Here's the latest: I haven't been in a very poetic mood. I still notice all the wonder in my life, I just don't have the gumption to chronicle it. I feel bad for not keeping up with writing to the vast unknown of Myspace.
I am not a scrap-booker. I wish I did a better job at updating Turner's baby book, but I don't. I do journal. I print each blog out and save it. I have a few journals and odds and ends that I have written too. One day when my kids are much older I'll give it to them. They may not have cute books that are festooned with pieces of wrapping paper and little decorations, but if they really want to find out who mom was it'll be there in black and white.
All parents (I think) have fears of leaving their kids behind. I do, but mine are of a different slant. I know Brad would raise my children and care for them the same way he does now, as the best Papa a kid could ever have. They would be happy and well taken care of. They would be loved by both of their extended families. My worry is that if something happened, how would they know how much I loved them? Would Turner say "Yeah my mom stayed at home. She was just a mom". Through what I write they can one day look back at what I felt on different days. They can read what my heart had to say about them on the days that were perfect in their simplicity. Hopefully my kids will be able to see me as a person, not just a mom.
I try to always tell those in my life they are important to me. I sing and rhyme to my son. Turner asks me to sing the Turner song. It is made up and new everyday but always says "Turner is my best friend, I love him so much..." I hope he can remember all the fun we have had together. In turn, my son sings me the Mommy song. My heart melts as he belts out "My Mommy, I love her, she's the pink Power Ranger & my best buddy..". I can't wait to have a Turner and Tate song. I have a feeling it'll be about the best boy and best girl in the world, and maybe about the Power Rangers too.
No Tate yet, I sit and wait. I hope that every contraction is the beginning of labor. Yes, I am selfish and want relief from my aching joints. I want my body back. I want to be able to breathe again. More so I want to meet my daughter. I want to see my husband meet his little girl. I want to make my son the big brother he is meant to be. Breathing again is a novel idea. Turner has kept me breathless since I first laid eyes on him. I am sure Tate will do no less.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
They have 32 flavors, but all I need is one...
I am in heaven. Did I have my baby, get a massage, a pedicure? No, even better, I had a chocolate blast from Baskin Robbins. I crave them with every ounce of my being. I think about them all day long. Nothing at this point taste better than a chocolate blast. Just to let you know nothing replaces one either. Ice cream by any other name isn't nearly as sweet. That's not to say I won't eat the other ice cream, but I will still want a chocolate blast when I am done scrapping the blue Bell carton.
My love borders on obsession. The guy who works at our local BR is my favorite person on earth. He looks like a girl and his front tooth is rotting out of his head, but I don't care. He makes the blasts, so he makes me happy. He did tell me today that I was weird. I was their only customer. Have Utahans gone on strike against the little pieces of heaven store? No, it's cold and rainy though. A little wind and rain is not enough to deter me from going to the ice cream parlor in search of delight in a cup.
I think the only thing that could make a chocolate blast any better would be to drink it while getting a foot massage. Possibly drinking it during sex, but that would mean Brad would be there wanting to share it, so that is not a good idea after all.
Gone are the cravings for pickles and cottage cheese. The days of ketchup worship are far behind me, I am now into the heavy stuff. Why do pregnant women crave things? My theory goes that our bodies know what nutrients we lack and make us long for foods rich in what ever it is we need. Tate is apparently low on cocoa and sugar, which we all know play a big roll in fetus development. Along that line of thought the baby's last weeks spent in the womb are strictly for putting on weight. That being the case I am craving one of the best put-er on-ers of weight there is.
I sit here full and content, for today at least. I fight off the chocolate beast for as long as I can. I try to go a few days in between chocolate indulgences, but the gap is narrowing. The bigger and clumsier my body becomes the more apt I am to give into it's demands. What's that? Can you hear the request for french toast suppers and pizza breakfasts from my unborn child? Yes baby girl, we'll have lots of sticky ooey gooey stuff during our last days spent as one.
My love borders on obsession. The guy who works at our local BR is my favorite person on earth. He looks like a girl and his front tooth is rotting out of his head, but I don't care. He makes the blasts, so he makes me happy. He did tell me today that I was weird. I was their only customer. Have Utahans gone on strike against the little pieces of heaven store? No, it's cold and rainy though. A little wind and rain is not enough to deter me from going to the ice cream parlor in search of delight in a cup.
