Mom Uninterrupted

I escaped to write.  This is where I can be found when my busy brain and I sneak an uninterrupted moment.  As I type seated in what was our quiet dungeon-like little home office, my dear hubby has entered the room and is now seated on the floor playing his new banjo (he likes toys), our 7-year old has left his bed due to said resonating banjo being too loud and as a result, he is now getting an impromptu banjo lesson when he should be asleep, a tucked in 5-year old is performing a show tune in the distance most likely with the puppet creatively fashioned out of a cup and a skewer that she demanded I tuck in beside her, and a cranky teething baby we're too soft-hearted to Ferberize is imitating a Navy Seal as he crawls around the room threatening to push the power button on my PC with his curious chubby little pointer finger. 

Whew!  That was one run-on to be proud of (such is my life - a big rambling, run-on).  Simply put - I am a mom.  It's my #1 job, and my kids are my life.  I am so thankful for them and the never ending excitement and challenging curve balls they throw my way.

This clearly is not an "uninterrupted" moment, perhaps I will find one tomorrow.  Until then, duty calls.  The brood needs tending to, and a deserved hour of mindless TV fluff with dear hubby awaits me before hitting the hay after yet another a long, rambling, run-on day.

Okay, here I sit again.  It's exactly twelve hours later.  I gained six hours of sleep that was not uninterrupted.  At 4:00 a.m. I failed to instate the Ferber Method once again.  I made a bottle in the dark and fed my little chunky monkey that woke me up with his hungry cry as dear hubby sawed some major redwood logs.  I then snuck peeks at my other two sleeping monkeys for the second time since they had laid their pretty little wild monkey heads to rest.  

This is my favorite time of day - the time when I really take an uninterrupted moment to just stare in awe at what my dear hubby and I somehow managed to create.  For all of their inherited quirks, our kids are pretty darn perfect and downright angelic as they sleep.  These uninterrupted moments are what fill me with the energy and the patience required to get through the hectic days of being a parent and wife - juggling schedules, changing diapers, attempting working part-time, pseudo cleaning, refereeing, summer "teaching," cooking (& burning) food my family may deem “gross”, cleaning some more, etc.  All the while I am supposed to be taking care of myself by pretending to be a gym rat wielding my dusty gym membership card.

How serendipitous - once again I was interrupted.  This time it was by a text from a fellow rambling mommy asking me to please bring her a bottle of water as she must have accidentally put hers in her daughter's lunch as she scooted her off to dance camp along with my little girlie this morning.  I am supposed to meet this mommy friend at the gym for - get this- "Interval Training."  I can't even properly prioritize in an effort to maintain my own intervals  so as to accomplish tasks within the confines of my own home - how am I supposed to use intervals to train my body to be rid of its spare tire publicly or find the time to do so?  Naturally I am late...

I'm back…again.  So I sighed a little, took another break from writing, donned my gym rat attire, woke my smallest sidekick from his morning nap, and managed to gain the gusto to attend the dreaded class.  En route I received a text from my mommy friend that the number of children in the nursery was approaching maximum capacity.  Oh, no!  I have to smile a little as I hear evil laughter from the horned guy on my shoulder quipping, "No gym for you!  I order you to lounge poolside with your baby and snacks.  You deserve to sweat in the sun not in a gym with all of those mirrors & skinny minis."   And that is exactly what happened.  

At some point the winged and haloed figure on my other shoulder sang out something like, "You're a good parent.  There's no need to risk all of those tots trampling your baby while he sort of crawls on that grungy nursery floor.  After all, your mommy friend just told you the nursery worker was eating breakfast.  Would she leave her beloved yogurt to save your baby Seal from dirty Crocs and germy toys in his mouth?  Go sit by the pool."  Amen, wise little angel.  The pool visit was virtually drama-free except for my 7-year old needing a bandage on one of his "nickels" (A.K.A. nipples), because it had a tiny scratch from the float he must have rode around the lazy river in nearly 40,001 times.  You bet I put Lanolin on that thing, bandaged it up, gave him a hug, and his nickel is fine now.

I returned from that pool outing momentarily refreshed, but another outing added more drama to my day.  Mommy friend and I bravely decided to take our troop out to lunch as a "special treat" after their morning of camp and what not.  I can tell you nothing about this lunch outing was “special”, and the only treat was the fried dough covered in powdered sugar that arrived on the buffet just in time for our dessert.  My seemingly feral children belched, climbed under the table, blew bubbles in their drinks, tickled their friends causing an accidental head bump and tears, fussed about the "icky sauce", etc.  It really wasn't surprising to me that this behavior ensued.  Meanwhile, the Seal was happily covered head to toe in Alfredo and broccoli.  That made for fun clean up and will make for some fun diaper changes later...
 

