Breaking the law.

Or the rules. I have these two little bars on the side and bottom I'm not allowed to mention. But when I have never once that I can recall -- at least not recently mentioned brain injury, I'm a little concerned about what content prompts their special computer program to suggest that my readers would suffer from it. I take offense for you dear readers. Unless that they are suggesting that I have one. Which would explain my forgetting that I've written about it, now wouldn't it. Yeah, that would explain a lot of things about my life.

Lazy. But Whatever

I think I'm just going to quit promising to do things on a weekly basis. I mean, face it. I'm pregnant, soon there will be a child where once there was an alien trying to climb out through my belly button.

I keep trying to compare the pregnancies, and I realize that God did something cruel in order to ensure that women would do this whole pregnancy thing more than once -- He makes you forget things. Like the searing pain when you roll from side to side as you feel your pelvis split open. And the kicks that take your breath away as you try to find a comfortable position to sit and watch TV. That annoying heartburn from drinking WATER and the whacked out hormones? Yeah. I forgot about all of that. But, I am really excited that soon there will be baby where now there is only some crazy navel that wants to make sure that everyone knows which direction I'm headed.

I'm somewhere between 25 and 27weeks or something now. At my last appointment, the doctor didn't officially change my due date. Because he said that June 10 is "close enough" to June 1. I personally don't agree. You see, June 24 is the latest I can go... and that is a long way off from June 14. Just my opinion though. We'll see. But for the record, I don't like this "due RANGE" thing we have going on here. I get that the due date is plus or minus two weeks-but I don't like the "range" being plus or minus two weeks.

Here are the latest pictures. One from 25 weeks with Little Monster:

I don't know if that face is a smile or a wince. I'm pretty sure it was a smile back then. I was enjoying pregnancy. At least that's the way I remember it.

And one from tonight. I thought it took longer for the belly button to pop out last time. But I was wrong. It didn't.

Notice there is no head in this picture. That is because I'm crabby today. And because I didn't shower. Do you see that the turkey already thinks she's done? I'm thinking about putting a band-aid over it. Because it's really annoying in these thin shirts.

Wordless Wednesday

I have NO idea. Other than that hat belongs to a Christmas garfield that is probably worth a LOT of money. Or was.

A couple of reasons...

Why I love my husband.

He understands the therapeutic power of both ice cream and Starbucks.

He has been known to willingly, without being prompted help me to wash dishes after dinner. Occasionally he's done it himself.

He has been known to make dinner. Without being prompted, nagged or asked. Sometimes several nights in a row. (Two nights this week, three if you count the night he took us out to dinner.)

He often gives spontaneous "on the fly" back-rubs. He only complains occasionally when I slow down to make it last longer.

The look he gets when he sees a tiny appendage come shooting out of my stomach right before he places his hand over it to see if he can convince the baby to do it again.

He's the best Daddy Ever. Period.

He sees the fun in turning on 80's on 8 in the car every once in while. And talking about that guy who used to be named Prince, but is now some crazy symbol thingy while listening to "When Doves Cry."

He's not afraid of a spontaneous weekend trip to visit a friend hundreds of miles away so that I can play with her newborn bub. (Spontaneous being a month away.)

Sometimes he comes up with lavish schemes about what we'll do when he retires including (but not limited to) buying a boat and sailing to Australia, taking a six month trip to tour Europe, travelling through every state towing our fifth wheel, and starting up an indoor RV storage and repair facility.

That last thing, he really wants to do it. And it's really scary that my Dad has had the same dream forever.

Had enough? Are you barfing yet? Well, too bad. This post isn't for you. It's for Not the Momma. He's truly a blessing in my life. Especially the past few months, when I went from morning all day and all night sick, to having a cold, to having another cold, to having a sinus infection. He's spent days studying his butt off at work, only to come home and pick up the house, make dinner and take Little Monster (who is seriously living up to his name -- in a good way) off my hands so that I can get a break.

Oh, yeah, and when I tell Little Monster to suggest to Daddy that we go to Starbucks, he's kind and pretends like he doesn't know it was me that told Little Monster to suggest it to him.

P.S. Little Monster did not send any warnings about "boo-bots" coming yesterday morning. The threat may have passed. However, he did wear his "Soup-man" pajamas to bed the night before last. Perhaps he fought them off in his sleep with the fancy "pate" (cape) and "boo-buck" (belt buckle) that came with the jammies. Or maybe he fought them off at some random point yesterday when I wasn't looking since he refused to take the "soup-man" shirt or "pate" off.

P.P.S. Is it wrong to let your kid sleep in a pair of pajamas, wear the shirt around all day, and then let him sleep in the same pajamas again?

Dr. Internet -- You scare me.

