No real changes this week to report on behalf of my insides. Still 2cm/75%, but she's moved down a centimeter - so that's something.
Been having contractions lately, but they're not much to write home about. Fortunately I only notice them if I'm being quiet - which doesn't happen very often in the company of a three year old.
The neat thing about being pregnant at some point the last two elections is obviously posing for baby book pictures that some family members would croak over.
And the neat thing about being pregnant with a three and a half year old is washable markers and an ever-growing canvas. ("But, Mommy, some of the pink lines didn't wash off!")
Sciatic pain is annoying, but they've given me some muscle relaxers to help keep me from hobbling around like an old man. I've also noticed this weekend that my heartburn is getting worse - still not as bad as last time, but definitely worse. I'm on the upswing - we'll have a baby here soon!
Disclaimer: This post is going to talk about my girl parts and upcoming labor. It won't be incredibly gross, but if you're not into reading about it then just skip this post.
Went to the doctor today for my 37 wk checkup. Everything is measuring par for the course.
I knew he would do a vaginal exam today and I was both really looking forward to it (finding out if any progress has been made) and really not looking forward to it (not pleasant at all). (Last warning to go read something else if you don't want to know about my insides.) Turns out I was thrilled to hear the news. I'd been preparing myself the last couple of days to expect no progress but be happy if I'd already dilated a centimeter. And I'm already 2cm! But the news gets better - I'm also 75% effaced.
He thinks I'll probably go into labor before my due date, but there's no way of knowing for sure until she comes.
All that said, I'm glad to know the end is in sight (pun intended).
The Dorks were here last weekend and helped me get everything in the house together for the baby. The crib is with Baby's toddler bed in her room and the bookcase was moved to the playroom. The little clothes have been laundered in special baby detergent.
I miss my ankles, but I know they'll be back a few weeks after baby is born. I can patiently wait.
I'm 32 weeks today. Eight more to go... unless she comes early. Of course my OB says she's not coming early and laughed at me when I asked if he thought I'd go just a little early. Everything measured well today at my appointment. Incidentally I measured 33 weeks instead of 32 weeks - if this keeps up she may come out a linebacker.
Shortly after my last post I heard back from some lab results and found out I was anemic. I just laughed when they told me - that explained so much! It's amazing how much better I feel now than I did a month ago (Iron: it does an anemic gal good!). Once we've addressed that and some sleeping problems I was having pregnancy is back to being a piece of cake.
It's a soupy cake that has swollen feet at night and occasional back/hip pain, but ten thousand times more easily tolerated when I'm not a zombie in the day and I'm able to rest at night.
Baby is doing great with preschool. On the days that she doesn't collapse when she gets home out of pure exhaustion she is bubbly and talkative. She's really into super heroes right now - especially Spider Man and The Avengers.
Speaking of super heroes -- the anemia put a major halt on projects, but as long as I monitor my energy I think I'm going to be able to jump in again. Tonight we put a few last sprawls of paint on what will be the super hero picture. I may glue them on later tonight after it dries. Then all I'll lack is spray-varnishing them (and hanging them, of course). I go back and forth thinking about making some kind of garland for their room, but for now at eight months pregnant I'm sticking with less is more. We still have a lot of other work to do (organizing mostly).
He asked if I was having any contractions. I reminded him that with my pregnancy with Baby I was never aware of any of them until I had the pitocin going for five hours. I asked if he could make that happen again and he laughed. He said we'd both be really rich if he could figure out how to make that happen. So for now I'm just thankful for pain that I can handle and contractions that I can't feel.
I'm working on getting all of my paperwork together for FMLA.
I've not packed a bag to take to the hospital with me yet, but I do know what I think I want to pack. (That's got to count for some kind of partial credit, right?)
Runt seems way more laid back than Baby did in utero. Either that means she'll be chill - or it means she's saving up to make us crazy after she's born.
I am so tired that I feel hungover, but I assure you that I've not had anything to drink in months.
I'm rolling into my third trimester without much poise or grace. I can feel the chronic fatigue starting to set in, and although I know from experience that this, too, shall pass, it's really hard to focus on that when you're in a fog.
Being tired makes me cry.
