ARG! It took me about 15 hours to be able to type this post out in its entirety. Welcome to the land of Squirmy Infants. Spawnling is going to be one busy toddler in a few months!
This morning I put my very favourite Christmas present on the stereo and started doing some housework (incidentally, getting genital herpes was my second favourite gift. Nothing like a sweet smelling disease from good friends. Well, and then there are the German cream cookies from Lushgurl... But I digress).
But there seemed to be something wrong with the track. While Spawnling and I were grooving to the Chili Peppers I kept hearing some faint background vocals:
This morning I put my very favourite Christmas present on the stereo and started doing some housework (incidentally, getting genital herpes was my second favourite gift. Nothing like a sweet smelling disease from good friends. Well, and then there are the German cream cookies from Lushgurl... But I digress).
But there seemed to be something wrong with the track. While Spawnling and I were grooving to the Chili Peppers I kept hearing some faint background vocals:
The more I see the less I know
The more I like to let it go - hey oh, woah...
(I want a turn! I want a tuuuurn!)
Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder where it's so white as snow, (NO! I said 'no'! Stop it!)
Finally divided by a word so undecided and there's nowhere to go; (OUCH! You hurt me!! Stop hurting me!!)
In between the cover of another perfect wonder and it's so white as snow,
Running through the field where all my (MOOOOOOMM!!!!) tracks will be concealed and there's nowhere to go.
(MOOOOOOOOM! He hit me, mom!!!!)
Last I checked my gremlins were not singing backup in a rock band, so I relunctantly turned down the music and made my way downstairs to deal with the brawl.
This did not help.
It didn't stop for the next couple of hours. I tried having them talk it out, speaking with them individually, serving up time-outs and threatening a quick sale of 'two very well-behaved children - enjoy nutritious food, quiet reading times and meditation' on eBay to a blissfully clueless and childless couple.
Nothing worked.
Next time I might try having the music louder. Hear no evil and all that.
Thus, I did what every mom at home with three moody kids should do: when the going gets tough, the tough get groceries. That's right - I packed all three into the van and drove off to the grocery store. Because, you know, they'll be better behaved if I take them out somewhere.
Being an alcoholic, I have a track record of not always learning from past experiences as quickly as I should. This would be one of those times.
Intrepid was wonderful and helpful. Spawnling was sweet and smiley, but wanted to be held most of the time. This worked well because I had brought in the stroller intending to buy only minimal mounts of entirely nutritious foods, but ended up getting quite a lot of things and needed the extra space. Apparently the food pyramid has changed, and now white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies, gummi bears and discounted Christmas chocolate are considered 'nutritious foods'.
But Gutsy... Oh, that Gutsy. Running away in busy stores is really funny. Hiding behind stacks of bananas while trying to grab tangerines out of a box you hauled off a table is also hilarious. Putting your foot out in front of an old man's cart just because you want to show him who owns the aisle isn't embarrasing at all, sweetness. It's amusing for mommy. See me laugh? Oh, wait. That's not laughter. That's sweat beading off my brow in sheer frustration and an attempt to resist the urge to fold you up and put you snuggly in the basket under the stroller.
When I left the house it was 12:30pm, I figured I would be back well before mid-afternoon, would have time to whip up some lunch and sit down before Without a Trace came on at 2pm. Since all my plans involving juggling three children and a busy store have always gone swimmingly, I figured this would, too.
When I turned the engine on and pulled out of the parking lot, it was 2:12pm. Drats! Foiled again by the little gremlins! That middle one is the CEO of the lot and his company's mission statement is to destroy Mother's will and love of life at all costs by 2009. So far they're right on schedule; just a few more errand runs like that and I'll be getting weekend passes out of places that keep me all cozy warm in a padded room.
Some beautiful irony occurred on my way home from what could only be a Fox special called "When Stupid Mothers Get Nifty Ideas": I was thinking about my new year's present this year, which was the return of my fertility only 2 1/2 months after Spawnling's earthside debut. I was none too happy when I realized that one of those great bonuses to breastfeeding - the absense of one's period for several months - wasn't in the cards this time around. I figured as much because the Spawn sleeps through the night and going more than four hours between nursing sessions can make for a speedier return of baby-making power.
