Naughty or Nice

Today I thought I'd (cheat) let you get to know Mr. Dadguy a little better. He e-mailed this wish list to me earlier today, and I think it is very much a slice of what-makes-him-tick. For those of you worried that I might publish personal e-mails of yours, I DO have permission to use this. But worry anyway 'cause ya never know if ya piss me off. I'm just saying.


A couple things I've thought of so far. Not necessarily in any
order. And hopefully within budget for a couple of these.

- Red vs. Blue season 3. (I have a $10 coupon code for the RvB site
if you get this, in my yahoo email. You can probably search it and
find it.)
- Wireless controllers for the xbox. Two would be good in case I
screw something up splicing wires I'll have one as backup. =)
- It would be nice to have some new jeans. And socks. Socks rock.
Come to think of it, (underwear) might be good.
- I'm mildly interested in that Atari classic version 2 or whatever
they have out now. I think it's $30 or something, and you can hack
it to play the original atari cartridges. Not that I would do such a
thing with the real atari around. On second thought skip this, it
would probably not get used enough to be worth it.
- Money for "the pinball machine" is always nice. Not that it'll
happen in the next few years, but hey, it's a nice dream. =)
- Some new pictures (and frames?) of our girls for my desk would be
nice.
- Headphones. Good ones that don't suck would be nice. I seem to
have lost the last ones I bought, can't seem to find them.
- Something
- Extremely
- eXceptional is always nice.
- I'm still not sure about an mp3 player. I think we should wait a
bit on this one, but I'm mildly interested in the right kind. I'm
intrigued by the new video iPods, but there's not a big selection of
videos (other than music videos) for them yet.

The big things that I'm interested in but not willing (or able) to
spend the money for right now would include a truck, finishing the
basement, pinball machine, back patio, new computer, maybe an xbox
360 (though I think I'm more interested to see the new nintendo
revolution that's coming out next year)... I'm sure there's more.

Most of this is just a "that would be nice" certainly nothing that
I'm dying for. You know what I'm dying for. =)

Anyhow. Love you.
-(Mr.Dadguy)

Hopes and Fears

Ahh, the siren song of a crying baby... I tell you when Pearl lets out a squall all hell breaks loose in this house. LaLa and Birdie go on high alert, audible intake of breath, eyes widen, pupils dilate and the screaming commences. They are both right there smack up in her wee face hollering

"AAAAHHHH!!! BABY! BABY! PEARRRRRRLLLL!"

This continues until I can get the kiddo squared away and the crying stopped. Bedlam.
Did I mention the fingers? Fingers in the eyes, in the mouth, rubbing the fuzz right off that little baby peach noggin.
Later on when Pearl can protect herself and has a reaction repertoire of more than crying in discomfort, startlement, frustration, fear, pain etc... I'm sure I will thank my lucky stars that I have two little girl helpers who want NOTHING MORE IN LIFE than to get a reaction out of Pearl. That is, if the preferred response that they go for is a smile or a laugh.

I have the highest hopes. That's all I have, hope and a healthy dose of fear.

Lack-tation

How on earth can I be expected
to write when my brain is
liquefying?
Liquid and running
in a tight spiral by the droplet
down my brain stem
and into the fluid around my spinal cord.
It oozes out somewhere
in my upper thoracic vertebrae
and creates for itself a groove
down my collarbone where
it finally insinuates
it's grey-oil self
into the marrow of my first three ribs.
It distills there and slips
creamy white into the tissue
of each breast.
Fills ducts and becomes
food for thought
in bright streams
down my newborns throat.

The Barfs

gaaahk!
once again siiiick!

Few things in this world quite as much fun as nursing a baby when you have the barfs. Happily I have just yesterday received my handy-dandy Medela Pump-n-style double electric pump. That way if it ever happens again I can forgo forcing the fluids into a sore and cramping tummy because I will have milk stockpiled I tell you! That's the plan.

Something Red

I love my popcorn popper! It is my favorite red item in the whole wide world. Ok, so only the very top and the very bottom is red... SO WHAT! Wooo Hooo!

Moo-duty

Last night was the official inauguration of lactation in the household of The Mama. Mind you, I have been pulling moo-duty ever since the birth of Pearly-girly, but now "You've Got Mail" has been dusted off and put back into circulation. I don't know what it is about that movie, but it sure makes the milk flow and the time go for those three am feedings. It's the ultimate comfort movie. When LaLa was nursing I added "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," and "Bend it Like Beckham" for a little variety. My mom claims that with at least one of her kids, probably my little Bro, Freakboy, he was always hungry at the same time of night ....so she watched a lot of "Streets of San Francisco." My oldest sister claims to have learned three hymns in Portuguese during the two months she lasted nursing her oldest boy.

