We interrupt this program...

Happy Belated Mother's Day.

I had all intentions of being light and simple as I usually do.
Telling the story about my son's obssesion with his sister's "pockabook"
Or my never ending quest for a crumb free kitchen floor.
Actually, I have a few incidents to relate.
But I decided I have a meatier bone to pick...

Stay-at-home-Mom vs. the Working Mom.

Alright, now please, let's not start typing angry responses before we read what I'm thinking.

I don't usually air my opinions on such touchy subjects.
I'm not a very black and white person.
Life should be so simple but it simply is not.
Grey is my shade of choice.
A bit more realistic.
I am not taking a side
I don't pass judgement.
Seriously I don't. If I have learned anything during my years on this earth it is that I cannot judge a person till I walk in their shoes. Or have been on boths sides of the fence. And usually I am teetering right in the middle if not on the edge of that fence. And I've hopped on both sides and fell down on both many-a-time. Whether the jump was deliberate or I just fell.

I am not you. You are not me. And I seriously (and I swear on my children, seriously...) respect either decision.

Why am I going here you ask?

Well, here's one statement (or backhanded compliment, however you want to look at it...) that has provoked this tirade.
Picture it.
Mother's Day Get Together.
*Husband chasing toddler running amok and eight month old screaming and grabbing/shoving/throwing everything on table as I hold her on my lap in restaraunt all while I'm trying to shove just one forkful of salad down my throat for ten minutes and just never got to eat it*
Me: sigh
Working Mom: 'Is this what goes on in your house all day?'
Me: 'yeah, kind of'
Working Mom: "That's why I go to work"

What I thought:
And you had kids because?....

What I said:
*shrugs*

Second scenario:
Another commented that I was the reason there would be no guilt going back to work after the second kid was born
My immediate reaction:
And you are having another one because?...

Again in real life I said nothing.

Do I think these people shouldn't have had kids?
Of course I don't think that.
I love both these people dearly and I do not believe they realized the offense of their comments.
But as I confident as I am in myself, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel as if I was being looked down upon.

All mother's love their children with a lionistic passion that only another mother can understand.
I don't believe any one mom loves their children more then the next mom.
But please remember your decision is a personal one.
And please don't use mine as a justification for yours.
Please don't tell me you wouldn't know what to do with yourself and that you would slit your wrists if you had to watch Blue's Clues all day.
Or that you don't want your mind to turn into a toxic quagmire of slop because it would if you had nothing to do but change diapers and plan play dates.
This is insulting enough (God knows I bust my ginormous rear for at LEAST 16 hours a day and haven't slept a straight night in about sixteen months, and nobody has that many diapers to change, even if their kid had explosive malaria induced diarrhea so clearly I'm doing something else besides changing diapers...) but the fact that you think that's all there is, is almost demeaning.
And if I didn't have my own sense of self, it would be.

I may be close to a breakdown quite regularly if not too damned often.
(Lord knows I holler about it enough here oh and wait till I tell you the 5am toothpaste jewlery box raid story...)
But if given the choice all over again, I would be here, home with them.
Hands down, no exceptions.
(except I would have read more books on colic...)
Do I think you should make the same decision I did?
No I don't.
You are not me.

I've learned these last three years If you try hard enough, there's a world beyond diapers and playdates..
You just have to find it and then to keep it in sight.
That's not an easy thing but mother's everywhere pull it off.
Ultimately it doesn't matter what mommy road you decide to go down.
Either way, you will see your offspring to the end of that road just fine.
You will just make different pitstops.

So my message to both camps:
Stop thinking your way is the better way.

It's not, it's just a way.

*steps off of soapbox*

We now return to your regulary scheduled programming....

remember me?

This is gonna be a long one...

It's been waaaaay to long.
I haven't been here in eons. Long enough to know that I've most likely been forgotten here on the mommy blogging circuit. But you will understand. You will empathize.

And you will be damned glad you aren't me.

