A Ranting Kind of Day

I have 2 rants (so far) today... Have decided to share them with my followers (all 4 of you.)

First, I am a cranky driver. I'm the first to admit it. But I'm getting REALLY tired of people being really, REALLY stupid. As anyone living in Central PA right now knows, 11/15 has been under construction for several years. Recently, the turning lane from 15 north into the Camp Hill Shopping Center was removed, with 2 "no left turn" signs posted at the intersection. TWO signs, within plain sight. And yet every time I drive this stretch of road, in the left lane (being that I intend to turn left into the shopping center at the APPROPRIATE entrance) I have to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting some presumably sight-impaired driver (have I mentioned there are TWO signs??) who has decided to turn left by Panera, where there is no longer a turn lane. This happened yet again today, and in the 100+ degree heat, I decided to alert the driver of my irritation by laying on my horn and honking for a length of time that would make any Massachusetts driver proud. (If you haven't driven in Mass, you might not understand the reference, but it stands anyway.)

Secondly, another huge pet peeve of mine. If I am standing at the counter, ready to order something at any kind of eating establishment (in this particular case, the cafe counter at Barnes & Noble), do NOT ask me what I'd like, and then proceed to talk to your coworker while I'm giving you my order. If you do make this mistake, you better have super powers of multitasking and incredible hearing, because if you ask me to repeat my order, I will make you pay. Which means I will give you a death glare the ENTIRE remaining time that I am at the counter and then blog about you the minute I get home.

Am going to JoJos tonight for dinner... if I am ordering my food and the guy answers the phone in the middle of my order again (has happened SEVERAL times) it might get ugly, as I am NOT in the mood to play nice.

My Nook!

Ok, so I realize that my next blog should be all about Owen's arrival, how things have been going since his birth, etc. etc.... the problem is, Owen was born. Which sounds like a mean thing to say (how can it be a problem????) (which it's really not) (just in this context...) but the thing is, a blog entry about all that will be quite lengthy, and I just don't have the time at the moment. What with taking care of an infant and all that.

What I DO have a few fleeting moments to blog about is how excited I am to have a Nook! For an avid reader like myself, this is the perfect invention... Although I will still buy actual books now and again (I'm a sucker for Jen Lancaster and Stephen King in hardcover) I now have the option to read endless numbers of books without having to be wait-listed at the library or find room for hundreds of additional books, considering I already don't have room for the hundreds I currently own. Also, books are cheaper on Nook, so I'll be spending less money.

PLUS I can read one-handed-- no more page turning! This will come in handy while eating lunch for instance, or while nursing Owen... Thus increasing the amount of time I have in a day to read! (which was previously a big fat "none.")

While I'm still in the "I'm-excited-and-want-to-buy-a-lot-of-books" phase, I've asked Dan to give me a "Nook allowance"... so every two weeks, when he gets paid, I'll have a certain amount of money with which I can buy books. Am excited!! Will be spending the next two weeks reading the new books I've downloaded (yay!) and working on a list of books to download in the future (yay!!!!)

The Nook has MADE my summer. The possibilities are endless....

(and maybe Dan will read now! Considering it's technically not considered "reading a book" since it's electronic...)

A Reluctant Update

I was bound and determined not to update this blog again until Owen decided to make his appearance... however, I feel guilty for how long I've let it lapse at this point, and grudgingly decided that one more update pre-Owen is ok.

I've long held to the fact that one of the most irritating things about pregnancy is that everyone asks you how you are feeling. NOT to say that I get irritated with people, per se (although some can get ridiculous, calling daily...) but it's irritating to have people ask you such a question and never be able to honestly give them good news. No one wants to look at their friend and say "yeah I feel like crap today!"; the friend ends up looking guilty, regretting having asked, and you feel like the worst person in the world for making someone you care about feel that way. However, it's not in me to lie and say "oh, I feel fine today!" so I just try to give a brief overview without sounding like a miserable whiner, or blow the question off with a quick "I feel ready to be less pregnant!", which is honest enough without making anyone feel bad.

