Hope and Change. No, seriously. I swear.

As Summer comes to an end and we face some big changes ahead in the Fall, I thought it appropriate that I update y'all on the happenings of the Beach fam. So, here it goes...

#1 {Rylan}
Sweet Ry turned 5 last week and heads into Kindergarten after Labor Day. Eeek! So excited for her and this humongous new journey. At first, it made me feel old...but then a good friend reminded me that since I basically got knocked up right out of college, I'm actually quite young to have a 5yr old. In fact, I'm so young, I could even be mistaken for an elementary school-er. Ok, maybe not THAT young. But you get the gist.

She's swimming like a fish. Loves Rapunzel and Mary Poppins. Starts soccer in the fall. And is fascinated by hair feathers, nose rings and temporary tattoos. Sound familiar?{FML}.

#2 {Sawyer}
I'm thrilled to report that Sawyer Colt has finally figured out that poop goes in the potty and not his pants. I potty-trained the un-potty-trainable. It only took a year. And a shit-load of m&ms. Pun intended. I am super-mom. Hear me roar. Next step: peeing standing up and learning to "aim."

He is also swimming. Another huge step. The confidence Mike O'Brien gave Sawyer in just one day of lessons was amazing. In 10 days, he turned Sawyer into a mini Phelps. In fact, I'm pretty sure Swim-to-Mike had something to do with potty training him too.  I think I'll keep Mike's number close for when it's time to teach him how to ride a bike with no training wheels . The guy's a freaking genius. {And in case you're keeping track, this absolutely means that I won the swimming lesson argument and Eric lost. Neener. Neener. Neener}.

Sawyer will start preschool 4 days a week come Fall. He's moved to room 2 {The "big boy room" as he's dubbed it} and each day he becomes more of a little man and less of a little boy.

#3 {Saxon}
Sax is busy being a baby. You know, sleeping {through the night}. Crying {usually between the hours of 5:30-6:30pm}. Pooping {Duh}. He giggles and laughs. And talks and sings. He's got no teeth yet but if it were possible to chew your finger off with just your gums, this kid could do it. So I'd say he's close. And most of the time he just sits there and watches the crazy happening right in front of him. He has these great big eyes and if he could talk I think he'd be saying "WTF did I get myself in to here? These people are nutso."

Mommy {The crazy one}
Speaking of nutso, {and this is where I try to make you laugh while writing about a serious issue because I've learned to deal with uncomfortable topics with humor. I'm a work in progress} I realized recently that my post-partum depression returned {like a freaking tornado}. Boom. It hit me like a ton of bricks. And it was a few weeks ago when I was at the park and could barely pull myself off the park bench to push the kiddos on the swings that I realized something was wrong.

I was treated for PPD after I had Rylan when she was about 8 months old and I'd just stopped breastfeeding. With Sawyer, I was very ready for it to return and thank God it didn't because, as a baby, that kid was enough to make you need a sedative on his own. No depression required.

With Saxon, I thought I was out of the woods. I stopped breastfeeding when he was 8 weeks and didn't notice it then. People often asked me, "how is it with three kids?" and I would give them my standard answer: that I struggled more with two kids, 18 months apart, then I have with 3.

But somewhere along the line I started to have high highs and really low lows. And then the high highs were fewer and far between. And I was just low. And even though I was sleeping. Laughing. and loving being a mom. I just didn't feel like myself. I felt like I was just going through my day, waiting to get to my next sleep.

I went and saw my doc and she confirmed what I already knew. I'm a headcase. No, she actually told me that I am susceptible to PPD because of my previous history. She wrote me an RX for Prozac and the rest is history. I felt better almost instantly. I struggled with the thought of being a "pill popper" the rest of my life but then got over it real quick when I was actually able to pull my head off my pillow and blog again. One day at a time, I guess.

I'm still teaching spin 4 days a week. It's been challenging and {at times} hard, given my schedule and the nature of my state-of-mind. But it's also been hugely rewarding and a way for me to clear my head and make some money again. You know, so I can spend it on really expensive swim lessons and huge cars that I don't need.

Oh, I also decided to be uber-practical {considering my full-time "job"} and get hair extensions. I'm very lucky that my hair stylist is also a very good friend and she offered to give me extensions as part of a training she went through. I've always wanted extensions but didn't want to come out looking like Britney after she'd had a rough night {think barefoot, sipping a frappucino and walking out of a public restroom. Eww.} I'm happy to report that I look NOTHING like that. In fact, they're awesome and look super natural. And considering that since I stopped breast-feeding my hair is basically falling out in clumps and balding {think Britney the night she shaved her head} I actually think the extensions were a necessity. At least that's what I told Eric.

The Big 5 Yr Old. A "Tangled Swim Party". Obv.

The Fish

Gorg

Kamikaze Sawyer

These people are crazy

But at least they can make me laugh

If Rapunzel had the stomach flu,

she barfed all of her accessories in our house

See. Told ya.

Because every Prozac-taking SAHM should have hair like this. Duh.

And, yes, Sawyer thinks he's Zoolander.

 

www.teachmykidstoswimforfree.com??

About three years ago, Eric and I had the brilliant decision {must have been after a night of heavy drinking} to dump the majority of our savings into our house and build a swimming pool. Seemed like a good idea at the time. An investment. Fast-forward to today and we often find ourselves saying, "well if we lose it all, at least we can still work on our tan poolside." Or "you think the kids would want pool water for dinner?" Or "Instead of college, can we just send the kids to the backyard?" Honestly, it wasn't our smartest move. But we did it and we love it. No looking back. We spend most weeknights and weekends hanging by the pool with our closest friends. We love having people over. And Eric has spent the last 2 summers saying that HE was going to teach the kids to swim. Riiiight.

That's right. Our kids can't swim. Not sure how that happened. It's been on the ever-growing list of things to do but somehow just keeps falling to the bottom. Pun intended. I decided this is the year they HAVE to learn. Rylan is almost 5 and the majority of her friends can swim. We just had some friends in from out of town last weekend and my kids sat on the step in the shallow end and watched in envy as these two kids completely showed them up in their own pool and swam circles around them. It sucked.

Here's the problem. I'm married to a man who has a "just throw them in the deep end and see what happens" mentality. That's his idea of teaching them how to swim. Let's let them drown and maybe that will teach them a lesson or two. It's about as good an idea as building the pool itself. As a result, Eric's not really into paying a butt-load of money to get them swimming. Plus, we spent all the money on the gorgeous pool so we can't afford to get them lessons anyway, remember?

Just last weekend he forced Sawyer in to the pool kicking and screaming and proceeded to use the infant swim technique on our 3-yr old. You know the one where you count 1-2-3 and then blow in their face and the baby's natural reaction is to hold their breath and then you dunk? Yeah, it worked when Rylan was 7 months. Well, Eric apparently missed the memo that this is an infant swim technique and decided to try it on Sawyer. Eric blew in his face. Sawyer looked at him like "WTF was that?" and before he knew it he was dunked under water, mouth open and coming up choking, gasping for his life. "No, daddy, pweease" he screamed in between dunks while myself and our friends in from out of town drank beers on the side of the pool. "Does Eric know that only works on infants?" Shanna said. Apparently not.

