Good News, Ambiguous News

I think Bun is determined not to be overlooked, even before he or she is born. I have never had a pregnancy that has been so documented. I've been scanned, measured, poked, prodded, and hooked up to more expensive machinery than the Bionic Woman, and one thing has become abundantly clear: obstetrics is, at best, an imprecise science. The more doctors I see, the more opinions I get, and there doesn't seem to be one master opinion that overrides all the others.


At my most recent ultrasound appointment, we discovered, happily, that Bun's single umbilical artery defect has become almost a footnote in my file. The whole reason for being scanned every month was to check on Bun's growth, and to make sure that the compromised cord was delivering enough nutrients to ensure adequate growth.


According to my latest scan, growth restriction doesn't seem to be a problem after all. The doctor is estimating the baby to be close to six pounds already. And I have six weeks left to go.


In addition to a large-ish baby, I also have polyhydramnios. In other words, Bun is enjoying an extra deep swimming pool in there. A normal amniotic fluid level at this stage is 15-25 and I coming in at a nice round 30. And that 30 is making me nice and round.


The perinatologist was convinced that I had gestational diabetes, since that is the number one suspect for both a large baby and too much fluid. I passed my glucose test at 29 weeks, but he told me that sometimes women squeak through on the first test even though they really do have it. Sort of like secret gestational diabetes.


So just like the SAT's, I got a chance to improve my scores by taking the test again. My level the second time around was better than the first test. Again, just like my SATs. My levels mean no secret diabetes for me.


It also means that, since no one can find a cause for the extra fluid, I get to enjoy twice weekly non-stress tests and weekly ultrasounds to measure my fluid level until the baby gets here. My family doctor, the one who will deliver Bun, also has suggested a possible induction before my due date, depending on the outcomes of the non-stress tests and ultrasounds.


I keep flipping between calm and anxious, and I am sure that my exhaustion does nothing to help with the anxiety. I know that whatever will be is what is meant for our family, and I have to struggle against my need to be certain of everything in my life. One minute I am looking forward to going early, just to know that the baby is all right, and the next minute I am stubbornly making up my mind to hold out for the full forty weeks.


I know that whatever happens will be dictated by what is best for the baby, no matter what that means. I just wish that I knew what that course would be. For now, all I can do is to trust in God and be thankful that Bun is healthy so far. Those are no small things.

What's His is Mine, and Other Laws of Marriage

Fiver, wandering into my room while stalling for bed:

Hi Mom. Umm, does Dad know you are using his little computer (laptop)?

Yes, he does.

Oh. Well that's very nice of him to share his things with you.

Yes it is. Goodnight, Fiver.

We Now Return to Our (Semi) Regularly Scheduled Programming

I'm back. Sort of.

I've made the executive decision that I am still on Christmas Break, so I am ignoring the bathrooms in favor of catching up on my pals in the Google Reader. I could really get used to this Christmas Break thing. The dirty bathrooms? Not so much. But there is a time to every purpose under heaven, right? Now is not the time for bathrooms.

Our Christmas Day was lovely, and the house looks pretty good for having a small tornado whip right through the living room and down to the playroom. Actually, I think it was three small individual tornadic events, but so what? The kids had fun and I am still on Break, so the mess can stay.

We took the children to the 4 pm mass on Christmas Eve, along with 12,000 of our fellow parishioners and their closest relatives. We had the illegal creative parking spot to prove it. Our parish held masses upstairs in the church as well as downstairs in the hall at the same time. It was like Praise God in Simulcast.

While still at home, we decided that it would be best for us to head directly downstairs, since we would most likely need to remove one (or more) of the children before the recessional hymn. We left home at 3:15 for the five minute drive to the 4 pm mass, and we found that our decision was a moot point anyway. There was no room at the inn for the upstairs mass, since people had been camping out for seats the night before. Oh, I kid. They had only been there since 10 am.

