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! :)

The End is (Not So) Near...

Dear Stubborn-Ass Child:

Hmm... I guess with two already on the ground, and one on the way, that is no way to address a letter. To be more specific: Dear Stubborn-Ass Unborn Child.  That's right, Baby Ford #3, I'm talking to you!  You are my third (and final!) child.  You are supposed to be laid back, easy going, and listen to every single word I say.  You are not supposed to be difficult, stubborn, or even the least bit competitive.  Yet, I am very afraid that is what is happening...

I am, apparently, a baby-making perfectionist.  My lovely first child was 11 days late.  Due on the 11th of January, born on the 22nd.  My beautiful second child was 9 days late.  Due on the 11th of July, born on the 20th.  My third handsome baby is also due on the 11th... born on the... well, that remains to be seen.  Ideally, I was aiming for right around the 11th.  Or maybe even earlier!  My ideals are being tested.

I went for my 37-week check-up last week.  My family doctor was very excited to examine me, since by that stage in pregnancy, her patients have all been shipped off to obstetricians.  She very eagerly wanted to check my "progress" since I was 37 weeks with my third child and his head was "oh, so low!"  She was pretty convinced she was going to tell me I was 3 cms dilated, or some other "the time is coming soon" sort of news.  She let out a little "hmmpph," and said, "well, he's not nearly as low as I thought, and you haven't thinned or dilated even a milimetre!"  Oh well, still lots of time!

Fast forward a week, to today.  I'm back to see my regular obstetrician who gives the bottom of my belly a squeeze to make sure that baby is still head down.  He is.  Then doctor gives a little laugh, and says, "wow, for 38 weeks, he sure isn't very low, is he?"  Yeah, I get it.  The fact that I have had to literally push tiny little feet out from under my rib cage, and push back when his little bum starts to wiggle high enough that my boobs fit nicely under my chin, has led me to the conclusion that this stubborn-ass little child is quite content to wiggle and squirm as high as possible in my tummy.  Unfortunately, without the "bowling ball about to fall out of your vajayjay" pressure that comes when a baby decides to settle in for the last week or so, not much progress will be made in the thinning and dilation departments.  My ribs, however, will never be the same again, and the extremely attractive belching that comes when your food only has a few centimetres to travel before it stops, will continue.   Hooray!  

Of course, as Danny reminded me on the phone today as I was cursing out our little unborn human, anything is possible.  This stubborn-ass little man may also decide to be spontaneous, and decide it's time to be born tonight.  However, with a history of stubborn-assness running in my children's genes, I am not hopeful.

The bright side... more time to get ready.  Except that I've been off work for 10 weeks, and am actually quite close to being ready (especially since my mommy arrives tonight and plans to finish up the last of the crap that I am to exhausted to do myself).  I should pack a bag, of course, and maybe buy some diapers (I've been enjoying our diaper-free house), but that's all stuff that can be done at the last second, anyway!  

There's also the other bright side.  Potentially 3 more weeks of "wow, you're huge, when are you due?" and "looks like baby has really dropped!" and "aren't you ready to have that baby now?"  The answers to those questions, socially speaking, are *smile* "any day now," "he sure has!" and "uh-huh, am I ever!!"  The answers to those questions in my hormone-filled, sleep-lacking, baby-has-his-feet-in-my-ribs-again, oh my God when will this be over, mind, are "I'm not that freaking huge, I'm smaller than my last two, but thank you very much for pointing out my waddle," and "apparently this baby has not dropped, but I'm so glad you're an expert on the distance between this child's head and my vagina," and "Yes, I'm freaking ready.  I've been ready ever since I stopped being able to put on my own socks, eat a full meal, or sleep through the night.  Except that this stubborn-ass child didn't get that freaking message and is taking his sweet ass time!"

Of course, on the other other bright side... once this sweet little man does decide to make his entrance, there's no going back.  We will officially be parents to three.  So what's an extra week or two of waiting?  Patience, after all, is a virtue! :)

The truth about "Being Excited"...

I'm 36 weeks (and then-some) pregnant.  I'm super fat now and the belly cannot be hidden.  It causes people I don't even know to be super excited for me.  Like, super excited.  I'm not quite sure what it is about a pregnant woman that sends everyone around her into fits of happiness, but apparently a big, fat, baby belly will do that to people.

