Sunday, December 30, 2007
It's also not my favorite kind of news but, what are you gonna do? So the news today is bittersweet.
I'll start with the sweet. Baby "A" has a heartbeat. That is wonderful, exciting news that is cause for gratitude. Baby "A" measured 6 weeks, 4 days on Friday (the 28th). Yay! That means probably healthy baby. Now for the bitter. Baby "B" did not have an audible heartbeat. Baby "B"'s placenta is tucked directly behind Baby "A" so it is nearly impossible to get a visual of it at this stage but they're telling me that they should have heard a heartbeat. It is very unusual (not totally impossible) for one baby to have a heartbeat and not the other. So, in all likelihood, Baby "B" is not going to make it. I have another ultrasound next Friday just to be sure. I have two placentas which means twice the hormones, which means DOUBLE THE MORNING SICKNESS AND ACID REFLUX- but most likely, I will only have one baby. That is very sad. I am so grateful that Baby "A" has a chance but I still feel like I'm losing a baby. It's a very confusing emotion. Also, I'm scared to get excited about Baby "A" yet because for some reason, every woman who has gotten pregnant in my ward in the last two months has miscarried. (The last count was up to 6 women I think.) I'm avoiding drinking the tap water in case it's environmental but who knows.
Anyway, I appreciate all your prayers. Keep sending them my way. I'll try to post a little sooner next time. What with all the puking and laying around, I haven't felt like sitting at the computer.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
All my preoccupation with the possibilities would not matter in the least if it were not for the baby born in Bethlehem.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Yup. That's right. Husband looked at me and now I'm pregnant. Again. It's a good thing and I have been excited (between the bouts of nausea and exhaustion). Until yesterday.
Husband and I thought it would be a fun joke not to tell our families about the baby. We thought that it would be hilarious to just show up next time we see them either with me all huge and say that WW is not working for me, or with an extra kid in tow and say, "What are you talking about? We've always had this many." Besides the fact that it would be funny, it would spare me an extra 10 months of disparraging remarks from my grandparents, and the general strain-to-approve from the rest of the family. Don't get me wrong. A lot of them try really hard to be supportive. It's just that having a big family goes against everything the media has been telling them their whole lives. (For those of you who think having many children is irresponsible, I refer you to this article. We have never needed financial assistance from either our church or the government and our kids are all happy and well adjusted.)
So getting to yesterday. I went in for my ultrasound to find out my due date. Being a person not blessed with a regular cycle, I never know how far along I am. By normal indicators, I should have been 8 weeks, 4 days. The babies actually measured 6 weeks, 1 day. Yes. I said "Babies". Well, yay! That's so exciting in a terrifying roller coaster-ish sort of way. Except that the ultrasound did not have good news. There actually weren't any "babies" at all. I had two beautiful gestational sacs which appeared to be empty. This means that although they COULD be ok, there is a higher probability that I am going to lose them both. I have another ultrasound on the 28th to check for babies. We decided last night that our plan to keep the pregnancy under wraps was not going to work, given the circumstances. Even if the babies end up being fine next week, there are so many things that can go wrong with twin pregnancies that we felt our families needed to know. That way, we won't be calling them up when I am 6 months along and saying, "Baby B is dying from Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome." or some other horrid thing like that out of the blue.
My whole life I've wanted 8 children and I hate being pregnant so much that having these babies be healthy, normal twins would be the perfect ending to our family. I want them and I am hoping that they will be ok. I am afraid to be excited. I would appreciate any prayers on our behalf. Whatever happens, "His eye is on the sparrow[s] and I know He's watching over me".
"Sparrow Twins" by e3000
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
At 7:00 I say, "Okay, guys. Go get ready for bed." They all run (shrieking at the top of their lungs) up the stairs like a pack of howler monkeys and proceed to do any- and every- thing. Except get ready for bed. They laugh and I yell, "Get ready for bed." They fight and I say, "Get your p.j.'s on!" Someone gets hurt and I yell, "It wouldn't have happened if you weren't screwing around. Get ready for bed." (Fill in the blank) comes downstairs and says, "I can't find my toothbrush." After about ten minutes of intermittent reminders from me to "GET READY FOR BED!", I call everyone downstairs for journals, etc. and send whichever two children who are still wearing their jeans and t-shirts back upstairs to get their jammies on. For real this time. ("GET READY FOR BED!") The kids who are in p.j.'s get sent back upstairs to really brush their teeth this time. ("GET READY FOR BED!") The child whose toothbrush is lost and (if by some miracle there IS a child who did what was expected) the child who is ready for bed get out their journals and write or draw about their day depending on the age of the child. ("GET READY FOR BED!") If Mr. Yuke(4) is one of these children, there is a predictable conversation about how our journals are not regular art paper and he needs to just use one page each day and if he wants to do some artwork while we read he needs to get some different paper. When everyone finally comes downstairs truly ready for bed, we are out of time for reading, writing, or singing. The children who didn't get to journal have a hissy fit to which I answer that they chose to use up their time acting like pygmies upstairs. We have a prayer and I send them to bed. And then one or the other of them inevitably asks me with an angel face and puppy dog eyes to "Tuck them in? Please?" (music to my ears) and once again my heart melts and I tuck everyone in (because of course one or the other of us is going to do that every night). And I sit down and sigh at my sweet little people and how much I love them. And then Little Mommy(9) comes out and says that (random body part) hurts. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. And it's never the same one either. And it's never hurts until it's time to go to sleep. And Mr. Yuke(4) needs a drink. And then The Pinkiest(5) needs one too because it's NOT FAIR if Mr. Yuke(4) gets one and she doesn't. And then Monster Truck(2) doesn't WANT to be in bed and Little Mommy(9) has some other random pain. And she wants to know what exactly is going to be done about it?! And then I tell them that the next person out of bed is going to be dead meat and I better not hear one more peep out of anyone. And then it's quiet.
