Family Photos - The Ugly Truth!

It's that time of year... when the leaves change colour, and Christmas lights are starting to shine. It's family photo time!  I'm pretty sure that, to photographers, this time of year must be like tax time to accountants.  I know that I'm seeing new family photos of all my friends and family popping up on Facebook every day.  We've had two sets of photos done in the last two months ourselves... our fall family photos, and Christmas photos of the kids.  And the photos are beautiful.  Absolutely beautiful!

 

This was the first photo.  Michelle, our photographer, took it, and then said, "Wow, everybody's smiling!"  It was a perfect first photo.  It was a sign, of a beautiful photo session to come!  Except, if you've ever done a family photo session, especially a photo session with three children, you know that there's a story behind every photo, and there's a hidden truth behind all of those smiles!

 

Getting ready for family photos, for us, starts weeks in advance.  There's outfit coordination, my least favourite part.  I need something that sort of matches, without totally matching.  Then there's practicing the smiles.  Yes, that's right, I practice with the girls.  I say, "When Michelle says 'smile' what do we do??"  And then the girls run around in circles screaming.  Which is why we practice.  By the time photos come around, they smile when they are asked too.  And then I toss them each an M&M.  Because I train my kids like I train puppies.  Don't judge.

 

 

 

See this photo?  It's pretty cute!  The girls have their M&M faces on, and Jax is not crying.  Fast forward 5 seconds, after this photo, and Jax is screaming.  The nice thing about photos?  You don't get to see the after-effect of posing for pictures.  Jax screamed and cried, and Danny and I hopped around, made goo-goo sounds at him, popped out from behind Michelle screaming "Boo!" and nothing worked.  We were done with the three of them.  We bounced Jax, fed the girls more M&M's, and took a little break.

 

 

We started again with just Jax (does that remind anyone else of Will & Grace? No? Just me? Okay, then, moving on!).  We grabbed this cute little shot of him, moments before he scratched the crap out of the back of his head on the hay bale.  Parenting fail!  Also, moments later, a dog walked by and peed all over the hay bale.  I guess we were done with it, anyway!
 

 

I love these action shots!  They are some of my favourites, because they're not posed.  The girls here are running and having a good time.  Know what Danny and I are doing?  Having a mini-argument about exactly what it was that Michelle asked us to do.  Did she say get the girls to hold hands?  Were we supposed to hold hands? No, Danny, it's supposed to look natural, we can't line them up perfectly in front of us.  Yes, Sammy, the girls should hold hands so they stay closer together.  See Danny's hand in this picture?  I'm fairly sure he was holding his temple and saying "Why do I get myself into this every fall?!"

 

 

Michelle said, "Okay, stop there!  Everybody smile!"  The girls kept walking, Danny and I kept shuffling forward to keep up with them, and Jax kept pulling my shirt down so my boobs were hanging out.  Somehow, we got this photo.  Which is beautiful!!

 

 

Next was individual shots of the girls.  Gracie is amazing.  She has the best attitude, and loves the camera.  We got this.  It was perfect.  No drama!  I love this kid!!

 

 

Now, isn't that the most amazing smile?  So genuine!  She was getting fed up by this point, so I was yelling, "Guess what? Chicken butt!" at her to get a positive reaction.  I'm pretty sure Michelle thought we were nuts.  But it worked, and she is beautiful!  I love this kid!!

 

 

See this picture?  Jax had just thrown up down Gracie's back.  She didn't notice, because I wiped it off before she could completely melt down.  Also, Gracie is tired now.  She was stomping her feet and refusing to smile.  Also, Ella was pissed that Gracie got to keep the little pumpkin.  She had also discovered by this time that we were counting on her to smile.  And we were willing to pay in M&M's.  Which meant that she was holding smiles ransom for chocolate.  Smart kid.  Pain in the ass, but terribly smart!!  Behind that smile on my face, I was half whispering, half pleading with the girls, "For the love of God, just look at Michelle and SMILE!!"  "Gracie, stop stomping your feet!" "No, Ella! You cannot have a chocolate until after you smile!" Also, I'm sweating like a pig here. Not glistening, but dripping with sweat. I've wrestled kids all around the duck pond, while lugging an 18-pound sack of infant, and being slobbered and barfed on.  My usual calm mama persona is slowly melting into an about-to-lose-my-shit mama persona, and yet... the picture looks so calm!

 

 

I have no story about this picture.  I made funny faces, he gave us this adorable smile.  Michelle strategically placed that leaf on him, which made the picture oh, so adorable. And I love this kid!!

 

 

See this photo?  You can really see the love in our eyes.  After 9 years together, we are still so much in love.  Want to hear the conversation behind this photo?

 

Danny: I hate pictures like this.  What are we supposed to be doing?

Me: Looking lovingly at each other.  Will you freaking smile?

Danny: I am smiling.

Me: No, you're not!  God, I hate that beard.  You couldn't have shaved?

Danny: Can we not talk about this again?  You already told me 100 times to shave, and I didn't. The beard makes me look rugged and handsome.

Me: Tell me you love me.

Danny: Are we done yet?

Michelle: All done, great job guys!

 

Okay, so the conversation wasn't exactly like that.  But pretty close.  And seriously, we fought about the beard for days before these pictures.  After seeing the pictures, I have to admit, I kind of like it.  But for the love of God, don't tell him that... he'll keep it for the next four years!!

 

One of my favourite photos of Danny and I.  While we were taking this photo, Gracie was chewing on a different part of the fence, covered in duck poop.  Also, Ella climbed onto a fence rail and got stuck.  Michelle rescued her when she started screaming.  Ahhh, the memories!

  

 

Yeah, that face on Ella.  It basically says everything there is to say about the end of our photoshoot.  She was done.  Done like dinner.  She did not want to smile anymore, and although I'm smiling and "hugging" her here, and we look like a loving mother-daughter team, I was actually mere moments from losing my shit, and I was holding on to her because she kept trying to pull away.  I'm pretty sure I had just whispered, "If you don't stand here for one more picture, I'm going to take you into the woods and let that dog pee on you. Let me love you, damn it!"  So, naturally, we got this face for the picture.  Still kind of cute though, if you didn't know that I just threatened my kid with dog pee.  Also, immediately after this picture, I let her go and she fell off the log.  Parenting fail.

 

 

Isn't this a cute picture?  The girls "playing" on the ground.  Really, Ella had knocked Gracie over, and a moment before this, I'm pretty sure Gracie was screaming.  But Michellle turned that moment into this.

 

 

The sweetest moment of the day.  Such an amazing picture, and one that will be going up on the girls' wall.  Except that Ella was crying because she was soooo done with this day, and just wanted to go home.  She refused to smile and only stopped whining because Gracie took care of her.  I get it kid, I wanted to cry by this time, too!!

 

Last photo of the day.  A picture of daddy and Jax in their matching hats.  It was the end of a long hour, and I expected it to be difficult for them to get a decent picture.  Except, didn't I get Jax to smile right away?  Danny got this amazing picture without any trouble, or groaning, or crying, or screaming.  The bastard.

We did Christmas photos a few weekends ago, too.  The photos went so smoothly.  The girls smiled, Jax smiled, and the photos turned out awesome!