I think the only thing that could make a chocolate blast any better would be to drink it while getting a foot massage. Possibly drinking it during sex, but that would mean Brad would be there wanting to share it, so that is not a good idea after all.
Gone are the cravings for pickles and cottage cheese. The days of ketchup worship are far behind me, I am now into the heavy stuff. Why do pregnant women crave things? My theory goes that our bodies know what nutrients we lack and make us long for foods rich in what ever it is we need. Tate is apparently low on cocoa and sugar, which we all know play a big roll in fetus development. Along that line of thought the baby's last weeks spent in the womb are strictly for putting on weight. That being the case I am craving one of the best put-er on-ers of weight there is.
I sit here full and content, for today at least. I fight off the chocolate beast for as long as I can. I try to go a few days in between chocolate indulgences, but the gap is narrowing. The bigger and clumsier my body becomes the more apt I am to give into it's demands. What's that? Can you hear the request for french toast suppers and pizza breakfasts from my unborn child? Yes baby girl, we'll have lots of sticky ooey gooey stuff during our last days spent as one.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
It's worth a thousand words
I had pictures taken this week of a pregnant me. I am very critical of my appearance and was worried how a nine month pregnant Tiffany would look. I have been very pleasantly surprised.
When I see myself in the mirror I see the veins running all over me. I see the fatter arms, the puffier face, the bags under my eyes, the wrinkles that used to not be there. I dissect my appearance. I usually see only the bad parts. But when I saw these pictures I saw my whole self. Not so much the veins and wrinkles but more the twenty eight year old mom pregnant with her second child. Things aren't supposed to be perfect. The scars left from my belly being pierced didn't look half as bad from someone else's perspective as they do from my own. In fact, none of me looked like what I see in the mirror.
Being Mom to a two year old also lets me view myself from someone else's viewpoint. To Turner I am ruler of the universe, righter of wrongs, finder of toys, maker of rules, and cooker of dinner. I like the way my son sees me. I want him to always think I am the best, but I know that is a fool's wish. So, I try to enjoy the fleeting time when "Mom still knows best".
My pictures let me have memories of this time in my life. Having a life inside me that Brad and I made. This time when I get to hold my son on the outside, my daughter on the inside, and the two of them in my heart.
I love pictures, they are freeze frames of my memories. I carry my camera with me every where. I want to have a picture of every single day, then I can remember all of them. Even the ones that "nothing special" happens are very special to me. On those regular old every-days I get to see magic when I look at my son. I get to see Brad change into the man who I can't live without. And, for the past nine months I have gotten to see myself change. I have had to let go of my own wants and ideas and give into a life out of my control.
The easy part of having a child is almost over. In a few weeks I'll go through labor and have my daughter. That is when really hard part begins. So now I have pictures of the calm before the storm. Pictures of Turner and I while it's still just Turner and I. Life is about to change, and I can't wait.
When I see myself in the mirror I see the veins running all over me. I see the fatter arms, the puffier face, the bags under my eyes, the wrinkles that used to not be there. I dissect my appearance. I usually see only the bad parts. But when I saw these pictures I saw my whole self. Not so much the veins and wrinkles but more the twenty eight year old mom pregnant with her second child. Things aren't supposed to be perfect. The scars left from my belly being pierced didn't look half as bad from someone else's perspective as they do from my own. In fact, none of me looked like what I see in the mirror.
Being Mom to a two year old also lets me view myself from someone else's viewpoint. To Turner I am ruler of the universe, righter of wrongs, finder of toys, maker of rules, and cooker of dinner. I like the way my son sees me. I want him to always think I am the best, but I know that is a fool's wish. So, I try to enjoy the fleeting time when "Mom still knows best".
My pictures let me have memories of this time in my life. Having a life inside me that Brad and I made. This time when I get to hold my son on the outside, my daughter on the inside, and the two of them in my heart.
I love pictures, they are freeze frames of my memories. I carry my camera with me every where. I want to have a picture of every single day, then I can remember all of them. Even the ones that "nothing special" happens are very special to me. On those regular old every-days I get to see magic when I look at my son. I get to see Brad change into the man who I can't live without. And, for the past nine months I have gotten to see myself change. I have had to let go of my own wants and ideas and give into a life out of my control.
