More sleep stuff

If you've been reading lately, you may have heard me complain about sleep.  The lack of it, really.  If Teddy had been our second baby, I'm guessing he would have been our last.  Or, at least, he wouldn't have had a sibling so close in age.  He is a really, really terrible sleeper.  After the first week, when he settled into his pattern of 2-3 hour stretches of sleep, I felt a little crazy.  But I looked forward to him being a little older, remembering that by the one month mark both of our girls were sleeping a bit better.  One month came and went, with no real change.  At his two-month appointment I asked the pediatrician about this, hoping for some encouragement.  She said that by 4 months, almost all breastfed infants are doing pretty well.

Right before 3 months, he started giving us a couple 4-5 hour stretches, and I thought we had made it.  Into the land of I-can-tolerate-this-for-a-while.  But a few days later he got sick, and went to hourly wake ups.  And then this past week it got even worse, with half-hour wake ups (or, perhaps, never really going to sleep, but I was too tired to be sure).  I didn't even feel safe driving.  I found myself on roads I didn't even remember turning down.  One particularly bad 3 a.m. I gave up.  I bough the Ferber e-book and read.  Not all of it, but enough of it, and particularly the parts that were relevant for us.

That makes the third sleep book I purchased.  The No-cry Sleep Solution (total crap, if you ask me), which we read with thoughts of sleep-training MJ.  The Sleepeasy Solution, which worked for Greta (who really didn't require much of anything, but it was helpful when we decided we had to get her sleeping a little better).  But Teddy's still so little, and only Ferber purports to be able to do anything with babies that little.  So Ferber it was.

In one night we took away the swaddle, the pacifier, and put him on his tummy (not a Ferber recommendation, but something I felt was necessary).  I was so sleep deprived the risk of SIDS seemed minimal, though the next day I freaked out and bought a movement monitor after having nightmares of him stopping breathing.  Ferber recommends letting them cry for 3 minutes, then checking on them, 5 minutes, check, 7 minutes, check and 10 minutes.  The first 3 minutes, the first time, was torture, as he screamed bloody murder.  I checked on him, he calmed down, then cried a bit more, but I didn't have to go in a second time.  It was awfully quick.  Although he cried a bit longer at subsequent wake ups, they were always more like fussing in which he calmed himself down.  The first night he woke only 3 times.  The second night only twice.  By the 3rd night he was putting himself to sleep.

I've always been opposed to hardcore sleep training.  I don't think a baby this age needs to be forced into some rigorous schedule.  As such, I'm really not trying to get him to sleep through the night, just trying to get him to sleep.  He now wakes twice a night, eats and goes back to sleep.  I can tolerate that.  I fully expect some sort of regression in the future, because he seems to be waking unnecessarily to eat, but I'd rather worry about that when he's older and has the physical control to comfort himself more easily.  The whole thing makes me wonder, if we'd done some sort of sleep training with MJ, whether she would sleep better now.  She still struggles to put herself to sleep unless she is totally exhausted, whereas Greta is expert at it.  Although I don't think I could have handled Ferber's suggestion that if the child gets so upset they puke, you just quietly clean it up and leave again, neither Greta or Teddy has had much issue at all with sleep training.  The couple minutes of crying they endured (I think we had one half-hour spell with Greta and that was it) is certainly less than the amount MJ cried as we struggled to get her to sleep without actually sleep training her.

My perspective on this has changed so much since having kids.  From first kid to third my position has mostly reversed (though I still don't support the rigorous schedules that some parents strive for).  If you have the mental capacity to be a sane and kind person with very little sleep, then go for it and wake hourly.  I did not.  My children certainly benefit more from a well rested mom and the ability to put themselves to sleep, and the little bit of crying they went through seems minuscule in comparison.

I really appreciate the comments and support that people left for me here and on instagram.  I'm sure this isn't the end of our sleep troubles, as Teddy still flails so much and is so active that I see more in our future.  But we've reached a place where I can be more sane for the next bit until we go through some other sleep transition.

Here's how it is for us.

I find myself drawn to every article and blog post that discusses having lots of kids.  Am I seeking advice?  Comfort?  Reassurance?  All of those, I suspect.  I feel like an anomaly, having this many little ones.  I don't have any close friends with more than 2 kids, therefore few sounding boards.  (Though we do have three neighbors down the block with three older kids, and I see them as hope that, in fact, one can survive all this.

It turns out, though, that 3 kids is not all that uncommon.  According to the U.S. Census, 28% of women have 3 or more kids by the age of 44.  I find this to be pretty shocking, because I often feel we are swimming in children.  It seems that we are the anomaly, having this many children.  Three children.  Who does that?  What I can't seem to figure out is what sort of spacing is common. 3 kids under 5 seems pretty crazy.  2 kids under 2 seems even crazier.

Here are the things that I find so notable about our numbers so far.

1)  The sheer physicality of this time is astounding.  When I sit down at the end of the night, after the kids are in bed and the necessary chores completed, my whole body aches.  I feel I have run a race.  Each and every day.  Much of this is the age of the kids, I know.  I am often having to lug a baby in a carseat in one arm and a squirming toddler in a snowsuit in the other.  Or I am picking up a toddler and putting her in the high chair whilst I am holding a baby in the other arm and giving him a bottle with my chin as my third hand.

2)  I don't necessarily long for the naps to align themselves.  While it is a nice break when it happens, it is a nice break when anybody is sleeping.  If one or two of them are sleeping (the baby and/or the toddler), that gives me a chance to spend some quality time with the big kid.  That's when we spend time reading or chatting.  If all the naps aligned, I would never get alone time with anyone.

3) I am so thankful that I was a hard ass with the girls sleep.  When I found out I was pregnant with Teddy, I decided Greta needed to become a perfect sleeper.  We did cry-it-out, and she is a perfect sleeper now.  I read other blogs where women are getting up with all of their kids, and I just know I couldn't handle that.  I can't be a nice enough person.  Better they cry a little bit and figure out how to sleep, than cry a lot later on because Mom is too tired to be nice to them.

4)  The car seat thing doesn't even phase me anymore.  I used to get annoyed with having to strap one kid into a car seat.  I absolutely dreaded dealing with three kids in car seats.  I care less now than I did with one kid in a car seat.  Because really?  It doesn't matter.  It is what it is, it's not going to change.  If only I could start to feel that way about the messy house.  It still drives me nuts, every single day.

5)  The husband has really stepped up to the plate.  Whereas before he left me to do a lot of the parenting (and parenting prep), he now steps up to help constantly.  It has made a huge difference.  We're lucky if we get an hour to ourselves at the end of the night, and often have to forsake sleep to make it happen.  But at least we're in it together.

6)  When the kids are awake, there is no space in my head for anything other than parenting.  The days go oh-so-quickly, even if we're stuck inside, because every possible moment is filled with some little person's want or need.  For the most part this is fun.  But I also find it's affected my health.  With three plugged ducts, a round of mastitis and a UTI turned kidney infection, I have realized that I don't even make time for my basic needs.  Feeding myself, giving myself water and a bathroom break, are often put off until nap time and bed time.  With my latest infection I realized something has to give.  I now pump a lot less than I was.  And I force myself to drink a lot more water.  So far, it has worked out better.