A few years back before I had children, during a women's church society meeting, I sat through a lesson by a woman who shared how much she loved to nurse her babies because it gave her a chance to catch up on her reading. She was currently reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln and some really cool gospel related material. I was pretty stoked... wow, a chance to sit on my butt and do all the reading in the world that I wanted to do. Not that my reading selection was likely to be as wholesome as hers, but hey, to each her own. Ahem. This reading thing must be a privilege reserved for competent lactators, or women with small boobs. For me, nursing has been a two handed affair. One arm and/or hand to hold small larval like infant and one hand to hold the boob. Those of you with small or even normal sized breasts may well ask why I need to hold my own breast? So I don't suffocate the poor wee bairn.

Do I get any sympathy in my family? Crap, no! As it turns out I am the only female in my immediate family of mother, two older sisters and one younger who has a rack. And what a rack! Turns out I got most of EVERY BODIES. This would be cool if I were into being stacked, but as a life long tomboy, I was never thrilled with a consonant, or worse... double consonant cup size. I had always assumed I would receive my vindication when it came to functionality. HAH! What I got was mocked by my sister because my boob is so much bigger than my newborns head. What I get is two-handed nursing.

Finally with Pearl I seem to have figured out how to do this thing. The boppy. This is the same boppy that I used with LaLa, but now we seem to have entered into a magical milky land where I can get away with propping her up on said boppy, using one hand to hold said booby... and voila! It as almost as if I am normal.

Now, if I could just concentrate long enough to read a whole page.....ahhh, heck with it. What did I do with that video?

Milk Angels

What I said about the wintry look of the scene outside? Well the Christmas Land that popped up over the weekend across the street? Not lovin' that so much. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those hyper-offendable people that grinds her teeth over the commercialization of the season and yah-da yah-da... I'm more of an "eye-roller" than a "tooth-grinder." I treat the "Christmas Aisle" that makes it's debut along with the "Halloween Aisle" in late September about the same way that I treat the soft-core porn that is Victoria's Secret and all of her slutty little advertising friends. That is to say, I try to avoid them until the time is right, like when I am underpants shopping or looking for that "just so" little number for a weekend getaway with my husband. Hmmm... which sadly, like Christmas Day itself, seems to only happen once a year lately. I'm simply not prepared to deal with any of this until the day AFTER Thanksgiving, and then I am alllllll about making the Yuletide bright.

So on Saturday, when I drug the two older girls and myself to the store for some milk ( Dad was home with the barfs and the sleeping baby) I was completely unprepared for the jolly holiday that hit me. Mind you, I can handle the tinsel, the trimmings and the eggnog flavored ice cream samples that the girls wore home. What caught me off my guard was what could only be a rip in the veil between this world and the next. O, the singing, the angelic singing! So there I was next to the cottage cheese sobbing my hormonal heart out as the other shoppers tried enjoy the Utah Children's Choir sing carols in the local supermarket. These things should come with a warning, sheesh. Like those cones they put out in rainy or stormy weather "FLOOR MAY BE SLIPPERY."

Enough of the premature noel, let's talk about what is right in front of me. I mean RIGHT OUT FRONT. Holy cow, no pun intended, but ummm...I think my milk has come in. In the past I have had a problem or two with delayed milk production... that is to say it makes it's appearance about a week after the baby... and it trickles in until we are finally up to speed. This time around, forewarned is forearmed so Dr. J has had me using Progesterone Cream for the last month or so. Ergo, I am right on schedule, as is a another thing heretofore never experienced by me or my two friends.

Engorgement. Aye-yi-yi a bowling alley ain't got nothin on me. That's all I have to say about that. Except, and I don't wish to seem ungrateful, but OWWWWWWW!

Old Painting

Photos and Phacts

LaLa pronounces slippery as "lippity." Her current favorite thing to do is hold the binkey as Pearl sucks on it... then take it out, put it in, take it out, put it in- ad infinitum until we stop her.






Birdy was highly impressed with all of "mama's new watches!" in the hospital. We have been discussing bellybuttons alot.

Birth and Winter

This morning I looked out my front window and noticed that every last crimson leaf was gone from our maple in the front yard. They all must have blown away while I was at the hospital. I am sad that they are gone, but glad that there is this one thing to mark the birth of my Pearl. Ummm... other than the obvious.

Both of my other girls were born in February, which in Utah is pretty solidly winter. Yet right after each of their births I began looking around with this feeling of "Ok, my baby is here... where the crap is spring now?" So for me to come home and have this bare tree is kind of a relief. Like Mother Nature is acknowledging the entrance of MY baby. Somehow there is a melancholy feeling of rightness with those leaves gone. The cold rain that is falling now accentuates the snugness of all three baby girls of mine tucked in and resting at the beginning of this winter

Ta-Da!