The easy part of having a child is almost over. In a few weeks I'll go through labor and have my daughter. That is when really hard part begins. So now I have pictures of the calm before the storm. Pictures of Turner and I while it's still just Turner and I. Life is about to change, and I can't wait.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Moo moo
I haven't been writing as much lately. My brain is consumed with the last weeks of pregnancy so it's hard for any other thoughts to escape the black hole atop my head. While in this mommy-brained state I have noticed a few things.
I noticed how the little things that change within you after having children are the things that really make you a "Mom". I swore I would never spit on my finger then wipe it on another human being's face. Well, I do it almost daily to poor Turner. When did this happen? I was boycotting Mother Nature's 409 not that long ago wasn't I?
If I am walking through the house and notice a Tums on the floor I pick it up. Tums are scattered through out my house, I have containers in the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and living room. The placement of these in every room is a testament of my my heartburn and of the laziness that comes with being eight and half months pregnant. So while taking three Tums six or seven times a day a few fall and roll out of sight. These aren't toxic so I don't go ape and crawl around to find them. Once they are tired of a life spent hiding while on the lamb they show themselves. Like I said, I pick them up. Do I throw them away? Nope, just pop them in my mouth without a second thought. Sick, I know. I would never have eaten something that had been hiding under the edge of the couch for a few days pre-Turner. But now I figure it saves a trip to the trash can and postpones the heartburn for a minute or two.
Brad isn't wild about sharing his drinks with Turner, the back-wash factor and all. I am so used to it that we share everything. I have just devised a system to keep the backwash to a minimum. I always drink from straws. So I let him drink from my straw too. I just pull it away before he is quiet ready for me to. That way(or so goes my theory) there is still suction to keep all his spitty crumbs in his mouth and out of my drink. I must say it works pretty well.
Other gross mindless habits include eating food off of my son's shirt. Like a monkey I will pick something that has fallen short of Turner's mouth, landed on his shirt and eat it. Another tactic to keep me from having to get up and get a napkin or make a trip to the garbage can. Now I am not a great ape so the food findings must meet certain criteria. It must be just dropped, something tasty, and free of copious amounts of slobber. I am not an animal, I have my standards.
Like all mothers I have broken through my little aversion to bodily functions and fluids. When Turner was a little baby and still nursing we were playing on the floor and he started to burp and gag. I knew spit up was about half a second from spewing across the room. The burp cloth was no where in sight so I just pulled out the tale of my shirt and let him puke in that. Completely gross, but I didn't have to clean the carpets, just go change my shirt. Score one for the quick thinking, all be it grody, mom.
If anyone thinks spit up is nasty they have not entered into the potty training stage of life. Thank goodness we are through with that. But while in the middle of house breaking Lil Monster I got to experience all the smells and textures of poop that I never wanted to be acquainted with, it's part of my job.
There are so many more strange, nasty, and odd habits that I have now that I am a mom. I wish my brain worked well enough to remember them and write them down. I want to have a list to give to my two little ones for when they have little ones of their own. A list of all the things you swore you'd never do, but some how you are doing them anyway. As my mother says " The cows always come home". She was oh so right, and they are mooing loudly all the way here.
I noticed how the little things that change within you after having children are the things that really make you a "Mom". I swore I would never spit on my finger then wipe it on another human being's face. Well, I do it almost daily to poor Turner. When did this happen? I was boycotting Mother Nature's 409 not that long ago wasn't I?
If I am walking through the house and notice a Tums on the floor I pick it up. Tums are scattered through out my house, I have containers in the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and living room. The placement of these in every room is a testament of my my heartburn and of the laziness that comes with being eight and half months pregnant. So while taking three Tums six or seven times a day a few fall and roll out of sight. These aren't toxic so I don't go ape and crawl around to find them. Once they are tired of a life spent hiding while on the lamb they show themselves. Like I said, I pick them up. Do I throw them away? Nope, just pop them in my mouth without a second thought. Sick, I know. I would never have eaten something that had been hiding under the edge of the couch for a few days pre-Turner. But now I figure it saves a trip to the trash can and postpones the heartburn for a minute or two.
