Fabulous Miss S.

Florida is ....

Stormy!

 

Pensive.

Just one shot of our daily swims.

Alligator.  I was about 10 feet from him.  He was swimming toward me!

Just a peek.

 

Palm Tree.

Parenting Pregnant

My latest pregnancy related rant is up over at DC METRO MOMS. 

I've always wanted my kids to be close in age so they could grow up together and hopefully develop similar interests and grow into lifelong friends.  The reality of this, however, is something along the lines of bone-numbing tiredness. At least for me, Mom, or She Who Gestates and Provides Tireless and Unending Nurturing....  READ MORE

In other not-at-all less pregnancy related news, I am not taking a nap right now, nor did I even attempt to do so during Noah's naptime today.  Progress, perhaps?  Twelve and a half weeks, baby!

Book Discussion: What Happened To The Girl I Married?

Silicon Valley Moms Group JULY Book Discussion

What Happened to the Girl I Married?  by Michael Miller

 I am a stay-at-home mother to a one and a half year old boy and I am expecting another baby in February.  My husband works long hours in the technology/sales field.   He is successful and hardworking and he supports us and makes it possible for me be home and watch my son grow up day by day, tantrum by table-climbing tantrum.  For that, I am very grateful. Usually.

Being the domestic goddess that I am is not easy.  I say this with much tongue in cheek because my house is far, oh so far, from spotless. There are days when I feed my son yogurt, applesauce and a few graham crackers FOR DINNER. The laundry often backs up so high the pile falls on top of me when I try to empty the hamper and since I'm being honest here, I'm also not the loving, doting, ready for sex every-night-at-a-moments-notice type of wife.  

Reality is, I'm freakin' exhausted!  The sheer futility of my "job" is enough to keep the makers of Zoloft and Xanax in business for many years to come.  My son likes to pull the kitchen towel off of the oven door rack the second after I place it there.  So I fix it.  Thirty seconds later, it is on the ground again.  And this cycle repeated itself five times over in a matter of several minutes tonight just as I was cleaning up the kitchen.  Frustration much?  There is also the matter of picking up toys.  Put the blocks in the bin only to have the toddler dump the bin one hour later.  Repeat this a few times throughout the day.  Much of my time is spent fixing something that the toddler did in the few minutes it took for me to divert my attention so that I could do something else for him, like make food.  Futility.  It should be Chapter ONE in every Home Economics course.

Before I proceed, let me explain why I write this, the book was a great read for me.  I give it TWO BIG THUMBS UP.   Here is why:  1) It's a concise easy read, 2) It's an honest, unpretentious memoir, 3) It's relate-able, 4) Speaking as a women here, this story is a man's perspective on something we rarely get a man's perspective about, therefore, insightful!

It was refreshing to read about the evolution of a husband who can smugly admit that he once thought his wife had it easy staying at home raising children.  Being a stay-at-home parent is one of the hardest jobs in the world.  It is the hardest job I have ever had. The hours are longer, the pay, well, the pay sucks!  There are very few thanks, particularly from the uber-needy one who can't even talk yet.  There is little validation or confirmation that you are doing something, anything, correctly.  Frustrations run high, fatigue is an all-too-common visitor, heck, peeing alone is a pipe dream.  The payoff, the satisfaction of this job, speaking as a mother and wife, comes from being appreciated, thanked, loved, and most importantly understood.  When my husband takes a moment to ask specifically how I am, thanks me for something I did and realizes that my time is slim and our son is a challenge, it makes me feel validated. Isn't that what we all want?  To feel that what we are doing with our days is valued by someone?  Now, I've had to teach him to do this and honestly, I still doubt his sincerity and originality, at times because, lets face it, I told him what to say to me.  But, at least he says it. 

Michael Miller tells his story of resenting his wife's "free time" and how she "had it so easy" and his transformation to admiring her ability to put up with him for so long and how he came to value her job as challenging, worthwhile and admirable.  He came to this conclusion over a period of months between jobs while he essentially took over her role at home and the accompanying chores, duties and responsibilities.  It is often said among women that men would act so different if they just did our job for one day.  Miller did this.  He admits to being wrong and having a vastly incorrect notion of life on the other side.   He tells his story with humor and in concise vignettes that are a head-nodding-in-agreement pleasure to read.  Couples should read this story together, it will definitely promote some good conversation.

