I'm trying to figure out the difference between "bed-rest" and my normal life. There's at least one difference. For example, I'm now allowed to be lazy and loaf around.
Everything looks good. So I either have something called "irritable uterus" or I'm in pre-term labor. The on-call Doctor sort of had an "only time will tell" attitude about the whole thing. I agree with him.
I get to see my doctor in 13 days. I think that's a good time frame for my uterus to just chill out and then, hopefully, I'll be just fine. Just fine.
In the meantime, I get to stay down until "they" stop. "They" are really starting to piss me off.
Something hilarious: On a directory sign it said "Suite 101, Midwifery" and Brett said, "I wonder if that's where they grow the midwives."
Having just bawled my eyes out and downed 64 oz of water, the pain I then encountered from laughter was acute, but very needed. I love my husband.
Also on a side note, I got to see my little peanut, who isn't such a little peanut anymore. It was sucking it's thumb and resting comfortably on my bladder, which was full with 64 oz of water.
Kelly Out
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
I Hope I Get An "F"
We are trained, from our youngest moments, that "test" is a swear word. It is the absolutely worst word in the English language. Don't argue, think about it. Deep down, I know you think I'm right.
I don't want to go into detail concerning High School, because it will bring to the surface my so happily buried psychosis. *Twitch Twitch* I hate tests.
Whenever I've had medical tests, I hope more than anything that they come back with something, anything, so that that will be the end of it all. We'll know what's wrong, done, finished, finito.
But I'm going in for a test today that I hope pans out to be nothing. I hope they look at me after everything and say, "Ma'am, I'm afraid the problem is that you're just crazy and it's all in your head."
I'll shake their hand, thank 'em kindly, and be on my merry way.
I'm willing to suffer through pain and agony for the next four months, as long as nothing is wrong.
Wish me luck.
Kelly Out
I don't want to go into detail concerning High School, because it will bring to the surface my so happily buried psychosis. *Twitch Twitch* I hate tests.
Whenever I've had medical tests, I hope more than anything that they come back with something, anything, so that that will be the end of it all. We'll know what's wrong, done, finished, finito.
But I'm going in for a test today that I hope pans out to be nothing. I hope they look at me after everything and say, "Ma'am, I'm afraid the problem is that you're just crazy and it's all in your head."
I'll shake their hand, thank 'em kindly, and be on my merry way.
I'm willing to suffer through pain and agony for the next four months, as long as nothing is wrong.
Wish me luck.
Kelly Out
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
From One Freak to Another
I, an announced, confessed, baptized control freak, am determined to teach my son how not to be a control freak.
The phrase my boy uses most often is, "You mean," followed by an insert of whatever it is he thinks I should've said in place of what I actually said. He knows now, from a single look, not to say this to his mother, ever. "Oh," he says meekly, flashing his dimples, "you mean what you say, huh mommy? Sorry."
So the other day, while not watching t.v., my control freak, my tasmanian and I, were all sitting down for a nice, peaceful game of Candy Land. But my know-it-all hadn't changed into play clothes (it was Sunday, and he was still in his church clothes) and he needed to don the appropriate apparel before throwin' down some mad gamin' skills.
"Pause, mom. That means stop the game, until I come back."
"I know what pause means, son. We won't play until you get back."
"I want to be blue!"
"Okay, you're blue."
"And you be red, and Kembry, you be yellow."
"Cohen, go into your bedroom and change, pleeeease."
(From his bedroom, approximately 4 seconds later) "MOM! Don't start without me!"
(From the living room, after a deep, relaxing breath) "We're not!"
But I didn't have to the yell. My wild-eyed maniac was suddenly standing right next to me, still in his church clothes, looking down at an untouched game. "Cohen, go into your room and change."
"But you did the cards without me!"
It went on like this for about five minutes. Kembry had completely abandoned any hope of ever playing her beloved Candy Land, and I had decided that the time was ripe for some butt kickin'. I mean, the time was ripe for teaching and inspiring and loving and nurturing.
I got up, left the game, and went into his room where he was struggling to button his shirt because he was trying to go so fast. "You need some help?"
"No!" Um...yes, you do.
"Okay, but if you let me help you, we can play sooner."
"Fine!" So I button his shirt.
"Son, do you trust mommy?"
A blank stare.
"Trust means that if I say something like I'll give you ten kisses, you know for sure that I will give you ten kisses." He smiles unsurely. I give him ten kisses, counting out loud.
"Or, if I say I'll make you lunch..." (this is a big issue in our house, he finished it for me) "That means you'll make it and we don't have to worry or keep asking!" He smiled broadly, knowing he got an answer right. That's a big deal for us know-it-alls.
"That's right. And if I say we won't play a game until you come back, then..."
I wait for it, wait for it....wait for it...I can see the cogs turning...
"That means you will wait for me. And not play without me. And you'll be red and I'll be blue and Kembry doesn't get to play because she kicked me."
Hey, it's a start!
Having no t.v. is fuuuun....
*Update. Unfortunately not being able to move is not conducive to not watching t.v. My children went to their grandmothers today. I don't know what happened there. I don't want to know. But I'm sure at some time today, t.v. was invovled. I'm trying not to think about it. Some things are out of my control (rinse and repeat) and like Bethany said, the Devil knows when you make a goal. He sets your uterus on fire and causes you to be on bed rest. Pooh on the Devil.
Kelly Out
The phrase my boy uses most often is, "You mean," followed by an insert of whatever it is he thinks I should've said in place of what I actually said. He knows now, from a single look, not to say this to his mother, ever. "Oh," he says meekly, flashing his dimples, "you mean what you say, huh mommy? Sorry."
