Toddler Friends

I could write endlessly about how excited I am for Jack to come, to have two boys, and to watch these sons of mine grow into brothers.  Last night, Eliot swiped the ultrasound pictures from the fridge while excitedly saying, "Baby Jack!  Baby Jack!"  I like to think that he has some understanding of having a baby brother, even if he doesn't know what to expect all the way.

Last night, we had a couple of friends over for dinner.  Lesley blogs over at Everyday Moments, so drop by and wish her good luck as it is almost time for her to deliver her daughter, Eden, after having two adorable boys.  Eliot and Lesley's younger son (Weston) are just two months apart.  The funny thing is that Eden and Jack will also be two months apart.  And then Kingston is two years older than Eliot and Weston.  How's that for a math word problem for you?

Eliot loves playing with Kingston and Weston.  As soon as he saw Kingston come in the front door, he began running in circles and screaming.  And he ran into Chris's hand, which was holding a drink, so we started the night off with a spill.  Then Eliot started trying to tell Ben (Lesley's husband) about there being an alligator and water in the pool, but Eliot was so excited that he wasn't even making sense.  The rest of the night kept right on the same track with the boys running around, chasing the cat, chasing the dog, playing trains, playing cars, playing EVERYTHING, and having a quiet moment with iPhones.  It was a little bit chaotic, but a lot bit awesome.

Here are Weston and Eliot checking out the cat.  Can't reach her?  No problem.  Eliot dragged this chair in from the dining room.

This photo is swiped from Lesley, but we did get them to all sit down to eat dinner, which is a task I sometimes can't manage on my own with just Eliot.  He's always busy, busy, busy and eats later on his own.

Eliot is pretty all right with sharing other people's toys (not perfect but not too bad, really); however, it had been a while since he had friends over and had to share his toys, so I am realizing that is something new we'll need to work out.

Last night gave me a little glimpse of how it will be to have two boys.  Well, Eliot was a bit more crazy than usual since he was so stoked to see his friends (and promptly collapsed onto the sofa after our company left), but I can't wait for Jack to be able to play with Eliot and to watch these brothers fight over cars and learn to love each other.

And today we drive to Woodbridge!  We get to see Chris's parents, his aunt Barb from Florida, DINOSAUR LAND tomorrow, and then Chris's sister on Saturday!

The Return of Pregnancy Worry (but everything is OK!)

I've written previously about how I no longer felt worry during my pregnancy.  I knew it would come back eventually near the end due to my experience with having Eliot, but I didn't think I'd find myself so overwhelmed with anxiety so early.  I felt that worry yesterday.

At my 31-week appointment, I mentioned to my doctor that I had an emergency induction with Eliot due to low (almost NO) fluid.  I know it sounds overbearing, but I make it a point to tell every different doctor that I see because I regret not making a bigger fuss over it with Eliot.  With Eliot, I thought I had been losing fluid for about two weeks.  I even went to the hospital on New Year's Eve (contractions increasingly close together and painful for over 12 hours plus worries of losing fluid), but got sent home.  I called my doctor and spoke to the receptionist.  I told my nurse.  I told my doctor.  Everyone told me I was wrong.  That is, until I had an ultrasound when I was four days late.  And then the ultrasound tech didn't tell me anything.  At all.  She didn't even point out the heartbeat.  That's how I knew something was not right--because suddenly people weren't telling me I was wrong anymore.  Praise God, after an emergency induction, I delivered Eliot without any complications and he was perfectly healthy.  We had a few scary moments, but he and I were absolutely fine.

After that experience, though, I vowed to be the one to make a fuss (even though I had tried with Eliot).  I swore to be the one to make an even larger fuss until I am heard.  Fortunately, though, the doctors here seem to listen.  At my appointment, the doctor suggested that I have an ultrasound even though it wasn't planned.  He said we'd just check to the fluid to be safe.  Since it happened last time, I'm at risk for it occurring again.

I sat in the waiting room for about 45 minutes.  I called Chris and explained that it wasn't a big deal, no reason to worry, just a precaution.  As soon as I got off the phone with him, I ran through every scenario.  What if the fluid was already low?  What if I had to have a c-section immediately?  What if I had to have Jack this early and he couldn't come home with us?  What if Jack would be in the NICU for weeks and weeks?  How could I handle that, recover from surgery, and look after Eliot?  I was sick with worry--and I had no reason to be worried at all.