Now, I just need my husband to read this book because I suspect (hope) that he'll take another dude's word for it, that indeed, my job just might be harder than his.  (Shhh!  We want him to realize this on his own.)

Click here for Michael Miller's website about What Happened to the Girl I Married?

To read other discussions about this book visit DC Metro Moms.

The pregnant nose

Warning: I mention boogers below.

::

In pregnancy, I have boogers.  Like, more boogers in nine months than I have had in my almost-thirty years of life, total. 

Let me back up a little and explain that I am about to write about the nasal maladies of a pregnant lady of which there are many.  Also, Mom, if you are reading this, stop here, I know you can't deal with issues of the nose, so just scroll down with your eyes closed and you'll find a nice cute picture of Noah.

First off there is the issue of smell sensitivity.  Many pregnant women report that their nose is on super high alert from a few hours post conception and ending sometime between a few weeks postpartum and never.  Historically and evolutionarily speaking this "symptom" of being in a woman's way is built in to us humans so that we don't expose our fetus to something potentially poisonous like wild fruits or Suave shampoo.  In my first pregnancy with Noah I was flying from Florida to DC.  While trapped in a middle seat in the second to last row of a fully-booked flight, I was unfortunate enough to have someone sit directly behind me and devour ever so slowly an entire bucket of fried chicken.  I thought I was going to die.  So, to sum it up, my sense of smell is on CODE RED ALERT.  Sometimes the smell of ketchup gets to me, sometimes the smell of Marc's spray deodorant is also gag-worthy, and ditto for Lime Tostitos.  

Second, congestion.  Nasal congestion.  The hormones of pregnancy cause your soft tissues (mucous membranes) to swell.  Chalk it up to increased hormones and blood flow.  The adaptation of this joyous treat is possibly to prepare the tissues of the birth canal (ahem: Vagina, hoo-ha, girly parts) to stretch to accommodate birth.  Also affected is the nose.  Some women have a runny nose for the duration of pregnancy, I however, have a runny nose for the duration of my life.  What I wasn't expecting this early in pregnancy (11 weeks, almost) was the congestion that stems from this.  When I'm trying to fall asleep at night I am frequently awoken by a whistling sound that is actually my nose desperately trying to get a fresh breath of cool air.  I won't even begin to explain how annoying this is when bouts of nausea hit and all I want is a fresh breath of air to calm my roiling belly. 

And finally, I'll sum it up: boogers.

I guess the gasping for air through swollen passages causes my nose to dry out much faster than usual causing serious daily boogers.  I'll blow my nose and be all, "Wow! That was up there? No wonder I couldn't breathe."

Damaged goods

I've officially damaged my son. 

The weekend started out just fine and normal.  Marc and I even got out last night to the Billy Joel/Elton John concert Nationals Stadium and it was a great show.  The music was wonderful, Billy Joel made some good jokes about his recent third divorce, a rather large and rhythmless woman decided to stand and dance in front of us, which was mildly annoying but not nearly as stifiling as the stadium-food-smell that permeated every molecule of air that entered my nose.  It was a rough night for a preggo but the music got me through. 

Ahem, getting back to the alarming title and first sentence of this post; I damaged Noah. Well, I suppose he did it to himself really.  He fell off my bed while trying to climb onto the nightstand and hit his face on the corner of the nicely scalloped table edge.  I grabbed him up from the floor in a matter of milliseconds but he already had a massive contusion that was bright red.  It was just barely oozing blood too, which was delightful and extra scary.  He didn't cry for too long actually.  He pushed away the ice and didn't seem to notice his parents yelling at each other about whose fault it was, dammit, or the resultant hand-wringing pacing I was doing. 

After a two-hundred dollar copay mid-morning trip the ER confirmed that nothing was broken or damaged and the skin wasn't even broken enough to stitch, we came home for a much needed nap.  

Noah is fine. 

I am still reeling with guilt because I'm sure there is something I could have done to prevent this. 

Also, I'm still worried that the hospital staff suspected abuse.  I've watched enough ER episodes to know how that cookie crumbles.