11:18 PM

Jamie is starting to come out of the "sleep all the time" stage, moving into the "sleep all day, up all night" stage.  I'll be witty (or more likely, by turns both cranky and slap-happy ) tomorrow.  For now, here's a few pictures that say more than I could...

First, a sense of scale for those of you outside of Logan:

Yes, it only took two pushes to get her here.  I'm not some birthing pro; if I had stood up, she would have fallen out.  She's TINY.  And yes, Nutella is the standard by which all things should be measured (that's a 13 oz jar, btw). 

Here's a more American standard of measurement for those of you unfortunate enough not to be familiar with Nutella (FOOLS!):

In other news, Gabriel is settling into his role as a big brother quite nicely:

How.  Cute.  Is.  That.

Jon's hand was for stability, not to force the shot.  But can we say, "blackmail?"  Awwwww, yeah!

I found the two of them like this during naptime...for someone who was terrified to have a daughter, he seems to be settling in quite nicely, as well.

Time:  11:38 PM.  Jon tags me out at 2 or 3...I think I'll watch some Bones.

Peace.

Warning: word vomit ahead

Things I learned yesterday:

1.  Just because you're married DOESN'T mean your spouse will automatically be told if you are, say, still in seeing your OB/GYN a week and a half before your planned delivery.  Even if he is your listed emergency contact, IHC will refuse to provide him with any information about you...which begs the question: what happens in the case of an emergency, like, say, a car accident?  If he shows up randomly at the ER looking for me, is he out of luck?  Do I rot, unconscious and alone, in a hospital room because I didn't give verbal or written permission for them to talk to him?  My emergency contact?  And speaking of permission, after six years of being treated by IHC facilities and providers, why was YESTERDAY the first time I saw or heard of the form to release information to my husband?  I'm a little irritated. 

2.  When your fetus has an erratic heartbeat during a fetal non stress test, your uber-careful obstetrician will bump your delivery up.  To today/Friday.  You will have to fight to schedule it on Monday, and that will only work when you play the "I need to arrange childcare" card and promise to come in if ANYTHING SEEMS WRONG AT ALL, since he's on call this weekend anyways.  Man, it BITES being in multiple high risk groups.

On the up side, you will have a VERY detailed ultrasound done and will get to see her "breathe."  Also, glare at you in her sleep.  She has a mean glare.  It was awesome, and not just because I got visual confirmation that she is alive and well (she scored high on the biophysical whatever it was), but it was very reassuring to see her diaphragm moving and to be able to count her fingers and toes whilst waiting for her to move them.  In the end, we're going ahead with the early delivery because the paranoid parts of me agree with the doc, and she's probably much better off out of my hostile diabetic womb than inside it, even if it is two weeks early (or four, depending on how you look at it).

At any rate, as most of you know, my scheduled delivery has been bumped from the 25th to the 18th...which is...lemme see...THREE DAYS AWAY.  Mercifully, we are mostly ready, physically at least.  Mentally, probably not so much.  I think my doc takes perverse pleasure in springing things like that on me.  He did it with Gabriel (On a Monday:  "What are you doing Thursday?  How about having this baby?"), and he did it AGAIN with this one, EVEN THOUGH I tried to beat him to the punch and we had already scheduled for the 25th.   And now...my to-do list for this weekend has changed DRAMATICALLY.  I need to...


1.  Clean the fridge for the first time in...a long time...so I can refill it with non-science-experimenty food for us to survive on next week.  Also, so I won't gross out Elizabeth, my SiL, if she ends up saving our bacon because labor goes long and I need someone to stay with Gabriel overnight.  Curse the mirror Alfreds (our Gabriel sitters) for having the audacity to have a life and leave town.  Sheesh.  They totally should have predicted this.  For revenge, on Monday night, I'm eating all the brownies they left out on their counter.  That'll show them! (Just kidding, guys.  I'm not upset.  But I AM going to hose those brownies, and there's nothing you can do about it.  MWAH HA HA HA HA!)



2.  Tease Jon because he nested.  This morning, he set up the bassinet.  And then--I kid you not--he flapped his arms like bird wings as he left the room.

