Lola is 1! We Made It!

365 days? The days have gone by slowly, but the year has flown - know what I mean?

365 days ago we went from this:

...to this:

...in a matter of 3 hours!

The "Babies for Dummies" websites say not be be offended if your child doesn't smile at you the first few months of her/his life, but Ms. Lolo was having none of that...

...and she has been smiling ever since.

She's pretty much gotten the hang of handling her rambunctious very-soon-to-be 3-year-old brother too. She's learning more everyday when to smile and laugh, when to scream for help, and when to fight back against his antics. I think these two will be the best of friends someday.

And TJ is a fan of anyone who will let him make fart noises on their arm, so Lola is A-ok in his book.

Lola is not quite walking yet, but does pull herself up on anything and everything - including people, dogs and curtains. She's also become quite the adept cruiser along the living room furniture - any day now she will be toddling around the house and life will change just a little bit more.

She still enjoys her bottles (onto whole cow's milk now, and doing great), her baby food (she loves the vegetables!), and oatmeal in the morning and before bed - but with a mouth full of chompers (including 4 molars!), she eats food from our plates at mealtimes and has been downing Cheerios and other kid-diet-staple cereals for months now.

What's that? How's she sleeping? Well...in my humble opinion - like a champion! 10-12 hours a night straight through since she was 8 months old, and she's still taking 4-6 hours of naps everyday. I seriously won the sleepy kid lottery! Maybe that's why she's so happy all the time - she's well rested!

Happy Happy First Birthday to the most cheerful sweetheart of a baby in the universe, we made it a whole year!

Hey! Everybody! Meet Little Lady Lola!

Whelp, it's official, I had a baby.

Miss Lola Ann was born August 7, weighing in at a robust 8 lbs, 9 oz and measuring 20.5 inches long. She has a head full of brown hair, and beautiful blue eyes, 10 fingers, 10 toes and quite a pair of lungs. She enjoys eating, sleeping, pooping and being worn in her carrier as mom shops or eats while trying not to drop food on her.

Smiley Little Lady, Two Days Old

What? What's that? You want to hear the story of the day she was born?

OK! And for those of you not in the know, you can read TJ's day-of-my-birth story here.

So it was a Monday like any other. My mom was in town and I had stayed home from work that day, as I was 41 weeks pregnant and no longer amused by schlepping, well, anywhere, but especially to work. We watched the Olympics that evening (what else), I read blogs (what else), peed a lot and did my best to ignore the aches and soreness in my abdominal area that had become routine over the past couple weeks.

Tom was working that night and as soon as I talked to him at 10 p.m. when he got off work and he told me he was going out for a drink with some of his co-workers, I just knew our late little bundle of joy would be arriving that night.

And I was right!

I went to bed around 12:30 a.m. and that's when I noticed the achey soreness in my abdominal region had started to come and go in a bit of a pattern. It didn't hurt enough to really bother me so I did my best to relax and rest until Tom got home.

Fast forward to 2 a.m., Tom got home and came to bed.

Me: "Don't get too comfortable."

Tommy: "Why?....Seriously?"

Me: "Yeah buddy, this is definitely happening." <I make large circular motion with my arm over my giant baby bump area>

Tommy: "I knew it! I knew if I went out it would happen today...and I was right!"

Me: "Yeah, I knew it too. Rest while you can, I haven't timed anything but these suckers are definitely getting closer together."

He didn't listen. Tom tried his best to lay down and relax for approximately 3 minutes, before he insisted I call the midwife, then go sit in the tubby, and he began his pacing.

So that's what I did. The midwife (her name is Faith and she's awesome) told me to stay home as long as I was comfortable and to shoot for having my contractions be 5 minutes apart for about an hour before coming in.

Thank Jeebus we didn't listen to her!

I sat in the tub for about 20 minutes, TJ "randomly" woke up (ahem Tom, loudest laugher ever), and my contractions got more intense and closer together. Tom had called his mom to share the news already, and it was at about this time that Tom's stepdad Ken texted and told us to "stop dicking around and get to the hospital."

Sound advice, Ken.

I got dressed, called the midwife to tell her we were on our way, we zipped up our hospital bag (which had been packed for like a month and a half), took one last picture with T as a family of three, and headed out the door.


Headed to the hospital - last photo as a family of three.

I proceeded to have three contractions on the walk to the car, then three more in the car, then three more during the 100 yard walk from the parking garage to the emergency room entrance.

