Today is my 30th birthday. I had no "Dirty 30" birthday party to kick off this milestone; instead, I spent a quiet day watching movies on the couch with two sick toddlers and one 100lb dog who was pretending to be a sick toddler- all of whom wanted to sit on my lap, have their ginger ale/Gatorade cocktails refilled, and their backs rubbed (ass scratched in Saku's case.) While I might normally protest spending my birthday wiping noses and administering Pepto Bismal- I don't actually mind today. I'm not missing out: I am 40 weeks preggo and barely over the flu myself- how much partying would I be up for, really? So an all day jammie party was in order- I even drank my ginger ale out of a wine glass to feel more festive.
I've given some thought as to what it means to be 30 years old. I can vividly remember my oldest brother turning 30 and thinking to myself, "that's sad, he's like, almost half dead now!"
It's also sad that I was (a) that stupid (b) that bad at math (c) so unappreciative to what the third decade of life will bring. I now feel like the twenties were the warm up for what the rest of my life will be. Today, in between movies, I made a mental list comparing how my 20s were and how I expect my 30s to be.
My 20s Vs. My 30s
20s: I logged in some major time sleeping in university and beyond: between classes, before and after the bars, on weekends, in the sun, in the shade. Wherever, whenever.
30s: I'll sleep when I'm dead. Besides, we'll have three little kids soon; the bulk of our sleep will be retained during Caillou episodes and between 9pm-3am. Problem solved.
20s: Spent a great deal of time getting ready to go to the bar, pre-drinking at Someone's house before hand, spending all night dancing, smoking, and drinking, paying for my last call drink with the last remnants of pocket change. Eventually getting kicked out by the bouncer/owner/bartender/coat check girl/slightly less drunk drinking patron.
30s: Avoiding bars altogether. I'd like dinner parties, wine and cheese samplings, and backyard BBQs please. I'll get my "bar" fix from wing nights out with Nick and friends, community events, and the odd girls' night out.
20s: I was able to eat anything and everything without weight gain or GI problems. Pizza and poutine at 3am? Yes please! McDonald's breakfast at 5am before going to bed? Great idea! Chips and Pepsi while watching TV? Well obviously! Cheesecake covered, Oreo stuffed chocolate chip cookies? I shouldn't...I'll only have 17 please...
30s: Anything other than water after 7 pm gives me heartburn now. So I can snack on Rolaids basically...crunch, crunch, crunch.
20s: Worried needlessly about my insecurities and the "imperfections" of my body- when in fact, this was when my body was at its most rockin'. I wish I could go back in time and kick myself in my tight ass. And walk around with less clothes on.
30s: Wearing my extra curves with confidence. Liking my stretch marks- they are a badge of honour. Finally being comfortable in my own skin. Maybe getting a boob job. Just saying...the girls could use a little lift...
20s: The first half of the decade is a bit of a blur. I was pretty drunk and stoned. You could insert any "Stupid Rachel" story here and I'd have to believe it.
30s: I get buzzed off an extra strength Tylenol. If I pair it with a Robax back pill- whoa! That will mess. My. Shit. Up. This decade, I will try to put better things into my body.
20s: Spent trolling for The Perfect Man. The first five years were spent settling for Mr. Not-a-Complete-Asshole, hook ups with various forms of Sir I-Look-Really-Hot-in-the-Dark, and one unfortunate relationship with Captain I'm-Way-Too-Attached-to-my-Mom.
30s: I'm married now. I will never marry again, nor is divorce an option. So it's either I outsmart CSI when I off my husband, or I put everything into this relationship to make it not only work, but to make it amazing and worthwhile.
20s: Sex was good. And frequent.
30s: Sex will be great. And frequent.
20s: I lived off Pepsi. Literally.
30s: I will end my affair with Pepsi. After one last wild fling. I swear it'll be the last time...and I'll be discreet.
20s: I was not always super concerned with the state of relationships with with family members. I have a big family, so my reasoning was that "meh, if one is pissed at me, I'll hang out with one of the other dozen members. No biggie."
30s: I will make my family a priority. I realize that our time together is finite and I won't have everyone around me forever- except my Nana. She will outlive us all; she's 'effing indestructable.
20s: Worried about what others thought of me; what others said about me; got caught up in the allure and scandal of gossip; hated not being saught out as a person "in the know."
30s: I have no time or intrest for that shit. Does that mean I really am old? No, I think it means I am finally smarter.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Trial Run
When I woke up Friday morning, there were three things which I was absolutely positive of:
1. I had the flu.
2. I was having contractions and was, therefore, in labour.
3. Edward Cullen was a vampire and I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.
After I finished barfing up my anxieties and stomach contents I called Nick- who had just finished driving on icy, dangerous roads to make it to work on time- and told him to please hit those same shitty roads again and come home. It was baby time! (and I wanted him to bring me some ginger ale. I thought it was worth risking his life for...) Karma took pity of my grey face and kept Noelle and Dryden sleeping so I didn't have to pretend to be a good mommy as I whipped up breakfast while all I really wanted to do was take root in the bathroom, and suffer through my gut wrenching contractions. Nick (and my ginger ale) made it home safe and he immediately took over domestic duties so I could hide upstairs; alternating between soaking in the bathtub, curled up in the fetal position in our bed, and perched on the toilet. All in all, it was an awesome morning.
I think, if given the option, Nick would choose tending to the little ones over participating in childbirth anytime. For Noelle, he was quite helpful. Holding my hand, helping me into comfier positions during contractions, bringing me ice chips, bracing my leg while I pushed. He was great. For Dryden...not so much. He had spent all day and night drinking at a neighbour's BBQ and was hammered when I started having contractions. His Dad drove me to the hospital. Nick passed out on the couch in the birthing suite throughout the labour and he hid in the corner, looking very green, as I delivered our son. I don't think he was looking forward to this delivery at all.
