Sleeping Beauties

Danny is not a morning person.  He likes to sleep.  When life requires him to be up early, he functions quite well and can manage the early mornings.  But those mornings must be pre-planned, with plenty of warning to him.  Like work... he knows the days he has to work and is prepared to wake up early for that.  Mind you, the shift he is on now doesn't start until 11, so even work doesn't get him out of bed early anymore.  His wife gets him out of bed early.  Very rarely though.  We have an understanding, Danny and I.  I don't do late nights, he doesn't do early mornings.  This means that when new babies come along, I go to bed at 8:00 and wake up only for feedings, and he sleeps until 9 or 10 in the morning.  This works for us, because I am totally a morning person.  I jump up, wide awake, and I'm ready to go.  I'm friendly, I'm talkative, and most importantly, I'm actually awake. 

Danny is a bear in the morning.  When I do need him to get up early, I have to warn him a full 24 hours in advance, if possible.  I usually remind him once or twice before we go to bed, then in the morning I get up first, make him coffee, set it down beside him, shake him a little, whisper that it's time to get up, and back slowly out of the room.  I usually leave the bedroom door open so the noise of the house will keep him awake.  Once he's up and moving, it usually stays pretty quiet in our house for a full hour.  He doesn't talk much, doesn't interact a whole lot.  It's hard for me... cause I like to talk, and I don't understand how you can wake up cranky.  He insists he's not cranky, he's just not awake.  So I don't understand how you can wake up and not be awake.  But that's how we're different!  He doesn't understand how, on a Friday night, I'm ready to drop dead by 9:00... "but Sammy, it's Friday!!" he says.  I say, "but Danny, it's Friday!!"  Our points of view differ on energy levels on Friday nights too! :)

I have to admit, he is much, much better now that we have Gracie.  The wake-up process has been slimmed down to 15-30 minutes, tops.  About 2 months ago I got bored on Saturday mornings with just Gracie and I playing in the living room, waiting for dad to wake up at 10:00, so we made a deal that he gets up at 8:00 on Saturday mornings with me.  It's not a bad deal, since he works shift work and gets 4 days off at a time... it's not like I'm taking away one whole day of his weekend!  And we've started getting the grocery shopping and errands finished by 11:00 and we have the rest of the day to relax and play. 

I know I've mentioned this before, but it amazes me how much Gracie is like her father.  Their personalities are so much alike it's frightening... although I can't complain too much about Danny's personality, I obviously enjoy it enough to have married him! :)  The sleeping thing is another way they are very much alike! 

I don't know if you've heard, but Gracie has always been a fantastic sleeper.  The first night we brought her home from the hospital, she slept for nearly 6 hours straight (and scared the bejeezus out of me at the same time).  She continued to sleep for 6-hours stretches that very quickly turned to 8 hours, 10 hours, then 14 hours.  She's down to 12-13 hours now at night.  7:00-7:30ish.  Except during the week, when I have to leave to work by 7:20 and she needs to get up at 6:45 to get ready so I can drop her off at the sitters on my way to work.

She's a cranky little bugger when I wake her up.  She's a lot like her dad.  She grunts.  She refuses to stand up in her crib so I can pick her up.  She throws her toys.  She grunts some more.  Sometimes she very dramatically throws herself back down on the bed and and growls at me.  I'm sure she doesn't really mean to growl, but that's what it sounds like.  I eventually get her up, and she cries the whole time I change her.  It's not really crying... it's the kind of cry where you know she's faking and she's just pissed at you.  When I get her dressed she gets mad if her arm doesn't go into the arm hole perfectly the first time.  And she grunts some more. I take her to the kitchen where she has her breakfast (cheerios and milk).  And if I don't already have them laid out for her and ready to eat, she grunts and cries some more.  If people are visiting, and they try to say good morning to her, she covers her hands with her face and grunts extra loud!  And heaven forbid if I try to talk to her... "Gracie, did you sleep well?"  "urrrngh."  "Are you excited to go to Nancy's this morning?" "URRRRrrngh."  "Do you want some more cheerios?" "URRRRRRNGHHHHH."

Unless this next baby is going to turn out more like me, I guess I'll just have to accept that nobody in my household is a morning person like me.  I need to just let the sleeping beauties adjust to the daylight and come out of their shells in the morning, and let them sleep in whenever possible.  Hmmm... this is not looking too good for my Mother's Day breakfasts-in-bed!  Oh well, at least the cat is friendly in the morning! :)

Hello stranger! Would you like to touch my belly?

