Interesting method there, Nesting Bug

Here's a list of things that need to be done by time the baby is born:

• Organize, wash and put away 2 years worth of baby boy clothes
• Clean bedroom and create a space for baby to sleep
• Set up bassinet in that tiny, but clean space
• Wash my sheets so the baby will have clean ones to spit up on while co-sleeping
• Remove toy piles and decorative Goldfish cracker crumb rug from car
• Move around car seats and install infant seat
• Vacuum/sweep and mop all floors
• Dust ALL the things
• Wipe ALL the surfaces
• Clean cobwebs from ceilings
• Vacuum behind furniture
• Set up swing or bouncy chair
• PACK HOSPITAL BAG

Here's a list of all the things that I have successfully completed as of today, two days shy of 41 weeks:

• Organize, wash and put away clothes
• Clean half of the bedroom - the half that the baby and I will be on
• Removed enough toys from the van to eventually vacuum the cracker rug
• Mopped my kitchen floor for the first time in a month
• Bake and freeze double chocolate muffins
• Bake and freeze chocolate banana cookies, half with walnuts
• Bake and freeze peanut butter banana muffins
• Make and freeze a dozen bacon, egg and cheese breakfast muffins
• Never cook dinner for my family
• Last minute trip to the zoo
• Last minute trip to the beach
• Last minute trip to a bunch of playgrounds
• Wash the hospital bag and the things that will probably go into it, but not actually put it together
• Write a bogus birth plan

Apparently on the third go-around, my body has figured out that babies really don't need a clean house for the first 4-6 months, until they start crawling, and by that time it's really no use trying to create the illusion of cleanliness with a 2 and 4 year old running around, as long as there's nothing for anyone to choke on.

Nope.  According to my body, baked goods and good QT with the girls are the most important things to bringing a baby into this world.  While that's probably true, my mind would appreciate the motivation and energy from my body to get rid of all these things that are stressing me out.

Maybe it'll kick in when I hit 42 weeks.

Violet's growing a chewy bar baby in hers.

Planning birth.

As my due date is approaching (next week, egad!), I'm starting to freak a little.

My house is still a mess and nesting has only kicked in enough to make me hyper-aware of the dusty corners of the baseboards and the wrinkles in the window sheers.  And the lack of clothes or sleeping space for the future baby.

I'm also feeling doom at the impending labor.  I've been wavering between indifferent and pretty excited about birthing a human being, but now that he's big enough that I can feel the size of his limbs and booty and fully realize the fact that yes, that is a human being inside me, and he's coming out the same way he came in, I'm having crotch-winces at the thought.  I keep picturing this baby Hulk inside me, and he's getting pissed off at the contractions so he takes his not-so-tiny infant fists of fury and claps mightily at his escape route, and I just literally explode in half from around him.  That was the best scene in any movie ever, by the way.  When the Hulk clapped that motherfucking fire out?  I yelled out loud from the audience, FUCK YEAH!

So anyway, that's not going to happen, but I am nervous about labor.  I've never written down a birth plan before because the first time I wasn't picky, and the second time the plan was "just get to the hospital quick before she's born in the van".  This time, I'd like to arrive at the hospital before the baby is crowning, and I'd like to labor in blissful hydrosolitude (aka I'll be in the birthing tub in the bathroom, everyone else will be... anywhere else).

Here's the plans I've got so far:

Going with the Hulk theme.  Picture this.  You, a nurse, enter L&D Patient Drescher's room to check her progression in labor.  You see an empty bed and a red-bearded burly man seated next to it, bouncing the birthing ball against the wall.  From the bathroom you hear a roaring reminiscent of the constipated bowels of Hell.  You know where to find your pregnant lady.  You walk past the red-bearded burly man who simply nods to you to imply "I wouldn't do that," but you've been given the task to check on the pregnant lady's well-being.  As the bathroom door opens, the walls and floors begin to quake, and the sea of birth tub stew slowly parts and rises around a ginormous figure.  The figure adjusts its paper hospital bracelets that are growing tight on its bulging wrists, and surfaces from its kneeling position within the tub.  "How... how are... Miss Drescher?, are you ok?", you timidly ask.  The figure, now ascended over the tub, heaving and wild, answers.  "You're making me angry.  YOU WOULDN'T LIKE ME WHEN I'M ANGRY!!!"   Then you see the beastly figure is wearing a silly pair of these.  You assume your pregnant beast lady is ok and do not attempt to bother her with your cervical checks or your ice chips or even your small talk.  The wild Hulk woman then claps her might Hulkette hands together and triggers a sonic boom that throws you out of the bathroom.  VAGINA SMASH!