The truth is, at this point, I am remembering being told in psychology that people are programmed not to remember pain. Not that they don't remember having been in pain, but our brain somehow prevents us from remembering the actual feeling of pain... I believe it. I didn't remember how painful pregnancy could be, although everything I'm feeling now has a certain familiarity, and I realize that it was at least this bad with Addison as well. I just had convinced myself that I must have been overreacting, first pregnancy jitters, etc., but that doesn't seem to be the case.

I had forgotten how tired pregnancy makes a person, but how it contradictorily robs you of the ability to sleep (which is why I am updating my blog at 2:40 a.m. instead of sleeping.) I forgot how psychologically challenging a complete lack of energy can be-- being exhausted is literally depressing. Add to that the physical symptoms: my left hip grinding in the socket every time I take a step, my feet swelling if I stand or sit for too long, stabbing pains in my lower back, constant cramping, infant body-parts under my ribs and beating against my pelvis, etc. I'm at the point where I rarely complain anymore, or at least I don't complain as often as I want to, because there's really nothing new to say-- I hurt, all the time. I'm tired, I'm grumpy, I'm depressed, and I'm doing my best to hide ALL of that because I want my daughter's last few days as an only child to be good memories, even if I lack the physical capacity to play with her like I should.

In 2 1/2 days, I have a doctors appointment and will get the final word handed down as to whether the doctor will approve my request for an elective induction. Said doctor had told me at 36 weeks that if my body was physically favorable, he would allow me to be induced this week, due largely in part to my anxiety about the possibility of giving birth to another macrosomic baby (Addison was just an ounce shy of 9 1/2 lbs, which left me in pretty bad physical condition for quite awhile post-delivery, and I'm pretty sure my blood pressure goes up just thinking about enduring that again.) I was told at my last appointment that I was well on my way to being in good condition for an induction, and several days ago, Owen dropped and is "locked in" to my pelvis, so all systems seem to be ready for labor. I'm hoping it won't take too much convincing for this doctor to schedule an induction for this week (hopefully even as early as Wednesday afternoon/evening, shortly after the appointment), not only because I'm tired of being pregnant and eager to get it over with, but also because I am dying to get back to my "real life."

I want to be able to walk around a store without periodically clutching my belly in pain from a contraction. I want to get back to a point where I feel comfortable in my own skin again. I want to be able to carry laundry baskets up and down the stairs, scrub the tub, and clean the ferret cage (no, seriously!) But more than anything, I want to be able to sweep my 3-year-old daughter up into my arms when she reaches up for me, because I'm all too aware of how quickly she is growing up, and I realize that the time that she won't want to be picked up or carried is coming too soon. I don't want to miss another moment of my life, and in addition to all of this, I am ready to start sharing moments and memories with my son outside of my womb.

The Antidote to my Depression

When we need advice, it's very rare that we go looking for a 3-year-old. Myself, obviously, included. 3-year-olds are a lot of things-- crazy, joyful, adorable, annoying, etc. etc. etc. Often all at once, even. But I learned an important lesson today, one that has been summed up in numerous quotes by literary figures and philosophers that don't mean nearly as much to me as my own experience today.

I was talking to my husband on the phone during his lunch break... it started out as a discussion about a bill that needed paying and ended up as a lecture about how I need to take it easy and learn to lean on people more, because at this point in my pregnancy I am putting too much undue pressure on myself. Which is true, but as an incredible control freak, this is not easy for me to do. PLUS, I have been feeling enormously depressed lately about my increased amount of physical pain, my emotional instability regarding the impending birth of my son (I can't wait to hold him in my arms, and yet feel incredibly sad that this era of being a family of three is coming to a close), and my inability to keep up with what I feel are my "duties" as a wife and mother. My house is filthy-- I'm pretty sure there are previously unidentified species of mold growing in my toilets, walking barefoot on my carpet can be considered a serious risk to your well-being, and you can tell where the shampoo should go in the shower due to the fact that there is a shadowy ring left behind when you pick it up to use it. I can't bend and I can't vacuum (exacerbates the intense pain in my left hip), so I'm somewhat limited. The dishes are almost always done though, and my countertops are clean... am considering this a "win." In addition to my filthy house, I feel that I'm beginning to neglect my daughter a bit... not by withholding attention, as she gets plenty of that, but because I no longer have the energy or the physical ability to keep up with her. She doesn't seem to notice, but I do, and it is making me sad.

