Alarm Clock

We recently switched Cormac out of his crib and into a twin bed. Not necessarily because he was ready, but because Babies R Us was having a trade-in sale for cribs (bring your old, used one in, and we'll give you 25% off a new one). And since our old crib was apparently a death trap (read: dropside crib), we decided to take advantage of the sale. I mean, Cormac survived, but he's scrappy and has no fear. And he slept with us for the first six months of his life, which is likely what this next baby is going to do anyway, but still. Death Trap.

The transition was fairly smooth, especially considering that we did absolutely no prep work beforehand. Mostly it was, "Oh! Look! A big-boy bed!" And when Cormac discovered that he could jump around more wildly on this one, he never looked back.

The first few mornings, he didn't realize that he wasn't confined to his bed, and would lay there and moan until we came to get him. But then a little light went on in his head, and at 6:30 one morning we heard: click, pitter-patter-pitter-patter, "Oh wow! Hi, Momma! Hi, Daddy!" I'm not sure why the realization of freedom had to coincide with an hour-earlier wake up time, but sometimes the universe is cruel that way.

Then one night I had gotten up to pee for the third time, when I thought I heard a little voice outside our room. I looked out in the hallway, but there was no one there. A glance toward Cormac's room told me his door was open and his room was empty. Huh. And then I heard the sound of little feet on hardwood floor, and I realized that Cormac had gone downstairs. By himself. At 2:00 in the morning.

I came downstairs to find him holding his stuffed rabbit while looking at a book and drinking some water. Like you do at 2:00 am. It took awhile to convince him that it was, in fact, night-night time, but eventually he went back to sleep in his big-boy bed, and I went back to sleep in my pillow-infested bed. Only to be woken up at 6:30 am by, "HI!"

We are currently reconfiguring the baby gate layout.

Exploding Heads

Yowza. We have been busy.

When I was little, my dad was a Certified Public Accountant who did other people's taxes. This meant that for the entire month of March and half of April, we didn't see him. Literally. September is kind of like that for Chris; it's his tax season. The membership year at his tennis club begins October 1, so September is filled with trying to get people to renew their memberships by appreciating them with Member Appreciation Month, which basically means that he works at least 70 hours every week.

Meanwhile, I struggle to be both a part time Registered Nurse and a full time Mom/Housekeeper/Cook/Incubator. What this means in layman's terms is that I am treading water while slowly being carried out to sea. A sea of guitars, stuffed monkeys, dump trucks, and blocks, with a little dirty laundry and a lot of dog hair mixed in. Plus, for some reason I had the fabulous idea to pick up some extra shifts at work. It always seems like a good idea at the time, and then when those extra days roll around, I'm like, "What the hell was I thinking?" Extra money is NOT worth it. Well, it's kind of worth it, but it would be a lot easier if someone would just give me that extra money for free.

I am sure other mothers handle this much better than I do. But all I can do is grit my teeth and tell myself that maybe I'll get to sleep in October.

10 more days...

Trudging Through Mud

I promise that I meant to post more often. But, well, obviously that's not happening. I'm just so freaking tired; this pregnancy is really taking it out of me. And now that I'm in the second trimester, it's gotten better, so that's really saying something about how tired I was before. It was like everyday I did a full Ironman, retiled the bathroom, chased a half-naked monkey-child around the house, and wrestled a giant squid into leather pants. Only one of those actually happened. I'll let you guess which one.

Like I said, it's gotten better (sometimes I don't even need a nap during the day!), but by the time I put Cormac to bed, all I want to do is collapse on the couch, shovel some Ben & Jerry's into my mouth, and watch HGTV. It's not so much the physical exhaustion as the mental exhaustion. I can't even think anymore. Like, I have trouble remembering the English language: is it unproductive or nonproductive? That's a real example from this morning. I've thought about posting, but I always end up deciding that it would take waaaay too much energy to type, much less use proper grammar.

I also feel like I have a pretty darned good excuse for not posting for the last two weeks, at least. I woke up one friday morning at 2 am with excruciating tooth pain, while we happened to be camping. And while I'm on the subject of camping, let me just say that camping while pregnant is not something I'd really recommend. Don't get me wrong, I love camping. I just don't love getting up 2-3 times in the middle of the night to stumble through the forest, drop trou, and try not to pee on my shoes. Anyway, the tooth pain. It was bad. And of course it happened on a Friday, so I got to deal with it all weekend, with nothing to do about it but take Tylenol. Which is a placebo drug, but the way. Pure sugar.

Basically, my tooth had gotten infected and required a root canal. Everybody cringes when you tell them you have to have a root canal. And it does sound pretty intimidating. But I've got to say, it's really just a huge filling that requires several looooong drills. And it wouldn't have been all that bad, except that the local anesthetic wore off halfway through the procedure. Yeah. I would give birth any day before doing that again.