3.  Sleep.

4.  Sleep some more.

Anyhoo, we'll keep you posted.  It's likely that I'll be scheduled for early in the morning because of the whole "medical necessity" thing (finally, a PERK!).  I'm sure there will be texts and facebook posts galore (facepalm!).  Feel free to call...I promise that if it's not a good time, I just won't answer the phone.

ALSO:  now accepting bets as to weight/time of birth.  Winner gets...something cool.  Maybe naming rights? Warning:  if anyone predicts a c-section, I will go crazy on them as only a hormone-controlled pregnant woman can.  You have been warned!

OH!  OH! OH!  For those of you who, like me, get spotty facebook updates, I have to share this with the world:

"Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid." -A. Einstein

 Which I realized when I watched one of "my" kids with a massive learning disability scurry up a climbing wall like a lizard, leaving the "genius" kids in the dust.  I love that quote, even if it turns out that it comes from Alicia Einstein, not Albert  Einstein.

When being AWESOME isn't enough

Sometimes you need backup. 

True story!

1.  When you're 37 weeks pregnant, you might as well go camping.  You'll be just as uncomfortable at home, even if it rains, and at least camping, you have fun.  True story. 

2.  I've been thinking, lately, about how my children perceive me.  We passed a cool jeep the other day on the road and when I told Elijah I used to have one (that was even cooler), HE DIDN'T BELIEVE ME.  So I didn't even TRY to tell him about other things I used to do (like stay up later than 10:30 PM regularly or do things besides take naps for fun).  As a result, I realized that my current behavior means that my kids will grow up thinking that their mother/evil step mother is BORING.  Also, that she shoots lasers out of her eyes if she doesn't get chocolate around 3:30 every afternoon.  Thank heavens for sugar free Dove chocolate.  True story.

3.  Behold, the monster more terrifying than anything previously seen at the Alfred home...and we have kids with Godzilla obsessions.  You have been warned.  Behold! (again):

And that's just its FOOTWEAR.  Can  you imagine the monster that will WEAR those beasts?????  In fifteen days (HALLELUJAH!) we won't have to imagine.  MWAH HA HA HA HA!

We inherited a box of baby clothes from one of Jon's professors...including a little pair of Mary Janes.  Given Jon's reaction to the shoes, you would think they gave us something more like this:

That's a Mongolian Death Worm.  True story.

I'm trying to be the calm one, here, so in all my optimistic glory, I think we should hope for this:

I think that's a nice balance. 

4.  We skyped with the boys the other day.  I thought Gabriel was going to destroy the monitor, as he started trying to wrestle with Elijah/the monitor as soon as he saw him.  Complete with choke holds and eye gouges.  He just gazed at Ethan in awe.  I think he misses his brothers.  Early August won't come fast enough for a variety of reasons.  True story.

5.  Speaking of Gabriel, I think I'm going to send him to nursery with a name tag that says, "My parents named me GABRIEL," since apparently telling the nursery workers this and loudly and obnoxiously calling him Gabriel doesn't do the trick.  I realize that "Gabe" is an acceptable nickname for "Gabriel," but we don't want him called that.  Shallow, but true.  Other pet peeve:  when people call Elijah, Eli.  Grrrrrrr.  It's like nails on a chalkboard.  Exception:  Baby Gabey...because--really--it's his BABY nickname that will likely NOT follow him into adulthood.  After all, while my aunts still call me "Beegie," I don't mind because--OH YEAH--they used to change my diapers and chase me out of their rooms.  I think that gives a person some latitude in the name department.  Rant over.  True story.

6.  I'm definitely ready to trade long blocks of sleep for dietary freedom and bladder capacity (although in 16 days, I'll probably regret that statement).  True story.

7.  Speaking of sleep, I found this the other night at 2 AM when I couldn't sleep.  Oh, the irony.  The composer is Eric Whitacre, who is probably a diva/DB (as is common with many talented people), but who is a diva who wanted to be "the fifth member of Depeche Mode or the Cure," which made me like him even more.  I've always like his stuff, this is one of my favorites.  True story.  Enjoy!

Eric Whitacre's Virtual Choir 2.0, 'Sleep' from Eric Whitacre on Vimeo.

(Note:  the choir consists of people who sent in web videos of themselves singing the various parts, which were then scrubbed and edited into...that.  Freaking AWESOME, it is!)

