Birth Story Part One: The Birth of the Child with the Chubbiest Cheeks and the passing on of the Lyons' Awesome Chin Gene to Another Generation.

So I look at this nine week old and I think, 'where did the baby go?' He is cooing, he is smiling, he is jibber jabbering. Which is my favorite thing to do. Have a conversation with a jibber jabber. You can make up any old story and they will make noises and sounds that seem to follow suit. I was sitting next to another mom the other day with an 8 week old, and she was watching Jacob and I. She leaned over and said, 'is this something he picked up in the last week. because my baby doesn't do this.' A genius I tell you! Baby Jacob is advanced and the smartest baby on earth! No really, I gave this explanation, and it is simply this; Jacob is the third child. It is noisy as all get out in our home, therefore he needs to chime in to keep up. It's merely a survival skill. Whomever is the loudest clearly gets the most attention. I also will admit that to keep my sanity, there are moments when he and I go off to some quiet corner and I tell him all my troubles, and he answers me with sweet smiles, and jibber jabber, and it is very therapeutic.

I suppose I need to add a birth story or it will be awkwardly late to add one I think.

Jacob, the moose, was late. I marched into my first overdue doctors appointment 5 days after his due date, and exclaimed, 'I do not care what you think, I am uncomfortable, this baby measured large, therefore he is large, he is past his due date which I know for certain is his due date due to going to a fertility specialist, and I want him out!' The doctor looked at me, it was the first time I had seen this doctor in my practice, and I think she wanted it to be the last time she saw me. In her Jamaican accent she asks me, 'Is this your first child?' To which I reply exasperated, 'NO!! My third, I know when the goose is cooked!' She looks at the ultrasound I had gotten two and a half weeks before when I was certain they were taking me that day, and she says, 'you poor woman, yes, yes, lets get him out of there.' Uh, hello? Where was she in the middle of April!?!? That is what I have been trying to tell you people!

I go to check out, with instructions to schedule my induction with the girls up front. I am 2 days, just 2 days away from being 41 weeks, and she says, 'oh that is too bad, we could take you tomorrow, but you aren't 41 weeks yet, your insurance wants you to be 41 weeks to induce unless there is an emergency.' I look at her and say, 'Just click the delete button, and put me at 41 weeks, I won't tell a soul.' She didn't, but assured me she was making the call, and would have me put in early the next week, since inductions did not happen over the weekend. She then gave me a pep talk saying, 'I bet you will go over the weekend anyway.' Apparently she had not met my uterus. My uterus is as thick as a concrete wall, there ain't nothing come out of there unless you have got yourself a jack hammer.

She calls, first available date is Tuesday, but the doctor who will deliver Jacob, Speedy, the 8th dwarf, wants me to go for testing on Monday, and to get my cervix covered in some cream that was going to "help me dilate". Mind you, uterus of steel, same dilation since 37 weeks; I was sitting pretty at maybe 2 centimeters. Well, pretty might be a stretch, I was sitting fat, swollen, and miserable at maybe 2 cenitmeters.

We go to the testing at 8 a.m., baby is as snug as a bug, and not in the slightest bit of distress. We then go back to the hospital at 6 p.m. for the cream. Andy wanted them to take me right then and there. He was ready for this baby to be out 3 weeks ago, and his patience was growing thin. I really think he wanted some time off work, and hey a baby is a pretty good reason. The delivery rooms were a wall away and when you are that close to the finish line, when it comes to my husband, come what may, he will get there. Apparently he does not get my anatomy while pregnant. No matter what modern science has come up with, I will not go into labor until my body is good and ready, or has given up the fight against nature, and just releases the beastly thing, which takes a really long time.

We go home to my parents house, because they were going to watch the kids and were much closer to the hospital. I start having contractions, pretty strong ones. But they sit 6 minutes apart maybe lasting a minute, and they never get more consistent, and they never get stronger. I give up and go to sleep. So much for the miracle cream. I think it was just Vaseline and they put it on to make whiny mom's shut up at least until the next morning.

The next morning the hospital was going to call anytime from 5 am to 9 am for me to come in. So I am piddling around, and Andy is pacing. Waiting is not really a strong suit of his. He can't even wait for water to boil. Every 5 minutes he would ask, 'did they call yet,' to which I would reply, 'are you not in the same room as me? Did you hear my phone ring?' I go to get a shower and at 8:30 they call. The Hallelujah chorus begins. I am at the hospital by 9:30.

I am dropped off at the door while Andy went to park. I am excited about this silent walk to the Labor and Delivery part of the hospital, the last time waddling anywhere and to collect my thoughts. But almost every other person I pass is a woman, saying, 'oh been there,' or something of the sort, or a doctor asking if I need a wheelchair, or someone giving me the silent smile, that holds the expression, 'yup, know just how you are feeling,' and then I would have to give the same smile back. Like a soldier going into battle passing the soldier that just left the battle or will go in after you are done. It is similar to the wave that one person that is riding a motorcycle gives to another. Which always cracks me up. Seriously. I am thinking of maybe when I pass another van of the same make as mine, squirting them with a juice box and vice versa, as a recognition that we are both listening to whining kids, and the same songs over and over again, while sitting on snack crumbs and driving with sticky fingers from the juice that spilled on the car seat buckle two weeks ago, and driving the same van. Look out Cherie!


I get all dressed up in my really hot hospital gown and those fun scratchy socks and waddle my way over to the bed. Andy comes in right after that. 'Did they hook you up to the pitocin? Where is the pitocin? Let's get this show on the road!' You know, checking my vitals, giving me some fluid, getting the proper supplies, all not valid reasons to my husband as to why I was not on the pitocin, contracting, pushing out a baby all in 20 minutes of arrival. Again, the whole waiting thing, not so much a fan of it, try living with him.

