Names?? I Don't Like Names!

While we are just barely exiting the first trimester (I like to think it goes until week 13..technically, it kind of does), Adam and I find ourselves in the name war again.  Well, it's not exactly a war so much...just a snag.  This snag will likely last until delivery.  Yesterday, while I should have been doing other very important things, I decided on four names (two boy and two girl) that I loved.  Not liked, loved.  Then I wrote out a pretend Christmas card greeting and signed all of our names to the bottom, just to see what it looked like.  (Yes, I did this four separate times.  What should I have been doing instead?  Taking notes for an extremely long lecture?  Certainly not.) 

Anyway, I was so proud of myself.  Job = done.  Our kid would have a name.  Then came the Adam discussion, which went something like this:

Me: I have come up with the short list of names for the baby.  They are: A., B., C., and D. (Naturally, I'm substituting letters here.  I would never just name the kid a letter.)
Adam:  Yeeaaaahhh...I'm pretty sure I've heard all of these before and I'm pretty sure we've already thrown them out.
Me: Not using them is not the same as throwing them out.
Adam:  Whose turn is it to name the baby?  Is it yours?
Me:  Yes, it is mine.
Adam:  And now you're lying.  It's mine.  Take a back seat, honey.

I lost.  So help me, if our child's name sounds like it came from a popular teen show in the 90's or is so flowery that it should be scented, I might scream.  I don't know if I like this "Your turn, my turn" deal anymore.  I would like to renege.

Sweet Leo

As we approach Leo's first birthday (he'll be 11 months tomorrow), we are suddenly overwhelmed at the personality that he is growing.  It seemed latent for a while; he was happy to sit quietly in the shadow of his brother.  All of a sudden, however, he is stealing the show (much to Patrick's dismay). 

First, the growling and bull-rushing.  He hangs his head low, starts to growl, and will charge at Adam and me at full speed.  Once his rock-hard head makes contact, he'll flail around on the floor laughing hysterically before composing himself to find his next victim.

Then (and this is VERY new), the Uh-Oh's.  This is probably my favorite because it is so new and now everything is an uh-oh.  The best is the preparatory uh-oh, said in announcement that he is going to chuck whatever toy he seems to be holding as hard as he can.  He'll then scramble to retrieve it, hold it up high, yell "uh-oh!" again, throw it....and repeat...and repeat again. 

He's growing increasingly fond of Adam and Patrick and it's obvious that he wants so badly to be a part of their activities.  However, if given the opportunity, he's just as happy sitting on my hip and bumming around the house with me while I attempt chores with one hand.  (And he's heavy...very heavy.  At this point, he is only about 5 pounds less than Patrick.)

Some favorites:

Food: Green beans from the can (one of my favorites, too!), yogurt, blueberries
Things: His little puppy "Scout," a Noah's ark blankie, boxes
Music: Quiet and soft
TV: not really interested
Misc: Backrubs, bedtime play, bathtime with Patrick, laughing, snuggles

Things about which he's not crazy:

Giving up formula
Diaper changes
Sippy cups
Hats

11 Week OB Visit

A quick visit to the doctor revealed 1.) the baby's heart officially sounds like a galloping horse, 2.) I am measuring right on target, and 3.) my weight gain so far is <1lb.  (Let's be fair...I'm pretty psyched about that last part.  Call me what you will.)

Music Revisited

Just when Patrick's taste in music was pretty established and predictable, he picked up a new obsession.  And, if you've ever met Patrick, you know that the term "obsession" is not an understatement.

What started with the Noggin video of Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds"  has turned into a love of all things Bob.  Everything else has gone straight out the window.  I may get cursed for saying it, but I'm not really a big Marley fan.  I have not encouraged this.  Don't get me wrong, it's fine and it sets a good tone for a party in the summer, but it's not really music that I would listen to on my own.  Ever.  That has all changed.

The minute we walk out the door to the car, Patrick starts asking for Bob Marley.  He also has these elaborate stories about how they are friends and Bob is really funny and he'll be coming over later.  These are my favorites.  Admittedly, I find myself singing along the majority of our trips.  The reason I thought of even mentioning this on the blog is because I could hear Patrick, doing his business in the bathroom singing, "...rise up this morning, smiled with the rising sun..."  Adam tried to throw him off last night by putting on different songs and claiming them to be Marley.  From the back, Patrick would yell over the music, "I can't hear Bob singing, Dad.  Pick a different song."  Under his breath, I heard Adam say, "I really hope this doesn't mean we're going to have to have the Don't-Smoke-Pot talk at any point in the future."