And then Monster Truck(2) gets out of bed again. For the 27th time.
Last night Husband called during this period of chaos and I really miss him so I kept him on the phone and conversed softly with him while all this was going on. The result was that after a few minutes he said, "It sounds like you have 'Go to bed!' Tourette's. Because of this, I started playing some Christmas music on the piano in an effort to drown them out while I talked to him as the kids were (NOT) getting ready for bed. One of the songbooks I have is a hand-me-down from my mom called "A Peanuts Christmas" (Snoopy). She went through a Peanuts phase in the 70's which she does not remember. Anyway, the book is just basically a bunch of easy Christmas carol arrangements with pictures of Peanuts characters on the tops of the pages. Being the token ready-for-bed-child, The Pinkiest(5) was sitting on the piano bench next to me, listening to the music. I stopped playing after a couple songs and Little Mommy(9) came bolting down the stairs and said, "Mommy, will you please play more Peanuts Christmas Songs?" The Pinkiest(5) got a funny look on her face, pulled her fingers out of her mouth and said, "Penis Christmas Songs?"
"Twinkle, twinkle little star, do you know how loved you are?"
Monday, December 10, 2007
(Before I get a bunch of comments from blog-surfers who don't know me, understand I am 100% against abortion/gender selection and I am not going to publish your politically "correct" comments either way, so don't bother.)
My Nephew, Slugger Jr.(3) wants an elephant for Christmas. A real one that goes, "(Insert sound effect here.)" When Cute Sister pointed out that an elephant might be too big and they would have no place to keep him, Little Slugger(3) generously conceded that, "it could be a baby." I thought that was pretty cute. I was telling Little Mommy(9) and Bubba(6) about this as we set the table the other night when The Pinkiest(5) overheard me. Her eyes got about as big as the dinner plates we were setting down and she exclaimed, "Well I want a GIRAFFE!!!"
This got me thinking about the kids' respective wish lists and I realized that no matter what Hillary Clinton and every other politically "correct" women's lib. advocate says, there are HUGE differences between boys and girls. Zoo animals seem to be the only common denominator (other than the elusive wii). My boys are all about cars and robots and things you can throw. My girls want barbies and ponies. You know. (The rhyme just started all by itself, I swear.) Anyway, none of my girls has ever asked for a fireman suit and none of my boys wants a "High School Musical" Sharpay doll. How there can be any confusion about this is beyond me.
Friday, December 7, 2007
"Wii endcaps are up @ Target!" by Adam Melancon, found on Flickr.com
It is one of four things:
- I've lost all my readers, proving that I don't have enough stuff to keep an audience entertained sufficiently for me to write a book.
- The "Blog Poll" has lost it's novelty but people are still coming here.
- The Edward vs. Jacob question is a far more powerful phenomenon than even I thought and neither the hair situation- (which I really needed some feedback on) nor the current question is inspiring enough to cause anyone to click an answer.
- It's December and everyone is far too busy to blog surf.
I'm hoping it's the last one. I would make it into a poll, but I don't think it would do much good.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Hey, if anyone noticed, I changed the name of the blog. I'm tossing this one around with it's close cousin, "A Life Without Alice". Something about that seems a little doomsayer-ish so I'll probably just stick with the one that's up there now. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that the address won't change no matter what I call it.
I don't think I handle rejection very well.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
One of the parts she told me about was when Rory became friends with Art People. Art Girl is always talking about "Boyfriend"- this and "Boyfriend"- that and "Boyfriend" has such beautiful eyes, etc. As My Beautiful was telling me this the thought came to me that perhaps my blog habit of refering Husband as "Husband" might be taken by some as a Gilmore Girls reference (and while, if you're going to rip off a show you really can't do much better,) I honestly didn't know about Art Girl calling Marty "Boyfriend" and now that I think of it, the only person fictional or otherwise I know of that is more sarcastic than me is Lorelei Gilmore and people must think I am such a hack! And it's a good thing Rory's writing is so much more original and fresh than mine obviously is not, or she wouldn't have been able to be so successful all those years at Chilton and then Yale, and she would have wound up married to Dean doing demeaning jobs for Taylor alongside Kirk for the rest of her life. And somewhere right about here in the thought process I realized that I was being obsessive and totally overthinking the situation and I thought,
"That is SO Paris Geller."