Once in the ER I presented the requisite ID's, as well as my pre-registration paperwork to expedite our check-in (pat on the back, me), hopped in a wheelchair and headed to OB Triage. Once there I changed into my so-stylish hospital gown, got hooked up to some stuff, and was told I was dilated to 6 centimeters. Yeah buddy.

OB Triage
 

It was about this time that Tom figured out there was a set of numbers on the monitor I was hooked up to that told when I was having a contraction and how strong it was. This was a fun discovery for him. He then provided a running contraction commentary for me for the duration of our stay in OB Triage.

After we had been in OB Triage for about 30 minutes (it was now around 4:45 a.m.), I started to get a little testy, and really hot and sweaty because the contractions were very intense and fast at this point, and all I could do was lay on this stupid gurney waiting for the nurses to complete paperwork and get me admitted. One nurse made me lay on my side, and as soon as she left my curtain cell I literally spit hatred on her name during my next contraction and then figured out a way to stand up with all the stuff still attached to me. This backfired a bit when I discovered all I could do from there was move around like a caged animal in the approximately 2.1 cubic feet of space allowed by all of the wires and cords on my person.

Finally, FINALLY we were ready to move to our delivery room and it was at this point I was basically completely immobilized everytime I had a contraction and they were only about a minute and a half apart.

We got to our delivery room a little after 5 a.m. and Tom immediately started the shower for me as I clumsily tried to put my bathing suit on. All I wanted was to escape to the sweet sweet little sanctuary that had been so comforting when I delivered T. I didn't quite get there, though. Between the nurse putting more stupid monitors on my belly, my ineptness at changing, and the fact that (Whoopsie!) my water finally broke, I didn't actually make it to a real shower until the next day.

As soon as my water broke I told the nurse (between expletives) I needed to start pushing. She ran into the hallway to get my midwife and a team of others, and the real party started. I'll spare you the intimate details, and just skip to the part where a crying baby was placed in my jurisdiction, Tommy cut the cord and at 5:26 a.m., only two hours after we  had left our house (thanks again Ken), our second little miracle came to be!

Lola
 

We took pictures, made phone calls, studied her little face and marveled at how fast it all went down. I, for one, was thanking the HEAVENS that it went so fast, as I opt for the natural childbirth method, I really don't know if I could have handled that intense of contractions for too much longer - it was seriously ridiculous. But, just like our first labor we came through it on the other side with a smile, and a healthy, seemingly content little baby! The rest of our hospital stay was uneventful. And BORING. But this time we came armed with reading material, and the Olympics was on, sooo.

Watching the Olympics, obv.


Tom needed to take a load off after the long night.
 

Fast forward to now, baby Lola is still a dream. She has assimilated very well into our little family unit so far, sleeps like 20 hours out of 24 and eats like a champion. I'm thinking she just may fulfill her daddy's wishes and become a competitive eater. Of course, he only wants that to keep the boys away, but judging by the way the child eats I would not be surprised if it came to fruition, and the only milkshakes brought to her yard are vanilla, chocolate or strawberry.

TJ is adjusting like a champion too. He came to the hospital to meet Lola that Tuesday afternoon and was more engrossed in pushing the red button on the side of my bed than he was with fawning over his new baby sister. Whatevs, he's 2. Since we brought her home there has been only one incidence of hugging too hard that basically gave me a heart attack, but other than that he's been gentle and loving, and even tries conversating with Lola.

T, Lola. Lola, T. Love each other, kay? Thanks.
 

T: <As we load up to go to the store> "Lola, you coming to the store toooo?"

Lola: <Blank stare...looks at something shiny...sees her hand move out of the corner of her eye and watches it suspiciously...>

T: <Confused as to why he is being ignored> "Momma, Lola coming too?"

Me: "Yes, boyo, Lola is coming too."

T: <Big smile> "OOOOOK! Alright!"

Me: <Big smile...accompanied by little heart flutter>

And our story continues...

Ciao from Babyland,

Christa

P.S. Enjoy this picture parade of the last three weeks...

  

Hanging out with T right after coming home from the hospital

 

My dad (Pop Pop to the kiddies) pushing the stroller on our first family walk after coming home from the hospital. That buggy is a beast.

