Man Alive!

Soon we'll be a family of FIVE!  Jason and I found out that I was pregnant in the middle of December, and began to tell our families (and the girls) on Christmas.  I am 18.5 weeks now, so I am starting to feel human again.  If you have followed my other pregnancies you know that my body just does not like to be pregnant.  I basically had the flu for nearly 100 days.  Horrible, in bed, zero energy, throwing up around the clock... with two little girls in tow.  Yeah.

Still, we are thrilled beyond belief and know that this baby will truly complete our family. (Read: #4 is 1,000% out of the question.  Not gonna happen.  No way.  No how.)  The girls are excited!  Marin is anxious to become a big, big sister and to teach Emilie how to become a big sister too.  Emilie is still pretty clueless.  When I ask her if we're going to have another baby she just says, "No."  She's pretty attached to being mommy's baby, so this could get tricky.

I started getting sick the day after Christmas.  I started throwing up on the way airport on the way to Key West.  Luckily, the Keys brought round the clock relaxation and pretty much zero responsibility, so I was okay for the most part, although I did get sick almost every day.  When we got home, it got ugly.  And it stayed that way until about a week ago.  I am still getting sick most days, and haven't yet had two consecutive days of not getting sick, but my energy is back, and I'm starting to feel like a real person again.  I am fairly certain that I am going to survive, as opposed to a few weeks ago, when I was certain St. Peter had half checked me into heaven.  And yes, I fully believe that when you have morning sickness this badly three times, its an automatic pass to heaven. If that's not the case, it really should be considered.

Stay tuned for the ever popular FAQ for Tres.  You might be surprised! 

Uninvited Guests

Dear Evil Creature Insomnia,

Who invited you? Seriously. Kindly pack your bags and ship on out of here. As in, GET OUT. Now. Please.

It's bad enough that I wake up multiple times in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I don't need you hanging around afterwords leaving me to just stare at the ceiling. Now don't go blaming this all on my bladder. She may be what knocks me out of dreamland, but you make it seem impossible to ever get back there. The problem is, insomnia, when you settle in and decide to stick around, I begin to think... about the laundry, and all the things that need to be done. I begin to wonder if I am working enough with Marin on her colors and number. I redecorate entire rooms in our house in my mind. I daydream about the design of our master bedroom addition someday (and yes, its completely decorated in my mind, too.). I debate if I still like the boy and girl names we have picked out. I decide to call my Grandma in the morning.

I have taken to jotting the important things you bring front of mind, in the calendar of my phone by my bedside, in the hopes that I can drive you away and go back to sleep. But sometimes you stick around for hours. Really, please. It isn't kind.

Now, I understand that times are tough and that you have a job to do. However, perhaps you'd be better suited to bring energy to someone else in the middle of the night. Say, a new mother. My neighbor, Kristy, just had a baby; did you mean to bring her the extra boost at 2am? Because until my baby comes, there really is no point in us both she and I being up in the middle of the night.

Thank you in advance for never returning again.
Johanna

Now, while we're at it...

Dear Bladder,

I know that we've been through some changes together in the last two years. After all, the birth of Marin really did a number on both you and your friend, my abs. And I realize that my being pregnant again isn't doing either of you any favors. That being said, I was hoping that you could maybe man up and getting a little stronger. I really can't be woken up three times in the night to go to the bathroom. Plus, your buddy insomnia is being a little you-know-what. Let's just say that she's being a chip. Turns out she's stubborn. So you see, if you stop waking me up, she won't be able to keep me up.

What's that? Now now, don't go blaming the kegels. I'll deal with them later. You are at least half to blame here. There is just no reason for me to wet my pants when I sneeze. I'm a grown woman. Plus, I don't have that many pairs of pants that fit.

Thank you very kindly. Now hit the gym for strength training.
Johanna

And just one more...

Dear Kegels,

I know, I know. I haven't done a kegel exercise since 2008. Can you work with me? Perhaps we can meet in the middle? I'll start to do my exercises if you promise to work with my bladder to make me stop wetting myself? What do you say, old buddy? Is it a deal?

Your Truly,
Johanna

This Is How We Do It

I know; Montell Jordan called from 1995 and he wants his song back. Still, it's a good jam. It reminds me of cruising the town in high school with all the windows down. But I digress....

14 weeks pregnant and still not over the hump. I was sick with Marin until 17 weeks, but I was not this sick at this point. It makes me wonder if I'm going to be sicker longer this time around, or if I'm just going to be more sick for the same amount of time. The good news is that I have about 75% of my energy back. I'm getting out of my pj's before noon, I tackled the insane pile of laundry (nine loads later), and I actually picked up three months worth of acquired clutter strewn from corner to corner of our house. But I'm still getting sick morning, noon and night. It's better, but not over.