I'm not sure where I left off but since I was last here it went pretty much went like this:

Colicky newborn. Wished to rip my own ears and beat myself on the head with them daily

Energetic two year old who likes to jump, throw food and rip keys off of laptops.
.
Was attempting to sell home I was living in and find a new home. Because the colicky newborn wasn't enough and I felt the sadistic need to torture my self further by handling this on my own. Multi-tasking and men do not mesh. To the spouse, multi-tasking is brushing his teeth and going to work therefore I was blessed with the 'menial' task. Because the screaming infant, the hyper toddler and the two yappy dogs, the cleaning, the cooking, the feeding, sprinkled with the rare occasion for a shower were not fufulling enough. I needed to add the martini inducing act of purchasing a home.

Oh I also handled the closing. The coordinating of both the closings. The lawyers. The banking. The fees. The forms. The loan. He did handle the moving dates. After all he had to know when to take off from work.

Anyone who has gone through this knows that having a decayed tooth pulled out with a rusty plier is less painful then buying and selling a home.

OK, so we get through all of it.
Barely but we get through it.
Shea's still screaming. Hunter's still bouncing off walls. But he can bounce off the yard now, and no one can complain about Shea screaming all the time.

It was a warm winter. It was 70 degrees like the week before we moved.

We moved in. 9 degrees and snow.
First night we were there.

And it was artic north pole freezing for like a whole month. So Hunter was trapped in the house anyway with me and Screamy Shea. Fine.

First week we unpack. Then Shea suddenly comes down with a fever.
104.5. It lasts four days.
She developed an ear infection and is put on antibiotics. Fine.

She gets better in a week. I go on a play date. Was happy to get out.
Two days later Hunter comes down with a violent stomach virus.
Threw up on everyone and everything, even the dogs. It last four days. Fine.

He's better. Five days later I get it. And two days after that the husband gets it. Fine.
Shea decides that sleeping during the night doesn't suit her.

And will get up and cry. For a long time. This lasts another week.

And there went the whole month of February.
We moved in Jan 26th. I am now using boxes as a coffee table and I am going into corners and crying during nap time.

Wait, no it gets better. We get hit with ANOTHER stomach virus.
?????? What the ****?
What's with all the vomit already? Is it not enough that I don't get to shower, that I need to be thrown up on bi-monthly? Dogs want to roll in my clothes and chase me down the street.

Now I'm getting pissed. OK. It runs the family gamut and we get through that too. So now it's March and everyone is healthy and I'm starting to get a leg up on the boxes over running my living room. I am getting a bit wary from sucking in my breath every time Hunter jumps off one of them.

A few days into my attempt at organizing I come down with what I believe to be another stomach virus.
Since we have so much experience at this point I figure hell, I'll just work through it.
I'm vomiting. (save it people, I'm not knocked up again...)
But this is bad. Severe pain in my gut. I take Peptol Bismol. Anti fart medicine. No help. I can't stand up. I think it's gas. Nothing is helping. Maybe I ate something. I figured it would run it's course. I couldn't sleep that night the pain was so intense everytime I moved. It got to the point where I couldn't take care of my kids. This was worse then labor (seriously, I kid you not and nor would I dare joke about labor pain....)

Everyone kept telling me I should go to the dr. (everyone being my mom and husband) I really didn't want to because usually they tell me I'm depressed and send me home with some Prozac. But it was so paralyzing that I bit the bullet and called a cab. Since we were new in the neighborhood, there was no one to watch the kids, but the husband. So I went to the ER by myself for about eight which seemed more like eighty hours.

The pain was so bad that they actually gave me morphine. That was nice.

Turns out my appendix was gangrenous and about to rupture. I needed to have emergency surgery.
So I enjoyed the morphine while I was there, again and I cannot stress enough how nice that was. :)
I go home and two days later my dear husband leaves for a business trip.

