Down by the bay

Did you ever see a whale with a polka dot tail? Six weeks to go!

Scary firsts

I've been wanting to write about this, but also not wanting to because it was super scary.

Hamburglar had his first fever 4th of July weekend. Well, the third of July. He wasn't very hungry at dinner and he felt really warm, so I checked his temperature and it was 101. We gave him Tylenol and some water and put him to bed. Mr. Adventure checked on him and changed his diaper at 11. His fever was still 101 (or 101 again?) and he gave him the very last of the Tylenol, which was maybe half a dose?

We figured fevers aren't a big deal. All kids get sick eventually. Chumby has had the occasional cold, but nothing really bad other than a lot of snot or gross poo diapers.

Around midnight, Mr. Adventure heard what he thought were hiccups coming through the baby monitor, but they didn't stop, so he checked on Chumby and he was having a seizure. I heard him say, "Oh my God!" but it wasn't the gross poo OMG, it was more of a panic. I shot out of bed, he handed him to me, he was twitching still a little bit and his lips were turning blue. Mr. A had a friend over who called 911, but the ambulance was seven minutes out and we only live about a mile from the hospital, so Mr. Adventure drove to the ER while I cradled Chumby, who was still non-responsive.

We were at the ER for a couple of hours. His temperature was 103.5 when they took it. They gave him some ibuprofen or something and his fever started coming down. I loved the nurse we were assigned. He was so kind and gentle. When Chumby started feeling better, he asked for a sticker (because all grown ups who work in buildings with fluorescent lights have stickers, obvs) and the nurse went out to see what he could find. He came back with a stuffed bear.

Febrile seizures are somewhat common in infants and small children, but it doesn't make it any less frightening when it happens. I remember clearly the day I realized I was mortal (after an express kidnapping in Central America!) but I think it's even scarier to discover your children are mortal. Mr. Adventure didn't sleep all weekend. Chumby's breath smelled like he was dying. That was really scary. They did a chest x-ray and tried to get him to pee in a bag (that never happened. Even though we tried running water and watching the episode of Daniel Tiger where everyone goes to the potty). The doctor said he had pneumonia and prescribed 5 days of antibiotics. I didn't know you could have pneumonia with no symptoms.

I think with all toddlers, you know they're feeling better when they are well enough to be total a-holes. So, Chumby is back to his usual self. Hopefully Mr. Adventure and I will be back to our usual selves soon.

In pregnancy news, 33 weeks pregnant. I've started calling the baby Brown Sugar, because I primarily eat generic rice krispies with brown sugar. I wonder if what you eat really impacts the temperament of your baby? When I was pregnant with Chumb, I ate a lot of salty foods and he was a pretty salty baby. He's a super sweet toddler, though. Brown Sugar/Sean Connery is all about the sweet.

Pregnant Chicken talks about breast vs. bottle feeding in her 33 week pregnant post. The first time around, I was so insistent that Hamburglar would only be breast fed and I would do it for a year. And I totally did. This time, I'm like "fuck it! Who gives a shit what this kid is eating as long as he is eating and growing?" Although, my favorite thing about breastfeeding is that it is free. And, as a family on a budget, I'm hoping I can only breastfeed this guy as well. At least for the first 6 months. I kind of hate breastfeeding and I really hate pumping, but it does give me a good excuse to take a break from work and watch shitty TV on my smart phone. Though, I don't have Netflix anymore and I'm still rocking my S2, which doesn't support Amazon Prime instant video.

We may have picked a name. I'm not willing to commit yet, but Mr. Adventure's terrible suggestions have finally worn me down and I kind of don't care what we name the kid anymore. All I know is that I am going to pick a quality and classic middle name so that if he hates the name Mr. A has picked, he can thank me for a quality backup name. During one of my many, many googling sessions of things like "baby naming for assholes," I came across this post from the daddyfiles on baby naming. I liked it.

At 33 weeks pregnant, Brown Sugar is the size of a durian (see: WTF is a durian? from 2013). Here is a recipe for Durian Puree Cheesecake. And here is a recipe for Durian Breakfast Muffins. I feel that the muffins really get into the spirit of faux infant cannibalism, because the recipe calls for brown sugar.