Here is the Noggin video.  In truth, I do really like it.  It's absolutely adorable (as goes Noggin, really.)  It sends a good message, too.  I find myself singing it all day long.  Maybe I like Bob Marley a little more than I thought.

Since hearing the baby's hearbeat this week, I have become fixated on the actual baby.  Not the soft, wrinkled, good-smelling person we'll meet in several months, but the baby right now.  Kind of slimy, transparent skin, very disproportionate little baby.  The thought of the doppler wand resting just above the little person made me think for the very first time about who he/she is now.  And I'm becoming a little obsessed.  I love the fetal development process.  God knows, I have studied it thoroughly twice now for fun, and then once for class.  I should have it down, maybe even be bored with it, but I'm not.  Not yet.  I'm fascinated.  I'm awed that this whole process goes on while I'm busying about my day.  It's mind-boggling.  And probably quite boring for anyone else.  I acknowledge that. 

Here is an 11-week gestation baby on an U/S:

It's starting to look less like a blob and more like a baby.  It has the beginnings of facial features and fingers and toes.  Technically, and according to clinical lingo, it is now a fetus...no longer an embryo.  Happy graduation, little one.  I'm looking forward to hearing you again on Monday!

This Week's Lesson Brought To Us by: Communication

It's been an interesting week, for sure.  Not the best, that's also for sure.  However, there is one life lesson that was driven home this week:  communication is key.  Whether you're in trouble, unhappy, misunderstood, or frustrated (or really any kind of emotic description), communication can save your day.  Or your week.  Or, really, your whole life.  Communication starts recovery and from recovery comes progress and from progress comes change.  Do you see an excellently productive pattern here?  You should.

Lessons in Communication (learned first-hand by Yours Truly)

1.) Be positive.  Exuding positivism yields positivism.  This comes in the form of being nice, initiative, and accepting.

2.) Acknowledge when you have done something wrong or that there is uncomfortability in the air.  Swallow your pride.  This is the hardest part, but I have learned that you can essentially start over if you do this.  Sometimes, the other party just needs to know that you understand what happened.  From that, common ground is developed.

3.) Ask for things you want.  Do you want to be involved in something?  Ask.  Do you want to be perceived a different way?  Ask.  Explain yourself.  In a word: communicate.  No matter how you're feeling (in my case, frustrated and regretful), nobody knows until you tell them.  Sitting quietly and wishing for change just makes things more uncomfortable (I know this).  I needed an improvement, so I asked for it.

4.) Use "I" statements.  "I feel this way because..."  "I am sorry because..."  "I want to fix this because..."

5.) Come out of your shell.  In my particular situation, I wished that the offended party would just know that I was not the type of person I felt as though I was perceived.  In honesty, she probably didn't.  I had to tell her how I was feeling and who I was, no matter how uncomfortable (and let's be honest, it was). 

6.) Make an effort, ask for forgiveness, and be the first to make the next step.  Practice being inviting.  Get over the uncomfortable hump.  Strike up a conversation.  Send an email.  Show that you mean what you said.  This is actually the best part.

In the end, what I knew all along was that it was up to me to fix a problem.  While I wished it would go away and things would just to back to how they were, it didn't and they didn't.  I owned up.  I bared my soul, essentially.  And I cried and I cried and I cried (this part privately).  I apologized without making excuses.  I may have groveled.  I held out an olive branch.  What did I get in return?  A clean slate and a renewed sense of faith in humankind.

Lesson learned.

Life is mostly froth and bubble,

Two things stand like stone:

Kindness in another's trouble,

Courage in your own.

-Adam Lindsay Gordon

I'm HOW Old??

I'm a few days late, but here is proof that I had a birthday this year (although, really, it's ok if I didn't.  That number is getting high enough it's making me cringe just a little.)  In what I hope to be a yearly ritual, Colleen put together a lovely birthday brunch for me. 

It is a lovely-looking brunch, right? I thought so, too.  It doesn't hurt that I have good-looking friends, either.

