MommyBlog

I am seriously considering naming this little baby-to-be after our awesome-gift-from-God OB.

This morning I had an episode of bleeding.   I called in to the office (a bustling group practice of 13 OBs) and reported the incident. I was told by the doctor on call, “No biggie – call us back if it gets worse.”   I said, “Um, no offense but is Dr. H there?   Given my history, I think he’d want to know what’s going on.”   Within five minutes I got a call back from his nurse telling me to come right in, that the good doctor was going to squeeze me in between meetings.

Poor Kenny got sardined in the car (but I let him listen to Boz the whole way, so he was jammin’) and this sweet crusty old man says, “Well, it’s probably nothing to worry about, but I know that’s not an answer you’re going to buy, so let’s have a look.”   I got to see sonogram #4 of the bopping baby, and he actually danced for us!   No joke – he wiggled and jiggled and even rubbed his eyes with both little hands while we watched!     “Look at that!   That’s just perfect.   What a picture.”   This man is not a frequent giver of real smiles, but I swear I got one as we shook hands and said goodbye until next time.

Is it weird to name your kid after your OB?

In other news, Kenny has become, for the first time in almost a year, a resister of the bedtime decree.   Though he has been in his big-boy bed since September, he has only now realized that he can get in and out of it whenever he wants.   Not only that, but he can get out, cross the room, open the door and saunter down the hall.   Yesterday he did that for an hour, until I put the old baby gate across his doorway.   At least then he was confined to his room.   But I could still here him changing CDs in his CD player, banging blocks and dumping the contents of his shelves.   Same thing at bedtime last night… though it was “lights out” at 7, it was well after 9:30 before he finally fell asleep.

So, my second question of the night is, how do you get your two-year-old to stay in BED??   He’s not a big one for rewards… the M&Ms after he uses the potty are his ultimate treat, but even so he goes in his diaper when he doesn’t feel like stopping his play to tinkle in the potty.   So a reward for staying in bed is not likely to hold much water.   Any other suggestions, or should I just keep the gate across the door and let him fall asleep on his own terms?

Casey   and I finally decided that now was as good a time as any to spill the news… I am pregnant!

Though the first four weeks of harboring this news (and sharing it with a few very close friends and family) was accompanied by deep breaths and clarifications (as in “I’ve already had four blood tests to check my hormone levels and they are off the charts!” and, “Yes, I’ve already had two ultrasounds and all is so far so good!”), I finally feel as confident about this little zygote at I did when I was pregnant with Kenny nearly  three years ago.

I am close to ten weeks, and I actually have had three ultrasounds already now… one at four weeks (to ensure that it was not ectopic), one at six weeks (to make sure there was a fetal pole and a heartbeat), and one this past Tuesday at nine weeks to make sure he was still kickin’ around in there, the right size for his age, and firmly implanted where he was supposed to be.  

May I just say that my OB is a gift from God?   He is a gruff old guy, so scientifically focused that his jokes are nearly impossible to detect, but one thing’s for sure – he doesn’t gloss things over, or look for the Pollyanna point of view, so this week when he declared me “in no way high risk” I know I can believe it for sure.   In fact, he told me to go for a jog…. it seems I could use a little exercise.   Or maybe less potato chips, which is what my nauseous tummy begs for all day…

So, I’m pregnant!

My due date is July 1st, but the OB has decreed a planned c-section will be sometime the week of June 23rd.   (Kenny was an un-planned one…. after 24 hours of labor with no progression)   I have been nauseous (no throwing up, but I think I’d feel better if I did) from waking to falling asleep again.   The nausea was actually a little better this week with my killer cold, but it came back with a vengeance today.   Food aversions have been bizarre – meat (except ground meat, when I usually won’t touch with a ten foot pole under non-prego circumstances)… I can’t even bring myself to buy meet at the grocery store, it grosses me out so much; vegetables (which I usually love and eat lots of), coffee (though I still have to have a few sips first thing, then I realize it’s icky, and dump it down the drain)  and candy bars.   Cravings?   Chips, oranges, potatoes, bread and baked goods.   Hm.   That would explain the four pounds I’ve already gained, I guess.

