38 Weeks...And Counting

Hello again, friends.  After a short hiatus, I'm back.  This time, with a list of things about which I would like to tell you.  Now, I have toyed with the idea of a full-on spill session, but that would mean I would be camped in front of the laptop for hours...and I don't have hours.  So, as much as I would love a proper catch-up, how about a bit at a time?  Deal?

Let's start with the most pressing...literally.

As I type this, I am 38 weeks and 4 days pregnant, but who is counting?  Oh, who am I kidding??  I am counting!  I have been around and seen enough to know that each day the baby stays inside is a day the baby needs to stay inside, but I'm more than ready to meet him/her, to welcome a new, sweet, fresh little life into our family.  Obviously, I have been expecting this for months, but not really.  Not until just recently have I started to think about what life is going to be like with a newborn; what life will be like with four kids under 6; what life will be like for me, for us, for the sweet little babe.  I'm ready to find out.

Truthfully, I am very comfortable.  I feel really good, aside from the constant pressure on my cervix, the Braxton Hicks, which can wake me in the middle of the night, and the surges of energy followed by sheer exhaustion.  I think I feel good because I want to feel good.  I'm so excited, I'm probably half-numb to any uncomfortabilities.

To date, I have gained 18lbs, eat about that much in ice daily (seriously, and I think our ice maker is the slowest...one...ever), have developed tendonitis in both of my wrists, and cannot think of a single thing that tastes good, aside from strawberries and turkey sandwiches.  My blood pressure has been great, my ultrasounds uneventful--really, the entire pregnancy has been uneventful...and that's fine.  It's good, in fact.  Coming from an emergency RN, uneventful is good.

The boys are very excited.  Leo wants his new brother, Tango, to come out and sleep in his bed, Patrick is looking forward to a sister named Hermoine, and little Hatch is so busy finding out who he is that he barely has a clue what's going on, aside from his room changing and that he can't lay on top of my chest anymore.  At the time of baby's birth, Patrick will be 5, Leo-3, and Hatch-22 months.  My sweet boys.  And, as I think about how it went with each of their births, it really is sort of a haze.  I don't really recall how it became that we so quickly ended up here...likely finishing off our family, when it seems like we just got started making it.  In five short years, four new people who didn't even exist before.  It's a miracle, isn't it?

And, part of that miracle is finding out who it is we are supposed to raise.  As I have mentioned before, I don't think it's an accident or a coincidence that we have the boys we do.  Each one has taught us so much about ourselves and about life as a family.  Each one is a crucial asset to this family, and this new one will be no different.  In just a few days or weeks, we will find out exactly who and what this family was missing.  In that period of time, we'll become a little more whole. 

And, while we're waiting for that to happen, I'll be here cleaning.  And nesting.  And making everyone in this house crazy with my constant movement and my incessant nagging about picking up toys and wallets and shoes and miscellaneous items.  (But, let me tell you, the floors in this place practically sparkle.  I couldn't clean them more if I tried.) 

While we're on topic, I found this little article online the other day (The 10 Worst Things About Being Married to a Pregnant Woman), and as I started to read it out loud to Adam, I had tears streaming down my face from laughing.  So did Adam...carefully, as he wasn't sure how much of a sense of humor I still had.  You can access the whole article here, but I'll leave you with just this little snippet.  The #1 worst thing about being married to a pregnant woman...at least THIS pregnant woman:

1. Violent mood swings.

Crazy as it seems, that beautiful and sexy woman you married has the strength and stamina of a hungry UFC fighter. During this time she wants things a certain way and if they don't go her way, hell's fury will rain down. During our first pregnancy, my wife asked me to vacuum the carpet on a Friday night. I got the vacuum out, but got busy doing something else. Sunday afternoon rolled around and I was parked in front of the TV set watching the Cowboys - vacuum still in the middle of the living room and carpet untouched. She asked me again to vacuum the carpet. I told her I would after the game was over. The skies turned black, the wind picked up, and Psycho music started playing. This should've tipped me off to what was going to happen next. My beautiful, pregnant bride easily picked up the upright vacuum cleaner with one hand, threw it across the room at me and screamed, "VACUUM THE & %#$*@ CARPET!!!". She ran out of the room crying and I sat there saying things to myself like "I'll be damned someone throws a vacuum cleaner at me...," "Who does she think she is?!?!?", and "I am married to a crazy b***h!". Then I vacuumed the carpet for the next 30 minutes.

