On the drive home from school, and after registering him for the Big K (gulp!), I asked Fiver what he did in class. He excitedly told me that they were learning very important things to get ready for kindergarten. How timely.
When I asked what he was learning, he said:
How to be quiet and stand in line!
God bless his teacher for trying . . . .
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Silly Bun . . . Flip-Flops Are For Beaches!
Want to hear the latest? Well, I'll start with the good news:
Bun has moved. Again. And the cord and feet are no longer dangling precipitously over my still-closed cervix, so that means no more worries about cord prolapse or other kinds of bad labor shenanigans (for now anyway).
Now wait for it . . . there it is . . . did you hear that? . . . yeah, that was the other shoe dropping . . .
Bun is still tranverse, but has flipped so that he/she is lying with the length of the back resting above the cervix. The ultrasound picture looks like the kid is kicking back in a hammock, with the head on my left and the fanny on my right. I think that this child has successfully tried every position except vertex.
Where does this leave us? Pretty much in the same place as one week ago. Despite my increased volume of fluid, space really is starting to get tight in there. Our hopes that Bun will just decide to head in the right direction are starting diminish, since it seems that even the side-to-side movements are decreasing due to cramped quarters.
My family doctor and I have had a nice long chat, and of course Rob and I have talked this over every which way to Sunday, and we are going to stick with our original plan. We found another doctor who is willing to help my doctor try a version (it's a team effort kind of thing), and I will probably be going in to the hospital early next week. It all depends on when they have an OR slot available.
All of this makes me a little nervous, to be honest, since none of my options will be a walk in the park. The version is my last ditch effort to get Bun to turn around, and if it works, then I will be induced immediately. If it doesn't work, then I am no worse off than I am now, and I will be headed in for a c-section.
I was up most of the night thinking about my decisions and wondering if they are the right ones. I am struggling with graceful submission in all of this. I know that there is A Plan in place that is better than mine, even though I don't see it now, but I am so stubborn that I keep wondering if there is some way to change a situation that might not be able to be changed. The Serenity Prayer keeps popping into my head, and I feel like I am missing that whole "wisdom to know the difference" part.
Bun has moved. Again. And the cord and feet are no longer dangling precipitously over my still-closed cervix, so that means no more worries about cord prolapse or other kinds of bad labor shenanigans (for now anyway).
Now wait for it . . . there it is . . . did you hear that? . . . yeah, that was the other shoe dropping . . .
Bun is still tranverse, but has flipped so that he/she is lying with the length of the back resting above the cervix. The ultrasound picture looks like the kid is kicking back in a hammock, with the head on my left and the fanny on my right. I think that this child has successfully tried every position except vertex.
Where does this leave us? Pretty much in the same place as one week ago. Despite my increased volume of fluid, space really is starting to get tight in there. Our hopes that Bun will just decide to head in the right direction are starting diminish, since it seems that even the side-to-side movements are decreasing due to cramped quarters.
My family doctor and I have had a nice long chat, and of course Rob and I have talked this over every which way to Sunday, and we are going to stick with our original plan. We found another doctor who is willing to help my doctor try a version (it's a team effort kind of thing), and I will probably be going in to the hospital early next week. It all depends on when they have an OR slot available.
All of this makes me a little nervous, to be honest, since none of my options will be a walk in the park. The version is my last ditch effort to get Bun to turn around, and if it works, then I will be induced immediately. If it doesn't work, then I am no worse off than I am now, and I will be headed in for a c-section.
I was up most of the night thinking about my decisions and wondering if they are the right ones. I am struggling with graceful submission in all of this. I know that there is A Plan in place that is better than mine, even though I don't see it now, but I am so stubborn that I keep wondering if there is some way to change a situation that might not be able to be changed. The Serenity Prayer keeps popping into my head, and I feel like I am missing that whole "wisdom to know the difference" part.
My nerves are a frazzled by this point, so I think that this may be the last post about "my options." As of right now, I am letting it go, and I am giving it to God. I have done all I can do with this situation, and I fear that I may have even meddled with it too much already. I am choosing right now to be grateful that I have a healthy baby so far, and that God has given me the opportunity to live in a place where, if I should need one, a c-section is as safe and comfortable as is can possibly be anywhere on the planet. I am choosing graceful submission.
Some prayers would still be welcome, though.
Last Call
Today is the last day for the HomeFront Baby Pool contest, so be sure to get your guesses in.
Of course, you can always send me a guess any time, just for fun, but if you want to be eligible for a prize then your guess has to show up in my combox before I check it tomorrow morning.
(Much like the way I would slide my college papers under my professors' doors after hours. They said as long as it was there before they came to work in the morning . . .)
Besides, it always pays to remember this little nugget of wisdom: "You can't win it, if you ain't in it!"
Of course, you can always send me a guess any time, just for fun, but if you want to be eligible for a prize then your guess has to show up in my combox before I check it tomorrow morning.
(Much like the way I would slide my college papers under my professors' doors after hours. They said as long as it was there before they came to work in the morning . . .)
Besides, it always pays to remember this little nugget of wisdom: "You can't win it, if you ain't in it!"
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Odds and Ends
This weekend has been spent in some intensive baby prep, which included cleaning and rearranging furniture. And shopping for new slippers and a robe for myself.
I know this will sound completely indulgent and unnecessary, but for every delivery, I bought myself a new pairs of slippers and a robe for the hospital. Nothing fancy - in fact, I got my robe for 75% off today, which brought the total to a whopping seven dollars - but I just like to know that I will have something fresh and new waiting for me. It almost makes me forget that my abdominals feel like someone beat me with a rolling pin. Mind over matter, my friends.
The nursery is finished, mostly because we didn't have to get anything for the baby except a crib. Sally may think she's a big girl, but she loves her crib and we are not ready to boot her into the escape hatch freedom of a bed just yet. A new crib is a small price to pay for maintaining some semblance of bedtime normalcy, especially when you factor in the sale price and the coupon.
Since I am exhausted, and tomorrow promises to be another busy day (Fiver gets registered for Kindergarten! Ack!), I am leaving you with these few assorted tidbits:
- If you haven't done so, or if you have been playing your guesses close to the vest, don't forget to enter the Baby Pool! The contest closes this Tuesday!
- Thanks for all of your kind thoughts on the c-section question. I think most of you know that I was really not trying to harsh on c-sections or the women who have them, elective or otherwise. I am rebelling (as long as safely possible) against the imperious attitude of the doctor, plain and simple. I know that if I end up having a real reason for a c-section, I will have many cool heads giving me the skinny on surgery and recovery. The internet is indeed wondrous.
