Ugh

So this WAS going to be a blog about why I am not going to have a First birthday party for little Tbill. However, after last night, I now have something NEW to write about. Sooooo, here it goes. (Don't get excited, it's NOT that interesting)I will explain my non-party decision on a later date. Or not. Whatever.

Apparently, my youngest son, the apple of my eye, is a drug addict. Him keeping a crack pipe in his crib is the ONLY explanation for what he did last night.

It was 10 pm, I was at that stage or pre-sleep RIGHT where my eyes started getting heavy and I was taking those 20 second blinks. All of the sudden, I hear little T coughing up a storm (which was obviously him inhaling the CRACK from his pipe) and then start crying. It was one of those cries where I knew he would not just fall back asleep, but needed his mama. So I go in the room where he is just sobbing, which just about breaks my heart, so I lift him up. He has snot pouring out of his nose, all over his cheeks and he felt a bit warm. So I take him to the kitchen where I only have the light over the stove on so I can see what I'm doing. I clean him up (while his brother holds him) and give him a bit of baby Advil. It's a little past 10 pm so Tmoney heads to bed and I go with with Tbill in the rocking chair.

He is sitting on my lap, sucking his thumb and nuzzling my shirt and I'm thinking he's falling back asleep, when all of the sudden he gets a CRAZED look in his eyes. He sits straight up, wiggles himself out of my lap and it is PARTY TIME! I put him back in my lap to try to FORCE him to relax so he'd go back to sleep, but he wasn't having it. He started SCREECHING, and I didn't want everyone in the house to get up to see what was wrong, so I let him get back on the floor to play.

Well, he didn't really feel like playing. He felt like destroying the house. The first thing he did was grab an old magazine that was on the ottoman and start tearing out the pages. He then crawled into the kitchen and started taking out all of the canned food and mixing bowls. Next he went after the garbage cans, so I had to put the baby gates up and lock him in the family room. He pulled all of his toys out of his toy bin and scattered them all over the floor. Randomly throughout the night I would again try to force him to relax and rock him, but he'd only sit there for a few minutes humoring me, before heading back down the hall and banging on the doors.

Finally around 1 am, it seemed like he started to get tired. He sat in my lap and I rocked him until he fell asleep. I got up to go put him in his crib and he woke up again and started screaming AGAIN. So, being exhausted, I decided I would cheat and bring him to bed with me, thinking that would maybe help him fall asleep. It didn't. He couldn't get comfortable in my bed and soon, was sitting on his knees in the middle of my bed SCREECHING like a GD hawk! Ehee woke up and asked what was going on, and I told him "I don't know, he's been acting like a maniac for the past three hours!" So Ehee then tried rubbing his head and rubbing his back and again, Tbill got up and started spitting at us, jumping on us, and kept on laughing and doing his awful hawk screech. Of course, now I am delirious and Ehee and I just start laughing. Like seriously, at this point what else could we do? Ehee keeps asking me what I gave him and I'm like... ADVIL!!! I swear he has had it before and it has never given him an adverse reaction. It must have been the crack.

So at about 1:30 am, Ehee gets up with Tbill and takes him out of the bedroom. I can now hear the screeching coming from the front room and I hear Ehee chuckling and talking to him, but finally around 2 am I was able to finally fall asleep. I asked Ehee before he left for work at 6 am what time Tbill FINALLY crashed and he said at about 2:30 am. I asked him what he did to put him to sleep and he said he just let him destroy the family room. Uhhhh, I thought he had pretty much already done that. Nope!

When I went out there to look, he had taken ALL of the clothes from the laundry basket and scattered them all over the room, he had ripped the magazine pages into little tiny pieces and that was all over the room. There were cheerios everywhere, two bottles on the railing, his shoes, the pillows off the couch, dog toys. It looked like a tiny little tornado had gone through the house. Had I had more than 3 1/2 hours of sleep, I would have thought to take a picture so I could post it. BUT, I didn't. So now I'm at work, completely exhausted, totally useless and just counting down the minutes until I can drive home. I will then find and remove the crack pipe, give the kid a shot of brandy and send him off to LaLa Land so I can hopefully get some sleep.

Gobble Gobble!

Well, I have absolutely NOTHING to say. It is the day before Thanksgiving and I am at work with about twelve other people (in the entire building), and T-money. He, of course, cannot be left home alone so I drug him in with me this morning. I'm praying to the Lord above that the head of legal feels guilty about his vacation, and takes time out to send everyone home early. Here's hoping!

T-bill is getting bigger and bigger every day. It is so funny to watch him learn new things. I swear to you, he knows how to play catch with a ball. He is a physical anomaly and way advanced for his age and NOTHING you can say will make me change my mind. Scientists will do experiments on him someday because of his supreme athletic ability. Okay, MAYBE I sound like a psycho mom, but it's not like I'm putting him in pageants. Yet.

