Before Isaiah was born, Garrett and I stocked up on G diapers  and dug our heels in, “we WILL use cloth or biodegradable diapers.” We determined, after much thought and research, that it was the best for our family and for our community. Isaiah arrived (as well as postpartum depression/psychosis, colic, and infant acid reflux), and our wills for a better planet quickly headed out the door. It became about convenience and quick care. Cloth diapers required washing. I wasn’t washing my own hair at the time, let alone laundry! Whatever I had to do to make him stop screaming and for me not to kill him was IN. Which meant that the involved process of ‘natural’ diapering was OUT. Add to this scenario that I hate pee and poo (if you are one those people  weirdos who likes that sort of thing… I  think there are websites for that and expensive therapists too!)

A couple of Ambien/Anti-Anxiety meds later and we are all better.

Now that Addison will be here in less than 11 weeks, we have started to revisit the idea of how we will diaper her. After keeping a little boy alive for 2.5 years I decided that pee and poop are not my forte. When I encounter these things I usually follow up with a deep retching noise and have to wave my hands frantically in the air and think about something else. This has been exasperated by pregnancy (duh), but I don’t know if it will go away. I still have that stupid voice in my head, nagging, “your kids have skin allergies- cloth is better… think about the environment, your checkbook….” 

**Listen nagging voice! If we had to put a price on my comfort, it would faaaaaaaaar outweigh the pocketbook (and then environment, if we are being honest here).

But alas. I still find myself thinking back to why I don’t use certain detergents, body washes, shampoos, etc. That same reason is the original reason why we weren’t interested in conventional diapers. So. I have a couple of weeks (before I really have to start buying diapers) before I make my decision. Has anyone else out there had experience with cloth diapers? I am bringing all opinions into my knowledge arsenal. Wish me luck!

Where have I been?! Lordy! When you actually have a child that is cognizant enough to realize that holidays are actually happening… you have to figure out what traditions you’ll actually keep and what ones you’ll actually pass on… we are still working on that.This is a hard choice for me (since my DNA looks like a meeting at the United Nations).

Isaiah survived. He came out pretty well actually. The Guppy and PopPop (my in-laws) managed to find and purchase the one toy that would induce panic in the lives of my dogs. Noelle and Zoe now run from Isaiah as he screams at them from his Hot Wheels Jeep.

Because what an amped up toddler needs is a motorized something to run into mommy as she attempts to keep balance. Let me tell you, there is nothing better than being 29 weeks pregnant and getting rammed in the back of  the knee by a tiny hard-plastic Jeep. It is awesome beyond awesome. So awesome that I tend to call out the name of the Lord after each lovely encounter (I have been informed that God’s last name doesn’t start with a “D”).

Holidays make me miss my brother (who passed away in 2006) and very nostalgic. With Addsion’s arrival on the horizon I find my mind meandering back to days when Isaiah was tiny (and not  accosting me with Chinese made toys, THANKS A LOT CHINA!!!). For your viewing pleasure: My little bambino with his daddy, during his first snow (he was about 6 months old!):

 Hope your Holidays were filled with peace, joy, great memories, and (most of all) LOVE!

I am back! And alive! Thanks for all the well wishes and emails.

Leave it to me to make my first blog post after a long sabbatical to be about  guns, masturbation, and nose bogeys. Alas, I am me…

Since Sadie admitted that Norah has pica (I kid) I decided that I should talk about Isaiah’s amazing new (and some old) habits. Vanessa, a good friend of mine, always talks about boys and the things that they instinctively pick up. When Isaiah, who is two years old, started picking up sticks (to destroy monkeys and enemies) and using them as pretend guns, I would gasp, “WHO taught him to be violent! WHO taught him about guns. We don’t let him watch war movies…why is he army crawling!!! ” I am anti-gun. I HATE them… as a result of a traumatic childhood experience. When Isaiah started this I attempted to redirect it. “Isaiah lets hug, not shoot.” My best attempts were thwarted. He just kept pretending to shoot things. Vanessa explained, (loosely translated)” Something about them switches on and they have to hunt and protect and all that jazz.” So now, my precious two year old son runs around the house pointing curling irons screaming, “BLAM BLAM DIE MONKEY!!!” Sometimes I play dead. Other times I snarl, “DO NOT point guns at people- even pretend curling iron guns…GAWWW!” It is like a boyhood involuntary spasm! Something DID just “click” and he decided I was a gatherer and he was a hunter.

Isaiah also went through a stage where he dominated all of his stuffed animals. When I say “dominated” I mean, “Isaiah humped his stuffed animals and the rugs like there was no tomorrow.” No one taught him. Through exploration he just decided, “OH! Mommy has company, I should show them what my body does when I hump this stuffed lamb!” “Ohhhh! Is that high pile carpet? *OFF GOES THE DIAPER*. Let me show you what to do with this…”  Thankfully we have a great set of friends who just laughed off Isaiah’s “habit.”