- I have added a little index of my favorite posts to my sidebar (see: The HomeFront Sampler Platter). All of the big time blogging gurus (not me) advise the inept blogging wanna-bes (that's me) to add this feature so that readers will not have to comb through your archives to get an idea of who you are and why you blog. Now, I am not presuming that you are combing my archives in a rabid frenzy in search of vital information (heck, I don't even look at my archives all that much), but I do like to use this feature on other blogs, and I am always on the lookout for good ideas to
stealborrow. - A friend suggested that I play music -ahem - south of the equator to try to get Bun to turn around. It sounds fairly reasonable when taken in consideration with all of the other exercises recommended for BIWPS (Babies In Wrong Positions - That's a Mother Load original, right there), so why can I not stop laughing when I think about sticking a radio between my legs? It's because I have a seventh grader trapped inside me, that's why. And what is the best kind of music for coaxing a baby toward your cervix anyway?
That's all I've got for tonight, my friends, so I am packing it in for the evening. I've got a book waiting, and some new slippers to break in.
Friday, January 25, 2008
You Know What They Say About The Best Laid Plans
Well, this baby pool is still wide open, folks! See, we've hit a little snag in all our plans. A little snag I like to call "a doctor who doesn't want to take the time to help me avoid major surgery if at all possible." Good times, my friends. Good, stress-free times.
I feel like I've rehashed this so many times in my mind and with Rob, but I'm still annoyed. Less annoyed than last evening, but annoyed nonetheless.
Here's the abridged version: Bun is still honing the circus skills we've come to expect from him/her, and it really has the doctors on guard. At my ultrasound last week, Bun had flipped back to an unstable tranverse position, with the feet, cord, and other little parts resting above my cervix in a big pocket of fluid. The problem with that is that even though I am not dilated right now, if my water were to break, then Bun's presenting parts would be all the wrong ones, and I would definitely need surgery. My family doctor suggested trying an external cephalic version followed by an immediate induction. That also meant involving the perinatologists since an OR team would need to be ready for a c-section in case the baby didn't tolerate the procedure or couldn't be flipped around. Since the odds are very much in my favor for a successful version, we decided to go for it and try all we could to avoid surgery.
Enter the fly in the ointment. My doctor consulted the perinatologist on the hospital service for next week, and his reply was less than helpful. He basically felt like he was too busy to even try to help us out, so since there would have to be an OR team ready anyway, why didn't I just save everyone some time and have a c-section. Even though I might not really need one. (And why is the c-section rate 30% in this country?)
I understand that for many women a c-section is the best and safest way to deliver their babies. Many of my friends and family members have had successful c-sections, but I don't know one of them who would just have one to save a doctor some time. All of them have had serious reasons for their surgeries, and I feel like I need to exhaust all of my options before committing to major surgery. Bun is healthy, just in the wrong position, and if there is a safe and reasonable way to change that without involving a scalpel, then I want to try it.
Fortunately, my family doctor has my back. She spent an entire day calling different doctors until she found one who would help us try to turn Bun around. But unless I go into labor or something happens to Bun in the meantime, it looks like we won't be able to get in to the hospital next week as we had previously planned. I may be making it to early February after all.
The bright side to all of this is that I have a little more time now to get all of Bun's gear cleaned and set up. I may even get around to packing my bag for the hospital, but I'm not pushing it. I have to leave something for the last minute, right?
I also found out that Bun will be a Golden Pig Baby if born before February 7th. One of Rob's partners, who is also pregnant, was telling me that not only is this the Chinese Year of the Pig, which is considered a generally lucky sign, it is the Year of the Golden Pig. The Year of the Golden Pig only happens once every sixty years, and it is widely believed that all the babies born in that year will have especially happy, blessed lives. Sounds good to me!
So Rob and I are hoping Bun flips around and decides to head out before the Chinese New Year. Who wouldn't love to introduce their child as The Golden Pig Baby?!?!
You know you would . . .
I feel like I've rehashed this so many times in my mind and with Rob, but I'm still annoyed. Less annoyed than last evening, but annoyed nonetheless.
Here's the abridged version: Bun is still honing the circus skills we've come to expect from him/her, and it really has the doctors on guard. At my ultrasound last week, Bun had flipped back to an unstable tranverse position, with the feet, cord, and other little parts resting above my cervix in a big pocket of fluid. The problem with that is that even though I am not dilated right now, if my water were to break, then Bun's presenting parts would be all the wrong ones, and I would definitely need surgery. My family doctor suggested trying an external cephalic version followed by an immediate induction. That also meant involving the perinatologists since an OR team would need to be ready for a c-section in case the baby didn't tolerate the procedure or couldn't be flipped around. Since the odds are very much in my favor for a successful version, we decided to go for it and try all we could to avoid surgery.
Enter the fly in the ointment. My doctor consulted the perinatologist on the hospital service for next week, and his reply was less than helpful. He basically felt like he was too busy to even try to help us out, so since there would have to be an OR team ready anyway, why didn't I just save everyone some time and have a c-section. Even though I might not really need one. (And why is the c-section rate 30% in this country?)
I understand that for many women a c-section is the best and safest way to deliver their babies. Many of my friends and family members have had successful c-sections, but I don't know one of them who would just have one to save a doctor some time. All of them have had serious reasons for their surgeries, and I feel like I need to exhaust all of my options before committing to major surgery. Bun is healthy, just in the wrong position, and if there is a safe and reasonable way to change that without involving a scalpel, then I want to try it.
Fortunately, my family doctor has my back. She spent an entire day calling different doctors until she found one who would help us try to turn Bun around. But unless I go into labor or something happens to Bun in the meantime, it looks like we won't be able to get in to the hospital next week as we had previously planned. I may be making it to early February after all.
The bright side to all of this is that I have a little more time now to get all of Bun's gear cleaned and set up. I may even get around to packing my bag for the hospital, but I'm not pushing it. I have to leave something for the last minute, right?
I also found out that Bun will be a Golden Pig Baby if born before February 7th. One of Rob's partners, who is also pregnant, was telling me that not only is this the Chinese Year of the Pig, which is considered a generally lucky sign, it is the Year of the Golden Pig. The Year of the Golden Pig only happens once every sixty years, and it is widely believed that all the babies born in that year will have especially happy, blessed lives. Sounds good to me!
So Rob and I are hoping Bun flips around and decides to head out before the Chinese New Year. Who wouldn't love to introduce their child as The Golden Pig Baby?!?!
You know you would . . .
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Join Us In The Baby Pool, The Water's Great!
All right, my friends, I have been mulling over an idea over here at The HomeFront Corp. This idea is fun, easy, and, with some participation from you, has the potential to help out some moms and babies in need.
Vague enough for you? Oh, good.
Vague enough for you? Oh, good.
Last week, as I considered the few things our new baby will need, it struck me how blessed we are to be able to provide such things. Even though Bun is fourth in line, and we have almost every baby-related item under the sun, it is nice to know that we are in a position to be able to cover whatever Bun needs.
