Hey girl, I can replenish your… {The Weekend of a Thousand Hours}

Oh fuckity fuck fuck.

 

Or, might I rephrase, what the fuck are you two fucking fucks, fuck?!

 

Routines were abruptly changed starting last weekend.  Daddy Drax started in on his summer schedule.  Friday was fine, he was a little sad at bathtime but overall okay.  Saturday was nerve-wracking, nail-biting, hair-raising, all that jazz.  But we survived.  And then Sunday came.  The day it all fell apart.  Let me start off by saying it was muggy as hell out.  None of us do well in high humidity.  All Rizzle wanted to do was sit around and watch Elmo, all PX wanted was his old routine back.  The morning was a shitshow, everyone crying and pissed off about food choices and sick of sweating like a pig by lunch time.  I put all my hopey eggs in one basket and decided that after naptime, I would ensure a fun afternoon filled with favorite snacks and activities.  We’d even go to PX’s favorite store, the grocery store, and hopefully it’d be good. 

 

….HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  Blind optimism at its finest! 

 

We walked PX’s favorite route but, once we got to the store, it was clearly obvious something had completely snapped, a regression was setting in, input was being craved.  He started chewing on the foamy covering to his stroller bar.  He hung over the sides like a rag doll, legs up over the bar, laughing like a lunatic.  He was swiping at objects and cried when we stopped moving.  Rizzle followed his lead.  I tried giving him his favorite snacks, a special treat for being out on an errand.  Sadly, no use.  I decided to high tail it home afterwards, showing him his picture cards for his swing and lovey.  We somehow made it up the stairs alright, but then the reality of being home and still no daddy set in.  And, it was supper time.

 

So the kids got Elmo.  PX was still seeking input everywhere but usually the fluffy muppet gives him what he needs visually and, with a favorite toy and squishy vest, he’s fairly level.  I apparently misjudged how much MORE he was looking for.  The kitchen and living room are conjoined so I can watch them while cooking, the one plus of this shitty apartment.  After not even 5 minutes of starting dinner, PX had dumped out my Vitamin Water all over his lap.  I rushed in to assess the damage, burnt my hand on a burner in the process, and arrived just the second PX shoved his entire hand into his mouth and, well, what’s the color code for total projectile vomit?

 

Himself, his sister, their toys, the couch, the floor.  ON A MUGGY FUCKING DAY IN THE AFTERNOON SUNSHINE.

& my monthly allowance of fucks were used up; not a single one will be given again till June.

 

So I hosed ‘em down, salvaged dinner, and carried on business as usual.  It was still FIVE HOURS till Daddy’s ETA.  So, no time for whining and dreaming of incredibly strong margaritas the size of bath tubs spoon-fed to me by shirtless cabana boys on a beach in Maui.

 

Thankfully, once Daddy returned to PX’s world Monday afternoon, 48 hours since he’d last seen him, PX bounced back fairly quickly.  Who knows what this weekend will be, but as long as it doesn’t involve bodily fluids, it’ll probably be a win.  I hope.  If not, I’ve made sure Ryan Gosling will be on standby for moral support, with a case of Clorox wipes and 5lbs of Wendy’s fries.

 

Double cheezburgers AND RyGos’ abs?  OK!!!

 

I’d elaborate on this *gem* of the week, if it wouldn’t infuriate me.

 

I hear it’s quite an inspiring novel, so let’s get crackin!!

 

Alright time to go link up at Adventures in Extreme Parenthood and load up some of my favorite blogs on Google Reader for later. 

The One Where We Meet the OT

It’s 2:30 on a Wednesday.  PX has refused to nap all day and is sitting on the couch, blinking back sleep.  Rizzle has just finished having a complete sensory overload meltdown, hair all frizzed about.  Everyone looks like a zoned out hot mess.  Naturally, this is the start of our first OT consult. 
Luckily, she came prepared with a bucket full of Playdough and Playdough toy sets.  PX’s eyes lit up and, as the Thomas the Train table came out for activity time, his second wind kicked in.  Our services lady had also come prepared with a pressure/squishy vest.  PX didn’t resist one bit when we decided to give it a whirl.  And then he stood, like a typical two-year-old, and played.  At the table.  Surrounded by 4 adults and 1 birthday girl.  For almost 10 minutes.
Vest – 1.  Sensory overload – 0.
And so we spoke of hyposensitive sensory seekers and heavy work and creating a diet high in proprioceptive and vestibular activities.  All the while, I was thanking myself silently that I’d read more than just the checklists in “The Out-of-Sync Child” and have spent my nights pouring over blogs and SPD websites; special needs parenting, you really do have your own language.  I feel as if I’m preparing to defend my doctoral thesis, trying to become as fluent as humanly possible in SPD.  But there.  Is just.  So much.  And even more “trial and error” learning, and discovering your kid can be sent into overload before bed from one wrong move.  Oy.  I will be the Popeye of parenting, SPD my spinach, if it doesn’t all kill me first.  (It won’t…hopefully…)

Developmental Playgroup will be the Death of Me!

