnar declared my boys, "quite frankly, amazing," and I have to say, I couldn't agree more!
(Note: I don't have to bring them back to see the doctor for 6 months. SIX months! Wow. But we will see Dr. Bodnar again in February when Curve Ball is born, because he'll come to the hospital to examine her while I'm recovering. Curve Ball will get to meet Dr. Bodnar! Awwwww. Sooo sweet! I hope he'll think she's amazing, too!)
Cary weighs 22 lbs., 8 oz. and is 32.5 inches tall.
Dean weighs 26 lbs., 2 oz. and is 33.5 inches tall.
It is still very interesting to me how much heavier Dean is than Cary, especially because (Dean's love of snacks notwithstanding) the two of them eat about the same amount of food. Neither is a very picky eater or eats like a bird. So it's clear that the two of them are just composed differently fundamentally, and also, likely, have very different metabolisms.
It'll be interesting to see how that plays out over the years.
Dr. Bodnar was VERY impressed with my boys' language skills. He said, with surprise, "How many words do they have?" And, then, when Dean asked for a tongue depressor by saying "Stick, pees," he asked if they were putting more words together, so I listed some of the phrases I could remember: "All done." "No more." "Bye-bye, truck." "More, please." "Bye-Bye, Da-Da." And Dr. Bodnar said, "They're putting that many words together already?"
I couldn't help but smile.
My boys' talkativeness is gratifying because I was so determined that they would NOT fall into the "preemies, twins, boys" trifecta of late-language-development that I had heard so much about. So we read, and read, and read, and read, and read, and read some more. And we talk, and talk, and talk, and talk! Oh, the talking! Frankly, it's exhausting (just being honest), but it is clearly paying some dividends, so far. So I will gladly talk/read myself hoarse.
Dr. Bodnar was no more help in the sleep-regression department than my blogfriends have been, but he did let me know that we were doing the right thing by continuing to reinforce their self-soothing skills, instead of acquiescing. Even if it means no one is really getting any sleep, for now, anyway, he assures me it's better in the long run, and that the boys will eventually get back to normalcy. (whatever that is)
As far as the nighttime bottle is concerned...well, I decided to come clean and tell our doctor that I had been too wimpy to let it go. I was honest about it -- it's just way too easy right now to get them to fall asleep at night, no crying, no fussing, no whining, no protesting. In fact, they clamor for their bottle and bedtime, and once they get 'em, they are quiet as church mice. It is ONE predictable thing we can depend on, and when you're dealing with crazy twin toddler terrorists, it is hard to give up that one thing. Does anyone feel me on this one?
To his credit, he did not make me feel like the WWM (world's worst mom). And he said that, of course, what we do as parents with the bottle is up to us. In the scheme of things, is it the worst thing we can do? No. But he did leave me with this scary little tidbit: If we try to stop the bottle now, it'll likely take about 10 days or so of bad nights to break the habit. If we wait until they're 2, it'll take twice as long.
20 nights of screaming? Lord have mercy. Nothing about that sounds appealing. Of course, I don't intend to wait until they're 2 to stop it, but then again, Lester and I don't really have an endgame planned. I suppose we need to get one.
One other thing that Dr. Bodnar reassured me about was this:
I have been secretly worried that Dean's tantrums and clinginess and crying and defiance and anger issues meant that he was emotionally marred in some way. I thought to myself, "Cary is so much more affable; what can we do to help Dean be more agreeable?"
Dr. Bodnar spent 45 minutes in the room with the boys before saying that, in his professional opinion, DEAN is the more typically-behaving baby, and CARY is the one who is atypical! Wha-what? Really?
He said for their age, Dean acting like one big raw nerve is pretty much what he's supposed to be doing right now, and Cary just la-la-la-ing through the day (for the most part) is just a lucky boon for us. This made me feel so much better, because I always think everyone else's toddlers seem so compliant and well-behaved and agreeable and cute and normal. I'm so glad to find out that my non-compliant, sometimes-well-behaved, occasionally-agreeable, almost always cute Deaniekins is also normal! Whew! I totally slept better last night.
On the flip side, Dr. Bodnar also jokingly said that it was good that Dean was slightly less talkative than Cary because (pointing to Cary, who was running his mouth a mile a minute) "you couldn't possibly have two of those!"
Imagine the thought!
At the end of the appointment, Dr. Bodnar declared my boys, "quite frankly, amazing," and I have to say, I couldn't agree more!
(Note: I don't have to bring them back to see the doctor for 6 months. SIX months! Wow. But we will see Dr. Bodnar again in February when Curve Ball is born, because he'll come to the hospital to examine her while I'm recovering. Curve Ball will get to meet Dr. Bodnar! Awwwww. Sooo sweet! I hope he'll think she's amazing, too!)
Friday, November 11, 2011
Happy 18-months Cary and Dean!!
Today, Cary and Dean turn 18 months old!
Hooray!
Halfway to 2; a year-and-a-half on this Earth. I can't believe it.
And they are so incredibly cute and funny and gratifying at this age (in addition to being maddening and frustrating and insane, but I've blogged about that enough -- for now).
This morning, Dean climbed into the laundry basket and sat there, as content as a bug in a rug. It was too cute. Cary, on the other hand, was none-too-pleased with this apparent "misbehavior" and stood over the basket, yelling "OT! OT!" at Dean, which is his way of saying, "Out! Out!"
They walked around the upstairs, pretending coat hangers were lawnmowers (of course). Cary cracked up at Dean "mowing" over a pile of books. Dean hugged Cary for too long, apparently, after hitting him in the head with the hanger, prompting Cary to tell him, "All done!" They somehow found their old bathrobes and begged to put them on -- Dean saying, "Hep, peees. Hep." (Help, please! Help!) Dean tried to put on Lester's flip-flops, and looked so cute with his entire foot hanging off the side of Lester's size 12s. Cary asked me 50 times if there was a "trrruck" "ah-sye." Not until I held him up to the window did he believe me that there was, in fact, NOT a truck outside. Dean showed off his He-Man tendencies by picking up the stainless steel ice bucket we've been using as a toy container and carrying it around, and then picking up the laundry basket -- with laundry in it -- and bringing it into our room. Cary sat on the floor and flipped through books, asking me about the "bay-uh" in Corduroy, and the duck floating in Alexander's bathtub in Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day. (He's obsessed with that duck!)
I could barely get ready for work, I was so engrossed in their adorable activity, and in all the little mini-conversations they were having with me, Lester and one another. Seriously, I wish I had a camera in my house running all the time to capture their exceptional intelligence and hilarity! I LOVED it.
When I look back on their first days on this Earth, their tinyness and sleepiness and relative mute-ness, it is amazing -- truly -- just how far they've come in 18 months. They're little people, now, walking and talking, fighting and hugging. They laugh at things the other one does; they hear the ducks "rapping" on the Aflac commercial and come barreling around the corner, nearly falling in the process, to see them. ("Ducks! dee-bee! Ducks!!")
They are wonderful, miraculous, beautiful little beings who bring so much joy and happiness to our lives. And every milestone is a blessing I thank God for.
Happy 18-months Cary and Dean Davis! We love you!!
(P.S. Did I take a picture of these grown-up babies to mark the occasion, you ask? Of course I did not. I will try to do that after work. Let's hope they cooperate.)
Hooray!
Halfway to 2; a year-and-a-half on this Earth. I can't believe it.
And they are so incredibly cute and funny and gratifying at this age (in addition to being maddening and frustrating and insane, but I've blogged about that enough -- for now).
This morning, Dean climbed into the laundry basket and sat there, as content as a bug in a rug. It was too cute. Cary, on the other hand, was none-too-pleased with this apparent "misbehavior" and stood over the basket, yelling "OT! OT!" at Dean, which is his way of saying, "Out! Out!"
They walked around the upstairs, pretending coat hangers were lawnmowers (of course). Cary cracked up at Dean "mowing" over a pile of books. Dean hugged Cary for too long, apparently, after hitting him in the head with the hanger, prompting Cary to tell him, "All done!" They somehow found their old bathrobes and begged to put them on -- Dean saying, "Hep, peees. Hep." (Help, please! Help!) Dean tried to put on Lester's flip-flops, and looked so cute with his entire foot hanging off the side of Lester's size 12s. Cary asked me 50 times if there was a "trrruck" "ah-sye." Not until I held him up to the window did he believe me that there was, in fact, NOT a truck outside. Dean showed off his He-Man tendencies by picking up the stainless steel ice bucket we've been using as a toy container and carrying it around, and then picking up the laundry basket -- with laundry in it -- and bringing it into our room. Cary sat on the floor and flipped through books, asking me about the "bay-uh" in Corduroy, and the duck floating in Alexander's bathtub in Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day. (He's obsessed with that duck!)
I could barely get ready for work, I was so engrossed in their adorable activity, and in all the little mini-conversations they were having with me, Lester and one another. Seriously, I wish I had a camera in my house running all the time to capture their exceptional intelligence and hilarity! I LOVED it.
When I look back on their first days on this Earth, their tinyness and sleepiness and relative mute-ness, it is amazing -- truly -- just how far they've come in 18 months. They're little people, now, walking and talking, fighting and hugging. They laugh at things the other one does; they hear the ducks "rapping" on the Aflac commercial and come barreling around the corner, nearly falling in the process, to see them. ("Ducks! dee-bee! Ducks!!")
They are wonderful, miraculous, beautiful little beings who bring so much joy and happiness to our lives. And every milestone is a blessing I thank God for.
Happy 18-months Cary and Dean Davis! We love you!!
(P.S. Did I take a picture of these grown-up babies to mark the occasion, you ask? Of course I did not. I will try to do that after work. Let's hope they cooperate.)
Thursday, November 10, 2011
The irony of having a light-sleeping baby
By now, I have griped enough about Cary's inability to sleep past 6:30 in the mornings (6:30 is a good day!) and his newfound love of waking up at night, like a newborn, despite months of sleeping through the night blissfully.
It's irritating, no doubt, but what's interesting is how it starts to become something you get used to.
So this morning, I woke up at 6:17, and immediately strained to see if I heard him in the room, whimpering. I did not. Great, I said to myself, I can sleep a few extra minutes! I dozed off, I think, or at least lapsed into semi-sleep.
At 6:33, I sat up in bed again, straining to see if I heard him. Instead, I heard silence.
Hmm, I wondered. Is he OK?
Then I thought back to a little earlier that morning, around 3:30 a.m., when Dean woke up crying for Puppy. I lumbered into the boys' room, found Puppy, and Dean fell back on his pillow, sighed, and was probably asleep before I left the room. I remember thinking at the time that it was strange that Cary wasn't awake, as he didn't get the nickname Prince Lightsleeper for nothing. I peeked in Cary's crib, but decided at the last second not to touch him, for fear of waking a sleeping bear. (A Cary-bear, but a bear nonetheless.)
So this morning, at 6:33, my mind raced back to 3:30 a.m. When I peeked in on Cary, was he breathing?? Could I even really see him in the dark?? Why didn't he wake up when Dean did? Why didn't I reach in his crib to pull his little blanket up, and feel his body move?
I lay there, as the morning light was starting to pour in through the slats of the blinds in our bedroom, and watched the clock.
6:34. 6:35. 6:36.
What is going on in there?? Why isn't that baby awake?????
My mind began to play tricks on me. I thought awful things that I will not repeat here, because they're just too awful to even think about, much less put out into the blogosphere.
I stared at Lester's peacefully sleeping back. Should I wake him up? Something must be wrong! I gave a quick, silent prayer. I breathed in and out, slowly. I tried to think of other things, like what I was going to wear to work, and if my dentist appointment was at 4 or 4:30 this afternoon.
I shifted in the bed and hugged my baby bump.
Finally, at 6:43, I heard him -- my baby!! -- making a crying noise that is normally hysterical to me, because it is his "fake" crying noise, the one he does when he sees a baby in a book: "Waah, waah," he was saying, without much heart, I might add. "Waah, waah."
I bounded out of bed, ran to his room and scooped him up and kissed him! Little sleepy stinker!
Never have I been so glad to hear his cry, fake or otherwise.
I think it is so funny that I can't sleep when my child is constantly waking up ... and I can't sleep when he doesn't wake up!
Oh, the ironies, the agonies, the pure, unmatched joys of being a Mom.
It's irritating, no doubt, but what's interesting is how it starts to become something you get used to.
So this morning, I woke up at 6:17, and immediately strained to see if I heard him in the room, whimpering. I did not. Great, I said to myself, I can sleep a few extra minutes! I dozed off, I think, or at least lapsed into semi-sleep.
At 6:33, I sat up in bed again, straining to see if I heard him. Instead, I heard silence.
Hmm, I wondered. Is he OK?
Then I thought back to a little earlier that morning, around 3:30 a.m., when Dean woke up crying for Puppy. I lumbered into the boys' room, found Puppy, and Dean fell back on his pillow, sighed, and was probably asleep before I left the room. I remember thinking at the time that it was strange that Cary wasn't awake, as he didn't get the nickname Prince Lightsleeper for nothing. I peeked in Cary's crib, but decided at the last second not to touch him, for fear of waking a sleeping bear. (A Cary-bear, but a bear nonetheless.)
So this morning, at 6:33, my mind raced back to 3:30 a.m. When I peeked in on Cary, was he breathing?? Could I even really see him in the dark?? Why didn't he wake up when Dean did? Why didn't I reach in his crib to pull his little blanket up, and feel his body move?
I lay there, as the morning light was starting to pour in through the slats of the blinds in our bedroom, and watched the clock.
6:34. 6:35. 6:36.
What is going on in there?? Why isn't that baby awake?????
My mind began to play tricks on me. I thought awful things that I will not repeat here, because they're just too awful to even think about, much less put out into the blogosphere.
I stared at Lester's peacefully sleeping back. Should I wake him up? Something must be wrong! I gave a quick, silent prayer. I breathed in and out, slowly. I tried to think of other things, like what I was going to wear to work, and if my dentist appointment was at 4 or 4:30 this afternoon.
I shifted in the bed and hugged my baby bump.
Finally, at 6:43, I heard him -- my baby!! -- making a crying noise that is normally hysterical to me, because it is his "fake" crying noise, the one he does when he sees a baby in a book: "Waah, waah," he was saying, without much heart, I might add. "Waah, waah."
I bounded out of bed, ran to his room and scooped him up and kissed him! Little sleepy stinker!
Never have I been so glad to hear his cry, fake or otherwise.
I think it is so funny that I can't sleep when my child is constantly waking up ... and I can't sleep when he doesn't wake up!