Not only do we have the resources for material goods, we have a family that is excited, nurturing, and supportive. Bun will be welcomed with only love and enthusiasm, and that trumps even fancy cribs and diaper wipe warmers.
Not every woman has a devoted husband and family in her corner. Some have nothing: no money, no support, no cute baby clothes, nothing but their desire to have their baby in their arms. Many of these women are also very young or abused, and they have nowhere safe to call home.
So this is what I was thinking: What if I hosted our HomeFront Baby Pool with the goal of helping some of these women? What if I asked for a dollar per entry for the Pool, and then sent all the money to a shelter that provides support, housing, medical care, and education for pregnant women in need?
And then all my "what ifs?" turned into "why nots?" And then all of those "why nots?" turned into "have tos." And since I didn't fall off the turnip truck just yesterday, I know better than to ignore the voice of God when He is piping His message directly into my brain.
So this is how the HomeFront Baby Pool of Social Justice is going to work:
- Each entry must include a guess for Bun's gender, birth date, and weight
- It will cost you a minimum of one dollar to enter a guess (but you can give more if you feel so inclined)
- You may use the handy PayPal button that I've included, or, if you are a family member who knows how to track me down, you may send it to my home address.
- The winner will be able to choose between a $50.00 Amazon.com gift certificate or this delicious looking creation.
- Leave your guesses in my comments section, and the winner will be the person who comes the closest to Bun's actual stats.
- The contest will close one week from today, on Tuesday, January 29th.
All of the donations will go directly to Mary's Shelter/Mary's Home. Located in my childhood hometown of Reading, PA, Mary's Shelter provides housing and social services to young pregnant women, while its sister, Mary's Home, provides up to two years of transitional housing and support services for young mothers. Be sure to check out their website.
Rob and I have decided to take ourselves out of the contest, simply because we get to go home with Bun, so we really don't need to win anything else. (Plus, we wouldn't want our "parents intuition" to give us an unfair advantage or anything.)
To give everyone a fair shake, I will give you a little insider information. But just a little.
My due date is February 9, and although all my other children were late, I am pretty sure that won't be the case with Bun. Actually, I'm more than pretty sure. Due to a combination of factors (about which I have talked too much, I'm sure), Bun will most likely be induced before my due date.
OK, I've actually been told point blank that Bun will be induced before my due date. But in all fairness, we do not have an induction date set, so it's still open for speculation. Could be next week, could be next month. (Even though the end of next week is next month if you want to get technical.)
That's about all I can divulge, mostly because I don't have any more information than that myself. I've been thrown for such a big loop with this baby coming earlier than the rest, that I am probably not a reliable source of information anyway. But I have included this amazingly unflattering photo which is supposed to act as a baby size gauge of some sort. Good luck with that, my friends.
Please feel free to spread the word on your own blog by linking back here to this individual post. I am not html savvy enough to create one of those cute little buttons that would make things so easy for all of Blogville, but I am just bright enough to put a little reminder at the top of my sidebar.
Happy guessing, my friends, and good luck!!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
It's Good to Have Goals
After several days of forgotten piano assignments, missing papers, and other annoying and avoidable school snafus, I broached the subject of a personal schedule to Francie. I showed her my daily schedule for household duties and errands, and, like the true eldest child of a natural born scheduler, she ran with the idea.
She whipped out her colored pens, ruler, and notepad, and industriously set up an ambitious daily schedule. I have no idea where she gets this behavior. Must be Rob's genes.
In case any of you are needing a template for a daily schedule of your own, I thought you might enjoy looking at Francie's. I know you will find it hard to believe that I have copied this verbatim from her own hand.
6:30-7:00 Get up and get ready
7:00-7:15 Eat breakfast
7:15-7:20 Brush teeth and hair
7:20-7:30 Pack up
7:30 -7:40 Ride to school
7:40-8:00 Wait in cafeteria
8:00-10 Schoolwork
10-10:30 Snack break
10:30-12 More schoolwork
12-12:30 Lunch
12:30-1 Recess
1 - 2:15 Even more schoolwork
2:15-2:20 Get out of school
2:20-2:45 Drive home
2:45-3:00 Snack
3:00-4:30 Watch TV
4:30-5:15 Practice Piano
5:15-5:30 Eat dinner
5:30-6:00 Get ready for bed
6:00-6:45 Play
6:45-6:55 Read
6:55-7:00 Watch the lottery
7:00-7:30 Watch "Jeopardy!"
7:30-8:00 Read
8:30-8:30 Start sleeping
Some of my favorite parts of the schedule? Oh, where to begin?
First of all, while I appreciate that she will be getting ready for bed so early (5:30-6), I did note that I must have dinner ready by 5:15 since she has only allotted herself fifteen minutes to eat. I suspect that will make the family dinner curiously devoid of any small talk.
I also noted that the drive home from school is fifteen minutes longer than the ride to school. Are we passing through some kind of time warp of which I am unaware?
Apparently the time warp extends to our home, since she can brush her teeth and fix her hair in the same amount of time it takes her to watch the Pennsylvania lottery. Or to do a little pleasure reading, for that matter. A good solid five minutes can do a person a world of good, my friends.
Plus, I'm sure her teacher will be so pleased to know that there is no room for homework on this schedule. "Jeopardy!" is well documented, as are snack times and waiting in the school cafeteria, but homework is nowhere to be found.
Maybe she can squeeze in the homework in the half hour it takes her to start sleeping.
But in spite of all the missing pieces of the agenda, I am proud to report that she has not forgotten any papers or piano assignments since its implementation. Of course, her whole dinner expectation has been completely thwarted.
You know how I live to serve.
**PS: Thanks for all of the encouraging words about Bun's shenanigans. As a balm for my neuroses, I've been working on something fun. Look for the famous HomeFront Baby Pool - with a twist! - coming early this week. You don't want to miss it!**
She whipped out her colored pens, ruler, and notepad, and industriously set up an ambitious daily schedule. I have no idea where she gets this behavior. Must be Rob's genes.
In case any of you are needing a template for a daily schedule of your own, I thought you might enjoy looking at Francie's. I know you will find it hard to believe that I have copied this verbatim from her own hand.
6:30-7:00 Get up and get ready
7:00-7:15 Eat breakfast
7:15-7:20 Brush teeth and hair
7:20-7:30 Pack up
7:30 -7:40 Ride to school
7:40-8:00 Wait in cafeteria
8:00-10 Schoolwork
10-10:30 Snack break
10:30-12 More schoolwork
12-12:30 Lunch
12:30-1 Recess
1 - 2:15 Even more schoolwork
2:15-2:20 Get out of school
2:20-2:45 Drive home
2:45-3:00 Snack
3:00-4:30 Watch TV
4:30-5:15 Practice Piano
5:15-5:30 Eat dinner
5:30-6:00 Get ready for bed
6:00-6:45 Play
6:45-6:55 Read
6:55-7:00 Watch the lottery
7:00-7:30 Watch "Jeopardy!"
