Noah has been sick, Y’all. The kind of sick that makes a momma want to cry. Well forget the wanting, I HAVE cried. It’s not like the RSV sick he had in December, but it’s really close. I finally took him to the Dr. and found out it was a virus. We’re on the tail end of it. My poor, sweet lil’ man!
Thursday: Awful grumps. AWFUL! He cried all. day. long. When Jeremy got home, I begged for a break. Noah was sooooo unhappy! I thought it was teething until:
Friday: 101.7 temperature. Grumps. Crying. Crying. Oh, and did I mention crying?
Saturday: 101.7 temperature. All day. Crying. No naps. Crying.
Sunday: 101.7 temperature. Crying. No other symptoms, not even a runny nose. But crying? Check.
Monday: Fever gone. Strange rash all. over. body. Call Doctor. Can’t see us until Tuesday. Oatmeal bath. Oh, and crying. Did I mention that the whole family is crying too? Yes, even Bella. I’m not kidding! She would cry because she was so upset over his being so sad. My poor babies!
Tuesday: Rash. Grumpy baby. Doctors appointment. It’s a virus, can’t do anything to help. It’s a waiting game.
Wednesday: Feeling better. Crying spells cut in half and he took naps too. Yay!
Wednesday night: Frazzled Momma. Wine? Check. Ice cream? Check. But not at the same time, no. Ice cream and wine don’t go well together.
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Michelle got me thinking about sleep. Do you sleep well? Are you a hard sleeper, a noisy sleeper, a light sleeper? I sleep on the same side all night long; I hardly move. Jeremy stirs all night and it makes the bed squeak really loud. I give him dirty looks while he sleeps so peacefully. He snores too, which makes me really mad at him! He’s like a caveman or something! If he drinks 2 beers, he sounds like a freakin’ hurricane! I don’t know what the connection is with his nose and beer but the two are a bad combo! He also could sleep through an air raid! I lie in bed listening to the house moan, the heater kick on, the dog scratching his ear, Bella sleep talking (clear on the other side of the house), Noah stirring, and the trees outside rubbing on the siding. I lie there thinking about fire alarms and whether the batteries are fresh. I lie there imagining that if someone tried to break in, it would take me 3.2 seconds to grab my handgun and greet them. The latter is really silly but? one time? at band camp? (Ok, nevermind if you never saw American Pie). One time (last year when I was pregnant with Noah) I was sleeping soundly when someone came by and took a bat to the window over my head! No kidding! Glass everywhere, police, fingerprinting, pacing all night, plucking shards from my hair until 4 a.m., etc. They had the wrong house, obviously, because we don’t know anyone much less anyone who wouldn’t like us enough to break our windows. Stupid kids or something. Anyways, since then I have had my gun bedside. Locked and safe from children, but ready and waiting for a whacko. The world is crazy. And you can soooo totally tell that I am sleep deprived because not only do I have a long, drawn out run-on sentence going here but also? I am not using my punctuation correctly. And? I’m totally getting off track here. What was I talking about? Oh, I’m a light sleeper. Jeremy could sleep through a meteor shower. And? I’m going to bed now.
Sweet dreams, snores, sleep walking, or whatever your slumber brings you tonight! 
I’m sorry, y’all. I’m just not motivated. I’m feeling slumpy. I haven’t much to say, so I haven’t posted in awhile.
But I’m going skiing tomorrow! So maybe I’ll have something to write about then! I’ve been going to the gym, hanging out with other stay-at-home moms, and making delicious meals. I’ve been able to put Noah to bed every night at 8 pm, wide awake, and he falls asleep by himself. I do cheat though. I bring him to bed with me when I go so that I don’t have to answer midnight calls on the other side of the house. I’m not good about getting up in the night. I’ll eventually get to a place where I’ll just leave him in his bed all night. It’s time for that, but neither of us are very motivated to implement sleeping separately. Cuddling is good for the soul!
We’ve been dreaming about home remodeling. The great part about renovating is that we don’t have to pay anyone to do it– Jeremy is “The Man”. We increased our home value by 35,000 just by putting in 8,000 in materials last year! So, when we have the money (not right now) we’ll be adding a master bathroom, building a deck, landscaping & yard play area, getting a woodstove, painting the exterior, and replacing windows (not in order of importance, but in order of my preference). I’d like to finish these projects in the next 2-3 years. That’s a reasonable goal I think. Obviously, the need for windows and a woodstove will come first. Bummer, those aren’t the fun things.