*ok everyone slowly close the jaw, I know, I know, I wore the same incredulous expression for like a week*

So I am left home alone. Four days after major surgery with Screamy Shea who must be held at all times and Hogwild Hunter. For five days. Oh and I had to walk the dogs too.
please note: this will be used for future purposes and jewlery

This takes up March.

April rolls around and because I am a glutton for punishment I decide that it would be a good time to have the family over for Easter
*hits self in head with mallot*
My first holiday. Ever. Enough said.

So here we are now.
After weeks of relentless reminding, i finally got husband to replace my keyboard.
I hope to be a regular again here.
I need to be here.
If I do not vent this frustration in a creative way I will surely break the china cabinet and my husbands stupid giant flat screen tv with a bumbo seat (those things rule by the way, the bumbo seat not the tv...)

No I am nowhere near finished unpacking.

I am projecting early 2008 for complete settlement.

Keyless in Brooklyn...

First off if there are any spelling errors or grammar issues, forgive me.
Let me explain...

I haven't been here for eons.
You wanna know why?

The demon spawn, King of the Terrible Twos,
Titan of Terror that is my son.
Ripped 10 keys off my keyboard.
TEN!
Right off my new laptop.
Because the 4000 lego's on the floor and the blaring Backyardigan's could not deflect or distract the Toddler Tornadoe from the sheer excitement derived from mutilating something of mommy's.

The G being missing is one thing.
But ten awol letters is very bad. It's not that I need to see the keys.
They just don't work.
And sometimes I get the I, O and P a bit confused.
I need to glance at it sometimes.
It is now a giant ordeal to type anything at all.
I have to retype and delete over and over.
So all these keys are missing and I'm typing from a keyboard that is plugged in to the laptop.

How freakin' stupid is that?

This is very annoying. Because if I prop it on top of the real keyboard and exert a bit to much "vigor" while typing (you know, like if I'm tellling a I'm pissed off at my husbands crumpled up paper towels on the floor story or my thanksgiving commute from hell story...), it presses the keys below and causes a giant mess of gibberish to appear.

I also can only have the computer on the kitchen counter.

At all times.

If I don't, things like this will happen.
And my son will run to my laptop like he does now, point feverishly and yell:
"broken mommy, broken"
And he will smile while he is telling me this.
And I will laugh at the absurdity.

Lessons learned:
Nothing of Mommy's is sacred.
If it can be broken, it will.
Oh and if it can't be broken, child will defy laws of physics and break it anyway.

Silence...Silence?

I am so tired.
Odds are if you are a mommy and you've come to this site, you are too.

I knew the adding a second one to the mix was going to be a challenge.
I knew I was going to be drained.
Physically and emotionally.
I knew I was going to be bone tired.
I did not expect the desire to reject sleep in exchange for just a tiny bit of alone time.

I had an idea that I was never going to be alone ever again.
I was told time and time again by friends how having two turned your household and life into a freak show (parents of two love to indulge in the devious pleasure of scaring the bejesus out of parents of impending two...)

I gave this prediction credence. I knew my son took up the majority of my time as it stood.
However I was unaware I was about to give birth to a handcuff.
Eerily simulating house arrest, we lovingly refer to my daughter as the "ankle bracelet"
Now please understand, I love my daughter with the very core my soul and heart.
Besides, she has currently chained herself to it.

I cannot put this child down.
I attribute some of this to reflux.
But not all of it.
I believe she is a social catepillar.
Who some day will transform into a magnificent outgoing butterfly.
But untill she sprouts those wonderful wings to help her navigate the world.
I must tote her around in the crook of my arm.
Like a clutch bag.
That yells and poops.
Oh and don't think I can just take her any old place.
She directs me where to go.
With her coos, yells, chortles and cries.
Baby sonar if you will.
If I make a wrong turn I will be scolded.

By a seven week old.

So when late night comes and my arm is dead.
And the little burr finally goes in for her long stretch for the evening.
Hunter has been down for some time
And husband has retired for the evening.
I bound into the living room with glee, remote in hand, maybe some Haggen Daaz in the other.
If I am going to be tired I might as well be happy even if it means being fat.
It's only been seven weeks, so I can still invoke the baby weight clause.

