Are We There Yet?

Today marks 39 weeks and I've had enough fun for one pregnancy. I am ready for this baby to get out of my belly and in my arms. Seriously, it's getting crowded.

Aside from needing a crane to get out of bed and swelling like a tick when the temperature creeps up above 75 degrees, I have two very specific reasons as to why I need to have this baby.

1. My thermometer popped. Just like a Thanksgiving turkey, my belly button has popped out. While lots of people joke about me being "done", they've taken it one step further - poking my new outie. It never bothers me when someone touches my belly (they're just loving the baby), but poking my bellybutton sort of surprises me.

I'd like you to think about the last time you touched another adult's bellybutton. If you're like me, you probably haven't. Here in the Midwest, that's just not something you do. We have strict lines of appropriate touching that include shaking hands and maybe a pat of the back. So, as you can imagine, mine is extra poppy and extra tempting.

2. I might "wreck my car" extra often when I'm pregnant. I'm not sure if I'm simply distracted or if there is truly some medical explanation and I really can't see anymore, but with both pregnancies, I've had two accidents.

Luckily, I'm mostly attacking our garage and not innocent drivers. With Ben, I backed my car out of the garage with the driver's door open crunching it like frat boy crushes a beer can. In fairness, it was a 2002 Toyota Echo and essentially made of plastic (what you let go in safety, you make up in MPGs).

And while we were replacing the door, I forgot to put the rental car in park when I ran in the house to pick up some lunch. I came back to the garage just in time to see the 2003 Intrepid drive into the back wall of the garage. I tried to tell Chuck that the second one wasn't really my fault because I wasn't technically driving. He didn't buy it.

This time around, I sideswiped my van on the donation box at the recycling center. (Yes, weekly I take three giant bins of recyclables and always leave a donation. That's what I get for trying to be a good world citizen).

In the most recent incident, I closed our garage door with the van's liftgate still open. It crashed into the gate three for four times - sensing a foreign object, going up and then coming down again... and again. BTW nice safety measure. What if that were Ben? The door would have crushed him, gone back up, and crushed him again. I haven't told Chuck about this one yet and I may not. Luckily, he still doesn't read my blog.

My point is, that for some reason I am a menace to our vehicles and garage while pregnant and it would less expensive (and better for my marriage) if I wasn't pregnant anymore. So, I looked up ways to go into labor naturally and honestly, didn't like what I saw. Many of the options sounded gross, confusing and even dangerous.
They were so awful, I can't even write about them, so read some of the tamer options here. While long walks are nice this time of year, I can't bring myself to take anything that might cause "horrific diarrhea". And on another site, I read about primrose oil and, um... direct cervical application. In the words of Will Ferrell, "You wouldn't hire a clown to fix a leak in the John would you?"

Since I can't handle those methods, I came up with my own plan:

1. Two-a-days: I'm basically going to condition like a sophomore trying to make the varsity football team. I plan on running our stairs (and by running, I mean huffing and puffing while I waddle around at a pace most would consider "walking at a moderate speed"), set up cones in the back yard and time me and Ben as we run the 40, and scrimmage. Ok, no scrimmaging, but I will be making daily exercise in the morning and family walks in the evening a priority.

2. Raspberry leaf tea: This was one of the less-disgusting options and is supposed to "organize" your contractions. I've been drinking it every day. Ben likes it too. He says, "Mmm, gook tea. Mama tea gook. Mmm, mmmm, mmmm." I'm desperate enough that I look past the floaties.

3. Massage: I've made a date with Keri, my dear friend who is also a massage therapist and hopefully she can hit some points and set things in motion.

Wish me luck. As much as I'm ready to see and hold this baby, I know it will hurt and I'm a little apprehensive (ok - a lot apprehensive).

What's Your Greatest Fear?

A friend once told me about a conversation she had with a roommate in college. The roommate asked her, "What's your greatest fear?" clearly looking for a meaningful, connecting conversation.

 Although, Roomie had her answer ready, my friend didn't. She said, "Oh... I don't know. Maybe... snakes?"

Well, snakes really are Ben's greatest fear. He sees them in books and hisses, "Snake icky, keh!" He spies sticks on the ground and won't walk past them. He sees them coiled in aquariums and backs up.

In fairness, his first up-close encounter with a snake was kind of scary. We were playing at a friend's house with five kids and one lab running around when our ball rolled toward the street. As I walked to retrieve it, a three-foot-long black snake lunged at my leg.