Want to know what happened leading up to the photos?  That day was the Somerset craft fair.  Three million people decided to attend the craft fair, so we had to park a kilometre away, walk in the freezing cold, rub shoulders with said million people, and try really hard not to lose one of the kids (thank God, we have three kids - we have back-ups, in case we lose one!).  In the afternoon, I realized that I didn't have hair clips for the girls.  I only have pink, and pink doesn't match red dresses.  Corny, I know, but we need matching hair bows.  So once I got everybody down for their naps, I had to run to Walmart, pick up hair clips, rush home, wake up the girls, wrestle them into their dresses, fix hair, and time it perfectly so that I have just enough time to get Jax dressed and still manage to get out the door on time.  See, our photo session was booked for 3:45.  Jax usually sleeps until 4, so we were waking a sleeping baby.  Thankfully, he woke up smiling, and I juggled him into that adorable little outfit you see in that picture up there.  I sat him up, and my reflux-baby power barfed all over my arm and his black pants.  I cursed.  Very loudly.  Multiple times.  Danny came running.  When he realized that we weren't dying in the bedroom, he went back to loading the girls into the car.  I was wearing a long-sleeved sweater, which managed to catch all of the barf that didn't land on his own pants.  I checked my watch.  No time to change, of course.  I took his pants off, soaked them with baby wipes, and took off his sweater.  He was NOT getting barf on that!  I rolled up my sleeve (cause what else could I do at this point?) and headed out the door.  Danny had the girls ready, and he was smart enough not to question why I was bringing our infant son out into the freezing cold wearing no pants, no socks, and no sweater.  If he was going to barf again, it would not be on that outfit, damn it!

We started driving to Michelle's house.  All I could smell was sour, disgusting, barf.  I smelled. Like barf.  I started crying.  Danny started laughing and asked me what was wrong.  Know what I said??  "This is why I can't have nice things!"  Okay, so it wasn't Jax's fault that I timed getting him ready to the last possible minute, and it wasn't his fault that he has reflux and power barfs all the f'ing time.  And it isn't his fault I hadn't done the laundry that weekend and had nothing quick to change into.  But I was blaming him, gosh darn it.  It was not a pretty drive.  Luckily, I pulled myself together before we got there, and was able to explain to Michelle why we showed up with a mostly-naked baby.  And in the end, the photos turned out great, despite my meltdown!
 

We've been lucky enough to find ourselves the most amazing photographer.  I give a huge shout-out to Michelle Darrell and Daydreamer Photography.  She's incredibly patient with the kids, and with their crazy, cranky parents. She jumps and wiggles, and always manages to get smiles out of everybody just when they're needed.  She is the most accommodating photographer I have ever met, and she truly understands the "joys" of having and photographing children.  Plus, she knows me well enough that when I threaten my kids with bodily harm, and curse at my husband out loud in public, she knows that I don't really mean it.  I'm just being "photo mom."  The mom that every mom turns into when they need good pictures.  I mean, every mom must turn crazy like me, right?  Everybody else must have as horrible a time as me, right?  Doesn't family photos make every mom cry, have nightmares and meltdowns, and want to drink an entire box of wine in one setting??  Anyone?!

A Month of Sundays...

It's hard to believe that's been a full month and a half since I've written a blog post. I don't think I have ever gone that long without writing! But since having Jax, and bringing the girls home from daycare, I find most of my thoughts and anecdotes have been reduced to a line or two shared on Facebook. I just don't seem to have the energy these days to actually sit down and compose a whole paragraph, let alone an entire post!  So let me break down the last 6 weeks for you:

The God Complex

Gracie and I have had many conversations lately about God, heaven, and angels.  I'm not sure if it's a stage and age thing, or if my girl is just naturally spiritual, but she seems awfully interested in everything I can't answer!  We had a very lengthy conversation about the angel, Sarah, who apparently visits her at night.  Sarah is a lady who got really old and then died, and who visits Gracie late at night and early in the morning.  Gracie tells me that Sarah is her angel.  And I'm not going to lie, it creeps me out, just a little bit!

Gracie is also quite certain that God is a girl.  She started Sunday School classes this year, and comes home every week with lots of questions.  Most I can handle, but I didn't expect the disagreement she feels about the fact that God is a boy.  She says it's not fair for both Jesus and God to be boys and, therefore, God must be girl.  Gracie now refers to God as "she."  As in, "Does God send the snow to us?  She's pretty awesome for doing that!"  Ahhh, my little feminist!

 

 

The Mommy-Daughter Date

I had the pleasure of taking Gracie and Ella on our first official mommy-daughter date.  The girls usually enjoy those dates with their dad (daddy-daughter dates), so I was very excited to announce that I would be taking them on one.  It wasn't terribly well received at first.  I got a couple "are you sure you don't mean daddy date?" and even a "why can't dad take us instead, and you can stay home with Jax?"  But as the days went by they got more and more excited.  My church was hosting a family movie night, showing Frozen, which I hadn't seen before.  When Friday night came, we got dressed in our jammies, stuffed my purse full of leftover Halloween candy, and headed to the church.  When we pulled in, Ella said to me "Mommy, we always come here. I don't think this counts as a mommy-daughter date!" followed by Gracie saying, "It's okay mommy, I'm sure you can do better next time."  We ended up having a pretty great time, and ate 3 bowls of popcorn (free popcorn tastes so much better than $10 popcorn!!).  And, by the way, Frozen is a pretty rockin' movie!!

 

The Boy

 

The Boy, also known lovingly as Jax, Jax-man, Little Man, and Dicky-Bird (that last one must be a Newfie thing and, for the record, I hate it!).  Oh yeah, and Sticky-Bird, cause the girls can't figure out what Danny is saying.  Anyway, Jax is now a whopping 18-pound, 5-month old baby.  He sits, and screams, and oohs and ahhs, and keeps us all entertained!  At least a few times a week, Gracie or Ella say to me, "Mommy, Jax is the perfect little brother.  Just what I always wanted!!"  Today Ella asked me if I could, pretty please, go back to the hospital and bring home another boy so Jax could have a friend.  I laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and said "Absolutely. NOT!"  It's kind of wonderful passing through every crappy baby stage and knowing that this is the last time we have to deal with it. No more breastfeeding, no more 3-times-a-night feedings, no more 1-time-a-night feedings.  We just get to look forward to rolling, crawling, walking, talking, and all the good things to come!

 

Here he is at five months... such a looker!!

 

 

 

 

The House

 

Last night we had our real estate agent into the house... having a look at the house, and telling us what still needs to be done to get ready to sell.  We have a list already of things that need to be done; kitchen flooring, framing the bathroom mirror, repairing broken tiles, painting baseboards, painting, cleaning, and decluttering.  Our agent agreed with our list, and told us he really wanted to have the house listed by the end of January, early February at the latest.  That's 10 weeks from now.  Less Christmas, means around 8 weeks.  It's crazy.  I've been walking around the house all day, just staring at things, making mental lists of things to do.  It's going to be a crazy 10 weeks!  But I am looking forward to renting a storage locker and emptying this house of crap.  Maybe some stuff will get "lost" on the way to storage, and I wont have to find a new home for it in our new home.  I'm looking forward to painting, to cleaning, and freshening the house up.  And I'm looking forward to selling this house and moving to a new, fresh, clean house.  It's going to take a lot of elbow grease, and a lot of wine, to get through the next 10 weeks. Challenge accepted! 

 

 

The End

 

That's it for now... that's all I have the energy to write tonight.  I've missed sharing the stories of my children, especially since everything that comes out of their mouths is hilarious.  With all the chaos that is sure to take place in the next two months, I know I will have some stories to tell.  Here's hoping my fingers and brain can keep up with it all, and I can begin sharing their hilarity again!

Playing together...