So the other day, while not watching t.v., my control freak, my tasmanian and I, were all sitting down for a nice, peaceful game of Candy Land. But my know-it-all hadn't changed into play clothes (it was Sunday, and he was still in his church clothes) and he needed to don the appropriate apparel before throwin' down some mad gamin' skills.
"Pause, mom. That means stop the game, until I come back."
"I know what pause means, son. We won't play until you get back."
"I want to be blue!"
"Okay, you're blue."
"And you be red, and Kembry, you be yellow."
"Cohen, go into your bedroom and change, pleeeease."
(From his bedroom, approximately 4 seconds later) "MOM! Don't start without me!"
(From the living room, after a deep, relaxing breath) "We're not!"
But I didn't have to the yell. My wild-eyed maniac was suddenly standing right next to me, still in his church clothes, looking down at an untouched game. "Cohen, go into your room and change."
"But you did the cards without me!"
It went on like this for about five minutes. Kembry had completely abandoned any hope of ever playing her beloved Candy Land, and I had decided that the time was ripe for some butt kickin'. I mean, the time was ripe for teaching and inspiring and loving and nurturing.
I got up, left the game, and went into his room where he was struggling to button his shirt because he was trying to go so fast. "You need some help?"
"No!" Um...yes, you do.
"Okay, but if you let me help you, we can play sooner."
"Fine!" So I button his shirt.
"Son, do you trust mommy?"
A blank stare.
"Trust means that if I say something like I'll give you ten kisses, you know for sure that I will give you ten kisses." He smiles unsurely. I give him ten kisses, counting out loud.
"Or, if I say I'll make you lunch..." (this is a big issue in our house, he finished it for me) "That means you'll make it and we don't have to worry or keep asking!" He smiled broadly, knowing he got an answer right. That's a big deal for us know-it-alls.
"That's right. And if I say we won't play a game until you come back, then..."
I wait for it, wait for it....wait for it...I can see the cogs turning...
"That means you will wait for me. And not play without me. And you'll be red and I'll be blue and Kembry doesn't get to play because she kicked me."
Hey, it's a start!
Having no t.v. is fuuuun....
*Update. Unfortunately not being able to move is not conducive to not watching t.v. My children went to their grandmothers today. I don't know what happened there. I don't want to know. But I'm sure at some time today, t.v. was invovled. I'm trying not to think about it. Some things are out of my control (rinse and repeat) and like Bethany said, the Devil knows when you make a goal. He sets your uterus on fire and causes you to be on bed rest. Pooh on the Devil.
Kelly Out
Monday, March 29, 2010
Day One: The End?
Day One with no t.v. dawned ominous. Kembry woke up (so Brett tells me) "real early", and I clomp out of my bedroom not "real early" to find her watching t.v.
D'OH!
Oh well. I let myself be the bad guy, turned it off, ushered her into the kitchen where a gormet bowl of cereal awaited her.
Here's the thing about not watching t.v. It. Is. Hard. So, I packed up the monkeys and took us to the zoo. After the zoo we had a lovely 3 hour nap (hey, if I'm not gonna watch my life away, I can sleep it away, right?) followed by a deep cleaning of the mini-van. Yuck. But it's all for a good cause. I think...
After walking a few miles up and down hills and scrubbing my mini-van on all fours, I get a lovely call from my OBGYN's nurse. I have been having these sort of obnoxious 'cramps' turned 'contractions' for a few days now. Apparently that's not a good thing, who knew? So after lying to her, "Nooo...I haven't been doing anything strenuous. Long walks? Me? Nope." I was instructed to lay down the rest of the night and all of tomorrow, and if they're still coming, we get to make the lovely trip in for a super-nifty stress test.
Bleh.
My children outside. The rule still stands (for them). But I don't have a new book to read, and Brett's playing his guitar, and I'm not allowed to move around or jump on a trampoline or go skydiving (like I had originally planned to do tonight) so I am a quiter. Tonight and possibly all day tomorrow I will be watching t.v. I like to think of it as trying not to go into pre-term labor instead of admitting I'm a loser. At my own game.
I suck.
But tune in on Wednesday to see if the rainy weather has further weakened my resolve.
Kelly Out
*Update: T.V. has been off all evening. Brett is now playing a game with the rodents, and I'm watching. Very entertaining. I'm not thinking about CBS Monday nights at alllllllllll.
D'OH!
Oh well. I let myself be the bad guy, turned it off, ushered her into the kitchen where a gormet bowl of cereal awaited her.
Here's the thing about not watching t.v. It. Is. Hard. So, I packed up the monkeys and took us to the zoo. After the zoo we had a lovely 3 hour nap (hey, if I'm not gonna watch my life away, I can sleep it away, right?) followed by a deep cleaning of the mini-van. Yuck. But it's all for a good cause. I think...
After walking a few miles up and down hills and scrubbing my mini-van on all fours, I get a lovely call from my OBGYN's nurse. I have been having these sort of obnoxious 'cramps' turned 'contractions' for a few days now. Apparently that's not a good thing, who knew? So after lying to her, "Nooo...I haven't been doing anything strenuous. Long walks? Me? Nope." I was instructed to lay down the rest of the night and all of tomorrow, and if they're still coming, we get to make the lovely trip in for a super-nifty stress test.
Bleh.
My children outside. The rule still stands (for them). But I don't have a new book to read, and Brett's playing his guitar, and I'm not allowed to move around or jump on a trampoline or go skydiving (like I had originally planned to do tonight) so I am a quiter. Tonight and possibly all day tomorrow I will be watching t.v. I like to think of it as trying not to go into pre-term labor instead of admitting I'm a loser. At my own game.
I suck.
But tune in on Wednesday to see if the rainy weather has further weakened my resolve.
Kelly Out
*Update: T.V. has been off all evening. Brett is now playing a game with the rodents, and I'm watching. Very entertaining. I'm not thinking about CBS Monday nights at alllllllllll.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Decisions, Decisions
For sometime now I've been comtemplating doing something pretty radical, pretty out there, pretty insane.