So you might be wondering, how do you do it? Good question. Staying home with Marin means she is my full time job. No longer can I sit at my desk in quiet "pretend I'm working" peace for a few minutes if I need to keep from getting sick. And as Marin nears two, she wants little to do with sitting still all day long just because mommy asks nicely. So how do I do it? Here's the answer: very poor parenting.

I'm not proud, but I have caught myself giving in to the "oh whatever" feeling more times than I know I should have. You want candy? "Oh whatever." Your hair hasn't been brushed all day? "Oh whatever." We have introduced TV before I said I would. One day I discovered that Sesame Street was a whole hour long, and I was thrilled that Marin sat there for every minute. She sat next to me on the couch and I fell half asleep for the whole stinking hour. Amazing. I have served yesterdays dinner for today's lunch one too many times- for one too many days in a row. And when all she ate was apple sauce for lunch I told her "Good job Marin; Are you ready for your nap?" When I realized that in the event of a fire I'd save Jason, Marin, the dog, and the microwave, I thought it time I back off the reheat. And when Marin started saying "Elmo" as clear as day, I thought it time we go back to reading more of our books.

Also key to my arsenal are my parents. Many days they have appeared at my house like little angels minus the white fluffy wings. They have brought food on demand, or out of the blue. They've whisked Marin away to Grandma and Grandpa land where she plays non stop (and I sleep for hours), and they have done laundry. One night early on, I called my dad and said, "I feel like chicken noodle soup." In about four minutes flat, he was at our house, chopping up carrots and celery and chicken and boiling it all for me in a pot. We had homemade chicken noodle soup for days.

I am getting better. In fact, all of these days are far behind us now (happy sigh). I am taking medicine that they give to chemo patients, and it is does help most of the time. And slowly but surely we're getting back to our old days of walks and trips to the park and play dates. Soon I'll be 100%. In the meantime, this is how we do it.

(Almost) Back in the Saddle...

I am slowly coming alive. After being sick all day every day for nearly 60 days now, I am slowly but surely getting my energy back and becoming human again. Don't get me wrong, my house is still a mess, my laundry is still stacked up in record breaking heights. But I am throwing up in fewer public places, managing to peel myself from my sheets in the morning in almost one piece, and have even ventured off the couch a few times. Yesterday I wore makeup and almost didn't recognize myself.

60 days is a long time to be sick. Think about that s-i-x-t-y days of basically the flu. That is a sentence three times as long as any that Lindsay Lohan has actually served. Next time she gets a DUI or they have to haul her out of some club, they should just shoot her full of pregnancy hormones and see how hot she feels then. She'll be begging for rehab then.

I'm keeping my eye on the reward here, and with each week that passes, it is starting to feel more and more real. There is going to be another little baby in our house in just six months. I can't wait. Marin is goo-goo for babies lately too. We've been talking about them a lot, and she's pointing them out wherever we go by saying loudly and proudly, "baby!" I got to hold a baby on Saturday; it did a pregnant body good. Every hormone was working on overdrive. I can't WAIT for our little bity snuggly new baby smelling bundle of everything wonderful.

Add one more...And now we're FOUR!

Someone pinch me.

Marin is going to be a big sister!

No lie. I'm 12 weeks pregnant; due May 9th. Can you handle the excitement? You probably can; because it's not your baby. But we definitely cannot.

I'll tell you what else I can't do: Keep food down. Can't even keep water down. It's ugly. My diet consists of white rice with a side of saltine crackers. Dry white toast on good days. And, since we try to eat all whole grains, we had none of this in our house, so we had to go out and stock up on it all. Now that I'm nearing the end of the first trimester, it is getting better... slowly.

And speaking of slow. I move at a snails pace. Literally. I have zero- and I mean z-e-r-o energy. I am completely debilitated. For a girl that hates naps, and literally never sits down, I am living on the couch and saying things like "I just have to shut my eyes for a few hours". I live for the minute Jason gets home so I can just go to sleep. I go days without showering, because I can't bare the thought of all the energy it would exert.

The house is a disaster. Bless Jason's heart; I think he's ready to trade me in for the updated model (and one who preferably showers and bushes her hair on a consistent basis) He works all day and then comes home to clean up after Marin and me, make dinner for everyone, give Marin a bath and put her to bed. Totally single dad'n it, but I am a big giant waste of baby brewing space. However, in the spirit of total honesty, as helpful as Jas is, he's no nurse. It doesn't seem that taking care of another grown adult who is otherwise totally capable, is high on his list of strengths. Point being: we all want me to be back to normal.