Seeing as how Eric's infant swim techniques aren't working on our 3 and 5 yr old, here are some other options I came up with:

1. Swim2Mike/Pete/Julie/The bank
This is my type of approach. 2 weeks all-intensive-balls-to-the-wall learn how to swim or your money back. They spend 10 days {m-f for two weeks} with your kid at your own pool for 20 minutes a day. At the end of 2 weeks your kid is a regular freaking flounder. Only problem? It's $360/kid {Total for Ry and Sawyer: $720} Now, for me, this is something I would put in the "worth it" category. Eric's response? "You must be out of your fucking mind. Where's Rylan? I'm throwing her in the deep end." Seriously, he thinks it's ridiculous. Me? I love the idea that it's guaranteed and that they're actually learning to swim, not float on their backs if they fall in. Real swimming. Eric reminded me {like he does so frequently when I talk about spending obscene amounts of money} that I'm spoiled and from La Jolla. Seriously, what does that have to do with anything? We're talking about the safety of our children. Ok, now he says I'm just being dramatic.

2. Waterworks/Blue Buoy
Another option that he found slightly less repulsive. Buy a package of classes {in our case 12 for $259}. Take the kids to the pool facility. Give them a 20-minute semi-private lesson together with a female instructor who's "firm." They'd take 2 lessons each week for 3 weeks and we'd re-evaluate at the end of the sessions and see if we needed more. My guess is that we would. Eric says if they're not still swimming at that point, he'd throw them in the deep end and they'd be better able to work on the whole not-drowning thing. Why is he trying to kill our kids? Problem with option #2 is that I wasn't able to find an opening for a T/TH or W/FRI class that starts after 4pm and is with a woman who is "firm." Why does she need to be "firm"and why does it need to be a woman? Well, I don't think Ry would be very comfortable with a male instructor. Remember, Daddy has already tried to drown her on numerous occasions. The trust level has dwindled. And if it's a woman who's not "firm" then it's basically like taking lessons from me...and we've seen that I'm no better at teaching them then Eric.

Me: "Rylan, want to learn how to swim today?"

Ry: "Not today mommy"

Me: "Ok, time to go inside. Mommy wants a glass of wine."

See? A "firm" female instructor is just the ticket. Except both facilities are booked through summer. So they'll learn next year Eric says. FML.

3. A friend
We've had a few people say "I can teach your kids to swim for free." Of course{no surprise here} Cheapy Mc-Cheaper pants loves this idea but I honestly don't think that the kids will be receptive to learning from someone that they know. We need someone that's gonna lay the smack down on them. No bullshit. Swim or you're grounded until high school approach. Our friends are just too nice. And if they tried to be mean, our kids would see right through it.

This brings us back to square 1. We're up shit creek and don't know how to swim. Which brings up another important point. Sawyer is still crapping his pants. Maybe if Swim2Mike/Julie or Pete could potty train him too, then I'd really be willing to fork out the big bucks. Alas, think they'd work for semi-good wine??

The backyard before...

The backyard after...

The non-swimmers...



Halle{freaking}lujah

I know. You don't have to say anything. I know. I've been neglecting the blog. I'm sorry. I've had writer's block {aka: Saxon}. But I'm back. And I'm coming back in a big way. Why, you ask? Because Saxon slept through the night last night.

For those of you wondering what this means, I'll spell it out for you. It means I can drink again. No, seriously. I know I talk a lot about drinking. And you probably think I drink more than I do. But drinking when you have a newborn is seriously about as fun as squirting lime juice in your eyes. Let me be clear. When you are waking up every 3 hours to feed a newborn, you're already waking up feeling hungover - no booze needed. For the past 11 weeks, I stagger out of bed in the morning looking like a scene from Hangover 2. I do not joke.

I've had zero desire to indulge because why add insult to injury? It's ironic because if there is ever a time to hit the bottle, it's when you have a newborn. But it's really a bad idea. I even decided to push back my 30th birthday party {yup, turned the big 3-0 last week} because getting home from a huge birthday bash only to be woken up by a screaming tiny human sounded like an awful way to ring in this huge milestone. "So, yeah, we'll celebrate when Saxon is sleeping through the night" is what I told everyone.

Now, if you know me, you know that I have serious control issues. As a result, I've sleep-trained all three kids. Yes, that's right. I'm a 'Babywise' mom. I realize that Babywise is like Sarah Palin. Moms either swear by it and think its tactics will be life-changing. Or Babywise foes will tell you that following its methods could give your kids brain damage. Look, at the end of the day, Rylan and Sawyer sleep 12 hours a day and still take a 2 hour nap at ages 4.5 and 3 {respectively}...the jury is still out on Sawyer's mental health - but I'll save that for a different blog post. Middle child. First boy. There are a lot of things working against him besides Babywise.

So how did I do it? Well, we start at 2 weeks old. Before that it's feed on demand. The first two weeks are awful for a Type-A mom. No control. No schedule. Just balls-to-the-wall-I'm-a-slave-for-you-type parenting. So after 2 weeks you start baby on a feed-play-sleep every 3 hour routine. It sounds crazy. But if you're like me, it's great because you're establishing a fool-proof routine. Here's what our day looks like:

8am: Wake and feed {keep awake}
930am: Nap
11am: Wake and feed {keep awake}
1230pm: Nap
2pm: Wake and feed {keep awake}
330pm: Nap
5pm: Wake and feed {keep awake}
8pm: Feed and straight to bed
11pm: Dream feed {feed baby while he/she's asleep and then say your prayers that baby sleeps all the way through until 8am}

In the beginning the baby will naturally wake at 2am and 5am to eat. But as time goes on and the baby learns to sleep longer periods of time, the goal is that he/she will sleep through the 2am and 5am feedings. Do you hear that? {angels are singing}.

Now sometimes babies need a little "help" so-to-speak to drop one or both feedings. This is when the critics will tell you that you're on the fast-track to years of therapy for your kid. Both my boys needed the "help." I think Sawyer would still be eating at 2am if I hadn't forced him to drop that feeding years ago. Saxon was the same way. So 2 weeks ago {and right about the time I made the decision to go back to teaching spin at 6am 3 days a week- I know, brilliant, right?} I decided it was time.

Saxon woke up at 2am like clockwork but instead of feeding him I gave him a pacifier and he went back to sleep. It wasn't actually as easy as that. There were tears involved. From both of us. But the next night, he went right through until 4:30. Yahooo!! The night after that he made it until 5am. So, if you're still with me here, we were now feeding him at 11pm and 5am. Ahh, I can taste that 3rd glass of wine on my lips. 6 hours in a row is magical.

