Monthly Musings: December, 2014

• The man and I have a hot date tonight, so I emptied my purse of extra ballast to travel light. The contents that I removed are as follows: a car charger, a pair of 3T undies, flushable wet wipes, an empty pill sorter, napkins from two different restaurants,  and a small plastic plate. #mombag

• A parenting hack that I read once said, 'when all else fails, put them in water.' I had no idea the same would hold true for getting a kid to poop in the potty. It never fails that 20 minutes into a bath, The Bud will jump up, demanding to go poop in the potty. This, from the kid who will do anything to avoid it any other time. It's working now, but I hope the habit doesn't hold over when he goes to college...

• W has always objected to his nom de plume on my blog. He thinks it's weird, and vaguely political. Typically, my position would be, 'get your own blog, buddy,' but I'm evolving as a person these days, so I listened to him. I never really cared for it either and it bugs me that he rarely reads anything I write, unless I make him. So, in an effort at diplomacy (and to get him to read my freaking blog, already!), I reached out to my buddies on Facebook for some nickname ideas, and got the following list: The Lion, Alice Cooper (taken), Pdaddy, The Artist formerly known as W, and Mr. BEAUjangles. You know. Because he's my beau. One reader even suggested that I go big and actually start calling him "Dubyah," but I have my pride, and frankly don't want it getting around that I'm sleeping with George W. Bush. Gossips, man...

As you can tell, I had a lot of fun with all this. :)

So it is with great fanfare that I now present to you, The Artist Formerly Known as W, or The Artist, for short. Yippee!

• That said, The Artist is getting on my nerves. I love Christmas. I love the wonder and mystery of the anticipation of Jesus' birth. I love dressing up, getting together with family and friends, and eating yummy food. I also love giving presents, but this year, he's cramping my style. All year, this man has been laying down all KINDS of hints for the perfect gifts and stocking stuffers, and I've been feverishly taking notes, cackling with glee in anticipation of his joy when he opens them. Then, when it came time to start shopping for said gifts, what does he do? He buys them himself! Everything, and I mean everything I had planned to get him, he bought for himself in the month of December. I give up. Watching him unravel my holiday planning is turning this cheerful giver into The Grinch, real quick. If he's not careful, all he'll have to open on Christmas morning is some socks and underwear. Oh, wait! Noooo...He already bought those. Grr...#hesgettingalumpofcoal

From my family to yours, Merry Christmas and a happy, healthy, and prosperous New Year!

Xoxo

Three's A Crowd. Four's What? A Bobsled Team?

So...I have some news. W and I are expanding our family. Yup, I'm knocked up! I can't speak for everybody, but for me, the first trimester is a magical time in my pregnancy where nothing I do has any positive impact on how completely crappy I feel. And since this time around I don't have the awe and wonder of this being my first time experiencing the joy of creation to distract me, nor am I close enough to the end for the oxytocin buzz to kick in, I thought I'd brighten my outlook by making a list of reasons to look on the sunny side of this oh-so-shitty season. If you're currently gestating or haven't yet forgiven your last child for the terror that was your first trimester, this list might be for you, too.

I'm a puss, but less of a puss than I was the first time around. Sort of.
With my first, no one had ever been as anxious, as regimented, as exhausted, and as nauseated as I was. Everything I craved was on the forbidden list. I couldn't control my mood swings, and couldn't sleep enough to feel rested. Every twinge or bulge sent me in a panic to the doctor's phone exchange or to my dog-earred copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting. I was a complete basket case. And guess what? That was all totally ok. Normal, even. This time around, I'm still a basket case, but now I know I can (and will) survive it. Also, instead of fighting it, I take comfort in the knowledge that it's all completely out of my control--the feelings, the cravings, all of it. It's the same for everybody. It'll likely only last a few months, and really it could be worse. I could be having my period.

I know better what's happening to me. 
Part of the anxiety I felt the first time around was because I had no grid for all the physical and emotional changes I was going through, and had always taken new or unusual to mean pathological. Now, I've survived one traumatic birth experience. I'm the mother of a threenager, and I haven't killed him, yet (premeditated or otherwise). And according to the bitches nurses at my OB's office, I'm AMA (of Advanced Maternal Age), so I'm seasoned. I'm a tough old broad, deep in the trenches, with the stripes to prove it. *shrug* Basically, I've accepted the unspecified aches and pains and functional brain death of motherhood for the last 4 years, already. What's a few more symptoms to add to the list?

Daddy has become The Enforcer.
Finally. I've been Bad Cop with The Buddy since he got mobile. Remember Fun Bobby from Friends? That's been W. He's the life of the party who plays ball in the house and lets him have chocolate before dinner. Now, I've been too tired and sick to lay down the law, so W has figured out that if our household isn't to descend into total anarchy, he has to hold down the rules. In The Buddy's eyes, this makes me the favorite. It's a cheap victory, but I'll take it. #rolereversal

The Incredible Increasing Rack.
When I was skinny and stupid, I valued a flat stomach over big jugs. I've since learned that they are basically interchangeable in their effectiveness. And since I'm not a Kardasian, or otherwise genetically predisposed to having them at the same time...pregnancy is my chosen path to top heavy and to the benefits thereof. #dontknocktheknockers

Snack Time.
God love it. Nutritionists have long counseled the health benefits of small, frequent meals, but I'd always done just fine with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Now, the worm has turned. If I don't want to be reduced to a jittery, dizzy, fish oil burpy, hangry mess by 10 am, I must eat breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, an after dinner apertif, and a "little something" before bed. It's a Hobbits life, but somebody's gotta live it. #survival

Naps.
Oh, man...I am so tired...When I was pregnant with The Bud, the worst it ever got was the day I took a 20 minute nap on the ladies' room floor at work. I was mortified and fretted every time I had to give in to my desperate need for sleep. Now, I see my enforced siestas as radical self-care. And when the alternative is loading the dishwasher or sitting through another episode of Dinosaur Train, a nap you can't fight off can become a blessing in disguise.

I get a lot of good toddler material for the 'ole blog.

When we told The Bud we were expecting a new baby, we asked which kind he wanted, brother or sister? His answer: neither. He wants a bunny. More recently, he accidentally pushed too hard on the belly, and I warned him to be careful, the baby was in there. He put his hand on my shoulder, looked earnestly into my eyes and said, "I sorry, Mama. I don't want it." The baby. He doesn't want the baby. #honesty

Gilmore Girls is streaming on Netflix. 

If I ever needed an excuse for descending into a blubbering mess of tears for no reason, it's now. Binge-watching the lives and times of Rory and Lorrelai has fit the bill quite nicely.

In spite of my complaining, I'm thrilled and hopeful that I will see the light at the end of the tunnel soon. I've already begun to notice some relief from the perpetual nausea ("morning" sickness can suck it), and certain scents are losing their gross-out factor, so things are looking up. Oh, and in another 28 weeks or so, I'll get to cuddle up with a tiny grunter with his/her brother's eyes.

Totally worth it.