Oh, the ironies, the agonies, the pure, unmatched joys of being a Mom.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Tuesday fun facts
Fun things about Cary:
His 4-year-old cousin Russy came over two weekends ago. Cary and Dean pushed him around on the push-toy they call a "lawnmower" (of course) and Russy chased them around the house. They loved every minute of it. Since then, Cary must ask for Russy 25 times a day.
"Ruh-ee?" he asks, looking quizzical. "Ruh-ee?!"
Sometimes he says, "Ruh-ee. Mah-mow-uh." Which I know is his way of saying, "Hey. It was really cool when Russy came over and we pushed him around on that push-toy we call a lawnmower. Can we do that again soon?"
Today my other sister's eldest son turned 11. We called him this morning to say Happy Birthday. Cary for some reason thought we were talking to Russy.
When we told him it who it really was, Cary got mad, threw his book with a soulful "UNH!" and then yelled, "RUH-EEEEEEE!" He pouted for a full minute after that.
Cracked us up.
Also, when Dean asked for Michelle (Meee-Meee?!) the other night, Cary said to him "Ohm," meaning Michelle's at home. Isn't that great? My kids can talk to each other and answer each other's questions. That is so awesome as this means I will one day not need to repeat myself 100,000 times a day, answering questions they already know the answers to. Yay!
Fun things about Dean:
This kid has decided he wants every frikkin' thing he sees, especially if it's in the kitchen because he assumes that it must be something good to eat.
He stands at the gate, making the "gimme" gesture with his hands and saying something that sounds like, "Goom-BEE!" or some longer multi-syllable variation of Goom-BEE. Over and over and over. In a whiny voice. That escalates. And eventually gets accompanied with tears and screeching.
So when he did this about an onion I was cutting up -- despite me telling him repeatedly that he didn't actually want an onion, Lester said, "Let him try it and see that he doesn't want it." I sorta thought that was cruel, but then again , it would stop the goom-BEEing and screeching.
So I gave him a little piece of onion. And waited for the face.
Do you know Dean Davis ATE that onion?
Is he the Grinch? Good grief. My child really, really, really likes to eat!
(Note: He did not, however, ask for seconds. Thus stopping the goom-BEEing. Hooray!)
Fun thing about Curve Ball:
Curve Ball is 24 weeks as of today. Well, technically I guess she's only 22 weeks. But I am 24 weeks along carrying her.
To mark the occasion, she has given me a lovely case of some kind of gastro-grossness, which had me doubled over in pain, popping Tums like they were going out of style. Also, I spent 25 minutes on the floor of my office conference room yesterday because I was feeling just that crappy (pun not really intended, but since it works...why not).
The nurses at my doctor's office were flummoxed as to what to do to help me as the traditional BRAT diet is bad, bad, bad for a diabetic, and so is avoiding eating for a day or so and just drinking liquids.
Eventually, they told me to just take Maalox and Zantac. It took a while last night, but the combination seemed to work somewhat. I feel better this morning, but I have NO idea what to eat for lunch.
Oh, also, the nurse said recent bloodwork shows I am low on iron.
So I have to take iron now, too.
That means I take 4 Glyburide pills a day, plus one iron pill, plus one (or two) Zantac, plus a multi-vitamin (not to mention Maalox, as needed):
Add my sugar, tummy and iron troubles to the fact that my two boys have hit the terrible 18-months (night-wakings, defiance, general craziness beyond belief) and is it any wonder I took a picture of this picture in my doctor's office and immediately sent it to my husband:
:-)
His 4-year-old cousin Russy came over two weekends ago. Cary and Dean pushed him around on the push-toy they call a "lawnmower" (of course) and Russy chased them around the house. They loved every minute of it. Since then, Cary must ask for Russy 25 times a day.
"Ruh-ee?" he asks, looking quizzical. "Ruh-ee?!"
Sometimes he says, "Ruh-ee. Mah-mow-uh." Which I know is his way of saying, "Hey. It was really cool when Russy came over and we pushed him around on that push-toy we call a lawnmower. Can we do that again soon?"
Today my other sister's eldest son turned 11. We called him this morning to say Happy Birthday. Cary for some reason thought we were talking to Russy.
When we told him it who it really was, Cary got mad, threw his book with a soulful "UNH!" and then yelled, "RUH-EEEEEEE!" He pouted for a full minute after that.
Cracked us up.
Also, when Dean asked for Michelle (Meee-Meee?!) the other night, Cary said to him "Ohm," meaning Michelle's at home. Isn't that great? My kids can talk to each other and answer each other's questions. That is so awesome as this means I will one day not need to repeat myself 100,000 times a day, answering questions they already know the answers to. Yay!
Fun things about Dean:
This kid has decided he wants every frikkin' thing he sees, especially if it's in the kitchen because he assumes that it must be something good to eat.
He stands at the gate, making the "gimme" gesture with his hands and saying something that sounds like, "Goom-BEE!" or some longer multi-syllable variation of Goom-BEE. Over and over and over. In a whiny voice. That escalates. And eventually gets accompanied with tears and screeching.
So when he did this about an onion I was cutting up -- despite me telling him repeatedly that he didn't actually want an onion, Lester said, "Let him try it and see that he doesn't want it." I sorta thought that was cruel, but then again , it would stop the goom-BEEing and screeching.
So I gave him a little piece of onion. And waited for the face.
Do you know Dean Davis ATE that onion?
Is he the Grinch? Good grief. My child really, really, really likes to eat!
(Note: He did not, however, ask for seconds. Thus stopping the goom-BEEing. Hooray!)
Fun thing about Curve Ball:
Curve Ball is 24 weeks as of today. Well, technically I guess she's only 22 weeks. But I am 24 weeks along carrying her.
To mark the occasion, she has given me a lovely case of some kind of gastro-grossness, which had me doubled over in pain, popping Tums like they were going out of style. Also, I spent 25 minutes on the floor of my office conference room yesterday because I was feeling just that crappy (pun not really intended, but since it works...why not).
The nurses at my doctor's office were flummoxed as to what to do to help me as the traditional BRAT diet is bad, bad, bad for a diabetic, and so is avoiding eating for a day or so and just drinking liquids.
Eventually, they told me to just take Maalox and Zantac. It took a while last night, but the combination seemed to work somewhat. I feel better this morning, but I have NO idea what to eat for lunch.
Oh, also, the nurse said recent bloodwork shows I am low on iron.
So I have to take iron now, too.
That means I take 4 Glyburide pills a day, plus one iron pill, plus one (or two) Zantac, plus a multi-vitamin (not to mention Maalox, as needed):
Add my sugar, tummy and iron troubles to the fact that my two boys have hit the terrible 18-months (night-wakings, defiance, general craziness beyond belief) and is it any wonder I took a picture of this picture in my doctor's office and immediately sent it to my husband:
:-)
Friday, November 4, 2011
Using my blog to force myself to be accountable
Blogging has many perks.
I get to vent. I formulate my thoughts.
I'm recording events/photos/memories for posterity's sake.
I get advice, support and encouragement from friends, new and old.
And now, I'm adding "accountability" to the list of good things about blogging.
Lester and I share Google docs about all kinds of things: our budget, invites to activities, letters we're co-editing, possible names for Curve Ball, etc.
We've had a doc listing the things we need to do to get ready for our daughter's arrival for weeks now, and neither of us has made one attempt to do anything about any item on the list. We're pathetic.
I keep reminding Lester that soon -- and very soon -- I will be too pregnant to be of any help to him whatsoever in this department (save ordering things online, which I can do VERY well), so if he wants my help, we need to get on it. Then I figured maybe if I get on it, he'll follow suit.
Problem is, I never get on it.
So...I decided to post our entire doc here, so that is now in the public domain. My hope is that by putting it out there for all the world to see, I will feel more compelled to act.
Yes, I'm using you blogosphere. No shame in my game.
So here's the list. My goal is to have this all done by early January, since Curve Ball is due Feb. 28! (Yikes!!)
Things to Do Before the New Baby Comes
1. Organize and streamline basement storage area to prepare for guest room stuff coming to live there
2. Move guest room furniture and racks of shoes to basement storage area
3. Paint guest room
4. Move boys’ cribs and furniture into guest room
Little table and chairs possibilities:
http://www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&rh=n%3A165793011%2Ck%3Atoddler%20table%20chair%20sets&page=1
5. Paint boys’ room (now the new baby’s room)
6. Buy furniture/decor for new baby’s room
Possibilities:
http://www.amazon.com/RoomMates-RMK1439SLM-Scroll-Stick-MegaPack/dp/B003NGTNFG/ref=sr_1_1?s=baby-products&ie=UTF8&qid=1318860787&sr=1-1
http://www.babysupermall.com/main/products/kli/kli5024bed4.html
http://www.nurserydepot.com/cribbedding/productdetails.asp?id=1-10001834-10001836-148224-4-2&id2=602-0-0-0-0&
7. Move furniture into new baby’s room
Baby Stuff We Will Need
1. Single stroller
2. Triple stroller
3. Crib
4. Booster seat
5. Playmat
6. Clothes
7. Diapers
8. Crib mattress pad and sheets, comforter etc. (bedding)
Also will need ONE additional convertible carseat (for one of the boys) -- hopefully donated!
So there it is...the list of things to do before Curve Ball arrives.
And we can add to that list: SETTLE ON A NAME FOR CURVE BALL!!! Gracious, we're pathetic.
I get to vent. I formulate my thoughts.
I'm recording events/photos/memories for posterity's sake.
I get advice, support and encouragement from friends, new and old.
And now, I'm adding "accountability" to the list of good things about blogging.
Lester and I share Google docs about all kinds of things: our budget, invites to activities, letters we're co-editing, possible names for Curve Ball, etc.
We've had a doc listing the things we need to do to get ready for our daughter's arrival for weeks now, and neither of us has made one attempt to do anything about any item on the list. We're pathetic.
I keep reminding Lester that soon -- and very soon -- I will be too pregnant to be of any help to him whatsoever in this department (save ordering things online, which I can do VERY well), so if he wants my help, we need to get on it. Then I figured maybe if I get on it, he'll follow suit.
Problem is, I never get on it.
So...I decided to post our entire doc here, so that is now in the public domain. My hope is that by putting it out there for all the world to see, I will feel more compelled to act.
Yes, I'm using you blogosphere. No shame in my game.
So here's the list. My goal is to have this all done by early January, since Curve Ball is due Feb. 28! (Yikes!!)
Things to Do Before the New Baby Comes
1. Organize and streamline basement storage area to prepare for guest room stuff coming to live there
2. Move guest room furniture and racks of shoes to basement storage area
3. Paint guest room
4. Move boys’ cribs and furniture into guest room
Little table and chairs possibilities:
http://www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&rh=n%3A165793011%2Ck%3Atoddler%20table%20chair%20sets&page=1
5. Paint boys’ room (now the new baby’s room)
6. Buy furniture/decor for new baby’s room
Possibilities:
http://www.amazon.com/RoomMates-RMK1439SLM-Scroll-Stick-MegaPack/dp/B003NGTNFG/ref=sr_1_1?s=baby-products&ie=UTF8&qid=1318860787&sr=1-1
http://www.babysupermall.com/main/products/kli/kli5024bed4.html
http://www.nurserydepot.com/cribbedding/productdetails.asp?id=1-10001834-10001836-148224-4-2&id2=602-0-0-0-0&
7. Move furniture into new baby’s room
Baby Stuff We Will Need
1. Single stroller
2. Triple stroller
3. Crib
4. Booster seat
5. Playmat
6. Clothes
7. Diapers
8. Crib mattress pad and sheets, comforter etc. (bedding)
Also will need ONE additional convertible carseat (for one of the boys) -- hopefully donated!
So there it is...the list of things to do before Curve Ball arrives.
And we can add to that list: SETTLE ON A NAME FOR CURVE BALL!!! Gracious, we're pathetic.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Ask Moxie! Ask LauraC!
Thanks, LauraC! I had completely forgotten about the wonderfulness that is "Ask Moxie."
She has a SPOT-ON post about 18-month sleep regression and general craziness, that is enlightening and reassuring at every turn. But here's the gist of it, in two sentences that literally brought tears to my (stinging, burning, sleep-deprived) eyes:
Your kid may have a serious, mind-blowingly awful sleep regression at around 18 months. It's not your fault, and it will pass.
And suddenly ... I feel better. It's NOT my fault. And it WILL pass! :-)
Thanks, Moxie. Thanks, LauraC!
She has a SPOT-ON post about 18-month sleep regression and general craziness, that is enlightening and reassuring at every turn. But here's the gist of it, in two sentences that literally brought tears to my (stinging, burning, sleep-deprived) eyes:
Your kid may have a serious, mind-blowingly awful sleep regression at around 18 months. It's not your fault, and it will pass.
And suddenly ... I feel better. It's NOT my fault. And it WILL pass! :-)
Thanks, Moxie. Thanks, LauraC!
Worst night with the babies ever!
I used this blog title once before and predicted I would use it again many times throughout my children's babyhood. So far, although I have had many, many "worst nights ever" I have resisted titling a blog post as such, because I always felt slightly better about the night by the time I got around to sitting in front of a computer to complain about it.
Not so when it comes to last night.
I will not go into all the details, as I would be here all day repeating these key words and phrases:
Screaming, whining, defiance, temper tantrums, resisting, meltdowns, brother-swatting, dinnertime indecisiveness, irrationality, uncontrollable crying, food on the floor, banging sippy cups, confiscated sippy cups, more screaming, whining, bucking, flailing, unhappy bathtime, complete and total craziness, demands to be rocked in the rocking chair before bed, waking at night for missing Lovey, then 2 hours later, waking at night for NO REASON WHATSOEVER, screaming, crying, refusing to go back to sleep, melodramatic moaning for "Ma-Ma!!!!", "Da-Da!!!", throwing Lovey out of the bed and saying "Uh-oh! Uh-oh! UH-OH!" until someone comes in to retrieve Lovey, more screaming (at higher decibels), wife snapping at husband, husband snapping at wife, retreat to basement to get away from screaming toddler(s), eating waffles AND a bowl of cereal (I know. I know!), mindless television, finally, finally hearing the sweet sounds of silence at 4 a.m. Delirious at 6:45 a.m. What am I doing wrong??
Seriously, people. I feel like I am about to lose my mind. If it's just craziness in the evenings, but then we get to rest peacefully at night, I could probably deal. Or if the boys were pleasant and enjoyable in the evenings but were having toddler-troubles with sleeping, I could probably deal. But this all-you-can-eat smorgasbord of craziness they've started lately? I can. not. deal.
Truer words have never been written.
I just wish I knew what to do to help them through this "phase" (at least I hope it's a phase).
