'Twas the night before induction..

There's something hugely relieving and joyful about knowing there is a good chance tomorrow will be the day you meet your baby. I'm going to the hospital to try what I'm wording as, " A gentle induction."  We're going to try a medication that will (hopefully) induce labor. If it works, great. If it doesn't, I take it as a sign that she's not ready, and I go home to wait some more.

Though, honestly, at ten days late and almost three centimeters dilated, I'm finding it hard to believe she's not ready.

When I thought about induction, nothing positive came up for me. So it's really a surprise that I'm feeling totally stoked right now. Or, maybe it's not a surprise. I'm ready. Husband is ready. Collin is ready. Our family is ready to be complete. I want my daughter in my arms more than anything in the world. I want to labor alongside my husband and my doula, to feel that silent transformation that happens when you give birth. The bond that is created, and strengthened, when you birth with loving support by your side. I'm ready.

Didn't think you'd show your face around here, due date.

So, happy Valentine's Day. Today is my favorite holiday, and coincidentally, my due date. Considering how dead certain I was that this baby was going to be an early arrival, I had mixed feelings about this day. Truthfully, I kind of figured it was going to suck a little. I'm in that prenatal sinkhole right now, where you feel like birth is so imminent, and your phone is blowing up with people wanting cervical updates, and your husband is already on paternity leave as you watch his time off tick by. Your due date approaches, and you think, " I can't believe I'm still pregnant! Surely, I will go into labor within the next ten minutes." Then, you watch your due date come and go, smiling and waving as it skips away. Now, you're officially post date, and officially DONE being pregnant. The pressure is on, because if you don't go into labor naturally, they'll force it, and that ain't pretty.

So, back to today, Valentine's Day, my due date. I went to bed last night in a state of resigned gloom. Surely, I'm going to be pregnant forever. This baby is never coming out. I woke up that way, too, only then I remembered, "Hey! It's Valentine's Day!" And, suddenly, everything was ok.

We all snuggled in bed for a long time before getting up.
We ate chocolate oatmeal, our Valentine's breakfast.
We played together all day.
Collin actually went down for a nap peacefully.
In the evening, we took a long walk along the ocean and watched the full moon rise.
We gorged on Indian food and chocolate.
At one point, it occurred to me that this was the best Valentine's Day I've ever had, just me and my boys. So take that, due date.

Now, I'll be back soon, writing about what it's like to be pregnant and menopausal at the same time, because surely I'm going to be pregnant forever.

Hell Week

Welcome to Hell Week.

What is Hell Week? Glad you asked.

Hell Week is the final crunch before your husband goes on paternity leave, and he works late every day trying to get things done. You, meanwhile, are 38 weeks pregnant, with a head cold, and a toddler with cabin fever. It's becoming increasingly apparent to you that you cannot go ANYWHERE alone with your child unless he is strapped securely in a straight jacket  stroller. Seriously, nowhere. Not even, you learned today, on a walk down the street. Because, seriously, your belly grows gigantic proportions every night, and the giant maternity tunics that fit you last week just laugh at you now as you try to button them over your girth. What I'm saying through all of this, is that you can not keep up with your kid anymore. You just cannot. You try, but you cannot. When he bolts away from you in the store, all you can do is helplessly hold your breath and pray for no big crashes while you hurry after him in that ridiculously pregnant way, shifting your weight from one side to the other in this weird, frantic shuffle. When you take him outside for a walk and he tears off down the street to throw rocks and talk to strangers, you are acutely aware of how little control you actually have over the situation. And, by the way, I think your kid is aware of it, too.

I've been surviving through this week one day at a time, barely. I've had a lot of help from cocoa almond butter and frozen waffles, thank you, Trader Joe's. Frozen food has become my beacon of salvation. My level of cooking right now is pretty much: Remove from freezer. Place in oven. Wait twenty minutes. Serve to family and feel like I've really accomplished something.That's what it's like around here right now. I'm on a roll, people. Winning.

This evening, as I prepared frozen chicken with frozen risotto, I got to thinking: Tomorrow is the last day of Hell Week! That means, there's only one more really tough day, until...the rest of my life changes forever. That hit me like a stun gun. I mean, really, is there anything more game changing than a new baby? These past four years have been so transformative for me. I've shed my skin and become someone completely new again and again: A wife. A mother. A mother for the second time. who will I be when the baby comes? I'm at that breathless moment on top of the roller coaster, before you go careening down and all around. Will the ride be as hard the second time around? will it be harder? Will it be even happier? I guess I'll know soon.

This one and that one.

