Surpirse! I'm pregnant!

Dear my back pain, my tummy aches, my throbbing head, my hormones. I understand that all of this is necessary in brewing a perfect little miracle baby, but an opportunity to feel okay… notice I didn’t say great, I used “okay”, I’m realistic here, feeling just “okay”… that would just be fabulous. This nothing tastes good, milk makes me puke, sunlight hurts my head thing we’re doing, all while feeling like I’ve gotten zero sleep, and chasing a toddler… has to stop. It’s not working for me. So can we figure something out?
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Body.

SO yea… guess what… I’m pregnant! Child number two is baking away. Part of me is beyond excited—the other is gluten for punishment. I mean my first pregnancy wasn’t a walk in the park. I think the hospital staff saw me more than my family, and I lost 40lbs, which would be a bonus if I wasn’t oh I don’t know… pregnant. So now I’m in week 6. Thought I’d actually some how escaped the morning sickness bit because I was doing so well. It should be known that with my daughter, I was beyond sick from like week 3 to the end. And yes, I found out that early because I was THAT sick. With this bit of information under my belt I was really looking forward to not being ill. They say, “every pregnancy is different” I keep praying for that each visit to the porcelain goddess I make.
Whatever that hormone released after childbirth to make you almost forget your entire pregnancy and delivery… yea… that hormone is STRONG. My daughter is only 14 months and I REALLY forgot. Plus it is now my current belief that moms deserve metals, awards, and trophies, whatever we can get for raising children while being pregnant. I mean is this gods joke on us? How are you suppose to sleep and relax while chasing kids, cleaning, cooking, teaching, working, providing your taxi service to activities. I mean your not suppose to drink coffee, but your body is working over time trying to keep up on a normal day, that “normal day” I speak of is without bun in the oven. On a pregnant day… it’s worse. An IV connection to caffeine wouldn’t’ be enough to keep your eyes open after your daily routine. So I consider… a Nanny. And then… I feel guilty. Like I’m some defective breed of mother. However, if my daughter were entertained by what most kids are, then perhaps there wouldn’t be such a strong consideration, but in my case her most favorite thing to do is play with me. When I don’t feel like playing… the world comes to an end. Oh jeez look what I’ve done… *A is finally napping, which is good catch up sleep for me, and I’m writing. With that I bid this blog a farewell. Naptime must commence… now.

Me day? Mothers day... No way.

I’m typically not one to complain. I enjoy life, I love my husband and daughter dearly… they are my life and I couldn’t be more thankful. But moms need breaks. We need mini 1 hr vacations every once in a while… I’m not sure what your escape is however my preferred “me time” involves tranquil music, warm water, a foot scrub, a vibrating massage chair, and getting a French pedicure once month. 1 hour once a month? Is that too much to ask for? Imagine my excitement for mother’s day… I thought about a bottle of champagne, the spa, relaxation, dinner, and my family y-e-a-h … it went a little like this instead…
My mothers day went as such, me my daughter and my father took a drive to Circleville OH to see where my grandparents were buried, my husband worked and I got to battle an upset teething baby all by my little ol lonesome just about all day. Then my husband gets home from work with my mothers day card, and a note saying that I need to go treat myself to a pedicure. I LOVE pedicures. And looking down at my feet I could tell I was long over do for a brizillion soak. Now, 27 days later, this momma has yet to step foot into a day spa to get her pedicure as promised.
As I was hinting after dinner one night that I truly desired getting my toes done, trying to guilt and pursued my husband to take a day off so I could go to the day spa, he said… and I quote… “I don’t understand why you and *A haven’t gone already”
“… Um me and *A?” I said shocked that he truly didn’t understand. “… Me and our daughter?” I repeated myself slightly confused. “Are you serious?” I questioned again.
My poor husband truly didn’t understand why me and *A hadn’t gone to get my pedicure. Now maybe its just me, but I don’t see how bringing a 14month old to a pedicure appointment would end well. That’s like bringing her to a bar… you just don’t do it. Day spas are adult time—typically mommy adult time. Do you know how MISERABLE getting a pedicure would be with a toddler to chase, and entertain? It would be pointless for me, and annoying to all the other women spending $40 on their escape. Getting a pedi isn’t just because I want my toes to look pretty, its 45 minutes of pure relaxation. It rejuvenates me so I can tolerate my husband’s sometimes idiotic comments… like bringing our daughter to the day spa.
Now don’t get me wrong, I look forward to the day when my daughter is old enough to enjoy and understand the meaning of the pedicure club, but right now its just beyond her. And because of that, my feet pay the price. So much for my mothers day gift. I’ll cash it in one day… *sigh* … one day... Isnt that always how the story goes? LOL. Oh motherhood, marriage and life... how I love thee.

