Binkytown

Three

Three has arrived.

Missing was the fanfare of one - The balloons! The perfectly decorated cake! The party! Also not in attendance was the disbelieving wonderment of two. Can you really be two? Two years old? Where has the time gone? You are absolutely three.

Two talked, but three reasons with you. Figures stuff out for himself. Decides if and when it wants to dole out affection; Two gave hugs but when you tell three how much you love him, it responds with a glimmer in it's eye- I just like you a little bit or maybe throws him arms unabashedly around you, you never know what you are going to get.

Three is growing up. Standing tall and maneuvering through the world with perfect coordination. No more wobbling, three takes giant leaps from stairs and couches and bed rails and everything else that is climbable. 

Three asks so many questions. Three has just opened up it's eyes to so many possibilities. It knows letters and counts m&ms and three has preferences. It wants to trade the orange ones for the blue ones.

I love three more than one and two combined.

Sick

I'm about to break my rule about not talking about peeing for the second time this week.

I am sick. Really sick. The kind of sick where you lie in bed for an entire day. After taking your son who is also sick, but not as sick as you, to day care after loading him up with 8 hour motrin, ensuring he will last at least until after his nap, sweating through your clothes the whole time even though it's like minus 82 degrees outside.

So sick that while you are lying in bed dozing in and out of sleep you see shiny pretty people giving you the news or the weather or talking about Pilates and you think to yourself, my god, they are so lucky. They are so LUCKY they are not sick like me and they don't even know it. The kind where you think you will never be well again.

Sick enough that you think maybe because you are PREGNANT your OB will feel sorry for you and let you take some prescription cough medicine so you stop coughing hard enough to gag and almost puke, oh every fifteen minutes or so, and tell her you have a fever only she doesn't and tells you take some robitussin and stay hydrated.

Right. Staying hydrated. Drinking lots of water, Gatorade, hot water with sugar in it to try and decongest my cement filled head. Now I've heard stories of women, pregnant women or newly birthed women who pee a little when they laugh too hard or sneeze. That never happened to me that last time around, not once when I was pregnant or after. I had a C-section, I thought all those muscles were still where they used to be?

Apparently not. I have peed myself no less than 15 times in the past 36 hours. I'm not talking about  a little. The first time it happened I gasped. I was truly shocked. There it was, running down my leg. I JUST PEED! I called out, sounding very much like my almost three year old with that same expression he uses when it takes him by surprise. I thought it was a one time deal, that I had waited too long to go. Oh no. That party was just getting started.

I have no choice, I have to keep pushing the fluids. I have no appetite, and am taking enough over the counter (OB approved) meds around the clock to make me feel seriously concerned about what this is doing to the baby so I am trying to keep flushing my system. Flushing. Ha. Granted, these are not your ordinary sneezes here, these babies are coming from my toes, and hopefully will stop soon but really, if my bladder is not completely empty I'm like a geyser over here.

I'm sick damn it. Isn't that enough? As I'm about to get my son out of diapers I've got to start wearing them now? For real?! It's just sick.

Progress. Of sorts.

A few weeks back I was contemplating life and realizing I had some work to do. The main points: The Binky's and the potty.

We recently had three Binky's in circulation. At times, one in the mouth and one in each hand, you know, for balance and feng shui and all that. Then one disappeared. It is in my house somewhere, I'm 90% certain of that, and I am constantly on the lookout because I don't want it to make a surprise appearance and ruin my plan, but to date, I have not found it. That leaves two Binky's in play.

I was thinking, I should probably cut the plastic part off of one, leaving the handle, as a more experienced mom pointed out, it still gives them something to hold on to and can be less traumatic than a sudden disappearance. I kept thinking about it and thinking about it but hadn't done it when:

Friday night before bed, the little man peed on the potty (more on this to come, but not a nauseating blow by blow, I promise) which is awesome, then leaned over to admire his work. What happened next? As he shouted triumphantly I PEED, in plopped a Binky. Observing the perfect chance to off a Binky, I ducked my head around the corner and warned my husband- prepare for a total meltdown- admittedly with a glimmer in my eye, but how quickly that changed. I watched his excitement turn to utter, deep despair. You know that cry they do when they are mad, or frustrated or stub a toe? This was nothing like that. This was a full on, real pouring of emotional sadness, not something I witness every day from this one. MY BINKY! He wailed again and again, looking from me to the toilet and back again. The tears flowed. From both of us actually, it was so hard to watch. Big, tormented tears poured as his face turned beet red.