I think that's about it. Mr. Adventure scored a fancy day job, so he's trading in his Stay-At-Home-Dad hat for some Lord-Loves-A-Workin'-Man boots. He starts Monday, though, after being offered the job yesterday, which gives us very little time to find a day care/child care situation. The extra complication is that I don't get until next week, our budget is super tight and daycare is mother f-ing expensive. But, I have a mom from my mom group that said she can help out at least until we find something, or, if things go well, she may be willing to watch Chumby until I go on maternity leave in September! Keep your fingers crossed.

31 weeks

I am huge.

I think my stomach has tripled in size in the past three weeks. And, as a point of reference, my bra size is a 36H. So that is a giant belly.

Do you like my kitchen floor?

Anyway, at 31 weeks, all the normal pregnancy culprits are there. I have heart burn. My lower back hurts. I'm peeing 1000 times per night. It's good stuff.

At 31 weeks, Sean Connery is the size of a pineapple, leeks and a mini skirt. So, slap on a mini skirt that will fit you and grill some pineapple and serve it with leeks? Or you can make this recipe that came up when I googled "Pineapple and leeks" just now.

According to my old favorite, weird blog, only 6-8 hours a day will be dedicated to feeding and changing my newborn. I hope that's true this time around. Because I'm pretty sure that's all I did the first time around. Maybe with some intermittent napping.

According to me, I had to pee all the time last time, too. And I hope this baby is also not a dick. And there's a much better pineapple recipe in my post from the first time around.

One thing that's way better about this pregnancy is that I do not feel like I was kicked in the clam with steal-toed boots. So, that's awesome.

That's all. Happy 4th of July. Blow things up. And eat a pineapple.

75 percent

It's that time of pregnancy again, everyone! Where I declare myself to be 75% pregnant. Yay! Also, only ten weeks left. Eek!

I had my glucose screen with the midwife last week and I, once again, do not have gestational diabetes! Yay! My blood sugar looked even more awesome than usual. My blood pressure has been equally awesome so far this pregnancy (last time around, it kept going up even though I didn't have Pre-eclampsia, and the midwife tested me for HELPP towards the end of my pregnancy). And, I made some changes to my diet a while ago that are supposed to be good for my thyroid (cutting out soy, limiting gluten) and, so far this pregnancy, I've only gained 7 pounds. And that's pretty awesome since I'm a big fat fatty anyway. Last time I gained 30 total, which is a reasonable and standard amount of weight to gain while pregnant. Though, the doctors do say for all us fatties out there that we should really only gain half that.

I'm hungry.

Hamburglar can count to nine. Well, he skips the number four, but who needs the number four anyway? Four is a total asshole.

What else? I'm rocking my job about as awesome as I'm rocking my pregnancy. I passed my Waste Water Lab IV exam (I never have to take another lab exam again!) and I was selected for a pilot leadership program for the municipality I work for. Mister Adventure is getting super close to going back to work (he's had enough of full-time stay-at-home-dadd-ing, which I totally get) and we've found a few pre-pre-schools that look promising for our favorite toddler.

Also, we get to have the Little Miss for 4th of July this year. Though she's not so little any more. I'm pretty sure she's part Amazon, because the kid is a giant.

And we are getting closer to naming Son Number Two. We are not naming him Maxwell, which had been at the top of my list, but I have pregnant friends all over the country who are naming their sons various versions of Max this year. It's still a totally adorable name and I love it, but I went to elementary school with a million Dustins, and I want 2.0 to avoid the Dustin Effect.

Mr. Adventure suggested a name that I thought was kind of douchey, so I googled douchey names and came across this. We aren't planning to name the kid Chad or Brody, so I think we're good. One of my coworkers went to high school with a Chad who eventually named his son Brody. She claims they aren't douchey, but I think it can be hard to tell if someone is a douche when you are in the web of douchiness or something.

Anyway, that's about it. It's summer. It's hot. I'm glad I work in a climate-controlled environment that is always 20 degrees Celsius.

I almost forgot! 30 weeks means Sean Connery is the size of a cucumber, a cabbage and Britney Spears's Yorkshire Terrier. So, yum! Throw all that shit on the grill and see what happens!

