Our F'd-Up Family Weekend

It's Sunday evening, and the girls are in bed.  It's only 7:00, but my eyelids are feeling pretty droopy, and Danny is looking pretty dopey on the couch next to me.  It's been a long weekend!  It was supposed to be a nice, relaxing, family weekend in the city... our ultrasound, followed by a daddy-daughter date for Gracie and Daddy, dinner with our besties, a night in the hotel, and the Backyardigans live on stage to round out the weekend of family fun.  And although all of those things took place, a comedy of errors and mishaps made the weekend, probably single-handedly, the most exhausting relaxing weekend ever!

We had our second 3D ultrasound scheduled for 10:30 Saturday morning.  The plan was to be on the road by 8:00.  That would give us plenty of time for the drive, and for those things that always take longer than you expect; coffee stops and whatnots.  Nanny Fillmore called at 7:20 to wish us a happy trip.  She was surprised that we were still lounging around in bed.  We talked for a few minutes, and as I was saying goodbye, I told her we'd "see" her at 10:30 when the appointment started.  She said, "you mean 10:00."  I said, "No, 10:30."  And she said, "I'm pretty sure the email said 10:00."  Crap.  After getting her to confirm the time in email, I hung up the phone, yelled "holy crap!" and proceeded to rush everybody out the door.  Although all the clothes and suitcase items were ready, they were not technically packed, and we were all still in our jammies.  I shoved everything in the suitcase, and with the help of Danny, got ourselves and the girls dressed, snacks packed, teeth brushed, and everybody out the door by 7:54. 

Leaving by 8:00 would still give us 2 hours to get to the city, find parking, do potty breaks, and arrive at the appointment with a few minutes to spare.  But the girls were crying for smoothies (which I did not have time to make) and Danny needed his coffee.  We loaded up the car, and headed off.  I mentioned that it was nice that it had stopped raining and Danny said, "Oh shit, the windshield wipers!"  Those would be the $50.00 windshield wipers that we bought to replace the crap ones that weren't really working on the car.  It only took 10 seconds to realize that with a rainfall warning for Sunday, we needed decent wipers.  "Turn around!" I yelled!  We were back on the road in record time, picked up breakfast from McDonalds, and hit the highway.  8:08!

Halfway up the on-ramp we both realized that something didn't quite feel right.  We had had the tires balanced on the car after a particularly vibration-heavy drive to Fredericton the weekend before, and this was the first time we had the car back on the highway.  The vibration was worse.  Much worse.  And I felt like I was going to be sea sick.  After assuring me that it was still safe, just not terribly good for the car, we made the decision to carry on, we were barely going to make it as it was!  

The vibration lessoned about 20 minutes into the drive and we arrived in Halifax with 15 minutes to spare for our appointment.  We went into the appointment, got all settled in and looked at the screen, excited to see how much the little boy had grown in the last 10 weeks.  We saw nothing except arms and legs.  Apparently baby boy Ford decided to play shy and held both arms (and a leg) in front of his face the entire time.  Halfway through she got me to take a yoga break (downward dog, anybody?) in the hopes of getting him to move.  He did move, but not the way we wanted.  We could now see his spine and the back of his head, and only arms and legs still.  I said, "I can't even make out the limbs anymore!"  The ultrasound tech felt horrible and told us to go for a walk and she would try to squeeze us back in for another peek in 20 minutes, and hopefully the baby would be in a better position by then.  20 minutes later, we finally get to the baby's face... for about 3 seconds before he curled back up behind arms and legs again!  Oh well, we got a couple decent pictures, and we'll see him for real in another 10 weeks anyway!

