Yesterday we found out that baby IS A GIRL!!!! This morning I went shopping. I am proud of myself for only buying this one dress. This is my baby girl’s first dress. I plan to make many more like it, but until then this dress is going to hang up in P’s closet (soon to be baby girl’s nursery) in all it’s pink, flowery, girly splendor!

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I have never been more excited to use a pronoun. Tomorrow morning I get to start calling the baby in my belly he or she! My ultrasound is scheduled for 9:15am. Tomorrow might be the only morning of this pregnancy that I will be excited to climb out of the comfort of my bed.

I feel like baby is a girl. I feel like I know she is a she. I feel like tomorrow is just a confirmation of what I already know. This baby is a girl. I will be shocked if I learn otherwise. I will feel… well I am not sure exactly what I will feel but I would bet the last scoop of mint and chip ice cream on earth that I will feel something. That is what I do best this pregnancy. I feel. I feel everything. The Olympics have been banned in our house because they evoke to many emotions for me to handle. I can’t watch a single event without crying. I mean seriously, think about it. That athlete has worked his or her entire life for that single moment. He or she must be so nervous and excited and proud and scared and anxious…. I feel everything along with that athlete. I cry no matter who wins. I don’t care what country gets the medal. I am so overwhelmed with joy for that person standing on that platform. Don’t even get me started on the family sitting in the stands routing on said athlete! That is more than this pregnant woman can handle. So anyways, when I say that I feel like this baby is a girl, I mean I feel that this baby is a girl. I will have a hard time accepting otherwise. Not that a third boy wouldn’t be incredible… Its just that I would be equally surprised if I was growing a watermelon in my belly as I would be finding out this baby is a boy!

So tomorrow if I find out that this baby is a boy, I am going to be Googling support groups. If you already know of a link, send it my way. If the ultrasound confirms my feeling, I will be going on a very pink shopping spree!

Tomorrow I get to use pronouns!

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The awful weather woman predicted 10 inches of snow for today. I just want to be warm again. I want to be able to take my boys outside with out the production of all the snow gear.

This photo was taken last summer. Back when it was warm. Back when the sun wasn’t hidden behind clouds all day. Back when I looked out the window isn’t wasn’t gray and white.

I just want it to be spring.

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After giving birth to M I did not bond with him immediately. I even suffered from a mild case of baby blues for about 2 months after he was born. As he grew I began to feel more capable, I started to fall in love with him and then finally I started to come out of the postpartum depression fog.

With P, I feel in love instantly and there were no baby blues.

Now this time around I am fighting pregnancy blues. I didn’t even know that they existed… Thanks to the power of Google and some searching on Baby Center I was able to sigh a huge sigh of relief, pregnancy depression is not uncommon. It isn’t the norm, by any means, but it does happen. Just knowing that I am not alone helps. I have mentioned here and here that I have been dealing with extreme mood swings. And now it seems that my hormones have taken me in a whole new direction. Sadness, blues, unshakable blahs and general gloominess has set in. I get into a funk and all I can say to T is, “I don’t KNOW! I am just so very sad…”

I find comfort in reading old archived posts of Heather’s at Dooce. I am no where near where she was, thank God, but I can relate and I must give a viral shout out of thanks to her for being so open and honest. It really does help to hear that I am not alone. That I shouldn’t feel guilty and it isn’t for lack of love for the baby -born or unborn- it is hormones.

Right now I am 17 weeks along. I have been cramping alot lately and not just the tearing, stretchy feeling of my abs being yanked apart, it is the type of cramp that makes me go to dark places. What if this is a sign of premature labor? What happens if I go into labor at 17 weeks? What if this baby is the little girl my heart wants so bad and I loose her before I even get to meet her? What if… it gets darker and darker.

I called my doctor today, she wasn’t in so I left a series of messages for another on-call doctor (just one more reason I need to get moving and start interviewing midwives). I finally got a call late this afternoon. I am suppose to lay low the rest of the day, drink lots of fluids and not lift a thing – including my boys. This regime is suppose to help the doctor to determine if I need to go in for testing tomorrow or if the cramping is just a result of me pushing myself to hard.

So far I have caught up on all my favorite blogs (right now So Fawned is at the top of my fav list), discovered a few great etsy pages (if this baby is a girl I plan on duplicating this quilt for a wall hanging in her nursery) and have gotten updated on all the celebrity gossip (did you hear that the Duggar boys saved a little girl’s life?) Throughout my hours of enriching and very educational web surfing I have still felt cramps. They have lessened slightly but are still present.