Worse than the 10:00 AM arrival and hug of my 2 year old son accompanied by a warning about the imminent danger of hostile robots.

I simply looked up how long I should be suffering from this very nasty sinus infection before I need to see a doctor to find out that I could die. My sinuses could swell into my brain or something, cause my eyeballs to fall out of my head after dilating my pupils, making me go blind and then killing me.

Don't believe me?

If left undiagnosed and untreated complications of
sinusitis can occur that may lead to severe medical problems and possibly
death. the following complications are medical emergencies and require
immediate treatment in a hospital's emergency department:

• Headache, fever, and soft tissue swelling over the frontal
  sinus may indicate an infection of the frontal bone called Pott's puffy tumor or
  osteomyelitis. Usually this complication is limited to
  children.
• Infection of the eye socket may result from ethmoid
  sinusitis. The eyelid may swell and become droopy. Fever and severe illness are
  usually present. A person with this infection may lose the ability to move the
  eye, and permanent blindness may result.
• Ethmoid or frontal sinusitis may also cause the formation
  of a blood clot in the sinus area around the front and top of the face. Symptoms
  may be similar to those of eye socket infection with the addition of a fixed and
  dilated pupil. This condition usually affects both sides of the
  face.
• If a person experiences mild personality changes, headache,
  neck stiffness, high fever, altered consciousness, visual problems, or seizures,
  infection may have spread to the brain. Coma and even death may
  follow.

In other words, I probably should update my will. And talk to my husband about my dying wishes while kissing and smothering Little Monster with love. And chocolate. I could go into a coma at any second. OR I COULD DIE. But then again, maybe I should just take some more Tylenol and call my Doctor if it doesn't go away by next week.

(Italicized text above taken from here.)

WARNING!

At 10:00 AM every morning this week, Little Monster has given me a warning about the robots coming. It creeps me out just a little bit. Mostly because it's the same comment, the same time of day, and he hugs me while he says it. It's also partly because I've warped my brain with scary movies that starred children. Like Signs. And Poltergeist. All I know is if he ever says "They're hee-eerre" or "it's contaminated," I'm heading for the hills. As long as there's a lake nearby.

Maybe we've watched a little too much Chicken Little and Meet the Robinson's lately? Could it be that I'm warping his sense of reality? We only watch animated things with him, mostly because I want him to be able to have some sort of grasp of the difference between "pretend" and "real" before I expose him to too many live-action things.

Until we get this figured out, I'd bet that I'll continue to get my 10:00 AM warning and hug:
"Mommy. Robots coming."

Did your kids ever say creepy things like that on a regular basis?

Should I be worried about a Terminator-type invasion? Only time will tell.

Past Fat.

For a long time, I was in that "maybe she's just gained a few pounds" stage of pregnancy. And for a long time I lamented the fact that unless I was wearing a maternity shirt, I really did look a little overweight rather than pregnant.

Folks, for a few weeks, I've been past the fat part and now, I look PREGNANT. You've seen the pictures from the past few weeks. That's not fat. That's baby. A LOT of baby. Let the comments begin!

I ran into someone today who looked at me, gave me a knowing smile and said "How much longer?" thinking I had a month, maybe a few weeks left until this little parasite (whom I dearly love already and am grateful to have) decides to evacuate my body. It took three people to pick her jaw up off of the floor when I told her I wasn't due until June. I am one of those people who get heavily pregnant. I don't get 'heavy' by gaining weight anywhere else. Just the belly. Last time I was pregnant, at around 7 months I went into the hospital to visit a family member and every person on staff tried to herd me to the Labor & Delivery floor. I am not at all like my dear friend G (congratulations!) who just gave birth to her little boy. She, was cute and tiny in every way. And still wearing normal pants, whereas I gave up normal pants ages ago.

I'm already big enough that scrubbing the bathtub is uncomfortable and I can't bend over from a sitting position to pick things up off of the floor. Okay, I can, but not without feeling like something inside me is going to burst. Take this as your warning for future Foto Fridays of the pregnant lady. If I put up the compare pics, you'll notice that the last time I didn't much worry about covering my belly. This time it will be different. I promise. It's for your own protection.

As if you couldn't get enough...

This morning we visited my OB for the regular monthly checkup. We did it without Daddy coming along, which, with a sinus infection and massive headache wasn't fun.

On the way home, I explained to Little Monster that I was sick, so I wanted to have a quiet afternoon at home. I got this response:

"Mommy Sick. Mommy go Doctor. Mommy Broken."

Luckily I didn't crash the car with the fit of laughter that followed.

My Daily Laugh

Scene: Me, being a bad mommy by ignoring my child and playing on the Internet while he runs around with his big trucks. Daddy is upstairs working on a test that goes on forever.