7)  My poor oldest.  She has always been so independent.  So with the advent of two littler ones, I have relied on her a lot.  She loves it, in some ways.  But I also know that I probably expect more out of her than most 4-year-olds can deliver.  I often forget she's still so little.  It's not until I have a rare outing alone with her that I remember she's still a little kid.  She is not as grown up as she so often seems in the presence of her younger siblings.  I have to remind myself constantly to cut her more slack (and often fail to remember this altogether until the husband reminds me that I'm not being fair to her).  We still have a contentious relationship.  I am reading a book on parenting preschoolers to hopefully remedy that.  It has helped a bit so far, though I have a long way to go.

8) It is fascinating to see even little Greta learn to help.  She has become pretty adept at finding Teddy's pacifier when he's crying.  The fact that everyone is pitching in, without even having to be asked, is something I hadn't expected.

This is life with three, two months in.

The last 1-month post

Little man,

I can't believe we're already a month into this gig.  As before, it continues to amaze me how much faster the newborn phase goes than the late-pregnancy phase.

You and I are really just getting to know one another.  I am trying to soak up every moment of your babyhood because I know I won't get these moments again.  I love taking a nap with you cradled in my arms, and know full well that is not the kind of thing you get to do with any baby other than your own.  And your older sisters show me just how little time I have to enjoy it, as they instantly squirm out of my arms to play with a toy or chase each other around the house.

I think breastfeeding is just not going to happen for us, but I'm happy that I'm still able to provide all your nutrition, and in the end it probably works better for our life at the moment. Trying to chase a toddler if you take 45 minutes to eat just won't cut it.  You will probably never get the attention from me that your sisters have gotten, but instead you will get extra attention from two amazing older sisters.  That seems like a fair trade, especially since you get to have them forever.  Your sisters adore you, even if G expresses that by trying to poke you in the eye or steal your pacifier.  I look forward to having you all gang up on your Dad and I someday (I may regret saying that).  But I think the three of you may turn out to be the best of friends, a thought that just warms my heart.

At one month old, you sleep fairly decently, usually giving us a couple 3 to 4 hour stretches at night.  I'm hoping this is the month that you start to sleep even better so we can feel a little more human.  You are also a loud, loud little man.  You get absolutely furious if we don't instantly tend to your needs.  No helpless newborn cry for you, you make it clear that you are MAD.  I'd have to say that your favorite thing is when we blow-dry your bum after a diaper change, which instantly calms you down (and helps combat diaper rash.)

You will forever be the third, but you will also forever be my baby.  The baby.  You marked the occasion of your first month on earth by smiling at me this afternoon.  I tried to get a picture but it was little more than a flicker.  Watching your face light up, though, was such a beautiful promise of things to come and softens the blow of the days that have already passed me by.  Thanks for joining our team little one.

Love,
Mama

The birth story

Little man is 3 weeks old today.  Seems like if I don't get this birth story written soon, it may never happen.

Read at your own risk (menfolk).  As with any birth story, there is talk of potentially icky things.

Prologue
For those of you what may not know my back story, this was my third birth.  My first birth, 4 years ago, ended in an emergency c-section after 2.5 hours of pushing.  The OB who performed the c-section later referred to it as "Vaginal birth with C-section".  You can read about it here and here.  I spent the next 3 years blaming myself for the c-section, thinking I wasn't pushing effectively because I got an epidural.

So for my next birth, 1.5 years ago, I planned very carefully.  I decided I wanted a VBAC, and was told I was a good candidate for it.  I switched to a small practice with an exceptionally good VBAC success rate.  I hired a doula.  I had the birth I wanted in the beginning, arriving at the hospital 8 cm dilated.  I didn't get an epidural.  At first.  But after an hour-and-a-half of pushing, I was shaking so badly I knew I wasn't effectively pushing, and ended up with an epidural.  This was ultimately a good decision.  After 2 more hours of pushing, she was born.  But not without a lot of drama that very nearly resulted in a repeat c-section.  It was almost exactly like my first birth.  With that experience, I forgave myself for my first birth and moved on.  Recovery was better than the first birth, but a VBAC was not the magic bullet I had hoped for.  The full story of Greta's birth can be found here.

And then this guy.  I spent the last few months of pregnancy facing great indecision on whether or not to have a scheduled c-section.  Although a lot of the midwives were fond of telling me this birth would be totally different because I'd done it once, what they did not seem to recall is that they'd told me the same thing last time.  I was so very close to a c-section last time.  If this guy was a bit bigger?  Or later term and under greater distress?  I knew my chance of a c-section was fairly high, despite what many of the midwives told me.  I did have one who had a frank discussion with me, and said "It's clear you don't have easy births, and whatever you decide is entirely understandable."  It was so nice to have someone acknowledge that (and she ended up being the midwife who was at Teddy's birth).

I ended up deciding to go for the VBAC, because I just couldn't bring myself to not even try.  I knew I'd jump to a c-section fairly quickly if it looked like I was heading that way, though I also knew it'd be a hard labor no matter what.  I don't have easy labors.  That's how it is.

I stumbled on this article a few days before my due date.  I have a tendency to search the scholarly literature when I'm in late pregnancy.  It is a nice review of the VBAC research, and points out the interesting statistic that women who have an emergency c-section after they have fully dilated have only a 13% VBAC success rate in a subsequent pregnancy.  Seriously.  This made me feel like a little bit of a rock star for Greta's birth, but also made me wonder why I was told I was an "excellent candidate" for a VBAC.

That's quite a prologue.  Now for the actual story.

Chapter 1
(Don't worry, there's only one chapter.)

With my first two births, I felt totally euphoric before birth began.  So of course I expected the same sensation to precede my third birth.  There were a couple times, in the weeks leading up to my due date, that I was convinced I was about to go into labor.  I did not.

The night before I actually went into labor I was feeling anything but euphoric.  We had some friends over for dinner and I was feeling borderline antisocial.  Perhaps it's because I had such a rough late pregnancy this time.  I thought I had a rough time the last two times, but it was nothing compared to this.  I was tired, I was sore, I was very, very over it.   As everyone is at 40 weeks & 1 day.  But still.

Hubs and I crawled into bed at a very reasonable 10 p.m on December 27th, the day after my due date.  He often works nights and weekends but had had a very normal schedule since early December, and it was nice to have him home.  My mom had arrived a week earlier, so everything was in place.  But I felt that all eyes were on me, waiting for something to happen.  This was the very reason I had not had any family in town for earlier births, but this time we really needed someone to watch the girls when I went to the hospital.

Anyway.  I couldn't sleep.  I had been having trouble sleeping in general, but this time I really couldn't sleep.  I tossed and turned until 2 a.m., trying to not wake up hubs.  I played Candy Crush on my phone, which has been very good at putting me to sleep.  For that matter, I finally beat Candy Crush. I also read the entire internet.  All of it.  At 2 a.m., after beating Candy Crush, I finally got out of bed.  I felt very hot so I took my temperature. 99 degrees.  I googled whether a slight fever is an indicator of impending labor.  It is, along with every other symptom known to man.  I went downstairs and got an apple and some juice.