About an hour later, in prance my sisters, Meghan and Michelle, the last two members of the birthing team. I had given them the option when I got pregnant with Jacob to be in the delivery room if they wanted to. I had never witnessed a live birth before having Kendall, and I kind of wish I had, to kind of know what to expect. You know I like to start with my best foot forward, and I didn't, and I was a royal mess with her, and had no idea what was going to happen to me next. So I graciously presented them with this option of witnessing a gory mess that produces a beautiful child. My sister Meghan had been prepped by my mother for a week or so before hand, 'Meghan, if you feel like you are going to pass out, step away.' See my sister has this whole fainting thing going on, and she isn't really a fan of blood and bodily fluids, not so much an m.d. candidate.

So like I said, the prance in, and they sit, and they look at me in all my birthing glory, hooked up to monitors, wearing a hideous garb, and basically just a big fat blob. It is written all over their faces, 'wonder how long this is gonna take.' If this experience taught them anything, it taught them that birthing a child is no episode of 'Baby Story,' and over lickity split. This is an all day process, make yourselves comfortable.

So I get hooked up to the pitocin at about 10 am, and things start going, and it is a little mind game I begin to play with myself. Let's see how long I can wait before begging for the epidural. I see the computer monitor, I see the mountains going up and going down.

Then a resident comes into break my water. Welcome to the Big Show girls. The resident is with a medical student who looks like she is 16, and she is going to assist a girl, the resident, that looks like she is 18, with breaking my water with what looks like a knitting needle. My sisters come over to the bed to hold my hand, and the 18 year old begins her journey to my cervix, and twists and turns as I writhe in pain about to kick the 16 year old in the face, and then 'pop!' The floodgate is opened, and I am about to tell everyone to hop on the bed and grab life jackets on the way out because this water came rushing out in mad force, I thought we were going to be floating down Old York Rd. within seconds.

By 11:30, I am pissed about the pain. People are asking me questions and I am pissed that they even bother asking me how I am. How dare they even talk to me!?!? When in pain I am one of those crazy people that wants people around them but doesn't necessarily want the people addressing them or the issue at hand. I want them to be concerned, but not ask me what they can do to help. It's a little twisted, I know. But it's pain, it is my cervix that is going crazy, and it is my vagina that is going to birth a child the size of a large watermelon. I agree with my mind that I am going to make it to noon, and then ask for the epidural. Not so sure why I had to play this mental game with myself, its like I was trying to prove to myself that I am in fact She-ra. So at noon, not a minute later, I ask for the epidural. At 12:45, the anesthesiologist that my husband almost knocked out comes in. (long story, but in the end he conceded to keep his mouth shut, which was a good idea since the man was about to stick a needle into my spine) By 1 p.m., I am in another land, a peaceful one with no pain or unhappy endings.

To be continued...Birth Story Part Deux, The Birth of the Child with the Chubbiest Cheeks and the passing on of the Lyons' Awesome Chin Gene to Another Generation.

You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance. ~Franklin P. Jones

Holy Moly life with three is absolute chaos. Nope, I ain't going to lie and sugar coat it, you know you won't find that here. It takes at least 2 hours to go anywhere, including the mailbox, and I said, 'at least.' My Grandmother is still doing my wash for me, otherwise we would be all strutting around here naked. My kids do not eat meals at normal times, it gets to be 2 in the afternoon and I look at them, and go, 'what you are hungry again, we had breakfast at 8 a.m., your day certainly cannot be going as fast and as slow as mine.'

It is possible people to have your day move fastly slow. For instance today, we took Jacob to the doctor, bright and early. I had to get 3 children fed, dressed, peed, and in the van by 8:30 a.m. This began at 6. By 10 a.m. we had been to the doctor, Kendall stunk up the restroom there while she and E laughed hysterically out loud for all to hear that it was quite possibly, 'the worst smelling poop ever!'Ethan then promptly got his fingers pinched by an elevator door, then fell in the parking lot and skinned a knee, and Jacob, following in his sister's footsteps dropped a major deuce, which went up the back of his onesie, that Kendall then stepped on on her way out the door when we got home. And then I looked at the clock again and it was 3 pm, and I really feel as though I have done nothing, but we are all alive, and this is all that matters. And yet I sit and wonder, why am I not in my jeans yet? It is pitiful. I also laugh when I think to myself, 'gosh two was so easy.' My two tyrants, 13 months apart going for over 3 years now was easy, if I could go back in time and tell myself that I would have said this I could have saved myself alot of sanity.

But I love little Jacob. My little red headed screamer.

He cries a lot, and let me tell you that if this was my first child I would have secured that baby in that little bouncy seat, informed a friend, and ran straight out my front door and would not have stopped until I reached the Pacific Ocean. We are still trying to figure out the tears, and I do exaggerate a lot, I suppose. I mean he does coo and smile just as much. But with the tears you feel such empathy and tension at the same time, and all he is really doing is telling me that he; a. feels like a piece of crap, b. has to fart, c. is exhausted, d. is hungry, or e. wants to drop kick his brother and sister because their terroristic shouting is driving him crazy. Red headed boys have this connotation surrounding their existence that they are 'fiery.' I will keep you posted. He does have a lot of explosions out of the caboose,one might categorize as fiery, but we shall see. All I know is that it goes fast. Soon he will think that passing gas is hysterical, not life threatening. So for right now I am going to just kiss those chunk cheeks all day long. I mean they were made for that.

Birth Story to come...