 I'm sure this snake was simply enjoying the sun after a long winter, just like we were, but the dog, kids and ball were probably stressing it out. Ben was just a step behind me and even more stressed than the snake by my friend's screaming and her dog's attack. (Yes, we watched the dog attack, shake and subsequently kill the snake. Then it killed two more.)

Ben was frozen with fear and that's when he began refusing to walk past anything that remotely resembled a snake (sticks, strings, worms, garden hoses). Luckily, he no longer becomes paralyzed and begins to cry giant cartoon tears at the sight of sticks. But I think that snake left a big impression.

Ben's fear is so all-encompassing, it got me wondering what is my greatest fear? This is tough because I'm pretty much afraid of everything, but I've come up with a short list:

1. Something will happen to me and Chuck will be the sole caregiver for our children. Before I explain, let me say that I think Chuck is a great dad. He makes time to play with Ben every single day, he reads with him every night before bed (he never misses even if that means he'll be up working until 11:30 or later). He obviously loves Benny and I know he'll be just as good to our daughter too.

But he's still a dad and dad's have some holes. For instance, I was gone almost all day on Saturday and the following is a real conversation:

Jackie: Did you and Ben have fun today?

Chuck: Yep.
Jackie: What did you do?
Chuck: Hung out with Chris and played some T-ball.
Jackie: What did you feed him for lunch?
Chuck: I thought you fed him lunch before you left.
Jackie: No. I left at 11:00 am, why would I have fed him lunch?
Chuck: He was eating when you left.
Jackie: Yeah, he was eating his morning snack - the one I give him every day at 10:30 am.
Chuck: You really didn't feed him lunch?
Jackie: You really didn't feed him lunch?!
Chuck: He didn't say he was hungry.

Fair enough. Dads are simply too busy having fun to be bothered with mundane chores like "feeding" the kids. And in the long run, having a fun day hanging out with Dad is more important than one meal.

Dads really are fun. They think doughnuts are an acceptable, even healthy, breakfast option. They think it's ok to skip brushing your teeth if your camping - in fact, don't even bother packing your toothbrush. And they always have good ideas on how to make everything bigger and better. Like:

"You call that a fire? I'll show you how to make a really big fire."

or

"If you bounce like this, he'll catch your bounce and fly off the trampoline."

Dads are critical to families. If you're blessed with a good one, enjoy it and thank God every day for the father he gave you. But I think kids also need moms to provide peas at dinner and peroxide when there's been just a little too much fun.

2. Gary will finally succeed in chewing off a large, unfixable portion of my hair. I still sleep in a stocking cap because he thinks I'm his sister cat and purrs/grooms me nightly. He chewed some very stylish bangs for me earlier this year and they're just now growing out.

 2a. Gary will decide my baby girl is also his sister cat and chew her hair off.

3. Ben will be just as helpful with his baby sister as he is with the rest of the household chores. Don't get me wrong, I love his willingness to help and diligence in completing a project. And most days, I'm even ok with the fact that when he helps with the dishes, that means the entire kitchen will be wet when we finish.

But I have visions of him shoving binkies in her mouth or sunglasses in her eyes. I know his heart will be in right place, but he's simply not physically capable of executing all these plans he comes up with.

For fun, I tried to image Chuck, Brandy and Gary's greatest fears. Here's what I came up with:

Unfortunately for Chuck, I think he faces his fear annually:

2010 Standings: W-67, L-95

Every April he gets his hopes up and by July he's saying, "I'm just excited for football." You have to admire his loyalty. Also unfortunately for Chuck, he's a Chiefs and K-State fan.

 I'm almost certain that this is Brandy's greatest fear:

Brandy wants a puppy like she
wants a bath. She's an old, tired dog
who maintains a strict 8:00 pm bedtime.
A puppy is out of the question.

I am 100 percent sure this is Gary's greatest fear:

An empty food bowl is the only
thing that's ever managed
to elicit a panicked mew from Gary.

I tried to get a video of Ben telling me how much he hates snakes (because he's so stinkin' adament about it), but that totally failed. I got cheesy Bean instead.
 

Your Baby Can Read?

An old picture, but one that shows how much Ben
loves Evie. He asks to see her weekly. It sounds like,
"E-He Houk? E-He Houk?" That means, "Hey
Mom, can I play with Evie at her house today?"

Ben may or may not have read his first word today. We went to Toddler Time at the Mid-Continent Library and Benny picked out Evie's name tag. Twice.

Side Note: This is a favorite Thursday activity with Miss Jean whom Ben simply calls "Jean". It seems kind of rude when he marches up to her, hands her a book to check out and says, "Here Jean." Luckily, she is a true librarian and simply thrilled that kids want to check out books. She probably wouldn't care if he called her "Jim".