Coloring time was interesting today.

Going with the donut theme.  This plan is not nearly as elaborate or faux-violent as my Hulk plan, but it's under consideration.  There will need to be donuts there anyway, so I figure I could throw the nurses and midwife a little appreciation pastry as well.  And more importantly, god knows I love a lame pun, so what better interception between me and nosey hospital staff than a box of donuts strategically placed in front of the bathroom entrance, with a sign saying "DONUT ENTER UNLESS ADMINISTERING ANTIBIOTICS OR MONITORING INTERMITTENTLY".  But they're not getting the good Fractured Prunes.  They can fight over the Boston Kremes from Dunkin Donuts.

Threatening, right?

Short and Sweet Combo.  Maybe if I keep the birth plan short, the labor will follow suit?  I originally just wanted to write on a piece of paper, "Don't talk to me, don't touch me, don't even enter the same room as me," but I figured that would be rude.  A friend sent me her pretty genius birth plan and it was short and sweet, but I think I have decided to combine all three plans into the briefest and nicest threat imaginable.

If that isn't the sweetest "Leave me the hell alone" ever, I don't know what is!

3 year old innocence + 37 weeks hormones = Mom mush.

Today I convinced Violet to curl up on my lap and watch Max and Ruby so I could have a quick snooze.  I sat with my legs stretched out on the couch and my head back on the arm rest, and plopped her down on my legs with her head resting on my chest just below my neck, with my arms wrapped around her and resting on her hip.

I woke up about 45 minutes later to feel drool running down the side of my face.  I'm such a charming sleeper!  I also found that Violet had passed out along with me.  In my sleep I had semi-reclined to an almost horizontal position and Violet took the opportunity to stretch out on me.  Her head was still high on my chest, but she had rolled her belly over halfway onto my belly and stretched her legs out long.  First I noticed how big she is all of a sudden - her feet were resting on my shins!  She used to fit inside of me and now here she is taking up two thirds of my body!  And for the love of Maury Povich is she heavy all of a sudden.  The right side of my body was half tingling and half numb and I couldn't even lift her enough to army roll out from under her.  Then I saw how peaceful her little freckled face was and decided I had to lay there until she woke up, even though my neck felt like it was the only thing holding up a big fat pregnant lady (oh hey, it was).  It's not often during these 3-year-old days that I get to see her looking like an angel.

My right arm was still wrapped around her (I couldn't feel it but I could see it) but my left one had migrated to rest on little Harvey's butt.  He was kicking and rolling all around and moving my arm up and down and punching Violet in the gut.  Of course she had no clue but I got a kick out of it, imagining a year or two from now when he's going to be purposefully punching her in the gut because she stole his Handy Manny doll.

Watching her interact with her baby brudder has been the best part of this pregnancy.  When I was pregnant with Leela, she noticed my belly bulging and kissed it if I told her to, but she didn't get that inside there was The Destroyer of Only Child-dom.  She wasn't all that interested in Leela after she was born either.  Actually sometimes I still don't think she's Leela's biggest fan, but she deals with her now.

With this pregnancy though, she's really taking notes.  She talks about baby brudder and talks to him.  She swears she can see him through my belly button and apparently he drinks a lot of orange juice inside there, and once he was driving a bus (maybe he is, it feels like it sometimes).

She has tried helping with his name.  For a long time she said his name was Harvey Harrison Fullerton.  Now he's just Baby Brudder.  I'm hoping that when (if) Joe and I come up with a middle name or two that we like, we'll let her be the deciding factor.  As long as she doesn't try to suggest something like Muno instead.