The lady called my name.  She had me explain the situation.  She was gentle and kind.  She said we'd check everything out.  Also, I had only gained a pound in three weeks, which had me worried (but the doctor didn't seem concerned), so she took all of Jack's measurements.

I thank God that everything was fine.  Jack is right on track.  He has plenty of fluid.  He even has a little bit of hair.  The tech pointed out that Jack was practicing breathing; she assured me that a baby in distress would not be doing that.  I could have hugged that ultrasound tech, but not because she gave me good news.  No, because she treated me so kindly and made me feel like I wasn't alone during a scary time.  I know my other tech with Eliot might have not been allowed to interpret the ultrasound for us (maybe the doctor wanted to reserve that for her), but she felt so distant.

This all does have me thinking a little more, though.  We're nine weeks out, but we don't have any diapers, the car seat isn't installed, our bags are not packed, and so many other last minute things remain undone.  It still is a bit early for that, but I think I'll try to get to those when I hit 36 weeks instead of waiting longer.

Also, I have been planning to be induced on or around my due date at 40 weeks because of my risk of low fluid.  The doctors have told me, though, that I can be induced at 39 weeks if I want.  I had been leaning more toward 40 to give my body time to gear up for birth itself.  Which is a bigger risk?  Waiting til 40 with the possibility of low fluid, Jack going into distress, and having an emergency c-section (my biggest fear with Eliot and now my biggest with Jack too)?  Or being induced at 39 weeks, my body not being as ready as it could be, having a tougher labor, and having a c-section because it is taking dangerously too long?  Ah, it's complicated.  I'll keep talking to the doctors and see how I progress as I get close to my due date.

By the way, I know natural is better and more preferred.  Believe me, the last thing I wanted with Eliot was a c-section and the second to last thing I wanted was to be induced.  For some reason, the ladies in my family seem to come late and still require being induced.  I would much rather have a natural birth with little to no interventions; however, low amniotic fluid is very dangerous for the baby, and I don't want to mess around with it at all.

While I Wait: Thoughts on Our Marriage & a Week Recap

I sit in bed this rainy Monday doing a little work and watching our boy sleep.  I am just waiting for 8:00 am to come so I can call my doctor.  Somehow my appointment didn't save in my calendar in my phone, so I'm not sure of the time all the way.  I am 95% sure my appointment is today, and I believe it is 9:20 am, but I want to be sure it isn't something like 9:00 am or 9:45 am.  You know, I probably just didn't hit the right button as I saved my appointment information while leaving the doctor's office last time.  I had the gestational diabetes test, which I was worrying about, and I was eager to call Chris and talk to him.

We both work from home and are usually together.  In fact, we are rarely apart.  When we are (when he is working out, one of us goes to the store, I have a doctor's appointment, one of us is doing something with a friend, and so on), I miss him and we spend a lot of time texting each other.  That might seem ridiculous to some people.  Some might even call it co-dependent.  Some might say it isn't healthy.  But it's not that we can't do anything on our own--we're functioning adults, of course--instead that we miss each other and we really like being around each other.

Throughout our relationship, we've always been together.  I mean, we were long distance for about eight months, but then we always took similar classes, worked the same jobs (English grad assistants, a J. Crew call center, Education grad assistants, and now online instructors), which meant that we always knew what each other were going through.

I was thinking the other day of how we spend most of our time together, but we are often "apart" in our home.  I might be working while cuddling with Eliot as he watches a movie in bed while Chris is working in the den.  Or we might doing yard work "together" with me pulling weeds and Chris cutting the grass.  Or I might be cleaning the bathroom while he takes Eliot for a walk.  I think that through the years, we have struck a good balance.

We go through ups and downs like anyone else because we're not perfect people, but we rarely really fight.  We genuinely like being with one another.  I don't have to watch what I say around him in the sense that I can be myself and say what I really think.  He's the one person that I don't feel even slightly guarded around.  I can anticipate how he will react to certain situations and I accommodate those feelings as I see them coming, just as he does for me.  I know when he will grow anxious and needs a little help.  And he recognizes when I need to eat, but my brain is shutting down and I'm freezing up, and he forces me to eat something healthy.

Maybe it can be summed up in this.  We were watching The Lion King last night with Eliot.  I don't laugh during movies or tv shows or anything (unless it is a screaming goat and then I cry from laughter just thinking about it).  Chris, though, does laugh.  And we were getting to a part in the movie where I knew he'd laugh.  And I was so very much looking forward to it because I love to see him laugh.  He has the best laugh.