Danny and I have a pretty perfect little family.  I mean, we actually have the 2.4 kids (Jax can't really count as a whole kid yet, can he?), and two girls and a boy mean things are fairly even in this house.  Not to mention that there's between a year and a half and two years between each of the kids, and we've struck child gold.  That means we get to enjoy all those good things people say about having kids close together.  For example, that they play together!

When it was just Gracie playing, she used to lay on the playmats in our living room and colour.  Quietly.  Sometimes she would sing songs, and it was just adorable.  She would play like that for hours, perfectly content to entertain herself.  Then Ella became old enough to play with her and, wow, did our lives improve.  I mean, from playing quietly by oneself, to two active toddlers playing with each other?  The change has been fantastic!

For those of you unaware of what it is like to have two toddlers play together, let me describe it for you.  Because it is just amazing!  First, let me set the scene for you:

The living room is clean, there are plenty of toys to be shared, and the two toddlers have enjoyed a good night's sleep.  This is a recipe for awesomeness!  But let's not forget the other components to this scenario.  If you would, please pinch the nearest baby extra hard so that you can have some background noise to the "playing" that is about to take place.  Also, please turn a pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove, and let it start boiling and bubbling everywhere (good moms multi-task, dontcha know!). For good measure, and only if you're brave enough, please find some sort of mechanism or person to continually pinch your nipples over and over again to signify a breastfeeding mother enjoying the "playing."  If they could make the nipples bleed, that would be ideal.  Oh, but don't use your husband.  He should be strategically placed, either (a) in the bathroom with his computer, having a 2-hour poop, (b) on the couch "helping" to watch the kids while staring into his cell phone and developing sudden hearing loss, or (c) outside doing chores, because even though the lawn hasn't been mowed for 3 weeks, he knows "playing" is about to occur and chores must be completed this very minute.  If you have animals, please have your dog maniacally hump your cat over and over again while the cat tries to run away, hissing the whole time.  Of course, the dog should follow, quickly and clumsily, knocking over and into anything in her way.

Okay, everybody ready?  Let the "playing" commence.

Gracie and Ella have decided to play Barbies.  A favourite past-time.  They're close in age, which means they have the same ideas about how to play Barbies.  Today, the Barbie sisters are going to the doctor.

Gracie: "Ella, it's time to take Anna to the doctor."

Ella: "No."

Gracie: "Ella, I'm older and you have to listen to me."

Ella: "No."

Gracie: "Fine.  Then Suzy is going to the doctor without Anna!"

Ella: "Noooooo!!!"

Gracie runs down the hall with her Barbie, Suzy, while Ella runs after her, screaming for Gracie not to leave Anna behind.  They both eventually make it to the doctor, and Ella only cries a little bit.

Ella: "Gracie, I'll be the doctor, okay?"

Gracie: "Fine, but then I get to be the doctor after."

Ella: "Okay.  Here Suzy, it's time to get a needle."

Gracie: "Suzy doesn't need a needle, because she's really a secret monster with scary powers and she's going to eat the doctor!!!"

Ella: "Ahhhhh!  I don't like monsters!!!  Mommmmmmy, Gracie is being a scary monster!"

Gracie: "No, I'm NOT, mommy!!!!!"

Ella: "Yes she are!!"

Gracie: *whispers* "If you tell mommy on me, a monster will eat you, too!"

Ella: *screams*

They sort out the monster situation and start playing again.  They each decide to add another Barbie to the game.  More Barbies mean more fun.  Obviously.

Gracie: "Oh, look!  Another Barbie, I think I'll use this one!"

Ella: "I want that one!"

Gracie: "No, it's mine."

Ella: "I want it!"

Gracie: "You want it?  Okay, here."

Ella: *reaches for Barbie*

Gracie: "Hahaha, just kidding!"

Ella: *screams and cries*

Gracie: "Fine, here take it.  I'll take this one instead.  It has magic powers anyway."

Ella: "I want magic powers!"

Gracie: "You can't have magic powers, I'm the big sister, and you're just the little one."

Ella: *hits Gracie in the face*

Gracie: "Mommy, Ella hit me!!"

Ella: "Gracie said I couldn't have magic powers!"

Thank goodness, play time has only just started, so we have lots more of this wonderfulness to endure.  After about 15 minutes of playing together, the conversation looks something like this:

Gracie: "Ellllla!!"

Ella: "Unnnngh!"

Gracie: "Ellllllllllllla!!!!!!"

Ella: "NOOOOOO!"

Gracie: *shrieks*

Ella: *shrieks louder*

Gracie: *pushes Ella over*

Ella: *jumps on top of Gracie's head*

Gracie: "AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Ella: *spitting sound*

Yes, having kids close together in age means they can entertain each other for hours.  Of course, mothers only need intervene every 4.2 seconds, and only dole out time-outs every 4th or 5th transgression.  If you're a smart mommy, like me, you will learn to send them to a room far across the house to play, where you only have to hear the loudest and most pain-filled cries, and can pretend, just for a few moments, that your children are playing quietly and peacefully together.  

And, thankfully for us, in another year and a half, we can add a third toddler to this playing mix, to increase the awesomeness of playing together.  It's going to be fantastic, wonderful, and just  absolutely delightful! :)

They always look like this when they play together, I swear!!

Five Things I Didn't Know I Hated About Being a Mother...

It's been a week of stay-at-home motherdom for me and the girls.  Their last official day at Nancy's house was last Friday, so it was just the four of us this whole week.  Already, in five short days, I've experienced some things that makes me think, again, that Nancy must have been a god damned saint.

Jax has been pretty easy going... his usual eat, sleep, pooping self.  The girls, for the most part, were also fairly well behaved this week.  But I have learned some things.  Three-and-a-half years after becoming a mother, I've learned that there are certain things about being a (full-time) mother that I just can't stand!

1.  Each morning, Ella greets me on the stairs with, "Good morning mommy.  Can I have cheerios and milk?"  And before,  I would smile, give her a bowl of cheerios, and send her off to Nancy's.  Now when I give her a bowl of cheerios, and she's finished, she's still here.  And that bowl of cheerios is usually followed by, "Mom, I'm still hungry."  She'll either have another bowl of cheerios, a smoothie, a granola bar, or some toast.  Ten minutes after breakfast #2, I hear it again.  "Mommy, I'm hungry.  I want a snack, mommy."  And I hear that every ten minutes.  All.  Day.  Long.  Apparently my two-year old has a bottomless pit for a stomach... and I hate being in charge of trying to fill it.

2.  We're all sitting at the kitchen table, having a snack, when I realize the dryer has beeped and I have to change the load.  I stand up from my chair, start to walk out of the kitchen, when Kid #1 yells after me, "Where are you going, mom?"  I explain that I'm going to change the laundry.  Down in the laundry room, I'm emptying the dryer, when I hear, "Mooooom?  Where are you???"  I yell that I'm downstairs, changing the laundry.  A few minutes later, we're all in the living room, and I have to pee.  I stand up from the couch, and Kid #2 says, "Where are you going, mom?"  I explain I'm going to pee, and then run and close the door before Kids #1 and #2 can join me.  No sooner have I sat my butt down, but Kid #1 is banging on the door. "Mommy, are you still in there?"  Seriously?  Where else would I be?  Maybe she thinks I jumped out the window... not a bad idea, some days.  A little later, I'm making lunch, and remember something I need in another room.  I start to walk away, and Kid #2 (or is it Kid #1? Who the f' knows?) calls out, "Where are you going, mom?"  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, can't a mother walk out of sight for more than a second without the entire house being put on notice?  Apparently, I hate being cared about.

