Need to Get Something Off My Chest

...and no, I'm not referring to the milk jugs that disappeared (sadly) from my chest.  But it IS pregnancy related. Isn't everything?  

It's probably just a mix of being postpartum, inadequate sleep and too much time to think about things.  But I am kind-of pissed that I'm no longer pregnant.  I LOVE having Blake here - don't get me wrong about that - but I wasn't finished being pregnant when she arrived.  Makes complete sense, right?  The girl who complained nonstop about being pregnant is now saying that she wasn't ready to end her pregnancy a few weeks earlier than anticipated? WTF?

I guess I just feel like I needed to do more things.  I wanted to take a final belly shot.  I wanted to have her room completely ready.  I had tons of drawers to clean out and wanted to straighten out our closet.  I wanted to be emotionally and mentally ready for the last child that I would have growing inside of me.  Maybe you are never really ready to have your last baby, but I at least wanted the opportunity to try.  

This is something that has been on my mind since August 19th.  And it hasn't gone away so I am pretty sure it's a legitimate feeling.  That's not saying it's normal... but it's legitimate.  

And another thing, has anyone found a way to slow down the clock?  I want to push the PAUSE button and enjoy Dennis, Connor and Blake more than I am able to do in a normal 24 hour period.  HELLO, I need more time in a day.  I know that I'm the first one to ever ask for that.  

I didn't realize it when it was happening, but I have tried my best to manipulate time and make my maternity leave go as slow as possible.  I didn't want to be overly busy because, as we all know,  "time flies when you are having fun".  So, in a backwards type of way, I thought that if I wasn't having fun, at least time would go more slowly.  Talk about being smart and beating the clock at it's own game.  Or maybe not being smart at all.  Time still managed to escape my grasp.  I was unsuccessful at slowing it down.

Maybe I had it backwards, afterall.  Since time was moving too quickly when I was trying not to have fun, maybe it would move less quickly when I caved in and participated in something that I wanted to do.  

So, I gave in to some fun options as of late, and just as I feared, the days and minutes were never long enough.  I went to the beach with some girlfriends a few weeks ago.  I flew home with Blake and Kelly to visit my family.  My mom came into town last week.  I even got my hair cut and highlighted (gasp).

While I was home in Missouri, I went to Shiloh with Megan.  We've been friends forever (literally) and have been going to bars together for many years... years before we were supposed to be allowed in there.  I looked around and felt old.  Very old.  

When we were headed home (by 10pm, as Megan promised me), Ben said something that made me laugh really hard.  

I told him to stop making me laugh because I was going to pee in my pants.  Not because he was that funny (sorry Ben) but because that's what happens after you have two kids.  You pee in your pants.

And maybe that's my learning.  Or the story of my life lately.  Two kids have a way of not only changing but redefining everything.  EVERY-thing. And you have less control over things.  Things like bladder control and needing more time in each day. 

Happy 2 Months

October 17, 2011

Dear Blake,

This month has seen so many changes!  Not only are you showing us your big gummy grin on a more regular basis, but you are also sharing some incredibly sweet cooing noises.  As of a week ago, your dad pointed out that you were complaining most - well, let's be serious here, all - of the time.  Now you are showing him up and saying nice things to us, too, which is very much appreciated. 

You are holding your neck up so well.  No signs of crawling or walking yet, but I have this feeling that you are going to do everything very early.  Once you see realize that your big brother gets around so quickly because of how he uses his legs, I think you'll start to use your lower appendages for more than kicking the person nearest you.  No rush on that, though.  We can stick with kicking for now.

Holding you in my arms and having you fall asleep on my chest are two of my favorite things.  I know that I won't get to hold you that way forever;   I cherish every moment that I can steal you away from your swing or bouncy seat if you appear to be drifting off to sleep.  Those are moments that I wish I could bottle up and store for another time.  Oh, I just love it.  (And I'm getting tears in my eyes thinking that I probably won't be able to do that with you for that much longer.)