One other boyhood involuntary spasm that has amazed me has been the action his nose has been getting. How do kids learn to eat their boogers (is that how you spell it?)? I remember the first time Isaiah did the deed. I looked in the rear-view mirror and his knuckle had disappeared into his brain. He gingerly pulled his finger out only to plunge it into his mouth. He clapped and giggled as I tried not to veer off the road from the intense gagging I was doing. “Who taught you that Isaiah?” How did he learn to eat his nose crusty? SICK!! SICK! SIIIIIIICK! Again… something just clicked and he decided he knew how to do this. Since he knew how, he obviously should. Thankfully Dr. Oz  *YES! I learn how to parent from my favorite TV personalities *  says that picking your nose is fine. The only problem is that it can damage the mucus membranes. I think he will survive. Sadly, me and my weak gag reflex might not.

I love these things about kids.  I love that just like a heart beats involuntarily, there are things that little boys and girls do without prompting. It makes me excited to imagine if we have a girl, (the doctor says ultrasound shows 70% girl) what she will do. 

♥ Jasmine

You know what is better than having  Bronchitis and being pregnant?

You know what is better than having Pneumonia and being pregnant?

You know what is better that all of that? What is better than that would be having BRONCHITIS, PNEUMONIA, and H1N1…..and being pregnant.

Listen ladies! When I do it, I go big…. or I go home. Okay. Actually my last two and half week experience was a big ole shit storm and as soon as my life falls back into order I promise to blog about it. Until then I will be downing Tamiflu, antibotics, and wondering how I got to be this amazing.

Contagious Smooches!!!

♥Jasmine

If you pee yourself… It is better to do so while at home being tickled by your son. It is also difficult to explain to said son how big boys don’t pee on themselves.

♥Jasmine

Let me just have a moment to shake the dust off my authorship of this blog. I have been terribly (TERRIBLY) absent and for that, I do apologize. If not to all the readers, then to Jasmine who has a full-time job and is pregnant and has a family and still manages to keep things updated and fresh and funny around these parts. She is a wonderful friend, and a wonderful blogger.

Anyway. There are reasons for my absence.

First, for the past few months I have been stuck in this very boring place of uncreativity. My other blog has suffered even more. And my poor grandma is stuck refreshing a page that never changes, just hoping for a new picture of The Norah. But I’m guessing that I’ll have more to say now that I am free to let the cat out of the bag.

This proverbial cat in the proverbial bag has become increasingly hard to hide, not only from the real world but from the blog world as well and I am sure glad that I can spill.

People…I’m pregnant too. (squee!)

We found out in late August, and for the first two weeks I was all happy and bubbly, eating bratwurst and sauerkraut like there was no tomorrow, boasting about how “Oh I don’t feel sick at all. I don’t feel pregnant in the least. Look at my glowy glowy skin! It must be a result of my super-feminine powers! I’m going to go buy my ovaries a present!” And then it was my birthday and I was suddenly shot down this awful dark tunnel filled with queasiness, scary spotting, and evil trolls who smell like beef broth.

It was somewhere between the constant checking for increased spotting, mind numbing nausea, frequent and un-lady-like burping, and crippling heartburn that had to remind myself why in the Freaking World I wanted to get pregnant again. What was I thinking? Clearly I forgot all this misery somewhere in the piles of precious pink baby clothes and squishy bald baby Norahs.

And then, because I was having such a fun time laying in bed and moaning while my precious and helpful husband took care of Norah for me, we decided we would take a trip to the Alabama Coast. Totally reasonable. So we went, and I will not share all of the trip now because it is another story for another time (however, I did spend the night in a haunted house), but we actually had a great time. Greater than I expected.

As it turns out, the beach is a wonderful cure for all my pregnancy discomfort. If only I had known that sooner. But as I told Jasmine, I’m planning on installing a wave pool and sand bar in my guest bathroom so all is well. The beach was grand and filled me with happy beachy thoughts, but the other times, like when Rusty cooked hotdogs on the stove and  I about vomited off the balcony or when I gagged at the mere thought of a balogna sandwich…those times were not fun. In fact, they were pretty miserable times.

However, in the midst of all that urpy barfy goodness, I take solace in these things:

Rusty is very excited about this baby. That makes my heart happy.
Norah will have a playmate all the days of her life.
Gahhh! I get to paint another room in my house!
OMG. I love Taco Bueno.
I also love elastic waistbands.
I get to share not only this time of pregnancy with Jasmine, but also the absolutely incredible power of labor and newborns and breastfeeding in a way that we did not get to experience with Isaiah and Norah. (I don’t know if that sentence makes sense…but y’all be sure to think happy thoughts for our husbands.)

Today was my first official OB appointment and depending on whether you ask my fetus or the sac I am either 8 weeks exactly, or 8 weeks and three days. We saw a heartbeat, flickering on the screen and even though the nausea is still lurking around and the belches keep on coming, that little heartbeat was such an amazing sight.

Oh, and you can all expect to eventually see a masthead with mine and Jasmine’s big ol’ bellies hanging out in their glory.

