I know my doctor and you, sir, are not my doctor

36 week appointment was today. The good news is that there are no changes in my blood pressure or protein levels. I've ducked the pre-eclampsia curse for another week!
Actually, it's all good news. There was no bad news.
I am a grown woman and should be able to handle better the news that my doctor was called away to deliver someone else's baby at the last minute, so another doctor (just as good, no 2nd string comments here) would be doing my appointment. Except this doctor was a man. I know he's a professional, and just as much as I think a qualified woman could/should be Vice President, I believe a qualified man could/should be an OB/GYN.
Just not mine. And just not today.
Today, the day where I would be taking off clothes again for a test as well as a look see for dilation (which I know means nothing really, but well, I'd like to know if THAT'S what those pains were).
Anyhow, baby is doing well, and so am I.
Next week I'll be a week closer to THE date. Hopefully, my doctor stays put in her office.

nap on the go

Jim got some tile down on our kitchen floor yesterday. In order to do this, he needed Willa out of the house. So, the plan was that I would take Willa Halloween costume shopping after she woke up for her nap.

Except she didn't take a nap. After 90 minutes of lying there reading books, pretending she had to go to the bathroom, yelling at Jim (at that time working in the garage) through the window, "DAAAA-deee watcha doin? I not tired!!"

I gave up on the thought of taking a nap myself while she did, and got us off to the store. And she was sleeping 4 minutes after takeoff.

Undeterred, I pulled into the store's parking lot, put her and a blanket into the big part of the cart where she snuggled back to sleep. She slept the whole 45 minutes that I walked up and down just about every row of toys and clothes and books.

An older woman peeked in the cart, "now THAT's the way to shop."

"No, kidding," I said, "she's pushing me at the next store."

No costume was found, but that floor is going to look nice.

Busy October

A few of you sharing dates of importance in your lives and are suggesting that baby Sinki arrive then.
We could start a pool. Who ever guesses closest gets the office rubber plant that I need to find a home for.

In our family/circle, October is pretty busy too:
4 - Jenny and Joe's anniversary
11 - Brother Brian's birthday
13 - Jim's dad's birthday
15 - Jim's birthday (and his brother Joe's birthday - nope, not twins - and Maggie the dog's birthday too!)
22 - Julia's birthday (we were just sponsors at her baptism. Can we call her our Goddaughter?)
24 - Brother-in-law Ken's birthday
25 - Niece Kenzie's birthday
29 - Our Anniversary

If you look at that list again, you'll see all of the fella's in Jim's family were born in October. This baby is a boy.
All of the ladies in my family were born in April. As was Willa.
Neat, eh?

We stopped at 6

Willa and I were sitting on the couch eating popcorn last night.

"Doonnnn't eat da seeds. Dey hurt your teeth."
"That's right. No seeds."
"Dey hurt my belly too. And my two babies."
"Seeds hurt your belly? You're right, you shouldn't eat them."
"Uh- huhhhhh... seeds hurt my three babies."
"You have THREE babies in your belly now? Let's count them."

"Otay...." she lifts her shirt and points to her belly, "one... two... free... four. Four babies in Willa's belly."
"Wow. You have four babies? Mama has one baby in her belly."
"Willa's baby brudder. Willa has FIVE babies."
"That's a lot of babies. Are you done with your popcorn?"
"Ummmmm.... no. Don't eat da seeds. Dey hurt Willa's six babies in da belly."

It's too early to feel like this!!

I was here yesterday starting to type and then deleting, and then trying again.

The thing is, I don't really have anything to say (which, if you were a smart blog reader should be your cue to stop here and check in another day). If we had current pictures loaded, I'd opt out of writing and just post those. But alas.

I've been consumed with grasping at how much and how little time there is until October 26. Just under 5 weeks is a very long time, if I consider the aches and pains and excitement. It's a blink of the eye when I look at the "to-do" lists for both home and office.

Knowing October 26 is just an estimate drives me up the wall. A belly this pregnant should come with an expiration date stamped right on it, you know? Willa was 5 days early. I've gone done the foolish path of expecting to meet the new guy by October 21. Because of his size, and mine, others are saying I won't make it to the due date. They're just enablers at this point. But kind ones.

Because of that, I'll likely be back here mocking myself in early November when the baby still isn't here.

That is not my belly.