I can’t say that I have been completely anxiety-free.   I can’t say that there isn’t a little part of my brain that wants to “be prepared” in-case this one dosn’t make it.   But this one isdifferent.   With the baby we lost in March, I had no morning sickness, no real body changes (other than fatigue) and when we went in for our eight-week ultrasound, the baby only measured 6 weeks and 5 days.   They told me that my dates were off, but later conceded that the baby wasn’t growing properly.   With the baby we lost in July, there was a little nausea, but by seven weeks when the bleeding started, they discovered  two blighted ovums…. we never saw babies or heartbeats, just  the empty gestational sacks.   But this time,  those angels over at my  OB practice had been clocking me from the day I discovered a positive EPT test… checking that hormone levels are rising at the right rates and checking in  on the baby’s progress with the sonogram.

Now that  my OB has declared  this a “normal, healthy pregnancy” I will  go back to a normal, healthy check-up schedule, and won’t have another ultrasound until 20 weeks.   I finally feel like it’s  OK to jump for joy!

I know that it’s still technically “early” to be sharing the news, but given all that’s happened this year, I need to be able to write about it all or I’ll go crazy.

Stay tuned!  

Kenny and I have called in sick all week.   Meaning, we’ve  stayed home sick together (no activities, playdates or unnecessary errands).    Casey’s been out of town the last three days on top of it,  and Dudley is way deprived of walks.   I wish he’d get a little sick so he’d leave us alone for a while, instead of trying to eat our snotty kleenex and stealing Kenny’s stuffed animals.

It’s nothing serious – We’ve just got monster colds, and though we both went to the doctor, there’ s really nothing other than rest and orange juice that we can do about it.   Kenny’s a pretty good sick companion.   We’ve played with every toy in his room, he’s learned to blow his nose (kind of) and we’ve eaten an entire loaf of banana-chocolate chip bread in the last 24 hours (ok, I ate more than my half).   Feed a cold and starve a fever, right?   At least our appetites aren’t lagging.

I even let him watch a whole hour of TV this morning, so I could try and get some housework done while I had the energy.   He was a Sesame Street zombie by the end, and was actually glad when the end credits rolled and I turned it off.   By tonight, for the first time since Saturday, he started running in circles (one of his signature energy-burning moves) and giggling at a funny song I sang.   He even resisted bedtime, which I was glad of, if only to mean that he is feeling better.   I can’t say I feel much better, but surely I’ve hit the peak and things are going to improve from here.   Casey’s actually lucky he’s out of town… I’ve been in the same sweats since Monday and my hair is starting to form dreadlocks.  

I’d better drag myself into the shower and find some lipstick before his plane rolls in tomorrow…

We don’t let Kenny watch TV very often.   In fact, it’s safe to say that he watches Sesame Street no more than one day a week, and no more than three times a week, I let him watch one 15 minute episode (sometimes 2) of “Boz” –  a great cartoon for kids that’s endorsed by MOPS International.

It never fails, though, three or four times a day, he’ll look up with a hopeful and charming smile and say, “You wanna watch some Boz?” or “I can watch ONE Boz?”   He responds pretty well to a “no” though he is appropriately bummed.

The music CDs on the other hand, are getting out of control.   For over a year, the only CD he ever wanted to listen to was Rodney Atkins’ “If Your Goin’ Through Hell” (an odd choice for a happy one-year-old, though his favorite track is “These are My People”).   But now, in the car, it’s Veggie Tales’  Sunday Morning Songs  (which he calls “Larry Cucumber CD”), Veggie Tales  Worship Songs (which he  calls “Kids singing Larry Cucumber”)  Sesame Street’s Greatest Hits (which he calls “Funny Guys Singing”) and Boz – The Collection (which he just calls, “Boz”); at home it’s any one of an assortment of kid’s music, which is varied enough to keep me sane.   He wants music on all day.  

But in the car, it’s becoming a battle ground.   He will start off assuming: “Boz on right now.”   Then polite: “You wanna listen to Boz Songs?” Then frantic, “I WANNA LISTEN TO BOZ!” all within the time frame it takes me to buckle him into the car.   If I say no, he goes through the list of all the other ones that he knows are in the CD changer.   If I *gasp* say, “NO, Honey, Mommy wants to listen to the radio,” there is hysteric cries and screams until I 1) Give in or 2) Roll down all the windows and drive fast, hoping the chilly air will distract his wails.   I’m kidding about #2, though its crossed my mind  on occasion.  

If I leave  “my” radio on, he’ll usually quiet down to sniffles after five minutes or so, only to pipe up again with the same round of questions everytime the DJ talks, or a commercial comes on.   By that point, any enjoyment I may have gotten out of a little dose of NPR or country radio is shot, so I sigh and turn on the Kenny Collection.