You and I decided to say "phooey" on breastfeeding.  When I say, "you and I", I mean "you".  Seven weeks was a good run for us; you much prefer the speed and ease of the bottle as opposed to the work required for breastfeeding.  You are much happier with a mixed bottle of breast milk and formula.  And I learned very quickly... when Blake's happy, we're ALL happy.  So we're doing great right now.

Sleeping is a work in progress.  Your dad will give you the last bottle of the day around 10pm and then he whisks you off to your crib to sleep.  Around 3am, I hear a familiar sound coming from your room (AKA a yell) and we have our bottle-feeding rendezvous and you are back off to sleep until about six am.  So, we're getting there... we're just not at the finish line quite yet.  I'm confident that you'll get there soon enough, though.  At least that is what I keep telling your dad and myself.  Please don't prove me wrong. 

Tomorrow, October 18th, will be your first airplane flight.  Kelly ("AK") and I are taking you to Columbia to meet your great grandma Loesing, great aunts and uncles and to see your Nana and Papa.  I doubt that your Nana and Papa will be able to sleep tonight because they are so excited to see you.  They still like us, sort-of, but they LOVE seeing you and Connor at every opportunity they get. 

I love you, Blake.  You make every day so much more special than I knew it could be.  Thank you for being you. 

Love,

Mommy

Oh, and BTW - I realize that this is technically two days shy of your "2 month" birthday.  Being early is not something I do very often so we should enjoy it.  :)

A Berry Interesting Adventure

It seemed so simple.  Leave our house around 9AM, bottle feed Blake on the way, play around at the "cow farm" (Berry Patch Farms), grab some pumpkins, and then head back home by lunch time so we'd be there in time for our family nap. 

And, what happened today was none of that.  We finally departed the Martin residence around 9:30 with a crying 7 week old and excited little boy in the back seat.  We stopped to get gas at BP and coffee at the connected McDonald's.  Dennis went into the dual-purpose building and re-emerged what seemed like decades later.  It seemed like decades, anyway, because my gas pump wasn't working (it kept saying, "SEE CASHIER") when I tried to pay at the pump.  Blake was crying in what I'm sure was her loudest voice ever and Connor then joined in the fun and started crying saying, "My want cow farm, mama... my want cow farm!"

Blake's cries didn't sound like they were going to subside so I offered what seemed like the only obvious solution:  I would sit in the back of my very teeny-tiny company car (Fusion) in between the kids and feed Blake as she sat in her car seat.  Once I climbed in over Connor's lap and was situated between them I realized that I wasn't able to pull the door closed.  We must've looked ridiculous because a lady at a nearby pump asked if I wanted her to close the door for me. 

And this is all before we were officially on the way to the Pumpkin Farm. 

Connor kept asking me, "What dat, Mama?"  I would tell him it's a tree or a car or a fence and then he raised his voice and started talking really loud.  I asked him to please be quiet.  And then I said it. 

"Connor, do you want to go to the cow farm?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Then don't yell.  Cows don't like it when you yell.  And we won't go to the cow farm if you keep yelling."

"OK Mama."

Did I really just say that?  Cows don't like it when you yell? 

I looked up front to see if Dennis heard what I said and closed my mouth before the words came out.  Because he was jamming out to the 90's radio station and was dancing to Coolio.

Two things happened in that moment:  I realized we aren't that cool anymore, even though we think we are.  Dennis dancing in the front seat and I am using cows to get my son to use his inside voice.  Really???

Somehow, we made it there, all three of us sitting in the back with the best looking chauffeur that I've ever seen. 

Once at Berry Patch Farms, we saw goats, pigs, and a few chickens.  There was one cow, but it was really small.  We took some pictures, chased Connor around, had Connors face painted, and then re-loaded the crazy bus for our 45 minute drive home.  For some reason I thought it made sense to leave the Baby Bjorn in the car and just carry Blake instead.  So both Dennis and I had our arms full.  Too full to bring home any pumpkins. 

We drove 45 minutes and dealt with all of this drama so that we could get our pumpkins. 