He has learned how to clap, but not very well. He basically slaps the bottom of one hand to the top of his other hand, but hey, we all gotta start somewhere! Also, he is getting braver with his steps, but usually as soon as he takes one tentative step, he falls flat on his face and then is done trying for a while. He needs a rest. You may think, hey, that doesn't sound like a child who is a supreme physical specimen of a baby. Well, it is. I'm pretty sure he CAN walk AND clap, he just refuses to do it in front of others so the media doesn't catch wind of it. He knows it will just be a crazy media/paparazzi frenzy from now on and he, of course, is too smart for that.

So otherwise, everything is about the same. The teenager walks the thin line of life and death every day, with every eye roll and his tone of voice. Ehee is a working machine, although he does take time to ride out on his early mid-life crisis machine when he gets the chance. The only thing I do these days is baby related, so I'm REALLY no fun. Um.. and I guess that is all for today.

I hope all five of you that actually READ this blog have a wonderful Thanksgiving, with or without your families. XOXO

Happy Halloween!!! (yeah I know its November)

Poo Chronicles Part II

How sad is it that I now have two blogs about POO? This one may be slightly worse than the first story. No, nobody got poo'd on, BUT... it still might be worse. So yesterday morning was very busy. I have been exhausted because I don't think my thyroid medication is at the right dose, plus we just had a very busy weekend with a wedding that both Ehee and I were in. The baby got up early and Ehee took him out of his crib by 6 am. Generally, I leave him in there, awake or not, until 6:30 am so I can finish getting myself ready before I get him ready. Yesterday this did not happen; I had to worry about what he was doing while trying to get myself ready. It was hectic to say the least. We moved the high chair into the bedroom so he could be contained while I did my makeup.

So at about 6:45 am (please note I am now running late) I get the pig out of his chair and put him on the bed to get him ready. When I go to change his diaper, he has three little rabbit turds which I was not expecting. I put the diaper to the side, wipe his butt, put some cream on it because it was a bit red, took another clean wipe and wiped his booger nose, put them all together in the diaper, folded it up and took it to the garbage can. I fed him, put his clothes on and we left the house at 7:20 am. LATE.

Cut to later that evening when Ehee is getting ready for bed. I am sitting in the front room with T-money, watching GLEE when I hear profanity coming from my bedroom. "GODDAMNIT! ARE YOU F'ING KIDDING ME?" Uh-oh. I knew I was in trouble for something. Out stomps Ehee MAD, holding out his hand. In his hand, one of the three rabbit turds that had rolled out of the diaper and onto the comforter. Apparently in my rush, I totally missed it and it fell out on HIS side of the bed.

Now I know this is wrong, but I couldn't help but start laughing. And then T-money started laughing. This did not please my already angry husband. "THERE IS POO IN MY BED". Yes, yes there is. I laughed harder. He stomped away and went to bed and hasn't spoken to me since. Now, I know that I was wrong to laugh, and I know that I would be pretty upset had I found poo in my bed, but in the scheme of life, if the worst thing that happens to you is you find a rabbit turd ball on your comforter, I think you have things pretty good.

Just a short update on T-bill. He is now nine and a half months old. He can stand and walk on his knees, he can walk using a little walker device, he can wave and give high five. He is also eating anything you put in front of him and he still has the sweetest little personality. He has gotten to the phase where he will throw a tantrum when I leave his sight, but for the most part, he is a happy little boy. I can't wait for Halloween and his costume! I will update with his pictures then. I hope everyone has a great week and that none of you find poop in your sheets =)

Poo Chronicles

So on Thursday I received a call from Piggy's daycare. Apparently he was throwing up and I had to go get him right away. So I left work, and went to get my sick little pig. Now, T-money never got sick with the stomach flu when he was a baby, so I really wasn't sure what to do for the pig to make him feel better. The only thing I could do was to call Kaiser and speak to an advice nurse. Well, the first thing the nurse had me do was to put my finger on Piggy's tongue to see if it had saliva on it. Okay, so I put my finger in his mouth and literally, the moment I do that, he vomits. All. Over. Me. Not baby spit up, but barf. Everywhere. So I get the instructions from Kaiser on how to keep him hydrated and as we're getting off the phone, the last thing the nurse says to me is "now, don't let him kiss you and make sure you wash your hands so you don't get sick" and again, literally as she is saying that, I feel a grubby little hand go straight into my mouth. Awesome. Let the incubation period begin.