Time will tell. If I am still cramping tomorrow I have to go in and get checked out. Hopefully it is the baby giving me a little warning to slow down and not something more serious. My husband keeps bringing me Gatorade and is doing a great job of keeping the boys from climbing all over me. This is what every mom wants, a free pass to sit on the couch and do nothing, right?! Not so much. I would tackle the 8 laundry baskets of unfolded laundry and even put every last sock away neatly folded in drawers if it meant everything was ok with this baby. But that won’t do it. I just have to sit here(or more precisely, lay on my left side) and keep distracting myself from thinking the worse.

Happy thoughts. happy thoughts. happy thoughts…. maybe there was a good Oprah on today.

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Let me tell you a about a little something that I fell in love with at Christmas and again this past weekend. Settlers of Catan is the board games of all board games. T got the original board game for Christmas from one of his brothers. We spent hours playing it at Christmas with his family. Then this past weekend for his birthday he got the player expansion and the Cities and Knights Expansion from that same generous brother (and no, it wasn’t the brother that spanked M).

This game takes a good long while to play (think Monopoly) and even a longer time to read all the instructions and understand how to play – but boy is it fun! If you have a weekend evening to kill and a few friends who love to play boards games, buy a bag of chips and a couple of 6 packs of beer and Settlers of Catan.

Oh and in case you are curious, the large box wrapped in unseasonal Christmas paper was my gift to my husband. I am such a good wife that I got him a mini fridge to put next to his computer. So this way when he is killing aliens or saving the world from zombies, he won’t have to run upstairs while regenerating to get a drink or snack. Now all he has to do is reach over and grab his sustenance to refuel himself. The world is safer because of my birthday gift to T, not  many wives can say that!

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This past weekend wasn’t all flashes of anger and questioning my parenting ability, there was some good times too.

M loves his little cousin and this weekend really set me at ease. He is going to be a fantastic big brother to baby #3. He is already a great big bro to P, but seeing him be so gentle and sharing so nicely with his cuz warmed my heart. He is ready to be a big brother again.

P, on the other hand, could have cared less about  his cousin. He was jealous when I picked up and snuggled my nephew. P is sensitive and is a Mama’s Boy to the core. It is going to be tough road for him. It is going to be a tough road for me! Balancing his needs and a new born’s needs will not be easy! I envision P wrapping himself around my ankles and dragging him one step at a time as I try to pace and rock my new baby to sleep!

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I started to reply to a recent Mom Spark post about spanking when I realized I had way more to say than just a quick reply. That post couldn’t have come at a better time for me. I needed to vent and work through some thoughts that have been weighing me down and eating me up from the inside out.

My in-laws were here all weekend. That alone requires a venting session, especially after my MIL stated while staring directly at my belly that happens to be cooking her grand baby, “It doesn’t look that you have put on that much weight this time.” This statement wasn’t a compliment. This statement was her reminding me about the 40 plus pounds I put on with my first son. This statement was just one more way for her to remind me about how wonderful and glowy and magical all 5 of her pregnancies were and how she doesn’t understand how any women could not love every minute of pregnancy and how superior of a mother she is because she loved being pregnant and loved every minute of every hour of every day that she was with her children.

Anyways… enough about that. What I wanted to write about and what I want to work through was one very poignant moment between my son, his uncle and me. About 14 hours and 6 2 liters of soda into the weekend my 3 yo son, M, kicked my 9 month old nephew. I was at the top of the stairs, they were at the bottom with my BIL (who isn’t the father to my nephew. In fact, doesn’t have any children) In response to being kicked, my nephew let out a very justified wail of a scream like only babies can do. My BIL picked up the baby and then shouted ” NO KICKING” and spanked my sons bottom.

He swatted my kid.

He hit my son!

M’s eyes grew to the size of a saucers and began to fill with tears of fear. The hit wasn’t hard enough to hurt him. It was however shocking enough to scare him.

I too was so shocked that all I did was run down the stairs, scoop up my startled and very scared child and ran back up stairs with him. I sat him in a quiet corner and explained you have to be careful around babies and gave him a hug, wiped some tears, told him that both his uncle and I loved him and distracted him with a toy.

I then told my husband to keep and eye on our boys and I excused myself to our bedroom. I needed to be away from his family. I needed time to breathe. As the shock wore off I became furious. I needed to clear the bright red anger that was clouding my judgment. It took a good half hour to cool down enough to be able to join the rest of the family and was even able to force a smile and snap a few pics while my husband opened a few birthday presents.

The rest of the day was a blur of feeding a hungry crowd of 13, playing with the kids and for the most part enjoying the company of my husband’s family. Not knowing how to handle the situation because MY family would NEVER do that-especially to someone else’s kid and because so much time had past, I decided to talk it over with T first. It wasn’t until later in the evening when we were able to steal a few moments away from the group.

My husband and his 4 siblings were spanked. They were belted. They had to watch their siblings be belted so they would learn lessons through their sibling’s mistakes.