But we didn't bring even one home.  Nada.  Zippo.  ZERO. 

So, I'm just throwing it out there that we're going to cheat this year.  We're going to a nearby church next week to buy our pumpkins. 

From Beer to Apple Juice

It feels like our house is never organized.  Toys and random items seem to be scattered about on a regular basis.  The only time that I feel like our house is truly clean is immediately following a visit from the cleaning ladies.  It's a wonderful feeling that goes away all too quickly.  But, I'm coming to grips with it.  And I'm accepting the fact that I love our crazy life and having a crazy house often goes hand-in-hand with that.  So, we're good for now.

And, yesterday was no exception.  There was no sign of the cleaning crew, so our house was in it's normal state of chaos.  And Connor was drinking some apple juice.  My laptop was sitting in one of it's normal spots, on the coffee table.  Right next to the iPad.  And yes, you can see where this story is going. 

My laptop apparently wasn't very thirsty or it just didn't like apple juice.  So it's out of commission.  Dead, deceased, kicked the bucket.  What a wuss - crapping out on me just because it didn't like apple juice.  WhatEV.  And apple juice is good for you (we buy the brands suggested by Dr. Oz to be at least as safe as the water we drink)!  Jeez, Louise, Mr. Computer.  Get a grip.

Five or six years ago I had a similar incident happen.  While using my laptop, I decided to enjoy an adult beverage and ended up - - and I'm embarrassed to now admit this - - crying as I heard the computer literally squeal and squawk to it's death as it gulped down some of my Bud Light.  I cried.  I think I may have even squealed and screamed as much as my laptop did.  It was pretty pathetic on both of our parts. 

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I realize that the obvious lesson here is that I need to put my computer out of harms way - that is clear.  And no beverages - adult or otherwise - within a 10 foot radius is another good recommendation. 

Life isn't the same as it was just a few years ago.  Apple juice, rather than beer, seems to be the most popular beverage at my house.  And this time, as my priorities in life have been upgraded, I didn't cry over spilled apple juice.  And I try not to cry when I spill some of Blake's breast milk that I worked so hard to pump...but that's a work in progress.  Baby steps.

Life with Two

Several people have asked me how much different life is with two kiddos as compared to life with only one.  This short photo sequence answers the question pretty well. 

Happy One Month

Blake,

It's hard to believe that we have had you in our arms for an entire month. Laying on my chest for naptime, in your pack-n-play downstairs, in your very pink car seat, and in our hearts. 

You and I have pretty much mastered the breastfeeding thing.  The only element that we could work on (and I say "we" but really mean "you") is sleeping more at night and possibly a little less during the day.  During the day, I'd love to hold you and be able to look into your sweet eyes a little bit more.  Or maybe you could watch your big brother (who LOVES you, by the way) or big sister, Echo, as they run through the house.  And at night, you are very good at reminding me every three hours - pretty much on the dot - that you are hungry.  And you want to be fed.  Pronto. 

Weighing in at 10 lbs and 3 oz's at a check up last week, I am glad that you are a growing girl.  And, you are only one month old, so maybe I shouldn't expect too much in the way of sleeping right now, anyway.   

When I was pregnant, I told your Dad that you were very active.  I'm not saying he didn't believe me then, but I am sure he believes me now.  Those little legs of yours are constantly kicking, your arms moving around and you are determined to strengthen your neck so that you can hold your head up on your own.  Getting you into your swaddling blanket every night is no easy task.  Those arms move quick!

I love, love, love your dark hair.  And that you have so much of it.  It's absolutely beautiful. 

There will be a day that I won't smell like sour milk, won't change what feels like 100 diapers a day, and will feel very rested.  But I'm in no rush to get to that part of my life again.  I love being at home with you and I love our time together. 

Thank you for your sweet toothless smiles in your sleep, your high level of energy (when awake), and for just being you.  For one little girl, you have brought an immense amount of joy and fun into our lives.

I love you, B. 

Love,

Mom

And...She's Here.