Brad isn't wild about sharing his drinks with Turner, the back-wash factor and all. I am so used to it that we share everything. I have just devised a system to keep the backwash to a minimum. I always drink from straws. So I let him drink from my straw too. I just pull it away before he is quiet ready for me to. That way(or so goes my theory) there is still suction to keep all his spitty crumbs in his mouth and out of my drink. I must say it works pretty well.
Other gross mindless habits include eating food off of my son's shirt. Like a monkey I will pick something that has fallen short of Turner's mouth, landed on his shirt and eat it. Another tactic to keep me from having to get up and get a napkin or make a trip to the garbage can. Now I am not a great ape so the food findings must meet certain criteria. It must be just dropped, something tasty, and free of copious amounts of slobber. I am not an animal, I have my standards.
Like all mothers I have broken through my little aversion to bodily functions and fluids. When Turner was a little baby and still nursing we were playing on the floor and he started to burp and gag. I knew spit up was about half a second from spewing across the room. The burp cloth was no where in sight so I just pulled out the tale of my shirt and let him puke in that. Completely gross, but I didn't have to clean the carpets, just go change my shirt. Score one for the quick thinking, all be it grody, mom.
If anyone thinks spit up is nasty they have not entered into the potty training stage of life. Thank goodness we are through with that. But while in the middle of house breaking Lil Monster I got to experience all the smells and textures of poop that I never wanted to be acquainted with, it's part of my job.
There are so many more strange, nasty, and odd habits that I have now that I am a mom. I wish my brain worked well enough to remember them and write them down. I want to have a list to give to my two little ones for when they have little ones of their own. A list of all the things you swore you'd never do, but some how you are doing them anyway. As my mother says " The cows always come home". She was oh so right, and they are mooing loudly all the way here.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Anchors away
Why am I up tonight at 1:50 am? Memories won't let me sleep. Today we sold our boat. We've been wanting to get rid of it for some time now and are thrilled that it's taken care of. So what is my foolish mind up and running for? When I first woke up at midnight all the good times Brad and I shared in that boat started floating up.
We had two long, hot Louisiana summers spent together in that boat. Every Sunday and most Saturdays were spent loading up an ice chest full of beer and wine coolers and heading out on the lake. I loved sitting next to Brad flying across the water. My hair all tangled, the water so warm that it didn't really cool you off, tan lines, swamp burgers, worm buckets, friends, and the intoxicating smell of tanning oil on our skin. I loved the time we spent with the whole group, but I loved the time that he and I spent together alone more.
I am a little sad that Turner never got to go out on the boat with us. But you can't really bring your kids back in time. The summers we spent on that boat will always be just mine and Brad's. I'm sure that we'll get another one, but it'll be a more practical family fishing boat. For now someone else gets to make memories on our boat. It already holds so many.
So that is all it takes to rob a crazy pregnant lady of her sleep. Well, that and the little girl who likes to party all night long in my belly. My anxiousness doesn't need much to crank up and keep me up wandering about what she'll look like and how will Turner take sharing the spotlight.
So I'll never be bounced out of my seat heading across the lake in the Maxium again. I won't get to see Brad with his shirt off, golden red skin, hat on backwards, driving fast and smiling. Now our lives are more about car seats, naps, family supper, and story time in bed. Both parts of our life are and were fun and exciting. I wouldn't go back, not even for all the tea in China. Doesn't mean I don't like thinking of what all trouble we got into while we were back there.
We had two long, hot Louisiana summers spent together in that boat. Every Sunday and most Saturdays were spent loading up an ice chest full of beer and wine coolers and heading out on the lake. I loved sitting next to Brad flying across the water. My hair all tangled, the water so warm that it didn't really cool you off, tan lines, swamp burgers, worm buckets, friends, and the intoxicating smell of tanning oil on our skin. I loved the time we spent with the whole group, but I loved the time that he and I spent together alone more.
I am a little sad that Turner never got to go out on the boat with us. But you can't really bring your kids back in time. The summers we spent on that boat will always be just mine and Brad's. I'm sure that we'll get another one, but it'll be a more practical family fishing boat. For now someone else gets to make memories on our boat. It already holds so many.
