Saturday, August 14, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
New Addition!!
It happened!! I had the baby!!!
Introducing Charlotte Mae, otherwise known as Charlie!
She was born Friday the 13th at 4:52am after 2 pushes. And yes, I did get my epidural.
She weighs 6lbs, 10 oz and is 19 inches long.
She's got dark hair and so far is nice and mellow. So far.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Not Today
Do you ever have those days where you wake up and have a feeling that something isn't right?
Like this morning, I woke up and thought, "OHMYGOD, I HAVE TO PEE."
And then I thought, "OHMYGOD, I CAN'T MOVE."
Obviously, I managed to move, and pee, and shower at 4 in the morning.
And then I was convinced that while I may not be in labor, I definitely should go to the hospital to get checked out...because let's just say that what I was feeling "down there" was not normal. Any day of the week.
But then the feeling passed, after I freaked out my husband and made my mother-in-law get out of bed extra early. Oopsy...sorry 'bout that.
And now I am laying in bed, officially on vacation, and not quite sure what I am going to do with the next few days. I'll find something to do, I am sure. I also am sure it'll involve spending money. I also am sure that it won't involve moving furniture. Even though there is still a lot to be moved.
So recap...I woke up, thought I was going to have to deliver this baby in a bathtub, skipped out on work, went to lunch with the girls from work, wound up spending 4 hours at work, went shopping, got my hair did, and made my baby go to sleep without her milk because I left in in the refrigerator when I went upstairs and I was NOT about to go up and down the stairs again.
Hopefully tomorrow is a less eventful day.
Like this morning, I woke up and thought, "OHMYGOD, I HAVE TO PEE."
And then I thought, "OHMYGOD, I CAN'T MOVE."
Obviously, I managed to move, and pee, and shower at 4 in the morning.
And then I was convinced that while I may not be in labor, I definitely should go to the hospital to get checked out...because let's just say that what I was feeling "down there" was not normal. Any day of the week.
But then the feeling passed, after I freaked out my husband and made my mother-in-law get out of bed extra early. Oopsy...sorry 'bout that.
And now I am laying in bed, officially on vacation, and not quite sure what I am going to do with the next few days. I'll find something to do, I am sure. I also am sure it'll involve spending money. I also am sure that it won't involve moving furniture. Even though there is still a lot to be moved.
So recap...I woke up, thought I was going to have to deliver this baby in a bathtub, skipped out on work, went to lunch with the girls from work, wound up spending 4 hours at work, went shopping, got my hair did, and made my baby go to sleep without her milk because I left in in the refrigerator when I went upstairs and I was NOT about to go up and down the stairs again.
Hopefully tomorrow is a less eventful day.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Weekend Fun...Against Doctor's Orders
We recently got a "new" jetski...which is pretty funny considering we had sworn off all personal watercraft as huge expensive wastes of money. But when this one came in as a trade, my brother-in-law couldn't pass it up and conned us into giving a couple hundred dollars to it. And insuring it under our policy. Sigh.
Of course, she handled tubing like it was nothing a few weeks ago. Not sure why this was so different, unless the fact that it was way more stable and we were going 2 miles an hour and she had buddies with her who thought she was pretty awesome. That might've helped a bit. If you look close, you can see she is the only one in the picture who is really smiling! 
Anyway, I used to love the jetskis, until they died on me, so I wanted to try this one out before I am banned from the lake for 6 weeks. It is way more unstable than it appears! And yes, when I let it slip this morning to my doctor that I rode a jetski this weekend, he slightly freaked, sighed, and rolled his eyes at me. And then told me NOT TO DO THAT ANYMORE. Funkill.
Workaholic is also determined to permanently traumatize our daughter to anything that is fun. She went on two rides this weekend...the first, I could hear her crying as he drove away from the pier. The second, she actually waved as they were coming back in and cried when he made her get off!! That's my girl!
Of course, she handled tubing like it was nothing a few weeks ago. Not sure why this was so different, unless the fact that it was way more stable and we were going 2 miles an hour and she had buddies with her who thought she was pretty awesome. That might've helped a bit. If you look close, you can see she is the only one in the picture who is really smiling!