But since I have no clue (really, I have been using ALL of my tricks and none of them are working) I suppose I will just become more and more familiar with the basement -- and maybe not just in the middle of the night. Maybe I'll start taking my meals down there! Maybe I'll start coming in the basement door after work, so they don't even know I'm there!!!
Sigh.
Maybe this will just get better??
Not so when it comes to last night.
I will not go into all the details, as I would be here all day repeating these key words and phrases:
Screaming, whining, defiance, temper tantrums, resisting, meltdowns, brother-swatting, dinnertime indecisiveness, irrationality, uncontrollable crying, food on the floor, banging sippy cups, confiscated sippy cups, more screaming, whining, bucking, flailing, unhappy bathtime, complete and total craziness, demands to be rocked in the rocking chair before bed, waking at night for missing Lovey, then 2 hours later, waking at night for NO REASON WHATSOEVER, screaming, crying, refusing to go back to sleep, melodramatic moaning for "Ma-Ma!!!!", "Da-Da!!!", throwing Lovey out of the bed and saying "Uh-oh! Uh-oh! UH-OH!" until someone comes in to retrieve Lovey, more screaming (at higher decibels), wife snapping at husband, husband snapping at wife, retreat to basement to get away from screaming toddler(s), eating waffles AND a bowl of cereal (I know. I know!), mindless television, finally, finally hearing the sweet sounds of silence at 4 a.m. Delirious at 6:45 a.m. What am I doing wrong??
Seriously, people. I feel like I am about to lose my mind. If it's just craziness in the evenings, but then we get to rest peacefully at night, I could probably deal. Or if the boys were pleasant and enjoyable in the evenings but were having toddler-troubles with sleeping, I could probably deal. But this all-you-can-eat smorgasbord of craziness they've started lately? I can. not. deal.
Truer words have never been written.
I just wish I knew what to do to help them through this "phase" (at least I hope it's a phase).
But since I have no clue (really, I have been using ALL of my tricks and none of them are working) I suppose I will just become more and more familiar with the basement -- and maybe not just in the middle of the night. Maybe I'll start taking my meals down there! Maybe I'll start coming in the basement door after work, so they don't even know I'm there!!!
Sigh.
Maybe this will just get better??
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Mini-post before bed (or mini-rant, if you like that better)
I am desperately scouring "Your One-Year-Old: Fun-Loving and Fussy" trying to figure out why my son has turned into one big ferocious and frustrating ball of screaming, crying, wanting, needing, nooooooo! not that! noooooo! ma-ma! waaaaaaaah! da-da!! scream, scream, scream, cry, cry, cry, resist, rebuke, wail, flail, angry outbursts, extended temper tantrums, screaming, crying, whining BRAT!!!!!!!
I know it is bad to call your children names, so I won't publicly name which child I have had it up to here with. He knows who he is!
Ugh! When did this start, I don't even know! More importantly, when does it END?
He has been asleep now since 7:30 and I am STILL mad at him. This is unprecedented. Normally, after a particularly bad whine/scream-fest, once they're both fast asleep, I rapidly decompress and without even trying, forgive them of their toddler transgressions.
But I am tense and frustrated and bitter about this behavior. All the books said if I was an attentive, loving, nurturing mother, my boys would be pleasant and well-adjusted. Not BRATS!!!!!!
Ugh!
Now, back to my book. Must get answers.
(Too bad I can't have a glass of wine. Or even a frikkin' brownie. Ugh!! UGH!!)
I know it is bad to call your children names, so I won't publicly name which child I have had it up to here with. He knows who he is!
Ugh! When did this start, I don't even know! More importantly, when does it END?
He has been asleep now since 7:30 and I am STILL mad at him. This is unprecedented. Normally, after a particularly bad whine/scream-fest, once they're both fast asleep, I rapidly decompress and without even trying, forgive them of their toddler transgressions.
But I am tense and frustrated and bitter about this behavior. All the books said if I was an attentive, loving, nurturing mother, my boys would be pleasant and well-adjusted. Not BRATS!!!!!!
Ugh!
Now, back to my book. Must get answers.
(Too bad I can't have a glass of wine. Or even a frikkin' brownie. Ugh!! UGH!!)
A thin line between lovey and hate
Cary and Dean both have the most adorable loveys.
My friend Sumathi sent them these comfort-toys when they were born and I melted when I saw them. They were soooo cute. A puppy for Dean; a monkey for Cary. I imagined my boys snuggling with their loveys at night, loving them sweetly, and learning about affection all the while.
For a long time, they both ignored their loveys, or found them tolerable but not necessary.
And then, they grew to enjoy their loveys very much.
Lester and I found that it is a wonderful thing to have something soft and cute and harmless to give them when an irrational meltdown has ensued after bathtime.
But lately -- I'd say in the past month or so -- Dean has really become attached to Lovey the Puppy. It has become like a street drug to him. He needs it! He must have it!! GIVE PUPPY TO ME!!! OR ELSE!!
It wasn't always this way. Puppy used to live in his crib, where Dean would happily snuggle him at night. In the mornings, when lifting him out of the crib, we'd tell him "Put Puppy on the pillow. Puppy has to stay in the bed. Night-night, Puppy." And he'd comply, no problemo.
Then, it got to the point where both boys insisted on carrying their loveys around in the morning, while Lester and I got ready for work, or piddled around upstairs on the weekends, before heading down to the kitchen for the boys' morning oatmeal. But even then, when it was time to go downstairs, we would tell both boys, "OK, put Puppy and Monkey back in the bed. It's time for them to go night-night." And they'd comply, no problemo.
Sometime in the last month or so, Dean started resisting putting Puppy back in the bed before heading downstairs in the mornings. He'd cry and protest and throw tantrums. Oh, just give it to him, one of us would say to the other. Who cares? What's the harm?
So Puppy would find his way downstairs, and Dean would carry him off and on, sometimes tossing him aside for something more interesting, but usually finding him again throughout the day.
We managed to get Puppy back in the crib for naps -- where he'd stay until bedtime. That lasted a week or so.
But then, more meltdowns. Bigger, longer-lasting tantrums. Puppy needed to be with him at all times, in the mornings, after naps, while having a diaper change. Dean must. have. Puppy.
Before we knew it, prying Puppy from him at mealtimes became a major fight. Eventually, it became a fight we lost. Puppy stayed in the highchair, and got smeared with spaghetti sauce and cracker crumbs and sticky, fruit-covered handprints.
No amount of distraction or even SNACKS (his favorite thing) worked to keep his mind off his need for Puppy. His eyes darted around, wild and wide. I swear one night the boy got the must-have-Puppy-shakes!
Dean, my abusive-boyfriend-crackhead son. Sigh. Where have we gone wrong?
This weekend, Lester and I hit the Puppy wall.
After dinner, Lester takes the boys for their baths, while I clean up the wreckage in the kitchen and dining room and pick up the toys.
Usually, the soundtrack from upstairs is of laughing, splashing babies. On this night, the house was filled with Dean's piercing, desperate, gut-wrenching wailing.
He wanted Puppy in the tub with him, and no amount of explaining could deter him.
(Yes, we tried to explain to the 17-month-old that Puppy can't get wet. Yes, we know this is ridiculous. But my child is an addict!! I was out of ideas!!)
Lester steeled himself and went on with the washing, trying to sing, play and cajole Dean out of screaming with silly faces and requests (Hey, Dean! Wash Daddy's face!) Still, he cried. He cried continuously throughout the entire bathtime. He cried when Lester took him out of the bath. He cried all the way until Lester put him in his crib, where he found his fix, lying innocently on the pillow. Then, he sniffled and snuggled until lights out.
This, my friends, was the Puppy wall.
We don't know how Dean's Puppy love turned so wrong. But we have decided on an intervention.
No matter how much our little addict cries, Puppy must live in the crib. He can come out in the mornings, for as long as it takes for us to move the party to the first floor. But Puppy is not allowed downstairs, no matter what.
No more highchairs. No more bathtimes-turned-screamfests. Puppy, for the most part, is confined to the crib.
So far, there have been tears-o-plenty. And wailing. My Dean is a VERY determined baby. And when that jones comes down, it is not pretty. But we have stood firm.
And I hope and pray this will get easier.
Night-night, Puppy. Night-night.
My friend Sumathi sent them these comfort-toys when they were born and I melted when I saw them. They were soooo cute. A puppy for Dean; a monkey for Cary. I imagined my boys snuggling with their loveys at night, loving them sweetly, and learning about affection all the while.
For a long time, they both ignored their loveys, or found them tolerable but not necessary.
And then, they grew to enjoy their loveys very much.
Lester and I found that it is a wonderful thing to have something soft and cute and harmless to give them when an irrational meltdown has ensued after bathtime.
But lately -- I'd say in the past month or so -- Dean has really become attached to Lovey the Puppy. It has become like a street drug to him. He needs it! He must have it!! GIVE PUPPY TO ME!!! OR ELSE!!
It wasn't always this way. Puppy used to live in his crib, where Dean would happily snuggle him at night. In the mornings, when lifting him out of the crib, we'd tell him "Put Puppy on the pillow. Puppy has to stay in the bed. Night-night, Puppy." And he'd comply, no problemo.
Then, it got to the point where both boys insisted on carrying their loveys around in the morning, while Lester and I got ready for work, or piddled around upstairs on the weekends, before heading down to the kitchen for the boys' morning oatmeal. But even then, when it was time to go downstairs, we would tell both boys, "OK, put Puppy and Monkey back in the bed. It's time for them to go night-night." And they'd comply, no problemo.
Sometime in the last month or so, Dean started resisting putting Puppy back in the bed before heading downstairs in the mornings. He'd cry and protest and throw tantrums. Oh, just give it to him, one of us would say to the other. Who cares? What's the harm?
So Puppy would find his way downstairs, and Dean would carry him off and on, sometimes tossing him aside for something more interesting, but usually finding him again throughout the day.
We managed to get Puppy back in the crib for naps -- where he'd stay until bedtime. That lasted a week or so.
But then, more meltdowns. Bigger, longer-lasting tantrums. Puppy needed to be with him at all times, in the mornings, after naps, while having a diaper change. Dean must. have. Puppy.
Before we knew it, prying Puppy from him at mealtimes became a major fight. Eventually, it became a fight we lost. Puppy stayed in the highchair, and got smeared with spaghetti sauce and cracker crumbs and sticky, fruit-covered handprints.
No amount of distraction or even SNACKS (his favorite thing) worked to keep his mind off his need for Puppy. His eyes darted around, wild and wide. I swear one night the boy got the must-have-Puppy-shakes!
Dean, my abusive-boyfriend-crackhead son. Sigh. Where have we gone wrong?
This weekend, Lester and I hit the Puppy wall.
After dinner, Lester takes the boys for their baths, while I clean up the wreckage in the kitchen and dining room and pick up the toys.
Usually, the soundtrack from upstairs is of laughing, splashing babies. On this night, the house was filled with Dean's piercing, desperate, gut-wrenching wailing.
He wanted Puppy in the tub with him, and no amount of explaining could deter him.
(Yes, we tried to explain to the 17-month-old that Puppy can't get wet. Yes, we know this is ridiculous. But my child is an addict!! I was out of ideas!!)
Lester steeled himself and went on with the washing, trying to sing, play and cajole Dean out of screaming with silly faces and requests (Hey, Dean! Wash Daddy's face!) Still, he cried. He cried continuously throughout the entire bathtime. He cried when Lester took him out of the bath. He cried all the way until Lester put him in his crib, where he found his fix, lying innocently on the pillow. Then, he sniffled and snuggled until lights out.
This, my friends, was the Puppy wall.
We don't know how Dean's Puppy love turned so wrong. But we have decided on an intervention.
No matter how much our little addict cries, Puppy must live in the crib. He can come out in the mornings, for as long as it takes for us to move the party to the first floor. But Puppy is not allowed downstairs, no matter what.
No more highchairs. No more bathtimes-turned-screamfests. Puppy, for the most part, is confined to the crib.
So far, there have been tears-o-plenty. And wailing. My Dean is a VERY determined baby. And when that jones comes down, it is not pretty. But we have stood firm.
And I hope and pray this will get easier.
Night-night, Puppy. Night-night.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Year of Austerity
So instead of dressing the boys up this year, we decided to dress up ourselves.
Lester and I went to a friend's Halloween party Saturday night. I was a witch (I already had a hat and a blond wig in the basement). And Lester was Herman Cain, the erstwhile Republican presidential candidate, who is a total nut. Lester's entire costume was a pizza box, with $9.99 written on it. (Because of Herman Cain's 9-9-9 plan? Get it?)
He wore all his own clothes.
So, aside from having to order a pizza -- which was payment for my sister coming to sit with the babies while we went out -- the costumes were free!
More than anything else, Lester was happy about that. Have I ever mentioned that my husband is cheap...er....frugal?? :-)
Our frugal Halloween is just the beginning of the ultra-frugal lifestyle that's on the way.
Last night, Lester and I sat down and mapped out how we are going to pull off the "Davis Year of Austerity," beginning in December.
From December 2011 to December 2012, we are going to attempt to save as much money as possible, and spend as little money as possible.
Yes, we are going to attempt this right before Christmas and just before having a baby.
We might just be a tad crazy.
Top 5 things we plan to do differently:
1) We're getting rid of cable. YIKES!!! Here's the thing. We don't watch all THAT much television anyway. And most of what we do watch is on regular broadcast stations (The Today Show, Modern Family, 60 Minutes, football). And we have Netflix, so we get movies to watch regularly. Lester is going to miss having the NFL network, and I am going to miss having AMC and TCM. But we know this is a sacrifice for the family, and a sacrifice wouldn't be a sacrifice if it didn't hurt a little.
2) We're disconnecting our alarm system. (Don't tell any burglars.) I got it when I bought the house because Lester was still in Florida and I was a single woman living in Baltimore city. Mostly, I wanted it for when we were home -- sleeping at night, for example. But when Lester and I got married and he moved in, he found the alarm annoying while we were in the house, and only wanted to use it when we were all out. Well, needless to say, with twin babies, we're infrequently ALL out of the house at the same time, and with another one on the way, I imagine we'll be leaving as a group even less. At least for a while. So, no more alarm.