In Hibernation Mode

When I figure out how to blog and take care of an infant and 2 needy preschoolers, I will certainly update. But for now I am just going to sit around and sniff, 'big red's', head and snuggle and snuggle some more. Officially, Jacob Michael's arrival came on May 4th at 5:34 pm. He weighed 8 pounds, 15 ounces and was 22.5 inches long. He was induced, he was all back labored, my tail bone still hurts like heck. I will provide the birth story soon. He has some nice red, well orange, hair, and he is mine all mine!

“[Watching a baby being born] is a little like watching a wet St. Bernard coming in through the cat door.” ~Jeff Foxworthy

So I am here to say that when it comes to the inducement of labor through some home remedies it is really just a waste of time. Let me just break it down for you, real simple. I am also going to give you my fair warning, that this post is not censored in anyway, so consider yourself warned, (men).

O.k. first things first.

Walking. Pretty sure I could walk to visit my friend Christine in China for tea and back and still not go into labor. I realize that this is impossible, you do not have to remind me, but I am looking at the distance of it. She is the furthest person away from me presently. Our library is about a mile walk away, give or take a few steps. We had some things due last friday so I loaded up the Radio Flyer with 73 pounds worth of children and about 10 of books and movies, and embarked on my journey. Andy asked upon my departure, what are you going to do if you go into labor on the way there or back? I really had no plan. I am sure someone could come pick us up as I lie screaming in the fetal position on the trail and traumatized my young children for life. It doesn't matter, nothing happened anyway. I passed another Mom on the way, she took one look at me and asked, 'trying to go into labor?' I replied, 'exactly!' She replied, 'best of luck.' And we continued on our ways. I have come to realize that we women are a little strange. Hauling close to 100 pounds at 9 months pregnant, and the only people who are not going to be concerned is another woman who has been in the same spot. Who cares if we give birth right there amongst nature? The baby is out. Mission accomplished.

We have also walked other places, like all over Kohl's for 2 hours pushing their double stroller cart which is like pushing a small locomotive. I mean at least if my water broke, they had some towels handy, and some pants, and I am pretty sure they would have given me an awesome discount.

I have also worked. And I have pushed my med cart up and down hallways and willingly volunteered to do rounds to walk briskly up and down hallways to no avail. Although I did feel like a royal piece of crap after being on my feet for 8 hours, it wasn't the result I was intending.

Now I walk with a limp and I move slower then a 95 year old woman who uses a walker, we raced. And since I have mentioned before that in many cases songs come to my head like a little soundtrack to my life, what comes to my mind when I get up and start walking is 50 cent, 'In Da Club,' and it is tremendously annoying. At one point he says, 'I been hit with a few shells, but I don't walk with a limp.' It really has nothing to do with me limping, it just has the word limp in it and therefore it is in my head, so 'Go Shwaty, it's your birthday...' It's in your head now to. Annoying.

Squats. Somewhere I read squats help. I also read that bouncing on one of those giant exercise balls works also. I don't have one of those. There is one at church, but I think that people would think that it is a little strange that a fat pregnant lady is bouncing on a ball in the aisle to the worship band. So I decided to do some squats after walking up and down the stairs 20 times, taking them two at a time. I did about 20 squats while holding on the crib for good vibes or something like that, and then I was about to pass out. So I stopped. Now here comes the result. No baby, or contractions, but when I got out of bed the next day I was stuck in the squat position since my thighs were killing me. They still are today. I think that the squats and bouncing are to bring the baby into position, and since this child already is, and had been for three weeks, it was a little redundant. I can already feel the head in my crotch, so we won't be doing those again, ever. I mean don't you think it would get a little annoying to be doing a headstand for weeks on end? Not only that, imagine doing a headstand into like a piece of foam or something that encases your head and staying like that for even a day. I would be like, 'get me out of here!!!!" Not this kid.

Spicy Food. Did that one last night. Thanks to my awesome neighbors and friends, Phil and Sue. We had chicken fajitas better then they make in Baja. Not that I ever had fajitas from Baja, but I imagine they were better. I mean he cooked the seasoned chicken on the grill people, and they had every single topping imaginable. I had a very full belly, and loved every bite, but there was still nothing. It was definitely a craving met. And again, I say, this child is fed so well, no wonder he doesn't want to come out. Did I ever mention I love my neighbors?

I also have a pineapple ripening on the counter. I sent Andy to get it the other day after I read that they might work. I did not want it from a can, I wanted the real thing with all the acid, so I have to wait until it is good and ready. My entire mouth swells when I eat too much fresh pineapple, like more then 3 cubes, and my tongue gets all itchy. I refuse to admit that this is an allergic reaction because I love pineapple. So I get to the point where I sound like a blubbering fool when I talk, and then have a few more bites for good measure and scratch my tongue with my teeth all day long, its really attractive. There are other foods that are said to induce labor, none of which I enjoy, like Eggplant Parm or licorice. So I will just skip that, because the thought of eggplant parm, makes me want to barf.

Sex. I am not going to divulge into my sex life here. I have mentioned it before that sex when you are this big and pregnant is not only almost physically impossible, it just makes me want to laugh, which probably isn't very encouraging to your partner. I will just mention that this past Sunday when I was having contractions, someone said to me, 'you are having contractions because of me, right babe?' I just rubbed his back and said, 'if this baby comes out today honey, it was all you, congratulations.' I mean the man is being robbed in that area, so the least I can do is build up his ego.

Gardening. No really, I did this, and it resulted in that trip to the hospital. My Mom Mom, the kids, and I were getting the vegetable garden ready by turning over the soil. I picked up that hoe and went to town. What was the worst that could happen? My water would break or something. No, just contractions that started up dilation, which is something, but it did not finish its job. And although we will have really good tomatoes this summer, and I did get to go to the hospital, I was not more then 4 cm, so it was a waste of my time, now that I am typing about it still pregnant, a week later.

