Just Heather

I’m still here. Still pregnant. Still desperately wishing it were over now, though I’m dreading the questions I’ll be getting soon.

Stacia is almost 8 now—a far cry from the 4 year old she was the last time I went through this. I’m going to have to answer the question with a bit more than “from love.” She’s smarter than that by now.

We have already had the occasional “How’s the baby going to come out?” question, but managed to gloss it over with a trip to the maternity center and reminder of the doctors who will help the baby come out. It’s only a matter of time before she actually asks where the baby will come out of. That’s going to be a fun conversation filled with what is sure to be a way-too-detailed description on the pain of contractions—something “akin to doing the splits on a crate of dynamite.”

We’ve always tried to use proper terms for things, but discovering that the vagina—or as our toddler calls it, despite our proper vocabulary, her front butt—has a purpose other than peehole is going to be quite a shock.

I’m never getting grandchildren.

My mom drived me to Grandma’s again. We were drawing at Grandma’s, but I didn’t take the colors or the color books. Wednesday Grandma was leaving without me and Linda. Then I was watching a movie at Grandma’s house with Grandpa. I was sitting with Grandpa and I was watching my show. We also eat some donuts. That was my breakfast, but Grandpa eat them all.

We are officially scheduled for induction on November 8th. However, I’m convinced there is no way this kid will stay in there that long. Today’s ultrasound measurements have estimated baby’s weight at 8 pounds. 8 pounds. At 36 weeks. Granted, it could be off by a pound—in either direction—so it’s possible she’s only 7 pounds. Then again she could already be larger than the last one was at birth. If she continues to grow at the expected rate of 1/2 pound per week, she would be one, big toddler by 40 weeks.

I am 3 cm dilated which is a bit scary to me considering my first two births. I was induced both times and went from 2 to 10 cm in under 2 hours. My doctor says I could go literally any day now, but she is hoping everything will hold off until I’m at least 37 weeks, which is this Saturday. I, however, would really like for her to deliver my baby. She leaves for vacation Saturday morning and will not return until the night before our scheduled date.

Either way, I’ll keep you posted. The new maternity center has internet access so the laptop is definitely on the list of things to bring. I did have to promise my mother she would get to hold the baby before I post pictures online. Though hubby thinks it will be hysterical to send camera phone pictures to everyone in the waiting room rather than actually going to tell them!

You can usually find hubby and I camped out on the couch on Sunday afternoon, watching our beloved Colts. This year, we have 3 Monday games—including one late game the night before our daughter is scheduled to arrive. So with all that football on the brain, it should be no surprise that I noticed the Manning-Harrison tribute in The Longest Yard.

Sure, it could be a coincidence that Adam Sandler sported a number 18 jersey in his role as the quarterback. The fact that his practice jersey was blue and white could have been unintentional. I guess it could be yet another coincidence that his wide receiver sported the number 88, but on a blue and white jersey in the hodgepodge of colors? Somebody’s a Colts fan!

So in honor of my Colts and their Monday Night Football win—making us the only 6-0 team, I might add—I bring you this fun blonde joke. It’s okay; I used to be a blonde!

A guy took his girlfriend (a blonde) to her first football game. They had great seats right behind their team’s bench. After the game, he asked her if she had enjoyed the game.

Oh, I really liked it,” she replied, “especially the tight pants and all the big muscles, but I just couldn’t understand why they were killing each other over 25 cents.”

Dumbfounded, her date asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, they flipped a coin, one team got it and then for the rest of the game, they all kept screaming: ‘Get the quarterback! Get the quarterback!’ I’m like…Helloooooo? It’s only 25 cents!”

We’re all better around here—unless you count my constant heartburn, humongousness, and other unpleasantries as illness. I think I must have been ill when I decided to go through all this again, but I digress.

The toddler is feeling much better and making up for lost time. We can’t have an entire 24 hour period go by with peace and calm without some repercussions, you know. Maybe she suddenly realized she’ll be 3 soon and is trying to squeeze all the terrible out of 2′s at the last possible moment.

We had to put a lock on the pantry. A lock. On the food cabinet. That just seems so wrong somehow, but it’s better than my spiderman (woman?) falling off the top shelf because she wanted a different flavor of granola bars. It’s not like the kids’ favorite snacks aren’t conveniently placed at their level. There’s always something bigger and better on the top shelf.

Should I ask Mommy if I can have the strawberry granola bars? Should I tell her I want an apple? No, no, no. I should push this bench up to the pantry, grab the wire shelf and proceed to scale it as though I didn’t fall off the cabinet trying the same thing yesterday. Much better idea.

Thus, in the interest of elminating further ER trips for the year, I bought a new door knob. One that requires a key. Because we all know they can both unlock the inside doors. Heaven forbid I should go to the bathroom all alone and actually expect the door to remain locked. Though, I guess if I let her come with me every time she wouldn’t have the opportunity to climb to the top of the fridge.

My poor baby is sick. She spiked a fever last night and puked all over me. I don’t handle that well when I’m not pregnant. She slept with me last night so I could keep an eye on her and keep her fever down all night. I had no idea she was a sleep talker. She’s a light sleeper and prefers to be shut in her room all alone to sleep. This is the first time she’s really been sick, aside from numerous infant ear infections that we discovered were caused by allergies.

I think she may well be my worst patient ever—which says a lot considering the big baby I’m married to. Stacia is content to sleep off any illness and not bother anyone. Brenia is cranky, whiny, and not so good at the “taking it easy” part. She did, however, have some rather comical things to say:

  • I’m not sick; I’m fever.
  • My sick is bye-bye now.
  • I’m tired of sick.

Here I sit, all by myself, flipping through our DVR recordings and what should happen? As I innocently hovered over last night’s unwatched Gilmore Girls episode, the remote control accidentally hit play. Well, that’s what he gets for making me watch a movie on a Tuesday night. Besides, we both know I watch it twice a week anyway.

Baby is measuring full term as of today. My doctor is hoping she’ll stay in there for at least 3 more weeks since she isn’t actually full term just yet. As long as little bit doesn’t have other ideas, we will induce labor on November 8th. I like having it scheduled. It is so much easier to plan. I’ll have someone here overnight with the girls so when I go to the hospital first thing in the morning I don’t have to drag them along right away. My sister will bring them after breakfast.

There will be plenty of time to pack, load the car, and be sure the house is ready for baby’s homecoming. Being able to give the girls a date instead of a ambiguous “soon” is so much easier for transitional purposes. Her birthday will be marked on the calendar, and the true countdown will begin!