I actually love being pregnant... I feel great (for the most part), I don't get many aches and pain, my husband is incredibly supportive, and watching the belly grow is kinda amazing!  That being said, there are some things about pregnancy that always make me question, just for a second, what the heck women are thinking!  There are also things that happen (many more things, actually) that make me question what the heck these non-pregnant people are thinking.

I'll start with the most obvious... because I think it happens to everybody who carries a baby.  When it happened to me when I was pregnant with Gracie, I was stunned.  I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to say.  So I'll say it now... what in the world would possess you to reach out and touch the belly of a person you don't know?  It was a Sunday morning, and I was at our Sunday School hall, and I had just finished setting up and getting ready for classes when it happened to me.  All of my teachers were in class, so there was no one to even intervene.  I know most of the kids (and their parents) by name, but this was my first time meeting this particular parent.  She introduced herself by walking over and saying "oh my gosh, look at your belly, it's so cute."  And she put her hand on it.  That was weird enough for me.  But then she started to tell me all about her two pregnancies and how difficult they were... all with her hand on my belly.  It was around a 5-minute conversation.  I backed up a couple of times, and she followed with her hand out.  At one point she said, "oh I just felt her kick."  Fantastic!  This stranger had felt the baby kick before Danny had.  I would just like to say, I mostly don't mind people touching the belly.  Especially friends and family.  Old women at grocery stores are okay too.  But for goodness sakes, boundaries people!!

My next favourite pregnancy experience... the "whoa you're huge" experience.  This one's pretty obvious.  It's when you walk into a room and people stare and point and say "whoa, you're huge!"  Really?  Huge?  I hadn't noticed.  No, seriously... I just thought my toes miraculously got 4 inches shorter... that's why I can't see them anymore, obviously!  And really, the fact that when I drop money I refuse to pick it up unless it's made of paper... that's because I'm lazy, not huge!  The fact that I sleep with 74 pillows now, instead of 2... purely comfort driven.  The fact that strange people come up and touch my belly... it's because I'm just that damn sexy!  Please believe me that every pregnant woman knows how huge they are!  You want to call me huge?  Try this one, "whoa, those boobies are huge!"  Damn straight! :)

Which leads me to my next one... the "whoa, I'm huge" experience.  That's when we catch ourselves in a mirror, or notice we've somehow picked up that waddle, or we've dropped a quarter on the floor.  We know how huge we are, but sometimes it still catches us off guard.  The other day I was in church and we have these "fantastic" new chairs instead of pews, with kneelers on them.  I realized that the next 4 months at church aren't going to be easy for me... because I don't fit on the kneeler.  There's no where for this belly to go.  That was a little "whoa" experience for me.  And 3 months ago, I used to invite Gracie over to pat my belly and show her where the baby is.  Now she walks right up, lifts up my shirt, points and says "what's that?"  Then she sticks her belly out as far it will go.  I get it Gracie, I get it!  This week I'm dealing with the expanding rib cage problem.  It was the only part of my last pregnancy that really bothered me, and it's that time again.  I'm getting "whoa" huge quickly, and the skin at the top of my belly and between my ribs feels like a constant indian burn.  I know that's not a politically correct term, but that's what it was called growing up, and the only way to describe how it really feels.  Like a fire, 24 hours a day.  Whoa!  This ever-expanding rib problem also leads me to walk around with one hand above my head, sleep sitting up, and drive with one hand on the roof of the car.  It's really fun. :)

One thing that kind of goes along with the "whoa, I'm huge experience" is the eating.  I have to admit, with Gracie I barely had a craving.  I sent Danny out once or twice, mostly because I felt I had to take advantage of that God-given right to make him go.  This time... oh my.  I want food.  I want food all the time.  I try to wait 3 days before giving into a craving, just to see if it will go away.  But if I'm still craving it by day 3, watch out!  Early on, I wanted the usual.  Pickles.  We went through 4 jars.  Then it was french fries.  Then chicken wings.  Chicken fingers.  Chicken nuggets.  Hamburgers.  Fried pepperoni.  Steak.  I began to notice a pattern.  I am, apparently, iron deficient.  I craved meat, meat, meat.  Which doesn't surprise me.  Because when I'm pregnant, I don't really eat meat in my meals.  I just don't like it, unless it's grilled at a restaurant, or cooked in a deep fryer.  Or better yet, cooked somewhere other than here, where I can't see it or smell it.  Yuck.  Then there's my fallback.  Chips.  Chips can be a problem for me, because I know I want them, I just don't know what kind.  Danny and I have had many a frustrated phone call with him standing in the chip aisle.  "Okay, I'm here.  What kind do you want?  What do you mean you don't know?  Well you have to tell me what you want.  Okay... dill pickle, salt and vinegar, roast chicken, or doritos?  That still doesn't help.  Which one?  Okay... dill pickle or roast chicken?  Well... which one?  Which one?  Which one?"  Usually around there, I scream, "oh just forget it."  And once, Danny did forget it.  He came home without any.  That was a mistake.  A big mistake.  Because then I cried, and yelled "if I can't decide, just bring them all.  I'll eat them eventually!"  Danny's a good little grasshopper, because he learned, and has never done that again!!   I also think Danny finds my cravings especially frustrating because when I give in, so does he!  I made him pick me up a burger and fries the other night and he ended up with a full meal too.  He brought them home at 11 p.m., and I ate a handful of fries and half the burger.  That was it, I was satisfied.  "How can you want something so bad, and only eat half of it?"  *sigh* Men... they just don't get it! :)