I always thought my pregnancies would be at least related to each other, but instead, they're like perfect strangers sitting across from each other on the bus, avoiding all eye contact. They have been so, so different. Mostly, it's the dramatic difference in my life that have made these pregnancies so unique. The first time around, all I thought about was baby. I was completely consumed by it. This time around,  I pretty much forgot I was pregnant until I was too big to forget anymore.

It's so different being a second-time mom. You have the whole, "Been there, done that" attitude,  and your life is such a crazy wonderful insane whirlwind of motherhood that, quite honestly, you don't have time to notice the little things like you did the first time around. And that's ok. You kind of float through your pregnancy, and you know this baby will be born, and you already know how much you are going to love and adore it, and that it's totally going to change your life. Only, this time, you're not scouring the baby books or deciding on your parenting philosophies. (Should we co-sleep? Cloth diaper? Baby wear? ). No, this time around, your only real plan is to throw open your arms and say, "Welcome to our chaos!" and love that new little baby with all your heart. Cherish every night-waking, diaper-exploding second of newborn, because this time, you know how fleeting and precious that time really is.

I guess things are different the second time around in more ways than just my lifestyle, if I had to be honest. Physically, it's been challenging. But also, less challenging. I'm a whopping twenty pounds lighter this time (yes, it's amazing what not eating Philly cheese steaks and fries every day will do for the scale), and in many ways,  I am so much more tremendously comfortable this time around. However, I've also been thrown a few curve balls. I've been dealing with chronic pain this pregnancy that is only getting worse as the baby gets bigger. I have the added challenge of entertaining a most rambunctious two-year-old, one who is not at all content to sit on the couch with me  all day, like I want to do.  I remember wondering last pregnancy how on earth I would manage to be pregnant and care for a toddler at the same time. Now I know. You kind of get through your days winging it, with some seriously slacker parenting. You let things slide. You don't go anywhere, really. Everyone gets cabin fever and goes a little crazy, but at the end of the day, if your kid has all four limbs in tact and has eaten anything other than cheese, it's a good day.

Collin, blessedly, has been toning down the crazy acting out we've been seeing around here lately. He's better during his waking hours, but I think that's mainly because he's channeling all his anxiety into bedtime. Let me tell you, it's been a bedtime s***storm over here, every night. We start the bedtime routine at 7:30, and so far he hasn't actually fallen asleep any earlier than 10:30. There are monsters, and clowns, and raccoons, and skunks that are just waiting for him to be left alone in bed. I can understand the monster and clown fears,  I even get the skunk fear, but the fear of raccoons is beyond me. So basically, he has an absolute PANIC attack if you leave him in bed alone and sobs and pleads with you to come back. It's pretty much the most heartbreaking sound you'll ever hear. I feel for the poor little guy,  I really do. I'm not comfortable with leaving him to cry himself to sleep, so things have been a little tricky around here lately.  I keep wondering how this is going to work out when the baby comes, but I have to remind myself that this is just a phase. This, too, shall pass (hopefully before the baby comes home). Everyone in our family has needs, and everyone deserves to have their needs met. That's what I tell myself. 

Aside from all the differences in my pregnancies, there are a few similarities.  I stomp around a lot in a hormonal, pregnant rage, just like last time. I crave cereal every night, just like last time. I think homicidal road rage thoughts every time I'm in the car, just like last time. See? It's not all different.

Now, we wait.

Today is the 14th, which means there is only one month between me and my due date. Only four weeks left. This baby has gone from being a million miles away, just a speck on my calendar's distant future, to being so in-my-face I can't escape it.

We're now in the "End Days." Those last gasps of pregnancy, where you're crossing all your T's and dotting all your I's, and scavenging leftover baby clothes from all your friends, and rearranging the whole house. I must say, it is SO much easier getting ready for baby the second time around, especially when we're not bringing baby home to a studio apartment. Sure, we don't have a dishwasher or laundry facilities where we're living right now, but at least we have SPACE. At least we're not dumping everything we own to make room for the baby. This time, we've only had to dump a few things.

I'm in that space again, that in-between space, emotionally. Where I feel my baby's arrival so impending, it disrupts my functioning. I walk around in a daze. I'm here, but not here. I don't sleep at night anymore. My baby is coming,  I know it,  I can feel it, and there is nothing else I can focus on. She's everywhere. The most surprising thing, for me, is how little fear I have this time around. I just want her here so badly, in my arms, against my heart. I miss her, and I've never met her. But there's no one else in the world I want to see more.  I long for her, my daughter.