Here’s the deck I want (Ummmm, I’ll take the awning, the friends, AND the mojitos in the picture too, please). The kid’s play area (but not that fancy). The woodstove. Something like this for the bathroom.
Oh, while we’re dreaming: Summer is coming. In 4 months. Zzzzzzzz.
Anyhow, I might like my body more by then. Maybe not as much as I like these models’ bodies, but whatever. Shoosh, this is my dream, ok? So, in this dream I might need this. This will definitely keep me driven towards toning the old mommy body. This please. And this. But don’t forget this, k? It perks boobs, they say. And let me tell ya, the boobs could use some perkin’ after 3 babies. Giving props where props are due, these items are all from www.victoriassecret.com .
Dreaming is good for the soul. And it gives me something to talk about, cause I’m all bore these days. What’s on the top of your “wish” (not need) list?
I bought this shirt last weekend despite its silliness. I thought it was funny but you might be surprised at the dirty looks I get– particularly from the older women. I thought it was funny. I mean, GOSH, lighten up! Crotchity old Nannies.
Sleepy, tired, worn, beat, sore momma. But a smiling, happy, content, healthy, excited momma indeed.
Last night I woke up with cramping and pretty painful contractions. I suppose that braxton hicks are supposed to be stronger in subsequent pregnancies. But. Come on! They started off just painful enough that I couldn’t sleep. After about 30 minutes of pretty consistent ones, I decided perhaps I should get my ass up and start timing them seriously. I did. They were coming every 5, then 8, then 4, then 7 minutes. This was frequent enough that I thought I should consider them possible signs. I wondered what we would do with the kids- we haven’t made any plans for them should I go into labor this early. I started worrying about how quickly labor would move this time and I got scared because “they say” that labor time is half what it was with the previous delivery. Yeah, ummm, ok, that means I will have a baby in 3 hours. YOU ARE KIDDING ME!? I was up many hours. Then I noticed the contractions stop completely. Shewww! Back to bed an hour before the alarm is due to go off. Alarm goes off. Steph calls boss. “False labor. No sleep. Back to bed. See you tomorrow. Bye.”
This is me. Looking rather “voluptuous” these days.
I love the belly. The belly is beautiful.
I also love the girl. She is pretty awesome.
And she loves her big brother enough to give him big, gigantic, sloppy kisses!
She loves my prized roses enough to pick the petals off.
And she loves her Daddy too. Very much. Because he’s the Best Daddy Ever.
What started out as a seemingly normal evening quickly turned strange…
The birdy was singing for me. He sat right outside the window in the tree that hangs over my Expedition. And while he sang sweet songs of nature, nature made him poop on my sparkling car.
And as I relax on the couch and wish for Birdy’s sake that he didn’t have such terrible irritable bowel syndrome, I look down to notice the rather large problem that I have acquired… No, those aren’t mine. Those ankles are-not-attached-to-my-body-noooooooo! They CAN’T belong to me?! What. The Hell. Are THOSE!?
And I want to run for my fargin’ life, because those were ugly and they scared the hell out of me. But, where there used to be a door there is now a wading pool. Where am I!?
And so I turn to run out the back door, but I encounter a grumpy tweenager who is doing the dishes and very angry about that. I decide it best not to go near him because it could be dangerous.
I run through this house searching for a safe way out before the sausage ankles make me look at them again. Nooooooo! Don’t make me look at those, PLEASE!
And then I encounter a gentle little beast. She reminds me that I’m home. She helps me not to be scared. She tells me to quit being such a damn woosy. She explains that I am of the Fat Feet Clan. And I belong where feet are fat. And she reminds me that my ankles and feet aren’t the only thing on my body that are very swollen.
She points out that my entire body is a bit water heavy these days. Like this thing I used to call a neck, or a chin, or a fargin’ face… These have now become ONE. SINGLE. ENTITY! Noooooooo! This can’t be happening!? I was once a WOMAN and now I am a… a… a swollen, triple chinned chunky ankle monster!
And, just when I want to start running again, the small beast looks up at me lovingly and grabs my hand. She doesn’t mind that her momma has “changed” a little bit. She kind of likes me all squishy and soft. And she shows me her double chin, and how beautiful it is. And she shows me her fat feet too. And I love them. Squishy people are quite lovable and cute. They are sweet and kissable. I am suddenly quite at peace with being part of the Fat Feet People…
I can handle the gestational fat. I can even handle the mean little tweenager. But I think that the damn poopy bird should go. I mean, let’s be fair. Buzz off you little shit-bird! Shoo!