The last thing I'll mention is a near and dear issue for me... let me start by saying, I can be emotional during pregnancy.  Not crazy, angry, emotional, but teary cry-baby emotional (as I have mentioned in previous posts).  Being pregnant can cause me to feel irrational things, or say things that don't make sense.  But may I just say, right now, that it is not always horomones that make me upset.  I have this discussion with Danny often, especially during the beginning of pregnancy.  He'll say "Sammy, you're being awfully sensitive, are you hormonal today?"  And sometimes, I have to admit... yes, yes I am.  But there are times - a number of times, actually - when it is not my freaking horomones!  Sometimes, dear Husbands of pregnant people, it is NOT our horomones.  Sometimes (now brace yourselves for this), sometimes you are just being stupid.  Plain and simple.  No, I'm not hormonal.  You're just being dumb.  The minute we become pregnant, I swear, husbands and coworkers and most males in general, think they have a 9-month excuse for bad behaviour.  If they act like stupid jerks, they can just blame it on our horomones.  Even now, there is a male reading this paragraph, thinking... "oh, her poor husband, she certainly sounds hormonal." Well I take comfort in the fact that every female out there knows, it's not always my horomones.  Sometimes... it's just you!  So there.  Neener, neener, neener.

Well that's it for now... I'm hungry.  I think a want a burger... or french fries... maybe some chicken wings... mmmm....

Girls Don't Fart!

"Girls don't fart!"  Danny told me this back when we first met... 7 years later, and he still insists that it's true!  I just agree with him... it must be true!  Except that somebody forgot to tell Gracie that... and they probably should, since she's a girl!

Danny is a boy... so he's allowed to fart.  And he takes advantage of that.  We have a rule now that he can't fart at the table, because he was getting way too much amusement out of the fact that it reverberates and doubles in sound when you hold on to the wooden chair really tight when you fart.  I also have a rule that there is no farting in bed.  He doesn't follow that one.  I have walked into the bedroom to wake him up in the morning and have been slapped in the face by a wall of stench.  Last week he woke me up out of a dead sleep and I had to leave the room, in the middle of the night, because the fumes were making me cough and cry.  By the way, if you want to hear a good Catholic girl curse... wake her up in the middle of the night with a smelly fart.  I was not impressed!  And that bastard slept through the whole thing, and laughed extra hard when I described the situation to him in the morning!

It amazes me how much Gracie is like her father!  Almost everything about her is Danny, through and through.  And the older she gets, the more I realize it.  She is no more like her father than when it comes to her bodily functions.  That girl can let one rip!!  Sometimes when Danny and she are sitting at the kitchen table waiting for supper to be served up, I will hear this God-awful roar come from their direction.  When I look over, they're both smiling and giggling a little.  I never know which one of them it is.  Of course, Gracie is at a disadvantage at this age, because Daddy immediately says "It was Gracie!"  And the sad thing is, at least half the time, he's probably telling the truth!

Last night, Danny was at work, and it was just the little girl and me in the house after supper.  I was doing dishes, and she was laying on her back on the floor, with her feet against the cupboards, reading her books (she's a nerd, all she does is read!).  She let out the loudest fart ever, and immediately looked at me (a little terrified I think) and said "Moooom? Moooooom?  What's that?"  I said "my heavens, little girl... that was an awfully big fart."  To which she replied, "Oooohh... poop! Poooooop!"  And then she smiled.   Nothing makes her happier than a good, loud fart!

When I was pregnant with Gracie, and I heard she was a girl, I imagined all sorts of things... pretty bows, tea parties, little pink dresses, dolls, cupcakes.  Never in a million years did I imagine she would be the mini-version of her flatulant father.  *sigh* Someday she'll learn though... girls don't fart!! :)

I Saw Big Foot!!

