What's that on the floor?

I was almost arrested this morning. Well, maybe not almost. But I am sure someone was going to call Children's Protective Services had I pulled down Little Monster's pants and reddened his bottom like I wanted to.
Little Monster is smart. He apparently took a correspondence course on bio mechanics and realizes than pregnant women can't bend over. Little sucker threw a proper fit in the middle of the grocery store today. So I did what I normally do-walk off. I walked around the end of an isle and stood just out of view, hiding myself but keeping an eye on him. This used to work. Turner would get up and run to see where Mom had gone. Little Monster could give a crap about where Mom went. If Mom is out the picture he can do what ever he wants. So I marched back up to Mr Monster and told him we were leaving, that's when he hit the floor. I bent over and tried to pull him up, but he was a wet noodle. I then felt I had no choice other than to give him a half hearted pop on the butt. That is when all hell broke loose. The screaming, the wailing, and my head having steam fly from my ears. Turner did eventually get up and we made it back to the car.
We had one more errand to run, silly me. We went to the fabric store and all was well. Turner helped, stayed by me and didn't make a mess-til we checked out. He was with me at the register and proceeded to try and knock an entire shelf of candy to the floor. I stopped him and was picking up the few Rollo's that had fallen. While I was busy cleaning up his distraction he grabbed a Push Pop and ripped the paper off of it and stuck it in his mouth. I was pissed, he didn't deserve a sucker or need any extra sugar. But he had licked it so we had to buy it. The poor check out lady though I was nuts. I paid for the sucker and threw it into the garbage as soon as it had crossed the scanner. No way was I going to let him even have the satisfaction of having it at a later date. Well, we all know what happened next: Crying, and dragging him to the car.
Once we got home Turner was back, sweet and obedient. Lil Monster knows that on Mom's turf his bottom is fare game. I got to sit and eat lunch with my sweet baby. We talked about how it was not nice for him to act that way. He nodded and agreed. Then I got to laugh at the scenes we had made earlier.
Any time I see a mom in a similar situation I try to let her know it happens to me all the time. Anyone with kids has been in that very situation, unless your kids are heavily medicated. Why do they do these things? Because they are still babies and have no control over their impulses. When does it stop? I don't know, I can piss and moan pretty loudly if I don't get my way, and I'm twenty-eight.
I am wondering who'll get up from nap, Turner or Little Monster? Depends on who walks out as to what the rest of the day has in store. If it's Turner we'll read and I'll let him help me get dinner started then we'll go outside and play. If it's Lil Monster I am putting on a catcher's mask and getting my Nerf baseball bat to fend off what ever he'll be throwing at me. So here's to hoping for an afternoon free of projectiles and one full of fun time together instead.

Where's a Hershey's when you need it?

She's in there. For the last few days I have been able to feel Tate kick both from the outside and inside. Haven't told Brad yet, don't know if I'm going to. I remember being so excited when Turner started moving strongly enough to feel. I wanted Brad to put his hand on my stomach and be as amazed as I was. Well, amazed isn't exactly what I'd call his reaction. He was impatient, if you've ever sat around waiting for a baby to move you know it's sporadic at best.
When we did this the first time I waited til he was done with everything and ask him if he wanted to sit by me. Even when all he was doing was watching TV it seemed to be bothersome to have to touch my stomach. When he finally did feel Turner move his reaction was "OK so I felt it, we're done?" Not the moment that Hallmark paints or the one I hoped for.
Now I just think we'll skip it. It doesn't matter to him and it's easier to not be disappointed again for me. I am pretty far out on the moody side right now anyway. This pregnancy isn't new anymore, the end still seems a long way away. I have been thinking this is it too. The last baby I'll have. I'll have missed being around my sister for all of it. My mom and dad too but mainly Tabba.
I was home at six months pregnant with Turner. Everyone said that I didn't look that different then. We hugged, and all the boy we've missed you crap that usually goes on when I first get in. Tabba started talking to my stomach from the minute I got off the plane. She sat and felt my belly move. She sang to her nephew to be. Most of all she made me feel really special. She was just as excited as I was. She loved him just as much before he was born as she does now.
We've just about decided not to fly home this spring. I'll wait and come home after Tate is born. Save the trip then let everybody meet her in August. I just feel like the biggest thing I have ever done is gonna go by without having my family to be around for it. Tabba won't meet my daughter til she's a couple months old. Which is fine and just how life goes. I always pictured my sister there with me in the delivery room. Why? I have no clue. She's horrible with needles, nudity, and pain but she's really great with the crazy panicked me. Today I am just feeling everyone of those two thousand miles.
I have been worried that I'm missing all of Tabba's big days too. She's getting married and I'm not there to look for her dress. I'm not there to stop by with a picture I saw in a magazine I thought she'd like. Tabba's good to me. She could've had her wedding while I am pregnant and a complete lunatic. I wouldn't have made made it through the service.
Sometimes estrogen is a horrible thing. They should give it to inmates. Make them sit around in the quiet and worry. It would keep them from committing their crimes again, I'm sure of it. I am just feeling heavy. Weighed down by my big body, by all the things I can't go back and change, and sad at all the things I'm missing. I know to not give in to these little guilt trips. For all the things I'm missing there are a million more that I get to be there for. My son's first smile, his first step, and his first word. Those moments were all mine and Turner's. Days spent coloring and singing, sunshine on the playground, and cake batter on our faces. Things I wouldn't trade. I just wish it were easier to mix those days with what we miss when we're gone. I know no one on earth gets everything they want. No amount of money can buy happiness. Look at Donald Trump. One of the world's richest men and he still doesn't have one true friend to tell him how awful his hair is.
I know tomorrow I'll be in a better mood. Tons of people live far away from their families, and none of them die from broken hearts. I'll go back to being OK with it, or at least putting it out of my mind. So off to find some mood elevating chocolate, doesn't that fix everything?