When I yawn my eyes water. This is not pregnancy-related; I've done this all my life. I looked it up once, figuring I was just plumbed wrong. Turns out there are little muscles in your eyes that contract when you yawn, wetting your eyes with tears. Mine must be the most tone muscles in my body because it ends up making my eyes drip tears all day long.
Some people flex muscles and look amazing. I flex muscles and it looks like I'm crying. (I think this is irony, right? I'm too tired to access that nook of my brain right now. I think it's cosmic irony, which artsy-fartsy literary types argue isn't really irony at all.)
I've been up since about 2:30 with Baby. I made every effort to stay in my bed until about 4am, at which point I was just mad that I couldn't sleep and moved to the living room couch to try to rest. This wasn't one of my brighter ideas, but you can't expect genius when your exhausted brain is running on fumes. I tossed out here for about 45 minutes before I decided to forget it and just be up for today.
I learned in my last pregnancy to just try not to look at the clock when this happens. Looking at the clock just makes me mad because I roll over thinking that it's got to have been 30-40 minutes since I last looked at the clock, only to see that it's only been about three minutes instead. I know this, but I looked anyway this morning. I can't make a direct correlation that this was the only reason I'm awake, but I am well aware of its contribution.
PSA: The most stupid, insincere thing you can say to a pregnant lady who is exhausted is that this is good practice for being tired after the baby comes.
I read an article once that said pregnant lady brains actually shrink in the third trimester. I can't remember if it was hormone-induced or fatigue-induced, but it was verified with MRIs. It wasn't a huge shrinkage, but it was real and it was documented. I remember after my last pregnancy Baby was about 5-6 months old before it hit me one day that I felt normal again.
By my calculations I've got about 12 more weeks of sleeping poorly related to the pregnancy. Then the baby will be born. Afterwards I'll still sleep poorly, but I'll be better rested and sleep better when I do get to sleep. Then by May-June of next year I may feel human again.
Time to wake everybody else up. This morning it will take a conscious effort to do this task with kindness.
We never really had a "theme" to Baby's room, other than girl stuff hand-me-overs and hand-me-downs. This bothered many of our friends, but not us. We wanted to wait to see what Baby was into to give her some say in decor.
We've decided to put Runt and Baby in a bedroom together. It'll take a little moving around, but we are hopeful that it will work out. We've also decided it's time to consult Baby for ideas for a theme... and we've all agreed on female super heroes.
The Hater is a comic book nerd and couldn't be happier. I'm excited that it's empowering. Baby is picking up on our excitement but really doesn't get it yet.
The problem is that official super hero wall art is out of our budget range, so we're having to be creative. I'm super excited with what we've come up with so far:
Baby painted these by herself. I still lack sealing them - and I've not decided if I want to go over the letters with glow-in-the-dark paint or not. The part of me who lived with a theater major for several years in college keeps whispering, "Less is more!", but it's met with the part of me who thinks glow in the dark paint would make it awesome.
I have one more canvas, but haven't thought of what I want it to say. Plus I have a big piece of foam core that I plan on using to actually incorporate the super heroes.
This is pre-nesting. My parents will bring the crib and baby sundries in September. And I'm not in the mood to start washing Baby's things in the baby detergent for Runt yet. So here we are.
Another exciting weekend at home. There is no paint on the kitchen table, qualifying this as a great success. On the other hand we do have a little bit of glitter everywhere...
"Oh so" is Baby's new phrase that she's learned to tag onto phrases to give more emphasis. For example, "If the baby comes out a boy I'll be oh so sad." or "I like these grapes oh so much. They are my best."
I'm 25 weeks pregnant this week. Incidentally it's the first week I've really felt big and pregnant. Kneeling down to pick something up just isn't as easy as it used to be (or, rather, getting up isn't easy). Rolling over in bed is taking some effort. Although I'm already on heartburn medicine I can tell you I'm not having heartburn now, but I can tell it's coming. And when I cross the street I can't change gears to a jog to get out of the way of traffic - that bouncing just doesn't work right now. And I'm oh so having a terrible time tolerating the heat.
The problem with being pregnant in the summer is that you can only take off so many clothes.