7 pounds 8 Ounces, 20 inches. More to come.

Charming

Have you seen Finding Nemo? Yeah, the fish movie. There is a scene where two birds are sitting in the water, and some bubbles come up near one of the birds. The other bird looks at bubble bird in disgust and says "Nice," and flies away. Well my cool little sis who speaks French and Arabic watched our DVD last summer in the Au Francais and informs me in that scene the french translation has the sarky bird saying "charment" or charming. That word has been pattering through my head all afternoon, snooty french accent and in the tone of voice the bird utters it no less. It fits.

I am in labor, not yet the get me to the hospital I'm gonna pop deal, but they (contractions) have been coming strong and regular since around 12:30-1:00ish. I had been feeling merely crampy till I read Nytro's latest post about her dental woes. The teeth didn't get me, though I certainly can sympathise. No, it was the fart jokes. Sadly I have no defence against them. Nope, on the other hand I am such a sucker, and my low brow sense of humor was SOOOOO tickled by the categorising of her husbands various flatulence's that I started laboring for real and haven't stopped. It's a good thing that I don't keep baby books for my kids. I can see the entry now.... "Pearl, your entry into this world was heralded by a combination of yer mama busting a gut over a fart-joke and a little bit 'o Dr.J's "prostoglandin contraband."

Whoop-yeah! I am one high-tone broad.

Tall Man

Siiiiiiiiick, bleah. Luckily the version 2.6 of the tummy flu that I was testing was not as violent as what the girls had...version 2.0. As a matter of fact, although I was never more than two feet from my bowl I never actually did any yarking. Nope, I did what I do most of my 1st trimester of pregnancy... walk around feeling green. I have been assured that barfing is worse, and I would have to agree in the case of those hyper-emetics who have to go on the old IV drip. But the sweet relief that comes from a good cleansing yak, well I coulda used that yesterday. Instead, Mr. Dadguy made an early day of church duties and I was back in bed by 11:00am. Where I stayed.
Amen.

Sheesh, enough already with the barfsnotpoop...

I read a great post by Squishy Burrito about Tall Man... Most of my life I've been the kind of gal to let her freak flag fly, not a great combination with an overly soft heart, but there you are. Rather, there I am. I would be one of those mommies happy to sing a little more emphatically, and let Tall Man strut his stuff. At home we sing and I don't skip a verse, I mean, please... my kiddo's don't know nuthin' from nuthin' and I'm not about to explain obscene hand gestures or obscenities in general. We haven't even gotten to the name calling stage yet. But here we are in Happy Vally Utah where the prim grass grows. Home of the cute and pristine mommy. Hey, don't get offended 'cause I'm NOT slamming them, these creatures who will look you in the eye and tell you that they do not recall their mothers EVER raising their voices. See, I believe them when they say this and to a certain point I envy them the graceful and gracious way that they live their lives and raise their kids. To a certain point. But there is this freak in me that has a flag that must be flown. There is this part of me that cannot or will not feel shame. I know these things about myself...aaaaand now y'all know it too.

One great thing about having no shame and very little dignity is you can sometimes parlay that into a fun performance, don't believe me? Go and check out the Dormitory Boys. Now those guys are Carpe-ing the crap out of their Diem! Back before I had Birdie and for the first 9 months or so of her life I was a Storyteller at a local library for the Toddler Time. This turned out to be fairly big proposition as the body count during a session would often be in excess of a hundred souls. The biggest turnout I remember was 250+. This was the best job I have ever had in my life. Yeah, you can actually get paid for this kind of thing. There I was with a microphone strapped to my head like I was the Britany freakin' Spears of the preschool set. Kay, well I was fully dressed but what an experience. We read books, sang songs, did puppets, danced, hooted and hollered... but one thing we never did was "Where is Thumbkin." Somehow, in all the love fest that was my job as a Storyteller I was pretty darn sure that at least a few of the moms in attendance would not appreciate the view of the flag that song would give.

OOoooooh, where is TALL MAN?! Where is TALL MAN?! HERE I AM!!!

Adventures in Emesis

Pretty much the moment a mother makes a statement about how her children are or the way her household is run, then something conspires to make a liar of her. Is it fate? Murphy's Law? I don't know, but I have been stuck sleeping in the same bed with my KIDS for the past two freaking nights running. I may not have said, but I don't sleep well next to squiggle bums. My girls are both highly advanced squigglers.

