Jack

Last night while watching The Biggest Loser finale and eating my regular dose of Potbelly's with a chocolate milk shake, I started having contractions. After Sunday's debacle, we decided to just ignore them and go to bed. I woke up in what the books call "discomfort" at 12:40. After realizing that my discomfort was coming every 8 minutes, I woke Ben up around 1:40, and we were uncomfortable together until 3-ish, when Jamie came over, and Ben and I went to the hospital.

My contractions really sucked at that point, but they were manageable if I stood up, rocked back and forth, and hugged Ben really tight (he claims I actually lifted him off the ground at one point.

Here we are walking to Labor and Delivery, sure they would find I was only like 3 cm and send us home.


I was 7 centimeters! 7! Like only 3 away from 10!

At that point, I got really excited and realized I coul live my dream of an epidural-free birth.

Um, that hurt.

Real bad.

I was a screamer and a biter (ask Ben). At one point, the doc on call told me to "Get my act together and focus." So I did. On ripping her head off as soon as I got the baby the hell out. Ring of fire? A very apt description.

But the cord was wrapped around the baby's neck, so things were quite scary there for a moment when he came out blue and quiet, and I forgot about killing the doctor and focused on being deliciously pain free and on the miraculous sounds of his precious crying.

Here we are with Jack Leonard, named for his great grandfathers and born at 6:03 am, weighing 6 pounds 14 inches and measuring 20 inches long.

So You're 38 Weeks Pregnant, and You've Gone and Peed Your Pants: A Modern Girl's Guide to Embarrassing the Eff Out of Yourself, Now With Pictures!

First, as soon as you feel that gush trickle down your legs, open the bedroom window and call out to your husband, who is playing on the driveway with your toddler, "Oh my god! My water just broke!" This adds a classy touch to what will shape up to be a simply fabulous evening.

Next, call your mother, who lives 4 hours away, and tell her to hurry her ass up-- the baby is coming! The baby is coming! This is an especially good thing to do if your mother plans on bringing lots of frozen food with her.

Then, email all your colleagues short, panicky emails. Make sure your husband does the same.

Fourth, spend forty-five minutes wondering why you haven't felt anymore "water" beyond that first initial gush-- also use this time to re-do your make up and flat iron your hair while plunking your increasingly agitated toddler in front of a Caillou DVD because your priorities? Always in perfect order.

Fifth-- and this step is crucial if you really want to be the effing jackass you're destined to be-- pee your pants AGAIN and say "That must be my water. I'm going to call the hospital and the baby sitter."

Sixth, laugh when your husband says, "Yeah-- I mean it's not like you peed your pants twice in a row. But that would be awesome, too."

Next, take your freaked out kid with you to Labor and Delivery because your mom is en route but still coming from quite a distance, and his beloved babysitter is rushing back from her weekend at home celebrating her belated birthday with extended family. Note, it is absolutely crucial that you inconvenience AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE, you goddamn idiot.

At labor an delivery, a nice nurse will want to spare you any invasive tests because she says from what you've described, it must be your water breaking; I mean otherwise you'd need a bladder lift, right? She will send you into the bathroom with a glass slide and a strip of paper that should turn blue in the presence of amniotic fluid.

Break the slide.

Lose the paper.

Later, when another nurse suggests you get out of bed to encourage gravity to help get more fluid out, make sure the back of your hospital gown is tucked into the elastic of the monitor you're wearing around your belly, so that you can flash your bare ass around as much as possible.

Be glad your husband left to take your freaked out kid home and missed seeing that, since he would so mock you.

Do not believe the nice nurse when she tells you that this happens all the time. Most people are not as dumb as you.

Finally, let many strangers stick their fingers, cotton swabs, and sterile specula inside you to see what's going on.

What's going on is this: You peed your effing pants. Twice.

And then you told the internet, you goddamn incontinent idiot.

And oh yeah? You're still pregnant.


A little teary at the thought of your little baby becoming a big brother? Don't be, you jackass. Be teary because you're such an IDIOT


At least you can still blush about it.


Oh look, the bed you won't be staying in because you aren't in labor-- note to self: Pick up Poise pads on the way home.

Dear Baby Who Is Still in my Tummy,

Don't you want to come out and play with us? Have some bup? Be more like this guy, Harry the naked truck driver,

who walks around and has a shadow?

