the pieces of my life

I wake up bleary eyed, because I’ve been up three times in the night to pee. My Braxton Hicks are becoming painful, the heartburn is becoming daily, and I’ve got a sinus headache. I walk into the bathroom where Adam is rummaging around the drawer looking for a nail clip.

“Don’t you hate it?” he asks. “It’s always the little things that hurt the most. I’ve got this hangnail that’s killing me!”

All I can do is stare. When there’s no reply, he looks up at me.

“Oh,” he says. “I guess that’s not what you want to hear.”

Ya think?

I’ve been loading up my ipod with music I want to listen to while I labor. At first I was trying to think of songs that would be appropriate for a birth, and then I thought, “Screw that!” I’m putting in the songs I want to hear regardless of whether they are birth appropriate. At first I thought it would be like those folks who play “I Will Survive” and those other fun, but really break-up songs, at their weddings, but then I realized the whole point of the music is to power me up when I need it and to calm me down when I need it. So even though Liz Phair and the Beastie Boys may not be the most child friendly, they’re what I want to hear. Although Adam gave me a funny look when I told him I wanted him to make sure that, as the baby is crowning, he puts on “Who Let the Dogs Out.” If that’s not a power song, I don’t know what is. Woof woof.

I really have nothing to say today. Actually, I probably have plenty to say today, but it’s hot and I’m tired and my tush hurts when I sit and my groin hurts when I stand and I just don’t have the energy to truly blog. I could tell you how Doodles pulled a no-nap day yesterday and pretty much sent me over the edge and I had more than my share of bad mommy moments. I could tell you how Doodles and Adam just finished up a “Mommy and Me” kayaking class and now Doodles asks for “kayaking! kayaking! People in boats!” I could tell you how Doodles is actually developing a memory, and if you ask him what he did yesterday or this morning, he can tell you. I could tell you how he’s finally figured out how to get out of bed, and yesterday morning we were greeted by the pitter patter of little feet and a great big grin in our faces at 6 a.m. (which is blessedly late in our house). I could tell you how Doodles and I attempted to swim at a friend’s house, but Doodles was “All done water” almost instantly, even though it was the first time in months I actually felt good in my body. I could tell you how I’m wrapping up work–I’ve done my last copyedit job and written my last book review until Sugar Face is old enough for day care, and I’m excited at the prospect of a couple of days to just get nested. But really none of this is very interesting and I don’t feel like trying to figure out how to make it interesting.

Tomorrow is my ultrasound to confirm that Sugar Face is not breech, at which time my c-section is cancelled and it’ll be my first weekly visit where the doctor checks for dilation, which is exciting for me, as I never had that done for Doodles, since he was a known c-section. So it’s possible I’ll have something interesting to write next week. But don’t count on it.

This afternoon Doodles and I were running errands not far from Adam’s office, so I called him to see if he wanted to meet up for lunch. He was game. As we walked into Bertucci’s, I said to Adam, “We haven’t been out to eat for a while as a threesome.” “You’re right,” he agreed.

Three minutes into sitting down, we suddenly were reminded why it had been so long. “Milk! Milk! Milk!” the little person with the big voice demanded from the end of the table. We weren’t sure whether or not to get him a high chair–at home Doodles uses a booster seat–but we decided containment was good. Only there’s nothing containing about a high chair anymore. The waitress brought him his milk in a paper cup with a plastic lid and a straw. Doodles instantly become more interested in removing the lid than in drinking the milk. And, oh what a lovely sound the straw makes when you slide it against the plastic. “All done milk! All done chair,” he stated, as he stood up.

“Doodles, please sit. Mommy and Daddy want to eat.”

“ALL DONE SITTING!!!”

Adam foolishly put Doodles in the booth next to him. For the next half hour, Adam struggled to keep Doodles from climbing over our booth into the meal of the person in the booth behind him. Finally, Doodles found a really entertaining game. He’d take the sugar packets, one by one, and crumple them. Then he’d turn around and hide them in the back of the seat, cramming them into the booth. We momentarily panicked when the sugar packets ran low, but Adam was able to successfully grab them back when Doodles wasn’t looking, pass them back to me to smooth out and discreetly return to the sugar tray. It wasn’t easy, but Adam and I both finished our meals.

We returned to Adam’s office so Adam could change Doodles diapers. I threatened that as soon as the two were in the bathroom, I was leaving. B*astard took my car keys with him. So much for my free and relaxing afternoon.

