Still sleeping like a husband...

It's an usual time of night for me to writing... it's 12:45 a.m.  I should be asleep.  Tucked nicely under my covers, dreaming about chicken wings, band camp, or some other hormone-induced nonsense.  Instead, it's quarter to freaking one and I'm on my living room couch, typing away and feeling slightly sorry for myself.  So what, you may ask, is keeping me awake so freaking late?  Well, let's explore that, shall we?

First of all, if you haven't read my ode to useless sleeping husbands, please by all means read it here.  I have many of the same complaints tonight.  Except worse.  

It's Friday night.  That means the end of a full week of 5:40 a.m. mornings, full-time working, 500+ kms driven, meal-making, hormone-dealing, and loving, patient mothering.  It means I'm oh, so tired and probably ready for bed very early in the evening!  

I'm extra-tired tonight because last night, my husband lovingly agreed to switch sides with me in bed so that my aching ribs and hip could get a much needed break.  Except that he forgot he lovingly made that deal with me mere moments after he fell asleep and spent the entire night pushing his way back onto his side, and into my personal sleeping space, and refusing to budge an inch, despite my many elbows to his head and back. At 1:19 a.m., Ella awoke screaming (nightmare, I assume), and I had to rush downstairs to sing her back to sleep.  When I returned to our bed, my lovely husband had taken up residence smack-dab in the middle of the mattress, head between the two sets of pillows, and arms and legs spread star-fish-style.  He looked so freaking comfortable.  The only problem is that he left little room for little old me, and I ended up curled up on one side on the very extreme edge of our bed.  I didn't even have room to wedge a pillow under my baby bump, because every time I tried, it ended up on the floor.  To make sleeping even easier, my lovely husband has decided to take up snoring.  Loudly.  Freight-train loudly.  He also sleeps soundly, so no amount of nudging, groaning, huffing or puffing, rolling over, or elbows to the brain seem to wake him.

Back to tonight... I went to bed around 9:00 p.m., extra-tired from the lack of sleep the night before and the fact that it's a Friday.  Danny watched one show on the TV in our room and then went downstairs to do whatever it is that he does once I'm asleep.  I was sleeping quite well, enjoying a nice couple of dreams, when Danny came back to bed.  He watched another show, and at midnight turned off the tv and promptly fell asleep.  That's when I heard the first boom, and realized it was thundering out.  The dog heard it too.  Danny did not hear it.  Any guesses why?  That's right... those freaking earplugs!  You know what else he didn't hear?  The snoring... coming from his ugly gob.  He also didn't hear the dog, pacing, whining, panting, and crying at the thunder and lightning.

I laid there, listening to all of this and looked over at my darling, sleeping, snoring husband.  As much as I love that man, a thought entered my head.  "I want to punch you in the fucking throat."  I thought that might stop the snoring.  The thunder clapped again, the dog tried to crawl out the window, and Danny snored on.  I had visions of ripping the ear plugs out of his ears and shoving them down his throat.  I decided that with two near-murderous thoughts in less than 5 minutes, it was probably safer for everybody if I got out of bed.

So here I sit, on our living room couch at 1:15 a.m.  The thunder and lightning has pretty much stopped, although the dog doesn't believe me.  The girls haven't budged an inch since 7:00 p.m., and Danny, I can hear from all the way out here, is still snoring away in dreamland.  I think I'll make a cup of tea and calm my inner murderer before I venture back to bed.  As much as smothering Danny with a pillow sounds so very good to me at this moment, it would make the rest of my life more difficult.  Three kids are much easier to handle with two sets of hands.  Maybe that'll be my mantra for extra-difficult nights like these... "don't kill him just yet, you need him to change the diapers." 

What is there to be afraid of?

Since posting about my nervousness of giving birth to a boy, instead of a girl, I've had a few people ask me:  "What are you so afraid of?"

Obviously, I don't think pushing a boy out of my hoo-ha is going to be any different than a girl, so it's not the actual having a boy that scares me... it's everything that comes afterwards.  For starters, boys have penises.  And although I have figured out a use for penises in grown men (I'm having my third kid, after all), I have no idea what to do with a little tiny penis! 

