revenges of the kittehs

So a couple of weeks ago I decided to participate in a highly entertaining event called cat breading.  Yep, you shove a slice of bread around your cat's face then try to keep a steady hand to take a photo while laughing until you cry. 

I shoved bread around both cats' faces.  I laughed.  Morgan laughed.  I took pictures.  I laughed at the pictures.  I sent the pictures to my friends.  They laughed.  I posted the pictures on Facebook.

The kittehs have sought out revenge.  Yes, that's 'kittehs' not kitties...if you visit websites like icanhascheezburger.com you'll understand.

During my last blog I wrote about stepping in a wet spot on the carpet.  Fabulous way to start the day.  I almost dropped my Cheerios.  I took off my socks and threw them in the dirty clothes.  Later that day while doing laundry, I found a large dried wad of cat hair on my sock.

EWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!

I stepped in a HAIR BALL and didn't even know it!

I screamed and did an 'ew ew ew' dance while Shiner and Calvin rolled on their backs and laughed. 

The cats are going out of their way to make my life miserable.

There are extra nose prints in the windows.

There is extra hair in all of my curtains.

Nubbies have been left in random places....these are disgusting cat toys that especially Shiner loves.  They used to have feathers, but now all that is left are the nub of the toy, hence the name 'nubbie.'  I've seen them in the litter box...and in the middle of our bed.  The cats know I hate nubbies; I want them to stay in the basement.  But they have been appearing in every room upstairs.

 Nubbie

There has been an increase of cat fight club meetings (the first rule is...I can't talk about cat fight club...oh snap, I just broke the rule...) leaving wads of cat hair all over my freshly vacuumed carpet.  I never know who the victor is; they never honor me with the joy of watching them fight and neither one ever has a bald spot, despite the fact there is a huge patch of hair on my floor that has been jerked out by the roots.

We spent last weekend with my inlaws.  When we came home Monday, I wanted to cry because my house was such a mess after our crazy busy week last week.  There was a layer of white dust on everything after the new window installation.  And the cats apparently had a frat party while we were gone.  Michael always does a quick scan of the house for cat vomit and couldn't find any, but there were piles of hair everywhere, nose prints in the windows, items knocked off tables and counters, and 2 innocent looking kitties that acted like they didn't even know we were gone.

I dove into cleaning as soon as we had unpacked.  I was in the process of wiping dust and cat hair off of Morgan's train table in our living room when I stepped in something that felt like a wet washcloth.  I looked down and saw cat vomit squishing through all the toes on my right foot.  I screamed.  I said some bad words that Morgan should never repeat even though she totally heard everything I said.  I hopped on one foot to the bathroom.  Morgan started crying because she is very sensitive and didn't understand why mommy was screaming and cussing and hopping on one foot.  Michael comes to investigate and finds me sitting on the edge of the bathtub, sobbing like a child, scrubbing my foot; Morgan standing in the living room, big tears rolling down her face, asking 'is mommy okay?'

The cats were somewhere rolling on their backs laughing hysterically, giving each other high fives (or fours...however many toes they have).

Anybody want 2 cats? 

By the way....that's in our bed...where MY feet are supposed to go.  Sigh.

latest Mommyland adventures....

By the beard of Zeus.  What.  A.  Week.

Monday morning Michael gets home around 7:30 after working his 6th night shift in a row.  We are scheduled to have new windows installed in our house at 8:30.  They show up at 8.  While I'm still in bed.  The doorbell rings and I roll out of bed and waddle around trying to find clothes as fast as possible while I hear Michael talking to the window crew.  I'm still in my nightgown, hair fuzzed out, no glasses, when Michael knocks on the door asking if I'm ready for the guy to come in our bedroom to do final measurements on our windows.  I end up with something like a green shirt, black pants, and pink socks on while a kind middle aged man busts into my bedroom with measuring tape and a judgemental look because my kid and I are still asleep.  Little does he know that my kid didn't fall asleep until midnight the night before!  Morgan was so exhausted she slept through them coming into her room to measure the window, slept through them pounding out the windows and drilling in the rooms around her, slept through Michael chasing down the cats to shove into the basement for the day (so they wouldn't escape out the new holes in our house)...which is all extremely irritating because sometimes all I have to do is walk past her bedroom at night and I hear 'mooommmyyyyy...' because I somehow woke her up with my presence in the hallway.

