A Couple of Post-Scripts

This is my last post for the day, but I have something to add.  (Well, maybe more than one thing.)

First, I have heartburn.  Every day of my life, heartburn.  I eat blandly, still heartburn.  I stop eating in the midding of the afternoon for the entire day, still heartburn.  Every night, heartburn.  It occurred to me while driving today that I basically feel below baseline every day.  Now, if this ensures a healthy baby, I'll take it.  I will also allow myself a little time to bitch because it is annoying.  Really, it is.  It's less annoying because it has prohibited much, if any, weight gain in the last month.  Ok, I'll take that.  But I still don't like it. 

Secondly (I told you there might be more than one thing), I have recently become addicted to a blog called Bon Appetempt.  If you want to check it out, it's http://www.bonappetempt.blogspot.com/.  I kind of wish I was friends with the woman who writes it.  Is that creepy?  Definitely.  But I swear it is very witty and interesting.  I give it five stars, because, you know, my opinion is golden.

Lastly, thanks for all of the recent and not-so-recent Facebook shout-outs for the blog.  I really am flattered.  I still don't believe that people aside from my mother actually read this willingly, considering it's a directionless chronicle of our day-to-day living, but I feel a little boost of confidence that anyone aside from us considers it interesting.  Thank you all for that!  Maybe one day I will find a direction for this blog to take, but in the meantime I am happy that anyone reads it and gets something out of it.  You're all the best!

(Sidenote: I once suggested to Adam that he "guest-write" from time to time.  He told me his post would go something like this: "Things are good.  We love.  The end."  Maybe I should be thankful that he has opted out of active participation, for it might be true that nobody but my mother would read that.)

I have been terrible at documenting this pregnancy with everything else going on, but here are a few photos from the past several months:


                                                   

                                                                             Around 7 weeks



Eighteen weeks



Twenty-nine weeks (filling out for sure):



A few days ago was my last day at work for a while.  We decided to get a last glimpse of the baby...and a good one, if I say so myself.  I will have to find a way to transfer the image onto here, but the baby is super-cute.  Is it terrible to find relief in seeing a cute baby?  I hope not...I did.  A little upturned nose and a heart-shaped mouth; it looks a little different from its brothers (at least on ultrasound).  His/her chin is shorter and the face is round.  If it resembles anyone, it looks to resemble Leo the most, just maybe with a different face shape.  Again, this baby's legs are superb.  If you're reading this in several years, dear little one, you are welcome for the excellent leg genes you received.  You can thank your grandmother for that.  Your aunt Leeney was blessed with the same legs.  Your mom, not so much.  Lucky kiddo.  You're going to look really good in shorts. 

I'm guessing we have about ten weeks to go.  Chances are, the doctor will agree to induce at 39 weeks, though I know if I am still pregnant, I won't go for it.  I have a feeling that I may go just a smidge (days) early, perhaps because I plan on doing a 5K two weeks before my due date.  Maybe that will bring on something?  Truthfully, not that I have a say in it, but I would really like for the baby to come on the 10th or the 11th, just because a birth date of 10/10/11 or 10/11/11 would be pretty easily remembered. 

Selfishness, selfishness.  The baby will come when it's ready.  And we will be, too.  And the excitement sets in... 

We did it!  We did!  And though I now have nothing to do with my time (minus prepare for the NCLEX), I still cannot bring myself to clean my room or do the loads of laundry that correspond with said room. 

That being said, I am very proud of us.  Adam, my very handsome husband who had some heartfelt and kind words to say at my graduation dinner, could not have been a more supportive counterpart.  We both cried on pinning day.  From day one, his take on me quitting my job and going back to school was to just do it.  He never questioned it, never wondered if I had it in me; if we could pull it off.  He never doubted.  There is a reason I married this man.  We make a pretty good team. 

I have interviews set up for next week.  Whether or not they work out, one will eventually.  I feel like I'm about to start a new life, or at least a new chapter.  Maybe I need to start a new blog?  (I certainly need to get what I have so far printed and bound for the boys so that I don't have volumes and volumes to do at once.)  Who I am when this blog project started and who I am now seem like two totally different people.  So goes life, I guess.

We don't have too many pictures from graduation, but just a couple.  Note the room my sister booked and set up (complete with a "scrub" cake and little favor baggies of my favorite candies).  This is excellence:

My mom, me, and my sister.  Flanked by my two sources of inspiration:

 I'm not a big fan of this picture, but it's me getting pinned: 

 The cake!