My eyes hang heavy with fatigue and my back aching beyond tolerance.
I should really go to bed.
But my alone time beckons to me like George Clooney and Patrick Dempsey in a racy dream.
Even they couldn't get me to give up this hour alone.
Seriously.
OK well maybe they could, but really what are the odds of that happening.

No crying, no spit up, no "Mommy Noggin? Noggin?", no toy toe stubbing.
Just me (and maybe a dog or two...)
I can recharge my senses and intelligence. Maybe read or make a blog post without tiny fingers destroying keys (my G is missing, that story my friends, is another post...)
I unwind as I fantasize about when I am able sleep for an eight hour stretch.

Because time without them gives me a chance to remind myself how lucky and blessed I am.
To remind myself that this will not always be.
To remind me that someday this time spent on the couch in the late evening will be because I am waiting for them to get home. To make sure that they are safe. I'm sure I'll be wishing they were handcuffed to me then.
Then I crawl into bed as I kick myself about the hour or two I could have been sleeping.

I am awoken by the cries of starving Shea. And as I shuffle into the kitchen, with the ankle bracelet, all bleary eyed to heat up Shea's formula, I will melt in her presence as she greets me and with coaxing gives me her gummy smile. I will appreciate it even more then I do now. I will further melt into a puddle when Hunter yells a great big Hiiiiiii!!!!!! from his crib as only toddlers can.

I guess sometimes you need the quiet to remember how much you love the noise.

Drive by post...

Just a short post to give a peek into the insanity that is my home...

Tonight my mom rang my door bell from downstairs.
This caused my son to sprint to the door and attempt to open it. Shea was screaming in my arm (shocker) and dogs were barking.

The door is usually locked since Hunter likes to sprint into the hall any chance he gets.

This time it wasn't.

Hunter had his pantless little butt out in the hall in less time then the blink of an eye. I grabbed him by the back of his diaper with my free hand otherwise he would have surely ran down to the lobby (or fell down...) causing some overly concerned neighbor to call children's services.

The yank of the diaper caused some hard a little poop ball to fall out of his diaper (I was unaware of his poopage).

As I started yelling at everyone (the kid, my dogs and my mom) things like "Look out! Stay where you are! Oh Lord don't touch that! Where's a paper towel?! Lysol dammit I need some Lysol stat!!!"...my dog promptly ate it.

It never ends people, I guess it never ends...

An all day affair...

I am soooo tired.

My children are both napping.
Odds are this will be a short because someone will wake during this attempted post.

I have a newfound respect for anyone who has more then one child at home and are doing it all by themselves. Because I gotta tell you. It is sooooooo not going smoothly.

I tried one day last week to take the both of them in the double stroller to the store. That was my plan for the day. I started to get everyone ready including myself during my coffee at 9am.

Hunter threw a tantrum at 9:15am and woke up Shea. Calming startled Shea cost about a half hour.

10:00am time for Shea's bottle - she then proceeded to scream till about 10:45.
I managed to put her down and get dressed in clothes I could actually set foot outside wearing (she screamed like I was beating her with a brick - oh yeah did I mention she's kinda colic?...) while I contemplated jumping out the window and then chased Hunter around attempting to get pants and socks to stay on him

It is now a bit after 11:00am, I have Shea in one hand and am trying to put my sneakers on - she promptly throws up on me. Now I have to find another shirt. I'm now chasing Hunter in my bra

It is 12:30pm. time for Hunter to eat lunch. I would buy lunch for him while we are out on the Avenue but I'm not sure Shea would sit through it (did I mention she's colic?...) I make him lunch. Shea is still screaming. I am of course holding her the whole time. Hunter throws whatever he hasn't eaten at the dogs. Since I really can't bend over to pick it up because of screaming child #2 in my arms (remember the colic? I did mentioned it right? - what? you find the fact that I keep mentioning it annoying? well imagine the constant screaming in my ear and when there is not screaming, the ringing in my ears from the screaming...) I resign the fallen food to the dogs, heck let them mop it up with their toungues. I can't bend over with this tiny loud human attached to the crook of my left arm anyway