7:30-8:00 Read
8:30-8:30 Start sleeping
Some of my favorite parts of the schedule? Oh, where to begin?
First of all, while I appreciate that she will be getting ready for bed so early (5:30-6), I did note that I must have dinner ready by 5:15 since she has only allotted herself fifteen minutes to eat. I suspect that will make the family dinner curiously devoid of any small talk.
I also noted that the drive home from school is fifteen minutes longer than the ride to school. Are we passing through some kind of time warp of which I am unaware?
Apparently the time warp extends to our home, since she can brush her teeth and fix her hair in the same amount of time it takes her to watch the Pennsylvania lottery. Or to do a little pleasure reading, for that matter. A good solid five minutes can do a person a world of good, my friends.
Plus, I'm sure her teacher will be so pleased to know that there is no room for homework on this schedule. "Jeopardy!" is well documented, as are snack times and waiting in the school cafeteria, but homework is nowhere to be found.
Maybe she can squeeze in the homework in the half hour it takes her to start sleeping.
But in spite of all the missing pieces of the agenda, I am proud to report that she has not forgotten any papers or piano assignments since its implementation. Of course, her whole dinner expectation has been completely thwarted.
You know how I live to serve.
**PS: Thanks for all of the encouraging words about Bun's shenanigans. As a balm for my neuroses, I've been working on something fun. Look for the famous HomeFront Baby Pool - with a twist! - coming early this week. You don't want to miss it!**
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Bun the Amazing Acrobatic Baby
I had my last ultrasound in the perinatology department today, and I will be honest when I say that I will probably not miss the appointments very much.
I know that I am not supposed to bring my children with me to my appointments in perinatology, mainly because most of the patients there tend to be dealing with some pretty scary conditions that will brook no intrusion or interruption from an older sibling. Or two.
I also know that every single time I have gone in, after meticulously arranging childcare and ensuring that protocol was being followed, I have been met by children in the waiting room. And the hallways. And in strollers, peeking out of exam rooms. And in the arms of the office staff.
I have never been the kind of person to assume that rules don't apply to me; in fact, I am a stickler for (most) rules. Prepare yourself for my fearsome Hairy Eyeball if you dare to get in the Express Lane with more than ten items. Sounds harsh, but what I am saying is that I am no scofflaw.
However, for various reasons, I had to bring Sally with me today. I had found a place for the older two, but I knew Rob was going to meet me at the office and he would be able to hold Sally for the entire time. Plus, and I am totally bragging when I say this, but Sally is a champion waiter. I think it stems from spending most of her life in the waiting rooms at Pediatric Rehab while Fiver is getting his therapy. She just seems to know how to handle doctor's offices. (Which is more than I can say for my eight year old, who supposedly should be able to occupy herself.)
We met up with Rob, who was still in his scrubs and white coat from an early morning delivery, and when we were called back, he picked up Sally and we all walked through the door. The ultrasound tech, who was all smiles and sweet as pie when she called me, stopped and said:
Are you allowed to bring her? Because you are not supposed to have kids with you.
Usually I am an over-apologizer, but I surprised myself when I practically shrugged and told the woman the truth. I didn't have anyone to watch her, and her father would be holding her. I should have added: Thank your lucky stars I didn't bring the other two.
She gave us the stink-eye, and then punished us by leaving us in a room. I'm sure it was so that we could think about what we had done and how we would never, ever do such a thing again. At least that's what I hope my kids are doing when I send them to their rooms.
A different tech came in to do the ultrasound, and she really was sweet as pie. She didn't seem to mind Sally in the least, and even complimented her several times. To Sally's credit, she did have some lovely behavior for an 18 month old.
Bun's behavior, on the other hand, left some things to be desired. While I am glad to say that Bun is no longer in a transverse/oblique position, we are still not completely in the clear.
First of all, I still have too much amniotic fluid. My level is not as high as it had been at my previous appointment, but it is still on the very high end of normal. I am apparently holding back a body of water the size of the Great Salt Lake, and it seems to make everyone nervous. Like I might spring a leak or, even worse, just explode on them.
What concerns me even more than all the fluid, is that Bun is still not really in the right spot. This child must be a contortionist of side-show freak proportions because, as of this afternoon, he/she is head down, but still has a foot on top of the head that is actually presenting first.
I guess Bun wants to hit the ground running -- probably figures he/she has to after listening to the shenanigans in this house for nine months.
Plus, the estimated weight right now, with three more weeks to go, is seven pounds, seven ounces. Bun has been busy bulking up in preparation for life with the other three.
Of course, that's just an estimate, and it can be wrong by as much as a pound either way. Rob and I share a gut feeling that Bun is probably not quite as big as the estimate, simply because of all the dramatic position changes. I know the extra fluid allows for more movement, but if Bun was really a Paul Bunyan sized kid, there just wouldn't be enough room for all of the circus craziness going on in there.
What does all this mean? I wish I could say for certain that we are committed to a plan of action, but that just isn't how things are panning out.
The biggest concern to all the medical types, including Rob, is that my water will break, and a part other than the head will present itself for delivery. That is very bad mojo, especially if the presenting part is the umbilical cord. That is a go-directly-to-surgery-do-not-pass-go-superbad-complication kind of scenario that we are all about avoiding.
I have yet to talk with my family doctor about all of this, but we are most likely looking at a tightly controlled induction, possibly with an OR team at the ready, since much of this depends on what my cervix feels like doing. And that freaks me out.
I know I have whined about inductions and other medical interventions, but I am not stupid and stubborn enough to risk my baby's health. Or my own, for that matter. Bun and I have a few more weeks of sharing the same body space, so there is still time for gravity to work its magic on that little hard-headed noggin.
Head towards the light, Bun!
I know that I am not supposed to bring my children with me to my appointments in perinatology, mainly because most of the patients there tend to be dealing with some pretty scary conditions that will brook no intrusion or interruption from an older sibling. Or two.
I also know that every single time I have gone in, after meticulously arranging childcare and ensuring that protocol was being followed, I have been met by children in the waiting room. And the hallways. And in strollers, peeking out of exam rooms. And in the arms of the office staff.
I have never been the kind of person to assume that rules don't apply to me; in fact, I am a stickler for (most) rules. Prepare yourself for my fearsome Hairy Eyeball if you dare to get in the Express Lane with more than ten items. Sounds harsh, but what I am saying is that I am no scofflaw.