The only happy highlight to last nights tragicomedy of a puke fest, is that after the first couple of rounds of the old heave-ho, my three year old got the hang of yakking in a bowl. I know adults who cannot hit a bowl, and my Birdie DID NOT SPILL A DROP! Bless her sweet little soul, it warmed the crabby old cockles of my heart and improved my attitude toward her greatly. Poor LaLa, however, does not even understand what the heck is going on except that it isn't fun and she doesn't like it. Meh. Luckily most of her food had digested before she began and Birdie laid off... both around 6:00am. Once again, a bare minimum to clean up as yuk-fests go.

In our house we call bath water "bum-water" to help underscore the importance of NOT DRINKING the water yer dirty old bum has been marinating in. We talk about it alot, the "not drinking it" bit... and yet I suspect entire gallons have been consumed between both girls.
"Mama, last night I had a dream," says Birdie this morning at the breakfast table.
"mmmm-hmm?"
"Yeah, I dreamed that LaLa was under the bum-water and I couldn't reach her," Birdie says nodding her head gravely.
"Under the bum-water?"
"Uh-huh. I was scared 'cause I couldn't reach her."

addiction

My Addiction


How sad.... pregnant and still drinking this crap. I have no defence, but I am also not gonna apologise.

I would like to invite you to meet a few of my friends from yesteryear.

There was the fun and omnipresent intimate of 13 years. And the weekend pals that crept into my workaday...

But my bestest, truest and most deadly friend of all.

tai food and babies

So very much to do and write about! Last sunday evening a friend called up to ask if I was hungry... for Tai food. Please understand that Tallula (name changed to pertect the innocent) and her husband have a rep for being culinarily untouchable. Was I hungry? No, the answer to THAT question is "not applicable," the question that was in the subtext was how fast could I hotfoot my behemouth self over the 1/2 block to their house? I don't remember the names of all the ambrosia that I was fed, except that some of it was HOT, there were cashews in another dish, the spring rolls were exquisite and I have never had better curry. Ever. To think I was invited because some bizarro sibling and boyfriend just never showed up to Sunday dinner. Freaks.

My uvula? Oh, yes... so much better thank you.

The baby? Well , I went to see Dr.J yesterday morning. While he politely refrained from using the actual words "epic" or "gargantuan" he did agree with me that the 17th was just not a good idea. So now I have an appointment early tuesday morning to see if we can get a little labor-action started. If not, then Thursday we'll just go ahead and induce. Can I hear an "uh-HUH, uh-HUH!"

I really do think that it's time. The bed has started to creak alarmingly when I get in. So much so that last nite after one of my many pilgimages to the bathroom I was easing my Self into bed Dadguy waved his hand around from a dead sleep and mumbled "no, no be careful, be careful." I think my laughing woke him up. Poor guy. He's just not ready for a new baby. I know because he told me so this morning. The thing about Dadguy is that while he is the BEST Dad I know (sorry Pop he's gotcha topped) his paternal instincts just don't kick in till the kid's about six months old. You will never find Dadguy holding his newborn with that goooglie expression you see on some Dad's faces. With our first I was really worried that I was going to be on my own parenting wise. He just never got into the naming thing, wasn't all that taken with the whole pregnancy thing and when the actual infant thing popped out? He didn't seem all that sure about whether it was worth the Hoo-raw. I'm pretty darn sure that Birdie was the second infant he had EVER held, and also pretty sure that he didn't care if it was the last.

I love that man.

I need to go take some pictures, and download pictures... and share pictures. I haven't forgotten!

me and my uvula

allllrighty then! Here I am with tonsillitis. Again. Apparently the zithromax "Z" pack was only good enough to give me a weeks worth of health before the crud-nasties took back over my body. As nifty as "Z" pack sounds, the new meds sound... well, like they ain't gonna take no poody-doo from no crud-nastie.... I am, as of 1:30pm on OMNICEFFFFFFFFFF (echo, echo echo monster truck rally announcer style).

This morning when I awoke to find that what I had suspected was going on had indeed happened I just sat in the bathroom and cried. The sound was a hoarse gagging sound as this particular brand of tonsillitis seems to focus primarily in my uvula. You heard me, my uvula. What can I say, pregnant women will talk about ANYTHING, no stinkin' modesty whatsoever. Give over already, it's just the hanger down thingy at the back of your throat.

Back to the bawling... IS there anything more pathetic than a woman in her 38th week sitting on the crapper feeling sorry for herself? Probably not. But that was this morning before the prescribing of the omniceferator. Now I am a human who can swallow food as well as drink. CELEBRATION!

Now, however, all of my blogging plans are in the dumper as I fell asleep with Birdie an hour and a half ago. Upon awaking I realize that I am still a sickie despite all the improvements.

y*a*w*n

g'nite sweet prince (mumbles incoherently as Dadguy tucks her in).