It's cool that he lives outside me, and you should think about that, too, since I am getting more uncomfortable by the second and none of my shoes fit anymore, and my back hurts. Also, it is nice out here. See the blue sky?

Your dad and I even practiced taking care of 2 kids. It was cool.

Messy,

but cool.


Also cool? Us! We'll let you finger paint a lot, and we'll probably finger paint you.

Harry might even let you wear his fire fighter hat (but probably not, so you shouldn't ask).

And we'll buy you stuff-- like this 75-cent shovel-- that is so cool you want to nap with it.


So really, kid. I have 4 more rhetorical criticism papers to grade and a paper to give at a conference tomorrow, and then let's do this thing, what do you say?

Love,
your mom who has really bad heartburn and about 13 extra chins.

Wrecked my car. Again.

In the same parking lot as last time, which was just a hair more than a MONTH AGO . Jesus.

The front bumper this time.

And since the driver wasn't actually in the parked car that I hit (always with the parked cars), I had no one to call an asshole. Certainly not the nice police officer who helped me.

Luckily? There's been such a back up at our insurance-approved pro-shop (which sounds like it should be part of a country club but is just a glass and autobody place) that the old damage doesn't get fixed until the end of the month, so now the new damage can just get fixed, too. (And since 3 out of 4 corners of my car are screwed, watch out back left bumper-- I am coming for you next).

Also, I figured out why my dad paid all those wedding bills so cheerfully. My auto abuse? No longer his problem.

Still Knocked Up

Aughh! That's a big belly.

I didn't make it quite this far with Harry. I had him at 37 weeks and 1 day, and I am 37 weeks and 4 days now, so every day I think I am going to have the baby, but so far, no McLovin. I thought I'd post all the pics on my camera, though, because they are going to be out of date when we are no longer a family of 3.

Ben and Jerry's-- what else is there to say? Note that Harry ate an entire cone-- this was just his "drip cup." The other day, I was such a pregnant stereotype. I drove past my favorite custard place (and that's something that I love about this town-- there are several custard places to choose from-- enough to have a favorite among them), and the sign outside announced that the flavor of the day was chocolate peanut butter. I almost killed myself cutting across traffic because that's MY FAVORITE FLAVOR!

Guess we got a little overzealous cleaning up the blocks


Harry after bath-- he smells good enough to eat, trust us.

Since I am more pregnant than I have ever been before, I have decided to stop wearing clothes and only wear small (oh, who are we kidding-- large) tents. And I think at least 7 pounds of my pregnancy weight have gone straight to my face. Can you gain weight in your nose? Because I think I have.

Speaking of freaking huge, Ben and Harry came to the doc with me again this week, which meant I had the unbelievable luxury of leaving a urine sample in peace-- 2 weeks in a row-- no way! And I totally let that freedom go to my head and spent a minute or two fixing my hair in the mirror after I was done and forgot to PUT THE LID ON THE PEE CUP, how gross am I?

I spent 20 or so minutes on the monitor because McLovin's movements have slowed down dramatically. Because he's run out of room, duh. I asked if we could see about "getting this thing out of me," but the doctor thought I was kidding. Ha ha. Let's evict this kid before mommy gets stretch marks, what do you say?

This is easily one of the studpidest things I have bought lately. Or maybe not because he loves it so much. The other morning he saw an airplane on the news and started saying "Airpane." And didn't stop saying it until I said we could to Target and he could pick out any airplane he wanted. He perked up and said "Yellow. Blue," but I told him he may not be able to find a yellow or a blue one. I was thinking a smaller airplane, really. Luckily, Disney had Harry in mind when they made this. With no off button or volume control. The bastards. (And seriously, I hate to buy licensed character crap, but my hands were tied. I said "any airplane you want" because I am a SUCKER).

At least he wants to share.

This was a very involved game that consisted of pulling every single Leap Frog magnet off the fridge and putting them in a pitcher, where they became ice, floating in imaginary juice. Wicked fun.

Maybe it's because he has the same hair as Danny Torrence (and no, he won't say Red Rum, mainly because he ignores the color red entirely, which makes me think he may be color blind because he loves yellow and blue), but Harry has been creeping me out lately when he rides this car. He is really focused, and he goes really fast (in his mind-- you can just tell), and he shakes the steering wheel really hard. It's very "Rocking Horse Winner" of him. I need to get a racing form. Or start reading him some DH Lawrence.