3) We're downgrading our house-phone to one that dials out and receives calls only. Right now, we have Caller ID and call-waiting and all the other bells and whistles (that we never use anyway), and it just doesn't make sense. Now, this item was a big source of disagreement for Lester and me. He wanted to get rid of the home phone altogether, as that seems to be the trend more and more with folks. But I cannot make myself feel comfortable with having small children in the house and no fixed way to reach 911 if something awful were to ever happen. (God forbid.) Yes, we all have cell phones, but Lester and I are gone all day and that means we're depending on Michelle to have her phone charged, handy etc. for the safety of our children. That seems irresponsible to me. What if Michelle leaves her phone at home one day? (Which has happened before.) What if she forgets to pay her bill? Regardless, it's not her job to have a cell phone. But it IS our job to make sure we do everything in our power to keep our kids safe. So, we're keeping the phone, but only minimally.
4) We're looking into downgrading the cell phone package we have. Right now, we've got a gazillion minutes and unlimited text messaging. Is all that necessary? Really? We don't know -- but we're going to call and find out. One thing: If we're getting rid of the free long-distance capability on our home phone, it might not be prudent to have fewer minutes on our cell phones, with the way my family, in particular, likes to gab.
5) We're drastically cutting back on our weekly spending money. This is something we should have revisited a while ago. Back in the day, when disposable income was something we actually had, I treated myself to regular beautifying. Once a week, I got my hair flat-ironed, and once a month, I got my eyebrows and toes done. The hair straightening alone was (I'm ashamed to say) $65 a week! Ack.
I've long since stopped getting my hair done that often (two babies will do that to ya), but we never adjusted the budget to reflect that. Which meant I had the cash in hand every week. And that meant I found reasons to spend it. Mostly on lunches out at work, or impromptu Target purchases. But now, all that beautification money is going back into the savings pot, and we'll find creative ways to get myself beautified when special occasions pop up.
This will also mean bringing lunch more often than eating lunches out, which means more organization and preparation on my part (ugh! Lord, help me). But considering my new blood-sugar-conscious diet, I should probably do that anyway, I guess. At least during the week.
That last item is going to be the toughest part for me, as I really do like to have a little cash in my pocket for small things -- greeting cards for friends, coffee on the run, last-minute Amazon purchases, yard sale finds, etc. And it feels like I'm working for nothing, if I can't spend $10 on a whim if I want to. (Enter pouty face here).
But I'm not working for nothing. I'm working for this family. Which is getting bigger by the moment. (Cue the kicking baby.)
And we're keeping a small amount of household money for occasional treats, like birthday dinners out, or inexpensive things we really, really, really want. So it won't be all austerity and no fun at all. That would suck.
And honestly, when I think about it, God has blessed our family tremendously -- because, right now, without spending another dime, we truly have all the things that we need, and some of the things that we want. What more can we really ask for in life? Being bitter because I can't get my hair straightened, or order Chinese on Fridays (which I don't need to be eating anyway, hellloooooo!) just borders on avarice a little bit.
Especially when so many people all over this world -- in my own city, as a matter of fact -- are hungry, or cold, or have no idea where they'll sleep tonight.
So for a year -- one calendar year -- I can give up these things, and try to put more money away for the good of our family. It'll be difficult, for SURE, but it'll be worth it.
And sacrifice isn't sacrifice unless it hurts a little, right? Not to mention that the best things in life, a wise woman once reminded me, aren't things at all.
(We love you Cary, Dean and Curve Ball. This sacrifice is for you.)
Lester and I went to a friend's Halloween party Saturday night. I was a witch (I already had a hat and a blond wig in the basement). And Lester was Herman Cain, the erstwhile Republican presidential candidate, who is a total nut. Lester's entire costume was a pizza box, with $9.99 written on it. (Because of Herman Cain's 9-9-9 plan? Get it?)
He wore all his own clothes.
So, aside from having to order a pizza -- which was payment for my sister coming to sit with the babies while we went out -- the costumes were free!
More than anything else, Lester was happy about that. Have I ever mentioned that my husband is cheap...er....frugal?? :-)
Our frugal Halloween is just the beginning of the ultra-frugal lifestyle that's on the way.
Last night, Lester and I sat down and mapped out how we are going to pull off the "Davis Year of Austerity," beginning in December.
From December 2011 to December 2012, we are going to attempt to save as much money as possible, and spend as little money as possible.
Yes, we are going to attempt this right before Christmas and just before having a baby.
We might just be a tad crazy.
Top 5 things we plan to do differently:
1) We're getting rid of cable. YIKES!!! Here's the thing. We don't watch all THAT much television anyway. And most of what we do watch is on regular broadcast stations (The Today Show, Modern Family, 60 Minutes, football). And we have Netflix, so we get movies to watch regularly. Lester is going to miss having the NFL network, and I am going to miss having AMC and TCM. But we know this is a sacrifice for the family, and a sacrifice wouldn't be a sacrifice if it didn't hurt a little.
2) We're disconnecting our alarm system. (Don't tell any burglars.) I got it when I bought the house because Lester was still in Florida and I was a single woman living in Baltimore city. Mostly, I wanted it for when we were home -- sleeping at night, for example. But when Lester and I got married and he moved in, he found the alarm annoying while we were in the house, and only wanted to use it when we were all out. Well, needless to say, with twin babies, we're infrequently ALL out of the house at the same time, and with another one on the way, I imagine we'll be leaving as a group even less. At least for a while. So, no more alarm.
3) We're downgrading our house-phone to one that dials out and receives calls only. Right now, we have Caller ID and call-waiting and all the other bells and whistles (that we never use anyway), and it just doesn't make sense. Now, this item was a big source of disagreement for Lester and me. He wanted to get rid of the home phone altogether, as that seems to be the trend more and more with folks. But I cannot make myself feel comfortable with having small children in the house and no fixed way to reach 911 if something awful were to ever happen. (God forbid.) Yes, we all have cell phones, but Lester and I are gone all day and that means we're depending on Michelle to have her phone charged, handy etc. for the safety of our children. That seems irresponsible to me. What if Michelle leaves her phone at home one day? (Which has happened before.) What if she forgets to pay her bill? Regardless, it's not her job to have a cell phone. But it IS our job to make sure we do everything in our power to keep our kids safe. So, we're keeping the phone, but only minimally.
4) We're looking into downgrading the cell phone package we have. Right now, we've got a gazillion minutes and unlimited text messaging. Is all that necessary? Really? We don't know -- but we're going to call and find out. One thing: If we're getting rid of the free long-distance capability on our home phone, it might not be prudent to have fewer minutes on our cell phones, with the way my family, in particular, likes to gab.
5) We're drastically cutting back on our weekly spending money. This is something we should have revisited a while ago. Back in the day, when disposable income was something we actually had, I treated myself to regular beautifying. Once a week, I got my hair flat-ironed, and once a month, I got my eyebrows and toes done. The hair straightening alone was (I'm ashamed to say) $65 a week! Ack.
I've long since stopped getting my hair done that often (two babies will do that to ya), but we never adjusted the budget to reflect that. Which meant I had the cash in hand every week. And that meant I found reasons to spend it. Mostly on lunches out at work, or impromptu Target purchases. But now, all that beautification money is going back into the savings pot, and we'll find creative ways to get myself beautified when special occasions pop up.
This will also mean bringing lunch more often than eating lunches out, which means more organization and preparation on my part (ugh! Lord, help me). But considering my new blood-sugar-conscious diet, I should probably do that anyway, I guess. At least during the week.
That last item is going to be the toughest part for me, as I really do like to have a little cash in my pocket for small things -- greeting cards for friends, coffee on the run, last-minute Amazon purchases, yard sale finds, etc. And it feels like I'm working for nothing, if I can't spend $10 on a whim if I want to. (Enter pouty face here).
But I'm not working for nothing. I'm working for this family. Which is getting bigger by the moment. (Cue the kicking baby.)
And we're keeping a small amount of household money for occasional treats, like birthday dinners out, or inexpensive things we really, really, really want. So it won't be all austerity and no fun at all. That would suck.
And honestly, when I think about it, God has blessed our family tremendously -- because, right now, without spending another dime, we truly have all the things that we need, and some of the things that we want. What more can we really ask for in life? Being bitter because I can't get my hair straightened, or order Chinese on Fridays (which I don't need to be eating anyway, hellloooooo!) just borders on avarice a little bit.
Especially when so many people all over this world -- in my own city, as a matter of fact -- are hungry, or cold, or have no idea where they'll sleep tonight.
So for a year -- one calendar year -- I can give up these things, and try to put more money away for the good of our family. It'll be difficult, for SURE, but it'll be worth it.
And sacrifice isn't sacrifice unless it hurts a little, right? Not to mention that the best things in life, a wise woman once reminded me, aren't things at all.
(We love you Cary, Dean and Curve Ball. This sacrifice is for you.)
Friday, October 28, 2011
After much consternation, here's what the boys will be for Halloween this year...
Last year, Cary and Dean were the world's most adorable meerkat and sea otter for Halloween.
I found their costumes at the last minute for $10 each on some Halloween clearance website.
Cary:
Dean:
At the Maryland Zoo, with the other critters:
Post-Boo at the Zoo-ing:
(Pictures of them sleeping always makes me all melty! Look at those peaceful, gorgeous faces!)
This year, Lester and I are trying not to spend money AT ALL for Halloween (except for the candy for the neighborhood trick-or-treaters, of course) so the pressure was on for me to find them something to be that was free.
This was a tremendous amount of pressure, because everyone around me seems to think that because I have twins, I have this wonderful opportunity to be really clever with the Halloween costumes. Think of all the things that come in pairs! they say. Salt and Pepper! Yin and Yang! Peaches and Herb!
My sister told me to have one be an elephant and one be a donkey, and they'd be Democrats and Republicans. But I just couldn't do that to the baby who'd end up in the Republican costume. Sorry.
Anyway, I started getting a headache every time I tried to think of something clever AND free. Something that plays on the fact that Cary and Dean are a pair, but that also cost NO MONEY.
I like to think of myself as a somewhat creative person. Well, OK, not really. I like to think of myself as a person who would like to be creative, if only given enough time and motivation.
But time got away from me, and I think I left my motivation in the back of a taxicab somewhere, or -- more likely -- at the pumpkin farm the day Dean acted the fool and I left the stroller at home.
So, after much consternation, here's what I finally came up with. Here is what Cary and Dean are going to be for Halloween this year:
Isn't that adorable??!! And hysterical?!
What? What's that you say? You don't get it? Really?? Look closely!!
Gosh you people are slow.
Dean is going to be CARY and Cary is going to be DEAN!!!
It's ironic!! See?? It's funny!
You don't see? You're not laughing?
Whatever. Let's just call this Halloween a wash (it's not like they can even have candy yet, anyway) and I'll do better next year.
Happy Halloween, folks! Can't wait to see all your kids' pictures!
I found their costumes at the last minute for $10 each on some Halloween clearance website.
Cary:
Dean:
At the Maryland Zoo, with the other critters:
Post-Boo at the Zoo-ing:
(Pictures of them sleeping always makes me all melty! Look at those peaceful, gorgeous faces!)
This year, Lester and I are trying not to spend money AT ALL for Halloween (except for the candy for the neighborhood trick-or-treaters, of course) so the pressure was on for me to find them something to be that was free.
This was a tremendous amount of pressure, because everyone around me seems to think that because I have twins, I have this wonderful opportunity to be really clever with the Halloween costumes. Think of all the things that come in pairs! they say. Salt and Pepper! Yin and Yang! Peaches and Herb!
My sister told me to have one be an elephant and one be a donkey, and they'd be Democrats and Republicans. But I just couldn't do that to the baby who'd end up in the Republican costume. Sorry.
Anyway, I started getting a headache every time I tried to think of something clever AND free. Something that plays on the fact that Cary and Dean are a pair, but that also cost NO MONEY.
I like to think of myself as a somewhat creative person. Well, OK, not really. I like to think of myself as a person who would like to be creative, if only given enough time and motivation.
But time got away from me, and I think I left my motivation in the back of a taxicab somewhere, or -- more likely -- at the pumpkin farm the day Dean acted the fool and I left the stroller at home.
So, after much consternation, here's what I finally came up with. Here is what Cary and Dean are going to be for Halloween this year:
Isn't that adorable??!! And hysterical?!What? What's that you say? You don't get it? Really?? Look closely!!
Gosh you people are slow.
Dean is going to be CARY and Cary is going to be DEAN!!!
It's ironic!! See?? It's funny!
You don't see? You're not laughing?
Whatever. Let's just call this Halloween a wash (it's not like they can even have candy yet, anyway) and I'll do better next year.
Happy Halloween, folks! Can't wait to see all your kids' pictures!
Thursday, October 27, 2011
How I learned to love baby hiccups (or "Funny how life works...")
In early June, I posted a blog about something-or-other, and in it, I made a passing remark about how "this is why I know I do NOT want another baby."
That was June 3rd.
According to due date calculators, I got pregnant June 6th or 7th.
Go figure.
As many of you know, I was freaked OUT about this pregnancy. This was NOT in my plans for my family's life. This was NOT supposed to happen! How were we going to make this work? Three kids? Under age 2? Everything in our lives was already stretched -- from patience to space in the house to our (rapidly dwindling) finances. How could we possibly make this work?
For weeks, I was in denial about the pregnancy. And then, after the first sonogram at 8 weeks, I was less in denial, but more bitter. Why did this happen to me? I was happy with things the way they were! What was God trying to tell me?
I didn't tell people for many, many weeks because I wanted to try to get to a better frame of mind first. I had already blurted out my disappointment to one too many people. I knew I'd feel better as time went on and I didn't ever want people to think I didn't -- or wouldn't -- love this baby when he/she arrived.
I got over that disappointment quickly, and warmed up to the pregnancy. I jokingly dubbed this baby "Curve Ball" because that's exactly what she threw at us. I felt better about our situation, with prayer and with lots of reassurance from Lester and close friends and family that truly three kids was doable -- and even desirable, in some senses. I became...accepting.
But in the back of my head, I still worried a bit because I wasn't feeling the thrill of pregnancy that I had with the boys. Something was missing. What was it?!
Fast forward to yesterday, when I got home from work, sat on the floor with the boys on my lap, and read books. Cary or Dean, I can't remember which, got up to get something, and pushed hard against my belly. It didn't hurt, but I was conscious of how that must have felt to the baby. I waited to feel a retaliatory kick.
I waited. And waited. And nothing happened.
It occurred to me that I hadn't felt Curve Ball move since that morning, at a staff meeting. I thought about it: Normally, I feel her all day long. She is a very active baby, with a strong punch and a gymnast's kick. She especially likes it when I eat! Somersaults for at least 15 minutes after that!
So I went on about the night. Feeding the boys. Cleaning up dinner. Helping with bedtime. Talking to a friend on the phone. Reading a magazine. Watching "Modern Family."
No kicks.