Able to leap buildings in a single bound

Loose cannon, good word to describe me today. I am happy, but frustrated with myself. Brad came home last night limping. He got hurt at work again. Last month he tore something in his elbow and moaned and groaned for weeks. He didn't learn his lesson about not lifting heavy things by himself. Yesterday he lifted heavy rigging and pulled something in his back along with stirring his elbow up again.
I was so mad at him when he told me how he got hurt. I lost my temper, something I am known to do from time to time. I am not mad that he's hurt. Truth be told I'm not mad that he hurt himself because he's stubborn. I'm mad because it shows me that he is vunearble.
There is a list a mile long of things in my life that lack certainty. I will never live in one house for years on end. I have no clue where my kids will attend high school. I still don't know what I'll be when I grow up. I can handle all of those things because I do have some really stable things to lean on. Being married to Brad is like living with an oak tree. He's solid, he's stoic, and he's always there. I do not like anything that forces me to see him as a normal person. I know the sun will rise everyday. I also know that Brad is probably slipping out of bed early, just to put the sun up so the rest of us have light.
I have never thought about my husband being able to be hurt. He's the strongest person I know. He does things that not another soul on earth could, like live with me. There are some things he'll never be- mushy, girly, maybe not ever giddy. But he'll always be the best, the biggest and the strongest.
Little girls feel this way about their dad's, I know I did. He could do no wrong and nothing could hurt my dad. I know all these things about Brad. Turner's only two and he's knows them too. Tate will be enamored with him from the minute they meet. It's how the world should be. So, when my tough as nails husbands gets a wound like us mere mortals, it gets to me. I feel the same anger and frustration when his blood pressure is high. I feel maddened when he doesn't take care of himself. Stupid man, doesn't he know he has to take of himself? Who'll take care of me if he can't? I am a whole lot to handle. I know I am meaner than most women, spiteful, stubborn, and arrogant. Brad knows it all too and is the one person up to the challenge.
Brad has shoulders wide enough to carry the world on his back, and he often does. He is able to set it all down and be the kindest man I know when he is with our son. He wants to teach Turner everything he can. He wants to give him the world but at the same time make him a grateful child. He's my big oak tree. He weathers well through any storm. He is constant and always there to lean on. Maybe I am like a poison ivy vine. Not just anyone can touch me. Hold me too tight and I'll hurt you. I am never in one place very long. I wind up and down and back to places I thought I was finished with. My patience is non-existent so my direction shifts with the wind. But my constant is the tree to which I have attached myself.
I see people not as theey are but as how I love them. Brad is my man of steel, not a man who can get hurt. Tabba is my kid sister, not a grown women. I am not a grown-up, most of the time I feel like someone accidentally let me be a mom. My brain just doesn't let go of the rolls my heart places the people I love most in. So Brad has to quit getting hurt, I refuse to grow up and admit he's just a man. He's my man, the most handsome, toughest, strongest guy in the world.