Connor arrived in early June and his due date was late May.  Blake wanted to show him up, I guess, so she decided to arrive in mid-August instead of early September.  If this is a sign of things to come, I am concerned about what the kids (it's still weird using the plural form of that word) have in store for Mom and Dad down the line.  If they are already on their own schedule and not listening to how Mom and Dad have it planned out, we are surely in trouble...

Because, if you haven't noticed, I am a planner.   A scheduled c-section for Blake's birthday meant that (1) I didn't have to go through painful contractions or the scare we had when Connor was born, (2) it would be a controlled, and timely process, and (3) I could be organized and have everything ready in plenty of time for her debut. 

Nope, it didn't work out that way.  Of course not.  And I should've expected as much.  I actually should've expected something was going to happen when our AC unit stopped working Thursday afternoon.  And my parents were on an Alaskan cruise; Dennis' parents were at the beach.

I didn't seem to suffer as much as Dennis did in the heat, so I slept upstairs in our bedroom Thursday night while Dennis got comfortable on the couch downstairs.  I didn't sleep well, but attributed that to the lack of AC and me being a pregnant woman that was super ready to pop.

Dennis came upstairs to shower to see me holding my abdomen.

"Are you OK?  Are you going into labor?"

"No, I'm fine.  I think I just have bad cramps."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure.  I am getting these cramps every 4-5 minutes, though. And my water might've broke(n).  I am leaky."

"These could really be contractions, Krista.  I should take Connor to school right now and we'll get you to the doctor."

"I'll call the nurse but I'm sure that these aren't contractions.  Blake's due date isn't for 3 more weeks.  I don't deliver kids early."

Dennis took Connor to school and called me as soon as he dropped him off.  I had to get off of the phone quickly because the pain of my 'cramps' was causing me to throw up.  I was starting to believe that these might be contractions that I was feeling.

Dennis came home, I threw some things in a bag (of course, we hadn't packed yet because we had 2 more weeks until the scheduled c-section), grabbed a container for me to use as a "puke bucket" and we were off.  Well, we tried to be "off" but rush hour on Friday morning had other ideas.  As you can imagine, I had a few choice words for those cars in our way. 

I called the doctor to see if I still needed to come in to see them or if I could straight to the hospital.  The nurse encouraged me to come in to be checked out and then they could send me to the hospital if necessary.  I asked the nurse if she had pain medication or if I'd have to wait until I got to the hospital to get it.  She said that they can only give me pain medication at the hospital, so my decision was made.  We were going straight to Northside Hospital. 

I filled out a few forms at the front desk as Dennis parked the car.  The nice lady behind the desk got me in to a room immediately.  My tears and frequent use of the puke bucket might've helped my cause, too. 

Our check in time was 9AM and Blake arrived right before noon by c-section despite the on-call physicians attempts to talk me into doing a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarian).  And man-oh-man am I glad that I refused to change our plans.  Blake was not a small baby at all; she tipped the scales at 8 lbs, 15 oz's on August 19th. 

Dennis will undoubtedly agree that Blake's arrival was much more smooth than Connor's entrance into the world.  Besides my pain, puking, and frequent request for pain medications, this time was not nearly as stressful for either of us.  Or for Blake.

Even though she is a far cry size-wise from what you'd expect of a "preemie", she is still considered to be premature because she was born at 37 weeks.  A big, healthy, beautiful baby girl.  And, HAVE YOU SEEN THE HAIR ON THIS KID?

We are so thrilled that Blake is here and that we've had her for over two weeks.  Her 'due date' is September 9th and I'm glad that she helped me escape a few of the worst weeks of pregnancy by arriving so early. 

I love looking at her and holding her.  Especially when Connor, Dennis, and Echo are all on the couch with me. 

It's crazy to think... one wonderful husband. Two kids.  One pooch. 

And our family is now complete. 

A Little Bit Out of Order

Sorry for my blogging hiatus.  There is just so much to catch you up on!  Every time that I sit down to type up a post, my brain goes to this overwhelmed place and I just stop.  There are too many things to write about and my interest just goes elsewhere.