Our next goal was getting him to drop the 5am feeding. And I didn't want to force this one. I really hoped I had one of those kids that would do it on his own. Rylan was like that. She slept through the night at 6 weeks. Overachiever. She may look like Eric, but she's all me folks. So last night when Saxon slept through his 5am feeding Eric and I didn't know what to do with ourselves. Of course we were awake. That first night when they sleep through a feeding, you never do too. We just sat there at 5am watching the monitor waiting for him to wake. He didn't. We're morons.

The last feeding to drop is the "dream feed." And this one is the scariest one, in my opinion. You've just got your kid to sleep from 11pm - 8am without waking up. Why mess with a good thing? What if you don't feed at 11 and he wakes at 5? Truth is, after a week of ensuring the baby can go from 11-8, dropping the dream feed is magical. You know why? Because then your baby is sleeping 12 hours from 8pm to 8am and you're off the wagon telling the Babywise critics to suck it.

That brings us to today. Saxon is 11 weeks old and sleeping straight through from 8pm-8am {with 11pm dream feed}. Next week we'll tackle dropping the dream feed. One week at a time. Tonight Eric and I are off to see Hangover 2 and will throw back a couple to celebrate.

Cheers!

The Potty Diary

I've never claimed to be really good at anything related to parenting...but one area where I'd surely be considered "slow" is in the potty training department. I suck. No really. I'm awful. I have no idea what I'm doing and I usually resort to doing all of the things that they tell you never, under any circumstances, to do.

So, with all that we have going on, I should have been thrilled when Sawyer went pee pee on the potty for the first time at school last week. Actually, I was thrilled. Was I really going to get away with not having anything to do with {screwing up} potty training? Was this why I was paying Sawyer's preschool enough money to put him through one year at private university? I've always said that I would pay big bucks to have someone come to our house and potty train my kids. I even googled it. This person doesn't exist.

So here we are, one week later, Sawyer only wants to wear underwear...he's peed on the potty numerous times. So I should be celebrating, right? I'm not. You know why? Because I'm on 24-hour poop watch.

See, with Rylan, she knew not to poop in her pants. I don't blame her. It's truly disgusting if you think about it {though I suppose going in a diaper is only slightly less repulsive}. Ry would just hold out long enough until we put her diaper on before nap or bed time. Genius! As a result, I never had to stalk her and play poo poo police...aka, give her a massive complex about pooping on the potty or in her pants.

And then there's Sawyer. Sweet #2 has a problem with, well, going #2. Actually, the problem is that he'll go anywhere but the potty. I don't get it. If you can sit and pee, what's so scary about sitting and pooping? And it's precisely the reason I {and by I, I mean, his teachers at school} didn't train him to pee standing up. I thought that would just further confuse the situation. If he pees standing up, will he poop standing up too? I've clearly given this a ton of thought.

We've known his "signs" now for a while. When he has to "go"...he hides. He's so certain of the "feeling" that now he just says "mommy, I'm hiding." So, this should be an easy transition, right? Wrong.

So we set out on mission. 1. Buy new underwear {the ones that I'd bought him a year ago for Christmas were so tight around his legs, they were cutting off the circulation. Wishful thinking that he'd be potty trained last Christmas I guess.} 2. Buy a "poo poo present." 3. And then come home, poop on the potty and sing kumbaya. Yeah, not so much.

Here's what actually happened. We picked out the underwear {Spiderman and Lightning McQueen, in case you're wondering.} Picked out the "poo poo present" {Buzz Lightyear gun}. Came home. Put the present on the shelf and waited. About 20 minutes later {and once I was in the middle of breast feeding Saxon and completely tied down} I heard, "Mommy, I'm gonna hide." {Fuuuuuuck!} I immediately de-latch #3, jump over the couch and make a bee-line for Sawyer. He immediately screamed in fear of mommy running full-force towards him and proceeded to run away from me, crying and literally shitting his pants in fear. Meanwhile, the baby is screaming and about to roll off the couch. Sawyer is crying and hiding on the other side of the dining room table and I'm yelling, "No, Sawyer, don't poop!" I'm pretty sure I did everything they tell you NOT to do in the "Everybody Poops" parent handbook.

After I settled him down, I was shocked that he actually had managed to hold it. So we sat back down. I started feeding the baby again and watched as Sawyer sat there in agony. Now I was concerned because, not only was he going to poop his pants, he was going to poop his pants on my couch. As I begged and pleaded for him to "just try and sit on the potty," he insisted that he no longer had to go. Yeah, ok. Sure buddy.

About five minutes later, he made a run for it. But not to the potty. He ran to the closet. I ran after him. Both of us screaming, I scooped him up and ran into the bathroom. It was too late. The Spiderman underwear were ruined after only 30 minutes of wear. Sawyer was crying. Saxon was crying. Mommy was crying. He sat on the potty devastated. I sat there with the tub of wipes and antibacterial hand soap and explained that accidents happen and that it was ok.

Sawyer called Eric on the phone and told him what happened and how he wasn't going to get the "poo poo present." Just as we were hanging up, I heard the slightest "plop." Sawyer's face lit up. "Mommy! poo poo came out." We looked. He was right. The smallest poop you'd ever seen had gone in the toilet.

"Dammit," I thought. Now I have to give him the damn present for a fluke poop. He was thrilled.

Fast forward to now and he's actually gone a few times, though, not every time. I'm still living in a constant state of poop anxiety. I need to let it go. It's freaking everyone out. And between hoping that Sawyer DOESN'T poop and making sure that Saxon DOES, it's all I'm freaking doing these days.

He did go at school and now school has deemed him "potty trained" so we save $50 a month on tuition. I guess I really was paying a potty training guru and just didn't know it. Now who can I pay to come clean it up when he has an accident?

Baby, 1. Mommy, 0.

It would be fair to say that I've been on the front lines of newborn baby war these last three weeks. Don't get me wrong, I knew what I was getting into since I've done it before...but holy baby Batman! It's just taking me a while to find my newborn mojo, I suppose.

I've literally sat down to blog about the current state of our house {insanity} dozens of times but have found that I only have about two minutes between breastfeeding, crying {me, included} and someone asking for "more juice" {Eric, included} that all my thoughts are cut short.

So, in honor of these two free minutes, I thought a "you know you have a newborn" Top 10 list would be appropriate:

You know you have a newborn when:

10. You pour the breast milk into the bottle without the drop-in and are totally unfazed by the puddle of milk at your feet {thanks Dede}

9. In a contest between you and Pamela Anderson on who has the most ridiculous boobs, you win in a landslide.

8. You don't leave your bedroom {let alone your house} without sunglasses on.

7. You'd welcome a trip to the dentist or OBGYN for just 30 minutes of "alone" time

6. You'd risk a cell phone ticket for talking while driving because the car is now the only place where the baby will sleep and you can chat for longer than 2 minutes

5. You want to marry your Keurig

4. You unload baby and stroller from the car, lock the doors, head into the market, finish shopping and leave the store to find that you left the passenger door wide open.