Last night I had a dream that I had sex with Taylor Lautner (that Jacob kid from Twilight). I kind of wish I was kidding, and so do you, because it isn’t a happy visual for anyone. I do need to comment, though, that if one was to have sex with a shape-shifting werewolf boy it could result in hairballs, just sayin’.

Sadie and I have been slacking, haven’t we!  We apologize [Well I apologize and if Sadie doesn't I am saying she apologizes anyway...don't worry, I'll pinch her!]

Here are some updates:

*Baby Addison is kicking. I never got used to Isaiah flipping and flapping around and I don’t think I will with this one either.

*I got an article published in a local magazine “Peekaboo”….as soon as I figure out where they put it, online, I will post a link.

*I’ve watched Twilight eight times in the last week and a half, which accounts for that bizarre dream. It also accounts why Garrett walks around the house when it is on spouting, “what the hell Jasmine, AGAIN!?”

*I started a new job, I am pretty stoked about it.

*Tis the season for Pumpkin Spice Lattes, which means a mouth orgasm for me… another gross visual [you're welcome].

*Living with a husband who has sleep apnea is amazing, By “amazing” I mean, ‘Sweet baby Jesus when you can’t sleep because you are pregnant and uncomfortable and then you have Darth Vader sleeping next to you, you kind of wish that a Jedi would come and silence him with light saber. [okay. I went too far with the Star Wars reference, I know]

Happy Labor Day.

I am starting a new job on Monday. I am super excited. What I am not excited about is the fact that they don’t know I am pregnant. I am still wrestling with how/when you tell or if you even do. Yesterday I decided that I needed to grab some work worthy maternity pants (Read: Black, khaki, navy) and attempt to find a top that conceals my ever growing bump. YES I am only ten weeks along. YES I look like I am 5 to 6 months along; thank my son for destroying my abdominal wall.  SO. HELP ME! Should I just stop trying to tent myself and walk onto the scene all, “yeah that is right- my belly button is about to pop…how’dya like my belly shirt!”

When do you tell your employer?

Am I an evil troll for concealing the pregnancy so they would hire me?

Am I an even more EVIL troll for making them pay for maternity leave in less then 8 months?

How do you even cover up a belly?

When I do spring it to them, do I just hand them a baby onesie with a wink?

 HELP ME!!

♥ Jasmine

A couple of posts back, Sadie talked about having a second one.  A big part of motherhood is about family planning; When you’ll have a baby, how many, and how far apart.

Garrett and I have decided (READ: I told Garrett) that we needed to have another child. Garrett could be happy with just Isaiah. He comments that babies are a lot of work. Which is true! He comments that two means one more than one… and one more to struggle with, and stay up late with. Which is true! But for me, all those factors are so worth it. And I know it is worth it to him too… he is just a math whiz and works in probabilities and statistics. I am a creative brain. I make choices based on, say, my feelings, what color is more lovely, or how a song moves me. So we prayerfully decided that we should make baby number two happen. And Garrett isn’t complaining about the process. This whole venture, for me, however is not how I pictured it. I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. This syndrome is something you can develop or be born with. Lucky me… it is genetic! 4 out 6 of my aunts have it. Basically my eggs like to hang out in my ovaries and refuse to leave their cushy home. So Isaiah was a total surprise and a total miracle.

When we decided that we’d try for  a second baby I made an appointment with my OB/GYN and talked about options. Dr. Crownover… an amazing physician, talked to me about several choices. We could keep trying and hope for spontaneous ovulation (ummm… NOPE!), use In Vitro Fertilization (excuse me? did you say Jon and Kate Plus Eight?…. NO THANK YOU!), or we could try drug therapy with a fun little pill called “CLOMID”. He explained that Clomid was much like having the hormones from your first and last trimester combined. He laughed as he reassured me that I could handle it and that it is highly effective for people with PCOS.

So we started the Clomid. Isaiah tolerated his mommy spontaneously bursting into tears and rocking him, crying over Elmo’s World, and eating copious amounts of Cheetos and Oreos. 6 months later we are still on it with no luck. I talked to Dr. C the other day about what our next move was. He said we had one more month and then we needed to move on. I haven’t had many defining moments in my life. In fact- my  life can be summed up as a big blurry mess of interwoven failures and triumphs. This moment though, on the phone, it was like time just stopped. I never really thought about what it would be a like if we couldn’t have another baby. I mean, I had the plan: “If we can’t conceive… we’ll adopt. Problem solved!” But I never really thought through what it would feel like being a woman who couldn’t have a baby. I mean, I had one. I have the parts. I have figured out the process…. so that is it right? Women are made to have babies. I should be able to do this. But I can’t…. and I don’t know if I am sure that this last month is going to prove to be any more successful than the previous tries.  I don’t know what the implications of not being able to conceive mean to the rest of the uterus bearing humans…. but for me, it was a startling blow to my ego. So I am processing. I am working through the fact that maybe motherhood is as different as I thought it was, maybe not being able to have another baby doesn’t devalue me as a woman, maybe Isaiah will be fine without a sibling.

This motherhood gig is not easy!!