One day, I caught her walking around with one of her baby dolls head down between her knees and asked her what she was doing.  She told me "A baby brudder popped out of my hooha!".  It was a magic moment for me for some reason, to know that she gets that there is an actual baby inside of me and he is actually going to come out of me and then be her baby brother.  We'll have to work on understanding that she will not have any babies coming from her for a long time though, ha.

Another day she was in the shower with me, playing with her mermaid while I was rinsing my hair.  She needed to rinse her mermaid's hair but my behemoth belly was hogging up all the water.  She very matter-of-factly looked my belly straight in the button and said, "Scuse me baby brudder, you're blocking all the water."  I love how polite she is to him!  She says she can't wait to help get him dressed and change his diapers, I hope that doesn't change.  And diaper time should be especially fun with the whole penis thing.

It seems like she's genuinely excited this time.  Whenever she sees her baby cousin, she goos and gahs at him, mimicking how she sees other people with him.  That's the cool thing about 3 - when I see her acting all lovey dovey, I know it's because me and the people around her act lovey dovey with her.  Although I hope her complete impatience and intolerance to Leela being near any toys ever is not a reflection on me.  We'll pretend she got that from some kid on the playground.

Not to sound like the biggest hormonal vagina ever, but seeing her laying on top of me and Harvey today and thinking about how almost 4 years ago she used to be the one looking like a Bingo roller inside me and now she's joking about birthing baby dolls, it pulled at my heart strings just a little.  Four more years from now she's going to be building solar system dioramas for school and Harvey will be the one making goofy fart jokes.  And I'll be growing an ice cream baby, lamenting my bygone baby-making days.  It's fun to watch them grow and each have their own role in the family and learn to treat their brother and sisters with love, but it's sad knowing in the future there will be hilarious things Violet said or cute faces Leela made or weird Michael Jackson fetus moves Harvey did and I won't be able to remember every single one.  Seeing Violet's sudden growth today reminded me that I need to laugh harder and play louder and cuddle softer when these moments arise.

What the hell kind of people are reading my mom blog?

I just noticed blogger keeps a "Search keyword" history to see what sort of searches bring traffic here.

My shit is BIZ.ZARRE.

Here's a list of the weirdest ones:

heart shaved vagina

gun into her crotch

my size barbie sex

women long nipples

potty shot of girl with a bulge

alien baby with hair

weird mucus from vagina

fuck life size barbie doll
your diaper is showing
jelly fetus

Actually, some of them are quite disturbing.  And then others make a disturbing amount of sense.  I was worried about my dad reading my overshare, but apparently who I really need to be worried about is giant Barbie fetishists who like to stroke the heart shaped box with a gun.

The internet is a fun place.

I googled "jelly fetus" and this was one of the top pictures that cracked me up, so I will now proudly be forever connected to this other person's blog.  I wonder what sort of weird search hits they get.

So, am I the only one who thinks NYC's Latch On Campaign is kind of crappy?

I was surprised by the complete lack of discussion on NYC's Latch On Campaign earlier this week, but I guess either everyone agreed with it or they just didn't see it.  Or more likely they were all busy performing chick fellatio on their Facebook feed (argh, guilty as charged).

In case you didn't hear about it, NYC has put forth the initiative to support breastfeeding mothers by... hanging posters, and locking up formula.

Not that I think it's a horrible idea!  Not automatically handing out the formula swag bags casts a certain vote of confidence on a new mom - "Go get em Mom, your boobies' got this!".  And I guess a few moms riding the subway will see the campaign posters and think "Oh hey, breastfeeding reduces the risk of diarrhea?  I don't like diarrhea!  Maybe I'll try that out!"

But that's hardly the same as support, which this campaign claims to be about.