3. You wake up at 3 am mid-walk to the nursery and wonder if you're coming or going

2. You just remembered that you had to pee this morning...but it's now 5pm

1. You blog one-handed

PS. To all my friends who have checked in on me to make sure I haven't drowned myself in the bathtub, thank you. This too shall pass. Big hugs.

The Saxon{ater}

We did it! He's here. Well, actually, he arrived on March 25, 2011. So he's been here for 12 days. And that's how long it took me to get my shit together to sit down and write about it. Phew. Switching to zone defense, NOW!

So here's how it went down. On Thursday afternoon we went to El Torito to watch the SDSU NCAA Tourney game {aka, witness my bracket go down the toilet.} I ordered what I thought would be the most "mild" thing on the menu. Taquitos. To my surprise, these bad boys came smothered in hot sauce. Oh well. Down the hatch. At this point, I was eating everything in sight. I figured maybe my effort to order something less-spicy would pay off. It didn't. In fact, I'm pretty sure it had something to do with putting me in to labor.

At about 3:30 am on March 25, I woke up with strong-enough-to-make-your-eyes-bleed heartburn. Standard, at this point. I expected it. What I didn't expect were the contractions I started having about 5 minutes later. And then they didn't stop. So I started timing them and, sure enough, they were regular. Every 5-7 minutes. So we got the bag packed. Got the kids dressed. Called the doc. She said to head to L&D since it was my 3rd baby and she was going to induce me the next day anyway {see Ricki, it all worked out.}

Then we hopped in the car and Eric did what any super-cool-under-pressure husband would do...he drove like a complete jackass. Taking speed bumps at 20 miles an hour. Weaving in and out of traffic. The kids thought they were at Disneyland. "Weeee!" Mind you, both of their schools are literally about 2 blocks away. I think Eric envisioned delivering the baby in the Yukon and since we have a very strict never-look-below-the-knees-while-wife-is-in-labor policy he was determined to get me to the hospital asap.

We got to Hoag. Got hooked up to the monitors. Nurse checked me. I'm still 2 cm. {FML} For those of you with no idea how this whole watermelon vs lemon thing works, you have to be 10 cm dilated to push the baby out. 2 cm is nothing. In fact, my guess is that most women with multiple children walk around for the rest of their lives 2 cm dilated. Really. Sneeze and be 2 cm dilated. Shit.

So Eric and I did what we do best. We started making the nurse laugh. There was no way we were getting sent home. We turned on the charm and Megan the nurse ate it up. An hour later when I was 2.5 cm dilated {FML, again} she came in to tell me that my doc said "go ahead and break her water." Yes! Amazing. Love my doc. So they did. And about an hour after that I was 4 cm. Ok, getting somewhere.

Then they hooked up the pitocin. And the contractions started coming on strong. For about 3 hours I laid there until I had to tell Eric to stop playing inappropriate You Tube clips because laughing with gnarly contractions wasn't working for me. I begged for my epidural. And then lost my spot in line because the woman next door was 6 cm and I was, just guess...still a 4. Bitch. {FML, cubed.}

45 minutes later. Epidural in. And I'm ready to rock and roll. They upped my pitocin dosage to a-freaking-lot and at 4pm I was ready to push. But I didn't. My doctor was stuck in traffic. So I sat there. My nurse actually told me not to move for fear the baby would come out. {Lovely visual, I know.} Finally, at 4:30 the doc arrived and after 5 pushes, he was out. All 8lbs, 4oz of him...and a week early too. Biggest baby yet. Rylan was 6.13 and Sawyer was 6.7.

Saxon Cash Beach. He's just been an awesome kid thus far {but since I put it in writing, I'm sure he'll make me take it back at some point.} In the hospital we actually had to ask the nurse if he was ok because he was sleeping so much. I know, right? Crazy. He spends his days eating, sleeping and, well, pooping. Typical.

Here he is. Someday, I'll invest in a camera that doesn't take blurry pictures.

Saxon Cash Beach. 3.25.11

And, in case you're wondering, I 100% brushed my hair and put on make-up after I delivered and before I took pics. I was tired of having hospital pics of myself where I looked like I was just beaten over the head with a baby. So, yeah, bring on the smoke and mirrors.

"Beach Party of 5, please don't come to our restaurant for a couple of years"

I mean, come on with the cuteness!

Heading home. Me: "Do we have to?"

Let the real fun begin!

Getting Down to "Business"

Somewhere early on in this pregnancy I became obsessed with Ricki Lake. I know. Weird, right? Let me explain. Ricki Lake recently produced a documentary called "The Business of Being Born." In short, she sells the idea that hospitals and doctors are more concerned with making a quick buck by inducing pregnant women before their body is actually "ready" to give birth...which in many cases results in an emergency c-section, which, in turn, results in more money for the doctor etc, etc. Sounds nothing like me, right? I'm a planner. Induction fits perfectly with my personality. Strangely, I decided after already giving birth to two children that I would make a point this last time to do some research. Sorry #1 and #2. Hope you turn out alright. Catch ya on the flip side!
So I ordered "Business" on Netflix just to see what all the fuss was about. Ricki thinks, as do many other midwifes/Douala's/women who go bra-less and don't shave their armpits {oops, inadvertent stereotyping}, that when the baby is ready to come, it will come. In her documentary, which I begged Eric to watch with me to no avail, she focuses on drug-free home births using midwifes, water births, standing births, birthing ball births...basically every birth plan I swore I'd never do.

After watching the film, I re-confirmed for myself- Hoag Hospital or Bust. Surprised? What, I don't strike you as the deliver-my-baby-in-a-bathtub-like-Shamu type? The truth is, I grew up 5 minutes from Sea World and remember watching the news of a birth at the park when I was younger. I just can't get passed the God-awful visual it ingrained in my brain. And while we're on the subject, who wants to sit in the bathtub after the delivery anyway? I won't even take the baby from the doctor until it's been cleaned off. No judgements, thanks. We have the rest of our lives to cuddle. And don't get me wrong. By no means am I judging the au-naturale moms. More power to ya!

Still, after watching the documentary and deciding I was right all along, I can't get Ricki out of my head. She has been sitting on my ever-widening shoulder, whispering sweet Bradley-method nothings, convincing me that I'm going to screw up my kid by speeding up the labor process with induction and drugs. I've become torn {ew, awful word to use with just 10 days left. My apologies}

If you know me at all, it will come as no shock to you that I called the hospital months ago to make sure that they had enough epidurals on hand. God forbid they run out. I've also spent the last 9 months counting all the pregnant women I know. I even went so far as to create a list, in chronological order by due date, of all the preggos. This had nothing to do with my OCD {well maybe a little OCD}, but rather, I felt like if the majority of pregnant women I know were due at a different time than me, I had a better shot of delivering my child in an ocean-view suite at Hoag versus the Hoag hallway on a gurney. Yes, I actually have anxiety that we'll have a "no room at the Inn" situation. And seriously, I want {need} as much medical intervention as possible. Morphine for the pain? Absolutely. Pitocin? Bring it on. Epidural? Make it a double.

