Odd Pregnancy Dream

I have two real honest to goodness posts that I need to make.  But because I can’t be bothered with it, I’ll put up a quickie for you all instead.

Last night I dreamt.  I really hate it when this happens, typically.  I dreamt that I woke up with both my son and my husband in bed beaming at me.  I asked what was going on and Aaron told me, “You had the baby in your sleep.  All by yourself, and you didn’t even wake up!  She was so beautiful!”

I found it odd that he used the the past tense so I commented on it.  He looked embarrassed and admitted that he had called the doctor.  “You were asleep and I didn’t know what to do.  I knew she was still kind of early.  They asked if the umbilical cord was still attached and when I said yes they told me to put her back in.  Walked me through it and everything.”

I nearly killed him.  He then went gushing on about how pretty she was and how she was already so big.  He couldn’t wait for me to meet her.  I started crying and then I woke up.  I was still kind of pissed at him when I was awake, and had to remind myself that this was only a dream.

I am so done with this.

Because Jess Kicks Ass!

I got my tummy made all pretty!

I remember not long after having Ashton seeing a website with several pregnant women with henna on their tummies.  I cursed myself for not thinking of doing it, and swore up and down that with my next pregnancy that I would have it done.  I brought this up to a friend of mine who said she would do it for me, and so it was agreed that next time I became pregnant, she would henna my belly.  I wanted it toward the end of my pregnancy, so July seemed like the logical time to get it done.  So we set a date, and I ordered the supplies.  On Saturday she came over.

Sadly, because I have no idea what I’m doing and have never done any henna work outside of my friends hair, I had no idea how long it should set before we used it.  I thought a couple of hours would suffice, but was told afterwards that 12 was a much safer amount of time.  So Jessamyn’s amazing artwork was rather light colored when all was said and done.  Regardless, she did an amazing job.

That evening we went to Aaron’s parents’ house for his sister’s birthday party.  Everyone loved the henna work, but we noticed as it was flaking off that it was, in fact, going to be too light a color (as I said before).  So when we got home we got the left over henna out of the freezer, and set it out for the next day.  Sunday afternoon after we finished up at the grocrey store, Aaron took the bag and traced over Jessie’s design.  Thankfully he did a great job, and the henna was considerably darker this time.

Explosions

My mother has been in town since Monday helping me out getting the nursery ready.  We got a few things done, went on a few shopping trips, and got all of Ashton’s clothes all boxed up and ready to be given away.  It was wonderful having her here.  The best bit was when she first arrived.  Ash greeted her with open arms, then immediately looked past her and demanded to know where Grandpa Dude was.  That made her feel all warm and fuzzy.

Friday night we skipped the usual TV fest and went to Arlington where they were having a festival for the fourth of July, only they did it on the night of the third.  Aaron had to be out in that area anyway to reserve the family’s “spot” for the parade (a long standing tradition.  Aaron and his father and usually a few cousins spend the night on the sidewalk so we have the best seats for the parade the next morning) and the rest of us dragged picnic munchies and chairs out and hung out at the festival.  It was well done, they had free bounce houses, a cute little petting zoo, and lots of other activities.  There were free concerts at the pavillion, including the headliner for the evening, Fastball.  As soon as I remembered why I knew that name (shut up, I’m pregnant) I was very excited to see them live.   I was also surprised to learn that I knew more than just one of their songs!

The pavillion has a really pretty fountain that the kids played in.  Ash got to run around in it, and because I didn’t think to pack any swimmer diapers, we just had him in a regualr pullup.  So by the time he was done playing (rather, we were done with him playing) his pants were desperatly trying to fall off, and he was running around with one hand holding them up at all times.  It was funny as all hell.

They put on a fireworks dispaly during Fastball’s intermission.  It wasn’t the most amazing display I’ve ever seen, but it was nice.  Ash had a good time, family seemed to have a good time, and Lissa had a great time, so to say a good time was had by all is a bit reduntant.

The next day we saw the parade, which was fun.  We went home and relaxed (and Aaron washed the street off because WHEW!) and ate lunch.  Dad made it into town so we got to visit with him for a bit.  Then we went to Judy’s for early dinner, and headed from there to get ready for fireworks that night.  We watch the fireworks in Bedford (because that’s where we live, duh) and join friends of ours at Isis Studios because it’s a great place to watch from!  Charles and Zoe met us there, and there were a few kids, all between the ages of 2 and 4, so they all kept pretty entertained.  The fireworks were wonderful, and by the time they were over I was ready to pass out.  Ash went right to sleep after bath, so we must have worn him out as well.