Anyway, after the conversation with my husband, I had to cry for a few minutes. Don't start sending him hate mail-- it wasn't his fault. My emotions just overwhelmed me for a minute and I needed to cry it out so that I could move on with my day. After a moment, I pulled myself back together and went downstairs, intending to get a couple chores done before taking my daughter to her Poppy's house for the evening. As soon as I saw her, all nestled up on the couch with her beloved binnie draped over her legs, I needed her. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Addison, Mommy needs a hug.

Addison: Why you need a hug?

Me: Because I'm a little bit sad, and a hug would make me feel a lot better.

Addison: Why you sad?

Me: Sometimes Mommies just get sad sometimes, and we need hugs.

*Addison crawls over to me on the couch, sits on my lap, and gives me a hug. Leans back, looks me in the face...*

Addison: Wanna see my belly? *lifts up shirt*

I couldn't help myself. I cracked up laughing. What a goofy thing to do! "You're sad? Here, allow me to show you my belly. All will be right with the world." It's insane! It makes absolutely no sense at all, and yet my depressed mood was broken. I was looking for some kind of answer for my situation, trying to work it out logically, talking things through with my husband, and apparently all I needed was a 3 year old girl to show me her belly. In her own convoluted way, I think this was my daughter's way of reminding me that sometimes, even if the problems are difficult, the solutions can be simple.

And next time you're upset, I'm sure Addison would be happy to show you her belly. Just give us a call.

A First Not for the Scrapbook- Addison's First Real Lie

Addison is a very imaginative girl. Since she was old enough to talk, all of us closest to her have learned to fact-check when Addison tells a story, because she has been known to spin quite a yarn. Time and time again, Dan and I simultaneously roll our eyes at something she's spouting to us from the back seat of the car-- driving seems to bring out some of the best of her stories. However, although she can't always be relied on to tell the whole truth about something, they have never been outright lies-- she's not spinning these tales to deceive anyone, she just has a very active imagination and likes to share her non-reality with us.

Today was a little different. I was upstairs, getting Owen's crib / nursery area ready... we got a whole bunch of stuff at the store yesterday and were finally ready to get all the pieces put together. Addison was downstairs watching tv and eating her Cheerios... after about 30 minutes, she yelled to me from the bottom of the stairs that she was having trouble with her pants. Assuming she was having difficulty getting them down to sit on the potty, I told her to come upstairs and I would be glad to help her.

A moment later, I walked out into the hallway to see my daughter walking backwards up the stairs, pants at about mid-thigh and her "unnie" also half-removed. (She has been in a pull-up instead of underwear for the last day and a half, due to a short bout of diarrhea the other day-- just taking precautions.) I have learned that when she walks into a room backward, it means that she's embarrassed or ashamed of something, or thinks she will get in trouble. I asked her what had happened...

Me: Addison, why are your pants down?

Addison: I was has-ing trouble. I tan't det dem up.

Me: Did you go pee-pee?

Addison: I went pee-pee but I flush already.

This caught my attention. Addison never uses the big potty downstairs without assistance, and wouldn't have attempted to dump her little potty on her own. Plus, the obvious factor-- I hadn't heard the toilet flush.

Me: Addison, did you pee-pee in your unnies? I didn't hear you flush, are you sure you didn't go pee-pee in your unnies?

Addison: soooooorrrry.