Vaginal Hubris

We went camping. I haven't been in, like, a decade and I don't see much of a point in camping when we live close enough to several forests, lakes, rivers, and whatnot. Why would I sleep on the ground when I have a fancy Tempurpedic bed at home? And refrigeration? And running water? Is that what I did when I lived in Central America? Was that camping?

I left work around 10a Friday morning to go home and help finish packing. We were going less than three hours from town to meet up with Mr. Adventure's friend and his girlfriend. It was Chumby's first time camping and I thought the dogs could use some outdoor time since they've been rather neglected since Chumb was born.

I hard boiled some eggs and made a lentil/barley/feta salad and cut up some veggies and had some hummus... my goal was to have food and not have to worry about cooking anything. Except hot dogs. And smores.

We got up there and it was beautiful. They scored a great camping spot. We took my car (because I didn't want to spend three times as much on gas to take the '93 Explorer) and we parked and set up camp while Chumbercules stretched his little toddler legs and the dogs went exploring. Within minutes, I had, like, 7 mosquito bites and The Girlfriend sprayed me down with bug spray.

Mr. Adventure's friends were fresh off Sasquatch (the music festival in the Washington Gorge) and they were already drunk (or still drunk?) when we got there. But whatever. I heard a thousand times from The Girlfriend about how 21 Pilots is her new favorite band and topless fishing is her new favorite thing. When I would ask Hamburglar to do something, she was parrot-parenting me. This girl is typically pretty nice. But she was getting pretty annoying pretty quick.

What took the cake was when she started talking about how she wants to have her boyfriend's babies (oh, dear God please no!) and she was asking me if she could get a scheduled C-section because she doesn't want her vagina all mangled or something. She then proceeded to pester Mr. Adventure, for the next 45+ minutes, about what my vagina felt like pre and post-baby. Mr. Adventure is a bit more of the old school type. He doesn't like to talk about those things. WE haven't even talked about it. I thought about whipping out my lady junk and saying, "You look at my vagina! It's the best damn one on the lot!" But maybe she has like a mangled corpse vagina already and doesn't want to make things worse? I don't know. What I do know is that my vagina is fucking miraculous. And, if she really wants to know, she can look that shit up on the internet. That's what the internet is for: finding information that may or may not be true and repeating it like it's the oldest known fact in the world. Duh.

Then, as the evening progressed and they continued drinking, they started arguing. All Mr. Adventure wanted to do was fish. While he was fishing, I laid Hamburglar down to sleep. And while we were doing that, the other couple continued arguing and the campfire died. All I wanted was a mother fucking smore. So, I went down to the lake and grabbed Mr. A and he restarted the campfire. By the time he finished, his friends were down by the lake, right by his fishing spot, continuing their argument. So, Mr. Adventure came back up, the baby woke up, I made them a smore to share then I made one for me and, on my first fucking bite, I broke my porcelain tooth. I look like a fucking crackhead. A smoking hot crackhead with an amazing vagina, but a crackhead, none-the-less.

We went to bed at some point and it was cold. We didn't bring warm enough sleep gear. Then it started raining. Mr. A hadn't weather-proofed his tent in several years so water was leaking in. And it was raining HARD. And the dogs were outside. I let them in and it was instantly warmer. None of us slept well because it was freezing fucking cold and wet. And the rain wasn't letting up.

If it hadn't been for the rain, I would have stuck it out. Everything else was what it was and, like I said, it was a beautiful spot. However, the prospect of spending the day in a 3-man tent with two dogs and a toddler was probably pretty close to what hell is like. Mr. Adventure said, "As soon as the rain lightens up a bit, we will pack up." Cue rain to come down harder.

The second it lightened up, I climbed out of the tent to pee and started packing up our stuff. I was ready to go. When we were finally packed up and getting the fuck out of there, my car tire got stuck in the mud and his friends had to help push us out. And there were no coffee stands anywhere. And we were all so very tired. I'm STILL tired.

At 27 weeks pregnant, I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be sleeping on the ground anyway. Plus I've gained like, three times as much belly in the past two weeks as I did in the whole 40 weeks of my first pregnancy.

This week, Sean Connery is the size of a rutabaga, cauliflower or a roast. You can look up your own damn recipe. This isn't a cooking blog!