I held him tight, told him it was alright to be sad and explained that the Binky had to go away, it was broken and we couldn't get it back. My husband came in and softly told him a story of how he loved a toy robot but it was broken too and he was sad, but it was all alright. Amazingly, in a minute or two he calmed down and agreed to move on to book reading. Once or twice he interrupted story time to say we would have to go to the Binky store to buy a new one, searching our eyes for an affirmative agreement, but we just said well, we'll see and carried on and I am happy to report, it hasn't been brought up since. He talks about the robot that broke and how his Binky broke, but he hasn't asked for a replacement. I know getting rid of the last will be a super big bitch, but from three to one in a couple of weeks is a HUGE victory. HUGE.

My husband has been all about getting the potty training on, but still dragging my feet a little I received a temporary reprieve from the day care teachers (Thanks!). He has spent the last two weeks transitioning into his new 3-4 year old class room and they all felt it would be best to wait to make the switch to underoos when his move was official. (Which is Monday. Shit.)

If I were to ask him to sit on the potty at any moment he will refuse, however, he has been waking up in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn (the 4:30 crack) and saying he needs to pee. Which is fabulous! But not! But what can I do? I can't discourage him from using it so I've been dressing him in shirt/pant pj combos, keeping it in his room at night and setting out fresh diaper supplies close at hand so for instance, at 12:30, when he woke me last night, I could plop him on there, change that diaper in the dark and get him back to bed in minutes. It was like a pit stop at a Nascar race. Well, I think it was, I don't know if he actually peed - it was dark and I was tired and I've never watched a Nascar race, but it was fast and efficient, that's all I'm saying.

The wrap up:

Binkys- Two down, one to go. Yes!

Potty- Right idea, wrong time, but right idea.

Ahhh. Progress.

Please. One more thing. One more.

I knew he was a boy. For awhile I thought I was convincing myself it was true, because that was what I wanted, but as each day passed I became more aware, in every fiber, every twitch, this baby was a boy.

I remember, before being there myself, hearing of friends and acquaintances having baby boys and thinking how....odd. To give birth to a male, something completely unlike yourself, to create a body that doesn't model your own, that will grow to be taller, broader, completely different than the soft curves it came from. It seemed well, foreign to me. I wondered how it was possible and what that must feel like.

When my husband and I bought our last house, I saw a baby everywhere. That's when I knew it was time. I saw a baby bathtub perched in the sink, I saw a nursery in the study. I saw ghost images, the presence where it wasn't. It was a nameless, faceless child, but I knew it was meant to be. When my time came I suddenly realized it wasn't so strange at all, to want a boy. I wanted a boy. Deeply, in the place without logic. I didn't want to have a girl. I still don't.

What will I do if I have a girl? I ask myself that almost every day, not feeling the strong instinct that I did the last time. I know I would love, could love, a girl child, but I have always pictured myself as a mother of sons. This second time around I imagine the faces of a girl running beside or a boy dressed in his hand me down winter coat and hat from last season. I don't have a strong sense of what it will be.

But I know what I want. I want my son to have a brother, someone to get in trouble with and share cars with (oh the things I know about cars now!) and to wrestle to the ground. Someone who will speak his language and know the things I can't and probably don't want to know. I want this for both of us.

I'll find out in just short of two weeks from now what this baby will be. Second to knowing that it is healthy (which I assume it is because I can not bear to imagine any other alternative) I can't wait to meet him or her. But I hope him. I've waited a long time to have children so I feel like it's asking enough for two healthy children, but if I could ask one more thing, I would ask for another boy.

GOOD LUCK AND BEST WISHES JULIE!

Sleep well

The big poodle, getting older, now prefers his soft, low bed to ours. When the bath water runs the dog creaks up the stairs and curls up in a ball next to the spaceship sleeping bag with his name embroidered on it. The down is warm and envelopes him. Outer space litters the bed.

After the books, the potty, the four toothbrushes, the harmonica, the horse riding, the hat tipping and the drink or two of water he wiggles in. Zip me up, he instructs, as he rolls this way, then that way. We zip him up knowing it will only last a minute, maybe three. The lights are out and the gate is up. Un-zip me, he says, wiggling down to the bottom of the bed, careful not to kick the warm body next to him.

He climbs up onto the rocking chair. His feet clad in striped pajamas, once at my knees, now dangle closer to the floor as he finds a way to make his body still conform to mine in the small space of the chair that stays the same, even though the both of us are getting bigger by the day.

Sometimes it's a song, sometimes he tells me don't sing that and we just rock. One more minute I whisper then we're going to your bed. No. Is the response. Thirty seconds. Twenty seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight. Sometimes I make it to one and even though I'm desperate for my own pajamas and warm blankets I hold him still.

Time for bed I say, wanting to lift him up and lay him down softly like I used to, but know now I shouldn't, so he slides down and shuffles back to bed. Hoisting himself up he positions himself back into the bag, waiting until he's cocooned once again to flop onto his belly, his most comfy sleep position and sighs.