Throughout the morning and early afternoon I got progressively sicker with the flu, and my contractions became more frequent and intense. I couldn't tough it out at home anymore. I gave Nick the nod and he scrambled getting everything ready- waking the kids up from their nap, tossing them in the van, getting them and their little pre-packed suitcases over to Grandma and Grampa's house, coming home to collect me and my bag, and even remembering to throw Saku a bone as a consolation for being left alone.
I was settled into my room at the hospital attached to various machines, and IVs, listening to the baby's heartbeat as back round music while trying to breath through the pain. My lovely nurse, Rhonda, came in to check how far along I was and to see how I was progressing. I was willing to overlook this painful process because I knew that immediately afterwards they would be inquiring as to what kind of pain management I would be using. I had been thinking about my epidural since about 11:30 am....I was unprepared for what came next; I was told that I wasn't dilated at all. Seven hours after my first contraction and nothing?! I cried. And then I barfed. Long story short: I was not in labour. I was severely dehydrated from the flu and my uterus was reacting to the dehydration. I still can't believe how painful these cramps were; I've given birth to two children and I couldn't tell these apart from actual contractions. I spent the night in the hospital being rehydrated and medicated for the pain (there were, after all, some perks to this experience) while Nick went home to tend to Noelle and Dryden- who were both exhibiting symptoms of the flu too. I came home today at lunch time...minus a new baby swaddled in pink. I think the most frustrating thing about this is that I will have to do it all over again (for real) soon. On the plus side though, I'm happy not to be bringing a new baby home right now; Noelle is still vomiting and might miss her first day of school, Nick is feeling sick and might call in sick to work, and Dryden is suffering from a mean case of the poops. So, although Mother Natural is a supreme bitch...she might just know what she's doing. I'm going to pour myself some ginger ale and take a bubble bath- not because I'm in pain, but just because I can.
1. I had the flu.
2. I was having contractions and was, therefore, in labour.
3. Edward Cullen was a vampire and I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.
After I finished barfing up my anxieties and stomach contents I called Nick- who had just finished driving on icy, dangerous roads to make it to work on time- and told him to please hit those same shitty roads again and come home. It was baby time! (and I wanted him to bring me some ginger ale. I thought it was worth risking his life for...) Karma took pity of my grey face and kept Noelle and Dryden sleeping so I didn't have to pretend to be a good mommy as I whipped up breakfast while all I really wanted to do was take root in the bathroom, and suffer through my gut wrenching contractions. Nick (and my ginger ale) made it home safe and he immediately took over domestic duties so I could hide upstairs; alternating between soaking in the bathtub, curled up in the fetal position in our bed, and perched on the toilet. All in all, it was an awesome morning.
I think, if given the option, Nick would choose tending to the little ones over participating in childbirth anytime. For Noelle, he was quite helpful. Holding my hand, helping me into comfier positions during contractions, bringing me ice chips, bracing my leg while I pushed. He was great. For Dryden...not so much. He had spent all day and night drinking at a neighbour's BBQ and was hammered when I started having contractions. His Dad drove me to the hospital. Nick passed out on the couch in the birthing suite throughout the labour and he hid in the corner, looking very green, as I delivered our son. I don't think he was looking forward to this delivery at all.
Throughout the morning and early afternoon I got progressively sicker with the flu, and my contractions became more frequent and intense. I couldn't tough it out at home anymore. I gave Nick the nod and he scrambled getting everything ready- waking the kids up from their nap, tossing them in the van, getting them and their little pre-packed suitcases over to Grandma and Grampa's house, coming home to collect me and my bag, and even remembering to throw Saku a bone as a consolation for being left alone.
I was settled into my room at the hospital attached to various machines, and IVs, listening to the baby's heartbeat as back round music while trying to breath through the pain. My lovely nurse, Rhonda, came in to check how far along I was and to see how I was progressing. I was willing to overlook this painful process because I knew that immediately afterwards they would be inquiring as to what kind of pain management I would be using. I had been thinking about my epidural since about 11:30 am....I was unprepared for what came next; I was told that I wasn't dilated at all. Seven hours after my first contraction and nothing?! I cried. And then I barfed. Long story short: I was not in labour. I was severely dehydrated from the flu and my uterus was reacting to the dehydration. I still can't believe how painful these cramps were; I've given birth to two children and I couldn't tell these apart from actual contractions. I spent the night in the hospital being rehydrated and medicated for the pain (there were, after all, some perks to this experience) while Nick went home to tend to Noelle and Dryden- who were both exhibiting symptoms of the flu too. I came home today at lunch time...minus a new baby swaddled in pink. I think the most frustrating thing about this is that I will have to do it all over again (for real) soon. On the plus side though, I'm happy not to be bringing a new baby home right now; Noelle is still vomiting and might miss her first day of school, Nick is feeling sick and might call in sick to work, and Dryden is suffering from a mean case of the poops. So, although Mother Natural is a supreme bitch...she might just know what she's doing. I'm going to pour myself some ginger ale and take a bubble bath- not because I'm in pain, but just because I can.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
A (New)d Year, A (New)d Mommy...
I must say that I have been dragging my feet making a new years resolution. Not that I haven't invested significant thought towards the matter; on the contrary, I believe that I have over thought the whole deal to the point of confusion. I normally agree wholeheartedly with the notion of self-improvement, of setting attainable goals that will better yourself, and your life, or possibly the lives of those you surround yourself with. I usually like the crisp, freshness of a new year bringing forth new thoughts, and attitudes, and lifestyles to those that are open to change. This year, however, I am stumped and thoroughly uninspired.