Little Monster crawls under the dining room table with his cars, and there is a sound of 'gas escaping' from his rear end.

Me: Did you fart?
LM: No!
Me: Are you poopy?
LM: No!
Me: Are you sure you didn't fart?
LM: No. Daddy!
Me: Daddy did it?
LM: Yeah! Daddy Poopy!! Daddy Poop!

Everything you can imagine is renal.

At least at our house it is lately.

Tuesday I was feeling a bit "off." And I blew that off, thinking that I'm pregnant. That happens. By 10:00 at night, I was sure I had a full blown bladder infection. I tried to self treat until the morning when I could call the doctor. This required sending my dear, loving, wonderful husband out into the middle of the chilly rainy night to brave the dangers of Walgreen's at night. He said the hoodlums were a bit scary. As I paced, soaked in a warm tub, and drank bottle upon bottle of water, I waited anxiously for him to get home. When he did, I took a couple of cranberry pills, and drank some cranberry juice, waiting, waiting waiting for the pain to ease.

I figured if I wasn't asleep by 1:00 AM, it was probably bad enough to head in to the ER. I really, really didn't want to be that fool in the ER showing up because they had a problem that a normal doctor could fix on normal hours. I really didn't want to be calling my OB in the middle of the night, complaining about a bladder infection. A stupid bladder infection.

You see, January 1st 2007, I ended up in the hospital with Kidney stones. I was throwing up, miserable, in lots of pain. I thought I was dying. Maybe I had an appendix rupture -- only without the fever. Who knew? So, those several hours in the uncomfortable ER chairs waiting for a room went by really really slowly. All I wanted to do was go home and get in bed and die there. In fact, I told Not the Momma that several times during the wait. But, being the stubborn (and loving and wonderful and caring) husband that he is refused to take me home. He wanted me to die on that cold tile, writhing in pain the day before he left for a year overseas. And that's when the guy who came in before me started complaining. About a toothache. And how he really needed to be seen now. Because he had a toothache. I was throwing up every 4 to 5 minutes (how, I don't know, I'd thrown everything up already), writhing in agony on the floor in such a show that when I sat down, people fled from me like I was Moses and they the Red Sea. They certainly didn't want to catch whatever I had. It really bothered me that the rooms were full of people who had hangovers and toothaches while I was being left to die. So, I made a pact to myself that I would NEVER go to the ER if I didn't have to.

Tuesday night, I was sure I didn't really have to. I could drown the bladder infection to the point where I could sleep -- and hopefully sleep would last long enough that I could wait it out until morning. But the longer I sat in misery, the sweatier I got from the pain, the less I was able to concentrate on anything, the more I thought about going to that ER. And, so, I changed the time to midnight. If I didn't feel sleepy or better by midnight I was driving myself to the ER for a stupid bladder infection.

At 11:57 (okay, so that might not be the exact time, but close enough), I went to the bathroom and passed another kidney stone. Immediate pain relief. I've never thought anyone would be crazy enough to praise the lord for a kidney stone, but I did it right there in my bathroom. Within the hour, I was sleeping soundly upstairs in my bed. Well, sort of. There was the small matter of the 64 oz of water and 32 oz of cranberry juice consumed between 10 and midnight. Compound that with the whole "I'm pregnant" thing, and I was getting to sleep for about an hour at a time with pee breaks. But I wasn't in pain. It was great. Everything is fine for me around here now.

However, there's another little tortured soul in my home. My girl dog started using the house as her bathroom the other day. Not normal behavior, especially when she'd just been out. Last night I noticed that when I let her out, she went about 5 times. Not good. She has an appointment tomorrow to get her poor little bladder infection fixed. The first vet I called suggested we come in on Feb 25Th. Which I said OK to initially. The dogs need their shots anyway. Then I came to my senses. What if I'd called the doctor the next morning and they said they couldn't see me for a few days for my bladder infection -- let alone two weeks? I'd have lost it. I would have died or killed everyone around me. So, she'll be seen first thing in the morning tomorrow. That's better. Much better. In the meantime, I'm eyeing those cranberry pills and all that cranberry juice. And Little Monster's diapers.

Hopefully by the end of tomorrow we'll all be happy and everything around here will be real, and not renal.

*"Everything you can imagine is real." -- Pablo Picasso

23 Weeks

Here I am this week, approaching 23 weeks. If nothing else, taking pictures every Friday requires that I groom and shower once a week.

Not the Momma is loving it.

Smarty Smart Smarty Pants

Living with Little Monster is always an adventure. I don't know what I'm going to do when Not the Momma returns to sea duty and I'm stuck raising him by myself. It's not that I can't handle him -- it's that I can't keep a straight face when he's naughty. Sometimes I just bust into giggles so terrible I can't stop. Not to mention, he's killing me with what a smart aleck he is.