My big fear about having this baby is that I’ll go late and have to have a c-section by default. As a VBAC(and for those who are curious, we found a doula!), I can’t be induced (Pitocin can make the contractions strong enough to increase the risk of a uterine rupture), so if I go late, it’s too bad for me!

So, I asked my OB, “At what point can I start doing the home inducing techniques?” She looked at me like I was crazy. “Like what?” she asked. “Like castor oil and stuff.” She laughed at me. “Castor oil can bring on contractions, but it usually doesn’t bring on labor. What it will bring on is diarrhea.” “But will it hurt me?” “No,” she said. “So when can I start?” She laughed again. “At thirty-seven weeks.” Duly noted. At thirty-seven weeks, bring on the diarrhea.

Actually, Tweeds and I took a look at our calendars, and we’ve both decided that the most convenient day for Sugar Face to arrive is August 25. Do you hear that, Sugar Face? You’ve got your first appointment. Mark it in your Outlook calendar.

It’s not enough any more that everything belonging to Doodles is “Mine! Mine! Mine!” Now, it’s also “Not yours!” We’ve been having many meaningful conversations about exactly what Doodles owns in this world.

Doodles has become a garbage man. He loves to pick up garbage whenever we go to the park. He’ll walk as far as it takes to get to a garbage can, except when it’s something that interests him. Shiny silver gum wrappers, for some reason, tend to be “‘tars” that he strums and sings along to. I’m working hard on the “No touch garbage,” but it isn’t working. He’s starting to learn his lesson the hard way, although it grosses me out completely. Adam and I were with him at the park, and Doodles picked up a straw. “Yucky, Doodles!” I said. “Put it down!” “No touch!” Adam added. Doodles took a look at us, grinned, stuck the straw in a pile of dirt, and sucked. Won’t touch rice, but he’ll drink dirt from a used straw. It’s hard to discipline when you’re laughing so hard tears are coming out. From his cries of distress, I don’t think Doodles will be drinking from dirt piles out of dirty straws again.

Of course, Doodles and I won’t be going to the park much any more anyway. Adam took care of that. There is a playground just three blocks from our house that’s just perfect. The play structures are just Doodle-sized, so I don’t feel like I have to constantly chase him. There’s just one big, old-fashioned metal slide that all us moms have agreed not to let our children on, because it’s pretty high with open sides. In other words, a death trap.

So, what do I see when I meet up with Adam and Doodles at the park? Doodles, gleefully gliding down the slide of death. He runs around to the back, heads up the steep stairs, leaning precariously out the side as Adam just smiles on.

Me, yelling: “What are you doing!!! He’s not allowed on that.”
Adam, befuddled: “He’s not?”
Me: “No! You knew that.”
Adam: “You never told me that.”
Me: “I’m sure I told you that. We definitely discussed it.”
Adam: “We never discussed it.”
Me: “Yes, we did. Last fall.”
Adam: “You’re kidding, right? Last fall? But he’s older now.”
Me: “The rules haven’t changed.” [with a whine] “Now he’s always going to want to go on it. And then the other kids will see it and want to go on it. You’ve now ruined it for all the moms!”

Meanwhile, another father was there, laughing at us. He was there with his two-and-a half-year-old son and his twenty-month-old daughter. It was obvious he was taking amusement in our conversation. But, I felt completely validated, when not five minutes later, as his daughter was scaling the slide, a very pregnant woman with a thunderous look on her face approached the park. “Is that your wife?” I asked him. He looked over, immediately a little fearful. “Why yes it is. And she doesn’t look happy.” I didn’t hear all of it, but I did hear, “What is she doing on that slide!” come sternly from the woman.

The slide of death. At least the garbage will distract Doodles from it.

I said to Adam this morning: “My insomnia is getting worse and worse.”
Adam: “Just too uncomfortable to sleep?”
Me: “Yeah, there’s that. But I’m also feeling pretty anxious, and it keeps me awake.”
Adam: “You have anxiety?”
Me: “Yeah.”
Adam: “Really? What are you anxious about?”
Me: “Um, hello? We’re having a baby.”
Adam: “Oh, yeah. Right.”