3.  A mother's dream come true is the first time your kid tells you she loves you.  There's nothing sweeter than hearing, "Mommy... I love you."  It just makes your heart melt.  Now I have two beautiful girls, melting my heart.  All freaking day:

7:35

Ella: "Mommy?"

Me: "Yes, Ella?"

Ella: "I love you."

Me: "I love you, too."

7:36

Gracie: "Mom?"

Me: "Yes?"

Gracie: "I love you."

Me: "I love you, too!"

7:41

Ella: "Moooommy?"

Me: "What, baby?"

Ella: "I love you."

Me: "I love you, too!"

7:46

Ella: "Mom, guess what?"

Me: "What?"

Ella: "I love you!"

Me: "I love you, too."

7:47

Gracie: "Mommy?"

Me: "Yes, Gracie?"

Gracie: "I love you."

Me: "I love you, too."

7:52

Ella: "Hey mommmm?"

Me: "What."

Ella: "I love you!"

Me: *sigh* "I love you too."

7:54

Gracie: "Mommy?"

Me: "Urgnh..."

Gracie: "I love you."

Me: *silence*

Seriously, I love you both.  Tons!  More than life itself, even!  But do we need to share that sentiment every three gosh-darn minutes?  Every three minutes of the 12 hours you little people are awake during the day equals 240 "Mommy, I love you"s.  Come on... isn't that a little excessive... even for endless love??  Apparently, I hate "I love you."

4.  Gracie is the sweetest, most sensitive little girl.  She's the first one to kiss a boo-boo, get you a blanket if you're sick, rub your arm if she thinks you're sad, and give a hug just because.  I love that about her.  Errrr... loved.  Now it just kind of annoys the crap out of me.  Now, when I'm sitting on the couch, bouncing Jax, Gracie will come and slowly, tenderly, caress my face.  How sweet!  Then, two minutes later, when I'm sitting on the floor playing with Ella, she'll come over, rub her hands slowly all over my face, put her nose up to mine, and blink her eyes a bunch of times.  What are you doing there, kid?  When I get up to go to the washroom, she grabs my hand, and holds it all the way to the door.  Then she kisses my palm and rubs my arm, and wishes me a good pee.  Back on the couch (I swear I don't spend all day there!) if I happen to be laying down, she'll come up, put her cheek on mine, rub my face some more, and then she puts her lips over the tip of my nose.  I have no idea what the fuck that's about, but she's done it a few times, and then smiles at me, so apparently it means love.  Really, I'm just starting to feel kind of violated.  And after three-and-a-half years of parenting, I've learned that I apparently hate affection.

5.  Gracie, Ella, and I are sitting on the floor, having a picnic.  Not a real picnic, of course, but a fake one, with a real blanket.  So the three of us are sitting on a blanket, and Ella hands me a pretend piece of sandwich.  I pretend to eat it, and she giggles and laughs.  She hands Gracie a pretend piece of sandwich and Gracie gobbles it down, and then takes another pretend piece of sandwich off the blanket.  Ella screams, "Nooooooo!" and Gracie laughs.  Ella grabs the pretend piece of sandwich back from Gracie's hands.  Ella then gives me some pretend chips, and I eat them with a "crunch, crunch, crunch." Ella laughs and says, "They're dill pickle, mom.  Your favourite!"  Gracie pretends to eat the entire bag of pretend chips.  Ella freaks the fuck out.  Ella tries to grab the pretend bag of chips back from Gracie, who pretends to hold the pretend chips over her head.  Ella cries.  Gracie laughs.  I say, "Gracie, give her back the chips."  Gracie gives her back the pretend bags of chips, and Ella stops crying.  But then Gracie says, "Okay, you can have the chips, but I'm eating all the cookies!" and pretends to pop (I don't even know how many... cause they're not real) cookies into her mouth.  Ella, again, loses her shit and cries, "Mommy!!  Gracie ate all the cookies!"  And Gracie rubs her belly, and says "Yummy!" just to rub it in.  I try to explain to Ella that the snacks are all pretend, and she can just pretend there are more cookies, but Ella doesn't believe me, and keeps crying. And let's face it... Gracie would probably just eat all those pretend cookies too. Yeah... so, apparently I hate playing with my kids.



I have been working since I was 15, and making the decision to stay home with the three kids this year wasn't easy.  Some people are born to be stay-at-home mothers.  Some people, like me, are apparently born to be mothers that drop their kids off at daycare, wave goodbye with kisses and hugs, and greet them excitedly 8 hours later.  That does not make me a bad mother.  It actually made me a damn good mother, who truly appreciated her kids during the short, precious hours I got to spend with them.  But now.... now I have endless, long, never-ending hours to spend with them.  That's something I've never had to deal with before, and it's going to take some adjusting on my part, and some time to get used to.  It's already getting easier, and there are lot of things that I've found already that I like about being with my kids all day.  And I know that in the years to come, I'll truly appreciate and cherish this time that I had with them!

But I can't possibly be the only mother out there who switched from working full-time to being stay-at-home, and suddenly found that her kids annoyed the ever-loving crap out of her.  Anyone else care to fess up?  All you mothers out there on Facebook posting selfies all day with your smiling little children, want to admit that behind those smiles, you're secretly hating little bits of motherhood too?  Anyone? Hello? No??  Maybe it's just me then!  :)

Visiting the Grandparents...

Last week, the kids and I ventured off to Fredericton to visit the grandparents.  It was an unexpected trip, and one that I didn't know was really happening until the night before.  It started because Nancy was away last week, so it was supposed to be the five of us at home during her vacation.  As you know, Danny and I are in the process of getting the house ready to be listed for sale.  There's lots to be done, so I said to Danny, "Would you get more done if I packed up the kids and headed to New Brunswick for the week?" He yelled "yes" like an excited little school boy, without even having to think about it!  Apparently the kids and I are a distraction to his man-work!  I flip-flopped the idea back and forth in my brain for a few days... did I really want to pack three kids, three years and under, into a car for a 6-hour "joy" ride?  If the drive was horrendous, I would have to do it all again in order to get home again... was I willing to risk that?  Apparently I was!  

I packed the bags, cleaned out the car, made enough snacks to last us a week, and loaded everyone into the car early Sunday morning.  I told the girls we were headed to church, and prayed to God that Jax would stay sleeping until our lunch stop in Sackville, NB.  The ride itself wasn't all that bad.  Jax cried the last 45 minutes of it, but who can blame the boy after being trapped in a car seat for 5 hours!!

The trip home was equally uneventful, and I realized that I could totally do this drive by myself again in the future, if I wanted to... which I don't!!  Being at Nanny and Grampy's for a week showed me the good and bad of being close to grandparents...

The Good:  I didn't have to lift a finger if I didn't want to.  "Grampy, do you smell that??"  Grampy changed all the poopy bums for a whole week.  

The Bad:  The girls realized who to go to if they wanted something done... "Grampy, can you lift me up super high so I can jump off the roof?  No, it's okay, you don't have to ask my mom."

The Good: I didn't have to cook for an entire week.  Not one meal.

The Bad: I put back on all that baby weight I lost.  Burgers, and french fries, and a seafood buffet, oh my!

The Good:  When the kids were being rotten, I would send them downstairs to Grampy and Nanny to deal with and make happy again.

The Bad:  Grampy always made them feel better! "Mommy, Grampy gave Ella two popsicles, even though you said she couldn't have any because she didn't eat her supper!"

The Good:  Bedtime with three children is much easier when you have three sets of hands to help!

