A Letter to My Unborn Child

Dear Bad Baby,

We're full term now.  You're past due.  You are officially freeloading off your mother.  Get out!

Much Love,
Big Mama


P.S.  Like, BIG. 
P.P.S.  Like, only two of my shirts go down past my belly button. 
P.P.P.S  Like, I ain't buying a new wardrobe, Baby.  Get out!  (I swear I'll be nicer than this when you get out!)

You:



Me:

The Moody Pregnant Woman Sounds Off and Cusses a Lot.

I went to my 39 week appointment today.  There's a new midwife in the office (filling in for another who's on maternity leave), and she's kinda sorta maybe batshit crazy.  I have no idea where they rummaged her up.  She absolutely does not fit the laid-back vibe of the office, which is 85% of the reason I go there.  I mean, she's fine, I'm sure.  I'm not going to start dreading the possibility of her being on-call when I go into labor (though I'm tempted to).  I just wish she could have calmed the fuck down for two minutes today!  I took two small children to my appointment, and they were calmer than she was.  Anyway... I did get an extra ultrasound out of the "ordeal", with a second confirmation that the baby is indeed a girl.  And the baby is good, everything is good.  There was just some paranoia about the baby's head not being engaged in the pelvis and the midwife's belief that I was dying for an exam to check for progress, but she didn't want to accidentally break my water if the baby's head isn't engaged (which... wow, does that happen?  By accident?).  I kept trying to tell her that it's okaaaay, I really don't need the exam, the nurse told me to strip, aaaaah I don't care!!  But suddenly I was on the ultrasound table and the midwife was hanging over the tech's shoulder, yapping incessantly about membranes rupturing and doing squats and what is the baby's head doing over there???  And our ultrasound tech is... well, the word 'serious' doesn't begin to describe it.  At one point during the ultrasound today, I said "Sometimes it feels like she somehow reaches her hand out of the uterus and grabs hold of my bladder and tries to wring it out like a sponge."  And the tech looked from her screen to me and, in all seriousness, said "No, that can't happen" and went back to her business.  I would use the word 'deadpan' if she used humor at all, but... no.  (Another example-- at my 20 week ultrasound, I asked her what percentage sure she was of the baby's sex, because the crazy internet forum people were saying that their ultrasound techs told them they were "75% sure it was a girl".  Her very monotone response was, "That's stupid.  I wouldn't have said that I know if I wasn't sure."  Not exactly a people person, but I've grown to implicitly trust her capabilities at her job.)  I don't know why I'm on this subject.  Oh!  It was just funny, watching the anxious midwife and the no-nonsense tech trying to communicate.  Except it wasn't so much 'funny' as 'highly uncomfortable'. 

Aw, man, and don't get me started on the freakshows who were waiting for an ultrasound at the same time as me.  The mother (of one very coddled little 'angel') even spoke baby-talk to me:  "We all get a little fussy-fussy when we're past our naps, don't we?  And us mommies don't get shower time, do we?"  (The fuck we don't!  That's gross!)

So anyway... I was let go today with just a warning:  Do your damn squats!  Baby's head needs to engage or all hell will break loose!  We can't have these unmotivated baby's heads just floatin' around!


There we are.  Thirty-nine weeks and five days.  Due date is Saturday.  EEEEK! 

"The world, that understandable and lawful world, was slipping away."

Tonight, I folded and put away two loads of laundry upstairs while the hellions boys played downstairs.  Apparently, that's how long it takes for children to go all Lord of the Flies in this house. 

When I came back downstairs, they were no longer clothed, and I don't think they speak English anymore.

It was all executed in such eery quiet.  But the trail of destruction spoke volumes.

TWO LOADS. 

Then they ate some ravioli and grapes, read a couple books, and all was right with the world again.  No Beasts or bloodshed this time, but I believe I'll think twice before ever accumulating a third load of laundry. 