All that aside: We feel incredibly blessed and excited and just about everything else that you can feel. We decided to stick with the clearblue easy like last time and as soon as that puppy read "pregnant" we ran upstairs to wake Marin up and were sure she was the first we told that we would soon become four. She said, "Big Sis" when we told her she was going to be a big sister! I'm SURE she hasn't a clue what is in store for her next Spring, but I am certain she will quickly assert herself as boss as soon as the baby has one little bonnet in the door.

Mulligan?

Do you ever have one of those days where you just need a do over? I did today. I wasn't even halfway through my morning when I just wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, "Can I please have a mulligan?!" Anyone?

They say that pregnant women are forgetful or scatterbrained. They call it "pregnancy brain". I remember reading about this way back when I first cracked my pregnancy books, and there really is some medical reason for this, but of course, I have forgotten the details. In any case, today I proved this theory correct.

Like all of you, there are a number of things I have to remember as I am walking out of the house in the morning. The last thing I do before I leave for the train is take out Norah (our dog). Before I do that, I go through this ritual of sorts, gathering the things to take to work and remember for the day. I set up the dog gate, I bring Norah's bed out of our room, I close the bedroom doors (to keep Norah from sleeping on our bed all day), I make sure I have shoes to change into once I get in the office and take off my boots, I grab my lunch, pack my book to read on the train, make sure I have my cell phone. Today I needed to also remember materials to take back to work from a conference I attended at the end of last week.... you get the picture. After I have all of these items assembled, I take out Norah and then after our little walk I leave. Today I remember ALL of the above items. I grabbed Norah and a bag to pick up after her when she goes to the bathroom, and headed out. Do you see where this is going? Yes, I remembered EVERYTHING. Everything that is, except, my keys.

I realized I forgot my keys about one millisecond after the door shut on us. I frantically patted my pockets thinking maybe this would make them magically travel there from the counter where I could picture them sitting. We have exchanged keys with two neighbors just in case this situation might occur, but of course, they were both gone. Norah still has to go to the bathroom, so I took her out and while she was doing her business I thought up a plan.

Jason and my cell phone numbers are programed via code number into the call box outside our building. That way we can let an expected visitor (or the UPS man) into our building remotely. Of course my cell phone was upstairs locked away with my keys and my purse and everything else that I was desperate for at the moment. But I knew for sure that Jason not only had his cell phone with him, but would answer it, because we are officially on "baby can come any day" watch. So, I dialed his code from our call box, told him predicament, he buzzed me in out of the cold, and said he would call the neighbor that has our key. What a good man. In the meantime, I waited.

And waited.

In fact, I waited for FOUR (count them, 1,2,3,4) HOURS. In the hallway outside my condo door. On the floor. With the dog. 9 months pregnant.

I realize that in about 3 weeks the thought of having four hours by myself, with no choice but to do absolutely nothing at all, would be an absolute fantasy. Today however, it was quite the opposite.

For the first hour I just got incrementally more upset at myself and my stupid pregnancy brain. How could I leave without my keys? I had just had them in my hand. I could picture them just sitting there on the counter, laughing at me. To top things off, I was already running late, because I had gotten so sucked into the pre-inauguration coverage on the news. "You just had to watch Obama walk into the church, didn't you, Johanna" I was saying to myself. I had a million and six things to do at work after being out the last several days at the conference. This was really setting me back.

At hour two, I called Jason from the call box again, as if there were anything he could do about it; which, aside from cancelling all of his remaining appointments and taking the 45 minute train ride back home to open the door for me himself, there wasn't. Mind you, this call box is meant only to buzz people into the building. It's not meant as a tool for lengthy conversations with your husband about how frustrated you are with yourself. So mostly I was shouting above the trucks zooming by, "Jason? Can you hear me? I'm still locked out! What am I going to do!" And Jason saying things back to me, that through the reception of the call box sounded like, "on't orry. ing oo ind oo a olution." But basically the drift I got that was that he had spoken to the neighbor's husband, and that she was out running errands, and should be home soon. So, Norah and I headed back upstairs to sit on the floor and wait. At this point I was in the acceptance stage. However stupid it was, I had gotten myself into this mess, so now I just needed to wait it out. I tried to close my eyes and take a nap. But you can imagine how comfortable I was- big as a house, sitting on the floor, dog on my lap. That, coupled with the fact that the thermostat for the common areas of our building is on the first floor, where the doors are constantly opening to the 20 degree air outside, so the heat kicks on every 4 seconds, and consequently it is a balmy 80 degrees on the third floor right outside our unit.