The Bad: Jax, who had previously been sleeping from 7:00 p.m. until 5:00 a.m., decided he didn't like he new accommodations, and wouldn't sleep anymore than three hours at a time the whole week we were there.  Freaking babies!

The Good:  We all got spoiled.  From restaurant meals, to trips to the splash park, to an entire new wardrobe for Gracie and new shoes for me.

The Bad:  Eventually we had to come back home... and nobody has bought me dinner yet!

It was a lovely week in New Brunswick, and it was nice to surprise Grampy and Nanny with our visit. The drive wasn't nearly as horrible as I imagined it would be, and the girls loved spending time with their grandparents... especially since mommy tried really hard not to say "no" to all the popsicles and icecream being served to them!

Grampy and the grand-kiddies

The girls got along great, and had a great time at Grampy and Nanny's house!

'Til Death do us Part...

Danny and I have been together nearly ten years.  That's almost a decade!  And today, we celebrate our five-year wedding anniversary.  In the last ten years, we've been through a shit-ton together.  Good, bad, you name it... we've probably experienced it!  

I love the crap out of him, and we are quite perfect together.  And although we may be perfect for each other, we are definitely not perfect!  I'm pretty sure that, as madly in love as we are with each other, we also drive each other bat-crap crazy, oh, probably 75% of the time. But there's an expression about how you know it's real love because the person knows all your faults, and loves you anyway.  

So in honour of our five-years of wedded bliss, let me list my top-five "Things That Drive me Crazy" about my husband. (And if you want the mushy ode-to-love blog, you can check it out here... I wrote that one a year or two ago.)  Let me also acknowledge that I realize I do things that drive Danny crazy too... the difference is, Danny doesn't have a blog and can't write about them! Heh. Heh. Heh.  

1.  Paper Towel in the Sink

This is probably the most innocent faux-pas he could make.  It's not a big deal, really.  So he put a used piece of paper towel in the sink... except that it drives me craaaaazy! Let me explain... Danny likes to use paper towel to clean up the counters, or whatever little messes are around the kitchen (I know, bonus points because he cleans up, right?).  I get that.  What I don't get is why he then puts the used paper towel in the sink instead of the compost bin (below the sink), or the garbage can (a step away from the sink).  Because here's what happens to that innocent piece of paper towel.  He then turns on the tap and the paper towel gets wet.  So it's now a soggy piece of paper towel.  We also have a drain stop in our sink that we kind of use like a compost bin and just empty the crap from it when it gets full.  So when he turns on the water, the crap raises out of the drain trap and clings to the paper towel.  So now it's a soggy, cruddy piece of paper towel.  And if I don't happen to see it right away, it sits there.  Cruddy, and soggy, and now smelly.  If we rinse bowls or cups into the sink... well, that's more vile disgustingness being added to the cruddy, soggy, smelly piece of paper towel.  And once I see the paper towel in there, I have to take it out.  Which means I have to ring that shit out.  It's gross.  It's nasty.  And it drives me crazy.  He knows it too... I'm not even sure how many times we've had this conversation.  From, "Oh, honey... I don't like it when you leave paper towel in the sink." To, "For the love of sweet baby Jesus, why do you keep doing this?!?!  You know how much I hate it, and I've asked you a million f'ing times to just throw the damn paper towel in the garbage! ARRRRRRHHHHH!"  But he'll keep doing it!  The bastard.

2.  When I make Him Sleep Downstairs, He LIKES It

I'm a huge fan of going to bed angry.  I don't believe in staying up all night to hash out arguments.  Only one thing happens when you stay up to argue: You get tired.  And when you get tired, you start arguing in circles, not making any sense.  Or, even worse, you get tired and more angry, bringing up old fights that have nothing to do with what you're actually arguing about.  So, if we're having a stupid fight and we're both just cranky, we sleep it out.  Usually, during sleep, we naturally gravitate towards each other, and one of us ends up cuddling the other, and you feel much better by the morning.

Sometimes, however, the fight has annoyed us enough that we decide we'd rather sleep alone than end up accidentally cuddling in the middle of the night.  When these fights happen (for example, when my husband has left paper towel in the sink again!), I usually banish Danny to the guest room.  That'll teach him to mess with me.  Except the next morning, he comes out of the guest room, smiling.  He's had a wonderful sleep, and "oh smoochy poo, I'm so sorry about the paper towel.  But I slept so great last night, I feel wonderful!"  And then he kisses me.  Seriously?  You get banished from my company, and you wake up the next morning feeling wonderful?  Who does he think he is?  He's supposed to come out cranky and miserable, so I can feel justified and righteous.  But no, apparently sleeping apart once in a while means a good night sleep for him.  It also means he usually apologizes first, and makes me look bad.  The bastard.

3.  He Touches my Mirrors

Now that we only have one vehicle that fits the whole family, the big car has become "mine."  That means I'm the one driving it 90% of the time.  Danny has his new little fuel-efficient car to get back and forth to Acadia, and I have the mama-mobile.  It goes without saying that Danny is bigger than I am... so when he drives the car, he puts the seat all the way back.  I understand that... he shouldn't have the steering wheel sitting on his lap.  But he changes my mirrors. Every. Freaking. Time.  If you are only driving the car to pick up the girls, and then driving straight home, why do you need to adjust the side mirrors?  Do what normal people do... lean a little!  Lean a little to the left, and you can see well enough to back out of the driveway.  It never fails after Danny drives my car... I get in and the seat is all the way back, and when I start to back up, I notice I can't see anything except the next door neighbour's house.  So then I have to readjust them.  It's my freaking car, and those mirrors were perfect, damn it!  It's not like you're traveling 600 kilometres and need to do constant checks of the surrounding.  You're driving down the road.  And then back.  Leave my mother f'in mirrors alone.  Bastard

4.  Farts

I know this must be on every woman's list of things that drives her crazy.  But seriously.  It drives me crazy!  Do you know it took three years for one of us to fart in front of the other.  And, dirty little secret, I did it first!  Just to get it over with!  If I could rewind this relationship seven years, I would undo that fart.  Apparently, popping the fart cherry unleashed a beast.  Danny now farts wherever, whenever, and all the freaking time.  He wakes me up from a dead sleep with the smell.  He farts at the dinner table, and laughs because it vibrates on the wooden chair.  He hotboxes the car.  He stops me mid-conversation so I can fully appreciate the force of a fart.  He farts in the grocery store and then shoves me down the aisle before I'm finished looking at something so the smell doesn't catch up with us.  Do you know how hard it is to grocery shop with a husband crop-dusting all the aisles??  I remember one particular hormonal day, I had had enough of the farting, and actually almost cried, begging him to stop.  Almost. Cried.  It has to be the most depressing thing, looking forward in the future, knowing that I have another 30 or 40 or 50 years of farts.  The bastard.

5.  The "Sweet and Innocent" Act

Danny is quiet by nature.  Unless you really know him, you would think he was shy.  Really, he's a manipulative little actor, who has you all right where he wants you.  Even my parents, who have known him as long as I have, are still tricked by him.  When they come to visit, I hear them say to him at least once "Oh, poor Danny.  You have a lot to put up with Samantha."  And he just nods, with a little smile, and says something sweet, like "Yeah, but she's worth it."  And then squeezes my shoulder, or gives me a little kiss.  And they fall for it.  Every. Goddamn. Time.  As soon as they leave the room, he laughs out loud.  He knows he's just as difficult and stubborn as me!  The difference is, he's learned to hide it when people are around.  I naturally talk all the time, no matter who's around.  He clams up as soon as his people radar goes off so all anybody sees is "Sweet and Innocent" Danny.  I know better.  And he knows better.  And it annoys the crap out of me!