I've been thinking about going an entire week without watching T.V.
!!!!?????!!!!!!
This is a HUGE decision for me. We don't watch a lot of t.v. I mean, we have our "shows", so do the kids. Every morning I thank the Heavens for television while I prepare breakfast for ravenous beasts. But I also use it as a crutch, and having been under the weather for the past few weeks, I think I've worn the crutch to a nub. My poor, deprived, television-desensitized children.
I've made a list of all the fun things we can do besides t.v. (watch out Tanya, we may be over a lot), and it's a pretty substantial list. And as I read the list, I realize these are a lot of things we're not doing all because t.v. is easier, faster, and sometimes (let's be honest) more interesting.
Syoooo, I'm gonna do it. It's taken me longer to pin down a date on this than it did to decide to have a third baby, or buy a house, or give away a kidney. Okay, I haven't given away a kidney, but you get the idea (I am a donor though, so I mean...that sort of counts, right?)
Wish me, and my children, who won't be speaking to me for a long time to come, a lot of luck!
Kelly Out
I've been thinking about going an entire week without watching T.V.
!!!!?????!!!!!!
This is a HUGE decision for me. We don't watch a lot of t.v. I mean, we have our "shows", so do the kids. Every morning I thank the Heavens for television while I prepare breakfast for ravenous beasts. But I also use it as a crutch, and having been under the weather for the past few weeks, I think I've worn the crutch to a nub. My poor, deprived, television-desensitized children.
I've made a list of all the fun things we can do besides t.v. (watch out Tanya, we may be over a lot), and it's a pretty substantial list. And as I read the list, I realize these are a lot of things we're not doing all because t.v. is easier, faster, and sometimes (let's be honest) more interesting.
Syoooo, I'm gonna do it. It's taken me longer to pin down a date on this than it did to decide to have a third baby, or buy a house, or give away a kidney. Okay, I haven't given away a kidney, but you get the idea (I am a donor though, so I mean...that sort of counts, right?)
Wish me, and my children, who won't be speaking to me for a long time to come, a lot of luck!
Kelly Out
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday Frivolity
I hate, despise, loath with every fiber in my being, talking on the telephone.
Ask my best friend. She knows not to call. Just come over or ask me at church or send a pigeon. But don't call.
My mother, who nurtured me in my formative years, cannot understand this extreme change in my nature. It may have something to do with the endless hours the phone receiver was connected to my ear. Who knows?
I would rather have hours worth of conversations via text-message than a one minute quicky via telephone. Yuck.
But you know, there are just always those people who know how to stay on the phone.
I want to shout, "Let me go! Leave me alone! Why are you doing this to me?" But I don't. I just nod and smile and say, "Uh-huh. Haha, that's funny. Really, oh my..." and so on and so forth and I start thinking, "I can do this. I can let this person save me from my sick, perculiar phobia." But ten seconds later I'm struggling again.
I try to cut in with things like, "You know, I really gotta go-" but they don't hear me. THEY DON'T HEAR ME!
So, in short, I love texting. I feel completely and utterly in control of my conversation duration and content. I can be succinct, precise, to the point. And they have to be too! And if they're not, it's no skin off my ears.
This is just one more reason I also love Facebook and blogging. I don't have to spend 10 hours over cold lunch catching up with people I haven't seen for 8 years. I'm already caught up.
The internet is like my morning coffee. Soooooo refreshing. And it helps perpetuate my need for isolation.
Thank you technology. Who needs therapy when I have you?
Kelly Out
Ask my best friend. She knows not to call. Just come over or ask me at church or send a pigeon. But don't call.
My mother, who nurtured me in my formative years, cannot understand this extreme change in my nature. It may have something to do with the endless hours the phone receiver was connected to my ear. Who knows?
I would rather have hours worth of conversations via text-message than a one minute quicky via telephone. Yuck.
But you know, there are just always those people who know how to stay on the phone.
I want to shout, "Let me go! Leave me alone! Why are you doing this to me?" But I don't. I just nod and smile and say, "Uh-huh. Haha, that's funny. Really, oh my..." and so on and so forth and I start thinking, "I can do this. I can let this person save me from my sick, perculiar phobia." But ten seconds later I'm struggling again.
I try to cut in with things like, "You know, I really gotta go-" but they don't hear me. THEY DON'T HEAR ME!
So, in short, I love texting. I feel completely and utterly in control of my conversation duration and content. I can be succinct, precise, to the point. And they have to be too! And if they're not, it's no skin off my ears.
This is just one more reason I also love Facebook and blogging. I don't have to spend 10 hours over cold lunch catching up with people I haven't seen for 8 years. I'm already caught up.
The internet is like my morning coffee. Soooooo refreshing. And it helps perpetuate my need for isolation.
Thank you technology. Who needs therapy when I have you?
Kelly Out
Thursday, March 25, 2010
News On The Cold Front
I am on my second round of antibiotics, and feeling much better. There was a day there, Monday, to be exact, that I thought I was dying. Fever, headache, chills, bodyaches, toes falling off, you name it. It was awful. But I perservered (read 'whined the entire time until Brett gave me anything I wanted to shut up') and now I am sure I can see a light at the end of the tunnel.
Now I have to catch up on what happened while I was contemplating jumping off a bridge. Dishes to the ceiling; sticky, dirty kitchen floor; laundry laundry laundry; and my favorite: cooped up kids.
It all makes me want to jump off a bridge =)
I think we'll go for a walk today. The rest will figure itself out while I'm gone. Right? Right?
Kelly Out
Now I have to catch up on what happened while I was contemplating jumping off a bridge. Dishes to the ceiling; sticky, dirty kitchen floor; laundry laundry laundry; and my favorite: cooped up kids.