I realize that I am lucky to be savoring yet another brief uninterrupted moment as I sit here typing the remainder of this blog post.  I should be working or taking care of one of the many unattended chores at our home at the moment while my kids are momentarily entertained, but I am selfishly indulging in my free therapy - writing.  Besides I detest ironing, and the dust will only continue to win the battle, especially on that lousy gym membership card.

As the determined Scarlett O'Hara famously said:  "After all, tomorrow is another day."  I am so thankful that it will be.  I think back on today, and I know tomorrow won't be uninterrupted.  I am thankful for that, too.  For all of its cons this mom gig is full of more pros than anything else.  Parenting is absolutely the best gig out there.  Almost on cue, I hear the little guy waking up from his second nap (must be nice…).  I can't wait to get him out of that crib and smother him with mommy kisses.  I will ramble on again next week, dear reader.  Until then, enjoy as many uninterrupted moments as you can, but also take joy in those not so uninterrupted moments (even the moments that fluster you the most as a parent).   Your kids are worth every uninterrupted second and then some.

 

 

 

Cheers to Hump Day!

Last Friday as my eldest enjoyed his morning cereal, he brought a smile to my face and boggled my brain with his insightful early morning line of questioning that began like this:

Son:  "Mom, when you were little did you have a table?"
Me:   "Like a kitchen table?"
Son:   "Yes, a table."
Me:   "Yes, we had a table."
Son:   "Oh, that was a long time ago I thought maybe they weren't invented yet."
Me:   "I wasn't a cave child."

You can imagine my worry as this questioning came the morning after he received this at a baseball game:

Yep, those are stitching imprints.

He's one brave catcher who fearlessly went right back in the game.  I wish I had 45% of his energy.  He's fine now, and I've since explained the various eras of our history...

 

Our weekend came and went and was full of our children's extracurricular activities including a t-ball game played by the 2013 Bad news Bears and a glitzy, sickeningly sweet dance recital, a visit from excellent houseguests, and next to nil extra time for much needed relaxation let alone conversation with dear hubby.  My week began with a case of the Mondays worthy of BJ's Wholesale Club, and until tonight the week hadn't shown much promise of betterment. 

 

It feels as though the shuffling never ceases -- the shuffling of my feet, the shuffling of my duties, the shuffling of dust bunnies, and the shuffling of my bus.  I wonder how many times per month I shuffle along the same stretch of road - add to that the fact that said road has been undergoing construction for next to a year and is now being paved with nauseating tar, and I'm one grumpy shuffler.

 

For this reason I became somewhat disoriented on Monday and even after looking at my calendar and seeing an important scheduled event I simply failed to attend it due to mommy brain.  I MISSED MY DAUGHTER'S PARENT/TEACHER CONFERENCE!  ACK!!!  I am embarrassed to admit this, but I feel I deserve to be publicly humiliated.  I realized this as I casually strolled into her Preschool to pick her up on Monday, and I was beyond mortified.  I was THAT parent and was quick to award myself "Worst Parent of the Day."  Maybe it was the fumes from the tar...yeah, I'll blame it on those...

 

Whilst venting about this to a friend she simply said:   "You've just got too many balls in the air."  Well, ain't that the truth?!  Don't we all, moms?  Ay caramba! [shouted in my best Bart Simpson].  Which ball is the next to get dropped?  I am proof that not all of America has Got Talent as I am one sorry excuse of a juggler, and Piers Morgan would definitely give me the big red X with a look of utter disgust.

 

It was just another "Manic Monday" as later that night I stealthily added my son's TEN new belt loops to his uniform and dragged all three kiddos to his Scouts' meeting only to arrive last at 7.5 minutes tardy.  Thus, we missed his name being called and the awarding of more belt loops to make for an even dozen.  I guess it's as the Mamas & Papas so insightfully belted out ages ago - back in the days of no tables:   

 

Monday, Monday, can't trust that day
Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way

 

Ba-da ba-da-da-da...then comes Tuesday...I'll save you all the gory details, but I'll just say that it ended with my need to bleach a bathtub thanks to a little 10-month-old sidekick who timed his #2 with bath time.  Again - Ay caramba!  I think that was my actual response to discovering the floaters.  That, of course, was proceeded by incessant commentary and giggling from my 5 & 6-year olds who were in hysterics and streaking through our home.