We happily traipsed down to the hall with the kids to find the last four adjacent seats in the entire building. A Christmas miracle right there, my friends. (A bonus: the bathrooms are in the hall, so mass down there was not such a trial for this pregnant lady.)

The children were exceptionally well behaved, and this is coming from their harshest behavioral critic. Even Fiver, our Man of Routine, only asked "Why are we having mass in here?" about twelve or forty times. He parked it in a folding chair, his arch nemesis as far as posture and balance are concerned, and sat there for at least half of the mass. Chalk it up to another Christmas miracle.

The next morning, there was no rest for the weary. The weary being Rob and myself. Francie was awake at 3:45. AM. Santa wasn't even finished with his deliveries, for Pete's sake. When Rob told her that we were not going downstairs until seven at the earliest, she shuffled to her room muttering, "Oh man, that's another 4 hours!" Rob called back, "Don't be silly! It's only 3 hours and 15 minutes!"

Guess where we were at 7:01? Here's a hint: Not in our bed.

By 10 am, Rob and I had finally freed all the new stuff from those evil wire twisty ties, and the children had happily retreated to their own corners. I sat on the sofa and debated between taking a nap and eating some chocolate peanut butter cookies. Despite my exhaustion, I managed to rally for the cookies. It's all about dedication, my friends.

So now I am trying to hold on to all the relaxed vibes by prolonging my Christmas Break, and it seems to be working. I've been busy reading new books, resting on the couch, eating chocolate truffles, and playing innumerable rounds of Whac-a-Mole.

In short: it's been perfect. How about you?

We Wish You A Merry Christmas

The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone all
around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them,
"Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that
will be for all people. For today in the city of David a savior has been
born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you
will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising
God and saying: "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those
on whom His favor rests." Luke 9-14

The Birth of Jesus, Rembrandt, 1646

Waxing Poetic Redux

I can't decide if it's comforting or just plain scary that this post from last year describes the exact way my house looks today. I'm going with scary.



Twas' four days before Christmas
And throughout the homestead,
Laundry was knee-deep
And there was only one "made" bed.

Teachers gifts were all stacked
On the dining room table,
We'd love to eat there
If only we were able.

The Boy in his pjs,
And Baby Girl in the same,
In fact Mother's still not dressed
And feeling quite lame.

No shopping's been done
For the Mr. from the Mrs.
And don't look in the kitchen,
You'll gasp at the dishes.

Our tree is so pretty,
We have that at least,
But no food has been purchased
For the big Christmas feast.

The kids are all sick,
A nice Christmas cold,
Crusty noses and coughs,
We're a sight to behold.

But I'll dose them all up
With some good "baby pink"**
And then maybe I'll tackle
The mound in the sink

Or maybe I'll just gaze
At the creche by the tree
To see how my children have
Arranged things so perfectly.

Because Christmas is coming,
With the house clean or dirty,
With presents or nothing,
Or with kids sick or hearty.

So I'll rise up to meet it,
Right here in this place,
And be glad we're all here,
Each smiling, crusty face.

So from this house to yours,
From our hearth and our hearts,
Merry Christmas To All
(forget the imperfect parts)!



** "baby pink" is my kids' name for Children's Motrin, because the bubble gum flavor is pink

Originally posted December 20, 2006

I Got Blessed!

And now I get to pass it on . . .

Barb from SFO Mom blessed me in an ultra-nice version of bloggy tag. (Thank you, Barb. I am humbled.) This all started over at Debbie's blog, and the love is making the rounds. Here's how it works:

The idea… it’s a game of tag with a difference, rather than looking
inwardly, we look outside ourselves and bless, praise and pray for one blog
friend. By participating in this endeavour we not only make the recipient of the
blessing feel valued and appreciated, but we are having some fun too. We’re
going to see how far the bloggin’ blessings can travel around the world and how
many people can be blessed! Recipients of a bloggin’ blessing may upload the
above image to their sidebar if they choose to. If you receive a bloggin’
blessing please leave a comment on this
thread so that we can rejoice in just how many blessings have been sent
around the world!