It is now 1:00pm, time for Shea's next bottle. I give her the bottle and plug up her little beautiful bow shaped lips. She sucks it dry in minutes and promptly passes out on my shoulder during attempted burp. This is bad. She will throw up on me and scream if I don't get her to burp. Nor will I be able to lay her down on her back. At all. She will throw up and scream. Hunter is in overdrive and is exhausted. But I really just want to go to the store. It is up the block. Literally. And I am still trying to go. I have to go anyway because I need to buy formula.

It is now 2:00pm. Hunter needs to nap and is letting me know by throwing matchbox cars across the living room, you know because yawning or laying down on the floor quietly would be much too cryptic. Hunter's shirt is covered with his lunch, actually he is just covered in his lunch. It is dry and crusting. I don't care. No one will see it under his jacket anyway. I manage to get his coat on. I put shea in the car seat in the double stroller. She does not like this (she doesn't like much of anything really...) and let's me know that. Too bad. We are going to the store if it kills me. I have not been out in days. I have brushed my teeth and dammit we are going out. So I push the stroller with both kids into the hall. Both kids are yelling. Loud. In the echoey building hall. So it is amplified exponentially for all to hear. Well at least they'll understand when they see me, why I have dark circles under my eyes resembling those that the football players paint on their faces and why I am sporting a stained shirt (formula) with the matching stained sweats (again the formula) no make up and greasy fly away hair pushed back by a headband. And I don't even care that I look this way. I have brushed my teeth, that will suffice. This whole hall scenario takes close to an hour because Hunter keeps kicking off his shoes and neighboors keep coming out to see what the commotion is and then come over to see the new baby and of course offer all kinds of advice as to how I'm supposed to stop her crying and how I can keep her quiet. Like I needed someone to point out to me that they are loud and if I made some kind of attempt at it, they might actually quiet down.

I get out at 3:30pm. I am not sure where the day went. I am tired. We finally get out and get to the store.

They are out of formula.
*falls down and cries*

Well there's always tommorow.
If I haven't ran away to Tahiti before then.

Except I will start the process (getting to the store is now a process, who'd a thunk it?...) during one of Shea's 3am feedings and maybe I'll get there by noon.

Sunday Night. Skeletal Staff.

I gave birth to Shea over the weekend (on a Friday to be exact)
It was also Yom Kippur so let's just say the halls weren't brimming with staff.
I've come to the conclusion that should you ever have some kind of accident or surgery or something that requires medical attention, try to do it by Saturday.
I know that this is a blanket statement and I am completely aware this doesn't apply to all hospitals.
Just mine.

Let me elaborate if I may...

There are few greater assets to a hospital then a great nurse. I am very appreciative of nurses. It takes a very special person to dedicate their life to that profession. Heck, my mom has been one for over twenty years so I really understand what it takes (she made sure of that). Once again my cries and prayers (and flat out begging) to the Birthing God's did not go unheeded. They decided that since my first birth experience was pretty lame that they would bless me this time with one that was a bit more pleasant (I say a bit more pleasant because let's face it, no matter how you slice it or push it or however you get it out, there is pain involved, and pain is not pleasant).

During my recovery from the section I was lucky enough to have the most dynamic, helpful, understanding, knowledgable nurse. Why did I love her so much? This woman saw the worst of me. Warts, lochia and all. She did not flinch. She took me to the bathroom when the catheter came out. She heeded my call for painkillers and mylicon with the most heartfelt understanding. She never once made me feel as if I was undeserving of any of the care she was giving or of my requests and always came back to check on me and make sure I was feeling as comfortable as possible. She calmed my nonsensical rantings about my daughter and her well being (omigod her poop is black! Omigod, are her intestines dead?! why is her poop black?!- Meconium, hello!) but she never made me feel stupid or like she was doing me some kind of huge favor. She was compassionate and caring. And most of all she loved doing what she did. You could just tell. That makes all the difference

She was there all week.
Then the weekend came.
And the neighbor and I were left to the mercy of Cruella.