 

Pretty Sleeping Girl

 

Lola with my mom (aka ShlimShlam, or Ding Dong) Ready for Kelly Jo's wedding

 

Teej and Lo with Pop Pop and Shlim right after the Altgilbers nuptials

 

Family pic

 

With smiley great-gramma Hitz

 

 

It's Yaya!

 

In her pretty purple tutu, a gift from Yaya!

 

First trip to Roc City to meet the fam, two of Tom's siblings Rachael and Dan (aka ChaCha and Deepers)

 

I'm Still Pregnant OR My Dwindling Faith in the Medical Community

Note: I wrote this post and then literally started having contractions about an hour later and never got the chance to make it live on the ol' blog. Since it was pretty much finished I decided to post it anyway, even though it's 3 weeks later. Deal with it.

Alright. I have to do a post on this waiting game we're playing with the impending newest addition to our family. I wasn't going to, because I probably complain too much. But I have to. Because this memoir is as much a documentation of our life journey, as it is a way for me to entertain myself in the evenings.

So my faith in the medical community continues to deteriorate at a rapid pace as we go through the continuing stages of this overdue baby ordeal. I'll utilize headers to break this up a bit for you...

The Due Date

I was essentially given two due dates. The first, the "mathematical" estimation of when the baby should be born, based on cycles and what-not, was August 4.

Ok.

The second due date, configured based on the measurements of the baby during my ultrasound was July 21.

Really all this change did was get a lot of people's hopes up, way too early in the game. As we got closer and closer to July 21 I was fairly certain there was no way she was being born anytime soon.

How I've Been Feeling

Really great until the last 10 days or so. Until a couple weekends ago I was feeling absolutely fantastic, and definitely did NOT feel like I should have delivered a baby by July 21.

Maybe this sounds weird, but I kept telling people when they asked that I didn't feel "bad enough yet" to have a baby. You know? Like, in the those last couple days and weeks of pregnancy all you want to do is sit, and that's actually the opposite of what you should be doing? And how in those last few days and weeks your body just aches and you have to kind of roll around to adjust yourself when you're sitting or need to get up.

And it's impossible to sleep because you have to wake up everytime you need to move, and then of course when you wake up you have to pee. And sometimes you wake up and don't need to move, you just have to pee, which basically translates into taking a series of 1-2 hour naps throughout the night.

And then your 2-year-old wakes you up at the butt crack of dawn, and then you have to go to work and you don't even know what day it is or if you are wearing a different shirt than the one you slept in and you completely disregard the office dress code for the millionth day in a row by wearing flip flops. 

And there are false alarms (during my first pregnancy I thought my water broke and we got all of our stuff together and went to hospital only to find out I had apparently peed myself...true story) and crampy gross feelings and occasional nausea and you can't eat very much because there's just no room, and your same sweet little 2-year-old decides his new favorite phrase is "Mama's HUUUGE" and I could go on and on.

My point is, when we reached that July 21 milestone, NONE of this was happening yet (except TJ calling me huge, that's been going on for some time), so that's what I meant when I told people I wasn't feeling "bad enough" to have a baby.

Guess what.

Now I am.

So that's a clear point for the August 4 due date, get your sh*t together medical professionals.

The Impending Threat of Being Induced

We went to our doctor's appointment Saturday morning, a regular check-up, which I had (admittedly) put off by 2 weeks for a few reasons...

#1. It's an ordeal to get to these on weekdays, as I basically have to take a freaking half-day off work to go, and Tom works on the weekends, so it's always a majah challenge.

#2. All the important stuff has been done for a while with the glucose testing and the bacteria testing and the ultrasound and what-not, and we're at the point where when I go to these appointments they're like, "Whelp, you're still pregnant, see you in a week." And I took a half-day off work for them to tell me that and DUH I already knew it.

#3. Two appointments ago when I went it was a paper skirt kind of appointment where I had to be "checked", and I sat on the exam table bare-assed with my lap covered in paper for an hour, AN HOUR, waiting for the midwife to take a look under the hood and tell me nothing was happening. I knew nothing was happening. So then the next time I went the same thing happened, only this time I put my big girl pants back on and left the doctor's office without being "checked" after waiting half-naked with nothing to read for 45 minutes. They must have remembered that I was a flight risk at this past Saturday's appointment, because Tom went out to hunt down the nurse after we had been waiting for 30 minutes to see why it was taking so long and they came in immediately and got down to business.

This past Saturday's appointment sucked, this is where we get to the...
 

