pregnancy 101...

Mike and I were talking about have a 3rd baby again. We go back and forth all the time. I say yes, he says no. He says yes, I say no. Then I noticed two of my neighbors are pregnant with their 2nd babies. Two words: baby fever. Then Mike reminded me about how much I hate pregnancy. And I mean hate. I love the beautiful gift at the end, but the 9 months leading up to it suck. You read all those books. Blah, blah, blah. None of them actually tell you what to really expect. This is what they don't tell you...

1. Your vagina never looks the same. I'll leave it at that.
2. Your boobs never look the same. Forget the big, perky 18 year old boobs. After kids (after breastfeeding or lack of), your boobs deflate like little balloons. Saggy, deflated boobs. Sad looking little boobies.
3. When your pregnant, you have to go up a size or two in undies. WTF?
4. Your ever growing belly itches like you contracted some nasty rash from a dirty bathroom. All you ever do is I-T-C-H. Itch, itch, itch. And you look like a dog scratching for fleas when you itch.
5. Yes, you may get the pregnancy glow, but your hair falls out after pregnancy. In clumps. Lots of clumps. Gross.
6. Sex sucks. It's uncomfortable. Your husband is weirded out and all he really wants is a blowjob. No position seems to really work and all your hoping for is an early finish. It's hard to feel sexy with a large belly.
7. Eventually, you can't see anything below your belly button. Shaving is nearly impossible, forget trying to give yourself a pedicure, and just go Brazilian.
8. No sleep. Being pregnant is uncomfortable and it's nearly impossible to find a good sleeping position. You end up spending the night tossing and turning and getting up to pee 3-4 times a night. If you're a belly sleeper - think again.
9. Shoes are uncomfortable. Just wear flip-flops. They're the only thing that fit and feel good.
10. Heartburn. Lots of heartburn.
11. Hormones! Pregnancy makes you irrational and emotional. You spend alot of time crying. Crying over commercials. Crying over spilt water. Crying. Crying. Crying. Why? Crazy ass hormones.

Hmm. Why don't they tell you this stuff in books?

one fricking week...

Holy hell - it's been a week. To break it down...

Oliver got Lennon's virus from the week before. Two days of a high temp. Cranky toddler means miserable parents. We FINALLY got rain. Woo-hoo. With the rain and sickness, we decided to paint the house after living here for 4 years. My mother-in-law promised to watch the kids. At the last moment, she was "too busy". Don't get me started on how someone who doesn't work can be too busy to see her grandkids. So we painted with two kids. Oliver kept himself busy with the Wii. Lennon did not. I'll leave it at that. Oliver's 4th birthday was on Wednesday. We took a break to go to the Children's Museum. It was fun, but apparently it's where every single stay-at-home mom goes at 10:30AM. Thursday was Oliver's check-up. One word: shots. Friday and Saturday we spent the day trying to put the house back together and clean up (because we also have family coming over to celebrate ONE more day for Oliver's birthday) all while Lennon came down with another virus or ear infection or throat infection or who the hell knows what. Saturday night, she spent midnight to 5AM screaming. And I mean, SCREAMING. She stopped screaming and slept in that time frame for maybe 30 minutes. No sleep for anyone (except Oliver - thankfully). She finally fell asleep sitting up in a chair (because she has a terrible stuffy nose) at 5AM and woke up at 8:30Am.

I am tired. I am cranky. I am exhausted, physically, emotionally, and mentally. I am ready for this week to be O-V-E-R.

happy 4th birthday...

Wednesday was Oliver's 4th birthday. I'm amazed by how fast it all has gone. He's so big now. So independant. So funny. So silly. So boyish. I held him quite a bit on Wednesday, remembering the day I gave birth. Retelling him the moments. He kept telling me, "I'm not a little baby mommy". But, he's still my little baby. Always and forever. Happy 4th Birthday Oliver. I love you.

lesson learned...

The other night we bribed Oliver with ice cream for a hair cut. Granted, he doesn't scream in pain and yell "ouch" every time you touch his head, it's still a task that takes a lot of convincing on our part. Anyhoo. We finished with his hair cut. He agreed that he looked handsome. We left for ice cream at 8:00pm. Ice cream was yummy and everyone was happy. We headed over to Target to pick up a few items (yeah right, a few items at Target always end up costing you $125). Somehow I manage up in the dressing room with a cute pair of shorts. Sadly, they didn't fit. I leave the dressing room to hang them up and there on the rack is hanging a cute bra. Oliver takes his hands and squeezes both cups and yells "boobies, boobies, boobies"! In my head I'm thinking... Oh. My. God. Did my child just say that? Out loud? I quickly lean in and whisper "don't say that Oliver". Then a young girl leaving the dressing room at the same time busts out laughing and he goes at it again even louder, "boobies, boobies, boobies"! At that point, I just grab his arm and run off to meet Michael and Lennon in utter embarrassment. Of course, Michael has heard none of it because Lennon is having one of her Exorcist screaming moments and trying to climb out of the cart. Ahh, parenthood.

Lesson learned: Don't take 2 kids to Target at 8:30pm after eating ice cream.

new blog title...

I've been thinking about changing my blog title for awhile. Something that fits me and my life a little better. But there's no way you can sum up a mother's life in a nutshell or in one sentence. Impossible. My brain is churning and I'm thinking hard. Gotta get creative. Get back to ya.

love...

Michael just told me that he wants to be the first guy that his daughter falls in love with. I'm speechless.

heath, shmealth...

I just a news story about how skinny jeans were bad for your health. Wearing skinny jeans could cause gastro-intestinal problems. Excuse me? My health is not a concern if I look f*cking fabulous in a pair of jeans.