Collin has been feeling the baby's arrival, too, though obviously not in the same way. This baby means something very different for him, and he is excited and asks every day if she's here yet ("Trust me, you'll know when she's here." Husband reassures him). But we're seeing the other side of sibling adjustment, the darker side. The anxiety, that presents itself as acting out and acting out and acting out. I know what he's really wanting is to know where he stands, do we still love him completely, even when he's behaving badly? Do we still cherish him as much as we did before the new baby came into our lives?

Yes, of course we do. We cherish you more than ever. But please, please stop throwing EVERYTHING. Please stop screaming and hitting and kicking.  I know you're confused and a little bit scared right now, and that's why we haven't sold you to the circus yet, but would a single interaction without having to grit my teeth be too much to ask?

Oh, Collin. He bounces so fast between "I'm a baby!" and "I'm a big kid!" that I'm sure he's having some sort of identity crisis.

Husband has put in his time-off request at work, we've arranged childcare for Collin during the birth, we've gathered (almost) everything we need for the baby. We've even washed all the tiny onesies and swaddles, and organized them neatly in their drawers. Now, all that's left is to wait. Wait for three to become four.

2014! And sometimes toddlers are crazy.

Collin has reached the age where inappropriate things sprout loudly from his mouth in public. Examples:

I'm browsing the produce section of Trader Joe's, when from my cart comes the excited squeak of Collin's little voice as he spots a man in a yarmulke (traditional Jewish head covering).
Collin: Mama! Is he a Chanukah guy??
Me: Um... (Oh my god, did he hear that?? Is he looking over here? Quick, steer the cart away! Steer away!)
Collin: Is it Chanukah time??
Me: Um, no honey, it's not. Hey, look, bananas!  (Que mama speed pushing the cart away in shame as I try to redirect the toddler)

I really wanted to say to the guy, "We're Jewish! It's cool!" But I was hoping he just didn't hear anything.

And the other day, standing in line at the Mexican bakery that was filled to the rafters with pinatas, I am foolish enough to point out the Batman.
Me: Look Collin, it's Batman! See him? He's the one in black.
Collin: IS HE BLACK??  (I swear, his voice shot up ten decibels for this one. This is the part where the entire bakery turns and looks at us.)
Me: Um, well, he's wearing black, if that's what you mean...
Collin: MAMA! IS HE BLAAAAAACK??

(For the record, he was talking about Batman's clothing choices).

Is this similar to what my mother felt when I screamed the "S" word in front of a little old lady when I was two?

Mostly, though, I'm flushed by Collin's  sheer cuteness versus his power of embarrassment. He is so engaging with everyone he meets (Perhaps a little too engaging? Like the time he bit an old lady with a dragon puppet in the Salvation Army?). He makes this mama kvell.

In other news, I'm so pregnant,  I can't see my feet anymore. I'm so pregnant,  I take showers every morning not because it's delightful and makes me feel like a real human, but because I'm too big to bend over the sink and wash up the lazy way. I'm tired all the time. All. The. Time. I live in a paradoxical universe of anxiety over the future, and excitement about it. I'm so excited to meet my daughter.  I love her so much already. But change is still change, and change is not easy.

It will be 2014 in two hours. I'm tired. But ready.

The aftermath of Thanksgivukuh

Today, the day after The Big Thanksgivukuh, was such a giant parade of laziness,  I don't quite know how to describe it.  Husband was home all day.  I took a shower AND a bath. Collin watched Planes on the iPad AND the cell phone. Oh, and I also put bean dip and a spoon in front of him and called it lunch. Are you feeling better about your parenting at my expense, yet? If not, please go ahead.

In fact,  I am often humbled by my own, um, "alternative" parenting. Alternative in the sense that I seem to be living in this alternate reality where I do the complete opposite of everything I thought I'd do as a mother, before I became a mother. Examples:

*My kid eats processed sugar. Like, all the time.

*My kid watches shows on Netflix. A lot.  My Netflix suggestions are now completely unrelated to my personal likes and dislikes. (No, Netflix,  I do not want to watch Bob The Builder).

*Sometimes, my kid will go days without eating a vegetable. DAYS.

Right now, though, it's the day after a big holiday, and we're living in holiday vacation mode, where just about anything goes. Apparently, it's a cardinal sin to do anything productive whilst in holiday vacation mode, and that most definitely includes cleaning. Please, please don't let anyone randomly stop by my house for a visit until Monday, when I have a reason to get my sh** together. Because, right now? Right now, there are still turkey organs on my kitchen counter, our dinner table is still stretched five miles long across our living room, and my house looks like the contents have just EXPLODED all over the place. Like, a herd of crazy monkeys must have run through here and just thrown everything around. That's what it looks like.

Hope you had a happy Thanksgivukuh! We did. Long live holiday vacation mode! (Seriously, please don't come to my house).