Scary Inducing Stuff

Basically the midwife, we'll call her Butch, decided I needed a lecture and scolding for not having a clear due date, because it's apparently my fault. Then during my exam she decided she needed to jam her hand up there and feel the babys head through my dilated to ONE cervix (hi grandpa!), and then she got pretty testy when I emphatically told her that "YES, I know what it means, and NO, I do not want you to strip my membranes." But thanks for asking.

It really went downhill from there, as she told me we would have to do a non-stress test for the baby because according to my due date of July 21, which we had to abide by because of my irresponsibility, my placenta is now deteriorating rapidly and probably leaking, the baby is probably in distress and ingesting meconium, my fluid levels are probably really low and then she started throwing around the word "stillbirth."

Not. Even. Joking.

I mean, first of all - shut your stupid mouth, and second - hello, please go take a refresher course in bedside manner because you are unacceptable Butch, UNacceptable. And I pretty much hate you.

But Butch wasn't finished with us. The last thing she shared was that I needed to get induced. I needed to get the non-stress test as soon as possible on Monday and then when it came back as terrible, I needed to go straight up to Labor and Delivery and get induced immediately. Then she made it clear one more time that she was not pleased I wouldn't let her strip the membranes, and then she let us go.

Do you see why I'm not a huge fan of these people right now?

Needless to say, Tommy and I were both a bit shaken up when we left the appointment.

Until today, of course, when we both breathed a giant sigh of relief because guess what Butch, the non-stress test went great. Baby is great, heart rate is strong, placenta is great, fluid levels are better than great, my blood pressure is great, ultrasound looked great, and I feel crampy and terrible - so we know we're close to getting it done our way, with no stripped membranes or drug-induced labor.

Hazahh!

And So We Wait...

Apparently this unborn child is teaching me a lesson. I know what you're thinking, that it's a lesson in patience - but that's not even what I was going to say. I'm probably the most patient person you've ever encountered in your life -- stop laughing dad. For real though, I've got tons of the stuff, nothing fazes me.

I think this baby is teaching me a lesson in making other people wait...and THAT, I am notorious for. And she wants me to see how it feels, and know it's unacceptable for me to continue doing it, and that she will now be graciously assuming the crown for Queen of Making Others Wait for Seemingly No Good Reason so that I no longer have to be the rude one, but she will since she's tiny and cute and "doesn't know any better." So really, she's doing me a huge favor right now by not being born yet. And telling me she wants us to be a team.

See how I did that?

Really winning all over the place.

Except for with the length of this memoir post. Apparently I had a lot to say - shocker. And sorry there are no pictures. Nothing really fit the content on this one.

Except this photo...


Meet Butch.

So if that's the best I could do, I'm actually not sorry there are no pictures at all.

And The Waitee Has Become the Waiter...

Christa

An Open Letter to My Gestating Fetus (If That's a Real Way to Refer to You)

Tenant,

As of this moment, little unborn baby, you are hereby served an eviction notice. Please vacate the premises within 48 hours, or we will be forced to remove you.

Thanks.
The Management

Prepping for Pain Party Oh-12...Yes, I'm Going for Another Natural Childbirth

What. Who even does that? Elects to try for a double-dip after experiencing the agony of a natural childbirth the first time around?

Oh, this girl.

Bring it.

And by that I mean, please dear God let it be faster and less painful this time.

We're getting close over here people, and I'm just as pumped and excited for baby girl's arrival, as I am dreading it. (You can read our TJ birth story here.)

Super fresh, minutes-old baby TJ

The other day I was at lunch with some co-workers and one of them asked me what had even made me consider having a natural childbirth, so I thought I would share my thoughts with the four of you out there as well. And just so we are clear - I make absolutely no judgements here.

Labor sucks.

It hurts.

Bad.

Like, nuclear-bomb-went-off-in-my-abdomen-and-is-ripping-through-my-body-and-I-can-feel-it-in-my-teeth-and-legs-and-fingertips-and-hair-and-eyeballs-and-it's-not-going-away-and-I'm-probably-DYING bad.

Everyone makes their own choices for how they bring their children into this world and I do not begrudge anyone who chooses to beat the pain with medicinal support.

It's just not my preference.

