a man in uniform

Today started like any regular, normal, ordinary day in the "T" household.  One attending full-day school, one napping, one working, one day-dreaming and one playing.

The doorbell rang.

Which in itself is an oddity.  Since we were doorbell-less for nine years.  Something about "cutting" the wrong wires when I was cleaning.  Yeah, don't ask!  In those nine years, we didn't miss the bell.  Really.  So, when it does chime I barely recognize it.  Usually I think it is the kids playing with their electronic toys.   And since the wire mishap in 2001, technology has advanced itself in the form of WIRELESS DOORBELLS.  Yipee!!  We have been saved from a big re-wiring project that involved crawling around in a one-hundred degree attic!

So, the wireless doorbell chimed.

And it was Mr. Fed-Ex.

Since I was armed with 3 month old baby, Mr. Fed-Ex offered to bring my boxes inside the foyer (new testing shoes have arrived; one for walking and one for running!!)  And that is when it happened!

"P" came around the corner to see who was "visiting".  She had been playing whatever it is two year olds play ... not sure she even realized what she was playing. 

Mr. Fed-Ex:  "Well, NOW, I have SEEN everything!"

Me:  "Yeah, well, I uhhh...."

Mr. Fed-Ex:  "This is great."

Me:  (silently) "Could it get any worse?" 

Mr. Fed-Ex:  "My sister-in-law is pregnant, do you mind if I take your daughter's picture and send it to her?"

Me:  "Go ahead.  I am not sure if I should be embarrassed or not?!"

Mr. Fed-Ex:  "This has made my day."

"P" is sporting her ball-baby-belly; announcing to Mr. Fed-Ex that she has tummy-sick and she goes to her pretend kitchen sink and vomits. 

Me:  I smiled as if to say that this play was exactly what happens daily in our house.

(internal conversation) "Glad it made someone's day because I am in dire need of a double shot {espresso, people}!" 

Toddler Lesson #1938:  one can never quite know what to expect from a precocious personality.

two weeks; more or less

My estimated due date is fast approaching.
And I am not ready. 
Let me announce this with greater clarity:  I am NOT ready. 

Although the alternative is NOT great -- keeping baby #3 inside until I am DEFINITELY ready ... because she would come out like some smelly, hormonal, hairy teenager at the age of 14.  And then, I may get stretch marks.  Plus, that's like fourteen more summers in Texas!

So I ask, what fun would that be? 

Therefore, I must suck it up and get ready. 

As of my last appointment, I am beginning to dilate. 

And that is ONLY because the doctor probably initiated that when he reached up to "feel" the baby's head.  shit.  that hurt.  Why didn't the doctor just break my "water" and get this baby moving on its way out?  Because ONE is never really ready to go through the rigors of labor and delivery, right?  So just have a baby when you are NOT ready.  It is much easier than waiting around for the due date. 

Baby #1 --  my husband was in Los Angeles.  Yes, that's right.  California.  With a two hour time difference.  A 4+ hour flight to DFW.  And I am sure he drank beer (or something a bit stronger) the entire flight.  It isn't confirmed.  But I have my hunches. 

Baby #2 -- after settling me into my room, my husband went home to pick up a few things (like beer, wine and champagne), check on the existing children and grandparents, do some house stuff, clean the pool, fiddle in the garage... meanwhile, baby #2 decided to go from 2 cm to 10 cm in 45 minutes.  And, too bad for me -- my cell phone was dead and I was too sick to think about calling him anyway. 

Baby #3 -- yet to come.
Although, husband did leave me a note yesterday morning before he left for work (an extra hour early):

Dear Easy-Going, Loving Wife:
I have three business trips back-to-back this month.  When do you think this baby is arriving?  Is it possible for you to hold her in until one of the Saturdays?  I really should be in on these negotiation/training trips.  Just let me know your thoughts!

Anybody want to come sit with me in room 201?  I will provide food and beverages.  Gratis. 

Dear Readers,

There was a Mommy who got knocked up and

SOBER she became-oh

*S*O*B*E*R*

*S*O*B*E*R*

*S*O*B*E*R*

and *L*A*M*E*-oh was her name-oh!