After assuring her she was not in trouble (this was her first acki-dink in weeks, probably brought on by wearing pull-ups again as opposed to regular underwear) we changed her unnies, put her pants back on, and I sent her on her way. While I was finishing tying the bumper pads onto the crib, I thought more about the situation, and it broke my heart-- what I believe happened was upon realizing she had an acki-dink, she must have tried to pull her now-wet pull-up down to sit on the potty, realized she couldn't get it back up, and determined that whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to ask for help. The walking backwards suggests how embarrassed she must have been, having had an accident (or acki-dink) for the first time in so long... I'm so glad I didn't overreact in the moment, because it's clear to me that she punished herself already.

It also became clear, though, that the "I already flushed" story was her first real lie. It was a story that she told specifically for the purpose of covering up something she didn't want me to know... her first deceitful tale. Maybe I'm lucky to have made it past her 3rd birthday without hitting this milestone-- she has always been, to a fault, an honest child. Even when she knew she'd be in trouble, she always told the truth. Does this scare me? Absolutely. But now that I know to keep an eye out for it, hopefully the next time she does it, I'll be ready to talk to her about why lying isn't right... although I can't help praying that this moment doesn't come anytime soon. Maybe I'm naive, but I'd like to see my honest little girl continue being truthful at least a little while longer.

A Morning of Uncontrollable Giggles

Fact: I'm not a giggly girl.

Not to make it sound like I'm stoic or grumpy all the time; I'm not. But the tendency to dissolve into giggles doesn't overcome me very often. Laughing? Yes. Giggling? Not likely.

Saturday morning was the exception.

The first thing that needs to be clearly stated is that I was running on roughly 3 hours of sleep. I had a hard time sleeping to begin with, and then my husband had a cold, which made his normal snoring 100 times worse, to the point that I eventually went downstairs and slept on the couch. Not the most comfortable place to sleep as a pregnant woman; I didn't get much rest there, and had to get up a little after 5, because we were planning to leave early to go to Ocean City, NJ for the day.

The lack of sleep apparently made everything funnier. About 45 minutes or so into our drive, I started giggling and couldn't stop, my hilarity getting to the point that I almost choked on my tongue trying to catch my breath. The cause? A motel sign stating amenities that included "hi-speed wireless micro-fridge." Obviously I realized that those were supposed to be two separate ideas; however, this did nothing to quiet the part of my brain that went into hyperdrive imagining the scenarios in which a person would need a hi-speed wireless micro fridge. I almost called my Mom, who I was SURE would laugh with me, but then I realized she might actually murder me if I called her at 7 a.m. while she was on vacation.

A few minutes later, we passed a place called "Christ's Home for Children." Nothing funny about this. Except that maybe 1/4 mile later we passed a smaller building with the sign "Christ's Home Office" in front of it. Cue the giggles. Dan and I spent the next several miles contemplating how one might get an appointment with Christ at his home office, and speculating what made Christ set up his home office in rural Pennsylvania in the first place.

The final straw was an Amish buggy crossing the road in front of us. Not that this in itself was funny-- having grown up in Pennsylvania, the sight of the Amish doesn't really phase me much. The thing that brought on the giggles was the fact that the buggy crossed the road in front of us to pull into an Arby's parking lot. Unfortunately, our light changed and we had to drive away before I could stare too much, but it begged the following questions:

*What do the Amish order at Arbys?

*Did they go through the drive-thru?

A little further down the road, I missed a road we were supposed to turn on and Dan had to turn around... I apologized, saying that I had "zoned out" for a minute, but he called me out on the truth-- "You're still picturing Amish people ordering Beef and Cheddar's, aren't you?" To which I could only reply, "More curious as to whether they prefer curly fries or regular."