The weather last week was phenomenal, to say the least!  It reached 27 degrees on Thursday, and I loved every second of it!  Well, almost every second... I realized, very quickly, that being pregnant in the dead of winter is very different from being pregnant when it is 25+ degrees outside. 

When I left for work on Wednesday, it was such a beautiful day!  I was in the midst of planning a surprise baby shower for one of the lawyers at our firm, so I spent a good part of the day on my feet... shopping, decorating, etc., all on top of my normal work.  I was tired, but I'm getting used to that feeling.  It was around 3:00 when I realized I may have a little problem... you see, whenever I am at my desk, my shoes come off.  It's just the way I am.  I am a no-shoes type of person.  I hate them.  I don't wear them unless I am at work or out in public.  And I only wear two types... heels, or flip flops.  Since I was at work, it was heels. 

So there I was, sitting at my desk, working away, with my feet all naked.  Then one of my bosses called and asked to see me.  So I swing my legs around to where I keep my shoes to slip them on... except they didn't slip.  They didn't even budge.  I literally could not get my feet inside of my shoes.  It was then that I noticed the buzzing, warm feeling coming from my feet, and realized that my size 7 feet were no longer size 7.  Well, crap.  My boss happens to be the managing partner at the firm.  And he's very prim and proper.  I doubt he would appreciate a barefoot (and pregnant) assistant clomping into his office with a client there.  So I shoved my feet into my shoes, and managed to make my way there, look after the issues he was having with his computer, and get back to my desk without crying.  But then the shoes came back off.  There was no way my little tootsies were getting back into those shoes.

I spent the rest of the day barefoot, drove home that way, and didn't put shoes on my feet again until the next day.  And the next day, it was flip flops!   I spent the weekend in my one pair of casual shoes (flats), and I haven't had to put heels back on yet.  I'm hoping with the snow forecasted for tomorrow that I will have no issues with swollen toes and heels wont be an issue.  But I may have to figure something out before the warm weather hits us permanently.  My personal vote would be flip flops from now until July... but since I love my heels just as much as my flip flops, I think I may  need to invest in a different pair... perhaps a pair with a little more give.  Or maybe just a bigger size...

A picture of baby... from the inside out!

Today was our 3d ultrasound in Halifax.  Our appointment was at 11:00, but I made Danny get up and be ready to leave by 8:15.  Not because I was so excited I couldn't wait any longer, but because in the 2+ years we've been travelling to Halifax for various appointments, there has YET to be a trip that it wasn't either raining torrentially, or snow storming in some fashion or another.  We have been late because of construction, accidents, bridge closures, and bad weather.  Being late is a pet peeve of mine... I was brought up being taught "if you aren't 10 minutes early, you're late."  And I fully, 100% agree with that.  Even now that we have Gracie, we are rarely late.  We just leave 15 minutes earlier than our usual earliness to make up for those things that may occur.  Like a last minute diaper change, or an "oops, I forgot the __________, turn around so I can grab it."  So... there was no way I was going to be late today.  Lucky for me, the weather cooperated for the whole drive.  And we arrived at the appointment with 45 minutes to spare! :)   Good thing there's a starbucks on the main floor!

Please, feast your eyes on our adorable little... haha, still not telling!!  Right now, he-she is mosly skin and bones (although much chubbier than Gracie was at this point, Lord help me), but by the next visit (in 6 weeks time) he-she will be fattened right up and looking more baby-like!

And just for comparison, here's one of Gracie at the same time, 23 weeks...

It's hard to believe the due date is just around the corner... it's kinda scary to think that in a matter of months, we'll have 2 little babies, instead of just 1!  Gracie is quite excited though... at least she's excited about my belly.  I think she loves the fact that it sticks out, because she loves to touch it and kiss it... I doubt she has any idea what's inside there, and she'd probably do the same thing to Danny if he had a few more beers under his shirt.  I don't know what she'll think when we bring home a real baby... but I think she'll her love new brother or sister very much... most of the time! :)

So I'm not so tough...

Danny, that wonderful husband of mine, has been following this blog.  The first time he read it, he said "I like it... make sure you only say nice things about me."  Last night he said, "I like it... but you act so tough.  That's not the way you really are."  He thinks I should tell people the truth about myself.  So I guess it's time to come clean...

For those who really know me, this wont be a big surprise... I'm not as tough as I act.  To everyday people, I'm a take-charge kind of person.  I stand up for myself and others, I'm outspoken, and am usually the leader-type.  My career and extra-curricular activities have me making decisions all day, and I'm forever running around, organizing things, returning phone calls, checking in, checking up, and so on.