 The table!

 Coco Justin and Patrick

 Again, not the greatest picture, but my very supportive husband and me:



The Plague Hits the Waldens, Part Dos

Ok, where was I?  No, really, I haven't gone back and looked at where I left off, so I'll do my best. 

So, the kids are sick.  We'll start there.  Wednesday morning, I was to have clinical.  With two kids with high fevers each, I felt I had little choice but to call in.  Since starting school, and with the exception of the day I delivered Leo, I haven't called in to clinical, so despite it being so close to the end, I felt it was at least acceptable.  Thankfully, so did my instructor.  The kids and I bummed around the house all day.  When one seemed better the other got worse and then they would flip.  Neither would really eat, but both were drinking fluids (Diet Sprite, actually) just fine.  I felt like we were on the road to recovery.

Thursday came.  Patrick was definitely worse.  His cough sounded terrible.  Little Leo seemed back to himself.  A low-grade fever persisted, but it didn't look like it bothered him much.  While Patrick slept (sweating profusely) on the couch, Leo climbed and played like nothing was wrong. 

Then came Friday.  Yesterday.  I woke up to go to my last day of clinical.  We were going out afterwards, so I packed an extra bag of clothes, painted my nails, brought my make-up bag and was really excited about the day.  I couldn't wait.  I happened to walk past Leo's room and heard a terrible noise.  What was that?, I either thought to myself or said out loud.  (Most likely the latter if you know me at all.)  I listened for a second and heard Leo trying to cry around the horrible noise.  Imagine two peices of dry wood being rubbed together so that they squeak.  And then imagine a baby's stifled cry.  Welcome to the start of a very long day.  I literally rushed into Leo's room and there he sat in a tripod position, his hands flat on the mattress, head down, tongue hanging out of his mouth.  He was gasping for air.  At that moment, so was I. 

I scooped him up and brought him out to Adam.  Adam started to pull his things together to head to the ER...our first visit ever.  He asked if he should get the kids dressed.  No.  Don't.  Just go.  I was so flustered.  I had to be at clinical.  I couldn't screw this up now.  So as the boys were piling into the van, I was throwing my bookbag into the front seat of the Passat.  As Adam was putting Leo in his carseat, I walked around and pulled up Leo's shirt.  There was his chest, the superior portion sinking with every breath and his little ribs protruding out.  I put his shirt down and told Adam to go.  I got into the car and cried. 

I cried the entire way to the hospital.  I pulled it together and went inside, where I again burst into tears when a friend of mine asked how the kids were.  The instructor sent me home.  I was there for a total of 90 seconds, I think.  I felt like an idiot for crying in front of people, but really wanted to be with Leo.  So I ran back to the car and hauled it to the pediatric hospital.  My change of clothes came in handy, as I was not about to wear that hideous uniform anywhere I didn't have to.  (I did a full outfit change at the stoplight at Meridian and Westfield.) 

Leo is ok.  Six hours spent in observation in the ER, two racemic treatments (nebulizer) and one round of steroids, and he still didn't respond as well as they had hoped, but well enough to go home.  (To me, he sounded so much better, but I wasn't listening with a stethoscope.) As long as we keep him calm, he sounds good.  If he gets upset or excited, he starts to struggle again.  The physician in the ER (who was fabulous) brought Leo a stuffed animal after it was all done.  He got so excited that he lost his breath and even she got flustered.  "No, no, no, no Leo."  He calmed down fast.  He loves snuggly things. 

I have it now.  Patrick has it.  Leo has it.  We sound terrible.  We probably look worse.  Isn't this the wrong season for respiratory illnesses?  Seriously.  Thankfully, I got called off of work tomorrow, though I am still tempted to go in.  I guess we'll see how I feel.  The good that comes out of all of this is that the kids and I have had some great quality time.  I have memorized the freckles on Patrick's face and the curls on Leo's head.  I hope we're coming out of this plague, whatever it is.  It's terrible.  But we're managing.  Adam is still well.  (He's off playing golf this morning.  Lucky guy to get out of the house.)

Patrick woke up this morning and pulled at my arm so that it was wrapped around him.  (He's been in our bed for quite some time now.  This is no good.)  He told me that I needed to get up and take care of him.  I said, "But Mommy's sick too.  Who is going to take care of me?"  His response?  "Nobody.  You're our mom. It's your job to take care of us."

