10 weeks to go

I am 30 weeks pregnant tomorrow. What does that mean? We are on the home stretch. And it couldn't have come sooner.

I cannot sleep. I want to hire someone to massage my hips at night. And my feet. Hell, while I'm at it, my hired night-time masseuse can massage my hands, shoulders, and cramping calves while they're at it. I sleep on a man-made-extra bed. I have a pillow under my hips, another between my legs, and 2 under my head to prop me up so I can breathe. Oh and pregnancy-safe nose meds to keep me from dying from lack of oxygen. Literally. Not exaggerating. Then I have Bauer pressed up right against me, turning my already over-heated pregnant body into a flaming oven, so I also sleep out of the blankets, with as little clothing as possible to not only keep the night-time spiders from screaming in terror at the sight, but also to keep from opening all the windows and freezing the rest of my family out... and said spiders.

Oh how I wish I could open the windows.

I have 10 weeks to go. Aryn was 10 days early. This kid could either be earlier as well, even earlier than Aryn, right on time, or late. I am aware of the situation. There is no sugar-coating this. I know it could be a long time until I can sleep and breathe through my nose for the first time in 9 months.

In the meantime, I have began waddling. Yes, waddling. With Aryn, the waddle didn't start until well into my 30-weeks... most likely closer to 34 or 35. Not this time. This time, it started at 27 weeks. My hips hurt when I stood up from my chair, only to waddle into the kitchen. Now, I waddle everywhere. My legs have 'naturally' turned outwards and I now strut like a duck. I'm a creature from Narnia - walk like a duck, breathe like a bulldog, size of a cow, and the temper of a feline.

Ahh the temper. Don't cross me. Say ONE WORD about how "big you are", and be prepared for Evil Eyes. As a feline, if I had claws, you would no longer have a face. I am well aware how huge I am. I notice it every day I try to put my mascara on because I can't reach over the counter to see closer, as I have 30 pounds of stomach in the way. Or how I am pricing out a crane to help me roll over at night - because, you know, carrying a huge stomach, plus a pillow between your legs, and pushing a 300-degree 20-lb dog over, is a 3-man job. And Ryan is busy snoring next to me, so he's no help.

And my beautiful red-headed tornado is no help. She wants to play. she wants me to sit on those tiny, plastic, bright green chairs and play with Play-Doh. Remember my Playdoh post? How I was all, "I'm the best mom ever and Playdoh is fantastic and blah, blah, blah"?? Well, I hate Playdoh. It's everywhere. There's hardened Playdoh in my carpet, all over the table, in the tricycle (because why wouldn't she keep playdoh in the tricycle?), in the fish tank, in Bauer's beard, in my keyboard.

It is, literally, everywhere.

The creators of Playdoh should be shot. I should be shot for buying 8 containers of it. And leaving it out in the open for her to see. Every day.

And she wants to run. She wants to jump. She wants to go outside for walks. Oh, it's also -300C outside. With snow. And freezing wind. And no chance to allow my toddler to run around outside in our backyard because this is the world's longest winter.

LONGEST. WINTER. EVER!

And now we have runny noses and sinus headaches so there's even less chances of sneaking out of the house and allowing her to run through Walmart, making a mess, and grabbing random items to put in random people's shopping carts. Thanks to us, Walmart has an all-time record sales of tooth brushes and staples. You're welcome.

But we're in the home stretch. In 10 weeks, I will not be able to sleep for other reasons - a crying baby, an awake-in-the-middle-of-the-night toddler, a pissed off dog who's angry I did this to him again, and a husband who actually has the nerve to ask if he can sleep downstairs because, you know, he has to "work in the morning."

Just try that one, buddy.

We're in the home stretch. Baby snuggles and soft blue sheets are so close, I can smell them both. I can also smell stinky dog right now though, so ... what do I know?

Baby Boy Update

Welp, time for another update!

Today we had another ultrasound. Unfortunately, first we experienced the perfect storm: my mom decided to go to Montreal, my dad had a doctor's appointment that he couldn't reschedule, my friend who normally takes Aryn was busy, Ryan's parents couldn't make it, and therefore, we were "stuck" having to bring Aryn.

Note to self: BIG MISTAKE.

She is a very active, easily bored toddler. She hates everything other than big open rooms with lots of room to run around in. She hates other kids playing with the available toys. She does not like the available Winnie the Pooh videos, and gets angry that "WoodyBuzz" isn't available to watch. Oh and our portable DVD player, which was purchased literally 1 month ago, apparently broke. Literally just stopped working. Today. Of all days.

So she was a bit of a terror. All she wanted to do was play with the ultrasound machine and threw 18 fits in the 35 minutes we were in there because neither us, nor the tech, would let her play with it.

Fun times.

Anyways, we found out today that baby boy is a-OK. His insides are still flipped around, but they checked out his bowel and intestines and there is no reason to believe that anything is obstructed. My fluids are the same as last time, and he's already a little over 2.5lbs. He's doing fantastic.