We love to have fun at the lake, and I am glad that she is starting to enjoy herself...you know, just as summer is ending. Oh well, snowmobiling is in a few short months!!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
List, Schmlists
Have you ever noticed how people blame their, um...idiosyncrasies on their last name? Like, my family is very forgetful. My mother is not, so it’s all put on my father. (poor guy) Whenever he loses something or forgets something, she just sighs and rolls her eyes, as she has been dealing with it for 40+ years. When one of us kids forgets something, she sighs and rolls her eyes and says, “It’s the G in you.” (I won’t even let him blame brain surgery on forgetting things…I tell him he was that way before.) Usually the forgetfulness involves wallets and car keys, and at the most inopportune of times.
My in-laws have a very ethnic last name. So much so, that people seem to think that I’m Irish, even though I married into the family and obviously am not red-haired and freckled, or a dark-haired beauty. If I get mad about something, it’s “Oh…you have an Irish temper.” Yeah…I’m mostly German, not a spec of Irish. But that’s beside the point.
I will say that when it is convenient, I’ll blame a temper tantrum on my “heritage.” It’s easy, and people seem to accept it. My husband and his father love to blame things on their last name, from restless legs to holding grudges. (I say nurture over nature, but whatever.) One thing they don’t blame on their last name is forgetfulness. Sorry dad, I guess we do have to blame you.
Since I tend to be so forgetful, and it has gotten much, much worse since I was a kid, I make lists. (My mom actually grounded me from staying the night at my friends’ houses because I couldn't come home without leaving something there. The last straw was my glasses and I think it made us late for church. I also once went to a slumber party and forgot to take my sleeping bag and pillow.) Now, if it isn’t on the list, then it doesn’t get done. The downfalls of “being organized.”
I make lists for everything. At work, I make a list if I have a lot to get done in a particular day or week. For month end, I have a three page list. When we leave the lake, I make a list of the things that we need to bring back the next weekend. (I also have an issue not losing that list.) And now, since I am due in 11 days, I have a list of things that need to be done to get ready for the baby.
The vague part of this list included moving our office to the basement and making our office Sam’s new room. This involved painting both rooms, as well as moving massive quantities of random crap to our basement. That in itself took several hours for 2 grown men to do. I was shocked that we had so much stored in the office. All of which is now scattered around my basement. As well as Sam’s toys, which were in the playroom which is now the new office.
So let’s recap, in 11 days or less, I’ll have a new baby. And Sam is still in the nursery, the furniture that I bought is still in our garage, and my basement is still trashed. I’m not panicking or anything. We did go to the lake this weekend instead of staying home and work like responsible adults.
I’ve decided to not look at my lists anymore. That’ll make everything better. Maybe I can just forget everything that is on them.
My in-laws have a very ethnic last name. So much so, that people seem to think that I’m Irish, even though I married into the family and obviously am not red-haired and freckled, or a dark-haired beauty. If I get mad about something, it’s “Oh…you have an Irish temper.” Yeah…I’m mostly German, not a spec of Irish. But that’s beside the point.
I will say that when it is convenient, I’ll blame a temper tantrum on my “heritage.” It’s easy, and people seem to accept it. My husband and his father love to blame things on their last name, from restless legs to holding grudges. (I say nurture over nature, but whatever.) One thing they don’t blame on their last name is forgetfulness. Sorry dad, I guess we do have to blame you.
Since I tend to be so forgetful, and it has gotten much, much worse since I was a kid, I make lists. (My mom actually grounded me from staying the night at my friends’ houses because I couldn't come home without leaving something there. The last straw was my glasses and I think it made us late for church. I also once went to a slumber party and forgot to take my sleeping bag and pillow.) Now, if it isn’t on the list, then it doesn’t get done. The downfalls of “being organized.”
I make lists for everything. At work, I make a list if I have a lot to get done in a particular day or week. For month end, I have a three page list. When we leave the lake, I make a list of the things that we need to bring back the next weekend. (I also have an issue not losing that list.) And now, since I am due in 11 days, I have a list of things that need to be done to get ready for the baby.