Good point, mouthy.  Day four...

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas...

July 20, 2011
Less than one week until I finish with school.  It really does feel like Christmas around this house.  Everyone is in a great mood, gifts are coming out for everyone, and it just seems like the best time of the year.  For example, from Adam I received a beautiful diamond bracelet.  (Way too generous, but I only had it for a couple of days before I had to return it.  Who know it would snag so badly?  In return, I got a different type of diamond bracelet AND diamond earrings.  Nice work, Adam.  A+)

And then Patrick surprised me again with a little picture he drew of me.  In this one, I'm fishing.  He also gets an A+.

Colleen came by and dropped off a fantastic new watch...not a work watch, mind you.  A dress watch.  And I love it. 

(This does not mean I need any graduation presents.  READ:  Please don't buy presents.  Being done with this entire ordeal is present enough.  I mean it.  I'm talking to you.)  But see what I mean about it being Christmas?  Even Adam got a little gift (it's no diamond bracelet):

Being that everyone is in a really good mood these days, after class yesterday, I decided that Patrick and I needed a date.  Another one, since the last one flopped a little.  We opted for some Winnie The Pooh action.  Admittedly, I was probably more excited than he was, but Patrick loves movie theaters and readily agreed it was a great idea. 

Off we went.  Patrick talked in excitement the entire 15 minutes to the theater.  He "bought" the tickets for us both.  He picked out snacks (popcorn and Sour Patch Watermelon Slices) and our seats.  We were ready.  On the way in, he saw posters for Transformers and Captain America.  The previews showed clips from Spy Kids and The Muppets.  Patrick could barely stand it.  He looked over at me and in a very high-pitched sing-song voice said, "This is awwwwweeeesssoooommeee."

Then the movie started.  It was adorable.  Simple.  No fuss.  Easy to follow.  Maybe it wasn't really up Patrick's alley, per se.  Halfway through, he leaned over and whispered, "This movie is ok, but do you want to go watch Optimus?"  Maybe Patrick's tastes are a little more grown that my simple WTP.  He craves action.  I crave sweetness.  Oh well.  It was still a lot of fun, and now we have an excuse to go back and watch Transformers, since I have, admittedly, developed a weird robot crush on Optimus Prime and his sultry voice.  This is what happens when you raise boys, I guess. 

Toward the end of the movie, Patrick started complaining about being hot.  That theater was freezing.  I blew it off.  We went shopping for a little bit (he loves shopping, especially shoe shopping.  Everywhere we went we stopped to look at shoes.  He has fantastic taste.)  He wanted me to carry him.  On the way home, he complained about being hot, then cold, then hot.  Still, nothing registered.  We walked in the door and Adam immediately picked up on something.  "Is he feeling ok?"  I looked at Patrick and saw what Adam did.  Little red rings around his eyes and the sad sick face.  I'm an idiot.  Temp?  102.9.  Fantastic.  But Patrick still insisted he was fine.  Not sick, he told us over and over.  Fine. 

Then Leo woke up from his nap.  He was especially grumpy.  And warm.  Temp?  103.3.  Even better.  He laid his head on my chest and started to whimper.  Patrick started to complain about his bones hurting.  Adam got up and went to the store for some Tylenol and Ibuprofen.  In we settled for a long night of very hot kids and taking turns getting up to check on them individually.  Inevitably, Patrick ended up in our bed (his favorite place), which meant that we all got a better night's sleep...until he was up vomiting with a bloody nose and a nasty cough.  Fantastic. 

It can still be Christmas with sick kids, right?

Here are Patrick and I at the movie.  (I am terrible at selfies, but you can probably still pick up on what I was missing.  Obviously, this kid didn't feel well.)

And later on the same night:

To be continued...

Zen Mommy

I admit that I love magazines.  I do.  I love the perfect, clean, beautiful lives they portray.  I love coveting a certain outfit or accessory, knowing that I'll likely never have it.  Granted, lately my choice in magazines has changed, as has my appreciation for perfection.  For example, this week I received two of my beloved parenting magazines.  (These are super-fun for coveting the coolest baby/kid items.  I wasn't kidding about my taste changing.)  I often read the articles with a small chip on my shoulder.  The whole "do this, don't do that, buy this, monitor that..." sometimes rubs me the wrong way.  We're relative minimalists when it comes to high-tech baby advice, monitoring, etc.  We do co-sleep, don't really use monitors, let the babies eat on demand...most things that would probably be frowned upon.  But it works for us.  (Let's be fair, we also bribe our kids and lose our tempers sometimes.  I may as well just put it all on the table.)  That being said, I read an article today that really hit home, and mostly because this has been what we've been striving for for the last few months.  With chaos literally knocking on our door with the arrival of Baby #3, I really appreciated what this had to offer. 