Come on in, the chocolate's great

Little Monster is out and about, lock up you children. He's been fed a chocolate heavy diet today. He has the strength of ten Lil Monsters. Why would I feed Lil Monster straight chocolate on a day that is rainy and has us trapped indoors? Well, because I made a promise.
Turner has been potty training and having amazing success. Bribery works for us so we use it. For the first few weeks we were giving him a new Hot Wheels car every time he pooped on the potty. It became a regular and expensive thing. Two or three Hot Wheels a day is more than I wanted to spend for the rest of my life. So, we downgraded to one bite-size Reese's cup per poop. Works great too. Just big enough he sees it as a reward. Cost me about ten cents per crap pile. So Little Monster pooped twice this afternoon, thus two chocolate bombs were ingested.
Now to that promise. My sister called and asked if I let Turner open his mail. Yes, I let Turner open his mail. OK she says let him open his Valentine from me. This doesn't sound so ominous. His package arrives today, right after his mid day coco infusion. But, as promised I let him open the mail addressed to him. Low and behold, it contains a box of Hostess cupcakes. Of course I can not take these away from him, he knows what's in the box. So I open it and let him have one cupcake. Damn Abba.
Turner eats the cupcake hurriedly, much in the manner of a crackhead over due his next fix. Then it happens. His eyes roll back in his head, his horns shove through his hair and the crazed smile is permanently affixed to his face. Great, it's nasty out and it's just me and him, alone.
Little Monster is good(or as good as he can be) when he is kept very busy. So busy we have been. We have cooked, we have flown (picture me laying on the floor with him balanced on my feet), we have dressed as Superman, we have hide and seek-ed, we have chased, we have danced, then we watched Mommy fall on the floor and have a heart attack.
I am in shape damn it! How can someone so small have that much energy? How can I not have any left? Granted I did complete my spin class this morning, but last I checked my Super Woman outfit is still on under my sweats. Stamina is my middle name, maybe it changed to Stagnate when I wasn't looking.
Little Monster, being of pure monster lineage, took the opportunity of Mom laying helplessly on the floor to take the entire box of Cheerios and dump them in the living room floor. Turner must have gained control for a brief minute because I did hear him say something about "Get up and get vacuum Mommy, mess in floor". But it was only a brief minute because Little Monster grabbed a handful of Cheerios and threw them in my hair.
As irritating as this all could have been, all I could do was laugh. I wrangled Turner up and made him help clean up the mess. Then we wrestled. I rather like rainy days, even if I do spend them picking breakfast food out of my hair. I just keep on smiling, I know Big Monster will be home soon and I will do my best wall paper impersonation. Maybe neither of them will notice me and I can take a nap. Fat chance, but at least I can watch Brad be assaulted with whatever toy Turner has in his hand when Brad walks in.
I am hoping that all chocolate filled packages have arrived and tomorrow I can space out the consumption of the brown devil food. Maybe I'll just give in a eat a whole bunch myself and let She Monster out. Been a long time since she's been out of the cage. What would poor Brad do if he walked in to find Turner and I both hopped up on chocolate? He would probably grab a cup cake and a handful of Hershey's Kisses and join the party.

Sitting wringing my hands

I have new things to add to my list of stuff crazy pregnant women should not be exposed to: the news. My craziness manifests itself as uncontrollable worry. Monday night some maniac killed five people at a Utah mall. These poor people were out eating with their families and shopping, they never saw it coming. So the uninterrupted news coverage of the horrible event has been enough to make me fret all through the night.

I can not protect my kids. It's a horrible fact that I am struggling to understand. I made my children, I chose to bring them into this world, but I can't keep all harm from them. I hate the feeling of being powerless. I am a self-professed control freak, and proud of it. How can I make it though life knowing I can't stop bad things from happening to two of the world's most wonderful people?

This dilemma is not unique to me, I am sure every parent feels this way at one point or another. Pregnancy hormones weaken the wall around my feelings, so I feel everything. I recorded American Idol last night, yes it's my guilty pleasure. Turner and I watched it together this morning over a bowl of oatmeal. There was a brother and sister on the show, the brother made it through to the next round and the sister didn't. The boy couldn't even smile, he ran to his sister to comfort her. This of course brings tears to my eyes. I am a sap, fine, I can live with that. What I can't live with is the news cast we watched after Idol was over. A one year old baby died in a house fire last night. This prompts more tears and begins a long discussion.

Trying to tell a two year old about emergency evacuation routes is not a wise idea. I take another tactic. Tell him if we are ever in a fire for him to get out of the house. Firemen are our friends. Go to the fireman. Go out of where ever we are and I'll let you ride the fire truck. How do I cram all the things he needs to know in his little head? I know there's time, but I don't know what lessons he'll need first.

So no more news for me for a while. My thoughts are with the family of that little boy. I prayed to let them be able to breathe with out their son. I look at Turner and feel so lucky and blessed for every minute I have with him. Puts in perspective those days when tantrums are plentiful and smiles are few. Those are still great days, because my baby is safe and healthy.