Casey's Birthday Party

To begin with, the weather was perfect.  Like, absolutely perfect.  Best day of the year so far.  We got really lucky, considering the unpredictability of June (not to mention the fact that this year's weather has been kind of a mess).


We kept it small this year, as we were also dealing with the unpredictability of a pregnancy in its 38th week.  And duuuude, I'm tired, so a big party sounded absolutely horrid.


Casey chose a sports theme for his party.  A few weeks back, we lined up a few of his favorite toys 3 times and watched to see which he'd favor-- Mickey Mouse, motorcycle, or ball?  He chose the ball every time, which wasn't in the least surprising. 


So here's the invitation (with a link to its designer, because I love her creations):

http://www.etsy.com/shop/madebymeredith

I didn't go theme-crazy like I did at Colton's construction party last year (because, like I said, GAH, 38 weeks!), but I managed to find some sporty birthday decorations at the dollar store and I made some cupcake toppers with scrapbook paper and foam stickers:

We spent the whole party outside playing, which I think all the kids loved.  Dirt piles, a giant trampoline, a sandbox, a four-wheeler, a dog-shaped tent... every day is a party around here!

We had our regular BBQ fare for dinner, and it was cute to watch all the kids schmoozing over their meals.

Tête-à-tête at the umbrella table:

The many faces of Casey the Bean:

The opening of the presents went pretty smoothly until I realized that Casey's tendency to get physical over the ownership of toys extends beyond his brother.  Here's Casey inspecting his new truck with Pete:

And here's the moment when it dawns on Casey that he has company in the inspection of his new toy:

And finally, here's Casey "apologizing" to Pete after pushing him down and making him cry:

(His apology looks very heartfelt on that picture, but he started laughing at the situation about three seconds after the photo was taken.)

Here's the whole smörgåsbord of presents and kids.  I don't mean to alarm anyone, but one of the toddlers might be missing, because it looks like I rolled one up and stuck him in my belly.  Maybe even a whole preschooler:



Curvin showed up right after dinner and was immediately attacked by his gaggle of fans:

But there was competition for attention this time, as Colton was SUCH A HUGE FAN of Ava's from the moment she arrived:

How freakin' cute is the whispering??



Cupcake time!  Casey carried his around for at least twenty minutes before taking a bite:

And Pete... well, Pete just makes me laugh.  Meredith said he was dead serious about his blue frosting and big boy cup:

Only one meltdown from Casey that day, when I removed him from Colton's four-wheeler because I thought he might drive himself backwards down the driveway.  (also, I apparently think crying babies are funny.  Or maybe I'm laughing about the Chins of Pregnancy.  Who knows.):

So that was a good party!  I think we should always have smaller ones like that.  Right, Shawn??

You and Me, Baby, Ain't Nothin' but Mammals...

2.25 acres.  That's the size of our property.  And within two minutes of stepping outside the house with the camera, this is what Shawn zeroes in on:

Wildlife photographer in the making?  I think so!

CASEY BEANS IS TWO!!

Casey the Bean! I can't believe my sweet baby-thang is turning two. I've already had a few twinges of regret that you'll no longer be our baby, our youngest. There are only two more weeks before a whole new baby is due to arrive in this house, and I can't get over the idea that your sweet chubby cheeks, dimpled hands and elbows, and little voice will seem so much older in such a short time. But for now, at least, you are still my baby. The one who loves to cuddle, especially when I lay Blanket on my shoulder and you can snuggle into it. The one who says "Uppwease!" when you want to be picked up (which is all the time), and "I wuv eeeewwwwe!" at any and all random times.