Our latest conversations have gone something like this:

LM: "Mommy, this BLUE!" He's holding up a black Lego.
Me: "Nooooo"
LM: (in an almost sarcastic tone) "No, it's black."

Repeat that about 40 million more times with different objects and colors. The kid knows his colors, but he thinks its funny to joke about it. He did the same thing what what sounds a bear makes. He used to say "meow!" and then say.. "no.. roar" in the same tones. I'm worried I'm going to send the kid to kindergarten and he's going to have his teacher fooled into believing he's learned nothing in his first five years of life.

Once you get past the smart aleck sarcasm, there's the problem with the kid's imagination and his love for all things superhero. The kid knows the identity of The Flash, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter (although he calls him Dark Knight for some reason), and Green Arrow. His knowledge extends past the tights and capes, though. He knows, that some of the superheroes fly. As such he spends hours each day helping things fly while making a little boy swish sound as he spins in circles until he's dizzy.

Last night we were having a great time as a family. We were sitting on the couch, sipping Frappuccino's, watching Jeopardy while Little monster played on over and around us. Little Monster had a batman action figure (it's not a doll, people). Batman was driving around the couch, and up and down Daddy in his Batmobile. Then, without warning, Little Monster took Batman out of the car, and HURLED him. There was a hollow thud as the poor action figure hit the window and landed on the windowsill behind the couch. Batman was chucked right past Not the Momma's head, mere millimeters away, at a speed which he claimed was approaching the speed of sound. He later told me "I could hear the cape flapping in the BREEZE!" This is when we see proof of how bad things are going to be when Not the Momma isn't around. After hearing the thud, seeing Not the Momma's shocked and startled expression, and then Not the Momma saying "Batman doesn't FLY Little Monster, you're in time-out." I burst into giggles. Uncontrollable, unstoppable giggles.

Then, Not the Momma with a STRAIGHT face, with a serious (and maybe even a bit mean) voice said "Batman does NOT fly!" As Little Monster was wallowing in time out, I began laughing even harder, tears streaming from my eyes, and blanket thrown over my head to keep him from seeing that Mommy has lost it. Because rather than saying "we don't throw things" Not the Momma said "Batman doesn't fly." Would it have been different had it been Green Lantern or Superman? I'm laughing now just thinking about it. Of course, this is probably one of those "you had to be there" moments. The giggling, when I should be disciplining -- that's what's going to get me into trouble someday. We have a strict rule that all superheroes must be aided while flying and are not allowed to fly "solo" in the house in order to protect dogs, TVs, knick-knacks and parental eyeballs. But that doesn't mean that I don't get to laugh a little when I hear the Little Monster swish sound, followed by a thud as his superhero goes hurdling through the air in some unpredictable direction at high speeds. I just have to remember to do it when Little Monster isn't looking.

What are those?

Apparently Little Monster is starting to take note of certain parts of my anatomy. Obviously, he is noticing the larger stomach. One of his favorite things to do is to poke my belly button and giggle while saying "Baby!" I am not too thrilled about it, because it is uncomfortable, but it allows him to connect in some sort of weird way. He also likes to lift up my shirt and pat my belly. No big deal. However, the other day (sometime last week or the week before) he noticed the other slightly larger than normal bumps that have appeared since September. He thought there were babies in there too. I casually told him that those were there to feed the baby when it came. End of story, right?

Yeah, not so much. Today I was sitting down with him and he started patting my belly and saying "baby!" Totally normal. Then, out of the blue he started alternating between my stomach and the two bumps above it saying "Baby... Eat! Baby... Eat!"

I think we're going to have to watch what we tell him from now on.

The Sickness

We have been really lucky in our household. I can count on one hand the number of times our Little Monster has been sick enough that we've spent days inside watching movies, eating comfort food and avoiding the outside world.

Little Monster has a cough. And a fever. And a runny nose. This has been going on for a few days. It means he has returned to land of children who nap, but that he doesn't go to bed as easily. He also wakes up earlier. But he hasn't been up in the middle of the night more than once.

I feel just a smidgen guilty enjoying the fact that my normally insane child who won't stop running and playing long enough to hug his mom has spent the better part of two days in my lap while we snuggle under covers and watch movies. Just a smidgen. I know it won't last and before I know it he'll be wearing me out again. Following behind me as I clean undoing everything I have done. Demanding PB&J sandwiches, Nemo or Batman snacks, and Juice at every turn.

I know he's on the way to mending because he's getting into the crabby/naughty phase. Just in time for nice 65 degree weather to leave us and for the clouds, cool and fog to return, keeping us inside. Isn't that how life works though?