At 7pm, Ehee went out and got dinner for all of us because I didn't have the time or energy to cook with the Pig being so sick and wanting to be held all day. I put the pig in his high chair so I could finally sit down and have some food (I hadn't eaten all day because #1, I had to get weighed at the doctor's office and #2, I had a barfing baby in my lap from 12 pm). All of the sudden we see him pushing like he is trying to poop. Okay, that is normal. He often poops in his highchair. However, this time instead of the sounds of his grunts, we heard bubbling and gurgling. This was NOT a good sign. And then... the SMELL. Ehee is a plumber and he swears that he has NEVER smelled anything that putrid in his life. It was like a heavy fog of poo stank. You couldn't wave it away. It just sat there, clinging to our nostrils. Since Ehee was done with his burrito and I had literally taken ONE bite, I told him "have fun changing that diaper". There was no way I was going to miss another meal.

So Ehee goes to start taking him out of his chair, when we notice that there is poo EVERYWHERE. It is oozing out of his pants, it is on his highchair dripping onto our carpet, it is up his back and up his stomach, and later we would find it on top of his highchair tray. This now became a three man clean up job. Ehee wrapped a towel around the baby and rushed him to the bathroom. I followed, turning on the bath and then running back to the kitchen to get a plastic bag. We both had to undress him to make sure he didn't get poo all over his face when we took off his shirt. T-money then took the diaper to the outside garbage can, while Ehee gave the baby a bath and I went back to scrub the poo off the carpet, the highchair and the trail leading to the bathroom. It was a very exciting evening.

The next day I stayed home with the baby because he was still so sick. Of course, all this time I knew what was coming... I knew the virus was inside me... FESTERING, waiting for it's moment. I woke up at 3 am on Saturday morning KNOWING I was going to barf. I didn't know when, I didn't know where, but it was coming. I couldn't go back to sleep so I went out on the couch and just waited. Luckiily, "My Best Friend's Girl" came on and entertained me. Finally,at 6 am, it came. I was sick as a dog all day Saturday and Sunday but thank GOD, was feeling better by Monday morning.. And of course, everyone knows the best part of a stomach flu is stepping on the scale afterwards, even if it is just a day of no water weight. =)

That is all for now, I will write again this week because my big boy is going to be 9months!! YAY!!

8 Months

Wow, I cannot believe how quickly time flies. It seems like just yesterday my little Piglet couldn't do anything except eat, sleep and poop. Now he is crawling all over the place, using the furniture (or dogs) to pull himself up to a standing position and he FINALLY has his first tooth. Next thing you know he'll be flipping me off when I close the door just like his lovely brother. I don't have much to say right now, but I just wanted to post a couple picture of my now 8 month old Piggy.

End of the day blog... short & sweet

Well this morning I took T-money to his first day of high school. It was crazy because I was thinking it would be no big deal. But, as I pulled up to the school I started getting nostalgic of my first day of high school and how fast it all goes; and then of course I was a mess. I cannot believe that my first baby is three and a half years away from being a legal adult. I cannot believe he is in the home stretch of his primary education and soon will be out in the real world. It really goes by in the blink of an eye. I can still remember him crawling all over me when I would sit on the floor with him, I can remember his CONSTANT crying from the colic he had for his first four months of life. I can remember all the times he would get SO excited that the garbage man was out front picking up our garbage. He would RUN to the front of the house as fast as he could, carrying his stanky blanket behind him and he would jump on the couch staring out the front window. "GARBAGE MAN! GARBAGE MAN!" he would yell. He would do the same thing when he would hear a motorcycle driving by. He would stop whatever he was doing and make a run for the front window: "MOTORGEEKLE" he would yell! And now the same little boy who would watch the sprinklers with the same fascination most children have watching fireworks, is a mini-man, starting off on a whole new adventure called "high school". I mean, if you think about it... you do so much growing and changing in those final four years. Hey, I started off being an innocent baby who had never even KISSED a boy in 9th grade to a knocked up wild child by the end of my senior year. Who knows what the next four years has in store for us. I can only hope that I can reign his little boney butt in and keep him on the right path.
I can honestly say that dropping him off this morning gave me the same bittersweet feelings I had dropping Piggy off for his first day of daycare. I was glad he was going and new it was what was best for him, but inside I know its the beginning of all these changes that I'm not ready for. That is all I have time to write right now, but I'll probably write more later, especially when I find out how his first week goes!

Where did I go?

So recently I read an article where a woman wrote about how now that she was 40, she no longer got cat-called by construction workers, she didn't get hit on at bars and when she looked in the mirror, she saw an image of her former self. She started calling herself "my formely hot self" which I thought was totally interesting because it is SO true. I, however, have a different problem. I'm sure when I'm in my 40s I will look back at my 20s as my formerly hot self, but for now, I just look back on my formerly FUN self.

This morning on my way to work, one of my favorite bands came on the radio from when I was in high school and it made me start thinking; what the heck happened to that girl? I can remember driving around in my dad's Mustang with the top down, smoking cigarettes (not that I miss that), singing at the top of my lungs without a care in the world. I was a rebel... a free spirit. I didn't care what people thought about me, I didn't listen to what others said about me. I was perfectly self-centered and unaware of the world going on around me. I went to strip clubs. I made out with girls in public. I got yelled at by mothers for cursing too much in front of their children. I ate Taco Bell every day for lunch and never gained a pound. Now all I can think of when I eat fast food is... "where is my pepcid?" or "how long do I have to workout burn off the calories in this friggen burger?"