Shortly after, I did some completely unncessary but much appreciated Spring shopping and then picked up Adam, who was returning from Orlando, from the airport. The kids were exhausted and happy.  I tried to capture it, and what I got was just that: one exhausted and one happy:

And then, because I've been dying to, I made myself a cake:

Not the best picture, but it was the best I could get with the terrible lighting.  Yes, it was sugar-free and mostly fat-free, but it was very, very good.  It lasted exactly one day...well, about 10 hours.

And just for a good finish, because everyone loves kids in the bath, my two sweet boys: 

(The water is not murky, I promise.  That's from the pure soap these sensitive-skinned babies require.)

With as busy as we like to stay, my birthday just kind of came and went, but was very appreciated nonetheless. (Adam and I are still trying to find a day to do a little family celebration, but there just doesn't ever seem to be enough time. Maybe next year...and, after two consecutive birthdays being with child and sans a celebratory beverage, I believe I shall have a few next year.  I think that is reasonable.)

NOTE: I don't know where else to put this because I don't think it really deserves its own post, but I'm happy to say my funk has passed.  After a rough couple of weeks, I feel like the clouds are parting.  Just in time for Spring...and the second trimester. Also, my nausea has mostly subsided.  It still comes in waves, mostly triggered by smells and food aversions, but I'm otherwise okay.  I'm not overwhelmed by hunger, as I was in the past, for which I am very grateful.  I'm overwhelmed by fatigue, but I know that will pass, too. 

I also can't believe that I forgot this, but I heard the baby's heartbeat today.  As it turns out, I did manage to come across a doppler before my doctor's appointment.  The baby is resting nicely and its little heart is beating away.  Never a more beautiful sound existed than that of the first audible heartbeat. 



Friends...Sigh...

It doesn't happen too often when you're the "bad cop," but every now and then, as a parent, you get the opportunity to step away from the disciplinarian role and into the buddy role.  Tonight is one of those nights.  With Adam gone at a meeting and Leo down for the night, Patrick and I have had the chance to spend a little bit of time together.  After the obligatory game of Pretend (he was Spiderman and I was Mom...I guess not too pretend), he hopped in the bath for a little watery fun.  As I was drying him off, he looked up and said, "Do you want to hold me for a while after I put my jammies on?  I really like when you do that."  Umm...yeah, I do, actually.  Then it went on:

"Do you feel like a snack?  I'm a little hungry.  How about we watch some TV together and eat some chippies with dip?  Does that sound like fun?"  You bet it does, little buddy.  It sounds like heaven.  With a belly full of Tostitos and some fresh salsa, I am happily snuggling one good-smelling three year-old boy.  (On a sidenote, I found out the hard way that salsa ferments.  Note to self:  check expiration dates.)

I'm laughing a little as I type this, but I just have to take a minute to say:

I am not having twins.  (That is, I don't know for sure, but it is almost certain that I am not.)  I think something was said as a joke somewhere along the line that might have been overheard and now it's rumored in a couple different circles that Adam and I are expecting numbers 3 and 4.  In fact, it's starting to make me a little nervous.  I am sorry to disappoint, but that is not likely the case.  We generally add one at a time.  I'll let you know if that changes, but for the time being, we should all assume that I am incubating just one tiny person.  And if the very small percentage wins and I am housing more than one, I need to quickly come up with a bridesmaid's dress alternative for Ariane's wedding in June because that dress I bought before I knew I was pregnant will most certainly not fit.  I have a feeling we'll be getting pretty creative with alterations as it is. :)

PS-Happy Spring
PPS-Happy Birthday to Me.  Birthday brunch pic to be posted tomorrow.  Right now, it's bedtime.

I Hate to Complain, But...

I feel terrible.  Just terrible.  Kind of like a mild flu terrible.  I'm hungry, but the thought of food makes me feel sick.  The hunger is making me feel sick.  And if I do eat something, I'm certain to feel sick from it.  Typing the word "sick" makes me want to get up and vomit.  My body hurts from head to knees.  The way I was feeling last night stretched into today.  Ugh.  I don't want to be one of those women who just complain their way through pregnancy because I really do love it.  I know it's short-lived, but I am struggling today.  What makes matters worse is the absence of one key player...Adam.  Instead of toughing through the day until 5:30 when the reinforcements show up, I'm on my own.  Whether or not I feel well, these kids expect me to bring an A game...and I just don't have it in me.  Whew.  Bring on some relief.  I did just make a turkey lettuce wrap, which is sitting decently (though not entirely great) and I have considered just making some hot lemon water since we have no tea.  Water sits well...which is great, considering I'm unbelievably thirsty. 