In the beginning I decided I didn't want to use drugs during my labor because it honestly just doesn't make sense to me. It makes zero sense in my brain that for the nine months preceding childbirth I am not allowed to eat fish, or take medicine, or drink alcohol, or ingest unpasteurized food and drink, or pick up dog poop, and on and on, because doing so could possibly maybe have a chance of hurting the baby. BUT at the 11th hour - during labor - it's somehow ok for me to have anesthesia intraveneously administered while my baby is still inside and attached to me?

I don't get it.



How does that NOT get to the baby?

I'm not a doctor, and I'm not claiming to know anything about medical science, but if you're telling me it's not ok to take cold medicine while I'm pregnant, but I can have serious anesthesia administered during labor, I can't process that. I just don't get it.

Dadda supervising the APGAR proceedings. I took this picture!

So that was the genesis of my not wanting to use drugs during my labor...

And then I watched The Business of Being Born.

First of all, put your giant nips away.

And second, yikeserwhoayowza.

After watching this documentary hours upon hours of research ensued on my part, as my curiosity on the effects of anesthesia on the unborn, and then born, baby was piqued, and to be objectionably honest (personal feelings aside) it was pretty inconclusive. Studies have been done by both sides, those for the use of anesthesia, and those against. But from what I can tell it's a stalemate. They just continue to "disprove" one another's "conclusive evidence," and so the dance continues.

What really blew my mind, though, is that there are serious ANTI-natural childbirth folks out there. To the point of basically declaring war on groups like Lamaze, which is all about natural childbirth.

What?

But why?

To cut through the bullshit The way I understand it, the "PC" argument they pose here is that women should not endure the pain of childbirth, simply because they don't have to. These anti-naturals don't see the point in enduring that pain, when there are approved and effective drugs available to just disappear the pain away. "It's surgery." NBD.

Discovering this led me to do more research, as I forced myself to read every horror story personal diatribe I could find written by women who had had a natural childbirth, and what it was like, as well as stories from women who had used drugs, and what their experience had been like.

Neither side painted a real pretty picture of labor, which I was grateful for, because I wanted to know exactly what I was in for. And I'm not going to get into the "she said - she said" here, because anyone reading this is perfectly capable of doing their own reading (start here), and for me to share the particularly poignant stuff that resonated with me would certainly come off as preaching.

But I will say, without a doubt, I was far more disturbed at the terrible tales told by those women who had used drugs during their labor, than I was by the women who had not used drugs, and ended up with a negative childbirth experience.

For me, I think it's also that when you use the drugs, you essentially give up control. You put the decision-making power of your labor - the birth of your child - into another person's hands from the beginning. That doctor doesn't knooooow you, and doesn't know your baby, you have no idea what that person's intentions are or what preoccupations they may have that day - I feel it's probably wise to be at my witty best in this kind of situation, not potentially numb, sleepy, loopy, distracted, and/or sick.

Minutes after being born...Welcome to the World Little Man!

I'd like to start out with the power to make my own choices for my own child's birth, and if something happens and I have to relinquish that power for the safety and health of my child, then so be it.

So pregs out there - it's important to know your options, do the research, and decide what you want for the birth of your child. No one else can make the decisions for you. Be your own advocate. Be informed about things like epidurals and pitocin and what a low heart rate is for the baby during labor and dilation and scraping cells and the bag of waters.

Be in control. And most importantly BE INFORMED.

I choose to forgo the meds. I can take the pain, so I choose to take it - how can anyone have a problem with that? I don't recall anyone ever dying simply from pain, and I want to ensure I have the option of having the power and cognition to preside over how my baby is born, so that's where I'll start.

My first labor was 16 hours long, and the way I look at it that's 16 hours of my life, for potentially the entire rest of my baby's life, and that's totes worth a little bit of hellacious, teeth-gnashing agony.

After we walked (yes I walked) to our room.

And there you have it. My feelings on natural childbirth, why it's my choice and why it's very important to me. 

One last thought I reflect on constantly that helps me keep everything in perspective...

When I was prepping for T's birth I read a passage somewhere, written by someone a lot smarter than me (how's that for citing a source?) that essentially said, there is no time in a human beings life where they are more fragile or compromised than when they are being born.

That thought helps me keep my preferences and ideals in check, and keep the health of the baby first and foremost in my brain. If I end up having to get an unplanned emergency c-section so my baby is born safely and as healthily as possible, so be it, I'm down. But I'd like to try to experience the single most incredible, empowering and proud moment of my life one more time - to birth my baby naturally, without the synthetic assistance of medicinal substances.

First family photo, home sweet home with our 24-hours old little bundle.

