Following In My Shoes

WW - A Sneak Peak

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 04:02:00 +0000

Guess what I did yesterday?

Less than 8 weeks to go before we can see if my little boy really looks like this!

The Silence is Thundering

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 23:20:00 +0000

Crickets.

That's all I hear.

Well, that's what I would hear if there were crickets in my house.

But there aren't any (thank goodness); instead, only the sounds of Charlie the Bunny, munching on carrots, and the fish tanks, water gurgling and sputtering, fill my ears.

Wait?

What about the sound of little feet skipping along the wood floor . . .

The sound of a squeaky little voice calling over the monitor, "Woo hoo! Mommy? Wer' ARRRRR YOU?" . . .

The sound of a slightly off-key song being sung to the myriad of baby dolls piled up on the couch . . .

Where are THESE sounds?

They're gone.

The Little Lady is on vacation . . . .with her grandparents. For an entire week!

This means that MOMMY is on a vacation!

(that's the Hubby and I doing our "Happy Dance;" I'm the skinny one, of course. Of COURSE!)

As we left my in-laws yesterday, without the Little Lady, neither of us couldn't shake the feeling that we were forgetting something. We checked bags and my purse, verified that each of still had our cell phones . . . made sure that the house keys were in our possession.

We had everything. There wasn't a single thing missing.

Except for our Little Lady.

The 5 hour trip home was (for lack of a better description) just plain WEIRD! We talked without interruption and listed to (REAL) adult music. Not once did I have to turn into a contortionist to retrieve a fallen book, pacifier, sippy cup, baby doll, or crayon.

It was our first childless drive in two years.

(well, semi-childless since the baby insisted on making his presence known the whole trip -- thank you very much, little guy, for the kicks, jabs, head rolls, and braxton hicks contractions. It was soooo much fun.)

The silence is nice.

Sleeping in is a very good thing.

Going to the bathroom alone is wonderful. . . really, really wonderful.

But, I must admit, I found myself feeling lonely today. I even cried when I called to check on her. She excitedly yelled, "Mommy," and then, in her little girl gibberish, told me about her day.

And, I missed her.

I missed her hugs, her mischievous grins, her varied expressions and moods.

I even missed her trying to drink out of MY big girl cups (although, I didn't miss cleaning up the inevitable messes from that activity).

I miss my Little Lady, and it's going to be a very, very, very long week.

Water -- with Mice on the Side

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 19:55:00 +0000

Oh, my Little Lady.

Those who know her in real life, know that her ennuciation/pronunciation is not ALWAYS correct.

Heck, I've given examples here on the blog . . . remember our struggles with the Letter S? Thankfully, she's no longer saying "kinky cocks" each time she sees a pile of "stinky socks." Yes, that problem has been remedied. Oh -- and she can now say "Upstairs" instead of "Up YOURS!"

Things are getting better.

But, these days, she seems to enjoy ADDING letters to words. . . . like the word "ice."

She loves, loves, loves ice. Every sippy cup of water needs a few, freshly frozen chunks of Mice in it.

Wait? Mice?

Yes, dear reader -- MICE.

THE ONE ANIMAL THAT F-R-E-A-K-S ME OUT.

That's what she calls ice.

"Mommy, Mommy! Um . . . . (oh, and "um" is our new favorite word) need some mice. Please, Mommy, please! Mice, Mommy! MICE!"

PLEASE, child, PLEASE -- drop the M!

We practice at every meal; both her Daddy and I repeatedly say, "No -- ICE. ICE."

And, with dogged determination, she reiterates . . ."Mice. MICE."

Of course, Daddy thinks its funny. Then, again, he's ALSO the lovely man who taught her the game "See-Food" last week . . . and taught her the game "Throw It." (which, apparently, involves CHUNKING anything and everything across the room -- off the couch -- down the stairs -- at my head. Sigh)

Yeah, mealtimes are just lovely. She's talking about mice, showing me mouthful shots of partially chewed food, and yelling "Throw It" as she pitches potatoes and bread across the table.

So . . . um . .. . Anyone want a toddler for a few days?

Public Service Announcement #5279

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 12:00:00 +0000

If you are going to invest time (and white shoe polish) to create a tribute for a deceased person, PLEASE (please) spell things correctly!!!!

Ok, so maybe the subject of the tribute doesn't care about spelling, but ~~I(and it's all about me, you know)~~ the rest of us do!!! Maybe it's the English teacher in me, but I could do little more than cringe in horror as we came upon this car Saturday afternoon.

Proudly, lovingly written across the rear window were the words "In menory of Michel Jackson."

Yes -- in "menory" of "Michel."

Before you ask, no, the misspelling wasn't a "one time deal." Each time Michael's name was written across a window it was spelled "Michel." I'm really not sure how you make this mistake -- his name has been in the public spotlight for nearly forty years and it, certainly, has been all over the internet and the television this weekend.

Seriously! HOW do you mess up Michael Jackson's name?

"Menory" only appeared once, but I'm convinced it would have been misspelled had it been used again.