Time to be AWESOME instead

The boys left for South Carolina for the month this morning...very early this morning.  Very early.  I acknowledge the necessity, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.  Taking a cue from humans everywhere, my method of dealing with it is to be angry, because anger is much easier to deal with than sadness (unless you're on the receiving end). 

It occurred to me, very early this morning, that the next time I would see the boys, I would no longer be pregnant, as they'll get home about a week after I'm due.

That's when I realized I'm not really angry, I'm sad.  Sad with a chunk of fear thrown in, because return tickets have not been purchased...although that shouldn't bother me; not once in the six years that I've been in the picture has she kept the boys for the full term of visitation.  She generally gets annoyed--or something--and sends them home a week or so early.  So, I shouldn't be scared of them not coming home, because she seems to prefer being a favorite aunt with bragging rights, as opposed to the more labor-intensive full-time mom.  Also, I shouldn't be sad, because there is a light at the end of the tunnel, wherein we get the boys back AND I cease to be pregnant (can I get a hallelujah?) all in the same week.

Hence, I've decided to take Barney's advice and stop being sad, and be AWESOME instead.

But before I do, let me expound on the Joys Of Pregnancy yet again.   One of the web comics Jon reads, Real Life Comics, managed to capture the REST of what's going on around Hoth this week:

I just realized it's too small to read.  Drat.  Click the link above.  Totally worth it.

I think it hit me as especially funny this week because Jon's been all whiney about his ear infection.  Wah, wah, burst eardrum, wah wah.  That's sarcasm, BTW...I really don't begrudge Jon his right to be unhappy/grumpy about the pain...mostly because I'm currently NOT in labor. But I have to admit, I may have had some eerily similar internal dialog at some point during bursting process.  Sometimes I feel bad for the husbands/partners of pregnant women.  There's just no way for them to win an "I'm miserable" show down for at least nine months without being a complete and insensitive jerk.  Unfortunately for Jon, then the fetus will usually stomp on my bladder or some other disgusting and/or painful thing will happen, and I'm out for blood again.

And...the sequel to "camping for grown ups" is apparently "camping for kids," wherein the boys "camp" in the backyard, learning at home the cardinal lesson of camping that I guess they didn't learn in the wilderness; namely, be sure to keep the tent door zipped to keep wasps and other insect life OUT:

Can you smell the fear?  mwah ha ha ha ha!  We eventually took pity and removed the offending wasps.  And by "we," I mean, "Jon," because NO WAY was I going anywhere near them...

In other family news, we signed Elijah up for junior tackle football.

Taking him to be fitted for his gear was one of the last things we did before sending them off to South Carolina.  It was funny to watch him go from being headstrong and cocky to appropriately nervous about the prospect of being tackled by some hulking kid.  Ladies and gentlemen, I await the spectacle.  And not just that first week of conditioning, wherein he realizes that we didn't sign him up an XBox football/Madden tournament, but actual football.  MWAH HA HA HA HA!

35 days and counting...

Camping for grownups

First, a few items of housekeeping:

This is Jamie.  Or rather, this is what Jamie looked like 14 weeks ago.  Now, Marianne and Frank (my sister and BiL) just had THEIR ultrasound done, and while their baby wins for Most Photogenic (seriously, that boy had the cutest smile I've EVER seen in an ultrasound picture), I firmly contend that Jamie wins for Biggest Frontal Lobe (thus dethroning me).  Also, please note her pugilist's fists.  I'll talk more about those in a bit.

Yes, the boys' room is a mess.  Yes, that's generally what it looks like (remember, we're talking about a pair of boys who don't understand why I go ballistic when I find out they haven't changed their underwear in two weeks...the laundry betrayed them).  Anyhoo, let's look past the massive clutter and see the cuteness.  Every night, the boys have a half hour of quiet time before we banish them to the darkness of dreams.  They use the time to read, as a rule, and Gabriel has decided to join them.  He finds a book and crawls in bed with Ethan to read it.  Every night.  It's adorable.

Now, on to the real reason we're here:  so you can hear about Camping in the Third Trimester.  Subtitled, Next Time, I Swear I'm Bringing a PortaPotty.