So that is all it takes to rob a crazy pregnant lady of her sleep. Well, that and the little girl who likes to party all night long in my belly. My anxiousness doesn't need much to crank up and keep me up wandering about what she'll look like and how will Turner take sharing the spotlight.
So I'll never be bounced out of my seat heading across the lake in the Maxium again. I won't get to see Brad with his shirt off, golden red skin, hat on backwards, driving fast and smiling. Now our lives are more about car seats, naps, family supper, and story time in bed. Both parts of our life are and were fun and exciting. I wouldn't go back, not even for all the tea in China. Doesn't mean I don't like thinking of what all trouble we got into while we were back there.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Like a weed
My little boy is becoming a man. I can't fight it, and most of the time I don't want to. Turner is far beyond the mimicking stage. He has his own ideas and feelings and everyday he's getting better at expressing himself. He's learning what just about everything under the sun is and what is does.
Last week we were talking about boys and girls. He told me he and Papa were boys, then he went down his list of friends-all of whom are girls. He named his Aunt Abba-girl, all his uncles-boys. I started feeling left out so I asked him "Is Mommy a girl?" "No you not girl, you are my girl". Again, mark this down as another reason that no woman alive will be good enough for my son. He is either the sweetest child living, or the most calculating one I have ever met. I wouldn't want to be anyone else's girl.
My son has been being the most helpful little man I could hope for. The weather is good here so we play outside. Our friends are great so we play with them every morning. Utopia thy name is Utah. Now there is proof that my growing belly has cut off the blood supply to my brain.
I am giving in to this idea that I need to take it easy and sit still. Now if given the option of continuing on at a manic pace and getting a ton of things done for the next six weeks I would. But, my hips and left leg won't allow it. So here I sit typing instead of rearranging furniture and scooting along the floor scrubbing base boards. I am sure I will now over shoot my goal of gaining less than thirty pounds if I am not able to go, go, go like I want to. But it won't be the end of the world.
I am beginning to have foggy recollections of those first few weeks with Turner. I remember wearing Brad's boxer shorts to bed and thinking that I looked like a cylinder. I was fortunate I didn't look pregnant, but I didn't have a waist for a few weeks. I remember the shock when I got reacquainted with my thighs and feet, all things I had spent months with out being able to see.
I have been doing some thinking. So hold on and bare with me. I have always thought that most things in life happen for a reason, part of God's craftiness I suppose. Do the physical changes that come with pregnancy help you prepare for the emotional changes that happen once you are a parent? I think so. So no matter how selfish a woman, pregnancy takes her focus from thoughts of only herself and forces them to start including another human being. The nights spent with tiny feet in your ribs and getting up to pee every hour strips your mind and gets you ready to focus completely on someone else. Your blood volume increases from roughly eight pints to twelve pints. This massive increase strengthens your heart. So does this help prepare you for the increase in love you are capable of feeling once your baby arrives? Stretch marks? Not everyone gets them on the outside, but I know I have my share of them on my heart. It grew so much on November third two years ago that it nearly exploded. Pregnant women are short of breath all the time, especially in the last month. Is this getting me ready for all the moments that will take my breath away? Maybe.
Having something "Take your breath away" is just a figure of speech. If you believe that you don't have an adventurous two year old. Turner literally takes my breath away all the time. Last week I handed him his clothes and asked him to get himself dressed, I only expected it to keep him busy long enough to dress myself. He walked into my room five minutes later and I said "Look I dressed by myself". I was dumbfounded. When did he become able to do this?
Why doesn't he have to ask my permission to grow up? Well he doesn't, so I am trying not miss any of it. All the magical things he's learning to do will happen with or without me. I just have to be willing to sit back and watch, and of course try to have the camera ready. If I look closely enough I am sure I can actually see him growing. I know it happens everyday at nap time. When I lay him down he's my tiny sweet little baby and when he gets up and walks out of his room he is my sweet, not so little boy. If having one child make time go by this fast, will two double the speed with which it flies by? I suspect it will, but I have always loved the wind whipping through my hair.