There are some other things you can try, that I read about, which I am not going to do at all. This kid could actually stay in for another month, and I would not. One of which is Nipple Stimulation. The entire thought of this is just weird to me. 'Oh don't mind me, I am just pinching my nips.' And they say to do it for 15 mins a side. What in the world? Who has that kind of time? And who would want to?

Castor Oil. Someone asked me if I was trying to poison myself, or something like that, when I mentioned Castor Oil, I won't name names here. It quickly hit me that he had no idea prior to me mentioning this that it was not motor oil, but in fact a natural laxative. I have mulled over this idea for a few minutes, and then remember that I panic in the face of loose stools. When I feel the rumble I am running for the Pepto, which of course backs me up for days, but I don't have to feel the cramping. I think it reminds me too much of birthing contractions, and I shudder. So I have thought to myself well they must go hand in hand, and then I think, if it doesn't work, I am screwed.

There are some herbs you can take, but I do not feel like spending time and money hunting these crazy hippy things down. I am a drug store/pharmacy girl, so really these home remedies have me a little skeptical, but I was willing to try them anyway. I know what will work, starts with a P, and it is Pitocin, and all you natural birthers can just go ahead and shake your head in shame, and I say back, Yeah Epidurals! Although this time might bite me. I have this feeling that unless I move my butt like it is on fire to the hospital when labor does start I will not get there in time for my shot of peace and tranquility, I mean it was invented for a reason. And I will then be arrested promptly after delivery for domestic violence because I beat up my husband, and property damage since I destructed the birthing suite.

There are many things out there that people say work for labor. I mean just google it and you have everything from eating tree bark, to doing somersaults. I will go ahead and eat my pineapple when it ripens, but my bets are now on an induction.

I would put some pics in here to highlight my attempts at inducing birth naturally, but you see my camera has been in the hospital bag in the van since last week, and I am just too lazy to go and get it out, and not only that, my legs are so sore from squats it would take me 30 minutes to get out there and back.

There have been some that have said to me, 'When the apple is ripe, it will fall from the tree.' I will just go ahead and refrain from the reply that my mind entices me to say aloud. You don't say things like this to a woman with the belly the size of a small island.

Hormones are Fun!

A month has gone by since I blogged. What is that all about? I have been nesting I suppose, and growing, to the point that I do not think there could be anymore space in my body. I think that they are going to have to apply skin grafts to stretch my skin more, because the elasticity is shot. I mean the shear agony of thinking about all the flabby skin I will have to stuff into my jeans for like 3 years at this point is terrifying.

I am not overdue. Thank you to those who continually remind me. It's really sweet of you. Like that will make the situation any better. 'Oh well you are as big as freakin' Shrek,(little shout out to the movie we are watching), o.k., Fiona, in pregnant ogre form, and feel like knives are being shoved up your vagina, and that your lower back might actually erupt and leave you paralyzed, but you aren't actually due until Sunday.' Thanks for that. Or,'you haven't even dropped,' that's another personal favorite. I will remind you that you don't drop past your first pregnancy. Your body has already experienced this drop, and so, it will not happen again, your body has already been wrecked. But I don't say that out loud. I just smile and nod.

In this past month, I had an ultrasound for size check because one of my doctors thought that the baby may be a little large, and that it is always good to be aware of this before going into labor so that if it becomes necessary, we know why the head is not going past the hips. Funny that this doctor was a woman. Go figure. Now this was over a week ago, this little ultrasound, and keep in mind that the size may be off by a pound plus or minus. This child was looking to be about 8.6 pounds, one week ago. So technically it could have been 7.6 or 9.6. Now let's also keep in mind that each day they are in there they put on some weight, about a pound a week. You do the math. The doctor that came in to meet with me after the ultrasound said, 'well at this point it is not a monster baby, a large baby, sure, but not monster sized yet.' Uh, yet? My sister last night said to me, 'wouldn't it be funny if the baby came out and it was only 6 pounds!?!?' No it would not be funny, it would be a miracle. A gift from Sweet Jesus who decided to grace me with a blessing, a small child, with a pin head like his father. Have you seen my children's heads? Not gonna happen.

This week I went to the hospital due to the fact that I was having contractions for over 24 hours, but they were pretty inconsistent. Mind you, again, it was the female doctor who decided to send me in, just to be certain everything was ok, that the fluid levels were still up where they were supposed to be. And yes indeed, I was having contractions, no I was not past 2 centimeters dilated, and my fluid levels were fine. The nurse told me I could walk around the hospital and she would check me in an hour, or I could go home and be comfortable, able to rest, and eat and drink. I felt like an ass for coming in and so decided to go home, only wimps go to the hospital thinking they are in labor, didn't you know? But I mean here is the thing, my justification for being a wimpy ass, I am never the perfect going into labor girl. I have never and will never be 5 minutes apart lasting for one minute. It just doesn't happen. The nurse at the hospital said, 'well your contractions seem to be inconsistent, 20 mins, then 6, then 13.' No kidding, why do you think I am here!?!?! Now hook me up to the pitocin and let's call it a birthday. But, no, I waddled out, in pain, tired, actually hearing women screaming in labor and thinking, 'I wish that were me.' That is sick people, by the way. There is something hormonally wrong with you when you wish that.

At my appointment in the office yesterday the doctor said to me, 'well Lisa, the nurse you saw said she thought you were 50/50 on coming back last night in full fledged labor.' I assured him that it was not going to happen, and asked if that was supposed to make me feel better. I know my body. I know that at this point, since they are waiting until I am overdue to flag me, that my uterus heard that and completely gave up on me. I am going to give it some pep talks, maybe eat some spicy food for dinner tonight, and maybe, maybe have sex. There will be no promises. This is a subject all on its own, but how can sex be enjoyable when there is something the size of Mt. Everest standing in between you? I guess it isn't about 'enjoying,' anymore, per se. It is a possibility of a means to an end, so maybe. My poor husband, but then again, I wasn't the only one who contributed to this current state. So my uterus is going to have to completely take matters into its own hands. It is going to have to bust down some doors, kick the crap out of my water bag, and be in shear madness for it to want this child out. Because I will tell you, he is not going anywhere on his own.

