Wednesday, August 27, 2014

AT ALMOST 35 WEEKS...

*Summer needs to end ASAP because I am too fat to bend over and shave my legs. Also, because of the heat.

*My stomach has officially shrunk. I eat a regular amount of food and then feel sickeningly full for the next 2 hours. I then feel normal for all of 5 minutes before I am starving again.

*I get so tired so quickly. This morning I took a shower, got dressed, and put clothes on Owen. Just doing that, and nothing else, left me out of breath and in need of a nap. It was 9:30 in the morning.

*I unpacked the box Owen's old 0-3 month clothes yesterday and folded them neatly into dresser drawers for baby brother, as we've taken to calling him around here. Scott and I squealed over their tininess and their memories while Owen charged around the room yelling "Mine! Mine!" and trying to stretch them over his body. I told him they belonged to baby brother and he was not having any of it. We're still working on sharing over here.

*Because I am having my second boy, I don't really need any new baby clothes. But I sort of do. You know how it goes. A couple of pairs of pants, because new baby is due in October and my August baby had zero pairs of newborn pants. Two new long sleeved onesies, for the same reason. And a new going home outfit, because how could I not?!

*I have tried to be really careful about what am eating and weight gain in general this pregnancy. With Owen, I gained more than 40 pounds (I'm not sure how much more because my scale blessedly ran out of batteries those last few weeks). That being said, I'm still gaining plenty of weight and at this rate I should top out at about 35 pounds, which is the upper limit for what a healthy woman my age "should" gain and was my goal all along. Part of me knows that I should continue to be careful for the next 5 weeks because I am so close to my due date and achieving my goal. The other part of me, however, is so tired of caring. Just give me all the ice cream, please.


*This is not what I look like right now. This is what I looked like at 30 weeks, when the picture was taken. But it's the most recent bump selfie I've got, so it's all you get today, internet. I'd take one now, but I'm not wearing any pants. See also: lazy.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

T W O


On Friday, August 15, 2014, Owen turned 2 years old. While he was finishing his breakfast Scott and I climbed onto the countertop to hang the traditional Happy Birthday banner. As soon as Owen finished the last of his cereal, he hopped down from the table, scrambled up the couch, and climbed onto the countertop just like Mama and Dada. All while my back was turned. My first instinct was to remind him that he is not allowed to stand up there. He could fall and get hurt, after all. I opened my mouth to order him to come down immediately and found myself saying "Stay Right There!" instead. I ran and got my camera and took this wonderful shot. It perfectly sums up my 2-year-old little boy without any words at all. Of course, this is me, so I'll add some words anyway. It's what I do.

Owen at 2 is the happiest, stubbornest, naked-est little mischief maker I know.

I once had a friend tell me that whenever her girls fall asleep, she sees them as newborns again. I get it. I totally do. It happens to me, too. But sometimes when I look at Owen and see those unruly curls sticking out from underneath a baseball cap, pumping his arms as he runs wildly through the house, I get this feeling. It's a feeling that tells me I'll always see him this way. On his first day of Kindergarten, the first time he drives a car, his high school graduation, on his wedding day, I will always see a happy, smart, wild, sensitive little 2 year old.

And now, a few facts about Owen at age 2. He can count to 10, knows all his letters, is potty trained (95% of the time), sings along to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Take Me Out To The Ball Game, reads along to several of his favorite books, loves looking at pictures of "Mommy, Daddy, Oh-nah!", calls himself Oh-nah, likes to talk about baby brother, says his own prayers every night before bed, has traded the word "No!" for the cuter/more frustrating phrase, "Um.... Nope!", loves hot wheels cars and playing "Bat the Ball," gives the best hugs and kisses (especially when someone gets hurt), is covered in trademark little boy bruises, and can spot a garbage truck, cement truck, or construction vehicle from a mile away.

Goodness, do Scott and I love that little boy.

 ^^NOT a birthday shot, but it just makes me laugh. The shirt and the undies were my doing, but the hat and suspenders were ALL him.
 ^^A week before Owen's birthday I threw him a little swim party with his friends, complete with garbage-truck-shaped sugar cookies.
 ^^Bounce U on his birthday, doing what he does best.

 ^^Choo-Choo trains!
 ^^Hard to tell if Owen or Scott was more excited about the mini-glove.
 ^^Impatiently waiting for birthday cake.


 
Happy Birthday, Buddy. We love you.