Actually, that’s a big fat lie.  But the “oh crap, you mean we’re HOME now and I can’t swing from the therapy swing or jump into the ball pit?!” meltdowns are probably taking days weeks years time off my life.

For those who don’t know, which is just about everyone because I’ve never expressed this in a public form, my beautiful rambunctious bundles of uniqueness are developmentally different.   (I refuse to say “delayed” when there are a multitude of milestones each have hit earlier than average, like PX walking at 10.5 months and operating a DVD player by 20 months).  They are as special as they come, and early intervention is just the start of our journey.

PX, my constantly twirling two-year-old, was diagnosed with sensory processing disorder and is now awaiting further evals from an OT and developmental pediatrician to determine if he is on the autism spectrum.  If I were a betting woman (which I probably would be if I weren’t a broke-ass), I’d doubledown on PX having ASD.  Rizzle, the diva at not even a year old, has a set all her own of sensory difficulties and oral problems thanks to an attached upper lip frenulum.  Because inheriting my big ol’ overbite with beaver teeth wasn’t enough.

But the most amazing thing is, my children have no idea they have these differences and difficulties.  They are blissfully unaware, happily spinning in circles or hooting at Curious George or carefully studying the mechanics of illustrated vehicles.

And this makes me happy, and reassured that although they will undoubtedly throw me for loop after lemony loop, we’ll all be fine.  After all, we can just blissfully twirl in circles, clapping along to Maroon 5, when the going gets tough (and at least two of us will be stress-free).

Lovey Surgery

circa 4-2-11

PX latched onto his chosen lovey fairly early in life; by six months, a small pink bunny covered in flowers that had once been mine became his.  For whatever reason, it was and still is his teething toy of choice, his best friend with whom he shares pillow talk.  Well during bunny’s “bath” today I discovered that poor bunny is in need of some replacement peepers.  His eyes are attached by mere threads and unfortunately due to the initial construction his original eyes are not salvageable. 

So little bunny enters into surgery this weekend and poor PX is without his best friend for a bit.  Bedtime wasn’t as calm and peaceful as it has been lately but he is off in dreamland with his many other stuffed friends.  Bunny will be getting a full physical along with his surgery to hopefully prevent any necessary operations in the near future.  It’s been a while since I’ve stitched or embroidered anything by hand so this will be something a bit different for me.  My only worry is PX will be a little less fond of bunny once he has no plastic eyes on which he can chomp.  Let’s hope he doesn’t notice the change.

The Story of Rizzle

So my little girl missed being born on Easter by a mere 44 minutes.

On Easter evening, upon arriving home from Grandma V's, PX was so happy to see me (and daddy) that he couldn't help but jump into my lap.  His little knee hit Rizzle's home just right and caused the contractions I'd been having that weekend to jump from 4-5minutes to 2-3minutes apart and quite painful.  So as quickly as he'd been returned, PX was whisked away to Grandma's for the night while I went into the hospital for attempt #2 of having little miss Rizzle.

At 7pm I was admitted and was told if my water didn't break by midnight, the OB would break it for me.  Low and behold Rizzle decided to take her sweet time enjoying her watery home and just before midnight, the OB broke my water.  Apparently little miss wasn't too fond if that idea and half an hour later, she was literally pushing herself out before anyone could get ready.  Two pushes and she came flying out, I'm actually quite surprised they were able to catch the little wiggle worm.

My little bundle's official weight at birth was 8lbs 4oz, her length 20", making her just barely under 3lbs heavier than her older brother.  She also got a fair amount more hair (head and everywhere else, poor thing took a lot of my genes) that likes to fluff itself into a mohawk without anyone trying.

We have been home for over a week now and so far, things are going alright.  Going from 1 to 2 children is definitely as insane as I envisioned it to be and everyone is still adjusting but we're managing somehow.  I think it's helping that our sanity was already gone from PX so the crazy is sometimes overlooked.  I'm excited for the future, when Rizzle can do more than stare at the patterns on the couch and hiccup.  And I'm certain it will come faster than I'd like.

And thus begins our roller-coaster ride.

There is No Easter Bunny.

Well, not for me at least.

After a few hours of observation in the hospital last night, I got to go home babyless, still having contractions 5 minutes apart.  MIL took PX for the night in case my body did decide to progress but no dice; I am sore and am now well past 36 hours of contractions but no change.  I guess I'm just going to have contractions for days, as I really don't see her popping out any time soon.  Ah well at least I'm getting more used to them, that's about as close to a silver lining as I can get.