So, this post is coming to you from a non-overwhelmed place.  Just letting you know that I am still alive and that I'll catch you up on the arrival of our beautiful little girl, Blake Elizabeth, in the very, very near future.  And my time off on "bed rest", the emotional rollercoasters I've been riding on, and update you on my progress in the coaching world.  I will.  Promise.  I will even Pinky swear.

And just in case I haven't made it abundantly clear, Dennis is the best husband.  Ever.  And he just scored a few bonus points for making me my first margarita in 10 months. 

So, I'm alive.  All is well.  All is GREAT, actually, with my tasty drink in hand. 

The more things change, the more things stay the same...

Emergency Room

Emergency Room familiarity is not a goal of mine, nor of Dennis'.  But, with a rambunctious little boy like ours, I have a bad feeling that we are going to be quite familiar with the interior of Children's Healthcare of Atlanta.  After all, we had our first introduction yesterday.

It's a nice hospital, don't get me wrong, but I hope to never have reason to visit there again.  At least not for a very, very long time. 

We were enjoying a lazy day around the house and Connor was being his usual, jovial, self.  It was almost nap time so Dennis and I were looking forward a little siesta of our own.  As I've mentioned before, Connor sees very little (if any) purpose to walking through the house because you can always get from point A to point B much more quickly if you run, skip, or gallop.  So Connor was going back and forth in our entryway between Dennis and myself, showing off a backpack that he was (maybe not anymore) going to start using for school.  He looked adorable. 

He ran past me, as he often does, but tripped.  And there wasn't a lot of room between me and the corner of the wall.  Yep, you guessed it - - he fell and somehow managed to hit his sweet little forehead right on the corner of the wall.  Based on his scream and the dent left in the wall, I was very nervous.  Then I picked him up and saw his face.  Very nervous doesn't even begin to explain how I felt once I saw the blood running down his face. 

Dennis grabbed him from me and I grabbed Nunu, his back pack (because he was asking for it), some frozen peas and carrots from the freezer, a juice box, a kitchen towel and we're in the car and off to the Emergency Room.  Oh, his cut looked SO deep and there was just SO much blood.  And he was just crying and crying and crying and I was trying to keep the ice pack of frozen veggies on his head but he obviously didn't want me to do that.  Luckily for Connor, his Dad was keeping it together much better than I was. 

Half way to the Emergency Room (it's probably about 12 miles away), I asked Dennis if he would mind to please turn up the air conditioning.  He turned it up one notch.  A few minutes later I asked him if he could please REALLY turn up the AC because I felt sick.  After surveying the items in the car, the lucky backpack was my best bet.  I took the towel and veggies off of Connors head and revisited my lunch. 

It was pretty quick and painless.  At least for me.  As I had my head in the backpack, Connor kept saying, "oh no, Mommy!" over and over.

I asked Dennis if he was OK and if me being sick made him feel sick, too.  He said that, "well, let's just say it didn't really make me feel any better." 

We show up at the ER, blood over all of us, Dennis grabs Connor and I dump out the bag of puke.  What else was I supposed to do?  Leave it in the car? 

He was so nice and back to his cheery self while we waited for him to be taken care of that you would have never guessed what he had just been through.  Truly amazing, that kid. 

And...four short hours later, we leave the Emergency Room.  I didn't get the final count for the number of stitches that he received, but he was all sewn up and we were on our way to the land of recovery.  Connor was stir crazy, to say the least, so Dennis took him to car while I waited for the injury care instructions from the MD.  You would think that they could do that quickly, wouldn't you? 

I sent Dennis a text saying that I was still waiting and I was going to hurry to the car as quickly as I could and his text response was, "we're going to run to the gas station.  Your car says 0 miles to empty." Oh crap.  There were a lot of stop lights between the hospital and the nearest gas station.  Luckily, Dennis made it there on fumes, I guess.  God was really pulling for us yesterday afternoon even though I hadn't done the basics of car maintenance (get gas!) to ensure our survival through the event. 

