Happy Birthday...A Little Late

Since I am an amazing mother, I am always on top of things. When I get a free moment, I always spend it cleaning my house, working on my child's precious pictures & scrapbook, and retrieving crayons & cars from beneath the couch.

Or not.

Truth be told, most of my free moments are spent sitting on the couch willing myself to do anything...anything at all. I think, "Wow, Tristan's birthday was over two weeks ago, I should probably write Thank You notes." It's a nice suggestion, but one I know I will not take. Instead, I tell myself I will do it  the next time I get a free moment.

Right now, my energy is spent trying to grow a baby & stay awake. Grocery shopping feels like a workout routine, driving the car makes me want a nap, and sitting makes me tired. I hope the baby doesn't mind all the caffeine I'm consuming, but at this point, it's a necessity.

Tristan is now a two year old. My little baby boy is no longer my little baby boy. He sleeps in a big bed (approxiametly 3" off the ground), reads books (looking at pictures & tearing pages out counts as reading), and plays with trucks & trains. I cried yesterday because I felt that at any moment he was going to be too old for me to cuddle anymore.

We celebrated his birthday with family & our dear friends. We were blessed by all the people in our lives who truly love this little man. I know without a doubt that I have sisters & friends who would do anything for him. They aren't lying when they say it takes a village. It really does, and I could not do it without all of them. I am even more blessed to know that as I welcome this new little baby, there will be just as much love for him/her.

Since he is madly in love with "Cars", we decided to use that as the theme. I tried to be crafty & creative and made his cake. For normal people with that creative gene, I'm sure it's fun to do something like that. It gave me an ulcer. The cake got stuck in the pan and came out in four pieces. I don't know if it's appropriate to pray to God our Father for help with a bday cake, but I definitely lifted up a few. Heavenly Father, please let my baby boy's cake be beautiful. And please help all the starving children in Africa. Amen.

KA-CHOW!!!

Put enough frosting on, and you can't even see the heap of crumbs that was underneath. Thank you, Jesus.

Tristan now has more cars, trucks, and trains than he could ever want. And he loves all of them. It's a good thing he's not spoiled or anything. He has so many that I was thinking about rewrapping them for his Christmas gifts. On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad of a mom would that make me?

The birthday party is over, the Thank You notes still not written, and the batteries are already wearing out on several of the toys. Next year, I look forward to planning for two birthday parties. For people like me who truely do not have the natural party planning gifting, it is beyond stressful. But we do it because we know they aren't going to stay little for long. They are our babies. We love them more than anything. Everything they do is so darn cute, even when they take an entire page of stickers and stick them on their arms. And because we are crazy.

Finding "Elmo"

My Little Man was Nemo for Halloween. He cannot say "Nemo", so instead he told everyone he was Elmo.

We had some very confused adults, that didn't even bother to play along.

"No, Tristan, you are NEMO!"

"No, Elmo!"

Good luck winning a fight against an almost two year old. They always win. Yesterday he successfully convinced me that trains are really called busses. If he says he's Elmo, he's Elmo. You can try and argue, but you will just walk away feeling defeated, and with most of your candy missing.

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.