So as I was driving, listening to the sounds of my youth, I began to wonder: when did I become the neurotic mess that I am today? Now I'm the (almost) middle aged woman hating teenagers because they are obnoxious and loud and rude. I'm the woman at the party shushing everyone because I don't want to upset the neighbors. I'm the designated driver. I'm the person who turns down the radio because I don't want to damage my children's hearing. I'm the party pooper. How did this happen? When did I make my final morph from a fun loving wild-child, to a neurotic crotchety old lady? WHEN DID THE FINAL TRANSFORMATION TAKE PLACE?? And here is another question: can I get any part of my youth back?

The fact is, the grouchy neurotic mess that I am today is NOT a fun person, and I am definitely not a fun wife or mom. Now I'm not saying I want to buy my kids beer and show them how to properly egg a house. I don't want them to see me on Girls Gone Wild or see me drink so much I am barfing in the guest room bathroom all night. But, I would like to be a mom who doesn't act like the domestic Hitler. I want my kids to be able to laugh with me and have fun times with me, without me trying to control everything they do. How do I re-learn that a little bit of trouble is okay? How do I reach back within myself and take a small piece of the fun girl I used to be?

I will ponder this as I finish listening to my Bad Religion CD on my Ipod, while I eat granola and start on my 64 oz of my daily water intake.

To wean or not to wean... that is the question

So Wilbur aka Tbill aka Piggy Pudding has officially passed the six month mark. I always said I would breastfeed until at least six months and then I'd be DONE. Well, here we are and Wilbur is showing no signs of wanting to get off the boob. However, with my new diet and exercise program (I will get to that later) my body really isn't producing very much anymore. Basically I have to eat way more to keep it up, which defeats the purpose of the boot camp I joined and any sort of diet. So now of course I feel like I'm being a selfish a-hole if I stop breastfeeding for my own vanity. But really, I would like my body back. I mean, it belonged to him for OVER a year now. I don't drink, I watch everything I put in my mouth because it affects him directly, and I get up a half hour earlier just so I can pump. I love the bonding time it gives us, but last night he nursed for an hour when I got home and an hour before bed because I don't think I was producing enough for him. Ugh. As fun as that may sound... wait, it doesn't even SOUND fun!

Why is this such a difficult decision for me? Why is everything about parenting really about how much guilt you can live with? If I stop breastfeeding will he rob a bank? If I get the wrong bath tub will he become a drug dealer? If I don't get him organic baby food, will he grow a shark's fin? Like I'm really concerned that if I stop, he'll think I don't love him anymore or something... however that's like saying to the people who had trouble breastfeeding and had to go directly to the bottle, that their babies never bonded with them which is absolutely ridiculous. This is too much guilt for me right now. I shall eat a piece of cake, hope the calories up my milk production and figure this out by the end of this week.

Being back at work is more than just failing at completing sentences

Being back at work is the gateway to my own personal hell of food on demand. When I was home, Wilbur did not allow me to really eat very much. He would allow me about 10-15 minutes of free time and in that time, I had to make my food and shove as much of it in my face as I could in the shortest amount of time possible. Otherwise I was holding him, burping him, feeding him every two hours on the dot, or trying to clean the house, do the laundry, the grocery shopping or the cooking. This helped me lose weight.

However, now I am back to work where not only is there a cafeteria downstairs with chefs just waiting to give me sides of bacon, but there is my boss who, if you can remember, wants to someday leave her job as a lawyer and open a bakery. All of this was fine and good when I was pregnant and had an excuse to eat like a sumo wrestler in training, however it is not as much fun when you are trying to lose weight so you can fit into a bridesmaid dress in four months. I'm still debating on if that is a run-on sentence. If it is, you'll just have to deal with it because that is how my brain works these days... in fragments and run-ons.

To make a long story short, I noticed in some recent pictures that my double chin has made her way back to my face. I argued with myself as to if I should get on that scale yesterday. I thought, if you see your weight, you will be discouraged and you won't lose. Then I thought, no, I DO need to see what I weigh or I'll just keep eating! So I hopped on and there they were, the ugly 4 lbs I had been dreading.I have gained 4 lbs in four weeks. Normally, I wouldn't even care, however I am STILL BREASTFEEDING!!! I am still burning off almost 500 calories a day! This means I have CONSUMED MORE THAN A BADILLION EXTRA CALORIES PER WEEK SINCE I HAVE BEEN BACK TO WORK!! If it wasn't so atrocious, it would be hilarious.