So Tuesday when I went for my weekly doc appointment {38.5 weeks} and my doctor mentioned induction next week what's the first thing I did? Check my calendar? Nope. Call Eric? No way. Call my mom? Uh-uh. Immediately get a vision of Ricki Lake sitting naked in a bathtub, groaning like a cow, birthing her second born? You guessed it. Ugh! Dammit Ricki. Get out of my head! Two nights ago I had a dream that a member of the Wiggle's delivered my baby in the cockpit of an airplane! I have crippling heartburn that could grow hair on your chest. The last thing I need right now is a Ricki mind-fuck.

I thought about it for a minute. I called Eric 2 times and got no answer. Awesome. Because if you know my husband, you know that he answers EVERY phone call. So yeah, that's ok babe, I'm just 10 months pregnant...water could have broken...could be 10 cm and ready to push {hee hee hoo}...and you're just not answering your phone. Whatever.

So I decided that Ricki could suck it.

March 28, 2011 is going to be a great birthday for #3. That's right. I said it, Ricki. You can take your bathtub birth and shove it. I'll be showered. Hair done. Legs shaved. You name it. I'll be ready. Induce the hell out of me. Let's make it happen. Bring on the pitocin, epidural and medical intervention. 5 days to go. Oh, it's so on...

Mamma's Got a Brand New...Blog

Someone got a mommy makeover. What!? Can you blame me? I do live in the OC...and a little nip/tuck is perfectly normal around these parts. Do you like? Leslie at Sweetie Baby's did a fab job on the re-design.

I have yet to decide what to "do" with my blog...I mean, other then to use it as my own personal parental catharsis and an outlet to put my foul mouth to good use...but it's like I always say, "even when you have zero clue what you are doing, you can at least look good and fake it." So I'm faking it.

In honor of the face lift, I invite you to follow me! Check out the link to the right {----->}...otherwise you're kind of just a stalker and it could get a little creepy.

And here's the first sign that Sawyer might not be that open to having a sibling. This is what he did when we said "Lookout Sawyer, Daddy's taking a picture of the baby." {Crap}

38 Weeks

Babies "R" U{suck}s

I've spent the last hour searching "woman goes freaking ballistic on babies r us employee" on You Tube. So far, no hits so I'm fairly sure the employee decided against uploading the store's security footage to the site. Phew, it got ugly...real quick.

A while ago, I mentioned that Babies "R" Us was basically a warehouse full of worthless employees all wearing purple shirts who have zero knowledge of any of the products they are selling and zero desire to be working there or provide an ounce of customer service. A friend of mine mentioned it sounded similar to an SEIU rally. If you've worked in state government in Sacramento, you're likely familiar with SEIU rallies. Basically, on any given day, you can find a group of public employee union members wearing purple shirts marching around the capitol chanting "Si se puede" Translation: "Yes, we can" or "Yes, it can be done." I quickly pointed out to my friend that if the Babies R Us employees chanted, they'd be saying "No, we can't" or "No it's not possible." Really.

So today when I set out to my local Babies R Us, I had a couple of objectives.


1. Pick up some Baby Talk magazines because these free publications that are available at BRU contain golden $10 off Baby Store purchases at Amazon.com.
2. Get some questions answered about what type of video monitor I should get this time around
3. Buy a few of the necessities that I know I'm going to need for the first 1-2 weeks after baby arrives. You know, bottles, pacis, etc.


Here's how it all went to shit real fast.


First stop: Registry desk.


Me: "Hi, can you show me where your Baby Talk magazines are located?"
Her {Puzzled and slightly cross-eyed}: "Um, why do you want Baby Talk magazines?"
Me: "Well, my friends mentioned that they are usually sitting on a free rack at BRU and contain some valuable amazon.com coupons."
Her {Slightly nervous and twitchy}: "Yes, they do. However, we stopped leaving them out because it creates too much competition with our store. So now we keep them behind the desk."
Me: {Slightly irritated}: "Ok, so...do you not give them to people that ask or...?"
Her: "...sure. Here's one."
Me: "One. Really!? Just one. Thanks so much for ONE magazine. Did you ever think that maybe if you lowered your prices on diapers, people wouldn't come to your store to ask for coupons to use at someone else's store?"
Her: {Silence}


Ok, maybe I shouldn't have gone that far but I couldn't help it and my smart ass comment did guilt her in to giving me 4 more magazines. Point is, BRU has gone so far as to realize that they're losing sales to Amazon.com baby store but instead of offering great deals/discounts and coupons to be competitive, they just decided to hide the amazon.com coupons under the desk. Fabulous sales tactics. Not to mention, why is my BRU the only store that hides the coupons behind the desk and makes you threaten the employees for them? At all the other stores, supposedly, they are just sitting there just waiting to be pillaged. Figures.


Second stop: Baby Monitors

As I'm waiting in the Baby Monitors section, hoping someone will recognize my confusion and ask me if I need help, I overhear this:

"So, can anyone tell me what their sales goal is going to be this week?"

I turn around and to my total shock and disbelief, I see literally 20 purple-shirt-wearing BRU employees sitting around, nodding off in the middle of a sales meeting.

I walk up and interject: "I have an idea. How about you save your genius and obviously ineffective sales meetings for times when the store isn't full of customers who require, I don't know, customer service?"

Ok, so maybe this last part only happened in my head. But seriously. What company holds sales meetings during store hours with every single available employee on the floor in the meeting? I'm beyond annoyed. Contractions are commencing.

Third stop: Bottles and Pacifiers

I spend about 20 minutes trying to figure out which bottles I want to use this time. Not sure why I've decided that I need to switch brands, but I know I'd like to get new ones since the last set of bottles has been used by two kids for longer than a kid should probably use a bottle. I'm sure I've reached some statute of limitations on these bottles so it's time for some new ones. While browsing, 4 purple shirts walk by. "No, thanks. I've got this. No help needed here. Thanks for asking." Oh wait...Anyway, I decide on the Tommee Tippee bottles where the nipple literally looks like a boob. Throw them in my basket and head towards checkout.

By now, I've been at BRU for about an hour. I get to the front of the line. The cashier rings me up. I hand her my gift card to pay for a portion of the balance and she says "your card has a zero balance." I tell her this is impossible because I just got it as a gift and haven't used it yet. She gives me the now standard BRU blank stare and basically says "sorry, can't help you. call the 1-800 number."

At this point, I'm done. I start to lose it. I head over to customer service and meltdown. I manage to get out "This place is un-freaking..." and then I burst into tears. Since I've left my items in the only open checkout lane, and the clerk can't void the order without a manager, the clerk and the 5 people in line behind me are now watching me at the customer service desk and are witnessing the meltdown. Can't blame them. I'd be staring at me too.