Saw my doctor a couple of weeks ago. He told me my weight gain was "perfect". I made him say that twice because nobody has ever told me that in my life.
I'm still walking a couple of miles every afternoon, and at this point I'm still able to keep my regular pace and pass the slow people. But this week I can tell that I won't be doing that for much longer. It's taking more work to keep that pace. And stairs? I still take them if I'm only going one flight away from where I am, but (like crossing the street) I'm no longer able to just bounce up them; today took work to get up the stairs. When I got to my destination the girls in the front of the office just laughed at me for being winded.
Today I went to security and officially got the pregnancy parking pass to park in the closer spots to the ER (so I don't have to cross the busy street on foot). They didn't want nearly as much paperwork as I thought they would. It'll still be a hike from where I park to where I work, but now most of it will be inside instead of in the heat. (And I'll get to take a flight of stairs up to my office in the mornings!)
The veggies on the back porch are officially scorched. The week of 104+ highs just fried the tomatoes and lemon balm. The basil acts like it's going to come back and the rosemary looks fine. The other plants in the yard are looking okay for now, but we'll see what the rest of July and August do to them.
The Hater and I recently celebrated our 9th anniversary. In some ways it's hard to believe that it's been nine years - but at the same time in some ways I think, "Really? That's all?" He's a fantastic Daddy to Baby and will be the same for Runt. There are some things I would change if I could go back in time (those were not the flowers I wanted to carry for my wedding, for example), but I'd still marry him all over again if I had the chance.
Name update: Runt still doesn't have an official name. We're not in a panic about this because we still think we have plenty of time. I do have a list of potential names and we've pared it down much shorter than it was to begin with, but that's as far as we've gotten. Of course we've not even discussed names in a week or so. Baby still thinks Runt's name should be, "Chewman," although I just asked her again and she said, "Mmmm-mmmmm".
(In the middle of supper tonight, completely out of the blue)
Baby: Mommy, Bluto isn't a planet.
Me: No, Pluto isn't a planet.
Baby: Yeah, it's too small. That means it's too little. And we don't know anybody who lives there.
Me: Can you tell me about the other planets?
Baby: Jupiner is big. We don't live there.
Me: No, we don't live on Jupiter. What's the name of the planet where we live?
Baby: Uhm, I don't know.
Me: Sure you do. Tell me about it.
Baby: It's green and blue and we live on the green part. It's Earf! Not Maws; we don't live on Maws.
I can only imagine this is one of many random conversations to come where at the end I just look at her and wonder where that came from.
Baby was, at best, blase with the announcement. She was more concerned with the leaf she found outside. I guess you can't blame her because she knew this already.
The Hater and I have begun name argumentation. Let the games begin.
I'm 20 weeks. I've gained a total of 11# since the beginning of my pregnancy - par for the course. Runt kicks and wiggles off and on all day long, but it's not so strong that it's waking me up in the night -- yet. Everything measured normally in the biophysical ultrasound today.
At this point the most pressing thing that's concerning me about the next 20 weeks is the summer that's going to be here before we know it. Not looking forward to hot HOT days as the medium-hot days already zap my stamina and make me want to take a nap.
Three cheers for estrogen! The Hater will soon be outnumbered 4:1 in the house if you count the cat.
One of the best things about being an oncology nurse in the summer is that's when your patients want to bring you various goodies from their home gardens. This week my score was a chock-full gallon bag of assorted hot peppers.
I'm not a fan of heat and I don't really understand why people like to have pain in their mouths. The Hater, however, likes it hot. I took a suggestion of the nice man who brought these to me to dehydrate them and use them as seasoning.
We've not used our dehydrator in years. We got it years ago thinking we were going to dehydrate a lot of fruit to be healthy, and then I read about it and figured out that one of the things that makes fruit so healthy is the water content because that helps to fill you up. So the dehydrator has lived in its box in the back of the cabinet over the fridge since then.
It took me nearly an hour to slice up the peppers (I wore gloves, but even slicing them gave me a runny nose!) and place them on the trays. Below is what we ended up with after about twenty hours.