Friday, July 25, 2014

BECAUSE THERE IS NO GRACEFUL WAY TO START A POST AFTER 10 LONG WEEKS

---This morning I woke up around 6:45, kissed Scott goodbye, looked at the baby-countdown-calendar I have taped to my bedroom wall, saw that today's box was painfully empty, and almost started to cry. I wanted to cry at the thought that Owen and I had 12 long hours to fill and nothing with which to fill them. Add to that the fact that it is literally unsafe for me to spend any extended period of time outside in this heat (116 degrees yesterday) and, well, you get the idea. After some hemming and hawing I made Owen a reservation at Bounce U to spend 2 hours bouncing his heart out with other kiddos his age. We've never done this before but Owen loved every second of it (except for the seconds where he had to learn to share). I was a dummy and wore a dress (too hot for pants) so when Owen dragged me through every bouncy obstacle and down every tall slide in the place, I KNOW all the other moms saw my underwear. Live and learn, I guess.

---Yesterday Owen and I met up with my friend Regan and her two little boys for a lunch date at Costa Vida. I'm not in the habit for going out to lunch in the middle of the week (because, money) but I made an exception this time because I felt like Owen and I deserved to celebrate his latest milestone.
T
---This boy done got potty trained! My mama heart is so proud of him, and also weirdly proud of myself for potty training him before age 2. In truth, however, I had very little to do with this. He was just so ready. I brought home a little potty when he was about 18 months and it sat in our bathroom for the next month or so. Once he decided he was ready to sit on it, he thought it was the greatest thing ever. Eventually he was going several times a day and I figured it was time to take away the diapers and just do it. This was about a month ago, but I waited until after our vacation because I didn't want to take a long car trip with a newly potty trained toddler.
 
---Speaking of vacation, SAN DIEGO. We spent 5 days there earlier this month and it was wonderful. There was a split second when we pulled up to Coronado Beach on our first morning there and I looked at Scott and said "What if Owen doesn't like the beach?!" But he did, you guys. He LOVED the beach.
^^Proof.
 
---Also, I'm 30 weeks pregnant now.

^^Proof.
(Although this is technically me at 29 weeks, headed out to a splash pad with Owen before Mesa turned into a burning hellscape.)
 
---Sometimes it feels like I still have to wait and eternity to meet this little boy but other times I can't believe that I only have 10 weeks left (or 11, if he's stubborn like his brother). Nothing super interesting to report at this stage in the game except we are having such a difficult time choosing a name. I honestly don't remembered feeling this tortured about it with Owen. Also, I thought I was bit with an early dose of the nesting instinct on Wednesday when I scrubbed out the inside of my refrigerator for the first time in ever, but yesterday I was back to lying under the fan with no pants and doing nothing at all, so maybe not.
 
---And that brings us to the almost-end of July. June was a great month in this house. We started it off with a little family vacation up north with all of my family (minus Scott, who was at Scout Camp). There were lots of splash pad outings and play dates and play dough making sessions and cookie making sessions and the month flew by. July, on the other hand, has been slooooooow. I'm looking forward to the end of this month and the beginning of August, which will bring Owen's birthday, a mini baby-moon for Scott and I (fingers-crossed), and a few more thunderstorms (fingers-crossed). Every day Owen looks out the window and shrieks "raindrop?!?!" and I have to reply, "Not today, baby boy." He seems to be taking it in stride, but it breaks my heart a little every time.
 
---And I'll send you out with way too many vacation pictures.
 ^^Somersaulting on the lawn across from our hotel. He did great on the 5.5 hour drive, but I think he was happy to have his freedom again.
 
 ^^Coronado Beach
 ^^Eating yogurt/making messes on the hotel bed.

 ^^Seaport Village is such a tourist trap but I love it there anyway. We went twice, but only because our first stop there was cut short thanks to what the on-call doctor thinks was a gallstone attack.
 ^^San Diego Zoo!
 ^^Owen loved this helicopter way more than any of the animals at the zoo.
 ^^Owen snuggling the stuffed Panda we bought him in the zoo gift shop. He's slept with it every night since we got home.
^^I tried SO HARD to get him to turn around and smile for a picture but he was clearly too busy for pictures.



 ^^La Jolla Shores. We loved Coronado so much on our first beach day that I didn't think La Jolla could top it, but it totally did.
 ^^A quick stop at the beautiful San Diego temple on our way back to the hotel from the beach, which is why we are all sandy and windblown.
 ^^At a playground overlooking the harbor across the street from our hotel.
 ^^Scott and I have almost-daily discussions about cutting those baby curls but I just love them so much!


  ^^I think my face was even more excited than Owen's.

Monday, May 19, 2014

HALF-BAKED BABY.