Any advice for how to reclaim my car stereo??   This is honestly the only real thing we battle over.   He’s a really reasonable kid about everything else.   What can I do?   We are in the car A LOT.   We live 30 minutes from everything (45 from my chiropractor, whom I see every week), and I feel like we’re in the car an hour or more a day.   When his music is on, he’s happy, sings along, or listens quietly.   90% of the time, I give in, but there’s got to be a reasonable way to compromise.   Can you reasonably compromise with a two-year-old???

Kenny started asking me this question about a week ago.   He asks it every time I: A) Tell him to do (or not do) something, and B)  Every time  he wants to do something that he knows he may not be allowed to do.  

For example, he loves to eat grapes, and I am very strict about either cutting them in half, or watching him bite each one in half.   He’ll pop one whole in his mouth, I’ll make him spit it out and bite it, and he’ll say, “What do little boys do?” I’ll say, “Little boys obey their Mamas and bite their grapes in half.”   And then he’ll do it with no complaint.   Or I’ll catch him pulling a chair over to climb up and reach something that is very specifically too high for him to touch and he’ll see me looking at him and ask, “What do little boys do?” I’ll say, “They obey their Mamas and don’t stand on chairs.”

Every time he climbs in his car seat, it’s “What do little boys do?” and every time I tell him it’s time for a nap, the same question.   I’m not really sure where it came from.   It’s bewildering and cute all at once,  perplexing, and yet I really think he’s learning about making choices for himself through this odd game.   I’m not sure why he’s asking in the third person, but maybe he’s trying to find out if rules are for everybody (or rather, all little boys), or just for him.

I figured out yesterday that I can turn it around to great effect.   When he wouldn’t stop climbing on a particularly dangerous set of stairs at my parent’s house yesterday, I said, “Kenny, little boys obey their Mamas when they say no climbing.”     He looked up, almost surprised, and got off the stairs.

He’s also starting to understand compliments and praise.   The other day when we were playing t-ball in the backyard, after he really whacked one (that kid is a slugger!), I said, “Great job, Kenny!   That was a good one!”   A few moments later, I hit a ball just as far, and Kenny looked up and said, “Good job, Mama!   That was a good one!” and ran over and hugged my knee.   Today during his nap, I started setting up a few Christmas decorations, and when he came down, he looked at the dining room table with it’s red velvet runner and red topiary, and said, “That’s pretty, Mama!”

We set out before dinner and got our Christmas tree today, too.   When we stood it up in the living room, Kenny sighed, “Woooooow!   That’s our tree!”   Sometimes it’s hard to remember that he’s only two!

Happy Thanksgiving to all!   Casey, Kenny and I headed out to my parent’s house for a feast with my sister’s family and some friends.  

We started the day with a brisk walk, and lots of running for the dogs… all to prevent losing  the turkey to a counter-surfing weimaraner…

 

Kenny finally got to sit at the kids’ table (instead of a highchair) and he was so proud.   I don’t think he actually ate anything but bread and butter (and pie) but he sure had fun…

We all had fun, and though it may take several days for our stomachs to recover, it sure is decadent to eat two pieces of pie in one night and not feel too guilty about it…

I haven’t been writing much lately.   I’ve been under the weather, the weather itself has been miserably cold and dark and windy (oh, I miss Arizona winters!!), and I’ve had such bad writer’s block I haven’t gone near my blog in days.     Now that Kenny is TWO, the milestones have slowed way down and there’s only so many cute-anecdote-kind-of posts you can write before you fear that your readers are going to gag.

Tonight Casey is headed out for a guys night out… 10 cent wings and Monday night football at the local family restaurant… that’s the kind of guys’ night that makes a wife proud.   But he noticed that in spite of my encouragement at his going, I was a little down while cleaning up dinner.   He said, “Do you need anything before I go?”   And I said, “We’re out of ice cream.   I wish I had some ice cream.”

Well that sweet man put on his coat and drove to the nearest quickie-mart (which is 5 miles and 10 minutes away in our boondocks of the woods) and bought me a pint of Chubby Hubby.   He dashed in, kissed me and left just in time to meet his friends.