He pronounced me almost 3 cm, 80% effaced after an exam that left me thinking his hand was going to come out the other side by means of my mouth. He was probably thinking, 'woman, you want this kid out, I will stretch the heck out of that cervix, and have you hunched over on the way out.' Well it didn't work. He said to me, 'we can't induce you until you are overdue, so after next weeks appt., we will set you up for an inducement. There is really no medical reason to have you induced earlier, hang in there.' I promptly responded, 'you mean my vagina exploding all over the delivery room due to the size of this child, is not a medical reason?' I really don't think he had heard that comment before, or expected to hear that comment from me, but he was left speechless with the nurse laughing hysterically. Part of my hopes he is in the delivery room, and so when he is stitching my up for 6 hours I can say, 'I warned you.'

I am definitely in crazed pregnant woman mode.

We are going walking today to the library. And I am pulling the wagon. I don't care. Stay out of my way!

Yes, actually I would like a little cheese with my whine.*

I have decided that one of the first things I am going to do when I get to heaven is track Eve down. I am going to march right up to her and say, 'Hey thanks a lot for eating that apple.' Not that I might not have been tempted myself, but I wasn't offered a tainted apple.

Here is the good thing about pregnancy and consequently,child birth. The baby. The end.

I understand that there are women out there that would suffer through much more pain to have a child come from their womb. I sympathize with that, and at one point I was right there with them. I am still right there with you, doesn't make childbearing and birth, again, thanks to Eve, any better, but I just want to encourage you in the fact that the plan for you is greater. Could you just imagine? We were right there, saying well obviously we aren't supposed to get pregnant to raise a child, let's explore other options, and BAM, pregnant with Kendall. This my dear friends, let me tell you, is my challenge and purpose, this girl was given specifically to me. No doubt about it, chosen with humor and purpose. 'Ha Ha, you asked for this!' Not that Kendall isn't a wonderful child, and that I don't love every single ounce of her, she is just Kendall. Simply put; she is just Kendall. I have a strong faith in the fact that the desire to be a mother is not overlooked, the means may be different for each person, but it is there for a reason, and will be fulfilled if you are seeking actively to fill it.

However, with that said, the chosen method for me after much doubt that it would ever be this way, is through child bearing and birth. Not without its challenges and heartaches, which you can read about in my past blog entries, but none the less, this is the means to our end, our little cherubs. Does not mean in any way that it makes it any easier. Does not mean that I won't whine, because I will. Give me a podium, I will go on for days.

But I mean come on, 8 months pregnant with a sumo wrestler? This is just not funny anymore. I will be getting an ultrasound to check the size of this child within the next two weeks. My doctor asked me what my cut off was for vaginal birth. 10 pounds, I guess? My She-ra friend Trista says that I can do it, no matter what the size. Uh, yeah, have you seen the size of my children's heads? They themselves weigh 6 pounds at birth. She also seems to think that breastfeeding is a wonderful thing. Not knocking it, because I haven't tried it, but I think I am going to with this one. However, it does not help that every single thing I read about breastfeeding lets me know that it is very painful. One woman went as far as to say that it was walking around with a paper cut on your boob that is constantly being irritated and then sucked on producing liquid that makes it sting. Awesome. My friend Cherie says that once I clear the 3 week mark with it, I will be fine. Excuse me? 3 weeks? How about the 3rd time, or the third day? Does she not remember not sleeping more then maybe 2 hours a day for a month, and then to top it off you get to have your breasts tortured?!?! I don't know people. Specifically, I don't know you la leche leaguers, I might fail you big time. And don't even try it, don't even say it, 'oh you are setting yourself up for failure.' Just shut up. Every time I am in Target that aisle with the formula just says to me...'this will make your like one million times easier.' If it makes me a wimp, well then, I will take getting picked last in gym class. I am going to try it though, alright? I invested in books, Cherie gave me her pump to use. But calloused nipples? What in the world?!?? But I swear if it doesn't grant me some weight loss, I am so selfish sometimes.

I must though confess the greatest selfishness in all of this. During your hospital stay you have the option of taking the baby to the nursery through the night. Now if you are a formula feeder, they feed the baby every two hours through the night. You get where I am going with this right? Before I had Kendall a piece of advice was bestowed upon me, 'since you are going to be bottle feeding, send the baby to the nursery at night so that you can sleep, because once you are home, there is no nursery to send them to.' They of course bring the baby back to you at 6 am, before the shift change, but just the same, the drop off happens at 10 p.m. So with this knowledge, Andy and I dropped Kendall and Ethan off both nights we were there for their first sleepover parties. I am certain that the nurses were like, 'lazy mother,' in complete honesty, I could care less. If you breast feed, this option is still open to you, but since your boobs aren't velcroed on, SURPRISE!, the baby is delivered to you each time it shows that it is hungry. And then you actually have to ring the bell and actually tell someone that they can take the baby back to the nursery. I don't think I would have the balls to do this, and so guess what? A wretched breast feeding beast is formed. Hey, I told you it was a selfish confession, but having gotten home with Kendall and having 3 sleepless nights in a row right off he bat, I was thankful for the sleep I got in the hospital.

So you know, breastfeeding sounds like fun...