It's all relative

"And then my mom said -"

"MY dwanma!" Willa corrected me from the floor where she was obsessively lining up 40+ tiny rubber ducks.

"Willa, your grandma is my mom."

"MY DWANMA!"

"You're right... your grandma. And she loves you very much," and then I muttered under my breath, "but she knew me first, and she's MY mom."

Jim laughed.

Mothering and babies

So, I've been in the mom business for 29 months now, and sometimes it still sneaks up on me.

Willa and I were lying on the couch watching Mary Poppins. She snuggled in a little closer, turned to me, smiled and patted my forehead. "Ohmygosh," I thought to myself, "Jim and I invented this, our daughter."

I really, really like being a mom.

Even on the ride home from daycare when the soundtrack was about 18 minutes of a heartbroken cry from the backseat. She had smuggled one of her plastic lizards into school that morning, and lost him. I couldn't get her to calm down, so we just drove home. To drown out the ruckus, I concentrated on the road and some thinking. I know Willa was sad about the lizard being gone, but I think she still has some magical thinking about her parents. In her head she says, "I want the purple lizard" and I should be able to make it materialize. I think she's starting to realize that even her parents have some limitations. Kind of a bittersweet realization, I'd bet.

This morning I brought her (lizard free, and pockets checked) to school and talked with some of her friends. One of the little boys looked at my belly and said, "I used to be a baby." And then all of the friends informed me that they, too, had been a baby. I said, "can I tell you a secret?" They nodded. "I was a baby too. A long time ago." They looked confused. A mom could not possibly have been a baby. "And your mom used to be a baby. And Ms. Whitney (the teacher) was a baby too." There was nearly a riot as 4 kids protested loudly that their mom had never been a baby. "Actually," I said, "every single person you know used to be a baby." I think I heard their jaws dropping.

I walked out the door, laughing. I had just blown the minds of a bunch of 3 year olds.

We're the cheesiest!

I woke up at 5something this morning laughing. I had just dreamt that I suggested to the folks at Kraft foods that they hold a nation-wide contest to find the "cheesiest family." The winner of the contest would get mac-n-cheese for a lifetime AND their family photo featured on the box. They thought it was a great idea, and - hey, small world - the Sinki's won.

Monday, monday

First, I am feeling better today. I really am, I'm not just saying that so my mom won't worry or to make myself feel like less of a whiner. Thanks to everyone for the words of encouragement. The best thing about this medical condition, as many of you pointed out, is that it's got a shelf life (less than 6 weeks left now), and a pretty sweet cure.


The weekend was pretty... wet. Our usually very dry basement had a little bit of water in it. Jim kept us dry with several visits to the basement and the wet vac.

I canned peaches. It seems my first foray into canning was a success. They're still the same color they were when we started, so, yay.

This may be nesting, but it seems I would incorporate some house cleaning if that were the case.

complaining

When asked how he is, my dad will often say, "I've never had a bad day in my life."
This is, of course, not the truth. I can be quite certain that I, myself, may have been the cause of one or two bad days in his life. However, what an enviable lie. What a great response. Another one from the book of Charlie is, "if I were any better, I would be twins." Which could very well be the truth. He's cool, my dad.

I? I am not cool. Not this week. And so, I am using this space to complain. Don't bother reading the rest. It's just kind of a pity party. Honestly... go watch Access Hollywood or something. Even that would be a better use of your next 2 minutes.

My ankles -what's left of them - are swollen. As are my fingers, nose, lips (I do have some pretty full lips right now)...
There are 2 pairs of shoes that I can wear. And one of those might not make it through the weekend.
Tallys of the time it takes me to find a comfortable sleeping position vs. how much sleep I'm actually getting shows reason for frustration. And some grouchiness.
I have been tempted - several times - to kick my sweet snoring Jim who is clearing sleeping.
My sinuses are clogged.
Flax seed has helped other system clogging.
Morning sickness made me take a half day to go back to bed today.
Veins are coming out of places that - in normal life - contain said veins.
My back hurts.
My hips hurt.
Sometimes, my eyeballs hurt.

I could go on, but are you really interested? And even if you (so kindly) were, there's not much either of us could do.

Today I told Jim I'm in no way ready for this baby to come. But at the same time... I don't think I'll be feeling better soon.

Here's hoping this is just a bad week, and next week, I'll be over some biological hump.