Before bed, I pushed on my belly on both sides. I even decided to try a little sugar (despite my perinatologist's face scowling in my sub-conscious). I ate a small (very small) bowl of ice cream.
No kicks.
I woke up this morning, feeling refreshed because the boys (basically) slept through the night, I didn't have to get up to stuff myself with food because of blood sugar lows, and my acrobatic baby hadn't kept me up at night, kicking and rolling.
Wait. My baby hadn't kicked and rolled ALL night.
And just like that...
Just like that...
My feelings on having this baby changed from "accepting" to "wanting." In fact, I'd say "needing."
I don't just want this baby, my little daughter-to-be. I NEED her! I LOVE HER. So much.
My family would not be complete without her. She is already a part of us. I am not whole without her.
Lester and I prayed this morning for health and developmental progress and peace of mind.
We prayed for our family, our marriage, our desire to be better human beings, as God would want us to be. We prayed to be more trusting and faithful. We thanked God for all He has already done for us, and for the things He has yet to do.
We talked to Curve Ball and told her we loved her and needed her to get moving!
Lester laughed, on his way out of the room, that that is probably the last time we will beg a sleeping baby to wake up!
And on my way into work this morning, sitting in a bit of rainy-day traffic, Curve Ball leaned in and clocked me one!
I burst into tears.
Since breakfast -- and as I type -- she is moving like a crazy person! I think she has the hiccups.
It is the loveliest feeling in the world.
That was June 3rd.
According to due date calculators, I got pregnant June 6th or 7th.
Go figure.
As many of you know, I was freaked OUT about this pregnancy. This was NOT in my plans for my family's life. This was NOT supposed to happen! How were we going to make this work? Three kids? Under age 2? Everything in our lives was already stretched -- from patience to space in the house to our (rapidly dwindling) finances. How could we possibly make this work?
For weeks, I was in denial about the pregnancy. And then, after the first sonogram at 8 weeks, I was less in denial, but more bitter. Why did this happen to me? I was happy with things the way they were! What was God trying to tell me?
I didn't tell people for many, many weeks because I wanted to try to get to a better frame of mind first. I had already blurted out my disappointment to one too many people. I knew I'd feel better as time went on and I didn't ever want people to think I didn't -- or wouldn't -- love this baby when he/she arrived.
I got over that disappointment quickly, and warmed up to the pregnancy. I jokingly dubbed this baby "Curve Ball" because that's exactly what she threw at us. I felt better about our situation, with prayer and with lots of reassurance from Lester and close friends and family that truly three kids was doable -- and even desirable, in some senses. I became...accepting.
But in the back of my head, I still worried a bit because I wasn't feeling the thrill of pregnancy that I had with the boys. Something was missing. What was it?!
Fast forward to yesterday, when I got home from work, sat on the floor with the boys on my lap, and read books. Cary or Dean, I can't remember which, got up to get something, and pushed hard against my belly. It didn't hurt, but I was conscious of how that must have felt to the baby. I waited to feel a retaliatory kick.
I waited. And waited. And nothing happened.
It occurred to me that I hadn't felt Curve Ball move since that morning, at a staff meeting. I thought about it: Normally, I feel her all day long. She is a very active baby, with a strong punch and a gymnast's kick. She especially likes it when I eat! Somersaults for at least 15 minutes after that!
So I went on about the night. Feeding the boys. Cleaning up dinner. Helping with bedtime. Talking to a friend on the phone. Reading a magazine. Watching "Modern Family."
No kicks.
Before bed, I pushed on my belly on both sides. I even decided to try a little sugar (despite my perinatologist's face scowling in my sub-conscious). I ate a small (very small) bowl of ice cream.
No kicks.
I woke up this morning, feeling refreshed because the boys (basically) slept through the night, I didn't have to get up to stuff myself with food because of blood sugar lows, and my acrobatic baby hadn't kept me up at night, kicking and rolling.
Wait. My baby hadn't kicked and rolled ALL night.
And just like that...
Just like that...
My feelings on having this baby changed from "accepting" to "wanting." In fact, I'd say "needing."
I don't just want this baby, my little daughter-to-be. I NEED her! I LOVE HER. So much.
My family would not be complete without her. She is already a part of us. I am not whole without her.
Lester and I prayed this morning for health and developmental progress and peace of mind.
We prayed for our family, our marriage, our desire to be better human beings, as God would want us to be. We prayed to be more trusting and faithful. We thanked God for all He has already done for us, and for the things He has yet to do.
We talked to Curve Ball and told her we loved her and needed her to get moving!
Lester laughed, on his way out of the room, that that is probably the last time we will beg a sleeping baby to wake up!
And on my way into work this morning, sitting in a bit of rainy-day traffic, Curve Ball leaned in and clocked me one!
I burst into tears.
Since breakfast -- and as I type -- she is moving like a crazy person! I think she has the hiccups.
It is the loveliest feeling in the world.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Blogfriends are a blessing
When I decided to start a blog, I had no idea what the outcome would be.
I wasn't sure if it would end up being more of a chore to do, or so boring that I'd have to drag myself to do it. I really wasn't sure if I'd have the sticktuitveness to keep it up, keeping in mind my hectic schedule (and Gemini-personality).
And I didn't share the blog with anyone close to me for quite awhile, because I didn't know how much I wanted folks so closely involved in all of my thoughts and activities; I didn't want to be judged; and I was pretty sure no one would give a good gosh darn about any boring thing I had to say. How many frikkin' Mommy blogs are there out there anyway? Compared to some of the really popular ones, mine is mundane to the nth degree.
Let me just say, many months later, I am SO glad I started this blog!
Many things are gratifying about blogging, including the ability to sort out my own muddled thoughts about things when confronted with a blank screen and a keyboard. And I am extremely excited about having a real record of Dean and Cary's early months on Earth -- for their sake, later on in life.
But one very unexpected treasure about having a blog is the tremendous support and encouragement I have gotten from people I barely know or don't know at all!
Commenters -- mostly from LauraC's fanclub -- have chimed in when I was anxious, unsure, sick-and-tired or just plain tired. Each comment has bouyed me, lifted me up, informed me or, at the very least, made me laugh. (I can't tell you how nice it is to laugh when you've been up all night with two irrational babies who think 2 a.m. is a great time to wake up and scream for two hours).
Yesterday, I was about as down as I've been in a long time. I was scared, depressed, sad, guilt-ridden and bitter.
My newfound blogfriends (and some of my friends IRL) jumped in with practical advice, encouragement galore and real sympathy, all of which I SO needed. I'm so grateful for these ladies who share their wisdom and kindness with me, without even really knowing me. I feel truly blessed.
I still feel many of the things I felt yesterday, but with support, encouragement and love from (near) strangers, I somehow feel more capable of tackling this problem. With grace.
I know not everyone is a Christian, and I don't try to push my religion on others. But I do have to say that I know for a fact that God works and speaks through people. And so, through something as simple as commenting on a worried-woman's blog, I can see and feel God's love.
And no one could have ever told me that starting a blog would have resulted in something as beautiful and phenomenal as that.
I wasn't sure if it would end up being more of a chore to do, or so boring that I'd have to drag myself to do it. I really wasn't sure if I'd have the sticktuitveness to keep it up, keeping in mind my hectic schedule (and Gemini-personality).
And I didn't share the blog with anyone close to me for quite awhile, because I didn't know how much I wanted folks so closely involved in all of my thoughts and activities; I didn't want to be judged; and I was pretty sure no one would give a good gosh darn about any boring thing I had to say. How many frikkin' Mommy blogs are there out there anyway? Compared to some of the really popular ones, mine is mundane to the nth degree.
Let me just say, many months later, I am SO glad I started this blog!
Many things are gratifying about blogging, including the ability to sort out my own muddled thoughts about things when confronted with a blank screen and a keyboard. And I am extremely excited about having a real record of Dean and Cary's early months on Earth -- for their sake, later on in life.
But one very unexpected treasure about having a blog is the tremendous support and encouragement I have gotten from people I barely know or don't know at all!
Commenters -- mostly from LauraC's fanclub -- have chimed in when I was anxious, unsure, sick-and-tired or just plain tired. Each comment has bouyed me, lifted me up, informed me or, at the very least, made me laugh. (I can't tell you how nice it is to laugh when you've been up all night with two irrational babies who think 2 a.m. is a great time to wake up and scream for two hours).
Yesterday, I was about as down as I've been in a long time. I was scared, depressed, sad, guilt-ridden and bitter.
My newfound blogfriends (and some of my friends IRL) jumped in with practical advice, encouragement galore and real sympathy, all of which I SO needed. I'm so grateful for these ladies who share their wisdom and kindness with me, without even really knowing me. I feel truly blessed.
I still feel many of the things I felt yesterday, but with support, encouragement and love from (near) strangers, I somehow feel more capable of tackling this problem. With grace.
I know not everyone is a Christian, and I don't try to push my religion on others. But I do have to say that I know for a fact that God works and speaks through people. And so, through something as simple as commenting on a worried-woman's blog, I can see and feel God's love.
And no one could have ever told me that starting a blog would have resulted in something as beautiful and phenomenal as that.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Sugar seriousness
So...
The perinatologist did not put me on insulin yet. She wants to try changing up the medication dosages and times that I take the meds a little first.
That's fine, I suppose. I'm not sure how I actually feel about it.
But then she also gave me a real heart-to-heart, with a stern, serious-business tone, about what I eat, and how non-great I have been about eating right for my condition.
And unlike my meetings with the diabetes educator and the nutritionist yesterday, Dr. Rossiter did not give me a rosy picture of my current state or my future.
To begin with, she said I am "diabetic." Not pre-diabetic; not gestational diabetes. I do not have gestational diabetes, she said, because that is classified as having sugar issues after 28 weeks. I am diabetic, because my issues started so early. I'm just 22 weeks today and this has been going on since my first trimester.
Secondly, she said it is entirely possible that I will continue to be diabetic after the pregnancy. Lord, help me.
Everything I've read and all that the nurses and other folks have told me seemed to indicate that there was a high probability I would not be diabetic post-delivery. Dr. Rossiter agreed that we won't know for sure until after I deliver Curve Ball, but she seemed to be trying to prepare me for what research and science and her expertise indicates about me and my condition thus far.
Thirdly, she said I have GOT to change my diet, in a big way. No excuses. No short-cuts. Tastebuds and hunger pangs be damned! (That last part is my own editorial comment. She didn't actually say that.)
This is depressing for many, many reasons.
1. I don't want to be diabetic. I especially don't want to be diabetic this young. Both my grandmothers had diabetes, but they got the disease much, much, much later in life -- after they were already grandmothers. I have been struggling with my sugars since before I got pregnant with the boys. (And probably much, much longer. Now that I know what it feels like to have severe lows, I know I've been having them since I was a teenager, at least).
2. My pancreas' issues with producing insulin, and my body's ability to process the insulin will only degenerate with age, not get better. So this just means I have more time to get worse, more time to have to think about this, more time to worry about all the complications of diabetes that can come with age. More time to eat rabbit food in order to survive.
3. I want to be around for Cary, Dean and Curve Ball. I hate that I feel like I have an expiration date on my head already - at 38 years old.
4. (And here's where the whining begins): I really, really resent having to think so hard about EVERY SINGLE thing I eat, at every meal and every snack, every day and every night for the rest of my life. I really, really hate that there is so little I can eat that is good for me (sugar-wise) and that won't leave me feeling hungry all day. (Especially while pregnant! When I'm already starving!!)
Every-frikkin'-thing is carby! Breads, pastas, smoothies, oatmeal, juice, soda, fruit, rice, yogurt, frozen yogurt, waffles, French toast, sandwiches, hot dogs, burritos, raisins, Craisins, grits, cream of wheat, cold cereals, corn, peas, crackers, syrup, jellies, jams, chutneys, French fries, sweet potatoes, squash, chips, beans, tomato soup, chicken noodle soup, croutons, stuffing -- and of course, any and all desserts. (And we all know I have a raging sweet tooth!)
Here's what I can eat:
Here's what you need to know about that list:
Eggs - Since I found out that I was pre-diabetic and that almost everything for breakfast besides eggs was bad for me, I have eaten so many eggs, I really start to gag when I eat them now. I can eat maybe two bites of egg, and then that's it. Stomach churns. Fork down. I am TIRED of eggs.
Meats - I'm not a HUGE meat person. I'm not a vegetarian by any stretch, but unlike my husband, I cannot just eat chicken breasts as a meal. Or even juicy a steak. I need more! I like my old-school meat-starch-veggie mix at meals, and to be honest, I could really do without the veggies, if the meat and starch comes topped with a yummy gravy. I don't eat pork, and until I was pregnant with the boys, I didn't eat red meat. And frankly, I'm a little tired of chicken. P.S. Try going into a quickie-lunch-food-type store with your officemates when they go to buy bagels and muffins for a 3 p.m. snack and asking for a side of chicken. Just try it. I dare you.
Fresh vegetables - How many salads can a person eat? Seriously? How much baby spinach? How many carrots can I nibble on at my desk? Honestly, I LIKE corn and peas. Especially corn. Why is corn a bad food for me? Ugh!
And I prepare meals on the weekends to last all week, because I don't have time to cook on weeknights. It is really, really hard to prepare fresh vegetables on Sunday and have them still good on Thursday. So we eat a lot of frozen veggies, and apparently that's not so great.
Nuts/Cheese - Don't really like nuts, thanks. I'll eat cashews and pistachios most often. Then almonds, if there's nothing else. But I don't love any of them enough to want them every day. They're just OK. Which means I tire easily of having to eat them all the time.
And I really, really dislike most cheeses. I will eat mozzarella cheese and the cheeses that make up pizza, lasagna and only SOME mac-and-cheese dishes. I'll also eat American cheese, melted in eggs and grits. And -- once in a blue moon -- provolone cheese on a hot sandwich. But that is it.
No bleu, no feta, no cottage, no Muenster, no fancy Whole Foods stinky cheeses, no cheddar, no Swiss, no Parmesan.
When I do eat cheese, I like my cheeses melted. This does not bode well for me snacking on cheese all day. I am sitting here now eating a mozzarella stick because I'm starving, and it's kinda gross. Not as bad as if I had to eat a stick of cheddar cheese, but that's a bad comparison because I would never, ever do that.
Greek yogurt - Greek yogurt is OK, and I actually do eat Chobani, or some generic of Chobani. But the total carbs in one serving is more than the 15 grams I'm allowed to have for a snack. So I can only eat half of one if I'm being careful about my sugars. I don't know about you, but when I'm hungry, a half a yogurt just doesn't cut it. Neither does a handful of frikkin' nuts. Or a bowl of baby carrots and cherry tomatoes. I want something substantial. And that means carbs. (Waaaah!)