It doesn't end there, though. I thought the root canal would solve the pain problems, but the pain just kept getting worse. It had turned into an almighty sinus infection. So two days after having an inch-long piece of metal all up in my tooth's business (a week after all the pain started in the first place), I said, "BRING ON THE DRUGS!" I filled the prescriptions for percocet and penicillin that had been sitting in my purse for 5 days. And I have to say, I still felt really bad about taking them. I had been avoiding any pills (besides my placebo pills) because I didn't want the baby to have anything unnecessary, especially narcotics. But it had gotten to the point where I couldn't actually function. I couldn't even eat. I felt like it was a lose-lose situation, but the benefits finally outweighed the risks for me. Hopefully I didn't screw up this kid too much yet.

I have now emerged on the other side of The Great Tooth-scapade, and I'm sorry to say that I'm not better for it. It did not build any character. Mostly it just made me crabby.

My brain has now turned into complete mush, and I can't write anything else coherent. Also, I still haven't found the camera.

Long Time, No See

I was waiting to post this until I found the camera and could post some pictures of our vacation, but as of yet, I have only found the camera case. Once I find the actual camera, I'll add some pictures.

Yeah, I realize I've been MIA for a while. Highlights of the past couple months in brief: we took a really wonderful family trip to South Padre Island, TX, then I worked a lot (which was not wonderful), then I was just lazy (semi-wonderful), then Chris totally screwed up his back (wonderful, in the most sarcastic way possible). The last item meant that I was really busy doing everything around the house, and Chris was monopolizing the computer (and the TV. At the same time. What a multi-tasker!).

We had a ton of fun in South Padre Island. Chris has family down there, and they were kind and generous enough to let us stay in one of the houses they own down there, a house that just happens to be half a block away from the beach (yeah, it's about as plush as it sounds). Cormac absolutely LOVED the beach, other than the taste of sand, which he tried not once, but twice, for good measure. The waves were a little bigger than they usually are (so I was told), but Cormac thought they were just about the best thing ever. Actually, the bigger the wave, the more excited he got, and he would quite literally run straight into the waves. And he would just keep going deeper and deeper until someone grabbed him before he was pulled under, which annoyed him. The kid has no fear.

I'm not going to go into detail about working a lot because it's mostly boring. Other than the old, naked guy running down the hall while trying to escape. He was pretty fast.

And finally, Chris's back is a lot better, thank goodness. Turns out he has a bulging disc, and I know all about that sort of pain. Not fun. But the nice thing about the bulging disc (as opposed to a herniated disc, like I had) is that the body will reabsorb it, and the pain goes away. I mean, he still has to be careful not to bend and twist at the same time, or lift heavy things incorrectly, but, really, everyone should be doing that anyway.

Ok, I'm gonna try hard to post more often, but I'm not promising anything.

Le Artiste

We recently got Cormac a table and chairs set that's sized for him and doesn't necessitate a combination of climbing, contorting, and balancing to climb into one, as our regular dining chairs do. Also, these pint-sized chairs don't allow him to climb onto the dining room table. Yet. That isn't to say that Cormac will stop climbing from the dining chairs onto the table, but I'm hoping a table and chairs of his own will at least limit the adrenalin pumping through my circulatory system on a daily basis. (As I write this he is standing on one of our dining chairs, alternating between bouncing and rocking back and forth. And now he's licking the chair.)

We also got him a box of crayons and some paper, and he's been having fun drawing at his table. The problem is, he doesn't understand (or chooses to ignore) the We Only Draw On Paper policy, and so his drawing has been confined to neither the paper, nor the crayons. In fact, the kid managed to find the only permanent marker in the house that had not been confiscated, and proceeded to expand his definition of "paper."

Boot Couture

Chris and I don't really get out much anymore. Not that we really got out all that much before having a child, but I like to think we were a fairly fun, hip, young couple. You could find us at the neighborhood bar for happy hour on the patio on a spring afternoon. We kept up with the openings of hot, new restaurants. We knew about what was going on, you know, in the real world.

Now? Not so much. I only know about new music if I happen to hear something I haven't heard before on the radio, and then happen to remember who they said the artist was. I now totally understand why my mom has NO idea who any '80s bands are, or really what happened during the '80s in general.

I mean, we try to do date night on occasion, but it's usually not anywhere terribly exciting. Which is why I don't often get to wear any of my fancy shoes. Luckily for me, my son is extremely gifted at repurposing items around the house. What? You thought that was a dump truck? No, it's really more of a step stool. And this eraser? He prefers to think of it more as a snack.

And as for Momma's fancy shoes?

A great alternative to a pantry.

So Here's a Random Thought:

I was thinking about the word hepatomegaly, like you do, and it occurred to me that if you add an “r” it becomes herpetomegaly. So, like, giant lizards or something. And then I realized that the suffixes hepa- and herpe- are very similar and when used interchangeably can create a great amount of amusement (for dorks like me). Observe: hepatology, herpetitis, herpes. Wait, I don’t think that last one works. Actually, though, it does make you realize that maybe herpes is a pretty darned good moniker (see attributes of a lizard, below).

Also, the words liver and lizard are pretty darn similar as well. The two things don’t really seem to have all that much in common: livers are soft and squishy, and they bleed a lot if you smack them too hard. Lizards are scaly and bony, and they like to lie in the sun. I’ve never smacked a lizard though, so I don’t know how much they bleed. On the other hand, if you cut off part of a liver it will regenerate, and if you cut off part of a lizard’s tail it will grow back. So maybe they’re more similar than I thought.