Adventures in Mommy-hood

I really have nothing of interest to say here, but I have an amusing story and have not posted in a while, so here goes.

On Saturday the 14th Ashton spent the night at his aunt Judy’s.  There’s no great mystery as to why, so I won’t go into the gory details here.  Aaron went to teach class that afternoon, and as Ashton napped I got his bag prepared for an overnight stay.  In the process I snuck his glow worm out of bed and set it in the side pocket of his bag.  The last I had checked it had still been there.

Aaron came home from class, rested a few minutes, and headed out to drop off the small child while I stayed home and made myself pretty for the party we were going to.  (Some friends were celebrating their 20th anniversary.  And you thought we stayed home and did something naughty, didn’t you?)  We went out, had a great time, and life was good.

The next day Aaron’s parents went and picked up Ash so that we could go and have our real date.  We went and saw Coraline which was awesome and wonderful and much creepier than I expected.  We then went to the in-laws to have dinner and hang out.  On our way out that evening I looked everywhere for Glow the Glow Worm.  She wasn’t in his play room, nor was she in his bag.  Gerry said that she hadn’t seen Glow, and that she was probably still at Judy’s.  We stopped over there (a whole block away) and asked where they thought the toy might be.  They hadn’t seen it either, and didn’t remember it being in the bag.  I spent the whole drive home fretting that we had lost her.  We got home, put the sleeping boy in his bed, and there, sitting on the pillow, was the stupid Glow Worm.  He had seen her in his bag and put her back where she belonged.  Crisis averted.

He doesn’t really need the Glow Worm to sleep, I guess.  It’s become like a security blanket, and at home he uses it as a second night light (his room can get kind of dark).  But I didn’t want to find out what putting him to bed without her would be like.  Thankfully I don’t have to.

I need maternity jeans.  My belly is out growing my pants, and if it doesn’t have drawstrings or elastic bands, I don’t wear it.  The only pair of jeans I really wear anyway have gotten just slightly too tight, and I’ve been wearing them with a rubber band.  I’m tired of rigging my clothing so that it fits.  I have maternity clothes (that I’ve gotten back out recently) but as far as pants go, everything is summer wear.  I have shorts, and Capri’s.  No jeans.  This needs to be remedied.

Published in: on February 23, 2009 at 9:48 pm  Leave a Comment  

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.

Published in: on February 13, 2009 at 9:02 pm  Leave a Comment  

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.

Body Works

On December 29 I was feeling a little bit odd.  I was two days away from my period and something just didn’t feel right.  I honestly have no idea why, or what this feeling was, but something in the back of my mind told me that all was not normal.  We had a rather large night coming up (January 31) and I wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything that I would later regret, so out of curiosity I went to the bathroom, dug out a pregnancy test that had been there a few months (from the last time I thought I was pregnant, probably around August) and proceeded to… well… if you don’t know how they work then I’m not about to explain it to you.

Because I’m insanely impatient I watched the moisture creep along the test and watched as the lines appeared.  This was the kind that shows a blue plus sign, but it was extremely faint.  I genuinely had no idea whether this was a positive result or not.  So, after fretting for a while, I went to the drug store and got another two pack.  I considered getting the digital one, but it’s expensive and I’d only want to spend that kind of money if I was 90% sure I was pregnant (which seems kind of silly).  Because I was only about 75% (and even that might have been a bit high) I got a simpler brand.  This was the kind that showed two pink lines, and to me seemed like it would be easier to read.  I did my thing, waited, and again saw one strong line and one faint one.  This time it was slightly easier to read, but not by much.

I bounced for the rest of the day, and when Aaron came home I told him that I probably wouldn’t be able to drink at the party later that week.  And then I fell into a fit of giggles.  And cried a little.  I told him I still wasn’t 100% sure since I hadn’t gotten a dark line from any test.  He told me to wait two days and use the last one.  I waited one (see? impatient) and still got a much darker line.  I now had three test that all said the same thing, and a period that didn’t look like it was going to start anytime soon.

I made an appointment that week to see the Doctor, and a week later I had an appointment.  On Wednesday I saw the nurse and got all my blood work done.  I made plans to see the Doctor on Friday.  Thursday is when things went bad.  My body seized up and made it impossible to move.  Everything hurt, and I was terrified that things were going wrong.  Aaron came home for a few hours, because I couldn’t move, and I called the Doctor’s office to get advice.  There was no blood, so they weren’t worried (they were going to see me the next day anyway).  If I started to bleed heavily I needed to go to the hospital, but otherwise I should just take it easy.  The pain passed and I never got anything other than brown spotting, and I went in the next day.  They did a sono and couldn’t find a heart beat, but it was still too early to tell.

Over the next four weeks I bled off and on, panicked a few times because I was certain that I would lose the baby, and finally after one particularly bad night had my visit moved up a week.  They did a sono, found a perfectly strong heart beat, and the cause of all my bleeding.  Not far from the baby is a… mass.  The Doctor had a few theories about what it was, and none of them are life threatening or dangerous to me or the baby, but whatever it is it was hemorrhaging.  So I have to take it extra easy for the next few weeks and try to not lift anything heavy or do any really strenuous activity with, um, that part of my body.  Which puts belly dance right out the window.

So if anyone wants to come over during the week and help me out with the toddler that I’m not supposed to pick up, that would be wonderful!