Oh, baby...please be kind.  Pull back on the excess hormones a little.  Let's live peacefully together.  Deal?

Oh, and to my family who may be reading this (and probably the only ones now that the FB page is down), if you want to show up as reinforcements, that's ok, too.  (I'm kidding...kind of.)

Just a Note

As I sit here, listening to Leo repeatedly slam his head against some part of his crib or another, I wonder how my parents made it through 18 years of this with me (a solid 12 that were probably pretty bad) and did not end up wrapping my head in bubble wrap nightly.  No joke.

10 Weeks...Update

So, we're 10 weeks along now, mostly feeling good, but not always.  In fact, at this very moment, I'm updating this blog as a distraction so that I don't 1.) vomit, 2.) dry heave, or 3.) pass out on the couch.  I am now officially "showing" as people who didn't know I was pregnant are now able to tell...or to make such ridiculous remarks as "you either put on a couple of pounds or you're pregnant again."  True story. 

I don't really have much for cravings besides citrus fruits, berries, and sugar-free lifesaver candies.  If you've been to my house recently, the abundance of these things makes that pretty obvious.  Strangely, heavy flavors like chocolate, caramel, toffee, etc. are really unappealing.  That should be good for the scale, at least...which so far, has yet to change.  Let's keep it that way for a while.  As of this week, we should be able to hear a heartbeat with a doppler.  So help me, if we get our hands on one before my next appointment, I'll be trying to find it myself. 

Adam is out of town again this week, but I am now a Spring Work Widow pro.  It's been a breeze (please don't curse me now...two days to go.)  Aside from feeling like %$&@ periodically, we're really in pretty good shape.  The weather was perfect today to open the windows and get some Spring Cleaning done, which was much needed since Indy took the opportunity to show me how much he was missing Adam by puking all over the house last night.  I started my morning by stepping in it.  As you can imagine, this = an instant bout of morning tourettes.

It's almost bedtime...for the boys and for me, sadly.  Three weeks until we're out of this trimester, and hopefully out of this very-tired-kind-of-bleh-feeling stage.  Bring it!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

It's always incredible to me how quickly a year passes.  Here we were just last year:

Technically, I guess these were taken a year ago tomorrow, but it's been a year since Patrick's very pretty tibial spiral fracture.  (I know it sounds weird to say it was pretty, but I saw it light up like a barber pole on the X-ray screen...it was a perfect spiral break.  If you've seen one, you can imagine what I mean.)  In a year, Patrick has healed perfectly, yet still remembers his accident and that little beast who jumped on his leg and broke it.  Also in that year, Patrick got a little brother (born just a couple of weeks after this picture, actually) and was told of another sibling on the way!  Man-oh-man, things change.  They do.

Fast forward 364 days, and here we were today, at the St. Patrick's Day Parade, a first for all of us:

 

And not to leave one out, here is tiny Leo, also enjoying the parade (if by "enjoying," I really mean "tolerating"):

It's Just a Funk

I am having the absolute worst time shaking this funk.  It's now lasted a couple of weeks and I still feel like I'm flailing in oil trying to get out.  Call it hormones, call it stress, call it debilitating perfectionism...it's probably all of the above.  I'm just waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel.  Waiting...

In the meantime, I find myself grumpy, irritable, and with a very short fuse.  The worst part is that I know I am being unreasonable, and it takes everything in my power to work past it.  I don't want to be grumpy.  I really don't.  I don't want people to apologize when they call or to warrant worry in anyone.  I really am fine.  I am.  Trust me.  I just need to get things organized, come up with a plan, and work out a way to make all of the pieces of this life-puzzle fit--school, student "work" experience, clinicals, study-time, and trying to manage childcare for all of the above.  I know we'll figure it out; we always do.  There is always a way to make things work.  I just need to see an end to this; I feel cheated that I don't have time to appreciate all of the great things we have going on.  Our cups runneth over.  I know that.  I just want a few more hours in a day to recognize it.  In less than a year, all of this stress and hard work will have paid off.  I can appreciate that, at least.  I just don't want to look back with bitterness because I missed out on these wonderful years, and right now that is a major concern. 