I watch his hands, they give it away every time. Even if his eyes are closed, if they are moving he is fighting the sleep that is inching closer. If they are still he is almost there. Sometimes I escape while he is drifting through twilight, other times the creak of the old rocking chair stirs him just enough to say mama lay with me.   

I crawl over him and wedge myself into the divide of cotton that separates my two sleepy ones. I stroke his hair until he bats my hand away. I place a kiss where I always have, even when he was tiny. That sweet place on the forehead where it curves to meet his eyes. I wait. My own eyes close, then open and close. All of us soft and sleepy, I prop myself up on my elbow, wondering how I'm going to manage this in a few months, though desperately still wanting to, and shimmy till my feet touch the floor.

Later I creep silently back in for one more check, to nudge the dog away, to adjust, to unzip once more, untangling the arms from the rocket ship and blanketing him in stars.

My heart full, I sleep. Well.

Irritating AND Expensive

I have never been a huge believer in pregnancy brain. Then again, I have the short term memory of a gnat. I forget birthdays, anniversaries, the location of where I parked my car and have lost my keys more times than I can count. It's a good thing my toddler talks because hearing him really helps me keep tabs on where that little guy is.

I always thought it was sleep deprivation or the fact that there were a lot more things to think about or maybe even just an excuse that some women used when they forgot to stop and buy milk.  I really did say that out loud to a pregnant friend (in my defense while we were both pregnant) and she gasped at me so loudly you would have thought I said she looked fat in those pregnancy jeans. (Which is another whole rant in and of itself.)

So far this week I have spaced out an appointment with my therapist. It was on Thursday January 10 at 9:30 AM. I have the little appointment card. I looked at it every day last week, dreading having to go. I looked at it on Thursday January 10. The same day I noticed it was Thursday January 10 on my phone, my email, my calendar and my computer. Then I decided to show up on January 11, thinking January 11 was January 10. I apologized profusely but they have a policy and the policy is they will bill you for a missed appointment that you do not cancel ahead of time. Cha Ching.

Last night as I was gathering my things getting ready to leave work I was making a pile next to my briefcase. Gloves- yes. I will need my gloves. Lets put those next to my briefcase. Phone. Yes, I need my phone, lets put that in my pocket so I don't have to fish it out. iPod. All nice and charged up. Check. I'll set that on my gloves because I wouldn't possibly forget them sitting next to my briefcase. Time to go. I picked up my briefcase and left.

This morning the gloves were sitting right where I left them. Minus my shiny happy fully charged iPod. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh it hurts. Hurts because I can not survive with out it. Hurts more because it's totally my fault.

Wait, what was I talking about?   

   

T.S.T.B.

Translation: Too Salty To Blog.

Week 16 Update: Still mental.

I really want to write something worth reading but the words don't come and all I want to do is bitch. About everything. Especially about Halle Berry looking totally gorgeous with her arms not at all fat and blabbering about how she wants to stay pregnant forever. Of course you do! Because one day that baby is going to come out and you are going to have to GIVE UP YOUR LIFE LADY. Even with your team of bicoastal nannies I'll bet there will be at least one day when you will really want to do something, like go shopping for really expensive art to hang in your mansion and you just won't be able to because that your super hot baby daddy will be out posing modeling and your nanny will have the flu and you will have to change your plans. Yes.Yes you will.

Do you really want to know?

Many a well wishing person has asked me in the recent days How are you feeling? I answer back A little tired, not bad or something like that. These are the people who wouldn't normally be asking if it weren't for the fact that they just learned I was pregnant, so I understand the social rules - I measure my answers appropriately.

I feel different every minute of the day, which is exhausting in and of itself, not to mention being already debilitating tired from the pregnancy and the ever oh so challenging one beating me down. This morning I had to carry him from the house, diapered and with shoes and socks on, but with his pants down to his ankles and no shirt out to the car. As I observed myself doing this in the third person, I thought, at least it's warm outside. He won't be too cold. These are the thoughts of a crazy woman. By eight o'clock I had tried every thing I could to get him dressed and he didn't want to so that's where we were at. (He gave in once I hit the porch, just so you know.) I know most women approaching number two probably wonder how to manage getting two babes into the car but I am consumed today with how to do that when I can't even get the one I have there by himself. Sanely.

Sometimes I'm nauseous, more often I'm not. Standard stuff. While not surprised that it's happening, I'm fairly disappointed that I feel freaked out that my midsection is expanding. Like thinking that I want to stop it and can't. I don't want the baby not to grow, I just want to control my belly. I want it to get bigger when I say so and to my specifications. That's not only impossible, it's nuts.

