El Diablo

My sister left for New England today. She will be gone ten days. That is ten days that I get to have her cat terrorize my household. Penny, (or El Blanco Diablo, as I like to call her), has only been here one day. One day too long.

She looks sweet. She looks cuddly. She is stalking me. She is the Devil.

15 Weeks Till D-Day

Today, BabyCenter tells me my child weighs roughly as much as a rutabaga. If I knew what a rutabaga was, this would be more meaningful. Pretty sure I ate one once at the in-laws Thanksgiving dinner, and I "politely" spit it out into my napkin. No bueno.

The child rolling around inside of me feels a lot heavier than 1 1/2 pounds. This terrifies me, leaving me to believe that, come my due date, I will give birth to a child roughly the size of my couch. When I get kicked, these are not love taps, but karate moves. I have nightmares that my baby breaks my spine in half (and that I am a dog groomer at Petsmart, but I think that's because I ate carmel popcorn right before bed).

When I try to imagine the personality of this new baby, I always picture a girl. I picture a sweet little girl that I can cuddle with and love on. A little girl that will let me play with her hair and paint her nails. A little girl that will want to watch "Beauty & the Beast" with me. If this child comes out a boy, I will officially have the worst motherly instincts ever...and a whole lot of sparkly pink shoes to get rid of. I am torn between turning the nursery into a chic fest, and turning Tristan's new room into every geeky comic book lover's haven.

 Since becoming pregnant, I have decoupaged two items for my Little Man's new toddler room. Six months ago, I didn't even know what decoupage was...and now I am the proud owner of two pieces of furniture that look like Superman and the Hulk threw up on it. Having four sisters, and zero brothers makes me a bit challenged in the boy department. I have had to take many a lesson's about the Silver Surfer, the Green Goblin, and why Thor is so awesome. His room has been painted "so bright your eyeballs bleed" blue, and Marvel Comics characters can be found in every corner. I even found outlet plates with Iron Man, The Thing, and some dude that looks like Fabio on them.

I also learned a lesson in child development; after watching me screw the plates on, Tristan decided to copy me with his own tools. By the grace of God, Tristan managed to wedge a screw into the light socket without being completely electrocuted. Thank you, Jesus, for my little Handy Manny.

I think the nesting might have also officially begun. I found myself, like a loser, cleaning my oven and stovetop at 11:30pm on a Saturday night. It needed to be done, and I don't know why. I am preparing for this new baby, and hoping that she (maybe he), comes sooner than 15 weeks. I will do anything possible to get her (maybe him) out before December 31st. Who couldn't use the tax break? And I am ready to meet my daughter (possibly son).

For now though, I just prepare. I enjoy the last short months that I have with only Tristan. And I wait patiently to meet the newest member of our family. Until then, it remains just the three of us.

I Am NOT A Marathon Runner

We are officially half way to our destination, and I have learned that I could never, ever, ever, ever run a marathon. I'm too much of a wus. When I look at those baby emails that excidetly tell me "Congratulations, only 135 more days to go!" It makes me want to curl in to a ball, suck my thumb, and rock back & forth.

I'm ready to meet our baby. I am done having my spine karate chopped. I am ready to buy teeny tiny diapers. I am done having to plan my day by restroom locations. I am ready to touch baby soft skin. I am done having emotional meltdowns at the grocery store. I am ready to find out if we are adding a boy or a girl to our family. I am done having people tell me "Wow! You look WAY bigger than you ever did with Tristan." Thank you family members. It makes me feel even better when you call your significant other from across the room to stare at my belly and contribute more comments about my size.

I have to remind myself that I need to cherish this precious time with just me and baby. Although it seems like forever now, it won't last for long. I love the kicks, the rolls, and even the gymnastics move's on top of my bladder. And now I love looking at our new pictures of Baby Green.

We had our 20 week ultrasound today. I drank my 16 ounces of water like the radiologist instructed me to, and prayed fervently that I wouldn't accidentally wet myself during it. As she pressed and pushed, prodded and poked, I prayed harder. And harder. "The baby is moving SO much!", she commented. "Look at your baby move all over the place!" Yes, I know. I could feel it. More prayers. Then I started sweating, imagining the outcome to my full bladder situation only ending very humbly. When I couldn't take it any more, I asked in a very calm voice if I could please, for the love of all that is holy, use the restroom. At one point I may have even cried for a second. Wetting yourself in front of your husband, a radiologist, and her trainee is serious (and unforgiving) stuff. I was so blinded by my discomfort and loss of muscle control that I didn't even hear her directions to the bathroom, and instead dropped my pants in a linen closet. Oops. My mistake.

All is well though. I am alive, and I'm never drinking water again. It's too risky. We did manage to get a few pictures though of Baby. And we aren't finding out what we are having. At one point, I was convinced I saw male genitilia, but everyone else insists it was the umbilical cord. Luckily, you can't tell anything from these pictures.

And Then There Were Four...

From two...

To Three...

To Four...