(don't EVEN get me started on how one gets MEMORY wrong! M and N aren't so similar that you can exchange them for one another)

Sigh.

The driver? She was a young woman, probably in her early 20s, with quite the impressive collection of small stuffed animals across her front dash.

Oh, well . . . R.I.P. Michel.

It's the sentiment that counts, right?

PSF: The Technical Side of Growing Up

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 23:05:00 +0000

It seems as though entering the "Terrible 2s" means more than temper tantrums and melt-downs. All of the sudden, the Little Lady's mantra is "BY MYSELF!!!" Heaven forbid Mommy or Daddy attempt to do anything for her (although, we are still allowed to hold her; in fact . . . it is EXPECTED!).

Dressing herself is one of her daily activities and goals. Poor thing -- she can put a pair of shoes on (albeit on the wrong feet) and she put on her pants/shorts (though, they are usually inside out and backwards). The ability to put on a shirt, however, alludes her.

She tries and tries and tries, but the result is always the same

She tries putting shirts on over her head . . . but her arms never seem to end up in the right places.

She tries putting them on by stepping into them . . . but a shirt will only go up so far when your legs are in the arm holes.

Eventually, when she finally realizes that her attempts only end with incapacitation, does she turn to Mommy or Daddy for help.

I guess we are still good for something.

Photo-Story Friday is hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek;
click on the icon below to visit more PSFs!

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I'm Claiming a New Boyfriend

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I don't know his name yet, but I am I.N. L.O.V.E. with him.

To me, he is a prince, a knight in shining armor, my savior and every other over-used cliched. He is "Da Man."

Sorry, Hubby, but I just can't keep my thoughts off of this other man, but I think -- if I explain everything -- you will understand.

(Hopefully)

Truthfully, my new man has satisfied me in ways that my husband simply has NOT been able to achieve. He has quenched a fire that burned within me -- a fire that has been distracting me from the joys of life: eating, sitting quietly and listening to rain . . . holding my daughter on the couch.

I feel like a new woman.

And, it's all because of this man . . . this unnamed man.

I wish I knew the name of this shadowy figure. I wish I knew a lot about him, but I only know one thing.

He invented this:

Oh, you hot, HOT scientist of years past! If you only knew what your simple little tablets of sodium bicarbonate have done for me! For weeks, I've spent sleepless nights -- tossing, turning, and sighing -- desperately trying to find a position that would ease the horrible burning sensation rushing through my esophagus.

TODAY, I found relief in a little, unassuming bottle on aisle 19 of my grocery store.

Oh, Prince TUMS . . . if you weren't probably old (and possibly dead), I would SOOOOOOOO plant one on you right now!

PSF - My Dear, Sweet Husband . . .

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 17:58:00 +0000

It's time we had a talk.

A serious talk.

The kind of talk where you don't crack any jokes, raise your eyebrows, or allow yourself to be distracted by the TV.

Yes -- a serious talk.

First of all, I appreciate your dedication to maintaining the external appearance of our home. Your watering, pruning, and mowing efforts have paid off -- both the front and back yard look beautiful. And, I appreciate your dedication to eradicating the Mole Jungle that has been built beneath the back yard terrain. I know they are driving you nuts and I'm glad that you are so willing to spend time, energy, and money to remove them.

But . . . um . . . well . . .

The baby's room DEFINITELY needs to move up on your personal to-do list.

Have you SEEN the state it is currently in? Have you seen the boxes that have been packed, the trash that has been bagged, and the general chaos that has taken over this room?

Have you SEEN it?

Surely you have. I've deliberately left the door open, allowing stacked boxes, furniture, and nursery decorations to spill out into the hallway. You walk RIGHT BY everything each morning, evening, and night as you enter or leave our room.

I know that it is much more fun to play Rambo in the Mole Jungle -- adrenaline rushing as you place sonar traps into the ground. You're so fierce.

But -- your son needs a place to sleep. You know that we have less than EIGHT WEEKS till I'm full-term, right? Eight weeks. Two months. July and August.

Can you tell I'm just a wee bit anxious about having the nursery completed?

With the Little Lady, I handled the room renovation/decoration myself. I could do it -- I wasn't big, bulky, and pregnant.

In case you haven't noticed, this is most definitely NOT the case this time around.

I need your muscles, honey. And, your ability to breathe normally. And, your abdominal muscles -- you know, the ones that don't feel as though they are being torn in half every time you bend over.

Basically, I need your body.

(Does that appeal to your masculinity? Does this help my cause?)

I know that nesting isn't your thing. Not at all. It is, however, MY thing, and since I'm the one that allows you to

share MY bed (I'm pregnant, remember). . .
share MY meals (I'm pregnant, remember) . . .
and share MY tv (I'm pregnant, remember). . .

I think you should get on the nesting bandwagon.

I promise I won't make you do anything girly. You can still be Rambo, bravely delving into the dangerous jungle of boxes, crates, and furniture. I'll even make you a headband like his, if that will help. You'll be "THE MAN."

I'll even call you "The Man." I promise.