When I gave birth to the big girl, I wanted to breastfeed but wasn't too sure about it.  I wasn't as educated as I should have been and I figured I'd just stick her on my boob and we'd be good to go.  I was also worried it would feel creepy feeding someone from my lady lumps, which had been purely for show for the previous decade.  Needless to say we had latch issues and I requested to see a lactation consultant.  By time she got around to stopping in my room, Violet had ripped my nipples a new butthole, and I was in tears, so she suggested I try out a nipple shield.  At the same time, the nurses set me up with some supplemental formula because Violet's bilirubin was too high and apparently she wasn't eating and pooping enough.  It was my first time even holding a baby muchless taking care of one, so I blindly followed the nurses assuming they were steering me in the right direction.  It was the perfect storm - I was too annoyed to get up and clean the shields in the middle of the night, I never figured out a good, painless latch, I never got a decent supply in, and Violet was fully formula fed by time I was back to work at 6 weeks.

I had read enough to already know the benefits of breastfeeding, so that wasn't the problem - posters wouldn't have helped.  It was the nurse's decision to supplement the baby with formula due to her bili levels, so locking up the formula wouldn't have helped.  Sending me home sans free formula might have made me try harder, but then I would have just gotten some free formula from the pediatrician instead.  Pllrrrrrbbbbtt.


While pregnant with the little girl, I decided to redeem myself from not boobfeeding Violet.  I watched videos, learned all about latch techniques and different holds, and I picked a different hospital to birth at - one that touted its mom-and-baby-friendliness.  Like what hospital doesn't think it's the best for mom and baby?  But this hospital really was so much better!  My midwife helped me latch Leela on right away, the nurses throughout my stay asked how it was going and even made me keep a log of how often and long I was feeding her, and several lactation consultants stopped by my room without my begging to see if I needed help figuring anything out.  Leela's bilirubin levels were also high for longer than they would have liked, so they had me sit her in the window and nursenursenurse.

The second hospital was the picture of support.  Support is not about locking away the formula behind closed doors.  It's about knowledgeable staff spending time with the mother, being hands on, visiting frequently, and giving her the tools and knowledge she needs to be successful in feeding her baby the natural way if she wants to.

I appreciate the sentiment, but NYC's Latch On campaign is not supporting breastfeeding mothers, it's shaming formula-feeding mothers.  All the PR money would be better spent on extra lactation consultants, and education for nurses on what to do in situations such as mine in the first hospital, and on literature to send home with moms.  And the posters - showcasing the benefits of breastfeeding is great and all, but the real problem is the attitude toward breastfeeding.  Those posters won't do squat unless they're showing boobs doing booby things and getting the public comfortable with bare chests feeding babies instead of jiggling for dollars.

And of course, I have a few other ideas for their posters if they need them!

Whoa. It's coming.

It still hasn't 100% sunk in that I'll have a third baby soon, but I just had a mini freak out when I looked and saw it's only about 3 weeks until my EDD according to my midwife.  Then I felt a little better because I know I'll have a few extra weeks to prepare... but that's still only a long month!

My house is still a gigantic mess, although I'm hoping to get the bedrooms in shape over the weekend.  And I'm still clueless on his name.  I'm liking Harrison more and more, but I still want to call him Harvey so it seems dumb to not name him that.  And shit, he might just not have a middle name.  He'll have tons of clothes though!  Tons and tons!  If I ever get them washed.

I'm sitting here eating a 5 pound bag of baby carrots right now, disappointed every time I bite into one and it doesn't taste like chocolate.  But my midwife was not as impressed by my 7-pounds-in-3-weeks weight gain as I was, so I need to lay off the sweets a little.  I'm like The Juggernaut!  Except I bust through pans of brownies and pant sizes instead of walls.

It's time for September to be here.

What the hell are you doing here? SURPRISE!

I semi-reluctantly headed to my brother's house today for a graduation party. It's hot out and I'm fat and pregnant and thought everyone would be hanging out in the back yard drinking their cold beers while I was stewing in my swollen pregnant lady suit, but I hadn't seen everybody in a while so I wanted to at least make an appearance.

I got there and no one was outside or by the pool.  I took note but didn't think it was weird for some reason.  My sister-in-law led me down the stairs into the basement where she said everyone was.  I saw some cute blue "Thank You" lollipops on top of a blue table cloth and really regretted listening to Joe when he said we didn't need to stop for a card for the graduate.