It all makes me want to jump off a bridge =)
I think we'll go for a walk today. The rest will figure itself out while I'm gone. Right? Right?
Kelly Out
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
It Begins
My uterus is growing up now. This should, in turn, relieve the constant urge to urinate, yes? No. It seems I breed babies that are fascinated with the soft, squishy organ.
Son, if you are a son, I love you. Please get off my bladder now. We have a long 4 months ahead of us.
And although I have a new, gorgeous bathroom, I don't want to spend the next 24 weeks in it.
Thank you and goodnight.
Mama Out
Son, if you are a son, I love you. Please get off my bladder now. We have a long 4 months ahead of us.
And although I have a new, gorgeous bathroom, I don't want to spend the next 24 weeks in it.
Thank you and goodnight.
Mama Out
Comments
Sorry for the problem with the comments. I...think it's fixed now. I think. I hope. Good luck.
Kelly Out
Kelly Out
Friday, March 19, 2010
"Mother said you can always tell a lady by her hands."
Shhh...it's Bath Remodeling Season, and my husband is hunting for his wife to come and help him.
That's why I'm hiding in here, blogging. I'm such a good wife. I deserve an award for avoiding work so well.
Olive Garden, you say? Why yes, says I. Sounds delicious.
Wait, I think I've been found out. Dang it! Back to the grinding stone I go.
Kelly (sigh) Out
("I guess things like ladies and hands don't matter much anymore." Oh, shut up Carreen.)
That's why I'm hiding in here, blogging. I'm such a good wife. I deserve an award for avoiding work so well.
Olive Garden, you say? Why yes, says I. Sounds delicious.
Wait, I think I've been found out. Dang it! Back to the grinding stone I go.
Kelly (sigh) Out
("I guess things like ladies and hands don't matter much anymore." Oh, shut up Carreen.)
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Hodge Podge
My children are both sleeping, and much to my devastation, I cannot.
Last night I woke up several times choking to death. In the wee hours of the morning, I could not figure out why this was happening. This morning, after spitting out, swallowing, and hacking away with a pitchfork, I realized it was phlegm. I had a good long hard laugh at myself when I realized this.
I love our family doctor. I'm constantly concerned that I'm a hypochondriac, and he knows this. Lucky for me (lucky?) we usually leave with a prescription (and a refill, he knows us) of antibiotics. Yesterday was no exception.
He also informed me I have a long, uphill battle ahead of me. Being pregant ultimately means my immune system is on a sabatical, allowing my little peanut to remain in an undisturbed state of bliss.
Result: I may be choking on my phlegm for some weeks to come.
On the flip-side, monkey #3 is kicking up a wild storm, and I'm lovin' every minute of it!
On the flip-flip-side (would that be a 360?) I received these text-messages from my favorite step-mom yesterday and my naieve thoughts in between:
Kelly Out
Last night I woke up several times choking to death. In the wee hours of the morning, I could not figure out why this was happening. This morning, after spitting out, swallowing, and hacking away with a pitchfork, I realized it was phlegm. I had a good long hard laugh at myself when I realized this.
I love our family doctor. I'm constantly concerned that I'm a hypochondriac, and he knows this. Lucky for me (lucky?) we usually leave with a prescription (and a refill, he knows us) of antibiotics. Yesterday was no exception.
He also informed me I have a long, uphill battle ahead of me. Being pregant ultimately means my immune system is on a sabatical, allowing my little peanut to remain in an undisturbed state of bliss.
Result: I may be choking on my phlegm for some weeks to come.
On the flip-side, monkey #3 is kicking up a wild storm, and I'm lovin' every minute of it!
On the flip-flip-side (would that be a 360?) I received these text-messages from my favorite step-mom yesterday and my naieve thoughts in between:
Cheri is on a plane to Seattle (oh good, glad she's on her way home, probably misses her family) Grandma is sound asleep after a successful surgery (thank heavens everything went fine) Tim and I are home ALONE. We are running around the house naked and screaming because we can! (Does anyone have a gun I could borrow...I only need one bullet...straight to my head...) TEXT 2: Woops, forgot to close the blinds. Need to be bailed out of jail.Haha, I love my step-mom. She really knows how to keep me updated! I'm also thankful she doesn't read my blog. I think I might be in trouble for posting that. But what mama don't know...
Kelly Out
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
An End In Sight?
I am breaking down and going to the doctor's today. I think he could use another payment towards that boat we've bought him...
Last night was misery on top of misery wrapped in a vest. Coughing, sneezing, tearing and stretching of ligaments that one should not have to feel to this extent.
3 in the morning dawned much earlier than normal, I swear. Like a whole hour earlier...strange...
But Brett found a lovely present for me which has made the transition from normal life to head-cold-heck a little easier: two-ply toilet paper.
An explanation is in order, me thinks. About a month ago, I left the daunting task of picking out the toilet paper to Brett, who then passed the torch to Cohen, who corageously picked a single ply (or as I like to call it, 'no ply') toilet paper. Being the budget conscious (read 'cheap') people we are, we're making our way through this. But awww, two-ply. It was like blowing my nose on a cloud.
Off to drink another gallon of water, with which my body will make even more snot for me to cough up, sneeze up, and drown in.
Kelly Out
Last night was misery on top of misery wrapped in a vest. Coughing, sneezing, tearing and stretching of ligaments that one should not have to feel to this extent.
3 in the morning dawned much earlier than normal, I swear. Like a whole hour earlier...strange...
But Brett found a lovely present for me which has made the transition from normal life to head-cold-heck a little easier: two-ply toilet paper.
