"Fat Lip Fred"

So here he is, lounging on my bed in his PJ's.

And here is the damage. Poor guy.

But let's be honest. He doesn't seem to be too perturbed about it.

So here's my news. First, I got a call from my midwife today. Lab results were in. I do not have gestational diabetes. (Big shocker. Me and my non-average baseline body functions.)

Second, if you click on the link listed on the right side bar about the pregnancy belly casts, and go to the gallery for "abstract," you'll see something you may recognize. (Gosh, I feel so special. So famous.)

Third, I am looking at my legs. They have so many mosquito bites on them I am certainly a candidate to becoming the person with the second case of West Nile disease in the state of Pennsylvania this year. I love my yard. I do not love the amount of mosquitoes it breeds. Still, I would rather grass than concrete. So perhaps I will special order a whole flock of dragonflies to let loose. (Do dragonflies come in flocks?)

Noodles for Pooh Bear (and other mishaps)

I guess Kindred decided after dinner a few nights ago that he wanted to share some of his "nooon-els" (spaghetti noodles) with his pooh bear. He ran and got Pooh, put him in the high chair seat, pulled it up to the table and ran off to find a spoon to reach the noodles. I don't know what gave him this idea. He put Pooh in the chair all on his own. And just look at the kid's face. He clearly thinks he's the most clever guy alive. (Who am I to argue?)



This morning I had to go back to the Quest Lab to have another glucose tolerance test. I apparently failed the screening-- my results were "slightly elevated." (Didn't we just go through this with the thyroid?) So I had to return for an extended 3 hour test. This entails fasting from midnight, going to the lab first thing in the morning (like 8am), getting a blood draw, drinking 100 grams (50g more than the screening) of a liquid something like orange-gatorade-times-ten, waiting and hour, giving blood, waiting an hour, giving blood, waiting an hour, giving blood, then finally staggering home, starving and crabby. As you can imagine, I was not looking forward to this process. At all. But my biggest tension was around finding a babysitter to come and hang with Kindred from 8am- 1pm. This is camp season, people. I can't ask any of the camp babysitters to take a day off. They don't have that many days to begin with! So I stressed and stressed, and tried to beg my way out of taking the test, and tried to brainstorm other options. No luck. Out of the blue, I was talking to a friend I thought had a summer nannying position, and she announced to me that her jobs were ending on Wednesday. I was going to try to take the test on Thursday. She said she'd be glad to hang with Kindred. She is my new hero. She got here at 8:10am and I went to the lab.

The ladies there took pity on me and gave me a room to lie down in during the three hours I was there. Sure, they poked and prodded me with needles 4 times (2 in each arm), but otherwise they took good care of me. I was so thankful. I got to relax, tried to not think about the nasty taste in my mouth, and listened to Podcasts of Radio Times and World Cafe Live. I will get the results of my test in a few days, I suppose. I'll keep ya posted.

Last piece of news (for today). Kindred and I and our terrific front neighbor, Linny, were hanging outside with Pippen the wonderdog, a cocker spaniel that Kindred delights in chasing and not catching. Kindred's newest fun thing (for him, not for mama) is tossing his ball out into the street (which is really more of an alley, but still frequently traveled.) I kept turning him around, but he was like a boomerang. He got a little obsessed. i took the ball, so he headed off to toss another toy. When he was passing me, he tripped. But he was holding the toy, so he hit the sidewalk face-first. I knew when I saw an instant wet spot on the sidewalk that this was going to be bad. His mouth was covered in blood, and he wasn't making a sound, just that open mouthed-man when I get my breath back look out-face. I was so glad Lindsey was there. She followed me as I scooped him up and went inside to wipe his face and make sure all his teeth were intact. They were. After lots of tears and wails and a try at a popsicle and some doggie distractions, Lindsey and I were able to see that he had only really scraped skin off his lips-- mostly the upper one. He calmed down, went back outside, and promptly gave his popsicle to the dog, who loved it. He's probably going to look a little freaky tomorrow, but no permanent damage that I can tell. (If you see him, you could call him Fat-Lip Fred or something. I'm sure he would think it was funny.) He's really the sweetest thing.

He rests his head on my belly when I sing to him at night.

Belly shots- 35 weeks

Here's me! I'm Pregnant!

Hmmmm, look at that. I'm pregnant.

How did this happen again? Why does it feel like I'm always pregnant?

Hooray! Mama's havin' a baby!

The finished product

I finally finished my Belly Cast from when I was pregnant with "Zy"/ Kindred. Michael and I casted it when I was 36 weeks along, but it has been sitting undecorated for some time now. (You can look at the links on the right side to learn more about Bellycasting, lest you misunderstand and think that I somehow "broke" my belly and required a cast.) It's done and hanging on Kindred's wall. I'm pretty happy with how it came out. I decoupaged (is that how you spell that word? It doesn't look right.) it with tissue paper, and based the design on a pastel drawing I had done called "Pregnant Woman", also a suggestion from Birthing From Within. I rather like it. A friend, one of Kindred's favorite uncles, remarked about how Kindred's friends are going to think his parents are a little freaky because his mom's bust is hanging on the wall. But we won't worry about that now.

Sometimes...

...I feel like this blog is the only adult interaction I have all day long. And the sad part is, I don't even know how many adults are reading it. (OK, brace for the whining.) The phone stays silent unless it's the state police soliciting funding (Do we not pay these people a salary?), the Walnut Street Theater selling season tickets, or my insurance company asking if Kindred's appointments are all up to speed. (Man, these are some great conversations. They are so friendly, and usually have thick Kentucky accents, so I am wildly entertained for about 5 minutes and usually hang up the phone feeling like a power mom because I am almost always on top of Kindred's appointments and other such vaccinations.) So apart from these, I'm just stuck babbling in toddler-speak: Do you want to go-go-go in the car? Sit up here in the rocky-rocky, sweety, and I will get you some yum-yums. Kindred, did you see that "apeture?" Honey, it's a bu-SSS, not just a buh. Can you say TR-tr-tr-uck? It isn't a "guck."

Do you ever wonder if you really exist in the world outside your toddler's mind? Or if perhaps your phone is broken? Or your emails must be getting eaten by cyber-monsters? (OK, Meeshe, whine whine whine. Enough aleady.)

***All of you who have commented in the past 3 weeks are exempt from this set of silly complaints-- mothers especially!***

OK, I'm better now. Sorry. But really, feel free to post comments. I like them. They confirm my existence in a larger universe.

(I have some pics to post, but blogspot is doing maintenence, so they will have to wait until later....)

Because pictures are just more fun

It was a lazy Sunday. Mama and Daddy didn't even get dressed until close to 3pm, much later than Kindred himself was clothed. We had a great day doing practically nothing. Michael did baking projects-- he made a lovely brunch, then he made bagels from scratch which he used to make mini pizzas for dinner. (Yep, I'm a lucky lady.) (Although, 3 guesses what I just spent the last 45 minutes doing. Thank heavens for dish wands, and a shallow sink.) We are going to install an air conditioner in our bedroom tonight in preparation for the heat wave a'coming, and then we will watch a movie. At least that's the plan. But I'm thankful for the relaxing time with my husband, who has been in a good mood all weekend, a trend that I hope sticks.

So in celebration of the lazy day, I decided to pull out the trusty camera and catch everyone up on Kindred's latest antics. (Thanks goodness, a break on the long-winded and relatively pointless stories about me, eh?)

He woke up too early again today, so he wasn't in a great mood. This series was taken as the mood declined, quickly.

(This means "All done." It is not an official ASL sign, so don't teach it to your children. Kindred made it up himself months ago. In other words, Mama, put away the camera and get me out of bed.)

But who could blame the kid for being in a bad mood? He got himself some terrible diaper rash and he was just unhappy about it. He took his first (of 3) stinky diapers to throw away...

...then he put it on his head, saying, "Blah."

Then he hung out with his belly.

This is "fun with the mirror."

And finally, here he is tooting the recorder. He loves it, and when he makes a high squeaking noise, he always imitates it with his voice. My mom will be so proud.

Recent whacks and wanes

I spent the night (2 nights ago) camping out in Kindred's room on the floor for several hours, then moved for 3 hours to the (new) futon, then back to my bed when Michael left at 7am. No, it was not because I was hot and needed AC. It was because Kindred decided around 11:30pm that 4 hours of sleep was completely sufficient for him and he wasn't going to shut up until someone came in and played. I almost was able to put him back to sleep but he just isn't comfortable snuggling with me in the rocking chair anymore. I have a bit of a bump on my front that isn't as malleable as, say, daddy's. So after a solid 20 minutes of trying to get comfy and failing, he was as ready as ever to play and read and run. So I brought in my pillows and laid down while he had his fun. He was up from 11:30pm to nearly 3am. He played with his garage, his blocks, we read books, and he figured out how to make some noise out of the recorder (the flute-thing) that was found in an old box recently. It made yesterday mostly miserable for both of us. I'm so glad he slept last night all the way through, and he just took more than a 2 hour nap.

I say he slept all the way through the night, but that isn't true. He had this brief period of random screaming after he'd been asleep for an hour. I went in to him and he was lying still on his tummy, his arm wrapped around his lamby, but he was crying and crying. I don't actually believe he was truly awake. I rubbed his back, I called him, he never moved. Still crying and crying. I got my hand under his ribcage and just gently shook him and said "Sh sh sh sh sh sh sh sh" and he calmed. I left after a minute, he started again, I repeated the process, and he fell back into quietness and was OK the rest of the night. I really don't like it when that happens. It's a little scary, like he's trapped in his subconscious. This isn't the first time he's had an episode like that.

So we went back to visit the chiropractor this morning, then we came home, Kindred napped, and I went out and washed our car. I also made a sad discovery. The grounds person the landlords have hired is great. He is an Irishman and he and I met the first time he came over and worked in the yard, mowing, weedwacking, etc. I showed him where I had planted my little garden, flowers and veggies. We have 3 really big tomato plants, a small jalapeno pepper plant, a green pepper, and some basil and parsley. The Irishman said they would be fine, he would take good care of them. He has since only returned to drop off the dudes he has apparently hired for the summer to mow and weedwack. They don't do a particularly great job to begin with, but I'm not going to complain. Until now. They freakin' weedwacked my little pepper to oblivion, but even worse, they wacked my tomato! I only have 3 to begin with, and this one had lots of tomatoes on it that were enjoying the ripening process, and WHACK, gone. You dufuses! Pay attention to doing a good job around my sidewalk, don't take out my garden! It's a good thing I didn't discover this yesterday. Today I'm sad and a little mad, but yesterday I might have unleashed the hormonal-pregnant-woman-lacking-sleep and taken the weedwacker to something that was important to them, like perhaps their leg hair. Oh well. I'm gonna go get my son and we are gonna splash in the pool and not think about the tomatoes.

War? What war? (and other non-themed thoughts)

I was washing dishes tonight. A billion dishes. And they aren't even done yet. How the heck do these things pile up so fast? Michael does one cooking or baking project and Whammo, a billion dishes. So anyway, Michael went to bed early and I grabbed my IPod and hit the kitchen, determined to rediscover some usable counter space for myself by the end of the night and fight the urge to stand in the curtain-less heat-radiating kitchen wearing absolutely nothing but my sandals, because come on, you have to wear shoes when you are pregnant or your back just kills the next day. So there I was, up to my elbows in lukewarm soapy suds, minimally but acceptably clothed, wishing the gloves hadn't gotten a teeny tiny hole in the index finger of the one hand I had a cut on, and listening to, well, that is the subject of the story. After running through the extensive list of artists on my (somewhat ridiculous and excessive, but hey, it was a gift) IPod, I chose the Adbusters- Live Without Dead Time album.

The album was done by a mix of artists very soon after we attacked Iraq in the name of the "War on Terror" in March of 2003. It makes some pretty bold statements, and I appreciate it a lot even though it isn't my typical preference in music style. But as I listened, I remembered that on that day in March, 3 years ago, I sat in a jail cell with 100+ people, singing "By the Waters of Babylon." I remember being devastated that we were going ahead with this attack on a country that had not attacked us. Then the following year in April, literally days before I got pregnant with Kindred, I spent 7 days in the Federal Detention Center in Philadelphia for refusing to pay a $250 fine that had been imposed on those of us who were arrested that previous year for blocking the entrances of the Federal Building and Courthouse. I recalled that week as being simultaneously the deepest and most meaningless time I'd ever spent. (That is not to say it wasn't an invaluable learning experience for me, but I won't get into all the inner dialogue and such. That's not my point right now.) But I look at where we are now, three years later, and where I am. I am no longer living in an actively resistant community. I have (essentially) 2 children, and Michael and I live with our family in an unshared apartment for the first time in the 7+ years of our marriage, in a section of the city that is far from the poorest district in the state of PA, which is where we spent our previous 6+ years living. I'm not unhappy with where I am, per say. I recognize that I am at a different place in my life. I still feel pretty passionately that this war and the places it has taken us is wrong on so many levels. But I also feel like at this point most days it is just plain easier to disregard the news from Baghdad. War? What war? I know that daily and nightly, children are dying from our bombs and guns for no good reason (is there ever a good reason that a child, or a human for that matter should die?), and that I can ignore it because it isn't in my country, my backyard, my marketplace, or happening to my child. But then I think about it happening all the time all over the world, and how it feels like I am so powerless to stop it without placing myself in front of the bombers, the gunmen, the bigwigs pushing the buttons and calling the shots. I'm not doing that. Not now. I'd much rather snuggle with my son, trying to read Guess How Much I Love You and trying to teach him about practicing peace and love. But am I a worthy example? I don't know.

So on that note, I return to my dishes and holey gloves, and wonder why my bathroom smells consistantly like wet doggie (could it be the lack of proper ventilation--no screen on the window so we don't open it?), why I only seem to get heartburn right before I go to bed, and why suddenly my overactive love-child-yet-unseen decided to turn himself around -- not head up, just flipped around, so that he is opposite of the ol' "nose to sacrum" position he's supposed to get into and love so that I don't have back labor, so that as a result I have all this funky clawing going on all over my front rather than just my right side. Paired with the heartburn, this action makes sleeping a real interesting challenge. Off I go.

If a picture speaks 1000 words, what might 15 pictures say?

I have not put up pictures in a few days, so I figured I'd throw a few up tonight. OK, a lot.

Below is a picture of Kindred's reaction when I asked him today if he had a "P-U" in his diaper. Then after he was discovered, cleaned, powdered and changed, we had a little photo-shoot on the changing table. He was delighted to pose.

This one is a visual of him asking "Mama, do I really hafta wear this dumb hat?"

Now for the "How much fun can one have with a plastic bowl?" series.

(Did anyone notice we lost the hat in all this fun?)

Now here he is on his new slide.

Wheeeeeee!

Just some questions

1) How does one go about cleaning straws well when one does not have a dishwasher?

2) Can I be sure that the child inside me is not going to entirely tear my belly off the front of my body during one of his circus performances?

3) [a series] Why does the chiropractor's receptionist nun wear sunglasses inside the office? And why is she so bad at dealing with Kindred, jumping and screeching a little every time he comes near to share one of his toys with her, then picking up his toys and handing them back to him after he places them on the floor next to his stroller and out of the way? "Here. You don't want to lose this." Lose it? It's right next to him. Is she going to take it? Is this a passive-aggressive threat? And the big question, will I be able to control myself and my sarcasm or will I say something mean to her before the end of my long string of visits? (She's really getting on my nerves.)

4) Is it possible for one to get through the book Guess How Much I Love You? without just crying? (I have not been able to do this, not once. Even on the days I'm feeling particularly strong.)

5) What should I give my child for lunch?

On that note, I'm off to answer question #5, since he's woken up and is starving I'm sure. He's like a bottomless pit these days. Remember how I was just recently lamenting that I couldn't figure out why he wasn't eating anything? Well, put those fears and worries right away. He's like a teenager. The whole way home from the chiro, he sat in the back and wailed that he wanted "Moooorrre Cheeeeesios! Maaaamaaa! Mooooorrrre Cheeeesios!"

Ack Ack Ack

I'm almost too tired to type. I should go to bed.

Today I had an appointment at the Birth Center. I met a new midwife whom I like a lot. She was great with Kindred, she was laid back and generally really pleasant and encouraging. This was good, considering that I weighed in at 164 1/2. Merely 2 weeks ago, I was 157. This is a 7+ pound weight gain! Of course, I did have to factor in that I ate almost nothing for 2 days before my last (morning) appointment, and this appointment was after both breakfast and lunch, which will pack on a few pounds. She told me to not get mad at myself or depressed about this, and that I'm still on the high end of normal for gain. (I've gained 24 pounds total so far.) She said based on my BMI that I should gain between 25-35 pounds for the entire pregnancy. She also advised me to put down the Ben and Jerry's. But I assured her that I got the Chocolate Fudge Brownie Frozen Yogurt this past time and she gave me a pat of affirmation. Then she told me I could eat 2 spoonfuls a day. (Great. Wee-hoo. What a treat.) She told me to stay away from simple carbs like white rice and potato products, stick to small servings of protein and pack up on veggies. So tonight, I ordered Chinese. Had a huge mound of General Tso's chicken over white rice, ate some of Michael's fries, and had three small "trees" of broccoli.

OK, maybe I'll start following her advice tomorrow.

In other news, Kindred's signing class went OK. There was only one other child in it, and she is 10 months. She and Kindred get along as well as can be expected. It will be an interesting class. Kindred has already mastered "more" and "food/eat." He learned them yesterday. He's brilliant.

We go back to see crazy Dr. Z, the chiropractor, tomorrow. (I think it's funny how many people assumed from my anecdote that I would not go back to him, assuming that I thought him and his receptionist nun a little too wacky for my taste. But come on folks. Have you met the man I married? Have you met my friends? It isn't like I actively avoid "wacky.") I've actually enjoyed going to visit him and the nun. The nun is a little overbearing with Kindred, and she made some comment last time about going to see the big cats at the zoo and wishing she could bring the baby jaguar home so that she could scare away some of her neighbors, and Dr. Z still dances and hums off-key when he works on me. But I feel much stronger after he's worked on me. (Thank goodness for insurance covering my 2-3 per week visits.) I will return fro the duration.

Yawn and goodnight.

Short report

I'm sitting here, sweating. The AC is in Kindred's room, and while he sleeps I don't have use of it. That isn't too terrible. The house isn't that hot. But the computer is in the closet, and the halogen lamp heats the joint up a bit. I am sitting at the computer having promised myself that I would just sit for a few minutes because I have loads of other things to do, and then I got, well, stuck.

(I have these baby blogs I check out. (See the sidebar "Pregnancy and Baby Blogs.") I don't really understand the "Blog Culture" yet. It feels so strange that I can just click click click and find out about all these people's lives, even to the point where I am laughing and relating and feeling like I've known them for years even though they live in Australia and we've never ever met nor will we. But I get anxious sometimes to find out how women are handling their pregnancy, or what their new babies look like, etc. It really sucks you in. And then the awkward part comes when you really want to comment, but you wonder how they will feel about you piping up about their situation when they have no idea who you are. I haven't figured that one out yet. I think I would love to know if there is someone keeping up with my blogs whom I've never met who gets a kick out of looking at amusing pictures of Kindred or reading about how I am doing in the heat.)

So I got sucked into baby blogs, and an hour later covered in sweat and all weepy, I realize it's time to close up shop and get to my day.

Anyway, so Kindred and I are going to a "Baby Signing" class today at 1:30pm, a really bad time for his schedule. It falls right at the end of his nap, and he usually gets lunch after he wakes up. I thought, well, I'll just get him up early and nap him early. Yeah right. He seems to sense any time I make those sort of get-him-up-early plans, because he undoubtedly wakes up yelling several times in the night for no apparent reason except that he just doesn't want to be asleep. Last night at 10:30pm, he's not hot, he's not cold, he's not stinky. He's just bored of being in bed. BOOOOORING, MAMA! Let's play! He finally fell back asleep a the big storm was starting. He can't sleep through his parent's talking, but BOOMING thunder, no sweat. (He calls thunder "fa-fur.") So we'll see how this class goes. I think he'll enjoy it. We taught him the "Eensy Weensy Spider" song with the motions and he is getting it, so we'll see what else we can learn at this class.

So now I must shower and get the ickyness off, gather lunch snacks, and as Kindred would say, "Go go go!"

Just stuff and times

Here's Kindred, checking out his belly, lounging in daddy's chair.

Here's he's showing us his biting talents.
Ok, here's a funny story. When I was in Florida, I watched my Sister-in-law's work-out tape-- the one I had borrowed from her when I was pregnant before to remain a "Fit Mama." I couldn't do the cardiac workout after 7 months, but I did the Yoga routine the whole way thorugh the pregnancy. I don't currently have a VHS player, but I wanted to remember the routine. So I watched it there and drew it:(Don't think I've actually done this routine since I've been home.)

And just for fun... This is the picture I drew that I labored looking at when I had Kindred. (Thanks, Birthing from Within!)

First Fourth Fireworks

We went to Ridley Park last night to give Kindred a taste of fireworks. Philadelphia had a big firworks show at Penn's Landing, but we decided it might be smarter to go more low-key for his first experience with big booms and flashing lights, since he is really sensitive to startling sounds. (He despises the vaccuum-- doesn't even like to see it in the closet, cries when the dryer buzzes, and yesterday bawled for 10 minutes because a cookie sheet fell off the stove.) We wanted to be close to the car in case we needed to flee. So Michael put him in his PJ's and flashy sneakers, we drove for 30 minutes and sat with a group of neighborhood folks we didn't know to watch the show.

Here's how it went:

He looks a little distressed here, but no, he was just squinting from all the flashing. He even stopped holding our hands.

Eventually he even got a little bored, and starting putting his ring on his head and laughing at himself.

All in all, I'd say he enjoyed himself. This is good, because Michael really loves going to see the New Year's fireworks on Philly, and we weren't sure Kindred would be able to hang with them. Now we know. He'll be fine.