Danny and Gracie were going to a 12:40 showing of Mr. Peabody, so we needed to get checked into the hotel.  We headed over to the Radisson, and I offered to see if our room was ready.  It was then that Danny realized he had forgotten his wallet, with his military ID for our room discount.  Luckily, they said they didn't need it and let us check in at 11:30.  I came back out to the car to let Danny know.  We were going in to have a quick bite to eat, and Ella and I were going to nap while Danny and Gracie went to the movies.  "I'll get the girls, you get the suitcase." I said.  I started to unbuckle Ella when I heard Danny said, "Where's the suitcase, Sammy?"  I just looked at him.  "What do you mean where's the suitcase?" I asked.  "It's not here." He said.    A few things ran through my head at that moment, but the only thing that mattered was that the Backyardigan tickets were in the suitcase and that was the whole reason for the freaking trip.  "Okay," I said.  "Let's just get inside and we'll figure this out."  We made it up to our hotel room (which was awesome, by the way!) and after looking up the website on Danny's phone (guess what else was in the suitcase - my laptop!), got a hold of the box office.  They would issue us a ticket stub the next day and we could still go to the concert.  Okay.  All good.  

Gracie wanted to know when she could go to the movie.  Danny's cell-phone beeped because it was dying.  My cell-phone beeped because it was dying.  Charger.  In the suitcase. "And when can we go swimming?" Gracie asked excitedly.  "Yeaaaaaah.  Swimming!" Ella echoed.  Swimsuits.  In the suitcase.   Danny and Gracie were supposed to leave for the movies, like, now.  We quickly looked up the timings.  It was cutting it close to our reservation for dinner with Auntie Leah and Uncle Dave.  Okay.  A quick trip to Walmart.  Pick up the necessities.  Throw Ella and I out of the car while it was pretty much still moving so Danny and Gracie could make the next showing of the movie.  Crisis (crises??) averted.  We ran into Walmart for a few necessities.  Underwear, socks, shirts for the girls, mascara for me.  A cell phone charger.  Tylenol for me and Ella (we were both sick), Vicks vapour rub (Ella couldn't stop coughing), new sleeping stuffed animals (cause the girls wont sleep without them), a book to read at bedtime (because heaven forbid we don't stick with the freaking bedtime routine!), toothbrushes, toothpaste.  Oh, and swimsuits.  $225.00 later, we had the necessities in hand.  "How much did that cost?" Danny asked.  "I'm not even going to tell you!" I said.  That was not in the budget for our family weekend away!

Danny dropped Ella and I back off at the hotel, and I took her up for a nap.  Auntie Leah came for a visit at the hotel and we agreed to meet the husbands (and Gracie) at the restaurant for supper.  Once I had my cell phone plugged in and charging I realized I had a message from my sister.  I had called her on the way to Halifax that morning to ask her to feed the cat, since we had left in such a rush that morning and forgot to feed him.  "Hi, it's me.  Just wanted to let you know that I found a suitcase sitting in your driveway.  I put it inside the house.  I'm not sure if that was the suitcase you were supposed to take with you or not this morning, but it's inside now.  Okay, bye."  The suitcase was outside?  How in the heck did Danny manage to get it downstairs and out the doors before leaving it behind?  How do you carry a suitcase outside and then just forget to carry it the rest of the way to the car??  I asked him that exact thing over supper, and he laughed.  He has no recollection of moving the suitcase past the stairs in our house.  Oh well!  We both have a sense of humour and everything worked out, regardless!

Supper was delicious, the girls got to go swimming and we settled them into bed.  Gracie was exhausted, and Ella... was not.  She talked, and talked, and talked, and I could hear her rolling around and laughing and talking.  I went in at least 10 times before I decided to pull her out of the bed she was sharing with Gracie, put her in our bed, and let poor Gracie fall asleep (who did, in less than 2 minutes).  Ella finally got tired enough to stop laughing and talking, and I finally heard her fall asleep around 9:45, a full almost 3 hours after bedtime.  Danny and I went to bed at midnight, and at 1:55, Ella woke up.  She was quite excited to see us in the bed next to hers.  She also woke Gracie up.  I threw Gracie in bed with Danny and I crawled in with Ella.  Ella moved up.  And down.  And up.  And down.  And around.  Then left.  Then right.  That freaking kid moved the entire rest of the night.  Unless my hand was laying on her back, she moved and rolled and wiggled and shimmied.  I did not sleep at all.  She seemed quite well rested however, when she finally got up at 7:30.  How in the hell can you sleep so well if you spend the entire night in motion?!?!