An explanation is in order, me thinks. About a month ago, I left the daunting task of picking out the toilet paper to Brett, who then passed the torch to Cohen, who corageously picked a single ply (or as I like to call it, 'no ply') toilet paper. Being the budget conscious (read 'cheap') people we are, we're making our way through this. But awww, two-ply. It was like blowing my nose on a cloud.
Off to drink another gallon of water, with which my body will make even more snot for me to cough up, sneeze up, and drown in.
Kelly Out
Monday, March 15, 2010
Wiiiiii
My son is playing WII while I attempt to ebb the flow of nasal drippage, unsuccessfully.
Did anyone besides me catch that?
My son, who I wouldn't let eat french fries until he was 18 months old, and now thinks potatoes are french fries and nothing else, is playing WII.
WII, a game console I swore I would never have in my house. Along with every other game console on the shelves. This was more for my protection than the kids though...I have an addictive personality =) Apparently addictive personalities are genetic. Shoot.
I'm too sick, too exhausted, too drippy to care right now. I'll care later.
"I'll think about that tomorrow." Oh, Scarlett, your vain wisdom comes in handy so often these days. BTW, did you ever get Rhett back?
Kelly Out
(Where's my daughter, you may ask. That is a great question.)
Did anyone besides me catch that?
My son, who I wouldn't let eat french fries until he was 18 months old, and now thinks potatoes are french fries and nothing else, is playing WII.
WII, a game console I swore I would never have in my house. Along with every other game console on the shelves. This was more for my protection than the kids though...I have an addictive personality =) Apparently addictive personalities are genetic. Shoot.
I'm too sick, too exhausted, too drippy to care right now. I'll care later.
"I'll think about that tomorrow." Oh, Scarlett, your vain wisdom comes in handy so often these days. BTW, did you ever get Rhett back?
Kelly Out
(Where's my daughter, you may ask. That is a great question.)
Sunday, March 14, 2010
La La La
Had a fabulous OBGYN ritual check-up. I love my doctor, he's laconic and serious, and grandpa-like all at the same time. Here are his responses.
My lack-of weight gain: Hmmm, we'll just have to keep an eye on that. (That's why I'm keeping an eye on a box full of chocolate donuts...yum.)
My headaches: I don't have your blood results, but they should be able to tell me if they'll go away or stick around. (It's been five weeks, how can they not have my blood results?)
The heartbeat: Sorry to tell you, sounds like a boy. (Sorry to tell me? Why on earth would he be sorry to tell me THAT?! Goof ball.)
It did, sound like a boy. He was spot-on with Kembry and Cohen. He's two-fer-two. But the best part...
After smoothing the fat down on my belly and feeling around, hearing the heartbeat and having the baby kick away the "probe": You may be further along than we thought.
Yes! YES YES YES YES YES! That's everyone woman's hope and wish at every appointment.
And the BEST BEST PART! Ultra-sound, April 12. Suuuuuuper excited.
On the flip-side, I'm ready to shove a burning hot-rod down my throat to kill all the bacteria that are causing me the worst sore throat I've ever had. It's horrible. I even had to stop talking Friday night. What a torture, poor Brett didn't know what to do with himself. Without me talking all the time, the silence was just too much for him. He nearly jumped out of the moving car. Okay, not really. He's probably thanking the Lord right now, though. Oh well.
This too shall pass.
After I shove the hot-rod down my throat.
Kelly Out
My lack-of weight gain: Hmmm, we'll just have to keep an eye on that. (That's why I'm keeping an eye on a box full of chocolate donuts...yum.)
My headaches: I don't have your blood results, but they should be able to tell me if they'll go away or stick around. (It's been five weeks, how can they not have my blood results?)
The heartbeat: Sorry to tell you, sounds like a boy. (Sorry to tell me? Why on earth would he be sorry to tell me THAT?! Goof ball.)
It did, sound like a boy. He was spot-on with Kembry and Cohen. He's two-fer-two. But the best part...
After smoothing the fat down on my belly and feeling around, hearing the heartbeat and having the baby kick away the "probe": You may be further along than we thought.
Yes! YES YES YES YES YES! That's everyone woman's hope and wish at every appointment.
And the BEST BEST PART! Ultra-sound, April 12. Suuuuuuper excited.
On the flip-side, I'm ready to shove a burning hot-rod down my throat to kill all the bacteria that are causing me the worst sore throat I've ever had. It's horrible. I even had to stop talking Friday night. What a torture, poor Brett didn't know what to do with himself. Without me talking all the time, the silence was just too much for him. He nearly jumped out of the moving car. Okay, not really. He's probably thanking the Lord right now, though. Oh well.
This too shall pass.
After I shove the hot-rod down my throat.
Kelly Out
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Fun Giveaway, Funnier Blog
Ever been to "Mable's House"? Yeah, me neither, they live in Alabama I think. But I do visit Mable's blog. You should too. And while you're there, enter yourself for a fun giveaway.
Mables House
Kelly Out
Mables House
Kelly Out
Another Word I Can Never Use Again
Cathartic.
I used to say things like, "Talking to you is very cathartic." "The massage was so cathartic." "Chocolate is very cathartic." Wait, that last one is true.
-adjective
evacuating the bowels; purgative.
You're welcome.
*Update: I've decided I'm going to still use this word, and have myself a little giggle every time.
Thanks for listening. This has been very cathartic. Hehe.
I used to say things like, "Talking to you is very cathartic." "The massage was so cathartic." "Chocolate is very cathartic." Wait, that last one is true.
-adjective
evacuating the bowels; purgative.
You're welcome.
*Update: I've decided I'm going to still use this word, and have myself a little giggle every time.
Thanks for listening. This has been very cathartic. Hehe.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Worries of Baby Baking
Alt Title: Why I Think We Should Get Ultrasounds Each Month
I have not gained any weight. I have actually lost weight. And if you had seen me eat in Chicago, you would be worried too! Not to mention I avoided any and all physical activity while I was there, and slept a good portion of my vacation away. Brett's logical explanation: "It's the HCG honey! People use it all the time to lose weight!"