Ugh, cue hormones, for sure.

Welcome Home, Adam

Adam Walden came back to us last night.  That's awfully dramatic, isn't it?  Well, that's how it felt...like a dramatic welcome home.  This house is so empty when he's gone.  Even though I complain that he works too much and that I really don't feel like I get to see him, I learned that even when we have to resort to sitting in the same room doing our respective work is better than nothing.  We're happy to have him back. 

Patrick, who missed Adam terribly, kept himself up until midnight last night in order to see his daddy.  The two sets of eyes simultaneously lighting up at the sight of one another tugged at the heart-strings.  (I didn't get that reaction, but I hold no grudges.)  Leo, who was supplemented soy milk instead of formula last night woke up with an empty belly at 4am.  He, too, lit up when he saw Adam.  By the reactionary expression on Adam's face, it seems as though he missed us as much as we missed him.

Today, we decided to make it a family date.  First stop?  Good Morning Mama's for breakfast burritos, pigs in blankets, and the best pancetta omelette I have ever had in my life.  If I could have had the coffee, I would have stayed there all day.  However, we were by the door, I was freezing cold (ice water makes me shiver) and we didn't stick around too long.  Long enough, however, for Patrick to introduce Robosapien (a smallish white robot toy) to every person within a 10 foot radius.

We tried to capture our fun outing on our iPhone cameras...and the kids were much less excited about it than we were. (This was all after Adam's 10am basketball game.)



Second stop?  Locally Grown Gardens for a quick look around. 

I love to smell the fire they have burning out front and check out all of the produce...even the winter variety.  I stopped short when I saw pies.  Homemade...from scratch...pies.  The apple one was calling my name (well, that and every pear and berry known to man the last few days).  Sadly, the Sugar Cream one was what Adam wanted.  Knowing that I would kill that apple pie in a day if given the oppotunity, I thought the sugar cream was a good choice. Ooh, and some honey from Danville.  And, as a bonus, the owner threw in a complimentary reggae CD.  True story.  Also a true story?  I really like it.

Here is the pie:

Doesn't look like much, right?

Oh, but it is.  It tastes like...well...sugar cream.  And the crust...the buttery, this-I-could-eat-on-its-own crust?  Get out of town.  It also tastes like it was made in a wood-burning oven, but I can't be certain.  Maybe the campfire smoke from out front seeped into the cream.  Either way, delicious. 

We spent the afternoon doing homework and work-work, catching up on Jersey Shore, looking at potential homes (for our unlikely move in a year), and chatting.  We wore sweatpants.  It was lovely.  See?

Adam took a lot of time to entertain the boys while I took a minimum of 45 minutes to perfect a thank you card to a potential employer.  No joke.  Hand-writing letters is a lost art.  I know.  I lost it. 

He leaves again in 6 days.  Again, I know I am being dramatic about it, but it is hard sometimes.  This time went unbelievably smoothly, but I am becoming increasingly more organized (as I have been forced into it.)  However, I have learned to like the organization and it does make life easier.  Not easy enough that we can manage without Adam, but short stints of time are ok.  We'll handle it.

NOTE: The date on this should read 3.6.11. 

Shamrock Shakes

Note: Shamrock Shakes are not meant for tiny bellies.  I wish I had known this prior to deciding to surprise Patrick with his very first green delight.  From the back of the car, I heard, "Wow, Mom.  This is pretty good."  I smiled to myself.  Success.

That is, until we got home.  The Shamrock Shake was gone, with just the little remnants left in the bottom of the cup that the straw could not reach.  Patrick started to cry out of the blue.  "Oh, Mom.  It hurts.  It's my belly.  I have a baby girl in there and she's disgusting.  She makes my belly hurt so bad."  I asked if he thought maybe it was his shakemilk (I know) that was making him feel sick.  Naturally, that idea was dismissed.  It had to be the girl baby. 

Fast forward a few minutes (and stop reading here if you're easily disgusted.)  Patrick is in the back room watching a movie.  I hear him say, "I'm just trying not to poop.  It's ok."  I suggested that he run to the bathroom.  Instead, he waddles out of the back room with the most terrible expression on his face.  Poop is dripping out both pant legs.