So Monday I spent the day listening to Michael snore on and off on the couch because he was exhausted....apparently he's not superhuman and can't work 12 hours overnight and then stay up the next day?  I felt sorry for him...until I realized he was the one that scheduled that day for windows.  The cats meowed and scratched at the door all day.  Michael had to put a baby gate on the stairs, tilted so that they couldn't jump over it, in order to keep them from digging a hole through the basement door.  Every 5 seconds we were dragging Morgan away from the workers.  Shattered glass and toddlers don't go well together.  Then it started to rain.  I felt so sorry for the workers.  And with gaping holes in my house it was almost cold enough to dig out my ski clothes.  I ended up leaving with Morgan to go run some errands...and at the first stop I couldn't see past my pregnant belly or the boxes I was carrying into the post office and stepped in a puddle, soaking my feet. 

Why can't pregnant women drink vodka?

In the middle of all of this mess I receive a phone call from my doctor telling me that they were reviewing my file and in the ultrasounds they had done 2 weeks previously, they are seeing a cyst on the baby's brain.

What?!!

She was like '99.9% of the time it goes away on it's own but we want you to go back to the specialist in Pittsburgh for a level 2 ultrasound just to make sure everything is okay.'

Awesome.

That woke Michael up and he did some research online for more information and found out it's fairly common, but that sometimes it can be an indication of a chromosome disorder and that's why doctors want to do further tests.  I had some sort of blood testing done to check to screen for Down's Syndrome and other problems and as far as I know, the results came back normal, because my doctor never said anything otherwise. 

Ultrasound was scheduled for Wednesday.  As usual, I vented to my family and friends about my latest issues.  I honestly have an amazing support group of people in my life.  We had so many people praying for us, so many encouraging texts and emails.  I love the people in my life.  We honestly weren't worried; we both embrace the idea of not worrying until you have a concrete reason to.  But there was still that little weight sitting on our chests, anxiety over having even more pregnancy issues, irritation over the fact that doctors over analyze everything nowadays and stir up so much stress and worry during pregnancies.  However did our mothers and grandmothers survive without all of these high tech tests?!

So Tuesday....Michael took a 12 hour overtime shift.  I wanted to choke him for taking it, but honestly we ALWAYS need the money so I can't really complain over the fact that he loves his job enough to work so much overtime.  That's how we save up money to redo bathrooms and replace 43 year old windows.  So I just gave him stink eye and kept my mouth shut...sort of.  Morgan and I got up at 7:30 and waited for the workers to return to finish the window job.  I had to shove the cats back in the basement while our deck door was being replaced.  Morgan was like 'oh no!  there's a hole in the house mommy!' and I had to drag her away from it every 5 seconds.  By noon the weather warmed up and it felt amazing outside.  I let the ground dry up a bit in the sunshine before asking Morgan if she wanted to go out and play (like she was going to say no...) and we dragged her tricycle out of storage and within 30 seconds she wiped out and was screaming.  I think I remember having a conversation with Michael about her needing a helmet and he was like 'oh she won't need a helmet for a tricycle, they are sturdy' so I sent him a text with this picture:

with the caption 'ummmm she needs a helmet...'
and he texted back 'ummmm is she okay?'

well after I pulled the bike off her and saw that she had minor scratched on her knee and wrists, she kept saying her head hurt, but I didn't feel any knots, and bubbles distracted her from crying so I figured she was okay.  Then about an hour later I was brushing her bangs out of her eyes and saw this:

how the heck did I miss that?!!!  It's moments like this that make me feel like mom of the year.

No more tricycle until we buy her a helmet.

Wednesday morning we all woke up at 7:30 again (this is killing me and Morgan...) so that I will have time to have my monthly bloodwork done before we go to Pittsburgh.  Michael and Morgan drop me off at the Weirton hospital where I am greeted by the ladies that are usually working in the lab and recognize me by now.  5 vials of blood later and I'm back in the car with a Tudor's biscuit (thank you Michael) and we are on our way to Pittsburgh.

Pittsburgh is a beautiful city.  It takes a little less than an hour to get there from our house, depending on traffic.  I love how you drive down the interstate and see nothing but a tunnel, and as soon as you pop out the other side of the tunnel, BAM there's a city!  Morgan loves it.  She's a city baby; so much to see and do.

The ultrasound went really well.  She confirmed it is indeed a boy (within about 6 seconds of placing the wand on my abdomen, baby boy was like 'hey...look at my junk ya'll!').  She did a very thorough ultrasound...checking his kidneys, measuring arms and legs.  And best of all, she found NO cysts on his brain!  They are already gone!  And no indicators that he is anything other than a perfect baby.