I bless T, Nicole, and Janeen.

I bless T, Nicole, and Janeen because they always have encouraging and generous words to say. I can always count on reading something kind or insightful from them, and I never come away from their blogs feeling like I shouldn't have tarried there. Is it too trite to say that they are just nice people? No. It's not.

A prayer for T, Nicole, and Janeen: May the blessing of Almighty God, of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, come down upon you and remain with you forever. Amen.

And now we're nearly done . . .

These three ladies are now tagged to:

• bless three blog buddies each


• include the "God Bless You" image in their post


• Explain briefly why they are blessing the people they are blessing


• pray/include in the post the prayer for the recipients of the blessing


• the recipient/sender of the blessing should type in the com box of this post that a blessing has been sent - so that we can keep track of all those blessings flying around out there.

God bless!!

Behold the Power of Trans-Fats

I succumbed to a craving yesterday, and bought some "breakfast buns" from the bakery section of the supermarket. These buns are actually more like individual danish, and they will need to be dead to me after the baby comes. Weight Watchers is not so much on board with the breakfast buns.

I was eating one of these glazed, apple filled lovelies this morning, when I heard the familiar stomp of Fiver's foot on the playroom stairs. Since he narrates every move he makes, I could hear him reviewing his plan to get me downstairs to build him an elaborate train track.

My exact thoughts? Fat chance, buster. I am having some private time with my buns.

(I think I just changed the whole tenor of this blog with one sentence. Oh well.)

He made his way in to the table, and he was in the middle of asking me to perform feats of engineering magic when his eyes landed on my plate.

Fiver: Oh, hey Mom. What are you eating?

Me: A breakfast bun.

Fiver: Oh. Well, I've never tried that so I don't know if I like it.

Me: Would you like to try some now?

Fiver: I guess I should so that I know if I like it or I don't like it.

(He takes a bite and struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head)

Fiver: Oh I DO like them, Mom! I should probably share with you.

Me: That's fine.

(we finish the entire bun in .27 seconds)

Fiver: I'm really glad I tried that bun. Maybe I'll have one for later.

Me: Did you need something up here, buddy?

Fiver: Uhhhh . . . no . . . I can't remember. I'm going back to play now.


Oh, how I shall miss your mind-altering powers, my dear, delicious breakfast buns.

(And PS: Feeling much better today -thanks for all the happy thoughts. If I were Wendy Darling, I'd be ripping through the atmosphere at the speed of sound.)

I've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'

I'm supposed to be out Christmas shopping right now. Obviously I have decided against that.

As an alternative, I told myself that I would stay home and clean the bathrooms. I've obviously decided against that as well.

I don't know what is wrong with me, but I just cannot get it together these days. I am feeling the last minute crush of consumerism even though I have 99% of all of my shopping done. Weird, right?

I'm not in a Bah Humbug kind of mood - I actually feel quite content most of the time - but I have no desire to do anything else. At the beginning of Advent I had great plans for fun things to do with the children, and here we are, burning the pink candle at both ends, and almost none of the plans have come to fruition.

We have our tree and we are fully decorated, but that's about the extent of the preparedness. There are no Christmas cookies, I missed BooMama's Christmas home tour, laundry is everywhere, the larder is empty, and there is not a paper product to be found in this house. I've been reading blogs, but not commenting on others or posting to my own. I'm usually a wastrel with those two cents, my friends.

I have absolutely no energy left, and I have a sinking feeling that it has nothing to do with the physical side of being 33 weeks pregnant. It's a little more cerebral. Okay, it's a lot more cerebral.

I've seen this before, and the end result has always been a little renewal of my friendship with my pal Sertraline. She's a nice girl - quiet, steady, dependable - and she has always been a good friend for the 10 months or so that I need her. The problem is that I would rather not need her at all.