Mom and Dad packed up themselves and Ashton this morning and headed out.  Mom and I usually take a summer trip to visit Oklahoma family, but this year I can’t travel.  So Mom and Dad are going to take Ash up there to see everyone.  My little boy is going to be gone for four whole nights.  They’ll come home Thursday and I’m really not sure how to feel about that.  On the one hand it will be relaxing to not have to keep up with him for a week, but on the other hand I’m gonna miss my little boy.  We’ll see how it goes.

I’m sure he’ll have a blast.

And Now We Know

Ok, I already have a boy.  I know what to do with a boy.  I’ve got the boy thing mostly figured out.  I don’t understand him… but I can mostly handel him.  Boys should not present any problem.  On that note…

What the hell am I suposed to do with a girl?

Yes, I know, it wouldn’t have mattered what the gender was.  They would have been completly different anyway.  The problem with kids is none of them follow the blinkin rules.  The “experts” come out and say all this stuff, and I’ve never met a kid that followed any of it.

Maybe it’s because kids can’t read yet.

So… there you have it.  Ladies and Gentelmen, I would like to introduce everyone to Anwyn Renea Thomas.  I will try to scan the sono photos soon so I can get them onto flickr.

21 Weeks

I’m 21 weeks along, close to five months pregnant.  Everything is going well, the baby looks healthy.  I’m gaining the right amount of weight and size.  Things are going swimmingly.

We did another sonogram today to see if we could get a glimpse at the baby’s gender.  The kid had it’s back turned to us the whole time, but we could at least see between it’s legs from the back.  Since there was no sign of male genitalia, the doctor is guessing that it’s a girl.  There is still no way to be sure of this, so I’m going to wait YET ANOTHER MONTH before I feel that I know for sure.  So no screaming it from the mountain tops… yet.

I think I might have to break down and get a harness for Ashton.  He’s way too quick and active and has no interest in staying anywhere near his parents.  I have no idea how other parents train their children to stay close, but it seems to have something to do with the child’s desire to not lose his mom and dad.  My kid couldn’t care less, it seems.  I found a really cute monkey backpack, where the tail is actually detachable a strap for parents to hold onto.  For about 10 to 13 bucks I won’t have to worry as much anymore.  I finally reached this decision when we went to Scarborough Faire yesterday and I was by myself with the boy.  With no stroller (because it’s kind of a pain to deal with out there) it was almost impossible to keep him in check.  So… monkey backpack.  They’re actually called harness buddies.  I’ve never liked the idea of putting a leash on a kid, but Ashton is way more active than most, and I can’t keep up with him in my “current state”.

There are several parents who call this lazy.  I would like them to chase my son around for a few hours and then have a chat with me.  It’s not lazy, it’s just desperation.  My favorite comment of all is that you can train a dog to heel, you should be able to train a child just as easily.  How do you train a dog to heel?  I always used a short leash.  Somehow the logic just doesn’t translate there.

Okay I’ll stop my silly rant here.  I know it sounds like I’m trying to justify myself and this decision, and I kind of am.  To myself.  I’ve just been against the idea for so long that I’m having a tiny issue coming to terms with the fact that this might just save my sanity.

This is all for now.  You will know as soon as I do about the parasite and it’s details.

Unmoving

This Monday will mark the half way point for us.  20 weeks.  It can only get more exciting from here, right?

Because the doctor is super paranoid with this pregnancy (Ashton had some problems, putting me at high risk for getting pregnant again) he’s done a sonogram I think every time I’ve gone in.  We had an official one last visit, to make sure the baby is ok and hopefully see the gender.  The baby is either shy, or very very VERY interested in that part of his/her anatomy, because it wouldn’t take it’s hand out from between it’s legs.  And because it was still a little early, we couldn’t see anything.  So the fetus is still an “it”.  I’ll just continue calling it a parasite for now.  It’s fun, because it makes everyone around me crazy when I do that.

I just don’t feel all that connected to this baby.  Not like I did with my last pregnancy.  Maybe I got myself so psyched out in the first couple of months (I was sure that I was going to lose it) that I’ve not been able to get back to that attachment?  I genuinely have no idea.  With Ashton, I could feel how he was doing all the time.  I knew he was a boy long before the doctors did.  There were no surprises until he was actually born, and had been having difficulties.  Even that wasn’t much of a shock.  I went to the hospital because something didn’t feel right.  I was so in tuned with him.