Now bawling, I proceed to tell the asst manager that BRU sucks ass. That all the employees are miserable, unhelpful human beings and that the only reason I am even in the store is because I have a gift card that I now have been told has been given to me with zero dollars on it. I spend 5 more minutes telling her how angry I am and how I'm literally about to go into labor in her store- which would be awful since no one there knows wtf they're doing or what a baby even is. All the while, she's standing there staring at me. Finally, I walk out, call my mom and have a meltdown in my car in the parking lot. Like hyperventilating-can't get a breath-gonna freaking kill someone-meltdown.

Eventually, I stopped crying...about 30 minutes later. And not before I realized how pissed I was that I didn't just pay full price for the items that I actually needed. Shit! I really needed that stuff and now I can't go back and show my face after bitching out that asst manager.

24 days to go...just. breathe.

The Things People {Idiots} Say

I learned at a very young age NEVER to ask a woman if she was pregnant. It was one of the great lessons I learned from my mom...that, and if you have the choice between flats and heels, sometimes pain is beauty.

Unfortunately for my mom, she enforced this rule so strictly upon me because of her own misstep. Years ago, she ran into an old friend in the supermarket and happily exclaimed, "Oh my gosh, I didn't know you were expecting again." The woman frowned and abruptly stated, "I'm not." The way my mom tells it is that the woman {although, not sure she used that exact word} was wearing the same maternity mu mu that she had been wearing a year ago when she WAS expecting. Who does that!?

As a result, I never wear maternity unless I'm pregnant AND I never ask a woman if she's pregnant unless I'm in the delivery room and the baby is crowning. Seriously. My question is, how come I'm the only person that was actually taught this lesson? I mean, this is an important one folks.

I mention all this because I'm about 36 weeks pregnant, though I feel as though I'm 40. I'm uncomfortable. I cannot walk without waddling. Just standing hurts. And some days I feel like TLC is going to show up with a camera crew and film an episode of that show where the person is too large to make it out of their front door without a crane and they've been living in their lazy boy for 7 years.  I can't put on my own shoes so I opt for flip flops or flats {sorry mom}. I've started getting those looks like "Oh my God, she's gonna blow any second." It's these last 4 weeks where people completely lose their filter {or ability to use their brain} and engage in what I like to call "verbal diarrhea."

So, in honor of my discomfort, I've compiled a list for you of what NOT to say to a preggo...I've also taken the liberty to explain why these questions are inappropriate...in case you were never taught by your mother. Free of charge. Life lessons here folks.

1. "OMG, you must be due ANY day!?"
-See here's why this is rude. I'm not due any day. I actually have 4 long, disgusting and uncomfortable weeks to go. Really not close at all. AND chances are that I will get bigger than I am now. So, yeah, don't ask this.
2. {As a follow up to question 1} "Are you sure?"
-Really!? You're going to argue with me on this? I have more hormones in the tip of my pinky finger than you will ever know or feel in your entire life. Do not push me to my already-teetering-on-crazy limit.
3. "Are you having twins?"
-Just don't. There's no point in insinuating that a woman is so large she might actually be carrying two fetuses instead of one. Let her offer this piece of information if she'd like to explain why she's huge, but no need to inquire.
4. "Oh honey, you look so uncomfortable"
-Thanks. I hadn't noticed. But now that you pointed it out. I realize that, yes, I have a watermelon inside my ever-expanding uterus. I actually have a foot inside my ribcage. There are things happening in my nether-regions that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. So, yeah, I'm a little uncomfortable. But you don't need to point it out. I know.
5. "Whoa"
-I have actually walked by people and heard them say this under their breath. Next time it happens, I swear I'm going to say "I'm pregnant, what's your excuse?" Would you ever in a million years say "whoa" when a non-pregnant woman walks by? No. So why now?
6. {And my personal favorite} "When are you due?"
-Now let me explain, because I get this one a lot and it actually doesn't bother me...now. When it does bother me, though, is when I've already HAD my baby and am standing there with the infant. It would be impossible for me to have an 8 week old and be pregnant and showing. Now, yes, I could still be carrying some old {son of bitch, bastard} baby weight but this is when you have to show some restraint and use that other lump, 3 feet above your ass. I'm not pregnant. I just had a freaking baby and am just, well, fat. Deal with it.

On a side note, #6 inevitably will happen at the nail salon. Getting a pedicure is one of the worst things you can do for your self-esteem after you've had a baby. Those women are just plain mean. The nail ladies manage to combine life lessons 1-6 into one question and then when you answer in a completely bitchy response, they talk about you in their native tongue. I've gotten off track. We'll save the nail ladies for another day. Give them another "shout out" when the time is right.

For now, here's to 250 days down, 30 to go...

35.5 weeks..."whoa!"

The Pacifier Intervention

I'm no Dr. Drew. I have zero experience as an interventionist. BUT I did used to smoke a pack a day for about 10 years AND watch a lot of reality tv so I knew we had an addict on our hands. Last week we decided to go cold turkey on the pacis. Poor little buddy didn't see it coming. Even I didn't quit smoking cold turkey. I needed an anti-anxiety pill for 6 weeks to get me through the withdrawals. That pill would have come in handy for Sawyer.

A little history, Sawyer was a tough baby. I threw a soothie in his mouth on day 1...mostly because he was so freaking loud. I needed a plug to drown out the screaming. Who knew 3 yrs later he'd be a full-blown paci addict? Once he turned one, we implemented the "MUST leave home WITHOUT it" rule. He did well with that. He only got the paci when he was in his crib. Piece of cake. At two, the dentist said we were screwing up his teeth and we needed to go cold turkey. The kid sucked on the thing so hard that he was starting to look like a Brit. Ugh.

Fast forward to last week and things had taken a turn for the worse. Instead of learning to live without it, he was becoming more dependent on it. He'd ask for it earlier and earlier each night. And then, the last two weeks he started waking up in the middle of the night when he couldn't find it in his sheets {remember we switched him from crib to bed about two weeks ago...shit!}. The end came on Monday night when Eric got up at 3 am and physically had to move the bed away from the wall in order to rescue the paci from the depths of the gap between the wall and the bed.