It all began with the cookies and brownies my boss brought in to welcome me back, then the ice cream the girls took me to, the chocolate banana cream pie, the two cakes that were brought in as a thank you from the girl who covered my medical leave, the brownies from my boss' son's birthday party! I marched into work yesterday and told my boss "NO MORE GOODIES". I said, it is fine if you want to bring me something small on occassion, but please, don't give me containers full of double chocolate toffee cookies. She said "oh don't you put the blame on me, there is no way it is my fault you gained 4 lbs!" So then I thought, well if SHE isn't taking the blame what could it be. I thought back to the previous night's dinner. What was it again? Oh yes, the giant Costco size hot dogs. Ehee and I made chili cheese dogs AND macaroni and cheese for dinner the night before. Oh yes, I am THAT DISGUSTING. I really DO eat like a trucker!

So yesterday I began my official diet. I am no longer messing around. I had oatmeal for breakfast, apple slices through out the day as a snack, a granola bar, a frozen Weight Watchers lunch and chicken and pasta for dinner (only one serving thank you very much). However, apparently when I told my husband I was on a diet, he really wasn't paying much attention. He came home from costco with a 12 pack of those super chocolate cupcakes, the ones with either the chocolate frosting or the baby pink frosting with sprinkles. My boss, however, DID listen because today when she brought me s'more cupcakes (graham cracker and chocolate batter baked with marshmellows pictured above) she only brought me one. hahaha! So yes, welcome to my food hell. People just randomly show up with cupcakes on days one and two of my diet, right after I tell them I am on a diet!

You are probably asking yourself, why doesn't she just say no? Well, cuz I'm a fat girl and fat girls never say no to cupcakes, that's why we're fat! I'm hoping day three will be better than days one and two! Wish me luck!

Just love this photo

Well, I really don't have much to say today. This photo is a bit older, but it makes me smile whenever I see it so I wanted to post it. I don't know if anyone ever reads this, but maybe someday in a year or two, I'll look back and want to know the crap I was talking about when I was SOOOO exhausted that I could barely type complete sentences. I really didn't think it would be so hard to motivate myself to blog once I had the baby. I really thought I would just hop back into being me. Not so much. Seriously, having this baby has melted my brain. Here is an example: last night I went to the store that is literally across the street from my house for shredded cheese and tortilla chips. It takes me less than two minutes to get there and my entire time going there, I was focused on chips and cheese. I came home with shredded cheese and gummy worms. Exactly.

The funniest part is there are a million things a day that I find humor in, but I cannot write about them in a way that even sounds MILDLY entertaining. Today when I was dropping Wilbur off at daycare, he barfed ALL down the front of my shirt. Not just milk, but he has a cold and I'm pretty sure there was mucus in there too. Normally I would attempt to write a paragraph on how hilarious (yeah, I said HILARIOUS) it was when I got to work and everyone is dressed up (which is very unusual for a Friday) in dresses and pearls, and here I am in jeans, tennis shoes and a purple t-shirt that is stained and scented with baby barf. But instead, the hamster that runs my brain function has stopped for a smoke break. Now he's eating a donut and will probably take a nap before he starts walking again. I imagine my brain hamster to be a lot like Chris Farley.

Speaking of Chris Farley, maybe that is what I should blog about... my DIETING skills. Now that would be hilarious. Here I am breastfeeding, burning off 500 calories a day doing NOTHING, and yet, I eat like a 250 lb truck driver. Instead of losing weight, I'm pretty sure I'm GAINING weight and I'm pretty sure it is because I eat chips, shredded cheese and gummy worms! I will save all that nonsense for another time and another blog. Hope everyone is doing well, and if no one is reading this and I'm only typing to myself, I hope I'm doing well next time I read it =)

Twilight Zone

So Wednesday was my first day back at work. Maybe I should say, Wednesday was my body's first day back at work. I'm pretty sure my brain (even today) is back in my trunk with the stroller and my extra diaper bag.

My day started at 4:15 am. I am a neurotic nut job and was way too anxious to wait for the alarm at 5:30 am. I got up, I pumped and I took a nice long shower. I started thinking, this will be a snap, I'm already ahead of the game! It was a good thing I got up and started getting ready when I did because Wilbur decided to get up at 5:45 am and once he is up, he does NOT like to sit there and watch me get ready. He likes to snuggle and play and if I try to ignore him, he screams bloody murder to remind me of who exactly is in charge. I dropped him off at daycare by about 7:15 am and was on my way. I did not cry, which was a good thing because I was pretty sure I was going to.

I walked into my office not sure if anyone would remember who I was, but luckily they did. They decorated my cube with little "welcome back" signs, they took me out to lunch AND, more importantly, took me out for ice cream. Some of the girls from my old group even got me some flowers and mostly I just spent the day adding security updates to my computer and rebooting.