Please say a prayer that we will welcome sweet Baby Walden (well, we hope he/she is sweet) sooner than later.  We cannot really wait much longer.  Adam can't take it.  Say two prayers, if you can.

33 Weeks

I'm (almost) 33 weeks pregnant with our fourth child.  Our fourth baby.  I still don't know when all of this happened.  Just a few years ago, we were trying hard for our second...and now here we are -- rounding out the Walden clan with our fourth.  Incredible.

And, now that we're in the home stretch, I could not be more excited.  I still can't really wrap my head around it completely, but I'm still excited.  I love babies.  I love newborns.  I could live in newborn land forever and ever. 

So, what's going on at 33 weeks?  (This is mostly for my documentation, so you won't hurt my feelings if you kind of skip over this part.)

At 33 weeks, I have lost most of my cravings.  Rather, I have had a sensory switch of sorts.  I feel like my senses are on overdrive.  My skin is so sensitive, I'm very picky about fabrics, and frankly, would just rather have no fabric on my skin at all.  I'm very sensitive to smells, to touches, to tastes, etc.  I LOVE the feel of the breeze, am so thankful for a mild summer, and am absolutely addicted to a nightly bath.  Sometimes a bubble, sometimes a detox, sometimes two in a day, but I love baths.

I've gained 17lbs, and am really, really hoping to keep my weight gain somewhere close to this (I will give myself five more pounds if I have to, but I'd like it to be closer to three).  It's crazy, I know, but if you follow this blog, you know how crazy I can get about this.  My scale broke, which would be a huge deal, but I haven't replaced it in two weeks, so that's a major improvement for someone like me. 
Major.

The baby still isn't much of a mover,  He/she rolls around a bit, especially when I start in on my ice-eating first thing in the morning, but I don't think I have ever felt a real kick.  Not one.  I even checked on US to make sure the baby was still able to move all four extremeties, and it can.  It must be positional.  Or just lazy. 

Speaking of ultrasounds, it doesn't look like I'll have a late one performed at the office.  Bummer.  I was really looking forward to a 3D/4D image of the face.  From what I can tell on a simple 2D, the baby looks to resemble Leo.  Size-wise, it's comparable to Baby Hatchie, but otherwise Leo.  He/she is adorable.  A little squishy now, but adorable.

All of the previous ailments I was experiencing have completely dissipated.  I feel pretty great.  No blood pressure issues, no blood sugar issues (determined not GD, just very slow to process sugars, so I try to avoid them), no swelling.  I'm a little short of breath, but the baby is still pretty high, so I'll take it.  That will resolve in time...and be replaced with pelvic pain, no doubt.

I really cannot wait to meet him/her.  All of the curiousities about what it is, who it is, what he/she will be like, how Adam will react, how we all will adjust have started in.  I'm getting at the nursery sllloooooowwwllly, but I know I should probably speed that process up if this baby has a chance of having a finished room.  Something tells me I won't have a lot of time after he/she gets here. 

Ahhhh...babies.  Just the best little creatures there are. 

(And I have absolutely no belly pics, but here are a couple photos from last weekend. I had to throw a little Adam into this post. He doesn't get enough recognition.)