Okay, so I'm only 14 weeks along. I really shouldn't be complaining about not gaining weight, and I'm not. I have 5 more months of weight gaining opportunities, and I can garuntee I'll be taking advantage.
But...But...is everything okay?
I haven't felt any wiggles in two days. Granted most women haven't even felt their peanut even by this point, let alone every day.
But...But...is everything okay?
I haven't been sick, tired, hormonal (Brett may disagree with this one) and all symptoms except an occassional (HORRIBLE) headache have eluded me.
My belly isn't growing much. I can still wear my regular pants (with a nifty hair tie around button and hole) and sleep on my tummy.
Well, I'm sure everything is fine. My round ligaments are stretching nicely. Coughing and sneezing are as agonizing as ever. No questionable activity has happened "down south" so I really have nothing to worry about (I can actually hear my OBGYN's voice saying this).
I think we produce a worry hormone when we're pregnant. That way, worrying about all the little things, there's no way we'd ignore the big ones.
I guess like any baking, you worry until it's done. "Why isn't the bread rising? Why isn't the rice cooking? Why are the carrots not softening? Why isn't the gravy thickening? Why is the chicken on fire?"
The only cure for this worry is delivery. I'll take it! I mean, in 5 months, I'll take it!
Kelly Out
I have not gained any weight. I have actually lost weight. And if you had seen me eat in Chicago, you would be worried too! Not to mention I avoided any and all physical activity while I was there, and slept a good portion of my vacation away. Brett's logical explanation: "It's the HCG honey! People use it all the time to lose weight!"
Okay, so I'm only 14 weeks along. I really shouldn't be complaining about not gaining weight, and I'm not. I have 5 more months of weight gaining opportunities, and I can garuntee I'll be taking advantage.
But...But...is everything okay?
I haven't felt any wiggles in two days. Granted most women haven't even felt their peanut even by this point, let alone every day.
But...But...is everything okay?
I haven't been sick, tired, hormonal (Brett may disagree with this one) and all symptoms except an occassional (HORRIBLE) headache have eluded me.
My belly isn't growing much. I can still wear my regular pants (with a nifty hair tie around button and hole) and sleep on my tummy.
Well, I'm sure everything is fine. My round ligaments are stretching nicely. Coughing and sneezing are as agonizing as ever. No questionable activity has happened "down south" so I really have nothing to worry about (I can actually hear my OBGYN's voice saying this).
I think we produce a worry hormone when we're pregnant. That way, worrying about all the little things, there's no way we'd ignore the big ones.
I guess like any baking, you worry until it's done. "Why isn't the bread rising? Why isn't the rice cooking? Why are the carrots not softening? Why isn't the gravy thickening? Why is the chicken on fire?"
The only cure for this worry is delivery. I'll take it! I mean, in 5 months, I'll take it!
Kelly Out
Monday, March 08, 2010
Guilt-Shmilt
I often wonder at my being a stay-at-home-mom. I sometimes think I'm failing at my job. If I was being paid, I'm pretty sure I would've been fired by now. I mean, if I'm not accomplishing what I should be, why don't I just get a job and contribute to the stash of gold?
There are many facets that feed into this guilt. One of them being that I am prone to guilt. Another being that I feel I'm asking too much of my 40-hours-a-week husband. Why should I be asking him to dress the kids in the morning? Why should he cook dinner 4 out of the 6 nights a week we should be eating at home? Even if he is a much better cook than me?
I'm not a feminist, by any means. On the far side of the scale, I'm also not Betty Crocker. I rarely wear an apron, and if I do, it tends to stay on for days at a time, simply because I forget to take it off. (This is why you see me walking around the neighborhood with my apron. Not because I'm some amazing woman who participates in such activities which would call for said apron.)
I hate, loathe, despise with every fiber in my being, day time shows, soap operas, features on the news, and any show placed in a court room. It's like I'm a secretary who can't type. It's standard that I be obsessed with at least one of these, isn't it?
I don't do playdates. I mean, we go and play with friends, and sometimes scheduel these interactions, but I don't do "playdates". I don't need to sit around with a bunch of other moms while their children pull my childrens hair, bite them, and otherwise make the afternoon a nightmare.
I won't be surprised if my third childs' first word is "McDonalds".
But my son can read and write. My daughter has great gumption which I assure myself she got from watching me as an example. They play outside and get plenty of Vitamin D and Kembry's hair is up and pretty 98% of the time. They both potty trained at 2 years old. They know where their shoes go if they're not on their feet, and they make it to that spot 76% of the time.
So what if they know that when daddy comes home, mommy shuts down almost completely. So what if my house is never always spotless. Bah, I don't want to raise my kids in that atmosphere. We need dirt! We need clutter! We need counters full of breakfast dishes and most likely last nights dinner! We need these things, otherwise, they won't have a happy mommy.
And everyone knows, if mommy ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
So, pooh on guilt. I vacuumed today. Did some dishes. Threw in some laundry. Made some lunch. I'd say that's a job well done. I wouldn't expect a bonus or a raise for this. Maybe just a look of great surprise and big hug and a kiss from my adoring husband.
Kelly Out
There are many facets that feed into this guilt. One of them being that I am prone to guilt. Another being that I feel I'm asking too much of my 40-hours-a-week husband. Why should I be asking him to dress the kids in the morning? Why should he cook dinner 4 out of the 6 nights a week we should be eating at home? Even if he is a much better cook than me?
I'm not a feminist, by any means. On the far side of the scale, I'm also not Betty Crocker. I rarely wear an apron, and if I do, it tends to stay on for days at a time, simply because I forget to take it off. (This is why you see me walking around the neighborhood with my apron. Not because I'm some amazing woman who participates in such activities which would call for said apron.)