Last week I reached the halfway point in my pregnancy. And even though I know that means I still have a long way to go, it also means the worst part is over. (I would rather go through 24 hours of labor than 24 hours of morning sickness, any day of the week.) And that is certainly cause for celebration. Last week, we celebrated the 20 week mark and the onset of summer by swimming in our neighborhood pool (twice), running through the sprinklers, playing out back in the hose water, visiting a splash pad, and taking Owen on his very first Lake Trip. And then the weekend came (and with it, the triple digit temperatures) and I was dead tired. It was the first time I felt truly pregnant. And by that, I don't mean it was the first time I felt crappy or tired or sick, because that was my entire first trimester. But it was the first time I felt like I couldn't catch my breath, even when I was lying on the couch.

Relatively speaking, I still feel pretty great. A few months ago I wrote how hard it was to survive the long and horrible month of February. And then March came.

On Monday, March 3rd, Owen threw up on the long car ride to my Grandma's house in Phoenix.

On Monday, March 31st, the doctor's office called to tell me that the antibiotics worked and that the bacterial infection in his stomach was gone.

Everything between those two dates is a blur. A blur of doctor's visits and washing bed sheets and changing dozens of diapers a day and crying and praying and worrying and trying in vain to get Owen to eat something, anything. And then, trying to in vain to get him to swallow his medicine.

It was the worst. Truly.

So what does that have to do with being pregnant? Well, nothing. And everything. While all of this was happening, while I was waking up every single morning to find Owen's crib filled with vomit, I was also dealing with my own sickness. I was tired all the time. More than once, changing his sick diapers sent me to the bathroom with my own sickness.

It was a long month.

But we survived. Again, we survived. It took the help of family and friends who were willing to bring dinner and help me disinfect my house, but we survived. And now here we are, almost 2 months later, and things are great. The pregnancy is moving along and baby boy is kicking up a storm and I'm gaining all the weight and summer is here and things are great.

^^Owen enjoying the lake with friends.
 
I mean, look at that smile on that healthy, happy little boy. How could things not be great?

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

FROGS AND SNAILS AND PUPPY DOG TAILS.


Yesterday as Owen and I stepped off the front porch in the late afternoon sunshine, he reached up to grab my hand.

He missed.

His body went sprawling onto the hot pavement below, arms and legs sticking straight out like he was flying. For a moment, I didn't react at all. I waited to see what he would do. He stayed just like that, in superman position on the side of the road, as he assessed the damage. After several seconds and not a single tear, he picked himself up and grabbed my hand securely so we could walk to the park.

His palms were black and slightly scraped, as were his knees. As I looked at him in his overalls and white tennis shoes and baseball hat, a thought hit me with more force than it ever has before.

He's not a baby anymore.

My little boy is a capital letter Little Boy.

I knew it was happening. It's been nothing but cars and balls at our house for months now. At the end of each and every day he is sweaty and dirty and a little bit smelly. In that moment, however, it felt so concrete. He's a little boy with scraped knees and he doesn't even cry when he falls down.

I took a moment to catch myself. To say Thank You for my little boy. And to say Thank You that another baby is coming. And, especially, to say thank you that this new baby is also going to turn into a capital letter Little Boy.

That's right.

We're having another boy.

We had the ultrasound last week. And despite the fact that I spent the last 3 months assuming this baby was a girl (if only because this pregnancy has been so different than the last), as soon as the image appeared on the screen I knew in my heart it was another boy.

A brother for Owen.

How could I ask for anything else? Scott comes from a family of five boys. FIVE! I honestly don't know how his mother did it. And although sometimes I feel a little lost during family dinners (sports talk and endless movie quotes will do that to this girl), I know what these brothers have is special. And I am so happy that my two boys will know what it's like to have a brother.

Selfishly, I am also a little relieved. I know how to be a mom of a boy. Most days, I think I'm pretty good at it. And I'll tell you what, there is something wonderful about dirty knees and sweaty little boy curls. I love that there is always a stray hot wheels car somewhere at the bottom of my purse. I love that every day Owen brings me Scott's baseball glove and instructs me to put it on as he picks up the bat. I love the boundless energy. I love that he puts his hands on my cheeks and gives me chocolate kisses as we share a fudgesicle.



I love my baby boy. Both of them. And I love my capital letter Little Boy. The one I have now and the one that will suddenly appear before me one day, a ball of tough energy and tender sweetness rolled into one tiny, chubby, perfect human being.