Right now I am in the end stages. I waddle worse then a duck. I am not sleeping at night, because when you get to this point you have to rotate sides to be comfortable thanks to the hip pain about every hour or so. I am out of breath when I simply just walk across a room. I seriously pant like a dog. When this child is growing I immediately feel it, and he wants to be fed. Last night I was up at 2 a.m. feeding it cocoa pebbles. Nutritious. And I get to hear every time I see someone, 'Wow you are bigger then the last time I saw you.' Just what every woman wants to hear. It's really uplifting. And the charlie horses, oh the charlie horses! They are worse after I work, obviously, because I am on my feet anywhere from 8-16 hours on a shift, yeah, that's right,now you all know where I will most likely go into labor. But anyway, the other night I seriously thought that someone was taking a power drill with the biggest bit attached, and going straight into my calf. I woke up screaming and crying, if I could have moved I would have torn the place up since that is what I do when I am in pain, I kick or throw things that are near me. That is why an epidural is pretty important. Otherwise Andy would have forceps flying towards his head in the delivery room. I have to be paralyzed. Andy of course, tried rubbing it, he actually leapt out of bed, I think he thought I was in labor, but just the same, it was bad, and they don't get any better until this child comes out.

And that is my piece. My venting.

Again, you can run Eve, but you can't hide. I am on to you.


Pictures are proven evidence that I am as big as a small house with room for 3, and giving birth to a super size.

Good Day Sunshine!

After days of rain...rain that soaked Stanley so bad each time he went out to pee that I swore the wet dog smell would never leave him, the sun is here. I contemplated litter box training him...anyone ever had any success with that? I think had that happened Lily would have put on her rain poncho and slickers, packed up some Friskies, and been done with us.

But now the sun is out. We have runny noses, slight coughs, and pants that don't stay up on pregnant bellies, but we still made it outside to play in this weather, and plan on doing it again today. I love the exhaustion that comes over little kids in the first days they are able to play outside again at bedtime. It is a peaceful, deep sleep, and you know they are having the best dreams ever!

I of course, cannot let the first tee shirt wearing weather go by without some tunes about it. I was singing them all day long to the kids. They of course by the end of the day were, 'enough Mommy!!!' So now I have to share them with you. So open up the windows and let the 'hood hear how happy you are this wretched winter is over...and I swear if it rears its ugly head for one last hoorah I will refuse to take off the flip flops! Take that! I don't even have flip flops yet. This is a disgrace. I threw mine out from last season because I could actually feel the concrete through the sole, vowing that I would replace them when the sun came out. Well it is time! I need to get to Old Navy. Honey, take me to Old Navy I need my 2 for $5 flip flops today before the navy blue and brown ones run out and I look like a fool wearing the black ones with a brown shirt. I will do it though...I love my flip flops, don't test me. Just roll me right in the front door. I need black, brown, navy blue, and a pair for Kendall to make it an even 4, because you need to buy 2 to get the 2 for $5. They don't mess around. However, I am going past an Old Navy today on the way to and from my doctors appt. I think I deserve them since I will be put through the agony of getting on a scale. I'm just saying. Anyone need some?

I also took the time to take some pics of the kids in the warm weather because all I have is cold weather pics of them in the house as little decorations, and you know that just won't do, we have to be seasonal around here, right Cherie?

So the tunes...
to accompany the pics...
press play now, sing along, dance along, get out the bikes, oh and the band aids, and the sunscreen, I forgot that yesterday...poor cheeks.

1. 'I Can See Clearly Now, the Rain is Gone' -Johnny Nash
Ok, so seeing clearly is debatable since I am over 8 months pregnant, and nothing makes much sense anymore, but the rain being gone is probably going to make things a little easier.

2. 'Here comes the Sun' -Sheryl Crow
I sang this to E when he woke up yesterday morning. He isn't a big fan of morning serenades, but I am his mother, who can't sing to save my life, but dream I can, so he has a long road ahead of him.

3.'Lollipop' -Mika
This one you are going to one to turn up and call in the kids. We love to dance to this tune. Kendall loves to sing it. She was even singing it when I was snapping photos of her yesterday.

4. 'Walking on Sunshine' -Katrina and the Waves
This chick is really excited that some dude is knocking on her door when she thought he wouldn't. Good for her. I am just happy she sang about it, added that she was walking on sunshine, and added a beat that we could dance to, and correlate with good weather.

5.'It's a Sunshine Day' -The Brady Bunch
Anything the Brady Bunch sings is so annoying to me, and to have this song in my head was really annoying yesterday. I put on a short little diddy so you can feel my pain. What dorks.

6. 'Boogie Shoes' -KC & the Sunshine Band
Any band that has Sunshine in their name is fair game, and KC he has a good band. Yesterday I sang this because we have boogies all over this house right now, and if you can't have fun with that, well you will get grossed out and gag like Sue.

7.'T-Shirt Weather' -The Lucksmiths
This song makes you want to get on a beach cruiser and weave back and forth on the road with your sunglasses on. Ok, maybe not. But I love t-shirt weather. I think its grand that someone made a song about it. It makes no sense, other then the fact that they are happy it is finally warm out.

8. 'You are my Sunshine.' -Elizabeth Mitchell
This song is depressing when you really think about it? Why do we teach it to our children? I think of the movie 'Beaches,' when I hear it. Me and my friends used to watch it in Jr. High to make ourselves cry. We were dumb. Regardless, my kids are my sunshine...and they do make me happy when skies are gray, but I do hope that someday they get how much I love them.

9.'You are the Sunshine of My Life' -Stevie Wonder
What is a day without Stevie Wonder? I love his tunes. He mentioned the word sunshine and so of course I had to mention it. Oh and of course because Andy is the Sunshine of My Life...cheese, but I do like dancing in the kitchen to it with him while I sing off key.

Can you find the missing word in the pile of art before anyone else? If you do you win my first bunch of flowers blooming for your dining room table. Hint: It's the story of my life!