 

 

Then, I arrive at the hump.  Ah, Wednesday....Here are a few snapshots from today in time order...

 

Ay, CARAMBA!

My Linner - Moms don't eat lunch.
Deserved - or so I tell myself.

 

 

 

 

Sitting here receiving my blogging therapy I must say that I am so very happy that I have successfully climbed the proverbial hill this week.  It's all downhill from Wednesday, right?!

 

Lastly I must add that this is all in jest - I am right rosy when it comes to life.  I just feel like it is literally passing me by lately.  This rainbow made me pause, smile, and give thanks for the beauty in this crazy spinning world full of tar.

Taking It to Church

No, I'm not throwing off my heels Jerry Springer guest style and plotting to destroy someone in a cat fight so they're terrified into changing their life (as an urban dictionary would define "taking it to church"). 

 

The phrase has two meanings, and as for the second: 

No, I'm not going to start shouting from a maple pulpit 'bout the devil, driving home points with inflected "hmm-hmm's", wiping my brow, hitting the brave folks in the front row with flaming spittle, pounding said pulpit, and expecting you to shout "Amen."  That kind of 'taking it to church' ain't my speed either, and I'm just not that confident of a public speaker, nor do I like the sound of my own voice. 

Yes, I'm generally the silent prayer type, preferably seated about four rows back, left of center (slight reflection of my political views perhaps...), near a window...I've grown fond of the easy feel of our church.  A place I never really saw myself getting comfortable, but once I entered I quickly abandoned some of my ingrained perceptions of the necessity of things like a steeple, hymnals, immovable wooden pews, non eco-friendly lil plastic communion cups, stained glass, a robed choir, and proper maple pulpits.  I'm not knocking traditional churches; I'm not a snake shaker either.  I'm merely sharing that I've accepted our Church as it is, and as I am approaching mid-life I'm trying really hard to accept who I've come to be.  Sometimes simpler is simply easier, and at this point in my life ease is invaluable.

 

Today I am at a mid-week place of calm thanks to the lingering effect that the words of our Church's benediction has on my overworked firing synapses.  Anytime I question things, these words are there, and they do help.  They've been there since my first visit and are as powerful to me today as they were then.  They've become memorized (something that's typically tough for me to do), and thus, I carry them wherever I go.

 

No, I don't make it to Church every Sunday, and no, I don't believe one must do that to profess Christianity or to be a good person.  I cannot even recite scripture - chalking that up to my bad memory.  My throat has gone dry when I've prayed out loud in front of others, and in another life I taught Public Speaking.  I try not to judge, but two paragraphs ago I showed that I am 100% incapable of this (chalking that up to human nature).

 

Yes, I am going to share the words of that benediction with you.

 

Yes, I hope these words linger into your brain, plant their little seeds, and grow when you are really questioning the lemons, bumpy tree root ridden paths, and unexpected curve balls that life's handed you.

 

Yes, I've been handed lemons from time to time, and I pretend to be "rosy"- peachy keen even...

Yes, I've tried to make lemonade.

Yes, most of the time that lemonade turns out too tart.

 

So, when things are tart, broken, questionable, inconceivable, overwhelming, crushing, mind-boggling, staggering, perplexing, shattering, paralyzing, unfair, mixed up, unglued, any horrid adjective (& expletive) imaginable - I try my best to tune in and hear these words in my head on repeat play.

Yes, I hear a voice in my head.  No, that shouldn't deter you from reading any further.

 

This benediction is like my secret peace keeper (a.k.a. missile), and when I hear the voice speak it in my noggin' I am thankful, hopeful, grateful, peaceful, soothed, calm, content, relieved, whole, satisfied, joyful, blessed, captivated, centered, delighted, even *gasp* "rosy," but most of all - humbled and all of those horrid adjectives are blasted into oblivion for at least a moment & sometimes for good.

By typing all of this and putting it into cyberspace I am breaking a rule I've upheld for years.  That rule is that I refrain from discussing politics and religion with friends and family whenever possible.  Today I feel compelled to toss that rule into the trash along with my squeezed lemons.