However, for various reasons, I had to bring Sally with me today. I had found a place for the older two, but I knew Rob was going to meet me at the office and he would be able to hold Sally for the entire time. Plus, and I am totally bragging when I say this, but Sally is a champion waiter. I think it stems from spending most of her life in the waiting rooms at Pediatric Rehab while Fiver is getting his therapy. She just seems to know how to handle doctor's offices. (Which is more than I can say for my eight year old, who supposedly should be able to occupy herself.)
We met up with Rob, who was still in his scrubs and white coat from an early morning delivery, and when we were called back, he picked up Sally and we all walked through the door. The ultrasound tech, who was all smiles and sweet as pie when she called me, stopped and said:
Are you allowed to bring her? Because you are not supposed to have kids with you.
Usually I am an over-apologizer, but I surprised myself when I practically shrugged and told the woman the truth. I didn't have anyone to watch her, and her father would be holding her. I should have added: Thank your lucky stars I didn't bring the other two.
She gave us the stink-eye, and then punished us by leaving us in a room. I'm sure it was so that we could think about what we had done and how we would never, ever do such a thing again. At least that's what I hope my kids are doing when I send them to their rooms.
A different tech came in to do the ultrasound, and she really was sweet as pie. She didn't seem to mind Sally in the least, and even complimented her several times. To Sally's credit, she did have some lovely behavior for an 18 month old.
Bun's behavior, on the other hand, left some things to be desired. While I am glad to say that Bun is no longer in a transverse/oblique position, we are still not completely in the clear.
First of all, I still have too much amniotic fluid. My level is not as high as it had been at my previous appointment, but it is still on the very high end of normal. I am apparently holding back a body of water the size of the Great Salt Lake, and it seems to make everyone nervous. Like I might spring a leak or, even worse, just explode on them.
What concerns me even more than all the fluid, is that Bun is still not really in the right spot. This child must be a contortionist of side-show freak proportions because, as of this afternoon, he/she is head down, but still has a foot on top of the head that is actually presenting first.
I guess Bun wants to hit the ground running -- probably figures he/she has to after listening to the shenanigans in this house for nine months.
Plus, the estimated weight right now, with three more weeks to go, is seven pounds, seven ounces. Bun has been busy bulking up in preparation for life with the other three.
Of course, that's just an estimate, and it can be wrong by as much as a pound either way. Rob and I share a gut feeling that Bun is probably not quite as big as the estimate, simply because of all the dramatic position changes. I know the extra fluid allows for more movement, but if Bun was really a Paul Bunyan sized kid, there just wouldn't be enough room for all of the circus craziness going on in there.
What does all this mean? I wish I could say for certain that we are committed to a plan of action, but that just isn't how things are panning out.
The biggest concern to all the medical types, including Rob, is that my water will break, and a part other than the head will present itself for delivery. That is very bad mojo, especially if the presenting part is the umbilical cord. That is a go-directly-to-surgery-do-not-pass-go-superbad-complication kind of scenario that we are all about avoiding.
I have yet to talk with my family doctor about all of this, but we are most likely looking at a tightly controlled induction, possibly with an OR team at the ready, since much of this depends on what my cervix feels like doing. And that freaks me out.
I know I have whined about inductions and other medical interventions, but I am not stupid and stubborn enough to risk my baby's health. Or my own, for that matter. Bun and I have a few more weeks of sharing the same body space, so there is still time for gravity to work its magic on that little hard-headed noggin.
Head towards the light, Bun!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby
Guess what? This guy has a birthday today! Around here, we think this guy is better than sliced bread and toilet paper. I mean, it's nice to have him, the sliced bread, and the toilet paper, but we're willing to forgo quite a bit in favor of this guy.
Happy Birthday, Rob - we love you more than you know. And certainly more than sliced bread and toilet paper.
(Although they are a very close second.)
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Book It
I know I've said this before, but I am behind on the memes for which I have been tagged. I could just blow them off, but my inner lonely high school student won't let me forget that someone out there thought of me long enough to tag me. I'm a joiner, my friends.
In this case, it was T who tagged me for the Book Meme. And she knew me in high school, so she had to know that at some point I would stand and deliver. This is your moment, T, enjoy!
Since I have seen this meme popping up all over Blogville, I am assuming that everyone else has been tagged at some point. If you haven't been tagged, consider this your invitation!
In this case, it was T who tagged me for the Book Meme. And she knew me in high school, so she had to know that at some point I would stand and deliver. This is your moment, T, enjoy!
- One book that changed your life: Lamont the Lonely Monster, by Dean Walley. This was my favorite book from childhood, and one that I enjoyed well beyond the suggested age bracket. There was something about the groovy sort of early 70's illustrations and "peace, man" story that I found irresistible. How did it change my life? It was the first book that I read. I remember looking at the words, and suddenly they all made sense and had a meaning. I've never looked back.
- One book that you've read more than once: Anne of Green Gables, by Lucy Maud Montgomery. I've actually read the whole series more than once, and I'm sure I'll go back to it again.
- One book that you'd want on a desert island: Now this is the kind of question that functions as a mini-psychology test, right? What does the chosen book say about your personality? If I can't choose just one, does that mean I have no personality? Maybe, but I've spent too much time analyzing all of my answers thus far, so I am opting out. Now what does that say about my personality?
- One book that made you laugh: Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris. I think I may have actually peed myself while I read this book. I read large portions of this book aloud to Rob, who also laughed. (And it's really hard to know when to laugh if the person reading to you cannot get through a sentence without running out of breath laughing.) The book is very profane, and I still could not contain myself.
- One book that made you cry: Do math textbooks count? Otherwise, I haven't cried while reading a book. I'm as cold as ice, baby.
- One book you wish had been written: A Guide to the Military for an Unsuspecting New Spouse. I really could have used something like that when I married Rob. I learned a lot about life in the Navy the hard way.
- One book you wish had never been written: Ulysses, by James Joyce. Nothing against James Joyce - he was the brilliant writer and I spend my days elbow deep in diapers and dirt - but there's a semester's worth of brain space I'll never get back.
- One book you are currently reading: The Terror, by Dan Simmons. Technically, I read the last page last night, but since it is over 700 pages long, I'm counting it. A taut, fictionalized account of the failed Franklin Expedition in the Canadian Arctic, I highly recommend this one. But you might want to have a cozy blanket handy.
- One book you've been meaning to read: There are so many books waiting for me, but I guess the one I've had sitting around the longest is The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, by Mark Haddon.
Since I have seen this meme popping up all over Blogville, I am assuming that everyone else has been tagged at some point. If you haven't been tagged, consider this your invitation!
Friday, January 11, 2008
Wisdom?
Some things I learned on my 32nd birthday:
- Don't cut off all your hair when you are almost 9 months pregnant. Even though it will look really cute at the salon, you will look like a pinhead when you try to do it yourself.
- A stomach virus in your 5 year old and your 18 month old does not a happy afternoon make. Especially a stomach virus that is not characterized by a diminished appetite, just inordinate amounts of time spent diligently wiping other people's bottoms.
