Hard Wood

Bet you thought this was going to be a sexy post, judging from the title, right? Well you are correct, my friend. Today we are getting hard. Wood. As in hardwood floors. Oh, baby, baby. Sexxxxxy!

Just to make the changes dramatic, I thought I'd do a before and after. Unlike Henry's Big Boy Room makeover, I'll actually post the changes this time. (I will post pics of his big boy room just as soon as he picks up after himself. Ha.)

Here are the before photos. It's a little bare and more cluttered than usual (but only slightly) because I didn't catch Ryan before he moved stuff around.

Notice Palmer and George are pretending not to be as excited as I am. 

Prepare to be amazed!

The Sky is Falling!

So I had grounded myself from the Internet because I was becoming one of those people who 'likes' everything on Facebook, but I was at dinner and--- holy shit! Oh my God! Did you know that a meteorite came down and landed in Russia? Like some time this past week? I would have been so embarrassed about not knowing that if I were the type to be embarrassed.

I was actually really upset there for a minute. Am I that out of the loop that I could harm my children? I mean what would have happened if a meteorite were headed toward DC? In the movies, DC and NYC are the first places affected by meteors, aliens, and other apocalyptic disasters, so it's a valid concern. Before I felt the need to self-medicate for my ineptitude, I realized that had a meteor--apocalyptic or just regular meteor- hit DC, I would've been exactly where I needed to be. In a basement fort. Made out of couch cushions.

Whew! I've downloaded the Washington Post app and am vowing to read the current news once a day. Just in case.

Happy Weekend!

This weekend, be sure to sit back and relax.

Palmer says, enjoy.

Palmer's Birth Story

Palmer Lowell
October 5, 2012
7 pounds, 7 ounces & 21 inches

As you may have guessed by my absence, I had my baby and officially have NO time. The only reason I'm writing this is because I'm piecing together several different drafts that I haven't had time to finish, and I'm choosing to ignore the fact that Henry is standing with his hands on the TV in a poopy diaper. I'm really mad at my friends with multiple children who didn't tell me how hard this is. I am also wondering how these bishes with 8 kids have these fabulous blogs and etsy shops. I suspect crack. At the very least they are pilfering their children's Ritalin.

It's so funny to look back at my October 4 entry because little did I know, that the gender of my child would be revealed in less than 24 hours. Hahaha. Mr. Palmer Lowell was born October 5, 2012 at 10:24 p.m. He weighed in at 7.7 pounds and measured 21 inches in length. I believe he has tripled in size because he loves the booby.

Palmer's birth story is right out of a sitcom, so here goes:

As you may recall, I was a little worried about Ryan being in Orlando for *work*. I just had a bad feeling about him being gone. I literally looked at October 5 when I first got pregnant and guessed that's when I'd go into labor.

And October 5 was a very productive day. I picked up a gift for Ryan for putting up with my crazy ass for nine months (a massage!). I put my gym membership on hold. I went to the DMV and renewed my driver's license. I will now forever smile at my license even though Ryan claims I look like a slutty redneck in the picture. His description is pretty accurate, actually.

After a productive day, I went home to put Henry down for a nap and take one myself. When I woke up, I was starving and went to make a peanut butter sandwich. As I was walking back upstairs, I felt a pop and a stream of water down my leg. Oh shit. I dash to the bathroom and call Ryan. Remember, Ryan was still in Orlando *working*.

Ryan: "Hey! I'm just waiting to board the plane"
Me: "Well see if you can get on an earlier flight because my water just broke."
Ryan: "Are you sure!?!"
Me: "Um, there's a puddle in the kitchen. Yes."
Ryan: Click.

After checking with the airline, there were no other flights that were earlier, so Ryan had to wait it out. That was at 3. His flight didn't take off until 4 and was due to land around 6:30. Keep in mind my labor was 4 hours long with Henry, so we were worried, and I felt my worst nightmare was coming true.

Thank God my parents and Ryan's parents both live within 3 miles from us. My mom and MIL came over to keep Henry occupied and take care of me. Except I really didn't want to be taken care of. This is my MO during labor, I've come to discover. I was trying to keep my mind off the fact that this child was going to be born within the next 24 hours whether I liked it or not and not move a muscle to keep the contractions from starting. I kept myself distracted by watching episodes of Hoarders.

Side note: WTF is up with these people who just don't take the trash out? I mean, I totally get the people who have 3,453 empty peanut butter jars and 234 glass baby food jars because one type is for soup and one is for crafts. Perfect sense. It's the people who throw empty pizza boxes and used diabetes syringes around that I don't get. Lock it up, people.