I was spanked only once as a child. It scared me and I was afraid of my mother because of it for a long time. My sister and I respected our parents with out being spanked (sans the one incident). We were punished with time outs and the taking away of prized possessions and privileges. The only time I was ever afraid of my parents was after the single time I was spanked. I believe children don’t need to cower and be terrified of their parents to learn respect. I firmly and wholly believe that you can teach respect in a non violent way.

T never ended up addressing his brother, he did say that if it ever happened again, that he would confront him and deal with it. I believe T when he says that it was probably just an instinct and that is why his brother responded fast and physically.

I am still stewing over this. I hate that I let the situation go by with out addressing it immediately. But in the moment my first and only thought -my motherly tunnel vision- was to get my son away from my BIL. I feel guilty for not saying something in my son’s defense but I knew at that moment I was too angry and my words would be way too harsh. I didn’t want to burn any bridges with my BIL…. but in protecting those bridges I feel I let my son down.

I feel guilty. I feel like a bad mother. I indirectly-or maybe it was very directly- chose my BIL feelings over my sons.

Now, 3 days after the first time my son was ever spanked I have a script I have worked up in my head. It has been tweaked and edited a hundred times. That script will be acted out in a calm but very mama bear, protective and forceful way if this ever happens again with anyone that ever even lifts a finger to teach my children a lesson.

That script goes a little something like this:

We do not spank. T and I have made a parenting decision to never raise a hand to our children. And if YOU ever so much as lift a hand or even look like you were thinking about using violence to teach our children a lesson, we will not leave our children with you. We will not bring our children around you.We will not invite you over if our children will be around. If you think you need to punish them, put them in time out or ask us to deal with the sittuation. We do not spank our children and we will not allow others to spank them.

I feel vindicated knowing I am prepared if this ever happens again. I pray to God that this rehearsed script is never needed but I feel better knowing that I am ready and very willing to recite this if ever needed.

I learned a tough lesson. A very tough lesson. I learned that bridges be damned, my kids will always come first.

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I am positive that in 24 short weeks I will give birth to a tomato. There isn’t much that makes me sick anymore, but the only things that does sound good to eat is food with tomatoes in it. The photo above is a typical lunch for me. A light rye WASA cracker, a little bit of olive oil mayo, half a slice of provolone and a freshly sliced tomato. Yum! Dinner usually includes something with salsa or some sort of red sauce. I have always loved tomatoes, that isn’t new. What is new is my NEED for tomatoes.

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For the past half hour T and M have been standing in front of the toliet like only men can do. Standing. Waiting. Finally M looked up aT T and said, “Daddy it is broken, can you fix it?”

holding back laughter T replied, “No M, you have to fix it yourself.”

M contemplated this a while longer than sat down on his toddler potty. Because sometimes all you need is a change of scenery. This didn’t fix the problem either,  but I will count this moment as a huge success.

This is a giant step, like Neil Armstrong walking on the moon step forward. M is 3 1/2 and usually won’t even go into a bathroom. He wears a diaper until it is so soaked that is hanging off of him and as soon as you take off his diaper he demands a new one. He is not interested in being potty trained. Hopefully tonight is the kick start of our final attempt at potty training. As soon as M figures out how to “fix his problem” I think we will be in business!

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I want to have a home birth. I do want to have a home birth. I really, truly, for sure want to have a home birth.  Am I crazy?

I want the natural experience. I want to feel comfortable. But I want to feel safe. There is a feeling of safety that comes with being in a hospital. I know that is a completely American thing to say. But I can’t help it. I am American. I grew up in America – Mid West America. I have always assumed that home births were for hippies and the uninsured. My husband has a great job with awesome coverage and I am not a hippie (though I did go through a flower child phase in high school that had me wearing bell bottoms and loose flowy shirts with awful patterns on them almost ever day!) So why am I considering a home birth? Scratch that. So why am I so suddenly in LOVE with the idea of a home birth? I don’t know what one thing did it. I know that watching The Business of Being Born played a huge role. I know that reading other fellow bloggers stories about their own home births and natural births stirred something in me. I know that when I looked at my husband and said in a very sheepish voice, “I think I want to have a home birth.” His reaction sealed the deal. He loved the idea. He is anti meds. The man doesn’t take a Tylonel for a headache until he has exhausted all other options. This character trait infuriates me sometimes and also leaves me in awe of his trust in his body to handle and to overcome pain and illness.

And then there is the biggest reason, the experience with my first two births. The births of my boys went something like this:

At my 39 week appointment I was 3cm dialated and 70% effaced. My doc told me I would probably go into labor that weekend, but if I didn’t she could schedule me for induction Monday morning. I said sign me up.

I walked waddled miles and miles that weekend. My husband I walked so much that our Golden retriever had to be carried back to the car one afternoon. I out walked my 1 year old pup I walked so much. T and I had some very uncomfortable sex and by Sunday night still nothing was happening.