I would have enjoyed all of this information so much more if the combination of having 5 vials of blood, being exhausted, and laying on my back while being poked with an ultrasound wand wasn't making me extremely nauseated.  I stared at the ceiling trying to fight through it, but when I broke out in a cold sweat and got dizzy I decided to say something about it.  Next thing I know, I'm on my side with a wet cloth on my head and Michael is wiping the ultrasound goop off my belly while Morgan is trying to figure out how to get on the table to have her stomach examined.

A doctor came in and confirmed everything...no cysts, and everything looks normal. 

Leaving Pittsburgh, Michael and I were so lighthearted and happy.  A huge weight has been lifted off our chests.  It's wonderful to know that baby boy is fine.  I have about 16 more weeks to keep him safe and healthy until his big debut into this world. 

To celebrate we took Morgan shoe shopping (the kid LOVES shoes, and her feet are growing so fast) and went to Jared to have all of our wedding rings cleaned (way overdue...some of the diamonds were loose in my engagement ring and I had to leave it there for a couple of hours to have it serviced).  When we left, Morgan was so upset, she cried...  'my diamond store!!!'  She loves sparkly things....like most women do.

We slept in today and it was glorious.  Morgan woke up around 7 and I climbed in bed with her so she would go back to sleep.  I woke up to her drawing shapes on my nose...'circle...rectangle...octagon....oval....GOT YOUR NOSE!' then stepped in a damp spot on the carpet where one of the cats regurgitated some water (soaking my socks and making me say some words that Morgan shouldn't repeat) then had to clean up the cup of milk that Morgan spilled down herself onto the floor.

And those are the latest adventures in Mommyland. 

Cat Breading

You read that correctly...cat breading.  Not breeding.

My BFF Paul enlightened me on this process.  There is a whole collection of cat pictures online.  I've been wanting to try it for a while, but Michael said no.  I was not to humiliate his kitties.

I married into 2 black cats.  Michael had just gotten both of them (at different times...and from different locations...but they are both black) right before I met him.  They are about 6 years old now.  Shiner and Calvin.  Shiner is 'mean kitty.'  He's full of cat attitude and hates me and Morgan.  He scratches and bites us any time he thinks he can get away with it, for no reason other than he's in a bad mood!!  I took him for a walk one time (yes both cats walk on a leash...) and out of nowhere he decided to bite a chunk out of my ankle.  It bled down into my shoe.  Last summer (while on a walk) for no reason whatsoever, he stood up like a bear and attacked Morgan, scratching up her face and stomach.  One large gash on her eyelid probably would have guaranteed his death if Michael had been home for that, but he was at work (which means I got to deal with all that drama on my own....that was a fun evening).  So I don't take mean kitty for walks anymore.  He still randomly will strike out and scratch Morgan's leg just because she's walking near him and he's cranky.  And she still loves him and won't leave him alone!!!  Michael gets so upset with him, he throws Shiner in the garage for 'time out' (among other punishments) and Shiner just ADORES Michael.  That's the problem.  Shiner remembers life before Morgan and me and he hates that we messed it up.  Life when Shiner could take a nap without having to keep an eye open to watch for Little People being thrown around. 

And then there's Calvin.  World's dumbest cat.  You just look at him and think 'awwww, poor dumb kitty.'  He has never scratched or bitten.  Morgan rides him like a horse, decorates him with jewelry and bows, and he loves the attention.  My complaints about him are his wet nose leaving snot trails all over my windows (and across our legs and feet...yuck) and his bulimia.  He barfs a log of cat food at least once a week.

So last night as I was throwing out a couple of old slices of bread....I decided to try breading on my cats.  Michael was at work and couldn't stop me. 

Here's how it works:

you take a slice of bread, cut out a hole (or dig out one with your hands), hold your cat down and gently place the slice of bread over their face.  Photos are not the best quality because using iPhone while restraining a breaded cat is tricky.

CALVIN

SHINER

I texted these pictures to Michael and he replied with 'my poor kitties' and an emoticon with a big frown and tear. 

Mwahahahaha

Then I texted them to every friend and family member that I thought needed at laugh at 9pm.

**no cats were harmed in the process of this breading.

I highly recommend breading your cat.  Especially if he/she doesn't have claws.

Afterwards, both kitties tried to eat the bread crumbs...then spit them out so I would have soggy kitty slobbered bread crumbs to clean off the floor, then cleaned their faces for an hour.

Totally worth it.

Cheerios

You know how people joke about how Twinkies and roaches could survive the Apocalypse?  I disagree.

Cheerios.

They are tasty.  Healthy.  I eat them a lot.  So does Morgan.

But they are evil.

They creep down into the deepest cracks of your couch and have babies.  They find their way into the creases of your kids' carseats. 

You sit down to eat a bowl....and sure enough, one somehow manages to escape.  No idea how, but there it is, in the floor, staring back at you with its hollow eye.

You put a bowl out for your child to snack on....and it lasts for a week.  It's like the story of Jesus with the fish...the Cheerios just keep multiplying no matter how many are eaten!!  And your kid just keeps munching on them, no matter how many days that bowl has been out (okay maybe I'm tattling a bit about my parenting skills...leaving the same snack out for days...)

Have you ever tried to vacuum one?!!! 

Your vacuum will just glide right over it and the Cheerio will stay in place, resistant to the sucking power of your yard sale vacuum sweeper.  You try again.  And again.  And again.  You end up cursing the Cheerio, jumping up and down with a crazed look in your eye, making a fool of yourself in front of the cats (but don't worry, just bread head them and the humiliation will be even...I'll post pictures and instructions in the next blog).

You finally end up throwing the vacuum down on its side, picking up the Cheerio, and force feeding it into the suction.

SUCCESS!!!

And as soon as you turn the vacuum upright and continue sweeping, that Cheerio falls back down onto the floor making you question your sanity and the laws of gravity and nature.  You look around to see if some alien is hiding and taking notes of your progress, then pick up the Cheerio by hand and throw it in the trash can.

Then you move the couch cushions to see what your toddler has been squirreling away and under the Little People, smashed crackers, and smeared boogers....there are Cheerio families just hanging out in the deep cracks of your couch.  They are too deep for your sweeper hose to reach.  Of course.

My suggestion....yell for your toddler or your dog to help.  Morgan is great at digging out Cheerios and most of them make it to the trash can instead of her mouth.

And smashed Cheerios....  *eye twitch*

The other evening Michael and I were enjoying way too much peace and quiet.  We were watching something on TV while I worked on a crochet project and after a while I realized we hadn't been interrupted by the child.  Usually she runs down the hallway and Michael sings 'here she comes to wreck the day!' at least 10 times during any show we are trying to watch, but she had been in her room for at least half hour keeping to herself.

I immediately knew she was doing something bad.

Sure enough, I found Morgan watching Dora on her TV....and a huge mound of crushed chocolate Cheerios ground into her white rug.

sigh.

I probably slightly overreacted by screaming that I was going to throw all of her toys out into the yard and Morgan cried the entire time I cleaned.  I think it took about 20 minutes to vacuum, scrape, and shovel all those crumbs out of her fluffy white rug.

20 minutes of my life gone.  Over Cheerios.

Someday we will be able to afford a new vacuum, not that ours isn't great, it works just fine.  But I want one with Cheerio sucking powers.  I'll be looking for those exact words on the box.

Hell on Ice

It's been a pretty busy week.  As I stare at these birds we call 'black chickens' standing in the rain in our backyard, I realize I needed to update the world on my fascinating life.

A week ago we drove to Pittsburgh (about an hour from our house, less if there's no traffic) to take Morgan to see Disney on Ice.  I noticed on Facebook that EVERYBODY is taking their kids to Disney on Ice back home (it went to Charleston WV) so I frantically checked to see if they were coming to Pittsburgh and sure enough, they were coming the week of Morgan's birthday!  Perfect!

So after working a 16 hour shift overnight, poor Michael dragged me and Morgan out of bed when he got home at 7:30 (we stay up late and sleep in late around here...) so we would have plenty of time to get there.  The big decision that morning...what princess dress to wear (not me...or Michael...but for Morgan).  She has Rapunzel, Belle, Snow White, Tiana dresses from the Disney Store, and Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty from Big Lots.  She went with Rapunzel because she has the matching shoes and necklaces. 

Traffic was a pain going into the city, and some ambulance kicked up something solid that chipped our windshield, putting a damper on the fun.

And then we took a wrong turn.  Yes we have a GPS, but Pittsburgh has one of the craziest road systems.  We were supposed to turn right, but there were 2 roads next to each other and we happened to get on the one that is a freeway and the closest exit was a mile away, where we had to listen to 'recalculating' repeatedly and find an exit to turn around on.  At this point Michael is started to fume about how we won't get to our seats in time, I'm trying not to cry about the windshield because I know it's not in our policy for our insurance to fix it so it will probably just stay chipped and make the Land Rover as ugly as our Mazda that has had a cracked windshield for 3 years, and Morgan is pointing out churches and yelling 'castle!'

We finally get back to where we need to be, only to run into 'event traffic.'  A huge line of cars waiting to turn into parking lots and garages and disgruntled parents running across the road dragging children ages 2-7 leaving a trail of princess dress glitter.

Then it's our turn to be the disgruntled parents running through the parking lot.  I'm loaded down with diaper bag and purse and 5 month pregnant belly; Michael is carrying our 36 pound 3 year old, trying to keep her diaper covered with her princess dress, hissing at me 'you should have put tights on her to cover her butt!  It's cold out here today!' 

Yeah it was really cold.  And tights would have been a great idea.  Especially since we were going to be watching ICE SKATING.  But I put socks on Morgan instead of tights, and I wore a short sleeve dress with leggings and flats.  Michael didn't even wear a coat. 

We followed the herd of people to an entrance...only to find out it's the WRONG ENTRANCE because we needed to pick up our tickets.

sigh.

Michael is about to fall over from running with Morgan for a mile so I end up carrying the kid, my purse, the diaper bag.  Waddling down the sidewalk not even caring about the stares I get from random people over my grunting and cursing (okay so maybe cursing when there are that many toddlers around is a little rude...)

We found our entrance, got our tickets, rode escalators up several stories of the building, dodged school groups of screaming children, and found our seats.  I used to drive to Pittsburgh for hockey games and big concerts (like Korn...yes, I've seen Korn live) but this was the first time I'd been in the new arena.  I was a little sad when we drove past the old one being torn down...but I totally forgot all about it when I was in the new one.  It's amazing!  But we had to go to the very top and then walk down to our seats which made me very dizzy and brought back memories of trying to walk back to my seat after 8 beers at a NASCAR race.  The levels are so steep!  But it means every seat is a good one.  Michael got tickets in the balcony, in the very front, they were much cheaper than the lower level, and Morgan could stand the entire time and not bother anybody but us. 

The entire place buzzed with noise.  The row behind us was filled with kids from a school group that kicked the back of our seats for 2 hours. 

Michael looked at me with glazed over 'just worked 16 hours at a power plant' eyes and said 'this is my hell.'  And then 'that's totally going to be my Facebook status.'

Michael never posts on Facebook.  So when he does, it's pretty epic.

The show finally started and Morgan shook all over from excitement.  The first half was pretty entertaining, even for me.  My one complaint is that they crammed all of the princesses into a short time frame (but I hear they have a separate show for Princesses on Ice...)  Morgan cried at Intermission because she thought it was over, but then the 2nd half was somewhat boring and she was ready to go when it was over.

Highlights of the show:

giving the boy behind me the 'stink-eye' for kicking my chair.  it worked.  he stopped.

changing Morgan's Pullup during a dark scene.  nobody even noticed and Morgan didn't even blink about that fact that for a few seconds she was naked under her dress.

Michael saying 'ya know what?  Snow White is actually pretty homely.'
Me:  'why do you say that?'
Michael:  'well, she's got that really short really dark hair.  and her dress is ugly.'
Me:  (laughing....until I realize my hair is short...and dark)

I gave Michael the stink-eye.

He drank his 5 hour energy shot and didn't notice.

We worried that Morgan would have a meltdown after the show but she was ready to go.  2 hours was enough.  The meltdown didn't happen until she saw the school buses lined up out front and wanted to go to school.  She's such a weird kid.  She begs to go to the doctor (even the 'teeth doctor') and begs to go to school. 

Hanging out at home with me is so boring you'll beg to go to the doctor or school.

just a little blog about diabetes, exercising while pregnant, and lack of obese aliens.

The highlight of my day so far has been a chipmunk running around on my back deck.  I'm not saying that like 'oh wow, look how boring my life is...' I seriously love chipmunks!  I squealed when I saw him (which made him stop and squeal back, and then we had a conversation about the weather, or maybe that's just all in my head...).  I sit at our dining room table on my laptop so I can see our backyard.  I have a perfect view of our bird feeder (our 90 year old hobby, feeding the birds), and I like watching the birds eat, and like watching the cats run into the glass after the birds and smash their face.  Don't feel sorry for them; one of them bites my ankles and the other barfs all over my house.

Anyways...I woke up this morning and could barely move, so I was inspired to write a blog about exercising...while pregnant. 

I have the metabolism of a sloth with mono.  It's basically nonexistant.  And I love food.  This turns out to be a bad combination.  The older I get, the worse it all gets; especially with other medical issues like being 'borderline' diabetic and having 'borderline' thyroid issues.  Basically I interpret 'borderline' as 'just enough to screw you up a bit.'

During college (undergrad) I joined the YMCA and became obsessed with exercise.  I was usually there 6 days a week for 1-2 hours each time.  It's so much fun to go shopping when clothes actually fit correctly!  Then in grad school I had 15 hours each semester plus worked 2 jobs; I barely had time to sleep much less exercise (or eat correctly).  I ended up gaining 70 pounds in 2 years.  7 years later and I'm still working on that weight gain.  Of course having 2 kids doesn't really help...but ya know, that's life.

During my pregnancy with Morgan I gained so much weight.  I didn't feel good at all.  I spent most of my days rotating from one side of the couch to the other.  During pregnancy I retain a lot of water.  I don't have blood pressure issues at all, but I retain water like crazy.  Morgan was 6lb 13oz when she was born and I lost 25 pounds that day...that's how much water I was retaining!!  But then it took me 18 months to lose the other 30 pounds and get back to my pre-pregnancy weight (and once there I needed to lose even more).  It was so hard!!  I was on the treadmill every day.  I joined a zumba class (I LOVE ZUMBA!)  I did yoga (at home).  I dieted.  Weight loss was so slow.  During my pregnancy with Morgan I found out I had gestational diabetes...that never went away after she was born, so my specialist thinks I've actually been borderline for years and it was never detected.  Just because your fasting glucose level is always normal doesn't mean anything!  Get that A1C level checked ya'll! 

And it turns out that being diabetic makes it hard to lose weight, but losing weight helps lower your A1C level (insulin resistance)...which will help you lose weight...but losing weight is hard with a high A1C level...see the problem?

Being 'skinny' is no longer my issue.  I have to be healthy.  I have to keep myself off insulin.  Because I have a horrible fear of needles.

So now I'm 5 months pregnant and I vowed not to let myself gain too much weight.  Before this pregnancy I had actually ended up gaining 30 pounds because a doctor was 'experimenting' with some of my medical issues by giving me Zoloft for fibromyalgia - yes it worked!!  it numbed my senses making all of the aches and pains and headaches go away (and also made me happy all the time...) but I gained 5 pounds each month I was on it, so after 3 months I quit.  Then my doctors realized my thryoid was going wacky, so one of them begged me to try Synthroid.  I hoped for a miracle and what I got in return was more weight gain and a pot belly.  I was working out 4-5 days a week and still gaining weight, so I panicked.  I called my doctor and she told me to stop the Synthroid because apparently my body wasn't ready for a synthetic thryoid hormone replacement.  5 days later I found out I was pregnant.

well snap.

The first few weeks of pregnancy I kept going to the gym as much as possible.  I promised myself I would NOT let myself gain weight during this pregnancy, I would in fact LOSE weight while pregnant.

then my pregnancy slothism set in and I lost all energy to live in addition to becoming extremely queasy all day every day.

at 20 weeks pregnant, it's a LITTLE better.  I try to use my higher energy days to clean house and take a shower.  Michael keeps threatening to cancel our gym membership so I try to drag myself there once a week...mostly because it's so good for Morgan.  She loves going to child care.  She cries when it's time to go home.  I mean seriously, it makes me a little mad, like 'sorry you hate your home so much kid!!'  But she's such a social butterfly and she loves being around other people and kids.  She gets sick of looking at me every single day.  The other day Michael and I stopped by a preschool to find out about registration for fall and I asked Morgan, 'are you ready to leave mommy and go to school?' and she immediately said 'YUP!!' 

hmmm.

But anyway, last night is the first time in 2 weeks I've been to the gym.  I usually walk the indoor track and then get on an exercise bike.  10 minutes into my walk, not only did I already have to pee, but my hip joints were aching and my stomach muscles were cramping.  I slowed down to a waddle and forced myself to walk for 30 minutes.  I realized I had become invisible to everybody, especially men.  I was just the fat pregnant chick in an oversized homemade tie-dye shirt waddling around the track with thin young girls in perfectly matching tank tops and sneakers trotting by me.  Every time I had to cough or sneeze I had to stop and cross my legs so I wouldn't pee my pants.  Then I checked on Morgan who screamed at me to GO AWAY so I waddled my way to the 'wellness center' and settled down on a bike.  I had to adjust the seat so that my knees wouldn't hit my belly as I pedaled, but then it was adjusted too from the pedals for me to reach them, so I had to settle for this awkward sort of pedaling with my knees out to the sides out of the way of my belly.  25 minutes of this and my butt went numb.  So I quit.  After dragging a screaming kid out of child care (she cried all the way home 'I miss my friends' like she had ever seen any of those kids in her life before, but then she ate an entire pizza so I figure she had low blood sugar and really didn't hate me after all), my butt was numb, my hip joints were on fire, and my stomach muscles were all tight and uncomfortable.  When I got up this morning I almost gasped because I was so sore.  I was hunched over and had to scoot my feet like a I was 109 years old.  I'm honestly not THAT out of shape already, it's just this whole pregnancy thing makes my body scream at me.  My hip joints loosen up (apparently they haven't gotten the memo that it's going to be a c-section birth), my lower back hurts, I'm all puffy with water retention (even my normally skinny fingers have fat rolls)...  honestly, if whining burned calories I would weigh 100 pounds. 

I need a Hoveround. 

I need to keep moving....I take diabetic medication twice a day already and it's totally under control thanks to my medication and diet (1 cupcake instead of 2), but I still have 4 months to go and I don't want my insulin level to suddenly go all crazy and end up with needles and a little vial of Humulin in my fridge.  Michael has already told me he's NOT giving me injections as an incentive to keep up the diet and exercise and stay away from the idea of inserting a needle into myself (personally I think he's secretly terrified of needles too) and the idea of Morgan giving me an injection...well I guess that's not the best idea.  She's only 3.  Maybe if she was 4. 

Dieting hasn't been too hard during this pregnancy because basically this baby hates all food.  I'll be starving, stomach growling, blood sugar dropping, but NOTHING sounds good, and I know if I put something in my mouth that baby doesn't approve of, I will end up throwing up.  Yesterday I had Cheerios for breakfast, grilled cheese with tomato for lunch, and Great Grains cereal and a banana for dinner.  That's way too many carbs in a day but that's all that I could eat.  I need a big turkey leg in one hand and a hunk of deer in the other.  But I don't like to eat anything that used to have a face.  It just grosses me out.  At Applebees the other day I tried a bite of chicken and it just felt all wrong in my mouth so I spit it out in a napkin and shoved it all into my soup bowl. 

I'll get through this pregnancy and then really focus on weight loss and being healthy.  It will be hard trying to fit exercise into a life with a 3 year old and a newborn.  Our gym won't take kids in child care until they are 2 so I'll have to check and see if I can walk with Deuce strapped to my chest.  And I'll be hitting my treadmill hard again, whenever Michael is home from his 12 hour shifts to help with the kids. 

And I WILL find the best diet pill in the world.

But then again...the Mayan calendar ends this year on 12-21 and the black hole in the Milky Way lines up with Earth and I'm sure the aliens are going to return, so shouldn't I just eat, drink, and be merry until they come back?  Because honestly, with all that technology, they should have an amazing diet pill.

Best diet pill in the universe.

You never see pictures of obese aliens do you?

snakes...snails...puppy dog tails....

Yesterday was Morgan's 3rd birthday and also happened to be the day we found out whether she was getting a brother or sister.  I didn't sleep very well Sunday night.  I was nervous!  And my ear still hurts.  Because my left ear is trying to give me a slow painful death.  Why was I nervous?  Not really sure.  Maybe because I know this is my last baby (I sure as heck am NOT doing this again...you women that are like 'ohhh I just LOOOVE being pregnant' must be on some hormone high that I've never experienced, because I hate every single second).  Part of me really wants another girl...because I'm used to having a girl, and because I have about 54 totes of adorable girls clothing in storage, and because I always wanted a sister and ended up with 2 stinky brothers.  But I felt guilty for wanting a girl.  Just as I felt guilty when I found out I was having a girl when I was pregnant with Morgan, and I was DISAPPOINTED!  Yes I originally wanted a boy, whatever was I thinking?  And miss out on all this drama and moodiness, miss out on all these wonderful temper tantrums?  Miss out on all the hair bows?!  So when we found out we were having a girl, I was disappointed, and then I felt guilty for being disappointed.  But don't worry, God punished me.  Morgan barfed on me for well over a year after she was born.  I had a healthy (barfy) baby girl and I was blessed. 

So this time around...I felt guilty for wanting a girl.

I'm very complicated...I don't make my life easy, can you tell?

So yesterday morning at 10am we had our big ultrasound appointment.  My heart was racing.  Michael had that spark of excitement he usually only gets in his eye when a good ball game is on or when he sees his paycheck after working a ton of overtime.  The ultrasound chick (yeah I can't remember her official title, sorry) drowned me in warm goopy stuff and then the show began.  Up on the big screen was Deuce.  And within about 5 seconds she announced 'oh I think it's a boy' and my heart sort of flipped.  Then all of a sudden on the screen was Deuce displaying all of his boy junk for the world to see.  'Yep, I'm pretty sure that's a boy.'  I think I said something along the lines of 'oh wow' but honestly what I was thinking was 'ewww...there's a BOY in there' because if you really think about it, it's sort of weird. 