You know how in movies they often parody parenthood by showing an out-of-control toddler tearing a place up as the parent runs helplessly behind, trying to grab the child while at the same time repairing the mess he’s made and prevent him from hurting himself? Well, turns out there’s no parody involved there; it’s simply reality TV! On Saturday, we made a trip to Target for various items, and we decided to let Doodles walk (“decided” being used loosely here; he refused to remain seated in the cart and he can now climb out of his stroller). Well, he had a blast. He began tearing up and down the aisles at top speed while Adam chased him trying to catch him. At one point, he was down one aisle, standing by two thin tallish boxes. We could see him from the end, but couldn’t get to him quickly enough. I shouted, “Doodles, leave the boxes alone! No touch the boxes!” and Adam yelled, “Doodles, don’t you dare!” Doodles gave us one of his adorable grins, looked us squarely in the eyes, and yanked the boxes over, barely missing himself in the process. Then, with a “That’s funny!” he laughed and took off again. We ended up quickly leaving, with a wriggling, screaming Doodles under Adam’s arm (in a football hold), yelling, “Walk! Down! Down! Walk!” We got many sympathetic looks from other parents as I reminded Doodles that walking is a privilege, not a right, and so far, he hasn’t earned it.

Adam describes Doodles’s tantrums as an Incredible Hulk thing. One minute, the kid is serene and all is right in the world. He’ll be playing, things are fine. And then, wham!. The Hulk emerges. Like this morning. He wanted to play with his potty. He doesn’t use it yet for it’s intended purpose, but he likes to just goof around with it. We brought it into the living room for him to use. “Potty outside!” he demanded. “You want to take the potty outside?” we asked. “Yes! Potty outside.” “Sweetie,” I told him, “the potty doesn’t go outside. We keep it inside.” The flash of anger was instantaneous. You could see the anger exploding. “No! No! No!” he yelled as suddenly the potty is flying across the living room. He’s pulling out the bowl, flinging the lid. “No, no, no!” He’s yelling and starting to cry. “Potty outside!!” After a few moments of this, his finger goes in his mouth, another finger goes to his belly button, and he’s calm again. The Hulk subsides… for now.

This is one of those stories that I debated blogging about, but it seems we’re entering a new era with Doodles, so I simply have to relate it. This morning, I was, um, indisposed. Doodles, with the subtlety of a bull, comes charging into the bathroom. He walks up to me and yanks down farther my pants and underwear. “Momma’s p*enis?” he asks, taking a good look. I thought for a moment, and decided there was no point in avoiding the conversation. “Daddy has a p*enis and Doodles has a p*enis. Mommy has a v*agina.” Satisfied, he walked away saying, “Mommy’s ‘gina. Mommy’s ‘gina.” Why do I have a feeling this conversation is going to come back to haunt me?

Blogging is going to be a little tricky, as I can no longer sit. Well, I mean I can sit, but after about five minutes, I’m in pain, so sitting really isn’t an option for me. So I can either stand at the computer, which puts the keyboard at pretty much knee level, or I can sit on my fitness ball (as I’m doing right now), which puts the keyboard at chest level. Either way, typing is not that easy.

Sleep is now a thing of the past. Between the vivid dreams, the inability to roll over, and the constant need for a bathroom trip, I’m pretty much through with sleeping until, oh I suppose, we Ferberize Sugar Face.

We have gone ahead and hired a doula. While I am not actually planning (read: I haven’t taken classes or anything) a natural birth, I’d like to see if I can do it. As far as I was concerned, the worst thing about the C-section was the epidural. It really terrified me. So we found a doula who has helped other unprepared folks go the natural route. On the other hand, she is also open to medication, so if I change my mind midstream, she’ll support that choice as well. I feel pretty good about our decision to use her and I think it’s making both Adam and me feel more comfortable with this whole alien “labor” idea.

My weight gain had been pretty slow most of the pregnancy, but I’m really making up for it my third trimester, which is kind of shocking as it doesn’t seem like I’m actually eating that much–there’s not a whole lot of room for food in there! Sugar Face is making lots of very big dramatic movements that are starting to ache. I’m also having Braxton Hicks like crazy.

My very kind Tuesday playgroup threw us a surprise shower. It was such a great feeling and the cupcakes and snacks were yummy (hmmm, maybe I’m starting to understand that weight gain) and they were incredibly generous with a gift certificate to Babies R Us. Which is great, because I still have lots I need to get (top of the list is a breast pump–I used a manual one last time and I will not make that silly mistake again!). Now I just have to get off my fitness ball and get shopping!

Now that we’re getting close, I’ve got some questions here for you more or differently experienced parents out there. If you have any answers, drop me an e-mail (or leave a comment, if you prefer):

1) Anyone used a doula? Pros and cons, please. Would you use one again?
2) Have any favorite books on sibling interaction/rivalry to recommend?
3) Got any advice on VBACs?

Thanks!