Fruits - LOVE them. All of them. Could eat them all day long if someone would let me. But again, 15 grams for a snack goes pretty quickly. 17 grapes, for example -and small grapes at that - are 15 grams. If I eat 17 grapes, I can't have any other carbs with that snack. And if I ate fruit all day, my sugars would be through the roof!
Milk - Love milk. But, seriously, I am not a newborn. A glass of milk doesn't fill me up or curb my hunger pangs. And I really, really love milk in oatmeal and Honey Nut Chex or Multi Grain Cheerios -- all which are BAD, BAD, BAD for me. And also, although milk has a good amount of protein, it also has amount an equal amount of carbs. So I have to watch it there, too. Same is true for peanut butter -- good balance of protein and carbs, but still carby.
Water - Water is pretty much all I drink all day, so I have no problems here. But sometimes I'd love a hot and frothy Starbucks drink (too much milk and sugary flavoring, even if I get it with a sugar substitute). Or a fruit smoothie. Or a milkshake or a soda. OR (when I'm not pregnant) a cocktail! Just about every kind of drink in the world besides water is carby. Tea, you say? I was born in Boston. I like my tea New England style: with lots of milk and sugar.
Sugar substitutes -- I have embraced Splenda as my saving grace, and I try desperately to ignore the scary reports that come out every so often saying all sugar substitutes are bad for you. The fact is, real sugar - in all its forms - is killing me as it is. If I want to have a cup of coffee with some Splenda, then please just let me be.
So there's my list of acceptable foods. Oh wait, I can also eat butter. I do love butter, so there's no downside there. Just wish I could put in on a hot roll, or a Belgian waffle, or candied sweet potatoes. Mmmmmm.
Of course, I can have almost all foods every now and then in small, ridiculously-unsatisfying doses. I have to count all carbs meticulously and be sure not to go over a very strict amount. And when I do splurge on say, a waffle, I'm supposed to pair it up with protein. Every carb that comes into my body is supposed to be paired with a protein. The mental gymnastics I have to do when thinking about what to get for any meal I eat (Is a veggie panini too many carbs? Is that artichoke salad enough carbs Or enough protein? How many grits is too many grits?) is really annoying and difficult and a pain in the you-know-what.
So...all that being said, what does this mean for me?
It means I am depressed. I want to be able to eat like everyone else can eat -- and only worry about gaining weight, not about having kidney failure in a few years.
It means I am scared. I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle here. No matter how good I am about eating (if I can ever get past this mental block I have about it) my body is not getting any younger or any more efficient at dealing with insulin. I worry that I will have nerve problems, blindness or worse.
It means I feel sorry for myself. Why me, Lord? Why do I have this cross to bear? When eating is such a big part of our society (Let's meet for lunch! The girls are having a dinner! It's my birthday; we're going out to eat! It's the holidays; we're planning a huge meal! I heard you weren't feeling well; I made you a batch of chocolate chip cookies. We're having this important business meeting over lunch. I'm meeting a friend for coffee and muffins. A co-worker is leaving, so we're going out for drinks, etc. etc.) why do I have to feel so shut out of all of it?? Waah, waah, waaaaaah.
And it means I feel guilty. My baby is growing and developing inside of me and deserves the best start in life possible. And so far, I have bathed her in high sugars and worry and bitterness and non-compliance. I suck. I am whining about not being able to eat spaghetti or rice (God knows I love rice) or French toast or ice cream or chicken minis at Chik-Fil-A. And meanwhile, my baby is possibly developing in danger.
Wow...just typing those words makes me feel like crap, crap, crap.
Not to mention my feelings about what it would mean for Cary and Dean (and Lester and Curve Ball, too) if I were to be too sick to be of any real use to them, or if I were to die because I can't get this diet thing right.
When I think about them having to grow up with a Mom who's not her best self -- or no Mom at all -- I feel worse than crappy. I start crying, like I'm doing now. I feel horrible. What kind of mother am I? Why can't I just get with the program?
Needless to say, this doctor's visit has left me in quite a state. And I'm not really sure what I'm going to do about it just yet. I'm kinda tired of talking about it (I've been talking about what I can and can't eat ever since I was diagnosed with pre-diabetes four years ago). I'm tired of thinking about it.
I just want to go home, eat a bowl of cereal or some Chinese food (sigh) and go to sleep.
But instead, I will pray. And pray. And pray. For guidance and help and strength and miraculously-changed-taste-buds.
And then, if Cary and Dean cooperate (which they have NOT been the last few nights -- ugh! Whole different post there...) after I do all that, then I will sleep.
And maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.
The perinatologist did not put me on insulin yet. She wants to try changing up the medication dosages and times that I take the meds a little first.
That's fine, I suppose. I'm not sure how I actually feel about it.
But then she also gave me a real heart-to-heart, with a stern, serious-business tone, about what I eat, and how non-great I have been about eating right for my condition.
And unlike my meetings with the diabetes educator and the nutritionist yesterday, Dr. Rossiter did not give me a rosy picture of my current state or my future.
To begin with, she said I am "diabetic." Not pre-diabetic; not gestational diabetes. I do not have gestational diabetes, she said, because that is classified as having sugar issues after 28 weeks. I am diabetic, because my issues started so early. I'm just 22 weeks today and this has been going on since my first trimester.
Secondly, she said it is entirely possible that I will continue to be diabetic after the pregnancy. Lord, help me.
Everything I've read and all that the nurses and other folks have told me seemed to indicate that there was a high probability I would not be diabetic post-delivery. Dr. Rossiter agreed that we won't know for sure until after I deliver Curve Ball, but she seemed to be trying to prepare me for what research and science and her expertise indicates about me and my condition thus far.
Thirdly, she said I have GOT to change my diet, in a big way. No excuses. No short-cuts. Tastebuds and hunger pangs be damned! (That last part is my own editorial comment. She didn't actually say that.)
This is depressing for many, many reasons.
1. I don't want to be diabetic. I especially don't want to be diabetic this young. Both my grandmothers had diabetes, but they got the disease much, much, much later in life -- after they were already grandmothers. I have been struggling with my sugars since before I got pregnant with the boys. (And probably much, much longer. Now that I know what it feels like to have severe lows, I know I've been having them since I was a teenager, at least).
2. My pancreas' issues with producing insulin, and my body's ability to process the insulin will only degenerate with age, not get better. So this just means I have more time to get worse, more time to have to think about this, more time to worry about all the complications of diabetes that can come with age. More time to eat rabbit food in order to survive.
3. I want to be around for Cary, Dean and Curve Ball. I hate that I feel like I have an expiration date on my head already - at 38 years old.
4. (And here's where the whining begins): I really, really resent having to think so hard about EVERY SINGLE thing I eat, at every meal and every snack, every day and every night for the rest of my life. I really, really hate that there is so little I can eat that is good for me (sugar-wise) and that won't leave me feeling hungry all day. (Especially while pregnant! When I'm already starving!!)
Every-frikkin'-thing is carby! Breads, pastas, smoothies, oatmeal, juice, soda, fruit, rice, yogurt, frozen yogurt, waffles, French toast, sandwiches, hot dogs, burritos, raisins, Craisins, grits, cream of wheat, cold cereals, corn, peas, crackers, syrup, jellies, jams, chutneys, French fries, sweet potatoes, squash, chips, beans, tomato soup, chicken noodle soup, croutons, stuffing -- and of course, any and all desserts. (And we all know I have a raging sweet tooth!)
Here's what I can eat:
- eggs
- meat
- fresh vegetables
- nuts
- cheeses
- small amounts of Greek yogurt
- whole fruits in moderation
- milk
- water
- sugar substitutes in moderation
Here's what you need to know about that list:
Eggs - Since I found out that I was pre-diabetic and that almost everything for breakfast besides eggs was bad for me, I have eaten so many eggs, I really start to gag when I eat them now. I can eat maybe two bites of egg, and then that's it. Stomach churns. Fork down. I am TIRED of eggs.
Meats - I'm not a HUGE meat person. I'm not a vegetarian by any stretch, but unlike my husband, I cannot just eat chicken breasts as a meal. Or even juicy a steak. I need more! I like my old-school meat-starch-veggie mix at meals, and to be honest, I could really do without the veggies, if the meat and starch comes topped with a yummy gravy. I don't eat pork, and until I was pregnant with the boys, I didn't eat red meat. And frankly, I'm a little tired of chicken. P.S. Try going into a quickie-lunch-food-type store with your officemates when they go to buy bagels and muffins for a 3 p.m. snack and asking for a side of chicken. Just try it. I dare you.
Fresh vegetables - How many salads can a person eat? Seriously? How much baby spinach? How many carrots can I nibble on at my desk? Honestly, I LIKE corn and peas. Especially corn. Why is corn a bad food for me? Ugh!
And I prepare meals on the weekends to last all week, because I don't have time to cook on weeknights. It is really, really hard to prepare fresh vegetables on Sunday and have them still good on Thursday. So we eat a lot of frozen veggies, and apparently that's not so great.
Nuts/Cheese - Don't really like nuts, thanks. I'll eat cashews and pistachios most often. Then almonds, if there's nothing else. But I don't love any of them enough to want them every day. They're just OK. Which means I tire easily of having to eat them all the time.
And I really, really dislike most cheeses. I will eat mozzarella cheese and the cheeses that make up pizza, lasagna and only SOME mac-and-cheese dishes. I'll also eat American cheese, melted in eggs and grits. And -- once in a blue moon -- provolone cheese on a hot sandwich. But that is it.
No bleu, no feta, no cottage, no Muenster, no fancy Whole Foods stinky cheeses, no cheddar, no Swiss, no Parmesan.
When I do eat cheese, I like my cheeses melted. This does not bode well for me snacking on cheese all day. I am sitting here now eating a mozzarella stick because I'm starving, and it's kinda gross. Not as bad as if I had to eat a stick of cheddar cheese, but that's a bad comparison because I would never, ever do that.
Greek yogurt - Greek yogurt is OK, and I actually do eat Chobani, or some generic of Chobani. But the total carbs in one serving is more than the 15 grams I'm allowed to have for a snack. So I can only eat half of one if I'm being careful about my sugars. I don't know about you, but when I'm hungry, a half a yogurt just doesn't cut it. Neither does a handful of frikkin' nuts. Or a bowl of baby carrots and cherry tomatoes. I want something substantial. And that means carbs. (Waaaah!)
Fruits - LOVE them. All of them. Could eat them all day long if someone would let me. But again, 15 grams for a snack goes pretty quickly. 17 grapes, for example -and small grapes at that - are 15 grams. If I eat 17 grapes, I can't have any other carbs with that snack. And if I ate fruit all day, my sugars would be through the roof!
Milk - Love milk. But, seriously, I am not a newborn. A glass of milk doesn't fill me up or curb my hunger pangs. And I really, really love milk in oatmeal and Honey Nut Chex or Multi Grain Cheerios -- all which are BAD, BAD, BAD for me. And also, although milk has a good amount of protein, it also has amount an equal amount of carbs. So I have to watch it there, too. Same is true for peanut butter -- good balance of protein and carbs, but still carby.
Water - Water is pretty much all I drink all day, so I have no problems here. But sometimes I'd love a hot and frothy Starbucks drink (too much milk and sugary flavoring, even if I get it with a sugar substitute). Or a fruit smoothie. Or a milkshake or a soda. OR (when I'm not pregnant) a cocktail! Just about every kind of drink in the world besides water is carby. Tea, you say? I was born in Boston. I like my tea New England style: with lots of milk and sugar.
Sugar substitutes -- I have embraced Splenda as my saving grace, and I try desperately to ignore the scary reports that come out every so often saying all sugar substitutes are bad for you. The fact is, real sugar - in all its forms - is killing me as it is. If I want to have a cup of coffee with some Splenda, then please just let me be.
So there's my list of acceptable foods. Oh wait, I can also eat butter. I do love butter, so there's no downside there. Just wish I could put in on a hot roll, or a Belgian waffle, or candied sweet potatoes. Mmmmmm.
Of course, I can have almost all foods every now and then in small, ridiculously-unsatisfying doses. I have to count all carbs meticulously and be sure not to go over a very strict amount. And when I do splurge on say, a waffle, I'm supposed to pair it up with protein. Every carb that comes into my body is supposed to be paired with a protein. The mental gymnastics I have to do when thinking about what to get for any meal I eat (Is a veggie panini too many carbs? Is that artichoke salad enough carbs Or enough protein? How many grits is too many grits?) is really annoying and difficult and a pain in the you-know-what.
So...all that being said, what does this mean for me?
It means I am depressed. I want to be able to eat like everyone else can eat -- and only worry about gaining weight, not about having kidney failure in a few years.
It means I am scared. I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle here. No matter how good I am about eating (if I can ever get past this mental block I have about it) my body is not getting any younger or any more efficient at dealing with insulin. I worry that I will have nerve problems, blindness or worse.
It means I feel sorry for myself. Why me, Lord? Why do I have this cross to bear? When eating is such a big part of our society (Let's meet for lunch! The girls are having a dinner! It's my birthday; we're going out to eat! It's the holidays; we're planning a huge meal! I heard you weren't feeling well; I made you a batch of chocolate chip cookies. We're having this important business meeting over lunch. I'm meeting a friend for coffee and muffins. A co-worker is leaving, so we're going out for drinks, etc. etc.) why do I have to feel so shut out of all of it?? Waah, waah, waaaaaah.
And it means I feel guilty. My baby is growing and developing inside of me and deserves the best start in life possible. And so far, I have bathed her in high sugars and worry and bitterness and non-compliance. I suck. I am whining about not being able to eat spaghetti or rice (God knows I love rice) or French toast or ice cream or chicken minis at Chik-Fil-A. And meanwhile, my baby is possibly developing in danger.
Wow...just typing those words makes me feel like crap, crap, crap.
Not to mention my feelings about what it would mean for Cary and Dean (and Lester and Curve Ball, too) if I were to be too sick to be of any real use to them, or if I were to die because I can't get this diet thing right.
When I think about them having to grow up with a Mom who's not her best self -- or no Mom at all -- I feel worse than crappy. I start crying, like I'm doing now. I feel horrible. What kind of mother am I? Why can't I just get with the program?
Needless to say, this doctor's visit has left me in quite a state. And I'm not really sure what I'm going to do about it just yet. I'm kinda tired of talking about it (I've been talking about what I can and can't eat ever since I was diagnosed with pre-diabetes four years ago). I'm tired of thinking about it.
I just want to go home, eat a bowl of cereal or some Chinese food (sigh) and go to sleep.