So I sent Daddy Drax to work, PX is staying with the grands until at least this afternoon, and I'm all alone.  This Easter I'm spending my time busting my buns around the house, hoping it'll help my body make up its mind (plus, there is a lot of crap that needs to get done around here- such is life with a toddler!).  I hope someone at least brings me a chocolate bunny; I have no religious ties to Easter so to me the best part is the candy.  Or a basketload of Cadbury eggs, that'd make all these annoying contractions worth it.  :)

39 and 2

Rizzle gave me my first false alarm last night.  The little bugger.

I had some contractions starting around suppertime so I began timing them.  Within a few hours they were up to every 8 minutes and starting to get intense.  We got all our ducks in a row and put PX to bed and then?  Nada.  8:30 hit and it all just stopped.  An hour later, as we were getting ready for bed, they began again but seemed fairly mild so to bed I went.  If I had them all night they never got any worse or more frequent; I did have 2 within a half an hour of getting up with PX at 4:30 for a diaper change but was able to fall back asleep shortly after.

My mother still has her money on this weekend.  I just would like my body to make up its mind (as I type a couple of mild contractions have hit).  I have no qualms waiting another week or two but would rather not have continuous bouts of contractions that go nowhere.  I'm already 4cm dilated and beginning to thin out, at this point it's either check yes or no body, not maybe.

Holy cow.

I used to think not having a full-length mirror in my house was a blessing.

I was wrong.

a 32 week pregnant belly-- how cute!

The last time I saw myself in a full length mirror, I was 32 weeks pregnant and, although very "beachball-esque", I looked pregnant.  Somehow Rizzle had stretched the fat rolls to make them appear round and hard.  It was wonderful as I spent all 38 weeks of my son's pregnancy just looking fatter.

And now?  Oh boy.  What a difference 7 weeks makes.

The wind was blowing hard enough to give Winnie the Pooh's blustery day a run for its money today, so I ran into the bathroom at my OB's to check my hair before my appointment.  Everything would've been fine if I'd just stayed facing forward. But I turned.  How the hell did I go from looking pregnant to looking like a cow with big saggy udders in not even two months?  This last trimester has not been so kind to the plus sized preggo.  I am lumpy, I am saggy, I make the Pillsbury Dough Boy look like Kate Moss.  I told Daddy Drax I have my work cut out for me post-baby, 80 situps a day if need be.  His response?  "You can have a baby holding each foot!"  Oh how I love my mohawked man.

But disgusting body image aside,  I had a good 39 week visit.  Rizzle is head down in position, I am 4cm dilated and beginning to thin out.  I am only gaining 1lb a week, my blood pressure is great, no spilling protein, and Rizzle is performing like a champ during our NSTs.  So now I sit and wait for my water to break, or for contractions to overtake my abdomen.  Her little nook is nearly complete, everyone's bags are packed next to the car seats sitting by the door, sewing projects are being cut and pinned.  We've been busy bees.

And now, we wait.

If Only I Could Be This Witty

A Mother's Prayer for Its Child

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,”she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.”

-Tina Fey

How many to do lists do you have?

I need to put together a sewing to do list for the kiddos so I can prioritize my projects. There's so much I want to get done for the summer that I have no idea where to start. PX needs shorts and tanks, Rizzle will surely need some sundresses and diaper covers, their room needs all sorts of accessories. Ahh! I will be sewing till my fingers fall off.

• Two things tie for first: a) PX needs shorts badly. His lack of belly and bum make him impossible to shop for, so I'm thinking altering this tut and some major toddler wardrobe refashion will work best. b) Travel diaper changing pads for each babe, considering the big diaper bag is far from ready and two of these may take one afternoon.


• The kids' room and stroller need organizer baskets, a good 6 of these might suffice.


• On that note, PX definitely needs a sippy cup leash and a couple for toys.


• PX could use a few tank tops (perhaps altering this?) and I'd love to make Rizzle a few baby sundresses, maybe a couple skirts.


• Considering all the walking we'll be doing, Rizzle will need a vented car seat cover. Half netting, half fabric.


• Daddy Drax needs some decent aprons (just not pleated).


• A picnic/beach quilt would be nice.

I think that's about it. Or, well, that's it for the VIProjects of spring/early summer. I wonder how much I'll actually get done. I'm planning on all…somehow.

I birthed a puppy. Or perhaps a kitten?

PX has developed a fear so ridiculous it's almost humorous: he's petrified of our vacuum.

Now when I say he's petrified of the vacuum, I don't mean just when it's running; he's afraid of it being anywhere near him even unplugged.  The little bugger dumped his Honey Comb all over the living room yet again this morning and I'm not so keen on feeling like I live in a Texas Roadhouse so out came the vacuum.  I hadn't even gotten it in the room and the scared screeching began.  Once it passed the threshold, still off and wrapped up, PX backed himself into a corner.  Oh yes, my son who will climb up onto his high chair and use it as a trampoline, the same child who'll jump off the couch given the chance, hid from the evil vacuum.  But of course, once it went on, the true terror tantrum began and PX made it worse for himself by running towards my legs.  So now there is a clear line of "nicely kept home" vs. "where's the floor?" going on in my living room.  Oy.