There is magic there. I swear there is.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Owen at 20.5 months

Several times a day I have to stop and close my eyes for a minute. It's always the same. Owen has just done something ridiculously cute or adorable or funny or awful and I have to close my eyes and will myself to remember it. Remember this. It doesn't get better than this.

But I know I won't remember it all. I can't. It's impossible. There's too much. Too much I can't bear the thought of forgetting. Here are just a few of them.

Yesterday before dinner I took Owen to the park to run off some energy. After hitting the ball off his tee a few times, he realized a little pricker was stuck to the ball. He handed it to me to help and without thinking too much about it, I pulled the pricker off, placed it on my open palm, and blew it away.

You would have think Owen died and went to heaven.

For the next 15 minutes we did nothing but hunt for prickers, place them on our palms, and blow them into the wind. After each time, Owen chanted "more! more! more!"

Every morning Owen greets us with a happy "Hi Mama!" and "Hi Dada." When he wants to leave the room, and he wants me to know it, he turns and says "Bye Mama!" very pointedly. He usually waves, and he always waits for me to respond, "Bye Owen."

Speaking of, he waves his little hand at me every time I put him in his crib for nap and at bedtime. It's so cute that I almost always want to pluck him back out of bed and hug him tight.

He's obsessed with any and all buttons, and he calls them all "beep beeps!"

He's so sensitive it threatens to break my heart. If he's watching a cartoon and Thomas the train gets into an accident, or a can of paint spills on Curious George, he gets extremely concerned. He always says "uh-oh!" over and over again with a look of distress on his face until I tell him everything is okay.

We watched Frozen a few weeks ago and he burst into frantic tears every time the "no-man" fell apart. He would run to sit on my lap and stay there, tears flowing, until Olaf put himself back together.

He loves balls and cars and equal measure. He know three kinds of vehicles: cars, big cars, and blue cars. If you ask him what a firetruck says, he will respond "wee-oh wee-oh wee-oh." He knows the word Baskeball "bat-eh-ball," which sounds exactly like "bat the ball" which is what he says when he wants to play baseball.

He still loves his Dada more than I could ever describe, but he tries very hard to be brave when Scott has to leave for work or church. His face turns red and his lips quiver and he tries so hard to hold back the tears, all the while holding his hand out and saying "Dada Dada Dada" over and over again.

He has started making us take his blanket and his stuffed animals out of the crib with him every morning. He usually abandons them within minutes, but his Fuzzy and his Doggie and his Peanuts and usually his Baa-Baa (sheep) have to be pulled out of the crib along side him.

When he gets sad (usually because of something I did or didn't do) he cries and asks to go to bed. It breaks my heart every time.

He LOVES the garbage man. Our Monday and Thursday morning walks intersect with the garbage truck several times and it never fails to thrill him. In fact, after the truck drives away, he spends the rest of the walk chanting "more garbage! more garbage!"

Last week we took him to a Diamondbacks game. Ever since then, we have been singing "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" a lot. When we get to the end, I belt out the last line as loudly as possible and he always joins in for "BALLLLLLLL GAME!!!!!!" at the tops of his lungs.

He loves music. When we are listening to something on my iPod, he gets impatient between each song. As soon as one ends he chants "more! more! more!" until a new one starts seconds later.

It's only May 1st, and he already says "Hotty Hot" every time we go outside and get in the car. I don't know how to break it to him that it's going to get a lot hotter.

His baby curls are the best thing I have ever seen, and I have no plans to cut them, now or ever.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

It's Been Awhile Since I've Done This. Let's See If I Remember How.

Well.

I survived February.

Barely.

It seemed like everything conspired against us last month. Scott had work and church responsibilities that kept him away for several evenings and entire days. There would be long stretches of days when he would leave home so early and return so late that Owen wouldn't see his Dada at all. He would walk through the house and point to all the pictures of Scott. "Dada? Dada?" he asked.

When I would get him from his crib every morning I would take him out to the living room to change his diaper. He would look around. "Dada? Dada?"

It was the sweetest and the saddest.

At any other time, I would have hated it. Throw some first trimester sickness and fatigue on top of all those late hours, however, and I didn't think any of us would survive the month.

But we did. We survived. Our laundry hasn't been put away in weeks and the sink is full of dishes and the whole house could use a good scrubbing (especially considering the cold Owen has been nursing for 2 weeks), but we survived.

February is over. Hallelujah.

I still have a few weeks of this first trimester left. So I am doing the only thing a girl can do. I am popping Zofran like it's my best friend (because it is) and praying that all this extra TV-watching Owen has been doing lately won't hurt him too badly in the long run.

Pregnancy is a marathon, my friends. And I am still in the opening miles.