Daring Young Mom

I fluffed some stuffed animals and placed them in her crib just for the effect when she sees it for the first time. I know little babies are not supposed to sleep with a bunch stuff in their cribs until they’re much older and that they’re supposed to sleep on their backs and be bathed just enough but not too much and not eat solid foods or drink alcohol in their bottles for the first few weeks of life. As I was putting the freshly-ironed curtains up on the rod, I heard the kids start again.

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Sometimes I wonder when they will get a clue. I already know the answer but I ask it hypothetically to the universe in general and to my husband specifically. “WHEN WILL THEY GET A CLUE?!”

The answer is – 20 years from now when they have kids of their own and suddenly realize that I wasn’t just nagging them for my own amusement but was trying to teach them to be responsible citizens and often because I actually needed their help.

Today was a day spent working, working and being in pain, working and being in pain and begging, sometimes yelling at my kids to help me just the tiniest bit. I wasn’t asking them to polish the silver or wax the floors or give me a mani-pedi while I watched soaps. I was feeling the shooting pains as my ligaments pulled and expanded, limping on hips and a pelvis that may not hold up much longer under this kind of pressure, gagging with a sudden resurgence of morning sickness and working my butt off to clean the house. I was asking them to pick up their ratchen fratchen toys that covered the entire main floor. I was repeating myself over and over until even I was sick of the sound of my own voice.

At some point in the afternoon I considered changing Magoo’s name to some glass-shattering word from the mermaid dialect, anything that would cause him to show the slightest sign that he could hear it as it was coming out of my mouth. He is completely deaf to the sound of my voice unless my voice is whispering sweet nothings about chocolate, gummy worms or time for game play on the Wii.

But if I’m calling him, even yelling from as little as 3 feet away, he bounces along playing and making strange little man noises, giving me no notice at all. It seems like the worse I feel, the worse the deafness gets.

Laylee, on the other hand was willing to work on and off with very little coaxing or threatening but seemed intent on bullying and tormenting Magoo as she went, causing him to bawl and collapse and then come running to me once he’d regained his strength. I took my frustration out on them and they took theirs out on each other. It was a lovely afternoon.

Then Dan came home exhausted from work and I complained and whined and tattled on them like a spoiled child. So he took them off to bed. Last I heard, someone was crying. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Dan and I’m pretty sure it was in response to something like the threat of no stories if they didn’t pick up the pace a bit.

It’s days like this that make me glad we can reset overnight and start fresh in the morning. And maybe I won’t wake up 4 times tonight. And maybe I’ll feel better in the morning. And maybe they’ll decide they like me and each other. And maybe I just remembered there’s a chocolate bar in my purse. And maybe I’m done blogging now.

Yep. I’m sure.

Last week I had 11 people ask me this. Most were strangers. They were serious. A few were friends. I think it was an attempt at commiseration.

At one point I was walking through the swimming pool dressing room fully clothed when I heard someone yell out to me from the other side of the room, “You’re about ready to pop, eh?” I turned around. When you look like me and someone yells something like that from 50 feet away behind your back, you know they’re talking to you.

“Yep.”

“I bet you get sick of hearing that.”

“Yep. Especially since I’m not due for another 6 weeks.”

“Oh HONEY!”

Indeed. Honey-child. Sistah-friend. GIRRRLLL. I am large and whale-like.

She told me I looked great, which I decided to believe because when someone is looking at you with pity and telling you how fabulous you look, they have to be telling the truth, right? Honestly. I feel cute when I’m pregnant. My body shapes itself in a way that announces our upcoming joy and sleepless nights and doesn’t leave anyone any room to wonder if I’m just packing away too many Peanut Butter Twix bars.

So it seems that the physical therapy and water exercise are paying off. I feel less like the lower half of my body is being snapped in pieces and more like a late-term pregnant woman, experiencing late-term pregnancy “discomfort.” It’s been a huge improvement.

In exciting news, it looks like this baby’s big like Fat Boy Magoo. At my last appointment she was measuring about 5 lbs by ultrasound and if she follows the trends and doubles in weight the last 6 weeks… OUCH! So the doctor plans to take her a week early! This thrills me. The last two times my due date just meant the date where I’d start asking for an induction and waiting with even more impatience.

Now I have a cut-off date in my head that makes the last minute antsyness and uncomfortability more bearable. We spent some time today looking at pictures of the other two when they were fresh and new and I can’t wait to meet little Wanda.

Hopefully we’ll find her a real name in the next month.

Yesterday Seattle hit an all-time high temperature of 103. It’s humid and hot and we’re all boiling in our way-too-pregnant skins. In an area with fewer than 13% of the homes having any kind of cooling system, we’re sweating and relying on help from our friends to keep us from dropping like flies.

“My kids want to beat the heat too but they disapprove of my particular methods. Magoo doesn’t want to stay at Costco forever. Laylee asked me to “try harder” to make the house feel cool.”

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