 

So without further ado, regardless of your religion or lack thereof - sample this. 
It's simple, sweet & light on the lemons:

Wherever you go, God is sending you,

Wherever you are, He's put you there;
He has a purpose in your being there.
Christ who indwells you has something He wants to do through you, where you are.
Believe this and go in His grace and love and power.



 

~Richard Halverson, former Chaplain of the US Congress

 

 

And all God's people said:



I'm ba-aackkkk...

I'd taken a hiatus from blogging about my life, because well, free time isn't something that's been on my plate post-introduction of a fourth dependent (three children and one lucky, limpy geriatric dog) in our home.  In fact I've blogged once in the sweet seven months that our new addition has been adding to the crazy contents of our home, and even then I'm certain that post was typo-ridden and incoherent, due to my extreme sleep deprivation which hasn't gotten much better since.  After some introspection and Jack Handy-style "Deep Thoughts", I've come to accept that this blog is mundanely monotonous and the only people who are kind enough to feign interest are those that are unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of my ramblings or those dear to my heart that indulge me.  You, dear reader, are way too kind to be here.  Thank you.

My brain is swimming - swimming in a sea of motherhood.  Motherhood, I've decided is actually what I like to call a "sanity sabbatical."  Once one becomes a mother, she is forevermore destined to be this side of sane.  Which side, you ask?  Well, that can vary depending upon the locale of the mother (for instance -  Is she in a Walmart? Or a Pediatrician's office awaiting shots?), the temperament of her children (Are they repeatedly arguing with each other?  Or incessantly begging for things at said Walmart?), the support in her peer network (How many days until Book Club? Sadly, I do look forward to "Book" Club.), and the beverage in her glass at the end of the day (Is it a Winesday?). 

All jokes aside, I wouldn't change who I am at all.  I am happy to be a mom - quite proud actually -  Even when my oldest is over-tired, over-extracuricularred & embarrassingly tantrumming on the sidelines of a basketball game, because he wants the coach to put him "BACK IN NOW!"  Competition is in his Killer Rose's maternal genes and Orange Blooded paternal Clemson genes, and he can throw down some defense, y'all.  Even when I assist my darling diva daughter with her third costume change of the hour, because she's done being a princess and "wants to be a 'cheetah cat' - GRRRRR..."  Yes, anyone lucky enough to witness her Abbeytude in high gear will tell you that she does in fact growl.  Perseverance is in her genes which will someday make her a strong willed woman fit for the role of first female President.  God bless her future husband's heart.  Or when I'm about to put my baby in a shopping cart and as I pull him from his car seat I discover he's ripe with poo and must be changed in the chilly parking lot first as he's too good for those public changing stations which means he'll be hungry in twenty minutes which means my shopping trip has just been reduced by at least ten minutes...doodie IS what's in his jeans, and thanks to Stage 2 foods, it's fantastic. 

My poor kids have spent way too much time with their Type A mama who is desperately trying to uphold and exhibit patience daily.  Any pointers on the matter from other mothers (or from fathers that try to understand us mothers but never will) would be greatly appreciated.

See, rambling - I'm good at it.  Lately I've even cast aside my English major and accepted tangents and run-on sentences as acceptable communication (the above paragraph is proof).  One of the many nicknames given to me over the years was Ramble On Rose, and I actually like that one.

I believe these ramblings are therapeutic for me.  They're much like exposure therapy.  I put myself and my ramblings out here so you can laugh along (or laugh at me) & hopefully get some free therapy, too (or you can silently judge me) whilst I get to the right side of sane.  Or is it the left side?

Taken post-diaper change - ripe diaper is on lower right next to Mom's treat from Starbucks bound for the trash
He sure looks happy to be going to Walmart.  That's one of us...
Thanks to his charming Walmart guests on every aisle I am happy to have survived this one of many shopping trips with him in tow.  If it wasn't for the one old lady that touched his arm, it would have been a truly peaceful excursion. 
Rambling.  Again...

Jerry making sense of my rambling: "The grass ain't greener. The wine ain't sweeter - either side of the hill."



Mombie & The Force

This little flashback circa 1996 always makes me smile. 

So, let's start with something mindless before getting to the nitty gritty.

As I type this there is a Boppy pillow in my lap containing my sleeping baby, because these days nearly everywhere I go he can be found.  He's a sweet little sidekick to have around, but he has turned my world (& my older kids' world) upside down.