The Hater took Baby into the bedroom to play with Zoloft and I brought out the chopper to work on pulverizing the peppers. It took to the second batch to figure out that there were holes in the top of the chopper shooting clouds of hot pepper seasoning to my lungs. Halfway through the third batch in the chopper my nose became a faucet and I couldn't stop laughing, which made me cough, which made me laugh, which made me cough some more, which made me pee myself a little bit. It was a comedy of errors, at which point The Hater yelled to me that he better not have to take me to the ER. It was never that bad; he's always an alarmist.
I turned on the air purifier and told him to keep Baby in the bedroom. I finished the last batch and put what ended up being about half a cup of powdered green fire into a container until we can find a more suitable spice holder.
It's times like these I really wish this blog
had a scratch and sniff option.
Later The Hater opened it to smell it and it triggered coughing for him, too. If he peed himself he didn't admit it to me. I'm glad I didn't let him do it because it's sure to have set off his asthma.
And now The Hater has green fire to add to whatever he likes. He's also dreaming up ways that he could trick people into eating it with him. He's already wished that his brother could visit so he could secretly add some to his burger.
Baby and I went to play with the puppies tonight after supper. They're still low-crawling-scooting and squeaking, but they're about twice as big around as they were when they were born (almost 6 days ago). Apparently their job the next couple of weeks is to continue to fatten up (obviously) and grow longer hair. Shortly after that their eyes will open - then they'll wean. Or something like that.
There's still one up for grabs - so let me know if you're in the market for a part corgi puppy.
My friend adopted a stray corgi from her Mom's friend about four weeks ago. Her family loves corgis and couldn't stand the thought of putting the dog down in a pound. The adoption was contingent on her male corgi, Jackson, and so long as they got along she would adopt her. And then Abby became part of their family.
The next week she came to work and told me that Abby was getting bigger. Well, yeah, I figured she would. No telling how long she'd been a stray; now she was being fed regularly. I assured her to expect some weight gain and move on. (Because I'm such a dog expert, you know.)
They took her to the vet to get her shots up to date and make sure she didn't have any heart worms (apparently those are fatal to a dog). While there the vet guessed she was about a year and a half. My friend pointed out that the dog had small nipples on her chest and the vet assured her that was just because she'd had her period once and it didn't mean she was pregnant. To find out if the dog was pregnant would cost them about $200+ for a doggy ultrasound. They declined.
She continued to get bigger.
My friend petted her belly and felt something move inside. Oh, dear; puppies.
No good deed goes unpunished. I read online about birthing corgis and volunteered to be a doggy doula if she needed help. This breed apparently has problems and it's common for the puppies to present the wrong way, especially their first litter.
So for a week she and her husband had a moral dilemma about spaying Abby and terminating the pregnancy. They never wanted puppies, after all. The finally set the date for the spaying and felt good about their decision.
A few days later Abby started to show "nesting" signs.
Saturday morning she texted me that Abby was digging holes in the back yard and not eating. Her temp dropped. Birth was imminent.
Saturday afternoon she called and said it was time. I took the bag I'd packed for Baby and we went to tend to Abby. Baby was so excited.
Now remember that I'm not a dog person. I like cats. I know cats - but even then I know nothing about birthing kittens. Our animals had always been fixed. So this last week I've been studying about stages of dog labor and assisting dogs and reviving puppies - all via the tutelage of Dr. Google.
When I got to her house she had Abby in the kitchen floor on a bed next to the door, really the only place in her house where it was doable. She was in the floor with her and Abby was having contractions. Baby watched a movie and the vigil began.
Jackson was sequestered outside, but he, too, kept a vigil at the window.
A mutual friend of ours came for moral support. My friend's two year old woke up and he and Baby played while we petted and bragged on Abby. That's what the people in the youtube videos did and it seemed like the right thing to do.
I can't tell this story without graphic descriptions, so if that's going to bother you please move on to another post. Also, please let me note that I am not really a doggy doula. I can't guarantee that we did anything right in this process; if you've found this post in looking for hints for dog births take everything here with a grain of salt and please call a vet for real advice.
About that time we noticed a fluid-filled sac coming out of her vagina on the contractions. We'd read about this online. What we read said not to mess with it - it would pop on its own and then eventually there would be puppies. So we didn't pay it too much attention. It kept getting bigger and bigger until it was almost like she had a pool ball coming out. At one point we looked at it and wondered what that black thing was attached to it. Abby was still pacing and it was difficult to see, but not too much longer after that we realized it was a puppy attached to it and it had to come out.