Here is a summary:

Lessons from a Zen Mommy, by Bethany Saltman (Zen Buddhist)

1.) Do what you're doing while you're doing it.  Translation: Don't multitask.  Give your full attention to each task as you're doing it, therefore giving your best and leaving no one (kid/friend/spouse) feeling less important than they are.

2.) Leave no trace.  Translation: Take responsibility for yourself and your mess.  And teach your children to do the same. 

3.) Take just the right amount.  Translation: Limit acquiring too much stuff.  Ask yourself, "Do I really need as much (food, money, things) as I think I do right now."  Be honest with yourself.  Live simply.

4.) Practice patience.  Translation:  Don't beat yourself up over things.  We all want to be perfect.  We want our kids to be perfect.  But we're not and we won't be.  "It's a life's work to become a decent human being."  Because our kids are constantly changing, we are always beginner parents.  We all need time to learn, make mistakes, and start over. 

5.) Develop rituals. 

6.) Count your blessings.

7.) Remember to breathe.

I want to be a Zen Mommy, too. 

Ten Days.

I am two exams and two half clinical days away from graduation.  That makes for two weeks...well, 10 days.  Here is a run-down of how the last couple of years have gone:

Nov '08:   Decided over a couple glasses of wine and Thanksgiving dinner that I wanted to be a nurse.

Dec '08:   I registered for pre-reqs on Christmas Eve.

Jan '09:   I started A&P 101, Math 118, and Psych.

May '09:   Rocked my A&P class.  Signed up for another

Aug '09:   Struggled through an online A&P 102, needed a ridiculously high grade to get an A.  Beat it.

Aug '09:   Took my TEAS (entrance) exam completely blindly immediately after returning from a trip to visit best friend in Chicago.  Got a 97, by the grace of God. (I didn't realize there was preparation involved.  This is not me being cocky.  I got lucky.)

Aug '09:   Found out we were expecting Leo.

Sept '09:   I got my acceptance letter.  Called Adam asking what I was going to do.  He responded, "You're going to go to nursing school."

Jan '10:   Started the program.  Terrified.

Feb '10:   Started clinicals.  More terrified.

April '10:   Had baby Leo.

May '10:   Finished the first semester.

May-August '10:   Had the best summer of my life.

August '10:   Back to school.  Found out I could graduate earlier than planned.  Elated.

Nov '10:   Applied for Student Externship at WHS.

Jan '11:  Enrolled in Mental Health Nursing.  Had a lot of free time.  Consequently...

Feb '11:   Found out we were expecting new baby.

Mar '11:   Got selected for one of 15 spots (out of 120 applicants) for externship at WHS.

Apr '11:   Had a terrible time with school.  Second-guessed entire decision.  Made it through anyway.

May '11:   Finally found a calling in Maternal/Child.

May '11:   Started last 10 weeks.  Kind of enjoy it.  A lot. 

June '11:   Counting down days.

July '11 (July 12, 2011, to be exact):    My last day of lecture.  Here I sat:

Note: It's a six-hour lecture.  Lunch is required.

I started school when I was 29.  I remember being discouraged by the fact that I would be 31 when I graduated.  Patrick was to be three.  It seemed like an eternity away.  Here I am, 31, and Patrick is three.  The truth is, it was going to happen anyway.  The difference is that I went for it, and even though the time was going to tick by regardless of my decision, I am much happier now than I could have imagined then.

Also starting school, I didn't expect to make close friends.  I was grown.  I had close friends.  Then, on the first day of school, I timidly sat next to Courtney.  I swore she didn't like me.  Two years later, I spend as much time talking to her as I do my family.  We make a good team.  Here we are, on the last day of class, looking pretty much exactly as we did on the very first (even with a baby in tow.)

The rush of emotions at the end of this marathon is indescribable, and maybe I sound ridiculous.  I'm very (very, very, very) proud of all of us.  My friends, my family, everyone deserves a little recognition.  So, thank you.  Really, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.  All of you.