There's the whole "changing" thing.  I've never been peed on before.  I know, weird, right?  But honestly... if the girls ever peed mid-change, it all ended up underneath them.  The concept of a stream of pee shooting towards my face, or his face, or the wall... yeah, I don't know what to do with that.  The fact there is an invention out there called the peepee-teepee, just means that I need to be aware that back-up equipment is required when changing a boy.  Not to mention that changing a girl is simple... front to back.  As many times as necessary to clean up.  You can't go front to back on a boy.  There's a... thing... in the way.  That means up, and down, and around, and I don't know how the hell to clean a penis, people!!

After the time for "changing" is over, there's also the potty training thing.  I don't know what to tell a boy.  Stand up?  Sit down?  I don't freaking know!  Shake it twice?  Three times?  Oh Lord...

Most of my friends have boys.  You think this would be encouraging for me.  It is not.  It means that when the ladies get together for wine, I get to hear more horror stories.  Maybe to mothers of boys, they're not horror stories, so much as funny anecdotes, but to a mother of only girls... well, let's just say that I have had a horrified look on my face more than once, and that I'm not looking forward to the day my two-year-old boy gets his first morning "happy" and tells me how much it hurts and asks me what to do with it.  I don't know what to tell him... put it away?  Go ask your dad?  Stay away from your sisters?  Pull on it, that'll make it feel better?  Do they write these answers down somewhere in a book?!?

A friend asked me the other day, "So you're having a boy... are you going to get him circumcised?"  I'm sorry... what?  That's a decision we have to make?  I never had to make that decision when either of the girls were born.  The thought never even crossed my mind until she asked.  Although I did figure out the answer pretty quickly when I asked Danny about it.  Nope! (Well, at least one problem is solved already!)

Aside from the penis itself, boys are still just different.  They're rougher, louder, more energetic.  This is my third kid.  I'm already tired from the first two.  Why does this kid get to have more energy than the first two?  I'm not prepared for that.  My girls listen...will my boy listen too?  If my friends' stories have any validity, the answer is no.  Oh Lord...  I'm going to have to get a leash!

My fears extend past toddler-hood.  I know I'm in for it when the girls reach their teenage years.  They will hate me, it's a given.  But they'll still be girls, and I'll still know them better than I'll ever know a boy.  I've never been a boy!  I've heard stories about boys.  I know what my boyfriends were like in high school.  I've heard tales from Danny and his friends that they think are hilarious.  I think they're either (a) disgusting, (b) terrifying, (c) appalling, or (d) completely and utterly dangerous.  I have to be emotionally attached to (and morally responsible for) a boy who is going to cause me to feel (a) through (d) above... probably all at once.  My hair is already turning gray, just thinking about it!

I know I'll get over the fears of a boy... Google will help (that's my hope).  As long as my computer never gets raided, because I'm sure all the searches about little tiny penises may raise a red flag.  I'll even welcome the horror stories from friends now... best to be prepared, I say!  But for those of you about to comment about how boys aren't so bad... I wont believe you.  You're probably lying.  Or maybe you're a man yourself, which means you're prejudiced about the power of a penis! But I've smelled enough farts to know that boys are not pretty... and I'm preparing myself for the worst.  Because ready or not, here he comes! :)

10 Little Fingers, 10 Little toes... and what is THAT?!

A few weeks ago, we had our ultrasound to find out what this squirmy little person inside of me is going to be.  Danny and I decided that for this last-ever gender reveal, we wanted to be able to soak it up and really enjoy it, so we had to leave the girls at home.  If they had been with us in that room, there would have been a whole lot of corralling, and not a whole lot of paying attention to the screen.

On Friday, we dropped the girls off at Nancy's house and drove to Dartmouth Crossing.  We got there in time for Costco to open, so we spent half our life's savings on groceries and 2 hours of our precious alone-time wandering around the store.  After Costco the plan was to get some Ela! for lunch (greek, for those of you who aren't fluid in restaurant names, like me!) and then head to an afternoon movie.  Because we took so long in Costco, lunch was out of the question, so it was straight over to the theatre where we filled up on hotdogs, poutine, and popcorn instead.  We somehow ended up with the Cineplex AVX version of the movie, which meant assigned seats... but the seats were the most comfortable things we've ever plopped our bottoms onto!  The seats were angled back so you were semi-reclined, and they rocked.  Like a mini rocking chair.  Also, the arm rests folded up in case you wanted to snuggle with your movie date.  After the movie, we headed to the hotel, checked in, and enjoyed valet parking (that's right, we splurged!).  We had a mini-nap, cause we're parents and that's what all parents do when they have a kid-free afternoon!  We enjoyed a delicious dinner at Ryan Duffy's, and even splurged on room service for nachos later on in the evening.  All in all, and ultrasound aside, it was so relaxing and awesome to get away for a night!