In any case, the library provides apple-shaped name tags for the kids to wear. During class, a teacher comes around and gives each child in attendance a sticker for their name tag. Last week, Ben got apples and Evie received strawberries. Then they both examined the other's tag.

This week, Evie wasn't there, but Ben went up to the table with approximately 15 unclaimed name tags, picked up Evie's and said, "E-He."

I brushed it off, "Yeah, good guess that is Evie's name tag."

Then he did it again. I asked him, "How do you know that's Evie's name tag?"

Of course he didn't answer me. I'm sure partly on principle (It's not cool to answer your mom's questions - just ask Dad.) and partly because he can't.

Seriously, he calls Evie "E-He". And this is an improvement. I'm just grateful he stopped calling her "Wee Wee". People would ask, "What did he say?"

"Ha ha. I'm not sure. I didn't hear him." All the while I'm thinking: Please don't say that again, because BTW, you also call your business 'wee wee'.

I'm not sure if he recognized the letters, the strawberry sticker or the combination, but something looked familiar and he knew it belonged to his friend. So, Congratulations Benny! You read your first word today! It seems appropriate that you did it at the library - Miss Jean will be thrilled.

Update: It's come to my attention, that I should include the rest of the this story. To test Ben, I took two index cards and wrote his name on one and Evie's on the other. I handed him Evie's and asked him to read it. He studied the card carefully, furrowed his brow and said, "Uhhh... licka, licka, licka, licka."

I think that means he cannot "read". However, he's starting to recognize words he's seen before. He keeps bringing me these cards saying, "E-He. Bean!"

Be Careful What You Wish For...

... It just might come true. I am currently living out this saying and all of it's negative connotation.

Chuck and I have been married for five delightful years and like many other couples, opposites attracted. He's naturally a spender and I'm naturally a saver. For five years, I've tried to trim our spending and increase our saving.

And for five years, Chuck has said things like this:

1. I don't like pinching pennies on vacation. (Vacation = Branson and he's usually talking about how many times he's going to ride the go carts.)
2. Jackie, I'm a simple man. I only want a boat, a motorcycle and an RV. (Only.)
3. (And my favorite) Look, I'm just here to have a good time. (This usually precedes purchasing an obscene amount of food. At the Missouri State Fair, I once saw him eat two hot dogs, nachos and a funnel cake. He washed it down with freshly-squeezed lemonade and got some root beer "for the road". I really don't understand how he stays so slim and trim.)

The Chuck I fell in love with enjoys life and doesn't worry about the tab. Then he discovered Dave Ramsey. Hooray, right? You'd think I'd be happy because I'm finally getting my way - more saving. But the timing is lousy, because right now, I'd like to spend a little.

I am due May 7th, and honestly preparing to have this baby in April. There are three things I'd like before I deliver: a manicure, a pedicure and a massage. Truly, I don't ask for much. I don't color my hair, I think $15 jeans at Kohl's are good enough and I eat out approximately twice a month. On a regular basis, I'm a frugal person.

But my feet and back hurt and my nails are gross from all the dishes and hand washing. I'd like to feel good before facing the pain of actually having the baby and look at least a little put together before sleepless newborn nights leave me looking like this again:


This is the part of your life where you stop wearing
makeup and "combing" your hair. You also usually
have throw up on your clothes, but nobody notices
that because your clothes themselves are ill-fitting
and partially unbuttoned. It's not pretty.


However, when I told Chuck that I had a few extras I'd like to work into the budget, he said, "How much is that going to cost?" The old Chuck would have said, "Sounds great!"

When I told him I wanted to spend a mere $150 on pampering, he said, "That money has to come from somewhere. You can't add money in one category without taking it from another. Where's it going to come from?" (Dang it! Now he's using my own words against me.)

"We could decrease what we're sending to savings," I squeaked.

He asked if I thought that was a responsible habit. Sigh. Of course it's not "responsible", but I have a baby in my belly that has to come out one way or another - and BTW - either way will hurt. Can't I get a little sympathy? I'm not asking for diamonds, I'm asking for someone to rub my feet. And seeing as how I'm carrying around an extra 20 lbs and can no longer reach them myself, I think that's a reasonable request.

In reality, I love the new thrifty Chuck. I just find it frustrating that he found the light 20 short days before my annual indulgence. To his credit, he approved the additional spending - albeit after I suggested that he could give me a pedicure. Now all I need to do is make my appointments. Yipee!