Photos from http://www.dragonflyinn.org
Also, did you know that you can buy the entire series of Gilmore Girls at Costco for around $175.00? Some say, "Ripoff." I say, "Birthday."
Monday, December 3, 2007
"Oh, you and me- in our sport utility vehicles.
Cruisin' to Dunkin' Donuts- for a BAG of steamin' joe."
It's the best visual ever. I can just see it sloshing around in a plastic takeout bag.
Last Friday, I finally had a morning cup of coffee. It was so amazing I had to blog about it.
No. I guess that won't do. Of course I didn't have a cup of coffee. I don't drink coffee. It's bad for you, it makes your breath stink, and I have made a covenant not to drink it. I guess I should go back a ways and explain.
I have this friend- actually a friend of a friend, Ti- who refers to taking a shower when she wakes up as "her morning cup of coffee." Ti says she absolutely cannot function without her "morning cup of coffee". I can see her point really. I hate missing my morning shower. For the last couple of years though, I have remembered Ti adamantly telling me about how much her "morning cup of coffee " centers her. Without it she just can't face the day. And as I have remembered this conversation, I have thought that her morning shower must be a lot different from mine.
We have rules in our house. I have mentioned some of them before. The rule that applies here is:
DO NOT COME INTO THE BATHROOM WHEN MOMMY IS IN THE SHOWER UNLESS IT IS AN EMERGENCY!!!!
The following constitute an energency:
- Someone is bleeding.
- Someone is choking or turning blue.
- Someone has swallowed something poisonous.
- The house is on fire.
(My kids realize that there are, of course, obvious exceptions to this rule. Things such as,
- "Can I go play with Jace?"
- "I got yogurt on my shirt."
- "I need you to velcro the back of my Batman suit."
- "Have you seen my shoe?" -Always the shoes...
- "Here's your cell phone, mommy. Someone maked you a phone call."
- "[Bubba(6)] PUT IN STAR WARS WHEN YOU SAID I COULD WATCH 12 Dancing Princesses WHEN MY CHORES WERE DONE!!!!!!!!!"
- "______ hit me!!!")
Any time these exceptions come up, I refer the child to the rules. "Are you bleeding? Is anyone choking? Is the house on fire? Has [Monster Truck(2)] gotten out into the street?.... Then GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM while I am TAKING A SHOWER!!!!!"
So, although I do love my morning shower, I do not generally find it that Nirvana everyone in the Northwest claims to experience whilst chugging stewed, burned beans. I am usually far more tense, irritated, and stressed when I get out of the shower than when I rolled out of the nice warm covers that morning. That is, until last Friday.
I showered. It was hot. It was steamy. It was good to the last drop. NO ONE came in. I could scarcely believe it. I realized that I was done and I had not yet been interrupted- so I admit it. I stayed in there a little longer. I savored every second. And Ti was right. I was centered. I was warm. I was both relaxed and invigorated. I didn't have to get tanked up on caffeine and carcinogens, and I was ready to face my day.
And guess what? My breath didn't even stink.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Here's another number that's a big deal in our house:
That's the number for poison control. We have it on speed dial on my cell phone but sometimes, (more often than not, actually) a dead battery requires the manual dialing of it on the home phone.
We call that number a lot these days. It seems that Monster Truck(2) loves detergents. Anything with any sort of cleanser in it. In the last week and a half, he has drunk Little Mommy's(9) facial toner and eaten ten of the little center soap pellets of the electrasol power tabs for the dishwasher. We are not careless about dangerous things, but he has learned to open the child safety locks on the cupboards, the baby gate, and the front door. Really, the minivan is the final frontier and when that happens- well.... Be afraid. Be very afraid. Anyway, you would think that after the say, third or fourth dish detergent ball he would think to himself, Ewww. This is not so delicious. I think I'll go ransack the cereal cupboard once again. Yes, that would be much more yummy. But no. He just keeps eating them, presumably thinking that they'll start tasting better real soon. Maybe it's an aquired taste, like strained peas. And swingset chains. So we've called Poison Control so many times for that boy that the last couple times I have started to worry that CPS must have started building a case against us. He has gotten into more poisonous things than all his other siblings combined. There are only so many up high places we have in the house and right now they are reserved for things like percocet and transmission fluid. Fortunately, he was fine. The detergents didn't make him sick. We did not have to take him to the hospital, and we still had enough of them left to do the dishes. I guess no harm, no foul. He has gotten off extremely lucky, come to think of it. He has never had to go to the hospital. Not with the toothpaste (yes, it is extremely poisonous- we were at the hospital for 15 hours with the The Pinkiest for that), not with the Balmex, and not with the rubbing alcohol. That's why he's Monster Truck. Indestructable. Thank goodness.