Last night when I tried to get the ice cream out of the freezer (what was that about an expanding belly?) it fell out of the freezer and landed on my foot. Then when I tried to open the silverware drawer a fork got stuck and bent completely out of shape. Then when I put the spoon in it bent all the way backwards. After that I tried with another spoon and scraped my knuckles. That's when I decided to chuck it (the spoon, not the ice cream, I'm not that far gone) across the room. When my husband came in demanding to know what was wrong with me I yelled at him to JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. He's not having any of this crazy-hormone-pregnant-lady-business so he did just that for the rest of the night. Which, of course, made me more pissed. All because of ice cream.

And I'm going to be in charge of not one - but two children.

I'm feeling great.(not)

Would someone kindly remove this elephant?

2008: Out with the old and in with the new.

Only in this case, it's the other way around.

Out with the new. We're having a baby. Somewhere around July 1st 2008, if all goes as planned. I'm fourteen weeks pregnant.

In with the old. Every day that passes feels like someone is stealing time from me and I want to hold my first born, my heart, closer and closer. To smell the top of his head and tickle the side of his neck and feel his feet burrow beneath my legs under the blankets in the morning.

It's hard for me to talk about this. We didn't tell our families until last week. No one at work has been informed, even though there is clearly more of me than there used to be and people are obviously assuming I've been hitting the Christmas cookies a bit hard. In their defense, they would not be mistaken.

Since I don't write about this I've found it hard to write about anything. I'm too busy staring down the proverbial elephant standing in the middle of my psyche. I'm happy. Truly. I just never expected number two to feel so matter of fact. Where is the rest of the happy? It must be here somewhere, I just haven't found it yet. I've been busy sorting out the worry (Can I really handle this?) and the anxiety (Those first few months with a newborn were Not.Good.) and the day care money crunching (Don't think about it. You have to think about it. It's easier not to think about it. But you have to think about it!) and the please don't kick me in the belly while you are having that tantrum over not having a candy cane for breakfast.

I'm very grateful to have this second chance at being a mom. I don't mean to imply otherwise. It's just taking a long time to sink in. Really in. Deep to my heart where it belongs. To the left of the pachyderm.

~~~~~

Post Script: I have received so many positive vibes and so much support from so many amazing mommy bloggers in 2007, many of whom are trying or thinking about trying or getting ready to try again or helped me sort out what happens after you try that I want to acknowledge that I have read and felt every word and I want to thank you. My hope is that everyone receives their hearts desire in 2008, in whatever package or packages that might appear in. Best wishes to all.

Ready or not

December was a long month of lazy mornings, watching Oswald turn into the Wonderpets and padding around in my slippers and drinking hot cocoa. Because the vacation gods smiled on me, I worked a total of 11 days in the office this month. I'd like to say it was all rosy happy days. In reality it wasn't and as I watch the fleeting hours of daylight fade across my living room, I'm kicking myself for getting lost in a funk too much of the time. Gray days and long hours inside going from the train table to the race track and back again with a poopy diaper thrown in for excitement does not exactly thrill me. I enjoyed moments, to be sure, some were big enough to make up for all the others, but so many were wasted by my poor attitude that no matter what, I couldn't seem to change. Now it's about to be over.

We go our separate ways tomorrow. Us to work and him to school and the thought of it makes me want to hold my head in my hands. I have been here before and I know I will forget what this feels like. One foot in front of the other old girl and all that. Our shoes know the steps even if we've forgotten how to do the dance. It will be fine. It will be fine.

School is good. Work is good. Paychecks are very important. I'm lucky to have had this time at home to spend with family. Yeah yeah.

My husband just announced as I sit here staring at the snow for the umpteenth time, lost in my own thoughts, We have a cool family. My poodle is curled up next to me, my son is asleep in front of the fire, my husband is close by. We do.

This time tomorrow, things will be very different. I try and try but I can't get my mind around how some days drag out so slowly you can literally count the minutes on your hand but a whole year can slip through your fingers. I want time to stop. I need to catch my breath before I can venture on this new journey of 2008. I want to be able to reflect and document the highlights but I fear it's already too late. January is in motion. Time to start again.

Here's hoping 2008 finds you recharged and ready to have at it again. The good stuff and the new friends and the babies and the tears and the belly laughs and the really early mornings and the stolen moments and the sweet syrupy kisses and dirty hands and the tantrums and the questions and the deadlines and the surprises.

Vacation or not, in our house, everynight before little man goes to bed, we run. We run circles around our dining room, to the sunroom and back. We roll up our pant legs and we stand firm in our best racing stance and I announce: On your mark, Get set....GO! That is only one of many things that will stay the same as the days get longer even though our time together will seem shorter. Many nights I'm too tired and I drag myself up to do it, lamely powerwalking, but by the second lap with my son poking me in the butt and catching the squeal of his laughter, I find myself running. Running and smiling.

On your mark...Get set......GO.