Except she couldn't get it out. Fortunately we had interned under Dr. Google and were prepared for the steps to take. My friend held the dog's head in a loose, generous head-lock. I went in to help pull the puppy out with her contractions. She yelped and got away and snapped at me several times, but it didn't take long for us to get the puppy out.
It took longer for us to get the sac off of the first puppy. There was so much adrenaline that the seconds took hours to tick past. Abby didn't know what to do and I couldn't get it open. (On subsequent puppies we figured out that a dry washcloth did the trick, then go to a different corner on it and swipe clean the puppy's mouth to help clear the airway.) We worked on this puppy for a while but were unable to revive it.
We consulted Dr. Google again because we didn't know what to do with the dead puppy - to leave it with her until a new one came or take it away. Apparently there's two schools of thought on this. We decided as mothers that we'd let her continue to love on it until the next one came.
Speaking of being mothers - please imagine a scenario that while we're doing this the two year old and three year old are constantly needing some sort of adult intervention. This went on all night with them. If you have to do this again by all means let them be involved at a distance, but have someone there to help with them, too.
Attention was taken away from Abby only long enough to watch a bunny hop through the yard.
Another thing Dr. Google told us was that puppies would come every 15-30 minutes. That wasn't the case at all with Abby. The vet told us that was a breed-thing, plus turns out this dog was only about a year old. And on top of that we don't know who the daddy was. We kept making great dane jokes because the puppies were much larger than we expected.
About an hour later another sac began to appear out of her vagina. We were ready this time. As soon as the puppy's head was out I broke the sac and started wiping out the puppy's mouth. She tried to suck on my finger and we were all excited that this one was at least coming out alive. Again Abby wasn't able to pass the shoulders and I had to help the puppy out on a contraction. Abby cleaned her up and we wiped her down and it was fabulous.
At this time we were telling each other how awesome we were. Our mutual friend had to leave. We fixed the kids something to eat and kept an eye on Abby while we did. I got the first (live) puppy to latch on and nurse to stimulate oxytocin release - and encourage better contractions. (That's the only nursey thing I brought to the table.)
About an hour and a half later another head appeared. Again after the head was totally clear I ruptured the sac and cleaned out the mouth. Abby was able to push her out by herself.
Two hours passed. Abby was still having some contractions, but they didn't seem as strong as before. We paged Dr. Google. Do dogs continue to have contractions after the puppies are born? Do contractions mean another puppy is imminent? We put the kids in the bathtub and let them play, occasionally walking back to check on Abby. We were thinking it was over and I was going to get to go home after all.
At one point my friend took her son back to his bedroom to change his diaper when I glanced over and yelled, "Puppy head! We have another puppy!" I jumped over the baby gate, gloved up, and broke the sac. This puppy was wriggling, but Abby wasn't able to push her out. I helped, but this time the sac broke open to green bad-smelling liquid. We didn't let her eat that placenta. The puppy was in respiratory distress and I wanted wall suction, but we didn't have any. You have to hold the puppy's head down below its body to let gravity help get the juices out while rubbing vigorously on the chest. She was coughing and sputtering and it wasn't looking good. The edges of her tongue were white, not pink.
I looked at my friend and said, "There's no way I can do mouth-to-mouth on this dog; it's covered in poop juice. If it was Abby I'd try, but I can't do this. If you want I'll tell you exactly what to do." She looked at me, "I would never ask you to do that; and I can't do it, either!" So we did the next best thing -- we created our own blow-by oxygen, kindof. Every time the puppy opened its mouth to gasp for air we blew a puff of air into its mouth (without actually going mouth-to-mouth). We did this for several minutes and she pinked up quickly. After an hour she was nursing with the other two puppies with no real distress (it took all of them about an hour to 90 minutes to perk up enough to nurse).
And the vigil continued. The kids went to sleep - her son on her bed and Baby on the couch, complete with one leg hanging off.
Neither of us had any caffeine. It was after midnight and we were running on fumes and pure adrenaline.