Here's the scary part: I immediately started thinking about when I could safely get pregnant again - as in, when the scar from Spawnling's cesarean would be as healed as it's going to get - so that I could have another cute little baby. Because, you know, he's getting so big now at all of 12 weeks of age and I have all these baby clothes and I'm sure it would be another boy because we have three of them already so he could use all those clothes and if I waited a couple of years we could trade in the van for an extended model which would leave room in the back for a double stroller and...
NO!! Damn you, Mother Nature! Why do you do this? I swore I was done after Intrepid. Then after Gutsy. And now definitely, absolutely, positively, we are DONE after Spawnling.
Look, I've had three babies over 10lbs that took forever to conceive, three very long, difficult labours and births, long recoveries, postpartum depression with the first and anxiety up the wazoo with the second, awful morning sickness with all three, liver conditions causing extreme itching, life-threatening toxemia with one of them... The Maven's body is closed to all sperm and sperm accessories, thankyouverymuch. No eggs will be acting as greeters to foreign entities any longer. We are an estrogen-only commune from now on, content to grow our armpit hair out and burn our makeup bags.
I believe I have made myself clear. More gremlins = no freaking way. Even though they're really cute and sweet and beautiful and talented and funny and smart. They can be all those things without a new sibling in the house in a couple of years. And have you ever used a double stroller? They're bulky enough to turn me off of needing to buy one, anyway.
The people who know me or have been following the comedy that is my life will immediately see the irony in all of this. I'll draw a pretty map for the rest of you.
Gutsy was 5 years and a miscarriage in the making. Spawnling was three. I have PCOS and don't make babies easily. I cried many tears over this fact. My eggs are shy and have an irrational fear of anything resembling a tadpole, so coaxing them out takes great skill and patience.
So why is it that now that our family is supposed to be complete, when I have my hands full of children I never knew I could have and feel so blessed with, who drive me insane half the time and make me so grateful the other half of the time, and when, truly, it's probably not very safe health-wise for me to have any more babies, do I suddenly become a fertile goddess? Where's the justice in that?
Fertility struggles carry deep wounds. I find myself weirded out at discussing birth control, let alone anything permanent like the big V for Geekster. I'm just not there yet. A part of me feels very done and yet another part is saying 'But you can't just NOT have more babies when you're able to make them. What's the matter with you, stupid?'
Just in case there's any confusion, Geekster and I are being careful and have been since I suspected ovulation a couple of weeks ago. I may be weirded out, but I value what little sanity I have.
Tomorrow I will post a video of Spawnling playing with a toy today. Not because I need to post yet more videos of more things only I find amusing and neat because he's my baby, but because you'll get to hear one of Gutsy's infamous screams flowing from the depths of the basement. Then you might empathize with my dilemma a little more.
Cute, but troublesome. They take the cuteness from me and the troublesomeness from Geekster.
Yes. That's it.
This did not help.
It didn't stop for the next couple of hours. I tried having them talk it out, speaking with them individually, serving up time-outs and threatening a quick sale of 'two very well-behaved children - enjoy nutritious food, quiet reading times and meditation' on eBay to a blissfully clueless and childless couple.
Nothing worked.
Next time I might try having the music louder. Hear no evil and all that.
Thus, I did what every mom at home with three moody kids should do: when the going gets tough, the tough get groceries. That's right - I packed all three into the van and drove off to the grocery store. Because, you know, they'll be better behaved if I take them out somewhere.
Being an alcoholic, I have a track record of not always learning from past experiences as quickly as I should. This would be one of those times.
Intrepid was wonderful and helpful. Spawnling was sweet and smiley, but wanted to be held most of the time. This worked well because I had brought in the stroller intending to buy only minimal mounts of entirely nutritious foods, but ended up getting quite a lot of things and needed the extra space. Apparently the food pyramid has changed, and now white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies, gummi bears and discounted Christmas chocolate are considered 'nutritious foods'.
But Gutsy... Oh, that Gutsy. Running away in busy stores is really funny. Hiding behind stacks of bananas while trying to grab tangerines out of a box you hauled off a table is also hilarious. Putting your foot out in front of an old man's cart just because you want to show him who owns the aisle isn't embarrasing at all, sweetness. It's amusing for mommy. See me laugh? Oh, wait. That's not laughter. That's sweat beading off my brow in sheer frustration and an attempt to resist the urge to fold you up and put you snuggly in the basket under the stroller.