So we took him to Disneyland {California Adventure}. It was raining. We had the brilliant idea to let him hand the pacis over to Mickey Mouse...Mickey was such a nice guy, he was going to give them to the babies that needed them. Makes sense, right!? Two problems arose when we got there...first, Sawyer loves Mickey but he wants nothing to do with the characters at Disney. Watching them on TV is just fine with him. {Not sure how we managed to forget this small piece of info.} Second, it was raining and the only thing worse than having to wear that big ass Mickey costume is having to do it in the rain {I'm guessing, here.} So we got to Disneyland and there were no characters to be found. Zero. I decide, "How about we throw them in the lake?"...we'd only be potentially screwing up their new billion dollar "World of Color" show, but hey, whatever it takes, right? No. It started pouring and we were way too far away from the lake when it was time to do the deed so, in typical Eric fashion, he says, "F-it, let's just throw them in the fountain in Downtown Disney." I said, "sure, why not" because at this point I was in full waddle mode and starting to look like a drowned rat, er buffalo, from the downpour. We get to the fountain and it's off. Shit! and not only is it off, it's been drained. Double shit! So Eric says "we're doing it anyways" and hands over the two remaining pacis that Sawyer owns and says "Go for it buddy." To his credit, he chucked them in the empty fountain with ease...but then immediately burst into tears. I wanted to cry too. Eric looked at me and said "quick, let's get out of here." I looked at him and said "should I grab 'em back, just in case?" He called me an enabler and then took off back to the car. I arrived 5 minutes after him. Winded and wet. It was not my finest hour.

So we get home and here's where I realized that I really was one of those enabler moms from the Intervention show. You know, the mom's that let the kid live under their roof and the kid shoots up heroin in their bedroom and then the camera crew arrives to film the intervention and the mom acts shocked like she had no idea her kid even had a drug problem. Yeah, I'm that mom. I realized that Sawyer could handle giving up his paci but I couldn't.

Anyway, when we got home we put him down for a nap and here's where the real fun started. Now that we made him go cold turkey. We had to watch him have paci withdrawals...for two whole hours. Here's just a sampling of what the lil dude went through. Pacis really are like drugs.

1. Crying. First the tears came, hard and loud..."where's that plug? oh wait..."
2. Shaking. Then he started shaking and rocking, back and forth in his bed.
3. Hot then Cold. He ripped off his socks and pants. Then, he got cold and was pissed when he couldn't get his socks back on.
4. Taking his stuffed puppy and slamming it against the headboard.
5. Yelling, "I'm mad. I'm so mad."
6. {And my personal favorite} When I finally went in the room to check on him he says, "Mommy, I need somefing for my mouf." Shame. The old oral fixation problem. I wanted to hand over one of those extra special anxiety pills that I used to pop like candy when I quit smoking.

Here we are now, 5DPP {5 days post paci} and he's doing pretty well. The first few days, nap time was the toughest. He's basically been trained to use the paci as a tool to help him fall asleep. Now he has to get to bed on his own. Not so much. Bed time has been simple because by the time he gets in bed, he's so freaking exhausted that he passes out. Today he actually fell right asleep at nap time. Golf claps for mom of the year over here.

Hey, I have an idea! How about we have another baby! Crap...

The way they were. {Cue Taps}

We weren't even really sure what Sawyer looked like until after his 1st birthday...

Sawyer and his BFF {Paci, not Rylan}

The day the pacis died...

In other news, I may not be an interventionist or a doctor, but I did figure out what's wrong with Serene Branson...she didn't have a stroke. She's pregnant. This is how I sound every day...

Making Room for Baby...Literally

I was told by someone  recently {thanks Dad} that my previous post had me sounding like a bitter, cynical, preggo almost-mom-to-three-kids {who me?} and that I ought to try and lighten {not a lot of that going on lately} the mood in my subsequent posts. Or at least watch the "shit" and "ass talk"...so here's my best effort.

This week, I kicked my urge to nest's ass, er butt. We are making some serious moves at the Beach House. Check it out. Here's Rylan's new "really big girl" room. She loves her new queen-sized bed. Most mornings we find her sideways in it. Think she's still getting used the size. What could be more appropriate than stripes, polka dots and zebra? Oh, and note the video camera mounted on the wall. Yeah, we'll have that there until she graduates high school. Sorry, Ry, but you have my DNA, which means there are all sorts of shenanigans we can look forward to. In case your wondering, yes, Rylan loses all of her privacy because of the "choices" I made in high school. Sorry, girlfriend. It is what it is.

And then there's the Dude's new digs. I made the brilliant decision when I was pregnant with Sawyer to buy the twin bedding that matched his crib set. Brilliant! This way, we wouldn't have to re-do his room 2-3 yrs after he was born because we couldn't find any twin-sized cowboy bedding, make sense? Highly recommend this decision to any first-time preggo 3B430 blog readers. He loves his big boy bed and has yet to get out of it in the middle of the night or even in the morning. Think he may be scared. We're going with it. "Yes, Sawyer, it's very scary to get out of bed in the middle of the night. Don't try it." Is that bad?? No judgements thanks. My toughest {please, #3, don't make me eat my words} kid has actually made a major toddler milestone easy.  Who knew?

Here's a sneak peek of #3's home once he/she is out-of-utero. It's not complete. But I do take comfort in knowing that if I go into labor tomorrow, the kid will have a place to crash that's not in our bed/room. Eeek. No offense to moms who do a "family bed"...It's just not for me. Anywhoo, a sneak peek of "Beach-wood Forest." More pics to come once it's complete.

Voila! Originally, I didn't want to do a gender-neutral nursery. I hated the idea of a yellow nursery. I was actually going to wait, pick a bedding set for a boy and a girl and then order it from the hospital after delivery. Can you imagine what would have happened to me and my urge to nest if I had done that? Sweet Jesus. Eric would have divorced me. So we decided to go with a forest theme. Yes, it's blue {torquoise} and green. But I figure if it's a girl {which, btw, we don't think it is} we could add some birds/fairies, etc and if it's a boy we can masculine-it-up a bit with some {deep voice} manly deer and "felt-idermy"...yes, it exists. Yes, it's one of the fabulous things I discovered after spending a disgusting amount of time on Etsy.com. Did I mention I could decorate my house completely in wall decals if I wanted to? I have issues.

Sarah Palin, eat your heart out...

Amazing, right?!! Felt-idermy. Genius.

And then there's me. Making room for baby, literally. I have feet in my rib cage. This baby kicks so hard it wakes me up from my sleep. If it's a girl? She's a rock-ette. A boy? A punter {sorry, babe. I know you're not a huge fan of punters. I couldn't think of a more masculine guy who kicks. Wait! got it.} Take 2. A boy? Beckham. And I think this is where I become bitter and cynical so I'll try and honor LT's wishes. I gained 4 lbs in 2 weeks. Oh the gluttony. Seriously!? That just sounds unhealthy to me. But, Doc says I'm good to go and has yet to have the come-to-Jesus "honey, you need to slow down" conversation with me, so I digress, enjoying my Mike and Ike's {seriously, the best EVER} and satiating myself on portions large enough to feed Secretariat.

Thar she blows folks. 32 weeks. 8 weeks to go {eek!! screams of panic and terror}

Final count: 2 "shits". 1 "ass". An improvement? I think so...

Nesting my freaking ass off...

Let me just start by saying I don't intend to have every blog post from here on out have something to do with my ass...this one really won't. The back-to-back "ass-titled" posts are just a coincidence in this case.

