Weebs is on calendar

You know what's weird?  Picking your baby's birth day off a calendar before you even know the gender.

Doctor: "You want to aim for November 1?"

Me: "Uh, sure.  Sounds good."  (Me internally: "You're really going to let me go to 39 weeks, dude? Ugh!)

Doctor: "Awesome, I'll put in the paperwork and request the date."

Just like that.  If my body cooperates and the paperwork is approved, my youngest will be born 11/1/12.

My c-section with Silas was planned, but it was planned about 10 days before he was born.  By that point in my pregnancy, I was all, "get him OUT!", so picking a date was a huge deal, and I got the exact date I wanted.  So, it still felt almost as exciting as actually getting to go into labor.

This, however, felt unceremonious and weird.  I was almost a little put out about it.

And then after I got back to the office and got to thinking about it, I realized something that made me feel like maybe it was fate or destiny or something way cooler than picking a date off a calendar after all.  

November 1?  Only my favorite grandmother in the whole world's birthday.

She's one of the toughest, kindest, strongest, most amazing and independent women I've ever known.  For my child to share a birthday with her would be incredible!  It makes me feel like this baby is going to possess a lot of the traits that I've have always so admired in my grandmother, and I can think of nothing better.

In addition to that, my grandmother is having a really crap time of it right now.  My father just passed away, which means she just buried her only living child.  She sounded flat defeated when I spoke to her two days ago.  I'm so hoping that when I call her tonight to tell her, it will be a chance for her to smile and think happy thoughts even if just for a few moments.

 

The visit with the high risk doctor has come and gone, and things went well enough for me to finally tell the Facebook world about baby Weebs.

Dr. High Risk did make sure to tell me that baby Weebs has a nasal bone (if you don't know why that's important, just understand that it's monumentally important to me).  He said it more than once.  So, you know, my heart soared at that knowledge.

Then he made sure to dash my hopes by telling me he would see me back in seven weeks (instead of four like I had planned).  That means I have to wait seven more weeks for a chance to find out if this baby is team pink or blue.

The agony!

Sweet Silas gets to go to his first baseball game tonight.  

We discussed it in the car yesterday.

Silas: I want to go to the baseball game.

Me: You are going tomorrow when daddy gets off work.

Silas: And I'm gonna eat popcorn?

Me: Yes and a hot dog!

Silas: a hot dog?  Can I do the hot dog dance?

Michael is tasked with getting this mysterious hot dog dance on video should Silas happen to bust out with it.

I assure you, it will make an internet debut.

There is a baby in there/What's up with Silas

There is a baby in there.  I saw it.  Well, the sono tech saw it.  I saw a blobbish thing on the screen with a fluttery little heartbeat that the sono tech assured me was a baby.

Hi, I'm Weebs.  Isn't this the worst sonogram photo you've ever seen?

I liked the new doctor.  Although he is going to make me see a separate high risk doctor because of the genetic issues associated with my first child.  So, I didn't accomplish the seeing of only one doctor.  The hospital is better than where I was going to deliver though.  So, there's that. (And we'll just have to hope this baby doesn't send us into bankruptcy and homelessness).


On another note, Silas has been sick.  Like, he threw up on me three times in two hours and ran a 105.5 temperature sick.  It was unbelievably scary to see the thermometer climb that high.  The trip to the ER was all me yelling at Michael "is he still conscious?!" between cursing other vehicles for being in the way because Silas was trying to pass out.


He got a shot and spent a few days recuperating, and now he's back to himself.  Thank God.  Because there's nothing you want more than for your energetic kid to go back to running amuck and demanding you play blocks and trucks when he doesn't feel good and only wants to curl up on the couch and stare at the TV (ok but the extra snuggles are awesome).


Yesterday, we played "clouds", which is what he took to calling cloud dough.  When he was done playing clouds, we busted out the sidewalk chalk (because we could not stand the thought of going back in the house).


Playing Clouds



Drawing Circles

Now it's back to working and missing him.  At least I know he feels well enough to demand we play blocks when we get home.

Between finding out I was pregnant with Silas and finding out I was pregnant with Weebs (nope, not explaining why I'm calling this one Weebs), my insurance gradually went from freaking awesome (as in Silas cost us a whopping $150) to "why do I even have insurance?" (as in, just pay for all the cost associated with having this baby yourself).

So, yesterday, I got the this-is-how-much-this-is-going-to-cost-you breakdown and cried a lot and freaked out a lot and emailed my mom a lot and then called her and ranted a lot.

You see, since my first delivery didn't go anything like normal, all my pregnancies are now "high risk" right out of the gate.  Previously, that has meant that I had to see two doctors.  However, when you're basically paying for your prenatal care out of your own check, you want to lessen the associated costs.

Therefore, I now have an appointment (for tomorrow) with a doctor I've never met who handles "normal" pregnancies (if there is such a thing) and "high risk" pregnancies out of one office.  He delivered a very good friend's daughter, so he comes highly recommended.  But still, new doctor.