I went through this same extended panic phase after Turner was born. I loved him before I had him, but nothing prepared me for the instant love I had for him the minute he came out. Now my hormones have easier prey. I already have the world's best boy here to worry about. I'll have the world's best girl in a few months.

So I have to pray hard. Talk to God and ask for peace so I can enjoy the incredible life I have, not spend all day worrying about the "What if's". I know worry does nothing but waste my time and drain me, but it's hard to get out of my head. Strange how having two souls in one body can make a person really nuts.

Contents Under Pressure

I am ansty. The end of Brad's job is drawing near. No Brad is not loosing his job, but the power plant is almost up and running. We've heard rumors of where we'll be sent, anywhere from Tim-Buck-Two to Kalamazoo. The rumors are a part of the job, so is the waiting.
Oh, crap! I didn't take this job, I shouldn't have to put my entire life on hold. But damn it, I did marry him. There was something about sticking with him during good times and bad in our vows. Mind you, this is in no way "Bad Times". I just feel like I am standing on the edge of the high dive, my toes curled around the edge of the board, my breath is caught in my chest in anticipation of the plunge, but I have to wait for the whistle to blow to start my inevitable decent. I am ready to take the plunge into a new town, I would just like to know what state that town is in.

Now I realize this will only be made worse once Turner is of school age, and I need to know where we're moving so I can pick the best school district to plop our nomadic butts down it. But now I have no pressing matters, so why not sit back and be patient? I am not patient, first off, secondly I am pregnant and the bigger my belly grows the crazier I get.

I need to know if we'll be in the hot sultry desert or the freezing snow covered mountains. Why? Because I need to buy things for this chap who is coming. She coming whether I have things ready or not. I'm in a bit of a panic mode. Yesterday after sorting through Turner's infant clothes to pull out what will be usable for my girl I got all wound up about cleaning out the garage. I had to find the boxes of baby clothes in the garage and while in there made mental note that my husband is a messy, unorganized slob. I try to leave the garage as a "Man habitat" Let him store tools where he wishes. This works for a few months until he needs me to find his tools cause he can't find them under all his crap. Then I come in, in a fury and take every thing out and put it neatly back in.

Add to my pissy state a fit throwing two year old and the day is complete. Turner has been on a tear today. Hitting me, telling me to "GO AWAY!!", I've even been bitten once. These days aren't often but when they happen they happen from sun up to sun down. I do not like having to whip Turner. I don't like having to put him in his room to punish him. I especially don't like being at odds with my favorite person in the world, but it happens. I don't beat him, but a well placed hand on the behind is necessary when I have been assaulted with a golf club.

My stomach hurts and I am tired today. My stomach hurts both from the unbelievable heartburn and from the strain of caring Turner up and down the stairs and across a large parking lot. Why do I carry a child who is physically able to travel of his own power? Because the little sucker threw himself on the ground kicking and screaming like a fool, I didn't want him to be run over. Just feeling like things are piling up. Too much to do, not enough of me to get all of it done. All of this is half delusional, I'll get most everything around the house done, my second child will not be born into forcible nudity, I'll pack the house up for the move with time to spare, and all this heartburn just means Tate will have a head full of hair for me to fix. Rationality comes in brief glimpses but I know it's out there. Some times you just feel like pissing and moaning.

What will the number be today?

I hate gaining weight. Yeah,Yeah, I know I'm pregnant and I'm supposed to, doesn't make it any easier. I have gained six pounds for the first five and a half months. It is a healthy amount of weight for my size. Blah,blah,blah, what ever. And no, I'm not going to not gain it, I have to for a healthy baby. Doesn't make those big numbers on the scale any easier to swallow.

I have issues with weight, this would be a shock to my mother. She, and many people, assume that if you are thin you have no issue with your weight. Wrong. I am obsessed. Have been for about ten years. I can tell you what I weighed on different important days of my life. My 21st birthday-115, Wedding day-118, my first OB/GYN visit 12 weeks pregnant with Turner-137, Turner's first birthday 125, begining of this pregnancy 134. And I could rattle off countless other important days that all started with weighing myself and scrutinizing the results.

Granted at my highest non pregnant weight I am still a size four or a six. Not big, but by no means my ideal. My goal is after this pregnancy to be back down between 120-125 for the rest of my life. Why does it matter? Cause it eats at me everyday. I think about it constantly. My bathroom scale lives in front of my refrigerator, I know that is a little neurotic. I weigh every morning of my life and tailor my eating accordingly. Up a half a pound, no snack today.