Ever the punctual girl, I like to get a jump on my post partum depression and start the downward slide while I'm still pregnant. I hate to be late to a party, you know. After three bouts, I can almost start to see the symptoms, although it usually does take an outside observation (Rob, that's you, mmkay?) to put me on the right track to the doctor.

For me, the difficulty comes in the discernment. Am I just tired? Am I just lazy? If I am recognizing the symptoms, does that mean I'm actually still in the clear? Are all of these homebody feelings God's way of telling me to throttle back before the baby comes?

I don't know anymore.

I am trying to pray about it, but even those efforts seem clunky and sluggish. The "one day at a time" principle has always been a hard one for me to swallow. I am the girl who is simultaneously cleaning the kitchen cabinets, folding the laundry, and sorting outgrown clothes. while I've got the grilled cheeses lined up in the pan for lunch. Why do just one thing at a time when the HomeFront motto is Go Big or Go Home?

Maybe this is the best way for me to prepare for having four young children in my home. I have to face the facts and let some things go. Things like an empty laundry room, and a kitchen floor that is still clean 24 hours after I wash it. No one remembers that kind of stuff anyway.

This is such a short season in my life; this season of babies and toddlers and crumbs and stickiness. I'm reminded of that everyday when Francie finds her way out the door, completely dressed and fed under her own steam. If I concentrate on the brevity, I find that I am not as concerned about all the things I have left undone.

So maybe there is hope for me after all. But the prayers don't hurt either.

Where's The Rain?

Last night, Rob and I had fun using his new iTunes gift card to purchase some quality 80's hits for our play list. Took us right back to our youth, I tell you.


For him, it was memories of junior high and high school.


For me, it was memories of leaping off the high dive at the city pool while NightRanger blared from the PA system. Because I was young and not yet in junior high.

Looking back, I'm amazed they even let a five year old on the high dive at all. (ahem)

Anyway.

While we did not select any NightRanger songs for purchase (I KNOW!), we did have fun listening to 30 second snippets of nostalgia. We had enough left on the gift card for one more song, when Rob suddenly remembered his affection for a little Toto now and then. Who can turn down Rosanna or Hold the Line?

He selected Africa as the last song, and we listened to it while it downloaded. We were both singing along to the chorus, when we hit a little snag. A snag that has not been an uncommon one in our marriage.

Rob sang the line, "I bless the rains down in Africa."

I sang the line, "I guess the rain's down in Africa."

I turned to him and said, "Is the line really I bless the rains? Because I have always sung I guess the rain's. Like someone doesn't know where the rain is, but they are guessing it might be in Africa because it is not where they are."

Rob laughed. And laughed. And laughed a little more. And then he said, "You've been singing it wrong." And then he laughed again.

Just to make sure, I looked it up on the wonder that is the internet. And sure enough, the line is "I bless the rains down in Africa." I've been singing it wrong since 1982. That's 25 years, my friends.

So after I confirmed my misunderstanding about the chorus, naturally the rest of the song as I knew it became suspect. I checked out the rest of the lyrics, and I realized that in the second verse the correct lyrics are "Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti."

Want to know what I have been singing? Since 1982?

"Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like a Lepress above the Serengeti."

I was always so impressed that Toto could work a female leopard/majestic mountain comparison in the middle of a rock song.

Never mind the fact that I have known for years that a female leopard is called a leopardess. She is not, in fact, called a lepress. I'm not even sure what a lepress is, but it sounds seriously contagious now that I think about it.

I've played the song several times today, and the real lyrics sound so obvious to me now. And yet, I have a hard time letting go of my original interpretations.

I'm not surprised at my mistakes, since I have always had a strong tendency to mess things up, but song lyrics seem to be my specialty. Some of my favorite mistakes? Oh, it's so hard to choose, but I managed to narrow it down to these:

In Billy Joel's Scenes from an Italian Restaurant, I always thought he was singing about an Italian girl named Brenda Rinnetti. I just never understood why he sung about her plurally. As in "Brenda Rinnetti were still going steady in the summer of '75, when they decided the marriage would be at the end of July."