Plus there's the whole super terrifying first appointment and first sono (is everything going to be normal and okay?!) and the start to all the poking and prodding and drawing blood (did I mention how much I loathe being pregnant?).  

I'd say pray for me, but if you're reading this, the appointment was normal and everything looks to be going okay with baby Weebs.

Tomorrow I'll write a post with a picture of the first sono picture (but you won't see it for a while because there are still some peeps we need to tell about the new arrival). 

An announcement

I know I abandoned you guys...again. (I wrote this post and the next two a while ago, but I saved them to publish after I made my announcement).

Ok, but I've got so much stuff going on right now.  Stuff I have to talk about.

So, I'm going to just talk about it here, and if you guys feel like popping over to read, that's great.  If not, I totally understand.  Go with your gut.  I'm clearly a flaky blogger.

Anyway, my main concern of late is that I'm going batshit crazy.

What's new, right?  Well, this is not just my normal neurosis.  This is me going truly bonkers.

Why?

Oh, because I'm pregnant.  (Thank you if you said "congratulations", and bless your soul if you said "you poor thing.")

Yes, I'm once again on the roller coaster of emotion that is pregnancy, and I hate it now as much as I hated it the last two times.  (Yes, yes, it's all worth it in the end, but put a sock in that for right now because I don't want to hear it, okay?)

I cry as often as humanly possible.  Big weepy sobs of woe.  If I'm not crying, I'm ranting.  With steam coming from my ears and laser rays of death shooting from my eyes.  If I'm not crying and/or ranting, I'm gushing.  Gooey, over-the-top gushes of love and emotion for my son or my husband or a milkshake.  Sometimes one emotion barrels right into the next before I can even catch my breath.  It's all very exhausting.

And let me say that being pregnant and having a two-year-old is ridiculous.  The child has so many needs, and when you pair the needs with the wants, it's a never ending loop of fetching something or cooking something or cleaning something or wiping up a bodily fluid.  

So, all the time I spent napping and reading pregnancy blogs and shopping for onesies while I was pregnant with him, I spend, you know, taking care of him while being pregnant with this one.  And I'm doing all of that while crying or ranting or gushing and while being horrendously nauseous and sinus-congestedy and sleepy. (Update: The nausea disappeared.  Just vanished.  It's been replaced by really awful heartburn though, if that makes you feel better).

Therefore, I'm batshit crazy, and I feel sorry for the people who have to live or work with or near me.  

I'm sorry, people.  Maybe the second trimester will bring less crazy.

Sometimes I lose it. Like 15 minutes ago in my hallway. I just sat there and cried and started praying in my head and then aloud and then like I was 20 again and a children's minister with a very close relationship with God instead of a 29 year old woman who forgot how to really talk to Him.

I was about to throw in the towel, but He saved me...in my hallway.

Anyone still out there?

Anyone still out there? 

I needed a monster break.  So, I ditched my blog and my facebook and went and wrote elsewhere.  I don't stop writing.  Sometimes I just write for strangers instead of you guys.  

I tried to post the night before Thanksgiving, but I couldn't remember the email address to send the post to, so it has been sitting in my drafts folder.  

I'm not going to promise to post with any specific amount of regularity, but I'm going to make an effort to blog again.

Here's the Thanksgiving post:

Usually I make a list of things I'm thankful for to put up on the blog that are things besides family, friends, etc.

However, this year, I'm so overwhelmed with love for the people in my life that they are all I have room in my heart and head to think or talk about.

Tonight was hard. I thought it was hard because I was tired and the grocery store was a train wreck and Silas was cranky. But one bad, split-second fail put it all in perspective.

When we got home, I was in such a hurry and so irritable that I failed to take the normal steps I take to protect Silas from the stairs that lead to our front door.

In one horrible thud, he fell from the stairs and landed on the concrete. He was in so much pain and so afraid, and it was my fault.

I'm panicky when Silas is hurt. Michael is always the one who's level headed and keeps me calm. But this time, he wasn't here.

I'd like to say I pulled myself together and took charge of the situation, but I didn't. Instead, I fell apart and let the terror and guilt win and called my mom and cried. Then I text her after we hung up. Then when Silas threw up all over us, I called her and cried again.

She took care of us the way she always does. She knew exactly what to do, and she swooped in to help me take care of the most precious person in my world.

Maybe one day I'll be that mom for Silas. I pray that I will.

Over the past year, the beautiful people in my life have helped me hold it together when I've desperately wanted to fall apart.

Without Michael, my mom, Kaylan, Michael's mom and dad, Randi, Candice and so many others (and please don't be offended if I didn't call you by name because the list could go a mile), I cannot see how I would have possibly made it.

I'm so thankful Silas is okay and that I wasn't sitting in the bathroom floor, covered in vomit with no one to call.

I love you all so much. My family, my long time friends, and my newest friends. Thank you for taking the time to know me and for being so wonderful to me. Thank you for all your hugs, support, encouragement and patience when it would be so much easier to give up on me.

You all hold such a special place in my heart.

Happy Thanksgiving!