I feel like I haven't updated in forever because this past week has gone by quickly.

We spent a couple of days hunting for palm trees (more on that later).

Eliot and I had a play date with friends at the park.

Both of our dogs got their teeth cleaned and we neutered our younger dog, Dexter.  Dexter has had a little bit of a tougher recovery (he had to get a tooth extracted too), so we've been trying to stick a little close to him.

And we've been doing a lot of grading.

Jack keeps growing and I keep feeling all kinds of new pregnancy pains, like Braxton Hicks contractions already, which I am not trying to whine about.  I'm sure I'll eat my words later, but there is something about new pain in pregnancy that I find thrilling:  it means he's growing and we're getting closer.

Well, it's about time to call the doctor to check on my appointment time.  Nine weeks left tomorrow!

30 Weeks

Thirty weeks seems like a big milestone.  Ten weeks remain!  The countdown begins!  It's weird to think that just a little less than 10 weeks ago is when we went to DC.  That doesn't seem that long ago at all, so just that much (and a little more) left.

Jack seems to stay in a similar position and has for a couple of weeks.  I can tell by his movements.  He often pushes off of my left hip with a hand or foot and then, at the same time, a large part of his body (his head or bottom, I think) pushes at the top, right side of my belly.  This way, he is moving across my belly diagonally, which is always quite interesting.

At 30 weeks, our Jack could survive on the outside with medical assistance--this has been the case for a few weeks.  While there is no history of pre-term labor in my family to my knowledge (our babies always seem to be late), it brings me a bit of peace to know how far we have come.

I have a doctor's appointment next week, and I haven't heard back about my glucose tolerance test from a couple of weeks ago.  "No news is good news," they said.  I guess that means I passed, which means no gestational diabetes (yay!) and no follow-up three-hour test (double yay!).  I can't say how relieved I am about both of those things.

Eliot is all about his baby brother.  He's always trying to climb all over me to talk to Jack, rub my tummy, kiss Jack, and so on.  It's so precious, but I try to remind him that he can't exactly sit on my stomach or put too much weight on me for very long.  Eliot also occasionally likes to growl like a dinosaur at Jack.  Just as I try to savor this time with Jack on the inside as I anticipate loving him on the outside, I'm trying to soak up this special relationship that Eliot has with Jack in my belly.

As time goes on, I am worrying less and less about Eliot adjusting to the new baby.  He loves babies and already shows love for his Jack.  My friend Stephanie visited recently with her husband and their almost-ten-month-old baby boy, Azriel.  Eliot loved playing with Azriel and asked each morning to "go upstairs.  Baby!  Check it out!"  Of course, Eliot did have some "mine" moments, but it didn't take too much to encourage him to share.  And he only tackled Azriel once over their three-day visit....  I know Eliot and Jack will have their conflicts, but I think Eliot is at a good place as far as welcoming his baby brother goes.

Allow me to whine a little.  Just a little.  I try not to complain, but I suppose it is acceptable every few weeks.  I've entered that uncomfortable place, and, yes, I am aware that it is "only going to get worse," so just go ahead and save yourself the trouble of feeling the need to point that out.  It has grown more difficult to breathe, especially when laying down, like someone is pushing my lungs (because, hey, he is!).  At night, my legs and hips ache horribly, which keeps me up, but some adjustments with pillows have helped enough to get by.  Oddly enough, my heartburn has decreased.  I used to think that I was carrying low, but lately Jack seems to be rising up up up, a clear explanation for a lot of my discomforts.  Chris says that this pregnancy seems to be a little more difficult for me.  It has in some ways, yet I keep in mind that I am chasing a toddler this time--and the weather is nice now whereas last time it was growing closer to winter.

My friend Liz made this adorable fox hat for Jack.  She also made Eliot a couple of hats when he was born, so I'm excited for Jack to have a special Liz-made hat too.  Isn't it so cute?

I think I've lost a couple of pounds over the past couple of weeks, which is kind of weird; however, I'm not really concerned.  I've been more active with the warmer weather, and I eat when I'm hungry.  I have Luna bars stashed in my nightstand for when I wake up starving at 4:00 am.  And I can tell that Jack is continuing to grow.