Do you remember my favorite pregnancy website from the end of my last pregnancy? Well, I've rediscovered it and it is still hilarious. According to him, the baby  is the size of a big turnip (think Turnip Head from Lost). But my favorite part has always been the tip at the end. "You should make exercise fun and social. Meet other pregnant women and go for exercises together."

Doesn't he know that talking to people without gilling them is a third trimester challenge? And, since I'm officially in the third trimester (tomorrow) I am now accepting bets on whether I can make it to my due date without stabbing someone!

The Will Wheaton Effect

I've been told I'm not posting enough. I'm sorry. To all three of you.

25 weeks pregnant. I'm feeling pregnant now. Mr. Adventure felt Sean Connery move the other night. He was pretty excited. I'm also fatter and feel taller. Does having boys make you taller?

My next appointment with the midwife is the glucose screen. She gave me the drink to take home with me and told me to drink it on my way in to the office and note the time I finish. I learned that the gestational diabetes screen can also indicate diabetes likeliness later on in life. The thing that sucks is, if you fail the one hour test, you have to do a three hour, fasting test. I think it's super rude to make a pregnant lady not eat for that long. I have a hard enough time not stabbing people when I'm well-fed and well-rested, so there's that.

My friend who was almost as pregnant as me last time around pointed out how both of our pregnancies dragged on last time, but this one seems to be going by super fast. And it's true. Shit's crazy. I have a meeting with the midwife in mid-June, we'll do another three weeks later (to get me on the schedule she wants for appointments) then I go to every other week, then every week, then baby.

I'm pretty excited I have another friend who is almost as pregnant as me this time around, too. (And three very friendly acquaintances, one of which is due with a boy the same day as me!). My friend is having a little girl and I'm working on arranging a marriage for Sean Connery (the baby, not the actor, obviously).

Also, Mr. Adventure wants me to write a letter to Vin Diesel, asking Vin Diesel to come out and play D&D with him and a few friends in exchange for naming Sean Connery Vin Diesel. But I haven't done it yet. Because doing things is hard. And I'm a notorious procrastinator. Which is why I really need a fancy job in a think tank or something. I want to get paid for ideas that other people carry out.

Chumbercules is 20 months old. He can count to chicken. And he can count up from fun. I went to a clothing swap for my local mom's group and scored him a gator vest. He calls it a dinosaur and roars when he wears it. he can say the words "I" and "Love" and "You," but when he puts them together, it comes out, "I luboo." I call it the Will Wheaton effect.

I had to get another ultrasound and brought Chumby with me. We are trying to prepare him as much as possible for the idea that he is going to have a little brother. We go to the library a lot and have a couple books. His favorite is Hello in There: A Big Sister's Book of Waiting. I change the end to "I'm finally a big brother!" Instead of sister. I think he likes it because it has little tabs that you unfold that reveal a growing baby. I need to get him a pop-up book or something soon. He'll totally love it.

We've also been going to the park a lot since the weather has been nice and he is getting so independent at play. He also tries to keep up with the big kids. (You know. The three year olds!) He's a quarter Viking, so he's huge, and I guess his language is super developed, so most people think he's older. I've learned to guess the ages of children based on whether they have a neck and how long that neck is. It's way easier than cutting off a leg and counting the rings. And more socially acceptable.

I've also become a bit of a yeller lately. And I hate it. So I've stopped and gone back to Janet Lansbury's RIE website and have been reading up on setting limits without yelling.  It's getting easier the more I practice. Like at the park yesterday, I told Chumby that he can't take a stick on the play equipment because it isn't safe, but that I would hold the stick for him while he played. He was very upset about it when I first took it away and I said, "I know it's frustrating to have things taken away from you, but I will hold it right here when you're ready for it." And he took two breaks from the toy to play with his stick. And I only had to take it away from him again one of those two times, repeating again how it isn't safe to bring it on the toy. The third time he gave it to me after I asked for it. Toddlers are little people. And, most of the time, people don't care about you solving the shitty and frustrating things that happen in their life, they just want to not  feel alone for a moment. They want acknowledgement that the situation or event is super shitty and that their feelings, no matter what those feelings are, are completely valid.