One goal that will eventually play a major role in my life in 2012 is to finally lose the extra pounds that I've accumulated and hoarded throughout various pregnancies and to engage in healthier eating habits. The problem with this goal becoming my new years resolution lies within the inconvenient timing of New Years...two weeks before my due date. I am completely self-aware of my habits and character. I know that in the weeks immediately after I (finally) give birth I will be an emotional, blubbering, bitchy, sleep-deprived zombie/woman hybrid and embarking on a weight loss and exercise regime at this time may be unwise for my well being. And the well being of everyone in the nearby vicinity. This will have to be a personal goal that I will tackle once my body is healed, my hormones have calmed the fuck down, the baby is settled comfortably in our home and family, and I no longer need to rely on dark chocolate and Pepsi to get through the day.
Another area in my life that I would like to refresh in 2012 would be my marriage. I would like more date nights (not grocery shopping or working on the house- but actual dates: with a babysitter, and makeup, and sitting down for a entire meal that I didn't have to make, and dare I wish...maybe even a movie after?) I'd like more stolen moments as a couple to appreciate the qualities that attracted us to each other so many years ago. Again, I realize that this will be highly unlikely in the months to come as we adjust to being outnumbered by the children. This too shall have to be an "I'll get to this eventually..."
I'd love to save more money this year- maybe that could be my resolution! However, upon further thought, I concluded that this too might not be a realistic goal. I am a stay at home mom; we have lived on one income for years now, and adhere to an already rigid budget. We are already putting money aside for our planned addition and future renovation. Although I have grand visions of cutting back and pinching pennies in order to achieve these plans sooner- I can see Nicholas being very unimpressed and less than eager to participate. I can envision him glowering at me in the dark as I go around shutting off all the lights and TVs and lighting candles instead (he already calls me the Hydro Nazi), or refusing to eat any vegetarian suppers simply because they are cheaper (Nick: "um...where's the meat? There seems to be a lot of side dish here, but where's the steak? Is it hiding? Is this a game? I'm so confused...and hungry.") I got a sewing machine for Christmas, maybe I could make Nick some clothes for Father's Day instead of buying them? * I literally laughed out loud right there. I pictured him wearing some plaid monstrosity and looking sooo mad *
There are honestly numerous areas in my life that could use some tweaking and motivation: volunteer with an organization, spend more time with friends, initiate more get togethers with family, get involved within my community, spend time helping at Noelle's school, learn a new art or hobby, become more organized, more involved, more toned, more tanned, more, more, more! It is at this point where I must stop myself. No, seriously, I have to stop to pee- this baby is kicking the bejesus out of my bladder. BRB. (* quiet interlude *)
Yes, it is at this point where I must stop myself. I will stop myself from trying to be "More" this year. More stressed. More exasperated. More alienated. More martyred than the average mom. This year I resolve not to have a resolution. I want to have this baby (apparently whenever her highness is good and frigging ready) and struggle through the first few weeks, like every parent does, without any additional agendas. I want to settle my little ones into a routine and just enjoy our time together. I want to guide Noelle through the immensely huge milestone of going to school and allowing myself to be available if they need me to help out; and to acknowledge that the entire Upper Canada District School board will not disintegrate if I am not fully involved. I want to slowly change my habits and activity level to the point where I am healthy and happy with my body. I want to relax and have fun with my husband, and family, and friends.
This year's resolution is to let go and allow myself to just "be". Be Rachel. Be Mommy. Be happy.
One goal that will eventually play a major role in my life in 2012 is to finally lose the extra pounds that I've accumulated and hoarded throughout various pregnancies and to engage in healthier eating habits. The problem with this goal becoming my new years resolution lies within the inconvenient timing of New Years...two weeks before my due date. I am completely self-aware of my habits and character. I know that in the weeks immediately after I (finally) give birth I will be an emotional, blubbering, bitchy, sleep-deprived zombie/woman hybrid and embarking on a weight loss and exercise regime at this time may be unwise for my well being. And the well being of everyone in the nearby vicinity. This will have to be a personal goal that I will tackle once my body is healed, my hormones have calmed the fuck down, the baby is settled comfortably in our home and family, and I no longer need to rely on dark chocolate and Pepsi to get through the day.
Another area in my life that I would like to refresh in 2012 would be my marriage. I would like more date nights (not grocery shopping or working on the house- but actual dates: with a babysitter, and makeup, and sitting down for a entire meal that I didn't have to make, and dare I wish...maybe even a movie after?) I'd like more stolen moments as a couple to appreciate the qualities that attracted us to each other so many years ago. Again, I realize that this will be highly unlikely in the months to come as we adjust to being outnumbered by the children. This too shall have to be an "I'll get to this eventually..."