The vague part of this list included moving our office to the basement and making our office Sam’s new room. This involved painting both rooms, as well as moving massive quantities of random crap to our basement. That in itself took several hours for 2 grown men to do. I was shocked that we had so much stored in the office. All of which is now scattered around my basement. As well as Sam’s toys, which were in the playroom which is now the new office.
So let’s recap, in 11 days or less, I’ll have a new baby. And Sam is still in the nursery, the furniture that I bought is still in our garage, and my basement is still trashed. I’m not panicking or anything. We did go to the lake this weekend instead of staying home and work like responsible adults.
I’ve decided to not look at my lists anymore. That’ll make everything better. Maybe I can just forget everything that is on them.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Who Am I?
Hello? Are you out there?? Yes, it' s me, I'm still here.
I'm still pregnant too.
For those of you keeping track, and even for those who don't care, I have 12 days until my due date. Which is August 19th. It's a Thursday.
Recently, I've had a lot of people ask me if I am ready to be done. My answer? Besides the obvious "Duh", (and by obvious, I mean by the pained look I have on my face due to the heavy weight hanging from the front of my body), my other answer has become, "I've been pregnant forever."
And I am serious. I mean, I'm no Michelle Dugger, but no kidding, I've been pregnant since Thanksgiving. Do you even remember what you did last Thanksgiving?? I do, but only because there are pictures.
People talk about me not being pregnant, and how I'll get to drink and do things that I can't do now. And I can't even imagine it at this point.
I'll be able to bend over without squishing a baby and being in pain?
I'll be able to sit on the floor and get up without falling over?
I'll be able to shave, and see what I am doing?
I'll be able to go up a flight of stairs without having to sit down afterwards?
Forget drinking, I'm just excited to be "normal" again. Although I really, seriously, in all honesty, don't remember what that is.
Am I still that same girl who used to go to the bar every weekend? Who used to have a few beers and sing the same song karoke? And think that I kick ass every time?
Am I that same girl who used to rollerblade on campus for an hour straight? Or who used to play in the water with my Fonz? Or who would go to agility class with him?
I barely remember doing those things. But I know I used to. And someday, somehow, I'll do them again. But give me a few weeks. Having a baby is no vacation, so even though I will be off of work for 13 weeks, I need to do some healing first. Well, I need to go into labor first, then heal. Then I'll think about rollerblading. It'll be the perfect weather. I can't wait.
I'm still pregnant too.
For those of you keeping track, and even for those who don't care, I have 12 days until my due date. Which is August 19th. It's a Thursday.
Recently, I've had a lot of people ask me if I am ready to be done. My answer? Besides the obvious "Duh", (and by obvious, I mean by the pained look I have on my face due to the heavy weight hanging from the front of my body), my other answer has become, "I've been pregnant forever."
And I am serious. I mean, I'm no Michelle Dugger, but no kidding, I've been pregnant since Thanksgiving. Do you even remember what you did last Thanksgiving?? I do, but only because there are pictures.
People talk about me not being pregnant, and how I'll get to drink and do things that I can't do now. And I can't even imagine it at this point.
I'll be able to bend over without squishing a baby and being in pain?
I'll be able to sit on the floor and get up without falling over?
I'll be able to shave, and see what I am doing?
I'll be able to go up a flight of stairs without having to sit down afterwards?
Forget drinking, I'm just excited to be "normal" again. Although I really, seriously, in all honesty, don't remember what that is.
Am I still that same girl who used to go to the bar every weekend? Who used to have a few beers and sing the same song karoke? And think that I kick ass every time?
Am I that same girl who used to rollerblade on campus for an hour straight? Or who used to play in the water with my Fonz? Or who would go to agility class with him?