Moving on, I don't remember having the urge to nest this badly in my previous pregnancies. Perhaps it's because my Type-A self had Rylan's nursery done two weeks after the positive pregnancy test and Sawyer's nursery was complete when I was about 6 months pregnant. Now, granted, this time around I have a 4 and 2 year old keeping me busy but I'm also starting to think I've been living in denial that #3 is coming, ready or not.

Currently, if you're keeping track (and maybe you should start because, clearly, I'm doing a shitty job) I have 11 weeks, 4 days until my due date. That's 81 days until April 1. Now, I've also delivered two babies prior to their due date so who knows how long we've really got. I wouldn't mind an extra 4 weeks or so...but that could be a disaster for my growing ass so let's not go there. Sorry, more ass talk. Let's just say 10 weeks. 10 weeks before we become a party of 5. Oh My God. I hope there's a lot of booze at that party.

So here's what has to happen before #3 debuts.

1. Move queen bed from guest bedroom to Rylan's room.
2. Buy queen bedding for Ry's new bed
3. Move Sawyer's crib to the guest bedroom for #3
4. Move Rylan's twin bed to Sawyer's room
5. Paint guest bedroom
6. Sell Armoire in guest bedroom on craigslist (oh, craigslist, I'll touch on this in a sec)
7. Drink a shot or two of whiskey because I can't deal. I feel like my life is freaking musical rooms

As I mentioned in #6, I've been listing things on craigslist as a way to make room for the new things that we need/get rid of things we don't. You know, nest. Now craigslist doesn't have a section for "hormone crazy preggos that are trying to nest"...it's just called "items for sale" in the "baby/kids" section. Craig should think about making a change. This way, assholes would know what and who they're dealing with before they sent an idiotic email inquiring about an item. Seriously, Lifetime, get ready to write the script for Craigslist Killer part 2. I'll be the star. I'm going to kick someone's ass.

Let me just paint the picture for you so you can have a better idea of the conversations I've had in the past week. Honestly, I've had more enlightening conversations with my two year old:

A question from a buyer regarding this post titled "Babies R Us Pink Chenille Glider w/ Ottoman - $225 (Costa Mesa, CA)"

You ready? I really can't make this stuff up. Here it is:

Buyer:"Where are you located and can you tell me how much?"

Now, I did go to college (and kindergarten for that matter) so I know how to read and I know that this woman could have answered her own question simply by reading the headline of the ad. I mean, is she blind? What a waste of freaking space.

Here's another one:

My Post: "Babies R Us Chocolate Brown Suede Rocking Chair and Ottoman - $225 (Costa Mesa, CA)"

Buyer: "hi. do you still have rocking chair? is it supper comfy?? I will buy it today what is your absolute best price? and where abouts are you in costa mesa?

Me: "$225 is actually my bottom line. the set was purchased for over $500 so it's a great deal. we're in eastiside costa mesa/newport heights area...just off the 55 south. let me know if you're still interested."

Buyer: "yes. i am interested."

Um, ok. WTF!? Dear buyer, are you trying to drive me crazy? Because, you've succeeded. And, BTW, "super" is only spelled with one "p" you moron.

For the record, this guy was never heard from again. Who does that!?

Here's the thing (and I know this post is turning into a rant so I'll wrap it up here shortly) shopping on Craigslist means you're already getting a deal. Wanna know why? Because your cheap ass would be paying full price if you were buying it from the store. So, if you're shopping on craigslist, chances are you are already getting a discounted price. Don't ask me what my best price is. The price listed IS my best price. Take it or leave it.

I'm going to end it with that thought. I can feel my blood pressure increasing. God forbid I get preeclampsia and this baby arrives "supper" early. Here's to the next 81 days. Bear with me.

New Year. New Post...New Ass.

It happened. I was sailing along beautifully (if I do say so myself). I was being cautious, but not obsessed. I was enjoying every bite. But not EVERY bite. And then "BOOM!." Just like the smack of the big girl dropping her tray at the all-you-can-eat buffet, I got fat. I don't know what happened. I mean, I know it has something to do with the holidays. Even after Christmas dinner when I had eaten so much that I could barely migrate from the table to the couch without emitting a whale song...I still asked for pie. I couldn't help it. It was a homemade pie. It was going to go to waste and I just couldn't stomach it. What's worse, is that after that one slice of pie that sent me in to a tailspin of discomfort and gluttony, I couldn't just throw the rest of it away. We kept the box in the fridge and had a slice a night after dinner for a week. We finally threw it away two nights ago. But it was too late. The damage was done. I realized last night that if you listen carefully at meal time, you can actually hear me "moo-ing." I no longer eat from a plate. I eat from a trough.

Here's the disappointing part. I've had two pregnancies where I truly have eaten everything in sight. All discipline out the window. I mean, with Sawyer, I stopped counting my weight once I gained 60 pounds because I was so disgusted with myself. It truly got ugly.  AND, because I've done this two times before, I know how hard it is to lose the weight after the baby comes. Gone are the delicious memories of that third slice of pie you ate from the trough after your second helping of Christmas dinner. All that's left is that pesky stretch mark and extra roll (and I'm not talking dinner) that you have to spend the next 6 months cursing at the gym.

So where do I go from here? Now that I've realized that my dreams of living out the remaing 12 weeks of pregnancy looking like Nicole Richie have gone down the hatch like that last slice of pie? Well, for one, I'm strongly re-thinking that maternity photo sesh that I swore I'd finally do this time around. I mean, unless Theresa has the latest magic version of Photoshop...because, really!? What am I going to do with a few 11x14 bovine-esq shots of moi? Hang them over the mantle? No thanks. And, sorry 22 loyal readers, because it's my blog and I have the power, probably no more week by week (I know, this hasn't been the case...I'm more on a post-every-7-week sched now anyways. Forgive me, the kids are playing in the liquor cabinet now as I type. I'm a little busy.) belly pics. I'll leave you with a few today just so you don't feel you've been given the shaft...but other than that, pics are going under strict lock and key until further approval (photoshop editing) from me. Did you know you can smooth out a double chin!? I do. Because I've actually had to request this. A few times.

Here it is...in all it's glory. Just one EZ-Take-out burger away from a natural disaster...

27.5 Weeks

And just so you don't think I'm one of those girls that talks about how huge she was but really wasn't...here's proof that I was massive when I was pregnant with Sawyer.

Go ahead. You can gasp. I do. Honestly, the pillow should say "Food Magnet."

And since we're having so much fun, here's a pic of me one week before I delivered Sawyer. Brace yourself.

 See!? I cannott tell a lie.

Ok, and finally, because I believe we should end on a positive note...Here's our Christmas pic this year. I was like, I don't know, 16 weeks pregnant or something ridic. I thought maybe I'd stay this way and be one of those "only-pregnant-in-the-belly-type preggos." Yeah, not so much. Happy New Year folks.