Harry is ginormous!

Seriously, look at how big this kid is.

He sleeps in a big bed.

He helps his daddy wear shoes

He eats in restaurants that have utensils (utensils not pictured, but trust me, they were there)

He wears a faux hawk

He even drives his own sweet ride (and apparently keeps his stash in the glove box).


I think he has definite big brother potential.

His pediatrician suggested that we develop a script to get him ready for the baby's birth, since it might freak him our that Ben and I are not home for a couple of days. My mom is coming to stay with him, so we've been asking him lots of questions: Where does mommy go to have the baby? Hospital. Who will be with Harry while mommy and daddy are at the hospital? Gramma. Will the baby bring presents for his big brother? Yeah. Hohoho. (The ho ho ho was Harry's invention. Ben always answers that question by looking at me and saying "Looks like he picked out something lumpy.") Who will visit the baby in the hospital? Harry. Blah blah blah, you get the idea.

Well, recently, Harry decided to chuck the script and get right to the point. When we ask him who is going to take care of him while we're in the hospital, he says "Gramma. Ho ho ho Harry," meaning Grandma will, and she better bring Harry some presents. When he wakes up in the morning, he asks, "Gramma? Ho ho ho?" EVERY MORNING. He has no interest in the rest of the questions and doesn't really seem concerned about the baby one way or another. But Grandma and some presents? He can't freaking wait.

One thing he really does seem to be looking forward to is riding in our new double stroller. It's folded up in the laundry room, and every time he sees it, he reassures himself, "Harry's. Yeah. Harry's ride in seat." Who can blame him? It's really cool:

And it folds up really small, which is a must for us.

Harry prefers the infant seat (that straps in the stroller and only weighs 8 pounds, which compared to the 12 pounder we had for Harry is light s a feather)-- it's great for watching TV at the end of the day when Mommy is about to lose her mind and all AAP recommendations go out the window.

Brothers

I saw this guy at the grocery store yesterday who was buying SO MUCH DELI MEAT. Like 6 pounds of turkey and 4 pounds of ham. I was waiting behind him for my half pound of American cheese when these two gangly, long-haired boys came running up, crashing their shopping cart into the case and screaming "What's next, Dad?"

"Pop Tarts," he said. "4 boxes." I have to admit, the amount impressed me. I can eat a lot of Pop Tarts these days, but 4 boxes? A weekly staple? Damn.

"Okay!!!" they screamed, and they were off in a flash.

"Oh my goodness," I said. "Your boys are adorable," because they WERE really cute, tall and skinny with big teeth and feathery "Dazed and Confused" hair.

He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Well, you can take them home if you want them."

I patted my huge belly (pictured below) and said, "No thanks. I'm going to have 2 of my own soon enough."

Turns out, his boys are 22 months apart, exactly like Harry and McLovin. When he heard that, he was off and running, telling me how wonderful they were, how rowdy, what great friends, how the little one planned to live with the big one if the big one ever got married, how much they ate, how one took after him, but the other was more like his wife, how late they stayed up when they had sleepovers, how he feeds them all the time, but the little one still plays his ribs like a xylophone.

He was so exuberant, so joyful about the work of parenting his sons, that I was suddenly glad Harry napped too long and we went to the grocery store at 4:30, in the middle of the working mom rush, which I usually hate. I like to shop mid morning or early afternoon, when it's just moms with babies and old people with double coupons. I smiled the rest of the way through the store, even though Harry ate a bunch of deli cheese right out of the bag, there were no more gallons of organic milk, and I always feel ripped off when I have to buy 2 halves, even though I didn't make a list and ended up with no coherent meals (unless lemon pepper chicken breasts, Chips Ahoy rainbow candy crunch cookies and orange juice sounds good to you, too).

In fact, I have been smiling ever since. Especially since I've started having some contractions!!!! Nothing regular, but still, things are happening. Ben claims he has no nerves this time around, but every time I breathe heavy (which is all the time because I am huge-- as you can see), he is halfway up the stairs to grab our hospital bags, looking at his watch and screaming, "Are you okay????"

Actually, I'm good.






I told Harry that I can no longer see my feet, and he helped me find them.

You might think these are Mr. Potato Head's glasses, but like everything else in our house, they are actually Harry's. He'll tell you so himself.