About three hours after the birth of the third live puppy we started to see a sac again. By this time Abby was exhausted. We were exhausted and sore from getting up and down, up and down, jumping over the baby gate to get to the kids, on our knees helping Abby, etc. My haunches were on fire. After an hour there wasn't much progression at all. The three puppies continued to nurse, but Abby was giving out.
At one point she leaned over and tore the sac herself, spilling out lots of juice, no puppy in sight. JJ held her while I felt to see how high the puppy was. It was too high for me to be comfortable trying to get to it. I would've had to get nearly my whole hand plus a dry washcloth up there to get a hold of the puppy. I could tell it was head first (thank goodness they all were - apparently another problem with corgis is that they're notorious for complicated presentations) - but when I put my finger in its mouth there was no suck reflex. We waited and tried to console Abby and encourage her to push, but after a while she was just not making any progress at all.
It was about 2am. My friend took her to an emergency vet not far from her house. She took Abby in and they took her back immediately. Then she went to the car to get the box of puppies to take inside and she said she could hear Abby screaming from the parking lot. I knew that was going to be traumatic. Fortunately they were able to get it, albeit barely, and spare Abby a c-section. They did an xray to confirm there were no more puppies and she came back home.
By this time it was after 3am and all I wanted was to go home and take a shower. Baby was konked in the car until right before I pulled into the driveway. "Mommy!", she said, "That was fun!" Followed by, "I see the moon! Is it up time yet?" No, honey, it's still night night time. And fortunately for me she went to sleep immediately in her bed and I was able to get a shower. But I still felt really dirty when I got out of it.
Sunday I hurt so bad it wasn't even funny. I was so stiff and could hardly move. I stretched for a while and felt better, but I'm still stiff today. My friend was, too, except I hate her a little bit because she was able to take ibuprofen and I couldn't because I'm pregnant.
As of today Mom and all three puppies are doing well. (Although I'll be surprised if the 3rd one doesn't get pneumonia this week from poop juice in its lungs. For humans we call that meconium and a lot of times those babies will spend the night in the NICU for observation due to respiratory distress.)
We realized today that we didn't get any good pictures of us actually working and birthing dogs because we both had our hands busy the whole time.
The moral of this story: Please get your dog spayed. This process was physically and emotionally exhausting for us and for the dog. Call around - there are places that will do it for cheap because they, too, know the importance of protecting our furry family members. Leave breeding to the experts.
A final aside: I know what you're thinking and the answer is NO, we will not be adopting one of these dogs. Zoloft is completely content being our only pet-child.
Baby is convinced and heart-set on Runt being a girl. Initially this was paired with equal insistence that this girl should have Baby's name, too. After much discussion of how that would be confusing for Nana if they had the same name, Baby has conceded that she would also be okay with her being named Chewman.
She invents such great names.
And she's still he'll-bent on Runt being a girl. Last week I sat her down and explained that we didn't know yet if the baby was a boy or a girl. She cried & insisted that it had to be a girl because she wanted it to be a girl. It was a major point of contention that surprised both The Hater & myself.
So for now we're not mentioning the baby or gender or anything regarding Chewman.
We'll find out at the end of June.
Very shortly after I learned I was pregnant I looked at the Farmer's Almanac to see what the summer was going to be like. It told me that it wasn't supposed to be as hot as it was last summer, which was a lot of consolation at the time, but now that it's hot outside it's just not enough.
And I'm not even that pregnant yet. Currently 16 weeks. All is going well on that front. Some ligament spasms, but those are easy to ignore now that I can feel the runt wiggling around from time to time. We won't know the gender until July.
My first trimester I was going to bed around 7:30, very shortly after we got Baby down for the night. I"m able to stay up for a little longer, but not by much.
Baby has been bringing me such wonderful treasures. Lately it's been dead leaves, weeds and sprigs of grass to put in water and display with many oohs and aahhs.
We're loving the little plastic wading pool in the back yard and officially broke it in this past weekend. Lots of footprints to be had this summer, so long as it's not too crazy hot outside.
If the storms tonight and tomorrow are anything like last year's spring storms I can expect all of my roses to lose their blossoms and look pitiful the rest of the summer. It's typical timing because all three plants are full of blooms that look magnificent.