On the morning of the ultrasound, Danny and talked a little bit about the outcome.  There were two options really.  Boy, or girl.  We were broadcasting the ultrasound to our family, and we decided to keep the gender to ourselves for the weekend... if it was a girl, Danny needed the weekend to get used to that idea.  If it was a boy, I needed the time!  Danny was convinced it was a girl... it was a self-preservation thing for him, I think.  He would have been thrilled with another girl, but of course of every man wants a boy deep down!

We got settled in the appointment and the technician asked if we were ready.  She knew she was telling us the gender before we started the broadcast so she went straight for the goods.  I barely had a moment to look at the screen when I heard Danny say, "Oh my God, I see it."  I was so confused, I didn't see anything yet, not even a little blob of baby.  The technician said, "You sure do! There's no hiding that."  I felt like they knew a secret and I was left out.  And then I saw it...

Danny was so excited.  I was... shocked.  We started the broadcast with our family, and we decided since Danny didn't really need any time to adjust, we would share it with them at the end of the appointment.  We got some pretty cute pictures, and I had a good half-hour to see our cute (and very meaty) little man and get used to the idea that this child is coming with extra parts!

All stretched out!

A little smile for us!

A tiny little foot!

On the drive home we decided between two names.  I left it up to Danny to pick the final name, and since that time we have finally settled on a name, and I'm quite in love with it.  We had a girl's name picked out the day after Ella was born, and although I'm sad we wont get to use it (Lyla Kaye Ford - that was going to be for you, Nanny!), we are excited to introduce our little man in approximately four months!  In the meantime, I'm trying to make some simple adjustments to make the introduction easier... referring to them as "the kids" instead of "the girls," for example. Learning to like the colour blue, for another.

Although we've known about the *gasp* penis for a few weeks now, I still shock myself sometimes when I realize that there are no more pink dresses in my future.  I have some fears to overcome with birthing a boy, and I'm glad that I have some friends with boys to tell me that it'll all be okay.

All three of my children were due on the 11th.  Gracie, the 11th of January, Ella the 11th of July, and this one on the 11th of June.  Gracie, however, was born on the 22nd, and Ella on the 20th.  So I'm figuring we'll get to meet this little man somewhere around the 18th of June.  It's a lovely time of year for a baby... and especially a baby boy!! :)

Be a Mommy First, Okay?

The winter cold and flu season has hit the Ford house... with a recurring vengeance.  It's not that either of the girls has been terribly sick for more than a few hours at a time, it just seems to keep coming back, over and over again.  We keep getting calls to come and pick up one girl, or the other, whichever one decides to spew all over the babysitter that day.  None of these illnesses really last longer than 24 hours, and usually by the time the girls arrive home, they're smiling again.  But it just, keeps, happening!

The first round of spewing came the day after I got my flu shot (better late than never).  I kept my fingers crossed that I could stay germ-free long enough for the vaccine to kick in.  But with throw up and fevers and coughs and boogers running rampant through our house, I was a little skeptical.  I am happy to announce, I made it through the 10-days germ free!  Bring on the flues!  

Last week I went to bed one night with a tickle in my throat.  By the next day I had a chest cough.  No sore throat, no runny nose, just a deep hacky cough.  By day three, the cough felt like fire in my chest (although still no sore throat) and by then coughing also made me feel like someone was whacking me in the noggin with a sledgehammer.  I was also utterly and completely drained.  Exhausted beyond belief.

One night, we were skyping with my parents, and my mom said to Gracie, "Gracie, you should let mommy go to bed early tonight because she doesn't feel well."  Gracie just laughed and said no.  Nanny tried to convince her it was the right thing to do, but she wasn't buying it.  She said I could go to bed when it was bed time.

The next morning, I dragged my ass back out of bed and got the girls and myself ready for the day.  On our drive to Nancy's, Gracie said, "Are you still feeling sick mommy?"  I told her I was, a little bit.  And then she told me something every mother knows, but we secretly hope our kids will forget... "I love you mommy, but it's your job to be a mommy first, okay?  You can go to bed at bedtime." What the damn hell?  Who told her that's the way it is?! She's right though... somehow everybody in the house can get sick, and yet it's always mommy's job to be a mommy first.  Sleep later.  Be sick later.  Got it. *sigh*  Here's hoping for a short flu season!!