I sat on the couch and stared at the Christmas tree.  I was glad I had not had him before Christmas, because I got to enjoy a wonderful Christmas with the girls.  But now I was ready.  I wondered if I felt a contraction, but I had wondered that many times over the past couple days.  The day before, at my midwife appointment, I had been 1.5 cm dilated.  I got back in bed at 2:15 or 2:30 and finally fell asleep.

At 3:00 a.m. I was woken up by a contraction.  With my previous births I'd woken up after a night of sleep with contractions, so I always wondered if they came on gradually.  This time, they clearly came on pretty suddenly.  I timed the next several; 5 to 7 minutes apart, about a minute long.  The pain brought back memories of labor.  When I'd gone into labor before I'd felt energized and excited.  Yes, they hurt, but things were happening!  Baby was almost here!  This time, I felt very much that I didn't want to do this.  I wanted to quit.  This was going to be hard.

By 3:30 I gave up on sleep and got out of bed.  I finished packing my hospital bag, and put absurd things like makeup in there.  Hubs woke up and asked me what I was doing, and I explained I was in labor.  I don't think he believed me at first.  My contractions had gotten rather weird; 2-5 minutes apart but very short.  After everything was packed hubs convinced me to get back in bed and try to sleep.  He was being remarkably sweet, not at all annoyed by being woken up.  He watched me for a bit, and when I had a contraction he smiled "Ahhh.... that looks like a real contraction."  I was glad at that moment that he'd been through this before and he knew what we were in for.  He held my hand and half-dozed while I laid there.  The contractions returned to normal, about 7-8 minutes apart, 1 minute long.

At 4:45 I got out of bed.  I had some peanut butter toast and at some point decided they were getting worse.  I did not want to wait so long this time to go to the hospital.  I knew my labors progress fairly quickly (apart from the pushing part) and I wanted to be settled into our room before things got too rough.  So I called the midwife at 5:30.  She had just gotten back from the hospital and I felt bad waking her up, since her shift was done at 8:00.  She encouraged me to labor at home for a bit, but I decided to head in at 6:00.  It was time.  I did not want to do this, and I just wanted to check things off the list that had to get done.  The biggest hurdle in front of me was transitioning into the hospital.  On the drive to the hospital hubs was jazzed.  Cracking jokes.  I tried to play along.  I informed him I fully planned to get an epidural.  My head was not in this.  I was tired.  I just wanted to be done.

We arrived at the hospital and I was thankful to be able to walk myself.  To not be screaming in pain in the entry way.  I was also thankful that I had some tough contractions on the way so that I didn't look like a faker.  I got settled in my room.  Answered their questions.  Abided by their poking and prodding, which I would not have been able to do if I'd waited.  When they finally checked me I was 4 cm.  That seemed like a good number, and I was glad we had come when we did.

I was finally able to get in the tub.  The midwife arrived.  She was one of my favorites, very kind and patient.  After watching me for a while she agreed I had come at the right time.  Everyone was encouraging me to get up and move.  I couldn't help feeling they just didn't get it.  I'm fine right where I am. I am enduring, I want to be left to endure.  Getting up and moving requires energy I just don't have.  They seemed to think that I was stalling, but when they finally convinced me to get out of the tub and check me at 8:00, I was dilated to 6 "stretchy to 7".  It was then that I decided I needed an epidural.  I had already decided it, really, but that was the time.

The midwife clearly felt I was making a bad decision.  She was borderline pushy in trying to dissuade me from getting an epidural.  In my first two births I would have appreciated this.  This time, though, I knew something she did not seem to remember.  I knew I still had a long haul in front of me.  I knew that early labor goes fast but pushing does not.  I was nowhere near the end.  I was exhausted.  An epidural would allow me to rest and save my energy for the pushing phase.  At 9:00 the epidural was in and the new midwife had come on.  When they checked me right after, I was 9.5 cm dilated.  So I had sat still during transition while they inserted a giant needle in my back.  Go me.  The anesthesiologist was a borderline D-bag, but he did a superb job.  It took away the pain but I could still move my legs.  It was exactly what I needed.

I was finally able to get some rest.  I was feeling absolutely delirious from exhaustion.   At 11:00 Teddy was still rather high up, and they made the decision to break my water (something that had happened spontaneously in my first two births.)  He immediately started having some heart rate issues, so they had me turn on my side until his heart rate returned to normal.  This was bringing back memories of my past two births.  The midwife made the decision to allow me to "labor down", since his heart rate was good and the epidural was in, which means that I just laid there and allowed my body to do the work.  I didn't push to try to speed things along.  At noon they had me try pushing, because he was coming down so slowly, but not much came of it and his heart rate dipped down again.  So I laid there and napped some more.  I don't remember what station I was at what time, but I slowly made progress.  The midwife suspected, as did I, that once pushing really began his heart rate would suffer, just like my last births, so she let him get as far as possible before I had to start pushing.  Sometime around 2:30 I mentioned that I was starting to feel the urge to push.  I could feel the contractions, they just weren't particularly painful.  I could also feel all my pelvic muscles.  Like I said, the ideal epidural.

By 3:00 everything was in place.  I started to push, and he made some progress.  At some point, he got rather stuck, and the midwife later told me that she watched as his head slowly turned with each contraction, until he was finally able to push past a bone.  She said it was very weird to see.  I wore out pretty quickly and his heart rate was really suffering, dipping down very low.  The midwife decided to call in the NICU team, "just in case", as well as the on-call OB.  Luckily for me, the OB in the hospital that day happened to be the OB from the clinic I go to, and the same one who was at Greta's birth.  She remembered Greta's birth and this was following suit.  I started to wonder if I was close to a c-section, but they didn't seem to think so.  Finally, the OB told me I had one more chance to push him out or she'd try the vacuum.  He came out on that push.

But of course, the drama wasn't over.  He was very blue.  I'm not sure if I'll ever forget the mental image of how blue he was, and he wasn't crying.  Hubs didn't even cut the cord, they just snipped it and moved him to the warming table.  It seemed like forever until he cried, and I was sobbing, very scared.  The midwife was working on getting the placenta out, and massaging my uterus, and she seemed to think I was in pain while in fact I was just listening for crying.  His birth hadn't been nearly as scary as MJ and Greta's, and yet here he was not breathing.  Finally, I heard him cry.  Hubs later told me it was about 80 seconds before he took a breath.

And then he was fine.  He "pinked right up" and nursed pretty well.  He was 9 lb 5 oz, with a 15" noggin (that puts him in the 93rd percentile).  I had a second-degree tear but apparently not very deep.  Although I was sore, I was able to get up and walk right after (the epidural had apparently worn out).  I made the mistake of feeling "down there" and it all felt like I would imagine someone's face would after getting beaten up.  But by the next morning everything felt pretty normal.