I hate, loathe, despise with every fiber in my being, day time shows, soap operas, features on the news, and any show placed in a court room. It's like I'm a secretary who can't type. It's standard that I be obsessed with at least one of these, isn't it?
I don't do playdates. I mean, we go and play with friends, and sometimes scheduel these interactions, but I don't do "playdates". I don't need to sit around with a bunch of other moms while their children pull my childrens hair, bite them, and otherwise make the afternoon a nightmare.
I won't be surprised if my third childs' first word is "McDonalds".
But my son can read and write. My daughter has great gumption which I assure myself she got from watching me as an example. They play outside and get plenty of Vitamin D and Kembry's hair is up and pretty 98% of the time. They both potty trained at 2 years old. They know where their shoes go if they're not on their feet, and they make it to that spot 76% of the time.
So what if they know that when daddy comes home, mommy shuts down almost completely. So what if my house is never always spotless. Bah, I don't want to raise my kids in that atmosphere. We need dirt! We need clutter! We need counters full of breakfast dishes and most likely last nights dinner! We need these things, otherwise, they won't have a happy mommy.
And everyone knows, if mommy ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
So, pooh on guilt. I vacuumed today. Did some dishes. Threw in some laundry. Made some lunch. I'd say that's a job well done. I wouldn't expect a bonus or a raise for this. Maybe just a look of great surprise and big hug and a kiss from my adoring husband.
Kelly Out
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Grubby Mitts
Brett just made this wicked delicious chicken, which we inhaled. Kembry even devoured hers. But Cohen thought it was too spicy, so Brett gave me Cohen's piece.
Unfortunately, Kembry was still hungry. She ripped the chicken outta my hand and finished it off.
Little thief.
Kelly Still Hungry
(Mmmm. Brett's re-heating some yummy garlic bread with mozzarella and sliced tomatoe's. Can ya tell I'm pregnant?)
(I had to double check spelling on half of these words. I have no brain. Good night.)
Unfortunately, Kembry was still hungry. She ripped the chicken outta my hand and finished it off.
Little thief.
Kelly Still Hungry
(Mmmm. Brett's re-heating some yummy garlic bread with mozzarella and sliced tomatoe's. Can ya tell I'm pregnant?)
(I had to double check spelling on half of these words. I have no brain. Good night.)
Dear Midrin,
I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to wake up and not have a headache. To open the blinds and soak in the sun. To not curse the clock for ticking so loud. That my children, who are still sleeping, can come out being loud and noisy like always, not tip-toeing around because mommy's head hurts.
I can open my jaw and not scream out in pain. I can stand up straight. I can take in a deep breath. As much as I've enjoyed being burried under pillows this last week, I have to say I won't miss it much.
One last thing. Do you also clean carpets and wash dishes and fold laundry? Well, we can't all be perfect...
Sincerely,
Me
I can open my jaw and not scream out in pain. I can stand up straight. I can take in a deep breath. As much as I've enjoyed being burried under pillows this last week, I have to say I won't miss it much.
One last thing. Do you also clean carpets and wash dishes and fold laundry? Well, we can't all be perfect...
Sincerely,
Me
Friday, March 05, 2010
Confessions of a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Mother
Things I swear I don't say, but obviously do:
"Freaking children!" Courtesy of Kembry.
"What the hell?!" Courtesy of Cohen (this has been remedied, I swear. I mean, an oath. I don't swear swear. Well, obviously I said this one, and enough to encourage my four year old to parrot me. I'm going to go and drown in a coke now...pregnant.)
"M-O-N-K-E-Y. Monkey. Monkey! Haha, that's your name Kembry." Wow, thanks Cohen. In my defense, you look like a monkey, you act like a monkey, you ocassionally smell like a monkey (the girls got a serious funk) I call you a monkey. Or Bermuda Butt.
"I think I'm relaxing mom. I am relaxing. Just let me relax, mom." Relax away, son, relax away.
With her tiny little hand in my face, "Just leave me alone mom." She's THREE! Lord, please help me in the next 27 years. Please be by my side, showering oodles and gads of patience upon me. Please bind my hands behind my back. Please glue my lips shut. Please help my eye stop twitching.
And, my favorite. "Oh, my back just hurts. I need to lay down." Aww, Kembry, my little actress.
See, kind of monkey-sih
#3, what will you bring?
Thursday, March 04, 2010
7 Year Itch
I love Brett 7 years more than I did 7 years ago today.
We have two children, and one on a way. "All because two people fell in love..."
Our backyard is finished, glorious, beautiful, amazing. Because of Brett.
I've become a full-time stay-at-home-mom, and as much as it is a sacrifice, it's an even bigger blessing.
So if you had 7 years in the bet, YOU LOSE! Like I said before, unless they legalize marriage to guitars, or Brett finds out about my Puerto Rican wonder, divorce is not emminent.
I love my husband. He knows me better than I know myself. He's still kind enough to leave me alone if I'm crying. Sweet enough to hold me when I need him to. Smart enough to lie to me and tell me my piano-playing skills are improving. Funny enough to make me cry from laughing. Tall enough to get items from the high cupboards (definitely a worthy skill). Encouraging enough to help me progress my (poor) writing. Caring enough to love his children. Patient enough to not kill them. Handsome enough to make me swoon. Daring enough to kill spiders. Playful enough to tickle. Spiritual enough to help our whole families growth. Creative enough to improve our home. Clever enough to fix anything that breaks.
He is our Patriarch, our hero. He is the man who plays Punch Out, who combs Barbie's hair. He folds laundry and washes dishes. He cooks delicious dinners. He takes us out to lunch. He writes amazing music. He works hard. Or hardly works...whatever.