As planned, Monday morning I was checked into the hospital. Then I was forced to ride in a wheel chair. Seriously… What pregnant lady wants to ride in a wheel chair?! I could barely fit my hips into the chair and I was suffering from extreme nerves that gave me a very upset stomach. I just wanted to walk. It was like I had restless leg syndrome! When we finally got up to my 9 by 12 “Birthing Room” I was told to undress, robe up and crawl into bed. The nurse returned and hooked me up to all these ridiculous gadgets that made me fear for my baby’s life. I swear every time I even shifted in bed the fetal monitor slipped off and this awful alarm went off. That alarm scared me. Every single time it went off I thought I was going to be rushed into surgery and they would have to cut the baby out of me because all of the sudden his heart stopped beating. He was kicking me but I still feared that his heart stopped beating. Logic does not apply to a laboring woman’s thoughts. It was ridiculous. And then there was the damn blood pressure cuff. Every 15 minutes. That is right EVERY FREAKING 15 MINUTES there would be a beep and all of the sudden this black cuff turned into a hissing python that was trying to strangle my arm. It hurt. In fact it is the only pain from either of my births that I can actually remember. To this day my blood pressure rises every time I see one of those stupid cuffs.

They got the Pitocin flowing through me after 5 different nurses poked at me trying to find “a good vein.” Once the Pitocin stared pumping through me stuff started happening.

I made it to 6cm with out any meds (besides the Pitocin). I was uncomfortable but I was told it was best to stay in bed so they could monitor the baby’s reaction to the Pitocin (that should have been a red flag!) So I stayed in bed. I only left the bed twice to pee. Besides, if I moved the fetal monitor would fall off, the alarm would sound and visions of being rushed down the hall with nurses yelling things like STAT and CODE BLUE were all I could think about. The nurse could see I was in pain so she asked if I wanted an epidural. I refused but I did give into her when she offered IV meds.

To this day I have no idea what those meds were. Either does my husband. Looking back on that- it angers and frustrates me to no end.

They broke my water.

I went into transition period. I still felt all the contractions. I felt everything but the meds were able to almost put me to sleep in between contractions.

Oh- that was the other thing. Because of the fetal monitor I was able to see when a contractions was coming. That made it so hard to relax in between because all T and I did was sit and watch for the contractions to return and the bars to spike. By transition time I had turned on my side away from the monitor so I would have to watch it. That was the most movement I did.

I made it to pushing. My doc showed up just in time to give me an episiotomy (which I don’t recall her asking me if she could) and then she caught the baby.

The showed us the baby, said it was a boy and then whisked my healthy crying baby away to measure, tag, weigh, diaper, swaddle and clean. Tim was the first to hold the baby. I was being stitched up.

Needless to say their was no instant bond.

I love M, I love him so much… but it wasn’t an instant love. It took time. His birth was a miracle. T and I were so happy. It was a life changing moment. I wouldn’t change anything about that day. That day we received the best gift ever.

15 months later the story repeated itself with only a few slight differences. We had a nurse who was on her first day of labor and delivery. She was not good. She was bad. In fact so bad that my doc pulled her aside and yelled at her for having me push for an hour before I was ready. Other than that nurse the story was pretty much the same. Induction scheduled. Blood pressure cuff. Fetal monitor. Pitiocin administered. Water broke. IV drugs. Push. And doctor came in to catch the baby. P came out and I loved him instantly. I think because I wasn’t as nervous the second time I was able to experience the birth a bit more.

This time I want to have more control. I don’t want to be scheduled in around my doctors Holiday plans. I want the baby to come when it is ready. I don’t want to have drugs waived in front of me like when you bribe a child with candy or offer a dog a treat. I DO NOT want to be confined to a bed. I don’t want a total stranger of a nurse to guide me through the day. I don’t want fetal monitors and I definitely do not want a blood pressure cuff. I want my husband. I want a midwife I trust. I want to experience birth like it is suppose to be, a natural process, not an illness to be treated.

So that is why I want a home birth. Telling family could be a challenge. They like the sterile waiting room that is a comfortable distance from labor and delivery. They are traditional. American Traditional.

The idea of going into labor naturally used to scare the shit out of me. I had read tens of books on pregnancy and birth. Not one of them about natural birth though. To me birth was something you had to get through to get get the end result. It was not an experience. It was like having to take Chemistry in order to check all the generals off your to do list in college. You did what you had to do to get it done. Be it cheating on your neighbor or asking for help from the nerdy kid, you did the bare minimum to ge the job done.

I am not scared anymore. I am actually looking forward to it. I want live it, experience it.  I want to remember it. I want to feel it. This may be -most likely- our last child. This is my last chance to give birth in this way. I don’t want to miss out on that opportunity.

So yeah. I am going to have a home birth. Now to find a Midwife….

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