Playing in the dirt

Pregnancy has turned me into a heat and humidity wimp. For this reason, my flower beds have gone largely neglected over the summer. Grass and weeds are growing where they previously have not been permitted to linger. Early blooming mums have been lucky to be looked at, let alone deadheaded. Black Eye Susans and my purple Coneflowers had a turf war, and the Coneflowers lost. They survive, but don't look great (anyone else have a bummer year with the Coneflower?).

Yesterday evening, we got a little glimpse of how life can be when it's not in the 80's and humid (I've heard our summer hasn't been that bad. My hormone-infused reality sees it differently).

I worked. Weeds were pulled. Plants were divided and transplanted. Small trees growing under our deck were removed. New plants and a small tree were considered. I shoveled, raked, pulled, watered, fiddled... and 2 hours later I had a hard time moving at all.

But geez, the front our our house looks nicer for it.

And it made me feel so much better. I've been missing scrubbing dirt from my fingernails.

Wake up call

"It's sunny out now," she said as she stood by my bed in her pink footie pajamas and a huge smile.

I love her.

I was upstairs lying with Willa in her twin bed. I had read one book to her, and she insisted on reading the other two to me (she gets 3 books a night). I was feeling pretty tired, so I let her. Lately she's really enjoying "Are You My Mother." She was playing with plastic Easter eggs the other day, opened it and said, "and out popped a baby bird."
After she finished her books, she rolled my way, put her forehead on mine and said, "I need to cuddle you."
Some time later, I woke up to Jim standing over us grinning.

Candy and fire

Twizzlers have a permanent spot in our house. They're above the stove, next to the light bulbs. Jim will be glad I've not posted our address here because everyone knows the internet is crawling with miscreants who will stalk your blog and later break into your house to steal your licorice.
If she knows where the Twizzlers are, Willa can not reach them.
She is reduced to asking us for them: "I want lick 'er, please. Willa's own lick 'er? A NEW lick 'er?"
Ironically, the liquor used to be stored in that spot. One vice for another.

In other news, one of my top 5 restaurants in GR caught fire on Friday night. We ate there and left at 9:38 to get to the Celebration on the Grand fireworks a little late. When I was putting Willa to bed, Jim yelled up the stairs, "Little Mexico is burning to the ground." Fire started just after we left. I'm so glad we were not there for the chaos and sadness of evacuating the burning GR landmark.

Willa is...

...still sleeping upstairs, blissfully, and keeping her big girl panties on, dryly.

To add another big transition to her life, this is her last day in the room she's been in at daycare. She graduates to the next step on Monday. Given her affection for Ms. Kelly, this might be the first time a school room transition will be tougher on her than me.

Willa, Willa, Kwame, Tina/Sarah, and good eggs

Some randomness today:

I picked Willa up from daycare and peeked in to see her first. Wait, I thought, she's still wearing the same outfit that I brought her in. Throw some confetti and start up the marching band, folks. Willa went all day at daycare in her big girl underpants!

On the way home I was talking to her and suddenly she stopped responding. "I hiiiiddddinnngggg," she giggled from the back seat. I turned around to look. She had her bathing suit over her head, and was peeking at me through a leg hole.

So, Kwame's gone. Think we could get Dennis Archer to unretire?

In an effort to achieve balance, I watched a good portion of the Republican Convention. I am much more partisan that I had thought. And, I know I'm not the first to make the comparison, but, I'm hoping Tina Fey (formerly from Saturday Night Live) stops this practical joke on America soon. "HA!" she'll say, "America, I was just joshin' you with that whole I'm a Gov. from Alaska thing. Don't forget to watch 30 Rock." I listened to Sarah Palin speak last night. And while I'd like to have lunch with her someday, I really don't like the idea of her as a Vice President.

And, because Republicans seem to be mocking the noble profession of community organizing, I want to give a shout out to my hommies who feel that connecting with individuals, families and institutions in the name of bettering neighborhoods is worthwhile.

Chicago with a side trip to crazy-town

I am not someone who likes to blame a lot of my behavior on the major chemical imbalances that pregnancy hormones may cause. If I'm upset about something, it's likely that I would be upset about it in a non-pregnant state too. Maybe it's not true, and certainly proportion may change when things come up while pregnant. I think Jim's finally relaxing after "the dress comment" of '06.

But, my friends (John McCain is teaching me how to speak more folksy), this is the post where I admit that I was poisoned by hormones over the weekend.

We went to Chicago's Shedd Aquarium on Saturday. When I suggested this trip, I envisioned Willa holding Jim's hand, both of them delighted and captivated by the beluga whales. I pictured her grinning while saying "starfish." I pictured us leaving at closing time, and heading to the car smiling and maybe holding a fish shaped helium balloon.

This did not happen.

Chicago's Shedd Aquarium was very crowded on Saturday. Humanity was not feeling kind, and folks were throwing elbows to get a better look at the lizards (at the aquarium? I didn't get it, but it's been a popular temporary exhibit for them). Willa didn't want to stay in her stroller, I couldn't physically hold her much, and Jim was getting weary of the pointy elbowed masses.

Stern reminder to self: your darling husband does not like crowds - a gazillion times more than you do not like crowds. Stop forgetting this.

I thought I was a super-genius to suggest we go claim our seats for the dolphin show an hour before it started. It would give us some space from people, and we'd be able to sit down and watch the dolphins in their tank for a while. Jim thought he was a super-genius for claiming the seats against the fake rock formation that encircles the shows bleachers (back rests! yay!). And our plan would have worked if it weren't for that meddling kid - I mean our super-genius daughter who wanted to spend the time climbing the fake rocks.

The show started. She was not riveted. "Dolphins, schmolphins, mom," she could have said, "look at these fake rocks for climbing!" If there weren't the possibility for a stitches inviting head wound, I might have let her. Instead I held her on my lap, whispering in her ear a narration of what the dolphins were doing. She started to whine. She started to cry. She started to yell.

We left the dolphin show. While Jim was putting Willa into her stroller, I started to cry too. "No one's having any fun," I blubbered (this is your brain on hormones, friends).

We left the aquarium. We left Chicago. The whole time I couldn't shake the funk. In my head the entire day - the entire weekend - was ruined. It was our last big family trip before the baby comes and it was a failure. Which meant, of course, that I was a failure.

We ate at a super-fun place which actually turned out to be a highlight of the trip. That's for a different post.

We got home at midnight and by then I had worked myself into such a quiet knot that I was miserable. I didn't know what was happening. Jim was tired, so I went to sleep on the couch.

Suddenly I was sobbing. I went back to bed to wake Jim who wasn't sleeping. He was probably lying wide eyed and afraid of the hormonal hurricane that he knew was coming.

I said a lot of things that I didn't really mean and am not really concerned about. Like what? How about this gem: "what if we don't like our son?" I said that. Out loud.

I figured out, while lying there with Jim hugging me tightly, that I was just getting hit with the very normal (right?) fear about how drastically our lives are going to change once the baby arrives. How happy the three of us are together, and "why are we screwing with that chemistry?" Hormones took those fears, shot them up with 'roids, put them under a magnifying glass - in the sun - and started a fire.

When I was breathing normally again, I was able to laugh at my outburst. Then I started to get upset about how the day - the whole weekend - was ruined by my behavior.

So. There it is, my tale of pregnancy nuttiness. It happens. I'm admitting it. I'm scheduled for detox and recovery next month. In the mean time, send Jim vibes of patience.

Movin' on up

I know that just by typing it here, I'm vexing our family into a week's worth of turmoil and bad sleep. Eh, who likes it easy and well rested?

Willa is, I think, pretty much done with the nursery. Peter Pan heard it was time for her to leave the nursery, so he sent Tinkerbell (who Willa insisted on calling Alice) to teach her to fly and join him in Neverland...

Oh, so... maybe I could use a few nights of better sleep.

Anyhow, the facts:
- we gave her the choice of her crib or her big girl bed for several naps and night sleeps over the (blessedly) long weekend. And she chose big girl bed every time.
- given how fun her big girl room is, and the fact that it's upstairs and out of good earshot, she did not nap at all that first day. Also? The molars... come on, dudes, just pop out and give the kid a complete set.
- she woke up this morning in her big girl bed and told me proudly, "Willa sleep in da big girl bed alllll night, mama."

So far, so good. And much easier than I anticipated.

It's genetic, I think.

Most kids ask "why?" over and over again at this age. Willa says "why not?".
That's a much more difficult question to answer, by the way.