You have got to be kidding me.  And in his cutest jeans?  Curse it all to hell.

He was crying.  I was laughing.  Indy was trying to figure out what parts of the clean-up debacle were edible (he's the disgusting one.)  As I type this, Patrick is singing in the tub (I'm in the hallway again.)  Note to self...lactose in large doses does not serve these children well.  I thank God that I am not made queasy by poop, but I would be happy to not be up to my elbows in it so often. 

I read this today and toyed with whether or not to post it.  And then, I had a particular conversation with someone and thought maybe he/she could use it.  (You know the conversation; the one rooted in self-doubt and unsuredness.  As general people-pleasers, some of us have these not infrequently.)  I love getting little pushes of motivation in indiscriminate places.  I hope that you (ahem...yes, you) get that from this:

Guess What?

This blog is sometimes a struggle...what to make public and what to chronicle for our own recollection later (because we do go back and read entries; it's like keeping a diary.  There are many, many things that we so quickly forget.)  Because this is our family blog, and because people who read it probably know us, I have opted to just put things out there.  If we experience unhappy times or unfortunate losses, my hope is that people who read this offer us respect and support.  We are, after all, only human. 

That being said, we are overjoyed to share the presence of Baby Walden #3...who likely makes our family almost complete.  While the initial shock has worn off, we find ourselves still in a dream-like state.  Seriously, this is happening?  Now?  The whole surprise notion is a little foreign to us, especially since we have two very planned (Patrick was kind-of planned, but very expected) little boys.  This one just sort of...happened.  Granted, there is always the thought of having another baby that lives in the back of my mind...and it probably always will.  I get that much from my mom, I gather.  I shouldn't have been surprised by this, but I was.  There wasn't any forethought or discussion, just the increasingly-dark line on the pregnancy tests...of which I have now taken 12.  That is a new personal record, and absolutely insane, I realize.  One of them came in handy and was dug out of the bathroom trash as Adam, also in disbelief, needed proof when I told him the news.  Despite all of that, we are happy.  Really happy. 

Back on track, we went to the doctor today...a new one, who was wonderful!  He's actually the same MD who delivered Adam, all of his siblings, and my nieces and nephew, which makes for a good story when this one grows up.  I'm 8 weeks along and feeling sometimes very pregnant and other times, not at all.  I'm starting to show already, naturally.  From what I understand, it happens faster and faster with each subsequent pregnancy.  I believe that.  My due date coincides with my parents' 35th wedding anniversary, which means I may or may not get a chance to celebrate with them that day.  I have a feeling that I'll be forgiven. 

Patrick is very excited about the possibility of a new brother, and refuses to accept the idea that he could potentially have a sister.  In fact, if we talk about it, he will sometimes start to cry, and is now convinced that he is carrying a baby girl, which only means that I must be carrying a baby boy.  He is very much stuck on the idea of having a gang of brothers.  To be honest, I would be happy with the same.  Or with a sweet baby girl.  I know nobody believes it, but I absolutely do not care one way or another.  Not even a little.  Sometimes, I think of how nice it would be to have bows and dresses in my life, but also daydream about toting a van-full of boys to the soccer fields on Saturdays.  I think that who we're blessed with is part of the fun of having kids.  For that reason, we won't be finding out the sex of the baby again (this will drive some people, i.e., Kelly, absolutely nuts.  I am sorry about that.)

So, there it is!  We've known for a few weeks now, and I've been blogging and saving some entries as drafts.  I'll go back and see what I've written and decide later whether or not to post.  We've taken one belly picture, and I know that's WAY early, but I'll post that later, too.  Hooray for growing families, for plans that sometimes change, for things working out how they are supposed to, and for the happy surprises that keep us on our toes.  If my heart could smile, it would.

Business Trip, Day 4

So far, we're good.  We've managed this time.  I made it through my final and class presentation, my cousin-in-law (I still don't know if that's a real term) jumped in to take the kids for an entire day, and not a single bad thing happened.  Mostly.  The vacuum blew up and someone ran into our new car in the parking lot, but other than that, we're really good.  Oh, and the house is a pit and I look like I just rolled out of bed at 3pm, but I'm working on that...just as soon as I finish this.  I hope.