Then I saw my BFF since birth, who knows my family but isn't someone they'd usually invite to their parties...

I asked her what the hell she was doing there and then I saw all the WELCOME BABY signs the IT'S A BOY pennant and blue tableclothes and blue diaper pins and blue baby bottles. 

"SURPRISE!!"

I had no clue they would be throwing me a shower for my THIRD baby, especially after all the hand-me-downs I've gotten. Total. Shock.

I was getting kinda bummed recently that this kid wasn't going to have any new clothes (I bought the hoodie and some consignment clothes and he has the hand-me-downs). It's not a big deal, as long as he's clothed and warm is all that's really important, but I still wanted him to have a little something special to him. Now he has a metric butt-ton of something!

I don't deserve to be so spoiled!  I'm not the most affectionate person ever (in case no one noticed, *cough*) even though I am deeply grateful for the people around me.  So to everyone, thanks for loving me and my babies anyway!

Pregnancy dreams

When I woke up this morning there were a bunch of random little kids in my house and I looked outside and apparently school was only a half day because it was a "Hurricane Day", like a snow day but with a hurricane...

So anyway I'm yelling at these kids and then the parents come in and I'm like "WTF GET OUT OF MY HOUSE" and I started beating them up.  Then while I'm on top of the lady about to break her back I have a moment of clarity and say "Wait, am I mentally ill?  I don't have any kids do I? Is this my house?" and she told me no to all of the above but I didn't believe her.

So I jumped out of the 3rd story window and followed this homeless looking woman down the fire escape stairs (my house is only 2 stories in the suburbs, mind you) and on the way down I realize I'm Mark Wahlberg.  I follow the woman into the basement apartment and it's some super snazzy futuristic bachelor pad with futuristic coffee makers and Slurpee machines and giant fish tanks everywhere - something straight out of The Real World.  There's these 3 guys telling me I'm not doing my job protecting some mentally ill woman who thinks she has children but actually doesn't.  Great.  Patton Oswalt was one of the guys - I'm not sure of his significance but I like him so it's cool I got to meet him.

So I find out the crazy lady throws these "swinging" parties for hip urban parents, where they "swing" their children, like switch children for a month at a time because they get bored of whatever age range their kids are in, or whatever.  And to get to these parties, the families have to somehow enter through the washing machine.  I discovered this when I saw a family of owls fly in through the window into the washing machine and followed them.  This had never occurred to anyone else as weird before... Uh huh.

So Patton and the other guys are all like "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FIGURED IT OUT FINALLY, YOU'RE SO AWESOME!  HERE, I HAVE THIS RANDOM PILL THAT WILL TURN YOU INTO AN OWL SO YOU CAN ENTER THE PARTY AND SAVE ALL THE CHILDREN!"  So I turn into a vulture instead, but they said it's all cool even though I was nervous I'd be found out, and I went into the washing machine.  


There's all these parents shackled to the walls and the crazy woman (me!, but not me because I'm still Mark Wahlberg vulture) is dressed up like the Sun Baby on Teletubbies, sitting on a stump in the center of a menthol field (which looked suspiciously like marijuana) and she's reading The Stinky Cheese Man to all the kids.  Except all the kids are Violet and Leela clones, like hundreds of them.  I realize Violet and Leela are mine and I need to get them back, but I can't figure out which ones are the real them and I'm calling out their names over and over.

And that's when Violet woke me up from the dream with a fun and relevant surprise that I will get around to blogging later today.

How to Stay Excited About Giving Birth! aka Push Presents the Peasant Way.

Joe and I are not the type of people to make things into Hallmark occasions.  In fact, our three year anniversary was this past Sunday and what did we do?  Well first, we didn't realize it was our anniversary.  Joe went out to pick up a Craigslist find and half an hour after he left, he called me and said, "Oh, happy anniversary by the way."  Oh yeah!  Happy anniversary to you too!  Then we spent a romantic lunch out with the girls and my mother at Famous Dave's.  Apparently the #1 ingredient in their corn muffins is rufies, because we came home and the entire family passed out for 3 hours.  Upon awaking, we ate our leftovers and then all passed out again.  That's called keeping the Sabbath my friends!  And that's my kind of anniversary.