After 8 months of trying, a hopeless diagnosis from the Dr., and lots of prayer, we are beyond blessed as we await the arrival of our miracle baby. This entire experience has taught me that with God, ALL things are possible. When a Dr. tells you it can't happen, God has a different plan.  We went through blood test after blood test, medications that failed, and ultrasounds that the Dr. explained "proved"  that my body was not functioning as it should. Yet our God is a God of miracles...and surprises! During a routine blood draw, one of my results came back as abnormal. I was told it wasn't physically possible for me to get pregnant at the time, so I didn't even consider it as an option. Instead, with my hopeless attitude that had recently developed, I was convinced I had cancer. Thank goodness for Google which kindly explained what it meant if HCG came back as positive. It was a surprise that can only come from God. So as I start my 19th week and bust out of every pair of jeans I own, I have to stop and remember that God gifted us with this second pregnancy. We are blessed, and we can't wait to meet our precious baby.  

Mambo Italiano

We recently got back from spending two weeks in Italy. To summarize, here is everything I learned how to say: " Un gelato per favore. Grazie." That was all that was necessary. I have never eaten so much gelato in my life, which is why I chose to bring my skirt with the expandible waistband, instead of jeans.

Traveling that far was quite the experience, especially with an 18 month old. Thank you, United Airlines, for all the delays. I didn't think 15 hours on a plane was enough, so I appreciate the additional 7 you threw my way for free. My rambuctious child would like to thank you too.

Here are some things I learned while in Italy:
(1) They put Nutella in literally everything.

(2) You will get yelled at if you don't wear protective gloves while picking out fruit at the grocery store. Apparently I look like I have Hepatitis.

(3) Their streets were made for bicycles, not cars. We had a very scary Griswold European Vacation moment when we almost managed to wedge our car down one street. Thank God for moveable side mirrors.

(4) Their idea of a cup of coffee is smaller than a shot. How am I supposed to get energized for a day touring your ruins if you won't help me out?

(5) You have to pay for the toilet. I'm too stubborn to give in, so I spent a lot of my time in some extreme discomfort.

(6) There are no nuns over 5 feet tall.

(7) Wine is cheaper than milk.

(8) It is a criminal offense to put fruit on pizza. Potatoes, corn, zuchinni, crab, tuna, octopus, squid, and McDonalds special sauce are all viable options though.

(9) You can take your child halfway around the world, and the only thing that will hold his interest are the pigeons.

(10) If you want to get bumped to the front of the line anywhere, just show them your baby. I owe Tristan big time for all the free stuff he got me. Hope he didn't mind all the cheek pinching.

Told you they like Nutella

Even though Italy and I had our differences, it really is a beautiful place. It was a reminder of the luxuries that we as Americans take for granted. Their streets are small, their houses are smaller, and they don't need much to get by. They seem quite content with what they have. It was a good lesson for me.

Florence, Italy

Our room

The view from our room every morning

A random cat sleeping on a car

The tiniest police car I've ever seen

Sienna, Italy

The Vatican

A microscopic picture of the Pope

A much needed picture of my babe

Taking a break from sightseeing to lift weights with Grandpa

The Colosseum - you can see all the bullet holes from the war

It was a great experience, but I am so glad to be home. The language barrier and cultural differences really did make me miss home. And tv. Italy is beautiful, but they don't have Lost or Glee. This girl has some episodes to catch up on, so please excuse me while I go replace every historical fact I learned with the lyrics to "Don't Stop Believing." Priorities...it's all about priorities.

Old Joe

Boys are weird. Having grown up with four sisters, I am testosterone illerate. I do not understand the males need to conquer and dominate everything. Easter Sunday was a beautiful day. Old Joe, my in-laws horse, was grazing peacefully in the yard. And then the boys showed up...

I saw four grown men suddenly transform into 10 year old boys as they all gathered round plotting different ways to jump on Old Joe's back. The women stood by giggling and secretly praying that Joe would buck them off or kick them in a sensitive place. I know it's not nice, but it's funny.

They tried unsuccessfully a few times. They got close, and then ran back screaming. I didn't have the heart to point out that Old Joe is named OLD for a reason. He wasn't putting up much of a fight, but don't tell them that.

I've never seen my cousin more serious. How many men does it take to get on a horse? Apparently too many. What would he have done without all that moral support?

And now he's a cowboy. Old Joe literally did not move; I don't even think he knew what was going on. My other cousin squealed with delight, quickly gaining confidence after seeing that this wild and crazy horse could actually be tamed. He decided he needed to go for a ride too. And when I say "ride", I really mean "sitting on the horse proudly getting his picture taken."

Hang on tight boys! Horses are unstable and violent creatures.

Yes, everyone is watching. Yes, we are all very proud of you. Yes, you are big boy's now.

At one point, I'm pretty sure they started talking about how impressed the ladies would be if they knew these strong men had riden a wild horse. Except Old Joe's not wild, but that will be our little secret. 

Once they conquered riding the horse, they were quickly distracted by my one year old son blowing bubbles. Off to another adventure. And I still don't understand men.  

Men At Work

One rule in my house...

You make the mess...

You clean it up.

Pronto