When I left the house it was 12:30pm, I figured I would be back well before mid-afternoon, would have time to whip up some lunch and sit down before Without a Trace came on at 2pm. Since all my plans involving juggling three children and a busy store have always gone swimmingly, I figured this would, too.
When I turned the engine on and pulled out of the parking lot, it was 2:12pm. Drats! Foiled again by the little gremlins! That middle one is the CEO of the lot and his company's mission statement is to destroy Mother's will and love of life at all costs by 2009. So far they're right on schedule; just a few more errand runs like that and I'll be getting weekend passes out of places that keep me all cozy warm in a padded room.
Some beautiful irony occurred on my way home from what could only be a Fox special called "When Stupid Mothers Get Nifty Ideas": I was thinking about my new year's present this year, which was the return of my fertility only 2 1/2 months after Spawnling's earthside debut. I was none too happy when I realized that one of those great bonuses to breastfeeding - the absense of one's period for several months - wasn't in the cards this time around. I figured as much because the Spawn sleeps through the night and going more than four hours between nursing sessions can make for a speedier return of baby-making power.
Here's the scary part: I immediately started thinking about when I could safely get pregnant again - as in, when the scar from Spawnling's cesarean would be as healed as it's going to get - so that I could have another cute little baby. Because, you know, he's getting so big now at all of 12 weeks of age and I have all these baby clothes and I'm sure it would be another boy because we have three of them already so he could use all those clothes and if I waited a couple of years we could trade in the van for an extended model which would leave room in the back for a double stroller and...
NO!! Damn you, Mother Nature! Why do you do this? I swore I was done after Intrepid. Then after Gutsy. And now definitely, absolutely, positively, we are DONE after Spawnling.
Look, I've had three babies over 10lbs that took forever to conceive, three very long, difficult labours and births, long recoveries, postpartum depression with the first and anxiety up the wazoo with the second, awful morning sickness with all three, liver conditions causing extreme itching, life-threatening toxemia with one of them... The Maven's body is closed to all sperm and sperm accessories, thankyouverymuch. No eggs will be acting as greeters to foreign entities any longer. We are an estrogen-only commune from now on, content to grow our armpit hair out and burn our makeup bags.
I believe I have made myself clear. More gremlins = no freaking way. Even though they're really cute and sweet and beautiful and talented and funny and smart. They can be all those things without a new sibling in the house in a couple of years. And have you ever used a double stroller? They're bulky enough to turn me off of needing to buy one, anyway.
The people who know me or have been following the comedy that is my life will immediately see the irony in all of this. I'll draw a pretty map for the rest of you.
Gutsy was 5 years and a miscarriage in the making. Spawnling was three. I have PCOS and don't make babies easily. I cried many tears over this fact. My eggs are shy and have an irrational fear of anything resembling a tadpole, so coaxing them out takes great skill and patience.
So why is it that now that our family is supposed to be complete, when I have my hands full of children I never knew I could have and feel so blessed with, who drive me insane half the time and make me so grateful the other half of the time, and when, truly, it's probably not very safe health-wise for me to have any more babies, do I suddenly become a fertile goddess? Where's the justice in that?
Fertility struggles carry deep wounds. I find myself weirded out at discussing birth control, let alone anything permanent like the big V for Geekster. I'm just not there yet. A part of me feels very done and yet another part is saying 'But you can't just NOT have more babies when you're able to make them. What's the matter with you, stupid?'
Just in case there's any confusion, Geekster and I are being careful and have been since I suspected ovulation a couple of weeks ago. I may be weirded out, but I value what little sanity I have.
Tomorrow I will post a video of Spawnling playing with a toy today. Not because I need to post yet more videos of more things only I find amusing and neat because he's my baby, but because you'll get to hear one of Gutsy's infamous screams flowing from the depths of the basement. Then you might empathize with my dilemma a little more.
Cute, but troublesome. They take the cuteness from me and the troublesomeness from Geekster.
Yes. That's it.