He's on a definite schedule now, so the stress that comes with a newborn has been slightly alleviated.  He likes to do the following things in a repetitive cycle:  Poop, eat, and sleep.  This pattern repeats itself roughly every three hours, although sometimes the poop part is multiplied, usually just after a fresh diaper has been secured on his bum...

My day revolves around maintaining his schedule while entertaining, caring for, and giving undivided attention to a needy four and a busy six-year-old, caring for an elderly dog, cleaning a neglected home, providing meals for my family, somehow caring for myself & supposedly taking time to recover from childbirth which ain't fun, entertaining visitors, smiling at my husband yet rarely getting the chance to really speak to him as sleep is more important to both of us right now, juggling everything, grinning and bearing it, missing the order that was once my life as a "homemaker," and just being "rosy."  According to Merriam-Webster, as a rosy homemaker I should be "promoting optimism."  Right...

People always say, "Be sure to sleep when the baby sleeps."  Right.  I try, but it's not that easy.  There's too much for a mom to do in one day.  If my baby is sleeping during the day, most likely I'm trying to maintain some sort of order around here, because if I don't we'll end up starring on TLC's Hoarders: Buried Alive. 

Thankfully thoughtful friends and neighbors spoiled us rotten by feeding us well for several nights when we arrived home with our new addition.  I would have definitely burnt the house down in a tired stupor if I had tried to cook, especially during the first LONG week.  The frozen pizzas and hot dogs I will now serve are like a Ford Pinto compared to the generous four-course Mercedes meals we received.  Friends also generously chauffeured our kids to camps, Vacation Bible School, the neighborhood pool, etc., and thus, my kids have thankfully endured some sort of normalcy in their little upside down worlds.  I can't even begin to explain how truly blessed we've been in the friends' department.  We'd do the same for anyone we know...time and butt wiping permitting, of course...

I am not complaining about having this little guy in tow or my new role as a Mom Zombie -- a Mombie, if you will.  He's awesome, absolutely amazing, in fact, and now that he's here I wouldn't have it any other way.  I am fully aware that  I have zero room to complain  as my girlfriend (mentioned in a previous blog post) had triplets the same day that this bundle arrived.  I feel like bowing Wayne's World style when I am in her presence, because "I'm not worthy..."  I don't know how she functions. 

Giving up my undiagnosed OCD tendencies has been one of the biggest challenges since departing the labor and delivery room.  I don't have time for them anymore.  I'm the kind of person who prefers her sandwich on the right side of her plate, side item on the left, and drink to the top right.  I also have an order in which I prefer to ingest Peanut M&M's:  Green, Yellow, Orange, Brown, Blue, and lastly Red as myths once claimed those cause cancer.  Dishes aren't allowed to sit in the kitchen sink.  That's why we have a dishwasher.  It's a place to hide the grime until it can be cleaned.  Everything has a place, and I know where that place is.  Beds must be made every day.  Mine is typically made with me partially still in it.  This is a faster method - trust me.  There was once a method to my madness in this house.

If you came to my house today, then you may find a dish - or seven - piled in the sink and a trash heap worthy of Fraggle Rock (as long as it doesn't don glasses it's okay, right?), floors that need to be vacuumed, and kids with crusty faces.  You may see me eat on the fly, not even use a plate or place a napkin over the baby in my lap so I don't dribble crumbs on him.  My kids are allowed to occasionally eat in front of the television, and yes, they've eaten bacon on the couch.  I'm lucky if I even remember to eat something resembling lunch.  Bed making has  most certainly moved down the priority totem pole, but laundry has risen to the top of the pole. 

I now find myself doing laundry everyday, because I don't want to find myself with a laundry Everest that takes hours to fold.  Forget ironing; I've always detested it anyway.  The reality is that it took me years to perfect those silly OCD tendencies and seconds to cast them aside for something much, much more important.  Life's such a mind boggling miracle and indeed, way too short, and I'm going to do the best that I can to enjoy every second of my life and my kids' from here on out.  Kids, that doesn't mean that you shouldn't keep your toys in the proper receptacles...

So, this is the new me; I'm a Mombie.  I'll smile at you, but beware, I may appear mute, listless, automated, and will-less as if I'm controlled by a supernatural force (a.k.a. a baby).  As Darth Vader would say:  "The force is strong with this one."  Perhaps I'll nickname him Young Skywalker.

The Good, The Bad, & The Preggo

As I reflect on the last thirty-eight weeks of this pregnancy, there's a poem ringing in my ears. Written by Langston Hughes, Mother to Son, begins like this:

Well, son, I'll tell you:

Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

It's had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor --

Bare.