I also like I Think I Know Why You're Yelling, and I think I need to take more time for myself before I get to the burned-out, I-don't-give-a-fuck stage. I'm not as consistent with limits when I'm tired and cranky and hungry and not taking care of myself, and if you're out of control, I imagine it's extra scary for the tiny people in your life.

According to my Ultimate Guide to Faux Infant Cannibalism, Sean Connery is the size of cauliflower, acorn squash and a recorder this week. So, make some Cauliflower Rice Stuffed Acorn Squash and play this song on the recorder while it's in the oven!

Happy adventuring!

Mother, May I?

I read this quote this morning,

"A mother is not a person to lean on but a person to make leaning unnecessary." Dorothy C. Fisher.

If that's true, I suppose I can thank my mother this mother's day by raising me to be independent. Some may describe it as fiercely so. Granted, most of this was through neglect, when you don't have any one to mother you, you find substitutes until you learn to mother yourself. I also really like to get my oldest brother mother's day cards occasionally. It acknowledges that he raised us all and it's hilarious.

I don't think I've posted in a while. I've been busy at work working (a surprise, I know, since I'm a fancy scientist for The Man) and I've been spending a lot of time with Chumbercules.

We found out Sean Connery is a boy! I am so excited! I've always wanted to be a boy mom. However, I it is quite likely that the next person that says, "You're going to have to go for a third to try and get a girl!" is going to get punched. In the throat. Possibly with spiked brass knuckles. Who knows. Oh! That's what I want for Mother's Day! Spiked brass knuckles! (I just googled it. It's totally a thing.) Plus, I have a stepdaughter. That's enough for me.

So, baby boy 2.0 is proving a bit harder to name than his older brother. Because, once again, all my ideas are too awesome for Mr. Adventure to handle and all his ideas are not awesome. Well, some are okay, but I don't like them with his last name, you know? Our last naming discussion ended when I said, "I'm going to name him 'Fuck You, Mr. Adventure!'" And he asked me if fuck you was going to be one word and the first name or how I planned to split that all up.

Since I have entered the forgetful stage of pregnancy, I may re-share some links. But I doubt any of you are going back and reading whatever I posted the first time around anyway, and it's long enough between posts these days that maybe you've forgotten what I shared as well! Yay!

At 23 weeks pregnant, mostly I think about how I'm currently the size I was when I was 9 months pregnant the first time around. The best thing about second pregnancy is that I actually look pregnant this time around, instead of just fat. Yay!

The other thing I think about is, "How will this effect my current family?" We've discussed reworking space in the house and how we can make sure everyone (and everything, dogs!) that sleeps in our house has the space and privacy they need. I hate to say it, but I think the dogs may have to give up their bedroom soon.

Yes, my dogs have their own bedroom. They're fancy. Rupert dances when I ask him if he wants a top hat and a monacle. That's how you know they're legit fancy.

Anyway, Pregnant Chicken has a post I really love on bringing home your second baby.

And I've recently discovered Janet Lansbury's Elevating Childcare site. She's a proponent of RIE and gentle parenting (but not in an overly hippy way that drives me freaking crazy). She talks a lot about setting boundaries and how when toddlers test limits, it's really them making sure the boundaries are the same. Anyway, she has a post on Helping Kids Adjust to Life with a New Baby and I keep re-reading it (because I'm forgetfully pregnant). It's really good.

Vanity Fair did an article on RIE last year in their February issue.

This week, Sean Connery is the size of a grapefruit, an eggplant and a Harry Potter book, though I'm not sure which one. I think I read last week he was the size of a Barbie, but that freaked me out.

And The Hunger! I've been eating a lot of generic rice krispies with brown sugar. Because it's delicious. And I did a really shitty job grocery shop last weekend, so it's slim pickins around our house.

Hamburglar is almost 20 months! Shit's crazy. And super fun. He picks up his own toys and puts them away and he loves helping me unload the dishwasher. We talk about what each object is as we put it away. And I let him put away the things that go on bottom shelves. Because bending over when you're pregnant is hard work.  I came across this page and it gave me some great ideas for things to do with Chumby around the house.

That's about it. I still feel fine. No swelling, mild heart burn. Oh, and I've only gained 7 pounds so far, which is pretty freaking amazing considering all the god damn cereal I've been eating.