However, I am still breastfeeding and so I had to take in the experience of the "Mother's Room". The first time I went in it was empty (thank God, otherwise I probably would have never gone back). I went in, I found a comfy chair, got a magazine and did my business. The second time I went back was in the afternoon and it had three other women in there... all double pumping, all with their shirts completely off and all either on their laptops or on their phones at the same time. They don't even hold the pump. It looked like something out of the Matrix or something. It totally weirded me out. I mean, it must have weirded me out because how else can you explain me getting lost on my way back to my desk?

After I left the strange human dairy farm, I was pondering what I had seen. I walked up the stairs to my floor, pump in hand, puzzled expression on my face, and suddenly stopped. Where the hell was I? I took a few steps, peeked around and realized... "this is not my floor". I walked back out to the stairwell and realized it said "3". Ah yes, this is not my floor. I belong on the 4th floor. My floor is earthtones, this floor is as grey as my soul. Thank goodness the rest of my day was spent starting and re-starting my computer. After getting lost going back to my desk, I don't think I would have done very well doing actual work that required actual thought process.

At 4pm I was ready to go. I packed my bags, got my dairy and headed home. Apparently Wilbur was NOT happy with me or Ehee for leaving him at daycare all day. He wouldn't smile or laugh. He basically latched on to his milk supply and went to sleep. The daycare people told me he does get better every day. Apparently I hold him too much so he does not like to be put down when he is there, and considering the fact that he is already 20lbs, it is probably a work health hazard for them to carry him too long. I don't want to put any of these poor women out on disability.

All in all, the rest of the week has gone well. I really wish I could stop shoving food in my fat face, but that is just a part of being back on the job I guess. I don't have any photos to upload today, but I will try to do so soon. I hope everyone is doing well!

One month left...

Well, I literally have one month left of maternity leave and the time is going to go by so fast! Honestly, I didn't think I would mind going back to work. I love my job and I love the people I work with so I thought it would be pretty easy. I didn't realize how hard it would be to leave my baby at a daycare. Literally everytime I think about going, I want to cry. I've even considered moving to TEXAS just so we could afford to have me stay home! hahaha

I guess I don't really have much more to say. I am too sad to say anything really interesting. I will give you a Wilbur update and then be on my way:

At 11 weeks 3 days, he rolled over for the first time. He started doing it quite a bit for the next week, but then he suddenly stopped. I guess he conquered that feat and now is on to something else. He is also starting to giggle. His brother is the only one who can get him going for more than a few seconds. And FINALLY, we got him sleeping in his crib. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. We kept a little blanket in our bed with us for two weeks before and then laid it down in his crib for him to sleep on so it would smell familiar. He cried a little the first night, but has been a champ ever since.

That's all for now! I hope everyone had a great Easter!

St. Patty's Day

TWA will be 11 weeks old tomorrow! It is amazing how quickly he changes and discovers new things. In the past week he has learned to suck his thumb on his right hand and also figured out that he LOVES to look at himself in the mirror! Yesterday he fell alseep staring in the mirror! Just like his mama!! haha... I hope everyone has a safe St. Patty's Day and here are pictures of the fat little Leprechaun we found in our backyard!

PS. I wish I had more time to learn this program so I could make the pictures line up better.

Ten weeks

Well, Wilbur is 10 weeks old today and I thought it would be fun to document his likes and dislikes. That way, I can watch how it changes as he grows!

Things my baby likes:

1. Eating. This boy LOVES to eat! And yes, you may be thinking "all babies love to eat". Yes, that may be true, but do most 8 week old babies weigh 16 lbs? No, they don't. He is in the 100th percentile for weight, and the 86th percentile for height. That makes him my little Danny Devito. He is sooo chunky he has acquired the following nicknames: Fatty Krueger, Fat Chops, Chunky Monkey, Agustus, Angus, and Piggy Pudding. Plus, every time I start to feed him, he looks up at me with his big blue eyes and gives me a huge grin, almost like saying.. thanks mom!

2. Sleeping. Yes, he is fat AND lazy! haha... his favorite thing to do is snuggle up with his mama and take a nice long nap. Wait, maybe that is one of MY favorite things. hmmmmm

3. His mama, his daddy and his bruddah. I mean, how could he NOT love us! All we do is smooch his chubby cheeks, snuggle him and play peek-a-boo! Which, leads me to number 4...

4. Peek-a-boo! He LOOOOVES it! I play with him every morning and he gets the biggest toothless grin on his chubby little face. He obviously thinks it is the greatest thing since breast feeding.

5. Sucking his thumb. It is a new discovery, but one that makes him very happy. He favors his left hand, but I have noticed him trying to suck on his right thumb. He can't quite get it yet and he ends up sucking his knuckle. I will try to attach a better picture when I can, but for now I only have it on my phone.

6. His blankie. My aunt knitted it and whenever I put it on him, he again gives me that big toothless grin that melts my icy heart.