This one?  I just can’t get a feel for it at all.  I know it’s active because we’ve seen on the sonograms how squirmy it is.  But I just don’t feel as much movement as I would have expected.  And I really have no clue about the gender.  I have always imagined myself having two boys.  I would love a girl, but I’ve never imagined having one, and the idea really never crossed my mind.  Now that it’s a real possibility that this baby will be a girl (50/50 at least) I’m not sure how to respond.  I would like to know so I can adjust my brain to the idea of it.  That and so I can clear out all of the boy clothes that we’ve kept behind from Ashton’s wardrobe.  And buy new stuff.  It would also be nice to be able to tell my mother so she’ll stop bugging me about it.  And you thought I was impatient!

On the outside, Ashton is bound and determined to make me insane.  This whole “I’m not taking a nap and you can’t make me” thing is crap.  The bedtime routine hasn’t gotten much better.  The potty training has improved by leaps and bounds, but only when he’s in a good mood, which is not when he’s tired.  So you can see the problem we’re having this week.  My mood isn’t helping things much, because I’ve not gotten a decent night’s sleep in about a week either.  Maybe the kid and I just need a break from each other.

I’ll let you know about the baby as soon as I do.

St. Patrick’s Day Story

We went to Austin this weekend and had a wonderful and exhausting time with my folks, and I will be happy to give you a play by play… later.  For now I have a story to share.

A few years ago Dallas stopped doing their St. Patrick’s Day parade.  Isis and her dancers would dance in it every year, and the last time they did it was my first and last St. Patrick’s Day parade to be in.  I was sad that they didn’t continue it, because it was a lot of fun.  The parade was filled with some fantastic acts, dancers and musicians alike, and I think everyone really enjoyed it.   The next year we heard that Fort Worth would be putting on a parade for the day of green, so we decided to check it out.

It was probably one of the more offensive parades that I’ve ever seen.  Admittedly, there wasn’t much that was Irish about it.  Mostly it was a parade of people riding horses through the street wearing green.  Now, I understand that this was in the Stock Yards, but some other representation would have been nice.  While this was all rather boring after a while, it wasn’t that insulting.  That was right at the very beginning.  The entire parade opened with a gentleman wearing a red kilt.  With a bagpipe.  Playing Scotland the Brave.

If you don’t know why this would or could offend someone, then I’m not going to explain it to you.  I would suggest you go read up on Irish history.  Pay special attention to the bit about their loving relationships with the Scottish.

Edit:  There used to be a family friendly parade that went through part of downtown Dallas.  This is not to be confused with the “parade” that happens at night on Greenville Ave.  This is more of a block party and for adults only.

Pulling Petals Off a Daisy

“He loves me, he loves me not, he wants to have me locked up.”

My brain has leaked out my ears.  There is no other explanation.  I know, I know, “forgetfulness is not uncommon during pregnancy” but seriously?  This is insane.  I forget everything.  The other day for dinner, I tried to fry the potatoes that I was cooking to mash, and put frozen peas on the stove only to leave them there hoping that they would magically cook on their own.  Aaron will ask me if I know where the remote is, the one that I had in my hand about ten minutes ago?  And I end up giving him a look that says he’s lucky that I remember WHAT the remote is, to hell with where.  Everything is escaping me so quickly.

The hearing hallucinations aren’t much better.  I don’t remember getting these at all last time.  In the car the other day, Aaron asked me if I remembered something (again) and when I gave him a blank look he called me placenta brain*.  This would have made sense, but for some reason I heard “Lissa Teh Brain.”  I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was talking about.  Was he calling Lissa smart?  Calling her silly?  Telling me she was much smarter than I am at the moment?  And what the hell did that have to do with our current conversation.  A few seconds later I realized what he actually said, and was relieved that I wasn’t completely losing my mind.  Honestly, if he doesn’t want to divorce me over this pregnancy, then I don’t know what will get rid of him.

I have been rather ill lately, this baby is taking quite a bit out of me.  The main trouble is my lack of energy.  So I have no drive to get anything done around the house, and laundry and dishes tend to pile up.  I can get some of it done when I have help, but I’m getting winded really quickly.  The other issue is that I don’t have the energy to play with Ashton the way I have before.  I think it’s starting to become clear to him that things have changed, because he’s started to act out quite a bit lately.  The worst is at nap time and bed time.  He has taken to literally screaming as soon as his head hits the pillow.  After an hour or so of this, I’m to the point where I want to scream as well.  It’s not going well, but hopefully this phase won’t last long.

Anyone want to take the kid to a park or zoo or something?  Go and wear his ass out.

*Placenta Brain is a phrase that I heard from Dooce**.  I’m not sure if she came up with it originally, but she’s the only person I’ve ever heard use it***.  It has recently become my nick name.