I started having contractions around 5 and called the doctor around 6:45 when they were becoming regular and strong. Of course the only doctor I disliked from the practice was on call. (She had been trying to get me to induce and I was all, "Dude. This is a moot point. I will not be making it to 40 weeks. I will not be having a 10 pound baby". I don't care where you went to med school, my mother's instinct has been spot on... even when it came to the gender of my child despite my denial). So for some reason she starts saying I might need to look into using Pitocin. What? Why would you ever push Pitocin on a woman who has a history of having a four hour birth? Needless to say I panicked. And then Ryan walked into the room.

To be continued...

A Letter to My Husband on Why I Spent Another $100 at Buy Buy Baby

Picture this:

After three nights of being woken up no less than four times, you drag yourself out of bed to tackle a morning at home alone with a two and a half year old and a three month old. Tasks include: loading the dishes from the night before, taking out the overflowing trash, picking up 2yo's clothes from the bathroom and husband's underwear, getting dinner in the crockpot, pumping milk, loading the washing machine, getting 2yo more cereal-no pancakes-no-juice-no-water, getting 2 yo dressed with clean diaper, getting 3 mo dressed with clean diaper, and continuing your fruitless search for Wall-E's other wheel.

You finally get out the door, of course without a shower or even make up on, and head into buy buy baby to return a breast pump bandeau that didn't fit you, another twist of the knife of your plateaued baby weight loss. As soon as you walk in the store, your 3 mo, who has been crying incessantly in the car, now turns of the volume as if knowing he now has an audience. Meanwhile, your 2 yo has decided he wants everything. He wants it all. He wants it now. You somehow manage to return your breast bandeau and head to the humidifiers to find one to ward off an impending cold that your 2 yo is threatening you with. People are staring because the baby is still crying and now the 2 yo is screaming too because you won't dismantle the fire truck lamp off the display. You grab a humidifier that is not $140 because who the fuck needs a humidifier that is $140?

You head to the bottle section to buy a bottle that is supposed to be good for babies reluctant to drink out of a bottle, screaming children in tow. Thank God you spot it like Waldo in a sea of crap because now the 3 mo is threatening to shit himself he's crying so hard. You take him out of the car seat and give your 2 yo a box of cookie monster cookies. The children are quiet, but you can't quite maneuver the cart and knock a few things over in your attempt to find the other recommended bottle. You find the bottle and congratulate yourself on just buying the $17 nipple rather than the $19 bottle because you already own the bottles. WTF? The nipples are $17! Jesus Christ. Let's hope the $6 bottle works so you can take this faux nipple back.

You realize at this point that maybe having your hands free while you pump is a good idea so that you can multi-task. The bandeau's are $35 though. You grab the same bandeau you just returned only a size larger... too late. Your 2 yo has spotted a Yo Gabba Gabba toddler bed and will rest at nothing until he can play with it. The only problem? It's a display. On the ceiling. 

At this point you remember you are dangerously low on diapers for the 3 mo who has, incidentally, spit up on your shoulder. You maneuver your cart over to the diapers, taking out a display of fruit snacks along the way, grab the diapers and take the long way back out to avoid passing the toys. 

Your 2 yo is demanding water-no-juice-no Jake and the Neverland pirate, so you turn around, nearly hitting customers coming into the store. You finally make it to the counter and hand over the 5 coupons you have. Guess what? Only two of them work. Thankful that you at least saved $20, you pry pilfered toys out of your 2 yo's hand, put the 3 mo back into his carseat and head back to the car. Both children are unsatisfied at this point-- the 2 yo because he didn't get anything but cookie monster cookies and the 3 mo because he's back in his carseat. 

Realizing it is dangerously close to naptime and you just dont have it in you to make a lunch that your 2 yo will undoubtedly reject, you go to McDonald's because at least you can get a Diet Coke. Yes. You do want it super-sized. The woman has to ask you to repeat your order several times because your 3 mo is diabolical at this point since the car has stopped and the 2 yo is screaming too because the Finding Nemo DVD has stalled again. 

You drive out of the parking lot, trying to plan how you are going to get a shower when your husband calls. He wants to know why you just spent another $100 at Buy Buy Baby. You feebly explain the nipple vs. bottle trial and he prods you with questions about what the rest of the $80 was spent on. Your eldest is screaming for water-no-juice. Your youngest has gone catatonic. He will awaken to punish you for your sins and an anger will rise up out of him like a Phoenix out of the ashes, the likes of which you have never seen. 

And I ask you. Would you give a FUCK how much you had spent at Buy Buy Baby and why?

I am dedicating this music video to you husband, oh sweet fucktard that you are, for playing with fire today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmin5WkOuPw

Sincerely,

Your beautiful, patient, kind wife

A Modest Confession

I have a confession. I am annoyed I don't know the sex of our baby. THERE! I said it. I went from being sure I didn't want to know when we first got pregnant, to not so sure at 6 months, to downright pissed off about a month ago. Now, I'm just frustrated. To clarify, my frustration has nothing to do with the fact that I am a planner, as I have already mentioned. Rather, it's more to do with the difference between your first and second pregnancy.