These are double knock-out roses and they're great in this area because they're hardy and relatively pest-free, two major requirements for my flower beds. These particular roses are a stunning deep pink, but the color never comes across in pictures the same as it looks in real life. So you'll just have to trust me that saying they're beautiful is an understatement.
I ran home from work a little early this afternoon to take a shower and throw a bag together in case we needed to seek shelter from potential tornadoes. Before I threw my camera in my bag I took some pictures of my roses - just in case.
There are other plants that are looking nice now, too, but this week none hold a candle to the blooming roses. Hopefully they'll still be around to enjoy next week.
It's amazing to me how as Baby gets more independent and fun - and able to entertain herself - being a parent is more fun.
We went to Pet Smart on Friday for cat food. While there Baby decided we should also get the cat a toy - and picked out a pack of three catnip-filled mice. Since we've been home the three mice haven't gone very far from her side. They even went to church with us this morning.
Zoloft only played with one briefly.
Our days have been filled with tea parties, acting out scenes from The Jungle Book or Toy Story, and pretending to fix each other's hair. We love that her imagination has exploded.
We think a lot of this is due to the change in day care we made. Since moving Baby is using the potty exclusively, we've not had any major tantrums, she doesn't ask to watch tv as much, and pretty much she's more social. We had a lot of anxiety about moving her, but at this point it's one of the best parenting decisions we've made.
One last story...
I won four free tickets and a parking pass to go downtown to see a Barons hockey game. We'd never seen a hockey game before and for the price of free we were were sold. We were excited.
Yesterday afternoon we drove downtown, found the parking garage, hiked to the gate. Baby was so excited. We were excited. And then the lady at the gate nicely told us that our tickets were for Sunday night.
Today we went back downtown, parked about six places away from where we were last night, hiked to the gate... and saw parts of the game. She was really into it for the first period, but then she was not so much for the second period. That's when we found the fun things around the arena to do; she got a big kick out of taking turns to hit a puck with a hockey stick. We ended up leaving in the beginning of the third period because she was done. We got home in time for her to eat a couple of ham roll-ups and go to bed.
We've not heard a peep out of her since she went down.
We live in a house of ongoing projects. That's just one of the adventures of living with me. Life is too short not to experiment or create. So when someone twisted my arm and told me I had to join an online community where people share creative ideas I was really not interested. I kept telling them that I didn't have time to devote to one more thing.
And then they started bringing in cool things that they had made, or recipes they had found, and emailing me some of their favorite things -- and I caved.
I found a tutorial on how to make a braided yarn scarf. It was supposed to look like this. Mine is about three times that thick - way too thick to wrap multiple times around your head unless you're just into asphyxiation. (See picture above.)
I have about 12 hours in that scarf, mostly done in bursts at night after Baby goes to bed. I am so gagged with it that I have moved it out of sight into the office where I don't even have to look at it right now.
On the other hand it gave me a great idea to make Baby a long yellow braid so she could have Rapunzel hair. Finished that today and we both love it.
Cue the next project.
Except it's not really a "project", per se. This was something that just looked cool, also found on that site. You quarter a bar of Ivory soap, then put it in the microwave for 3 minutes and it's supposed to look huge and explosive. Here is an example of what it's supposed to look like.
Quartered bar. In sandwich bag behind it is the rest of the bar, chopped up with my mad knife skills for a future project: making my own liquid hand soap out of bar soap.
Before. Anticipation is mounting. Baby had a blast pushing the buttons on the microwave.
After. Very sad and pitiful.
The only thing I can figure is that this is an old bar of soap found in the back recesses of the cabinet. A friend of mine is going to try this soon-ish with a new bar of soap to see if that makes any difference.
Maybe it's a dud bar of soap? I wonder if it even floats...
And I've decided to save the baggy of soap shavings for a while. I don't want to end up with a gallon of liquid dud soap because then I'll feel guilty and have to use it. Maybe I'll save it to regift for Mother's Day! (hehehe)
Not all projects are successes - that's what makes it an adventure.
Comment with your email if you want an invite to the madness (to the site where everybody posts creative things).