Say what, Billy? It dawned on me later (much later) that he was lending his accent to two names: Brenda AND Eddie. (Or Brender and Eddie, as the case may be)

And then there was the classic by Stevie "Guitar" Miller that I always sang as "Big Old South Carolina." Too bad I should have been singing "Big old JET AIRLINER." See a big old jet airliner has a much easier time "carrying me too far away," than The Palmetto State.

Oh, and how could I forget the Cyndi Lauper favorite "Girls Just Want To Have Fun?" While my friends were singing "When the workin' day is done, oh girls just wanna have fun" into their hairbrushes, and bopping around in their big belted sweaters over skinny leggings and leg warmers, I was busy singing something else into my hairbrush. Something that sounded suspiciously like, "What? Oh what can they have done? Girls just wanna have fun."

Apparently, my girls were getting into some kind of trouble right before they were hoping to have fun. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Of course there are others. So many, many others. These just happen to be some of my favorites. I'm thinking "Don't Forget the Lyrics" may not be my kind of game show.

But enough about me, let's hear from you. Time to fess up about your little lyrical bloopers. You know you have them, don't try to deny it. Pick a favorite, or more than one favorite, and leave me a comment.

If you don't, Brenda Rinnetti, et al, will be very disappointed.

What the Wise Men Brought

The Nativity: A Stream of Consciousness Narration
by Fiver


Fiver: Hey Mom? Mom? I am going to play with my new Lego Activity (Nativity) Set. You know the one? The Activity with Baby Jesus and the camel? I'm going to play with that now. Oh Baby Jesus, You are here in Your hay, and Your mother is here with her donkey. I think she should get to ride the camel, but that camel goes with the three wise kings. And here is the angel. Why is the angel holding a wand? Mom? Why does this angel have a magic wand? Angels don't have wands with stars on top, right? Oh, I broke it apart. Don't worry I can get it. Oh, no I can't. It won't go back in. It won't . . . I am going to just put the wand here in the stable with the cow and the sheep because they can see it then. Here is the Baby Jesus and He is sleeping in the hay. Three wise kings are coming to visit Him soon because they have to. And they get to ride Mary's camel because they are bringing things for Jesus and they can't carry it all. (voice lowers an octave) Oh Baby Jesus, it is nice to see that You are born. We brought You some presents. Would You like your chips now? How about some chips? (voice raises) Oh no thank you. I already had some chips so I'm set. (voice lowers) But we brought them for You. We brought them on a camel. (voice raises) But I'm not really supposed to have chips anyway. (lower) Oh, well then we will just leave them in the stable with the cow and the donkey and the angel's magic wand. (higher) OK, thanks kings. It was nice to see you. Can my mother ride your camel? (lower) Sure. We don't need it anymore. Mom? I'm done and I'm going to play with trucks now.


So there you go. This just confirms my long-held belief that some good chips are worth their weight in gold.

And frankincense and myrrh, apparently.

You Know You're Tired When . . .

• Your 5 year old knocks on the shower door and wakes you up



• Your 18 month old brings you her own diaper and wipes, saying POOP!, and you suddenly realize that the wretched smell permeating the house is not the garbage you forgot to take out



• You get changed at the end of the day and realize that you've been wearing your bra inside out all day



• You haven't posted to your blog for a week



• You spend twenty minutes looking for your baby's warm footie pajamas, then give up and put her in less warm, foot exposed pajamas, only to find the pajamas right where you left them -- in between the sheets of your neatly made bed.


• You steam some broccoli in the microwave as a healthful side dish for your family's dinner. Unfortunately, you don't remember to serve it until breakfast the next morning.

And how can you tell all of this is due to pregnancy? (Besides the enormous belly . . .)

All of this happens in one day.

She Ain't Heavy, She's My Mother

Oh wait . . . yeah, she is heavy.

Or as Rob likes to say: "You're GREAT! . . . with child"

He's clearly a man who knows what side his bread is buttered on.

10 more weeks . . .