I try to remember what was going on last time at 30 weeks....  I was painting the tree mural in Eliot's room.  The nursery was almost together.  I had already had my shower.  We were a few weeks from Thanksgiving.  In my memory, all of that (and what quickly followed) felt like the end of my pregnancy with Eliot.  I'm sure it will go just as quickly this time.  Ten weeks left, I keep telling myself.  Soon we'll be down to single digits.

Mulling Over Tragedy

I honestly don't watch too much of the news.  I watch mostly kids' shows, some sports, and a little bit of the news--none of which is my choosing, but I don't even like TV, so I don't care at all.  I'd prefer to go without a TV, really.  I usually get my news online and also through Chris because he reads pretty much everything out there and reports to me.  That probably isn't a good thing all the way.  Meh.

However, with the Boston tragedy, I have been keeping on my toes.  I ask, Why?  Just like everyone else, I want to know why someone would do such a horrible thing--why someone would feel the right to take things that aren't their's:  other people's lives and legs.  Now that both suspects are no longer free (and unfortunately one has died), everyone sighs in relief and hopes to find out why.

But I'm sure we won't find out why.  We're trying to make sense of a senseless act.  And the reality is that there is always the possibility of a mental illness in the bombers, which we can't make sense of either.  I'm sure there was a motive and multiple factors, but nothing that will satisfy us.  There's nothing that will make the father of the Richard family say, "Oh, OK.  So that's why my son has died, my daughter lost her legs, and my wife was injured.  Gotcha."

I suppose this happening at the Boston Marathon really hits home.  One of Chris's goals is to run a marathon.  He ran a number of races over the past few years, including a half.  I know what it is like to wake up early, fight to find parking, and wait wait wait in a large crowd to see your loved one come running by.  Each person has fought through so much to get there.  And while I hate running (it's true), Chris loves it and I get a little tear-y-eyed just thinking of him racing.  Because I've watched him fight through seven years of injuries to get to where he is.  Every time he comes home from a run, I ask him how it was, just hoping to hear that his shins or his knee didn't hurt the whole time, which will set him back.  And when he runs in those races, it doesn't matter how well he does (though he has done great and even won his age group and 10th place overall in a race last winter in the freeeezing cold).  What matters is that he is doing it even though it is hard because he loves it.  And to think that someone would step on such a special day for so many people and seek to harm (and kill) their supportive friends and family members...  That is horrible.

In times like this, I feel as all people do.  I am deeply saddened, angry, and afraid.  I want to hide my boys in our home and never come out.  Why is there such evil out there?  But Chris said it so simply the other night, "There are bad people, but there are a lot of good people too."  All we can do is hang on to those "good people," and I hope that I can raise my sons to be just that--good people.  The reality is that we live in a fallen, temporal world, so I cling to the hope of seeking grace daily in my life and showing Christ's love to others--everyone.

"I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father’s hand. I and the Father are one.” John 10:28-30

Two is Hard

Two is hard.

Last night, Eliot walked around the house with a plastic $5 Cars kite still tucked away in its package, unopened.

"Help me, please?  Kite, please?  Help me?" he pleaded so soft and sweet.

It was 9:00 pm, close to bedtime.  There was no wind out.  It was dark.  I didn't know how in the world we could make a kite work.

"Oh, Eliot," I said.  "I am so sorry, but we can't play with this today.  It's night; this toy is for a windy day.  Some day this week if it is windy, I promise."

Toddlers can't understand "windy" or "next week" and maybe even struggle to understand night versus day.  I couldn't get through to him.  "Please?" he asked again so nicely.  It broke my heart because he was being so polite, but I just couldn't turn it into day.  He asked Chris next, then me again, and that's when the tears started.  He wasn't throwing himself on the floor or screaming, just crying while asking, "Help me, please?"

When I thought he wasn't looking enough, I tossed the kite into the garage to get it off his mind.  He saw me.  He cried more.  I held him, told him how sorry I was, and put on a movie.

Maybe I should have opened the kite anyway just to make him happy.  I didn't want the string to get all tangled and ruin it--then we really wouldn't be able to play with it on a windy day.  And as weird as this sounds, my cat is crazy about eating and destroying string, so I worried she would mess it up in the meantime.

Two is hard.

But, this all came at the end of a rough day.  I felt like I was using my "mom voice" all day because Eliot was having fun, but would push it too far.  Exploring the gardens?  Sure!  But stop shaking that tree branch!  Want to play in the sandbox?  Great idea!  No, I meant your sandbox!  Not my flower boxes!  And now there is dirt on your head....  Want to run around the yard?  Awesome!  Wait, don't crawl under the deck--and now you're stuck! 