He oughta have guys nights more often…

This is a question I hear no less than 40,000 times every day.   I’ve heard of the two-year-old’s incessant “Why?” but I find myself bewildered and even sometimes (*gasp*) secretly annoyed at this little addition to Kenny’s daily infinite ration of words.

I didn’t mind so much when this question only referred to objects – after all, Kenny has such a great vocabulary because he’s always asking questions!!   But now he has begun to apply this one to sounds, songs, situations and generally anything he wants me to explain to him.   Driving in the car, he points at the stoplight (which seconds before he identified as, “Light is GREEN!   Green says GO!”)   I say, “That’s the stoplight, Kenny.   You know that.”   “What is it?” and it turns out that he really wants me to explain why it’s there and what the cars are doing about it.   Another second passes, and it’s, “What’s that?” this time, pointing to the car radio where one of his CDs is playing.   “That’s Ernie, singing ‘Rubber Ducky.'” I say, even though he has been singing along since it started.   “What is it?” and I explain about the Sesame Street CD we bought and that Ernie has a duck in his bathtub just like Kenny.   As soon as I finish that one, he points out the window, “What’s that?” and having no idea which of the 100 things out there he’s pointing at, I start naming them.   He keeps repeating his question until I have correctly identified everything within sight, and he relaxes, satisfied.

I’m happy that he’s such an inquisitive little sponge, but the days of quietly day-dreaming in the car are definitely over.   At least until he turns into a mono-syllabic teenager…

What Mommy doesn’t love flipping through a magazine in those few spare moments of the day?   And what Mommy wouldn’t love to have a relevant, easy to read, hip, funny magazine to read right on the computer?   No toddlers pulling out pages, or coloring on the articles, no $4.50 at the checkout, only to realize that you bought the same magazine last week…

The Family Groove  is a funky, yet “functional” cyber magazine that focuses on the family, without assuming that a magazine aimed at Moms needs to be fluffy and splenda-sweet.   It’s kind of like Vogue meets Real Simple meets “Dear Abby.”   There are sections on Lifestyle&Home, Health&Beauty, and even a “BumpWatch” for the readers with Wilson basketballs where their abs used to be.

In their own words….

 THE FAMILY GROOVE is the first-of-its kind national, online
magazine for parents (even grandparents or godparents or
anyone else who has kids in their life). We’ll keep you on the
beat with hip tips, top trends and everything else you need
for living high style with kiddies in tow. You’ll find everything
from advice on raising socially conscious children to how to
save your sex life to the best local restaurants. We provide
informed, fun and vital content with a worldly perspective while
connecting you to what’s happening on the local level.
Best of all, it’s free!

It’s guilt-free web-browsing… entertaining and informative, and hey – it’s about your family, right?   So next time your toddler is unexpectedly amusing himself and you find a free moment to surf, go check it out!

As I have mentioned before, Kenny was an early talker, and talks very, very well for his age.   He is conjugating verbs, using correct pronouns and even dabbling in past, present and future tense.   Enough to make a grammar-junkie like me proud enough to pop.

But he has these little inflections of speech that are difficult for your average observer to understand…. even Casey often has to ask for a translation.   It’s getting clearer by the day, but still comically two-ish…

For example, he is perfectly capable of pronouncing the hard “g” sound, yet still pronounces certain words with a “d”… “Damma,” “Dammie and Dampie,” and “Do it a-din!”   But he says, “Go,” “gorilla” and “gonads” (don’t ask) perfectly well.   He’ll say, “Not that one!” clearly, but then say, “My fumb is tuck in my gwove.”   He’ll crow, “Let’s buy it right now!” in the store, then wail, “I don’ wanna eat my bwoc-wee!” at dinner.   “What’s dose dies doin’?” and “What’s dat lady doin’?” are his favorite phrases of late, usually accompanied by a loud voice and a pointing finger, and repeated enough times to make the accused party and me blush.

Then there are the almost-right words… anytime he has a broken fingernail or a hangnail, he runs to me and says, “Mama!   I   have a toenail!   Get the clippers!”

My favorite, though, is when he has heard me say something that he kind-of understands, yet hasn’t caught the exact word yet, and wants to clarify things.   Today for fifteen minutes he repeated, “Where are we detting the plaind?” and it wasn’t until we were in the car on the way to Home Depot that I realized that he must have heard me tell Casey on the phone that I was off to pick up another gallon of paint.   Then as we strolled through to the paint department, he told everyone we passed, “We’re detting PLAINT!”