Is it merely a coincidence, or is it irony, that SOBER contains the acronym S.O.B.? 

For example, "S.O.B.-er, I forgot where I placed my wine glass?"

Dear Readers,

{aka Dear Mom and Dad,}

I apologize for my recent hormonal/emotional/thoughtful/insightful/nice blogs.  It is so "CHICKEN SOUPY FOR THE SAPPY".  It is so unlike me.  It is so unmedicated.  I believe it is menopausal and I see my life flashing before my eyes.  I never dreamed I would be "middle-aged". 

I am totally mellowing out with age. 

And I can prove it:  Daughter #1 arrived into toddler-hood with her first word being SHIT.  It is documented in her babybook as "sit".  "Your first word, 'sit'.  You loved giving commands to your dog, Fluffy."  {now, only IF we had a dog!} 

Daughter #2 arrived into toddler-hood with her first word being BUBBLES.  And it is documented in her babybook accurately as "bubbles".  {now, we will just believe that it was for her love of taking bubble baths or blowing bubbles outside.  However, I believe it had to do with the hops and ale carbonation that she found so appealing in bottles, cans and glasses throughout her days.}

We will anxiously await Daughter #3's first word!

When I lost the use of my two fingers, I was asked to write a meaningful story to be published in "Chicken Soup for the Soul" ... only two bad for me, losing two fingers did not push me over the edge into sentimental sap-ville.  The editors changed my story.  The editors changed my life. 

Just being pregnant pushes me over into craps-ville.  Hmmm... Is there a "Chicken Soup for the Hormonal Soul"??

Love,

~ m

Friday, I'm in Love. {the Cure}

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love ...

On weekends, our family tries to put the haste of the week behind us.  We linger over breakfast on Saturday and Sunday.  We lounge in our pajamas - a bit longer than necessary.  We may even have a "during-the-week-time-forbidden" snack mid-morning, like homemade chocolate chip muffins. 

Fortunately, I stay home so my entire week is, more or less, a weekend.  Monday to Sunday.  Weekly.   I bask in the warmth of little daughter's laughter, her curiosity, her penchant for busy-ness.  I welcome oldest daughter's arrival home from school.  I am conscious of the "little things".  We go outside for bubbles, or chalk, or a brisk early swim, or a walk to look at blooming flowers (before the tedious homework begins).

But on Friday, when everyone returns home for two entire days - we are in love.  In love with our time together.  In love with our interaction.  In love with "family time".  In love, perhaps, with having no plans except the spontaneous ones. 

Although, there are moments... you know the kind of moments... where you want to leave the house (alone) and return hours later.  Or Monday morning. 

So,I turn my head and delusionally deny the imperfection.  For these are the weekends my children will recall with happiness of their childhood memories. 

It's Friday, I'm in Love!

But, I'm not crazy ... I'm just a little unwell (matchbox 20)

Sitting here at twenty two plus weeks pregnant at a maternally advanced age (according to the doctors), I was diagnosed with PLACENTA PREVIA at week sixteen. {yes, I am 22+ weeks pregnant in this pic.}

I have had six weeks to make myself completely and totally insane.  I have read as much as I can about this placenta problem.  However, none of it is comforting.  Nor is it mind-easing. 

It is mind-numbing.  Insanity-driving.  Nerve-wracking.  Chaos-ridding. 

I was given the "What to Expect..." for "Placenta Previa".  Not for "When you're Expecting". 

I have been given a rather sketchy timeline of what is to come.  I am looking at about four more weeks of freedom.  Four more weeks to get everything accomplished.  Four more weeks to place my ducks in a row. 

For after four weeks, it is 100% bedrest.  With two children.  one husband.  two furry pets.  no family within a 1500 mile radius.

We are hoping the baby makes it to week 35.  For anything earlier, NICU.  Perhaps, NICU at week 35.  This situation is beyond my control.  Beyond my grasp.  Beyond my "planning".  Beyond my "schedule".   A C-section is planned.  My first.  A blood transfusion/blood drive organization is being set-up. 

So, with every new and waking day, I say a prayer.  A prayer for the baby's safety.  For my safety. 