It's amazing how much worse it is when you child gets sick, hurt, or is danger.  I am so glad Dennis had his head on straight because I was a total wreck and I still cringe as I replay Connors fall into the corner in my head over and over and over...  I love that little man and I'm seriously considering bubble tape and a helmet to prevent him from future injuries.  He's 200% boy and that scares me to death! 

I don't care if he looks nerdy in helmets and bubbletape.  At least he'll be safe(r).  No football or contact sports ...

My Thighs Ate...What?

Miserable is the best word that I can think of to describe how I feel right now.  Emotional - - check.  Been down that road many times before (and can't even really blame it on being pregnant but I'm taking the high road and blaming everything that I don't like on this pregnancy) so there is nothing new there.  Back pain - - check.  Had that with Connor and I swear that Blake has lodged herself in the exact same spot on my right side that Connor did when I was pregnant with him.  It hurts on the top of my rib cage and if you put a spear through me (which sometimes sounds preferable), the exit spot is where I ache on my backside. 

Swollen feet.  Now this is new.  And, the word 'swollen' really does very little justice to the situation that I'm in.  Flinstone feet from the bottom of my toes all the way to my hips.  Apparently women can get "leaky veins" on a 2nd or 3rd pregnancy and that is one contributor to the phenomenon of being swollen waist-down.  Leaky veins, and a leaky bladder and then leaky boobs after the baby arrives.  The joys are just endless.  And...we did this on purpose? 

The phrase, "barefoot and pregnant" meant very little to me until this past Friday.  I am now not only wearing flats (gasp!) but I am wearing my slippers.  Leopard print slippers.  And they make quite the statement when coupled with my work attire.  Or, any attire outside of the house, actually.  They are brown AND black, so I guess my purse will match my shoes regardless of which one I grab.  And, being 100% honest here, if I grabbed a purple purse on the way out of the house, I wouldn't even notice.  Nor would I care.  Things like that don't even register for me anymore. 

What HAS started to register for me, though, is jealousy.  I am jealous of almost everyone I see.  Especially people that can bend over and pick things up or that can move quickly.  Have you seen them? They are everywhere. 

I've even overhead people say that they can eat full meals and no one kicks it back up immediately thereafter.  It's weird - all of these strangers doing things that I can only dream about.  I bet they sleep comfortably through the night, too.  Unbelieveable!  Now, I hope you are sitting down for this one because it is really out in left field.  I've heard people talk about having a little too much to drink the night before AND I AM FRIGGIN JEALOUS of the headache they have the next day. 

And then I remember:  I only have 7 weeks left.  Oh, that's not so bad.  But it is.  I imagine this huge, oversized countdown clock... it's a humongus kitchen timer   s l o w l y   moving along.  Moving so slowly, in fact, that the movement is not detectable.  It might as well be moving backwards.  I need a seconds hand or a minute hand.  I don't care if we're measuring months, here, people, I need to know that we're getting closer to this little one's arrival.  I NEED to know.

I love her and cannot wait to meet her.  I also cannot wait to be re-introduced to the tendons on my feet, to realize that my thighs may not have actually eaten my knees, and being able to bend over on a whim.  All of these sound glorious.  GLOR-I-OUS.  So c'mon, Blake, let's go. 

Some people claim to just l-o-v-e being pregnant and you must be very mindful of those people.  I mean it.  They aren't real.  Aliens of some sort.  And they can't be trusted.  Throw these people in the same basket as those who don't drink (EVER), and be on your way.  There is something so not-right about them that you are best to avoid them at all costs. 

An equally dangerous person is the incredibly emotional and hormonal pregnant woman.  Especially those wearing leopard slippers and holding a purple purse.  If one waddles over to you and catches your attention, the best method of escape is to pretend that everything is OK and that you are not fearing your life.  Wait just a few minutes.  She will inevitably make a dash to the bathroom.  Take this opportunity to flee.  YOU MUST SAVE YOURSELF.  If her thinghs ate her knees, there's no telling what they may eat next....