7. Getting his diaper and clothes changed. I do not know why this makes him so happy, but it does!

8. Last but not least, he loves to have his back pat. Any time he fusses, if I put him on my shoulder and pat his back, he will immediately quiet down, rest his head on my shoulder and just chill. If I stop patting, his fussiness comes back right away, but as long as I sit there rocking him and patting his back, he will lay there quietly with happy little sighs.

Things he hates:

1. Tummy Time. Wow.... he HATES it!! He screams and cries until I turn him back over. I try to do five minutes at a time a few times a day, but he starts screaming usually after two. I try to explain to him it is for his own good, but he gives me a little baby finger and continues on with his screaming.

2. His crib. I am trying to get him to start sleeping in there, but so far he's not really having it. The other day the battle lasted almost two hours before I finally gave up and got him out. He won that battle, but I feel confident I will have him out of my bed before he turns 12.

3. Broccoli. It gives him MAN farts when I eat it, so I am saying goodbye to broccoli until at least June.

I can honestly say that having this baby changed me into a giant mush pot. Who would have ever thought that I would laugh just because a baby smiled at me, or that having him sleep on my chest could make me just sit there, content for hours? I am sure I am starting him with bad habits because I always hold him and I let him fall asleep while he is eating and I know that he is going to be spoiled rotten, but I love every moment I have with him. I am going back to work in a few weeks and I just want to spend every second of every day smooching on his fat baby cheeks until I have to be back behind my desk and his new daycare has to deal with all the bad habits I instilled in him! haha!

Short one...

Okay okay... I don't have much to say right now other than I smell like barf, I got pooped on two weeks ago and someone pee'd all over my down comforter yesterday... and it was NOT me or Ehee! But, he is just too cute and he can pee wherever he wants! This is the picture we used for his announcement... LOVE LOVE LOVE IT! I will write more about the adventures of motherhood sometime next week (maybe!)

The Birth Story

Wow... it has been a loooong time since I have had a chance to update this blog! This entry will be the birth story... I warn you now, if you don't like the visual of things like bloody show, mucus plug, cervix, VAGINA then this entry is NOT for you cuz sorry, but child birth is NASTY and so is this story =) You've been warned...

The story begins on December 29th. Wilbur still had shown up. At my appointment the week before, I was dialted to 1 cm and 50% effaced and I had not progressed anymore from the previous week. The doctor decided to strip my membranes and then stretched me to 2 cm and scheduled my induction for the following Tuesday. After she stripped my membranes she told me that that could cause me to go into labor at any time. Yeah, not so much.

Ehee and I arrived promptly at 8 am to begin the induction (which was actually scheduled for 7:45 am). I was put in a room, told to get undressed and the doctor would be in shortly. SOOOO, about an hour later, in comes the doctor to check me. They want to see how far I have progressed since my last appointment because that will determine how they induce me. They check. No progress... as a matter of fact, I actually went BACK to being 1 cm dialted. Who does that? The doctor told us that they couldn't put me on the pitocin until my cervix was ready, so they had to make it dialate. They inserted a little pill or something on it and told me it would cause contractions and in four hours they would check to see if I had dialted. Four hours came and went and NOPE, no change. So, they inserted another one... four hours came and went again, and NOPE, no change!!

The doctor told me I could keep having the pill inserted, but at this point they wanted to insert this little tube into my cervix. At the end of the tube was a balloon that they would fill with water. They would then come in every hour or so and pull it a little and this would manually dialate me to four cm. Once I reached four cm, it would fall out and I would be ready to start the pitocin. Of course, this evil little tube would cause much worse cramping and contractions, but it would be faster than the stupid pills. So, I went for it. Please keep in mind I am now 8 hours into being induced, having contractions every few minutes, but nothing is happening down there. I was ready for it to be OVER. So at about 7 pm, they inserted that evil little tube. Not fun. I won't get into all the details, but let's just say when I hit four cm, the tube did NOT fall out and instead there was a lot of blood and I thought I was going to die and the nurse had no idea what was going on and its only thanks to the doctor that they realized I had finally dialted to four cm and was ready to be put on the pitocin. So, at 11 pm the doctor comes in ready to start the pitocin. At this time, I also got the epidural because I knew I would need to sleep at some point if I was going to push this sucker out. Ahhhh.. that is the final comfortable moment I would have.

At about 5 am on December 30th, another doctor came in and hooray... I was finally dialated to eight cm and was almost fully effaced. The doctor said he was going to break my water and once it was broken, and I quote "this is going to go really fast now!" Ehee asked if he could run to Starbucks to get coffee before I would start pushing and the doctor said NO. Once the water was broken it would be ANY MINUTE. So, the doctor tries to break my water. Didn't happen. He asks the nurse for a new set of tools. Still nothing. Apparently instead of a water bag, I had a leather satchel and it was NOT breaking. It took almost 15 minutes and it was NOT comfortable. He basically had to get those knives they advertise on tv that can saw through nails to break my water. Ginzu knives!