I'd love to save more money this year- maybe that could be my resolution! However, upon further thought, I concluded that this too might not be a realistic goal. I am a stay at home mom; we have lived on one income for years now, and adhere to an already rigid budget. We are already putting money aside for our planned addition and future renovation. Although I have grand visions of cutting back and pinching pennies in order to achieve these plans sooner- I can see Nicholas being very unimpressed and less than eager to participate. I can envision him glowering at me in the dark as I go around shutting off all the lights and TVs and lighting candles instead (he already calls me the Hydro Nazi), or refusing to eat any vegetarian suppers simply because they are cheaper (Nick: "um...where's the meat? There seems to be a lot of side dish here, but where's the steak? Is it hiding? Is this a game? I'm so confused...and hungry.") I got a sewing machine for Christmas, maybe I could make Nick some clothes for Father's Day instead of buying them? * I literally laughed out loud right there. I pictured him wearing some plaid monstrosity and looking sooo mad *
There are honestly numerous areas in my life that could use some tweaking and motivation: volunteer with an organization, spend more time with friends, initiate more get togethers with family, get involved within my community, spend time helping at Noelle's school, learn a new art or hobby, become more organized, more involved, more toned, more tanned, more, more, more! It is at this point where I must stop myself. No, seriously, I have to stop to pee- this baby is kicking the bejesus out of my bladder. BRB. (* quiet interlude *)
Yes, it is at this point where I must stop myself. I will stop myself from trying to be "More" this year. More stressed. More exasperated. More alienated. More martyred than the average mom. This year I resolve not to have a resolution. I want to have this baby (apparently whenever her highness is good and frigging ready) and struggle through the first few weeks, like every parent does, without any additional agendas. I want to settle my little ones into a routine and just enjoy our time together. I want to guide Noelle through the immensely huge milestone of going to school and allowing myself to be available if they need me to help out; and to acknowledge that the entire Upper Canada District School board will not disintegrate if I am not fully involved. I want to slowly change my habits and activity level to the point where I am healthy and happy with my body. I want to relax and have fun with my husband, and family, and friends.
This year's resolution is to let go and allow myself to just "be". Be Rachel. Be Mommy. Be happy.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Santa shops at Costco...
Well, we managed to navigate our way through another Christmas holiday, enjoying the fun of the season while simultaneously trying not to go crazy. The kids were fantastic- even though their routines and schedules were discarded like the bows, tags, and ribbons adorning their gifts, they stayed in great humour throughout the late nights, early mornings, and crowded rooms. As usual, they were spoiled beyond belief; bringing home an incredible haul of toys, clothes, books, and "babies." We anticipated our families and friends supplying the bulk of their Christmas loot like they tend to do, so Santa brings them a few large gifts to share, stuffs their stockings and Mommy and Daddy wraps up their practical gifts. This year Santa left them a kick ass kitchen/BBQ set with about 1000 accessories that will, with any luck, take Saku an entire year to steal and eat one by one. I love the fact that our kids are still small enough that we can give them practical gifts that they need anyways, and they don't realize that we shafted them with a shitty, unfun present. We gave Dryden a new dresser for his bedroom; Noelle received an electric fireplace for her frigid bedroom and Santa stuffs their stockings with toothbrushes, toothpaste, cool band aides, diaper cream, socks, hats, mittens, bibs, and cold medicine. Ok, I made that last one up...but you get the point. There will eventually come a time when I will have to buy them less lame stocking stuffers and buy that other shit like other parents: whenever the kids need it. Until then, enjoy unwrapping that bottle of shampoo little ones- Santa knew you ran out!
Friday, December 23, 2011
T'was The Night Before Christmas....at The Pomainville's
T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Upside down yogurt containers were everywhere- each containing a mouse.
The stockings were hung on the windowsill with care,
With the hopes that Nicholas would put some good shit in there.
The children were (more or less) nestled snug in their beds,
While visions of chocolate pudding danced in their heads.
And Nick in his boxers, and me not feeling my best,
Had just collapsed into bed for a much needed rest.
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter
I waddled from the bed to see what the fuck was the matter.
Away to the window, which I had recently washed,
Tore open the curtains, and scraped off the frost.
Our thousands of Christmas lights glistened off the snow,
That Nick had spent hours shoveling, with a slight drunken glow.
When, what to my sleep-encrusted eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
The driver was missing (who drives a sleigh? What a dork!)
And perched on our roof, behind that, was the Stork.
"Nick!" I yelled, "Wake the hell up- I think the baby is here!!"
Nick rubbed his eyes drowsily, whispering, "it's far too early for that m'dear."
"Now Nicholas! Now Dryden! Now Noelle and Saku!
Get out of bed- go pack your bags- we still have so much left to do!"
Put our stuff in the van, the hospital we must give a call,
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
And then, with some straining, I could hear through the ceiling
The stork and the reindeer were wheeling and dealing!
As I drew in my head, thinking that Christmas was canned,
Down the stairs ran my Nicholas, shotgun in hand.
He climbed up on the roof, and stared that stork down,
Nick told him to back the hell up, and turn right around.
We weren't ready for Baby, at least not on Christmas Eve,
We hate unannounced visitors... it's my #1 pet peeve.
The stork's eyes, how they were terrified- his bladder let go
He was backing up slowly, his head shaking "no"
Now Nick and I are reasonable, on this you must agree,
But Baby coming early would ruin Christmas you see.
So Stork, you frig off, we still have 20 more days,
We'd like to have Christmas, at home, with the kids anyways.
The stork scrambled away, squawking like a whiny little elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
Nick climbed down the ladder, and came back in the side door,
And about Baby coming early, we would have to worry no more.
We checked on the kids, and hopped back into bed,
The arrival of morning we were starting to dread.
As I snuggled down deeper, Baby still safe in my belly,
Nick turned on the TV and we both watched some telly.
My eyes started to close, and Nick whispered to my right,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
Merry Christmas My Friends! xo
Upside down yogurt containers were everywhere- each containing a mouse.
The stockings were hung on the windowsill with care,
With the hopes that Nicholas would put some good shit in there.
The children were (more or less) nestled snug in their beds,
While visions of chocolate pudding danced in their heads.
And Nick in his boxers, and me not feeling my best,
Had just collapsed into bed for a much needed rest.
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter
I waddled from the bed to see what the fuck was the matter.
Away to the window, which I had recently washed,
Tore open the curtains, and scraped off the frost.