As it turns out, camping as a single girl at Lake Powell (which is the bulk of my camping experience) is radically different from camping in the mountains as a mom with three active boys and a girl fetus six-ish weeks away from being born.  Both are enjoyable, but they are completely different beasts.

Way back when, camping preparation consisted of me wondering why the heck my mom was so stressed out the week before the trip (with SEVEN kids and several of their unsupervised friends).

Now, camping prep is allowing my children to live another day when they complained because I asked them to grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt (that *I* ultimately packed into the communal bag).  Also, not rolling my eyes when Jon complained that I over packed...which I DIDN'T.  If anything, I UNDER PACKED (and as a result, we didn't get to have the cobbler because we were missing some critical components). 

Then, my biggest stress while camping was trying to weasel my way onto the boat for the morning gas run so I could use the bathroom at the marina instead of the bubka tent.

Now, the fetus's pugilist's fists stripped whatever dignity I may have had left after giving birth to Gabriel as I spent an embarrassing chunk of time that afternoon planning the most efficient way to handle the inevitable middle-of-the-night bathroom emergencies caused by Jamie hogging up the space that used to be taken up by my bladder.


Then, entertainment while camping was typical lake fun during the day and campfire games at night.  Sometimes, we'd mix it up and recite the Little Mermaid by heart, including the songs (Jon can witness that my sisters and I can STILL do this.  And HE LOVED LISTENING.  Don't let the twitching fool you). 

Now, camping entertainment is cataloging all the ways my children can maim and/or kill themselves using nothing but nature.  I thought I had a pretty complete list at this point:

1.  Fall into the campfire
2.  Fall into the ragingly flooding river
3.  Get lost in the forest and eaten by a bear
4.  Sneak food into the tent and get eaten by a bear

Then I found out I missed one: 

5.  Get eaten by the chupacabra. 

Jon and I got back from a walk with Gabers (the other boys were too busy falling into the flooding river and being eaten by bears to come with) when we noticed what looked like blood from the bite mark of either a really big vampire or smallish chupacabra dripping down the nape of Gaber's neck.  I'm sticking with my chupacabra theory, although Jon is quick to point out it was a stupid chupacabra, because it missed the jugular and/or other major veins/arteries.  It was still disturbing, though, and we never figured out what caused it.  Talk about a campfire mystery.


Speaking of bears, I'm with Stephen Colbert.  Bears are on report.  After rationally calming the boys' fear of being eaten by bears during the night, I spent the night freaking out the that boys were going to be eaten by bears (or would sleep walk into the flooding river).  We were pretty clear about the NO FOOD IN YOUR TENT thing, so imagine my chagrin when I realized, the next morning, that Gabriel's diaper bag (which I rarely carry these days) was loaded with granola bars and fruit snacks to keep him quiet during sacrament meeting.  FACEPALM.  Thank heavens the chupacabra scared off the local bear population.

A few other things that make camping as a mom so unique...

Getting mad at the boys for declaring a hike to be "Boys Only" (and trying to exclude the Mirror-Alfred Daughters) and then laughing hysterically because the BOYS ended up picking flowers on the hike and reenacting the opening credits of Little House on the Prairie by romping down a rolling hill.  Hail, the conquering hero:

Also, as a single girl at Lake Powell, I never got to listen to a nine-year-old pout his heart out because his friends/brothers changed the rules of a game so they didn't favor him anymore:

I'm pretty sure Elijah's telling us to take him to shore.  (If you don't know, please don't ask.  It's not a proud moment for me)

At Lake Powell, I never got to watch my OCD toddler repeatedly move "his" camp chairs closer to the car...and then sit and stare longingly at the car and wait to be taken back to civilization.

The kids enjoying the Mario Big World-style marshmallows and the resulting Monster S'Mores

Ethan's version of a perfectly roasted marshmallow.  Gag.  I love the Marshmallow Smear all over Mirror Ethan's face.  Snicker.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I just checked my blood sugar and I REALLY need to go on a walk, so please pardon the abrupt ending...

Peace.

Adding to my list of people I really like against my better judgement....

Click this link to see why I find myself really liking Neil Patrick Harris these days.  It's LEGEN...wait for it....DARY.