The Backyardigans show was a huge hit, especially once Gracie realized we weren't watching a TV show and they were there "for real."  She spent a good portion of the show trying to convince me that Austin and Tyrone should come back to her place to play.  She also asked if she could go and talk to them after the show was over.  I said she couldn't, and she said, "But mom, they came all this way!"

The ride home was uneventful (thank God!), except for the vibrating car and the motion-sickness it seemed to produce in me.  We got in the house at 6:20 and I accidentally bumped Gracie on the stairs.  She immediately fell to the ground and started bawling.  When she settled down from that crying fit, she suddenly started crying again.  When I asked her what was wrong, she said she coughed.  Okay.  We got upstairs and I asked her to put her pajamas on.  She laid on the floor and cried.  Somebody was tired!  Not that I blame her!  She fell asleep in minutes, and now it's my turn to get ready for bed.  I could cry too, thinking about having to shower and pick out clothes for tomorrow.  Family fun weekends, though fun, are exhausting.  Especially when you do them the way we do, which is totally f'd up!!

Just a little STD...

I may have mentioned in the past that this pregnancy has not been nearly as gentle on my poor body as my previous ones have been.  I can blame it on the fact that I'm carrying a boy this time, or I can blame it on myself, for doing this three times in four years.  Whatever takes the blame, it has presented me with an "opportunity" I didn't have with either of the girls.  Short Term Disability.

Because of the pain issues I'm having with my pelvis, the doctor has given me the all clear to be put off of work on STD.  The pain is only getting worse, and will continue to get worse throughout the rest of the pregnancy.  There are days when I cannot walk, and sleeping comfortably (or without pain, even) has become nearly impossible.  I spend many nights propped up on the couch, hot water bottle between my legs, hoping to get enough sleep that I can function through the day at work.  At work, I cannot lift my left leg more than a few inches off the ground, and I limp up and down the halls.  Going up and down the stairs at work feels like a mini-marathon and I'm sweating and breathing hard by the time I reach the top.  Carrying boxes and files are not doing me any favours.  I'm not out of shape, my legs and pelvis just do not want to cooperate with me, and fight me with every single step that I take. 

On the weekends, I spend most of my time sitting on my ass, trying to recooperate from the workweek.  On the days where I feel decent, I end up overdoing it and spend the next two or three days paying for me eagerness.

When the doctor first mentioned putting me off work, my first instinct was to say no.  I have too much work to do, my replacement isn't due until May (and that's for four weeks of training), and it's not that bad.  I went back to the office and mentioned it to my staff supervisor and she pointed out the obvious.  I'm not doing myself, or my family, any favours by sucking it up here at work.  Continuing like this has meant that doing anything at home other than sitting on the couch is extremely painful and energy-sapping.  Grocery shopping, bathing the girls, even making supper, all feel like tremendous chores.  Perhaps, by taking the next 10 weeks off, I can get done all the little stuff at the house that needs to be done, without overdoing it, and while still maintaining enough strength and energy to spend actual quality time with the girls on the weekend and in the evenings!

So, after thinking long and hard, and dealing with a tremendous amount of guilt, it looks like I'll be finished at work on April 4, a full 8 weeks earlier than I expected to be!  I'm still dealing with guilt and anxiety about the state I'm leaving my job (I'm obviously a terribly responsible person when it comes to my own workload) but I will not focus on that!  Instead, I'm looking forward to the next 8 weeks!