A baby belly has caused many a person to do crazy things... read here for my experiences the last time I was knocked up.  This time, I'm experiencing something a little different.  I have yet to have a stranger touch me, but it seems allllll the strangers want to know how excited I am.  I walk through the grocery store, and inevitably, someone will stop me with all the usual questions:

Stranger:  "Oh my goodness, look at you!  Expecting a little one, are you?"
Me: "Yup, sure am!" (Force smile)
Stranger: "Wow, you must be due any minute!"
Me: "Well, still have a few weeks to go yet!" (Thanks, for noticing how fat I am)
Stranger: "You must be getting excited?" or "Are you excited?"
Me: "Uh-huh!"
Stranger: "Oh, how sweet your life will be once that little baby joins your world!"
Me: "So true, so true." (Fake smile, wave, walk away)

It's an innocent enough little conversation.  Except when I'm out in public I seem to have it over, and over, and over again.  I went shopping in Halifax with a girlfriend the other day, and even she commented on how many people stopped to question me.  It's not that I'm an unfriendly person... I swear, for the most part, I am quite fond of the human race.  Except, as people keep pointing out, I'm big, I'm tired, I can't reach my own toes, and I'm freaking tired of all the questions!  Especially the last one... "are you excited?"  Excited?  Excited?!?  Let's see shall we...

I was in line at the grocery store the other day, and the clerk just began ringing in my groceries.  For some reason, Danny was not with me, but the girls were.  Ella was in the cart, Gracie was standing beside me.  The checkout clerk was carrying on the usual conversation with me.  I smiled politely, and nodded at all the right times.  In the meantime, Ella was grunting because I told her she couldn't eat the snacks I had just bought right this second.  Gracie was saying, "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy."  I dropped my wallet.  When I stood up, Ella had one hand in a grocery bag, popping grapes into her mouth.  I told her not to touch the grapes, and she started crying.  Gracie said, "Mommy, can I have a treat?  I want a treat.  Last time you got me a treat cause you were nice.  Why can't I have a treat this time?  I just want a treat?" I told Ella to stop crying, and she screams at me.  Gracie tells Ella to stop crying, and since Ella hates to be told anything by Gracie, she screams "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" at Gracie at the top of her lungs.  "How much longer do you have, dear?" the cashier asks.  Gracie cries, "Mommy, Ella's not being nice to me!" and I scold Ella, "Ella, be nice!" and the same time, answering the cashier. "Oh, a few weeks," I say.  Gracie steps in front of Ella, who deliberately kicks her in the head from her position in the shopping cart. Gracie starts crying, and Ella starts laughing.   I rub Gracie's forehead and start to discipline Ella when I hear it, "You must be so excited." The cashier smiles at me. I stare at her with a look that I'm quite sure conveys that I think she must be out of her ever-loving mind, as Gracie screams and yells about Ella kicking her and Ella cries because Gracie has now hit her back.  My mouth kind of gapes open for a second, as I stare at her, and I struggle to answer her.  The kids are now both screaming and Gracie has dropped to her knees at the end of the aisle in her usual dramatic fashion.  "Oh yes," I say.  "So excited."

Don't get me wrong.  We planned this baby.  We want this baby.  But dealing with catastrophic meltdowns in the grocery store is fairly easy right now, because I have two hands, and two kids. For now, one of the three is safely contained... inside my belly.  He has no choice but to go where I go, and do what I do.  Soon, that beautiful little boy will be here, and the only thing I will have control over is which boob to offer him as a sacrifice when he screams at me. In a matter of weeks, I will still only have two hands.  But I will have three kids.  That scene at the grocery store will replay, except this time, Baby Boy Ford will also be in that cart, and he will be covered in a poop from a blow-out diaper, and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Of course, two years from now, Gracie will be even bigger than she is now.  She will be even more helpful and caring and considerate.  Ella will be growing into a little lady, and will have learned manners by then (or at least how to fake them!).  Baby Boy will be walking, talking, and will no longer scream at the top of his lungs when he needs something because he will have learned how to communicate.  The kids will be sleeping through the night, all of them, and Gracie will know how to pour bowls of cereal and turn on the TV on Saturday mornings.  Now that is exciting!