I barely remember doing those things. But I know I used to. And someday, somehow, I'll do them again. But give me a few weeks. Having a baby is no vacation, so even though I will be off of work for 13 weeks, I need to do some healing first. Well, I need to go into labor first, then heal. Then I'll think about rollerblading. It'll be the perfect weather. I can't wait.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Working and Crying
***Disclaimer: This post is rambling, sorry if you have trouble following along.
It's no secret that my husband likes to work. A lot. I mean, he really likes to work. He is a carpenter, and so I imagine he gets satisfaction out of building something. He starts a job, and then completes it. Usually in a pretty quick manner. But the sense of satisfaction can't be all that drives him. I often wonder why it is that some people have this insane driving force inside of them, and others (me), just, well, don't.
On one hand, I could say that Workaholic gets his addiction from his father. He is the oldest, and so he probably grew up wanting to be "just like dad". And anyone who knows my father-in-law in real life knows that he is also a Workaholic. He was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth or given any sort of advantage. Every step up the ladder (heehee) he took, he earned with blood and sweat. (I'd say tears, but I am pretty sure he doesn't cry.) And anyone who knows my father-in-law in real life also knows that he has earned everything that he has. (Of course, he also married a woman who is fabulous in managing a household and business, including the finances. That probably helped things a little.)
On the other hand, you could say that birth order played a role...since youngest children stereotypically aren't quite as...driven, as oldest children. Regardless, my Workaholic's addiction is the reason why I am sitting here waiting for him to get home at 10:45pm. I'm OK with it, because if he was here, I would not have been able to write this blog or watch the episode of Army Wives that I saw earlier. Have you ever seen that show?? It's great.
So there I am, sitting all alone in my basement, curled up under a blanket in the recliner, (yeah...we keep our house a little cool) eating a bowl of ice cream, (what??) and bawling my freaking eyes out. Stupid me chooses to watch the episode where all the main characters' husbands get deployed. For at least a year. And one of them is very pregnant with a baby girl. Sigh. I seriously think I cried for a half hour straight.
It made me very grateful that my Workaholic is coming home tonight. I may not see him, or see him in the morning, but I will see him in less than a year. A big THANK YOU to all the armed forces who work tirelessly for our country. And a big THANK YOU to my Workaholic who works so tirelessly for me. (Oh, who am I kidding, he totally does it for himself. And maybe Sam. But I'm still glad he does it.)
It's no secret that my husband likes to work. A lot. I mean, he really likes to work. He is a carpenter, and so I imagine he gets satisfaction out of building something. He starts a job, and then completes it. Usually in a pretty quick manner. But the sense of satisfaction can't be all that drives him. I often wonder why it is that some people have this insane driving force inside of them, and others (me), just, well, don't.
On one hand, I could say that Workaholic gets his addiction from his father. He is the oldest, and so he probably grew up wanting to be "just like dad". And anyone who knows my father-in-law in real life knows that he is also a Workaholic. He was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth or given any sort of advantage. Every step up the ladder (heehee) he took, he earned with blood and sweat. (I'd say tears, but I am pretty sure he doesn't cry.) And anyone who knows my father-in-law in real life also knows that he has earned everything that he has. (Of course, he also married a woman who is fabulous in managing a household and business, including the finances. That probably helped things a little.)
On the other hand, you could say that birth order played a role...since youngest children stereotypically aren't quite as...driven, as oldest children. Regardless, my Workaholic's addiction is the reason why I am sitting here waiting for him to get home at 10:45pm. I'm OK with it, because if he was here, I would not have been able to write this blog or watch the episode of Army Wives that I saw earlier. Have you ever seen that show?? It's great.
So there I am, sitting all alone in my basement, curled up under a blanket in the recliner, (yeah...we keep our house a little cool) eating a bowl of ice cream, (what??) and bawling my freaking eyes out. Stupid me chooses to watch the episode where all the main characters' husbands get deployed. For at least a year. And one of them is very pregnant with a baby girl. Sigh. I seriously think I cried for a half hour straight.
It made me very grateful that my Workaholic is coming home tonight. I may not see him, or see him in the morning, but I will see him in less than a year. A big THANK YOU to all the armed forces who work tirelessly for our country. And a big THANK YOU to my Workaholic who works so tirelessly for me. (Oh, who am I kidding, he totally does it for himself. And maybe Sam. But I'm still glad he does it.)
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