Last week we were talking about boys and girls. He told me he and Papa were boys, then he went down his list of friends-all of whom are girls. He named his Aunt Abba-girl, all his uncles-boys. I started feeling left out so I asked him "Is Mommy a girl?" "No you not girl, you are my girl". Again, mark this down as another reason that no woman alive will be good enough for my son. He is either the sweetest child living, or the most calculating one I have ever met. I wouldn't want to be anyone else's girl.
My son has been being the most helpful little man I could hope for. The weather is good here so we play outside. Our friends are great so we play with them every morning. Utopia thy name is Utah. Now there is proof that my growing belly has cut off the blood supply to my brain.
I am giving in to this idea that I need to take it easy and sit still. Now if given the option of continuing on at a manic pace and getting a ton of things done for the next six weeks I would. But, my hips and left leg won't allow it. So here I sit typing instead of rearranging furniture and scooting along the floor scrubbing base boards. I am sure I will now over shoot my goal of gaining less than thirty pounds if I am not able to go, go, go like I want to. But it won't be the end of the world.
I am beginning to have foggy recollections of those first few weeks with Turner. I remember wearing Brad's boxer shorts to bed and thinking that I looked like a cylinder. I was fortunate I didn't look pregnant, but I didn't have a waist for a few weeks. I remember the shock when I got reacquainted with my thighs and feet, all things I had spent months with out being able to see.
I have been doing some thinking. So hold on and bare with me. I have always thought that most things in life happen for a reason, part of God's craftiness I suppose. Do the physical changes that come with pregnancy help you prepare for the emotional changes that happen once you are a parent? I think so. So no matter how selfish a woman, pregnancy takes her focus from thoughts of only herself and forces them to start including another human being. The nights spent with tiny feet in your ribs and getting up to pee every hour strips your mind and gets you ready to focus completely on someone else. Your blood volume increases from roughly eight pints to twelve pints. This massive increase strengthens your heart. So does this help prepare you for the increase in love you are capable of feeling once your baby arrives? Stretch marks? Not everyone gets them on the outside, but I know I have my share of them on my heart. It grew so much on November third two years ago that it nearly exploded. Pregnant women are short of breath all the time, especially in the last month. Is this getting me ready for all the moments that will take my breath away? Maybe.
Having something "Take your breath away" is just a figure of speech. If you believe that you don't have an adventurous two year old. Turner literally takes my breath away all the time. Last week I handed him his clothes and asked him to get himself dressed, I only expected it to keep him busy long enough to dress myself. He walked into my room five minutes later and I said "Look I dressed by myself". I was dumbfounded. When did he become able to do this?
Why doesn't he have to ask my permission to grow up? Well he doesn't, so I am trying not miss any of it. All the magical things he's learning to do will happen with or without me. I just have to be willing to sit back and watch, and of course try to have the camera ready. If I look closely enough I am sure I can actually see him growing. I know it happens everyday at nap time. When I lay him down he's my tiny sweet little baby and when he gets up and walks out of his room he is my sweet, not so little boy. If having one child make time go by this fast, will two double the speed with which it flies by? I suspect it will, but I have always loved the wind whipping through my hair.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
A pain in my what?
I am not nuts, and I have a doctor to back me up on this. I have been having a lot of pain lately. To be more specific pain in my pelvic bone. I kept thinking it was normal or I was thinking it was just me being nuts. The sensation is like my pelvic bone is breaking in two. Well low and behold, I was right. My Doctor confirmed my suspicions that I am literally about to snap in two. He told me I have Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. Great, at least I am not imagining it.
So what the hell is it? My pubic bone is separating. It'll go back after I have Tate. I just have to put up with it til then. All I have to do is avoid lifting anything, avoid stairs, and try to avoid anything that involves my pelvis. The pamphlets he gave me had nice suggestions like: Have someone take over your household duties til after your delivery. Have your spouse help you dress in the morning. Avoid lifting, especially older children. avoid bending. The authors of the literature apparently smoked a lot of grass to relieve their symptoms. I don't know a single mom who can just up and avoid their household duties. On that same note I can just see Brad helping me into my underwear everyday. Let's be practical. I will ease up on what all I do. I will start limiting my trips up and down the stairs. I already try not to lift Turner more than I have to. But I can't just not pick him up. What is the lesser of the two evils: Bend over and get him dressed or pick him up to put him on the counter to get him dressed?