But the God's-honest truth of the matter is simple math.  Right now, there is Danny and me, and Gracie and Ella.  We're even.  In a month or so, there will be Danny and me, and Gracie and Ella and Baby #3.We are going to be outnumbered.  I know we will still technically be bigger and stronger.  But soon enough, these children will realize that they out-number us.  They will find a way to use it to their advantage.  They will team up. They will wear us down.  And they will win.  We will be weak, and overpowered, and exhausted.  We will rue the day we decided to have three of these little creatures.  Our friends will find us, after noticing we have been missing for a few days, collapsed on our living room floor, as our three children dance around us, their faces painted with war paint, candy, and chocolate sauce.  Giggle-bellies will be playing over, and over, and over again in the background in an effort to drive us completely crazy, and there will be a lego fortress built in the corner of the living room, where the children will have their tribal meetings while deciding our fate.  They will leave individual legos scattered across the floor for us to step on, to thwart any attempts at escape.  This is our future, as the parents of three children, I am quite sure of it.  And the truth is, I am terribly excited! :)

Why are you yelling, mom?

"Why are you yelling, mom?" 

Gracie seems to ask me this a few times a day lately.  I pride myself on being a patient mother, a calm mother, a mother who loses her shit in private and not around her kids.  But apparently I have not been successful lately.  I don't know whether to blame it on the fact that I'm 34 weeks pregnant and super fat, that I have huge amounts of hormones coursing through my body, that sleep is getting harder and harder to attain, or on the fact that Gracie (God love her) has reached an age that annoys the ever-living fuck out of me.  Please excuse the language (I've been holding it in).

Gracie is three years old.  We just went through the "terrible twos" and I have to say, they weren't so terrible.  Whoever it was that invented the terrible two obviously wasn't a real parent.  Either that, or it was a real parent who smothered their child before they reached the age of three.  Because two aint got nothin' on three. 

First of all there's the attitude.  We've always dealt with attitude from Gracie, especially since the little bugger started talking before she was a year old.  Talking = attitude.  That means we've had an extra year of attitude.  Now, when I'm trying to talk to Gracie, she cuts me off with attitude:  "Gracie, you can't treat Ella like..." "MOOOOOM!" she screams, interrupting me.  "Gracie, don't interrupt m...." "Mommmmmmy! Listen to me!" "No, you listen to me fir..." "MOOOOOOOM!" Also, she stomps her feet her, crosses her arms, and tosses her hair.  I should videotape it... except at the time I don't see the humour in it.  In fact, I'm pretty sure all I see is red.  When she interrupts me for the fourth time, I yell, "Gracie!!" and she stops interrupting and asks, "Why are you yelling, mom?" and then looks at me perfectly quiet and still while I say what I have been trying to get out for the last five minutes.  I wonder for a minute if I imagined all of the interrupting and yelling, because she seems perfectly reasonable right now!

She also has a new favourite expression. "Wellllll....."  As in, "Gracie, it's time for supper now, please put away the crayons." "Wellllll... I don't want to."  "Gracie, we have to leave in a few minutes, so please go have a pee before we leave."  "Welllllll... I already peed once today."  "Gracie, please don't talk back to me." "Welllll... it's not really talking back, you're just not listening to me."

She has also decided that time-outs are an acceptable alternative to doing something she doesn't want to do.  Sometimes I ask her to do something, and she replies with, "Umm, no I'll just take a time-out instead."  When I tell her a time-out isn't an option, she grunts at me, which gets her a time-out.  When the time out is over, I ask her if she's ready to do what I asked her to do.  She says no, and says she'll go back in time out again.  Sometimes I win this battle.  Like when I have all freaking day to sit her in time out.  But that's not our life.  If I'm asking her to do something, it's probably because we need to be somewhere.  So she tries to wait me out.  Eventually, she thinks, I'll have to do it myself if we're going to make it in time to wherever it is we need to be.  This, of course, never works for her.  Usually, after asking nicely 3, or 4, or 5 time, I usually end up yelling "Gracie, get your butt over here and pick up these toys RIGHT NOW!"  To which she replies, "Why are you yelling mom?" while she rolls her eyes at me and picks up the toys. 