When Danny and I are out together, everybody assumes I'm the pants-wearing wife.  Not because I'm bossy to him (I hope), but because he's a little... quiet.  I think it's more that people assume that Danny is shy, and quiet, and doesn't haven't much to say (which isn't true, by the way... see my second entry, where his pants come off).  So it leaves me with the other role.  And it's not as if I'm really lying... that is who I am... on the outside. 

But at home, it's a different story.  I can be very quiet, sensitive, alright I'll say it... emotional.  Not in a screaming, throwing objects sort of way (usually), but more of an "I'll cry if you get mad at me and please don't ask me to make any decisions" sort of way.   I'm very sensitive... usually to a fault, and 100% worse when I'm pregnant.  I don't have strong opinions about many things at home, and am usually so worn out from making decisions and being a take-charge person in my "outside" life that something as simple as asking me what I want to eat can be an hours-long decision making process.  I'd rather leave that stuff up to Danny to decide. 

We have this round and round discussion all the time.  "Danny, I'm hungry."  "What do you want?"  "I don't know, you decide for me."  "But Sammy, you're the one who's hungry."  "But I don't know what I want."  "Well just tell me, and I'll get it for you."  "I don't knooooooooow!!  Just forget it."  And then, 20 minutes later... "Danny, I'm hungry."  Re-reading that conversation kind of makes me laugh, nothing like being a pain in the ass! :)  But at the time that it's going on, all I'm really thinking is "Oh my lord, I'm so hungry, I wish Danny would just bring me some food... anything, anything at all... except if I don't like it, or am not really in the mood for it."  Okay... so maybe that private conversation is a little unreasonable too!

So I think you can see a little why Danny would say, "that's not who you really are."  Most people see my "outside" self.  Danny sees me as the woman who, after Gracie is in bed, just wants to snuggle on the couch and let someone else take care of her.  Someone who, when she's pregnant (and only then, I swear), will cry when Danny gets frustrated at her because she really doesn't mean to be annoying and sensitive, it's just the way she is.  Danny, god love him, usually laughs at me when I burst into horomone tears, gives me a hug, and tells me he's not really mad at me... but seriously what do I want to eat.

I actually kind of like having the two different me's.  I think most people have two different versions of themselves... it doesn't make one you less real than the other, it's just your "outside" and "inside" you.  Not many people get to see the "real" me, as Danny puts it, and I think it's what keeps us together and going strong.  Not everybody should get to see every part of you.  You save the weak, vulnerable, not-so-tough, side for the ones who matter most... the one who will take care of you, and love you even when you're crying because somebody drank the last of the milk and that's what I really, really want right now.  Not that that has ever happened.  I swear.

I do... just not the way you wish!

Last night while I was going through my endless of supplies of scrapbooking and card making materials, I came across our wedding planning book.  We got married in the Catholic church, and we were given a book full of readings and psalms that we had to choose from.  At the time, I thought Danny might not be on board with choosing all the readings and pieces and parts that make up a Catholic wedding... but after reading through a few of the choices, Danny discovered he liked the Bible more than he realized. 

Here was Danny's #1 choice for one of our readings:

A wife's charm delights her husband, and her skill puts flesh on his bones. 

A silent wife is a gift from the Lord, and nothing is so precious as her self-discipline. 

A modest wife adds charm to charm, and no scales can weigh the value of her chastity. 

 Like the sun rising in the heights of the Lord, so is the beauty of a good wife in her well-ordered home.

Yeah, I vetoed that choice pretty quickly.  Here was another one of our options:

Wives, accept the authority of your husbands, so that, even if some of them do not object the word, they may be won over without a word by their wives' conduct, when they see purity and reverence in your lives.

Do not adorn yourselves outwardly by braiding your hair, and by wearing gold ornaments or fine clothing; rather, let your adornment be the inner self with the lasting beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in God's sight.

Husbands, in the same way, show consideration for your wives in your life together, paying honour to the woman as the weaker sex, since they too are also heirs of the gracious gift of life...

Yup, I didn't go for that one either!  Of course, there are a couple more that are just as old-fashioned as these ones.  And I think Danny was excited to think that maybe, just maybe, marriage could be like these readings.  I would be silent, self-disciplined, run a well-ordered home, accept the authority of my husband, have a quiet spirit, and most important, be the weaker sex. 

Altogether now... BAHAHAHAHA!!!  Oh poor Danny... what he got instead, was me!  Loud, feisty, the complete opposite of well-ordered... although I have to admit, he may win the weaker sex one... I can rarely open my own jar of pickles! :)

And in case you were wondering... we chose a more traditional reading.  One that actually reflects our views on life and love...

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.  It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends.