**Stress Alert** My Lil Diana Ross

This momma is stressed. My baby girl has been sicky for about 3-4 days. Nothing serious - head cold, teething. Just means a LOT of bodily fluids for me to deal with. A lot. She has literally been leaking from every hole in her face since Sunday. She takes her elderberry syrup like a little champ, munches down her teething tablets and carries on as if nothing is wrong...until I piss her off. 

Pissing her off these days is quite easy, actually. Changing her diaper. Taking a choking hazard out of her mouth. Putting her in her bouncy seat when she wants to be on the rug. When I commit any of these sins, I have a little Diana Ross on my hands - DIVA. She is quite adept at going from zero to DIVA in no time flat. Her little fists ball up and she throws her head backwards (one of these days, she's going to learn right-quick that this is not a good idea). She tenses her entire body up and has mini seizures. I swear - that is what it looks like. Simultaneously, of course, she is screaming. Like someone-is-stabbing-her screaming. The moment I correct my behavior, she is all forgiving and all smiles. But holy cow. Diana Ross.

This morning:

5:15 a.m. Call for the boob. I nurse her side-lying (wherein she sounds like a gremlin because she can't breathe through her nose) and we both fall back to sleep.
7:15 a.m. The first hair pull. This is her new (very efficient) way of waking me up. She smiles at me. I forget the hair pull and remember I love her.
7:18 a.m. I have taken as much hair-pulling as I possibly can.
7:19 a.m. I prop her up on the pillow next to my head and put on "her show" (Nick Jr. - the only time I typically let her watch television). I roll back over.
7:45 a.m. Hair pull. I smell her. This is not her typical overnight-soaked diaper. She crapped. God damn it, I can't ignore crap and let her sit in it.
7:50 a.m. Put her on her changing table, cue Diana Ross. Open her sleeper to realize this is not a quick diaper change - she literally has shit ALL over her. Covering her leg. Her foot. Up her stomach. Awesome.  Zip her back up into the shit and carry her downstairs to run her tub.
8:00 a.m. (Have not yet peed, brushed my teeth or found my glasses) Diana Ross disappears and my daughter returns in her very nice tub. We play, I wash the crap off of her and she gives me kiss after kiss after kiss.
8:15 a.m. Lay her on the changing table to get her dressed. Diana is back. Great. I can't lie - I get a little mad at Diana. It's way too early and I should be the unhappy one with morning breath and blurry eyes.
8:20 a.m. She goes in her crib to play while I shower.
8:21 a.m. She thinks I have had enough alone time. Let the screaming commence. Forgive me, God, but I turn the shower water on and hop in where I can't hear her.
8:30 a.m. I am showered (if you can call it that in under 5 minutes), half-dressed and my teeth are brushed. I mean, I wouldn't chew one of those tablets that light up your mouth wherever it's disgusting, but they are brushed people. Be happy I am clean. 
8:45 Take her downstairs to feed her breakfast because we usually do this BEFORE her tub but the crap got in the way. She eats bananas and then dried organic fruit. There are apples and blueberries. They are both completely dry and taste - eh. (I eat everything I give her - one of the rules I set for myself as a momma). The bag has about 99% apples and 1% blueberries. Guess what little Juliette Grace wants to eat? JUST the blueberries. I feed her bananas and pick out the dried blueberries and give her water, all while dancing to the song playing on my iPhone (she LOVES dancing).
9:00 a.m. Dance party in the kitchen. I play music, we dance, and I act as if there is nothing else I am supposed to do.
9:05 a.m. Sallie Mae calls. Reality check. Shit - that's right. Momma can't pay ALL her student loans every month and she needs to end this dance party and start working so she can at least continue to pay SOME of them.

The next hour and forty-five minutes is quite boring here. I log into work and try to get as much done while entertaining her on the floor next to me with about three gazillion toys (some are wooden and organic and are supposed to help her use her imagination, others light up and beep and make more noise than a damn jazz band). But she only likes to play with my foot. So I sit on the couch and work with my hands and entertain her with my feet. I wish I was kidding.

10:45 a.m. Diaper change. Diana Ross to the EXTREME because now she's tired and hungry. (Sallie Mae calls AGAIN. They are becoming more insistent. Guess I should log on and see how much money I canNOT pay them and then call and explain that to them. Again.)

10:50 a.m. I give her the boob until she is literally boob drunk.

11:00 a.m. Carry her to bed (I am super, super, ridiculously jealous).

11:02 a.m. Make tea that I will never drink (until it's ice cold and disgusting) and get to WORK.

That has been my morning. I am stressed today. I don't know why some days of this don't get to me but other days make me really, really tired. I should be contemplating all of this while working and not blogging though. Hopefully she sleeps for her typical 2 - 3 hour nap so I can regain my sanity and make some money :)

Love,
Momeo and Juliette (aka Diana Ross, Queen DIVA)
XOXO

New Year - I am back!

A new year – where has the time gone?! I could give all the excuses (the holidays, being way too pregnant, getting sick) but you all understand what happens – one day it’s December 18^th and the next, January 16^th. Sigh.

So the big news: I am still pregnant. 38 weeks and counting…and praying for labor pains and water breaking. I can’t believe I would ever say that – that I can’t wait for labor. But it’s time enough: I am done being pregnant, I want to meet this little mush and I can’t wait to be over the anxiety of delivery and just be able to enjoy my baby. I go to Dr. Erhart tonight and he will check me – I better have made some progress from last week (when he told me I was “thinning out.” I bet he says that to all the girls to make us feel better). But tonight I want dilation. I want effacement – I want something I can obsess about and hold on to for the next few days until my body kicks into action.

I took some “belly” photos – well, actually my younger cousin Brianna did – she does photography on the side and is hella good at it. My mom convinced me to do it, telling me I will regret it down the road if I don’t have any good pics of myself pregnant (she doesn’t have any). She sent me some sneak peeks and she really did do a nice job – anyone who can show a 9^th month pregnant woman a photo of herself that she thinks is “not terrible” is pretty talented. She’s bringing me the c.d. with them today and I am quite interested to see them all – hopefully baby appreciates them years from now. Because ain’t momma never doin this again!!

Every time I pee, I look down and part of me is hoping to see a hand sticking out or something. The waiting game is the worst – it could happen any given minute. Or I could still be pregnant almost 4 weeks from now (God, that hurt to even type….) I’ve been feeling okay physically, drained mentally. I get very easily frustrated and the not sleeping well adds to that. I don’t know how women voluntarily do this so many times – kudos to those of you who have.

I’m still working from home although it’s been slow which stresses me financially but other than that, it’s been quite lovely! My house is set, the nursery is set, my car is set…all I need is a contraction or two, an epidural, and a baby! So please, think PINK and think SOON. (Although if it’s a boy, I won. He will be Mason Daniel which I am very happy about. I just love the name.) I hope I am writing next from a hospital bed saying, “It wasn’t even that  bad…” (Ahh, a girl can dream….)

14 days to go!!! (Ahhhhh!!!)

Birthing Class

This morning in the shower I started to wonder how my mornings will change in just a few short months. Likely no more lingering in bed to check Facebook and BabyBump and cnn.com on my iPhone before making the bed, ironing clothes, checking email and then taking a long, hot shower. I probably won’t be able to make a nice tea or hot chocolate before I get settled down at my laptop for the next seven to ten hours. I doubt my lotioning/make-up/jewelry/hair routine will hold up. All of which is fine with me but the unknown does frighten me a bit.

I will have to continue working after the baby is here, of course, and yes, I am incredibly lucky that it will be from home and that I can mostly do it on my own time. However, my bank account is used to me finding anywhere from 50 – 60 hours a week to work and I am afraid they are going to disappear! I haven’t yet had an explicit “what’s going to happen with work” conversation with my boss – I suppose that should be done rather soon. I need to prepare a good, lawyerly argument for whatever it is I will be asking for. (Problem is, those don’t work so well when you are dealing with other lawyers…)

On another note, F and I went to a birthing class this Saturday! To let you know what a chicken I am, I really wanted to back out on Friday night. Like, really. I was so anxious about it. Reason? I am not the typical person. And I’m slightly crazy. I admit this. The typical person likes to know everything about what they are getting into, especially medically. I, on the other hand, would rather be kept in the dark. I usually tell the doctor, “please don’t explain – just do what you need to do and get out.” Mind you, I have been in the labor and delivery room with my sister twice. I have watched her push out two children. I have three younger siblings and innumerable younger cousins. I have grown up holding, changing, feeding babies. I intellectually knew that there was probably nothing that was going to be taught at the class that I didn’t already know or haven’t already seen with my own eyes. But I was still stressed about going. I did not want to hear something that I wouldn’t ever be able to UN-hear. (I also have this thing with feeling ‘trapped’ somewhere. But that’s a whole separate entry one day. And yes, I realize for those of you analyzing me, that this may be related to my relationship issues with F. Yes. I know. Back off. ) The only reason I didn’t back out was because of F – I knew he wanted to go because, as far as child-exposure, he is the complete opposite of me: has never held a newborn or changed a diaper, etc…

It actually was a good class. The instructor was terrific – lots of humor, moved things right along – right up my alley (Carolyn Bittner, a L&D nurse at St. Charles Hospital). The breathing techniques were probably the only really new thing for me and I think they will be beneficial. At least for the first two contractions. I can say I tried. But I think everything was very eye-opening for F. When we were practicing breathing, the men were to be timing us and coaching us, we were to be breathing. So we begin and I feel him breathing on the top of my hair (he towers over me). I whisper, “I am supposed to be breathing. Not you.” He says, “I’m helping you.” I thought, "Oh dear God, no you are not helping me. You are breathing on my hair.” And I wasn’t even in pain. God help him. When we were practicing the ever-famous “hee-hee-hee-who” breaths, F was breathing in with every “hee” instead of out. I cannot tell you how this drove me nuts. I was afraid he was going to hyperventilate right there. I mean, who doesn’t know that a “hee” is a breath out?! For the rest of the class, I couldn’t get the picture of him doing that out of my mind and it was making my skin crawl. You know when something small like that drives you crazy? (Please say yes).

Other than that (and him raising his hand to ask about when he can bring me the champagne I have demanded – who asks that?!! I kicked him) it was a good experience.

Now the mean part: I felt so much better about myself when I left there! Honestly. There were 5 other women in the group. Four of them have let themselves go to hell (assuming they were semi-presentable before pregnancy). I mean pink-sweatpants-red-shirt, dirty flip-flops, no-brushes-used, put-on-sixty-pounds hell. I couldn’t believe it. They looked like they fell into the hamper that morning and whatever stuck, stuck. The one other girl looked normal, thankfully. But one of the gone-to-hell girls is due in twenty-somewhat days and she only found out she was pregnant 7 weeks ago! HOW in God’s name does that happen? She was 6 months along, allegedly, before she knew she was having a baby. You can’t make this stuff up. She was traveling in Hawaii, she said, as if that explained it. When I walked out of the class, I thought, “you’re not doing too bad, Elizabeth.” Then, yesterday, the 17 year old at my butcher hit on me as usual. I could have hugged him. I am almost 7 months pregnant, was wind-blown as all hell, and he still hit on me. I don’t care that he’s 17. That made my damn day.

86 days to go!!!