It Pays To Be Nice

Do you want to know what's awesome?  Nice people.  Thoughful people.  People who aren't all "me, me, me" and who take the time to think about others.  Small gesture, big gesture, doesn't matter.  What does matter, or go a long way, rather, is being nice.  And I'm happy to report that most of the people in my life are nice (I'd like to keep it that way).  For example:

Last week, after an especially long evening at work, I came home to find Adam asleep on the couch.  We chatted for a minute, and then he went back to sleep.  As I busied myself with picking up the kitchen, a pretty little package on the island caught my eye.  How had I missed it before?  It was a beautiful and incredibly thoughtful cookie arrangement, from a lovely individual with the initials JL.  (If you know her, you'll agree about the lovely part.)  Why did I get cookies?  For no reason, other than she's incredibly kind and generous and thought I could use them after having been a work widow all week.  I cried a little. Because I did.  Because at 1am, it was nice to feel special.  (Thanks again, JL.  You are the nicest.)

Being nice is so simple, and it doesn't have to involve cookie arrangements.  (But it's a nice touch.)  It makes people feel good.  It makes people happy.  And who couldn't use a little more happy?  Taken from http://shaznia.blogspot.com:

"The world today has become selfish, self-centered and indifferent. We no longer live in the days of chivalry and manners. Its every man for themselves. You snooze, you lose. Being nice is no longer a part of life. It needs to be reminded with posters and signs and even TV advertisements. It is an afterthought. Something you entertain when you have time to spare. Being nice is not considered a virtue. Merely a time filler to while away idle time and to boost up your image while you're at it. Why do you think all acts of kindness are highlighted in newspapers nowadays? Simply because true acts of kindness are rare. Why be kind or nice if you have nothing to gain from it?

If niceness is like an asset only to be used when it best suits you then why teach kids to be kind in the first place.?If they're just going to grow up to be cold-hearted and unfeeling then might as well teach them from the very beginning that being nice is not the best way to go. So what if they're bullies when they're just gonna grow up into bigger bullies?

But me being the oddball of the 21st century, I still believe that a little act of kindness will go a long way. To this very day I still remember and how a kind young man gave up his seat for me simply because he saw that I gave up my seat for an elderly man. If me, one little person, can propel another individual to do an act of kindness than I'm sure 10 other person can do the same.

William Wordsworth once said that "the best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love". So be kind and nice people, because niceness is NOT overrated.

 

It pays to be nice.  If for no other reason than you get a semi-anonymous shout-out in a fairly obscure blog, it does.  Because people never forget you when you are nice.  At least, I won't.

(And if you are currently in the process of being a jerk, just stop.  It'll be easier on you and people will really appreciate it.  And even if I don't know you, if you let me know how you stopped being a jerk, I will give you a shout out, as well.  It's that important to me.)

 

13.) Another hug and kiss.

14.) It's his birthday.

Go to bed!!!!!!!

12.) He wants to know if his head is bleeding. (It's not. It has no reason to bleed.)

Go To Sleep!

Reasons that Leo has given for why he is out of bed tonight (so far): 

1.) He needs a hug and a kiss (x4)

2.) He needs his nails painted.

3.) He found a bottle of nail polish and spilled it in his bed.

4.) He pooped.

5.) He wants to know how a pen works.

6.) He thinks he might vomit in two minutes.

7.) He wants to refill my water cup.

8.) He forgot to put ice in my water.

9.) Patrick said it was ok.

10.) He wants to watch a movie.

11.) He's too tired for bed.

He's been "tucked in" for just over an hour now. It's been his most productive hour today, hands down.

There is no need to double-check the web address or blink repeatedly.  You're not imagining things.  This is an actual blog update.  A real one.  From me.  And I'm sorry that it's been as long as it has (and, not to offer excuses, but it's been hard to find the time to sit down and write something out the past several weeks.)

It's busy at the Waldens.  And I don't mean the "whew-I-wish-I-had-time-for-my-yoga-classes" busy, but a "shit-how-am-I-going-to-make-it-to-the-store-for-food?" kind of busy.  With Adam in full travel mode, the boys and I spend a lot of time on our own.  I've said it before, and I will said it again--I give single mothers more credit than I can verbalize--these shenanigans are not easy.  I had every intention of updating last night, but if we're Facebook friends, you probably read about the poop incident and, frankly, I was in no mood to post anything remotely positive after that.  Not even close.  In fact, I lost my shit so badly that I had to fight the urge to apologize.  (Now, some of you might be thinking that, had I really lost my shit, I should have apologized.  Let me remind you that this was concerning Leo and he's three.  He's also a tiny bull and tests his limits like no child I have ever known.  An apology to Leo at this point would be read as my weakness and I can't afford for Leo to think I'm weak.  He'll run this show if he senses any weakness or fear.  He's like a bee.  Or a rabid dog.  He can smell it.)