She also loves to "play" with her sister.  Ella's not a huge fan of playing with Gracie most of the time, but Gracie doesn't seem to care.  The other day they were playing doctor and Gracie wanted to listen to Ella's heart: "Let me listen to your heart, Ella." "No thank you." "Let me listen to your heart, Ella." "No." "Let me listen to your heart, Ella." "NO!" "Come here, Ella, I want to listen to your heart!" "NOOO!!"  Ella now runs away while Gracie chases her with the toy stethascope, laughing the whole time because she thinks making Ella scream is hilarious!  "Gracie!!!  Stop it now!!  Ella said no!!" I yell.  They both stop where they are and Gracie leans in to Ella and says "Mommy's yelling again!" and Ella replies, "yeaaaah."   Then Gracie listens to Ella's heart while they both stare at me like I'm out of my freaking mind for yelling at them.

Today we took Ella to swimming lessons.  I was too tired to get in the pool with Ella, and it was Danny's turn to take her in, so Gracie and I watched from the bleachers.  Ella's swim lesson is 30 minutes long.  It was the longest 30 minutes of my life.  I would take 30 extra minutes of labour with this baby to not have to endure those 30 minutes again.  First of all, let me say that we don't watch TV unless it's the weekend, so each and every time in the following "conversation" I told Gracie "no" to the TV question.  Second of all, please know that I kept my calm the entire 30 minutes.  Here's how the 30 minutes went...

"Why is that person by the pool, mommy?"

"Where's that little girl's mommy, mommy?"

"Can I watch a show when we get home, mommy?"

"How come her hair is in a ponytail?"

"Why does she have a green water bottle?"

"Where is that person's mommy, mommy?"

"Do you see Daddy and Ella, mommy?"

"Why is there a piece of dirt there?"

"Can I watch a show in the car, mommy?"

"Why does she have a black bathing suit, mommy?"

"Why does that boy wear a blue bathing suit, mommy"

"Why is raining again, mommy?"

"How come you always say tomorrow, mommy, but none of the days are called tomorrow?"

"Can I have a snack?"

"Why didn't you bring a snack?"

"Why does Jayden's mommy always bring me a snack but you don't?"

"Why am I still hungry if I ate all my supper?"

"Can I watch a show on the drive home?"

"Why is there red on my boot, I don't like red right now?"

"Why was there an ant on my floor?"

"Do ants lick?"

"Do ants bite?"

"Why is that lady sitting there?"

"Where is that lady's daughter, mommy?"

And so on.  And so on.  And so on.  I honestly asked her, at least 3 or 4 times, if she could just be quiet for a few minutes, to which she laughed and said, "I'm never quiet, mommy!" and kept on talking and asking questions.  When we got to the car, she said, "Mommy, can I watch a show?" for the 8th time in 30 minutes, and I yelled, "Noooo!"  Gracie just stared at me and said, "Why are you yelling, mom?"  Danny looked at me too, and I tried to explain how the last 30 minutes had gone.  But I wasn't really coherent.  My words weren't making sense, my brain was exhausted.  "Just. Make it. Stop."  I said, while Gracie and Ella screeched at each other in the back seat.  Danny did something he rarely does.  Danny yelled.  Danny is loud.  And a little bit scary.  And it works.  Both girls were immediately quiet. "Sorry, daddy!" they both said.  And they played nicely for the rest of the drive home.  No one questioned why he was yelling.  Daddy doesn't lose his shit very often, so the girls still take him very seriously when he does.  I definitely need to keep this man around.  I have another half a year of the "terrible threes" with this child, and then I have two more kids to get through it, too.  Oh Lord.  I have a feeling mommy may lose her shit a few more times between now and then! 

Changes...

The last two weeks has been full of surprises for us.  Some we were kind of expecting, and some caught us completely off guard.

I had a feeling that my time at work would be coming to an end earlier than expected.  I got my official "get out of work free" card last Monday and worked my last day on Friday.  It was one of those surprises we were expecting, but still felt so surreal.  I've been home for almost a week now, and it truly just feels like I have a few days off.  The fact that I'm off for the next 64 weeks hasn't really sunk in yet.

I was at work on Friday, counting down the hours to the end of the day, when I got a phone call from Danny.  He rarely calls me at work, usually preferring to text instead.  He told me he received an email from the Orderly Room at his work telling him he had 30 days to accept their offer for the UTP program.  For those of you that don't remember, Danny has been applying to do the University Training Program through the military, where he would go to university, get a degree, and end up as an Officer.  He started the application process before Christmas and we hadn't really heard anything back since then.  They also rarely accept people into the program during their first application, and with the budget cuts the military is expecting, we kind of wrote the whole thing off.  Except then Danny got the email.  