Three days later I was walking around the Mall of America like a normal person (except that I was at the Mall of America 3 days post-partum, making me definitely not normal).  It was a phenomenally easy recovery compared to my other two.  It dawned on me, for the first time, how much of a woman's first couple months can be dictated by the birth itself.  That women who have an easy birth are not even in the same hemisphere when discussing those first weeks (or even months) with a new baby.  Because the way I felt, and my capabilities, were worlds away from my first birth experience, and probably still a world away from my second birth experience.  I was so thankful for my midwife, and for her appreciation for how my body worked, and how I birth.  She read my chart and knew what to expect, and she wasn't impatient.  She later told me she had to keep catching herself when she felt like maybe I should start pushing, and remind herself to let me go as long as possible before pushing.  And she was right.

All in all, I'm really glad this was my last birth.  Pregnancy and birth is not a magical time for me.  I love newborns, I do fine as a postpartum gal, but the precursor is only something to be endured.  I'm so thankful for modern medicine, and for this beautiful, healthy baby boy.

The first week down

(I started this post when he really was just a week old.  But, as with everything, I am behind.  So now he's 11 days old... practically an old man in newborn terms.)

First off, welcome back folks.  Nothing like having a baby to make you reassess your blog priorities.  (What?!  Really? I don't know).  I moved my blog to Tumblr in August, because I found that Blogger didn't allow me to do a few of the things I wanted to do.  While it did many things well, ultimately I was very frustrated with the platform, so I'm back!  Good old blogger.  I think I'm just not young and hip enough to really get Tumblr.  All the cool kids are doing it, I know, but I'm no longer cool and no longer a kid.  If you have any questions about that transition feel free to ask, but I'll leave it at that.

I apologize for cluttering your feed, that will stop now, too.

And if you haven't already heard through some other social media outlet, I had a boy!  Theodore.  We're still thinking about nicknames... Teddy?  Theo?  TJ?  They're all in rotation.

I'll get to the birth story... sometime.  It was far and away my easiest birth, which is lucky because adding a third kid... is no joke.  I already feel Mama guilt because he's already not getting the attention the others had.  The first few days home I kept forgetting about him, that he was part of our family.  One day I almost walked out of the house without him.  Maybe part of this is having an easy birth, because I often forget I just gave birth.  With the others it was ever-present in my mind.

There are many moments that I feel like "what did we do..."   But there are also many moments when I'm so glad that he's here.  So glad that he's ours.  I look at his sisters, swarming around him, and am so glad he's part of our chaos.

He is, by and large, a very easy baby.  When he was first born, he took about 80 seconds before he breathed.  It was terrifying.  And he finally cried after a couple minutes, but apart from that nothing much could make him cry.  His first couple days he made barely a peep.

But then he got home.  And he got loud.  He's usually happy, but if he gets hungry he screams so loud.  It wakes up every other child in the house.  So we aim to not let him get hungry.

He nursed well the first day, then not well at all.  Nothing would wake him up.  In the hospital they weren't too concerned, but it continued and when we had our first doctor's visit he was down 11% for weight.  So we tried a couple other things.  I tried a nipple shield one time and he has never latched well since.  I had needed a nipple shield with my girls due to trouble latching, and it was never so addictive.  But then he continued to drop, down 14% for weight, so we had to start the complicated pump-and-supplement routine.  Given our experience with the nipple shield, I knew it was dangerous, but felt it was unavoidable.  Since having a bottle, he has only latched and nursed well twice. Ugh.

So now, I am basically exclusively pumping.  Which is terrible.  I continue to try to get him to latch, and he sort of does but then just stops nursing.  Greta was the same, and then one day she just figured it out, though my supply tanked after a couple months and the lactation consultant thinks she was just never very good at nursing.  So maybe I'll be able to provide milk longer this way?  I just don't understand how it is that three children have had such nursing issues. Is it my anatomy?  Am I doing something wrong early on?  Is our lactation consultant offering bad advice?  All of them have lost a ton of weight, all of them have had to be supplemented from early on (with pumped milk) and none of them have ever been great in the long term.  Why?  These boobs have served me well enough in life, but they seem to struggle when it comes to the little ones.  But this is the first time I've been exclusively  pumping.  I just don't have the time for breastfeeding drama.  I can't sit and work on it for 2 hours or feed every 40 minutes when there are two other kids to tend to.  So maybe this will be better in the long run?  My supply is already way up from what it was, maybe this is sustainable... maybe....  though relying on a pump seems like a terrible way to function.

But apart from that, super easy baby.  Sleeps well.  Falls asleep easily.  We haven't had to use any device, such as a swing or bouncy seat, to keep him happy.  I just set him down, and he stares around and if he's tired he's goes to sleep.  No drama, no fuss.  Our pediatrician today commented "So... this isn't your first baby... so I assume you guys know that's not predictive of anything?"  Yes, I suppose we do, but it does give us hope... we keep saying we need a calm one....

The girls have adjusted well.  MJ is happy about having him here but otherwise unfazed.  He basically impacts her not at all, especially because she is such a Daddy's girl these days.  Greta is doing better.  The first day was a little confusing, I think.  But she is generally not jealous, unless she is tired and wants to sit in my lap while I am holding him.  She doesn't have a general jealousy, wherein she is upset whenever I hold him.  She has very specific jealousy, when I would have been holding her and am instead holding him and she wants her place back.  Even that, though, is getting better and she is often satisfied to sit next to me.  She brings him toys and pacifiers (if she can get her mitts on one) and is always concerned when he cries.  In fact, it is just about the only thing that wakes her up at night these days, and if she hears him crying she is wide awake.  Her concern for him is endearing, and I am hopeful they will become good pals over the next year.  Their closeness in age is overwhelming at times, and she can't be left with him for even an instant because she just doesn't understand all the ways she can hurt him.  But she seems to really like him, and likes having him here.

My Mom has been here for the past 3 weeks.  She will be here for about another week and a half (if she can stand us that long), and I am terrified for her departure.  The hubs will be back at work and real life will be... real.  As easy a baby boy as he has been, the reality of tending to three kids needs is daunting.  I have narrowed it down to this: it will mean no break at all during the day and an 8 or 8:30 bedtime.  Which means there will just be no time in the day for anything other than the children.  I know that's sort of what I asked for, but it is still hard to adjust to.  Especially with no family around and therefore no real breaks.  Come February I think I will be looking for a babysitter for help one day a week.

This post is getting long... I feel that Blogger better enables the rambling that I am so very fond of.  So look forward to more of that.

Here's a photo of the 5 of us:

It's unflattering to pretty much everyone other than the menfolk.  But that's okay, because it's real.  My friend Erin took it last week, 4 days post-partum, and looking at it brings the reality of it all back to me, again and again.  There are 5 of us now.  And this is it, this will be our family forever.  It's so very exciting to me.  It's like that moment you finally meet all your teammates and you start to feel each other out.  Start to envision your future together.  Try to picture what obstacles you'll overcome and whether you'll win the championship.  This is my team, and I couldn't be happier about it.

The one month (or so) countdown.

I find it interesting, when I take the time to think about it, that now that I have so much more to say about my children, and about parenthood in general, I say a lot less. On this blog, at least. Part of it is time. There is certainly less of that. A lot of it is an inability to distill my thoughts down to discreet stories. There are simply too many wonderful, cute, frustrating, infuriating and inspirational moments in every, single day, to say much meaningful about them all. And choosing just a few is hard, so I don’t bother.

I’ve been writing a lot less. I’m not real pleased about that. I’ve noticed that many, many blogs completely die once the writer has a third child. I am 35 weeks, 3 days pregnant with our third. Does that mean I only have about 5 more weeks of life left in this blog? I hope not.

I have a lot of thoughts about this pregnancy that I hesitate to share, in part because I worry someday that baby boy will read this and mistake my thoughts for regret. I have no regret. This baby is very much wanted, and I have no doubt he will be an amazing addition to this family. The simple fact is, we didn’t think too much about all of this. I had such a difficult time getting pregnant with Greta, that I figured if we wanted a third it would have to be a conscious decision and there would be real effort (i.e. medication) involved. If it happened by accident, then, in my mind, it was meant to happen, and we were saved from having to make a difficult decision.

But I have wondered lately, if we hadn’t had such a hard time having Greta, if we would be having a third at all. If we had felt that we could time this pregnancy to our convenience, we probably would have aimed for about 2 years apart, which would mean I’d be thinking about getting pregnant right about now. And I can tell you, I can’t imagine I would have had the energy after chasing Greta around all day, to think that would be a wise decision. So we would have waited, and eventually decided we didn’t want to start at square one again. And thus, we would have two wonderful children and stopped there.

I found out I was pregnant about a week before Greta started crawling, and I think that if I hadn’t gotten pregnant EXACTLY when I did, we would have made the decision that we just couldn’t handle three. Because crawlers, and toddlers and runners are no joke. They have the ability to get into just about everything, and yet lack any understanding of why that’s a bad idea. This is really the peak of trouble making and lack of rationality. And it’s right when we’re going to add a newborn to the mix.

In some sense, it will be easier, because newborns are lumps and just lay there. And Greta will (theoretically) be a little calmer by the time the boy is moving. But also, she will be trying to shove small objects in his mouth, will harass me while I’m trying to nurse and climbing on top of the table while I am attached at the boob. So that will be hard. I already know, if this boy is not an efficient nurser and I don’t have a miraculously strong milk supply, I may just not last very long. The last two have been complicated, and I had all the time in the world to feed them.

People keep asking me if I’m excited. (Note to future self: do not ask women pregnant with their third if they are excited). I always hesitate and then feel bad for not immediately being like “Yes!! And I love unicorns!” I am excited to have a third child in our family. I think 2-3 years from now will be amazing. But this next year? I am mostly just terrified. I don’t even know how the logistics will all work. When on earth am I going to sleep? How will I ever get a shower? How am I going to manage to carry Greta and the baby to the car? How am I going to get Greta the socialization she needs?

Greta is still so much a baby. She still prefers to be carried up and down stairs. She barely has words. She mostly sleeps through the night, but I still give her a bottle before bed (hope there are no dentists reading). She’s not even 16 months yet! I recently realized I’ve been pregnant for as much of her life as I’ve been un-pregnant.

Furthermore, I’m pretty much all she knows. When MJ was born, she was going to daycare. So she had a second support system, with teachers she loved and a place that remained stable even when home became chaotic. Greta has none of that, she just has me during the days. So I feel much guiltier about the effect this baby will have on her (for that matter, I felt no guilt about the effect a baby would have on MJ.) I feel like I’m taking part of her babyhood away from her, and forcing her to grow up faster than is fair.

Also?

I just realized I’m very, very tired. So that will have to be it for now, baby boy. I am excited to meet you. I’m excited to add you to the mix. You’re like a new, unknown ingredient in this amazing pot of stew we’ve been working on. I have no doubt that you will meld wonderfully, I just look forward to finding out how.

29 weeks and a lifetime awaits

2.5 months to go.

I could have sworn I wrote a post a week ago. Or 2 weeks ago. Or something. But I guess I only wrote that post in my head.

In 4 months time I will have a 1 month old. Oy.

My most overwhelming feeling is panic. Kind of a “Holy crap, what have we done” sort of feeling. (Baby boy, I have no doubt that someday that feeling will be replaced by love and joy, so don’t hold this against me.)

I’m up about 25 pounds, so it should come as no surprise that I’ve also started to get the “You sure there’s only 1 in there?” jokes that every middle-aged man thinks make him funny. I’ve also gotten some of the creepiest belly rubbing I’ve had with any of my pregnancies, enough to scare baby boy into staying put for a while, I’m sure.

I have been trying to get our life sorted. The girls have been sharing a room for about two months now (did I ever mention that?) and I’m finally trying to get their room all organized. The room sharing is going shockingly well, apart from the past few nights when G has woken up screaming because she wants me to come play with her at 3:30 a.m.. Part of what is difficult is when we don’t have anywhere else for MJ to sleep when G is having a difficult night. I am determined that G will be as close to a perfect sleeper as possible for when the newborn arrives, so I haven’t been very indulgent of her wakefulness and she has been figuring it out pretty quickly. But I’m certain we will need overflow sleeping when the newborn arrives. Somebody is guaranteed to have a bad night or need to sleep away from the chaos, and I think we’re going to put a twin mattress in our family room (which is basically sealed off from the rest of the house) for just those moments.

I’m sorting through all their clothes. Giving away baby girl clothes. Deciding to give away maternity clothes. I guess this is my commitment that this is our last, mostly because I simply can’t imagine that I am a sane or calm enough person for any more. But then I look at our babies… how could I ever face the possibility of no more babies in the house? I’m not sure how I’ll ever make peace with that, but maybe I’ll be too busy to have to make peace with it and I will only realize it once my ovaries are shriveled raisins. That seems like a healthy way to approach this.

Even the hubs looks at our amazing kids and claims he wants one more after this one… I think he just says it to mess with me, but… I know it’s going to be hard to say goodbye to this phase of our life. Having babies, starting families, building our clan… it has been such a monumental, life changing phase. What is the next life-changing phase? Retirement? That sounds depressing.

G has been amazing lately. So much work but so much joy. I was counting up her words today, those which she uses with regularity. We’ve got Mama, Dada, Nana, dog, bye, hi, no, and uh-oh (that she verbalizes) and milk and more (that she signs). But words she understands include cracker, pear, diaper, ball, shoes, night-night, Vito, and many more that I realize every day. She will even help in her little ways by putting things away when I ask her. But she will also get a devilish look in her eye before she attacks the dog, pulls her sisters hair or throws a jar of paint down the stairs. With MJ I found myself looking forward to when we could have conversations, and with Greta I am sort of enjoying that we can’t. The non-stop 3-yr-old jabber, while developmentally appropriate and signifying a healthy curiosity, makes my skin crawl. I seek quiet in my every day, and 3-yr-olds are anathema to that. So anyway, I am enjoying our limited word exchange.

MJ has also just been amazing. Starting to get absorbed in things. So much calmer than she used to be, so much easier to talk to and reason with. So much easier to explain “No, we can’t go play with the neighbors, even though you see them, because I have to make dinner.” Whereas before that would be so difficult for her to accept, she now understands the reality and the necessity and doesn’t rebel so much against the inevitable. I love talking about her interests. And fairies. And unicorns. And reading chapter books with her before bed, long enough that they have a real plot and real characters and she gets invested. I love hearing about her friendships at school, and who she played “House” with, and who was hogging all the crowns.

But this is supposed to be about you, little boy. I guess it will never be all about you, it will always be about how you fit into this little family. About how you’re the same, or how you’re different. I was so nervous before G was born about how she would fit in to the family, if she would get along with MJ. But she has fit so well, as though her presence was simply inevitable. I look forward to seeing how you fit. What niche you make for yourself. How your sisters will look out for you, because I know they will. How your poor future girlfriends will never be good enough for their baby brother. How they will paint your nails and dress you in heels. How they will someday have crushes on your friends.

Every day, I alternate between never wanting these sweet little moments to pass and between fearing that if the day doesn’t end soon I will lose my mind. I feel the same about this pregnancy. Much like a freight train, though, there is no stopping it. And much like growing up, I wouldn’t want to. But I can still be terrified about it all.

(p.s. Once I have this third kid, proof reading will be history. Let’s start practicing now.)

The known world.

I haven’t been writing a whole lot lately. In part, I’ve been sick of my own voice. My own chatting about my kids. Don’t I have anything more interesting to say? I’m sure I do, but it gets lost in the chaos of packing lunches, finding missing shoes and fending off yet another diaper rash. I have started to find my groove staying home. I found it about a month before MJ went back to school, and now with her in school a good chunk of the week, I am feeling particularly balanced.

It turns out, balance doesn’t make for very interesting blog posts. I manage to cook healthy meals, keep our house reasonably clean, read a bit before bed and get enough rest most nights. There are still weekends in which I am immersed in tantrums after being woken 5 times in the night with the needs of little kids. But they are short-lived and then we return to our routine.

The weather has turned into the pristine Minnesota fall we all await in the humid throes of July. I’ve been getting a good amount of exercise, keeping my weight at reasonable limits as I approach my 6th month of pregnancy. I’ve been reorganizing the bedrooms to make room for yet another person in this house of ours. Purging stuff so that our 2,400 square foot house doesn’t feel cramped (my pack-rat tendencies have made that start happening).

I have spent my days finding the items that Greta decides to hide. She’s been in the midst of an obsession with hiding important objects she gets a hold of. Keys, phones, shoes, things that she knows are used often, are quickly stowed somewhere only a 14 month old would think of whenever they are spotted.

MJ spends her time dressing up, pretending to be a queen, or a bride, and dancing around the living room. Helping watch her sister, make her laugh, and keep her out of trouble. We are spending time learning big new words, like “motivated” and “pelvis”, that seem to enrich our conversations and make her think about new things.

The littlest one, still in-utero, is kicking me constantly. Sapping my energy a little more every day, and undoubtedly listening to his sisters screech and preparing for what is to come. MJ votes for the names “Nora” or “Diego” and we tell her “we’ll think about it”, hoping she’ll forget.

And our days plug along. I can’t believe I’ve been home with the girls for over a year now, the time goes so much faster than it did while I was working. It seems that everyone I know that has a third kid completely drops off the edge of the blogging world. I vow to not be like that, but that means I need to do a little better about blogging with just 2.5 kids. So you may hear a few more mundane details, and I’ll just cross my fingers that someday I’ll look back on all this and consider it totally fascinating.

Had to look this one up: 22 weeks

So as I mentioned, somewhat unceremoniously, I am pregnant.  With our third child.  Also, it is a boy.  

This little boy has not gotten nearly the blog attention that the two little girls had gotten by this point in their existence.  Greta got weekly updates.  MJ got lots of freak out posts.  But this one?  At 22 weeks old, he’s had two measly posts.  Already, it seems, he is somewhat neglected. 

I am excited for him.  I am excited to add him to our family.  It’s just that I don’t have much time to think about it, and I am just too tired to think about it.  With my last two pregnancies, I was working in an office setting, and so I had a lot of time to sit down and rest.  This time, I am on the move constantly, chasing a new walker and arguing with a 3-year-old.  MJ was our first, so we clearly had no idea what we were doing and my posts from the time period reflect that.  Greta took a lot of struggle to conceive, and so she was my little hard fought miracle from the beginning.  And this guy?  Sometimes I feel sorry for him.  The chaos he’s going to enter into, he just doesn’t know.  But also, he will have two amazing older sisters and two very tired parents who will probably let him eat a lot of junk food and watch a lot more TV than his sisters were allowed.  

It’s worth noting how this pregnancy is going.  In truth, it’s easier than the last two.  My morning sickness wasn’t nearly as intense (and is long gone by now).  For the first 20 weeks I was running semi-consistently; I had started running again back in December, and managed to keep at it 2-3 times a week, though my run last week convinced me that I am done for now.  The amount of pain I felt, and the overwhelming need to pee, made me commit to being done.  But the running, combined with chasing two little kids all day, has kept my weight gain down to about 15 pounds, about 5 pounds less than I had gained by this point in the last two pregnancies.  I have struggled with too much weight gain with both previous pregnancies, so keeping my weight down is a good thing.  Here’s hoping it will continue.

I am slowing down.  I just can’t stand on my feet as much, or pick up things off the floor very easily.  Today we went to the state fair, and my exhaustion was pronounced.  I remember being there last year with a 3-week-old and not being nearly as tired.  That gives me some hope that having three little kids will be easier than having two little kids whilst being pregnant.

I had a serious freak-out this past week.  Not for any particular reason, but I freaked out about the prospect of having three kids.  And specifically, having a 17 month old and a newborn home with me.  MJ will be in preschool Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, which will help.  Greta’s at the age where she’s happy doing just about anything, so hopefully that will make my days a bit easier.  But I was specifically freaking out about dropping her off and picking her up every day.  I was imagining shlepping through the January snow, carrying a newborn and a 17 month old, because I’m sure Greta won’t walk that well in snow by then.  Also corralling a 4-year-old MJ.  Twice a day.   And this is on top of probably having to wake someone or the other up for drop-off and pickup, because I’m sure their naps won’t align.  Thankfully, I did find out that drop-off is essentially pushing them out of the car (with slightly more ceremony), which will make one aspect of my life easier.  It eased my freak-out a bit, at least.

We’ve been busy around here readying the house.  Specifically, we moved the girls into the same room.  Other than the first week, it has gone exceedingly well.  Mornings are a bit frustrating, because often Greta will wake up MJ after her morning bottle.  But I think we’re missing out on about half-an-hour of sleep at most, since MJ generally is difficult to wake unless she’s pretty close to waking on her own.  And they are happy to play together for a while, so that helps.  Mostly, I am just sad that my little sleep-inner (Greta) has been waking at more like 6:30 than her previous 8:00.  I know that for those of you who work, your sympathy for me is non-existent.  But if I want any time to myself in the evening, then a 6:30 wakeup is just tough.  I’m not nice at that hour, never have been.  And when dealing with little kids, nice is a necessity.

I’m rambling.  

Baby boy.  This is supposed to be about you.  Soon enough, I will fill this space with pictures of you.  But pictures of my exploding belly are all I can offer right now, and that’s just not that cute.  

I made the mistake of saying to MJ that I wasn’t that excited about having a boy, and now she tells everyone that I don’t want a boy.  I feel I should clarify.  I am a bit scared, because most of the little boys I know are even more high energy than their sisters, and I fear that you will be even crazier than your sisters.  I’m not sure I can handle that.  I’m told your Dad was a wild child, which I totally believe, and given your genetics you’re unlikely to be calm.  But please, can you at least not be the craziest one? 

22 weeks & 2 days pregnant.  Sorry about the messy room, wet hair and general chaos.  At least it’s authentic.

I think I promised you this announcement.

Summer 2013, Day in the Life

In the spring, I did a Week in the Life as inspired by Navigating the Mothership.  I spent that entire week pondering a brand new, very big secret, that I haven’t yet shared on here.  It turns out, I’m pregnant with our third kid.

There you have it.  Every day, tops in my mind was the fact that I had just found out I was pregnant, and could not wrap my head around it.  This time, I can’t even hide it, so I may as well as get it out there.  In fact, we find out tomorrow whether it’s a boy or girl.  So more to come.

Anyway. This “Day in the Life” took place on Thursday, August 1st.  Greta is 1 year and 3 days old.  MJ is almost 4.  And I am 19 weeks pregnant.

5:00 a.m. Greta wakes up and Hubs gives her a bottle of milk.  We have just moved Greta into MJ’s room and it has been a struggle for them to not wake each other up in the early morning.  They do fine at night, even if one wakes up crying, the other sleeps through it.  But mornings are a struggle.  Greta is still in a Pack and Play while we decide if we are fully committed to this idea.  Although we have a 4-bedroom house, we would like to keep one room for guests because the Grandma’s come to visit so much.  But is it worth all the poor sleep in the meantime?  We’ll have to see.

6:00 a.m. MJ wakes up.  We shuffle her upstairs to the family room in hopes she doesn’t wake up Greta, and this morning it works, because G doesn’t wake up until 8:00 a.m.  

8:00 a.m.  The hubs is apparently trying to be super husband today.  Does he know this will be my day in the life?  He gets up and changes Greta’s poopy diaper.  Sleeping this late is a rare treat around these parts.  I remember my Mom always telling me that once I had kids I would have trouble sleeping in, but that has not been the case for me.  I can still sleep in like a champ when given the opportunity.

8:15 a.m.  I start making muffins.  I had decided to do this the previous evening, because we just got back from a week away and it feels like we have nothing nutritious in the house.  I recently got the Weelicious cookbook and settle on the sweet potato muffins.  But the kids are STARVING and grumpy and Vito’s yapping about something.    I am feeling super grumpy and am not dealing well.  I continue to feel constantly overwhelmed by these kids, even when I get small breaks.  But the hubs comes downstairs and we get five minutes to chat which helps me feel more sane and grounded.  I finish the muffins, get them in the oven, tide Greta over with something in the mean time and pour some coffee.

The hubs snapped this before he left for work.  MJ ready to bake muffins.

9:00 Muffins come out.  While they cool I retreat to the bathroom, only 5 feet away, for 5 minutes of peace.  It’s the only place they will let me have some quiet.  I read a post about parenting and how everyone feels overwhelmed but to enjoy it anyway, which makes me feel immensely better.  Sometimes cheesy re-posts are all I need to hear.  

9:15 a.m.  MJ sees me scribbling notes about my day, and she is bummed that “Mom and Dad can write better than me.”  I explain the value of practicing and that I didn’t used to know how to write.  We sit down to eat muffins.  They are quite tasty and not too sweet.  Exactly what I had hoped for.  After we all finish eating I get G out of the high chair and the girls play in the living room.  

"Mom, I’m very dehydrated right now.  Can I have something dehydrated to drink?"  I love when she picks up these big words but still gets them a little confused.  I manage to spill half a jug of iced coffee in the fridge while I’m getting her milk.  Days with kids are really just moving from one mess to another.

9:25 a.m.  Time to get dressed.  Any time we have to move a floor I swear we have to add 10 minutes to the time one would expect.  I let Greta crawl up the stairs, one of her favorite activities.  If she catches sight of the gate to the stairs open, she takes off across the room to race up the stairs.  She’s pretty good at climbing them, but sometimes gets distracted and doesn’t pay attention to where she’s at, so I still get nervous.  Overall, she is SO much happier than she has been; I’m not sure if it’s teething, or sleep, or what, but she’s been such a grump.

The challenge in trying to get ready in the morning….

I accidentally deleted the non-blurry one when trying to make space on my phone.  Looking pretty pregnant, and very momish.  

What MJ looks like when she’s “ready”.  She went for a lot of accessories.

9:50 a.m. Back downstairs.  We’re getting ready to walk to the Red Balloon book shop and I had hoped to stop to pick up my prescription on the way.  It looks like I may still have time?  But impossible to say until we’re out of the house and the kids are in the stroller.

Greta, happy as a clam, waiting patiently for us to depart.

10:05 a.m. Finally on our way.  Probably not time to stop, but we’ll stop after.  Greta is so in love with walks, that if she even catches sight of me pulling the stroller out she goes nuts.  Not a peep of protest from her while we walk.  On our way, we pass by a woman with a walker who says “Looks like you’ve got your hands full”.  I get this comment so much now.  Do I really look that overwhelmed all the time?  Probably.

10:15 a.m. We arrive at the bookstore.  I think we came here during my last two day in the life’s as well, must be something I only do quarterly as I know I haven’t been in months.    There is a piano sitting outside that MJ pounds away on, and I try to delete some photos from my phone.  Keeping space on my phone is a constant struggle.

Happy for noisemaking that occurs outside the confines of our house.

10:30 a.m. Story time starts.  The lady leading story time has lost her voice and is whispering.  It is possibly the worst story time I’ve ever been to.  I would think one of the women working behind the counter would take over but instead they let her struggle through.  Greta doesn’t sit still for a single instant during the entire story time.  She insists on going up and down the two stairs, climbing around and pulling books off the shelves, spinning the standing book rack, and generally causing chaos.  She even crawls up and tries to take the story ladies puppet.  Ugh.  I remember MJ being crazy like this, too, but I though with Greta we might escape it.  Also, MJ would at least sit down for short periods.

Not remotely interested in story time.  But the rest was pretty cool, apparently.

11:05 a.m. Get the girls back in the stroller.  Already feel worn out and the day is not half done.

11:15 a.m.  Arrive at CVS to pick up my thyroid medicine.  It is apparently not ready, so I use this a weak excuse to stop at the coffee shop next door for treats.  I fear I’ve acquainted MJ too deeply with coffee shop treats.  We get smoothies, pick up my medicine and head home.  I am tired, and the very small hill feels like a lot to push my 55 lbs of kids up

11:40 a.m. Home.  Greta fell asleep in the stroller, so I move her upstairs, but put her in her old room.  I’m not sure why.  I come back downstairs to bring the stroller inside and run into my neighbor, who I’ll be seeing tonight at our monthly happy hour.  She asks if I have any news to share.  I smile and say that I figure it’s not really news at this point.  She says she promised herself never to ask because she got it wrong once, which I silently find very funny because she was the first one to ask me if I was pregnant with Greta, at only 10 weeks.  But it was New Years, so perhaps she was intoxicated and her judgement was off.  Anyway.  I have been both times, so no insult.  

11:50 a.m.  MJ is not hungry for lunch because of our pre-lunch treat.  Oy.  I let her watch the iPad since Greta is sleeping, and I sit down to a very nutritionally suspect lunch of crackers and cheese, mainly because I want to spend G’s nap time sitting and not cooking.  This pregnancy is really starting to suck my energy.  While eating, Iread Navigating the Mothership’s announcement.  I cry at her video.  I never watch videos on other people’s blogs, but this time I do and of course I cry.  I spend the rest of Greta’s nap time working on some blog stuff and some other computer stuff.  Basically, I just rest, because I have learned I need to rest when Greta rests rather than scurrying to get things done.  If I don’t, I am totally out of energy for the end of the day when the kids are being mini-tyrants and I have no patience.

My typical lunch time scene.  Struggling to keep MJ sitting down, you’d think this was a new concept for her.

1:15 p.m. G wakes up.  My day starts again.  I rouse MJ from the iPad, change a dirty diaper and make PB&J for the girls.  MJ would subsist entirely off PB&J if I let her.  I let her have it almost every day for lunch, knowing full well that once she starts back to school she can’t take nuts in.  So maybe she’ll grow tired of it by then.  Doubtful, though.  While the girls are eating, I duck downstairs to switch clothes over and do some dishes.  Greta is obsessed with the dishwasher and I can only have it open when she’s not crawling around.  A problem I never had with MJ since we didn’t have a dishwasher when she was this age.  We finish off sandwiches with some frozen peas.  What a … nutritional (?) lunch.  The girls spend much of lunch making each other laugh, and I am so glad they like each other so much.  I am also so glad they have gotten to have this time together before MJ starts off to school.

The girls playing “nicely”.

Greta attacking MJ.  A lot more of this these days, but she loves it.

And now MJ teaching Greta how to walk.  They go pretty fast together.

2:25 p.m.  It’s absolutely beautiful outside.  Like, perfect weather.  Although the extended forecast continues to look good, it’s hard not to feel the need to take advantage, so I decide to go for a walk.  But since Greta has been trying to take walking toys around our house and keeps running into walls, I decide we’ll let her practice walking down the sidewalk.  MJ wants to take her scooter, but we can’t find her helmet and she throws a tantrum.  

2:55 p.m. Finally, MJ decided it will suffice if she can push a stroller with a baby down the block.  So both girls have strollers with babies and we head out.  They are quite the adorable sight.  I have to readjust Greta’s direction often, and she stops every time she hears a noise to look around.  Every house with steps she tops and tries to climb, if I let her.  Half way through, she gets pretty tired so I carry her and MJ helps push both strollers.  At one point we realize we can put Greta in hers and MJ can push it.  It’s adorable, though decidedly not very safe, but MJ is good about pushing her slowly.

God they’re cute.

Checking out an apartment building.  What’s inside?

Wants to be just like her sister.

Babies having babies.

3:20 p.m.  Back home.  I decide our outings are done for now.  I’m beat.  Pregnancy sucks the life out of me.  We play in the living room, and then in the back yard.  Greta is obsessed with putting things inside things.  MJ is obsessed with coloring, and designing elaborate schemes.  We have a snack… blueberries and yogurt.  I enjoy the girls so much more when I don’t try to accomplish anything.

MJ is excited to learn “hand sewing”.  The details are unimportant, apparently.

Playing is exhausting.  I totally agree.

4:15 p.m. MJ has T-Ball soon and so we need to start getting ready.  I ask her to pick up her toys and she throws a tantrum.  I get mad.  I am tired and beyond fed up.  She gets sent to her room and I end up putting several toys downstairs.  The deal we have is that if she won’t pick things up, she can’t play with them.  It keeps my life easier and our house less cluttered and has generally worked well.  Mostly, she’s tired because she got up so freaking early.

4:30 p.m.  Dad comes home.  Him and the girls eat dinner.  I made a pretty terrible salad that no one is excited about, so we scrounge together some things from the fridge.  I ask how he’d feel about taking the girls by himself to T-ball.  He’s not terribly excited about it, but I’m just so beat and never get time to myself. He decides he wants to bike with them there, so we scurry around trying to get everything together.  Can’t find MJ’s team shirt.   Oh well.

5:22 p.m.  Dad is off.  I sit down.  My legs are exhausted.  I play Candy Crush on my phone, which I am stupidly hooked on.

5:40 p.m. I take a shower.  I test the upstairs shower, which we just got fixed (it was leaking) and enjoy the new (to us) shower.  It’s been broken for a year-and-a-half.  We expected a huge repair bill, but it was only $140.  Probably should have gotten that fixed earlier.  I spend more time than usual getting ready, mainly because I can.  The house is quiet, and sometimes it’s nice to actually look nice.  My hair has been a train wreck of late and I experiment with it.

Yep, definitely pregnant.

6:15 p.m. I am ready.  I sit on the front porch, enjoying the peace.

6:45 p.m.  I hear some crying, and it sounds like Greta, but I didn’t think they were home.  There are babies in two surrounding houses so I assume it must be one of them.  But husband comes outside a few minutes later, and we discuss finding a baby sitter for a meeting we have with our financial planner.  There was mis-communication and we end up having to call on a friend of ours.   MJ comes outside with a box to turn into a spaceship.  I realize she dumped out all my maternity clothes to use the box, and I get mad, but hubs points out that I should not.  I don’t deal well with these things, I really need to do better.  We sit on the front porch, MJ coloring her spaceship, and enjoy the evening.

When forced to, I guess I can part with my cardboard box for the sake of a spaceship.

7:25 p.m. Walk down to my neighbors house to meet up for our monthly happy hour.  I haven’t made it to one in a very long time, it’s nice to see them.  We decide on a last minute change of plans, and instead of heading to a restaurant hang out on our neighbors front porch.  We scurry to let everyone know, which is tough because there were a lot of “Maybe” responses.  I like hanging out with these women because all of them have older kids.  It’s nice to talk about what the future will be like, hear about schools and generally be around women who have been doing this a bit longer than I have.  

10:15 p.m. Head home.  Lovely evening, lots of mosquito bites.