So -- you think you can head upstairs now?

P.S.

If you're still not sufficiently motivated, here's an "in living color" shot . . .

Ready now?

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Semi Wordless Wednesday

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 12:18:00 +0000

What happens . . . .

When your Toddler has a birthday . . .

Gets excited about opening presents . . .

Eats more hot dogs than she has ever eaten in her life . . .

And eats a TON of frosting (not cake -- just frosting) . . .

She FINALLY understands the meaning of saying "CHEESE" for a picture.

Can We Talk About Stretch Marks?

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 14:36:00 +0000

Alright -- so. Sigh.

When I discovered that God had decided to let my body work and I was pregnant, I knew that I would "grow" with the baby. Visions of a cute little baby bump and fuller cleavage (always a plus) danced before my eyes. I saw pictures of pregnant models and actresses, all beautifully thin and pregnant, and KNEW that's what I would look like.

(I imagine there are quite a few of you shaking your heads and chuckling right about now, aren't you?)

I didn't realize that models and actresses are from another planet. . . cute little baby bumps on a thin body are a myth for most women . . and fuller cleavage comes with a price.

Yeah, my boobs and belly have grown.

So has my hips . . .

My face . . .

My butt . . .

My feet . . .

My thighs . . .

Let's put it this way -- pretty much EVERYTHING, with the exception of my elbows, have expanded exponentially. And, I'm sure it won't be long before my elbows start gaining weight and I'll have to invest in some type of contraption to lift my weighty elbows and arms for me.

Sigh (again).

Under duress of extra, quickly gained weight, my skin has mounted a protest. Stretch marks have started popping up at an alarming rate. And. They. Are. EVERYWHERE!!! (well, except for my skinny elbows . . . but it's only a matter of time)

Of course, they aren't petite, cute, little pale marks -- OH, NO! They are deep, wide, red, and they seem to resent following any set pattern. There are vertical ones . . . horizontal . . . diagonal . . . even a few that seem to be making a series of crop circles around my belly button (which, incidentally, is starting to loose its "innie" status).

I look like some new breed of exotic tiger.

(Like how I threw in the word "Exotic?" Did it help make my stripes seem sexier? No? Darn.)

I've applied lotions and oil since the day I learned my body had created a baby. I've downed gallons of water, trying to keep my skin hydrated.

Money down the drain.

I guess, if nothing else, I have something else to mention to Baby Boy. You know -- like the "Nipple Conversation" -- a fact that I can bring up the first time he is rude to me in front of his friends.

Oh, yeah -- I'm looking forward to that!

(28 Weeks)

(Oh, and yeah -- I now have to bend over AND lift up my shirt to see the Little Lady. Sigh.)

Someone Has A Birthday Today!

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Happy 2nd Birthday, Little Lady!

The Embarrassing Side of Toddler Education

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 15:39:00 +0000

Ahh, Little Lady.

From the time we brought her home from the hospital, my husband and I have been on a constant teaching journey.

"That's grass. See -- it's green!"

"This is your cup. CUP. Can you say cup?"

"Oooo -- do you see the rain? It's making our grass grow."

Yeah, I know -- really exciting and stimulating conversations going on in our house.

Of course, a good deal of the Little Lady's education has centered around body parts.

"Where's your nose?"

"I see your hair. Can you find Mommy's hair?"

"Look at your fingers! They're just like Mommy's fingers!"

The phrase "they're just like Mommy's" gets used a lot. I don't know why -- it's just something I've always said, trying to show her the similarities between us.

I didn't know that simple phrase would backfire on me.

There is one set of body parts that I didn't deliberately set out to teach my daughter. Maybe I'm a prude . . . maybe I was just worried about her talking about these specific body parts in public . . . I don't know. I just didn't really bring them up.

Until, that is, I got pregnant.

I'm talking about . . . .

(whispers) "BOOBIES!"

Yeah, pregnancy completely changed my silence on the issues of boobies. Why? Why would growing another human suddenly make me very vocal about boobies? (good grief, I'm throwing that word around a lot, aren't I?)

The answer is simple -- I had to teach the Little Lady that Boobies are NOT grappling hooks. Boobies are NOT handles. Boobies are NOT bean bags that one can just plop down on. Boobies are NOT meant to be kicked when one is cuddling with Mommy on the couch.

"No! Don't touch Mommy's boobies. That hurts Mommy," became a very familiar set of sentences around the house. Even Daddy got into "teacher mode" after witnessing one too many incidents of the Little Lady leaving breathless in pain.

"No, no -- you've got to be nice to Mommy's Boobies."

(sigh -- seriously! THIS is what's been going on for seven months)

I swear, now that they are known to be off-limits, she is more fascinated with them. The Little Lady points them out to me all the time, patting or poking my chest and proudly exclaiming, "BOOBIES." I guess she wants to make sure I know that I have them -- you know, 'cause I might forget about them.