Another way people are fooled are in his daddying skills.  Don't get me wrong, Danny is a fantastic father!  He's more hands-on than I could ever in a million years ask for.  But don't think that he doesn't have moments like the rest of us tired moms; moments where he gives permission to Ella to jump out the living room window because he says "uh-huh" when she asks a question because he's too busy looking at his phone to really listen to her.  Or moments when Gracie becomes his personal servant because he's too lazy to get off the couch and she thinks "helping" is the most awesome thing in the world.  He has plenty of stellar-daddy-moments.  Plenty.  But, at least two or three times a month, when we're picking the girls up from daycare, or we're at the mall, someone will inevitably comment on his awesomeness.  At the mall, the girls will be dressed up so cute, and their hair done just right.  And the five of us will be walking down the mall, and someone will comment, "Aww... just look at those sweet little girls.  You can just tell they're Daddy's little girls. Awwwwww..." And then they'll wink at him, and he'll smile.  Who in the hell do you think dressed them up like that and wrestled with them for 15 minutes to do their hair??  It certainly wasn't daddy!  And just the other day, Nancy was telling us how well-mannered the girls were, and she said, "Samantha, we all know that you're a good mom."  And I was about to say thank you, but she wasn't finished... "Samantha, we all know that you're a good mom... but the whole world knows that Danny is just an amazing father."  And he did that little smile.  That sweet and innocent smile.  And I wanted to punch him in the throat.  But I couldn't, because I had to agree.  Because it's actually true.  The bastard.

So that's them... the top-five list.  The constant annoyances with my otherwise perfect husband.  Isn't it funny how these tiny little things will make you want to murder a man, though??  Seriously, I have a whole board on Pinterest called "Don't Kill Him Yet."  And when I find funny little sayings that remind me how much I love, and yet want to kill, my husband, I save them to read in moments of frustration.  Like this one...

So true!!

But as much as we annoy each other, and as much as we may want to smother the other person in our sleep, I know that I am a better person because of Danny.  He is truly my better half!  And every year on our anniversary, I like to listen to our wedding song again.  It speaks perfectly to our relationship.  We really are better together!  xox

I'm Grateful, too!

Lately on Facebook, I've seen all sorts of friends posting about the things they're grateful for.  Apparently it's supposed to spread from friend to friend, until we are all forced to take a moment and remember the things in our lives that truly make us grateful.  I have yet to be nominated in this Facebook game, and I've got lots to be grateful for... so I'll share them here.

1.  I'm grateful for my husband, who loves me no matter how bat-crap-crazy I act.  I'm grateful he understands that, at this particular time in my life, hormones are raging, sleep is lacking, and I may act like a crazy psychopath without any real reason (although, to be fair, I'm pretty sure that in the moment, forgetting to take out the compost is a damn good reason to lose one's shit.)

2.  I'm grateful for my kids.  They are sweet and adorable and make me smile.  They also make me scream, cry, and feel like a complete and total failure sometimes.  So...

3.  I'm grateful for dark closets, where I can escape for a few minutes of silence and, perhaps, sneak a bag of chips that I don't have to share with my kids.  Sure, the smell of dirty gym clothes rotting in the hamper may make me gag a little, but not even foul sweat socks can deter a mom from a few moments alone (especially with a snack that is all her own)!

4.  I'm grateful for my friends.  Without their stories of how horrible their kids are, I would feel like a total failure and wonder if I somehow broke my own children.  Because of their supportive anecdotes, I realize that for the most part, as parents, we all suck equally.

5.  I'm thankful for my parents, who have yet to use the "serves you right for being the little shit you were when growing up" moral of the story on me.  Also, they think my kids are adorable and would happily share custody of them if I ever decided to check into a facility to regain my sanity.

6.  I'm grateful for my siblings, who remind me that there is nothing like the bond between brothers and sisters.  Which also reminds me... I should probably stock up on bandaids, slings, and rubbing alcohol.  Things are going to get messy.

7.  I'm grateful for my job.  Without it, I probably wouldn't have had an "oh-my-God-Danny-let's-have-another-baby-because-I-don't-know-much-longer-I-can-take-it" moment.  And then where would Jax be?  Also, because of work, I get maternity benefits from EI.  A full year of no work, with (minimal) pay.  And for that, I am also grateful.

8.  I'm grateful for Dyson vacuums.  Seriously, those things are the shiznat.  And with three kids, two pets, and a husband, I need a rockin' vacuum.  For my husband to use.

9.  I'm grateful for doors.  Particularly bathroom doors.  Because if I run fast enough, I can close one before my kids join me for a poop, and I may get 5 minutes all to myself.  Okay, maybe 3 minutes.  And there's always knocking.  And little toes sticking under that door.

10.  I'm grateful for Pinterest.  It inspires me to be a better a person, mother, and wife.

11.  I'm grateful for beer.  It makes me feel better when Pinterest has also made me feel like a total failure as a person, mother, and wife.  Who in the hell can make all those crafty things, cook all those healthy meals, stick to an exercise plan, have lunches pre-made for the week, decorate a cake to look like cookie monster, and clean their whole house with vinegar and blue Dawn anyway?  Stupid Pinterest.

12.  I'm also grateful for wine.  Because it comes in a box, ready to serve, and makes me feel like a "classy lady," even when I haven't showered in days and I'm covered in somebody else's throw-up.  Cabernet Sauvignon, anyone?

13.  Finally, I'm grateful for Facebook.  It gives me a sense of "keeping in touch" with people so I don't feel like a complete loser without any real friends, even though I haven't left the house in days.  Also, without it, I wouldn't see all the drama and horrible shit that goes on in other people's lives.  Because of that, I truly see all that I have to be grateful for: husband, kids, family, and friends; and, because of that, I realize how f'n awesome my life truly is.

Two years later...

It's hard to believe it's been two years since you were born, Ella!  I remember the anticipation of having a second child... worrying about what it would do to Gracie, wondering how we would handle a second kid, and yet we've made it through 730 days, 24 months, two full years!

You have been the most exhausting child at times.  I remember thinking that Gracie had a lot of attitude.  And then I met you, and realized Gracie's personality and attitude is one of the most dependable, unchangeable things in our lives.  You can be angry, sad, vicious, recalcitrant, whiny, and a steroid-infused version of a terrible-two.  But, oh my... you can also be the sweetest, gentlest, most kind little girl I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  You laugh at everything... and not a little giggle, but an out-loud, makes-me-laugh-too, kind of laugh. You wipe my kisses off and tell me they're yucky, but run to your sister to put your arm around her and rub her back when she's crying.

With you, we have to say everything at least twice.  Probably closer to five times before you decide to listen.  At bedtime, instead of sitting down to enjoy a story, you race around the house, thinking it's great fun and make us chase you.  Most times that ends with us yelling at you to get your butt to the couch and listen to a story.  But on the days that we remember that you're just having fun, we growl and chase you and you laugh and scream until we drag you, hanging upside down, back to the couch.

You throw yourself to the floor and refuse to get up in a typical toddler tantrum.  The threat of a time-out means nothing to you if you decide that your tantrum is more important.  If you do end up in time-out, you stand your ground with your arms crossed and your bottom lip so far out a bird could build a nest on it.  When made to apologize for your wrongdoing, you rarely uncross your arms, and yell "sorry" at us like that word itself is the most horrible thing you've ever had to say.