Good luck out there pregs.

With that, I bid you (and this behemoth post) adieu...

Christa

Poopy Poop Poop Dung Feces Excrement.

In case you couldn't tell this is a shit-tastic post. As in poop. No there will not be pictures. Except ones I draw myself. And yes mom and grandma, I will probably drop the "s-word" a few more times.

So I'm 37 weeks preg-perego with this squirmy wormy baby girl in my belly and of course I'm really excited to meet her and cuddle with her and talk to her and love on her - that really goes without saying. But today I made a realization. The amount of excrement I will be handling on a daily basis is about to increase exponentially.

I cleaned up no fewer than 6 giant piles of dog crap today (half of which were IN MY HOUSE - anybody want a dog?), plus the two TJ poop diapers I changed (and that's everyday). In addition, we have to factor in a husband who likes to talk about feces and generally requires a toilet-plunging lesson everytime he's finished going number 2, and now we are adding a new baby who will have the (non-smelly, thank GOD) breastmilk runs eleventy-billion times a day. I mean, we are just talking about a whole lotta shit here.

I love my TJ more than anything, I would literally give the heart out of my chest for him, and that fact is made clear to me in part because I don't even mind changing his poopy diapers. I'm sure I'm just like most moms and actually feel a bit of relief when he has his regular bowel movements, just so I know everything is working alright in there.

T has pooped in the potty exactly one time, and I pretty much wanted to throw him a parade. In fact, when he is officially potty-learned I probably will embark on a one-woman ticker tape affair down Michigan Avenue. I'll say "Happy Poop Day" to people, because this is something my child actually says, usually when I'm trying to get him to say "Happy Birthday" to friends or fam on the phone and he gets bored.

The dogs are a different story.

I hate.

Cleaning up.

Dog poop.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was today to clean up the brontosaurus-sized piles of dung IN MY HOUSE, and outside today. The last time I took them out I didn't even take plastic bags with me, thinking there was NO WAYYYYY they could possibly have more poop to poop, but I was wrong.

So yesss, that makes me the asshole who didn't clean up after her dogs on Marshfield today - apologies friends.

So that's where my head is at today, as I'm weeks-to-days away from having a baby. Not on the fact that I haven't packed my hospital bag, or that I need to make my final call to be sure the new baby insurance paperwork is all squared away, or on getting her bed set up or buying a new changing table pad for the bedroom. No, no, no. I'm in feces-land. Thinking about how much more poopy poop crap feces I'm going to be elbow-deep in.

Ooh, the things the books don't talk about :)

Brown squishy love hugs,

Christa

I'm Trying to be Really Nice to the Dogs In Preparation for When I Hate Them in 5 Weeks.

We have two dogs. There is Stockton, Tom's 11-year-old pug and our resident senior citizen. And there is Miley who is my sweet little lady mutt rescue wonderdog.

I heart our pups.

Until I have a baby and I hate their guts.

Two years ago before I had TJ I loooooved my little Miley and Stockton. They slept with us in the bed every night, we went on daily walks no matter how gross or crappy it was outside, we cuddled and played, I dressed them up and bought them toys and covered them with blankets when they were cold, and there were many evenings when Stockton would lay on my chest and Miley would lay on my legs while I was reading or watching TV. At the time I seriously could not imagine loving any living thing more than I loved these dogs.

And then I had a baby. And the dogs were like three times his size. And they became public enemy #1A+.

GIANT DOGS, tiny baby...and Stockton winking at the camera as if to say, "This kid is going to replace me on the throne of greatness? We'll see about that..."

Why public enemies, you ask?

Well, first and foremost there was the barking...Oh My G, the barking.

EveryTIME T was sleeping somewhere in the front room area, one of these two assholes would decide to bark at something, usually imagined, and T would, of course, wake up. Just, no.

I was not afflicted with any sort of post-partum depression difficulty when I had TJ, but you would never have known that if the only time you saw me was when I was around these dogs. They were always in the way, they were always barking, they always needed food, or water, or to go outside, or to breathe.

And then, of course, there was the shedding. They. Shed. Everywhere. Making the environment FILLED with contaminants and dander that could harm my child's breathing functions and I hated them.


I wanted to kill them, in fact. I wanted to open the door, let them run outside, and then lock the door behind them. Or drive to the middle of a field, let them out of the car, and then drive away. Or stuff them in the bathroom and make them live in the tub forever.