Two is hard.

After Eliot's nap, we decided to go out to dinner (ha) because we hadn't been since our rabbit died two weeks ago.  I gave Eliot a snack before we left so he wouldn't be too hungry, but still hungry enough to want to eat.  I hyped up eating the whole drive and Eliot kept telling us all the food he was going to eat.  I brought the iPad, a coloring book that he had been using just before we left, and markers.  We had this.  No, we didn't.  About five minutes after our food arrived, we knew we just couldn't do it anymore.  We had it boxed up and left.  Eliot just kept demanding to run around, wouldn't stay in the booth, and wouldn't eat.  Of course, when we got home, though, he sat at his table and ate almost the whole meal.

Two is hard.  I feel like I keep losing more and more parts of my life.  Shopping is difficult and must be done quickly, so we usually don't shop with Eliot.  Restaurants are pretty much out, so we try to do something fast but not fastfood, like Q'doba.  If we really want a specific restaurant, we do carry out.  I mean, we used to only eat out once a week, so it isn't a huge sacrifice, but it was something we looked forward to and enjoyed.  And let's not even get started on sleep....  I have given everything in me to Eliot for sleep, and I am at an utter loss--and I am tired.

I sound like the biggest whiner.  I love, love, love having Eliot, and I wouldn't trade our challenges for anything.  He's learning, growing, and becoming an individual.  Each phase has its challenges, and I think this has been the hardest when really Eliot is so good compared to how he could be.  The kid doesn't want to sit still at restaurants?  Surprise, surprise...  He doesn't understand when he can't have something?  Of course not!  He pushes every "fun" thing a little too far because he doesn't know the boundaries (because he hasn't learned them yet) and he is enjoying life?  Sounds like a good problem to me.  He tells me "bye-bye, Ma," or "go away, Ma" when he is doing something he knows I don't want him to?  Smart kid, I'd say.

I can't expect him to act like a little adult or even a "disciplined, well-behaved" child because he isn't even a child yet.  He's a toddler.  He's learning.  We're setting the foundation for that well-behaved child, and we'll get there eventually.  Good foundations are always difficult to build.

Let's Get Away for a While

Maybe everyone is like this, but if we don't get out of town once every six weeks or so, I feel like I am dragging myself through routines.  I like routines; I like knowing what to expect.  Sometimes, though, we just need a road trip (a small one, even) and a change of scenery.

Chris had signed up for a race in the Outer Banks (about an hour from our house), but his knee has been bothering him.  His knee has been recovering (and this is a re-occurring issue for him), but he worried if he ran a long race, it might set him back and blow the rest of early spring running for him.  I told him not to worry about it, sit this race out, and let's just have fun.  Last Friday, we headed to the Outer Banks for one night in a hotel.

I went to the Outer Banks as a very young kid (like, two or three years old?), but we didn't vacation there regularly or anything.  It was Chris's family's favorite spot.  And I went on a few vacations with them when Chris and I were dating and newly married, so it is a special place for us in our "early years".  I feel funny saying that because Chris and I have only been together for nine years coming in June, so someday I know I will count our whole first decade together as our "early years".

Chris and me in the sound in 2008.  We had been married for a year.

This time, it was just us and our baby boy.  We played on the beach.  We climbed the dunes and slid down over and over at Jockey's Ridge.  We drove around and talked about our memories from our vacations with his family.  We relaxed in bed and ate carry-out dinner from the hotel's restaurant.  We got doughnuts in the morning.  And then we came home.

We weren't even gone for 24 hours, but it was a nice little trip to break up the routine.  We came home and Chris worked on the pool.  I cleaned.  We graded.  The next day, we did more grading and some yard work.  Back to the routine--but it is such a good routine.

Chris and I decided that about four times a year (or maybe once a season?), we will take a mini vacation.  It doesn't have to be far.  It can just be an hour away.  It doesn't have to be long, maybe just one or two nights.  Getting out of town, though, does our brains a lot of good.  I'm not sure where we'll go next, but we were thinking of perhaps going to the Great Wolf Lodge in Williamsburg in the winter since they have an indoor water park.  Eliot will be almost three and Jack will be around six months old.  It sounds like a great time to splash in some water in the middle of the cold season.