Pregnancy takes all of this out of my hands. I feel so out of control because I have to eat because I am hungry for a reason. And I do eat, so no interventions please. I am the worst kind of crazy, because I am aware that I am crazy. I live much healthier now than I ever have in my life. I eat right and exercise pretty religiously. In college, I exercised all right. Every morning before class at the gym at 5:40 for an hour of cardio. Go to school eat a hand full of diet pills and laxatives and then back to the gym at five for a two hour work out. FYI: Effective but not the best get fit now plan.

The diet pills and laxatives are something I left behind, thank the Lord above. But it is really hard to get those results the right way. Now I am so much more concerned for my children's well being that the unhealthy methods of weight control are something that make me shudder. I want to lengthen my life by living healthily, not shorten it by abusing chemicals to appease my vanity.

The best single act I ever did to help my borderline bulimia was breastfeed my son. I knew I needed lots of calories going in to produce what he needed to live and thrive, period end of story. I ate healthy the entire pregnancy with Turner, just like now. Then I nursed him, and ate healthy til he was thirteen months old. (Please grow up if you are cringing, it's natural and before formula and negative social stigmas all children were breast fed til about their second birthday.)

I look forward to having this little girl and nursing her. It's a great part of being a mom. I also have a heavy weight on my shoulders to try to provide a positive model for my daughter. I think the same thing about Turner. He'll have the good habits of regular exercise ingrained in him, but I worry less about eating disorders for boys than I do for little girls. I know I have to give her a nice mom who doesn't weigh three and four times a day, and who is comfortable in her skin no matter what weight I'm at. Those darn kids, making me become the grown up. It was much easier when my life was simply that, My Life. Now it is a example, either good or bad for my kids. My health is something I must watch and take of. Now my life is my kids. I need to be there for them. Their first day of school, prom, graduation, marriage, when they have children of their own, and far beyond that I hope. - Just some crap that's been on my mind.

The scale will continue to go up, and I'll have to be OK with it. I'll just let it provide me with motivation to let it all be healthy weight. I'll give in to my cravings, like I have a choice. I'll eat when I'm hungry. I'll exercise and get my body in shape for the labor and delivery that's to come. But I will be back down to my ideal weight, I will just have to be patient. Guess it's another one of those damn life lessons that keep on tracking me down.

It's the new Pink

The cat's out of the bag, or at least we know we're having a girl. The ultrasound was wonderful. I was so nervous, I really only wanted a healthy baby. I know it's cliche. But sayings become cliche because they are the truth. Any mother whose ever wanted a child just wants that child to be healthy. And our little one seems to be just that.

I busted out crying like an idiot when the ultrasonographer said girl. Now I can blame it on the double dose of estrogen flowing through my body. Brad and I said we'd have two kids. Nice number, no only child, and we all fit in a booth at restaurants. So I had told myself no matter if it was a girl or not that I would be happy. I love Turner, a sweeter boy was never put on this earth. If I had two boys, it's because God wanted me to have two. But we're having a girl. The shock is still fresh and the panic is just beginning.

What do I know about raising a girl? Oh wait, I am a girl. Well I felt the same way when we found out Turner was a boy. I had no clue what to do with a boy. Truth be told, Turner was the first boy baby I'd ever held. I had never changed one, much less been given a tiny helpless baby boy to take care of on my own. I was scared to death when the nurse brought Turner to me at about one am on his first night on this earth. Brad and my mother had already gone home. I had been asleep for about an hour when the nurse came in with my baby. He had just finished being cleaned up and weighed, and he wanted his mom. So I took him, handling him like the most fragile thing I had ever seen. I started to try to nurse him, that's when the nurse said she'd be back in a couple hours. A couple hours???!!! She was going to leave me unsupervised with this baby? I guess he was mine, but I was so scared that I'd do something wrong.

God, in His infinite wisdom, made newborns pretty easy to handle. All Turner wanted was to eat or be changed, and to never be more than a foot or two from me. I am so glad that you get to grow with your child. If they came here walking and talking already we'd never survive it. But, if after two or three months they've mastered rolling over and cooing, you're great with it. We get to adjust to new phases.

Now Turner's accomplishments are coming at rapid fire pace. He knows new words and concepts everyday. His problem solving ability is borderline dangerous, but I've had time to get ready for it. So maybe Tate won't get here with questions about boys and needing "The Talk" right away. We'll have time to grow into each other. Just because there'll be time doesn't mean I am not still panicking. But part of God's plan for new parents also involves being so tired that you can't panic over the future, you only have energy to get through the present.

Now our household will be getting a pink infussion, to balance out the blue. We are all looking froward to meeting this little miracle in the making. Brad is busy cleaning his shotguns. There's lots to do before she gets here, but we have a little time. Will this be our last? I don't know. My heart says no, no matter what logic my mind has come up with. But she'll be the last for a while.