Speech therapy day. Intrepid cooperated and Gutsy only did when Fruit Loops became available as a bribe. He likes doing the 'S' sound a lot more than the 'F' sound. I think that may be because the 'F' is taught by pretending to be an 'angry cat' making the 'Ffffffff!' sound, while the 'S' is learned by putting a snake finger puppet on one's finger and racing to a Fruit Loop while saying 'SssSSSsssss!'
Food and snakes. The way to any boy's heart.
I'm incredibly uncomfortable. In fact, the only thing keeping me from crying right now is the fact that I'm trying to put some funny into my day by writing about it here. I'm serious that this blog is a sanity-keeper. What tiny bit I have left in the dankest, most cobwebbed part of my mind is being kept alive by forcing myself to have a sense of humour.
I'm sick of the contractions that come and go whenever they feel like it when I still have over four weeks until my due date. I'm tired of the effort involved in walking, climbing, lifting, bending down or just about anything else a 30-year-old woman (despite the wrinkles and white hair) should be able to do. And tonight, I got a nice big bout of sciatica just to bring me to the peak of dismal. I can't get comfortable no matter what I do at this point and I'm generally just pissed off and tired. I was fed up with the gremlins long before I would normally be, and only half-noticed how well-behaved they were at the chinese buffet tonight (we went out because Geekster was running late and the mere thought of cooking nearly brought me to tears).
My husband said to me just a few minutes ago 'It'll all be over soon, honey..... Funny how that's the same thing we say to dying people.'
Tact, thy name is Geekster. But he made me laugh and that's a good thing right now.
Anyway, I want to have this baby as soon as his lungs are developed. Any time now, InUtero Boy. Mother is growing impatient to check you for horns and a tail.
Incidentally, the placemat at the chinese buffet informed me that, as someone born in the year of the dragon, I'm not going to going to get along with those born in the year of the dog (2006). In other words, the fact that I'm being driven absolutely insane by my inner spawnling is just a precursor to what's going to happen after he's born.
I'd like to thank the makers of the chinese buffet zodiac placemats for warning me of the inevitable animosity between my youngest child and I. I'll line up a boot camp and some counseling well ahead of time thanks to your knowledge.
Two good news items to report:
1. My doctor has informed me that I do not yet have ICP, the awful liver condition that not only raises the chance of a stillborn baby to 5%, but also causes severe itching all over the mother's body. I had it in my pregnancy with Intrepid and started showing signs (itching in the palms and feet - one of the earlier indicators) last week. I called and had a blood test ordered, which shows that while my liver levels are elevated, they're not nearly at dangerous levels. Horray! That buys us some time at the very least. I may not develop full ICP this time, or might only get it when we're good to go for an induction (which I'm not keen on, but will do to lower the risk to Jackson the Contraction).
2. The Sister reminded me that she is taking Gutsy out tomorrow for a few hours, giving me some much-needed relaxation time. I believe I'll bring Mrs. Wailing some type of beverage and cuddle Baby Wailing until I need to go back home and wait for Intrepid to get off the bus. If I stay home I will likely clean, as my nesting is in full swing (ironically when I'm at my worst to do chores of any kind).
You know, if I had a paying job I'd probably still be working right now. Ew. I can't even imagine having to be nice to people in a place of work, even for money. I can barely be nice to the dog right now. I'd yell at the weeds in my front yard if I didn't think someone would take my children away. One or two more pregnancies and I'd become the local crazy cat lady for the rest of my days. Three is a nice, even number.
Er. Yeah.
Bitchingly yours,
The Maven
Food and snakes. The way to any boy's heart.
I'm incredibly uncomfortable. In fact, the only thing keeping me from crying right now is the fact that I'm trying to put some funny into my day by writing about it here. I'm serious that this blog is a sanity-keeper. What tiny bit I have left in the dankest, most cobwebbed part of my mind is being kept alive by forcing myself to have a sense of humour.
I'm sick of the contractions that come and go whenever they feel like it when I still have over four weeks until my due date. I'm tired of the effort involved in walking, climbing, lifting, bending down or just about anything else a 30-year-old woman (despite the wrinkles and white hair) should be able to do. And tonight, I got a nice big bout of sciatica just to bring me to the peak of dismal. I can't get comfortable no matter what I do at this point and I'm generally just pissed off and tired. I was fed up with the gremlins long before I would normally be, and only half-noticed how well-behaved they were at the chinese buffet tonight (we went out because Geekster was running late and the mere thought of cooking nearly brought me to tears).
My husband said to me just a few minutes ago 'It'll all be over soon, honey..... Funny how that's the same thing we say to dying people.'
Tact, thy name is Geekster. But he made me laugh and that's a good thing right now.
Anyway, I want to have this baby as soon as his lungs are developed. Any time now, InUtero Boy. Mother is growing impatient to check you for horns and a tail.
Incidentally, the placemat at the chinese buffet informed me that, as someone born in the year of the dragon, I'm not going to going to get along with those born in the year of the dog (2006). In other words, the fact that I'm being driven absolutely insane by my inner spawnling is just a precursor to what's going to happen after he's born.
I'd like to thank the makers of the chinese buffet zodiac placemats for warning me of the inevitable animosity between my youngest child and I. I'll line up a boot camp and some counseling well ahead of time thanks to your knowledge.
Two good news items to report:
1. My doctor has informed me that I do not yet have ICP, the awful liver condition that not only raises the chance of a stillborn baby to 5%, but also causes severe itching all over the mother's body. I had it in my pregnancy with Intrepid and started showing signs (itching in the palms and feet - one of the earlier indicators) last week. I called and had a blood test ordered, which shows that while my liver levels are elevated, they're not nearly at dangerous levels. Horray! That buys us some time at the very least. I may not develop full ICP this time, or might only get it when we're good to go for an induction (which I'm not keen on, but will do to lower the risk to Jackson the Contraction).
2. The Sister reminded me that she is taking Gutsy out tomorrow for a few hours, giving me some much-needed relaxation time. I believe I'll bring Mrs. Wailing some type of beverage and cuddle Baby Wailing until I need to go back home and wait for Intrepid to get off the bus. If I stay home I will likely clean, as my nesting is in full swing (ironically when I'm at my worst to do chores of any kind).
You know, if I had a paying job I'd probably still be working right now. Ew. I can't even imagine having to be nice to people in a place of work, even for money. I can barely be nice to the dog right now. I'd yell at the weeds in my front yard if I didn't think someone would take my children away. One or two more pregnancies and I'd become the local crazy cat lady for the rest of my days. Three is a nice, even number.
Er. Yeah.
Bitchingly yours,
The Maven