When we put you to bed, you talk and talk and talk and talk, and throw your toys on the floor, and then pick up your toys, then throw them again.  You bang your feet against the wall.  You yell at Gracie for falling asleep before you were done talking to her.  You drive us crazy when, an hour after putting  you to bed, you're still talking!  We've started putting you to bed first, before Gracie, and I now often find you 15 minutes later, passed out, feet on the wall, toys on the floor, and head hanging over the bed.  But every now and then, I find you tucked under your blankets, in the same position as when I first left the room, and I can't help but smile and think of how much energy you must have used up that day to fall asleep so fast.

You, my beautiful Ella, truly are the most exhausting child.  A real trouble-maker.  A little hellion.  But for every hellish little moment you create, there are a million other sweet ones, and that beautiful smile reminds me that, as bad as you can be, you are truly amazing, and I wouldn't trade you for any other two-year-old out there!  Because of all the Ellas in the world, you are my favourite!

 

Oh, Boy!

Well it's been a full month at home with the new little man, and I've already learned a few things... 

First of all, the penis is as scary a thing as I feared!  At changing time, I still just kind of stare it, not really knowing what to do with it.  The damn thing terrifies me.  And there are more cracks and crevices to wipe around than with a girl, I hate to tell all you "cleaning it is so easy" advocates.  I am proud to announce, however, that I have yet to be peed on.  I call that a parenting-a-boy success.  Danny, for the record, has been peed (and pooed) on numerous times.  Sucker.

Next, I would like to say that, so far, Jax has proven himself to be a typical man.  My boobs have never been bigger, and he enjoys them.  Every. Two. Hours.  Okay, so that's settled down a little bit since the first week we brought him home.  But seriously... every two hours?! When a friend of mine asked how it was going with him, and I mentioned this, she said, "Yup!  That's a boy for you!"  For those of you who don't know, I'm a great advocate of breastfeeding, but I'm the first to admit I hate it.  I hate every single minute of doing it, and every two hours made me want to chop them off.

Also, like a man, this little boy can fart.  I mean, the girls were all gassy at this age too, but Jax can clear a room!  More than once I've yelled at Danny, only to discover it was actually Jax's handiwork smelling up the car.  And once he pooped so loud, it stopped Ella stone-cold in the middle of a tantrum.

We've also had some of the regular poo blow-outs.  As a mother of an infant, you quickly learn to pack extra clothes and blankets and wipes when travelling in case your darling little child decides to shit right through their clothes.  We've experienced it with both girls, and we were pretty sure we had seen the worst of the worst.  Until Jax.  I had stopped at the EI office in Kentville, and had just finished feeding Jax (it had been two hours, after all!).  I heard him poop and immediately smelled the stinky little bugger.  I needed to cover myself back up, so I handed him to Danny sitting in the front seat beside me.  Danny was burping him while I was putting away "the girls" when he lifted one hand up and said, "Oh my God, I think he pooped through his clothes."  I laughed a little bit, and then got ready to change him.  Of course we were on the side of the road in Kentville, so we had to change him on the back seat.  I laid him down on a blanket in the back seat and unbuttoned his clothes.  I took a little peek and discovered, to my horror, that this little poop explosion reached the back of his neck.  I took a step back to regroup and started gathering supplies.  Wipes.  Lots of them.  Extra shirt.  Clean diaper.  Somewhere to put the dirty wipes (we were going to be using a lot).  We stumbled here, but then realized empty Tim Horton cups would work just fine.  It started out being a calm task, then it seemed like the poop just got everywhere!  It was on his feet, his elbows, his stomach... and I didn't even have his clothes off yet (which of course, were also covered!).  I started the roll-and-tuck manouever with his onsie, trying to get it over his head without smearing the stuff any further.  It was not successful.  By the time I lifted his shirt over his head, he had poop in his hair, his shoulders, and all over my hands.  We stuffed two cups full of dirty wipes, which Danny dutifully held onto while I did the scrubbing.  It took what seemed like an eternity to finally get him cleaned off, and when I was finished and he was smelling sweet like roses again, I surveyed the damage.  We had used every single baby wipe in our bag to clean him off.  Not to mention we now had coffee cups filled to the brim with dirty wipes, and not a garbage can to be seen.  Oh, and I had poop all over my hands and up my arms... and no wipes.  Fantastic!  I found some poop bags that we use when walking Charlie and quickly tied up his soiled clothes and the coffee cups. Luckily, we also had Lysol wipes in the car.  While too strong for baby's bottom, they did wonders for me.  I stood on the sidewalk, cleaning myself off and happened to take a look around.  Right behind us, watching the whole scene was a nice elderly couple on their veranda.  And they were laughing.  Yeesh, they could have at least invited us in to use their sink!

The rest of Jax's first month has been (thankfully) fairly uneventful.  We are still adjusting to life, and hoping desperately that Jax soon finds a better sleep schedule.  I took a good two weeks to recover from the labour ordeal, and am starting to get back some of the energy I lost.  Jax has begun gracing us with those first real smiles, and they are adorable!  He's a little camera shy, and I have yet to catch one yet on the camera.  But I will!

Overall, I would call month one with the boy a success.  Although new "boy" things surprise me every day, I'm getting used to having the little man in the house.   Life is slowly returning to a new normal!

Introducing Jax Daniel Ford...

The past 42 weeks seemed to fly by at times... and other times seemed to take an eternity.  I experienced things this pregnancy that I didn't with my first two, including being put off work due to extreme pelvic pain.  Already parenting two toddlers, combined with working full-time and managing the pain, meant that I was often physically drained.  I was very excited as the weeks passed by, and also a little sad, because I knew this would be the last time that I would experience being pregnant.

For those who haven't experienced it, there is nothing quite like the feeling of a little person moving inside your belly.  There's a personal connection long before the baby is born, something that is incredibly personal and private, and just between the two of you.  But the girls were growing more and more excited every day, and I knew they would just fall in love with their little brother once he was here.

After months of dreading "the penis," the end was near.  It was my third, and everyone was fairly sure that I would have that baby "any moment" as friends (and complete strangers) would point out as I walked by them.  I can't say that I felt huge this pregnancy... I certainly felt smaller than I was with Gracie, and I honestly didn't feel like I looked like I was ready to pop.  The baby certainly felt the same way, since at weeks 38, 39, and 40, I was "checked" for progress and was told that, although anything could happen, Dr. Rudd expected to see me at Labour and Delivery to discuss my induction on the 18th of June.

I was busy wrapping up my Sunday School program for the year.  On the evening of the 13th, I had Confirmation to get through, and the teachers of the Confirmation class and my program partner had been begging me to hold on until we were through with Confirmation.  That night, after everything was finally wrapped up, I said to the teachers, "I know you've been praying for me to hold on so I could be here tonight, but you can stop now!"  Someone commented on how funny it would be if I went into labour that night.  I went home, fell asleep, and woke up at 12:45 a.m.  It was labour.

I got out of bed at 1:30 and paced the upstairs of my house for an hour and a half before deciding to call the hospital.  Since it was my third, and I had a history of hemorrhaging, and the contractions were about 5 minutes apart, they told me to make my way in.  I paced another half hour or so before I decided to wake up Danny.  When I told him it was time to go, he informed me that he had heard me on the phone with the hospital, which meant he had heard me tell them I was in labour, and decided to go back to sleep!!!  What a man! :)

We made it to the hospital just before 5, where we waited in the ER for a good 10 minutes before someone showed up to let us in the actual hospital.  They hooked me up to the baby monitor, and at 5:20 my water broke.  The contractions were still about 4-5 minutes apart, which gave me some recovery time in between, but I have to say, they were stronger contractions than I had felt with either Gracie or Ella.  I insisted on an epidural (I had missed out with Ella) and relayed my story about having to deal with the hemorrhage last time without any sort of pain relief.  It had traumatized me, and I had nightmares about it for months afterwards.  As soon as the anesthesiologist was available, I had my epidural (success!!), and tried to get some rest while I waited for baby boy to make his appearance.