Have fun outside!

Pee-ers Progress

So it turns out this potty trainer has outsmarted me a bit. I fully admit I do not have a penis, SURPRISE!, and I do not know how the urination process works for gentlemen. I am learning. By the time this baby is ready to be trained,I think I will have it down.

Day one we were 50/50. But I learned on this day that Ethan cannot have anything on down there. There can be no sensation of something covering the little wee wee. This reminds him of a diaper, apparently, and he just feels free to go. So Toy Story pack of undies, yeah we went through them in about 2 hours.

Also it turns out that there needs to be some tucking and direction involved. I also learned this the hard way. Standing in front of him coaching him on, yeah not so much. I think I went through 4 shirts on the first day. Apparently the force the urine produces is similar to a super soaker, who knew?

So with that day coming to a close, we have the sensation issue nipped in the bud, as well the tuck and point down. Ethan will go bottomless for a bit, and I will stay out of the way once I am certain he has gotten it all squared away.

Day 2 we head to Walmart in search of a potty with some sort of deflector. Because apparently little boys training have no idea when they are done and they will say they are done and open to release the tuck, soaking anything in the way. We come home with a Lightening McQueen cushioned potty chair that sits on the big potty with a deflector. This is solving two problems because now he will not have the red rings on this rear end from sitting on a plastic chair, and he will also not be concerned about falling into the bigger toilet and can focus on the task at hand.

On this day we are doing well. But then I start to think that this once Super Pooper, with an average of 3 times a day, has not relieved himself in two. Problem. So during nap, we strap on the diaper, because I am not about to clean sheets, air out mattresses, so on and so forth. I am not ready for that stage yet. When he wakes up from nap I give him some privacy, watch him sneak into his room to find a dark corner. I ask him if he has to go poopy and that we could try the potty and get a big prize, he turns down the offer. But he pooped. He was upset about it, but I am certain his belly felt better. When it comes to the beginning stages of potty training, I am all about getting the pee under control first. Everyone has their own style. But I am not about to use a suppository, enema, prune juice, stool softener, etc... because the child has not gone in a week. This experience would horrify the child and I have set myself back about a year in the toileting process. Pooping is apparently a control issue with my children, and on day 2 of training, they aren't going to give it up to me. 'You can make me pee lady, and I will take the peanut butter cup, but if you think I am dropping the deuce for you this easily, you have got another thing coming to you.'

Day 3. I am at work all day. Andy promptly puts on the undies. He learned the sensation lesson real quick. I tell Andy he is going to have to poop and it is going to be a project, give him his space, an opportunity to drop his kids of at the pool. 10 minutes later, phone call, 'he pooped in his pants, and I am mad.' Now I do not have the patience of a saint. But when it comes to potty training, I sympathize for some reason. I do not remember myself being potty trained, but perhaps my subconscious does, and it must have taken me some time. So I am all about going up the potty training mountain with an easy does it mentality. You push, we fall, and we have to start all over again. Andy is the, 'now we decided we are going to use the potty, so use it,' type of person. Perhaps that is why I am a push over and he is not. But you know, we give and take here. I will get it, some day. But probably not with potty training. But as the day went on, there was progress.

I also worked Sunday evening, and the boys must have spent some time together going over the basics. Like a little class, 'Peeing with a Penis 101.' For when we went to attempt the potty that morning, Ethan and I, he promptly corrected me. 'Mommy don't touch, I point it down with my fingers like Daddy does, see!?!?' When he was done, he then says to me, 'and then I shake it.' This was similar to a hose that was just on being shook, but I got the idea. This was man's work, I just watch in the wings in case I am needed, and hand over the candy.

We talked a bit yesterday about pooping and how Kendall got a big prize for going poopy on the potty lots of times. Kendall was involved in the pep talk, 'yeah E, I picked out the Mulan movie, Molly and Brynnie got me the Mulan doll, we got lots of candy.' I said 'yes, now see you can pick out a big prize for your box too. ' I asked him what he would want, he said, 'me not sure.' Kendall not missing a beat says, 'well E, how about like RC, or a movie, or something, or like a trip to Disney World.' Whoa, hold your horses sister. We are talking pooping on the potty, not scoring a 1600 on the SATS at age 3. I quickly tell her that she needs to stick with the RC, and movie suggestions.

Today Ethan has gone pee on the potty at least 15 times. No joke. This kid now has some control over his bladder and knows that if he doesn't release all of it each time, he will need to go again in 5 minutes, thus getting another trip to the candy jar. Tomorrow the undies are going on, with the, 'you keep these dry, each time you go to the potty you get a piece of candy,' speech. We need to up the ante a bit.

Now pooping. We work at it. We try to explain to push like you need to fart. Yes, this is graphic, yes, I did just say that, I also did say, 'Peeing with a Penis 101.' So you will just need to move on.

There has been evidence he is trying. These are from the iphone last night, when I, at work again, was not around. Andy was tutoring him through the class, 'The Basics of Pooping of the Potty 101.' He told him to push like he had to fart, as previously mentioned by the professor, there was no pooping taking place, but clear effort was presented by the student. The concentration was there, obviously, but the student is still holding back. So right now in this class he is holding at a B-. It was going to be a C+, but the biting of the lip brought him up 2 points.

'But pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flower,--its bloom is shed.'

~John Bunyan, Pilgrim's Progress pt. II

Here we go again!

So it seems we must get a little tough, or a little more hefty with our bribes. I'll admit it.

My dear son. He has a problem.