So in preparation of all of those feelings returning in 5-6 weeks, I'm doing my best to be nice to them like the old days. I'll be honest, Stockton is just too smelly anymore to lay on my chest and be allowed to breathe/sneeze directly into my face, and it's just too big of a pain to take them for a long walk EVERYday, especially if I have to do it all by myself with a two year old, AND pick up the poop (a weird no-no during pregnancy).

So there you have it. A confession of negativity. A chink in the sunny disposition.

Stockton and Miley, I love you...for now.
Christa

First Time Mom vs. Veteran Mom

I have noticed a lot of differences in my attitude and preparations as we ready the Parr household for our latest Baby-palooza adventure.

For example:

...I don't have 14 lists of things to buy and things to do

...I'm not obsessed with reading the baby websites, emails and newsletters for hours a day

...I'm really not concerned with having the "newest" and "best" products

...I have yet to purchase a single stitch of clothing for this new baby

Don't get me wrong, some preparations have been made - we got a hand-me-down crib (fo free!) from one of my co-workers who was moving (and it's really nice, so that was a score!), my aunt found a used $80 Jeep double jogging stroller a friend of hers was selling and picked that up for us, and Ken and Connie are passing their "Goat Watch Oh-12" barn video monitor to us after they are done using it. So there are some wheels in motion. But honestly, as long as we have 3 things when we bring the baby home, we will be all set...

1. Our Pack-and-Play (it's blue, but I don't care, it will do)
2. Some diapers (we could really pick these up on the way home from the hospital)
3. Me

You know what I have been doing a lot more of this time around, though?

Nesting.

I am an organizing fool these days. After having experienced the inexplicable chaos that ensues upon bring home a fresh shiny baby, what I want more than anything is to make sure all of our systems are in place.

I don't want the bills and mail to be piled up in any capacity.
I don't want a house full of laundry.
I don't want dog hair everywhere.
I don't want clothes that need to be put away.
I don't want dishes in the sink.

And it makes apparently perfect sense in my brain to make sure all of these things are done every single day from now until the baby arrives.

This reminds me - I should probably register so my work baby shower doesn't get me something totally random. And I need to learn how to make cute bows for baby girl to wear, because as it stands she will be wearing a LOT of blue.

...And Now This is Happening.

Remember the last time I blogged sometimes? Sure you do. The year was 2010, and I started this blog (memoir from here on out - blog is disgusting) called Stockon's Gonna Be a Big Brother to keep family and friends informed and mildly entertained as TP and I prepared to join the brotherhood of first-time parentdom.

Whelp, in spite of my best intentions I let the blog (memoir) fall by the wayside after our firstborn, and heir to our vast fortune, made his appearance. Sorry about that, but in my defense, I was a tid-bit busy with a shiny new baby, a full-time job, and a less-than-ideal house situation. Specifically, we were living in a one-bedroom home with no dishwasher and no washer/dryer. Unfortunately, this is no joke. When I think back to those days, I can only laugh. What stupid idiots we were! I was a sleepy-eyed weirdo with crazy hair, no make-up and deoderant on the front of her wrinkly, Febrezed shirt with ZERO time or energy to write things down in a cohesive and organized manner that anyone in their right mind would care to read.

But we're in the zone now! What a difference a washing machine makes, and boy do we have a LOT of great stories to tell.

And what better reason to get back on the blog (memoir) train than that we are expecting once again!

Yep. That's me six days ago. We are 23 weeks along and growing. Not to be confused with glowing, because for those of you who have never had a baby - that "glow" is nothing more than oily sweat slick all over your face. And now you know - you're welcome. But as my face gets shinier, so does my hair, so that's a plus.

To be clear, I don't intend for this to be a mommybabyparentsblah blog (memoir), per se, though. I have a vast amount of knowledge to share, and several really important things to say that the entire world needs to know. No one should be spared the wonder that is Christa, so stop in often...and be dazzled. And for those of you who think I'm serious, please hold up your left hand, smack yourself in the face with it, and continue reading.

So since we're already talking about babies, we found out our little one's gender yesterday. Wanna guess what it is? I'll give you a clue...actually, here are 11 clues. 50/50 shot, good luck.

          

         

         

       

Tip of your life: Never do a Google Image search for "pigtails" when you are preparing to bring a sweet, innocent baby girl into the world. Trust.

Welcome back to my memoirs...let's do this!