Good Food and Drano

I had my 26 week visit this week with sweet Dr. F, my OB.  At that visit (which included no more than the standard weight, measure, listen-to-baby), he suggested that I try the old Drano test to determine the sex of the baby.  What's that?  A home experiment?  I love those things.  And old wive's tales.  I like to test them all.  Here is how the Drano test works:

-1 part first morning's urine
-1 part Drano Crystals
-1 glass that you don't mind throwing away (the reaction kind of boils up, fumes, and smokes.)  Therefore, you also need:
-A backyard or other open space

It's reported that, when the urine and Drano are mixed together, the color of the chemical reaction can determine the sex of your baby.  I think it sounds similar to the Red Cabbage test (which I also did, but had two different results), though this one requires that you be at least past the 4th month of pregnancy and the RC test asks that you do it before the 10th week.  What the difference is, I don't know. 

The results of the Drano test are to be interpreted as such (as reported by Dr. F and a classmate of mine familiar with said experiment.)

*Yellow/Murky Brown=boy
*Blue/Green/Black=girl

So, the Drano says......

GIRL!

Naturally, this result meant that we went out first thing this morning and bought a whole lot of pink!  (No, really, I'm kidding!)  I still think it's a boy, but now we can either keep or rule out this fun little test as complete BS or keep it around as somewhat valid.  Review to come in October.

What we did do first thing this morning instead of baby shopping was head to the Broad Ripple Farmer's Market to check out some great food and produce!  Highlights include running into a former patient of mine, which resulted in a free Lemon Shake-Up, seeing several friends, which ultimately resulted in an assortment of free salads (delicious--thanks, DT!), and a few other odds and ends.  I am stuffed to the gills (meaning I would be...if I had gills), but it was a pretty decent day for Patrick and me.  A little date, if you will.  If Patrick hadn't been in a truly terrible mood, it would have been better, but once we got home and got the little baby pool going, his mood improved.  Check it out:

He learned how to wink, but insisted on getting really close so I could see it:

 Most likely wondering what's taking Daddy so long to fill up the pool:

 Giving me his new phrase, "Ohhhh, snap!"



No More Fat Jokes

I'm painfully tired and mildly grumpy, and though it has been a while since I have posted anything, I have been making lists in my head of things about which I would like to write.  To follow is a little bit the general public needs to know.  Consider it a free public service announcement.  In case you are prone to any of the following, you are welcome in advance for saving you any embarassment.

1.) Fat jokes are not good.  Ever.  Even when the recipient is pregnant...no...especially when the recipient is pregnant, fat jokes are not funny.  I am growing a child.  I'm supposed to gain weight.  Asking me if the chair I am sitting in has a weight limit is not funny.  But if you insist we talk about the extra 15 pounds I have gained while growing another human, let's talk about the 15 you've gained in the last several months from sitting on your ass.  Keep it to yourself.

2.) Along the same lines, smiling and chuckling as I order a single cookie from Subway is not acceptable.  It's not cute.  I'm hungry.  Also, don't ask if the "baby wants the cookie."  The baby can barely open its eyes and has no concept of cookies.  I want the cookie.  And I'm allowed that.  Joe Smith walking down the street orders a cookie and nobody cares.  Stop assuming everything is a craving. 

3.)  If I don't know you, I really find it inappropriate for you to ask how much my husband and I "enjoy each other."  I'm pregnant.  We all know how I got this way.  You don't need details.  Unless you are one of the three people on the planet with whom I share these details, and especially if we have never before met, questions along these lines are just weird.  Come on. 

4.) Don't use the word "waddle," even if it is "You look so cute waddling down the hallway."  Waddling is not good.  Censor.  Please.  What if I were to say, "It's adorable how your ass barely fits in that chair!"  Just rude.

5.)  "So I assume this is the last one for you?"  You assume?  Really?  I assume you're an idiot for making that comment. 

Now, as to not sound like a completely intolerant B, asking questions is perfectly acceptable.  Making comments is generally nice, and most people are great.  Things like, "So, do you want more children?", "The cookies here are great", "Don't worry about the weight; you're supposed to put it on" are completely fine.  Nice even.  I love to talk about my pregnancy, but don't make it sound disgusting, unwanted, humorous, etc.  It's a personal and physical struggle as it is; worth it, but a struggle nonetheless.  I don't need the mouths of strangers to make it even more awkard. 

In advance, thank you.  Barely three months to go!