Our thousands of Christmas lights glistened off the snow,
That Nick had spent hours shoveling, with a slight drunken glow.
When, what to my sleep-encrusted eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
The driver was missing (who drives a sleigh? What a dork!)
And perched on our roof, behind that, was the Stork.
"Nick!" I yelled, "Wake the hell up- I think the baby is here!!"
Nick rubbed his eyes drowsily, whispering, "it's far too early for that m'dear."
"Now Nicholas! Now Dryden! Now Noelle and Saku!
Get out of bed- go pack your bags- we still have so much left to do!"
Put our stuff in the van, the hospital we must give a call,
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
And then, with some straining, I could hear through the ceiling
The stork and the reindeer were wheeling and dealing!
As I drew in my head, thinking that Christmas was canned,
Down the stairs ran my Nicholas, shotgun in hand.
He climbed up on the roof, and stared that stork down,
Nick told him to back the hell up, and turn right around.
We weren't ready for Baby, at least not on Christmas Eve,
We hate unannounced visitors... it's my #1 pet peeve.
The stork's eyes, how they were terrified- his bladder let go
He was backing up slowly, his head shaking "no"
Now Nick and I are reasonable, on this you must agree,
But Baby coming early would ruin Christmas you see.
So Stork, you frig off, we still have 20 more days,
We'd like to have Christmas, at home, with the kids anyways.
The stork scrambled away, squawking like a whiny little elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
Nick climbed down the ladder, and came back in the side door,
And about Baby coming early, we would have to worry no more.
We checked on the kids, and hopped back into bed,
The arrival of morning we were starting to dread.
As I snuggled down deeper, Baby still safe in my belly,
Nick turned on the TV and we both watched some telly.
My eyes started to close, and Nick whispered to my right,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
Merry Christmas My Friends! xo
Friday, December 16, 2011
Shit, that's right- I have a blog!
Wow...have you ever misplaced something or packed it away, and then forgotten that you ever owned it in the first place? My husband feels that way about the Wii and Playstation...and that's a little how I feel about this blog. I got busy doing life stuff, and forgot about it completely until tonight. I might not have even remembered it tonight either if it wasn't for me going into labour. (I can hear my mother-in-law in my head right now as she's reading this: "Going into labour? What the hell is she doing blogging? Call Nicholas and Get To The Hospital!") Back up: I didn't actually go into labour. I have developed a serious sensitivity to gluten, dairy and numerous other foods since the beginning of my pregnancy; I foolishly shared a brownie/cakey thing with Dryden for dessert after lunch and my body is now calling me on my cheat, telling me that the brownie hates me, hates everything about me. This is totally on par with something I would do: mistake indigestion cramps with the beginning stages of giving birth; and I thought to myself that it would make an amusing blog entry. And then I thought, "holy shit- I forgot that I have a blog!"
I was a little disappointed that I wasn't actually going into labour. I'd love to have the baby a few weeks early and have her here before the holidays. My husband, however, is conflicted. He doesn't have any holidays left at work for this year, so he'd like her to wait until 2012 to make her arrival. But he also acknowledges the benefit of claiming her as a dependant for the entire year of 2011 if she comes in December. As the sole breadwinner in our family, his logic is amazing. After I realized that (a) I am an idiot and that (b) tonight was not Baby Time, I immediately began to get that tight, panicky feeling in my chest. What if the baby does come early? I am completely unprepared. I figured I'd get through Christmas first and then tackle preparing for a new human being to come live with us- but what if we don't get the luxury of such laid back planning? I haven't unpacked any of the baby clothes, our bassinet was ruined during our move here in August, I lent my breast pump out and it perished in the line of duty, I have no itty bitty diapers (newborns can fit in size 6 Pampers, right?), I couldn't even tell you where our baby car seat is, I haven't arranged for a caregiver for the two older kids while we're at the hospital, and I haven't even thought about packing my bag for the hospital yet. I have no lists of "Things to Do For Baby" compiled yet, the baby monitors are in the toy box I think (where did I put the cords for them??), we threw out all the pacifiers when Dryden outgrew them...oh my god. I think I'm having a meltdown. 40 weeks is a deceiving amount of time to be pregnant. Its long enough that you get comfortable and forget that there will be a stage after being pregnant, that eventually you have to prepare for an actual, real, live baby to arrive. And that you have to take care of him/her. All the time.
My sister made me my baby shower book when I was pregnant with Noelle and in it contained "The Birth Order Of Children." It was funny when I read it then. I actually get it now.
"The Birth Order Of Children"
1st baby: you begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your pregnancy is confirmed.
2nd baby: you wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: your maternity clothes are your regular clothes.
1st baby: you practice your breathing regularly.
2nd baby: you don't bother b/c you remember that breathing didn't do shit last time.
3rd baby: you ask for the epidural in the eighth month.
1st baby: you pre-wash all clothes, color coordinate them, fold them neatly into various drawers.
2nd baby: you check to make sure the clothes are clean and discard the ones with stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, right?
1st baby: at the first sign of distress, whimper or frown, you pick up the baby.
2ns baby: you pick up the baby when his screams threaten to wake your first born.
3rd baby: you teach your three year old to rewind the mechanical swing.
1st baby: if the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away to take home, boil, and sanitize it.
2nd baby: when it falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice.
3rd baby: you wipe it off with your shirt and pop it back in.
1st baby: you change the baby's diaper every hour, regardless whether they need it or not.
2nd baby: you change the diaper every 2-3 hours as needed.
3rd baby: you try to change the diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging around their knees.
1st baby: you take baby to Baby Gymnastics, to Baby swimming, to Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby: you take baby to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: you take baby to the grocery store and the dry cleaners.
1st baby: when s/he swallows a coin, you rush the child to the ER and demand x-rays.
2nd baby: when s/he swallows a coin, you carefully watch for it to appear in the diaper.
3rd baby: when s/he swallows a coin, you deduct it from their allowance.
1st baby: you spend a good bit of every day just gazing lovingly at your newborn.
2nd baby: you spend quite a bit of every day making sure the older kid isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the newborn.
3rd baby: you spend a little bit of each and every day hiding from the children!
I was a little disappointed that I wasn't actually going into labour. I'd love to have the baby a few weeks early and have her here before the holidays. My husband, however, is conflicted. He doesn't have any holidays left at work for this year, so he'd like her to wait until 2012 to make her arrival. But he also acknowledges the benefit of claiming her as a dependant for the entire year of 2011 if she comes in December. As the sole breadwinner in our family, his logic is amazing. After I realized that (a) I am an idiot and that (b) tonight was not Baby Time, I immediately began to get that tight, panicky feeling in my chest. What if the baby does come early? I am completely unprepared. I figured I'd get through Christmas first and then tackle preparing for a new human being to come live with us- but what if we don't get the luxury of such laid back planning? I haven't unpacked any of the baby clothes, our bassinet was ruined during our move here in August, I lent my breast pump out and it perished in the line of duty, I have no itty bitty diapers (newborns can fit in size 6 Pampers, right?), I couldn't even tell you where our baby car seat is, I haven't arranged for a caregiver for the two older kids while we're at the hospital, and I haven't even thought about packing my bag for the hospital yet. I have no lists of "Things to Do For Baby" compiled yet, the baby monitors are in the toy box I think (where did I put the cords for them??), we threw out all the pacifiers when Dryden outgrew them...oh my god. I think I'm having a meltdown. 40 weeks is a deceiving amount of time to be pregnant. Its long enough that you get comfortable and forget that there will be a stage after being pregnant, that eventually you have to prepare for an actual, real, live baby to arrive. And that you have to take care of him/her. All the time.
My sister made me my baby shower book when I was pregnant with Noelle and in it contained "The Birth Order Of Children." It was funny when I read it then. I actually get it now.
"The Birth Order Of Children"
1st baby: you begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your pregnancy is confirmed.
2nd baby: you wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: your maternity clothes are your regular clothes.
1st baby: you practice your breathing regularly.
2nd baby: you don't bother b/c you remember that breathing didn't do shit last time.
3rd baby: you ask for the epidural in the eighth month.
1st baby: you pre-wash all clothes, color coordinate them, fold them neatly into various drawers.
2nd baby: you check to make sure the clothes are clean and discard the ones with stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, right?
1st baby: at the first sign of distress, whimper or frown, you pick up the baby.
2ns baby: you pick up the baby when his screams threaten to wake your first born.
3rd baby: you teach your three year old to rewind the mechanical swing.
1st baby: if the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away to take home, boil, and sanitize it.
2nd baby: when it falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice.
3rd baby: you wipe it off with your shirt and pop it back in.
1st baby: you change the baby's diaper every hour, regardless whether they need it or not.
2nd baby: you change the diaper every 2-3 hours as needed.
3rd baby: you try to change the diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging around their knees.
1st baby: you take baby to Baby Gymnastics, to Baby swimming, to Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby: you take baby to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: you take baby to the grocery store and the dry cleaners.
1st baby: when s/he swallows a coin, you rush the child to the ER and demand x-rays.
2nd baby: when s/he swallows a coin, you carefully watch for it to appear in the diaper.
3rd baby: when s/he swallows a coin, you deduct it from their allowance.
1st baby: you spend a good bit of every day just gazing lovingly at your newborn.
2nd baby: you spend quite a bit of every day making sure the older kid isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the newborn.
3rd baby: you spend a little bit of each and every day hiding from the children!
Thursday, October 20, 2011
How To Build A Better Mouse Trap
I come from hardy stock: we were raised in the country, calling an old fixer-upper of a house "home." Seeing a mouse dart zig zagging across the kitchen in the Fall was fairly common for our family. My sister and I weren't screamers; we calmly put down our crayons, closed our Zellers coloring book and told which ever parent was home that we had a mouse. If our three older brothers were home, this announcement would be like a call to arms- prepare for battle- get ready for the hunt. They would arm themselves with whatever tool or weapon they could find (and that Mom and/or Dad would let them weild) and set up elaborate plans to kill or capture the mouse. My parents went along with this routine, which I now fully understand as a parent myself, because it kept three rambunctious and mischievous boys occupied for hours. We eventually got a cat when I was 10 (he is still alive, despite being older than dust in cat years) and we no longer had a mouse ritual; the cat would find them, play with them until they died, and that was it.
I was not surprised in September (after moving into our very own old fixer upper in the country) when, upon entering the kitchen to replenish juice boxes, a tiny grey fluff with a tail zipped across the floor, frantically searching for a crack, any crack, in which to escape. I got the juice from the fridge and went back outside. I sat beside my husband on the deck and said, "oh yeah, the dentist called to confirm your appointment on Monday. And I just saw a mouse in the kitchen." After the kids were played out and ready for naps we went inside, where once again, we were greeted by the little grey mouse. I pulled open our Tupperware-landfill-drawer and took out a yogurt container, walked up to the mouse and *plop* trapped him under it. "Wow! You really are a country girl..." my husband said, slightly amused and slightly relieved that I wasn't hysterical. My husband caught one more tiny mouse later that day and then nothing else. We thought we had gotten off rather easily and were quite pleased with ourselves.
Last night, after suffering through a No Nap day with two increasingly grumpy toddlers, all I wanted was some peace and quiet. I tucked the little ones in bed, made a tea, turned off the T.V. and as many lights as I could without stumbling around in the dark and retreated to the living room. Saku was snoring on the couch and I was goofing around on Pintrest (yes, that is where I have been all month instead of blogging. I'm sorry. I think I got most of it out of my system. I joined a support/craft group....we meet Tuesdays after my Pepsioholics meeting...) Suddenly, through my DIY daydreaming haze I heard the telltale sound of itty bitty teeth nibbling in one of my kitchen cupboards. I looked over at Saku- who was still snoring and farting on the couch- and mentally traded him in for a cat. I went into the kitchen, turned on a single light, got a empty yogurt container and opened the cupboard door. There, right smack dab in the middle of space was a tiny mouse, who instantly froze when he saw me (thinking I was a Tyrannosaurus Rex and couldn't see him if he didn't move?) I *plopped* the yogurt container over him and congratulated myself on being more awesome than a creature the size of my thumb. Now, although I am not (ahem was not) afraid of mice, I still find them disgusting and dirty. They give me the willies. I wanted to go through the food in that cupboard to see if anything was chewed or opened so I could toss it. The first thing I picked up was a long forgotten box of Special K Blueberry cereal from the back of the shelf (I don't recommend it BTW) which I peeked into to see if the bag was still clipped shut and WHOA holy shit!!! Out jumped another fucking mouse- right at me! All of my Country Girl training was instantly forgotten and I dropped the box of cereal and yelled...probably swore. Loudly. I can't be sure because instead of running away from me, this badass mouse was coming towards me. I let out a couple of girly screams and did the universal "There's-A-Mouse-On-The-Floor" dance. Saku, finally roused from his frigging beauty sleep and from drooling on my throw cushions, came running to my defense...until the mouse turned on him and sped towards his big furry paws. He too let out a girly scream (I swear) and ran back to the living room, which is a step up from the kitchen and obviously far safer from an invading mouse army. And that is where he stayed for the rest of the night. Wuss. I couldn't tell you where the mouse disappeared to. I can tell you where all the food from that cupboard went though- right to the compost pile. I was supremely grossed out. The cupboard was empty- save for the solitary upside down yogurt container/mousey jail so I left the door wide open and went back to the living room and positioned my chair to face the empty abyss from which the mice come (could totally be the title of a movie, yes?) Ten minutes later, don't I see the little bugger in there again trying to knock over the container (which I cleverly weighed down) to free his buddy. I ran over there with my container (Saku followed me, all excited, but stopped abruptly at the living room step) and got into position...until the I-have-a-death-wish mouse turned and ran straight at me. BAH! Yogurt container went flying and I made it to the living room step in about two enormous jumps (not bad for a pregnant lady eh?) and stood panting beside Saku- who was giving me a smug "told you so" look. WTF was up with this mouse?! Now I'm thinking, "does he have rabies?" Back to my chair, and I added oven mitts and an old wooden spoon to my arsenal. And Doc Martins...that I tucked my pants into (shut up and stop laughing- this is serious!) Sure enough, 25 minutes later The Steven Segal of the mouse world was back trying to free his trapped buddy. And true to form, he ran towards me instead of away to safety- but I had boots and oven mitts on this time bitch and I kinda held my ground. He played chicken with me until the last possible second and then zipped over towards the wall and started climbing my curtains!!!!!! ( Did you know mice could do this? I didn't.) I. Went. Postal. "Do you know how expensive these were?! Get off my fucking curtains!!" I yelled at him and attacked with the spoon. He flew off, landed hard, and zipped between a crack in the baseboards. I was pissed now- it just got personal. This back-and-forth continued until 11:30 pm; I was starting to get really discouraged: I was being outsmarted by a goddamn mouse. Finally, probably due to his exhaustion not my reflexes, I was able to catch the dare devil under the yogurt container. I put something heavy on top and called it quits. Nick could figure out how to get the lids on the containers without freeing the mice; my part of the hunt was done. My husband set our only trap in that same cupboard when he got home from work (good christ, why didn't I think of that?) and it got another one before we even went to bed.
Neither of us slept at all last night; every sound was thought to be the arrival of new hoards of mice, I kept sitting up and shaking out the duvet cover in case there were mice on it, Nick checked the kids' rooms every hour. Nick was disgusted (he did not grow up in a fixer upper, and to him, a house with mice in it is a dirty, gross home) and I had a sever case of the willies. We got up tired this morning and right after breakfast we bundled the kids up and went shopping for poison and traps. Lots of traps. We kept the cupboard empty, smeared peanut butter on a handful of traps, and put a child safety lock on the door. As I write this blog, two traps have snapped in there. I know this because Saku marched right up to the living room step...and waited for me to go look. Worst. Guard dog. Ever. Nick has already started trolling MLS to find a new house, and I am seriously considering hitting up the animal shelter this weekend to adopt a pet that will actually have my back during the next stand off...
I long for the good old days when our house was just old and crappy, not old, crappy, and infested, and when I was confident that I would not shriek and pee myself a little when a tiny grey fluff with a tail darts across our floor. Sigh.
I was not surprised in September (after moving into our very own old fixer upper in the country) when, upon entering the kitchen to replenish juice boxes, a tiny grey fluff with a tail zipped across the floor, frantically searching for a crack, any crack, in which to escape. I got the juice from the fridge and went back outside. I sat beside my husband on the deck and said, "oh yeah, the dentist called to confirm your appointment on Monday. And I just saw a mouse in the kitchen." After the kids were played out and ready for naps we went inside, where once again, we were greeted by the little grey mouse. I pulled open our Tupperware-landfill-drawer and took out a yogurt container, walked up to the mouse and *plop* trapped him under it. "Wow! You really are a country girl..." my husband said, slightly amused and slightly relieved that I wasn't hysterical. My husband caught one more tiny mouse later that day and then nothing else. We thought we had gotten off rather easily and were quite pleased with ourselves.
Last night, after suffering through a No Nap day with two increasingly grumpy toddlers, all I wanted was some peace and quiet. I tucked the little ones in bed, made a tea, turned off the T.V. and as many lights as I could without stumbling around in the dark and retreated to the living room. Saku was snoring on the couch and I was goofing around on Pintrest (yes, that is where I have been all month instead of blogging. I'm sorry. I think I got most of it out of my system. I joined a support/craft group....we meet Tuesdays after my Pepsioholics meeting...) Suddenly, through my DIY daydreaming haze I heard the telltale sound of itty bitty teeth nibbling in one of my kitchen cupboards. I looked over at Saku- who was still snoring and farting on the couch- and mentally traded him in for a cat. I went into the kitchen, turned on a single light, got a empty yogurt container and opened the cupboard door. There, right smack dab in the middle of space was a tiny mouse, who instantly froze when he saw me (thinking I was a Tyrannosaurus Rex and couldn't see him if he didn't move?) I *plopped* the yogurt container over him and congratulated myself on being more awesome than a creature the size of my thumb. Now, although I am not (ahem was not) afraid of mice, I still find them disgusting and dirty. They give me the willies. I wanted to go through the food in that cupboard to see if anything was chewed or opened so I could toss it. The first thing I picked up was a long forgotten box of Special K Blueberry cereal from the back of the shelf (I don't recommend it BTW) which I peeked into to see if the bag was still clipped shut and WHOA holy shit!!! Out jumped another fucking mouse- right at me! All of my Country Girl training was instantly forgotten and I dropped the box of cereal and yelled...probably swore. Loudly. I can't be sure because instead of running away from me, this badass mouse was coming towards me. I let out a couple of girly screams and did the universal "There's-A-Mouse-On-The-Floor" dance. Saku, finally roused from his frigging beauty sleep and from drooling on my throw cushions, came running to my defense...until the mouse turned on him and sped towards his big furry paws. He too let out a girly scream (I swear) and ran back to the living room, which is a step up from the kitchen and obviously far safer from an invading mouse army. And that is where he stayed for the rest of the night. Wuss. I couldn't tell you where the mouse disappeared to. I can tell you where all the food from that cupboard went though- right to the compost pile. I was supremely grossed out. The cupboard was empty- save for the solitary upside down yogurt container/mousey jail so I left the door wide open and went back to the living room and positioned my chair to face the empty abyss from which the mice come (could totally be the title of a movie, yes?) Ten minutes later, don't I see the little bugger in there again trying to knock over the container (which I cleverly weighed down) to free his buddy. I ran over there with my container (Saku followed me, all excited, but stopped abruptly at the living room step) and got into position...until the I-have-a-death-wish mouse turned and ran straight at me. BAH! Yogurt container went flying and I made it to the living room step in about two enormous jumps (not bad for a pregnant lady eh?) and stood panting beside Saku- who was giving me a smug "told you so" look. WTF was up with this mouse?! Now I'm thinking, "does he have rabies?" Back to my chair, and I added oven mitts and an old wooden spoon to my arsenal. And Doc Martins...that I tucked my pants into (shut up and stop laughing- this is serious!) Sure enough, 25 minutes later The Steven Segal of the mouse world was back trying to free his trapped buddy. And true to form, he ran towards me instead of away to safety- but I had boots and oven mitts on this time bitch and I kinda held my ground. He played chicken with me until the last possible second and then zipped over towards the wall and started climbing my curtains!!!!!! ( Did you know mice could do this? I didn't.) I. Went. Postal. "Do you know how expensive these were?! Get off my fucking curtains!!" I yelled at him and attacked with the spoon. He flew off, landed hard, and zipped between a crack in the baseboards. I was pissed now- it just got personal. This back-and-forth continued until 11:30 pm; I was starting to get really discouraged: I was being outsmarted by a goddamn mouse. Finally, probably due to his exhaustion not my reflexes, I was able to catch the dare devil under the yogurt container. I put something heavy on top and called it quits. Nick could figure out how to get the lids on the containers without freeing the mice; my part of the hunt was done. My husband set our only trap in that same cupboard when he got home from work (good christ, why didn't I think of that?) and it got another one before we even went to bed.
Neither of us slept at all last night; every sound was thought to be the arrival of new hoards of mice, I kept sitting up and shaking out the duvet cover in case there were mice on it, Nick checked the kids' rooms every hour. Nick was disgusted (he did not grow up in a fixer upper, and to him, a house with mice in it is a dirty, gross home) and I had a sever case of the willies. We got up tired this morning and right after breakfast we bundled the kids up and went shopping for poison and traps. Lots of traps. We kept the cupboard empty, smeared peanut butter on a handful of traps, and put a child safety lock on the door. As I write this blog, two traps have snapped in there. I know this because Saku marched right up to the living room step...and waited for me to go look. Worst. Guard dog. Ever. Nick has already started trolling MLS to find a new house, and I am seriously considering hitting up the animal shelter this weekend to adopt a pet that will actually have my back during the next stand off...
I long for the good old days when our house was just old and crappy, not old, crappy, and infested, and when I was confident that I would not shriek and pee myself a little when a tiny grey fluff with a tail darts across our floor. Sigh.
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