But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on,

And reachin' landin's,

And turnin' corners...

While my life hasn't been as full of strife as this poem conveys, I wouldn't call pregnancy a "crystal stair" & it certainly is full of corners that we preggos have no choice but to turn.

In the beginning the kids weren't too thrilled with the news of our family's new addition.  Our son even whined saying, "Ew, babies stink.  I don't want a baby at our house."  Then, as the weeks passed the acceptance stage slowly crept in, and once the kids found out that the bun in the oven is in fact a  Little Brother, they were on board.   

Of course a baby on the way meant our family needed to upgrade our gas guzzling boat of an SUV to a sensible, safe, practical ride...While some have accused me of now "living the mini-van dream" I do not drive a VAN (I'm not in denial); I drive a BUS & it's freaking awesome.  So awesome I, in fact, may never own another type of vehicle again.  Yes, they say that happens to van owners:

Thankfully I have a dear friend who is a fellow preggo that is expecting triplets, and when I feel down about my ill-fitting wardrobe, my cankles, my restless nights, and my overactive bladder I think of her & the three amazing blessings filling her uterus & riding around town in her van.  Thoughts of her quickly humble me and lead me to realize that I have no room to complain about my state.  She is truly incredible...maybe even legen {wait for it} dary. 

The two of us have treated ourselves to a handful of pedicures for our weary, widening feet followed by lunches where all judgment was cast aside as we ordered and ate whatever we wished that day & occasionally topped it with yum-yum sauce.  We have been spoiled by caring girlfriends (some of whom just may catch the contagion that is baby fever - MU-WHA-HA-HA-HA). We were blown away by the outpouring of love and gifts from friends, family, and neighbors at joint baby shower worthy of Martha Stewart Living.

My #1 Craving - so sinful they
 must be hand rolled by the devil.

 It has been awesome to commiserate with her about unstoppable body changes, diapers, willy nilly doctors, our poor husbands, numerous cravings, and the harsh things strangers utter to us preggos without thinking. Yes, cashier at Food Lion, I am "ready to pop," and thanks for noting that when I still had two+ months remaining until the pop - grrr...and to the stranger who one month ago asked when I was due and then idiotically stated, "Well, at least you won't be pregnant during the hottest part of the summer" -- please know you should never consider being a meteorologist and this pic's for you:



Dang, my bus is dusty...

It's been hot, too hot to really enjoy trekking to the neighborhood pool with small, water gun armed children, laying around on a chaise feeling like a beached Shamu while onlookers gawk at my chips and I, and sitting in the torrid, stagnant water is far from appealing.   I've given up trying to win the friendly monthly electric bill competition with neighbors. I prefer to dwell in an icebox, and I guess I should count my lucky stars that our a/c units haven't crapped out. And as for the sheets and comforter - "Uh, buh-bye."

A few weeks ago I was stuck indoors beating the heat & fighting a nasty virus (the "everybody poops" kind), and I had to send my poor hubby on a dignity-aside-store-run for meds and Gatorade, per the doctor's suggestion. He returned from the store, set his purchases on the kitchen counter, knocked on the bathroom door to tell me where to find the goods, and politely gave the kids a bath & put them to bed.   Here's what I found on the kitchen counter:

What would I do for a Klondike Bar? 
I'd take on a virus.

He's a keeper, and his sweet gestures didn't go unnoticed by the teen male Food Lion cashier who said, "You must be in trouble" as he scanned the roses, chocolate, etc. (guess he didn't notice the anti-diarrheal tablets).  My husband explained that in fact he wasn't "in trouble" but that he had a sick, pregnant wife at home that he was trying to cheer up. A meddlesome granny behind him in line piped up with "Oh, hon, you better make sure your wife can have that medicine." Poor hubby got a sampling of a judgmental, nincompoop stranger (they seem to lurk around every corner that a preggo goes).

All complaints aside, this pregnancy hasn't been horrible.  Sure, it was an adjustment at first as the news of our family growing was quite a surprise.  Yes, it's been bad to be preggo at times (like when I try to sleep, eat without dropping bits onto my beach ball, etc.), but a lot of good has come along for the ride, too. 