So, us being casual celebraters, I was pretty amused when I heard about "push presents," a gift given by Dad to the mother to somehow make up for the fact that she just pushed a human out of her hooha.  You're getting to not be pregnant anymore, I thought, what better gift is there?  I've spent the past three years convinced push presents were something pretentious white people do because they have a disposable income and are entitled to gifts for every occasion.  But this pregnancy, I have come to realize how us po' folk can take advantage of this phenomenon.

About halfway through your pregnancy when you're not yakking at the thought of food anymore and have begun giving into the cravings, think of what food you want more than anything.  Now deprive yourself of it.  For me, it's donuts from Fractured Prune.  To be honest, I rarely eat them - like two or three times a year maybe.  They're fucking delicious and every time I eat one I think to myself why I don't do this more often, but they're just not something I think about constantly.  Until they became the forbidden.

Now, I cannot wait to push out this baby so I can have a dozen of those babies!  I've spent the past two months thinking up all the glaze and toppings combos I'm going to get, which ones I'm going to eat first, which ones I'll share half of with Violet and Leela.  I've driven by the storefront and daydreamed about waking up at 2am to nurse the baby and finishing off the Almond Joy donut I had started when he nursed for 45 minutes an hour earlier.  Every time I freak myself out remembering how the transition contractions felt like I was imploding, I remember I get to drown myself in sugary glazey toppingy caloriey fried pastry mouthgasms afterwards.  Oh, and I'll get a baby to cuddle!  But more importantly, donuts.

A week post-partum, I may not have anything but some baby and some literal sugar tits to show for my push present, but damnit, I will be one happy woman and I will only be out $15.  Take that and shove it up your custom birthstone earring and matching necklace set.

Flavors from left to right: 1 hour post-partum, 3 hours post-partum, 5 hours post-partum...

I bought Harvey his very first clothing item today.

How have I made it 32 weeks and I remain in denial that I'm going to have a new baby this year?

I at least feel pregnant now.  Things just started to hurt in the last 3 or 4 weeks.  Luckily the aches and pains still aren't as bad as they were with either girl.  I'm still able to squat without having to prop my vagina up with crutches to keep it from falling out.  I can roll over in bed in less than 5 minutes.  I can even sit on the floor for short periods of time and get up without assistance!

But still, somehow I've made it a month into the third trimester and it hasn't sunk in.  Er, actually it may have sunk in, TODAY, because I realized it's not ok that I'm not freaking out about all I have to do.  I haven't prepared my house at all.  I haven't figured out a sleeping situation for Number 3.  I haven't figured out where I'll store his clothes considering we only have two usable bedrooms and five people and their clothes to squeeze in those rooms.  I haven't figured out how I'm going to afford a wardrobe to hang.  Two hours ago I hadn't even bought him a single thing, but thanks to Target he is now the proud owner of a plain gray newborn sized hoodie for $6.  Hey Big Spender!

I guess during my Target trip I entered the "dream nesting" phase - I went there to get a new cabinet to reorganize my kitchen and all of a sudden it all hit me.  Holy fuck, I need shit organized.  I cannot stand clutter.  If I trip over one more toy or find one more stray cracker box on the floor or even see that pile of pots sitting on my stove because it has no other place, I might commit suicide.  If I can't get my junk drawer closed one more time, I might commit homocide.  If I so much as see half a goddam footprint on my freshly mopped floor, I swear to Allah I will suicide bomb the Earth!

Yeah, I'm a pretty intense dream nester.  Meanwhile, that cabinet is sitting out in the back seat of my van rather than being put together and filled with countertop clutter and then closed where I won't have constant anxiety attacks over it.  Hopefully the real nesting superhuman energy will kick in soon!

Perfect fit!  PS Don't judge me by my tie-dye.