But instead, I will pray. And pray. And pray. For guidance and help and strength and miraculously-changed-taste-buds.
And then, if Cary and Dean cooperate (which they have NOT been the last few nights -- ugh! Whole different post there...) after I do all that, then I will sleep.
And maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Seasons change; lives change
Fall is slowly turning from that golden warm loveliness that makes the season my favorite, to that chilly, breezy, winter-is-on-its-way blahness.
One thing that struck me this weekend is that after Lester cut the grass on Saturday, he put the mower away and declared that the last cut of the year. Insane! Especially since that means my children -- who are lawnmower obsessed -- will not see their favorite garden tool again until they're 2 or just about! I hope they'll be able to cope.
Thinking about them being 2 fascinates me in so many ways. This weekend was my college Homecoming weekend (H-UUUUUUU!!) and my good friend Neelofer came in town from Atlanta with her son Kadin, who will be 2 next month. Watching him with my two boys left me amazed at how much progress they're likely to make in just 6 short months.
Kadin was talking in sentences: "I want to get down." "I want Mommy." "No, Mommy, don't come!"
Kadin was much more focused and deliberate about activities. His attention span was several minutes long, not several seconds.
And Kadin was tall and thin, with Adidas sneakers! He looked like a little boy (a little, little boy, but still a boy).
I can't believe in just 6 months my boys may be talking in sentences and looking so grown-up!
Also, when the lawnmower makes a reappearance (when Cary and Dean are 2), I will be the mother of THREE children, one of them a 3 month old!
Wow.
All the more reason why the changing seasons has me so contemplative.
One thing that struck me this weekend is that after Lester cut the grass on Saturday, he put the mower away and declared that the last cut of the year. Insane! Especially since that means my children -- who are lawnmower obsessed -- will not see their favorite garden tool again until they're 2 or just about! I hope they'll be able to cope.
Thinking about them being 2 fascinates me in so many ways. This weekend was my college Homecoming weekend (H-UUUUUUU!!) and my good friend Neelofer came in town from Atlanta with her son Kadin, who will be 2 next month. Watching him with my two boys left me amazed at how much progress they're likely to make in just 6 short months.
Kadin was talking in sentences: "I want to get down." "I want Mommy." "No, Mommy, don't come!"
Kadin was much more focused and deliberate about activities. His attention span was several minutes long, not several seconds.
And Kadin was tall and thin, with Adidas sneakers! He looked like a little boy (a little, little boy, but still a boy).
I can't believe in just 6 months my boys may be talking in sentences and looking so grown-up!
Also, when the lawnmower makes a reappearance (when Cary and Dean are 2), I will be the mother of THREE children, one of them a 3 month old!
Wow.
All the more reason why the changing seasons has me so contemplative.
Friday, October 21, 2011
I want my daughter to be sweet, but good grief!
So it's come to this.
Tuesday, I go in to the perinatologist to learn how to inject myself with insulin.
I resisted as long as I could, but my sugars just kept creeping up. And the new meds worked a little too well, making my blood sugar dip horribly low -- particularly in the middle of the night.
The last THREE nights I've had to bound out of bed twice to go down to the kitchen to stuff myself with cereal and sausage or frozen waffles and orange juice -- just to stop the shakes. This usually is around 12 or 1 and then again around 3 or 4. Waking up every three hours to feed?? Ridiculous -- my baby's not even here yet!!
All that up-and-down with my sugars has totally wiped me out. I feel like crap a lot of the time, and it's just no fun at all. I think I could suffer through it (maybe) if it was helping keep the blood sugars in check. But like I said, my sugars just continue getting higher and higher.
So insulin it is.
I'm nervous about it, because I still think in the back of my head that my body will get used to the extra help and then continue needing it even after I've delivered Sweet Miss Curve Ball.
And I also really don't relish the idea of excusing myself from meetings to go stick myself with needles in public bathrooms.
But, I must do what is best for my baby -- and what is best for me. So I will.
So just to make myself feel better, I am having some kind of warm, chocolatey, delicious thing this weekend! Sugars be damned! Heck, I might just splurge all weekend!
(Kelly, if you're reading this: Shut IT!) :-)
Tuesday, I go in to the perinatologist to learn how to inject myself with insulin.
I resisted as long as I could, but my sugars just kept creeping up. And the new meds worked a little too well, making my blood sugar dip horribly low -- particularly in the middle of the night.
The last THREE nights I've had to bound out of bed twice to go down to the kitchen to stuff myself with cereal and sausage or frozen waffles and orange juice -- just to stop the shakes. This usually is around 12 or 1 and then again around 3 or 4. Waking up every three hours to feed?? Ridiculous -- my baby's not even here yet!!
All that up-and-down with my sugars has totally wiped me out. I feel like crap a lot of the time, and it's just no fun at all. I think I could suffer through it (maybe) if it was helping keep the blood sugars in check. But like I said, my sugars just continue getting higher and higher.
So insulin it is.
I'm nervous about it, because I still think in the back of my head that my body will get used to the extra help and then continue needing it even after I've delivered Sweet Miss Curve Ball.
And I also really don't relish the idea of excusing myself from meetings to go stick myself with needles in public bathrooms.
But, I must do what is best for my baby -- and what is best for me. So I will.
So just to make myself feel better, I am having some kind of warm, chocolatey, delicious thing this weekend! Sugars be damned! Heck, I might just splurge all weekend!
(Kelly, if you're reading this: Shut IT!) :-)
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Crack, Drive, Amaze!
My boys turned 17 months last week, and they are very much 17-month-olds!
(Look, we can eat corn-on-the-cob like big boys!)
They seriously CRACK Lester and me up, especially now that they feel the urge to "sing" at random times, and also to dance in their cribs, swaying their hips from side-to-side, or high-stepping and shuffling their little feet, baby River Dance style.
But they also seriously DRIVE Lester and me crazy in so many ways.
1. They are LOUD! Everything they say is said as if we are in a wind tunnel or something. Or perhaps they think we're so old, we're starting to be a little hard of hearing. 'Cause man - do they shriek! Dean screams and cries constantly, but even when he's just talking normally, his voice is loud. And Cary is his equal in that department. Imagine some tiny little person screeching "TRRRUCK! TRRRUCK!" while waving the "Trucks" book at you, demanding a millionth reading.
2. They are willful, obstinate, defiant and just plain mischievous at times. If we say, "Come here," they move in the opposite direction. The words, "We don't throw food on the floor," apparently get translated into Babyese to mean, "Please continue flinging your food onto the floor! This time with fervor! Thanks!" And so on. I'm so confused because all the baby books said, "Your baby loves to see you smile. He only wants to please you!" Hogwash and poppycock! My babies are tiny terrorists with adorable faces and chubby, kissable feet.
3. Dean still needs two naps a day, while Cary is more and more resisting the second nap. But Dean hates going to bed without his brother, and Cary hates being put in his crib in the afternoons. This is a conundrum. Help!
4. Dean's abusive-boyfriend tendencies are getting stronger and more prevalent. He literally pushes me around the house, attempting to get me to do things he wants me to do, or stop doing things he doesn't want me to do. He cries when he sees Cary sitting on my lap reading, and will push Cary off my lap if I don't make room for him fast enough. He shoves Lester away from me if we're in an embrace, or cries if I hug or kiss Lester and he's in his highchair, so can't get to me to shove Lester away. And the other night, I sang to him in his crib while Lester was getting Cary lotioned and pajama-ed for bed. While I sang, he looked lovingly up at me, and stroked Lovey the Puppy contentedly. The minute I finished the song and turned to Cary to sing to him, Dean grunted and growled at me -- growled! -- to express his displeasure. Not quite sure our precious baby really did this, Lester asked me to do it again. So I sang to Dean (loving eyes, more-puppy-stroking) and then turned to sing to Cary. Again with the grunting and growling!
Seriously, people, what is going to happen when baby Curve Ball gets here? (That's her nickname until we can finally settle on a real name for her.) Will I need to take out a protective order against Deanie? This is worrying me!
But more than anything, Cary and Dean seriously AMAZE Lester and me, with their humor, intelligence, affection and development.
Besides the Trucks book, Cary also loves a book called "Beep Beep" which has one page full of colorful cars on a highway. We always count the cars with him, and we constantly catch him sitting on the floor with the book, pointing one chubby finger at the cars and saying, "Twooo, twooo, twooo" as if he's counting!
Dean has learned how to climb up on the couch, throw the couch pillows on the floor, and then dive (sometimes headfirst, but more often feet-first) onto the pillows. Smart kid figured out that it's better to land on pillows than on our hardwood floors!
After tearing through our mail the other day, Cary stomped over to Lester with a health-care-insurance pamphlet, waved it in Lester's face and demanded, "Reeeee!" (read) ... He thought it was a book! Ha.
Cary still thinks his name is "Deeee" but Dean the other day leaned in Cary's direction with Cary's bib in his hand and, I swear, called Cary's name. Well, the last syllable of Cary's name: "Ree!" he said, thrusting the bib at Cary. "Ree!" It was cute.
Dean has learned how to slide on his belly down the steps. He is good at it! (This also makes Lester very nervous as someone -- I won't say who -- still has not put up the baby gate at the top of the stairs).
Both of them will telegraph that they're about to do something wrong by saying, "No, no!" before doing said wrong thing.Occasionally, they say it after they've done said wrong thing, as they're walking away from the evidence. Dean waggles his pointer finger while he's saying it. It's funny. And infuriating. (Kid, if you know you're not supposed to do it, why do ya? Huh? HUH?!)
And every day is full of hugs and kisses and giggles galore -- from both boys.
All in all, they are living up to the Ames' description of them at this age: Fun-loving AND Fussy.
And we are loving every minute of it!
(Look, we can eat corn-on-the-cob like big boys!)
They seriously CRACK Lester and me up, especially now that they feel the urge to "sing" at random times, and also to dance in their cribs, swaying their hips from side-to-side, or high-stepping and shuffling their little feet, baby River Dance style.
But they also seriously DRIVE Lester and me crazy in so many ways.
1. They are LOUD! Everything they say is said as if we are in a wind tunnel or something. Or perhaps they think we're so old, we're starting to be a little hard of hearing. 'Cause man - do they shriek! Dean screams and cries constantly, but even when he's just talking normally, his voice is loud. And Cary is his equal in that department. Imagine some tiny little person screeching "TRRRUCK! TRRRUCK!" while waving the "Trucks" book at you, demanding a millionth reading.
2. They are willful, obstinate, defiant and just plain mischievous at times. If we say, "Come here," they move in the opposite direction. The words, "We don't throw food on the floor," apparently get translated into Babyese to mean, "Please continue flinging your food onto the floor! This time with fervor! Thanks!" And so on. I'm so confused because all the baby books said, "Your baby loves to see you smile. He only wants to please you!" Hogwash and poppycock! My babies are tiny terrorists with adorable faces and chubby, kissable feet.
3. Dean still needs two naps a day, while Cary is more and more resisting the second nap. But Dean hates going to bed without his brother, and Cary hates being put in his crib in the afternoons. This is a conundrum. Help!
4. Dean's abusive-boyfriend tendencies are getting stronger and more prevalent. He literally pushes me around the house, attempting to get me to do things he wants me to do, or stop doing things he doesn't want me to do. He cries when he sees Cary sitting on my lap reading, and will push Cary off my lap if I don't make room for him fast enough. He shoves Lester away from me if we're in an embrace, or cries if I hug or kiss Lester and he's in his highchair, so can't get to me to shove Lester away. And the other night, I sang to him in his crib while Lester was getting Cary lotioned and pajama-ed for bed. While I sang, he looked lovingly up at me, and stroked Lovey the Puppy contentedly. The minute I finished the song and turned to Cary to sing to him, Dean grunted and growled at me -- growled! -- to express his displeasure. Not quite sure our precious baby really did this, Lester asked me to do it again. So I sang to Dean (loving eyes, more-puppy-stroking) and then turned to sing to Cary. Again with the grunting and growling!
Seriously, people, what is going to happen when baby Curve Ball gets here? (That's her nickname until we can finally settle on a real name for her.) Will I need to take out a protective order against Deanie? This is worrying me!
But more than anything, Cary and Dean seriously AMAZE Lester and me, with their humor, intelligence, affection and development.
Besides the Trucks book, Cary also loves a book called "Beep Beep" which has one page full of colorful cars on a highway. We always count the cars with him, and we constantly catch him sitting on the floor with the book, pointing one chubby finger at the cars and saying, "Twooo, twooo, twooo" as if he's counting!
Dean has learned how to climb up on the couch, throw the couch pillows on the floor, and then dive (sometimes headfirst, but more often feet-first) onto the pillows. Smart kid figured out that it's better to land on pillows than on our hardwood floors!
After tearing through our mail the other day, Cary stomped over to Lester with a health-care-insurance pamphlet, waved it in Lester's face and demanded, "Reeeee!" (read) ... He thought it was a book! Ha.
Cary still thinks his name is "Deeee" but Dean the other day leaned in Cary's direction with Cary's bib in his hand and, I swear, called Cary's name. Well, the last syllable of Cary's name: "Ree!" he said, thrusting the bib at Cary. "Ree!" It was cute.
Dean has learned how to slide on his belly down the steps. He is good at it! (This also makes Lester very nervous as someone -- I won't say who -- still has not put up the baby gate at the top of the stairs).
Both of them will telegraph that they're about to do something wrong by saying, "No, no!" before doing said wrong thing.Occasionally, they say it after they've done said wrong thing, as they're walking away from the evidence. Dean waggles his pointer finger while he's saying it. It's funny. And infuriating. (Kid, if you know you're not supposed to do it, why do ya? Huh? HUH?!)
And every day is full of hugs and kisses and giggles galore -- from both boys.
All in all, they are living up to the Ames' description of them at this age: Fun-loving AND Fussy.
And we are loving every minute of it!
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
On having a girl...
On October 5, Lester and I officially found out we are having a girl. But I have known since well before then. How did I know, you ask?
I'll tell you.
1) My skin has been horrendous this pregnancy. When I was pregnant with Cary and Dean, my skin was flawless.
2) My hair has lost its curl and just hangs limp and lifeless. When I was pregnant with the boys, my hair was thick and lush and just epic! (How come the stretch marks stayed and the glorious hair went away?)
I present to you Exhibit A:
See? Not a curl in sight. I really hope she gives me my curls back when she vacates my uterus.