To make a long story short, Danny has been accepted into the program, and as of July 1, becomes an Officer Cadet.  He starts at Acadia in the fall, and although he's still deciding between two programs, will be there for the next four years.  Add onto that any trades training at the end of the schooling, and it looks like we just confirmed our stay in Greenwood for another 5 years!

Acceptance into the program was not expected.  We had basically written it off.  It was one of those things in the far corners of our minds that was still technically a possibility, but not a likelihood.  Then the bastard went and got accepted and threw our whole world into a tailspin.  There was so much to talk about, so many decisions to make, so much planning to do!

Here are a few of the things running through our heads these days:

- If Danny is going to be a university student, he's going to need a space to use as an office/study.  No problem.  Except that we didn't sell the house this year and buy a bigger one, like we were planning, because there was no chance of him getting accepted into the program.  Okay, the spare room it is.  Except there's no room in the spare room.  Out goes the bed (sorry mom and dad).  We'll have to turn it into a study and buy a pull-out couch (you guys don't mind, do you??) so that the kids don't bother Danny during study time!

- Oh crap, kids!  We're having another one of those!  But it's in June, so our whole lives should be settled and returned to normal by July.  Right?

- The car.  Our ancient, 15-year-old car.  It has done us well over the years.  We love our little Toyota, but over the last year, she has started to show her age.  We cannot send Danny to Wolfville every day in that car.  We need a new car.  HA! That should be simple, with two of us working we can easily afford another... oh wait.  Crap.

- Laptop.  If Danny is going to be doing a computer science program, engineering program, or applied science program, chances are he's going to need a laptop.  Except that his turns off whenever the plug gets wiggled.  And the screen on mine is broken and is literally hanging on by a bunch of wires.  Okay, new laptop.

- Basic training for officers?  Apparently Danny may have to re-do basic training.  Then again, because he has his PLQ (that 8-week course he was gone on last spring), he may be exempt.  Nobody can tell him for sure  yet.  But good news, it's only 8 weeks, and it would be this summer.  Except that I'll have a newborn.  And two toddlers.  And a complete nervous breakdown.  I may have cried at this news.  It may not have been my best moment.  I know I told him I would support his university endeavours, but I'm pretty sure a caveat of that was that I didn't have to start being supportive until September.  Until then, it was supposed to be about supporting me.  And a newborn.  And two toddlers. And preventing a complete nervous breakdown!

- We need a new house.  Now that we know that we are staying, I know we need out of this house.  It has shrunk since we bought it 8 years ago.  There are too many people living in it.  Too many animals.  Not enough storage space.  Not enough places to hide when the kids drive me crazy.  Getting into a new place this fall is crazy.  So next summer.  That's our goal.  Except that now we have to think about getting a house ready while Danny does his first year of university and I deal with 3 under 3.  This will be fun.  Anybody willing to come over and paint, or clean, or purge, or do small fixing up, please let me know.  I'll share my wine!

Of course, in all of the panic, we realize there are many good things about this surprise news.  That's 5 more years here.  Although I have been trying to get us out of here since the year I met Danny, we've been given a rare gift that the military hardly ever gives.  Certainty.  We know, for sure, that we will not be posted until at least after Danny finishes school.  That means we can actually plan the next 4-5 years of our lives, knowing where we will be.  That means that Gracie and Ella, and potentially Baby Ford #3 will be starting school here.  That means that I get to move back into the County, and have the girls go to the same school that I went to.

We new this was going to be a big year.  Adding another family member to our crazy little mix, a family member that turned out to be a boy, much to our surprise.  Me, stopping work for a while and actually enjoying being a stay-at-home parent.  And now this.  An exciting and privileged opportunity for Danny.  It's going to be a lot of hard work.  It's going to take a lot of support.  But our lives have all of a sudden been directed down a completely different path than what we were expecting.  And despite all the anxiety and craziness that we're experiencing right now, it's kind of exciting!  And I'll need somebody to remind me of that in September when Danny becomes a full-time student, and I have three kids at home.  Support.  And wine.  And we'll make it through! :)