You can repeat almost any word thrown at you and I'm always amazed at your ability to communicate what you want or what you're thinking. When I disappear upstairs for a minute: "Mom! Dooin'?" When Dad is in the garage or doing home repairs: "Da! Fixin'?" When you decide it's time to eat and climb into your high chair: "I hungee. I eat?" When Abby is laying in the spot where you want play with toys: "Abby! Out! Git out!" When you dig the big plastic bowl out of the cabinet and, using your sweetest voice, ask "Pah-corn? Pweese? Pah-corn?" When we arrive at the YMCA and you are hell-bent on watching the grown-ups play basketball: "Ba-bee-ball? I see? I watch?"  When you're thirsty and you want juice and water: "Joo-water?" (we're working on that one.)

You can sing a few songs, but your favorite seems to be the theme from Cops. "Bad boys, bad boys... what you DO?", you sing over and over. You also regularly sing Zippity Do Dah, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and the theme songs from Mickey Mouse and Totoro. I love the guttural tone you use when we walk through a parking lot, labeling every truck you see "Monster Truuuuck!" You think that throwing your arms over your head while you're running means that you're jumping. You have a very mature palate-- you scoff at pepperoni & cheese pizza, but devour it when I use pesto, feta and tomatoes. You pick at chicken nuggets, but teriyaki salmon with a side of quinoa and broccoli is gone the minute it hits your plate. (Having said that, you are totally Dad's 'Easy Cheese on Ritz' buddy, too.)

You're my shy boy, but I don't ever want to label you as that in case you have the good fortune to outgrow it before your school years. Some days, you say hi to everyone we pass in the store, but if someone takes it too far and approaches the cart to talk to you, you bury your face in your Blanket and won't come out, and you often don't recover for the remainder of our outing. You'll eyeball everyone suspiciously and sometimes even cry if they speak to you.

You are an absolute sports enthusiast. Baseball, basketball, football, soccer-- I see no need to get you anything for your birthday besides sporting goods. It's the only thing besides motorcycles that you're interested in playing with. You actually take a ball to bed with you every time you take a nap, and snuggle with it just like you do with Blanket.

You love music, and bluegrass seems to be your current favorite. If I play it, you stop whatever you're doing to get up and dance, or bob your head and say "Song? Listen." You also seem to be a big fan of Amos Lee, Willie Nelson, Mumford and Sons and a few Pearl Jam songs. You just recently decided that my mediocre singing voice will suffice in a pinch-- when we were on vacation, we shared a bed, but you were still having a hard time falling asleep. So you pointed your bossy finger right at my nose and demanded, "You. Sing."

Books. You love a good reading session, and you've always been laid back enough to take the time to sit and listen. You throw books into my lap, one by one, and say "I sit down? Book? I sit down?" and then you giggle and squeal when I comply. And that's another thing I'm going to miss! The squeal of delight. Something I learned from your older brother is that the squeal is gone long before I'm ready for it to be.

Your BRUDDER. You love 'brudder'. You yell his name across the house-- "Cote-un! Come here! Watch this!" But you certainly don't like him touching you unless you're looking to wrestle. I don't think you trust his motives when he tries to give you a hug. You are always up for some Belly Buddies, though, which is when you press your bare bellies together before you get your jammies on. You can make each other laugh until you can't breathe, and annoy each other until someone starts crying. And if there's anything that Colton can do, then damnit, you're going to give it a good try, too.  When you feel that he needs to be corrected, you gasp and say "Cote-un Robert!" You do have an unfortunate habit of hitting him over the head with toy cars, but you're very lucky that you have a good-natured brother who doesn't hit you back, but reminds you "Casey! No hit!"

And you're stubborn, which isn't unusual for your age, but you change from a sweet little dimpled thing to an oversized personality of Brick Wall in a matter of seconds. You stand still, glare at me, give one loud, short shriek and won't move one step until I pick you up and toss you over my shoulder like a sack o'taters. 
But no matter how tired or out-of-patience I feel, you can melt me with one word or gesture. Just picking you up out of your crib every day is a guaranteed mood-lifter. You are the center of my world, Baby Boy, and I love you to pieces.

Happy 2nd Birthday to my sweet Casey the Bean!
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