At 9:15, they brought in Dr. Hamm.  He was with me when I delivered Ella, and had dealt with the bleeding afterwards.  I was very happy to have him again for this baby, he is a very calming presence!  At 9:24 a.m., baby Jax was born, and I was surprised to find out that what I thought was my smallest belly actually held my biggest baby, weighing in at 9 pounds, 5.1 ounces.  After he was born, we all held our breath and waited... waiting to see if the bleeding would be controlled, or if we would have a repeat of Ella's birth.  We waited, and waited, and waited.  Nothing happened.  Which was not good either.  We waited some more, and Dr. Hamm repeatedly reefed on my stomach.  Still nothing.  Not a spot of blood, but also no placenta.  We waited some more and Dr. Hamm advised that he was going to have to take me to the OR to get the placenta out.  Thank God, I already had the epidural!

Once the OR was prepped, they took me down.  The epidural was numbing, but not enough to do what they needed to do.  My right side wouldn't freeze, so they kept upping and upping the medication.  Eventually the anesthesiologist said that he was going to flood me with the medication and if I still wouldn't freeze, he was going to have to put me out completely.  The rush of medication made me extremely nauseous and my whole body felt like it weighed 300 pounds... but it worked!  Dr. Hamm worked his magic, and I was in recovery 15 minutes later.  I wasn't allowed out of recovery until I could lift and bend both of my legs.  My right leg thawed within an hour, but it took until 1:30 in the afternoon before I could move my left leg enough for them to release me.  I was finally taken back to my room, where Danny and Jax had spent the last 3-4 hours bonding.  It was a rough afternoon, but by 4:00, I was feeling relatively normal again.  The girls came and met their brother for the first time, and Nanny and Grampy got to meet their first grandson. 

As the nurse told me later, after the retained placenta, followed by a pretty significant blood loss in the OR, I was not going to be feeling great.  By the time I got home from the hospital on Sunday evening, I felt like I had been hit by a truck.  My hands were aching from the IVs I had in each of them, my back was killing me, and my hips ached worse than I could ever imagine.  Yesterday I left the house for the first time since being home, finally starting to feel like a normal person again. 

Jax is fitting right in.  He is a voracious eater, which reminds me again how much I dislike breastfeeding, but so far is the most calm and laid back of the three.   Gracie constantly needs to be touching him, and Ella is amazed by him.  Every day gets better and easier, and we are so thrilled to have him here, finally, as part of our family!  We are officially complete as the Ford Family!

 

Nesting's a Bitch...

Towards the end of pregnancy, women go through this natural occurrence known as "nesting."  According to all of the pregnancy websites out there, nesting is a natural instinct whereby mothers-to-be prepare their home for the new arrival by cleaning and organizing the "nest."

I spent the better part of last week "nesting."  My mother came down to help out, and we spent all week cleaning.  We cleaned out the girls' room, organized the boy's room, sorted through six bags of boy clothes (thanks, Michelle!), organized the bathroom closet, the living room closet, and the hallway closet, cleaned out and organized the laundry room, cleaned up the guest room, and even got the oven and microwave cleaned (although, to be fair, we can thank my dad for those last two).  On Friday, after a 2-hour grocery shopping trip, we spent the better part of the next 12 hours cooking and stocking our freezer.  We made chicken noodle soup, beef barley soup, chili, pulled pork, chicken fried rice, cabbage roll casserole, dijon mustard chicken drumsticks, slow cooker cilantro lime chicken, balsamic vinegar glazed chicken, kobe glazed beef roast, hamburgers, three meatloafs, slow-cooker beef fajitas, potato and fish hash, taco meat, shake & bake chicken, and 18 breakfast sandwiches.  I even managed to get 5 dozen biscuits made for the freezer too.

Half of the groceries for our freezer-stocking adventure...

The other half of the groceries... 

My lovely assistant... plucking a chicken! :)

Don't mind the apron, it's Ella's.... and doesn't quite fit! :)

The first of my 5 dozen biscuits! :)

 Here's my problem with the nesting instinct though:  The instinct part.  I call bullshit.  There is nothing instinctual about it.  There is no "oh, I should get my house cleaned up before this sweet little bundle of joy arrives" urge.  There is, however, a "holy fack, I have two weeks left before this all time consuming booby muncher gets here and the house looks like a fuckin' pig sty" sort of feeling.  That's not instinct, that's panic!  I know that in roughly two weeks, I will arrive home with this little bundle of blue, and I will be mostly relegated to feeding, changing, and burping that baby.  When I'm sitting in my rocker feeding the little man for the 10th time in three hours, and I see a cobweb hanging from the ceiling, I know that it's going to stay there for approximately the next 4-6 months.  Because I will have better things to do.  Sure, the dishes will get done, and the floors will be vacuumed, and if we're really lucky I may even wash a load or two of clothes.  But the super dirty little stuff, like the piece of (what I assume is) apple that fell behind the couch sometime in the last 4 years that I only discovered while "nesting," or the pile of brown gunk building up in the door of the dishwasher, or the inch-thick layer of dust and dog hair collecting in every single closet... well, that shit will stay there until (a) this baby stops being such an energy-sucking force in about 6 months, or (b) nope.  There is no b.

The other thing about nesting being all "instinctual" is the fact that instinct brings to mind another word: Natural.  Believe me when I say there is nothing natural about my preggopotamus ass climbing up and down the stairs 15 times carrying different crap to different areas of the house, while sweating bullets, and grunting like a pig.  There is nothing natural about my preggopotamus ass literally getting stuck on the floor because I have been on my hands and knees scrubbing out a cabinet for the last 20 minutes and now I don't have the energy to lift said preggopotamus ass back into a vertical position.  There is nothing natural about any of it.  I hate every second.  I bitch and complain every single moment.  If it weren't for the fact that my mother was here to keep me inspired, I would probably still be on project #1, and break #246.  Not to mention that my mother is as old as the hills... not truly, but with the knees of an 80-year old woman, we were quite the sight, both moaning and groaning our way through the week.  Cleaning sucks.  Cooking sucks.  But deep cleaning and freezer-stocking-cooking sucks even harder.  Even with help and good company, it sucks preggopotamus ass!  Not to mention that every single night last week, my legs screamed at me and my back ached, and my belly contracted, all in protest of the extra work I was making us do!

There's an upside to the panic that comes when you are running out of time to get anything done... once you actually get it done, it's done.  It's clean!  My house looks fantastic, and I even finished a project or two that was on my list of nesting chores from when I was pregnant with Ella (that's right, I'm so incredibly lazy, some of these projects have taken another two years to complete!).  And the fact that I got the cooking done amazes me.  I certainly paid for it that night, with a couple Tylenol 3s and a night spent on the couch to ward off as much of the pain as possible.  But it's done, and I can feed my family when the lazy, exhausted moments happen in the upcoming months.

Things are cleaned and organized for the time being, and that makes me feel a little more relaxed in these final days leading up to Baby #3. But there's no doubt about it... nesting's a bitch!

In preparation for cleaning out the girls' room,  my mother and I built this lovely bookshelf together.
Elvis took over residence shortly thereafter! :)