And yet he still hasn't figured out that he got a raw deal seven years ago. Shhh...maybe I'll get him for a few more years =)
We have two children, and one on a way. "All because two people fell in love..."
Our backyard is finished, glorious, beautiful, amazing. Because of Brett.
I've become a full-time stay-at-home-mom, and as much as it is a sacrifice, it's an even bigger blessing.
So if you had 7 years in the bet, YOU LOSE! Like I said before, unless they legalize marriage to guitars, or Brett finds out about my Puerto Rican wonder, divorce is not emminent.
I love my husband. He knows me better than I know myself. He's still kind enough to leave me alone if I'm crying. Sweet enough to hold me when I need him to. Smart enough to lie to me and tell me my piano-playing skills are improving. Funny enough to make me cry from laughing. Tall enough to get items from the high cupboards (definitely a worthy skill). Encouraging enough to help me progress my (poor) writing. Caring enough to love his children. Patient enough to not kill them. Handsome enough to make me swoon. Daring enough to kill spiders. Playful enough to tickle. Spiritual enough to help our whole families growth. Creative enough to improve our home. Clever enough to fix anything that breaks.
He is our Patriarch, our hero. He is the man who plays Punch Out, who combs Barbie's hair. He folds laundry and washes dishes. He cooks delicious dinners. He takes us out to lunch. He writes amazing music. He works hard. Or hardly works...whatever.
And yet he still hasn't figured out that he got a raw deal seven years ago. Shhh...maybe I'll get him for a few more years =)
Happy Anniversary to the greatest man in the entire history of the world (to me).
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
2nd Tri Begins
So worth a two day headache.
Wiggle wiggle wiggle.
I felt Kembry at 13 weeks. She was so soft and gentle, almost as if she was dancing. She strayed from my ribs in later months, but did enjoy my squishy bladder.
This little monkey is very squirmy, very wiggly, and very very alive.
I love the second trimester =)
Wiggle wiggle wiggle.
I felt Kembry at 13 weeks. She was so soft and gentle, almost as if she was dancing. She strayed from my ribs in later months, but did enjoy my squishy bladder.
This little monkey is very squirmy, very wiggly, and very very alive.
I love the second trimester =)
Monday, March 01, 2010
A Re-cap
Because a week is a LONG time to sum up, I'm just gonna bullet point my totally awesome vacation to Chicago. Okay, I'm gonna bullet point ONE DAY of my totally awesome vacation to Chicago.
About an hour out of Northbrook, I tried to curl my toes, ya know, give 'em a little stretch. But I couldn't. Bad sign. I reached down and felt my calf. It was rock hard and twice it's usual size. Uh-oh. But Brett was fast asleep. So I kept on until 20 minutes outside the city, pulled over, poked him in the eye, and made him drive. I could barely walk back into the hotel. My feet wouldn't go into my shoes. BUT! we got to sleep in until 12:44 the next day. Awesome.
The rest of the trip consists of delicious food, lots of sleeping, hot tubbing, swimming, and getting lost. I really appreciate the introduction to new and delicious food, but I resent the fact that all those wonderful restaurants are in a far-away land that I may never visit again.
By the end of the week, I missed the kids so much, I was very ready to go home. My luggage got lost again, but I got upgraded to first class and got free t.v. syooooo, I'm not complainin'. Most of my clothes were in Brett's luggage anyway (weighing in at a hefty 49 lbs!)
It was really nice being disconnected from the world. I still feel misplaced being home. I wake up expecting a nice, clean hotel room. But I guess I prefer the 6:30 morning call from Kembry (growing pains again, poor thing) and the incoherent morning ramblings of the boy. He's hilarious.
Yay home!
Kelly Out
- I missed my very first flight. Not a big deal, it turns out, except that my luggage went to my original airport destination while I did not.
- Brett's work spoils him with his hotel room.
- Nauvoo is a very long way away from Northbrook. But Brett made me laugh uncomfortably hard the entire way.
- The original door is in the Carthage jail. With the original bullet hole. Pretty cool.
- We got privagte tours at Carthage and the Nauvoo Temple. It's like they were all just there for us...
- Did a session at the Nauvoo Temple. Amazing, beautiful temple. Great experience.
- Brett asked if he could call the Bridge Toll Taker a Troll. I married the perfect man.
- We crossed the Mississippi three times. Does this sound right to you?
- Arby's in Des Moines serves chicken soup. They also have mustard. Gross.
- I saw a Bald Eagle hanging out in a tree outside Burlington. I mean, just hanging out. Not in a zoo. It. Was. Amazing. I'm still geekin' out.
About an hour out of Northbrook, I tried to curl my toes, ya know, give 'em a little stretch. But I couldn't. Bad sign. I reached down and felt my calf. It was rock hard and twice it's usual size. Uh-oh. But Brett was fast asleep. So I kept on until 20 minutes outside the city, pulled over, poked him in the eye, and made him drive. I could barely walk back into the hotel. My feet wouldn't go into my shoes. BUT! we got to sleep in until 12:44 the next day. Awesome.
The rest of the trip consists of delicious food, lots of sleeping, hot tubbing, swimming, and getting lost. I really appreciate the introduction to new and delicious food, but I resent the fact that all those wonderful restaurants are in a far-away land that I may never visit again.
By the end of the week, I missed the kids so much, I was very ready to go home. My luggage got lost again, but I got upgraded to first class and got free t.v. syooooo, I'm not complainin'. Most of my clothes were in Brett's luggage anyway (weighing in at a hefty 49 lbs!)
It was really nice being disconnected from the world. I still feel misplaced being home. I wake up expecting a nice, clean hotel room. But I guess I prefer the 6:30 morning call from Kembry (growing pains again, poor thing) and the incoherent morning ramblings of the boy. He's hilarious.
Yay home!
Kelly Out
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