To my husband it's quite serious. Especially with an impending birth on the horizon. The tug on his wallet is pretty strong. Because lets face it, kids aren't cheap. I mean their expenses effect things you wouldn't necessarily even think about when you plan on having them. Like I don't know, a new DVD player, since someone decided to jam a few into the player at one time because he thought that would be fun to watch a few movies. Also, your water bill. My children like to brush their teeth with the water running, just like we do, and I will be honest, sometimes when they are doing this, I like to throw on some wash, or make some beds, or both, and then I realize, whoops, it's been awhile in there with the teeth brushing and water running. 'Honey, I couldn't imagine why the cost keeps going up, what can I say, water is expensive I guess!?!?!'

So back to Ethan's problem. He hates being potty trained. Andy's problem, he does not want to buy both sons diapers. If you asked Ethan he would say, 'It's ok, I go in my diaper.' He is a typical male when it comes to this since I am certain that when a great game is on tv, and it is so tight, if you were to get up you would miss a life changing play, but you have to pee so bad it hurts, when presented with the option of a diaper, many men would say, 'ok.' They of course would never admit to this as grown men, but that is where the toddler boy and their uncensored honesty comes in. When it comes down to leaving a great activity like trains to go potty or go in your diaper, well they are going to say, 'It's ok, I go in my diaper.'

With Kendall it was cool to go on the potty, something different to do, and if you were going to give her prizes for it, well then she would pee all day long. Pooping was the issue, definitely, until we figured her game out. With Ethan, he could frankly care less if it is cool, the big boy thing to do, if all his friends are doing it, or if you dangled candy in front of his face. I sit him on the little potty sometimes for so long he has a red ring encircling his cheeks and upper legs, and he didn't go. When I put the diaper on for a nap or a movie, it is wet within 10 seconds. This is laziness and stubbornness. 'I told you lady that I want to go in my diaper, I don't know why you don't listen!!'

Andy tends to lean towards discipline for not accomplishing this task that is necessary for life. I am the briber, and he has conceded for the time being. Since Ethan has never gone on the potty, not once, how can I truly know for sure he gets this concept? It's puzzling, and can keep you up at night. I know he knows what the potty is for, I am not that dumb, but I know for certain that he doesn't have that, 'I have to go pee, I need to find a toilet,' idea down. To him, it is a nice concept, and makes a lot of sense, but he doesn't have the time to be bothered with it. And this is where I come into play. He is not Kendall. He is not going to come up to me and say, 'Mommy I want to go pee pee on the potty today,' and I am going to slap on a pair of underwear, never look back, and call it potty training. With Ethan, he embodies every sense of the word, 'train,' and that word implies, work, and guess who gets to do it with him.? That's right, his 8 month pregnant Mother. Sounds challenging? Like a lot of fun? Absolutely not.

As you have read with Kendall, I wrapped a large empty diaper box and put it on top of the fridge because she had some issues with poo. I enticed her even more by wrapping this giant thing, which she thought was stuffed with everything a girl could dream of, with princess paper. I posted a chart, told her you poop 5 times you get everything that is in this box, and the rest is body functioning history.

With Ethan, I could wrap a box the size of the Taj Mahal and he could care less. So we have decided to purchase a coveted item, not wrap it, and sit it on top of the fridge to taunt him all day long, and to make mention of it whenever it is in our line of sight. Andy wanted to also let Kendall play with this item since she goes on the potty. I think that is just torture. This may be my italian mother protection over my boy, but I think this is his to earn, key word being, his. So again, Andy I am certain, humoring me, has conceded. Lord thank you for giving me a man who will concede at times I need him to, so he can later laugh at me.

Here is the bigger question...where is my big wrapped box filled with treasures as an incentive to potty train the untrainable beast?

So today is has started, well sort of started. He knows tonight Daddy is taking him to the store tonight to get his coveted item for being potty trained. When he gets home he will have a chart on the cabinet in the same place his sister did. If he fills those boxes, I think there will be seven of them, he gets the prize. I am toying with the idea of the boxes to be checked off being 7 days, not just seven times.The fun part will be getting the toy home and taking it out of the bag, and putting it on the fridge. This kid is going to flip a lid and throw the biggest tsunami of tantrums you have ever witnessed. Because I don't think he really gets it. I think I am going to get it on film for you.

He is already pissed at me because I won't give him a starburst until he goes on the potty. He threw a tantrum, which I promptly ignored and let him have, since it is tough to lose privileges to a favorite candy. I typically give them to him when he helps me clean or something, not today pal. This is a new day. We are going to have to pick up something else for being a big helper, like gum or something. The kid loves gum. At least five times a week there is a pink wad in his diaper for me. Thus again proving gum does not stay in your stomach for 7 years, he is only 2, and poops it out on the regular.

All this bribing you say? Hey, this is my house, I don't get on you for not sanitizing your door knobs once a week, get off my back.

But what I love about potty training a boy, since there is actually something, is little boy underwear. Why are they so cute in them? I am not a fan of the tighty whities on grown men, and if Andy wore them, I would just bust out laughing and take a picture so I could laugh all day. I don't know why I think they are funny, some men wear them, prefer them, and that's ok, but I still think they are pretty funny looking. Why do they cut so low on the leg? Must have something to do with chaffing prevention, I don't know. But who am I? Wear any kind of undies you want. Ethan prefers Toy Story undies, and he just looked so cute and proud.

He has been on the toilet every 15 minutes this morning, with questions in between. I had just finished cleaning the breakfast dishes and when I turn around Ethan is there, 'Mommy, I can have a Starburst, I pee peed.' There is a puddle on the floor to prove it and Woody, the movie character, is all wet.

We are off to a smashing start.

There better be a box with my name on it, there just better be.

33!

Today our old man turns 33! To commemorate this event the kids wanted to sing a little diddy. Not sure what all the silliness was about, but they were satisfied with the end result. Nothing like early morning video shots...they look so puffy, pretty!

Happy Birthday Daddy Donut!