We are officially off of "high risk" and we have a so-far green light to be able to give birth at the same hospital we had Aryn in, which is good for me because it's the closest hospital to our town, and with how fast labour hit me with Aryn, that extra 25-35 minute drive to the Foothills Hospital was terrifying.

In 3 weeks we go back for another ultrasound and meet with the neo-care unit from the Laugheed, who will assess the situation and decide if I can continue seeing my doctor, or be referred to the natal specialist from the Laugheed, but there are no indications that that's the route they'll decide on. I should be in for a very normal, natural birth, just like with Aryn.

Praise God!!

So that's the update!!

Play-doh

Before I had kids, I knew that I would be one of those moms who made all of my kids' food from scratch, make toxic-free paint, feed them only organic foods, and wash their clothes with the most gentlest of homemade laundry soaps.

Then I had a kid. 

We use Tide. Chemicals-added. 

We eat goldfish crackers. A lot. And Kraft Dinner. And hot dogs. 

And we bought the on-sale 4-pack Play-Doh.

It's been a long winter. I am hating this winter. Both Aryn and I want to run outside and just play. Or... if we're being honest, I want her to play outside while I sit on the deck with a Mike's Hard Iced Tea. Mind you, I'm pregnant, so that's not feasible at this point, but this baby is bound to come eventually, right? 

So in an attempt to keep her entertained one particularly snowy, gross winter day, in MARCH, I brought out the Play-Doh. And I am angry with myself for not doing it sooner!!

And she was soooo happy. 

I am aware that this photo is not in focus. It's literally the only photo I got of her face. I totally forgot to focus on her face!!

She made a lot of animals, even though I couldn't tell what any of them were. She may not have been impressed with my lack of knowledge on what she was making, but she was proud of her creations. 

 

And we listened to Raffi while we played. Yes, good ol' 1990's Raffi. She loved it, and was impressed that I knew all the words. 

She was so enthralled with the whole experience. A few days later, and she is still asking to play with the Play-doh, and has become a snake-making pro (which, they all end up in the back of her tricycle, and then I forget about them there, and they dry out.)

My creation; Our Family. You can all bow down to me!

Discipline

To be perfectly honest, and all jokes aside, I fear for the future of mankind, filled with adults who have never been disciplined, who have received awards just for participating, and have zero attention span due to increased technology.

That being said, I praise Aryn just for being super cute and I give her rewards like candy for peeing on the potty. What's that going to teach her? I'm fairly certain her teachers aren't going to give her candy every time she goes to the bathroom at school.

We are low-key disciplinarians. We are not opposed to spanking, but we have never experienced a situation where spanking would be warranted. Sure, she's been bad, but it's been nothing a few seconds on the stairs (her time-out spot) hasn't cured.

And I have to admit, the post-time-out hugs and "sowwy" is kind of awesome.

I've seen both sides of the spectrum - the mom who believes any kind of discipline is being a "bad mom" and follows the "positive parenting" approach. You know, the mom whose kid is flipping out or hurting either herself or another kid, and instead of picking said kid up and reprimanding them, she calmly strokes their kids' hair and explains to her - calmly - that that behaviour is perhaps not the best reaction to a situation. I am the mom watching this, rolling my eyes, and quietly praying that that kid doesn't amount to anything past a McDonald's employee.

And then there are the parents who believe in corporal punishment. Where anything done wrong first gets a time out and then the mother of all spankings. Yeah, that one is fun to be around. You just stand there, mouth agape, going against all of your "I Shall Not Judge Another Parent" philosophies and then you get the "you're not my kids' parent" speech from said parent and you have to accept that everyone parents differently, but you take note that you will never parent like that parent.

We fall somewhere in the middle, I would say; solely because we don't physically reprimand our child at this point in time. Which is not to say spanking is wrong: both my husband and I were spanked as children, and we have both grown up to be pretty responsible people who know right from wrong and don't have any ill feelings towards our parents because of said discipline. I honestly don't remember any spankings and I don't cower at a raised voice, despite what some "psychologists say".

My husband used to get disciplined with a wooden spoon. That ended when he grabbed the spoon from his mother and ran away from her, forcing her to laugh at the situation. Mind you, he was 26 at the time...

Ok, I'm kidding. But that really did happen!

Regardless of our take on discipline, today I have never wanted to be a "spanking parent" so much before. Which is not to say I wanted to physically harm my child - believe me. I was just running out of ways to discipline her and I was searching for something else.

This situation actually started yesterday... with a very stubborn, refuses-to-listen two year old who wanted to run, run, run all around Costco, despite her cold. Even with bribery of a new movie (which she didn't get!), it was awful. Then we went for lunch at the food court and she threw up everywhere. In the middle of the food court. At noon.

Everywhere.