There's never a dull moment when a toddler is around.

Overwhelmingly Overwhelming

Today is one of those days I wish I could use a sick day.

It's down to the wire for baby Rizzle; she is due in officially less than 2 weeks, and being 3cm dilated the house is on standby.  That being said, there is so much left to do before her arrival: setting up the cradle, washing and folding everyone's clothes, scrubbing down the house, moving the changing table into our bedroom, picking out a middle name.  I thought I was behind during the final month with PX but nothing can compare to the insane to do lists I currently have tacked up around the house.  And the worst part is, I have no idea where to start or even how I will get this all done.

This pregnancy has certainly taken its toll on me; if I'd known how unbelievably crappy I'd feel with kiddo #2, I would have never complained even an ounce with PX.  It's been 30 weeks since I uttered those cursed words "I'm feeling great this time!" and doomed myself to an agonizing rest of my pregnancy.  I cannot even bend down now without having to rest my nauseated, sore stomach for close to an hour or else I'll be spending my day in the bathroom.  Every task takes me at least double my normal, unpregnant amount of time and that's on a good day.

I have no idea how Michelle Duggar does this year after year after year...

So today, all of this has piled up on top of a fussy toddler, no sleep for mom, and a generally upset stomach.  I'd love to just hide from any and all responsibilities, curl up in bed with some peppermint tea, and tell the boss to find a replacement for my afternoon shift as I have some relaxing to do.  But unfortunately, nannies/sitters, maids, and handymen don't take IOUs and I haven't had a credit card since the Bush administration so it's shots of coffee with Tums and Pepto chasers for me!  And perhaps some toast with

Toddler Haikus

I got this from one of the message boards I frequent, and decided to write my own.

Toss puffs all around
No food on my tray please mom!
Tastes best off the floor.

Want mama to play?
Let's play pass...oh forget it
You just run away.

Mom is wondering
About a toddler's food groups--
Bugs, puffs, dirt, ba-ba.

You're covered in poop,
Stop trying to scratch your butt!
Poop isn't a toy.

A Little Less Repeat, a Little More FTM

The house is officially on Baby Red Alert for little Rizzle to make her appearance. As of 37 weeks I am 3cm dilated. For the first time this pregnancy, I feel as though I've stumbled upon something new. Being induced at 38 weeks with PX, with absolutely no dilation and sky-high blood pressure, left me without the typical pregnancy ending; I have no experience with spontaneous labor, little idea as to how to time contractions, and just a sliver more first-hand experience with pain relief techniques. Being confined to a bed and only allowed to labor on my side doesn't leave a lot of options available. I may have mastered the visualization/relaxation/meditation techniques but that is it.

In essence, I feel like a first time mom.

I am excited and scared at the thought my water could break at any moment. I've spent the day running around packing bags, making lists, trying to get organized. My nights are full of pouring over any information on labor signs, timing contractions, laboring positions, warning signs. I must invest in some Visine before my eyeballs turn to dust and poof out of my skull. I'm sure Daddy Drax thinks I have completely lost it to be rereading our birthing class materials but I honestly feel clueless at this point.

My midwife and OBs keep reminding me labor is labor, it'll feel the same so I will know, but being constantly monitored by wires and nurses left me little time to focus on all the little pieces that make up early labor. My recollection of PX's birth doesn't much start till after my midwife broke my water and I hit 5cm. The rest is a blur of blood pressure readings, talking to Daddy Drax, and trying to find something entertaining on the boob tube. Perhaps this will work in my favor and keep me from spending pointless hours in the hospital during early labor. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise.

Hmm, perhaps. But it still won't keep me from worrying all night that my water will break when I go to roll over.

Rounding Out

Well I've made it to the home stretch of cooking this dumpling. I really don't care that technically I still have 9 weeks to go as this is the home stretch to me; I consider once you can't tie your shoes and get winded walking 200 feet to be the home stretch. Now is the time to bounce between wishing time would fast forward and having a panic attack over how soon you'll have a new addition. Oh yes, now is the magical time when even the twists and turns of Six Flags' Superman coaster can't compare to the changing of your emotions.

I wish I had relished in the amount of freedom I had during my first pregnancy instead of dismissing it. Now on top of the general preparations for a newborn, I am responsible for the full-time care of a baby-turning-toddler, trying to wean him off the bottle and get him to self-feed, as well as somehow keep my house from falling apart. I would happily trade places with an elephant mama right about now and let this tot cook for another 400+ days. Yup, sounds perfect to me!