So, today is a better day.  The sun is shining, the birds are singing, it's hotter than Hades (at least, it is if you are 7 months pregnant), my skin is a glorious shade of red and quite painful (thanks to yesterday's activities) and it's the first day of summer!  So far, we're off to a good start. 

This summer, the kids are 5, 3, and 1 (20 months to date.)  They are as mouthy as they are fun, and, I have to admit, at the end of the day, I can't get enough of their little tan lines at the tops of their swimming trunks.  We're now in our fourth month at our new house.  Progress on the inside has slowed down, but I imagine we'll regain momentum after the new baby gets here.  In the meantime, we're busy exploring all of the great things this fine small town has to offer.  Moving here was great for our family.  Admittedly, I moved here because Adam wanted to.  He knows that now, but, now that we're here, I'm really quite happy.  We have so much to do!  The beach is not but a mile or so away.  Our neighborhood has a pool (including a fenced-in baby pool), tennis courts, a basketball court, and a playground.  Mini-golf, a splash pad, a carousel, and skateboard park are five minutes away.  We have frozen custard down the street.  The free outdoor movies and concerts and street fairs and markets are countless.  I cannot vouch for winter, but the summer here is pretty awesome.  I'm happy.

Unfortunately, with all of the fun things this little town has to offer comes the understanding that we'll do them without Adam.  Which is sad, in a way.  I don't like that he has to miss out on fun summers with us.  Last summer was the same story.  And, again, I find it harder and harder not to be resentful when he's gone all week.  It's not his fault.  It's his job.  After all, it's the only reason we're able to get by without any childcare for (almost) four kids.  It's how things work around here.  But it's not easy.  When he's home, I'm working.  When he's gone, I'm at home.  We're really not home much together and, when we are, we're so focused on trying to accomplish tasks that the fact that we could actually spend time together escapes us.  Last night, after the aforementioned poop incident, I cried in the bath tub.  I felt like a failure.  I called Adam, who answered right away.  I started to tell him the story, when we were interrupted by a knock on his hotel room door.  "Is that room service?" I said.  Pause.  "Yes," said Adam.  "What did you get?"  Longer pause.  "A ribeye.  It's probably not even all that great."  But I'm sure it was, and my heart sank a little.  I know he's off working, but a part of me is envious of his hotel stays, his long showers by himself, the silence in his room as he falls asleep, watching whatever he wants on TV.  He gets ribeye and I get...well, mac & cheese and turkey sandwiches.  It's not all bad, but it's not as fancy as what he has going on.  By comparison, my life is unorganized and chaotic (despite my best efforts to make it less than it is.)  It's good, though, and I know he misses us, too.  Of course he does.  He sounds a little homesick every time he's gone. 

And, one day, we'll look back on this and vaguely remember how we pulled it off.  We'll laugh about it and take a little more time for each other.  And it won't always be so hard.  Right?  Right.  Because that's just how life works.  At least, it does according to me.  And, perhaps the delusion of being the only one in charge almost always has gotten the best of me, but I run this show. 

I super-suck at the blog posts lately and I absolutely plan on a proper one this week, but I just have to jot this down while I am thinking of it:

If there is one thing I wish I could bottle up right now, it's the feeling of sweet baby rolling around in my belly, especially in the quiet hours of morning and night. As I lay in bed in the dark, I can see the silhouette of my belly contorting; I can feel tiny parts jabbing this way and that. This baby isn't much of a mover, so I have to relish in it while I can. Forget the nausea, the heartburn, the mood swings, the cravings...this is what makes this all so enjoyable. Well, that and the nice-smelling little bundle you get at the end. That part isn't shabby, either.

We'll chat soon.