I've been blessed with zero morning sickness, minimal nausea, an acceptable weight gain [SIGH], my sweet children who now know my belly cannot be safely used as a slide, friends keeping me emotionally in check when my hormones spiral to the Kleenex box, friends fighting for Godmother status & offering to get baby fixes via free babysitting services, grandmothers stockpiling our arsenal of diapers, our Church congregation & neighbors already planning post-delivery meals, a closet full of sweet, tiny clothes and much needed items for the little man, a thoughtful husband who tolerates my mood swings and will go to the grocery store for me and return with chocolate, flowers, and medication, a geriatric dog that hasn't tripped me once and that we all think is clinging to life just to meet this baby, and a faith that's grown stronger by the day as I plainly see that life is indeed good.  I'm thankful.  Our family is so very blessed, and this baby has no clue what he's being born into - it's going to be great.

And when I hold him for the first time, I know that my heart will grow 'three sizes that day'.

...whenever that day will be...

As Tom Petty sings, "The wai-ai-ting is the hardest part..."

Adrenaline Seekers Stop Here

Parenting is not for all, but it may be for you.  As a parent you are usually faced with a daily dichotomy that is easily likened to the fight-or-flight response.  On a day that you as a parent are not faced with this (a day when your air passages are not dilated, blood vessels are not constricted, and your heart rate remains safely steady), you can honestly say that you've had a good day (or a boring day depending upon your thrill seeking needs).  When your central nervous system isn't working overtime to fire neurons, when your anxiety level is at the smiley face standard, when your head doesn't feel like it belongs to a bludgeoned Rocky Balboa, when you don't find yourself hiding out in your phone booth (a.k.a. closet), and when you don't mutter "Calgon, take me away", then you, my friend, deserve a cardboard cookie and some ice cream (or a glass of wine - or two).  You can have those goodies once the kids have completed homework, been fed, been bathed, their teeth have been brushed, stories have been read, and they've drifted off to dream land; that is, if you're not catching Zzz's in dream land, too.  Parenting is, as my wise Dad would say, like eating a ketchup popsicle while wearing white gloves.  It's a job like non other and a job that must be done by only brave beings for it is next to impossible, yet more rewarding than any other job when done right. 

It's a miracle that I survived the sneaking out, crowd surfing, bruised mosh pitting, sky diving days of my youth, the time & place for everything called COLLEGE, and my relatively care-free twenties.  Today when I compare that blissful me to the me that now holds a stay-at-home-mom status, I still see the same person at the core, and it's still a miracle that she survives each day.  She really looks haggard sometimes, and sure, she's not as cool as she once *knew* she was, but she tries in her own spazzy way.  She no longer dons her bulky, rebellious Doc Marten's, but she does wear sensible shoes and keeps a freezer stocked with Pop-Ice, an abundance of Capri Suns in the fridge, and microwave popcorn is a staple in her pantry as one never knows when an impromptu play date may arise...and those are just as cool and welcome to her kids as they are to her. 

I've traded in what seems like a chill past life for years of surreal, heart palpitating adventures including tantrums, potential broken bones, ambulance ride(s), allergic reactions, weekly grocery shopping with tots in tow, sleepless nights, The Wiggles, hospital stays, unwanted advice, finger pricks, immunizations, tantrums, falls, face plants, scrapes, criticism, festering wounds, wrinkles, bug bites, bounce houses, tantrums, judgement, projectile Exorcist-ish vomit, seeping blow outs, diapers, sheer perplexity, public humiliation, birthday parties, tantrums, piercing words, more diapers, overwhelmed thoughts, body aches, heart aches, frustration, fear, doubt, stress, endless worry (did I mention tantrums?)...Yet I have been granted the title of "Mom," a lifetime of free hugs, complimentary kisses, endless love, giggles galore, and innumerable proud memories including so many joyful triumphs and firsts:  first smiles, coos, rolls, babbles, crawls, words, steps, friends, bus rides, school days, sports teams, goals, trophies, stories, dances, dates, etc. (the thoughts of which still - and forever will- lead me to tears).

I have also gained daily doses of pure goodness, and I am so fortunate to have nearly three little beings  that are true blessings in my life.  Some days I feel as if I don't deserve them.  They're so impressionable, so innocent, so genuine, so very sweet, too perfect to be from me, and simply angelic when they're sleeping.  Best of all  --  they're my whole world.  So when petty things pass my way or I am feeling beaten and beyond weary, I must remind myself of these blessings, be thankful for my role as a parent, ask for patience, and thank God for my babies and for the gratuitous steady doses of the free drug that is adrenaline.  It keeps me going, and going, and going....