So...it's a BOY!

We went back to the waiting room because I had an appointment with the doctor, mostly to discuss my last round of blood work.  While we were waiting, our phones were blowing up with texts from family and friends asking if we knew yet.  We spent the next 5 hours texting, calling, emailing.  It was a busy day!!  Oh and by the way, my last round of blood work was fine.  The antibody levels are still low.  *air guitar*

I must say we've got some awesome friends for being interested in our boring lives.  I felt very loved yesterday.  EVERYBODY is excited it's a boy.  My brothers are pumped...a nephew to drag through the woods, hunting and fishing and logging and raising chickens (or so they think).  Michael's family is excited.  A McCumbers heir!  Out of all of the grandkids in his dad's large family, there are only 2 grandsons.  Michael's cousin is thrilled that we took some of that pressure off him to bear a son. 

Honestly, his family would have been happy if it was another girl, but Michael said he could just hear the relief in everyone's voice when he called and told his parents and grandma. 

So we're having a boy, and I'm a little freaked out about it.

When I told my mom, she said 'awww I was hoping Morgan would have a sister to grow up with.' And I agree...to an extent, but like I told my mom, I really can't imagine life with 2 daughters, especially if they are both like Morgan.  I think it would be a 70 year long cat fight, possibly to the death.  Morgan is really feisty.  So now she'll have a little brother to boss around and beat up.  I had 2 of them to boss around and beat up...until they grew up and realized they were stronger than me and didn't have to listen to me anymore.  That was a sad day.

I am hoping he will be laid back like Michael and not high strung like Morgan (and me...and the rest of my family).  When I was pregnant with Morgan, her heart rate was always over 170.  Most of her ultrasound pictures consisted of feet where she was kicking away from the ultrasound wand (it took tries to find out if she was a girl...she didn't cooperate the first time so we had to go back after 4 weeks).  In early pregnancy, the doctor had to trap her in the corner to get her heart rate.  She was always moving around, stomping my bladder, rubbing her head on my ribs (she was breech). 

This baby has been much more mellow so far.  His heart rate has never been over 150, and the doctor has never had to trap him to get the reading.  He was so cooperate during the ultrasound...he was basically like 'ta da!!!  here's my junk!  I'm a boy!'  and then he rolled over and yawned.  He does move around A LOT so I wonder when he actually sleeps, but I have hopes this one will be more mellow than Morgan.

Dear Lord PLEASE. 

So now I have to prepare myself for raising a boy.  I'm used to changing girl diapers and giving a girl a bath.  It's going to be weird learning how to clean and take care of a boy.  And I know Morgan will be right beside me asking 'what's that?' every time he's naked.  Sigh. 

And the messes.  I've been blessed with having a very clean little girl.  When she eats, she's pretty OCD about staying clean, and I LOVE IT.  If something falls off her plate she flips out and can't continue eating until all is right in the world, and the food has been cleaned off the table.  If she drops food on her shirt, the shirt has to come off.  She doesn't like messes.  SHE IS MY CHILD 100%.  She scared of bugs and frogs and all gross unfuzzy creatures and I'm okay with that!!!  I have an extreme fear of frogs.  You have no idea.  And lizards.  And snakes.  And worms.  And fish.  And...basically anything that isn't cute and fuzzy and domesticated.  I didn't mean to pass this on to my kid, but if there's a frog in the yard and I run screaming, she tends to pick up on these things.  Why am I terrified of frogs?  When I was about 2, my grandma held me down to a barrell that collected rainwater from her barn, there were frogs all around the rim and one of them jumped on me and scared the holy heck out of me.  That and the fact that my mom (yes my mother) and my 2 stinky brothers used to chase me with frogs until I locked myself in the bathroom, and then they would shove the frog under the door and I would have to climb up on the sink and be locked in the bathroom WITH the frog.  And then they would all laugh while I cried hysterically.

I need therapy for that.

So what if I have a son that drags frogs and lizards into my house?  Not only will I have a panic attack, but I will have to fumigate my house. 

And if he's a messy eater....*eye twitch*

Oh dear.

My only salvation is to dress him in vests and hats and put him in dance lessons when he's 2...because Michael would totally support that ya know....

'snakes and snails and puppy dog tails...that's what little boys are made of' ....is that seriously how that poem goes?

Oh dear.