And, of course, she recently had a startling revelation -- a moment of putting "two and two" together. (no pun intended)

It happened a few weeks ago, while we were visiting my sister, Sarah. Auntie "Sa-wuh" was changing the Little Lady into her pajamas, trying to figure out the complicated world of onesies. The onesie proved a little difficult, so Auntie Sa-wuh pulled it off of the Little Lady in order to start all over.

Recognizing a chance at having a bit of freedom, the Little Lady ran off, laughing and screaming with delight at the fact she'd gotten away.

Suddenly -- she stopped dead in her tracks and looked down at her bare chest.

"Ohhhhhhh!"

Sarah and I both looked at her, puzzled.

The Little Lady pointed an index finger at side of her chest, excitedly again saying, "Oooooooo!"

Then, proudly, she turned to us, fingers still pointing to her chest.

"Yook!" BOOBIES! JUST YIKE MOMMIES!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Auntie Sa-wuh found this exclamation HILARIOUS. Mommy? Well, Mommy was just extremely, EXTREMELY thankful we were not in public.

Random Thoughts from the Crazy Lady

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 12:00:00 +0000

This past week . . . I was INSANE! Seriously, between the stress of the Little Lady's hospitalization, being pregnant, not sleeping, not eating well, and just being hormonal, it's a wonder I didn't kill someone.

Here's just a snippet of the hullabaloo from my head:

"I will drop kick anyone that attempts to console me right now."
(Immediately after handing the Little Lady to the OR staff)

"I'm not hungry . . . no, I am hungry. . . no -- I don't want to eat. Oh, my God, where is the food?"
(waiting, in the hospital food court, for the surgery to end)

"Kid, you better BACK OFF!"
(the "mean me" . . .in the waiting room . . . mentally directed to some poor (albeit) annoying child)

"She's so little!"
(seeing the Little Lady for the first time in the recovery room)

"Baby Boy, you'd better stop kicking my bladder . . . now is NOT the time!"
(in recovery, desperately needing to go to the bathroom but not wanting to leave my little girl)

"Holy CRAP -- where is that nurse?"
(in our room, every night when the IV alarms would go off for no reason WHATSOEVER!)

"So help me, if she pokes her one more time . . . ."
(holding the Little Lady, watching the Lab Tech try get blood from the Little Lady's fingers)

"Why do people have to freakin' SNORE?"
(this flashed through my mind every single night . . . and, no, I'm not naming names (yet))

"Please, God, why does this have to be so rough for her?"
(watching and holding my Little Lady as she screamed and writhed in pain for 30 minutes)

"Yeah, you're cute, Doc. . . but that doesn't mean you can just waltz in our room at 7 am. Dear, Lord, I hope I wasn't all sprawled out asleep in some funky position. Crap -- was my mouth open?"
(Thursday, 7 am, as the Little Lady's doctor came in for an update)

"Awwwwww."
(watching the Little Lady asleep on my belly, while she was blissfully unaware that her baby brother was kicking her face over and over and over)

"What, am I the ONLY woman in Houston who owns a MIRROR?"
(first excursion on "the outside;" a trip to the grocery store . . . and my petty, internal response to the VERY ill-fitting hoochie outfits I saw on every aisle)

Mmmmmm . . . . pregnant, stressed out me, is very, very, VERY violent! I'm a little scared of myself right now!

Poop & Blood Are All You Need In Life

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 00:58:00 +0000

Who knew? If you want to get out of the hospital, you just need enough blood in you and enough poop out of you.

That's it.

WE ARE HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Little Lady's blood transfusion worked WONDERS on her. We saw improvement about halfway through the four hour process; she instantly became a different child -- teasing her Daddy, talking to her visitors, stealing french fries, and even throwing out a few dance moves.

It feels a bit like an understatement but it was wonderful to see.

The rest of the night, however, wasn't quite so lovely. She had enough blood in her body, but now there was the issue of having a bit too much "poo-poo" built up . . . nearly 6 days worth.

Oy ve.

The poor thing didn't fall asleep until nearly 4:00 am, only to keep waking every 45 minutes from the pain. At 7:00 am this morning, three of her doctors showed up to tell us that unless the new labs showed her hemoglobin count to be up . . . AND she had a bowel movement . . . we should NOT anticipate going home today.

"Well, crap, " was my first thought.

Out came a lovely selection of laxatives and suppositories, all administered by our sweet nurse. That's right --Mommy didn't have to be "The One" handling the suppository duties; there are some bright moments when one is in the hospital. Of course, like with every other procedure, I was the one to hold her.

Oh, my goodness -- holding your child through suppositories, transfusions, blood draws, and IV attempts SUCKS.

(I'm sure, if given time, I could come up with a more tasteful way to say that. . . .but, right now, I really don't care. Being hormonal and emotional, with only 12 hours of sleep over the course of a week, leaves one not really caring if one is crass or not. My apologies if anyone are offended (Mom).)

Fortunately, the new blood work revealed that the Little Lady's count had reached the ideal, normal level.

Now . . . it was just a matter of "Da Poo."

I'll spare you the details -- but, for the Little Lady, it was excruciating and a many-hour process. The End Result (ha ha) was that the Little Lady was given permission to leave Texas Childrens Hospital.

She is still incredibly tired, bruised from her catheter and stint, and struggling to use her healing stomach muscles, but she is home and, overwhelmingly, happy to be here.

Mommy is, also, just a wee bit happy to be home.

Thank you so much for all of the comments that have been left this week -- it was so encouraging to read that people (some I know and some I've never met) were thinking and praying for us.

Of course, OF COURSE, coming home wasn't the most relaxing thing since (1) my husband is now convinced he has Mumps (thanks to learning Friday that we were all exposed to it while in recovery) and (2) the first thing I managed to do at home was to dump 3 weeks worth of rabbit poo all over my feet.

Yeah -- OF COURSE that happened at the END of the most stressful week ever.

Why does the phrase " Blood Transfusion" Make You Panic?

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 23:29:00 +0000

Yep -- Blood Transfusion time.

Oh yeah, and we're still in the hospital.

Do I really need to say more? This has been an awful week -- especially for my poor, sad Little Lady. She seemed to do well the first day post-op; after some sleep and pain medicine, she was interactive for the first time and eating.

Things took a turn yesterday; the Little Lady began to refuse food and drink, and she became quite lethargic, barely speaking. Heck, she hardly had the energy to hold her own sippy cup or remove her pacifier from her mouth. We started receiving the question, "Is she always this pale;" we answered each time jokingly, as she is a pale one like her mama (seriously, I'm really, really, REALLY pasty).

We had no idea that the pale question was serious.

Lab work was ordered this morning and the results weren't what we'd imagined. Her blood count was fairly low, requiring a second blood draw a few hours later. The second blood draw showed that the Little Lady's hemoglobin had dropped a bit more.

That's when I was told the doctor might order a transfusion.

WHAT?????

I tried to break down in tears once the nurse left, but a crying mama freaks out a Little Lady So, quickly and completely, I had to "suck it up," as the phrase goes.

Now, we're here in the room -- a sleepy, pathetic yearling resting on her Daddy's chest and a drained mama with mascara stained cheeks -- both wearily watching our sweet nurse detach the potassium drip and hook up the bag boldly labeled "O Rh POSITIVE."

If tomorrow's labs show a better hemoglobin count, we are "supposed" to be released.

You don't know how badly I'm hoping that actually happens.

Surgery Updates and Sad Pictures

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 14:46:00 +0000

Sigh. What a day and what a night.

The Little Lady's surgery went as well as anticipated, despite all of Mommy's nerves, tears, and worries.

Actually, I held it together fairly well during the "before time," the "waiting around time" . . . which lasted longer than expected since her surgery started late.

(the Little Lady, via Daddy's camera phone, waiting in her surgery attire)

Yep, I did fairly well, until the Anesthesiologist took her from me. The Little Lady looked back at me and, in her little squeaky voice, asked "Where Mommy Go?"

That's when I lost it and the desk staff scrambled to grab boxes and boxes of tissues for me.

Two and a half hours later, we received the notice that her surgery was over -- after some time spent with her doctor going over some details, we were allowed to visit her in recovery. WOW -- I had NO IDEA how tough the recovery time would be. She was scared and cranky, trying to come out from the effects of anesthesia, and her poor throat was all scratched from her tube.

That was definitely the saddest I've ever seen the Little Lady.

We were in the Recovery Center for several hours -- again, longer than we (or the nurses) expected. There were a series of events that kept us from moving to our room, one of which involved some lab work that just wouldn't go right.

Finally, after 8pm, we were taken to her room. The rest of the night was pretty active -- nurses and assistants in and out every hour or so. The Little Lady had a hard time with the pain and wasn't able to tolerate liquids . . . which brought about some "learning time." She now knows the all important phrase "I Throw Up."

(Daddy took over as The Little Lady's Bed Buddy around 5 am, allowing me a chance to stretch out on the pull-out bed.)

This morning, things have gone a little better; the anti-nausea medicine and the morphine have worked wonders. We saw our first smile just a little bit ago and heard our first full sentences in 24 hours. She was able to tolerate a little bit of beef "zoop" (that she excitedly said she "yikes") and drank a bit of Gatorade.

Now, the medicine has begun to make her drowsy, giving her the chance for some much needed rest.

We'll have a better idea this evening, after her doctor checks her again, whether or not she'll be released tomorrow morning.

Thank you so, so, so, so much for all of your prayers, thoughts, and encouragement!!!!

Wide Awake and Anxious. Great Combo.

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 11:13:00 +0000

5:30 am -- Little Boy, via a few shark jabs, pokes, and a few long head rolls, informed me that I had waited ENTIRELY too long for another bathroom break. 'Cause, you know, it's all about HIS comfort . . . never mind the fact that Mama would prefer sleep to a bathroom visit!

Of course, if he hadn't woken me up, I would have soon been wide awake thanks to his sister.

Today is Surgery Day for the Little Lady.

Over the past two years, we've been dealing with UTI's and Bladder Infections thanks to a congenital condition known as Bladder Reflux. Daily antibiotics keep most infections at bay but not all. In addition, she has annual testing to monitor the reflux. This required testing is the more traumatic (for all of us) part of this condition -- ultrasounds, catheters, and x-rays are all a part of testing day.

The last round of testing, about a month ago, was the worst yet. Not only did it show that her reflux was worse than previously thought, but this time she was old enough to be more aware of what was going on . . . .but not old enough to understand why her Daddy (the only one who could go in with her) wasn't making this scary and painful experience stop.

It. Was. Awful.

But, if all goes well, today's surgery will eliminate the need for yearly testing and daily antibiotics.

I'm excited about that part, but I'm incredibly worried about the fact my little, tiny girl will be in surgery . . . for two hours. And, she'll be in the hospital anywhere from two to five days.

I know this isn't a life-threatening procedure. I know that we are at the best children's hospital in the area, and that we have the best doctor and surgeon for this type of pediatric procedure.

And, I know that God already has her in his protective hands.

But, I'm still worried. :(

Please keep my Little Lady in your thoughts and prayers today. Her surgery is at 1:30 pm (central time). And, if you don't mind, keep her father and me in your prayers as well. She doesn't know what's going on, but we do . . . and we can't help but worry.

Cankles, Heartburn, and Weddings . . . OH, MY!

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 29 May 2009 16:13:00 +0000

The past two weeks feel as though they have been the busiest, craziest, and longest two weeks EVER!

It all started with my youngest sister's wedding. That's right -- "That Girl" (aka "That Engaged Girl") got married. It was beautiful, tiring, stressfull . . . and I didn't even really do anything.

Apparently, in my family, being pregnant gives you an automatic "Get Out of Wedding Duties Free" card. Unfortunately, for my Hubby, he had to take up the slack.

My mom made him her personal assistant, to be called upon for all heavy-duty decorating/setting up jobs. Thankfully, my husband and mother have a great relationship . . . which means he doesn't mind being ordered around and not thanked for a couple of days. (although, he doesn't appreciate it when I try it! Hmmmm -- I need to learn what my mom's secret is.)

The Little Lady was one of the flower girls and, in my humble opinion, was freaking A.D.O.R.A.B.L.E!!!!

(ignore my crazy, big, pale face (without a neck, apparently) in this picture; I have NO idea what was going on)

The poor thing was exhausted though; we barely got her to walk down the aisle and she crashed the minute it was all over.

Not that I blame her. If only I could have convinced someone to hold my big ol' pregnant self while I napped . . .

Oh, yeah, speaking of being pregnant -- the cankles and heartburn. So, I've entered a new phase in this pregnancy. Feet swelling . . . ankles puffy . . . heartburn that lasts for HOURS. Ugh and ugh again, I say.

The good news is that I have less than 100 days left . . . and only 3 days until the 3rd trimester starts. The bad news . . . this is the part of the journey where everything gets worse.

Yay for me!

On a side note -- is anyone else slightly creeped out by the floating baby in my little count-down widget? Is it just me? Yeah? Ok.

The Great Debate

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 15 May 2009 20:03:00 +0000

I'm tired of going round and round and round with my husband and father-in-law over today's topic. Ugh -- BOYS!

It has nothing to do with my future son -- we're not arguing over his name, the clothing he will wear, or whether or not he will be allowed to play with dolls.

We're arguing over this:

First of all -- ignore the ridiculous rug (it's no longer alive), the couch with it's bad slipcover (my new furniture arrived YESTERDAY), and the entire set up of the living room . . . everything is different now.

No, I want your attention directed to the trim/molding in this room. This is the point of our dissension.

I want to paint the woodwork a creamy white, to match the cream colored trim, molding and cabinetry in the kitchen; we have an open floor plan . . . to me, the look of white trim butting up against the natural wood trim is disjointed. In addition, despite a wall of windows, our living room is a naturally dark room -- thanks to North/South facing windows. The darker trim only exacerbates the dark look of the room. FURTHERMORE, the majority of our furniture is a completely different wood color . . . and it drives me NUTS that everything looks different!!!!

I WANT TO PAINT THE TRIM!

(plus, if the trim is painted, I feel that we will have more options as to what the drywall panels (in between each vertical trim piece) can be painted . . . because, YES, I want to paint those too)

But, my "boys" have reacted to this desire as though it's a travesty, a terrible act against humanity and all wood craftsmen.

Can I do all of this painting by myself right now? No.
Do I want this project completed before the baby arrives? Yes.
Will my father-in-law & husband help me? NO!

Am I really so crazy by wanting to paint the trim in our living room and dining room?

I need answers from objective perspectives. Should I put my foot down and insist that the trim is painted? Or, should I give in to the male voices, suck it up, and just live with what I've got?

HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Ugly Side of Switching to a Big Girl Bed

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 08 May 2009 15:46:00 +0000

This morning, I suffered the scariest moment of my Mommy-Life. I found the Little Lady . . . .