3) My sugars are OUT OF CONTROL. I am pre-diabetic, so I am always having to watch my carbs. Everyone told me pregnancy makes it worse. But when I was pregnant with the boys, my sugars were better! (Go figure!) The docs said it had to do with having more blood volume, diluting the sugars, which was great! But with this pregnancy, almost from the moment I found out I was having a baby, my sugars have been all over the place, and not in a good way. I've been switched to new meds that make me feel like crap and the doctors are threatening insulin if things don't get better. My sister says, "Your sugars are high because she's so sweet!" Maybe so, but this blood-sugar issue is a major blower.
Take all those things together and I knew - I just knew - this was a girl child inside me, already giving me fits!
So the ultrasound confirmed what I already knew, and made all the random, fleeting thoughts I'd been having about being the mother of a girl come together in a great crash of excitement and fear and love and ambivalence. Like someone was throwing cans of brightly-colored paints onto a canvas in no pattern whatsoever. That's what my brain felt like.
I think about being the mother of a girl much more deeply than I did about being the mother of boys. You'd think it'd be the other way around, as I am a girl (always and forever, in my heart, no matter how old I get). But instead, mothering sons always seemed that it would be simpler. Perhaps it's because so many people said to me, "Boys are easier," and "Boys just love their mommies!" Or maybe it's because, in some evolutionary throwback, I inherently understand how to care for a boy-child. I've had to learn over the years to be the helpmeet and partner to a man -- so I get it. (Sometimes...)
I'm completely making all this up, and there's no scientific or literary basis for any of this. I'm just guessing.
Either way, I have to admit to being just a little bit freaked out by the idea of having a daughter. And there are a million reasons why. Here are the top 3:
1) Girls are so much more complicated than boys! I know this for a fact. From everything from our clothes to our friendships, we just live our lives on a much deeper level, and emotions play a much more prevalent role in our decision-making and behavior. This is not a criticism. I actually like the fact that I am free to express my emotions and feel things. If I were a man, I'd hate to be constrained by society's stupid idea that showing or feeling emotions is somehow wrong.
But emotions, as Spock from Star Trek will attest, are messy, complicated, irrational things. They're hard enough to navigate when they belong to you. I can only imagine how hard it will be to try to help someone else navigate theirs. But...this will be my job! And I will somehow have to learn to do it. (Lord, help me.)
2) Girls bring the drama! Don't judge me for stereotyping. You know it's true! I'm not saying my boys don't have their moments of lapsing into hysterics. But I think this has more to do with being toddlers. Toddlers are, by definition, insane. Being a girl toddler? Ratchet that up a notch or two. Being a girl teenager??! GOD HELP ME. Lester also can be a drama-king at times. And my Dad, honestly, is more sentimental than my Mom in almost every way. So I know there are exceptions and that people are individuals, not ruled, necessarily by gender. But you know exactly what I'm talking about whether you are the parent of a girl or not. Girls = attitude. Girls = (usually) heightened sensitivity. Girls = drama. (Again, Lord help me!)
3) My friend and co-worker Stacey forced me to read "Cinderella Ate My Daughter," and now, of course, I'm freaked out that I am going to do something to make my innocent little daughter believe that beauty is what matters, and then that finding a man because you're beautiful is the prize. All because I put bows in her hair or paint her room a sweet shade of pink or -- sin of all sins -- buy her a doll or let her watch "The Little Mermaid"!! (Cue the scary music)...
I am all for women's rights and equality for all. But I have never been a RAGING feminist, and by that I mean, I happen to like having my door opened for me, and having Lester carry the suitcases. I also hate taking the trash out and I will not mow the lawn so long as there is a teenager in need of $10 to do it for me. It doesn't grate my nerves when my boss calls me "sweetheart" as long as I keep getting plum assignments and good bonuses at the end of the year.
But I suppose my parents did raise me so that I can carry suitcases and take out the trash or even put together Ikea furniture, if I want to or need to. (In fact, I lived by myself from college until I got married, so I had to do all those things!) I am not some helpless twit. I am smart, ambitious and hard-working. I can (usually) figure things out when I need to. I consider myself to be an attractive person, but that is not what defines me. I am a good friend to people; I am a good Mom and a good wife. I am compassionate and empathetic. I am conscientious, responsible and capable. I am funny. I am kick-ASS at Scrabble! I am a voracious reader. I enjoy a good debate (and not only about the merits of "Teen Mom" or "The Real Housewives." Heck, I just had a good debate with folks about the recent New York magazine article about women over 50 giving birth. THAT was interesting.) I am cooperative, but not a pushover. I enjoy new challenges. I am, when I want to be, an interesting person. I am beautiful because I am a child of God. But I am not what I look like on the outside.
I say all that to say that I turned out pretty OK (I think) and I had Barbies and dresses and hair bows galore. My Dad called me his "Little Princess" even on the day I got married to Lester at 34 years old. But that darn "Cinderella" book -- and Stacey's indignance about the "pinkification" of society's girls -- makes me wonder if I'll be able to do the same for my own daughter.
I want her to be all the good things I am and way, way more! I want her to not be afraid of math (not my strong suit) and not care if people think she's overweight (working on that over here, thanks). I want her to enjoy the company of men, but not NEED their approval. (And not tooooo many men. Ahem.)
I want her to be as comfortable in cleats as she is in strappy sandals. I want her to want to dissect the bugs that I shriek at when I see them in the basement. I want her to fit right in with her rough-and-tumble brothers, but not be too self-conscious to say, "That hurts!" or "No thanks. I'd rather play Barbies."
In short, I feel like I want so much for my daughter that I'm already putting pressure on her.
(Great, I'm tearing up now...Stupid pregnancy hormones!)
Smart and funny, strong and sweet, empathetic and kick-ass, ambitious and family-oriented, pleasant but not "a pleaser," athletic and intellectual, sexually-empowered (when she's 30!), but not sexually-loose or submissive. Capable, responsible, self-sufficient. But not bossy and bitchy and all "I-don't-neeeeed-no-man!" Caring, but not a pushover. Daddy's girl and Mommy's (eventual) best friend.
Am I asking too much? How can one woman (or girl-child) be all these things? And I why do I want all this for her, when I mostly just want my boys to be self-sufficient, smart, responsible, helpful and decent, compassionate human beings. Do I care all that much if they're funny? Not really. Do I care if they're athletic? Not really. (Lester may beg to differ here).
Why are the stakes so much higher for my daughter? This is tough, folks. I am struggling with all these things and she's not even here yet! Geez Louise.
One thing I really want is for us to have an authentic and real relationship. And so I know that I will need to deal with a lot of these ridiculously high expectations for her before she is old enough to have them start messing with her self-esteem and her opinion of me.
I am working on that. I really am.
My mom and I have a good relationship and though she is far from perfect (who among us is?) one thing she never did was make me feel inadequate in any way. If anything, she always made me feel comfortable in my own skin.
Maybe that's what I need to focus on more than anything else. Forget the stupid books and society's demands on girls. Forget my own issues about not being athletic or mathematically-inclined or 100-percent confident in every situation, with all kinds of people, no matter what.
If I can just do what my own Mom (and Dad, for that matter) did -- which is make her feel comfortable being exactly who she is -- I pray to God that she will turn out fine.
Whoever she is in there, stealing all my curls. :-)
I'll tell you.
1) My skin has been horrendous this pregnancy. When I was pregnant with Cary and Dean, my skin was flawless.
2) My hair has lost its curl and just hangs limp and lifeless. When I was pregnant with the boys, my hair was thick and lush and just epic! (How come the stretch marks stayed and the glorious hair went away?)
I present to you Exhibit A:
See? Not a curl in sight. I really hope she gives me my curls back when she vacates my uterus.3) My sugars are OUT OF CONTROL. I am pre-diabetic, so I am always having to watch my carbs. Everyone told me pregnancy makes it worse. But when I was pregnant with the boys, my sugars were better! (Go figure!) The docs said it had to do with having more blood volume, diluting the sugars, which was great! But with this pregnancy, almost from the moment I found out I was having a baby, my sugars have been all over the place, and not in a good way. I've been switched to new meds that make me feel like crap and the doctors are threatening insulin if things don't get better. My sister says, "Your sugars are high because she's so sweet!" Maybe so, but this blood-sugar issue is a major blower.
Take all those things together and I knew - I just knew - this was a girl child inside me, already giving me fits!
So the ultrasound confirmed what I already knew, and made all the random, fleeting thoughts I'd been having about being the mother of a girl come together in a great crash of excitement and fear and love and ambivalence. Like someone was throwing cans of brightly-colored paints onto a canvas in no pattern whatsoever. That's what my brain felt like.
I think about being the mother of a girl much more deeply than I did about being the mother of boys. You'd think it'd be the other way around, as I am a girl (always and forever, in my heart, no matter how old I get). But instead, mothering sons always seemed that it would be simpler. Perhaps it's because so many people said to me, "Boys are easier," and "Boys just love their mommies!" Or maybe it's because, in some evolutionary throwback, I inherently understand how to care for a boy-child. I've had to learn over the years to be the helpmeet and partner to a man -- so I get it. (Sometimes...)
I'm completely making all this up, and there's no scientific or literary basis for any of this. I'm just guessing.
Either way, I have to admit to being just a little bit freaked out by the idea of having a daughter. And there are a million reasons why. Here are the top 3:
1) Girls are so much more complicated than boys! I know this for a fact. From everything from our clothes to our friendships, we just live our lives on a much deeper level, and emotions play a much more prevalent role in our decision-making and behavior. This is not a criticism. I actually like the fact that I am free to express my emotions and feel things. If I were a man, I'd hate to be constrained by society's stupid idea that showing or feeling emotions is somehow wrong.
But emotions, as Spock from Star Trek will attest, are messy, complicated, irrational things. They're hard enough to navigate when they belong to you. I can only imagine how hard it will be to try to help someone else navigate theirs. But...this will be my job! And I will somehow have to learn to do it. (Lord, help me.)
2) Girls bring the drama! Don't judge me for stereotyping. You know it's true! I'm not saying my boys don't have their moments of lapsing into hysterics. But I think this has more to do with being toddlers. Toddlers are, by definition, insane. Being a girl toddler? Ratchet that up a notch or two. Being a girl teenager??! GOD HELP ME. Lester also can be a drama-king at times. And my Dad, honestly, is more sentimental than my Mom in almost every way. So I know there are exceptions and that people are individuals, not ruled, necessarily by gender. But you know exactly what I'm talking about whether you are the parent of a girl or not. Girls = attitude. Girls = (usually) heightened sensitivity. Girls = drama. (Again, Lord help me!)
3) My friend and co-worker Stacey forced me to read "Cinderella Ate My Daughter," and now, of course, I'm freaked out that I am going to do something to make my innocent little daughter believe that beauty is what matters, and then that finding a man because you're beautiful is the prize. All because I put bows in her hair or paint her room a sweet shade of pink or -- sin of all sins -- buy her a doll or let her watch "The Little Mermaid"!! (Cue the scary music)...
I am all for women's rights and equality for all. But I have never been a RAGING feminist, and by that I mean, I happen to like having my door opened for me, and having Lester carry the suitcases. I also hate taking the trash out and I will not mow the lawn so long as there is a teenager in need of $10 to do it for me. It doesn't grate my nerves when my boss calls me "sweetheart" as long as I keep getting plum assignments and good bonuses at the end of the year.
But I suppose my parents did raise me so that I can carry suitcases and take out the trash or even put together Ikea furniture, if I want to or need to. (In fact, I lived by myself from college until I got married, so I had to do all those things!) I am not some helpless twit. I am smart, ambitious and hard-working. I can (usually) figure things out when I need to. I consider myself to be an attractive person, but that is not what defines me. I am a good friend to people; I am a good Mom and a good wife. I am compassionate and empathetic. I am conscientious, responsible and capable. I am funny. I am kick-ASS at Scrabble! I am a voracious reader. I enjoy a good debate (and not only about the merits of "Teen Mom" or "The Real Housewives." Heck, I just had a good debate with folks about the recent New York magazine article about women over 50 giving birth. THAT was interesting.) I am cooperative, but not a pushover. I enjoy new challenges. I am, when I want to be, an interesting person. I am beautiful because I am a child of God. But I am not what I look like on the outside.
I say all that to say that I turned out pretty OK (I think) and I had Barbies and dresses and hair bows galore. My Dad called me his "Little Princess" even on the day I got married to Lester at 34 years old. But that darn "Cinderella" book -- and Stacey's indignance about the "pinkification" of society's girls -- makes me wonder if I'll be able to do the same for my own daughter.
I want her to be all the good things I am and way, way more! I want her to not be afraid of math (not my strong suit) and not care if people think she's overweight (working on that over here, thanks). I want her to enjoy the company of men, but not NEED their approval. (And not tooooo many men. Ahem.)
I want her to be as comfortable in cleats as she is in strappy sandals. I want her to want to dissect the bugs that I shriek at when I see them in the basement. I want her to fit right in with her rough-and-tumble brothers, but not be too self-conscious to say, "That hurts!" or "No thanks. I'd rather play Barbies."
In short, I feel like I want so much for my daughter that I'm already putting pressure on her.
(Great, I'm tearing up now...Stupid pregnancy hormones!)
Smart and funny, strong and sweet, empathetic and kick-ass, ambitious and family-oriented, pleasant but not "a pleaser," athletic and intellectual, sexually-empowered (when she's 30!), but not sexually-loose or submissive. Capable, responsible, self-sufficient. But not bossy and bitchy and all "I-don't-neeeeed-no-man!" Caring, but not a pushover. Daddy's girl and Mommy's (eventual) best friend.
Am I asking too much? How can one woman (or girl-child) be all these things? And I why do I want all this for her, when I mostly just want my boys to be self-sufficient, smart, responsible, helpful and decent, compassionate human beings. Do I care all that much if they're funny? Not really. Do I care if they're athletic? Not really. (Lester may beg to differ here).
Why are the stakes so much higher for my daughter? This is tough, folks. I am struggling with all these things and she's not even here yet! Geez Louise.
One thing I really want is for us to have an authentic and real relationship. And so I know that I will need to deal with a lot of these ridiculously high expectations for her before she is old enough to have them start messing with her self-esteem and her opinion of me.
I am working on that. I really am.
My mom and I have a good relationship and though she is far from perfect (who among us is?) one thing she never did was make me feel inadequate in any way. If anything, she always made me feel comfortable in my own skin.
Maybe that's what I need to focus on more than anything else. Forget the stupid books and society's demands on girls. Forget my own issues about not being athletic or mathematically-inclined or 100-percent confident in every situation, with all kinds of people, no matter what.
If I can just do what my own Mom (and Dad, for that matter) did -- which is make her feel comfortable being exactly who she is -- I pray to God that she will turn out fine.
Whoever she is in there, stealing all my curls. :-)
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