Baby VS High Chair: Public Humiliation

For the first time in a long time, my husband and I decided our taste palate was lacking a certain zest… a desire that could only be fulfilled by venturing out into the world of where the food is made and delivered to your table. The only effort put forth is driving to the location… perhaps a moment or two choosing what entrée to eat, and subtly masking your anticipation of the taste explosion your mouth was about to experience. But for all intents and purpose, eating out is effortless. I for one was very excited about this decision. No meal to make. No dishes to clean. Perhaps even a glass of wine with dinner.
With a child however, especially a young child, your dining options tend to narrow… you descend from the classy, upscale restaurants, with low lighting, delectable cuisine, and ambiance, to kid friendly, high lighting, mediocre food quality, fast paced, packed burger joint. Quick. Easy. Uncomplicated. Yet somehow what started out as a well-intentioned plan to enjoy dinner out on St. Patties day… turned into a sit still and behave battle between an 11 month old and two mid to upper twenty something’s.
We soon learned after 2.3 minutes at the table that *A. just wasn’t okay with her high chair there, and screaming- playfully mind you- at the top of her lungs was how she wanted to communicate with every one in the room. After demoting ourselves from parents to circus clowns, trying desperately to entertain and quiet her so those around could enjoy their dinner, it became apparent that our little miss chatter box had no intention of cooperating. Each of us across from another, burger in one hand, daughters shoulder in another, my husband and I quickly tried to ingest as much food as we could. Asking for our check, paying cash “keep the change” and bolting for the door, banishing ourselves in social exile to the land of parenting purgatory… the welcoming motto “your kids will be twice as bad as your were… Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!” I know if my mother were alive, she’d be rolling in laughter. I however feel like the stacks and mountains of parenting how-to books, what expect yadda yadda… are filled with sugar coated, hot air, bullshit that only relates to a strange breed of an angel child, I’ve yet to encounter in my lifetime.
Now that we’ve lived and learned that experience, its carry out orders for those daring dinner nights, and at home parenting battles… Baby VS Highchair… 3 times daily.

All is fair in love and war... right?

Boy life can be complicated. In matters of the heart it’s a wonder the human species has lasted so long. This is going to be a day she remembers. Not only is it St. Patties day, but it is also the elusive day she found pictures of a random naked girl on her “live in” boy friends camera… that’s enough to make any girls heart sink.
The Story told to me on the drive to work:
He stumbled home to there little townhome at 4 AM. He was last seen leaving Saints- a local watering hole in Lenexa Kansas, at 1 AM. ~K~ woke up, looking for cigarettes she dug through her boyfriends pockets and saw the camera. Interested in his where about last night, she sifted through hoping to see familiar faces. But to her dreaded astonishment only saw a pair of naked breasts. WTF. His story was that the bar had “sofas” and she stole his camera. That there was a bar fight he was witness to, and had to go to the station for his statement. Mystified and trying to hunt down the truth my best friend calls me, curious on gathering more information. True to my form, I call the bar he was allegedly at, speak with the bar manager, and asked if there was 1.A sofa there… or any furniture that could be misinterpreted as a sofa in a picture. And 2. If there was a bar fight resulting in policemen and repots. Giggling at my questions and a bit curious himself, he said… “Nope… it was karaoke night… and a Tuesday. It was calm and low key.”
Clearly his story… had no facts in it at all. So what’s a girl to do?
I would typically interject at this moment and say this is why I’m glad to be married, but alas, us hitched folks have troubles of our own as well. I didn’t. I was just as shocked as she was… although I must admit I’ve never been particularly fond of this beau in her life. I was speechless from his demise. 
However, the question that keeps plaguing my mind is this-
All is fair in love and war? True or False?