So an hour later the doctor comes in to check on me. I am having contractions every minute and they are thinking I am going to be ready to go. Can you guess what happened? Well, one side of my cervix was fully dialated, and the other side was still at an eight. An hour later they came back again, same thing; contractions every minute, no progress on one side. Apparently even though I am having contractions every minute, they are useless. They came in to insert a monitor to measure the contractions and see why they weren't working because the external monitor was telling them nothing. Unfortunately, the lady who put it in didn't put it in correctly and an hour later they had to re-do it. The reason I tell you this is because I believe that lady is the reason the NEXT thing happened.

Another hour went by and they came back to check me yet again and I had a fever. Not only that, but my cervix had actually begun to swell and I was back to 8 cm all around. Infection! YAY!! I blame the idiots who kept INSERTING their hands and tools in me over and over and over, hence why the part above is important. So anyway, they took me to the carving station, re-drugged me, pinned me down and began to cut this stubborn baby out. Of course, they didn't realize how big this baby was... they had predicted between 8 and 9 lbs. He was bigger. They started having issues getting him out because he was bigger than expected. Ehee swears that at one point he looked up and saw a small Asian woman jumping up and down on my chest trying to push him out.

Finally, I feel a lot of pressure and then a release; and then the sound we had been waiting for... the cry! Of course, it didn't sound like a newborn cry, it sounded like a 12 year old crying. They call Ehee over to take a look and to get the weight on video... 10 lbs 1.2 oz! No wonder I had stretch marks on my chest from this kid!

Unfortunately at this time, things took a turn for the worse for me. They couldn't stop the bleeding from my uterus. Apparently when you start to lose a lot of blood, your heart rate speeds up to compensate so all of the sudden, Ehee hears my heart monitor start speeding up and the doctors getting more serious. He comes over to me and the next thing I know he is slapping me in the face! He thinks the reason I am shaking and my eyes are rolling in the back of my head is because I am dying... he doesn't realize that the reason I am shaking is because of the epidural and my eyes are rolling because they gave me a super duper pain killer! So I am trying to rest and closing my eyes and this fool is yelling at me and slapping me in the face. I tried to tell him that if the doctors didn't want my eyes closed, THEY would tell me to keep them open, but I think it sounded something like....sdigodfgi aisodgh aiohig aoishdg hoasidgh. The doctors obviously started getting annoyed with Ehee's presence in the room, so they handed him the baby and made him go stand in the hall, WHICH, if I would have been in my right mind I would NOT have allowed because Ehee looked like he was about to pass out!

Finally, I was sewn up. They gave me another main line IV in my arm to pump me full of fluids to help my blood volume and they started talking about getting me a transfusion, but all I was focused on was seeing the baby. I still hadn't seen him! They put a bundle of blankets with the baby on my hospital bed to wheel me back to my room, but again, I still couldn't see him. When they got me back to the room, they immediately took him and put him under the warming lamp and started pumping me full of fluids and antibiodics.

We decided to let family come in for a few minutes to see the baby because I was definitely not up for visitors but I knew some people had driven a long way for the birth and I didn't want them to go home without seeing him. Ehee took a picture of the baby and brought it to me so I could see what he looked like, but it wasn't the same. People started trickling in and anytime it looked like someone wanted to hold him, I said that no one was allowed to hold him until I got to hold him.

After what seemed to be hours, but was probably more like one, they put up my bed a bit and brought the baby to me. I'm not going to be lame and go over each emotion, but it was definitely overwhelming. They wheeled us to our new recovery room where I would spend the next four days laying in bed and trying to build up enough blood volume so they would finally let me stand up. It was the most miserable days of my life. They wouldn't let me shower because of the staples, they wouldn't let me stand up because of the blood loss, they were pumping me full of fluids and antibiodics and Iron which left me dehydrated and swollen all the way up to my shoulders and WAY constipated. My legs looked like tree stumps and I am not exaggerating. I don't think I will EVER post pictures because they are horrifying, but the only way I can describe it was it looked like I was wearing a fat suit. The nurses were great for the most part and helped with the baby as much as they could. Ehee was fantastic! I can honestly say he went above and beyond all expectations I had for him. I will always be thankful for how well he took care of me the first few weeks I was home.

So that is the end of the birth story.I will try update you with the adventures of Wilbur and my day to day battles with baby barf, poop and screaming sooner rather than later but let's get real, it took me eight weeks to finish the birth story! haha

PS. As a footnote, they told me later I had lost 2000 ml of blood which is roughly two liters which is roughly 40% of your blood volume. Also, thanks to all the iron they made me take, I didn't drop the kids off at the pool for 10 days. I'm sure none of you would have been able to live if you didn't know the ending to that! HA!