I can not stand to feel worthless. I hate not being able to do what I want when I want to do it. My white flag is up. I surrender to this pregnancy. I can fight some things and this isn't one of them. I told my OB I've had a kid, a kidney stone, a boob job, a couple tattoos, and a few piercings, those hurt but were tolerable. This is something different all together. With most of them they were over in a few hours or days, they did not last six or seven weeks. I know if I follow my new set of rules I will get some relief but will Brad and Turner survive?
Brad isn't here much so he'll be fine. Turner is at the perfect stage for me to be pregnant around. He can play well without me as long as I am around to watch and talk to him. He is a great kid who minds really well. Besides, he helps so much I wouldn't know what to do with out him. He picks up all the stuff I drop, he gets things from the bottom shelves, and most importantly he makes me smile and know that it is all worth it.
So here I sit with my legs pinned together and my hips parallel as instructed and I feel better. The pain only comes when I move, so I'll just sit still(or try to anyway). I am way more fortunate than most people. I have great friends here who'll help if I ask. I have a wonderful husband who is helpful for the hour he's home a day. And I have two retired parents chomping at the bit to come out and help me "Avoid household duties". I just may have to give in and let them come out a little earlier than expected.
Pregnancy is the great equalizer. No amount of preparation can assure you smooth passage. No matter how healthy and in shape you are something will crap out on you and leave you more appreciative of the ability to walk up and down the stairs with out wincing. It is all just to prepare you for how powerless you'll be once you have your baby. That little person will hold you in the palm of their hand. Your own happiness will forever be dependent on their being happy. You will try to move mountains to make life easier for them. But they will do what they want when they want. Some of them will even marry a man and move to the other side of that mountain, damn kids.
So what the hell is it? My pubic bone is separating. It'll go back after I have Tate. I just have to put up with it til then. All I have to do is avoid lifting anything, avoid stairs, and try to avoid anything that involves my pelvis. The pamphlets he gave me had nice suggestions like: Have someone take over your household duties til after your delivery. Have your spouse help you dress in the morning. Avoid lifting, especially older children. avoid bending. The authors of the literature apparently smoked a lot of grass to relieve their symptoms. I don't know a single mom who can just up and avoid their household duties. On that same note I can just see Brad helping me into my underwear everyday. Let's be practical. I will ease up on what all I do. I will start limiting my trips up and down the stairs. I already try not to lift Turner more than I have to. But I can't just not pick him up. What is the lesser of the two evils: Bend over and get him dressed or pick him up to put him on the counter to get him dressed?
I can not stand to feel worthless. I hate not being able to do what I want when I want to do it. My white flag is up. I surrender to this pregnancy. I can fight some things and this isn't one of them. I told my OB I've had a kid, a kidney stone, a boob job, a couple tattoos, and a few piercings, those hurt but were tolerable. This is something different all together. With most of them they were over in a few hours or days, they did not last six or seven weeks. I know if I follow my new set of rules I will get some relief but will Brad and Turner survive?
Brad isn't here much so he'll be fine. Turner is at the perfect stage for me to be pregnant around. He can play well without me as long as I am around to watch and talk to him. He is a great kid who minds really well. Besides, he helps so much I wouldn't know what to do with out him. He picks up all the stuff I drop, he gets things from the bottom shelves, and most importantly he makes me smile and know that it is all worth it.
So here I sit with my legs pinned together and my hips parallel as instructed and I feel better. The pain only comes when I move, so I'll just sit still(or try to anyway). I am way more fortunate than most people. I have great friends here who'll help if I ask. I have a wonderful husband who is helpful for the hour he's home a day. And I have two retired parents chomping at the bit to come out and help me "Avoid household duties". I just may have to give in and let them come out a little earlier than expected.
Pregnancy is the great equalizer. No amount of preparation can assure you smooth passage. No matter how healthy and in shape you are something will crap out on you and leave you more appreciative of the ability to walk up and down the stairs with out wincing. It is all just to prepare you for how powerless you'll be once you have your baby. That little person will hold you in the palm of their hand. Your own happiness will forever be dependent on their being happy. You will try to move mountains to make life easier for them. But they will do what they want when they want. Some of them will even marry a man and move to the other side of that mountain, damn kids.
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