At hour 2 1/2 I decided to do a little yoga. I was getting achy, and I figured it would be a good time passer, and a good way to calm my mind. It worked well for a while, however somewhere between Warrior II and Tree pose Norah must have decided I looked a little cooky, and went a little nuts. She started sniffing at the doors of our neighbors house as if to say to me, "Come on, mom. This is no time for yoga. Are you sure there isn't anyone in there who can help us?!"

I sat down to think again. Who else had a key to our place? Our cleaning person did! He also cleaned our neighbors place upstairs. Maybe by some stroke of luck he was there today. We headed up there. No such luck. We roamed around a little. I delivered a package from the lobby to another neighbor's doorstep. We waited in the lobby so we could watch the cars go by (for Norah) and cool off (for me). Then I thought maybe while we were delivering the packages and checking for the cleaning person on the 4th floor, that the neighbor with the key had come home. So we headed back to check. No such luck here either. So we sat back down outside our door to wait some more. In the heat. 9 months pregnant. On the floor.

3 hours in, after I had said a few prayers, I realized I was starving. It was now lunchtime. To make matters absolutely worse, I had to go to the bathroom. I started to panic. What was I going to do? What if my neighbor wasn't going to come home? Would I just wait her all day until Jason or the other neighbor came home at night? I couldn't possibly. Even if I could emotionally occupy my mind that long, I had to go to the bathroom. And I know well enough that there was no way I was going to be able to hold it for much longer. Have I mentioned that I'm 9 months pregnant? My panicked, heat soaked mind started to race to crazy places. What if.... I went into labor in the hallway? What if.... I couldn't get a hold of anyone for hours and I had to go to the bathroom in the alley like the bums. Okay, I would NOT do that. I decided I had to call Jason again, and ask him to come home. I told him I was so sorry, that I knew that this was 200% my fault, and none of his, but that I had no other choice. He agreed. Now I just had to wait for him to get there.

By hour 3 1/2, panic behind me, I had pretty much conquered mind over matter with the having to go to the bathroom issue. Instead, however, I started thinking about everything else I had to do. None of which, of course, I could do in the hallway. Every time the elevator would ding, Norah and I simultaneously would perk up, hoping rescue was around the corner.

At hour 4, finally, my neighbor with her two children in tow, rounded the corner. I told her that I was locked out, and she asked me for how long. When I told her, she immediately asked me if I had to go to the bathroom. She quickly got my key, I ran into my unit, dropped everything, used the rest room, and JUST as I was leaving my door to return the key-you guessed it- Jason got home.

This is not a joke. I wish it was. But hey, at least I'm keeping things interesting. Just one more story to tell the baby someday. And you can bet your bottom dollar that I'll never forget my keys again.

Hot Mama!

That's right; I am one HOT MAMA! Literally.

Due to the increase in my hormone levels (at least that's what "they" say), I am literally SO hot all of the time. Like feverish. Like just played soccer in the summer, hot. Like want to wear shorts in the winter, hot. Like pretty sure I can relate to those ladies a generation ahead of me going through menopause having hot flashes, hot.

The key is dressing in layers. Although, sometimes I get so warm, and I start stripping off so many layers, that I feel like it is downright inappropriate! The other day I was stripped all the way down to my camisole at work. Granted, I wouldn't walk around the office like that, but at my desk, away from people, there I sat: half naked. Our admin walked in to deliver some mail and she said to me, "So you're a hot mama now, huh?" I apologized for my appearance, although she said not to- she has had children herself and understood. Still, I redressed and sweat it out- a little embarrassed.

It is getting colder outside, and as the temperatures drop, and the rest of the world is bundling up more, I am walking around breathing a sigh of relief! Finally, I feel cool! The long john industry is loosing out on my business this year! :) I walked into Barker and Meowsky (a pet store) the other day, and was looking for this particular harness for Norah. This nice guy was helping me. And then the flash hit. So I unzipped my coat. A minute later, I took off my coat. When my brow became wet he gave me a second look. I rolled up my sleeves; didn't work- the nape of my neck was wet and the back of my hair was starting to get wet. By the time I was checking out, I had my blazer off completely, and was standing there in my t-shirt holding the blazer and my jacket, wishing that someone would come in from outside just so the door would open and I could get a whiff of the cool air. It was 30 degrees outside, tops. The guy either thought I was looking for a date, or that I was insane.

Pregnancy is an amazing thing; that is for sure. But it also does really funny things to your body. I'm just along for the ride.