- No matter how old you are, it still makes you feel special when your mom makes your birthday cake. Especially if you haven't lived with your mom for ages and she bakes you a cake and brings it to your house for you.
- You will pass a point in life when, for most of the day, you will actually forget that it is your birthday.
- A full can of soup dropped from a height of approximately four feet will create a spectacularly dramatic splatter pattern on a clean kitchen floor. And you will be powerless not to cry about it.
- A card made by your children is always a thousand times better than anything they could have purchased at a store.
- One quiet dinner with your husband at a nice restaurant is really enough to make you forget that you haven't been out on a date with your husband for many months.
- Even a wonderful birthday is not enough to keep you from feeling a little bummed out when you have an ultrasound and find out that your previously vertex baby is now floating around in a lovely transverse/oblique position.
- Your children will never cut you any slack. At least until you die or they have their own children, and even then it's iffy.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
The Meme-ing of Life
I've been tagged for a few memes recently. Well, maybe not so much recently, since I was tagged about thirty seven years ago. The meme search parties have been called off, and I'm sure the taggers are no longer expecting to ever see my answers.
But I have a feeling that these memes will come in handy during this time of high uterine/low brain function. Lo, I believe they will become my very bread and butter, so I am doling them out carefully, keeping a few tucked away in the old drafts folder.
I will start with two that are similar in nature: the ubiquitous "random things" meme. Karen at The Rocking Pony has tagged me for 7 Random Things about myself, and Mama Mia has tagged me for 8 Random Things. Actually, her youngest Baby tagged my Sally for 8 things about herself, which is probably a good thing. No one needs that much random Aimee, but we could all use a little random Sally.
And with that introduction, I think that I've passed my yearly quota for usage of the word "random" in a single paragraph. And 2008 has only just begun.
Random Things: Sally Edition
But I have a feeling that these memes will come in handy during this time of high uterine/low brain function. Lo, I believe they will become my very bread and butter, so I am doling them out carefully, keeping a few tucked away in the old drafts folder.
I will start with two that are similar in nature: the ubiquitous "random things" meme. Karen at The Rocking Pony has tagged me for 7 Random Things about myself, and Mama Mia has tagged me for 8 Random Things. Actually, her youngest Baby tagged my Sally for 8 things about herself, which is probably a good thing. No one needs that much random Aimee, but we could all use a little random Sally.
And with that introduction, I think that I've passed my yearly quota for usage of the word "random" in a single paragraph. And 2008 has only just begun.
Random Things: Sally Edition
- I have sucked my thumb since the day I was born. My parents have a jar labeled "Sally's Orthodontia Fund" and they have been throwing all the spare change they have in there.
- I have two favorite baby dolls that I carry around everywhere. One is named Baby Sally (which inspired my Nom-de-blog) and one is named Baby Sophie, although my family calls her Rattle Head Baby. I like to rattle her while I am going to sleep.
- I love to brush my teeth. I mean, I really love to brush my teeth. I run in and out of the bathroom yelling TEETH! at the top of my lungs so that Mom won't forget to put toothpaste on my toothbrush. Sometimes I even like to brush my hair with my toothbrush, but Mom is not too fond of that.
- I know how to work the text message feature of Mom's cell phone. She does not. I have also called people in her phone's address book, and then hung up on them.
- I like to sing, preferably at the top of my voice in a quiet place. Whenever I start up, Dad always says "Nature hates a vacuum."
- I love to clean. My favorite thing to do is to follow Mom around with a baby wipe and wipe down everything she misses. That's a lot these days, since she can't bend at the waist anymore.
- I like to load my babies up in the toy stroller, sling my little purse over my arm, and eat a cracker while I push the stroller around the house. Mom says she doesn't know where I get my ideas, but I think she really does.
- I love my older sister and brother, and I hate it when they won't let me play with them. That's usually when I bite them.
Random Things: Aimee Edition
- I am irrationally annoyed by seagulls. I don't know why -hence the irrational part - they just bug me.
- I'm intimidated by my hair salon. My stylist used to own her own little shop, but decided to sell to her partner so she could spend more time with her family. She moved to a swanky mega-salon/spa/gym, where the women are all wearing couture and the men wear more makeup than me. I'm always afraid that someone is going to jump out and try to pluck something off of me.
- I was once hit in the forehead by a dinner roll. A roll that was purposely thrown by the waitstaff of the restaurant. It was delicious.
- I enjoy vacuuming, especially if I have a good vacuum and a substantially dirty floor. There is something very therapeutic for me in the instant gratification of a clean floor. It's one of the few places in life where I get pleasing results for so little effort in such a short time.
- Tomorrow is my birthday. That's not random to me, but if you don't know me, then it might seem random to you.
- Today is my good friend (and former college roommate's) birthday. And we have the same name. And she is also expecting another little bundle in February. And no, I am not schizophrenic -- she is a real person. Happy Birthday, Ame!
- I really want to like lobster more, but when I get the chance to eat it, I never enjoy it as much as I think I will.
There you have it - all our random glory. I am not going to tag anyone for these because I am a rebel.
Stop laughing now, you caught me. I am not tagging anyone because I am too tired to type out all the links. I know it's laziness, but my bladder has also reached critical mass for the sixteenth time in a half hour, so I'm cutting this short. Feel free to take these home and love them as your own, but I've got to move along.
The bladder does not suffer fools lightly, my friends.
Testing, Testing
I'm having some problems publishing in Blogger, so this is just a little test.
If this were a real emergency, you would hear me screaming in frustration.
If this were a real emergency, you would hear me screaming in frustration.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
The Dark Ages
We bought Francie and Fiver each a Webkinz for Christmas this year. It was what one might call a parenting misstep.
In all honesty, I think the money would have been better spent on a long, sharp, pointy stick with which to pierce my own eardrums. In order to drown out the sounds of my children's piteous weeping when all of the crap on the website won't load, of course.
I know it's my own fault for not being au currant enough to know that everyone in the world with high speed internet access already owns a Webkin, but I just thought they were little stuffed animals with a website you could occasionally visit.
Nope. It is, apparently, an empire of virtual pets with the goal of world domination. So far, they are doing pretty darn well.
Francie got a horse and Fiver got a raccoon, and thankfully they like them just as stuffed animals because it took us roughly three days to get into the website long enough to adopt the blessed things. Translated into real people time, that is approximately how long it would take to adopt an actual child.
Buoyed by our successful adoptions of Moey (raccoon) and Starlight (horse), the kids were eager to get into the Webkinz world and feed their pets, decorate their rooms, buy them shiny trinkets, and generally be all around indulgent parents. To animals. That don't really exist. Sheesh.
As I tried to get the website to load for the seventy-eighth time, Fiver sat beside me and cried. That always has such a calming effect on my nerves.