**It’s come to my attention that because of the style and font I use it’s difficult to tell when something is a link.  From now on all links will be in bold print (when I remember).

***Edit: I went and looked it up and apparently it’s everywhere.  Even in the Urban Dictionary.  Just goes to show how much I pay attention.

Pushing Numbers

I turned 29 last year and a phrase has started to work it’s way into my head.  No one (thankfully) has actually used this phrase in reference to me, yet, but it still bothers me.  The phrase is “Pushing Thirty.”

Now I’ve gotten my fair share of old jokes already.  There’s always the best friend pointing and laughing and saying, “Ha ha, you’re old because some high school student didn’t know that song/movie/pop culture reference you just made.”  This is not a sign of my age so much as it is a sign of these kids ignorance.  They must be educated! Sorry, that’s not really the point, just wanted to get that out there.

We never worry about a birthday up until the big Three Zero.  29 is not a scary number.  Nor were any of the numbers before that.  This is really no different, it’s just a marker of how many years you’ve been on the planet.  So why does it worry so many people?  I have never heard of anyone “pushing 25″ or any other age.  No one gets freaked out over their 20th birthday* and that represents a whole 2 decades of life.  So why is it that 3 decades on the planet suddenly makes you old?

We never push any birthdays that don’t end in a 0.  Have you noticed this?  We’re always pushing 30, or 40, and onwards until we die.  And where exactly are we pushing these years to?  Are we pushing them away in general?  Are we pushing them over a cliff?  The days are going to go by at the same rate they always have, so why do we think metaphorically pushing a specific date is going to keep it from arriving on time?

I refuse to push!  I’m simply going to allow the days to come and wash over me.  I have no issues with my birthdays, no matter what number they bring with them.  So this year, in the beautiful month of November, I will proudly be turning… 28.

* Except my mother.  On her 20th birthday she cried and when asked what was wrong she blurted out, “I’m not a teeny-bopper any more.”  I’ve never made any claims that my mother is exactly stable.

Fun With Hormones

Don’t worry.  This is not going to be a post in which I gush for several paragraphs about my first born.  I’m not going to go into detail about how charming, brilliant, exhausting, evil my two year old is.  You already know all of this.  What I am going to do, for once, is talk about what’s going on with me.

Sadly, by me I mean what’s happening inside of me, which is quite a lot of discomfort and stupidness.  A few notes…

I can’t seem to eat much meat.  Hamburgers don’t pose a problem (at least Wendy’s don’t) but the very thought of eating chicken the last couple of days has sent me running to the bathroom.  I made a simple baked chicken with salt and Italian seasoning sprinkled on top the other night and couldn’t get a single bite down.  I had corn and buttered bread for dinner that night.  I was able to eat my slow cooked chicken and dumplings, but that mostly tastes like butter, so that was good.

I can, however, seem to eat things like palak paneer just fine.  This is a curried spinach and cheese dish, and is heavenly (granted it doesn’t feel that awesome afterward. The heartburn is not nice).  I could happily eat a bowl of that with some flat bread all night.  So why is this spice fine, but seasoning that I’ve used since I learned to cook* is making me sick?

My mood swings are actually getting kind of bad.  Poor Ashton is having to get the worst of it.  I’ll go from wanting to bite his head off, to wanting to hug him and love on him and tell him everything is ok, that mommy is just crazy.  Trying to keep from picking him up (not supposed to lift anything heavy for a while) is not helping the situation.  When he doesn’t want to do something, he just collapses into a heap and sits there.  But I said I wasn’t going to go on about him, so I’ll stop.

The mood swings are getting irritating lately, though.  Earlier today I found myself getting all weepy teary eyed over a Gerber commercial.  I remember getting like this with the last pregnancy, but not until I was well into my second trimester.

When I go to the doctor the scale says I’ve lost weight.  I feel like a cow, I’m already showing a little bit, and I’m only 10 weeks along.  This is irritating.  The most painful thing seems to be the scar from my previous c-section.  It feels like it’s stretching (which it probably is) and it’s not the most enjoyable feeling in the world.  It is, however, one I’m familiar with.  I have a sizable scar on my chest that has been there most of my life and it tends to stretch at times (especially when my breasts swell) so the scar pulling is being felt all over.

I’m still having “issues” so I’ve put my self on  semi-bed rest.  I’m moving around as little as possible, and trying not to do anything strenuous.  So since all I do is sit on the couch and watch Ashton play, this is all I have going on and all I have to talk about at the moment.

*To be fair I only learned to cook a few years ago.