I have been given the doctor stats: 

1.  Worst case scenario:  I hemorrage to death. 
Not a very comforting thought.  But it is one I must be aware of .  And I am wondering IF I should make provisions for in the event of my death.  However morbid that seems, it is a possibility.  IF I write a living will and make arrangements, THEN if the worst happens -- everyone will say "she knew it was coming because everything is in order".  But IF I don't prepare anything, THEN maybe it won't happen.  You know, the Murphy's Law thing!

2.  I need a hysterectomy post delivery.
At my age, it doesn't register as a worst scenario.  Although, I would like another baby.  :+)

3.  I am hospital-bound with bedrest for the next 15 weeks. 

4.  I am hospital-bound with bedrest for a mere 6 weeks.

5.  C-section. 

6.  NICU

7.  maybe I am one of the fortunate stats that don't require anything but an early delivery at week 36. 

8.  this Placenta Previa, total and complete, clears up before my next ultrasound in three weeks.  Fat chance but not impossible. 

There are so many IFs. 
There are not enough FACTS.
It is driving me CRAZY.

Anyone out there with Placenta Previa???

No fooling, it is April Fool's Day, without the jokes.

... and yes, to all those who have sent questioning emails... "I am Pregnant"!

It is not an April Fool's joke.  In fact, it is NOT really funny! 

I don't know anyone who enjoys being constantly ILL.  (I cannot use the word "sick" because in Turkish, it has a whole new and different meaning!)

I am down ten pounds.  Which is not entirely all bad news.  Considering I only gain about ten or twelve pounds with each pregnancy.  So, I actually deliver at my pre-pregnancy and pre-illness state.  So, for this blessing, I will not complain. 

I am pregnant with baby GIRL #3. 

I am slowly coming out of denial.  The baby room (for the past seven years) is pale blue, green and yellow.  The baby items are of neutral coloring.  Blue bedding.  White blankets.  Green clothing.  Yellow accessories. 
I have been "expecting" a boy for seven years.  And surely, it is not happening this year. 

I believe it has something to do with the fact that I announced on the second date with my "now" husband, "You are going to have ALL girls"!  On the first date I announced, "I have NO concept of money".  And he married me anyway!  I love my husband! 

Biggest sister and Big sister are preparing for little sister-to-be.  It is a joyous time of year. 

So, on this April Fool's, I give THANKS to my little girls and my darling husband.

in denial ...

Reclining in room number 5 of my OB's clinic.  I am admiring the blank monitor as it reads my name and birthdate and baby's estimated due date when the ultrasound tech enters room 5. 

She begins to prep me for my ultrasound to (a.) determine gender and (b.) verify that the baby is healthy.

Ultrasound tech begins to move the wand over my belly, "abracadabra, show me a sign".  "Abracadabra, baby move your legs".

The brain looks great.  The heart is beating at 147 bpm.  There are four chambers, whew.  The spine is good.  The flesh at the base of the neck is in proportion.  Baby is cooperating.  The wand magically sweeps below the bottom and ...
I shout, "IT's A BoY!"

The ultrasound tech did not acknowledge my shout, so I did it again, "IT's A BoY!" 

She responded this time, "Actually, that is the umbilical cord."

You know, I have had so many ultrasounds in all my pregnancies that I clearly knew how to read one.  So I asked her to show me again.  And again.  And again. 

Exasperated, she finally went to get the Doctor.  The real ultrasound reading professional.

Doctor entered the room and waved the magic wand over my belly and declared, "Please give my condolences to your husband.  No single household should have that much estrogen under one roof." 

Shopping Update... almost 10 weeks

I have been so busy drowning in my own "10 month" illness that I haven't even seen the calendar pages flipping by.  AND, yes, pregnancy is TEN months.  This is something they definitely don't tell you until it is too late.  280 days.  40 weeks.  10 months.  One pregnant woman must fulfill the ninth month in its entirety, if at all possible. 

Update on my shopping:

My "10 month" illness is keeping me out of the shops, off the computer, and at home.  Horizontally couch-bound.  My family barely gets fed.  Unless you count cereal, macaroni and cheese, sometimes just the macaroni, and spaghettiOs. 

Other than my IKEA breakdown (outdoor toys for the kids)... I have saved lots of money.  But I think my husband keeps spending it.