Even though the website's troubleshooters warned that sometimes it won't load due to the sheer volume of traffic, I sat and performed all my little computery tricks like clearing my cache, changing some settings, kicking the CPU, and mercilessly holding down the power button like I was putting a pillow over the computer's mouth.
Francie offered her own suggestions over my shoulder. Mom, what about the Escape button? Ctrl, Alt, Delete? Updating Adobe Acrobat? Too many cookies? Maybe we have a virus?
I turned around and looked at her like she had suddenly started speaking in tongues. When I was eight, cookies were for eating and the only virus I knew enough to talk about was the chicken pox. Which I got twice, so I was an expert in that field.
You know, I said as I tried to keep Fiver calm, we didn't even have a computer when I was your age. Actually, no one we knew had a computer when I was your age.
Since there came no response, I turned to look at her and saw her mouth hanging slightly open.
What do you mean you didn't have a computer?! Was that back when computers were first invented and they were as big as a whole room? Because we read about those days in computer class.
Um, no, I'm not that old, dear. But when I was a kid, there was no internet.
Silence.
No internet?! Well, how did you do your school work? Like for reports and stuff? When I wanted to do my report on the South American river otter, we just Googled it. What did you do?
She was dumbfounded. I explained to her how I looked things up in encyclopedias (Ye Olde Funk and Wagnalls), or how I biked to the library and went to the reference section, after flipping through the card catalog. If I wanted to get really fancy, I would borrow my father's Smith-Corona and type up my report, but that was only after eighth grade. In fact, I took typing class on an actual typewriter, not on a computer keyboard.
She just stared at me, and then shook her head and said, I'm glad that we can stay home and look things up here. I just don't know how you did it, Mom.
In all honesty, I think the money would have been better spent on a long, sharp, pointy stick with which to pierce my own eardrums. In order to drown out the sounds of my children's piteous weeping when all of the crap on the website won't load, of course.
I know it's my own fault for not being au currant enough to know that everyone in the world with high speed internet access already owns a Webkin, but I just thought they were little stuffed animals with a website you could occasionally visit.
Nope. It is, apparently, an empire of virtual pets with the goal of world domination. So far, they are doing pretty darn well.
Francie got a horse and Fiver got a raccoon, and thankfully they like them just as stuffed animals because it took us roughly three days to get into the website long enough to adopt the blessed things. Translated into real people time, that is approximately how long it would take to adopt an actual child.
Buoyed by our successful adoptions of Moey (raccoon) and Starlight (horse), the kids were eager to get into the Webkinz world and feed their pets, decorate their rooms, buy them shiny trinkets, and generally be all around indulgent parents. To animals. That don't really exist. Sheesh.
As I tried to get the website to load for the seventy-eighth time, Fiver sat beside me and cried. That always has such a calming effect on my nerves.
Even though the website's troubleshooters warned that sometimes it won't load due to the sheer volume of traffic, I sat and performed all my little computery tricks like clearing my cache, changing some settings, kicking the CPU, and mercilessly holding down the power button like I was putting a pillow over the computer's mouth.
Francie offered her own suggestions over my shoulder. Mom, what about the Escape button? Ctrl, Alt, Delete? Updating Adobe Acrobat? Too many cookies? Maybe we have a virus?
I turned around and looked at her like she had suddenly started speaking in tongues. When I was eight, cookies were for eating and the only virus I knew enough to talk about was the chicken pox. Which I got twice, so I was an expert in that field.
You know, I said as I tried to keep Fiver calm, we didn't even have a computer when I was your age. Actually, no one we knew had a computer when I was your age.
Since there came no response, I turned to look at her and saw her mouth hanging slightly open.
What do you mean you didn't have a computer?! Was that back when computers were first invented and they were as big as a whole room? Because we read about those days in computer class.
Um, no, I'm not that old, dear. But when I was a kid, there was no internet.
Silence.
No internet?! Well, how did you do your school work? Like for reports and stuff? When I wanted to do my report on the South American river otter, we just Googled it. What did you do?
She was dumbfounded. I explained to her how I looked things up in encyclopedias (Ye Olde Funk and Wagnalls), or how I biked to the library and went to the reference section, after flipping through the card catalog. If I wanted to get really fancy, I would borrow my father's Smith-Corona and type up my report, but that was only after eighth grade. In fact, I took typing class on an actual typewriter, not on a computer keyboard.
She just stared at me, and then shook her head and said, I'm glad that we can stay home and look things up here. I just don't know how you did it, Mom.
So now I can also thank Webkinz for making look like a dinosaur to my children. If you'll excuse me, I have plans to take the children to the library reference section this afternoon.
Monday, January 07, 2008
The Beginning of the End
It's official. I have hit The Wall.
With less than five weeks left until my due date, I am feeling pretty done with pregnancy. (And if you choose to remind me that my three older children paid no attention to due dates and came whenever they darn well felt like it . . . well then, you've just made me cry.)
I am convinced that this feeling of being so absolutely over something is God's way of mentally preparing a woman for doing whatever it takes to get this baby out. And if that means getting something the size of a watermelon through a kiwi sized hole, so be it. Whatever it takes, my friends.
I won't list my aches and pains, because they are many, boring, and listing them will not make them go away. My irritation level is off the charts and my patience level is pathetically low - two great tastes that do not go well together. I spend a good portion of my day saying no to simple requests, and then apologizing for being so grumpy.
I would spend that time sleeping if only I could find a position that didn't make some part of my body numb. Oh, and if I could get out of bed without the use of a forklift.
Also? I have determined that the term non-stress test is a misnomer. It should be called a totally stressed out test. Especially if you have other children, since they must accompany you or you need to find someone to watch them.
I am lucky in the fact that my doctor is one of Rob's partners, so we try to coordinate appointments with Rob's schedule. Ideally, the children hide out in his office while I get hooked up to the NST machine for 25-45 minutes. In reality, one of two things happens:
Either I can hear their little voices ringing out across the entire office as they bother the other physicians and the office staff, or they have to sit in the room with me. I hiss at them to sit still and not touch anything all while being physically unable to stop them from wreaking havoc. Don't think they don't take advantage of that situation, my friends.
I'd love to see my blood pressure during a non-stress test. I'm guessing it's not reading Blissed-Out. It's probably more like 7000 over 685.
You may be thinking that all of this means that I have opted to use the "get out of pregnancy early card" offered by my doctor and go for the planned induction, right?
Wrong. I am still perversely stubborn about holding out for the full forty as long as the baby is fine. If Bun comes early on his/her own, I'm completely fine with that, but my inclination is to stonewall medical intervention as long as I can. It drives the medical community nuts, especially the perinatologists.