(all names of people and places have been changed to protect the innocent and to prevent getting sued by the guilty...)

Actually I can think of twenty or so names to call her, but the majority of them would require bleeping them out.
Anyway.
Case and point - Sunday night. I am thirsty, perpetually thirsty. I don't know if it was the painkillers, or the fact that I was suffering hormonal hot flashes like I was in full fledged menopause. Now I had a nurse call button but it wasn't working properly. If one of us buzzed, then they would call on the intercom and ask what we wanted. The speaker was above your bed. It was loud. Deaf hearing aid loud. But they couldn't hear us well. It would go something like this...

Them: *LOUD* - This is the Nurses Station can I help you?
Me: regular voice - Ummm, can I get an extra sanitary napkin please...
Them - *LOUD* - This is the Nurses Station did somebody press the buzzer?
Me: *embarrased but a bit louder voice* - Ummm, I need some sanitary napkins please, I'm out.
Them: *REAL LOUD* - *Audible sigh* Hello? *audible breathing*
Me: *Yelling* Yes, I need sanitary napkins in bed 2 please...
Them: AS REAL LOUD AS POSSIBLE - You don't have anymore sanitary napkins?
Me: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD A PAD, PLEASE A PAD PEOPLE! I'M HEMMORAGING HERE!!!

So it's late, and the neighbor has her new babe in the room because she is breastfeeding. I don't want to wake the baby with the senseless intercom banter, besides I know it's going to go nowhere anyway. I decide to get out of bed and walk to the nurses station and request another pitcher of ice water and a painkiller. They say you should walk around anyway after surgery. So I pull myself out of bed. It took a good eight minutes to do so and all the physical effort I could muster. I hobbled to the nurses station, they were all talking and not really paying attention to me, so I stopped the nurse who was walking the hall. I asked her to please bring water to my room. She looked at me as if I just asked her to give me a one hour shiatsu massage. Perhaps I misread her look, I thought, and chalked it up to my fatigue and pain. I got back to my bed (neighbor thought I was insane to even be getting out of bed...) and waited for my water. My mouth was dry and my lips had the tight pulled feeling. And I waited. So I appologized to neighbor and buzzed the intercom. The nurses station and I had a conversation not unlike the one simulated above. I requested water and a painkiller. And I waited some more. I buzzed again. Now I was pissed. I once again requested water and a painkiller. Twenty minutes later the nurse from the hall who I kindly refer to as Cruella shows up. With my painkiller. But no water. So now I have a giant pill to ease my hurt but no way to swallow it. I look at her. In a voice that has obviously lost it's patience I inform her that it is difficult to take a horse pill without anything to wash it down.
She looks back at me, makes an annoyed sigh and starts mumbling as she leaves the room. I am still not sure if I am going to get the water. I wait again. I buzz the nurses station again.

Them: *LOUD* - This is the Nurses Station can I help you?
Me: *LOUDER* - Yes, someone just brought me a painkiller but no water, I can NOT take a giant pill without water can someone PLEASE bring me some water!!???

A minute later Cruella comes back in shuffling begrudgingly with seven chips on her shoulder. I said to her "you brought me the painkiller, but I've no water to take it with, I've been asking for water for awhile now..."

She picks up my pitcher and starts eyeing some cups on my bed table. There was a bit of water in two. I was sipping these conservatively because I was out of water.

She then says to me:
"Well this is why you don't have any water. You keep wasting it.
You shouldn't waste it, then you would have enough."