ON TOP OF HER CHANGING TABLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We switched her to her Big Girl Bed this weekend; until yesterday, it was a fairly smooth process, with only one bad night (she was awake till nearly 1am the first night) and one bad day of naps. Fortunately, after that, she began to go to bed easily and has been sleeping through the night (and back to her normal nap schedule).

Then, YESTERDAY arrived and delivered a naughty revelation to the Little Lady's mind: she realized that she doesn't have to stay in her big girl bed if she doesn't want to. Sigh.

The result of that knowledge? Her sock drawers and PJ drawer were completely emptied during naptime . . . . as well as the entire, brand new container of wipes! Grrrrrr.

Then, last night, the Little Lady woke up at 2 am and didn't go back to sleep till around 4:30! She wasn't just awake . . . she was WIRED the entire time.

When we first realized she was awake, we decided not to go in her room as she wasn't crying. The Little Lady was simply awake, singing to herself and playing with her Fisher Price aquarium. (Oh, yeah -- just because we got rid of the Baby Crib didn't mean we could get rid of everything -- the aquarium HAD to stay)

It was when she started kicking the wall OVER AND OVER that Hubby decided to go in (and, knowing he was tired and not really in the mood to deal with a wide awake toddler, I followed).

I swear -- that kid acted like she had a hidden stash of chocolate somewhere in that room. She was absolutely NUTS! Out of her bed, turning on every musical toy and dancing like a crazy woman . . . singing, laughing. Even though it was nearly 3 am by this point, it was hilarious to watch her; we couldn't help but laugh because her behavior was so spastic -- completely different than normal.

I thought that this "middle of the night" behavior would be the worst of it.

I was wrong.

This morning that little rat climbed up her changing table so she could look out the window; I found her when I went in to get her up for the day. I nearly had a HEART ATTACK! (yes, it was that dramatic)

Needless to say -- the changing table is leaving the room TODAY!

Sigh . . . and I wonder why I am tired all of the time.

She's ALIVE!

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Wed, 06 May 2009 18:04:00 +0000

FINALLY, I'm getting around to writing here . . . and thinking (just a bit -- don't want to wear myself out or anything). I have to admit, I'm a little boggled by life right now.

What happened to the blogger who once faithfully wrote and posted each and every day?

What happened to the woman who cleaned her house and cooked each meal?

What happened to the Mommy who looked forward to craft time with her daughter?

The answer to each question: "Um . . . . she's a little tired and very unmotivated right now."

* * * * * * * *

So many women (and books) told me that, once the second trimester hit, I would feel like a new person: renewed energy, renewed sex drive, and a renewed outlook on life.

Um . . . . I'm less than 30 days from the start of the 3rd trimester and absolutely NOTHING has renewed itself over the past two and a half months.

I feel like such a worn-out loser. Through out the day, I have enough energy to get the Little Lady out of her "Big Girl Bed" (more on that later), fix a few measly snacks and meals, and read "Brown Bear, Brown Bear" twenty times.

That's IT.

Ok, yeah, so I'm growing a whole other person . . . but STILL! I talk to and see other pregnant women who seem to have an overabundance of energy and drive. Me? Definitely not so much.

It's not like I just lay around, wasted and exhausted -- I don't. I'm not lethargic . . . just "un-energetic." I promise there's a difference!

So, anyway, so much for the glorious, golden 2nd trimester. I guess it's only fair since I never had morning sickness or any of the other nasty 1st trimester woes.

I'll stop complaining now. :)

Um -- Who Said He Could Take Over?

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 19:53:00 +0000

My pelvis is no longer my own.

And, it's just not fair.

The fun scan last week showed that "the boy" is head down -- head and little fists right down above my pelvis. And, judging from the punches and head-butting going on, he has claimed that space as HIS and no one else's.

If I wear low rise pants . . . .I get punched in the pelvis.

If I lean over while in a sitting position . . . I get punched in the pelvis.

If the Little Lady sits on my thighs and rests against me . . . I get punched in the pelvis.

WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS????
A WWE PRIZE FIGHTER?

This tot has only been around for 5 months and he already thinks he can be the boss of ME?????

And, why the need for such violence? I'm just the mom . . . the incubator . . . the person who made him AND the chick making sure he gets all of the nutrients, water, and Dr. Pepper he needs. Why the rough treatment?

Sigh.

It's only going to get worse, isn't it?

Revelation

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 12:00:00 +0000

All sorts of things were learned at our latest Doctor's appointment this past Tuesday.

The Little Lady learned that scales are fun to jump on.

We all learned the baby's gender (more on that in a second).

And, my Hubby learned how IUDs are inserted and removed.

No -- I'm not planning on getting one, but my doctor had a "teaching tool" on the counter. Hubby was too curious to pass it up. Sigh.

I'm not sure why the various medical models always draw that boy's attention; I was TERRIFIED that my doctor would walk in on Hubby intently attempting to "learn" all that the model had to offer. (Grrrrrr!)

As far as the Anatomy/Gender scan went, it was GREAT! For a few weeks leading up to the visit, I had been dreading the scan. Oh, I was excited and anxious to learn our baby's gender, but I was so afraid that we would learn something was terribly wrong.

Praise God - this baby is perfectly formed and perfectly healthy. In fact, our baby is measuring about a week ahead at a little over 12 ounces. Woo hoo!!!!!!

The Little Lady was oblivious to all that we learned during the scan; she was too concerned with her cookies and the fact that the lights were all turned off. This was not the case for Mommy and Daddy. We were intently watching the screen, waiting for any glimpse that would tell us what pronoun we could start using to describe our baby.

And, we saw it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Little Lady is getting a Little Brother!!!!

I have suspected it this entire pregnancy -- I can't explain why. I haven't had a ton of dreams or anything like that. I just assumed, since I have no brothers, no knowledge of how to care for baby boys, and very little knowledge on boys in general, I would end up with a boy!

Despite the fact I know NOTHING about "Team Blue," I am INCREDIBLY EXCITED about our little guy -- excited that we will be getting a whole new experience . . . new shopping, new toys, and new joys.

I can't wait!!!!

(by the way -- the results of the poll? 50% of you thought it would be a boy. HA!)

The Sweetest Profile -- EVER

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 14:06:00 +0000

Stay tuned for "THE GENDER RESULTS" and, of course, another tale about my silly Hubby and the Doctor's anatomy prop!!!!

PSF: So Much For A Girls' Night . . .

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 12:59:00 +0000

It was supposed to be fun -- just the two of us -- no boys allowed.

Instead, it was painful. PAINFUL.

Apparently, a tired, moody, pregnant woman and a tired, moody teething toddler can't have fun past seven o'clock. And if you're both hungry, waiting on a pizza to cook . . . it is even WORSE.

Sigh.

I had such hope and excitement as I looked forward to our Thursday evening: Daddy would be out late; The Little Lady and I would make a delicious pizza; we would be creative and color BEEYOUTEEFUL Easter eggs.

I forgot (oh, HOW did I forget) there is a reason as to why I gleefully look forward to Daddy's homecoming each evening: The Little Lady after 7 pm is a MUCH different Little Lady.

There were Tears. Screams. Sighs. Things were thrown. She was A Little Hyde -- no longer a sweet wee little thing. I was scared.

Did I mention she's teething?????? Thank you very much, Two Year Molars.

Then, I brought out the ingredients for the pizza, and -- for a few glorious moments -- all was right with the world.

The Little Lady helped me stir and flatten the dough, but her REAL job was to be in charge of the cheese (a fact of which she reminded me every time I tried to help: "MY TUHN, MOMMY," she would yell, pushing my hand away).

Our peaceful, fun time, however, was short lived. As soon as the pizza was in the oven, the Little Lady reverted back to the screaming banshee of earlier. . . .oh, wait. I think I called her a Little Hyde, didn't I? Well, anyway -- it wasn't a pretty sight or experience.

Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, pacified her. The wait for our pizza was horrible . . .especially since I accidentally turned the oven off when the pizza went in. AHHH!!!!!! Was NOTHING to go right during this evening?

Finally, after realizing my mistake and turning the oven back on, our dinner was ready. She was happy again . . . for a little bit.

GRRRRRRR you incoming teeth!!!!!

The Easter eggs stayed white and bedtime came early last night. Our girls' night was definitely NOT a success but at least we both got to eat. That's always a plus in my world.

Of course, when Daddy came home, he couldn't understand why I was passed out on the couch . . . with pizza sauce all over me.

The look I gave him when he woke me up told him that he should drop the matter. Which, he did.

He's a smart boy sometimes.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Call Me Mary (of the Non Virgin Variety)

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 12:00:00 +0000

My poor confused Little Lady.

Little does my wee tot know, but her statements Monday night would have gotten us stoned or burned at the stake several hundreds of years ago. The crime? Heresy.

The Little Lady believes that Mommy is going to give birth to . . . .

(wait for it)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

BABY JESUS!!!!!!!!!!

Monday night, as I attempted to rock my stubborn child to sleep, The Little Lady pulled out all the stops, desperately trying to stay awake. We read books, sang songs, and prayed three times.

I think it was the multitude of songs and prayers that caused her to reach her faulty conclusion. These days, her favorite songs are she has learned while at Sunday School. Since she is still in the baby class, her class is all about singing. . . including a few songs about Baby Jesus.

As we sat, rocking and rocking and rocking . . . and singing and singing and singing her Sunday School songs, The Little Lady abruptly sat up in my lap, with a puzzled look on her face.

"Where Baby Desus go," she asked -- her little hands raised above her shoulders.

Before I could give her a complete, theologically sound answer, she reached her own conclusion.

With absolute certainty, the Little Lady lifted my shirt, exposing my swollen, baby filled stomach.

"Der he is!"

And, with that discovery, she leaned over and kissed my baby/belly/Baby Jesus.

Um . . . anyone have ANY ideas how to explain to a 22 month old the truth? I've tried, but I am NOT getting through to her!