In the meantime, I have been trying to keep my mind off of the fact that I am woefully unprepared for Bun's arrival. I've been keeping up with all my blog reading, although I haven't been commenting because I cannot maintain my sedentary position at the computer for too long. That's also the reason why I have half a dozen half finished posts in my drafts folder, but I haven't actually posted anything for a week.
At least that's what I keep telling myself. Like I said, I've hit The Wall.
With less than five weeks left until my due date, I am feeling pretty done with pregnancy. (And if you choose to remind me that my three older children paid no attention to due dates and came whenever they darn well felt like it . . . well then, you've just made me cry.)
I am convinced that this feeling of being so absolutely over something is God's way of mentally preparing a woman for doing whatever it takes to get this baby out. And if that means getting something the size of a watermelon through a kiwi sized hole, so be it. Whatever it takes, my friends.
I won't list my aches and pains, because they are many, boring, and listing them will not make them go away. My irritation level is off the charts and my patience level is pathetically low - two great tastes that do not go well together. I spend a good portion of my day saying no to simple requests, and then apologizing for being so grumpy.
I would spend that time sleeping if only I could find a position that didn't make some part of my body numb. Oh, and if I could get out of bed without the use of a forklift.
Also? I have determined that the term non-stress test is a misnomer. It should be called a totally stressed out test. Especially if you have other children, since they must accompany you or you need to find someone to watch them.
I am lucky in the fact that my doctor is one of Rob's partners, so we try to coordinate appointments with Rob's schedule. Ideally, the children hide out in his office while I get hooked up to the NST machine for 25-45 minutes. In reality, one of two things happens:
Either I can hear their little voices ringing out across the entire office as they bother the other physicians and the office staff, or they have to sit in the room with me. I hiss at them to sit still and not touch anything all while being physically unable to stop them from wreaking havoc. Don't think they don't take advantage of that situation, my friends.
I'd love to see my blood pressure during a non-stress test. I'm guessing it's not reading Blissed-Out. It's probably more like 7000 over 685.
You may be thinking that all of this means that I have opted to use the "get out of pregnancy early card" offered by my doctor and go for the planned induction, right?
Wrong. I am still perversely stubborn about holding out for the full forty as long as the baby is fine. If Bun comes early on his/her own, I'm completely fine with that, but my inclination is to stonewall medical intervention as long as I can. It drives the medical community nuts, especially the perinatologists.
In the meantime, I have been trying to keep my mind off of the fact that I am woefully unprepared for Bun's arrival. I've been keeping up with all my blog reading, although I haven't been commenting because I cannot maintain my sedentary position at the computer for too long. That's also the reason why I have half a dozen half finished posts in my drafts folder, but I haven't actually posted anything for a week.
At least that's what I keep telling myself. Like I said, I've hit The Wall.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Question of the Day
Here's a little trivia for you this morning:
What is this?
a) leftover dishes from last night's New Year's feast
b) a good start to my New Year's resolution of stricter menu planning/meal prep
c) my new hot water heater
Now I'll leave you to consider your answer, since I need to watch for the plumber.
The plumber who is bringing our first big bill of the New Year.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
New Year, New Look
I figured that the start of a new year is a perfect time to mix things up around here, and now I have the "Minima Lefty Blogger Template" to show for it. Because 2008 is all about living on the cutting edge, folks.
Do I even need to tell you I'm kidding? I don't think that the description "cutting edge" has ever been used in reference to someone like myself. Someone who falls asleep at 11:30 on New Year's Eve, wakes up enough to see the ball drop through slitted eyes, and then drops off again, pausing only long enough to turn off the TV with the clicker.
I've been thinking about 2007, but I am so foggy lately that I found myself mixing up events and years like someone with early onset dementia. I kept fondly thinking of 2007 as the year that brought us Sally. Except that Sally was born in 2006. My bad.
I'm sure you'll excuse me if I opt out of waxing nostalgic this year. I find it almost impossible to do right now, since all of my energy has been focused forward, on 2008, for such a long time. Bun is coming this year - in a few more weeks - and it is hard to look back when you have this much mass hurtling you toward the finish line. A gestational juggernaut, if you will.
So this year, the 2007 HomeFront Retrospective is presented in a truncated, meme-style version that I first saw over at Musings of a Housewife. It sounded like easy fun (the best kind, if you ask me), so Istole co-opted it. I am posting (in a link form in case you choose to peruse) the first sentence of my first blog post of each month, and, if I have one, a corresponding picture for that month. I can't promise any great shakes on the pictures, since a) I generally do not post pictures of the kids, and b) I realized that 99% of the pictures I do manage to take are all of the children.
Let's see what we the old blog coughs up, shall we?
January 2007: Ah, here we are in 2007, and it crept into Chez Langan and caught us all unawares. Because we were asleep, folks. Not a creature was stirring. It was a New Year's "Rockin" Eve, indeed.
February: Today is my father's birthday, and although he rarely reads this blog, I'm giving him a shout out anyway.
August: The end of this week has been as close to perfect as it comes, my friends.
Do I even need to tell you I'm kidding? I don't think that the description "cutting edge" has ever been used in reference to someone like myself. Someone who falls asleep at 11:30 on New Year's Eve, wakes up enough to see the ball drop through slitted eyes, and then drops off again, pausing only long enough to turn off the TV with the clicker.
I've been thinking about 2007, but I am so foggy lately that I found myself mixing up events and years like someone with early onset dementia. I kept fondly thinking of 2007 as the year that brought us Sally. Except that Sally was born in 2006. My bad.
I'm sure you'll excuse me if I opt out of waxing nostalgic this year. I find it almost impossible to do right now, since all of my energy has been focused forward, on 2008, for such a long time. Bun is coming this year - in a few more weeks - and it is hard to look back when you have this much mass hurtling you toward the finish line. A gestational juggernaut, if you will.
So this year, the 2007 HomeFront Retrospective is presented in a truncated, meme-style version that I first saw over at Musings of a Housewife. It sounded like easy fun (the best kind, if you ask me), so I
Let's see what we the old blog coughs up, shall we?
January 2007: Ah, here we are in 2007, and it crept into Chez Langan and caught us all unawares. Because we were asleep, folks. Not a creature was stirring. It was a New Year's "Rockin" Eve, indeed.
February: Today is my father's birthday, and although he rarely reads this blog, I'm giving him a shout out anyway.
June: 
August: The end of this week has been as close to perfect as it comes, my friends.December: Oh wait . . . yeah, she is heavy.
There you have it: 2007 in blog review format. With some pictures to boot. Aren't you all so lucky?
While spending too much time skulking around my archives, I noticed that I call you all "my friends" very often. I hope you don't mind, because I do think of you as my friends, which is something I didn't really think was possible through such an impersonal medium as a computer.
But you are out there, and you are lovely people, and I wish you only the best things in life for 2008.
Happy New Year, my friends!
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