!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Neighbor's chin hit the floor in awe
I am stunned into silence (for a second anyway)
To this I responded:

NO! I do not have any water because I keep DRINKING it!
I drink the water because I am thirsty!
Very thirsty!
You know hydration? So you don't dehydrate?
As a medical professional you are supposed to know about the whole dehydration water thirst drink thing!
That is what you do when you are thirsty, you DRINK WATER!!!
Now can you please bring me some water?!!!

She hurries out of the room with my pitcher. Now me and neighbor are betting breakfast crossaints on whether or not she will actually return. About fifteen minutes later she returns with the pitcher filled with water. Then she leaves in a huff mumbling under her breath. I still get my hospital gown in a bunch when I think about it. Me and neighbor swore up and down for a half hour that we were going to report her. We forgot about it when the crossaints came. Besides, Angel nurse was back that morning and Cruella was just a bad memory.

To all the Cruella's out there. If you really hate waiting on the sick and laid up, then find a new profession.
To all the Angel Nurses out there, never for one minute think you are not appreciated.
You make more of a difference then you will ever know.

My Angel nurse ruled. She made the recovery experience so nice that I contemplated briefly (very very briefly, like a fleeting milimicrosecond briefly) having a third.

I'm over that though.
Way over that.

Birthing Bedfellows...

There's a million things that make a hospital stay easy. Having a good bedmate is one of them.
The person who shares your room during your tenure so to speak makes or breaks it.

If everything else sucks about your hospital stay, at the very least you can lament to your roommate. Who has just been through the same thing as you, and is suffering that same juggernaut hormonal surge and storm. And who can appreciate the humility of attempting a trip to the bathroom wearing the giant diaper they attempt to pass off as a sanitary napkin.

Unfortunately you have no control over who shares this life altering experience and room with you. I think they should come up with some kind of matching system, you know, like a dating service.

They should interiview you early on in the pregnancy and then put the file away, pulling a match for you when labor onsets.

You know kinda like those dating.com match sites. With questions like:

"Are you judgemental towards non breast feeders?"
and "Do you think it's OK to answer a cellphone and have an hour long conversation at 3am?"

Something like that.

I wasn't lucky enough the first time around to have a good bedmate. I shared the room with a lady (and I use the term lightly) who was on mandatory bedrest for the remainder of her pregnancy. This was her first pregnancy so she had no infant experience or tolerance for that matter.

I never actually saw her.
She was the voice from beyond.

She spent the entire time I was in the room shrouded behind the hospital curtain. The only reason I even knew she was there was because of the tongue clicking that would commence everytime my son would vehemently announce, as only hungry infants can, that he was starving.

I probably would have responded under normal circumstances, but well, I was mega drugged for pain and throwing down in the hospital just wasn't the maternal thing to do.

The Birthing Godesses smiled upon me this time.
I had a very cool roomate. She was just like me.
We both just had our second child on the same day and our firstborns were pretty much the same age. We both had dogs that our children taunted and fed scraps.

The chaos that we each thought was ours and our alone was shared by the other.

This became apparent to my "neighbor" (that's what we called eachother) when Hunter came to visit his sister for the very first time.

The visit was an excercise in futility and a test of insanity.

The child was not interested in his mother who had just orchestrated his dethroning and he was certainly not interested in the tiny pink thing that was the root of the dethroning. We spent most of the visit saying things like "Hunter GET OFF the windowsill !!!" and "Kicking mommy in her stitches is NOT acceptable!"

(note to self: never put toddler in bed with self shortly after surgery...)

But I think the bond was really solidified the night I like to call "Sunday Skeletal Staff Hell"
(I will expound on that and the big difference a great nurse and a crappy one makes next post)
When my requests via call button went unheeded and the nurses on duty made me feel like I was undeserving of even still being in bed let alone waited on, it was my roommate who let me know it was ok to need help two days after having my insides rummaged about to pull out a screaming human from my gut.

It was my neighbor who let me know that I didn't have to suffer silently without a painkiller (or three)

It was she who asked if I was alright when things went crashing to the ground (this was usually something like the bedpan that was filled with toiletries, don't ask...)