With your first pregnancy, you are (perhaps after a brief period of initial disdain and then gradual acceptance like this girl experienced) excited and eager to learn about this new, unchartered territory. You revel in buying maternity clothes that are cute, and by cute, I mean hideous. You register for all kinds of crap you will never use and are showered with toys, clothes, bottles, and 18, 987 baby bath items that you did not register for. You are going to be the best, most attentive mom ever. And then you actually have the child.

Enter second pregnancy. You know the terrain. You don't feel the need to read 8, 876 books on pregnancy, labor, and taking care of an infant (or was that just me?). You have all the equipment and gear, along with about 15, 387 unused washcloths that Target would not take back because you'd already met your refund limit. (DO NOT REGISTER AT TARGET). You have Hideous Maternity Clothes and are just determined to stay out of them as long as possible this time. What you don't have is the excitement of entering an exclusive club/unknown realm or whatever. You do not have showers. People actually forget you are pregnant until they see you. You don't have as much help from others because, hey, you are a pro at this, right?

I guess, for me, I think that if I had found out Moose's gender, I would have at least that going for me. I didn't have that the first go round, and it would make this pregnancy different. I know I'm probably going to change my mind after I give birth, but for now, I'm a little salty. I want to buy some monogrammed stuff now, dammit!

I don't think I'd feel this way if we had found out Henry's gender while I was pregnant with him. Then, NOT knowing the sex would be the exciting part, but this pregnancy is just like the last one, minus the washcloths. (Am I the only person who received an obscene amount of freaking washcloths?)

Again, I will probably say once Moose is born, that it was TOTALLY WORTH IT! I'll probably have a post entitled "I Take It All Back", after say...Saturday night when I go into labor, (right little lady/fella?). But right now, I'm okay with admitting that I maybe should've found out the sex of our baby. Sigh.

Updates on The Children

PREGNANCY:
Weeks: 38 today... Henry was born at 38 weeks and five days. Let's hope this child is an early bird as well... but not too early. Keep reading.
Dilated: 2 cm. 8 to go. Boo-yeah!
Effaced: Still 75%
Weight: Why does every pregnant girl with a blog feel the need to brag about her weight? I weigh less than I did with Henry. Triumph.
Contractions: All the time. If we hooked my uterus up to a generator, I could probably create enough electricity for the entire District.
Nicknames: We've switched from Bug to Moose since this child is going to be enormous. I'm trying not to be annoying with the name, though, because it can get that way when you don't know the gender. My apologies to everyone who got sick of hearing me call Henry Bean during pregnancy.
Swollen: Nope. Crazy, since I couldn't wear my wedding rings the last trimester with Henry.
Sleep: Suffering from a little bit of insomnia, which is understandable seeing as though I need a forklift to turn and reposition myself, and I have to pee so much, I'm wishing I had a catheter.
Brain Power:  My IQ has probably dropped 10 points with this baby. S/he is going to be a GD genius.
Agility: I can barely move, this child is so big. I now watch those 300lb. Woman shows on TLC and I'm like, "Obviously, you are going to drive your car 20 ft. to your mailbox. That would be so painful to walk!"
Gender Predictions: Despite 9 out of 10 people's predictions that this will be a girl, I've spent the last two months thinking it's a boy, and I've kind of attached myself to the idea of having two little blond haired, blue-eyed boys wrestling with each other in the living room. More on this later.
Anxieties: Ummm... nothing really. Oh, maybe that I'm going to have this baby while Ryan is out of town this week. Oh, you know. He's in Orlando for business. Really busy...

"Working" on the golf course

"Working" at Medieval Times... with a tiara.

I don't want to talk about it.

SIR WILLIAM HENRY, I ESQ.
Bottle: Gave that up right after his second birthday in July. WIN
Big Boy Bed: Took to it like a fish to water. WIN
Potty Training: Made great progress the first day, then he got sick and was over it. FAIL
Pacifier: Two weeks without it, bia! WIN
Preschool:  Not going to lie, thought this was going to be a fail, but he's turned a leaf and started to love it. Fire Safety Week is going to seal the deal. They're bringing in a fireman and a fire truck. So, WIN
Eating: FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. Chicken nuggets and Goldfish. Add this to the list of "Things That Must Not Be Mentioned"
Growth: Henry has shot up at least an inch this past month. I know this because his pants are starting to look a little bit short. I went to Old Navy to get him some new ones today, and did you know that all their normal looking plain pants are $20. Yes, the toddler pants. Yes, the adult pants are the same price. WTF?!? And good luck trying to find a 2T. Get it together, ON. The pants aren't lined in gold. Hell, they're not even lined at all. Rant over. Henry= WIN, Old Navy= FAIL

Ok, it's almost 10 and I should be watching the debates... but I'm exhausted. I'd rather toss and turn in bed like one of those giant sea lions on the beach. Here's a visual if you need one.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OoBJ86oqmc