My Bubble

No matter how much I expect it, and try to remind myself it will happen, it never fails to surprise and irritate me how many people think they have the right to invade a pregnant woman's privacy and space. Complete strangers reaching out to pat my belly, asking me how far along I am and when am I due and is it a boy or a girl... I try to just smile politely, answer their questions, and move along as quickly as possible, but the eternal sarcastic inside my head wants to reach out, pat their belly, ask for their birth date, phone number, and current blood pressure reading, just to remind them that some things are just personal. (I wish to emphasize that this applies only to strangers or lesser-known acquaintances... if you are my friend or family member, this rant does not apply to you.)

About a week ago, I went to Giant late at night to pick up a few things. I had just walked in and was perusing the oranges (looking for the most perfect ones, as I hardly ever eat oranges anymore and wanted it to be as amazing as possible) when I was cornered by a complete stranger. She looked as though she was probably in her late 50's or early 60's, spoke very rapidly, and had mascara all over her eyelids, which I was powerless to avoid staring at. She asked all the usual questions, and when I gave her my due date, she started immediately shaking her head. "Nope. No, you'll never make it to May 30th. He's going to come out before then. Not too early, but definitely before May 30th. I worked in the NICU long enough to know when a baby will come early." It was truly a battle to get away from this woman without being rude, but I eventually managed, muttering to myself that although I appreciate her enthusiastic endorsement of an early delivery, I'd like to continue taking medical advice from a doctor, not from a crazy produce-section psychic.

(side note: when I left the grocery store maybe 20 minutes later, the same lady was following around the poor kid pushing carts in the parking lot, talking a mile a minute. I didn't catch what the conversation was about, as I was trying to keep my head down and move quickly so as not to be spotted and subsequently hunted.)

Thinking about it later, though, I realized that I seem to attract these kind of people even when I'm not pregnant. No matter how hard I glare, the lotion people in the middle of the mall will always offer to lather up my hands. The lady at Auntie Anne's asks me to sample a pretzel, every single time I pass her, even if I'm just walking laps around the mall to kill time. I thought the Bath Fitter lady was going to physically restrain me the other day at the mall, no matter how much I insisted that as a renter, I was not looking to remodel my bathroom. When buying fabric at a JoAnn's in Massachusetts, a complete stranger grabbed my arm and proceeded to inform me that she liked my fabric selections so much, she bought several yards of each pattern I had picked out (which is strange, considering I was using them to make a wreath for my mother-in-law, and I can't imagine those patterns coordinating in any other capacity.) No matter where I go, or what I'm doing, or how hard I try to convey the "please don't talk to me, I don't really want to be friends" vibe, people inevitably enter my personal space.

A couple weeks ago, I was shopping at Boscov's with my mother-in-law, my husband, and my daughter. We picked out several spring and summer items for my daughter and were on our way out of the store, when suddenly the neckline at the back of my shirt was being yanked downward. I suppressed a scream when the lady started talking, explaining that she wanted to see the rest of my tattoo (part had been peeking above the neckline) and then proceeded to drill me about the meaning it might have. Umm... excuse me? Since when is it considered appropriate to distort a complete stranger's clothing for ANY reason? Had she asked me I might have considered pulling it down myself in order for her to get a better view, but in no way was I ok with the fact that she just went ahead and yanked my shirt down herself. I have tattoos on my thighs as well... had I been wearing shorts, would she have given me a good old fashioned schoolyard wedgie to get a better look? Should I be paranoid?

I'm not trying to say that I'm a rude person... I usually manage to get through these situations with my dignity in tact and with a certain amount of grace, but inside I'm usually either extremely embarrassed or completely seething. I've never been a super outgoing person, and as a result, have established what I like to think of as "my bubble." I don't want strangers invading my bubble unless they are invited, or unless they invite themselves in a non-assuming, non-assaulting way. Ask to touch my belly and I may let you. Touch my belly without asking and I may try to bite your hand. It's that simple. And under absolutely no circumstances are you to in any way stretch or distort any article of my clothing to get a better look at what's underneath, whether it be a tattoo or a strange-looking mole. If it's under my clothes, it's none of your business.