In her defence, she has this awful cough and she couldn't stop coughing (due to running away from me 18,000 times) and she must have gotten over-worked and her little body just couldn't handle it. But afterwards she wouldn't nap and was grumpy and just pain ol' pissed off for the rest of the day.

Bed time was early last night.

And then today, our day started off bad. Aryn was up at 5:30am, talking and laughing in her bed to herself. I went in there, asked her to please be quiet, and to wait for her new monkey clock to open his eyes before she got out of bed (monkey clock was set for 6:30am).

She wasn't quiet, but she stayed in her room, lights off, door closed, until 6:45am. Then she opened her door, happily called out for me, and came into our room.

Covered in poop.

And by "covered in poop," I mean covered in poop.

*cue two distressed parents quickly jumping out of bed at the speed of light*

Turns out our potty training has hit a new high. This kid knows she's not supposed to poop in her underwear (or, as she was wearing, her diaper). So, she took off her diaper.

Sat down on the carpet.

And pooped.

Why she didn't ask us to go to the bathroom, I can only assume is 100% my fault for constantly telling her it's still sleep time when she wakes us up at ungodly hours. Perhaps, instead of saying, "Go back to bed!" at 5:30am, I could instead make her go to the potty and then put her back to bed. But my brain doesn't function at 5:30am. After a night of leg cramps, needing 2 arms to roll over (and bring the pillow between my legs with me), and having to go to the washroom 3 times a night, 5:30am is the worst time to be waking me up. Mama needs her sleep.

But that's not an excuse, because toddlers who are learning to potty train should get dibs on when they wake up. But taking off their diaper and pooping on the carpet is not the way to go about doing that.

So there I was, at 6:45am, giving my kid a shower while her dad cleaned poop off the carpet, then ran downstairs to unthaw our carpet cleaner that was in the garage all winter (which, btw, I still need to bring upstairs and wash the carpet... I wish I had a maid).

And it got worse from there.

She was grumpy. She threw fits for no reason. "Aryn, do you want juice or milk for breakfast?" *freak out* "Aryn, do you want to watch a movie during breakfast?" *freak out* "Aryn, can you let Bauer outside?" *freak out*

So then we went to Auntie Aleesha's house for coffee. Within an hour, she'd had 3 time outs for pushing Hunter. Then, Auntie thought it was hilarious that Aryn pronounces "frog" like the big ol' "F-Word" (which, in all honesty, really is friggen hilarious), brought out a frog book to listen to a 2-year old drop F-bombs, to which Aryn apparently didn't appreciate, so she took the book and threw it across the room as hard as she could. Then she threw a tantrum. On the floor, rolling, kicking, screaming.

That was the second last straw.

So I picked her up, told her we were leaving (*freak out*) and carried her, kicking and screaming back to our house. I laid her on the couch, turned on Disney Junior (oh, how I love thee) made her lunch, and when she threw her next fit because I wouldn't let her eat the entire jar of pickled beats (last straw), I carried her - kicking and screaming - upstairs to bed. Where she closed her eyes instantly, said, "Nap, mommy," and I left.

Perhaps she's stir-crazy. It has been 14 months of winter (er... 6 months... but still...). Perhaps I'm stir-crazy. Maybe she's acting out because she's aware of her impending doom of becoming a big sister. Maybe she eats too much sugar.

She woke up at 2:30, and peed her bed. I'm off to start cleaning. Wish me luck.

My family sucks

Pregnancy does wondrous things to your body.

While pregnant with Aryn, I pretty much got to wear all my regular clothes. I bought pregnancy pants - jeans, shorts, capris, and wore all of my normal "under clothes" and shirts. I am not a fan of pregnancy clothes, particularly the shirts with the ribbon that goes above your belly and ties in the back.

Which brings me to my next point.

As I've said before, this pregnancy has been so much different than Aryn's. I was sicker, for less time, I am craving salt, I get contractions easily, and I am not as tired as I was with Aryn. I am also carrying this kid much different than Aryn.

Case-in point: my underwear don't fit any more.

They roll down under my belly.

I wore my same undergarments the entire pregnancy with Aryn. This time around, I had to run to Walmart and... *gulp*... I bought size "large" underwear.

For some, this may not seem like a big deal. It didn't seem like a big deal to me, either. I'm pregnant. There's a natural order to things.

Then I threw them in the wash.

Preface: Ryan does the laundry in our house. I used to, and then he took over after Aryn was born and we never went back. It's fantastic.

Ryan pulled the first pair out of the basket and exclaimed, "When did we get parachutes?"

And, "Aryn, look - mommy got you a new snowsuit!"

And, "Are these for me?"

And, "You could wrap a baby in these bad boys!"

What a jerk.

Second load of laundry was today. Aryn was "helping" Ryan fold.

Aryn pulled out a pair of my brand new underwear, and exclaimed, "Ew."

My family is a bunch of jerks.