She made me feel better.

And in turn I think the validation I recieved from her made my healing a bit nicer, perhaps a bit faster.

I left with her contact information, and we've already emailed eachother.

I hope we stay in touch.

Besides a painless, routine, healthy birth, the one thing I wish for everyone is a roommate like her. The difference she made is immeasurable.

A quick note...

Hi everyone.
This is going to be my shortest post ever.

I just got home.

It's a girl.
Shea Rhion Malloy.
9.29.06
6.15oz
19 3/4 inches.





She is soooooo little.
Which is a big surprise.

When we really settle down here
I'll be back.
I have alot to share.

Thank you so much for all the wonderful well wishes.
I can't begin to tell you how much that means. :)

Wow, I'm soooo not ready for this.

Alright, so I'm less then 24 hours away from giving birth. I am scheduled for a c-section.
I apparently have a tendency to give birth to large headed olympic sized atheletes without the pelvis to match.

Here's me last week:


Holy Swallowed the Dog Batman!

And to think, I am nowhere near as large as I was with my son.

Oh yes and the giant red mark on my belly is due to my inability to compensate for extra girth during the ironing of son's clothes.

Yes folks, I managed to iron my stomach.
I've become a menace to myself.

Hunter was the pioneer that never quite discovered let alone made it through my birth canal. He was so stuck that they even had alot of trouble getting him out during the c-section. They wound up having to knock me out entirely.

So there will be no attempt at the regular way.
That's fine with me.
The sooner the better and I don't have anything to prove to myself or anyone else for that matter.
If you are a natural birth zealot, read no further;)
No lamenting about not being able to birth naturally here.
I'm one of those women who will avoid pain at all costs.
And if that mean an epidural and some anesthesia, then so be it.
Heck I'll even sleep through it if you give me the option.

At any rate, as of tommorow I will be the mother of two instead of one.
A new baby. A tiny life. A helpless infant.
Ask me how ready I am for this.

No really, go ahead, ask me.

You figure I had ample time to prepare and I actually know this time kind of what to expect (I say 'kind of' because with motherhood experience we all know that rarely, almost never, does anything go according to plan). I am supposed to know what I should have out, clean, washed and ready and what can wait.

You know what I have ready?

The swing is put together.
And the bassinet is set up in my room.
Hunter has piled up all of his matchbox cars in the swing.
I don't even know where the bassinet sheets are.
And in the bassinet you will find several pairs of pajamas and a robe I bought for the hospital which I have not packed for yet by the way...)
oh and the car seat is in the bassinet too.
I have alot of Hunter's infant clothing ready. Ready as in washed and folded. By my mom. Which is still in the plastic shopping bag she returned them in.
I am still not sure where the clothes are going to be kept.
I have the bottles ready.
They are still in the dishwasher though.
They've actually been there for a couple of weeks now.
(don't panic people, they're not festering with old milk/formula crust, they are clean...)
Although I still have yet to purchase new nipples for the bottles.
I'm sure you are asking yourself, 'well what the h*** has she been doing with all this time?'
I ask myself the same question.
Well, I've been keeping my son alive for starters.
That's always a plus.
As you all know, he's quite the handful and I only have a teaspoon of patience these days.
He decided to walk out of his highchair today during lunch.
Because gravity isn't an issue for a two year old.

Oh and the remainder of my free time has been delegated to peeing.

Well, it's all over real soon
So as soon as I know what it is,
I'll let you all know.

I'm looking forward to meeting my new booger and am itching to hold him/her for the first time.
Being this is the second time around I am more sure of myself, so it will be less tense and much more relaxed. An all around pleasant experiece.

Well I'm hoping anyways.

Oh and being able to sleep for the next three to four nights without any barking dogs, ADD channel changing husbands and pasta throwing toddlers won't hurt either.

God Bless Painkillers and Sleeping Pills.

Talk to ya'll soon!