Ergh... is it over yet?

Its 7 AM. I have an over active daughter yelling “mo, ma, mo, ma, mom, mom, mom, MOM!!” escalating with more conviction each syllable. As I lay tangled in my bed amidst a thousand tissues, my head pounds with a furious vengeance paying me back for something I didn’t do. No this pain is not self-induced, there was no tequila party, no Jell-O shots, no dancing the night away. Nope… I hold no fond memory of why my body would torture me so, and this is all because I caught the flu.
Here’s the preface:
Like any good parent, it was my daughters check up, my HEALTHY family packed up and ventured down to our local doctors office, to measure A’s height, weight, etc. Three days later, my daughter develops the sniffles… a day later, the sniffles turned into Niagara falls on her face, two days later a wet cough, and another day later, I’m sitting with a sick child BACK at the doctors office. Her doctor decides without seeing her, that she has RSV… a upper respiratory virus 1 in 2 children get it before the age of 2. She then asks these series of questions, “does the baby go to day care?”… No. “is she around a lot of strangers?” no. “do you have a lot of guests over?” no. “Do you take her shopping frequently”… no. As she glared at me, for the first time making eye contact since she entered the room, she sneered and said with broken English, “well she has it now. I say so.”
… Okay….
I must admit first I was just concerned about my daughter being sick, will she be okay, what do we do now… The doctor played out a million scenarios of how terrible this virus is and the many things that could go wrong. We were told to leave and come back a day later. Only to be told again, that now she has an ear infection. Fantastic. Every time I go to this place, things get worse. Now please let me state that I would normally have no suspicion about this place, except we just switched to this doctor and her facility. A’s wellness check up was the first time seeing this doctor, and suddenly an every two month visit has turned into every few days. This momma is concerned.
So now, here I am miserable, laying in bed with throbbing pain… A sick daughter that has the energy of the energizer bunny, and the patience of my mother… 0. Then something catches my eye… creeping doom! I’ve been out of commission for two days, TWO days, and somehow the laundry looks like it hasn’t been touched in a week, and the dishes… lord the dishes… my kitchen looks like tornado blew threw it.
Me O my… I know they say husbands are their to help with the slack but with cookie crumbs leading to his favorite spot on the sofa, and his clothing left where he took it off… my home looks like a bachelor pad. Messy. With baby accessories strung everywhere. I’ve got my work cut out for me… and I still feel like shit!

Baby Recall Disaster!

Last week I got the dreaded notice sent via snail mail to check all of my daughters toys, furniture, bedding, etc, to make sure that nothing was recalled. Of course, I go in straight for the first thing... the biggest item... the crib. It was received as a generous gift from an aunt, lived through a few years of use, and now we were bestowed with it- this gorgeous Jardine Enterprises Cherry finish drop side crib. And it was recalled... IN 2007!!!
I went in to my daughters room, and stared at this crib that has in moments become the bane of my existence. F**K!
However, 5 days, a two hour wait and babies r us, a steadfast debate on availability and pricing, online line vs store, "customers always right", and price matching... we were able to get... drum roll please... MY DREAM CRIB!!!! A Delta Soho Ebony finish crib, that is not only light but sturdy, easy to assemble and convertible.
After a quick baby room make over, my daughter is a sassy little diva in her bedroom made for a princess. =)

Our Chirstmas Decision

Well this is it, we have decided. *R* will be joining the Army... once he sheds a few pounds. A day before Thanksgiving and we have a strict diet & exercise plan. Poor guy. But if the ends justify the means, then this IS necessary. I'm so proud of him!