The girls will stay in daycare during the day, but since I don't have to be out the door at 6:50, that means that they get to start sleeping in in the mornings.  They'll go after they wake up on their own. Maybe I'll even feed them breakfast at home, or get Ella dressed.  Usually their breakfast is packed and Ella goes to Nancy's in her jammies.   That also means I get to sleep in.  Probably until 7:00, which is so terribly exciting for me!!  A full 8-10 weeks of sleeping in, with nowhere to be during the days.  It sounds like heaven.  I know it wont last, but I'll enjoy it while I can!

I'll get the house organized, slowly, but surely.  When this baby boy arrives, not a toy will be out of place!  Okay, everybody laugh with me now.  But the girl clothes will be packed up and given away, the boy clothes will be washed and put away, the nursery will not be pink (that one's on Grampy though, not me!), the freezer will be stocked with pre-made food, and the bathroom will be clean, gosh darn it!  It's not a huge to-do list, and surely tackling one thing a day will be doable.

I will nap every afternoon.  I will drink tea again (and maybe, one of those cups will be hot each day!).  I will think about scrapbooking or cross-stitching or learning to knit.  I will not accomplish that, but I will think about it, and maybe even research, and promise myself (again) that I will have blankets knitted by Christmas time.

Basically, I'm going to enjoy my time off.  I'm not going to overdo it, and I'm actually going to use this medical leave to do what I should... rest and get prepared for this baby.  Because in 12 weeks, when this little boy joins us, Lord knows I will never nap again.  I will never again have a clean bathroom, and the only pre-made food in the freezer will have been prepared by Swanson (although his fried chicken is delicious!).

So here's to wrapping up the next week and a half of work and officially starting my stay-at-home-motherdom.  12 weeks to go.  The countdown is officially on!

My dirty little secret...

There is a dirty little secret that I'm sure every parent shares, but most refuse to acknowledge.  I can't blame parents, really. This secret doesn't make me feel very good as a person, and it certainly makes me feel horrible as a mother.  But here it is... sometimes, I dislike my children.  I love them, of course, but I don't always like them.

 

That little admission is the dirty truth about parenting.  We create these perfect little beings, and watch them grow with amazement!  But there are certain stages, certain periods of their lives, that make us not like them very much, despite the fact that our hearts still swell with love for them.

Currently, this period of dislike is aimed towards my oldest daughter, usually between the hours of 11:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m.  Nighttime, for those of you still able to sleep during this timeframe.  My sweet, sensitive, little Gracie has decided for whatever ungodly three-year-old reason that she doesn't like to sleep.  My Gracie, who has slept through the night since the day we brought her home from the hospital, has turned into my biggest sleeping nightmare and has made it very difficult for me to like her lately.

 

Sleeplessness is something all parents expect their children to inflict on them.  It comes with the territory of being a parent.  Babies cannot sleep through the night because they need to be held, and fed, and rocked, and sang to.  But let me tell you, there is a significant difference between being awaken by a screaming three-month-old, and a screaming three-year-old! 

When Gracie first started this nightime screaming stage, I was worried that she was having night terrors, or was being attacked by wild animals.  Neither of those scenarios proved to be true. Turns out, as she tells me, that she just doesn't want to sleep.  So she screams.  It doesn't start as screaming.  It starts as "Mama?" "Mammma?" "Maaaammmmmaaaaaa!!!" At this point in time, I check in with her, after being awoken from a dead sleep of course.  She tells me, "I don't want to sleep."  Although I want to reply, "I don't really give a shit, get your ass back to sleep," I usually answer pretty calmly, tell her why she cannot wake us up in the middle of the night, and give her a couple of options.  She can either (a) go back to sleep, (b) read a book (which she keeps by her bed), (c) play with her stuffed animals, or (d) sing a song until she's tired again.  For 2 1/2 years, these options have worked wonderfully for us.  Not anymore.  She says okay, agrees to go back to sleep, and I shuffle my fat, pregnant ass back upstairs to bed.  On the verge of sleeping again, Gracie again starts yelling and I repeat the above, still maintaining my calm.  After being awoken (although that can't be right, because I haven't had time to fall back asleep yet) for the 4th time in 2 1/2 hours, I have lost my calm.  I stomp down the stairs, spewing profanities inside my head, and the yelling starts.   It is not pretty.  I do not like this child.  I do not want this child in my house right now.  I wish this child were old enough to threaten with something meaningful, like grounding, or not seeing her friends, or a beating.  But she is not old enough.  And because we only watch TV on the weekends, I can't even threaten her with that!  But we do have a sticker chart.  So, in my most angry voice, I declare "You will not be getting a sticker on your sticker chart today!"  Three weeks ago, that made her stop.  Now it makes her say "I don't want a sticker anyway."  Well... fuck.  Now what?

I know this is a stage.  I know she will outgrow it and will eventually start sleeping again, like she has done for the past three years.  And for those of you who are tempted to let the following words slip off your tongues: "I guess it's payback for her being such a good sleeper when she was a baby," I say, screw you!  A screaming infant is not the same thing as a screaming toddler.  Toddlers are louder, more stubborn, and have the ability to spend the entire night screaming if that's what they decide they want to do.  They can awaken the entire house.  You cannot reason with them, you cannot threaten them, and you cannot beat them into submission.  All you can do is try to keep calm, and when that fails (which it will), you can yell until you're both crying, and still nothing will be accomplished. 

In the morning, when it's finally time to get up, and I am functioning on less than 3 hours sleep, I still feel angry and hateful at that child.  But when I open the door to wake her (because she finally fell asleep around 5:30 a.m. - which, for the record, is too late for me to go back to bed since I have to be up at 5:40 a.m.), as much as I disliked her a minute before, she says, "Good morning mommy.  Can I have a good morning kiss?" and the dislike starts to fade.  I refuse her good morning kiss, because I'm bitter like that, but then she hugs me and asks again, and she gets  one.  We both feel better.  We talk about her behaviour the night before, and she seems just as appalled by it as I was.  "I can't act like that mommy, that's not fair to you or to Daddy, or to Ella, or to the new baby."  I tell her, "Mommy and the baby need their sleep, Gracie.  I don't like being kept awake all night."  She hugs me and says, "I'm sorry about that, mommy.  Tonight I wont do that, okay?"  And I believe her.  I feel better, and I like her again.  She is still pretty cute.  And although I'm slugging my way through the day, carrying around 20 extra pounds on legs that can barely carry me this pregnancy, feeling exhausted and in so much pain, I can reason with myself that this too wil pass.  She will not be screaming her way through the night forever.  She will eventually begin sleeping again.  And the guilt from not liking my daughter very much, the guilt that makes me cry when I'm sitting on the couch at 4:00 a.m. just wishing she would stop and silently cursing her in my head... well, that guilt doesn't feel nearly as overwhelming once the sun is shining.  It's okay to not like her once in a while.  I know there will be days when she doesn't like me very much.  I have a feeling there were many days when my own mother felt the same way about me.   I realize that although I may not like my daughter for those 6 hours at night, there are 24 hours a day when I do truly love her, and there will be many, many years to prove that to her.  Well... there will be, if she starts sleeping again and I allow her to make it to her fourth birthday.  These terrible threes are something else... but that's a whole nother story!!

Knocked Up... Round #3!

Throughout the last four years, I have been pregnant a lot.  This is my third pregnancy since April 2010, which means I have spent roughly 29 out of the last 48 months being knocked up.  On purpose, too!

I have had what most people refer to as "dream pregnancies."  I get knocked up if Danny looks at me the right way, and then spend the next 10 months feeling fantastic, with not so much as a swollen ankle or a hint of morning sickness.  Apparently though, after 3 pregnancies in 4 years, my body has basically said "F-you!"

Although this pregnancy has still been relatively easy, with a lack of the extreme morning sickness that I've witnessed from others, it is definitely taking a tole on my poor little body.  I've had headaches with each baby.  With Gracie, I would get a horrible, debilitating, hour-long headache once a day for about 2 weeks.  With Ella, I got day-long headaches for about 2 weeks.  This baby brought me the joy of day-long headaches once again.  Except this time, they lasted more than 7 weeks, and needed to be controlled with Tylenol 3s and gravol.

With Gracie, I went to the gym regularly, and even participated in a Zumba class until I was 38 weeks pregnant.  With Ella, I skipped Zumba, but still went to the gym fairly regularly.  With this baby, I have been to the gym maybe 5 times.  For less than half an hour each time.  I blamed the headaches initially, but the truth of the matter is, I'm now more than half-way done and it's cold outside, and I just don't wanna go.  I'm working on that though, now going twice a week... although I have skipped the last two weeks, so really, it's still only 5 times!

I didn't have an ache or a pain with either Gracie or Ella.  I went for a massage at around 36 weeks in my first pregnancy, and when the therapist asked me where it hurt, I laughed.  It didn't hurt!  I felt great!  This pregnancy, I have had the pleasure of experiencing SPD, or symphysis pubis dysfunction, for those of you who would like to google it.  Basically, I've done something not good to the ligaments and joints in my pelvis, and the bones are now rubbing against each other, causing extreme pain and discomfort, pretty much all day long.  Sleeping is the worst, and the pain often keeps me up, or at least from falling back asleep once I do wake up.  Also, when I get up in the morning, I crack.  I'm not exactly sure from where... but it hurts like a son of a bitch, and sounds disgusting too.  Going up and down stairs, getting in and out of the car, and getting up from a seat are the things that cause me the most pain.  So, you know, basically everything I do all day at work.  Apparently the hormone my body produces to make delivery easier is the culprit behind this happening, and from what I understand the treatment for me at this time is to "take a couple extra-strength Tylenol and put a hot water bottle on it."  I have hope though, because I'm sure the bigger and heavier I get, the less pressure I will put on my pelvis, thus making me feel better.  Right?!?

Sleeping, or lack thereof, has been the main issue this pregnancy, and probably the primary reason why my body is saying "F-you" so frequently.  Without proper sleep and rest, my body does not have the energy to do normal, everyday things.  Like parent two kids without being the crabbiest mom in the whole wide world.  Or stay awake past my three-year-old's bedtime.  Or speak to another adult in full, complete sentences.  Or prepare a meal for the family that involves more than french fries and chicken nuggets.  I've been blessed with an inability to remain asleep during the night, or to fall asleep past midnight.  If I'm asleep before the clock turns 12, then it just means a night of restlesness and tossing and turning, and waking up half a dozen times.  If I'm awake after midnight, then it means I'm awake.  All night.  Thank God for Pinterest and Netflix, that's all I have to say about that!

My family has been generally supportive of the hard time I've been having, with Danny doing basically all the housework (that's why he's still alive, despite the snoring!), and Gracie and Ella take turns rubbing the belly.  Gracie notices when I'm stiff and sore and asks if her baby brother is kicking me again, and she has brought me a number of stuffies and blankets when I'm relaxing on the couch.  Oh, to be three years old and have a stuffed animal take care of all of your problems! :)

People often say to me "Oh your third child, are you done now that you're having a boy?"  Oh yes, "we" are done being pregnant!  We would have been done regardless of whether it was a boy or girl! I loved my first two pregnancies, and although this one has been a lot more difficult for me, I'm still enjoying this one as well.  My body... well, not so much.  I'm pretty sure if I put myself through this one more time, my body would never forgive me.  So three it is... and our perfect little family will be complete!  Now, please excuse me while I go swallow some Tylenol and find a hot water bottle to put on my crotch!  Pregnancy is so glamorous! :)